#i am down bad for dad secondo

[angellayercake]

Daddy Secondo ask gameeeee tell me more

Something special for you seeing as most of this was your idea! And i think this was the thing we screamed about the most (other than the staff 😏)

He blinked, suddenly awake and needing a moment to get his bearings. As his surroundings started to make sense he could feel her in the bed behind him, curled comfortingly against his back. That was not what woke him though he realises as he feels the tapping again at his calf.

'Papa?' Her voice is so quiet he can barely hear her but when he looks down the bed she is there, hair pillow mussed and standing on end and her blanket clutched in her arms. Her eyes are wide and scared, a look he was unfortunately getting used to but whatever it was that sent her here must have been worse than her fear of him.

'Matilde, what are you doing out of bed?' His voice came out sterner than he would have liked. His recent sleep only exacerbating his usually gruff voice. She flinches back and his sleep fogged brain scrambles to think of a way to reassure her.

'Papa I had a bad dream,' she sobs into her blanket and he tries to search back through his memory to his own childhood, not blessed with as caring a nanny as Matilde. He and Terzo, in their cold nursery, curled around each other trying to soothe each others fears. He knows for certain he doesn't want that for her. Sitting up, he looks to the sleeping figure behind him but she has barely stired. Part of him wants to wake her, she would know exactly what to do, but she is sleeping so peacefully he is loathe to disturb her and he can do this now. Be there for his daughter when she needs him.

'Can I stay with you and Bambi?' He nods dumbly not knowing exactly what to say and worried he would scare her further. When he reaches out to her she takes his hand hesitantly, as though she can hardly believe he is willing to help her. She climbs up on to the bed and he settles her in between them hoping the close presence of her nanny, even if asleep will offset any discomfort he brings her. But as he settles back down into the bed it is not her nanny she gravitates towards.

Looking at him shyly she lays her comfort blanket across his torso before snuggling into his chest. Her small head laying just over his heart and he can feel the moment she finally relaxes. He freezes entirely unprepared for this sequence of events, feeling over large and useless as his little girl takes comfort in his presence. On autopilot he wraps her in his arms one hand stroking her soft curls and the other holding her securely as if one movement would ruin the bubble of safety they have created.

'Thank you, Papa,' she whispers sleepily and he has to swallow around the lump forming on his throat. It hits him then all these moments he must have missed out on in her short life. His selfish reasons for keeping away pale in comparison to what he now realises he has done, leaving her scared and alone on countless nights exactly as his father did to him and his brothers. The only difference for her was the incredible women that she had as her nanny.

He looks over to her only to see she had awoken. Her soft, kind eyes looking over them and it's only then that the first tears begin to spill.

I made myself cry writing this by the way 😭😭😭

[molly-ghuleh]

Camellia: Copia x f!reader - Chapter 6

Camellia: n. - A flower which symbolizes a deep desire or longing.

Summary: Even though you have finally begun to translate Elizabeth's diary, you still need context. A visit from the archivist answers some questions but raises even more.

Word count: 4.6k

A/N: Helloooooo! Thank you all again for your extraordinary patience in the long wait for this chapter. It isn't the most eventful (nor am I the proudest of it) but things are definitely happening, and I think you all will enjoy where it's going!

P.s., the identity of the archivist was inspired by the lovely @writingjourney <3

Warnings: Nihil being a bad dad (again), descriptions of anxiety/panic, descriptions of afab people being seen as objects

AO3 / Chapter 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5

Secondo thinks that abdicating the position of Papa might be the best thing to ever happen to him. 

That’s not to say he disliked being Papa. Quite the opposite, really—holding the scepter, wearing the crown, and hearing the title were all a generous ego boost. But the aspect he loved the most was that he could promote the tenets of the Lord Below how he wanted, how he felt was most effective. He was the mouthpiece of Satan, the proprietor of His word and the bridge between his unholy flock and the fires of Hell. 

But that’s about it. He loved the glory, sure. He did not like the man that the Ministry molded him into. Once he stepped down, it was hard to look himself in the eye without cringing. He was supposed to hold the power for Satan, not the Clergy, and certainly not for Sister Imperator. 

Just about the only thing he has to thank that woman for is the time he’s gotten back after “stepping down.”

Secondo has always been interested in the archives, ever since he was a boy. He would sneak around the Abbey in Rome into places he shouldn’t have been and see things he probably shouldn’t have seen, and keep everything he saw to himself. Having the knowledge of secrets he wasn’t supposed to know made him feel important, like he held some power over the Clergy if he decided to open his mouth. 

So when he'd stumbled upon a dim room towards the back of the library at the tender age of eight, he thought he’d found the Library of Alexandria. Wall-to-wall shelves of thick leather bound books, stacks of tightly-rolled parchment and linens depicting unholy scenes. An old wooden table holding a desk lamp and a magnifying glass. A single lone lamp that, when he’d pulled the chain to illuminate it, had emanated a click so loud that he thought he’d be caught for sure. 

He’d been so disappointed when he realized he couldn’t understand any of the books or scrolls or linens. They were all written in a language unfamiliar, which he knows now to be Latin. But at eight years old, his primary focus was to learn the unholy scripture, to serve Satan in his duties as an altar boy, and to make his father proud. 

That last point… he never did accomplish. 

