#collection: deus in absentia | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rains-ritual-sacrifice · 4 months ago

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nsfw Rain oneshot, 3705 words (i am new to tumblr and have no clue how to format lol) but enjoy!!! i usually draw instead of write soooo....

The silence of the abbey was nearly deafening, the only sounds being the muffled cicadas, crickets, and katydids out and about for the season, locked outside his windows. A late evening in his room quickly turned into a sleepless night for Rain, who was currently staring at the blank wall as he lay on his side in his roomy bed. The moon was at it's peak, it's cold light shining through his room and casting his lonely shadow along the stone wall. Rain sighed deeply and shifted to lay with his bare back against his sheets.

What were you up to? Were you still awake too?

He groaned and buried his face into his hands. You were the only thing he had been able to think about for weeks. Of course his heat had to show up before he could convince himself to move on from pining after you, his confidant, his best goddamn friend. He was used to how his cycle goes, the unbearable urge to hump and fuck until his chest heaved for breaths, his skin slick with his own sweat from the amount of strain his body was under. Rain slid his hands down his face with a sigh. What would your hands feel like on his skin? Cradling his jaw as you leaned in, your scent strong due to his heightened sense of smell, courtesy of his cycle? Would your fingers feel feather-light along his skin? Or would you press your fingers roughly into his jaw and pull him in close? Even that thought was enough for his body to react inappropriately.

Any sane person would be asleep at this hour, obviously you were in bed. He cursed under his breath, feeling like an absolute pervert. He couldn't help but think of you asleep, hair splayed out on the pillow underneath your head, your lips parted ever-so-slightly as your chest rose and fell with every breath, and your eyes peacefully shut as you dreamed. He'd seen you in the mornings in your sweatpants and oversized shirt (and occasionally short shorts during the warmer months) but he was still left to wonder. Did you really sleep in that? Or were there nights so hot in the abbey that you had no choice but to strip down to your bare skin? The warmer months were perfectly capable of doing that, hell, he himself has slept naked on multiple occasions. Even in this moment the heat was enough for him to just wear boxers, the August humidity and his heat's increase in body temperature were not helping.

The moonlight would look so beautiful against the curves of your breasts and hips... the valley of your waist... the shine of the saliva on your lips, but you were infinitely more stunning than the glittering reflection. The thought of seeing your naked body in his dark room, only illuminated by the nighttime stars made his body involuntarily shiver. Rain shifted awkwardly in his bed to sit up with his back against the cool wooden headboard of his bed. He was starting to chub up, his half-hard dick pressing on the fabric of his boxers as he continued to fight his lustful thoughts of you, and failing miserably.

This. These thoughts, as tame as they were, could easily make a ghoul in heat fall to pieces. It didn't take much for Rain to get hard during his cycle, the need to find a mate and breed consumed his thoughts for the days it took to pass, even the smallest things would stir that familiar ache in his core. Little things like the your scent on the breeze as you passed him in the hallways, now stuck in his head for the rest of the day until he was free to hide away in his room for the night, fucking into his hand while pretending it was you.

He could only imagine the scent of your arousal.

Sickeningly sweet with that slightly bitter tang that would keep him crawling back on his knees for more. The water ghoul craved that slickness, running his tongue up your inner thigh as you squirmed underneath his touch, quietly pleading for more. Rain groaned at the sight of his now fully-hard erection. Running a hand through his hair, he snaked the other one down to rest on his abdomen, feeling the heat radiating off of his skin. He could feel his cheeks were flushed as pink as the swollen head of his cock. The strain of his sensitive tip against the fabric of the boxers was almost painful to him, and the idea that it couldn't be you touching him just increased his frustrations. He wanted to lock those thoughts away, he didn't want this sexual obsession of his to create a rift between the two of you. After all, it was you he confided in when you first joined the ministry, he had found someone he could really talk to, share his secrets, spill his guts, dump any of his fears onto without being afraid of being abandoned. He trusted you, supported you, loved you... lusted after you.

He hadn't even noticed his fingers stroking through the tuft of soft hair trailing up from the waistband of his boxers, inching further and further down. Rain leaned his head back and shut his eyes in an attempt to escape his obscene thoughts. Maybe he could just go to bed instead?

Of course his head conjured the sight of you between his knees while he lay back on the bed and watched you, your fingers being the ones to trail down his abdomen in a teasing manner. Your beautiful eyes pierced through his soul, he had no clue if he'd be able to look at them while you went down on him with a teasing gaze- the intimacy of that itself had the ghoul almost on edge. Stupid rut. Your hands, warm and soft, as they graze his skin and you lower the waistband of his-

Rain's eyes snapped open and he shoved his boxers down off his thighs with a low, irritated growl. This was unbearable. He thought back to the idea that maybe you were still awake too. Humans don't experience heats the way ghouls do, sure, but that didn't mean you weren't a sexual being. If you were awake, could you be getting off too? His slender fingers make their way down to the base of his shaft and slowly tease the idea of wrapping around it. His breath hitched and his mind immediately goes back to you, the possibility that you could be doing this to yourself right now as well. What did you think of when you touched yourself? Was this lustful pining a mutual pain or were you better than the absolute creep he was, masturbating to you while you were most likely fast asleep in your bed? He bit the inside of his cheek, enough to draw a metallic taste.

Did those hours upon hours of deep conversation sit with you the way it did with him? Rain lived for those moments, hearing you talk about literally anything was pure music to his ears. His fondness of you went beyond friendship, but it was also way more than simply wanting sex, he wanted a relationship. He valued you more than he thought you knew, valued every little thing about you. The way your eyes would light up when you spoke of your current interests, the way your sad eyes always sought him out for his comforting hugs when you needed someone, the way your cheeks flushed whenever he gave you the smallest of praise or compliments, it all sent a radiating warmth throughout his chest that lingered for the hours to come. The small splash of color that adorned your cheeks made him feel like he was floating. What pretty shade would they be while you desperately moaned his name from beneath him?

His fingers gently grazed along his frenulum to the head, the slow, calculated movement causing his dick to twitch impatiently. He let out a shaky breath as his fingertips, calloused from years of playing bass guitar, traced along the slit currently dribbling with the small beads of thick, nearly clear liquid. Rain was quite satisfied with his cock, it wasn't too big- average sized as far as he was aware, had a slight curve, and a visible vein towards the bottom of his shaft that throbbed whenever he pressed against it.

But would you like it? Would you think it was good enough?

A small groan escaped his lips, his other hand gripping the sheets beside him. He could see it, your searing gaze as your tongue trace along his cock, stopping to place little kisses as you neared the sensitive tip. Satanas, the hungry look in your eyes as you drooled over the sight of him hard for you. He wasn't one of the tallest ghouls, so being able to look down at you seated between his knees sent a jolt of energy through his core, an intense, powerful energy that the shy little water ghoul was pretty unfamiliar with, but maybe it was just the same effect of his heat like how wanting to breed your tight hole probably was.

Having kits was never completely out of the question for him, but he didn't particularly want them anytime soon. He'd probably want to settle down and get married before even entertaining the idea. But he was lucky that human and ghoul biology wasn't compatible, because he wanted to fuck all of his cum into you and push any that dripped out of your spent pussy back in with his fingers, slowly fucking it right into you as you whined from the overstimulation of the multiple orgasms he was determined to give you.

Rain exhaled harshly and shook the thought from his head, it was gross and stupid and he had no clue if this was even something you would ever want. He wished his thoughts of you could just stay platonic, but it would be cruel to deny himself of the pleasures of jerking himself off as he dreamed of you naked in his bed. Maybe he could think of this act as a form of appreciation- for having the same great taste in literature as him, for the way you make him laugh without fail, for the kindness you extended to everyone in the clergy, and for that damn outfit you wore to Aether's birthday party last week. You hadn't worn a bra underneath it, unwilling to ruin the sleek look of a strapless dress, which made your chest softly bounce with each sudden movement and left him able to make out the faint outline of your nipples underneath the ocean-blue fabric. That fucking dress was the real reason he had left so suddenly, not because he had forgotten an appointment, which he quickly made with his junk instead as soon as he was able to. He whimpered quietly as his fingers took the slickness that had been dripping down and used it to easily slide his hand slowly up and down his tense, aching cock.

Oh, what he'd do to have taken you out to the hallway during that party just to feel you up. Only if you wanted it, of course. He could never let himself do anything you didn't like, he would be eternally grateful to even just kiss you right now. Those beautiful lips that spoke his name. The vanilla lip-balm you carried made your lips look so wonderfully soft, which only made him crave the taste of your lips on his even more. He wanted to grab you by the waist and hold you against him, burying his face in your hair and finally smelling that intoxicating scent that tortured him. He wanted to slide his hands further down to your hips and around to squeeze your ass, relishing the small surprised noise it was sure to bring from you. Maybe you'd have let him eat you out in that hallway, your back pressed against the cool stone wall of the abbey while his face was buried between your trembling thighs. The thought of getting caught was exciting, no? He'd have to move fast, his tongue pressed flat against your wet cunt as he licked up to your clit. It would be so easy to work diligently with the sounds of you trying to muffle your sweet moans through your hand egging him on.

