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sepherinaspoppies · 2 months

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Only If For A Night (i/?)

pairing: Dark! Book Aemond Targaryen x Modern! Reader

summary: In Dia De Los Muertos (Day of the Dead), she gets forcefully transported to Westeros and meets her favorite book character, Aemond 'One Eye'. She asks and begs for his help to send her back home after realizing this was a world she did not want to live in. Unknowingly to her, her favorite fictional man had already grown too attached to fully let her go.

warnings for this part: profanity, tea drugging, blood magic, sexism, I think that's it... more dark stuff later. READER IS LATINA !

wc: 4,027

series masterlist

my masterlist

pt2

notes: originally I was gonna have this fic be a one shot but it is sooo long that I decided to split it into three. this is an introduction part, aemond will be on the next (I'm half way done with that part).

She knows she is screwed when Doña Maribel broke the news to her that the last of the cempasuchiles were completely sold out in her shop. Making it five flower shops in the span of an hour that she walked to have fully run out of the bright orange flowers she needed for her ancestral altar that she and her abuela worked tirelessly on for the past few days. (marigolds, grandmother)

She wonders what to do next or perhaps where to go as she plays with the gravel beneath her shoes. Sure, she could walk another mile or so to another flower shop and try her luck there just as Doña Maribel suggested but she finds herself too tired to venture deeper in her small pueblo by herself. (town)

Even the walk back to her abuela’s was not something she looked forward to as of now. This was the time where she wished she had the ability to drive but alas she could not for even the streets of Mexico were more hectic and nerve wracking than back at the states. (grandmother’s)

She sighs in defeat. The cempasuchiles were the last thing on her abuela’s list of things she required for tonight’s first day of Dia de Los Muertos. The bright orange flowers illuminated the path of those who died, back into the land of the living and enjoy the offerings their family’s set up for them. (Day of the Dead)

Maybe for just tonight she could spare them.

She sets her three mercado bags beside her as she sits down on a bench right next to a bus stop that could lead her directly to her abuela’s home. The smell of citrus of the lemon tree above her eases her disappointment and feels that this is the perfect spot to reread one of her favorite books. (shopping)

George R. R. Martin’s, Fire and Blood Vol. 1. She wondered what it was like to reside in a world of dragons (before they were all extinct), dire wolves from the North, red priestesses from Volantis, and mysterious yet powerful witches. To live inside the walls of the Red Keep and tour around the secret passageways and to fight for the rightful Queen of Westeros, Rhaenyra and the other members of the Blacks during the Dance of Dragons.

Sadly, even if it was possible to venture deep into alternate fantasy universes. It all was pure fiction. Not real. Impossible.

‘And so one-eyed Aemond the Kinslayer took up the iron-and-ruby crown of Aegon the Conqueror, “It looks better on me than it ever did on him,” the prince proclaimed.’

“Excuse me, do you happen to know when the bus is due to arrive?” She snaps her head up meeting the most beautiful and enchanting woman she’d ever seen. Eyes round and greener than the trees itself during spring. Hair long and black like ravens in the night sky. She was tall, taller than most of the women here with skin like porcelain that had not seen a day of sun, a rarity here in Mexico.

It was her mischievous tight lipped smile that made her feel loss of words. Unknowingly, this mysterious woman was the first person who spoke to her in English, not Spanish.

“Umm… I- I’m sorry?”

The green eyed woman smirked as if she knew the small effect she had on her. Gods she was beautiful.

“The bus–”

She shook her head out of her revere, coming to reality. “Oh, I’m not sure. Perhaps a few more minutes.” She informed, pulling her mercado bags closer to her side, allowing the green eyed woman to sit, not wanting to be rude.

She murmurs a quick thank you as she sits exceedingly close to her, shoulder to shoulder, flesh to flesh with her. Jeez, talk about personal space! However, the woman doesn’t seem to care or acknowledge that she has enough space for her own person. A feeling of uncertainty rests below her gut, telling her to be vigilant around her presence.

“How long have you waited?” She asks, breaking away the long silence between them. She almost shivers at the intensity hue of her eyes that bore right through her.

“About ten to twelve minutes.” She replies, looking anywhere else but her.

A satisfactory look sketched around the woman's youthful yet elderly face which she found odd. What could be so pleasing about the bus not arriving? The woman said nothing, only sitting rather straight, almost elegant in her simple long green dress. Though, in the back of her mind, she wondered if she felt hot underneath the heaviness of the velvet fabric. She sure as hell did.

“Wait, how did you know I spoke english?” She asked as the hairs on her arms stood up straight in some kind of chilling fear.

The woman’s eyes lowered and centered on the object sitting up on her lap. “Your book gives it away.” She snickered softly, tilting her head reading the bold letters of her very worn book she got at the thrift store for just two dollars. “An interesting read.” The green eyed woman said whilst her face held no sincere fondness of it for someone who found it interesting.

“You’ve read this before?” She asked curiously, little taken back, that she finally found someone else who read Fire and Blood Vol 1. Or anything by George R. R. Martin.

“Yes, almost like I've lived through it”

She opens her mouth to speak but the green eyed woman beats her to it. “I don’t mean to pry but where are you headed?” The smile falls off her face as she remembers the warning of stranger danger she learned as a kid.

The woman must have noticed the dubious look upon her face as she threw her head back in a laugh. “I ask because it seems a storm is coming our way. And it looks like an angry one.”

Sure enough, as she looked up the sky had turned into a deep gray with heavy clouds ready to pour any minute. Well this wasn’t forecasted in the noticias this morning, otherwise, she’d carry an umbrella. Or better yet, she wouldn’t have walked all this way if a storm was brewing. (news)

“My cottage is not very far from here,” the green eyed woman revealed, standing up from the bench, overlooking the seriousness of the clouds. “It is just around the corner. Would you like to come?”

She wanted to say no, that she was better off walking an hour back to her abuela’s house, even if it meant that she’d catch a cold in the pouring rain with blisters all over her feet. Besides, she did not know anything about this woman. Every bit of her mind screamed stranger danger! Don’t go!

But as she glanced between the heavy clouds and the green eyed woman with her hand extended out, all that doubt and worriment went away.

“I don’t even know your name,” she pointed out. If all goes bad, at least she had a name to tell the authorities.

“My name is Alyssandra Riveras.” The green eyed woman smiled, bowing at the waist.

Though still somewhat skeptical, she walks alongside Alyssandra to her cottage. She makes small mental notes in her head, counting the red stop signs, right and left turns and any other landmarks of important significance.

She was almost positive she could point her way back home. It did not help that five minutes into their journey, it started harshly pouring out of nowhere like a bucket of water had been poured all over, blanketing her vision.

Alyssandra’s cottage had sat on the outskirts of the pueblo, isolated from all civilization, hidden around tall and green pine trees. A faint voice in the back of her head screamed to run and never look back. She ignored it.

From a close distance, she was able to distinguish a small window with overgrown vines and branches wrapped around the perimeter of the cottage. Bones, bells, and crystal windchimes hung from the roof and windows, mostly likely put up for some kind of spiritual protection.

She was no stranger to the craft. Although raised catholic, both her mama and abuela had hung an old broom above their doorway to keep away unwanted guests and negative energies as well as pinning the mal de ojo sigil around the walls for the look of evil and envy against their family. (evil eye)

“Cempasuchiles,” she murmured in awe when Alyssandra’s small garden came into view. It was the most of the orange flowers she had ever seen, all bright and lively and huddled together.

“When the storm is over, you can grab as many as you’d like,” Alyssandra offered, peering over her shoulder, unlocking the door to her cottage. She nods following her inside whilst giving a grateful smile.

The interior of the cottage was small, meant only for one person to take residence. The same size as what a studio apartment would be back in the states.

In no way was the inside minimal, in fact it was the opposite. Almost all of the walls were covered with shelves with small trinkets adorning inside such as little statues, crystals, herbs and other supplies.

In the center of the room lay a huge stone like table, old and antique bearing the resemblance of something medieval. And something about it, sent shivers down her spine along with the same faint voice, telling her to run.

She ignored it, again.

“Give me your belongings, and change into this,” Alyssandra says, tossing a strappy white chemise. She exchanges her poor-soaked mercado bags that contained pan de muerto, churros, and tamales for her ancestral ofrenda. (bread of the dead, offering)

She turns around to protect her modesty, seeing as there was no other room to change nor did Alyssandra point her to the bathroom, so she lifts the drenched garment over her head and sheds away the last clothing she had on her body, leaving her completely bare in her birthday suit.

