#(Shout out to the Ministry of Image!)

[fruitycasket]

Thinkin' about Dark Puppetry.

It's such a shame I was broke when that book was still for sale, I thought it looked neat then and now having hunted down the post it was advertised in (it's deleted now but the reblogs live on), I stand by that.

Now I guess someone could release another collection of fics in a book but you see that would require gathering the writers and other things so like. (Image of the book for reference under the cut.)

[papathe5th]

Could I possibllyyy ask for a Perpetua x reader where reader has been appointed his prime mover and must travel with him…I beg…

I hope to Lucifer that you have as much fun reading this as I had writing it. You didn't specify what flavor, so I prepared for you a bit of all three: fluff, angst and smut.

I would love to write some more about a hypothetical Prime Mover, but this is all I can muster for today.

READ THE SECOND PART HERE: PART TWO

Papa V Perpetua x Prime Mover f!Reader

Words: 1500

Rating: 18+

There was no way in the Nine Circles of Hell you were sitting your ass on a five star hotel king-sized bed all day waiting for the ritual to start. You were going to join the band at tonight’s venue for rehearsals. You will stand by Papa V Perpetua’s side as Satan intended. Until death do you apart and after the end of the world.

“You should be resting.” He moved his lips much to your annoyance. 

You had but two more strokes before finishing his black Cupid’s bow, but he just had to move those mesmerizing lips of his and distract you. 

“And you shouldn’t concern yourself with such menial tasks.” He looked at himself in the dressing room mirror. “We have a make-up artist for this.”

“You don’t need her,” you snapped back, barely disguising your disdain at her mention. “You do a better job of it anyway. And you have me to help.”

Papa watched your shaking hands and how they struggled to reassemble the make-up kit. And he lent your supposed helping hand a hand of his own. 

“Mia Prima,” his voice is low, like it was meant for the depth of your soul, as it was on your wedding night.

You became the Prime Mover less than three months ago. The night you were sworn to Papa V Perpetua was the first time the two of you met. And he addresses you as “Mia Prima,” his First and Everlasting. You heard his low voice over the scripture read by Papa Nihil’s spirit and you felt his gloved thumb stroke your trembling hand.

Now, as he was arresting your hand, pulling it away from the pile of products, he didn’t say his vows. Papa used his power to be rid of you. Again.

“Go back to the hotel and get yourself ready for the ritual.”

“I am ready,” your voice is also a whisper, but only because you were trying your best not to shout. “Do you not like my dress?” 

You already saw the way his eyes lit up when you showed up in the little black dress, the way they took little bites out of your figure when he thought you couldn’t see them through the dark holes in his mask. But now that you were being sent away, you doubted what your own eyes were witnessing. 

“It suits you,” he assures you, rising from the make-up chair. “And so does the jacket,” he smirked and you saw the work you did on his lips come to life.

The jacket was black leather, so worn it looked grey in the sunlight.  He had worn it in his youth and brought with him to the Ministry along with the little he owned from the outside world.

One of his treasures was a collection of Hammer Horror VHS tapes. They became your treasures too during the night of your wedding when, instead of consummating the marriage, you fell asleep in each other’s arms to the screams of dead movie stars.

You would be celebrating three months before either of you could blink, but he had been too busy building an image for the Ministry to use to reach the outside world. And, before you could settle into his chambers, you were out on the road for the first leg of the Skeletour.

“It does, doesn’t it?” You mirrored his smile. “It looks better on me than it ever did on you.” 

“Does it?” He teased you, and stroked his chin with a flourish, the test make-up came off before he could stop himself.

“Papa,” you chided him. “I was just finished with that.” 

“Don’t worry. I’ll just have the make-up artist—“

“No.” You stand your ground, actually speaking your mind this time. “Nobody else gets to see your bare face. Nobody.” 

Papa took a step back in surprise. And you covered your mouth in shock at what had just escaped through it.

“Are you…jealous of the backstage crew?”

You couldn’t bear to look at him. He was probably mocking you, looking down at you like you were still a lowly servant. And you suppose you were still servicing him, only as a wife instead of a sister. But your marital bed had been so cold without him.

Papa reached for you, running his leather clad fingers down each of your shoulders. “Confess to your Papa.”

You hugged yourself tighter, your back turned away from him so that he wouldn’t reach your heart.

“Mia Prima,” he whispered in your ear.

“Am I really your First and Everlasting? You haven’t even touched me!” And you said all this as he was struggling to encircle his hands around your shivering body. 

“It is me who should be confessing,” he breathed into the back of your neck. “I’ve been a terrible Papa. Just as my brother…our Frater feared.” 

It wasn’t just you who was trembling now. He curled himself around you as he opened his heart to your closed off one. “Forgive me. They put the weight of the end of the world on my shoulders and I can’t even…I am too weak to carry it.”

The pressure you have been feeling since the members of the Clergy informed you of your new role was his pressure. While still among the Sisters of Sin, they swore they heard that Papa V Perpetua himself wanted you before the elders made their final choice. When they appointed you his Prime Mover, they split that pressure down the middle for you to carry separately instead of together.

“But you don’t have to do it alone,” you turn towards him, and he rests his silver forehead against your bare one. “We can come together.”

“Together as one,” he breathed over your lips, his breath hot and heavy.

You closed your eyes, waiting for him to take your mouth, to claim your body and finally consummate your marriage right there, right then.

“Have they shown you the stage yet?”

You opened your eyes to see he had moved his mouth along with the rest of his face. 

“I’ve seen it before.” 

Still, you take his arm when he offers it.

“Not this one you haven’t.”

Papa was right. You had never seen a stage this big before. It was the biggest venue that they had played so far and the stage they built was massive. The giant ghrucifix hanging from the ceiling was enough to inspire religious zealotry which was exactly what the Ministry intended.

Under its majesty, Papa spun you around and you freely fell into his embrace. The only one who could distract you from Satan was him, so you didn’t even see the ghouls chasing the crew backstage. You didn’t even notice that you two were left alone in the intimacy of the unlit arena.

“Will you join me in unholy matrimony?” Papa asked, taking both your hands in his as he did during the ceremony. “Again?”

“Yes,” you giggled. “Again and again and again.”

He kissed you. Again and again and again. The face paint you so meticulously applied was all over your mouth and you didn’t even care. You tasted the black, his tongue gliding against yours as it snakes into your mouth.

You moaned around it, your legs melting under you and your hands clawing at his curls to keep your body from falling and your mouthed interlocked.

When he released you and you both took a respite, he poured golden honeyed words into your open mouth.

“Will you be my first?” He kissed your top lip. “My everlasting?” He kissed your bottom one, suckling it before surrendering it back to you. “My unholy mother?” He kissed your chin and moved his mouth under it and downwards.

“Yes,” you moaned and he kissed the sound as it formed in your throat. “Yes.”

Then, he bit the side of your neck and you arched right into his teeth. “Will you take me into you?”

“Yes.” You pulled on his hair and he growled against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“Do it again,” he nuzzled into the bruise purpling there. “Again.”

You scraped your nails against his skull first and then you pulled. 

“Again,” he scrapes his canines against the sensitive spot behind your ear. “Harder.”

You indulge him so that he sinks his teeth into you again. Both of you gasp for the same air. And both of you have trouble standing up straight.

Papa lowers you both, his mouth latching onto the lobe of your ear as he lays you down onto the floor and under his shadow.

“Will you take my seed into your womb and give me The Son?” 

You looked up at him through the thick haze of your arousal, and saw how bright his white eye shone. All the rituals, all those nights, all this time he was holding down because of the pressure of his position.

Right there, right then, you saw Papa V Perpetua unleashed, his jagged teeth bared, his racing heart open and his cock straining in his tight trousers, standing at your attention.

You stroked his hair again, gently this time, and he nuzzled into the palm of your hand. 

“Make me yours, Papa.”

“Mia Prima.”

[the-river-nyx]

Was Walburga Black a bad person?

I have so much more to say than I did about Lyall Lupin

One of the main themes in Harry Potter is the power of a mother's love which is why I always found it so odd that Walburga is portrayed so poorly. It is so easy to look at Sirius and think that Walburga was evil, or that she had no love for her children. I mean, look at how she treated her son. Personally, my feelings toward her, like most characters, is very complicated.

Walburga was the eldest in her generation of (first) cousins. Walburga got married (to her second cousin Orion Black) to fulfill her family duty. Walburga loved her family and the honor that came with it. She was willing to do what she had to make them proud. Her duty to her family after she got married shifted into producing a son so that she and Orion could raise the heir. When Sirius Black was born, Walburga was 35, which is rather old considering that Druella had Bellatrix when she was only 19 or 20.

There is absolutely no doubt in anyone's mind that Walburga was a blood purist. Even after her death, her portrait continued shouting insults at people she believed to be less than her. Sirius tells Harry in OotP that Orion and Walburga were not Death Eaters, but that they did agree with their beliefs. I think that they used their connections to help the Death Eaters but never participated in anything they did outright.

Orion's job is not disclosed, but it is said that he was very influential. I believe that he worked for the ministry in some political capacity. The Blacks are an old-fashioned family, which means that Orion Black was the head of the household and hence held all of the power. A headcanon that I think makes a lot of sense because of this is that Orion was abusive towards Walburga.

Walburga in't stupid she knows that her father would never forgive her if she left Orion. It would also bring too much shame on their perfect family if she did, specially since she picked her husband. I think this is why it took them so long to have children.

Walburga was afraid for her children. She was afraid for her image and she was watching Bellatrix walk into the same life as the one she has. Walburga removed any feeling she had for Sirius, she didn't want to be worried about him but she couldn't do that for Regulus. Regulus was different because Regulus wasn't the heir, she could protect Regulus.

Sirius was a rambunctious child and he didn't know how to keep his head down. Walburga resented the fact that he didn't know how to keep his mouth shut or act properly because Orion would punish Walburga for his wrongdoing. Walburga found small joys in Regulus, her perfect baby, while trying her best to keep Sirius out of his father's eye.

Orion was not involved with his children, especially Sirius, but he did notice when a child would cry or a relic was broken. He always blamed Walburga first, the kids second. He was cruel, and he knew that it would get him what he wanted. Eventually, Walburga started to abuse her children, especially Sirius, in the hopes that it would teach them to perform better.

Eventually, Sirius was no longer able to meet the expectations of his family, and he was disowned. He was disowned not by Walburga, but by Orion, the one who had the authority to do so. Walburga also faced the consequences of Sirius's beliefs and decisions, Orion blamed her for Sirius's failing, telling her that she was she was the one who raised him.

After Sirius was gone, it was Regulus's responsibility to take his place as the heir. Walburga had not desensitized herself to him, in fact, she was doing everythingin her power to protect Regulus. Orion was much harder on Regulus than he had been on Sirius. He had to be, Regulus was all that was left for him to be proud of. Everything Orion said and did to Regulus filled Walburga with rage. She waited for her chance to attack until one day, she did. In Regulus's seventh year at Hogwarts Walburga killed Orion Black.

Walburga never saw either of her sons again. No knew ever knew what she had done to her husband and she died alone and afraid for her son.

Shout out @shushbruv thank you for taking interest in my Walburga Black characterization ♡

Let me know what you all think of Walburga : )

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Hello, thank you for answering our questions! Often, when I try to find fan fiction with an adult Harry, for some reason the authors prescribe a caricature character from early books for him and write his character from extreme to extreme. Or Harry is soft, gentle, kind, hates violence and constantly forgives his enemies, is not capable of murder and turns a blind eye to alarm bells. And he also whines because of morality (I hurt my abuser, oh, how bad I am!). Or he is aggressive, impulsive and stupid.What traits of Harry's character could change in 10-15 years? Or how will his approach to problem solving change? For example, Harry's anger will become more tamed and deliberate. And also, I always thought that Harry was more focused on gray morality, because he saw the best in the worst people, as well as the worst in the best people. What do you think about it? I really like your posts about Harry's character, magic and mind. You're doing great 🩷🩷🩷

Thank you so much! 😊

Well, I mean, I don't know if I'd say Harry is focused on grey morality, he is a good guy who for the most part believes in justice (sans a few exceptions for people he cares about/really hates). Because in general, he acts according to a pretty clear moral code in his mind. It may not be your moral code, but Harry has one that he doesn't consider grey. I talked about this more here.

And, like, Harry is a forgiving person, but his forgiveness is a bit selective. In general, he believes someone who did something bad, deserves something bad to happen to them in turn but if there's a specific reason for him to sympathize or to believe there's good in that person, he will be willing to offer forgiveness. I mean, he offered Voldemort to try for some remorse. Harry is willing to offer the possibility of forgiveness. But he is no pushover, if he sees he isn't treated back with the same respect, then he isn't going to keep trying. He does not have limitless patience and he has little to no tolerance for other people's shit. So while he can forgive when presented with a reason to do so, he's not someone who'll keep dishing out chances to people who don't deserve it.

As for how I imagine him when older, honestly similar to how he ends the books in terms of morals and worldview, probably. I think he'd get calmer, a lot of his anger is a response to trauma so as he heals with time, he should get less angry, less hypervigilant, and less jumpy. Though, I imagine his temper and vigilance never disappear completely and even in his later years, he'd be, like, sitting at a restaurant and the server would pass just too close behind him and he'd have the urge to pull his wand out and deflect the threat. But it would be an urge and he wouldn't actually do it unless he needs to.

His temper, while he'd have better control of it, wouldn't disappear completely. I can still see a Harry in his 40s or 50s just snapping at someone in anger and shouting at them. If they didn't deserve it he'd feel bad and apologize later, but sometimes, you need to shout off the ear of some stupid ministry person. I think Harry should be allowed to do that, as a treat. But I don't see him ever getting violent in his temper, ever. Shouts and rude, snide comments are the furthest he'd go without consciously deciding violence is necessary (Even if he'd imagine strangling annoying people in his head).

I also think as Harry grows older he'd become more confident. Like, Harry in the books really lacks self-esteem and he has no clue how great he is. I think that although older Harry would still have a somewhat skewered image of himself, he'd be more confident and have a vague understanding that he is smarter and more magically powerful than the average wizard.

Part of the two above sections is that more and more of the sarcastic quips Harry makes in his head will be spoken out loud. We actually see it in the books, that Harry's more externally sassy as the books progress (he says his thoughts aloud more) and I think this trend will continue. Like, I imagine older Harry just says the wildest shit ever on the regular and finds others' reactions funny. Like, he doesn't need to be as worried about public perception as much, because like, "I saved you all twice already, I died for you, what more do you want?" so he'd allow himself to be a bit of a shit when he feels like it, I think.

So an older Harry would be just as witty as the younger Harry, quite funny, calmer than in the books, and more confident. He'd be less impulsive, but just as cable of violence when he deems it necessary (although, he'd probably need it less since he'd have a reputation that does half the work for him from a certain point). Like, as I mentioned in the past I like to think Harry eventually becomes a DADA professor and later headmaster, I kinda imagine students don't mess with him. Not because he ever hurt them (Harry would never) but because he just has that glare, and he looks downright scary when he stares into your soul with these Avada-colored eyes of his. But usually, he's a pretty fun teacher that's all about practical application and I'm sure all his students gush to their parents about how cool Professor Potter is and how he talks shit and laughs with them even though he's the savior of the wizarding world.

(Also Professor Potter is seen drinking in the Three Broomsticks with Head Auror Ron Weasley and the Head of the Being Division in the Ministry Hermione Weasley every Hogsmead weekend (their positions change through the years, I just picked a year at random))

Though, he'd always have a sadness to him, like, he's been through so much and it'll always show, even in subtle ways. I think this would allow him to be very empathetic towards his students.

I'd like to imagine that post-book 7 Harry returns to Deathly Hallows to visit his parents' graves every year. I think, post-war, Harry would visit as many graves as possible of people who died during the battle of Hogwarts on the date of the battle. He'd even visit Tom Riddle's grave if he had one because he'd feel sorry for him.

Like, these are some random thoughts I have about this (sorry I went on my "Harry should've been a professor" rant, just, a lot of my future Harry headcanons are tied to it).

[dramioneasks]

Marriage Law with no children involved

Can you suggest some fics around it? I would love it if there is a HEA with no children? Thank you.

Nowhere to go but up - Cronebutcute - T, 28 chapters - Hermione has come a long way from her Hogwarts days, after leaving her job at the ministry when she realized that the muggle-wizard affairs office was nothing but a stop gap. She is using her skills and fame to run a successful non-profit for connecting muggle born witches and wizards to internships and resources to help them integrate in to wizard society and remain on it after school. Fundraisers and politics seem to be consuming all her spare time surrounding her with increasing numbers of former Slytherin causing friction with her close friends as a new rumor of the ministry trying to pass a Marriage law is brewing.

The Anti-Marriage Law by Gr8t_78 - E, one-shot - When the Ministry hands down a decree banning marriages and pregnancies for three years, Hermione Granger is outraged! Nobody is going to tell her she can’t get married. And if playboy Auror Draco Malfoy is going to pretend to marry her, it’ll just prove her point to the Minister of Magic. It’s the principle of the thing!

This Could Be Love - galaxy_skies - T, one-shot - At too early o’clock on Saturday morning, when she ought to be sleeping in, especially given the late night she’d had prior, Hermione wakes up to a clattering and a shout from her living room. “Fucking – why the fuck – Granger!” Hermione buries her pounding head under the pillows and hopes very much that the man swearing in her living room is just some terrible dream. A nightmare.

call me draco - thatblondebitvh - M, one-shot - “Why, out of all people, me?” He raised an eyebrow, waiting. A drop of wine got caught in the corner of his mouth, threatening to drip down his chin. She clung to it like it were her lifeline, only to watch as his tongue flicked out to steal it before it stained his skin. She let out a shaky breath and said, “Because I had nowhere else to go.”

Title: Lost Images Author: EvilGu Rating: M Genre(s): Romance/Humour/Mystery/Drama Chapters: 51 Word Count: 226,022 Summary: Epilogue up! MARRIAGE LAW Hermione must marry Draco Malfoy- the only wizard that (begrudgingly) petitioned for her who is not actively trying to kill her. If only there was some loop-hole… Can the unlikely pair survive marriage, in-laws, ghosts, murderous enemies, and their own traitorous feelings?

In These Silent Days - HeyJude19 - E, 14 chapters - Hermione is familiar with fighting: for respect, for attention, for justice. She’s even made a career of it; working on behalf of creatures and beings. But her battle against the Ministry’s marriage law is one she loses. Badly. And now, she has to contend with not only public derision and patriarchal politics, but her growing feelings for her government-mandated spouse.

-Lisa

[ladyymorgue]

Short Copia and Perpetua making amends drabble ig

I was listening to excelsis and had a random thought. "Hey what if perpetua wrote this song for Copia after seeing his brother breakdown from so much stress and trauma :D" so here it is, I felt like it needed to be written out. Tissue boxes are available on your way out

There was a stirring buzz that echoed against each and every wall inside the ministry. Copia had shut the door, closed the windows, drawn the blinds and still nothing could drown out the party resounding outside of his office. Perpetua and his brigade of ghouls had come back from tour - a tour that completely outshined anything copia had ever done. Everything now revolves solely around V now. V this and V that no more glamour for the idol Copia once was. He couldn't lie, he missed the spotlight, he missed the cheers of his adoring congregation and the spotlight burning on his skin while he flaunted around on a dazzling stage. Now, he was kept behind a desk like a zoo critter trapped in its plexiglass habitat, miserable and treated like a relic of the past. In truth, copia felt more betrayed than anything. He'd grown up believing his bosses were distant and busy people, not because they were his estranged family he had no personal connection to. It felt like sister had only become his mother for such a short time - and although she tried to fix the gaps between her and her son, her health grew worse leading to an untimely end. Copia and his mother had grown closer before then, bonding over their love of ABBA records and evening tea; as well as mild dislike towards Nihil they would whisper about. For the first time in his life, Copia felt the maternal love he’d always craved and it was gone in an instant. He’d been trying to ignore all the tubes and wires that pierced into her body, reading her vitals and counting her heart beats as life slowly squeezed out of her frail body. He thought he'd have more time with her to create memories and enjoy earl grey tea in plastic tea cups - unfortunately that's not what was in the cards. He'd watched her hang on to life by a thread as paramedics tried their hardest to bring her back. Each time they shouted clear still rang fresh in his memory, haunting him in his dreams or in times of silence. A part of him still wishes he had his brother's around to pick on him and mess with his rats, maybe then he wouldn't be so alone.

Copia had no one left and was thrown into a position of power he hardly understood. That was until V showed up…

Papa V perpetua was nothing more than a replacement of Copias once adored status. Discovering they were fraternal twins only added fuel to the fire. Where had he been all of his life? Why is he papa now? Where was perpetua when his mother died too? The questions grew into resentments Copia refused to suppress. The arrival of his long lost twin had switched the entire ministry into treating copia just as if he were his father- a useless and absent presence looming around piles of unsigned paper and making everyone work, work, work. Perpetua was the shiny new toy, out shimmering his brother's once dazzling image leaving him to fester in the shadows, growing cold and bitter. He didn't have such high hopes for the skelatour anyway, until that changed by the band reaching number one statues all around the world out charting anything he or his brothers had made prior. Perpetua was flawless to everyone who'd laid their eyes upon him, no one once thought of him as a weak or poor choice into the papacy like they did with Copia. For all he knew now, his underdog cardinal to papa story was old news. No one was impressed by him anymore, everyone knew his tall tail and wanted to move on. A knock on the office doors startled Copia out of his hateful thoughts, jolting him back into the couch as his heart momentarily stopped from the unexpected disturbance.

