#metal clergy

[therappundit]

Paul Thompson has one of the finest pens in music journalism today, so in spite of this devastating loss, it's a beautiful thing to be able to read his profile on an amazing talent like Ka.

[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.

[theoxenfree]

OF FLESH SIN

vampire priest x reader | 2.6k | 18+

you're the child of a monastery groundskeeper and come to find out that one of the senior clergy, father marius, was brutally maimed in his chambers overnight. you're approached by the monastery's new recruit: father shaw; who claims he had witnessed the scene of the crime and invites you to his chambers to tell the tale.

warnings; dark content bc of descriptions of gore and violence towards the end, obsessive behaviors, theological themes, probs inaccurate representation of monastery life lmao, outdated + deragatory mention of psychiatric care to fit the narrative, very brief mention of animal death, classism (mc getting shit on for being poor and coming from an "uneducated" family), kinda honestly cheesy if you think about it, roughly proofread, vampires are monsters y'all—that's the only way I write them

shouldn't have to say it, but: none of this is indicative of my personal viewpoints. it's just fiction, folks.

second prompt fulfilled for my lil' october writing project! this won the second poll! please reblog + leave feedback to be kind and help a sister out 🥹💕

Father Marius died in quite some awful way last night, as reported to you by the nuns hanging fresh washed garments on the clothesline in the waning, purpling daylight.

“A look of horror! Utter terror! So frightened that his jaw had become dislocated in forever a scream,” shivered one young nun, Lucy; recently a convert from the slums. “I, well, I didn't see it myself. Neither did the rest of us, actually. They say it was that new Father Shaw who found him at dawn.”

You had been raking gravel out of the yard, tiny stones kicked off of the path into the kempt lawn by prancing horses and wagon wheels, when Lucy and the other nun, Esme, had caught your attention with their hard, dense gossip. They regarded your approach with less caution than they would have had with their other sisters, as gossip was deemed inappropriate, a violation, a flickering serpent’s tongue carrying covert temptations leading to luscious sins and debauchery.

They saw you—poor, morose, the groundskeeper's only child and reminder of loveless trysts—and thought nothing of snaking you into their prattle. You were not the sort to divulge anyone's secrets without gain, without reward, and you knew that the nuns kept nothing to their names once they took their vows and donned their habits.

“Father Shaw,” you continued the discussion with some intrigue, mostly from the fact that he was very new, very young, and modestly handsome, “why was he awake so early? Why was he in Father Marius’ chambers? Curious to me.”

Neither of them gave much caution to your questions, shrugging as if to dismiss your ambivalence and accusatory tone. You were bold in the way that the faithless and lost always tended to be: asking senseless things, always concerned with the wrongdoings of others, always suspicious, always inquiring—forever inquiring.

“Oh, my, you're so defensive,” Esme fanned a yellow bedspread out with an oncoming breeze, catching the wind beneath the fabric so it billowed and rippled midair. “If that’s how you're going to be, then: why does your father stumble around the yard at night with a lantern, swinging around a pistol like a madman? Won't he hurt someone?”

Because he's a godless, superstitious drunk. Perhaps, even, a bit disturbed in his mind, but you couldn't bear to think that way, that he might be the type to need his head locked in a metal cage, gagged, arms bound, and padlocked in some damp, distant corner of an asylum.

“He's a good man,” you relented, taking your hands from the top of the smoothed out, worn handle of the rake and resumed your task. The gravel made an awful, grinding sound as the teeth of the rake collected pieces of stone and led it back to the rest. “He's served this monastery well. I don't mean offense about Father Shaw, I'm simply curious about what transpired is all.”

“No offense taken,” came a voice from behind, startling both the twittering nuns and yourself at the same time. They saw it to be Father Shaw standing there, hands cuffed behind his back with a particularly demure disposition, hiked their skirts and whisked themselves away back inside. “Ah, am I really such a frightful figure? I couldn't really find an opening during your conversation to invite myself in. I apologize.”

You were of a similar fretful nature, quickening your clawing and the reach of the rake. “Nay, Father. I think it's simply because you're a strange man to them still. A handsome face, a warm voice, mysterious; give them time, they'll come around.”

“Have you?” Father Shaw asked, taking measured strides in a half-circle around to your front. He concentrated on where the teeth of your instrument struck next, tips temporarily wedged into the soft dirt before being ripped up with chunks of earth and gray gravel. “It wouldn't do for me if you… were still ill at ease with me as well. I consider you my one, true friend in this place.”

Your father held a certain destestation towards Father Shaw that you'd never witnessed before, saying nothing else than that something was terribly wrong with him and not to place yourself in a position to be alone with him. This you attributed to his unsoundness, but it was always the sudden flicker a sharp breath against candlelight—a jarring shift in his demeanor when he spoke about the Father, neurotic and prone to throwing things about the cottage interior, that caused you to pay some mind to what he told you.

“And, you're a great friend of mine as well,” you hoped you sounded coherent and paced your words evenly enough. “I'm sorry if you thought I was accusing you of something, sir. I really meant nothing to it.”

Father Shaw’s lips sprawled tight and pale into a fond smile, never showing his teeth, though the imprint of them seemed massive and the skin of his lips startlingly thin across them. “I know. You have nothing to fear. My feelings were not affected. If you'd like, come to my chambers later, we may pray together first, and I'll tell you everything you wish to know about what I saw to sate your curiosity.”

“That seems improper, sir.” You said.

“How so?”

“Inviting someone to your chambers at night seems an unbecoming venture for a pious man of status, such as yourself,” you continued, now standing upright beside your rake, “if any of the sisters were to witness it, worse another priest, aren't you afraid you'd be horribly chastised? Even worse, excommunicated altogether?”

Although Father Shaw’s dark eyes reflected no light, holding such demanding depth to them that it was hard to keep your bearings whenever you realized you'd been staring, his entire face was alight in amusement.

“Wherever did you learn to speak like that?” he asked candidly, still glowing despite his pallor. “Forgive me when I say, but your father is not an educated man. I mean no offense, please don't look at me in such a way. You are so well spoken, I only wish to know more about you.”

“I've lived here my entire life,” you told him. “The nuns taught me how to read.”

He looked impressed. “You can read?”

“I can!” From a near distance, you could make out your father’s haddard form, bent sideways on a walking cane and limping towards the pair of you. You looked up at the priest’s smooth face. ��It'd be best for you to leave before my father can speak to you. He isn't the kindest soul after a long day.

Father Shaw didn't react with any semblance of worry, but agreed that there were other things needing to be done and began away. Just as he passed you on his way towards the monastery, he let his hand rest atop of your shoulder and leaned you towards him to whisper in your ear: “come to me tonight. I'll be waiting for you.”

There was something so luxurious and cooling about his voice; fine silks sitting in the shade during autumn gliding across your bare skin, wrapping your neck, your chest, your nether parts. His voice was a fine, chilly mist after the first rains in spring which felt refreshing and new after a glacial winter, yet still had capacity to soak you to the bone. It was a nighttime breeze caressing your cheek, sweeping through the hairs of your scalp, making your skin burst all over with bumps.

“I don't like the way he looks at you,” said your father with a mouthful of porridge you'd seasoned with herbs of the season. It was wonderfully fragrant and warm during nights that were still a bit too uncomfortable to sip anything cold. “He looks at you like you're a slab of meat! Some prize after a hunt. I don't like him, love. Not one bit. You'd do well to stay to mind yourself and do your chores and nothing else, y’hear?”

After dinner, you cleaned up, swept the floors with hard bristles, and snuffed all the lights except for the fireplace where your father sat in his old chair, fiddling with his favorite pistol.

“It's time for bed, old man.” You watched him fit a couple of small bullets into the loading chamber. They glinted against the orange flames. “Goodness. What have you gotten this time? Something new?”

“Aye!” he grinned, nearly toothless and in a sickly sort of way. “Went to market the other day while the nuns bullied you and picked out some fine bullets from the silversmith,” he cracked the two halves of the pistol shut. “Better to be prepared.”

You waited until sometime later once he was finally asleep, possibly after midnight, before leaving the humble cottage sitting on the fringes of the massive monastery yard and rushing across the grounds to get inside.

Once, they'd kept a guard dog on the property, one of those meaner breeds that were used for gambling, but the poor thing wound up shot dead in the middle of the night by a traveling friar who'd come to seek refuge at the monastery. The sisters, and yourself, were horribly distraught by the entire ordeal and all vetoed the consideration of bringing another dog here.

