thirdemeritus

[thirdemeritus]

I often consider returning to this blog. I still write Terzo often, just not here. I don't know if there's anything to return to? I do miss writing on Tumblr.

[thirdemeritus]

𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐩𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭 & 𝐒𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞, 𝐑𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐓𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐫 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐎𝐮𝐭𝐥𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬. 𝐖𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐲 𝐁𝐞𝐧. 𝐂𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐚𝐠𝐞𝐝.

[thirdemeritus]

love the idea that terzo's ghouls died with him, or got tossed back into the Pit... but what if they turned into pillars of salt

[thirdemeritus]

Send "Your beauty never ever scared me" to my muse when they're in a moment of insecurity.

[thirdemeritus]

STATISTICAL  CHARACTER  PERSONALITY TEST.  

take  the  linked  quiz  from  the  perspective  of  your  character,  then  select  5 - 10  results  from  the  complete  matches  list  that  you  feel  resonate  with  your  character  the  most.

Oberyn Martell (Game of Thrones): 92% Lucifer Morningstar (Lucifer): 92% Mia Wallace (Pulp Fiction): 90% Jay Gatsby (The Great Gatsby): 89% Mercutio (Romeo and Juliet): 87% Ferris Beller (Ferris Bueller's Day Off): 86% Simba (The Lion King): 82% Odysseus (The Odyssey): 78% Freddie Lounds (Hannibal): 72% Thomas Barrow (Downton Abbey): 62%

Tagging: @vampyrra , @vialaviolenza

[thirdemeritus]

Pity is one of the most difficult of the many pills his hostess insist he take. Aurelio detests it. In fact, boy or man, he has striven to combat looks such as these, stretching himself thin⸺pushing mind, body, and soul to the limits of his talents in order to avoid the sentence. And sentence it was...to be pitied spreads a sickness through his abdomen, a dry retch that only tempts him into equally pitiful behavior. It is the antithesis to pride, a value on which his bloodline is built. That illness mixes low in his belly now, swirling with hunger and desire⸺a dangerous combination.

Why must he walk the tightrope of pity and depravity? Starvation and the taking of life he does not desire? In the end, he harbors a resentment, as if the woman before him had somehow thrust these conditions upon him. In reality, she has not. He resents this too. There is no one tangible to blame. Another pill to swallow.

A flash of the disgust he feels runs across his gaunt but still undeniably handsome features. He makes no motion to answer her observations just as he makes no attempt to hide his arousal, hands now placed resolutely behind his back. His eyes, however, are far less restrained, continuing to take her in. From the curve of her hip to her supple breasts, and down further to her center, glistening with her efforts. Sin, lode a satana, creeps into life. The life of the undead being no exception.

Slowly, he forces his gaze to meet hers as she slides from her bed and approaches. What does he find there, in her eyes? Lust, apprehension, curiosity, and a daring that he has seen her display often, especially when hunting. Now, it's directed towards him. It is tempting to buckle under the pressure of it, his weakened state doing him no favors.

As if she sensed his need for stability, his hands are taken. Once her intentions are clear, the young man wastes no time in placing his palms against her waist, immediately rubbing a thumb over her skin. The softest marble.

He had thought of her this way before in the privacy of solitude and the occasional moments of silence between them...but never had he intended to act on these fantasies. "I've wanted to touch you from nearly the moment we met." His own bravado would come as a shock, even to himself, if his answer wasn't simply the truth. A moment of vulnerability. Why should he not give her a piece of his soul? Has she not earned it?

With this thought, Terzo leans closer, hands traveling easily up to her breasts, cupping them with intention as he moves to guide them both back to the comfort of her bed. "⸺Who am I to steal a moment of your peace without amends, Verona?"

The fire within his belly flickers with white hot flame as he takes a moment of control, his desire dangerously close to burning entirely out of control. There was a time when such a sensation may have been uncomfortable, undesirable, or even frightening. Now, he embraces it, prepared to plunge himself into the unknown. It is a feeling of desperation.

he had meant to feed while he was away. verona, astute as ever, noticed how sunken his features looked. how frighteningly sickening the paleness of his skin dulled to. aurelio was so soft-hearted yet so infuriatingly stubborn. despite his insistence that he is “fine”, she all but pushed him out of the house. cooping himself up was making him miserable, just as much as the life outside taunted his lack of mortality.