But he did eventually learn Latin, so that he could read what was in that dim room. He’d learned to shimmy the lock open (the Roman Abbey is ancient, it wasn’t a difficult task) and sneak in, absorbing as much information as he could. 

Secondo learned about rituals that haven’t been done in centuries. He read prayers and psalms that had been forgotten with time. He found drawings of long lost artifacts and relics shrouded in mystery. Each new bit of knowledge gave him that rush of adrenaline that could only come from forbidden things. 

When he was old enough, he was allowed into the archive room. Of course, no one had known he’d already spent countless hours there. His father wanted him to know his family history if he were to take up the helm of Papa one day. You need to know what is in your blood, his father had said. Just as Primo does, and just as Terzo will. 

Secondo had wanted to ask, what about Copia? But he kept his mouth shut. He didn’t want his archive privileges revoked as soon as he’d gotten them. 

The first thing he’d done was find his family tree. Who came before him? Who was Papa before his father, and before his father’s father? How far back did the Emeritus bloodline really go?

It was in the family tome that he first discovered the words Primus Motor. Up until a specific time, every Emeritus heir had been conceived by a woman with the title Prime Mover. Then the women proceeding them had lost that title, with seemingly no pomp or circumstance. Nearly a thousand years ago, the title had been dropped and forgotten. The final Prime Mover, it seems, had been a woman named Elizabeth. 

When her diary had been found in some random basement room of the Abbey, Secondo immediately requested to be the archivist in charge. She was his ancestor, and the last Prime Mover on record. Her diary must have an explanation, or some insight as to what exactly a Prime Mover is. There were Prime Mover rituals outlined in those books he’d found as a boy, sure. But none ever explained what the significance was beyond “the chosen maternal body.” It all sounded rather dehumanizing.

But Sister Imperator had told him to keep that fact a secret. She’d brought in a translator to decipher the diary without telling her the whole story. So, he wasn’t terribly surprised to learn that you’d requested to speak to him, or that when he finds you in the restricted room, you look like a deer caught in headlights.

“Papa,” you say, standing to greet him formally. You bow your head out of respect and give him your name. “I can be out of your way, if you need—” 

Secondo simply puts a hand up to stop you. “No, sorella. I am here to speak to you about the diary, as you requested.” 

Your eyes go so wide that he almost laughs. “Wh-what?” You swallow. “Forgive me, Papa, I didn’t know that you are the archivist who evaluated Elizabeth’s diary…” 

“Is that going to be a problem?” Secondo asks. 

“No! No,” you scramble, shaking your head slightly to align your own thoughts. His intense gaze pins you to the spot, and not in a good way. Not a bad way, either, but… not in the way Copia’s gaze does. 

Determined not to make a fool of yourself, you steel your nerves. “It’s not a problem, Papa. I apologize. I have only… the highest member of the Clergy I have ever met until I arrived here was Bishop Beaumont. I still find myself a bit overwhelmed, sometimes.” 

The corners of Secondo’s painted lips tick up at your admission, but he makes no mention of it. “No matter. What is it you wished to discuss?” 

You sit and turn your notebook around so Secondo can read the translation of the first line. Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover. 

“I was wondering,” you begin, “if you might be able to tell me what a Prime Mover is.” 

After reading the translated line, Secondo leans back. “I do not know much,” he answers gruffly. “But I do know that it was an esteemed position. Something to do with continuing the bloodline. However the title of Prime Mover is no longer used.” 

“How come?” You ask. 

“I do not know.” 

You hum and look down at Elizabeth’s diary, like it might speak the answer to you itself. Something to do with continuing the bloodline? “Sister Imperator told me that you estimated this diary to be about five hundred years old,” you say. “Is there a reason you chose that number?”

At Secondo’s silence, you meet his eyes again to find that his brows are furrowed and his jaw is set. His lips form a tight line, deepening the clefts beside his mouth. “I only ask because it may help with context,” you offer, defending your question. Your chest flutters with nerves again. You hope you haven’t somehow angered him… he’s quite intimidating. 

Secondo’s mind turns. Sister Imperator hadn’t told you that he was the archivist, and she’d told you a different number than the one he’d estimated. She asked him to keep Elizabeth’s status as the last Prime Mover a secret. It seems odd, like she knows something that she wants neither you nor Secondo to. He finds himself annoyed that Sister wants to keep something shrouded in such unnecessary mystery. 

“Sister Imperator has given you the wrong number,” he says after a moment of tense silence. “I believe it is nearly a thousand years old.” 

“A thousand?” You gape. For a volume that’s a millennium old, it’s in remarkably good shape. You’d thought the same when you believed it was just five hundred years old. 

Secondo nods. Whatever reasons that Sister Imperator has for wanting to keep the diary a secret, he doesn’t know. But if he can do anything to learn about his family and its history, or if he can spite Sister… he’ll take that chance. “Elizabeth is the last Prime Mover on record. I do not know why the title was dropped, and I do not know why it is supposed to be such a secret.” 

Oh. Yes, you understand. Papa must have his reasons for disliking Sister, and you have your own. If you can contravene her in this small way, a secret kept between an archivist and a translator, you will. You’re slightly ashamed that the thought makes you a little giddy, but not ashamed enough to not do it. 

“So,” you guess, “you’re hoping that this diary answers that?” 

“Correct,” Papa nods again, and stands. “I ask that you keep me informed, sorella.” 

“Of course, Papa,” you say with a polite smile. 