Since then, it was no task for you (or anyone else) to get inside the building and shuffle along the shadows through the corridors. At night, the place stirred with patient insects, feral rodents large and small in the pantry, and hungry owls tamely whining from the rafters when something startled them away from their hunt of vermin.

Your feet were a light sound on the masonry below, padded by thin leather soles which alerted you to your enthusiasm as the thwap thwap thwap became louder, aggressive as you closed in on a wall and turned down another hallway for a sturdy wood door at the end of it.

As your knuckles rapped, hoping the sound wouldn't disturb the animals’ nighttime caroling, a swift darkness moved across the floor from behind the door, briefly blocking out the soft light seeping out from underneath.

The next moment, you were being pulled inside and sat at a small table tucked to the side of Father Shaw’s rather generous room. It was a simple space, sparsely furnished for the barest of comforts—only for what was needed to live—but what had been made for him was of exquisite craftsmanship, some made of teakwood, which Shaw assured you was remarkably durable and highly resistant to rotting.

“It's wonderful for boats,” he said, pouring a light amber colored brew from a metal kettle he'd heated a short while ago. “It’s good for all elements, really. Exceptional longevity. I've heard it has become a popular option in the city for burying the deceased.”

“Will Father Marius be buried in a teakwood coffin, then?” you asked, sipping politely from the cup even though you had no appetite for it. You already felt ill at ease enough having disobeyed your father by sneaking into a priest's personal chambers at night. The things the sisters would say about you—

“He will be entombed underneath the monastery with the rest who have served here and passed. I believe that is all stone down there, my dear.” Father Shaw smiled tepidly, kettle aside, no tea of his own. “But, I know that your curiosity led you here to me with questions, yes? About the state I found Father Marius in, yes?”

You tried to disguise your intrigue by drinking more of the tea, of whatever it was he had given you, and listened to the sounds of your fingertips sticking to the porcelain from sweat and steam.

“If you wouldn't mind sharing…”

“I wouldn't!” he leaned on his arms on the table, closer towards you as though with a secret. “As I've said, you are truly the only soul here who I can confide in. You are not a sheep. And you do not fear sin as the rest do. So, you can ask me anything and I'll tell you everything.”

“Tell me about Father Marius, then.”

Father Shaw reached across the table for one of your hands; his far larger, fingers much longer and colder than your own and held it as he recounted the event.

“Dreadful sight, it was. It was, oh, perhaps sometime after three o'clock when I heard a massive racket. A struggle. When I knocked, all of the noise subsided at once and there was complete stillness. Silence, my dear, silence so deep, dark, and damning that I knew something awful had happened.

“I didn't knock again, I was too afraid to! But, Father Marius was getting on in age, so I couldn't just stand by, either. I kicked the door in—just once was all it took—and I rushed inside to see the room was a complete mess. A fight had clearly taken place, and the walls—oh, the walls—”

His remorse was carefully placed, stiff, and uncertain and he couldn't be seen in the vastness of his black gaze. You were moved by the vulnerability he was trying to show you, going as far to abandon your drink to place your warm hand on top of his.

“The walls, my dear, were a mess of blood. Something vicious and awful had happened in that room. But, then, I found Father Marius lying there on the ground next to a broken window. I think he'd tried to throw himself through it. His face was shredded to pieces, his eyes gouged. When I got closer, I noticed that his tongue had been severed from his head!”

You were holding Father Shaw’s hands in a bloodless grip, face ashen, teeth chattering behind your lips. “What on earth! That is not only horror, but cruelty!”

“Oh, my love, it gets worse!” Father Shaw held you mesmerized in his gaze, the conviction and anguish with which he told his story. “Closer still, Father Marius’ face was locked in one of pure terror, I've—I’ve never seen a human react in quite a way such as that before, to fear. The man unhinged his own jaw in a hideous scream, and it seemed to me he was skeletal. By that, it's like he was, well, quite dry.

“So, I crouched down so much lower and inspected him all over. Do you want to know what I found?”

“Yes.” You spoke breathlessly.

Father Shaw had moved out of his seat and was on one knee in front of you, both of his frigid hands on your face to smooth across your cheeks, pushing away pieces of hair obscuring some part of you he'd wanted to see.

“My love, I saw marks in his neck. Two, beautifully, wonderfully symmetrical marks that were far too clean to be of any animal that we know of. The bite was clean, it was patient and cunning. And the fangs that had sunk into his tender flesh had drained him of blood, of the very essence that kept his heart beating until the very last.”

“Sir—” your stomach plummeted, falling forever, when he smiled, teeth longer than any humans should be shown through to you. He wouldn't let you go when you went to move out of his hands, away from him. “Father Shaw, please—”

“I wish you could have seen it, my love. It was a breathtaking sight and I long for someone else to admire the beauty of my work alongside me.”

It was unthinkable that a vampire could walk on these holy grounds and in the bright of day, yet Father Shaw had for countless days. Evil held you sweetly by the cheek and in your hair, kissed you with a corpse’s cold lips, and laved the skin of your skin with a long, serpentine tongue.

“O’, my merciful lord…”

Father Shaw bent your head back with a fistful of hair and spoke from your throat:

“There is no God, only me. Come into the endless night with me, my love.”

[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.

[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.

[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)

[remembrancer-of-heresy]

(Not) Salvation

AU Reverse Therapy

Next Part: New Home

Summary: One of the agriworlds is attacked by heretics and the young girl finds salvation in the arriving Space Marines. Not suspecting that it was they who brought death to her planet.

Pairing: Chaos!Lamenter/fem!OC/Chaos!Flesh Tearer

Characters: Malina (fem!OC), Luka The Angel (OC Chaos Lamenter), Virgil (OC Chaos Flesh Tearer)

Warnings: yandere, violence, cannibalism

Word count: 2244

Author's note: In this part I wanted to focus more on the space marines and the atmosphere of horror. Hope you were interested in my OCs. In future there will be more interactions between this trio but here only meeting.

Song: Inkubus Sukkubus - Wild Hunt

It was scary. Screams were heard everywhere. The air smelled of blood and burnt flesh. From afar came cries and pleas for help, the hooting laughter of heretics. Someone was less fortunate than her. No one had found her yet.

And it is unlikely that they will.

“God-Emperor, do not abandon me, guide me to the light, I will not fear the darkness for I believe” - she repeated the prayer dryly, like a memorized text from school.

Because it was a lie. Of course she were afraid of the darkness. Afraid of death. And even more so of torture. The endless pain that the enemies of the Imperium promised to bring with them. Yes, the clergy would say that she was a heretic. But in the last hour, she did not want to lie, at least to herrself.

Soon her agri-world will drown in the blood of its inhabitants. And if the Imperium returns the planet to its bosom, resumes the delivery of food, then other people will do it. Your fate is to become meat in the hands and mouths of heretics.

She felt new tears running down her cheeks. They haven't found her yet, but soon, soon they will find her small and weak body. Soon they will tear her apart, eat the meat, throw away the bones, and put the skin on thier armor like a cloak. She already saw how the heretics did this to an elderly couple.

Sudden steps pulled her ark thoughts and returned to an equally dark present. Her heart fluttered like a bird in a cage. These were too heavy steps for a human. Too metallic a sound. The smell of imminent death hit her nose and she held back from screaming in horror at the imminent meeting with the most terrible shame of the Imperium.

A Chaos Space Marine.

And at that moment, when the legionary appeared before her in full height, when she almost bit her lip until it bled, just to keep from screaming... only then did she notice the armor. Golden as the sun, with a distinctive sign in the form of a bloody heart. The Lamenter.

She burst into tears like a little girl.

“The G-God-Emperor h-heard m-my prayers.” - her world was under siege, she had already managed to lose loved ones, she had the right to tears, but she still tried to wipe them away. - “I-I am too weak to walk. Please save the others.”

The Space Marine did not say a word, listening to her sobs. He came closer until he knelt down on one knee next to her. Only then did she notice that his armor was covered in blood, and in some places there were signs drawn that were unfamiliar to her. If she had any doubts, they were dispelled as soon as the Astartes removed his helmet.

He was quite handsome. Pale-faced, with a snub nose, a scattering of freckles and bright cheeks. His wheat-colored hair barely reached his shoulders. His face was clear and bright, with only one scar crossing his left eyebrow. But what stood out most about the young man were his eyes. Blue as the sky of her planet until the heretics attacked it and it turned red.

