#metal clergy

[thebandghostofficial]

[MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY]

We wish to inform you that sometimes in life, all you have to do is ask nicely.

Watch Chapter 17 now.

[sirianisrock]

Secondo.

Not too satisfied,but I just wanted to scratch an itch.

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Dispater, Lord of those Below

No Kings Beyond Death

A god of riches and horrors beneath the earth, protector and jailer of the departed souls, grim Dispater rules many realms with a stern hand and an iron will. Often cursed and seldom praised by mortals, it is this god's cosmic lot to keep order in the underworld, where the caverns of the mortal plane intersect with the labyrinths of the underdark and the shadowed halls of the dead.

While his worship overlaps with many other gods of death, few pray to Dispater as his heart is thought to be as cold and unmoving as stone, hardened by the grim work of keeping the domains to which psycopomps and other terminal forces deliver souls, ensuring that they neither have the chance to escape nor that they are picked off by fiends or other malign spirits.

Judges and other arbiters sometimes swear by him, especially when handling matters of life and death, as do miners, bankers, and others who work in precious metals or stones, as Dispater has a connection to caverns and other buried places. His clergy collects tribute in the form of those soft, perishable things that cannot be found below the earth: grain and livestock, flowers and wine. Their sacrifices of these things are said to pass on to the dead themselves, after their lord has taken his due tithe.

Adventure Hooks:

A monstrous bat haunts the countryside, endlessly harrying a graverobber who pilfered from a cemetery consecrated in Dispater's name. The exhausted scoundrel just so happens to have taken refuge in the same country inn as the party, passing himself off as a peddler who was shaken down by bandits. When the bat attacks that night (as he knows it will) he hopes to use the chaos to shift some of his plunder into the heroes' packs, diverting the creature and the divine wrath it represents.

Rumour is, if you find a trail of archaic coins scattered along the road, following it will lead you to one of the mysterious grey merchants, traders from the underworld who deal in memories and mementos cast off by the dead. Woe to anyone who attempts to harry or cheat the merchant though, as they travel under the protection of the lord below.

Shortly after a resurrection of a partymember (that may or may not have gone wrong), the heroes are approached by a dour devil in clerk's garb who insists that they need to follow her into the underworld to help clear up some post-mortality paperwork, or else their friend's soul might be held in litigation for a literal eternity. "Clearing up" in this case involves helping to clear out a field office somewhere in the shadowfell overtaken by the unquiet dead, fending off hostile spirits while the devil and the deceased do a lightninground of signatures on the relevant forms.

Behind the scenes: Hades has fascinated me since I started learning a mythology, and that fascination has only grown as I've traced the idea of him through history and popculture.

Like all the other Greek gods, Hades gets a roman makeover in Pluto; god of earth, the underworld, and wealth. One of his titles "Dis Pater" literally means " Father of Riches", as the earth contains both mineral wealth and the wealth of good harvests.

Because of his association with the underworld Pluto/Dis Pater starts to get adapted into emerging Christian Mythology as the devil, as his realm of of Tartarus (and its punishments reserved for the most wicked) likewise becomes Hell (which exists to torture anyone who sins and doesn't believe).

Fast forward about a millennia and a half and you have the creators of d&d making all the different names for the devil into a rogue's gallery of different fiends. With Dispater's connection to greek mythology completely forgotten he gets sectioned off as the extra schemey member of hell's boyband, at once brilliantly adept at making plans and driven mad with his own paranoia. While this makes him a little more interesting than some of the other devils, it just wasn't enough for me in the end, so a revamp had to ensue.

I wanted to take things full circle and use Dispater's name to bring my own Hades analog into my game's mythology, a god not of death but specifically the underworld, fully drawing on the connotations of both afterlife and underground. Playing with motifs of kingship and a "death and taxes" sort of legalism also makes for unique themes when it comes to the subjectmatter of mortality: Dispater as death is owed tribute by natural and divine law, but that relationship also grants protections to the tributary. Imagine a paladin of Dispater saving someone's life from unlawful execution because they are owed a righteous death.

Thanks as always to @5ecardaday for the monster stats

Artsource

[ragequeen94]

imagine cooking/having dinner with the Papas

sfw... kissing? lots of wine.

fanon understanding that Terzo is very bad at speaking English.

Primo

It had been a nice surprise when the Papa Emeritus the First had invited you to his quarters for dinner, you hadn't assumed it would be... just you and him though. You both had been dancing around each other gently for a while now. He was older, and so where you, did that mean that romance was not something you could dream of? He opened the door to his private quarters, the smell of fresh basil and faintly nicotine rolled out passed him as he stood over you, a grin spreading over his face. "Ciao Bella...."

"Papa." You bowed you head, the air around you intoxicating. "I brought wine, Papa." You stepped into the rooms, this was when you realized it would be just you and him. You stepped further into the room, he closed the heavy doors behind you as you took in his personal space. You'd never been here before, you assumed few had. dried garlic and sun dried tomatoes hung from the windows, spices and dried herbs on the shelves, the surfaces all covered in flour from what ever he had been cooking. But it smelled amazing. "Papa...-"

"In here you may, call be Primo, it is my name." He walked passed you, jumping to turn the heat down on a boiling pot, he lifted the lid and the smelled of spiced tomatoes mixxed in the air. He reached into a drawer and without really looking at you handed you a bottle opener. you stared at it, almost confused, like the metal spiral was foreign technology. "For the wine, Bella."

"OH!" you accepted it from him and went to work uncorking the bottle, a little panicked you didn't know where the glasses were kept. You placed the popped cork on the counter top, the screw still buried inside. "Papa.... er... Primo... do you have glasses."

"Si.." He turned back to you, turning off all the stove burner. What ever he had made was done. He walked straight to you, he was close, so very close. His long fingers slowly wrapping around the neck of the bottle and and taking it from you. Instead he brought it to his lips and sipped straight from the bottle. "Very good. Red wine is best of all, is it not?"

He reached over your head, his body pressing against yours as he brought down two wine classes from a cupboard you hadn't noticed before. He put them on the counter behind you, the glasses clinking lightly on the tiles, he still held the bottle, bringing it to his lips again for another sip. Both of you were flush against the other, staring into the other eyes. The smell of wine on his breath made you brave. You tilted your head, getting closer, there was no way he didn't know what you wanted. "Primo... let me taste it then..."

He leaned his head down and his lips met yours. He tasted of the wine, but of dinner. He had been sampling as he cooked. Your stomach growled. But you both stayed still, you still stealing little kisses from him, he let you doat on him a little. "We should eat, Bella. Then, plenty of wine and plenty of this. All the time in the world."

Secondo

Dinner had been fun, you enjoyed your time as a senior member of the church. You had worked hard, been dedicated, given up everything... you had happily done so in the name of the One Below, but there were parts of you that were... sad. That felt like you had missed out of parts of what life was meant to offer. Odd, considering you were a sister of sin and there was no vice in life you were not almost duty bound to sample. It wasn't until now, now that you sat at the same table to those who always seemed so far from you, so superior, and now you were equal. You sat back, swirling the rest of your wine, your third glass, as the espresso was brought out. You sat at the table with the head clergy, with Papa and his inner circle, with his family. And his family was loud, and very Italian. You felt eyes on you, eyes that had been on your all night.

Sat besides his older brother Papa Secondo smirked at you he sipped his coffee. There was an added bonus to your newly found power and position. The attention of Papa Emeritus the Second, he grinned wide at you, his gaze sliding away from you as his rowdy younger brother stood, telling a tale with wild hand movements, the quiet cardinal sat besides him was splattered with wine from the glass Terzo had apparently forgotten he was holding. Secondo barked a laugh, his eyes sliding back to your seat, only to find you gone. He quickly sat up in his seat, trying to find you in the mostly empty canteen. His family always sat at the dinner table for hours, it was the way things were done. Usually not headed to bed until Papa Nihil had fallen asleep in his chair.

He saw you slip into the kitchens. Secondo got up to follow, not bothering to excuse himself or offer explanation to his family as they called after him. You were searching through wine fridges that lined the underside of the kitchen counters. There always had to be enough wine on hand. "Cucciola... you could not be searching for more wine..." He teased as he strolled straight for you.

"Papa..." you murmured. "Jus' making up for lost time." You grinned. He was very aware of your sudden head first dive into hedonism, and he longed to be the one to lead you to your deepest desires.

"Cucciola... perhaps it is late in the night to open a new bottle of wine." He got close to you, his hand reaching up and running a thumb over your lip, it was stained dark red already. "Are you not sated?"

"Never, Papa." You smiled, drunkenly, reaching for him, grabbing him by the front of his button up shirt. "Papa... I'm still hungry... still thirsty..." You inched close. If you had been sober you would never have been so brave. But a lot could be said for the magic found wine and fresh bread. Secondo grinned like a predator, his sharp canine teeth gleaming passed his lips. He leaned down the rest of the way and pressed a kiss to your lips, quickly pushing you up against one of the cold stainless steel fridges, what ever was inside rattled. You didn't care as you gripped onto his shoulders and let his devour you.

"Papa... Papa..."

"Quiet Cucciola, be good for Papa... I will show teach you to live deliciously."

Terzo

You were nervous. It had gotten into your head to invite Papa Terzo over for dinner. You'd been getting to know one another, had gone out, slept together a few times; it hadn't gotten much deeper than that, and you couldn't really tell if he was interested in more than your company in his bed.

You looked at the meal you had prepared proud for only a moment. you were the best cook, you often got carried away with ingredients and ended up going rogue when it came to following recipes. When you had picked out what you wanted to cook your first instinct had been to go for Italian food. Terzo was Italian, so you hoped at least he would like what you pulled together. Then you remembered... he was Italian, and had probably grown up eating the best authentic Italian food on the planet. With home made spaghetti and everything! Suddenly you wanted to throw it all in the garbage... he was going to be so disappointed.

He knocked on your door, a little late but that had only given you time to clean up the kitchen and get the table set how you liked it. You hadn't really noticed his tardiness, only that he yelled it in your face when you opened the door.

"Cioccolatino! I am late! I am much sorry's!" He pranced into your dormitory apartment, flowers in his hand and two bottles of wine. He wrapped his arms around you and pulled you into a kiss before he made a show of breathing deep. "Smells so good in here!"

He walked into your home like he belonged there, instantly pulling down a vase from a top cabinet and popping the flowers into some water before putting them on the dinner table. you dug through the kitchen utensils looking for a bottle opener (you didn't want him to know most of your wine came from a box). "they are beautiful, Papa..."

"Terzo, you knows this. I been telling you, when it me and you, it can just be Terzo." He leaned in and kissed you again. "I like how it sounds when you say it, your accent so cute."

You raised a brow, smiling at the thought that to him you were the one with the funny accent. God knows how it sounded to him when you had tried to say thing in his native language. "Then sit down, Terzo, or you'll have a cold dinner."

He pulled out your chair before opening the wine and pouring you a very full glass. "I am very hunger, I am excited to be invited for dinner." He chirped, dropping himself in his chair and you both served yourselves, though you watched closely. staring at him as he put the first bite in his mouth.

"Do you like... it?" You worried your lip watching his face as he chewed. "I know its probably not what your used to but i tried..."

"It is very good! Molto saporito! were is from? We shall order again some time!" He nodded excitedly. Your mouth dropped a little. Not really sure how to correct him, or if he was joking.

"Oh... well i made it myself." You muttered. A little shy about it for some reason. Terzo looked down at his plate and at the food still on the serving pans.

"You make for me?" Terzo reached out and grabbed his hand. "I am much sorry i not understand this earlier! What is called this dish? No one make as good as you, surely." Terzo started to shovel his dinner into his mouth, so interested in his food he hadn't even touched his wine.

"Oh... its not really anything... just kinda, a bunch of italian flavors put together. I think i was trying to make cacciatore but got a little carried away with sides and... yeah..." You smiled and sipped your wine. He obviously was very impressed and it stroked your ego to see him do so. "Just like back home, hu?"

it had meant to be a joke, nothing more but he looked a little sad and a little confused at the idea. "Back home food is not always so good, i have never had this before. Abbey kitchen cooks are not always so talented... Primo not a good cook like a mama when we are young" he put another very full fork full into his mouth, trying to laugh at the same time. "If i have this every day i'd be a round Papa."

