#and above both are cardinals

[canisalbus]

Almost forgot to look at the tags in that Giordano post, I'm glad that Cardinals being higher than Archbishops was something you mentioned, and that I was remem that fact correctly :). And I love that Machete surpasses someone who thought him to be a "good for nothing". Go white boy go!

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[headspace-hotel]

Nature is healing.

I burned the Meadow a couple weeks ago. At first it looked like nothing but charred ashes and dirt, with a few scorched green patches, and I was afraid I'd done something terrible. But then the sprouts emerged. Tender new leaves swarming the soil.

My brother and I were outside after dark the other day, to see if any lightning bugs would emerge yet. We had been working on digging the pond. That old soggy spot in the middle of the yard that we called "poor drainage," that always splattered mud over our legs when we ran across it as children—it isn't a failed lawn, and it never was.

Oh, we tried to fill in the mud puddles, even rented heavy machinery and graded the whole thing out, but the little wetland still remembered. God bless those indomitable puddles and wetlands and weeds, that in spite of our efforts to flatten out the differences that make each square meter of land unique from another, still declare themselves over and over to be what they are.

So we've been digging a hole. A wide, shallow hole, with an island in the middle.

And steadily, I've been transplanting in vegetation. At school there is a soggy field that sadly is mowed like any old field. The only pools where a frog could lay eggs are tire ruts. From this field I dig up big clumps of rushes and sedges, and nobody pays me any mind when I smuggle them home.

I pulled a little stick of shrubby willow from some cracked pavement near a creek, and planted it nearby. From a ditch on the side of the road beside a corn field, I dug up cattail rhizomes. Everywhere, tiny bits of wilderness, holding on.

I gathered up rotting logs small enough to carry and made a log pile beside the pond. At another corner is a rock pile. I planted some old branches upright in the ground to make a good place for birds and dragonflies to perch.

And there are so many birds! Mourning doves, robins, cardinals and grackles come here in much bigger numbers, and many, many finches and sparrows. I always hear woodpeckers, even a Pileated Woodpecker here and there. A pair of bluebirds lives here. There are three tree swallows, a barn swallow also, tons of chickadees, and there's always six or seven blue jays screaming and making a commotion. And the goldfinches! Yesterday I watched three brilliant yellow males frolic among the tall dandelions. They would hover above the grass and then drop down. One landed on a dandelion stem and it flopped over. There are several bright orange birds too. I think a couple of them are orioles, but there's definitely also a Summer Tanager. There's a pair of Canada Geese that always fly by overhead around the same time in the evening. It's like their daily commute.

The other day, as I watched, I saw a Cooper's Hawk swoop down and carry off a robin. This was horrifying news for the robin individually, but great news for the ecosystem. The food chain can support more links now.

There are two garter snakes instead of one, both of them fat from being good at snaking. I wonder if there will be babies?

But the biggest change this year is the bugs. It's too early for the lightning bugs, but all the same the yard is full of life.

It's like remembering something I didn't know I forgot. Oh. This is how it's supposed to be. I can't glance in any direction without seeing the movement of bugs. Fat crickets and earwigs scuttle underneath my rock piles, wasps flit about and visit the pond's shore, an unbelievable variety of flies and bees visit the flowers, millipedes and centipedes hide under the logs. Butterflies, moths, and beetles big and small are everywhere.

I can't even describe it in terms of individual encounters; they're just everywhere, hopping and fluttering away with every step. There are so many kinds of ants. I sometimes stare really closely at the ground to watch the activities of the ants. Sometimes they are in long lines, with two lanes of ants going back and forth, touching antennae whenever two ants traveling in opposite directions meet. Sometimes I see ants fighting each other, as though ant war is happening. Sometimes the ants are carrying the curled-up bodies of dead ants—their fallen comrades?

My neighbor gave me all of their fallen leaves (twelve bags!) and it turns out that piling leaves on top of a rock and log pile in a wet area summons an unbelievable amount of snails.

I always heard of snails as pests, but I have learned better. Snails move calcium through the food chain. Birds eat snails and use the calcium in their shells to make egg shells. In this way, snails lead to baby birds. I never would have known this if I hadn't set out to learn about snails.

In the golden hour of evening, bugs drift across the sky like golden motes of dust, whirling and dancing together in the grand dramas of their tiny lives. I think about how complicated their worlds are. After interacting with bees and wasps so much for so long, I'm amazed by how intelligent and polite they are. Bumble bees will hover in front of me, swaying side to side, or circle slowly around me several times, clearly perceiving some kind of information...but what? It seems like bees and wasps can figure out if you are a threat, or if you are peaceful, and act accordingly.

I came to a realization about wasps: when they dart at your head so you hear them buzzing close by your ears, they're announcing their presence. The proper response is to freeze and duck down a bit. It seems like wasps can recognize if you're being polite; for what it's worth, I've never been stung by a wasp.

As night falls, bats emerge and start looping and darting around in the sky above. If the yard seems full of bugs in the day, it is nothing compared to the night.

I'm aware that what I'm about to describe, to an entomophobe, sounds like a horror movie: when i walk to the back yard, the trees are audibly crackling and whirring with the activity of insects. Beetles hover among the branches of the trees. When we look up at the sky, moths of all sizes are flying hither and thither across it. A large, very striking white moth flies past low to the ground.

Last year, seeing a moth against the darkening sky was only occasional. Now there's so many of them.

I consider it in my mind:

When roads and houses are built and land is turned over to various human uses, potentially hundreds of native plant species are extirpated from that small area. But all of the Eastern USA has been heavily altered and destroyed.

Some plants come back easily, like wild blackberry, daisy fleabane, and common violets. But many of them do not. Some plants need fire to sprout, some need Bison or large birds to spread them, some need humans to harvest and care for them, some live in habitats that are frequently treated with contempt, some cannot bear to be grazed by cattle, some are suffocated beneath invasive Tall Fescue, Kentucky bluegrass, honeysuckle or Bradford pears, and some don't like being mowed or bushhogged.

Look at the landscape...hundreds and hundreds of acres of suburbs, pastures, corn fields, pavement, mowed verges and edges of roads.

Yes, you see milkweed now and then, a few plants on the edge of the road, but when you consider the total area of space covered by milkweed, it is so little it is nearly negligible. Imagine how many milkweed plants could grow in a single acre that was caretaken for their prosperity—enough to equal fifty roadsides put together!

Then I consider how many bugs are specialists, that can only feed upon a particular plant. Every kind of plant has its own bugs. When plant diversity is replaced by Plant Sameness, the bug population decreases dramatically.

Plant sameness has taken over the world, and the insect apocalypse is a result.

But in this one small spot, nature is healing...

[her-satanic-wiles]

Guess Who?

Papa Emeriti I, II, III & Cardinal Copia x Plus Size!Reader

Game night takes a turn when you end up blindfolded and tied on the table, at the mercy of all of your beloved Papas. The name of the game: figure out who’s touching you. You win: you cum. They win: they use your body however they see fit.

For @da-rulah, because I sent her a scenario that hurt her wittle feewings, and so now I’m facing the consequences of my actions. I hope you enjoy, Bee. ✌🏻😘

Masterlist

Words: 9.2k.

Reading Time: 37 min.

Warnings: aftercare, alluded/implied sex work, anal play, biting, bondage (using a rope), breath play, breeding, bukkake, choking, cream pie, cum eating, cunnilingus, degradation, fellatio, fingering, finger sucking, free use, gang bang, groping, MMFMM, objectification, plus size!reader, PIV sex, praise, premature ejaculation, pussy slapping, rope play, rough sex, running a train, sensory depravation (blindfold), skull fucking, spit-roasting, squirting, tag teaming, talking about you as if you weren’t there, tickle kink (if you squint), unprotected sex, (wrap it before you tap it folks), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex,

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @xshadyladyx @x1nd1g0x @likeloversentwined @high-above-the-city @copiaspet622 @sister-of-sin-claudia @foxybouquet @inkstainedrat @ad-astra-per-aspera1976 @ravensbars @ultrahalloweengirl @susulbr @frog-scream @ghulehunknown @namelessghoulindisguise @onlyhereforghost @mercbeans

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Game night was usually a night reserved for only the brothers Emeritus, who usually enjoyed card games with only the three players. Every week without fail, the three men would gather in the wine cellar of the Ministry and play cutthroat games of Uno while drinking bottles of the Ministry’s finest by candlelight. It wasn’t often they’d invite a fourth in, rarely finding a person close enough to all three of them that they’d be able to relax and have fun with. But it wasn’t unheard of. Which is why the decision was unanimous when your name was thrown into the middle.

You were the favourite of all the Papas and the whole Ministry knew it. You were their closest friend and companion, the one who had the most in common with them and compassion for them. The one who made them feel the best both in and out of the bedroom. Yes, okay, the relationship you had with them all was… unique. It wasn’t often in any part of the world that brothers would share a woman and be happy doing so. But if it worked for all of you, you’d hardly say no. There was something so deliciously degrading about being passed around the Ministry’s highest ranking men like a commodity to be shared - as though you were nothing more than an object. It was so delicious because it wasn’t true. Of all the people you’d been with during your time at the Ministry, no one had treated you more kindly, more respectfully, and prioritised your pleasure quite like the Emeritus brothers. And so, almost every evening, you’d find yourself ‘rented’ for the night, and would end up tangled in the sheets with one of the Papas. And every time you needed to perform a ritual, it was always to one of them you’d call.

They’d tried getting you in on game night a few times before, but it just so happened that you were usually busy and had made plans before they’d been able to ask. How popular could one person be?

It turned out you didn’t have so many friends that they all kept you busy, rather you had one friend who took up most of your time away from the three Papas: Cardinal Copia. The Cardinal had inadvertently kept you all to himself mostly because you were his closest friend. Copia was the kind of man to put all his effort into one relationship rather than several, which meant you were the only one of his friends he wanted to spend time with. As that was the case, he had taken up so much of your free time, he made it impossible for the Papas to pin you down and drag you to game night. So, they dragged the bumbling Cardinal to game night, too.

The five of you were hunched round an aged table, the thing losing its integrity from the little upkeep that was done to it over the years. The layers of stain and paint gave it a more plastic feel, and one of the legs was propped up with the King James’ Bible, the book itself dirty from years of shoes resting on it. Clockwise, Primo headed the table, followed by Copia, You, Terzo and ending with Secondo. You only had two cards left, and felt smug at that. The closest person to you was Secondo, who had 3 cards. Everyone else was five cards or, in Copia’s case, much more. The typical banter and shit-talk ensued, you teasing Terzo about how you were going to win, Primo constantly pulling the cheapest moves like adding +2 cards or reversing so that Copia would have to draw more or wouldn’t get to play. Copia promising violent vengeance every time Primo screwed him over, which would earn titters of amusement from Secondo and Terzo.

Finally, Terzo had played his card allowing you to drop your penultimate one on top of his, your red 4 landing on his blue 4, with a cheery “Uno!” falling from your lips, despite Primo and Copia’s conversation that was murmuring in the background.

Secondo sighed and rolled his eyes. “Cardinale!” He called, breaking up the conversation. “It is your turn.”

“___ hasn’t had her turn yet.” Copia protested.

“She just did.”

Primo smirked, a devilish smile on his lips. “Our dear ___ didn’t claim ‘Uno!’. You have to take five cards.”

“I did!” You exclaimed, offended at Papa Primo’s accusations. You told him as such.

“I didn’t hear you.” Copia claimed.

“To be fair, Cardinale, you were talking.” Secondo insisted, fighting your corner.

Terzo sighed, wrapping his arm around your shoulder. “There is nothing for it, amore.” He exclaimed. “Two insist you did not say it, two insist you did. Therefore, you must be punished some way, no? Either, take five cards like my fratello told you to do, or…”

“…Or?” You asked impatiently, bracing yourself for Terzo’s ultimatum. You knew it would be a suggestive offer, but you didn’t know exactly what he’d choose.

“Or, you take off that pretty little habit of yours and play the rest of the game in your underwear.”

Secondo jumped in. “___, you don’t have to do either.”

Primo, who secretly hoped you’d choose Terzo’s second option, also chimed in. “Well, you do have to take five cards if you don’t get naked for us.”

“Papa?” Copia asked, eyebrows raised. He clearly wasn’t expecting Primo to go along with it.

“What? You cannot expect an old man to be completely adverse to a beautiful woman stripping herself bare for my enjoyment - provided she consents, of course.”

Terzo, “If anyone objects, speak now or forever hold thy peace.”

Everyone immediately shot subtle glances at Copia, expecting the only man in the room who you’d not fucked yet to object. But, with blushing cheeks, he sat back and much to everyone’s surprise, remained quiet.

You slammed your card on the table and stood from your seat, hands immediately flying to and removing your veil. “This is bullshit.” You said, undoing the buttons at the front of your habit before pulling the whole thing over your head. You were met with sounds of appreciation, whistles, hoots and hollers - most of which came from Terzo who was more than happy to watch you reveal your gorgeous, plump body in order to win the game. You sat back down, breasts and stomach jiggling with the force, thighs splaying out against the chair as you sat. You watched as Secondo was mesmerised by your curves. He said nothing, wanting to keep things with you as respectful as possible, but he loved your body: loved watching it bounce each time he fucked into you, loved laving and sucking on your nipples, biting them just to earn that sound from your throat. It didn’t matter that he was a middle aged man with the total ability to control himself, when it came to you, he was a constant horny mess.

The game continued, Copia had his turn, Primo, Secondo, Terzo, then back to you. Finally, and with much grumbling from the rest of them, you played the final card and won the match. “And I did it all whilst naked.” You bragged. “This is why you never invite me to this nights - you know I’ll kick your ass.”

“We don’t always play Uno, you know.” Primo stated, resting his elbows on the table.

“Doesn’t matter, any game you throw my way I’ll win.” You responded petulantly.

“Oh you think?” Terzo asked, eyebrows raising.

“I know.”

“Prove it.” Secondo sounded from the other side of the table.

“Name the game, Papa.”

“What did you have in mind, fratello?” Questioned Terzo again.

Secondo sat back, his body language oozing confidence with a menacing glint in his eyes. “A game even our friend over there can play if he’s willing.” He gestured to Copia, who swallowed nervously. “We got some rope down here, some cloth. We strip you naked, blindfold you, and touch you however we want. You have to guess who it is. You guess correctly, we make you cum then move to the back of the line. Guess incorrectly, and we get to do what we want to you. You have to guess the majority correctly in order to win, if you don’t, well, we’ll decide what happens to you. Think you could win then?”

“Easy.” You challenged.

“Oh, you think so?”

You stood up. “Copia, you in?”

“I- I…” He stammered, torn between wanting to play but not wanting to ruin your friendship.

“Whatever you choose, I’m happy.”

“I… I’ll play.”

Primo patted him on the shoulder. “Good man.”

“Well then,” you reached round your back and unhooked your bra, throwing the fabric to the stone cold floor and feeling your nipples harden at both your arousal and the change in temperature, “let’s play.” Your panties were the next to go, followed by your shoes and socks, leaving you stood on the wine cellar’s floor naked as the day you were born. With each move you made, your body jiggled slightly, earning more groans of appreciation from the men who remained. Terzo even coming up behind you and pressing himself against you, hands roaming all over your body and grabbing handfuls of you where he could.

“Can’t wait for you to guess incorrectly so I can fuck you dumb, tesoro.” He whispered into your ear before biting it.

“Leave you with blue balls.” You teased.

“We’ll see.” He stepped away from you and gave your ass a slap, watching it wobble with the force. He bit his bottom lip and moaned like he’d just eaten something delicious. “We will see.”

Secondo had gone and returned from getting the rope and cloth he saw, and began to bind you up in it, using the rope to tie your hands behind your back. “Your safe word is ‘bottle’, amore.” He told you placing a chaste but gentle kiss on your shoulder blade. “Does this feel okay?” He asked pulling on the rope.

“It feels fine, Papa.” You replied, feeling heat gather in your core and your breath already labouring.

“You ready for the blindfold?”

“Yes.”

And with that, your vision was blinded, your sense of sight plunged into darkness as Secondo tied the cloth gently behind your head, checking to make sure you were comfortable, before guiding you into position. You were lay against the small table, your head barely supported, with most of it hanging over the edge. You were lay on your back with your legs spread, your hands taking the weight of your back as it arched over the top of them. Your breasts had, for lack of a better term, pancaked as gravity was inistent on pulling them down. But even though Terxo made fun of that term, he loved the way you looked on your back for him. Your cunt was entirely on display with just how wide your spread legs had opened your labia, your wetness already visible to the men who stared at your body hungrily, like animals about to feed for the first time in weeks.

