#i love my deities with all my heart and soul

[ninaen]

White butterflies, colorful fishes, 11:11, 555, 222, 22:22, 444, 999, feathers, snakes, foxes, rams, the color red, black and green, seeing the flowers I adore… I get it, yeah-yeah, you’re trying to get my attention, Loki. And perhaps not just you but my other deities as well. King Lucifer, King Leviathan and King Asmodeus.

Just so you know, my attention is always on you. You’re constantly on my mind, your names on my lips and if I didn’t know any better, I would think that you’re haunting me. But I know better, also I know the truth, and you’re just popping up in my thoughts out of nowhere because you’re just so important to me that I cannot help myself.

Thank you for being with me and guiding me though the hard times in my life.

You’re my rocks and I know I can lean on you because you will keep me happy and protected forever.

I love you all. In fact, I’ve loved you for so long that I don’t know what not loving you feels like.

[julystruck]

ABSOLUTELY GIRLFLOPPING THROUGH LIFE 💯 🔥💯 🔥💯 🔥💯 🔥💯 🔥💯 🔥

[fortuneforsaken-if]

What is a King to a God, and what is a God to a non-believer?

DEMO ☥ PINTEREST

This game is geared for mature audiences and as such is strictly 18+.

Ancient shackles bind you to the mortal realm, a soul severed from a home lost to the sands of time. A curse on you, a blessing for those who take command; Who wouldn't like to own a God?

You're the highly revered deity of fortune. Or you were, five thousand and eighty-two years ago. Now you're nothing but a glorified plaything to one of the most powerful families in the world. Every demand you must fulfill, no matter how vile or self-serving. The illusion of choice is all but shattered, there's nothing you can do to change it.

Or is there?

It takes a simple thing for something to shift. A fragment from the past, an ageless, flickering hum of power that unfurls the hands of fate and unearths buried sparks of hope. No one would've thought that an ancient sherd would hold the first hint to your freedom, a warm, familiar sensation of your soul locked in a tomb somewhere where no mortal has stepped in well over five thousand years.

Let's hope the decay doesn't take you before you find your way back home.

☥ FEATURES ☥

Two separate sides to customization; The one mortals perceive, and select parts of your true form. Choose names, appearances, gender, pronouns, sexuality, romantic orientation, and more.

Shape the personality that starts to re-emerge after being dulled for the better part of history. Reconnect with yourself, and get in touch with memories and feelings you lost so long ago.

Experience a character-driven story full of twists and turns that eventually determine how each of the three endings play out.

Romance one (or two) potential love interests from a cast of characters; A shunned archaeologist, a primordial God, the reincarnation of a priestess, or the mysterious man you can't quite place. Or don't, it's up to you.

And last but not least: Don't let the decay reach your heart. Every change of fortune has consequences, and mindfulness is encouraged. This game does have bad endings.

☥ CAST OF CHARACTERS ☥

Zain/Zaina Tharset ∆ M or F, 28

"You're my birthright, and I'd sooner have you dead than let you make a fool out of me."

Z is your charge. Loud, obnoxious, and entitled; They don't care about your feelings or protests. Every desire that leaves them only serves them alone, and it's on brand for most of the charges you've had before. In simple terms, Z is not a good person, and the more time you serve under them, the less you believe they have any redeeming qualities.

Like everyone in the family, Z has warm brown skin with golden undertones, and eyes in light shades of brown. Their hair is naturally curly and shaved on the sides, leaving a strip of hair on the top and back, like a fashionable mohawk. Zaina's hair reaches the middle of her shoulder blades, while Zain's stops at the nape of his neck.

Being bound to them is painful, but you have no choice. Trying to retrieve your soul will be an ordeal, and it might not be worth the agony.

Rami Tharset ∆ M, 28, RO

"Just because the world has forgotten you, forgotten them, doesn't mean I will."

Rami is the twin brother of your current charge. Kind and humble, it's difficult to imagine him a part of the Tharset family on count of how different he is from that pit of vipers. He keeps to himself, usually holed away in a library or study where he digs into the history of, well, you. Or the ancient world you came from. This has caused the rest of the archeological community to shun him, the name of your old empire nothing more than a myth and a glorified fairy tale.

Rami shares his family's warm brown skin tone, and the black curly hair that's usually a messy mop that sits on top of his head, unstyled and naturally chaotic. It reaches just the stop of his ears, and is shaved in the back. Light brown eyes that are quite blurry without his glasses, but the gold-tinted pilot-framed lenses fit him nicely.

He's one of the few friendly faces you face in the Tharset circle, and you curse your misfortune that you couldn't have him as a charge instead.

Maluset ∆ M, N/A, RO

"For all I am, all I have controlled, still I could not keep you safe. Forgive me, old friend."

The God of the Night, and everything that you have left of an age and life long forgotten. While the rest of your pantheon faded one by one, he remained. You've always known Maluset as a calm presence, a steadfast and unperturbed God that never let himself be shaken, by mortals or his siblings.

While Mal prefers manifesting as his animal motif - a jackal made of black marble and eyes like consolidated galaxies - he does have a human form too. If he must appear mortal, his skin takes the color of what the mortals of your time had; bronzed, medium brown with a golden undertone. His hair would be jet black and curly, medium length, and he likes it naturally tousled by the winds. If necessary, he'll let his eyes appear dark brown in color, but he prefers the starlit skies in them instead.

He's been a constant in your life, at least until he disappeared three centuries ago. You know he's still out there since the realm where you take shelter is his, and it hasn't yet disappeared.

Rory Ewing ∆ F, 23, RO

"I can't remember, but your face, it stirs something in my heart. Why? Who was I to you?"

Rory is a new acquaintance to you, but there's something very familiar about her. She might just be a student now, her curiosity bringing her close to you, but you can feel an old connection whenever she's close by. Her voice reminds you of prayers long ago, even if her modern vernacular is closer to 'damn, that shit's the bomb' than hymns sung in your praise. Then again, reincarnation has a way of changing people.

It doesn't, however, change appearances. Back in your day, Rory's vessel was a traveler from the north; Her skin was light beige, rosy in its undertones. Her hair was thick and a subdued red, woven into an intricate braid that hung over her shoulder, reaching her midriff. Her eyes were also uncommon to you; pale green, vibrant but ghostly.

She doesn't remember you, and maybe that's for the best. Her new self is a stark contrast to who she was, and you don't think she'd enjoy the idea of donning priestess garb over the punk-rockish getup she wears now.

Taz Arian ∆ M, 34, RO

"Funny, isn't it? How some people seem familiar, even when they shouldn't be."

Taz is... Someone. He appears out of nowhere to join your journey, his knowledge of old ruins and tombs handy but somewhat worrying when he shouldn't even be able to see you. There's a strange thrum of power coming from him whenever he speaks, and you swear you've met him before, but where? It might be easier to find out if he didn't deflect and flirt his way out of things, but it does help with mortals that can't see you.

His appearance is nothing extraordinary; Dark brown hair that's held up in a bun, and you could assume it reaches his shoulders when loose, the loose curls pulling it a tad shorter. His eyes are light in color, almost golden in the right light, glinting with mischief. His skin is weathered, and golden bronze in color, with an intricate tattoo of an eagle spanning across his chest. He also sports a short beard, which gives him a rogueish look.

There is something about him that tugs at your memories, but you can't catch that thread of remembrance for long enough to recall him. Still, he doesn't seem to mind and resorts to teasing you instead.

[nikxlaii]

➽ 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓

☁ Pairing: Zhongli x gn!reader

☁ Category: Angst

☁Synopsis: He excludes you every time he's with her, and now he's living with the consequences of his actions, weighed down by their heavy toll.

☁ Note: It looks better in my head, lmao. I got back into writing after school ended. Still preparing for 12th grade, I'm scared. Good luck reading this. Let me know how it goes. 06/12/2024

Do you not see me?

You stood in the field of glaze lilies, the soft night breeze gently caressing your skin, a sense of isolation surrounded you. The silence was deafening, save for the voices of the divine beings before you, talking as if you were not there. It was as if they were lost in the charms of the evening, indifferent to your presence.

You knew that going with Morax was a foolish decision the moment you realized that the God of Dust, Guizhong, would also be there. You shouldn't have come, you shouldn't have gone. But your heart would not permit you to resist the urge to spend time with the man you've always loved, even though it may not have been the wisest course of action.

Despite the sinking feeling in your stomach, you couldn't let the chance of being with him slip through your fingers. Yet as the night wore on, a seed of doubt had started to take root within you, gnawing at your innermost thoughts. You now wish you had the foresight to realize that accompanying Morax wasn't the most commendable choice.

"Here," Guizhong, with a playful glint in her eye, reached down to pluck one of the glaze lilies dotting the ground, a sweet scent filling the evening air. With a sweet smile, she tucked the lily behind Morax's ear. "How nice it looks on you!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with amusement. Morax's eyes softened at Guizhong's sweet gesture as he smiled softly at her, an expression you'd never seen on his face before. It was clear that only Guizhong could bring that soft smile to Morax's stoic face.

You stood there watching them, a silent observer, as they talked to one another. Even what they're talking about is unknown to you, making you feel like nothing more than a passive object in the room. You bore witness to the way the man you loved gazes at her with yearning and adoration—a glance that you wish was aimed at you instead.

The sight was not one to behold, causing a deep and unrelenting pain to well up within the deepest reaches of your emotional being. It was a peculiar feeling that possessed you. It was as if a sense of resentment towards the goddess gradually seeped into your bones, permeating your very essence.

But how can you hate such an innocent god who has never actively done any harm? In particular to you? Nonetheless, deep down you can't help but wish she'd never come into his life. That he had chosen you instead of her, that it was you in his arms, the object of his desire. Yet you know it's a futile dream, for you two are incompatible, you are the god of war while he is the god of contracts, forever parted by the gulf between your natures.

Guizhong, being the epitome of refinement and grace, captivates all who lay eyes on her. Unlike you, the deity of battles, Guizhong was a wise, compassionate, and intelligent god who never harmed a single soul. Conversely, you nevertheless bore the scars of battle on your body. Your skin stained with blood from countless battles. You see why Morax is so captivated by her—she was everything that you weren't.

"Oh, I think it's best I leave for now. Perhaps we can meet another time?" You force the words past your lips, your voice a mixture of hurt and disappointment. You hug your arms tightly to your chest, waiting for a response from either the two of them, only to realize that they don't seem to care about your presence. They're too caught up in their own world, and you're not a part of it. Maybe it's best to leave them be.

That night marked the end of your presence in their lives. It was then that you knew that it was time to move on. You couldn't change the way things were, nor could you force Morax to love you. As difficult as it was, you had to accept that your relationship with him was not meant to be. So, with a heavy heart, you decided to leave, choosing to cut all ties and put the past behind you. It was the only way to find peace and move forward.

-

In a tragic turn of events, the Archon War raged on with no end in sight. The God of Dust lost her life in a fierce battle over the Guili Plains and perished amidst the Glaze Lilies, leaving behind a sea of sorrow in her wake, particularly for Morax. Imagine his grief when he lost her too. He should have known the impending doom that was about to happen, and maybe, just maybe, he would have saved her too. Everything was a massacre.

Despite the passing years, he never ceased his search for you, holding a faint glimmer of hope that you were still alive. Despite giving up his gnosis, his rulership, and the weight of responsibility that he's borne for millennia, his determination to find you remains steadfast. It's as if he's incapable of letting go of the notion that you're still out there, somewhere, waiting to be discovered. Perhaps the gnosis is now in the hands of the Fatui and has become their possession. He continues to look for you without ceasing.

Despite the selfish intentions behind his actions, he continued to search for you over and over again. He knew that he was to blame for your departure, as his behavior had led you to leave his life forever. Nevertheless, he persisted in trying to find you, driven by the guilt and regret that had filled his heart. He struggled to come to terms with the consequences of his actions, and the sadness that weighed upon him only continued to grow. All he could do was hope that somehow, someway, he could make amends.

But...

Would he ever see you again?

☁ Note: Zhongli, you selfish man, jkjk, I love you. No hate towards Guizhong! I love her so much. She's so cute. Who do you think is at fault here? Of course, me! for creating this.

[sunnami]

the marauders as. . . whatever these love languages are (ii).

“i’m so fucking tired, please god just let me rest for five minutes.”

𝐑𝐄𝐌𝐔𝐒 𝐋𝐔𝐏𝐈𝐍 sees a monster staring back at him in the mirror—you tell him that you see a kind, gentle soul deserving of all things beautiful. he wants to bury himself beneath the ground, where the earthworms burrow and the primroses bloom one day. the mornings after the full moon are always the hardest. a new scar to his growing collection and fresh blood spilt on his wretched hands. he is a monster and there is no better word to define him than that. so why do you burst into his room, much like the morning sun—without a care for the moon’s sorrow—and smile at him like you actually care?

he doesn’t believe you’re real—only a mirage sent by his darkest nightmares to torment him. yet, how can torture feel so delicate and forgiving? still, you insist on seeking him out despite knowing he is a cursed man. you see the bloodied tips of his fingers where claws have grown the night prior, the crimson smudges in the corner of his mouth, teeth stained with the lives of innocent creatures he’s taken. he is a killer, and yet you stay by his side.

don’t you see?

he’s trying to keep you safe by pushing you away. one day, you’ll tire of him just as he has grown weary of living in his own skin.

why do you look at him as though he cannot rip you apart, limb by limb, with just a flick of his hand?

“because you are remus lupin,” you say, a cruel whisper in his ear, holding his head close to your heart, and shouldering his burdens, aches, and pains. “i will be here when the sun rises, and i will be with you until the earth knows the taste of our existence, when the vines creep over our legs and arms, and until you understand that love is not strong enough to explain why my soul calls out to yours.”

ah, remus sees it now.

he needs you just as a canary needs their wings to fly. his tears soak the fabric of your shirt, and you hold him closer until he feels you—and only you. you are the reason his heart still endures, hammering inside his ribcage as though it knows you are nearby. his body is but ruined flesh—even so, if the gods think he is deserving to bear witness to the innocence in your eyes, then perhaps he is not so much of a monster as he thought.

please, he begs to all the deities listening, do not take this pure creature away from me.

he would never ask you to share the weight of his damned fate, but he grieves at the thought of losing you—for remus might know true death, then.

a/n: did i go overboard with this one? probably. . .

[notlongtolove]

empty my soul

they say the seven deadly sins are seven ways of mortal death, seven paths to eternal damnation, each a step away from redemption. but spencer knows that he would follow any path if it led him to you.

pairing: spencer reid x fem!reader (second person, no y/n)

genre: fluff?

content: implied intimacy, religious mentions, you're intoxicating and spencer contemplates the pull of his desire and devotion toward you through the seven deadly sins

word count: 1.8k

note: ngl i wrote half of this on the plane and almost forgot ab it. i feel like this concept would have been better utilised if i could write smut but i dont think i am all that good at writing smut

a line: He’ll take the sins, the ungodly weight of them, without question, without hesitation. To keep you. Always you.

I would live in your love as the sea-grasses live in the sea, Borne up by each wave as it passes, drawn down by each wave that recedes; I would empty my soul of the dreams that have gathered in me, I would beat with your heart as it beats, I would follow your soul as it leads. - sara teasdale

Spencer Reid has never been religious. He doesn’t believe in a higher being, doesn’t think the universe bends to the will of anything greater than chance. He’s a man defined by facts, by logic, by what can be measured and proven. Still, with the nature of his job and the evils he’s seen, Spencer Reid tries to be a good person. He believes he is one, for the most part.

In the office, he pours the last of the coffee into Derek's mug first, even though he needs the caffeine just as badly. On the subway, he stands without hesitation to offer his seat to a pregnant lady juggling an oversized tote despite the exhaustion of his day. Climbing the stairs, he stops to smile at the old man on the landing who’s always surrounded by his cats—even if he’s never gotten a smile back.

He tells himself these things matter. That they tip the scale in his favor.

Because the seven deadly sins—those cardinal vices—are a map of human weakness.

It’s a moral compass he has never adhered to himself—Yet tonight, standing at his front door, key in hand, he wonders if he’s unwittingly broken them all.

The hallway is dim, but he can see the soft flicker of his bedside lamp through the cracked bedroom door. He opens it quietly, and there you are. He steps inside, careful not to disturb you. You’re sleeping, peaceful. You're in his shirt, curled up on his bed. Absolute perfection.

Spencer doesn’t believe in angels, but if they walked among mortals, he thinks you’d be the closest thing to one. 

It’s the sin of self-admiration, the opposite of humility. Pride. He knows it well. C.S. Lewis wrote that pride is the root of all sin, the ego in direct defiance of God. Spencer has always thought himself better than that. He doesn’t believe in claiming you, in reducing you to an extension of himself. But when the team goes out and you’re there, turning heads, earning glances that linger too long, he tells himself it’s admiration, not possession, that makes his chest swell. To think you’re his? The pride seeps in, unbidden.

He crosses the room slowly. Standing at the edge of the bed, he watches you. Right now, he’s certain of one thing—he’s not sure he’s capable of redemption. Not tonight. You need your rest, and he knows he should let you sleep. He knows it as surely as he knows the formulas that balance delicate equations, the weight of the gun on his hip.

But he doesn’t want to. It’s greed, plain and simple. Henry Edward Manning called avarice a mire that pulls a man deeper into the world, making it his god. Spencer’s greed is less tangible than wealth or power, but it consumes him all the same. It's not enough to watch you sleep, though the sight should be enough. It’s a sight he’s memorized, filed away for lonely nights away from you. But tonight, it just isn’t enough. 

Spencer kneels beside the bed, though not in prayer—No deity would grant absolution for the choices he’s about to make. It’s a desperate worship, a wordless plea. He presses a kiss to your shoulder. Light, reverent. Another one to your temple. Then to the corner of your mouth. And another. And another. He wants more. Needs more. Gluttony, he thinks. A thousand wouldn’t sate him. Even a million might not be enough.

Your lashes flutter, and for a moment, guilt flickers in his chest. You’ve had a long day, too. He should pull away, let you sleep. But your lips part in a quiet murmur of his name, and suddenly, the rest of the world is a distant, muted thing.

“Spencer,” you whisper, your voice soft and trusting, not even fully awake.

“Hey, honey,” he replies, just as softly, brushing his fingers gently through your hair.

“When’d you get back?”

“Just now,” he murmurs, his hand caressing the curve of your hair. “Go back to sleep, baby.”

“C’mere,” you say, your hand reaching out, fingers curling weakly at the fabric of his shirt, a silent plea. 

Usually, he’d shower first. Wash off the day—the grime, the weight of it all—but tonight has been long and harrowing, and you’re right here, pulling him closer. So instead, with careful, practiced movements, he undresses quietly, slipping into a fresh pair of clothes, careful not to disturb you.

By the time he slides under the covers, you’re already half-lost to sleep again. But your body shifts instinctively, finding his, limbs tangling in his as though your subconscious can’t bear to be apart. It’s muscle memory now, the way you fit against him. Your body stays nestled against his, and Spencer simply holds you. 

He remembers the first nights you stayed over, how you tossed and turned and barely managed a few restless hours of sleep. You’d told him about your insomnia, how it often robbed you of rest. And yet, months later, you sleep peacefully beside him, body curled into his sheets like you’ve always belonged here. Something stirs within his chest, spreading warmth through his ribs—a realization that you feel safe with him. Safe enough to rest, to let go, to sleep soundly in a world that’s often unforgiving. 

Sometimes, if he wasn’t so hopelessly in love with you, Spencer thinks he might envy you. For so long before he met you, he’d wondered what he was doing all this for. His intellect, his job—it always felt like a machine churning without any real purpose. But with you, lying here in his arms, he knows. 

It’s for the way you can sleep soundly, untouched by the ugliness of the world. For the way you can keep enough of your light to bring into places he thought would always remain dark. Bertrand Russell said that envy was one of the most potent causes of unhappiness. But when it comes to you, Spencer finds it doesn’t matter. Yes, he envies your innocence, your unbroken joy, the way you make him smile even after the hardest days. But it’s a quiet kind of envy, the kind that makes his purpose clear. Because he’s made it his job—his life’s work—to protect people like you. To keep you safe from the things he can’t unsee, from the shadows that haunt his own nights.

It awakens something deep and instinctual in him, something unyielding. A primal need to protect you, to keep you sheltered from every storm. Spencer has never been quick to anger, never one to let wrath consume him. The Catholic Church teaches that anger, when it evolves into a deliberate, lethal intent, becomes gravely sinful—a mortal sin.

Spencer has spent years dissecting the complexity of human nature, he’s seen enough of humanity’s darkness to understand the weight of wrath and how sharp it cuts. He’s always believed he was different, too rational, too objective to ever give in to that kind of furious violence. 

But then, you came along.

And now he knows, if it ever came to that—if the world dared to reach for you, to try and take you from him—he would not hesitate. Every choice, every principle, every shred of his reasoned sanity would be sacrificed without question. If and when it ever came to you, he’d burn the entire world down if it meant keeping you safe, to protect the very heart of you. 

He presses a kiss to your head in an effort to ground himself. His kisses are deeper now, still tender but lingering longer. His lips trail lower, brushing over your temple, the slope of your shoulder. You shift slightly in your sleep, a soft murmur escaping your lips, but you don’t wake. Spencer breathes you in. The scent of you—cinnamon and sandalwood—faint traces of the perfume he’d picked out for you two months ago. 

In the stillness of the room, a soft glow catches his attention. His phone lights up on the nightstand, screen down, casting a faint halo on the wood. A message, maybe two—something that could wait. Especially when you’re here. 

Sloth is a sin of omission. Spencer understands its meaning, shirking responsibilities, choosing complacency over action. Ignoring his buzzing phone, his waiting work. All reminders of what he should be doing, of what he could be, if he let himself. He decides that he’ll shoulder it all again tomorrow. Tonight, the choice is clear. Tonight, he chooses you. 

But then the buzz sharpens into a ring, cutting through the stillness. He watches you stir, your brow furrowing as the sound pulls you from sleep. With a sigh, Spencer picks up the phone, already regretting the intrusion.

“Yeah?” he says softly, careful not to wake you fully.

Morgan’s voice crackles on the other end, urgent but not life-threatening—a file, a lead, something work-related that Spencer should care about but can’t bring himself to fully process. He glances at you, watching as you sit up, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

“Sorry,” he mouths, guilt flickering across his face. But you only move closer, leaning into him, a silent reassurance that you’re not all that annoyed by the disruption. 

As Morgan keeps talking, your lips find the edge of Spencer’s jaw, pressing soft, deliberate kisses against his skin. The first kiss is soft, exploratory. The second lingers, deliberate. He swallows hard, his free hand instinctively moving to your waist, fingers splayed against your hip as if to anchor himself. 

Ah, the final sin.

Lust.

Defined as an intense longing, a surrender to physical desire. Even the earliest of men had been warned of its impurity, it's the act that binds one as “a slave of the devil”. But in this moment, Spencer can’t think of anything holier than the way your lips trail from his jaw to his neck, slow and deliberate.

He clears his throat, trying to focus on Morgan’s words, but his resolve is crumbling. The effort feels futile as your kisses deepen, trailing a slow, intoxicating path around his neck. Each one pulls him further from the conversation on the phone, as if to remind him where his attention truly belongs. 

“Uh, Morgan,” he interrupts, his voice strained. “Can we talk about this in the morning?”

There’s a pause, a low chuckle from the other end. “Yeah, man. Go get some sleep.”

“Thanks,” Spencer mutters, ending the call.

Before he can set the phone down, your hand finds his, taking it and placing it face down on the nightstand. The motion is deliberate, final. Then you’re pulling him back to you, your lips claiming his, his hands wandering with lazy, unhurried intent. There’s no hurry, no rush—just the quiet of this moment.

You’re intoxicating, the thought of resisting the pull you have on him, inconceivable.

They say the seven deadly sins are the seven ways of mortal death, seven paths to eternal damnation, each a step away from redemption. But Spencer knows that he would blindly and gladly follow any path if it led him to you.

If surrendering to sin means getting to hold you like this—then so be it. He’d forgo every cup of caffeine, every fleeting subway seat, every awkward, unreciprocated greeting, if it meant tipping the scales just enough to keep these moments. He’ll take the sins, the ungodly weight of them, without question, without hesitation. To keep you. Always you.

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ hi if you're here! thank you for reading! feel free to like or reblog or comment or reply!

ᯓ★ song recs if you feel like it: work song by hozier meet me in amsterdam by rini

[r3ynah]

THE FAMILY OF BEAUTIES

The girls the boys they all like Carmen.