She couldn’t help but to feel Alyssandra’s eyes watching her very intently, examining every inch of her body as if it met her standards or so. She knows she should use her hands to cover up and give Alyssandra a piece of her mind, or better yet introduce her to a knuckle and hand sandwich for the way she was looking too closely.

Yet her body feels frozen, unable to move under the green eyed woman’s gaze.

“Would you like some tea to keep you warm?” Alyssandra asked, moseying to the kitchen.

She blinks, whatever paralyzing feeling she had dispelled away. “Um, yes thank you.” Alyssandra nodded, pulling what looked to be a kettle on the stove. Meanwhile, she slipped on the white chemise in a hurry to not feel as exposed anymore.

She takes the time to analyze the rest of Alyssandra’s cottage as she hears the droplets of rain hit the rooftop harder and the sound metal being filled with water. Various of the same purple flower plants were placed near the entrance, she notes to herself that these couldn’t possibly be lavender but another species or something within the same family.

A small cot laid in the corner close by the hearth, with multiple open ancient books and scrolls spread on top of the bedspread. She almost wants to look through the pages and read Alyssandra’s interests but she doubts she could as she observes the handwriting is unreadable from where she stood.

She walks forward to where the hearth is, feeling slightly warmer as something immediately catches her eye. Above the mantle, hung on the wall was a medium sized portrait of a small boy, appearing no more than three years old. He stood straight, almost regally with his hands behind his back. His face held no gentleness or warmth like a child should have.

Gods forgive her, but the child looked cruel like the gueritos who bullied her in elementary school when she was just trying to make new friends. (white boys)

Though, for an evil looking child, he sure was beautiful. The most striking thing about him was his set of eyes. Wide with his left eye a dark violet and his right a dark green similarly to Alyssandra’s. His hair was straight and cut short right below his ears. She looked closer at the portrait, thinking if her eyes deceived her as she noticed the peculiar color of the boy’s hair.

Silver.

Curiosity takes the better of her as she asks, “Is that your son?”

Alyssandra turns, holding two mugs of steaming tea. “Yes, that’s my beautiful little boy,” She places both glasses on the stoned table before she sits adjacent to her. It doesn’t go unnoticed by her the sad look on Alyssandra’s eyes. “He looks like you,” she points out though it’s somewhat of a lie in hopes to lift up Alyssandra’s spirits.

Alyssandra throws her head back in a chortle, “For all my hard work and labor, I had hoped he looked like me but nature loves to play its cruel jokes. He is a replica of his bastard father.” The thought of her son’s father left a sour and disgusting taste in Alyssandra’s mouth.

Alyssandra focused her attention back to her, “What about you?” She asked, sitting rather too straight.

“Do you mean if I have kids? Gods, no.”

Alyssandra smirked, “I take it you don’t like the idea of children. I did not either but after years of solitude, I changed my mind. I had other children before my son, but all of them died before they were due. You, however, are still young. Your mind can still change.”

She shifted in her seat anxiously, sipping the odd taste of the herbal tea Alyssandra provided. It wasn’t like she did not like children. She respected children and found them quite cute with their little tiny hands and feet and infectious laughs. But besides the point of appearance, children were a tremendous amount of responsibility that she found herself not ready for.

Not now. Not ever.

She could barely handle taking care of herself. Much less care and provide for a child for eighteen years or so.

“I don’t—”

“Oh but you will,” Alyssandra fired back without so much as blinking an eye.

She grimaced, knowing where this conversation was heading. And it was about to be a not so pretty one. She glanced at the window by the door, the rain was still heavy if not more.

“I thank you for giving me shelter. But I really must go. I was only just supposed to be out for some groceries and my abuela is probably wondering where I am.” Polite and respectful enough just as her mama taught her.

She grabbed her belongings that were hanging by the fire and stuffed them inside her mercado bag. Her hand was on the cusp of prying the door open when Alyssandra rushed to her side, wrapping her hand around her wrist.

“Wait. Please don’t go.” Alyssandra pleaded, “It’s just that you remind me much about myself. I didn't mean to cause offense, I’m sorry.”

Run. Say no and run now, While you still can…

There it was again that same paralyzing feeling closing in on her feet, preventing her to move. It was strange like a shield gluing both her legs down.

She nodded, murmuring ‘fine’ under her breath as Alyssandra slowly led her back to the woven chair with such gentleness as a porcelain doll. “I still need to call my abuela, so she can know I’m alright.”

Alyssandra twisted her face in a wince, “I’m afraid we’re too far out for any signals to catch a telephone call.” She held back the overweening snicker to herself, it was why Alyssandra chose her cottage to be settled this far out in this very modernized realm; so no one could find her.

Alyssandra wasn’t lying. No matter how hard she hit her Iphone against her palm or moved it around, there had not been a single signal bar glowing. She wondered if her abuela had started to grow worried and perhaps began to search for her. She hoped she didn’t and that her cousins kept her preoccupied with the rest of the decorations to notice the duration of how long she’d been out. She also wondered if they were still going to the cementerio, to clean and decorate the graves of their loved ones but with the amount of thunder and rain, she’d doubt it was still on the agenda. (cemetery)

Alyssandra prepared some more tea as the fire gradually faltered down. This one had a different taste than the previous one with tiny purple petals floating around. Alyssandra watched very intently as she sipped every last drop while she scarcely touched her own mug.

The green eyed woman began asking her multiple personal questions, mostly about where she was originally from (due to the fact that her vocabulary deemed to be more vehement in English than Spanish), her family, and if she had any siblings. She had answered them all. Letting her know that she was just visiting from the states to celebrate Dia de Los Muertos with her family she had not seen since the death of her sweet abuelo. (grandfather)

Alyssandra’s eyes glimmered even more when she explained how strangely, her very stern and overprotective mama had suddenly let her travel by herself to a country she had never been to in years since she was small. Her mama preferred her to be where she could keep a close eye on her because ‘uno nunca sabe’ especially if you’re a woman. (one never knows)

It was odd, alright. Especially when her mama gave her money that she didn’t have, and enthusiastically wished her good fortune on her travels. Yup odd…

But not to Alyssandra.

Alyssandra sat down after cleaning both mugs ready to ask the hard hitting questions she’d been warming her up to. “Have you ever been with a man?” Her eyes widened before breaking rounds of deep laughter that made the sides of her ribs ache and cramp.

However, there wasn’t an ounce of amusement displayed on Alyssandra’s face, but rather annoyance. What was so funny? It was a simple and uncomplicated question that meant no harm. At least not to her. He couldn’t harm her any more here. Alyssandra guessed perhaps it was the side effect of the tea making her humoristic.

“No,” She replied, wiping the humoristic tears at the corner of her eyes. “The opportunity has never presented itself?” Alyssandra asked.

All the humor that previously lingered had gone swiftly away, realizing that Alyssandra was indeed asking something so personal to her. “No,” She shook her head, feeling her face hot and red. “People don’t look at me as someone they want to be with. They’d rather be with someone exciting, adventurous, and outing. And I’m neither of those things. I’m a homebody who’s idea of fun and adventure is living through fictional books.” She answered truthfully, too truthfully.

Alyssandra watched her face transform into a deeper shade of red. “What is it?” She questioned, taking a hold of her hand, taking in the role of someone empathetic.

“I want my first time to be special. Like the fairytales I grew up reading about with the grand Prince sweeping the young maiden off her feet and taking her to his castle…” The way her eyes reflected small flashes of light made Alyssandra almost feel guilty for her true intentions once the repercussions of the tea ran out.

She remembers when she too wished for a dashing knight in shining armor to take her away, far away from the shit she had been through; the pain, the suffering, and the poverty. All of it. As Alyssandra grew well into her womanhood, she realized there was no knight coming to save her. Instead, there was a selfish Prince who spared her for his desires and her many talents beyond the acts of the flesh.

But Alyssandra needed her to go. She needed that piece that was stolen from her. She didn’t want the risk of going back and facing him again and repeating through the hell and agony he put her through. So sending her for it seemed like the better alternative.

“I know you probably think it sounds stupid–” She stammered, her face still beet red.

“I don’t think it sounds stupid,” Alyssandra softly smiled, giving her hand a light squeeze. Judging by the serene look upon her face, it was a good lie that she seemed to believe.

