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onedaughterofman · 2 years ago

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You, forever (Chapter X: Dance Macabre)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go. Warnings/tags: descriptions of corpses, death, blood and violence. Biblical references and Satanism. Angst. Around 8K words.

A/N: The end is here. I want to dedicate this chapter to King Satan. None of this would have been possible without Him.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

"The fifth angel sounded, and I saw a star fall from heaven unto the earth. To him was given the key of the bottomless pit. He opened it and there arose smoke and the sun and the air were darkened. There came out of the smoke locusts upon the earth."

Breathe.

The sky remains calm. Ominous gray clouds obscure the firmament, rendering it black. Copia’s eyes gradually lift from the old, decayed remains of marble tiles and rubble on the floor, examining the area until they inevitably fall on you.

Breathe again.

Copia’s heart jumps inside his ribcage, stopping scarcely for a moment before resuming a measured, heavy pace. His organ throbs and whines painfully, beating slowly. The sensation it’s terribly burdensome, as if his heart alone weighed more than his entire body. Mouth agape, he battles to inhale but even if the air enters his lungs, there’s no substance in it.

The entire world has come to an abrupt stop. No birds or cicadas dare to sing, not even the wind whistles in his ears. Copia is unsure if he’s still alive and breathing, or if he has ceased existing too. His fingers twitch, not quite moving, but desperately yearning to reach out.

You are standing in front of him. As beautiful as the last day he saw you, laying in bed and sleeping soundly. Copia remembers that morning previous to his trip, before the word crumbled at his feet. He recalls your tousled hair in the pillows, the way the dim light fell on your exposed body and how the sheets and blankets swirled around your figure. Copia remembers the little smile on your tender lips, the way your eyelashes fluttered when you acknowledged his departure.

That morning, the sky was equally dark as today, rain threatening to fall at any given moment. Now, even if the air is humid and saturated with dew, Copia fears no storm. The ground could break into a thousand pieces, turning into nothing but fire and lava, and he would nevertheless try to reach out, to hold you even if dread and guilt anchor his feet.

Suffocating as it is, Copia is sure he’d rather experience forever this solid weight his heart carries than to lose you again. It would be a hungry beast to feed, a dreary peace coated in blood and sacrifice. But worth it, so worth it.

It’s been months, years, an eternity since he saw you standing for the last time…And now, now Copia’s right hand lifts, fingers shaking and yearning to take yours. Yet, he doesn’t dare to. His feet are glued to the ground.

Frozen in place, Copia can only stare at the way Goore’s hands hold your waist and wrist, firm grip restraining you in place. There’s a black blindfold obstructing your vision, and the hair falls on your forehead in a way he’s convinced you must hate.

Yes, you used to despise that. His memories may have faded now, to the point he’s no longer certain what is reality and what a dream, barely a product of his imagination and mind tricks. Copia no longer remembers his past, the days and nights have become a blurry, mushed mess in his jaded brain. However, he’s sure of this.

If it’s about you, then he naturally knows it. He feels it in his guts, in his heart.

In front of him, you remain both hauntingly beautiful and sinister, much like the phantasmagorical version of you he has kept alive all this time inside his mind.

“For you,” Goore announces, definitely shattering the deep silence. The tree tops move with the wind, practically in slow motion. “Right back from the bottomless pit.”

One step, then another. Copia’s legs vacillate, weakening at the sight of you oscillating limply in Goore’s arms. Your hand moves by degrees, in a very artificial and articulated way, almost as if there were invisible strings holding you together by the joints. He breathes through his teeth, raw air freezing his insides.

And yet, he moves. There’s no strength, no soul behind his flesh, only muscle memory keeping him upward. Copia’s hand extends again, fingers narrowly brushing the hair on your forehead before something hastily strikes at his face.

The effort to move out of the way makes his heart race. At least, now he’s sure he’s alive. Goore’s laugh pierces the silence, demolishing it into a thousand pieces as a low growl dies in your throat.

Copia swallows, but there’s no saliva in his mouth. His tongue is dry, and something wet is scurrying down his cheek. The realization hits him like a train.

It’s blood. He’s bleeding, from a shallow cut on his forehead.

Oh, impious father, why must he keep suffering? Hasn’t he given enough? Hasn’t he sacrificed everything, everyone in this spiteful earthly realm? He only wanted one thing, and that was to live with you, to love you. Was it too much? Was it so greedy of him, to desire your love?

Is he so wicked, so cursed that not even Satan himself would grant him his one, true desire?

It’s hard to accept it, to face the truth. You have attacked him, mercilessly tried to claw his eyes out of his face. Copia could cry, but his throat is closed and his soul is tired, empty. His lip merely quivers, before he regains control.

Behind his back, he perceives the muffled growling of the Ghouls. The tails are flickering and wiping the air, in a visible demonstration of their uneasiness. Copia gestures for them to calm down, but the growl persists, only becoming a dull rumble he chooses to ignore.

Mary’s chuckles are completely different. This time, their hands nudge you away, making you trip on a pile of debris. Your body doesn’t hit the ground, only because they grip both of your wrists before the fall, keeping your nails away from their face.

“Careful,” Mary advises, blowing a few strands of hair out of their eyes. “Their wrath knows no difference between a friend and a foe.”

“What have you done to them?”

As much as his soul hurts, there is no anger reflected in his voice. Copia is terribly numb, too exhausted to even consider devoting his energy on someone like Goore. If he’s about to plumber to the ground and allow nature to consume him to the very core, then he wants to use his last vital force to hug you and be with you under the moonlight.

“Me? I opened the pit that kept their soul trapped in the underworld. Just like you asked me to.”

“This is not…” Copia begins, but the words taste bitter, like poison. He debates whether or not to say them, pondering if it’s better to spit them out and release them to contaminate the ground or swallow them and hope to die from their venom. “This is not… the person I used to know.”

No. You, the one he fell for, would have never hurt him. You were kind, lovely, so full of warmth. Copia detects bits of you in the creature he has in front of his eyes, notes the resemblance, but there are also striking differences. It feels as if he is looking at you through a thick, colored glass or a distorted mirror.

You’re the same and yet, you’re a stranger. He can’t overlook the way his muscles spam and tremble when he takes a step back, head shaking. Oh, how afraid he is, how strongly the anguish tears into his throat. He’s terrified, frightened of you and of himself, of the things he has done and the blood on his hands and clothes.

The fear in his small pupils is evident. Goore sees it even in the gloomy night, smells it permeating the air. Their lips stretch again, a wide grin on their face. “Man, don’t be like that,” they say, fingers digging into your cheeks. A growl escapes through your teeth, but you remain in place.

When Copia doesn’t move, Mary continues. “You heard that? He doesn’t want you anymore,” they mock, turning your head in the other’s direction. Only a low gasp exits his lips. “You can’t rely on a man’s loyalty, believe me. Been there, done that.”

Finally, his words elicit a reaction. “That’s not…!” Copia complains. To ever think about leaving you or, Lord forbid, you discarding him makes his blood burn, then freeze. You can’t. He loves you. He needs you. You have promised to stay together eternally, to rot and burn forever united. “You must have made a mistake. Something is wrong, I know it!”

Rejoicing in Copia’s internal turmoil, Goore merely huffs in response. Their eyes are wide open, pupils blown inside the light irises. The gaze is intense, malevolent even. If there’s a spawn of the deepest circles of Hell on earth, then it’s Goore.

Maybe it’s not Death the one who didn’t want them. Maybe even Satan preferred to keep them far away.

“Well, you made me speed up the process way too much. Human resurrection is not as simple as one might think.” A long pause. Mary’s fingers uncurl from your wrists, pushing you away. Your legs tremble and give up, barely regaining your footing before reaching the ground. “Why, though? Death doesn’t take everything away, only the soul. The flesh and bones remain, just like the memories stored in the brain. If you give them a little push, a spark of life, they start moving like flesh puppets.”

Yes, that sounds right. Most of Goore’s projects were just flesh puppets made to satisfy whatever selfish desire they had. It quickly became a boring hobby, a stale one. Mary wanted more. So, they got more. “But yours? This one has a vigorous, tortured soul. That’s why it’s fucked up. I told you to only bring the body back.”

“You’d say it’d work.”

“It works. They need some adaptation time to reconnect the soul, body and memories.” Or so, Mary hopes. All their past projects were incomplete, way too complicated to be allowed inside the Ministry. You’re different, a masterpiece, a beautiful creation. “If you still want them, here they are. Hell, I’ll make them behave for you.”

A deep breath is all it takes. When Goore concentrates, it’s almost as if the cords holding you in place suddenly tensed up. Like a puppet with no visible strings, your back straightens and both feet get planted firmly on the dirt. A twitch of their fingers makes you twirl and dance round and round under the ghastly moonlight.

It’s awful.

“See? Are they not more beautiful now?"

No. It's terribly awful. Copia stares, eyes wide open, air frozen in his throat. His guts hurt, and he feels about to puke. “Stop!” he yells, moving forward. His fingers touch you for the first time, and there’s a spark there. He feels shivers down his spine, the bile rising to his mouth.

Oh, Satan, if he’s been a good servant, then he only pleads one thing: let this be a nightmare. Copia is suddenly small, so scared, both happy to finally hold you but terrified of this reality. He has you back, but something is terribly wrong, he can tell. The realization of what he has done, how he has turned you into this, condemned you to this monstrosity, hits like a train. He could cry, sob and wail for days to come.

But he doesn't. “Just leave them and go. We are done here.”

“As you wish,” Mary says, starting to walk. They stop before crossing the old Ministry’s gate, head tilted to one side making the long bangs fall on their eyes. “If you put them back in places they used to like, their memories will come back quicker and maybe they’ll regain some of their humanity. Don’t remove the blindfold yet, the resurrected don’t like it. There’s a reason why Nihil had to wear those stupid sunglasses during the rituals.”

“Maybe, you say?” The leather gloves make a loud noise over the silence when he clenches his fists tight, knuckles turning pale under the cold material. “I sacrificed everything I ever had to the Old One, and all you can give me is a maybe?”

Under his breath, Papa Emeritus IV curses. Why? Why is this happening to him? He was chosen. He’s Papa now.

It’s not fair. Life has never been fair to him. Maybe Imperator was right all this time. If you want something, you don’t ask for it, you don’t pray and hope to get it.