(In this scenario Carmen is the fentons).

I just want to headcanon, that the Fenton's have a ethereal type of beauty, not sexy or hot. Ethereal, like if you didn't know that they're a family of Mad scientist, a obsessive therapist and a dead boy. they could've passed as deity's.

And the amity park's citizens can and will totally agree, they might've disagree and fight for a lot of things but the only thing they can agree on was the Fenton's was down to earth beautiful.

Like Jack Fenton for example, He has built that can seemingly bench you without any hesitation, but a himbo at heart, the greys of his hair compliments way it mixes with the black hair of his, if Jack isn't in his ghost hunting suit, he is pretty decent when it comes to his fashion sense, When Jazz first brought along her friends, the first thing they asked was if Jack was single, which caused Jazz to smack their heads individually with a newspaper.

And don't get me started with Madeline Fenton, because I cannot stop when it comes to her, My girl with her short straight Reddish-brown hair, looks like a masculine but also feminine beauty, Can and will bench you, if you have any ill intent towards her family, she came from a long line of riches if I say so myself. Tall as fuck, about 6'7 while Jack is 7'0. very elegant when it comes to fighting, that it looks like she's just dancing, Was titled as a Milf by Danny's classmate which made the boy groan in annoyance, Sam and Tucker calls out to Maddie and says "Mother is Mothering", just to get something out of Danny who looks at them with disgust knowing full well what they were trying to do. While Maddie is just happy for the kids to see her as a mother figure.

Now Jazz, My love, my girl. Her long Red hair that came down to her hips, and her blue eyes, made all the girls and boys in her college swoon, with her 6'4 figure she strutted down the halls with confidence, beauty and brains everyone would oh so called it, and her knowledge in martial arts didn't lessen her attractiveness, The humans and ghosts can agree with that delightfully.

And now her dearest sibling Danny, Danny is a nonbinary fuck that can gender envy anyone he meets, that's why he got bullied in the first place, he was too fucking beautiful and handsome at the same time, all the boys and girls of his school have atleast had a crush on him, He was the only cute boy there, what could they do? He stared at them with his icey colored eyes that made their legs tremble from the pressure, and that black hair that always seemed messy but in a good way. It didn't help when he got that lichtenberg scar, that ran up his neck and the side of his face. you should've seen him in P.E cause my guy got everyone staring at him.

And the Fenton family has fashion sense, if they really put their mind and soul into it, everytime they dressed up for a family reunion or just an outing it was a very sweet treat for everyone's eyes. like how it is right now.

The Amity parkers waved goodbye at the Fenton's as they went on and attended a gala they were invited to, it was supposedly because of the sudden rise and popularity of their works and how's it been helping the environment.

One citizen sighed as he looked at the car that family was driving as it slowly became smaller and smaller.

"You think they can handle Gotham, heard nasty thing bout that place." She questioned

"Girl, Gotham should be the one readying to handle them, that family may be beautiful, but their crazy." Her friend's answered

"well that does give them a more attractive look isn't it?"

"I hate how you're right."

__

The Gala the Fenton's went to certainly had an awkward atmosphere when they went inside, all the guest kept staring at them that it was starting to get creepy, did they overdress or underdressed, come on just walk towards start to talk or criticize them, because it's starting to get embarrassing for the family.

Gotham wasn't fucking prepared to meet the Fentons like as in, They had been awestrucked when the family walked in. A very tall man seemingly in his 40's with his hair gelled back, and a suit that fitted him too perfectly, gosh dang, even the homophobic guests couldn't help but stare, And then there was his Wife her straight her was curled and brushed out leaving a wavy effect that compliments her face shape, and that dress she was wearing was utterly gorgeous, fancy but also simple and mature, the heels certainly helped her height more and made her look more intimidating, The ladies blushed when she looks at them and smiles.

And don't get them started with the couples children, who looked adorable and elegant at the same time, The older sister had a aura that says: 'Im in your presence bow down' (And they would've if it was in a more private area due to the paparazzi's out the window). She wore a spaghetti strapped dress that had a slit on either side and was , making it more comfortable to move in for the girl, partnered by a white shawl made of silk, she had heels that also complimented he already tall stature, her hair was tied in a neat bun, with a few strands free to not make her face feel bare. And lastly the youngest everyone assumed, wearing a suit, double-breasted suit that was elegant and sophisticated it matched the way his hair is messed up for him to still look young, he was also wearing a black shawl that had specks of white making it look like stars. The family had a colour scheme of green, that made all gothamites present swoon, Including a certain family of bats.

(I might make a fanart of this later.)

[heartfullofleeches]

Titus [Space Emperor Yan] and Executioner Deity Reader-

Whereas the og Executioner Reader is an axe for hire, this Executioner wants nothing more than the emperor's head on a spike. They've dealt with many of his kind before- Lawless tyrant, unruly beast. His crimes have gone unpunished long enough - They are the judge, jury, and executioner fated to give him his sentence and punishment. They have heard the pleas of those in his captivity who are aware of their legend and the only power capable of stopping them from taking the emperor's head is their forgiveness.

Titus has heard of the executioner in passing. He's lost a fair amount of... acquaintances to that old fairytale. He doesn't believe a word of it - deciding that it was some servant gone berserk who terminated his allies in such a brutal fashion. Sure, it is bizarre that they seemed to have been killed with the exact same blade, but Titus is certain fabled savior is nothing his guards can't handle themselves.

"Your Majesty, we have reports of a cloaked individual breaking into the easy wing of the castle. Several guards have already been dispatched, more have been sent to collect their bodies. Thankfully, they are only unconscious, but it is no longer safe for you here-"

"Tyrant....."

A hushed slithers down the walls - hoarse and raw like the throat of a parched soul without a lick of water to satiate their thirst. The Executioner staggers into view - weight elevated by their tool of trade.

"Tyrant.... For the crimes you have committed there is no salvation beyond your immediate execution. Pay for the blood you have spilled with your own. Lay down your own head as atonement for yours sins."

The remainder of Titus guard form a wall of defense around their king. The Executioner's teeth clench in rage. All while the emperor stares on at his adversary. Those muscles, toned from the heavy swing of their blade. That unwavering, cold stare. Had he been a lesser man that glare alone would have shot his still beating heart. Instead, it only increased the steady hammering of that feeble organ against the cage of his chest.

"I....must have them."

Titus tries shoveling past his guards. The less experience members assume their king to be taking first action. Those who know the tyrant for what he truly is can see the pure enlightened in his eyes.

"Executioner.... Is that what I may call you? Your title matters not to me so long as you are mine. Allow me to take you in my arms.... Surely a life such as yours has had scarce room for the touch of another. Allow me to free you of that burden.

The Executioner spits.

"Mock me as you will. I will grant you three nights for you to give yourself to me willing. For each night I shall return to you with the same question. Should you agree, you will face a swift death, unlike those you have associated yourself with in the past. Do not disappoint me."

Three nights. That's more than enough time for Titus to get them to come around. Then again, he'd love to see what torments they have in store for him. If they see to wrap that chain latched at their around his throat all they had to do was ask. He's just received a shipment of his favorite wine as well - what impeccable timing for love to bloom in the air.

Tangerine [Executioner Maid] is hiding in the vents speedrunning a 150k enemies to lover fanfic of her boss and his new obsession-

[heyhelloitsmilo]

Audiobooks

jason todd x gn! reader

891 words

⚠️ warnings: milo standard fluff

💛 pairings: Jason Todd x gn!Reader

💫 summary: jason todd recites to you pride and prejudice and then you call him a nerd

💬 extra notes: its gettin real cold here and my heater went out oops

You never thought you’d find yourself like this. It wasn't bad, you weren't complaining, to be clear. This was just so… so… domestic? And soft?

Jason’s arms encircled your waist, his body curled around your own. Tight muscles relaxed in your presence, nose buried in the crook of your neck. White-streaked hair tangled in your fingertips. Warm breath tickled the side of your neck, scarred hands slipped under your shirt to find purchase on your side or back. Jane Austen’s Pride And Prejudice played as an audiobook in the background.

The second Robin. Red Hood himself. In your bed. Holding you close like his life depended on it. It might as well have, you were the only thing keeping him sane most days, especially days like these. The hours and days tended to blur together. His thigh shifted to pull you close, resting on your hip, his bare leg on your body.

You had your arms around Jason’s neck, back arched as he held you close, your chest to his. Even if the circumstances the two of you had faced to meet weren't the best, you would still do it all over again for moments like these. Jason was such a wonderful man. Strong sense of justice, often a bit brutal, but soft at heart. He loved every fiber of your being, and even if he didn't say that often, he’d sure as hell show it. Quality time date nights, making your favorite food for dinner, finding out all of your typical orders at restaurants or cafes, smothering you in kisses as soon as he got home.

Jason pressed a few chaste kisses to your neck, scarred lips gentle on your skin. He chased them with curt nibbles, fingers rubbing circles into the skin of your back.

“You're so warm.”

He muttered, the duvet swaddling the both of you in soft fabric. But you were also just generally nice to hug.

“I'm gonna make tea later. Do you want some?”

You nodded, feeling drowsy from all the relaxation. Didn’t matter that you’d probably fall asleep within the next few minutes, it made you feel so wanted and loved.

Jason smiled against your skin, his expressions hidden from your eyes. Nights like these, he never wanted to let you go. He’d hold you forever, given the option. Fingers trailed up and down your back, tracing every curve, every dip, every bump of your spine. Gentle touches reinforced the mental map of your body, planes of skin beneath his palms.

For a few hours, he could be normal. Here, in your arms, in your apartment, he didn't have to worry or be angry or upset. It was just you and him.

“My affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever. If, however, your feelings have changed, I will have to tell you:”

You felt Jason take in a breath, this quote meant more to him than he let on. So much so, he’d memorized it.

“You have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”

You smiled, tracing gentle little hearts onto Jason’s scarred back, a silent acknowledgement. Fingertips glided along your boyfriend's textured back, dips and bumps and ridges underneath the pads of your fingers. Gods, you loved him. To whatever deity was out there, you prayed that this would never end.

“...Fucking nerd."

You muttered, voice muffled in Jason’s shoulder. A rumble of a chuckle bubbled up from Jason’s throat, calloused hands rubbing gently at your back. He didn't deny it, though. Only nibbled at your skin, tongue playfully darting out to leave a little lick. You shivered, recoiling at the feeling of saliva on your neck.

“Ew.”

Jason chuckled, licking a line up your neck.

“Ew!”

Disgusted grumbles left your mouth, trying to roll away from Jason, only for him to tighten his hold on you.

“You’re not gettin’ away from my love, sweetheart.”

You sighed, falling limp in his arms, your body a dead weight as he manhandled you back over to him.

"Yeah, accept your fate."

Jason grinned, turning you onto your back, leaning in, and planting a raspberry on your collarbone. You squeaked, wriggling in Jason's grasp. He nipped and nibbled at your neck and the tender area just under your jaw, his hands tracing the dips in your body.

And then he licked your cheek.

"EuuAuCk!"

An inhuman noise left your lips, your head recoiling as far as humanly possible into the pillows. You curled in on yourself, rubbing the saliva off with the collar of your shirt.

Something akin to a giggle left Jason's lips, his blue eyes flicking up to meet yours.

Eugh. Blue-eyed stare.

Piercing blue eyes aside, Jason simply resorted to lying down on top of you with no regard for your breathing. All things considered, he was a nice weighted blanket. You simply sighed, the calm voice of the audiobook coming back into focus. Not enough in focus to perceive whatever they were saying, however.

Again, here you were, all cuddled up and cozy with Jason wrapped around you. Your hand combed through his shaggy hair, gently scratching at his scalp.

"I love you."

You murmured, lips moving against your partner's temple.

"I love you, too."

whheeeeee

[queers-gambit]

All Mine

title citation: song by Brent Faiyaz

prompt: ( requested ) you and Tangerine break up, and the man you date after is a serious downgrade. on a night out, Tangerine decides your story isn't yet finished.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 7k+

note: did i use this gif already? yes. but it fits the theme of this story.

warnings: same drill - Tan's government name is Aaron, Lem's is Brian. cheater!Reader (not on but with Tan, you'll see), some angst, break-ups, but overall hurt and comfort, happy ending, small NSFW, random "State Farm" quote (not sponsored), smoking indoors, brief domestic aggression, brief violence (it's Tan), term "going postal" used, not edited. "not all men" only applies to Tan i don't make the rules.

We begin today by discussing the concept of soulmates.

World renowned Ancient Greek philosopher, Plato (born Aristocles, not to be mistaken for Aristotle), once theorized that humans were originally created with four arms, four legs, and two faces. The Greek God, Zeus, motivated either by fear of man's potential power or the need to reprimand their arrogant pride, decided to punish humans by severing them into two perfect halves - dooming them to roam the Earth in search of their whole self.

According to Ancient Chinese mythology, The Red String of Fate (tied by the Lunar matchmaking God, Yue Lao) says lovers who are destined to be are tied together through lifetimes by a red string - the color that symbolizes happiness - regardless of time, place, or circumstance. This string might stretch or tangle (like all relationships), but will never break.

Some Western cultures believe in the idea of simple "soulmates", two people destined to meet and love one another unconditionally. They thought their souls are someway, somehow intertwined - be it in the stars, by the cosmos, or even some intrusive, baby-presenting, diaper-wearing, winged fucker named Cupid. "Soulmates" operate as two halves of one whole, yet still remain two separate individual persons. The idea originates from Plato's theory, but essentially affirms: there's a perfect someone for everyone.

Other cultures might say their religious deity or just faith in said religion is peoples one, true love. Some argue a "soulmate" isn't a romantic partner at all, but instead, a person's twin. You know, same womb, same "soul", that kinda reasoning.

Akin to the Greeks, theosophy claims God created androgynous souls, and these souls were individually split into the two genders they once were. Each half seeks the other, and when their karmic debt is paid (being a reason they were split in the first place), the two halves will return to their whole, true self.

and before anyone says anything about gender, remember, these theologies originate from a time that a modern day Taco Bell dollar menu burrito would literally make the theologists implode!

Some New Age philosophy says a soulmate is a totally separate entity (meaning, not split or derived from us), and who spends lifetimes as your friend, lover, co-worker, partner. Soulmates are the greatest union of the heart, no matter the shape or form it presents as; being two connected souls. Hence platonic soulmates, as well.

Other common literary soulmate idioms:

cut from the same cloth -> meaning being so in-tune and similar in characteristics, demeanor, and / or behavior, you "must've" come from the same place.

apple of my eye -> while, yes, it means being extremely important to a person, it also could mean being the "core" of your lover's heart and / or soul; similar to how an apple core keeps the fruit's integrity.

better / other half -> it's 2 am, this is pretty self explanatory.

ride or die -> again, self explanatory - but indicates that a soulmate will live life loyally with you in good and bad times.

match made in heaven -> being absolutely SO perfect for each other, your love was crafted by divine intervention in the eternal kingdom of heaven - where a thing or two about "soulmates" might be known.

my heart and soul -> your love being so strong, so right, it takes over logic and emotion; and intoxicates your very soul - your entire being.

No matter what approach you take, what you do or don't believed, there was no denying: Aaron was your soulmate.

That arrogant, smug, sarcastic, devilishly handsome, mysterious, devious, sneaky, alluring, intelligent, bitchy, suave, charming, intuitive, opinionated jackass who used the operative codename Tangerine.

But to you, he was Tan. Tangie. Aaron. Ace. The love of your life.

You couldn't avoid it. There was no wishing him away, no genie to appear for your third wish. There was no point in trying to avoid or deny your feelings anymore, they were an 18-wheeler and there was no crosswalk in sight; and that's where everything fell apart - realizing you were ready and willing for this emotion to come barreling into you. When things got serious, when you were ready for distinct, specific commitment, Aaron suddenly reared back and put so much distance between you, it was as if he catapulted into a different timezone.

You had been at a mutual friend's birthday party, and after several rounds of alcohol, where everyone was good and buzzed and happy in their own little worlds, incidentally toppled into a public showdown.

"What's the rush?" Aaron asked you, tears inconceivably dribbling down your cheeks one-by-one while stood in a packed-out bar. "Huh? What's your rush to get married? Things have been so good, doll - so fucking good - and you want to ruin that? This isn't - "

You barked, "'Ruin that'? Ruin, what, exactly!? Aaron, we've been together five years - five fucking years, half a bloody decade - how could you possibly say you don't know if you want to marry me or not yet!?"

"It's not you, love - "

"It's not me, it's marriage that scares you!?" You snarled, so used to hearing it, you can quote him.

"Yes!"

"It's the same difference! You love me, but marriage is so scary, it's not worth it, even with me! No matter how much you say you love me, right? You just can't - no, no! - you won't love me enough to marry me! Because you're capable of it, you're capable of loving me enough, but you're much more comfortable being an emotionless jackass - "

"No, no, don't go putting words in my mouth," he groaned, head tilting back, shaking his curls as he rightened to look at you. "Baby, just listen to me, please, neither of us are in a state to have this conversation - "

"We never are, according to you! It's never the right time, the right energy, right setting! What's the issue, Aaron? Huh?" You felt your anger crack and chip away like a hard boiled egg, revealing the soft emotion inside. "What's the real problem being with me? With marrying me?"

"We're just - we're so young!"

"Try again."

"You're just not thinking about - "

"Oh, no, but I am!" You snapped, setting your nearly empty glass to the bartop and shocking yourself (and the eavesdropping bartender) that it didn't shatter. "I am thinking, Aaron, I'm finally thinking about myself - for once - and I know what I want! And you know what? I'm not afraid anymore to ask for what I know I deserve!"

Aaron scoffed, shaking his head as he did when faced with confrontation. "Neither of us are drunk or sober enough to get though this conversation, so... Let's just..." He trailed, brows furrowing when you shook your head with a hateful scoff, yanked from his grip, and stormed away. But he quickly snatched your upper arm, halting your escape, demanding, "Wait, wait, wait, hang on, love. What are you doing? Where are you going?"

"Away from you - "

"They haven't even cut the cake, baby, c'mon, the night is still early - "

"Excuse me while I don't want to stand around here with my ex-boyfriend in front of our friends pretending to be happy."

"What're you - ex-boyfriend?" He stuttered in genuine hurt and confusion.

In that moment, like divine intervention to semi-prove your point, Brian, Aaron's brother, who used the codename Lemon, dropped in. Tangerine let go of you to not make it look like he was holding you in place. "S-Sorry, I know this looks tense, but, uh, bruva," Brian showed Tangerine his phone, "we've gotta go, man..."

"We're in the middle of something, Lem."

"I get that, but... Duty calls, mate."

Tangerine sighed, hand through his hair, turning to you in what you used to think was real empathy. "I-I'm so sorry, love, I have to go - but we'll finish this conversation when I get home, okay? Yeah?

You sniffled and nodded sadly, "See? You see? You love your job more than me, that literally in the middle of a fight about marriage, you're gonna go. Did you see how easy that was for you? Yet you can't love me enough? In a much less high-stakes situation?" With another nod, but this time out of realized confirmation, you breathed, "I'm done, Tangerine." He knew you were serious when you reverted back to his codename; stripping the personal warmth from your tone. "Okay? I'm done. I can't do this anymore, it's absolutely unfair. You've made it clear, you don't want to marry me, so, that's fine, but I'm not in the business of wasting anymore time than I already have. Now," you took a breath, "we can talk later about getting your shit outta my place, probably after your mission, but until then, just please, leave me the fuck alone."

You swore that was going to be the end. It was supposed to be. There was never supposed to be a relapse. Never an epilogue. The Tangerine / Aaron chapter was closed, the entire book was supposed to be closed!

But when you're single for the first time in five years, you kinda forget how to casually date.

There's dating apps, which, as some might know, is just a nightmare experience. There's sometimes local singles events - but they're not always the vibe you usually want to spend your energy on. Matchmakers were (apparently) thousands of wasted dollar. Dating coworkers is typically ALWAYS weird unless you're Jim and Pam, or Meredith and Derek, or whatever other couples TV romanticized. Reality dating shows? That air out all your business? PASS. Taking your mother's recommendations? PASS. Especially if she has her little "church friends" trying to set you up, too? HARD PASS. Sometimes, you just start praying for a hunky Italian Mobster to abduct you - it honestly sounds a little easier (read: this is sarcasm)! Your friends try to set you up, but it usually doesn't click, or it's a strange experience that makes you reject further offers. You could always hope a guy spills your coffee and offers to buy you a new one, which turns into you talk the day away - but life isn't a Glen Powell movie.

Oh, and don't even get me started on ghosting - fuck you if you ghost people, you immature coward.

So, sometimes, you get real lonely, start to feel a little self pity, like you made a mistake breaking up... And maybe you seek company in alcohol... And that alcohol can sometimes help you reminisce... Which exasperates the loneliness... And eventually, maybe that little devil on your should convinces your to text your ex... Which in turn, starts an entire precedent about it being "okay" to go back to him in times of need and desire, of desperation, sometimes of boredom, or even times of comfort.

Aaron had left you alone after the break up, he knew to give you space; so, when you start casually fucking about a year after ending things, it was you pulling all the strings. Women in power, ammirite? Though, Aaron didn't mind your use of him, he always thought the break-up was a fluke of some kind, something fleeting, temporary - hence why he left you alone to sort your feelings. Aaron knew he wasn't perfect, but neither were you; resulting in plenty of "negative" aspects of your relationship, but there were far more positives - more ups than downs - assuring you both know, this was real. This was love. This was true love. It was eternal and raw and passionate... But you couldn't wait forever for him to face his fears.

Until... One night, after hours in his sheets, from the side of his bed, you declared, "This was the last time, Aaron."

He watched you hook your bra, cigarette in his mouth. "Oh, yeah?" He mused, having heard it before. "All right, sweetheart. Same time next week, yeah?" Aaron laughed at his own joke, casually flicking ash into the bedside tray.

"No. I'm being serious, Ace," you sighed almost sadly. You stood to yank your panties and leggings up in one move; shifting your hips, wiggling a bit to adjust the feeling of tightly wadded cloth cutting through raw coochie. "Ryan and I, uh... We're, uh, you know," you cleared your throat, trying to situate your tee shirt without looking at him, "we're going exclusive."

"Uh-huh, is that so?"

"Yep."

"When was this decision made?"

"Oh, uh," you blanched, "the idea was proposed a couple days ago, but we're making it official tonight - "

"I've seen you 8 fucking times this week and it's only Tuesday - "

"I know - "

"What the fuck, Y/N!?"

You glared, "What do you want me to say, Aaron!?"

"That you're not being serious! We're supposed to be together, not whatever - "

"You knew that we were just fucking to blow off steam and fill certain voids, we weren't back together! You always knew one day, this was bound to happen."

"Why? Huh? Why fuck me, but date him?"

"Because you're allergic to committeemen and Ryan isn't!"

"So, why do you keep comin' around? Why keep comin' back t'me, huh? If he's willing to commit, why're you the one fucking around on him? With me?" But the look on your face said it all, making Aaron laugh spitefully, "Ohhh, no, oh, sweetheart. Oh, don't fucking tell me, doll, he's not fucking you right?"

"For fuck's sake, would you please get off your high horse a single moment just to fuck off - "

"Why else would you keep coming back?" He demanded, smug as could be. "Don't wanna date me, but you'll fuck me? Oh, poor Ryan must really be lacking - "

"I told you, this is the last time."

"Yeah, uh-huh, sure," he laughed, leaning back, hands behind his head. "They all always say that before they come crawling back in my bed."

"The fuck is that supposed to mean?" You snarled, feeling more hurt than you should've. And Tangerine could read it all over your face. "I told you every man I slept with - granted it's only been two this past year, but still - are-are-are you saying there's been others? That you haven't told me about? Have you been fucking other people while fucking me?"

"Hang on, love, listen, I didn't mean - "

"I think I need to go, this was a mistake - all of this - coming back here, fucking you. I need to go," you huffed, stepping into your Crocs (for a quick escape), and rushing to grab your jacket, purse, and keys. The entire time, Tangerine was trying to amend what he said, but it felt like the (final?) nail in the coffin you had been waiting on; assurance that you needed to be without Aaron. See, upon your casual fuck, you agreed to date and sleep with others if you wanted - you weren't exclusive - but for reasons deemed useless now, you were supposed to tell one another about other partners. And he couldn't even do that?

So, you left his flat, and when he followed you out, he saw you disappear at Olympic sped down the staircase - key to his place left on the hallway floor.