She smiled. Finally, someone who didn’t think of the idea of waiting for the right person was silly and unrealistic.

Her smile deterred, sensing something trickle down her nose, dropping against the skin of her hand.

Blood. Her blood.

Run!

“Alyssandra?” She whispered, puzzled at the sight of more blood spilling out of her nose. Every strand of hair in her arms stood, sensing a new type of alertness course right through her. She glanced at a very blurred Alyssandra with what looked to be a smirk written on her face.

“W-What’s happening?” She stood from the chair, but that soon turned out to be a bad idea as her knees gave out, sending her straight to the stoned cold floor. She glanced up, watching as Alyssandra sauntered in front of her, and as much as she wanted to crawl away her body was glued to the floor.

“Look,” Alyssandra said, crouching down at her level before she took her in her arms like a newborn baby, weighing little to nothing. “We don’t have much time. When you wake up, I need you to retrieve something of mine…”

She felt her back collide on top of the stoned table, “What was in that tea?” She questioned but Alyssandra was quick to shush her. “It doesn’t matter now. You drank it all willingly.” There was no argument there.

Alyssandra pulled out a jar with overflowing cempasuchil petals inside and circled the petals around her. Almost like a ritualistic circle she used to watch the brujas next door do. (witches)

“You need not to be afraid. You will not be harmed as long as you do what I say. Exactly as I say.” She gulped, nodding seeing as she had no other choice. “Bruja.” She spat but Alysssandra only chuckled, “I’ve been called much worse, little dove.” (witch)

Through the corner of her eye, she saw Alyssandra holding out a small knife. “I am in need of a sapphire. It was stolen from me many years ago. It is one of a kind, which is why when you see it you’ll know it is mine.”

She momentarily shut her eyes as the dark haired woman rapidly cut the middle of her palm spewing her blood on top of the petals. “Once you’re successful, you’ll come back here with the sapphire and gather some of my materials. The marigold petals with your blood coating them; The blood of whom you took the sapphire from and lastly you’ll lay on top of my precious table here to be transported back.”

There was an evil smile on her lips that she desperately wanted to punch it off. “And if I don’t get the sapphire?” She questioned.

Alyssandra combed away her unruly braided hair, “Then I won’t bring you back and you’ll be stuck there forever.”

Fuck.

“Stuck? Stuck where? Where am I going?”

Alyssandra clicked her tongue, “A place where fairy tales do not exist, my little dove.” If she wanted a Prince to sweep her off her feet. Alys would gladly give her one.

She attempted to wiggle herself out of this pendeja’s spell but whatever Alyssandra mixed in the tea it was compelling her body to still and her eyes to slowly falter shut in a peaceful sleep. (dumbass)

“However I should warn you, this spell is only valid until tomorrow. Until Dia de Los Muertos is over and even if you do achieve in retrieving the sapphire but it is after November second, you'll be permanently trapped with him.”

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#prince aemond #aemond fanfic #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond one eye #hotd aemond #hotd fanfic #aemond targaryen #dark aemond x reader #dark aemond targaryen

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sandythereadingcafe · 2 years

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REVIEW TOUR

THE I DO OVER (Meet Me at the Altar) by Samantha Chase at The Reading Cafe:

‘seductive and sweet romance’

https://www.thereadingcafe.com/the-i-do-over-by-samantha-chase-review-tour/

#books #reviews #book tours #The I Do Over #Meet Me At The Altar #Samantha Chase #The Reading Cafe

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raytorotits · 1 year

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when mcr performed at the shrine on this day 3 years ago they didnt know that this would create a sequence of events leading to me and hundreds of queer kids online holding each other's hands across thousands and thousands of miles, watching them play demolition lovers live, crying and united. they didn't know I'd meet some of my best friends because of their tour - they didn't even know they'd tour. they didnt know they'd play desert song and it would be about hope. they didn't know the amount of people whose lives they'd impact with lyrics they hadn't written yet. they didn't know how happy they'd be. they didn't know how happy we'd be. they didn't know the communities we'd build. when mcr performed at the shrine 3 years ago they didnt know the altar they'd build.

#AUGH DOING BAD GUYS #tag.txt #shrine

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stevetonyweekly · 6 months

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SteveTony Weekly - October 22

Hey, friends!! I hope you’re having a great week--here’s what I read this week, which is--a short list. Hopefully you find something you like--if so, please remember to comment and kudos!

~*~

you'll wait a long time by nanasekei

Steve and Tony share a moment during a wedding. Things escalate from there.

Alternatively: Four weddings, a funeral, and one very emotionally stunted idiot.

Love Handles by fohatic

Steve notices that Tony really likes to grab onto certain parts of him. He thinks it's just a sex thing, but, like most things with Tony, nothing's ever that simple.

Summer Wine by KandiSheek

Tony had mentally prepared himself for a lot of weird things that could happen on their trip to Asgard. What he wasn't prepared for was a drunk Steve Rogers crowding him against the nearest wall and kissing him within an inch of his life.

Take a Little Love Where You Can by Mireille

There's an alternate version of Tony in Tony's lab.

There's an alternate version of Tony in Tony's lab, flirting with Tony's Steve, and Tony doesn't like it.

He's going to have to do something about it.

Stranded by Neverever

Steve and Tony get stranded in Minot, North Dakota and have to share a hotel room. Tony gets bored and discovers things about Steve.

Screen Test by isozyme

Here’s the scene: Tony’s drunk in the backseat of a car, doing something he shouldn’t.

Shakedown by Sineala

The problem is, Captain America won't stop shivering.

the hope that kills you by meidui

Steve used to go on so much about freedom and choice.

If we sign this, we surrender our right to choose.

Some of the freedom he loved was big, big enough for him to lay his life down for over and over, and some of the freedom he loved was small, like the wind in his hair when he took his motorcycle out, but now he has to sob and take it when Tony sucks a deep flowering bruise where his prison uniform couldn’t possibly cover and whispers in his ear, “Who’s gonna help you now? Where are you gonna run?”

Old Dogs And New Tricks by KandiSheek

Steve discovers the joy of his prostate during a SHIELD required medical exam. He definitely wants to find out more about it. Turns out Tony is one hell of a teacher.

Pull It Up by KandiSheek

Tony temporarily gets Reed Richards' powers. Of course he's going to use them for sex.

No Barriers To Entry by KandiSheek

Silver fox Tony is too old to always get hard when he and Steve have sex anymore. That doesn't mean he can't enjoy himself when Steve sucks him off. Especially when Steve is so obviously into it.

at his side by Areiton

He meets Steve on a Sunday, wearing his old Eagles jersey and shorts so short his Mama fusses at him, and he grins, tousled curls and a devil may care grin, bare-faced and bare foot.

“Hi,” he says, and then, like an introduction is necessary, like the whole world isn’t learning his name, he adds, “I’m Tony.”

how he got here by Areiton

Tony had said, “Do you know how pretty you look, when you’re stuffed full of my cock, Steven?”

False God by iam93percentstardust

We might just get away with it

The altar is my hips

Even if it's a false god

We'd still worship this love

The first time Steve meets him, Gillian has all sixteen dancers sitting in a circle on the floor of the rehearsal studio, where she makes them go around the room and introduce themselves. Tony is the youngest of them at nineteen, has two cats currently in his sister’s custody, and got his start in ballet before being so inspired by the 1989 tour that he cross trained just in the hopes that one day he could dance with Sharon. Steve had made a note of it in the way that he makes a note of everyone he works with, felt a little old because he had been a dancer on the 1989 tour and now this baby is saying he was inspired by them, and then gotten distracted by the next girl.

between you & me by welcoming_disaster

In which Tony solves puzzles and Steve punches a wall.

wildfires in the spring by meidui

Steve is pulled out of the ice on a summer morning in 2010.

(“Keep each other alive,” Colonel Fury says when Tony comes to pick Steve up.)

Role of a Lifetime by Annie D (scaramouche)

It’s been almost a year since Tony was rescued from the Ten Rings by SHIELD. In this time, Tony has forged a new path for Stark Industries and taken on a new under-the-radar role as a consultant for SHIELD. Tony’s SHIELD job eventually brings him into contact with the newest Captain America, who’s a pretty cool guy, though for security reasons Tony can’t know his real name or see his face without the Captain America mask. This is also about the time that Tony notices a certain Mr. Stevens, a new hire in SI’s corporate office...