His strokes were still relatively slow, but he knew he would have to give in eventually. With a soft groan he tilted his head back against the headboard and continued jerking himself off, feeling the soreness in his scrotum grow as he kept himself from going any faster. He wanted that false image of you and him to stay in his head forever, he craved you carnally in a way that made him prefer torturing himself to the image of you in his head rather than giving himself the quick and satisfying release he so desperately needed. Heat or not, it made is impossible to sleep most nights- exactly like tonight.

Rain desperately wanted you to use him. Anything you wanted, he would do, as long as it pleased you.

What would you like? Rain longed for you to take his hand and show him exactly that, taking his hands to move them along your body for him to memorize every inch and sweet spot and perfect imperfection. You'd take his hand to your core and manipulate his fingers to stroke yourself, leading them down against your sensitive nub while whimpering softly under your breath the entire time. The thought of you pushing them into your slick hole to finger-fuck you made him absolutely weak. He would spend hours trailing his hands across your naked skin if it meant he could learn how to please you in every way that mattered. He'd honestly beg for you to teach him. As for him? He wouldn't care if you were experienced or not. To him, it only mattered if you cared about him the same way he did for you. Never touched a guy before? He'd probably be the better option out of the other ghouls. Mountain was usually considered 'too big' for most people, Aether could easily get carried away, Swiss was... intense to say the least, and Sodo was an absolute heathen in the sheets. Aurora might be small but she was sometimes too excitable, Cumulus's eagerness could also be overwhelming, and Cirrus actually might've been okay, but Rain's stomach twisted at the thought of any of the other ghouls even coming close enough to touch you. It made him angry.

What the fuck was that all about? Rain's hand stuttered mid-stroke as he processed his possessive thoughts. He didn't own you, no one did. He let out a frustrated sigh when he realized it one of the countless stupid effects of his heat, it always brought out the most primal ghoul behaviors, making him feel like an animal instead of a civilized creature. The urge to claim you as his mate and keep you from the others, pamper you with a variety of gifts and affection, and stuff you full of his cum to breed you full of his kits was all part of the lovely week and a half he dealt with every few months since adolescence. He should be used to it by now, the grueling days of trying not to get at least half-hard whenever you grazed past him or whenever your fingers touched his for the most mundane of reasons, but he very much wasn't. It was just the other day when he had lost track of the time and accidentally hit your shoulder when he rushed down the hall, knocking your phone from your hand and sending it clattering to the ground. It was fine, but you had both gone after it and he had reached it first so as he handed it back to you, your fingers had momentarily touched his. He could clearly remember the embarrassed flush of your face as he apologized, the way your quiet 'thanks' had been awkward yet so genuine as you quickly kept walking down the hall. Rehearsal could wait, he had decided, as he rushed to the nearest bathroom to take care of the hard-on he now pathetically had over that small interaction.

His hand picked up the pace and he pretended it was yours.

Rain wanted to fuck you. He wanted to fuck you so bad it was humiliating. He was done trying to let go of those awful, sinful, whorish thoughts that tainted his mind, fuck it, he just needed to let it all out. His grip firmed around his length and he breathed a shaky exhale.

It all clouded his mind, the sight of those vanilla lip-balm touched lips, the graze of your hand on his in that hallway, the scent of your shampoo as he walked past you every single day, that stupid goddamn fucking dress he just wanted to tear off of you- it consumed him. He imagined getting you alone and being able to throw you onto his bed and push down that beautiful blue fabric to just below your tits, eagerly leaving sloppy kisses from your neck to your collarbones to the curve of your breasts. The small pleasured sounds would be fucking heaven to his ears. What he'd give to run his tongue across your pert nipples, taking one roughly between his teeth as you cried out.

But it wasn't enough. He needed to hitch your deliciously revealing dress up your thighs so he could get to your panties, see that tantalizing wet spot growing from between your legs. Your thighs would fit perfectly in his strong hands as his fingers dug into your skin and held you in place so he could take the waistband in his teeth and pulled it down to slowly to savor the sight. Rain doubted he would be able to hold back at that point, greedily pushing you open to taste your wet cunt. He needed more, and he would assume you wanted it too. Your trembling fingers would run through his hair as you pulled his face closer, his tongue harder against your clit, desperate for more stimulation as you were brought closer and closer to the brink. He'd pull away the moment your near-climax panting became too obvious to ignore, letting that wave of pleasure disappear before it could even wash over you yet. You didn't have to worry though, Rain wasn't done with you.

"Fuck-" He breathed, whining softly at the building in his core. It was sad he couldn't spill it all into you. Breeding you, ugh, what a fucking dream. Yeah, he'd fill you up, unloading creampie after creampie until it seeped from your hole and down your shaking thighs, bent over with your ass in the air. That image, Satanas, made his dick twitch in excited affirmation. He knew it would be pointless to push it all back in with his fingers, he was aware that ghouls and humans couldn't bear offspring anyway, but it filled him with a sense of pride in knowing you were marked as his (In the least-possessive way he could manage right now, of course, while his mind was absorbed by his damned ghoulish biological urges).

With a heated growl he sat up and pushed himself onto his knees, now leaning forward on his bed as he steadied himself with one hand tangled in his sheets and his throbbing cock in the other. His wrist twisted up and down his length as more precum leaked from the tip onto his hand, not slowing down his satisfying swift pace. His damp hair fell into his eyes, the sweat beading on his forehead as he panted through the feeling of his impending orgasm.

"Please- please, please, please..." Rain murmured to himself in a near-frantic whisper. "Satan, please, let me cum, I need to cum." His hips jerked involuntarily into his slick palm and he bit back a moan. Why couldn't it be you? He needed it to be your hand around him, not his. Fuck that, he needed it to be your wet cunt squeezing around his cock and milking him dry, orgasm, after orgasm, after fucking orgasm. He whined as his arm fought to continue supporting his weight through the feverish motions of fucking his dick into his firm grasp.

"That's right... yeah... that's right, just like that-" He continued his frenzied muttering through his soft, desperate moans. He pictured you sat across from him, thrusting your fingers inside yourself as he watched you, your pleasured expressions flushed across your face with your quiet pleas for him to take you. That was enough.

"I'm gonna fucking cum, fuck, I'm gonna~" The thrusts into his hand grew sloppy, his breathing erratic as his strangled whimpers filled the quiet room.

Rain cried out your name over and over again as his cock pulsed, spilling ample amounts of his thick release across his sheets. His head felt fuzzy and he cursed out at his lust and now-lessened sexual frustrations that brought him to this point. He leaned back on his knees and brushed his hair from his forehead that was slick from his exertion. He sat, catching his breath for a minute, and looked at the pathetic mess he had made (and would now need to deal with). Being a water ghoul made this process so much... wetter than necessary. Saying he was disappointed in himself would be an understatement. He hated thinking about anyone in those ways, it made him feel dirty, and with you it was so, so much worse. He didn't want to look at his best friend like some fuckable toy, he needed you as more than that, but he certainly wasn't acting that way right now. He grumbled to himself and stared at the sheets. Pathetic.

The room was quiet again. With a tired sigh he got up to start cleaning up his mess and hopefully get some sleep before he had to relive this scenario all over again tomorrow night.

#rain my beloved #the band ghost #the band ghost fanfic #ghost band #rain ghoul #smut #rain ghoul smut #rain fanfic #reader?#im wayyy too new to tumblr guy help

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boundinparchment · 2 years ago

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Deus in Absentia - I

The first time was a coincidence. The second time was a fluke. But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate. Or, more likely, a calculated trap. Reposted from my previous blog, @/zhonglis-empty-wallet AO3

The first time was a coincidence.

The second time was a fluke.

But the third time? You were starting to think it was fate.

Or, more likely, a calculated trap.

Why was the Harbinger coming to your bookstore? Why this Harbinger? Didn’t he have servants for this sort of thing? All of the others Fatui leaders sent in their orders via mail or proxy agent; not him. He left his lackies outside, either as a display, or because he didn't care one way or the other if they suffered the brutality of the Sneznhayan climate.

Il Dottore took hours. Every. Single. Time. Which normally wouldn’t matter. You were more than happy when any other customer did so. Granted, that too was occasionally frustrating (you owned a bookstore, not a library, it bit into your margin if they finished reading and never purchased); but the Second Harbinger terrified the rest of the shoppers. Many were willing to go right back into the Sneznhayan cold at the sight of him.

And that hurt your profit margin way more than loitering readers.

Not enough that your landlord and vendors wouldn’t be paid, of course. The Harbinger compensated for the inconvenience. Or, rather, the Ninth did so on Dottore’s behalf a few days later. It always worked out.

But there was always a price to businesses that caught Fatui eyes for too long. Most would see it as honorable; serving the Tsaritsa in any way was the highest form of honor in the land of ice and snow. Even if it meant…

A slam of a book being shut stole your thoughts. You weren’t alone, you shouldn’t get so distracted. Especially with him around.

He seemed frustrated by something. Red eyes were staring at the books in front of him as he ran his fingers through his hair, his hands stopping instead to fist around teal locks for a moment.

Besides his rank and the whispers about his experiments, his temper was what most remembered about him. He hated interruptions, any break in his train of thought if he didn’t ask for it specifically.

You weren’t sure what possessed you but when you stepped away from the counter to make tea in the back room, you found yourself pouring a second cup. And then putting it on a tray (a remnant from the previous store owner), and offering a small collection of the usual fixings of milk, sugar, and honey. At the last second, you threw in the last of the cookies that a customer sent in as a thank you (their order required a six month lead time and you’d had to go all the way to Liyue and back to get it personally).