"Well, well," his elderly cougar neighbor leaned in her doorway, watching you go with crossed arms and a smirk, "looks like li'l miss is gone finally, huh? This mean you're available for dinner tonight?"

Tangerine snatched the key from the ground, "Not tonight, Mrs. Roberts."

"It's 'Ms' now," she informed, but Tan didn't even hear; just slipped inside his flat, shut the door, locked it, and stood in the foyer, palm flat, looking at the key as if it were a foreign object, for 37 minutes.

Knowing how upset you were, Tangerine didn't try to contact you. Yet one week after your fight, when he knew your standing "Soul Cycle" class took place and you'd came by after, he set up his flat. He got you dozens of apologetic roses all mixed with bright sunflowers and dotted with baby's breath - bouquets he put together himself. Candles lined the place, all lit within fire code restrictions. He played light, modern instrumental music because he knew it had been on your Spotify playlist - not that he was checking it or anything. He cooked your favorite meal by hand. He cleaned himself up, styled his hair, wore the cologne you got him for your first Christmas together (that he's never changed), and wore the baby blue button-up he knew drove you crazy. To top it all off, he got a very dainty golden bracelet - one that was nice enough to convey the amount he spent (as if money = sincerity of apology) but still simple enough that Ryan wouldn't notice if it became part of your normal jewelry box. In fact, nobody would - except you and Tangerine, the way he likes things. The bracelet is even engraved with a subtle 'A' because no matter who you date, he always knew you'd be his and he'd be yours - but wouldn't point this out to you... Yet.

Your class ends at 6:30, you were never later than 7:05. He was ready and waiting at the door, going over his apology by 6:15. He changed into a new, identical shirt at 6:33 after sweating through the first; drying himself, spraying extra antiperspirant over his torso. He changed the tissue wrapping of his offering bouquet so it wasn't wet from his sweaty palms when he gave it to you at 6:41. At 6:46, he began pacing. Aaron began impulsively checking his phone at 6:53. He didn't have your location anymore (a con to the break-up he strongly protested out of fear for your safety) so he couldn't check if you were lost, in trouble, in traffic, at that smoothie place you loved. 7:15 rolled around, no key in the lock. At 7:22, he called Brian in a panic.

"What's wrong? She's just late, Aaron, take a breath, mate."

"She's never late."

7:30 turned to 8... Then to 9... And finally, at 10, Tangerine realized you were serious - that was the last time together.

The hurt suddenly set in, realizing you're not coming back. Selfishly, he knew, he could fill a void no man - even one as objectively good as Ryan - could. He knew you must've felt lonely; craving adventure and spontaneity, something exciting that he knew you lacked with Ryan - or any man.

For days, he agonized - trying to get in your head.

Without him, were you lonely? His job makes him travel, but did Ryan ever take you anywhere? Did he surprise you? Open your doors? Send you flowers? Keep you waiting? Did Ryan communicate with you in the way Tangerine knew you preferred? Was he kind? ...Were you alone?

He knew for a fact, when together, no matter what, he never made you feel unloved, under appreciated, devalued, taken for granted, but perhaps that changed when he began his allergic reaction to the prospect of marriage.

Two years. Two years since breaking up. One year since you ended your Friends with Benefits situationship. One year, you've been with Ryan, and by God, did it drive Aaron insane. For months, Brian felt a responsibility for his part in pulling Tan away that night instead of leaving him to work things out with you, but his brother assured it was a long time coming... Though, Tan had to admit, he never thought it'd go this long.

Like a good neighbor, Jake from State Farm is there! But like a good brother, Brian is there to take Aaron out for a night of necessary debauchery. This was an otherwise mundane activity, something to blow off steam and remove oneself from reality - yet fate works in really funny ways.

The club Lemon chose was packed to the brim; stuffed with bumping, sweaty bodies; strung out to blaring music in various zombified states induced by drugs, alcohol, or maybe both. Luckily, their group had an elevated position in the club's VIP seating, keeping away from the dance floor; giving limited advantage in height when surveying the area.

That's how Tangerine saw you after a year.

Judging from the glittery sash and cheap tiara on your friend's head, he guessed you were there for a birthday party; feeling his stomach knot itself into a noose when he noted Ryan hovering around your flank. He wore khakis, loafers, a creased, pale yellow button-up he guessed was thrifted; holding his drink in one hand, the other shoved in his pocket, bobbing and nodding awkwardly to the thumping music.

When you moved, so he Ryan. When you threw back a shot, Ryan looked away with a long, heavy sigh and curled lip. When you tried to dance, Tangerine saw Ryan snatch your upper arm to reprimand directly in your ear; a couple of your friends even shooting him looks of distain.

A hand clapped heavily on his shoulder, Lemon appearing at Tan's side. "Only you would come t'a club, mate, crawlin' with babes, yeah?" He gestured to the scantily dressed women dancing provocatively around them with his hand holding a drink, "And stand here, like-like, you're Lurch or some shit!"

"'Lurch'?" Tangerine repeated, eyes never straying from where you were in an obvious disagreement with Ryan.

"Like - you know - from the Addam's Family? Tall fucker? Just stands 'round, leering?" Lemon listed intentionally, seeing his brother unmoving. "Jesus, fuck, mate, just go talk to her already! Swear, you stand here any longer, watchin' people, they'll toss us out 'cause of the complaints. Shape up, mate, time t'shit or get off the pot. Move it."

Tangerine finally adjusted his stance, sniffling, shaking his head, "Nah, mate, don't know what you're talkin' 'bout - "

"She's right fuckin' there," Lemon pointed, outing his brother completely, "and you've been a bitch for too long about this. When are you gonna get another chance like right now? Swallow your fuckin' pride, yeah? And just go talk to her! Go apologize! Get her back! 'Cause, just look at her, mate," Lemon paused, both watching you, "think she's happy with a bloke like that? Treats her like that? Only time I ever saw her look at you like that was the night youse two broke up..."

Lemon offered a pursed-lip-smile, patting Tangerine on the shoulder twice and backing up a couple paces. It was like he watched the final bit of confidence Tan needed inject itself into his heart; shoulders almost doubling in size as he shed his suit jacket too casually. Lemon materialized to accept it, laying it in their private booth as Tangerine lit up a cigarette, pocketed his solid gold cuff links, and began rolling up his sleeves while surging through the VIP section and into the general population.

Lemon followed swiftly, several others on their tail as the promise of excitement was too good to pass up.

"I'm telling you, you're being fucking embarrassing!" Ryan was heard snarling. "Let's go home before you make it worse! I have a reputation to protect, imagine what anyone would say if they saw my girlfriend acting like a fucking fool!"

"Oh, Jesus, I have two shots and you think I'm wasted? That I have to go home? You think you can treat me like I'm some child? I'm not going anywhere with you," you snapped back.

"I told you we'd be here an hour - it's past that - "

"Oh, for fuck's sake, it's a birthday party! We weren't ever going to stay just an hour!"

"You're embarrassing yourself, now let's fucking go!" Ryan grabbed you again to emphasize his point, but you didn't even get a chance to struggle because Tangerine was imposing himself between you; plucking his smoldering cigarette from his lips, French inhaling the smoke. Ryan snarled, forced back a step, "The fuck - "

"She said she's not going anywhere with you, so I suggest you walk away," Tangerine growled, smoke billowing from his lips.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Ryan scoffed, looking close to laughing.

"That's my girl you're fucking with, so, again, walk away," he lifted his cigarette for a puff.

"Tangie," you spoke gently, holding the back of his designer black shirt and gently tugging him backward, "Tangie, c'mon, baby, back up, let it go."

"'Your girl'?" Ryan actually laughed at Tan, not hearing you over the deafening music, but the two men were clear as day to one another. "Got it fucked up, playboy, if you're tryna tell me what's what about what's mine."

"Yeah?" Tan nodded, grinning slowly. "Think she's yours?"

"She ain't nobody else's - "

"That why she was coming to me this whole time?" Tan taunted. "'Cause you couldn't make her nut, couldn't fuck her right. What a fucking shame, then she had to come to me 'cause I don't disappoint her. She likes the way I fuck 'cause it's the only time I get rough with her, not like you - "

The gathered crowd gasped when Ryan swung first - everyone saw it. The punch never landed, Tangerine keeping you behind him as he adjusted to upper cut Ryan. It spurred an entire altercation; your girlfriends quickly scurrying out of the way as Ryan and "his boys" tried to take on Tangerine, Lemon, and their entourage. The smoldering cigarette was dropped. Security had to step in, blood making the linoleum floors slicker than spilt alcohol made it sticky, both parties being escorted out of different exits of the venue.

You were faced with a decision.

"Y/N! C'mon!" The birthday girl called, holding up her bloodied boyfriend. Ryan paused and glared at you, face fucked, nose broke, eye darkening, jaw swollen, blood smeared; waiting for your decision. You shook your head and let the drunken crowd swallow your form.

Unsure how, you were let into the VIP section to grab Tangerine and Lemon's belongings, quickly jogging in your glittering heels towards the back exit.

"Should've fuckin' killed him - did you fuckin' hear him!? You saw him, what he did!?" Tangerine was raging, pacing the alley as his group watched on; unsure what to say or do to calm him down. "He fucking grabbed her, too, should go find him - put his fucking face in the Goddamn pavement - "

"Hey."

Tangerine froze when your voice was heard, meekly standing there with suit jackets in arm.

"Baby girl!" Lemon barked, laughing happily and opening his arms. "Oh! There she is! C'mere!" He happily growled, hugging you tightly. The others picked up on the hint, excusing themselves to find the cars while Lemon greeted you and Tangerine almost shit a brick.

"Oh, uh," you breathed when Lem pulled away, "I grabbed your jacket, sweetie."

"Thanks, love, can always count on yah," he beamed, accepting the apparel. He glanced over his shoulder and nodded, "I, uh, I'll go help find the car. We'll be at the end of the alley, yeah?"

"Yeah," you agreed, nodding; squeezing his arm softly before letting him pass. Almost sheepishly, you approached Tangerine, lips rolled between your teeth, noting the split lip and disheveled curls. His hands were on his hips, pacing a small circle, head tilted and unable to meet your gaze. "You, uh, got a li'l something," you gestured at your mouth.

His head lifted, seeing the small teasing glint to your eyes; making him smirk and joke back, "Yeah, just a bit, huh?"

"And you left this," you held out his suit jacket.

When he took it back, Tangie nodded and rushed, "Come home, doll."

"Aaron - "

"Nah, nah, c'mon, come home, baby, please. I know I've been the worst, I know you didn't deserve it - but after losing you... Actually losing you... I mean, when you didn't show up, like you said - I felt everything at once and I knew that I'd never be the man who deserved you, but I owed it to us to try. So... I made the decision to love you better."

"That's nice to hear, but - "

"But without action, it don't mean shit, I know," he finished for you, stepping closer to caress your cheek. "If you let me, baby, I swear, I'll love you better."

You couldn't verbally answer, just sigh and lean forward to rest your forehead on his chest for just a moment of peace. "Thank you," you mumbled, "for earlier, when Ryan got aggressive."

His arms came around in a vice, keeping you close and enveloped in his warmth. Tangerine promised, "Never gotta thank me, baby. Never." A horn blared from the mouth of the alley, knowing it was Aaron's people and you needed to make a decision. Right here. Right now. Yet, your ex just sighed and pulled away, offering, "We can drop you home, if you like. Or I'll get'cha a hotel, can crash with Brian - "

"Can I stay with you?"

Tangerine gulped, appearing shocked but agreeing, "Of course, baby, yeah, yeah, 'course, c'mon, let's go, this way, watch your step, love."

He quickly dropped his arms only to pull his jacket over your shoulders; keeping you at his side as he lead you to the idling car. Unknown to you, Ryan was at his own car, watching, waiting; seeing you leave with Aaron made his blood boil - but when his eyes connected with Aaron's over the roof of his car, seeing him grin, Ryan swore he could've gone postal.

"Are you guys alright?" You checked, Tan keeping you so close, you were practically on his lap. Brian was driving and two other guys sat passenger, all giving varying assurances that they were okay.

"Them frat fucks couldn't hit for shit, love, swear," Brian chuckled from the front seat. "Don't nobody fuck with our girl, yeah?"

"'Our girl'?" You repeated in amusement.

"You's Tangie's girl, yeah?" The guy next to you, codename Fuji, softly explained, "Makes you's untouchable, it does, yeah?"

You just chuckled slightly, readjusting so your arm around Tan's neck tightened; his own around your hips doing the same, silently snuggling closer. The car ride was entertaining to say the least, the lads filling the space with meaningless but very loud conversation about everything and nothing. To your relief, Lemon pulled up to Tan's building first; you two piling out of the car to the sounds of three randy lads cheering.

"C'mere," Tan huffed, one arm wrapping around your waist as the other offered the tinted car The Bird. He lead you towards the building, nodding to the doorman in greeting, "Big man."

This doorman had manned your building since years before you ever moved in; grinning at the sight of you, "Well, well, well... You two look real smitten, you do. There some reason? Aye?"

"Oh, I don't wanna hear it!" You whined jokingly, Tangerine laughing in triumph.

"Got my girl back," Tan clapped his hand into the doorman's, "huh? Told you."

"Aye-heeeyyyy! Welcome home, Missus!"

"Tuh," you barked with a fake laugh, sending Tangerine a sharp look over your shoulder. "Thank you, Thomas," you squeezed the man's arm as you passed.

"Ma'am," he tipped his hat, letting Tan go after you, before securing the door shut.

"Hear that?" You shot at Tan, the lobby attendant sitting up in attention behind the welcome desk. "Even Tom - "

"Don't start before we even get in the door," he chuckled, sighing, nodding to the pimply teen nephew of the building's owner before approaching the elevator bay.

"Don't be a dick - "

"I'm not trying to be, love, I just - I want us to get inside before we do. Yeah?" He frowned, petting hair from your forehead as the elevator dinged upon arrival. "I want us to talk 'bout it, alluvit, doll, but let us get home first."

You sighed and agreed, the machinery traveling up to your flat's floor; which required a key to access. There were only four flats on this floor - all having two stories - and when the elevator dinged to announce your arrival, one of the doors flew open.

You gasped, hand slapping to your mouth to hold in the shrill laughter that rammed into your lips in a desperate attempt to escape. Your eyes widened. You stopped short in your place when Ms. Roberts sauntered into her doorway, leaning on the frame in brand new, expensive, racy lingerie. Her greying hair was curled in stiff ringlets, her make-up heavy and obvious, smelling like she had bathed in perfume by the way it choked you in the hallway.

"Oh, hello, there. About time you got home - OH!" She purred in a low, sexy rumble before jumping in fright when she caught sight of you under Tangie's protective arm. With a squeal, she ducked back into her home and slammed the door; leaving you and Tan froze in place.

"Oh... My... God."

"Get inside, let's go, c'mon, inside, inside, inside, I won't survive if she comes back," Aaron laughed, ushering you to the door.

"I don't think she would, either," you couldn't help but giggle; entering over the threshold after Tan unlocked the door.

The lighter energy surrounding you two evaporated as you took note that Tangerine hadn't changed anything in the year (and change) you've been separated, a haunting comfort to see now. There was the familiar ghost of who you once were, but all of that was forgotten when Tan's hand slid around your waist from behind.

"All right, love?" He asked in your ear, mouthing at the shell in the way that made your head fall to the side.

"Just a lot of memories here," you whispered, holding his arms to your waist.

Tangerine licked at your exposed neck. "We'll make more," he promised.

"I'm sorry I missed so many."

He paused, sighing; forcing you to shiver from the shock of air over your wet skin. Tan straightened up but kept you in his arms, assuring, "It's my fault. But, uh..." Your head turned to look, watching Tan pull his wallet out and sigh sheepishly, open it, then pluck a gorgeous diamond ring from the bill slot.

"What the hell is that...?"

"When I found it, I first kept it in the box, always on me. Just in case, you know, the moment was right - that you'd believe me when I ask you to marry me. But the box kinda," he shrugged, "fell apart from me openin' it, movin' it around."

"So you put a," you squinted, holding his wrist to look at the ring pinched in his fingers, "3 karat diamond ring in your wallet?"

"3 and a half..."

"Aaron," you sighed, turning to face him fully; unable to tear your gaze away from the ring. "I don't want this ring if - "

"No, no 'ifs'," he rushed, "I swear, it's what I want - it's what I've always wanted and just couldn't admit. After tonight, I don't think I can keep this ring - it needs on your finger and that bastard needs put in the ground - "

"Can you not ruin this proposal by threatening to murder my ex?" You laughed, watching his split lips spread into a grin.

"This a proposal?"

"If you word it right, could be."

"Lemme get on my knee - "

"No," you stopped him, nodding, whispering, "just ask me."

Aaron blinked once in confusion, then simply asked, "Will you marry me?"

You levitated into his arms; arms coiling around his neck; lips to his; sucking air from his lungs into yours, mumbling, "Yes, yes, yes," repeatedly. In surprise, Aaron stumbled back a few steps but caught himself, chuckling, fully hoisting you into his embrace.

"Right answer," he teased, carrying you through the apartment and to the nearest piece of furniture - the couch. Dropping down with you straddling his lap, he chuckled, "Here, put it on, yeah? Keep it safe." You grinned and accepted the ring, letting him slide it on, but unable to admire it in full as it became a free-for-all frenzy; tearing clothes from the other, lips suckling, teeth clashing, spit smearing. Breaking apart for a moment, Tangerine growled, "I don't know if I love or hate tonight, huh? Seein' you with him, sayin' you'll marry me, comin' home - "

"Ace, Tangie? Baby?" You smirked, holding his cheeks to keep his face in front of yours, "Tonight's good - it's a good night. Yeah?"

He nodded, "Yeah."

"It's a good night - say it."

"A good night - great night."

"Great fuckin' night," you agreed, "now, I need you to fuck me before I spontaneously combust - "

Aaron's mouth was on yours before the words were fully formed. You gasped, holding on tightly, encouraging his tongue to tangle with yours as the night's emotions overtook you both in a searing heat of passion. His hands planted on your hips and began guiding your movements in slow, languid strokes over his growing bulge you were seated on.

With a small growl, Tangerine pulled back only to flip you over; laying your back to the cushions so he could hover over you, his hips grinding between your spread legs. "Mine," he grit, licking into your mouth as he pushed his cock directly into your moistening center, "all mine. Hear me? All fucking mine - you won't ever be with another man. Yeah?"

You weakly whimpered, nodding; his teeth catching your bottom lip and pulling. Your breast was palmed by a hot and heavy hand; gasping when Tangie pinched your nipple through the fabric of your dress.

"Nah, nah, nah," Tan grumbled, "wanna hear you say it, baby. Need to hear it."

Boldly, you reached out to rub the heel of your palm into his leaking member, managing to speak against his lips, "I'm all yours, Aaron. Never anyone else's."

"Yeah?" He grit.

"Yeah," you nodded, giving a flex of your hand that made his shoulders stiffen, "and no other man will know me - nor will I know another man. It's you and me."

"About fuckin' time; ain't never lettin' you go again, baby," he breathed, taking both wrists in his to pin over your head. "Now... Let me make up for this past year."

Ms. Roberts wore noise canceling headphones the entire night and began researching new apartment buildings available for move-in ASAP.

Dawn broke, filling the room with a warm, bright light that accentuated the smoke wafting from Aaron's mouth. Neither of you got any sleep; exhausted in the best way possible, laid in bed, your head on his shoulder with arms bent to mindlessly twiddle together in the air.

"Remember that first retreat your company sent employees on?" Aaron asked softly, his other hand flicking his cigarette ash into a nearby ashtray.

"Hm... The one to Cancún?"

"Yeah."

"The one I missed 'cause we had a 48-hour romp?"

Tangerine laughed slightly, "That's the one."

"What about it?"

"Just... Laying here made me think of it. How fucked-out you were, how you missed your damn plane."

"You made me miss it!"

"That sounds accusatory."

You grinned when he lowered the cigarette to your lips, letting you puff it before pulling away. On exhale, you reminded, "You're the one who couldn't cut me a damn break."

"Since when do you want me to go easy on this pussy? Huh?"

With a snicker, you mused, "When you're whiskey-drunk and I'm drinking champagne?"

Tangie paused, then nodded, "Yeah, all right, that's fair. Whiskey dick ain't a joke, love."

You hummed and turned on your side into him, hiking your leg over his hips; snuggling into his warmth, new angle allowing you to gaze up at him. His arm laid around you in a secure hold, the other lazily smoking. You added, "Neither is being champagne drunk, makes me queazy."

"Probably not the best combination for fucking, huh?"

"I don't recommend it."

Aaron was quiet a moment, inhaling toxic smoke with a hiss through his teeth, "Bet they got champagne on them planes to Cancún."

"Bet they got champagne for other destinations, too," you teased. "Besides, why do you care? You're banned from popping bottles."

"Huh? Since when - why?"

"Since you sprayed me with a bottle that cost more than $3,000 USD!"

"If I can't spray my girl in luxury, what the fuck is this all for?" He smirked, looking down at you fondly.

"That bottle was meant to shmooze the German Ambassador!"

"Well, someone should've put a label on it!" You laughed his name, feeling his arm tighten. He tacked on, "Y'know, I gotta admit, just doesn't feel real yet."

"Hmm?"

"You... Back in my arms, in our bed - our home," he gave a great big deep sigh.

"It'll get real when people know we're back together."

"Is it wrong I want it to just be us for a bit? Private, intimate, just being together without everyone's outside influence or opinion?"

You smiled softly, "No, it's not wrong... I'd be lying if I said I didn't want the same."

"Then how about we catch a flight outta here?"

"Excuse me?"

"Yeah, c'mon, c'mon, c'mon," he beamed, suddenly struck with renewed vigor; positively radiating with excitement. You pulled off his chest in time for him to sit up, insisting, "Let's do it all again, baby. Let's catch a flight, change the weather to celebrate us promising forever."

"Tangie, baby, what're you talking about? We can't just up and leave - "

"Why not?"

"We have jobs! Or at least, I have a job with a consistent schedule."

"Oh, c'mon, doll, don't think too hard - let's go, let's catch a flight somewhere warm and sunny."

"You're not gonna let this go, are you?"

Tangerine shrugged, "Not likely. Can think of it as some engagement celebration - but just between us. I mean, it's never gonna be 'just us' again, you know?"

With a sigh, you agreed, "All right... Let's go."

"All right?"

"Yeah, all right, fine."

"Yeah? All right? Fine?"

"Oh, fuck about - don't parrot me, Aaron!"

He chuckled with a grin so wide, you wondered how it didn't split his face in two. Your fiancé playfully dropped onto your front; jostling the bed, arms planted on either side of you to keep his weight balancd while dotting rapid kisses around your face.

When satisfied, he pulled back and all but bounced out of bed while encouraging, "Let's go, c'mon!"

"Baby, wait - "

"You grab the passports, I'll pack for us!"

You paused to watch him rush into the walk-in closet, laughing and muttering as you climbed out of bed, "I'm gonna be in questionable clothing this whole vacation, aren't I?" There was a fond smile on your face.

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

[nouvxllev]

be my baby, t.r.

Pairing: Jenna Ortega x Fem!Reader

Summary: in which you show your love for jenna in your own way

Words: 1.2k

Warnings: fluff hooray!

a/n: heard this line from my headphones while i was scanning my notes and immediately went for my drafts. just a drabble if you may

masterlist.

When people think of a sacred place, they'd think of something related to religion of some sort. A place of worship and compassion to another, maybe a deity. Or they'd think of something they cherished, the place that they hope one day see in their life after death and see the wonderful memories they'd have.

You were none of the ordinary.

Your sacred place was Jenna. Her soul was everything you wanted. She was everything you needed.

Everyday, she would see through you. Your pride, your anger, your selfishness, and how she accepts you for who you are even for your flaws. How your happiness often shined so bright whenever you were with her. How the stars would shine just for her to be in the spotlight, be the center of everything. Oh, how you were so devoted to her was something beyond you.

Hence why your favorite time of the day is waking up beside her, sliding your arm in between her body, and hugging her as if she were being taken away from you if not for your arms grounding her.

You shifted your weight towards her, your legs going in between hers as you hugged her even tighter. She always smelled like home and the subtle scent of her favorite perfume with a hint of yours, you noticed.

The faint music from Jenna's headphones filled the air, feeling your eyes slowly getting heavy as you nudged your head onto her nape, closing your eyes in full bliss but never slept.