You reached out and grabbed his hand, squeezing it, he leaned down and kissed your knuckles (neither caring he got sauce from his lips on your hand). He smiled at you gently, pausing his gluttony to stare at your face. he looked like he wanted to say something more, some thought danced around on his tongue but didn't make it passed his lips. he signed and seemed content to just enjoy looking at you. before he realized what he was doing.

"Sorrys i... um... lost my thinking." He let go of your hand. "i thanks you, cara. This is most best meal i shall eat."

Copia

You sat at the small kitchenette in Papa Emeritus the Fourths private quarters. You'd been officially dating for a little over a month at this point, and he had been so very sweet. Sweeter than any man you'd ever been with up to this point, being with him was kind of like being in... puppy love. He was a little awkward, a little nervous, and very unsure. He apologized a lot and stumbled over his words, when he held your hand it was always clammy and his grip a little too tight. You had guessed his awkwardness had been because of social anxiety, which he was in no short supply of. It had been your idea to have dinner in, to cook together and enjoy a meal.

Copia had had other plans, he always wanted to treat you like a princess, was determined to do so to a fault. Sometimes you didnt mind being treated like a whore. He would figure that out eventually. You hoped. You'd kissed and cuddled and there had been some more heated movements between the two of you but he had failed to make an assertive move on you. The plan was to get enough wine in him tonight to help him shed any anxiety he had.

You watched as he cursed and shook his hand, he had burned it on the hot saucepan some how. It had been like this for a while. You sat at the made table, the candles not yet lit, a once very full glass of wine now... not so full sitting by you hand. There was bread that had been taken from the kitchens (you had insisted he not try cooking and baking in the same day) with very room temp butter waiting. He had apparently had to restart everything when the pasta he had boiled had boiled for too long without his attention and had turned into a glutenous blob. Now he was trying gnocchi. You'd eat dino nuggets at this point you were so hungry.

but you waited.

and waited.

"Copia... my love. My sun and moon, stars in my sky." You stood from your spot, you ass sticking to the chair in places, you'd been in one place for so long. He was sweating, dark brown hair sticking to the back of his neck, sleaves rolled up to his elbows, flour he had no real reason to even have out was covering him in small splotches, there was a burn on the inside of his wrist you noted was getting red and angry. "Let me help you..."

"Im sorry." He muttered. He looked defeated. "Im just no good at this kind of thing. Cooking... looked easy in the movies." He grunted. He had been trying to slice up zucchini for some other dish. Looking over the pantry of ingredients he had dragged out onto the counter top you tried to make head or tails of what he had been trying to accomplish but it was a mess. You knew there was chicken in the oven, you were sure he had poured as much seasonings onto it as possible without knowing what they even were. There were raw potatoes on the counter, for some reason a bag of frozen fish he seemed to have forgotten about. all kinds of vegetables half chopped and ignored, the only thing actually cooking were the gnocchi and some very chunky pasta sauce he had made by putting a dozen tomatoes in a blender with half a bottle of wine and some garlic.

"I want to help. I get to be close to you." You kissed his cheek, he leaned into your touch. You started to clear the counter tops to try and declutter what you really needed and help his stress. "I don't need anything fancy my love. A pizza and your company is enough-"

Copia frowned and looked a little angry. He stayed silent to a while then rather aggressively threw open the oven to check the chicken. It actually looked pretty good and smelled nice. He slammed shut the oven door and crossed his arms over his chest. "I want to do this nice thing for you, vita mia. I want to be a good boyfriend and be able to make risotto. Not burn pasta."

You looked around, trying to spot any trace of risotto. He gestured to the trash can. You smiled and walked over to him. Leaning up to kiss him, gabbing is belt to pull him close to you. "You are the best boyfriend with or with out risotto."

He nodded still upset but obviously defeated.

The gnocchi caught fire,

After the fire alarms had been turned off and the destruction cleared you couldn't help but giggle. You lead him to the living room, after having moved the setting from the kitchen table to the coffee table. And with two large glasses of wine you both sat and watched a horror movie picking at a whole chicken, still in the baking pan, with your fingers.

[hotchscoffeecup]

for her, i’d endure

pairing: emily prentiss x reader

rating: t

word count: 7.6k

genre: angst, hurt/comfort

warnings: torture, descriptions of blood/injuries, drugs

summary: When you and Emily are kidnapped by The Chameleon, an elusive unsub that team had been tracking for years, you’re forced to watch her endure torture at his hands. In the hospital, you reel from your own injuries and the guilt of not being able to stop anything from happening to her. Angst and hurt/comfort with a happy end.

It’s hard to keep them open from the pain it causes you to try. You can’t help the slow drowsy blinking that follows. If they’re closed it doesn’t hurt as bad. Maybe this is a dream. Yeah, a dream. Just close your eyes and go to sleep, you tell yourself. You’ll feel fine in the morning.

Someone harshly whispers your name. You stir, but ignore it. Closing your eyes, you murmur something that isn’t quite a response, and try to welcome the darkness to take over. You just want to sleep whatever this is off…you try to at least. The harsh rasping whisper returns. There’s your name two, three times.

“Huh?” is all you can muster as you crack your eyes open once more. There’s a fluorescent light somewhere to your left, casting strange shadows over your field of vision. Your eyes burn. You want to close them again.

“Yes, that’s it!” cries the whisperer, “stay with me!” There’s an urgency in their voice, and as you take a few measured breaths, you gain more and more control over your senses. “Are you hurt?”

Emily. That’s Emily’s voice.

“My head,” you complain about the throbbing in your temples. “I think I hit my head.” You move to touch the side of your skull to assess the damage when your wrists don’t follow through with the command from your brain.

“What the—” There’s a sudden clarity that takes over as you hear the clatter of metal against metal. Your wrists are bound behind your back. You kick your legs out, or at least you try to. They’re bound too with zip ties to the legs of a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor.

“Don’t panic.”

“Emily?”

Fingers brush against yours from behind your back and you cling to them, though it’s awkward as you try to reach them. You’d know the feel of her hands anywhere. He’s got you and her back to back.

“I’m here,” she says soothingly, despite the edge in her voice.

“What happened?” you ask as your field of vision begins to clear and the picture of where you’re being held begins to form. It's dark save the fluorescent light you noticed earlier. There’s a few panels in the ceiling still flickering to life, though most are dark. Wires and cables hang haphazardly from the ceiling and water drips from a cracked pipe that stretches over the width of the room. The floor beneath your feet is concrete. You can’t see a door and the only windows are two small rectangles high near the ceiling. You’re underground. “Where are we?”

“The Chameleon,” Emily says after a short while.

Your heart skips a beat and you have to take a few measured breaths to keep the panic from creeping in. “You’re sure?”

The Chameleon, nicknamed such by the local media, is a serial killer that you and the team had been chasing across the East Coast for the last two years.You and the team didn’t care much for these nicknames as they often sensationalize the killer and detract from the victims, but it the name was fitting due to his nature to blend in to every environment he’s been a part of. This is largely due to how he is able to gain his victims' trust. Some of his known ruses include posing as law enforcement, a member of the clergy, other first responders, caretaker for a “lost” elderly patient, and more. He’d feign a scenario that caused the victims to unlock their doors, stop their cars, or otherwise pull their focus under the guise of safety. Once their guard was down, that was all he needed to ensnare them in his trap. Victims were initially blitz attacked, as evident by the bruising to their heads and faces, but as he evolved he began to dose them with heavy sedatives before taking them to a secondary location where he’d hold them for twenty four hours. During this time, he tortured his victims indiscriminately; sometimes cutting, sometimes burning, sometimes removing pieces of them or utilizing a combination of all three before ultimately succumbing to his need to kill. He favored a knife, often slitting the throats of his victims once he’d grown tired of playing with them. Despite his ability to blend in and kidnap his victims undetected, everything else originally pointed to someone just starting out, unsure of their preferences. However, this unsub evolved quickly. Victimology stopped differing and he’d settled on a pattern for women in their thirties, dark features, and often in roles that provided some sort of power. Though methods of torture varied, the rotation or combination of torture implicated states similar enough to create a pattern. He stuck to the routine, though. One woman every three months for the last two years. That was until recently. Now, a woman had been going missing weekly, suggesting a major deviation. Something had changed for this unsub, increasing his need to kill quicker and more often. Emily fits the victimology, but taking you too? It didn’t make sense? He’d never taken in pairs before.

“Fuck,” you mutter. You pull at the cuffs around your wrists, but they’re clamped too tightly. They don’t budge. “How long was I out?” you ask.

“Hours,” Emily responds. She sounds tired. “I don’t know how many.”

You blindly reach for her fingers again, this time with your other hand. When you brush against them, they’re slick with something.

“Emily?” you ask, concern edging into your voice. “What’s he done to you?”

“Cutting,” Emily answers clinically. “Left arm, chest, and right leg. They’re superficial.”

Red clouds your vision knowing he’d hurt the woman you love, and that you’d not been conscious enough to at least try to do anything about it. When you get your hands around this bastard’s neck…you yank hard against your restraints and hiss when all it does is cause the metal to dig deeper into your wrists.

“Baby, stop,” Emily whispers, keeping her voice low in case The Chameleon can hear. “We’ve been closing in on this guy. We just have to hope the team recognizes we’re gone before…” her voice trails off as a door opens.

Your heart stops and then starts, it’s usually steady beat now pumping erratically against your chest. You remind yourself to breathe, to take measured breaths to slow your heart and fight off the instinct to panic. The body’s natural inclination for self-preservation is astounding, but you couldn’t just think about yourself right now. You needed to be alert and look for anyway to wriggle into this guy’s psyche, anything to keep him from hurting Emily any further.

There’s a metallic clank as whatever door that’s out of your eye line slams shut. Heavy footsteps echo in the space and you count. Twenty four. There’s twenty four steps. You can’t fight the way your body tenses as a silhouette begins to emerge from the shadows. As the figure comes into focus, your eyes widen in surprise.

“Surprised to see me?” the man says, a twisted smile curving on his

“You know him?” Emily asks as she attempts to crane her neck to look at him.

You take in the man before you: white, mid-30s, average build, dark curly hair, and blue eyes wild with evil intent. You don’t know his name, but you've seen him before. You all had. Your mind flashes to each body dump where the team had investigated and gathered initial evidence to further flesh out the profile. You close your eyes and let your mind’s eye expand your field of vision to include the gathering crowd of onlookers. As you mentally guide yourself through each crime scene, you can clearly see him.

“You were there the whole time,” you say with a surprisingly level of calm as you open your eyes and meet his gaze directly.

He extends his arms to either side, a look-at-all-i-have-accomplished gesture, though there’s no audience save the two of you to take in his performance. “What can I say?” he says. “The media named me for my ability to blend in anywhere I go. I like the nickname, I do.” He points his finger at you as he begins to circle around you and Emily like you’re an injured seal in shark infested waters. “Though you profilers don’t like when these major news outlets do that. It sensationalizes the killer while taking away from victims.” He stops in front of you and bends at the waist to look you in the eye. You muster as much contempt into your gaze as possible.

“Good,” he snarls. “Those sluts aren’t worth remembering anyway. Any thoughts on that, agent?”

You nod. “Yeah, actually, I think I’m pretty tired of listening to you whine about your mommy issues.” A fire ignites in his eyes as you say this. You smirk. “Ooo, that did something. Did that strike a nerve?”

His lip curls as he takes a shuddering breath.

“I think I did, didn’t I?”

His knuckles collide with your face and there’s an explosion of stars behind your eyes as you feel your lip split in two. Emily calls your name and curses the unsub’s. There’s a buzzing in your ears as you blink the fog away. You sit up as best as you can and spit blood onto the floor. If his attention is on you, it’s not on Emily.

“Is that the best you can do?” you say, leveling your gaze back on The Chameleon. “You had to hit me from behind the first time. Are you scared to face a woman head on? Too much of a coward to face them? Or are you just too weak?” You incline your head toward your lap. “After all, you’ve got us tied up. Untie me and we’ll see just how well you do one on one.”

The Chameleon seethes, nostrils flaring as his rage blossoms. “You know nothing!” he bites.

“We know, everything.” You answer. He may not have been on the team’s radar, but you’ve seen this type before; a man that’s been forced into a submissive role and emasculated his entire life finally snaps and turns the tables on innocent women to make up for the lack of care he missed out on from a mother figure his entire life. He blames them because he can’t take his anger out on the person he wants to most. Mommy.

“Do you?” he sneers and you don’t flinch away from his hot breath on your neck.