No. You conquer, you destroy, you take it by force. That’s how she lived, no fear, no guilt, no shame. And Satan liked it, Copia is sure. He rejoiced in the suffering she caused, fed off the atrocities and sacrifices she offered. Satan is a cruel mouth to feed in the Ministry, a curse that weighs on top of all of them, all the time.

In this world, either you bleed, or others do it. There’s no magical benediction, no way to free the soul from curses. They are all slaves to someone. Perhaps Terzo was also right. There should be no God, and no Satan.

There should be only men, only himself.

Blown pupils burning holes on Papa’s face, Goore speaks up one last time. “What can I say? Suffering for the Lord is not an easy thing.”

Copia allows himself to fall to his knees when Mary crosses the gates and disappears into the darkness. Behind his back, the ghouls mutter between each other, words in a language he can’t recognize. If they are laughing or mocking him, he doesn’t care.

In his arms, now on the ground next to him, your body twitches. Copia takes hold of your wrists, pulls them until your head comes to rest on his chest. The tickle of your hair on his cheek reminds him of old, better times. It’s a bitter comfort, a loving touch to his starved skin.

“Amore, it’s okay,” he whispers over your hair. “You’re home now. I’m here with you.”

There’s no reply. Holding you closer, Copia lets his eyelids fall as he slowly rocks his body back and forth, humming an old song. When your skin begins to retain part of his heat, he feels a smile forming on his lips. The humming grows louder, melody vibrating in his vocal cords.

Oh, how happy he is. Copia’s mouth opens to let out a joyful chuckle, but only sobs come out of it. The tears fall on your hair, clinging to the strands like dew drops.

“It was commanded to them that they should hurt only those men which have not the seal of God in their foreheads. In those days shall men seek death, and shall not find it; and shall desire to die, and death shall flee from them.”

In the abbey, although now run down by the passage of time and the unforgiving fire, there is a garden.

Long time ago, Papa Emeritus I took it as his job to build an educational area where Siblings could study and research herbs and plants used to treat diseases or to create deadly poisons. The exotic species were guarded by gargoyles and surrounded with beautiful painted tiles, a gift he received from a Bishop resident in northern Italy.

When Papa Emeritus I died, the maintenance of the garden fell on the Siblings. Shortly after, diverse rumors began to be spread, whispered in a hushed voice on the hallways. Some Siblings were convinced the soul of the old Papa was still roaming around, carefully tending to the plants and haunting anybody who dared to disrupt the peaceful and educational nature of the garden.

If the rumors are true, Copia doesn’t know it. The whole yard is nothing but a burned, withering mountain of weeds and dry leaves. There’s no ghost tormenting him, not heavy weight pounding down his shoulders and no promises of revenge coming from Primo.

It’s almost disappointing. Sitting under a tree, Copia wishes Primo could be here. The old man used to be the least bothersome of them all, and also the one who dedicated himself to the church the most. If only he could be near, willing to impart his wisdom for a bit of time, he’d be grateful.

Some kind of ancient rite, a special herb conjunction or even a spell could help him sleep for a whole night, without falling prey to the terrible horrors of his dreams. Copia endures the way his eyelids weigh down, desperate to offer some relief to his weary eyes. His sight is blurry, sclera bloodshot.

Copia is tired, so tired all the time.

There’s no respite for his old soul. He can’t rest, for as long as your situation remains uncertain. Copia knows deep in his heart that you must ache so badly. Still, on long days and eternal nights, he merely wishes to hold onto your body and wrap his arms around you, whispering sweet nothings into your skin. If love could heal and relieve any ailment, if it could become a vital motor of life, then you would live perpetually in peace.

What a selfish idea. And yet, love is such a selfish, cruel thing to impose on others. The crushing weight of it, the brutal nature of desire and hope… Copia is aware of how abrasive his longing is, of how much his love will follow you like a restless shadow. He recognizes, deep down, that he is constantly asking so much. He’s begging for things no one else ever gave him, for him was not even worth the idea of it.

And you didn’t care about it. You never minded his flaws or his ugliness. Instead, you embraced every little detail with the tenderness of a lover.

Love: brutal, wonderful, cruel and tender, both a blessing and a curse. Since that first moment you asked for a dance, he hasn’t experienced peace.

There’s no peace for you either. He understands how being trapped in this existence must hurt you. Still, when the idea of ending it enters his mind, he feels repulsed. No matter how much his hands hover over your neck, wishing to squeeze it until you stop moving, he doesn’t.

No, you must stay by him, love him beyond death. You will come back to him, forever his. During interminable nights, you two will dance under the moonlight and eternal sky. The flames of his desire and adoration will burn as bright as the stars, but not as much as your gaze when your eyes meet his.

You’re his fate. Copia will do anything to make sure no one will ever touch you again. Nothing will happen. Not anymore. He’s not weak, he has found strength and power hidden deep within his guts.

Copia died, the same day he lost you, and now he’s been reborn. Just like Christ.

A whole new figure.

A whole new person.

You’re a whole new person too. Two lovers, different than they used to be but still reaching out to each other, swimming eternally in damnation.

And damned, that you are. In the dark, the earth trembles and crumbles. A deep pit, no bottom to be seen, opens its mouth to devour you whole.

Falling. You are falling away from the light, the warmth. Consumed by the shadows and the cold, your fingers reach for the sky, for whatever vestige of light that your eyes can see.

It’s useless. Heaven has darkened, and wisps of smoke curl around your body, engulfing every inch. It’s freezing, everywhere. The frigid air burns in your lungs, bites at the exposed skin of your cheeks rendering it numb. Gradually, all your muscles become numb, rigid.

Stiff, falling into nothingness, you try to focus on the last ray of sunshine in the distance. Through tear coated lashes, your pupils stare until the smoke completely obscures your vision.

Something wet is on your face. Maybe it’s tears, blood. Or maybe it has begun to rain.

Descending, you close your eyes. There’s nothing to observe anymore. No sound, either. Deep in silence, you wish something would save you. What’s happening? Where’s Copia? Why isn’t he here, with you, holding your hand?

Is this… the end? Just like that? It’s not like falling asleep. No, it’s like drowning in liquid darkness, thick fluid filling your mouth and nose and permeating your lungs.

It burns, so hard. The pain doesn’t feel right. It’s not raw, real pain. No, it’s more like a vague memory, as if you were merely remembering past sensations.

Death, won’t you spare me over until another year?

Someone hauls you out of the dark pond. A frozen hand on your own. Moving your fingers, yanking your wrist. Someone is handling you, pulling, holding. A hand, long fingers, cold skin. Someone is there. Something is there.

Then…

Light, air, it’s too little, too much. Your eyes are open, but you can’t see. There’s dirt on them, something coating them. Blind, you reach out. Your ears ring, loud, so loud. It hurts, and this time the pain is right, raw, pure, vivid. You wish you could go back to where you were before, comfortably numb, lost away.

Who…

Who are you?

Everything is overly bright, too loud. There are voices, too many of them, screaming until your ears ring. Pressing on them doesn’t help. Your nails dig in your scalp, and now there’s warm, fresh blood dripping down your forehead too.

What happened?

Where are you?

Who are you?

Memory broken into pieces, shattered beyond recognition, you try to move but your body doesn’t respond. The voices keep screaming. Or maybe that’s just you.

“The sixth angel sounded, and I heard a voice from the four horns of the golden altar which is before God, saying to the sixth angel which had the trumpet, “Loose the four angels which are bound in the great river Euphrates”. And the four angels were loosed, which were prepared to slay the third part of men. By these three was the third part of men killed, by the fire, and by the smoke, and by the brimstone, which issued out of their mouths.”

“Have you ever heard of the Codex Gigas, my girl?”

The Nameless Ghoulette stands still, long fingernails going over the edge of the desk. Copia perceives the body heat radiating from her, senses the strong outburst of intense energy that she releases.

“It’s an old tale,” she responds, clicking her tongue. “But humans like to change stories as they please, so I wouldn't know much.”

Slowly, Copia nods. The myths around Codex Gigas, known as “The Devil’s bible”, are various. “Legend says it was written during the 13th century in a Benedictine monastery in Bohemia, by a condemned monk seeking absolution. He admitted having committed numerous sins, including fornication, gluttony, envy and bestiality.”

“A spicy one,” she adds, a smile on her face. The gesture is partially obscured by the black mask, but there’s an unmistakable gleam in her pupils.

The amusement she provides is contagious. Copia allows himself to let out a few hollow chuckles, too. “That’s not what the Abbot thought. They sentenced the monk to be walled up alive, but before the punishment was completed he begged for mercy,” he explains. “They ordered him to make a book that would include all the world’s knowledge, and to do it in a single night.”

The task was impossible. In the secret underground library, Copia’s eyes absentmindedly examine the pages on top of the desk. The manuscript is ancient, faded by the inclemency of time. Next to him, the Ghoulette’s fingers continue drawing lines on the desk, nails following the swirling pattern of wood. “The monk made a deal with Satan. He surrendered his soul in exchange for the book.”

“Our Father is too kind. What use would He have for an old human soul?”

Kindness. If Copia ever had to describe Satan in a way, he’d never employ that word. Kindness is a human emotion, a trace of something He could never comprehend. Much like the infernal creature next to him, the Old One might behave and speak like a human, present himself as he wishes, but he’d never understand the whole spectrum of human emotions.

No, Satan isn’t kind or cruel. Copia used to believe he knew so much about the Lord, about the principles and history of their religion. Maybe a part of him, that intrinsic mortal part of himself, was so afraid of the unknown he clung to whatever could offer him respite. The idea of being watched over, guided, protected by Him…

That idea made Copia feel safe, wanted, needed. Now…

Now he no longer experiences such stupid feelings. “I don’t believe Satan asked for an old soul either,” he carries on, sucking in a deep breath. “I think he wanted the book to be written, shared between humans.”

“He took it as a personal project, then? Was He giving a message to humans?”

The silence in the room is profound when Copia nods, pupils observing the flickering flames of a torch. It’s cold between these walls, incredibly so. Deep in the underground tunnels, he barely remembers the sensation of the sun on his skin, the warmth coming from it.

As cold and dark as it is, Copia would rather spend most of his time there than to adventure to the upper levels, where you are kept under the watchful eye of the Nameless Ghouls. He left some of them caring for you, being unable to face the task himself without his stomach churning and hands trembling.