A Just Reward by KandiSheek

Steve is sick and tired of his love life never working out. So he creates the perfect man for him, the statue of Antonio. It would be great if a man like that actually existed in real life.

Turns out there's a solution for that.

#stevetony weekly #steve rogers #tony stark #stevetony #stony #iron man #captain america #stevetony fic #stony fic #fic rec

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osiris-iii-bc · 8 months

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Ghost Fanfic Masterlist

Please allow me to introduce myself 😈 She/Her ✨ I find solace in writing and drawing Ghost lore related 🌹 ✨Currently inspired enough to accept prompts and requests✨

Here is what I write about:

Papa Emeritus III

IYRIN - Terzo x OC [Multi chapter COMPLETE]

An Angel in human form gets kidnapped and brought to the Ministry by a group of drunk Ghouls. Papa Emeritus III is summoned to solve the delicate situation and avoid a diplomatic incident with God, but things take an interesting turn. Chapters: 10 + 1

>>>> Wattpad | AO3

South of Heaven - Terzo x OC [IYRIN spin off - COMPELETE]

A group of rival satanists attacks the Ministry. Iyrin, now a fallen Angel, is struggling with their new demonic condition, and things between them and Papa Emeritus III are not going as they both expected. Terzo’s revenge against the rival satanists during a Metallica concert only makes things worse. Chapters: 3

>>>> Wattpad | AO3 | Tumblr

The night of the witch - Papa Emeritus III x F!Reader [One shot]

Papa Emeritus III has asked you to be his altar for the day after ritual. Somehow he manages to make you accept, but before there is a “private lesson” you have to attend to get ready for your role…

>>>> Wattpad | AO3

The thing that should not be - Terzo x Omega [One shot]

Terzo is the 20 year old last heir of Papa Nihil and he’s definitely not having fun at his father’s birthday party. Luckily, a big Ghoul is around to save the night…

>>>> Wattpad | AO3 | Tumblr

The cigarette - These nights always end like this. [Ficlet]

Nothing more than a short rambling of Terzo’s personal way of saying goodbye after a night of love.

>>>> Tumblr

The Third Law - Terzo x Reader [Multi chapter WIP]

Terzo Emeritus is temporarily forced on wheelchair and crutches due to a knee injury. You have to take care of him and his house for a month and a half. Nothing you haven't done before, you’d think. Well, think again.

>>>> Wattpad | AO3

Papa Emeritus IV

Kids temp - Copia x F!Reader [One Shot]

Papa is going to have a day full of meetings and he had been working tirelessly on bureaucratic stuff for days. He must be so stressed, but you are there with only a cup of coffee to relieve his spirit. That can not be the only contribution you can offer to make him feel better, right?

Part I - Kids temp >>>> Wattpad | AO3

Part II - Dinner time >>>> Wattpad | AO3

Horror Vacui - Copia x Phantom Ghoul [One Shot]

Papa Emeritus IV is getting older and tired, but Phantom, a freshly summoned Ghoul who needs to be trained to the new world, is always by his side to relieve his aching soul.

>>>> Wattpad | AO3 | Tumblr

Multiple Papas

Terzo once told me… - Cardinal Copia x Papa Emeritus III (non related) [Multi chapter COMPLETE]

A tormented, angst-filled one-sided love story between two lifelong friends and how they ultimately destroyed each other. Chapters: 4

>>>> Wattpad | AO3

The Devil in your details - young Copia x young Terzo [One Shot]

It was a more or less ordinary evening, an oversized T-shirt, and a possibly too excited Copia. That's what it took to end up in bed together, and for them to enjoy it. No major reason, no jealousy, no trauma or music, because that's where the Devil lie: in the details.

>>>> Wattpad | AO3

Cocoon - Cardinal Copia x Papa Emeritus III (non related) [One Shot]

Just Papa Emeritus III and Cardinal Copia enjoying some alone time in their new residence after a long tour. Work outside, cuddles in.

>>>> Wattpad | AO3 | Tumblr

Headcanons & ramblings:

Emeritus Family backgrounds

Copia is a sugar daddy for his Ghouls

Papa’s playlists

Terzo and children

Under the Ghouls' mask: I / II

Random ramblings

Papas in Italian cities: Primo | Secondo

Fanarts:

Check out the tag #OsirisBC-fanart.

** That’s all for now. Take care and stay lubed 🔥

#ghost band #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfiction #ghost fanfiction #fanfiction #papa emeritus lll #papa emeritus iv #terzo #copia

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ghouliaxghuleh · 1 year

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As Above, So Below

// Chapter One \\

Pairing(s): Papa Emeritus III/Reader, Mary Goore/Reader (Eventual) Tags: Discussion of Death, Angst, Mostly set up for later chapters tbh. SFW (not for long, i promise) Word Count: 3.7K Summary: Right before his death, Terzo asks you to protect something for him. Fast forward a few years and you're still in possession of a strange magical box that cannot be opened on your own. However, on one very strange day, it all changes when you cross a line with Papa Emeritus the Fourth, and he sends you down to the catacombs...

You think about your last conversation with Papa Emeritus the Third often. It plagues your mind the way a bad after taste lingers in your mouth long after consumption, leaving you with a bitterness that's both hungry and suffocating. It was one that only made sense now in grief, the hidden meaning of his carefully chosen words clearer to your wiser ears. Terzo was an open book yet shrouded in mystery, never truly revealing his true wants or motivations. The way he danced around the topic in conversations had led highly ranking members of the clergy to underestimate him, but you knew the truth.

Terzo was clever, there was no man nor devil whom he couldn't convince to do his bidding. Yet he stood before you that night a desperate, broken man, closer to human than you'd ever seen him, and it felt like sobering up after a night of heavy drinking. Everything that came before felt like a fairytale shrouded in a translucent veil when standing in the pale light of a backstage dressing room.

He spoke of his impending death so casually and nonchalantly, if you hadn't been paying attention, you might have thought he was speaking on the tour.

"I feel a storm coming, Sorella," His smokey voice called out to you from across the room, mismatched gaze staring at you from the dirty mirror on the wall.

The adrenaline of the pre-ritual was gone, the light overhead flickering as the atmosphere in the room began to shift with Terzo's mood. You could see the trouble brewing behind his blue-green eye, the concern he tried so desperately to hide. To someone who didn't know the middle Emeritus brother, they might have mistaken his expression was one of annoyance, but many nights spent in close proximity led you to the truth in his character, the mysterious front man.

"Papa, does something worry you?"

You knew the answer already, but you could see the way the muscles in Terzo's shoulders tensed when you stepped closer. Compared to his brothers, he was kind and comforting, but he was still the devil's son. He was flighty, prone to acting on impulse to avoid situations he got himself into. You wondered if he would flee now, uncomfortable in the solitude of the dressing room.

"For just a moment," He said, voice soft and his eyes flickered up to meet yours, "let me speak."

You waited behind him patiently, feeling the nerves wash over you as he turned away from the mirror, slowly stalking towards you, muscles shifting beneath the material of his stage costume. His gloved hands grasped yours, the white silk soft against your palms as he rubbed comforting circles against the back of your hand.

"When we get back to the Ministry, I need you to do a favor for Papa, ey? It is very important," Terzo's eyes were pinned on yours, hands gripping yours a bit firmer as his lips titled down in a slight frown.

"There is something I need you to keep safe for me," His hands released yours, one slipping into your hair to cradle the back of your head. "A wooden box in the chapel, beneath the floorboards by the altar. Imperator cannot have it, nor the Cardinal, or Nihil. I need you to keep this secret for me, Sorella."

"Of course, Papa."

Your response was breathless as he pressed soft kisses against your exposed throat, lips trembling but not enough to draw attention. You could feel his staggered breath against your throat and foolishly mistook it for lust as Terzo pulled your body against his, his nose buried in your hair.

"There is someone else with the key, but promise me until the time comes, you'll keep it safe, okay?"

He kissed you that night as if he was going to be the last time he ever would - mostly, because it was. You didn't realize it at the time, how rapidly your lover was being ripped from your arms. When he took the stage that night as Papa Emeritus the Third, you hadn't expected him to leave it Terzo, yanked from his pillar by the ministry and whisked away without so much as a goodbye. In the rush of confusion and chaos, you hadn't realized Nihil had taken the stage, too busy chasing the clergymen through the maze of twisting concert hallways.