“You’re easier to read than a children’s nursery rhyme,” you taunt.

The Chameleon snarls and this time his knuckles collide with the center of your face and there’s a sickening crunch. Blood pours from your broken nose onto the front of your shirt.

“Enough!” Emily shouts. “She’s not the one you want.”

You blink through the haze and blaring pain. Emily’s name is garbled as you try to say it, but there’s too much blood in your mouth. Just like the flickering gaze of a reptile, his eyes shift instantly to her. The desire that alights his face makes you want to throw up. She’s the one that fits the victimology. She’s the surrogate, the object of desire in his twisted fantasy.

“I think,” he says slowly, and you’re surprised you don’t see a serpentine tongue flicker between his lips. “That this next part will be more fun with an audience.”

Your vision shifts in and out of focus as you follow his movements. He shuffles just out of view of your peripheral vision and trying to force your eyes to see farther than they can exacerbates the splitting pain in your skull and face. Everything throbs. You can hardly see straight.

He returns with a syringe in hand. He holds it up for you to see. “Maybe I am weak,” he says bitterly. “But I’m the one in control and there’s nothing you can do about it.” He pushes the syringe into your arm and a slow, metallic heat creeps through your veins. Your limbs quickly grow heavy and your senses begin to dull.

Behind you, Emily pulls at her restraints. “Hey! What are you giving her? Leave her alone. You don’t want her, you want me.”

A choked laugh escapes the unsub as he cuts the zip ties at your ankles. You want to kick out at him and knock that smug look off of his face but the signals from your brain are cut off. Your body won’t follow the command your mind is ordering due to the drugs scrambling your system. Your eyelids are heavy. You want to close them. The unsub recognizes this and slaps at your face. “No, no. You can’t close your eyes, now. You’ve got a show to watch.” His lips twist into a sickeningly delighted smile. He slips a key from his pocket and undoes both sets of cuffs keeping you bound to the chair. You slump forward against him and he catches your weight easily. He wraps his arms around your waist and grunts as he hoists you over his shoulder. There’s static coursing through your limbs and despite every wish and desire to lift even a finger, your limbs don’t cooperate.

You slide off of him like rain down a windowpane, though instead of coming to a gentle stop you hit the ground like a stone thrown into a pond; all of your weight crashing down. Your head rattles against the wall and stars explode across your vision once more.

Emily calls your name and you try to focus on that. You blink and her form comes into focus. She’s bound in the same manner that you were in a chair exactly like yours. There’s blood staining her clothes, her blouse cut to ribbons and her pant leg tattered from where he slit it open with a knife; the same knife he used to cut into skin. Blood drips onto the floor.

She smiles at you and her gaze is so tender as her eyes meet yours. “Whatever he does to me, it is not your fault.” She’s soothing you. She’s about to endure more torture and she’s trying to comfort you.

You want to speak, to tell her you’re sorry, that you love her. You want to stand, to untie her and take her to safety. Most of all you want to put that unsub in the ground. A single tear leaks from your eye as The Chameleon wheels a tray table near Emily. The soft eyes she reserved for you steel upon seeing him.

He picks up a scalpel, his fingers gentle as he curls them around it; a stark contrast to the violence he inflicts with it. “Let’s get started, shall we?”

Emily licks her lips and raises her chin to look him in the eye, defiant in the face of danger. “I’ve already come back from the dead once before. At least if you’re successful, I know whose ass I’m haunting first.” She narrows her brown eyes to slits. “Come on, lizard boy. Let’s dance.”

•

Tears leak down your cheeks as you’re forced to watch what he does to her. She continues to taunt him, but her voice has grown weak. She’s losing too much blood.

“I wonder,” Emily says, her breathing labored. She lifts her gaze to meet the unsub’s. “You love that knife.” She inclines her chin toward the blade in his hand and his fingers twitch. “Tell me, is it because you can’t get up? Are our mommy issues too severe?”

A wild scream tears from his throat as he backhands her. A sharp grunt of pain leaves her lips but no scream. She sheds no tears for him. She’ll show no fear to him and allow him to feed off of her emotions like he did with his other victims, but he knows she must be feeling the weight of the torture, of the exhaustion settling in.

Her voice is tired, but her words are dagger tipped. “You’re not a man,” she spits blood on the ground, her teeth stained with it as she bares them at him. “You’re just a coward, a little boy missing mommy’s hand to guide him through your pathetic, wayward life.” Each word is sharp and articulated, a needle digging a little deeper and deeper into his flesh with each cutting syllable.

“Enough!” he bellows, spittle flying from his mouth as he lifts his arm. In one swift downward motion, he plunges the scalpel into her thigh.

She screams, her voice ragged and raw. A panicked sound bubbles in your throat, but the drugs overpower your ability to call out to her. Your fingers twitch as you try to summon any amount of strength to them, but to no avail. You can’t move them anymore that. You try to wiggle your toes and only feel a tinge of movement from them. Tears leak down your cheeks and drip off of your chin. The tear stains left behind are cold overtop of the dried blood smeared across your face from your broken nose, still throbbing with pain.

Emily sits hunched over, her shoulders heave with shuddering breaths. She’s breathing. She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive. The thought plays on repeat in your mind. If she dies, there is no place this slimy, spineless creature can hide where you wouldn’t be able to find him.

A strangled moan rumbles from behind your lips as The Chameleon approaches Emily. There’s a smirk on his lips as he brushes his fingers along her jawline. Just as quickly as the smirk appears, it dissipates as he shoves her face away from him, disgust twisting his features.

“I think I’ve had enough of you,” he grits through clenched teeth. “You’re all the same. There is no place for women like you. I’m doing the world a favor by getting rid of you.” He picks up another knife off the tray table and moves to stand behind Emily, knife poised beneath her throat. His shifting eyes fall on you and his smile returns. “I hope you’ve enjoyed the show.”

You feel your brow pinch as a wash of emotion floods through you. Your hand twitches and you manage to ball it into a fist, but you can’t force much more than that.

“Emi—” your tongue lolls inside your mouth and you can’t get her name out but it’s enough to get her attention. Her wavering brown eyes fall on yours and you hope she can feel your full apology and profession of love in your eyes as you await the inevitable.

“I love you,” she mouths and a sob shudders free from your own.

A single gunshot cracks through the air like a whip.

As the unsub slumps to the ground, Derek’s hulking frame comes into view. “He’s down!” He calls as he holsters his weapon and rushes to Emily. His hand moves to the knife in her leg.

“Don’t!” Emily warns. “Let the medics handle it. The keys to the cuffs are in his pocket.”

As Derek squats beside the unsub Hotch and Spencer clamber down the stairs, spilling into the room.

“We need medics,” Derek says to them, eyes filled with concern. “We need them now.”

“Copy that,” Spencer states as he presses against his earpiece and relays the information.

Hotch holsters his gun and rushes to your side. Crouching down, his hands smooth your hair back from your face to inspect the damage.

“Can you hear me?” he says. You blink heavily as his face comes in and out of focus. He repeats the question and says your name. He’s asking you to talk to him, but you can’t.

“He injected her with something,” Emily says weakly as Derek works to uncuff her. “A sedative or a paralytic, I don’t know. She can’t move. She can’t, she can’t—” Emily’s eyes flutter and roll back in her head. Your eyes widen as she slumps forward. Derek catches her before she can face plant the concrete and risk dislodging the scalpel sticking out of her thigh before the medics can do their job to ensure she’s not at risk of bleeding out, if she wasn’t already.

Your hand twitches, fingers jerking against your palm as a sound of desperation eeks past your still lips. Hotch presses his hand into yours and squeezes. His hard eyes meet yours and there’s pain and understanding in them. He’s born witness to seeing the love of his life killed by an unsub. It was something he wouldn’t wish on his worst enemy. He had to hope that Emily would survive what she’d endured here tonight. He squeezes all of that hope into your palm as the medics crash down the steps, backboards and kits at the ready.

“She’ll be okay,” Hotch promises, though there’s a hint of doubt on the edge of his words. “You’ll be okay.”

As the medics make way and his hand slips free from yours, you can only hope and pray that what he says is true.

•

A gentle beeping is the first thing you hear as your senses slowly creep back to life. The sound is soft, but each punctuated tone sends a pulse of pain to the space behind your eyes.

Your eyes crack open and you squeeze them shut again as the bright white of the fluorescent lighting blinds you.

“Shit,” you hiss. Your voice is hoarse.

“Hey, you!” greets a female voice. Penelope’s voice.

“Too bright,” you grumble.

“Oh! Hold on!” Her heels click against the tile of the hospital floor, a switch flicks, and the light behind your eyelids darkens. You feel the relief immediately though the bruising around your eyes and throbbing pain reverberating through your nose and cheeks starts to overwhelm your senses as you become more alert.

You crack one eye and Penelope’s bright face comes into view. Her pink cat eared headband matches her glasses frames and lipstick. Her smile reaches her eyes and that only just eases some of the anxiety that floods your system, the only other thing you’re able to feel besides the pain. If Emily was dead, Penelope wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye right now.

“I need to see her,” you say, sitting up and immediately regretting it. The room spins and your hand flies to your head, fingers pressed against your temple in a poor attempt to stop the whirling sensation.

“Sweetie, oh my God, don’t—” she stands up and crosses the room, but you’re already pushing the sheets back.

You curse as you rip the IV from your arm, the tape holding it in place ripping out the hairs on your arm. Garcia tries to take hold of your hands, but you bury them inside the folds of the hospital gown as your fingers feel for the numerous electrodes tacked to your chest. Hooking the tips of your fingers around the wire once you find a place to bunch them together, one swift tug is all it takes to dislodge them. The machine beside the bed flat lines as it no longer receives your heart rate.

“Honey please don’t make me—” Her face scrunches as you move to stand. She sticks her arms out to block you from doing so “Oh, you’re going to make me, ok— Derek! Hotch!”

Her shouts are like a drill through your skull. You blink and black spots your vision as it blurs. The pain in your face is so intense, but you have to push through it. If Emily could endure what she did, you can push through this to get to wherever the hell they were keeping her in this goddamn hospital.

Hotch and Derek burst into the room, eyes frantic and scanning the scene. Morgan swiftly cuts through the space, swerving in front of Penelope and taking you by the arms. Garcia may have hesitated to stop you in your tracks but Derek has no reservations whatsoever.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” he asks sternly.

Two nurses rush into the room and Hotch placates them with a gesture implying things are under control . He says something to them in a low voice and they glance your way once before nodding and leaving the space.

“I need to see her,” you say as you push against Derek, but in your current state you may as well be trying to push the Leaning Tower of Pisa upright.

His grip around your wrists is firm, but gentle; his hands placed just above the bandages from where the cuffs had bitten into your skin.

“She’s not awake yet,” Derek says. His features soften as he looks into your panic filled eyes. “She’s stable. She’ll be okay, and I promise you that the minute she wakes up I will take you to see her.”

“But Derek—”

He clicks his tongue. “No buts. You’re no use to her if you’re not well. You nearly overdosed on the drugs that man gave you. He broke your nose so badly, they had to re-break it to set it correctly. You have a concussion. Are you hearing me? You need to get your ass back in that bed.”

“Honey, listen to him.” Garcia adds, her voice equal parts soothing and concerned. “You can barely stand.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as hot tears well in your eyes. They slip down your cheeks and seep into the medical tape plastered to your face and nose. You draw in a shuddering breath as Derek guides you back into the bed. He presses a warm hand to your shoulder before stepping back and putting an arm around Garcia.

“Come on, mama, let’s go get a coffee while the nurses get her hooked back in.”

Penelope’s mouth drops into an o-shape as if she’s about to protest.

“I’ll stay with her,” Hotch assures her. “Go. I’ll call if anything changes.” That comforts her enough to let Derek steer her out of the room and into the hallway.

As the sound of their footsteps fade away, Hotch exhales a heavy sigh. The heels of his loafers click against the tile as he crosses the room and takes the chair Penelope had been occupying at your bedside.

“How are you feeling?” he asks as he reaches over and presses the call button to summon the nurses.

“Like someone cracked me in the face with a sledgehammer.”

A hint of a smile passes over your supervisor’s lips and a ghost of a laugh passes your own. You wince as the motion sends a new wave of pain rippling throughout your face.

“How bad is it?” you ask.

“The doctors say it should heal fine. They’re baffled that the break didn’t do any damage to your septum. The bruising will take time but you won’t need surgery so—”

You lift your eyes to meet his. “Not me, Hotch.”

