#colors were chosen very purposefully...

[fayewoodss]

Finished Scenenap commission!!

(click for better quality)

This was a commission for my friend who has a Scene!Sapnap au and they gave me so much creative control with this piece! This is probably the most fun I've had on a commission and I'm so so so happy to share it!

[mammons-hubby]

Hiiii :3 can I request platonic headcanons of the brothers with MC who is a child/preteen? You pick which age you're more confident writing, but like in this 8-12 yrs range if possible, thank youuu🩷

I wasn't sure if to make the Mc be cursed or the Mc being chosen for the program while still being a child. I chose the later, hope you enjoy!

The little Mc! :

When the one stepping out of the portal was a 10 year old, he almost passed out.

Lucifer

This wasn't in the papers, at ALL. There is just no way this could've possibly happen, maybe a child stepped into the portal by accident?

But no, once the kid was questioned it was obvious they were the exchange student they were expecting.

Internal panic.

This kid can't go to the basically highschool for demons, and there are no schools in the Devildom.

He has a really stern talk with the brothers so they behave in front of them.

Depending on your behavior he may start to get more grey hairs or take a big liking to you.

In the end he ends up really attached to you.

Pampers you, and denies he does it.

"What?! I gotta take care of a kid?!"

Mammon

New babysitter for Mc. He at first dislikes it a ton, but he has a soft spot for kids so he doesn't take it on you, but you notice he is kinda mad.

Very overprotective. Not at first but with just a couple of days he really starts to like you and can't leave your side.

Will bother you to get a reaction, if you start crying he may even give you some Grimm.

Teaches you how to gamble and gets strung to the ceiling.

Gives you piggybacks.

He may involve you in money schemes at first but never putting you in any actual real harm.

Great. A little kid with sticky fingers.

Leviathan

He doesn't want you anywhere near his room at first, afraid that you will break his precious figurines or destroy his Manga collection.

He still forces you to watch Anime, but in the living room with him. Once you get a liking to it he even dresses you up as his favorite characters.

Once he realizes you won't purposefully break anything of his, he invites you to his room.

You are mesmerized by the pretty lights, the bathtub and the giant aquarium, you say hi to Henry and he melts.

He sees you looking everywhere with awe, and he feels very proud of himself.

From then, you start to play games in his room and carefully read his Mangas.

Lets you play with his tail in his demon form. He finds it kinda funny but gets grossed out when you put it in your mouth and cover it up with saliva. Eugh.

He is kind of curious about you and how you ended up in the Devildom, for Lucifer to make such an oversight is clearly extremely bizarre, almost imposible.

Satan

You kinda look at him with your big baby eyes and he looks back at you, until one of you stops staring and go back to their normal routine.

He is chosen by Lucifer to be your personal teacher. He complains but knows he has to do it.

He will try and teach you things to bother Lucifer, succeeding in some and failing in others.

But he also takes a lot of effort to learn about human culture and teach you the right things and needed things for your mental development.

Will read for you to fall asleep. Devildom fairy stories and others, you seem to like grim stuff too but he reads this stuff to you very rarely. Doesn't want you to be negatively affected.

Buys you a cat onesie and takes lots of pics. Super adorable.

He finds you extremely adorable and amusing, like a little pet.

Asmodeous

He will dress you up in the prettiests of clothings, with the most expensive perfume and hair decorations.

You seem upset and he doesn't understand at first. You explain you don't like being treated like a doll for his amusement.

He thought he was doing everything right?

He thinks about it hard and realizes that maybe being treated like a thing rather than a person must've hurt you.

He apologizes to you and offers to take you to eat something yummy.

He tries and know more about your likes and dislikes. About the shows you like, your favorite colors, the type of clothing you like.

He takes you to buy some pretty clothes of your choosing, and even gets you a cute haircut.

You feel better when you can also express yourself. But from time to time you let him dress you as he wishes, you even match clothings sometime.

Okay so at first a bit dangerous to be near him, considering he sees you as small and chubby and feels the urge to put you in his mouth.

Beelzebub

Once he controls the urges, he is very sweet and caring.

Kinda blunt when he talks, but not clueless. He is not dumb so he knows that he shouldn't say certain things, but considering he is quite honest he lets slip some stuff, but inmediatly notices and fixes it.

Will share his food with you and sit you on his lap while you eat, sorry if you get slobber on your head.

Will make sure you get proper exercise so you grow strong.

Will also take you on piggyback rides wherever you'd like.

Considering he has a younger brother, he grows attached to you very quickly and would give his life for you, and take others.

Belphegor

It depends. If this is an universe where Belphegor doesn't have a vendetta against humans, he may not care too much at first, but then begins to like you.

He would take naps with you, and help you draw and color stuff.

He is the youngest brother, so he may teach you how to get away with being a brat, much to Lucifer's dismay.

Now. If it's the og timeline Belphie?

Things are difficult. He will still try and trick you into doing the pacts with his brothers. And you're a child, so you'd probably believe him.

He does feel more guilty about wanting to kill you, but in the end commits regardless.

It's up to you to forgive him or not. He did kill a child after all.

The brothers are all shocked at him, and disgusted.

It takes a while before things settle down after discovering you're Lilith's descendant.

They're very wary of leaving you with him in a room, in case he tries to hurt you.

But Belphegor feels extremely guilty. It eats him alive, he can't believe that his rage for humanity would make him kill a literal kid.

He tries to make it up to you by being present in your life. Helping you get ready on your day to day life. Taking you places you need to go, pampering you.

It's still up to you if you'll ever forgive him. Perhaps you do, but you'll never forget it.

You can still have a nice relationship with him though, it's not the end of the world. And your life is just beginning.

[starogeorgina]

Killer queen

Warnings: Incest, uncomfortable situation

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen × Reader

1.05

Letting out a deep sigh, you place your hands on your lower back, trying to relive some of the weight of the baby pushing down on your spine. With the size of your bump, you could easily be mistaken for having twins, although the maesters said it was only one baby and a lot of swelling.

After the meeting with the King’s Counsel was over, you and your grandsire headed towards your mother's quarters to have an unofficial meeting with the Green Counsel. The green’s council consisted of your mother, Ser Cristion, Aemond, the hand of the king, Aegon, and the lech Larys Strong. You went out of your way to keep Helaena out of the scheming and plotting; she was far too innocent to be involved.

Feeling your eyes burning into you, you finally sigh, “Yes, mother?”

Your mother pursed her lips and said, “That's a very interesting dress you chose to wear today.”

With your breasts swelling to twice what they normally would, you had decided to wear a gown that was designed for pregnant women; however, the one you’d chosen that morning had irked your mother. It was black with red roses sewn onto it on the bottom of the skirt, and the queen hated seeing her children wear house Targaryen colors. “It’s a gift from Lady Malia Lannister; she had it sent to the keep after finding out I’m with a child again. It would be rude not to wear it.”

“The princess is right, your grace,” Larys says before taking a sip from his cup of tea. “Small gestures, such as wearing gifts from other houses, are a reminder of who’s loyal to us.” The smile on Larys face sends shivers down your spine. There was something incredibly creepy about the clubfoot. He changes the conversation: “I hear Princess Rhaenyra is with child again.”

You roll your eyes; you have more pressing matters to discuss than your elder sister and your uncle. “Ser Cristion, is there any further word on who is behind the child fighting pits in Flea Bottom?”

“I’m afraid not, princess, but thanks to your connections we were able to locate one of the fighting pits, and it has since been destroyed.”

“Thank you, Ser Cristion,” you say sincerely.

“Is sending members of the King's Guards into Flea Bottom to knock down gambling pits really the best idea?” Larys asks.

You pull a face of disgust. “Gambling? The children are purposefully kept malnourished while their teeth and nails are sharpened for combat while sick spectators place their bets and cheer on to see which child will win or die.”

Your grandsire shifts the conversation to another issue, with Larys remaining quiet for some time. Shayla, who had now become one of your ladies in waiting, entered the room looking nervous. Sensing she was nervous, you excused yourself and stepped into the hallway to be greeted by one of the servants who watched the children while you attended meetings, holding onto your son's hand while gulping down. You take in Tré’s appearance and immediately burst into laughter; he was covered head to toe in mud.

You run your fingers through his silver locks, which had thick brown streaks of dirt and some greenery from what you assumed were bushes and flowers tangled in them. “You are filthy; what have you been doing?”

Tré giggles, “Me and Jaehaerys were pretending to be dragons.”

“You are dragons, my sweet.”

“The princes ran away from me, princess; I did try to stop them."

You cut her off with a soft laugh. “It’s quite alright, no harm done.” You lean down and lift Tré up, holding him above your bump. You kiss him on the cheek multiple times, making the young boy squeal in delight. “You sound like Breeze.”

“Your grace,” Shayla says, bowing.

You turn back around to see your mother looking at you with a somewhat amused expression on her face. “Ashara, your dress is filthy.”

“You don’t like it anyway,” you point out, earning a surprising smile from her. Although you and the queen hardly ever saw eye to eye, she was still your mother and loved her grandchildren greatly.

Soon as you walk back into her chamber, Aegon bursts into laughter, while Aemond’s jaw tenses, no doubt from watching you carry your son. You could only imagine your husband's reaction when he learned the princes managed to run off.

You sit back down to resume the meeting, which was almost over, with your son sitting on your lap. You kiss Tré’s cheek as he falls asleep in your arms. You remember once telling Aemond you never wanted children because you didn’t think you’d be capable of loving them. Oh, how wrong you were. Tré was your whole world, and you knew you’d love the next baby just as much.

—

Sitting in the garden, you gently rub your swollen stomach while watching as Aemond plays with your son. Tré was crouching behind bushes, giggling, thinking he had successfully hidden from his father, but of course Aemond knew where he was.

“Princess,” Silas, one of the servants, approaches you with a tray in his hands. He carefully places the plate of pastries, grapes, and bread on the table before sitting the tea down. While doing this, he quietly says, “I heard you are trying to stop the fighting pits in Flea Bottom, and I think there’s something you should know.”

You motion for him to sit with you and say, “Please go on.”

Silas nervously glances at your husband, who was watching your interaction, and declines your invitation to join you. “I do not wish to cross a line, princess, but I’ve heard rumors regarding Prince Aegon.”

Your mouth goes dry. “What is it you’ve heard?”

“That there are children fighting in pits with Targaryen features, and that they have been fathered by the king's eldest son.”

Silas couldn’t have been older than six and ten; he had an innocence around him that you wanted to protect. You place your hand on top of his and say, “Thank you; you did the right thing by telling me.”

“Please don’t tell anyone I told you, princess. I don’t want to get in trouble.”

“You’d risk getting into trouble by telling me, why?”

He shrugs. “You’ve always been very kind to me.”

“I’ll do my best to keep you safe, sir,” you smile.

He smiles back at you until Aemond stands behind you with your son in his arms and a murderous look on his face. Silas quickly bows his head and says, “My prince.”

You feel bad watching the young boy fumble over his feet to get away. You pout at Aemond as he sits down across from you and says, “You don’t need to do that.”

“Do what?”

“Scare the young servants.” You take a handful of grapes and begin cutting them into pieces. “The ones who approach me are harmless.”

Aemond smiles, something that he hardly ever does in front of others. “Motherhood has softened you, my love; you are far too trusting.”

You push the plate of cut-up grapes in front of Tré and say, “Perhaps, but it’s also common knowledge what will happen to anyone who crosses the wife of the rider of the largest dragon living.”

“Vhagar!” Tré squeals excitedly, making you chuckle.

“Hmm.” Aemond leans forward and brushes hair behind your ear. “Regardless, you are my wife, and I want to keep you safe.”

“Ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes.”

—

You clench your teeth as you dip your feet into the basin that has been placed in front of you. The maester had added a mixture of oils that were meant to help ease the pain of how swollen and painful your feet had become during your pregnancy. You were supposed to be meeting your grandsire to discuss the latest news of Aegon’s bastards, but you were in far too much pain to walk further than your own bedchambers.

“Princess, Lord Strong is here to see you.”

You frown. “I’m improperly dressed. Tell Lord Strong, I’m feeling unwell and will see him tomorrow.”

It was only midday, but you had decided to resign in your chambers for the rest of the afternoon due to feeling so uncomfortable. Aegon and Helaena had gone dragon riding, while Aemond had gone to sit in with Tré for the remainder of his lessons, giving you much needed time alone. Even though this pregnancy was better than your first, it was still exhausting.

Closing your eyes, you lean your head back in the chair and try to doze off, but the sound of a cane hitting the cobblestones alters your appearance. What didn’t he understand about your request? You scowl at hearing him dismiss your lady-in-waiting, who is frantically telling him to wait. You reach for the dressing gown that is hanging on the side of the chair you are sitting in and quickly put it on to keep your modesty.

“I believe you were asked to leave.”

A look of shock crosses his features. “I do apologize; I have obviously misunderstood.”

Your glaze burns into the Lord as he sits down across from you. Seeing him limp, you feel obligated to allow him to sit for a moment. You nod for one of the servants to move the objects on the chair away so he can sit down comfortably. “What is it you want, Lord Strong?”

“For us to be friends, Ashara.”

Anger stirs within you. It wasn’t that he addressed you by your name; it was the arrogance that laced his voice that irked you. “Do not forget I am a Targaryen princess; next time you address me as any less, I will have your tongue removed.”

“Such a spirited princess,” he nods his head, looking amused. “I will do well to remember my place next time.”

When one of your ladies-in-waiting approaches you with a towel in her hands, you lift your feet from the basin to allow her to dry them. You notice Lary's eyes creepily glued to your feet, and the way he repositions himself on the chair makes you feel uncomfortable.

He clears his throat. “I am good companions with the queen; I just thought I’d offer my services to you.”

“I will keep that in mind, but I must ask that you please leave, as I’m very tired.”

“Of course, growing a child is a tiresome job.”

