atricksterproblem

[atricksterproblem]

Perpetua’s smile

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None of my thoughts are in the Bible, goodbye

Dafydd Owen, London 19.04.2025

[atricksterproblem]

spirit of metal

[atricksterproblem]

Margaret Atwood, from a poem titled "Last Day," featured in Paper Boat: Selected Poems

[atricksterproblem]

STRIPPED OF SIN

a story dedicated to apocalypticspacewaffles and inspired by her prompt.

. .* 🌘 * . *.•.* .* 🦇 * . 🌑 .* 🦇 * . *.•.* .* 🌒 * . .

Pairing: Papa V(ampire) Perpetua x GN!Reader

Words: 2850

Rating: E (explicit)

Tags: S&M; bondage; blindfolds; blood drinking; mask kink, if you squint

. .* 🌘 * . *.•.* .* 🦇 * . 🌑 .* 🦇 * . *.•.* .* 🌒 * . .

“My angel,” he spoke against the wet spot atop your dry knuckles, his voice hot and his lips frozen. “You’re shaking.”

“I’m just excited, Your Dark Eminence,” you smiled, all of your nerves ending in your fingertips around which he had wrapped the worn leather of his gloves.

. .* 🌘 * . *.•.* .* 🦇 * . 🌑 .* 🦇 * . *.•.* .* 🌒 * . .

You surrendered to the shadows, not because of a haunting feeling of dread, but for the tantalizing thrill of it.

In the shadows, Papa V Perpetua revealed the world beyond sight. In the shadows, he uncovered your hidden desires. And all it took was him concealing himself with a gloved hand over your curious eyes one night. Shoving your face into the mattress, the next. And later, wrapping your head in the covers on the nights the band got a hotel floor booked.

Tonight, after months of getting yourself acquainted with the darkness while he familiarised himself with the spotlight, he requested your presence in his Ministry chambers. Papa V Perpetua held your hand up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, without smearing it with face paint for the first time tonight.

“My angel,” he spoke against the wet spot atop your dry knuckles, his voice hot and his lips frozen. “You’re shaking.”

The tremors that took over your body every time he touched you had been keeping you awake through the late nights. Tonight, you were more high strung than ever. And you had his ghostly white jawline and red bitten lips were to blame for it.

“I’m just excited, Your Dark Eminence,” you smiled, all of your nerve endings leading to your fingertips around which he had wrapped the worn leather of his gloves.

You’ve never seen Papa without his mask and tonight was no different. Half of his face was covered while the other lay in the shadow of his sharp sculpted cheekbones. They were as white as a skull’s, not silver or rhinestone. And you never thought you’d miss either of them.

Tonight, you saw one of them shining like the half moon in the corner of the full-length mirror, in the lamp-lit the far end of the chamber.

He followed your line of sight and led you down that path to present you the mirror by introducing you to your own image.

“Look at you,” he whispered into your ear, his body looming behind your own, while your reflection was stationed in front of his.

If the mask was a moon in the sky that was the mirror, his white left eye was the Evening Star glinting down on you.

A fresh, cool wave hit you and you were trembling anew. You saw his hand slide from your side upwards to your shoulder and then encircling itself around your throat, checking your pulse with a squeeze that promised pleasure and pain in equal measure.

“You look like you’re ready to be ravished,” his breath at the back of your neck blew chills down your spine and raised your pulse to a boiling point.

“Yes, Papa,” you squeezed a sigh through the tight windpipe. Your Papa wasn’t even applying as much pressure as a squeak would need to come out. Still, he pulled from you both the smallest and the loudest of noises, and had done for months now.

“And you will be,” his lips latched onto the lobe of your ear and pulled it back along with another squeaky sound from your mouth. “What’s your safe word?”

“Rats,” you swallowed.

Your eyes were on their way in the back of your head when they got caught again by the shiny skull piece hanging from the corner frame of the mirror.

And Papa was preparing to knot his silk tie around your glazed over eyes before they focused in on a singular point. Smiling like he knew a secret, he spoke and proved to you that he was in the know.

“Do you want me to wear this mask tonight?”

“I…I like the new mask.”

“It’s an old one, actually.” He arranged it in the mirror, over your shoulder. “And looks like it, too. I bought it from an antique shop a lifetime ago. It’s older than me, really.”

