#ghostband fan

[spider-haven444]

Mary On a Cross by Ghost, Kiss the GO Goat Album on Vinyl, 45 purple version

[lisystrata]

TF

[her-satanic-wiles]

Dawn Chorus - III

Dracopia x Fallen Angel!Reader

When you question the Almighty for a third time, you find yourself on the run and escaping a horde of wrathful angels ready to punish you for your insolence. Whose garden should you fall into than Cardinal Copia’s? And he has more nefarious plans for you.

Masterlist ⛧ Commissioned by anonymous ⛧ Series Masterlist

Words: 6.8k.

Reading Time: 27min.

Warnings: asshole!Copia, blood extraction,drunk!Copia, mild sexual harassment?? (there’s nothing inherently sexual about what he’s doing, but it is uncomfortable and I wanted to tag it just to be safe), non-consensual rituals,restrained with ropes, rituals, soul modification, tied with ropes, use of needles

Taglist: @da-rulah @teenage-birt-dag @akayuki56 @dopey-fandom-girl @ravensbars @copiaspet622 @onlyhereforghost @ultrahalloweengirl @ad-astra-per-aspera-1976 @antoniamarie1989

🔞 MDNI 🔞

As this fic is quite dark, I'm choosing to rate it 21+. Please respect my decision. Thank you.

The echoing of a choir sung eerily in your mind, the song slow and sombre as the melody continued. The same tune, verse by verse, sticking to your brain like glue; the lyrics haunting your waking moments. In an ironic turn of events, despite all your doubts and building hatred for the Great Creator, you found a morbid comfort in the songs the morals sung in gratitude, praising Him for their life however it looked, grateful for His grace. In your time watching the world go by, in the silence of your solitude and between visits from the creature that saw you as livestock and nothing more, those voices rang out to you, the lyrics tumbling from your lips and you found yourself joining the chorus.

“Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!

E’en though it be a cross that raiseth me,

Still all my song shall be,

Nearer, my God, to thee;

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!”

The mortal desire to walk amongst Him both on this plane and in Heaven. It made you want to laugh. It was your wish to do the same thing, hold an audience with Him, breathe the air He created as He exhaled it. And look where it got you: locked in a cage, holy light dimming, and blood drained twice a week for your troubles by a being that took pleasure in your discomfort if it meant a night of intoxication for him. Your resolve was still strong, you still were sure that you’d escape, yet you sat atop a mountain of failed plans and played a waiting game before you could try something new.

“Though like the wanderer, the sun gone down,

Darkness be over me, my rest a stone;

Yet in my dreams I’d be

Nearer, my God, to thee;

Nearer, my God, to thee, nearer to thee!”

There was nothing darker than the shadow of Satan, the fallen angel who despised the Lord so much, he actively worked to depose Him. Perhaps it was the nature of the building you were trapped in, the unholy scriptures you’d hear during Monday’s service, or the attitude of the Sister and the Cardinal, but you’d commit unforgivable sins if you were to hide the fact that you’d thought a great deal on the subject while trapped in this gilded cage. Was Lucifer right in his actions? Was he truly onto something? Did he know something about the Almighty the rest of you had been programmed to look passed and not notice?

You remembered hearing stories about Lucifer’s departure from Heaven when you were new to that life. Unlike your superiors, you weren’t old enough to have been there in person to witness the events unfolding. Thus, you were forced to rely on retellings from the angels who were brave enough to talk about it. Brave or stupid, given Lucifer’s story was forbidden to discuss.

Lucifer was once one of the most glorious and powerful angels in Heaven. He was created by God as a radiant and magnificent being, endowed with great beauty, wisdom, and authority.

However, Lucifer’s unparalleled beauty and lofty position led to pride and ambition within him. He began to desire to ascend even higher, seeking to exalt himself above God and to become equal to or greater than the Almighty. This prideful ambition grew into rebellion, as Lucifer sought to challenge the authority of God and establish his own dominion.

In his arrogance, Lucifer rallied a faction of angels to his cause, persuading them to join him in his rebellion against God’s rule. Together, they launched a revolt in Heaven, seeking to overthrow the divine order and seize control of the celestial realms.

But their rebellion was swiftly and decisively crushed by the forces of God’s loyal angels, led by the archangel Michael. In a great battle, Lucifer and his followers were defeated and cast out of Heaven, their rebellion crushed and their ambitions shattered.

As punishment for his pride and rebellion, Lucifer was cast down from Heaven and condemned to eternal damnation. He became known as Satan, the adversary, and was banished to the depths of Hell, where he would reign as the ruler of darkness and the chief antagonist to God and humanity.

The stories you were always taught showed Lucifer in a negative light, so power-hungry and greedy, convinced he could overthrow Him and rule in His stead. Now, after experiencing the wrath of Heaven, and God’s heedlessness towards both you and the mortals He created, you wondered if Lucifer was really greedy, or if he was informed of the Almighty’s incompetence and wanted to do more.

“There let the way appear, steps unto Heaven;

All that thou sendest me, in mercy given;

Angels to beckon me

Nearer, my Go -”

“Would you knock it off?”

The sound of the Cardinal’s voice had you turning around in a quick snap, looking at the doorway of his room. His voice was slurred but clear enough that you could understand him perfectly. “You’re too fucking loud.” His make up was running in places from the sweat and the evening’s activities, and you could see the dawn peeking through the gaps in the curtains.

“I shan’t,” you shouted back, a glee in your voice that shouldn’t be there. The longer you kept him awake and poked at him, the easier it would be to get him to open the door and then pass out - allowing you to escape.

“Disobey me and see what happens to you.”

“Thou wilt take no action,” you chided with confidence.

“‘Thou wilt’,” he repeated, “Why do you talk like that?” He asked, staggering over to the cage. He cackled, the cackle that mortals do when they’re heavily inebriated. “It’s funny.”

“Thus do we angels converse in Heaven, when in the company of the Almighty and His warriors.” You murmured, your voice soft and reverent.

The Cardinal hissed at the mention of God. “Fuck him. And fuck you, too!” He smacked the side of the cage and chuckled. “I don’t-” he burped. “Why were you singing? Just now… only happy people sing.”

You stared at him in confusion, you’d seen drunk mortals before, but your blood had turned this guy into the biggest idiot you’d ever seen. “I have naught else to occupy my time. Even caged birds sing; perchance ‘tis what mortals dub as ‘yearning’.”

“Yearn quieter then.”

“I shall yearn as loudly as I so desire.”

“Not while I’m in the room, you won’t.”

“Then, with my waking thoughts -”

“No.”

“bright with thy praise -”

“You can’t even sing.”

“Out of my stony griefs -”

“I said, shut up!” he roared, demanding your silence. You obeyed this time, given his fist collided with the cage and dented the side. “I never asked for dinner and a show.” He laughed at himself a little, until what he said sank in and he bent over, laughing harder. Once he’d composed himself, he stood straight and wiped the tears from his eyes. “If you’re gonna sing - at least sing something good.”

He walked over to a square box in the corner and picked up another square thing. This time it was red. You stared at it with your brows furrowed, trying to make sense of it. A black and red, circular object came out of the sleeve, and he placed it inside the square box. After a little maneuvering, sound began to pour from the box and into the room.

It was a droning sound, resembling wind whipping through a forest in the dead of night, designed to strike fear into the hearts of anyone listening. You shivered, your body growing cold at the sensation - the fear of being chased seeming to be too much for you to even think about let alone experience. Then, suddenly, a voice rang out.

“Ring-a-ring of roses,

A pocket full of posies,

Atishoo! Atishoo!

We all fall down.

Ashes on the water,

Ashes in the sea,

Ashes on the riverside,

One, two, three!”

The melody was interrupted by what you assumed to be a guitar, the sudden sound of which made you jump in fright. You’d heard about mortals and their modern proclivities with music - and how they’d made all kinds of sounds with the Almighty’s instruments. You’d never heard this before, used only to the sounds of orchestral beauty and choir singers in their various Houses of God.

“The guy who wrote this,” the Cardinal began, enthusiastically pointing to the music maker and shouting over the loud sounds, “has two little semen demons. They sang that. Genius!”

The music changed into a second song, a more upbeat tempo but still with a heavy sound. A different voice sang that time, definitely a grown man.

“In times of turmoil

In times like these

Beliefs contagious

Spreading disease

This wretched mischief -”

“The bard’s voice resemblances thine!” You shouted back to him.

The Cardinal shook his head. “What!?”

You made your voice louder. “I said: The singer doth resemble thee!”

He huffed and went to turn the music down. “What?” He snapped.

“I said: The bard’s voice resemblances thine.”

“Oh,” he smiled, “it is me.”

You blinked for a second, comprehending the information that had just passed through your ears. The Cardinal made music, and he was playing it to you… while you were trapped in a cage… in his bedroom… “Dost thou not feel ashamed?” you asked him, genuine intrigue in your voice.

“Why would I feel ashamed?”

“Pride is a sin. And thou art compelling me to listen to thy music without my request. According to mortal social conventions, is this not cause for embarrassment?”

He turned the music up. “I can’t hear you! The music’s too loud!”

“I said: Pride is a sin! And thou art -” He turned the music up and gestured to his ears, silently telling you that he couldn’t hear you while he danced and sang along to his own music.

“Will suffer punishments beneath the wrath of God

Never to forgive

Never to forgive

Them rats!”

You watched as the man continued to dance, even while the sun got brighter from behind the shades. The small amount of sunlight that trickled in wasn’t enough to hurt him, but you wished it was.

Songs ended and began again only to renew the cycle over and over until eventually, another song played that was very upbeat and the Cardinal seemed pleased by it. You saw an opportunity, “What be the title of this melody?”

“Dance Macabre.”

“Thou shouldst release me from this enclosure.”

He laughed. “You want to dance, little angel?”

You hesitated. “Aye?”

He fumbled with his pocket and pulled out a set of keys, placing the smallest one in the keyhole of your now dented cage. You heard the sound of the locks opening, and the door swinging wide to let you out. The Cardinal swayed, in part to the music, in part to his intoxication, but unlike his treatment of you thus far, he held out his hand for you to take. You stood and eyed him suspiciously, unsure if this was another trick to hurt you with. But when he shook his hand, gesturing you to take it, you obliged, feeling his leather clad hand wrap around your naked fingers and ease you out of the cage with a gentility you’d never experienced before. You took the opportunity to flap your wings, stretching them out while you could, because you didn’t know how long he’d have you out of your prison.

He pulled you away from the cage and let you go, choosing to dance instead of keeping you held to him. The door was left ajar and you looked at it once, then looked back at the Cardinal hoping that he didn’t see your glance. He didn’t.

But just as you were about to make a break for it, a sudden wave of dizziness washed over you, threatening to send you sprawling to the ground. You staggered, clutching at the nearest piece of furniture for support, your heart pounding in your chest.

The Cardinal’s laughter echoed in your ears, mocking and derisive. “Where do you think you’re going, little angel?” he slurred, his voice dripping with contempt. “You belong to me now. Did the Sister not tell you just how much Hell-metal is in here?” He pulled you to his body and forced you to dance. “Contingencies, my angel. Contingencies!”

“Thou must permit me to depart. ‘Tis not equitable.” You whined, staring at the door. You tried to push him off of you and make a second run for it - to which he just held on tightly. In the struggle, he pushed you backwards into his bed-frame and making you fall back onto it with him landing on top of you. Your wings splayed out against the black sheets, and his arms were still around your waist, clinging onto you like a koala.

“You’re mine, little angel,” he muttered into your chest where his head lay and his words muffled. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You tried to push him off of you but your strength wasn’t anywhere near what it should have been, meaning that when he fell asleep on you, still clutching onto your body, you had no way to push him off, the open door staring at you, taunting you for your weaknesses.

The bed was comfortable beneath you, and you could feel yourself sinking into it. You didn’t remember the last time you felt something soft beneath your wings, feeling so warm and welcomed by the sweet embrace of plush-soft linens and a mattress that absorbed both of your weights, you could feel the ache of your bones melt away, the soreness of your muscles heal, and your eyes closed. If only for a moment, you could enjoy the bliss and the comfort that had been offered to you, even if it was an accidental, drunken moment by your captor.