No, it was too hard, extremely nerve-racking. He’s a coward. Copia knows it, and yet…

Yet he’s only human, weak and flawed. No one could blame him, though. Even the Ghouls appear uneasy to spend time in your presence, flickering their tails and baring their teeth when you make a sudden move. It makes them tense, to be in front of someone who resembles a human but it’s anything but it.

An insistent tapping on the desk plumbers Copia back to the present. “It has all the world’s knowledge, from above and below. It’s a treasure to many, a curse to even more people.”

Everything has a price; Copia has learnt it long ago. Wherever that book went, chaos and blood followed. “The manuscript is now at the National Library of Sweden in Stockholm,” he continues, waving a hand and staring back at the walls. “But it’s not complete. Ten whole pages are missing, and no one knows what they say.”

From the corner of his eyes, Copia manages to catch a glimpse of the fleeting glint on the infernal creature’s eyes. The opaque glass does nothing to hide it. She’s interested in his story, probably more interested than any other ghoul would be.

It’s not a surprise. Ghoulettes are, after all, more ambitious, smarter and unruly.

The words are measured when he speaks up again. “No one but Sister Imperator and me,” he declares, moving the stack of papers closer to the demon. Her fangs glisten under the golden light when her mouth opens, a grin on the lips. “These are the missing pages. They were hidden under the Ministry, behind a secret passage. I don’t know how they came to be here, or who brought them, but whoever that was is now gone and forgotten.”

Gradually, the Ghoulette steps closer. Copia senses the faint whistle of her breathing under the mask, and endures the unmistakable heat of her body. She smells like burnt wood and smoke, a mix of sweet briar and incense coating her clothes. The sharp nails trace the pages, written in neat calligraphy. All the letters are the same size and style, still clear over the yellowish paper.

Copia’s hand darts out to prevent her from tearing the thin paper, but he halts before making contact. Ghoulettes are scarier and more dangerous than their male counterparts. They don’t react well to any aggression.

No. In general, Ghoulettes don’t react well to any man. Since the beginning of the times, they have chosen to aid women. During centuries, only priestesses were able to summon and strike a deal with Nameless Ghoulettes. It was a major surprise when pathetic, poor little Cardinal Copia was the one who without precedence managed to summon not one, but three.

Imperator was immensely proud. She bragged about it to Nihil for days. "I told you my boy is special," she said. "He's the one we were searching for, Papa."

Contrary to his own fears, the creature doesn’t shred it. The pages crack under the soft pressure, but remain intact. “What are they about?” she asks.

“How to summon Satan, the coming of the Antichrist…”

“Beware of the storms that gather in the sky,” the text said. “For the thunder will bloom and the birds will caw. Listen to the moonlit star, the one who exclaims: ‘I see no day, only the cold night that will fall, summoned by your own hand.’”

The story matches that one The Clergy used to repeat. A secretive nun, carrying the old man’s bastard child. Copia heard it a thousand times, without completely understanding all the implications of it. To many, it was just an old scary tale to tell in the dark, some wishful thinking.

And yet…

The crows were incredibly loud the night Goore was born, their file said.

“The Earth will shake and break, and death all around will rise, lifting old hopes from shallow, troubled graves. The estranged son will return, unleashed from the bottomless pit.”

Everything matches. The first time Copia read it; he didn’t pay much attention to it. Now, after everything he has gone through, after studying Goore’s old files and witnessing the raw nature of their power…

Now Copia’s eyes are wide open. Why would Satan choose someone like Goore as The One? He can’t grasp it. Goore is everything The Clergy feared and despised, everything himself tried to avoid. He was devoted, a believer… He gave up everything for this cause, for the Ghost project and the church.

Goore never had to give up anything. Goore only took and brought devastation. But...

“Straight out of Hell, the Antichrist will walk the earth.”

Maybe Copia never truly understood his own Lord. For all one knows, he is and has always been wholly Fatherless, alone.

And perhaps that’s the way it should be.

There is something else in the pages, something no one should ever witness. It’s dangerous in the wrong hands, revolutionary in good ones. And his, his are meant to hold these pages. “The last pages are the more interesting ones. They share the forbidden, necessary knowledge to become Him.”

In a swift movement, the Ghoulette’s nails press harder. Copia looks at her, notes the way her fangs are bared and her pupils are blown behind the opaque glass. “Become Him, you say?”

“Did you know Satan is a given name? Much like Emeritus, it’s only a title. It means adversary,” a pause. “The Satan we serve had this power bestowed upon, at the beginning of the times. But you know how it is with empires. They must fall, one day.”

“That’s a risky thing to affirm, especially to a servant.”

“I always thought Ghoulettes had a bit more independence, but I might be mistaken.”

The Ghoulette thinks, for long seconds. There is a loud rumble coming from her throat. “You are crazy,” she says, at last. “Completely mad, absolutely unhinged. Yet, now I see why my sisters heed your call. You have His fire. I’m curious.”

It’s time. He’s been pondering over it a lot, wondering what his next steps should be. To find himself suddenly lost, no Imperator or Saltarian to tell him what to do and no Dark Father to ask for guidance, Copia has been severely lost. Now, he’s seen the light.

With you back at his side, he can do anything. Even if you don’t completely come back as you were, he can march straight to Hell and recover whatever vestige of your soul might be still lost there.

It all makes sense now. He’s the number one, you’re his number two, and there’s so much work to do. “Are you and your sisters in the mood for some hunting? I think we have to send one last gift to our Father. As a farewell, si?”

“You know us well, Papa.” The Ghoulette leans in closer, a feral look in her eyes, pupils a slit. “Give us the command.”

In her ears, Papa whispers the words he has long wanted to tell. His white eye glimmers in the gloomy room while issuing the command and, with a click of his tongue, all the nefarious Ghoulettes are set loose on earth, to feast and to conquer.

There can only be one architect of the new world, and that is him.

“The rest of mankind who were not killed by these plagues still did not repent of the work of their hands; they did not stop worshiping demons, and idols of gold, silver, bronze, stone and wood—idols that cannot see or hear or walk. Nor did they repent of their murders, their magic arts, their sexual immorality or their thefts.”

They pass the old ministries' ruins first. Speeding through the tombstones and the raised roots, they run to the left, then right. The starless sky remains calm, motionless and frozen in time, like the rest of the forest.

The smell of rotten flesh is what gets to them, first. It’s a murky and complex fragrance, a mix of sulfur and old blood, of decay and putrefaction. In the distance, the faint grunts and wails become a dull rumble, barely audible over the raging sound of blood pumping in their veins.

It’s natural to run, pushing vigorously until the burn on their legs makes it painful to continue moving. Wherever their feet touch, the ground trembles and shatters open, bones and remaining tissue filling with the impulse of life. Maggots and flies swamp the place, sticking to their hair and clothes, crawling in the dirt and brimming over the air.

Despite their efforts, the flesh puppets don’t last. It makes sense. Necromancy is a fine art, much like playing guitar. You can’t simply grab an old, broken, forgotten instrument from the trash and make it sing. No, you require time to repair it, tune it and make it feel right underneath your fingertips. Just like that, you can’t take a decayed corpse and infuse vital energy and a soul back into it.

And fuck, you definitely can’t do it while running for your life.

A sudden, loud noise forces Goore to duck, rendering them immobile. Their legs tremble, muscles spamming after all the effort. Heaving for air, they pant as their back hits the trunk of an ancient tree. Not too far off, probably near the remnants of the abandoned chapel, the monsters feast and tear the flesh off the undead, their growls echoing into the night.

The smell is always the worst part. Sniffing the air, Goore detects the distant tinge of blood and rain. It’s odd, the sky is clouded but calm, and rain hasn’t fallen in ages. It’s almost as if it is waiting, waiting for something to come, for the hammer to ultimately fall.

The bittersweet stink of Death follows them through the woods and the cemetery. They continue running, escaping in vain. There’s no way they can outrun beasts from Hell, but the rush from this chase fills their body with a thrill.

Yes.

Goore only feels truly alive when he’s about to die.

The path deep in the shadows calls their name. Mary follows it, heavy combat boots crushing the dead leaves. The smell grows more pungent, distinctive, before the glint of a black mask becomes evident in his side vision.

Oh, there she is.

One of them, at least. The other two are apparently still hiding in the shadows, waiting to pounce and sink their claws and teeth in skin and muscle tissue. Goore’s boots sink into a mix of mud and leaves, fingers reaching up to remove a few branches off their hair.

Is this it, then?

The Ghoulette’s head tilts to one side by degrees, movement blurry and paused. There’s a loud crackling sound coming from her, a deep growl circling around them. Goore stares, and it resembles the feeling of watching a movie that’s slightly corrupted, all missing frames and delayed noises. In the distance, he hears a final wail, and it’s not hard to sense the last one of their flesh puppets has fallen.

Well, it was fun while it lasted, at least.

“Are we delaying this any further, or…?” They ask, voice vaguely coated with mockery. “Are you supposed to deliver a message?”

No one answers. Those round glasses on the visor glint, mask slowly regaining its original position before tilting to the other side. Mary’s skin shivers when something blows air over the exposed skin of his neck and hell, there is the other one.

Right next to them.

The razor sharp claws dig over their leather jacket, making it creak. The strength is not enough to pierce the thick material, but Goore nevertheless feels the bite. From up close, the glint in the creature’s eyes is almost blinding. Her pupils remain nothing but slits, thin and long, inside the irises. He notices it even through the dark glass.

“No message for you,” a voice says. It comes from within the forest.

Silence grows more deafening in the woods. Not even the bugs dare to disturb it. The only sound comes from their wild, beating heart and from the rush of hot blood, so loud in their ears. “I’m a bit disappointed,” their voice is a growl, a low rumble through gritted teeth. “He could at least curse me, at the end.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll curse you enough.”

Everything goes dark. It’s only a few seconds, a blink it’s all it takes. When Mary opens their eyes again, they are staring right into the clouded sky. The tree tops obscure their vision, leaves falling in slow motion before swirling in the wind. The ground is damp under their back, and something wet trickles down their forehead.