Ever since you moved to her apartment, you saw how Jenna always slept with headphones on, only for it to be way too tangled and off her ears when she wakes up.

Your hands found Jenna's, intertwining them as you looked over her shoulder, the action being reciprocated when you felt her fingers close around your hand. Even when she was asleep, she always held you back as if you were a distant star coming to earth.

The morning sun always complimented Jenna so well, the warmth of the sun casting a gentle glow on her features, how her brown eyes are all what you wish to see, showing you everything there is to true beauty. It is as if she was another celestial object far from a mere mortal with how your world orbited around her very being, how effortlessly she could make every living and dying poet forever ink her name in their pages.

You were about to fall asleep until you heard a quiet groan and her body stirring awake. As Jenna shifted beside you, your arms were still wrapped around her body, loosening as she turned to face you.

"Hey." She whispered. Her fingers tracing patterns across your own hand as she blinked away her drowsiness, a loopy smile gracing her lips. "I thought you'd be up by now."

"I am." You gave her a soft smile while she gave you an unimpressed look, but her smile never wavered.

"I meant off the bed and do whatever you normally do."

"You know I'll always wait for you," you replied in a hushed tone, your hand coming close to her face as you brushed a stray strand of hair away, your thumb gently caressing her freckles.

"I know," she whispered as she nodded, her morning voice always something so familiar to you. "Just thought you'd have a change of heart."

"I'd be a fool to." You met Jenna's eyes with a smile, your gaze going back and forth from her eyes to her lips. Your hand resting on her face traveled to her back, pulling her in closer.

Jenna let out a soft sigh, "Aren't you the smooth talker," she murmured. Her hand finding its way to your cheek, her touch gentle and reassuring as your heart swelled with the sight and love that was Jenna.

You raised your eyebrow, "I'm serious about it."

Jenna laughed. She laughed. Oh, how it made your heart instantly recognize the pattern of her laughter.

"I can tell, don't worry." She said, looking into your eyes with the same expression you had. It was a small gesture, waiting for your lover to wake up in the morning, but it was everything to you. And maybe even to Jenna if not a lot more. She leaned in, pecking you on the lips, "And I love you for it."

You can feel your eyes soften, the subtle rise and fall of Jenna's chest against yours as the warmth of her hand rests on your cheek.

You allowed your eyes to drop down to her lips before leaning in and planting a gentle kiss to her soft lips. The very faint scent of her chapstick from yesterday still lingered as you held Jenna's hand on your face, tracing her knuckles with your thumb.

You pulled away before leaning in and placing another kiss to her lips. "I love you too."

Your hand pulled hers away from your face, intertwining them before kissing her yet again. "I love you more."

"I love you most." You whispered softly as your mind captured the look on Jenna's face that was adorned with pure love. Both of your hands reached to cup her face, kissing her once more, feeling the warmth of her breath against yours.

You can feel Jenna smile against your lips, the gesture driving you to insanity with devotion for this girl.

The both of you pulled away from the kiss, your eyes meeting Jenna's as your heart raptured with laughter as she laughed alongside it. The sound itself making you want to record it deep inside your soul forever.

"What was that about?" She chuckled.

"For every kiss you give me, I'll give you three. The Ronettes." You quoted, a smirk gracing your lips as the faint sounds of her playlist started to play all over again.

Ever since Jenna introduced you to her music taste, you were blasting it non-stop. Though it wasn't exactly the music Jenna would listen to, it was like the one of the many music that you found in her taste in genre and you loved it as much as you loved her presence.

"You liked it?" She mumbled, a hopeful tune in her voice. Another thing you noticed about Jenna is that she loved recommending her own interests to other people and you came to adore that so much.

"Who am I to deny my talented girlfriend with her music taste?"

She chuckled, sitting up straight as she pulled you up towards her, wrapping her arms around your body. "Flattery gets you nowhere."

"Then how come I'm right here in your arms?" You looked up at her, a small smile playing on your lips that seemed to never go away whenever you were with her.

"I don't know," she shrugged nonchalantly, "you tell me."

Jenna's arms around you felt like home, a sacred place you'd always come here after a day or even a decade. It was a place where you belonged to, the embrace that would last along with the faint music that was still playing in the background. In her arms, peace is never a fleeting moment but rather something that'll always keep your heart warm.

Another thing is for sure: you were her one and only, and you'd adore her till eternity.

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

a/n: feel like im slowly getting the motivation to write more

[moonselune]

bg3 boys w/ a cleric of myrkul tav?? what r they like having tav as a partner and that being tav’s deity, or maybe how they react to finding out??

I can only imagine this happening when it is revealed that Ketheric is Myrkul's chosen and Tav is like "what a faker" like that meme when somebody is wearing a popular band shirt and someone is like "yeah you like this band well name three of their songs - and not the popular ones"

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Gale was never one to shy away from asking questions. His curiosity was insatiable, a hunger for knowledge that was as much a part of him as his magic. It was one of the things you loved most about him. But today, as you sat together in the quiet of your shared quarters, you realized that your next revelation would surely set that curiosity ablaze.

You’d been planning on telling him for a while now, but the moment never seemed right. Gale was a man of light and arcane wonders, and you…well, you walked a path most would fear to tread. But you knew Gale, and despite any misgivings, you trusted in his understanding.

The moment arrived when you were alone, with the evening shadows casting long fingers across the room. You were removing your armor, the quiet routine comforting in its simplicity, when Gale’s eyes caught on something he hadn’t seen before: a small, intricately crafted holy symbol nestled against your chest. The bone-white skull, framed by dark triangle, was unmistakable.

“Myrkul?” he said, the word hanging in the air between you. His tone was a mix of surprise, intrigue, and something you couldn’t quite place. “You follow Myrkul?”

You nodded, watching as his brows furrowed, his mind already racing ahead. He stepped closer, his gaze locked on the symbol. “I must admit, this is…unexpected. Myrkul, the Lord of Bones, the Shepherd of Souls. A deity of death, decay, and the inevitable end. And you…you’re his cleric?”

The way he said it wasn’t accusatory, but filled with genuine curiosity. His eyes, alight with questions, darted back and forth as if trying to piece together a puzzle. He paced in front of you, hands gesturing animatedly as he rambled on, caught up in his thoughts.

“This is fascinating! Truly, I’ve read much about the gods, but Myrkul’s followers often remain shrouded in mystery. I’ve always been intrigued by the nature of death—how it can be both feared and revered, a finality and yet a passage to something beyond. But you, my dear, I never would have guessed…”

He paused, looking at you with an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. “What is it about Myrkul that calls to you? Is it the peace in the acceptance of death? The knowledge that all things must end? Or perhaps something else entirely?”

You couldn’t help but smile. Gale’s curiosity was infectious, his mind a whirlwind of thoughts and theories. It was one of the many reasons you’d fallen for him. His ability to see beyond the surface, to seek understanding rather than pass judgment. You reached out, taking his hand in yours, grounding him in the moment.

“It’s all of that,” you began, your voice calm, “and more. Myrkul teaches that death is not something to be feared, but a natural part of the cycle. There’s a peace in knowing that everything has its time, that life and death are intertwined. It’s not about darkness or despair, but about balance.”

Gale’s expression softened as he listened, his hand squeezing yours gently. He seemed to be absorbing your words, turning them over in his mind like a puzzle piece that had finally found its place.

“But isn’t it lonely?” he asked, his voice softer now. “To walk a path where most would shy away, where the end is seen as something to embrace rather than avoid?”

You shook your head, your smile widening. “Not with you by my side.”

Gale blinked, and then a slow, warm smile spread across his face. He let out a soft chuckle, the tension in the room dissolving into something lighter.

“You never cease to amaze me,” he said, pulling you closer into his arms. “Here I thought I knew everything about you, and yet you continue to surprise me.”

You rested your head against his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. “And you continue to accept me, despite those surprises.”

“Accept you? My dear, I adore you. Every part of you. Even the parts I don’t yet fully understand.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering as if to seal the moment.

You stayed like that for a while, wrapped in each other’s warmth, until Gale’s curiosity inevitably got the better of him again.

“You must tell me more,” he said, his voice laced with excitement. “About Myrkul, about your beliefs, your rituals… Everything. I want to understand it all.”

You laughed softly, nodding as you looked up at him. “I will. But only if you promise to keep an open mind.”

“Always,” he replied, his eyes twinkling with affection and intrigue. “For you, always.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

When Astarion first found out that you were a cleric of Myrkul, the reaction was instant and unmistakable: he laughed. Not a polite chuckle or a restrained smile, but a full, delighted laugh that echoed through the room.

"You? A cleric of Myrkul?" he exclaimed, still laughing as he leaned back in his chair. His crimson eyes sparkled with amusement as he looked at you. "Oh, darling, that's just too perfect. Of all the gods you could have chosen, you go for the Lord of Bones? How delightfully grim."

You couldn't help but smile at his reaction, despite the small twinge of uncertainty in your chest. Astarion was nothing if not unpredictable, and while his laughter was playful, you couldn't quite gauge his true feelings on the matter. But as he calmed down, his expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand.

"Honestly, my dear," he said, his voice lowering to a more sincere tone, "I couldn't care less if you worshipped a rock, let alone Myrkul. It's… charming, in its own way. Fitting, even. You, with your endless compassion and stubborn sense of duty, serving the god of death and decay. It's almost poetic."

You felt a wave of relief wash over you at his words. It was typical Astarion, to mask his acceptance with teasing, but you knew him well enough by now to recognize the affection behind the jest. He truly didn't mind—if anything, he seemed more amused than anything else.

But Astarion, being who he was, couldn't let the opportunity for mischief pass by.

One day, while you were traveling together through a dense, eerie forest, you came across a small clearing. The ground was littered with the bones of long-dead creatures—birds, by the looks of them. Astarion's sharp eyes caught sight of them immediately, and he couldn't resist.

"Oh, look what we have here!" he called out, his voice dripping with mock reverence. He knelt down, carefully picking up a delicate bird skull between his fingers, holding it up for you to see. "A sign from your beloved Lord of Bones, perhaps? Surely, this is some sort of divine message."

You rolled your eyes at him, unable to suppress a smile. "Astarion, really?"

He stood up, cradling the skull in his hands as if it were a priceless artifact. "What? I’m merely showing the proper respect for your deity. Maybe you should say a prayer or two? Thank him for this lovely gift?"

You laughed, shaking your head as you walked over to him. "You’re impossible."

He grinned, that mischievous spark in his eyes even brighter. "Impossible, but endearing, I hope."

"Always," you replied, leaning in to give him a quick kiss, which he eagerly returned. He finally let the bird skull drop back to the ground, his teasing done for the moment.

As you continued on your journey, Astarion would occasionally find other small bones or remnants of dead creatures and make a show of it, always with that playful glint in his eyes. But you knew it was all in good fun. Beneath the teasing and the jokes, Astarion respected you and your choices, no matter how dark or unconventional they might seem.

And as you walked together, hand in hand, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for the way he accepted you, every part of you, without hesitation. Astarion might mock, he might tease, but he did so with a heart that, despite everything, cared deeply for you. And that, in the end, was all that mattered.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

"You're a cleric of Myrkul?" he asks, his voice tinged with disbelief. "I mean, of course, I respect your choices, but... Myrkul? The god of death and decay?"

You nod, sensing his hesitation. "I know it's... unexpected. But Myrkul isn't just about death in the way most people think. It's about the balance, the cycle of life. I’ve always believed that there’s peace in understanding that."

Wyll takes a deep breath, clearly grappling with the news. He gazes at you, searching your eyes for any trace of doubt or malice, but all he finds is the same love and compassion that drew him to you in the first place. Slowly, a smile spreads across his face, though there's still a hint of unease behind it.

"If anyone could find the good in serving such a god, it would be you," he says softly, taking your hands in his. "I don’t fully understand it, but I trust you. And I love you. That won’t change, no matter which deity you follow."

His acceptance brings a wave of relief, and you can’t help but smile back at him. Wyll might have been taken aback, but his love for you is unwavering. Still, you can tell he’s not entirely comfortable with the idea—at least, not yet.

As the days pass, Wyll finds a way to come to terms with your role as a cleric of Myrkul in his own unique way. He’s a man of action, after all, and he starts to notice that your affiliation can be rather... intimidating to others.

It’s not long before he starts to take advantage of this, especially in combat situations.

One evening, as you’re faced with a particularly dangerous group of bandits, Wyll steps forward, his voice booming with confidence.

"I suggest you lot think twice about crossing us," he declares, gesturing to you with a flourish. "You see, my beloved here serves Myrkul himself. That’s right—the Lord of Bones. You know what that means? She could send you straight to his realm without a second thought. So if you value your lives, I’d recommend turning tail and running now."

The bandits exchange uneasy glances, clearly unnerved by the mention of Myrkul. It doesn’t take long for them to back off, retreating into the shadows with a newfound respect for you and Wyll.

As they disappear into the night, Wyll turns to you with a triumphant grin. "Did you see that? They were terrified! I think I’m going to enjoy having the scariest lover around."

You raise an eyebrow at him, amused by his sudden enthusiasm for your dark allegiance. "You’re not scared of me now, are you?"

Wyll shakes his head, stepping closer to you. "Not in the slightest," he says, his tone sincere. "I know your heart, and it’s anything but dark. But if your connection to Myrkul gives our enemies a reason to fear you, I’d say that’s a pretty handy advantage."

Despite his earlier reservations, Wyll seems to have fully embraced the idea of you as a cleric of Myrkul—so much so that he’s even proud of it in a way. There’s a certain thrill in knowing that the love of his life holds such power, and though the path you’ve chosen might be a bit darker than he’s used to, Wyll wouldn’t have it any other way.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

The two of you have always shared a deep connection with nature, and Halsin's admired your reverence for the cycles of life. However, the realization that you serve Myrkul, the Lord of Bones, left Halsin uneasy.

“Myrkul?” Halsin’s voice is low, laced with confusion and concern. “You serve the god of death and decay? This… this feels more akin to the ways of the Shadow Druids than the path of the Circle of the Moon.”

You sigh, feeling the weight of his words. You’ve always known that your faith might be difficult for someone like Halsin to accept, especially given his deep love for life and the natural world. “Halsin, it’s not what you think. Myrkul isn’t just about death—he represents the natural end of all things, the balance that keeps the cycle of life in motion. It’s not about destruction for its own sake, but about understanding and respecting the inevitable.”

Halsin frowns, his gaze searching your face for understanding. “But the Shadow Druids—they twist nature to their will, using death as a weapon. How is this different?”

You can feel the frustration bubbling up inside you, knowing that he’s comparing your faith to something so perverse. “I’m not a Shadow Druid, Halsin. I don’t wield death like a weapon. Myrkul’s teachings are about the acceptance of life’s end, about helping others find peace with it. There’s a serenity in that, a balance.”

He crosses his arms, his expression still troubled. “But how does that align with the life we cherish? The Circle of the Moon teaches us to embrace the wild, to protect the natural order. Myrkul… his followers often stray into darkness.”

You feel your heart tighten at his words, his misunderstanding cutting deeper than you expected. “Are you saying I’ve strayed into darkness, Halsin? That I’m no longer the person you thought I was?”

Halsin’s eyes soften, but the tension between you remains. “No, that’s not what I mean. But this… this path you’ve chosen, it worries me. I’ve seen what happens when death becomes more than just a natural end. It can consume everything.”

Frustrated, you turn away, the pain of his words too much to bear. “I thought you would understand, Halsin. I thought you of all people would see that there’s more to this than just death. But maybe I was wrong.”

With that, you walk away, needing space to clear your mind. The hurt and confusion weigh heavily on you, and you feel a pang of regret as you leave him standing there, knowing how much your faith means to you.

As you reach a quiet spot in the forest, surrounded by the sounds of nature, you feel the tears welling up. You sit down on a fallen log, trying to calm your racing thoughts, when you hear the rustling of leaves behind you. Halsin’s familiar presence soon follows, his steps slow and deliberate.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, standing a few paces behind you. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I was… taken aback. Your faith, it’s something I didn’t fully understand, and I reacted poorly.”

You remain silent, but the anger has already begun to ebb away, replaced by the warmth of his sincerity.

Halsin steps closer, finally sitting down beside you on the log. “What matters most is you. I love you, no matter what path you walk. I see now that I was too quick to judge. Myrkul’s teachings might not be what I would choose, but that doesn’t make them wrong. Perhaps there’s something we can learn from each other.”

You glance at him, seeing the earnestness in his eyes. “You really mean that?”

He nods, reaching out to take your hand in his. “Yes. Myrkul’s ways may be foreign to me, but they’re a part of you. And I want to understand, just as I hope you’ll continue to embrace the life we share together. We don’t have to agree on everything, but we can find common ground.”

A small smile tugs at your lips, and you squeeze his hand. “I’d like that, Halsin. I don’t want this to come between us.”

He pulls you closer, his strong arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace. “It won’t,” he murmurs into your hair. “Nothing is more important than you. Together, we’ll find a way to balance our beliefs. After all, isn’t balance what nature teaches us?”

You nod, leaning into him, feeling the warmth of his body against yours. “Yes, it is.”

With that, the tension between you melts away, replaced by the familiar bond you share. The argument fades into the background as you sit together in the peace of the forest, knowing that your love for each other is stronger than any difference in belief.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Hope you guys enjoyed this! Love you all - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

[lilacxquartz]

BLESSED WITH BLUE

angel satoru gojo x mortal fem!reader

part 2 of 2 • masterlist • ao3 link • << part 1

summary: after making an offering, you catch the attention of a six eyed angel who despite promising you the heavens, leads you into hell instead.

warnings: heavily implied dub/non-con, violent/disturbing imagery, body horror

Part 2: Answer

The next couple of days were met with a certain degree of reluctance and uncertainty combined as you couldn’t help but feel a crushing sense of guilt, wondering what the angel truly meant by ‘everything’.

Had you known what it could have entailed, you would have never prayed—you would have never even entertained the concept of love, knowing now that it would be taken away so soon.

You didn’t want to think that ‘everything’ could have been in a more literal sense; something that would force you to have a lacking say in your own existence in exchange for a taste of power.

It left you wondering more so if it was truly a blessing or if it was more of a curse.

And moments after tucking yourself into bed, you were awoken by an all too familiar presence making itself known within the confines of your very own home.

The angel reappeared; his eyes a glowing piercing blue with snowy lashes—a gaze as cold as ice.

No longer did it have a welcoming smile.

No longer did it seem as kind.

Its voice, coming out as nothing more than a threatening low droning hum, echoed throughout your body, “Remember what you have offered to me,” he spoke, the playfulness absent from his tone, “your life is mine now too.”

Somehow, these words didn’t really register properly in your mind and you looked back at him with a gnawing sense of disbelief. Your demeanour faltering for a second. You wanted for this strange deity to provide you with answers but every interaction left you with more questions than ever before, leaving you feeling confused after each and every single exchange.

“What…?” you simply asked, blurting out your words.

The angel smiled, painting an illusion of deceptive kindness across his face. His voice softened, as though trying to comfort you despite the words holding onto a sure threat, “You said everything, did you not? That should surely include both your heart and soul.”

“B-but,” you protested, tenting your knees as you backed up in bed, holding your pillow close to your chest, “I can’t even have a normal relationship?”

“Preferably not,” the angel cooed, “but if loneliness is what you’re dealing with, then I can pay you as many visits as you’d like at night.”

You didn’t like the implication of that.

“Y-you…?” you repeated his offer, “You… visit m-me…?”

“Correct,” he nodded with a tight smile, stepping closer ever so slightly forward, “it’s my job to look over humans, so let me be your everything too.”

The more you took in the sight of the angel, the more deceptive he truly seemed. Something about him screamed arrogant and even though he wasn’t playful this time, there was something unserious about the way he spoke to you.

Again, your mind had to wonder.

(Was this truly an angel?)

(Or did you pray to something else instead?)

“T-this is my only option?” you asked.

“Yes, but I’ll visit you however many times it takes,” he nodded.

The wording threw you off however, something about the way he said it and the terminology used, didn’t sit quite right with you.

‘However many times it takes.’

Until what?

~~~

The visits did indeed come to happen, he left you feeling a mixture of both wide awake as the nights had passed yet perfectly refreshed in the mornings as though nothing had happened.

Even though your energy didn’t seemingly suffer, something else within you began to drain instead.

You weren’t quite sure what, though.

Your mind spiralled as it considered the possibilities.

You were blessed, right? Not chosen. Could there have been a difference between the two?

And lying awake in your bed yet again, you anticipated the angel but weren’t quite in the mood due to a terrible feeling brewing inside of you. Your eyes, blinded by the approaching light snapped open; feeling the weight of such unimaginable power anchor right on top of you.

“Not toda—“ you began to protest, your words coming out as barely a whisper.

“—everything,” he shushed you instead, reminding you of your place within the dynamic. He was the an angel; a being close to a god and you were a mortal blessed by his touch. Silly you. You had no right to complain.

Yet the continuation felt awfully wrong.

Like something was happening that shouldn’t have been.

Just like the many sleepless nights before this one, he started by crashing his lips against your own. His touch like pillowed stone against fresh clay—his touch bordered articulate—precise and careful, just like those many times before. Your eyes once again drifted over to his roaming hands, blurring your vision whenever you’d look at them for too long.

“I know your limit,” he whispered to you, his cold breath rippling waves of shivers through you, “I can see it.”

It was as though his words were easing you into it every time. His voice was low and his tone felt hypnotic.

Slowly, as a result, you couldn’t help but grow more accepting of it even if you were unsure why.

Something internal that faded away as you slowly gave into his presences, into his continued touch and…!

(What was this feeling…?)

His touch continued to explore you; his hands brushed over your breasts underneath your clothes. Stony fingers that slipped in between your legs, guiding his digits towards your sex. A soft gasp escaping your lips as he ran tauntingly slow circles around your clit.

Next, he moved himself to hover you. His hardened length feeling just as rigid as the rest of him, if not even somehow more, hovered at your entrance. Slowly, he pushed the tip of his cock into your awaiting cunt, his length enveloped by your heat.

Slipping himself out and then plunging forth again and again—it felt like he was bruising you from the inside. His gradually quickening pace left you breathless yet somehow craving more despite the creeping exhaustion.

“My everything,” he’d mutter, his lips ghosting icy air against your own, his tongue wrestling yours. The experience felt almost jarring with how much attention you took in from a higher power, perhaps in a way that you shouldn’t. The angel continued to stalk his release regardless—appearing almost human—almost vulnerable as he pounded into you with want and need.

He grunted, though softly, as he worked his hips into yours. Despite this, your home only echoed back the sounds of your strained whining and almost relentless, breathless moaning. Your fingers clawing against the sheets—against his flesh—grabbing, almost as if desperately trying to hold onto your plummeting sanity as it somehow slipped away during your shared nights.

His rutting pursuit was by now deeper, his speed unforgiving. Your core felt as though it was going to be split apart by his plunging length. You felt exhaustion seep and settle while your insides soon felt pummelled and even sore as the angel reached an almost frenzied pace, seeking a violent release.

It was sudden as he finally met his end; his body finally spent. You felt as his cock twitched within your sex, emptying himself fully within your bruised core, leaving you a state of uncomfortable full of him and him alone.

As he relaxed and you recovered, the angel soothed you in your repeated panicked submission. His flesh that had since then merged with yours, rubbed raw against what felt like almost worn skin. His comforting touch smoothed goosebumps over you, leaving you once again feeling not quite chosen, but blessed with the essence of something else.

(Something worse?)

Whether or not it was power that he was giving you, it wasn’t something you could tell.

He soon left you in that now familiar dazed and almost high state—your hands drifting and slurring as you moved around in bed—phasing you in and out of your own fleeting consciousness.

And although the sensation faded and the skies lightened outside, for once, you were left feeling exhausted.

As though you couldn’t quite drop what the angel left behind this time.

You’d hands glowed a faint yet noticeable blue, trailing an aura behind as you moved them around in the air. Like seeping water that evaporated the second it lingered a little too long.

Whatever this was; a power, a blessing or something else.

You didn’t want it.

It hurt.