He leaves the restricted room and you’re left alone with Elizabeth again. Only this time, there is a new clarity between you and your subject. Your gaze drops down to the pages of jumbled letters, wondering. 

Papa Secondo had said that the position of Prime Mover was esteemed. If it had been, why was it dissolved? Perhaps it wasn’t dissolved at all, and it was only forgotten? And… the position is related to the Papal bloodline, so surely these Prime Movers would have been the mothers, right? 

The answers lie in front of you, waiting to be translated. Elizabeth herself beckons you with her slanted script, saying, read me. Hear what I have to say. 

And how you want to focus. How you want to spend the next weeks painstakingly deciphering letter by letter, word by word until you find these answers which will sate your curiosity. But, damn it to Hell, all you want to do is find Copia and tell him what you’ve found out. You want to tell him that you’re still here, that Sister Imperator had agreed to let you stay after your dramatic, last-minute discovery. You want to ask him all sorts of questions about what he might know of Prime Movers or his ancestors. You want to watch the excitement bloom in his eyes as it always does when you speak about the diary. 

You have your reservations, though. Going to Copia on anything other than Ministry business feels like you’re overstepping your position. Who are you to assume that you’re important enough to him to just pop in? 

In those moments in the gardens, and in the chapel, though… it sure felt like you were. He had looked at you like you were. In the gardens he was Copia, and you find within yourself that you’d rather be sent back to Liège than see Copia as only Papa again. 

~~~ 

It’s been two days since Copia has seen you. Two full days since he’d watched you half-waddle down the Sibling corridor, soaking wet and shivering and covered in mud from the knees down, and he can’t focus on anything whatsoever. 

There’s some official bulletin or another on his desk, awaiting his signature to distribute it out to the rest of the Ministry, but he can’t bring himself to pick up his pen and sign it. Not for a lack of caring—the bulletin is actually quite important—but because he’s conjured up this beautiful picture of you in his head, and he’s afraid that if he moves he’ll lose it. 

You must be busy. You’d told him you had an idea about the cipher on your way up the hill out of the gardens, and if he hasn’t so much as gotten a glimpse of you around the Abbey, it must have been a breakthrough. He knows how frustrated you’d been, how determined you were to figure it out, as you’d said. I want to stay and figure it out. 

Another part of Copia’s mind, the part he doesn’t want to listen to but that is so very loud, tells him that perhaps your idea had been wrong, and Sister Imperator had sent you home. Maybe the reason he hasn’t seen you is because you’re not even here anymore. 

So, he keeps still, his eyes unseeing as he stares into nothing but his own mental image of you. If you’re really gone, at least he has this. You might not be gone, but he’s almost scared to go looking for you because he might find that you are. As it stands, you are Schrödinger's Sister of Sin. Here, and not. 

His, and not. 

“Al diavolo questo,” Copia grumbles to himself, pushing himself up from his chair. He rounds his desk, sending a few loose papers (including the bulletin he’s supposed to sign by the end of the day) to the floor, and swings open the door to his office. He turns left, towards the library. If there’s a chance he can see you, rather than his limited mental image of you, he’d be foolish not to take it. 

His footsteps are determined, bringing him quickly down the stairs to the main artery of the Abbey, and across the wide hall towards the entrance to the library. His breath picks up and his heart pounds in his ears like he’s sprinting. By the end of this agonizing trek to the restricted room, he just might be. 

He takes the stairs to the right of the library entrance two at a time. Usually he would smile and wave to whichever Sibling is working the front desk, but not today. The guilt he feels is quickly squashed by the pressing need to either see you or not see you. It feels like it’s eating him up, not knowing. 

Copia has tried to be patient and give you time, if you are still here. He knows that what happened between the two of you in the chapel was a lot, all at once, and even if nothing had been said explicitly, you must know. You must. 

For a moment, when he reaches the top of the stairs, he wonders why it is that he feels so strongly for you, so quickly. It’s as if Satan himself deposited you on his doorstep, just for him. As if Satan had kept him from sleeping that night, so that you could run right into him outside the restricted room door. 

He rounds the corner to walk further into the library, into the shelves of romance books (which, he admits, is rather serendipitous placement). His heart thuds against his sternum when he sees the little square window in the door illuminated. Who else would be in that room with the door closed but you? Who else would have any reason to spend more than five minutes in there, aside from you, or Secondo?

Copia loves his brother. He really does. But he hopes to Lucifer that it isn’t Secondo behind that door, or he might punch him simply for the fact that he’s not you. 

He reaches the door, and pauses. His hand rests on the brass doorknob, but doesn’t turn, because what if you are gone? 

No, no. You aren’t gone. You can’t be gone. 

He turns the handle and pushes the door open on squeaky hinges. There you are, sitting at the desk you always do, head tilted up to see who is at the door. Your brows are slightly raised, your shoulders are hunched—you must be tense from sitting over your work all day—and your finger is placed against that grid of letters as if you had been in the middle of decoding a word when he walked in. The light of the desk lamp attached to your station casts your skin in a warm glow. 

If he thought his heart would calm when he saw that you’re still at the Abbey, he was mistaken. Just the sight of you here, that slight hint of heat in your face illuminated so plainly by the desk lamp has his chest vibrating with relief. At least his mind quiets, the tempest of thoughts and questions finally calming after a long, sleepless two days. 

“Papa?” You ask, after a long moment. You sit up a bit straighter and tilt your head. The slight crease between your brows returns, and Copia wishes he could kiss it smooth again. “Are you alright?”

Your voice seems to break Copia out of whatever reverie he’s stuck in, because he finally blinks and his jaw closes. “I— eh, yes, I’m alright.” 

You slowly stand from your desk and round it, but keep a respectable distance between you and Copia. “You don’t seem alright,” you say. “Copia… what’s wrong?” 

It feels like a weight off his shoulders to hear you call him by his name. With you, he’s not Papa. He doesn’t want to be Papa, not to you, not when you’re looking at him like that. “I thought you might have been gone,” Copia breathes, his voice just above a whisper. “I thought she might have sent you back.” 

“She didn’t.” 

“Good, that’s… good.”

You and Copia stare at one another for another moment. The air is thick with something unspoken. 

“I figured it out,” you say. Then you add, “the diary,” because you both know that there are two things you had to figure out. The diary, and… this. 

You’re still working on whatever this is, and Copia is still staring at you. 

