#(my mother in law) ehe.

[02zhoonie]

jay knowing what his mum’s manicure smells like makes me think she probably used to bring him along to the nail salon and now he probably treats his mama right by treating her with manicures from time to time because have u seen her nails hehe 🥰🥰🥰 i just know this man knows how to treat a girl right and i can only thank mama park for that 🫣

[fluffypotatey]

Even in an "everything's fine and nothing hurts" AU, I just know that Arthur "Disaster Bi" Pendragon manages to give his dad an ulcer because that's just how he rolls.

Arthur: Father, I'm getting married-

Uther: Excellent!

Arthur: -to Merlin of the Dragonlords.

Uther: Less excellent!

Somewhere on the Isle of the Blessed, Morgana is laughing and doesn't know why.

And Balinor is working his way through the wine cellar realising he's about to be kin-by-marriage to Uther Fucking Pendragon. (Yes, they still hate each other, but their wives are besties. They think it's adorable.)

the horror Balinor must have felt when he realised what Merlin marrying Arthur meant for him lmaoooooo

Hunith: Aren't they cute! Balinor: Yes, sweetie, very adorable. Can't wait for the wedd- Balinor: WAIT

[badjokesbyjeff]

A wealthy man was ordered by his physician to go away to the mountains for a rest. He went home, told the members of his family what the doctor had said. He said, "While I'm away, I don't wish to be annoyed by letters or telegrams; in fact, I don't want to receive any news of any kind." So he went away and was gone about six weeks.

He returned to the city very much improved in health and very anxious for some news from home. He got off of the train at the depot, was met by his servant, and the following conversation ensued:

Man: Well, Henry, how is everything at home? Is there any news?

Henry: No, sir. There ain't no news, sir. Everything is just about the same as it was when y'all went away. Nothin' happened. No sir, there ain't nothing happened, there ain't no news.

Man: Well, you know, I'm just dying for some word from home now. You can tell me any little thing, no matter how trifling.

Henry: No sir, there ain't no news. There ain't nothin' to tell you, sir. Except... there's just one little thing. Since you've been away, your dog died.

Man: Oh, my dog died, eh? Well, that's too bad. What killed the

dog?

Henry: Well, sir, the dog ate some burnt horseflesh. And that's what killed the dog.

Man: Ate burnt horseflesh? Where did he get burnt horseflesh to eat?

Henry: Well, sir, you know, your barn burned down. And after the fire had cooled off, the dog ran in and ate some of the burnt horse- flesh, and that's what killed the dog.

Man: Oh, my barn burned down, eh?

Henry: Oh yessir, yes indeed, the barn, that's all burned down.

Man: How did the barn catch fire?

Henry: Well, sir, you see, a spark from the house flew over, caught on to the barn, burned the barn down, burned up all the cows and the horses, and after the fire had cooled off, the dog ran in and ate some of the burnt horseflesh, and that's what killed the dog.

Man: Oh, then my house burned down too, eh?

Henry: Oh yessir, yes indeed, the house, that's completely destroyed.

Man: Well, how did the house catch fire?

Henry: Well sir, they had some candles burning in the house, and one of the candles caught onto the curtain, and the curtains caught onto the roof, and the spark flew over and caught onto the barn, burned the barn down, burned up all the cows and the horses, and after the fire had cooled off, the dog ran in and ate some of the burnt horseflesh, and that's what killed the dog.

Man: You say they had candles burning in the house where I have gas and electricity? I never knew there was a candle in the place.

Henry: Oh yessir, yessir, they had the candles there. They had the candles burning all around the coffin.

Man: The coffin? Who's dead?

Henry: Oh yessir, yessir, that's another little thing I forgot to tell you about. Since you've been away, your mother-in-law died.

Man: Oh, my mother-in-law died, eh?

Henry: Yessir, yessir, she's dead all right. You needn't worry about that.

Man: What killed my mother-in-law?

Henry: Well sir, I don't know exactly what killed her sir, but around the neighborhood, they say it was from the shock of your wife running away with the chauffeur. But outside of that sir, why, there ain't no news.

[starshideurfics]

Thirsty Thursday - Ring My Bell

steddie, omegaverse, flagging/signaling culture, mdni 🔞

Based on a fun worldbuilding convo in the SHOM discord that’s still buzzing around my head. Credit to @itcanbepalped and @jeffgoldblumsmulletinthe90s for vibing on this one

Steve’s parents never wore rings. They said it was gauche; very new money of them.

“Why bother with jewelry on your fingers that will get banged up on your hands when you can wear a necklace,�� Clarissa would say when she spotted someone at the club with a ring, or god forbid two! Her own betrothal and bonding necklaces were layered, drawing the eye to her bite.

That was the whole point of a necklace. Either it emphasized a bonding bite, or it highlighted the fact that the wearer’s bonding gland was intact.

Steve had been given a necklace after he presented, a simple gold chain with a bejeweled padlock.

Pretty fucking gauche if you ask him.

Steve wouldn’t have worn it, but it was expected. Plenty of omegas wore something similar; he’d rather have his grandmother’s old claddagh ring, but his mother said it was low class.

So he wears his necklace every day, a reminder that he belongs to his father until he is mated. Then, he’ll belong to his alpha. Legally. At least until Congress hot its act together and passed some of the proposed equity laws.

Maybe his mom was right, rings were more easily lost. They tainted the scent of your hands with harsh metal.

It’s just that he’s seen some interesting ones, shapes so far beyond the standard lock, circle, and eternity knot. Meanings far more individualized than his necklace.

Which is why when the pups start following after Eddie Munson, Steve really notices his rings.

He gets what the book means. Or, he thinks he does. Munson doesn’t wear blockers, ever. His scent is an open book.

And the skull could be one of those gothy, ‘I mate for life’ things.

But the pig makes no sense. And no scents. Pigs don’t typically have a smell worth advertising.

The ring on his right hand is so simple in comparison that Steve gets stymied there, too.

He drops it, not wanting to reveal his interest in anything to do with Eddie Munson.

Steve is perfectly ready to let it stay a mystery until the night he comes to pick Dustin up after Hellfire only for Eddie to be the only one left in the lot, hauling his stuff out to his van. 

“Sinclair got his permit; your chuckleheads all went with him so he could show off.”

“Oh,” Steve says dumbly, only for his brain to catch up and spit out, “And they’ve never heard of a phone?”

“Real butthead behavior on their part,” Eddie agrees with a smirk. “Anyway, sorry you came out here for nothing.”

“Eh, could be worse.” Steve’s thinking monsters or g-men.

Of course, Eddie doesn’t know that. He gives Steve an appraising look. Then he surprises Steve. “I could make it up to you,” Eddie says with a crooked grin.

“How?” Steve asks, swallowing back the ‘not your fault’ that almost slipped out automatically. Because it kinda is.

Steve wouldn’t be here if not for Eddie’s club and the hold it has on Steve’s merry band of twerps. So he’s open to whatever Eddie’s offering to make them square.

He shouldn’t be surprised when Eddie pulls a joint from his pocket, sets it in his mouth to light, and inhales.

He holds it towards Steve as he blows out a stream of smoke. “We can hang, take the edge off your night.”

Steve takes the joint. Eddie grins and skips over to his van, opening the back door and giving a joking bow.

Steve laughs. He didn’t expect to be charmed so easily.

But he is, and after a couple hits he feels relaxed and loose in a way that would be fine in the safety of his bedroom, not so much when he has to drive.

He’s going to say as much, tell Eddie he should clear his head, when his eye catches the shine of silver on his fingers.

It’s like his brain isn’t connected to his mouth as he asks, “Why the pig?”

Eddie looks up from the box of cassettes he’s looking through and furrows his brow. “Huh?”

Steve’s brain must be cut off from his body too, since he reaches out and snatches up Eddie’s left hand.

“The pig,” Steve says, tapping on the offending ring. “Like, the book and the skull I think I got, but I’m coming up empty on the pig.”

“I’m surprised you knew it was a book.”

“But it’s book-shaped!”

“You mean rectangular?”

“But it is a book right?”

“Yeah.”

“So that’s about your scent,” Steve feels smug as he says it.

“I don’t smell like books,” Eddie says, clearly confused. “That’d be pretty awesome, though. Old books smell nice. Unless they’ve been in a basement too long.”

Steve nods sagely. This is obvious wisdom. No one wants to jump your bones if you smell like a musty basement.

Then he remembers his point. “You don’t smell like books, you are a book. Easy to read your scent ‘cuz you don’t wear blockers.”

“Don’t like ‘em. Make my head all fuzzy, and not in a fun way.”

“And the skull is a ‘til death’ thing right?”

“It’s actually a vampire skull.” Eddie points out the elongated canines. “You know, ‘the eternal kiss’ or whatever. I think bites should mean something.”

Steve nods again, feels a weird pull low in his belly. “That’s cool. Not enough alphas I know have that opinion.” He’s seen too many broken bonds at the country club and his father’s company Christmas parties.

Seen too many couples who shouldn’t have bonded in the first place.

“So, what’s the pig?”

Eddie looks down where Steve is still holding his hand. “Ever heard of a truffle hunter?”

“Like the chocolates?”

“No, the mushrooms! You’re rich, don’t you know about fancy mushrooms!”

Steve shakes his head, feels dumb. 

But Eddie just accepts his ‘no’ and moves on, “Well, they’re these rare mushrooms, and pigs like to eat them, so they’re really good at sniffing them out. And that’s me. I fully plan to sniff out my scentmate, and until then…” He shrugs. “Plenty of hot omega pussy to smell.” 

