#Like in my head he had to join the church before he was considered an adult
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Im making a separate post on it cause I don't want to make a long thread but this guy is so much fun to draw I had to keep going!!!
Just 'Baby Boy hiding those Brain Worms' to 'Whatever the Fuck this Dude has going on in his head I hope it's not infectious'
#hellsing#alexander anderson#I am having so much fun thinking about the sort of kid he was like when he first joined up#Like in my head he had to join the church before he was considered an adult#I know we have the Angel Dust backstory#which some people seem to like to use#but idk I just figure he's always had several screws loose and being with the church knocked them around in his head even more#making the same noise you'd get when you dangle keys in front of a baby#also I dont think he's always lived in Italy cause like the appeal of him getting to live in Glasgow is too much for me#also I you can tell I was rushing with the second drawing lol
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“Never took you to be the religious type, LT.”
Anyone else would have missed it, the barest flinch in the minute curling of Ghost’s fingers, in the harsh, unnatural blink he forces to recenter himself. But Soap isn’t anyone else, and knows exactly what that rare moment of Ghost being caught off guard looks like.
They’re in a church, still half-abandoned from the previous mass, still waiting on newcomers to trickle in for the next service; it’s the in-between, it’s purgatory, it’s the Father milling about in preparation while Ghost sits in the middle of everything, alone, hunched in a pew.
Soap was surprised to find him here. He himself rarely frequents church, not since enlisting. Today had been an exception for Soap—something inexplicable had drawn him in; a scratch at the back of his conscience, a prickle at the nape of his neck and trailing down his spine. Lured by nothing, only to discover his lieutenant has also been beckoned to this place of no movement, and little life.
Though, it’s more fair for him to be here—he lives in the city. Soap had been visiting his sister.
“I’m not,” Ghost says. His eyes keep strictly ahead, faced bathed in the dim light that penetrates stained glass windows. “Just paying my respects.”
To his credit, he never asks why Soap is also here. It’s more than possible he already knows.
“And who’s earned such an honour?”
Soap only catches a moment of a sidelong glance.
“Does it matter?”
Soap almost misses it, the quiet, “At least, anymore?”
“It matters as much as it means for you to be here,” Soap says slowly, testing. He’s never been permitted into the most personal of Ghost’s life, so he endeavours to tread lightly. Soap has long since learned the lieutenant has limits.
Ghost seems to consider his words, head inclining ever so slightly. A hum, low and nearly imperceptible in his throat. “I suppose.”
Soap hooks his foot under the kneeler attached to the pew just ahead, gently pulling it down before sinking to his knees. He rests his elbows on the backrest of that same pew, clasping his fingers together in a distantly familiar way he never expected to practice again. He can feel Ghost’s gaze burn holes in the back of his head.
“May as well pay my dues while I’m here,” Soap reasons.
Ghost scoffs. Yet all the same, he still joins Soap in prayer.
Soap never finds out who it’s intended for.
#simon ghost riley#john soap mactavish#ghost mw2#soap mw2#ghost x soap#soapghost#ghostsoap#ghoap#writing
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Naps With Copia
Chapter 6: A Much Needed Nap
Other Naps: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 7 / 8 / 9
For @papas-ghoulette 💙
Papa Emeritus IV x GN Reader
These are all stand alone chapters so you do not have to read one before the other! This series came from my post about wanting to nap with Copia all around the abbey. The stories will all have gender neutral readers and soft Copia naps.
Warnings: Reader has insomnia and Copia has the solution, sfw, 800 words (thank you to @gothdaddyissues for the dividers!)
It had been another long night.
Another night of tossing and turning, of too much thinking. On nights like that it was like your body just wouldn’t relax. It didn’t matter what you did to try to calm down, to try to relax, nothing ever worked. You were doomed to just lay there and watch the minutes pass, to watch the night become morning. To watch the sun start shining in through the windows to greet another day.
Another day of trying to function on no sleep.
You stared down at your desk once more but the numbers on the budget paperwork were uncooperative and blurry. With a groan you let your head drop onto the wood, trying to keep the frustrated tears at bay. It wasn’t even lunch yet, you had practically an entire day left and not a single thing done. And it wasn’t guaranteed you’d get any sleep tonight either. Sometimes your insomnia lasted a few days in a row before you finally could get any decent rest. You shook your head against the wood while you mumbled under your breath.
“This is awful.”
“The budget usually is.” With a startled gasp you sat up, blinking your eyes up at Papa as he stood in front of your desk. There was a soft smile on his face when he spoke again, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing Papa. I’m just tired.”
“Ah, well you’ll have to get a good night’s rest tonight then, eh?” You couldn’t help but snort, shaking your head and mumbling under your breath again. People always acted like sleeping was easy. “What did you say?”
“I said…I said ‘fat chance of that’. Papa.” You winced, afraid to look up at his face. It wasn’t a good idea to mouth off to the head of the church. A man you also considered to be a dear friend. “Copia, I’m sorry. I’m just tired. Very, very tired.”
He started to walk around your desk and you froze, worried he was actually mad at you. Instead he knelt down at your side, placing his hands on the arm of your chair while he looked up into your face.
“I’ve had many sleepless nights myself, I know how hard it can be.” Your eyes filled with tears at how compassionate he was. Copia smiled, reaching up to swipe a few of them off your cheek with his gloved hand. “You know what we’re going to do?”
“What?”
He grinned as he stood up, taking hold of your hands and pulling you out of your chair. You stumbled after him as he first went to your office door and flicked the lock before he led you over to the big couch at the side of the room. Copia cleared up the random books and paperwork you had haphazardly stacked there before he situated the throw pillows at one end.
“Take a nap with me.”
“Copia, no! There’s too much to do, the budget needs to be finalized this week or Sister Imperator will have my head.”
“Have you done anything with the budget today besides stare at it?” When you crossed your arms over your chest he nodded, stripping his jacket off and then slipping out of his shoes before he stretched out across the couch. “Come on, come on.”
You stared at him, your brain trying to catch up with the last few minutes. This was not how you expected your day to go but you were definitely not going to turn down a nap with Copia. Your shoes quickly joined his on the floor and you gently tucked yourself in next to him, your head finding a spot on his shoulder. Neither one of you spoke as you both got comfortable, settling in together as best you could on the old couch. A hint of his cologne touched your nose and it seemed all at once your body and mind relaxed. You practically melted against him and his arms became tighter around you in response.
Copia reached up and pulled at the blanket you had draped along the back, covering the both of you as best he could. The warmth of that and of his body relaxed you even further and soon you were struggling to keep your eyes open. You found yourself wanting to stay awake and revel in the feeling of being so close to him, of feeling how much he cared about you. Your voice was a little shaky when you spoke but you couldn’t stop yourself.
“Thank you, Copia.”
“No need to thank me, I could use one too.” He ran a hand up and down your back, the simple action the final puzzle piece for you to fall asleep. You felt a ghost of a kiss on your head before sleep finally, finally embraced you. “Rest now, for as long as you need.”
@ghuleh-recs your nap is next 😉
Other Naps: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 7 / 8 / 9
My Masterlist ~ My Archive of our Own ~ My Ko-Fi Tip Jar
#my fics#my writing#naps with copia#copia x reader#papa emeritus iv x reader#the band ghost fanfiction#ghost band fanfiction#copia fanfiction#papa emeritus iv fanfiction#papa emeritus x reader#reader insert#copia fanfic#the band ghost fanfic#tw insomnia
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Colson Whitehead on Making Novels Half-Asleep
I deleted my Substack because, you know, its founders are evil. But this post I wrote last October feels relevant for writers going into the New Year. If it's TLDR, skip down to the "What Meant Everything to Me" heading.
Writing with Chronic Fatigue
I went to the Brooklyn Book Festival last weekend! It was pure magic after so many years of being away from the English-speaking book world. I felt like someone on rations finally allowed to eat my fill, gulping down book panels and author talks.
Colson Whitehead Goes to Church
One of my favorite festival events was a talk with Colson Whitehead in the St. Ann and the Holy Trinity Church. I’m a big fan of hosting cultural events in places of worship.
Colson Whitehead imparted insights that felt like gospel for writers. For those unfamiliar, Whitehead has published nine novels, two nonfiction books, and won two Pulitzer prizes. His book The Underground Railroad is one of my favorites of all time.
But I did not always like Whitehead’s work. I first had to read his 2003 essay collection The Colossus of New York in university, and it struck me as self-obsessed, MFA-brand New York nonsense. Like, he romanticized Port Authority, the dirty hellhole bus station where, in 2003, I was an elementary schooler waiting nervously for buses that were always late while getting continuously harassed by grown-man casino gamblers dressed like lumberjacks.
I really hated Whitehead’s cheery romanticizations. I wouldn’t pick up another Whitehead book until 2017.
(^just an HD image of Colson Whitehead)
Add Whitehead to the list of authors who wrote some of my most detested 1-star reads before they published the 5-star books of my heart: NK Jemisin, Maggie Stiefvater, Jeff Vandermeer, Colson Whitehead—almost all of my favorite contemporary writers put out messy, uncompelling books before they entered the realm of the virtuoso.
“I wrote a book called The Intuitionist,” Whitehead said at the church, referring to his debut, “and everyone hated it. So I thought, ‘Okay, I need to do better next time.’”*
It was surreal to hear a writer speak with such open eyes about the trajectory of their own career. Like, I knew I hated Whitehead’s early work. I didn’t realize that he knew it, too.
(It’s worth mentioning that someone who came up to ask Whitehead a question during the Q&A said, “The Intuitionist is my favorite book of all time.”)
But that wasn’t the insight that meant the most to me.
Nothing Is a Joke
Whitehead made joke after joke about chronic fatigue. He never used the words “chronic fatigue”; he never referred to his own health. But he repeatedly described scenarios that resonated with me as someone who lives with fatigue and hypersomnia:
“I spend most of my day just sleeping,” he said. “I mean, coming out here [to the book event]? Really big deal for me. Glad I could make it.”
And everyone laughed, but I don’t think that’s the kind of joke you make unless you mean it. I don’t think it would even dawn on a non-fatigued individual to make it.
What Meant Everything to Me
When Whitehead described his writing process, he said he writes about eight pages a week.
Eight pages a week.
Estimating 250 words/page, that’s 2,000 words per week. Or as he said, “32 pages per month, 320 pages after ten months. I find it adds up.”
He writes, he said, about three days each week. So that’s a little over 600 words each time he sits down to write.
To put this into perspective: If I write fewer than 2,000 words in a single writing session, I don’t consider it to have been a proper session. In less than a month, hundreds of thousands of people will join in NaNoWriMo and try to write at least 1,666 words every day for a month straight.
We live in a world where writers are encouraged to crank it way, way up, sacrificing what writing actually is in an attempt to maximize monetization of a craft that is not easily monetized. Romance writers give advice online for how to write just one draft of a book, no revision needed. Self-publishing writers crank out novella after novella to feed to the Kindle Unlimited machine. Everyone wants to be done with their book in a month. Memes proliferate in which writers scold themselves for daydreaming, plotting, outlining—for doing anything at all that isn’t literal putting words to the page, as if those other things weren’t integral to novel-making.
I thought I was immune to that hustle-and-grind mindset, because I know what writing a book actually entails for me and I have no intention of cranking out a first-draft story for KDP.
But I had never once considered giving myself the patient grace that Colson Whitehead shows himself.
“I don’t push myself,” he said. “Writing is hard work. On days when I’m not up to it, I revise instead. Just tinker with my last paragraphs.”
He joked about how, during the pandemic, he had to write his novels while his young son was at home. Whitehead said he usually writes a paragraph or two, and then sleeps for a few hours.
Daddy, why are you always in the dark? his son asked during the lockdown.
It’s part of my process! he joked. But I think he also meant it.
Novel Advice
He’s not the first writer to give this advice; this isn’t the first time I’ve heard it. Maggie Stiefvater wrote her first book only on Wednesday evenings, raising her children and working the rest of the time. Terry Pratchett wrote 400 words each day before he became a full-time writer.
But these are stories of pre-success, the ways we need to struggle when our creative lives are stuffed into the spare corners of our weeks. And when your week doesn’t have spare corners because you’re barely trudging on as it is, that advice doesn’t feel encouraging.
But Colson Whitehead is already successful. And this is still how he allots his writing time: In low-pressure, long-term, sustainable accumulations.
2,000 words a week.
I’ve known for a long time that I can no longer wait for healthy, clearheaded days to write. I don’t have them anymore. But it sort of sounds like Colson Whitehead doesn’t have many of them to spare, either, and yet he wrote the most energetic Harlem heist book I could ever want (Harlem Shuffle). He wrote the most literary zombie apocalypse book imaginable (Zone One). He has an oeuvre that brought enough readers to fill church pews, the line to see him wrapping all around the block. And he built this work, according to him, in between long naps.
In fact, his writing style probably hinges on his method. He’d be writing very different kinds of books if he wrote quickly. His just-a-few-paragraphs-a-day approach*** is probably how he writes descriptions with so many precise details, like these images of a party-supply store after the apocalypse hits:
The unit had completed a sweep of a party-supply store, a narrow nook on Reade that had been washed off Broadway into a low-rent eddy. Dusty costumes hung from the ceiling as if on meat hooks: cowboys and robots from chart-busting sci-fi trilogies, ethnically obscure kiddie-show mascots, jungle beasts with long tails intended for the flirty tickling of faces. Kingdoms’ worth of princesses and their plastic accoutrements, stamped out on the royal assembly line, and the requisite Naughty Nurse suspended in the dead air, tilting in her rounds. Do Not Expose to Open Flame. For Amusement Only. The masks had been made in Korea, delivering back to the West the faces they had given the rest of the globe: presidents, screen stars, and mass murderers. The rubber filament inevitably snapped from the staple after five minutes. The graft wouldn’t take.
I used to imagine Colson Whitehead as just being so impossibly brilliant that he spit this stuff out on the fly, leagues beyond the rest of us mere mortals. Now I see it differently: It happened laboriously, made by a tired, human brain full of faith in its own accumulative productivity.
Going Forward
No more for me, I think, of harsh deadlines and crank-it-out word counts. Instead: I need to provide accommodations for my own writing life. I must consciously factor in my own fatigue and stop demanding that I strain myself in ways unsustainable for a long and fulfilling creative life. Instead: Crank it down. Way down. And take naps between the paragraphs.
2,000 words a week.
Thanks, Colson Whitehead, for being honest about the work. We need more of that in the book world.
----
*None of these quotes are verbatim, just based on memory.
**This is similar to how both Donna Tartt and Nabokov have described their own writing processes. Maybe we spend so much time screaming at new writers to “just write” that we don’t talk about how slowness and care may enhance the quality of our prose.
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the greatest
summary: cardinal copia becomes a father.
warnings: brief mention of suicide || wc: 8.3k
notes: reader is terzo's wife. i recommend checking out my other works to learn more about the (now expanding) family! message at the end as per usual, enjoy <3
“You’d be a good Papa.”
His niece’s kind words still echoed in his mind, even after nearly five years.
The Cardinal had wanted to become a father for quite some time now but wasn’t sure if he was fit for the job. He was a bit of a child, which could be considered a pro or a con; the upside being he was fun and pure-hearted, the downside that he could be a tad chaotic.
When Copia was summoned to Sister Imperator’s office, he assumed it was because he had forgotten to turn off the stove again or left the sink running, habits from his youth he was yet to abandon even as a middle-aged man. Bracing himself for another lecture, the Cardinal took a deep breath in and out before knocking three times on the sturdy oak door.
“Come in.” A hoarse voice rang from within the room.
Copia gently pushed the door open and entered the lavish office. Sister Imperator’s office couldn’t differ anymore from the Cardinal’s, sporting a classy yet minimalistic aesthetic decked in shades of brown and black. Meanwhile, Copia’s office had “Copia” written all over it in big cartoonish block letters, thanks to the dozens of figurines and comic books lining the shelves, as well as other dorky memorabilia. Sister Imperator sat behind her meticulously organized desk, her clasped hands resting on the polished wood.
“Hello, Sister.” Copia greeted the woman formally, bowing his head as he took a seat in the plush chair across from hers.
“Cardinal.” She returned the greeting with a brief nod, before instantly diving into her reason for his summoning. “Do you recall, a few years back, when a Sister of the Austrian chapter took her own life?” she inquired.
Of course he did, how could he not? It was a tragic day, each chapter holding its own memorial ceremony for the young woman.
“Oh. Sì, I do.” Copia answered, saddened at the remembrance of the event.
“Well, she had a son additionally, who had an absent father.”
Been there.
“They have done their best to take care of the boy since he was just a newborn- he’s resided in the church his whole life- but as he’s gotten older, they’ve decided it’s simply not fit for him to grow up without a permanent system of support.” She explained.
Copia suddenly became much more alert, his eyes widening and posture straightening. “You mean… a family?”
“C, if you’re interested…”
Sister Imperator noticed a longing in her son’s eyes that she had not seen in a long time- not since he was but a child brimming with curiosity, a subtle glow that surfaced only when he wanted something deeply, most of the time, an answer- but this time- it was more than curiosity, it was yearning. “Now would be the time.”
“Yes.” The Cardinal blurted out. “Yes.”
“The adoption process is not easy- let alone raising a child. This is a massive responsibility. Are you sure you can handle this on top of a Cardinal’s duties?” She cautioned him.
“Yes, Mother.” He reiterated.
She froze.
“I want this more than anything.” He pleaded.
“I will notify them of your consideration.” She nodded.
“Thank you. Thank you so much. Grazie. Grazie.” The Cardinal repeated like a mantra, placing his hands together as he bowed his head in gratitude.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Gently shutting the door to your son’s room, you walked down the hall and into the living space, pleasantly surprised to see your brother-in-law sitting in a lounge chair across from the couch. “Hi, Copia! What a nice surprise.” You greeted him with a smile. “Sorry, I just put Vinnie to bed. Am I allowed to join, or is this a brother talk?”
“Please, join us.” Copia gestured. “Is Violetta here?” he asked.
“Oh, she’s in her room. She’s not feeling very well tonight.”
“Oh, I am sorry to hear that, let her know I said hello.” Copia responded.
“Will do. So, what is going on?” Terzo asked, reaching to the coffee table in front of him and pouring his brother a glass of wine.
Copia took a deep breath in and began. “Sister Imperator called me into her office today and gave me some news.”
“News that..?”
You elbowed Terzo in response to his impatience. “Let the man speak!”
“Eh, do you remember when a woman of the Austrian chapter, um… She took her own life?”
“Johanna?” You asked.
“You knew her?”
“Not too personally, but yes. I met her years back when I studied briefly in Innsbruck. She was a lovely woman.” You recalled, sadness beginning to tug at your heart. “Sorry, continue.” You dismissed yourself, knowing if you continued, there would surely be a few tears.
“Oh, no, do not apologize. Please, continue, if you are comfortable.”
“Okay.” you sniffled, laughing nervously. “There’s not much else, it’s just- it was sad. My bad, go on.”
Your husband placed a loving hand over yours, a subtle way he reminded you that you were safe with him.
Copia nodded. “Well, she had a son, who has lived in the church his whole life. But, um, they are considering finding him a more traditional… family.” He explained.
“Here?” Terzo inquired.
“Si, ah… with me.”
“You are adopting him?”
“If everything goes according to plan, yes.” He replied slightly hesitantly.
“You’re gonna be a dad, Copia!” You nearly cried, your face lighting up with joy.
He laughed, a smile grazing his face at the idea. “Ah, well, we don’t know for sure yet. The process is a bit difficult. I fear it won’t work out.”
“Copia, you can’t mourn the loss of something that’s just beginning!” You encouraged him.
“Do you think Sister Imperator would ever propose such a thing to someone she didn’t trust could do it?” pointed out Terzo.
“That is a good point,” Copia replied. “I just… even if it works out… what if I am not… good?” He rambled anxiously.
“Not good? Our kids can’t get enough of you.” Terzo reassured his brother.
The Cardinal smiled at the thought of his niece and nephew.
“So what do you know about him?” You asked eagerly.
“Well, ah, that’s actually all I know… And that he’s four years old.”
“Oh my gosh! He’s the same age as Vinnie! It was meant to be!” You gushed, excitedly waving your hands. “Copia. I think it’s gonna happen. I really, really do.”
“Thank you, Y/N.” He expressed his gratitude with a heartfelt smile.
“Mommy?” You heard a voice squeak in the distance.
Turning around in your spot on the couch, a small figure stood down the hallway.
“Hi, Vinnie. What’s wrong?” You asked, a gentle tone adorning your voice. “Excuse me, I’ll be back.” You told your brother-in-law and husband as you rose to your son’s aid.
“Copia.” Terzo addressed his brother, his voice suddenly earnest.
“Yes?”
“When have I ever lied to you?”
Pondering the question and recalling no particular incident, he shrugged.
“Exactly. You can do this,” stated Terzo, his words few yet meaningful, clearly touching the heart of his beloved half-brother.
“Thank you, Terzo.”
Terzo smiled, his eyes conveying a depth of sincerity. “I mean it, fratello.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The Cardinal closed the door to his small abode and let out a hefty sigh. His expression softened a little as he caught sight of the large cage sitting on a table against the wall, inside containing two furry friends. Inside the enclosure stood a gray rat, once brown, perched on his hind feet and clutching onto the metal bars, eagerly waiting for his Papa’s return.
“Ciao, Bean.” Copia cooed, opening the drawer below his cage and opening their bag of food. “I’m guessing your brother is…” Copia scanned his eyes around the cage, his suspicions confirmed once he noticed Pesto’s nose peeking out from a small wooden hideout. “Ah, did I wake you up, my Bestie Pestie? I apologize. Buon appetito, little ones.” He said, opening their cage and pouring their food as the little rodents scurried to their bowls.
That night, the Cardinal felt inclined to do something he hadn’t done in a long time.
Overwhelmed with an immense sense of desperation, Copia prayed on his own in the solitude of his room. He knelt beside his bed, knees on the hardwood floor as he placed his hands together and shut his eyes tight, a soft sigh escaping his lips before he began his prayer.
“Tua empietà, so che è passato un po' di tempo. perdonami, ti prego, ma devo chiederti una cosa. per favore, satana, concedimi il dono della paternità, per favore. Farò qualsiasi cosa, viaggerò all'inferno e ritorno, per trasformare questo sogno in realtà. Prego che il ragazzo stia bene e al sicuro e trovi la sua nuova casa tra le mura del clero.”