You slid the tray onto the table that Dottore had taken as his dominion in your shop and walked away without a word.

It was a stupid move. What had you been thinking? You may as well have offered your own head on a silver platter (if you had one). Most Harbingers would think you were trying to poison them.

And that was certainly what Dottore must have been thinking when you caught him watching you as you took inventory.

It was unprompted, not asked for.

But anticipated.

You were good at that. Whether it was books or not. You had a knack for knowing what someone else might need.

Dottore clicked his tongue, a sound that traveled further than he likely meant it to, as he muttered something you didn’t understand. Not uncommon. The Harbingers were from all over Teyvat and there was more than just the Common tongue.

You rolled your shoulders and set to work unpacking boxes. These books wouldn’t check themselves in. You were still unpacking hours later, stacks of books surrounding you, sorted by genre.

“I’ll be taking these.”

The voice, always deeper than expected, startled you. You rose too quickly and whacked your head on the counter. The Harbinger was unamused, the visible corner of his mouth pressed into a firm line.

“I’ll also be requiring these,” a gloved hand held out a list, folded once.

You took it as you soothed your throbbing head. A curious part of you wanted to unfold the note and take a peek but the way Dottore’s eyes narrowed told you to wait until he was gone.

He was buying a larger stack than last time, if memory served. The titles were unfamiliar, probably books that you’d ordered on a whim or inherited from the previous owner. So much of your business was a constant juggle between your own touches and an inventory that was there when you signed the lease.

Before you could even give him the total, he placed down a sizable bag of mora onto the counter, the coins jingling.

“That should cover everything. I’ll be back next month for the rest.”

He scooped up the books with ease, expression unreadable. Even without the mask, you got the feeling that he was typically unreadable to begin with. Just as Dottore opened the door to leave, he turned and said:

“And thank you for the tea.”

The Harbinger left without another a word. The poor underling who accompanied him was left with the task of carrying the good doctor's purchases, the sheer weight of the stack of books catching them off-guard. Perhaps a newbie.

A quick glance at the table told you that his thanks had been, at least in part, genuine. The cup was empty, as was the plate.

Later that night, long after closing and after curiosity gnawed at your stomach for the better part of the day, you unfolded the list burning a hole in your pocket.

Obscure titles, specific editions, things that sounded as if they would have been collected by the Akademiya's library and hidden away. You'd never heard of these titles before and their length alone was indicative of their scholarly nature.

These would take more than a month to research, let alone acquire.

An impossible task.

Your stomach sank.

For the Fatui, no task was impossible.

Impossible came at a cost.

And everything had a price.

#dottore #il dottore #genshin impact dottore #il dottore x reader #dottore x reader #yes this is being posted again this time under my new blog #yes this circulated before like a year ago #was previously on wtpd but if it's there now I did not post it #i should probably heavily this fic but i cannot be assed

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copias-girl · 2 years ago

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15?? 🥺 i need to know.

Hii thx for asking! ♥︎♥︎♥︎

15. Favourite Lyric- Here’s a little collection of some of my favourite lyrics!

“I am riding in the shadows behind you on a pale white horse” - Witch Image

“Your beauty never ever scared me” - MOAC

“RATS” - I don’t even need to say where this is from lol

Literally all of CMLS, especially when he says “You will never walk alone, you can always reach me” and “Call me when you feel all alone” like?? It’s just SO comforting 🥹

Now I’m just adding a lot bc I’m indecisive but in Deus in Absentia when he says “The world is on fire, and you are here to stay and burn with me, our funeral pyre” like yesssss I wanna burn with him 🥹♥︎ ALSO in that song it’s so powerful when he says “All your imaginations are now running down your face” like wow 😭♥︎

“BELIAL,,,, BEHEMOTH,,,, BEELZEBUB,,,,,,,,,,,, ASMODEUS,,,, SATANAS,,,, LUCIFER” - Year Zero

And although it’s not a lyric, that one vocalizing part in Depth of Satan’s Eyes

Ask list here

#morbid-personality #my lovely ghestie #ask box #about me

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ashren · 3 years ago

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Thanks for the tag @socially-awkward-skeleton !!!

1. Favorite piece of clothing you own: My crop top black Ouija board sweatshirt ! it's got those like balloon sleeves and it's the comfiest thing every and i actually have 2 of the same shirt haha

2. Favorite song: Top 2 sorry can't choose :,)

Deus in Absentia by Ghost and Let Me Drown by Orville Peck

the latter ive had on repeat for like three days straight

3. Favourite time of the year: This time of year, April, May, June, and then, like October and November. I don't mind winter except for the lack of sunlight. Summer can kiss my heat sensitive ass.

But this like 60-70 degree weather 👌🏻👌🏻👌🏻

4. Comfort food: Mac and Cheese- but especially the crockpot recipe my mom makes

5. Do you collect something? Uh. Yeahhhh, I collect pins!

6. Favorite drink: FRUITY SELTZER when i was in worcester, home of Polar Seltzer, Polar was like stupid cheap at grocery stores so we would stock up for mixed drinks bc College ™ and then by senior year i was drinking seltzer sans alcohol and now i don't really drink at all and im slurping down seltzer water like a carbonated fish

7. Favorite fanfiction: The porn that my friend wrote before we were friends that he doesn't know helped me realize i was trans 😎 (hi dylan if ur reading this, it was back on the omgcp days LOL)

For real tho, it feels like cheating to say "everything's friends write" but it's genuinely so much fun reading friends fics, esp with their OCs that you've watched grow heheh

8. Place you'd love to be right now? Back in my old apartment :,) praying for this summer

9. Your fav film... of all time? Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh Star Wars A New Hope I GUESS

Jurassic park is up there as is potc but i think Star Wars wins bc Star wars will always win in my heart

Thanks!!! I think everyone I would tag as been tagged, if not and u see this and wanna do it feel free to tag me so i see it :3

#hahahaaaaaaaaa #so to explain the collection thing #i also collect uhm #'''''''adult silicone sculptures'''''''#if u catch my drift #which maybe is a little tmi so i'm putting it in the notes as if ppl never read these 🥴#anyway that's what i'm up to on twitter LOL #choosing a song was impossible #clearly i chose two #but i could have replaced deus in absentia with like 38492 other ghost songs i love them all idk #same with orville peck but something about let me drown has me by the throat

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tisthenightofthewitch · 4 years ago

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THE 20 GREATEST GHOST SONGS – RANKED - KERRANG!

From Opus Eponymous to Prequelle, we rank the greatest compositions from Ghost

Words: Sam Law

Photo: Tom Barnes

Undoubtedly the breakout band in heavy music over the past decade, it’s been a wild ride for Swedish creeps Ghost. Melding elements of hard rock, doom, classic metal, psychedelia and outright guitar-pop – then daubing on the corpsepaint – their combination of deceptively digestible sound, occultist ethos and anti-ecumenical aesthetic has captured the imagination of music fans and sling-shotted their live ‘rituals’ into arenas on both sides of the Atlantic.

Of course, mysterious mainman Tobias Forge (aka Papa Emeritus I-IV, aka Cardinal Copia) has had his struggles. In 2013, the band was forced to temporarily rebrand as Ghost B.C. for legal reasons in the U.S. The initially intriguing, fluid anonymity of his bandmates’ Nameless Ghoul personas (even Dave Grohl apparently once donned the cowl) became a sticking point, too, as the collective sued Tobias in 2017, failing in their suit but also dispelling some of the precious mystique.

That Tobias has endured – not just surviving, but flamboyantly thriving in the heightened spotlight – feels like proof his band are here to stay. New music is eagerly anticipated in the not-so-distant future but, for now, we rank the 20 tracks on which Ghost have built their unholy empire thus far…

20. MUMMY DUST (MELIORA, 2015)

‘I was carried on a wolf’s back, to corrupt humanity / I will pummel it with opulence, with corpulence and greed!’ Arriving on a wave of staccato percussion, spiked with gnarls of riffage and flashes of synth, this pounding cut from 2015’s Meliora – named after the insubstantial detritus of years past – plays out as one of Ghost’s most compelling indictments of the avarice of mankind. Although its creeping instrumentation, growled baritone and choral climax don’t exactly show the Swedes at their most inventive, Mummy Dust has been elevated massively in the live arena, with Papa leaning into the lurching malevolence before showering the audience with ‘money’. In Ghost we trust.

19. WITCH IMAGE (PREQUELLE, 2018)

Ghost might have traversed a full spectrum from gouging metal via classic rock to shimmering guitar-pop thus far, but the further their sound has strayed into the light, the harder the lyrics have drilled down into darkness. It’s never been truer than on this underrated ditty from Prequelle. A textbook three-and-a-half-minutes built of sweet acoustic and rich electric guitars surging towards its massive chorus, you can practically taste the relish as Tobias ladles the syrup onto some of his darkest words. ‘While you sleep in earthly delight, someone’s flesh is rotting tonight / Like no other to you, what you’ve done you can not undo…’

18. CON CLAVI CON DIO (OPUS EPONYMOUS, 2010)

After the baroque organ intro of Deus Culpa, it’s the throbbing bassline of Con Clavi Con Dio that truly pulls back the sacristy drapes on Ghost’s compelling debut. Translating crudely as ‘With Nails, With God’, the title Con Clavi Con Dio is actually an attempt at clever wordplay, drawing comparisons with the nails of crucifixion and the conclave of bishops at the head of the church as Tobias sings, ‘Our conjuration sings infernal psalms and smear the smudge in bleeding palms.’ Theological musing aside, it’s the dark swirl of sound here that truly draws the listener in, with gauzy layers of guitar, synth and vocals – not to mention the devilish tritone interval – building into a towering cathedral of subversion.