As soon as the words are out of his mouth, Eddie slaps his right hand over his whole face in shame. “Shit, sorry. Not appropriate in front of an omega. Or anyone. I promise I’m not a creep trying to get in your pants.”

But Steve’s mouth has gone dry. He wears blockers still, for work, the scent neutralizing deodorants and perfumes good at covering up his scent. The only place he doesn’t apply it is his crotch, because no one should be getting close enough anyway.

Suddenly he wants Eddie to be close enough.

He’s still holding Eddie’s hand, can still smell the edge of his woody scent over the weed. “It’s okay,” he says. Turns Eddie’s palm toward him and brings it to his nose.

The metal smell is there. But also pine and herbs, deepened by dark musk. His tongue darts out for a taste.

His hand mostly tastes like skin, a little like salt and smoke, but the scent is still there. Makes him want more. He pulls back, looks at Eddie who is staring at him with awe on his face.

“Okay, Mr. Trufflehunter, how do I smell?”

“You’ve got blockers on-”

“Not everywhere.”

His movements are slow, giving Eddie every chance to back out as he slides his fingers into Eddie’s hair, gripping the side of his head, and guiding him down towards Steve’s crotch.

Towards his wet pussy.

continued in part 2

[harunayuuka2060]

Ace: Okay. No one had expected the party was going to be a blast.

Epel: Both in literal and figurative sense.

Ace, Deuce, Epel, Ortho, and Jack: *laughing*

Jack: And who would've thought that MC-senpai's sister and Ruggie would click?

Ace: Like, bruh! I still remember their conversation!

Ace: "Is MC-senpai looking for a brother-in-law?"

Ace: "They don't. But I'm looking for a boyfriend. Are you available?" *claps, laughing*

Epel: By the way, we'd only seen senpai when the party was about to end.

Jack: Yes. And I think they have injured their left eye.

Ortho: I wonder what happened.

Malleus: Didn't I tell you to be careful?

MC: *has returned with a bleeding eye and deep scratches on their arms and neck* *giggles*

MC: The souls I have arrived to were too excited~.

Malleus: ...

Malleus: Let me patch you up.

MC: Hm~? Has your mom left already~?

Malleus: Yes. She didn't want you to see her off.

MC: Eh~.

Malleus: Oh and, you've decided on Rosehearts and Schoenheit?

MC: Hmm~ *giggles* Riddle will never be my option~. He's too young~.

MC: And will die easily because of stress~.

Malleus: That's... *sigh* How about Schoenheit?

MC: If it's Vil~ Hehe~ He's a fine choice~ But~ I'll be too possessive~.

Malleus: You're worried that you would be too possessive for Schoenheit?

MC: *nods then giggles* Wouldn't anyone be~?

Malleus: ...

Malleus: I'm surprised with your self-awareness.

MC: *touches his face with their bloody hands*

Malleus: *frowns* Hey.

MC: *giggles*

Malleus: *sigh*

Silver: MC's parents are amazing.

Lilia: Indeed. I don't think anyone would do what they have done for the sake of love.

Sebek: That's just pure insanity! And I don't even understand the explanation at all!

Sebek: How could they be both half-dead?!

Silver: MC's father had died long ago, but for some reason, his body never decomposed. And their mother, who was an infamous necromancer, found him and fell in love at first sight.

Sebek: I understood that part! What I'm trying to say is how were they able to produce offsprings?!

Silver: ...

Silver: Oh. You have a point with that, Sebek. *turns to look at Lilia*

Silver: Do you know how that is possible, father?

Lilia: Yes. But you're still innocent to know.

The Ramshackle students: Housewarden! How is your eye?

MC: It's fine~ But it feels really itchy~.

Grim: Don't think of plucking that out, mryah!

MC: *giggles* Why~ Its string is still connected to the socket~.

Grim: Just don't!

MC: Okay~. If you could distract me~.

The Ramshackle students: We will study hard so we can get the first place in rankings!

MC: Eh~ That's a nice proposal~.

MC: But if one of you fails~ Would you like to receive my eyeball as a reward~?

The Ramshackle students: N-No, housewarden...

MC: *giggles* Fail or not~ All I want you to do is enjoy school~ Like how I enjoy my stay here~.

The Ramshackle students: *sniffles* Yes, housewarden!

Grim: You're awfully nice today. *looking at them suspiciously*

MC: Well~ The next couple of months will be a torture~.

The Ramshackle students: That's still fine, housewarden!

MC: *giggles*

[starkwlkr]

Hi anon with missing cillian request this side!!!😅😅

I just wanted to say ur work on cillian with nolan!reader was soooo good and was wondering if u could write one where she attends the award shows with him and chris and they include her in their speech

(Maybe nolan reader had given the book to her father🤷‍♀️🤷‍♀️)

And if u could include some sweet couple and parents moment that would be AWESOME!!!!!!

what a night | cillian murphy (nolan!reader)

when you heard cillian’s name being called at the 2024 oscars, you felt like a tearing up, but you promised you weren’t going to cry. eh, some promises were meant to be broken.

the audience stood up to applaud for your husband. he turned to you and kissed you. you made sure your lipstick didn’t get on him like it did before. “i’m so proud of you.” you whispered to him as he gave you a hug.

when he released you, he stepped aside and saw his father in law, christopher, ready to give him a hug. you were sure twitter was going to make memes about the hug. it was something you discovered recently about how your father was always casting cillian in his work. you saw many jokes about it that it made you genuinely laugh.

finally, cillian made it to the stage to receive his oscar. in a room full of people, he found you staring at him with eyes full of love and proudness.

“i’m a little overwhelmed. thank you to the academy. um, chris nolan and emma thomas it’s been the wildest most exhilarating most creatively satisfying journey you’ve taken me on over the last twenty years. i owe you more than i can say. thank you so much. and thank you for not firing me after you found out your daughter and i were dating.” he said as the audience laughed.

the camera showed chris and you laughing at his joke.

after thanking the crew and cast, he looked at you. “thank you for being my partner in life, the mother of our beautiful children, my best friend, you are my person. i love you.” your father watched as you teared up.

after cillian finished his speech, you were tapped on your shoulder by your father, who offered you a tissue. “thanks, dad.” you chuckled as you took it.

next it was time for best director, a category you were nervous for your father.

“and the oscar goes to . . . christopher nolan, oppenheimer.” steven speilberg announced. your father had done it, finally. he was an oscar winner. after eight nominations, he finally got his golden statue.

after he hugged and kissed emma, he walked to your direction. cillian was still backstage, but he was watching close by. your father hugged you for a few seconds then kissed your cheek.

“you did it!” you cheered.

“it’s yours too, love.”

when he got to the stage, he was greeted by steven and got handed his oscar. it was truly a surreal moment. he first thanked the studios and several people who helped make the film.

“to my daughter, you are the reason for this.” he held up the statue. “you have a brilliant mind and a kind soul and i’m extremely proud to be your father. you gave me the book that this film is based on and you helped create a masterpiece. thank you forever. i share this with you.” his words made you cry even more.

you blew a kiss to your father then wiped away a tear. it was a dream come true.

shortly after, cillian got back to his seat, golden statue in hand. “did i do okay?”

“you did it perfectly, my love.”

when it was time for best picture to be announced, you were a bit confused. you weren’t sure if al pacino was didn’t care or if he was joking, but your father’s film had won best picture. it was a weird way to announce it, but your father and the oppenheimer team walked to the stage to receive the award.

it was definitely a perfect way to end the night.

[sirfrogsworth]

Grampa's Antique Fan (2015 vs 2024 Edit)

As a young man, after coming home from the Second World War, my grampa got a job as an electrician for Emerson Electric. He didn't work on the actual electrical products. He just maintained the electrical systems that power the tools to make electrical components.

It was a "I heard you need electricity for your electricity" type deals.

The company was founded in 1890 in nearby Ferguson, Missouri by John Wesley Emerson. He was a Union commander in the Civil War and a lawyer and then a judge and then an author and then a historian... so he was clearly qualified to run one of the first electronics companies. (This is currently referred to as the "Law of Elon".)

Emerson (the company, not the dude) specialized in electric motors and was the first to stick their motors in a fan and sell them.

As you can see by the 4 protective fan guard loopies, these were very safe for kids to be around.

I mean, the biggest thing you could shove in there is a baby arm, which is the least important part of a baby. No baby heads were chopped off—which was the bar for consumer safety during that era.

Fans are rated by the volume of air they can push over a period of time and your average box fan can push about 1400 cubic feet per minute or "CFM". When this Emerson (the fan, not the dude) was produced they actually used "CCH" or cubic cubits per hour. Emerson (the dude) loved using odd standards of measurement much to the chagrin of his engineers.

Due to the small surface area, weak angle of attack, and heavy metal blades, this electronic beast could only push a baker's dozen cubic cubits per baker's hour—which was a confusing metric of time because people were very superstitious and they refused to put the 13 on the baker's clocks. They just left a mysterious blank void after the 12 and apparently several people had existential crises during the baker's hour. Some were institutionalized for a rare condition called Time Delirium.

Thankfully Emerson Electric was able to provide the electroshock therapy devices that cured several patients. This was achieved by erasing the memory of the traumatic time delirium events along with a few other unimportant details like what they did last Tuesday and their mother's name and one engineering degree that the guy wasn't even using.

My dad actually got the fan working and let me tell you... that bad boy could really work up a gentle breeze...

...if you stood behind it and blew.

And that fine American-made electric fan motor was just as quiet as a leaf blower on Saturday morning.