You avert your eyes as he slowly walks by you, with what appears to be a bulge in his pants. A sickening feeling builds inside you. Whatever had just transpired left a sour taste in your mouth and left you feeling uncomfortable in a place you’ve always felt safe.

Ñuha nēdenka zaldrīzes - My fierce dragon

[bupia]

Love letter: Chapter 5 - Cardinal Copia x Fem!Reader

Summary: Cardinal Copia, known for his punctuality, was unusually late for work. Concerned by this unexpected deviation from the norm, you couldn't help but worry. Determined to find out what had happened, you made up your mind to pay a visit to his room.

Words: 7.813

Warnings: Smut (teasing; dirty talk; unprotected sex; p in v; fingering) | Swearing | Italian Swearing

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

In the quiet solitude of your room, surrounded by the memories of Terzo's dinner, you found yourself immersed in a whirlwind of emotions, all centered around Cardinal Copia. With each passing moment, your heart seemed to beat faster, matching the rhythm of your racing thoughts. The sensation in your stomach was undeniable—an intoxicating mix of nervousness and excitement, the very embodiment of those elusive butterflies people often spoke of.

Sneaking a quick glance at the clock, you couldn't help but will time to crawl, yearning for the hours ahead to stretch themselves out, granting you an abundance of precious moments in his office. As you left your room, a grin permanently etched on your face. You strolled down the hallways, and you couldn't help but replay the memories in your mind—the way he smiled, the sparkle in his eyes, his captivating cologne, his charming accent, and how he touched you.

Approaching Cardinal Copia's office door, you paused to gather yourself, making sure your excitement didn't overshadow your professionalism. Taking a deep breath, you unlocked the door with your key and stepped inside. Glancing around, you checked if there was anything that needed tidying up or organizing before he arrived, but everything seemed to be in order. Satisfied that everything was in order, you moved towards the curtains, gently, you reached out and grasped the fabric, parting it to unveil the radiant sunshine waiting beyond, humming a soft melody.

With a skip in your stride, you happily headed towards your desk, feeling a sense of determination in the air. The catchy tune continued to play in your mind, providing a lively soundtrack to the start of your day. As you pulled open a drawer, you retrieved a stack of file folders, each one holding a task, a project, or some vital information that would shape the events of the day. You arranged the folders on your desk, making sure they were perfectly aligned, giving off an aura of meticulousness and order. Giving your desk one last look, you tore yourself away, knowing it was time to move on to the next task in your morning routine.

It was your responsibility to fetch breakfast for Cardinal Copia before diving into the day's busy agenda. You set off to ensure his morning started off on the right foot. Leaving your neatly organized desk behind, you made your way to the kitchen, where the aroma of brewing coffee and the sound of bustling activity greeted you.

As you entered the bustling space, you joined the other siblings, who were also busy preparing meals for the day. With a keen eye for detail, you meticulously selected the ingredients for Cardinal Copia's breakfast. Your attention to his preferences was evident as you handpicked ripe fruits and sought out the freshest pastries. Every item was chosen with care, ensuring that his breakfast would be tailored to his liking. With a sense of pride, you admired the enticing spread of flavors and colors assembled on the tray. From the aromatic coffee to the mouthwatering assortment of treats, it was a delightful sight to behold. Satisfied with your efforts, you carefully balanced the tray, making sure everything was secure, and bid farewell to your fellow siblings with a warm smile.

Carrying the tray with utmost care, you walked purposefully towards Cardinal Copia's office, eager to provide him with a nourishing start to his day. Anticipation flowed through your veins as you approached the door, fully aware that this small act of culinary devotion would express your unwavering care and affection.

Opening the door, you stepped into Cardinal Copia's office, tray in hand, as the enticing aroma of freshly brewed coffee filled the air. With a gentle touch, you carefully set the tray down on his desk, and returned to your own desk, you settled into the comfortable familiarity of your work routine.

As the minutes stretched into hours and Cardinal Copia's absence continued, a growing uneasiness enveloped you. It was almost lunch time at this point, and there was no signal of him. Worried thoughts began to creep into your mind, distracting you from your work. You couldn't help but look anxiously at the untouched breakfast tray, now cooled and neglected.

With a mounting sense of worry, you resolved to leave Cardinal Copia's office and talk to the other siblings, seeking any sign or hint about where Cardinal Copia might be. But, unfortunately, no one had seen him since the previous day, and uncertainty mirrored in their eyes reflected the unease that had settled in your heart.

As the possibilities narrowed down, you couldn't help but surmise that there were only two places where Cardinal Copia could have been without anyone seeing him for almost the whole morning. One of them was Terzo's papal apartment, but it was not an option for you, someone would’ve seen him walking down the corridors. That left only one place remaining—Cardinal Copia's own quarters.

Ascending the stairs, each step heightened the mix of anticipation and apprehension pulsing through your veins. Finally reaching his door, you paused for a brief moment, considering the limits you'd be ultrapassing. Yet, driven by genuine concern, you cast aside any lingering doubts. Your hand trembled slightly as you raised it to knock on Cardinal Copia's door. The sound of your knuckles against the wood echoed through the corridor.

“Cardinal?” you called for him, but there was no answer.

You decide to knock again, hoping that he would respond, that his voice would reach your ears and alleviate the growing concern within you. But, the silence persisted. Every passing second amplified your worry, and a feeling of helplessness threatened to engulf you. Contemplating your options, you decided to enter Cardinal Copia's room. You gathered your courage and took the keys he once gave you when you started your job as his assistant, and cautiously entered his room. As you stepped inside, your eyes fell upon Cardinal Copia peacefully sleeping in his bed.

Stepping closer to his bedside, you marveled at his peaceful countenance. The weariness that had marked his face seemed to melt away in the embrace of sleep, leaving behind an aura of calmness. Gently, you sit on the edge of his bed. Leaning closer, you allowed your fingertips to trace the contours of his face. As your thumb caressed his cheek, a sense of contentment enveloped you, you felt like steal a kiss, but it was better just to admire him like this.

A soft sound escaped his lips as his hand instinctively reached for his face, pressing his eyes together. Cardinal Copia's eyes slowly opened, and rapidly widened with surprise and fear as they met yours. “Ah! Che cazzo stai facendo qui? Per l'amor di Satana! Come puoi essere qui? Se eri nei miei pensieri, che cos'è? Una sorta di magia nera?” He seemed taken aback, almost on the verge of shouting out in alarm before he recognized you. The initial surprise and fear transformed into a mixture of relief and amusement as he recognized you sitting there. "For the love of Satan, I'm an old man, mind mio cuore, cara." He let out a chuckle, the tension slowly dissipating from his face. “Is everything alright?”

You gathered your thoughts, as you also got surprised by his reaction, trying to regain your composure. “Yes, you are just… late for work. I just came to check on you.”

A small smile dancing on his lips as he looked into your eyes. But, suddenly, his expression shifted, and he swiftly sat up on his bed. "Wait! What did you say?" he asked with a sense of urgency. "What time is it? Merda!"

"It's almost lunch ti-" you started to say, but your words trailed off as your gaze shifted to the sheets that were once covering his body, slipped, revealing Cardinal Copia's shirtless torso, causing a rush of warmth to flood your cheeks.

Cardinal Copia noticed your distraction and followed your gaze, a playful grin curling on his lips. He shifted slightly, adjusting the sheets to cover himself, though the mischievous glimmer in his eyes remained. "Well, it seems I've given you quite the view, haven't I, sorella?" he said, his voice laced with amusement.

You quickly averted your eyes, feeling embarrassed. "I-I apologize, Cardinal. I didn't mean to look or… or get distracted."

He chuckled softly, his tone filled with affection. "No need to apologize, cara. There's no need to be shy.”

You nod in agreement, still not being able to look at him. You swallowed nervously as he reached out and gently cupped your chin, turning your face up to meet his gaze.

"Cara…” He leaned in, his lips brushing against yours in a tender, loving kiss. As the kiss deepened, his lips melding with yours in a passionate embrace, the hand once in your chin, went to the back of your head, tangling his fingers between the locks of your hair. When the kiss finally broke, Cardinal Copia's eyes searched yours. "Feeling better now, amore?" he asks with a warm voice.

"Yes."

"I must admit, cara, I'm still not quite ready to get up. You really scared me and I'm still waking up," a small smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he continued, "would you mind joining me a little longer in bed?"

You nodded, letting a contented sigh escaped your lips as you nestled closer to Cardinal Copia, his arm wrapped around your waist bringing you closer to him.

"Hi," you murmured, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you gazed up at him.

"Hi," he responded, his voice filled with affection. His fingers gently brushed against your back, soothing and comforting.

“You know we have to go to the office, right?” you rested your forehead against his collarbone, you could feel the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your touch, it felt like a comforting lullaby.

“I’m already late, sì?”

You chuckled softly, the sound muffled against Cardinal Copia's chest. "Yes, you are."

He smiled, his grip around your waist tightening ever so slightly. "So there’s no point to rush."

“In fa-” before you could finish your sentence, Cardinal Copia interrupted you with a gentle peck on your lips, causing a delightful blush to spread across your cheeks.

You met his mischievous gaze. “What were you saying, cara?”

You lifted your head, meeting his gaze with a playful glint in your eyes. "Are you sure they won't notice our absence, Cardinal?"

"The only person who could possibly notice it that much is right here with me.” He laughed, his eyes sparkling with mischief. "Well, we might have some explaining to do, but I don't believe someone will actually care.“

You nestled closer to him, savoring the comfort of his embrace. “If you say so, Cardinal…"

He rewarded you with a tender kiss on your forehead. "Trust me, cara. Let's just stay like this a little while longer."

"Ok…" you murmured, your hand instinctively moving to his chest, caressing it with gentle strokes. "I didn't know you had a tattoo on your chest," you remarked, a gentle smile playing on your lips as your fingers explored the intricate contours of the 666 tattoo adorning his chest.

His breath hitched slightly at the touch. “Eh! You’ve discovered my little secret, amore,” he chuckled.

"Aren't you full of secrets, Cardinal?" you remarked, playfully teasing him.

"Oh- Am I, sorella?" he replied, his voice tinged with teasing.

You nodded, biting your bottom lip. "Are you hiding anything else from me?" you whispered, continuing to explore the intricate design with your fingertips, tracing the lines.

"Ah, cuore mio," he replied, a hint of amusement in his voice. "There may be a few more secrets waiting to be unveiled."

Your fingertips continued their exploration of his tattoo, tracing the lines with deliberate intent, each touch eliciting a gasp from both of you.

"Diavoletta..." Cardinal Copia sighs, his voice dripping with raw intensity.

You chuckled. "What did you just call me, Cardinal?" you playfully remarked, a glint of mischief in your eyes.

"Nothing, cara," he replied, his voice a velvety whisper as he kissed your forehead. His mischievous smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

"I may not understand it," you whispered, your voice laced with desire, "but I can feel what you meant."

Your eyes locked in a fiery gaze, filled with a shared desire that could no longer be contained. Cardinal Copia’s lips grazed on yours teasing, his breath mingling with yours. With a surge of boldness, he closed the remaining distance, pressing his lips firmly against yours. His hands found their way to your waist, pulling you closer as your bodies melted into each other. Your tongues entwined, exploring the depths of your mouths. The kiss was deep, passionate, and all-consuming, leaving you two breathless and craving more.

Cardinal Copia pulled away, his lips lingering against yours for a brief moment. Your breaths intermingled, your chests rising and falling in unison.

“Cara,” he breathed, his voice husky with desire, “I need to..." he paused, taking a deep breath, biting his bottom lip, "take a shower.”

“Y- Yes, you do…” you stammered, still under the spell of the kiss. “I-I’ll go and wait for you in your office then.” You moved away from his side, settling on the edge of the bed, getting up.

Feeling his hand on your lower back, gently caressing it, he pleaded, “Per favore, don’t. Stay here while I take a shower. So we can make company to each other on our way to the office, sì?"

You turned to face him, "But-"

"No, "but", just wait for me here, sì?"

"Ok, Cardinal." you smiled, "I'll be here waiting for you."

"Grazie, cara. I'll be fast, okie dokie?"

With a soft smile, you settled back onto the bed. Cardinal Copia stepped away, making his way towards the bathroom, but not before bestowing a lingering kiss upon your lips. As he disappeared behind the bathroom door, you closed your eyes taking a deep breath.

The room fell silent as the sound of water dissipated, leaving behind a charged atmosphere. Every nerve in your body seemed to be on edge, and your breath caught in your throat as the anticipation of Cardinal Copia's return from the shower grew stronger. You could feel your heart pounding, the rhythm resonating with the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins. With a mixture of excitement and nervousness, you took a deep breath, attempting to steady yourself. Your gaze shifted upwards, your eyes fixated on the roof as your mind wandered back again to the previous night, when you almost made love in Terzo's Papal apartment. The memory was still fresh in your mind, and you could almost feel his lips against yours, hear the soft moans escaping his mouth as he kissed you. His hands moved across your body, caressing your skin as he explored every inch of your body. Your mind drifted off into a daydream, imagining what he would do next. Would he kiss you again? Would he hold you close? Or would he take things further? Your thoughts were interrupted by the silence in the room, as there was no more water sound.

Each passing second felt like an eternity as you stood there, eyes fixed on the closed bathroom door, waiting for it to swing open. And then, as if responding to your silent yearning, it happened. The door creaked open, revealing Cardinal Copia. The sight before you was breathtaking, clad in nothing but a towel snugly wrapped around his hips, Cardinal Copia stepped into the room. Drops of water sparkled on his wet hair, catching the soft glow of the room's lighting. Your eyes were drawn irresistibly to the trail of glistening droplets that traced a tantalizing path down his chest and belly. Your gaze lingered on the alluring hairy chest with trail connected to his belly, that disappeared beneath the towel. It was an image that seared itself into your mind, an indelible imprint of desire and temptation. Your jaw dropped involuntarily, and for a fleeting moment, you were rendered speechless.