“You really are an angel.” - she switch to a reverent whisper. For the first time, a happy, albeit tired, smile appears on her face. Her eyes are still shining from recently shed tears before she plunge into the saving darkness. She could no longer remain conscious after what she experienced. She were too tired.

For a second before she finally lose consciousness, it seems to her that the Astartes' ears are red. Like an ordinary young man who heard a compliment from a pretty girl.

Hah, what a heresy.

***

The mortal soldier of the Corpse on the Throne writhed helplessly in Virgil's arms, unable to resist him. In truth, Virgil would not have minded playing with his victim, but the thirst for blood was stronger. But it doesn't matter. The planet they had landed on promised rich loot.

Quite a long time had passed when he joined the Red Corsairs. And when he realized this delightful feeling. The ability to not pretend. The ability to kill as he pleased, torment as he wanted. Maybe the Black Thirst was a curse, but such an opinion was imposed on him. The veteran never thought so.

"Virgil!" - a completely joyful cry rang out across the battlefield.

But having a roommate like this one is a curse. And to his great dissatisfaction, quite scary and uncontrollable. Although a narrow-minded mortal would probably think that a flesh tearer covered in someone else's skin is more dangerous than a lamenter with an angelic face.

But to be fair, he thought so too.

The veteran sighed and threw the soldier's body away from himself. And judging by the convulsions, he was still alive despite the loss of blood. On another day Virgil would have liked to watch mortal’s suffer longer, but the plundering had only just begun, and man had to deal with the young pup before he did anything wrong.

“Vergil, look who I found. She mistook me for a loyalist.” - the young man, unusually softly holding the limp body of a mortal girl, looked at her face with almost love in his eyes. - “I saved her.”

Vergil rolled his eyes, scratching his poor bald head. Why, why, did he get Luka?

“Of course she thought so. Not only did you not change your armor, but she also apparently passed out before you spoke.” - the lamenter, to Vergil’s irritation, ignored the fair remark. - “Why did you even bring her here?”

“What do you mean, why? I saved her, now I have to marry her.” - the blond answered as if nothing had happened. Seeing how his pale partner’s eye began to twitch involuntarily, he raised his voice in displeasure. - “Don’t look at me like that! She will behave well.”

“Like the previous girls, huh?”

“First of all, I liked them, but I wasn’t going to marry them. Secondly, we met when they already knew which side I was on.” - Luka again gazed tenderly at the sleeping girl, burying his nose in her cheek. - “And she said that I looked like an angel.”

A little more and Virgil would throw up, he was sure of it. Of course, he was a sadist. He liked to torture and torment. He liked to hear screams. And yet, when it came to intimacy, it was unnecessary. The cultists screaming in strange ecstasy irritated. Some went completely wild, so after a couple of blows, he had to fucks their still warm corpses.

And the captured slaves... well. They cried. Of course, it was beautiful, but their constant attempts to escape and crawl away also irritated the man. Why couldn’t they just lie quietly and wait for him to finish his business? Why are they all so disrespectful?

It's annoying. Everything annoys him.

But the girl's calm, sleeping appearance was apparently one of the few exceptions. Virgil would even say that he liked the way her eyelashes twitched slightly, and her lips parted just a little. Serenity itself. Innocence itself.

Even as a loyalist, Virgil didn't care much about mortals. But still, even in such a callous person as he, there was a hidden desire to protect the innocent. Now he likes to torture them more (everyone, to be precise). But after his desire was returned, the need to possess lovely ladies settled in him. Alas, but he no longer serves the Emperor, and the girl expects exactly this from them. Luka, an idiot, does not understand this and dragged her to her death.

Although-

"Let's tell her that we are fighting for the Corpse on the Throne."

"What?"

“You just said that she took you for a loyalist. So why try to convince her otherwise?” - the veteran smiled with all his sharp teeth, enjoying his genius. - “She has had it tough enough as it is. Let’s lock her in the quarters. She will see and listen only to us.”

The boy stared at him blankly for a while until the whole plan dawned on him. Luka opened his mouth joyfully, causing the blood of the dead to slowly flow inside. Virgil involuntarily stuck out his black mutated tongue at the sight. Hmm, he would have to keep that abomination in his mouth if he didn't want to scare the girl ahead of time.

"Oh, that's a great idea. She'll be so thrilled to have ended up with the good sons of Sanguinius. But, Virgil, what if she finds out that we're fighting against the Imperium?" - Luka hugged the girl tighter, burying his nose in her hair. - "What should we do in that case? Will she cry? Hate us? What if she wants to run away??"

"By that time, she'll be used to us and her new home. She'll come to terms with it, you'll see." - the veteran growled with displeasure and slapped the blond on the back of the head. - "And stop squeezing her like that! You'll break all her bones."

"B-but she's so pretty!"

He was right. She really is pretty. By the Ruinous Powers, Virgil hated the False Emperor and the Imperium. But he had to admit that some of its citizens were better looking than the cultists.

"Don't. Squeeze. Control. Yourself. Or better yet, drag her on board before she wakes up."

The blond immediately went thin. The veteran involuntarily cringed as he saw tears gathering in his blue eyes. You wouldn't know from Luka that he was wreaking heretic.

"But we've only just begun the massacre! I've never even come across any children!"

You wouldn't say he was a pervert either.

"Then it would be in your best interest to quickly take her to the flagship and return to us. I don't know how you'll do that. But since you've picked up the girl, have the respect to take care of her."

“Fine! But then I’ll choose her name.” - the blond possessively hugged the limp body and headed towards the ship. Virgil only sighed heavily, raising his red eyes to the sky. How hard it was sometimes with the young man.

But on the other hand, he was still useful. The idea of ​​playing the role of the Emperor’s loyal servants was hilarious in itself. And an unhappy and lonely lady in distress was an extremely pleasant bonus after the massacre. Surely, such a good girl was followed by crowds of vile fanatics of the Corpse on the Throne. But never mind, now her saviors will take care of her.

“We are the Emperor’s Angels after all.” - Virgil muttered under his breath, pleased, turning his attention to the soldier who dared to shoot at him. It seemed he would finally change his cloak.

What a great hunt they made on this world.

[lathez]

tell me ur dragon priest thoughts.... if you so wish i mean

SALEM YOU SPOIL ME WITH THIS ASK!!!!!

I have studied each Dragon Priest's tomb, history, mask, weapons, related quests, and surrounding locations, which is how I arrived at many of these conclusions!

Hevnoraak: The slave-keeper and coordinator for the clergy. Obsessed with immortality, he sought out the Blood Matron and was made a Cold-Harbour vampire by Lamae Bal. Lord Harkon would be a long-time follower of Hevnoraak's, and his daughter, Serana, would be chosen by Hevnoraak on the 20th of Frostfall to become a Daughter of Cold Harbour.

Temple Dragon: Durnehviir

A Song I Associate With Him: Blood of the Fang

***

Morokei: The eccentric and quietly sadistic Cardinal of Labyrinthian. Quick to betray Akatosh in favor of upholding the cult's reign. Believes himself to be a higher power than Alduin. Seeks to become a God.

Morokei would spend his twilight years obsessively attempting to tie his power to the Eye of Magnus. Due to this, in the early 4th era, the Staff of Magnus would appear in Morokei's tomb, granting him the power to wake as a Lich.

Temple Dragon: Paarthurnax. Post-Kyne, Labyrinthian would become a central hub for the Dragon War.

A Song I Associate With Him: Selah

***

Vokun: Half snow elf, Vokun was also born intersex, a trait which is considered exceptionally holy as the absence of distinctive gender brings one closer to the amorphous identity of the divines. Thus, despite not being a full Atmoran, they were granted Bishop status in the clergy.

Vokun was eventually killed by Ysgramor after fighting in defense of their snow elf family.

Temple Dragon: Naaslaruum and Voslaruum, an ancient and revered dragon pairing that fled to the Forgotten Vale at the outbreak of the Dragon War.

A Song I Associate With Him: Requiem

***

Krosis: The Funeral Bishop, Krosis was responsible for providing proper funeral rites and burials for all members and those in service to the clergy. He was also chief embalmer, and managed the clergy's soul gem supply.

Krosis's brother joined the rebellion, but his time was short-lived. Suffering from vocal cord malformations since birth, his brother was unable to shout and was quickly killed in his first battle.

Krosis would bury his own brother and kill himself beside his grave. Despite this being a betrayal in the eyes of the clergy, due to his many years of honorable service, he was permitted to be buried in his mask beside his brother.

Temple Dragon: Krosis did not have a temple dragon, rather he traveled between many temples to perform funeral rites.