~~~

“Thou shall not lay in bed with the gods who masquerade as angels; lest you ascend.” — Ancient scriptures.

~~~

As if on clockwork, the angel would show up again and again as per the usual times. It was nighttime whenever it arrived with its heavy footsteps splintering the floorboards, icy fingertips that willed you awake, refusing to let you rest.

You couldn’t help but shudder whenever you jolted back into the conscious realm. The touch now feeling familiar, yet somehow so freshly invasive every time.

Something felt different this time though.

“Would you like to be more than just blessed?” he asked you, although the way he delivered his words felt more like a statement than an offering. The way he spoke reminding you more of how the demons spoke; so elusive and almost deceitful.

You couldn’t form a proper response this time either. Your words stifled by a pressuring change in the atmosphere. Something about his words felt once again less like a prompt.

(Maybe more like a threat?)

‘More than just blessed.’

Your mind locked onto the way he said that and he seemed to notice. His icy blue eyes settled into your own gaze in a way that felt looming, as though he was attempting to get a read on your soul rather than to catch onto your interpretation.

“Will it stop the pain?” you finally managed to ask.

Ever since the first time the pain had began to linger, was when you started to feel like something was clearly wrong. The aura that trailed in your hands never subsided, instead slowly enveloping the rest of your skin. The burning sensation that developed in your skin when the pain manifested had only gotten worse since then. It was as though your flesh was overcome with an invisible fire that crackled and whipped away at your skin.

It surely must have been in your head, though.

Yet, despite feeling the blistering pops and the flickers of bursting skin, of charring bone that crisped deep into the core of your very being.

You couldn’t help but feel that this was all too real.

As if something within you was changing and not in a good way.

Not at all.

All the angel did was continue to smile at you. His many eyes once again fluttering around his body, as though blinking in desperation in attempted warning. Yet, the two eyes on his face remained still and almost dormant.

Sitting you upright and allowed for you to lean into his frame, his lips forged a smile to help you ease into his offering.

“It will stop the pain,” he promised, “you’ll never feel anything again, my pretty mortal thing.”

“Then—“ you coughed out, your voice hostage in your throat under a chokehold.

“—it’ll stop the pain,” he continued to comfort you, his hand brushing down your back in a soothing manner, whispering out his final words so that you just about couldn’t fully hear, “and everything else.”

Just as he said that, the pain built up within your body, the blue aura almost barely contained the longer it festered within you.

“I’ll do it,” you replied, finally giving in.

He smiled once more, however as soon as you finalised his non-offer, all remaining warmth that he held onto had since swept away, almost instantly. The once thought to be imagined sensation of hellfire burning over your skin was now visible, with roaring, crackling flames that continued to eat away at your body.

His words of promised mercy hung in the air as you focused on him out of desperation, the eyes scattered on his body weeping along with yours as you surrendered towards deceitful ascension. Your body feeling as though it was almost crumbling against his rigid touch, all the while he stared at your succumbing form.

Slowly, the blue fire closed in on you fully; encasing you in a flaming cocoon that wrapped tight around your body, constricting you.

As the fire finally burned away at your last remaining shred of pain, you longed for it to finally be over, to finally be free.

Yet, when you next awoke in a surge of jolting panic, you found that despite trying to tear your body forward, despite trying to thrash and and sway around—that you couldn’t move a single inch. Even though the sensation of peace washed over your soul, you found yourself encased in the body of someone else, watching through a fleshy tomb as they walked around with your frightened gaze guiding their way.

“There, there,” you heard a familiar voice hush you, his voice vibrating against your very being, “allow me to introduce myself to you. I don’t believe I ever have. I am the six eyed god of the open sky. You may have heard of me as the fallen angel, the one who dared to mingle with the demons and with the humans alike. Turns out I have an appetite for an uncorrupted soul and you’re lucky enough to be a part of me forever.”

You wanted to reply to him, but you couldn’t.

“Now, why wouldn’t I grant this opportunity… as some would call it, to the followers of my own temple, you ask?” he laughed, “because to worship is already giving into corruption and I only respond to untainted desperation.”

You fluttered your eyes as much as you could, the sensation feeling nauseating as you couldn’t scream while entombed within his own flesh.

“You’re crying, aren’t you?” he mocked, “I saved you. A life free from pain, free from suffering. We’ll be together as one, forever united within your dreams… but only when you’re ready once more, only when you’ve finally given in.”

You attempted to scream over and over again.

Yet no sound could be heard as you were forced to watch from his appointed gaze as his adorned seventh and eighth eyes, decorating his body as a purposeful stare, condemned to experience a life that wasn’t yours together with a deity who lied to you.

Yet the six eyed god of the sky didn’t see it that way.

For at last, he finally caught onto something human.

So pure and uncorrupted.

To finally challenge the system with what defined the balance of existence; to finally redefine both pain and peace within this corrupted world.

Together, you’d see the truth.

Even if you’d suffer for eternity as a result instead.

~~~

part 1 of lilac’s bite sized yandere jjk nightmares

a/n: the idea i was going for was that you got tricked by not an angel, not even a god, but by something worse. it was a play on gojo’s technique rendering him into nothing more than a tool and the societal weight on his shoulders. the six eyes being a burden (with some creepy yan!angel elements).

[waves-against-a-cliff]

There is something about Simon Riley that just screams

“I’ll fight for you, each and every time I will fight for you. Like a doomed hero holding off an army of your demons and insecurities, I will fight with everything I have. You, my dear, are the deity who I worship day in and day out. Let me be your sword and shield, let me be your strength and love. Let me love you like you’ve always deserved.”

There is something about John MacTavish that just screams

“Let me be your sun, moon and stars. Let me guide you home like a sailor following the North Star and hold you close and warm like a hearth. Let’s lay in bed together tangled in a knot that binds. I have no need for marriage to declare that my heart and soul belongs to you because it has since we first met. I will kiss you like it’s our first and last, hug you like you’ll disappear.”

There is something about John Price that just screams

“Let me help you with your burdens. Lay them all at my feet and I will carry them like Atlas holds up the sky. I will grab the star you point to and hand it to you if you wished, turn the tide of the ocean if you commanded it. I’ll be your protector, you will not suffer alone. We shall walk this rocky road together until it is smoothed out by our love for each other.”

There is something about Kyle Garrick that just screams

“I will be your rock against the harsh waves of the stormy ocean. Your refuge from the storm. I will hold you in my arms until everything passes and we will be alright. Let me hold you, let me love you, let me mold myself into your bones and keep me there. Each kiss is a declaration, each hug a promise. Loving fully and deeply, falling hard and fast despite the claw marks on the cliffs edge. Smiles that radiate warmth, days filled with laughter.”

[da-rulah]

Rituale Septem - Day 7: Pride

Pairing: (Terzo x f!reader)

Summary: All Hallow's Eve is here, and you're more lost now than you ever had been. Whilst the Ministry gets ready for their biggest night of the year, you're dreading it. Will you reconcile your issues before it's too late?

Rating: Mature, MDNI 18+

Word Count: 18.1k (how tf did that happen...)

Warnings: angst, pining, arguments, lots of emotions, p in v sex, creampie 

AO3 Link | Series Masterlist

A/N: Here it is... the final chapter! I just want to thank anyone and everyone who has liked, reblogged and commented on this fic. It was the biggest project I've ever worked on (74,000+ words wtf...), and one of my favourites of all time. I'm so grateful for the love on it, and I hope this ending doesn't break too many hearts... Happy Halloween to you all! I love you 🫶🏻

Prev: Day 6 - Greed

October 31st: All Hallow’s Eve 

The hum of excitement in the halls of the Ministry travelled from sibling to sibling. On this, the most sought-after date in the calendar of any Satanist, the corridors were alive with jubilation. 

All Hallow’s Eve was a time for many to perform their rituals, to manifest for the year ahead, to reap the rewards since the last harvest season. While the majority of the world would ward off the evil spirits, demons and creatures of the night, the Satanic Church welcomed them. With November 1st being the Catholic’s traditional day of the Saints, tonight was reserved for the sinners.  

The most common use of this magical night, was to commune with the dead and the inhuman, and take advantage of the thinned veil between worlds as night fell. Offerings could be made for a fruitful season ahead, manifestations could be created and spells and rituals could be completed with deities and demons alike.  

Whether the Siblings were attempting something themselves or simply here to enjoy the night of mischief and leisure at the All Hallow’s Ball, the atmosphere within the stone walls was electrifying. There wasn’t a single Sibling in the Ministry who wasn’t looking forward to the festivities. 

Save for one. You.  

As you trudged through the halls towards Secondo’s office that morning, you felt like the only person whose world to had been drained of colour, as if a black shadow hung over you and blew out the flame of excitement of each person you passed. People stopped their conversations just to look at you, their smiles drooping when they saw the look you couldn’t hide in your eyes. Exhaustion, mixed with a hint of hurt.  

It emanated from you, and it was clear to see. A few Siblings you knew asked you if you were okay, sticking out like a sore thumb amongst the jubilation in the hallways but you dismissed each question with a nod and a well-rehearsed “I’m fine”. 

Based on Swiss’ advice yesterday, he had told you feeling wasn’t to be hidden away from; to deal with them instead. The first step to feeling with feelings, surely, was to feel them. And so, you allowed your misery to take over last night and soak your pillow as you failed to sleep. Your mind raced with thoughts of Terzo, images of the times you had spent in his arms, pressed against him, wrapped around him and completely and utterly enamoured with him.  

And then, you would torture yourself with the opposite; the scene you’d walked in on, his cruel teasing, his dismissal of you on fancy parchment. Each positive memory felt like a sooth to the burn, and each negative, a fresh, hot poker into the same wound.  

You could admit it to yourself now; the time spent with him not only in the last week, but since you had arrived in his office, poured your soul to him and began your closer, flirtatious relationship – if you could even call it a relationship – had been enough to show you a side you needed to get to know. You were falling for a man you could never have; a man incapable of love, it would seem.  

There was more to Terzo than people thought – that much you had learned. You'd seen hints of a sensitivity in him; an odd look here, a fond smile there, the mention of his dear Nonna, his somewhat unexpected knowledge of Opera... But you had come to expect too much of him, and gotten yourself into hot water. 

But every time you had tried to figure him out a little more, he’d held you at arm’s length or proven in some way that he was just as unbothered and disinterested as you feared. The more you thought about it through the night, the tighter the barbed wire around your heart squeezed.  

You’d considered not going to work at all today; you weren’t sure you could face people, much less Secondo. But against your better judgement, you’d thought a sense of normality might help to ground you.  

When you walked into Secondo’s office, he couldn’t hide the shock on his face that you’d showed. Don’t get him wrong, he was glad to see you, but he’d expected you to be... busy. You still had one final sin to go, after all.  

“Oh... B-buongiorno, sorella...” he stuttered a little in his surprise. “I thought you would be indisposed today? I don’t mind if you need to-” 

“I’d rather keep busy for a bit at least, Papa. If you don’t mind...” you interrupted, your voice quiet and subdued. His brow creased, concern flooding his ageing features. You missed it, avoiding eye contact as you sat at your desk.  

“What happened?” he asked sternly, “which stronzo do I have to skin alive?”  

Your lips quirked in a smile at his protectiveness of you; something you’d only noticed of him recently, but when you thought about it, had been present for a few years now. But unless he wanted to flay the skin directly from his brother’s own back, he would have to be kept in the dark on this one. 

“It’s nothing Papa, I’m just... exhausted. Long week,” you chuckled, devoid of humour entirely.  

“Of course, but it’s almost over, cara mia. One final push, so to speak,” he encouraged. But in your mind, it was already over. You weren’t sure you had it in you to attempt one more genuine devotion of sin. The weight on your shoulders had crashed around you last night and left you feeling far too broken.  

“Perhaps one final act would put fratello mio in a better mood, also,” he mumbled, shaking his head to himself as he busied his hands with filing invoices for the suppliers of tonight’s Ball. You looked up at him curiously. 

“I-I’m sorry?” you asked, as if you hadn’t heard. But really, you needed more information. Secondo sighed, ripping his spectacles from the end of his nose and letting his hand drop to the desktop. 

“Perhaps Sister Imperator is on his culo (ass) again, but he is acting unlike himself. He’s snappy, irritable... but then when he thinks I do not see, he looks sad,” he explained. “I had warned him the papacy was not for the faint of heart...” 

You thought over his statement for a moment. Sure, his role was demanding, and you knew better than anyone that Sister Imperator was a tyrant; she reminded you of Ms. Trunchbull from Matilda, yet somehow scarier, because she could be kind...  

But sad? What did he have to be sad about? Perhaps it was childish, but you found yourself getting defensively angry at the notion. How dare he when he’d caused, well... this.  

“I don’t think I’ll be seeing papa today,” you deadpanned.  

“Oh... is... Did he do something? Oh, Sorella, did you break his heart?” he teased, pouting dramatically to mock Terzo more so than you. He laughed to himself until he saw the look on your face, shutting himself up and tumbling headfirst into a thought process that led him into silence. 

Maybe his brother had done something. Knowing him, he had cocked up whatever bond he had managed to cement with you in some way. Secondo would lovingly describe his younger brother as un fottuto bambino in tunica (a fucking baby in a robe); immature and yet, held power. It would not shock him if he’d fucked this up, the way he seemed to fumble every potential romantic relationship he’d ever had. None of his conquests had ever moved past just that; his brother was far too terrified of feeling to admit to falling for anybody, and so, nothing ever came of his many charades with women and men alike.  

'What if he’s doing the same now?’ he thought to himself. Terzo did have a pattern, one Secondo had recognised when someone was getting too close to him. He would shoo them away, do something to make them hate him so that he didn’t have to be the one to break it off. Give them a reason to walk away from him, and then he could justify his solitude. 

“Oh, ragazzo idiota,” Secondo muttered to himself.  

“I’m sorry, what was that, Papa?” you asked, having missed it.  

“N-nothing... Sorella, you want to keep busy, sì?” he asked, dismissing his thoughts. You nodded, looking through your notebook to find an unattended task to take up. “Don’t busy yourself with paperwork, dolcezza. You should do something amongst the festivities! Get some fresh air; Primo has asked for you, actually. He’d like some help with pumpkin picking. His frail old hands aren’t what they used to be...”  

Secondo sounded overly kind, as if he were stepping around the issue. It didn’t come naturally to him, outward kindness. You always knew when he was putting it on, or trying to hard; he was most certainly doing that now.  

“Why would Papa Primo ask for me?” you asked suspiciously. He had his own assistant, not to mention the Ghouls were on hand for manual labour.  

Secondo just shrugged, “More like he asked for some help, and I put your name forward, if you were to be available. You don’t mind, do you?” 

Truthfully, no you didn’t. Fresh air may be a good idea, and particularly in the quiet seclusion of Papa Primo’s gardens when the rest of the Ministry would be preparing for tonight’s festivities. You could hide from their excitement and wallow in self-pity for a little; that sounded just fine to you. 

“I’ll head out to the gardens now. Do you need anything else from me, Papa?” you asked, standing and tidying your things away into your desk.  

“No, dolcezza. But... if my brother has done anything to upset you, I...” he stopped himself, trying to pick his words carefully. “Just know, he is a fool.”  

You stared blankly at him, blinking a few times whilst you tried to think of something to say back to him. You couldn’t quite decipher the tone of his voice, or the laced meaning in his words. But before you could give it much thought, he dismissed you to the rest of your day.  

“I’ll see you at the Ball, dolcezza. Don’t think you’re getting out of giving this old man a dance,” he smiled. Smiling looked unusual on Secondo’s face, but in this moment it felt comforting. You felt like he had your back, he was in your corner, batting for your team... He was telling you he’d make sure you enjoyed tonight, Terzo be damned and despite the success or failure of the ritual.  

He’d still be there; your friend. 

“Who picked this orange? It’s too bright...” Terzo grunted, swatting at the drapes Swiss was hanging up in the Great Hall.  

“Y-you did, Papa?” he answered from the top step of the step ladder Dew was holding still, frankly a little scared of the way Papa was acting today. While everyone else was in a particularly joyous mood, Terzo was on a war path. His mood was foul, snapping at anything and everything he possibly could.  

“Well... I... shut up,” Terzo threw his hands in the air and stomped off to check on the Siblings setting up the round dining tables and various casino games on the outskirts of the hall – Secondo's idea; a very big fan of the Vegas strip. His head was all over the place, unable to focus. Not only did he have to play the Papa role at tonight’s Ball, but he was battling with the thoughts of you at the same time.  

Did you complete your sin yesterday? With who? No, that didn’t matter. None of his business. Would you complete the ritual? Or had he fucked that up too? Lucifer, he’d never forgive himself. 

“Papa!” he heard someone called to him and quietly groaned at the footsteps quickly approached, clacking on the marble of the floor. “Papa, could I... eh, could I talk to you? Per uno momento, (For one moment,) I shall not keep you...”  

Terzo span on his heels in the middle of the dancefloor, having not yet reached the gaggle of Siblings arranging tableware on the opposite end of the Hall. His younger brother, Cardinal Copia, was scurrying towards him with a sheepish look on his face, a blush that gave away his shame.  

“What is it, fratellino? I’m a little busy with preparations...” Terzo tried to dismiss him, avoiding eye contact. He didn’t care to look him in the eye after Sunday, when he had seen you... on top of him.  

“Sì, sì, scusi, I just...” Copia stopped in front of him, lowering his voice from the rest of the Hall, “I have felt somewhat guilty since Sunday, Papa.”  

“How many times do I have to ask you not to call me Papa, Copia? Just Terzo will do,” he fussed, raising his hand to stop Copia’s protests about ‘lineage’ and ‘formality’. He completely glazed over the mention of Sunday, not wanting to address it at all. “You are my brother. It’s weird.” 

“Okie dokie...” he hung his head in apology. “But... Sunday,” he began again. Terzo raised his palm again.  

“I will knock next time,” he said. 

“Well, yes, but... I’m sorry,” Copia forced his apology on Terzo, willing him to listen to him, as if not having the opportunity to apologise was somehow paining him. He needed him to know his intentions. 

“What... what are you sorry for?” Terzo asked, confused and frankly, a little nervous. He had a feeling he knew where this was heading, his brother able to read him easily as he did most people.  

“I saw the look on your face, Terzo. It wasn’t just disgust at what you’d seen me doing. I saw rage, Terzo. And... pain.” Copia kept his voice low to not attract attention, his eyes searching his brother’s face for his reaction. He could have been way off base here, but part of him knew. It told him that no, he was right; Terzo was genuinely upset by what he saw. 

Terzo stared at his brother, his heart rate picking up in his chest. He didn’t need every damn brother knowing what he was thinking all the time, and he didn’t feel like having to explain himself or coming up with excuses. He didn’t have the energy to pretend today, and so, he began to turn and walk away.  

It was cowardly and he knew it; walking away from the truth, pretending it didn’t exist. But he couldn’t do this; not right now.  

“No, wait!” Copia grabbed his arm, quietly calling to him. Terzo stopped, hanging his head low and turning back.  

“Copia please, not here. I can’t... not today.” 

“When I walked into her in the hall that day, she was upset by something and I need you to know I don’t think she was in her right mind when she... dragged me to my workshop. She didn’t want me, she wanted something and I just happened to be there,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly, “and I’m the weak and pathetic man who allowed it. Swept up, I suppose.” 

Both brothers shuffled on their feet uncomfortably, neither one speaking for a moment as they both wallowed in their shame. Terzo had known you were upset; of course he did, it was his doing. But he’d been able to ignore that for the most part, try and stuff it down in a suitcase he could throw to the bottom of a lake and forget about completely. But he didn’t realise it would float back to the surface. His guilt ate him up.  

“You’re... you’re not weak, Copia,” Terzo managed to say. It was possibly one of the nicest things he’d said to him in a long time, their relationship very much strained thanks to their estranged father. Copia simply smiled delicately in thanks and pity.  

“You should tell her, fratello.” Terzo laughed bitterly, at that.  

“Tell her what, exactly?” he shrugged, feigning ignorance.  

“How you feel,” Copia persisted, “I didn’t miss the anger on her face, either. I fear I came between something...” 

“I can’t tell her anything, Copia. She doesn’t deserve me,” Terzo’s gaze hardened, his jaw locking up tightly as he stared into his brother’s eyes.  

Copia frowned at that statement; what, you were not good enough for him? Copia knew you well enough to know he’d be lucky to find a woman half as deserving of love as you. He knew his brother could be a pig-headed and proud man, but that was potentially one of the most arrogant things he had ever said.  

When Terzo realised the annoyance on Copia’s face, he scoffed, shaking his head and staring down at his feet.  

“No, Copia... she doesn’t deserve me,” he looked up then, sadness filling his eyes and a soft sigh escaping his chest. “No one deserves that burden.” 

Without another word, Terzo turned and walked the rest of the length of the Hall, leaving the Siblings and Ghouls to their preparations, and a rather deflated looking Copia in the middle of the empty dancefloor.  

He just wanted to be alone. 

The chill in the air bit at your skin the second you stepped outside, wrapping your cloak tightly around you as you acclimatised after the warmth confined to the Ministry’s inner walls. The air felt fresh, with a dew settled as a low fog over the hills in the distance. The landscape looked quite perfect for All Hallow’s Eve morning.  

You took the short winding footpath that led to Papa Primo’s gardens, noticing you hadn’t come across another sibling or ghoul on your way through. They must be inside, getting things ready for the biggest night of the year or enjoying their freedom from seminars and work duty that came with the holiday.  

When you knocked on the door to Primo’s greenhouse, you heard a groan as if Primo had been sat when you arrived, dragging himself up while his aching bones protested. He came to the door, greeting you with a warm smile and open arms ready to engulf you in a hug you had come to expect of the eldest Emeritus. In his old age, he’d grown softer, and tended to greet his Siblings this way now. 

“Sorella _____! Oh, Happy Halloween to you, cara mio,” he beamed as you gently hugged him, careful not to knock his balance. 

“Happy Halloween, Papa,” you smiled, strikingly good at masking your sadness around him. Perhaps it was simply Primo’s comforting aura.  

“Did Secondo send you to help with the pumpkins?” he asked, taking a step back but grasping your hands in his.  

“He did,” you chuckled, “I needed the fresh air.” 

“Sí, sí, well let’s get started, eh? Would you fetch me a wheelbarrow from the tool shed, cara? I will find the clippers; those stalks are stubborn this year!” he turned in his spot to rifle through the shelves by the door, and left you to run to the shed and grab the wheelbarrow he’d requested, plus a camping stool for him to sit on. You met at the pumpkin patch, largely overgrown with an assortment of pumpkins the size of boulders down to footballs. You sat the wheelbarrow near the front of the patch, and took the shears Primo had collected from him. 

“Relax, Papa. I’ve got this,” you smiled sweetly, kneeling beside a group of pumpkins ready to cut into the stalks and pile them into the wheelbarrow while Papa rested on the stool you’d brought for him. 

“Ah, you think me too frail, Sorella?” he teased, instantly eating his words when he groaned taking a seat. 

“Not me, Papa. Your joints, however...” you laughed. Papa couldn’t deny that, letting you get away with the cheek for now with a fond smile.  

“I trust my brother is keeping you busy?” he asks, forcing your hand to pause it’s cutting as you looked back at him, wondering what he was getting at. He didn’t mean...? “Secondo? Is he keeping you busy as usual, Sorella?” 

“O-oh! Yes, of course. Always,” you laughed, relieved and turning back to the pumpkins. Primo smirked, knowing full well why you’d panicked. But he’d let it slide, for now.  

“Good, good... And you’re doing well in yourself, cara?” he asked, making conversation. Except, he was prying. Primo knew more than he was letting on, but he was manipulating the conversation in a way that you may be more forthcoming...  

But you didn’t know how to answer him. You wanted so desperately to be honest with him, feeling comfortable and trusting him but the fear of judgment and embarrassment made you hesitate. And you hesitated a moment too long, chewing on your bottom lip and stilling your progress on the pumpkin stem you were hacking into.  

Primo saw an opening. 

“Hmm... you said you needed the fresh air too, earlier. Cara mio, something is bothering you, is it not?” he asked, leaning forwards to rest his forearms on his knees, holding your gaze when you looked up at him beside you.  

“Well, I... um...” you stuttered, wondering how you would even begin this conversation.  

“It’s okay, fiorellina (little flower),” he softened his voice, reaching his palm to rest gently at your cheek that had pinkened now you were flustered, “I know you have been performing Rituale Septem,” he admitted.  

You froze; your body seemed to simply stop working, lungs and all as you held your breath. How did he know? What did he know? You were mortified... It felt like your Grandpa had just told you he’d heard you having sex; just icky. You hoped he didn’t think any less of you for it. His opinion of you mattered to you more than you realised.  