You felt Secondo kiss your thigh once before disappearing to join his brothers. Then, you heard all four of the men, in unison, say, “Carta, forbice, sasso!” Followed by skin slapping on skin.

Those fucking idiots were playing rock, paper, scissors to see who was going to go first. You heard a few grumbles, but couldn’t make out who made what noise.

You heard footsteps.

The sound of a glove sliding against skin. Twice.

Those gloves falling to the floor.

Then you felt it. A thumb running up and down your slit, gathering your wetness before finally rubbing over your clit - tight, little circles designed to drive you mad. Your hips bucked at the touch, a gasp escaping your lips at the surprise touch. His four fingers rested on your mound as an anchor, allowing more precise movements, and for him to put more pressure on your clit. You struggled against the rope, your hands moving out of habit wanting to reach your nipples, to pinch and pull at the buds like you usually did when someone played with your bundle of nerves. But the rope bit at your skin, burning slightly as you fought against it and making you scream out in frustration. “Fuck!” You breathed, body writhing beneath the calloused thumb. You wanted to try an work out who was doing it to you so you could win the game, but your mind went blank the second his thumb touched you.

The teasing was very much a Terzo trait, but the use of his thumb wasn’t. Terzo usually teased using his mouth or his cock. He didn’t have the drive to use one of his hands. Secondo used his hands a lot, loved to plunge them deep inside you and finger you open for him, having you screaming and begging for him to touch your clit. Which is how you knew this wasn’t Secondo. It couldn’t be Primo - he didn’t have the heart to tease. He’d always give you what you asked for in a heartbeat. Which meant it must have either been Terzo or Copia. As you’d never had sex with Copia, you couldn’t be sure what his methods were - and this touch did feel foreign. “Is it… is it Copia?”

You heard laughter from the other side of the room, followed by a “Dammit!” from Copia. “It’s me.” Copia pulled up one of the chairs and situated himself between your legs, getting himself ready for the task of making you cum. You felt his hot breath against your centre, erratic little puffs that hit your wet skin as he breathed through his nervousness. He took his time with you, almost as if he was psyching himself up. Copia had fucked before, and he was good at it. But he’d never fucked you. You could imagine that he was nervous because he wanted you to think he was good. And, if you had use of your hands, you’d tangle them in his brown hair and stroke his head gently, reassuringly. But instead, all you had were your little grunts of desperation to softly urge him on.

His moustache was the next thing you felt, tickling against your folds as his mouth made contact with you. The course hairs ran against your sensitivity as his tongue darted out to lap up the juices that were spilling from you. You could feel your hole clenching around nothing, screaming for something to fill it while Copia toyed with your clit, but he made no move to fill you, instead putting more pressure on you with his tongue as he continued to move up and down your slit, until finally he made permanent contact with your clit.

He tightened his tongue to make the tip more pointed to get a precise lick to your clit, swirling around it with his muscle and causing you to cry out in response, fighting against your restraints. His hot breath kept coming out from his nose, heightening your senses and making you hyper aware of just how much of a mess you were as tit hit the wetness seeping from you and making you feel cold. Your nipples were so hard and needing someone to play with them while Copia continued to drink you down like he was dehydrated.

He alternated between using his tongue only and pressing filthy kisses to your folds, practically making out with your cunt to get you off quicker. You could hear the sound of his lips smacking against your body, in between the broad strokes of his tongue he was providing for you. Tiny grunts would escape his lips as he ate you alive, treating you like the most delicious meal he’d ever eaten. His fingertips dug into the flesh of your thighs, keeping you held down as much as he could so he could devour you easily. You could feel your high coming faster than you’d anticipated, or even wanted, but he was working you towards that end so fucking well, you were losing your breath and your mind.

“Copia, fuck!” You screeched, breathlessly. Your nails were scratching against the wood of the table, feeling the gross stickiness from the drinks’ condensation underneath your body, but feeling more filthy and used than disgusted. Your brain reminded you that you weren’t alone, that there were three other men watching this go on with just as much pleasure as you. You wondered if they were touching themselves. If they were watching you writhe with pleasure and stroking their cocks at the sight.

Copia’s lips wrapped entirely around your clit, moustache now soaked from your cunt, and he sucked. Hard. That tongue he used so precisely before was now slapping against your clit again, this time much faster than before. Because of this, the surprise change in pace and pressure, your orgasm hit you so violently, every single one of your nerve endings exploded beneath his touch, and set off a chain reaction around the rest of your body. Your muscles tensed, your breath was snatched from your lungs, your eyes (beneath the blindfold) closed even tighter, and your mouth had hung open in a perfect ‘o’, allowing a strangled moan to leave from your tightened throat that had closed in the strain of your orgasm. All the while, Copia refused to let up, keeping the pressure going even when you were trying to kick him away. He didn’t stop until he was sure your orgasm had subsided. He pressed one final kiss to your clit before he stood up and walked away, leaving you alone and spent on the table, recovering from one of the best orgasms of your life.

“Did that feel good, tesoro?” You head Terzo ask from the other side of the room. No one had approached you yet, meaning you couldn’t gauge whether Terzo was next or not.

Your brain was still scrambled, and you were barely able to manage a “uh-huh,” to respond to him, which earned a chuckle from all four of the men in the corner.

When the laughter died down, you heard more footsteps approaching you, stopping this time at the right side of you. You felt the silk of a robe glide over your bear skin, but as all of the Papa’s robes were made from the same material, you could only rule out Copia at that point.

You jumped in surprise at the feeling of four fingers immediately touching your stomach, rubbing two large, soft circles into the skin just to tease you. Those four fingers broke off as his hands went in two separate directions. The first moved upwards, running up over the mound of your breast, stopping to play with your right nipple - pinching and pulling at the bud just as you liked, and had needed for the past however long they’d been playing with you. The second hand moved downwards, mimicking the actions of the first by pinching and pulling, except this time it was on your clit. He wasn’t as rough with your clit as he was your nipple, given that your were still probably sensitive from your orgasm, but the torture was too fun even if you were suffering a little.

Those fingers that were playing with your cunt slipped inside your hole, immediately curving upwards and hitting that sweet spot that had you singing so beautifully for them. You only had the opportunity to cry out once before you felt the hand on your breast reach up to your neck, and squeeze the sides gently. His fingers were rough, working to hit your g-spot over and over again and make you squirm at his touch, and you felt your body shake with the force of it. The way he was using his hands against you, plus the roughness of them and the pit stop at your breasts made you confident enough to make your second guess.

“S-Secondo?”

Your stomach and heart sank when you heard dark laughter coming from the guys in the corner of the room. Secondo’s gruff voice sounded from far away, loudly speaking over the sound of your wetness squelching as the fingers inside you kept up their pace. “Wrong, amore.” He said, all too happily for you to be comfortable.

You smelled wine and sandalwood when the man leaned down so his mouth was level with your ear. “You’re mine now, tesoro.” Terzo claimed, his voice dark and heavily accented. His words were stretched telling you he was smiling as he spoke, unable to form them correctly. He revelled in the deception, removing his hands from your body and bringing his fingers up to your lips. “Open up for me.” He commanded, and once you obeyed, he put his middle and ring fingers covered in your cunt juices into your mouth. “Clean yourself up. Suck on them like you do my cock.”

You took those fingers into your mouth beautifully, putting on a show for him in hopes that he’d go easy on your body when he took what he wanted from you. A gutteral groan sounded from his mouth as he watched your lips stretch around his thick fingers, tongue grazing along the underside as you cleaned yourself from his digits. You bobbed your head fluidly, like you usually did when you took him in your throat, moaning around him and rubbing your thighs together. He always liked to know he had an affect on you - maybe appeasing his ego would help you out.

He removed his hand from your mouth and you heard him walk to your feet. His hands pried themselves in between your thighs to show your cunt to him like a piece of meat being inspected by a customer. You waited with baited breath as he decided what to do with you, no doubt in your mind that he was staring at your wetness with that glint in his eyes: the one that shows his excitement but could be mistaken for sadism if you didn’t know him. Or maybe they were the same thing. You felt his fingertips trace up and down the inside of your left thigh, before that hand disappeared. With the other on your right ankle keeping your legs spread and the other one missing, you could feel anticipation pool in your stomach.

SLAP.

His hand had come down hard on your cunt, fingers colliding brutally with your sensitive clit and stinging at the connection. You screamed out, body jerking with the attempt to slither away and close your thighs, but Terzo had already got himself between your legs, and there was nothing you could do but take it.

SLAP.

“Terzo!” You screamed, feeling your sensitivity dial up several notches with the second slap.

“Do you need to use your safe word, tesoro?” He asked.

“No.”

“Brava.”

SLAP.

“Want you nice and red for me when I fuck you dumb, tesoro. I told you that earlier.” This time, he rubbed his thick fingers over your clit, soothing the wound he was inflicting. “You’re already dripping enough. I could just slide in now, couldn’t I?”

“Yes, Papa!”

You felt his arms wrap around your thick thighs and pull you towards the edge of the table. The rustle of his fabrics reached your ears telling you he was getting his cock out ready for you. Then you felt it: his heavy girth rubbing up and down your folds in typical Terzo fashion, the head rubbing against your cunt, encased comfortably by your lips. Every now and again, the tip would catch against your opening, and you held you breath for the push in that wouldn’t come until you least expected it. But when he did finally push inside you, your mouth fell open at the stretch. You were so sad you couldn’t watch his face, the look of it as he bottomed out on you always had you tightening around him. You were desperate to see his face crumpled up, showing you he loved being inside you.

“So fucking tight, tesoro.” He commented as soon as he was fully inside. You felt the crown nestle against your cervix, teasing you, reminding you that he was about to ruin you in all the best ways. He left you waiting for his true torture to begin, as you vaguely remembered that the only one who’d be cumming now was him.

He pulled out so his tip was almost entirely out of you, and then slammed back into you. The room echoed with the sound of the table scraping across the floor with the force of it. That sound, combined with your screams and whines, created the perfect symphony to Terzo’s onslaught.

Terzo always knew how to play you like a fiddle, pushing all of your buttons to have you walking beside the Gods. Today was no exception. Your legs had been extended to rest on his chest and over his shoulder, his arms wrapped around your thick thighs for leverage as he thrust all the way into you.

Terzo fucked you like he paid for you, his cock pistoning in and out of your dripping cunt as quickly as he could move, taking only his pleasure from your body. You were lucky with all of your lovers, they were all giving and had just as much fun making you cum as they had doing the same for themselves. But sometimes, when you’d behaved in such a way to earn a punishment, you’d see all three of them be incredibly selfish and just take. Letting them use you like that, given the stark juxtaposition of their regular behaviour, always had you dripping for them, enjoying being nothing more than a living toy - a warm hole to sink into.

You clenched around Terzo’s cock as he fucked you - used you - for his own enjoyment. And, over the sounds you and your body were making, you heard Terzo’s rough voice. “Come here!” He said to someone else in the room. You heard footsteps that stopped beside Terzo. “Wrap your hand around her throat.”

The person obliged, their footsteps ending up by your head and then dropping their hand to your exposed neck. Terzo already had your body bouncing against him, ricocheting against his thrusts every time. The hand, because of this, had a little trouble grabbing onto your body, but eventually he managed it. His fingers and thumb rested against your esophagus and squeezed inwards, not restricting your airflow completely, but just enough to have you feeling the effects. Your mind had almost entirely melted, thinking of nothing other than Terzo’s cock pounding away inside you, hearing your own desperate whimpers as the hand around your pretty little neck heightened your pleasure and sensitivity.

“Who is it, tesoro?” Terzo asked, breathlessly. “Whose hand is that around your pretty little neck?”

The hand loosened enough to allow you to concentrate fully, but still rested on you to remind you of its presence. You had no idea. Not a single thought floated in your head. “Nuh!” You grunted with a particularly rough thrust. You had to guess someone. “P-Primo?”

You heard laughter, then Terzo’s voice cut through your brain. He made the sound of a buzzer, the kind of noise you hear when you get a question wrong. “Fuck her throat, Copia.”

“Fuck!” You exclaimed in irritation, kicking your feet against Terzo’s shoulder, gently.

More laughter sounded.

“Is that okay, ___?” Copia asked.

“Of course.” You replied. He obviously wanted verbal consent, so you gave him just that, hearing him walk towards the crown of your head and adjust himself so his cock was completely free. You were maneuvered so that your head hung off the edge of the table, allowing a completely flat throat, and letting the Cardinal slide into your open mouth easily.

He hissed at the feeling of your tight, wet throat engulfing him with no trouble, thanks to the position you’d been put in. Copia tried to be kind to you, thrusting softly down your throat, and pulling out often to give you some breathing time. But you began to notice that the longer he spent inside you, the more he forgot his manners, and would spend more time fucking you between the breaths he gave you. This would make you clench tighter around Terzo’s cock, in part because your body was reacting to the loss of oxygen, but mostly because the feeling of being so thoroughly used had your mind swimming. Your body loved being degraded - reduced to nothing more than a set of holes to be used at any given time. Besides, you felt like Satanic Tinkerbell - you thrived under as much attention as you could possibly get, and felt like you’d die without it.

“Cazzo!” You heard Terzo grunt. His movements grew more and more erratic the closer he got to cumming. “Look at her throat.”

“Don’t.” Copia hissed again. “If I look, I’ll cum.”

“I can see the outline of his cock down your throat, tesoro. Every time he fucks inside you, I see it.”

You whined around Copia’s cock which spurred him to thrust forward a little more violently than he meant to. He wrapped his hand back around your throat and squeezed, crying out at how much tighter you got. “Oh merda! Oh cazzo!” Copia screeched. And, with no warning and just a strangled grunt, you felt Copia thrust into you one final time before he emptied himself into your throat, hands still wrapped around your throat, but with no pressure to them. He poured so much of himself into you, his body overreacting to his first time inside you. You heard Copia’s disappointed sigh as pulled out leaving you to swallow his load with a slight ache in your throat. You felt a string of your saliva spill onto your cheek, only to get the cloth covering your eyes damp where it settled and got soaked up. pulled out of you, “Wanted to last longer.” Copia commented.

“She tends to have that effect on people.” You heard Primo say. You remembered the first time Primo fucked you, too, and how he also didn’t last as long as he wanted… in fact, it was the same for all of them. You couldn’t help the sense of pride that washed over you reminiscing over that fact. “You gotta build up stamina to enjoy her completely.”

You tightened. Out of all of them, Primo was the kindest towards you - so to hear him talk about you as if you weren’t human did something to you that you should feel ashamed about. But instead it only made you wetter.

“Merda!” Terzo groaned. “Gonna fucking cum into this slutty cunt. You want that, tesoro?”

“I want it!” You begged, breathlessly.

“How much?”

“I w-want you to fill me up so-oh bad, Papa! Fuck. Want y-you to fill me up and…” You cut yourself off, remembering that there were others present.

Terzo spanked your thigh and dropped his voice down to a quiet, husky plea. “Fucking say it. I dare you. Finish that fucking sentence.”

“Want y-you to fill me up and fuck a baby into me. Show everyone who I belong to.”

“You fucking whore!” Terzo exclaimed appreciatively. “Sathanas!” And that was all the warning you got before Terzo also emptied himself into you, cock twitching in over sensitivity as rope after rope shot into your cunt, his fingers digging into your plump calves as he tried to keep himself grounded. His knees were buckling at the force, and you felt his whole body tremble as it fought to keep him upright.

When his orgasm subsided, Terzo pulled out of you, a grunt coupling his unceremonious actions. He gently returned your legs to the table, trying to make sure that you were safe and comfortable again, before fiddling with his clothes. You assumed he’d turned to walk away, which is when you heard Secondo’s voice.

“Nuh-uh!” He scolded, clicking his fingers. You’d seen him scold Terzo before, there was no doubt in your mind that the click was followed by Secondo pointing to the problem. “Clean up your mess before someone else gets in there.”

You imagined Terzo rolling his eyes like a petulant teenager. He pulled up a chair, sat on it, and buried his face in your folds without warning. His tongue delved as deep as it would go, licking his own cum out from your cunt. Where his tongue wouldn’t reach, his fingers did, and every drop of himself was gulped down with attitude. He didn’t care a button for your pleasure this time, purely being down there just to clean you out to be used again. When he had finished, he patted your thigh twice and left you waiting and wanting for the next person.