17. FAITH (PREQUELLE, 2018)

No relation to the oft-covered George Michael classic, the fourth single from 2018’s Prequelle feels like a defiant statement of the band’s arena-straddling prowess twelve years in. Powered by snarling six-strings and pounding drums – custom engineered to get tens of thousands of fists pumping – it’s seething proof that this band’s heaviest sounds are still among their best. At the same time, we get a furious flash of the man behind the mask as Tobias takes aim at his ex-Nameless Ghouls with some serious lyrical barbs: ‘The Luddites shun the diabolical, a fecal trail across the land / Although it stinks, feels and looks identical / And a pack of fools can take the stand.’ Oooft.

16. PER ASPERA AD INFERNI (INFESTISSUMAM, 2013)

Riffing on the popular Latin phrase ‘Per aspera ad astra’ (‘Through hardship to the stars’), Per Aspera Ad Infini literally translates as ‘Through Hardships To Hell.’ Its churning sound diabolically matches up. Layering on riffage that calls to mind the epic doom of heroes like Candlemass, marching-beat percussion and a lyrical treatment revolving around that title chanted as a mantra, there is sinisterness throughout. Its defining quality, however, is the fragility and despair Tobias manages to summon as he begs with ecstatic fervour, ‘Oh Satan, devour us all / Hear our desperate call.’

15. SECULAR HAZE (INFESTISSUMAM, 2013)

The lead single from 2013’s sophomore LP Infestissumam immediately built on the spooky foundations laid by Opus Eponymous with broader pantomime atmospherics and – on its live premiere in Linköping, Sweden, where Papa Emeritus II was unveiled – the first branches of their expanded mythos. A carnivalesque organ sets the tone of mischievous eeriness before the pendulous musicality hits full swing with Papa inviting us in: ‘You know that the fog is here omnipresent when the disease sees no cure / You know that the fog is here omnipresent when the intents remain obscure – forevermore!’ As if their mainstream-invading intent wasn’t clear enough, its single release even came with a B-side cover of ABBA’s I’m A Marionette featuring Dave Grohl on drums!

14. SEE THE LIGHT (PREQUELLE, 2018)

Another barely-veiled reference to Tobias’ struggles with ex-bandmates, See The Light is also one of his band’s most shamelessly uplifting compositions. Feeling like a positivist ’80s anthem – shot through with a little venom – its tinkling keys, soaring synths and understated, rumbling riffage propel an effortlessly memorable message about transcending the ill-will of one’s antagonists. Sing it together: ‘Every day that you feed me with hate, I grow stronger!’

13. DEUS IN ABSENTIA (MELIORA, 2015)

Riding on the metronomic beat of their Monstrance Clock, the closer on Ghost’s third album (translated from Latin as ‘In The Absence Of God’) is an extravagant exercise in arch theatrics. Benefiting from Klas Åhlund’s grandiose production, Tobias comes across as both demon and angel, extending his dark invitation: ‘The world is on fire, and you are here to stay and burn with me / A funeral pyre, and we are here to revel forever.’ Concluding with a hymn-like Latin chorus, it feels like the ultimate corruptive culmination: a musical sacrament truly touching only to those in the know.

12. STAND BY HIM (OPUS EPONYMOUS, 2010)

The track that started it all. Inspired by that irresistible lead riff – stumbled upon while practising for another band – Tobias foresaw a deep, dark well of potential waiting to be tapped and threw himself in headlong. Although Stand By Him’s schlocky lyrics feel gleefully on-the-chin nowadays (‘The Devil’s power is the greatest one / When His’ and Hers’ holiest shuns the sun / A temptress smitten by the blackest force / A vicar bitten blind in intercourse’), they paved the way for everything that followed. On top of that, its soaring ‘It is the night of the witch…’ chorus line even rivals that of Donovan’s Season Of The Witch (an obvious influence) for sheer spellbinding catchiness.

11. GHULEH/ZOMBIE QUEEN (INFESTISSUMAM, 2013)

One of the less immediate tracks on Ghost’s second album was also its most important. A staggering, seven-and-a-half minute opus that unfolds from its sorrowing piano line and Papa’s desiccated hiss through a swaggering midsection to a conclusion full of proggy bombast; this was proof of the untold breadth and depth of their vision and sound. Pushing from their basis in ’80s classic rock through the looser sounds of the ’70s and right into ’60s psychedelia, this ode to the titular zombie queen (‘Up from the stinking dirt she rises, ghastly pale / Shape-shifting soon but now she’s rigid, stiff and stale’) feels like Tobias’ first real attempt to stretch his (cursed black) wings and remains amongst their most rewarding compositions.

10. RITUAL (OPUS EPONYMOUS, 2010)

Anyone who remembers Ghost’s ethereal emergence from the shadows likely does so with this earworm writhing in the back of their mind. Combining the slick melodies and wry fatalism of prime Blue Öyster Cult with the crunchiness of Pentagram and Saint Vitus – soothing organs and a driving bassline pulling away – they had the musical formula nailed. It was the imagery contained therein, however (all ‘bedouins and nomads’, fallen angels and ‘smells of dead human sacrifices from the altar bed’) that captured the imaginations of a congregation ravenous for a fresh take on ancient evil. Here, the doors to the sanctum were truly open.

9. YEAR ZERO (INFESTISSUMAM, 2013)

Tying into the Ghost B.C. renaming necessitated by their Stateside legal wranglings (the year zero being the pivotal point between the B.C. and A.D. timelines), Infestissumam’s sixth track developed into one of the greatest showcases of their dark majesty. Opening with a powerful Gregorian chant (‘Belial, Behemoth, Beelzebub, Asmodeus, Satanas, Lucifer’) calling to mind Jerry Goldsmith’s legendary soundtrack to The Omen, Ave Satana, the direct riffage and bludgeoning choruses that follow hammer home a sense of sheer monstrosity. Typically, the Year Zero concept is subverted, with Forge (and, reportedly, guitarist Martin Persner) picturing an ancient antagonist far predating biblical times: ‘Since dawn of time the fate of man is that of lice, equal as parasites and moving without eyes / A day of reckoning when penance is to burn, count down together now and say the words that you will learn.’

8. MIASMA (PREQUELLE, 2018)

Just when you think you’ve got Ghost figured out, they pull something like this. The first of Prequelle’s two extended instrumentals feels like showboating from an outfit whose legitimacy some fans had dared question following the acrimonious departure of so many players. Rearing into view as an expansively primitive space-rock soundscape, layering up into an ’80s prog epic, then exploding in a kaleidoscopic whirlwind of synths, Michael Jackson riffs and the best metal saxophone this side of Norway’s Shining, it was proof that Tobias’ vision would not be dictated solely by his own crooning King Diamond fixation and that it, frankly, knew no bounds.

7. ELIZABETH (OPUS EPONYMOUS, 2010)

Four years since their formation, Elizabeth felt like the break Ghost had been waiting for. Released on 7” vinyl (with the less-ear-catching Death Knell on B-side), the Mercyful Fate comparisons were immediate, with many seeing the sense of eerie grandeur and kitsch luridity at play as directly descended from the great Danes’ 1987 classic Devil Eyes. An ode to infamous Hungarian Countess Elizabeth Bathory – alleged serial killer and bloodbather – sees Papa getting his teeth sunk in lyrically: ‘Her pact with Satan, her disposal of mankind / Her acts of cruelty and her lust for blood makes her one of us!’ The fine balance between sensuality and sin has yet to be bettered.

6. RATS (PREQUELLE, 2018)

The lead single from 2018’s Prequelle feels like a bridge between the (relative) heaviness of the band’s past and the unfettered theatricality of the album that was about to follow. Powered by a straightforward riff and piercing organs, dazzling solos and a rogue harpsichord, its introduction of the Black Death concept in which the album would wallow (refracting contemporary grievances through the filthy lens of the 14th century bubonic plague) felt both atmospherically appropriate and deliciously alive. The Scandi-pop ‘oooh-aahs’ in the chorus remain one of the band’s most gleefully irreverent touches, too. And the question of whether ‘them filthy rodents still coming for your souls’ is reference to Tobias’ old bandmates has provided rich fuel to keep the metal gossip mill turning.

5. MONSTRANCE CLOCK (INFESTISSUMAM, 2013)

In the Roman Catholic church, the monstrance is an (often ornate) receptacle in which the consecrated communion host is displayed for veneration. A monstrance clock was an aesthetically-similar Renaissance-era timekeeping device capable of displaying date, time and a wealth of other celestial information, often used in church rituals. We suspect that Ghost just liked the faintly cheeky sound of the phrase when quickly spoken. Still, the song they wrought from that initial giggle is utterly unforgettable. Deliberately paced and overflowing with evangelical zeal, a slow build flourishes into a splendiferous closing chorus that’s turned many an arena into a church of the Dark Lord: ‘Come together, together as one / Come together for Lucifer’s son!’

