#borinqucn

this isn’t something he often allows. he has been known to fraternize with other ghouls, however previously it was mostly in heat. mostly choosing celibacy, unless he feels he needs a release to unburden the mind. dedicated to his duties & unbound by certain desires of the flesh. besides, as harsh it may sound.. it’s hard to see himself as anything less than above them all. on his quintessence pedestal he stands high. his chin raised & poised to perfection. yet the new era sees his retirement. asked to step down due to something so preposterous as his age. threatened, the moment a new beast moulded to perfection was summoned. useless, in his opinion. he is the picture of perfectness. the pinnacle of what they seek. yet when the dust settles on his mind splitting grief, he sees it as no less than a plot by imperator. a plot to keep the only one equipped to protect papa emeritus iii away from him. allowing the inferior to falter. though this brings with it a barrage of emotions that the ghoul is unequipped to deal with. the guilt, the grief. the loss... the loss of all three of his previous masters & the knowledge that he no longer was the representative of his element? it is causing him to lose himself & regress into a more feral state of being. he more-less refused to acknowledge many of the new ghouls’ existence for a time. though he was also recruited to assist the multi ghoulette upon her arrival, as she gathered her bearings. & grudgingly -- the omega ghoul obliged. still duty bound to the ministry, his thick fingers were quick to point & mouth quick to grunt & scowl. yet, her demeanor was such that he was quick to also grudgingly warm up to her. at least enough to stop acting generally irritated by her mere existence. to treat her more akin to how he treats his pack mates. humoring her when she sought him out. though if he had half a mind to, he’d wonder why she’d seek his bitter self in the first place.  she had found him out of glamour, & resting in the newly issued ghoul uniforms. lounging in his room on a sofa, with one leg up & the other stretched with a heel on the floor. lazily propped upon the rest with his tail swaying, and one of his arms draped over the cushions. his neck-length white hair still perfectly placed despite.. however he had not expected her cheery wave & bounce on the heels to end with her straddling his leg. lowering on instinct for her to eagerly mount, with a quirk of his brow & twitch of pointed ears in interest. his fingers only curl into the upholstery with an inconsequential rumble of warning. tensing at the contact to his groin. unreadable eyes point up at her, whilst his booted heel presses into the sofa. thick teeth bearing with a few weak twitches of his lips. & that’s how they stay, if not for her coaxing touch to his clothed shoulders. that which eases him against the arm, with his clawed fingers gripping her opposite appendage..  omega’s other foot bracing on the floor, so that he can meet the soft push of her hand with harsh huffs & grunts. he can’t ask her for anything more.. wide eyes & whites of his teeth flaring along with his broad chest. teeth snapping whilst he tries to keep his hips from bucking like a wild animal. protecting his poise. the only thing keeping his impending orgasm obvious being the harsher rise & fall of his barrel chest or the tightening of his grip. diamond cut chin lowering & heightening along with his gaze, until his eyes roll back. head thrown as well. yet you’d never know it, with their color. his hips now speeding up in pace & rolling harshly, with what can only be described as a roar ripped from the depths of his throat. almost like a jaguar. his lips peeled back to flex his tongue in the deafening rumble that escapes him. rolling satisfyingly. & it doesn’t stop, either. interrupted briefly only by breaths, whilst he rides through his aftershocks. hisses filtering between flexes of his jaw, even whilst his chin lifts to stare at her. 

“let me know what we are living, & what we are dying for.”

Slop! The saturated rag strikes the sacrificial slab with a wet slap, and coppery suds surge across the stone surface as he kneads the sodden cloth. The water in his wooden pail has long since stagnated, it’s contents having turned a stale shade of brown; the colour of rancid blood, but still Mary slaves away, with skinned knuckles and shrivelled fingertips. This is the price you pay for slovenliness, Sister Imperator had castigated them, if you had only cleaned the altar when you were told, we wouldn’t be in this mess, now, would we? How was Mary supposed to know that granite was such a porous material? And who at The Ministry was responsible for such an impractical interior design choice? At least now they understood what it meant to get blood from a stone.

Several hours had elapsed since they had started scrubbing, and the soluble slab shows no sign of improvement, the vital fluid having permeated the stone to its core. Afflicted with stiff and swollen joins, it’s time he threw in the towel. Still, it could be worse: with the old harpy no longer hovering over their shoulder, he had the vacated vestibule entirely to himself, free to conduct his own private opera to the frescoes and the effigies that inhabited the nave. From Gregorian chants to songs they had composed themself, Mary floods the chamber with music; the concave cupola above the transept elevating their infernal psalms to the very ears of God. Swanning about the chapel, eyes shut, throat open to the heavens, Mary is insensible to everything but the sound of their voice, the rich vibrato and the pitch perfect falsetto, and he doesn’t hear the rusty hinges or the rickety clack as the door swings open and shut.