Over the last century, Emerson was bought and sold and bought and sold.

And bought and sold and bought and sold.

Was that 7?

Eh, close enough. We'll call it a baker's 7.

They changed their product line countless times over their 130+ years of existence. After fans they pivoted and made electric meat grinders. To this day, no one know what inspired that decision.

Currently, they make radar avionics and are majority-owned by the private equity firm, Blackstone. Which is a totally non-evil sounding name they chose for their company-eating empire. Please ignore that the CEO was one of Trump's policy strategists. This is a non-evil company with a non-evil name run by non-evil people, okay?

Despite Emerson Electric having to settle a baker's gross of lawsuits involving a few lightly scalp'd babies, they maintain a Fortune 500 status and are still headquartered in Ferguson.

They occupy one of the most boring ass buildings ever constructed.

Just rectangles all the way down.

That architect told every angle to get rect.

Of course, I forgot all of this cool history and sold this fan in the estate auction. I suppose it is a good thing I got a nice photograph to help assuage my current feelings of guilt. I mean, it is not baby scalping, time delirium guilt—but I would feel better if I knew my gramp-gramp's fan was in a good home with 0 babies.

[starsexplodeatnight]

John Price X Reader!

My first published piece!

Captain John Pricex Reader!

Minors do not engage!

You loved him, really. But, John Price is a lot to handle. Yes, he is a family man, a great husband, a wonderful provider. But he holds on too tight. Tight enough to strangle. You- You had to do it.

even though it felt like your heart was being ripped out of your chest when he found out... Oh, his poor watery blue eyes you loved so much...

You cried your eyes out in bed that night, alone.

Price is eh, heh- heh, heh, heh. He's not letting you go, love. Not ever.

You live in this incredible house, curtesy of your husband's high paying career in the military. It's the perfect place for children to grow up...

Toxic Ex-husband Price never leaves. "The house is ours, love. Ours is ours." And leaves no room for debate. He'll live in the in-law apartment above the detached garage, yeah? He's not happy about it and uses every instance he can to weaken your resolve and stop this silly 'separation' nonsense.

Walk's out onto the balcony in the morning in his robe, coffee in hand. The robe is open, exposing his chest to the neighborhood. He doesn't care that the women jogging by can see and stare. He only cares when he sees you stop and stare out your bedroom window, all alone. Before you aggressively close the curtains, trying not to fall for his tricks!

Semi Toxic Ex-husband Price, who still wants all the gossip you used to share with him when you were married. He'll just stroll into the house from the back door and hear you chatting with your friend from Pta.

He does what he used to, sit his ass right next to you and press his ear on the other side of your phone. Does he care about the gossip? Not really, it's amusing, but not really his thing. What he loves? He loves how you used to turn to him and go off. You look so happy, chattering on and on about what you'd just heard. Including him in your life...

He says he doesn't really like the gossip but will get upset if you don't tell him every detail. His job is to know, love. You can't just leave him hanging! He will demand to know more about Patricia from the parent-teacher conferences. She slept with the teacher! You can't leave him hanging on that, luv! Just to get you to talk to him the way you used to.

Semi Toxic Ex-husband Price, who is your mother's favorite.

She hates your sister's boyfriend; she hates your brother's wife. You? You landed the cream of the crop!!!

How could you have left him??? Your grandma, your mother and your aunties LOVE him, smug bastard. He eats it the fuck up...

They greet him like the long-lost son they wish they had! Meeting him at the door with kisses on the cheek, beckoning him towards the kitchen, treating him like royalty. He is the favorite, and he's not even blood!

"Oh, such a handsome man! So nice!" "So polite!" "And respectful!" "Here, is she feeding you enough?" Oh, when they learn you've served him with divorce papers? They all cry out in alarm. Everyone, not just the women. Uncles, Grandpa, Cousins, all of them.

"What you talking 'bout divorce? fah! He still come to family parties!" They would totally be on his side… They all help in his case to get back together with you.

It'd make him so much worse….

Especially if your youngest kid is going to her first day of school. You both drop her off and you bawl your eyes out and he's there to comfort you, just like he had with all the times before… cradling you to his strong but soft chest. So warm... familiar... soothes the heartache you're experiencing.

Do you want another baby? You miss having a little one around now that your youngest is off to school, yeah? He can help with that…

Maybe- Maybe you... Maybe you were too harsh on him. Maybe, give him another chance...

[mypoisonedvine]

𝔞𝔯𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔤𝔢𝔪𝔢𝔫𝔱𝔰 (part III) | frater imperator x reader

(part I) (part II)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔰𝔲𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔯𝔶 | your first trip together ends on a sour note as some of your suppressed concerns about your relationship begin to show, but a delayed wedding reception might turn it all around.

𝔴𝔬𝔯𝔡 𝔠𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔱 | 6.7k (fucking hell)

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤𝔰 | jealousy/insecurity, MORE heathers references for some reason???, alcohol consumption/slight intoxication, nothing too bad but I swear the slowburn is almost... burnt, or whatever just bear with me

The next day of your visit to Brussels was mostly boring meetings; you almost wanted to ask him why you both had to travel all this way to do the same things you always did, but ultimately you did understand the value of this trip even if it wasn’t especially exciting.  And though you weren’t really capable of assisting with any of the business side of things, you figured out after a while that you were mainly here just to be here— because it would be weird if you weren’t.  Because it would be, for lack of a better word, suspicious if a newly-married couple were traveling separately.

So, you were here, sitting beside him as he and the clergy of the local church discussed various important topics— mission work, ministry, how best to spread the message of Satan and bring in the age of the antichrist… you know, the usual.

His hand rested on your leg again— maybe a little higher than before?  You weren't certain, but it made you smile to yourself as you tuned out the boring conversation going on around you.

You glanced down at the leather-covered hand by your knee, his fingers moving slightly; the silver grucifix embossed on the back shined in this light.  Absent-mindedly, you traced it with one finger, not even noticing that it made him look over at you— not even really appreciating that his hand was still under there, and could probably feel you drawing shapes over his skin.

“Frater,” a clergyman interjected sternly, “do you have a response?”

You'd both totally zoned out, and were quickly brought back to reality; Copia jolted in his chair and cleared his throat as he sat up straighter.  Worst of all, he took his hand off your leg to clasp them both together in his lap.  “I-I’m sorry?” he coughed.  “I fear I lost my train of thought, could you repeat the question?”

“Don’t ask Frater Imperator so many complex things so early in the morning,” Comis scolded his fellow cardinal, “he didn’t get much sleep last night— non?”

He wore a lopsided grin as he playfully elbowed Copia in the side, who nervously reached up to run his fingers through his hair.  “Oh, well— eh— I just lost focus for a moment, is all…”

“Sure,” Comis agreed sarcastically.  “Maybe we should take a break, anyhow.  Give us all a chance to stretch our legs.”

“That sounds nice,” you agreed quickly, mainly just jumping on any chance to get out of this stuffy room and personal conversation.

The meeting room had a sort of lobby outside— or maybe it would be called a parlour?  A sitting room?  You weren’t really sure, but it was fancy; there was tea and little cakes and things, the whole place was so detail-oriented like that.

Copia was busy making small talk with some clergymen and women, while you were nursing a cup of lemon-water just to have something to do with your hands.

You heard someone coming up the stairs but didn’t think much of it at first.  “Sister Imperator,” a Sister greeted you— though you didn’t really process it until she reached out and touched your shoulder, making you turn around.

“Consortia,” you added once you realized she was addressing you.  “Sister Imperator Consortia.  Sister Imperator was my mother-in-law.”

“Oh, yes— I’m so sorry for your loss,” she offered gently.

You realized they were under the assumption that you knew her much better— maybe you would’ve if you’d been dating Copia before marrying him like, you know, most people do.  Instead of trying to explain, you just accepted her sympathies with a nod; it was a loss, after all, just not as personal as she might’ve imagined.

“I thought you might want to visit our convent,” she suggested.

“O-oh, um,” you stalled, nervously glancing over your shoulder at Copia as he sipped on a glass of water, “I—”

“He’ll be just fine,” she promised, leaning into you and lowering her voice.  “He knows meetings like the back of his hand.”

And he’ll probably fare better without me touching the back of his hand…

Nodding in agreement, you slipped out of the sitting room and followed her.

The woman introduced herself as Sister Nomina and guided you through the winding halls— Cardinal Comis had shown you the wing that housed the convent the night before on his tour, so you knew where it was, but you hadn’t been inside yet.  

“We keep a garden,” Sister Nomina explained, “and we have some outreach programs— an orphanage, a literacy program.  But nothing compared to what your church is doing!”

“Oh, yes,” you replied, “I suppose our reputation precedes us…”

“It must be very exhilarating, being in the Church of Ghost,” she presumed with a wide smile. 

“Well, I wish I could take more credit for all the work that's been done,” you 

The two of you arrived at the convent; visually it was similar to the one you'd been living in up until recently, but the inhabitants were quite different.  For one, they dressed a bit differently, and seemed to be more lenient with uniform (Sister Imperator would've never let that fly back home…).  And for another thing, they were much more excited to see you than anybody in your convent would've been on any given day. 

Actually, a group of nuns flocking to you excited reminded you of that day of the fateful clergy meeting— it felt like a lifetime ago already.

“Ladies, Sister Imperator Consortia from Linkoping,” Nomina introduced you to the group of women surrounding you, before reversing to introducing all of them to you.  “Sisters Mila, Lascivia, Camille, Perita, and Triette.”

“Lovely to meet you all,” you nodded, smiling warmly. 