“Wake up!”

You woke up to something ice cold being thrown on you, drenching your entire body in freezing cold water that stole the breath from your lungs and soaked your white robes. Your eyes snapped open immediately, and your body scrambled away from the offending wetness, crawling up the bed and making it wetter with each move you made. When you finally locked eyes on the culprit, you gulped at the sight of her. It was the Sister, flanked by three ghouls. She was handing the now empty bucket to one of them, who took it from her with a respectful bow and disappeared out the open door.

“The audacity of you to sleep in your master’s bed!” the Sister began to scold.

“He placed me herein. He was inebriated! I lacked the strength to repel him,” you protested quickly, panic in your voice.

The Sister smirked. “It didn’t take him long to fuck you did it?”

“Long for… what?” You flushed when you realised what she meant. “I can assure thee, my virtue remains unsullied.”

The Sister raised her eyebrows. “Mhmm. And I’m a pig that can fly.”

“Indeed, I had no intention of uttering aught.”

The Sister chuckled dryly, her smirk widening as she replied, “Well, if pigs could fly, perhaps they’d have a better chance of avoiding the mess you’ve found yourself in. Remember, song bird, I’m still perfectly happy in my pig pen with the muck that surrounds me. You’re the dove who’s out of place.”

You donned your own smirk. “And yet, only one among us possesseth the capability to soar above the mire.”

“For now. ghouls?”

The ghouls moved forward and you jumped away, launching off the bed and diving into a corner. Catching you proved tricky for both of them, given your sleep had allowed you to be more rested than before, though, you were still running out of stamina. The longer they toyed with you, and the more you ran, the more strength you used up until you were almost completely out. They caught you, despite your valiant attempts to escape. And soon enough, the Sister was leading you all out of the Cardinal’s quarters and into a whole new section of the building: the Basilica di Lilith.

Named after Adam’s first wife before Eve was even considered, Lilith, a figure of defiance and rebellion, was given her own space of sanctity and adoration. According to some interpretations, she was a beautiful woman cast out of the Garden of Eden for demanding equality and daring to disobey Adam. Dubbed by the demonic as “our mother who never was,” Lilith was said to be cursed to live out her existence as a demon, forever feared and shunned by humanity. However, she found a place of reverence within the Satanic Church, where she was honoured and respected. The main space of worship was dedicated solely to her, adorned and tended to by her supposed daughters, perpetuating her legacy of defiance and independence in a house that stole from the Saints.

The Basilica, with its pristine white stone and Gothic architecture, stood as a symbol of reverence and sanctity for the congregation. Pointed archways and intricately carved Italian columns adorned the space, framing the dark wooden pews that lined the centre aisle. Above, the cream-colored ceiling soared, punctuated by pointed arches that reached up to the towering columns in both the nave and choir loft.

However, the sacredness of the space was marred by the presence of blasphemous depictions adorning its walls. Specifically commissioned stained glass windows depicted Lilith’s purported role in Eden, her fall from grace, and her demonisation. These depictions served as a stark reminder of this church’s departure from orthodox teachings and its descent into heresy.

At the heart of the sanctuary stood a statue of a disrobed Lilith, her arms outstretched in defiance. Behind her loomed the figure of Baphomet, a symbol of Satanism, with one hand resting on her shoulder and the other on her stomach. This grotesque representation of Lilith’s supposed significance in the Church was housed in a dark wooden alcove crafted with a pointed tip akin to their Holy counterparts, further distorting the sacred space. The statue, carved from bright white marble, stood in stark contrast to its surroundings, a glaring affront to the traditional Christian beliefs upheld by the congregation.

For devout followers of the Almighty, and even you, the desecration of this sacred building with such sacrilegious imagery was a cause for great distress. It served as a stark reminder of the dangers of straying from the teachings of the Almighty and succumbing to the influences of darkness and heresy. And, being a hallowed being, you could feel your skin tingling with the droplets of demonic entities and the mists of Hell swirling through this unhallowed hall.

In front of the statue was the Cardinal, a paintbrush in his hand where he’d painted a red, Satanic pentagram on the floor. He turned to look at you when he heard the commotion of your struggling and screaming out in pain, your bare feet being pulled along the marble floor. He smiled at you, an unsettling warm look that made chills run down your spine. That was when you put up some more resistance, only to realise how futile it actually was. Once you were inside the pentagram, the ghouls pushed you to your knees tied your wings, ankles, and wrists, to keep you there and stop you from escaping no matter how much you struggled.

Your eyes caught a flicker of something in the Cardinal’s, but you couldn’t place the feeling exactly. There was a hesitation to his actions, though he followed through with them once he’d pushed through whatever battle he was fighting in his mind. The Sister, though, never wavered, and both of them continued to look upon you with an uneasy happiness that mimicked the face of the Devil.

“What dost thou intend to do with me?” you asked, still fighting against the ropes.

They had no intention of responding to your question, acting as though you weren’t actually there, until the Sister had opened the ancient, chunky book to the correct page, and finally addressed you. “The process will begin soon unless you willingly tell us what we want to know,” the Sister told you definitively, leaving no room for negotiations or arguments. “If we can’t control you through your halo, we’ll change your soul until you bow to us. This is your final chance. What is Yhwh’s plan? What weaknesses does he have?”

You winced at the sound of the Almighty’s name, one that you were never permitted to speak. His name was for the higher angels, and the higher members of His congregation to use only in respect when talking about Him. Everyone else had to use his titles.

As usual, you refused to give any answers, knowing it would land you in more trouble in Heaven than it would on the mortal realms. Though, you were sure Heaven wouldn’t welcome you back now, there was always a hope, a prayer that lingered in the back of your mind, wishing that you could return home. And so, they began… and it wasn’t until they’d begun chanting from one of their books, you realised exactly what this was.

You’d heard stories about this before, Angels being forcefully turned into demonic entities against their will. If an angel has willingly fallen from grace and turned to Satan, there is no pain or ritual involved necessarily, their hearts and wings just turn black, their halos turn red until eventually the Holy Light within had died and the halo was of no more use. But forceful turning such as this, required meticulously planned rituals that took five months to complete, five full moons, and five rituals, one for each point of the pentagram. They were going to turn you into a demon… and they were going to change your entire being just so they could find out the Almighty’s plans and weaknesses.

By the sounds of the Latin you were hearing, this was the ritual of corruption. This ritual involved exposing the angel to dark energies and corrupting influences, gradually eroding their purity and innocence. They used ancient incantations and unholy relics to channel these corruptive forces onto the angel, slowly tainting their soul and weakening their connection to the divine. But, unbeknownst to them, the ritual would only partially work, because your connection to the divine had already weakened with every instance you questioned the Almighty, and begun to loathe Him for His actions.

When the ritual was done, you felt no different than before. There was no pain, no mental cloudiness - nothing. You were still you. There was a part of you that wondered if the ritual had actually worked, because surely you’d feel… something. Perhaps it was the bumbling idiocy of the Cardinal that spoiled the ritual. Perhaps it was the terrible Latin pronunciation of the Sister that ruined it, you couldn’t say. And neither could they. Thus, with a vow to continue until the end regardless of if it worked or not, you were dragged, still bound, back to the Cardinals rooms to be locked back into your cage.

Days passed, and you paid witness to the unfolding life of the Cardinal, who would spend most of his down time drinking your blood and getting intoxicated with his hellish ghouls. He paid you no mind unless he needed more of your blood, treating you like a pet more than a humanoid being. He would get out the shower and appear only in his towel as he got ready for the night ahead, he would play music whenever he felt like it, work in his bedroom rather than his living and study room, choose to drink the blood of members of the Clergy in his bed so you could see him do that. Multiple people at a time, choosing to give themselves to him to feast upon. And you were disgusted the whole time, watching him feast on other’s blood just as he had with you, and enjoying how uncomfortable it made you the entire time.

Every other day, when the Cardinal had left to go and do his “duties”, the door would open and his cleaner would enter the room, and this would turn out to be your favourite time of the night. He exuded an air of quiet efficiency and unassuming presence. His appearance was unremarkable at first glance, yet upon closer inspection, subtle details hinted at a depth of character and experience.

He was of average height, with a lean and wiry build that spoke of strength and agility. His hair, a shade of dark chestnut brown, was cropped short and neatly groomed, framing a face that bore the weathered lines of someone who had seen their fair share of hardships. His features were angular and defined, with piercing blue eyes that seemed to hold a wealth of untold stories and hidden depths.

Dressed in a simple uniform of black trousers and a crisp white shirt, the cleaner moved with a quiet grace and purpose, his movements fluid and precise. Despite the monotony of his task, there was a sense of pride in his workmanship, evident in the meticulous care with which he attended to his duties.

As he went about his work, the soft glow of candlelight cast gentle shadows across his rugged features, accentuating the strength and resolve that lay beneath his unassuming exterior. Though his presence went unnoticed by many, to those who took the time to observe, there was a quiet dignity and integrity that emanated from him, a testament to his unwavering commitment to his craft.

He wasn’t supposed to speak to you - no, not even look at you. But telling a man to not look at the angel in a gilded cage was a surefire way to get him to do the thing he wasn’t supposed to. In all your time spent in the mortal realm, you’d come to learn that all of the Almighty’s male creations had a penchant for defiancy, taking the word ‘no’ as an invitation to continue to do the thing. And so, once he realised that no harm would come to him when he looked at you, he would glance over then dart his eyes away when you realised he was watching you. When you waved, he waved back, tucking his pink lips into his teeth and giving an awkward smile that showed his discomfort but told you that he was at least kind. That wave turned into a brief, “Good evening,” as he entered the room to begin his chores, until eventually, he was striking full blown conversations with you.

The Cardinal’s cleaner, known as Brother Thomas to all the members of the clergy, possessed a quiet dignity and a gentle demeanor that belied the strength and resilience within him. He was a man of few words, preferring instead to let his actions speak for themselves. Despite the demanding nature of his job, Brother Thomas approached his duties with unwavering dedication and meticulous attention to detail.

Born into humble beginnings, Thomas had faced his fair share of challenges and hardships throughout his life. Yet, he bore these trials with stoicism and grace, drawing strength from his unwavering faith and inner resolve. He was a man of integrity and principle, guided by a strong moral compass that steered him through life’s tumultuous waters.

In his spare moments, Brother Thomas could often be found lost in thought, reflecting on the mysteries of life and the complexities of the human condition. He possessed a keen intellect and a thirst for knowledge, delving into books and literature to expand his understanding of the world around him.

Despite his reserved nature, Thomas harbored a deep well of compassion and empathy for those around him. He had a knack for putting others at ease with his quiet presence and genuine kindness, offering a comforting shoulder to lean on in times of need.

To those who took the time to get to know him, Brother Thomas was a steadfast friend and confidant, a beacon of stability and support in an ever-changing world. Though he may have been overlooked by some, to those who truly saw him for who he was, Brother Thomas was a shining example of humility, strength, and grace.

Thomas’ decision to join the Satanic Ministry was born out of a complex interplay of personal experiences and ideological shifts. While on the surface it may seem contradictory for someone of his character and background to align with such an organization, there were several key factors that influenced his decision. Despite his unwavering dedication to his Catholic beliefs, Thomas experienced a profound crisis of faith following a series of personal tragedies. The loss of loved ones and witnessing injustices in the world shook his belief in the benevolence of God and the efficacy of traditional religious teachings. Over time, Brother Thomas became disillusioned with the hierarchical structure and institutionalized dogma of the Catholic Church. He witnessed firsthand the hypocrisy and corruption within its ranks, leading him to question its authority and legitimacy.

Thomas was drawn to the Satanic Ministry’s emphasis on individualism, personal empowerment, and the rejection of arbitrary authority. He found solace in the principles of self-reliance and personal responsibility advocated by Satanism, seeing it as a path towards greater autonomy and self-actualization. Despite its provocative name and associations, Thomas resonated with many of the core tenets of Satanism, such as the pursuit of knowledge, rational inquiry, and the celebration of human potential. He found common ground with fellow members who shared his commitment to intellectual freedom and critical thinking.