“Wait,” you said quickly hearing all movement in the room stop, “if I keep my hands to myself, can you untie me? It’s starting to hurt.” The rope was burning against your skin now to the point where you could hardly stand it anymore. And, given that both of your arms were tied behind your back and you were laying on them, your arms felt dead and your back had begun to ache.

“Of course.” Terzo replied without thinking. He turned on his heels and rushed back to the table, his hands on your shoulders. “Sit up for me, tesoro.” He ordered, his voice much more kindly than it had been before. He helped you to sit upright. “That’s it - brava ragazza.” You felt his deft hands working at the rope Secondo had tied, making short work of it given that it was tied well. Once your wrists were free and the rope had been discarded, you felt Terzo’s gentle touch on your wrists, no doubt a little red from the irritation. “Ah, my poor amore.” He pressed his lips to them. “Battle scars, no?”

“So dramatic.” Secondo muttered from the other side of the room.

“I have some hand cream,” Primo said walking towards you, “it’ll be good enough until you get to one of our rooms and can be taken care of properly.”

“Thank you, Papa.” You replied, a soft smile on your face.

You felt Primo and Terzo rub the hand cream into your wrists, their fingers working to moisturise the skin and help repair it as quickly as possible. Primo always kept stuff like this in his pockets - hard boiled sweets included. He was such a grandpa sometimes it made you laugh. Prepared for an apocalypse - you’d tell him that every time he pulled something out of his bag or pocket that would help.

Once they’d finished, Terzo pressed a kiss to your hand and walked away, while Primo rested his hand on the side of your neck, his thumb caressing your cheek as he pulled you in for a sweet kiss, the kind of kiss that had you sighing and leaning into his touch. “You’re doing so good for us, fiorellina.” He praised. “Just a little longer.”

Primo left you alone and everyone watched as you lay back down for them, body splaying out against the wood. Your hands went to the edges of the table, clutching on to try and stop you from grasping onto the next man who took his place between your legs.

Terzo’s voice sounded from across the room. “You have to get this next one correct, tesoro. Or we win.”

“I will. Of course I will, are we kidding?” You responded, determination in your voice.

The room was silent while the next man moved towards you - his footsteps slow and deliberate. His warm breath fanned out over your body, before finally you felt his tongue lave over your body: it ran all over your stomach, your thighs, back up to your breasts where he licked and sucked on your nipple. You moaned at the sensation, your hips bucking upwards as his mouth brought you so much pleasure. You had to resist the urge to clutch onto his head as you usually did whenever someone ran their tongue over your nipples. But that was when you felt it: a second tongue mimicking the patterns on your nipple and replicating it on your clit, pulling another moan from your mouth.

It was obvious that this was Secondo and Primo - although Copia had two chances, you doubt he’d have a third - or even that Terzo would come back for seconds.

“Secondo and P-Primo.” You said quickly.

“Well of course,” Terzo said, matter-of-factly, “but who’s doing what, tesoro?”

You thought you could get away with it, that they’d give you a break and let you have the win - but evidently not. “S-Secondo is - fuck -” you pushed your hips into the man’s mouth who was licking your cunt fervently. “Su-ucking on my clit.” It had to be, this was his style. He wasn’t usually gentle with your body, not when he’d been deprived for as long as he had been.

“And you think Primo is on your breasts?”

“Y-yes.”

“Take off the blindfold.”

You quickly lifted it off your eyes and immediately flinched at the candlelight, despite it being low. You’d been in complete darkness the whole time, it was hardly surprising that you were struggling to see. Your eyes were blurred, and they took a while to completely adjust, but when they did, a wave of relief washed over you. You were right. Your hands immediately flew to Primo and Secondo’s heads, putting pressure on Secondo’s because he was where you needed him the most, but everyone knew that Primo’s ministrations and work on your nipples would have you tipping over the edge in no time.

Primo lifted his mouth off your nipple and attached it to your lips, fingers tweaking the opposite bud in lieu of his tongue. This kiss was just as tender as his first one, filled with such passion you felt yourself grinding on Secondo’s tongue much faster in pure desperation.

“You are doing so well, fiorellina.” Primo echoed his words from earlier, voice low, those words clearly meant for your benefit and your benefit only. “You please us so well. Take everything we give like a good girl.”

“Papa!”

“Do you feel good?”

“Y-Yes!”

“Is my brother doing a good job?”

“Yes!”

“Tell him, fiorellina. Ask him to make you cum.”

“Please!” You begged, your mind so far gone you could hardly stand it anymore. For the first time since you looked down at him, you were able to drink in the sight of the man between your thighs, roughly sucking on your clit and pistoning his fingers in and out of you now like a man on a mission. You could only see the top of his head, given the rest of it was hidden by your cunt. You could only just see the bridge of his nose above your mound, his hands wrapped around your bruised, jiggling thighs, and him looking up at you through his lashes, a scowl on his brow with his determination to tip you over the edge. There was almost a predatory look in his eyes as he sucked you into his mouth, and it made your cunt clench tightly around his fingers.

“Oh fuck, Papa!”You called out to him, your stomach flipping at the sight of him. “Your t-tongue feels so… good. I’m so fucking close. P-please make me cum, Papa-ah! Wanna cum. Wanna cum so-oh I can… I can feel your c-cock deep inside me. Fuck! Just like that. Don’t stop. Please don’t fucking st-op. Yes! Yes! Yes! Yes!”

Secondo had pushed his face further into you, his tongue roving deliciously over your clit every time he sucked on it harshly.

“Cumming!” You announced via scream, your back arching off the table and mouth hanging open in pleasure. Your voice stopped, cut like someone had just turned the sound off but continued to play the video. Your second orgasm was violent, and wet. So very wet. Your vision was the first to go, dark patches swimming over your sight and eyes glazing over and rolling back as drool poured from your open mouth. Your hands cramped where they were clutching onto the table, your desperation forcing them there right as your orgasm hit lest you draw blood from your Papas. Secondo growled into your cunt as you released your cum onto him and the table below, the sound of your squirt hitting the floor as it poured from your body, combined with Secondo sucking it down greedily had your toes curling and your orgasm continuing. It felt like it went on forever, sending electric pulses all over your body until you couldn’t stand it and damn near passed out. All the while, you had Primo in your ear whispering to you; reminding you to breathe, telling you it was okay. You barely registered the fact that his hand was resting on top of yours, fingers bent to completely cover you.

Secondo stood from his place between your thighs and moved to your head to kiss you, letting one of your hands wrap around his neck and pull him closer to you as his mouth engulfed yours. Your other hand, which was still trapped beneath Primo’s, pulled out from its position and also pulled him toward you, breaking your kiss with Secondo so you could kiss Primo just as passionately. You felt Secondo’s fingers traverse the length of your body, before dipping back into your hole. “Mmmf!”You protested, muffled by Primo’s lips. You broke the kiss to look at Secondo. “Please not your hands!”

Secondo smirked. “You want my cock, hm?”

“Yes! Fuck. Please.”

“On your stomach then, amore.”

You climbed off the table before bending over it, letting your body squish against the wood so tantalisingly, you heard appreciative groans coming from everyone in the room. Secondo came back to his original position, and fumbled around with his robes before he positioned his cock at your entrance. You could feel the weight of it against you as he ran it through your folds, gathering your slick to lube himself up. The head of his girth rubbed against your sensitive clit, still twitching from the orgasm he gave you. Each rub caused you to whimper from the sensation, mouth hanging open and brow furrowing in pleasure.

When Secondo finally sank in, the stretch was divine. Secondo was so, incredibly thick and long, he reached depths that you had never felt before. Despite already being fucked once, your cunt was still forced open as though this was the first cock you’d taken in a long, long time. Your hands clutched onto the table again, grasping the edges tightly to ground yourself as you cried out, his own hiss of pleasure echoing in your ears as he, too, felt the effects of your extraordinarily tight pussy. He gave you time to adjust to him and his size once he’d buried himself all the way to the hilt, hands on your ass cheeks, gripping tight enough for the fat to squeeze between his fingers. A string of expletives in Italian fell from his lips, punctuated by a bite to your right hip. He thrust inside tentatively at first, hitting your cervix so deliciously, your eyes rolled back into your head and a delirious smile played on your lips. Secondo kept rocking into you, hitting that spot over and over again, gradually picking up the pace until he was fucking into you at a rough pace - the perfect pace.

Primo stood in front of you, watching your face as you took Secondo’s cock. Your hands unclasped from the table and moved to Primo’s clothed cock, standing to attention underneath his robes, and began to fumble with the fabric to free him. You wanted his cock in your mouth, just as much as you needed Secondo’s. You gave Primo’s cock two strokes at first, staving off the arousal just enough to get him into your mouth without him blowing too soon. Primo was always a delight to give head to - he was always so gentle, so appreciative, hands in your hair and sweet touches, never taking too much unless you were offering it and giving you kind praise as you worked hard to get him to cum.

Your first lick ran from base to tip, causing his toes to curl in his shoes at the pressure. But once you were at his head, you swirled your tongue around it, taking the whole tip in your mouth and sucking like you would taking cake mix off the spoon. You hollowed your cheeks to make a better suction for his head, and relished in the feeling of his hands in your hair, grunts of desperation slipping from his lips. You moved your hands to his hips and silently pulled them forward, sucking more of him into your mouth until that tip was right at the back of your throat, dipping down into your throat. All the while, you looked up at him through your lashes, big, doe eyes maintaining eye contact with him while your lips sinfully stretched around his cock.

“Oh my,” Primo commented, chest heaving from his lack of breath, “look at that. You look so pretty like this, fiorellina.”

He began to gently fuck your throat, pulling out completely to give you the opportunity to breathe, and bending down to kiss you ever now and then, before eventually feeding his cock back into your mouth, and repeating the process all over again.

In the meantime, behind you, Secondo was fixated on the way your cunt swallowed him whole, greedily pulling him back in and clenching down on his shaft as Primo sent those praises to you, and they shot straight down to your hole. You could hear Secondo’s own grunts and groans as he felt this, and just how feral he was becoming the longer he was inside of you. You were feeling so good, you were creaming on his cock, and Secondo couldn’t take his eyes off the juice that had gathered at the base, pulling and snapping with each time he pulled out then slammed back in.

He pushed his hand underneath your body and began to play with your clit again, stealing a moan from your mouth, muffled by Primo’s cock that was buried all the way to the hilt down your throat again. Secondo chuckled at your response, “You like that, amore?” He asked, his tone delightfully condescending, filled with a false sympathy that had goosebumps forming on your skin. “You like taking two cocks at the same time, hm? Like being used by four men in one day?”

“You should have seen the way her eyes lit up just now, fratellino.” Primo said, stroking your hair.

“Her cunt is clenching - I know how much she likes being a whore for us. Listen to her.” True enough, underneath your muffled whines and moans, everyone could hear the sound of Secondo fucking into you, how your wetness splashed around him and made it so, embarrassingly clear just how much you loved this. Secondo laughed again. “Look over at Terzo and the Cardinal, amore.”

You did as Secondo asked, pulling Primo out of your mouth to look at them over your shoulder. Terzo was, as expected, brazen with his thoughts, his cock completely out of his trousers again and his fist wrapped around it, darkened eyes trained on your body as you bounced off Secondo’s cock, and swallowed Primo’s with enthusiasm. Copia, on the other hand, clearly just as affected as Terzo, was still dressed from his earlier encounter with your mouth, but his hand rubbing over his cassock as discreetly as he could manage. You tightened again momentarily, relishing in the fact that you had four men rock hard and desperate to bury themselves in all of your holes.

“You should have seen the Cardinal earlier, tesoro.” Terzo teased. “How eager he was to fuck your throat.”

“Fuck.” You muttered, eyes watching your friend rut into his own hand. at the sight of you getting fucked relentlessly. There was something so incredible about being the centre of everyone’s attention, and the object of all their desires. How a man who you’d never even seen in a sexual light before, and you were sure hadn’t thought of you in one, was now trying to cum for a second time at the thought of you. “M-my hands are - fuck! Papa! - My hands a-are free.” You hinted, before taking Primo back into your mouth and curling your hands into loose fists, creating two new holes for Terzo and Copia to use at their pleasure. Of course, they leaped forward, and before you knew it both of their cocks had been spat on, then slid into your fists, and began fucking your hands as they would your cunt.

You were stuffed full, almost every hole imaginable filled with the cocks of the highest members of the clergy, at the mercy of the Emeritus brothers as they had their wicked ways with you. The rigorous snaps of Secondo’s hips had you bouncing along the table, meaning Primo could stand still and you’d take his cock completely hands free, with Secondo doing all the work.

From your peripherals, you watched as Copia used your hand, his own resting on the table as though he were too shy to touch you, despite wrapping his digits around your throat and making your airways tighter for him to fuck as he pleased. Terzo, however, a man used to being deep inside you and taking his pleasure from your body, had leaned over and landed a few, stinging slaps to your ass, watching as it jiggled with both the force of his hits and the backshots Secondo was giving you. That same hand he put in his mouth - his pinkie to be precise - salivated all over it, and then began to rub it over the rim of your ass, making you jump in surprise. And then, when you’d relaxed to his touch, he inserted the tip into your twitching hole, only down to the mid knuckle, but that combined with Secondo still playing with your clit had you tipping over into your third orgasm, body tensing and cunt fluttering around his cock.

Primo had pulled out, allowing you to breathe through it, crouching down and wrapping his own hand around his cock, stroking himself furiously. “That’s it, fiorellina. Cum for us. You’re doing so well for us. Such a good girl. Ah! Sathanas! I’m close.”

When you came back to your senses, you fixated your eyes on Primo’s desperately moving hand, willing it back into your mouth, but Primo wasn’t having it.

His voice dropped to a whisper so only you could hear him. “Can I cum, fiorellina?”

Unable to speak through your exhaustion, you nodded.

“Close your eyes for me.” He ordered.

You did as you were told, and mere seconds later you heard Primo groan and then his cum landing on your flushed cheek, nose, and upper lip.

“Oh, fuck! Look at her now!” You heard Terzo say, in awe of your fucked out state, covered in cum. “Shit, me too!” He pulled out from your fist and stood where Primo once was, stroking himself until completion over your face, groaning as the first rope of cum shot out and landed on your forehead. It dripped down onto your cheek, joining the first load of cum, along with hitting your nose.

It didn’t take much longer for Secondo’s orgasm to hit him, his thrusts becoming sloppy and fast until he buried himself as deep as he could inside you, falling onto your plush body as rope after rope spilled in your tight, wet heat. His hands were gripping onto your flesh so hard, you were sure he was going to leave bruises, bruises you were excited to see for days after so you could remember what happened on your first game night with the boys.

Copia was the last one to cum, his own stamina keeping him going just as was promised by Primo earlier. But even still, a few more thrusts and he was done, his own cum joining Primo and Terzo’s on your face but this time it hit your mouth and chin, dripping onto the floor when the load was too big to stick to your skin.

You all sat there for a moment, catching your breaths from the intensity of the evening. Primo, as predicted, was exhausted and making a joke about how his old body couldn’t keep up to everyone. Terzo had picked up that same cloth that was on your eyes earlier and used it to wipe the copious amounts of cum that had painted your face; the first thing you saw when you opened your eyes was a look of disgust on his face as he finished cleaning you up as much as he could. “You did so well for us, tesoro.” He said, his voice low and warm. “I would kiss you but…”

You laughed, “I understand.”

“Grazie.”

“I still won, though.” You announced, smugly. You yelped when you felt Secondo spank your ass.

“Alright then, champion.” He said. “Let’s get you properly cleaned up.”

Secondo helped you get your habit back on once he had pulled out of you, and let you lean on him as you walked. Your legs were like jelly from both the position you were in and from the three orgasms the men had put you through. You bade each of them a good night before Secondo pulled you to his room, running you a bath upon arrival. As the water filled the tub, he stripped you naked again and had you sit on the edge, a damp, soapy cloth in his hands using it to properly wash your face, and clean you of any cum Terzo hadn’t managed to get. “You let us be too rough for you, amore.” He gently scolded you, watching as your face reddened beneath the warm water.

“It’s nothing I don’t enjoy, Papa.” You retorted, equally as soft. “I’d use my safeword if I didn’t. You know it makes me feel good when you use me. I feel better the more animalistic you get.”

“I don’t think we talked about the reason why before.”

“It’s the fact that you want me so much, you revert back to primal instincts and take me fiercely. Like you’re staking your claim.” Your thighs squirmed at the thought.