Cardinal Copia smiled at your reaction, a playful grin spreading across his face. "Did I keep you waiting for too long, cara?" he inquired, a hint of mischief in his voice.

You blinked, regaining your composure amidst the whirlwind of emotions that engulfed you. "No, not at all," you managed to reply. "Cardinal, I-" you began, only to be cut off mid-sentence.

"Please, call me Copia, sorella." He said, interrupting you.

"Copia... I... umm..." you stammered, unsure how to proceed. "I just wanted to say thank you for last night. Thank you for inviting me for Terzo's dinner."

"Eh! Sorella, you don't have to thank me!" He exclaimed, smiling widely.

"But I want to! Is not everyday we have this opportunity." you replied, with a smile creeping onto your face.

"In that case, you're welcome, sorella" he said, his eyes sparkling with delight. "Now, where were we?" he asked, stepping towards you.

You stared into his eyes, your heart racing as your pulse quickened. "Umm... I think you should get dressed now, Cardinal," you replied, trying to keep your composure. "I better wait for you in the office," you managed to say, your voice betraying a hint of nervousness. "I need to clean your desk and get your lunch from the kitchen."

You quickly got up from Cardinal Copia's bed, with a quick glance in his direction, you hurriedly made your way towards the door, eager to escape the tense atmosphere that had enveloped the room. As you stepped into the hallway, you shut the door behind you.

The short walk back to the office felt like a blur as you tried to regain your composure and reorient your thoughts. You focused on the practical tasks at hand, reminding yourself of your responsibilities as Cardinal Copia's assistant. Taking a deep breath, you entered the office, noticing the tray of breakfast still sitting on his desk. You gathered the dishes, arranging them neatly, while your mind raced with a flurry of thoughts and emotions. You picked up the tray, intent on returning to the kitchen to retrieve his lunch. As you walked through the corridors, you couldn't help but wonder how the rest of the day would unfold.

As you entered the kitchen, the curious gazes of the other siblings turned towards you, their expressions a mixture of confusion and concern. They couldn't help but notice the untouched breakfast tray in your hands.

"Did something happen? Did Cardinal not like the breakfast?" one of the siblings asked, her voice tinged with nervousness.

You took a deep breath, trying to maintain a composed demeanor despite the flurry of emotions swirling within you. "No, it's not that," you replied, offering a reassuring smile. "He just didn't have time to eat breakfast today. He decided to go straight to lunch instead."

"I'll take care of it," she said, offering you a supportive smile. "Don't worry, everything will be fine."

She quickly got another tray, setting the meal on it and lending it to you. "Make sure Cardinal Copia will eat now, and hopefully he will enjoy his meal." The sister said, still sounded nervous.

"Don't worry! He will definitely eat his lunch at this time." You assured her with a gentle smile.

As you exited the kitchen, carrying the lunch tray, you found yourself pondering the need to maintain a formal demeanor, despite the fact that you and Cardinal Copia were already familiar with each other's thoughts and feelings. It felt odd that the expectation of professionalism continued to hinder your ability to unwind.

Balancing the tray in your hand, you reached for the doorknob, opening the door of his office. As you entered, you noticed him standing near his desk, engrossed in thoughts. With determined steps, you made your way towards his desk, placing the lunch tray carefully upon it. You ensured that everything was arranged neatly, taking a moment to adjust the utensils and arrange the meal to his liking. As you stepped back, you stole a glance at Cardinal Copia, and a knowing smile crossed your lips. His eyes met yours, conveying a silent reassurance.

"This looks amazing! You've taken care of everything, as always, sorella." he praised you.

"Thank you, Cardinal," you replied, your tone steady and composed. "If there's anything else you require, please don't hesitate to let me know." you turned your back to him, gracefully walking towards your desk.

"You're the first one I'll let know, sorella." he declared.

You froze in your tracks, startled by his voice. Stopping in front of your desk. “I… Thank you, Cardinal,” you managed to reply, your voice steady despite the lingering confusion.

Slowly, he approached you. "You know, sorella, you have a way of making even the most mundane tasks seem extraordinary." His hands wrapped around your waist from behind, drawing you closer until your back met his chest, creating a delightful collision of bodies.

A blush tinged your cheeks as you felt his body against yours. "Your satisfaction is my utmost priority, Cardinal." A soft sigh escaped your lips as you leaned into his embrace.

His hold tightened, and he leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered. "And you always succeed, sorella." The warmth of his breath against your skin sent shivers down your spine.

With a playful smile, he released his hold on you and took a step back, allowing you to turn around to face him. His eyes locked with yours, burning with a mix of desire and temptation.

"Thank you, Cardinal," you replied, your voice slightly breathless.

He chuckled softly, his fingers gently tracing a path along your cheek. "The honor is mine, sorella."

You nodded, regaining your composure. But before you could detach yourself from his magnetic gaze, he swiftly moved his body towards you, placing his hands on your desk, causing you to take a sudden step back, your back colliding abruptly with the wooden surface of the desk, making a gasp escape your lips. Cardinal Copia's hands remained firmly planted on the desk on either side of you, his gaze intense and filled with desire. You reached out, gripping the edge of the desk, your fingers curling around it for support. Your eyes locked with his, a silent agreement passing between you. There was no turning back now.

He closed the remaining distance, his lips met yours in a fervent kiss. His hands reached for your waist, lifting you onto your desk. The desk supported your weight as Cardinal Copia's hands explored your body, searching for your thighs to open it slowly, accommodating himself between them. His hands back to your waist, pulled you closer to him as the kiss deepened and grew more intense. Your hands found his shoulders and held on tightly. He broke away from your mouth and moved down to your neck, kissing and licking all over. You felt his warmth breath against your skin, and then he, gently, bit your neck making you gasping at the pain.

"Oh! Fuck, Cardinal!" you moaned.

"Amore mio, you don't even have to ask twice," he chuckled, his lips grazing against your skin. "But not now, not here." He pulled away from you, your breathing ragged and heart pounding.

"Not now, not here," you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper.

Cardinal Copia straightened his attire, a mischievously smile playing on his lips. "Let's focus on our duties for now," he leaned forward and kissed your forehead.

You nodded, still breathless from the kiss. "Of course, Cardinal..." You let out a deep sigh, your eyes shutting as your hips shifted in his direction, looking for more friction. He watched as you quickly moved away from the desk, avoiding his gaze.

"Sorella?" Cardinal Copia's eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

You took a deep breath, trying to gather your thoughts and regain your composure. "I... I," you stammered, still avoiding his gaze. "Let's focus on our duties, right?" You sat on your chair, finally meeting his gaze, giving him a gentle smile.

You caught a shift in his expression, a hint of concern flickering across his face. Without uttering a word, he nod in understanding. His lips curved into a gentle smile, reassuring you, as he returned to his desk, silently. You settled back into your chair, ready to refocus on your duties. You glanced over at Cardinal Copia, who had also returned to his desk. The atmosphere in the room shifted, taking a deep breath, you immersed yourself in your work. The sound of rustling papers filled the air, accompanied by occasional glances exchanged between you and Cardinal Copia.

"Aren't you going to have your lunch, sorella?"

"Yes, I will. But not now," you smiled. "I’ll have my lunch in just a moment. Thank you for reminding me.”

-

As the day went on after the lunch, you and Cardinal Copia stayed focused on your own tasks, stealing glances and exchanging smiles whenever you could. It was a sweet reminder that you were both there for each other.

Time flew by quickly as you both stayed busy, and as the workday drew to a close, a mutual understanding passed between you and Cardinal Copia. With a knowing glance, he rose from his chair, stretching his back and reaching to turn off the lamp on his desk.

"Did you finish with those?" he inquired, as he made his way to the curtains, closing them.

"Yes."

"Shall we, sorella?" he turned towards his desk.

"Yes, Cardinal." You rose from your chair, taking the files from your desk, and walked towards him, placing them neatly on his desk.

He gave you a nod of appreciation as you placed the files on his desk, his eyes meeting yours. "Thank you, sorella," he said softly, his voice carrying a warm tone.

You smiled, a sense of fulfillment washing over you. "It's my pleasure, Cardinal."

You followed Cardinal Copia's lead, walking alongside him as you both made your way to the door. As you reached the door, Cardinal Copia held it open for you, a gesture of courtesy that warmed your heart.

"Thank you, Cardinal."

He turned to you, his eyes softening with affection. "Prego, sorella."

As you stepped out into the hallway, Cardinal Copia reached out and took your hand in his, his grip gentle yet firm. You turned towards him, your eyes meeting his, and before you could say a word, he leaned in and placed a tender peck on your lips.

A playful smile graced your lips as you felt the warmth of his kiss, but a hint of concern crept into your expression. "Cardinal! Someone might catch us!"

Cardinal Copia chuckled mischievously, his eyes twinkling with delight. "Let them watch, cara," he whispered, his voice barely audible.

A blush spread across your cheeks, and with a gentle squeeze, he released his grip on your hand.

"See you tomorrow, cara?"

You nodded, wrapping your arms around his neck and giving him a tender peck on the lips. "See you tomorrow," you paused. "Copia," you whispered, your lips brushing against his.

As you pulled apart, you made your way towards the stairs, but not before glancing back over your shoulder at Cardinal Copia, who stood by the door, his gaze fixed on you. With a warm smile, you waved at him before ascending the stairs to your dormitory. He returned the gesture, his own smile mirroring yours, before disappearing from view.

With a lightness in your step, you reached the door of your dormitory, opening it and stepping inside. The room was empty, with none of your fellow siblings having returned from dinner yet. You let out a contented sigh, grateful for the moment of solitude. Quickly, you made your way to the bathroom, to take a relaxing bath before joining them for the dinner. The warm water enveloped you, washing away the weariness of the day and leaving you feeling refreshed and rejuvenated.

Emerging from the bathroom, a towel wrapped around your body, you entered the room once again, making your way to the wardrobe. However, a subtle sound caught your attention, drawing your curiosity. It was the soft slide of paper against the floor. Intrigued, you turned towards the source of the sound and noticed a small piece of paper lying near the door. With cautious anticipation, you approached it, your fingers gingerly picking it up. Carefully unfolding the paper, the note was from Cardinal Copia.

Please, Meet me in my quarters in 5 minutes. C.C.

With a sense of urgency, you discarded the towel, allowing it to fall to the floor, and hurriedly dressed yourself in a comfortable nightgown. You wanted to make sure you looked your best for this intimate encounter. Taking a moment to assess your appearance, you made your way to the bathroom, eager to ensure that every detail was perfect. You ran a brush through your hair, taming any stray strands and creating a soft, alluring look. Glancing at your reflection in the mirror, you couldn't help but feel a surge of confidence. Satisfied with your appearance, you couldn't resist a subtle smile. Time seemed to both fly and crawl as you checked your reflection one final time, ensuring that everything was in place. With a deep breath, you left the bathroom, ready to meet him.

As you left your dormitory, time seemed to move at an agonizingly slow pace as you made your way to his quarters. With each step, your heart pounded with nervousness. You approached Cardinal Copia's door, ready to give it a polite knock. But as you extended your hand, you noticed something peculiar. The door was already partially open, swaying gently in the breeze as if inviting you inside. Your hand hovered in mid-air, caught between knocking and entering. However, before you could make a decision, the door swung open on its own accord, you made your way, gently, shutting the door behind you. You scanned the room, taking in the soft glow of candlelight, your eyes darted from one corner to another, searching for any sign of Cardinal Copia's presence.

You moved further into the room, Cardinal Copia was nowhere to be seen. You couldn't help but wonder where he could be, why he wasn't present when the room seemed prepared for your arrival.

"Cardinal?" you called for him, the sound of your voice cutting through the silence of the room. "Are you here?" you asked again, this time louder. "Cardinal?" you called out once more, your voice echoing throughout the empty room.

Your eyes drawn to the window, the curtains fluttering gently in the breeze. The moonlight reflected off the glass, giving it a faint glow that illuminated the room perfectly. You felt a chill run up your spine, goosebumps forming on your skin, as you watched the curtain sway, you saw a movement in the shadows, your eyes narrowed as you watched the shadows until you feel a firm grip from behind on your grabbing your hips. Your heart skipped a beat as a firm grip on your hips jolted you out of your reverie. A surge of adrenaline coursed through your veins, and your breath hitched in surprise. You turned around, ready to confront the unknown presence that had startled you, only to find yourself face to face with Cardinal Copia.

His hands held you firmly, his warmth seeping into your skin. "Did you call me, sorella?" He whispered.

"Cardinal," you breathed, your voice a mere whisper as you leaned into his embrace.

His lips brushed against yours, a gentle yet possessive kiss that sent sparks of desire shooting through your body. As his grip tightened, your hips pressed against his, the heat between you intensifying with each passing moment. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you as you kissed him back hungrily. Your tongue explored his mouth, dancing together with his, exploring every inch of his mouth. You felt his hand slide down your back, over your ass, squeezing your cheeks. You moaned softly as he massaged it, feeling his fingers digging into your flesh. You reached for his head, running your fingers through his hair, pulling his head closer to yours, kissing him deeper and harder.

His hand, shifted to hold one of your legs on his hip, allowing for a deeper connection. You moved your leg up and down, feeling the heat radiating from his skin. Your hands reached his back, feeling his hardness against your leg, pulling him even closer, allowing his hardness to rub between your legs. Cardinal Copia's lips trailed a path of gentle kisses from your lips to your neck, igniting a trail of delicate sensations along your skin. As his kisses grew more fervent, you felt a soft gasp escape your parted lips.

"Car… dinal." you murmur, rolling your eyes in delight.

"Call me Copia." He imposed.

"Co... Copia," you whispered, the name rolling off your tongue.