4. DANCE MACABRE (PREQUELLE, 2018)

If Rats was pandering somewhat to the existing fanbase, Dance Macabre was the other side of the coin. A shamelessly retro ’80s-style power ballad that’s as light on overt Satanic references as it is heavy on the cheese, some fans saw it as a form of selling-out: a dilution of devilish imagery in service of greater American radio-rock appeal. Perhaps they had a point. From its fist-pumping percussion and effervescent guitar solo to that ‘wanna, be wit chu’ chorus hook, however, it’s executed with enough committed precision and knowing panache to stand on its own terms, and a whole legion of new fans couldn’t help be swept along through the gateway and on to far darker delights. Tobias’ explanation that this is a soundtrack for people living like there’s no tomorrow – as many literally did during the plague – adds an extra dimension. Best experienced with the gleefuly vampiric music video.

3. CIRICE (MELIORA, 2015)

It’s strange how things work out sometimes. Originally conceived with producer Klas Åhlund as a nine-minute instrumental deep cut, Cirice was chopped down and reworked into Meliora’s irresistible lead single – becoming the song that really kickstarted Ghost’s stratospheric ascent. An insidious opening combusts into an infernal crescendo before lurching into the band’s most bludgeoning riff to date. All the while, Papa’s beguiling vocals reach out, full of dark romance, for new converts to their corrupted congregation. 2016’s GRAMMY for Best Metal Performance felt like just reward for such inspired work. The Roboshobo-directed music video – featuring a school talent show that’s almost as horrific as the ones we remember – is another stone cold standout.

2. SQUARE HAMMER (POPESTAR, 2016)

Following the unprecedented success of Meliora, Ghost found themselves suddenly commanding crowds far larger – and more diverse – than they’d seen before. Most of the ingredients for these grander live rituals were already in place, but they lacked the barn-burner early in their set to get these massive rooms onside. Dropped as the standalone original track on the Popestar covers EP, Square Hammer gave them just that. Abstractly melding the cultist themes of Satanism and Freemasonry, the concept of selling one’s soul – ‘ready to swear right here, right now, before the devil’ – was hardly new, but the outright pop energy of those surging synths and that exuberant chorus clearly signalled that the game had changed.

1. HE IS (MELIORA, 2015)

If Ghost’s diabolical mission statement is to make the Luciferian ideals more palatable to the masses, then He Is must be their masterpiece. So perfectly camouflaged – with twanging acoustic guitars and reverberating vocals that could’ve been nicked from the golden age of AOR – is their message, that they could drop this at any Christian rock festival and only the most switched-on devotees would know the difference. Openly indebted to giants like Kansas and Journey (and less openly to more recent occult acoustic acts like Ancient VVisdom), there’s a burning light to the sound. The use of divine-sounding Latin (‘Nostro Dispater, nostr’alma mater’) to identify the titular ‘He’ as the dark lord of the underworld is just another characteristically twisted masterstroke. Kneel at their altar.

All rights owned by Kerrang!

What do you guys think?

Personally there’s a few I’d replace and Ritual is always my NO.1.

#The Band Ghost #Ghost Band #Cardinal Copia #Tobias Forge

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macabre-musings · 2 years ago

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My Lord!

Such injustice hath offended thee on thine pillowous loft.

Thine Ethereal Abode we do seek, to sip upon your jubilous splendor

Injurious woes I suffer in the Name of thine Glory

Aeterna Nox - dull and blackened by execrated soul thieves whom seek to deceive

I rest on knees and palms in Your houses to worship Thee

Thine Answer cannot be heard, only felt in the depths of my soul

In Dawns of Luxury I praise Thee

Thou raisest me up on Thine Shoulders

In this heartless world I bow for no one except My Lord!

The calamities and atrocities I hath seen!

Deus In Absentia!

Godless societies collecting rubble to rebuild ruin

Only to be smited by Thee and made into debris once again

Deus In Absentia!

Only Thee can revive the dead

Only Thee less the wicked ones who seek Thine Forgiveness

Deus In Absentia!

What an Earth we live on, what a slant to our days

Aqueous land, the Euphrates drying up

What else can this be except one of Thy Signs?

Because the end is near, I draw nearer to My Lord

I rest on palms and knees to not be smitten by Thine Sword

Materialism of this world pales in comparison to the Glory of the Lord

Anything thou hast in this world can be multiplied

manifold by Him

It is He who raises the sun and allows it to fall!

It is He who cradles the moon in the night with the stars!

His Signs are abundant and evergreen

If thou hast only looked up, they would be seen!

Deus In Absentia!

The world built by human hands is gradually ending!

Let not us be the judge of our own affairs, let it be the Lord!

Deus In Absentia!

Allow us to leave the fame and the wealth of this world for abundance in the Afterlife!

Allow us to refrain of imbibing upon forbidden tasteless self-indulgences!

Deus In Absentia!

A world without the Lord is a world without life!

A world without the Lord is anarchy and strife!

Before I raise my head from slumber and before I lay my head to rest

I feel the urge to kneel and prostrate - the spirit of My Lord set aflame in my breast!

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ayumunoya · 9 months ago

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MISHIMA’S DREAM

#collection: deus in absentia #art #my art #yukio mishima #yume

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la-petite-fantome · 7 years ago

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Shuffle Music Tag

So I was tagged by @crosscanter14 to see what first 10 songs came up when I shuffled my music

1. Deus in Absentia by Ghost

2. Corrupt by Depeche Mode

3. Rosenrot by Rammstein

4. From Yesterday by 30 Seconds to Mars

5. It Was a Very Good Year by Frank Sinatra

6. Guys My Age by Hey Violet

7. Spirit by Ghost

8. Alive by SORNE

9. Point of No Return by Andrew Llyod Webber (from Phantom of the Opera)

10. Control by Halsey

....well this is an interesting collection of music

I tag @craftysquidz @montascrewed @cuddlyplaguedoctor and @simonsoderbergtrash

#idk what even is my music #lol 2 ghost songs #I love frank sinatra

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james-march · 8 years ago

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@choosyfruit tagged me ! Sorry this took so long

Rules: tag nine users you want to get to know better

I won't tag anyone bc I'm too lazy for it rn but if you want to do this then feel free

How old are you?: 19

Current job/ Dream job?: I'm technically not working rn even tho I sometimes help out my mom at her cafe. Dream job is a mystery, I have no clue what I want to do with my life

What are you talented at?: Being a whinny lil bitch, absorbing every single bit of information about my current obsession (which changes every two months probably)

What is a big goal you are working towards (or have already achieved)?: I don't know, I'm not trying to achieve anything special. Maybe finding my will to live again? Living until I die of old age and not kms before that? I don't know

What is your aesthetics?: Neon lights, those pictures taken at parties with flash, forests, Norse and old Finnish things,

Do you collect anything?: Crystals, Pop! Funk figurines and books

What is a topic you are always up to talk about?: My favorite video games, movies, tv series and my ocs. Also my own fantasy world but if you let me talk about that I will literally not shut up until you tell me to.

What’s a pet peeve of yours?: This is a weird one but when some of my fellow witches write magic as 'magick'. I just feel that they're just trying to be Super Edgy™ and there is literally no reason to write magic as 'magick'.

Good advice to give?: Do like one good thing in a day. Be it picking up trash from the ground and throwing it into a bin or telling someone online or irl something nice or giving your seat in a bus to someone else. Idk.

Recommend three songs?:

Johnny I Hardly Knew Ya by Dropkick Murphys The Railroad by Goodnight, Texas Deus In Absentia by Ghost

#choosyfruit #sirius shut up #about

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boundinparchment · 2 years ago

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Deus In Absentia - IX

After the news of Signora’s death, it was no surprise when you were told to head to Sumeru. Tartaglia was dispatched to Inazuma to hunt for clues the Balladeer left behind; Dottore would head to Sumeru to, ideally, cut the Sixth off before he managed to use the Gnosis.

“Anyone at the Akademiya would have a field day helping him,” Dottore grumbled. “Some spend their whole lives never finishing their dissertations. I will not stand for my work being stolen from me.”

His prideful rants fooled many. You knew better.

So did the Tsaritsa.

He didn’t want to go. If he had his way, he would remain in Haeresys and continue investigating the Gnoses they had to find a way to harness their power. Field work of any kind was a waste of time for him, especially now with the Queen and a Rook in their possession.

But when the Tsaritsa laid her pain of the loss of the Fair Lady before her Harbinger’s feet, duty took its place, as it always did.

As it always would.

And you would take yours, at his side. For even you, unblessed and without a Vision, couldn’t stand to see the Tsaritsa shed tears.

______________________

You were used to the land of Cryo, where the air was frigid and dry and sucked the moisture out of everything. Initially, it grew warmer but was initially refreshing. The further south you went, the stickier and heavier the air became, clinging to your skin and hair and clothes. Dottore adapted with little issue; his coat was shoved into the nearest bag, along with his bowtie, and he rolled up his sleeves with great care. You tried not to stare too hard at his exposed neck and clavicle when he eventually undid the upper buttons of his shirt.