It was too late, however. Terzo knew that - but you didn't. The moment he stepped onto the stage it was over, perhaps even before that. From that point on, the sun never shined as brightly, nor felt as warm against your skin. The flowers did not bloom so brightly or as long, and the leaves from the tree shriveled fast as winter came early. Papa Emeritus the Third was beheaded in the night, and his elder brothers followed him to the grave immediately afterwards.

A new era had come upon the ministry and with it, and usurper.

Pale light washed through the elegant stained-glass windows of the ministry, casting a mirage of muted colors across the cold stone floors and up the engraved walls. The morning was quiet as the cold December chill seeped through the walls, the clock on the wall ahead of you displaying the time as 7:58 AM. It was only a short walk to the chapel from your small room, so you weren’t worried about being late as you stepped out into the hallway. You quickly made sure your habit was in place, glancing over your shoulder as you grew weary of Sister’s Imperator’s presence. Or, more precisely – the lack of it.

You were used to her lurking in the hallways on the mornings of sermons, ready to punish any sibling that happened to stumble out of bed late. She seemed particularly keen on catching you, however. It seemed impossible to evade her watchful eye. Imperator had always been a bit of a pain in the ass, but since Copia had taken over as Papa Emeritus, she seemed to gain delight in being allowed to punish as she pleased. All of your siblings knew that it didn’t matter what she didn’t – Papa would forgive her. He always did.

On a day such as this one, however, her disappearance was unnerving. It was a Hunter’s Moon tonight; therefore, the morning’s sermon would be a very important one. There was no doubt in your mind that Papa would choose a prime mover, a title you’d once respected and coveted. The very idea of being chosen as his prime mover, however, left you slowing in your pace as you approached the chapel.

It was not that you had issues with Copia – in fact, since ascending the papacy, you’ve found him more tolerable. His newfound confidence and time on tour had refined him into a man more benefiting to lead the ministry. The siblings had come to love him, and the word of Ghost was reaching a broader audience than it ever had. Truly, he was a good Papa, but the idea of pledging yourself to him eternally left you with a sense of persistent unease.

It was like an itch you couldn’t scratch, a nagging headache that wouldn’t go away. You were careful to avoid spending too much time in the light of Copia, weary of drawing his attention. He knew that you had pledged yourself to his predecessor, you could tell by the way he looked at you with an expression of pity. No, he would not take you as his prime mover. Besides, it was in poor taste to take the prime mover of a predecessor, and Copia was a man much concerned with his reputation.

You forced yourself onward, pushing the thought of prime movers and the past away from your mind as you entered the chapel. Many of your siblings were already sitting, chatting quietly to themselves. There was a small spot in the second to last row open, and you quickly scooted in, scanning the crowd for any sign of Imperator, who might have caught you sneaking in. Yet, among the crowd of habits and vestments, you don’t find her familiar form. More alarming, even Nihil seems to scan the crowd with a distant expression of worry as he sits next to the altar, oxygen tank rattling noisily.

You looked at the sibling beside you, a newly confirmed sister who seemed to beam in the dim candlelight, gripping the edges of the dark bench excitedly as she extended her neck to gaze above the sea of heads.

“Excuse me, Sister,” You asked, voice quiet and almost lost in the conversations around you.

The girl looked, bright eyes filled with curiosity as she smiled, “Yeah?”

“Have you seen Imperator this morning? It was strange not to see her in the hallways on the way here.”

The sister looked into the distance, mouth parting as she thought quietly. You couldn’t recall ever meeting the sibling before, but you were sure you’d seen her a handful of times in passing. She’d come back with Papa after the Imperatour, and though it had sent Imperator into a fit for several hours, she’d been allowed to stay and as far as you knew, had spent the time laying low. Papa seemed relatively indifferent towards her as he was you, but she seemed excited to see him.

“I don’t think I have,” She said after a moment, returning her eyes to yours, “maybe she’s out right now.”

It seemed too good to be true to imagine that Imperator would leave you alone after so long of breathing down your neck, but you had little time to ask the sister more as Papa stepped up to the stone altar, the energy in the chapel steadily rising.

“Sathanas, isn’t he beautiful, Sister,” She whispered from beside you.

You looked upon the face of Papa Emeritus the Fourth and tried to find something beautiful amongst the painted features. Sure, it was there, yet every man seemed so dull in comparison to Terzo, who wore his age with confidence and spoke with elegance and determination in every word. Perhaps to some Copia’s endearing nature was charming or beautiful, but to you it was nothing more than awkward.

Even as Papa, you couldn’t help but see the Cardinal who used to ride around the hallways on a tricycle. Whatever had happened to him in the wake of the tour, however, changed him in a way that made him almost unrecognizable. He seemed to shape shift with his ascension, shedding the persona of the cardinal and stepping into a new one.

“Long Live Papa Emeritus.”

The chant rang heavily in the smokey chapel as incense filled the room. The morning light was filling the room with a dreamlike wash of color as Copia stepped behind the altar, pausing briefly to gaze upon the stone statue of the Unholy One. There was a pleasant buzzing that seemed to run along the floor, the result of the upcoming hunter’s moon. Everything was stronger, magic more potent and every ritual ten times deadlier. It was both a night of celebration and one to fear, for an unguarded sibling could fall prey to an attack by the ghouls.

In a place where sin was celebrated and often encouraged, there had to be some sort of structure that kept people from doing whatever they wanted. At the start of Secondo’s reign, he’d made it clear that sin was encouraged so long as it wasn’t hurting anyone (at least without their consent). On a night such as a hunter’s moon, however, all bets were off as the ghoul’s became something more animalistic and dangerous.

It was not a night to be running around alone in the abbey. There were precautions in place, curfews carefully placed yet loosely followed. There would be no help, either. Tonight, Papa would take part in his own rituals with his prime mover, oblivious to the chaos that might erupt around him. Without Imperator either, you couldn’t help but gulp nervously as Copia began his sermon.

The haze of grief had made the last few months feel like sleepwalking. You stood in the midst of the fall without remembering the summer, or the spring. How long had it been since you were conscious of your day, took delight in the little things that once fascinated you, since you walked in Primo’s gardens and felt the warm sunshine against your cool skin? Life before felt so far away now; it seemed as though you only blinked and suddenly Copia had become Papa, and Terzo was entered into the catacombs beneath the ministry.

There was once a time you were permitted to lounge beside his tomb, but Imperator grew impatient and Copia, pliant as ever, had sternly yet softly asked you not to spend any more time in the catacombs. After a few weeks, you’d noticed the entrance to the third Emeritus’ brother’s tomb had been sealed with several padlocks. The message had been sent loud and clear, but it didn’t stop your longing, nor the festering rot that had begun to take hold in your gut.

In your sunless world you were wilting like a flower, crumbling at the seams as fresh roots tried pathetically to take hold of the new soil. There were no goodbyes, no grandiose ceremonies or period of mourning. It was true, you didn’t really take issue with Copia, but you found yourself locked in a persistent bitterness towards him that seemed to swell with each passing day. He might not have swung the sword that beheaded Terzo or killed the other brothers, but you held suspicions that he knew, or was at least slightly complicit.

It was a common rumor amongst the siblings around the ministry. Gossip was a commodity during the cold weather, the rapidly chilling air forcing you all inside. Cabin fever was inevitable, and every year the same rumors seemed to roll back around just as the seasons did. They ranged from harmless – such as one you’d heard last year about Primo tending to a secret flower garden, or that Secondo had a secret interest in romance novels (but if you ever asked, he would have denied it, or said that he was too busy to read.

Then, there were the darker ones, passed in hushed voices at cramped tables during lunch. They always left you looking over your shoulder as you left, paranoid of silly gossip. You’d heard at least a dozen times that the ghouls ate people – siblings that crossed them, or naïve newcomers who did not know, or that siblings who misbehaved enough were used as sacrifices. There was one, however, that ignited a fire in your body so intense it was though every ounce of your blood had reached a boiling point.

You first heard it last winter. A fierce snowstorm had kept you in for almost three weeks at that point, and even Imperator seemed to grow antsy with claustrophobia. The large ministry had seemed to shrink during your isolation, and there was hardly a moment of silence to be found amongst the many hallways. The sun had set hours ago, the night young as you gathered around a small fire in a common area with three other Sisters. You’d spent the last hour trading stories of various excursions with other siblings, the ghouls, and of course, Papa.