vampiress is just as taunted by their cage, far too restraining with very little to move about. it would make her skin prickle with hives if her body allowed it. despite it, she manages to save face. if it were under normal circumstances, verona wouldn’t hesitate to bring prey home. so much more manageable and easier to clean. terzo’s presence, however, hinders her ( she’s growing frustrated not knowing why ). she takes these frustrations in to her own hands and closes her bedroom door behind her - blissfully unaware that he’s returned home not too far after.

it was almost as if the fledgling forgets that sire can feel his presence without needing to see him yet she makes no effort to expose his voyeurism. the pull of her blood in his veins pounding in her ears as she chases momentary pleasure. his hunger bleeds just a heavily into her own. the fingers between her legs set a more vigorous and satisfying pace. a moan leaves her throat in a shudder. it’s obscenely intimate, almost an invasion into his private feelings.

verona peers at him from her sheets with thinned lips, her body screaming at her ruined orgasm. she flashes an most pitying look at terzo. she fears if she touched him, he’d snap like a rubber band. demoness sighs as she sits herself up, fingers wiping away the evidence of her pleasure. hands reach for her discarded silk robe. “and you look hungry,” she teases him, “in more ways than one.” her eyes lower from his to take notice of the noticeable bulge in his trousers. the vampire moves off her bed, feeling only a slight hint of apprehension. what would crossing their otherwise platonic relationship do? luckily ( or unluckily ) verona does not back down. not to anyone and certainly not to herself.

“i’m not going to punish you, aurelio,” verona says almost delicately, “you’re a grown man with good taste.” she humors him to diffuse his tautness. she reaches for his hands and guides them to hover over her full hips. leaving her movements open enough in case he refuses, signaling that his denial won’t be punished either. demoness doesn’t think too deeply - won’t think about consequences when he’s standing right there. her lips part with unconscious slight trepidation; the sentence worming it’s way from the heat of her belly.

“do you want to touch me?”

[thirdemeritus]

Nocturnal Me

[thirdemeritus]

I lived bitch.

[thirdemeritus]

vileincarnations·:

Azoth cautions him with a paternal look: staring up through his masculine brows, hands astride his hips. “You know what they’ll do.” No one at The Ministry was invulnerable, no one untouchable, not even their pontiff; his fratelli maggiori had been subject to the most damning disciplinary action of all: deposition. But there were only so many scions of the Emeritus bloodline, and only so many times they could be supplanted without dissolving a centuries long dynasty. Perhaps that was her plan. He bides his time, dismantling his son’s papal robes layer by layer: his chasuble, his silk stole, his cincture, his alb, and his amice; treating each layer with due reverence, an inverted Latin invocation spoken over each garment as they’re folded away. Stripped down to only his civvies, this is Aurelio at his most raw, disarmed of all the pomp and pageantry, this is who he desires to speak to, not the pontiff.

«Mal comune, mezzo guadio,» the Italian adage limps from his lips rather than leaps from his tongue, his tone is pensive and his smile pinched. “She and her colleagues are still beholden to your father,” Azoth says in lieu of reassurance — but that’s half the problem. Spineless as he is smitten with the wicked woman, he’s only become more ineffectual in his old age. “Displeased…” Azoth echoes, he had sensed as much at their last summoning, and he wonders is perhaps his consternation has bled across their bond — he reflects on the early days of their transcendental relationship, when the boys temper tantrums used to eat up his patience, and when his work weariness used to send them to sleep. “She’s wasting her energy. You won a Grammy, Aurelio. You’re the most successful Papa to date,” if you were measuring by modern accolades. “Certainly the most successful of your family to front the band.”

Rallying a breath, Azoth is poised to speak again, then thinks better of it. He needs to be the parent, the professional, to rise above petty grievances ( not that the execution of the boy’s biological mother was a petty grievance per se ), not project them onto his son. Resentment was poison, and he refused to continue the cycle by subjecting him to the same negative feelings; between Ben, Vittorio and Armando, there was enough bitterness in the family. “No. Someone has to be the adult in this family,” under his breath, he scolds himself. “I don’t mean to ply you with platitudes. Do you want to talk about it?” Setting the stack of clothes down in his lap and seating himself once more, Azoth offers his ears to the lad, both of them twitching playfully. “I am all ears.”

                Carefully,  the  pontiff  absorbs  the  words  of  the  voice  he’d  always  known  to  ring  true,  weighing  them  all  the  same.  Yes,  he  supposes  they’d  cast  him  away  into  shame  with  his  elders.  Terzo  lifts  his  arms,  cooperating  with  his  surrogate  father  as  he  takes  away  that  which  both  lifts  him  above  the  rest  and  casts  him  into  doubt,  nearly  laughing  at  the  thought.  The  thought  of  the  papacy  being  torn  from  his  grasp  causes  his  stomach  to  turn,  a  vertigo  in  the  dark...but  it  also  promises  freedom.