His lips press into a firm line. “She lost a lot of blood,” he says after a moment. “In total, he cut her about fifteen times before stabbing her. She was right to tell Morgan not to pull the scalpel out. It was dangerously close to her femoral artery. The unsub was either incredibly calculated in avoiding it or it was dumb luck that saved her.”

Your brow pinches as his words sink in. “What was his name?”

Hotch’s chin dips in response to your question. “Carson Peters. He was a Vet Tech on the perimeter of the geographic profile. We never even interviewed him.”

“The whole time we never knew his name,” you breathe.

“If I know Emily, I’m sure she came up with a few,” Hotch remarks, trying to lighten the mood.

Your lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t take shape. There is an entire slew of names you’d wanted to hurl at the unsub, to say anything that would have taken his attention off of Emily for even a second but you couldn’t because of the drugs he’d pumped into you. You squeeze your eyes shut as an image of him cutting Emily flashes through your mind.

Hotch says your name. You hear the deep tenor of his voice, but it’s as though you’re underwater. Emily’s cries of anguish echo in your ears.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper as a tear leaks from the corner of your eyes. “Emily, I’m sorry.”

A firm hand slips into yours and you gasp, flinching from the contact. The image distorts and vanishes. You open your eyes and take a deep breath, dropping your gaze onto the hand in yours. You lift your eyes to meet Hotch’s hard stare. His fingers squeeze around yours and he nods.

“You’re safe,” he assures you. “Carson Peters is dead. He can’t hurt you, Emily, or anyone else ever again.”

Your fingers twitch around his as you blink back the onslaught of tears that want to pour out of you. “I couldn’t do anything.”

Hotch’s features soften. “I know.”

“I couldn’t stop him.”

“There’s nothing you could’ve done.”

You swallow the growing lump in your throat. Hotch squeezes your hand again, intentionally doing so to keep your mind from wandering. He’s keeping you grounded.

Your voice cracks when you speak. “I felt so helpless.”

“I know,” Hotch states as he levels his gaze on hours. His brown eyes waver as he speaks. “Witnessing a loved one’s abuse and not being able to do anything about it is a torture all its own. In our positions we have the authority to do something about it and in most cases, we can. When we can’t,” he pauses and takes a deep breath. “It’s natural to play it over and over again, to wonder where you went wrong, to think that somewhere along the line you could’ve done something, anything, to change the outcome.” His brow lifts toward his hairline. “We will kill ourselves ruminating on the what ifs and what could have beens.”

We. He’s not just talking about you anymore. He’s talking about his past when the unsub George Foyet killed his wife, Haley. You’d joined the team several years after her murder, but you’d been briefed fully on the case. It was well known to everyone in the BAU.

It’s your turn to squeeze his hand and you realize how out of the ordinary this exchange is. You’re as close to Hotch as anyone else on the team, but he’s not usually the touchy-feely type; the occasional half hug or handshake sure, but this level of vulnerability is uncommon.

A nurse walks into the room and Hotch stands to greet her. He shakes her hand and introduces himself formally; name, rank, and title. Establishing credibility for what, you wonder. He speaks in low tones and after a moment the nurse looks at you before looking back at him. She nods her head and he thanks her before she exits the room.

“What was that about?” you ask.

“A favor,” he answers as the nurse guides a wheelchair into the room.

“Five minutes,” the nurse says, aiming a pointed look at Hotch.

“Understood.”

The nurse leaves and Hotch pushes the chair up to the edge of the bed. He slips a hand behind your back to help stabilize you as he extends his other hand for you to grab hold of.

“Where are we going?” you ask as you take the proffered hand. You groan as you sit up and your head spins. You swear you can feel every bone in your face throbbing as pain threatens to split you in two.

“To see Emily.”

Your heart swells. You look at Hotch, eyes widening. “I thought—”

“I told the nurse you’d stay put and allow them to do their jobs and help you if you were allowed to see her. Hence, the five minutes.”

“Five minutes,” you repeat, nodding your head.

Hotch smiles reassuringly. “Five minutes.”

Slowly, Hotch assists with the transition from bed to chair. The shift exhausts you and it sinks in just how weak you are. However, the prospect of seeing Emily keeps you alert enough to push through.

The trip to Emily’s hospital room is short. She’s two right turns and one long hallway away from yours. The door to her room is cracked when you arrive and JJ opens it as Hotch reaches for the door.

“Sweetie!” JJ smiles brightly at you, though her eyes are tired. She leans down to pull you in a gentle hug, minding your face as she does so.

Her eyes flit between you and Hotch. “She’s in and out of consciousness. They’ve got her on some pretty strong painkillers, but she’s going to be alright.”

“Are you ready?” Hotch asks.

Your heart hammers in your ears, but you nod your head and whisper, “Yes.”

JJ steps out of the way so Hotch can wheel you inside the room. You raise your chin to peer over the threshold and whimper upon seeing Emily, hand moving to cover your trembling lips. She lies still beneath the sheets, which are pulled up over her lap. Her arms sit atop the sheet, her left arm bandaged from above the elbow to her wrist. Bandages peek out from beneath her hospital gown. An oxygen cannula is fitted under her nose and butterfly bandages hold close the split in her eyebrow. Hotch puts the brake in place after wheeling you right up to her bedside. He places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “JJ and I will be right outside. Five minutes,” he says.

Your eyes don’t leave Emily. “I understand.”

When the door clicks shut you let the floodgates open. You take Emily’s hand in yours, minding the IV jutting out from it, and cradle it to your cheek. “I’m so sorry,” you sob. “I’m so sorry I couldn’t do anything to stop what he was doing to you.”

You blink away the stars that dot your vision as each sob sends an intense wave of pain through the break in your nose and bruising under your eyes.

Emily’s thumb sweeps slowly across your cheek. You take a shuddering breath and swallow your tears as you turn your attention to her. Her eyes crack open and a small smile ghosts her lips.

You gasp and choke back a sob. The smile that splits your face sends a burst of pain through your bones, but you don’t care. It doesn’t matter. You’d feel this pain and all that she endured to see her warm, brown eyes on yours like they are now. Her smile, despite the pain meds dulling her senses, reaches her eyes and they’re so bright. As you look into them, for a moment you’re no longer in the hospital. You’re on a bench overlooking the Potomac and the sun is setting; its golden rays falling over Emily’s face and her eyes changed from brown to liquid gold. It was then you knew you’d never love looking into someone’s eyes as much as you loved looking into hers, that you’d never love anyone as much as you loved her.

You blink once and you’re back in the hospital. “I’m so sorry,” you blubber and clutch her hand to your chest. “Baby, I’m so sorry.”

Her voice is hoarse when she speaks, but the way she says your name is as soothing as ever. She shushes you and presses her fingers into your skin as she grips your hand. “Shh, baby, honey, look at me.”

You swallow and try your best to still your quivering lip as you raise your eyes to hers. Hers are focused as she looks at you. Her perfectly manicured eyebrows arch toward her hairline as she inclines her head toward you. “There is nothing that you could’ve done that would’ve prevented this, and that is okay.”

You squeeze your eyes shut and shake your head in refusal.

“Hey,” Emily says, pulling you back in. “Look at me.”

You sniff and take a deep breath as you open your eyes. “If anything,” she adds. “Your being there saved my life. He drew out the torture because he had an audience. If you hadn’t been there, there’s a chance he would’ve killed me before the team got to him. Do you understand?”

Your gut response tells you that she’s right, and you have to fight the part of your brain that’s telling you otherwise.

Her hand slips out of yours and reaches to cup your face, keeping her palm along your jawline to avoid your injuries.

She smiles and gestures to herself with her other hand. “Most of this is superficial anyway. The knife he jammed into my thigh will scar and take a while to heal, but that’s the worst that was done to me. I was,” she presses her lips together as tears glisten in her eyes. “I was so worried about you.”

Something between a laugh and a sob escapes your lips. “We make quite a pair, don’t we?”

Emily laughs in turn, the sound enough to make your heart swell three times over. “At least we’ll be able to spend our recovery together,” she says hopefully.

You smirk and tilt your head, considering. “My place or yours?”

Just then the door creaks open and Hotch steps inside. He smiles. “Sorry to cut the reunion short, but if I don’t get you back, I think the charge nurse will have my gun and badge.”

You all share a laugh. As he fixes the brake on the wheelchair, Emily tugs your hand toward her mouth and places a soft kiss to the backs of your knuckles. “I’ll see you soon, okay?”

You smile and nod as the tight feeling in your chest from before ebbs away. “Okay.”

As Hotch exits the room with you in tow, JJ hands you two cups of coffee. “For you and your watchdog,” she says with a nod towards Hotch.

You thank her and as Hotch pushes you back towards your room, you finally feel like things will be okay.

•

Two weeks later, you’re still on medical leave, but you feel as though you're getting back to normal. You’d been released from the hospital first and a few days later, Emily. Her apartment was bigger, so you’d gone to yours and with help from Penelope packed a bag. It was easier for you two to be in the same place knowing how often the team would be checking in.

Garcia had stayed over with you, helping you keep track of the medications the doctors had prescribed. She helped take care of Sergio too. The little guy had been all too happy to see you, weaving in between your legs and rubbing his furry head against your calves. When Emily returned home a few days later he couldn’t stop meowing. When she rested, he’d fall asleep beside her or curled up in her lap.

Just as expected, members of the team had been through in pairs, on their own, or as a whole. Penelope stopped in daily with coffees and pastries from the shop next to Emily’s building. Derek came by every other day, occasionally with Savannah when her work schedule allowed. She’d checked Emily’s wounds a few times from your insisting as you were worried about infection. Savannah assured you each time that Emily was and would continue to be fine so long as she kept up with changing her bandages and taking the antibiotics she’d been prescribed. Hotch had only visited once, which was unnecessary but still so kind of him. You knew he often stayed late working to ensure everyone else could go home on time. He did this all while balancing his responsibility as a father and the fact that he sacrificed a little bit more of his personal time just to check in on you two meant so much. Rossi had sent homemade Italian with Penelope or Derek. This week you’d been given enough carbonara to feed an army.

You’re fixing two bowls now for you and Emily, a late dinner as you’d both fallen asleep around 3pm and napped until 7pm no thanks to the pain medicines that kept you two on relatively similar sleep schedules. You shred some parmesan and sprinkle it over the top before sticking a fork into each.

“I’ve got dinner!” you call as you make your way back to the bedroom.

“Thank god, I’m starving.” You push open the door with your hip and place the bowls on Emily’s bedside table.

You lean down and kiss her, wincing slightly. The bruising around your eyes and cheekbones has gone down dramatically, but your nose was still bound and held in place by a splint and medical tape. The doctors say in about a week or so, it should be healed completely but to still exercise caution with day to day activities.

Emily rests on top of the covers. Her hair is up and out of her face in a loose ponytail, pieces of which had fallen out while sleeping and now stick to and around her face in various places. You try your best to smooth them down before cupping her chin in your hand. You smile and stroke your fingers along the smooth skin of her jaw before dropping your hands to pull the throw blanket down off of her waist, exposing her legs, bare except for the plaid pajama shorts she wears and bandages wrapped around her thigh.

She shivers in response to the air against her legs. “Sheesh, give a girl some warning!” she protests and you throw her a cheeky grin.

You open the bedside drawer and retrieve the supplies to clean and dress her wound. “We should finish the rest of that movie,” you suggest as you climb onto the bed to kneel beside her. Using a small pair of scissors, you carefully snip away the bandages to reveal the square gauze pad covering the wound. “I want to know how it ends and we keep falling asleep.”

Emily snorts. “That’ll happen when we both take narcotics before bed thinking we’ll make it to the end.”

“Yeah, but,” you remove the gauze and inspect the incision, searching for any signs of infection around the twelve carefully placed stitches. As you squeeze a bit of the antibacterial ointment onto your finger and gently rub it over the spiky black threads of the sutures, you can’t help but think of how much it resembles the caterpillars that used to invade the trees in your backyard as a kid, a story Emily did not care for your retelling when you first did this. “It shouldn’t be so hard to make it through a two hour movie.”

“I still can’t believe you’ve never seen The Parent Trap,” Emily says, bristling as your fingers rub over a particularly sensitive area.