“I must say, it was brave to take on this ritual, Sorella. You must have been at your wits end to try and accomplish this. I’ve never seen it completed in my lifetime; it always gets too messy,” he praised, giving you a sense of relief that he certainly did not think less of you at all. But messy; yes. That’s one way to put it. “I hear it got messy, Sorella...” he spoke so softly, a look of sympathy on his face.  

“I think it did, yes...” you hung your head in shame, slowly beginning to cut back into the pumpkin stem you were working on. Primo hummed in acknowledgement.  

“Well done, _______. For fighting back, I mean. He plays too many games, il mio idiota fratellino, (my idiot little brother,)” he scoffed, shaking his head.  

“He told you, then?” you deduced, focussed entirely on this ruddy pumpkin stalk that just would not cut. You hacked into it, anger building.  

“He did, sí... Hey, hey!” he raised his voice, reaching out to your wrist to stop your assault on the stalk that had become entirely too violent. “Fiorellina, per favore! (Little flower, please!) Violence does not suit you.” He ran his gloved thumb over your cheek, wiping at a stray tear that had fallen and chilled on your cheek in the autumn air. 

“S-sorry...” you mumbled, letting the shears drop to the ground in front of you and sitting back on your heels in defeat.  

“I hate to pry, but... did you manage to complete a sin yesterday?” he asked, “Terzo said you had two left when he came to me. If you did, then there is still hope you can talk to Lucifer tonight.” Primo evaded the subject a little, putting a pin in the Terzo dynamic for the time being to understand what position you found yourself in now. He could only help with the full picture, and if you had failed yesterday, then attempting any sin today was futile.  

“Yes...” you winced, “Swiss and Dew... Greed.” Frankly, you’d felt guilty ever since. Whilst the Ghouls were lovely, and handled you well, took care of you and even stayed with you for comfort long into the night... It had felt weird to sleep with them when you were so clearly hung up on another man. You had used them; with their knowledge and consent, yes, but something still didn’t sit right about it now that your feelings of ugly jealousy and hopelessly unrequited adoration were painfully obvious to you. 

You picked the shears back up and began to cut into the stalk again, needing to busy your hands.  

“Okay, so one final sin. Have you given much thought to how you might accomplish this one? Pride, isn’t it?”  

Truth be told, you had thought about it briefly yesterday, and then given up hope. When you’d woken up this morning, you’d resigned yourself to failure already. You shook your head no, “I don’t think I’ll be completing this ritual, Papa.” 

“You don’t wish to speak with The Dark One?” he asked, straight to the point.  

“Of course I do, but... things have changed, Papa,” you sighed, finally cutting the stalk of the oversized pumpkin in front of you and moving to lift the bastard thing into the wheelbarrow. It dropped with a thud, and you knelt next to the smaller one beside the first, beginning to cut into that stalk also.  

Primo nodded in thought, knowing exactly what had changed; you’d fallen for his idiota fratellino. 

“You know, I understand wanting to give up, Sorella. Believe me, I do,” Primo shuffled, getting himself comfy as if about to tell a story. And he was. “When I was a young man, long before your time, I had wanted to give up too. I was a bishop, then. I couldn’t juggle everything... My responsibilities, my faith, mio fratelli... Our padre, he was too busy with women and drugs; eh, it was the 60’s. Everyone was experimenting, but he was absent, and with no madre in the picture, that was all down to me. 

“Terzo was... un incubo (a nightmare). Particularly after his madre passed. I cannot say I blame him, but... he tested me. I remember one day when he was seventeen, even his nonna could not rein him in. He thought he was big and clever going out to drink and sleep around and he was acting too much like il suo inutile padre, (his useless father). His nonna called me very early in the morning to tell me he had come home drunk and angry yet again, and I didn’t know what to do with him anymore. I wanted to give in,” he sighed, recounting the memory.  

“Truth be told, Sorella, I thought he had been too damaged to save. Nihil was not only absent most of the time, but a vile creature to his children when he did show. As a result, Terzo deals very badly with emotion. Particularly affection, or love...”  

Primo let the thought hang in the air between you for a moment, gaging your reaction. He had a point to make here, and he was spoon feeding you, guiding your thought process.  

“He’s never exactly received much love in his life, and when he does, it scares him. He finds a way to push it away from him before he’s even aware he’s doing it and then... it’s too late,” he sighed, finally making eye contact with you, who had stopped cutting into the next stem long ago to listen along. He noted the tears shining in your eyes and knew he was on the right track; he was chiselling away at the wall you tried to build between you and his brother. 

“Mio fratellino is constantly getting shit on from a great height, in a manner of speaking. Nothing he has ever done or will do is good enough for people; they expect more and more of him every day. I’m sure he feels he is not worthy of the love he deserves. But he is a proud man. Too proud... He would never admit he craves that acceptance.”  

You should have seen it. You should have known there was something more here, you’d even caught glimpses of it. You saw the stress on his face after your encounter with Secondo, his hand woven in his hair, brow creased at his desk. He’d talked about his nonna at dinner, how fondly he’d smiled at the mention of her. You’d felt the tension after he’d explained the opera to you, his internal battle of ‘should I kiss her? Should I not?’ playing out in his eyes – he'd denied himself then, you remember the disappointment...  

He was letting you in... and then shutting you out again. And you’d missed it every time.  

Primo saw your mind racing and let you have a moment, contemplating his words before he dove back in to chisel away further into that wall.  

“Sorella, I feel I must tell you something...” He leaned forward, taking the shears from you and taking your hands in his, “When he came to me on Sunday, he was angry. I believe he had just seen something he wished he hadn’t.” You knew what that meant, and you hung your head in shame. You felt unbelievably guilty now; sure, he had started it, but you had used his own brother against him.  

Primo picked your chin up, curling his finger underneath it to raise your gaze back to his above you.  

“He wasn’t angry at you, fiorellina. In fact, the only person he was angry at was himself. And perhaps a little at Copia, but that was misdirected... He kept babbling on about how he had ruined your ritual, how he was terrified you’d never forgive him, that you’d leave... My point, cara mio, is that not once did he say a bad word about you.” 

Your bottom lip quivered with unspoken emotion. The tears welling in your eyes spilled down your cheeks and chilled your skin. Words failed you, all you could think of was him, running the signs over and over in your head that he was holding back, that he was hiding. It had taken Primo pointing out the obvious, giving you background and context, for you to realise what had been happening. But now you had... what do you do? 

“P-Papa... What do I do?” you sobbed quietly into his hands, now enveloping your reddening cheeks. Primo smiles softly at you, caressing your cheeks to remove the tear tracks.  

“Pride is a funny thing, fiorellina. It is about self-worth, sí? Vanity, conceit, even arrogance. But that is how God sees it. Lucifer teaches us different, when you read between the lines. Pride extends to those around you, to those you love,” he emphasises, “You can harbour pride for others, sí?”  

You nod at him; yes, yes you were proud of Terzo. So proud of him; your Papa. 

“But you have your own pride too, Sorella. You must know your worth. I must ask; are you worthy of my brother? Are you worthy of a Papa?”  

“Y-yes... I think so. I want to be good enough for him, Papa,” you cried, hiccupping in his hands. Finally being honest with yourself, you absolutely wanted that. You wanted to be the one to tell him how proud you were of him, how wonderful he was, how funny or sweet, how kind... How much you loved him. 

“There you have it... You know what to do, fiorellina,” he sits back, letting go of your face as your eyes dart from side to side in panicked thought. You had to go. You needed to see him. You’d force your way into his office if you must; screw whatever meeting he was in or whatever clergy member you had to throw out of his way. You looked at the pumpkin patch around you and back at Primo, desperate to get away to find Terzo but your sense of duty halted you; you’d promised to help an old man with his pumpkin patch. You couldn’t just run away from him... 

Primo saw your internal monologue plain as day, and chuckled to himself.  

“Go, go! Andare! (Go!) I will fetch some Ghouls. They're more efficient than you anyway, cara,” he joked, grinning at you with a wink. 

“Th-thank you, Papa...” you stood quickly, dusting the soil from your cloak and stepping forward to kiss his forehead in thanks, “I’m sorry... I just, I have to...”  

“Yes, yes. I shall see you at the Ball!” he called after you as you ran back through the gardens, your boots slipping slightly on the cobblestone paths under the dew that had settled on them. It didn’t deter you; nothing could. You just continued to run until you reached the Ministry again, out of breath by the time you were inside it’s warm halls.  

Where would he be? Today of all days, where would you find him? 

You’d tried his office first; no sign of him. Even Christine was nowhere to be found, her desk tidy and untouched. Fine, you would try the Great Hall. Perhaps they were setting up for the ball?  

As you ran into the hall, several heads turned towards the sound and caught you frantically scanning the crowds of siblings and Ghouls alike. You spotted Swiss and Dew, precariously balancing on a ladder and hanging fresh black candles on the large chandeliers. Swiss reached up to hang another candle, seeing you stood at the edge of the dancefloor and waved, wobbling on the ladder. Dew banged on one of the wooden rungs for Swiss to focus, until he too saw you and gave you a quick wave.  

Chrstine had been in the hall setting up a blackjack table, and had seen you run in too. Having been the first time she’d seen you since Sunday, she hurried over with a guilty expression. You didn’t notice until she was right beside you, tapping your shoulder to gain your attention from the rest of the room.  

“Sister ______?” she asked, forcing you out of your trance. “I just... I wanted to apologise for the other day.” You almost rolled your eyes; you didn’t have time for this!  

“It’s... it’s fine, really,” you said, looking around her desperately at the people around the room. Where was he?  

“No, _______, really... It’s not fine, I had no idea that-” 

“Christine please, it’s okay,” you interrupted, “where’s Papa?”  

“Well I just don’t want you to be mad at me, we’re friends after all, and I just-”  

“Christine!” you yelled, drawing the eyes and ears of everybody in the room again, the hall falling silent. Chrstine seemed taken aback, shocked you would yell but she finally quietened.  

“I’m... I’m not mad at you...” you continued, voice low to evade the attention of those now paying it very closely to you. “We are fine. I’m not angry. Just... tell me where Papa is.” Christine was baffled, but the crazed look in your eyes was enough to force an answer out of her; albeit, not a very helpful one. 

“I-I don’t know... I saw him walk out earlier but he didn’t come back. Did you try the office?” she asked, suddenly concerned.  

“Yeah, first place I looked,” you took a step back, wiping your hands over your face in exasperation, trying to think.  

“Oh... Maybe his quarters? He gets nervous before these kinds of events, maybe he’s getting ready?” she shrugged. You nodded along, turning as if to head in that direction. “Wait, sister!” she called.  

You turned slowly, trying your best to hide the annoyance on your face. Just let me go, you thought to yourself.  

“Is something wrong?” she asked. You sighed, realising you must have looked like a crazy person, bursting into the hall all dramatic and demanding she tell you where Papa was. You were frantic, and you must have worried her. 

“No. Nothing is wrong, I just... I need to talk to him,” you say plainly. “It’s important, but everything is okay.” 

“Okay...” she sounded suspicious, but didn’t press the matter, letting you turn and finally walk – calmly, so as not to draw more attention – back out into the hall. You then skipped into a run once out of earshot, finding your way to Terzo’s quarters. Thankfully, the halls were relatively empty, and you faced no more distractions.  

When you reached his quarters, you didn’t even knock. Pleasantries had gone out the window, and with the door unlocked you pushed your way into the door, opening it in haste and stepping inside, letting it slam behind you.  

You thought that with the door unlocked, it must have meant he was in here and yet... silence. Stillness. There was nobody, the living room vacant, kitchen empty. You sighed, turning to leave and readying to run through the halls again to find him when- 

“Who the fuck thinks it’s perfectly fine to just enter my fucking quarters unannoun-” Terzo bellowed as he stormed out of his bedroom door in the far corner of the apartment, his brain short circuiting when he stepped through the doorway and his eyes fell on you.  

His chest tightened, the breath knocked out of him. You were the last person he expected to see rush into his quarters; he thought he was picking a fight with Copia, maybe even one of the Ghouls or Christine but when he saw you stood in his living room, out of breath and flushed pink in the face with an expression that read as distress on your features, he blanked.  

Silence fell over you both. Neither knew what to say, too much rattling around inside your heads to fathom any words. All you could do was stare at each other until one of you would finally say something... 

“Are... are you okay?” he asked, finally shaking the fog from his brain and taking in how you looked; breathless, clearly panicked, wrapped in your outdoor cloak? He could see mud stains on your boots and the long skirt of your habit, a pink tinge to your cheeks suggesting you’d been running, and smudges of black around your eyes, as if you’d been crying. Terzo could only imagine that the ritual had failed yesterday. That you were here to scream at him for abandoning you, or chew him out for suddenly dropping you when you’d needed his help. 

“Do I fucking look okay?” you asked, weakly and with unintentional malice but it made him wince nonetheless. 

“Well, no, I...” he stuttered, avoiding your eyes that burned into him. 

“You see the state of me and you ask me if I’m okay?” You took a deep breath, shakily. “I had to perform greed yesterday. Without you. You weren’t there,” you cried, fighting back an angry sob. He wouldn’t look at you, too ashamed of the pain in your voice and terrified to see the tears on your cheeks that he knew he had caused. It was his fault you were going to fail this ritual, but he couldn’t... he couldn’t finish it with you. 

“Why would you want me there?” he asked, picking at his gloves and entirely unfocussed on you. It made your chest burn. 

“Because, I-” you paused. You didn’t want him to know yet, you were getting at something, trying to make a point. “You started this with me. We started this together!” you yelled, “I wanted someone close to me, and I get your Ghouls instead?” 

“Oh, per favore,” he scoffed, finally looking up at you. He was reacting with anger, his defence mechanism. He was doing it again; pushing you away, holding you at arms length and making you hate him before you would inevitably find a real reason to... “You’re close with Swiss. And you seemed to have no issue with that on Thursday when Phantom dove headfirst into-” 

“Could you just not be bothered anymore? Hm?” You needed him to listen. You needed to see how he reacted. You needed him to confirm what Primo had been saying. “You just thought ‘oh, I’ve helped enough. She can figure it out from here, no biggie’. You abandoned your ‘flock’?!” you yelled, accusing him of not doing the very thing he’d said to you when he’d kicked this whole thing off.  

Terzo’s eyes widened, his lips contorting into a grimace and his hands balling into fists at his sides. “So now you’re on my case too, eh? Now I’m not good enough for you either? Meraviglioso, (wonderful,) once again, Terzo, you miss the mark. You FAIL. AGAIN,” he screamed in sarcasm, the sound of his rage frightening you enough to take a step back from him, no matter the fact he was already a good two meters away from you in his living room while you stayed near his front door. His darkened eyes glared at you, challenging you. You stayed mute. 

“Go on, tell me more. Tell me how terrible a Papa I am, eh? Tell me how much you despise me, how little I do for this congregation, how disappointing I am. You are not the first, Sorella, and you will not be the last.” The sarcasm was a nasty shade of spite on him, but it did nothing to mask the hurt you saw so plainly now. You hadn’t anticipated such a strong reaction from him, all you had wanted was for him to tell you the truth about why he hadn’t shown up yesterday. 

“Papa, I just meant-”  

“What, _____? Because I’m tired of it. I am tired of trying to do the best I can and knowing that it still is never enough,” his eyes burned with angry tears, ones he swore long ago he’d never shed again. He kept them at bay with a shake of his head. “You know, it’s no wonder you’re losing your faith in Him, Sorella. Not when you have a Papa who disappoints you, so.”  

You’d heard enough of this; you couldn’t let him think that was truly what you thought of him. Not anymore, it was breaking you. You took a few steps forward, slowly as if any faster would spook him.  

“Why didn’t you come?” you asked him again, stern and strong. He watched you edge towards him, his chest heaving with deep breaths as he tried to collect himself. “Tell me, Papa. Why?” Your voice cracked, coming to a stop behind his couch where you rested your hands on the backrest for stability. Your legs felt like jelly, your head weightless and thrumming. 

“B-because, I...” He couldn’t. He couldn’t say it. He couldn’t let you in, he’d only wreck it. He couldn’t explain why he’d needed to take a step back without confessing his feelings for you. You didn’t deserve that. You deserved so much better than him. 

“I wanted you. I needed you,” you told him, gritting your teeth as you spat the words at him.  

“You don’t need me,” he was trying to push you away again, to put up that wall around him. But after your talk with Primo, you could see it so clearly.  

“Don’t you tell me what I do or do not need, Papa. Don’t you dare. Because for the longest time, I had no idea what I needed, and now that I finally have some idea, you’re keeping it from me. You’re denying me, when you promised you would help me find it,” you sobbed, “I am telling you I needed you. Hear me!”  

Terzo’s eyes burned angrily into you, unable to look away from you as he fought with himself internally. He wasn’t getting it. Or if he was, he was being too damn stubborn to accept it. You couldn’t stop yourself anymore; he just needed to know. 

“Do you know why I left when I walked in on you fucking my friend, Papa?” you asked. He dropped his gaze to the floor, chewing on his cheek. He couldn’t look at you out of shame. “Because it hurt. It hurt too fucking badly. Because I had deluded myself into thinking that perhaps I was special to you in some way. And you know why I fucked Copia?”  

He visibly winced at your bluntness, those painful images flicking through his mind again. You were special to him, he thought. And it had scared him so much he’d pushed you away and into the arms of another man to exact your jealous-fuelled revenge. He was starting to see it now... But he remained still and unmoving; in denial. 

“Because he was just there. And I wanted to get you back. I wanted you to hurt, just like I was hurting. Do you know why, Papa?” Your voice sounded shrill, getting louder and more desperate the longer you berated him. But he just stood there, staring at the points of his shoes. Nothing. Silence.  

“Because I love you!” you yelled.  

His head snapped up, his eyes wild. He looked furious, as if steam would come shooting from his ears at any second. Under his stare you felt suffocated, just like you had when you’d caught him with Christine. All of the air in the room had been sucked out like a vacuum, your chest tight and unmoving.  

He glared at you, scrutinizing you, waiting for the punch line; one that wouldn’t come.  

“Say that again,” he demanded, jaw clenched impossibly tightly. You took a deep breath, your whole body tingling in fear. But you stood your ground; you had to. 

“I love you,” you told him, firmly. He just kept... staring. 

“Again...” He was challenging you. His voice was so dark, a timbre you would usually associate with rage, but something felt different. You persisted. 

“I love you.”  

His white eye twitched, his chest heaving in the silence.  

“...Again.” His voice softened, but only slightly. Had you not been listening, watching so intently, you would have missed it. His stare held up. But you could tell you were getting through... slowly. 

“I love you,” you told him again, your own voice softening considerably as fresh, hot tears dripped from your eyes. You meant it, with every fibre of your being. You’d tell him a thousand times until he believed you. 

“Again-” his voice cracked, the weight of his resolve beginning to crumble. You took a step towards him. 

“Papa-” 

“Per favore...” he stopped you from protesting, he just... he needed to hear it again. He shut his eyes, taking another deep breath. “Say it again, per favore.”  

With his eyes now shut, his voice shaking with the deep breaths he continued to take, you closed the distance between you both, still terrified you would scare him away.  

You lifted your hands, planting your palms gently on his cheeks. He raised his own, circling them around your wrists to hold you there as if you were about to disappear, that you’d turn and run from him when you realised what you were saying, what you were doing. But you were going nowhere.  

“I love you,” you told him again.  

Despite his eyes being shut, tears still escaped from the corners and dripped down his cheeks to your hands. But you just held him, you let them fall, let him feel... 

“Terzo...” you whispered to him, his eyes shooting open to stare into your own when he heard you call him by his name – his real name – for the first time. How beautiful it sounded from your lips. “I love you.” 

One last time, unprompted, was enough.  

In one quick motion, he pulled you forward and connected his lips with yours in desperation. His hands tightened around your wrists, before one dropped to the small of your back, needing you as close as he possibly could get you. Your grip on his head only tightened, holding him against you while you moulded your lips with his. He whimpered into the kiss – no, he sobbed – giving in to the surge of emotion. Your hands grew wetter as he cried, allowing it to pour out of him as if years of sadness and loneliness were being expelled and healed by just you.   

When he pulled his lips from yours, he couldn’t force himself to retreat, holding you close still as you caught your breath with your foreheads resting together. You dragged your thumbs over the tears on his cheeks, smearing his paints in the process but soothing him all the same. His breaths were shaky as he cried. He wanted to speak, to tell you everything on his mind but the words were falling over each other in the fight to be the first spoken. 

“Shhh,” you hushed him, “I’ve got you, Terzo. I’m here. I love you.” You hadn’t intended for that to make him cry harder, but it did; the kind of silent, repressed sobbing that a child does when they don’t want to be noticed.  

You lifted your forehead from his and waited patiently for him to look at you. There was still so much to say, but you focussed on calming him first.  

“Listen to me, okay?” you asked. He gave you a small nod, his reddened and waterlogged eyes searching yours. “You need to know, you are good enough.”  

He rolled his eyes then, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“Hey! You stop that, you hear me?” you brought his chin back down to look at you, “You are a wonderful Papa. You are the perfect figurehead of this church. You care for your congregation. You make us feel safe, cared for. You make us feel heard and loved. You work so hard, Terzo, I’ve seen it. Fuck the Clergy, and fuck Sister Imperator. You are an incredible Papa, and I am so proud of you.” 

A fresh wave of tears fell from his eyes, but this time you cried with him. You meant every word, so sincerely.  

“You are good enough, Terzo. You are. And I swear, I’ll put all of my energy into making sure that I’m good enough for you, also,” you promised. 

“Amore mio, (my love,) you are more than enough for me,” he cried, pressing his lips to yours again, “Ti amo, Principessa. Ti amo tanto... (I love you, Princess. I love you so much...)” 

You pulled him back into a bruising kiss, your tears now falling freely. Terzo’s confession had swelled in your chest, blooming into a beautiful warmth. You’d longed to hear that, for him to open himself up to you and be vulnerable with you. Truly, you had never felt so loved than you had in his arms right now. 

With your feelings out in the open, the two of you sank into your kiss this time. There was no rush, no desperation. You allowed each other to melt into it, your lips danced together, creating room for you to taste each other again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, your fingers curling into the back of his hair, whilst his snaked around your waist and held you against him.  

With each passing second your kiss deepened, neither of you willing to let the other go for more than a millisecond to catch your breath. Terzo had missed your lips so much; just a day without you would have been torture, but four? Four days? He was surprised he’d survived at all. 

His tongue grazed your bottom lip, and you welcomed him willingly. Your fingers scratched at his scalp when you tried to pull yourself tighter against him, wishing to feel every part of him engulfing you. Naturally, a heat bloomed in your chest and swam through your veins to light your entire body on fire. Terzo could feel it too, pulsing through his veins over and over to the beat of his heart that rocketed with each tiny little whimper he heard you make. 

He took a step back, taking you with him towards the bedroom where he’d appeared from earlier, parting your lips and taking your hands in his to lead you as he walked backwards. He didn’t want to take his eyes off you for a second, scared this was a dream and that looking away would make you disappear from his grasp. You stayed close to him, chasing the high of his kiss while the feeling of his lips still tingled against your own. 

“Terzo, I’m sorry I made you feel like-” you began to talk again, like word vomit, wanting to settle any loose ends in your mind about the way you had treated each other recently, but Terzo had other ideas.  

“Shhh, principessa, we can talk later,” he said, still taking slow steps backwards as he held you, “Senza pensare, dai, facciamo l'amore. (No thinking, come, make love with me.)” 

And how could you deny him, when you wanted nothing more than him... 

He stopped just short of the end of his bed, bowing his head to press his lips to yours again. Quickly you were swept up in him, gripping onto his shirt as his hands came to undo the clasp of your heavy winter cape. It fell to the floor around your feet, and his hands came to wrap around your waist again, enjoying the freedom less fabric brought him. Your fingers nimbly undid the buttons to his shirt, lifting it from where he’d tucked it into his slacks and pushing it from his shoulders. His skin felt warm to your fingertips, the hair gathered on his chest as soft as you remembered it. 

You took a moment to look up at him, noting the smudged and messy paints his tears and your palms had ruined. It felt like one final barrier between you and him, a mask hiding the man beneath. And you wanted to get to know all of him... 

Gently, you pushed the centre of his chest allowing him to step back himself and take a seat on the edge of the bed. He expected you to join him between his knees, to bend at the waist and kiss him again but instead you took a step back, letting his hand drop from yours. His eyes widened in panic, but as he tried to protest, you hushed him.  