“You didn’t get enough just now, amore?” Secondo asked, clocking your body’s response. He knelt down and spread your legs, watching your labia part and wetness seep out again. He frowned. “Your poor pussy took such a beating - she’s so red.”

“She can take more, Papa.”

He looked up at you darkly. “You want your Papa to fuck you again? Fill you up with another load of cum, hm? You’re that desperate for cock you want your Papa to fill you again even though you’ve just taken four?”

“Please, Papa.” You whispered, feeling your nipples harden with arousal.

He licked a stripe up your cunt, from your hole to your clit and had you jumping. “In the tub then, puttana. Let me claim you properly.”

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[michelle-is-writing]

Concussions, Greg House

Word count: 1.7k~

Warnings: mentions of vomit, concussion, hospital rooms.

Arguing with your boss is one of the worst things you can do with your boss. For my boyfriend of almost a year, it was nothing new. Plus, in Greg's mind, there were worse things one could do with their time. Like argue with me, his girlfriend - that was much worse than arguing with his boss, according to him.

Still, that didn't mean that he could always get away with arguing with his boss. Especially around Christmas time when the hours were needed and he just so happened to be an asshole. Anyone could figure out why I was upset when he told me he was unable to get Christmas Day off. He just had to be rude to Cuddy the day before he asked, and because of it, we both have to suffer.

Despite him promising to call me almost every hour, I still felt lonely when it came to Christmas Day. I woke up without the love of my life beside me, and I'll be alone until he gets home around nine in the evening. When Cuddy told him she couldn't give up the hours, he was especially rude in response, therefore earning more hours to work that day.

Right now it's around eleven in the morning, and even though I've put on a Christmas movie and made myself hot cocoa, I still feel sad. I have no one to spend this great day with, and it sucks. Maybe a nice walk outside will help me feel better. It's cold and snowing, but I can always wear a heavy coat and boots - no biggie. Besides, I may even see a pair of cardinals flying through the white sky like a holiday card straight from the hallmark section, and it would make the weather all the worth it.

Slipping on my fuzzy black boots that Greg got me at the beginning of our relationship, I throw on my fleece coat before heading out front. The lights strung on everyone's apartment are lit up, and the people that have their Christmas trees in front of their windows have them lit up as well. The green and red bulbs are a nice contrast to the white snow that fills every window sill and yard, making it look almost like a floating blanket on all the little segments of grass. It's such a beautiful sight to see, but it makes me miss Greg even more. He's always pessimistic, but even he would be happy with the looks of everything.

Stepping off the steps and onto the pavement, I take a few steps forward, only to look up and see a pair of cardinals flying above me just like I wanted. I marvel at the beautiful red shade of the male next to the equally beautiful olive colored female floating next to it. When they find their mates, a pair of cardinals can never be separated as they are mated for life. The idea of such a thing makes you smile, but the idea of finding your own true mate? It feels nearly impossible.

I seem to find the cardinals very distracting as the next thing I see is the pure white sky above me as I feel myself slip, my arms and legs flailing to grab onto something as I fall backward. However, they don't, and I end up landing on my back with my head colliding against the ice I slipped on. Everything happens so fast that I barely recognize the pain rushing to my cranium or mine and Greg's elderly neighbor rushing toward me as concerned words flow out of her mouth. Despite wanting to respond, I can't, and instead, my eyes close as I feel myself slip into a vast sea on unconsciousness.

It isn't until I finally wake up once again that I register the pounding pain in the back of my head. It nearly makes my eyes roll back, but before I can even do that, I quickly lean over the edge of the surface I'm lying on and feel the contents of my stomach empty. I soon feel a pair of hands gently pull my hair back as I do so, my eyes clearing up enough to watch a nurse’s legs in purple scrubs quickly push a trash can in front of me to finish vomiting into. However, it doesn't take long before I’m done and I almost fall back onto the slightly stiff surface I'm on, a damp cloth wiping at my mouth once I do so. Flashing my eyes throughout the room, I recognize the bright fluorescent lights above me as ones used in a hospital room and the surface I'm on is one of the uncomfortable beds in a hospital room. Great.

Turning my eyes over to the source of the hand holding the wet cloth, I find it to be the man I've been wanting to see all morning, a worried look etched onto his face. I want to fling myself in his arms and hug him, but my almost drunken haze prohibits me from doing so. Instead, I languidly smile and tiredly reach a hand up toward him, to which he takes in his own hand with a small smile.

"How in the hell," he begins, his voice taking over the almost stuffy noise in my ears. Gently running his thumb against the back of my hand, he takes the damp rag away from my face before tossing it onto the lid of the biohazard bin a few feet away. "Did you get yourself a grade two concussion just by walking outside?"

"I didn't mean to," I defend myself, trying to sit up a little, despite the deep pounding in my head. Greg helps me, but not before pushing my head back against the pillows to angle my face upward. "I just wanted to go for a small walk, and see some cardinals maybe! I did, by the way, and man, were they beautiful."

"You seem to be doing better than I thought," Greg points out, hovering over me to look into my eyes with a flash light. "No confusion or seemingly dizziness," he lists off. "You just seem fatigued and dazed, which is to be expected. The good news is you don't have memory loss."

"Who are you again?" I quickly throw at him, earning a downcast face with a frown. I immediately laugh at his reaction while reaching up to take his face in my hands, but his hands catch mine before they're even halfway there. I really am tired.

"I would say you're also having some psychological disturbances, but it's nothing different from usual," Greg jokes back, making me laugh again. At this, he smiles, but continues on. "How bad is your head pain?"

"Compared to the constant headache you give me, it's nothing," I tell him, once again, earning an eye roll in response. I know he's wanting to throw playful insults back at me, but he's trying to keep the moment as serious as he can. Don't get me wrong, I understand how severe my situation is, but I just can't help but take the chance to banter with Greg like he usually does with me.

With a sigh, Greg sits back in the armchair beside my hospital bed before taking something out of his pocket. "You just had to hit your head so you could end up in the hospital with me today," Greg chides, holding the rectangular box in his hand as he stares at it. "I guess irony plays a huge part in life's never ending game of... slipping and falling on ice!"

With his sarcastic comment, Greg pushes the box toward me as I smile at him, my hand reaching out to take the box from him. "Open it," Greg tells me, scooting his chair beside me to be closer to my bed. Doing as he says, I shakily unwrap the green ribbon from the box before slightly struggling to open it, my hands trembling from being asleep for so long.

With the maroon velvet box now open, I gasp upon seeing the diamond tennis bracelet shining back at me with the bright hospital room lights causing each beautiful crystal to sparkle like a thousand pieces of glitter. "Oh my God, Greg," I mutter, my eyes flashing over to him beside me. "This is... beyond gorgeous."

Smiling, Greg lifts one of his hands to brush my hair away from my face before using the other to take the bracelet out of the box and secure it around my wrist. "Merry Christmas," He tells me, leaning over to kiss my cheek. "I thought you would like this."

"I-I love it, Greg," I tell him, looking over at him with a frown. "But I don't have my gift for you! They're at the apartment and-and I wanted to give it to you so bad-"

Greg cuts me off from my rambling, an almost flabbergasted expression washing over his face. "Are you kidding?" He sarcastically asks me, reaching over to take my now diamond covered hand in his. "You ending up in the hospital with me is possibly the best thing you could do today, as morbid as it sounds," Crinkling my face at him with amusement, I shake my head at his demented words as he continues on. "This means I don't have to do what Cuddy says and stay in here with you and watch I Love Lucy."

Just as he says this, Greg takes the remote from the side table and turns the TV on, flipping through the channels before finding the show mentioned seconds earlier. Glancing away from our intertwined hands, I smile at Greg as he turns to look back at me as well. "I love you, Greg," I tell him, receiving a smile back before he leans over once more and presses a kiss to my cheek.

Sitting back in his chair, Greg keeps my hand in his as we both look over to the TV and watch as Lucy banters with Ricky just as Greg and I did moments ago. At this, I smile and ignore the pain in my head as I enjoy the positives of today despite being in a hospital. My loving partner beside me, a beautiful diamond bracelet on my wrist, and I Love Lucy reruns on the TV in front of us. As long as I'm with Greg, it doesn't matter where I spend my Christmas - just as long as he's by my side, I'll be fine.

[theastrohub]

2024 Paris Olympics: the astrology of a gold medalist and star athlete.

disclaimer: I am not glorifying struggle or pain in any way shape or form. these are @astrobaeza's personal opinions and observations.

✦ mars in first house / mars dominant / capricorn mars : a first house mars or being mars dominant makes for someone who is openly energetic, driven, passionate, and physically vital. mars is exalted in capricorn, making for someone who naturally has a lot of drive and energy and physical strength.

✦ mars in fire sign + mars in fire house (1st, 5th, 9th) : (1st covered above) Mars in the 5th house gives someone a lot of energy and passion related to hobbies and fun, including something like sports. similar to mars in first or aries, it makes for someone who has a lot of energy. the fire houses give drive and energy, as they are good houses for your mars: mars in the 1st adds aries qualities, mars in the 5th adds Leo qualities, and mars in the 9th adds Sagittarius qualities.

✦ mutable placements, especially sun and rising (gemini, pisces, sagittarius) : makes for adaptability, agility, resilience, ease in things like training for improvement. can perform well in a variety of sports. there is an ease of embracing new techniques, training methods, and other strategies for performance enhancement. fast learning and integration of teachings. strong communication skills that builds interpersonal relationships prevalent in athletics like athlete to coach, athlete to athlete, referee to athlete and so forth. for example, both Suni Lee and Simone Biles are Pisces suns and gemini moons.

✦ 12h placements : 12th house placements makes for someone with ease in the foundational things of being an athlete like recovery and healing, mental resilience, strong intuition and decision-making skills and focus. this also makes for someone that has a spiritual drive to succeed, seeing athletics as their calling in life. for example, muhammad ali, the pro-boxer, was known for his spiritual teachings and dedication towards the islamic faith. this is why you will see a lot of very spiritual and religious athletes, athletes that openly renounce "their God" when they win.

✦ mars pluto positive aspects : almost like having a scorpio mars, this makes for someone with a powerful drive to compete and win. can translate to having stores of energy ready for use at any given moment, strong intuition for quick decision-making, and a strong desire for improvement and transformation. this also makes for an athlete that can positively impact others / be a role-model through their own hard work.

✦ personal planets in aquarius and the 11th house : makes for a good team-mate and someone with a strong understanding of how groups work. someone who's well-liked by the public, could make for a strong "team captain", pointguard, QB, etc. the 11th house also indicates long-term goals and gains, and being a professional athlete takes pretty much a lifetime of dedication and practice. this could also make for someone who can be ahead of trends in the athletics-adjacent matters like team image and bonding routines.

✦ positive 6th house placements : the sixth house pertains to daily routines, work and physical health. a well-placed and aspected personal planet(s) makes for someone who excels in activities that require discipline and routine like athletics.

✦ cardinal t-squares : the integration of "tension" or "difficulties" in the natal chart through planetary aspects can make for someone with a unique skill set appropriate for athleticism: determination, ability to overcome obstacles, diligence, endurance, mental fortitude, and emotional strength.

:჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻:჻჻:჻:჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻჻:჻჻:

[ credits @astrobaeza ₊ PAIDSERVICES ₊ masterlist ₊ tips ₊ gif by @buffyann23 ]

[juanarc-thethird]

I am proud of my body! #2

Continuation of this nonsense. -----------

It's a new day and Jaune stands outside his classroom door. He can hear that all his classmates have already arrived at class. But after what happened yesterday he's nervous. What will they say about him when they see him? Will they make fun of him? Will they treat him badly? A thousand thoughts ran through his mind. But within all that negativity a phrase his grandfather used to tell him resonated within him. "Dignity always prevails."

Gathering his courage and holding his head high, he enters the classroom. At that moment everyone falls silent and turns to look at him. Without losing confidence, he walks to his seat next to Pyrrha. She looked a little flushed and hadn't looked in his direction since yesterday.

Jaune: (It must have been embarrassing to have a partner go through such humiliation)

He told himself.

In the case of Nora and Ren, they still treated him the same. But he could feel like they were figuratively "walking on mines" when they talked to him. But it's better than nothing.

Above his sit Ruby was sleeping while waiting for the teacher. Next to her was the rest of her team. Weiss watching him closely. He turns to look at her and she immediately looks away. It would be a lie to say that this didn't affect Jaune, but he resisted. Yang and Blake on the other side can't seem to stop taking glances at him, especially his lower area.

Moments after sitting down, the others in the classroom began to whisper among themselves without taking their eyes off him. Some looked annoyed, while others giggled at something they said. The conversation continued and continued, the stares wouldn't leave him alone. Jaune felt like he had a target on his back. So he decided to do something.

*Slam!*

He stands up quickly, slamming both palms of his hand on the table to get attention. He walks over to the teacher's desk, looks at everyone with a brave look, and speaks.

Jaune: I know many of you saw what happened to me yesterday. So rather than let you talk behind my back, I'll save you the time.

Jaune takes a deep breath and looks around at the class. They all seem to be paying close attention to him, as if they're curious? No no no, Jaune shakes his head. Why would they be so interested in that? He must be reading the atmosphere wrong.

Jaune: Yesterday Cardin pulled down my pants. Showing everyone my… *Ahem*.. my little Jaune.

Classmate: HA!

One of his classmates all the way in the back laughs, and immediately shuts up.

Jaune: I know my size is not like the rest. I was always embarrassed going into the gym showers here with the other guys after training because of that. I mean, how many people have you know whose penis size is only 9 inches long?

Yang: Damn!

Yang yells quickly in surprise.

Jaune: Well... A-Anyways, I'm proud of my...

At that moment he is interrupted by one of his classmates who raised her hand.

Classmate: I have a question?

Jaune: A question? To be honest, I didn't expect to answer any questions. But okay, what's your question?

Classmate: Is that measurement when flaccid or erect?

Jaune: Um... flaccid.

Classsmate: Follow up question. When erect, is it bigger? And by how much?

Jaune: Well… it's a little bigger… I'd say about 10 to almost 11 inches.

Yang: DAMN!!

Yang yells again but this time in astonishment.

After sharing the information, people began to talk amongst themselves about it. There were so many people talking at the same time that Jaune couldn't understand what they were saying. But he knew he had to regain control of the conversation. So he raised his voice.

Jaune: Anyway! Now you know. I'm proud of my body and I wouldn't change it for anything. And if someone could tell the teacher that I'm not feeling well, I'd appreciate it.

He walks towards the exit, leaving the classroom. For a moment the class was silent until Ruby spoke.

Ruby: *Wakes up and looks around* What did I miss?

[jogetsobsessed]

Always an Angel - Paul Lahote

Ok, I've been obsessed with the lyric “Always an angel, never a god for a few days now. I don't know why all of a sudden but it's been all I can think about. I know there are a bunch of literal interpretations but I look at it as a version of “always the bridesmaid, never the bride”, always the side character, never the main character. So I hope this comes across how I want it to lol. 

Also, the timeline is kinda messed up in this, just live in ignorant bliss and ignore it pls, and thank you!

---------

Always the option, never the priority. 

Always the bridesmaid, never the bride. 

Always the lover, never the loved. 

Always the fighter, never the fought for. 

Always an angel, never a god. 

------------

You were used to being sidelined, looked right through. 

No matter what you were doing, or who you were with, you were never the main focus. 

Growing up boys never spared you a glance, your best friends being the main targets for their glances and flirty remarks. You were never the one asked to dance, always the one asked to hold a friend's purse or bag. If the car was full on the way to get ice cream, you were always the one that was going to be left out. You never learned inside jokes and standing alone at parties, you didn't even know why you went, it's not like anyone would notice if you left anyway. 

At night when you would break and confide in the one person you knew truly loved you she would always question why you remained friends with the people that caused you so much pain. And through your blubbering, you would look at her like she was crazy. Explain to your mother that it must have been too long since she was a teenager. Because that's not how it works. Living in a small town the pool of potential friends is small, and having friends that treat you horribly is better than having no friends at all. 

You would apologize to her years later, after maturing, and realizing that the remarks you directed towards her were uncalled for. The anger you threw her way was misguided and unfair. She didn't deserve the way that you treated her. 

When Bella Swan moved to town you thought everything was going to change. She was from a big city, you didn't know much about Phoenix but you knew they probably didn't harbor the same small-town mindset that Forks did. 