Copia leaned in, his lips grazing against your ear. "Say it again," he urged, his voice filled with a husky undertone.

You obliged, letting the name linger on your lips. "Copia," you repeated, savoring the way it felt and the effect it had on both of you.

A soft chuckle escaped his lips as he pressed a lingering kiss on your neck. "I like the way you say it, cara," he whispered, his breath tickling your skin.

The intoxicating sensation of his kiss enveloped you, leaving you dizzy with desire. Thoughts became a distant murmur as your mind surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure that consumed you. His hands, firm yet gentle, explored the curves of your body, making your your thoughts become a jumble of sensations.

"Copia... Why did you call me here? What's happening?" you questioned, whispering.

He paused for a moment. "What's happening, sorella," he began, his voice husky yet filled with tenderness, "is the here, and now." His thumb traced the outline of your lips, causing your heart to flutter.

He held you by your waist, his touch guiding you towards his bed. Following his lead, you allowed yourself to be led to the bed, lying on your back. Slowly, he leaned over you, his body hovering above yours. His eyes traced your figure lying beneath him, he lowered himself, his lips inching closer to yours. The heat of his breath mingled with yours.

"You look so beautiful like this, sorella" he whispered, as his hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and contour.

His words automatically caused a warm blush to spread across your cheeks. Your gaze lingered on his face, admiring the contours of his features, before trailing down his body. As your eyes scanned his form, he was wearing nothing more than a simple pair of red sweatpants, and you couldn't help but notice that a bulge had begun to grew in size, tenting up the fabric of his sweatpants. You felt your arousal begin to moisten as you stared at him, your mind raced with thoughts of what it would feel like to have him inside of you.

"What's wrong?" he asked, noticing your stare.

You turned your attention back to him, trying to hide the blush from your face. "N-Nothing..." you stammered, your voice betraying your nervousness..

His hand gently cupped your face. "Are you nervous, dolce?" His thumb traced a gentle path along your cheek.

You nodded, unable to meet his gaze. "A little," you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned in closer, his breath warm against your face. "There's no need to be nervous," he murmured. "I'll make sure you feel nothing but pleasure and comfort in my arms."

Cardinal Copia's lips met yours in a swift yet tender kiss, gripping you firmly, drawing his body closer to yours. Your hands instinctively reached for his shoulders pulling him closer to you. He broke the kiss, leaning forward pressing a kiss on your forehead.

"Cara, I'm also nervous," he said softly. "But I'm going to take care of you." He whispered, and with a tender touch, his hands moved to undress you, "I promise to take care of you." He locked his gaze on yours, seeking permission.

You nodded, and he gradually peeled your nightgown away until it was completely removed and on the floor. As the fabric slipped away, revealing your bare form, his eyes widened in awe. The intensity of his gaze sent a rush of heat through your body, igniting a fire within you. His hand left your cheek, his touch traversing down your body, lingering on your sensitive skin until it reached your aching core.

You moaned as his fingers began to rub circled around your clit, causing your entire body to shiver. He smiled at you, and you felt yourself melt into him. He continued to tease you, rubbing his fingers over your sensitive clit, sending waved of pleasure through your body.

"Are you ready?" he whispered.

"Yes." You whispered back, your voice quivering.

With one last look into your eyes, he lowered himself, positioning himself between your legs. His fingers continued their work, sliding deep inside you, preparing yourself for him. Moving it slowly, teasingly. He leaned down his face, flicking out his tongue, licking the length of your slit, tasting you. Cardinal Copia slowly slid his tongue inside you, probing deeper, while his fingers kept pace. You gasped as you felt his tongue moving inside you. Your hips began to rock back and forth, meeting his thrusts, wanting more. He pulled his tongue away, causing you to whimper in frustration.

"Please..." you begged.

He grinned mischievously, guiding you to flip over onto all fours, positioning yourself with your enticing rear facing him. He wasted no time in removing his sweatpants, leaving it on the floor close to your nightgown. He firmly grasped your hips, and you leaned forward, lowering your chest to the mattress, positioning yourself. You felt his length rubbing against your folds, stimulating your clit with the tip. You could feel yourself getting wetter, almost dripping.

As he began to slide his length inside, you couldn't help but let out a passionate moan, your voice intertwining with his growl. The sensation of him filling you completely, your walls enveloping his girth was a testament of the intoxicating pleasure.

"Cazzo... Amore... So tight." He said, taking a deep breath, as he kept the slowly slide inside of you. "Oh, Satan! You feel so good!"

A whimper escaped your lips as you felt the delicious sensation of him filling you completely. His groan of pleasure echoed in the room, with a firm grip on your waist, he began to move in a slow, deliberate rhythm, allowing you to adjust to his size and savor every exquisite sensation. You gasped, feeling your insides clenching around him as he went deeper. He grunted, pulling back, then slamming himself back into you, making you gasp again.

"Fuck! Cardinal!" you moaned loud, your eyes rolled back, and you gripped on the sheets tightened, your fingers curling into the fabric.

You heard a mischievous chuckle escape Cardinal Copia's lips as he started to thrust fast, increasing his pace. His length sliding in and out of you, he lowered his body, pressing it against yours, his face close to your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin.

"You feel so good around my cock, you take it so well." He whispered, his voice low and husky, licking your earlobe.

You moaned arching your back, grinding your hips against him. He chuckled, pulling away from you, turning you around, lying you on your back. He grabbed your legs, spreading them apart, positioning himself between them. His hands on your hips once again in a firm grip, digging into your flesh, holding you in place. His body lowered, bringing his face closer to yours, his eyes locked onto yours. Closing the remaining distance between your lips, you engaged in a passionate kiss, a fiery connection between your mouths. As your lips danced together, his hands began to explore your body, tracing a path of desire and anticipation, tracing a path to your back, gripping you firmly and drawing you closer to him.

Without warning, he thrust into you once more, causing your body to arch, you parted your lips away, letting a blissful moan to escape your lips.

"Fuck-fuck-fuck-fuck! Copi-Ah!" you closed your eyes feeling, his hands moving up your sides, gripping your breasts.

His gaze locked onto yours, as with each thrust, he increased the pace, plunging deeper inside you. A playful smile danced upon his lips as he observed the pleasure etched across your face. You bit your lips, trying not to make any noises. His eyes glazed over, watching you squirm beneath him, his hands leaving your breasts going to your thighs, keeping your legs spread for him.

"Amore, don't hold back your moans for me. Let me hear your sweet sounds of pleasure," he grunted, his grip on your thighs tightening as he thrust himself deeper into you, his back straightening.

As he straightened his back, you felt him filling you up, rubbing the right spot, making you cry out, feeling your core clamp down on him. The room filled with the sound of heavy breathing and soft moans, you squealing, eyes closing, your head rolling back. You moved your legs, wrapping them around his waist pulling him deeper inside of you.

"Fuck me, Copia! Fuck me! You fuck me so good, Cardinal!"

"Ah! Sì amore, sì, sì, geme per me, gemi il mio nome!"

You couldn't help but squeeze him tightly, spasming around him. He grabbed your hips, thrusting hard, faster and deeper. You cried out feeling your orgasm building inside you.

"Co- Copia... I- Fuck! I'm going to cum! Make me cum, Cardinal!"

He lowered his body again, his forehead resting on the mattress on the side of your head, you could hear him panting. "You're going to cum for me, amore? Will you? Cum on my cock." He demanded, his voice hoarse.

You nodded, unable to speak. He smiled, his teeth sinking into your neck, causing you to shudder. "Bellissima, amore mio, bellissima!" he said, his voice deep, throaty. "Cum for me, amore." You whimpered, feeling your orgasm approaching. "I want to hear you scream my name when you cum." His hand reached for your clit, stroking it in circles.

His words made your walls contract around him, your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave. Your whole body shook, instantly bringing your legs together, your arousal squeezing him tightly, and your screams echoed throughout the room, as you screamed his name with the top of your lungs.

"Merda, too tight!" He yelled, rapidly pulling out of you, stroking his hardness, spilling his hot seed on your belly.

He kept stroking his length lazily, grinding his hips around his fist before collapsing on your side. You heard him chuckling, leaving a kiss on your shoulder. You sighed, rolling your body in his direction, resting your hand against his chest. He smiled, running his hand through your hair. He kissed your lips softly, making you close your eyes, basking in the afterglow.

"That was amazing," he whispered with his lips against yours.

"Yes, Cardinal... It was amazing." You said, still breathless.

He giggled, brushing his lips on yours. "I love you." He murmured, smiling.

You were momentarily taken aback, frozen in the gravity of his words. "W- What?" Your eyes widen.

"Oh! Mi dispiace, sorella, shouldn't I say it now?" his voice filled with nervousness.

You blinked, the words hanging in the air, unsure how to respond. Emotions swirled within you. Taking a deep breath, you reached out and gently cupped his face in your hands. "No, Copia," you whispered. "You don't need to apologize. It's just... I wasn't expecting, but I... I love you too."

A radiant smile spread across his face, his eyes sparkling. "Ti amo, sorella," he said.

"Ti amo, sorella" - though you may not have known the exact translation, the sentiment behind his words was unmistakable. A smile bloomed on your lips, your arms instinctively wrapping around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

"Why don't you stay here this night, sorella?" he asked in a whisper.

"Oh! Cardinal, I can't. My roommates will notice it."

He sighed, understanding the predicament. "You're right, sorella. But you've been already gone for a long time now, sì?" He brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Ah... I- Yes, you're right." You giggled.

He leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss on your forehead. "Eh... No need to worry about roommates or anyone else, sì?"

A blush spread across your cheeks as you nodded. "I guess not."

"So stay, per favore."

"I'll stay."

"Bravo!" He smiled, sitting on the bed. "Should we... eh... you... and me... take a bath? Maybe you want to..."

You couldn't help but laugh sitting on the bed, holding his face with both of your hands, pressing a slight peck on his lips. "Yes, I really want a bath now."

His eyes lit up with delight as he felt your hands on his face and the gentle peck on his lips. "Eh!? Then let's have a relaxing bath together."

He got up from the bed, reaching out for your hand. Hand in hand, you followed him towards the bathroom. As he turned on the shower, the room was filled with steam, creating a cozy atmosphere that embraced your bodies with its soothing warmth. As you settled into the bathwater, a sense of tranquility washed over you both.

As you both finished the bath, Cardinal Copia gently wrapped you in a towel, his touch tender and caring. You followed him back to his room, feeling the soft fabric of the towel against your skin. The room was still adorned with the dimly lit candles. He reached for a t-shirt of him, with a gentle smile, he handed it to you. As you took the fabric in your hands, you couldn't help but notice his scent enveloping the shirt. You held the shirt to your nose, breathing in deeply, with a grateful smile, you slipped the shirt over your head, relishing in the sensation of wearing something that belonged to him.

Cardinal Copia guided you to the bed, where he pulled back the covers, inviting you to lie down. You nestled yourself in the softness of the sheets, he joined you on the bed, and you felt his warmth envelop you.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against your forehead, planting a gentle kiss. "Rest, amore," he whispered, his voice filled with tenderness. "I'll be right here with you, sì?"

With a contented sigh, you closed your eyes, surrendering to the tranquility of the moment. The weight of the day melted away, offering solace and comfort, you surrendered to sleep, feeling his presence beside you.

Chapter 6

Grammar ⸻

Che cazzo stai facendo qui? Per l'amor di Satana! Come puoi essere qui? Se eri nei miei pensieri, che cos'è? Una sorta di magia nera - What the fuck are you doing here? For Satan's love! How can you be here? You were in my mind, what is this? Some kind of Black magic? Mio cuore - My heart Cara - Dear Amore - Love Merda - Shit Sorella - Sister Diavoletta - Little devil Per favore - Please Prego - You're welcome Dolce - Sweet Geme per me, gemi il mio nome - Moan for me, moan my name Bellissima, amore mio, bellissima - Beautiful, my love, beautiful Bravo - Good

[bonefall]

I wanted to submit a few of the clanmew names that I enjoy and thought were really fun!! I took some liberties considering come translations either don't exist or aren't applicable to my ocs.

(Context: My Clans are stationed in Utah, and the specific clan featured in these names is in a desert/cliff esque landscape. Their Clan, JuniperClan, is named after the Utah Juniper, which looks significantly different from a normal juniper.)

Starting with one of my favorite ocs first; Skipperleap - Skepbyiao! I was super happy his prefix had a translation, especially since it's for the "Large Skipper" variety, as it's a little funny, considering Skipperleap is a larger than average cat. I decided on -yiao as the suffix (-spring, straight upward leap) because it sorta fits his personality as well? He is a good natured cat, with a positive attitude, and brings a "spring" to someones step.

Coottail - Ubobufr - A bit harder, but settled with Ubo because of his dark brown-black fur color. I also just really liked the sound of it. Originally I was going to go with -swash, as his name is pretty simple in general, but -bufr seemed more fun considering its a tail feather from a bird, which would connect to the fact his name is Coot-. Again, it just sounds neat :]!

Beechfang - Chokki - Since Beech- isn't in the lexicon, I decided upon "Chok-", or Trunk. It symbolizes Beechfang in the sense that he is solid and strong, a good cat to rely on in stressful situations. He doesn't faulter from conflict, and is reliable. -ki, meaning canine fangs, was another easy choice, since Beechfang is known for his prowess in hunting (and ocassionally fighting). Plus. Chokki just sounds EXTREMELY cute. One of my favorite names by far.

Another Favorite oc of mine, Orchidthroat - Palifuhpi. Since Orchid isn't really used, I settled on Palifuh (Purple) since Orchidthroat has a blue-gray coat, and in lighting it comes across as purple. Orchidthroat is a magnificent speaker, usually bringing conflict to an end and being direct with what he means. -pi was chosen because "Used to indicate someone saw or heard and reported directly" sounds pretty accurate to how Orchidthroat does things.