“Eh - come in.” He stammers, quickly clearing his throat to come off as cool. The silver hinges twist unveiling none other than the idiot bastard himself standing behind the door.

“Hey, eh copi- frater imperator.” Perpetua seems hesitant and there's a bit of nervous gleam in his miss matched eyes.

Copia slumps forward, visibly upset and groans “what do you want, V?”

“Well I just got back from tour and the staff is throwing some sort of welcome home party for me, I just wanted to see if you'd like to come and join.”

And there it was, that stupid hopeful attitude perpetua kept when speaking to his brother. As if his good mood would somehow rub off on copia and they'd magically become the bestest of friends. Copia knew his tricks and he wouldn't fall for it.

“No, I'm busy V, can't you see all of the paperwork I have to finish because of your tour?” He snapped.

Perpetua purses his lips into a thin line, glancing around the room taking in the dark and gloomy space.

“Well, maybe I can help you finish it. It was my tour after all I don't mind help-”

“I don't want your help perpetua!” Copias clenched fists hit his wooden desk resounding in loud bang. “Go back to your party, I'm sure everyone's dying to have you back by now”

Perpetuas expression reads like the pages of an open book, a vile expression of anger morphing on his face. “Why do you hate me so much? All I've ever been to you is nice and you treat me like shit!”

“Go away V, I already told you I'm busy.” Copia hissed.

“No! I want to know why you're so fucking angry around me. What did I ever do to you that makes you such a prick to be around?” Perpetua protests, pointing an accusing finger at the frater as he storms into the room.

“I came here because I found out I had a family but you lock me out and act like I don't even exist!”

“I never asked for you to come here perpetua! I never asked you to be in my life and hell I didn't even know you existed until last year, cazzo!”

“We could learn to love one another, isn't that what you always preached? That love is all you need, fratello?” perpetua pushes, quoting the lyrics Copia had written many moons ago. “I have always looked up to you, all of you. Being a part of this family made me someone and gave me many new things I never thought I'd have.”

“You aren't a part of this family. You're just the runt who wasn't invited until our mother died. And where were you that day? Fratello.” Copia hints loathe in his last sentence, causing perpetua to realize how unwanted he really was.

“You are all I have left.” his voice breaks.

Copia scoffs, “and you don't need me. You did your tour, you did your record. You took everything I had and made it your own. I'm sure you'll be fine without me.”

“I didn't want any of that! All I wanted was to be home.” Perpetua admits.

Copia glares at his brother. Staring back at him dressed in purple garments and a silver mask, V's eyes glistened with fresh tears as copia states through clenched teeth and furious eyes.

“you took everything from me”

Perpetua shuddered, a chill itching down his spine from the poisonous effect of Copias words. There was stiff silence for a moment, making the air feel tight and the room grow warmer.

“I meant what I said.” Perpetua finally interrupts the quiet. “About looking up to you. I wanted to be just like you and have you by my side guiding me. I might not be what you desired but you always meant something to me.”

Copias can feel his heart again, and it's crushing slowly into a million little pieces.

“I used to sing your songs every night hoping one day we could meet and we'd sing them together.” Perpetua continued. “You had passion that no one else had before you, I wanted to have it too you know? But you shut me out immediately. And for sister imperator, she was my mother too and I grieved for her too.”

Copia sighs a deep breath, hardly able to contain his emotions when his mom was mentioned. It suddenly occurs to him that perhaps perpetua wanted what copia never had either. It hits him like a speed train, a wave of emotions dragging him down to a bottomless abyss. Perhaps they weren't so different after all?

“I'm sorry.” Copia cries.

Perpetuas brows furrowed in confusion as he watched Copia suddenly hurdle into his arms.

“Oh! Are we hugging?” Perpetua asks stupidly at the surprise affection.

“Sí, we can't be enemies forever now can we?” Copia hums.

V hugs back, burying his chin on Copias shoulder, taking in his subtle scent of cologne and cigarettes.

they pull away, left awkwardly figuring out what to do next.

“I'm sorry I was such a dickhead” copia whines then laughs lightly at the moment.

“It's okay, no hard feelings.” Perpetua crosses an X above his chest where his heart would be.

“Do you think we can start over?” Copia peeps.

A broad grin spreads on V’s face, exposing his crooked teeth and little fangs.

“Sí, I think that'd be okay” he laughs.

Copia sighs reluctantly, smiling softly at his brother.

“You know, I listened to that record and eh…I really liked the last song” he admitted.

“Ah, excelsis no? Yes I think that one was alright” perpetua scratched the back of his neck nervously.

“We should sing that one together some time, fratello.”

V smirks confidently.

“I think I'd like that too, fratello.”

[autolenaphilia]

Finally seeing the 1982 movie of Pink Floyd's The Wall reminded me of the recent callouts of Roger Waters for anti-semitism, made by such "credible" institutions as the German police force, Israel's Foreign ministry and the US Separtment of State.

That was enough to make me dismiss the claims out of hand. Admittedly there were some descriptions of his anti-zionist concert imagery that seemed a bit tasteless, and not the first time he has done that, some of his anti-trump images at previous tours were fairly fatphobic and homophobic. I don't think Roger Waters is an unproblematic fave.

But what really made me laugh was that a major part of the accusation was that "At his concerts, Roger Waters dresses in what is basically an SS uniform and shouts about shooting and gassing various minorities, that means he is probably a neo-nazi."

This is literally tumblr callout post material in its blatant disregard of the distinction between fact and fiction. Like sure, Roger Waters has played a fascist on stage many times, here is a picture of it from all the way back from 1980, but taking that as a sincere expression of fascist beliefs is nonsensical.

And it's made by multiple government departments. Of course they are probably not being honestly this stupid, it's a dishonest argument meant to persuade the truly ignorant.

Like when I imagine the person who would honestly believe this type of argument, i would feel the need to explain some very basic concepts to them, like I would to a five-year old. Like how musicians sometimes sing songs that aren't about their personal experiences and opinions, sometimes they sing songs that are stories about fictional characters, people who aren't real, sometimes these fictional people are bad people, like fascists, and sometimes musicians perform songs in a way where they act like the character, but it's all pretend.

[her-satanic-wiles]

Day 31 - Halloween

Monster Fucking, Ghost!Papa Emeritus III x Plus Size!Reader

Masterlist

Words: 14.2k.

Warnings: Teratophilia/monster fucking; graphic depictions of blood; graphic depictions of death; graphic depictions of beheading; detailed grief; major character death; death of a loved one; haunting; public sex; teasing; fingering; vaginal fingering; not actual dubcon, but dubcon elements (a character’s hand gets grabbed and squeezed during a scene, but the character has no idea what’s going on); groping; nipple play; public cunnilingus; squirting; hurt/comfort; partner worship; praise kink; vaginal sex; piv; possessive Terzo; implied depression;

Taglist: @sodoswitchimage @enchantedbunny @bitchywitchygardener @thew0man @sodomiser @the-did-i-ask @copias-sewer-rat @gehrmansbignaturals @deetz-ghuleh @onlyhereforghost @zombiesnips-blog @saturnhas82moons @starscream-squarepants

Author's Note: Hello, lovely!

I just wanted to take this time to thank you profusely for your support every day this entire month. It has honestly meant the world to me that you're taking the time out of your day and enjoying my content.

I wanted to give an extra shout-out and super thanks to @da-rulah for not only beta reading a bunch of my fics and making sure you could understand my droning, but also giving me inspiration when I needed it and helping me workshop ideas on days when the list just wasn't working out for me.

Also major thank you to @copias-sewer-rat and @sodoswitchimage for constantly being in my replies and reblogging the fics and just generally being gorgeous people. I appreciate you two so much for consistently hyping up the fics.

One final thing before I let you enjoy this final piece, I just wanted to double check that you've read the trigger warnings and are comfortable enough to proceed. This is dark fiction, horror based with graphic depictions of poor mental health and physical violence, and I want to make sure that you're aware of this before you go ahead. As this is dark fiction, I will be rating it 21+, so I kindly ask you to respect this rating.

Thank you so much,

Mel

🔞 MDNI 🔞

You sat in the dimly lit room, surrounded by the remnants of your shattered world. Your body was cloaked in his clothes, his suit jacket that he’d intended to send down to laundry hanging off your body. His scent lingered on the fibres, comforting you even if it was just momentarily, and his Grucifix hanging from your neck and resting against your soft breasts, a small weighted comfort that you couldn’t liken to his touch - it was too cold.

The suffocating weight of grief consumed you, its tendrils winding around your every thought and breath. The image of his lifeless body, his head cruelly severed from his shoulders by the unforgiving hand of the Ministry’s authority, replayed relentlessly in your mind, tormenting you with its vivid brutality. The look in his lifeless eyes haunting you to this day every time you closed yours. The feeling of Cardinal Copia’s hands on your body, trying to shield you from the horror you were never meant to see. The sound of Imperator’s voice claiming pity for the fallen Papa as she stepped away from his pooling blood so her shoes wouldn’t soil. Her hearty tone of congratulations aimed at her estranged son, while you wept on the floor, reaching out for Terzo’s lifeless body.

With trembling hands, you reached for the Ouija board, the only thing you had left to reach Terzo. The board felt cool and smooth under your fingertips, its letters and numbers arranged in a circle, an eerie portal to the unknown. You had heard the whispers, the warnings about meddling with forces beyond your understanding, but your need to speak to him, to find any sliver of solace in this maelstrom of despair, drowned out the cautious voice within.

The room fell silent as you placed your fingertips on the planchette, your breath caught in your throat and mind silencing itself in order to fully focus on the task at hand. You closed your eyes, trying to summon the fragments of his memory, his voice, his touch, anything that could guide your hand. Your voice, shaky and grief-laden, calling out to him in the abyss. Your soul was crying, begging, screaming for anything from him, nursing a heart that broke further with every second that passed, every second that he didn’t make his presence known to you. Tears began to well in your eyes, the hopelessness overwhelming your senses. “Terzo, please!” You begged to the open air, eyes pointed skywards even though you knew Heaven wasn’t his final destination. “Come back to me.”

A sense of unease crept over you, the air thickening with an unseen presence that seemed to seep through the cracks of your fragile reality. The planchette shuddered under your touch, then began to move, its deliberate motion spelling out words that echoed like whispers from a distant, forbidden realm. The tears you were shedding as the planchette moved froze alongside your blood, as your eyes focussed on the board in front of you, unbelieving it was actually moving.

Your heart quickened as the letters formed a message, disjointed and cryptic, a reflection of a presence that both frightened and thrilled you. The room grew colder, shadows dancing along the walls, and you felt a chilling breath on the nape of your neck, as if unseen eyes were watching you from the darkest corners. Despite the mounting terror, you couldn’t bring yourself to let go, to sever this ethereal connection with the one you loved.

A sudden gust of wind extinguished the lone candle, plunging you into absolute darkness. Panic surged through your veins, but even in this black void, the planchette continued to move, etching out words that seemed to emanate from a place beyond the realm of the living. It was then you’d realised that in your panic, your hands had left the planchette, breaking your physical connection to the board, and yet it was moving now of its own accord; spelling out messages to you that were shrouded in darkness. The darkness hid the messages from you, but the deafening silence made sure you could hear every single scrape of the wood against the board.

The room seemed to pulse with a palpable energy, a presence that surrounded you, enveloping you in a web of otherworldly sensations. You realized, with a dawning sense of dread, that this connection you had forged was not just a bridge to the afterlife, but a gateway to something far more sinister, a realm where the line between the living and the dead blurred into an indistinguishable haze of terror and despair.

“I close the bridge!” You shouted, your voice trembling with fear. “I close the bridge. Goodbye.”

You forced the planchette to the goodbye in the bottom corner and ran for the lights. Your fingers fumbled in the darkness, searching desperately for the light switch. When your trembling hand finally found it, you flicked it on, and the room was once again bathed in an artificial glow. You squinted, your eyes struggling to adjust to the sudden brightness, and as the shadows receded, you realized there was nothing else in the room. Only you, surrounded by empty walls that seemed to close in on you, suffocating your already fragile spirit. But your eyes fell upon the board, the planchette still sat atop “goodbye” as though nothing was wrong - as if your feelings of dread were unfounded and childish, as if it was taunting you.

A sense of profound isolation settled over you, deeper than anything you had ever felt before. The stark emptiness of the room now felt like a reflection of the void within your own being, the absence of your beloved Terzo amplifying the desolation that threatened to engulf you. There was a hollowness that echoed through the air, a palpable absence that seemed to seep into your very bones, reminding you that you were utterly alone in your torment.

A sudden chill swept through the room, the hairs on your arms standing on end, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something lingered in the shadows, something that watched and waited, biding its time. The light, once a source of reassurance, now seemed feeble, unable to dispel the encroaching darkness that threatened to swallow you whole. It was as if the very fabric of reality had shifted, revealing a sinister undercurrent that had always been there, just beyond the reach of your perception.

You realized then, in the harsh glare of the light, that the Ouija board had not brought you solace, but had opened a door to a darkness that threatened to swallow you whole; and as you stood there, surrounded by the emptiness of the room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you had invited something insidious into your life, something that hungered for more than just a fleeting connection with the world of the living.

In the subsequent days, the unsettling occurrences began to multiply, each one chipping away at the fragile facade of your sanity. Objects would shift from their original places, relocating themselves without any logical explanation. A book left on the table would inexplicably appear on the shelf, a photograph moved from the mantle to the bedside table. You knew you hadn’t done it, yet there was no one else in the confines of your home within the Ministry walls.

The air itself seemed to thicken with an otherworldly presence, a feeling that someone, or something, was always lurking just out of sight, watching your every move. Whispers, barely audible at first, began to weave through the stillness of the apartment that didn’t resemble your roommates in the slightest, indistinct murmurs that insinuated themselves into your thoughts, sowing seeds of doubt and fear. You strained to catch the words, but they remained just beyond the reach of comprehension, leaving you with a deep sense of foreboding.

Footsteps echoed through the empty corridors, faint but unmistakable, as if someone were pacing just beyond your line of vision. You would hear them in the dead of night, when sleep eluded you, or in the quiet hours of the morning when the world outside was cloaked in silence. Your heart would race as you threw back the covers, expecting to catch a glimpse of an intruder, but there was never anyone there, only the lingering echo of something that defied rational explanation.

Taps, like a Morse code from an unseen sender, would break the silence, their rhythmic pattern reverberating through the walls. They came at odd hours, disrupting the stillness, a persistent reminder that you were not alone, that there was an entity that defied the boundaries of the physical world, teasing and toying with your senses. You would rush to investigate, your pulse thundering in your ears, only to find empty rooms, devoid of life, devoid of any explanation for the inexplicable phenomena that haunted your waking hours.

As the days bled into nights, and the nights stretched into an endless cycle of unease, you found yourself teetering on the precipice of reason, questioning the very fabric of reality. The once-familiar spaces of your home had become a labyrinth of uncertainty, each creak, each whisper, a reminder that something beyond comprehension had taken root in your life, and it showed no signs of relenting.

One night, as the moon cast its pale glow through the window, you woke with a start, a prickling sensation crawling up your spine. Your gaze fell upon the figure standing at the foot of your bed, shrouded in shadows, yet unmistakably possessing the same contours, the same silhouette as your beloved Terzo. Your heart quickened with a surge of hope and desperation, but as your vision adjusted to the dim light, a sinking dread replaced the initial flicker of relief.

The figure exuded an aura of malevolence, an energy that seemed to twist and contort the familiar features into something twisted and sinister. The shape resembled Terzo, yet its essence felt foreign, an imposter donning the guise of your lost love, a specter that mocked the memory of the one you held dear. There was no distinctive features on his face - simply just a shadow of him watching you as you slept.

A sense of primal fear rooted you to the bed, rendering you incapable of movement, your voice trapped in your throat, stifled by the weight of the moment. You tried to convince yourself that it was a trick of the shadows, a manifestation of your own grief-stricken mind, but the palpable presence before you defied any rational explanation. It was as if a malevolent force had seized upon your deepest longing, your most profound sorrow, to manifest itself in the form of a distorted, twisted version of the one you yearned for.

As the figure lingered there, its gaze boring into your very soul, you sensed a wave of darkness emanating from it, tendrils of a presence that seemed to seep into the fabric of your being, infecting you with a terror that transcended the physical realm. The air grew colder, the room suffused with an oppressive weight that threatened to suffocate you, and you realized with a shudder that this entity, this phantom masquerading as Terzo, harbored intentions far more sinister than mere visitation.

You dared not speak, dared not move, as the figure loomed over you, its form shifting subtly, as if it reveled in your fear. It was a twisted reflection of the one you loved, a corrupted specter that had breached the boundaries of the afterlife, determined to torment you in ways that transcended the limits of mortal comprehension.

Despite every instinct screaming for you to remain still, to avoid provoking the sinister apparition, you couldn’t resist the primal urge to banish the darkness that threatened to consume you. With trembling hands, you fumbled for the switch, and as the room flooded with light, the menacing shadow dissipated like smoke in the wind, leaving behind only the faint echo of its chilling presence. Relief mingled with lingering dread, as you realized that the source of the terror was not just the unknown, but a darkness that dwelled within, a darkness that threatened to devour you whole.

You arrived to work the next morning, throwing yourself down on your chair in the office you shared with the new head of the church. Your body was exhausted beyond belief. Your lack of sleep had caught up with you, manifesting itself as dark circles around your eyes. Cardinal Copia looked at you, faux concern in his mismatched eyes, those very eyes boring into your soul to try and figure out the sickness plaguing you. “Is everything okay, Sorella?” He asked, his voice cautious.

The way you looked at him was deadly: the very epitome of ‘if looks could kill’. His presence was a stark reminder of the night that had claimed Terzo’s life, a cruel twist of fate that elevated this thing to a position that rightfully belonged to your beloved. The clutch of animosity wound tightly around your heart, each beat a reminder of the seething hatred that consumed you, wishing that it was him, not Terzo, who had met a gruesome end.

You forced yourself to endure his presence, the facade of civility barely concealing the churning storm of resentment that raged within. Every word, every gesture from him was a reminder of the irreparable loss, a wound that time could not heal. And as you bore the burden of his company, you couldn’t help but silently wish for a reversal of fates, for the one who was truly deserving of a fate so dire to be the one occupying the space that he callously usurped.

You sought comfort in his arms when you found Terzo’s blood spilling from his neck for no other reason than he was the closest person to you. You remember how long you rotted in your bed for after Terzo’s death. How you would sell your soul to any willing customer if it meant Terzo could come back and hold you in his strong, capable arms just one more time. If it meant you could get a proper goodbye.

The rage you felt when you had finally finished rotting was terrifying. It was if your body had been set ablaze by the very fires of Hell that had taken your beloved from you. For the first time in two weeks, you left your bed and stormed to Imperator’s door, intending on introducing her to the world of pain that she’d thrown you into. Luckily for her, she wasn’t there. But her office was.

The rage that had been simmering within you for so long finally erupted, surging through your veins like a torrential wave. You couldn’t contain the flood of emotions any longer, the injustice, the sorrow, the burning desire for retribution all gathering into an overwhelming, burning, red-hot inferno that propelled you into action. Without a second thought, you stormed into his Imperator’s office, the bitch who had been instrumental in orchestrating the events that led to Terzo’s tragic end.

You overturned her meticulously arranged desk, the clatter of papers and office supplies a symphony of your fury. The framed photographs that adorned her shelves met the same fate, crashing to the floor in a cacophony of shattered glass and splintered frames. You spared nothing in your path, fueled by a primal need to lash out at the source of your suffering, to make them feel even a fraction of the pain that had consumed you since that fateful day.

The very act of desecration, of defiling a space that represented the sanctity of another’s life, only served to stoke the flames of your vengeful rampage. You tore through the room with a fervor that bordered on madness, each item, each trinket, each cherished memory of a life you would never get back meeting a violent end at your hands. In that moment, nothing else mattered but the visceral release of the anguish that had festered within you, and you were determined to leave nothing unscathed in your wake.

Your punishment: removal from your job at the Ministry’s beautiful library and thrown into Copia’s cramped office space as his only personal assistant. As if she couldn’t twist the knife any further.

If Copia was the one who benefited from Terzo’s death, his sick and twisted mother was the one who orchestrated it with his waste-of-space father trailing behind like an ancient, lost child. Sister Imperatrix of the Ministry with the power of a Prime Mover - no - the power of a Papa. Ordering the execution of the only light in your world and the result was now sitting there in ridiculous paints reminiscent of a rat’s skull, in Papal robes that were magically whipped up in the short time between Terzo’s death and Copia’s concave where all cardinals voted for him with an overwhelming majority. You wondered how many strings Imperator had to pull in order to get her pathetic son into the top spot.

“Everything is fine.” You responded, curtly. You didn’t want to give him the time of day, especially now that you were severely sleep deprived.

“Is something bothering you?”

Your eyes that had finally drifted from his face turned back to his, head turning slowly as if to ask him if he was serious. The look on his face told you that he was. “I said I’m fine.”

“That’s no way to speak to the head of our church, is it, Sorella?” A woman’s voice asked from the door. Imperator.

You saw red. “Oh I can get much, much worse.” You stood from your desk, raging eyes fixated on the face you were so desperate to rearrange. “Would you like a demonstration?”

Copia stood, too. He rushed to your side and put his hands on your shoulders. “S-Sorella, please. Calm down.”

You shook him off. “Get the fuck off of me!”

“Ghouls!” Imperator shouted.