And just as Copia was lying in bed, about to doze off, he opened his heavy eyes; and through the darkness of the room caught sight of a poster featuring a cat, reading “Hang in there, baby!”, a silly yet needed reminder for Copia to persevere.
He needed this. More than he had ever needed anything in his entire life.
Little did he know, the boy needed him just as much.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Throughout the next few months, the adoption process was proven to be just as lengthy and overwhelming as it was described as, the heightened levels of anxiety meaning Copia frequently had trouble sleeping, finding himself spending late nights in the Clergy’s grand library. Basking in the comfort of a large plush chair a few feet from the crackling fireplace, Copia was nose-deep in a book entitled “Raising Your Children With Satan.”
“Can’t sleep?” A voice said just a few feet from where the Cardinal sat in the plush armchair. Looking up, Copia was faced with his eldest brother, Primo.
“Primo! What are you-”
“I had a feeling you might be here.” The man reckoned. “I understand these are stressful times, but you need to get some rest, for Satan’s sake! You look exhausted!”
“Ay, but that’s why I can’t sleep! I just toss and turn in bed for hours and hours until I give up.” He complained, punctuating his sentence with a sigh.
“You know I have all sorts of remedies for that. Why did you not ask me?”
“I… I don’t know. I guess I felt like I was already asking too much of people.” The Cardinal admitted, sighing and setting his book down on the table beside him.
“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think you’ve asked a single thing of me throughout this whole process.”
Copia opened his mouth to respond, but no retaliations were heard as he realized that Primo was, in fact, correct. As usual. “I suppose… that is true.”
“Indeed it is. But I want to let you know you can always ask anything of me, Copia. I am not a father, but you could say I’ve done my fair share of parenting.” He chuckled. “And beyond that, I’m your brother, I’m here for you no matter what the issue is. Even if I cannot relate fully.” He comforted Copia, reaching across and placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you. I’m just… very scared.” The Cardinal admitted.
“Why is that?” questioned Primo.
“I have no idea what I’m doing. Parenting. I just… I have- no idea.”
Parenting?
Just outside the walls of the library, Violetta, unable to fall asleep, stood with her ear pressed against the door, her mouth agape as she began to piece together the fragments of the conversation. Her uncle, Copia, had been notably distant lately, and now, standing on the precipice of this revelation, she couldn't help but wonder if this- parenting- was the reason. Primo's laughter, warm and familiar, seeped through the walls, filling the air with a sense of camaraderie.
"Nobody does, fratello. Do you know how scared Terzo was? He was at my door practically every other night, rambling to me because he was too concerned he would further stress (Y/N) with all his worries."
Violetta's heart fluttered with a mix of emotions. Thrilled by the news that her beloved uncle was going to be a father, she couldn't shake the twinge of hurt that accompanied the realization that she hadn't been enlightened of this information. Her young mind grappled with conflicting sentiments—elation for the impending addition to the family, yet a pang of longing for the connection she wished she had shared with Copia. As the weight of the revelation settled, tears began to well up in her eyes, her heart aching while she turned around and silently made her way back to her room.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
6 months had passed since Sister Imperator gave her son the news: There was a little boy in Innsbruck, Austria, who needed a permanent system of support. Or, in normal people terms, a family. And there Copia sat in the very same chair he did on that first day, anxiously leaning forward while Sister Imperator gave him an even better piece of news: he had found one.
“It’s official.”
It was like time froze; the months of meetings and paperwork, and beyond that, years of longing, had all led up to this pivotal moment.
“I- we- it’s been finalized?” Copia exclaimed. “Oh my gosh. Oh my gosh.”
Sister Imperator suddenly felt a surge in her heart, upon witnessing her son’s ecstatic reaction.
“Congratulations, Copia. You’re a father.”
Thank Satan Copia always kept a handkerchief in his pocket.
“…C?”
“I know I was not a perfect mother. And, I…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I want to do better this time around as a grandmother. And a mother. You are my family, and I’ve been quiet about that. It is the biggest regret I’ve ever had. But you, Copia, are not a secret. You are my son.” She confessed, reaching across the desk to place her hand over Copia’s. “And I am proud of you.”
“Thank you, Mother.”
“I love you, Copia.”
“I love you too.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Copia spent the next few weeks frantically preparing for the arrival of the new family member. His Cardinal’s suite he had resided in for years was now empty, as he was moving into a larger suite with an extra bedroom and bathroom. The man was beyond stressed- He didn’t know how to properly decorate a room for a child, let alone assemble the furniture. Copia was quite satisfied with the simple layout of his old room, with strikingly lavish decor consisting of a pull-out bed, lava lamp, and a cat poster that read, “Hang in there, Baby!” Yeah, he was definitely taking that. Unsure at first who to ask for help, the Cardinal realized the person best suited for the job was his dear sister-in-law.
“This is such a nice space!” You gawked, following him into the room that would soon belong to the young boy. “And it has such a nice view!” Walking to the window, you were astonished to see the room was just in view of the Clergy’s beautiful garden and somber forest behind it. “Okay, so I think since it’s a twin bed, it should go against this wall,” you suggested. "There’s gonna still be some space after assembling this stuff,” you gestured to the boxes lying against the wall, “but maybe we should leave some space so he can pick what he wants.”
“Okie dokie. Sounds good. Shall we get to work?” Copia prompted.
Your attempt to build the bed was short-lived, you and your brother-in-law soon cackling loudly at your evident lack of skills.
“Damn you, IKEA,” Copia chuckled, squinting at the fine print on the instruction manual.
“What’s going on in here?” You heard a familiar voice echo through the bare room, your husband walking inside and noticing you two were having some trouble with the task at hand.
“We’re just, ah... struggling a bit with this furniture.” Copia laughed, gesturing to the various pieces in front of him.
“I know just the ghoul who can assist,” Terzo replied.
“Oh, it’s fine, we can figure it out-”
“Nonsense! Omega!” Terzo clapped his hands, to which the ghoul quite literally appeared out of thin air. “Hello, Omega!” chimed Terzo, who loved nothing more than to torment the poor man.
“Hello, Papa. Copia. Y/N.” Omega greeted you.
“Would you be a dear and assemble this furniture for my dear brother?”
“It- it has instruc-“
“Yes, and so do you, silly ghoul!” Terzo said, reaching to pat the tall man on the back and holding his hand out towards the unassembled bedframe.
Omega sighed and chuckled, “Yes, Papa.”
“Thank you, Omega.”
Suddenly, Terzo crept behind you and wrapped his arms around your waist, your eyes widening in fear of his next words, though your face heated up at his contact. Your husband, though you loved him dearly, often had little-to-no filter regarding intimate matters, and his sudden affection warned you he was about to let something slip. “It feels like just yesterday we were making Omega set up the nursery…” He reminisced.
“Terzo, ‘we’ is you. I didn’t make him do anything.” You laughed.
“You know, maybe we’ll do the next one ourselves.” he suggested wickedly, completely ignoring the innocent bystanders in the room.
“The next one? No, sir.” You swatted his wandering hand.
“I’m going to put this drill through my ears.” You heard Omega mumble in the corner.
“So, Copia! Three weeks! That’s so soon!” You exclaimed. "We're gonna tell the kids tomorrow." You announced, grinning at the thought of their reactions.
"Oh boy. I wonder how they will react."
"They will be beyond thrilled." Terzo reassured Copia.
Through the window, the sky was fading into a hazy orange. “Papa, don’t you have a meeting soon?” Omega asked his boss, who was known for being just a tad forgetful.
“I appreciate your help, dear Omega, but the meeting is on Thursday.” He said assuredly, a satisfied smile on his face.
“Today is Thursday.”
“What- it is?” Terzo exclaimed, checking his watch, his eyes nearly popping out of his skull as he realized he had a mere minute to make it to his office. “Shit!” Terzo began dashing out of the room, then spun around on his heels as he realized he had forgotten something very important. Leaning towards you, your husband gave you your ritual-esque goodbye kiss, pecking you on the cheek before turning around once again and bolting off.
“If he can do it, so can you.” You laughed with your brother-in-law, beginning to assist Omega with his newly-assigned task.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Violetta couldn’t sleep. She figured there might be someone else who couldn’t either, someone she hadn’t spoken to in a while. Carefully tiptoeing through the dark hall and down the stairs, she made her way to the library with deliberate caution. Entering the library, she caught sight of Copia sitting in a cozy armchair, nose deep in a book, completely oblivious of her presence, as he had seemingly been for the past few months. His eyes darted up as he caught sight of his 10-year-old niece in her pajamas, standing by the entrance with her arms crossed.
“Violetta!” He exclaimed, frantically shutting the book and setting it aside. “What are you doing up so late?”
“I dunno. Sometimes I walk around at night when I can’t sleep. But, uh, I also thought you might be here.” His niece answered anxiously.
“Eh- Why do you think that?”
She shrugged, an awkward silence plaguing the room before Violetta broke the ice. “Is that a parenting book?” She asked, pointing to the book Copia had tossed aside.
“Uh…” Clearly, it was a parenting book. It had the word “PARENTING” engraved on the spine in shiny gold lettering- there was no way for him to play it off. “Yes.”
“Why are you reading a parenting book?” Before her uncle could respond, she immediately regretted asking, feeling uneasy about the question. It wasn't a lie, per se, but it felt dishonest considering she was well aware of the reason. “Actually… I’m sorry. I know why.” She confessed, looking at the ground, a sense of guilt flooding her heart.
Copia was dumbfounded. How did she find out? It’s not that he was upset she knew, he just didn’t understand how that came to be- he was positive Terzo didn’t tell her, nor the other brothers. Had he let something slip?
“How did you find out?” Copia asked.
“I… I heard a conversation you and Primo had in here. I’m sorry I listened. I didn’t tell anyone. I promise.” she confessed, her voice becoming shaky as her eyes remained glued to the ground.
“Oh, Violetta, it’s okay.”
“…Okay.” She said, still feeling guilty.
“I'm sorry Violetta, you do not have to cry, it’s okay. I promise, it is. I didn’t want to keep anything secret from you, I was just scared that if things did not go as planned, it would disappoint you.” He reassured her, his voice gentle and caring.
“I didn’t disappoint you, right?” Violetta sniffled, wiping tears from her eyes as she looked him in the eyes once again.
“No, no, no- I would have done the same thing. In fact, I’m very impressed and honored that you kept it a secret. That is not easy.” He lovingly comforted her.
Violetta smiled. “Thanks.”
“I'm sorry I have not spent much time with you recently... I have been so busy. But he is almost here, after all this time.”
“He?”
“Ay, I really can’t keep my mouth shut, can I?” he laughed. “Well, I might as well tell you more since I’ve already begun…” he figured, patting the arm of the seat next to him.
Violetta smiled, wiping the tears from her eyes as she took a seat beside him. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too, my dear Violetta.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Though Violetta unconventionally discovered her uncle’s secret, her brother’s reaction was a drastically different experience. You and Terzo called your son into the living room, to which he bolted in and looked up at you with his sparkling mismatched eyes.
“Vinnie, do you want to hear something very exciting?” Terzo cheerfully asked his son, picking him up and placing him into his lap as he bounced his leg up and down, often one of the few ways to keep him from moving around on his own.
“Yes! Please! Please!” Vinnie begged, giggling.
“You have a cousin that’s going to be here very soon!” Terzo informed him.
“What?!” Vinnie gawked.
“Yes! Your Uncle Copi is going to adopt a boy who’s exactly your age!” You exclaimed, sitting beside them on the couch.
“Yay!!! What’s adopt?” Vinnie tilted his head.
“You know Violetta’s good friend Carmen?” You asked him.
“Yeah!”
“Do you remember her two mommies?”
“Yeah!”
“They adopted Carmen. She was born somewhere else but then she became their baby!” You continued.
“Oh, okay,” Vinnie responded.
“And Uncle Copi is adopting a son from Austria!” You explained enthusiastically.
“With the koalas?”
Terzo chuckled. “You’re very close, Vinnie. That’s Australia.” He said, ruffling his son's hair.
“Oh, I get it. He’s in…”
“Austria.” You assisted him.
“He’s in Austria now and he’s gonna be here! And now Uncle Copia is going to be his Papa.” Vinnie processed.
“Sì!”
“Okay. Yay! When do I get to meet my new cousin?” Your son asked eagerly.
“Two weeks.” You replied.
“Two whole weeks?” Vinnie repeated as you had just informed him he would have to wait a millennium. “I thought you said soon!”
“I know, we’re all very excited.” Terzo added, amused by his son’s enthusiasm.
“I’m so excited! Yay, cousin!” The little boy started kicking his feet, a telltale sign that he needed to let some energy out. Vinnie was a little fireball, constantly moving. While Violetta grew up satisfied with playing in the comfort of her room, her brother was like a windup toy, exhibiting bursts of energy before inevitably crashing and needing to rest. “Can I go outside?” He asked, pointing at the door.
You and Terzo were familiar with Vinnie’s harmless need to release his energy and sought to embrace it rather than suppress it. Terzo chuckled, gently placing his son on the ground, walking over to the door and opening it. Vinnie wasted no time, darting through the doorway at lightning speed while you and Terzo laughed.
“He’s so adorable.” You observed your son, zooming around in circles around the grass like a little Tasmanian devil.
“I hope he never grows out of his spark.” Terzo chuckled.
“He won’t. Not as long as you’re his Papa.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Soon, the long-awaited day arrived. Copia and Sister Imperator stood in anticipation by the doors of the entrance. Though he was incredibly fearful, he had been waiting for this day his entire life, he put on a brave face. He couldn’t let his nerves show. Not now. Who was he to be afraid when the poor boy was certainly terrified and confused beyond measure? It was Copia’s responsibility to ensure the boy felt safe and welcome in the Clergy; he couldn’t do that if he himself was displaying unease. The solemn moment was interrupted by a knock on the door, making Copia jolt in shock. His mother, noticing his panic, placed a comforting hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft yet reassuring smile.
“In,” she gently instructed, the two breathing in, a ritual they often did when Copia was younger and feeling anxious, “And out.”
Copia exhaled his worries, letting them disappear into the air, smiling at his mother before opening the door and being faced with a social worker and a little boy. He had blonde hair, dusty freckles, and a pair of glimmering blue eyes, wearing a pair of blue headphones of sorts around his neck. His eyes spastically darted around, to the ground, to the door, to the sky, to the walls of the church, and for a brief moment, Copia. The poor boy was visibly petrified, having been through a lot of travel and confusion that was surely enough to rattle his young mind, gripping the straps of his backpack tightly.
“Hello, Augustus.” Copia greeted the boy. We’re very happy to have you here.”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
The walk to the suite was silent, minus the sound of echoing footsteps in the grand hallway. “How are you, Augustus?” He broke the silence.
The little boy held out a thumbs up. Copia decided to continue speaking, not necessarily looking for a response, but to lighten the air.
“I know you are from Austria. I myself have never been, but I want to go. Maybe one day you can take me. But first you'll have to get your pilot's license. That was a dream I once had: to be a pilot. But, alas, I am afraid of heights. And look! We are here!” he announced, gesturing to the door of their suite.
After a small tour of the new space, Copia finally led Augustus to his bedroom. “I apologize, it’s a little boring right now, but we will fix it up in no time. However you like.” He said, opening the door for Augustus. The room was fairly empty minus the essentials: a bed, dresser, nightstand, rug. Despite the room’s humble appearance, Augustus’s eyes lit up enlivened at the idea of having his own space. “You can either stay here, or we can look around more. Up to you.”
Augustus paused to think for a moment, then pointed to the door.
“Okie dokie, we can explore. Do you want to see the library?” Copia inquired.
His eyes lit up.
“Library?”
Yes! A word! Thank you, Satan! A choir of angels sang in Copia’s head as he celebrated this small yet mighty victory.
“Yes, we have a rather nice library! Would you like to go?” He questioned.
“Yes!” Augustus chirped.
Copia and Augustus exited the bedroom, walking through the living space and to the front door.
“Are you ready to go?” Copia asked.
Augustus seemed conflicted, his gaze drifting off to somewhere else in the room. “Is… is something-“ Copia, lost on what to do, awkwardly looked aside, until a bright blue object caught his eye- something he must have set aside during their tour. “Eh… Oh. You want your headphones?” He asked.
Augustus nodded, a small smile forming on his face. Copia walked to the counter and picked up the headphones, approaching Augustus once again. Crouching down to be at eye level with the little boy, he extended the headphones toward him. “Here you go, good sir!”
Augustus smiled appreciatively and took them into his hands.
“Where we are about to go is very quiet. But, of course, you can still wear them if you’d like.” the Cardinal consoled gently.
“Okay. Just in case.” Augustus replied, placing them around his neck.
“Just in case.” Copia reiterated. “Ready?”
“Okie dokie.” Augustus said, holding out a thumbs up.
Copia and Augustus walked through the halls of the abbey as the boy eyed his surroundings curiously, counting each brick on the wall as they passed through.
"This is our library," Copia declared as they entered the large doors, a sense of pride evident in his voice. Though the library was nearly ancient, he had played a large part in its organization. Augustus’s eyes twinkled with wonder as he stared in awe at the utopia surrounding him, lined wall-to-wall with books of all kinds.
“Very cool, right?”
Augusted smiled wide and nodded, looking up to meet eyes with Copia, which made his heart warm.
“Do you have a favorite book?” Copia asked Augustus.
“The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.” he answered, nearly instantly.
Copia’s jaw dropped. One, because clearly this kid was a genius, two, because that was a book he held dear to his heart, and three, because that was the longest phrase he had uttered the whole day.
“Wow, that’s a big kid book. You must be a very smart boy. I happen to love that book, though I certainly wasn’t reading it at your age. Have you read the others?” he asked.
He tilted his head, not fully understanding Copia’s question.
“The story continues in other books.” He explained.
“Really?” He asked, his eyes widening in excitement.
“Yes, it’s a series. And whaddya know…” Copia trailed his finger across the vast collection of books as he strolled along the shelves, until-
“They’re all right here!” exclaimed Copia, who had led them both to the fiction section of the library.
Augustus’s head nearly exploded at this newly found information, a large smile spreading across his face.
“And there are movies.” Copia informed him.
The boy’s jaw dropped. “Movies?”
Oh, this was gonna be great.
In the middle of their lighthearted conversation appeared Secondo, in the mood for some refined literature. His facial expression molded into a soft smile as he observed Copia and the young boy discussing the classic novel.
Copia caught sight of his older brother in the corner of his eye. "Oh! Hello there!" He greeted his brother as he made his way towards them. "Augustus, this is your Uncle Secondo."
"Hello to you, Augustus. I'm Secondo. It is very nice to meet you.” Secondo said warmly, reaching out his much larger hand and shaking the boy's. “Nice, strong handshake. Good for you.” Secondo praised the boy with a smile. “And what is that book you are holding?”
Augustus, feeling shy, held up the book and pointed at the title engraved on the spine.
“Wow, that’s a grown up book! It looks like we have a distinguished gentleman on our hands. Have you met your other zios yet?”
“Not quite yet. But I was planning on taking him to meet his cousins after he sees the garden.” Copia answered for Augustus, still a tad nervous.
“How fun! Well, I won’t bother you two any longer. Very nice to meet you, Augustus. I look forward to seeing you again soon.” He said with a warm smile, waving and exiting the room.
“I like him.” Augustus commented.
“Secondo is great. Looks like this was a successful trip!” Copia exclaimed.
“Are we going to the garden?” Augustus asked, placing the book in his backpack.
“Only if you want to.” Copia replied.
Augustus nodded.
“Okie dokie, off we go!”
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
Copia and Augustus paced outside in the grass, Augustus’s smile growing wider and wider as the two approached the Clergy's lavish garden.
“Do you like the outdoors?” Copia asked Augustus.
“Yes.” Augustus answered. “This is so cool!” He exclaimed, in awe of the wonderland in front of him, longing to get lost in its winding path.
Among the vibrant colors of the flowers, an older man quietly tended to the garden, crouching in front of a bed of hydrangeas, an aura of wisdom and insight radiating from him. Hearing footsteps nearing on the gravel, he turned his head towards Copia and Augustus, giving them a soft wave.
“Why hello, there. Very nice to meet you, you must be Augustus.” He spoke softly but warmly.
The boy nodded sheepishly, staring at the flowers in Primo’s hands.
“Augustus. That’s a good name. Better than good. Do you know what it means?”
Augustus looked up to meet Primo’s gaze, and shook his head.
“Great.” Primo revealed.
“Oh. Really?” Augustus asked.
“Indeed.” He nodded. “Do you have a favorite flower?” Primo stood up, Copia and Augustus beginning to follow him along the edge of the the flowing stream.
Augustus looked around the garden for a moment, contemplating which of the many flowers he preferred. “I like the sunflowers.” answered Augustus, pointing to the yellow flowers just a few feet away.
“So do I. They are a classic choice.” Primo agreed. “Sometimes I find myself in here not just to expand the garden, but to find peace in its stillness. It is very quiet out here, but there are many noises to be noticed. The sounds of the stream, birds chirping, sometimes pesky animals that want a snack.” He conversed.
Augustus gasped, his love of animals evident in his jovial reaction. “What kind of animals?”
“Squirrels most often, but rabbits as well. You know who also likes animals?” Primo asked.
“Who?”
Primo pointed at Copia, who smiled fondly.
“I do, that is true.”
“Maybe one day you two will have a little pet.” Primo winked as Augustus looked up at Copia, his hands fidgeting with excitement.
The three continued their wholesome exchange as Primo taught Augustus all about the flowers and plants, curiosity brimming in his eyes. Copia observed Augustus’s interactions with his uncle, admiring the boy’s gentle and inquisitive nature that ignited a sense of youthfulness in his heart.
“Lovely to meet you, Augustus. You are what some would call an old soul. Maybe even wiser than me, even at my age.” Primo chuckled.
“Nice to meet you.” Augustus responded, finding comfort in Primo’s serenity and knowledge.
“Ay, the sun is already setting…” Primo remarked, the garden’s vibrant colors beginning to dull down as the sun prepared itself to rest.
“Ready to go inside and, if you’re ready, meet your cousins?” Copia asked Augustus, to which he nodded, holding out a thumbs up.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
As the Cardinal raised his hand to knock at the door of the suite you and Terzo shared, Augustus suddenly felt a surge of uncertainty, and without thinking, grabbed Copia’s hand.
Copia, shocked by the sudden contact, looked down at Augustus with concern in his eyes.
“You okay?” He checked in on the boy.