“Give her some room, ladies, please!“ Nomina scolded gently, shooing them back with her hands until they took a few steps away from you. Admittedly, you appreciated the extra breathing room.

“Everybody's been looking forward to your visit immensely,” Nomina justified. “I hope you don't mind answering a few of their questions.”

“Of course not!”

Sister Camille piped up quickly: “As Sister Imperator Consortia, what responsibilities do you have?”

“W-well, I'm not qualified to serve on the clergy,” you explained, “because I wasn't nominated by the clergy— I was nominated, well, by my husband. So, mainly my job is to support him…”

“Did you grow up in the church?” Sister Perita asked politely.

“Well, yes and no,” you replied.  “I wasn’t raised a Satanist, so not in the traditional sense— but I ran away to join the church when I was still just a teenager… ever since then, up until rather recently, I was living in convents much like this one.”

That seemed to surprise Sister Triette.  “You really were another Sister of Sin, just like us?” she observed.

It wasn’t until then that you realized they didn't just find you interesting, but that they looked up to you— a role model of sorts, a Sister like them who was perceived as achieving some kind of greatness; it was sweet, even if you felt their admiration was misplaced.  “Yes, I was,” you nodded.

“Did you work closely with the Papa?” Sister Mila asked.

“No, my role mostly involved stewardship, administration, occasional gardening—”

That seemed to confuse them.  “So, then, how'd you fall in love?” Sister Perita wondered.

Your eyes widened; maybe you should've seen some of these questions coming and had answers prepared, but you were completely caught off-guard in that moment.  “O-oh, um, it's not a very interesting story…”

“No no, please!  We've all been dying to know since we heard you two were coming!” Camille insisted.

The Sisters leaned in excitedly in anticipation; you hadn't realized the news of your marriage had so much impact.  Then again, Copia was technically a celebrity— you just weren't used to his popularity outside of your own church.  “You're not all just trying to get pointers to seducing clergy so you can get a promotion, right?” you wondered with a frown.

“No!  We just want to hear how you two met,” Perita explained, “and how you realized you loved each other— and how he proposed!”

They all clapped and giggled excitedly, but all you could manage was a nervous grin.  The real story was definitely not going to satisfy them; you felt guilty imagining disappointing them with some clinical explanation of it all.  “W-well, how we met is sort of… obvious, I guess.  We met in Mass, when he was the Papa— he served me communion.  I didn't know him as a cardinal, I hadn't moved to his church yet, but he… well, I was pretty intimidated by him.  You can't blame me— it's the Papa, after all…”

Up until then, you had told the truth— but you started, for lack of a better term, winging it at that point.

“The first time we spoke— it was an unexpected thing, you see.  We bumped into each other, literally; I wasn't paying attention and he was rushing to get to a clergy meeting— I helped him pick up some books he’d dropped.” 

Clichéd?  Absolutely, but you felt like that was ultimately what they wanted to here: a too-good-to-be-true story about how an ordinary Sister was swept off her feet by such an important man.  Why the Papa would be running around carrying a stack of books is an absurd question for another day…

“We got to talking… we had more in common than we expected.  We bonded over—” you fought back a smirk as you figured out an easy lie— “slushies, actually. He said that traveling with the band meant hardly ever being in the same place, but that there was almost always a convenience store with slushies wherever he was. They became a comfort, I suppose.”

You decided not to go on and say that the two of you had played strip croquet together… probably too obvious of a reference.

“We were just friends for some time, but eventually we started to grow real feelings for each other,” you concluded simply.

They broke out into a collective aww; “What's he like?  You know, when he's not in front of so many people.”

“Um… he's not that different, I guess,” you mumbled, “maybe not as dramatic.  But he's so sensitive, too, and gentle…”

“I’ve always thought he would be that way,” Sister Lascivia agreed, “but intense, too, you know— like, dominating.”

You choked on your own throat for a second.  Why were you thinking about him at all?  “U-um, what makes you say that?” you wondered.

“I don’t know,” she shrugged, biting back a grin, “he just seems that way.”

“Y-you mean, on stage?” you pressed, but the line of questioning shifted suddenly when Sister Perita interrupted.

“And the proposal?  It must have been some fantastic gesture!” she assumed.  “Only fitting for a rockstar, right?”

“You’d think, but he doesn't really act like that… he's so humble.  Actually, it was very intimate,” you decided.  “He knows I can get a little overwhelmed with those big crowds, so instead we went out in a— um, little rowboat onto the lake nearby our church, right around sunset, and watched the stars come out… he played a little guitar for me, just to be nice because he knows I love how he plays— and then under the full moon, he told me that, uh…”

Why was your heart racing?  Why could you picture it so clearly in your mind, as if you weren’t just making it all up as you went along?

“That meeting me had made his heart whole,” you concluded.  “That he couldn't go on unless he knew we were going to spend the rest of our lives together… and he showed me the ring and— and, you know, all that.  Of course, I said yes right away.”

“Oh wow,” Sister Mila cooed— she looked as close to having heart-shaped irises as you’d ever seen anyone in real life.

But of course, another had to chime in as well: “And you don't get jealous, knowing how popular he is?  Plenty of people would kill for your spot, you know.”

You willed your eye not to twitch.  “He's, um… he's never given me any reason to be jealous,”   He's loyal, he always has been, even when we were just dating.  B-but we didn't date very long before we married…”

You realized you couldn’t retroactively ascribe some kind of fidelity to him— after all, he’d been a rockstar (as Perita had put it) on tour… 

And he’d been to this church before.  Your heart almost stopped as the sick thought entered your mind that he could’ve, potentially, hooked up with any of the people in this room; certainly Sister Lascivia would’ve probably jumped him if she got the chance, but she was far from the only candidate.  Come on, he was Papa fucking Emeritus the fucking IV, he had his pick of the litter if he so desired.

You knew it shouldn’t make any difference to you, you knew it was none of your business and you had no right to worry about it— but just the idea of him with one of them— with anyone—

“I guess he married you so quickly because he loves you so much,” Sister Nomina smiled.

You smiled back, even if you felt like you were still trying to keep bile down.  “Yes, I guess so.”

“And now you’re married to the head of the clergy; it’s like a fairytale or something!” Sister Mila beamed, clutching her hands together.

What kind of fairytales is this girl reading? “It all really has nothing to do with his status— Frater, Papa, Cardinal, he could be a janitor for all I care,” you assured her.  “I married him because he's the most patient, talented, generous man—”

You noticed the way many of them seemed to straighten up suddenly, the way Sister Perita’s eyes widened, and you spun over your shoulder to see Copia sauntering up behind you.  He had a good poker face, but there was an obvious smugness to it.  “What’s that they say?  Speak of the devil?” he mused as he leaned against the doorway.

“Oh, hello… dear,” you blurted out— seems you’d used up all your creativity on that fake meet-cute and proposal, didn’t have any left for a good term of endearment.  

“You’re not telling stories again, are you?” he asked, approaching you slowly, the slightest swagger in his step.

“Everyone’s very curious about you,” you explained.

“No, I don’t think so,” he denied, “they already know about me— they’re curious about us.”

Us sounded so nice when he said it like that.  He touched your shoulder for a moment, sliding his hand down to clasp at your upper arm.  Paradoxically, he acted more confident with an audience; you couldn’t tell if this was for your benefit, or theirs.

“Don’t go running off without me, hm?” he scolded sweetly.

“Yes, Frater,” you answered politely, wondering afterwards if it was too formal.

It didn’t seem to deter him: he brought his hand to your chin and held it delicately, keeping your head tilted up towards him.  “I worry when I lose sight of you,” he explained.  “We have to get ready for Mass soon, will you meet me at the chancel before the service begins?”

“Of course,” you agreed, smiling a little as he looked down at you so… lovingly?  Could that be the word?

You wondered if he would kiss you right then— you hadn’t kissed in public since your first kiss, and you thought you wanted to keep it that way… but wouldn’t it be a little fun, to show him off just a bit in front of these ladies?  Wouldn’t it be the best way to rub it in that he chose you?

Instead he only stroked your jaw with his thumb for a second, before letting go of you and stepping back.  He gave only one moment of attention to the women around you— with a quick bow of greeting and a polite “Sisters” — before spinning on his heel and departing.

You pressed your lips together and kept your eyes on the door even after he was gone; there was a heavy silence until the echoes of his steps down the hall faded.  Then they all broke into the squealy, girlish reactions you were expecting.

“Great Belial below!” “He’s so sensual!” “You can tell he’s completely enamoured with you!”

“O-oh, enamoured?” you repeated sheepishly.  “I don’t know, he’s just— like that…”

But your face warmed and you had to reach up to partially cover it with your hand— you didn’t want them to see your growing smile, in case someone asked why you were so giddy over a small interaction with your own husband.  

You departed from the convent not too long after that, knowing you didn’t have much time before Mass began and wanting to give yourself time to navigate to the chapel.  A walk through the church alone would’ve been a nice opportunity to clear your head, if your head was actually capable of clearing— but no, instead it was swirling with memories.  Memories all the way back as that first time he served you the body and blood, when he’d apparently taken an interest in you which eventually lead to this; memories as recent as the way he’d touched you just before.

Did it still make you feel a little nauseous knowing Sister Lascivia— and likely tens of thousands of other people— were somewhere out there thinking about how dominating he must be?  Yes, but you also felt a little proud of yourself… because that’s all they had, their thoughts.  You actually had a shot at finding out for yourself.

If you ever found the nerve, that is; regardless, you tried to push that thought process aside and actually listen to the priest as he officiated Mass that evening.  Of course, you really weren’t able to do that until being mentioned by name got your attention.

