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leezlelatch · 7 months

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Two Star Crossed Lovers

Copia x F!Reader - Forget about this? I hope not! Welcome back. I finally managed to pull up my britches and finish this. This was my first foray into Ghost fanfiction, and not only did it introduce me to a lovely community of writers, but helped me connect with and inspire many of you. I hope this is a worthy finish. And I hope you stick around to see what I do in the future. Thank you. Enjoy.

The wood of your bedroom desk is hard as you rest your chin against it. A sigh escapes your lips known only to aching hearts. You almost kissed Copia. Cardinal Copia. There, so brazenly upon his desk, his biretta on your head. And you think, perhaps, he was going to kiss you too. His utterance to be gentle with his heart echoes through your mind, and you want nothing more than to race back to his office and tell him yes! Yes, you will cradle his heart in the space next to your own because he deserves to be so sweetly and tenderly loved; your silly, beautiful Cardinal.

“What am I supposed to do, Portobello?” You ask your rat companion.

Portobello looks up from his very special pillow resting on the desktop and squeaks in your direction as if the answer is right in front of you. You roll your eyes and rest your cheek on a fist, grabbing a delicate morsel for your favorite boy to nibble on. Portobello rubs his little head against your fingers before snatching the small nut as if it were his first meal in hours, devouring it quickly before huffing in your direction for another.

“You’re right after all,” you say, handing him another. “I can’t just…stay away, and I can’t pretend like nothing happened either.”

Portobello rolls off his pillow to perch before you, standing back on his little legs in a T-Rex pose that makes you giggle. His little hands work to clean off his face, needing to look presentable for the grand speech cooking within his small mind about love, and loss, and birth, and death, and joy, and sorrow. An incredible feat of rodent thinking to get his beloved mother to confess her undying devotion to his father. Here it comes, Portobello Mephistopheles Cosimo Copia is ready.

“Squeak!”

You smile at your baby and scratch his little head. You wonder what it would sound like if rat noises were detectable to the human ear. Either way, there is a level of communication between you that you think is special.

“I know, I know. I already told him that I would come see him today.”

You pick up your phone and click on your most recent text with Copia, smiling softly in amusement:

You glance out the window at the dreary winter day, the tree which stands so proudly outside devoid of life as its branches flutter in the chill. Copia is going on tour soon, you think with a despondent sigh. You need to talk about what happened, you promised him you would, and yet a part of you fears that the heated moment in his office was just that...a moment. Nothing in his text betrays that he is nervous to see you, or is thinking about your almost kiss. You get up and begin to pace, Portobello's little head swiveling left and right as he watches you move.

You know your Copia better than anyone. It's the mantra in your head. You imagine him in his office, picking up his phone and then sitting it back down, the wood of his chair creaking as he fidgets, a hand coming up to run trembling fingers through his hair before falling into his customary nervous tick, forefinger and thumb rubbing anxiously together, the leather of his glove worn and discolored at the tips as he awaits your reply. And then the sigh of relief, the tension leaving his shoulders as he drops his head to the desk surface once you have agreed to lunch.

You stop your pacing to giggle softly, hand to your mouth as you grin around your knuckles. What would it be like? To be Copia's. You do not crave the light, you yearn for the cool, and gentle darkness found in the depths of his eyes. You ache for his embrace, all encompassing, like a blanket of stars across the night sky. His kiss that can snuff out any candle and drive out the hypocrisy of a false God. Darkness is not frightening, or bad...it is a companion. The Dark says you are not lost. You are found. Copia found you.

Resolved, you throw on a sweater and some warm socks, sufficient for walking across the courtyard from the residency to the offices. Portobello is tucked into the neck of your sweater, his head peeking out as you close and lock your door behind you. You live on the third floor in the northwest corner of the building which not only holds the dormitories, but also a recreational facility remodeled on the whim that Papa Emeritus III needed to maintain his "strong physique." But the add-on turned out to be beneficial for everyone not wanting to be caught outside in the Swedish cold.

The kitchens and mess hall are also found within the residency hall, convenient for anyone - Copia and yourself - to sneak out of bed for a midnight snack. But your personal favorite is the library, more specifically, the plush chair in front of the sprawling granite fireplace. The mantle is often decorated with a garland of herbs picked from the gardens to promote a cleansed space for study, thought, and escape into the fantasy realm of books.

The building which houses the clergy offices and classrooms is but a short distance away from the residency hall, their rooves nearly touching. Overall, the grounds form an unfinished rectangle with the church completing the furthest side. The abbey looks like it's falling apart on a good day although it maintains a quaint and reverential charm. Gardens full of vegetables, herbs, and the sweetest flowers pepper the landscape, affording a beautiful and tranquil walk between buildings. The church looms over it all with grotesques of Lucifer and his princes gazing out on the horizon, not the congregation; a reminder of their infernal presence, and deference to free will.

"Off we go, baby boy," you whisper to your rat as you make your way down the mustard runner which stretches down the expanse of the corridor.

The walls haven't been painted in years, and you're almost sure they were white once. A potted plant that is probably fake sits on a chipped console table splattered with pop culture magazines. A couple feet down, a green rotary phone lays off the hook on a wooden desk next to a phone book and a chair that has seen its fair share of booty calls. Slowly, things around the Ministry are improving the more money is made by the Ghost Project, like the recreational facility. Right now, there are just...more important things to attend to first before tackling the quite outdated Sibling dormitories. You find a warmth to the off-70s look, like a home that has been well-lived in, and well-loved.

The trip downstairs is quick, polite hellos not usually required once people see the very large rat poking out of your striped sweater, and you quickly make it to the bottom floor, pushing open the creaking doors to the crisp air outside. It's a little chillier than you anticipate, goosebumps erupting across your skin, the wind whipping through your hair. You hold Portobello a little closer. Your eyes are on the prize, the door to the offices opening and closing as Siblings and Clergy alike walk in and out bundled in coats and scarves. You weave around sleeping hedges and soil thirsty for spring, the fountain which captivated your attention the previous day looking just as chilled as you feel.

"Hej!" A voice calls to you as you pass one of the moving puffy coats.

Spinning around, you shiver, squinting a little as you are slow to recognize the Brother that greets you by name. Sandy hair hidden under a toboggan, grey eyes looking you over behind black framed glasses. Oh, he's from my Latin class, you think down at Portobello, sure your child can read your thoughts. It is your bond.

"Hi. What's up?" It sounds as awkward as you feel saying it. Lucifer, it's cold. Did you make a face? He's looking at you funny.

"Aren't you cold?" He asks, his eyes narrowing in on the lump that is Portobello, now hiding his face into the warmth of your skin.

"I'm good." I'm suffering.

"Okay...well, I was just wondering..."

****

Copia takes a sip of his coffee, a startled “Ai!” jumping from his throat as the scalding liquid coats his lips and mustache. He blots his mouth with a napkin, grumbling about shaving the damnable thing off before staring distastefully down at the brown liquid in his mug, Portobello’s little face printed onto the side of the white porcelain.

“Still hot…” he mutters, pushing back from his chair to move over to the little coffee station he keeps on a small table in the corner.

He has a pot, a couple mugs (although he hasn’t used any except this one you bought for him since), and his favorite dark roast placed next to little packets of hot chocolate he keeps especially for you. Kneeling with a groan, Copia opens the mini fridge under the table to pull out a container of milk, generously pouring it into his coffee. He tests the now pale liquid with a tentative sip, smacking his lips in satisfaction before rising.

Copia slowly steps through his office, patting his belly in a soothing gesture as he walks past the front of his desk, his eyes glancing over the many ledgers which require his attention this morning. He moves close to the window which overlooks the courtyard of the abbey. Frost lingers on the old panes, poor insulation allowing freezing cold air to hit his skin. He shivers a little and takes a sip of his coffee, sighing softly while watching the movement of the unholy congregation as they chat and scurry between buildings.

He holds the cup of coffee with both hands in an attempt to warm them with what little heat the drink has left. Copia hasn't stopped thinking about you, and to be perfectly honest, you are the only thing his mind is able to conjure these days. Every night he lays his weary body into bed, wondering what it would be like to draw you close to him, whispering sweet nothings as you fall asleep in each other's embrace. Perhaps sometimes he wakes from a blissful dream, his arms wrapped around a pillow, to face the painful realization that you are not there with him.

Last night was particularly difficult.

Your almost-kiss. Copia could strangle Terzo for interrupting the very moment he has yearned for since your midnight meeting in the kitchens some months ago. You felt so right in his arms, so entirely his as a blush crossed your cheeks and you smiled at him, that special smile which told him that you were willing to carry the burden of his old heart. Copia touches his fingertips to his lips, closing his eyes as if he can still feel your breath against them. He smiles sweetly, humming with the thought of you.

His eyes snap over to find the clock, and they inadvertently follow a trail from the wall to his desk to his cellphone sitting atop it, the black brick of a thing silent, but carrying your messages from this morning. How Copia agonized over texting you for lunch today, unsure of your response after the previous night. Should he have mentioned it? No, that's a conversation best held face-to-face. Copia wants you to feel safe and comfortable in his presence, and whether or not you choose to pursue a conversation about last night's activities is entirely up to you. He can wait. He will wait. And if you never return his affections, he will be glad to hold even a modicum of your attention.

As his gaze returns to the window, Copia makes a small harumph while taking in the frost on the ground. It’s supposed to be a cold winter, more so than usual, and the annual fight to keep the fireplaces going in these drafty corridors will begin anew. Copia leans a little closer to the window, his breath fogging the glass as he tries to make out a figure below near the fountain. He swipes at the glass with his sleeve, grumbling in annoyance, his eyebrow arching.

“Who in Lucifer’s name isn’t wearing a coat in this weather?” He murmurs to himself, trying to squint. It’s with a sickening drop of his heart into his gut as he realizes it’s you. You turn just enough that he can make out your features as you speak to…who is that? Copia leans so far into the window, his nose smashes into it, the cold shocking him back. Your image is blurred by the outline of his nose, and entirely fed up, Copia opens the window, practically hanging out of it as he peers down at you and the boy with narrowed eyes, his pupil nearly nonexistent in the expanse of white.

The boy stands close to you, too close, head tilted down to speak to you as you gaze up at him with that perfect innocence, that - well, actually you look fairly annoyed. The Cardinal huffs out a laugh as he watches your brow furrow, your feet shifting as you scoot a little farther away. Ah, my precious, The Cardinal thinks. What he does not like, at all, is how you’re shivering. He can practically see how red your sweet nose is from here.

Copia is gone from the window and out of his office door in the span of a few moments once he has gathered his thoughts, has reigned in the raging jealousy burning in his heart and lungs. There were more important things to attend to. That being, dragging his piccolina inside and getting her warm. Oh, you’ll hear it. The last thing he was going to do was let your health be disregarded so. Also, the Cardinal scowls, the boy should know better than to keep you out in the cold for an insipid conversation.

Siblings quickly move out of the way as the Cardinal, red cassock like a slash of blood against a winter’s day, glides through the doors to the courtyard. His eyes are on you like a hawk, his step firm as he approaches you from behind. His lips twist in satisfaction as the boy’s expression drops when his eyes find the advancing Cardinal, even going so far as to take a very big step away from you.

****

You watch with burgeoning fascination as fear flickers across your classmate’s face, and he moves swiftly away from you, throwing out a quick goodbye as he heads toward the residency. You tilt your head to the side, momentarily thrown off, watching his retreating back with barely contained relief.

“Sibling.”

Copia’s voice has you whipping around so fast, you feel Portobello slip down your sweater. Your hands come up to instinctually cup the lump underneath, and you watch Copia’s eyes flicker down to it with amusement before sharpening as they return to your face. You’re wracked with shivers from head to toe, eyes widening at the Cardinal’s rapidly hardening features.

“I believe we had an appointment,” the Cardinal continues, motioning with his head to follow him before he turns and heads back inside, not even looking to see if you’re following. You know better than not to, and make your way after his rapidly retreating figure. The warmth of the office building is a relief to your chilled skin, however your hands begin to burn, red and dry from the cold. You adjust Portobello, returning him to the neck of your sweater, his little feet resting under the lip of your bra. Copia doesn’t stop until he reaches his office, opening the door and gesturing inside with cool politeness as clergy members alike walk back and forth down the corridor.

You enter with trepidation, unsure of what to expect, your eyes falling on his half-filled cup of coffee sitting on the desk next to your Cardinal’s mountains of paperwork. You feel bad that he had to run all the way outside to fetch you, but your brow furrows with mirth when you notice the nose shaped smudge on the window. Was Copia watching you? Your cheeks heat. Was he jealous you were speaking to the guy from your class? Your heart gives a little pitter patter at the thought, and you have to school your features as you turn on your heel to face Copia. He closes his office door behind him, and then his hard expression drops in an instant.

The man is on you in a second, his gloved hands gripping your shoulders as he practically lifts you from the floor to deposit you by the fireplace. “Mio tesoro prezioso, dov'è la tua giacca!?” He frets. Copia falters for a moment, his hands out and fingers wiggling as he looks about the room for something, anything to wrap around your shoulders. With a determined frown, Copia hastily begins to remove his cassock, ripping the fascia off his waist to tangle on the floor in order to reach the buttons.

“Copia, this isn’t necessary,” you try to say, looking slightly alarmed with the ferocity in which he pulls the blood red material from his back to wrap around you.

“What isn’t necessary, amore mio, is your insistence to walk around outside without any coverings! You could freeze. Oh, your povere mani,” he groans, voice cracking as he reaches out to cradle your hands in his own, thumbs trying to work at your red skin to create friction. “What if you get frostbite, eh? What will your Cardinal do then?”

“...I’d imagine you wouldn’t be happy,” you murmur, eyes fixated on your hands.

“Certo.”

Copia pulls off his gloves, the leather looking stretched and wrinkled when not tight against his large, beautiful hands. You admire the dark hair on the backs of them, a small smile flitting over your features that broadens as he slides the gloves onto your own. The leather is so warm, wrapped around your hands like a hug, albeit a loose one that makes the both of you smile. Your eyes meet Copia’s and his expression is soft, freckled cheeks tinted pink as he gazes down at your hands, a slow smile creeping across his lips. He appears almost entranced by the sight of his gloves on you, his own fingers squeezing the material and trying to ensure they are on as tight as possible.

Copia catches your eye and blushes harder, clearing his throat, although he doesn’t let go of your hands. “Why were you outside, huh?” He murmurs, angling you a little closer to the fire. His eyes take in your entire form as if looking for any injuries brought on by the frigid weather. You can’t help but admire him in his black slacks and clergy collar, a sight you’re not very used to seeing. Copia is very rarely not pristinely dressed in his vestments when working, and when he isn’t, he prefers soft lounge clothes. Out of the hundred things you imagined was under his cassock, the black business casual outfit was farthest down the list. Although the hint of suspenders underneath is doing more for you than the fire.

“I was coming to see you, like we planned, but then that guy from my Latin class-,”

“Ah, he is a classmate? What eh…what did he want?” Copia interrupts you, his eyes falling to the crackling flames as his lips twist in displeasure. It makes you smirk, an eyebrow raising as you take in the tense set of his shoulders.

“He was asking me out,” you say as casually as possible.

“Che cosa!?” Copia’s head snaps back to attention so fast you’re worried it’ll fall off his neck, and you even put your hands up in surprise. His eyes are wide, the white nearly narrowing into a slit. This all happens in a matter of a moment before his expression melts, the circles under his eyes deepening as all color drains from his face and his gaze drops to the floor. “Forgive me. I…shouldn’t question what you do in your personal life. That is…eh, not cool.”

“Copia, I’m joking. He asked for class notes. That’s all,” you soothe, fingers coming up to gently touch his cheek. His lips part in a small gasp and his eyes flick to your fingers and then to your face.

“Hmm, not a nice joke,” he says softly, although there’s a small smile playing on his lips.

