plethora-of-imagines

[plethora-of-imagines]

Credit to @vintageandroid for the Inflatable edit!

[plethora-of-imagines]

[Message from the Desk of Frater Imperator's Assistant]

Frater Imperator thinks the new inflatable V is an improvement. He said, "Ha, they made something just as inflated as his ego! We all know he is full of nothing but hot air. I dare say this would do better on stage than he does."

I suggest making new merch based on this idea since he banned the Perpetua Plushie that merchandising proposed last month. He may just approve of it, if we catch him in a good mood. Or suggest it can be his new punching bag, the picture taped to his current one is so crumbled its unrecognizable.

I will keep everyone updated on his continued mood.

- Named Human (No Peter, I will not stop signing off like this)

[plethora-of-imagines]

The Ministry is a bouncy house and thats why there's no doors.

[plethora-of-imagines]

being ace is the ghost fandom is writing 6k of smut one day and the next being stressed that everyone is fucking and nothing is getting done and the Ministry is in shambles and deciding that the Papas must have an entirely ace secretary pool so that at least some emails get answered

[plethora-of-imagines]

to stay where one does not belong • copia x nondescript f!sibling of sin he enters her room when she's not there. he tells himself it's only to feel close. but he stays. he touches what he shouldn't, smells what is hers, and fucks himself with what she left behind. explicit. 1.2k words. underwear kink/sniffing. scent kink? masturbation (with underwear). imagined voyeurism. no real physical description of the sibling but she/her pronouns are used. copia is a very naughty boy.

He doesn't knock. He doesn't need to.

The door to her quarters opens with the creak of its old hinges. He steps inside, silent and slow, fingers trailing the door frame as he shuts it behind him. He knows he has no business being here, and yet he does not stop.

Her cell is small but not austere. Siblings were afforded their little luxuries in the abbey, and she had indulged just enough. An oval mirror hangs on the wall and a modest vanity sits underneath it, scattered with vials of perfume and small bottles of lotions and oils. His breath shallows as he reaches out, tracing the shapes of them with his gloved fingertips.

One stands out—the one she favours. He picks it up, barely managing to still his shaking hand, uncaps it, and lifts it to his nose.

A slow inhale.

Rich. Floral. A hint of something spiced. The smell of fleeting passes in busy corridors and of long, whispered confessions that never quite crossed the line. His lips part slightly, eyes closing as he breathes her in, as if the scent alone could summon her presence and press her against him right there in the hush of her room.

A slow exhale, and then he's moving again.

The bed is unmade. Not slovenly, just left with the careless ease of someone who had departed with the intention of returning. There's an armchair in the corner, draped with a folded tunic and a pale cotton shift, and next to it, a small, lined woven basket. Copia swallows and lowers himself, knees cracking as he crouches to inspect it, and the scent is faint but unmistakable even before he gets there. It's not clean. Not fresh. Her musk, her sweat—soft-edged and distant now—mixed with the faint fragrance of her perfume. It stirs something deep in Copia's gut.

He doesn't hesitate. He reaches in, carefully, to the small bundle of underclothes lying tangled together, and draws out a single pair of panties. Black cotton with a small satin bow stitched at the center, soft and worn from use but void of the heat from the body they had clung to. He stares at them, entranced, and can't suppress the shiver that runs through him as his thumb brushes along the gusset. Slowly, he raises them to his face, pressing them against his lips and burrowing his nose into them. A groan escapes him as he inhales deeply, dragging every trace of her scent into his lungs.

The bed is beneath him before he realises he even stood up. He sprawls across it, panties in hand as he keeps them pressed down over his face. His other hand works furiously at his belt, fingers clumsy with urgency, but his glove catches and slows him. With a frustrated growl, he yanks it off, flinging it to the floor before tearing at the other until it's gone. His hands, now bare, clammy, and still awkwardly holding on to the panties, dive again for the buckle, then the zip of his trousers, then the snug elastic of his underwear, until—finally—relief. His cock spills free, hard and heavy in his grip; the cool air a sharp contrast to the fever burning on his skin.

"Cazzo…"

A slow stroke.

His hips jerk as his palm slides over his cock, the head already slick with pre-cum, and he hisses as he rolls his thumb over the wet slit. Just the slightest pressure and he's twitching in response, thighs tensing as he tries to steady his breath.

He teases himself the way he likes—a lazy drag from base to tip, then his fingers lightly stroking the head with a few gentle rolls of his wrist. He rests the underwear over his mouth to let his other hand drift down his body to cradle his balls, rolling them with a pressure that makes his body stiffen against the mattress. His grip on his cock tightens, and he loses himself for a moment, giving himself a few fast, wanton strokes before he slows again.

Patience, he reminds himself, even as his pulse roars in his ears.

The panties are still pressed to his face, now damp from the heat of his breath, until he pulls them away, just enough to look. To see them. That little satin bow. That faint stain at the center...

A deep breath.

Then he moves them lower.

There's a heavy, trembling pause before he does it. Before he wraps them around the head of his cock and strokes.

"Satanas," he whimpers. "Forgive me."

His grip tightens again as he fucks into them slowly. They bunch slightly around the base as he fists them around himself, and he watches, hypnotised, each time the head of his cock peeks through the fold of black cotton, glossy and flushed, every thrust painting it darker.

In his mind, she watches him. Not scandalised, but hungry. Mouth open, thighs pressed together beneath her tunic, her breath as shallow as his as she watches him defile her most intimate possession. Her eyes darken as she stares at him, the edge of her tongue wetting her lower lip...

"Guardami," he murmurs into the air. "Guarda cosa mi fai fare."

The thought sends him over the edge. The pressure crests and his hips buck instinctively, once, then again, and on the third thrust, his body seizes. A raw, strained sound tears from his throat as he comes, thick and hot and soaking the fabric. With a few more strokes, it overflows, slicking his shaft and spilling across his fingers. Each roll of his hand brings another shudder from him, another wracked and desperate twitch wrung from his body. The soiled panties stay wrapped around him as he trembles through the aftershocks.

He blinks.

They're ruined.

His cum seeps through the soft fabric, sticky and white, glistening in obscene streaks across the dark cotton. The little satin bow is wet and flattened against the mess he's made. And, with it, the scent of her that once lingered is dulled and overtaken. By him.