Finally, Thymeclaw - Hhasskachkubo. Thymeclaw is an elder, and a very respected one at that, as she used to be one of the Clan's most skilled fighters. Hhass was chosen primarily because it means sneaky, and I was trying to reference "creeping thyme", as it's the only thyme I can see native to the UK? There is a varient of Red creeping thyme that can be found in North America, but I'm not too sure on if it'd be present in the region I'm basing this in. -kachkubo specifically being used was to reference Thymeclaw's fierce power, in how she'd strike her enemies physically and emotionally during combat.

It's funny, you're on a totally different continent but all of these names could be 100% region-compliant, from Coots to Orchids! You just happened to perfectly hit a bunch of things I haven't yet translated LMAO how did you do that

BUT ANYWAY! Feel free to make your own translations for Utah species, or modify the words I'm about to give you! Great job btw!

Coot (Fulica atra) = Nio Black, red-eyed waterbirds similar to moorhens which look like ducks when swimming. Known for being devoted parents.

Beech (Fagus sylvatica) = Choo Trunk + Smooth. Known for its very smooth bark, absolutely perfect for carving glyphs on. Not so much a "satisfying" tree to get a scratch on, though! They also produce nuts that squirrels like to eat. These are actually planted purposefully in this area. At the Lake, only ThunderClan has access to them. RiverClan used to have a small orchard of them near the twolegplace, which was where Beechfur got his name from.

Bee Orchid (Ophrys apifera) = Fefsue There's actually a ton of orchids in this part of England, but I picked my favorite. It's the self-pollinating bee orchid, which mimics a species of solitary bee that may have gone extinct. You probably know of it from the famous xkcd comic about it, but I WILL give you a little bit of hope! The bee orchid has a ton of morphs and in the warmer parts of its range, DOES actually have bees that still pollinate it. What's weirder is that this far north, they don't seem to have one? So... Bee Orchid, how did you Get here? Is YOUR bee gone? What happened to YOUR bee...

I am ALSO taken aback by the fact that thyme apparently doesn't grow here. Weird. But anyway I got your back; here's two roundabout translations for OTHER, non-Thyme plants that are common in the modeled region, but reference thyme.

Thyme-leaved Speedwell (Veronica serpyllifolia) = Kukon A delicate little flower beloved by pollinators, and can grow in thick mats across the land. Deceptively quick and hardy, it can become a weed if unmanaged, and hides seeds in the pelt of any cat that comes by it so it can spread further. Very fitting for your girl, I think!

Dotted Thyme-Moss (Rhizomnium punctatum) = Mwarfum Blooming + Moss. Has distinct little egg-shaped leaves and rising tendrils. Considered pretty, but not a particularly useful type of moss. For anyone seeking a more "herbal" vibe for thyme.

[meanderingandrambling]

I never really feel clever or informed enough to comment on the met gala but some folks I like skipped this year and at the very least I want to save my top ten for posterity so here we are.

I'll be doing this in several rounds. Theme Favorites: top ten that did a good job with the theme and were interesting enough for the met gala. That's A Nice Dress/Suit: top ten that were beautiful for some event that wasn't the met gala. Come on, this is for wearing theatrical art. Personal Favorites: top ten free-for-all in which I just pick my favorites based purely on personal aesthetic. Absolutely no attempt to even pretend I'm thinking of things like theme, craftspersonship, or style. Maybe a forth round for stuff I just want to talk about or things I did not like.

The 2024 theme was Garden of Time, the exhibit Sleeping Beauties: Reawakening Fashion. Most people took that in a historical and/or botanic direction, both themes I adore. Interestingly enough the Garden of Time is a short story about the hyper-wealthy walling themselves in their pleasure gardens with magic time slowing flowers until the hoi polloi riot and overtake them. Unfortunately I saw no outfits that incorporated the injustice of our capitalistic hellscape, the inevitability of death, or less generously: the unwashed masses destroying genteel beauty. Perhaps next year.

Lana Del Rey wearing Alexander McQueen

There were a lot of outfits I really liked but I thought this one really captures the threatening beauty of nature, genteel isolation, and vague sense of mortality you get in Ballard story. I also dig how it looks like something a member of the fae would wear.

Everything else below the cut to keep this from being a color of the sky length post.

Cynthia Erivo wearing Thom Browne

This number will be showing up in my favorites. When I imagine the anthropomorphic Death as she would appear in the Ballard story, this is she. The petals over the darkness are a bit on the nose as a death image, but I positively love it.

Rebecca Ferguson wearing Thom Browne

Another one that will appear in my favorites. So it's hard to talk about the Garden of Time without mentioning The Masque of the Red Death. Both are about rich aesthetes locked away against the rioting masses and the inevitability of death. Ferguson is dressed to sweep uninvited through a decadent compound to bring darkness and decay in her wake, and really isn't that what we're all going for at all times?

Demi Moore wearing Harris Reed and Cartier

God I love this dress. The spear things remind me of the hands on a clock and the peonies are that brilliant pink that makes me want to lick them. I like how the sleeves frame her, almost like wings or a halo.

Harris Reed in Harris Reed

Amazing. Honestly I hardly have anything to say. I adore the sort of Georgian (I think Georgian, my art history is pretty shit) pattern and the halo effect of Reed's headpiece. A feel like he's pretty purposefully doing a saint thing in the picture and I love it.

Tyla wearing Balmain

Holy fuck did this one fly under my radar. Much like an operatic magpie, I am attracted to bright colors and shiny things, and so missed the subtlety of this sand gown. She's dressed as the sands of time, very cool. Spoiler for an 80 year old short story: it ends with the main characters turning into statues, so I really like how the dress makes it look like she's turning into sand.

Taylor Russell wearing Loewe and Fred Leighton

Like Tyla's gown above I like Russell's suggestion of inorganic transformation. She has a sort of sad dryad/maiden warrior chosen by god thing going on.

Dan Levy wearing Loewe

Gives me Persephone energy. I like the floral color and life contrasted to the black. The transition reminds me of the transformation in the story and, if I sort of tilt my head, the passage of all life into death.

J Harrison Ghee wearing ???

Okay so Ghee's gown doesn't really capture the themes of time or death but holy fuck I love it. This is how six-year-old me wanted to dress every day. A friend said "it's a carnival dress, though certainly a very good one." Personally I think it's perfect for any and every occasion. I love that they look like she's at the 1994 Thumblina film's Beetle Ball. I mean, look at this image and tell me they didn't come from the same party. Playful, camp, and over-the-top.

[crimeronan]

i've been really enjoying making devin's life suck shit lately. i know i keep saying every time i develop a new symptom i give it to them but there really is something to just. being a 38-year-old protagonist who won't kill yourself because you're not a dramatic 18-year-old anymore but who also spends literally every waking moment in so much fucking pain that you're constantly fucking begging to die. while everyone around you is like wow it's wild that you lived to 38 good job :) everyone with your condition before you has eventually lain down in the same graveyard and purposefully starved/frozen to death and you know that you're going to eventually too so you have a pact with your wife (the one you chose)(not the soulmate wife who's been making your life a living hell since you were 16 and she was a grown-ass woman) to die together but before you do you're both taking a ton of people down with you. you poorly speak about eight different languages because you're surrounded by refugees and immigrants and marginalized people and many of them are very afraid until they hear the relief of a familiar tongue and remembering these languages is exhausting because you are so sick all the time but it matters so much. you are terrified to die because whoever succeeds you will be just as sick and just as tired and just as empty and they probably won't make that same effort so you must go on standing you can't break that which isn't yours. you like soft blankets and string music and drums and the color green. you're in so much pain. your wife has made you a murderer but she first recognized you for your kindness a decade before you remember even meeting her. your magic is eating you alive. there is no cure and there is nobody who cares to find one. you wouldn't have chosen any of this but you didn't get a choice so now it's just a matter of what you do with your shitty time in this shitty body in this shitty world. your life sucks So Much Fucking Shit. you just want to curl up with your wife and sleep til you aren't tired anymore. you aren't EVER gonna get to do that.

[invinciblerodent]

Annoying I what way pls explain?

Obligatory "not all elves/tieflings" to start, if it's not your shirt then for the love of all gods real and imagined don't wear it, but I mean annoying in the way of,

"I will vocally tout this one specific type of character above the rest as if they were all inherently better, objectively more attractive, and more interesting than any other possibility, while simultaneously reducing them to their physical features, aesthetics, and the fantasy-prejudice they experience because of said features."

"Despite the clear overrepresentation of my choice in both the base materials and the fanbase (and everyone's generally very favorable view of my choice), I will nevertheless openly complain about any imagined slight I experience because of the way the world/story is set up. Basically, I'll purposefully choose the heritage I know is fantasy-oppressed within the setting, but post rage-fueled rants about every instance the fantasy-racism might actually manifest in the narrative, while also touting my choice's superiority, making sure my character remains largely unaffected by the fantasy-racism, and complaining that there is not more of it."

"I will openly and honestly make statements that amount to 'xyz game is best experienced through my choice of race, specifically and only because of that, and no other feature of my character's', and refuse to entertain the equal validity of any story that is at all different from the one I've concocted for myself."

Basically, annoying in the way of

"There is a right way to play this game, and it's mine."

And yes, another disclaimer to try and dodge any bad-faith interpretation of what I just said: I might make the occasional navel gaze-y post about how I think it's fun for, for example, my Iona and Astarion to explore- and reacquaint themselves with their shared fey nature together, and reflect on what that means to them, or how I enjoy seeing XYZ types of characters (like dwarves) in a more general sense, but I hope it's clear to anyone who has been following me for any length of time that I would absolutely never say shit like "[this or that arbitrary choice I made for my own game] is better/more valid/more 'canon' than someone else's choice".

I always just talk about my canon, and my world, and my character, and when I talk about how their race might affect them, or their view of the plot, or talk about their feelings that might color their experience of an event based on who they are, I specifically mean that one specific character. It's never meant as a blanket statement, or a judgement of the value of any other person's choice that might differ in some way.

Inconsequential as it is, I will never forget people coming to my inbox to tell me the character I had been working on for like two years at that point was unfit for my choice of partner for him, just because he isn't an elf, and I doubt I will soon forget going into my recommended posts and seeing 3-5 lengthy posts in a row about how BG3 is best played as a tiefling, about how great all the tieflings are, and how we should appreciate tieflings more, despite, you know, them being one of the most (if not THE most) widely chosen PCs and a great chunk of the game being about them already.

Just... be normal about differing choices in a choice-based RPG, man.

[lighthouseborn]

Character Survey

basics.

name: Henry James (Swann) Turner (and I'm not sure he'd have much reason to give it this way but if you were to throw a 'Sparrow' in there he would not object)

nicname/s: I have yet to encounter any, actually. His name doesn't really lend to it? and I don't think anyone has chosen anything that isn't one of his given names, yet? If they have I forgot it I'm so sorry.

age: mid-twenties vibes these days, 23-25 thereabout

species: Human (...son of a psychopomp, which sometimes seems like a Something, but also not really? Blurry. Human and mundane and normal in all the ways you need to worry about.)

personal.

morality: lawful / chaotic / good / neutral / evil / true

religion: No formal adherence to any structures, and he's not much of a praying type either. He's got some superstitions and general beliefs, they just... don't necessarily steer him into thinking any of the things that exist are things he would give sway of his choices to.

sins: greed / gluttony / sloth / lust / pride / envy / wrath

virtues: chastity / charity / diligence / humility / kindness / patience / justice

known languages: English, Mandarin & Malay, Shipwreck's Pidgin, Latin (or some bastard form of it, at least), Greek, many many many partials via a mixture of exposure, study, and educated guesses based on the languages he has a firm grip on. Loves loves loves languages. Descendants verse has a sign language he's getting good at. Modern verses,,, I don't know if he knows any sign languages but he'd be excited to learn if he doesn't!

secrets:  

physical.

build: scrawny / bony / slender / fit /athletic / curvy / herculean / pudgy / average

height: 6'0" (1.83m)

scars / birthmarks: So many. Most tend to be covered, except the ones on his face and neck and hands. And the one on his face is fairly faint. I have not moved the scar chart to this blog yet (and I've been thinking of redoing it) but it is viewable [here.] [And also here for the D:BH verse, which is different, but it definitely needs updating.] I think there's also a Descendants verse one but I've lost it. It's around somewhere.

abilities / powers: Disarming puppy dog energy. (That's a joke it's not a real superpower or anything but it is true he's got a knack for being just. very earnest in a way that encourages people around him to put down their guard (or at least let him, specifically, through it.) This is not an intentional effort on his part. Like I mean sure he wants to be trustworthy but I mean he's not purposefully trying to trip or trick or manipulate people into liking him he just. Is how he is and it's very open, and it tends to endear people. (Or drive them crazy, or both s;ldkfjg;dlkfgj.))

restrictions: Hates feeling trapped or cornered into things and will bite and claw and kick about it; not a huge fan of enclosed spaces for this reason (it looks like claustrophobia sometimes and it's technically true he doesn't enjoy little bity tiny spaces, but it's less about them being small than it is about the enclosed/trapped feeling.) "How is this a restriction" it makes commitments something of a challenge and also literally being trapped or tied down, etc., can cause legitimate panic if he can't see a way out of it.

favorites. 

food: Curry! He's not especially picky about what kind, he's always interested in a curry. Also most fruit! But specifically a big fan of mango and lychee.

drink: Spiced tea. (Like, true teas blended with spices, not teas mostly made of spices, but that second thing is cool too.)

pizza topping: I sincerely doubt he's picky at all in any way about pizza.

color: He's got a lean for jewel tones and earth tones, especially blues and greens, a measure of gold, and the occasional red or burgundy. 

music genre: He's not crazy into music but generally prefers simple vibes, vocal pieces and acoustic guitar and memorable verses, stuff you can hum and carry around in your head.