“No, it isn’t,” you agree.

There’s a beat of a moment between the two of you, your gloved fingers gently sliding across his cheek, rough with age and very warm. You notice a few flyaway hairs and brush them back behind his ear. Copia closes his eyes, blowing out a long breath through his nose. His hands cup yours and bring them to his chest, his fingers squeezing the leather wrapped so lovingly around them.

“We need to talk,” he whispers, his eyes opening, reflecting a heady desperation within the green and white depths. “But I am afraid, topolino.”

“What are you afraid of?” Your voice is equally quiet, your body gravitating closer to his. You reflect on the past several months. From meeting Copia in the Ministry kitchens to saving the rat who chooses this moment to climb from your shirt and settle on your shoulder. Copia chuckles softly, scratching Portobello fondly behind the ears.

“I’m afraid of losing this. I’m afraid of being alone again. I’m afraid of another decade roaming these halls at night like a wraith because I can’t be alone with my thoughts. I’m afraid of being cold again,” Copia sucks in a breath, blinking away the tears that are rapidly filling his eyes. “I’m afraid of losing my love.”

“Hmm,” you let out a small laugh, feeling the burn of tears behind your own eyes. “So all those ‘amores’ were real.” You give him a wobbly smile as he laughs a little, tears finally dropping and sliding down his cheeks.

“Sì, sì. I am not too subtle, eh?”

You take a steadying breath, your fingers gently wiping away his tears which sit on his gloves like rain droplets. “Copia, you could never lose me.” Your voice breaks slightly. “Knowing you has been the most beautiful experience of my life. And I want more of it. I want…,” you trail off, and turn to look at the rat on your shoulder, a smile brightening your features. “What do you say, ‘Bello? Should I kiss your daddy?” You hear Copia make a noise between a gasp and a squeak as Portobello’s little paws come up to clean his face. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

You turn and wrap your arms around Copia’s neck, drawing very close to him. His hands flail at your sides for a moment before settling at your waist, his eyes as wide as dinner plates as he blinks down at you. “What do you say?” You whisper to him, your lips inches apart, breaths intermingling. “Amore?”

Copia smiles. Wide and crooked and radiant. He’s practically shaking in your grasp, and laughs a little incredulously before his eyes flutter closed, long lashes kissing his cheeks. “I say,” he murmurs, accent heavy and deep. “Ti amo cosi tanto.” And then his lips descend on yours.

His hands slide around your back and he crushes you to him, chests flush as he thoroughly kisses you with deep, long strokes of his tongue. He explores your mouth as if he is trying to imprint your taste onto his tongue. Months of pent up frustration breaking in a moment of unbridled passion on a cold winter’s day. Copia whimpers softly into your mouth, and at this point you can’t tell if the tears on your cheeks are his or yours.

You break away with a gasp, but Copia needs you close, unable to truly pull away just yet and cradles you against his body, his hand along your jaw as he presses little kisses to your cheeks, your chin, your neck. Anywhere his wandering lips can reach. He whispers sweet things to you, words you can’t understand but know all the same. Copia smooths your hair from your face and just gazes down at you with complete adoration, his head tilting to kiss your lips softly again - once, twice, a third time.

You giggle softly in a dreamy state that makes him smile that smile again, the one that reaches his paints. “Have something to say, piccolina?” He says softly.

“I’m pretty speechless…”

“That would be a first, hmm?”

He kisses you again as you begin to roll your eyes, and you sigh into the bliss of it all. His thumbs rub circles into your cheeks, his kiss unhurried and lingering. You press a hand to his chest and push lightly, and you pull away with a smacking noise as a confused frown crosses his features.

“I nearly forgot!” You say, smiling up at him. You take a deep breath, the next words from your mouth feeling so easy and so right, and something you should have done a long time ago. “Copia, I love you too.”

Copia’s arms wrap around your waist and he pulls you with him as he brings the both of you to the floor, his arms and legs locking you into a hug. His nose nuzzles at your cheek as he holds you so incredibly close, a boyishness to the older man as he radiates joy and warmth. “Ti amo, ti amo, I love you,” he whispers over and over again into your ear, his mustache tickling you. “You have given me everything. Oh, my world is so bright. Ah, my heart.”

Your fingers slide up his back, and you lean into his embrace, closing your eyes and enjoying the glory of your newfound love. Everything, finally, is going to be okay. Your life is going to be okay…no, it’s going to be more than that. It is going to be glorious. Happy. Full of love. Full of Copia.

There’s a sliding sound and Copia’s paperwork goes crashing to the floor in a small explosion of paper. You both look up, Portobello having at some point during the last few minutes left your shoulder and made his way to Copia’s desk. He sits in the center of the desk, looking innocent as can be.

“We should have another one,” you say, smirking as you look at your outraged Cardinal. He gives you a withering glare. “I’m just saying, he might-...” Copia cuts you off with a kiss.

And you definitely recommend co-parenting a rat.

#the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #Cardinal Copia #cardinal copia x female reader #cardinal copia fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv fanfic #ghost #ghost bc #copia #papa iv #poorly translated italian #portobello the rat #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader

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voidcat · 2 years

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— what the cat dragged in

characters: papa emeritus iii/you, cardinal copia, nameless ghouls, sister imperator

wc & genre/notes: 8.1k – strangers to friends/lovers, fluff, suggestive content (minor discussion of kinks and terzo being terzo during mummy dust. That part starts with “I’d say you’re deflecting,” and ends with the divider.) neighbors au, reader has a cat… I’ll b honest idk what else to say

a/n: this is My blog and I get to choose how cringe I want to be. Yes I said I’d not write for ghost and did it anyways after one (1) bad day. Yes this file is titled “hatehatehatemyself” on Google drive. The part after the burgundy divider is an optional ending. You can read the entire thing as platonic or slowly growing into something romantic. have fun x

Head turned left and right, looking around, no sign around.

The neighborhood is rather quiet today, the sun up and everyone out, at work or else. Rustling of grass with each breeze reaches your ears, and each time you whip your head toward the direction with hope.

In a breath, you cross the road and walk and walk and walk. It’s a long one, not unbearably so but still a little unnerving. You don’t recall many people going this way after all.

Now standing before the grand door, the little mailbox a few meters away awfully standing out, you raise your fist and knock.

And wait.

And waiting you do for almost a minute, if it weren’t for the noises you hear, a clutter of something, a shatter there and finally footsteps.

The door swings open– though it looks too heavy to be opened just like that and the man stands tall before you, forearm resting against the frame, leaning his entire weight to it, eyes barely open and you don’t need to see the barely filled bottle he holds to tell he is drunk.

The scent of alcohol reeks off him just enough.

Your nose scrunches up at the smell.

Squinting his eyes at the sudden intrusion of light coming from the sun, he doesn’t acknowledge you right away.

You doubt he has noticed you.

Isn’t it a bit too early to be drinking like this already? He looks trashed, to say the least.

Then he seems to notice you, though he makes so little movement to fix his posture, the belt tied around his waist barely doing its job to hold the robe together.

Decent on the eyes, you’d have thought for the guy, if it wasn’t for the weird face paint.

Getting too far and a little too early on the halloween spirit?

“Ah…” you clear your throat and try again. “So you see, my cat was lost and–”

“Oh perfect! That’s just lovely now.” he cuts you off, quite loud too. Head thrown back, he holds a sneer. “And what, little one ? Decided to come here and accuse us?” bottle dropped on the floor, rolls off to the side, hitting to an end by the door frame.

With both hands free, he throws them up in mockery, mimicking what you can only think to be a kid’s voice: “‘ Oh no the big bad mean satanists stole my cat and used it for their sick rituals. ’” hands dropped to his sides immediately as he is done with his imitation, he glares down at you: “Well guess what? Buzz off! As if I don’t have enough bullshit to deal with right now. Go find a more creative way to get in sherlock.”

So they were satanists after all…

Good to know you suppose, not that you care in all honesty. The whole church-like air of the building only gets more confusing for you though.

Before he can close the door to your face, you place your palm against it to stop him. “Hey!”

The force behind the door comes to a pause, probably didn’t expect you to fight back.

“Listen, Mr. Halloween or whatever poor Jack Skellington look you were going for.” you begin speaking, ignoring the way his face morphs into pure confusion. “How about you listen to people before barking assumptions at them?”

A moment of breath, the resistance behind the door ends completely and he opens it full again, waiting for you to continue but doesn’t seem all too happy.

“My cat likes to go outdoors and one of my neighbors said to me once that he often visits this place. So can I please come in?”

Seeing it written clear that you won’t be leaving any time soon, the guy sighs and steps aside. “Don’t touch anything and don’t leave my sight.”

Footsteps echoing in the hallways, you ‘pspsps’ here and there in hopes of your cat turning around but to no avail.

It’s only when passing a door that the guy pauses and curses to himself, you can hear the hints of an accent.

Turning to face him, he takes in your raised brow as a question.

“Copia has rats– pet rats. Your cat better be a vegan because I will not deal with his whole…” he gestures with his hand at nothing, “mourning or Sister Imperator’s reprimanding if a single one of them is missing.”

“Mr. Whiskers is a well behaving, domesticated cat with manners, thank you very much.” you say and turn your head with a huff.

Copia? Imperator? You have no idea who these guys are but you’re sure you can handle a couple of …dorky satanists, if the rest of them are just like this man baby at least.

You can always leave town before night too, if it comes down to it.

Only few steps away and the man watches as you disappear, yelling after you about ‘what did he say’ and all that bullshit but you couldn’t care any less because there he is, your precious baby!

All pulled up into a cozy little furry ball by the corner under a window, in what appears to be someone’s bedroom.

Pretty messy too.

The man seems to catch sight of you and say something he thinks is amusing, or sleek, from the tone he uses, though you pay no attention to his words or how they suddenly run dry. (‘ well if your eye on me the whole time, you didn’t need to make up an excuse about a lost c –’)

Picking up your cat despite his protests, you turn and thank him with a nod. His words register in your mind with a small delay.

“Maybe consider tidying up your room, what are you, twelve?” and with that, you exit his warzone of a room and walk back the path you took, with Mr. Whiskers purring in your arms the entire walk home.

The second time your cat goes missing while you’re home, you know better.

Instead of wasting hours searching around, you hike up all the way to that dreaded place and knock on the door with force and impatience.

It is a woman who answers instead.

A woman who does not seem to be the slightest bit impressed.

Staring at her bored face, you take notice of her clothes you can deem as formal for the place, the sound of fabric brushing as she crosses her arms, you snap out of it, trying to formulate the words regarding your cat and and all.

Whatever thought seems to pass her mind, you conclude that she doesnt care and watch as she leaves the door open, walking back inside. So you hurriedly follow.

“Sleek, black hair you said?” she asks, still walking ahead as you nod– shit, satanist or not, she can’t have an eye at the back of her head now; letting out a hum of affirmation you fasten your steps and try to walk by her side.

Steps come to a halt before a closed door, she knocks firmly, once.

Upon receiving no answer whatsoever, she rolls her eyes and opens the door.

They must have quite the savings you think, to have a place with soundproof walls and doors. The unmistakable sound of skin slapping against skin, breathy moans and all, you wonder to yourself, couldn’t your cat have picked somewhere …normal to take his afternoon naps.

Paying the scene before her eyes no mind, the woman steps in– is that who the man referred to as Sister Imperator?, and you catch her words about grabbing the darn cat now and continuing his pity party later.

The sounds of sex stop and you can hear someone walking around all the while mumbling something.

Before you can thank the woman however, she turns and walks away.

Less than a minute later the same man from before peeks out his head through the door.

Wearing a different robe this time and doing a poor job of holding your cat, though Mr. Whiskers doesn’t seem to mind, the traitor, he watches as you take the cat from his arms.

As you turn to leave and call it a day, maybe open a bottle of wine and see where the night takes you, a ‘hey!’ catches up to you from behind.

Leaning against the door frame like he did the first time, he waits for you to face him.

“Just let me know next time your cat comes over. I doubt neither you nor Sister would like to become frequent acquaintances.”

You eye him with a suspicious look. Sure the woman does seem like if she sees you 3 times a week or more for your cat, she might sacrifice you and Mr. Whiskers to Lucifer with her bare hands but hey, you cannot control who answers the door now.

As if sensing your train of thought, or, a part of it, he lets out a sigh, “My windows are pretty wide. Pretend they’re doors or something.”

“...right.” Sounds more and more reassuring with each word for sure, great , thank you Mr. Whiskers.

Then an after thought seems to follow as a whine can be heard from inside his room, “ Just – maybe let me know ahead before you come through the window, yeah ?”

“And I should do that, how?” you ask, wishing the whole encounter to be over “I don’t want you charging me if a stone happens to find its way in.”

From how he mumbles the words ‘charging’ and ‘stone’ confused, it seems to be taking him a while to register your words.

The implication of your words seem to dawn in as his face goes down “Last I checked, cellphones exist.” he states, not sounding too happy about the possible danger his precious windows may face.

“And how should I know this isn’t some weird excuse to get my number?” you sound skeptical, on the edge, probably finger hovering over that dial button to the police if it wasn’t for the cat in your arms.

At your words though, he chuckles. “I do have a girl in my bed right now, you know?”

“And my question remains unchanged.” staring at him with a dead serious expression, you watch as his amused face falls, his eyes rolling and he shoves a hand down one of his pockets, taking out a pen.

Expectant eyes on you– wait, what is up with his eyes? , he pushes off the cap, shaking his left arm so the robe’s arm can slide off, revealing his skin, waiting. Waiting for you.

“You better not send me any weird crap or call-” you state then say out your phone number.

Well, worst comes to worst, you know a good lawyer.

Third time's the charm is how the saying goes. You have your doubts but perhaps there is truth to it as the man’s ridiculous window idea works.

It takes no time to figure out Mr. Whiskers spends his afternoons there because the rays of sunlight hit just right, and right next to where he sleeps is a comfortable armchair with black and white hair decorating its surface a little.

Few steps ahead of his windows, the view of a wonderful garden has attracted your attention but you know better than to ask, or enter without permission. The amount of times you’ve dropped by increases at record speed, yet the air between you both is still tight.

He lets out a warm laugh when he gets a good look at him once, but when you ask, you get no reply. Surely this cannot be the first tuxedo cat he has ever seen in his life.

One silence after another, he must've sensed how tense and awkward it feels too, as a little after he tries to make conversation and apologize.

So they are a satanic organization, that’s fine.

You’ve always wondered as a kid about the gatherings you’d see within a distance but never bothered to check for yourself.

A rock band to spread their word and message however, now that is odd. You’re starting to think their anti church might be the most normal thing to them.

Yet you remain your silence and let him speak, listen, and try to make as much sense of them as you can because god knows you won’t be leaving this place any time soon.

He says he is– was the frontman of the band, and their beloved antipope , but was dethroned , or so he claims, few days prior to your arrival.

You can understand frustration over something you have dedicated your time and effort into, and for you to be pulled off it without a logical explanation. That explains drinking until the brain shuts down despite that scent of alcohol still stings your senses.

Nodding to his words, you take his apology and leave with Mr. Whiskers that day. He asks if you’d like to see the garden the next time your legs are dangling off the windowsill.

You accept in a heartbeat.

With the weather warming up and all, your cat seems to enjoy the garden as much as you do.

Trees and flowers of all kinds tended to with care and love, you can tell. Each arranged with care, the entire place paints a beautiful picture before your eyes, and endless too.

Same as the window, this becomes a habit too. To stroll in the garden and sit on one of the stone benches, talking or staying like this in silence.

He seems fond of Mr Whiskers for reasons unknown to you, until he pulls out a photograph of someone in what you make out to be a tuxedo of sorts, on a stage no less.

The photograph is of small scale, you cannot make out much of the details, so he takes it upon himself to explain that it is indeed him in the photo and the looks of your cat caught him by surprise because of his looks.