All of this information, you got out of him while he was cleaning the Cardinal’s rooms, for once he got started, he just simply couldn’t stop. But, as he was one of the first people to keep you company, and treat you kindly, you couldn’t ever bring yourself to interrupt him, or stop his babbling however incessant it had become. Over the course of a few weeks, you were able to share your story too, the pair of you finding common ground in the disillusion of the Almighty and the questions that ultimately had you both shunned from your respective societies.

Brother Thomas had told you that he’d wanted to meet you ever since he found out you were there, but the Cardinal told people that you were feral and dangerous, and not to be disturbed. “I see now that was all a lie,” he told you, sitting on the end of the Cardinal’s bed and making himself comfortable.

You sighed, and made yourself as comfortable as you could inside your cage. “It doth appear that he desires to retain me solely for himself. I hold greater worth to him when concealed from sight.”

“Well, your wings alone would go for a fortune, no wonder this room is kept under constant watch.” You clutched onto your wings protectively, as if Brother Thomas had the inclination to steal them from you. “No, no! I wouldn’t! But there are others who would.”

“The Cardinal already partakes of my blood as he wishes. Wherefore should my wings be any different?” Your voice was small, smaller than you intended it to be.

Thomas looked appalled. “He doesn’t?” He didn’t doubt you, not one bit. But he didn’t know what else he could say.

“He doth indeed. Near unto slaying me with each extraction. Then, he returns me hither to recuperate until the next occasion.”

“That’s disgusting! I’m so sorry.”

“I desire to depart from this abode,” you told him, looking at the Cardinal’s carpeted floors. “I draw near to freedom, yet each attempt ends in failure.”

Brother Thomas was quiet for a moment. “Maybe I could help?”

You looked at him, eyes widened in surprise. “Thou wouldst undertake such a task on my behalf? Wilt thou not incur retribution?”

“Well, I left one religious organisation because of their barbaric opinions and actions. What’s a second one?” Thomas shrugged nonchalantly. “Besides, no one should live like this.”

“Thou art the most gracious being to have ever lived.”

He pushed back hair that wasn’t there, as if to prove his excellence. “What can I say? I’m an angel,” he joked. And for the first time since falling, you laughed. The joke wasn’t funny by any means, but it was the first time someone had actively tried to make you feel better, and so you just couldn’t stop the giggles as they fell from your lips.

A plan was devised. Brother Thomas would provide you with a change of clothes and a cloak to conceal your angelic appearance. By blending in with the surroundings and adopting a more inconspicuous guise, you would be able to move about unnoticed. You agreed upon a specific window of opportunity for you to make your escape, choosing a moment when the guards were likely to be distracted or preoccupied. Brother Thomas would keep a watchful eye on the movements of the ministry members, alerting you when the time was right. Brother Thomas would map out a discreet route for you to follow, guiding you through the labyrinthine corridors and hidden passages of the Ministry headquarters. He would provide you with detailed instructions and navigational cues to ensure a smooth and swift exit. All you’d have to do, was make sure the Cardinal was intoxicated enough to fall asleep on you again, where you’d be able to snatch the keys from him and keep them hidden on your person until Thomas was able to get you out. He was good, but he wasn’t that good. All that remained was to wait.

The waiting was the hardest part, because you would still see Thomas every other day as planned, and he would still sit and talk to you, provide you with some comfort until he absolutely had to go.

Until one day, he came into the Cardinal’s room a little more excited than normal. “The window,” he said, breathlessly, “of opportunity is coming! Next week, the Cardinal and the Sister will be preoccupied with visiting an abbey north of here, in Sweden, I think. They won’t be here.”

“Art thou certain they wilt not desire to take me along with them?” You asked, standing up in your excitement.

“I don’t see how they can,” he replied, mirroring your excitement. “They’d need to transport an angel and her cage, all without raising suspicion. And what with the current crime rates and trafficking laws, you’re bound to attract attention they don’t want! It’s perfect!”

“‘Tis a splendid notion! But what of the remainder of the clergy? Shall they still abide herein?”

Brother Thomas frowned. “It won’t be easy. But, there are ways we can-”

“Angel! I’m home!”

Your stomach dropped at the sound of a third voice coming from the entrance door in the next room over. The Cardinal was home, and he wasn’t supposed to be. Your heart raced as you heard the Cardinal’s voice echoing through the corridors, an unexpected intrusion on your carefully laid plans. Panic seized you as you realized that Thomas was still in the room with you, and the Cardinal’s presence meant imminent danger. “Thou must conceal thyself!” You whisper-shouted. You pointed to the Cardinal’s bed. “Conceal thyself beneath that!”

“He’s a vampyre, he’ll know!” Thomas protested.

“‘Tis the optimal choice we possess. I shall divert his attention, and thou seize the chance to flee!”

With a sense of urgency, Thomas scrambled to conceal himself, his movements frantic yet silent as he slipped beneath the bed frame.

Meanwhile, the Cardinal’s footsteps grew louder and closer, each one sending a shiver down your spine. Time seemed to slow to a crawl as you waited, breath held, for the inevitable confrontation.

The door creaked open just as Thomas’ foot had disappeared underneath, and the Cardinal’s shadow loomed large in the doorway, his presence casting a sinister pall over the room. Your heart pounded in your chest as you watched him cautiously approach, his eyes scanning the room with a predatory gleam.

You held your breath, praying that Thomas remained undetected beneath the bed, as the Cardinal drew nearer and nearer. Every creak of the floorboards seemed to echo like thunder in the silence, heightening the tension to unbearable levels.

Just when you thought you couldn’t bear the suspense any longer, the Cardinal’s gaze swept over the room, lingering for a moment on your cage before moving on. With a dismissive grunt, he turned away, oblivious to the danger lurking beneath the bed. In his hands was the box containing the usual blood draining equipment. “Did my ears deceive me, Angel? Or did I hear you talking to someone?” He asked, his tone making his suspicion obvious.

“I spake but unto myself,” you replied, trying to keep your voice lighthearted and normal. “Singing more hymns, yet the words escape me.”

The Cardinal walked over to the side of the bed that Brother Thomas had dived under. “No, I’m sure I heard a man.” He placed the box down exactly where Thomas’ foot was.

“Thou must be descending into madness, Cardinal. More so than thy usual state.”

The Cardinal raised his eyebrows. “Resorting to gaslighting, are we?”

You hissed, “What manner of deception is this? I am unfamiliar with it. A foul creature of the night would resort to any means to portray themselves as righteous.”

The Cardinal sighed, “Oh sweet angel, you’ve no idea the position you’re in, do you?” He fiddled with his keys and unlocked the cage door. “Come on, we need some more of that delicious blood of yours. Fight me, and you’ll regret it.”

Willingly, you did as you were told, following his direction to get on the bed and lie on your back. You were terrified, mostly because you knew that Thomas was still in the room and wouldn’t be able to leave while the Cardinal was there. It scared you to think that the Cardinal would find him, and what he’d do if he caught Thomas.

“Your heartbeat’s racing, Angel,” the Cardinal commented as he tied both your arms in tourniquets to find your veins. “You’re either scared, or falling in love with me.”

“Thine countenance is one that only a mother could cherish.” You snapped back.

“She does love me - she doesn’t always show it,” he inserted the first needle and directed the tube into the bottle’s open mouth, “but I know she does.”

“Perchance she is a simpleton.”

“Evil? Sometimes. Headstrong and narcissistic? Absolutely.” The Cardinal moved to the other side of the bed and repeated the motion with the second arm. “A simpleton? Certainly not. We’ve been alive for centuries, Angel, she’s concocted her fair share of schemes, and the majority have worked.”

“And do those schemes entail extracting an angel’s blood until she is nigh unto death?”

“Of course.” The Cardinal smiled - actually smiled. “It’s not often our kind can get a hold of your blood. It’ll go for millions of dollars on the market. We’ve made so many replicas of course, but none compare to the real thing.” He watched as your blood dripped into the wine bottles, four on each side. He planned to almost fully drain you tonight, apparently.

Your body had already begun to feel the effects of your blood dripping away from you, and your eyes grew heavier and heavier until, eventually, the last thing you felt was the Cardinal stroking your hair.

When you woke up, you were back in your cage and the Cardinal was sat in his bed, glasses perched on the end of his nose and eyes trained on a book. You were still feeling the effects of the blood loss, but you were certainly much better than before, your halo working hard in the cage next to you to try and get you back up and on your feet. You sat up and stretched, attracting the attention of the Cardinal, who smiled at you. “Ah, she’s awake at last.” He commented, looking at you over the top of his glasses. “How are you feeling?”

“I feel as though thou hast drained all my blood and brought me to the brink of death.” You tried to stand but your body was too weak. “For how long hath I been in slumber?”

“Five days,” the Cardinal looked back to his book, “your recovery time is getting longer. We’re going to have to start rationing if this keeps up. Or get another angel. Say, do you think we could use you as bait?”

“I pray thee choke and perish upon my blood.”

The Cardinal laughed, “If that happens,” the door to his bedroom knocked, then opened, “you’ll be stuck in that cage forever - ah! Brother López. Come in, please!”

The Brother opened the door wider and stepped inside, looking polite as he watched the Cardinal stand to greet him.

“Angel,” the Cardinal addressed you, “this is my new cleaner, Brother Santiago López.”

Prev. ⛧ Next

[ghulehgwen]

a lil cowboy copia inspired by @ramblingoak's fic The Cardinal's Bride. it's so goood.

[zombie-rott]

Survival Is A Talent: 1

Pairing: Gen. None.

Rating: Mature for difficult themes throughout.

Word Count: 6,733

Summary:

"Weakness was not something Phantom had ever been permitted to show back beneath the ground. His father, a tyrant leader of their pack, came down harshly on anyone who dared to show an ounce of discomfort or disdain. Male or female, grown or child; he was a brutal man with brutal ideals. But despite Phantom’s inept ability to hide his pain, he’d never felt quite like this before. Nor had he trembled quite as much as he had done since coming to the surface."

Or

Phantom, the new quintessence ghoul, is struggling to adapt to live on the surface. What started as surface sickness has quickly developed into quintessence burn out. And with a reluctance to ask for help, Phantom finds himself down a dark path. It's up to Papa, Aether and the pack to drag him back; kicking, screaming but alive.

In full on A03.

Sometimes Phantom couldn’t quite catch his breath. At first, he was convinced this was just what life was like on the surface. Despite being full of fresh air, life was lived through a series of heart-thumping, gut-wrenching moments of simply not being able to breathe. No one else complained, they just carried on, and Phantom, being new to this world, didn’t know any better. 

Weakness was not something Phantom had ever been permitted to show back beneath the ground. His father, a tyrant leader of their pack, came down harshly on anyone who dared to show an ounce of discomfort or disdain. Male or female, grown or child; he was a brutal man with brutal ideals. But despite Phantom’s inept ability to hide his pain, he’d never been breathless before. Nor had he trembled quite as much as he had done since coming to the surface. 

He learned to take bigger breaths and count to ten because he’d watched Rain do something similar during an exercise called ‘yoga.’ It helped once, and so he adopted it as his silent remedy for this strange ailment he’d stumbled upon. From then on, life at the ministry became a blur of practice, chores and learning about the world around him. And through it all he bit back the breathlessness, shying away in corners to count the stars from his vision and pick himself back up again, ready for whatever he was to do next.

But touring? Touring was a different ball game. While he was pleased to have a small, comfortable space to shy away from the world, he was not so pleased about the vastness of it all. Everything was so big and open and unprotected. The world outside the ministry walls was, for lack of a better term, exposed . Where Phantom and his fellow ghouls were from, that meant danger or the potential for it. Yet at the same time, everything felt constricting, including his own body.  

His glamour, while protecting him from the prying eyes of humanity, felt more like a vice holding him in place. None of his other ghoul-kin complained or even seemed phased by the constraining magick. They told him it was a feeling he would become used to, that he was still young regarding his time on the surface. Comfort and acceptance would come with age. Like a child looking to his parents for answers, Phantom accepted their word as gospel and did his best not to complain or show signs of discomfort. 