Augustus nodded. “Nervous.”
“We don’t have to go inside if you don’t want to.”
“I do.” Augustus decided.
“Okay. We can take a deep breath and go inside. Okie dokie?” He comforted Augustus.
“Okie dokie.” Augustus repeated.
“In,”
The two of them inhaled in unison.
“And out.”
Phew.
“Ready?” Copia asked Augustus.
“Mhm.”
Copia stood up and knocked three times on the door of the large Papal suite, which nearly instantly swung open. In front of them stood a man with jet black hair in a black suit, face covered in white and black paint.
Augustus tapped Copia on the shoulder, waving his hand for him to lean in. He abided, leaning down to hear whatever it was he had to say. Augustus cupped his hand over his mouth and stage whispered, “Is that Dracula?”
Copia nearly cackled.
“No, that’s your Uncle Terzo.” The Cardinal chuckled.
“Oh. Okay.”
“Dracula?!” Terzo exclaimed. “You flatter me! I’m Terzo, it’s very nice to meet you.” Terzo greeted, holding out his gloved hand for the boy to shake.
“Hi. I’m Augustus.” the boy said, taking his hand and shaking it.
“Augustus! So nice to have you in our family. There are a few other people here who are excited to meet you.”
“Feeling up to it?” Copia asked.
Augustus nodded.
“Okie dokie. Your Aunt (Y/N) and cousin Vinnie are here as well. Your cousin Violetta will be back from school soon.” Copia told Augustus.
Just around the corner, you were eagerly listening; after hearing of Augustus’s agreement, you walked down the hall to your son’s room, where you found him pacing in circles.
“Is he here yet?” He asked before you even got the chance to inform him he had arrived.
“He’s here! Come say hi! But remember, he’s nervous, so be very sweet.” You reminded him.
“Okay!” Vinnie agreed as you took his hand and walked him to the living room. As you entered the room and caught sight of your nephew the for the first time, your heart nearly melted. He was utterly adorable, golden hair, rosy cheeks, and freckles dappling his face; he looked like a little cherub. You turned to look down at your son and were elated to see his face lit up.
You gently crouched to the ground to meet your nephew at eye-level, noticing his eyes darting away from your gaze.
“Hi, Augustus. I’m (Y/N). It’s so nice to meet you!” You said, softening your voice. “This is Vinnie, your cousin, who is so excited to meet you.”
“If you couldn’t tell.” Terzo joked, gesturing to his son, filled to the brim with energy.
“Hi! I’m Vinnie!” The boy excitedly introduced himself.
“Alright, Augustus. I’ll be back very soon.” Copia said to Augustus. “Have fun, and if you need anything, just let your Uncle Terzo or Aunt (Y/N) know. And if you need me, you can also let them know, okie dokie?”
Augustus nodded. “Okie dokie.”
“Do you want to play?” Vinnie asked, to which Augustus nodded once again.
“Okay, let’s go!” Vinnie announced, leaving no room for a verbal response as he grabbed Augustus’s hand, fingers intertwining, and eagerly took off to his room.
Though Copia kept a smile on his face, it was evident he was overwhelmed, understandably.
“You’re doing great.” You consoled Copia, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Thank you, (Y/N). I greatly appreciate your help.” He expressed his gratitude.
“Of course, you don’t have to thank me.”
“He likes you, Copia,” Terzo observed.
“I hope so.”
“No, seriously, he likes you. It’s his first day here and he’s already holding your hand and clinging to your side. It’s precious.” You added in agreement.
“Sì, Copia, you have nothing to worry about,” Terzo reassured him.
“Thank you. And, uh, Terzo, can I borrow one of your ghouls? I have a little last-minute project for his room I’d love to get done.”
Meanwhile, just down the hall, Vinnie had dragged Augustus to his bedroom, animatedly explaining its contents, from his favorite toys scattered across the floor to the pictures on the wall.
“This is my room.” He announced. “And this is my bed and this is my rug. And this is my bookshelf and these are my books that my Mama and Papa read to me. Sometimes my sister. And these are my toys.”
Augustus listened patiently as Vinnie kept talking, admiring the contents of his room.
“Do you like it?” Vinnie asked once he was finished with his grand tour.
“I love it.”
“Yay, thanks! I like your headphones.” Vinnie complimented him. “Sometimes my Papa wears them when he listens to death music. Once he let me hear. Don’t tell my mom. Cause there’s bad words.”
Augustus giggled. “Can I draw?” he asked, unzipping his backpack.
“Sure,” Vinnie said as Augustus pulled out a box of crayons and a stack of paper, laying them on the ground for them to share.
“Do you like to draw?” Augustus inquired, pulling a beige crayon out of the box
“I’m no good,” Vinnie answered.
“That’s okay.” Augustus pushed the crayons towards his cousin.
Hesitating at first, Vinnie reached into the box and pulled out a green crayon, beginning to scribble on a blank sheet of paper. The boys sat in silence, enjoying each other’s company until Vinnie caught sight of Augustus’s paper and noticed his artistry.
“That’s really good!” Vinnie complimented him.
“Thank you.” Augustus looked up, making eye contact with the raven-haired boy.
“I don’t even know what I have.” Vinnie laughed, looking at the chaos on his paper.
“Grass,” Augustus said, pointing at the drawing, covered in green scribbles. “You can make a house or animals or flowers or trees on top.”
“Oh. Good idea. House.”
"And then you can add people and make it a home," Augustus suggested.
The two went back to drawing in silence until a knock was heard, a girl standing in the doorway.
“Hi, Augustus!” she said. “I’m Violetta. How are you?”
Augustus held out a thumbs up, still concentrating on his paper.
“That’s good. Are you drawing? That’s cool.”
“Duh. He’s really good.” Vinnie told his sister, pointing at his cousin’s paper.
Violetta took a seat beside Augustus on the carpet, peering over at his drawing.
“Wow, that looks really good!” Violetta remarked, impressed by Augustus’ skills; on his paper was a drawing that appeared to be a self-portrait. “There’s a lot of space left. Any other ideas on what to add next?”
Augustus nodded.
“Well, I can’t wait to see!” Violetta said enthusiastically.
The boy smiled and looked up at Violetta, appreciative of her welcoming nature. As his eyes met her gaze, he noticed her black hair similar to her brother’s, as well as a dark red marking adorning the left side of her face. Anxious regarding Augustus’s staring, Violetta suddenly became self-conscious, looking away from the boy and fidgeting with her hands. She mentally prepared herself for a blunt comment, as she had faced many times before, especially from young children.
“I like it,” Augustus said sweetly, pointing to her face.
“Oh.” Violetta said, lost as to how she should respond, not expecting such a kind comment. “Thank you. I like your freckles.”
“Thank you,” Augustus replied with a smile, then went back to perfecting his masterpiece.
Violetta’s heart felt full. The kindness Augustus displayed towards her was unexpected, and caught her off-guard.
“I have homework to do, but it was nice meeting you, Augustus. I’m so excited that you’re my cousin.” She said farewell to Augustus, waving and exiting the room.
“Bye-bye, Violetta.” He said, waving his hand at the girl.
“My sister is cool,” Vinnie said. “She can also draw good.”
“Really?” Augustus said.
“Yeah. She’s awesome. Let’s play spies!” Vinnie declared, a sudden shift in topic, one that didn’t bother Augustus. “But we need something first.”
“What?” Augustus tilted his head.
“We need IDs,” Vinnie stated.
“You’re right! Spy IDs.” Augustus agreed.
“Can you draw them, though?” Vinnie asked, unsure of his abilities.
“Yeah!”
“Alright, let’s do it!”
Augustus’s time spent with his cousin had clearly lightened his mood. By the time Copia had come to pick up Augustus, he was non-stop giggling with Vinnie, his expression soon resting in an adorable smile, dimples on display.
“Hi, Augustus. It looks like you had fun.” The Cardinal smiled, walking into Vinnie’s room.
“Yeah, I did.” Augustus cheerfully responded, looking Copia in the eyes.
“Ready to head back home and have something to eat?”
“Yeah!”
After a fulfilling meal of spaghetti and meatballs- which Copia would have to make more often, the plate was empty in what seemed like a millisecond- Augustus was exhausted, but still enthusiastic upon discovering the surprise waiting for him.
“Wow!” Augustus said, standing in his room in front of the newly added bookshelf. “How did that happen so fast?”
“Magic,” Copia responded.
“Woah.” He said in awe, mouth agape as his ocean eyes glimmered.
“And now you can put your first book on it!”
“Oh!” Augustus exclaimed, taking off his backpack, unzipping it, and taking out the book. He walked over to the bookshelf, standing on his tallest tippy-toes and placing it on the shelf.
-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-
“Goodnight, Augustus. If you need anything, I am just down the hallway, okie dokie?” He said, holding out a thumbs up.
Augustus, tucked snugly under the covers, held out a thumbs up in return. “Okie dokie.”
Copia, leaving the door just slightly ajar, made his way back to his room. Staring at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, he sighed deeply, picking apart the man staring back at him with tears in his eyes, who still didn’t seem much like a father. The day went well, he thought, but there was no doubt it was all incredibly overwhelming. Did he overwhelm Augustus? What could he do to help him come out of his shell?
“Day one of fatherhood and I’m already a wreck,”Copia mentally belittled himself. In the middle of his spiral, he heard a quiet knock on the door.
Like magic, Copia nearly teleported to the door and sucked back his tears; a superpower that supposedly came with becoming a parent. There Augustus stood in the doorway, tears running down his rosy cheeks.
“Augustus! What’s wrong?” He fretted, crouching in front of him, concern etched on his face.
“I can’t-” Augustus sniffled, Copia’s heart instantly shattering. “I can’t sleep.” the boy softly cried.
“Oh, it’s okay. It’s okay.” Copia consoled him. “Can I give you a hug?”
Augusted answered by holding out his arms, to which Copia immediately wrapped his arms around him.
“It’s very hard. I know. I know.” Copia comforted him, though he wanted to cry just as much. Through the sniffles and hiccups, Copia soon heard a giggle escape Augustus’s mouth. Copia gently pulled away from the hug, as Augustus smiled and pointed to the wall behind Copia. Turning around, he noticed his iconic poster hanging proudly - ‘Hang in there baby!’
“Oh, the poster? It is funny, isn’t it?”
Augustus nodded. “I like the cat.”
“So do I. Do you want it?”
“Really?” He asked, wiping tears from his eyes.
“Sì. We can put it up in your room.”
“Sì is yes?”
“Oh! Sì- Yes. Sì means ‘yes’ in Italian.”
“Okay. Yay!”
“I always seem to catch sight of that silly cat when I need it most…” He remarked. “Speaking of a cat… I know a very good story involving a lion, a witch, and a specific piece of furniture if you’d like to read it together.”
Augustus grinned wide, his joy completely replacing the tears he had shed just moments ago.
Copia followed Augustus into his room, carrying the framed poster, and setting it beside a stack of paper on top of the dresser.
“He will sleep here tonight, but we will put him on the wall tomorrow.” Copia said as Augustus crawled into bed and under the covers. “All snug?”
Augustus nodded.
“Okie dokie. Here we go. The Lion, The Witch, and The Wardrobe.” He began. “Once there were…” Copia began, and soon noticed Augustus holding up four fingers.
“Ah, you are correct! Four children. And their names were…”
“Peter, Susan, Edmund, and Lucy,” he repeated.
“And you remember them in the right order, too! Wow. Very good memory you have!”
“Thank you,” Augustus replied, smiling.
“This story is about something that happened to them when they were sent away from London during the war because of the air raids. They were sent to the house of an old Professor who lived in the heart of the country, ten miles from the nearest railway station and two miles from the nearest post office…”
Copia continued reading the story as Augustus found his eyes growing heavy under the soothing cadence of Copia’s voice.
“This is the land of Narnia, said the Faun, where we are now; all that lies between the lamp post and the-”
Copia peered above the book and caught sight of Augustus, eyes shut and mouth agape, his breathing establishing a steady rhythm . Augustus had made it to sleep before they even made it to Narnia. Copia smiled, closing the book softly, careful not to disturb the now-sleeping Augustus. The Cardinal remained seated on the side of the bed for a moment, basking in heights of graciousness he didn't even know were humanly possible; he felt blessed that this precious little boy, whos life clearly had not been easy, was safe with the Clergy, was safe with him.
Placing the book on top of the nightstand and turning off the lamp, Copia carefully stood up and began to tiptoe out of the room, stopping when he noticed a sheet of paper sitting atop the dresser. He knew drawings were an important and often personal form of self expression, especially for children, but he couldn’t help but be curious as to what Augustus had come up with; he seemed like a creative spirit. Through the darkness of the room, squinting at the paper, Copia was able to make out two figures with writing on top.
Yeah, he was gonna be be a good Papa. Better than good, great. Some may even say the greatest.
.
.
.
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OMG YALL😭😭😭😭
first things first,
i can’t apologize enough for my absence!!! this story became way longer than i thought it would but i hope it was worth it!!! now that this is done i have other WIP stories i can finally continue working on that include augustus!!!
i love dad copia so much y’all omg i can't even, vinnie and augustus are twin flames omg im so excited to show yall more <3
thank you SO MUCH for reading i can’t thank you enough, i love y’all so much!!!! thank you for your love and patience!!! more stuff coming up SOON <3
<3, alice
#the band ghost#ghost band#ghost#papa emeritus iii#terzo#papa emeritus#papa terzo#papa emeritus x reader#terzo x reader#papa emeritus iii x reader#cardinal copia#papa copia#copia#copia fanfic#copia fluff#ghost copia#papa emeritus 4#papa 4#popia copia#ghost fanfiction
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-sets a craisin chocolate chip cookie in your askbox-
I come baring murder ghoul (past murder ghoul actually) Mountain thoughts.
So in my lore for Mountain, he was cast into Hell after death because he committed a serious crime in life and it lead to a sort of "divine punishment" deal.
The tldr is that he essentially massacred the original occupants of the abbey, like, centuries ago, because they killed his wife when he was still human (she was having an affair with one of the monks, had been their whole relationship, but Mountain loved her so he pretended not to know until it was too much to bear).
Anyway, point is, Mountain has a high kill count straight out the gate, but he's calmer now and just... nobody would suspect that he's capable of such things.
Then there's Dewdrop.
Everyone thinks Dewdrop has the potential to kill... but he won't.
He doesn't.
If he ever did, it would be a complete accident and it would probably break him.
Well, after Aether leaves, Mountain notices that some of the lower level siblings are acting a bit too self important.
They think they're hot shit just because they joined the church, and he can see them abusing what little power they have in order to hurt others, and something about that rubs Mountain the wrong way.
And then they start messing with Dew.
Dew's a stoic, so it's hard to tell when something is bothering him, and that is a strength in and of itself, but all of a sudden he's a lot more "explosive", emotionally volatile, and Mountain see that the siblings are poking the bear.
They want Dew to lash out, because they either think it's funny or they want to get him in trouble.
Either way, Mountain doesn't think it's very nice, and a little voice in the back of his head starts to remind him how easy...
How sinfully simple it would be...
Of course, he tries to ignore it, messes with them other ways, but then they start going after Cumulus, too.
That's two of his packmates that are being mistreated, and if one was enough to make him consider it, two...
Anyway, whether he actually does it or not, those siblings go missing, and nobody seems to know what happened to them, but the plants on one side of the garden seem to be growing a lot better than the ones on the opposite side.
Mountain says he added a little more calcium to the soil, and then just goes back to watching his pack play outside.
...Aether gives him a call later to say that he processed the applications he sent over to make the "transfers" look official.
Anywho.
-slithers away-
How did you know I love craisin chocolate chip!?
ANYWAY.
Lamp, I've said it before but I have to say it again. I adore your brain. It's so big.
Mountain being the deadliest of them. The highest kill count. With a long long fuse? Dew trying so hard to ignore it--to keep his shit together until it's impossible?
Mountain trying to hold off. To just let things play out. Dew can take care of himself. And something will happen to those siblings eventually. They will get knocked down a peg.
I love that Mountain realizes that he is the thing that is going to have to happen to them. That if they're being shitheads to both Dew and Cumulus it's only a matter of time before they start in on someone else.
And Aether isn't there to put an end to it. And Mountain knows how easy it is. How quick. Knows he could end it in seconds. I wonder if he talks to Aether about it before he does it. Wonder if Aether encourages him.
Do we think the others know? Dew? Cumulus? Do they know the real reason the flowers Mountain keeps leaving in their rooms are so beautiful?
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somethin' spooky - papa emeritus iv x female!reader
you've secure an invite to an exclusive party at a satanic church only to end up being underwhelmed by the lack of "spooky".
author's note: i felt like i was neglecting popia so i wrote this lil thing! 3k words! 18+! mdni! there's smut and popia being popia. ao3 link.
Your fingernails tap against the glass you're holding as you gaze out into the crowd of people. Curiosity had gotten the better of you but right now, you were feeling some regret at the effort you had gone through to be here right now.
There were whispers throughout the valley about an exclusive, invite-only party that took place at a satanic church. You weren’t too big on parties but you had to find a way to see this for yourself. A friend of a friend of a friend was able to get you an invite for a fee and here you are, moseying through the kind of people that you could probably see at any other bar around town.
And it’s honestly, not that special. Sure, you were at a satanic church but it wasn’t spooky enough for your taste. There was plenty of artwork adorning the walls that depicted scenes of hell, demons and Lucifer himself, plus plenty of grucifixes everywhere. But the fact that they were serving White Claw? There weren’t even any spooky themed drinks.
Plus, you weren’t a party person, especially since you had come alone. So, you give the large chapel one last look before you head out the doors. The hallways seem to go on forever as you wander through them, unable to remember where the exit was. You start to stress, your mind immediately jumping to the conclusion that maybe you were stuck here forever.
“Dove stai andando? Where are you going? Leaving the party, eh?”
You spin around to look where the voice was coming from. A man was peeking out of a doorway, studying you. He was wearing a blue sparkly jacket, torn pants and his face – contrasting black and white paint covered it with his white eye practically glowing as he looked you up and down.
“Uh, yeah. Just trying to find my way out.”
“Mm.” He walks out of the doorway toward you, steepling his fingers as he did so. “Ehm, may I ask why? Were you not having fun?” Curiousness was oozing from him as he stepped even closer, the distance closing between you. Nothing about him seems threatening so you stay where you are.
“Oh, I’m just not super into partying, ya know. Just wanted to see what this whole thing was about.” You rock back and forth on your heels. “Why aren’t you at the party?”
“Ehhh… catching up on work.” He sounds sheepish.
“On a Saturday night?” You cross your arms and pop your hip. There’s a feeling creeping into your head that maybe you should be more cautious around this man but he seems so approachable despite being so striking.
“Not super into partying, either.” He offers you a small smile and fidgets with his hands. “E-ehm, would you consider joining me in my office, maybe? You’ve convinced me – working on a Saturday is a bit sad.”
You stare at him blankly for a moment, trying to collect your thoughts. You know you should just go home and not spend time with this man with corpse paint you just met. But…your curiosity was getting the better of you. Plus, it seemed like he worked there so you could potentially get the spooky scoop on the satanic church.
“Sure, okay.”
“Eccelente!” He lights up and beckons for you to follow him. “Apologies, it’s a tad messy.”
You are taken aback by the stacks of papers that line the walls and cover his desk. Aside from that, the office was dimly lit with scattered candles (which seems like an extreme fire hazard) and antique looking furniture.
“Ehh, please, have a seat! Would you like a drink, cara?” He is already fussing with glasses before you can respond, hearing them clink together. You pick up a few papers off of one of the wingback chairs in his office and can’t help but scan over it before setting it on the floor. Invoices for coffee cups and hot chocolate packets. Nothing spooky or satanic about that.
You sit in the chair and sink back into it, getting comfortable as you survey the room some more. He is in front of you so quickly and hands you a glass with some kind of brown liquid. You examine it and give it a small sniff: whiskey.
“Oh, this is so exciting, cara. I haven’t been able to spend much time with outsiders since becoming Papa.” He pulls up the smallest stool you’ve ever seen and sits directly in front of you. His knees are practically up to his chest.
“Becoming Papa?” You ask with an amused tone before being brave enough to take a sip of the whiskey. It is strong.
“Ah, si. Papa Emeritus, leader of the church.”
You start to cough, from the whiskey and also because of what he just said. Leader of the church?! The man sitting on an impossibly tiny stool, surrounded in paperwork, wearing a sparkly blue jacket, is the LEADER of the church.
“Cara, do you need some water or-”
“No, no, I’m fine.” You cough a bit more and wave your hand. “Went down the wrong pipe.”
Papa is studying you, watching curiously as you set the whiskey down. His eyes narrow a bit as he shifts closer to you.
“Am I not what you were expecting?” There’s a touch of sadness in his voice as his white eye meets yours, his other eye shrouded in darkness.
“O-oh, no, no, I’m just surprised, Papa.” It feels weird calling him that. “I just wasn’t expecting the leader of the church of Satan to have so much paperwork to do. I was expecting a bit more spooky things.” You laugh nervously.
“Spooky? I can be spooky.” Papa’s voice drops to a sinister tone, his lips curling into a grin. “Are you curious about spooky things, cara? That is why you came tonight, si?” Suddenly, he is up and is standing directly in front of you now and leans down, meeting your eyes.
“Maybe it is.” You answer confidently but you can feel yourself shifting back against the chair, trying to get some distance between the two of you.
“Okie dokie, wait just a minute.” Papa turns his back to you and seems to be working himself up a bit. You are looking at him curiously, the suspense building as silence stretches between the two of you. He spins around, his arms stretched above him. “BOO!”
You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head at him.
“Not spooky enough, cara?” He slowly lowers his arms and starts to steeple his fingers.
“I was expecting more of… ya know, satanic rituals, orgies… sacrifices?”
“Ahhh.” He exhales and plants his hands on the armrests; he has you cornered now. “I must apologize then, cara, we don’t typically perform rituals when outsiders are present.”
“That’s a shame.” You try to relax but he is so close to you now and he sways back and forth, almost hypnotically. His eyes are glued to yours and you can see just how green the one is.
“Have I disappointed you?” Papa pouts teasingly and you could feel his hot breath on your face. You are out of smart responses, your mouth hanging open as if to say something before you shut it again. His presence is intoxicating and your head is still swimming from how he went from a semi-awkward, cute man to this, this being that has lured you into his trap.
You squirm in the seat but you find yourself inching closer to him. He seems to notice, the corners of his lips tugging into a smirk.