You apologize as you lay a fresh gauze pad over the wound. Your fingers move quickly as you unroll and wind a new roll of bandages to keep the gauze in place. When you finish, you wipe your hands off and gently massage the skin around her thigh knowing it helps to stimulate blood flow to the area.

Emily moans in response to the treatment. Her head lolls to the side and she peeks at you from behind long lashes. “I can’t wait to show you how grateful I am for your incredible nursing skills.”

You arch a brow at her as a smile quirks at the corner of your mouth. “Down girl,” you tease playfully.

Emily bends her opposite leg, raising her heel to curve around your body. She pokes her toes up under your tee shirt and your back stiffens as they touch your skin. You reach behind your back and grab her by the ankle, chastising her as you laugh and place it back on the mattress. “Emily!”

“What??” she asks, laughter tumbling from her full lips.

“We’ve not been cleared yet for that!”

She pouts in response and you clamber over her, carefully, so as not to disturb the injuries of her leg. You straddle her waist and lean down to place a soft kiss along the curve of her jaw. “Trust me, I want to get back to that as much as you do.” Your eyes drop to the swell of her breasts, her nipples poking through the thin fabric of her camisole. “But you and I both know neither one of us are capable of having gentle sex, and I don’t think our doctors would be happy if we did anything to make this take any longer than it already is.”

Emily groans in frustration. “Stupid doctors and their stupid orders.”

You laugh as you lean down to grab your dinners off her nightstand. Carefully, you lift your leg and roll over her body to your side of the bed; passing Emily her bowl as you do so. You reach down and pull the throw blanket up over both of you as you snuggle into the uninjured half of her body. She turns and places a kiss on your temple as she grabs the remote and clicks on the tv.

As she twirls pasta around on her fork, she turns to you and smiles. “I’m glad you’re here with me,” she says, eyes twinkling.

You smile in turn. “I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather be than with you here, right now, at this moment in time.”

“I love you,” she says.

“Not as much as I love you,” you answer.

“Impossible,” Emily promises.

[iamthecomet]

Thinking about the Abbey having its own glamor. To clergy members, it's stately, gorgeous. The grounds filled with manicured gardens and greenhouses, a hedge maze, immaculately maintained courtyards and stone paths. It's a a hulk of a building, a maze in and of itself. Wing after wing sprawling out into the grounds, with big stained glass windows and slate roofs, and big heavy wooden doors that shine in the sunlight. But to the uninitiated. The locals. The Christians. It's a ruin. The lake returning to swamp, filled with muck and weeds and monsterous rumors. The stone paths shot through with weeds. The gardens over flowing. The greenhouses just twisted metal and broken glass. And the Abbey? It's dangerous. The front door swings on it's hinges. There are gaps in the roof that let sunlight and rain and ivy in. Stained glass windows lay in shattered ruin on the chapel floor. Those sprawling wings are a mess of rotten wood, and crumbling stone. And if all of those things weren't enough to keep the riff-raff out, there are the rumors. The ghosts. The phantom hands on shoulders. The disembodied whispers. The shadows. The ghouls, always just out of sight. Protecting their home. Their people. And when fear isn't enough? When some humanity leans into that stupid bravery they're so proud of? Well, it's easy to make death look accidental in a place like this.

[thelampisaflashlight]

A thought for this evening; Ghouls are kind of like cattle dogs.

By all means, they live among the clergy and would never do them any direct harm, but if someone, or something, else came along and tried to hurt them?

Well, there's a reason you don't trespass on the abbey's grounds, ill intentioned or not.

And it's not just the "big ones" that go after people, no.

You have ghouls like Cumulus, Aurora, and Dew stalking the grounds at night, cutting off points of egress, herding their prey towards the rest of the pack.

They're making noises akin to wild dogs, or sounds so out of the range of human ears it's less so something their prey hears and more so something they feel.

And it does not feel good.

Swiss is an exceptionally brilliant hunter, and usually works in tandem with the Aurora to guide their prey along, luring them further and further into the woods...

When Dew's not hunting alongside Cumulus and Aurora, he's usually going it alone, with few exceptions.

However, he has started to join the hunts less and less, largely due to his health being a little finicky these days.

The only members of the pack who don't hunt -or at least don't do it often- are the quintessence ghouls, because their magic is usually needed to maintain protective wards or to heal.

Although, Omega has been known to be a terror when he's let loose to hunt.

He can bite through metal.

It's great and totally not scary at all...

And lastly; No one has seen Mountain or Rain hunt up close before, and frankly everyone's a little scared by what that might mean.

[ghulah]

Papa Emeritus, Terzo and the weight of the Mitre.

Due to popular demand, here is my Terzo analysis. It has been significantly cut down(if you do want the uncut analysis, here) because most of it was bullet points and unhinged notes I made. To be completely transparent, this was inspired by @cityofmeliora's own Terzo analysis post as well as several other analyses which I will be linking (also some headcanon stuff the wifecule had cooked up together lol).

These are all the posts (1 2 3 4 5 ) I used as resources and this compilation of Ghost interviews, as well as the Metal Myths part 2, because that's sort of required viewing at this point, isn't it?

I'll be splitting this analysis up into sections, first are brief descriptions and explanations of my understanding of the different aspects of Terzo - as Papa, as a Cardinal and as himself.

As for my sources, I won't be inserting the direct quotes here(because this post would be the longest ever) and they are all available in the aforementioned links.

Anyway, onwards, Ghesties!

First of all, What is Papa?

This is in reference to Papa, the entity, the image - not the person. Papa is a character, he's a mask, he's a façade. He is an image and an idea and the face of the Clergy. He is everything and he is above all yet he is not. According to mister Ghost-man himself, he is a stereotype, he is someone you know from somewhere and often than not he's old, charismatic, maybe a little bit bitter. He is sort of nebulous, he is a concept.

All whom take up the mantle, the Mitre, live up to this to a certain degree, it's part of the job! It also might be part of the bloodline, but y'know.

In that case, who is Papa Emeritus III?

The character of Papa III, the performer, the leader, the one to show us the way. Papa III is the face of the Ministry, he is a showman, a diva who is perfect for the role of the Satanic Pope who is not only theatrical, but also charismatic and fun and ambitious! He is artistic and outspoken. He knows what he's doing, he loves having a good time - drinks, partying, sex! He encourages it, as long as everyone is safe. He wants to bring about a new age, something to thrive. He will lead us all to damnation!

Papa III cares for his people, he makes sure they are safe and sound even in the midst of the chaos of the Rituals. He is, after all, the messenger that leads the audience through the hero's journey - a guide.

Cardinal Terzo

Let me be clear, this is all derived from Bishop Necropolitus Cracoviensis (who is representative of the album artist Zbigniew Biela) testimonial on Terzo when they were buddies back in Poland.

Cardinal Terzo was a slutty slutty, party man with a revolution in mind. He actually had a lot of visions and ideas to keep the Ministry going and modernizing it. He seemed super, well, locked in. He also likes Futurism, which aligns with his Art Deco and German Expressionism in his box of early 20th century art movements. He saw a future and he wanted to bring it to life, he held the same sins as his brother, Vice, Lust, Greed - but he had Ambition (credit to user cityofmeliora for this epiphany). That's what set it all off. Cardinal Terzo had that joie de vivre.

But who is Terzo?

Terzo Emeritus is a man of many pleasures - it's just those pleasures don't often involve people. He likes early 20th century fashion, he likes early 20th century art movements, he likes theater, he participates in it. He does have a pleasant personality, perfectly charming and joyful and teasing - but, he's not 'on' all the time. Or rather, he might not genuinely feel that way unless something or someone actually interests him. He might not be as slutty as everyone thinks he is. He moves like a fucking cryptid when he isn't performing, which is even funnier considering how open he seems to act. He wanted to do so much as Papa, he cared a lot. He had so many ideas, he wanted to take care of his flock and wanted to spread his ideas and cement the Ministry as a real power by opposing all those mindsets that keep holding society back. He was a revolutionary taken out too soon for another agenda at play, which is his true tragedy.

If anything, his charming Papa persona is what draws people in - but it's untouchable, because it's an idea, a face he puts on. Terzo is most likely the mellow, a toned down version of that face. Secondo influenced him, not enough for him to be exactly like him, though, so.

On a very real level - he's sort of like that 'when your circle small but y'all are crazy' meme. He has only a few people who are truly close to him and know what he wants and who he is while everyone else is on the outside looking in. He seems to keep people at bay, even the ones he approaches first. It's the people who either stick around and play along long enough to catch all his little ticks or the ones who saw through it all in the first place who get close to him.

That self hatred and hatred of everyone came a little later, when everything started to not fit into place anymore. He had restrictions on him, he couldn't bring his vision to life - he began to resent that idea. He knew that he was expendable, it was inevitable that he would be gone soon. He was still Papa, he cared, he wanted better for the Ministry. But it was, to a point, all for nothing if he was going to be stifled.

Ambition and hubris being his downfall is just a repetition of every Greek Tragedy we've been told. And much like the Bringer of Light, Terzo was brought down to Hell. Thanks Sister Imperator.

Sorry if some of this sounds a bit silly, it is quite self indulgent and made when I was sleep deprived. But also, I love character analysis and I love Ghost so!

Bonus tidbit: All that talk of separate travel made me think that Terzo might like sightseeing as a fun headcanon. So in my mind he might have a film camera stashed somewhere to take with him. It fits with the idea that he is quite a recluse and takes time to himself, he doesn't need to socialize to go out and see things and take pictures. Of course this is also extrapolated from his nerdy film and art interests. (this part was inspired by a convo with @3hroo)

[titlemewickedwonderland]

Possess Me (Swiss x Reader)

Summary: Ghouls are misunderstood creatures, they let you see what they want you to see and sometimes that's just their stage personas but behind the masks, they are something else entirely. Y/n got that reality check when one particular ghoul showed his true nature.

Pairings: Swiss x Reader

Triggers: Slight obsessive, possessive, and tsundere Swiss

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He knew she was perfect from the moment she first stepped foot into the Abbey all those months ago. Amid all the new recruits' other bright-eyed and fresh faces, hers stuck out the most. Not because she was dressed differently (all of them wore the same standard Sibling uniform), or because she had distinguishing features that made her stand out from the crowd like piercings, tattoos, or bright-colored hair. But because of the look on her face as she took everything in. It wasn't any less than shining fascination and excitement but it was just the way she looked at everything around her - like she was indeed taking in the splendor of the Abbey and imagining the skill it took to create such details; she looked at everything as if it was a true work of art to be appreciated and most importantly...respected.

Not a lot of people looked at this place as such. A place that held decades of history, secrets, and lore crafted and chiseled over all those many years. She looked at it as the most important place in the world to be cherished and respected. But her look when her gaze landed on the Ghouls of the Abbey was far more gut-wrenching. Not because there was fear or disgust in them, not even confusion. She looked at them - dressed in their usual black attire and silver masks with postures straight and intimidating. She looked at them as if they were something far more precious to reside in this establishment. As if he mattered far more than anything else.

The smile she had given them while everybody else looked on with a sense of apprehension and wariness made something inside him clench; something forming inside of him when her beautiful eyes traveled from one ghoul to the next until they landed on his; even from behind the silver metal of his mask, he could see her eyes land on him - no, not on him but more looking through him. Even from a distance, he knew she was staring straight into his eyes. Without fear, without trepidation, and without a shred of shyness as the corners of her perfect mouth tilted upward into a smile so dazzling it damn near broke his heart. And then she'd waved; the motion catching the attention of the other ghouls as much as him and he swore Rain even gave her a little wave back.

He had sworn that she would not last long. That her sweetness would soon be tainted the longer she stayed within the Abbey as part of its clergy. But months passed and while he watched other siblings of sin fall to carnal pleasures she never did. Somewhere...somehow she found the strength to stay pure. That fact made Swiss crave her all the more.

Even now, a good year of her being within the Abbey; while others of her group had already left unable to deal with the lifestyle. She never left and each day he found new ways to try and get close to her. Her name was Y/n. It wasn't anything fancy; common by most standards but it fit her so well. And Swiss had no problem with getting close to her - daily reminding her in his own flirtatious ways how pretty she was...how well she fit into the Clergy. He had all her attention. Until that...boy, came along and well. Swiss don't share what's his.