“Copia,” you say with an awkward little smile, “why are you staring at me?” 

His own lips curve into a smile. “Sorry, cara mia. I’m just happy you’re not gone.” 

“Me, too.” 

“So, eh… what is it that you figured out?” Copia asks, blinking a few times in rapid succession. His heart still hammers in his ears. 

You round your desk again to turn your notebook over and show him. “She’s clever. Every word requires a new key, which is why we could only decipher one word using her name,” you explain. “Every decoded word is the key to the next one.”

Copia leans over to read the notebook. You have it flipped open to the complete translation of the first line, and his eyes scan the sentence a few times. “Prime Mover?” he asks, looking back up at you. 

“I don’t know, either,” you tell him. 

He hums in response, his gaze falling back towards the diary and your notebook. 

“When were you going to tell me that your brother is the archivist, you ass?” 

Copia’s head whips back up, afraid that you’d be actually angry at him. His mouth opens, prepared to defend himself because how would he know that you were planning on speaking to his brother? But he sees your wry grin, and the protest dies on his lips. Instead, he releases an airy laugh and his shoulders drop. “Ah, yes… I suppose I should have mentioned that.”

“Sweet Satan, I made myself look like a fool,” you laugh. “I’m not used to Papas and Cardinals walking around yet. Every time I see one I nearly fall over.” 

“You don’t seem so intimidated by me,” Copia says, half relieved and half worried. “What, am I not as scary as Secondo?” 

“Not nearly as scary, no! He could stare someone to death,” you say through a chuckle. “That, and when you and I first met, you were wearing sweatpants and rat slippers.” 

Copia smiles fondly, though you don’t catch it. “So you’re not starstruck by me, tesoro? I’m hurt.” 

“At first I was!” you defend yourself. “But somewhere after that I guess I just… forgot.” 

“Forgot to be starstruck?” 

“Forgot that you are Papa.” 

Oh. Oh, Copia could kiss you, you sweet thing. He doesn’t ever want to go this long without seeing you again. It’s all he can do to stop himself from walking over to you and sweeping you up in his arms and kissing you silly. His hands itch to hold you but you aren’t ready for that yet. So he says instead, “I don’t want to be Papa with you.”

Your heart rises to your throat. “You don’t?” 

“No,” Copia says softly. “I don’t.” 

You have to fight off the smile threatening to stretch your lips. You don’t want him to be Papa with you either, but you don’t know what you do want him to be to you. 

You do know that you want him to kiss you. You do know that the thought of leaving the Abbey without resolving whatever this is made your heart ache, but that talking about whatever this is would make it real and that terrifies you. You do know that falling in love with him means you have something to lose. It’s not quite that, not yet, but… it could be. 

Copia can see your mind working itself in circles. He knows that you’ll talk yourself out of it—whatever it is—if he doesn’t intervene. “Tesoro,” he calls to you, pulling your focus back out from inside your head. When he’s certain you can see him and not just through him, he takes a slow step forward and gently reaches for your hand. The white linen of your gloves, worn while you handle the diary, is a stark contrast to the black leather of his. It slips against his glove and settles into his palm like your hands were crafted for him to hold. Sathanas, your hands are perfect. You are perfect. “Please… tell me you know. Tell me you feel it.” 

Your eyes are wide when they meet his own. “I know,” you whisper. Your voice is shaky with the weight of speaking your feelings, making them real. “And I don’t.” 

His thumb rubs circles on your knuckles. “Cara… you know. You must.” 

“I…” you swallow dryly. “I do, but it’s… it’s scary, Copia. It’s happening and I have no control over it and…” 

“And?” Copia whispers. He takes your other hand, stepping just close enough that you can feel his breath ghost across your cheeks. 

“And I will have to leave,” you respond. Your eyes burn with unshed tears that you desperately try to blink away. “As soon as the diary is done, I will have to go back.” 

Copia looks at you for a silent moment. His eyes search your face, noticing all the details he hadn’t noticed before. This is the closest he’s ever been to you. A tear rolls down your cheek and he reaches up to swipe it away with his thumb, but doesn’t return his hand to his side. It cradles your face like you’re something precious, and to him, you are. 

He gently tugs you closer and wraps his arms around you, holding you against him. You tuck your head under his chin, savoring the smell of him, the comfort of his embrace and the warmth of his body through his suit. “It will be alright, carissima mia.” 

You shut your eyes and two fat tears escape as you do. Your body shudders with a repressed sob. 

Copia simply holds you closer, fighting back tears of his own. 

He’d nearly forgotten. Of course you would have to leave again, once your project was done. Just because you’re here now, doesn’t mean you will always be here. 

Maybe there are ways to have you stay. Maybe if he asked Sister Imperator, she would find a place for you here, doing translation as your sole duty. But can he keep you away from your home, when it’s so obvious how fond you are of it? How could he ask you to stay, knowing you would miss Marseille the whole time? 

Copia squeezes you tighter. “Will you do something for me?” He asks so, so softly. One of his hands strokes the back of your head, drawing you closer into his embrace. “Come and work in my office with me, yes? Just for a little while. Or a day or two, maybe. I hate that you’re all alone up here.”

“I can do that,” you say, and draw away from him slightly so you can look at him. You’re sure you must look a mess with your eyes puffy and nose running. But standing this close to him, clutching the fabric of his shirt like it grounds you to the world, you can’t bring yourself to care. “But I need permission from Papa or Sister Imperator to remove the diary from this room.”

Copia smiles. “Well, I have good news, then,” he says with a quirk of his brow. “There’s a Papa right here. Perhaps you should ask him?”

“Right, yes, I forgot,” you laugh. “Papa, do I have your permission to take Elizabeth’s diary out of the restricted room?” 

Copia laughs back and his breath is warm on your cheek. “Yes, tesoro, you have my permission. Only if you bring it straight to my office.” 

“Of course, Papa,” you nod, smiling. 

“Bene! Let me help you with your things.” 

Copia steps away and releases you from his grasp to help you gather your materials. For a brief moment you’re disappointed, but your cheeks warm at the thought that maybe he might hold you again in the safety and comfort of his office. Maybe you might gather the courage to allow yourself to feel the feelings you’re desperately trying to suppress, and maybe he might feel them back. 

But, you chuckle at his charming urgency to help you. You work on wrapping Elizabeth’s diary in its linens, and placing it in a wooden box you retrieve from a small shelf in the corner of the room. You still wear your white gloves. 

“Shall we?” Copia gestures to the open door once you’re both done preparing to leave. His eyes shine with mirth and something you might think was affection if you weren’t doubtful to a fault. 

“We shall,” you reply. He lets you slip past him and out the door, then falls into step beside you as you make your way down the curved staircase. 