Blood. It tastes like blood when they lick their lips to clean it off. A drumming sound fills his ears, rhythmic and rapid. Mary inhales, snatches a shallow breath before enduring the burning cold of the air. The indistinct murmur of the demons comes from their right, words almost unintelligible.

Fuck. They are awake, but soon it will change. These creatures are hungry for blood and despair, insatiable. Goore fears no death, not anymore, yet the pain stabs their nerves right to the core. Once again, their body grows cold, muscles tense and skin too tight.

“Should we play with it first?”

“Papa said to have fun.”

Mary blinks once, then twice. Each time their eyes open, there’s the same gloomy sky and the tree tops. Their head hangs to one side, body completely limp in the hands of the demons. The stench of blood is extremely pungent, and their clothes are completely soaked in it.

Fuck. The world moves around them in a hazy bliss, almost like a dream they can’t completely wake up from. Midnight has passed long hours ago, and now it’s the devil’s time, the hour for them to rise again and bathe in the perverted lust of gore.

If the glimmering fangs and shiny eyes of a demon it’s the last thing they see, that’s okay. They feel no guilt, no shame. Heart hammering in their ribcage, wild adrenaline pumping along the blood, Goore smiles one last time. They only wonder how long it’ll be until they are reborn in morbidity, just like before.

Until then, they’ll remain as nothing but another bloody corpse, forgotten and buried under an upside-down cross.

“The seventh angel sounded his trumpet, and there were loud voices in heaven, which said: “The kingdom of the world has become the kingdom of our Lord and of his Christ, and he shall reign for ever and ever.” And the temple of God was opened in heaven, and there was seen in his temple the ark of his testament: and there were lightning, and voices, and thunderings, and an earthquake, and great hail.”

“Amore, careful there, please.”

This place… Copia recalls it as if it was yesterday. He had been ordained Papa, there was a party in his honor and he felt overwhelmed, shaken. Imperator urged him to prance around and talk to people, something he dreaded. He hid underground, in his sheltered place away from prying ears and judgmental eyes.

You were beautiful, as always, but even more wonderful that night. Copia feels his throat tighten at the remembrance, caresses the memory inside of his mind with barely the tip of his fingers. He doesn’t want to stain it, doesn’t wish for it to shatter under the weight of his actions.

Oh, how ethereal you looked, how soft your voice was when you asked him to dance with you. He recalls the fragrance of your perfume, the softness of your hair on his cheek when he leaned his face on the top of your head. How gentle your embrace was, that time. How grateful he felt to be alive, to be able to experience all the wonder of your love, the tenderness of your touch.

Tonight, among the same walls, Copia feels like crying. If it’s out of happiness from having you back or pure despair for all these past months, he doesn’t know it.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate"

“Careful here too, my dear,” Copia guides you through the door, eyes buried on the ancient inscriptions that sit at the top of the old stone. Your hands are stiff, and your body moves practically in slow motion, not quite following the same rhythm you used to have.

It’s okay, he understands how tired you must be, how much your muscles and heart ache. Copia’s fingers scarcely trace over your wrists and back of the hands, supporting you as if you were about to break into a thousand pieces with the slight pressure.

Oh, how careful he is, how attentive. He shushes softly, whispering sweet nothings into the air as he escorts you through the place. The black blindfold blocks your sight, but your head follows the sound of his voice and he can almost picture the adoring look in your pupils, the gentleness of your gaze.

If the blindfold is there to shield you from overstimulation or to protect himself from the hate it might fill your stare, he doesn’t recognize it either.

It doesn’t matter. Copia stops in the middle of the ample room, next to the old fountain. His arms embrace you, and you melt into his hold. Copia’s heart stops, restarts at a measured pace, both heavy and pained. You melt into him, between his arms, as if you have never belonged anywhere else.

Silently, he accepts it. Stiff and frightened, his breath hitches when your hand raises, slow as if someone was gradually pulling from the strings that hold you together.

When your nails hardly caress one strand of his hair, Copia feels like crying again. No, not crying. Breaking down, sobbing, wailing, screaming into the night. He's tired, so fatigued and wounded, but your touch is so affectionate, lovingly. It feels like a dream. Even if it's nothing but muscle memory, you cling onto him just like you did that night, so many years ago.

The world seemed so small back then.

Copia allows you to card your fingers through his hair like a young boy tasting love for the first time. To the entire world, he might be the terrible and ruthless Papa Emeritus the IV, a merciless murderer, but not to you. To you, he’s sentimental and vulnerable, nothing but an enamored fool.

Not a single sound breaks the calming silence. Standing in the middle of the room, he looks at you with full attention for the first time in forever. You have become a strange and beautiful companion, skin still ghastly but slowly recovering a glimpse of life. Immobile, your face bears a languid expression and your breathing is so fast your chest rises and falls with a tumultuous respiration.

Copia wants to soothe you, to give you the whole world if you desire so. “I’ll ask you something, just like what you asked that night after I became Papa," he whispers, instead. "Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have returned to me? ”

There’s no reply. No verbal, at least. Unhurriedly, your arm lifts up in his direction, extended hand hanging in the air that separates both of you. Copia's mouth remains agape, eyes wide open. If you are a serpent of temptation, the snake offering him the apple of sin, then he’s Eve’s trembling hand blindly reaching for you.

He takes it and knows there’s no turning back. Your hands are cold, but he can’t let go. No, there’s no moment to let go. He’s been calling for you for so long, just like he’d call forever. Copia’s face falls on your shoulders, lips trembling as he presses a light kiss over the soft material of your clothes. He chokes on the whimpers his mouth refuses to let out, eyes closing and brows furrowing. His lids stay pressed tight, lashes coating in tears.

A hand on your waist and another holding your wrist, Copia begins to move slowly. It’s like that first time he danced with you, soon after the release of Prequelle. He was incredibly nervous back then, so scared of you. A part of him feels the same now, nothing but old Cardinal Copia clinging to an unknown Sibling of Sin, wishing for the night to never end.

The air is frozen inside his lungs when your hand moves to his shoulder. Most of your body is still limp, so Copia holds close, guiding you around the place. Eyes closed, he bears most of your weight, experiencing the renewed ardor of a lover. His breath hitches when your cold lips travel along his cheek in the resemblance of a kiss.

Oh, no. He feels like sobbing again, lower lip quivering as he murmurs on your habits. “You are mine,” he declares, placing another kiss. “You and I are one forever.”

Underground, hiding from a world on fire, Copia has never felt more at peace. He is awake in your coiling spirit, illuminated in blood and fire.

It's natural for his hands to tighten on your body. The dancing becomes faster, flowing on the old marble floor. Copia senses how your fingers slowly curl on his clothes too, feet barely gaining a bit more of traction. He hums a song, the same song you hummed for him that time, the same one he used to sing to you on long nights before sleeping to help you relax, or after interminable nights of loving you under the moonlight.

The melody is carried by the air and resonates on the walls before getting lost in the long halls. There’s no one else there, no ghouls or demons, no Satan or human that could ever interrupt this moment. Forever, he’ll dance with you forever, cling to you forever, be with you forever…

There’s a sting in the way your lips graze over his cheek again, barely brushing his own when his head turns around. The bells chime in the distance, coming from a now forgotten chapel. If this is the last time before the end, he just wants to be with you all night.

Below the surface, locked in a loving embrace and following the faint melody of his humming, you two waltz in circles.

“Copia?" You call. There's something wrong, because the sound seems to be coming from far away, anywhere but your vocal cords. It's too rough, full of static.

Throat dry, Copia struggles to find his own voice too. The anguish claws at his neck, but it doesn't matter. You don't give him time to answer anyway.

"I think it’s going to rain soon.”

Those words. He remembers them. Those words haunted him for days and night. You told him that, the night you confessed to him how scared you were for his safety, how much you feared for yourself too. Oh, he should have heed your words, should have listened to you.

No, instead he disregarded your worries, ignored your warning. He won't do that, never again.

"Yes, amore," he mutters, this time. "The wind has changed."

The silence falls upon both of you, once again. He doesn't mind it. It’s okay. No one will hurt you again. No one will bring you any harm. Copia will make sure of it. There’s no one else who could oppose him or challenge him.

No.

He’s God now.

Outside, the first drops of rain hit the ground. Soon, it hails.

“The lawless one opposes and exalts himself above every so-called god or object of worship, so that he takes his seat in the temple of God, declaring himself to be God …”

2 Thessalonians 2:3–12

The end.

BONUS CHAPTER

#ghost band #ghost band fanfiction #papa emeritus iv #papa emeritus iv x reader #cardinal copia x reader #evil cardinal copia #antichrist copia #ghost band angst #my writing #my fics #you forever fic

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ghostedghouls · 1 year ago

Text

Until then..

✢ Plot: Everyone has noticed how Swiss is going absolutely crazy on stage this tour. And I am going to ruin it for everyone and write angst about it because I'm an asshole like that.

or; how swiss handles his fear of abandonment after aether got sent back to the pit.

✢ genre: angst

✢ warnings: panic attack (sort of?)

✢ a/n: this doesn't follow my actual headcanons, i just wanted to explore this idea a bit. Also please don't apply this to the irl situation. This is pure fiction and is not meant to be taken any other way! I write about the fictional characters, not the real life people behind them.

Mountain eyed the multi ghoul carefully from where he was sitting in the dressing room. The other ghoul was heaving and sweaty, his shoulders raising and falling dramatically with each breath.

Mountain waited for the other ghouls to leave before he cornered Swiss.

"What's up with you.", he asked in a serious voice, the multi ghoul jumping slightly. He had clearly been in his thoughts.

"What do you mean?", Swiss asked, pulling a clean shirt over his head, carefully manuvering his horns through the collar.

"On stage.", Mountain said, crossing his arms, "You're... different."

Swiss turned to the earth ghoul fully, cracking his signature smile but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "Enjoying the show, big guy?", he tried to joke but Mountain knew something was off. The way Swiss moved, how he held his guitar, how he threw himself to the floor, it all felt... strange. Admittedly, Swiss was known for his weird dances, shimmies and the overall feral-ness when he performed. The fans loved it, too. But something had changed and Mountain couldn't quite put his finger on it, he just knew that it did.

Mountain could see the smile on Swiss' lips waver for a second. It was unlike Swiss to not tell the others if something bothered him. He was tired? He would complain about it. He was mad about something another ghoul did? He would talk it out with the other ghoul to clear the air. He was sad? He would ask for a hug or go to another ghoul's room to cuddle.