He threw a sharp-toothed grin your way when he caught you staring but said nothing. You could tell by the glint in his eye that he took note and was filing the thought away for later. You followed his example, however, and abandoned your top layers, immediately relieved of their heaviness.

You passed through a dense forest first, filled with creatures and plants you’d only ever seen in children’s books. In a different life, if you’d had the means, no doubt you would have come this way to attend the Akademiya yourself. Lush, green, vibrant; everything Sneznhaya wasn’t. Life thrived here, as rich as the knowledge that was collected and consumed.

Mondstadt was pretty but this…

It was everything the land of snow wasn’t. Humidity be damned.

Of course, you’d seen parts of Teyvat first-hand outside of your…predicament (less a predicament now, you amended). But some of it only ever existed in illustrations and in text. The thick underbrush made it difficult to traverse and at first, you couldn’t stand the touch of the leaves on your face and exposed skin. It tickled, uncomfortably so, until you grew used to the sensation when it couldn’t be avoided. Plants were impossible to keep in the harsh climate back home and many of them had needles instead of leaves.

Overhead, wide leaves sheltered you from the sweltering sun. They looked like giant water lily pads, save their large, trunk-like stem that rooted them to the earth beneath your feet. Tentatively, you reached out a hand to touch the greenery and found the stem to be fuzzy but incredibly solid.

“You’re lagging, Archivist!”

Your traveling party, Dottore included, were far ahead of you, almost out of sight. When you caught up with the Harbinger, a hand clamped around your wrist as the two accompanying agents taking point continued on. When you went to take a step forward, Dottore pulled you back, and you cast a questioning look up at him.

“It is easy to become disoriented here, where the trails are far overgrown,” Dottore hissed, his breath hot in your ear. “Do not fall behind again. Leopards love hunting in these parts.”

Was he speaking from experience?

Before you could ask, he pulled away, eyes looking around for a moment before stopping on a place over your shoulder. You swore he was almost concerned but maybe being back in the Land of Knowledge was putting him on edge. The hold on your wrist slackened as he told you to go on ahead and stick with the accompanying agents. He didn’t move until you were almost out of sight, the forest eerily still behind you as you made your way forward, calling for your travel companions to wait up.

You tried not to think about the familiar sound of catalyst shots coming from the path behind you.

______________________

The entire trip was much shorter than expected.

At first, you didn’t understand the lack of secrecy, especially with the pace news of the Fatui was traveling. The visit to Mondstadt had been planned by Krupp, their party expected. Here, they were hunting for someone who didn’t want to be found and yet Dottore made no effort to hide, making scholars who recognized him in any capacity visibly uncomfortable.

A deal, struck beneath the scorching sun; a Gnosis in exchange for the end of political manipulation. A child placed on a throne, subject to the whims of the Sages.

It worked, in the end.

And in the end, the Traveler from the Stars was too late.

You watched from the sidelines as Dottore interrupted a meeting between the Sages, sitting at a raised half-table and forced to look at one another. It was almost Socratic if it wasn’t a cabal of out-of-touch academics with their heads up their asses. They shouted, protested, but it did nothing to stop the Harbinger’s approach, long legs carrying him across the room and up the dais with the same ease at which he controlled Ruin creations.

“You can’t be in here!”

“Who do you think you are?”

The laugh that shattered the cacophony of shouts was blood-curdling.

“What kind of question is that?” Dottore snapped, body heaving from a moment to recover from the cackle. “‘Who do I think I am?’ I’m the one who discovered the truth about our world, Boaz. In a different life, I would be in your seat.”

You couldn’t see much from behind but Dottore’s hand reached up and when it came back down, you saw the outline of his mask. It wasn’t hard to imagine the expression he bore, mouth wide and teeth bared in a mockery of a smile, red eyes wide and gleaming.

“You all mocked me, here, in this very room,” Dottore lectured. “Called me a madman for augmenting humans, for daring to think it possible to surpass godhood, ascend into something greater without a Vision, without Celestia. And yet here you sit, having done the very same. At the pace at which students burn out, I’m surprised this isn’t a factory in Fontaine!”

Protests and appeals to ego failed. The stairs of the dais ran red with blood after several flashes from Dottore’s floating needles.

Funnily enough, it wasn’t the Traveler that arrived first, but the Renegade, bruised and aching from a battle that took too much out of him. You expected more blood to be shed between them, to feel the air crackle with power and the nauseating scent of Mist Grass.

But instead, another bargain. The Gnosis in exchange for a reset. For a second chance. After all, no one outside of the Electro Archon knew Kunikuzushi’s construction and inner workings as well as Dottore. And fighting was an inefficient use of time and power.

“Archivist.”

You’d never been privy to these moments before. And now you served as assistant, staring into bundles of wires and glowing synapses, holding things out of the way and adjusting the handheld light Dottore always kept on him.

When the light from the indigo eyes faded slowly, Dottore sealed the puppet’s chest cavity back up. He scribbled a note and tucked it into the puppet’s hand to be found later, no doubt instructions for whoever found him.

“Two birds, one stone, Archivist. And with time to spare, too. Come, let’s celebrate!”

______________________

Fontaine was less straightforward, more what you came to expect out of the social scene you were privy to. The spectacle of the court was all a farce. You heard the rumors that Fontaine was running out of resources to continue fueling its infrastructure, sending researchers out to find a new viable source or method of extraction. That the land was either a place of great happiness and success or absolute misery and pain that many sought to escape.

It didn’t take a genius to see why. A Celestial Nail hovered over the Courthouse. Inequality and illness was as clear as the air in Mondstadt and as unforgiving as a broken contract in Liyue.

“Judges with no consideration for both sides of the scales often get it wrong,” Dottore glowered during the main event, a masquerade and heist. “She speaks of Justice as though an iron fist solves all.”

He was nursing the same glass of wine all night, his eyes constantly scanning the room. Even with Columbina and Arleccino, this heist might go smoothly now that the Guest of Honor, the Outlander, flitted about the room. With them, a familiar head of red hair. The Ragnivindar Heir was throwing looks at the Harbinger all night but maintaining the air of civility and elegance expected of him.

The partnership between Fatui and Outlander was threadbare, connected only by mutual frustration and interest in seeing the Fontainian people free from Celestia’s possible wrath.

Sumeru brought out painful memories, ones Dottore could laugh off easily enough as trials of youth in pursuit of Truth. But the Land of Justice, with its soaring buildings, whirring machines, and an undercity constantly aflame to keep the upper city running brought out something deeper, something darker still. After all, its very people chased him away, ran him out of what should have been a home, burned his face to mark him, should he ever return. Chances were, some of those people were in this very room.

You laid a hand on his arm, breaking his concentration on Columbina bowing before the Archon, promising the show of a lifetime.

Ruby eyes looked down at you, malice and vengeful pride fading as if seeing you properly for the first time that night. He’d gushed over the outfit Columbina painstakingly assembled for you earlier but that had been appeasement to the other Harbinger, a show of goodwill and bravado. In your opinion, the Little Dove did a marvelous job in making you feel a part of the show, rather than a member of the chorus that hovered in the wings. But now, in the relative privacy of the darker corners of the ballroom, Dottore’s free hand traced the ruffles and fine silks, dancing along the seams along your side. You weren’t sure if he was admiring the quality or studying its construction in order to undo it all once everything here was complete.

“You’ve done nothing but glower from the corner all evening,” you teased. “It seems a shame to waste this once-in-a-lifetime evening, Lord Harbinger, by sitting in the shadows.”

“It’s not so dark here, not with you. But I suppose you’re right. It would be a shame to waste such magnificence by keeping it all to myself.”

The music swelled again, indicating the lull for food and drink was over, and Dottore swept you into the crowd on the ballroom floor. At first, you unconsciously attempted to lead, which resulted in the Harbinger pressing you closer, or as close as the dance allowed without restricting movement for either of you. You stumbled over your feet for a moment, narrowly managing to avoid stepping on your partner’s shoes.

“Relax, Archivist.”

Easy for him to say. You’d merely be joking, you hadn’t expected him to actually bring you both into the spotlight. He never danced at other events you attended together; Dottore offered conversation as an alternative but you never figured out whether it was because he needed the stimulation or if he was possibly a poor dance partner.

It certainly wasn’t the latter. As far as you could tell, every step was on beat, every turn with the flourish of notes right on cue.

The Harbinger gave your hands a shake when your fingers tightened, his other hand roaming from your shoulder blades to your waist. When he whispered your name, you loosened your grip a little, and let the subtle cues such as the press against your waist or slight pull of your arm guide you.

“Much better. Music is nothing but an assembly of notes and instruments working in tandem, a machine with a predictable pattern. Dancing is merely an extension of it; constructs matching the pattern, in sync with one another first and foremost.”

Eyes fell upon you for the rest of the night, curious whispers escaping the lips of strangers about the Doctor’s fascinating companion. It was the opposite of what you’d wanted, the opposite of his usual treatment of these events. You admitted, however, that it was nice to feel acknowledged in a more open space, even if the truth was only known to both of you.

The Archon had been so lost in her Judgment of those in her presence that she’d completely overlooked that four visitors were nowhere to be seen.

It didn’t take long, however, for sheer coincidence to do its job. A furnace in a crowded factory exploded, its attendant exhausted and overworked, accidentally increasing the fuel intake far beyond capacity. Nearby facilities were quick to light, one after another. The entire Undercity, burning, while the rich and powerful danced above. By the time the festivities were ending, the Archon had little time or attention to spare on whether her Gnosis was in her possession any longer.