"Merda," Copia spits, low and bitter.

He hadn't meant to do that. Not to them. Not to her. He wanted to keep them as they were—pure and untainted and distinctly hers. He sits up slowly, cock still half-hard, hands sticky with his spend, and peels them away from himself, wincing as the fabric clings on to his skin. A few drops of cum have landed in a trail across his thigh and he wipes them with the edge of the sheet, careless now, angry at himself.

He should leave them here. Tuck them back into the laundry basket, pretend nothing happened. Let them be washed clean and anonymous. The thought of her wearing them again—after this—sends a flutter of arousal through his core. A final mark, invisible but absolute...

No.

He stands, still catching his breath, and carefully folds the ruined fabric into his palm. There's a hint of hesitation in the way he looks at them as guilt starts to flicker beneath the satisfaction, but it doesn't stop him. He presses them into the inner pocket of his jacket, out of sight—a dirty little secret just for him.

Then he adjusts himself. Zips up his trousers and buckles his belt, clearing his throat as the adrenaline starts to crash. He smooths the bed, straightens the perfume bottle on her vanity, takes one last look at himself in her mirror, and leaves.

Silently. Just as he came.

[plethora-of-imagines]

If each of the Papas presented their significant other with a ring, what kind of Ring do you think they’d choose? And how would they surprise them or present them with it?

I love this and fully went down a rabbit hole because of it. Either way, I went with this being perhaps a promise ring more so than an engagement ring. Of course, these are just my personal ideas ♡

Primo

an antique ring with a red stone (perhaps even a real ruby), sourced via ominous contacts, that belonged to someone with an interesting history (elizabeth bathory is the obvious choice, a sort of late renaissance ring, but there are more options of historical figures he finds fascinating)

alternatively: a signet ring with an interesting seal, an heirloom of a long dead family that has no home anymore, perhaps even rumoured to be cursed

either way, the ring is a promise of his dedication to you and will be presented in an intimate moment, perhaps during a nightly walk under the moonlight that makes the red stone appear with an even starker contrast to the desaturated world around you, like blood in the snow

he expects you to wear moving froward, as a returning promise of your own dedication to him

primo is rare to give out material gifts, unless someone is particularly precious to him, and to wear a ring that is recognisably a gift from, a favour from the eldest, will earn you many looks of respect among the congregation, almost like a protective seal not to mess with you

Secondo

a custom-made ring in a vintage inspired design that fits your taste with a green shimmering stone to represent his papal colour (emerald, preferably, but perhaps not in the classic emerald cut)

does not mind spending obscene amounts of money on it

very classic, elegant and rounded curves if you prefer softer shapes, an angular band if you don’t, either way it will be excellently crafted and he knows your tastes in detail (mostly, since he’s been eyeing your own more affordable jewellery ever since you met)

gifting jewellery to him is a way to adorn you, almost like an artist who adds detail to a painting – a way to enhance your beauty and leave his mark on you (and he enjoys the way your eyes light up whenever he presents a well-thought-out present)

there will be more gifts to match the ring with every year you spend together, earrings, necklaces, bracelets, body jewellery, until he can admire you sprawled out in his sheets with nothing but his gifts adorning your skin

if, one day, you gift him a custom ring to match the one he gifted you he might be tempted to marry you on the spot (also: get him matching cufflinks)

Terzo

a classic ring, ornate and well-crafted but tasteful, depending on your style either dainty or bold, but probably more understated and classy to match his personal style

i think if you are into stones he’d get a classic diamond (or perhaps amethyst to match his purple accents)

considering his stage costume was inspired by gustav iii we could stick with some 18th century designs (diamonds had just been discovered earlier that century so they were very popular), in that case i can see him going for a rose or table cut diamond

I could however, also see him going for an art deco style ring, perhaps a french design, luxurious materials, geometric shapes, perhaps a pair of trapeze cut diamonds

he’d make sure to present the gift in a romantic fashion, a moment to have you in the center of his attention with no doubt that he means what he’s promising – that he’s yours and, if you’re willing to accept, you’re his for everyone to see

whenever he kisses your hand after that (as he often does) you’ll notice his lips pressing down right where the ring meets your skin, a gentle reminder of his affection

he also quite enjoys feeling the ring between his fingers, and will toy with it when you’re holding hands, almost as if to reassure himself that you’re really his

Copia

gift giving with copia is rather removed from monetary value and much more based on “would the other like it?” no matter if it’s a silly or serious gift

not that he’s not into expensive fashion choices but stage persona Copia and the Copia you get at home are not necessarily the same and in the intimacy he does not have to inflate his ego (he’s learned, anyway, that you love him as he is)

so, it could go either way: a silly ring from a bubblegum machine you find in a mall with him joking that he should get you one and you actually agreeing or him going down a rabbit whole to find a proper statement piece that would suit you

the Cardinal wears very bold rings and i can see him getting you one that is matching, just perhaps a little daintier so you can keep wearing it on the daily where he sees it (he’s a little possessive with you and he’d quite enjoy spotting you wearing it)

now, i like to imagine he is a bit of a history nerd (based on his themes) and especially viewed from the lens of the Prequelle era I can imagine he’d be into Georgian mourning rings (sorta like this/this), perhaps in a more affordable modern design

or… perhaps an intaglio ring that has a little picture engraved, also very cool, all with the idea that yours is an enduring (eternal) love that carries on through life and death

I can also see him gifting you a ring to celebrate when he becomes papa, matching with the stones of his robes (or perhaps turquoise or a sapphire), a way to show you he will remain yours, even as he belongs to the congregation now

as Frater I imagine he would get you a ring that matches his new grucifix brooch, rubies or perhaps even jet, he’d have it made as a thank you for sticking to him through his grief and the struggles he has with his new role

Perpetua

i can see him being very interested in mourning rings as well but also in specimen rings

i also feel like he would go for a gothic style ring, inspired by the actual era’s designs and not modern ones, perhaps even an authentic restored antique ring (don’t ask where or how he got it)

it’s rather big, clear, pointed shapes and, if you enjoy them, with a precious stone held by claws, if not it would be a plain gold band with an engraving that caught his attention and perhaps enamel elements

i imagine he’s like a magpie who collects shiny things, in this case matching antique rings, to gift to you whenever there is an occasion to do so

considering they used to wear rings on pretty much all fingers during this period, sometimes even multiple, he’ll only be satisfied when you’re properly adorned by him and there isn’t any space left (then he’ll move on to other items)

it’s not entirely selfless either: he’s mesmerised, seeing your hand trailing his chest as the moonlight catches in the stones, the way they make your hand appear daintier, the way the warm metal feels when it touches his skin, his neck, his– well. it’s a sensory experience, is what i’m saying, and he is into that

(also please note the links don't mean they would pick exactly these rings, i just use them as design examples so you know what i'm talking about!)