“No, Sorella, please! She’s still grieving.” Copia pleaded. “Leave her be.”

“I don’t need you to fight my battles for me!” You shouted. “How dare you stand there barking orders when this was never meant to be your position in the first place!?”

You saw two Ghouls enter from the second room, one of them belonged to Terzo. The bastard even took one of his Ghouls! The other one was new, fresh out of training.

Imperator, “Escort Sorella ____ to-”

Copia interjected. “The library! I… I have a l-list of books for you to get for me, Sorella.” He rummaged through the drawer of his desk frantically looking for a small piece of paper with his list. He handed it to you, almost flinching at your gaze, but his eyes were pleading with you to obey. “Please, Sorella. It’s urgent.”

You snatched the piece of paper out of his hand and sighed sharply. “Fine.” You stormed passed him and headed straight for Imperator, barging passed her and smacking your shoulder against hers. “Move.” You snapped, before slamming Copia’s office door.

The library breathed with an eerie stillness that seemed to whisper of secrets long forgotten. As you stepped through the labyrinth of towering bookshelves, the soft shuffle of your footsteps echoed like a solemn requiem, the silence wrapping around you like a suffocating shroud. A sense of foreboding settled in your bones, each creak of the floorboards beneath your feet a sinister murmur that taunted your senses. The subtle flicker of the overhead lights cast grotesque shadows along the rows of books, distorting the familiar into monstrous silhouettes that seemed to leer at you from the corners of your vision.

Amidst the oppressive silence, a faint murmur began to weave through the air, distant whispers that curled and twisted like wisps of smoke, reaching out from the fringes of your perception. You strained to discern the words, but they remained just beyond the threshold of your understanding, an indistinct sound that hinted at a presence lingering just beyond the realm of the living. Your heart quickened, a drumbeat of mounting apprehension, as you tried to dismiss the inexplicable sounds as mere figments of an overactive imagination. But as you continued to gather the books, the whispering seemed to grow more insistent, more insidious, as if the very walls of the library were conspiring to confound your senses.

A chill slithered down your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end as you became acutely aware of a gaze fixed upon you, unseen yet palpable, like a weight pressing down from above. You turned, your breath catching in your throat, and there, mere inches away, stood the ghostly apparition of Terzo. His form wavered in the dim light, a translucent specter suspended between the worlds of the living and the dead. His eyes, hollow sockets that seemed to bore into the depths of your soul, emanated a sorrow so profound it threatened to swallow you whole. A blood-curdling scream tore from your lips, reverberating through the library’s cavernous expanse, as the books slipped from your grasp, their clattering descent a discordant symphony to the nightmarish encounter that had shattered the illusion of normalcy, plunging you into the unrelenting grip of a horror that defied reason and reality. You fell to the floor yourself, staring up in horror at the sight.

In that fleeting moment, the veil of horror that had enveloped the encounter seemed to unravel, revealing a facade that had concealed a prank orchestrated by the mischievous spirit. The shadows that had loomed large in the corners of the room now appeared benign, mere illusions conjured by Terzo’s playful spirit. The whispers that had chilled your spine with their ghostly murmurings now sounded like echoes of a shared joke, a spectral trickster reveling in the intricacies of his spectral jest.

You sat there, shaken and bewildered, as the ghostly apparition of your beloved Terzo exuded an air of lighthearted amusement, the weight of the previous horrors lifting with each flicker of his ghostly form. His eyes, once filled with a haunting sorrow, now sparkled with an impish delight that hinted at the lingering essence of his vibrant personality. It was as if he had found a way to bridge the gap between the worlds, to offer you a glimpse of his enduring spirit, and he used it to fuck with you.

“Sorella!” A voice sounded behind you, making you turn to look at the Sibling, looking on at you in concern. They reached out to you. “Are you okay? Are you hurt? What happened?”

“I-I’m fine, thank you. I just-” You turned to look at where Terzo was standing to find that he’d disappeared again. “Lost my balance. Heavy books and all.”

“Here, let’s get you up.” The sibling pulled you to your feet and helped straighten your habit, before bending to pick up your books for you. You didn’t recognise them from when you worked here, they must have been your replacement. All the while, you stood there, dumbfounded by your encounter with Terzo’s apparition, apprehensive to fully believe what you’d just seen. It must be the grief causing you to hallucinate.

“Are you okay?” They asked once they saw the look on your face. “You look exhausted.”

“I’m fine, thanks. Just having trouble sleeping, is all. Thanks.” You took the pile of books off them and went to walk away.

“Listen, people talk… and they’re talking a lot about you, these days. The other librarians - well, they filled me in on what I missed before I was hired here. I remember seeing your face every time I came in here and, well, wondered where you went. They told me everything. I… I’m sorry to hear about Papa Terzo. It hurt us all to hear of his passing, but you were much closer to him than the rest of us.”

“I don’t want to be rude, but I really need to get these back to the Cardinal.”

They nodded. “Just, if you need a friend, I’m always about and available for a listen. And we have loads of books on grief… if you need them.”

You nodded awkwardly. The relationship you shared with Terzo was particularly unusual for a Sibling of Sin and a Papa, especially when that Sibling wasn’t the Papa’s Prime Mover. You cast your mind back to the very start of your relationship, how you instantly became famous for being Terzo’s favourite whore: the one to lock down the fuck boy. Now you were his grieving widow in the eyes of the Ministry, and their looks of pity as you passed them in the corridor didn’t escape you. Nor did their sad, little whispers commenting on your demeanor, or appearance. Though this Sibling seemed kind, there was no doubt in your mind that you’d be unable to trust them as far as you could throw them. Confide in them and your business would be all round the Ministry by tea time. Instead, you thanked them for their kindness, gathered the remainder of your books and threw them on Copia’s desk, announcing to him that you’d be taking the rest of the day off. Any protests he had died on his tongue before he had the chance to utter the words. Despite his authority over the church now, he was still as cowardly as he used to be.

As you stepped through the threshold of your home, the faintest hint of Terzo’s cologne wafted through the air, infusing the space with a familiar warmth that enveloped you like a long-awaited embrace. The fragrance, a delicate blend of musk, cedar, and coffee, carried with it a sense of comfort, a poignant reminder of the one you had loved and lost. It wrapped around you like a soothing blanket, dispelling the remnants of fear and uncertainty that had clung to you since the spectral encounter at the library.

Each inhalation brought forth a flood of memories, of moments shared and cherished, of laughter and tenderness that lingered in the very fabric of your being. It was as if Terzo’s essence had found its way back to you, a gentle presence that sought to reassure you, to offer solace in the wake of the day’s unsettling events. The scent, once a haunting reminder of his absence. Tears welled in your eyes the moment the door closed, and you collapsed onto the floor, sobbing into your hands until a headache formed. Exhausted and emotionally spent, you eventually fell into a fitful sleep right there, at the entrance of your home, the cold floor beneath you a stark reminder of the emptiness that now pervaded your life.

As you stirred back to consciousness, the darkness that surrounded you seemed to press in closer, enveloping you in a shroud of impenetrable blackness. You had no idea how long you’d been asleep for, but you recognised the familiar ache in your back from hours spent in an uncomfortable position, and the moonlight shining through the window gave you an indication. You’d been dead to the world for a while. Despite the ache, you couldn’t bring yourself to move, remaining parallel to the floor in your misery.

A sense of palpable presence lingered in the room, an intangible weight that settled upon your consciousness, evoking a feeling of being watched, yet not with the malevolence that had haunted your previous encounters. Instead, it carried an air of quiet companionship, a spectral reassurance that you were not alone in your moment of vulnerability.

Though the shadows obscured the source of the presence, you felt an inexplicable warmth, a gentle energy that seemed to radiate from the very air around you. It was as if a benevolent spirit had taken residence in the room, offering a silent solace in the wake of your ceaseless mourning. In the stillness of the night, you found a strange comfort in the notion that Terzo’s spirit, in whatever form it had taken, lingered close, a silent guardian watching over you in the darkest hours of your grief.

The weight of the encounter at the library and the haunting scent of his cologne now seemed to fade into the background, replaced by a sense of peace that settled within the quiet space between heartbeats. It was a moment of communion with the unknown, a shared understanding that transcended the limitations of the mortal realm, offering a glimmer of solace in the infinite expanse of your sorrow.

In the stillness of the night, with the enigmatic presence as your silent witness, you allowed yourself to surrender to the gentle embrace of sleep once more, secure in the knowledge that even in the absence of the tangible, the spirit of Terzo would continue to watch over you, a silent sentinel standing guard over the shattered fragments of your grieving heart.

The sensation of a gentle touch, a warm pressure on your shoulder, stirred your emotions back up, more tears beginning to form in your eyes. In the darkness, you could almost see Terzo sitting beside you, his presence a soothing balm to the ache that had settled deep within your soul. His hand, though insubstantial, carried with it an unmistakable tenderness, a gesture of comfort that transcended the confines of the physical world.

That hand travelled from your shoulder, tickling your bicep and holding onto your hip as he so often did when you lay in bed together, naked and exhausted from a night full of passion. His scent, as it did then, enveloped you entirely now. You couldn’t see him, but you could feel him. “Why did you scare me?” You asked.

As the gentle spectral touch of Terzo’s hand gradually dissipated, a newfound sense of courage welled within you, buoyed by the lingering reassurance of his presence. The memory of the Ouija board, once a source of trepidation in the wake of recent spectral encounters, now resurfaced with a renewed sense of purpose. Though the thought of delving into the ethereal realm had initially filled you with a sense of dread, you now felt a resolute determination to connect with Terzo once more, to bridge the gap between the living and the departed in a bid to seek solace and understanding.

With a steady resolve, you retrieved the Ouija board from its place, the weight of its wooden surface a tangible reminder of the mysteries that lay beyond the veil of the known world. You positioned it before you, the letters and numbers now aglow with a faint, otherworldly luminescence. The planchette, a conduit to the realm of spirits, beckoned to you, and you placed your fingertips upon its smooth surface, ready to invite Terzo’s spirit into the sacred space between the living and the dead.

The room seemed to hum with a quiet energy, the air charged with an anticipation that transcended the physical realm. You closed your eyes, allowing your thoughts to coalesce around the memory of Terzo, your love for him pulsing through every fiber of your being. With each deliberate movement of the planchette, you sought to establish a connection, to bridge the gap that separated you, to invite his spirit to commune with you once more. In the hushed stillness of the night, you whispered his name, the sound carrying on the breath of a fervent prayer, a fervent plea to transcend the boundaries of mortality and find a semblance of peace in the communion of spirits. You lit candles, and called out to him.“Terzo?”

Anticipation coursed through you as the planchette stirred beneath your fingertips, its smooth surface gliding across the letters etched onto the Ouija board. The movement was deliberate, purposeful, as if guided by an unseen force that resonated with the very essence of Terzo’s spirit. Your breath caught in your throat, your heart hammering with a mixture of trepidation and awe, as the planchette continued its mysterious journey across the board.

Yes.

“Is this actually you?”

More movement, only to bring you back to the same word: Yes.

“If this is you, then tell me something only you would know. When did you first realise you loved me?”

O-B-S-E-R-V-A-T-O-R-Y.

The Ministry prided itself on knowledge and spared no expense when it was being built all those millennia ago. The library itself was a stunning space, and one of your favourite locations to be in, but the observatory was next level. The room was circular and made of white marble, with Italian columns spaced equidistant between the large wall high windows. There was a short ledge between the walls and the perfectly domed glass ceiling for structural reasons, but that was also covered in long, rectangular windows so more light could get in. There was an arched door on the other end of the room that led out to the balcony, which allowed for complete unobstructed stargazing if one so wished. On the other side of the room, right near the entrance was a white, leather, curved sofa that extended the length of the wall, with desks on wheels that allowed for extra work space.

Terzo caught you during one of your shifts, laying on the wooden ground with your ankles crossed and your hands resting on your stomach. A pillow was beneath you head yet your eyes were open. You were taking a break and had come to bask in the sunset. He’d opened the door quietly so as not to disturb you and continued to watch you for a few more seconds before he spoke. “Ah, Sorella. We don’t pay you to sleep on the job.” Because of how empty the room was, his voice echoed a little giving it more power than he intended.

The sound of his voice scared you and you sat up sharply, turning your head quickly before you locked eyes with him. There was panic reflected there, like you’d been caught misbehaving by Satan himself - but you’d essentially been caught by your boss’ boss’ boss slacking. You stood quickly. “I’m so sorry, Papa! I was just taking a quick break.”

He laughed at you, not cruelly, just because you were cute. “Va bene. You looked like you were having a great time, sì?”

“Sì.”

“Dimmi i tuoi pensieri.”

“Hm?”

He chuckled softly. “The Italian lessons are going well, I see.”

“I start tomorrow.”

“Tell me your thoughts.”

You sighed and looked back at the sunset, but he continued looking at you. “Just having one of those moments where you stop and take stock and appreciate what you have. Italian sunsets are something else, aren’t they?”

No words were needed at this moment, just a soft noise of agreement. He hadn’t realised how quiet the room was until you looked back at him, and your eyes met. In the light of the sunset you were truly breathtaking. He shook his head and took a small step away from you, pulling himself out of whatever spell you’d bewitched him with. But it didn’t matter how much he tried to deny it, he was falling head over heels in love with you.

It really was him. A sense of frustration washed over you. “Why the fuck did you scare me like that?”

F-U-N-N-Y.

“Fuck you!”

S-U-R-E.

You rolled your eyes. This was a typical Terzo conversation, and usually it would end with him on your body, or as he would prefer, inside it. “Nice try, dipshit. You’re dead. That wouldn’t work.” Your final sentence took on a sombre tone, your excitement washing away and replacing it with sadness. Your brain had forgotten that little detail all too quickly, and the reality was about to come crashing down around you. The sound of the planchette moving distracted you, temporarily at least.

W-A-I-T.

“Wait? Wait for what?”

Nothing.

“Terzo? Wait for what?”

You waited for a little while longer, trying desperately to regain the connection you just had with him, but it had vanished. Terzo had disappeared.

In fact, he remained gone for three days. There was nothing. No cruel jumpscares, no smells, no sounds, no touches. Not a single thing from him. You left the board out just in case he wanted to talk to you while you were at home, but the planchette only moved at your touch and not his. The cold shoulder hit you like a shock to your system. Finally, after weeks of being without him, you’d made contact with him. For days he’d been around you - even if it was at the expense of your sanity. And now all of a sudden there was nothing - it felt like you’d been thrown into ice cold water and left to fend for yourself.

But Terzo said wait. And so, wait you would.

This was your first Black Mass since Terzo’s execution, and so it felt weird sitting in the large chapel of the Ministry after so many weeks away. Of course, as you expected, all eyes were on you as soon as you walked in, the congregation whispering to each other to spread the news of your arrival like wildfire. In order to keep yourself as private as possible, you chose to sit in the back row, and as more and more Siblings and the Ghouls of previous Papas filed in, you realised they all didn’t want to sit beside you… the exception being Terzo’s Ghouls,who had also suffered a great loss.

Moss threw himself on the pew next to you, gripping onto your hand like a friend would. You weren’t sure if you could consider Terzo’s Ghouls your friends, but it was nice to have a familiar face. “It’s good to see you here today.” He said, softly.

You nodded. “It’s good to see you too. I didn’t want to be here today. I wasn’t sure if I ever wanted to come back.”

“Small steps. Papa would hate for you to become a recluse.” He squeezed your hand in an attempt to comfort you further, and encourage you to keep this up. “This is already a huge step. You should be proud of yourself.”

“Thanks, Moss.”

The entrance of the Clergy Officials, garbed in their varied black and red regalia, sent a ripple of apprehension through the congregation, marking the imminent commencement of the Mass. Everyone stood out of respect, but you and the other Ghouls remained seated in protest of the Clergy’s actions thus far. Stream had explained it to you a while ago: during the mourning period, they would remain seated. You observed with a simmering contempt as these figures, each a pillar of the dark hierarchy, took their seats, their presence casting a formal cloud over the gathered worshippers. Their eyes, shrouded by the dark recesses of their Cardinal makeup, seemed to linger with an unsettling scrutiny, as if they could discern the innermost secrets of those in attendance.

Following closely behind the officials, with an air of regal authority, came the figures you despised the most: Copia’s parents, Sister Imperator and the idiotic Papa Nihil. Their commanding presence exuded an aura of foreboding power, their very essence a testament to the malevolent legacy that had entrenched itself within the heart of the Church. The smirk etched across Sister Imperator’s face as her gaze met yours sent a chill down your spine, the shit-eating expression on her face threatening to engulf you in a suffocating shroud of dread. She was so sure she’d won whatever war she had fought; she was so sure she was invincible. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, a potent mixture of anger and indignation boiling within you, demanding release in the face of her insidious mockery. The weight of her disdainful gaze seemed to sear into your very soul, a silent reminder of the hierarchy of darkness that ruled over the congregation.

Beside you, Moss, sensing the uproar of emotions raging within you, placed a reassuring hand on your arm, his touch anchoring you to the present moment. His silent gesture of solidarity implored you to remain composed, to resist the urge to confront the Imperator, whose every calculated move seemed designed to provoke and unsettle.

And then, with a quick stride, Cardinal Copia entered the hall, his visage an unsettling blend of awkwardness and authority, as though he had to keep reminding himself of his position. As he ascended the dais to lead the congregation in the unholy proceedings, you felt a surge of revulsion, a potent mixture of hatred and disdain directed at the figure who now wielded power in the name of the malevolent forces that governed the realm of darkness, and his lineage who had taken a comfortable seat on the wooden pews of the front row.

Copia had always seemed somewhat pathetic to you, a character whose uncertainty and timidity had once been palpable, but it appeared that he had undergone a transformation of sorts, now imbued with a newfound confidence that emanated from his position as the leader of the dark congregation. He was introverted and not conventionally attractive, which meant many members of the Ministry had it out for him. Rumours about him spread like wildfire, and all of them were more unbelievable and cruel than the last. Before all of this, you refused to believe them, and couldn’t understand where they came from. But now? Now you’d believe them just to spite him. Given how much everyone loved Papa Terzo, no one could imagine him being deposed by… well… a Cardinal who didn’t really have any friends. He often stumbled over his words and spoke quietly, had terrible posture and a gaze that always lingered for moments too long. A wallflower tasked with taking command of a congregation. He never should have stood a chance, yet there he was, making speeches and reading texts, shunning Catholicism for its evils while he was speaking with the voice of hypocrisy.

The congregation, an eclectic mix of followers, now hung on Copia’s every, quiet, word, their devotion to the sinister doctrines palpable in the eerie silence that pervaded the hall. As he intoned incantations and recited dark liturgy, you couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of unease, a discomfort that mingled with your disdain for the man who had once been a mere annoyance but now held a position of dark power.

A shiver coursed down your spine as the sensation of a presence lingering behind you tugged at the edges of your awareness. With a mounting sense of anticipation, you slowly pivoted to steal a glance over your shoulder, half-expecting to find the spectral form of Terzo standing there, his gaze fixed upon you with a reassuring warmth. However, to your disquieting realization, there was no one there, no discernible figure or apparition to account for the palpable energy that seemed to permeate the very air around you.

As you turned back to face the front once more, you carried with you the unreal comfort of Terzo’s spiritual presence. The mysterious energy of the room seemed to shift, imbued with a faint glimmer of hope that defied the darkness that threatened to consume it. You felt the hairs on your body stand on end, electrified by the energy now surrounding you. A weight appeared on your shoulders, not too heavy to burden, but heavy enough to remind you that he was there. You felt feather light touches on your bicep as Terzo’s scent filled your mind and clouded your senses, soft grazes against the sensitive part of your neck - a favourite spot for Terzo when he was alive, he loved to hear you gasp.

The gasp that left your body at that moment was loud enough to disturb the people around you, causing them to turn and look at you in alarm or concern. You nodded and mouthed a silent apology to appease them, but Moss’ eyes still lingered. He said nothing, but you could see that a question was bubbling in his throat. Meanwhile, yours had the ghostly feeling of Terzo’s lips pressed against the skin, tormenting you in front of all the Siblings. This would usually be the part of the proceedings where he’d whisper sweet nothings in your ear, remind you that you needed to be silent or people would suspect something. But you knew him well enough to know he’d claim you in front of the entire congregation if he saw fit to do so. Lucifer, how you wished you could hear him right now.

The feeling on your bicep ended, only to be replaced by fingers pawing at your clothed clitoris, rubbing deftly over the fabric simply to torment you and tease you. You released another gasp, this time repressed enough to disturb only Moss, who was now staring at you intensely. Your toes pressed against the marble floor to keep yourself sitting upright as your thick thighs parted involuntarily, granting better access to Terzo’s phantasmal fingers. Terzo, of course, took advantage of this - you could almost feel the rumbling of his chest as he chuckled at you for being so desperate for him, during Mass no less.

The fabric of your panties never moved or shifted, visually it was as if nothing was wrong, but you felt Terzo’s fingers much more solidly on your clit, as if he’d moved the fabric to the side and was now making direct contact with the bundle of nerves, set alight for the first time in weeks. He applied more pressure with each circle he rubbed into your folds, before you felt his fingers dip inside you.

You were so wet and ready for him, and despite him beginning with two fingers, your body was feeling no pain. There was the familiar stretch that you loved, but none of the delicious bite that accompanied it. Your mouth fell open with the unbridled pleasure only his fingers could bring, with the way they tapped upwards immediately and hit against your g-spot in a way that almost had you screaming out loud if it wasn’t for your hands against your mouth, muffling your cries to absolute silence.