She had no clue who you were. She didn't know the unspoken reputation that hung above your head like a storm cloud. 

And at first, you were right. 

The two of you became friends quickly, Bella taking a liking to your quiet demeanor, such a drastic change from Jessica and her goons. 

Your friendship appeared surface-level, to everyone but the two of you. In school, you both kept to yourselves and didn't talk much, even to each other. You would drag her along with you when you gathered the strength to hang out with your old friends. But you didn't do that often, seeing as they saw her as a shiny new toy and didn't treat her as a second-class citizen. 

But after school the two of you would talk, your friendship would come alive in the comfort of your own homes, and you two would look like actual teenage girls and not two seventeen-year-olds who should be on the highest dose of Lexapro. 

She was the first person that you saw as a true friend, that was until she committed, in your opinion, a cardinal sin. 

Bella had gone off the deep end and you hadn't seen her in days. But that was normal, she would spiral, skip school, and then show up as if nothing happened. So you weren't concerned, sent her a few texts checking up on her and getting one-word responses back. Then the following Monday came around. You were waiting by your truck, lazily twirling your hair, eyes glazed over as you dissociated waiting for the bell to ring. 

But amid your dissociation, you were pulled back to reality when a shiny black Volvo came to a screeching halt a row over. You knew who drove the expensive car so you tried to be as nonchalant as possible as you peered over your shoulder to get a good look at the owner. 

You wished you hadn't. 

Because getting out of the passenger seat was the person that you considered your best friend. Your best friend was sitting in the passenger seat of the car of the guy you had a crush on since he arrived at Forks High School. 

She knew about your long-standing crush on Edward, she was the only person other than your mother who you had told. It came tumbling off your tongue one late night about a month after she had arrived in town. And you had sworn her to secrecy, begging her to never tell another soul. 

But now it seemed to not matter, she had broken your trust and your heart. 

------------------

The next year drug on. With Bella being completely infatuated with Edward you were left to crawl back to your old friends. They accepted you with barely open arms, reluctantly saving you a seat at the lunch table, sometimes sending you the location for Friday night activities. 

When the Cullen clan abruptly left Forks Bella did to you exactly what you had done to your friends months earlier. Part of you didn't know why, but you let her back in, although this time keeping her at an arm's length away, never fully trusting her, 

Eventually, however, Edward came back. First making his appearance walking hand in hand with Bella in the dreadful hallways of Forks High School after she had disappeared yet again for a few days with not even a courtesy text. 

This time seeing them together didn't feel like a hot knife was piercing your skin. How could it, you no longer felt the same that you had for Edward. Because he had proven himself to be just like everyone else. He made you feel invisible. 

------------

The heat of late spring had arrived and you took in all the warmth that you could as you walked down the small rocky path to the mailbox. Graduation had come and gone and you found yourself in isolation. The people you had forced yourself to be friends with in high school no longer mattered. You didn't have to play the uncertain game of high school politics anymore. Starting university was on the horizon and while you dreaded leaving the comfort of home you were excited, this was going to be your chance to reinvent yourself. You were no longer going to be the person no one cared to look towards. 

Pulling out the various envelopes you felt your heart stop beating when the light lilac envelope was pulled to the front. You knew what it was, you didn't even have to open it. But you did, ripping it open, praying that you hadn't torn apart the coveted invitation. Sure enough in bold letters, you read “Edward Anthony Masen Cullen and Isabella Marie Swan request your presence…”. 

The phone call with Bella that night was awkward. You haven't talked much since graduation but she assured you that she wanted you to be at the wedding. You had wanted to push and ask her why she was rushing to get married. I mean you along with everyone else knew that they had only known each other for a year and hadn't been dating for the entirety of said year. But she sounded happy, the happiest she had ever seemed. So you didn't say anything, instead prying for details about the impending nuptials. 

-------------

Thousands of flowers cascaded down creating a custom perfume in the air. Your eyes darted between the bunches of wisteria and sweet peas and you were in awe. The wedding had snuck up on you. So much had happened over the summer leaving you feeling unprepared to start school in the fall. Leaving you to make one of the hardest choices that you had ever made, deferring your acceptance into your top school to the following fall quarter. 

So when you got a reminder on your phone that read “Bella and Edward wedding tmr” you were at a loss for words. I mean you had everything you physically needed, a dress, a present, the right pair of shoes. But you had forgotten one important thing, a date. 

It wasn't going to be the first time you had shown up to an event without one, but it was probably going to feel the most embarrassing. 

So here you were, standing next to your group of “friends'' from high school as they gossiped about the possibility of Bella being pregnant. “What do you think?”Erik asked you, giving your arm a soft nudge with his. “I don't know guys '. Jessica of course had a counter, pointing out that out of the group you were the closest with her. Luckily before you had to come up with an excuse of why you didn't know for certain the music began, signaling that it was time for everyone to turn their attention to the altar. 

A few tears managed to slip down your cheeks as you watched your sometimes best friend say “I do”. In that moment all the turbulent times the two of you experienced didn't matter. You were just happy to be in the presence of two people who were madly in love and confessing it to each other, permanently sealing their love with a dramatic kiss. 

The reception area was decorated equally as beautiful. You were grateful that Bella, or more likely Alice had set you close to the dance floor. That way you could watch people without feeling like a total loser, hanging out in the corner by yourself. At least this way you could still enjoy the happiness of the other guests without feeling the gross amount of body heat from the dancing bodies. 

The ice was melting quickly in your lemonade, the night had not been rewarded with a cool late summer breeze so you were appreciative of the cool drink. The night had seemingly been going according to plan. Your ‘friends’ had migrated to another table across the dance floor with the excuse of wanting to talk to some of the other guests, but they had not returned in almost two hours so you were holding your breath. 

Mentally you were planning your escape plan, glancing at your watch. Waiting for an acceptable time to leave, not too early into the night but not too late that you were leaving only minutes before the bride and groom's big exit. As you granted yourself yet another glance at the heirloom watch you wore and looked back up a gasp unwillingly left your lips. 

The mystery man, who looked almost familiar, chuckled at your surprised look. Confidently he took the empty seat next to yours, turning his body to give you his full attention. “May I help you”, you didn't recognize your own words, your tone was a bit rude and you didn't even give him a second to introduce himself after she sat. 

“I’m Paul Lahote”. 

Once he gave his name to you your eyes moved up to meet him and the electric shock that you felt in your veins almost felt real. There was no doubt blush forming on every inch of your face and you were praying that the low light of the Edison bulbs did a good job at protecting some of your dignity. You gave him your name, barely squeaking out your last name. 

Things like this didn't happen to you. A man that looked like him didn't talk to you. A part of you wondered if Jessica or someone like her had already turned him down, because let's face it, you were always the option but never the priority. 

“I think you should share a dance with me, no pretty girl like you should be sitting alone at a wedding”. The flare in your cheeks was visible now, you were sure of it. No matter how low the light was you could have sworn a red glow was emitting from your body, like an accusing halo. 

“Paul…you don't have to dance with me, I was just getting ready to leave”. Gathering your belongings as you begin to stand up. “No!”. He said, eyebrows raising to the top of his forehead once he realized how loud he exclaimed. Sheepishly he looked around offering small smiles as an apology to a few of the guests who looked at him like he had three heads. 

“Please, I noticed you when I walked in before the ceremony and I haven't been able to shake you from my eyeline all night. I don’t think I can take no for an answer”. 

The fact that your heart was still caged behind your chest was an act of god. Because at this point it should have flown away due to how hard it was beating. You were at a loss for words. The thought that someone was putting you first, taking interest in you was unbearable. And you were crumbling at his gaze. 

His outstretched hand found yours that you slowly had begun to uncurl from against your body. Swiftly he whisked you out onto the dance floor, pulling your body flush to his. 

Clumsily your feat matched his falling into routine with his steps, your body swaying in unison to the light melody. He hummed along softly to the quiet music as he kept a firm grip on you, almost like he was afraid to let you go. 

The song ended and awkwardly you looked around not knowing what to do. Paul however looked happy as can be, letting go of your hand but keeping the one on your lower back in place. He led you back to the table where you had spent most of the night, pulling out your chair before you could even react. You thanked him as you sunk into the back of the chair trying to ground yourself. 

“Man, I feel like the luckiest guy here at this whole damn wedding I got to dance with the prettiest guest of them all”. He said matter-of-factly triumphantly, taking a sip out of the glass he abandoned when he first approached your table. You scoffed, there was no way he was being for real, the alcohol had to have been getting to him now if he was saying such an untrue statement. 

“I think you've had enough”. Your voice was shy and your eyes barely peeked through your almost closed eyelids. The embarrassment you hadn't felt earlier had returned and you were suddenly hyper-conscious of everything happening around you. 

“Doll this stuff doesn't make me feel anything, you, however, are making me feel alive for the first time”. His drink was abandoned yet again as he scooted his chair closer, invading your bubble, and causing you to squirm under his gaze yet again. 

“Paul, I'm flattered but again I think your choices are impaired. There's no way you feel anything like that for me”. 

Paul was out of his chair before you could continue your babbling, cutting you off by capturing your lips in his. 

After he pulled back for air his forehead rested against yours, the two of you matching your breathing. You were yet again at a loss for words, kissing the hottest boy at your best friend's wedding was not on this year's bingo card. But as per usual it seems Paul had the perfect thing to say, “My angel forgive me if this is forward, but l you need to let me love you, I have a feeling that you're gonna be stuck with me for a long time”.

[damianstarastrology]

Synastry aspects: Personal planets

When someone’s Mercury closely conjuncts your moon (no more than 2-3 degrees apart) the connection is instantaneous and familiar. You feel like you have known this person for years upon for meeting.

When mercury is closely conjunct venus the relationship is flirty. In mutable fire Sagittarius the relationship is inspiring and spontaneous; in cardinal earth Capricorn the connection is serious and long lasting; in fixed air Aquarius there is a foundation of mutual interests/hobbies.

When your moon sextiles their mars, the attraction is palpable to you and to those around. In a cardinal fire fixed air connection the natives might remain flirty friends for years before becoming serious to others surprise.

When the sun is conjunct the moon the relationship is an important one in both people’s lives; the sun sees the moon as a source of emotionsl nourishment and the moon seeks to build the sun up. The problem with this contact arises when the sun takes on a dominating, superior role in the connection placing themselves above the moon subconsciously.

When the moon and the sun are squaring one another you get on each other’s nerves. The sun sees themselves as knowing better than the moon, the moon sees the sun as immature and indecisive

A mars and venus opposition is like When Harry met Sally; a mars/venus square is like Bella swan and edward cullen — I love you, I hate you, Go away, Please stay

When the sun conjuncts mars, the sun builds up mars, mars motivates the sun. Not an inherently romantic aspect

[fatehbaz]

British ships carrying plants and seeds from around the world arrived in Botany Bay on January 20 1788. This story is overshadowed by convict ships and Royal Navy vessels, but the cargo on board also had a lasting impact. Colonists, convicts and Indigenous Australians were all affected [...]. Some of these plants [...] were food sources [...]. Others were attempts to expand the British Empire. Could the new territory be exploited as a tropical plantation? In the parliamentary debate over destinations for convict transportation [considering potential locations for sending prisoners], Sir Joseph Banks and James Matra, both members of James Cook’s 1770 expedition [to the South Pacific], spruiked the potential of the new colony as an extension of the empire. Matra claimed the colony was “fitted for production” of “sugar-cane, tea, coffee, silk, cotton, indigo and tobacco”. Banks claimed Botany Bay was an “advantageous” site, with fertile soil [...].

Two plants carried by the First Fleet stand out as examples of botanical imperialism: prickly pear cactus (Opuntia) and sugarcane.

Banks, as head of the Royal Society of London [and as a close adviser to King George, and also as a plant-collecting botanist who turned the Royal Botanic Gardens at Kew in London into the world's leading botanical garden], selected these species as experiments to compete with European trade rivals. His goal was to break a Spanish monopoly in producing fabric dye and to expand British cultivation of sugar outside the West Indies.

Prickly pear cactus was imported because it is the preferred food of the cochineal insect.

Dried cochineal were crushed to make a vibrant, colourfast scarlet dye for textiles. Discovered in the New World by Spanish colonists, cochineal replaced kermes, another insect that had provided red dye since antiquity. Cochineal dye was ten times stronger than kermes or vegetable dyes.

From cardinals’ capes to British officers’ red coats, cochineal was a product for elite consumers signifying power, wealth and prestige.

New Spain, based in Mexico, had a monopoly on cochineal. Banks wanted to break the stranglehold on the scarlet dye by establishing production in New South Wales.

Plants infested with the precious insects were imported from Brazil in 1788. The project soon failed when the cochineal died, but the cacti survived. Colonists used cacti as natural fences and drought-resistant animal fodder.

Without insects to feed on them the plants spread, uncontrolled, to cover more than 60 million acres of eastern Australia by the 1920s. Poison, crushing and fire failed to stop the cactus. [...] Opuntia cacti remain an environmental hazard. [...] The roots of these early imperial projects are deeply embedded in Australian culture and history, with an enduring legacy.

---

All text above by: Garritt C. Van Dyk. "The botanical imperialism of weeds and crops: how alien plant species on the First Fleet changed Australia". The Conversation. 25 January 2024. [Some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Italicized text within brackets added by me for clarity and context.

[inhuman-onhuman]

[*] Applicable to all nonhumans/alterhumans- otherkith, systems, voidpunk, etc.!

[**] Not when you found out about the terms. But when you first started to relate to things other than humans

My own experience (feel free to share your own in the comments/reblogs! id love to see it!):

Ever since I was young, I almost only consumed content about inhuman things. Robots, zombies, animals, nature… you name it. Warriors Cats, Transformers, My Little Pony, basically anything David Attenborough was in.

When I watched Pokemon as a kid; I didn’t want to be a trainer, I wanted to be a Pokemon. When I read about animals from the books in the library; I mimicked what they did, imagining myself as a cardinal flying through the trees or a serval stalking through the grasslands. A sundew curling around its prey, a werewolf’s painful transformation.

And well, I always had an active imagination. When I was in elementary school and preschool, you weren’t allowed to go back inside during recess if you were cold. So I just sorta taught myself how to perceive things differently! I could make my body warmer just by thinking of it. Then, later I could manifest the feeling of wings, animalistic legs, sharper teeth, horns… yeah.

This definitely led to where I am now. A both spiritual and psychological connection to who I am deep down. I am human, yes. But over a lifetime of being unable to relate to others led me to find kinship in unlikely places.

[jyeshindra]

MARS, SCORPIO, & ARIES

Mars: Ambition, drive, power, courage, instincts, anger, passion

Aries & Scorpio (Pluto)

Both are ambitious, driven people. Motivated by goals and desires. They want to take action and are independent people. Do not easily obey or submit to others. Passionate people and can be spiritual as well. They can both resist temptation and focus in on what they want.

Solitary people. Mars likes to operate on its own. Undisturbed and un-influenced. Can be loners or they just like to lead the pack. Both positions are lonely.

They both have excellent instinct and trust their natural talents. They have a strong sense of self built on their accomplishments. They are hard-working and can put their noses to the grindstone!

Scorpio is more subtle and reserved (yin/water) but ultimately has more stability and focus (fixed). Scorpio studies, analyzes, processes, interprets, understands. Pluto is the destroyer, so Scorpio has a lot of concentrated power. If Aries is a cannonball, Scorpio is a laser. 

Scorpio has more endurance (Scorpion). They can weather a lot of different situations and will defend themselves if they have to. But this won’t be their first response (yin). They’ll likely figure you out first, pinpoint your weaknesses, and keep their head above water. But best believe, they know what buttons to push and how to hit where it hurts. Cold people, ruthless at times. More feminine-leaning Scorpios can display this easily. Spiteful people, can hold a grudge if they really are emotionally invested. Eye for an eye kind of people. They will linger emotionally in situations and fester. 

Scorpio’s expression of Mars + Pluto creates this desiring nature. This kind of speaks to a Scorpio theme which is suffering. Scorpio can have a relationship with desire where it is extremes of grasping and staying away. Hot and cold hot and cold. Never satisfied. They are (yin) so they need something to fill them. Something to warm them up. They like to hold onto things. Some Scorpios can be indulgent (Taurus/Venus opposition) but it’s more like Scorpio will indulge their feelings. If they really want something and they’re fixated on it, they will indulge that desire. 