A Song I Associate With Him: Hotel in Minsk

***

Volsung: Volsung possessed a vested interest in the Dwemer and gilded his mask with Dwemer metal. In the clergy he was primarily responsible for managing and negotiating supply chain activities. He enjoyed puzzles and was inspired by the Dwemer's intricate puzzle designs, building his own in the halls of Volskygge.

His relationship with the Dwemer would betray him; they killed Volsung after he tricked them: his mask for three Centurions. In lieu of his own mask, he presented them with a wooden mask.

Infuriated by Volsung's death, Vulthuryol, his temple Dragon, would raze Alftand, destroying the city, but was soon after captured and imprisoned in Blackreach.

Temple Dragon: Vulthuryol

A Song I Associate With Him: Don't Rely On Other Men

***

Rahgot: Despite being named "Anger," Rahgot was measured and highly respected during his initial reign. Forelhost was well known for alchemy and many famous alchemists studied with Rahgot and his masters. Being on the border of Morrowind, Forelhost acted as a trading post for Chimer settlers.

At the end of the dragon war, Forelhost was one of the many temples left without a temple dragon. By the 1st era, Rahgot had become cruel and violent in a desperate attempt to keep his subjects from staging a coup.

Following the Siege on the Dragon Cult, Rahgot was ultimately killed by a rogue group of subjects who had been hastily given a lighter dose of poison by Forelhost's court alchemist.

Temple Dragon: Viinturuth

A Song I Associate With Him: Redrum

***

Otar: Once a respected Nord Leader, Otar was driven mad by the aspect of Sheogorath and sought to join the dragon clergy. He briefly studied with Ahzidal in order to enhance his skill in enchantment.

He was initially outright rejected by the Clergy, a fact which infuriated him. Out of anger, he crafted and enchanted his own mask and accoutrements. He began running several cutthroat mining operations, especially malachite. This was eventually noticed by Nahagliiv, a unique frosted-glass dragon, who chose Otar to lead his temple and receive a proper mask.

Temple Dragon: Nahagliiv

A Song I Associate With Him: Birds

***

Nahkriin: The only Dragon Priest to truly follow the teachings of the religion, Nahkriin's dedication earned him a place as the guardian of Skuldafn. The Arch-Cardinal, he is the highest ranking member of the clergy and for many years possessed Konahriik before bestowing it upon Vahlok after The Acolyte Betrayals.

Living in seclusion, he was the last to hear of Alduin's defeat. Having failed his sacred duty to protect the World-Eater, he took his life traditionally, but not before taking a vow to return and set matters right.

Temple Dragon: Alduin

A Song I Associate With Him: Wings

***

Zaan Scalecaller: A shockingly young Priest at the age of just 16, Zaan Scalecaller was nothing but a milk maid when she was chosen by the dragon Thurvokun to lead his temple. Her brother to be brought into servitude to the clergy, Zaan drew her father's sword and challenged Thurvokun for his freedom.

Amused and impressed by her valor, Thurvokun became attached to the young Zaan. Her rule was one of relative peace and comfort for her subjects. The young Dukaan, an initiate, not yet a Priest, developed an affliction for Zaan. The two dreamed of defecting to the Eastern shore of Solstheim together along with Thurvokun.

In the early days of the dragon war, Thurvokun betrayed Zaan out of his own cowardice. Sinking into a deep depression, Zaan's subjects murdered her without resistance.

Temple Dragon: Thurvokun

A Song I Associate With Her: Body and Blood

***

Vahlok the Jailor: Born and raised in the Dragon Clergy, Vahlok was a talented alteration and conjuration mage who studied under Ahzidal.

Following the death of Zaan Scalecaller, Vahlok was chosen by Odahviing to overtake her temple in his honor. His closest friend, Miraak confided in Vahlok that the Daedric Prince Hermaeus Mora had informed him the Clergy intended to kill him, his power as Dragonborn making him too dangerous to leave alive. Vahlok would betray Miraak's dealings with Mora to the Clergy, an action that pushed Miraak to sign a contract for his soul and begin the Acolyte Betrayals.

Vahlok would defeat Miraak and Sahrotaar at the Battle of Solstheim, and for his bravery would be granted Konahriik by Nahkriin. A peaceful and gentle ruler, he would spend his dying years wracked with guilt and grief over Miraak's entrapment. In his last days he composed the spellbook which would allow Miraak to make his escape attempt in the 2nd Era.

Temple Dragon: Odahviing

A Song I Associate With Him: Apollon

Ahzidal: Once the master wizard of Labyrinthian, Ahzidal's extreme PTSD led him to the brink of madness long before his dealings with the dragon cult. Despising elves, Ahzidal was responsible for setting Ysgramor upon Vokun's family.

Ahzidal would not defect during the initial Acolyte Betrayals, rather he would work with Miraak in secrecy. It would be Ahzidal who enchanted Firstblade, which was then blessed by Hermaeus Mora. Ahzidal, additionally, crafted the Acolyte masks.

He worked in conjunction with the dragon Krosulhah, who frequently traveled in and out of Apocrypha, to attempt to free Miraak in his early imprisonment. When Krosulhah's doings and subsequently Ahzidal's were discovered by Clergy leaders, Ahzidal finally fled to Solstheim, where he was imprisoned in Kolbjorn Barrow by Vahlok.

Temple Dragon: Krosulhah

A Song I Associate With Him: Giving Bad People Good Ideas

***

Zahkriisos: A member of Morokei's court, Zahkriisos would be so disgusted by Vahlok's betrayal of Miraak that he would defect alongside him, becoming the leader of Bloodskaal Barrow.

Despite popular legend, Zahkriisos was a fair and respected ruler who oversaw the Bloodskaal clan. Interested in unique magicks, he was directly responsible for developing Kinetic Runes, a child magic of Dragon Blood Runes which allowed the user to surpass the need for Dragon Blood by channelling Kinetic Energies through electrolyzed water bodies.

Temple Dragon: Relonikiv

A Song I Associate With Him: Red River

***

Dukaan: A talented ice mage, Dukaan had a vested interest in the arcane and spiritual properties of Stahlrim. Before his death, he decreed that he would wish to be buried near a potent Stahlrim source, that the All-Maker might consider his case and allow him to be with Zaan Scalecaller in death.

Having a secret relationship with Zaan, Dukaan would incorrectly blame Vahlok for her death, and as a result defected with Miraak during the Acolyte Betrayals. Morokei would curse him with the title Dukaan upon his defection, a name which he subsequently took as his Acolyte title.

Temple Dragon: Kruzikrell

A Song I Associate With Him: Frost

***

Miraak: The Arch-Bishop of the Allegiant Guard, a team of five dragons and dragon-riders acting on aerial offense during the dragon war. Putting their most powerful mages on the backs of dragons allowed them to cast sweeping paralysis spells and quickly incapacitate sieges where succeeding in melee combat would have proven difficult.

Miraak earned his status as an Arch-Bishop when, during The Siege of the Eastern Front, the great Serpentine Dragon Sahrotaar parted the sea to wash away the Atmoran offense and proclaimed Miraak his Temple Priest. For his status as the only Priest under the command of a Serpentine, he was granted the tusked mask.

Miraak was brutally abused and brainwashed by Hevnoraak during his early years with the cult so as to preserve his lack of knowledge regarding his capabilities as Dragonborn. These memories were returned to him by Hermaeus Mora, infuriating him and driving him to sign a contract with the Daedric Lord.

Temple Dragon: Sahrotaar

A Song I Associate With Him: Beware

[therappundit]

Probably the last Ka related post for now...but Craig Jenkins is another one of the most talented writers in music journalism today, so this Vulture article is another one that I had to share. 🙏

[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...

[sentientgolfball]

Devotion: Part 4

RAHH I cannot believe I've finally finished this little mini series. sniff. it makes me so happy

Read here or on Ao3

Pairing: Raindrop

Word Count: 13k

Tags: hurt/comfort, small emetophobia, CPR, bones, severe medical conditions/medical talk. I PROMISE its a happy ending

Summary: Dew goes through with the elemental transition. This is the result.

Rain knew something was wrong when Dew did not come to breakfast. His first clue should have been the death grip he had on him all night or the way he said good morning to him. Like it was the last time he ever would. But Rain did not listen to the feeling of a pit slowly opening in his stomach. He told himself he was reading too much into it. If something was wrong Dew would tell him. That was their deal after the night by the lake and Rain trusted him to keep it. 