“Sister,” Moss whispered from beside you, “are you okay?”

You simply nodded in response, not trusting your voice to answer for you. The hand that wasn’t clasped against your mouth flew to Moss’ open hand and began to squeeze, searching for comfort. Your hips had shifted, pressing your covered clit against the wooden pew, gently rocking them back and forth and rubbing yourself against it for the extra stimulation. To Moss, it just looked like you were in pain. He didn’t see the way your nipples were erect and rubbing against the lace of your bra, and he certainly couldn’t hear the way your wet cunt was succumbing to Terzo’s fingers, ebbing you ever closer to an intense orgasm at the back of Black Mass, your fingernails digging into the meat of Moss’ hand.

Knowing that you hadn’t orgasmed in so long, and knowing what Terzo’s fingers were capable of, apparently even in death, you knew that what was building inside of you was going to explode at any given time, and it would overtake your entire body. You had to go. You had to leave before he made you cum.

“I h-have to g-go!” You whispered to Moss, straightening yourself up and quietly running out of the Church. In your haste to escape, you didn’t notice the way Moss and the other Ghouls were staring at you - and you certainly had no idea that Copia had witnessed your escape.

The sunlight glared onto your face as you made your getaway, looking around the courtyard frantically for shelter or somewhere you could cool off. Terzo’s fingers had retracted from your cunt, but you could still feel him on your body. He wasn’t finished with you yet. Ideally, you’d make your way back to your home and deal with this there, but as you stood outside trying to force your clouded brain to make a plan, you could feel Terzo’s body pressed against yours, his hands running all over your soft body, grabbing at you as he saw fit. He pulled at the fat of your hips, squeezed your pillowy breasts, rubbed your hidden nipples between his fingers as he groped you for his own pleasure -and perhaps yours. Your body felt like it was on fire wherever his touches landed.

You just let your feet carry you round the back of the Church to the quiet gardens. This would do - it would have to. You felt Terzo’s hands back on your body, pushing against your shoulders and pinning you against a nearby tree. You still couldn’t see him - you had no idea where he was or what he was planning as his hands disappeared. That was until you felt extra wetness press against your panties. His tongue. Oh, fuck, his tongue. It laved over the gusset of your panties, savouring the taste of your wetness and rubbing you over and over again. Your panties fit you perfectly, but in this moment, in this desperation with the feeling of Hellfire burning your entire body to a crisp, it felt like too much. They needed to be off of you; and so, in a frantic movement, you pulled them off your body and threw them somewhere onto the grass, leaning back against the tree and spreading yourself open for your spectral lover, who dove back into your folds like a man starved. He began roughly licking and sucking on your clit as your hips bucked wantonly against his ghostly face, providing you with as much stimulation as he could to get you to climax as quickly as possible. He seemed just as needy as you.

Your hands were itching to tangle in his locks, desperate to tug on the black strands and push his face into your cunt. You needed to ride his face and take what you needed from his tongue, but there was nothing to see - nothing to grab. You needed to grab something. So, you pulled your habit up over your breasts, exposing your voluptuous body to the elements and any lucky passerby, and pulled and tugged at your nipples through your bra, whining at the sensitivity. Your moans after that fell naturally, easily, just as they always did whenever Terzo was in-between your thighs.

“Fuck, Papa! Just like that. Please.” You begged to the air, pulling at yourself hard. “I’m so fucking close, Papa! Don’t stop, please don’t stop. Oh, fuck!”

You felt his mouth suction against you harder, the vibrations of an unheard growl shocking you and making you scream a little louder. It felt incredible to have his magical tongue lavish you in pleasure once more - almost intoxicating. You needed this. You needed him. You were so close. Just a little more - just a little longer.

Yes.

Yes!

Yes!

With one final suck of his mouth on your clit, and a particularly hard tug from your fingers, your orgasm struck you, hitting you like a freight train and knocking the wind out of you. Your lungs burned with the need for oxygen, but your entire body cramped and froze as your orgasm took control, filling you with pleasure that started at your cunt and ran all the way through your body, nerve-endings screaming at the exertion, and cum oozing out of your cunt and running down your thighs as the majority of it flooded the ground and the tree’s exposed roots beneath you.

When your orgasm subsided, you were exhausted. It had been so long since you had one, let alone one of that strength. It was in the haze, you’d realised what had just happened. You realised that your cum was dripping down your legs and that your entire body was exposed. You realised that you were alone. How you’d kill to have Terzo’s arms wrapped around you right now, to tell you how good you’d been for him, to tell you how much he loved you as he always did when you were recovering from his onslaught. Before you had the chance to break down against the tree you’d just been pinned to, you picked up your panties from the grass and trudged all the way back across the Ministry’s grounds, knees like jelly, and threw yourself on your bed once you arrived home.

In the days that followed the unsettling encounter during the Black Mass, the memory of Terzo’s spectral presence lingered like a ghostly echo, a haunting reminder of the unbelievable nature of his existence beyond the realms of the living. His touch haunted you as though he was still there - the places his fingers and mouth had been still burned through to your soul, and had you touching yourself in the darkness of your room in an attempt to recreate that feeling. It didn’t matter how many times you orgasmed at the thought of him, how much your own fingers traced against your skin, it didn’t feel the same. It never did - even when he was alive and away on tour. The longing to see him, to feel the warmth of his touch, to hear the timbre of his voice, gnawed at the depths of your being, leaving an ache that seemed to seep into every crevice of your soul. The inability to bridge the gap between the real and the ethereal only served to magnify the sense of loss that pervaded your every waking moment, casting a shadow over even the most mundane of tasks.

Each passing day brought with it a relentless yearning, a longing that refused to be assuaged by the fleeting memories and spectral encounters that punctuated the fabric of your existence. The knowledge that Terzo’s spirit lingered just beyond the veil of perception served as a bittersweet solace, a faint glimmer of hope in the vast expanse of grief and longing that threatened to consume you whole. Yet, the inability to fully connect with his essence, to share in the tangible manifestations of his love and presence, left you feeling adrift in a world that seemed to have lost its vibrancy and meaning.

As you navigated the mundane rhythms of daily life, the ache of his absence remained a constant companion, a silent echo of a love that transcended the limitations of mortality. The void that Terzo’s departure had left in your life seemed to expand with each passing day, a cavernous emptiness that defied the passage of time and the distractions of the outside world. In the silence of your solitude, you grappled with the enigmatic nature of existence, with the elusive threads that connected the realms of the living and the dead, and with the unyielding longing for a connection that surpassed the boundaries of life and death. There must be something you could do…

The library welcomed you with its familiar hush as you stepped through its hallowed doors, seeking respite from the ceaseless agitation of your own thoughts. The soft rustle of pages turning and the faint murmur of distant conversations enveloped you, offering a semblance of comfort in the labyrinth of towering bookshelves that lined the expansive halls. With a determined resolve, you navigated the aisles, the scent of aging paper and polished wood a soothing balm to the turbulence that churned within your restless soul.

As you perused the countless volumes that adorned the shelves, your fingers traced the spines of books that promised insights into the enigmatic realms of the afterlife and the mysteries that veiled the boundaries between the living and the dead. You delved into the intricate narratives of spiritual encounters and spectral manifestations, each page offering a glimmer of understanding, a fragment of solace amidst the haunting echoes of your longing for Terzo’s presence.

Amidst the neatly organized rows of books, your fingers alighted upon a weathered tome that seemed to emanate an aura of ancient mystique. As you withdrew it from the shelf, the book revealed itself to be a relic of another era, its faded leather cover bearing the weight of countless years and the touch of countless curious readers. The rich, earthy scent of aged parchment and ink enveloped you, infusing the air with a sense of timelessness that seemed to transcend the confines of the library’s walls.

The cover, weathered and worn with the passage of time, bore intricate embossments of ethereal figures and swirling mists, hinting at the enigmatic knowledge that lay within its pages. Traces of gold leaf, faded but still resplendent, adorned the edges of the cover, their faint glimmer serving as a silent testament to the book’s storied past and the wisdom it held. Your fingertips traced the embossed grooves, the texture of the leather yielding beneath your touch, as if imparting a tangible connection to the ancient mysteries that the book sought to unveil.

As you dared to open its timeworn pages, the delicate rustle of aged paper echoed through the air, each turn revealing a tapestry of meticulously inked illustrations and intricate script that danced across the parchment. The words, etched with a precision that spoke of a bygone era, seemed to pulse with an otherworldly energy, their meaning transcending the confines of language and time. The sepia-toned illustrations, rendered with a meticulous hand, depicted ghostly apparitions in various states of ethereal existence, their forms wreathed in shadow and light, their spectral presence an enigmatic blend of the tangible and the intangible.

The weight of the book in your hands seemed to grow heavier, as if bearing the weight of the knowledge it contained, the essence of countless narratives that had woven themselves into the fabric of its pages.

As you delved deeper into the pages of the ancient tome, your eyes alighted upon a ritual that promised to bridge the realms of the living and the dead, to summon forth the spectral essence of those who had departed from the mortal plane. The words, etched with an archaic elegance, seemed to beckon to you from the faded parchment, offering a glimmer of hope in the face of your relentless longing for Terzo’s presence. With each line that you perused, a sense of anticipation bloomed within you, a fervent desire to transcend the boundaries of mortality and connect with his spirit once more, even if only for a fleeting moment.

The ritual, intricately detailed with symbols and incantations, unfolded before you like a map to the ethereal realm, its instructions offering a pathway to channel the energies of the unknown and summon forth the ghostly apparition of your beloved. Your fingers traced the ancient script, committing the intricate steps to memory, each syllable resonating within the depths of your consciousness, a whispered promise of reunion and communion with the spirit that had once been your guiding light.

In the back of your mind, you remembered the Sibling you encountered the last time you were here and how they reminded you that people talk. You knew that whoever was at the front desk would talk about how you’d borrowed a book about apparitions and ghostly rituals. So, you did the next best thing: you took a series of photos for each of the pages, allowing you to keep the information close to you and not get caught in the process.

You made your way from the sanctum of knowledge that was the library, the weight of anticipation hung heavy in the air, driving you forward on your quest to reunite with Terzo’s spirit, even if only for a fleeting moment. The path to the Ministry’s ritual supply shop unfolded before you, each step a testament to your unwavering determination to see the ritual through to its completion. The bustling corridors and busy hallways seemed to blur into the periphery of your consciousness as your mind remained fixated on the sacred task that lay ahead.

Upon arriving at the ritual supply shop, the air seemed to thicken with a palpable sense of mystique, as if the very atmosphere resonated with the esoteric energies that permeated the space. The shop, adorned with an eclectic array of mystical artifacts and arcane paraphernalia, offered a glimpse into a world that existed beyond the confines of the mundane. The soft flicker of black candles cast an ethereal glow, while the sight of crimson paint, rich and vibrant, beckoned to you with a silent promise of the ritual’s imminent fruition.

With a focused determination, you gathered the necessary materials, each item a vital component in the intricate dance of summoning that you sought to perform. The vibrant red paint, symbolizing the blood that pulsed through the veins of life, and the stark black candles, emblematic of the shadows that cloaked the realms of the unknown, spoke to the potent energies that the ritual sought to harness. Each item you procured held within it the potential to bridge the chasm between the worlds, to beckon forth the spirit that had eluded your grasp, to offer a glimpse of solace in the enigmatic communion that lay beyond the boundaries of mortal comprehension.

With the ritual supplies in hand, you felt the weight of the imminent encounter with Terzo’s spirit settle upon your shoulders, a burden that mingled with the fervent hope that guided your every step. The journey back to the confines of your abode seemed to pass in a blur, as your thoughts remained steadfastly fixed on the ritual that now loomed on the horizon, promising to unveil the secrets that lay veiled between the realms of the living and the dead. You were going to see him tonight - you’d make sure of it.

As the cloak of night enveloped the world outside, casting the surroundings into an eerie shroud of darkness, you stood within the designated room, a place now transformed into a sanctum of otherworldly intent. The air seemed to thrum with an otherworldly energy, charged with the anticipation of the ritual that was about to unfold. With a steady hand, you traced the intricate lines of the Satanic pentagram in vivid red upon the floor, each stroke a deliberate invocation of the esoteric forces that lay dormant within the confines of the symbol. The pentagram, a testament to the unyielding power of the occult, now bore the weight of the ritual’s purpose, serving as a conduit between the realms that sought to unite the living with the departed.

At each point of the pentagram, you placed the black candles, their flames flickering with an ethereal luminescence that cast dancing shadows across the room. The soft glow of their light lent an otherworldly aura to the space, imbuing the ritual with a solemn reverence that transcended the mere act of conjuration. As you knelt at the center of the pentagram, a profound sense of purpose enveloped you, the incantation poised on the tip of your tongue, ready to breathe life into the ancient words that had beckoned forth spirits for eons.

With a voice that quivered with a potent blend of determination and trepidation, you began to intone the incantation, each syllable a whispered invocation that resonated with the pulsing energy of the room. The words, spoken with a fervent reverence, seemed to weave themselves into the very fabric of the air, each verse carrying the weight of ancient wisdom and the fervent desire to bridge the gap between the worlds. In the flickering light of the candles and the crimson hue of the pentagram, you channeled the essence of your longing, the fervent plea to summon forth Terzo’s spirit, to invite him into the sacred space that now pulsed with the promise of communion between the realms of the living and the dead.

As the final syllables of the incantation lingered in the air, a profound stillness descended upon the room, punctuated only by the soft flicker of the black candles and the radiant glow of the pentagram that now seemed to hum with an otherworldly energy. And then, amidst the charged silence, the figure of Terzo appeared within the confines of the sacred circle, his form transparent and wreathed in a soft, ethereal blue aura that pulsed with the rhythm of the spirit realm. His presence, though you were unable to touch him, cast a spectral light upon the room, his essence a haunting blend of the familiar and the enigmatic.

You gazed upon him with a mixture of awe and longing, your senses heightened to the subtle nuances that marked his spectral manifestation. The transparency of his form, a mere echo of the physical solidity he once possessed, allowed you to see through him, to discern the faint outlines of the room beyond his spectral figure. Yet, in the ethereal light that bathed his essence, you found a familiarity that transcended the limitations of the physical world, a connection that pulsed with the enduring bond of love and longing that had persisted beyond the confines of mortality.

Though you couldn’t reach out to touch him, the echoes of his presence seemed to weave themselves into the very fabric of your being, his voice carrying on the subtle currents of the air, his gaze meeting yours with a silent reassurance that transcended the boundaries of the spectral plane. The scent of his cologne, now an intangible whisper that lingered in the space around you, evoked a potent wave of nostalgia and longing, intertwining with the enigmatic aura that surrounded his ghostly form.

You couldn’t touch him, but he could touch you. He saw the tears in your eyes and ran outside of the circle, hands cupping your cheeks and looking into your eyes. There was life in his despite his current form, much different to the last time you saw them. “Tesoro!” He breathed, throwing himself down to the floor to your height to offer you some comfort as you felt all of the emotions a person could possibly feel all at once.

You sobbed. Relief flooded your body along with the pain of the grief you’d felt for all this time. The accumulation of all the agonising days rolled into this one meeting, and the shattered pieces of your heart began to stick back together piece by piece, starting with when you saw him standing there just moments ago, and continuing passed the sound of his voice calling for you.

You felt his lips trace ghostly kisses all over your face, starting at your forehead and working all across the expanse of skin, even moving his hands to get to your cheeks. For once, his paints didn’t transfer onto your face as it rubbed against you - and there was something so sad in that; something so heartbreaking in the notion that it would only be your makeup you’d be washing off your body tonight, and not his too. That you wouldn’t hear him come into the bathroom and laugh at your complaints every time his black paint stuck to your cheek and stained it temporarily. You’d give anything to have that just one more time.

“I m-missed you so much!” You wept into his spectral clothes, but your tears dripped onto the floor. You felt his arms wrap around you, but your own hand slid through his body and rested on your own when you tried to grip his arm.

“Lo so, amore mio. I have been with you this whole time.”

“Why did th-they do that to you? I d-don’t understand.”

He looked at you with sadness in his eyes. “You won’t understand. You don’t know everything, yet.”

“Then please explain it to me.”

He sighed. “Non posso. It is not the right time, and I am not the right person to do it. But I need you to remember that my brothers and I were not the only victims here. Besides you, there is another who lives and suffers daily through no fault of their own.”

“What does that mean?”

He shushed you and kissed your forehead. “It doesn’t matter. Non pensarci. Just enjoy this moment while we can, hm? I cannot be here all night.”

You nodded, but cried again. “Did you feel any pain?”

“No, no, no, tesoro. Do not torture yourself with my death, especially not now.” He kissed your lips in an attempt to kiss away the grief. “I need you here with me, now, sì?”

You nodded.

He kissed you again. The kiss was soft, yet full of passion, dripping with the love and adoration he felt for you even in death. You longed to pull him closer, to deepen the kiss and show him just how much you missed him, but what you had would have to do.

Despite the tender moment, despite the sweetness you were experiencing in his presence, you needed something more - something stronger. He’d done it before, you craved him to do it again. You let out the faintest of whimpers as you kissed him, and he picked up on it immediately, deepening the kiss and pulling you flush against his spiritual body.

His hands, like before, began wandering over your body, roaming over your curves and caressing you sweetly, tentatively. He slowly moved forward on his knees, pushing you down onto the cold wooden floor and hovering above you, his lips still attached to yours. One hand propped him up, the other ran from your knee, up your thigh and rested on your hip, your legs parted out of habit to allow him to kneel in between them.

“Tesoro,” he whispered, breaking the kiss and allowing his lips to travel across your cheek, to that sensitive spot on your neck, “the only woman I ever loved. The angel amongst the devils. Even in death, I yearned for this moment.” He kissed your neck, revelling in your gasps and sighs. “Will you undress for me, amore mio?”

He pulled himself away from you and watched you stand, undressing yourself slowly for him. You looked at his eyes the whole time, but didn’t begrudge the fact that his eyes were travelling everywhere. He watched your hands unzip your habit, darkened and hooded eyes watching it pool at your feet. Your bra was removed next, Terzo’s mouth slightly agape and almost drooling at the sight of your breasts falling free of their confines. He groaned deeply, a noise coming from the back of his throat, so low it sounded like he was purring.

He loved your body more than anyone else did. He loved the plush softness of it, how it jiggled when you moved, even slightly. How even repositioning yourself on the couch could get him harder than anything else in the world, just because your thighs would splay against the cushions, and your tummy would jiggle with the force of you sitting down. There were so many times he wished he could paint, because he would have painted you over and over again like you were Michelangelo’s favourite subject. It saddened him to know that this would be the last time he would ever get to see you like this, but at least his soul could rest happily in Hell with Lucifer as this being his final memory.

When you removed your panties, Terzo groaned. “Oh, bella!” He bent at the waist, allowing his forehead to touch the ground, his hands slamming against the wood of the floor. What followed was a string of Italian sentences you had trouble discerning at your low-level, but the way he was talking made you believe whatever he said should be written in a book for the rest of time. He was worshipping you, the very ground you walked on, playfully in true Terzo fashion, but no less insincere. His reaction to seeing you completely bare for him had you giggling, your previous tears long gone. He got to his feet and charged over to you, cupping your face in his hands when he reached you and pulling you into a desperate kiss. “Come, lie down for me.”

Once he had you spread out for him on the floor, he lavished you in kisses again. His lips and his tongue ran wherever they could, savouring every inch of you until there was nothing left to be explored before finally settling on your cunt. He began gently licking and sucking on your clit as your hips bucked wantonly against his ghostly face, providing you with as much stimulation as he could to get you to your end. This time, he wasn’t rushing his work. This time he was making sure to appreciate you, dining on you like a 12-course experience where each bite was a culinary masterpiece - because you were a masterpiece.

Your hips bucked at the sensations he was bestowing upon you, hands still desperate to tangle in his hair and frustration clouding your mind when you realised you couldn’t.

This time, you could hear every single noise his mouth was making against your pussy, the suction, the sound of his saliva swiping against your sopping folds. He worked you like it was his job, hitting every single spot to have you singing for him, writhing beneath him, driving him crazy. In a desperate need to do something with your hands, you moved to your nipples again, pinching, pulling, adding to the onslaught that his mouth was putting your clit through. His hands were clutching onto your thighs, fingers digging into the plush skin there, but leaving no marks as much as you both wanted him to.

“Papa, I’m so close!”

He growled into your cunt, not wanting to stop and have you lose the feeling. You knew he wasn’t going to make you hold back - not this time. He wasn’t going to play with you, or torture you in the most delicious of ways, you both craved each other too much.

“Your tongue feels so good, Terzo! Fuck! I’m gonna cum! I’m gonna-”

Your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave crashing against the rocks of a cliffside. One of your hands moved to your mouth and got caught beneath your teeth as you bit down, your body freezing with the intensity of it. Drool spilled from your open mouth, your eyes glazing over and rolling back into your head. Your hands tightened where they were, forcing you to bite down hard on your finger and pinching hard on your nipple. Your lungs refused to fill with air, and your back arched off the floor. Your mind became filled with dizziness from the way your body was convulsing as a result of the intensity, even your voice could no longer work.

As soon as your body relaxed, Terzo detached himself from your core and crawled up over your body, frantically kissing your lips when he reached them. “Always so good for me, hm?” Another kiss, this time his tongue entered your mouth. “Cumming so well on my tongue. Amore mio, I cannot wait.”

“I need you inside me. Quickly, please!”