You tried not to grimace when they spoke in detail of Copia’s prowess, thankful for the inclusion in the late-night chat and desperate for the company. It wasn’t that you particularly enjoyed being around others, but you did miss the companionship. It was relaxing, a moment of respite amid a long winter. It wasn’t longer after that the conversation fell short, a brief moment of silence passing between the three of you before one of the girls, Catherine, spoke.

Her voice was soft as she stared at the crackling fire, light hair almost amber in the orange glow as her dark eyes watched the open flame dance.

“I heard this in the hallways, when I was helping Imperator clean her office late one evening,” She began, her voice wavering as she glanced over at you, “it was some of Terzo’s ghouls. I haven’t seen much of them these days, so I was surprised.”

You’d perked up at the mention of Terzo, your abrupt movement noticed by the other sisters as they casted a swift glance in your direction. It was true, since Terzo’s death that many of his ghouls had returned to hell, choosing to leave rather than follow Copia. Some had stayed, taking new names with pride despite joyously tormenting the cardinal just months prior.

“One of them said it was Copia who ordered the deaths of the previous Papas.” “Imperator would never allow that,” One of the other sister’s spoke, her voice riddled with disbelief. “No, not if it didn’t benefit her.”

Tense silence fell on the room as you all came to a mutual conclusion. At first the notion that the quiet cardinal could somehow be a murderer seemed impossible, but the Imperator – you’d never been able to quite figure her out. You could admit that she was motivated her own wants, but did her loyalty to Nihil keep her murdering his son, if it somehow helped her?

Your eyes found Copia’s, his intense gazed settle intently on you as he finished his sermon. You watched them narrow beneath his face paint, confusion flashing briefly on his features before returning to neutrality, returning to his spot behind the altar.

“It is an important night, my children. He has gifted us a beautiful moon, go forth into the evening and celebrate in sin. We shall bring about a new era to this ministry, and to this world, so it his will.”

Around you, siblings begin to stand as the chatter returns, the mass concluded. You quickly tried to emerge yourself into the crowd, desperate to escape Copia’s watchful eyes as they followed you. It was though he had sensed your thoughts from across the chapel, your stomach twisting as siblings crowded around the exit. You couldn’t escape him fast enough, the echo of his footsteps followed by the excited murmurs sending your heart into a frenzy.

“Sister Trinity,” Copia’s smooth voice glided across the crowded like the wind did, sweeping over the chaos and capturing the attention of the majority of the crowd.

It was the moment people had been waiting for – his chosen prime mover. There’s a sigh of disappointment amongst some of the other siblings as the chosen sister stepped forward, her face bright and smile wide as she approached Papa. His attention shifted to her, eyes finally leaving yours. You took advantage of the distracted bodies around you, slipping between them and out into the nearly empty hallways outside the chapel. The moment you crossed the threshold it was hold as though a weight lifted from your chest, and you heaved in a deep breath, sucking the air in through your nose and holding it for a moment, willing your racing heart to slow.

You were thankful, at least, since Copia’s selection of a prime mover meant he had less time to worry about you. You weren’t used to being watched so intently by him, having grown used to the subtle coldness you attributed to your relationship with the youngest brother. Feeling his eyes on you throughout the sermon only heightened the unease you felt when you first stepped out of your room.

Against your better judgement, you let yourself slip back into thought, heading back towards your room to prepare for your duties. The sun had risen higher in the sky, the colors of the stained glass brighter against the ministry floor as you pondered the worst. You were prone to overthinking, which Terzo had tried desperately to free you of. Even his kindest words and softest touches could not drive out the worry that had been steadily nagging at you.

It'd been years since he left you now, and you haven’t gotten any closer to figuring out what he meant, or why he wanted you to protect that old box so badly. You’d found it one evening after Copia had left for tour, the Imperator away to see the cardinal off at the start of the tour. You’d taken advantage of the solitude and slipped into the chapel late one night, quickly locating the loose floorboard.

It was locked and, just as his tomb, presumably enchanted with magic to keep the wrong person from trying to pry it open. It was clear to you upon first looking at it that it wasn’t something you were going to be open, so you quickly replaced the floorboard and cradled the box in your arms in a blanket as you returned to your room. For a while, the secrets of it had enchanted you, allowing the hope of opening it one day to motivate you in the days following his death.

As the months passed on, you’d steadily shoved it into the back of your mind, nestling it safely beneath the floorboards under your bed. Every sibling had their own hiding place, most known to the Imperator but she’d foolishly believed she found your ages ago. Not even your closest friends knew about the box, quietly under your floor. Terzo trusted you to keep it safe, specifically from Copia, Imperator, and Nihil. What it contained that he wanted to hide from them so badly was beyond you. Sometimes you wondered why he had not trusted such a task to one of his ghouls, who had followed him since the day he became Papa. You never had time to ask him, of course, before he died.

You entered your room and immediately crawled under the bed to retrieve the item, a thin layer of dust and dirt covering the surface that you quickly brushed away. There was a barely noticeable vibration coming from it, as if coming to life in the warmth of your palms. It was the only thing you truly had left of him, the only thing that Copia did not know about.

You’ve kept it safe all this time, but the wait was starting to weigh in you, hope rapidly dwindling as you came upon another arduous winter. What other option was there, however?

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larodgersphoto · 3 months

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mm@ta cursed image circa 2018

corned beef hash

#musicphotography #concert photography #pop punk #fueled by ramen #meet me at the altar #mmata #edith victoria #meet me @ the altar #the 5sos show tour

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copiousloverofcopia · 8 months

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Hey hey Ghesties!!!! For all you Copia lovers, the next installment of Something Blue is LIVE!

Things just got REAL. Thank you so much for reading! If you like my work, please REBLOG!

It helps my work reach new people!

Something Blue

Sister of Sin Astrid is anything but excited for Cardinal Copia to return home from tour. As his assistant, she leads a life of monotony and boredom from which she longs for more. When the Cardinal returns, anointed as Papa Emeritus IV, she is faced with an unwanted and unavoidable situation predicated on her family’s position within the church. Will Astrid rise to what has been asked of her or will she destroy everything and leave it all behind?

Chapter 4: Something Wrong

Also available HERE on AO3. Haven’t started yet? Start from the beginning HERE!

Read below the cut!!

Though it had been weeks since the announcement of Copia's ascension, and Astrid as his Prime Mover, both of them had become hyper aware of the passing days. Drawing closer to the time when the leaves would begin to fall, and the Autumn Equinox would be upon them. The date, set forth by the Ministry, for Astrid’s Prime Mover ritual. Copia was honestly surprised they had given them that long. With no other heirs to the papacy, and his eventual need to go on tour once again, he was shocked they had so much as five minutes before him and Astrid were made to wed.

He was still very much unclear on how they were going to navigate everything. Copia, wondering what all they’d be forced to do. What dance or parlor tricks would need to be fulfilled in order to satisfy the Ministry’s expectations. Then another meeting with Sister Imperator was set for the next morning—one Astrid was not invited to. Copia was hoping it was his chance to clear some things up.

"Copia please sit down." Sister insisted. Immediately her tone, serious and deep. Copia did as he was asked, immediately on the defensive even having only just walked in the door.

"Sister." He began, before Imperator put up her hand to stifle him.

"C, it's just us, you can call me mom."

“I—ah… I don't think so. I don’t think I am there yet.” he responded, the situation was awkward enough without her making things worse between them.

“Very well. I am sure you are wondering why I brought you here today…alone.” she began. His ears perked up and his full attention was now on whatever words she would speak next.

“I am—even more so why you called this meeting in secret with no other clergy, or Astrid to be—”

“It concerns Astrid.” she explained, again cutting him off. Copia swallowed back. Whatever this was, it was not going to be good.

“C are you aware of how the Prime Mover ritual is performed?” she asked him as she went to sit down at her desk. Scooting herself closer and closer until she was seated against the edge.

“I assumed that I would be versed in it, you know when the time came. I imagine it is something like a wedding ceremony or handfasting?” Copia guessed, confused more now that it seemed like there was something he hadn’t caught on to?

“It is…for the most part.”

“What do you mean?” he asked her, noticing the way her words began trailing off. HIs suspicions confirmed—something was still being left unsaid.

“There is a consummation portion of the ritual.”

There it is, he thought to himself. They expected for the two of them to have intercourse. An act meant to prove their bond to Lucifer during the ritual. It made sense, and had the situation been different, Copia would have been all too happy to make love to Astrid. The two of them, a blissful tangle of limbs upon the altar—in front of the whole of the chapel.