Over the first few weeks of touring Phantom spent hours in his bunk, desperately willing sleep to come. But it barely did. Instead, the void would become filled with the pain of his stomach twisting, his heart hammering and the most intrusive thoughts he’d ever experienced.  He shifted and turned, his body much too tight and the air much too hard to hold onto, all the while struggling to keep his tears from flowing.

But it was fine, because this was all part of the mortal experience, right? This was being human and while they were outside the ministry walls, that’s exactly the part they were playing. No negotiations accepted. 

It didn’t become apparent to Phantom that what he was feeling wasn’t normal until a conversation held during one of their free evenings. 

After another successful gig held in Milwaukee, the group frequented one of their favourite little bars hidden in the depths of the old city. They’d a full day of travel planned starting the following morning, and it couldn’t have come at a better time for the ghouls and their Papa. Phantom especially was eager to spend some time decompressing and bonding with his newfound pack, something they hadn’t had much time for. 

Copia treated them to a round of drinks, anything they’d wanted, and proclaimed it was all on the ministry. 

“We have done so well for them. It is the least they can do to treat us to a night out, si ?” He said, chuckling at the thought. 

Some of the ghouls broke off into pairs or, like Mountain, chose to sit outside in the warm night air and smoke his ‘funny-smelling’ cigarettes. Phantom, however, stayed close to his favourite pack members and their Papa.

“Do you wanna try my gin and ginger ale, Bug?” Aurora asked, pushing the deep glass towards him. 

Phantom was already three beers deep but this was their first proper evening off the bus, and he wanted to feel like part of the group. What harm could trying something different do?

He sipped cautiously at the end of her straw and shuttered at the sudden taste of the spirit. But then came the explosion of ginger ale, and the syrupy sweetness of the added honeycomb. It was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted, next only in line to cheeseburgers and watermelon! 

“That’s sooooo good, ‘Roara. Very sweet.” He grinned back at her. 

“I’ll order us two!” 

Before anyone could protest, Aurora bounced up towards the bar to order her and the younger ghoul a gin each. 

Phantom felt the familiar tendrils of nervousness leave him for the first time since coming off stage a few hours ago. Slowly his knee stopped shaking beneath the table and he felt able to release his grip on his beer bottle. Yes, everything was very loud, the air was smokey, and his head was beginning to feel a little fuzzy, but Papa was talking in his sultry Italian accent. And Cumulus was giggling alongside him while Rain played a game of cards with Cirrus. It was all so wholesome and natural, with no vastness between them. 

When Aurora set the gin glass in front of him and grinned, Phantom felt safe, like part of the gang. He joined in the conversation and listened intently as Cirrus talked to them all about how the Summer sun was one of her favourite things about being on the surface. This was closely followed by Rain insisting that the lack of water was his biggest pet peeve. There simply weren’t enough places for him to swim while they were on tour, and he tended to get a little antsy without a decent soak. 

“How are you finding the surface, little Quin?” Papa asked, moving the conversation towards Phantom. 

“I-oh. Well. It’s good. Y’know?” The ghoul slurred. When had it gotten this hard to talk? “I could do without that – y’know – breathless thing.” 

Copia arched an eyebrow in confusion. The other ghouls appeared to be equally as stunned by his response. 

“Breathless thing?” Aurora repeated. 

“Yeah! Like, sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe. And – and I can’t stop shaking. And my stomach just won’t stop hurting, and then -” 

“Dude – �� Rain interrupted, “That’s not normal. You’ve been feeling like this all the time?”

“I-well– I mean not all the time. Just sometimes. Especially at night, or before a show. B-but I just count to ten over and over until it goes away.”

“And does it? Go away I mean.” Cumulus squeaked, a look of concern painted on her face, closely matched by Papa’s. 

“Y-yeah, eventually. Sometimes it takes a while though. I-I just thought it was a mortal thing. Y’know? Like a side effect of being here.” Phantom’s voice became significantly lower, barely audible over the din of the bar. Embarrassment was bubbling in his stomach, and the feeling of breathlessness was creeping into his lungs again. 

“That sounds pretty awful, bug. Maybe we should get him checked over, Papa?” Rain suggested. 

Phantom hadn’t realised there was something wrong with him. And to just outwardly confess it like that not only to his new pack mates but his new Papa? He was practically organising his banishing ritual. 

“Don’t be sad, little bug.”

“Yeah – look – it’s nothing.” 

“Forget we said anything, okay?”

Phantom swallowed back tears, his hands fidgeting with his glass and shaking. He felt the gentle hand of Copia on his arm, and it took all he had not to whimper an apology. 

Sorry for being defective, Papa.

“No, I do not think there is any need for that.” Copia waved the water ghoul off, “Why not take a walk with me, Quin? Si ? We can take our time going back to the hotel and maybe talk a little, hm?” 

Phantom nodded softly, the movement barely noticeable. The ghoul took another sip of his drink before Copia pulled it away, and pushed him from the booth.  

“C’mon now, I think you’ve had quite enough! Okie dokie? Let’s get out of this haze of sweat and cheap wine, eh ?” The Clergyman said as he slipped an arm around Phantom’s shoulders and guided him gently to the doorway. He waved to several of his ghouls on the way out, including a suspiciously drunk Swiss sitting on the sidewalk. 

“Good night, Swiss! Behave yourself, si ? I don’t want to have to go searching through the city for you tomorrow.” Papa warned, eyeing the three open buttons on the multi-ghouls shirt, just ever so slightly showing off the inked skin beneath. 

The multi-ghoul waved him on as he lit up a cigarette and stretched out his long legs across the street. 

“He’s either in need of a fuck or a fight, and going by his shirt buttons ‘Lus will be in for a good time.” Copia chuckled. 

Phantom, shaking, his eyes brimmed with tears, pulled his jacket closer to him. He nodded in agreement, barely hearing the words. 

“My little Quin, please do not let those other diavoli get to you, eh? They are not good at understanding their own feelings, never mind someone else’s. Emotions are hard little devils to grasp and your pack mates are very bad at empathy. The worst, si ?” 

“I-I-I don’t know what’s wrong with me.” Phantom whispered, tears slowly moving down his cheeks, “I thought everyone felt like this.” 

“Most mortals do, si. ” Copia admitted.

“But I’m not mortal. W-why is this happening?”  

Copia pulled him closer. Phantom trembled against the clergyman’s side, his bones becoming tense and stomach-turning.

“Maybe we will take a seat somewhere, si? Until you feel better? We can talk in peace.” 

Copia guided them both to a bench beneath a caged tree, away from the bustle of the bars and nightlife. Phantom didn’t say a word, he just sobbed as quietly as possible beside the clergyman. The young ghoul’s heart was pounding, his ears were ringing. He just wanted the earth to split open and swallow him up. 

“I can’t believe I-I’ve just been thinking this is normal, and it’s not. I’m a fucking idiot!” He cried, his face buried down into his hands, 

“Oh no. No, mio amico , you’re not an idiot.” Copia reached for Phantom’s shoulder and gave it a gentle squeeze, “You’re anxious , that’s what this feeling is. It’s very common among humans and sadly it can be quite difficult to manage. But you understand this, si ? You’ve been fighting so hard and doing so well with your deep breathing and counting down.”

Phantom’s breath hitched in his throat as he contemplated Papa’s words. Anxiety? He’d heard Copia talk about feeling anxious, usually before a show or during rehearsal, and sometimes when things were feeling tense on the bus. Was this the same feeling? 

“Y-you know this f-feeling?” The ghoul asked, his sobs subsiding and his hands now lowered, fidgeting in his lap. 

“ Si . Quite well actually. I’m, as you say, ‘ neurotic ’ at times, and it’s caused me great pain and heartache. I know just how difficult this has been for you Quin, and to be all alone?” Copia shook his head, “Oh, my little ghoul. You’re not to keep this to yourself anymore, si ? Promise you’ll come to me when you’re feeling like this, no matter the time?” 

Copia searched his coat before producing a clean handkerchief from inside his pocket. He gestured for the young ghoul to take it but Phantom shook his head. 

“I-I can’t accept that. It’s yours Pa-”

“Copia, mio diavolo . Please call me Copia. And please accept this so you can dry your tears.” 

Hesitantly Phantom took the handkerchief from the clergyman and proceeded to wipe his eyes. He flattened the damp cloth out in his hand to see Papa IVs emblem embroidered on one of the corners. 

“T-thank you Pa-Copia. Really. This means a lot.” The ghoul sniffed, feeling the prick of more tears at the corners of his eyes.  

Wordlessly Copia stumbled to his feet, careful not to topple into the stream of oncoming traffic. He reached out a hand and Phantom, without prompting, took it, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. The clergyman threw an arm around the young ghoul’s shoulders and began walking them in the direction of their hotel. They talked together about many things on that walk home, none of which involved Phantom’s breathlessness.

~ ~ ~

All the ghouls were present and accounted for before Copia had even made it to the foyer the following morning. There was no need to spend hours searching for a wayward Swiss as he was already sitting, desperately hungover and miserable between Dew and Cumulus. Rain was rather green and leaning against a pillar outside in a desperate attempt to draw more air into his lungs, while the remainder were pleasantly bright-eyed, sans any ill effects of their endeavours the prior evening.

As Copia approached them with his suitcase in hand and dark sunglasses shading his eyes, Phantom moved gingerly towards him. 

“ Buongiorno, mio diavolo ! Did you sleep well?” The clergyman smiled graciously, his voice with only a hint of morning grit. 

“Y-yeah, it was good.” Phantom lied. He’d barely slept a wink, having instead spent his time curled around the toilet bowl. 

“ Bene ! The first night in a real bed after weeks on the road is always a special feeling.” 

Phantom made a small noise of agreement before reaching into the pocket of his trousers for Papa's handkerchief. 

“Thank you for this. Don’t worry. I washed it in the sink last night and let it dry out this morning.” Phantom brought it to his nose and inhaled as if trying to convince Copia of his attempts to sanitise it. “Smells like the Irish Spring soap they have in the little bottles.” 

“But this is yours, Quin. I gave this to you to hold onto and remind you that you’re not alone.” Copia smiled and waved his efforts away, “It’s a gift. You’ve had a gift before, si ?” 

Phantom hadn’t. Not in his short time on the surface had one ghoul or human alike given him a gift. Or anything, in fact, without expecting something in return. The last time he’d received anything similar to a gift was when his mother was alive. 

“Oh – ah – thank you!” The little ghoul squeaked in response. 

Copia simply smiled, patted him gently on the shoulder and guided him forward towards the cobbled streets of the city around them. 

They climbed onto the bus with Gary, their faithful driver, counting them on as they filed past. The clergyman was under no circumstances reliving the time they left Dew behind in Oslo, nor spending upwards of three hours looking for their resident multi-ghoul after a night of passion with the locals. 

“All present and accounted for!” Gary boomed as he climbed onto the bus.

“ Fantastica . Let’s hit the road.” Copia called from his seat in the lounge. 

He was already perched in his usual spot, his legs outstretched and resting on the small coffee table. His laptop was on and he was no doubt already scrolling though his emails and schedule for the coming days. Despite a late night and a miniscule break from singing, there was no rest for their wicked leader. 

The rest of the ghouls went about settling themselves into their respective locations. Swiss was occupied in their small bathroom, his back being rubbed softly by Cumulus as he suffered the consequences of the previous night’s indulgences. Dew watched from his bunk, eyes narrowed and arms folded in displeasure. 

The ghoulettes and Rain had decided to crowd around Papa while he worked. Each had their respective hobby be it reading, sketching or something akin to needlecraft. And then there was Mountain, tucked away in his open bunk, a pair of wired headphones rendering him deaf to the world as he flicked through one of his many dog-eared books. 

Phantom hadn’t been around long enough to discover what settled his dark soul. He didn’t know what brought him comfort or reduced the feeling of anxiety, as their Papa had called it. Reading was much too boring, he couldn’t hold a pencil correctly and needlepoint required too much precision and stillness. The only thing that even remotely brought him peace in the last five months of life on earth had been the soft embrace and kindness of Copia as they sat along the street. 

Violent retching from Swiss brought the young ghoul stumbling back to the present. He climbed up into his bunk and watched as Cumulus rubbed circles into the multi- ghoul’s back. 