The smirk that deepened the shadows on his face and concealed most of it in the reflection had triggered an immediate reaction from you. Your eyes rolled back at last.

He wasn’t that old. He had only been dead for a full moon or two over a decade. Or so he spoke of the night of his rebirth.

“I like it,” you promised, leaning your head back into the slope of his neck and nuzzling the sculpted cheekbone.

“Should I wear it tonight?” He flashed you the silver stage mask, bringing it down from the frame to face you half-face on. “Or do you want to wear it?”

His lips returned to your skin. This time, they were on your tilted chin. And you trembled under them, surrendering to the sensation as his mouth moved under it and then onto your throat.

“Can I…?” You tentatively took the mask with your trembling hands.

“You’d be wearing the blindfold, too,” he punctuated this with his canines penetrating the indent of his previous crimes against your sinner’s flesh. “No peaking,” he licked his lips before getting them bloodied again.

In spite of him singing the same chorus, he allowed you to admire him while he tore into your throat, holding your heaving body before the mirror. Having both his arms around your torso helped with holding your body up, but they served to subdue you as well. One hand went down between your legs and the other seized your throat again, tilting it to the side and making space for his fangs.

Your breath was cut short immediately, but he was feeding from you ever so slowly, enjoying the blood that spilled out instead of sucking it out. Still your body grew weak in his strong grip, and the mask slipped between your fidgeting fingers. If it weren’t for his supernatural speed, it would’ve fallen on the floor. The hand that captured your crotch freed it in favour of catching it on its way down.

“Let’s get you on the bed,” he chuckled into your ringing ear, speaking only a whisper above the loud beating of your heart. “Before my angel becomes a fallen one.”

“I’m already fallen,” you spoke, another small sound while he scooped you up into his arms. “You dragged me to Hell.

That made his mouth quirk into a smirk, wide and red. And this made your body quake, everything from your fingertips to your toes to shake.

Tonight, laying on your back in his bed, hands tied above your head and eyes concealed by his silk tie, you check up on him again.

“Are you sure you’re fine with me wearing the silver mask?”

His voice was mocking, but you marinate in it like you always do during these games: “Are you worried you’ll hurt me?”

You were. You, a mere mortal sinner, was concerted with his skin coming into contact with pure silver. The mask was crafted by The Clergy of Ghost with the purpose of keeping Papa V Perpetua’s demonic side sealed away inside of him while in the midst of thousands of throats screaming out for him to get close. Whenever he wore it, he would have the thirst trapped instead of it being set loose to drench itself in death.

You were concerned you might hurt himself tonight, that his unholy mouth could sink his teeth into the silver cheek and he might be charred from the tip to the marrow. It’s the reason why he wore all that leather. It was his second layer of skin, slipping into it like Lucifer would and hiding inside like He had from God’s light.

“You won’t hurt me,” his lips were wrapped against a toothy grin. You could hear it in his voice and see it in the back of your mind. “And I won’t hurt you either,” his words came down on you like a caress. His hands, still safe in the second layer of skin that were his gloves, pulled the straps of the mask and placed it atop your face. “Unless you want me to.”

Papa was playing with you. The game had begun, his body closing in, steady and ready to go.

“What do we have here?” The tip of his teeth threatened to tear into unsoiled flesh on the other side of your neck where you had virgin veins for him to claim. “An agent of the High and Mighty has come to slay me?”

“Release me,” you cleared your voice, struggling to think straight and prepare for the role of the holy fool he wanted you to portray tonight. “Release me, demon!”

His mouth moved and climbed from the slope of your shoulder uphill and towards your neck. “No,” his lips lingered on the lump you had in your throat. “No, I don’t think I will. You came to me wearing silver, a declaration of war. Now, you are my prisoner.”

His tongue was warm, heated by the taste of blood he had earlier under your supervision in the mirror. As he licked the length of your throat, you could not keep watch of him, but you saw the pink trail of blood and spit he left behind from inside your blindfold.

The picture of it was burned into your eyelids, drawn onto your flesh with his touch. When he tore the threads off your body, the savagery of it sunk into your gut and you could see the snarl. And when the same set of claws caressed your thighs with care, it ached your heart.

“What’s your safe word?”