~~~

March 27

Today I was chosen to be Papa’s Prime Mover. 

Mother said it is a gift from Satan to be chosen. I am to conceive the next Papa, and continue the bloodline with the blessing of the Olde One. 

Truthfully, I am frightened. Mother said that it is now my only duty. She said it is an extreme privilege to be a Prime Mover and to carry the blood of Emeritus inside me. But I did not get a say. I was chosen, and that was the end. Papa did not even tell me himself, it was Mother. She said it is better to hear the good news from the mouth of the fairer sex, from the woman who did her duty as I must. 

Fairer sex. I must laugh at that. Fairer sex, and yet I must be a vessel for Emeritus blood at the whim of Satan. Fairer sex because I am beautiful but better to be seen and not heard. And yet I am expected to carry and birth the most powerful man in the Ministry, a power that no one else has. To ‘fairer sex’ I bite my thumb. 

There is to be a ritual tomorrow night, to solidify my role as Papa’s Prime Mover. I am horrified. Mother said that a woman can only hope to be so lucky as to be Prime Mover. Must I pray to be a bred heifer? What of me? What of my own wishes? 

I believed the Dark Lord to be wiser than this. I believed he would not ordain any sex to be lesser than the other. I believed in his doctrine of free choice, of fairness and civility, after having been cast down for disobeying. My faith wavers.

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[crowsfinal-thought]

It’s Written in the Stars

Part 2: Keep your brat quiet

Alpha is fed up with the new ghoul and his kit

Read on Ao3

TW: ear infections, Chronic pain

Alpha wasn’t happy. Yeah, he normally wasn’t all sunshines and Rainbows. But he was extra pissed at the moment. He’d always had an empty room beside him, ever since he was summoned, he was used to it. Sure the ghoul wing had been getting fairly full, but Secondo had the nerve to put the new ghoul right next to him? Most wouldn’t really care about this little problem. But the new ghoul came with a damn kit. It was 5 am. 5 fucking am. The little shit started crying, and ruined Alpha’s sleep. He could hear Orion attempting to soothe her, but the incompetent ghoul did nothing. Why couldn’t they have put Orion in one of the new, soundproof rooms?

This cycle repeated often. Nearly every night, he’d be woken at some random hour by Pyxis crying. He was so sick of it. Sure, Orion was a single dad trying his best, but if he couldn’t handle that little brat, that wasn’t Alpha’s problem.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Orion was exhausted. Pyxis wasn’t taking the transition topside very well. She’d gotten an ear infection, which just wouldn’t let up. If she was older, Orion would’ve been able to heal it. It wasn’t too complex, even he could do it, despite healing not being his specialty. But she was too young to use quintessence on.

He sighed, his heart aching as she wailed. He hated doing this, but he had to give her her ear drops. He applied them quickly, quickly working to soothe her. He knew it must hurt, but it was getting better. Finally she stopped crying, nuzzling back against her little nest in her crib.