Swiss had always been open about how he felt. He knew that communication was key and he was good at it.

"I see you out of the corner of my eyes the whole show. There's just something different about the way you present yourself. Satanas, you literally fell full body into the floor. I have never seen you do that before."

Swiss' smile dropped while Mountain was talking, his eyes distant and lost in thought but he quickly composed himself, scoffing jokingly. "Where have you been for the last years, mounty? I always mess around on stage. It's what the people like about me. I just stepped up my game this tour. People grow tired of the same old shit, they want to see something new and I delivered.", he explained but the earth ghoul didn't buy it. He didn't know whether he should push the multi ghoul, though. If Swiss was not telling him the truth, maybe it was direspectful to pry? Or maybe he was reading too much into it.

"You know you can talk to us if something is upsetting you, right?", the tall ghoul asked and Swiss rolled his eyes with a smile. "Of course. And you know I would if there was actually something wrong. Now go to the others, I'm gonna need a little longer."

Mountain had not pried after that. He just watched Swiss as the shows went on, watched how he moved, how he acted.

And it still didn't sit right with him.

Each ritual, Swiss got worse. He would throw himself to the floor, would drop to his knees like he was in pain, holding his head. The fans loved every second of it, liking the act of the feral ghoul he was portraying. But after each show, Swiss would stumble to the dressing rooms, clearly exhausted. He was very obviously unwell.

The rest of the ghouls had noticed the change in his performance as well, had asked Swiss why he was trying to be an overachiever recently. Swiss had grown visibly irritated by their teasing and had left to his bunk early. The other ghouls had exchanged confused looks but they just figured that they had hurt his ego.

"What was up with that?", Dewdrop had asked, kicking his feet up on the table, the joint he had been sharing with Swiss between his fingers.

"Maybe he's actually hurt.", Rain tried, "He's really been giving his all on stage lately."

"Yeah," Cumulus agreed, "He's soaked when he leaves the stage. I've never seen him so worn out after a show until this tour."

The others had responded with hums of agreement, wondering what had changed.

"Maybe he is trying to distract himself.", Mountain said, all eyes trained on him as he spoke. "From.. you know.. what happened with Aether.". The silence that followed was filled with sadness and grief.

"Maybe.", Rain whispered, his eyes staring into nothingness as his heart felt heavy in his chest.

That night Swiss laid awake in his bed, staring at the ceiling with tired eyes, but sleep eluded him.

He felt shaky even as he laid completely still. Maybe it was the last bit of weed flowing through his body, or maybe his body was just really exhausted from today's ritual.

He had heard the others talk about Aether after he had left and an uncomfortable feeling had spread through his chest. His heart had started hammering like he was being chased, his body suddenly so sweaty he had to remove the blanket. Fear. True and utter fear crashed through the multi ghoul as he laid in his bed, thinking about Aether. Swiss felt wetness prickle in his eyes but he blinked it away quickly.

Aether had always given his all, had played the guitar skillfully and had entertained the crowd. But still it wasn't enough. Still, he got sent back to the pit.

Maybe...- Maybe if Swiss tried harder, gave everything he's got, he would be safe. Safe from being sent back to the pit. Safe from being abandoned.

He started shaking harder, his heart pounding painfully in his ribcage. Fuck, he had to be better. He had to perform better than before, had to charm the crowd, had to show Papa that he was good at what he was doing.

Had to prove that he was worthy of being there.

He quickly turned to his side, hoping that the change in position would stop the shaking at least, but it didn't.

Maybe he could try to make the fans love him as much as possible. He could be lewd, could be a flirt, so that they cheered the loudest for him. Maybe then the clergy would know that he was devoted enough. That he was the right ghoul for this!

His tail curled around his leg for comfort but instead he started to feel claustrophobic. He quickly released it from around himself but it didn't help. He felt like the bunk was closing in on him, like he would get squished if he didn't move, like he would- oh satanas he would- surely not- he would not-

With a gasp Swiss leapt out from his bunk, landing noisily on the floor of the bus, his heart still racing in his chest. Sweat dripped down his neck and he felt the eyes of his mates on him.

His shoulders heaved with each painful breath and he nearly collapsed when he felt a hand on his back. He whirled around in shock instead, looking into the worried eyes of Mountain.

"Swiss.", he started, his voice calm and collected but clearly worried for his packmate. "Come here.", was all he whispered before dragging the multi ghoul into a tight hug. He didn't return it at first, but slowly his hands found the taller ghoul's back. After a minuted Mountain released Swiss from his embrace and watched him with sad eyes.

Mountain didn't speak, he knew the words laid on Swiss' tongue.

"I-..." Swiss looked up at Mountain, his eyes filled with tears. "I am afraid."

Mountain's warm hand returned to Swiss' shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze. "What are you afraid of?", the earth ghoul asked carefully.

"That what happened to Aether could happen to me.", he admitted and his voice broke in the middle.

Mountain swallowed his own emotions as he encouraged Swiss to continue speaking.

"Aether was good. Aether was liked by the crowd. And yet-..." A deep breath. "And yet, he was sent back like he was nothing. Like he was just another ghoul working for the clergy. How do I know it will not happen to me? What if one day Papa wakes up and I am not good enough anymore? What if one day, they find some other multi ghoul because they want something 'fresh', something 'new' and 'exciting'?"

The other ghouls stared in silence. Swiss was right. Each of them could be replaced any day. There was no knowing what Sister Imperator or the higher glercy members had planned. There had been no sign that Aether would have to leave. It had happened out of nowhere. Hell, even their Papa could get retired by the clergy any second. It had happened in the past and it would surely happen again, they knew that. It didn't make it any less daunting.

"Swiss, there is nothing you can do.", Mountain started. "What happened to Aether could happen to all of us. I know it's scary but no matter how you act, how you present yourself, how much you try to be perfect, it wouldn't change a thing for them. Aether didn't get sent back because he wasn't good enough. He got sent back because the clergy follows some weird plan that we have no knowledge of. There is a possibility that we all will get sent back at one point, yes. But don't ever think it is because you aren't enough."

Swiss felt a weird mixture of dread and calmness. Mountain was right, they could be next any second but it wouldn't mean that he had failed, had not lived up to expectations. It was unavoidable and there was something calming about that.

He nodded, wiping a tear from his cheek with a deep inhale.

"Until then, we have each other."

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copiasghoulfriend · 2 years ago

Text

Per Aspera Ad Inferi

Here is a story that I am currently working on! It's really bad but I've been dying with these ideas ... and I'm going to produce a masterpiece. I will upload this first chapter to AO3 in the morning.. so Tumblr.. you get to see it first. PLEASE don't bully me -- it's bad. The Italian is based from the translator so I can't promise if anything is correct! PLEASE ENJOY! ❤️

TW: Mentions of Cheating, Bullying -- just please be cautious!

Chapter One:

Copia and Terzo’s favorite thing to do besides performing was watching how beautifully the Sisters sang during their class time. They both had their favorite sisters and it was blatantly obvious. They would constantly talk in Italian so no one else knew what they were talking about. The best thing about this freshman class of Sisters - they were all diverse and no one looked the same. One sister in particular was Ellie - she was shorter than the rest of the girls. She had multi-colored hair that was short and shaggy. Her appearance was quite beautiful with her larger features that both attracted the two men.

“Cardinale, che ne dici di quella sorella Ellie (Cardinal, how about that sister Ellie). Eh?” Terzo whispered into Copia’s ear with a smug look on his face.

“È davvero stupenda. La sua voce suona come un angelo. Una delle mie sorelle preferite. (She's very gorgeous. Her voice sounds like an angel. One of my favorite Sisters.)” Copia replied with a grin on his face.

“Un adorabile Ghoul mi ha detto che quando è arrivata per la prima volta ha avuto un'avventura con il nostro caro fratello. (One lovely Ghoul told me that when she first arrived that she had a fling with our dear brother).” Terzo replied leaning back in his chair.

“Terzo, non voglio sentir parlare della tua vita sessuale. Per favore, tienilo per te. (Terzo, I don't want to hear about your sex life. Please keep it to yourself.)” Copia replied, rolling his eyes.

“Cardinale, il nostro caro fratello ha avuto una storia con la sorella. Quando lei è arrivata era in un brutto momento e hanno subito legato. Lei ha tirato fuori il meglio di lui: era finalmente avvicinabile. Detto tra noi, la prego, cardinale, non lo ripeta. Secondo l'ha tradita durante il loro ultimo ciclo di tournée.Lo scoprì da un'altra sorella e non lo perdonò mai. Sono passati alcuni mesi e lui spera ancora che lei gli conceda un po' di tempo. Si assicura costantemente che lei stia bene e che si sia sistemata. Grazie ai nostri adorabili ghoul. Sembra adorabile, forse le piacerebbe uno di noi? Eh? Forse non è il tuo tipo, ma è sicuramente il mio. (Cardinal, our dear brother had a fling with the sister. When she arrived she was in a bad place and they instantly connected. She brought out the best in him - he was finally approachable. Between us, please cardinal, don't repeat this. Secondo cheated on her during their last tour cycle. She found out from another sister and she never forgave him. It's been a few months and he still hopes that she'll give him the time of day. He constantly makes sure that she's okay and settled. Thanks to our lovely ghouls. She seems lovely, maybe she would go for one of us? Eh? She may not be your type but she's definitely mine.)” Terzo whispered, eyeing Ellie hard.

Ellie made direct eye contact with Copia and a blush filled her cheeks before she looked away. Mary, who was very popular, was constantly bullying her and today was the last straw that Terzo or Copia could handle. They both heard Mary abuse Ellie and degraded her. She grabbed her backpack that was behind the stage and ran out of the room. Copia looked at Terzo sadly and sighed.

“Mary, what the fuck are you doing? Do you want to be…eh.. Kicked out of the program? You’re so damn close. Stop being rude to Sister Ellie.” Terzo spoke loudly as he stood up from his chair.

Terzo was usually never upset about Sisters beating each other up. It was strange he seemed really interested in her life story as well. Copia was confused about his change of actions. But, Copia decided that he would worry about that later and go check out Ellie.