“I could give you a little taste, hm? Would you like that, cara?” Papa presses his forehead to yours and rubs the tip of his nose against yours. “Tell me.”
“What if I want more than just a taste?” Your breath is shaky but you manage to get the words out. He hums quietly, pretending to be deep in thought before he’s finally upon you, his teeth tugging at your bottom lip.
You give a soft moan as his tongue slips into your mouth with ease. He cups your face, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. You can feel your face start to grow hot, tasting the whiskey on his tongue. His gloved fingers gently move from your cheeks down your neck, giving the sides of it a soft squeeze before settling on your shoulders. He breaks the kiss, his dark eyes roaming your face with a grin. His lips meet your jaw, mouthing along it as he toys with the straps of your dress.
“May I, cara?” He growls against your neck, still tugging at your straps. So gentlemanly. Your brains are scrambled to the point that you’re unable to speak words so you give a soft, affirmative grunt.
“Have I rendered you speechless?” Papa purrs as he exposes your breasts. His fingers softly stroke them, his thumbs brushing over your nipples. A moan rumbles in your throat as your head tips back against the chair. He slips down to his knees, settling in between your legs. His arms slide behind your back, pulling you into him as his lips brush against one of your nipples.
“F-fuck, Papa.” You surprise yourself, your body shuddering at his touch. He feels so good against you, his arms holding you so tight as he sucks the nipple into his mouth. Your hands fall to his head, fingers grabbing onto his hair as you arch your back. Papa buries his face into your chest, moaning against you as his lips and teeth graze against you.
“Will you kneel before me, cara?” He gazes up at you, his white eye looking like it could be glowing. “Kneel before your Papa?”
You suck in a breath as your fingers card through his hair. Desire is burning through you. You need him. You need him now.
“Yes, Papa.”
He kisses your collarbone softly then pulls himself to his feet. You immediately slink off of the chair and get on your knees in front of him. His jacket is now on the floor and he’s working on the buttons of his shirt as you start to feel him through his pants. The momentum comes to a screeching halt, though, when you start to fiddle with his corset laced crotch.
“This is — ugh! This is so impractical!” You whine as your fingers desperately try to figure out a way to unlace his pants. After he removes his shirt, he swats your hand away with a small laugh.
“Guardi.” He takes one of the laces in his hands and pulls it at what seems like a specific angle. His pants come completely unlaced with the one pull, dropping around his knees as his cock springs free. If your mouth wasn’t already hanging open from the sheer ridiculousness that just happened, it would have dropped even further at the sight of him.
He is huge.
“Open your mouth and stick out your tongue.”
You know what he’s going to do. You grew up on the outskirts of the Catholic Church, having gone to mass each Sunday before going to CCD (only to not retain anything you learned). But you remember communion and how you would cup your hands together to receive the body of Christ. Some adults would merely go up to the priest and open their mouths to receive Him…
You do as you’re told. Papa gazes at you for a few moments as he strokes himself lazily. His hand catches you by the chin and tilts your head up with a hum. He plops the head of his cock onto your tongue and you swear you can hear it thud.
The taste of him on your tongue is enough to make you moan. He breathes deep, keeping his eyes locked on you. His hand moves from your chin to your hair, fingers tangling in it.
“Nema.” Papa hisses, then pushes his cock past your lips. You move your hand to grip the base and slip your tongue along the underside of his length. He groans and starts to slowly roll his hips, sinking his cock further into your mouth. His fingers dig into your scalp as he hits the back of your throat. You moan around him, your one hand moving to hold onto his thigh as you swallow around him, feeling your throat spasm.
He is so big. You start to stroke him as you bob your head along him, keeping the movements in sync. His breath starts to hitch and you feel his thigh start to tense up. Papa pulls you off of him and you sink back on your heels, looking up at him wide eyed and somewhat afraid that you’ve done something wrong.
Before you’re able to say anything, he scoops you up into your arms. You squeak and wrap your arms around his neck to steady yourself. It looks like he is walking straight for a wall but once you get closer you can see the seams of what appears to be a door. He pushed it with his foot and it creaks open, revealing another dimly lit room covered in candles.
And… there’s a mattress on the floor?
Papa carefully sets you down on it, his fingers sliding your dress and underwear off in one quick motion. He settles in between your legs and you can feel the pressure of the head of his cock against your slick folds.
“W-wait, I haven’t-“ You stutter, your hands gripping his shoulders.
“Are you alright, cara? Do you want me to stop?” He immediately brings his hands up to your arms and gently starts to caress them.
“No, no. Please, don’t stop. I just-“ You take a deep breath. “I haven’t done it in a while and you’re… you’re big. A friend of mine told me that when she tried to do it after not doing it for a while it wouldn’t fit and-” You continue to ramble and he listens so patiently to you. Papa’s fingers drift up your arms to cup your face.
“We will take it slow, and if it doesn’t work – I know plenty of other ways to make you scream my name.” Even though what he says sounds dirty, he is being so earnest, so gentle with you. Papa shifts himself back into position but keeps one hand holding your face.
He pushes in inch by inch, stopping each time to make sure you’re okay. The way he is taking care of you makes you feel so relaxed, so trusting of him. You bring your hips up to meet his once he’s almost completely inside of you. Papa’s mouth drops open and he moans deeply, his gloved fingers digging into your hip.
“Cara, you feel so good.” He breathes huskily, pressing his forehead against yours as he starts to gradually pick up his pace. You can’t believe how good he feels, how he seems to know the exact places to touch and press to make you moan. He kisses you hungrily, growling against your lips.
Papa sinks his cock inside you and holds it there, pinning you down. You squirm against him and try to roll your hips but his grip is too tight. He chuckles softly and slips his hand down between the two of you, lightly rubbing your clit.
“P-papa.” You whine as your fingernails dig into his shoulders.
“One thing about us satanists…” He draws out the word, pressing his hot mouth to your ear. “Is that we make sure all parties cum during our rituals.” Papa sucks on your earlobe as he presses his thumb against your clit. Your body is trembling beneath him, eyes squeezing shut as he starts to quicken his pace.
He wants you to give in to him, to give yourself over to the way he is making you feel. His teeth graze your chin and his chest rumbles with a growl. Your moaning, gasping, clawing beneath him as your body twists with pleasure, all while you can feel his cock throbbing inside of you. One more swipe has you coming undone, a broken sob pushing from your lips.
Papa’s fingers snake up to tangle in your hair and gives it a sharp yank as he starts to fuck you again. Your mouth hangs open, deep breaths and groans slipping from it. You hold onto him for dear life as his hips snap into yours, the sound of slapping skin filling his room. Your legs wrap his waist causing him to moan deeply, sinking even deeper inside you.
He starts to say… something. You don’t understand it. It could be in Italian or Latin, but that’s only an educated guess. You can’t even focus on it, can’t even worry about it now because of how good he feels. Papa yanks at your hair again, forcing you to look into his eyes. His hips snap one last time and he gives a loud moan as he spills inside you.
Papa buries his face in your neck, staying in place for a moment as the two of you come down. He starts to gently touch your neck again, sighing contently before he slips out of you and pulls you up to his chest. You are so comfortable against him, feeling his chest rise and fall. He is caressing you all over and the sensation soothes you into deep relaxation.
“Not so much for spooky but how is that for sinful, eh, cara?” He whispers against your ear but you’re already asleep.
LATER…
You start to stir, eyes still shut as you nestle in closer to Papa. He shifts a bit, his arms tightening around you.
“I missed my party.” He says sleepily against your neck.
“Your party?!” You snap your eyes open and you try to look at him.
“Mmm si, the party was thrown in my honor.” Papa mumbles as he wraps his arms tightly around you. “Glad I missed it, cara?” You feel him smile against your neck.
You don’t say anything because you’re sure he already knows the answer.
#papa emeritus x reader#papa emeritus iv x female reader#popia x reader#papa emeritus iv#cardinal copia#ghost fanfiction#ghost fanfics#ghost fanfic
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Enamored [36] - Preparations
A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback my loves, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please let me know what you think, thank you! ❤ And as always, thank you @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter and the story❤
Summary: Planning a wedding takes time.
Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, mentions of sex, kissing.
Word Count: 4800
Series Masterlist
You were so excited for your wedding that the moment your father gave you his approval, you had transformed a spare room into a planning room. It was impossible for everything to fit into your bedroom after all, and you had insisted personally approving everything that was going to be present at the engagement party and the wedding.
It was almost crazy that in only two weeks, you would be married to the love of your life. Every time the thought crossed your mind, it filled you with so much happiness that you felt like even the sun was shining brighter than before.
But it also meant that you now only had two weeks to plan the wedding.
Even Whistledown was looking forward to it, as she called the news of your engagement “the most pleasant outcome to the most turbulent love story of the ton” and said that the whole ton would probably be climbing on top of each other to get an invitation for your engagement ball and the wedding breakfast.
You had intended to be a part of the negotiations for the wedding settlement but apparently the negotiations hadn’t taken long. Elias told you that Anthony had accepted every demand of your father, and judging by how many pages that settlement was, it was clear that every single possibility was covered in it.
Not that you cared about any of that, not when you were nearly lost in the bliss.
Nearly being the key word.
You rushed through the doors of the Bridgerton house, barely aware of the fact that all members of the family were probably upstairs in the drawing room, which meant that you were supposed to go upstairs to greet them before you would see your betrothed, but you were way too distracted to even consider it. You ran straight to Anthony’s study and opened the door.
“Anthony I have terrible news!”
His head shot up from the paper he was reading and he frowned.
“Did your father change his mind about the wedding?”
You pulled your brows together, closing the door behind you. “What?”
“I saw this coming but you know what, even if he changed his mind, it’s fine,” he said, standing up from his seat. “We will just go to Gretna Green. Go home and get ready for tonight, I’ll have the carriage ready—”
“No!” you said. “No he did not change his mind about the wedding.”
His eyes searched your face. “Then what happened?”
You heaved a dramatic sigh. “You know how I told you I wanted a veil longer than the train of my wedding gown?”
“Yes?”
“Well apparently my modiste is so busy with my wedding gown that the veil I had in mind might not be ready in two weeks!”
“…That’s the terrible news?”
“Yes!” you insisted as he sat down, running a hand through his hair. “And I think this is a sign of some sort.”
“What sign?”
“This is happening because I changed my mind about joining a convent,” you said. “God is cursing our union.”
He tilted his head. “God is cursing our union by not giving you the veil you want?”
“It’s symbolic!” you insisted. “Do you think we could balance the scale if we promised our firstborn to church?”
“We’re not going to do that.”
“Just until I get my veil, we will of course tell them we changed our minds later on!”
He let out a chuckle and extended his hand. “Darling, come here will you?”
“Do you think it’s a sign?” you asked as you made your way to him and he grabbed your hand, then pulled you to himself. You let out a squeal as you sat down in his lap, a fire spreading over your cheeks, his pleasant scent filling your lungs.
“I don’t think it’s a sign, no,” he answered your question as you looked up at him. “As for your veil, I feel like there is a different solution out there before we consider sacrificing our firstborn.”
“Like what?”
“Hire another seamstress.”
“I already hired another seamstress, she is busy with my trousseau.”
“Hire a third one.”
“Just for the veil?” you asked, still trying to sit still. “I mean there’s that seamstress that Cece likes a lot but I think she accepts wedding gowns, not veils.”
“Tell her we will make sure to recompense for her work,” Anthony said. “I’m certain she will work something out.”
You nibbled on your lip. “A third seamstress?” you asked. “The ton will hear about it and think it’s too much.”
Anthony curled a finger under your chin so that he could tilt your head up, making your breath hitch in your throat.
“The ton can think whatever they want,” he murmured, “If my Viscountess wants her veil, she will get her veil.”
You could feel yourself melting in his arms as his lips captured yours, making you heave a content sigh. You knew you weren’t supposed to, you knew if anyone had caught so much as a sight of this, there would be a scandal. Since you were engaged now, soon to be married, you were allowed to be without a chaperone but you were quite certain that this—
This was not allowed.
And yet, you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, not when those butterflies were fluttering in your stomach.
You held your breath when he dragged his fingertips up your arm, waking goosebumps on your skin as he deepened the kiss, drawing out a soft moan from your lips. Your heart felt like it would leap out of your chest and all of a sudden, you became painfully aware of something hard under you, sending a fire through your lower stomach whenever you shifted. He hissed in a breath, his hand squeezing at your upper leg.
“Darling,” he said, somehow breathlessly. “You might want to stop moving.”
“But it’s…” you frowned, trying to find the right word to describe the feeling. “Uncomfortable. Do you have something in your pocket?”
He stared at you for a moment and opened his mouth to answer but before he could say anything, someone knocked on the door. You jumped on your feet before you leaned back to the desk to at least seem proper and he pulled his seat closer to the desk for some reason, resting his elbows on it.
“Come in?”
“Anthony, mother wants to know if you—” Benedict opened the door but stopped talking as soon as he saw you. “My apologies, I didn’t know you were here Y/N.”
“Oh that’s alright, I just came to ask if we should sacrifice our firstborn to church.”
Benedict blinked a couple of times. “…Come again?”
“We’re not doing that,” Anthony added as if that was the only explanation he needed and Benedict’s frown deepened.
“Great to hear, I wasn’t aware that was a possibility.”
“Makes two of us.”
“Anyway, I’d better go,” you said as you pushed yourself off the desk and walked to the door. “I must talk to my new seamstress, there’s no time to lose.”
Benedict tilted his head. “Your new seamstress? Don’t you have two of them already?”
“I’m hiring a third one!” you called out as you walked out of the room and went outside to get in the carriage again, smiling to yourself.
*
Not that you were complaining because you loved getting new gowns, but you didn’t quite understand why Aunt Lavinia had insisted on getting you ten different nightgowns for your honeymoon. The seamstress who was handling your trousseau was a nice lady called Mrs. Jones who looked very happy to see you.
“Three of your nightgowns and two of your dressing gowns are ready my lady,” she said when you and Cecily walked into the shop and you smiled at her.
“Oh my goodness that’s wonderful!”
“Would you like to try them?”
“Of course, thank you,” you said. “We must wait until my aunt gets here though.”
“That’s quite alright—Bessie, go prepare the dressing room for the lady,” she told her daughter to send her rushing, “Meanwhile, would you mind if I tried something? One of your dressing gowns has small flowers on the sleeves so I was wondering if you’d like the same in your hair? For the morning perhaps?”
“I’d like that,” you said and she grabbed a ribbon with tiny flowers on it.
“If we could try, my lady?”
You walked to her and turned around so that she could work on your hair, trying to see how the ribbon would look around the bun Lucie had worked hard on this morning and Cecily sat down on the sofa.
“That will look very beautiful,” she commented. “What are we doing after this?”
“Going home I think,” you said and snapped your fingers. “No wait, we will go by the florist and then we will go home.”
“Right, and the paper shop?”
“Tomorrow,” you said. “I still need to go over the invitation list.”
“You can borrow mine,” she said. “I’m guessing it’s practically the same?”
You opened your mouth but were distracted when Aunt Lavinia walked into the shop.
“I’m late, I know,” she said. “Hello Mrs. Jones.”
“Countess Ashdown.”
“It’s alright Aunt Lavinia, we just got here as well,” you said while Mrs Jones started pinning the ribbon into your hair and Aunt Lavinia frowned.
“Really?”
“We went by Ms. Hill’s shop before coming here,” Cecily said, making Aunt Lavinia turn to her.
“Why?”
“For my veil,” you said. “Madame Delacroix is way too busy with my wedding gown and of course Mrs. Jones is handling my trousseau, so for my veil I needed someone else, otherwise it wouldn’t be ready by the wedding.”
Mrs. Jones stopped for a moment and Aunt Lavinia raised her brows. “You hired another seamstress?”
“Yes.”
“…Just for the veil, my lady?” Mrs. Jones asked and you stole a look at her.
“Yes because I really want a long veil, you see,” you motioned with your hands. “It needed another seamstress. Anthony came up with the idea.”
“Anthony told you to hire a third seamstress just because you wanted a long veil?” Aunt Lavinia asked and you nodded as Mrs Jones pinned the last part of the ribbon around your bun and pulled back.
“Dear God, he will spoil you rotten,” Aunt Lavinia murmured and you let out a giggle, then turned to look at your hair in the mirror.
“Oh I love this!” you said, “Yes, please make sure to include it for that dressing gown as well.”
“Your nightgowns are ready, my lady.” Bessie said and you nodded, then followed her to the room. Three nightgowns and two dressing gowns were already by the sofa for you to try and you took a deep breath, then let her undo the laces of your dress before unlacing your corset as well. She helped you get into the nightgown, then tied it behind you and stepped back.
“There, my lady.”
You turned around to look in the mirror and as soon as you did, you swallowed thickly. The nightgown was beautiful and it was very clear that an expert hand had made it, the fabric was so soft that it almost felt like water on your skin, like if you moved, it would slip off of you which you loved but—
But it was also very much sheer. Regardless of the laces on the bodice or the long skirts that were adorned with silver threads, the whole nightgown was more see through than anything you had ever worn in your entire life.
“My lady?”
“Um—” you cleared your throat. “Can you bring Marchioness Westcliff here, Bessie?”
“Of course,” she said and walked out of the room, and you turned to look at yourself better, the skirts flying around you easily. The sunlight spilling through the cracks of the window almost made the fabric shine and you let out a breath, still torn between decisions.
“Y/N?” Cecily knocked on the door. “May I?”
“Yes!” you called out and she stepped inside, then her jaw dropped.
“Wow.”
“I don’t know what to think,” you admitted and she walked to you, then motioned you to turn to the mirror. “What are you doing?”
“Just so that you can see how exactly you will look,” she murmured as she pulled the pins out of your hair, letting it free of the bun and you fixed your hair, then tilted your head at the mirror.
“I mean it’s beautiful but I can’t—” you lowered your voice. “I can’t wear this.”
“Why not?”
“Well, it’s…” you motioned at the mirror. “Look at it!”
“I am looking at it.”
“It’s sheer.”
“It’s a nightgown for your honeymoon,” she reminded you. “What did you expect to wear? An actual gown?”
“I mean we would rather if the half of the nightgowns are fragile and half of them are made of stronger materials,” you heard Aunt Lavinia’s voice. “Some of them can be muslin; gold, silver and white of course, with additional tulle but at least five of them must be silk or satin, not to…rip easily. You know newlyweds.”
You pulled your brows together, stealing a look at Cecily. “What does that mean?”
“She just wants to be sure.”
“That I won’t rip off my nightgowns?”
Cecily shrugged her shoulders. “That Anthony won’t rip them off in the haste to get you out of them.”
“Out of my nightgowns?” you scoffed. “Oh don’t be ridiculous Cecily. I’m not supposed to be naked in front of any man ever, my mother was very clear about that.”
“See, my mother taught me the same thing but apparently there’s an exception.”
“Of?”
“Your husband, while you…consummate.”
You thought for a moment, then shook your head.
“No, I don’t think Anthony wants to see me without my clothes on.”
Cecily bit down on her lips as if fighting a smile.
“Right,” she said. “Of course. Whatever you say.”
“Girls?” Aunt Lavinia knocked on the door. “May I?”
“Sure!” you called out and Aunt Lavinia stepped in, and gasped, pressing a hand on her chest.
“Oh my goodness.”
You giggled and took the silk dressing gown off the sofa, then put it on. After fixing the wide sleeves, you spun around, the fabric flying around you. “I like this one a lot!”
Aunt Lavinia walked to you, then fixed the train of the gown before tying the ribbon around your waist, smiling at you.
“No wonder he’s so eager to keep you happy, my dearest,” she said as she stepped aside for you to see yourself better in the mirror. “You look like the world’s most beautiful gift.”
You took a deep breath and bit on your lip, moving your arms while you kept your gaze in the mirror.
“Assuming he would see me in this,” you mumbled, your cheeks burning at the thought. “Do you—um—do you think he would like it?”
Aunt Lavinia tilted her head. “Assuming?”
“She doesn’t think the Viscount would want to see her in such attire, or less of it.” Cecily said with a small grin and Aunt Lavinia exchanged glances with Cecily, then she let out a laugh before clearing her throat.
“Let’s keep that conversation for your wedding day,” she said. “Try the other ones, Cecily and I will be waiting outside.”
You nodded and took off the dressing gown, then untied the nightgown before grabbing the other one.
*
It had taken you almost an hour to try those nightgowns and going over the sketches of the ones that would be made for you in the next two weeks. When you were done, you had walked to the to the other side of the shop to take a look at the silk ribbons and some lace patterns while Cece and Aunt Lavinia talked to Mrs. Jones.
You had just grabbed a pale pink ribbon that you heard the door open, making you turn your head but as soon as you did, you narrowed your eyes. Miriam eyed you up and down and walked into the shop.
“Countess Hayward,” Bessie came to greet her and she made a dismissive hand motion.
“I’ll be there in a moment,” she said and turned to shoot you a fake smile. “Hello Y/N.”
“Miriam,” you deadpanned and she leaned sideways to the shelf, grabbing a random ribbon to keep herself busy.
“I’ve heard you got engaged to Lord Bridgerton,” she said. “Congratulations are in order, I suppose.”
“Thank you,” you said, trying not to roll your eyes. “How is marriage treating you?”
“Oh I’m very happy with my husband,” she said. “Everyone keeps saying I’m still in the honeymoon phase but…”
You hummed. “That’s lovely.”
“But I must admit,” she said. “Regardless of any bad blood between us, I must give credit to you. I applaud your courage.”
You turned your head to look at her better.
“My courage?” you repeated. “What for?”
“I mean you’re marrying a rake with a capital R,” she commented. “Even worse, Whistledown calls it a love union.”
You pulled your brows together, shooting her a quizzical look.
“We are in love, yes,” you said. “Unlike other people, I wouldn’t be able to marry someone I did not love. Or someone who did not love me.”
The implication wasn’t lost on her and she gritted her teeth for a moment before heaving a dramatic sigh.
“See, since I became a married woman before you, I feel as though I must share my wisdom with you,” she said. “He might love you for now, yes. But that’s not the same as desiring you.”
You pulled back slightly. “I’m sorry?”
“I mean, rakes desire a lot of ladies,” she said. “And Lord Bridgerton has quite the reputation. Dancers, actresses…opera singers.”
You could feel your stomach doing a painful flip as the memory flashed through your mind and Miriam smiled.
“That takes courage, you know?” she said. “Falling in love with a rake and assuming he will love you forever.”