“Yes,  he’s  always  been  a  beacon  of  hope.”  Aurelio  prefers  not  to  speak  his  father’s  name,  dismissing  his  involvement  with  a  wave  of  his  hand  and  a  flicker  of  contempt  behind  tired  eyes.  “—And  does  he  think  it’s  enough?  Benjamin.”  He  clarifies,  turning  away  from  the  ghoul  as  soon  as  his  ritualistic  murmurs  fade  into  the  stale  air,  his  back  facing  the  room.  The  third  fiddles  with  his  ring,  the  last  piece  of  regalia  clinging  to  his  body,  running  his  fingers  over  the  golden  ridges.  “The  last  time  we  spoke,  he  seemed  to  have  the  idea  that  I  —  how  do  I  say?”  With  severity,  the  pope  turns  to  face  Azoth  once  more,  spinning  on  his  heel.  “  —Have  made  the  band  too  soft,  that  I  have  taken  the  rock  out  of  the  roll... qualcosa  di  fottutamente  stupido  come  questo...”  Aurelio  trails  off,  shaking  his  head  mildly.  

                                Often,  he  wonders  what  it  will  take  to  make  the  beast  before  him  let  it  all  out.  He  senses  his  turmoil,  feels  it,  of  course.  Something  tells  him  he  doesn’t  want  to  live  to  see  that  day.  

“There  was  a  time  I  could  call  you  Father.”  He  poses  this  as  a  question,  rocking  on  his  shoes.  “When  Vitto  and  Armando  confided  in  you....she’s  taking  it  from  us,  Azoth.  She’s  squeezing  the  life  out  of  this  congregation  and  I  would  rather  die  than  see  it  all  crumble.”  Matter  of  fact  and  level  headed,  the  third  stares  the  creature  down,  waiting  for  some  sort  of  argument,  a  scolding....something  to  soothe  or  dissuade.  

[thirdemeritus]

dust in the wind

[thirdemeritus]

not spacing generator removing the color text option...wtf

[thirdemeritus]

relicrots​:

The  faintest  exhale  of  displeasure  escapes  the  Cardinal  while  the  urge  to  roll  his  eyes  is  strong,  to  snuff  such  temptation  out  he  commits  to  closing  them  while  taking  a  lengthy  sip  of  his  coffee.  There  were  MANY  reasons  why  he  wouldn’t  listen  to  Terzo,  one  being  that  he  was  constant  with  leaking  certainty  despite  his  situation.  .  .and  then  the  glamour  that  encompassed  him  in  entirety,  to  have  such  love  at  one’s  doorstep.  What  had  it  been  like  to  be  adored?  To  be  sought  after?  The  Cardinal  hopes  one  day  to  witness  it.  .  .but  until  then.  .  .

Ghastly  oculars  open  halfway  as  the  coffee  is  pulled  from  his  lips,  ❝  Well,  Papa.  .  .Mistakes  build  character,  si?  ❞  Lips  curl  as  he  lifts  his  mug  in  an  underhanded  jest  for  such  a  question.  ❝  Failure  is  just  a  bump  in  the  rug  and  even  then,  I  rarely  trip⸺sometimes,  I  believe  my  lack  of  people  skills  helps  me  think  more  clearly,  and  well.  .  .I  trust  myself.  ❞  There’s  intention  to  derail  the  conversation  as  he  takes  a  few  steps  closer  to  the  Papa.

Only  when  Aurelio  shifts  his  attention  to  the  window  do  Copia’s  eyes  trail  the  Third’s  body  before  quickly  breaking  away  with  a  deep  breath.  Once  the  Papa  glances  back  at  him,  his  eyes  snap  to  meet  the  gaze  with  a  lifted  brow  as  he  swallows  hard.  The  'behavior’  he  witnesses  from  Aurelio  makes  him.  .  .feel  STRANGE,  hell.  .  .Everything  about  the  tour  made  him  feel  STRANGE.  If  only  he  could  be  tucked  up  at  HOME,  away  from  all  of.  .  .whatever  THIS  was.  Light  rose  finds  his  features  as  brows  furrow⸺was  he  being  TOYED  with  ?  Left  to  entertain  the  brat  that  was  Aurelio  Emertius  ?  Perhaps  a  reality  check  may  shut  the  Third  up.  .  .Hopefully.