Without waiting for a reaction, he offers to show you the outfit he wore back then, though he sounds a little melancholic about the whole thing still.

Sure , you agree, but keep it to yourself that the regency shirt and black pants look just fine on him.

It blurs at one point you begin visiting even without Mr. Whisker’s presence in his room.

Bursting out into laughter, he looks almost offended at your reaction. “I’m sorry-” your giggles break through as you wipe off a tear, “what did you say it was again?”

“Emeritus.” he says flatly.

“Emeritus.” you repeat, this time doing a better job at containing the giggling.

“Yes, Emeritus,” he says again and adds, “The third.”

If your laughter before was loud, this is something beyond, enough to make him go deaf in comparison.

“Okay no, I’m not calling you-” you bring your hands up to finger quote, “Emeritus The Third.” you say in a serious tone. “And I’m certainly not calling you ‘papa’ or some bullshit title.” you cut in before he can get a word out.

“We’re going to need a nickname, what about ‘em’?”

“Em.” his tone asking ‘are you for real?’, his turn to repeat now.

“Okay no, that’s just as bad, give me some time to th-” hand covering his face, he just shakes his head with a sigh.

“Just call me Terzo , caro mio.”

Seeing as to no reply from you comes, he removes his hand and looks up. “It means ‘ the third ’ in Italian.”

“Oh,” you manage to say, though you do sound a little different now, perhaps you thought from his reactions you hurt him and now feel sorry about that?

“Yeah, I can do that, Terzo.” speaking with more confidence now, testing the name on your tongue, you talk more to yourself and nod your head than to him– he finds watching you act like this, how you operate and think as you talk endearing.

You find yourself liking spending time with Terzo more than you’ve realized.

Work is work, adulting is the same and sometimes relationships with friends feel dull or far away.

To say the least, he is interesting. Usually something to catch you off guard or wondering, it is guaranteed your time with him is never one to fall victim to boredom.

So he speaks of his life, of things he has done on the road and whatnot, even going as far to recreate when he tried to kick off a beach ball only to fall, basking in the waves of your laughter, even complaining to him by nighttime that your face hurts from laughing so much.

In return you feel you don’t have as exciting stories but he listens as if they’re the most wonderful things he has ever heard.

You deem them mundane and every time without a beat, he says only to you.

It comes down to, more like remembering, those scenes from when you were a kid.

He is awfully quiet that day, when you speak of seeing figures in black walking in tow, a kid or two that seemed to be your peers but how their estate in the eyes of some were off limits, and it was always at an odd time for you to be walking up there and talk with the kids.

A shame, the two of you could’ve met much earlier, yet he doesn’t voice it and you do not realize it.

Of all the things he has experienced recently, entering his room, to a bed unmade, finding you wrapped in the covers and sound asleep, would score high on Terzo’s list of things he wouldn’t expect– that is, if his brain could even muster up such a scene.

He doesn't need to, though, as it becomes real before his eyes and he makes way for the loveseat that night.

He doesn’t pry about it and all you say under your breath is that you felt lonely.

‘What about Wh-’ before he can ask, you open the covers partly to reveal that Mr. Whiskers is indeed with you, in his bed.

He just hopes the cat won’t switch his usual spot for his bed when he comes next time.

The nightly visits from you start to occur more, by the third time he knows it’ll become another constant, though not as frequent.

You do appear upset that he has to sleep on the couch, yet he waves his hand dismissively, that he doesn’t mind– he doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or cross any unnamed boundaries. Which is a little outside the usual for him, he is known for being bold, for holding and kissing hands and doing much more when he can even smell from a kilometer away the slightest of interest the other party has in him.

The next time it repeats, he is startled by a sudden noise as he makes for the couch as always. Turning on his heel only to see you patting the spot next to you in his bed.

Sure, it is a spacious bed, more than enough space for the both of you, and Mr. Whiskers, yet he still feels tense about the whole situation.

What if he wraps an arm around you or something in his sleep and you wake up angry, that he jumped into conclusions, that this wasn’t what you wanted at all and that you’ll never visit again and file a restra–

“You think too much.”

You draw him out of his pocket sized crisis with few words and a flock on his forehead. “Keep doing that and you’ll end up with wrinkles in no time.”

What else can he do but chuckle at that and sink into sleep, safe and sound?

Wine is a skillful loosener, as the two of you rediscover together.

On days you stick around for longer, he makes his offer– though you refuse it as much as you can.

Despite dropping by unannounced after a while, you haven't walked into any intimate moments. And against your initial claim, your phone does get bombarded, usually photos of Mr. Whiskers when Terzo catches a glimpse of him, or when he thinks he is being adorable.

The latter is worse, because Terzo always finds him adorable once he warms up to the cat. The way he acts through text makes you picture him lying on the floor, hands supporting his chin, legs behind him dangling in the air, watching the unknowing cat as he sleeps or does the most mundane cat thing anyone can think of.

Neither of you are aware just how fascinating mundane is to him.

You can sense his pout from meters away.

“Okay, I’ll bite.” you put down the stacked papers. “What is it?”

Crossing his arms, he turns away partially, grumbling under his breath, “I don’t know what youre talking about.”

Getting closer to Terzo means many things, witnessing the absolute manchild that resides in him included.

Picking up your phone to turn the volume down, your eyes find his figure again– either he resembles Mr. Whiskers more than you gave them credit for or your time spent with him making you delusional. “Out with it already,” his form shrinks only further, “or no more visits from me or Mr. Whiskers.”

Now that , gets his attention.

Eyes focused somewhere near your face intentionally, he almost appears reluctant to say the words.

“How come you never listen to any of my songs?”

It takes you few seconds longer to register his words.

Before you can answer, he begins rambling, so rushed and in a whisper, all you can hear is few words in italian, which you’re sure are curses slipping his tongue and terms of endearment.

“I just… forgot?” you offer with a shrug.

Okay, maybe not the best response as this gets him to throw his arms into air, “ mio satana , you are unbelievable.” a finger pokes into your side, you haven't even realized he already crossed the distance between you both.

So he gets jealous when you listen to other musicians, huh , you save the information for future use.

As you begin laughing, he chuckles, muttering under his breath. “I guess, I’ll have to bring a ritual to your feet.”

It goes unknown to you that Terzo semi-regularly orders cat food for Mr. Whiskers, not that the cat ever seemed to be hungry when he was there, but hey, cannot hurt to try. If the cat only decides to visit him, with you in cue, more often, now there is no harm in that.

Another thing unbeknownst to you, is that, despite the distance between their estate and your house, Terzo can spot your lights without much effort.

If he were to dramatize the entire thing between you both and more, he’d refer to it as a beacon of light. But he doesn’t need to, because there is nothing more to what it is between the two of you, even if unnamed, even when he cannot help wondering “ what if …”, wondering if he is misinterpreting things.

So when he doesn’t see the lights turn on by the night time one evening, he doesn’t care, maybe the power went out, maybe you just want to try something different for a change. He certainly doesn’t care in the morning when he sees a second figure come out of the door, or when you drop by later that evening, a throbbing headache and ‘ long day at work’ you just murmur as you fall asleep on his shoulder.

You accept the wine when you're taking another stroll in the gardens.

With the weather beginning to cool down, you welcome its warmth to your very bones.

Booze loosens your tongue first, and soon your senses, your train of thought. Whether it’s a good thing or not that you’re not the only victim… you don't know.

“Was it worth it at least?” he muses as you’re seated on the same bench, glasses sat on the ground.

You twist your face, trying to recall, “Once I tuned his voice out, yeah I guess?” he snorts at your words, “Isn’t this the usual case?”

“Nah,” you drag the word as you reach for your glass, “He could also suck in bed. So the entire night wasn’t a waste I suppose. Never going back to that place though, I’m picky for a reason.”

You say the words more to yourself as a mantra than anything, Terzo watching you with a giggle hanging on his lips.

“Bad drinks as well?”

“It’d be charity to call them as such, ugh,” with a sigh, you drink down the remaining half of your wine, tipping the empty glass to his direction.

Taking your glass, he switches it with his and you take no time to bring it back to your lips.

“But this?” you raise the glass, “now that is a quality product.”

With another chuckle, he reaches for the bottle and fills the empty glass in his hand.

The topic of your recent and unfortunate endeavors morph into complaining about work, people in the streets, weird posts on the internet and whatnot.

“Okay, okay,” you try to speak inbetween laughter, “so what about weird preferences when it comes to sex?”

He just gives you a teasing smirk as you place your finger on his lips as a means to shush him “we already know weird shit and food combinations the other likes, consider this a slight change of topic.”

“I’d say you’re deflecting, but alright, I’ll buy.” he shrugs, throwing his head back to drink from the bottle– the glasses cast aside an hour or so ago.

“Any kink you can think of, I’m most likely into already, so just ask me yourself.”

You bring a finger to your chin, contemplating what to say for a moment, “Socks stay on or?..” you let your voice trail off, gazing at him from the side with a smile.

Bringing a hand over his heart and another against his forehead, he faces you fully and lets out a loud gasp. “Caro mio! You wound me. I might be the antipope but I am not a lunatic!”

He opens one eye to seize your reaction, and when your gazes meet, both of you burst into laughter.

“But the face paint stays on, no?” you gesture to your face once you stop clutching your stomach.

“Everyone has a preference, tesero.” he shrugs.

Considering his position and the closest people he can find to fuck, it does add up, you suppose.

“Now enough about me, what about you ?” He leans in to you, flashing his teeth. Not letting him get to him, you snatch the bottle from his hand.

“What about me, indeed huh? Just your basic, vanilla bullshit.” you close your eyes as you gulp down the wine.

Your comment only ignites him further, with another chuckle, he scoots closer, “You? Vanilla? I’d beg to differ,” and again, with the poking to your sides, he pleads “Don’t keep your papa waiting now.” “Okay first of all–”

You snap your head to him, only to be nose to nose, “ Not the ‘p’ word, we went over that ages ago, not calling you that.”

“Only because you’re being such a tease,” he sing-songs, his head thrown back.

“You are such a child,” you mumble as you place the bottle between your legs, hands gripping its neck.

“Biting, I suppose.” You can hear him open an eye and look your way, “Nothing extreme as I said, but people aren’t exactly dying to be covered in red and purple, you know?”

“No, I wouldn’t.” he answers, “their loss.”

You can sense he wants to pry further but keeps himself, and hell , the wine is good, there is another bottle waiting by his foot, and compared to the amount of black mail-level footage of him you've got, this feels like nothing.

“Taking risks.” you say in a whisper, partially hoping he doesn’t hear.

“Now, this falls vague, bella.” he says. “Risks of conceiving, catching STDS–” he begins counting with a finger,

“ No ! I said risks , not being an idiot.” You cut in, a hand covering your face.

You know he is waiting with that smug smirk, “risks of getting caught, like, dunno , semi public spaces and the likes?” you ask more than speak, meeting his gaze as you finish speaking.

“So that’s where the biting comes,” he speaks in a knowing tone, “leaving telltale marks blooming everywhere?” he muses as his hand begins to move, finger grazing against your skin.

“Like this?” he asks, hand going up and drawing patterns on your thigh, slowly going up, his eyes gauging your expression.

“...yeah” you say in a breath, letting his hand reach the inner side of your thigh. A finger flicks against the bottle, drawing out a trembling note, making your eyes flash though all your times here, you never saw anyone else in the gardens.

The bottle has long gone warm but his hand feels cold against your leg, you’re aware of his eyes locked on your face yet make no haste to draw yours away from the plants up ahead.

His hand begins to travel upwards, making way to fiddle with the hem, going under and his skin meeting yours.

Before he can do anything further however, you both jolt with the sudden noise coming from behind, between the windows.

“Cazzo!” he mutters and gets up, making way to enter his room through the windows.

While waiting for him, you go for the other bottle, pouring yourself some more wine, at least with a glass, you can keep count.

Pausing to listen around, you hear the commotion has died down.

Picking up the other glass and hoisting the empty bottle under your arm, you make way for the stained glass windows you’ve grown familiar with over the course of time.

Terzo doesn't seem to pay much mind to the interruption though, the conversation picks up from where it left, now talking in a more general sense.

“You give off vibes of someone who’d make a sex playlist,” you begin as he listens with a nod, “ and add your songs to it.”

“As I said gioia, everyone has their preferences.” he reaches to take the bottle from you, not expecting your arm to draw back, “yet I cannot help but be upset,” he sheds a nonexistent tear, “that you think my thrust game is so weak.”

Seeing as you freeze at his words, he takes a step to you, grabbing the bottle from your hand with a smile and places it down, not stepping back afterwards. “If you want a demonstration though, I am always happy to help.”

As if your silence was anything to go by, now it is deafening, the warmth and flush of your skin; you’re unsure if the cause is alcohol or him .

“And I did promise a demonstration of my songs to you before, didn’t I?” he says as he takes another step your way.

“So you see, we got this fan favorite song, Mummy Dust,” he speaks while pretending to be interested in the ceiling, gesturing with a hand in the air, “but not because of the lyrics.” he remarks with a smug expression, redirecting his gaze to you as he takes another step, barely any space left separating the two of you.

You’re unsure what to say or do, when left alone in a room with a bunch of people wearing identical masks.

You think, Terzo must’ve pulled a rope here and there, or acted in secrecy considering his sudden drop of position in the band, to have gotten into this studio– and bringing you no less.

The people he referred to as Nameless Ghouls stare at you, and you back at them. You can imagine the confusion they must be going through.

Then the man of the hour reappears with a clap of hands, dressed up in an outfit resembling a suit, and his previous remark at Mr. Whiskers suddenly comes back to you, finally making sense.

A concert– or a ritual, as he put it, he promised and one he delivers.

A ghoul begins playing his guitar in sync with the drums, as two of them walk to stand at their both sides and with a sudden stomp of foot, they all play in, in a fashion you can describe as ‘ knocking the wind out of your lungs .’

Only when Terzo’s singing, and soon the instruments coming to a stop that you realize you've been holding your breath the whole time. And quickly find out you may as well die due to lack of oxygen by the time the day comes to an end if they only keep up this momentum.

One song after another, they captivate you gradually. Be it the way the ghouls play or the way Terzo moves as he sings, radiating with energy. Walking around and messing up with one another, bothering each other at times– it all creates the illusion of a found family.

Briefly moving his hand, the ghouls pick acoustic guitars once another song comes to an end.

After each song he tells its name and some information– or funny memories he finds important you know.

With a signal of his hand, the ghouls switch to acoustic guitars and Terzo begins humming: “a one, a two, three, and four.“

With a move of his hand, they all enter the song.

One hand in a fist, resting against his hip and the other in front of him, he sways his hips softly as he sings.

It doesn’t miss your attention how some of his moves arent as innocent or random as they seem– when he brings his other hand to join the stray one, hoisting them up in the air as if holding something, or how after he holds the microphone with one hand and violates the poor stand with his fingers. Hands thrown into the air and shaking in the air as a ta-da once in a while, he takes a step back to point at one of the ghouls’ playing.

The song comes to an end and you think you’ve done good so far– then he decides to announce that the song is called Jigolo Har Meggido and you burst into laughter, leaving the men in the room utterly confused.

It takes several minutes for you to gather yourself, wipe away the tears all the while ignoring Terzo hovering over you with concern, unsure whether to approach you or leave you be in your violent laughter.

“I’m sorry-” your words die in your throat as another wave of laughter takes over again, “it’s just-” hand clutching over your stomach, you do your best to look up, “you do re-”, meeting his face only makes you laugh again.

A tap on your shoulder distracts you a little. Taking the water bottle one of the ghouls have brought to you, in your frenzy you didn’t even realize him leaving, you take a few sips to calm your nerves.

“I know you’re flirty and all, but witnessing you calling yourself a manwhore caught me off guard.”