The second clue was when Cardinal Copia came by the den with a multi ghoul who Rain did not know. He wore a shiny silver mask and the air around him was cold. They came for Dew, asking if he was ready to go. Rain had assumed it was for some Clergy thing, but then Dew asked for a moment alone. Rain pretended not to listen as he picked at his food in the kitchen. He heard Mountain crying. He had never heard him cry before. He heard Aether’s voice but could not make out what he said with how low it came out. The pit grew larger in his stomach as he waited to see if Dew would turn the corner and approach him next.

He waited. 

And he waited. 

Mountain and Aether returned at the same time he heard the door to the den click shut. He tried to ask where Dew was, but he could not quite get the words out properly. Aether told him Mist would be doing his bass lesson for the day. Something definitely was wrong. 

It was not until late in the afternoon he found out. He was walking alone back to the den after lessons. He was taking his normal route back, but when he passed the hall that leads to the summoning rooms he felt a pang in his chest. Something screamed at him to turn. To follow. He tried to shrug it off and continue walking but after one step he turned around. 

He had no idea what was calling to him, but it was near impossible to ignore. The closer he got the more urgent it felt. He started to walk faster. 

He smelled it before he heard it. 

The metallic scent of blood. 

The sharpness of fear. 

The rot of burning flesh. 

Before he could begin to make sense of these smells a loud scream cut through his thoughts. It was one he recognized. It was Dewdrop. 

His heart dropped to his stomach as he began to run as fast as his legs would allow towards the noise. He did not know what was happening but he knew Dew was hurt. He needed to help him. Save him. He needed to kill whoever thought they could touch him. 

He turned a corner sharply which led down a hall he had never seen before. At the end was a large metal door with sigils around the arch. It looked ancient, blackened with time. The moment it came into view he was slammed with a myriad of scents. They were so strong it nearly made him gag. He could hear Dew’s cries clearly. He could feel an intense heat. He ran. 

He ran despite his muscles screaming at him to stop. 

He ran despite his own fear. 

He ran because he could feel Dew dying. 

And then he stopped. 

Not because he wanted to, but because a large hand wrapped around his wrist and yanked  him into an alcove. Suddenly he was face to face with a deadly looking Mountain and Aether. 

“Don’t.” Was all the earth ghoul said. 

“Let me go! Dew is in there, I have to help him!” He pulls and pulls but Mountain’s grip stays strong. 

“We know. That’s why we can’t let you go,” Aether says flatly, though there is a gleam of something else. Something remorseful. But Rain does not care. Because all he heard was no. 

He snarls, baring his serrated fangs, “What do you mean you can’t?” 

“If you stop the ritual now he dies.” Mountain’s grip tightens to the point of pain. 

Rain does not feel it. His mind is too focused on everything else. Ritual? What ritual? Why are Mountain and Aether trying to stop him? Shouldn’t they be trying to help? What is happening to Dew? 

“Let me go.” 

“No.” 

He growls, rearing back best he can with his claws out with full intent to strike Mountain. He can worry about the consequences later. All that matters is saving Dew’s life.

He does not get that far though. His limbs suddenly feel as heavy as a stone dropped into a lake, sinking down and down until it hits the bottom. He is limp in Mountain’s arms. He screams at his body to move, but his muscles do not even twitch. Mountain fully picks him up and cradles him to his chest. Aether steps into his field of visions, a slight glow to his eyes under the sheen of wetness. 