book genre: Myth stuff for sure. I think even before he became obsessed with the Trident he was just into stories and legends as a kid, the kind of stuff that makes the world seem mysterious and magical, and he just. Never outgrew it. He's got a liiiiittle bit of a history lean, but more for sociology-esque things than like, foreign policy and infrastructure and war facts. The things that unite people, rather than push them apart.

movie genre: Modern Henry is a tv/movie hater sry (he gets bored with it really easily.) 

curse word: Despite what people say of sailors he really doesn't tend to swear very much? Typically only if he's very frustrated, which usually ends up aimed at an inanimate object, which usually means he's saying something along the lines of "this BLOODY (thing)" which is fairly mild all things considered. He's definitely dropped a few 'damn [it]'s and the occasional "for fucks sake". Arse is probably part of his lexicon but I feel stupid/wrong when I try to use it lmfao 

scents: Fresh outdoor air, especially coastal. Florals are nice! (Plumeria & hibiscus & orchids & irises) Brewing tea. Book smell is a good smell. He doesn't know this is what it is but cocoa butter.

fun stuff.

songs: [There's a a whole playlist for this] but big ones include: Wild I Am by Vocal Few , Eulogy by Charlie Allen , Seven by Sleeping at Last, Rubik's Cube by Athlete, Give It Up by Cody Fry, Here I Am by Brian Adams. [There's also actually a second playlist for this.] ...[And this one too.] ;dkjg;ldkfjg;kj (There's reasons for them to be on separate playsts it's just. very hard for me to articulate why.) [This is the angsty one] though that's pretty straightforward.

aesthetic: patches of sunlight and coastal winds and waist high grass waving in the wind and lanterns and lamplight and tropical flowers and the heights of a ship's rigging and adventure through uncharted places and books and sketches and maps and shells and walls papered with thoughts and trinkets and hammocks and humming and cliffsides and dancing and stories by the fire and port wine and rum and spiced tea and warm sturdy hugs and light linen shirts dried in the sun and flushed sunkissed skin and. more but my brain stopped working and this is already quite a list. you get it though you get the energy,,

sings in the shower: Hmmmm I feel it's unlikely but humming is possible?

likes puns: ..Neutral about them? (Hetty thinks they're funny though she likes to harass him with puns sometimes.)

[anim8yash]

Critical Analysis

Son, E. (2023) ‘Symbolic Image of Colors in the Animation Film, Loving Vincent’, Quarterly Review of Film and Video, 40(7), pp. 807–826. doi: 10.1080/10509208.2023.2235991.

Written by Eunha Son, a research professor at the Korean Studies institute at Pusan National University, specializing in the interdisciplinary studies of humanities and imaging science, this article analyzes the metaphoric and representative meaning of colors in animation through the example of the recently released uniquely animated film "Loving Vincent"(2017). I have chosen pages 810 to 813 from this paper to make the analysis.

This part is dedicated to the evaluation of colors, especially the ones which deal with our mental and emotional aspects. The author elaborates that the choice of colors in films are notably used to enhance its emotional value. Hence, it stresses on making it prevalent to use metaphors through representation and doing so by the use of color. In medium such as animation where the artist has complete control over the subject, forms, colors and environment, the choice of colors to effectively communicate the essence of the shot becomes important. The author bases this study on the foundational work of revolutionary color theorists such as, Faber Birren’s (1961) color theory, Wassily Kandinsky’s (1914) work on Spiritual art, Johann Wolfgang von Goethe’s (1840) color theory and many more, as well as evaluating the psychological impact of colors used in recently released animations.

"Loving Vincent" is an animated feature film released in 2017 which is based on the life of the legendary painter Van Gogh which is also the theme of this article. The author observes that the colors used in the films are the same that was used in Van Gogh's paintings and talks about its representation. The colors of the character are figurative while the color of the background sets the mood and emotional value of the shot. The article states how the film uniquely uses oil paintings by Van Gogh to animate and narrate the story. Thus, all of its frames are painted by artists in the stylized approach which was used by Van Gogh and also preserves the same interpretation that he used through his colors. After Van Gogh's death, his life is revisited in this film through the perspectives of people who knew him. It is clear that each person had a different narration about how he dies and the film tries to explore the cause of his death through its runtime and the ways in which colors were used to communicate through each person's perspective.

The article also tries to settle the dispute about "Color psychology" about its mental and sentimental application. They do so by quoting the opinions of well known color theorists across history and presenting the significance of it. The author suggests, through Guilford (1939)'s work that the psychological and neurological reaction produce the affect we feel through the interaction with colors and hence also attach emotional values to them. They also emphasize on the quote “the harmony of color can only be based upon the principle of purposefully touching the human soul” (Kandinsky 1914,59) which suggests that colors have an impact on the very foundations of being and so, goes beyond psychological facets of a human, resulting in an authority over their emotions. Focusing on color balance, Eunha talks about the historic and symbolic meanings of color and its function of setting the mood and adding more information about the context in any film.

The article stresses on how combinations in which colors are used becomes extremely important to express certain feelings with clarity. It makes mention of color being categorized as warm and cool tones as well as light and dark shades. The text emphasizes that tones and shades both bring something to the table and the interaction between them makes or breaks the expression. Light shades are related to warm tones while Dark shades are connected to cooler tones. In Author's words "Brightness is matched with the temperature of the color". The interconnection of temperature with two of the primary colors i.e. Yellow and Blue is mentioned it great detail. The article highlights how Yellow tends to behave keenly and does not naturally go to prominent depths whereas Blue acts in an exact contradiction to yellow. Due to these reasons, Yellow and Blue are widely used to contrast each other. When mixed in equilibrium, they generate green. The application of Blue describes a darker, dispirited character while Yellow, a delicate and warm character. The text also talks about tones that effect the function of a color to act both cheerful or bright with higher saturation and gloomy, dull or depressive with lower brightness.

The Author also presents Faber Birren's (1961) work on representing colors with the personality of people wherein according to Birren, Extroverts were portrayed with warm colors and introverts with cool colors. The text sheds light on some of Yellow's representation such as it being implied spiritually or possessing the quality to appeal intellectuals and people with less intelligence. While in west it was mostly negative with the associations of qualities such as timidity, preconceptions and oppression. Another important aspect of this article is the mention of Color theory by Von Goethe(1840) which says Yellow and Blue are extremes of the color spectrum and their complementary relation with each other give rise to other colors in the spectrum. Using these points from authoritative sources, the paper speaks about maximum emotional impact that occurs when using Yellow and Blue in greater detail. Through Eisenstein's theory of colors, the article explains the significance of the co-relation between color, story and sound while learning the process of film-making.

In conclusion, this article talks about a very important and relevant topic in film-making i.e. representation through colors. Providing valuable insights as well as strong authority based on the work of color theorists from the past and by using a recent and uniquely made artefact as an example of its application. The subject being vast and highly practical, also opens new doors to experiment , practice and an opportunity to contribute on the research in future while exploring deeper into the fascinating connection between human psychology, emotions and colors.

[decapitatedtea]

I don't think they get it....

The power lies in the fact you embody everything he is not capable of being.

He is sick gets rejected knows it's because he is sick but plays all of the other cards. Then makes victims of people if color because his community pacifys him....

They were never in agreement with the sanctions given to tribal Africa they never planned to groom themselves in said truths that were given to tribal people by our Creator. No they purposes only 1 thing to slaughter tribal people use them as mass transferring their energy to. Taking cold of heart 🚿s. Mock cleansing steal birth right.

Had Martin Luther King Jr and other religious people had a focus different than church and saw their true intent. We be that much more ahead. But the fact that LET MY PEOPLE GO has been violated spearheaded by the Order to Repent puts it in retroactive status especially with all the desegregation acts that led to harm brought to African people.

The fact that they persecute maime murder and make agreements with immortal beings who are the true weaker form of being against African people speaks to prove their intent purpose is nothing but Eve regulated.

The table talks in our residence should really bout what to lay in prayer before our Creator to benefit our families because we can't be unequally yoked. They hold so much chit against us including the fact that we are in this country. Meanwhile how many verbs are used to assign proper credit for acts manifested that do not meet up to the standards to be in your presence to begin with. The truth is they present themselves as though to say they are the embodiment of disobedience and you are supposed to know who they are and what they represent but at the same time remain silent so to allow them to pop off whatever their underprivileged undervalued incapable selves want to against you because they can't help themselves to be the embodiment of evil.

At the end of the day your truth as a chosen person of generational truths responsible in and out of the face of all the other Nations is going to always be responsible. Meanwhile as they say that you are held bound to certain manifestations they lay claim that they are not going to have to be responsible for rising unto.

But this is where they ARE DEAD SOUL WRONG!

Although it was purposefully Africa repentance. Those who do not offer no assistance to themselves but to oppose HIM ultimately betray HIM resulting in some manifestation of betrayal against members of their own community. Esteeming no one devalue the land and remove all allies from their fanfare. This all done by themselves WITHOUT a single prayer of safety of request to be held responsible and accountable. They think it's about the finger pointing name blaming fault finding when the real truth it's about responsibility and accountability and they can't do any of it.

Skip denying the abolition pathways of meeting to hold truthful talks and present their convo as though everyday was Halloween. Baby the value of sitting in their presence would have been nothing nothing but gifting them the very acclaim to their family rise to exactly what they say they wanted. Do you understand that they put the US Constitution against African people and should it not been for the fact that Europe was invited by Christopher Columbus our time in this land would be nothing but total fuckery.

Look the first Dollar bill marked Europe England they revealed their hand with the new dollar bill that came out with the design and words we see today. To speak of their union with Babylon against African people. Looking for our loyalty to our Creator to manifest the most prized work of the New Beginning our children born free of the curse of beguile. Literally immaculate lil chits lil farts running around in total opposite of their children born suffering curses because they enjoy betraying immortal beings they were supposed to assist by way of being a, living soul to receive their highly sought after treasure. Failing only proving good for nothing but to be cast out and trampled underfoot of the very immortal beings they enjoyed having sex with and speaking their lofty words to.

Our community would best to prepare their children to helm the truth. Provide means to esteem worth through the Emancipation Proclamation using every tool provided to ensure segregation was the path we kept to in bouts of truth being retained. So when it came to ensuring they wanted black away from them baby make no accusations we hold that to esteem as their compliance we take note of every deed to comply we, show their profitability and we make it known very clear that they know exactly the truth but openly choose to betray it.

The heart wants what it wants only their right bitch don't play. I know it's not a single when the fact of the matter is they since 1998 have been told they are betrayers 1995 been told they are foolish bridesmaid and they intentionally went after Donnie to gun her down who stayed on E 59th St as though it was her and not the 3 heads known as Gilligan Charlie Brown Urkel who was in that bedroom. They already decided to stay in opposition of the truth and their community agreed to assist them. By 1999 when they left KC and went to Chitown using what they derm Southside Chicago birthright money by having anal stimulation, fellatio and even sex finger pointing unrighteous acts of persecution against the members of US Navy blaming Southside Chicago but they are from Kansas & Missouri traveling into Canada causing acts against African people in Canada opposing the Emancipation Proclamation while trying to say Murray was the facilitator benefactor of their activity.

They knew what would be next. In truth Noxzema is an immortal being not a person but rather a monkey with a white face in the jungles of the Amazon. They tried to act like they never knew that their job of being born is to feed the sheep. Sheep meaning engraved of the stone 5 group 🦐🐢🕷🐚🐤 put their failure to say that it was people who are African failing to meet the level of obligation by being a living soul. But they are the ones who bring nothing spoken to fulfillment instead of having children suffering lack of lack knowledge used their children esteem lack of knowledge used and put things together that make you question the saneness of their actions. You know that crucifying is only done by the righteous hands of our Creator so that no one is blamed just as HE guided Abraham to the ram not his son. But know these folk measure up to all sorts of acts and think they are the fucking chit we should run n hide. When the fact is get your family birth right legacy Herald your future in HIS KINGDOM should been what we held fast to.

True no one wants to be murdered by way of harm or touching especially them. They know that betrayers don't belong on the planet by way of experience in the shoes of the betrayer and know that time their family hides their secret that they steal from other people. You are other people. But you haven't figured out how to hold them to truth. Hold them to say they repented. Hold them to being betrayers removing themselves from knowing our Creator and speak it clearly FATHER YOU MAY SEE MY LIKENESS BEING USED BY YOUR ENEMIES TO SAY THAT MY PRESENCE IN THIS COUNTRY ON THIS PLANET GIFTS THEM ACCESS TO ME. WHEREBY THEIR FAMILY AGREED TO SECURE THEIR DAILY ACTIVITY BREATHING AIR. PUTS MYSELF FAMILY FRIENDS IN DANGER OF HAVING OUR LIKENESS REMOVED AS THOUGH WE OPPOSE OUR FREEDOM OF BEGUILE BRINGING WHAT YOU HAVE ALLOWED UNDER MISMANAGEMENT. FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST SOUTH TO THE NORTH WE ARE BEING ERRONEOUSLY CRUCIFIED BY HARM AND TOUCHING WITHOUT BEING ABLE TO MAKE IT TO THE ALTAR.

By them using our likenesses puts them as, responsible to manage truthfully but failed hold them accountable and responsible please do not put my work belief in your words to shame as though I oppose you n find your ways detestable offering my family body broken n bloodshed. Search the heart of they who stand in presence of likenesses approved for even the Jewels are not in favor of such deception as, seen in Philadelphia.

Use immortal realms space to hold contempt against those who live by the New Covenant separating from their vessel innocent people who preferred to be found in your Will otherwise would be well established there in. They called big boy who is an nephilim born child immortally a whole problem he literally was not representing because he he had no mortal vessel unlike them to be in.

[michaelphotolondon23]

WEEK 10

First photo credit: Samuel Fosso, 2/4/23, African Spirits

IN THE EXHIBITION: Look carefully at all the artists’ works.