❝  You’re  correct,  I  haven’t.  It’s  been  intentional,  Papa.  ❞  A  subtle  nod  paired  with  a  gentle  shrug  of  his  shoulders.  ❝  YOU  have  desired  for  me  to  speak  my  mind  so.  .  .Lets  us  not  be  strangers  about  this,  and  uh.  .  .forgive  me  if  I  speak  of  turn.  ❞  The  coffee  cup  is  abandoned  as  the  Cardinal  finally  takes  a  seat  next  to  the  third  Emeritus  son,  his  gloved  hands  resting  against  his  knees,  pushing  down  to  stop  him  from  bouncing  his  leg.  ❝  I  respect  you.  .  .but  I  have  seen  the  worst  the  Ministry  has  had  to  offer.  .  .Horrible  things  that  you  haven’t  had  to  witness  because  you.  .  .❞  His  brows  furrow,  his  heart  pounding  as  his  gaze  lingers  on  the  faux  wooden  floor  of  the  tour  bus.  ❝  Are.  blessed.  I  don’t  think  you  can  offer  me  assistance  with  the  challenges  I  face.  You  haven’t  experienced  them  firsthand  like  I  have.  .  .I’m  sorry  if  that  comes  across  as  harsh,  Papa..  but  you  must  understand  that  my  future  depends  on  working  three  times  as  hard  for  an  ounce  of  what  you  have.  ❞

The styrofoam cup raises to his lips, the combination of the liquid scorching his sensitive tongue along with Copia’s amusing comment on his stability causing Papa to lean forwards, licking his lips to prevent a drop from spilling. This display is followed up by a muffled cough, eyes searching for the Cardinal’s incredulously, collecting himself before swallowing his drink. Rarely trip? Satanas, the man fumbles over his own feet. 

“Oh please, Cardinal.” His throat freshly burned, he begs him to be sensible before waving his own words away, allowing the clergyman to continue.

Naturally, his habit of hiding away is intentional...but it seems comfortable for the man as well. Comfort is the enemy of improvement, is it not....? And the Cardinal is certainly striving for something greater, is he not? Aurelio will drag him out of his nest of tradition and into the wide open world kicking and screaming if he must. A challenge, and what will the reward be, he wonders?

Slowly, the third turns his torso to meet Copia’s approach, watching with mild interest as he fiddles. Respect, ah...this is going to be delightfully cutting. “Well, Cardinale, it seems you’ve discovered one of the many delights of tour life.” Another sip of his coffee is had before also putting the cup aside in favor of the conversation at hand. “You and I both know I wouldn’t stand for this within the walls of the ministry. What a terrible example you would have been, Copia.” Again, he mock chides. “And what an example you would be made of, si?” Terzo smiles faintly, a smugness overtaking his handsome features as he leans forwards, once again closing the distance between he and his subordinate. “You think I’m a spoiled brat, mio amico...” His breath tickles the man’s sideburns as he continues, cocking his head, still holding Copia’s mismatched attention. “As for respect...I respect you far more, Copia, when you’re honest with me...” A small hum, “No matter how bitchy that truth of yours may be.”

A clatter of thunder and the third leans back in his seat, once again turning to the storm raging on outside. “We all have our problems, Cardinal. Some bigger than others, yes...but lofty all the same.” Silence. “What would you have me do? You have more than earned a simple request. What do you want, hm?”

[thirdemeritus]

Papa Emeritus III

[thirdemeritus]

The  scourge  settles  at  his  side,  swinging  violently  with  the  aftershock  of  a  cutting  blow,  wet  with  sweat  and  blood  of  Brother  Profano.  Papa  stands  back,  watching  as  new  wounds  between  the  man’s  shoulder  blades  open  and  weep,  a  piece  of  art  accompanied  by  a  lewd  symphony  of  whimpers  and  moans.  Moments  ago,  the  younger  man  would  tense  despite  himself,  muscles  tightening  in  anticipation  of  the  next  blow.  Now,  he  hangs  limp.  Broken…yet  satisfied.  The  man’s  desire  for  pain  should  not  disgust  him.  In  fact,  he  should  be  praised  for  his  display  of  unapologetic  lust,  should  he  not?  Yet,  Terzo’s  chest  heaves,  mouth  pulled  into  a  tight  frown.  How  much  would  it  take,  hm?  How  much  skin  must  be  torn  from  the  young  man’s  back  before  he  begs  in  earnest?  With  that  thought,  the  scourge  is  tossed  to  the  floor.  