“I’m sorry.” Is all he says before they begin walking away from the metal door. Away from the screams and the scent of death. Away from Dew.

~~~

Three weeks have passed since Dew’s elemental transition. 

Three long weeks. 

He still is not awake. Rain still barely sleeps. He spends his nights by Dew’s infirmary bed, watching and waiting to see if something changes. To make sure nothing happens. To be here so he is not alone when he wakes up. 

Tonight is no different. He had finished his lessons with Mist for the day before heading back to the den to sleep while he could. He got a few hours in, but they were restless and full of nightmares. Just like every other day. He woke up a little after dinner and grabbed the Tupperware full of food with his name on it before he made his way down to the infirmary. 

This is his new routine. It is just normal for him now. It has to be this way. He could, in theory, visit during the day like everyone else, but he does not. He cannot. He refuses to face any of them. Not without Dew. 

Fuck, Dew. 

Rain stops reading when the lump in his throat threatens to choke him. It does not matter anyway, he is not paying attention to the story. Has not been for a while now. He just reads to pass the time. And some part of him hopes Dew can hear him even if he is unconscious. Hopes that maybe it brings him some kind of comfort knowing he is not alone. 

He sets the book down and stretches in his chair, rubbing his hand over his face. He pinches the bridge of his nose to fight off the sharp sting in the corners of his eyes. He keeps his gaze downward, staring at the pristine white floor. 

“Sorry Dew. You’ll have to wait till tomorrow to find out who killed the queen.” He swallows thickly and slowly lifts his head. 

It never gets any easier to look at him. His brain still has trouble understanding that it is him. That is because it does not look like Dew. Not his Dew. His Dew is loud and confident and always doing something with his hands. But this bandaged, catatonic body is his Dew. No matter how much he wants it to not be. 

He still remembers how it felt to see him for the first time after the ritual. It was not until the day after. He had been trapped in his room with Mountain the rest of the day prior. Aether had to rush to the infirmary when it ended. Something had gone wrong and they needed every quintessence ghoul before they lost him. Mountain had to physically restrain him so he did not follow. It took Rain a long, long time to calm down. Once he did though, Mountain finally began to explain everything to him. 

He had learned elemental transitions were more than just myth. That they were possible, but just as dangerous as the old ghoul tales said. He learned Dew was attempting to become fire for reasons even Mountain did not know. But he wanted to. And despite how hard he tried to convince him otherwise Dew wanted to. He learned about Delta. He learned about that strange multi ghoul from breakfast. A chimera they call Special. He learned about Mountain’s fight with Dew. He learned about Mountain’s regrets. 

Neither of them had slept that night. They stayed awake with each other, waiting for some kind of news from Aether. It did not come until early morning. The sound of Mountain’s phone ringing felt like a death knell. In one click of a button they would know whether or not Dew was still alive. Rain had to look away when he answered the call. He did not want to see the expression on Mountain’s face. He nearly cried when all he heard was a quiet he’s alive. 

Aether never ended up coming back to the den. He refused to leave Dew’s side now that he was finally stable. He said they could come visit though, but he would understand if they did not. He warned them it was an unpleasant scene. Looking back on it now, Rain almost wishes he had heeded the warning. Waited another day so he would not have to see Dew in the state that he did. But he did not. He could not. The moment he was told he could finally be near him again he was out the door. 

Mountain made him wait though. He wanted everyone to go down together. Rain did not protest only because he saw between the lines. He wanted to give everyone the chance to say goodbye. He wanted to protest. He wanted to run all the way down to the infirmary and hear Dew’s voice again. He wanted to scream at Mountain for being so pessimistic; don’t you want him to live? But he did not. He waited with as much patience as he could while Mountain gathered the rest of the pack. 

Nobody else knew what had happened, Dew had made sure of that. But they were not stupid. They had pieced together that something was wrong, much like Rain. Though the look on Multi’s face as they walked to the infirmary set off something in Rain. He looked guilty. He looked nervous. Not the same kind of nervous that everyone else was. Something else. It would be days before Rain finally found out why. 

When they arrived at the infirmary Aether was waiting for them at the front desk. He looked tired. His eyes were puffy and had dark circles under them. He reeked of burnt flesh and fear. There was a stain on his scrubs that he tried to hide but Rain saw it peeking out from under his white coat. In that moment he should have known what was waiting for him. But he continued on. He had to. He had to be with Dew. 

Aether explained to everyone what happened. Why Dew had been missing all of yesterday. Cumulus was horrified. Multi had a perfect mask of disbelief but Rain could see its cracks. Even Cirrus looked shaken. He gave them all the same warning he gave Mountain and Rain over the phone. He told them it was okay if they did not want to follow or if they needed to leave. He assured them Dew would understand. Rain did not believe him. 

They all trailed after Aether to a room in the very back of the infirmary, the closest one to Omega’s office. Rain had to stop himself from gagging as they approached. The scent of rot was strong and sour. It made his stomach churn. But he was told Dew is alive. He is alive and that is all that matters. It will be fine. It will be fine. 

He and Mountain were the last ones to enter the small room. The sight that greeted them made ice run through his veins. His ear rang. All he could do was stare as it burned itself into his memory. There on the bed was Dewdrop or rather Dewdrop’s body. He was alive in the physical sense, Rain could see the shallow rise and fall of his chest. But he was not alive. 

His eyes were closed and he was unmoving. Bandages covered his arms all the way up to his neck and down his torso. His tail was completely wrapped as well. Some were soaked through with who knows what. His skin looked raw. The parts of his fingers that Rain could see were charred black. His hair looked yellow, like a piece of paper left out in the sun for too long. His right horn was missing. There were blisters all over. There were needles in his arms and a mask over his face all connected to the beeping machines. 

Aether began to explain Dew’s condition. How the machines were helping to keep him stable. But Rain barely heard it. Everything had sounded muffled. He did not feel like he was in his body as he stared at Dew. It could not be him. This could not be real. This was just another nightmare. He would wake up and Dew would be right next to him telling him to go back to sleep. So why was he still there? Why was he not waking up? Dew would shake him awake if it got too bad, so why was he not waking up? 

He had felt lightheaded as reality began to creep up on him. He had run out of the room, out of the infirmary, so fast Mountain did not even have time to call his name. He ran and he ran and he ran until he was on the shore of the lake. How he got there was a blur, but he did not stop. He dove into the cool water and swam down until he found a giant tree trunk with a moss lined hole. He had spent the rest of the day there, curled up in Dewdrop’s nest. 

He sighs and stands from his chair. He stretches and winces when his back and shoulders pop. He does not think he will ever be able to forget seeing Dew like that. Even if…when he makes a full recovery that image will be burned into his mind. Although, he is looking much better than he was three weeks ago. Ghoulish healing can be thanked for that. His limbs are still charred black and his hair yellow, but they all figure that those are just traits of his new element. The gnarly blisters that covered seem to be fading. He is not totally bandaged anymore, just over the sensitive parts. Where his fins and gills used to be. Still has that tube and mask on though. 

Actually that reminds him. It is time to change his bandages. Rain walks over to the cabinet next to the door. He opens the top cupboard to grab the roll of gauze along with a small sponge. He wets the sponge in the sink and squeezes the excess water out before walking back over to Dew’s bed. 

Aether showed him how to do this the first time he caught him down here well into the night. Rain had asked him how he could stand to do this every day. Take care of someone he loved as if they were a normal patient when he did not know if they were going to live or die. Aether told him it is the worst he has ever felt. But he could not stop. Nothing would stop him from taking care of him. Because Aether knows he is strong. Aether knows he will get through this. He just needs time and a little bit of help. He told Rain it was the same reason he kept visiting even though he ran out of the room that first day. He knows Dew is still there and that he needs someone. Rain had offered a hand that night. Aether was a little hesitant at first, but ultimately gave in. Ever since then whenever he needs his bandages changed the task is left for Rain. 

He carefully begins to unwrap the old gauze from his arms. The sight of the sharp little ridges where his fins used to be never gets easier to look at. Not because his gorgeous colors are gone, the obsidian black that fades into the new honey color of his skin is just as breathtaking, but because Rain cannot imagine the pain. That is all he thinks about when he sees Dew. How much pain he must be in. And there is nothing Rain can do about it. Both Aether and Omega have assured him time and time again that Dew cannot feel anything in his state, but Rain finds no comfort in that thought. 

Rain sighs and begins to gently clean his skin, careful of the healing blisters, “The first thing we’re doing when you wake up is taking a shower. I’ve a brand new bottle of the shampoo you like.” 

They have not been able to wash Dew’s hair since the ritual. Rain knows he would hate that. Three weeks without a proper hair care routine. He would claw someone’s eye out if he knew. In the meantime though Rain has been using his allowance to stock up on all the products Dew likes to use. He wants him to have nice things whenever he wakes up. That and Rain has taken to using the half empty bottles sitting in Dew’s shower. Every time he pops the cap and gets a whiff of that sea lavender scent it is like Dew is with him again. He feels it is only fair to get him new products if Rain is going to selfishly use what he already has. 

After Rain is done cleaning his arm with the sponge, he sets it off to the side so he can rewrap it. He starts hand first, gently giving it a squeeze before methodically wrapping each finger. Aether said at this point the only things that need covered are the parts of him that are charred black. Rain takes it to heart, making sure not an inch is visible. The last thing he needs is Dew’s condition getting worse because he got lazy. 

When he finishes with the first arm he presses a kiss to his bandaged knuckles and repeats the process for the other. Unwrap, clean, rewrap, kiss. 

“There we go,” he brushes a stray piece of hair off Dew’s forehead, “nice and clean.” 

He gathers the roll of gauze and the sponge, walking back over to the cabinets and sink. He puts the roll away and sets the sponge out to dry. He zones out while he washes his hands. Everything has felt fuzzy since the day Rain heard his screams. It is like he is not even there, but his body knows what to do. If it were not for the little calendar on the human device he was given he would never know what day it was. They all feel the same. Nothing changes. His routine never changes. Dew never changes. 

Well for the most part. 

The sound of beeping snaps Rain back into reality. His stomach drops all the way back to the Pits. He has tuned out the noises all of the machines attached to Dew make. If he is hearing it then something is wrong. He runs over to his bedside without even turning the sink off. His heart pounds so hard he can hear it in his ears. He freezes with his hands hovering over Dew. His breath is quick as he snaps between staring at the monitor and back down to him. 