Then answer these questions: In your view, which artist should win the competition? Why?

I thought that Samuel Fosso’s works were the best of the exhibition. They displayed the most detail and emotion of the series, they were easiest to understand and view the subject, they were visually appealing too, not being blurry or having weird subjects/settings. 

What is the main message of this artist’s work? 

He wants to display different images of African culture and history, important Africans throughout history across multiple cultures.

How is this conveyed? (What techniques is s/he using?) 

Primarily through his use of portraiture and framing, (either full body or chest/shoulder and up) 

Choose one of his/her photos and describe one compositional aspect or photographic attribute (e.g. framing, focus, point of view, shapes, lines, use of light, use of color or texture) that you think is very important to this image. 

This photo is taken from straight on about chest/waist high, it is a very clear and accurate portrait of a soldier in uniform. Lighting is direct, no shadows or fading, the color of his uniform and details of his kit stand out clearly and purposefully, and he is looking right at the camera

Explain how this compositional aspect/photographic attribute influences the way you see the subject in the photograph. 

I think the pose of the subject and the other elements of the photo help me understand the photo to be very serious. Other photographic styles or poses could have been used but this was deliberately chosen which makes me think he wanted to convey a very specific message. 

Does the style of the photo remind you of anything you have seen before? (If so what and how, or if not how is it different?)

Not particularly, at least that I can remember. I’ve seen lots of different photos of soldiers. Some in groups, some on their own, but usually these photos are taken in the field or at least on deployment, not in a very clean, precise studio environment. It does resemble other older military portraits of old, where the whole uniform would be shown in a full length portrait. 

Photograph a cityscape concentrating on attributes such as light, color, texture, shape, line and point of view. Then crop your photo in a way that changes the meaning. Lastly, give your original photo and your cropped version different titles or captions that will help the viewer understand the two different messages.

This photo I took last week in Monaco, on the steps overlooking one of the hairpin turns on the formula one circuit. I chose this photo because I like the way the terrain and the road flows. The curvature of the road follows the hill and is accentuated by the markings of the track. Most corners like this are paved normally, but I think the red and white striping makes it visually interesting. The background isn’t that important to me, but I still think it is cool to see because it gives you an idea of the slope of the hill and the climate that you are in. I cropped the picture as I did because I really like the colors and the lines in the center of the picture, and while it’s obvious enough what you’re looking at, you aren’t sure exactly where the picture was taken. (unless of course you’re a very attentive F1 fan) I think that the angle from which I took the picture lends itself to creating a more interesting image as well, as an image from street level might not capture the elevation change as well.

[crazypossumman]

Chapter Three

September 6 - Present 2452 Oldfall Road

Damien Furr hung up his latest victim’s phone, tossed it to the ground, and crushed it under his foot. He always thought of himself as a genius. It didn’t matter how insane and twisted he was; he was easily the smartest person he knew.

After all, he’d been outsmarting the world-famous Detective Drake Marshier for three years, and he hadn’t even been trying! In fact, for the past six months, he’d been purposefully leaving behind more clues in hopes of making things a bit more interesting. Things were getting far too boring for the madman. One of the reasons he did these twisted things was for the adrenaline rush, and though the hunt and the kill were plenty exciting, the thought of being hunted was even more so. But the detective was too dumb. He was missing that one thing, that one piece of information that Damien could not believe he’d forgotten. At the same time, though, it was the detective’s ignorance and forgetfulness that had caused all of this in the first place. This game he was playing was all part of a plan… a plan so sophisticated and complicated that only a genius like himself could fathom it. There would have been no need for the plan if not for Drake, but that was obviously not the case. So, he could only hope that his plan would work. Not even a genius could know if it would. After all the blood, sweat, and tears that went into this plan, however, it was difficult to see it failing.

Now, he stood in the abandoned building in which he’d planned this night, the night that could very well make or break his plan depending on the detective’s actions. The air was filled with the thick stench of decay; the building had been left to rot there on the outskirts of town for what must’ve been several years now, and greedy looters had long removed anything of value or use from it. He wasn’t even sure what this building had been used for when it was still in operation, but he knew that it was perfect. There was no one there but him to hear the terrified screams of his latest victim. There was no one else around to watch as the crimson-colored blood splattered over the broken, age-whitened pieces that used to be flawless tiled flooring. There wasn’t anything but him, his latest victim, and all the excitement and adrenaline that he loved so dearly. Everything was so perfect, and, so far, everything was going according to plan.

The young man chosen to be his victim that night, now chained by his neck to a jagged pipe jutting out of the rotted wall, deserved everything he was getting. Damien could hardly believe the horrible things he’d done… the horrible things he’d simply gotten away with. It was people like this that drove Damien mad and made him snap, turning him into a monster. The man had made the horrible mistake of stealing Damien’s wallet earlier that day, and the only reason that he needed money desperately enough to steal was that he was running from the law. Now, Damien Furr was making sure that he paid for every last dollar he’d stolen and every last drop of blood he’d spilled.

Damien smiled as he crouched down next to the broken young man. He leaned forward and growled softly to him, “It’ll be hard to steal without any fingers, huh?” He grabbed the bloody rope tying the thief’s wrists together and yanked it up so that the pickpocket could see that all of his fingers had been cleanly severed from his hands. The thief whimpered fearfully, already so broken that he no longer had the strength to scream, and Damien chuckled softly. He was disappointed that his time to torment this man was quickly ending. Luckily, he still had some work to do—a little fun left to be had.

He held the man’s throat tightly in his right hand and removed a small switchblade from his pocket with his left. He pressed the small button on its side, flipping out the blade, and slowly carved an X into the battered flesh of the man’s forehead. He bit his tongue as he concentrated, struggling to keep the man from moving while still allowing him to breathe, but eventually, he completed the task to his satisfaction. Then, he licked the blood off of the blade before folding it again and putting it back in his pocket. The thief looked at him with dark brown eyes filled with fear and blood-tinged tears. Just for a bit of fun, he held a large silver knife to the man’s throat and made him beg for his life. The man begged and whimpered, voice cracking with pain, and Damien laughed, falling backward onto the ground.

“Would you like to know why I am doing this to you?” Damien asked him, finding it in himself to stop laughing and act a bit more serious. He pulled himself off the ground, looking at the man with cold red eyes as he waited for his answer, but it never came. He sighed tiredly, then held his knife to the man’s throat once more. “Answer me,” he spat in his face, and the thief confessed quietly that he did want to know the reason that this was happening to him.

Damien smiled and put his knife back in his belt. “You understand that you deserve this, right?” he asked. “I don’t hurt people who don’t deserve it. You understand what you did to deserve this even without me telling you, don’t you?”

The thief nodded sadly, and Damien ordered him to confess his crimes. Tears streaming down his face like furious rivers, he obeyed quickly.

“I… I hurt… somebody…” he stuttered brokenly, the simple act of talking making his injured throat ache, “I… I k… killed them.”

“Why?” Damien snarled, hate burning in his eyes as he leaned closer to the thief, close enough so that his warm, short breaths could be felt on his face, “What did she do to deserve that?”

The thief looked at him with a terrified, puzzled expression. “How did you know… it was… a she?” he asked fearfully, “How did… you know… that I did… anything bad… at all?”

Glaring down at him, Damien snarled, “I know a lot more than anyone else, and I know that she did nothing to deserve what you did to her. I saw it. I wasn’t there, but I could still see. I can always see, goddammit. I watched you beat her down like that before you killed her. Why? Did you like it? It wasn’t enough for you to kill her? You had to hurt her like that first?” His breaths grew shorter, almost panicked, and his eyes were wide and crazed. He was shaking as he spat more questions at the thief, his voice rising with hysteria. “Do you understand how terrifying that was for her? Did you like to see the fear in her eyes? Did it make you feel strong, powerful to hurt her like that? Did you enjoy slaughtering your own daughter like that?”

He grew angrier with every word until he could no longer force himself to contain his rage. He kicked the man in the side of the head, the force slamming his face into a beam remaining in the decaying wall. He didn’t know how someone could hurt their own family like that, but he couldn’t stand it. People like this deserved death. They all did this to themselves. They were the ones who hurt the people they were supposed to love; they were the ones that conspired against themselves to make this horrid fate possible. He was just the one forced to carry out their punishment when no one else would.

He stopped to take a few deep breaths and pull himself together. He was letting it get the better of him again. It was the only name he had for the side of him that loved to do this, the part of him with the undeniable urge to break and kill people. It took the form of tiny voices in his head, voices that grew louder each time he gave in to their twisted demands. He could hear them screaming at him, begging him to spill more blood in the same way that the man was pleading for his life: desperate and broken. They promised him things if he would kill for them, often promising him an end to his own pain. He’d learned over time that they were lying and that they were even more twisted and evil than he was. He couldn’t allow it to take over completely, or his plan would fail.

There was only one final thing for him to do that night. He didn’t need to cut this man’s tongue out, for he could talk to the detective all he wanted when he was dead. Damien would already be in prison, so it wouldn’t matter. He sighed loudly and pulled his handmade pistol from the holster on his left hip. His gun was usually hidden by the red jacket he wore so that it could be kept with him as often as possible. He’d grown a strange attachment to his weapons, for one could never really know when they might need a gun or a knife to give them the edge in a fight, defend themselves, or kill someone for their sins. Damien had many powerful enemies, and there were more than a few people who wanted him dead. If they found him, he’d need all the weapons he could use.

Truthfully, Damien never intended to let the thief live; he always planned to kill him long before the detective’s ten-minute deadline. This was his last stand before he went to prison for his crimes, and he wasn’t about to let what could be his final victim live. What kind of reputation would that leave him with? He’d go down as the killer who failed to eliminate his final victim. The man before him would be made out to be some poor sap who survived a vicious attack by a serial killer, and people would never see him for the monster he really was. He was not about to let that happen.

The gun was ready to fire as he held it only a foot or so from the bloody X engraved in the man’s forehead. “One shot will end your pain,” a cold voice echoed in his head like something pulled straight from his nightmares. He squeezed the trigger and watched the gun explode in his hand, fire leaping from the muzzle and casting a blinding light for a small moment in the dark building. He looked at the thief with cold eyes as the life slowly drained from his battered face. He could hear his heart pounding rapidly in his chest while the sound of the young man's heart stopped. His hands were shaking violently as he put his gun back into its holster. The adrenaline and the rage had reached their peaks, and he no longer felt like himself. He felt like a killer, a bloodthirsty monster. Never could he find a word to describe the feeling of the exhilaration that overtook him when he killed, or the happiness it brought him to see the life fade from an evil man’s eyes, or the excitement that the bone-rattling sound of a gunshot brought him. It made his chest light, his head spin, his breaths short. His legs shook weakly underneath him, and he was fighting to stay upright as he laughed brokenly, the sound shaking his entire body.

That feeling, or rather the combination of all those feelings, was like a drug. And he had fallen madly in love with it—with the way it made him forget. He forgot about how much he hated himself, how much he hated the things he had done, how much he wanted to die, and how much his past hurt him. That was his other reason for killing. He killed for the adrenaline, for justice, and to numb his pain. Sometimes, he was willing to do anything if it meant that he wouldn’t be so hurt anymore… even if only for a moment.

There was a part of him, though a very small part, that looked at the man’s broken body, at what he had done, and wanted to cry. But his madness shoved that part of him away and awoke the delighted and proud feelings that he cherished. He was pleased with his work here, and he couldn’t wait for Detective Drake Marshier to see it. It was his failure, his very first failure, which helped conspire against Damien and turn him into the bloodthirsty monster he was today. For that, Drake was paying. That’s why Damien stayed in Westfalls all this time, where Drake would be directly responsible for investigating what he had done. Damien had finally had enough of making the detective suffer, though, and now he decided that he needed to move on with his plan. Prison would make a great new challenge for him, and it would be the ideal place for his plan to start falling together.

Damien glared down at the dead body again. “You’re the last person that bastard will ever fail,” he growled softly, more to himself than the dead man. He would always be the first and last person that Drake had truly failed; that much was set in stone long ago. A very wise man had once told Damien that actions spoke louder than words. He hoped that his actions would speak loudly enough to remind Drake of his mistakes. His failure and ignorance had to be punished.

Now, all he could do was wait for Detective Marshier to arrive. He was unsure of how the detective would react or if his plan would work exactly as he wanted it to, but he was sure of one thing. The weight of the world was resting on his shoulders, and if this plan fell apart, the rest of the world would as well.

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[desireandduty]

And there was that smile again, the one he seemed to reserve especially for her that lit up his eyes so they sparkled like aquamarines. She leaned even closer, as unable to resist that smile now as she had been six years ago when they first married. He did look different: more mature, hardened even. Her eyes roved over him for a moment, appreciating the way his frame had filled out with additional layers of muscle. She felt a white hot streak of desire race down her spine as she wondered what he looked like now under the layers of his pirate garb. “Hmmmm, well you do look different,” she replied, her eyes meeting his again. “I like the hair, not so sure about the beard. But you could have come home utterly bald, and I wouldn’t care.” All that mattered was having him home again. While Padmé was certain there were many things they’d have to work through - they’d never really lived together, after all - she was also confident that they could work through anything together.

He assured her that he was here to stay, and Padmé felt her smile widening. Her arms looped around his neck again, hugging him tightly to her while she laughed in delight and pressed kisses to his cheeks, his lips, his neck, and then finally laid her head to rest on his shoulder. “This is the happiest day of my life, now that our family is finally together again,” she murmured.

Speaking of family, she followed the line of Anakin's gaze back towards their house in the distance. "They are," she answered, understanding who he was asking about. "The twins ought to be waking up soon, if they aren't already hounding poor Obi-Wan and Sabé for breakfast. Come on." Stepping out of his embrace, she stood beside him and took his hand, leading him back towards the house. "I think they'll recognize you from the holos we've showed them." She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him. "I can't wait for you to finally meet them. You're one of their favorite bedtime stories, so they ask about you quite often."