Definitely not something worth laughing to that extent over, Terzo doesn’t say a word and instead flashes you a toothy grin.

“You’d be surprised to hear it was his brother who wrote this song.” you hear someone say, the same ghoul from before.

“Ah!” Terzo waves a hand dismissively in the air, “enough talk of that geezer. Now , what do you say to a grammy winning original?”

The ghouls slowly begin as Terzo walks back, their eyes on him and his hands, watching every move and tilt, following his guidance. Compared to the other songs they’ve played so far, this one comes off much softer, gentler, making you wonder what will come next.

Raising both hands in the air as if in praise, the ghouls all stop and silence takes over, waiting, and with his signal, they enter the song, picking up stronger than where they left off.

The melody matches the lyrics somewhat, the impression of a thunder, it builds up and carries smoothly.

He begins singing what you assume to be the second verse, drawing closer to you at a steady pace. His voice becomes the only thing you hear as the instruments falter and die out, quietening one by one. The microphone now held in his left, his right hand reaches out to hold yours, bringing it up near his face as he keeps singing: “ Can't you see that you're lost without me?”

And with it, they all reenter the song with a bang, your hand still in his, Terzo kisses the back of it in between lyrics and steps back to his initial position.

Drumming his fingers in the air, swaying them at the direction of either of the ghouls, they all circle around the keyboard playing ghoul as the song shifts into an instrumental part.

Eyes never leaving theirs, especially not his, not when he makes sure to lock his with you, you watch the entire performance almost in a trance, mind going blank.

When the song ends, you can see his expectant looks on you, already beaming with whatever compliment he’s positive you’ll be giving him.

So you decide to pick the teasing route.

“It was nice.” he stares at you, his face clearly showing he wasn’t waiting to hear that. “Nice?..”

Humming in affirmation, you nod your head. “Yeah, nice.” tilting your head to the side, you speak up, “ Say , this helps you get some?”

The man stands there, blinking at you for what feels like eternity.

The ghouls in a similar stance, though you’re sure you’ve heard one of them snort, and another snicker.

The eternity ends with a shake of his head and a faint smile on his face. “Yes, sorella , it helps me …get plenty actually.” he uses your phrase.

“Well,” he clicks his tongue as he places the microphone back to its place, “if it’s a …meretricious song you desire, how about I give you,” his pace of speaking slows down, as if holding his breath, waiting for imaginary drum rolls: “Mummy Dust!” He drags the words in a low grumble, shaking his hands in the air once again.

From how he starts swaying and moving his hips, you immediately recognize the song.

As Terzo begins singing, the sound of a door opening and clicking close reach your ears and when you twist halfway in your seat, you see a man with pencil stache dressed up in black, his hat partially resembling a bat, same painted eyes and upper lip like Terzo yet lacking the rest of the face paint.

The man stills in place when he sees you, only gets his feet to move again when you pat the vacant spot near you.

Whispering greetings back and forth, you immediately remember his name.

“Ah you’re the Cardinal!” Your voice comes out a tad more excited than expected. The man on the other hand seems confused as to how you know him already.

“How are your rats? Happy, I hope. I am so sorry, I never got the chance to apologize to you or to them because of Mr. Whiskers.” The words leave your lips in a breath, leaving the man dumbfounded, repeating your cat’s name in confusion and unaware,

“ah, I-, my most sincere apologies, who?..”

“Mr. Whiskers, my cat, didn't Terzo t- oh.” Unfortunately the mention of a cat before you can stop makes his eyes go wide, and you try your best to assure him that your cat didnt even set foot into his room, somewhat calming the anxious man down.

The music on the other hand, as well as the singing, gets louder and a tad more aggressive.

Probably unhappy with how your attention was led somewhere other than him. So needy and grumpy, spoiled like a cat.

“Uh, we can save our discussing for after the song?” Cardinal suggests, to which you nod. “I'd hate to impose on this- uh, special performance his excellency was displaying for you.” He says, coughing on his words at the way Terzo moves.

“Its alright Cardinal. I was given a demonstration of this song already, I am not missing out on anything.”

Again, you must’ve said something wrong, because instead of relaxing, the Cardinal’s face tenses up and goes bright red.

“ Oh !” You wince, “poor choice of words on my behalf. That's not what I meant.” You try to offer an explanation with a sheepish smile, but to no avail.

At least Terzo looks quite pleased with the interaction, as clear from the smug expression taking over his face.

The previous incident– goes unaddressed between the two of you but the air between doesnt waver.

Still, it must have triggered some sort of change, you conclude, as Terzo’s texting habits only evolve into a different stage.

Sure, it went for quite a while that the initial purpose of exchanging numbers was abandoned yet he still possessed control, a sense of self restraint, when texting you.

Definitely the absolute opposite of whatever it is going on as of now.

Maybe you’ve spoiled him too much, your brain reaches another conclusion as the lips on your skin snap that thought in the middle, pulling you back into reality.

You still don’t visit him as regular as to say daily, or even biweekly– so you hold onto the benefit of doubt that he has absolutely no way of knowing youre busy trying to have a nice night, focused on pleasure and the feeling of euphoria–

Another vibrating sound against your nightstand cuts into the air, your sceeen lightning up right after.

You ignore it only so far until you find yourself scrolling and typing up a reply, the light coming from the screen reflecting against you and the man you’ve forgotten about already.

As you smile at his newest text, hearing that stupid whining of his voice and the pout, someone next to you clears his throat, snapping you back.

“Anything I should know about?” He only asks and in all honesty , you cannot blame the guy. You’d have reaches into equally ugly assumptions, were this to happen to you.

But it didnt, and it isn’t right now, so its only a little too late that you put yourself in his shoes.

“Nope.” You say, walking up to your bookshelf and placing the phone screen down, “just a friend.”

The guy hums, sounding skeptical but doesn't pry.

You give him the benefit of the doubt but few too many repeats and you know it's intentional.

You did spoil him too much it seems.

Another afternoon by his side, you're sitting on the window sill, one leg tucked under yourself, he is busy on the other side of the room, who knows what he is preparing this time.

“Wine?” he turns on his heel, holding a glass and the bottle’s neck tilted slightly already.

“None for me, thank you.”

Eyebrows raised in curiosity, a scheming expression takes over. “Ooh? Any plans for tonight?” He inquires. You don’t need to know that he is dreading the confirmation that'll leave your lips.

“I guess,” you shrug, turning to look outside the window, “promised Steve we’d spend the night together.”

Heavy silence spreads from your words and takes over the room.

The teasing remarks signature to his natural charm never comes and you turn your head to see if he even heard you in the first place… or left the room before you spoke… or somehow passed out in silence as you spoke.

Your worries ease upon seeing him standing there, still, not even a muscle moved from his last position, unreadable eyes staring at you.

Only when you tilt your head towards, asking ‘what’s wrong?’ and only then he snaps out of whatever trance he was in, coughs and tried to laugh it off with a ‘ have fun’ , pouring himself a glass.

Unbelievable.

Discreetly taking a sip from his wine to distract himself doesn't do much to ease him and the now unimpressed look you're giving him makes even the wine taste bitter on his tongue.

“Wh-“ “you are unbelievable.”

Okay, you don't just seem pissed, disappointed?, something definitely negative; you sound like it too.

“For wishing my friend a fun night?” And with a guy he has never heard you mention before– the word friend stings to say. “I’m sure Steve is a good gu-“ “ Again,” you dont let him finish, “you are unbelievable, absolutely childish and overall a great idiot.”

Okay now you're just being mean. A scowl makes its way to his face before he can even notice, making you shake your head in disbelief like a mother scolding her kids with a smile.

“If youre done with the insults cara,” he says and raises his glass, appearing pissed and upset as he downs the glass.

“Terzo, you met Steve.” His head snaps up at your words. “Steve?“ you repeat in question, “Steve Whiskers?” ‘ ring any bells? ’ He can hear you say in following–

The faint smile of yours slowly evolve in a giggle as you watch the gears turn in his head and finally connect the two and two together.

“The cat?!” His voice comes out louder than he meant to, suddenly straightening up and wiping invisible dust off his clothes, he clears his throat.

“Excuse me for my sudden input of volume.” You reply with a smile, “Send my best regards to Mr. Whiskers.”

You see the ghouls around few more times you're in the perimeter, as well as the scary woman from before.

Sitting in the gardens with Terzo again one warm afternoon and she passes in the distance, her eye catching sight of you no doubt.

Jumping in your stead, you rush to where she is. Terzo watches as you speak with more animatic gestures, Sister remaining stoic as always. You bring a hand up to scratch your head in unease, then holding out a box of sorts. As you are about to turn, he sees your body beam , most likely at something Sister has said as she walks away.

You pattle back to where he waits, trying to contain a big smile and pulling out few cookies from behind in surprise. Just as he does with anything else you offer, he devours the cookies, making sure to express his gratitude and worship before and after.

You settle back next to him, laughing at the way he acts as he ignores the crumbs on his thighs, resting your head against his shoulder and relaxing.

Yet you never tell him what it was Sister Imperator has said to you that got you in high spirits; not then, not later.

When you wake up with the sunlight grazing your face from the wrong direction, your first instinct is to return to sleep.

Having falling asleep by Terzo's side a reasonable amount of times now, it feels just as comfortable as your room. Despite his chest not being as soft as your pillow, the comfort of his mattress easily beating yours makes up for the loss.

Just as a content smile makes its way to your lips and you, more than eager to return to sleep, the situation of now sinks in and you can feel the warmth drain from your entire body.

Sure, this is not the first time you've found yourself falling asleep here, even in his arms, limbs tangled up no less; but all those instances contain one huge difference from the predicament you find yourself in now and it is last night.

Maybe you should pretend to stay asleep until he is summoned for anything, but the chances of this are dangerously slim. The light coming from between the curtains doesn't burn into your eyes just yet so it must still be fairly early, maybe you can sneak out before he can return from the land of dreaming. But that'd would leave bigger problems for future you and frankly? future you has gotten sick of your 'dancing around with nothing acknowledged' bullshit.

You take a deep breath, and shut your eyes further– hey perhaps they'll glue themselves together from how tight your muscles are contracting and with your sudden admittance to the hospital and the emergencu of the entire situation, it'll all get forgo–

A sudden noise stops your entire thought process crashing. A trainwreck, yes that's what this is.

Sucking a sharp breathe in, you think 'now or never', suck it up once and face on with courage.

Creaking one eye open and meeting Terzo's eyes on yours, every single muscle in his face loosened and his expression what you can only describe as to be 'at peace', all your anxiety from bare seconds ago gets washed down the drain.

And for the first time in a long while, you allow yourself to relax, fully, and bask in whatever the future– and he, along with it, will offer you.

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copiousloverofcopia · 2 months

Note

No ask, just super excited for more young nihil fic!

I hear you Ghestie... and I have wonderful news.

As a special VALENTINE'S DAY/LUPERCALIA treat I present to you all the first chapter of my fic featuring the original Emeritus Cassanova, YOUNG PAPA NIHIL!

Here it is......................

Glitter Wasn't Gold

Nihil Emeritus is the only born son of Papa Inizio Emeritus, head of the Satanic Church. When his father fails ill, it is decided that he shall ascend as Papa but only after making a promise to carry on the Emeritus bloodline.

Chapter 1: Duty of the Son

Also available HERE on AO3!

Read below the cut!

He could hear the bell ringing as he approached the Abbey. Knowing all too well, what it's chiming signified. The days were drawing closer and closer to the time when Papa Inizio Emeritus would pass. A time when his only son Nihil, would rise in his place to become the leader of the Ministry.

Nihil was only 18 years old and still had a whole lot of life and learning ahead of him. Conceived in his father’s twilight years, he was hardly the type someone would expect to lead the church. An impetuous and reckless child at the best of times, his only saving grace as he grew up was that he was Inizio’s son. Constantly causing trouble for all those who crossed his path.

The black cat of the Ministry. Known to bring with him a bit of bad luck and an air of mischief. He had been abroad in the Americas for a few years, when the Ministry summoned him back. Nihil knew instantly, from the moment he saw the seal of the letter, what was inside. His time to ascend to the Miter was now.

When he entered the Abbey, two suitcases in either hand, he was guided by the familiar walls of Luciferian tapestries towards the grand staircase. His senses overwhelmed with the nostalgic scent of ash and frankincense. The sounds of chattering, filling his ears as he stepped closer and closer to the floor of the Papal suites. Stopping just outside the last massive oak door at the end of the hall that led to his father’s chambers.

Before Nhil could knock, he was beckoned inside. Rows of bishops and cardinals were there to greet him as he stepped into the room. Towards the shadowy figure that lay tucked into his father’s canopy bed. To Nihil, it might as well have been a courtroom. Knowing that the second he walked inside he was being judged.

Capturing all the eyes of men Nihil had known his whole life—secretly doubting him, patronizing him to his father’s face. All the while knowing how much they disapproved of him. How much they all wished to be in charge in his place. The position Nihil was born into, felt deserved as the next Emeritus in line for ascension.

As he stepped up to the bedside, looking down at the once powerful man who ruled the Ministry, he was taken back. Feeling nothing but pity inside him. Staring at this man who once commanded the strongest of armies behind the scenes, revered as the highest of ghoul summoners—now was but a pile of skin and bones. Wasting away into the nothingness from which he came.

“Nihil… Nihil is that you?” Inizio asked, unable to fully open his eyes. Coughing so ferociously that Nihil thought he would die right then and there. The sound of it echoing through the room and into the corridor. A sound that would haunt Nihil for the rest of his days.

“Yes, I’m here.” Nihil replied. Taking a seat beside his father on the bed. His father, trying his best to sit upright to greet him. Helped by Cardinal Angelo, a respected family friend who had helped a great deal with Nihil in his childhood. Keeping his more distasteful antics under the rug from otherwise prying eyes.

“My son. I have not long for this world. There is no time left…so I want you to pay very close attention.” he told him. At that moment all of the other clergymen in the room began listening intently. Waiting for what would inevitably be said. The tension was thick within the air. So thick that Nihil felt the need to clear his throat. Need to loosen up his black clerical collar, leaning in to hear better.

“Go on.” he urged his father.

“I will not let you be Papa.” Inizio began.

With his words the room suddenly erupted with gasps and widened eyes. All the cardinals and bishops, wondering to themselves who among them would be chosen as Papa, if not the only remaining Emeritus son. If one of them would receive the cursed eye—a gift given to the Emeritus descendents by Lucifer himself. Proof of his favor for them to rule on Earth in his stead.

“What?” he asked, anger fuming inside him. Standing up from the bed, ready to strangle the feeble old man right where he lay.

“If you do not ascend, all will be stripped from you. Your title as cardinal, your wealth—your power. You will live your life as a simple man.” his father continued. As if this unsettling turn of events weren't enough the thought of losing his only real interest in the Ministry, wealth and power, infuriated him. Realizing he was to lose all hope of phoning in his rule, while reaping the benefits when he replied.

“You can’t be serious. It is my right. I am your only son.” Nihil hissed. The room, waiting with bated breath for Inizio’s response.

“That you are…and the only way figlio that I will allow you to take the Miter is if you agree to take on a Prime Mover.”

“You gotta be joking? Cardinal Angelo are you in on this?” Nihil laughed nervously, but it was clear that his father was indeed serious.

“It is no joke Nihil, your father is quite certain in this. There will be no changing his mind.” Cardinal Angelo assured him. Nihil began to panic inside. Feeling the cold sweat dripping down the small of his back. His black shirt, beginning to stick at his spine. His heart, racing.

“And if I refuse?” he asked. His father, coughing hard before he was able to speak again. Nihil, silently taking note of the blood staining his father's neckerchief.

“Allora sarai fuori sul tuo culo, piccola merda ingrata!” Inizio said, coughing once more before Cardinal Angelo came to help adjust him in bed. The coughing fit raging for what seems an eternity. His father's mouth, covered in blood and spittle. “You would disgrace the family name. I would rather someone else take up the Miter than have you tarnish it with your selfishness.” he growled.