“I’ll be right back, my love. I promise,” you said earnestly, turning to head through the adjoining door to his bathroom. Flicking on the switch, you looked around to find a washcloth and some gentle soaps for his face, catching your reflection in the mirror. You, too, looked a mess; the black of your mascara had run and pooled under your eyes. You looked too sad; something you didn’t want attached to this memory. And so, before you headed back out to Terzo, you wiped the smudges away, baring your face for him.  

Back in his bedroom, Terzo sat nervously playing with his gloved hands until he heard your footsteps approaching him, washcloth in hand. His brows creased in confusion, but you smiled back softly.  

“Sit back, Papa,” you instructed, voice gentle and encouraging him to shuffle back. He did as you’d asked, and you hiked your habit up past your knees, now able to plant them either side of his thighs and sitting in his lap. “Relax,” you told him, bringing the dampened and sudsy washcloth to his face and wiping away the grease paint. He wrapped his arms around you, watching with gentle eyes filled with adoration as you washed away the evidence of his breakdown. 

Under the paints, his cheeks were flushed pink. As you cleaned, you revealed more parts of him that you were able to adore; the creases in his forehead that showed how hard he worked, the lines at the corner of his eyes that showed how much he smiled. He had a mole under his left eye, a few freckles dotted here and there. It made him all the more beautiful to you with each new detail.  

“There,” you smiled, wiping the last of the paints away. “Nowhere to hide now.” 

“I don’t ever want to hide from you again, amore mio...” His tenderness felt different, something you had only seen glimpses of throughout the few weeks you had been getting to know him, but you adored it; you adored every side of this man. He raised his hand to remove the veil concealing your hair, tucking it behind your ear as he leaned in to kiss you once again.  

You felt completely carefree in his arms, allowing him to unbutton your habit slowly while you trailed your kisses across his cheeks, his nose, forehead and back to his lips where he smiled one of the most genuine smiles you’d seen on him. It was contagious, spreading to your own lips. You chuckled quietly together as you removed your habit, shrugging it off to the floor behind you. He removed his gloves and his hands took their place on your bare waist again, and your lips took their place against his. 

With you hovering above him in just your underwear, he couldn’t help but pull you flush against him and deepen the kiss. He wanted you so badly, in a way he’d never had anybody before you – a way he’d never allowed himself to until you. Need swelled within you, your hips rolling against his lap, hands on his chest. You whimpered into his kiss with another roll of your hips, core brushing against his hardening bulge beneath you. His lips passed down your jawline, ghosting over the skin until he could mouth at your neck, leaving open-mouthed kisses. Your head rolled back, exposing more to him as you sighed in content.  

“You...” he paused, leaving another kiss to your neck, “are my pride and joy, amore mio,” he confessed, holding you tighter when another roll of your hips had him shivering in pleasure. He focussed his kisses further down, mouthing at your collarbone, your sternum, down to the swell of your breasts over the cups of your bra.  

Your head swam with emotion, unsure of how to really punctuate how much this meant to you, how much you adored him. You opted to show him, to continue chasing the intimacy.  

Terzo reached behind you, easily unclasping your bra and dragging it down your arms until he could lave his kisses over your breasts freely, paying particular attention to your nipples. Every single motion he made was done with care and attention no man had ever given you. You couldn’t help the breathless moans you let slip, nor the tight way your fingers curled in his hair and held him tightly.  

Pressure was building in your core, the kind that needed more attention than you had been giving it. Whilst you wanted to enjoy every second with him, you needed more from him; that connection you desired so fiercely. You pushed lightly on his shoulders until he was looking up at you in wonder. 

“Lay back, my love. Against the pillows,” you instructed softly. He nodded, shuffling back. You followed, stopping short of his hips in order to reach down and unbutton his slacks. He helped you to shimmy out of them along with his underwear, kicking his shoes off until they hit the floor with the rest of the discarded clothes. You hovered over him then, giving him a chance to drag your panties from your hips and let you shuffle from them too, leaving you both completely bare for the other to see; body and soul. 

“Amore, you truly are a wonder,” he whispered, tracing his fingertips down your arms when you sat across his lap once again. You weren’t sure how to reply to him, opting for a smile and another deep, passionate kiss as his arms enveloped you as you lay over his chest. 

Now nude, grinding down into Terzo’s lap had your core glazing over his length and hushed moans rising in your chests while muffled by your kiss. He could feel how ready you were for him, how much you needed him and he knew he needed you too. Yet, it was you who made the move to connect the two of you, reaching between you and lining him up to your entrance. Terzo sat up with you then, holding you to him to be closer to you and pepper kisses to your shoulders, back up your neck until he found your lips. 

You took him slowly, savouring the stretch and doing everything you could not to rush; with no preparation, you’d need a little longer but the arousal that had gathered made sure there was no pain. And while you sank down, Terzo’s lips made for the perfect distraction, moulding with yours so elegantly as he groaned beneath you. 

Now, finally sheathed inside your heat, he felt complete again. He felt connected to you, like each time he’d been here before. In his mind, you were made for him. You were all he wanted, all that mattered.  

The first roll of your hips was slow, careful, but it felt dreamy. You’d missed him so completely that finally having him and being so exposed emotionally as well as physically was overwhelming, and you could feel the tear that dripped to your cheek before you knew it was coming. As Terzo pulled his lips from yours, wanting to see you again, he noticed immediately. 

“Amore mio, don’t cry... I’m here,” he assured, running his fingers through your hair as you nodded, biting back more. He kissed your cheek where the tear sat, ignoring the saltiness and instead tightening his arms around you until your chests were pressed together.  

Together, you lost yourself in the moment, your pace slow enough for both of you to just feel; no rush, no real end goal in sight just yet. Just a moment to enjoy your connection, now bloomed and blossomed into something more beautiful that when you had first been together. 

But it couldn’t stay that way forever; not when the heat in your abdomen was growing slowly but surely, and when Terzo was beginning to lose his mind at how good you felt wrapped around him.  

In one swift motion and holding you together so he didn’t have to be without you shrouded around his cock, he rolled you onto your back against the pillows and settled himself between your legs. One arm came to wrap around the back of your thigh, pressing it up against your torso for a better angle, and he took control of the way he derived pleasure from you.  

His hips rolled into yours over and over, his pace a little faster than before, losing his resolve. He was becoming desperate to have you come apart for him again, to chase your high first and foremost before his own. Sathanas, he loved you so completely. He felt like a fool, a silly old man who’d let his own idiocy come between what could have been such a perfect thing.  

“Mi dispiace, amore mio... Mi dispiace così tanto, (I’m so sorry, my love... I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, gritting his teeth in an attempt to stop the tears he could feel coming.  

“Shhh, no... Terzo, it’s okay,” you assured him, taking his bare cheeks in your hands and making him look you in the eye. “I’m here now, it’s okay.” You pulled him to you, kissing him and melting the worries away in a heartbeat as he kept up his pace.  

“Tell me again, per favore...” he cried, “tell me you love me.” How could you deny him? How could you possibly, right now, not allow him to know once again how much you needed him. 

“I love you, Terzo. I love you, I love you...” you repeated between kisses, your fingertips pressing into his hair and gripping as the pleasure inside you built and built thanks to the intimacy of this moment together.  

“Cazzo, per favore...” he didn’t know what he was begging for, his pleasure sure enough about to come to a head. He needed you there too, he refused to allow himself his own selfish pleasures without you. He'd been too selfish already... 

And so, with the hand that wasn’t wrapped around your thigh he used this thumb to draw circles over your clit, sending your head flying back into the pillows and your back arching underneath him, pushing your breasts into his chest as he thrusted more desperately into you. Any attempt at suppressing your moans failed, and they sounded like music to his ears; his darling principessa was singing for him once again. 

“Let go, amore. Per favore, let me feel you...” he asked so sweetly, breathless and strained. With a few further strokes to your clit and the relentless thrusting from your love above you, you saw stars. White spots twinkled in your vision and you squeezed your eyes shut, body tensing and convulsing underneath him when every single nerve ending in you exploded. Of all of the orgasms you’d had this week – and yes, there had been a lot – this hit you harder than any. Nothing could compare to the feeling of being loved. 

You tightened impossibly around his length, making movement hard for Terzo but he persevered; he couldn’t stop now, he needed to prolong your orgasm, he wanted to you to feel everything.  

“Ti amo, principessa. Sei tutto per me, non ti lascerò andare... (I love you, princess. You are everything to me, I won’t let you go...)” His words came out hurried, needing you to hear him, to confess again. Your grip in his hair tightened as you slammed your lips to his, writhing beneath him in the throws of your climax.  

Terzo groaned into you, his hips stuttering and his thumb forgetting it’s job on your clit when his own ending washed over him. Like your own, his orgasm hit him harder than any before now. The warmth of his release filled you, coating you and claiming you as his once again. He managed to continue some form of thrusting to prolong his pleasure and yours, until he found himself too exhausted to hold himself up any longer and released your thigh as he collapsed into your chest, his lips falling from yours to the nape of your neck where he lay. 

You wrapped him in your arms, pulling him tightly against you when you heard the first sniffle as he caught his breath, too tired to hold back the tears that prickled his eyes now he lay in your arms. Tears of your own fell too; a visceral reaction to hearing your love crying in overwhelm against you. For a while, you basked in the silence around each other and just allowed it all to come out. Given a few minutes to compose himself, Terzo shifted to lay beside you with your arms still wrapped around him.  

“I was a fool, ______,” he admitted. “I didn’t mean to abandon you...” You stayed quiet, allowing him to say his piece. You felt like he needed that.  

“I was so sure I would be a distraction. I didn’t want to come between you and Lucifer. You deserve to have that conversation with him, and yet I fear now I have spoiled that for you...” he sighed, visibly still beating himself up in his head.  

“Hey, look at me,” you told him, tilting his chin up to you where he was shocked to see you smiling. “If we haven’t done enough, I don’t care.” 

“But amore, your faith... I know how desperately you needed his direction. If I have spoiled this for you, I won’t forgive myself...” he argued, lip trembling.  

“Terzo, I have direction. I know what direction I'm heading, and it’s whatever direction you happen to be in,” you told him, gently pushing his hair from his forehead and trailing your fingertips over his cheek to wipe away his tears.  

The smile on his face was so genuine, so adoring; you’d never seen him like this before. Barefaced and beautiful; your Terzo.  

You leaned in to kiss him again, tenderly and laced with a promise to stay by his side as long as he wanted you with him. And he did; he absolutely wanted you by his side.  

“Sorella, you look wonderful,” Secondo smiled, holding his elbow out to you as you joined him outside of his quarters that evening. You had agreed to meet him before the ball, to enter the Great Hall with him and have the first dance at the All Hallow's Ball. You looped your arm through his with a grin, happy to be by his side and accompanying him as his friend and colleague. 

“What, this old thing? You know, something I had lying around...” you laughed, an obvious lie when the ballgown you had chosen was nothing short of spectacular. This was the one night a year that the entire Ministry would dress up in absolute opulence, people arranging their outfits months in advance for the most important night of the year. You had been no exception.  

Your gown was off the shoulder, a satin material of deep green that complimented your skintone. Corseted and hugging your waist, it flowed freely to the floor with a split that allowed your leg to peek through as you walked. You’d paired it with a string of black pearls; a family heirloom you'd kept safe for years.  

“Well, you look bellissima. Come, we mustn’t be late,” he said, beginning the walk through the halls to the Great Hall.  

Music flowed through the Ministry, gradually becoming louder the closer you got. You could hear the jubilant chatter of siblings and Ghouls alike, the clinking of glasses, the laughter of a happy congregation. This morning, you had been terrified to face that, sure you wouldn’t be able to match their elation. It had all seemed so daunting, and you would have preferred to hide away from it.  

And yet, now... you could only smile along with it.  

After your confession to Terzo earlier, you had stayed with him for a short period of time. Reluctantly, you had to allow each other the time and space to ready yourselves for the ball, his role as Papa having to come between that tender moment of simply being together, honestly. But upon leaving his quarters, the relief you felt and excitement to see him again tonight was fuelling you, a revived energy you hadn’t felt for what must be months.  

Perhaps you hadn’t completed the ritual; and that was okay. As you had told Terzo, it didn’t matter to you anymore. You had learned enough about yourself through the experience to know where you belonged now, and that was here, in this Ministry, beside your Papa. After tonight, you would work on whatever your relationship would become; and that was more exciting to you than hearing Lucifer’s voice.  

The Great Hall looked immaculately decorated... The bright orange drapery that Terzo had complained about earlier that day looked a much more demure burnt orange in the candlelight. The pumpkins from Primo’s patch littered the tables and halls, carved expertly by the most talented of the Siblings in the Ministry. Black candles burned in candelabras and chandeliers so elegantly illuminating the dance floor. Casino tables dotted through the edges of the room, giving everyone a chance to unwind and enjoy the deviant games.  

As you entered, a few Siblings turned to Secondo and bowed their head in respect, as one would expect. You smiled proudly at him; although a retired Papa, he deserved that respect whole heartedly, and you felt honoured to be the friend he chose to have accompanying him through his new role. He gave your arm a tight squeeze with his hand, and immediately took you to the dancefloor where Siblings were dancing in pairs and groups to the music played by Terzo’s Ghouls on the stage; a haunting yet jolly classic orchestral melody fit for a spooky evening.  

“I may be rusty, Sorella. Perdonami,” Secondo smiled, adjusting his arm to hold your left hand extended, the other resting respectfully on your waist.  

“I’m sure you have a few moves left in you, Papa,” you winked, smirking as your feet moved in time with his, remembering from lessons you’d had before previous Balls that you were to let him lead. Quite quickly, the two of you were comfortable enough dancing in time to the three-count waltz the Ghouls were playing.  

The night continued, with no sign of your dear Papa just yet; but as per every year, he had to make his grand entrance as part of the festivities an hour or so into the Ball. Instead, you and Secondo had danced and found yourself a drink of champagne; you’d found Dew and Swiss and watched them bicker and fight over who got to dance with you first; or at least, Swiss bickered, Dew just kept swatting him away. Both were equally annoyed when you chose the stuttering Phantom to dance with first instead, laughing it all off with him when you’d settled comfortably onto the dancefloor again. 

Eventually, Primo and Secondo headed over to you on the dancefloor to interrupt just as Sister Imperator and a rather decrepit looking Papa Nihil made their way up onto the stage where the Ghouls were playing out another piece of beautiful music, clinking her glass to get the attention of the room. Primo bowed a greeting as much as he could, a sweet and knowing smile on his face when he saw that you, too, were smiling. It must have gone well, he thought to himself. 

“Siblings of Sin, Clergy... thank you for coming together on this most important night of our calendar, All Hallow’s Eve!” Imperator announced. The room cheered and clapped together. “Tonight, we celebrate the sinners of past, present and future, and join them in their devotion to The Dark One. As is customary of the evening, I’d like to invite our dear Papa Emeritus the third to join the celebrations, and to anoint our evening in a prayer to Lucifer.” 

You could see the slight twitch in the corner of her mouth at the mention of Terzo, her disdain for him buried under the surface. It simply made you roll your eyes with a smug smile; the old crow didn’t matter. She’d never understand Terzo like you did, never accept him as he deserved but now, he at least had you to counteract her unwarranted annoyance of him.  

As she finished speaking, Terzo stepped up onto the stage and took to the pulpit as the room applauded. He was dressed in his most elegant robes; purple and black velvet with gold accents, mitre on his head proudly and his hands covered with black leather gloves, gold claws on each finger. He looked so incredibly regal, and your chest swelled with pride in his presence. His eyes searched the crowd, until they settled on you, smiling and clapping for him where you stood. He smiled back, feeling more at peace within himself than he ever had. 

“Good evening, Sisters, Brothers and Clergy alike. As the festivities of this evening have already begun, I wish not to take too much of your time. However, please join me in a prayer of devotion to Lucifer,” he began, clearing his throat and opening an unholy prayer book he had brought with him. 

“Our Dark Father, on this sacred All Hallow's Eve, we come before You with hearts filled with reverence and gratitude. We lift our voices in worship and devotion, acknowledging Your eternal grace and divine presence.  

“On this night of solemn reflection, we bow before You, celebrating our sins and devoting them to you. We seek Your approval and ask for Your guiding hand to steer us towards temptation and lead us onto the path of wickedness. Grant us the strength to devote ourselves to sin and the courage to walk steadfastly in Your ways.” 

As he spoke, you couldn’t help but stare at him in awe, beaming with joy. How could this man ever believe he wasn’t good enough? How could anyone? He exuded confidence, charm, devotion and commanded the room with a charisma that was unmatched.  

Primo beside you nudged your elbow, catching your attention with a wink and a smirk. You shared a silent chuckle, affirming to him that yes, everything had gone well, and everything was okay. Primo’s shoulder’s sagged, like a weight had been lifted from them and sighed happily, looking up at his little brother at the pulpit again and refocussing on the prayer with pride. 

“As we commemorate this hallowed eve, we remember the deviance and devotion You embody. May this celebration be a reminder of Your teachings and let our gatherings be filled with joy that stems from the knowledge of Your unyielding love for us, your sinners. Help us to embrace this occasion as a time to reaffirm our commitment to Your teachings and to stand resolutely against all that opposes Your divine will. Nema!” 

“Nema,” the room cheered, taking a sip of whatever drink they had to hand at the time.  

“Now, please! Eat, drink, be merry... We devote ourselves to Him together tonight!” Terzo announced, raising his hands and gesturing for the Ball to continue. The crowds dispersed back to the bars, the games, the dancefloor, whilst Terzo headed to the side of the stage to talk mindlessly with Sister Imperator and his father. The music began again, and the Ball resumed.  

“So, I trust my dear fratellino and yourself have uh... talked?” Primo asked, prying for details. You chuckled, nodding. 

“We did. It’s all okay, Papa.” 

“And what of the Ritual?” he asked; he couldn’t help but be curious. To see it performed and completed in his lifetime would be nothing short of an achievement on your part. 

“Ah... Unfinished. But don’t worry, Primo. I think it’s for the better. Even unfinished, I don’t feel so lost anymore...” you smiled, resting your hand on his arm to reassure him that you truly were okay.  

“I see. Well, you did the Dark One proud anyway, cara mio. You have come the closest of those I have seen attempt it. And I hope from here, fratello mio will show you nothing but happiness. Just... be patient with him, sí? He will take some time getting used to this feeling, I’m sure,” he said. You nodded.  

Primo invited you to dance then, although... he couldn’t move quite as nimbly as Secondo or the Ghouls could and so instead you stepped in place with him, swaying to the music as you talked and laughed as if you’d always been as close to the Emeritus family as this. It almost felt as if you had, unknowingly. There was a newfound connection from the conversations and antics of the week that had solidified you as a close friend to them all. It felt comfortable, as if you had truly found your place in the Ministry. You realised then, that your wavering faith may have been an issue of breaking down your own walls, as well at Terzo’s. 

“Papa, mi scusi... I cannot help but notice that you are a terrible dancer, and not at all worthy of the hand of this bellissima principessa,” an instantly recognisable voice interrupted your thoughts and your dance with Primo. “May I suggest I take over, as someone with a little more youth to offer?” 

Primo stopped dancing, a scowl on his face of annoyance when he turned to Papa Terzo. “Piccolo bastardo impudente... (Cheeky little bastard...)” he muttered. Terzo held an amused glare before sending a wink your way. It was embarrassing, the way just that made you blush. With a sigh, Primo let you go.  

“Comportati bene con lei, sí? (Do right by her, yes?)” Primo said, although the meaning of it was lost on you, your Italian not strong enough to translate, “È destinata a stare al tuo fianco. (She is meant to be by your side.)” 

“Sí, lo so... (Yes, I know...)” he smiled gratefully, aware that it was in fact Primo who had helped not only him see clearer amongst this mess, but you also.  

As Primo left, he pressed a kiss to the back of your hand, and held it out for Terzo to take. He pulled you flush to him, wrapping your arms around his neck and his around your waist.  

“Papa, people are gonna think...” you began to protest, looking around at the eyes that had settled suspiciously on you both; most notably, Imperator’s. 

“Ah, let them. Are they wrong?” he teased, starting to dance to the music. “They would know soon enough anyway, amore mio. I don’t intend to hide you away,” he smiled.  

Terzo was a skilled dancer – because of course he bloody was... what couldn’t this man do? - and ignored the many pairs of eyes that watched you both, the whisperings of the gossiping congregation around him. He couldn’t care less for them, not when he had the most beautiful woman, his amore in his arms.  

“You look truly beautiful tonight, amore. As you always do,” he told you, eyes scanning over the dress you wore and the pearls settled around your neck. He was mesmerised by you, and you couldn’t help the heat rising to your cheeks. 

“Thank you, Papa,” you said shyly, focussing on the patterns of his robes to try and hide your pink cheeks. But it was no use, he could see the effect of his compliment and he chuckled to himself, his hands tightening around your waist. 

His gaze stayed on you as you danced together, talked together, laughed together, long into the night. 

Unfortunately, as a Papa, he did have to do the rounds at some point during the Ball, leaving you to your own devices with a promise to rejoin you as soon as he could run away from his duties. However, that did leave you with some free time to enjoy the Ball around you, and so you made your way over to one of the many casino games that were dotted around the Great Hall. Blackjack was your game. One of the few casino games you actually enjoyed, and wasn’t solely down to luck. It was more about knowing when to bow out, and when to raise the stakes.  

You sat at the table, the Sibling dealing placing two card in front of you, and two in front of the person to your right; Cardinal Copia.  

“Oh, hey Cardinal! How are you?” you asked, a little shyly having acted the way you did when he last saw you. The Cardinal was staring at you with wide eyes, a few garbled words attempting to make their way from his mouth before he finally managed to speak.  

“F-fine, fine, Sorella. And... you?” he asked, tentatively. He was well aware he had come between something on Sunday, and he was terrified he’d bear the ramifications of his actions.  

“All fine. Relax,” you laughed, “I feel like you should know, the other day... I was-” 

“I know. I... eh, I saw the look on your face. And on his. But is everything...?” he lingered on the question, unsure how to answer it when there was another person in such close proximity, dealing cards. 

“Good. Better than, even. If anything, I think that whole... situation... only served as an epiphany. So, no hard feelings?” you asked, extending a hand for him to shake. He did so awkwardly, but no more awkwardly than he would any other human being who tried to shake this poor man’s hand.  

“Sí, excellent, okay... Uh, let’s play?” he asked, gesturing to the cards. You nodded.  

You flipped your cards, immediately revealing two jokers. You stared at them, confused. How did the jokers remain in the pack? They weren’t part of the game...  

“Excuse me, you dealt me two jo-” when you looked up, the dealer had vanished.  

In fact, the entire Great Hall had been plunged into a cloak of darkness. Everything was gone; just a vast expanse of black and dead silence as far at the eye could see. With no light, you had no idea how you were able to see so plainly the blackjack table you were sat at, let alone the cards as if an overhead light were beaming down on you.  

You heard a chuckled from Cardinal Copia beside you, except... when you looked, it wasn’t Cardinal Copia at all.  

“I couldn’t resist, my dear,” the voice laughed, “a little joke of mine, hm?” 

The voice was smooth, like the darkest of Belgian chocolate melting on your tongue beside a fireplace in Winter. The depth of the timbre rivalled the deepest parts of the ocean, and yet was as calm as a serene lake in the height of Summer. 

The man in the Cardinal’s spot was somewhat older, you would have guessed in his early 60’s by the silver of his long hair tied in a sleek pony tail at the nape of his neck and the beard perfectly groomed on his face. But his form was well kept; fit and healthy with a natural looking bulk to him behind the lapels of his black velvet suit. He was strikingly handsome, a silver fox, no doubt.  

He reached over to your cards and tucked them into the inside pocket of his suit, sending a wink your way as you gawped at him.  

“A-are... are you...?” you stuttered, unsure of what you were witnessing but in your mind there was only one explanation.  

“Lucifer, my child. A pleasure to meet you,” he bowed his head, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to the back of it. Your heartbeat raced inside you, thrumming in your ears like a hummingbird. “Ghoul!" he called out.  

A Ghoul stepped up to the dealer’s position from the shadows, his mask glinting on the light that didn’t exist. He began to deal more cards, resuming the game of blackjack.  

“B-but... I never finished the ritual,” you stumbled, all formalities you thought you would have in this moment lost completely in your attempt to string together what on earth was happening. Lucifer just laughed at you, flipping his cards over and playing against the dealer. Your cards remained untouched.  

“Is that so? Well, I haven’t been wrong, yet...” he teased.  

“Then how-?” 