Y/n was walking down the hallway, arms fully loaded with stacks of books that were just one short of covering her vision completely as she strolled down the pathway - the soft tapping of her flats drowned out by the voices and hubbub of the Abbey as others siblings were doing their own things. When a figure came out of nowhere; jogging up to her. She turned her head to look over and gave a friendly smile when she noticed Steven, a new recruit who'd only been there a month or so. He was cute with short cropped dirty blond hair slightly longer on top and pretty ocean eyes that watched Y/n with admiration as he lifted a hand to wave at her.

She didn't know him long but she had been one of the siblings that helped him get accustomed to the Abbey; they had chores together a few times and he was always so helpful and friendly with her.

"Hey, Y/n! Those look heavy, would you like some help with those?" he asked as he motioned at the stack of heavy books in her arms.

"Oh! Sure, that'd be appreciated. But aren't you busy with your own chores?" she raised a brow as she glanced back the way he had come to the small group of other siblings who were busy doing their part.

"Ah, yeah I mean I do have them to do but I didn't want you to trip and fall with those books." he replied rubbing the back of his neck.

Y/n's smile tipped up a bit more. "Well, I won't say no to extra help. These books are pretty heavy. Thank you." she finally agreed as Steven grabbed half of the books off of her stack and eased some of her burden, in the process.

"Where are these heading?" Steven was standing too close not that Y/n seemed to realize as they began walking again.

She didn't notice the extra pairs of eyes that followed her from across the court they were walking through as she looked up at Steven while replying. Steven noticed though as he felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise up and caused him to glance behind him as if he was being tailed but saw no one.

"Oh, these are going back to Papa's office," she explained "He had me help with some transcriptions from the Latin books for the next sermon. I was just going to return them to his person shelves." she responded as they walked.

"Ah, I see." the boy licked his lips nervously. "Hey, Y/n...are you close with Papa? I couldn't help but notice how often you interact with him. N-not that I was like...watching you or anything it's just...Papa's a big figure around here and I don't notice him giving any special attention to any of the other siblings besides a few passing words, y'know?" Steven mentioned nervously.

Y/n's brows furrowed thoughtfully, her mouth twisted sideways in a cute little expression. "Oh, I don't know. I'd say so. He often asks for my help because my major in college had been history and language so I've very good with Latin. I just think he doesn't like to do the paperwork himself." her laugh was sweet.

"Why do you ask?"

Steven shrugged. "Nothing...just like I said, he seems to favor you a lot and you're always seen with his ghouls too so...just wondering." he shrugged a shoulder.

The girl smiled fondly at the mention of the ghouls as she looked down as she walked. "Yeah, I suppose that's accurate. They like to make themselves useless when not practicing or being on tour and since I'm, as you mentioned, I am always being sought out by Papa I suppose they see me as a close confidante." she mused before laughing again

"They are amazing creatures aren't they?"

But Steven wasn't laughing. In fact, his face had fallen a bit and twisted into an expression that made Y/n feel uncomfortable when she finally looked up at him.

"I don't think so, no." he replied finally "They give me the ick. They're always so intimidating and just...stand there staring at you like some bad omen. When they aren't causing havoc at least. I don't know how many vases I had to clean up or replace charred marks and broken walls because of them. They're like children...very very disrespectful children." he grumbled.

Y/n stopped in her tracks as she listened to his words; a frown pulling at her mouth as she stared at him. "They aren't bad creatures, Steven. Sure they like to have some fun but I mean...if you threw a big party something would be bound to happen like broken things and a hole in the wall or two. It's no different." she said quietly as she defended the ghouls.

"Seriously? They're literal demons, Y/n!" Steven turned towards her seeing the expression of disapproval on her face.

Y/n took a breath to collect herself before saying anything that would accelerate the issue. "Steven," she said trying to keep her voice calm and even.

"I don't like the way you are speaking about them. The ghouls are incredible creatures; yes, literal demons. They don't harm the siblings and are a great help around the Abbey. Please don't disrespect them like that. Disrespecting them is like insulting and disrespecting Papa and his judgment." she shook her head. "I won't allow it."

Steven just stared at her as if he was rethinking something and didn't notice the figures walking towards them from up the hall. The pair just stared at each other before a smooth voice tinged with dark intent spoke up from behind Steven causing both siblings to turn their attention to the dark-clad figures standing there.

"Is there a problem here?"

Y/n's expression softened slightly upon seeing the familiar silver masks. "Swiss and Aether! What a surprise." her smile widened.

"What are you two doing? Don't you have practice?" she asked tilting her head and watching them with those big innocent eyes she always gave them.

Aether tipped his head and raised a hand to give her a little wave. "Hey there sweetpea," he ignore the not-so-subtle scoff Steven gave before continuing. "Practice just got out! Where are you heading?"

"Oh, just to Papa's office, I finished up those translations he needed help on the other day; just returning his books to him! How'd practice go?" she asked in return and Steven sighed obviously not pleased at this turn of events.

This made Swiss, who had yet to say a word besides his initial approach, to snap his head towards him in such a way one could have mistaken him for Dewdrop if it wasn't for their stature differences.

"Something the matter, Steven?" he asked far too calmly for his usual personality - the tone he used just for his name alone was so condescending that Y/n and Aether both turned to look toward the pair.

"Yeah, actually." Steven straightened up and glared at Swiss. "You're interrupting us." he stated in bravado.

Y/n's mouth opened to scold the boy but Swiss took one large step towards the Brother in a way that was menacing even to Y/n's eyes.

"Is that right?"

Aether absently reached out to grab a hold of Y/n's shoulders and gently pull her away from the pair and wrap an arm around her shoulders to keep her from pushing her way between the agitated males.

"Yeah, that's right. Me and Y/n were busy." Steven had to look up towards Swiss since he was a few inches shorter. "You can say your pleasantries and then go back to whatever you Ghouls do. Like, cause trouble."

Swiss' teeth flashed in his signature swiss smile that was all white straight teeth but the smile was anything but friendly as he bore down on the other; inching downwards until Steven had to take a half step back to gain space.

"Listen to me, you worthless excuse for a mortal boy," Swiss' voice was rough with a demonic edge that caused Steven's eyes to widen a bit in fear. "You don't disrespect Y/n, ever."

"You don't belittle her for her interests, you don't disrespect her preferences, and you sure as hell won't stand here acting all high and mighty as if you have a claim to her."

"Swiss-" Y/n started taking a step forward but Aether's grip tightened and he pulled her back against his side.

"Not the right time, lovie. Let him say his peace...it's better than cleaning up a body." the Quintessence ghoul murmured to her but even he too was watching his packmate like a hawk to make sure he doesn't have to jump in to stop him from tearing the sibling's throat out.

"She isn't yours-" Steven began but Swiss cut him off; literally, with a clawed hand gripping the boy's throat and pulling him closer - the glow of his demonic eyes behind the mask eerie and causing the boy to tremble.

"That's where you are mistaken...Y/n's mine. She's ours. So the next time I see you anywhere near her or talking to her with anything other than respect..." Swiss' head tilted to the side

"I will give you a reason to call us demons of hell."

With that, the Multi-ghoul let go of the other and snatched the stack of books from his grasp before jerking his chin. "Now scram, you haven't finished your assigned chores yet." back was that playful ghoul Y/n was used to as his smile grew from threatening to even worse because he was now smiling like he usually did - all friendly and jokes. All of them knew that was far scarier than the earlier smile he had on because he was playing it off as if nothing happened even while the threat hung heavy in the air.

Nobody would find the body, Y/n was sure of it. She didn't say anything though and just clutched the books tighter to herself but she was not afraid. Steven sort of did ask for it with the way he was speaking about the ghouls; she couldn't find it in herself to feel sorry for him for pissing off Swiss.

But as the sibling scrambled down the hall, tripping over his own two feet, Swiss turned around as if nothing happened before joining his packmate and Sister.

"Papa's office you said?" he asked as he sidled up to them.

"Mhm." Y/n nodded slowly. Aether let go of the girl and instead grabbed the stack of books she was holding before the pair began escorting her down the hall toward Papa's office.

They did not say anything as they walked and said nothing still while they put away the books but as Aether left the room to wait in the hall it was only Swiss and Y/n left in the office. The Sister was busy writing down a note for Papa on a sticky note on the desk when she felt a presence behind her. She straightened up but didn't look back at Swiss.

"You didn't have to threaten him, you know." her voice was soft in the quietness of the office.

Swiss tilted his head to watch the side of her face as he idly picked up a strand of her hair. "Oh, but I did, sweetheart. He disrespected you. No one does that." he replied casually but there was a lilt in his voice that made Y/n turn her head to look at him; not that she would see much with the mask on but her eyes met him through the mask and she found herself entangled in their colors.

"It's not about the disrespect Swiss. I could have handled it, I was handling it." she protested quietly with a pointed look. "Tell me the truth, because I know that display out there wasn't because someone disrespected me. You would have just given him a slap on the wrist with a well-placed Swiss-style insult."

She turned around to find his body caging her against the edge of the desk. "That display out there, that was something different entirely." she scanned the mask as if she was trying to see his expression through the metal.

"Do you really want me to say it?" the ghoul gripped the edge of the desk on either side of her as he bent his frame over hers.

"I'm not stupid Swiss but I think it's warranted to say out loud so that it's in the air." she raised her chin stubbornly; casting her face closer to his by default as her bright eyes stared up daringly into his.

A rumble vibrated in his chest and but she didn't feel intimidated or scared even when she felt the leathery tip of his tail snaking up her leg and tightening like a boa around her thigh while his large hands gripped her waist; the sharp tips of his claws digging into the soft flesh beneath her habit to pull her closer until they were chest to chest.

"You are mine, Y/n." his voice was deep as he stared down into her wide eyes. "You've been mine since the first damned time you laid your eyes on me. No one. no one threatens to take you away from me."

Y/n breath lodged in her throat as she reached up to cup his jaw; feeling the stubble growing there - rough and prickly against her fingertips. "You're an idiot." her words made him pause as she let it out in a controlled breath.

"One big idiot. To ever think anybody could compare to you." her hands gripped his collar and yanked him down to crash her lips against his, that was anything but sweet.

Teeth clanked and nipped, hands gripped tight and yanked until there were bruises surely to be left until oxygen burned out and she pulled back; crashing against the desk to steady herself as she bit her bottom lip swollen from his bites and kisses.

"And," she finally breathed out. "You're a bigger idiot for thinking that you were the only one with an obsession, Swiss." his name left her lips like a taunt as she gave him a slow curling smile that had his blood boiling.

That look alone made the Multi-ghoul surge forward only to be stopped by her hand gripping his collar just centimeters before he could latch his mouth over hers again.

"But I'm not easy." she used her grip on his collar to push him back a few steps before straightening herself up. "And I won't be easy to catch." she brushed past him to leave the room.

Swiss chuckled low; echoing in the empty room with a darkness only those of hell could achieve. As Y/n began leaving the room she heard his parting words and they caused a thrill to race through her blood.

"Run... run... run, little rabbit. The hunt is on."

Taglist: @darklylucid @strawberry-moonpies

[kabukiaku]

Hi! I don't know if you ask questions from anybody, but the point is I have questions about Ghost's singer...Uhm...Is Omega his name? And why does he have a white eye in his left part of his face? And what's the meaning of his collar? I'm deeply intrigued, seriously. <3

(i need to answer my asks more lol.)

OKAY. so, the frontman is referred to Papa Emeritus, they're like, the anti-pope. The accompanying tour members are referred to the Nameless Ghouls. The white eye was actually due to the fact that Tobias Forge, (the brains behind the band and the themes) couldn't wear both contacts due to it irritating his eyes.

so, only one stayed on, and it became iconic af.

the one you're probably referring to is Papa Emeritus III, or Terzo as we fans like to call him.

Omega is the masked musician you see here. :) He's named Omega due to the fact that he has the Omega symbol on his guitar:

my pookie. my dearly beloved.

The symbol on Papa's suit the Grucifix, or the unholy cross, really a staple symbol for the band. it changes every era, but always remains as a stylized 'G' resembling an upside down cross.

The band is parodying the Catholic Church, thus explaining the papacy, silly satanic cardinals, concerts being referred to 'rituals', deliciously sinful lyrics, and the Ghost Ministry social media accounts always starting off new announcements with [MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY].

I highly recommend checking out their music! It's a mix of metal, arena rock, prog rock, pop metal, and even a song with a reggaeton beat...im not joking.