“Father I—” Nihil began, cut off by his father lunging unexpectedly towards him. A raised skeletal finger in Nihil's face.

“No… you will meet with Sorella Violetta at once.”

“You mean…”

“Shh…she has been chosen for you as a suitable match. Nihil you will take her as your Prime Mover and you will do as your position requires of you and that is FINAL! Angelo, get him out of my face.” Papa Inizio said, waving away as he began coughing once more. The group of cardinals, led by Cardinal Angelo, taking Nihil away from his sight.

Nihil was dragged down the hall by them. Knowing just how much these fools, these false prophets must be enjoying his dissension. Smiles on their pious faces and whispers of amusement on their tongue. Nihil, continuing to whine and struggling against them as they walked.

As they reached the end of the hall, Cardinal Angelo signaled for them to let Nihil go. The group, dropping him to the ground, his body thudding against the floor. Angelo dismissed the others, allowing them to return back to Papa Inizio’s bedside. Hoping that he could talk to Nihil alone. Angelo, slapping him across the face, gaining his attention and effectively stopping the young Emeritus’s sniveling in its tracks.

“What is the matter with you? Pull yourself together or you shame your family even now.” Cardinal Angelo snapped, rubbing his sore hand, reddened cracking off Nihil’s face. Nihil himself, wiggling around his jaw to make sure it hadn’t dislocated from the impact. A loud pop, heard as it dropped into place.

“That fucking hurt, you Stronzo!” he yelled at him. Rubbing his jaw and his white eye burning with fury.

“Good, maybe now you will pay attention and stop acting like a fucking child.”

“I am no child Angelo… though he will never see me as anything other than—”

“Stop your insolence. You can pity party for yourself another time. Now you must do as he says and quickly.”

“Now?”

“Now or…or I am to take your place if you do not do as you are told.” Angelo confessed. Looking around to make sure that no one else had heard him.

“You?”

“Sí, do you really want that? Are you that fucking stupid?” Cardinal Angelo asked him. Nihil paused, taking a moment to suck in a deep breath through his nose, then exhaling slowly from his pursed lips. Trying his best to regain some modicum of composure. This wasn’t what he wanted, but he had no other choice. If he didn’t agree he’d be no better than a sibling–if that.

“You’re right.” he began, spitting out a bit of blood that had pooled within his mouth. “I don’t want anyone else taking what is mine.”

“Good, then you'll come with me.” Cardinal Angelo insisted, holding a hand out to help Nihil get up. Nihil stood up, refusing his hand, grunting as his sore body lifted from the floor. Working quickly to brush himself off a bit before they continued on their way to wherever Angelo would lead them.

“You are a stubborn ass, you know that?” Cardinal Angelo remarked. Nihil let out a half hearted chuckle.

“Always.” He replied. The two of them, remaining quiet for the rest of the walk. Only the sounds of footfalls on the marble titles between them. When they finally arrived at the chapel doors.

“Here? Why?” Nihil asked him.

“In the chapel, Sister Violetta waits for you. You know what you need to do.” Cardinal Angelo explained. Nihil nodded his head, his palm placed on the door as he took in another deep breath. Pushing it open slowly to see the dimly lit room. His eyes zeroing in on the only thing he could see.

Down the nave, illuminated in candlelight was a woman. Adorned in a long black lace veil, quietly waiting in the pews. Her face turned away. Her hands brought up in prayer as she looked to grucifix.

“Here goes nothing.” Nihil whispered under his breath as he approached her. Cardinal Angelo watching silently from the doorway.

As he got closer, the sister remained still. Her unintelligible words of prayer whispered between her and Lucifer. When he finally reached her pew, he could see just how beautiful she wasl. Her smooth olive skin and luxurious dark hair, tucked beneath her veil. Beautiful brown eyes, blanketed in lush lashes. A natural beauty–no makeup on her that Nihil could discern. He was thrilled that if someone had to be picked out for him, at least they chose someone he would approve.

“Good evening sorella.” he said, waiting patiently for her response. He was surprised when she smiled, but not the innocent smile of a naive virgin. No—this was a smile of a woman who was in no way clouded by his position or his charm. A woman who was intelligent, self assured–seeing right through him even before he spoke.

“Good evening Cardinal.” Violetta responded, calmly turning to face him. Nihil was beginning to feel a bit threatened by her, however more so intrigued. She seemed to disarm him from the minute he sat down. He was fascinated by her already.

“Well now. Not sure how much you've been told but it seems you and I are supposed to get to know each other… seeing as they expect us to—”

“I am well aware of the expectations. You won’t get any push back from me.” Violetta told him.

“Is that so?” He asked, curious that she'd answered in such a calm, collected way. No emotion that he was used to dodging when it came to the more feminine type.

“I make no mistake in thinking this is anything other than a diplomatic relationship.”

“I see.” Nihil responded, surprised once again by her candor.

“There is no need for you to pretend you love me. We are both only doing this for the church—the Ministry.” she told him, the smile from her face falling into a thin straight line. Nihil began chuckling to himself, sitting back against the pew and putting his arm around Violetta. She stared over her shoulder at his hand, as it rested on her, with an expression of acceptance–seeming to resolve herself to the situation.

“Fine with me doll face. Glad we are on the same page.”

Notes:

Allora sarai fuori sul tuo culo, piccola merda ingrata.- Then you will be out on your ass, you ungrateful little shit.

#you asked I answered #Glitter Wasn't Gold #young nihil x sisters of sin #young Nihil #nihil #papa nihil #sister of sin ocs #Sister Imperator #young sister imperator #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

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hazellovesnuts · 8 months

Text

Waltzing under the twinkling lights Part 1

Milady de Winter x Princess!Reader 🗡️

╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲╱╲❀╱╲

Part 2

Eva Green & Characters one shots Collection

╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝❀╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗

Milady's POV

╚⏤⏤⏤⏤╗❀╔⏤⏤⏤⏤╝

It is beyond my wildest dreams to think that I would develop strong feelings for a princess of royal heritage. However, it is equally unimaginable for me to fathom the path I have taken, where I have ascended to become one of the most infamous and one of the most notorious spies in all of Europe either.

Throughout my eventful existence, I have adopted the captivating name of Milady de Winter and experienced a remarkably unconventional upbringing. Hailing from a humble background, my family's financial status was far from prosperous, compelling me to rely solely on my own resourcefulness. However, the means by which I sustained myself were often far from lawful, prompting me to adopt multiple aliases to shield my true identity from prying eyes. The harsh realities of my circumstances forced me to acquire the necessary survival skills, and I swiftly honed my abilities to navigate the treacherous paths of life. It was precisely this unparalleled skill set that captured the attention of none other than the infamous Cardinal Richelieu himself, even during my formative adolescent years.

Richelieu enlisted me as a covert operative or a spy under his command, and my talents propelled me up the ladder of success within his ranks. I proved to be exceptionally skilled at my assigned duties, executing them with precision and efficiency. However, even amidst my accomplishments, an indescribable void permeated my existence, as if my very being was an incomplete puzzle yearning for that one elusive piece to bring it to fruition. The nagging sensation of something missing plagued me ceaselessly, leaving me perplexed and disoriented. That was when I attended the ball that I happened to lay my eyes on what or should I say who that missing puzzle is.

And there she stood, the princess herself, radiating elegance as she shared a moment of pure joy with her companions. I couldn't help but be transfixed by her graceful presence and the genuine happiness that emanated from her. It was at that very instant when our eyes met for the first time, and I was instantly captivated by the sparkle in her eyes and the warmth of her smile. Princess Y/N stood out from the crowd in a way that was truly remarkable. Her exceptional kindness, intelligence, and carefree spirit set her apart from anyone I had ever crossed paths with before. In all honesty, I found myself yearning to possess even a fraction of her admirable qualities. Our fateful encounter occurred unexpectedly at a grand ball, where the elite and noble figures of society had gathered. As I mingled with the well-heeled attendees, indulging in a glass of rich red wine, my ears were suddenly captivated by a burst of melodious laughter that seemed to float through the air. It was a sound so enchanting and delightful that it irresistibly beckoned me closer, drawing me toward its source.

The woman looked absolutely stunning, clad in a magnificent red dress adorned with intricate gold threadwork. It was evident that her father, being the king, had spared no expense in providing her with the finest jewellery, which only added to her allure. Her hair was expertly arranged in a half-up, half-down hairstyle, with a few loose strands gracefully framing her exquisite face.

In a state of trance, my gaze became fixated on her, unable to tear my eyes away. There was an inexplicable longing within me, a desire to become acquainted with her, to be in close proximity. It was then that I observed her companions dispersing, likely seeking to engage in social interactions with other members of the nobility. Driven by an uncontrollable force, I approached her, yearning for the smallest exchange of words.

As I approached her highness, I couldn't help but feel a surge of anticipation coursing through my veins. The moment she caught sight of me, I made sure to convey my utmost reverence by gracefully curtsying before her. With bated breath, I greeted her in a tone of deference, "Good evening, your Highness. Allow me to introduce myself as Milady de Winter." A whirlwind of emotions churned within me as I struggled to contain my excitement. Even though I had lived a life shrouded in secrecy as a spy, there was something about her that made me feel jittery, completely enthralled by her regal presence.

Princess Y/N smiled warmly at me, her eyes full of curiosity. "Good evening, my lady. I don't think we've had the pleasure of meeting before. Are you new to the court?”

Her voice sounds so angelic, although I quickly returned her smile before I got lost in my mind, hoping to conceal the whirlwind of emotions stirring within me. "Indeed, your highness. I have recently arrived, and it is truly an honor to be in your presence. Your beauty and grace are renowned throughout the kingdom."

Her cheeks flushed ever so slightly, you wouldn't notice unless you are very observant which I am considering I am a spy and I'm confident I had managed to make her blush. "Oh, you flatter me, Milady. But do tell me, what brings you to court? Are you here for a specific purpose?"

I glanced around, making sure no prying ears were nearby, before leaning in slightly. "I'm afraid I cannot disclose the details, your highness. Let's just say I serve a higher authority, and my role is to ensure the safety and security of the kingdom."

Princess Y/N's eyes widened with curiosity, her interest piqued. "How intriguing! A secret agent in our midst. You must have quite the stories to tell."

I chuckled, the sound escaping before I could stop myself. "Indeed, your highness. But I'm afraid my tales are not fit for a royal setting. Perhaps someday, in private, I can regale you with the tales of my adventures."

Her smile grew mischievous, and I knew she was enjoying our conversation. "I shall hold you to that, Milady. It would be a delight to hear your stories."

As the night continued, we talked and laughed about anything and everything, engaging in a light-hearted conversation. Princess Y/N possessed a quick wit and an inquisitive mind, making the hours fly by in a haze of laughter and shared moments. Time seemed to stand still, and for the first time in my life, I felt a sense of belonging.

As the music slowed and a waltz began, Princess Y/N turned to me with a spark of mischief in her eyes. "Milady, would you honor me with a dance?"

I couldn't help but be taken aback by her request, my heart skipping a beat. "Princess, it would be my utmost pleasure," I replied with a graceful bow.

As we moved together around the ballroom, our steps were perfectly in sync, as if we were made for each other. The world around us faded into the background, and it felt as though it was just the two of us.

As we danced, our conversation continued, and we shared our dreams, ambitions, and secrets. The more we spoke, the deeper our connection grew. It was as if the puzzle pieces of my life were slowly falling into place.

Princess Y/N looked at me intently, her eyes filled with warmth. "Milady, there is something different about you. You have this air of independence and mystery, yet there is also a vulnerability that draws me in. I feel like there is more to you than what meets the eye. You intrigue me so much."

I hesitated for a moment, my heart pounding in my chest. "Your Highness, I have spent my life hiding behind different names and identities. But with you, I feel like I can finally be myself. In your presence, I feel accepted and understood."

Her hand gently squeezed mine, and a tender smile graced her lips. "Milady, I see the strength and resilience within you. I believe there is a world of possibilities for us if we are willing to take a chance."

And at that moment, as we finished waltzing under the twinkling lights, Princess Y/N took my hand and led me to the gardens where no one was around. We kept our conversation while walking around the garden. This leads to us here in front of the fountain where we both held such intense eye contact. She looked into my eyes and for just a second her gaze lowered to my lips and so did mine. We started leaning closer to each other and before I knew it. Her soft lips were on mine and I knew that at this moment I had found the missing piece to my puzzle.

And so, we began our clandestine romance. It wasn't easy, of course. There were always guards around, and we had to be careful not to be caught. But we managed it, meeting in secret gardens and hidden alcoves. It was exhilarating, and I felt alive in a way I never had before. Princess Y/N was the light and love I never knew I needed, and together, we would navigate the mysteries of life, side by side.

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I have not yet watched "Les Trois Mousquetaires: D'artagnan" because it is only available in selected countries so I'm going to be basing Milady's background on what I think her background could have been and why she turned out to be like that. I'll leave the part where Milady and Athos are married cause Y/N is gonna come to the picture (though I do ship them a lot because of BBC's musketeers, go check it out if you haven't it's really good.)

Also, this is requested by Scarlett274973 (Wattpad), thank you for requesting 🩷

Also sorry for not updating any more oneshots since the last update. I haven't been feeling well and have had headaches and my body just doesn't want to sleep though I'm so tired and I also felt like throwing up but I'm getting better. Anyways, don't forget to drink your water lovelies and stay hydrated.

Edit (08/18/2023):

This is originally published on wattpad I also have a few other Eva Green and Characters one shots on my book in wattpad. I posted the very first one shot here and put the link on it. I'm going to publish this one shot here for now since wattpad is acting up and won't let me publish any updates. Thanks for understanding.

-Zel

#eva green #eva green x reader #milady de winter #the three musketeers #les trois mousquetaires #Milady de Winter x Reader

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blackswaneuroparedux · 11 months

Photo

Lord Chalfont tells a story about his days as a Junior Minister in the Foreign Office. He attended a very grand dinner party, and spotted a lady standing alone in a long red dress. The besotted Chalfont staggered across to ask if she would waltz with him. The lady drew herself up: "I will not waltz with you for three reasons. First this is not a waltz, it is the Czech national anthem. Second, you are drunk. My third and greatest objection is that I am the Cardinal Archbishop of Prague".

- Auberon Waugh, Diaries (2 May 1976)

The story could well be authentically true. A variation of this story was more usually told about Lord Chalfont’s then boss, the Foreign Secretary George Brown in Prime Minister in Harold Wilson’s government in the late 1960s. Chalfont - born Alun Gwynn Jones - was a decorated soldier (a Military Cross recipient due to his bravery in action and especially a hand-to-hand firefight with communist guerrillas in Malaysia in 1957) and a notable defence correspondent with the London Times before being tapped for Defence Minister in 1964 by Harold Wilson. He was placed in charge of Britain’s negotiations to join the European Common Market. An ancillary task was to prevent the frequently inebriated foreign secretary George Brown from embarrassing the government.

George Brown is long forgotten figure in British politics but in those days he was notorious as Harold Wilson’s drunk and touchy Deputy Prime Minister. He was always falling over and/or shooting his mouth off. He had a long standing drinking problem that was obvious whenever the made television appearances. Brown, indeed, once boasted that, “Many members of parliament drink and womanise - now, I've never womanised.”

Chalfont was the source of the famous story of Brown requesting a dance from a scarlet-clad figure at a reception who turned out to be a cardinal. Only in this telling it was a ball where the Peruvian national anthem was being played and not a waltz and it was the archbishop of Lima that the drunkenly Brown asked for a dance. It was this latter story which - fanned by Chalfont and others - which became apocryphal amongst Foreign Office diplomats and the diplomatic dinner circuit for decades to come. Whatever the truth it’s a stonking good story to break the ice at any dinner party.