Aries on the other hand can be more dynamic and bold (Fire/Cardinal). They like to explore, try different things, and make progress towards what it is they have set their sights on. Aries is not like Scorpio in terms of endurance. They can burn out more quickly, get frustrated, quit, or just throw themselves at the same wall repeatedly. 

Aries is the baby (Ram/Lamb) of the zodiac so there is this theme of maturation with Aries. They need to master themselves and their abundant fiery energy. Scorpio is more likely to have the introspection available to understand their motivations and why they do things. Aries can be like this as well, but they can also be childish in their approach to matters.

Overestimating their abilities, underestimating their abilities, biting off more than they can chew, taking on too much at once. Their Martian energy wants to do, do, do, do, do, and it’s firing on all cylinders.

On the other hand, because Aries is so dynamic, their Martian energy is geared towards leadership (cardinal). Where they go, other people tend to follow or mimic. Something about their nature (fire) is infectious and inspiring. Their Martian energy manifests as a light for others to follow through the challenges they face.

Aries clears the path (cardinal) and breaks down walls. As it matures, it learns to focus its energy and apply itself in the right ways. It picks the positions that are suited for it. It does not only think of itself, it thinks of others too.

Scorpio learns to balance their control and surrender. They learn to investigate themselves and kill off the parts of them they no longer need. Ultimately, Scorpio achieves an inner peace and builds their inner security so there is no need to fixate or obsess. They channel that focused energy on the things that give back to them. On what makes them emotionally content.

Both energies are incredibly inspiring though, Scorpio + Aries. These people can bear a lot and are fierce protectors of the people they love. Aries may be more demonstrative (yang) while Scorpio will be subtle and quiet in their affections (yin).

[batfambrainrotbeloved]

The Drakes Spoiled Brat has reached Chapter FIFTEEN!!!! (wooaaahhh!! crowd cheers, confetti, monster truck revving, bald eagle scream, etc)

Easy easy yall- I get it, but go enjoy your soup while its hot and pipping!!! :)

Name: As above Rating: General Audiences Chapter: 15/?? Word count: 90,470k Relationships: Batfam + Extended DC friends/fam (now including minor past Dick/Babs and Roy/Jason)

Summary: Canon Timeline, Red Robin died alone long after his family fell apart with Bruce vanishing. His last moments wishing that out of everyone he saved, his family would be included.

Suprise suprise- he gets that chance when he wakes up at 5 y/o only a year after Robin made his debute.

Now as both the elusive Gotham Vigilante Cardinal (a bird of devotion) and Timothy Drake (his rich asshole persona version of Brucie Wayne)

Tim will fight tooth and nail for his families happily ever after (If only he fought as hard for his own happiness)

Go read :)

[da-rulah]

"oh, and my love, did i mistake you as a sign from god?" from sleep token's the summoning >:33 could i rq cardinal copia?? sfw / nsfw idm just wherever your creativity takes u!! <33

This song gives me all the vibes. And for Cardinal Copia, this is what I got out of it. I'm sorry if it's not your thing but I couldn't think of anything else that fit this lyric better... This got a little kinky😈

NSFW 18+, MDNI! Cardinal Copia x f!reader

TW: dom/sub dynamic (f dom), dominatrix, control, power play, ropes/bondage, cum play, emotions and soft domination.

Copia's neck was starting to hurt, his head bowed down and staring at the stone floors of the chapel beneath his knees. His hands remained behind his back, arms tied from his elbows to his wrists in red shibari ropes.

But he knew he wasn't allowed to look up. Not yet.

He heard your heels on the stone, and naturally his body tensed in welcome anticipation. He'd waited patiently for you to come back to the chapel after stripping him down, tying his arms and instructing him to stay put while you'd gone to slip into something more comfortable. Of course, making him wait was all part of it; to make him uncomfortable, antsy, nervous.

You came to stand in front of him, stepping between his spread knees to make sure he could see the heels you'd put on. He'd be getting more acquainted with them soon...

He was already painfully hard, his mind racing as fast as his heart thinking of all the things you might do to him, that you'd done to him in the past. He could never get enough of you, like a drug he was terminally addicted to. You would be the death of him...

But this was his release. His job was so demanding, so stressful and he had to be the authoritarian he was crafted into as a Cardinal. All of that went out the window during playtime with you... He could let go, let someone else take charge for him and literally beat the tension out of him if that's what he needed. But there was a complication...

He was becoming too obsessed with you. You were the most beautiful woman in the world to him, the perfect mix of cruel dominatrix and soft lover. He kept finding excuses to be around you day to day, just to catch glimpses of you if that was all he could get. Other times, he'd specifically call for your assistance on a task, just to spend time with you. He knew this was purely transactional on both sides and yet, he was falling into a trap...

"You haven't moved, have you?" your voice sounded so assertive, particularly in the stone setting of the chapel - which you'd locked up for tonight so as not to be interrupted. This was a fantasy of his, to be overruled in the one place he was supposed to have the most command. Lucifer would certainly approve.

"No, ma'am," he confirmed, his voice quaking a little.

"Good." You lifted one of your feet, placing it flat onto his thigh and gently applying pressure with your stiletto hell. Copia winced, but his cock twitched between his legs, precum dripping to the stone floor.

And of course, you noticed.

"You're making a mess, Cardinal. Maybe you should clean that up, hm?" It was a rhetorical question, more of an order than a suggestion. And he knew how you worked by now. You stepped backwards and watched with a smirk as he shuffled backwards, dipping his body down without the use of his hands to keep him steady. His face hovered above the stone floor, his tongue darting out to lick at the mess like a cat lapping at a saucer full of milk.

You were very pleased with the Cardinal's progress from your first session together. He'd never been outright defiant, more like inexperienced. Not at sex - far from it - but at letting go, and understanding what you were asking of him without being direct. He'd come leaps and bounds since then.

"Such a good boy," you praised as he finished, still never looking up at you. You hadn't given him permission yet...

You stepped back a few paces, up the first step in front of the pulpit. "Come here."

He walked on his knees towards you, wincing at the pain and stopping short of the step, too awkward to lift his knees but he had a feeling you wanted him beneath you.

Slowly, you raised your heel again, this time lifting his chin with the toe and allowing him to look up at you. His eyes travelled the length of your leg, dreamily observing the stockings you wore for him, held up by suspenders that sat over a stunning black lace bodysuit. He took in every curve, slowly marvelling as saliva pooled in his mouth until finally, he looked up to see your stunning face, beautifully lit in the candlelight and framed by the incredibly intricate stained glass windows behind you.

You were like an oil painting, more beautiful than if Michelangelo himself had painted you. And with the backdrop behind you illustrating his fantasy playing out, it was sending him spiralling.

To him, you were a damn succubus... A demon sent for him and him alone to tempt and defile. He'd allow you anything you wanted from him, follow any command.

"Forgive me for speaking out of turn..." You straightened up at the sound of his voice, glaring down at him. You hadn't given him permission to speak, nor asked him a question that warranted an answer. But you were intrigued...

He'd never spoke out of turn before and frankly, you were curious to see what was so important that he must tell you and suffer the consequences of disobedience.

"You have never look so bewitching... I-I'm all yours, body and soul."

Your eyes widened, taken aback completely. Of all the things you expected, that absolutely was not one of them. You had no smart retort, nothing to say in response at all. Instead, you did something you had never done before, crossing a boundary you set when terms were agreed upon on day one.

You crouched in front of him, meeting his eyes. You could see the fear in them, almost regret as he swallowed his fear and readied himself for the inevitable punishment for speaking without permission. But instead, you moved some of his hair away from his face with gentle touches, then tilted his chin up a little to make it easier to plant your lips to his.

Kissing was a big no-no. You shouldn't have done it, but you felt so drawn to him, compelled to give him a part of you like he just had.

He didn't hesitate to kiss you back, quickly overcoming his shock in favour of savouring something he was sure you would probably never do again. It ignited something within you, a fire raging in your body. You couldn't help escalating it, your kisses turning desperate. Copia wanted nothing more than to hold you close to him, to pull you into him and take you on the chapel floor with an equal balance of power; even if it were just for one night...

But his hands were still tied, and you had a scene to play out. He was sure you'd snap out of it soon and punish him harder than you ever had. Perhaps you'd call this whole thing off, and he'd never get to be with you again. The thought terrified him.

You pulled back from the kiss, your hands wrapped around the back of his neck and forehead pressed to his. You sighed, twirling your fingertips in the locks of hair at the nape of his neck. It was growing out - you liked that.

"Copia..." you breathed, chuckling softly at the absurdity of the situation you found yourself in. Feelings were never supposed to factor into this, but you'd be lying if you tried to tell yourself there wasn't something there. "We should talk," you whispered, finally meeting his eyes.

"Maybe another time, when I'm not kneeling at your feet with my arms tied behind me?" he laughed quietly, shy and unsure of himself.

"Oh, of course..." you moved to untie the ropes behind him, but eh stopped you. "N-no... Please," he begged, "I need this. I-I... don't want you to stop."

You stopped fiddling with the knot, resting your palms on his shoulders and searching his face for any sign that he wasn't sure about this. But there was nothing but pleading; he still wanted this, and so did you. This was as much of a release for you as it was for him. There was plenty of time to talk later.

"Whatever you need," you curled your finger under his chin, lightly tilting it up as a gentle re-introduction into the scene. "Now... do not speak again until you are asked to. Understand?"

He nodded, knowing better than to verbally respond.

The scene in the Chapel continued, but neither of you could deny the little extra softness in your dominance that night. You were more careful with him, less brutal. Still lording over him as he wished, still assertive and clearly in power.

But your harsh persona had turned into something softer, slower in every move you made. Copia couldn't help but be even more in awe of you, watching you take control of him in such a delicate way that felt more fuelled by passion than anything you'd ever done together before.

He was more sure now than ever that you had been moulded in the image of the darkest, most beautiful goddess.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Kinktober Day 2 - Caning

Cardinal Primo x GN!Reader

Cardinal Primo is always far too hard on himself, but sometimes he needs a break. Sometimes he needs you to be hard on him, too.

Masterlist ⛧ Kinktober 2024 Masterlist

Words: 4.5k.

Reading Time: 18 min.

Warnings: blood, caning, dom/sub dynamic, flagellation, impact play, masturbation, praise kink, self-flagellation,

Taglist: @akayuki56 @alien-the-ghost @amazing-bobinsky @angellayercake @anonymous-appreciation @babydestinyinfluencer @bitchywitchygardener @blossomsea @call-me-little-sunshine84 @copiaspet622 @copiasslut @cosmixxdust @da-rulah @dolceterzo @dopey-fandom-girl @faithisyours @ghoulishxdelights @high-above-the-city @howlingco @inkstainedrat @kaijukimchi @kenken-the-shoggoth @ledger-kaos @magopi @megachaoticstupid @meliza1001 @miss-leto @mommy-dust @neganwifey25-blog @piaart @saintbowie @shycardinale @sisterof-sin @sodoswitchimage @the-did-i-ask @xiyingly @zombiesnips-blog

🔞 MDNI 🔞

Recommended listening: Take Me Back To Eden - Sleep Token

The first sound to greet you as you stepped into the dimly lit chapel was a series of grunts, echoing off the cold stone walls and reverberating deep within your ears. The heavy breaths that followed were punctuated by sharp intakes, each noise tinged with an unmistakable pain that clawed at your heart.

Curiosity propelled you forward, your head peeking around the corner. The sight that met your gaze was both haunting and mesmerising. Cardinal Primo knelt on the unforgiving stone floor, his torso bare and glistening with sweat. His left hand propped him up, trembling under the weight of his self-imposed penance. Blood trickled from open welts marring his back, testament to the punishment inflicted by the cane clutched tightly in his right hand—a stark symbol of self-flagellation.

Sweat beaded on his brow, cascading down his face in rivulets that blurred the lines of his paints, giving the impression of black tears streaking down his skin. Each mark on his back spoke volumes of his struggle; you could easily believe he had shed real tears at some point, the rawness of his wounds suggesting a depth of suffering that went beyond the physical.

Primo had always been relentlessly hard on himself, a man who believed he must bear the weight of his mistakes alone. The Ministry, a construct of mercy rather than judgment, had never mandated such punishments. Yet, remnants of a past steeped in the shadows of the False God lingered, twisting the beliefs of those who still sought redemption through pain. For Primo, these rituals had become a cruel necessity, a ritual of remorse that broke your heart each time you bore witness.

He straightened his posture, exhaling a shaky breath as he swung the cane with renewed vigour, allowing it to strike his body with brutal force. Another grunt escaped him, the impact driving him forward into that same three-pointed stance, a position of both agony and resolve. It was a strange paradox—the desperate sounds he made stirred something within you, igniting a heat that spread through your core, awakening desires you never knew existed. The sheen of sweat glistening on his skin, mingled with the crimson droplets of blood, created a visceral tableau that left you breathless and yearning.

You couldn’t help but sigh, the sound cutting through the air like a whisper of acknowledgment. His gaze snapped to you, wide and startled. “I… didn’t hear you… come in,” he panted, his breaths labored, each word a testament to the toll of his actions.

“I’m not surprised,” you replied, trying to keep your tone lighthearted, a stark contrast to the heavy atmosphere. You stepped closer and took a seat in the pew just behind him, granting yourself a front-row seat to his torment. “With all that noise you were making, I can hardly believe I’m the only one who dared to step inside to witness this.”

As you settled into the pew, the air grew heavy with tension, each breath you took charged with an unspoken electricity. Cardinal Primo steadied himself, the grip on his cane tightening as he drew a deep breath, a moment of silence hanging between you like a fragile thread.

Then, with a swift, deliberate motion, he swung the cane again, the sound of wood connecting with skin echoing through the chapel. The sharp crack resonated like a thunderclap, followed by a low grunt that escaped his lips, the force of the impact causing him to falter forward once more. The sight was visceral, his body wracked with the effort, and your heart raced at the rawness of it all.

Each strike seemed to peel back layers of his stoicism, revealing a deeper pain that resonated within you. You watched as the blood welled up from the new wound, trickling down his back in crimson rivulets, contrasting starkly against his pale skin. The visceral act stirred something primal within you, a mix of empathy and an inexplicable desire that made your breath hitch.

He straightened again, sweat glistening on his brow, and for a moment, your eyes locked. In that fleeting connection, you sensed the weight of his struggles, the burden he bore not just for himself but for the ideals he represented. You wanted to reach out, to pull him from this cycle of self-destruction, but the intensity of the moment held you captive.

Primo inhaled sharply, his chest rising and falling like a storm-tossed sea. It was then you realized that each swing of the cane wasn’t merely a punishment; it was a desperate plea for absolution, a yearning for a release that seemed perpetually out of reach. And yet, watching him, you felt a strange awakening, an urge to understand the depths of his suffering, to explore the fine line between pain and redemption that he walked so precariously.

“Why do you do this?” you finally dared to ask, your voice barely above a whisper, as though breaking the silence would shatter the fragile spell that had ensnared you both.

Primo had spent the morning in the council chambers of the Ministry, where heated debates raged over the direction the faith should take. He had been tasked with mediating discussions between factions that were increasingly at odds, each side clinging fiercely to their interpretations of doctrine. The weight of the responsibility bore heavily on him, a constant reminder of the expectations placed upon his shoulders.

That day, in the midst of the arguments, a slip of his tongue had ignited a fierce backlash. He had misquoted a sacred text, an error that had caused an uproar among the devout. Whispers of doubt spread like wildfire, and he felt the gaze of his peers turn cold, their judgment piercing through him. The feeling of failure washed over him, drowning out the voices of support that tried to remind him of his worth.

The aftermath of the meeting lingered in his mind like a dark cloud. He replayed the moment over and over, consumed by shame. To him, the only way to atone for his perceived failure was to seek redemption through pain. It was a twisted form of penance, one he believed would appease the higher powers he sought to serve, including the vengeful shadows of his own fears and doubts.

In his mind, he thought of Satan as a force of truth, a harsh but necessary guide. To stand before such a power without scars seemed unfathomable. So, in a desperate attempt to cleanse himself of the perceived sin of incompetence, he turned to self-flagellation, believing that suffering would somehow restore his honor and reaffirm his commitment to the faith.

As you watched him now, each strike of the cane was both a physical act and a spiritual one—a ritual designed to wash away the stain of his mistake and prove his worthiness, even if it meant courting the darkness he feared. In that moment, you understood that his desire for redemption was not just for the sake of the Ministry but for his own fractured spirit, striving to reclaim a sense of purpose in a world that felt increasingly chaotic.