“Oh I’m sure he will,” you forced yourself to say. “Thank you for your concern.”
Miriam shrugged her shoulders.
“I suppose the question isn’t whether he will love you forever,” she said. “It’s whether he will still want you after your wedding. Or even better, if he even wants you now in the way a husband wants his wife.”
You could feel the insecurity churning your stomach and she let out a small laugh, then walked past you but you bit inside your cheek and put the ribbon back in the shelf.
“Miriam?”
She turned around. “Yes?”
“I’m making the guest list and I need to have the actual number for the engagement ball, you know how these things are,” you said. “So I must ask. Should I send the invitation for you and your husband, or you, your husband and his mistress?”
Fury flashed over her face and she glared at you, then took a step towards you.
“I hope it hurts,” she hissed and stormed away from you, making you tilt your head in confusion.
“Y/N?” Cecily came closer to you. “Was that Miriam?”
You blinked a couple of times, still frowning. “Yeah.”
“What did she want?”
“…Nothing,” you said after a beat. “Can we leave now? I’m ready to go home.”
“Weren’t we going by the florist after this?”
You shook your head.
“No,” you said. “I want to go home now.”
*
As much as you wanted to forget about what Miriam had told you, you couldn’t. You had tried to focus on going over your list of things to do for the wedding, but even that couldn’t distract you from the doubt gnawing at your insides.
Anthony loved you yes, but did he want you?
The way he had wanted all those other ladies, the way he had wanted his mistress?
Your lack of information about what was supposed to happen on your wedding night wasn’t helping either. You knew there was a way to consummate the marriage and having babies, and you knew it had to have something to do with desire, a desire you most certainly held for Anthony but you were beginning to feel so frustrated at everyone’s decision to keep it from you until the very last minute. Perhaps if you knew what was to take place—
Perhaps that could’ve helped you understand whether Anthony indeed wanted you, the way it was expected in matrimony.
Carnal lust and appetites, as the bishop had called it at Elias and Cece’s wedding.
You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even realized Elias opening the door to the room and stepping inside but as soon as he did, he slipped on the various fabrics on the floor and almost lost his balance but grabbed at the chair to regain it.
“Chérie – Jesus Christ!”
“Elias!” you protested. “That is silk faille, you’re not supposed to step on it with your shoes!”
“I almost broke my neck!”
“You’re fine—that will stain you do realize that?”
He rolled his eyes and threw the fabric at you, making you catch it in mid-air. “Come on, we’re leaving for the museum.”
“Is father coming?”
He smiled and shook his head. “No, father is not coming. Neither is Aunt Lavinia or Iona.”
“Ken?”
“I think he’s already there, he and Hugh went there early Cece says.”
You nodded and followed him downstairs, then both of you walked out of the house to find Cecily by the carriage.
“Ready?” she asked as the coachman opened the door for her and you got in after she did, Elias jumping into the carriage to sit across from you next to Cece.
For the whole road to the museum, you could barely pay any attention to their conversation, only answering when a question came up and it was only when the carriage stopped that you realized you had arrived. You took the coachman’s hand to get off the carriage and fixed your dress, biting inside your cheek.
“Thank you,” you told him and he bowed, then Cecily touched your arm.
“Are you alright?”
“Yeah!” you said and nodded your head. “Sure.”
She shot you a look but didn’t comment on it as you all walked to the museum. It wasn’t that crowded, which you guessed was normal, Elias had mentioned it was a small exhibition with only certain members of the ton attending it. You could see some familiar faces through the crowd but you weren’t exactly in the spirits to socialize so you heaved a sigh.
“I’ll… I’ll take a look at the paintings in other rooms,” you said and walked away from them before either of them could say anything. You found the nearest room with as few people as possible and entered it before walking to sit down on the bench by the huge painting.
A painting of lovers.
You gazed up at the artwork, the admiration on both of the figures’ faces on the canvas making you smile and you nibbled on your lip, wondering if the painter had used a real life couple as his inspiration.
It was almost enough to distract you by your worries.
Almost.
You took a look at the small plaque by the painting in hopes of finding more information but you were instantly distracted when someone sat next to you. You turned your head, your lips pulling into a smile without you even realizing it as soon as you saw who it was.
“Good evening my love,” Anthony greeted you and your smile widened.
“Good evening.”
“How was your day?”
Your smile faded as the warmth in your stomach left its place to ice and you cleared your throat, shrugging your shoulders.
“It was alright.”
He knew you way too well to believe that. His brows pulled into a frown and he pulled back slightly to look at you better.
“What happened?”
“Nothing,” you said almost too quickly and he shot you an almost chiding look.
“Y/N.”
“Really, it…it’s not important.”
“It is,” he said. “What happened? Is it the veil issue again?”
“No,” you said, shaking your head. “No and um, thank you for that by the way. I know it’s highly uncommon but it—it means a lot to me.”
“Then what is it?”
You lowered your gaze to your fingers, wringing your hands.
“I…today I went to Mrs. Jones, she’s making my trousseau,” you said. “And I tried the nightgowns she made and they look really good, albeit a bit unusual. One of them was completely see through and I still do not understand why I’m going to need ten nightgowns for the honeymoon,” you trailed off, as he cleared his throat and shift on the bench for some reason.
“See through, you say?”
“Completely,” you said and he shook his head, as if trying to force himself to focus.
“Anyway, just as I was about to leave,” you said before you could get distracted by your own train of thoughts again. “I saw Miriam.”
“Miriam?” he repeated. “What did she want?”
“Well, to taunt me for starters,” you grumbled. “But then she said something and it made me think.”
“What?” he asked and you heaved a deep sigh, biting inside your cheek, then shrugged your shoulders.
“Y/N—”
“Do you want me?” you cut him off, unable to hold yourself back any longer and the question seemed to have caught him so off guard, judging by the silence that fell upon you. It was only when you raised your glances to look at him that you could see the mixture of complete shock mixed with affection on his face.
“…I’m sorry, what did you just say?” he managed to ask and you shifted your weight, taking a deep breath.
“Do you want me?” you asked. “Because you don’t, I fear.”
He blinked a couple of times and pursed his lips as if he was trying his hardest to keep a straight face.
“This is a real question right? You’re not jesting?”
“I’m not talking about loving me,” you insisted. “I know you love me but you…I mean—do you desire me? Because I do desire you so much but I don’t know if you do. Like—like those other ladies before.”
Realization dawned on his face and a fond smile curled his lips.
“Y/N.”
“Because Miriam said loving someone and desiring someone within marriage is—”
“I’ve never loved or desired anyone more in my life,” he cut you off and let out a chuckle. “That was what worried you?”
“So then, you—” you stumbled over your words, a fire sweeping over your cheeks. “You do then?”
“I’m nearly going insane here,” he corrected you and you let out a breath.
“It’s just that…” you said. “Before, while we were courting you didn’t even kiss me or try to be alone with me but you used to, and I thought maybe that meant something.”
“Because I was trying to do things right this time,” he said. “Not because I didn’t want to. I want you more than you could ever imagine, and you had doubts about that?”
“Well it’s because no one tells me anything!” you insisted, trying to defend yourself. “Even Miriam knows more about desire than I do as it seems.”
“Oh don’t worry darling,” he said with a mischievous smile. “I will enlighten you about that really soon.”
Your eyes searched his face. “Do you promise?”
He winked at you, making your heart skip a beat. “I promise. No question about it.”
You ignored the burning on your cheeks. “Just answer me one thing.”
“Hm?”
“It has something to do with kissing, doesn’t it?” you said. “Consummation?”
Anthony took a deep breath, as if trying to control his expression.
“That’s…involved.”
“I knew it,” you said with a grin. “And I knew you were lying when you said you didn’t know what the bishop meant when he said carnal lust and desires.”
He sounded nearly tormented now. “Can you please stop saying carnal lust and desires?”
You shot him a light-hearted glare then looked around, your stomach doing a happy flip as the thought hit you.
“You could enlighten me tonight, you know?” you said. “We’re going to get married and I’m sure no one would notice our absence for a while.”
He hesitated only for a moment before he shook his head.
“You deserve better than some stolen moment,” he said. “And I’m not going to do anything before you know what’s going to happen.”
You tilted your head and he stood up, offering you his hand.
“Come on.”
“Where are we going?”
“We’re going to another room with people in it before I give in to my desire and decide to enlighten you right here,” he muttered more to himself and you giggled, then took his hand and let him pull you to your feet.
“Alright,” you said. “But just so you know, I’ll remind you of your promise.”
Anthony grinned. “Trust me, you won’t have to remind me.”
You hummed and placed your hand on his arm.
“Very well,” you said with a dramatic sigh. “Let’s admire art then. That seems to be the second best thing to do tonight.”
Chapter 37
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War and Cats
Summary: Wash agreed to keep an eye on Caboose during the war on Chorus, but Caboose seemed to disappear on him.
Characters: Agent Washington, Micheal J. Caboose
Word Count: 1222
Note: I wrote this for my friend @mirror-mariposa. You should check him out!
War was tough for everyone. The Doctors, the soldiers, the civilians (how little there were nowadays). Chorus has so few people now that only the youth, elderly, and terribly injured were considered civilians now.
For some people, this wasn’t their first war, and it was slowly taking its toll on them. Wash and Carolina were once freelancers. Being a freelancer became all they knew for the longest time. Their time in the Great War defined them. The siblings spoke often about those times to each other, but they rarely spoke about it with others. It felt more comfortable that way. They rarely mentioned their lives before joining the Reds and Blues to others. No one pushed them; it wasn’t their place. They all knew the two had a hard time.
However, a lesser known fact about the team, Wash and Carolina weren’t the only members who fought in the Great War. No one would expect that someone from Blood Gulch would have fought in the war; none of them were fit to be in the war in their current state. Yet, the Reds and Blues knew about Caboose’s past. They knew of his purple heart and why he had it. They had an ex-Spartan on their side.
War took its toll on them, mentally and physically, the first time, and it was taking its toll the second time as well. Everyone’s body ached from the almost constant training and battling they took part in, and their mental states had seen better days. It was reopening old wounds for the Great War veterans.
Wash fell back into trying to force people to see him as a leader. He found himself being bossy and a little too harsh towards the younger soldiers without meaning to; Carolina was always there to snap him out of it. Carolina would start spending more time alone, pushing herself further than she should be. Church did all he could to stop her from doing that and to take a rest, and when he couldn’t, he would get Wash’s help.
However, Caboose was different. He acted like his usual self from before they joined the war, and it seemed like nothing was bothering him. He was as air-headed as always, maybe even more so, but only people who knew him very well would be able to tell that. Tucker and Church had mentioned that he seemed off a few times. This led Wash to agree to keep an eye on Caboose the best he could with how much the ex-Spartan moved around.
Wash started to wonder why he was the one to agree to this one day when it seemed extra hard to find Caboose anywhere. He wasn’t in his room. Nor was he in the training room, nor the weapons room, or with any of the Red and Blues. There was nowhere else he could look, or so he thought. Stepping outside to clear his head, he heard Caboose’s voice nearby.
“You know, it’s not that bad, really. I mean, what would John say if he saw me freaking out now? I fought in worst battles.”
Wash’s eyebrows furrowed at the words. He was talking to someone? Everyone who it could be was inside; Wash knew everyone was from looking for Caboose. He also didn’t think Caboose would be one to talk so casually with an enemy like he was, unless it was to mislead them.
The ex-freelander’s steps were as quiet as he could make them, following the sound of Caboose’s voice. He wasn’t too far from the main building, but he was near a smaller building that they didn’t use. Wash stopped at the corner of the building and peeked out at the other man.
Caboose was sitting on the ground with his helmet off, resting on the ground by his side. His hair was getting too long, falling into face, and his eyes looked tired. Wash finally saw who he was talking to.
In his lap, there was a small cat. It didn’t look like a kitten, but it definitely looked undersized for a full grown cat. It had long orange fur that was dirty and part was matted.
“Meow”
“I know, I know,” Caboose smiled softly, reaching into one of his armor’s pockets. “I brought something for you.”
The man held out his hand flat towards the cat. The cat sniffed whatever it was before stepping closer, tilting its head down. Food, he was feeding it.
“That’s all I could bring you this time, Garf. I’ll try to bring some more later.”
The cat looked up at Caboose and mewed before rubbing its head against his hand. It finished the food before starting to make circles in Caboose’s lap, curling into a ball.
The blue armored man ran his hand over the cat and started to speak again, “It’s not so bad… Church is still here to yell at me for my screw ups.”
His words sounded forced, like he was trying to convince himself of these. “It reminds me of Blood Gulch… I miss it there.”
“You would like it there,” Caboose tilted his head a little, looking down. His eyes softened. “I would keep you nice and fed, and you could come inside, and you could sleep in my bed, and… and we wouldn’t be fighting a real war.” His shoulders drooped a little as he went on. A sigh left his lips.
Wash decided it was time to make himself known. He slowly walked over, still trying to make his footsteps as quiet as possible. The ex-freelancer pulled his helmet off.
“There you are.”
Caboose’s head snapped up, taking a moment to realize who it was. He made himself smile at the other man. Without his helmet, Wash could tell it didn’t reach his eyes.
“Washington!”
Wash forced a smile back. “Hey, Caboose.”
The older man sat on the ground in front of the other. The cat, Garf, lifted its head to look at the newcomer. Wash reached his hand up to allow the cat to sniff him. The cat did before mewing and laying its head back down. The man smiled softly before looking up, pulling his hand back.
“You doing okay, buddy?”
Caboose opened his mouth to respond, but Wash first added, “Caboose, don’t lie. Do you need to talk?”
The ex-Spartan hesitated, rubbing the cat’s head with his thumb. “...I don’t like this, the fighting and the noises and killing and…”
A sigh left the ex-freelancer’s lips. “I know, I don’t either,” he glanced back down at the cat in the Blue’s lap. “Hey, why don’t we go back inside? That cat could use a bath, and I think I could help sneak more food to it.”
Caboose perked up at this, eyes widening. He stared at the other man, wondering if he was telling the truth. Wash nodded at him. The Blue’s smile became genuine as he got off the ground, holding the cat in one arm. He grabbed his helmet with his free hand before starting to rush towards the main building. Wash smiled to himself as he got up to follow.
War was hell, and it was taking its toll on them all. But maybe with a cat around base, it would help at least one get through it all, and that was better than nothing.
#wash fic#red vs blue#rvb#red vs blue fic#rvb fic#red vs blue headcanon#rvb headcanon#michael j caboose#rvb caboose#red vs blue caboose#agent washington#rvb wash#red vs blue wash#chorus#chorus trilogy#rvb chorus#red vs blue chorus#headcanon#fanfic#fanfiction
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This is me and my handsome hunk of a husband on our weddin’ day seven years ago. He had more hair, and I had less.
Love day always reminds me of the time around this picture, and how it changed my outlook on life for the better.
Funny little thing, our weddin’ was— well, not little, since Coach had about 40 family members in attendance. But that was what was funny to me. He had so many kinfolk there, and I just about had none.
As soon as we got engaged, his whole family started plannin’ around it. A lot of them even wanted to help with the plannin’ and organisin’ of the event itself. It was awful sweet (and a little overbearin’🫢🤣) how much they wanted to be involved in the whole affair. But all the while, I couldn’t help but feel a little sad.
Those who know me know my story. I haven’t always been “Trucker Dave”, but my own blood wishes I never had been. It was sad at the time, but I survived and I thrived without them.
When I was younger, my mama would always talk about what she wanted my weddin’ to be like. What church it had to be in, which cousins would get to be bridesmaids, what the dress should look like, and even what kinda man the groom would be. Made me dread gettin’ hitched so bad I considered joining a convent.
Of course when I started plannin’ my real weddin’, I was thrilled. But there was always this naggin’ voice in the back of my head, tellin’ me the flower arrangements were wrong or the reception food wasn’t quite right. Drove me just about nuts.
So, with all that nonsense, you’d probably think “good riddance to them!” And I wanted to… but even after all that, with memories of them poisonin’ the fun I was supposed to be havin’, I still wanted them to be there. They’re family. Family shows up for each other no matter what, I thought, even though I tried remindin’ myself of all the times they had proven otherwise.
Got so bad I almost contacted my siblin’s— found them on social media one night. But the moment I saw their faces pop up on that screen was the moment I knew this had to stop. I couldn’t put myself through what would surely be more heartbreak.
I told Coach about all these feelin’s, and he suggested that I take some time away from weddin’ plannin’ with some friends to unwind. So I went on a weekend fishin’ trip with Billy and Johnson, my groomsmen, and Rhonda, another good friend and bridesmaid (or groomsmaid maybe? Is that a word yet?).
As we were sittin’ back in our chairs on the rocks, waitin’ for a catch, I couldn’t help but ask, “do y’all think we need family to be complete?”
Billy and Rhonda both said yes, while Johnson didn’t say nothin’, as he tends to do.
So I said, “then how could an orphan be happy?”
Billy looked at me a little funny, and says, “what’s stoppin’ an orphan from havin’ family?”
And, well, I couldn’t help but say, “I don’t know, Billy. A fire, maybe?”
Rhonda laughed at my little quip, but Billy just shook his head and clicked his tongue. “What’s stoppin’ an orphan from makin’ a family, David?” he asks.
And I thought about it for a bit, and then I said, “maybe he’s too young to start makin’ a family.”
Billy looks down at his beer, then he says, “alright, alright. How ‘bout findin’ one?”
And I sat with that for a little while, before admittin’, “I’m not sure I’m followin’ you, Billy.”
Billy nodded, then asked me another question. He asked, “how long was it between leavin’ home and meetin’ the Coach?”
So I answered, “four years, I think.”
And Billy asked, “and what did you do in that time?”
And well, I couldn’t help but raise my beer to the sky and holler “truck!”, and the others couldn’t help but follow suit. But after we’d shared a drink, I thought about it some more, and said “I suppose I was always on that radio, talkin’ to you fellas.”
That’s when Rhonda piped in and said “buildin’ a community.”
And Billy clicked his fingers and pointed right at her. “That’s the one!” he said. “That’s what it’s all about! We humans can’t help but build our nests next to each others, and share our worms, and huddle together in the Winter. Whether we realise it or not, we’re always buildin’ a community around us wherever we go. Don’t gotta be married or havin’ kids, just gotta be willin’ to lend a hand-crank and share a beer.”
And when I tell you I couldn’t help but shed a tear as I looked around at my friends, at wild and free Billy, at helpful and hilarious Rhonda, and at stoic and stubborn Johnson. I hadn’t realised it up until that very darn moment, but who I was lookin’ around at weren’t just friends, but my own kinfolk. My family.
And I said, “well goddamn, Billy, you just about made me whole again.”
And he said, “brother, it’s about time.”
I’ll never forget that trip, the one where I discovered my real family right before startin’ a new one with Coach. I’ve spent my whole life tryna build connections with people like myself, and yet I didn’t realise what I was really lookin’ for.
Coach and I have been thinkin’ long and hard about what we want our family to look like, and sooner rather than later, we know we’d like to bring a little one into our lives. And I swear on whatever higher power there is in the world that I will make that little one feel at home with me, and I will show them love and kindness no matter who they turn out to be.
And one day, I’ll take them out fishin’ with their uncles and aunt, and tell them the story of how our family came together.
Happy love day to you and yours, from me and mine.
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I saw that you’ve been looking at Genshin but consider this. RvB/Genshin crossover. Please assign everyone a region (to the best of your ability since we’re still in the dark with 2 of the regions) and vision. For science.
HELLO i have literally thought about this so much. okay not actually that much but I have assigned everyone to elements/nations/weapons a few times in my head bc i love making lists. some of them i have like no comments on though. i also have a couple genshin headcanons for some of them and how I think they'd fit into the world. everything under the cut bc this will probably be a lot and also very rambly (ty for giving me an excuse to share this)
quick notes:
most of these are just based off vibes lol. if there's a specific reason behind assigning someone a certain element/weapon/nation i'll specify why. some of these are very vague lol
feel free to add your own interpretation/ideas i love hearing other perspectives
tried making the different elements different colors but tumblr has limited selection :(
i have no fucking clue how the church family works in a modern/not rvb setting 😭😭
okay here we go
Tucker: Anemo Catalyst
i know he seems like a sword user but hear me out: he makes blades of anemo like his energy sword (kinda like childe's hydro blades, but as a melee anemo catalyst user)
I.. have no idea what nation he'd be from. originally i put him as being from natlan because of the vague idea of him being a warrior or something, but i've actually got no clue other than that 😭
i think he's travelling throughout teyvat and taking on commissions as he goes. probably well known by the adventurer's guild
Church: Cryo Catalyst, Mondstadt
cryo fits so well to me. especially bc most cryo characters have themes of isolation/loneliness/or family issues (same reasons why i assigned cryo to carolina as well)
Caboose: Hydro Claymore, Sumeru
blue and strong. also hydro as a concept fits him in my mind.
Carolina: Cryo Polearm, Mondstadt
carolina and wash are siblings in my AU 👍
her and wash both joined the knights of favonius (KOF) at the same time, though carolina ended up leaving later to decide her own path (probably had something to do with her mother's death also. i think maybe she wanted to find out more about it / or didn't believe she was actually dead and wanted to search for her)
assigned her as a polearm user bc in rvb i headcanon her as knowing how to fight with a bo staff. and assigned her cryo for reasons stated before ^^
Wash: Geo Sword, Mondstadt
the other element i'd assign him to would be anemo, specifically wash post-pfl. but ive put him as geo here bc 1. yellow. and 2. he's a sort of grounding presence around the others and that fits geo to me
Tex: Electro Claymore, Snezhnaya
from snezhnaya originally but moved to mondstadt at some point, which is where she met church.
in this AU i think she's gone missing or tends to travel a lot without telling anyone, so the others are just kinda waiting for her to come back.
i think i assigned her as electro bc i associated it with omega (purple). also it looks cool so
Doc: Dendro Catalyst, Sumeru
dendro's generally associated with knowledge or personal growth and i think that fits for him. he's a catalyst bc i can't imagine doc picking up any weapon other than a rocket launcher as o'malley
Sarge: Pyro Catalyst, Liyue
i don't know why sarge is one of the characters i can most easily imagine in the genshin world but he is. (along w lina and wash)
the liyue qixing has personally banned him from using fireworks. he got a little too enthusiastic about helping with the fireworks display at lantern rite..
catalyst user bc i think he throws explosives (like klee) though i can see him as a claymore user as well.