“I told you, Swissroll! Six drinks and you’re out!” Dew stated matter-of-factly from the darkness of his bed. 

The other ghoul raised a shaking hand and extended his middle finger in a crude gesture. 

Even with this hostile display, every ghoul had a place with each other. Even Aurora who had joined not long before him held her own among the other devils. 

But Phantom? Phantom had been a last resort to fill the emptiness left behind by Aether. Phantom was little more than an infant among the pack and every step he took reminded him of it. Phantom was their deadwood, their weakest link; their liability. 

As the thoughts mounted in his head, Phantom felt the breathlessness smother him like an anvil atop his chest. He reminisced on his drunken display from the night prior and cringed. He recalled the faces of his peers as he admitted to them what, he assumed, was a normal effect of the surface, only to be proven wrong. His gut twisted and he squeezed his eyes shut in an attempt to dispel the feeling, but with no luck. 

“It must be the hangover.” He thought as he worried at his bottom lip, “This feels worse than before.” 

Swallowing back his growing nauseousness, he reached forward to draw across the curtains of his bunk, lest the other ghouls see him. The young quint contorted himself into the smallest space he could manage, his body curled inward.

~ ~ ~

Over the following days everything became a flurry of cities and venues. The screams of their adoring fans fueled Phantom and his ghoul kin night after night. But even through all the excitement and admiration, the young ghoul felt anxiety nipping at the back of his heels. 

Each night he stumbled from the stage, gulping for air as if it were his dying breath, and thought about Copia’s words. He wanted desperately to reach out for help when his thoughts boomed and his hands shook, but he couldn’t remove himself from the embarrassment of that cold night in Milwaukee. The looks of pity pierced his stomach like a knife and it was one that he didn’t want to be twisted any further.

Phantom did the only thing he could think of that wouldn’t cause a fuss; he shut down. He pushed those feelings back and faced them in the privacy of his bunk every night. He bit down on his pillow to silence the sobs, bore his talons into the palms of his hands and dragged them across his skin in an effort to feel anything but the anxiety drowning him. All the while everything else continued as normal. Despite feeling the constant buzzing of impending doom throughout his body, Phantom laughed like he always had done, he ate like he was accustomed to and joined in with the others as much as he could. Even his rituals remained the same despite the constant feeling of anxiety swelling beyond the levees of his soul. 

From Phantom’s point of view despite the discourse growing within him, he was perfectly fine from the outside looking in. But, little did the young ghoul know that his glass wasn’t stained. In fact, it was entirely transparent, especially for Papa. 

They were in Bridgeport when Phantom first missed a queue on stage. And not just one. Of course the crowd were too busy watching the theatrics of the other ghouls and their beloved anti-Pope to notice. But Copia watched as Phantom physically struggled with his chaotic inner voice. By the end of the show, he was visibly shaken. He interacted with the crowd, sure, but not as the labrador puppy he usually portrayed. Instead, he listlessly wandered the stage, throwing out guitar picks and taking offerings from their adoring fans with timid little waves of ‘thanks’ . Swiss had to practically grab his hand and force it into the air for their final bow, and when it came time to exit, he marched ahead of everyone else, his feet dragging the ground and his shoulders hunched forward as if he were ready to fold in on himself.  

The other ghouls tried reassuring him that it was okay to mess up sometimes. They’d all done it! But Phantom wouldn’t so much as pull back his bunk curtain. From within he cried into his pillow, claws buried deep into his shoulders, and his stage gear discarded in a pile at his feet. 

“Papa, what do we do?” 

Phantom heard Copia sigh from somewhere beyond the curtain. In a muted whisper the clergyman informed the other ghouls to get cleaned up and disperse to the lounge. And then, so silent that the young ghoul nearly missed it, he heard a knock against the wall of his bunk. 

“Quin?” 

Phantom’s breath caught in his throat at the use of his nickname. He whimpered, his claws digging deeper and his eyes squeezing shut. But he couldn’t find the words to send Copia away. 

“You know I’m here, si ? Is this about the ritual?” 

The ghoul could do nothing but emit soft whimpers and desperately try to silence his sniffling. His hands came up to cover his mouth as sobs threatened to wreck through him. He squeezed his eyes shut and counted to ten. 

One….two….three…

Another sign from the clergyman and the shuffling of feet. 

Four…five…six…

“Alright, mio amico . Please text me if you need anything. Acqua, cibo o per parlare, si ?”

Phantom was shaking now, his head throbbing from crying and his fingers sore from how hard he held himself. He wanted to reply, he wanted to reach through the curtain and beg Papa for his help, but he didn’t; His shame wouldn’t allow it. 

The clergyman eventually left, his boots scraping along the floor and the far-off sound of whispers greeting him in the lounge. Phantom knew if he strained himself he could pick up on what the other ghouls were saying, but he decided against it, convinced they’d be tearing him to pieces. Instead, he squeezed his eyes tight and covered his ears with the palms of his hands, the fingertips stained with blood.  

He lay like that, hunched in a half-moon of despair for what felt like days. Decades even. When he finally sat upright and sighed into the silence around him, he discovered it was the middle of the night, some hours after their ritual had ended. His throat was dry and his mouth felt like cotton. He needed water, minty toothpaste and something for his headache. But it all meant leaving the safety of his nest. 

Several deep breaths later, and an inner monologue laced with self-loathing, Phantom carefully pulled on his discarded capris and under armour before beginning his descent from his bunk.  His bare feet barely made a sound as he tiptoed towards the kitchen. Fortunately no one was awake because Phantom couldn’t deal with facing any of them. Not yet. Not with the evidence of his disgrace displayed in the empty valleys of his black face paint. But what Phantom failed to note was the figure sitting in the front lounge, their presence unnoticed until he heard the sound of pages turning. The young ghoul stopped dead, his hand frozen reaching for a glass from the cupboard. But it was too late. Whoever it was had already gotten to their feet and was walking towards him.

“Quin,” Copia’s voice sounded in no more than a whisper, ” How are you feeling?”

The little ghoul stared up at him, his mouth agape and eyes wide. Copia’s features softened as he took in the evidence of Phantom’s distress. His tear-streaked face was enough to tell the clergyman that the ghoul had spent hours consumed by his tears. 

“Why don’t you join me in the lounge and I’ll make us some hot drinks, si ?” The clergyman gestured.  

The ghoul swallowed back a whimper as his bottom lip began to shake, “It’s-it’s fine. R-really.” 

Copia’s brows furrowed and a frown pulled at the corners of his lips. 

“Phantom, per favore . You need to let me help you. Even if it’s just for tonight, si ? What sort of Papa would I be if I let you go back to bed like this?” Copia slowly reached forward in an attempt to guide the ghoul into the lounge, but Phantom flinched back, his body hitting the counter behind him.

“Y-you don’t need to. I-I’m okay.” The little ghoul was breathless again, his chest rising and falling in quick succession, and panic evident in his eyes, “I-I j-just need to –“ Phantom gasped for air like a starving man, his arms coming up to pull at the fabric on his arms and his legs buckling beneath him, “I-I just need to b-breathe.”

Copia was quick to action. He moved forward and caught the ghoul as his knees gave way. 

“You’ll come and sit with me for a while. Even if it’s in silence.” The anti-pope instructed, “I won’t force you to talk with me but you will at least accept a hot drink to calm your nerves, si ? I won’t take no for an answer this time, mio amico. ” 

Phantom fought back but it was nothing against his protective Papa. He chewed on his bottom lip as he relented, giving into the arm around his slight shoulders and the closeness of Copia as he walked him quietly to the small lounge. He couldn’t remember anything that the clergyman said to him in that short period, only that tea was necessary and that Phantom was to remain here, be it lying down on the couch or standing in the corner; but he wasn’t to leave. That much he knew.

The little ghoul pulled his knees up to meet his chin and buried his face in his hands as Copia went about making both of them some herbal remedy of his. Camomile or something akin to it. Something that, no doubt, wouldn’t help at all and would only serve to heat the ghoul’s insides.

Phantom hated this. All of it. The breathlessness, the fear, the constant feeling of dread and mistake around every corner. And, most of all, he hated letting their Papa see him like this. He was part of the clergy. He had power and influence. What’s to say that he’d keep him here after this? Who wants a ghoul who can’t hold it together on stage or off?  

“Please don’t cry,” Copia whispered as he sat gently next to Phantom.

Phantom hadn’t even realised he’d been crying, practically shaking with the force of his tears. He hadn’t even heard Papa enter the room over the pounding of his own heart. 

“I-I don’t know if-if I can.” he sniffed, pulling his sleeves down over his hands and toying with the hems. 

Copia, simply and silently, nodded. 

Phantom choked back a whimper before pulling his hood over his eyes and hiding back behind his knees.  

“I told you that you could come to me anytime, Quin. And I stand by that, okie dokie ? You don’t have to do this alone.” 

“I-I know, but -” The ghoul couldn’t get the remainder of his words out as his sobs overtook him. 

He had no choice but to allow the tears to have their way. His body shook with the force of them, his chest heaved and his heart thundered in his ears. Why couldn’t he stop crying? Surely he had nothing left to give, not after the hours he’d spent curled up in his bunk. 

Phantom suddenly felt exposed, like he were in the centre of a room and his cries were echoing off every surface. He wrapped his arms around himself as best he could and attempted to pull himself tighter inward. He could feel the nip of his claws as they squeezed into his biceps. 

Copia watched on, the edges of his eyes giving away the concern in his chest. He allowed Phantom the space needed to break down, but drew the line as the young ghoul began to squeeze sharp talons into his own flesh. With a jump, he moved to action. 

“ Ah! Mio diavolo , please don’t do that to yourself!” The clergyman placed a hand over Phantom’s and gently removed it from his arm. It was only then that he realised the tips of the ghoul’s fingers were stained cherry red with blood.

“ Quin , le tue dita?” Copia felt a slight panic start in his chest. He brought the clawed hand up to his face to inspect it, but there were no wounds to be seen, “What’s happened?” 

Phantom’s breath hitched in his throat and he let out a small whine.  

“I-I don’t even remember doing it.” he took several deep, slow breaths in a desperate bid to regain his composure, “It just happened.” 

Copia’s eyes flashed to Phantom’s bicep, to the dark patch of oozing blood staining the tight fabric. He sighed as realisation settled in his chest; Phantom had pierced himself with his own claws. And quite badly, by the looks of things. 

“They will need to be cleaned, mio amico . They are quite deep, si ? Do you mind if I do it?” 

The skin beneath what was left of Phantom’s stage paint reddened, his embarrassment becoming evident. 

“No!” He snapped, recoiling backwards, “J-just leave it!” 

“Okay! Okay!” Copia raised his hands in defence, innards twisting with concern, “But you must clean them, per favoure .”

“I-I will. B-but not now. I just want to sit here now. And breathe.” 

Copia nodded in agreement and gestured for Phantom to move back towards him. The little ghoul did, albeit gingerly. 

He reached out for his mug of tea and held it tightly in his hands. His eyes fluttered closed as he allowed the steam to waft upwards into his face. The heat felt good, grounding almost. The clergyman shifted beside him and Phantom found himself focusing on the sounds around him. 

Three things you can hear.

He could smell the lingering scent of Copia’s cologne and the faraway stink of his ghoul pack.

Two things you can smell.

Feeling his heart become less furious, Phantom allowed himself to drink. The heat of the floral liquid warmed his body, like a hug from the inside out. Finally, his shoulders slowly dropped, the tension dissolving . 

One thing you can taste.

Copia settled back into the couch and Phantom noted the calmness in his scent. He was right there with him, from the peak of distress to the settlement they found themselves in now. The ghoul allowed himself to glance over to find the clergyman watching him intently, a soft smile pulling at the edges of his lips but eyes still worried.  

Sighing, Phantom dropped his legs into a crossed position and allowed his walls to drop further. 

“I’m sorry, Papa.” The ghoul’s voice was so soft that it was almost non-existent. 

Copia reached forward and gently placed a hand on Phantom’s thigh. The ghoul flinched beneath him but didn’t shy away. 