He waits. 

All he can do is wait. He has no idea what any of the numbers mean on the screens. He watches the green line at the very top as the waves spike. Which one did Aether say that was? Why can he not remember? He has to remember. He has to know what is wrong so he can fix it. He has to fix it. He has to help Dew. He has to protect Dew. He has to. He has to. He has to. 

He cannot breathe. 

He cannot think.

He feels cold. 

He feels hot. 

He. 

He pauses. 

His eyes refocus and he can see the line looks the same again. The slightly faster beeping has returned to normal. It really was just a spike. His heart rate just got a little faster and then went right back to normal. That is all it was. It is not anything more. If it was, Omega would have run in here by now. But it is still just him and Dew. 

He feels sick. 

He takes a few deep breaths before clamping his hand over his mouth and running out of the room. He makes a beeline for the bathroom that is across the hall. He bursts inside, hitting his knees in front of the toilet just in time. His body curls in on itself as he vomits. He spits a few times before finally lifting his head. He reaches up and flushes the toilet as he scoots over to lean against the wall. His gills flutter as he takes in air. He stares up at the ceiling but he does not see the plain white tile. He sees the day he heard the beeping for the first time. 

It had been about five days since the ritual. Not even a full week yet. His condition was still extremely fragile. Omega or Aether was constantly in the room, they did not dare to leave him without a quintessence ghoul close by. It was the second time Rain had come to visit after he ran out of the room on day one. Mountain had found him sitting alone on the shore of the lake, curled into a little ball while the waves lapped at his feet. He had asked if Rain wanted to join him on his visit to see Dew that day. Everything inside of him had screamed yes, but his body was frozen. The words were stuck. It has been like this since he saw Dew’s body. 

Mountain has been able to see right through him though. With Dew in the state that he is, Mountain has become the driftwood Rain clings to in the storm. So he hoisted Rain up, hugged him tight, and held his hand while they walked back to the Ministry. 

As they went, Rain asked him how he could do this. How could he just go in there and sit with his broken body? How he could stand the silence. Mountain had squeezed his hand and told him he hated every minute of it. He hated seeing Dew like that. Hated knowing he had tried to stop it and failed. Hated knowing one of the last things they had done before all of this was argue and fight. But he hated leaving him behind even more. He hated the idea of Dew being alone even more. He wanted to cry every time he saw him, and most times he did, but that would not stop him from being there for his little lily. Mountain’s words gave Rain a lot to think about. 

When they arrived at the infirmary, it was Aether who was on duty. That was not surprising. Rain was confident Aether would be here all hours if not for Omega forcing him to rest by taking the night shifts. He was in the middle of changing Dew’s IV bag when they walked in. He had given them a smile, but it did not reach his eyes. It was practiced. Something learned from dealing with patient after patient since his summoning. 

Mountain had given him a hug while Rain took his usual spot in the chair next to the window. He liked to look outside while he was in here. It was still so hard at the time to actually look at Dew. Whenever he did all he could see were the tubes and the needles. All he could hear was his cracked screams. All he could smell was rot. But he wanted to check on him. He always did. Staring out the window was his way of coping. 

Mountain and Aether had been talking in hushed voices next to Dew’s bed. Rain does not remember what they said. He does not remember if he was even listening in because of what happened next. 

It all happened so fast. 

Too fast. 

One moment he was staring at the cardinal that had perched on the tree branch close to the glass and the next his ears were pierced with a loud noise. He turned just as Aether shouted and Omega ran into the room. Mountain was plastered to the wall, staring at Dew with a mix of disbelief and horror. Rain had no idea what that sharp noise meant but he knew it was not good. He did not even have time to ask what was going on before Aether placed his palms on Dew’s chest and began to rhythmically press down. 

There were tears streaming down his face. 

He begged Dew to come back. 

The sound of cracking and popping as Aether pounded on his chest made Rain sick. He had finally realized what exactly happened. 

Dew died. 

His heart stopped. 

He was dead. 

Rain could not look away as Omega placed his hands over Aether’s. He could see their mouths moving but he did not hear their words. All he could hear was the ringing in his ears. He watched as sparks of purple flashed from Omega’s hands and through Dew’s body. He convulsed with it, twitching and arching up. The scent of ozone was so thick it had practically choked him. 

Another spark. 

Another twitch. 

Spark. 

Twitch. 

Spark. 

Twitch. 

One more spark and the sharp noise was gone. The sound of beeping Rain had yet to tune out returned. Omega had sighed and slowly pulled his shaking hands off of Dew. Aether had refused to let go. He had stopped pressing on Dew’s chest but he did not lift his hands. Omega had to pull him away. He had slumped so heavily against him Rain was certain he was going to fall over. He could tell Aether was crying by the way his shoulders shook but he could not hear his sobs. Everything had sounded muffled, like he was sitting at the bottom of the lake. The ringing only got louder as he watched bruises bloom on Dew’s chest. 

He had felt cold and clammy. He could feel sweat starting to prickle on his skin. He had looked up when he saw movement. Mountain and Aether were clinging to each other. Omega was approaching him. He had spoken to him but Rain did not hear the words. The last thing he remembered before his vision went black was Omega quickly reaching forward to stop him from falling out of his chair. 

When he had woken up he was in his room. He was alone. His head had still felt heavy, but nothing close to what it had been in the infirmary. He had been confused. He did not remember coming back here. He did not remember leaving Dew’s room. 

All at once it had come back to him. Dew. Dew had died. But he was not dead anymore right? Aether and Omega brought him back right? It was all so fuzzy. He needed to find out though. The uncertainty weighed on him. It felt like his skin was crawling. He could not lay in bed while he did not know if the ghoul he…cared for was still breathing. 

He wobbled on his feet when he stood, but he had to ignore it. He had to go find Mountain or Aether and figure out what had happened. 

When he opened his door and stepped into the hallway all he could smell was the sour scent of grief. It had hit him so hard he could not help but wrinkle his face in disgust. That only made him feel worse. If grief was so strong it was choking him then something was wrong. Luckily Aether’s room is right next to his so he did not have to go far. He stood outside of his door, but did not open it right away. He could hear crying and muffled voices. Despite himself he had pressed his finned ear to the door to figure out what was happening. 

He heard Mountain and Aether. Aether was crying so hard Rain had no idea how he was getting air in his lungs. Mountain was doing his best to comfort him, but his deep voice wavered with every word. He tried to remind him that he was alive. Omega got him back. It was obvious to Rain that he was saying it for both of their sakes. 

He could have entered the room. He could have sought out his own comfort from those two. The two people who cared about Dew just as much as him. More than him. But he did not. He had felt something gnawing in his stomach. Something that told him he was an outsider in this. That his grief was nothing in comparison to Aether and Mountain. And no one was there to challenge him. The one person who would have was unconscious in an infirmary bed. So Rain took it to heart. He changed his routine. He stopped going to visit Dew with Mountain. Stopped going during the day all together. That is why he spends his nights by Dew’s side now. 

A knock on the bathroom door frame pulls him from that memory. Quickly he is reminded of the taste of bile on his tongue. He wrinkles his nose and turns his head to see who came looking. He would expect Omega or maybe one of the human nurses, but who he sees is much better. A tall, slender figure with skin as white as snow and hair as black as ink. It clung to his face as if it was wet, but Rain knew if he touched it it would feel dry. It covered half of his face, leaving only one void like eye visible. His head felt like TV static before a raspy voice echoed in his mind. 

Are you okay? 

“Great, Delta. Everything is just great.” Rain turned his head to look back up at the ceiling again. 

You know I can tell when you lie. 

Rain grumbles. Of course he knew that. To be honest, he was kind of glad he could. Delta has been an unforeseen light in all of this. Just like himself, Delta only visits at night. He does not come often, but he does show up at least once a week. He still remembers the very first time he saw the ghoul he has only ever heard stories about. 

It was the third night in a row he had spent by Dew’s bed since he flatlined. There have been no other complications so far, but that did not stop the ever present cloud of worry that raged over Rain’s head. He was pretty sure he was starting to go crazy from it. Dark circles had begun to form under his eyes and it seemed like he had a headache more often than not. He was fatigued. He had barely slept since. Barely ate. All he wanted to do was watch Dew as if somehow his presence would stop anything else from happening. At the very least someone would be there if something did happen. 

But this was the third night. He was going to crash and he knew it. Still he fought it off, squeezing his eyes shut before opening again. Forcing himself to stay awake. Stay vigilant. He had stood up, figuring if he stayed in his chair any longer he would pass out. He had walked over to the window and stared out at the night. The moon was full. He was sure She was the only reason he had not collapsed yet. He stayed like that for a moment, staring at Her glow and the shining stars. He wondered if Dew could feel Her in his unconscious state. He wondered if he could feel Her at all, if there was any water left in him. 

He had sighed, knocked his horns against the glass, and then turned back around. He had jumped out of his skin when he did. A tall white figure with black hair and black eyes was staring down at Dew. Its head was tilted curiously. Rain was not sure if he had finally broken. If his mind was just making things up. For a brief moment he wondered if this is what Death looked like. 

Then it felt like there was static all around him and he heard a voice in his head. It assured him he was not Death, though Rain was not the first to think that. He told Rain he was the first ghoul, in Ministry history at least, to attempt an elemental transition. He was Delta. 

Rain was immediately cautious. He had heard the stories about Delta from Mountain. How the unstable quintessence in his body would jump out and shock people. He had no idea what would happen if Dew got shocked. Quint had brought him back and he was sure it could easily take him away. Delta had told him he would not be here if he thought he was going to be trouble. Rain told him to get out of his head. Delta asked him why he hurts himself. 

That had made Rain pause. He was not hurting himself? What was this crazy ghoul on about? He did not dignify him with a response, instead he had sat down with a huff and an eye roll. After staring at Dew for a moment longer, Delta had walked over to Rain. He stared down at him with those void like eyes. Completely silent. It made Rain squirm. When the silence had stretched for too long he snapped at Delta and told him to leave. 