[plethora-of-imagines]

Where Did This Come From?

Summary:

Cardinal Copia has always been known to be a bit of a perv, a harmless and lovable perv, but still a perv… But no one in the Ministry knows of his guilty pleasure of stealing used woman's panties. Or at least no one knew of his love of panties until Terzo found a pair in his room while snooping around his room and harasses him about it!

Can the Cardinal keep his dirty little secret a secret?

AN:

The NSFW prompt for June for the Riters Ghuild: "Now where did that/this come from?"

The summary was so hard to write! Thank you Disco for helping me, you saved me! (from the monster that was eating me- the summary; I'm Summarized)

Warning: Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Masturbation, Semi-Public Masturbation, Scent Kink, Panty Raid, Underwear Theft, Flashbacks

Words: 1715

It had been an exhausting day. All Copia wanted was to flop down onto his bed and sleep for a month. Sister had been dragging him around by the ear all day. Not giving him a moment to himself as he rushed to complete every task pilled upon him. The welcomed sweet reprieve of his room beckoned to him. Fumbling his keys, attempting to open the door. Creaky hinges never sounding better.

"Well hello Cardinal, I was wondering if you would ever return to your oh so humble abode."

The faux cheerful tone of Terzo's voice was the last sound Copia wished to hear. Terzo was a menace, constantly teasing him. Almost bullying him with any chance he got. Copia had never understood why Terzo seemed to fixate on him. Treating him similarly to Secondo when they got into spats, but they were not brothers. There was no unspoken fondness to sooth the hurt of Terzo's actions.

"What do you want," Copia force himself to ask.

Continuing to stare at Terzo in silent anger wouldn't make him leave any sooner. Humoring him would get it over with.

"Hmm, it took so long for you to return that I have forgotten why I was seeking you out…"

Playfully tapping his chin with his annoyingly pristine white gloves.

Copia had tried to wear similar gloves once. He managed to cover them in a mix of his dark eye kohl and red sauce by lunchtime. Terzo began to speak again before Copia could grow furious about him being on his bed. With his shoes on, to add further insult.

"Why I initially came here is unimportant, I was bored so I took a peak around. I'm sure you don't mind Cardi," he dismissed with a flamboyant hand wave. "And I found some very interesting things."

If Terzo had found his music and stole it Copia would have to kill him. Sister would forgive him for destroying the Ghost Project. Eventually. What was pulled up from behind Terzo's lounging form was worse.

Black lacy panties.

"Now, Cardinal," he purred. "Where did these come from?"

He froze.

***

It had been about a week and a half ago that Copia had found himself pausing on the way back to his living space. Tilting his head at the noises catching his attention. It was not unusual to hear the sounds of pleasure from Siblings of Sin indulging in the current Papa's favorite of sin. Lustful encounters happened all the time. But typically it was not from her room.

Copia's favorite Sister of Sin. Oh he had barely spoken two words to her. But she was pretty to look at, a sweet woman. Always kind to him when they passed in the halls. Giving a shy little wave to him with flushed cheeks. It was kind. Far kinder than more were to him, since he was always so busy and had yet to integrate himself with the Siblings here. The more base part of him liked her for a different reason. Her sweet, succulent sent. Oh, her scent! That scent was his favorite of all the Siblings of Sin. The nectar of sin that corrupted all man. It was rare to get a potent whiff, even rarer to get a fresh source.

Already, pants growing tight from the soft sounds from beyond the door. Moans muffled into a pillow or sheet, while a strong vibrator clearly worked hard. The buzzing was audible. Quiet and discrete his ass. They never were quiet enough. False advertising used to make people feel less self conscious about seeking pleasure. Swallowing nervously. A quick glance told him the coast was clear. Mentally planning the heist later to collect the sweet reward of Lucifer's blessing.

Blessed by stumbling upon this opportunity for a beautiful offering of lust to steal to aid his own offerings to their Dark Lord. With no one present to observe his actions, Copia palmed himself. Bringing his half hard cock to peak stiffness. Glad to be wearing the cassock today. It would hide the clear stiffy he was giving himself in his pants. Tempted to lift it up and slide his gloved hands into his pants and touch his bare cock. Resisting only so that he would not be caught with his hands down his pants in the hallway. That would be truly embarrassing.

Biting his fist to keep from adding his own whines to those that were sequestered behind the door. Clear sound of squealing marking their organism. Assuming the vocal show was over he reluctantly removed his hand from cupping his cock through the two layers of fabric. But the sound of the vibrator did not end. Collapsing against the wall in shock as all the blood in his body flooded to his cock. She was still going.

Whines and cries that were no longer subtle echoed into the hallway. He could hear her begging. Reaching for his phone in a horny haze before thinking better of it. He would have to memorize the sounds to think about later while he got off to her scent. Heavily breathing as he listened to the wet sounds of her certainly dripping pussy. Sudden sounds of chatter down the hall yanked him out of the moment. Cheeks flushed as he looked around to see if he had been noticed. No, no one had seen him. Yet. Scurrying off down the hall to avoid being caught eavesdropping. Narrowly missing the Siblings as they turned the corner behind him.

***

Later, when all the Siblings of Sins should be busy at communal dinner he sneaked back to her door.

Copia should have stopped this childish kleptomania ages ago. He was far too old for this, getting caught would no longer be something Ministry members would brush off as a sin of youth to be allowed. Yet he could not help it.