Copia looked high and low for her but eventually found her out in the courtyard under a tree. She looked extra beautiful in the sunlight with the wind gently toying with her hair. He watched her for a bit before slowly approaching. When finally in her space, he cleared his throat to catch her attention.

“H-hello.. E-Ellie I came to.. Eh…. make sure you’re okay? Do you mind if I sit?” He said softly implying to sit next to her.

“Of course, Cardinal. I’m okay, not doing great but thank you for checking on me. It means alot. But, confused on why I was the subject between you and Terzo?” She replied sitting up straight.

“You… u-understood our conversation? Oh goodness, I’m sorry! I didn’t know you …” He stuttered quickly.

“Secondo was teaching me until that happened. So, yes I understood every single word.” She replied with a sad tone.

Her attention was drifting towards the Emeritus balcony. Secondo was up there with a Sister. Copia could see her expression change drastically. She frantically gathered her things and shot herself up.

“My apologies, Cardinal. Excuse me.” She said turning around quickly and disappearing back into the abbey.

He watched Secondo with the Sister for several minutes and studied their body language. The face of the sister was what shocked him the most. Whatever he felt at this point had to be buried because fighting Secondo was not an option, at least for Copia. The pair were kissing each other and that’s when Copia decided he had enough. He took a single deep breath and got himself off the ground. His mind raced as he walked helplessly down the halls in the abbey. Copia accidentally ended up at the doorstep of Secondo. His leathered fist was about to knock on the door when it suddenly opened. A small sister came rushing out with tears down her cheeks and bite marks on her neck.

“Excuse me, Mary.” Copia said, moving out of the way and catching Secondo’s gaze.

“Entra, cardinale. Ho la sensazione che parleremo di una certa Sorella. (Come on in, Cardinal. I have a feeling we're going to talk about a certain Sister.).” He harshly said, turning around to gaze out the giant window facing the courtyard.

“Non voglio invadere la tua privacy... ma perché l'hai tradita? Perché dovresti fare qualcosa di così... peccaminoso? (I don't want to invade your privacy.. but why did you cheat on her? Why would you do something so... sinful?)” Copia replied, closing the door with some force.

“Cardinale, non mi aspetto che tu capisca. Alla fine sarebbe successo. Ma non volevo che accadesse così in fretta. Che tu ci creda o no, l'amavo. Sì, eravamo fottuti amici. Ma .. questo vecchio ha coltivato sentimenti. Non si adatta bene qui come speravo. Che Suor Mary otterrà ciò che le spetta. Ellie, oh mia cara Ellie... spero che si innamori di te o di Terzo. (Cardinal, I don't expect you to understand. It was going to happen eventually. But, I didn't mean for it to happen so quickly. Believe it or not, I loved her. Yes, we were fuck buddies. But.. this old man grew feelings. She doesn't fit as well here as I hoped. That Sister Mary will get what's coming for her soon. Ellie, oh my dear Ellie... I hope she falls in love with yourself or Terzo.)” He spoke with a monotone still facing the window. “Adesso, per favore, vattene dai miei alloggi. Dì al mio stupido fratello di comportarsi bene con lei. (Now, please get the fuck out of my quarters. Tell my dumb brother to behave with her).

Copia did as he was told and closed the door slowly behind him. He took multiple deep breaths and let everything he found out sink in. The dinner bell had started ringing and he made his way to the dining hall slowly. The hall was already full with sisters and brothers with the emeritus family at the head of the room. He nodded to the sisters as he approached the long table with Primo and Terzo filling their glasses with wine. Copia had a spot next to Terzo on the end and watched all the sisters mingle with each other.

“Where’s…Ellie? Have you seen her?” Terzo asked while slowly scanning the room.

“I haven’t seen her since she ran off earlier. Secondo was being…eh…chatty with Mary on that balcony of his.” Copia replied, fixing the napkin on his lap.

The hall doors opened slowly and Ellie walked in awkwardly looking around with swollen eyes. She headed for the food trays but my eyes shot across the room to where Mary stood up with her gang of Bullies. Copia swallowed hard because he knew something was about to happen. Mary and Ellie slowly approached each other and I slowly looked at Terzo. They couldn’t hear what was being said but the loud bang of the food tray caught both of their attention. Terzo stood up immediately and saw Ellie on the ground as she wore her dinner. Mary and her friends walked away laughing and caused an uproar in the hall. The laughs echoed off the tall walls and flooring. Copia and Terzo both caught Ellie’s eyes as she slowly wiped tears and food from her face.

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nekronyancer · 5 months ago

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To loathe oneself is the harshest prison one can inhabit

Get on the angst train everyone, choo choo motherfuckers 🚂 /aff

#fanart #the band ghost #art #ghost the band #artwork #ghost bc #ghost tumblr #my art #papa emeritus secondo #papa emeritus the second #papa emeritus ii fanart #papa emeritus ii #papa emeritus #papa secondo #secondo #ghost secondo #angst #angst angst angst #hurt/no comfort

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helcef · 10 months ago

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Bug

He’s growing on me can you tell.. If anyone has phantom headcanons pls leave them in tags or comments or send them in, I like to observe him like a creature

#the band ghost #ghost bc #the band ghost fanart #phantom ghoul #aeon ghoul #quintessence ghoul #ghost the band #digital art #art #artists on tumblr #fanart #cerberulix art tag #ever since reading abt phant angst i cant stop thinking abt him #nameless ghoul #nameless ghouls

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muttghoul · 6 months ago

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All respect to the people who found the Imperator death scene genuinely sad but personally I think seeing Copia throw himself over her coffin like a discarded muppet and make some of the most dramatically fake crying noises I’ve ever heard in my life was arguably the funniest moment of the film

#yapping #the band ghost #don’t get me wrong I love some good Copia mommy issue angst but the tone there was NOT very serious I don’t think

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fan-therapy · 2 months ago

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Do you think maybe it takes a long time for the ghouls to learn to be “human?” Do you think it takes them a long time to adjust to having food served to them instead of having to hunt for it? Do you think sometimes they feel uncomfortable sleeping on a mattress because it’s too soft and they feel like maybe they don’t deserve it?

I can imagine newly-summoned Dew hiding under his bed and hissing at anyone and everyone. Rain refused to come inside for weeks and stayed in the lake and swam to the bottom whenever someone came near. I think Mountain longer for the grass and the trees and it felt like torture to be inside instead of in the woods.

#headcannons #ghost bc #ghost band #nameless ghouls #angst #rain ghoul #dewdrop ghoul #mountain ghoul

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cupid-ghoul · 3 months ago

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oh man that was a nasty fall, are you okay? HUH??

... the ghouls getting sent back to the pit???packs being torn apart by the cruel hand of the clergy as they simply get discarded like unloved toys??? the ghouls being scared that if they're not productive they'll be sent back???

hahaha you're so funny you must have hit your head ...

all ghouls are safe and sound and most importantly happy together in the den. they're having a snuggle pile as we speak. omega and alpha are retired and love helping out in the kit nursery, they're everyone's dads. ivy and mountain love tending to the strawberry fields together. dewdrop, ifrit, phantom, and aether are cuddling right now.

I don't know what you're talking about, silly... the ghouls are just fine :)

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ask-sister-solaris · 2 years ago

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“Forever, Forever”

Dracopia x reader

Warnings: angst, much angst, blood

Red. That was all that Copia saw. Pure red bloodlust. He hadn’t eaten in a week. He needed blood. Unfortunately, the person that entered his room was his darling.

“Tesoro! I’m back im so sorry that my trip was so long!”

He rushed to her pinning her to the wall. His fangs bared in hunger. She looked up at him, fear in her eyes, he didn’t look instead he sank his fangs into her neck, sighing in relief.

She tried getting away struggling tears streaming down her cheeks, she paled at the loss of blood. Once he pulled away, blood dripping down his chin, blood staining his shirt. Once he came down from his blood high he let his darling go, realizing what at he had done, his darling, his darling…

“N...no....no! Mia cara, mi dispiace tanto..”

He held her close sobbing, her pulse was so light. What had he done. He yelled in anger and heartbreak yelling for a ghoul to help, he sobbed and held her close not caring that his facepaint was smudging.

“Mia cara, mia cara, non lasciarmi! Per favore, mi dispiace tanto! Io...spiace”

She looked at him weakly and smiled

“I forgive you”

Translations:

Mia cara, mi dispiace tanto..: My dear, I'm so sorry..

Mia cara, mia cara, non lasciarmi! Per favore, mi dispiace tanto! Io...spiace: My darling, my dearest don’t leave me! Please I’m so sorry! I…I’m sorry

Fin

#the band ghost fanfiction #the band ghost fic #papa emeritus x reader #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader #dracopia #dracopia X reader #angsty #ghost band angst #dracopia angst

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dgaftilwedie · 6 months ago

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i love aether angst but also like :( aether not touring with the band because of an injury, not because he got kicked out. aether whose papa cried when he realized he couldn't tour. aether who adores phantom and insists that he tells him if he needs any help with his instrument. aether who tells phantom to "BRING IT IN, BABY" when he feels insecure about taking his place. aether whose pack loves and misses him, especially dewdrop, but who understands why he can't tour anymore. aether whose pack forces him to facetime them as often as possible when they're on the road because they miss him. aether, whose fire ghoul calls him every night, just to hear about his day at the ministry. whose pack seeks him out immediately when they get home from tours to tackle him with hugs and kisses and cuddles. aether who's alive, with his family who loves him. aether who's happy because that's what he deserves :(

#aether :((((#i love angst but #aether is so special to me #:(#aether #aether ghoul #ghost #the band ghost #ghost bc #nameless ghoul headcanons #nameless ghoul hcs #aether hcs

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onedaughterofman · 2 years ago

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Writing sessions #2 (Papa Emeritus III angst)

Summary: There's someone in the mirror Terzo doesn't recognize.

Tags: angst, emotional hurt, depersonalization, imposter syndrome, self doubt, self hate, self esteem issues. Around 700 words.

A/N: I wrote this short ficlet based on @turbodrawn amazing Terzo fanart. (I hope you don't mind!). Terzo never wanting to be Papa, being terribly insecure and over-performing in an attempt to hide it is my favorite type of Terzo.

There’s someone in the mirror Terzo doesn’t recognize.