You nodded in understanding as he recounted the events that had pushed him to this desperate act of penance. The weight of his words hung heavily in the air, and you felt the tension crackle between you. The next swing of the cane sliced through the silence, the sharp crack reverberating against the stone walls, followed by a grunt that echoed with both pain and resolve.

Your thighs tightened.

You seized the moment to speak, your voice steady yet soft, cutting through the haze of his suffering. “The Dark Lord is more merciful than this,” you said, letting your words sink in. “Suffering is for the followers of the light, the children of the False God. And, He’d want you to feel the pleasure in the pain, at least.”

Primo paused, the cane hanging limply at his side, his breath hitching as he absorbed your words. A flicker of confusion crossed his face, battling with the internal struggle that raged within him. The idea seemed foreign, almost blasphemous, yet a part of him hesitated, yearning for a glimmer of relief from the relentless cycle of pain he had subjected himself to.

“Pleasure?” he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper, laden with doubt. “How can I indulge in anything but punishment when I’ve failed?”

You leaned forward slightly, your eyes locking onto his, willing him to see the truth in your perspective. “Redemption doesn’t solely lie in pain, Primo. It’s in the balance, in embracing both light and dark. The Dark Lord doesn’t seek to break you; He seeks to mold you. Embracing pleasure doesn’t diminish your devotion—it enhances it, allowing you to rise stronger from your trials.”

As the words left your lips, you noticed a subtle shift in his posture. The rigidness began to melt away, if only slightly, as the weight of his self-imposed burden wavered under the promise of something more. In that moment, you saw the flicker of hope ignite in his eyes, a yearning to reclaim not just his honour, but the joy of living, even amidst the shadows.

Almost quietly, and with a small smile, he responded, “I should have known you’d come for your pound of flesh.” His gaze lingered on you, a mixture of challenge and vulnerability in his eyes. The statement hung in the air, charged with a tension that sent a shiver down your spine.

You met his gaze, a slow smile playing at the corners of your lips. “Perhaps I have,” you replied, your voice low and sultry, deliberately teasing the edge of his discomfort. You stood and walked over to him, hooking your index finger below his chin. His eyes were wide, pupils blown out. He looked somehow innocent in all of this. “Perhaps I’ve been sent here to do His bidding.”

“It would be a great pleasure to be punished by you.”

He placed the cane in both of his hands and held it up to you, like a knight offering a sword to his queen. The cane trembled slightly in his hands as he offered it to you, his eyes locked onto yours with a mixture of reverence and desire. His lips parted as though he were about to speak, but no words came—only the quiet, charged silence between you. Trust radiated from him, unspoken yet undeniable, but instead of taking the cane, you chose a different path.

Slowly, deliberately, you sank to your knees before him, the movement commanding his attention. His breath hitched as he watched, every inch of you now level with the vulnerability he tried so hard to suppress. The tension between you was electric, a palpable pulse of need and anticipation. You let your hand slide behind his neck, the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips sending a jolt through you both.

Without breaking eye contact, you pulled him toward you, and the kiss that followed was anything but gentle. It was desperate, hungry, and raw—a collision of longing and pent-up emotion that neither of you could hold back any longer. His lips crashed against yours, warm and insistent, as if he were trying to lose himself in the intensity of the moment, seeking solace in the heat of your touch.

A soft groan escaped him as your mouths moved together, your fingers tangling in his damp hair. His hands, once so steady, gripped your arms with a fervor that matched the wild beat of his heart. You could feel the tension in his body, every muscle taut as though he were on the verge of breaking. His kiss was filled with everything he had been holding back—months, perhaps years, of isolation, of denying himself any comfort beyond the sting of his cane.

You deepened the kiss, the passion between you intensifying as you pressed closer. His breath came in ragged gasps between kisses, each one more desperate than the last, as if he were afraid to let go, afraid that the moment would slip through his fingers if he didn’t cling to it. To you.

Your bodies moved in sync, lips parting, tongues intertwining, with the Cardinal fully submitting to you with nary a fight left in him. The taste of him—sweat, salt, and something deeper, more primal—ignited a fire in you, your desire burning hotter with every passing second. He kissed you like you were his salvation, his escape from the torment he inflicted upon himself.

When you finally pulled back, both of you were breathless, lips swollen, your foreheads pressed together as the intensity of what had just passed settled between you. His chest rose and fell heavily, and his eyes, dark with need, searched yours, pleading for something more than what his punishment could offer. “Let me make you feel good,” you panted, resting your forehead against his. “Let me help you.”

“Y-yes,” Primo stammered. The feelings in his chest were threatening to overwhelm him if he didn’t keep himself in check.

You locked your lips to his again, allowing the kiss to return to the same heat it was before. As your tongue entered his mouth, you travelled your hand down from his neck, across the sweaty expanse of his hairy chest and soft stomach, and onto his clothed crotch, earning a gasp from his lips as you made contact. Gently, you began to stroke over him, his limp cock beginning to stand to attention at your touch. You were like a magician with the way you touched him, playing with the right spots to make it feel so fucking good so early on. He was wrapped around your little finger, his body answered only your call. Tonight, you were going to help him in more ways than one.

Flagellation had never felt like this before, neither had pleasure, if Primo was being honest. He wasn’t fully hard yet, but the dull humming of pain on his back mixed with your hand on his core had given him a whole new religious experience. Satan’s wrath at his back, His mercy at his front - and it felt incredible. He never wanted it to stop.

You broke the kiss once more, making him whine in response. “Do you still want me to cane you?”

“Sathanas - please. Please.”

Primo’s begging was delicious. You let your fingers trail along the waistband of his trousers, teasing the skin beneath, but you didn’t give him what he wanted. Not yet. “You’ll get your punishment,” you promised, your voice dark with promise. “But tonight, Primo, it’s going to feel like a blessing.”

His breath caught, his body trembling at the weight of your words, and you could see it in his eyes—he was ready to be yours, to give in to the dark, twisted pleasure that only you could provide.

Slowly, you trailed your hand down from his waistband, brushing your fingers over the growing hardness between his legs. He gasped, his hips bucking slightly into your touch, but you kept your movements slow and deliberate, keeping him teetering on the edge of pleasure without giving him the release he so desperately craved.

“Tell me, Primo,” you murmured, your fingers ghosting over his cock in featherlight strokes. “Do you want more pain? Or more pleasure?” You kissed the edge of his jaw as you spoke, your breath hot against his skin, every word a temptation he couldn’t resist.

His eyes fluttered shut as a low moan escaped him, the mix of pain from his earlier flagellation and the pleasure of your touch driving him to the brink. “Both,” he finally breathed, his voice trembling. “I need both.”

You smiled against his skin, satisfied with his answer. “Good,” you whispered, before pulling back slightly, your eyes locking onto his. “Then let’s begin.”

You reached for the cane, still gripped in his trembling hands, and pried it from his grasp, your fingers brushing his as you took it from him. His eyes followed your movements, wide and filled with anticipation, as you stood before him, the wooden cane held firmly in your hand.

“Remove your trousers,” you commanded, looking down at him with hooded eyes. Primo obliged immediately, scrambling off the floor to obey you as quickly as possible. He was fully hard now, cock red and aching, and pleading to be touched once more. The sight of it made your mouth water.

“Touch yourself,” you continued, “slowly.”

Primo spat in his hand and wrapped it around his head, softy and slowly twisting as he began to fuck himself in front of you. He was needy. Desperate. Wanting.

You raised the cane slightly and brought it down in a swift, sharp strike against his thigh—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to make him gasp. The combination of the pain and his touch made his entire body tremble, the contrast pushing him into a deeper submission.

His moan was low, guttural, and you could tell that he was already starting to lose himself in the mix of pleasure and pain. “Do you like that?” you asked, your voice teasing, as you leaned down to brush your lips against his.

“Yes,” he gasped, his voice hoarse and breathless. “More… please…”

You smiled against his mouth and delivered another, harder strike, this time to his other thigh. His reaction was immediate, his back arching as he let out a strangled cry, the cane in your hand and the desire in your touch working together to pull him deeper into submission.

“Good boy,” you purred, pressing your palm harder against his now throbbing cock as a reward. “You’re doing so well.”

His entire body seemed to melt at your words, his mind surrendering completely to your control. The pain, the pleasure—it all blurred together for him now, each sensation heightened by the other, until he was nothing but a trembling mess beneath you.

“Where do you want the pain now, Primo?”

“B-back. My back.”

You grinned at his trembling voice, watching as he begged for more, his body a quivering mass of need and submission. His cock was slick with his own spit, his hand slowly twisting and stroking, but the desperation in his eyes told you he was aching for something more—something only you could give him.

With a teasing hum, you moved behind him, the cane still firmly gripped in your hand. His back was already marked with the remnants of his self-inflicted punishment, the red welts standing out against his pale skin, but you knew he craved your touch—the combination of pain and pleasure only you could deliver.

“You want the pain on your back, do you?” you purred, running the tip of the cane lightly over his shoulders. His muscles tensed beneath your touch, his body quivering with anticipation. “Are you sure, Primo? I can make it hurt so good, but you have to ask for it.”

“Please,” he gasped, his voice ragged. “P-please, punish me.”

The sound of him begging for it, so willing, so eager, made your heart race. You raised the cane, hesitating for just a moment to let him feel the anticipation, before bringing it down sharply across his shoulders. His body jolted, a guttural moan escaping his lips as the pain radiated through him, but you could tell by the way he arched into the blow that he wanted—no, needed—more.

Without giving him a chance to recover, you brought the cane down again, striking a bit harder this time, the sound of the impact echoing in the chapel. His back arched once more, his hand faltering for just a moment on his cock as the pain overwhelmed him.

“You take it so well,” you cooed, stepping closer to press your body against his. You let your free hand trail over his heated skin, feeling the way his muscles quivered beneath your fingertips. “Do you want more, Primo?”

“Yes,” he groaned, his voice shaking. “More… please…”

You delivered another strike, the force sending a tremor through his entire body. His back was now a canvas of red, each mark a testament to his submission, and yet he still begged for more.

“Keep touching yourself,” you ordered, your voice firm but seductive. “Don’t stop. Go faster.”

He obeyed, his hand moving over his cock in quick, desperate strokes as you continued to bring the cane down on his back, each blow making him cry out in a perfect blend of pain and pleasure. His moans grew louder, more frantic, and you could see that he was close, his body trembling on the edge of release.

You leaned down, your lips brushing his ear as you whispered, “You can come, Primo, but only when I tell you. Understand?”

“Yes,” he gasped, his voice strained. “Please… let me come…”

You smiled wickedly, your hand ghosting over the welts on his back before delivering one final, hard strike. His entire body jolted forward, hips now doing most of the work as continued to fuck his hand as hard as he needed, a choked cry escaping him when he tried to hold back, his cock throbbing in his hand.

“Not yet,” you teased, your voice dripping with control. “Not until I say.”

He whimpered beneath you, his body trembling with the effort of holding back, but he obeyed, desperate for your approval, desperate for the release only you could grant.

“You were doing this for the Dark Lord’s forgiveness, weren’t you, Cardinal?” You taunted from behind as you landed another painful blow. You watched as the blood bloomed from the fresh wound.

“Y-yes!”

“Keep fucking that hand, Cardinal, but beg for His forgiveness. Beg Satan and He might grand you pleasure.”

Primo gasped, the sting of the blow igniting a fire within him. “Satan,” he cried out, his voice trembling with desperation. “I—I beg for Your f-forgiveness! I’ve sinned - fuck! And I seek Your mercy. Please… gra-ant me pleasure in my suffering!”

Each word spilled from his lips with a fervour that only deepened his submission, the mix of pain and longing pushing him further into the depths of his desire. “I’ll do any… anything for Your grace,” he continued, his hand moving faster against his cock. “Mmmm… fucking Hell! Please, please, please, let me f-feel Your love through this pain!”

His voice grew more frantic with each plea, the raw vulnerability of his words sending shivers through him. He was completely lost, teetering on the edge, surrendering himself to the dark power he both feared and craved.

You felt a tingling in your body, all over it, in fact. You could feel a breath shoot down your spine from your ear, as if someone had just whispered into it. The smell of sulfur filled your nostrils and left you convinced. You leaned down again, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “He has granted you his mercy. come for us, Primo,” you whispered, your voice a soft command, then a final blow to his back.

With a guttural moan, Primo finally let go, his body convulsing with the intensity of his orgasm as he spilled onto the stone floor, pooling just in front of his knees, his back arching beneath the weight of the pleasure and pain you had given him. He gasped for air, his entire body shaking as he rode the wave of his release, his mind and body completely yours.

You smiled down at him, watching as he collapsed to the floor, spent and trembling, his breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps.

“Good boy,” you murmured, your voice soothing now as you knelt beside him, running your fingers gently over his sweat-slicked hair. “You did so well.”

Primo’s eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, he looked at you with something close to reverence. He had given himself over to you completely, and you had taken him to the edge and back again. Now, he was yours—body and soul.

As you helped Primo to his feet, he leaned against you, his body still trembling from the intensity of what had just transpired. You helped him back into his trousers - not before using the pant leg to clean up his mess, which earned you a weakened chuckle from him. The chapel, with its cold stone walls, faded from your mind as you guided him outside, the night air wrapping around you both like a comforting embrace, swirling around his wounds and making him hiss and tense in response.

Once you reached your place, you settled him gently onto the soft bed, the contrast of the plush sheets against his still-sensitized skin making him shiver. You took a moment to admire him—his body marked with red welts, a testament to his surrender and bravery. “You did so well tonight, Cardinal,” you said softly, your voice filled with warmth. “You were incredible.”

Primo looked up at you, his eyes filled with a mix of gratitude and vulnerability, and you could see how much your praise meant to him. You moved to gather some supplies—a damp cloth, antiseptic, and a soothing ointment—to care for his wounds. As you returned, you knelt beside the bed, taking a moment to let your fingers gently trace the marks on his back.

“Every scar tells a story,” you murmured, meeting his gaze. “And tonight, you showed just how strong you are. I’m proud of you for getting His forgiveness, but I don’t want you to do this again, please. Not as a punishment. I’ll draw blood from you if you want but nothing justifies this as a genuine punishment.”

He sighed softly, the tension in his body beginning to ease as you cleaned the wounds with gentle, careful movements. Each brush of your fingers against his skin elicited soft gasps from him, and you could see the way he surrendered to your touch, allowing you to take care of him.

“Such a good boy,” you praised again, applying the ointment with tenderness.

Primo’s cheeks flushed at your words, and you couldn’t help but smile. He seemed to glow under your attention, his vulnerabilities transforming into strengths. “You’re beautiful, you know that?” you added, leaning closer to press a soft kiss on his shoulder. “Inside and out.”

As you finished tending to his wounds, you took a moment to let your hands linger on his skin, relishing the connection between you. “You deserve to feel safe, to be cared for,” you whispered, your gaze steady on his. “And I’ll always be here to take care of you, Primo.”

He nodded slowly, the weight of your words sinking in. “Thank you,” he breathed, his voice a soft whisper filled with emotion. “For everything.”

You smiled at him, feeling a swell of warmth in your chest. “No need to thank me. It’s my pleasure to care for you. You’ve given me so much already, and I want to give you the same in return.”

As you settled in beside him, the atmosphere shifted—filled with tenderness and a deep sense of understanding. In that moment, you knew you would protect him, nurture him, and help him explore the delicate balance between pain and pleasure, both in and out of the shadows.

Prev./Next

[beefcakekinard]

[<-<- part one] [<- part two] ~ ~ ~ [part four ->]

Buck makes it maybe five minutes before he gets the urge to look something up.

"Absolutely not," Tommy says, snatching Buck's phone out of his hands. Buck makes to grab it back, but Tommy pins him with one arm around his waist and holds it out of reach with the other. "You picked the movie, Evan, Google can wait."

"I was going to go on Wikipedia," Buck scoffs, because there's a difference. "Google-"

"Google is useless these days, I know." Tommy slips Buck's phone into the back pocket of his own sweats and rearranges them, spreading out more along the couch and pulling Buck on top of himself. "Enjoy the movie, Evan."

Buck sighs, loudly, pretending to be put-upon, but he really can't complain. It's still a little novel, being able to just spread himself out on top of Tommy like this. He settles more as Tommy starts dragging his fingertips up and down his spine, just like he had been when Buck woke up. It's so comfortable, so familiar, so Tommy. The movie continues on - background noise, almost, with the way Tommy always pulls his focus without even trying.