Gently nudging the door open and sliding into the room. It was unlocked and he sent a quick thanks to Lucifer. An unlocked door was dubious permission, but he never dared break into a Sibling's room in the search for used panties. Not closing the door behind him fully so that he would have an easy escape once he had his prize. The distant memory of feeling trapped in the past by being unable to tell if someone was approaching a deciding factor in leaving the door cracked. Zeroing in on the laundry basket and rushing to rifle through the top of it. Finding a bra close to the top and some panties burred further down. Still nice, always nice. But not the fresh catch he was hoping for.

Jumping at the sudden light snoring from the bed. Turning horror to see the wild hair across the pillow, form thankfully covered by the blanket and face turned away. One leg sticking out from the safety of the covers. A leg with a pair of damp black lace panties hanging from the ankle.

He needed to leave.

Stealing panties from Siblings' laundry to get off to, and then sneaking them back once clean was one thing. Taking them off her while she slept another.

He didn't leave.

The panties called to him like the call of Satan himself. Begging him to indulge. To take. To lust, to sin. Copia would feel awful later for taking them and intruding on her without consent. Figuring out the brand and buying replacements to sneak into her cleaned laundry as a silent apology.

Creeping forward with trepidation. Waking her would be a death sentence. A death from shame and embarrassment. Panting in time with her snores. Slowly peeling his treasured prize off her leg. Stepping back with his coveted pair of used panties firmly in his hand. They were soaked! Clearly she indulged beautifully in lust. As was her right as one of Satan's flock.

Tip toeing back away from her towards the door. Watching for any twitch that would suggest waking. Almost tripping over himself into said door at the content sound she made when shifting. Curling more into the covers, fortunately. He didn't even bother to check if someone was in the hall. It was much more important to avoid being caught by her.

Silently praying a hundred Hail Satans in apology for the theft that overstepped more than usual. Sprinting back to his own room several halls down. Slamming the door behind him, while slamming the panties up to his nose.

Whole body trembling in pleasure. Lovely potent scent of well loved pussy. Nothing was better than this scent. One day Copia would find a woman who would indulge him and let him spend his hours suffocating in such a scent directly. For now, this would work.

Flopping face first onto his bed with little care. Not a thought, nor anxiety to bother him. Pussy drunk from the scent of the panties alone. Squirming out of his clothes to let his dripping with pre-cum cock free from its imprisonment. Inhaling deeply. Shaky sighs already filling the room.

This was the beautiful hell promised to Satan's devoted. Trembling hand traveling down to his leaking cock, fondling his balls. Hissing and growling into the panties crumpled up against his face. Bliss. The pure bliss of overwhelming lust.

***

Jostled from his memories by Terzo's teasing, questioning hum Copia shot forward in a rush. Yanking the panties out of Terzo's grip with prejudice.

"None of your fucking business, Terzo." Pointing an angry finger to the open door. "Get the fuck out of my room!"

Copia couldn't even take Terzo's obedience as a win. That infuriating smile telling him that soon there would be rumors among the ghouls of the Cardinal's proclivities. Sighing to himself, he accepted that he would be teased endlessly by the ghouls for the foreseeable future. Small mercies that Terzo had always been sure not to ruin his reputation with the Siblings with such rumors. That would risk the truth coming out.

Looking at the tempting treasure in his hands, Copia considered sneaking it into the Sibling laundry. That would remove any risk of being caught… Shoving it into his nose to breath in the still potent scent. Cock stirring to life in response. Springing up agonizingly against his skin tight pants.

Yeah, he would return it. After one more orgasm.

[plethora-of-imagines]

@cruise-in-your-glow-bus they made your fic true

On the one hand... kudos to Michaels for pouncing on a lucrative marketing opportunity upon the death of one of their primary rivals.

On the other hand, it is SO SURREAL to see this banner atop the Michaels website. Honestly, it looks like some sort of cursed Tumblr joke about how fans really will ship everything, or what AO3 would look like if the primary users were cosplayers, or something. How is this an official promotional image, and not some bonkers sh*tpost?

[plethora-of-imagines]

Spare prompts you say!

Creature coded Perpetua trying to court/flirt with a Sister of Sin but uhhhh he keeps accidentally scaring her. 😅

Don't know if its up your alley but I can't stop thinking about it.

He just wanted to give her a gift why is she jumping back in shock!?

Poor him, he doesn't know its an unusual thing to give!

What do women like?

V waits until his brother is well asleep to sneak into his new office, so overstuffed and golden-yellow it shines like the sun itself, typing in his request to the strange device and wincing as the too-bright screen returns a list of results.

There’s not much about being a human being that he instinctively understands, and what he does understand is so contradictory it hardly helps at all. The world is too bright, but the stage lights feel comforting. The sounds around him are too loud, but behind the snug fit of his in-ear monitors, the pulse of the beat rings throughout his marrow. People say one thing, then do another, but music is his constant.

And there is (as there always is, in times of emotional turmoil) a woman who has caught his eye, one who makes him pine, and yearn, and anguish, and yes, even step outside of his comfort zone.

Hence: The computer. The box full of answers. The oracle, his very salvation.

V reads the results and devours them, making a list of objects and ideas. Surely this will help him. Surely, even though his own language fails, this beautiful woman - so lovely, so bright-eyed and happy, with a smile that makes him want to fling himself off the roof of the bell tower and a laugh that makes him want to dig his way back to whatever hell he was drug out of in the first place - will understand what it is he means to convey.

Attempt #1 - Women Like Flowers

V waits for her with his hand wrapped around his gift, palm sweaty, dirt scattering on the marble floor. This is the best of the flowers in the gardens, because only the very best will suffice to show his admiration to her. Yet when she approaches (he’d know her voice anywhere; he hears it in his dreams) he only sees her eyes widen when he jumps out from the shadowed alcove. The scream she makes… she screams at him; he’s frightened her. Panic rushes in like the tide, and he hastily shoves the uprooted azalea bush at her before running away.

Conclusion - Women Like Flowers, but she does NOT.

Attempt #2 - Women Like Chocolates

V reconsiders. Though it nearly crushes him, he summons his courage travel into the nearby town during an early summer market day. Under a black parasol he slinks from tent to tent, looking for his quarry. There are baskets of summer fruits, which he buys, because he himself enjoys them. There are vendors selling wood-sculpted objects, things made of old forks and hubcaps, stained glass sun-catchers that glint in the light prettily, like hellfire. There is a booth that sells local whiskey, which tastes like hellfire. (He buys a bottle for the ghouls, to give them a little taste of home.)