He should. That person is him, people say, while their fingers wrap around his arms and hands push on his back. The same ones who control him like a puppet, those who make him sing and dance round and round, they are the ones that clap and cheer for him while he's performing.

He's loved, they say. People love him so much. He shines bright like a star, like the whole night sky.

And yet, Terzo can't believe the person that smiles in the mirror is him.

Behind a dense coat of paint and silky, fancy fabric, there is a face of his own and a soul that belongs to him. Or so, it should. He’s free, as free as he could desire. He’s a son, to an eternal unholy father. A leader, to the masses. An icon, to so many inside the Ministry.

It doesn't matter. To himself, he’s a fool. A slave, tied down, chained to a microphone and a stage, devoted to everybody but himself.

When did he choose this life? When did he accept this?

Did he, ever?

“Stay still, your Eminence.”

Terzo’s head moves to the side, making the paint brush stain part of the white on his cheeks. The hand gripping his jaw presses tighter, long nails digging in his skin. It hurts, but he can’t complain. They won’t listen. They never do.

“Papa Emeritus III needs to be on the stage in 30 minutes.”

The voice is faint, merely an echo in his ears. Terzo’s face twitches again, and this time a hand falls on the top of his head, fingers wrapping around a few black strands of hair. Blood rushes in his veins and arteries, fighting to follow the distraught rhythm of his heart.

He’s panicking, experiencing everything and nothing at once, but the person in the mirror only smiles. Terzo's mouth widens too, raspy, painful chuckles escaping from it. Oh, fuck. He’s thirsty, so thirsty, but his throat is closed.

Terzo wants to scream, to punch the mirror and shake away from the hands that touch him and restrain him in place. He regrets this, hates this title and this greasy paint, hates the way it makes him look like Him.

Fucking Nihil.

He loathes it. It makes him sick.

“Well, Papa Emeritus III is not here,” he affirms, instead. There is nothing behind his eyes, at least nothing he recognizes. It feels like staring into the void, and discovering the void is staring right back at him.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” someone says. The nails poke deeper, leaving behind red marks as he is forced closer to the mirror. “He’s right there.”

The whisper of his voice, full of air, is fearful. It sounds like a secret, a confession no one should ever hear. “I don’t see him,” he murmurs, lowering his gaze. It’s practically impossible when the fingers on his hair pull him even closer. “Please, don’t make me. I can’t.”

Shrinking on the chair, he's frozen. Terzo is not ready to go out and face thousands of people. He can't sing and dance in front of them. What if he makes a mistake? What if they hate him? All these people want to see a charismatic leader, someone with raw sexual energy and power, not poor old him, a teary-eyed, trembling mess covered in paint and silk.

“Papa Emeritus will be on the stage in 20 minutes.”

“I can’t be him right now, please.”

The air fills his lungs fast, but it’s not enough. It lacks oxygen, consistency. Terzo desires to hide, to run away, remove all the makeup and take off this stupid suit, but there are so many hands touching him, so many ghouls incarcerating him… He can't move, can’t breath, can’t hide from them or himself.

No, Terzo can merely stare in the mirror, at a person that looks like him but it’s not him. He has become a monster of his own creation, a hungry creature that devours him to the very core. Papa Emeritus III tilts his head to the side, sultry gaze setting upon him, and Terzo wishes he could look elsewhere.

It disgusts him.

“Who else are you, if not Papa?”

A wide smile appears on the mirror. Face obscured by the shadows, Papa Emeritus grins at him. Terzo’s mouth is agape, air frozen in his ribcage. The pupils are tiny inside his irises, trembling with fear and realization.

Who is he? Who was he, before everything?

No one.

The last stroke of the brush draws a thin black line on his upper lip. His head nods once, silently, and the fingers finally release him. A tall mitre is placed on him, golden embroidery shining so beautifully. Under the dazzling lights of the vanity table, Papa Emeritus III laughs a hollow laugh.

Ps: I wish I could explore this idea a bit more, but this is all I managed to write. What can I say, this is totally self indulging 'cause I love sad old men.

#papa emeritus iii #ghost band fanfic #ghost band #papa terzo #ghost band angst #character analysis #ghost band headcanons #short ficlet

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forlorn-crows · 3 months ago

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thinking about the precious few guitars copia probably has for casual playing & songwriting. an old acoustic. a bass and an electric. maybe one of them he's had for years, even before all this cardinal business came about. maybe one of them is shiny, brand new. a personal reward for himself in place of all those lost awards.

he doesn't play religiously. but he's good enough to transfer his thoughts to sound.

him in his room at all hours of the night with a pad of paper next to him, strumming out tunes as he figures out his next song. alternating between holding the pen in his mouth or the pick.

maybe he had enlisted the help of the 'older' ghouls who trusted him enough to work with him at the beginning, seeking their guidance for how the previous papas did it before him.

and slowly but surely, he finds his own style, bringing his own pack together for brainstorming sessions. it's his vision, sure, but he would never turn down an idea for a lyric or a baseline or a drum fill from his ghouls.

he looks at those guitars now, still in their stands in his office. twirling his new grucifix between his fingers nervously, knowing he may not ever get to pick those up again.

#sorry this was supposed to be wholesome but then i thought about it too hard #the band ghost #cardinal copia #papa emeritus iv #frater imperator #oops surprise angst #crow writes #crow rambles

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copiasghoulfriend · 1 year ago

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Sinfully Yours,

Summary: In this enigmatic tale, Nurse Penelope (Penny) awakens next to the alluring Terzo in an unfamiliar room, leading to confusion and intrigue. Amidst her nursing duties, Penny grapples with her attraction to Terzo and her commitment to her distant boyfriend, Mary. Mysterious gestures from an anonymous admirer and Terzo himself further complicate her emotions. While Penny navigates the complexities of her feelings and her role in the intriguing Emeritus family, she remains torn between the allure of the unknown and her unwavering connection with Mary, resulting in a captivating blend of romance, mystery, and personal growth.

Rating: Mature, Explicit, Eventually 18+ MDNI

Mary Goore / Emeritus Family / Copia

Warnings: Sexual Themes, Infidelity, Emotional Turmoil, Mature Language, Suggestive Imagery, Alcohol Use, Romantic Tension, Implied Nudity, Intrigue and Mystery, Personal Struggles

AO3 Chapter One Chapter Two

2.8K Words

Chapter Three: Under the New Moon's Spell

Tension hung in the air like a thick fog, suffocating the room. Mary's confrontation with the Emeritus Family had escalated rapidly, and I felt a growing sense of dread as I stood beside him.

Secondo's voice was measured but filled with authority as he addressed Mary. "Young man, that is NOT how you treat a woman. Especially one of our own. I haven't seen you around before. You are?"

My heart raced as all eyes turned to us. Mary's grip on my arm tightened, and I knew he was struggling to contain his anger. He forced his way through the crowd of sisters, determined to make his point.

"My name is Mary Goore. I'm Penny's boyfriend," he declared, his voice carrying a threat that hung in the air like an unspoken challenge. "I can see why the mishap started with her having sex with one of you. If I find out exactly who it was, you're dead meat."

His words reverberated through the hall, and I couldn't help but feel a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. Mary's confrontation was bold, but it was also reckless.

Secondo, seated but exuding authority, responded with a mixture of reprimand and understanding. "Mary, that's not how you approach one of us. I don't like your attitude. This here is a congregation of Satan. You will respect us and him. I am, however, sorry for what had happened at the party."

Terzo's gaze remained locked on me, and I could see a storm of emotions raging within him. His fists clenched tightly, and his eyes seemed to pierce through me. The tension between Mary and the Emeritus Family had reached a dangerous precipice, and I feared the consequences that would follow.

"Secondo, we can't allow this disrespectful behavior to tarnish our family's reputation. It's clear he's trouble and not the right fit for Penny. Speaking of which, Mary, it seems Penny excels in more ways than one." Terzo's words dripped with sly innuendo as he spoke, his gaze locking onto Mary's before he turned and departed through the ministry's private entrance.

Terzo's words cut through the already tense atmosphere like a sharp blade, leaving a heavy silence in their wake. Mary's face twisted with anger, his fists clenching as he shot daggers at Terzo's retreating figure. It was clear that those words had hit a nerve, but there was also an underlying current of pain in Mary's eyes.

Secondo, always the voice of reason, let out a weary sigh. "This is hardly the appropriate place for such confrontations. We shall address this matter privately. Mary, you must grasp the intricacies of our community. Penny is now one of us. You must respect that."

Despite his composed demeanor, there was a touch of resignation in Secondo's tone. He gestured toward the exit, a signal for Mary and me to depart the hall. The tension in the room lingered, and as we made our way out, I couldn't help but ponder what the future held for us within the ministry and the intricate web of relationships that seemed to ensnare us all.

The overwhelming sense of sorrow washed over me as Mary and I were escorted out of the hall by Secondo. It was a tumultuous and emotional ordeal that I hadn't anticipated. I had hoped for change in Mary, believing he had transformed, and now I grappled with the reality of his unchanged self. My own regret for letting myself go at the workplace party gnawed at me. Terzo's presence was a tantalizing contrast to the chaos, his charm and ease of conversation leaving an impression.

But then, amidst the confusion and mounting frustration, Mary's voice erupted like a volcanic eruption. His accusations, laced with anger and jealousy, pierced the air. Without a word, I turned away from him and headed towards my room, my sanctuary in this tumultuous moment. I paused in front of my door and faced Mary, my voice a hushed plea, tinged with fear of his reaction.

"Mary," I whispered, "I need you to leave, right now." My words hung in the air, a quiet yet resolute plea for him to respect my boundaries. Mary, however, was far from compliant; his fury ignited anew as he seized me, pinning me against the door with a heavy thud. His hands, once tender and loving, now slammed against the wooden frame, reverberating with anger.

"I'm not leaving," he hissed vehemently, his breath hot on my face, "not until you come with me." His words dripped with possessiveness, as if he could simply claim me, as if my choices were irrelevant.

I summoned my courage, my voice quaking but steady. "Mary, I work here," I emphasized, my tone underscoring the importance of my commitment to my career. "I went to college, earned my certifications to be here. What do you do? You're in a band, wasting your life away, drowning in alcohol. You've become an abusive alcoholic."

My words struck home, and for a moment, Mary's rage faltered. His face contorted with a mix of anger, pain, and self-awareness. It was a brief, fragile moment of clarity in the storm of emotions that had consumed us both.