He sighed, rubbing his face with his hands. He was so tired, Pyxis was truly a very easy kit. But anyone would get fussy with an ear infection. A loud banging snapped him out of his thoughts.

“Who’s there?” He asked, slowly walking over to the door.

“Open the fucking door, quint.” Snarled an angry voice. He recognized that voice, it was the fire ghoul, Alpha.

“Can I help you?” Orion asked as he opened the door.

“Yes, you can get your fucking kit to stop screaming in the middle of the fucking night. Every night it’s the same damn thing, and I can’t sleep.” The angry fire ghoul was shorter than Orion, but that didn’t limit his intimidation. The smoke pouring out of his mouth and ears definitely let Orion know he was pissed

Orion sighed “I’m trying, she has an ear infection-“

“I don’t want to hear any fucking excuses. You’re a damn quintessence ghoul, just heal it. Or are you too incompetent to even do that?”

Orion took a step back, hunching over a bit. “She’s too young- I’m doing my best, Alpha. But the transition has been hard on all of us.”

“Then maybe you should’ve staying in the fucking pit. Keep your brat quiet.” Alpha stormed off, probably to go light something on fire.

Orion sat on the edge of his nest, looking down at his hands. Was he doing a bad job as a dad for Pyxis? He massaged at his wrists, Pyxis wasn’t the only one who was taking a toll. His wrists and hands had been flaring up again, after years without anything. Maybe he should ask Onega about what to do?

[copias-girl]

The bad part about TCAC is that it ENDS, and I will suffer waiting for the next chapter... aaaah it hurts 😩😩

The story is getting better and sexier after every single chapter, and this one specifically was sooooo good. The Satanic Mass was just 💋👌 CHEF'S KISS. My poor little pitiful ratman, he was never touched before.... by the way, I'm pretty excited to see a little about his past, if you will. My headcanon is that he had a sad and lonely childhood, for 3 reasons: his mismatched eyes, the fact that he didn't know his dad and because his mom was a single satanist woman, considered to be filthy, worthless and a sinner. Imagine being a single mom, satanist and much probably feminist in the 1960-1970s decade? Sister Imperator surely suffered a LOT (not counting Nihil's cheating) and so did her child. I think she was his only friend, Copia is mama's boy forever (yeah i think he knows she is his mother unlike the fandom usually theorizes, but he surelly doesnt know Nihil is his father). This is why he grew up so shy and used to be bullied and mistreated, even among his own people (satanists).

Look at that pretty shy boy. He is afraid of even looking to the reader, imagine when she finally decides to eat her prey? Kissing him in front of everyone? Finally fucking and giving him the most pleasurable love? Ooh he definitely will pass out, at least metaphorically. Imagine, after a great and satisfying fuck, Copia looking down at the sister while she sleeps with her head on his chest and hugging his body?? Imagine she kissing his squishy belly full of rigatoni and body-worshipping him to give him courage! OMFG this is killing me 😩😩

Anyway. I absolutely love your writing, guestie!! ❤️❤️

Awww!! That’s so sweet of you to say!! ♥︎ I’m gonna be dialling up the heat in the next chapters so I can’t wait to post that for you all! 😈🔥

And I’m happy you liked the mass chapter, it was so fun to write!! I’m enjoying writing all the little parts about daily life at the ministry! It really immerses me into the story and I hope it does the same for all my wonderful readers too!

But yes I do headcanon Copia to have been kind of a lonely child. He was raised alongside the other Emeritus brothers, but obviously he’s years younger than Terzo and Secondo so maybe they didn’t play together very much. And obviously Primo is way older than all of them. And yes I do think that if he was going out in the regular world, his mismatched eyes and gentle demeanour would have made him the target for some mean comments 🥺 ugh my poor baby, this is making my heart hurt 🖤

Personally I headcanon that he doesn’t know Sister Imperator is his mother, just because in the chapters she stops herself from saying it (in the doom call chapter) and also in the homecoming chapter she says she can’t call him Papa, and when she asks if he knows why he just says because of Nihil. And obviously Sister Imperator cares for him and is always in his corner, but Copia just thinking he’s an orphan makes him even more lonely and lovable 🥺

But omg YES Ghestie I am so excited to write that part!! If he can’t even handle reader in these chapters, imagine when she goes full force and is begging for his cock like?? Poor sweet rat man is gonna be going into cardiac arrest. And you KNOW reader is a lil exhibitionist sooooo yeah she’s definitely gonna be up for some public shenanigans 👀👀 AND YES HIS RIGATONI FILLED BELLY OMFG I LOVE IT SO SO MUCH LIKE- imagine him being kinda self conscious about his body and reader just worships the FUCK out of him 🤤🤤🤤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

[sanjuno]

You wrote it! LOL, I am amazed and gleeful and yes it is dark, but it's dark in a way that leaves you gleeful that the /bastards got what was coming to them/. Hooray! Although now I have the mental image of XANXUS being raised by Madara and Tobirama

I did indeed write it apparently, because I don’t really have a clear memory of doing so and I’m glad you enjoyed it. I’m really fond of abrupt and inevitable vengeance. It’s what happens when you make an enemy of a self-determined (or at least a ninja raised) person. Once they decide that someone has to die it’s just a matter of picking the moment. Funny thing about humans is that we really don’t expect other people to try and kill us, especially not fluffy bunnies like Tsuna. Which, of course, is why Tsuna’s plan worked so well.