There, at last, he finds an artisan chocolate maker. He buys two of the nicest boxes, tucks them carefully out of the sun, and returns to the ministry, leaving a trail of concerned citizens and fascinated children behind. Even though he left his paint off, to blend in, there’s absolutely no denying that a grown man in a metal half-mask and all-black clothing does make quite the impression.

Last time, he surprised her. That was, perhaps, a bad choice. This time, he leaves the chocolates outside of her door, waiting in the high shadows, perched on a nearby archway and watching until she finds them. His heart flutters with nerves and with longing, and when she appears and crouches down to pick them up it’s only then that he realized he… never put a name on the gift.

So she stands there, holding chocolates in her hands, looking left and right. She mutters something to the companion she walks with, something like: “…dairy in them. I can’t even try one! Do you want to take them? I have no idea how these even got here?”

V’s heart sinks as her friend hugs her happily, accepts the chocolates, and they part ways.

Conclusion - Women like Chocolates, but she does NOT.

Attempt #3 - Women Like Jewelry

No flowers, no foodstuffs.

He must not get this wrong.

He must put his name on it, too. (Stupid; he’s so stupid. Satan never made a stupider, more pathetic, more miserable, lovestruck creature than he!)

V asks the ghouls to make a simple golden grucifix for him. He sees her when she walks among the roses, knows she always bends to smell them. He knows she sometimes tucks flowers in her hair, and knows she prefers simple wildflowers even more than roses. So he does not have the necklace adorned with any gems at all. Just simple gold, to match the warmth of her smile, the soft light in his heart she makes him feel.

V holds the little box in his hands and waits for her after unholy mass. He can sing and dance in front of thousands, but simply speaking to one woman is beyond him, it seems.

There is no way he can find a way to talk to her, just her, without jumping out and scaring her.

And when she smiles at another one of the Brothers of Sin, when she gives him that laughter, V pockets the necklace and slinks away.

Conclusion - Women Like Jewelry, but She does NOT.

She does NOT like… him.

He’s the common thread, here.

He’s the flawed creation.

He should have known.

Papa is loved, but V is just a creature. Misunderstood, and misunderstanding everything. She owes him nothing, but it does nothing to soothe the pain in his heart. She is scared of him. She would run from him, if she could. If she knew he felt this deeply, she would run - and by Lucifer he would still want to chase her.

Pride wounded, V hides away in the little ruined temple out in the grounds. It sits on the border of the field and the forest beyond. He sits on the dirt with his back to a pillar, holding the necklace in his hand, debating whether to leave it in the dirt or fling it into the trees. He was a fool to even think someone as lovely as he would want—

“Papa?”

V sits up so fast he nearly cracks his head against the stone. It’s her.

“W-what…?”

“I was just leaving,” V lies. “Please, don’t let me…”

“I was looking for you.” She smiles tentatively at him. Outside, beyond the little shelter of the temple, it has begun to rain. “I wanted to thank you.”

V blinks up at her.

“One of the… one of the siblings was at the market the other day. She told me she saw you there, buying chocolates.”

“I… did?” He does not mean for it to come off like a question, but it does. “I did. Yes.”

She gives him a tentative, shy smile. “That was very kind of you. To leave them for me. I can’t have dairy, though. I’m, like, really allergic. It’s so stupid, I’m so sorry. If I had known—“

“You do not owe me anything,” V says, standing up, taking a little step back to give her distance, like one afraid of spooking some kind of beautiful, wild creature. “I am sorry to have been so thoughtless and inattentive.”

“It wasn’t thoughtless,” she says, tucking her hair back behind her ear and giving him a wider smile. There is a light in her eyes he cannot even hope to read. “It was really kind of you. I’m just sorry I couldn’t have them. Built wrong, I guess.”

“No!” At this, V steps forward, hesitating, holding himself back from rushing to embrace her the way he wishes, the way he has yearned to do for months, now. “No! You are built to perfection. Every bit of you is wonderful and perfect. If you wish it, I will find every cow in the city and offer it to Satan’s pyres to safeguard you!”

She laughs and shakes her head. “No, no, that’s okay. I wouldn’t deny anyone else their cheese!”

Oh, he is a fool. Her smile is so lovely, her gaze so tender. He could take flight at this very moment. She could pierce him with a stake and he would thank her for penetrating him.

They’re both just staring at each other, with awestruck gazes equally, wonderfully matched.

And he remembers the necklace in his hand.

“I… had this made for… for you.” V opens his shaking hand and her eyes widen. Her gaze flicks up to his, then back to his hand, then to his eyes again. Her own are watery and full of wonder.

“Why?”

“It is a necklace,” V explains, holding the clasp, showing her. “You wear it—“

“No, I mean… why me?”

V has frightened her. He has misunderstood her. He has failed to show her how he feels and now he may never be able to express it unless he does so right now. So with the courage granted to him through prayer and fervent devotion to the Great Unmaker, he takes a breath, and confesses his feelings.

Needless to say, if any of the siblings look out the south-eastern window that evening and catch a glimpse of a formless shadow horror being ridden by a very naked Sister of Sin, or if any of them hear noises too unholy and erotic to be put to print, or if anyone up before dawn the next day sees a pair of figures hand-in-hand limping back to the main building, kissing every five feet, well, that’s between them and Satan, now, isn’t it?

[plethora-of-imagines]

loved that creature Perpetua story boss. Asking for more please. Their first date. Perpetua trying to be normal in a restaurant and not just pick up an entire raw steak in his teeth. Taking you to see a horror movie because he’s heard people get scared and cuddle but when you scream he tries to fight the screen for you. Idk. All the good stuff. Mwah 😙

Now that V knows this Sister likes him —

(Likes him well enough to touch him, not just his skin but what he is beneath it, shapeless and formless, an ever-shifting energy with far too many eyes yet still not enough to look at her, as many tentacles as she craves yet still not quite enough to hold her close.)

—it makes it much easier to plan a date.

Easier, but also more difficult, because now, he must get things right.

And that means: The Computer.

“Eh, fratello?” Copia scowls at him, protective and wary as ever when V slinks in through the doorway of his brother’s office. “You want to what?”