Terzo nodded dumbly, his hand fiddling at his crotch. Seconds later, he pushed inside of you, stretching you out to make you fit him perfectly inside. You always did. You were always so perfect for him, made specifically for him. To ruin him, to strengthen him. And he was made for you, to offer you pleasure beyond your wildest fantasies, have you seeing stars as you cum around his cock. He fit inside you just right, always hitting your cervix in the most delicious of ways and dragging against your walls, making your body feel alive in the most primal of ways.

Usually, Terzo would wait for you to adjust to his size; but like with his fingers there was no pain with the stretch - no need for adjustment. So instead, when he didn’t see the familiar look on your face that told him everything he needed to know, he just began to move. The first thrust was a tender motion, but it was so strong you felt like you were going to pass out. Without a moment’s hesitation, your hands collided with the ground as your fingers searched for something solid to hold onto. Normally, you would go after his back. Terzo yearned to see the red lines in a mirror that represented your pleasure and to feel the scratch of your nails against his skin. The second felt exactly as good. The rhythmic yet soft movements of Terzo soon picked up speed, leaving your brain turning to mush and your lungs gasping for air. The third thrust had you rolling your eyes back.

The feeling got more and more intense the more he thrust. Your screams, which initially served as a release for your bliss, were no longer effective. As much as it was possible, your back arched off the ground to accommodate him deeper inside of you. Now that his hips were moving more quickly, you were going crazy even more than before. You were completely oblivious to the way you appeared, how perfect you looked all red-faced and sweaty beneath him.

You were living artwork carved by Lucifer, made for pleasures beyond your wildest dreams. You belonged in his bed, lounging lazily as he spoiled you, worshipped you, gave you everything you could ever possibly want. Your body, all curvaceous and plump, jiggling beneath him with the force of his hips. Your thighs wobbling at the movements, your breasts, heavy and full, nipples begging to be played with and sucked into his mouth. His eyes enamoured by the way your tummy shook with the rest of your body, he could no longer resist. He bent down and placed kisses wherever he could: between the valley of your breasts, all over your chest, your sternum.

“Touch yourself for me, tesoro.” He told you, his voice shakey but gentle. “I want to watch you.”

He sat back on his knees and followed your hand as it moved downwards to your clit, thrusting hard when he heard your scream of sensitivity as your fingers made contact. Terzo knelt between your legs and let your hips buck to meet his movements. His gaze was fixed on your face, and the picture of you stretched out in front of him like his favourite meal made his cock twitch inside of you. He gripped your waist for leverage and watched your hand rubbing furiously at your clit, desperately trying to reach another orgasm. He bit his lip at the sight of you - you were so beautiful. You belonged to him; his perfect girl, laying there with her hand on her pussy and his cock slamming into her. It was almost too much to bear.

You had to cum first. You had to. There was no arguing. He needed you to cum again. “That’s it, tesoro. You look so beautiful right now. Taking me so well. Cazzo! You gotta cum, amore. I don’t know how much more I can take. You feel so good! Cum for me, tesoro!”

It didn’t take you long to do as he said, your second orgasm hitting you just as powerfully as the first. You screamed as your fingers moved faster against your clit in an attempt to keep up with both Terzo’s cock and your own orgasm, hips bucking to chase the pleasure. Though you were in the throes of your own orgasm, you fought with your own body to keep your eyes open and your brain focussed so you could watch Terzo reach his own. His hips thrusting erratically inside you, his brows furrowed, his eyes fixed on the way your cunt was creaming at the sensation, running down your body and gathering on the wood. His mind showed him images of the way your juices used to gather at the base of his cock when he would ravish you over and over again. It was that thought that had him orgasming, burying himself deep inside you as he came.

You were always enraptured by the face he made when he came; mouth hanging wide open, a dark look in his eyes that told you he was the only one who got to do this to you. That you belonged to him and no one else. His hands gripped onto both of your hips tightly, as though you’d try and run from him before he had the chance to finish.

When he finally did, and both of your bodies had finally stilled, you both remained where you were in silence. You allowed the quietness to bathe you both in an intimate moment where only your eyes connected as you calmed, savouring what you both knew would be your final moments together. He pulled out of you, making you both wince at the feeling. His borrowed time was coming to an end and you both knew it.

A lump formed in your throat again when you heard the sadness in his voice. “Would you dress yourself for me, tesoro?”

You nodded and slowly dressed again, this time the lethargy was your way of procrastinating. When you put your habit back on, he’d have to leave. When you were dressed and decent, he’d walk back into the pentagram and his soul would return to Hell where he was supposed to remain. “I don’t want you to go.” You said once you were dressed, tears spilling from your eyes and fingers playing with your habit.

He stood from his position on the floor and walked over to you, kissing your forehead. “Amore mio, it brings me solace to be with you, if only for this fleeting moment. I’ve watched over you, felt your every sorrow. But my time here is ephemeral, and Lucifer wants me back.”

“Fuck what Lucifer wants! I can’t bear to let you go again! I still feel your absence every day, and it’s like a piece of me is missing. Dead.”

Terzo was crying, now, too. Eyes glassy and glistening as he wrapped his spectral arms around you and let you sob into the air where his shoulder should have been. “You must find the strength within you to carry on, tesoro. I will always be with you, in the whispers of the wind, in the warmth of the sunlight, and in the quiet moments of your solitude. You are not alone, and you never will be.” He took your hands in his. “But you have a life to live, and you must do it without me now.”

“But it’s not the same without you here. I ache for your touch, your laughter, your presence beside me.”

“I know, tesoro. But remember the joy we shared, the laughter that echoed through our days. Hold onto those memories. They’re the threads that bind us, even across the chasm of existence. You carry a piece of me within your heart, and I, yours.”

You nodded, even though you were still wanting to clutch onto him and never let him go. “I love you, Terzo. I will never forget you.”

He sniffed. “You better not forget me, or I’ll send Hell’s legions to come remind you.”

“Why can’t I hit you?”

“Lucifer has favourites, clearly your Papa is one of them, hm?” He paused, taking in your appearance one last time. “You were the very breath I breathed, amore mio. Towards the end, you were the only thing that I got out of bed for, the only reason I carried on. Love is too weak a word to describe my feelings for you. You are my sanctity, my guiding star in the night sky, the very life in my lungs. Your laughter is a symphony that resonates with the very essence of my being, echoes with a melody that reverberates through the chambers of my heart, a melody that I wish to cherish for all eternity. My heart will forever be yours.

“But, one day, when your heart no longer belongs to me-”

“Never gonna happen.”

“I want it to. I cannot bear the thought of you alone, pining after me for the rest of your life. Tesoro, you are young. Your beautiful heart still has so much to give. Don’t squander your life waiting for a man who can never return. One day, when your heart no longer belongs to me, I hope that the echoes of our love linger as a bittersweet melody, a testament to the timeless moments we shared in the embrace of a love that once knew no bounds.” He kissed your lips one final time.

Through wracked sobs, you echoed him, forcing the words out of your mouth because you knew you’d regret it for the rest of your life. “Goodbye, Terzo.” You wanted more to come out of your mouth. You wanted to tell him just what he meant to you, how his love made you a better person, how he was everything to you, too. But the lump in your throat wouldn’t let you get the words out. “I love you - I always will. I-”

“I know. Goodbye, ___.”

Terzo backed up into the pentagram, his eyes never leaving you. It could have killed him a second time to watch your heart break once more, shattering into a million pieces on the ground as you finally got to say the goodbye you both deserved the first time. Through blurred vision, you watched him blow you a kiss, before disappearing from this realm altogether, only to exist in your memory. From now on, his voice would only come through a speaker from the videos fans took at concerts, his face would forever remain unchanged and unaltered in the pictures on your dresser.

You fell to the floor, your heartbreak doing as much as it could to commit him to your memory before it faded and time began to heal your wounds. One step at a time. One day at a time. One day, you’d heal from this, but for now, all you could do was let yourself feel.

Previous Day ⛧ Next Day

[wastelandmoony]

Déjà Vécu: Cough Syrup

Chapter Thirty-Six : Cough Syrup

Characters: Remus Lupin/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader (no use of y/n), James Potter, Petter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, Lily Evans

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI.

TW for this chapter: mentions of abuse, mentions of SA, use of the word r*pe.

Déjà Vécu Masterlist

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The sound of muffled voices buzzed close-by, along with the smell of Earl Grey and laundry soap. She groaned softly as one of the voices drew closer. 

“Shhh…it’s okay.”

A gentle hand ran over the top of her head. Eyelids cracking open, the blurry image of Remus came into view. She lifted her head and tried to gaze around; the mismatched furniture paired with the homey smell signaled they were at Molly and Arthur’s house. “Relax, we’re safe.”

Groggily, she blinked at him, “W-what happened?”

“You were stupefied.”

She groaned again, shutting her eyes, “Fuckin’ Barty…”

Remus let out an exasperated chuckle, “You also got a nasty slice on your arm thanks to one of ‘em, but Molly was able to patch it up as best she could.”

Moving slightly, the pain in her arm had definitely dulled, though she now sported a large bandage wrapped around her bicep. “How’d we get back here?”

Remus sighed; he looked so tired. “I caught you before you fell, and just apparated to the first place I thought of.”

She raised an eyebrow, “Which happened to be Molly’s house?”

He shook his head, “Great Russell Street.”

“…The British Museum?”

Remus nodded sheepishly, “You love it there…anyway, it’s not important. Once I saw no one had followed, I brought us here. You were bleeding pretty badly, and I just knew Molly’d be the best that could help on such short notice…”

She took his hand and squeezed it, watching the tension in his shoulders ease. Sitting up slowly, the room spun only slightly as Remus held her shoulders steady.

“I’ll go grab Molly, she’d want to know you were awake. Prongs is here too, he’s standing watch outside—”

“—he should be at home with Lily! The baby could come any day—“ Her feeble protest was silenced by a commotion in the next room over. 

“—get the fuck off me, James—“

A dull thump, followed by footsteps.

“Where is she?”

“Calm down, mate. She’s fine, you can’t go in there acting like—“

“Where is she?!”

Sirius flew around the corner looking livid. The moment his wild eyes landed on her, every feature in his face softened. 

“I’m sorry…“ she started, as he kneeled before the small couch and cupped her face. His grey-blue eyes searched for any and all injuries, falling on the bandage covering the better part of her left arm. Sirius’ voice was soft as he brushed her hair back, “We’ll talk about it later…” 

As quickly as he’d arrived at her side, he was standing, turning to Remus. “You knew what the mission was, and you let her go?” Sirius’ voice began to take on a sharp edge, “You promised to keep her safe. We agreed.”

Remus visibly deflated a bit, mouth opening to speak before she intervened.

“He did keep me safe, he’s the one that brought us back here. Remus got us out—”

“You let her walk into a den of fucking wolves as bait!” Sirius shouted at his friend, not even acknowledging her statement. 

“She wasn’t bait, she had a cover—“

Sirius let out a bitter laugh, “As what? A little werewolf-sympathizer, there to support her poor, bitten friend?” 

“I work for the Ministry you fucking asshole,” she spat, blood beginning to boil at the minimization of her efforts, “Or have you forgotten? Too busy trying to play the fucking rogue hero all the time.”

Sirius’ eyes were blazing as he glanced over a shoulder, “Better than playing a faux savior.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“At least I’m not pretending to be making a difference.”

A sucker punch to the gut. All air had been sucked from her lungs as she stared at Sirius, the love of her life, suddenly a stranger. She knew how he got when he was this angry; the words just spewing out of him with no filter and no remorse until after-the-fact. It was a trauma response, one that was built over years and years of abuse growing up. She knew that, she’d accepted it and vowed to help him work on it. She’d just never been on the receiving end before.

“Don’t fucking talk to her like that,” Remus stepped closer, fists clenched at his side, “Just because she’s not going around blasting apart Death Eater strongholds, doesn’t mean she’s not helping. This mission gave us a lot of valuable intel, and it wouldn’t have been possible without her.”

Sirius continued to glare at him, “You let her walk into a fucking ambush!”

Remus shook his head, “It wasn’t an ambush, everything was fine and under control—“

 “Under control?!” She could hear the panic in Sirius’s voice, the shrill tone echoing throughout the room. For a split second, Walburga’s face flashed in her mind; a memory from years ago in Diagon Alley. The same tone Sirius’s mother had used to chastise her in the street was almost identical to the one he shouted at Remus with. The thought caused a shiver to creep up her spine.

“You let her walk into a room full of Death Eaters and fucking werewolves, without backup, and you want me to consider that ‘under fucking control’?”

She crossed her arms defiantly, “We’re fine. We just…had a little hiccup, but it all worked out.”

Remus nodded fondly, “Her quick thinking got us out of it. Everything would’ve gone smoothly if it wasn’t for Rosier and Crouch—“

Immediately, she felt the blood drain from her face.

Sirius slowly turned to look at her, and suddenly they were back in the Forbidden Forest, his wand at Evan’s throat. “Rosier did this to you?” He whispered. 

Uttering those two names was like tossing gasoline onto an already blazing fire.

He snapped his attention back to Remus, shoving him back into the wall, “Evan fucking Rosier?!”

Remus stared like he’d lost his mind. “Barty is the one that hit her. Both of them are working with the Death Eaters.” For a moment, they were silent, the only sound being the clock ticking softly in the back of the room. It happened almost in slow motion (at least from her still-mildly-dazed state) but before anyone could react, Sirius had launched himself at Remus, pinning him against the wall. He grabbed him by the shirt and they both began to grapple with each other.

Surging forward, she ripped at Sirius’s arm, trying to separate them. “Stop, it’s over!” 

Hearing the commotion, James rushed in and pulled his best friend away, not without some thrashing and empty threats. Sirius continued to glare at Remus from where he was being held across the room. The latter stared back, in a state somewhere between rage and confusion and hurt. 

She didn’t move, just watching as Sirius’s began to burn from the inside. A muscle ticked in his jaw as he inhaled a deep breath.

“They still don’t know, do they? Just another one of your little secrets you seem so keen on keeping…” He was going for blood, something she should’ve expected; Sirius always bit back.

“Stop…” the plea came out as a whimper, tears beginning to fill her vision. Remus shifted beside her.

“Why don’t you tell them? Tell them what happened in the forest—“ Sirius cocked his head, taunting her. There was a sheen of cruelty in his eyes, one that had become more frequent as the war raged on. It was the same one she had always seen in Regulus.

“Tell us what?” Remus looked between the two of them, the tension in the air close to catastrophic levels. She shook her head slowly, eyes shooting daggers at Sirius.

He held her gaze as he fired the killing blow, “About how Rosier tried to rape her during 6th year.”

“You’re a fucking bastard,” she hissed, fists clenched as she tried to not wrap both hands around his throat. 

Sirius ignored her, “Rosier, Crouch, and Mulciber lured her into the forest and held her down—” Remus had gone pale. “—and you let her walk into an unsupervised, unarmed, unprotected meeting with two of them. Way to go, Moony.”

She couldn’t stand being in the room anymore, not as Sirius spewed his venom, not as Remus and James looked at her with such pity that she wanted to throw up. Pushing past them, she fled toward the front door and out into the night, breath coming in giant heaving gasps as she spiraled into a panic. 

———

August 1st, 1980

The morning after the mission, she woke up in Remus’ bed, her best friend sprawled beside her with his arm wrapped protectively around her body. After apparating back to the flat the night prior, she’d fallen asleep curled on the floor of his bedroom, having cried so hard it was surprising she hadn’t vomited. Barely lucid, she vaguely remembered him entering the room quietly and carrying her to his bed. She’d been staying in there ever since, barely leaving out of fear of seeing Sirius.

Slipping out of his bed a few days later, she grabbed one of Remus’ sweaters from the floor and threw it over her t-shirt to ward off the morning chill (or was that a side-effect of the numbness she felt in her bones). The flat was quiet as she padded down towards the kitchen, desperate for a coffee. Her bedroom door was open, the bed vacant as she cautioned a glance inside; the covers were rumpled, and she didn’t miss the almost-empty bottle of firewhisky on the bedside table. The living room was empty as well. Sirius wasn’t here. She didn’t care, nor did she want to waste the energy trying to worry about it. 

The nutty-rich smell of coffee filled the small space as she leaned against the kitchen counter, trying to quiet the buzzing in her head. The scent must have reached the back bedrooms, because no sooner than she’d poured a cup, Remus trudged in, rubbing his eyes and yawning widely. He placed a gentle kiss to her head, pulling another mug out of the cabinet and helping himself. They sipped in comfortable silence on opposite sides of the kitchen, a lot left unsaid from the other night, neither wanting to touch it with a 200-meter pole at the moment. 

“He went to Peter’s,” Remus muttered.

“I don’t care, Moons,” she sighed. 

He hummed, “Yes, you do.” She shot him a glare as the mug was brought to her lips. 

“Lily had the baby last night,” changing the subject, he set his cup down on the counter, a tiny bit of hope gleaming in his eyes. 

She almost dropped her mug, “What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”

He shrugged, and she caught the pity in his expression briefly, something that hadn’t been there until recently. She hated it.

“You were sleeping when James sent word, I didn’t want to wake you.”

He’d been doing that a lot the past few days, letting her sleep for hours upon hours, knowing she was doing it to escape. She swallowed and avoided his eyes.

“Prongs is a dad,” he said in whispered disbelief, shaking his head slightly.

“Jesus, that’s terrifying,” she laughed, eliciting a grin from Remus. 

“We’re going over today to see them…all of us,” he said quietly.

“Bold of you to assume I’m joining.”

He gave her a sidelong glance, “We both know you’d never miss the opportunity to meet Lily’s and James’s baby.”

One eye roll later, they finished their liquid breakfast and began to prepare for the day, her ears constantly searching for the sound of a distant motorbike engine.

———

Later that day, her and Remus apparated to the Potter’s in silence, Sirius and Peter traveling separately. The second they arrived on the doorstep, she ran inside without so much as a knock. James was waiting in the entryway.

“Hiya,” he grinned. She’d never seen him glow like this, light practically radiated out of every pore of his body. 

She threw both arms around his neck, “Congratulations Jamie!” He hugged her back, swaying them both. 

“Thank you, he’s…he’s perfect,” he had tears in his eyes as she pulled away. 

“Where’s Lils?” She was anxious to see her friend, and the newest little addition to their band of marauders. James motioned up the stairs, and she quickly bounded up to the second floor as quietly as possible to not wake the baby. Soft voices could be heard coming from the last room at the end of the hallway, and she followed the sound to find her friend reclining on a large four poster bed, a small bundle cradled in her arms. As she pushed the door open wider, she recognized the familiar scent of smoke and spice, goosebumps cascading up her arms as she tried to ignore it. Sirius sat in an armchair near the top of the bed, eyes shooting to her as she entered. 

Lily looked up, “Hi,” she smiled. Remus and James entered the bedroom quietly, while she moved to sit beside her friend on the bed. 

Lily moved the blanket to show off the baby’s chubby little face and unruly dark hair atop his tiny head.

“Oh my god,” she whispered, “Lily…he’s gorgeous…” Tears welled as her friend beamed, the baby stirring in her arms.

“Want to hold him? He’s very calm, I’m almost worried that he’s not James’—“ Lily shifted to place the baby into her waiting arms, “—I’m joking darling, relax.” James was giving her a non-amused glare from across the room. Lily sat back against the headboard, watching as her friend held her son. 

“Meet Harry James Potter,” Lily smiled at her. Baby Harry nuzzled into the blankets, and she leaned down to kiss his forehead. 

“Hi Harry,” she cooed, running a finger over his soft black hair, “Welcome to this truly bizarre, but incredibly loving family.”

Remus chuckled from the foot of the bed, shifting closer to get a look at their friend’s new baby. Sirius moved to sit beside her (a bold choice if she was honest), peering at the little boy held in her arms. She could feel his body heat like a homing beacon calling to her. 

“I think he looks like you Prongs,” Sirius brushed a gentle hand over Harry’s head, “…how unfortunate.” 

Lily giggled.

“I swear Pads,” James said with barely restrained annoyance, “if you weren’t inches away from my son right now…”

Sirius smirked, focus turned back to the baby. Harry yawned, opening his little eyes to reveal twin versions of Lily’s exact emerald coloring. He reached out a chubby hand and latched onto her finger, simultaneously gripping her heartstrings as well. Everything terrible was forgotten; the war, the fighting, the deaths, the uncertainty. All of it melted away as she stared at this new little life, the perfect combination of her two best friends. Sirius must have felt it too, because he bent down and placed a soft kiss to her shoulder, never saying a word as he ran another hand over Harry’s tiny head. 

———

They apparated back home just before dinner to let their friends relax with their new baby. The mood between the three of them was still tense, but seeing Harry seemed to alleviate some of the animosity. Remus ushered her inside the house with a gentle hand on her lower back, Sirius following closely behind. 

“Chinese for dinner?” Remus asked to no one in particular. Sirius made a grunt of approval.

“Get whatever, I’m going to shower and probably go to bed early,” she was exhausted from the past few days, hell, from the past few weeks if she was being honest. Remus didn’t press as she left them both in the living room to meander down the hall towards the small bathroom. 

She let the water heat to near boiling before stepping under the stream, releasing an audible sigh as the scalding droplets washed away the leftover emotions. As she stood under the shower-head and inhaled the steam, the bathroom door opened.

“What happened to knocking?”

No response.

The door shut, and she continued her aquatic dissociation. The sound of shuffling beyond the shower curtain made her roll her eyes.

“Jesus Christ,” she groaned, “does nobody in this house respect boundaries?!” 