Send 💭 for a thought my muse has had about yours

For ℑ𝔤𝔫𝔞𝔠𝔦𝔬 ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔬𝔰𝔬 𝔐𝔞𝔩𝔡𝔬𝔫𝔞𝔡𝔬 / ℭ𝔞𝔯𝔡𝔦𝔫𝔞𝔩 𝔄𝔫𝔞𝔱𝔥𝔢𝔪𝔲𝔰 ;

Presiding over an archdiocese was a privilege and a pleasure, or that was the public line, but there was little Ignacio loathed like he loathed paperwork: monotonous correspondences with bishops of the diocese’ he supervised. Penning the decrees and communiques was excruciating, between the ingratiating tone - bensì, ovviamente, La Vostra Eminenza - the prosaic platitudes - Satanus essere lodato! - and the mundane nature of the conversation; one bishop had deigned to consult him on which species of goat was preferable for a sacrifice on the sabbath, as though it was a matter of canon law. His written reply had been uncharacteristically curt.

Pero, lo and behold, Ignacio is transported by the smell of - can it be? - pan dulce wafting down the corridor, the spiced scent of conchas tantalising his nostrils; suddenly he’s a boy in Ciudad de México again, his nose pressed up against the clouded glass of the panadería, marvelling at the multifarious baked goods stacked up behind the counter. He fumbles his fountain pen when he hears the triad of knocks on his office door: «¡no mames!» and caps the writing utensil with a triumphant click. «Prego, avanti!» Aligning the parchment on his desk, he sets the stack of papers aside and adjusts his appearance, smoothing down his cassock and pellegrina.

my love <3 every day i compliment you. i should hope so. although, it’s always so easy. you’re so talented. your mind is very amazing to me, as you’re smart in all the areas where i struggle. i’ll try to keep this to writing, though. you’re so creative, even if you don’t think you are. we’ve always had the deepest most extensive plots, and it’s part of what made our bond so strong, before i met you in person. i pride myself on the worlds we’ve built, and if anyone thinks you’re not creative or doesn’t want to put the effort in to world build with you? well they’re missing out on one of the best and most dedicated partners on this earth. temperance in particular is so well developed and you’re so dedicated to her. she’s always been a breath of fresh air, and she’s adaptable as hell. i adore her so much, and i credit her for us becoming so close. thank you for always hyper-fixating with me, & for taking such an interest in what i do. you’re just such a good writer, and you’re so descriptive. it’s been so great to see you writing new characters because you’ve been crushing it, honestly. the grasp you have on your girls is !! so amazing. idk i just love you thanks for loving me too or whatever, i guess... <3

Spotify Wrapped Starters - Party of One

I am yours. A phrase, a spoken reminder to your soulmate to let them know truly how much they meant to you. How much you meant to them. How much anything meant any amount. What was your love if you could not compare it to how much the Earth loves the Stars? What was your love if it could not best ever cosmic force thrown your way? What was love, truly? What was love? Could Aether be a home for love? Could Aether sustain that feeling? Was he an environment meant for love, or was he the voided aether that he was named after?

Nobody could hear you scream in space. Did that mean nobody would hear you cry? Laugh? Weep? Giggle? Sigh? Did anything mean anything in space? Was the air in your lungs empty? Was there dead silence on the radio waves?

Random Dialogue Prompt

The sun burns brightest in the endless void of eternity, where lights do not reach and the ethereal air is poison to any mortal who breathes it in. It's a lonely place out there in space, where the warmest ball of hot gas is light years away and you can only float with rocks and dust in your orbit. Nobody can hear you scream, but you've felt this way about your existence for a while now. To be the air the gods breathe in an honor, but it's even more of an honor to be loved. The intimacy of being known and accepted and seen, it was like proposing with Saturn's rings.

Although this was no proposal, just a hand held out to a demon who hasn't held a hand in quite some time. As Sunshine got to have her perch up on the stage, it made her appear taller than she was. Sure, she was taller than Cumulus, but she was still small. Her hands were small too, so the offer of hand holding got a chuckle out of Aether who held out his large hand to simply dwarf hers.