V draws himself up as tall and as confident as he can, in this body. “I need to plan a date.”

There’s just so much to consider. Dairy-free options, of course, for her. Meat, of course, for him. He has surmised that shifting his skin and barreling down on all fours to take down a deer is, perhaps, not the way to go to woo a human woman, even though he’s very good at it. No, it must be a nice place, with good food, and lighting that is not too bright. Food both of them can eat.

(There, cradled in her soft arms, as the rain fell down around them, under the sheltering stone, V held her close to his chest and she pressed her ear to the space above what passes for his heart, and he brushed his long, spindly, claw-tipped fingers through her hair and asked her if there were other foods that might kill her. To be trusted with this knowledge, to safeguard her in such a way, made his whole form shiver with delighted responsibility. Of course, then she had confessed there was one meal she might die without, and before he could think to ask her what it was, she was crawling down his body, taking him into her mouth. Beyond that, he hadn’t needed the clarification.)

“Take her to dinner,” Copia had urged him, waving away V’s concerns with a flick of his black-gloved hand. “Go somewhere nice. And a movie. Something scary, so she wants to, eh, get close to you, si?”

Yes, V thinks, yes. Perhaps his brother is wise. It’s a distant perhaps, but… Satan’s mysteries are indeed deep and unknowable.

V extends the invitation to his sweet Sister, who happily accepts. He dresses well, and meets her at the door, nearly dissolving into mist at the sight of her in a fitted, deep green velvet gown. The scoop neck shows off her soft, lovely, delicious breasts to perfection, and the stretchy velvet makes him want to pet the swell of her thighs and hips. V does his best not to leave an ink trail on the floor and keep himself together as he escorts her down to the waiting car.

He makes quiet but intense eye contact with the Ghoul behind the wheel. A shared understanding, creature to creature. Do not fuck this up for me, bro.

Inside the restaurant, they are shown to a secluded booth, high-backed and hidden away. He places his napkin in his lap though he wishes he had her hands in his lap instead, and forces himself into his best behavior. The steak he orders is a little overdone for his liking, but he chews it and forces it down because picking it up and tearing bloody chunks out of it with his teeth is something that surely would get them removed, and end the date early.

Halfway through the meal, she puts her hand on his thigh, and V forgets how to eat entirely, focusing on her mouth instead, the noises she makes as she luxuriates in her own meal. It is only by the infernal mercies of his Lord that his erection does not fight its way out of his pants not unlike Satan rising from the depths of hell itself. But it's a very, very close call.

At the movie theater, she sits beside him and cuddles beneath the arm he extends over her shoulders. She smells lovely, like a thunderstorm, like rain, like wet leaves and beneath it all the scent between her legs that he wants to rub on his face and drown in.

Then as the movie continues, he feels her heart racing for real, tastes her fear on the air, and when he feels her tuck her face against his chest he does not hesitate. V scoops her up into his arms, climbs over the handful of annoyed moviegoers, very nearly lets his wings out as he flees from the darkness of the theater into the lobby.

The sweet Sister is tucked against his chest, crying.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—“

“What do you have to be sorry for?” He is not happy he has caused her distress, but there is a wretched little part of him (to be fair, it’s not that little) that is more than pleased she is in his arms yet, curling her own embrace around him, seeking comfort in him.

“I thought I could—“ she sob-hiccups. “I’m just a big baby about… things like that, I can handle gore and… but the… the kid, I couldn’t..”

Oh, her tender heart is sweeter than anything to him. V holds her and weeps with her, because the film was frightening, and they both knew it was not real, but even things that are not real can cause pain. He knows it well. So, too, does she.

“Precious thing,” he gentles her with kisses to her hair. “You could never disappoint me. Please, if you wish to go, we will go. I will burn this theater to the ground if you—“

She laughs at this, shaking her head, drying her tears against his jacket.

“Please don’t burn the theater down, love.”

Ah, he thinks. This is just like the cows. How noble of her not to deprive others of their joy when she herself feels pain. If she wishes it, he would destroy anything that—

Love.

“Say it again?” V is shameless. He whimpers, and holds her even closer to his body.

She looks up at him, watery and smiling shyly. “Love?”

The poor nineteen year old working behind the concessions stand never fully recovers from the sight that is played out before him. It becomes the stuff of legends, a tall tale, scented in artificial butter and wreathed by muffled movie screaming, draped in crimson velvet curtains. All he knows is one minute, there is a man standing there, holding a crying woman, and the next, some localized black hole of a thing, spinning with black feathery wings and lashing tentacles, head tilted back in a grin filled with entirely too many jagged obsidian teeth, before it takes off like some kind of… there really aren’t any words for it. But the thing can fly, and it cannonballs out the front window, leaving a trail of shattered glass behind and a vague sense of yearning that the concessions stand worker never completely shakes as long as he lives. The next day, he changes his college major to poetry.

In the air, flying through velvet darkness over the neon-lit town below, V holds her close, his precious cargo, and tests the speed of his wings. She loves him. She clings to him, presses kisses to his throat, his collarbones, anything she can reach. She loves him, and he can fly, will fly, as far away from anything that would hurt her, to keep her safe and sheltered, to show her in every way he can that he feels entirely the same, and will until the very unmaking of the world.

[plethora-of-imagines]

If there is a new ghoul, I propose the name being Calamus because of the feather with a lack of feather on the hat.

[plethora-of-imagines]

…It’s possible a new ghoul has been summoned for the North American leg.

Via NTTE_HATS on Instagram

[plethora-of-imagines]

You Promised. I lied.

AN: The SFW prompt for June for the Riters Ghuild: "You Promised." "I lied."

Not an "x reader/OC" which is rare for me. But I had this idea based on that one interview with Primo and I could not let it go!

Warning: Copia self conciousness, talk of kidnapping

Words: 1447

Copia fiddled with his fingers first. He knew that the ghoul would be bringing him here any moment. It would look most imposing for him to be sitting behind the great big desk he now owned. Appearances and all. Yet the anxious nerves wouldn't quiet. Once more Copia cursed his inability to be firm and commanding when not preforming for large crowds. It made his new role as Frater difficult.