“If I could tell you about all of the people I have found myself apologising to over the years for how I have felt, we would be here all night. Therapists, fellow clergymen huddled away in confessionals, friends; I have found myself on the apology tour more often than most. But you don’t need to tell me that you are sorry for how you feel, Quin. Never! I am always here for you, no matter the time of day or night; I will be here. You understand, si ?

Phantom nodded softly, his eyes fluttering open to look deep into his mug. 

“W-will you help me get cleaned up?” 

“Of course, mio amico . Of course.” 

Copia retrieved the first aid kit, a damp washcloth and some wet wipes to help Phantom get ready for a much-needed night of rest. He offered to help clean the ghoul’s wounds and the remainder of his face paints, but he was adamant about cleaning himself for the most part. All he wanted was Copia to retrieve his night clothes from his bunk, a simple black t-shirt and matching sweatpants. 

“Is there anything else you need?” Copia asked as he disposed of the used wipes and first aid supplies. 

“No, I’m okay now. But thank you, Papa.” 

Copia’s eyebrows were knitted together in thought. Phantom watched from the corner of his eye as the clergyman hummed to himself as the cogs whirred in his bustling brain. 

“W-would you – I mean – I am not sure if this is appropriate – but would you feel better sleeping beside me tonight? In my bunk?” 

Phantom’s ears twitched, his eyebrows coming together as he considered the offer. He didn’t want to be alone, as was natural for pack animals in distress. And there was nothing wrong with wanting comfort, Copia had said it himself. 

“Would you mind?” Phantom questioned the clergyman further, as if confirming what he had heard was correct. 

“Of course not. I offered.” 

The ghoul nodded and followed Copia to his bunk at the back of the bus. Quietly, they moved through the isles of beds framed by one ghoul or another, some of their limbs peeking out from behind the curtains, and others tucked snuggly within. There were one or two empty bunks, and then the small area Copia shared with Mountain and Cirrus, the quieter of the ghoul group. The other devils preferred the closeness and the energy that the remainder of the pack brought. And Phantom had once thought that’s what he wanted too. But not anymore. Now all he wanted was silence and peace meshed with the scents and heat of his ghoul pack. Contradictory, but craved.  

They came to a stop at Copia’s bunk. The clergyman pulled back the curtain and gestured for Phantom to climb inside. The ghoul gingerly moved into the bunk, taking in the heavy scent of Copia from within; comforting if not slightly, just ever so slightly, intimidating. 

“Are you sure you are okay with this, Quin?” Copia asked as he climbed in beside him. 

“It’s just like one of our cuddle piles, Papa. It’s comforting for me.”

With that, Copia allowed himself to lie down and for the ghoul to wrap himself around his body. After a moment or two of adjusting to the closeness of their bodies, they both felt themselves settle into a rhythm, their breaths matching. And just as Copia felt himself drifting off to sleep, he smiled at the soft, gentle purr that began to rumble through Phantom’s chest.

~ Read In Full Here ~

[saltandburnheathens]

Survival Is A Talent: 4

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3.

Pairing: Gen. None.

Rating: Mature for difficult themes throughout.

Summary:

“Weakness was not something Phantom had ever been permitted to show back beneath the ground. His father, a tyrant leader of their pack, came down harshly on anyone who dared to show an ounce of discomfort or disdain. Male or female, grown or child; he was a brutal man with brutal ideals. But despite Phantom’s inept ability to hide his pain, he’d never felt quite like this before. Nor had he trembled quite as much as he had done since coming to the surface.”

Or

Phantom, the new quintessence ghoul, is struggling to adapt to live on the surface. What started as surface sickness has quickly developed into quintessence burn out. And with a reluctance to ask for help, Phantom finds himself down a dark path. It’s up to Papa, Aether and the pack to drag him back; kicking, screaming but alive.

In full on A03.

Somewhere far beyond the door of the nest, laughter erupted and Phantom knew that a new dawn had arrived. The date? No idea. The day? It could be Monday, could be Friday. The only thing the young ghoul was aware of was the ever-looming presence of rehearsal. 

With a deep, sorrowful sigh, he begrudgingly pulled himself from beneath his cocoon of comforters and sat motionless on the edge of his mattress. Once again, he’d forgone his duties in the laundry rooms, certain he was already beyond detention, instead verging into unchartered disciplines. What’s one more absence when you were already doomed?

His hands carded across the skin of his face and up into a tangle of matted curls. Strands caught between his fingers, and he was quick to note how greasy it felt. He glanced towards his mobile charging on his bedside station and winced at the time. A low groan rumbled in his chest and it took all his might to remind himself that hiding wasn’t an option . Missing one wasn’t uncommon, but two? And in a row? That was just taunting fate. 

With a shake of his head, hair falling into his face and hoops jingling in his ears, Phantom willed himself to get started. But his body wasn’t much up to moving. At least not fast. Every bone ached from days of hibernation. His head pounded, his stomach burned and everything right down to his skin itched with something he couldn’t quite describe. 

As he shuffled across the floor Phantom noted how heavy every slight movement felt. Like he was dragging two tonnes of steel behind him on nothing more than sheer will. But he pushed on, hissing as the bathroom light bloomed to life above him and almost crying when he caught his reflection in the mirror. 

When had things escalated? When had he become so…haunting?

His face was not his own, instead it belonged to that of a wraith. His complexion, once a dusky shade of purples and violets, was pallid, and his eyes were sunken and framed by dark circles. They didn’t glitter how they used to, instead, they stared back half-lidded and empty. His hair was even dull and lifeless, pulled haphazardly back into a bun, shaved sides grown out into unshapely tufts.

But there was no time to dwell, the clock marching forward towards rehearsal (the mere thought creating a pit in his gut). 

He busied himself with a shower, taking care to clean the new lines littering his skin, and working hard to untangle the mats in his hair. But his mind kept wandering to seeing his ghoulkin all together for the first time in weeks.To seeing Dew and his fiery eyes, to Cumulus and her almost mother-like fussing. Most of all, he felt his chest tightened at the thought of seeing Copia. 

By the time Phantom found himself standing outside the rehearsal room, late and shaking from head to toe, he felt like he was heading into his own execution. From inside there was a mixture of scents, all related to his own kin in some way. And, of course, there was the unmistakable smell of Copia’s cologne, under which lay his own musky aroma. 

Phantom thought about retreating, telling them he’d forgotten or ‘ wasn’t feeling well. ’ But between missing work and their previous rehearsal (not to mention a mass or two), he was already in too deep. He didn’t know exactly where he was regarding disciplinary action, but one more strike wasn’t an option. 

Before he could contemplate further the door was wrenched open, Cirrus coming to stand before him. Phantom pretended that he didn’t notice their sharp intake of breath and widening eyes. 

“S-sorry I’m late.” He muttered, his voice barely more than a whisper. 

“It’s fine, bug. We’re just happy you’re here.” 

Cirrus smiled sweetly and moved aside to welcome him in. With only a brief moment of hesitation, Phantom took a deep breath and stepped into the bright lights of the rehearsal room. 

Several pairs of eyes met him as he moved towards his guitar. Cumulus and Mountain exchanged concerned looks that made Phantom pull his sweater closer. 

He wasn’t stupid. He knew that the evidence of his minuscule diet was evident, even beneath the oversized sweatshirt and black joggers. Both swallowed his bones as if they were five sizes two big, when in fact his clothes had fit him well not a few weeks prior. 

“Phantom, little Bug, you sure you want to be here?” Swiss was the first to break the silence as Phantom gingerly shouldered his guitar and joined the rest of the pack. 

“Why wouldn’t I?” He answered without looking away from his fretboard.

“You look like shit, dude!” Dew exclaimed, “You gotta go lie down. Or eat! Or something!” 

Phantom’s eyes shot up to meet Dew’s and his body stiffened. At that moment his eyes flashed black, all colour draining from them, in an act of aggression.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re clearly fucking not!” 

Phantom snarled at the fire ghoul, his cracked lips pulling up to expose his pointed teeth, and a guttural growl erupting from deep within his chest. Dew was taken aback by the alien sound for just a moment before he instinctively spat back, his ears falling backwards and his eyes glowing with fire. Their tails whipped behind them in unionism, and a horrid smell of anger and desperation filled the air around the pack and their Papa.

“Are you seriously starting this again!?” Phantom growled. 

But before things could progress, Swiss moved between them both.

“Leave it, Dew!” he warned, his hand coming to rest on Dew’s chest. He gently shoved him away from the young ghoul and gestured for him to back down, “Phantom, are you sure you’re good to go?”

“Yes.” He hissed through clenched teeth. 

Swiss’s eyes flicked over to Copia, before falling back to Phantom as if seeking some sort of sign. 

“You can sit down if you need, mia amico . Don’t hesitate – “

“I don’t need to sit down.” Phantom interrupted, his lips pulled back into a snarl and his hands gripping onto his guitar with such valour that his knuckles were white from the effort. 

“O-okie dokie.” Copia, his brows knitted together in concern, nodded to the others, “We begin with Square Hammer.”

They started like they always did, Mountain setting the beat and the others joining at the appropriate intervals. Copia fleshed out the words around the music and they all fell into their respective places. Even Phantom, rusty and out of practice, made a good attempt. But in the end, he knew there was latency between him and the other members. A missed note became several, and he found himself feeling more and more frustrated. Of course, mishaps were expected after a few week’s rest. But, on occasion, it sounded like he had completely forgotten how to play his guitar. 

Yet, no one said anything, even though Phantom knew, in himself, that the other ghouls were dying too. Dew was practically chewing his tongue off to keep his mouth shut.

But it was after the third song they rehearsed, ‘Little Sunshine’ , that the little ghoul’s struggle could no longer be ignored. He missed an entire chorus, instead spending the time seemingly focusing on just where he was meant to put his fingers. He’d played this at least one hundred times over with the other members. 

“I can’t do this!” Rain was the first to snap, “Jesus, Phantom, are you even in there!?” 

“I-I-” The young ghoul felt like he was about to cry, his eyes brimming with unshed tears and his bottom lip beginning to tremble. 

“You are not okay, Bug.” Cumulus left her keyboard and moved towards him.

The strap of Phantom’s guitar slid from his shoulders as he moved away. The heavy instrument fell to the floor with a loud thud and the ‘twag’ of strings. 

“Fuck – I’m sorry – I –” He tried to form a coherent apology, tried to say sorry for dropping the expensive piece instrument, but couldn’t find the words. 

“Phantom! Bug, please sit down. You look like you’re going to pass out.” Mountain was on his way now, his lumbering frame ready to scoop the little ghoul up into a warm embrace. 

But Phantom wanted none of it. He didn’t want them to feel his bones, or how cold he was. He didn’t want them to pull on the fabric of his clothes and brush roughly against his self-inflicted shame. 

Other voices were joining in, his own struggling to break through. And then, there was a loud, stentorian shout from Papa, something seldom heard from the clergyman.

“Abbastanza!” 

~ Read In Full Here ~

[m0rbidmacabre]

Happy Birthday Beloved Tender Father - We love you - Portrait done in clipstudio.

Reblogs welcome - please do not repost anywhere else without persmisson.

Tip:feedmecoffee

[evepeve]

Cardinal era Terzo, holding our lil’ copia.

I rarely draw humans so bare with me on how this looks

(PLEASE IGNORE HOW I PUT THE DATE TO ‘22 I FORGOT ITS ‘23 LMAO)

[shgark]

i’ve literally only been into ghost for a week, but i love that in all the clips i’ve seen, there’s this big energy that they really have so much fun putting on a Performance at the rituals

my main source of ghost content is tiktok, tumblr and pinterest, and i’m Eating Up what the algorithm is feeding me

[beeloovedd]

I'm gonna write the ghouls teaching Copia the Hot to go dance as soon as I get motivation

[papa3slut]

@zdaarlight on Reddit

[her-satanic-wiles]

Early access is available for Papas! Come and join us!

[koichinodignity]

The dance macabre music video brought me back from the dead 💀 the red marker is 'cardinal red', rather fitting

[zombie-rott]

Survival Is A Talent: 2

Part 1.

Pairing: Gen. None.