When they reached the porch, she found the front door open with Obi-Wan and the twins standing in its frame. Leia looked cautiously optimistic, held safely within Obi-Wan's arms, and Luke was peering out from behind his leg, staring up at Anakin with round blue eyes in his little face. "Good morning, my little loves," she said, greeting them both with a warm smile. "I have someone very special for you to meet." Exchanging a glance with Obi-Wan, he herded Luke back inside and then closed the door behind all of them. Although they had purposefully chosen a home on the outskirts of town to afford themselves the maximum privacy, she still thought it best to have this conversation indoors.

While the group moved inside, Luke had been watching his mother and this new man intently from behind Uncle Obi's left leg. His mother looked happy. Very happy. He could almost see a golden glow emanating from her body in the Force. And she was holding this new man's hand, and he looked happy and strong and also very nice. Plus they had the same hair and eye color. Mommy had told them that one day their father would come home from his travels, when it was safe for him to be part of their family again. Maybe that day was today. So, once the door was closed, Luke stepped out from behind Uncle Obi and took a few steps towards the new man to ask: "Are you my daddy?"

You look good, she said, as if three years on the run had not changed him, made him look tired and drawn and weary. Perhaps because in her presence, he did not feel those things. In her arms, he felt like a new man, his old self, and he had not been Anakin Skywalker for so long, he was perhaps a little surprised how easily he slipped back into him. His hands did not leave her, on her shoulders, on her face, grasping her wrist has she touched his face. "Never better," he assured her and he knew it to be true. Time had passed but they fit together so easily, as if they were meant to be two halves of a whole, and as soon as he laid eyes upon her, he knew everything would be alright. No matter what was thrown at them now, they were together. "Do you like it?" Anakin teased, smiling and holding her hand against his cheek, turning into her touch. "I needed to look less like myself," He explained, gesturing after a moment to his hair.

He was no longer boyish and soft around the edges. He'd lost weight and gained muscle, become hardened by necessity. If you'd held a picture of the hero with no fear against the man he had become, one might struggle to find similarities. Nothing had really changed for them - they were still wanted by the Empire, as were all who belonged to the Rebellion, and they were still in hiding, still on the run. The only difference is that now they would do it together, which was all Anakin had ever wanted. Who better to protect his family than him? Obi-Wan had done an admirable job but Anakin could no longer keep his distance, not as it appeared there would never be an ideal time for a reunion. The Empire was everywhere, with no sign of slowing down or being defeated. The fight against the Sith, against Palpatine, would not be over in months and clearly not even in years. It would take longer than anyone had hoped but he would not stop fighting and neither would she.

"I'm not going anywhere. I've been away long enough....and besides, the Empire killed me, remember?" They'd wanted to be done with old ghosts, to reassure the people that no criminal could outrun them, and even if it was a blatant lie, it served to make Anakin less conspicuous. He'd heard of his own death, and felt a sense of closure. That man was dead. The one who had almost lost it all. The one who had let fear rule him. He was gone, reborn into someone stronger, wiser. He still had much to learn and even more trauma to work through but now he was home, and he would finally have a moment to breathe. He felt like he could take a moment and appreciate what he had for the first time in years. Presently, all he wanted to do was touch her, taste her, feel her skin on his, her hand in his own, as if she might vanish or fade away. He had dreamed of her, but it had not done her justice.

There was only one thing he yearned for more than to stay in this moment forever and that was his children. Were they in the house, down the way? Would they recognize him? Had she shown them pictures? Did they know stories of their father? Did they know he loved them? "Is everyone..." He began, nodding beyond her to their shared home.

[imthefailedartist]

Just came across the artificially intelligent rapper FN Meka. No. Hell no. Absolutely the fuck not.

They typed in a bunch of rap or black culture random words and uploaded a bunch of random rap images and this is the shit it churned out.

It's made by a bunch of white and non-black people of color. What made them think rap is the genre of music their computer program should be making? There are a million other genres they could've chosen.

It says the n-word. A robot that's racially ambiguous says the n-word! They purposefully made it white enough for the white kids that will eat this up but just dark enough so when black people call it out, rightfully so, for its cultural appropriative-ness and stereotyping they can say it's black.

It's very black-fishy. They clearly modeled it off of those stank lookin' skittle rappers who are mostly not black. So why the fuck would they allow the N-WORD to be apart of its lexicon. That's sign number one they shouldn't have made this. You, a group of white people thought it was perfectly fine to let the n-word come out of its digital mouth. Are you serious?

It's a trap rapper. So did it at some point trap?

It speaks nigganese. The voice keeps changing because I know that the white creators are trying to figure out how "black" it can sound with out being offensive. It's not an AI generated voice. They get a black dude to do the raps and a white guy for the speaking voice. Which is even more offensive.

His name is FN Meka. The FN is clearly inspired by rappers like NBA YoungBoy, NLE Choppa, ASAP Rocky, etc. So what does FN stand for? Because for all the rappers with 'tags' in their name those tags have meanings. Is it that they just thought it sounded cool so they went with it? Yes.

A computer software that gets arrested and beaten by the police.

It's giving minstrel show.

These white folks is sick.

What's next? He eats fried chicken and watermelon with a grape pop? He fucks a tiny white woman while her small dick white husband watches.

They've clearly bought it's following to make it seem more popular. I've never heard of this thing until today but it's got 10 million followers? I call bull shit. They are talented animators who lied to the record label and got a deal.

Capitol Records that signed FN Meka has dropped him after the backlash. Now they are going to try and make it look like it was just an oversight and they were trying to get in on the ground floor of a "new" and "innovative" space, when in reality this had to go through so many people before a rough draft of a rough draft contract was even drawn up. They just didn't care. And calling them out on this is screaming into the void. I hate it here.

[wolfstar-in-color]

July Colorful Column: Remus is a Crip, and We Can Write Him Better.

There is one thing that can get me to close a fic so voraciously I don’t even make sure I’m not closing other essential tabs in the process. It doesn’t matter how much I’m loving the fic, how well written I think it is, or how desperately I want to know how it ends. Once I read this sentence, I am done.

It’s written in a variety of different ways, but it always goes something like this: “You don’t want me,” Remus said, “I am too sick/broken/poor/old/[insert chosen self-demeaning adjective here].”

You’re familiar with the trope. The trope is canonical. And if you’ve been around the wolfstar fandom for longer than a few minutes, you’ve read the trope. Maybe you love the trope! Maybe you’ve written the trope! Maybe you’re about to stop reading this column, because the trope rings true to you and you feel a little attacked!

Now, let’s get one thing out of the way right now: I am not saying the trope is wrong. I am not saying it’s bad. I am not saying we should stop writing it. We all have things we don’t like to see in our chosen fics. Maybe you can’t stand Leather Jacket Motorbike Sirius? Maybe you think Elbow Patch Remus is overdone? Or maybe your pet peeves are based in something a little deeper - maybe you think Poor Latino Remus is an irresponsible depiction, or that PWPs are too reductive? Whatever it is, we all have our things.

Let me tell you about my thing. When I first became very ill several years ago, there were various low points in which I felt I had become inherently unlovable. This is, more or less, a normal reaction. When your body stops doing things it used to be able to do - or starts doing things you were quite alright without, thank you very much - it changes the way you relate to your body. You don’t want to hear my whole disability history, so yada yada yada, most people eventually come to accept their limitations. It’s a very painful existence, one in which you constantly tell yourself your disability has transformed you into a burdensome, unworthy member of society, and if nothing else, it’s not terribly sustainable. Being disabled takes grit! It takes power! It takes a truly absurd amount of medical self-advocacy! Hating yourself? Thinking yourself unworthy of love? No one has time for that. 

Of course, I’m being hyperbolic. Plenty of disabled people struggle with these feelings many years into their disabilities, and never really get over them. But here’s the thing. We experience those stories ALL THE TIME. Remember Rain Man? Or Million Dollar Baby? Or that one with the actress from Game of Thrones and that British actor who seemed like he was going to have a promising career but then didn't? Those are all stories about sad, bitter disabled people and their sad, bitter lives, two out of three of which end in the character completing suicide because they simply couldn’t imagine having to live as a disabled person. (I mean, come on media, I get that we're less likely to enjoy a leisurely Saturday hike, but our parking is SUBLIME.) When was the last time you engaged with media that depicted a happy disabled person? A complex disabled person? A disabled person who has sex? No really, these aren’t hypothetical questions, can you please drop a rec in the notes?? Because I am desperate.

There are lots of problems with this trope, and they’ve been discussed ad nauseam by people with PhDs. I’m not actually interested in talking about how this trope leads to a more prevalent societal idea that disabled people are unworthy of love, or contributes to the kind of political thought processes that keep disabled people purposefully disenfranchised. I’m just a bitch on Tumblr, and I have a bone to pick: the thing I really hate about the trope? It’s boring. I’m bored. You know how, like, halfway through Grey’s Anatomy you realized they were just recycling the same plot points over and over again and there was just no WAY anyone working at a hospital prone to THAT MANY disasters would stay on staff? It's like that. I love a recycled trope as much as the next person (There Was Only One Bed, anyone?). But I need. Something. Else.

Remus is disabled. BOLD claim. WILD speculation. Except, not really. You simply - no matter how you flip it, slice it, puree it, or deconstruct it - cannot tell me Remus Lupin is not disabled. Most of us, by this point, are probably familiar with the way that One Canonical Author intended One Dashing Werewolf to be “a metaphor for those illnesses that carry stigma, like HIV and AIDS” [I’m sorry to link you to an outside source quoting She Who Must Not Be Named, but we’re professionals here]. Which is... a thing. It’s been discussed. And, listen, there’s no denying that this parallel is a problematic interpretation of people who have HIV/AIDS and all such similar “those illnesses” (though I’ll admit that I, too, am perennially apt to turn into a raging beast liable to harm anything that crosses my path, but that’s more linked to the at-least-once-monthly recollection that One Day At A Time got cancelled). Critiques aside, Remus Lupin is a character who - due to a condition that affects him physically, mentally, emotionally, and intellectually - is repeatedly marginalized, oppressed, denied political and social power, and ostracized due to unfounded fear that he is infectious to others. Does that sound familiar?

We’re not going to argue about whether or not “Remus is canonically disabled as fuck” is a fair reading. And the reason we’re not going to argue about whether or not it’s a fair reading is because I haven’t read canon in 10-plus years and you will win the argument. Canon is only marginally relevant here. The icon of this blog is brown, curly haired Remus Lupin kissing his trans boyfriend, Sirius Black. We are obviously not too terribly invested in canon. The wolfstar fandom is now a community with over 25,000 AO3 fics, entire careers launched from drawing or writing or cosplaying this non-canonical pairing. We love to play around here with storylines and universes and races and genders and sexualities and all kinds of things, but most of the time? Remus is still disabled. He’s disabled as a werewolf in canon-compliant works, he’s disabled in the AUs where he was injured or abused or kidnapped or harmed as a child, he’s disabled in the stories that read him as chronically ill or bipolar or traumatized or blind or Deaf. I’d go so far as to say that he is one of very few characters in the Wide Wonderful World of media who is, in as close to his essence as one can be, always disabled. And that means? Don’t shoot the messenger... but we could stand to be a tiny bit more responsible with how we portray him. 

Disabled people are complicated. As much as I’d like to pretend we are always level-headed, confident, and ready to assert our inherent worth, we are still just humans. We have bad days. We doubt our worth. We sometimes go out with guys who complain about our steroid-induced weight gain (it was a long time ago, Tumblr, okay??). But, we also have joy and fun and good days and sex and happiness and families and so many other things. 

Remus is a disabled character, and as such, it’s only fair that he’d have those unworthy moments. But - I propose - Remus is also a crip. What is a crip? A crip - like a queer - is someone who eschews the limited boundaries placed on their bodies, who rejects a hierarchy of oppression in favor of an intersectional analysis of lived experience, who isn’t interested in being the tragic figure responsible for helping people with dominant identities realize how good they have it. Crips interpret their disabilities however they want, rethinking bodies and medicine and pleasure and pain and even time itself. Crips are political, community-minded, and in search of liberation. 

Remus is a character who struggles with his disability, sure. But he’s also a character who leverages his physical condition to attempt to shift communities towards his political leanings, advocates for the rights of those who share his physical condition, and has super hot sex with his wrongfully convicted boyfriend ultimately goes on to build community and family. Having a condition that quite literally cripples you, over which you have no control, and through which you are often read as a social pariah? That’s disability. But using said condition as a means through which to build advocacy and community? Now that’s some crip shit. 

Personally, I love disabled!Remus Lupin. But I love crip!Remus Lupin even more. I’d love to see more of a Remus who owns his disability, who covets what makes him unique, and who never ever again tells a potential romantic partner they are too good for him because of his disability. This trope - unlike There Was Only One Bed! - sometimes actually hurts to read. Where’s Remus who thinks a potential romantic partner isn’t good enough for him? Where’s Remus who insists his partners learn more about his condition in order to treat him properly? Where’s sexy wheelchair user Remus? Where’s Remus who uses his werewolf transformations as an excuse to travel the world? Where’s crip Remus??

We don’t have to put “you don’t want me” Remus entirely to bed. It is but one of many repeated tropes that are - in the words of The Hot Priest from Fleabag - morally a bit dubious. And let’s face it - we don’t always come to fandom for its moral superiority (as much as we sometimes like to think we do). 

This is not a condemnation - it is an invitation. Able-bodied folks are all but an injury, illness, or couple decades away from being disabled. And when you get here, I sincerely hope you don’t waste your time on “you don’t want me”ing back and forth with the people you love. I’m inviting you to come to the crip side now. We have snacks, and without all the “you don’t want me” talk, we get to the juicy parts much faster. 

Colorfully,

Mod Theo