“And we have some visitors this Mass!” the priest announced.  “Frater Imperator and Sister Imperator Consortia—they’ve come all the way from the church of Ghost in Sweden!  Give them a warm welcome, will you?”

As the congregation applauded, Copia stood up; you followed suit quickly, getting a good look at the sea of people in pews all looking at you both.  You hadn’t seen a crowd like this since your wedding.  

Your smile was genuine but flustered when Copia placed his decorated hand on your shoulder; it already made your heart tremble when he did it in front of a few Sisters of Sin, this was on a whole new level.  He guided you a little closer to him, tucking you into his side, and you looked out over the massive crowd before glancing at the glove on your shoulder— namely, the wedding ring on it.

Then you looked at his face, at how polite and distinguished he looked standing before all these people.  “What do I do?” you asked your husband in a whisper.

“Hm?” he pressed, only briefly glancing at you.

“With all this attention,” you clarified, “what am I meant to do?”

“Just smile,” he encouraged.  “All they want is to see you.  Just give them a smile, maybe a little wave if you’re feeling generous.”

He was a showman, he knew what he was doing— you tried to copy him, with moderate success.  It was comforting, somehow, to see him in his element.  Unfortunately, how comfortable he was here only served as kindling for the flame of insecurity in the back of your mind.  Because he’s him, and you’re just… you.

And there in that sea of congregation members were plenty of those people you’d had mentioned to you before: the ones who would kill to have your spot.

~

“You should be proud of yourself,” he grinned as he took his seat across from you on the jet once again— it felt like so much had happened since the last time you were here.  “You shouldn’t be so adverse to social engagements, you’re a natural.”

“No, definitely not,” you laughed a bit, “but I didn’t hate it as much as I thought I would.  You made it easier for me.”

“They love you already, darling,” he promised, and the casual affectionate name made you smile even more, though you tried to hide it from him.  “So does everyone back at our church— anyone who knows you would, really.”

Your heart swelled, but you just hummed and looked away in lieu of responding.  

Of course, as soon as your heart was happy, your brain had to pop in and ruin it: that smile on Sister Lascivia’s face, the way she was so clearly picturing your husband in some kind of compromising way.  And the horrible, sick idea that maybe she didn’t have to just imagine it.

Copia was already prepared for a quiet flight— he had his legs crossed and a book open in his lap, his chin resting on one of his hands as he read.  You looked at him for a moment, appreciating how calm he seemed to always be; sometimes it was hard to believe he was the same man with that rockstar reputation, but you knew it was too naive to assume just because he could be quiet that he must not have lived to the fullest in his time as the Papa.

You managed to distract yourself by watching out the window as the jet took off, but once you were high enough to break through the clouds, the view was basically just white light and was not nearly interesting enough to keep your mind occupied.

It shouldn’t have even mattered!  So what if he was a bit more intimately acquainted with someone you’d met on that trip?  It didn’t make any difference now.  Yet, it was all you could think of, and even knowing it would only bring you pain, you compared yourself to her— she was quite pretty, after all, even with that habit covering up most of her.  Maybe she was more his type… maybe she was exactly his type.

By that point you’d basically convinced yourself it was true, without any evidence at all.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, but for some reason you couldn’t seem to hold back the words forming there.  “Do you know any of the Sisters there?” you heard yourself ask before you could stop yourself.  “I-I mean, did you know any of them before today...”

“Eh… no, I don’t think so,” he mumbled.

“But you’ve been to the church before,” you recalled, “you know Comis.”

“Well, yes, he’s their main ambassador— Sisters come and go, you know.”

You nodded, and he looked back down at his book.  You let the moment rest for a few seconds that felt like an eternity.  “It’s just that—”

He sighed a little and shut his book.

“They seemed to be so fascinated by you,” you explained.  “I think you had quite a few fans there.”

“Fans?  You mean, the band?” he raised an eyebrow, and you nodded.  “Then that’s not me, is it?  I just sang for a while— I’m interchangeable, by design.”

“But still— you were, are, so popular.”

“Eh… if you say so…”

“Come on,” you tilted your head, a bit of frustration leaking into your tone, “don’t be like that— you know what you’re doing.”

He looked a little confused, if not almost hurt by the implied accusation of deceitfulness.  “What are you asking me about?” he pressed, narrowing his eyes.

“Did you fuck any of them?”

Your eyes widened when you heard yourself say it— you really couldn’t believe you’d just word-vomited it out like that.  He seemed a little shocked, too, but much more amused than anything.  You didn’t like it at all, the way he smiled; it made you feel even more stupid for asking it, for thinking it even.

“I’m sorry,” you said instantly, “I shouldn’t have—” I shouldn’t have started this conversation while we’re trapped together for four hours, for one thing— “it’s not my place.  Forget I asked, it doesn’t matter.”

“Now now,” he cooed, “if it concerns you, then it matters.”

He was teasing you— dangling it in front of you.  “It doesn’t concern me,” you assured, “in every sense of the word— it’s none of my concern.”

“You look concerned.”

“Yes, but… that's my problem, not yours.”

He sighed, looking at you as if he were a little disappointed for some reason.  “Do you remember our vows, tesoro?”

You swallowed thickly.  Not really, I'm pretty sure I was in the middle of an anxiety-induced blackout.  “Uh…” you stalled.

“We agreed to care for each other, to share our hearts forever,” he reminded you.  “That means that if something upsets you, then it upsets me.  Even if you think it's silly— and from what I can tell, it's not.”

“Of course it is,” you rolled your eyes.  “It's silly to ask a famous musician if he slept with any fans— of course you did.”

“I did,” he admitted, “but surely not with the frequency you're imagining.  And not with anyone in Brussels, if that's any comfort.”

You crossed your arms over yourself self-consciously, looking out the window even though the cloudy scenery hadn't changed much.

“Of course I've had lovers before— you have too, I know.  I hope we won't hold that against each other.”

“Yes, of course,” you sighed.  “Obviously I never expected, or even wanted, either of us to be virginal or something, Satan forbid.  And there's nothing wrong with you meeting women on the road, either… it's just… is it wrong that thinking about it makes me kind of want to strangle someone?”

He laughed; “No,” he assured, “I don't think so.”

Unfortunately, he was right— that talking about it made you feel a little better.  

“Is it wrong that I think you're especially sexy when you're jealous?”

Your throat caught and you looked away from him quickly, holding your face in your hand as an excuse to cover it, but he obviously noticed the way you crossed your legs tightly.  His eyes raked over you, you could feel it somehow even when you were refusing to actually look back at him.

“I don’t think you have much right to be so shy, after asking me such personal questions,” he purred.  

“I-I’m not being shy,” you denied in a mumble, “I just didn’t expect you to say that.”

“I hope it doesn’t offend you—”

“No!  No,” you assured quickly, letting go of your heated face to look down into your lap.  “You’re being sweet, thank you.”

“It’s only the truth,” he insisted.  “Let’s always tell each other that, alright?  Just the truth.”

You nodded in agreement, finding the strength to meet his gaze again; the look in his eyes was just like the one he’d had when he found you in the convent.  It must not have been just for show, then… 

“Promise you’ll get some rest while we fly,” he sighed, “we won’t be landing until the late evening and we have quite a day ahead tomorrow.”

You only remembered it right then: your wedding reception.  As if you hadn’t had enough excitement for a lifetime in this week already.

~

It was a unique reception in a number of ways, probably too many to count.  First of all, most receptions happen right after the wedding, of course— but late night Masses left little time for that.  Secondly, receptions usually have speeches and sentimental things for the families of the betrothed; while Copia’s family of phantasms were in attendance, they didn’t have much to say, and what could they say?  They didn’t even know you.  So, instead, your reception was much more of the good stuff: dancing, eating, drinking, and good old-fashioned partying.

And then there was, you know, the demonic statues and sacrifices.  But that, to you, wasn’t so out of the ordinary.

You were seated at the head table with him, watching the crowd in all their merriment, feeling an odd sense of pride— of responsibility for all this joy.  It wasn’t like you’d planned this, it was a gift from the clergy who had done the work of putting it together, but technically you were half of what was being celebrated.

Maybe it was just appreciation for home, after your trip to Brussels.  It was always nice to see familiar faces filled with joy.

He leaned in closer to you so you could hear him over the music as he spoke, and you felt his breath on your shoulder.  “I'm sorry we didn't have time for this sooner,” he said.

“Oh!  I wouldn't have known what to do if we'd done it any sooner,” you admitted with a laugh.  Not that you especially knew what to do now— but you at least, by now, knew how to fake knowing what to do.

“And I’m sorry we couldn’t do something a little more traditional,” he added.

“Traditional?” you repeated with a laugh.

“What’s that American thing, where they feed each other the wedding cake?” he raised an eyebrow.  “Maybe we should have done that… I’ve always thought it looked sweet.”

You had no idea he had any opinions about things like that; it was endearing to imagine he ended up watching wedding videos at some point and wanted something like that for himself.  “Well, we can still do that another time,” you offered, “when there aren’t so many people watching.”

Again, you didn’t quite put together how that sounded until he cleared his throat and his cheeks pinkened at bit; of course it sounded suggestive when you phrased it like that, how could you have not seen that coming?!

Before you could correct yourself, though— or decide if you actually did need to correct anything— the ghouls on the chancel began playing a familiar song.

It didn’t sound the same, of course, with another singer filling in, but you could so easily hear Copia’s voice in those words:  You'll soon be hearing the chime, close to midnight…

He stood up suddenly, and you looked up at him.  “May I have this dance, cara mia?” he asked with an extended hand.