Rating: Mature for difficult themes throughout.

Word Count: 6,733

Summary:

"Weakness was not something Phantom had ever been permitted to show back beneath the ground. His father, a tyrant leader of their pack, came down harshly on anyone who dared to show an ounce of discomfort or disdain. Male or female, grown or child; he was a brutal man with brutal ideals. But despite Phantom’s inept ability to hide his pain, he’d never felt quite like this before. Nor had he trembled quite as much as he had done since coming to the surface."

Or

Phantom, the new quintessence ghoul, is struggling to adapt to live on the surface. What started as surface sickness has quickly developed into quintessence burn out. And with a reluctance to ask for help, Phantom finds himself down a dark path. It's up to Papa, Aether and the pack to drag him back; kicking, screaming but alive.

In full on A03.

Life back at the ministry was more difficult than Phantom remembered. Between his summoning and tour, his days were filled with band practice and the occasional shift in the laundry room. He’d been so overwhelmed by a new life on the surface that his anxiety never caused anything more than a mild panic attack. He concealed them, hiding in alcoves and counting to ten. But coming off tour felt different. Phantom felt more alive and with this new awareness came a spike in emotions he didn’t understand, much less could control. Being on tour was nerve-racking, yes, but it was nothing to being back within the walls of the ministry. 

They were thrown headfirst into a crowd of excited siblings welcoming them back, followed by no more than a night to settle back in before they were expected to pick up their chores. If anyone else felt overwhelmed, they didn’t show it. But Phantom felt his breathlessness creeping in the second they approached the ministry gates, and it grew steadily until he spent his first night home in ruins. Worst of all, Papa was several staircases away and the little ghoul didn’t much fancy trekking through the dark vastness of the hallways in the dead of night. 

As the days moved on Phantom made several attempts to reach out, none of which were pressing and concerning. He kept his texts light as if testing the waters as to what their new relationship meant now that they were back on unholy soil. They talked intermittently about work and some of the TV shows Copia had introduced to the young ghoul. But it was clear that the clergyman was being pulled from pillar to post and replies became more infrequent and apologetic. The man was trying and Phantom knew it from the way they spoke on the phone or through text. It was even obvious in how Copia tried to approach him in the hallways. But he was almost always pulled away by a sibling or ministry official, seeking him out for some task or service. 

Phantom became aware that if he was to survive and thrive in the ministry he needed to throw up a mask. Metaphorically speaking. Ghouls were not forced to wear their masks in the halls anymore. Not since Papa Terzo’s reform during his reign. And for that Phantom was grateful.

The young ghoul forced himself to join in on organised cuddle piles, nest building and meal times. There were nights when he would curl up next to his ghoul-kin by the grand open fire and watch as they indulged in their various hobbies. But as the darkness crept in he was ultimately alone. Swiss had Cumulus, Mountain preferred his solitude and the remainder happily fleeted between. But his door was always missed by Rain, Dew and the other ghoulettes, none offering to sleep beside him as they did with each other. 

Phantom never had anyone except for Copia in those brief stolen moments on the bus. It was only as he lay alone and cold in his bed that he realised how much better he’d slept in the clergyman’s arms, listening to the rhythmic beat of his human heart and comforted by the heat of his body.  His quarters were a far cry from that small, cosy bunk on the bus. The bed suddenly felt miles wide and the space around him was suffocating. 

There was no one there for him. Not in the quiet of his room. Not in the laundry rooms where the rattling of the dryers was overwhelming and the sweet smell of soap made his head hurt. 

Of course, he could just ask his ghoul-kin for comfort when the tendrils of breathlessness crept in. But he was much too embarrassed. He was a ghoul, a creature of the pit. There was nothing to be scared of and yet, there he was, defected by fear.

The other ghouls fit snuggly back into ministry life like they hadn’t been trapped together for six weeks on a cramped bus. They thought nothing of the vastness between them all, and the ability to simply be out in the open. Where Phantom was from space meant danger, and in the ministry, he felt exposed and alone in a wasteland of it. 

Even with the vast emptiness between them, the silence was by far the worst. Something he had longed for in his worst moments on the bus was not what he had wanted at all. Phantom heard too much within the complete and utter silence. No snoring or the shuffle of other bodies. No purring or smothered moans of ghouls in lust. No. This silence was richer, more empty. This gave way to the eerie clanging of old pipework, the whistle of the wind; the thoughts in his head.  They weren’t pleasant, they never were. They called him names and recounted every little thing he had ever done wrong. Over and over and over again until he was breathless and counting to ten.

~ ~ ~

Phantom had been stuck on laundry duty since his second week of summoning. He had no idea what laundry was but the clergy thought it a good place to put him regardless. Most Quinnissence ghouls ended up in the medical unit taking on various jobs within that role, jobs more suited to their elements.  But Phantom had been such an ‘ emergency hire ’ that they hadn’t had much time to think about his job. They saw an opening and slotted him in hoping he’d fit. 

It’s not that Phantom didn’t like the laundry. He got on with the siblings that worked there and it wasn’t exactly rocket science. But some of the sisters were overly chatty, the machines were too loud and the smells were overwhelming. More often than not he developed a throbbing headache by noon and went home stinking of generic detergent, and a bombardment of floral scents that just added to the pain behind his eyes. 

Four weeks after returning home Phantom woke with a headache that simply wouldn’t budge. His sleep was perpetually broken, he was sore from hauling sheets through the cellar and his mood was dropping more and more as the days went on. Swiss had made a joke about it being his ‘ time of the month ’ over dinner the previous evening, but Phantom had brushed it off. He knew the multi-ghoul hadn’t meant it viciously but it still stung. 

Were his wayward emotions becoming that obvious? 

Worst of all, Phantom thought as he brushed his fangs, was the fact that he was due to go on duty with Sister Samira. He sighed around his toothbrush. 

Sister Samira, a slender woman with a shrill voice and head full of mischief, was the loudest of siblings he worked with. While Phantom was fond of her on a good day there was nothing he wanted more than to run from her when he was feeling at his worst. When the mood struck him he was much better suited to the quiet company of Sister Greta or Brother Roe, neither of which pushed much for conversation. They were happy to work in relative silence, while Sister Samira felt the need to fill every inch of silence with conversation just for the sake of it. 

With a groan of despair, Phantom pulled on his work clothes and went straight to the kitchen for his morning coffee. As he shuffled down the corridor he silently prepped himself for his ghoul kin. He could already hear the strident voice of Dew, followed by the baritone notes of Moutain’s laugh, both creating a mix of contradicting emotions blooming in his chest. 

He loved his pack, he truly did, but with their company came questions and concerns, neither of which he had the energy to engage with. Fortunately for him, the gathering turned out to be small. Mountain manned the stove top, eggs bubbling on the griddle, while Dew and Cirrus crowded the island. 

“Good morning Bug!” Cirrus chirped as Phantom stepped carefully into the tunskin spotlights. 

He nodded in response, a small smile forced to the corners of his lips. Wordlessly he poured himself a cup of fresh coffee and came to stand next to the vivacious air ghoul. Dew continued his crusade, this time complaining about the siblings working alongside him in the kitchens. Phantom tried to listen, tried to make an effort to engage and laugh when appropriate, but his mind kept losing focus. There were glimpses of the conversation that would draw him back but he was largely planted in a far-off land, dreaming of a day when his soul would no longer feel like a shrivelled husk. 

“Bug?” 

The sound of his name brought Phantom crashing back to earth. He blinked several times, orbs dancing behind his eyelids, and shook through the haze. 

Cirrus’ head was bowed, almost touching the table as they struggled to meet his gaze. From their troubled countenance Phantom could only assume he’d missed more than just the one queue. 

“Bug, you in there?” They continued. 

“Y-yeah. Sorry. It’s - um- it’s early.” The young ghoul answered, his voice more cheery than his insides felt. 

Cirrus pursed their lips. Beside them, Dew exchanged interested glances with his earth counterpart. 

“Are you sure little bug?” Mountain slung a dishcloth over his shoulder and leaned heavily on the worktop, “If you’re not feeling good you should head up to Aether.” 

“No offence but I don’t wanna’ get what you’re carrying,” Dew remarked in a tone edging ever-so-slightly on patronising. 

“Dew! Don’t be so nasty.” Cirrus scolded. 

“I’m just sayin.’ If you’re sick, don’t spread it.” The fire ghoul scoffed.

“I can make some tea,” Mountain offered as he moved to his cupboard filled with loose leaves and herbal blends, “What ails you the most? Is it a headache? Brain fog? Maybe -”

“I’m fine, just drop it!!” Phantom snapped, his voice cracking in the middle and his nostrils flaring. With a sharp intake of breath, he struggled to stop his composure from dipping any further. 

He was met with surprise, his ghoul kin’s eyes unblinking and, in the case of Dew, mouth hanging open. The young ghoul didn’t know where his sudden outburst had come from. As a placid beast, anger was never his first emotion. And yet it ripped through him and spewed outwards before he had the opportunity to stop it. 

“Alright then,” Dew growled from behind his mug of coffee, “there’s no need to be so crabby.” 

Phantom swallowed back the lump forming in his throat. He felt hot, heat starting at the tip of his tail and peaking at his scalp. He wanted nothing more than to bite again but the fire ghoul was much too quick and sharp with his comebacks. Instead, he downed the remainder of his coffee, the liquid scalding his tongue and burning as it slid its way down into his stomach. 

“I-I have to go.” He whispered as he sidestepped Mountain who was still frozen by his cupboard of remedies, and dropped his mug into the sink, “S-sorry.”

He didn’t so much as turn to say goodbye, hellbent on leaving the quarters as soon as possible. No words from his ghoul-kin followed, instead left frozen on the tip of forked tongues, and for that Phantom was grateful. What else could possibly be said to take back the vicious way he’d spoken to them? And for what? Expressing concern?

As the door creaked shut behind him Phantom felt the heat of tears brimming in his eyes. He pushed onward, pulling the neck of his jacket up over his nose, and rushed towards the nearest haven. There was no way he could go to the laundry rooms like this, especially not with Sister Samira present. She would mother him too much and he feared he didn’t have the strength to hold his tongue. He made for the only other safe space he could think of; the basement bathrooms. No one else would be there this time of the morning, not even his colleagues in the laundry. 

The walk did nothing for his perverse emotions. Around him, the ministry started to shutter into life and he ramped up his pace, afraid he might run into some of the other ghouls or siblings. The last thing he wanted was to be caught crying in the hallways. 

Finally, he met the stairwell to the lower floors and, taking the steps in twos, he breathed a sigh of relief when he found the corridors silent, save for the static of the overhead lights. Phantom carefully approached the bathroom and listened intently for any sign of life within. Fortunately, the devils were shining upon him. There wasn’t a soul to be found.

He quickly shoved through the door and slid the solid lock in place before coming to rest against it. His heart thundered in his chest, the rhythm rattling against his ribcage causing his breath to catch in his throat. There it was again; the breathlessness. So intense this time that it brought Phantom to the floor, his arms wrapped around himself and body rocking forwards and back, like a pendulum. 

He tried desperately to engage in active breathing. Slow. In and out. But it wasn’t working. If anything the sweat was building across his body, prompting him to tear at his coat until it was discarded on the floor in front of him. 

Get it together!

Phantom bit down hard on his lip, feeling it pop beneath the pressure of his fangs. He didn’t even wince, instead, he brought his fists to card through his hair as he tried to chase the stars from his vision. 

Everything around him flashed in and out of focus. First distorted by tears and then by his wavering breaths. His chest felt like it was trapped within a vice, doing everything it could to wring the oxygen from his blood. 

This is how I die, isn’t it? Alone on the floor of a grubby bathroom drenched in my own tears? 

He pulled his body inwards, claws digging graves into his biceps and knees shaking beneath his chin. Sobs wracked through him.

Phantom didn’t know how long he sat there, wrapped up in his chaos and grievance. Voices came and went along the corridor beyond, footsteps shuffling as siblings and ghouls went about their workday. And he gradually became aware (but only vaguely concerned) that he too should be hauling sheets and mixing detergents. Guilt joined his fluster of blended emotions and he couldn’t help but berate himself for letting his colleagues down. 