He pulled out of you a pathetic sound and you could almost make out the sound of the leather of his gloves creaking. He was holding himself back, keeping the animal inside him on a leash until you were ready to untie him.

“Rats,” you breathed through your nose, biting down on your bottom lips to keep the air in.

“Now that I’ve got you, angel, I’ll never let you go,” he exhaled and it hit you like a wind, spreading goosebumps on your bare flesh and chasing chills up your spine.

Pushing your thighs apart, he pressed them into the sheets on either side of your torso. Spread out like this, you were split open like a sacrificial lamb, the wolf who didn’t bother to disguise himself looming over you.

“You’re not God’s warrior anymore.” He shoved his hips in the space between your thighs, sinking his still clothed crotch into your stripped sex. “You’re my holy whore.” He groaned as he ground down, his gnashing teeth almost audible to your adrenaline doped ear drums.

“Get off,” you responded to his rutting. “Get off me, devil.”

“Oh, don’t mind if I do get off, my fallen angel.” His chest was covered in the same silk as you eyes, and you felt it sticking to your sweaty skin as he smothered your chest with his own. The cool weight of him was warmed by your feverish flesh, each point of contact making stars combust under the surface.

“It’s me you should be praying to,” you heard the thunder breaking in his rib cage and electrifying you. You felt his hands, freezing and free of leather, sliding down your sides, They groped your ass and scooped up your hips to sit on his folded thighs, yours squeezing around his waist.

“No, please,” he snatched a strangled scream from you as your body fought the bonds at your wrist. You didn’t want to wage a war anymore, not even a play fight. You wanted to tear into his own skin, use your short nails to mark the expanse of this sharp-toothed and long-nailed beast’s back. “Papa, please.”

“Give in to me and all will be forgiven,” he smacks his lips, satisfied with your screams. In your ear, he sounded like he was rolling eyes back, blinded by bliss as opposed to an ornate mask. “Give yourself to me,” he hummed into your ear, your pulse as loud as a precision.

Taking a big breath before your lungs could deflate, you tossed your head back and presented to him the untouched, untethered and prestigious patch of skin on the side of his neck he has been eyes without you to witness it.

You surrendered to the shadows as you always do. Your blood spills and your heart beats for him. Your life is in his claws when they scratch against your body and your blood is his as he drinks from you.

“Pray for my mercy,” Papa’s lips loomed over the virgin territory at the side of your neck, the sacred strip of skin he had yet to soil with his serpent’s tongue. “Pray for my forgiveness.” His fangs found the fragile flesh again and dug in, no further than the skin, but it felt like he was burrowing into your very being.

“Forgive me.” You let the words bleed out of you in waves and flooded his mouth with it. “Save me,” you shook in his arms, a fever possessing you. his suckling chilled your spine and cooled your skin. “Take me.” You bowed your back, pushing yourself against his chest, pressing against his pelvis.

“You were made to serve the Heavens,” he growled, the demon within was deepening his voice and demanding to be pulled out the pits. It was in his resurrected body, and rising with each drop of life he spilled out of you. “But you’ll make you my hellish little harlot by the time I’m done.”

Papa lapped at the liquids pooling in the bit between your neck and shoulder, sweat and tears and blood alike. His tongue left fire where it dragged along, and you could almost see the string saliva that ran down the length of it like lava.

He was growing hotter, the feast of your flesh seeping out of every cut, bite and pore providing him with enough life to reanimate his cock. It swelled inside his covered crotch that you cradled between your bare thighs. It was time. And, if it weren’t, you whined for it to come sooner. Begged for you to come sooner.

“Please. I’m begging you. Have mercy on me.”

“You better beg, angel,” he chuckled, all too pleased with himself and his punishment for you. “You can even cry. It makes you taste that much sweeter.” He smothered himself in the side of your neck and inhaled your sweat before taking it with the blood that was still trickling. “It makes your insides that much more tender.”

His hands were more like claws as they tore up his trousers and pawed at your pelvis. And you couldn’t see the danger of his dick dousing itself in his own saliva and the blood that was now an aftertaste on his tongue. You heard him spit on it and even felt it splash against your sex. It was a lot, but you were ready to drown in it.

“Your safe word,” he sniffed the air, smelled your arousal and the salt of your sex.

All you could taste was the metal tang of your own blood. All you could see was red, the color of life, the color his lips were sure to be stained with and the color of his gums when he snarled.