“Hi, sperm donor. Die, sperm donor.” *BOOM*

Conversely, I feel like a Xanxus raised by Madara and Tobirama would have 100% more chill than his canon self. I mean, yeah he’d still be a Wrath Sky, but he’d have Madara to learn techniques from and acceptance from the rest of the Hibari Clan even without him being their blood. Especially if Madara had Resonance with Xanxus (which he very much would, thanks) and then Xanxus found his Cloud from among the HIbari, because the Hibari adopt their Skies into the Clan rather than letting Clan Members leave. (Gotta love that Cloudy Territoriality.) 

Because I’m imagining a Xanxus who gets taken in by Madara when he’s still a child. During the hunt for the Man in the Iron Hat, Madara and his brothers would come across tiny feral street child Xanxus and instantly fall in love with the savage bundle of rage. Of course, Xanxus’ mama is cracked, and she insists that Xanxus has “his father’s Flame” and everyone knows that Xanxus looks nothing like Madara but it’s enough to get Madara’s attention. So Madara takes Xanxus home with him because adoption is a perfectly valid way to have kids and the Hibari can only benefit from having another Sky.

So Xanxus grows up knowing that he was adopted, but also that Madara chose to be Xanxus’ parent despite their lack of blood relation. And from Madara Xanxus learns how to hold the loyalty of an entire Clan. It’s not the all-or-nothing limitation of the Guardian Bonds that are so vaunted in the Western World. It’s a variety, it’s family, because there’s always that one relative that you’d rather throw into the koi pond or set on fire, but you’d still take their side in a bar fight because they’re your asshole relative. And Madara, and then Xanxus in turn, would be the Hibari Clan Skies and all that the title entails.

Then the sealing thing with Tsuna happens, and Madara would go to get Tobirama. Now, this makes things get really interesting, because now Tsuna has both a New Dad and a New Big Brother who are both Wrath Skies. Plus Tobirama as his Other Dad. So when the Vongola show up with their Ring Battle Nonsense, there is a VERY PERVASIVE sense of WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK because the tiny Primo clone has a Wrath Sky “cousin” who is Secondo’s clone. 

Of course, Xanxus prowls around eyeing the Varia because the Sky in him is going “ooh shiny” and the Hibari cultivated parts of him are going “this is Ours now.” Tobirama would just be the Most Proud Dad when Xanxus went out and took over the Varia and brought them home with him. Because yes, assassins are only scary if they aren’t your assassins.

@hamelin-born said:

I’m pretty sure that a Xanxus raised by Madara and Tobirama (Plucked from the ice, given a real family - Madara knows that Rage. Tobirama knows that Will.) would trigger either the apocalypse or end up founding an independent Family of his own that more then rivaled Vongola. Because the best revenge is living well, being fully capable of destroying your enemies, and watching in glee as they squirm on the hook, knowing that they live only at your sufferance.

Oh yes, so in the case of a Xanxus taken away from the Vongola post-icing he’d be 16 or 17 ish? In which case we have a Xanxus who is riding the ragged edge of his sanity, betrayed and well aware of how little he actually means to his “adoptive” father. This would be a Xanxus taken in to the Hibari Clan just after Tsuna was revived, who would see Tsuna (an actual descendant of the Vongola) who Nono was just as prepared to kill.

Xanxus and Tsuna would resonate so deeply with one another here. And with Madara, because Hashirama might have only been his blood in their first life but he was still Madara’s brother ever after, and how many lifetimes ended with Madara dead by his brother’s hand?

Meanwhile Tobirama is staring at Madara and wondering somewhat incredulously why he’d never noticed how much of a mother hen Madara is. You thought the fussing over his little brother’s was bad, but that has nothing on Madara when he has foundlings to mother. Such fussing. (Tobirama is certainly not blushing shut up. Even if he was blushing it would be understandable because the ability to care for children is an attractive trait in a man.)

With Xanxus free, the Varia are in a bit of a conundrum, because do they confront Nono? Do they try to track Xanxus down? Do they wait for communication from Xanxus? Is this a trap by Nono? A test to see if they’re still loyal to Xanxus? Is Xanxus really free? THEY NEED TO KNOW WHAT TO DO AND THEY NEED TO KNOW NOW.

And then Fon drops by to see Mammon and is deeply apologetic about his nephew’s tendency to just take things that interest him. Mammon is just staring at Fon over their strawberry milk. Because how the fuck? Now, to be fair, if the Vongola hadn’t sealed Tsunayoshi then Madara would never have had a reason to go snooping and he never would have found Xanxus’ iceberg, so it’s all Nono’s fault in the end anyway.

Still, there is a slow trickle of the Varia members disappearing or retiring or leaving without warning, starting with Squalo and the other Officers. Except for Ottabio, of course, who ends up in charge of the dregs and sycophants and mooks. None of whom really deserve to be called the Varia and are little better than thugs.

Meanwhile the real Varia are being folded into the Hibari Clan and Madara is delighted look at what a wonderful son he has. Look at how he’s strengthening the Clan. Isn’t he just precious? Xanxus has… no earthly idea how to deal with this. Especially when Madara tuts and tells Bel and the other kids that if their aim is to cause maximum trauma they should cut here and then put pressure there and Tobirama is in the background complaining that Madara should not be teaching the children his bad habits and efficiency is better for contract assassins and it’s all morbidly heartwarming.