Photo: George Brown, British Foreign Secretary, showing his diplomartic moves on the dance floor, 1967.

#waugh #auberon waugh #quote #diaries #wit #lord chalfont #george brown #foreign secretary #british politics #politics #foreign office

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ms-m-astrologer · 7 months

Text

2023 Aries Full Moon

Friday, September 29, 09:58 UT, 6°00’ Aries Chart erected for Washington, DC

The key phrases for the Full lunar phase are “culminate, illumine, fulfill, manifest;” and “pour all your energy into your intention(s).”

There is a Cardinal grand cross going on: the Libra Sun opposes the Aries Moon, of course; they’re both square each end of the Vesta/Cancer - Pholus Rx/Capricorn opposition. It’s really crucial to stick with what we’ve started - we mustn’t go chasing off after some new shiny object, but stay the course with what we already have started. The Aries Moon prefers to work alone (I should know, I was born with one) - the Libra Sun can be diplomatic and pleasant, its social skills helping us not to alienate everyone - Vesta in Cancer is focused and devoted to her goals - and Pholus in Capricorn helps us navigate important turning points in our lives.

With Mars (ruler of the Aries North Node as well as the Aries Moon) closing in on a conjunction with the Libra South Node, we find ourselves dealing with passive-aggression, “going along to get along,” &/or dependency issues. These could seem to pop up “all of a sudden;” but when we have time to process what happens, we realize the events had been simmering for some time.

Venus in Leo rules all that Libra. She’s exactly conjunct Juno, putting us into an uxurious frame of mind. We could be very overbearing, though, trying to get our own way with a personal vision/idea of Perfect Love. Unfortunately, other people don’t have to go along docilely with whatever our egos and vanity have plotted. Other people get to have free will, too.

#Astrology #2023 Aries Full Moon #Ms M astrologer

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tgrailwar-zero · 10 months

Note

Hey Avenger, just wanted to say thanks again. You're the best, I knew we made the right choice supporting you back then. Anyway, we would love to take you with us, but if you don't want to, that's fine. Take one more kiss as a farewell gift?

"Yeah, yeah. I'll miss you idiots too. Take care, watch your backs, and stay safe. I don't want to see your butts again until you've won. And... don't worry about the Admin. Sure, I'll probably get punished horribly for it but, well... you know my whole deal. Pain and torture is nothin' new. Now--"

He surged with magical energy, holding his hands out.

"Let silver and steel be the essence. Let stone and the archduke of contracts be the foundation Let the blackened Grail be the artifact I pay tribute to. Let rise a wall against the wind that shall fall Let the four cardinal gates close. Let the three-forked road from the crown reaching unto the Kingdom rotate."

"I hereby declare; Their will creates your body, and your sword creates their destiny. Submit to the beckoning of the Cursed Grail If you will submit to this will and this reason…Then answer my call!"

"From the Seventh Heaven, attended to by three greet words of power, Come forth from the ring of restraints, protector of the Holy Balance!"

The Command Seals burned. They were new. Different.

Different Command Spells. Different bonds. Different experiences. A different chapter in this journey.

A new chapter.

Though there wasn't much time to ruminate on them and that before--

Thunder clapped, ripping the clouds in the sky asunder, as a hole was ripped in the heavens.

In less poetic terms...

The sky exploded as you were shoved back into the war.

Clearly, subtlety wasn't... entirely on the table.

A figure hurtled from above like a shooting star. It plummeted downwards through the sunset sky, arms flailing at first before they settled, adjusting the trajectory and quickly making calculations as they steered away from the city, landing in the plains- far from civilization.

The crash was obscenely loud, disturbing the rest of any living creature within several miles.

A smaller crash to the one that killed the dinosaurs, luckily.

And one survivable by the Servant, as they crawled out of the crater, the movements alien and spider-like at first before twitching and adjusting to more careful, humanoid posture.

Data integration.

Atmosphere. Strata. Temperature. Air speed. Oxygen levels. They all reading as normal, no obvious flaws or variations, perfect consistency. Too perfect for the natural world. A simulacrum. Digital. Virtual. Theoretical, yet reality.

More data being carefully taken in, as jade eyes darted back and forth, pinpricks of light emitting from the heavy dust cloud. The mind of an invader. A foreign presence. Intense, predatory, merciless, as the light reflected back and was transmitted into more useful data. The running of the water, the crests of the hills, a presence.

Magical energy. A tether. Cross referencing data, 'Ghost Liner'. Servant. A Servant, which meant--

Contact. Quickly cross-referencing data. Key words. 'Wizards'. 'Magi'. 'Masters'.

Contact. Language. Communication. Physical communication. No way to touch with the physical, so one needed to use their voice and their eyes. Vocal communication. Visual communication. Proclamations of peace. Friendliness. Openness.

Contact.

Colloquialisms, 'first impressions'. If this was a simulacrum of Earth, then such things would be logical. The importance of one's first words.

True Name, KUKULKAN. Related items; QUETZALCOATL, Q'UQ'UMATZ, ITZANMA.

The clothes changed, as quick as the dust settled. The Servant, giving a loose, wild wave and a toothy, cheerful grin, spoke.

"Hello, world!"

#thgw story #thgw: chapter 4 #main post

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bouncykhotchillipeppers · 1 year

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a short nct johnny birth chart reading (cross-posted from twitter)!

disclaimer: i do not know him personally, no harm intended, and others may interpret it differently. this is all for fun! please be nice as i don’t know nct super well. please do not repost or steal my work.

now, on to the fun stuff.

my first reaction was just…oh. that’s why. THAT is why he’s like this. the sheer, absolute, utter chaos inside of him. sorry to this man. the best way i can describe him is a cynical dreamer. completely out of pocket. very chill yet extremely uptight about certain things. his entire chart is a walking contradiction. let’s break this down.

the first thing i will focus on is his aquarius mercury rx in 5H because that is his chart ruler. a…backwards thinker, if you will. he’s that out of the box person who asks the weirdest questions in your biology class about, like, “since it’s theoretically possible, blah blah blah.” ACTUALLY. WHAT IF. MAYBE IF THIS HAPPENED. yeah, he’s that guy. don’t get me wrong! he’s actually a deep thinker, the guy that reads wikipedia because it’s fun and a walking encyclopedia of weird facts you really didn’t need to know about. he’s smart as hell and willing to debate anything, almost to a fault. it’s easy for him to see multiple sides, the cynical side giving way to the fantastical side and vice versa, and if he had harsher placements, i would say he’d make a fantastic lawyer because of this ease. truth is, he would fucking suck because he would let his emotional bias get in the way. he’s also not…serious enough. which i’ll get into later.

sun in aquarius in fifth house! creative, passionate, realistic. sun trine moon, in tune with himself. he knows who he is, though maybe not necessarily what he wants or needs. sun semisquare venus and sun opposite mars—a fighter. context is important, though. fighting against his friends is something he absolutely hates because he views his friendships as his solid foundation, somewhere he can go to let go. he will do everything he can to protect those friendships. he ACTS like he doesn’t give a shit because, hello, aquarius sun and gemini moon—the top two signs of not giving a shit—but the reality is that he does care, thanks to 7H in pisces and 11H in cancer. he’s just emotionally stunted because of that moon square saturn. he’s also a great friend because he’s so easygoing and lax about a lot of things. until you push him to his breaking point. then he will cut you to your core, taking all those little bits of knowledge he’s gathered over the years and turning them into the worst bits of knowledge about you and throwing them back in your face with a direct coldness. but other than that, he’s real chill. thoughts over feelings type of guy.

great friend, not so great boyfriend. he needs to be able to detach completely and emotionally, someone who’s as independent as he is and definitely not someone who’s clingy. he will prioritize his friends and family over romantic relationships any day, any time. he will dm you back with “i think we’d be better off as friends.” he will move on. he is a heartbreaker and does not care because that is not where his priorities lie. he thinks romance is inviting you over to his friend’s house for some beer and a nacho table and wii sports.

the final topic i will discuss is my favorite one: his grand mutable cross.

grand crosses (or grand squares) are when there’s four squares connected to each other to create a cross or a square in the chart, and they’re typically all in the same mode (cardinal, fixed, mutable). (i say typically because our very own mark lee has two grand crosses, one is fixed and the other is dissociate because of his cancer mercury rx.) but i digress. included in this aspect are his gemini moon 10H, sagittarius jupiter 3H, pisces saturn 6H, and virgo ascendant. so, what the fuck does this mean? to put it simply: chaos. despite all the stable capricorn and aquarius in his chart, this man thrives in disruption. every moment is a moment to live and enjoy. he needs to think, do, and decide for himself—to be free. he excels at the mundane but shines in the unanticipated. he’s good at seeing the small details and the big picture, the reason in the emotion, the halves in the whole, and is willing to take whatever life throws at him with ease because of the way he’s predictable with his unpredictability. restless and always looking to do something, anything to keep himself occupied. however, he tends to worry about meaningless things and ignores or outright avoids the things he needs to confront, hence why it’s hard to push him to his breaking point, which is confrontation. the capricorn in him helps with this to an extent. the tendency to see the absolute best and absolute worst in every situation is another one of his faults; as an example, he can cheer others on but internally be worrying that someone might get injured. he thrives in fun and excitement, constant change. as long as he has somewhere to focus his restless energy, he’s good.

some final notes:

i try to stay away from parents for idol chart readings, but since a parent planet is on the MC, i’ll talk about it. moon conjunct MC: he considers his mother to be the light of his life, literally. places her above everyone else. the midheaven is the highest point on his chart, the part the light shines on the most. he sees her as witty and capable and gets along well with her.

cancer in 11H: so devoted to his friends and his dreams. the basis and roots of his life.

a piece of advice i would give him: not everything has to be a major upheaval. it’s okay to let things go. it’s okay to be selfish sometimes, but the best place for you to be is in service to others. caring for others, especially friends and family, is what will make you happiest. but do not give a piece of yourself to everyone you meet.

ummm that’s it! 🙈 if you have a fan meeting with another member please ask them their birth time i’m always curious i love knowing idols’ charts

#nct #nct 127 #johnny suh #엔시티 #엔시티 127 #쟈니 #astrology #natal chart #birth chart #grand mutable cross #grand mutable square #chart reading #kpop #kpop astrology #fuck idk how tags work anymore on here… whatever #he speaks!#i do chart readings just not right now i’m busy #i have a grand mutable cross too… hehe

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archduchessofnowhere · 1 year

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At 6:30 p.m. on April 24, 1854, the festivities began. The court had gathered in the ceremony apartments. The service called for the emperor and his bride to enter the church together; the assembled court dignitaries, grand masters, superintendents, chamberlains and palace ladies formed their retinue. As soon as everyone was present and arranged in the predefined order, the chief master of ceremonies reported to the emperor's court grand master that the entry into the church could begin. Prince Liechtenstein, who had been waiting with the bridal couple and the imperial family in the private apartments, informed Franz Joseph, and so they headed for the ceremony apartments.

The court saw Elisabeth for the first time in her wedding dress. She was strikingly beautiful, all present agreed. The slender and delicate 16-year-old wore a gown of gorgeous antique moiré silk richly embroidered in gold and silver, cinched at the waist and with a long, heavy train of silk reps, also decorated with gold embroidery. Her hair was combed in the manner of her first portraits in the betrothal months: parted in the center, curled inward at the sides, and gathered at the nape of the neck. A very fine veil attached to a sparkling tiara covered the hair. Around it, as well as on the dress, the maids had added branches of blooming myrtle, as befitting a virgin bride.

After Franz Joseph and Elisabeth had entered the apartments and all present had bowed, the procession was formed and set off for the church. Two court harbingers were at the head, followed by the pages —young aristocrats who performed minor duties in court ceremonies. Then followed the superintendents, chamberlains, grand masters, and finally the highest dignitaries. This succession reflected the court hierarchy —the closer one was to the emperor, the higher one's rank— and was an order observed by all men in the imperial family. After the archdukes, in the center of the procession came the emperor, accompanied by his grand chamberlain, the captain of trabants, and the first adjutant general. Only after the men was it the turn of the women, who closed the procession: behind Franz Joseph walked the bride, whose long train was carried by pages. Elisabeth was accompanied by her mother and Franz Joseph's mother, on her right and left respectively. They were followed by all the archduchesses, then the palace ladies and finally the ladies-in-waiting of the archduchesses. The heart of the bridal procession was then the bride and groom, on whose sides marched six soldiers of the corps of archers with bayonets drawn.

The large procession arrived at the church via the Augustinergang, the Augustinian corridor, without having to parade down the street. This ancient connection provided direct access from the Hofburg to the Augustinian church. And so the imposing bridal procession passed the bodyguards in front of the apartments and crossed through the Augustinian nave, supported by a heavy vault, lit by thousands of candles, lined with precious carpets and richly decorated with floral decorations. In the meantime, all those who, by virtue of their position or origin, were entitled to a seat (admittedly, according to a strict order of rank) had gathered in the church: aristocrats, as well as imperial and royal generals, the officer corps and diplomatic corps, awaited the wedding procession. When the main actor, the emperor, entered the church, trumpets and kettledrums sounded. The wedding ceremony was performed by Viennese Cardinal Joseph von Rauscher, assisted by seventy archbishops, bishops and pre-sides. Franz Joseph and Elisabeth passed under a canopy, knelt on a stool and prayed in silence. After the cardinal had consecrated the rings, they got up and went to the steps of the high altar, where they exchanged vows. The Hofburg parish then handed the rings to the bride and groom on a gold saucer; they exchanged rings and shook hands. During the subsequent blessing, the cannons of the Augustinian bastion thundered, and at this signal, those of the other bastions of Vienna also fired blanks for the emperor and the new empress. Meanwhile, in St. Augustine's Church, Franz Joseph and Elisabeth had taken their places on thrones. After the blessing, they got up and left the church to the sound of trumpets and kettledrums and another volley of cannon shots, returning to the Hofburg in the same orderly procession as they had gone.

There, the newlyweds and their families briefly retired to their apartments to freshen up; the last part of the day's festivities, which in all likelihood for Elisabeth was also the most exhausting, was yet to come. While the new empress could rest for a moment in her private apartments —not alone, of course, but in the company of several dozen archdukes and archduchesses— the dignitaries arranged themselves in the reception rooms for the cercle. All diplomats and envoys, aristocrats, and court dignitaries present had the right to be introduced to the imperial couple and to make themselves known with a brief personal address.

Winkelhofer, Martina (2022). Sissi. La vera storia. Il camino della giovane imperatrice (Translation done by DeepL. Please keep in mind that in a machine translation a lot of nuance may/will be lost)

ON THIS DAY, IN 1854, EMPEROR FRANZ JOSEF I MARRIED HIS FIRST COUSIN DUCHESS ELISABETH IN BAVARIA. Franz Josef was the eldest son of Archduke Franz Karl of Austria and Princess Sophie of Bavaria. Elisabeth was the second daughter of Duke Maximilian in Bavaria and Princess Ludovika of Bavaria.

Although it's often claimed that Sophie had planned years in advance the marriage of his son to Elisabeth's eldest sister Helene, there isn't any actual evidence of this. It's hardly likely that Helene had been groomed for years to become empress, since Sophie in fact had tried to get Princess Anna of Prussia's hand for her son in 1852.

Elisabeth and Franz Josef had three daughters and a son. They were married for 43 years, until Elisabeth's assassination in 1898. Her husband outlived her by 18 years, dying in 1916.

#otdih are back!#pity that all the court ceremony always gets lost in the movies/series #they always have elisabeth walking down the aisle with her father (or alone in the empress)#on this day in history #empress elisabeth of austria #franz josef i of austria #house of habsburg #historicwomendaily #historian: martina winkelhofer

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theblissfulstars · 1 year

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Full Moon in Libra,April 6th 12:34am

This full moon is occurring on April 6th at 12:34 Eastern standard Time. This full moon is taking place in the zodiac sign of Libra. This full moon is all about the government, politics, authority and power and how it is interacting with our lives.