                        “My  mercy?”  He  laughs  bitterly,  speaking  for  the  first  time  in  minutes,  remaining  mostly  silent  throughout  the  duration  of  the  clergyman’s  punishment.  Of  course,  he  had  planned  to  lecture,  but  he  found  himself  transfixed  by  each  twitch  of  the  hips…each  whine.  

Papa  Emeritus  the  third  rounds  the  device,  eyes  roaming  over  an  immaculate  chest,  beads  of  sweat  trickling  down  to  his  arousal.  Silently,  he  approaches,  fingers  careful  NOT  to  touch  as  he  removes  the  blindfold  from  Profano’s  brow.  “Cosa  devo  fare  con  te?”  Papa  allows  the  question  to  hang  in  the  damp  air  painfully,  stretching  the  silence.  Perhaps  a  lack  of  attention  will  encourage  the  brother  of  sin  to  behave…hm?

“If  I  do  not  see  your  smug  expression  in  the  front  pew  next  week….”  As  he  attempts  to  come  up  with  a  proper  threat,  his  venom  evaporates,  a  sigh  replacing  any  thought  of  punishment.  Papa  leans  his  forehead  against  the  man’s  chest,  sinking  slowly  to  his  knees.  “You  have  exhausted  your  Papa,  you  see?”  The  third  chuckles  lowly  at  himself,  one  hand  following  his  fall,  trailing  downwards  over  the  younger  man’s  stomach.  “That  is  no  easy  task.”  His  breath  whispers  against  Profano’s  cock,  expression  pensive.  

“Do  you  misbehave  to  attract  my  attention,  Narciso?”  Lazily,  Papa  lists  forwards,  patiently  engulfing  his  swollen  length,  feeling  a  twitch  at  his  throat.  Wettly,  Terzo  works  his  way  over  the  clergyman’s  shaft,  pulling  backwards  with  a  smack  of  his  lips.  “That  may  be  how  you  got  Mommy  and  Daddy’s  attention  but  you  will  learn  to  behave  here…is  that  clear?”  Aurelio  finishes  smoothly,  licking  his  lips  and  looking  up  through  his  lashes.

[  WHIP  ] for Profano! Perhaps he's misbehaved???

For 𝔑𝔞𝔯𝔠𝔦𝔰𝔬 𝔄𝔠𝔠𝔲𝔰𝔞𝔱𝔬 / 𝔉𝔯𝔞𝔱𝔢𝔩𝔩𝔬 𝔓𝔯𝔬𝔣𝔞𝔫𝔬 ;

Every inch of Narciso's body is quivering and licked with a silvery sheen of sweat, his calves, back and buttocks are bedecked with crimson lacerations, and his heart thrashes like a trapped hummingbird in the hollow of his chest, if it were not for the glinting gold manacles and the yew cross he was yoked to ( with its violet covering and velvet upholstery ) he would have collapsed by now. His body is hypersensitised after a rally of lashes from his Papa's unhallowed hand, and his neglected cock ( pulsing, pleading, purpling with the need to cum ) is seeping a steady stream of pre-ejaculate, soiling his navel and the bespoke bondage device in the process. Suspended by slack arms ( cuffs and clasps chaffing against bruised wrists ), unsupported by buckled legs, he sobs out in excess: the sheer sensation of beads of sweat rupturing from his pores, of blood beading around his incised flesh, and the glacial kiss of cool air in the draughty chapel -- is too sharp, too bright, but he endures: staunch in his faith, steadfast in his trust.

The respite in necessary, but the reprieve is torture. Gulping in air with frantic gasps and gluttonous, guttural moans, no one would suspect he had subjected himself to this agony; that his weeping and wailing is not in pain, but in pleasure, that he gorges himself on sensation, prides himself on his ability to endure, preens like a peacock under such close scrutiny. Attention ( affection by any other name ) is his choice intoxicant, superior to the sedation of any alcoholic beverage, and a brighter buzz than any stimulant: ingested, inhaled or injected. Still reeling, his ragged gasps seem to be suspended in the air, a surreal echo blanketing the nave, whether a conjuration of the mind, or a condition of the ritual, he isn’t sure, but he donates his body willingly all the same. “Grazie, Papa,” he grovels. “Grazie, Vostra Impietà, per vostra misericordia.” And he grins a fucked-out-grin, blindfolded brown eyes misted with tears.

♡  SPICY  ACTION  PROMPTS  ; | no longer accepting.

[thirdemeritus]

Stefan Żechowski (Polish, 1912-1984) 

[thirdemeritus]

forgive me father for i have sinned in all the most intricate, exquisite and aesthetically pleasing ways i was capable of

[thirdemeritus]

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