But it wasn’t a different situation. Though it killed him inside, Astrid no more wanted to be there than a fly wants to be tangled in a spider’s web. She felt trapped and Copia knew it. Although things had softened between them, it was not the same as her being in love. He was however, without a doubt—in love.

Head over heels in fact and had been for the longest time. The way they were forced to spend more and more time together as of late, had only solidified his feelings for her. He wished beyond measure that she’d somehow feel the same. That she would long for him in the night when they returned to their separate quarters. Both of them, yearning to become one in Lucifer’s name—but he knew she didn’t.

“I see.” was all he could reply. Copia stood up from his chair, taking a moment to straight out his vest before taking his leave. His heart, heavy with the thought of telling Astrid what he’d learned.

“C, I tell you this in private…so you can tell her in private. I don’t want her making another scene.” Sister Imperator explained. Copia wasn’t sure why she had bothered. Her intentions were obvious from the beginning, the Ministry didn’t want Astrid to act as if she was being forced—even though she most certainly was. Astrid had already been all but completely secluded from the other siblings and, as far as anyone was allowed to know, she was living the dream. Only the Ministry and the two of them, knowing the truth—this arrangement was a nightmare for her. Far from the things she’d dreamed of.

“I will handle it.” he assured her as he left the office. Pain clutching his heart in his chest. The heartbroken Papa guys telling him what this might force Astrid to do.

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He found her easily enough in the cloister. Looking more like herself today, hair thrown up in a loose bun, sans the veil, and body adorned in a black wrap dress. Sitting alone on a bench at the far end of the southern flank. A sketchbook and pencil in hand, and a look of concentration on her face.

“It is looking really good so far cara, you really do have quite the talent.” Copia said as he came to sit beside her. She was ferociously sketching. Her tongue, sticking out a bit at the corner of her mouth as she stared intently on the page. Creating the figure of a woman that was laid across what appeared to be a beach. Woman's face, drawn with an intense look of desire. Copia wondered if Astrid would draw her creation a lover—someone to attribute such a look. His mind unable to help thinking about what other desires of Astrid’s she may choose to put to paper.

“Thank you Papa.” she responded with a small smile. Smudging the lines of her work to create depth and shadow. “Everything alright? I didn’t see you at breakfast this morning.”

“Ah si, everything is alright.” he told her, though Astrid could tell he was lying. The more time she spent with him the more she could see his tells–Copia was hiding something.

“Copia, what is it?” she asked, closing up her sketchbook and turning to face him. He was nervous and the anxiety building inside him was clear in his demeanor. Copia struggled finding the words. After everything that had happened between them, he knew this news would set things back. Now that he had captured her attention, he knew he had no choice but to confess.

“I was with Sister Imperator for a meeting this morning.” Copia began, a grimace painting his face.

“Oh, I’m sorry, did I miss it? Was I supposed to be there? I don’t remember hearing anything about it.” Astrid responded, trying to remember. She had been so distracted with her own thoughts and feelings; it wouldn’t have taken much for her to have missed something.

“Oh no…no. I was to come alone.”

“Oh…”

“Cara…at the Prime Mover ritual—we are to consummate our union.” Copia told her, his voice cracking all through the words. Astrid exhaled; she knew this was hard for him. It would have been devastating for her had she not been expecting it the whole time. The quiet of her response, telling Copia everything he needed to know.

“I figured that.”

“I don't know what to say. I know this isn't something you want.” he continued, hoping—praying that she’d correct him.

“I honestly don’t know what I want.” she said, her eyes falling to her lap. Now that was a surprise. Copia placed his hand on her shoulder and Astrid looked up at him. A hint of tears in her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “I thought I wanted to travel. To see the world—to do something else with my life. Now I just feel confused.” she admitted.

She was confused. At first this arrangement with Copia felt like a death sentence. Her freedom stripped away so that she might be not much more than Papal breeding cattle. The night on the balcony, however, had changed things. Only to change even more so that night in his suite.

She had begun to see him in a different light. It was more than just finding herself laughing at his jokes during meetings and having genuine interest in what he had to say. She found herself caring for him. So much so that she dared not to utter aloud what kinds of thoughts she entertained when she was alone at night.

“I will give you some space.” Copia said, rising up from the bench, “See you tonight at Mass?”

“Sure.” Astrid replied, watching as he walked away, leaving her alone in the cloister. She wondered if he knew. If he could see that she had developed feelings for him. Or, more importantly, that she had made up her mind.

This thing was new and scary—and she couldn't be sure of it. Astrid knew If she didn’t leave that night, she would be trapped. Her choices stripped away, and her fate sealed. There was no other way.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Copia knew the moment he left her in the cloister something felt different. Hints hidden in plain sight, slowly beginning to make themselves known. He realized he had felt it before—seen it in Astrid looked at him, the way their hands met on instinct during the meeting. Even more so when he had her alone in his suite.

His hopes brewing beneath the surface that maybe…just maybe she had felt something for him too. There was also the hint of something else. Like the after bitter taste of poison, concealed in a drink. The thought of it made Copia’s heart break.

Something told him that tonight she would leave. He stood up straight and puffed out his chest as he walked back to the office. Passing the siblings with a carefully hung smile on his face. Determined that he would have one last try before she left—-never to be seen again.

Astrid sat inconspicuously in her spot on the front aisle of pews. Her leg, bouncing as the rest of the congregation filed in behind her. Her hymnal, sticky with the grip of her clammy hands. She tried her best to avoid looking at it. The carefully tucked away duffle bag that was wedged beneath the statue of Beelzebub and the tabernacle that was surely full of sacramental wine.

As Primo’s sermon continued the urge grew stronger. A cold sweat hit her, tracing the line of her spine as she tried to regain her composure. She had made the mistake not once but twice of raising her gaze to Copia. Sitting along with the other Papa’s in the sanctuary. His smile tearing away at her resolve as she forced one back at him.

It pained her to hurt him like this. She imagined that no one would miss her much besides him. Her so-called friends hadn’t given her much credence since her Prime Movership was announced. Most of them, insanely jealous of her coveted position. Maybe he’d find happiness with one of them when she was gone.

It’s for the best, she thought, I will be out of here before anyone is the wiser. Thank you dad for the help…though I could really use your advice right now. Astrid began to tear up. Finding her thoughts returning to the present moment as the sermon that had reached its completion.

“And we sin in his name. Nema!” Primo called out, his hands raised up at his sides. The crowd, returning his call. She would leave and start a new someplace else. Bringing with her only a few changes of clothes, some cash, and thankfully her key to a safe deposit box her father had left for her before he passed. Astrid assured that she had something to live off of until she could get back on her feet.

She waited patiently for the room to clear, the Papas leaving first with the exception of Primo who would pick up after mass, the rest of the congregation leaving their pews and heading out the doors. Astrid watched Copia leave, seemingly deep in conversation with Terzo. Finally, a single tear escaped her eye as she wondered if it would be the last time she saw him.

When she thought she would not be noticed, she laid flat along the pew. Hiding herself from view as everyone left. It wasn’t long before Primo had finished tidying up the chapel. Collecting the spent incense and blowing out the candles before also taking his leave.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

When she heard the doors close behind him, Astrid rose up. Quickly making her way to her secret stash, pulling the duffle bag out, and dropping on a knee before the large Grucifix in the center of the sanctuary. A small prayer made to Lucifer before she’d head out through the back door of the sacristy. Lucifer, most unholy and brightest of stars, please give me the strength to do what it is I need to do. Guide me to the life I need to be happy and free. I beg of you to show me mercy, your loyal and devout sister…Nema, she prayed, performing the sign of the cross of St. Peter before getting up off her knee.

She walked to the sacristy, opening the door and passing the collection of texts and well used candles that lined the shelves. The faint hint of frankincense in the air. Astrid, careful to not disturb anything that would leave a trace of her behind. She took in a deep breath and reached for the door—this was it.

“Is that all you are bringing with you sorella?” Copia asked, watching as Astrid slowly let her hand slide from the knob of the back door. She didn’t turn to look at him, but he could hear the heavy sigh as it left her chest.

“Papa, I don’t think I should stay.” she spoke, her back still to Copia. Both of them standing alone in the small sacristy.

“Come on cara, talk to me. Where are you going, please just look at me.” Copia begged.