Escaping hadn’t been easy, between the smoke and debris and chaos. You were one of the only ones unable to fight your way through, stuck relying on the protection of others. The entire party was dressed in singed finery but easy targets for those capitalizing on the panic. During a lull, Dottore plucked the Gnosis from the Traveler’s hand and said this was where they parted ways. His laugh was almost drowned out by the roar of the flames around them when the Traveler asked about the people of Fontaine, those who could still be saved. With a graceful flourish, he removed his mask, his grin widening as the Traveler’s eyes drank in his true visage.

“They burned me, Traveler! Called me a heretic, a monster! Burned my face and drove me out of my home! You’re a fool if you think these pathetic excuses for people need or even deserve to be saved. Let them burn!”

The fight was beyond anything you’d seen before, even in the arena of Haeresys. At first, it was merely catalyst versus sword, nothing remarkable. But the Traveler wouldn’t relent, leaving the Harbinger no choice but to use more of his Anemo Delusion, summoning stray pieces of nearby machinery and assembling several Ruin guards at once. Although he continued to taunt and laugh as the Traveler and their companions attempted to control the situation, you could see that the power draw took a quick toll; his posture wasn’t as rigid, his reaction time just a bit too slow.

The Ruin machines were enough of a distraction, though. While they were occupied, Dottore bid them adieu and before you knew it, you were leaving the smoke-filled streets behind. The Delusion’s power took more out of him than he let on, the Harbinger stopping when you were finally high enough and away from the city proper to let out a series of choking coughs. You pretended not to see the specs of fresh blood that made their way onto his gloves, and the trickle that continued out of the corner of his mouth. He didn’t move right away, breathing once, and then twice, silently assessing his body. Dottore took a step, another, and you managed to curl your body under his arm and catch him in time before his knees met the earth. It took everything in you not to buckle beneath his deadweight, his body no longer yielding to him, pushed to the point of exhaustion.

“Damn this prison of flesh,” he muttered, so low you almost missed it. Louder, he said, “This view, Archivist, is worth every painful breath. Now if only it would climb higher still and take that damn Nail with it.”

Your last memory of the beautiful city was nothing more than an orange glow and a collection of burning spires.

______________________

As soon as you both returned to Sneznhaya, Dottore handed over the Hydro Gnosis and then locked himself in his lab, demanding not to be disturbed.

By doing so, however, he locked the other assistants, including you, out. You tried not to take it personally but usually he simply shuttered himself away in his study instead. He hated inefficiency, disrupting a workflow that was making progress. By sealing everyone else out, he was halting other projects. You very well couldn’t do your work from the corridors.

To say nothing of the chasm that the sealed door left in your heart. Of all people, not even you, were allowed inside? Without even so much as an explanation? Scaramouche’s words came back, flitting around in your mind. You shouldn’t make the mistake of thinking there is room in his heart; he doesn’t have one.

He wouldn’t see you. Day after day, you waited, sometimes pounded on the steel doors. But they wouldn’t open. Rumors of an impending fight with Celestia and the wayward Traveler circulated for weeks as you tried to at least keep on top of more current events. Somehow, you couldn’t bring yourself to admit that perhaps there was more than a grain of truth in them when active Fatui recruits were drilling more than usual and the once-grand corridors and foyers of the Palace were stocked with supplies and weapons.

It wasn’t until the Tsaritsa herself, accompanied by Pierro, that the doors yielded, allowing two more to pass through once, and then again hours later, that the gravity of the situation finally solidified. The Archon Herself would demand her Harbingers come to Her, not the other way around. When she returned to the surface, you found yourself looking into eyes the color of freshly fallen snow in the morning sun, tinged with the faintest hint of blue, before averting your gaze respectfully.

You did not expect the Tsaritsa to clasp one of your hands in hers and then cup your cheek, her hands frigid but soft and tender. Comforting in their lack of warmth.

“The events to come will test us all, Archivist. Take care of my doctor, won’t you? He is hardly the same without your presence.”

“Of course, Your Majesty,” you replied.

You descended down into Haeresys as soon as the Tsaritsa was out of sight, your cheek still stinging from her touch, as if frost-nipped. When you reached the lab proper, you were presented with the familiar sight of Dottore’s back, the shift of his shoulders indicating that he was working on something in front of him.

“Lord Harbinger?”

He stilled in his actions, lifting his head slowly before turning part-way.

“Archivist. They were evacuating civilian Fatui members. You shouldn’t be here.”

Dottore turned back to his workbench but you didn’t move. He continued to tinker, as if ignoring your presence was going to somehow make you disappear.

“Do not make me repeat myself, Archivist. You are not needed.”

“We both know that’s a lie.”

A slam echoed in the cavernous space as Dottore threw down his tool and then adjusted something quickly before turning to face you entirely. His entire left forearm and hand, once bone, sinew, and flesh, was nothing more than steel and rivets and hinges. Your eyes followed the arm up, to his shoulder, where metal met flesh, and although he was dressed, the fabric fell differently than it used to on one of his legs and across his chest. Squinting, you noticed a seam around his jaw, just hidden by his mask. The usual corner of his mouth was still skin, his eyes were still clearly those of a human.

Had he…spent all of these weeks…augmenting himself?

“I have built a god with my own two hands, Archivist. I have no need for anyone else. And I will be damned if everything is ripped from me now, if I failed. Fontaine was a testament to just how imperfect I am. And perfection is a necessity for victory. I couldn’t let Nasha Tsaritsa see me like that…couldn’t let you see me so weak, so useless.”

“Why would I ever see you as such?” you asked. “You’ve never been weak, not to me. Hasn’t that been abundantly clear this entire time?”

How could someone who dared to question the status quo not once but several times and dedicate his entire existence to proving it be weak? When everything was stacked against him, he kept going, whatever the cost…

Whatever the cost. Even if it meant his humanity. Your eyes stung with unshed tears, threatening to spill not out of disappointment but pain. What kind of place had he been in to do this…and what kind of pain did he experience making it happen?

Dottore approached you, eyes trained on your face, his hands behind his back. “You’ve always been so loyal, Archivist. So dutiful despite our…”

Something heavy and cold pressed against your chin, lifting your head. You vaguely felt the shape of the wrench, recognized the handle through blurry vision.

“…initial misunderstanding. One of the best assistants I’ve ever had. Proof that not all humans are disappointing, that perhaps one such as myself may find solace and peace that quiets my mind, if only temporarily. I know you almost as well as I know myself. Which means that, if I asked something of you, I have no doubt what your answer would be.”

“That would depend.”

Whatever conviction your words held died when your voice wavered.

“Your self-preservation would demand it, if your metaphorical heart did not,” he added your name at the end as the wrench fell away. “But I wouldn’t expect you to make anything less than an informed decision.”

He placed the tool on the workbench with a clatter and pressed his palms to the surface, his back towards you. The light from flickering lamps nearby cast dancing shadows about the room, tendrils flickering and distorting against the stone. His earring cast a light of its own, aquamarine illuminating his profile as he turned his head over his shoulder to speak.

“Will you fight? Will you serve Nasha Tsaritsa and stand with me against the tyranny of Celestia?”

You were never good at combat. You’d kept a Fontaine-made pistol at your shop under the counter for safe-keeping and took the courses on how to use it, but you’d never had to. And whenever you’d gone out in the field, it was never in a capacity to fight. If you’d been a proper recruit, at least you’d have a foundation and understanding of weaponry.

“You know the price of a Delusion, Archivist. But you also know the price of letting Celestia win. Which will it be?”

You thought of Khaenri’ah, of Enkanomiya, of Dragonspine, of Fontaine. Of Celestial Nails and the destruction of everything you knew. Sneznhaya…no, every nation, would be nothing more than a remnant, a footnote in history. People who tried and failed and others who never had a chance. If you didn’t fight, if you didn’t try, then what was the point of the previous months of work? At least if you fought, you had a chance at survival.

A chance at life, anew. Be it here or somewhere else in Teyvat.

Maybe you would even get to see the real sky, real stars, see the universes beyond the Veil…perhaps with…

You slowly, cautiously, closed the distance between the both of you. You pressed a hand to his back, feeling strong shoulder muscles as you wrapped your other arm around him, metal plates rather than the usual warmth of skin around his front. For a moment, his breath hitched, the smallest pause in what was probably no longer a biological need. But still, a mark that perhaps he was still not entirely lost.

“I am yours, Lord Harbinger. And I will fight by your side.”

#fic: deus in absentia #dottore #il dottore #dottore x reader #il dottore x reader #dottore x gender neutral reader #il dottore x gender neutral reader

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lucifers-trash-stash · 8 years ago

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black raspberry, bubblegum, butter pecan, strawberry

Black Raspberry: Do you have any pets?

We have two cats at the moment. Caliper is our cat that stays out with my Dad in his auto repair shop. He’s a big fluffy tuxedo boy. Axel is our kitten we found in August and she’s about seven months old give or take. She’s white and grey and loves running around the house, cuddling, and acting like a feisty little terror. She enjoys chasing him around the yard if they’re both outside together.

Bubblegum: Books or movies?