He scented you and snarled. Like a beast. Like a man. Like he was both at the moment and will forever be walking the line.

Tonight, he made you see stars behind the black satin, on the black canvas of your eyelids. He penetrated you with the hunger of a predator, fangs in the flesh of your throat. And he held you like a lover, up against his chest, over his reinvigorated heart.

“Look at you,” he licked your cheek, cleaning it of your tear streaks and staining it with your blood. “If you could only see how delectable you look with demon cock inside you,”

“Mercy,” you gasped and he gave you his breath, smothering you with his tongue, shoving it down your throat. And you sucked it in, took him in deeper, like you were taking the cock he was drilling inside you all the way to the hilt of it. “Mercy, please,” your moaned opened his appetite and he spread you wider, splitting your mind between the dead and the dying.

“Here’s your mercy,” he huffed, in a hurry to get the both of you back to Heaven. “I’m going to make you come on my cock. Come on. Come on this unholy cock, angel.”

Tonight, in the shadow of the silk blindfold, you came on Papa V Perpetua’s cock. And, when you reached the sky, you heard Papa praising you back on earth. When you fell back on the bed and he collapsed on top of your chest.

You were still in the puddle of sweat and blood that you were sunken int and started cooling. And so did the cheek, both his own and the mask’s, as soon as your heat had run his curse through his stomach.

“You’re shaking, angel,” he said, sounding like the sight before him was something to behold. And, when he stripped you of the mask and the strip of silk, you saw it in his eyes that it was so.

“I am just cold, Papa.”

[atricksterproblem]

V rarely has to raise his voice.

He's very soft-spoken, yes. His voice is a little higher than his brothers'. When he's talking to someone he cares about, he's very sweet and warm. Alone with them, he's more animated. He laughs more with someone he trusts. He's more expressive generally, because he knows he doesn't have to worry about being judged.

Dealing with his flock at the Abbey, he's calm, even serene, if a little remote. Pleasant, as a rule.

When he does need to make himself heard -- dealing with recalcitrant Church issues or the like -- he doesn't speak louder, so much. There's just a little steel in his usual tone. It compels the attention for reasons the listener can't quite pinpoint.

And when he's facing down an adversary of some kind (but not the sort where he needs physical force), he typically doesn't get louder here, either. What happens instead is that his soft-spoken voice goes cold. Cold enough to freeze the blood. He's very clear. Very precise. He doesn't issue threats. He doesn't ever have to. In this mood, there is all the terror of the unknown in those soft, calm words. (This is also, by the way, what can make him a terrifying dom when he chooses.)

When appropriate, his voice sometimes dips into a lower growl not unlike that of his brothers' when they do the same. In general, though, it's no louder. Sometimes he uses this to make a point to an adversary, if things go so far. Normally, though, it's reserved for either occasional use as part of his stage presence, or for alone time with his partner, if that's something they like.

They usually like.

There have been times when he's felt he did have to raise his voice.

Not many.

Pray you never have to see it.

[atricksterproblem]

Orlando, 02.11.2016 - Video by Phil Lutz

Papa is handed a painting of himself by someone in the audience and proudly displays it on stage for the rest of the ritual.

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Oooh. I just had a thought.

We can see V's smile. He has a certain amount of stage chatter.

Do you guys think we'll ever see him laugh?

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Until the comics I wasn't even sure she didn't raise V herself (and the comics being as ambiguous as they were, I still can't be sure she didn't retrieve him at some point from where she'd left him. After all, Copia and he both went to the same person but were not ultimately raised together). I think she would have kept him away from most other people in the ministry, maybe sent him to boarding schools or whatever, but there's nothing to say she didn't raise him.

Why is everyone so sure perpetua and sister imperator never met? Did i miss something?

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can't stop thinking about perpetua taking off his mask at the end of the day and his hair just going *poof* without the straps holding it down. i bet he brushes it behind his ears constantly to no avail because the curls can't be contained

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I don’t want yall to misjudge me, I do love Copia too. But I love him in the way I love my little brother. He plays with blocks in his office and makes awesome towers.

Perpetua plays with my taste in men.