Fully expecting the person standing against the counter to be Remus, she froze when she ripped open the curtain to see Sirius staring back. He didn’t say a word as he stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. She glared at him, annoyed at his audacity. His face resembled nothing of the toxic person that had appeared a few nights ago, returning to the Sirius she fell in love with, the one that would do anything for her. He said her name as barely a whisper, the sound of which cracked her bitter shell.

“What are you doing?” She asked, voice still grasping at the remaining rage she harbored.

He moved closer, hand itching to touch her, “Apologizing…”

“Doesn’t sound like it to me,” she stared up at him, the spray of water warming her shoulders. 

He sighed, “Can I touch you?” There was an undertone of pain in his voice as he searched her face for an answer.

“No.”

“Then can I at least stand under the water with you, it’s fucking cold over here.”

“Also no.”

Sirius rolled his eyes and groaned, “Fine, I deserve that.” She hummed in agreement. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean for everything to escalate like that, I just…I was so afraid, I had no idea where you were—“

She cut him off with a hand, “Being afraid is not an excuse for the way you acted, the way you spoke to me. You don’t treat the person you love like that, Sirius.”

His dark hair fell over his eyes as he bowed his head in shame.

“I joined the Order just like you did, we took the same oath. I wanted to go on that mission, no one else could’ve gone with Remus and I wasn’t about to let him face it alone. You of all people should understand that—”

“I know, I’m sorry—“

“I only lied to you because I was sworn to not say a word of it to anyone other than the people directly involved. God, it was eating me alive, Sirius.” She dipped her head back into the stream of water to center herself again. “We both knew the risks when joining the Order, we knew that we’d be under a constant threat of danger and need to make sacrifices—“

“What if i’m not willing to make some sacrifices?” Sirius dared to run a hand along her arm, ending with a gentle grasp of her wrist. The touch sent shockwaves rolling through her body.

“I’m not sure if we have a choice in the end,” she whispered, reaching out to trace her fingertips up his side. It was pathetic how much she needed him. It had only been a few days and she was practically gnawing at the bit to touch him, hold him, just be near him. 

Sirius threw caution to the wind and pulled her into his chest gently, allowing her to melt against his body. She almost moaned at the contact, but kept her voice in check as she savored his warmth. 

“I’ll always choose you,” he murmured into the top of her head. 

She hummed in question. 

He tipped her chin back to look him in the eye, “Out of any choice I’m given, it will always be for you.” He kissed her deeply, the rest of her anger instantly swirling down the drain. 

Afterwards, as they laid in bed, tangled with each other, Sirius traced patterns on her back with his hand. 

“I liked seeing you with Harry earlier,” he mused, eyes bright in the darkness of their bedroom. 

She smiled at the thought of the little baby boy, “He’s quite possibly the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.”

He was quiet for longer than a few heartbeats, brows furrow slightly in thought. “Have you ever thought about having children?” He asked cautiously. 

The thought of bringing a child into the world at the present moment was absolutely insane to her; how Lily and James were doing it was beyond comprehension. She exhaled slowly, “I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t ever thought about it. What about you?”

Sirius would be an excellent father, growing up with a family like his had shown him precisely what not to do, so she had no doubt he’d love his own children with every atom in his being. The thought made her heart swell.

Sirius’s mouth lifted at the corner, “I’ve toyed with it.”

She matched his smile, “A tiny version of you, with the same big blue eyes running around causing mayhem?”

Sirius’s grin widened, “I’d teach them how to fly as fast as her mum used to on the quidditch pitch.”

The image made her tear up a little. She’d never given serious thought to children and the future until more recently. War did that. The uncertainty of each day, never knowing if your friends and partners would come back home after a mission. Too many of them had been lost, too many of them had plans that were snuffed out. She didn’t want to feel sad anymore, didn’t want to worry if today would be the last day she made coffee for Remus, or the last time she spoke to Lily and James. More than anything, she just wanted the chance at a future, a future with Sirius. 

She brushed his hair back from his beautiful face,”Let’s get through the war first, love. We’ve got time.”

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Taglist (Message me to be added!):

@otterlockholmes

@sofacover

[brotherwtf]

Hello I hope my favourite Clegan writer is doing well <3 I was thinking of a hogwarts fic! Like after the first war with voldy everyone is scared of sending their kids to Hogwarts and here comes the American Wizarding government sending a bunch of their own (our boys) to make things easier in the UK and make it look peaceful and safe and to encourage other wizards to do the same. I think it would be a cool and fun thing to read with Gale's dad hating him cuz of his magic, the boys not being familiar with the culture and making a mess everywhere they go ans wreaking havoc, and eventually Buck and Bucky finding a home in Hogwarts together. I'm sorry can you tell I can't write lol I just wanted to share this HC with you, have a great day/night <3

favorite clegan writer?? ooh man you're about to make me blush 🥹 I'm doing great, thanks for asking!

I was literally thinking of a Hogwarts fic the other day! great minds think alike!!

okay I do think Gale is very much like Hermione, aka his parents are both muggles and he was born with magic. His mother loves it, while his father hates it and tries to hide it from everyone. When he gets his letter informing him he will be moving to Britain and studying magic at Hogwarts, Gale's father almost immediately puts him on a plane and sends him over there, wanting him out of his sight.

At Hogwarts, he meets the other American wizards that were transferred to Britain to help bridge the gap between magical societies. He meets Croz and Rosie (Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively) and instantly gets drawn to them. Gale himself is a Slytherin (one of the "good" ones lol) so they make an unlikely trio. They get along well and are incredibly smart, some of the smartest in their houses. So far, Gale is having a blast at Hogwarts.

It isn't until loud and cocky John Egan from Gryffindor (another American he hadn't met yet, or would he be British in this? tough decisions) starts taking a liking to him that his world gets turned upside down. He always goes up to Gale after classes, throwing an arm around him and tugging him to meet his friends and laughing far too loud for Gale's liking. Croz and Rosie say that John likes him, but Gale doesn't believe them

GUYS I'm thinking of a ball situation, a "get to know you" dance for the Americans and the English, and hilarity absolutely ensues for the Gale/John relationship. Gale sees John with another girl, hands around her waist and immediately gets jealous, leaving the Great Hall and running back to the Slytherin common room. He doesn't realize John followed him until he hears his name being shouted and sees John behind him. Gale wants to be angry, but can't get over how stunning John looks in his dress robes.

Something something they "fight" and a confession slips out? oops? and they kiss in the hallway for the first time 😭

they start dating and become an unlikely pair, it isn't often that a Gryffindor and a Slytherin date, but they quickly become the "it" couple at Hogwarts. They spend their days at the lake, the forbidden forest, and sometimes manage to sneak each other into their common rooms to make out in front of the fire. They would go on dates to Hogsmeade and eat in the great hall together, ooh they make me so soft 🥹

I think after they graduate they both would become aurors (taking from Callum Turner in harry potter there) and they live together in Britain, working for the British Ministry of magic

ANGST TIME: they're adults when Voldemort returns, and are tasked with helping bring him down. It does a number on their home life, they're both so stressed about it that they barely have time for each other. What if one of them gets caught by death eaters, tortured for information while the other desperately tries to get them back. Oh boy that would make for some good fic reading

images perhaps?

I would love to write a fic about this, look for it sometime in the future maybe!

[good-old-gossip]

Israel just bombed the last operational hospital in northern Gaza — again

When the bombing of hospitals was still taboo in October 2023, Israel denied bombing al-Ahli Arab Hospital in Gaza City. This time, Israel claims it targeted a Hamas command-and-control center at the hospital. It has not provided any evidence.

By Tareq S. Hajjaj April 13, 2025

Aftermath of an Israeli strike on the Al-Ahli Arab Hospital in Gaza City on April 13, 2025. (Photo: Omar Ashtawy/APA Images)

Zeinat al-Jundi, 56, was staying at the al-Ahli Arab Hospital in Gaza City with her husband, who was injured in a bombing in the city’s Shuja’iyya neighborhood last week. Doctors had amputated his legs as a result of his injuries, and he remained at the hospital during his recovery period. Al-Jundi is her husband’s only companion, staying with him all night to attend to his needs.

At 1:00 a.m. on Sunday, as al-Jundi was preparing to lie down on the floor next to her husband after a long day of caring for him, a man entered the hospital’s reception area, shouting that the Israeli army was speaking to him on the phone and ordering everyone to evacuate. 

Once the evacuation order was confirmed, everyone attempting to leave the hospital ended up injured in the rush. An injured child died during the evacuation as he could not receive urgent medical treatment. “There were mutilated bodies, children — I swear they were children — with their hands torn and amputated,” al-Jundi told Mondoweiss, stating that everyone in the ward was already wounded from last week’s airstrikes. “More than 10 wounded children were in the ward. Everyone was bleeding.”

“Those who could get up and leave, left. Some dragged their patients on the hospital bed to the street, and others like me couldn’t move; I couldn’t carry my husband and take him out of the hospital, so I waited for death alongside him,” al-Jundi said. 

The Israeli army bombed the Anglican-run al-Ahli Arab Hospital — locally known by its former name, the Baptist Hospital — in the predawn hours of Sunday morning. According to the Ministry of Health in Gaza, two airstrikes targeted the hospital’s only reception building, the radiology department, the hospital pharmacy, the laboratories, and even a church inside the hospital, which had been converted into an additional reception area for the wounded.

It is not the first time the Israeli army has targeted al-Ahli Hospital; it was bombed on October 17, 2023, in a massacre that killed over 400 displaced people taking shelter in the hospital’s crowded courtyard. At the time, directly bombing hospitals was still taboo, so the Israeli army denied targeting the hospital, instead claiming, without evidence, that an allegedly misfired Islamic Jihad rocket had struck the hospital.

In the most recent strike on al-Ahli, the Israeli army this time admitted targeting the hospital but claimed to have been attacking a Hamas command-and-control center. The Israeli army made similar claims in 2023 and 2024 about al-Shifa Hospital in Gaza City. After the two invasions of al-Shifa in November 2023 and March 2024, no evidence could be provided to substantiate these claims.

The Israeli army has not so far provided any evidence of a Hamas command center in al-Ahli Arab Hospital.

Al-Ahli Hospital out of service as Israeli army expands attacks

“We were forced to halt services,” Dr. Fadel Naim, director of al-Ahli, told Mondoweiss. “The hospital was already suffering before this strike. Now, it cannot provide even the bare minimum of services. The destruction is extensive and difficult to repair. It may require weeks or months.”

The hospital director pointed out that the strike directly impacted the ability of the health system in northern Gaza to provide adequate healthcare services to residents. Al-Ahli was the last functioning hospital in the area after the destruction of al-Shifa in March 2024 and Kamal Adwan Hospital in December 2024.

“The Arab Baptist Hospital provided CT scans, the equipment for which is only available here in northern Gaza,” the hospital director said. “Over the past year, we have taken 25,000 CT scans, meaning more than 2,000 monthly scans. The cessation of these services will have a significant impact on patients and the wounded.”

“We will have to distribute patients to other hospitals,” he says, noting that the Israeli army is raiding areas near the hospital and expanding its military operations in the al-Daraj and al-Sha’af neighborhoods in eastern Gaza City. “But none of the other hospitals are equipped to provide health services. This could lead to the loss of patients’ lives and limbs, causing permanent disabilities.”

Muhammad Abu Nasser, 34, was injured in a bombing in the Zeitoun area east of Gaza City and was transferred to al-Ahli for treatment. The injury left him unable to walk or move, and he was alone when the evacuation warning came. He failed to leave the hospital.

“We are sleeping in the safest place on earth. It is a hospital, a hospital where there are only people in pain and moaning all night over the loss of their loved ones and limbs, bleeding and spitting blood,” Abu Nasser told Mondoweiss. “They bombed the reception area where the wounded are admitted, and they bombed the pharmacy that supplies us with medicine. What’s left for us?”

Abu Nasser’s injury prevented him from moving and he had no companions accompanying him. He said that the night of the bombing was terrifying for him. “We lived through a horrific night. All the patients were crying loudly and screaming in fear. We were all taking our last breaths, expecting to die at any moment. We all gathered in one place and surrendered to what was about to happen because there was nothing we could do.”

Abu Nasser explained the situation the patients were experiencing after the attack, noting that he, like everyone inside the hospital, needed treatment at a time when the hospital had stopped providing health services to patients due to the bombing.

“I can’t live without treatment. I can’t walk or move. There’s nowhere else to go. There aren’t even dressings for wounds anymore,” he said. “We’ve been left here to die slowly. Even the few medications we were given, the occupation deprived us of them by bombing the pharmacy. The hospital has collapsed.”

[valentineforlemonandcherry]

Joke's On You 19

When Fred Weasley carelessly bumps into you into the hallway, you decide to take him a notch down; not by berating him, but by showing him up at his own game of using your charm and intellect to get what you want. And it’s fine if the end result doesn’t leave everyone quite satisfied - in fact, that’s what you want…

[Fred Weasley x Reader.] [Warning: Story Contains Explicit Smut.] [Warning: Non-Consent.] [Warning: Manipulation.] [Warning: Humiliation.] [Warning: Light Bondage.]

Note: *The smut isn't very strong in this one, but the humiliation aspect is played up a little. Please take care of yourself and do not read if it will upset you in any way.

⍟ Click Here for Joke’s On You Home Page (All Chapter Links) ⍟

You were the very picture of calm as you waltzed in through Fred’s door later that evening. You were holding a letter in one hand, and a stack of papers in your other arm as you came in. As George and Lee were out (for they took every advantage to set up pranks while you were distracted with Fred), you immediately made yourself at home in Fred’s bed – though you had to take a moment to straighten out the sheets and fluff up the pillows – and began rifling through your papers.

Fred studied you closely. There was a small bandage taped to your cheek. Fred wondered if that bandage was there for the reason he guessed it was… But she seems entirely too calm. Hm. There was a long beat of silence between the two of you, until Fred finally tossed an old Chocolate Frog wrapper at you.

“What’re you up to?”

You held up the store catalogue that you were looking through. It was from Madam Malkin’s shop, Robes for All Occasions.

Fred peered at the page you were on – and wrinkled his nose. “Is that your idea of an upgraded ‘mistress’ costume? ‘Cause I have to say, it’s a bit too formal to turn me on, love.”

You snorted. “You wish, Fred Weasley. This is for my internship interview.”

“Internship? Internship where?”

“With the Wizengamot.”

 “Oh. Those prats.”

“Have some respect. Doesn’t your father work for the Ministry?”

“Yeah, but he works in the Muggle Things office.” Leaning back in his chair and roughing up the back of his hair, Fred explained, “They’re all a bit funny, but they aren’t prats.”

You wrinkled your nose. “The what office?”

Fred shrugged. “I forget the actual name. But my point is that the Wizengamot is where all the prats are at. It’s just one giant gathering of prats.”

“Will you stop using that word?”

“Prat?” Fred pondered. “What’s wrong with that word? Prat… prat, prat, prat.”

You stopped perusing the magazine to shoot Fred a hard look.

Willfully oblivious to your glare, Fred went on, “Besides, you have to wear that hideous black cloak over all of your clothing, so what’s the point of dressing so formally?”

In fact, you had often wondered this yourself. But you were hardly going to admit this to Fred. You said stoutly, “Because it’s a symbol of how seriously you take the position.”

Fred chortled. “So, if you were naked under the Wizengamot robes, you’d just be having a laugh, is that it? In that case, I bet Fudge is butt naked under his robes, because he can’t even take Voldemort seriously, can he?”

You decided to ignore Fred, but he carried on, “Merlin, imagine this: Fudge grandly opens the door of the Wizengamot chamber – but oh no, the wind’s lifted his robes and the truth is out – our Minister is as naked as a stripped chicken – Hey!” Fred suddenly cried out as you, having reached your limit of how much of this nonsense you could take, abruptly picked up your magazine and threw it at him. Fred quickly ducked, and your magazine flopped sadly onto the floor behind him.

Meanwhile, you shouted, “I don’twant to imagine such a thing! And I do not need that image in my head as I go into this interview!”

Fred laughed heartily. “Good, so you won’t join the prats, then.”

You groaned and buried your head into your arms.

Fred got up from his chair and came over onto the bed. He tried to slide onto the bed, next to you, but you, while keeping your head down in your arms, refused to move.

Finally, Fred elbowed you and grunted, “Oi, shove aside.”

“Go back to your desk,” you muttered, annoyed. “You’re not wanted here.”

Fred shoved at you harder, pushing his shoulder into yours. “It’s my bed, you crocodile.”

With a sigh, you fidgeted over to make room for Fred. Pulling your wand out of your jacket, you pointed it at the magazine. “Accio.” It flew back to you. You spread it down neatly on the bed and began to flip through it once more.

Fred watched you. He stared at the bandage on your cheek again. He suddenly blurted out, “What if I told you there’s an organization better than the Ministry?”

You replied dryly, “Being a prankster’s assistant is not better than being a member of the Wizengamot.”

“It so is,” Fred replied. “But that’s not what I was talking about.”

“What were you talking about, then?”

Fred chewed on his lower lip. “Well… Say there was an organization that fought against all of this pureblood nonsense and Muggle prejudice directly. An organization that didn’t have to deal with all of stupid denial that Fudge is putting out at the Ministry. Would you join?”

You looked up at Fred. “Is there an organization like that?”

“I dunno,” Fred said quickly. “But I was just saying, if there was, would you join that organization instead of the Ministry?”

“Hm…” You turned over onto your back as you thought through what Fred was saying.

Fred watched you, strangely tense, as if your answer was singularly important to him.

“No,” you decided. “I would still want to join the Ministry.”

Fred blinked. Then, his gaze quickly dropped away from you. 

Stretching your hands out towards the ceiling, you explained, “Because the problem is that the Ministry of Magic is seen as the legitimate wizarding body, so no matter how many rogue groups appear – and they should appear – they still wouldn’t address the issue that Muggle-borns are not adequately represented within our ruling body. How can we vote to restrict the rights of Muggle-borns and call that fair, when there are no Muggle-borns on the Wizengamot? How can we judge the experiences of Muggle-borns and decide whether they are magical or not – although they are, by definition – when there are no Muggle-borns on the panel? It doesn’t make any sense. And I know that having just a few Muggle-borns join the ranks won’t solve the problem at all. But still, it has to start somewhere, doesn’t it?”

While you were speaking, Fred’s gaze had slowly but surely found its way back to you. He looked up at your hands, reaching towards the sky, and then traced your lovely arms back to your bright, intelligent face. He let out a quiet sigh, so quiet that you didn’t hear it, before he said, quite simply, “Yeah, s’pse so.”

You picked up the magazine and began rifling through the last few pages. Coming across the menswear pages, you observed, “It’s a shame you aren’t more refined, Fred. Then maybe I really could call you ‘sir.’”

“You just wait, love,” Fred assured you. “Once I have a bit of money to spend, I’m definitely gonna be worthy of the name ‘sir’. I’ll look so good, I’ll blow your socks off.”

“If you look so good, shouldn’t I be blowing you?” you murmured, very casually.

Fred paused. “Well – Well - ”

You pretended as if you hadn’t said anything at all, but out of the corner of your eye, you saw Fred suddenly twitch, and you barely held back a smirk.

“Worthy of the name ‘sir’? Really?” you continued, letting your skepticism bleed into your voice. “What would you wear? Something like this?” You pointed to an image in the magazine, of a sharp-looking pair of black and silver wizard robes.

Fred scoffed. “Are you kidding me? That’s for pillocks.”

“I think it looks rather dashing.”

“That’s because you’ve got no imagination, love,” Fred said, shaking his head at you. “No, I’d wear something like – Hold on, I’ll show you.” He slid off of the bed and walked over to his desk. He pulled out a catalogue, which he had marked with a chocolate frog card, and then brought it back over to show you. Confidently putting his finger down on his preferred outfit, he announced, “Feast your eyes! I’d wear something like this.”

You looked down to where he was pointing so proudly.

“Fred, this is absolutely horrendous.”

“What!?”

“This is – Crimson dragon skin? Oh, Merlin. Could you be any more unrefined? Why don’t you just Stupefy an Erumpent and wear it around your shoulders? It would be less obvious.”

Fred flared up indignantly. “Excuse me for having a sense of fashion that’s not based entirely around having a stick up my ass!”

“You are so dramatic.” You rolled your eyes. “Listen to me. Crimson? Against your ginger hair? It’ll clash. And dragon skin? That just screams ‘needy’ and ‘flashy.’” You paused. “Wait, on second thought, that’s perfect for you.”

Fred growled, “You take that back.”

“Then you agree that these are ill-fitting on you?”

“No!”

“Oh, so you agree that you’re needy and flashy?”

“No – Wait, what?” Fred said, confused.

You tried to maintain your serious composure, but your giggle slipped through as you teased him, “You can’t have it both ways, Fred. You know what that means, right? You’ll never be a ‘sir.’”

Fred exhaled sharply. He snatched the catalogue back from you. “I was being serious!”

You laughed. Reaching over, you patted his shoulder. “Oh, Fred… I’m sorry, but it’s impossible not to tease you when you bring out suggestions like that and act all serious about it.”

“I’m not acting, I am serious about it,” Fred protested, looking away from you in a rather annoyed manner. “You just wait and see.”

“All right,” you said pleasantly. “I’ll wait and see.”

Fred paused. Still holding the catalogue in one hand, he swiveled his head around to look at you. “You will?”

You nodded earnestly.

At this, Fred slowly melted. He reached out with one hand and stroked your hair as he murmured,  “Well, I dunno why the hell you’d want to be in a group of prats, when you’re a special prat, and you’re better than all of ‘em, but if you really want this… I hope you get to join and work for chicken-butt Fudge.”