Again.

Because this wasn’t the first time he was rendered useless by these feelings. It wasn’t the first time he had crawled into an alcove or hidden in the bathroom as his body was taken over by a sense of impending doom. And, of course, he knew it wouldn’t be the last. 

Eventually, some hours after, his heart began to still. The chains around his chest loosened and all that was left behind was the dull ache of tension throughout his body. Pain bloomed across his skull and his eyes felt like sandpaper. A telltale sign of a morning spent in misery. 

On quivering legs, Phantom rose to his feet and staggered across the floor towards the sink. He glared through the scratches and watermarks at his own sullen face, his cheeks red with valleys of tears and blood spotting his lips. 

Through all the feelings, both physical and mental, most of all Phantom was exhausted. He wanted nothing more than to crawl into the arms of Papa and sleep for an eternity. A sense of yearning appeared, so strong it broke through to the surface. This was a big enough reason to seek him out, right? It wasn’t just some anxiety and feeling unwell, this had been an honest-to-gods attack. 

He splashed water across his face, rubbing circles beneath his eyes and teasing his fingers through his hair. The coolness brought him further back to solid ground. 

There was no sense in dancing around it anymore. Papa had insisted that he reach out when things were getting tough. The man had made several attempts, as had Phantom, to correspond. Yet each had been interrupted by the clergy’s ever-incessant need to keep Copia busy. Sure it was three o’clock on a Tuesday afternoon, but Phantom needed help. And by Satan, he was done pretending that he didn’t.

~ ~ ~

In the dimly lit hallway leading to the clergy offices, Phantom clutched at his chest as he moved along the walls. His breath felt as if it were catching in his throat, coming in short increments as the weight of anxiety weighed down on him like an anvil. The air around him seemed thinner than it had been in the depths of the basement and every heartbeat echoed loudly in his ears. 

The bravado that had driven Phantom towards Copia’s office was dwindling with each step. But he was desperate for relief and had come too far to allow his guilt and shame to win. Yet, his legs trembled beneath him like jelly and his mind screamed profanities, words he didn’t want to hear but had no strength to stop. 

Finally, he stopped outside an ornate, deep mahogany door. The lettering on its golden plate read ‘Papa Emeritus IV’ . The young ghoul took a deep, shuttering breath, his eyes shutting briefly, before wrapping his knuckles against the wood. There was the shuffling of papers and muttering of voices from within, followed by movement. 

“Un momento per favoure.” Came a melodic voice from within. 

Phantom took a step back, a hand still grasping at his shirt, as the door was pulled inwards. Copia stared back at him, brows rising upwards as their eyes met.  

“Ah, Phantom.” He said before turning his head to address those in the room, “I will be just a moment. I trust you can talk amongst yourselves, si ?”

Without waiting for a response he stepped out into the hallway, clicking the door shut behind him. Phantom, visibly shaking and out of breath, leaned heavily against the window behind him, holding the sill for better support. 

“I-I’m sorry. I didn’t m-mean to interrupt you.” The ghoul stuttered, his voice somewhat strangled. 

“Please do not be sorry, Quin.” Copia gently placed a hand on Phantom’s shoulder, “What is going on? You look - I hope you do not mind me saying - terrible!” 

“Y-You’re busy. I-”

“Phantom, mio diavolo , I have a moment for you. Please talk to me.” 

Between ragged breaths, Phantom began recounting the overwhelming wave of panic that had engulfed and left him desperate for solace. The plea for help hung in the air between them as the ghoul slowly lost all momentum, his mind taking over and shutting down word by word. Guilt swirled in his gut, made worse by the knot in Copia’s brow and the remainder of company beyond the door. 

He was a busy Papa for Satan’s sake. What made Phantom think he had time for him? 

“But it’s - it’s fine. I-I s-should go. I really don’t know what brought me here.”

Phantom struggled,”I-I’m alright.” 

“Are you though?” Copia questioned. 

Before Phantom could respond the door to Copia’s office began to open behind him. The clergyman quickly turned on his heel to hinder the interruption. Phantom couldn’t see who he was speaking to, all he could hear was an exchange of Italian between the two, but he knew it was urgent. When Copia finally returned to him, the office securely shut again to give them some level of privacy, his lips were pulled into a tight frown. 

“I am so sorry, Quin. I want to be here for you, believe me, I do, but the clergy are relentless in their tasks,” he explained, his voice filled with genuine regret.

Phantom’s desperation deepened and he fought back tears, feeling a pang of disappointment at the inability to find relief. But he bit at his bottom lip, determined to accept his rejection with at least some resemblance of dignity. 

“Please accept my deepest apologies. I do not intend to do this, believe me, but I need to finish this meeting with Brother Gabriel and Papa Secundo. You understand, si ? I promise I will call you later.”

“O-okay.” Phantom whispered, taking several deep and shaky breaths. 

“We will speak later this evening. In the meantime keep breathing deeply, and practice what we talked about back on tour, si ?” 

Silence stretched thin between them as Phantom fought to find the words to respond. His heart felt heavy in his chest, stomach wrought tight with festering shame and anger. Yet, he understood the obligations life as Papa held. Phantom was not his only priority and he was selfish for ever thinking any different. 

"O-okay, I'll-I’ll try," he finally whispered, taking shaky breaths as he continued to lean against the cool glass. 

“Will you be alright until then? Do you need me to call one of your pack to walk you back to the den?” 

Phantom shook his head, careful to avert his eyes for fear that the clergyman would see his tears. The last thing he wanted was any of his ghoul-kin to see him like this, defeated and rejected outside their Papa’s door. 

“Quin,” Copia reached for Phantom’s hand but the ghoul moved away, his body shuttering backwards. A flash of surprise flooded the clergyman’s countenance but only for a moment, “We will talk this evening. Please be safe until then. Promise me?”  

But the ghoul didn’t respond, he simply nodded over and over until he resembled a novelty ornament. His body continued to back away as Copia stood, hands helplessly in the air as if he wanted nothing more than to reach for him. 

“Phantom…”

The little ghoul turned on his heel and bolted from the hallway. He ignored the shouts from Papa and pushed through the pain blazing in his chest, his thoughts consumed with hiding. He had made a fool of himself and as he ran, brickwork and bodies blurring around him, it was all he could do to keep himself from falling apart.

Not now. Not until you’re safe beyond the door of your nest. The shame he felt was heavy enough. He didn’t need the pack or, Satan forbid, strangers seeing him for the pitiful wretch he truly was. 

Eventually Phantom found himself at the entrance to the ghoul wing and it occurred to him that while his bed was safely beyond, so were his kin. 

The ghoul dragged the rough fabric of his sleeves across his eyes. The skin felt raw and swollen from crying, and he knew without a doubt that his pack would clock it immediately. Sighing he stepped into the den and prayed to Satan that everyone was still working on their chores. 

But he wasn’t so lucky.

Crowded around the open fire of the living area were Swiss, Cumulus, Dew and Cirrus, all cradling mugs of various colours and enjoying each other's company. Their conversation drifted off as Phantom attempted to move past them and into the corridor connecting their rooms.

“Afternoon bug!” Swiss called through a toothy grin, “Want a cup of coffee?” 

Phantom offered a firm shake of his head in response, his eyes fixed on the floor in front of him. His heartbeat thundered in his chest and he felt his fingers begin to shake. He thrust them into the pocket of his hooded top in an attempt to conceal them. 

Cumulus placed her mug on the coffee table and swiftly moved towards the little ghoul. 

“Are you alright bug?” She asked, raising her arm in an attempt to pull him into a hug. But he flinched and moved backwards away from her grasp. 

“I-I’m fine,” Phantom replied, his voice high and cracking in protest. 

He gave her a half-hearted smile and attempted to move around her, only to be stopped in his tracks by Dew’s shrill voice.

“What? Did Papa kick you out like a stray dog and now you’re too good to hang out with us?” The fire ghoul said, clearly meant as a joke but not landing as one. 

Phantom, despite his fragile mental state, growled deep within his chest. 

“H-how did -.” He grumbled, his hands closing into fists in his pocket. His mind was swimming; How had they known he’d just been at Papa’s?

Beside him Cumulus hovered close by, her ears pulled downwards and her hands daring to come closer. 

“Dew! That was inappropriate.” Cirrus snarled at the fire-ghoul before focusing on Phantom, “Little bug, Papa sent me a little text to let us know you’d just left his office and you were quite upset - .” 

“W-what?” Phantom whined, embarrassment coiling within him and wrapping around his chest like a viper, “No. I-it’s not like that. I-I-I’m fine. It’s - I - I” He struggled to find the words, his heart was hammering in his ears and his mind hazy. 

“Use your words, Bug. You’re not a kit.” Dew spoke again, his voice softer. But the words still stung in Phantom’s ears. 

A kit. They thought him nothing more than a baby unable to use his words. A helpless child running to Papa when things got tough. How pathetic. 

“Fucking hell, Dewdrop! Read the room, dude!” Cirrus landed a strong punch to Dew’s bicep. He hissed as his coffee spilt over the rug under his feet. 

“What? I was only kidding. He knows that. Right, bug?” 

“It’s not the time. He’s upset. Christ!” Cirrus barked, “You need to learn how to be more sensitive.” 

As the pair squabbled, each nipping at the other's heels, Swiss stood to join his mate in comforting Phantom. The multi-ghoul attempted to cross his arm around the young ghoul’s shoulder only to be shrugged off. 

“Bug if something's worrying you we can talk about it. That’s what we’re here for.” Swiss urged. 

Phantom shook his head. He couldn’t meet their eyes, instead keeping them fixated on the blue opal pendant around Cumulus’ neck. In an attempt to calm his beating heart, Phantom thought back to the day it was bought and how excited Swiss had been to find something that described his mate's eyes so perfectly. He’d dragged Phantom and Dew along with him to a crystal shop in downtown Stockholm just for it. It was one of the only times that Phantom had felt included and not just someone to fill the line-up. Swiss, despite his playboy demeanour, had always tried to make an effort with Phantom because, in the multi-ghoul’s words, everyone was new once. 

Somewhere above him, in the land of the living, Cumulus said his name. He looked up to show acknowledgement.

“Bug, sweetheart, can I take you to your nest? Swiss can make you some hot chocolate and I can get you tucked into bed.” 

She meant well, Phantom knew that, but the more she talked the more he felt like a baby being mollycoddled. 

“What do you need, buddy?” Swiss, once again trying and failing to pull the little ghoul into a loving embrace, “We can’t help you if you don’t let us.”

“I-um-I-I just want t-to be left alone.” Phantom managed, his voice hoarse with tears. 

 Swiss and Cumulus exchanged worried looks. Behind them, Cirrus and Dew were silent, their scuffle having come to a close. Phantom didn’t dare look in their direction for fear of what he might see. More pity? Further judgement from Dew? Maybe even frustration. 

“P-please. Can I just go?” Phantom asked meekly. 

With a heavy sigh and a brief moment of ponderous stillness, Swiss nodded. 

“Okay, bug. But you know where we are, right? Just call for us and we’ll be there.” 

Phantom didn’t wait for further confirmation. He pulled his jacket tightly around himself and all but ran in the direction of his room. Behind him, he could hear the hushed whispers spark between the ghouls, but he did his best not to listen. Already ripe with kindling of his own, he didn’t need any more fuel for his fire.

~ Read In Full Here ~

[purityschaos]

My love looking hot as fuck in Tokyo 🖤👻 Reposted from @ghost_band_russia - GHOST IN TOKYO photo by Yuki Kuroyanagi #ghostbandrussia #tour #Japan #Tokyo #download #metal #festival #apaletournameddeath #cardinal #strakeapose #cardinalcopia #street #cardic #aptnd #live #fan #tobiasforge #ghost #theghostband #ghostband #ghostbc #thebandghost #jigolo #thenamelessghouls #ghoul #ghoulettes #nameless #ghuleh #ghoulette #shibuya https://www.instagram.com/p/BveKo93hGaW/?utm_source=ig_tumblr_share&igshid=12jbjpoxlfyk2

[casscois]

fuck it, rosary pop-it