That’s so hard because I love them both for different reasons. At the moment I’d probably say movies even though I’m a writer because I’m often so busy with college and work that it takes me forever to actually finish a book. For example, I started reading Stephen King’s The Stand early this summer. Out of 1100 some pages, I’m only 276 pages in as I write this. Give me manga/graphic novels/comics and I’ll breeze through them in a heart beat, but I’m such a damn slow reader even though I love books.

Butter Pecan: Favorite songs for life?

The band Ghost is like my satanic heavy metal muse, and I love their songs “Cirice,” “Zombie Queen/Ghuleh,” “Monstrance Clock,” “He Is,” “Deus in Absentia,” and “Square Hammer,” though to be honest I’ll love every single song from them until the day I die. David Bowie’s “Lazurus” makes me cry every time and I feel the raw emotion behind it. “Welcome to the Black Parade” by My Chemical Romance, hell, that entire album is a fantastic collection of songs too. “Me & My Baby (Saturday Night)” by Steam Powered Giraffe is a good one too, and I’ll forever love all their other songs too.

Strawberry: A language you wish you could speak?

I wish I could speak French better. I have family from Quebec so I’m often trying to relearn the bit I got from high school (though to be honest she was a lovely woman but not the best teacher). I feel so out of the loop when I can only understand half of the conversation, though when I was there for my Grandfather’s funeral last October I was there long enough to pick up a decent amount and respond at least partially to their conversations. So it’s there, I just need to get better at practicing it.

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mediastudent1410402-blog · 6 years ago

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The Culture of the Apocalypse... or the Apocalypse of Culture?

The notion of the Apocalypse – as the end time of all things on earth – has circulated through hundreds of cultures each interpreting the disastrous future events in their unique way. The predominant apocalyptic narrative circulated in the West, however, stems from The Book of Revelation in the new testament of the Christian bible. According to South African lecturer, editor and writer Michael Titlestad (2016: 451) the apocalypse from a Christian position centres around the wrath of God: who condemns humanity to burn in dystopian flames bar a handful of God-fearing Christians which are accepted into Heaven on the day of Divine judgement (Titlestad, 2016: 451). This religious prophecy in relation to contemporary global tribulations – such as a nuclear threat, climate change, and dogmatic institutional governments – forms the backbone of many subcultural groups around the world – of doomsday conspirators and survivalists (2016: 451). Titlestad aptly unfolds the ideology of the survivalist when saying

Survivalists are biblical literalists, [who] conceive of themselves as preparing for Tribulation, during which, in a circumstance of deus absentia, they will have to take care of themselves and their families.

As a means of ‘survival’ these radical doomsday anticipators adopt conspiracy theories about mainstream society: that the American population is under threat from an evil Jewish organisation – “The Zionist Occupational Government (ZOG)” – who oppresses the minds and freedom of citizens through State institutions – Universities, Mass media and Banks (2016: 450). As a consequence of these beliefs, conspirators and survivalists reject mainstream news and look to alternative forms of media such as blogs, internet websites, and podcasts for information. An explicit example of this survivalist mentality is evident in the South African journalist, editor, and writer, Georgina Guedes, article Gordimer, misquoted: Red October columnist caught red-handed (2013) for the Daily Maverick. Guedes explores the deliberate manipulation of language by South African columnist, Albert Brenner, as a tool to instill beliefs into society. Brenner in the online newspaper Praag.co.za (2013) falsely claims Nadine Gordimer, a South African activist and Nobel Prize winner, of violent hate speech against Afrikaans women. The quote reads: “Afrikaner women are lower than rats, closer related to plants, just fit enough to be raped in an act of genus preservation” (Guedes, 2013: 1). Moreover, Brenner used this quote as an introduction to his argument of white genocide and the need for collective efforts in “The Red October movement” (ROM) (Guedes, 2013: 1). ROM is a movement founded in October 2013 to unite all ‘Afrikaners’ against the massacre of white individuals. However, According to Guedes, accusation against Gordimer was false, yet, it revealed Brenner’s and the ROM’s prejudice against Jewish people and foreigners in South Africa as a whole (Guedes, 2013:3).

With that said, I argue that ideologies are shaped and perpetuated to enhance a certain standpoint and reinforce apocalyptic rhetoric. I don’t necessarily believe that the apocalypse relates solely to the violent end of the world. I argue instead that it stems from fear of losing one’s identity. Asian-American Anthropologist, Igor Kopytoff, in his essay The cultural biography of things: commoditization as a process (1986) provides an apt description of how one gains an identity in the Modern world when saying

The human mind has an inherent tendency to impose order upon the chaos of its environment by classifying its contents, and without this classification knowledge of the world and an adjustment to it would not be possible. Culture serves the mind by imposing a collectively shared cognitive order upon the world which, objectively, is totally heterogeneous and presents an endless array of singular things. Culture achieves order by carving out, through discrimination and classification, distinct areas of homogeneity within the overall heterogeneity (Igor Kopytoff, 1986: 70).

Kopytoff argues that one’s identity and understanding of the world is shaped by culture and the cultural practice of selection and judgment, acceptance and discrimination (1986: 70). Thus, what happens when a person is ousted from the dominant society, Othere[d], due to these cultural judgments? Or disagrees with dominant societal ideology? They form new understandings of the world, like the survivalists and conspirators, ROM forms part of a culture of apocalypse anticipation, of a complete white annihilation based on paranoid theory. Subsequently, these groups draw on certain propagandist tools – Us Vs. Them – in order to gain a sense of authority and re-establish a new sense of “The self”.

With the question of identity at hand, it is essential to understand the role of digital media in re-figuring cultural identities’ and perpetuating ideologies. In a space governed by globalisation, cultures from across the world are able to communicate and interact online. With this global interaction comes the transnational translation of ideas and cultural practices. However, due to the history of Western colonialism, cultural practices from America and the United Kingdom tend to populate dominant society in countries such as South Africa. As a consequence, cultures which were pushed to the periphery during the colonial period remain in this space of isolation even within their own country. Afrikaanerdom, evident in Guedes article (2013) forms part of these communities that feel that their cultural identity is being drowned out by Western practices. Suggesting that individuals and institutions that follow Western ideology and practice are colonising Afrikaans culture

Within the context of an on-going semantic war between indigenous whites and what I would call the comprador intelligentsia like Gordimer, the Slovos, but also many academics from Wits, UCT, and other campuses. Lately, these people have also colonised the Afrikaans campuses so it has really intensified (Guedes, 2013: 3)

It is essential for me to state that Afrikaans culture was not pushed to the periphery during the Apartheid, in fact it was the opposite. However, I am referring to the anxiety of Afrikaanerdom around a loss of their culture in contemporary society, and these explicit institutional, anatomical and cultural divides in South Africa are made explicit by ROM. Through misinterpreted quotes and skewed facts, this movement, led by a South Allan Brenner, suggested that there is an evident white, where in actual fact is devastatingly off the mark. According to Africa Check researcher, Nechama Brodie (2013), the source of white genocide that ROM draws from (Vusi Tshabalala) cannot be traced, there is no evidence that proves their existence nor is there any “indication given of where Tshabalala worked, nor does he appear to have written any other articles (Brodie, 2013: 2). I feel it is essential in the contemporary moment to question all institutional organisations of knowledge production including Universities and mainstream media. However, one must also tread carefully when seeking alternative forms of information as its credibility might be questionable due to a lack of objective news reporting. With that said, Achille Mbembe (2002: 22) African postcolonial thinker, suggest that no institution of knowledge production is objective and that one must ask

Who owns them; on whose authority [do] they depend; the political context in which they are visited; the manner in which they are decoded and how what is found there is presented and made public (Mbembe, 2002: 22).

Yes, it is true that institutional structures must be challenged but so must alternative forms of media because there are malicious, dogmatic individuals that create fake news in order to persuade and propagate certain ideologies. Through the use of technology, one is exposed to countless cultures and communities online through social media platforms such as Twitter, Facebook, Instagram, and Tumblr. As mention earlier, from these interactions new cultural identities, begin to emerge and others drown. Therefore, the question I want to pose to you is this: Is the society of doomsday preppers a representation of the culture of an apocalypse or is it rather an apocalypse of the dominant culture?

Bibliography:

Brodie, N. 2013. Are SA whites really being killed ‘like flies’? Why Steve Hofmeyr is wrong. Africa Check: sorting fact from fiction. URL: https://africacheck.org/reports/are-white-afrikaners-really-being-killed-like-flies/

Guedes, G. 2013. Gordimer, misquoted: Red October columnist caught red-handed.Daily Maverick. URL:https://www.dailymaverick.co.za/article/2013-11-01-gordimer-misquoted-red-october-columnist-caught-red-handed/

Kopytoff, I. 1986. The cultural biography of things: commoditization as process. Cambridge: Cambridge university press, pp. 67 – 91.

Mbembe, A. 2002. The Power and Limitations of the Archive. In. Refiguring the Archive.. Hamilton, C., Harris, V., Taylor, J., Pickover, M., Reid, G. and Saleh, R.Dordrecht, Boston and London: Kluwer Academic Publishers. pp19-26.

Titlestad, F. M. 2016. Conspiracy, apocalypticism, and contingency in Smith Henderson’s Fourth of July Creek. Safundi, 17:4, 447-459, DOI: 10.1080/17533171.2016.1223614

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