You smiled wanly at this heart-felt encouragement. “Thanks, Fred. Thanks very much.”

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

It looked as though you were all done for the evening, as if you were getting all ready to leave Fred’s dormitory and head down to dinner, when  -

“Ah, that’s right. I nearly forgot.” You whirled around and, lifting your wand, shouted, “Incarcerous!”

Black ropes appeared out of thin air and wrapped themselves all around Fred. Fred, who had been standing beside his desk and putting away the catalogue, yelped as he suddenly found himself all wrapped up. He instinctively stumbled backwards, but he tripped and started to fall over.

You leapt forward and grabbed him, but instead of helping him stay upright, you lowered him to the ground. Then, while Fred was shouting indignities at you, you very slowly stepped over Fred and then sat on him, until your knees were tucked tightly against either side of his hips.

“What’re you playing at?” Fred yelled hotly.

You stared at Fred for a moment.

“Let me go!” Fred protested. “This isn’t your stupid sex dungeon, it’s my room!”

“Same thing,” you said dismissively. Then, you cocked your head, studying Fred for a second longer. “Hm.”

“What, you maniac?” Fred said angrily.

You decided, “Right, I prefer pink.” You tapped your wand against the ropes crossing Fred’s chest and the black ropes instantly turned pink.

You smiled. “Much better.” Then, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a long pink ribbon, with a little silver bell on it.

“The hell is that?” Fred cried out, already fearing the worst.

“My gift for you,” you said innocently. “Don’t you like it?” You swung the ribbon, and the bell let out a little tinkle sound.

“Why in the world would I ever - ?” Fred began.

But you’d already leaned forward to loop the ribbon around his neck.

When Fred cursed at you and then tried to bite you, you said sternly, “Down, puppy,” and gently swatted his cheek.

“Wha - ? Wha - ? Puppy?” Fred sputtered indignantly.

“Yes, and there’s your leash,” you said lovingly, as you tied the ribbon prettily, so that the bell hung at Fred’s neck. Once tied, you patted the bell, and when it rang, you let out a loud sigh of happiness and you sank down further onto Fred’s chest. In fact, you even blushed with pleasure for Fred looked so cute wearing his little leash.

“Mm, you’re really so pretty, Fred,” you whispered, looking down at him with adoring eyes. “Ropes and ribbons… Yes, I want to cover you with ropes and ribbons…” You leaned down and bit at Fred’s neck. “Mmm… You’d be all mine.”

“Wha…?” Fred repeated mindlessly, gaping at you like a fish.

“Hah…” You let out the softest little laugh as you breathed your mouth against his neck. “Little puppy, all dressed up with nowhere to go… But you can perform for me.” You sat back up and said, with a tight smirk on your lips, “Maybe I’ll throw you a few treats if you play nicely.”

At a loss for words, Fred turned bright pink.

Then, crossing your arms across your chest, you looked down at Fred. The playfulness suddenly disappeared from your demeanor as you said, rather seriously, “Surely you know why I’ve done this to you.”

Fred replied irately, “Do I ever?”

You reached up and ripped the bandage off of your face. “Get rid of it.”

“Ah.” All of Fred’s anger melted away at once, for Fred grinned brightly when he saw the heart stamped onto your face. “So you weren’t quick enough to avoid my punch of love, eh?”

Your eyes smoldered with a silent, but building fury. “I said, get rid of it.”

A wicked glint shimmered in Fred’s eyes as he chirped, “Nah, I’d rather not. It suits you.”

What had happened, of course, was that Fred’s little “gift,” which he had given you after your love-making session in the classroom wardrobe, had actually been a prank. Inside the little box, you’d found a tiny telescope. You’d curiously extended it and then put it up to your eye, at which point a tiny punching hand had popped out. You’d been quick enough to start to dodge it, but the hand still got you in the face, right on your cheek, so that your cheek was now stamped with a tiny ink heart. Worse still, no Spell or Potion could get rid of the heart imprint, and you’d had to resort to covering it up with a bandage as you went about your day, attending classes and conducting prefect duties.

“Fred,” you whispered, not letting your voice betray even a hint of your impatience, “I’m about two seconds away from making you bend over for me to spank you until you cry like a baby.”

Fred scoffed.

Your eyes narrowed. “You pretend like it’s a ridiculous thought, but both you and I know that you would do it.”

“Not in a million years,” Fred replied flatly. “And not when you look so ridiculous, you heart monster.”

Your nostrils flared for a second, but you managed to control yourself. “Fine,” you said matter-of-factly. “Then, I’ll leave you here, tied up in your bedroom with your little puppy bell on, and leave your bedroom door open for all to see.”

“You’re such a sadist,” Fred muttered. “If you want me to take the heart off of you, shouldn’t you be trying to get on my good side? Why are you threatening me?”

Your eyes went wide. “I’m threatening you?” You shifted forward and then sank your nails into Fred’s chest so abruptly that he gasped a little. “When?” you whispered. “When have I ever threatened you?”

“Now,” Fred said dryly, despite the fact that he was wincing slightly as he felt you drag your fingernails down his chest. Even though he had his shirt on, he could feel the fabric being dragged by your fingers. “Right now. You want me to embarrass myself in front of the whole world.”

“But you’d enjoy it,” you pointed out, padding your hands against his chest. “I mean, isn’t that what you do with your pranks – display how embarrassingly immature you are to the whole world?”

“You’re mad that I got one up on you,” Fred said knowingly. “I’m pulling off all of my pranks. I got to make the first move in your stupid little board game. I got you to sign off on my detention sheet. And now you fall prey to my punching prank. You can’t stand that I’m winning at your stupid little games. That what’s going on, isn’t it?”

Ignoring him, you murmured lovingly, “Don’t lie, Fred. You’d love to be all laid out like that, for everyone to see just what a cute puppy you can be for me.” As you spoke, you began to move your hips a little, rubbing yourself gently against Fred. At the same time, you began to hum softly. “Mm…”

Fred corrected you, “First of all, I’m not a damn puppy. Second of all - No, I wouldn’t love that. I think you’d love other people to see that.”

“Oh, no,” you said, and your voice suddenly became a tad more serious. “I would never want anyone else to see how vulnerable you get for me. That’s for my eyes only, Freddie.”

Fred paused. “Well then, why - ?”

Leaning over him, you kissed his cheek (and gave his neck another bite, hard enough to make him suddenly cut off) before you murmured, “Enough talk. What’ll it be, Freddie?”

“Huh?” Fred said, confused.

“Choose,” you ordered, while sucking on his neck. Your voice came out slightly muffled, as you said, “And choose wisely.” You’d only just given him your order when you grabbed the collar of his shirt and started to properly grind your hips against him.

“What – What’re you doing?” Fred suddenly stuttered out.

You felt his stomach tense beneath you. You smiled as you hid your face against his neck. “Nothing. Now tell me, what will it be, hm?”

“Well, Merlin, at least give me a chance to t-think straight,” Fred muttered, only to moan a second little as he felt you move on top of him.

You leaned down and sucked on his neck. “Mmm,” you moaned, more loudly now. Then, you confessed breathily, “You know, Fred, I couldn’t stop thinking about you in class. I reckon I even came a little in class, just from replaying our little session in the cupboard moments before I walked into class. You left me a right mess, baby, and I was having a hard time holding back in class. I wanted to touch myself to the thought of you, but I couldn’t, and it was so, so frustrating.”

“Fuck,” Fred breathed out softly. “Baby, get rid of the ropes so I can touch you. I’ll give you what you want right now.”

“No,” you whispered back, though you kept your voice quite soft. “Because that was before you betrayed me and pulled this stupid prank on me.”

Fred let out an impatient huff. “It was just a little prank. Come on.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I told you. It’s because I hate your stupid punching telescope.” As you gave your explanation, you let your hands roam his chest before you began to slowly drag your hands down his body, all the way down to his waist and then lower… lower… “Such a shame,” you whispered. “I really wanted you again.”

Fred moaned again, more loudly this time. “Forget about the telescope,” said, half-ordering you and half-pleading with you.

You shook your head softly at him as you gathered your hands just above his cock. “Can’t, Fred,” you said, sounding completely heartbroken. “I can’t just forget about that.”

“You c-can,” Fred stuttered out bravely. “Besides, it’s cute! And I thought you like hearts! It was a gift from me, your boyfriend.”

Yes, but I don’t want one punched on my face! you thought. And you made me feel stupid. When I opened the box from you, I thought there’d be something else in it. Maybe a piece of jewelry or… or my button back… Something cute or heartfelt. But all I got was a ridiculous punch to the face!

You replied, “Well, but a good boyfriend wouldn’t pretend to give his girlfriend a gift that punched her in the face and left an un-erasable mark.”

“It is erasable,” Fred protested. He was now straining against the ropes, trying very hard to be able to touch you, to have you again…

Ah, there we go, you thought, ignoring Fred’s efforts to touch you. I knew it would be. It’s just that ordinary erasing spells and potions won’t work. He’s created a singular ink with a singular corresponding eraser. I bet that’s why he asked me about creating permanent ink the other day. I can’t believe I helped him make this ridiculous product!

You watched Fred carefully as you murmured lightly, “Oh, is it?”

“Duh,” Fred replied. “It’s not a joke if you can’t get it off at all, moron.”

Just then, you pushed your hips against Fred hard. Fred let out a whimper. His hands twitched, as he meant to grab your hips, but his arms were still tied down against his body.

“Ah…” he breathed out.

 “But I could get this mark off, then?” you whispered gently, trying not to tip your hand too much. You were close, you could feel that you were. “There’s a Potion, isn’t there, Fred?”

At that moment, Fred glimpsed down.

“I see.” You reached behind you and put your hand on his cock, through his jeans. Got you, you thought victoriously, but you remained calm, playing your part ever so slowly to make sure that Fred would be off his guard at the most important part.

Fred groaned, feeling your sweet hands grasping so needily at his cock through his pants. “Yes, baby…”

“Mm, Fred,” you moaned, biting your lower lip. Your hands slipped messily over the front of his pants as you started to palm his cock. “We just can’t seem to get enough of each other today, huh?”

“Fuck,” Fred breathed out. “You really want more?”

You let your blush as you nodded softly, almost sleepily. “Yeah,” you whimpered.

Oh fuck, she’s getting all soft on top of me, Fred thought. He swallowed hard. I love it when she gets all dreamy like this. Godric, I wanna touch her…

“Well,” Fred told you, “I wouldn’t say no to making love to you again. I’d never say no to that.” He pushed against his ropes again, trying to free himself.

Finding himself still tied down, Fred implored, “Baby, if you want me, you should free - ”

You suddenly cut him off. “Yeah,” you moaned. “Want – Want you…! Mmm!” You rolled your hips around once – in a perfect, mesmerizing circle, as you sat on top of Fred. You let your panties just catch against his belt buckle as you moved your hips.

Fred jolted slightly and his mouth fell open. “Uhn,” he moaned back, shaking his head out of want for you. “Gods, you look so good right now. I bet you’re wet, bet you’re all fucking wet for me.”

You nodded, confirming that you were.

Fred breathed out harshly. “Let me see your pussy.”

You palmed his cock harder, but you also shook your head.

“Uh!” Fred let out a short, tight whimper, before he blurted out, “D-Don’t shake your head at me. Just – Just lemme see your pussy, baby. Please…”

“No, it’s your turn to show me,” you whispered alluringly, pushing your hand greedily against his cock now. “Fred, sweetheart, get hard for me again. Want your cock in me. Want your cock all inside of my tight little pussy. You can get hard for me again, can’t you?”

Fred moaned, and then his moan curved into a hard, needy whine. That was when you let your hand just slip off of Fred and onto his pocket, and – there it is! You took your hand off of his cock and plunged it into his pocket. You quickly pulled out a few sweets, all of which you pocketed.

“Where is it?” you growled, entirely breaking out of your sweet, dreamy voice. “Where?”

“Oi!” Fred shouted.

You chucked away a handkerchief, a Chocolate Frog card, and a tiny coin featured some Quidditch Beater on it. Then – “Aha!” Finally, you pulled out a small tin circle. It was labelled, “Anti-Bruise Ointment.”

“Got it,” you sang, holding it up so that it glimmered in the lamplight.  

“You thief!” Fred cried out. “Give that back!”

You smirked. “Thought you’d have this on you.” Then, leaning forward, you shoved your breasts against Fred’s face as you reached over and dragged Fred’s chair over. You brought the chair over until it was just beside Fred’s head. Reaching down, you quickly stretched out a bit of the rope around Fred’s shoulders and tied it around one of the chair legs, effectively pinning Fred to the ground.

Fred protested, “What d’you think you’re doing? You think you’re going to get away with this? Oi! Stop ignoring me!”

You reached into your pocket and pulled out one of the sweets – a Chocolate Frog. You ripped open the package and then pushed the Frog gently but firmly into Fred’s mouth.

“Mmpfh!” Fred let out a muffled cry.

“You like them, don’t you?” you said innocently.

Fred let out some garbled words, one of which sounded like a muffled version of “demon.”

“Oh, it’s a bit too much chocolate for your cute mouth, isn’t it?” you murmured. “I forgot about your little puppy mouth, Fred. My bad.” You leaned over, and putting both of your hands down solidly on Fred’s chest, you gave Fred a kiss before you gently bit off half of the frog into your own mouth.

Then, you reached down and, with your forefinger, gently pushed the rest of the Frog into Fred’s mouth. You instructed, “Chew.”

Fred tried to talk back, but he couldn’t with the chocolate in his mouth. It was beginning to melt in his mouth, and he figured that the fastest way he could get to insulting you was to just eat the damn Frog. He finally started to chew the chocolate.

You smiled. “Very good.” Meanwhile, you started chewing on your half of the Chocolate Frog. 

“Mm,” you let out a sigh of content as you enjoyed the Chocolate Frog. You were still sitting on top of Fred, and, as you took your time eating the chocolate, you reached down and gently tucked away your skirt, strip by strip, into the waistband. You stared down at Fred all the while, saying with your eyes, Remember this? Remember how I didn’t let you have me, didn’t let you even touch me? And now you know that I still have that power. Silly Freddie.

Then, right after you swallowed the chocolate, you reached down and pushed your fingers against your panties, right over your pussy. “Mm, so sweet,” you whispered, while staring down at Fred through half-lidded eyes. The innuendo was clear enough, and Fred whimpered.

“Gods, I’m so wet,” you breathed out. “I want a thick, hard cock to sit on. I need to be filled.”

Fred blinked feverishly. His cock was throbbing so hard right now, and he couldn’t believe that you were doing this to him.

“I keep thinking about how well you fill me up, Fred,” you whispered. “To tell you the truth, I dream all the time about you cumming in me. And I wake up all wet, and I’m moaning your name before I’m even properly awake. Did you know that, Fred?”

Fred’s mouth fell open slightly, and the bell around his neck let out a light tinkling sound.

You giggled. Reaching down, you put your hand on his face, slotting your palm under his chin and squeezing his cheeks and jaw slightly, you whispered, “If you’re done chewing, now swallow.”

Fred stared up at you with wide eyes. He couldn’t quite believe the situation you had him in, but he also couldn’t quite believe what you were telling him – about how you might dream about him, about how his name was the first thing that spilled from your lips every morning.

Your eyes glittered, and you squeezed Fred’s sides with your thighs, as you repeated softly, “Swallow.”

Fred swallowed.

“Good,” you cooed softly. “You’re so good, Fred.” You leaned down and kissed him. As you pulled away, you noted, with a charming and pleased smile, “Mm, I can see why you like Chocolate Frogs so much.”

Fred was breathing quick hard. He seemed to have entirely forgotten about the telescope as he whispered, in quite hurried tones, “You really dream – about me?”

You laughed lightly. “Oh, poor puppy… Don’t believe everything you hear.”

Fred blinked – and then he scowled. “You lied?”

Patting his chest consolingly, you whispered, “Well, I do dream about you. But mostly I’m spanking you and you’re all pink – kind-of like right now – and I’m having loads of fun teasing you. But see, I don’t need to dream about that anymore, because I’m nearly living it, aren’t I? I mean, take right now, for instance. I could go one step further and make you cry right now, Fred. It’d be so easy. I’d make myself cum right in front of you – and then not let you taste me. How’s that?”

Fred groaned, both at his frustration that you’d tricked him once again and at his frustration that you were putting that irresistible image of yourself into his head.

You let out a false sigh. “Looks like it’s best for your stupid little heart if I leave you alone. Yes, I’ll let you live. This time.” With that, you got up from the floor.

As your steady warmth suddenly disappeared, Fred blinked awake. He became rather abruptly and rudely aware of his unfavorable situation. “Wait!” he blurted out. “You’re not really gonna leave me like this?”

You fluffed your skirt back out neatly and then went to collect your magazine and papers.

Hearing the shuffling of papers, Fred realized that you really might leave him all tied up like this. “Oi, you come back here! This is – This is kidnapping!”

You replied in a bored voice, “Is it? You’re in your own room, though.”

“I’m not going to let you get away with this!”

You walked back over to Fred and then yawned in front of him, politely putting your hand before your mouth.

“When you wake up a bald toad tomorrow, you just remember what you did today – Ah!” Fred suddenly cut off, as you had put your foot on Fred’s cock and began to rub him through his pants again.

“A-Ah!” Fred bleated out pitifully.

You pretended to be surprised. “Oh, were you still thrashing about down there? Oops, I didn’t mean to step on you.” As you emphasized the word ‘step,’ you pushed you foot down against his cock even harder.

“Hah… Ah!” Fred panted, and he blinked hard up at you.

Finally looking down at Fred, you smiled at him. “Lost for words, I see. You know, I think you like being tied up. I’ve never felt you quite this hard.” You pushed your foot against his cock again.

Fred gasped. “D-Don’t! I’m s-sensitive!”

You grinned. “Oh, I know.” You took your foot away. “Well, good luck getting out of your ropes in time. But not to worry, you’ve got a – uh – nice tent here to camp under.” You laughed sweetly. “Bye, bye, Fred.” 

Leaving Fred’s room, you kicked the door wide open, and you triumphantly skipped down the staircase of the boys’ dormitory.

When you got to the common room, you stopped in the middle of the room. You counted to ten. That should be enough time for Fred – but only just. You cupped your hands around your mouth, and announced brightly, “Hey! Rumor has it there’s a member of the Weird Sisters in the boys’ dormitory right now! Special guest of Dumbledore!”

A murmur ran through the crowd, and many of the female students jumped to their feet, for the Weird Sisters were one of the most famous wizarding bands in the world, and despite their name, all eight members were male.

“Apparently, he’s going around topless and open to giving autogr – Whoa!” You were properly spun around by the sheer force of the stampede of students racing up the stairs to the boys’ dormitory.

Laughing merrily, you left the common room, sure that Fred would get himself out, but hoping that he’d hear the stampede of people charging up the stairs just before he succeeded. 

*     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

That evening, Fred came to your room to let his grievances be known.

“I would have given the ointment to you eventually, you impatient ass!”

“That rumor about the Weird Sisters? What are you, crazy? Someone could’ve really seen me, you maniac!”

“Don’t you know how to have a civil conversation? Huh? Or does your puny, primitive brain only ever work in battle mode because you’re a stupid, musty, bitter, old crocodile!?”

“I’m not a puppy! And stop – stop messing with my head by making me all crazy for you and luring me into your stupid traps!”

“Just to be clear, I didn’t enjoy the ropes! Why would I enjoy being tied up by a loon with pink ropes? I was only hard because – because you looked so damn pretty sitting on top of me like that – Aargh, that’s not the point!”

“You don’t get to mark up my chest for another week, you crazy hellcat! There, that’s your punishment!”

And he ended with his extremely eloquent insult of, “You’re a – You’re a downright hag!”

You paused. “That’s a new one.”

Fred retorted furiously, “I can come up with plenty others right now!”

You smiled at this. “I’m sure you could. Oh, and by the way, Fred, it’s my move.”

Fred paused. “What?”

“I helped McGonagall catch you, remember? And that - ” You pulled out the tic-tac-toe board and decidedly drew an ‘O’ on it. – “Makes it my move.”

Fred stared at you angrily for a second. Then, he flopped over on your bed in defeat. “You’re such a… a witch,” he mumbled in a muffled voice, burying his face against your pillows. “Always tricking me, always getting your stupid way…”

You reminded him, “It’s like I said, Fred, you might win the battle, but I will win the war.”

Fred turned his face just enough to look at you with one eye. “You, my mistress?”

Knowing what he wanted to hear, you softened. Smiling, you slid into bed beside him and hugged him as you confirmed, “No, Fred. Me, your girlfriend.”

Fred was still for a minute. But then, he wrapped your arms around you and brought you in to kiss the top of your head.

You smiled and leaned into him. “And Fred?”

“What?”

“All that stuff I said about dreaming about you…”

“Your stupid lies,” Fred sighed knowingly. “Can’t believe I fell for them.”

“No, no,” you said honestly. “They weren’t lies. I did say those things in the moment to confuse you, but they’re all true.”

“Stop it,” Fred groaned, even as his arm tightened around you. “You have the ointment, you’ve made me a mess – haven’t you created enough chaos for one day?”

“But it’s true,” you insisted.

“Shush, you,” Fred insisted right back.

“Well, fine,” you said, shrugging. “But I meant what I said.”

“Okay, well, which dreams are true?” Fred questioned. “The ones where you spank me? Or the ones where I’m cumming in you?”