Donut: Anemo Bow, Liyue
i feel like anemo fits him. idk something something freedom to be himself and express himself how he likes
Grif: Geo Claymore, Sumeru
geo is. grounding. and he's chill. idk it works in my head.
Simmons: Hydro Bow, Fontaine
Tried to get into the Sumeru Akademiya but had his application rejected, then went on to travel to Liyue to pursue his own studies which is where he met Sarge and Donut for the first time
Lopez: ......Khaenri'ah?
Built by Sarge out of scrap ruin machine parts that he found out by some ruins. doesn't have a vision, though I think he fights using pyrotechnics or just, pyro.
Locus: Dendro Claymore, Sumeru
former corrupt mercenary, now trying to be a better person. i think he would've gotten his vision after his redemption arc and to him it symbolizes a new start.
BONUS!! freelancers & co:
North: Hydro Bow, Snezhnaya
i think he and south could both be orphans of the house of hearth or something. maybe they escaped from the fatui at some point (or maybe the freelancers *are* the fatui. theres another au i was thinking of similar to that but its very vague)
South: Electro Sword, Snezhnaya
she's soo electro to me. purple lightning fuck yeah
Wyoming: Cryo Bow, Fontaine
bow because he's a sniper. fontaine because he's british. not much to say here
Florida: Hydro Polearm, Inazuma
Maine: Pyro Claymore, Natlan
CT: Pyro Polearm, Natlan
479er: Anemo Catalyst
anemo bc she's a pilot. yeah
Felix: Pyro Sword, Inazuma
i personally think felix would use a delusion rather than a vision. especially because delusions are like a form of "false" power like power that's created rather than gifted by the gods like a vision is. he wants a vision soo badly but he was never given one so he had to use a delusion to feel powerful, and even then he's being actively harmed every time he uses it bc of how delusions drain their user's life force. could be poetic but im shit at wording it lol
Kimball: Hydro Sword, Sumeru
Doyle: Geo Catalyst, Fontaine
#rvb#red vs blue#genshin impact#david stuff#this is so rambly and yet so vague at points. hope thats okay 👍#you can tell which ones i've thought about more than others lmao
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Chapter 12 has arrived!
T.K. has never been more excited to get off a shift in his life. His skin is still buzzing with the heat of last night. The thought of Carlos, alone in his bed, T.K.’s name on his lips…He’d promised to be professional at work and he was. But god damn is he horny now.
They have a breakfast date scheduled for this morning and then T.K. is taking Carlos to his new favorite boba place after they eat because apparently Carlos, amazing human that he is, has a singular flaw in that he has never tried boba. T.K. can’t wait to watch him suck down some little snot balls.
And then they’re going to go back to Carlos’ and T.K. is going to take him apart for hours.
The thought of it makes him even hornier.
He pulls out his phone to call for an Uber as he grabs his backpack and heads for the parking lot. But he only makes it a few steps outside the bay before he spots a familiar head of curls. “Hey,” he says in surprise.
“Hey.” Carlos is leaning up against the firehouse’s facade, a wry smile on his lips. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” T.K. says. “I thought we were going to meet at the restaurant.”
“We were,” Carlos says, pushing off the wall and taking a few steps toward him. “I just didn’t want to wait that long to see you. Not after last night.”
T.K. bites his lip and grins. “You had a good time huh?”
Carlos looks down a little shyly. “Yeah I’ve um, I’ve never done that before. Not like that. It was…it was fun.”
“Yeah?” T.K. feels a bloom of pleasure in his chest. “Good. Sorry I couldn’t join you in person.”
“Me too,” Carlos says, taking another step forward. “It was really nice. But I’d much prefer to have you in bed with me.”
“Soon,” T.K. promises. “But first, you owe me breakfast. And boba.”
“Oh I owe you?”
“Hey, my phone sex services don’t come cheap,” T.K. says, grinning up at him. “I expect payment in full.”
“I think I can make that happen,” Carlos says. He glances around. “Can I kiss you here? Or would you rather wait until we’re somewhere more private?”
T.K.’s immediate reaction is to balk. Kissing at work seems like something boyfriends do. Not casual hookups.
But…he really, really wants to.
“Yeah, you can kiss me,” he says.
Carlos closes the distance, capturing his mouth. He tastes like coffee and a hint of cinnamon and T.K. forgets that they’re standing outside the fire station, fisting his hands into the front of Carlos’ shirt and opening his mouth to invite him in. God why does kissing him feel like being thrown into a whirlwind of color? How can one person make him feel like this?
Alex never did. Neither did his other New York hookups. No one has ever picked him up after work just because they missed him. No one has ever asked to kiss him. The others always took; Carlos always gives.
It’s such a startling realization that he breaks the kiss and looks up at Carlos’ face. “I’m really glad you texted the wrong number,” he says.
“Me too,” Carlos replies, smiling. “Now, take me to your boba shop and teach me your ways.”
They get breakfast burritos from a place Carlos likes and then they chat outside in the sunshine sipping on boba, their feet brushing together under the table in a way that feels like they’ve been doing this for years instead of just a week or so.
“So tell me more about your family,” T.K. says, slurping down another tapioca ball. “You have two sisters?”
“Yeah, Ana and Luisa,” Carlos says. “Ana is married, they’ve got two kids. And Luisa has been dating her boyfriend for like…I don’t know two years I think? They’ll probably get engaged soon.”
“And your parents?”
“Still live in the house I grew up in,” Carlos says. “My mom does a lot of volunteer work through their church. My dad is a Texas Ranger, I think I told you that.”
T.K. nods. “Is that something you’d want to do? Are you following in his footsteps?”
Carlos pulls a face. “Not really.”
“Why’d you become a cop then?”
There’s a moment of silence as Carlos considers his drink and T.K. wonders if he accidentally stepped into something. “You don’t have to—“
“No, I can talk about it,” Carlos says. “My dad um…we have kind of a weird relationship. It’s not like you and your dad. We’re not close. I think I became a cop to kind of prove to him that I could. That I’m not soft. I mean, also to help people. That’s the part of the job I really like. But deep down, I guess I wanted to prove to him and to me that I could.” He shrugs uncomfortably. “That sounds bad.”
“No it doesn’t,” T.K. says. “I get it. My dad’s entire world in New York was his firehouse. After 9/11 he went there and it was kind of like he never came home again. They were his family and if I wanted time with him, I had to become a part of it.”
“That must have been really hard,” Carlos says softly.
“God I know, what a cliché to have daddy issues,” T.K. says with a smile. “Like pick a more interesting reason to need therapy.”
Carlos sort of hums in response.
“We’re good now though,” T.K. says. “Most of the time. We’re working on it. Not sure if living together helps or hurts, but things feel better now that we’re here.”
“And your mom?”
“I miss her,” T.K. says honestly. “I wish all the time that she was here. But she knew I needed to leave New York, and she didn’t let her own feelings get in the way of that. That’s love, you know?”
“Definitely,” Carlos agrees. “Although my mom would cry her eyes out every day if I moved across the country from her. Actually, she’d probably move with me,” he chuckles. “She’d house hop between mine and my sisters’.”
“Well I hope you’re not planning on moving anytime soon,” T.K. says. “That would really put a damper on what we’re doing here.”
“Nope,” Carlos says. “I’m here for the long haul.”
“Good,” T.K. says, that feeling of colorful hope spiking in his chest again. “Do you want to get out of here?”
“Yeah. My place?”
“Actually, my dad is out at Judd’s ranch this afternoon. So my house is empty. If you want to?” T.K. asks, a little tentative for reasons he can’t quite put into words.
Carlos’ eyes light up. “I’d love to see your place.”
T.K. directs him through the traffic to his dad’s house. He’s nervous, even though he’s sort of been thinking about this since yesterday. Carlos hasn’t said anything about it being weird that he lives with his dad, but he knows it’s a little strange that after over a year he still hasn’t found a place to call his own.
He’s not even really sure what he’s waiting for.
“Oh,” T.K. says when they get to the front door. “I forgot. You don’t have a problem with dogs, right?”
“No.” Carlos shakes his head.
“Okay good. Buttercup is here. And he will probably attack you with love.”
He pushes open the door and sure enough Buttercup immediately appears, tail wagging, tongue slobbering as T.K. bends over and gives him some pets. “Buttercup, this is Carlos. Carlos, Buttercup,” he says.
“Hi Buttercup,” Carlos says, squatting down so that Buttercup has better access to him.
Buttercup gives him an experimental sniff and deems him good (Buttercup has never deemed a human bad in his entire life) and then proceeds to nearly push him on his ass in an aggressive bid for more pets. Carlos chuckles and takes it in stride, rubbing his ears and scratching under his chin, much to the fluffy dog’s delight.
T.K. lets Buttercup out the back door to wander around the yard for a bit after being cooped up inside all night, then turns back to Carlos. “So this is the kitchen,” he says. “It’s…a kitchen.”
Carlos laughs. “It is. A very nice kitchen.”
“Do you want something to drink? We have water, I think there’s some organic juice in here somewhere,” T.K. says, opening the fridge.
“I’m still good after that boba,” Carlos tells him.
“Okay then I’ll take you on the rest of the tour.” He takes a few steps back. “This is the living room. We live in here.”
“Great,” Carlos says in amusement.
“The bathroom is over here.” He opens the door to reveal the toilet and vanity. “And I think that’s about it.”
“Oh that’s it huh?” Carlos asks.
“Oh!” T.K. says. “My dad’s bedroom. Of course you want to see that.”
Carlos takes a step toward him. “Not really the bedroom I’m most interested in.”
“No?”
“No.”
“Oh did you, did you want to see my bedroom?” He starts walking backward toward the staircase a coy smile on his face.
“Yeah, I think that might be nice,” Carlos says following him.
“Mmm, come on then officer.”
He leads Carlos up the staircase and down the hall, pausing outside the first door. “You’re sure you don’t care about my dad’s bedroom?”
“Very,” Carlos confirms, a magical light sparkling in those brown eyes. T.K. has quickly learned that sparkle means some very delightfully bad things are about to happen to him.
“Well then I guess…” he walks a few more feet and pushes open the door to his room, “we’ll just have to go in here instead.”
He’s barely through the door before Carlos is tackling him to the bed, cradling his body so the landing is soft. “Wow. You don’t even want to take a second to look at my decor choices?” T.K. teases.
“I’ll look later,” Carlos says, already working on the button of T.K.’s jeans. “Right now we are going to do every. single. thing you texted me about last night.”
“I was hoping we would.”
Carlos makes good on that promise and throws in a couple bonuses, much to T.K.’s delight. It’s ridiculous how much T.K. already craves the feeling of Carlos’ hands on his body, how he can’t get enough of his lips, the feel of his fingers, the softness of his mouth. He doesn’t think about anything else when they’re together, completely consumed by how good Carlos makes him feel. It’s overwhelming and a little scary, but somehow safe all at the same time.
When they’re both sated they redress and go downstairs to take Buttercup for a walk, then put on a movie while waiting for Chinese takeout to arrive. They talk and laugh as they sit on the couch with T.K.’s legs thrown over Carlos’, his hand resting comfortably on T.K.’s thigh and it feels like…it feels like home.
“Nothing?!” T.K. asks incredulously when Carlos reveals he’s never watched a single Bravo TV show in his entire life. “Shahs of Sunset? Millionaire Matchmaker? Below Deck?!”
“No,” Carlos says dryly.
“Not even Real Housewives?!”
“I don’t get the hype. It’s just people with too much money behaving badly.”
“Babe! That’s why it’s fun!” T.K. cries. “No! No, we’re fixing this right now.”
He grabs the remote to scroll through the TV Guide as the front door opens. “Hello?” his dad’s voice calls out. “I’m home. Everybody decent?”
T.K. doesn’t miss the way Carlos immediately stiffens, something like panic crossing his face as he meets T.K.’s eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t think he’d be home for another hour,” T.K. says.
“I can go,” Carlos says, shifting so that he and T.K. are no longer touching.
“No, no, stay,” T.K. says. “He’ll be fine. I promise.”
“Hey, there you are,” Owen says as he rounds the corner and spots them. “Hi, you must be Carlos.”
Carlos stands up, almost too fast, and holds out a hand. “Captain Strand. Nice to meet you,” he says, his voice so formal that T.K. almost snorts. He’s so adorably professional.
“Oh please,” his dad scoffs. “You’re sitting on my couch in your socks. You can call me Owen.”
“Yes sir,” Carlos says and T.K. can tell from the look on his face that that won’t be happening anytime soon.
“We just ordered food, we’ll have extra if you want it,” T.K. says.
“No, no I won’t interrupt.” His dad waves a hand. “Judd had me on a horse most of the afternoon. I am in desperate need of a shower before I do anything else.” He looks at Carlos. “Are you planning to stay the night?”
“No,” Carlos says quickly, his eyes flitting nervously to T.K.’s. “No sir. Just for dinner.”
“Well don’t leave on my account. The walls in this house are thin but I just invested in a great pair of headphones.”
He claps a hand on Carlos’ shoulder, a jovial, winning smile on his face. It’s meant to be friendly and reassuring, but Carlos looks terrified.
“Enjoy your dinner!” his dad says as he heads for the stairs and then he pokes his head back around the corner. “Oh, T.K. I restocked the prophylactics yesterday. All sizes. Help yourselves!”
Carlos looks like he’s going to melt into the floor.
“Thanks Dad,” T.K. says, barely holding onto the hysterical laughter that’s bubbling up inside him.
His dad disappears for real this time and Carlos turns to him woodenly. “I think I should go.”
“No, no, no,” T.K. says, finally letting his laughter loose and grabbing for Carlos’ hand, pulling him back down onto the couch. “It’s fine. He doesn’t care. He knows I’m an adult. It’s not weird, I promise. We’re very open about sex in this house.”
Carlos still looks stiff and uncertain so T.K. tugs his hand to bring him closer. “Come here. Just relax.”
“I can’t relax,” Carlos grinds out, his eyes darting to the staircase. “Your dad is up there thinking we need prophylactics.”
“Well…we kind of do,” T.K. says with a grin.
Carlos glares at him and T.K. rubs a hand soothingly up and down his arm. “Take a breath. Let the dulcet tones of the New York Housewives soothe your spirit.”
“Fine,” Carlos says. “But I am not having sex with you while your dad is in this house.”
“Fair,” T.K. says, even as he secretly vows to get Carlos to break that promise.
Their dinner arrives and they enjoy it with only a few interruptions from his dad. Owen sneaks down the stairs to grab a water, then comes down again later to take Buttercup for his evening walk. He’s not as invasive as he could be, but it makes T.K. feel a little like a teenager hanging out with his boyfriend on a school night. In the future they will definitely only stay here when he’s absolutely sure that his dad won’t be around.
All too soon Carlos is putting his shoes back on. “I don’t want you to go,” T.K. admits.
“Well next time let’s do this at my place and you can stay over,” Carlos says as he finishes tying his laces. “I don’t have an entire drawer dedicated to condoms, but I’m sure we can figure it out.”
“You’re never going to let this go huh?” T.K. asks.
“Mmm, no,” Carlos says, his eyes bright with humor after having several hours to move past his embarrassment. He reaches for T.K.’s hand and rubs his thumb back and forth. “You um, you called me babe earlier.”
T.K. thinks back and feels a little thrill as he remembers the endearment coming out of his mouth. He hadn’t even thought about it, it had just happened. It felt right. It still feels right.“Oh yeah, I did,” he says. “Is that…okay?”
“Yeah,” Carlos says, his eyes all soft and warm. “I liked it.”
“Cool,” T.K. says, aware that he’s got a stupidly giddy smile on his face. What is it about Carlos that brings out this mushy side of him?
“Should I pick a nickname for you?” Carlos asks, looking up at him through his lashes with those fakely innocent eyes he puts on when he wants to play.
“T.K. already is a nickname,” he says in amusement.
“But that’s what everybody else calls you. I want something just for me.” He pretends to think. “Sweetheart? Babydoll? Darlin’?” He stretches the last one out in an exaggerated Texas drawl that he most certainly doesn’t have.
T.K. laughs. “Those are terrible.”
“Mi querido? Ooh, I know, mi cielo?” His voice drops low and he leans into T.K.’s neck, nipping at him with his teeth as he says it.
“Shut up,” T.K. chuckles, pushing him away. “You’re so gross.”
“You love it,” Carlos says with a grin, going in for a real kiss this time. “Tell your dad I said goodnight.”
“Should I ask him to restock the XL condoms for next time too?”
Now Carlos shoves him playfully. “Only if you never want to have sex with me again.”
“Message received.” T.K. swallows hard and then grabs onto the bold courage that has been growing inside of him. “So if we’re hanging out at each other’s places and giving each other nicknames…some people would call that a relationship.”
“Would they now?” Carlos looks a little surprised, but not unhappy. “What would you call it?”
“I would…I would like to try calling it a relationship,” T.K. says, even though the words terrify him. Even though he’d sworn never again. “If that’s…something you’d be interested in.”
“A relationship. Like you’d be my boyfriend?”
“Well I wouldn’t be your girlfriend,” T.K. says in a weak attempt at hiding his nerves.
“T.K. Strand. The hotshot firefighter from New York. My boyfriend.” Carlos gives a fake casual shrug. “That would be fine.”
T.K. rolls his eyes even as a smile blooms on his face. “Oh that would be fine?”
“Yeah that would be fine.” Carlos pulls him into a kiss that is not sweet and not chaste and definitely full of joy. T.K. expects swirls of bursting color, but when he pulls back and opens his eyes the color is just…there. Steady. Permanent. Like it’s here to stay.
“You know boyfriends usually stay over at each other’s places,” T.K. says.
“So I’ve heard,” Carlos says. His eyes flick to the staircase. “Do you want me to?”
T.K.’s heart melts. Two hours ago Carlos was about to bolt from this house in fear of his father and now he’s offering to stay over in spite of his discomfort.
“You know, I think it might be better if we go somewhere else,” T.K. says. “We’re very open about sex in this house but I’m not sure my dad needs to know everything we’re up to.”
“So…you’re coming home with me then?” Carlos asks, delight on his face.
“Yeah,” T.K. says. “I’m going home with you.”
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Wild Eyes
Fandom: DC Comics, Batfam, Batman Rogues
Summary: This is an AU where Jason ends up in Peña Dura with Bane after stowing away on a boat trying to escape Gotham.
Chapters: 3/?
Characters: Bane DC, Jason Todd, Birdy, Bruce Wayne
Additional Tags: Parent Bane (DCU), Canon Divergent AU, Father-Son Relationship, Jason Todd is Not Red Hood, Unconventional Families, Emotional Hurt/Comfort
Chapter Three: My Church Has Triple Belly Floppers
I’d only been gone a short while before Jason and I were reunited, but Jason seemed much older than his seventeen years. I’d never seen him fight, but he fought ruthlessly and tirelessly. His hair was plastered with sweat, blood, and water as the rain poured on our heads. His eyes seemed so far away as rage twisted his sweet face into a frightening scowl. I don’t think he saw me. I can’t imagine he saw anyone. “Jason,” I called in the rain, knocking men’s heads together. I forced my way through armed men to reach him. “Jason!”
Our men joined me at the helicopter, and I waited. He couldn’t hear me. “Jason!” I hollered, and he scrambled to his feet, smiling as his chest heaved up and down. His face changed, and he looked like my boy again. I stood firm as he rushed into my arms and pressed his face into my chest.
“Papa! You’re alright!” Jason shouted. I wrapped my arms around him, my heart slowing to a gentle bum bum bum. I pulled away, holding a steady hand on his shoulder, and he looked into my eyes. He might’ve grown to be a man with a stature comparable to mine, but he was a child in his heart. I nodded, and he relaxed his shoulders. We joined the men and the warden on the helicopter.
He stood beside me as I exacted my revenge against our warden, but he grabbed my hand before I could offer one act of mercy. “He dies a man’s death in exchange for the imprisonment of children,” Jason whispered as he snatched Osito from the warden.
“Jason—.”
“Papa, he belongs to you. Not him,” Jason interrupted. I nodded. I gave Osito to Jason before completing the warden’s death sentence, and Jason took a bag off his back to dole out rations. “Papa, this is for you.”
I took my food and watched as he fed everyone except himself. “No one eats,” I commanded. Jason and the men’s foreheads wrinkled, but only Jason could ask why. “Everyone take a portion of their rations and give them to Jason.” They obeyed, and I gave him some of my food as well.
I nodded, and we all ate together. All the while, Jason watched me. “What’s wrong?” I asked.
“Nothing… I just—. You can do anything… I guess—. I never met anybody that keeps promises like you do,” Jason replied, “I’ve never had that before. But you did the impossible and got us out.”
I could see the sparkle of tears forming in Jason’s eyes. He tried to return Osito to me, and I shook my head. “He’s yours now. Consider it the first of many gifts to come,” I replied. I mussed his hair and grinned. “Rest. We’ll be home soon.”
Jason obeyed, curled up beside Bird, and fell asleep. I kept watch over Jason the whole flight to New Jersey. Bird made a call, and someone brought us a change of clothes and a key to a hotel room. I carried Jason to bed, and I sat with the men. It wouldn’t be long before I felt the illness setting in. I couldn’t allow Jason to see it, but I’d gotten so used to his company that I couldn’t sleep if we were apart. I tossed and turned all night, plagued by the same dreams that haunted me as a child. When I awakened, Jason lay curled into a ball by my side, a thin sheet covering us both. I could hear him whispering, but he wasn’t asleep. Jason spoke so fast I couldn’t make out his words. He only whispered that way when he prayed. His memory served him well. Those were the prayers he whispered when the men were sick. I memorized his cadence, focusing on the breaths he took to decipher the prayer. “Jason?” I whispered. I sat up, shielding my eyes from the sliver of light peeking through the cracked door, and Jason patted my arm.
“Papa, it’s alright,” Jason mumbled, still half-asleep. He sat up, his hair sticking up in some places while plastered to his forehead in others. He stood and pushed his hair back. “I have to go out for a little while. Will you be alright?”
“Do you want one me to accompany—?”
Jason crouched beside me and kissed my cheek. “No, Papa… It’s a surprise. I’ll be home soon,” Jason whispered, “Don’t worry, okay?”
I nodded, watching as he grabbed clothes from the chest and changed. “Should I stay awake?” I asked.