Restless energy eventually forcing him out of his chair. Pacing what would soon be a well worn path into the new floors. Pondering how in Satan's name he was supposed to reprimand him. It was pointless. Clearly asking nicely hadn't worked, besides it seemed just like everyone else he preferred his twin over him. Copia would never be enough. Not for the fans, not for the siblings, not for his family.

Startled by the creaky opening of the door, even new doors seemed to always creak in the Ministry. Copia jumped embarrassingly high in the air. An eeping noise filling the silence of the room. The ghoul who entered was unfamiliar. He missed his ghouls, well the band ghouls. As it had been pointed out to him they were no longer his. At least they still called him Papa when they saw him. Or well, did. It was likely to stop when they returned from tour and had gotten used to the new guy. Still standing caught in the headlights of the ghoul and invited guest's eyes he started to ramble.

"Ah, come in. Just in the middle of some exercise," Copia threw a few quick punches, bouncing on his feet. "Have to keep fit now that the clergy seems to want to trap me behind that desk. You know?"

Copia wanted to go flee behind that desk now. What sort of excuse was that? Pacing the floor to what? Get his steps in! You know what, he was Frater he could go sit behind his important looking desk! It would not be anything like running away to hide. He was the Boss! Frater! The big man in charge! He could do this! Maybe.

Stumbling over his own feet, Copia fell into the chair with a loud oof.

"Oh, um, thank you Ghoul?"

Copia's attempt at a dismissal felt more like a question. His hesitation when ordering around an unfamiliar ghoul ruining what little professionalism he had managed. He would need to summon at least one to work with him. Someone to be on his side, to help him and listen to him complain. To keep the insanity at bay.

His guest sitting tall in the uncomfortable chair across the way. Eyes intimidatingly boring into Copia's own.

"Now, what have you called me here for, Copia."

Deeply breathing, he accepted that insisting on being called Frater would be a lost cause. Starting his tirade, his lecture.

"We have certain expectations of proper behavior. Even from you-"

He was cut off before his rant could truly begin.

"And how have I exactly have I broken this decorum?"

Cutting to the chase Copia took the plunge. No dancing around the core of the issue. Picking up his solid evidence. Several printed stories. All with headlines along the same concept: "Kidnapped by Ghost". Copia showed the pile to him. Getting no response to the display.

"You promised," Copia's gloved finger pressing noisily into the papers. Stressing his words with repetitive poking to accentuate them. "Promised me that you wouldn't kidnap any more reporters."

"I lied," spoken as monotone as the grave.

"Well of course I know that. You kidnapped two reporters in the last week alone!"

Copia threw the incriminating interviews down onto the desk. Unstapled pages flying everywhere. Raining down around then.

"It was necessary."

"Necessary," Copia ground out. Pissed beyond belief. "You never kidnapped reporters to praise the Ghost Project when I was in charge of it."

"You didn't need me to," his tone still perfectly even, factual.

"I didn't- what? I didn't need you to? What sort of answer is that!"

The creaking of gloves reminded Copia to unclench his jaw. It would be aching later, he just knew it. The stress of this job had him chewing through nightguards like chew toys. Maybe he would look into that Botox thingy one of the Siblings of Sin had mentioned they did for their clenching.

"Exactly that. Copia, you gave interviews. Charmed the press and endeared yourself to the fans immediately. They knew you, they liked you," the slightest of emotions breaking through.

It threw Copia off.

The unemotional wall Copia had been rallying against cracking in front of him with little prompting on his part.

"I um, well yes I did my fair share of interviews," Copia stumbled around his words before getting back on track. "But what does this have to do with you kidnapping reporters!"

"Your brother doesn't speak to press at all. And even if he did decide to start I bet he's shit at it," finally some emotion growing in his voice. Growing more disparaging and frantic. "So it falls to me to make sure there are interviews about the project. Ones that favor the band and help spread our message. To give something beyond him riding on your coat tails to success."

Copia allowed himself a few moments of satisfaction at the praise. Tempted to join in on ragging on V's theoretical inability to charm reporters. Right. As good as it was to know someone else though he was the reason for the current success of the band, he had to try and put an end to the kidnapping. Before lawsuits rolled in and became his problem as Frater.

"Still, you don't need to kidnap reporters Primo. Invite them, answer some inquiries for interviews with you for a change!"

Primo looked contemplative for a few moments before smiling like he wanted to eat someone alive.

"No. The kidnapping is much more enjoyable, I've missed it. I find we get much better press when they fear for their lives."

Copia sat still. Silently blinking, flabbergasted by Primo’s apparent kidnapping hobby. Should he be worried about all the gardening sheds Primo had gotten recently. Was he growing drugs to knock out unsuspecting reporters? He let all the weed slide, since Primo could pretend to be a silly old man to get out of any crimes for growing it. It was a lot of work- kidnapping reporters- considering most would jump at the opportunity to interview anyone related to the Ghost Project currently. Retired Papa or not!

Thinking for another moment brought back the memories of Primo trying to lecture him about interviews ages back. When he first got appointed. Something about sending his ghouls out to disorient reporters before bringing them in for interviews. In hindsight it made more sense now. Knowing it was about kidnapping reporters and not scheduled interviews. He had never understood why Primo recommended doing interviews with dazed reporters. It has seemed like possible hazing at the time, meant to make a fool of him. Nipping the habit would take some ghoul intervention.

"I'm sending your ghouls to some sort of support group, Primo." Blurting out the first idea for intervention out of his mouth.

"I do not believe a kidnappers anonymous exists, Copia. If the ministry creates one, I will let my ghouls attend... It would be good for them to discuss their methods together."

Copia was struck with the horrid though of the ghouls planning their abductions together. Fellow ghouls getting curious and joining in. Images of gaggles of ghouls kidnapping siblings for fun consuming him.

"Actually, never mind. Bad idea."

Stumped Copia debated if he even could stop Primo. Even if he genuinely tried it was unlikely. If anything it would only encourage Secondo and Terzo to get involved just to give him a hard time. Still, the Ministry lawyers would have his head if they knew he didn't try to do something. Only heaven could help him if a lawsuit was served to them, and heaven would sooner laugh then assist him.

"If I send out a form to those who have requested interviews and get you a list of those who agree to this "experience" would you limit yourself to those on it?"

Primo contemplated it for a few nerve-wracking moments.

"I could restrict myself to those on the list, if needed."