Then of course Reborn shows up to teach Tsuna and there is even more DRAMA AND CHAOS than in canon. And yes, Nono and Iemitsu are terrified to find out that this is where Xanxus has been. What is he planning? 

And then Tsuna probably poisons them both with something chakra treated and incurable because this time he wants them to suffer for what they did to Xan-nii, so no mercifully quick deaths for them this time. The Vongola proceeds to get taken over by the cheerfully ruthless combo of Tsuna and Xanxus. The Alliance quick learns that a happy Xanxus is the scariest Xanxus of all.

[irltrexxx]

monastery day 5

warning: this is another post that is mostly about gossip at the monastery. sorry, dis is my life now.

today was rather nice. i slept in until 8 and woke to the sounds of children arriving for the preschool that is run here during weekdays. it’s a pleasant way to wake up, because i get to savor the fact that i am still in bed and those kids and their parents are already out and about.

i moseyed down for coffee (today two double shot cappuccinos) and drew for a bit before i was joined by adrianna (i’ve been calling her andrea!) and marta. adrianna always takes yogurt for breakfast because she doesn’t like sweets, but i do believe i saw her eat a piece of the yellow cake that was at each of our spots! i tried a piece, but it was just yellow cake. nothing to write home about.

marta marveled at my drawings (so sweet).

after breakfast marta and andrianna showed me a secret sala di soggiorno (the nuns living room!) that has two really comfy armchairs, a tv, books, and wifi! i have barely left the room today. i hoped to camp out in the room solo for a while and find a new book to read (quickly finishing the bill bryson) but marta had other plans. she and i chatted from 9-12! i’m trying to remember what we talked about..her cat milo (can no longer deny i am a cat lady 😿), what i should do with everything i experience on my trips (cookbook, photo album, published book, blog), the situation with her nephews who she doesn’t want to go live with... we also wrote a haiku about a painting in the room.

madonna madre

pintura infantile

per devozione

this is the painting that inspired us:

after that, it was lunch! primo was pasta with ragu, secondo was involtini with DELICIOUS sautéed tiny tomatoes with rosemary, followed by the most INCREDIBLE crema fritta, which we figured is polenta cooked in cream and then fried and dusted with powdered sugar.

the gardner (guillerno) also joined us for lunch. he is very cute and old! i’m not sure if he has any teeth. he started his meal off with bread soaked in wine (made from the grapes that he grows) and ate the tomatoes from his own garden.

the american sister aka hermit also joined for lunch. she and i spoke a bit about why my name is sarah if i am not catholic, how my choosing to stay in a convent was very smart, and how i shouldn’t trust taxi drivers or discotecs. she told me she is the only person left alive in her family—the youngest of 4 children, and her dad was in the military. so now she just travels around and leaves her life in god’s hands.

when she left the room the old biddies asked me what we were talking about. at one point one of the older resident sisters joined and went on a flat out tirade against the hermit and her lifestyle, saying she cannot imagine how a life lived in this was pleasing god or being worthwhile. it was a little harsh, but i agreed with her on most of it (we are here to help people, to learn and meet new people, we should lead happy lives and keep god in our hearts). anywho, towards the end of the tirade the hermit popped out of the kitchen. i fear she overheard the whole thing—she was shaking a bit, and seemed upset. she asked if she could speak to me for a couple of minutes and then told me some very useful information about where to find the post office and the hours of the attractions in brisighella. i thanked her graciously. i feel bad for her though. she’s a little cray, but hay...aren’t we all.

after that drama i took a walk through fognano to take some photos with my film camera. while this morning it was raining, this afternoon the sun was out and it was beautiful. i walked the length of town back and forth twice. there were lots of people hoing about their business, and i got a few photos. when i returned to the monastery they were setting up the street market for tomorrow. there was a truck full of citrus and artichokes. i’ll def take my camera when i go to market!

at the monastery i continued taking photos of the grounds. the sun was setting and the contrast in textures of all the finishes on the exterior of the building looked bitchin. i found a grotto with the madonna in it and also the sequoias i had heard mentioned.

when it started to get dark i retired again to the sala di soggiorno. i downloaded a new stephen king book (carrie) and also made reservations to stay in an apartment in florence this weekend as opposed to staying at the monastery in full. i think i can happily live here until friday, but i’d love to do some more exploring and stop eating so much damn brodo.

then the dinner bell wrang! adrianna, marta, and i took out seats. we had rice in brodo for our primo 🙄, and a secondo that was like a white plate special! potato croquettes, boiled fennel, boiled cauliflower, and pecorino. the cheese was great! everything was good...i’m sure it was very nutritious. then for our dolce, fresh fruit salad with the usual suspects (pineapple, banana, clementine) and vin brûlée (duh). i also had a tiny cooked pear because those little guys are the shit.

marta says the vin brûlée gives her terrible nightmares but she had a glass anyway.

i learned today that adrianna is 94 (she doesn’t look a day over 70!) and marta is 88 (also lookin good, but complaining a lot!). i think the nuns are tired of listening to marta’s shit. they keep telling her to go to her own house to rest lol.

tonight i plan on trying to stay up late cuz i liked that sleeping in stuff. excited for market tomorrow—fingers crossed they sell some cheesy stuff!

omg i am so full.

<3 k8