Let me know if you have any more questions, I'll be happy to answer. :)

[calxia]

Having his own room is a novel thing. Having your own things isn’t really something that happens in the pit where it’s very much every ghoul for themselves. Phantom was packless in the pit too so it wasn’t even like he had a safe territory. So, when he’d been summoned and shown to his room he had been in awe.

A whole space just for him and only him.

He’d been sat down by the others and told that room was just for him to decorate however he wanted. And that nobody would enter his room without permission (with the exclusion of emergencies). He had zero clue how he wanted to decorate the room as everything was so new and overwhelming to him. Copia had gifted him a few little bits, which Phantom would later learn was a tradition Papa had started with his very first ghoul, but other than that his room remained how he got it for many months.

Then they went on tour and all of a sudden Phantom had Stuff for the first time. There were things that the fans had thrown up on stage and gifted him, things that Copia had bought for him (he’d learned early on that Papa adored spoiling his ghouls whenever possible) and even some small things the touring members of the clergy bought him. His willingness to learn and help out had quickly endeared him to them, and it was rare that anyone would shoo him off no matter how busy they were.

When he came back from tour, he all of a sudden had things to decorate his room with. Stuff was scattered everywhere, from bracelets fans had thrown on stage, to the dinosaur-patterned blanket Papa had got him, to the small stuffed animals the crew had started gifting him early on tour. He’d even been allowed to paint his walls a rich purple and dark green colour.

He’d been so nervous when he asked Papa if he could change the colours of the room. Yes, he was allowed to decorate the room however he wanted, but would that extend to more permanent changes like wall colours. Papa had been so ecstatic at the younger ghoul asking him and had immediately roped Aether into taking Phantom to select colours and to help him paint too.

It had been so much fun. The hardware store was full of so many new sensory experiences, like the smell of the wood and the sound of people rattling through metal bits. He’d enjoyed selecting the paint chips from all of the different colours available and Aether had even let him choose whichever colours he wanted. At first, Phantom had expected Aether to pick the colour for him, but the other had just stood back and watched him flit back and forth through all of the colours. Aether hadn’t even made any remarks about the colours he had chosen except assuring him they were great choices.

He loved actually painting the room too. Aether had roped Omega into helping them paint and together they had moved all the furniture into the centre of the room and covered it in a tarp before beginning to paint. They had made so much of a mess but Phantom loved all the little imperfections and splashes of paint on the walls and floor. Aether had let him sleep in his room that night while they waited for the paint to dry and room to air out. They curled up together in Aether’s nest and the younger quintessence ghoul had gazed up longingly at the glow-in-the-dark stars that were stuck to the ceiling, casting the room in a soft green glow. When Phantom returned to his room after band practice the next day, a matching set of stars had been stuck to his own ceiling to form its own galaxy.

Phantom loved having his own room, and he loved making it uniquely his even more.

[thebandghostofficial]

[MESSAGE FROM THE CLERGY]

We wish to inform you renovations at the ministry are underway for the release of Phantomime. Escape The Ministry, coming this Friday...

[corgiplays]

This edition of Evil!Chloe is brought to you by a 16oz Red Bull, Strawberry Sour Patch Kids, Sing to Me and Wolves by Missio

Enjoy @minafeu

Like always ⚠️Trigger Warning ⚠️ for blood, guts, and gore

Judge Sebastian Frollo wasn't always the man of God that he is today. His younger self was filled with hate and anger at his father, the world, everything. He lashed out and made many enemies during high school before getting kicked out and joining the church to find some sort of purpose; and he did.

The news of Adam's gruesome death has struck fear in the hearts of the people. With Ben contents away with no way to gain a hold of the royals apart of the court have been scrambling to find a suitable replacement and have turn to the church for guidance. Which is why Sebastian is here after hours kneeling to his holy father for help.

"Oh most righteous lord. I beg of thy to guide me. I ask of your heavenly wisdom to guide me to the right direction. Our county is in shambles as a darkness plagues the people, a demon has-"

"I do believe I am worse than a lowly demon."

A deep rumble echoes through the large chapel, the stone and wood tremble with the sheer volume. Sebastian stands, fear racing through him as he presses against the holy alter. He grips his cross, mumbling a pray as a what can only be described as a demonic chuckle makes the stained glass shake. It's low, haunting and Sebastian holds his cross tighter.

"I am not afraid of you monster. My father in heaven-"

"Your father has abandoned you!" The voice snarls, it sounds both far away and too close, the sound of metal dragging against stone makes him cringe from the sound.

"He has not! My holy father would never let his most faithful servant fall at the hands of a monster!" Sebastian yells, his own voice wavering as he backs away, he could run away, escaping through the back door of the church.

"Oh Sebastian..." The voice rumbles against his ear. "You should have stayed away from what's mine, from Red." The monster's hand pierces through his back, he gasps as he feels it wrap around his spine. "And now, your death won't cause anything but joy to me." With that Sebastian screams as his lower spine gets pulled out of his body crumpling to the ground.

"Chloe-" Sebastian croaks as he sees the girl from high school tower over her, her eyes glowing, her face animalistic, her feet ached inhumanely.

"I'm tired of hearing your voice." Chloe snarls and it's almost like seeing double, a spectral presence shadows her moves as she digs sharp claws into his throat, gagging on his own blood as he suffocates.

---

The next morning the clergy scream as Sebastian's remains are used to decorate the alter his head front and center and what's little left of him paints the alter red. And all the stained glass windows depicting the other kingdoms are broken, except for Wonderland's.

[eldritch-spouse]

Hi Pinnie! Chopping block anon here again! Could we fill this prompt with Santi or Ludwig? I'm banging my head on the nearest wall, I can't choose. Honestly, I know I'll love whatever you end up writing. 😍

How would any of the TCE gang react to finding the object of their obsession (that they'd been actively trying to keep away from the Clergy) on Morrel's chopping block? :o

[Ludwig isn't really a current part of TCE, so I'm going with good old Santi. Also, I feel that this isn't where you wanted it to go, but I got a few thoughts along the way. Fem reader.]

TW: Nonconsensual hypnotism; Implied nonconsensual sharing.

He knew something was up when you didn't so much as answer a morning text.

You need time alone. All humans do. He thought he would too when he would occasionally -Very rarely- Humor the thought of a relationship. But something didn't sit right with Santi when hours passed and you gave him nothing, absolute radio silence- When you're usually so talkative, even in your moodiest days, you'll at least bother to call him a pervert.

The incubus supposes he ought to keep himself busy for a bit before persisting again. He knows he's... A little too eager for contact, and that can naturally irk you. Maybe one day of relative silence might make you trust him more.

The demon has been making the rounds through most of The Clergy's floor for the entire night, restless in his pursuit of clientele, in a desperate effort to get his mind off you. Really, Santi has made more than enough money to honestly call it a day- The crowds are well-entertained and buzzing with a healthy amount of titillation, all is well.

Except he's not quite satisfied. He's in a foul mood honestly. Sometimes it would show on his sculped features as he pleasured those keening beneath him, nothing he couldn't wave aside or fluster out of their minds if they did notice.

He can't quite tell what brings him to the restaurant. Sure, he loves the dirty little thrill of sliding his hand down the table cloth and making someone loll their tongue out with pleasure while they pretend to eat, but most people here don't really have their minds on sex. They're harder catches, essentially.

And yet, when Santi passes by the main kitchen doors, a sound makes him halt. Not just any sound, a squeal. That by itself is no motive to stall, the incubus is well aware Morell loves his job, loves butchering, that he often takes the time to play with his food

-Like the dirty little fuck he is, sticking his fingers everywhere and bending helpless humans onto his cock, like toys, like fuckmeat. A depraved lunatic, pleasant company in Santi's opinion-

But, for some reason, the incubus is sure he recognizes that squeal from somewhere. It could be mere witless paranoia, but the echo of it in his mind doesn't let his feet unroot from their spot, so he figures he might as well check for himself. A dark hand knocks playfully on the heavy kitchen doors, receiving no immediate reply.

" Morell? " He tries.

There's some shuffling, then an eventual. " ... 'M busy! "

Yeah, "busy". Maybe balls deep in one of them already.

" Oh I'll be quick, dear- Just one peek, yes? "

More shifting and another stressed noise he could swear sounds a little too familiar, rubs him the wrong way, before something that sounds a lot like "piss off" gets mumbled back to him.

Typical.

That's why Santi only sighs before parting said doors and quietly weaseling inside.

The bobbles racing around only wave at him before buzzing around in their tasks, giving the demon a decent berth and easily circumventing him. As usual, they're completely unbothered by what their boss is up to.

The salacious, mischievous expression the incubus used in preparation to excuse himself to the chef dies as soon as his eyes scroll up to the chopping table.

Now is the time to pat himself in the back for listening to his gut, because none other than you, his darling minx, lie sprawled on that metal rectangle, like no more than a slab of meat. Your top has been torn off, pieces of it messily fashioned into a blindfold and gag. Morell stands with one hand on your thigh and the other tight around the handle of his cleaver.

Something inside him boils hotter than the rifts of Wrath. By the way you struggle in your binds, it's more than clear you're not enjoying a second of it, and Santi almost wants to believe Morell didn't intentionally seek you out. He's never been that nefarious, that putrid. To provoke the demon he works with.

He couldn't. Not when Santi never even introduced you to his coworkers. They only know your first name and vague descriptions of your face, your hair... That's not enough for someone he works with to miraculously hunt you down.

" Tha Hell did ah say?! Ya- "

" Where did you get that one? "

Santi almost doesn't recognize his own tone, and apparently, it gives the shroom monster pause too. Morell notices something's amiss, he's clever enough to notice the tense state the concubus is in, eyes glowing brighter at each passing second, deceptively still, one wrong answer away from perhaps impulsively starting a fight.

Morell looks at the human woman on his table, then back to Santi. " ... Tha fuck are ya on 'bout? "

" Where. Did you get that one? "

The chef's hand moves to your bare stomach, keeping you from squirming off the cold surface easily while he shifts to face his coworker better.

" Tha usual, Santi. I ain't been havin' time ta hunt 'em on mah own. " He shrugs. " Suppliers. "

The demon continues to glare at the blue monster for a long pause, finding no hint of a lie on those odd eyes. Only confusion and the remnants of exhilaration from what he was previously up to. This calms Santi a great deal. It was just a freak accident, yes? He let his favorite fox run a little too close to home, and she got snatched up... The incubus doesn't even want to think about what would happen if he hadn't come here in this exact nick of time.

Was it a silent nudge from Krulu? No. No, of course not, that's laughable- The lord of this pit spares no empathy for frivolities like their workers' love lives. Still, some unknowable force capable of penetrating the fog of this Clergy steered him well tonight.

Had this been no one of interest, the incubus would have still mauled the perpetrator to a pulp, if only just to prove a point. Or to thrill himself a little. But this is different. Very different. He can make the most out of it if he plays his cards right.

Santi shakes his head, then advances on the pair, unbothered by Morell's defensive puffing.

" You ought to start checking your stock more thoroughly. And not just their orifices. " He teases.

There's an eye roll. " Oh, tha's real fuckin' rich comin' from ya. "

He knows.

Nevertheless, Santi only smiles a little before hooking his claws into the waistband of your pants, grabbing your panties as well, before quickly pulling the fabric down. The newly revealed skin bares a jet black mark that is, by now, unmistakable to anyone who works with Santi. A concubus mark. His mark, elegantly claiming your most intimate parts for himself.

His claws tap idly on the meat of your hips as he watches the chef's face freeze, eyes widening.

" This one belongs to me. "

Silence. You wriggle and sob behind the gag.

" Shit. "

" Yeah. "

" I thought ah... Checked that one. "

The cook looks torn. There's some manner of guilt and cringing written on that darkened complexion, he clearly doesn't intend to continue this, but there's also some selfish sort of turmoil in his body language. As if he's upset he started the process and is now going to have a "pig" taken from his hands.

Santi's smile turns into a disgusting grin when a lightbulb casts complete depravity into his mind's eye. Your mark starts glowing, heating, and your struggling is rapidly paused. Morell squints.

" Hm, but what were you up to just now? "

The shroom hesitates, making some manner of motion with his dominant hand, which clutches his favored piece of sharp equipment.

Santi clicks this tongue. " Nice try. Before that. "

You start wriggling beneath the bigger monster's palm. It's no longer the jerking of a panicked figure trying desperately to escape, but a restless sort of agony. Morell's fuse lights up under the perceived scrutiny.

" Where tha fuck are ya goin' with this?! "

Santi arches a brow.