“I’ll wake you… Besides, I want you to get some rest. I want to take you to my church tomorrow night. Maybe Father Tyler will be there,” Jason smiled. I grabbed his wrist. I fought every desperate thought I had regarding the idea of separating. “It’s my turn to make promises, Papa. I’ll be back soon. I promise you.” I lay awake wondering if he’d return. I had to let him go. Even if he’d broken his promise, I would’ve loved him the same as I always did. But he returned no more than two hours after he left. He carried a large bag with him, but I paid it no mind as I grabbed Jason and pulled him into a relieved embrace.
“Where did you go?” I asked, remembering to be gentle in my tone. Jason picked up on every little change in pitch and tonation in my speech. It was one of many things that I loved about our closeness.
“I made a little cash and got you a Triple Belly Flopper with the works… And I got onion rings because it doesn’t seem right to have french fries with a burger as excellent as this one,” Jason smiled, “And don’t worry. I got something for everybody.” Jason reached into the bag and handed me a wrapped sandwich. My mouth watered as soon as I smelled it.
I chuckled involuntarily. “Sorry, I—.” And then I laughed. “It’s a sandwich. I thought it was a swimmer.”
Jason chewed his lip to keep from laughing but quickly joined me in my humorous moment. “Take a bite,” Jason whispered once he collected himself. He ripped the bag open and grabbed an identical sandwich for himself. We ate quickly, but I savored the last bite. It was unlike anything I’d ever tasted. My first of many convenient culinary delights. Jason smiled as I ate the onion rings. He waited until I’d finished eating to speak. “What did you think?”
I wiped my hands with a napkin and lifted his chin. “My church has Triple Belly Floppers,” I grinned. Jason laughed.
Then it dawned on me. I had no idea where Jason got the money. “Jason, how—? How could you afford this?” I questioned.
“I sold tires… I stole them and sold them. I could’ve gotten more money for a whole car, but tires are easier to replace and harder to trace back to me,” Jason explained, “Besides, I made a ton of money in an hour because I’m stronger than I was as a kid… And you won’t believe whose tires I lifted.”
“Whose?” I questioned.
“The Batman,” Jason smiled. He wanted to make me proud.
“You outsmarted him?” I asked. Jason shook his head.
“No, I took advantage of a distraction in the area. He never saw me… But I saw him. I watched him, Papa. He used to have a friend… A partner… But I didn’t see him. The Bat stands alone,” Jason whispered excitedly. My heart dropped into my stomach.
“Stay far away from him. Do you understand me?” I asked. I grabbed his arms. Jason was my child, but he no longer resembled the small boy I saw. To Batman, he would be another adversary. I couldn’t fathom the thought of Batman brutalizing the one I loved most. My dearest treasure. The men at the prison and the warden were different. They were weak… And they were tools to train Jason for survival… But, none of that readied him to beat the Bat, and I wouldn’t stand for him getting hurt on my behalf.
“Papa? I don’t understand. I thought this was what you wanted,” Jason frowned.
“Leave that to me and the men… For now, I want you to enjoy your freedom. Do the things you’ve always dreamt of… It will all be yours soon,” I replied.
#fic#wild eyes fic#batfam#batman rogues#Bane DC#Jason Todd#Birdy#Bruce Wayne#Parent Bane (DCU)#Canon Divergent AU#Father-Son Relationship#Jason Todd is Not Red Hood#Unconventional Families#Emotional Hurt/Comfort
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Ch.4
A/N: I know these songs are not 90s accurate, but to me, they fit this chapter well. But I hope y'all still enjoy 🤎
Songs Played
Int'l Player's Anthem: UGK, Outcast
Let's Get Away: T.I.
Soul survivor: Young Jeezy, Akon
Say it: Neyo
Lucious pov
I pulled into my neighborhood, with the music blasting, I turned to look at little Mama bobbing her head. She seemed like the type to listen to R&B—that slow song shit. I reached over to change the song, but she shook her head, reaching over to turn it up.
"Don't change it; I like it." She said. She bobbing her head to the lyrics, making a stank face. The lyrics were raw and deep; it was that rough shit that only people in the hood could understand. But she was reacting to the lyrics like she could relate.
"You like that?" I asked her. I came up to my house and put the car in the park. I gave her an ear-to-ear smile, watching her let loose into the music. Lil Mama told me the day I walked her home from the basketball court that she loved music. It was also the day she agreed to go on this date with me. I love a woman who appreciates music, and I'm not talking about that lovey-dovey shit. I'm talking about music that's about the struggle of the streets. There are not a lot of girls like that.
"Hell yeah, that shit hot." She said, humming with the chorus. Lil Mama got some pipes on her too. When she told me she loved music, I told her to sing sum for me. Of course, I already knew she could sing, considering I was at her birthday. And she sang a couple of songs with her friends. When I asked her to sing for me, I felt something I hadn't felt before. Her voice was smooth but strong, like those older church ladies that would hit those low notes. You wouldn't think a powerful voice came out of a little body like hers.
I turned the car off, grabbed her flowers, and got out of the car. I walked over to her side, opening the door for her. "That was me." I said, grinning. Grabbing her hand, I helped her out of the car. She looked at me, surprised, and gave me a big smile.
"You for real? She asked me. I nodded as I put my hand on her waist, guiding her up the pathway. I decided to invite her over to have dinner with me and my uncle. But if I'm being completely honest, this was a test to see if my uncle liked her. My uncle is opinionated like fuck and outspoken. If he doesn't like your ass, he'll tell you he doesn't like your ass.
My uncle is pretty much like my pops; he took me in after my father was killed and my mom's died. I don't really care that my mama is dead, but for my pops to get taken away from me, I would never forgive the nigga that did it. But I'll get into that another time.
I opened the door and motioned for her to walk in. She looked around and smiled softly. "You live here?" She asked, looking at the pictures sitting on the coffee table. I stared at her blankly and nodded. I was looking for a sign of judgment, but I didn't find anything.
She just walked around, continuing to smile at pictures. She stopped at a baby picture of me and giggled. "Is this you? You were a fat baby. With a big ass head." She cackled. I sent her a playful glare and walked up to her, getting into her space.
She still smiled, showing her pretty white teeth. "Oh, you got jokes, little mama?" She smirked at me. Pulling the collar of my shirt, "Oh, I got plenty. But imma be nice. I don't want to crack on you in your house." She said, backing away a little. But I walked back up to her, grabbing the side of her face and looking down at her lips. But I was interrupted by my uncle clearing his throat.
"Marc, are you going to introduce me to?" Unc said, looking at little Mama. She gave him a big smile, and that's when I noticed she had dimples and thought that was the cutest sh*t ever. "Hi, I'm Nalae. It's nice to meet you." She said, reaching her hand out to shake his hand. He smiled at her and shook her hand.
"You don't mind me joining you and Marc for dinner, right?" He asked her, and she shook her head, placing her bag down on the couch and sitting down. I went to sit down beside her and watched her look at the cut-up vegetables. "Whatchu, cooking?" She asked him.
"Some fried pork chops, greens, and sweet potatoes." She gave an approved nod, showing all her teeth. Unc looked at her and chuckled. "What are you smiling so big for?" She leaned forward, laying her head on her wrist, and smiled. "I love to cook. You want me to help you?"
I chuckled, walking into the kitchen to have a drink. Me and little Mama made eye contact, and she smiled, sticking her tongue out at me, and looked back at my uncle, who raised his brow at her. "You can cook? Don't bring yo ass over here and fuck shit up!" He said, in all seriousness.
She playfully smacked her teeth and walked over into the kitchen to wash her hands. I sat at the kitchen counter, watching Little Mama pick up the meat and begin seasoning it.
Unc crossed his arms, watching her with a blank face. She dipped the meat in some flour, lightly shook it, and put it in the hot oil. "Who taught you how to cook?" Unc asked her.
She smiled and put the other three into the oil. "My mama. Taught me everything to know about food." She said it proudly. Unc walked over and began cooking the sweet potatoes. "We'll just see how good you do, then." Unc said, side-eyeing little Mama.
-Time Skip-
"Damn! That was good asf." Unc said, looking at little Mama. She smirked cockily at him and put another piece of pork chop in his mouth. "Damn, you can eat! This is your third plate." He said this, looking at her in disbelief. She playfully rolled her eyes, turning to look at Unc. "I told you I loved food." She said she was drinking her tea. I chuckled, pulling out my toothpick. "Ain't shit wrong with that. I like a girl that can eat." I said, staring into her eyes.
She looked down, smiling shyly, finishing her food, and leaning back into the chair. Unc got up, shaking his head, and picked up the plates. I leaned over, resting my arms on the table, and looked at little Mama. "Are you having a good time, mama?" I asked her. She nodded, drinking the last of her tea. "Yeah, your uncle is good people." She said, smiling softly.
I gave her a genuine smile, walking over to the coffee table and picking up the blunt. I was honestly new to this shit. I've never brought a girl to my house for a date—not even to fuck; I would always take a girl to the motel for that; I ain't trust hoes enough to come into my house. I ain't never had actual genuine feelings for a girl before; I had neither time nor patience to catch feelings for no bitches. But little Mama was different—all the way different. She won't like the other females trying to get at me. I've only known her for a couple of weeks, and in that short amount of time, Shordy was actually trying to get to know me. And didn't judge me or my choice of living. Like now, tonight she was in the kitchen cooking with my uncle, like she belonged here or something.
I could tell I had strong feelings for her already; I would miss her presence when I left her. I just wanted to be around her, to talk to her, to listen to her, etc. She was honestly making me go crazy every time I saw her smile. She made me feel nervous. You would think Nalae was the type of girl to go for smart, nerdy niggas. She gets good fucking grades and says she wants to go to college. And that shit makes me nervous because I know I couldn't do none of that shit. I know I'm smart—really fucking smart. Unc tells me all the time to get out of this street life. But the street life is all I fucking know, plus we ain't got the money for college. No matter how much I secretly want to go.
But I ain't gon ever be a doctor, lawyer, shit like that. I want to make music and make my way into owning my own company. I know deep down that she deserves better, but Ion want to let go of her; I want her to be mine.
I heard a tap on the table, and she looked at me softly with concern and mumbled, "Are you okay?" She must have noticed me deep in thought. I grinned at her and nodded. "I'm straight, baby." I said, handing her the blunt. She shook her head and mouthed ''another time''.
Unc came back to the kitchen with a beer in his hand. "Alright, rich girl. Imma, play my playlist, and I know! You ain't going to know these songs." Little Mama rolled her eyes and smacked her teeth. "I'm not rich. And yeah, whatever, go ahead and play it. I know everything there is about music." She said.
Soul survivor: Young Jeezy, Akon
"Konvict
Akon and Young Jeezy
Tryin' to take it easy
The only way to go
And so (Ay, let's get it)"
The intro of the song played, and me and Unc watched her to see if she knew it. But she kept a half-smiled face, and then the hook came on.
"But if you lookin' for me, I'll be on the block.
With my thang cocked, possibly sittin' on a drop now
Because I'm a rider.
Oh, yes, a soul survivor.
'Cause everybody knows the game; don't stop.
Tryin' to make it to the top 'fore your ass gets popped now.
If you are a rider, yeah.
Oh, yes, a soul survivor."
She rapped along with the lyrics, making Unc look at her in surprise. She looked sexy as hell, rapping word for word. She took Unc's brim and placed it on her head, rapping the bridge of the song.
''Cause if you lookin' for me, you can find me.
On the block, disobeying' the law
Real G, thoroughbred from the streets
Pants saggin' with my gun in my drawers
Just to keep on moving now
Just to keep on moving now
Just to keep on moving now
Just to keep on moving now, yeah."
Lil Mama and Unc sang the last bit of the song before she looked up at him with a cocky smirk. "OK, old timer, next song." She said. Pouring herself another drink of tea. "Betta, watch your mouth, girl; I ain't old! And lucky guess." He said, eyeing her. I chuckled, and she raised her hands up in surrender.
Let's Get Away, T.I.
Unc placed some playing cards on the table because he bet he could beat her at spades. The intro of the next song came on, and Little Mama's face immediately lit up.
"Hey, let's get away and get a room on the other side of town.
Hey shawty, I was feeling' for you.
(Was you thinkin' of me, hey, hey?)
Hey, let's get a room, Shawty. We can freak something out if you're down.
(What would you do?)
Hey daddy, I was feenin' for you."
She sang the intro and began rapping the first verse.
"I bet they'll be like," I know he is tired of the nightlife.
He wants a wife; he's just looking' for the right type."
Yea, right, I'm bein' through the city lights.
My hat bent, gettin' high behind the 'lac tint.
I'm chillin' with Brazilian women with heavy accents.
They black friends transliterated', got 'em all ass naked, adjacent
Have relations with them in many places.
Leavin' semen on their British faces
Make'em kiss their partners with it in their faces.
Young pimpin' sprung women 'cross the 50 states
I got young ladies requests for What's Your Name on 50 stations."
She looked at me, smirking, giving me a little fuck me eyes, then shyly looked back at her cards, rapping the rest of the songs. "Alright, baby girl, whatchu got?" Unc asked her. Lil Mama stood up, slammed her cards on the table, and threw her head back, laughing and sticking her tongue out. I groaned watching her slide my money across the table, looking at Unc glare at Little Mama take his money.
A/N: *add cardi b laugh, with tongue out* 😂
She laughed and looked to the side, to Unc, trying not to smile at her. "Nah, you can have your money back. But I'm keeping the hat; they go well with my trainer Circuits." She said, as she handed him back his money. But she looked at me and smirked, putting my money in her back pocket. "But you are not getting this back." She said, winking at me. I clenched the side of my jaw. Little Mama, you better be lucky we are in front of my uncle right now.
Int'l Player's Anthem: UGK, Outcast
Another song came on, and she sat back in the seat, quietly rapping the lyrics.
"So I typed a text to a girl I used to see.
Sayin' that I chose this cutie pie with whom I want to be
And I apologize if this message gets you down.
Then I CC'ed every girl that I'd see-see 'round town.
And I hate to see y'all frown, but I'd rather see her smile.
Wetness all around me is true, but I'm no island."
"Your brother Lamar told Marc you didn't grow up here." Unc asked her. She gave him a small smile and looked down at her hands. "I grew up in Washington. We were homeless, living out of our car maybe... until I was 13... yeah, I was 13. That's when my dad got a job opportunity here in Philadelphia to work at a hospital. But even then, we were still living in our car when we moved up here. When we were in Washington, my mom and dad struggled a lot. But the main struggle was who was going to look after me and Lamar. Most of the time, my older sister and brother, Tisha and Ant, watched us while my mom and dad took morning and night classes." She said, looking him in the eyes, then looked back down at her cards.
"Sometimes I wondered where they got the money because, like I said, we were living out of our car." She said, chuckling. But I looked back down, frowning. Unc looked at her sympathetically and said, "You don't have to finish, baby girl." She shook her head and said, "No, it's ok. I want to. My mom tried to feed us every day, but sometimes we did and sometimes we didn't. But we didn't complain because we knew our situation. Well, me and Mar do, to a certain extent. Tisha and Ant still don't tell us what my mom and dad did to make money. I mean, it still boggles my mind that we live in the house we live in now." She frowned, crossing her arms, leaning back into the chair, staring down at the floor.
"Everyone has a story, and everyone has done some things we're not proud of." She said, lastly.
Damn, little Mama has been through some shit. I looked at her curiously as she turned to look at me with a blank face. She said everyone has done something we're not proud of, and I don't think that necessarily includes me. Because everything I've done I don't regret, does that mean she's done some really bad things? Lil Mama doesn't seem like the type to hurt anybody; she can fight and handle her own. Plus, she has a mouth on her, but I don't think she can do what I do.
She looked at the clock, and my eyes followed hers; the clock read 8:45. She stood up and smiled at Unc, sticking out her hand. "Well, it was nice meeting you...?" She trailed off the end sentence because Unc didn't tell her his name. He stood up and gave her a hug, which shocked me because my uncle doesn't hug anyone outside of family. "Rodney, you are welcome to come over anytime." She smiled and tried giving his hat back, but he shook his head and told her to keep it. She invited us over to her house tomorrow for dinner, and Unc said yes before I could say anything. I looked into little Mama's chocolate brown eyes, almost pleading with a small smile on her face.
''Ight, I'll be there." She gave me a big smile, kissing my cheek, and walked to the door, waving bye to Unc. Before I got out the door, Unc said, "Aye, I like her. Yo ass betta, keep her." I smirked and walked out the door.
Say it, Neyo.
I helped her get into the car, walked over to my side, and got in, starting the car. I pulled off, taking her back home. Lil Mama turned on the radio and instantly started singing. "I love this song." She said, smiling at me.
"Girl, why don't you
Tell me what you want me to do to you.
Say it, say it, say it.
Girl, why don't you
Tell me what you want from me.
Girl, won't you
Say it, say it, say it."
She sang the lyrics so fucking beautifully. This girl had the most perfect smile I've seen. She looked so sexy singing that I looked down at her lips. They were full and two-toned, but I promised myself I would behave and not kiss her.
I pulled up to her house and parked on the curb. I looked at the clock, and it said 9:06. The bridge of the song came on, and she looked at me with seductive eyes.
"Anything that you want, baby, tell me you want it.
I got it, babe.
(Baby, tell me what you want; I got it.)
No more hoping and wishing.
Name your position.
I got it, babe."
She leaned over the console and brushed her lips against mine. I felt my heart rate pick up. A girl ain't never had this effect on me; she had a nigga feeling nervous right now. When the hook came back on, she looked me in the eyes and sang to me.
"Boy, why don't you
Tell me what you want me to do to you.
Say it, say it, say it.
Boy, why don't you
Tell me what you want from me.
Girl, won't you
Say it, say it, say it."
My eyes bored into hers, but what she said next made me lose every restraint I had.
"Come here, Marcus."
I grabbed her throat and crashed my lips into hers. I groaned at how soft and juicy they were. She gripped the collar of my shirt and moaned. I unbuckled my seat belt, pulling her into my lap. I gripped her ass, and we moaned into each other's mouths. She tapped my shoulder, letting me know to stop. I pulled away, both of us breathing heavily, and we stared into each other's eyes.
"Sorry, I don't mean to do that." She said it quietly. I shook my head and softly gripped her chin. "It's alright, little mama. I liked it." I said, pecking her lips one more time.
I let her get off my lap and got out of the car. I opened her side for her. I helped her out and began walking her to her door. We walked up the steps to her door, and she turned around and smiled at me.
"Thanks for tonight. I had fun." I nodded and walked forward, closing the space between us. "Glad you enjoyed yourself." I said, cupping her cheeks and leaning down to kiss her one last time. But was stopped when the door opened.
It was her sister glaring at me with her arms folded. Lil Mama turned to look at her, only for her to point her finger into the house. She turned to look at me one last time and kissed my cheek again. "I'll see you tomorrow, ok?"
I nodded and watched her walk into the house. "Bye, mama." She waved goodbye, walking away, and her sister gave me a head nod and closed the door.
I walked down the steps and walked to my car before looking back and thinking, ''damn what you're doing to me, little Mama's"
This Lucious uncle, Rodney
#black reader#black writers#black tumblr#self post#tumblelog#black girls#black representation#poc reader#poc writer#black excellence#terrence howard#devante swing#mr. dalvin#marlon wayans#tyrin turner#lucious lyon#empire on fox#90s love#90s black love#90s black men#90s throwback#black love#it's hard out here#paisholotus
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Hand, Hearth, and Home
Chapter 46 - The Voice in Your Ear
Chapter Summary: Church joins in on the Harpers’ ambush of the Absolutist convoy in hopes of retrieving their moonlantern. Much to the alarm of his companions, the warlock faces the unexpectedly brutal consequences of returning to the shadows.
Pairing(s): Astarion x Male Tav (Main); Past OC x Male Tav
Rating: Explicit
Length: 229K+ words; Chapters 46/70
Except Below:
Wyll watches in amazement as the drider stumbles in his step, faltering at the sight of the tiefling before him.
This is more than fey charm, he realizes.
More than even their illithid authority.
“What is it, Majesty?” the drider mutters fearfully to himself. “This heretic… no… an imposter! Feeding the lesser god’s shadows! No — no! My Queen, please—!”
“Queen?”
The tiefling tilts his head, advancing towards the terrified drider. He leaves a trail of black smoke in his wake, puffing into the air as he speaks.
“I answer to no queen. No god.”
The drider slips upon the rocks, collapsing backwards with a pathetic wail. And then, with yet another burst of inky mist, Church reappears just in front of the cowering drider — yanking his torso down and gripping his inky-black hands around his captive’s pale, anguished face.
“N-no! No!” the drider howls, his head shaking and eyes blinking frantically, asynchronously, between the warlock’s hands. “We cannot! We won’t feed the shadows! Majesty! Hear us! No! NO—!”
“She can’t hear you,” Church taunts him, smoke spitting from between his smiling lips. “And you’ll never hear her again.”
The tiefling takes his shadow-swathed hand and considers it curiously. It’s a bizarre contrast to the harried skirmish going on in the background with the two remaining cultists.
“See?” Church says softly. Mockingly. “She forsakes you. Just as Lolth had forsaken you.”
“Ah, Church—?” Wyll asks tentatively, half-heartedly reaching out as if he could somehow stop this.
Stop him.
But all he can do is gawk in shock as the tiefling slowly drives his blackened, taloned fingers into five of the screaming drider’s eyes. And with whatever unspeakable spell Church has cast, shadows begin to overflow from within him, spilling from the drider’s orifices and splitting open his thorax.
“Hells!” Wyll gasps, his mage hand fizzling out of existence as it deposits the moonlantern near a few Harpers. His eyes are fixed instead upon the confrontation before him.
The unfortunate drider’s eight legs spasm frantically beneath him, tripping one of the half-orcs backwards just before Branthos drives his sword down to finish him off. Wyll watches in horror as the wretched soul writhes and gurgles in agony for far too long.
This… this is wrong. This isn’t like Church. He wouldn’t…
…would he?
Wyll focuses upon his parasite, wincing at the storm of anguished, half-formed thoughts bleeding from the drider’s fractured mind. Among them, he barely makes out his companions’ own tadpoles, and even fainter still is the suggestion of Church’s somewhere buried beneath the din.
“That’s enough, Church!” Wyll beseeches him. “Just end this!”
He doesn’t know if his friend hears him. With the rest of the convoy finally dispatched, all he hears are the Harpers’ curious murmurs and the drider’s final, gurgling plea.
“Ma…jesty… pl…ease…!”
He shudders with a last death rattle before his legs curl up completely beneath him.
And then the drider is finally, mercifully still at last.
Wyll stares at the other warlock, aghast.