“All. And then there’s a third kind-of dream. It’s my favorite dream, to be honest. It makes me feel all warm for the entire day when I have it.”

“And what are those dreams about?” Fred asked you skeptically, waiting for the punchline. “Better not be about feeding me to a crocodile.”

You smiled, amused. “That’s a good one, Fred. But no…” You gazed up at him steadily as you confessed, “You’re setting off a bunch of fireworks, and they’re all glittery pink hearts and they’re so brilliant and bright, exploding all over the sky. There’s a crowd of people clapping. I’m not among them, but I’m watching you, too. I’m so happy. I’m happier than I ever thought I could be. And so are you.”

Fred stared back at you, suddenly completely disarmed. What… What’s that supposed to mean? What is she saying to me?

You laughed softly at his bewildered face. But it wasn’t a condescending laugh at all – it was a laugh that plainly showed how much you loved Fred. You reached up and gently pushed Fred’s hair away from his face. Then, you lay down against Fred’s chest and melted into him, even more in love with him than you’d ever been.

Knowing that Fred was feeling secure again, you teased him gently, “And sure, you’ve got a little ribbon on, and a cute little bell going ring, ring ring, but what’s a little bell to the ego when you’re the grandmaster of pyrotechnics?” Your voice fell into a soft, lulling tone as you went on.

Fred wondered, “What in the world are you babbling about now?”

You fell silent, with a soft smile on your lips. A life together, you thought. That’s what I dream about most often, Fred.

[yhwhrulz]

Charles Spurgeon's "Morning & Evening" Devotional for July 2

Morning

“O Lord, I will praise thee.”

Isaiah 5:1-7

In the days of Jotham, as in the reign of Uzziah, the great prophet Isaiah was pouring forth his eloquent utterances. He is the great gospel seer, who spake more of Jesus Christ than all the rest. We will now read three of his prophecies, which he gave forth in the form of songs. The first song describes Israel under the figure of a vineyard, and was, from its form and beauty, well fitted to win the attention of the people.

Isaiah 5:1-7

How much is our condition like that of Israel and Judah! What more could God have done for us? We have the Bible and the ministry of the gospel: as a family we are a garden walled around, and our country is the fruitful field of true religion. What fruit are we yielding? If we are barren, what must we expect? Judgment is always in proportion to privilege misused. May grace be upon us all, that we may bear much fruit unto the Lord our God.

Isaiah 12

Speaking of the coming of the Lord Jesus, the prophet says:

Isaiah 12:3

What a sweet gospel song. None can sing it but those whose sins have been washed away in the blood of Jesus, and to them it is a rapturous hymn. They are no longer afraid to believe the promises, and to go to the Lord for blessings: the wells are free to the citizens of Zion, and they draw water exultingly.

Isaiah 12:6

It is the delight of saved souls to magnify the Lord; they cannot contain their joy, they shout as those who divide the spoil.

Isaiah 26:1-4

When God has rebuked his peoples enemies, another song shall be on their lips.

Isaiah 26:1-4

Happy are those who are protected and kept in peace by their Omnipotent God. Is there one in our house who does not trust in the Lord? Let us pray that all our minds may be stayed on God.

Evening

“All we like sheep have gone astray.”

2 Kings 16:1-4

2 Kings 16:1

In the seventeenth year of Pekah the son of Remaliah, king of Israel

2 Kings 16:1

Ahaz the son of Jotham king of Judah began to reign.

He was the bad son of a good father, and under him the kingdom of Judah relapsed into the sad state out of which Jotham had raised it.

2 Kings 16:4

He was not satisfied with the ordinary idolatries, but sought out the vilest forms of superstition, and practised the unnatural and cruel rites peculiar to the demon Moloch. Old historians assert that the image of Moloch was of brass, and when heated red-hot, children were placed in its arms to be consumed. What shame that the ruler of the chosen people should be guilty of so terrible a crime as to expose his own son to such a death! We may well blush for human nature: an old divine once quaintly said that it was half beast and half devil, and he was very near the mark.

Isaiah 1:2-9

In such times as those of Ahaz the word of the Lord, as contained in the first chapter of Isaiah, was greatly needed.

Isaiah 1:2

It is not the heathen nor strangers that the Lord here upbraids, but his own highly-favoured people, his lovingly-nurtured children, in whom sin was doubly sinful.

Isaiah 1:3

Men are more brutish than the beasts. They receive all at the Lord’s hands, and then utterly forget him. Alas, Lord God, that thou shouldst thus be treated!

Isaiah 1:5 , Isaiah 1:6

During the reign of Ahaz the troubles of the people were extreme, as we shall see in succeeding readings, but they were none the better for being afflicted. The nation was like a man who had been beaten till there remained no place for another stripe; yet still they loved their idols and their sins.

Isaiah 1:7 , Isaiah 1:8

Jerusalem stood alone, and in great dilapidation, like the temporary hut which the keepers of a vineyard put up hurriedly to shield them from the sun. Their palace city was like a hovel, and where once cities clustered in every vale and hung on every hillside, all was desolation.

Isaiah 1:9

So wicked were they, that, but for the faithful few, God would have cursed the land as he did the cities of the plain. Oh, wretched plight of a favoured people. The Lord save our country from the same backsliding!

Oh, shall I never feel

The meltings of thy love?

Am I of such hell-harden’d steel

That mercy cannot move?

Chasten’d full sore I am,

And bruised in every part,

But judgments fail to break me down

And subjugate my heart.

Look on me, Lord of love!

O turn thy gracious eyes!

Then all my soul to penitence

Shall melt with sweet surprise.

Copyright Statement This resource was produced before 1923 and therefore is considered in the "Public Domain".

[crossxworlds]

The Pocket Rift

A CrossXworlds story

© 2025 - Kevin W. Burke

Act 2 - Tryl

Episode 30

__________

Councilor General Isilhuine was addressing the Council hall again.

“...of the grave importance of these proposals, I call for a Council vote on each. Any other Council business will necessarily be subject to the outcome of this vote.

“On the matter of Councilor Caladstone’s proposal to refocus this Council's charter towards transparency and diplomacy with Tryl, including the formation of a new quorum of ambassadors: All in favor, raise your hand and say Aye?”

Aiani's heart pounded. She raised her hand and shouted, “Aye!” with the clearest, strongest voice she could muster with a lump building in her throat.

She scanned the rest of the Council dais, trying not to look desperate as she did so.

Tornin Orebart, representing the Dwarven nations, rumbled out a deep “Aye!” with his hand raised.

Aiani sighed in relief. She wasn't alone. 

Aerin Culuinhart, the water elemental elf hesitantly began raising his hand, but a nervous glance over at Minister Stormweaver was returned by a sharp glare. His hand faltered and fell.

Gratta Blackfang folded her arms with a smirk. A no for the Orc and Goblin clans. With the raids those clans had made into Tryl, it was no surprise to Aiani.

Likewise with Zephyra Barravelve, the Dark Elf representative, who merely raised an eyebrow in boredom, cleaning her nails with a dagger.

Kaelen Stormrider, voice of Illia’s nomad tribes, who wasn't normally intimidated by anything, also shot a nervous glance over at Stormweaver, then next at Aiani's, then turned his head away when she met his eyes. 

Aiani looked at Gallwraith’s scryed image above his desk. He sat stoical, chin up, with a hint of amusement in his eyes.

Aiani's heart sunk. Then there was a gravely voice from the side. 

“Aye!” shouted Draxus Loxenwing, of the Grey Dragons. This surprised Aiani, but Draxus was ancient and wise. She nodded in relief, but that was only three Aye votes out of ten.

Aiani scanned the dais again, but it was clear the rest of the council members had their positions set. She looked up at Isilhuine, who had apparently done the same assessment.

Lyra Isilhuine raised her hand and said, “Aye!” 

This raised it to four of ten. One more vote would at least bring a tie and open a second round of discussion. Aiani looked pleadingly at Culuinhart again, who visibly waffled, before lowering his head. She looked Stormrider’s way again, but the nomad refused to meet her eye again.

Isilhuine cleared her throat with another sharp glance across the dais, and finally called out for the next vote.

“On the matter of Minister Stormweaver’s proposal to leverage the upcoming celestial alignment to have Ministry casters supercharge the Pockets, which is expected to give the Council Guard forces a boost of magical power in a preemptive strike against the building forces in Tryl: All in favor, raise your hand and say Aye?”

For a second, there was silence, and in that moment, Aiani's mind latched onto the sudden hope that some of the Council would simply abstain, and her measure could still pass, or at least tie for additional debate.

Elyra Stormweaver raised her hand and gave a strident " Aye! “

Blackfang raised her hand without hesitation after Stormweaver's vote, grunting out an “Aye!“

Barravelve raised her dagger in her hand casually, and said “Aye,” with a bored tone.

After another glare from Stormweaver, Culuinhart raised his and sighed a resigned “Aye.” Four votes for each proposal. 

The Minister’s glare didn’t move the nomad Stormrider though. He raised his chin, lips pressed in defiance. He seemed to have been pressured not to vote for Aiani’s proposal, but couldn’t be coerced to vote for the other. He would abstain. 

From the other side, a clear baritone “Aye!” signaled Gallwraith’s tie-breaking vote. When Aiani looked over to his side of the dais, she found him inspecting her with an inquisitorial expression, looking for her reaction. His demeanor struck her as something between resentment and despise. He may have been inclined to vote with Stormweaver anyway, but now there was something personal towards her in his vote as well. It was the same manner he had last night when questioning her interactions with Davin. The realization of the lost vote dashing her grandmother’s hopes for reforming the Council, compounded by the unexpected thought of Davin– and with it, the impact the proposal would have on his world, made a sob burst unexpectedly from Aiani’s mouth. She immediately clamped a hand over her mouth, turning her head with jaw clenched, fighting tears from springing up in her eyes. She could not let Gallwraith have the satisfaction of seeing them. 

Councilor Isihuine recounted the results. “With 4 affirmative votes for Councilor Caladstone’s proposal, one abstained vote, and 5 affirmative votes for Minister Stormweaver’s proposals, the Council will adopt the latter.” She pounded her desk with her polished stone, twice, to mark the decision as official.  

The Councilor General turned to Stormweaver. “I presume you will be directing the Council on implementation of your proposal?” 

The Minister, still caught up in a moment of basking in self-satisfaction, tilted her head, her expression clearing.  “Oh no, actually. I’ll be deferring most of that to Councilor Gallwraith, who was most invaluable in shaping the details of this proposal. Of course, our Ministry casters will be thoroughly trained and ready to be directed as Gallwraith and I will outline, and his direction will do the same for troop movements of the Council Guard.”

Aiani stung at this revelation. This was Gallwraith’s plan from the beginning. He had shopped it out to Stormweaver, acting largely impartial as the proposal was floated. This is why Stormweaver’s proposal didn’t feel like hers, Aiani realized. She would have to ponder later why Gallwraith would take this indirect strategy. She needed to gather all the details of this proposal and figure out how best to respond to it. 

Councilor Isilhuine turned back to Aiani. “As the sponsor of the defeated proposal, do you have any response to the Council’s decision today?

Aiani was surprised by the deference Isiluine was giving her, but she didn’t hesitate to respond. 

“Councilor, the vote has already been cast, so I’ll make this simple. I was right about the reaction of Tryl to our activities, before the Rift proved it to be true. I don’t want to be right about this proposal, but I expect that I will be: If this Council moves forward with the Ministry’s proposal, it's all but certain that we will have blood on our hands. The only question is how much of it will be Tryl’s, and how much will be our own.”

Isilhuine’s eyebrows shot up in surprise at Aiani’s response. 

She nodded. “I have nothing to add to that.” The Councilor General turned back to address the great hall in general. “The Council will move forward as the majority has decided. I’ll defer to Minister Stormweaver and Councilor Gallwraith in directing that initiative.”

The Councilor General sighed, looking suddenly weary. “I believe this Council has taken on enough for the day. I declare this session of the Council to be closed.” 

She rapped twice on her desk with her stone.

__________

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[mikethebrave]

The population of Santiago de Cuba protests shouting "electricity" and "food"

Havana / Thousands of Santiago residents took to the streets this Sunday afternoon shouting "electricity and food", "freedom", "homeland and life" and "we are hungry" after several days of long blackouts and delays of weeks in the distribution of food from the basic basket. The agglomeration was concentrated on Carretera del Morro, close to several popular and humble neighborhoods such as Vista Hermosa, Van Van, Dessy and Altamira. After the first images of the crowded demonstration appeared on social media after noon, the Cuban regime chose, as has been customary in these cases since July 11, 2021, to restrict communications and cut the internet signal on cell phones in the island. The independent journalist Yosmany Mayeta Labrada, born in Santiago de Cuba and resident in the United States, shared several images that the followers of his Facebook page sent from the city, and that show a strong police operation that includes uniformed officers guarding part of the protest and several patrols at the scene. The secretary of the province's Communist Party, Beatriz Johnson Urrutia, recently appointed to the position, arrived at the site. In a video that Mayeta published, the woman is seen along with other people on the roof of a house trying to talk to the crowd, but those gathered there do not allow her to speak. Dozens of people, mainly women, insult the PCC leader and other officials, and protest against the military presence used in these cases to repress the people. In the images you can see a truck loaded with soldiers, also shouted down by the crowd. Then they chant “homeland and life (patria y vida)” and, finally, while applauding, “freedom.”

In the same video, a soldier from the Ministry of the Armed Forces with the rank of lieutenant colonel appears among the protesters and other materials show dozens of police officers in the place but at the moment there are no reports that the security forces have intervened in the protest. In other material, which apparently records the moment when Johnson arrived at the site, people shout “no queremos muela,” in reference to the fact that they did not want to listen to the excuses that the regime always gives to the people to justify its bad administration. Residents of Santiago de Cuba told this newspaper that this Saturday, March 16, in some areas of the city "they began to distribute in the warehouses only three pounds of rice" out of the seven they receive each month, in addition to the coffee that corresponded to January. “Everything is expensive, hunger has us suffocated, and add to this the blackouts, which don't even let you cool some water or preserve the little food you get,” said a resident of the town of El Caney. In another of the videos that circulates on networks, you can mainly see women of various ages, mothers with their children in their arms and young people in the street shouting “electricity and food” while uniformed men and men in civilian clothes try to make them quiet but the protesters shout louder their claims.  Likewise, another resident of the place shouts "down with communism", "down with Díaz-Canel" and shortly after several women are shown applauding and shouting "electricity and food."

In the city of Bayamo, in the province of Granma, there were also demonstrations this Sunday. Videos circulating on social networks show a crowd in the streets, some people walking and others moving on bicycles, tricycles and electric motorcycles. Also some photographs published by the independent press indicate the presence of police and trucks loaded with soldiers ready to repress.  On the other hand, after 7 pm, a report arrived at the 14ymedio editorial office stating that, in Holguín, where several protests have been registered in recent days , some of the main parks such as Calixto García, Las Flores and José Martí have been militarized. “There are dozens of motorcycle officers, plainclothes agents, and patrol cars, as well as cars loaded with avispas negras (black wasps, special forces) ,” describes a city resident. “They expect something or fear repercussions in Holguín from the Santiago demonstrations,” he adds. “It seems that it was an urgent 'shock' to the provincial authorities, a large part of the center is militarized and with many civilian security personnel,” says the same source, who assures that due to surveillance, photos cannot be taken. In other provinces such as Sancti Spíritus you cannot make calls nor does mobile data work.

Article was translated from its original language (Spanish) using Google Translate. Be sure to click the link for videos and more.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

20th September >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 7:31-35 for Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time: ‘We played the pipes for you, and you wouldn’t dance’.

Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Luke 7:31-35 'We played the pipes, and you wouldn't dance'.

Jesus said to the people: ‘What description can I find for the men of this generation? What are they like? They are like children shouting to one another while they sit in the market-place:

‘“We played the pipes for you, and you wouldn’t dance; we sang dirges, and you wouldn’t cry.”

‘For John the Baptist comes, not eating bread, not drinking wine, and you say, “He is possessed.” The Son of Man comes, eating and drinking, and you say, “Look, a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.” Yet Wisdom has been proved right by all her children.’

Gospel (USA) Luke 7:31-35 We played the flute for you, but you did not dance. We sang a dirge, but you did not weep.

Jesus said to the crowds: “To what shall I compare the people of this generation? What are they like? They are like children who sit in the marketplace and call to one another,

‘We played the flute for you, but you did not dance. We sang a dirge, but you did not weep.’

For John the Baptist came neither eating food nor drinking wine, and you said, ‘He is possessed by a demon.’ The Son of Man came eating and drinking and you said, ‘Look, he is a glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners.’ But wisdom is vindicated by all her children.”

Reflections (4)

(i) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Jesus seems to have been a keen observer of human interaction, including that of children. In the gospel reading, he gives us an image of children in the market square talking and behaving as children. They are playing children’s games, imagining themselves to be playing the pipes at a celebration of some kind, like a wedding, and to be singing dirges, as at a funeral. Yet, some of children’s friends simply don’t want to play either wedding or funeral games; they refused to be moved either by the imaginary playing of pipes or the singing of dirges. When Jesus saw this, he was reminded of how the people of his generation refused to be moved either by the somewhat sombre ministry of John the Baptist or his own much more joyful ministry. They labelled John as ‘possessed’ and Jesus as a ‘glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners’. Many of Jesus’ contemporaries took offence at both John the Baptist and Jesus and resented their ministries. It is interesting that Jesus identifies his ministry with the children pretending to play the pipes. We don’t often think of Jesus as a piper calling on people to dance to his tune. Perhaps we could image the Holy Spirit, the Spirit of the risen Jesus, playing a tune deep within us, calling out to us to move in harmony with that tune, to live lives that give expression to the tune the Spirit is playing deep in our hearts. That tune of the Spirit is a love song, the song of God’s deep love for us, revealed in the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Our lives are to reflect that love song of the Spirit being played deep within us.

And/Or

(ii) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospels suggest that Jesus was very observant of day to day life around him. His powers of observation come through especially in the parables he spoke. The image of the sower sowing seed, of the wealthy man with two very different sons, of the traveller who fell among robbers, are all draw from his own experience of day to day life. Jesus was not only observant of life, but he recognized that all of life speaks to us of God’s relationship with us and of ours with God. This morning’s gospel reading suggests that Jesus was very observant of children, and of children’s play in particular. Even the play of children in the market place spoke to Jesus about how people respond to God’s call and presence. Jesus saw the children who play at being pipers for other children to dance and who play at singing dirges for other children to cry as images of his own ministry and of the ministry of John the Baptist. Jesus identifies readily with the children’s acting out of the role of the piper who invites people to dance. It is interesting to think of Jesus as a piper and of his ministry as a tune, and of ourselves as invited to dance to the tune that Jesus plays. Jesus’ life plays the music of God and we are invited to move to that music. Jesus is God’s musician, and our calling is to listen to God’s music that is played through the life, death and resurrection of Jesus, and to allow that music to move and shape us.

And/Or

(iii) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

Jesus uses a very striking image in that gospel reading to describe the reaction of the people of his generation to his ministry and that of John the Baptist. They are like children who refuse to dance when other children in the playground play the pipes; they are also like children refuse to cry when other children in the playground sing dirges.  Jesus identifies himself with the children who play the pipes and John with the children who sing dirges. It is striking that Jesus speaks of himself in terms of children who play pipes for other children to dance. It is interesting to think of Jesus as a piper who plays a tune that invites people to dance to it. In a sense, that is what we are about as followers of Jesus. We are people who dance to Jesus’ tune. We often use that phrase of dancing to someone’s tune in our day to day conversation. The gospel reading suggests that as followers of Jesus we are people who try to attune ourselves to his rhythm, to his music, and then, having done so, to try and move in time with his music. In other words we are to allow the music that Jesus plays by his life, death and resurrection, the song that he sings, to shape our lives. That particular image suggests that attentive and ongoing listening is very important in our relationship with the Lord, because we can only move to music that we listen attentively to, and that, in some sense, has become part of us. Mary was an attentive listener to the Lord’s word, and she, more than anyone, is the person whose life is in tune with the song, with the music, of Jesus. Her own song, the Magnificat, is very much in keeping with the song of Jesus, the message and the life of Jesus. She is our model and our inspiration as we try to live in tune with Jesus’ song.

And/Or

(iv) Wednesday, Twenty Fourth Week in Ordinary Time

The gospels suggest that Jesus had a wonderful relationship with children. He welcomed them when his own disciples were trying to keep them away from him. He pointed to them as the disciples’ teachers because of their openness to God’s presence. He identified with them completely, declaring that, in receiving such children, people are receiving him. This morning’s gospel reading suggests that Jesus was very observant of children’s play in the market place. The refusal of some children to join in the other children’s games reminded him of the refusal of his contemporaries to take seriously either himself or John the Baptist. If the children’s funeral games reminded Jesus of the ministry of John, their dancing games reminded him of his own ministry. It is interesting to think of Jesus as a piper who plays a tune for us to dance to. Jesus is the music of God. To follow him is to allow his music, the music of God, to enter deep into our hearts, souls and minds so that our whole lives move to its rhythm. The music played by the life, death and resurrection of Jesus is not a dirge that evokes tears. It is joyous music because it proclaims the favour of God towards all. It calls forth joyful dancing, the dance of the Spirit. As followers of the Lord, we carry a joyful song in our heart, even in dark times, because we appreciate how greatly we have been graced. Our calling is to allow something of the music of God that Jesus plays to move our lives and to touch the lives of all whom we meet.

Fr. Martin Hogan.