A quick glance flickers over your form. Today has been exceedingly traumatizing for you, the demon doesn't need to be in your shoes to know that. No one makes it out of Morell's kitchen, and if they do, they'll never be the same. You don't belong in The Clergy, not yet at least, and Santi knows that even with your currently arousal-fried brain, you're going to remember the events of today for the rest of your life- Something he can't allow to happen.

Fortunately, he knows someone who can just... Eat this unfortunate day out of your long term memory.

And, since you're not going to recall a lick of it, why not make this interesting?

What you don't know can't hurt you.

The incubus hums a wordless tune, pulling your remaining clothes down your legs, an easy task, your overheated body yearns to bare itself, he barely has to do anything. Once you're bare, Santi moves to the other side of the table, where your head rests, and starts undoing your blindfold.

Morell grumbles something incomprehensible and he snorts.

" Relax. Why would I stop you from pleasuring my minx? " Santi all but purrs.

" Yer real fuckin' weird. " Morell offers after an incredulous pause. " This ain't rubbin' ya tha wrong way? "

" Oh this is rubbing me all sorts of ways, Mori. "

" Gross- "

" You're hard. " The chef's protests are swiftly silenced. " I can't blame you. She's irresistible, isn't she? "

Morell crosses spotted arms over his chest and casts his eyes away. " She's uh... She's real purtty. "

That's one way to put it.

Santi chuckles when the torn cloth comes off, revealing a flustered, disoriented face. Your eyes glaze deliciously, pupils dilated in want as they surf between him and the blue monster, the mark's hunger going full throttle on your poor organism. The magic of a high-ranker is one Hell of a drug, isn't it? You make a desperate, muffled noise.

" There there, I'm here. You'll be taken care of soon. " He lulls, voice dipping in pitch just to make you shiver. Your head is lovingly raised so you can properly view the other. " That there is my friend. You wouldn't mind playing with him a bit, would you, love? "

Predictably, you nod enthusiastically, going as far as to part your legs in your stupor. Slick gathers excessively on your already stimulated pussy.

" Go on, Morell. "

Said monster gulps behind his thick scarf, drool clinging to his teeth at the lurid encouragement of his fiendish coworker, his fingers already itching to reach out and do as he pleases.

" Show us what you do with your piggies. "

[mintea-in-space]

Ghoul Clergy Au(Species Swap): Hands!!

Copia(Fire/Air): Has beans! They're very sensitive so he very rarely takes his gloves off. The pads glow a pretty cyan. Has to be careful because his hands get very hot very easily, he’s given up trying to hide the burnt handprints that end up all over his furniture. His claws match his skin tone, but he likes painting them too. Copia has a bad habit of biting his nails, so they tend to be all uneven. Eventually his human ghouls catch wind of this and set off on a journey to help him stop. Dewdrop ends up being the only one allowed to take his gloves off, so Dewdrop is the one that offers to help him clip them and keep them filed down. It becomes a special routine for just the two of them.

Terzo(Quint/Air): Has beans but very subtle ones. Look more like calluses than anything else. Slightly textured. He also has he sharpest claws of the group and keeps them very well maintained. (He has a fancy cat scratching post in his room. Omega laughs the first time he sees it.) He has gold claws, and his pads are also a very faint shimmery gold.

Secondo(Water): No beans, but as a water ghoul, his scales cover his wrists and part of the backs of his hands. He also has webbed fingers. Is the only Papa that can't wear gloves unless glamoured because of this. Secondo's claws are better suited for breaking rather than piercing (think like a crab or lobster claw, for breaking open shells) His are probably the most durable.

Primo(Earth): No beans. But the backs of his hands are covered in soft fuzz. He has black claws that are almost blunt at the ends, but very very strong. Primo just disappears outside and comes back with his claws worn down. No one really knows what he does. (He digs. Dead ass. He finds a cave and claws the rock. He also fucking climbs. Like a mountain goat. No one who has seen it lived to tell the tale, as it's usually when he's hunting)

Nihil(Originally Water/Air): Has beans! Size is somewhere in between Copia and Terzo. Has scales on the backs of his hands like Secondo, but no webbing. He has to get his claws clipped for his own safety really but that does not stop him from being absolutely pissed about it every time. Just picture Nihil hissing and spitting like a cat while Sister calmly clips his nails for him. Just thrashing around while simultaneously keeping his hand still because he knows if he makes her mess up he'll get his ass whooped. Although before his elemental loss he was probably the diva that clawed the ministry doorways just to make sure someone knew they pissed him off. His claws used to be semi translucent and sparkly.

Sister Imperator(Fire/Quint): Queen of beans. Hers are a bit leathery, but they also glow a light green like Copia's! Hers also used to be sensitive but she powered through until it didn't bother her anymore. Probably has the best kept claws next to Terzo. She routinely files hers and they are razor sharp.

Psaltarian(Quint): Has very calloused beans. Upon further inspection they are a dark purple, but mostly blend with his skin. Clips his own claws, but also has a scratching post in his nest to properly file them down. His claws are black, with a slight metallic sheen to them.

[one-boring-person]

Hello lovie!

I'm so glad to see your back on track, and I'd have a request if it's ok with you!

Would it be possible to do Sodo x Reader ice skating and/or borrowing hat/gloves/coat?

(sfw pls)

If both prompts are a problem please do as it suits you best and take all the time you need.

I'm really glad to see you're back🥺🌹

Thank you for requesting! I hope you like this!☺️💛

Need a Hand?

Sodo/Dewdrop x reader

Warnings: none

Masterlist

Make a request!

The chill of the ice rink quickly starts to bite at my bare hands, reddening my cheeks slowly but surely. Internally, I curse myself for wearing such a thin coat over my habit, regretting the decision as a shiver wracks my body; I should've known I'd get colder than I usually anticipate. Once again, I find myself asking why Sodo asked me here so late at night. 

The fire ghoul waits for me by the gap in the rink wall, dangling a pair of old skates from his gloved hand. Naturally, he looks almost unfazed by the freezing air, though he still wears a thick coat over his slender torso, his mask also sitting somewhat awkwardly over a woolen scarf that circles his neck. The chrome metal glitters in the flickering light coming from the ropes of fairy lights that surround the rink, his eyes glowing brightly behind the black sockets. As he sees me, the ghoul pushes off the wall and comes over, chirping quietly in greeting.

“You'd better have a good reason for dragging me out here so late at night,” I tease him, feigning a yawn.

He rolls his eyes, humor dancing in his amber irises.

“And you'd better have a good reason for wearing next to nothing in the middle of a December night,” He retorts, batting me gently with his tail, “You'll freeze to death, dressed like that.”

“I'll be fine,” I reassure him, turning to look out over the rink.

For whatever reason, this year the clergy had decided to splash out on providing a sizeable ice rink for the members of the church to use over the winter months. As expected, siblings and ghouls alike had rejoiced at the news and eagerly awaited its arrival on the first of December. Not a day later and the glassy ice is already riddled with gashes and grooves from countless skates. I've yet to use it, but Sodo had asked me during the day if I'd come meet him there at midnight. Who am I to refuse?

“So what's the occasion?” I glance back at him, lifting an eyebrow.

“Well,” Sodo shuffles his feet a little, “I was wondering if you might help me.”

I frown, “Help you?”

“Yeah, help me.” He sighs, “I'm not very good at skating.”

I blink at him owlishly for a moment, only just able to restrain the sudden swell of laughter that bubbles up in my throat as I process what he's said. His eyes narrow through the eye holes and I can only imagine the little scowl that adorns his features.

“Don't laugh at me,” He complains, clearly pouting.

It takes me a minute to fight back my amusement enough to respond.

“I'm sorry, I just-” I bite back another giggle, “I just thought all you ghouls were good at this stuff.”

“I'm a ghoul, not a figure skater,” Sodo grouches, tail whipping behind him.

“Clearly.”

He thumps me on the back with the appendage.

“If you're just gonna laugh-”

“No, no, sorry. I'll help you.” I pull myself together, smiling at him as I realise the ask for help is more sweet than funny.

“Good,” He huffs.

Together, we sit on one of the nearby benches, pulling our skates on. He watches carefully as I lace up the old pair I'd bought with me, copying the movements I make meticulously. His long fingers make quick work of the task even with his gloves on. Before long, the two of us are standing by the gap in the wall, ready to set out onto the ice. A rush of excitement fizzes through my veins as I step out, the blades of my skates slipping only slightly before I've got my balance. Unable to help myself, I push out and do a small loop to get myself back into the hang of things, circling around the entrance where Sodo waits, his eyes locked on me. 

“You want a hand?” I call out, skating back to him.

“No…” He growls, gripping the wall tightly before stepping over the edge.

Almost instantly, the ghoul's foot slides forwards, his body lurching forwards before he catches himself with a sharp hiss. By his side now, I put a hand on his elbow, gently urging him upright until he's standing on his own on the ice. I go to pull away, only to notice that he's shaking, his legs trembling almost violently. I don't get a chance to say anything, the fire ghoul clumsily pushing himself into a shaky glide. Unsurprisingly, he doesn't get very far before he has to grab the side again. 

It doesn't stop him, though, and he tries again, nearly falling in the process.

“Hey, you can take it slow, you know.” I remind him, watching the awkward process unfold.

“I am,” He responds, sounding strained.

He pushes away from the side again, this time getting a few strides in before he loses his balance, falling straight onto his knees. I'm by his side instantly.

“Shit, are you alright?”

The ghoul shakes me off, grumbling something as he tries to push himself up, only to stumble back onto the ice. This time, Sodo stays there, letting out a frustrated whine. A tightness appears in my chest at the sight of the downcast ghoul.

I move in front of him, taking his hands in mine.

“Come on, let's do it together.” I smile at him, rubbing my thumbs over his covered knuckles.

Sodo nods, gripping my hands tightly as his amber eyes lock onto mine. Counting to three, I step up onto one knee, giving him the leverage he needs to do the same before helping him upright as I stand properly. This time, the fire ghoul keeps his balance, still watching me closely.

“Good, now just make small steps going forwards,” I instruct him, moving backwards as he begins, “A bit like a duck.”

Ever the quick learner given the right help, Sodo swiftly transitions from the awkward waddling into a stilted glide, getting into the rhythm he needs. Between us, we manage our first loop, Sodo's technique having improved greatly. Before I can get him to do another, however, he stops me at the entrance, letting go of me to lean against the wall. Confusion briefly settles in my mind until I see him grip the bottom of the silver mask, pulling it off along with his usual balaclava. Immediately, I look away.

“What, do you think I'm ugly?” The ghoul snorts, placing the mask down audibly, “You can look, (Y/n). I wouldn't take it off if I didn't want you to.”

Blushing, I return my gaze to him, trying not to stare at his strikingly good looks. A small smirk curves his thin lips, his unglamored cheeks already reddening from the cold. 

“A-are you ready to keep going?” I curse myself internally for the stutter, wrapping my arms around myself as I realise now how cold I've gotten just by standing around.

“Yeah, I'm good to go,” He responds, frowning a little at me.

Trying not to fall, he pulls his jacket from his frame, skating over to me with newfound confidence. Before I can say a word, he drapes the garment around my shoulders, helping me push my arms through. A gasp threatens to fall from my lips at the sudden comfort of his characteristic warmth surrounding my freezing torso. Left just in his scarf and gloves over his uniform, Sodo steps back and looks me up and down, a soft smile spreading over his face.

“Thanks, Sodo,” I murmur appreciatively, glancing uncertainly up at him, “Aren't you cold?”

“Fire ghoul, remember?” He teases, batting me gently with his tail.

“Oh right, yeah,” I laugh, shaking my head, trying hard not to be obvious about breathing his addictive scent in from the coat around my shoulders, drowning myself in cinnamon and smoke, “Ready to keep going?”

With some encouragement, Sodo manages to skate by my side this time, holding my hand tightly as he glides along beside me. A broad grin splits his face, triumph glittering in his eyes at his improvement as we complete another couple of laps. This time as we stop, he wraps me in a tight hug, his tail twining around my leg. 

“Thanks, (Y/n),” He hums, pulling back a little to look me in the eye.

“Anytime, Sodo,” I respond, somewhat thrown off by his sudden affection.

Grinning, he knocks his horns lightly against my forehead - a gesture I've seen other ghouls do with each other - before he moves to do another lap. Blinking, it's all I can do to follow after him.