"Please, Primo. Legal will have both our balls if you mess with the wrong reporter and get us sued."

Laughing Primo nodded.

"They would. The vicious hell hounds they are," Primo spoke approvingly of the department that had most trembling at the mention.

"Then promise me, and fucking mean it this time Primo!"

[plethora-of-imagines]

Hi there!

May I request a headcanon of how you think the Papas would react to seeing their s/o being harrassed in the front row of a concert?

I hope this doesn't break any rules you have for requests, I couldn't find a post with rules.

Thank you in advance!

Of course! I don't have any official request rules, just mental vibes. Other people could tell you that sometimes the ask just sits in my inbox for months and then suddenly gets written. 😅 I am a victim of real life and the mental writting vibes whims.

Primo:

He notices right away. I mean the venue is only so big since Ghost is just starting up again.

He just glares down at the person who dares to bother you. Watching.

He's scary and intimidating in his Papal makeup so it doesn't take long for them to stop.

Secondo:

He doesn't tolerate any misbehavior from the crowd.

Keeping a steady eye out for the safety of his flock.

The moment someone starts to harass anyone, he is there with strict words

When its you, oh he is even more firm

"We will be having none of that now!"

Terzo:

Like Secondo he is very focused on crowd control

But he is less likely to directly call someone out immediately

He instead gives a reminder to the whole crowd to start.

If it continues and the person harassing you doesn't realize it was them being told off, that's when he escalates

Suddenly the ghouls and Terzo are all hovering above you. As Terzo firmly says, "No more. You will leave them alone."

Copia:

With bigger venues comes even more security.

No one gets the chance to bother you for long since he assigned a security guard to keep an eye on you specifically.

But if someone does get a chance for long enough for him to notice them he will hover closer for the rest of the concert.

Just in case.

Perpetua:

He looms over you. Your avenging angel who won't let anything happen to you.

Those cameras are instantly turned to you, putting silent public pressure on your harasser to stop.

If they don't those nearby in the crowd notice and take action as well

He tilts his head with an unhinged smile when they notice all the attention and stop. Being such a creature coded man that looking into their soul promising to haunt then forever.

[plethora-of-imagines]

@the-pigeon-queen I love Psycho Killer so much. The tiny little spoiled hell hound. 🥰

She fits in so well with Secondo's (alleged) bedroom

[plethora-of-imagines]

questions for fic writers

a collection of questions i, as a writer, would love to be asked !!!

1. What fic of yours would you recommend to someone who had never read any of your work? (In other words, what do you think is the best introduction to your fics?)

2. Go to your AO3 “Works” page, to the sidebar with all the filters, and click the drop-down arrow for “Additional Tags.” What are your top 3-5 most used tags? Do you think they accurately represent your writing habits?

3. What are some tropes or details that you think are very characteristic of your fics?

4. What detail in [insert fic] are you really proud of?

5. What do you wish someone would ask you about [insert fic]? Answer it now!

6. What’s one fact about the universe of [insert fic] that you didn’t get a chance to mention in the fic itself?

7. Any worldbuilding you’re particularly proud of?

8. What song would make a great fic (to either write or read)?

9. How do you find new fic to read?

10. How do you decide what to write?

11. Are you partial to a certain character/pairing or are you more equal-opportunity? If you are partial to any character/pairing, why do you think that is?

12. Are there any tropes you used to dislike but have grown on you?

13. Are there any tropes you used to like but don’t anymore?

14. Are there any tropes you would only read if written by a trusted friend or writer?

15. What’s your favorite AU that you’ve written?

16. What’s an AU you would love to read (or have read and loved)?

17. What highly specific AU do you want to read or write even though you might be the only person to appreciate it?

18. If you wrote a sequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

19. If you wrote a spin-off of [insert fic], what would it involve?

20. If you wrote a prequel to [insert fic], what would it involve?

21. If you wrote a “missing scene” in [insert fic], what would it be?

22. Who is your favorite character in [insert fic] and why?

23. What’s a trope, AU, or concept you’ve never written, but would like to?

24. Are there any easter eggs in [insert fic], and if so, what are they?

25. What other websites or resources do you use most often when you write?

26. Would you rather write a fic that had no dialogue or one that was only dialogue?

27. How long did it take to write [insert fic]? Describe the process.

28. Does anyone read your fics before you post them? If so, who?

29. What songs would be (or are) on a playlist for [insert fic]? Explain your choices if you want!

30. Have you ever written something that was out of your comfort zone? If so, what was it, and how did it affect your approach to writing fic thereafter?

31. What’s your ideal fic length to write?

32. What’s your ideal fic length to read?

33. If you write chaptered fics, what’s your ideal chapter length to write? Is it different from your ideal chapter length to read?

34. What aspects of your writing are inspired by/taken from your real life?

35. What aspects of your writing are completely unlike your real life?

36. Do you visualize what you read/write?

37. Promote one of your own “deep cut” fics (an underrated one, or one that never got as much traction as you think it deserves!). What do you like about it?

38. Did any of your fics get surprisingly popular (whatever that means to you)? Which ones? Why do you think they were so successful?

39. Is any aspect of your writing process inspired by other writers or people? If so, who?

40. Do you tend to reread fics or are you a one-and-done kind of person?

41. Link a fic that made you think, “Wow, I want to write like that.”

42. Have you ever received a comment that particularly stood out to you for whatever reason?

43. If you take/write prompts: what’s your favorite prompt fic that you’ve written?

44. If you take/write prompts: do you prefer dialogue or scenario/narrative prompts?

45. What’s something you’ve improved on since you started writing fic?

46. Do you prefer writing on your phone or on a computer (or something else)? Do you think where you write affects the way you write?

47. If [insert fic] was a pair of shoes, what kind would it be? Describe the shoes.

48. What’s the last fic you read? Do you recommend it?

49. What are you currently working on? Share a few lines if you’re up for it!

50. Answer any question of your choice, or talk about anything you want to talk about!

[plethora-of-imagines]

I should be cleaning the bathroom.

Instead I am writing petty Copia emails for my Prime Mover fic.

TL;DR DON'T FUCK THIS UP FOR ME SHE'S ACTUALLY ADORABLE AND I WOULD LIKE TO KEEP HER