With a Capricorn ascendant, This full moon is going to be centered around hierarchy, governmental power structures, as well as tradition. These ideas are going to be brought into focus during this time, the idea of the future versus the past is a heavily present theme. There's definitely going to be a lot of energy directed towards the corporate world, as well as businesses in general. On a personal level, this is a time to really establish goals and go for them with gusto. Be determined, be disciplined. We are being called to do so. There is a heavily karmic theme to this moon and justice is being dealt by both destiny, and spirit as well as by human hands. The ascendant is involved in a grand cardinal cross denoting massive changes and initiating radical new beginnings.

These themes of justice that are entertained during this full moon are only further embellished upon by the presence of the zodiac sign of Libra. With this Libra full moon conjunct the MC, the public is being called towards a collective justice that is going to be influenced by 9th house matters i.e. higher learning, travel, geopolitics, spiritual institutions and of course politics. There's going to be a rebalancing, especially in the realm of religious politics. Themes of spirituality, religion and higher ideologies, particularly justice are especially poignant during this moon as Jupiter is also involved in a stellium in the sign of Aries.

The Aries stellium taking place largely in the bottom of the chart, especially clustered around the IC and in the third speaks to civil unrest, chaos in the home place, emotional volatility, nightmares, and high levels of stress and anxiety during this moon. However! I cannot stress enough the oddly fortuitous quality of this moon. Many miracles, especially surrounding faith and spirituality will be occurring. Similarly our dreams are being reborn! We have been in a period of figuring things out and the direction we want to go. That direction is being made clear. Will we fight?

With Ceres still in retrograde motion, environmental catastrophe and upset is going to continue to happen. Now placed in her dignity of Virgo, mistakes are getting higher and the urge to fight for our mother earth is going to be reaching a fever pitch. Make sure that you're using your voice to advocate for better changes and greener changes for our environmentm

There's going to be massive developments in the world of technology that are going to revolutionize the experience of how we handle information. This is going to be directly connected to our values, what we value and how it connects to money.

On a lighter note, this full moon is highly fortuitous for matters of the heart and connections. Please could even be financial and business connections. If you are feeling amorous, take a risk! The result might surprise you. Be creative, be artistic and have fun.

Happy full moon!

Workings

Money

Justice

Love

Power

Luck

#astrology #western astrology #horoscope #astrologer #witchcraft #pagan #paganism #spirituality #mysticism #hoodoo #folk magic #folk practitioner #vudu #voodoo #obeah #macumba

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seagull-astrology · 10 months

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C333 Richard Rorty is redefining the pragmatic

Richard Rorty the American nihilist-pragmatist has one grand square.

Richard Rorty, was an American pragmatist in favour of “bourgeois liberalism.” It is a phrase that shows up everywhere from the Chinese Communists using this phrase derogoratily to expunge too successful shopkeepers to Newark Mayor Ras Barkara claiming getting rid of the police is a bougeous liberal ideal. Rorty was the son of nonacademic leftist intellectuals who broke with the American…

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#Bucket With A Uranian Handle Pattern #Cancer rising #Grand Cardinal Cross #John Dewey #October Births #Philosopher #Richard Mckay Rorty #Sagittarius Rising

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danpuff-ao3 · 1 year

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...

HOW ON EARTH DID I WRITE A WHOLE ASTROLOGY READING FOR HARRY FRIGGIN' POTTER AND I MISSED THE GRAND CROSS IN HIS DANG CHART???? WHAT IN THE UNHOLY HELL???? FRIGGIN' MUTABLE GRAND CROSS OH MY GOD. HELLO SOURCE OF EXTREME TENSION. HELLO. I MISSED YOU SOMEHOW. IN THE MESS THAT IS THIS BOY'S LIFE.

Ahem.

So. Apologies for screaming. It was that or putting my head through a wall. But anyway. So...do you see the giant red square in the below image?

THAT is a Grand Cross. And Grand Crosses are...yikes.

Grand Crosses are made up of 2 oppositions and 4 squares. So...basically it's entirely made up of very tense aspects. (You can skip to the section titled "Getting to the Point" to bypass a bunch of technical nonsense.)

Technical Mumbo Jumbo

Oppositions are signs that are in the same polarity, the same modality, but different elements. So...the fixed earth sign and the fixed water sign are in opposition, the cardinal fire sign and the cardinal air sign are in opposition, and so on. On the circle they're opposite each other. You can think of oppositions as being either a tug of war or a balancing act. There is a lot of good potential, yes, but generally it's potential reached after a lot of work. I like to think of oppositions as being too similar and too different at once. Therein likes the tension.

Squares are signs that are ninety degrees apart. Opposite polarities, but the same modality. The mutable air and fire signs will square the mutable water and earth signs, and so on. Generally, you will see the signs in the same polarity having more chemistry and compatibility (i.e. fire & air, earth & water), so it's a somewhat different struggle from an opposition. Prone to conflict, squares.

The Placements

In Harry's chart we see...a lot going on.

Saturn: Virgo at 24 degrees and (rounded up to) 1 minute

Venus: Gemini at 25 degrees and 36 minutes

Moon: Pisces at 29 degrees and 34 minutes

Neptune: Sagittarius at 20 degrees and 9 minutes

I mention the minutes because Harry nearly had a Grand Trine, too, and it took me too long to check the minutes and seconds haha. I should have considering if there was a Grand Trine, it would be barely. Similarly to how the Moon and Neptune are pushing on that 10 degree orb.

The Aspects

Virgo Saturn opposition Pisces Moon (5 degrees out)

Gemini Venus opposition Sagittarius Neptune (5 degrees out)

Virgo Saturn square Gemini Venus (1 degree out)

Virgo Saturn square Sagittarius Neptune (4 degrees out)

Pisces Moon square Gemini Venus (4 degrees out)

Pisces Moon square Sagittarius Neptune (9 degrees out.)

Mutable Signs

All are in the mutable modality. Mutable signs are changeable, malleable, adaptable, flexible. The mutable signs mark the end of a season, and thus: change. Gemini marks the end of spring, Virgo marks the end of summer, Sagittarius marks the end of fall, and Pisces marks the end of winter.

Getting to the Point

Basically...our boy has...challenges.

Face, meet palm.

There are a lot of areas of stress and tension. Grand Crosses are grand challenges for the native to overcome. They can build strong characters, but great character doesn't come without a price.

Looking at the planets involved, we see great sources of stress in his emotions and subconscious (moon), his relationships and interests (Venus), feelings of responsibility and morality (Saturn), and his ideals and dreams (Neptune.)

Think about it. Harry has a great destiny! He has a responsibility to the world (Saturn), and to stand by his principles (Saturn), but it isn't his great dream to play hero (Neptune.) In fact, the Sagittarius Neptune gives a sense of wanting to roam and be free, but he is shackled to his fate.

Then look to the moon and Venus. Difficulty between his emotional needs and his relational needs. Specifically there is a great inner need for love and affection. There is a great emotional and comfort value in being loved. Which is a big ouch on a good day but a bigger ouch when you can see why this might be. He grew up without any love or affection at all. (I will not elaborate because my eyes are already watering.) There is a tendency to jump too quickly into making connections. Which, think about it...while Ron ended up being a great friend, they were joined at the hip pretty much from the get go.

Moon and Neptune squaring is a sense of getting lost in dreams. ("It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.") Pinning too much of an emotional stake on hopes and beliefs. A strong emotional connection to one's ideals. This can indicate unrealistic goals, dreams that stay out of reach, being disenchanted by reality. I can imagine Harry dealt with a lot of this quite young and probably found himself crashing back to earth time and again by those relentless, merciless Dursleys. But there is a very strong, powerful sense of idealism here, not only for the aspects, but the sign placements. Sagittarius is all about philosophy, and Pisces is all about higher power and spirituality. Both are very idealistic signs. Sagittarius searches for wisdom in experience and connection and adventure. Pisces has a deep inner wisdom born of intuition and empathy, and a sense of what is beyond. (Pisces as the oldest sign of the zodiac, closest to the next life, and connect that to Harry as Master of Death.)

Saturn and Venus?? Yikes. This indicates an issue in giving and/or receiving love. (I'm not crying, you're crying.) Blockages in relationships. A need to learn to love oneself and find self worth before getting involved with others, lest they end up in very miserable relationships. This can indicate awkwardness in social scenarios, and a great fear of rejection. There can be a sense of needing to "earn" love and affection. This can also look quite serious, and an inability to let loose and have fun. For Harry, this can indicate earlier life, when he wasn't really allowed to be happy or have fun. Then, later on, while there is probably more room for pleasure at Hogwarts, this is sort of hindered by his sense of duty when it comes to the war.

Moon opposition Saturn...actually, let's do that one last.

Venus opposition Neptune can indicate romantic delusions. A very romantic nature, in love with being in love, a sort of blurry sense of love. Might have imbalanced expectations of relationships; standards too high or too low. Back to that issue of big ideals and disenchantment. This sort of feeds into an ongoing headcanon I have of Harry and how he goes towards the life he thinks he should have and doesn't really question it. And how he might try to replicate the life his parents missed out on, without really fully understanding what it is he actually wants and needs. Think of his awkward "crush" on Cho, and then Ginny (the Lily Replacement.) The Epilogue is more or less what Harry thinks he should aim for, where he and Ginny become James and Lily and live that picture perfect, white picket fence, happily ever after. But his Venus is in Gemini; Gemini is too playful and charming and variable by nature. Harry realistically needs more of a challenge and more intrigue in his romantic life.

Now let's look at the Moon and Saturn. I realized I had to save them for last because it occurred to me...The Moon represents the Mother, and Saturn represents the Father. Moon opposition Saturn.

This aspect indicates fear and rigidity. Trust issues. Difficulty in receiving care from others. You know...which might happen when one was never properly nurtured in their formative years. This can indicate having had "conditions" placed on love (or even basic care) growing up, and how that colors their perception of love. There is a sense of growing up too quickly. And a sense of there being a very fragile inner soul that others don't see for the outer appearance of independence and capability. Might even be a full suppression of those emotional needs. So even Harry might not see just how fragile he really is inside.

Then you pit this very critical, perfectionistic (Virgo) sense of duty and morality (Saturn) against a very whimsical, romantic (Pisces) sense of emotions and comfort (moon.) That is a very hard jab to a very soft place. And that rigid, disciplined Saturn forms the outer shell around that gooey, wounded Moon.

I find this most interesting with the Mother/Father connection. Oppositions are a very challenging, "hard" aspect and often imply an imbalance. And there is much one can learn and grow from with this opposition, however, it's especially hard to find appreciation in this one, when I can't ignore the connection it must have to Lily and James.

Moon as Mother as Lily. Saturn as Father as James. Parents dead, family torn apart, and their loss landed him in the Dursleys' dubious care. And it is their neglect and downright abuse behind that fierce independence, those emotional wounds, that inability to let others care for him. (He has to do it all alone, it's all on him it's his responsibility, etc.)

Then they're all in mutable signs, and mutable signs represent change. Change from one season into the next. One era of life into the next. Rolling with life's punches.

Gemini is playful, charming, curious, variable. Virgo is adaptable, skilled, practical, resourceful. Sagittarius values freedom and adventure and wisdom. Pisces is whimsical and dreamy and looking beyond, into the next life. There is a restless sense to mutable signs, and resourcefulness. Virgo's need to find security through purpose and perfection. Pisces' fear of vulnerability leads to escapism. Sagittarius' yearning to learn and grow by stretching its wings. Gemini's need to try new things and meet new people and need for stimulation.

There is a sense in the mutable Grand Cross that life has beaten one down and put them through the ringer again and again, until the native was molded into someone who can tackle any and every problem. But what happens when there is no challenge left? Restlessness, remember?

And what happens to Harry when the war is won? When there are no more battles to fight?

Anyway yeah hello welcome to my Big Tender Feelings about Harry James Potter, my precious baby angel.

You can read more about Harry's astrology here. And if you're so inclined you can support my nonsense on Ko-fi.

#harry james potter #hp astro #astrology #grand square #grand cross #oh no my poor baby #wahhhh

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apollotarot · 9 months

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♋️ July, 2023: New Moon in Cancer Tarot Spread 🦀

The New Moon in Cancer on July 17, 2023, has significant influence over the 3rd decans¹ of the Cardinal signs (Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn) and all others.

This lunar phase creates a powerful Grand Cross alignment involving Pluto retrograde in Capricorn, the lunar nodes' axis in Libra/Aries, and a trine to Neptune in Pisces.

These celestial configurations put pressure on the 3rd decans, bringing forth karmic elements that require resolution and purification. It may entail confronting authoritative figures and seeking personal emancipation.

Additionally, as Venus prepares to retrograde in Leo, emotional and relational dynamics intensify, prompting us to question our relationship patterns and embrace necessary changes.

This is a time for reshuffling the cards, letting go of harmful elements, and fostering healthier connections and personal growth.

It is crucial to examine how the actions and behaviors of others impact our present experiences; as such, self-reflection empowers us to navigate relationships with greater insight and make informed decisions that lead to personal fulfillment and growth.

New Moon In Cancer 2023 Tarot Spread:

Welcome to our New Moon in Cancer 2023 Tarot Spread, specially designed to unlock the wisdom of the Tarot and guide you through the transformative energies of this lunar phase.

Get ready to explore the realm of possibilities and unveil the profound messages the Tarot has in store for you:

What karmic elements are surfacing for resolution during this lunar phase?

How can I navigate confrontations and assert my independence?

What areas of my relationships need reshuffling and transformation?

What patterns do I need to break free from to form healthier connections?

What lessons can I learn from past encounters to create positive changes?

How can I embrace personal growth and elevate myself during this transformative period?

By harnessing the intuitive power of Tarot cards, you can gain clarity, discover hidden truths, and align yourself with the transformative energies of the New Moon in Cancer.

Allow the Tarot to serve as your trusted companion, guiding you on a journey of self-discovery and illumination as you navigate the shifting tides of life. Embrace the wisdom it offers, drawing upon its insights and guidance throughout this new lunar cycle.

Glossary:

Decan: In astrology, each zodiac sign is divided into three equal parts known as decans. The first decan represents the initial 10 degrees, the second decan covers the subsequent 10 degrees, and the third decan encompasses the final 10 degrees of the sign. Decans further refine the characteristics and qualities of each zodiac sign, offering more specific insights and influences based on the degrees they occupy. In the context of this article, when referring to the "3rd decans," it signifies individuals born in the last 10 degrees of the Cardinal signs (Aries, Cancer, Libra, Capricorn), as well as the last 10 degrees of other signs in general."