You took it with a smile; “I think one of the privileges of marriage is that you don't have to ask me that.”

Guiding you to the dancefloor, it felt like one of those movie scenes with the way the crowd parted for you on their own.  Was there a spotlight on you or was that just your imagination?

One of the few things you'd known about him before marrying him was that he was quite a dancer— what you hadn't known until now was how much you enjoyed dancing.  He made it easy, guiding you through the moves so well that people would probably think you had more experience than you did.

You had every right to be nervous, and you were, but for the first time it felt sort of… good?  Surely the alcohol in your system was aiding you, but it wasn’t just that.  Your heart was racing but you didn’t feel the urge to run and hide; he was smiling at you, he was pulling you closer, and for just a few moments you were suddenly fearless.

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you in the moonlight

I just wanna be, wanna bewitch you all night

He spun and dipped you, making you laugh with exhilaration.  When he pulled you back up, the look in his eyes almost took your breath away… so determined, yet romantic and vulnerable.  A look you felt like only he could pull off.

If the song’s lyrics were some sort of manifestation, then it was working: you were totally bewitched by him.  It was just the two of you and the music playing, it was just his hands holding and guiding you, it was just this perfect moment that you could hardly believe was happening to you.  Weren’t you just an ordinary Sister this time two weeks ago?

You knew when the song was nearly over, and when he spun you one more time and pulled you into him, your hand came up to the side of his face, your leg lifted to slightly straddle his side… your eyes drifted down to his lips.

Just one more split-second and you would’ve kissed him.  Not just any kiss, you would’ve kissed him like you never had before— like nobody ever had before.  

But the crowd of people around you instead began to proudly clap and cheer, and it tore you out of the moment; honestly, you’d sort of forgotten you were surrounded by all the guests.  You looked away from Copia and smiled at the people who had watched you dance, hardly even noticing that he never stopped looking at you.

It went by too quickly— not just the song but the whole night.  All too soon, you were back in your room; ears still ringing, heart still thumping, and (less enjoyably) feet still a little bit sore from dancing in new shoes despite having changed into your night clothes and comfy socks already.

As Copia walked to his side of the bed in his own signature embroidered pyjamas, you fell back on the bed limply, laying your arms out wide and staring up at the ceiling with a sigh— a happy sigh of course, a does this night really have to end? sigh.  “That was wonderful,” you announced with a beaming smile.  “I didn't think I'd enjoy it so much, but it was perfect.”

“I hoped you would,” Copia agreed.  “You've seemed so tense— I'm not sure I ever saw you looking so relaxed, and joyful… you look so beautiful that way.”

“Y-you don't have to flatter me,” you mumbled, pulling your arms back in towards yourself as tilted your head back to look at him— upside down, but still at him.

“Of course, I never would,” he assured, laying down carefully on the bed beside you.  “It's just the truth.  I bet everyone was as taken with you as I was… but only I got to dance with you.”

You smiled a little more softly, admiring how sweet he could be— a side of him you felt privileged to see so close.  You wanted to say something, but you really had no idea how to respond to a statement like that, or even how to just take the compliment.

“Can I tell you something?” he asked quietly.

“O-of course,” you answered, “you can tell me anything.”

“I-I'm a little embarrassed,” he admitted with a soft laugh, “but I… I've seen Heathers.”

You tilted your head, laughing in confusion.

“I don't know why I lied to you before,” he shook his head, “I know it quite well— I saw it in theaters when it was released!  I just— I thought— I'm not sure.  I guess I liked you explaining it to me.”

Your heart jumped, and you looked down at the bed under you sheepishly, as if your finger tracing the pattern on the quilt was fascinating all of a sudden.

“I wanted to give you an excuse to talk to me,” he added.

“You… you could've just… talked,” you told him quietly.  “It wasn't like I would've ignored you.”

“Yes, I know,” he sighed, “but the moment never felt right.”

“How does the moment feel now?” you asked shyly.

“Oh, tesoro, everything about tonight feels perfect.”

Your heart skipped a beat; everything?

You wondered, of course, if he would try something again; it was hard not to imagine that, since this was such a similar set of circumstances to that very first night.  But it felt so different, too— it felt less terrifying, for one thing, and less confusing.

But instead of letting yourself wonder about that for too long— afraid he’d somehow see it on your face, and know what you were picturing— you sat up a little bit and propped yourself up on your elbows.

“I asked why you chose me already,” you began, “but I never asked the bigger question, did I?  That is, why you got married at all.”

He sighed shortly before he answered.  “My mother, she asked me to get married.  At first, I thought it was just the will of the clergy.  I understand now it was much more than that.”

“She wanted you to be happy,” you assumed.

“Yes, yes…” he trailed off, looking to the side.  “She knew I didn't want to be alone anymore.”

Your heart twisted a little; “I figure the Papa himself never has to be alone,” you mumbled through a sheepish smile.  “You could take anyone to bed you wanted, a new companion every night.”

He chuckled a little.  “I think you know that's not what I mean— I learned better than anyone that being by oneself and being alone are different things,” he explained.  “Even if I did find the time and energy for a thousand lovers, I would've still been lonely without a real partner… something to call my own.  But I never had the time— or, I told myself that, to justify why I didn't have anyone.”

You understood that better than he could know— better than you wanted to realize.

“My parents loved each other, but spent most of their lives apart,” he explained.  “I don't want to be like that.  I don't want to have something beautiful and let it go to waste.”

He looked at you right then, and it seemed like it meant something but you wouldn't let yourself imagine what.

“Could I kiss you again?” he asked softly.  It sort of completely caught you off-guard, not what he said but the way he said it: the unsureness in his voice, the slight flush on his face.

You didn't answer with words, you simply reached up and brushed your fingers through the hair at his temple, where it was turning silver— another reminder of how long he'd been alone. 

You moved your hand in to cradle his face, leaning closer.

There was something shockingly comfortable about it, like you'd known each other for years.  You had grown to care for him, you couldn't deny that, but you surprised even yourself by how you pulled him closer as he kissed you.

It brought back memories of your wedding night, of course, and you couldn't decide if it felt like just yesterday or months ago.  All that fear and anxiety you'd been nearly crushed by then— it was only a distant memory, to the point that it was almost hard to believe you were the same person who had felt all that.

In some ways, you weren't.

His hand gently rested on your side, before carefully moving around to your lower back to keep you pressed against him.  Why did that feel so perfect?  His head tilted a little more, his kiss deepened a little more, you sighed a little heavier. 

As he pulled away, he looked into your eyes; you saw something new and totally indescribable in them.

If he kisses me again, I won't be able to say no to him, you realized.

He only smiled at you gently, his fingers brushing over your cheek.  “Goodnight, darling,” he offered quietly.

You were still in shock just a bit as he kissed your temple softly, before pulling back and turning to face away from you as he climbed under the covers.  Blinking quickly, you wondered if you would've asked him not to stop if he'd given you a chance.

Slowly laying down yourself, you faced towards him and sighed a little as you looked at the back of him.

You stared at him for so long that night, watching him sleep, willing yourself to just reach over and wake him; to run your fingers through his hair until he stirred and turned to face you.  And then you wouldn’t have to say anything, you could just kiss him and he’d understand.  All you had to do was lift your hand and touch him… then his arms would be around you, his lips would be on you, his weight would press you into the bed…

You fell asleep before you ever found the nerve.  But that’s not to say you fell asleep quickly; no, not at all.

[fallstaticexit]

Benji has always been a bit different from the other Briars. There's no doubt he loves his family but money talks and his phone is always ringing.

prev / next

Benji: Go for Ben.

Ami: Guess who had a very amazing 6 month check up.

Benji: Obviously it’s our best girl-

Finn: Hi papa! S’ Finn!

Benji: Hey, buddy. Had a good day in school?

Finn: Uhhhh huh!

Ami: He was the line leader a 4th day in a row.

Benji: Line leader today, global powerhouse tomorrow, you know.

Ami: Are you sitting down?

Benji: Yess...?

Ami: So...don’t make a big fuss but, Mama and Baba invited us over for dinner.

Benji: Ami...

Finn: Yay!!!

Ami: You have to come this time, Ben. Baba is starting to get antsy.

Benji: Well Baba thinks Papa is a big stinky poopy head.

Finn: [giggles]

Ami: He does not. You know Baba. He’s...traditional. He doesn’t understand the vast complexity and nuances of the corporate world. He values family.

Benji: I value family! Our technology advances the modern family dynamic. Servos pick up the slack so parents can spend more time with their kids-

Ami: I know that, Ben but Baba is old school. He thinks you can work and play and you do too much work. It’s just dinner.

Ami: Tell papa, Finny.

Finn: Yeah, papa. S’dinner!

Ami: Your mother and father will be there. So no excuses.

Benji: [grumbles] ...yes, dear.

Ami: We love you. Dress casual. That means wear jeans. Bye-Bye.

Benji: [groans]

Secretary: Sir? You have a representative from the Landgraab Foundation on line 2 about the merger.

Benji: Take a message, please. I have dinner with my in laws.

Finn: Hellloo! Yooohooo!

Mama Ito: Oh, I am so glad you all were able to come for dinner. You all look like you’re hungry!

Elliot: Thank you for having us.

Benji: Oh yeah. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

Baba Ito: Mhm. No big hot shot meeting to tend to, Mr. Hot Shot?

Ami: I thought you said you’d behave?

Baba Ito: What! I only make small talk. They don’t small talk in those big shiny offices?