“My dear, the only sin you think you didn’t perform was ‘pride’, but I’m here to tell you that you did, with quite some flair... All those tears and confessions of love. It was quite touching, I must say.” 

You cast your mind back to your afternoon with Terzo, when you’d confessed your love for each other and had the most intimate, emotional sex of your life. And you’d told him you were proud of him... 

“Yes, that. But Terzo had told you at the beginning that if you were to bestow the sin upon someone else whilst still being involved in the act of carnal lust itself, then that also merits a performance of sin, did he not?” You nodded dumbly, following along, “yes, well, you are Terzo’s ‘pride and joy’, I recall him saying? You had him thinking, for a moment, that he was proud to be your papa, and proud to be yours, my child. That’s enough for me!” he explained, “Ah-ha! Twenty one, Ghoul. Pay up.” 

The Ghoul handed Lucifer some chips, taking his cards from him and starting a fresh round. Yours still remained untouched and face down on the table. Lucifer nodded towards them, encouraging you to play, and so you flipped the first as per the rules, and joined him in a round together.  

“So please, child; you performed this ritual to talk to me. Speak freely, I’ll offer what assistance I can,” he promised. He leaned on the edge of the table by his forearms, ready to listen to you as the game continued. 

“Well, I... I was lost, Your Eminence. I wasn’t sure where my path was headed. I didn’t think I had done enough for you. You speak to my siblings, but never me and I supposed I wanted to ask... what are they doing that I’m not?” 

Lucifer laughed at you; a hearty, genuine laugh.  

“Oh, my child... You want to know what they’re doing instead of you?” he asked, grinning wildly before leaning towards you and lowering his voice, “they’re lying.” Your eyes were wide and brows furrowed in confusion. “Yes, I promise you. They’re lying!” he sat back up straight, “hit me,” he spoke to the Ghoul, who dumped another card to the table. 

“But...” 

“It’s a bragging thing, they each want people to know how important they are, or how hard they worship. I can assure you, the only people in your Ministry I have ever spoke to directly is each Papa during his ascension. I don’t have the time to talk to every person who worships me. Those siblings are liars, it’s simply a contest of ‘daddy loves me more’,” he laughed.  

You felt silly, like you’d been fooled by those around you. Your head sagged in defeat; and you’d based the majority of your wavering faith on that.  

“But you did need direction, dear, I'll give you that. You felt stagnant, yes? Without purpose? Each and every day the same, day after day after day....” he gestured his hands in circles, his tone over-exaggerated to mock-droning in a boring monotonous routine. He pointed again at your cards, telling you to flip them and play. You did so, hitting 19 on your first two. 

“Ooh, will you risk it?” he asked, shimmying his shoulders and biting his lip in a playful challenge. “Or do you play it safe, as you have been for years?” 

His euphemism wasn’t lost on you, and so you decided to risk it. 

“Hit me...” The Ghoul dealt you another card, a two of hearts. How fitting.  

“Aha! See, a little risk pays off,” he winked as the Ghoul handed you some chips and took the discarded cards back, shuffling them again while Lucifer continued. “Do you want to know your purpose, my child? I mean... that’s why we are here, is it not?” 

“I-if it’s not too much trouble, Your Eminence,” you say sheepishly, feeling now like you had bothered him over a silly little belief that you weren’t as good as your lying siblings. It all felt very high school, now... 

“How sweet of you... No trouble at all, my dear. Ghoul, deal us in.” The Ghoul did as asked, placing four cards face down in front of you and Lucifer together. Lucifer waved his hand over the four of them, and moved to pick up the first.  

When he flipped it, the card showed none of the suits you knew in a standard deck of cards. Instead, it had a picture of the typical depictions of the Devil. A beast, half-man, half-goat sat atop a podium. A nude man and women stood either side, chained by the neck to the podium however the chains looked loose, as if they could simply remove them and run free but chose to stay chained to the block, imposing limitations on themselves.  

This was a tarot card; traditionally drawn. Your first card, was The Devil.  

“Oh look, it’s me!” Lucifer smiled, “Hello.” 

You stared between him and the card for a moment, astonished.  

“Usually, this card means you need to re-evaluate your connection to things or people. I believe you’re doing that already, yes? What is keeping you chained up? What is holding you back? I would say, my child, that was... you. Would you agree?” he explained, and yes, you did agree.  

“Yes...” 

“Good. That’s why I'm here; you wish to free yourself. But look, these people in the card... they look like they could easily free themselves, no?” You nodded along. “Exactly. So, this is you, on your path to freeing yourself. Wonderful. Next please, Ghoul.” 

The Ghoul flipped the second card for you both, revealing a picture of a man and woman, holding hands and completely nude, with an angel above them with dark robes and wings. The Lovers. 

“This one is fairly obvious, yes? Yourself and Terzo have confessed your love for one another. Excellent. Brava. I’m glad you could come to that conclusion yourselves; it’s certainly made this easier on me,” he laughed. “This typically symbolises a union, wanting to accomplish something together with another too. I think in both cases, we can say that this card works well for you both.” 

Lucifer gestured to the next card for the Ghoul to flip. The picture revealed a man dressed like a court jester stood at the edge of a cliff. He looked as if he was about to step off the edge and plummet, but he stared dreamily at the sky as if the heavens would save him. The Fool. 

Lucifer laughed at this one, slapping his hand on the table as he roared. You couldn’t help but smile at his laughter; a beautiful sound to hear from the Dark One. But ‘The Fool’ unnerved you. Who exactly was the fool? Were you, too, about to fall from the edge of a cliff, blissfully unaware of the danger beneath you? 

“Oh, forgive me, my child. This fool does make me laugh. Look at him; as if the heavens would save him...” he sighed, regaining composure. “No, no... Do you see the rose in his hand? A symbol of love. This man is a fool indeed, or at least he has been. I think yourself and your dear Terzo have been quite foolish, have you not?” 

You had; you could admit that. Both of you had acted in a ridiculous way and hurt each other in the process.  

“Fear not, that foolishness is over. No, this card is symbolising a new path. Both yourself and Terzo are ready to embark on a new journey now. You, my dear, are specifically to start on a new spiritual path. Your faith in me was wavering – and believe me, I take no offence. But now... what do you believe in, my dear? Tell me.” He encouraged you to speak, and only now did you realise how quiet you had been throughout all of this. 

“W-well... My Lord, I've read all about the demi-gods, would-be gods, papas of old, demons, devils... I searched for the longest time for information, and I tried so desperately to get closer to you, and I feel as though I have,” you explained.  

“Closer than most,” he winked, alluding to you being one of the few who’d ever had the chance to speak directly with him. 

“Yes, exactly. And I thank you for coming to me, Your Eminence. Truly, but... But if there's one thing, just one thing out of that entire pantheon... I believe in him." 

The Devil’s smile widened into a bright grin as he leaned on his arms.  

“Oh, I am a romantic...” he teased, “and yes, I see that in you. Your belief in him is stronger than anyone’s and whilst I do stand before you as you so wished I would, I know you would defy me entirely if only he asked you to.” He quirked his eyebrow, taunting you to disagree with him, but you couldn’t and you knew it. You looked down in shame.  

“Again, I take no offence. I couldn’t possibly, when the two of you are so destined for each other. Even I cannot stand in the way of your bond. But don’t you worry – he won’t ever ask you to defy me. Now, would you like to see the final card, child? You know you’re on a new path, but would you like to know what exactly that path entails?” he asked, reaching a hand to sit on your shoulder, his palm burning hot against your skin.  

Part of you wanted to know. Part of you didn’t. There was a fear, a simmering dread inside you that worried it was something you couldn’t fulfill, but then... if Lucifer himself is setting you on this path, then even he had every belief this was the correct one for you. And so, you nodded, ready for whatever the final card was.  

The Ghoul flipped it at Lucifer’s command. The card showed a woman, sat and holding a book in dark robes. Either side of her sat two pillars; one black, one white. A moon sat at her feet, and atop her head was a headdress of the three lunar phases. The High Priestess. 

You looked at the card, confused. You had expected something a bit more telling, but from the picture alone, you could gather nothing. Lucifer saw your confusion, and took your hand in his, holding it between both and forcing your attention to him.  

“I’ll explain, don’t panic,” he smiled comfortingly. “The High Priestess... she hints at something hidden preparing to come forward. She advises you to have awareness around yourself, and your spirituality. Of the things around you. You’re ready to accept the important next stage of your life.” 

You took a deep breath; all you could think of was that next stage with Terzo.  

“There are things that would give away to someone in the know just exactly the bond you have with him...” Lucifer began, as if reading your mind again, “Did you notice when you first performed lust that he took his gloves off, my dear?”  

You thought back, picturing when he’d made you bite the fingertip of it and drag it from his hand. You blushed at the memory, knowing the Dark One had seen everything. But now was not the time to get shy.  

“He did that each time with you, did he not?” You nodded. “He isn’t supposed to. I warned him during his ascension, the Papas wear gloves for a reason. His contact, his touch, was saved for the only person it was ever meant for now that he was a Papa. And without even thinking about it, he took them off for you.” 

The confusion in your mind swam; it had seemed so insignificant but when you thought back to catching him with Christine, as painful as that memory was, he had still been wearing his gloves then... 

“Not to mention the removal of his paints, your second night together. A very similar meaning there; barefaced Papas are saved for those who truly see them. Do you comprehend what I’m saying, my child?” he asked, stroking his thumb over your cheek.  

Truthfully, you didn’t. You were trying to piece it all together, searching the texts you’d studied as a younger sibling and trying to find what any of that meant other than the fact that there was a connection of some sort; a bond. 

“The High Priestess is a figurehead of feminine power, my dear. The lunar cycles on her headdress represent the three stages of womanhood: maiden, mother, crone. She has appeared here, because she is showing you your feminine power. One that is hidden inside you, preparing to come forward.  

“You are his; destined to be. Child, you are his Prime Mover.” 

Your heart thudded in your chest. That term... you’d heard it before, many years ago. It was a destiny, a divine path for a woman meant to be at the side of a Papa. Not every Papa had one, and it was incredibly rare to find her at all. There hadn’t been another Prime Mover since the early 1800’s. The pull you felt towards Terzo, the almost instant connection and ferocity of your love after just a couple of weeks made sense now. 

Prime Mover. 

You were the feminine figurehead of the Satanic Church; Papa’s other half, his Queen, for lack of a better term. Your rightful place was at his side, leading in the name of Lilith herself. The power that was bestowed upon Terzo during his ascension was destined for you too.  

“I-I... can’t be. I’m not cut out for that... responsibility,” you protested, shaking your head and removing your hand from Lucifer’s as the shock overcame you.  

“I chose you for a reason, my dear. You are the one, because I know that you are cut out for this. Your devotion for the last sixteen years proves that to me, but I knew it the moment you were born. This is your birthright,” he explained, his expression more serious than you’d seen it before. “It’s coming, my dear, and you can’t stop it.”  

Lucifer stood, towering above you now on his feet and stepped closer towards you.  

“They’ll know as soon as they see you, my dear. The Emeritus line bears the mark of the Divine,” he leaned down, pressing his lips to yours gently in a kiss that felt otherworldly and yet, not in the slightest bit romantic. You closed your eyes, your head feeling light and airy as you melted into his kiss. And then, he stepped away, your eyes fluttering open. 

“...And now, so do you.” 

You looked at him in confusion, seeing him smirk at you and run his fingers down the left side of your face. He looked... proud? Admiring you for a moment too long.  

“You need to go back, my child. You need to show them. I’ve enjoyed our little talk, but for the time being... you must go.” 

You panicked, not ready to go back yet; what if you had questions? What if you needed His guidance again? You had no idea what to do from here. If anything, you were more confused now than when you entered this strange little void.  

“W-wait, please... What if I have questions? I don’t know how to do this, Lucifer, please!” you begged, reaching for him. He held your hands and steadied you, his touch instantly soothing.  

“Don’t panic. I will see you again soon. We’ll talk again, at your ascension. For now, just show them.” 

“Show them what?” you cried, tears prickling at your eyes. Lucifer just smiled, stepping back from you and raising his hand. Before you knew it, his fingers snapped, and you were plunged into a black void.  

Lucifer vanished, and the stool you sat on as well as his and the blackjack table disappeared and you fell, endless falling through nothing. Your limbs flailed and ballgown billowed as you fell into nothing, the weightless feeling terrifying you the longer you dropped.  

Until finally, you hit the floor and your eyes shot open.  

With a start, you awoke, desperately throwing your hands out to your sides for purchase. You gripped onto silk, looking beneath where you lay to see familiar purple and black bedding, and feeling a soft mattress under you.  

“A-amore?” you heard his concerned voice from the corner of his room. He sat beneath the only light he had on; a small lamp stood next to him. You remained shrouded in mostly darkness, confusion sweeping over you until you settled on him. 

“Terzo... what...?” you began, unable to finish the sentence as you looked around the room; a small part of you wished you’d seen Him. You weren’t done with your questions yet... 

“You collapsed at the blackjack table, amore. But... no one could find anything the matter in the infirmary. You’ve been out for hours...” he stood, worried and careful, sitting at the edge of the bed and reaching for your hand that still gripped his sheets as if you would start falling again at any moment. You looked up at him then, finally seeing the worry lines etched into his paint. But when Terzo saw you, his expression changed from one of deep concern, to one of immense shock.  

His jaw dropped, eyes widened and brow creasing. The hand on top of yours smacked over his mouth and he stood quickly, backing up until his back hit the full-length mirror in the far corner of the room. 

“T-Terzo...? What’s happening?” you asked, fear spearing you through the chest.  

“Y-you... your...” he couldn’t speak, his voice trembling as if in fear. He pointed instead, his gloved hand raising to your face.  

The fear propelled you, forcing you up and off of Terzo’s bed to stomp towards him, fumbling with the skirt of your ballgown only to try to comfort him, calm him down but he moved out of your way just a step to the side and you were left staring at your own reflection.  

Even in the dim light, you saw it. You couldn’t miss it. 

Your left eye had turned almost completely white, save for the pupil, blown out in the centre. Lucifer had bestowed the Divine mark on you.  

‘Show them’ he had said. He meant... show them your mark. 

“T-Terzo... He did this. He came to me,” you panicked, reaching for him. He let you grab his arms, holding you too when he snapped himself from his initial shock. “He showed me m-my path... He told me that I’m-” 

“Prime Mover...” Terzo finished your sentence. He knew what that mark meant for you. “You’re my... Prime Mover?” He asked, the words sounding more like a desperate gasp. You just nodded at him, your hands squeezing at his arms and tears spilling over your cheeks. You found yourself smiling – grinning, even.  

“I’m yours; I was always supposed to be,” you laughed in shock, biting your lip to try and contain the wild grin as more tears fell.  

Terzo couldn’t take his eyes off you, staring at the mark that held so much meaning that it was overwhelming. He brought his hands to your cheeks, holding you as you gripped his wrists.  

“Supposed to be mine,” he breathed, his lips curling up at the edges as elation started to settle in, his panic and shock wearing off. “You’re... you’re mine, principessa?” You nodded frantically. 

And Terzo couldn’t help but laugh. Out of relief, out of disbelief... he couldn’t tell but he knew he was overjoyed. Words failed him, and instead, he pulled you to smash his lips against yours in a bruising kiss. He had hoped after today you would remain together, of course, but this? He could never have predicted this, never seen this coming.  

But now, everything made sense. 

“Tell me, amore. Tell me everything He said to you, what did He show you?” He asked, pulling you back to the edge of his bed to sit and explain your vision. You told him about the blackjack, about how you’d completed the ritual, about the tarot cards. You told him each one’s significance in your past, present and future, and he gleamed at you the whole time, in awe. 

“He told me to ‘show them’... I think He meant this?” You said, pointing at your eye. “I didn’t know... Not until I just saw. This is the Divine mark, isn’t it?” Terzo nodded, his thumb stroking over your cheekbone underneath it. 

“And it looks so beautiful on you, amore,” he said dreamily, “my Prime Mover...” The happiness in his expression as he took in this news was evident, and it only made your heart swell. 

“He said something about an ascension?” you mentioned, confused and hoping Terzo may have an answer for you.  

“Sí, you will have one... We will need to prepare for it, of course, but that makes you... my equal. At least, in the Ministry hierarchy. I’m to believe that you are, in fact, worlds above me... But yes. You will ascend to Prime Mover with me, principessa.”  

You couldn’t describe how you felt in that moment; an intoxicating cocktail of happiness, love, pride, and relief. Not only had you completed your ritual, but you had found your purpose. You had found your place in the ministry, in your life, in the world... and it was by Terzo’s side.  

“We’ll share everything, cara mio. My role extends to you, and I can think of no one better to don my colours, to help lead this congregation, to help spread the word of our teachings and grow this church. Lucifer knew what he was doing when he picked you, that’s for certain,” he beamed, leaning into you to kiss you once again. He was so in awe of you, so in love with you, it was almost sickening.  

“Lucky for me, purple is my colour,” you smirked as you sat back, hinting at Terzo’s papal colours and adoring the idea of sharing that with him, of matching with him. 

“Oh, I remember. Vividly,” he smirked, his mind wandering back to that first time you had slept together. “Come, amore. People were worried for you, we thought you were sick. And Lucifer has asked you to show them your beautiful new mark, no?” he stood, pulling you to your feet with him and wrapping his arms around your waist. “I can’t wait to show Sister Imperator this...” 

“Perhaps we show her first, hm?” you smiled wickedly, pulling him closer to you by the stole of his robes. 

“Oh, principessa... It might just send her into a coma. Or worse...” he teased, his lips hovering close to yours.  

“Here’s hoping...” you laughed evilly. Terzo threw his head back in a deep laugh, one that vibrated his whole chest. 

“Oh, you are so my Prime Mover...” Terzo snickered, leaning in to engulf you in another breathtaking kiss; a final private moment together before he proudly paraded you back through the halls to anyone and everyone who had ever doubted him. 

His pride and joy. 

A/N: Thank you so much for reading all the way to the end of this fic. I'm so grateful, and truly I can't believe the amount of love on this. I'm in total awe, and I hope you'll join me for the next one...

Happy Halloween, Ghesties! 🎃

Prev: Day 6 - Greed

A huge thank you to @her-satanic-wiles for beta reading, and @adinferix for fine tuning the Italian translations! 🖤

Tag list:

@call-me-little-sunshine84 @thew0man @zombiesnips-blog @ghuleh-recs @popiaswife @anamelessfool @enchantedbunny @haelithra @aslutforgreyhair @togetherasone @lilylovesdew @copias-sewer-rat @copiaspet622 @deetz-ghuleh @loudwombatmugkid @nimbusghoul @portaltothevoid @angellayercake @sodoswitchimage @siouxbauhaus @lydz1977-blog @bitchywitchygardener @sacrificialsake @the-did-i-ask @ghostfangirlsweden @the-hole-in-terzos-shoe @copiasprincipessa @gothicwonderlust @ladymer @ghulehunknown @onlyhereforghost @solluna00 @nijiru

[cleopheanne]

Bharani : the birth of Venus.

Part 1

Let's talk about ancient godesses of love and Bharani nakshatra.

I will base my research on the legend of the dead and resurrected god present in many religious myths coming from the middle east (ps : i'm sorry in advance for the grammar, syntax or spelling mistakes that you may find in this post, english is not my first language)

Bharani, situated in the heart of the rashi of aries is governed by Shukr: Venus but also by Yami and Yama in vedic mythology who are twins and gods respectfully of life and death.

Yama, the main deity of Bharani is said to be one of "8 celestial gatekeepers, who guards eight directional doorways or exits through which souls travel from an earthly plane to other planes of existence" making him the lord of Dharma since at one's death, he decides basing on his actions in what plane should one reincarnate.

Since Yama is responsible for directing the flow of life on Earth the association between bharani and the yoni becomes evident: the female reproducting system serves as a portal for souls to take on a physical form. So bharani as Claire Nakti perfectly described it relates to the feminine ability to receive, hold, nurture and ultimately transform through the womb.

Because Bharani aligns itself with all the feminine qualities by excellence it makes sense as to why Venus is it's ruler.

Venus is the roman name for the goddess Aphrodite: in greek mythology. She is said to be the goddess of love and beauty at large but also the goddess of war and sexuality. First because the ancient greeks saw the duality that links love to war and how they seem to come together through sex.

Also, Aphrodite is said to be born from the sperm of Ouranos when his testicules got cut by his son Saturn as he was always feconding Gaia, the Earth and causing her distress: he was acting cruel regarding their children. The sperm of Ouranus got mixed up with the foam of the Ocean creating Aphrodite which means "risen from the foam". So it was interesting to see that as Shukr also means sperm in sanskrit and it shows the origin of Venus as a fertility goddess too.

This conception of Aphrodite directly links her to ancient goddesses of love such as Ishtar or Inana in Mesopotamian/summerian mythology or Isis in egyptian mythology. Most of the time, these goddesses are the female counterpart of a god that was once mortal, got cursed, died and then came back to life for them to form an immortal couple.

In the case of Ishtar, her consort is Dumuzi or Tammuz and Osiris is the consort of Isis.

In Mesopotamian mythology :

Ishtar or Inana in sumerian is the goddess of love and sexuality, beauty, fertility as well as war because of her status as a " bloody goddess" mostly refering to her character in plenty of myths.

For example: in one story, she became infatuated with the king Gilgamesh, but the latter knowing her fierce reputation, refused her advances. As a result she got furious and unleashed the celestial Bull on Earth which resulted in 7 years of plagues. This celestial bull was later defeated by Gilgamesh and Endiku, and its corpse was throwed in front of Inana. Blinded by rage, she decided that as a punition Enkidu must die and sad at the death of his bestfriend Gilgamesh began his journey to find a cure to Death.

Bharani is a fierce or Ugra nakshatra meaning that its nature is agressive, bold and assertive in pursuing their goals. They are ruthless in the process of accompling what they desire the most and are inclined to extreme mood swings that can result in them to be "blinded" by their extreme emotions perfectly expressing the passionate character of Venus and her other equivalents in differents pantheons of antiquity.

Inana/ Ishtar's story with Dumuzi/Tammur begins as she was convinced to chose him by her brother Utu. Then she got married with the shepphard Dumuzi instead of whom she prefered the farmer: Enkinmdou. During the courtship, Inana prefered the fine textile of the farmer and his beer rather than the thick wool and milk of Dumuzi. The preference for the shepphard illustrates that at the time the Mesopotamian civilisation was known for their proliferent agriculture with the egyptians in the region, so this myth encapsulate the opposition between nomads and sendatary people at this specifific time period.

By the way, another symbol of Bharani is the cave and traditionnaly, the cave was used as a storage room for food. Also Bharani's purpose is Artha so these individuals are motivated to accumalate resources and provide safety and security, so Bharani can be linked to the exploitation of natural ressources like the soil illustrating the preference of Ishtar for the farmer. This is reinforced also by its Earth element.

So coming back to the myth, in a mesopotamian text called Inana's Descent to the Underworld, the goddess goes to Kur (hell) with the intent of conquering it, and her sister Ereshkigal who rules the Underworld, kills her. She learns that she can escape if she finds a sacrifice to replace her, in her search, she encounters servants who were mourning her death however she finds Dumuzi relaxing on a throne being entertained by enslaved girls. Enraged by his disloyalty she selects him as a sacrifice and he is dragged to the Underworld by demons.

He is eventually resurrected by Inana and they become an "immortal couple" as he may only come back to life for half of the year, being replaced by his son (?) who is also his reincarnation for the other half of the same years, so describing the cycle of regeneration of life.

Other mythologycal stories of goddesses in the near east describe a similar patterns:

The goddess Asherah is described as being the mother and the lover of her son Adonis.

The goddess Cybele in the phrygian pantheon takes the form of an old woman as she described as the mother of everything and of all. And at the same time she is the consort of Attis who his her own son (wtf ?)

Also, Yama and Yami are implicated in a incestuous entanglement where his sister Yama wanted to lay with him however he refused establishing himself as a god with an infaillible moral campus.

All of these representations illustrate the relation between the masculine and the feminine, life and regenration which are all topics related to Bharani nakshatra. Women by their capacity to give life are seen as the source of life and therefore are eternal as they are able to regenarate themselves through daughters which are identical to them whereas man who is unable to reproduce by himself, is therefore mortal feels the need to associate with her to resurrect through a son who is identical to him. Bharani exiting as the embodiment of the link between "the father and the offspring" which is the feminine vessel.

So this is certainly part 1, I think that these ancient myths are where Claire Nakti found her inspiration for her series on Bharani.