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I wish kinky sex ed wasn't so stigmatized even among left-leaning "sex positive" circles. Everyone's all "uwu I'm a sub I'll do anything you ask" okay mommy wants you to read The New Bottoming Book so you learn how to sub without hurting yourself since your sex ed up to this point is porn and your ex boyfriend Jared who liked to choke you incorrectly

[atricksterproblem]

List of smut prompts

“So how do you want me to fuck you?”

“I’m not sharing you with anybody. You’re mine, and mine only, and I’m going to make you remember that.”

“That’s sweet and all but do they touch you the way I touch you? Fuck you the way I fuck you? Mm, yeah, didn’t think so.”

A softly spoken, “Want you to fuck me like you mean it.” 

“Let me take care of you, yeah? I’ll do the work.”

“Gonna fuck you until the only word you remember is my name.”

“Can I… can I touch you?”

“My God, you’re so fucking gorgeous like this.” 

“Can I— can I please touch myself?”

“Wanna see how you look when you come undone under me.” 

“I’ll make you feel good, I promise. Just trust me.”

“You sound/taste/feel/look so fucking good.”

“Oh God, you feel amazing, baby.” 

A whispered “Please” slipping out of kiss bitten lips. 

“Mine. All mine.”

“You drive me so insane, you don’t even know.”

“I love getting to know you like this.” 

“You. Me. Bed. Clothes off. Now.” 

“Is this okay?” 

“How much do you want this?”

“Doing so good for me, sweetheart.” 

“Shh, just a little more…” 

“You’re taking me so well, baby.”

“Say please.” 

“I want you in all the ways you’ll let me have you.”

“Tell me how you want me.”

Soft whines and whimpers; held back noises because they don’t want anyone else hearing them; a plea for more without the use of words. 

“Oh, I can think of many ways to shut you up right now.” 

“Wanna hear you beg for it, yeah?”  

“Where do you want me to touch you?” “I don’t know and I don’t care — I just want your hands on me. Please.”

“P-please just”—a sob—“I just need you to fuck me.” 

“Need/want you in me.”

“Beg and maybe I’ll think about it.”

“Not so fast, bun.” 

“So… You touch yourself to the thought of me? I’d like to see that in action.”  

“Want your fingers in me.” 

“Now, why don’t we teach you a lesson?” 

“Touch yourself for me.”

“Tell me how you like/want/need it.” 

“I wanna taste you on my lips again.”

It’s the gentle and soft touches which send shivers skittering down their spine. 

“Rough or gentle?” 

“Fuck, look at you right now…”

“You’re really messing with my head here.”

“Fuck, just touch me already! Just— just do something!” “Not so fast. We’ve still got the whole night/day ahead of us.”

“Wanna feel you against me.”

“Don’t wanna come until I feel you in me.”

“Clothes on or clothes off?” 

“All yours. Only yours.”

“How about we put that pretty mouth of yours into good use, hm?” 

“Fuck, I need/want you so bad.”

“I want you to say my name like that again.” 

“Aren’t you desperate?” 

“Only I get to ruin you like this, you hear me?”

“Only I get to touch you like this, okay?” 

“Patience, love. We’re getting there.” 

“Look at your reflection. Look at how gorgeous you are. So fucking gorgeous when I’m fucking you like this. So pretty for me, and only for me.”

“Be good for me.” 

“You want to come?” “Y-yes, I— please—” “Hm, but do you really deserve to?” 

“You like that, don’t you?” 

“Let’s make your thoughts a reality, yeah?”

“Imagine how amazing you’d sound when I’m fucking you senseless.” 

“I’ll fuck you so good, I promise.” 

“I can taste myself on your lips and it’s messing me up real bad.” 

“You look like a mess and I love it, because I’m the one who made you like this.” 

“You’ve got me all hot and bothered.”

“You don’t get to touch yourself until I say so.” 

“Always so needy for me, aren’t you? Can’t help yourself, can you?” 

“Please let me come.” 

“I-I promise I’ll be good.” 

“How are you feeling?” 

“God, you feel so good around me.” 

“So wet/hard for me already, huh?”

“You good?”

“Mm, always so impatient for me, aren’t you?”

“Do I turn you on that much?” “You don’t even fucking know.” 

“You wanna take control?”

“Let me ride you.”

“Behave.” 

“F-Fuck, I don’t think I’m gonna last long if you keep doing that.” 

“I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone more.” 

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

“Stop fucking teasing me and get to it already.” 