Baba Ito: How was your trip back home, Willow?

Willow: Oh, it was lovely! I’ll take any chance I can get to see our family.

Baba Ito: So your mother makes time to visit family in the states, eh? When is the last time you seen your family, Benjamin?

Ami: Baba...

Benji: I mean...it’s been...some time...

Willow: I was just telling Benji that we’re invited to his Uncle Silas wedding this fall. Perfect time for the kids to meet the rest of the family.

Benji: And that does sound lovely, but the quarter ends at the beginning of fall. My schedule will only allow one trip, and that’s for Winterfest.

Baba Ito: Tuh! You think you have it so good, business man. Next thing you know, you’re an old man and time has passed you by. What then!

Elliot: Mr. Ito is right, beta. He has alot of wisdom we can all learn from.

Baba Ito: Heh. Yeah. Yeah! I am right, aren’t I?

Benji: My company can’t run itself, you know!

Finn’s Inner Monologue: I sure don’t know what the heck is going on here and I’m not sticking around to find out. See ya next episode!

[talesfrommedinastation]

My redneck neighbor Doug's interpretations on various 'Bad Batch' characters: Side Character Edition!

I'm chuffed that everyone thinks my neighbor Doug is funny: he really is a gem. I had no idea we'd bond over Star Wars and crappy weather, but here we are.

Naturally, I had to bother him about other characters that showed up on The Bad Batch, so, here we go!

Phee Genoa: Ah-ha, that there’s Church Lady. You know her, she’s got a big square in her pocketbook and you don’t know if it’s pound cake or a brick, because the Lord saves but He can’t help you in the alley when you’re in Treme and the streetlights just turned on. She has two ex-husbands who are both preachers and they turned to Jesus because they are so scared of Church Lady in court. 

(So I guess he’s saying Phee has raw WHO DAT energy, for my Saints fans out there)

Cid: Looking at this fat lizard bitch makes me hungry. I call that one Houma-BBQ because I’m guessing we could feed a whole parish fire station based on the size of her tail. I wish she’d shut up, she reminds me of my mother-in-law. 

Cad Bane: Homeboy looks like a Sesame Street character who teaches Big Bird about concealed carry laws. I call him Gun Safety Muppet. I don’t like him because he shot my Wife and I’s Boyfriend on the other show and his robot needs to be tossed into a wood chipper. 

(“I’m not gay, but Jenny and I…well, we would make an exception to that man. You ever see ‘Deadwood’? Man is fine. I’m not GAY.”)

Fennec Shand: That’s The Chick that’s in Everything. She was on ER and Boba Fett and I think a Marvel show too? I like her. Hope she kills Gun Safety Muppet and hurls his blue ass into a dumpster. 

Howzer: That’s my niece’s boyfriend, Jorge. We all love Jorge, nice guy, owns an auto repair shop and always remembers plates and napkins for the cookouts after church.

Gregor: Jorge’s cousin, Manny. Met him once at Christmas in Miami, nice guy, only drinks brown liquor and insists everyone arm wrestle him. But he’s got a good job as a PE teacher, we respect education, come on now. 

The Martez Sisters: Aw, man, it’s Jorge’s Unemployed Sisters. I hate it when they show up for Christmas and get into fights with my momma. 

(“Doug, you know they’re not related to the clones at all, right?” “Says who?” “The PLOT?” “Eh, they’ll change it, just watch.”)

Mayday: Aw, I liked this guy so much! That’s Sassy Park Ranger, he’s the type that gives you your camping permits, warns you about the bears, and then is all disappointed when you don’t properly stow your food and the bears destroy the campsite. I need to go back to Little River Canyon, that place was pretty. 

Lt. Nolan: THAT STUPID BLOND JACKASS. (Doug was so enraged by the guy he had nothing else to add. Damn.)

Senator Chuchi: Why does this lady make me want a blue slushie? I’ll call her the Sonic Special. They need more Sonics here in the north, they really do. 

Cody: That’s Obi-Wan’s Boyfriend, he’s sad all the time. We know why. (Confirmed that Doug is a Codywan shipper and I don’t know what to do about that)

Royce Hemlock: Is that Jimmy Neutron after he grew up and became one of those guys that’s on the internet all the time writing creepy things? It’s Jimmy-the-Scientist. He looks like the type of person dogs get weird around.

Rex: That's Rex. He's a king. Respect him.

[tieflingkisser]

Kansas City Chiefs Kicker Tells Graduating Women to Get in the Kitchen

“I can tell you that my beautiful wife Isabelle would be the first to say her life truly started when she started living her vocation as a wife and as a mother," Harrison Butker said in a commencement speech.

Harrison Butker, a kicker for the Kansas City Chiefs, on Sunday addressed the graduating class of Benedictine College, the Catholic liberal arts school known for forcing a queer-identifying basketball player to remove a Pride flag from his dorm. The 28-year-old spent his allotted 20 minutes encouraging students to denounce “dangerous gender ideologies,” and “the tyranny of diversity, equity and inclusion.” Bold of a man who’s only six years older than the average graduating student and identifies as “@buttkicker7″ on Twitter to tell young people how to live their lives but what else is new? “I think it is you, the women, who have had the most diabolic lies told to you,” Butker said. “Some of you may go on to lead successful careers in the world but I would venture to guess that the majority of you are most excited about your marriage and the children you will bring into this world.” In a country where forced birth is the law of the land? Nothing gets a 22-year-old who’s just shelled out $34k a year on tuition more hyped than the notion of the certificates in their hands collecting dust in lieu of caring for screaming kids. “I can tell you that my beautiful wife Isabelle would be the first to say her life truly started when she started living her vocation as a wife and as a mother,” Butker went on. (Why let your wife speak for yourself when you, a man, could speak for her, eh?) “I’m on this stage today, able to be the man that I am, because I have a wife who leans into her vocation.” You reading this Sheryl Sandberg? Insurrection Ken gets to kick a ball over and over again because his wife leaned in. Butker continued—whilst choking up, I might add—saying, “I’m beyond blessed with the many talents God has given me, but it cannot be overstated that all my success is made possible because a girl I met in band class back in middle school would convert to the faith, become my wife, and embrace one of the most important titles of all: homemaker.” Not to be dramatic, but I’d rather be dead than hear that my entire existence was reduced to the key that unlocked a man’s potential. Considering the school’s tenets and reputation, Butker’s remarks were not particularly surprising, and it wasn’t like he was booed off the stage. Regardless, I’m not a praying person, but I am most certainly having a word with the big they upstairs about this man’s downfall before bed tonight.

[premamelody]

funky

imma add to this more later but essentially murder drones but what if it was indie rpg insteaddd.

earthbound was cycling in my mind recently so i thought of rpgs inspired by it and was like "hey md can kinda be a fire jrpg in that."

boom. you can technically call it md but eb bc thats what i was kinda thinking the entire time but eh.

ofc the mc has to have a bat. its law. dw thats not the main reason, i feel like she'd have that chilling around. also stains from working with stuff on her shirt from like oil or dust or smth. btw yeah she still has her jacket but only puts it on to leave, i'll design that at some point. also scene x punk x emo bc woohooo wooohoo woohooooooooo. i considered adding cybergoth but i think i honestly forgot.

but for n i thought it would be funny if like. all the mds were like. interns or smth. "murder interns murder interns!!" type of thing. like thats the lie they're told is that they're just new members of jcjenson sent to copper 9 to rid of drones and that they'll one day be able to have a position (lies). so under their coats are just basic business outfit wear. i probably will barely change j considering she already fits this. so n just has like a generic polo shirt with khakis (yes i looked this up) underneath i thought that would be so funny.

but yeah the story doesn't really change toooo much. well the general plot, the scenery and bg lore of the life on copper 9 may or may not be different >:3. what i gotta have enemies that aren't just mds somehow. i think i have planned that the absolutesolver on their previous arrival screwed around and made many life that was killed by the core explosion come back to life in a sense as like zombies or smth. mother 1 core.

also take neon lime hair uzi. it was the fill color i used before giving it the actual color but i kinda like it. i think uzi will kill it in green hair maybe with a black fade at the top :333

[spartanguard]

an important date

it's Friday and it's Colin's birthday....I had to do something!! Just a bit of a post-canon Captain Charming scene, inspired by this prompt: "We both meet at the bar at a birthday party but we don’t even know who’s birthday it is. I think it’s yours, you think it’s mine." 1.1k, rated T | AO3

The Rabbit Hole was…well, the Rabbit Hole—its usual divy self. It wasn’t where Killian would typically expect to find David, least of all on the prince’s birthday.

At least—he thought that’s what Emma had said? She’d all but shoved him out of the station that evening, with the direction to meet her father here for a “birthday drink”. Of the birth dates he’d memorized (and would never forget—Emma’s, Henry’s, Hope’s), he realized he was severely lacking when it came to his in-laws.

But perhaps David’s would be easier to remember, given its proximity to his own. Or, rather, when he thought his own was; the actual date was long since lost to time, realm travel, and changing calendars, and it had been centuries since he’d actually done anything to mark the date, but he remembered it being in spring. 

Really the only fond memory he had of the day was picking fresh wildflowers with his mother, the light scent filling their small house, and the sweet taste of the modest cake she’d baked. When the hyacinth began to bloom in Storybrooke, he was always taken back to that day, and generally used that milestone to mark the passing of his years—but he’d lived enough of them that he needed no extra celebration or recognition.

As it was, the first shoots of spring had only just begun to emerge, so by his math, that put David’s birthday—or whatever today was—a few weeks ahead of his own. Good to know.