#new moon in cancer #tarot spread #astrology predictions #self awareness #self improvement #journaling ideas #journaling prompts #apollo tarot

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diceriadelluntore · 6 months

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Storia Di Musica #297 - Richard And Linda Thompson, I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight, 1974

Nel 1972, quando abbandona i leggendari Fairport Convention, gruppo cardine della rivoluzione del folk sulla via della sua elettrificazione, ha poco più che venti anni. E già allora era unanimemente considerato un talento prodigio e cristallino. Abbandona un gruppo popolarissimo e autore di dischi capolavoro per seguire la sua visione di musica, una nuova via britannica al folk, che mescoli insieme il rock'n'roll con le cantate popolari dei secoli precedenti, strumenti ad arco con la sua fidata chitarra elettrica, dulcimer e fisarmoniche. Nello stesso anno pubblica il primo tentativo, Richard Thompson Starring As Henry The Human Fly, dove è aiutato da un pezzo dei Fairport (la voce inarrivabile di Sandy Denny e il basso-guida di Ashley Hutchings) dove sperimenta questo mix che è ancora acerbo, come la sua voce (nei Fairport non era il cantante principale) ma che ha le prime canzoni gioiello (The Angels Took My Racehorse Away, che stilla britishness in ogni nota) e le prime grandiosi ballate (The Poor Ditching Boy o l'altrettanto bella The Old Changing Way). Tra le coriste c'è una giovane cantante, con pochissima esperienza, Linda Peters: diventerà in pochi mesi la moglia di Richard e tutto è pronto per il primo disco da duo. Le premesse tuttavia non sono rosee per questo lavoro. Il precedente fu un mezzo fiasco commerciale e solo i buoni rapporti di Thompson con il boss della Island, Chris Blackwell, permisero la pubblicazione del lavoro. Che infatti fu registrato in pochissime sedute ai Sound Techniques studio nel quartiere di Chelsea a Londra, con l'aiuto dell'ingegnere del suono e comproprietario John Wood, per si dice un paio di migliaia di sterline per un paio di settimane nel Maggio 1973. Forse anche per questo il disco, che ha una sua aura tutta particolare, è dark e malinconico, ma di un fascino incredibile, che all'epoca fu del tutto ignorato (tanto che il disco fu pubblicato fuori dalla Gran Bretagna soltanto nel 1983, in uno dei picchi di fama di Richard e Linda) e da allora è considerato uno dei capolavori del folk rock britannico.

Linda ha una voce sorprendente e si lega magnificamente, in una sorta di incrocio fuoco e ghiacco, con quella ruvida e bassa di Richard. I Want To See The Bright Lights Tonight esce nell'Aprile del 1974, dopo quasi un anno dalle sessioni con Wood. le canzoni che lo compongono sono meravigliosamente dolenti, disegnando i contorni di una umanità stanca e disillusa, sofferente, quasi senza speranza. Si passa da ballate elettriche che sanguinano sofferenza come la spettacolare Calvary Cross, o l'altrettanto dolente When I Get To The Border, elegia di chi sta scappando dal brutto del mondo (A one way ticket's in my hand\Heading for the chosen land\My troubles will all turn to sand\When I get to the border). Sono canzone che parlano di alcool, come Down Where The Drunkards Roll, rifugio per lo stordimento. In Linda Thompson, Richard ha trovato una collaboratrice eccezionale e una cantante di livello mondiale; Linda possedeva una voce chiara e ricca come quella di Sandy Denny, ma con una forza che poteva facilmente sostenere il materiale spesso pesante di Richard, e si dimostrò capace di affrontare qualsiasi cosa le venisse presentata, dal country di Withered And Died fino alla parata di personaggi da circo di The Great Valerio, dal sapore brechtiano con una parte finale strumentale che ha il sapore di una composizione di Erik Satie. Thompson se nella canzone più dark del disco, The End Of The Rainbow è più desolatante che mai quando canta: Life seems so rosy in the cradle,\But I'll be a friend I'll tell you what's in store\There's nothing at the end of the rainbow\There's nothing to grow up for anymore, regala una speranza nella title track, cantata da entrambi, con il famoso riff rock'n'roll dei bei tempi e gli ottoni della CWS Manchester Band, all'epoca la più grande brass band del paese, perchè ci si può divertire con poco ogni tanto: Meet me at the station, don't be late\I need to spend some money and it just won't wait\Take me to the dance and hold me tight\I want to see the bright lights tonight.

Come accennato il disco venne quasi del tutto ignorato, tanto che l'anno successivo, nel 1975, Hokey Pokey è un disco decisamente più leggero e scanzonato, e la coppia tra alti e bassi continua a scrivere, a suonare e a fare concerti, riuscendo a garantirsi un certo seguito. Ma è il momento della riscoperta di questo capolavoro che è particolare: fu infatti ristampato appena dopo il loro nuovo capolavoro, Shoot Out The Light (1982), che anche nel titolo chiude un cerchio relazionale, dato che è l'ultimo come marito e moglie; è decisamente il più rock dei loro lavori, e racconta quasi come un film di Bergman la fine della loro storia d'amore, con l'aiuto decisivo in cabina di registrazione di Joe Boyd, grande talent scout e produttore dei Fairport Convention. In esso una canzone di Linda, drammatica nella sua bellezza, Walking On The Wire, dice:

Too many steps to take Too many spells to break Too many nights awake With no one else This grindstone's wearing me And your claws are tearing me Don't use me endlessly It's too long It's too long to myself.

#richard and linda thompson #i want to see the bright lights tonight #1974 #recensione

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lungtied-tonguelied · 11 months

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Whump Month: Day 2, Collapse

You gotta bear with me on this one, this is stream of consciousness that happened after I dropped one headcanon into a personal server about Copia attending the Papas funerals (inspired by me watching ‘The Haunting of Hill House’ with my friends and getting to the kitten eulogy because anything can be about my hyperfixation if I think hard enough) that spiraled into this. I promise ‘collapse’ comes into play but like...you gotta get there. Also welcome to me introducing you in the worst way to my own personal Ghost lore, more (and happier, I hope) is soon to come about Papa Meno, Beau (belonging to my lovely friend Brian), and Piccolo, but for now this is what you get, sorry not sorry.

Of course once again, this is for the lovely @cirrus-ghoulette‘s Whump Month, and I do hope you enjoy! Relationship: Copia/Terzo Summary: Copia and the sudden, unpredictability of death. (Learning to understand funerals from experience.) Word Count: 2,512 Rating: Gen

Copia was fourteen when Meno was killed, it was the first time he'd witnessed the death of a human, and the very first funeral he ever attended. And it was a very grand funeral at that, being that Papa Meno was well loved amongst the Clergy and by the Ministry staff, and of course by the ghouls. All the stops were pulled out for Meno, he was preserved and displayed in a beautiful, ornamental glass coffin at the very head of the hall of Papas where the funeral was to take place, and the turnout was more than almost any Papa had ever seen in history. The ceremony began with the coffin covered, and everyone would be allowed to see him at the end, but Copia couldn't take his eyes off of the curtain that hung in front of where he knew his father was laid.

Nihil, the then acting Papa didn't want to Witness (in the sense of a priest hosting a funeral) the funeral, so the honour went down the ranks to the then Cardinal Primo. Primo spoke highly of Meno, of his successes, and of his life. How he served the Clergy well, and stayed true to the Path, and how he stayed true to love above all things. He'd invite his brothers to speak, and he'd invite Beau to speak, and he'd invite Copia to speak.

But Copia would have no idea what to say. He'd never really had to think about it, the thought of his father dying. He'd been so lively, and youthful, and kind, the thought had never crossed Copino's mind in his life. And yet when Primo called him to speak, and he stood there in front of all the people that had ever cared about his father, it was the only thing he could think of.

The fact that his father had died. His father, this gleaming example of life and love, was mortal. And if he could die just like that, couldn't anyone?

He looked down at his shoes, and askance to the stone beneath where his father was surely laid, his eyes closed, his makeup viley painted on the once warm, smiling face that would greet him in a morning. And he wrung his hands in the way that had his father taking them both into his own so often with a quiet, "Copino…" that always made his anxieties fade. And when he finally looked up, ready to address the people that were waiting with bated breaths to know what the most beloved and youngest known son of Papa Meno had to say of his father, he caught the eyes of Beau - his mother, his soother - and all she did was nod, and the words poured forth.

"My father- Our Papa, he- he did not...follow the Path. Not as closely as the Cardinal praised him for, or- or at least not in the way I understand the Path. Because what Satan wishes for everyone is the ability to be selfish, or at least- or he wishes that selfishness need not exist. That everyone may do as they please without that negatively impacting another. But my father he- My father was selfless. To his very core, all he did was give. He gave and gave all of the love he had to give, and so he did not follow the Path. Not in the intended way. He was selfish in giving his love away, and leaving none for himself. His selflessness was exactly what made him the greatest Papa. And-" he smiled, looking towards the plinth behind him, "- the greatest father."

The three brothers had given him each their own signifiers of pride, Primo smiling at him as they crossed paths - him taking his seat and Primo taking to the plinth once more - Secondo giving him a nod as he sat beside him, and Terzo leaning forward to catch his attention, giving him a very certain thumbs up. And when the curtain dropped, and everyone rose to give their own words and to pay their own respects, Copia had very few words left to offer his father other than a quiet, “Thank you,” with a bow of his head. The words hadn’t felt right at the time, and they continued to feel strange in his chest each and every time he caught a glimpse of the man in the hall of Papas. But each brother that followed after him to see him laid in his coffin spoke the same two words, so he supposed that they had been fine words to give. The funeral left him feeling closer to the brothers than ever before, and even so further away. A defence mechanism, he reasoned with himself, in case the same jarring fate befell any of them.

It seemed he was right to be cautious.

Copia was forty-one when he attended his next funeral. And it was just as unexpected as the last. But in the time since his last, he had had time to think, to ponder over what life had meant to him, what his father's life had meant and what everyone's lives around him meant. The nature of mortality - at least in the closest sense one could get to mortality within the Ministry's walls - and the possibility of losing those around him. So when he walked into the hall of Papas (his own father mounted at the head of the hall in his glass tomb, crucified inversely beneath the great stained glass window that shone down into the hall, painting the dull marble vibrantly. The stained glass had been his father's own installation, his contribution to the hall of Papas - aside from his own body, in the end - and it was just about the only thing Copia could bear to focus on), his hands folded neatly against his chest as he followed along behind Beau, and his brother Piccolo behind him, he had his words prepared.

He'd had them prepared for years, only altering them after certain core moments spent with each of them, each of his predecessors as they'd come to be. He'd never imagined becoming a Papa, his father had told him it would be an honour that passed to him as the succession allowed, but only if it was something he'd wanted. And really, it never had been something he'd wanted, he was more than happy in his role as Cardinal, and fitting into the position that he'd known his father held for most of his life never seemed possible for him. His father had grace, and poise, and command of a room that Copia had never inherited, but with time spent, and lessons learned, taking mental notes upon mental notes from each Primo, Secondo, and Terzo, he believed that maybe now he'd have the chance. That maybe he had thieved enough of each of them, and what made them alone wonderful Papas, that he too could make it into this hall someday.

Though he hoped, not in this way. In the way of a glass box, wheeled through by nameless ghouls that didn't give him a second look as he took his seat. One of many seats, though unlike his father's funeral most of them laid empty. The Papas were so loved, weren't they? He recalled their lives in a flash, how they had given so much, had been supported in each and every endeavour, and yet; the hall was silent. Not even half filled with masked ghouls, Siblings of Sin, a few Clergy members. How could their outreach have touched so few? Copia's heart clenched at the wonder, his eyes darting to where he assumed Terzo would be roiling in his little glass prison. How dare so few people come to mourn him, and to celebrate him. Copia's words about Terzo shifted in his mind, he'd address that, certainly.

And he prepared himself to speak as Papa Nihil stood to the plinth, though he couldn't help to keep glancing from the prismatic colours of the window, the sharp edges of his father's visage high on the wall, to where Nihil stood droning mindlessly about the relatives that lay adorned and cold. Copia's mind mixed memory with reality in each flick of his gaze, Nihil's colourless speech being replaced by the vivid one that was given by his son, Primo, all those years ago. Primo had Witnessed the last funeral that Copia had attended, and he had found himself moved, and focused - pin-point attention on the Cardinal - when Primo spoke, but Nihil's voice faded out almost the moment he began. There was nothing behind his words, Copia could tell, and even still he spoke? He decided to Witness this ceremony, despite his detachment? Was it not the same as one previous? Copia was half a mind to scoff, of course the dickhead would Witness his own sons' funerals, but not his father's. Pathetic.

But he kept his opinions to himself, and shuffled the mental flashcards that held his speech ready to be called to speak for the three men that had played such a large part in his upbringing. With each and every line that he recited to himself, speaking the words silently - his lips moving imperceptibly, and yet with more animation that Nihil was giving with his entire body - the corresponding moment that had prompted them flashed before Copia's mind, looping their best and worst times with him over and over until Copia was sure he would be able to give a play-by-play of his life alongside them when he was finally called up to give his two cents.

But he wasn't.

Nihil spoke and spoke, his hands moving but his words stone-still, and then he was done, and the curtain fell, revealing the Papas to the hall, and people rose from their seats to pay their respects. And Copia couldn't move.

Where was his turn? Primo had let him speak- would've let him speak. They all would've let him speak, they all would've wanted him to speak. That was what this was about, wasn't it? What they would've wanted? That was what Primo had said, what Secondo and Terzo had both said as they stood in front of the hall, recalling memories of his father and everything he had done with and for them. 'It was what he would've wanted,' all of their voices reminded him. That was why Primo had called him to speak, that was why Nihil should've called him to speak. Copia meant a hell of a lot more to the three of them than Nihil ever did, so why?

His mother's hands took his own in hers, gentle and soft, and familiar. The way his father used to. And she drew him to stand even though his entire nervous system felt frozen, like his mind was shutting down because, was this what they really wanted? Had it been something they discussed? His father had wanted him there, to speak when he was gone, so had the three of them agreed they didn't want him to speak for them? Was that why he had been snubbed of his chance to say his final piece? Did he really mean so little to them?

His mother and his brother led him up to each of them in turn. To Primo, who looked peaceful in a way that Copia hadn't seen in a very long time, even with his makeup painted in its ever disgruntled expression, who he couldn't open his mouth to say goodbye to. To tell him all of those memories he held dear, of how he looked up to him moreso than he ever did the others. How he strived to be patient like him, to listen like he did, to pay attention to the little things like he did. Not a word left his lips that began to tremble, and he was guided on to Secondo.

To Secondo who he hadn't seen painted in years, who was painted then and Copia could only think how much he wanted to wipe it away, that it would hurt him even in death. His hands trembled, walking up to Secondo, and he wanted to reach out, to gently wash away the paint that the man had come to hate, but they wouldn't obey him, just as his voice refused to speak the words he'd never said aloud. Because Secondo wasn't a sentimental man, he didn't want to hear the 'I love you's and the 'I appreciate you's, actions meant more to him, but even still Copia couldn't bring himself to commit to just one more loving gesture for him. So he was moved on.

Onto Terzo. Whose presence in that box, arms pressed tight to his torso in a way that made him seem so much smaller, so much more uncomfortable, made Copia's heart scream. And he moved without willing himself to, breaking away from the hands of his mother and brother that held him, prising at the edges of the box futily with his gloved fingers. He wanted nothing more than to let him out, than to give him space, room to breathe and to stretch because Terzo hated being anywhere too small, and too tight. He'd always hated it, hated being crowded and closed in, hated feeling small. And they'd only gone and made him look so, so small. Copia couldn't bear it, he prised and gripped and thrashed at the boxes edge silently, tears falling from his face and onto the glass as his family tried to pull him away, but in the moment he couldn't hear them, all that his ears picked up on were the panicked, shuddering breaths of Terzo - his Terzo - when Copia had found him locked away in a cupboard, screaming and crying for someone, anyone to just let him out. Copia had been the one to let him out then, and he wasn't going to let him down now, he had to let him out-

When the lid clattered open, shattering against the marble floor, Copia slid down, a slow collapse to his knees uncaring of the shards that crunched beneath them that sliced open his trousers and his skin alike. He'd done it, and his shoulders sagged as he let out a breath that sounded far away from his ears, his mind implying that Terzo could finally breathe. He looked up, to make sure he'd done the job right, and something about Terzo's face seemed to have smoothed out, his shoulders didn't seem to be hunched by his ears, and he looked so much more like himself. Enough like himself that Copia managed to smile. And his now bloodied hand reached over the coffin's edge, his knuckle grazing Terzo's cheek lovingly.

"You can rest now," He spoke. And none of those words were apart of the monologue he'd prepared, but if there was one thing Terzo had imparted upon him in life, it was that you just make do with what you have, and if all the words you can muster are those, then that will do just fine.

He would do just fine.

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