“Good gods,” Astarion drawls, astonished yet clearly impressed. “Well that was… certainly something.”
“Church!” Wyll calls sharply to their friend, hurrying over to pull the tiefling off of the dead drider. The cursed drow’s heavy, monstrous body collapses unceremoniously to the ground. “It’s over. We’re done here!”
“You just always have to spoil the fun,” Astarion grumbles as the tiefling’s eyes clear at last.
“...oh,” Church utters, disoriented as he stares back at the other warlock’s worried face. “…Wyll?”
He looks down at his hands in disgust. “What… in the hells?”
— and then his eyes slide over to the corpse of the drider before him.
Start from the beginning!
#Kar’niss I love you I’m sorry#churchstarion#astarion#bg3 fanfiction#bg3 oc#baldur’s gate fanfiction#oc x astarion#bg3#Tavstarion#astarion x male tav#Churchverse#hand hearth and home#bg3 tiefling#bg3 warlock#tav x astarion#smut and angst#bg3 smut#Archfey warlock#bg3 male Tav#bg3 act 2
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Libations (Papa IV/Reader)
You feel like your baby is growing up too fast. Copia helps take your mind off of it. (18+)
Read on AO3
“I had a feeling I would find you in here, cara mia.”
Copia’s voice startles you out of your meditation and you jump. It seems he snuck up behind you while you were lost in prayer. You turn to look as he kneels beside you at the altar and makes the traditional gesture of reverence towards the ground. No one knows exactly what to call it. Upside-down crossing yourself? Reverse-crossing? Uncrossing? Millennia of history and still no proper name for it. Some church you lot are.
“I didn’t hear you come in,” you say quietly, meeting his gaze. Despite the small smile that graces his features, there is worry in his eyes. He takes your hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.
“A lot is happening up there?” he asks, gently poking you on the forehead with his index finger. You merely nod in response.
“Si, si,” he says. “I had a feeling this was true. Why don’t you tell Papa what is the matter, eh?” You let a small laugh out through your nose.
“It’s dumb,” you sigh, looking up at the vaulted ceiling of the chapel. Admiring the painted stars, your attention is instinctively drawn to where you know the constellations are. It’s a habit you’ve had ever since you joined the Church, discovering early on that it helps pass the time during particularly dense sermons. Not like you’d ever do that now, though; something tells you that’s not exactly proper Prime Mover behavior. Besides, how could you ever be bored when it’s him in the pulpit?
“Dumb?” Copia asks, incredulous. “Never.” He maneuvers himself so that he’s sitting in front of you now, his hands on your shoulders.
“Amore mio,” he all but begs. “Talk to me.” You laugh again.
“It’s probably just hormones or something, really.” Copia quirks an eyebrow. That answer clearly isn’t enough for him. You let your posture sag before you continue.
“I just…” You have to collect your thoughts for a moment. “I’m just weirdly emotional about Regina.” Remembering your infant daughter prompts you to look around the room. “Wait, where is she, anyway?” To your relief, the smile returns to Copia’s face.
“The Ghouls are watching her,” he says. “Cirrus called it ‘pack bonding.’” You’d think she was one of their kits, they way they dote on her. Even before she was born, the hellish creatures fawned over her, never letting you and your swollen belly out of their sight. The memory makes the weight pressing down on you feel a bit lighter.
Copia gestures for you to continue. “I don’t know, babe. It’s just weird to think about how fast she’s growing already.” Fast indeed; your baby isn’t even a year old yet and is already walking and beginning to talk. So young, and already so smart. Copia says she takes after you. Looking into her two-toned eyes, however, you’re not so sure.
“What if… What if she’s the one?” Reflexively, your gaze shifts to the statue of Baphomet just beyond the altar. Its eyes, carved from blood red stone (carnelian, you guess), bore into you. Copia cocks his head to the side.
“You say that like it is a bad thing.” You sigh again.
“Of course it’s not a bad thing. I just… that’s a lot of responsibility for a little girl, you know? I don’t want her to grow up too fast like you and I did.” Copia considers your words quietly. A beat passes before you speak again.
“Is it wrong for me to want that for her? Will the Dark One strike me down for wanting my baby to have a normal life?” Internally, you question if that's even possible.
Gently, Copia wraps his arms around you, pulling you close. He lightly pets your head, wanting to provide comfort but knowing better than to mess with your veil. You’ve always been very particular about it, meticulously pinning the garment in place every morning so that it feels right on your head. The last thing you need, he knows, is to have to worry about fixing it.
“Tesora-“
“I’m fine, really,” you say, trying to pull away. When your efforts prove futile, you slump into him, your head coming to rest in the crook of his neck. “I really do think it’s just hormones. She’s growing up and my body doesn’t like it.” You’ve been steadily weaning your daughter over the last few months, giving her more real foods and less of your milk. Although it’s definitely starting to dry up, that doesn’t stop your mind from wandering to the extra bottles in the fridge. Inevitably, you’ll have to toss them soon. The thought makes you groan. What a waste.
“I’m just dreading the point when she won’t need me anymore, even if it’s far in the future,” you finally admit. The words are painful, but just being able to say them is cathartic enough. Copia nods.
“I know, amore, but that doesn’t mean you ever stop being her mama.” As much as you’ve been trying to tell yourself that, somehow only he makes it really sink into your brain. It’s always been like this with him — he’s the only person who can break down the walls you’ve built around yourself. Sometimes you think he has you under some sort of spell, the way he’s able to move you. Not that you really mind.
“And as for la nostra bambina… No matter who she becomes, she will be great. She will be amazing. I have seen this in my dreams, cara. She has the favor of our Benefactor.”
Satan in Hell, he has such a way with words.
You take a moment to just savor being in his company. The warmth of his body, the smell of his cologne; you take it all in. In the quiet of the chapel, you can hear how his heart beats for you. All your angst and woe seems to melt away as he holds you. When was the last time the two of you were able to just… exist like this? You can’t remember.
At last — at long last! — you let yourself smile. A long breath escapes from your mouth as you return his embrace, wrapping your arms around his torso. You turn your head slightly to place a kiss on his neck. The thick collar of his cassock keeps your lips from his skin, but the intent is there.
“Thank you,” you all but whisper. “I needed this.” Copia hums in agreement. Oh, he knows.
“Ti amo, Papa.” You shift again, lifting yourself up to give him a proper peck on the cheek. Your lipgloss leaves a faint stain on the white of his skullpaint and you try and wipe it off with your thumb before he stops you, gently catching your wrist with a gloved hand.
“Pink looks good on me, no?” You both chuckle. The arm that’s still wrapped around you snakes down to your waist. Copia suddenly pulls you onto his lap and you gasp in surprise.
“I love you, too.” Dropping your wrist, Copia cups your face with his now free hand and leans in to kiss you. It’s relatively tame, but it leaves you wanting more nonetheless. You immediately go in for another, pressing your mouth against his with more force.
Copia gets the message, moving his hand to the back of your head in order to pull you even closer. You allow your lips to part slightly, (not so) subtly inviting him in. He, of course, obliges you, gently caressing your tongue with his. Your core throbs in response and you let out a quiet moan. Copia is already hard beneath you, the warmth of his arousal pressing against yours.
He starts trailing kisses from your lips to your cheek, and then from there to to your chin, pulling at the collar of your habit to expose your neck. “I love you, so, so much, cuore mio. Please never forget that.” He plants an open-mouthed kiss to your skin, suckling on the delicate flesh. You gasp and grind your hips down against his.
“I- oh, Copia.” You’re certain your panties are already soaked. “I’d never forget. You’re so good to me. Too good, probably.” You cry out as Copia gently nips at your neck. There’s going to be a mark for the next week or so, and now there’s definitely no hope for his papal paint. C’est la vie, you guess.
“Nonsense. Nothing is too good for my Prime Mover.”
Your lips meet his again, tongues feverishly swiping at one another. Feeling bold, you reach down to palm him through his cassock. Copia groans at the touch, bucking into your hand. He’s so hard you imagine it must hurt.
“Is this all for me, sweetheart?” You ask, stroking him as best as you can through the thick black cloth. Wanting to reciprocate, Copia brings his hand down to the apex of your legs. The touch makes you shiver. Quickly backtracking, he brings the hand up to your mouth, resting his middle finger on your lips. As if reading his mind, you gingerly bite down on the leather of the glove as he slides his hand out. He takes the article from between your teeth and carefully places it off to the side.
“Now,” he murmurs. “Where were we?” He caresses your face lovingly before slowly beginning to trail his hand back down. Stopping at your chest, he gives it a squeeze and you yelp. You’ve been so distracted by the business of the day that you hadn’t realized how full and sore your breasts had gotten. Copia quickly realizes his mistake as a wet spot forms on the front of your habit.
“Shit,” you grumble, peeling yourself off of him. “I forgot to pump today.” Both of you rise to your feet and set about straightening yourselves out. It’s of little use, though; anyone who dares walk into the chapel now would be able to tell what you and Copia have been up to.
“It has been a long day for you, cara mia.” You merely grunt in response.
“I should go take care of this,” you say, gesturing to your chest. “And I should probably change.” You give Copia an awkward sort of side-hug, as to avoid getting his cassock dirty, and give him another, albeit less heated, kiss.
Your beloved, it would seem, has his own agenda. Before you can make your retreat, his arm snakes around your waist once again, pulling you into him. His tongue prods at your lips, pleading for entrance. You quickly grant his request; how could you possibly refuse your Papa?
You expect Copia to let you go once he’s done exploring your mouth. It’s a promise for later, behind closed doors and between the sheets. To your surprise, however, he doesn’t let up, instead leading you towards the altar. The feeling of the cold stone on your back, even through the material of your habit, makes you shudder.
“Babe,” you whine, managing to break away from the kiss for a moment. “What are you doing?” Papa presses his pointer finger to your lips.
“Shh, cara. Just trust me.” Your eyes wander to the open chapel doors and a pang of anxiety runs through you.
“What if someone comes in?” You know this is a Satanic church and all, but damn! Sometimes you get shy.
Copia waves his hand dismissively. “Then they will have the privilege of observing their Papa and his Prime Mover in worship.”
Oh, this is going to be good.
Copia is crushing his mouth against yours before you get the chance to respond. You brace yourself against the altar bed to keep the edge from digging into your back. The contrast between the warmth of his body and the cold marble drives you wild.
Much more carefully this time, Copia traces his hand down the curves of your body. He drags his finger over your peaked nipple, just barely applying pressure, and yet the sensation makes you moan into his mouth. Abandoning all caution, you decide fuck it, and allow yourself to lean fully against the stone platform, not caring how it digs into your flesh. Your hands find their way down to his ass and you give it a squeeze. Copia pulls away from you, chuckling softly.
“Now, now, preziosa,” he chides. “All in due time.” His hand finally reaches your core and the touch sends an electric jolt through your body. Copia’s eyes glimmer with mischief when he feels how embarrassingly wet you are. “You will let Papa take care of you for now, yes?” Your legs feel like jelly. All you can do is nod.
He cracks a cocky smile. “Atta’ girl.” He’s absolutely ridiculous sometimes. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t suddenly distracted by him teasing your clit through your underwear. Being the bastard he is, his touch is purposefully delicate. Needing more, you buck your hips into his hand, trying to create friction, pressure, anything. His feather-light touch does not relent, and you resort to burying your face into his chest. When he gets like this, that’s the only thing you can really do.
Your submission pleases Copia. With a hum of approval, he slides his hand up to the waistband of your panties before dipping under. The sensation of his bare hand against your sex is positively delicious.
“Babe,” you mewl, tightening your grip on his cassock.
“You like how I touch you, amore? Do I make you feel good?” Like he even needs to ask.
“So good, baby. You’re so good.” You can feel your resolve starting to slip. Pride be damned, you’re ready to beg.
Copia doesn’t give you the chance, however. Finally, he slips a finger into your throbbing cunt. His pace is still infuriatingly slow, but it provides some relief to the deep ache in your abdomen.
“You know,” he begins. “Outsiders believe that we discourage all virtue in this Church, that we live completely without law.” You recognize the tone creeping into his voice; you hear it every time he stands before the congregation at Black Mass, and every time he takes the stage at a ritual. Papa Emeritus IV, it seems, has come out to play.
He scoffs. “Fools, all of them. But you and I know this is false. We understand the merits of patience and obedience here, do we not?” He punctuates his sentence by pressing into your sweet spot. You keen, stifling a moan in the fabric of his cassock.
“Yes, Papa. We- ah!” You lose the ability to think when he gently kneads the heel of his hand into your clit.
“That’s right, cara. Molto bene.” There’s a pause. “Do we not also exalt those who are diligent in their worship of the Unholy Father?” He’s enjoying this a little too much, the smug bastard. You’ll hopefully have an opportunity to put him in his place later.
“We do, Papa. We do.” You nod furiously, hoping to please him in any way you can.
“Well then, suora,” he says with a huskiness in his voice. “Shall we show Him our devotion?” You thought he’d never ask.
“Please, Your Eminence.” That’s a title you haven’t pulled out in a while, and you’re glad you decided to save it for this moment. With a growl, Papa captures your mouth in a rough, passionate kiss. His fingers pump into you just a bit faster as he all but shoves his tongue down your throat.
Just as you start to feel a hint of your climax building, he withdraws from your cunt. You want to scream, but you know that whatever Papa has planned for you, it’s going to be spectacular. Playing along seems like the smartest option for the time being.
Papa shakes his hand out in a feeble attempt to rid his fingers of your juices. When that fails, he brings the wet digits to your lips with an expectant look. Without hesitation, you take them into your mouth, tongue swirling around them like you would his cock. When he’s satisfied with your work, he wipes whatever’s left on his cassock. You say a silent prayer for the siblings on laundry duty this week, although they’ve definitely seen worse. You certainly did when you were a lower-ranking sister.
Papa’s hands come to rest on your shoulders as he presses a loving kiss to your forehead. Despite the debauchery of the situation, it makes your stomach flutter. You feel him reach around to the zipper of your habit, slowly dragging it down. A small gasp leaves you when he exposes and begins fiddling with the clasp of your bra. It takes him a moment (this was never his specialty, especially one-handed), but the force holding your swollen breasts in place eventually alleviates. You let out a sigh of relief as they fall free.
Papa slips the garments off your body and they pool around your feet, your panties soon joining them. Now completely exposed to the cool air of the chapel, goosebumps prickle across your skin and a shiver runs down your spine. You’re so distracted by the temperature change that it takes you a second to notice the transfixed look on Papa’s face as he basks in the glory of your bare chest. Your breasts are engorged, almost painfully so, small droplets of milk beading in anticipation. A deep flush settles across your face; you’re still not exactly sure what Papa’s intentions are, but you suspect things are about to get a little messy.
Ducking his head down, Papa gently swipes his tongue over one of your nipples. You can’t tell if the sound that leaves your mouth is an embarrassed wail or a moan. Either way, it’s fucking obscene. He hums with contentment and licks his lips.
“Squisita,” he purrs. You try to cover your face in embarrassment, but Papa grabs your wrists and pins your arms to your sides.
“For as much as I would love to indulge in gluttony with you right now, suora, we are here to worship, are we not?” You nod sheepishly. With an approving look, Papa guides you as you step out of the pile of your clothes before turning you to face the altar. He presses a hand to your back, bending you over so that your chest hangs over the slab.
“That is right, we are here to thank the Old One for His generosity, for blessing us with strong and healthy progeny.” His hands, both of them now bare, wrap around to caress your breasts. Without warning, he gives them a gentle squeeze, and milk spurts out onto the altar. You gasp, writhing against him. The mixture of pain, pleasure, and embarrassment is intoxicating.
“And what better way to honor His Infernal Majesty than to offer up the abundance of your body, hm? This,” he gives you another squeeze, “is only possible through His grace.”
Papa begins massaging your breasts, carefully coaxing out more of your milk. It begins to pool on the stone beneath you, running through the carved channels towards where it drains into the earth. Giving libations is common during special services, on holidays or after an important church accomplishment. Nowadays, wine is normally the offering of choice, but the palm of your hand still bears a scar from your ascension as Prime Mover, when you and Papa mixed your blood and were bound to one another. This kind of sacrifice is new, but you get the feeling the Big Guy Downstairs will still appreciate it. He’s probably into this sort of thing, being the Devil and all.
The pleasure Papa’s touch elicits quickly overwhelms any feelings of anxiety you had over your exposed state. You lean into his hands, begging for more, a moan echoing through the chapel when Papa pinches and tugs at your nipples. Your ass is pressed against his stiff cock and you grind into him.
Somehow, you manage to find your words again. “Papa, please,” you groan. “Please fuck me.” Tears begin to well up in your eyes. You don’t think you’ve ever been this desperate for dick before, but as the last few minutes have shown, there’s a first time for everything.
Papa huffs out a laugh. “You have always been so eager to do the Devil’s work, dolcezza. I truly could not have picked a better woman to carry my offspring. And just look at how well you nourish our little one.” He gestures to the altar before you and your blood quickens at the sight of all the milk you’ve expressed. You’re so entranced watching it flow through the grooves that you only barely notice when Papa finally lets go of your breasts. The loss of his touch is devastating.
That is, until you hear the telltale sound of Papa parting his cassock. There’s a little more fumbling around, likely him scrambling to undo the laces of his ratty pants (the ones that make his ass look absolutely scrumptious), before you feel the searing heat of his cock against your backside. From the hardness of it, you can tell he’s just as eager as you are.
“Now, suora, shall we conclude this ritual by partaking in the Unholy Communion?” He takes himself in hand, teasing the head of his manhood through your lips. You press yourself against him, trying to slide onto him.
“Yes, Papa. Give it to me please- oh!” It takes everything you have to not scream has he finally, finally, buries himself inside you. Papa lets out a noise that’s halfway between a sigh and growl. Legs already shaking, you brace yourself against the altar as he starts fucking into you at a steady pace. Every stroke of his cock against your walls has you reeling and panting like an animal. It seems you needed this a little more than you thought.
“That’s it, cara. What a good girl you are,” Papa coos. “Always so devout, so willing to please.” His hand moves from your hip to your front to play with your clit. He hisses through his teeth when his touch makes you moan and twitch around him.
Papa keeps rambling. “You would do anything for this cock, wouldn’t you?” You nod weakly, rocking back into him.
“You would let your Papa plant his seed in you? Make you grow round with child again?” The thought brings you exponentially closer to your climax and he knows it. It’s like your legs have been kicked out from under you. He laughs. “That is what you truly desire, is it not? That’s what all this moping has been about?” He really does know you better than you know yourself.
“I- oh, Papa. Fuck!” The grip on your hip tightens, nails digging ever so slightly into your flesh.
“Answer me, woman.” His pace slows to a crawl, just barely pumping into you now. You cry out in what feels like agony.
It takes you a second to gather yourself. “Yes, Papa,” you sob through heavy breaths. “I want another baby! I want one so badly. Please, grace me with another one of your progeny.” There is a long, almost painful moment of silence before Papa speaks again.
“Very well, then. How could I possibly refuse my most devoted acolyte?”
He begins mercilessly pounding into you. The slapping of his hips against the meat of your ass, accompanied by the squelching of your pussy, echoes through the chapel. You’re so wet, so desperate for Papa to impregnate you, that rivulets of slick start to run down your thighs. You have to stuff your fist in your mouth to stifle the moan that rips from your throat when Papa begins angling his thrusts just right, abusing the spot that makes you see stars. Judging by the barely contained moans you hear from behind, it seems like Papa is enjoying this as much, if not more than you are.
“You are so good to me, bella. Such a perfect mother to our child.” It sounds like Copia has resurfaced. “So strong and brave, my- oh, Sathanas- my beautiful Prime Mover. I could not have asked Him for a better mate.” The praise has your head spinning and your cunt clenching. “How can I get you there, amore? What can I do for you?”
It feels like you’ve been close for millennia. “Fuck, baby, just don’t stop. You- ah! You fuck me so good. Fucking hell, I love you so much.” You barely have any idea what you’re saying at this point, the pleasure is so intense. The memory of last time you and Copia made love like this evades you, but it has to have been before you fell pregnant with your daughter.
“Ti amo più di ogni altra cosa, cara mia. Tu mi completi.” As your orgasm rapidly approaches, you find yourself looking to the image of Baphomet once again. Realistically, the chances that Copia’s seed will take are low, but perhaps the Dark One is willing to assist you tonight. The way the statue’s red eyes seem to gleam with recognition, you would think He’s pleased with the performance you two have put on.
Copia swipes at your clit once, twice, three times, before your release washes over you. It’s a struggle not to completely collapse as you lose yourself in the euphoria. Faintly, you feel yourself gushing around his cock, your fluids running down your legs and soaking the carpet beneath you (and very likely the front of Copia’s cassock).
You snap back to reality as overstimulation starts to course through your body. A whine wrenches itself from your throat. Copia is still at it, fucking you with reckless abandon. Craning your head back, you take in the sight of your lover. His face is scrunched up into a grimace as he takes his pleasure, clearly affected by your orgasm. The brutal pace of his thrusts begins to falter, and you know that means he’s almost there.
“Kiss me, baby,” you beg with a breathy sigh. Copia obliges immediately, probably hoping you’d ask. You twist your back even further as he leans in to capture your lips. His hands travel up to your breasts, grabbing them and pulling you close so that your body is flush with his. He moans into your mouth as he finally reaches his peak, cumming so deep you swear you can taste it.
You’re still kissing long after he comes down. When you finally break away, Copia has to hold on to keep you from collapsing into the altar. Both of you are so lost in each other’s embrace, desperately trying to catch your breath, that you fail to register the sound of footsteps growing ever closer.
“Pardon me, Papa. I- oh, whoops.” The familiar voice startles you out of your reverie. The two of you whip your heads around to the source. It’s one of Imperator’s ghouls, the guy who used to do PR before Copia took over. Nowadays, he’s more or less her errand boy. For what feels like an eternity, you stare at each other, equally wide eyed. The creature finally clears his throat before speaking.
“I- uh- This looks like a bad time. I’ll come back later.” He promptly turns tail and scurries away. It takes a second for both of you to recover from the interruption. Copia, seemingly less affected than you, breaks the silence.
“In nomine patris, il filio, et lo spiritus malum…” He gives your ass a playful smack and you can’t help but roll your eyes. This fucking dork. Well, at least he’s your dork.
“Nema.”
#my writing#the band ghost x reader#the band ghost fanfiction#papa emeritus iv x reader#copia x reader#this was my first fic you guys be nice
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