He scanned the bar for his mate—squinting a bit harder than he’d like to admit in the dim light (further evidence of the passage of time, he presumed)—almost missing him at the far end of the counter, until David waved at him.

“Evening, mate,” he greeted as he slid onto the barstool next to his father-in-law. “Not your typical scene, eh?” he added, nodding towards the rest of the bar, where all manner of seedy goings-on (well, as much as ever happened in Storybrooke) were happening—things the deputy sheriff should probably be concerned with, but he was off the clock (and had no room to talk).

David shrugged. “I’ve been known to pass the occasional night here—cursed and not cursed. Having royalty around seems to keep things calm.”

“Aye, but you’ve never been here with a pirate,” he winked back, even if it had been ages since he’d anything resembling a rowdy night. The most exciting his had been lately were the times that they managed to get a teething Hope down early enough to squeeze in some intimacy, but he wasn’t going to admit that to Emma’s father.

“No,” David agreed. “But I figured I could manage for one night. To mark the occasion and all.”

“Aye; it does warrant that. My apologies for not knowing the date sooner—happy birthday, Dave.”

But instead of the customary thanks, David just tilted his head at him, brow furrowed in confusion. “Huh?”

Bloody hell—had he misheard Emma? “We’re here to celebrate your day of birth, are we not?”

“No; my birthday is in July—so now I kind of am offended,” David replied, though his tone was light. “Wait—did Emma not tell you?”

“She told me to meet you here for a birthday drink—I assumed that meant it was yours.”

“No, man—it’s yours.”

“Come again?” He’d never so much as commented to anyone, including Emma, the whereabouts of birth date; so how would either of them, least of all David, have known?

David explained, “Remember near the end of her pregnancy, when her magic was kind of overpowered and she was trying to release it?” How could Killian forget? He spent a whole week with blue hair, and trying to keep Pop-Tarts from flying around the house. “Apparently during that, she was trying out a bunch of easy, informational spells; there was one about revealing birthdates. Turned out mine was off by a couple of days. But yeah, she did yours, too; she never mentioned it?”

Killian was momentarily speechless. Not out of betrayal or anything—things were rather chaotic leading up to Hope’s birth, so he didn’t blame Emma for letting it slip her mind—but moreso that it had been able to be determined.

And, despite the last several years being filled with things such as True Love, marriages, and more family than he’d ever imagined having, he was still touched by the idea that anyone cared enough about him to know the date he’d entered this world (or whichever world it was)—and even more that they wanted to acknowledge it. 

“Uh, no,” he said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. “I seem to recall her pregnancy brain was pretty bad then,” he quipped, hoping to lighten the moment. “So—really? Today?”

“Today,” David confirmed. Killian thought back to the wildflowers—then recalled that he grew up in a far warmer climate than Maine’s, perhaps the reason for his miscalculation.

(Also: he now understood why Emma had woken him with morning sex that day. That was never something he’d question, though—and also something he wouldn’t dare mention in present company.)

The barkeep then set two glasses of amber liquid in front of David. He slid one across the worn wood to Killian, then raised his own. “Happy birthday, Killian. To the best son-in-law—best friend—a man could ask for.”

Killian clinked his glass against David’s and quickly took a sip, hoping it might wash down the lump that had formed in his throat. Alas, it didn’t—but at least it was there with good reason. “Thank you, mate; and, uh, the feeling is mutual.” It wasn’t often words escaped him, so hopefully his father-in-law picked up on the weight of the emotion in his voice; he tried to find David’s eyes, but was overcome with an odd bashfulness he hadn’t felt since youth.

David just gave a gentle chuckle and a solid, brotherly thump on the shoulder, before attempting to down his own shot of rum—which brought on laughter of a different kind, but it broke the bit of tension. 

They shared another drink after (whiskey; far more palatable to the prince), before leaving to their respective princesses—and sharing perhaps a stronger embrace than Killian had originally intended, but it was certainly called for. 

As sweet as his memories from childhood were, it was nice to add this one to the collection of birthday remembrances—the first in so long. (And, as he eventually found, not the last—not by a long shot—in the many years to come.)

(However, he still refused, in all those celebrations, to tell David the way Emma preferred to mark the occasion.)

-----------------------------💙💙-------------------------------

[thanks for reading, and happy Captain Charming Friday! tags below cut]

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[harunayuuka2060]

Crowley: Did you do something outrageous outside of campus?!

MC: Outrageous~? *giggles* I don't know what you're talking about, Birdman~.

Crowley: ...

Crowley: Well, I have received a complaint from Mrs. Rosehearts. She was very displeased with your behavior.

MC: Ooh~ Is my behavior her only problem~?

Crowley: Please take this seriously.

MC: *giggles*

Professor Trein: If she didn't say specifically what was her problem with them, then we wouldn't be able to resolve it.

Crowley: She was livid. So, I couldn't help but ignore most of the things she was saying.

Professor Trein: ...

MC: That's bad, Birdman~. Even if your ears bleed, you shouldn't ignore a woman~.

Crowley: Then please take this matter seriously! Whatever it is!

Trey: It seems like your mother hasn't moved on yet from last time.

Riddle: Huh?

Trey: She's coming here to NRC to have a word with MC.

Riddle: What?!

MC: Hello, Mama~.

Ramshackle students: Welcome, Mrs. Rosehearts.

Riddle's mom: *looks angry*

MC: Why don't you take a seat first~?

Riddle's mom: I'm here to warn you. Do you know who I am?

MC: Yes~. You're my future mother-in-law~.

Riddle's mom: No!

Ramshackle students: ...

Grim: *is frowning but chooses to stay quiet*

MC: Eh~? *acts surprised* *giggles* I can't be more casual than that, Mama~. Riddle will kill me if we treat each other like buddies~.

Riddle's mom: You... You keep on insulting me.

MC: *smirks*

Crowley: What?! They're fighting?!

Epel: Yes, headmage! We need you to stop them before one of them gets hurt!

Riddle's mom: You'll regret ever approaching my son.

MC: *giggles* What if I won't~?

Riddle's mom: *ready to cast her spell*

Riddle: Senpai!

MC: Hm~? *beams* Riddle~!

Riddle: Mother! Stop this!

Riddle's mom: QUIET, RIDDLE! I WILL TEACH THIS IDIOT A LESSON!

Riddle: ...

Riddle: Senpai! Please! Go easy on her!

MC: Eh~. *pouts* Since you ask~. Looks like I can only use this then~.

Ramshackle students: Huh? Are they going to use their signature spell?

MC: *smiles mischievously*

Riddle: Signature- SENPAI! I TOLD YOU TO GO EASY ON HER!

MC: This is not lethal~. She'll be fine~.

Riddle: Senpai-

MC: The animosity within your heart, the shadows lingering in your soul.

MC: Experience the essence of your own darkness. Embrace yourself.

MC: This is no mere dream.

Riddle's mom: !!!

Crowley: Please accept our apology, Mrs. Rosehearts!

Riddle's mom: ...

Riddle's mom: I've been such a terrible mom to Riddle... *starts crying*

Crowley: Mrs... Rosehearts?

Riddle's mom: *wouldn't stop crying while mumbling other things*

Professor Trein: ...

Professor Trein: What did you do to her?

MC: I had set her up a meeting with her demons~. *smiling*

[fluffypotatey]

"I am the 10th King, Prince Consort of Jisai, the Nine-Headed Demon, Xiangliu, The Emissary- Eh, the list goes on. The name's not really important." His design is also inspired by Jiu Feng, so classic lore mixing in LMK. Anyways, it's that Prince Consort- part, as the Nine-Headed Beast is the ONLY part of JTTW to tie him to Wukong lol. Here's that segment from the Wiki.

"The Wansheng Dragon King (萬聖龍王) is based in Emerald Waves Lake (碧波潭), Rocky Mountain (亂石山), Kingdom of Jisai (祭賽國). He marries his daughter, Wansheng Princess, to the Nine-Headed Beast. He plots with his son-in-law to steal a Śarīra from the pagoda in Golden Ray Monastery (金光寺) in Jisai and release a rain of blood in the kingdom. Without the Śarīra, the pagoda loses its magical shine, and the king perceives the blood rain as an ill omen. He believes that the monks in the monastery are responsible for stealing the Śarīra and starts persecuting them. Sun Wukong uncovers the truth when he and his companions arrive in Jisai. The dragon king and his family are eventually killed by Sun Wukong and Zhu Bajie. The Śarīra is returned to the pagoda.

The Wansheng Princess (萬聖公主) is Wansheng Dragon King's daughter and the Nine-Headed Beast's wife. She stole the Nine Leaves Lingzhi Herb (九葉靈芝草) from the Queen Mother of the West. She is slain by Zhu Bajie.

The Nine-Headed Beast (九頭蟲), also known as the Nine-Headed Prince Consort (九頭駙馬), is married to Wansheng Dragon King's daughter. He is armed with a Crescent Moon Spade. (月牙鏟). He collaborates with his father-in-law to steal the Śarīra from Golden Ray Monastery. Sun Wukong enlists the help of celestial forces to deal with the demons. The Nine-Headed Beast has one of his heads bitten off by Erlang Shen's celestial hound but manages to escape."

oh my god i missed the Prince Consort part 🙈 that’s embarrassing

but that does make me wonder…..since he is included in jttw and Wukong did meet him during the journey….did Wukong, like, run into so many enemies that he basically cannot remember them all?????

imagine, you have a chapter for yourself in the legendary Journey to the West, and Wukong fucking forgot who you are 🤭

embARRASSING