“I just—”

“Goddamn it Astrid, will you just look at me?!” Copia yelled through gritted teeth, the tears welling up within his eyes. Astrid finally turned to face him. Her face filled with pain and eyes widening as she saw the look on Copia’s face. His own sorrow was unable to be contained.

“OK.” she agreed as she swallowed back her emotions. Trying desperately to pull herself together. To stop him from seeing her fall apart.

“I—I never asked for this either, you know? A life that's not my own.” he cried.

“I know…”

“If I am to be honest Astrid, I’m not sure you could call what I had before a ‘life’.” Copia continued, pouring his heart out before her, “Don’t you think I know that you don't love me. That you’d rather be anywhere but here—fuck.” he asked her as his voice trembled. Struggling to get out the words. “I can see in your eyes how it pains you to stay here. To listen to my endless droning on about my rats or about my obsessions with things, of which you hold no value…but I love you anyway. I love you enough to let you go. I…I can’t bear to think of you having to suffer beside me.

“Copia I—”

“Don’t…Don’t placate me sorella. I know where I stand. After all, what grace have I to expect someone like you to feel anything…for someone like me.” He hissed as he turned to face away. His heart ripped from his chest and laid bare before her—bloodied and bruised. Astrid felt it too. The ache, settling in her chest having seen Copia so distraught.

She could hear him, trying his best to stop his tears. Sniffling and clearing his throat, as he left the sacristy and headed back into the chapel. Prepared to walk away and leave Astrid on her own. Then suddenly she lost her control. An unexplainable urge, but stronger than anything she had ever known.

“Copia! Wait!” she called as she ran down the nave. Copia stopped dead in his tracks and turned around to see Astrid charging towards him. She scooped his face up in her palms and pressed her lips tightly against his. Her eyes, closing to the feel of them.

Copia’s eyes widened, before closing he pressed his lips against her. Tongue brought into her mouth to find her awaiting him. He wrapped his arms around her, his starved mouth tasting her, relishing her. Hands entangled in her midnight-colored hair. Copia and Astrid, both forgetting everything around them but the way their lips melted together for the first time.

#Something blue #copia x astrid #copia #papa iv #papa emeritus iv #ren writes #ghost #the band ghost #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfics #ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #the band ghost fanfic #the band ghost fanfiction

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tayley · 1 year

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Paste Magazine prematurely posted a review for 'This Is Why', they deleted it, but someone from reddit retrieved. here it is:

# This Is Why Is a Highlight Reel for Paramore's Many Eras. by Grant Sharples [@grantsharpies](https://twitter.com/grantsharpies)

Paramore is one of the few bands of their era that has withstood the test of time. Many of their fellow Warped Tour-adjacent compatriots dealt out heavy doses of misogyny, a defect that frontwoman Hayley Williams herself has acknowledged and expunged from the band’s music. Even within their own camp, they endured a homophobic guitarist and antagonistic bassist, the latter of whom departed the band twice and was inexplicably removed from the band’s 2013 album artwork last year.

*This Is Why*, the group’s sixth album, is the first in their catalog to feature the same lineup as its predecessor. Paramore has been through a veritable shitstorm, and they’ve emerged with a stronger resolve, steeling against whatever life throws at them with a hardened exterior.

“After 15 to 20 years of fighting like a bunch of brats in front of the world, you eventually learn some coping skills and communication methods,” Williams told *The Guardian* last fall. Now, the pop-punk powerhouse comprises three people: Williams, guitarist Taylor York, and drummer Zac Farro. Despite Paramore’s shifting lineups and disparate stylings across their discography, their influence on music writ large is palpable: from the hooky panache of Meet Me @ the Altar to the earnest songwriting of Olivia Rodrigo; from the iconoclastic pop of Billie Eilish to the plaintive belt-a-longs of Julien Baker. The Tennesseeans’ blueprint reigns supreme, so much so that Williams and ex-guitarist Josh Farro got a writing credit on Rodrigo’s “good 4 u.”

There’s no doubt that Paramore’s appeal reaches far and wide; they’re playing basketball arenas now, after all. It’s that cultural ubiquity that’s yielded them stages this big, yet it’s also due to their multifarious approach to art. *This Is Why* captures that interdisciplinary spirit with cohesion and flair.

***The title track*** kicks things off on a stunning note, playing like a blend of Williams’s 2020 solo album *Petals for Armor* and the groovy rhythms of 2017’s *After Laughter*, minus that album’s neon sheen.

***“The News”*** harnesses the punchy verve that makes for some of the best *brand new eyes* cuts, albeit Carlos de la Garza’s production feels abnormally thin, diluting what could’ve been acerbic and menacing.

But that misstep is compensated for immediately after: ***“Running out of Time,”*** like the title track, strikes a balance between atmospheric textures and syncopated buoyancy that is, simply put, really fucking fun. *This Is Why*, as its first three tracks show, accomplishes a feat that connects the band’s diverging sonic pathways without succumbing to whiplash. It encapsulates Paramore’s voyages into piercing pop-punk, glossy New Wave, heartfelt ballads and anthemic paeans.

Some of the record’s best moments encompass an amalgamation of these eras. ***“C’est Comme Ca”*** could’ve been an *After Laughter* single had that record contained more of a pronounced grittiness and Strokes-esque guitar tones. Hearing Williams try her hand at spoken-word verses is a total delight, too. But the song’s most affecting moment comes toward its sung bridge, with Williams’ soprano gradually unfolding into a shout: “I hate to admit getting better is boring/But the high cost of chaos, who can afford it?”

On the penultimate track, ***“Crave,”*** York’s guitar work summons the twinkling emo of their *Twilight* songs like “Decode” and “I Caught Myself” while Williams’s voice soars above the chorus, howling the song’s title and longing for simplicity.

She keeps up the momentum on the closer, ***“Thick Skull,”*** evincing her wide vocal range, shifting from a subdued lower register in the verses until she unfurls into her signature emo burst in the final chorus à la fan favorite “All I Wanted.” This concluding one-two punch marks the strongest run on the album.

However, *This Is Why* sags ever so slightly in the middle, namely due to the mawkish whims of its centerpiece, ***“Big Man, Little Dignity.”*** Though thematically potent and containing one of the record’s best lines (“You keep your head high / Smooth operator in a shit-stained suit”), its lukewarm instrumentation, evoking alt-radio fodder like Young the Giant and Walk the Moon, hinders its potential. There’s also the fact that Paramore makes little use of one of its greatest assets as a band: pure intensity. Occasionally, the trio reins themselves in for arrangements that signal hushed tastefulness, whereas catchy catharsis is what this band is known for.

Still, it’s not like they haven’t shown they can write compelling softer material, as songs like “Misguided Ghosts” and “26” demonstrate. Yet this album’s muted breaks leave little impact compared to the immediacy that’s been a major draw for revisiting Paramore’s work. Albums like *After Laughter* and *brand new eyes* were also punctuated with infectious adrenaline rushes, which Paramore does like no one else; *This Is Why* has fewer instances of drastic sonic contrast, lending it coherence and mild inertia all the same.

But the album revives itself with ***“You First,”*** an instant highlight that merges indie-rock and pop-punk in equal measure. “Turns out I’m living in a horror film where / I’m both the killer and the final girl,” Williams sings over Farro’s pummeling percussion and York’s discordant, post-punk guitar.

Throughout each of its 10 tracks, Williams navigates fatalism and a world where war, disease and climate change run amok. Whether she’s hiding from the public eye on “This Is Why,” lamenting the pervasiveness of a 24-hour news cycle on ***“The News,”*** or roasting chauvinists on ***“Big Man, Little Dignity,”*** Williams once again proves herself a formidable writer, and York and Farro are there to lend their craftsmanship to yet another captivating record.

After the seemingly endless volatility this band has weathered, it’s a miracle that they exist, still making incredible music. Here, they sound self-assured and steady, like a group that understands what they have and makes the most of it. On *This Is Why*, Paramore have found land after a years-long trip at sea, grounding their ship and claiming all the accolades they’ve accrued in their time away. They deserve them all.

**6.5/10**

*Grant Sharples is a writer based in Kansas City. He has contributed to* MTV News\*,\* Pitchfork\*,\* Stereogum\*,\* The Ringer\*,\* SPIN *and others. Follow him on Twitter* [*@grantsharpies*](https://twitter.com/grantsharpies)*.*

#paramore #hayley williams #taylor york #zac farro #6more #this is why

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