With a jolt, Buck pulls himself from the edge of consciousness. Tommy squeezes his shoulder and Buck just wishes he'd run his fingers along his back again. Buck opens his mouth to complain, but he stops short with a choked laugh when he notices what's happening on screen.

"Christ," he coughs out. "I wasn't expecting to see my parents in this movie."

Tommy laughs above him. "That WASP-y silence hits too close to home, huh?"

"Hey, you said it, not me." Buck says. He nuzzles at Tommy's belly and watches as the scene changes again. Tommy shifts under him, which for Tommy standards counts as restless. Buck doesn't want to commit the cardinal sin of asking him about it while the movie's still playing, but it turns out he doesn't have to wait.

"I always-" Tommy starts, a few minutes later. He clears his throat. A few too many awkward seconds pass.

"What's that?" Buck asks.

"I always..." Tommy sighs. "I wanted a family like this. They're loud and crazy, but they love each other. They have - in jokes, and they support each other, where it matters." Tommy's hand squeezes Buck's shoulder. "I really... I just always wondered what that was like."

Buck curls his hand around the dip in Tommy's waist, right above his hip. "Me too," he admits. "It - I know the way we grew up is, was different, but uh. Me too."

"Wonder what that says about us," Tommy says, and his tone is too bitter, too unkind, for Buck's liking, so he pulls himself up to sit and grabs one of Tommy's hands in both of his own.

"What that says to me," Buck starts, looking Tommy square in the eye, "is that two lonely kids survived a couple of fucked-up childhoods. And that they found each other, and- and things aren't so lonely, anymore."

Tommy's expression does something complicated, some dance Buck isn't yet privy to, but he knows what it lands on. It lands on that look he gets when he says things like how are you real and what am I gonna do with you. It's an expression that Buck kind of loves, but it also kind of breaks his heart all the same.

[<-<- part one] [<- part two] ~ ~ ~ [part four ->]

[enchantedchocolatebars]

A Winsome Witch And A Happy Human Chapter 5 : Befriending The Enemy

Written by 💕 enchantedchocolatebars 🍫 (me, lol).

Ao3 version.

Commission cover art.

Cover art poll.

Chapter titles.

Fic playlist 🎵 💕 🎶 ���️ <3

Cover redraw.

Enjoy!

(Really love how I worded my notes for this chapter on ao3, btw!)

The sudden sound of water rushed into a bowl as the three Titan eggs continued to remain comfortable in their bed.

Seconds later, the door to their room began to open.

"Ah," the Titan let out in relief as he stepped inside, a piece of toilet paper clinging to his foot as he took a seat in his rocking chair.

"Now," he began, reaching for the thick hardcover he placed on the floor.

"Back to our story." He flipped to the fifth chapter.

...

"Oh, Philip."

The atmosphere's blackness slowly fades as blue eyes slowly open, revealing a view of Caleb.

"Philip," Caleb coos out a second time, his smile soft as he stands above his brother's bed, wielding a pitchfork.

Philip's eyes slowly begin to shut.

"Philip!"

"Gah!"

The younger teen jolts up.

"What?" Philip groans out in a groggy tone, soon sitting up as he scratches the back of his messy bed head.

Philip watched as Caleb's smile got bigger, a look of alarmed excitement appearing on the blonde's face. "There's a witch in our home!" he exclaimed.

The news caused Philip's eyes to widen. "A witch?!" he repeated in shock, clutching his covers.

Caleb confirmed with a nod of his head as he continued. "She broke in not too long along. I have no doubt that I saw her downstairs."

A hand gestures at Philip to quickly get up. "Come on, Pip, don't just sit there! I can't defeat this she-demon alone! I need your help!"

As Caleb races out of the room, Philip quickly springs out of bed, briskly grabbing his wooden sword from under his pillow before rushing after his brother, his heart pounding.

Despite his nervousness, he was equally enthusiastic about aiding his brother in fighting a witch.

Both teens were passionate about witch hunting and eradicating evil from Gravesfield.

...

"Caleb?" Philip whispered out as he slowly entered the dim dining room. "Caleb? Caleb, where are you?" Philip wondered where on earth the elder went. "Did you get the witch?"

Suddenly, a thought came to Philip that he wished he hadn't thought of.

"Oh no..." As he hurried to the front door, the brunette felt an uneasy tightness in his stomach. "No, no, no. The witch didn't. She didn't take him. She didn't! Did she...? No!"

Philip's only companion in life was Caleb, and he was afraid of losing him, especially to a witch. As anxiety swirls in his mind, Philip opens the door and sees--

"... Oh, hi!" Mr. Kookman, walking by, pauses in place as he greets Philip with a wave.

Henrietta, by her husband's side, proceeds to cluck.

The pair were taking an early morning romantic stroll together.

"Oh... hi," Philip greets back with an awkward smile and waves before closing the door.

As he turned around, he immediately let out a high shriek as he faced a figure much taller than him that appeared to have a skeletal visage.

As Philip fell back onto his bottom, he began to hyperventilate as he pursed his lips and attempted to breathe slowly, only to hear familiar chuckles come from the figure.

Caleb couldn't help but collapse into laughter upon seeing Philip's reaction as he fell down, kicking his feet gleefully in the air as he rocked back and forth, Philip's wooden mask slipping from his face.

As Caleb continues to chortle like a child, we get a freeze frame of him, and the show switches to an art nouveau style with entertaining facts about him listed on screen.

Name: Caleb Wittebane

Age: 17

Desires: To become a famous carpenter who travels the world! (And to someday meet Queen Elizabeth I! Oh, wait…)

Likes: Being older, of course… and cardinals.

Fun fact: He might find ways to sometimes skip church, but shh, don't tell anyone (especially not Mr. Town Minister).

As Caleb's laughter gradually fades, he sits up and wipes a tear from his eye, only for a large brown Bible to strike him right in the face.

An enraged Philip gets his own freeze frame with facts.

Name: Philip Wittebane

Age: 13

Favorite Weapon: His Bible (both literally and figuratively)

Favorite Food: His brother's flapjacks

Is totally in love with: Jesus Christ

...

The early morning had soon turned into early afternoon as Caleb stood before his bedroom door, a small, guilt-ridden smile on his face.

It was evident that someone was preventing him from entering inside, mainly due to the door being locked.

The thick tension in the air was palpable to Caleb as he started speaking.

"Come on, Pip, I said I was sorry," the blonde explained with a nervous laugh. "Please don't stay mad at me. You have to admit, the look on your face was pretty hilarious."

Caleb released more anxious laughter with the hope that his brother would join him as a sign of forgiveness, but instead, he was met with cold silence.

Caleb sighed as his laughter dissipated, his guilt now weighing heavily on him.

"Hey, Philip." He knocked gently on the door. "I truly am sorry for what I did. I shouldn't have woken you up so early in the morning just to pull a prank on you."

Caleb heard a miffed huff come from behind the door.

"Your prank was stupid!" Philip growled.

'Oh, he's speaking to me now. That's a good sign,' Caleb thought to himself. "I know, I know, but--"

"Say it!"

Caleb sighed. "My prank was stupid," he muttered out, his voice filled with shame.

"And?"

The blonde hung his head.

"And I'm sorry. I wish to make amends with you, Pip."

Reaching behind his back, Caleb proceeded to pull out a flyer.

With a grin starting to form on his face, he said, "Your favorite witch hunter is holding a book signing for his recent autobiography at the library today."

"He... is?" Philip asked, a spark of interest in his voice.

Caleb nodded. "That's right. I figured I could take you."

Caleb was aware of his brother's copy of "The Ways of a Witch Hunter" by Matthew Hopkins as he saw him reading it regularly, with Philip engrossed in every word written on the pages.

"..."

Caleb briefly chuckled due to the silence. "What? Don't believe me? Have a look for yourself."

The room door slowly opened, and Philip poked his head out to see his brother happily holding a flyer with a picture of his hero and the title of his latest book.

Blue eyes immediately sparkled at the paper, and before you know it, Philip soon shuts the door.

Caleb laughed, knowing that his brother was getting ready. "I'll be waiting for you downstairs, Pip."

...

Philip couldn't contain his excitement as he and Caleb walked through town to the library.

The brunette was practically buzzing with joy at the thought of getting to meet the man he looked up to.

'Maybe if I share my knowledge of witch hunting with Mr. Hopkins, he might offer me an apprenticeship!'

Philip squealed in his mind as he and Caleb arrived at a long line that began outside and led inside the library.

The queue of people was lively, as everyone was eager to have their book copies autographed by Gravesfield's handsomest hero.

...

As the line slowly progressed forward, Caleb became more and more exhausted with every hour that passed, but Philip remained cheerful and held onto his book tightly with anticipation.

...

"Look, Caleb!" Philip directs his finger at Matthew Hopkins' author table.

He and Caleb were now inside the library, waiting in the center of the line.

"We're almost at the front!"

Matthew was occupied with writing his initials on the title page of his book for a woman who was clearly captivated by him, her eyes glistening with love.

He gave her a suave wink after he finished and returned her book, and she nearly fainted from his charm.

Next in line to have their book signed was a man grinning ear to ear as he handed his book to Matthew.

Hopkins proceeded to open the book to the title page and placed the nib of his pen on the page.

Upon starting to write, he stopped as soon as he noticed the scratchy, hard-to-see texture of his lines.

"Hmm," he quietly hummed. "It seems my pen's run out of--"

The profound number of hands reaching out to Matthew with spare pens as soon as he said that startled him.

He soon smirked. "Ink," he finished, giving his hair a good toss.

The witch finder general gladly took a pen from the nearest hand, which caused the crowd of fans to roar and squeal with fanatic cheers.

As soon as Matthew started signing, we are greeted with a freeze frame of him in an art nouveau style, complete with fun facts about him.

Name: Matthew Hopkins

Age: 24

Status: Gravesfield's greatest witch (hunter???) (finder???) general.

Capabilities: Is able to detect the Devil's mark on a witch a mile away (or so he says).

His best assets: You take a wild guess.

...

"... Huh? Oh, yeah, we are," an absent-minded Caleb acknowledged his brother's comment as his eyes were glued to the wooden lantern clock on the wall.

'She'll be arriving at the house soon...,' Caleb thought to himself as the clock struck three.

He gazed at Philip.

"Uh, Pip, you'll have to excuse me, I need to use the bathroom."

Caleb tried his best not to look like he was lying.

"But, Caleb--"

"Don't worry, I'll be back soon!" The oldest assured as he stepped out of line and quickly headed out of the main entrance of the library without delay.

Philip narrowed his eyes at Caleb as he left but decided to take his word that he would indeed return.

After all, the oldest had no reason to abandon his younger brother in line and suddenly go somewhere else.

That's not like him at all, Philip believed.

...

After another hour and so of waiting in line, it was finally Philip's turn to approach Matthew Hopkins' table.

An overly conceited smile crossed Hopkins' lips upon seeing the exuberant teen dash to his table.

The youth's admiration of his greatness brought him joy.

"GoodafternoonMr.HopkinsmynameisPhilipWittebanewouldyoupleasepleasePLEASEsignmybook?"

The bright-eyed boy spoke at such a rapid pace, which made Matthew let out a small, lighthearted laugh.

"I don't see why not," Hopkins said as he took the handed book and opened it to the title page.

As he began to sign his initials, Philip's grin glowed as he screeched heavily with excitement in his head.

"You said your name was Philip, correct?"

"Yes!"

"I see. Doesn't that mean--?"

"Lover of horses? Yes!"

"I see."

After Hopkins was finished, he gave the book back to Philip.

"I'm too busy doing God's work, so I'm not much of an artist," he admitted with a chuckle.

Upon opening his book, Philip noticed a poorly drawn stick figure horse drawing next to Matthew's initials.

With a gasp, the brunette squeezed his book with affection, swaying back and forth.

"That's okay, I love your drawing! I'll treasure it forever! Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, so much, Mr. Hopkins! I hope to be as great a witch hunter as you when I'm your age."

Matthew chuckled cockily. "Well, you'll never be as great as I am, but there's always room for second best."

"Second best," Philip repeated in wonderment, imagining himself as such. "I'll aspire to be that then! Thank you so much!"

...

After the book signing event came to an end, Philip was walking through the woods as the vibrant orange sun was starting to set.

He breathed out a small huff, clearly cross, as his boots crunched down on the autumn leaves that dressed the soil.

As upset as the brunette was at Caleb's dishonesty and departure, at least he got the chance to interact with his favorite hero.

Nonetheless, he was still angry.

After some thought, he decided that he would give his brother the silent treatment as soon as he got home.

...

After reaching his front door, Philip opened it and stepped inside.

Upon hearing bubbly giggles coming from the kitchen, he paused.

Philip then frowned.

'Looks like he brought a girl home,' the brunette thought to himself as he sighed, shutting the door.

That must be the reason why he left him alone in line.

After muttering a not-so-nice insult under his breath, Philip proceeded to the kitchen.

Upon arriving at the entrance, Philip instantly froze as he watched the shocking scene taking place in front of him, his book falling from his grasp.

He was soon struck by a wave of terror as he covered his mouth.

"... I picked this pumpkin a few days ago, so might as well use it before it goes bad, right?" Caleb chuckled fondly as he was preparing pumpkin soup with a girl who looked to be around his age.

However, this was no ordinary girl.

She wore a scarlet colored cloak with a hood that she had on while a black bird was nesting inside on her head.

The teen's dress looked like something an otherworldly explorer would wear, and while the length of her auburn hair was unknown due to her hood, she had fluffy bangs that covered the entirety of her eyes.

Her demonically pale skin, golden eyes, pointed ears, canine teeth, and exposed ankles led Philip to clench his fists.

"Witch!" he shouts before charging at the girl to attack her, only for Caleb to take notice and quickly intervene.

"Whoa, Philip, wait! No fighting in the house!" Caleb informed, extending his arm out to prevent Philip from harming the girl.

He glanced at the girl and smiled apologetically. "I'm sorry about him. This was the little brother I was telling you about."

"WHAT HAVE YOU BEEN SAYING ABOUT ME TO HER!" Philip demanded with a growl.

Caleb rolled his eyes, causing the girl to giggle. "His name is Philip. And Philip, this is ******."

"******?!" A shocked Philip repeated. "That's no human name!"

"******!" ****** beamed out her own name in utter delight as we get a freeze frame of her in an art nouveau style with character information about her.

Name: ****** ****** ******

Age: 17

Species: Witch

Adores: Palismen and making weird noises

Crimes: Arson

"She's a really good friend of mine."

"FRIEND?!"

"We've been seeing each other for quite some time now."

"FOR SOME TIME NOW?!"

"Mostly when you're either asleep or away."

A happy, hawk-like screech escapes ****** as she waves at Philip, but the brunette refuses to wave back and shoots a glare at Caleb.

"What are you doing?! Stop smiling at her and kill her already!" Philip ordered loudly.

Caleb rolled his eyes a second time.

Philip bared his teeth.

"If you don't do something about her, I'll let the town minister know that you've been seeing a witch this entire time! You know that's a sin!"

When Philip noticed the worried expression on ******'s face when the minister was mentioned, a smirk appeared on his face.

"Oh, yeah?" Caleb began, crossing his arms as he smiled serenely but threateningly.

"Since we're on the topic of sin, I'm certain that Mr. Town Minister would be very interested to see those inaccurate drawings of Christ in your journal. You know, the ones where you give him massive muscles and chest hair."

Philip's face flushed immediately, and he scowled. "Fine, I won't tell then!" he shouted with a stomp of his foot. "... AND STOP GOING INTO MY JOURNAL!"

Caleb chuckled.

Knowing that she would be safe and far away from the minister's clutches, ****** screeches happily as she hugs Caleb.

During their hug, Philip rolls his eyes and grumbles bitterly under his breath, but soon notices the expression his brother sends him as ******'s back is turned.

Caleb was smirking at him as he winked.

He then proceeded to put a finger on his lips.

Philip's eyes widened in sudden understanding, his smirk even darker than Caleb's as he nodded.

'Heh, their friendship isn't genuine. Caleb definitely has a trick up his sleeve,' Philip chuckled darkly in his thoughts.

...

As ****** carefully ladled servings of pumpkin soup into bowls and placed thick slices of bread on small plates, she failed to notice the two shadows looming over her with eerie smiles... until she finally did and turned around.

She smiles when she sees that it's just her two friends, Caleb and Philip Wittebane, who were both smiling affectionately at her.

Knowing that she would be sharing supper with them brought her immense joy.