“Oh, the things I’d do to you if we were alone right now…”

“Th-There are people outside this door—” “Well, this isn’t about them, is it?” 

“Look at you, squirming under me, all flushed and pretty looking. Can’t even take a little teasing, can you?”

“Yeah, but they don’t fuck you the way you deserved to be fucked, do they?” 

“Might I remind you that these walls aren’t sound proof.” 

A softly exhaled, “I don’t think I can ever get enough of you.” 

“Do you know how much I love seeing you like this?” 

“How do you want me to touch you?” 

“Let me show you how much I mean what I say.”

“Gonna make sure you don’t forget about tonight.” 

Whispered praises against the other’s lips, which are met with soft whimpers and moans. 

“Need me to remind you on what happened last night?” 

“Oh, sensitive there, aren’t we?” 

In a hoarse whisper, “Fuck, you’re killing me here.” 

“But you think about me when they’re fucking you, don’t you?” “I… That’s not true.” 

“Try not to be so noisy, yeah?” 

“Tell me if it hurts, okay?” 

“Lift your hips up for me.”

“Fuck, you’re so hot when you’re bossy.”

“Look at you, coming undone before I’ve even started touching you.” 

“Stop glaring at me like you don’t enjoy me teasing you.”

“I want to be the one fucking you this time.” 

“Sweetheart, you’re so responsive to my touch.”

“I think you’d look even better under me.” 

“And I think you’d look fucking hot when you’re on top of me.” 

“Want you to ruin me.” 

“Do whatever you want with me.” 

“Just sit on my fucking face already.” 

“Who gave you permission to touch yourself?”

“What did I just say?”

“You feel so fucking good in me.” 

“You can have all of me if that’s what you want.” 

“Baby—shit—I don’t think I’m gonna make it to the bed like this.”

“Tell me if it becomes too much, okay?” “Okay.” 

“S-Stop leaving marks on my neck. I have a presentation first thing in the morning.” “Then I get to leave marks anywhere below the neck?”

“Let me make you feel good this time?” 

“You only get to watch.” “B-but—” “No buts, sweetheart.” 

“I’d fuck you right here, right now, if I could.” 

“Let’s take it back to my place.”

“Are we— are we really going to do this here?”

“Turn around.” 

“You look so cute like this, you know?” “Shut the fuck up and just fuck me already.” 

“Why’d you stop?” “Because you sounded too fucking good and so I had like, a moment.” 

“I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”

“Eyes on me at all times, sweetheart.” 

“I wanna eat you out so fucking bad.” “Then why don’t you?”

“Spread your legs for me.” … “Spread them wider.” 

Hands firm on their thighs, keeping them from snapping them shut. 

“I’m not done with you yet.” 

A whispered, “Then come for me,” right next to their ear after they beg for release through tears and soft whimpers, because they’ve been edged for way too long. 

“Admit it — you want this as much as I do.” 

“I’ll be honest: I get off to the thought of you.” 

“No one does it like you.”

“Christ, I wanna fuck you so bad.” “You’ll get to do that once we get home.” 

“I want you in the most sinful ways possible.” 

“Need a hand?” 

“Aww, how eager can you get?” 

“I want you to touch me like I’m the only thing you could ever want.” 

“Can’t— can’t you go faster than this?” 

“You like messing with my head, don’t you?” “Only because it clearly turns you on.”

“B-But what about you?” “We can worry about me later. It’s all about you right now.”

“Shit, I’m so fucking hooked on you it’s not even funny.”

“You’d sound so good begging for it.”

“Fuck, you have such a tight hold on me, you don’t even know.” 

“Don’t make too many noises or we’ll get caught.” “That’s part of the thrill.”

“I don’t care, I just need these clothes off so I can fully feel you against me.” 

“You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted so badly.” 

[atricksterproblem]

(Going off of the initial Japanese release dates as to which generation was current at the time excluding remakes that came out during that period. For simplicity's sake)

For example I turned 10 in 2007 so I would be starting in the Sinnoh region! Bonus if you tell me your partner Pokémon 👀 doesn't have to be one of the three starters!

[atricksterproblem]

trying to get better at drawing himmm

[atricksterproblem]

A thing about me

I really love Hellboy

The autism event surrounding Ghost has not relented

And so I humbly present...