"You know what, Penny? We're through. You can have these oddballs. You... you were a fantastic girlfriend. But I can find someone better," Mary's voice wavered, a cocktail of anger and heartbreak lacing his parting words. He stormed away, leaving me standing there, emotions swirling in a turbulent mix.

With a heavy heart, I turned around and leaned my forehead against the cool surface of my room's door, letting the tears flow freely. Time became a blur, and I had no grasp of how long I'd been standing there when I felt a gentle hand on my shoulder.

"Please... just leave," I whispered, my voice choked with emotion. The hand continued its soothing back rub, offering solace.

I raised my tear-streaked face from the door, and to my surprise, Secondo stood beside me. His demeanor had shifted from the stern authority he'd displayed earlier to one of unexpected kindness.

"Piccolina, this might be for the best," he said softly, his eyes conveying understanding and warmth. I struggled to find my voice, to respond to this unexpected compassion.

"I don't know if he'll return, but my brother and the cardinal will be pleased," Secondo continued, his words cloaked in mystery. I furrowed my brow, intrigued by the cryptic message.

"W-What do you mean, Secondo?" I managed to inquire, my voice quivering. He paused for a moment, as if weighing his words carefully.

"The other two... they care for you more than you realize," he began, casting a cautious glance around to ensure our privacy. "I can't reveal who's behind the roses. But it was my suggestion. You're something out of my wildest dreams, Penny. Yet, I'm too old for you. Consider my words. Whoever you choose, you'll find happiness either way."

With these enigmatic words, Secondo placed a tender kiss on my forehead and departed, leaving me to ponder the enigmatic situation I now found myself in.

I decided that tonight I was going to chaperone the Sisters and Brothers New Moon party. It was a way to get out of the house for a few hours, perhaps to mingle with Terzo and Copia while sober. After a warm shower, I set out to get myself ready. My hair took a while to dry, but I styled it differently than usual. A smoky eye makeup look added a touch of mystery to my appearance. I selected a silver mini dress from my closet that showcased my assets.

Feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness, I remembered that I had two shots in the fridge. I downed them quickly for a bit of liquid courage. Afterward, I approached the mirror by the door, critiquing myself more harshly than I should. Shaking off my self-doubt, I grabbed my keys and opened the door, only to find Terzo standing there, looking dashing in a dark purple suit.

"Buonasera, Penny," he greeted me, his eyes locking onto mine with an undeniable charm.

"Evening, Terzo, um... Papa," I replied, shifting my gaze away from his penetrating stare. He gently grasped my hands and planted tender kisses on the tops of them. "You know well enough that you can call me Terzo," he insisted, his touch encouraging me to meet his gaze. There was something different about him tonight.

"Penny, actually... I'm here to apologize for earlier. Mary was getting on my nerves, and I may have said some... things I shouldn't have," he confessed, using his hand to gently lift my chin, so I looked at him. His eyes held a genuine sincerity that sent a pleasant shiver down my spine. I blushed at his words.

"Terzo... there's no need to apologize. I knew Mary went too far. I have the bruises to prove it, thanks to him. You were just trying to protect me, much like Secondo. I understand," I responded, offering a warm smile that seemed to light up his face.

"So, you're already a bit tipsy? I'm relatively sober. There's no harm in just having a chat. I promise I won't end up in your bed again," I added playfully, causing his smile to broaden as he appeared more comfortable in my presence.

Terzo flashed a mischievous smile as he playfully asked, "Hey! How do you know I'm Tipsy, Penny?"

I couldn't help but chuckle softly, feeling a sense of ease wash over me in Terzo's lighthearted presence. "Well, your slightly flushed cheeks and that Cheshire cat grin might be a giveaway," I teased, gesturing toward his beaming face.

Terzo's laughter resonated through the hallway. "Alright, fair point," he conceded with a grin of his own. "But hey, I'm a much more entertaining Terzo when I've had a couple of drinks."

I raised an eyebrow, pretending to be skeptical. "Oh, really? You weren't exactly dull before, you know."

With a wink, he leaned in slightly closer, his voice laced with a flirtatious tone. "Trust me, Penny, there's a lot more to me that you haven't seen yet."

Terzo's remark sent a warm shiver down my spine, and I felt my cheeks flush even more. We stood there, locked in a playful moment, before he changed the subject.

"So, are you ready for the party tonight?" Terzo asked, stepping back slightly and adjusting his suit jacket.

I nodded, regaining some composure. "Yeah, I am. It'll be a good opportunity to unwind and forget about everything that's been going on."

Terzo nodded sympathetically, his eyes showing a hint of concern. "I'm here for you, Penny, if you ever need someone to talk to. You don't have to carry your burdens alone."

I appreciated his genuine offer of support. "Thanks, Terzo. That means a lot to me."

With a warm smile, he offered his arm. "Shall we, Penny?"

I looped my arm through his, feeling a sense of comfort in his presence that I hadn't anticipated. "Lead the way, Terzo." Together, we made our way into the heart of the New Moon party, leaving the worries of the day behind, at least for a little while.

The New Moon party was in full swing in the enchanting garden. Twinkling fairy lights illuminated the pathways, and the night air was fragrant with the scent of blooming flowers. The soft melodies played by the Ghouls created a magical atmosphere. Sisters and Brothers, dressed in a mix of elegant and casual attire, mingled, danced, and reveled in the electric atmosphere.

Terzo guided me to the bar, where Cardinal Copia was engaged in lively conversation with Sister Imperator. Copia noticed us and greeted us with a warm smile. "Ah, Penny, Terzo, you both look splendid tonight. Join us for a drink?"

Although I was a bit starstruck in Copia's presence, I managed to nod and offer a polite greeting. "Thank you, Cardinal. We'd love to."

As Copia ordered our drinks, Terzo leaned in and whispered, "You're doing great, Penny. Just relax and enjoy yourself."

His words were reassuring, and I felt a growing ease settle within me. Copia handed us our drinks, and we continued chatting with him and Sister Imperator. The Cardinal's charm and humor made it easy to understand why so many were drawn to him.

As the night progressed, Terzo and I ventured onto the dance floor, carried away by the infectious music. We danced and laughed, letting go of the troubles that had weighed on us earlier. For a few hours, all that mattered was the joy of the present moment.

Eventually, we found ourselves in a quieter corner of the garden, away from the pulsating music. Terzo's expression turned more serious as he gazed into my eyes. "Penny, I want you to know that I'm here for you, no matter what happens. You're a remarkable person, and you deserve all the happiness in the world."

His words touched my heart, and I felt a deep connection with him. "Thank you, Terzo. I truly appreciate your support."

He smiled warmly, and before I knew it, he leaned in, and our lips met in a gentle, lingering kiss. It was a moment filled with both longing and comfort, leaving me breathless.

As we pulled away, Terzo whispered, "Let's make tonight about us, Penny. Just us."

I nodded, feeling grateful for this unexpected connection and the chance to find solace in his presence. Tonight, surrounded by the Sister and Brothers of the ministry, I allowed myself to forget the troubles that had weighed me down and simply enjoyed the magic of the New Moon party. Terzo turned to me, a mischievous twinkle in his eye. "You know, Penny, this garden holds a few secrets of its own. It's a place where wishes come true under the moonlight."

I chuckled, enchanted by his words. "Is that so? What's your wish, Terzo?"

He looked at me intently, his voice soft. "My wish, Penny, is to see you smile. To see you happy."

His words warmed my heart, and in that moment, I felt a deep connection with him. Without another word, he took my hand, and we began to dance beneath the starry sky. It was a slow, dreamy dance, and I couldn't help but feel like I was in a fairy tale.

As the night continued, we shared stories and laughter, finding solace in each other's company. The troubles that had plagued us earlier seemed to vanish, and all that mattered was the present moment.

Under the enchanting spell of the New Moon and the magic of the garden, I realized that sometimes unexpected connections could provide the comfort and happiness we needed most.

As the New Moon party gradually wound down, and the first rays of dawn began to break over the horizon, Terzo and I found ourselves standing at the edge of the garden. The once lively atmosphere had mellowed into a serene and peaceful morning.

Terzo gently brushed a strand of hair from my face, his eyes reflecting the soft, golden hues of the sunrise. "Penny, it's getting late, or rather early. I should probably walk you back to your room."

I nodded, feeling a mix of reluctance and contentment. The night had been a surprising and delightful escape from reality, and I didn't want it to end. As we made our way through the quiet halls of the ministry, the weight of our individual struggles and responsibilities began to creep back into our thoughts.

Reaching my door, I turned to face Terzo, my heart heavy with the uncertainty of what the future held. "Terzo, tonight has been... incredible. You've been an unexpected source of comfort and happiness for me."

He smiled warmly, his fingers gently tracing a path along my cheek. "Penny, you deserve all the happiness in the world."

Our lips met in a tender, lingering kiss, a silent promise of the connection we had forged amidst the chaos of our lives. As we pulled away, I whispered, "Goodnight, Terzo."

"Goodnight, Penny," he replied softly before disappearing down the hallway.

I entered my room, the memories of the night still fresh in my mind. It had been a night of laughter, dancing, and a connection that had surprised us both. The troubles and complications of our lives hadn't disappeared, but for a few precious hours, we had found solace in each other's presence.

As I slipped into bed, I couldn't help but smile, feeling a glimmer of hope and warmth in my heart. The unexpected friendship—or perhaps something more—that had blossomed between Terzo and me was a reminder that even in the darkest of times, moments of light and connection were still possible.

As she closed her eyes and drifted off to sleep, the image of Terzo's mischievous twinkle and his whispered words played in her mind. She couldn't deny the attraction and the comfort she felt in his presence. But she also knew that her journey was far from over, and the choices she would make in the days to come would shape her future.

With a sigh, Penny allowed herself to surrender to sleep, her dreams filled with the echoes of the New Moon Party and the unexpected connection that had ignited amidst the moonlight and magic of the night.

#the band ghost #ghost band #cardinal copia #ghost #papa emeritus iii #cardinal copia x female reader #copia x reader #ghost band angst #ghost band fluff #ghost copia #mary goore x reader #mary goore #papa secondo #secondo #papa nihil #papa emeritus i #papa emeritus secondo #copia #ghost the band

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