Instead he just blinked slowly and asked him the same question. Rain was exhausted and drained and had no more patience left in him. To Hell with the stories about this ghoul he would make him leave. He has stood up with full intention to force Delta from the room. But then he heard his voice in his head again. 

You can’t take care of him if you’re dead. 

It had made Rain pause. He was sure Delta was threatening him and he called him out on it. Delta had just shook his head and began to tell Rain everything that was wrong with him physically. His cortisol levels were unbelievably high. Blood pressure as well. He could feel the hunger gnawing at his stomach and the heaviness of his head. He had also said the colors surrounding him looked bleak. He would not be surprised if Rain got sick in a few days. 

That is what made him realize what Delta had actually meant. If he did not take care of himself, he could not take care of Dew. Maybe it was because he had been exhausted or maybe it was because Delta was first to really check on him, but a thin sheen of tears coated his eyes. He had blinked them back and flopped down into his chair again. He does not remember what happened after that, but he does remember waking up in his bed with the lingering feeling of static on his skin. 

Ever since that night Delta has made it a point to check on Rain. He does not seem concerned with Dew’s condition which is both off putting but also comforting in a way. If the only other ghoul to have gone through this process is not worried, then that means he is fine right? 

Delta is now in the bathroom staring down at Rain. He pulls a little travel sized toothbrush from his pocket and hands it to him. He sighs and pulls himself up off the floor, taking it from him. He is beyond grateful that someone looks for him. Mountain would only ever seek him to ask if he wants to come with him to see Rain. Aether is never around, too busy taking care of Dew and the rest of the infirmary during the day. They are both kind to him, but they ask him how he is doing. Not really. If not for Delta visiting that night he probably would have run himself into the ground. 

What happened? Delta asks while he watches Rain brush his teeth. 

He spits into the sink, “Heard one of the machines beep. It just reminded me of…” 

He squeezes his eyes shut and grips the side of the porcelain with his free hand. He shakes his head and finishes cleaning the taste of bile from his mouth. When all he knows is mint he flips the faucet off and crosses the hall back into Dew’s room. Delta tails after him, though he does not step in all the way. Rain raises an eyebrow at him. 

I came to see Omega, but then I felt your distress and had to stop. 

Rain nods, “Well I appreciate it.” 

He really does. Even if he had not necessarily been coming to see Rain, he still made it a point to check on him. It made him feel less alone in the dark of the night. 

Delta stares at him for a moment before his voice echoes again, He dreams of you. 

Without another word he turns and goes to find Omega in his office. Rain blinks at the space he was standing and then looks over at Dew. This is not the first time Delta has said something like this. Talking as if he could hear or feel the things in Dew’s head. Rain did not know if he believed him or not. Neither Aether or Omega could hear his thoughts with their quintessence. They knew his consciousness was still in there, but they could not get anything discernible from it. 

Is Delta being truthful or is it just ramblings from a ghoul with a void where his soul should be? 

Despite the voice in the back of his head, Rain chose to believe him. It made him feel better to imagine that Dew was dreaming. It made it seem like he really was just sleeping rather than being trapped in this catatonic state. Maybe if he could dream then he could hear when Rain read to him and feel when he touched him. He hopes so. He knows how much Dew hates the silence. 

Now that Delta is gone, Rain is back to being alone. No, not alone. Dew is here. Dew is always here so he never spends his nights alone. Still, it best increasingly harder each night to fun ways to entertain himself while he watches over Dew. He does not like to read too much in one night, spread the story out a bit for both of them. That and his voice gets scratchy if he does for too long. He could play on that little human device, a phone he was told, but the screen hurts his eyes. It’s too bright. 

Instead of sitting and counting the ceiling tiles, there are thirty two, he digs through the bottom cabinets on the unit near the door. Ever since he has started to spend his nights down here, Omega has left things down here for him. Sometimes there are non-perishable snacks and water. Sometimes it is a book he thinks Rain will like. Sometimes it’s a note with a song recommendation to listen to on his phone. Rain appreciates the effort he goes through. Quite a lot. With Dew like this no one has really taken to showing him things about Topside. 

Mist became his bass instructor, but she is rather intense. He is not surprised, she is from The Deep after all. They are solitary ghouls by nature so he cannot even begin to imagine what being surrounded by a whole pack at all times is like for her.

 Their lessons are nothing like what it was with Dew. They fill the entire hour and half with exercises. The last fifteen minutes are saved to work him through songs on the setlist. He has learned a lot, he cannot deny this, but he misses the warmth from Dew. It feels rude to call her cold, but it really is the best word. She meets with him, gets right to work, and then says her farewells when it is over. Rain can tell this is something she is used to, teaching new ghouls. But that is where the problem lies. He is not necessarily a friend to her, but just another water ghoul that is still getting used to living in a different world. He is a job. 

Mountain and Aether are really the only ghouls he could rely on, but they are not there. Not entirely. They are kind of course, but with the stress of Dew’s condition it is easy to see the apprehension in their eyes. They are tired and Rain is not surprised neither of them feel like holding Rain’s hand and helping him navigate all this new stuff that has become second nature to them. He does not blame them, but a small part of them wishes they would just do something. Anything. It is the same part of him that hoped his family would welcome him back in when he was still in the Pits. It is naive. 

He could go to the older ghouls that he sees walking around, like Alpha or Chain or Ifrit, but he does not know them at all. At least with Aether and Mountain he sort of has an idea of who they are. But now that he has been spending time in the infirmary he knows Omega. Sure he was there at his summoning, but all he did was take a chunk out of the poor ghoul’s arm. He still does not know him very well and he does not force Rain to try. He still does something though. He still makes an attempt to show Rain things even if it is not directly. It is nice. 

Tonight Omega left a small empty sketchbook and some colored pencils. Rain smiles softly when he opens the cabinet and sees them. How he knows Rain likes art even though he has never said anything is beyond him, but he is glad. Probably some weird quintessence stuff, but he chooses not to think too hard about that. Instead Rain grabs the items and settles back down in his chair. 

“What should I draw?” He looks at Dew for a few seconds as if asking the question will magically make him wake. 

When he does not get a response he hums and opens the box of colored pencils. He takes out the orange one and taps it against the paper. He closes his eyes. He remembers the flowers that had sat on Dew’s nightstand until recently. They were bright oranges and yellows with little bits of black on the petals. He has no idea what they are called, but he thought they were gorgeous. They wilted so they are no longer in the room, but Rain thinks it cannot be too hard to draw them from memory. 

He takes a deep breath and then opens his eyes again. The colored pencils are sharp. Never been used before. Rain moves the tip of it across the paper carefully, as if it was as delicate as an actual flower. He tries to recall the shape of the vase and how many were in it. How they looked bunched together. 

He gets a basic sketch down before grabbing the red and the yellow pencils. He is not exactly looking to make a fully completed masterpiece, just something to add color into this room. Something more permanent than the handful of flowers that get left every few days. Rain hates seeing wilt. 

It is nice though. Having something to focus on besides the quiet and the drone of machines. Just for a moment it makes all the voices in his head stop. Just for a moment all that exists is the page in front of him and how he plans to fill it. Art has always been a passion of his, and a distraction. When he wants the world to disappear he finds a way to create his own. It is how he stays sane. It is his favorite thing about being Topside. Under the waves he was limited, though that certainly did not stop him. But up here he can draw and paint and write. He has plenty of ways to distract himself from everything. Dew’s fate. His loneliness. Whether he should trust this new pack or not. 

His love for Dew. 

The red colored pencil breaks and the wax tip rolls down the page and onto the floor. His eyes track it as it goes, rolling and rolling until it disappears under the infirmary bed. His hand tightens around the pencil until his knuckles are white. He heaves a sigh and drops it though before it breaks. 

His love for Dew. 

There is no denying that is what he feels, but he tries to not name it when he can help it. Something about that word just does not feel right on his tongue. It never has. He has loved and been loved many times in his unnatural life, but each time it ends with another piece of him missing. He thinks maybe, just maybe, if he calls this anything but love it will be different. He will not lose Dew if he never calls it what it is. 

He sighs and slumps in his chair, tossing his head back to stare at the ceiling. What was wrong with him? Spent nearly a decade alone in the ocean and he falls for the first ghoul who smiled at him when he popped out of the ground. Of course he did. He has always been a romantic at heart, it is why he has ended up in so many positions where he came to realize all he is is his status. 

Or. Was. 

Even when he was alone, exiled from his family, the other ghouls he ran into recognized him. His bioluminescent patterns made sure anyone with working eyes could see who he was. All that mattered was he had power and he was vulnerable. But up here that does not matter. Up here there are no nobles or royals or anything close to the sort. Up here he can just be Rain. Maybe that is why he is dumb enough to fall into Dew so easily. He cannot be after his status if he does not have one. 

Or maybe it is just Dew. 

Maybe it is too hard for him to resist his soft hair and big, bright eyes. Or the way his nose scrunches when he laughs. Or the way his fins flare when he is nervous or embarrassed. Or how when he blushes it covers his entire face and neck. Or how he always takes care of him without making him feel stupid. Or the way he shimmers when he sits in the sun. Or how he lets him cry after the nightmares. Or how when he smiles his fangs poke out from under his lip. Or how when he finally kissed him it was like he was seeing his lover for the first time in years. Or how when he—

Rain’s head snaps up when he hears movement from the hallway. He glances at the digital clock on the table by Dew’s bed to see it is almost three in the morning. Who could be out there? It is not Delta, Rain would have felt that strange feeling of static that seems to follow him. If Delta has not left yet then it cannot be Omega. That and Rain always makes sure to wait and come until after Omega has done his last check up for the night. 

Could someone else be visiting? In the middle of the night? He supposes that it is not totally out of the ordinary. Usually he is by himself in the darkness, but there have been a couple of times where he has encountered someone else. Other than Delta of course. But Delta has become welcome company. 

The first time he ran into another was only a few days ago. At the beginning of the week if he remembers correctly. He had been running late. He had overslept after his lessons with Mist and still felt groggy when he woke. He had stumbled out of bed in a hurry once he realized what time it was. There would be no real repercussions for being late, the schedule was his own after all, but it had made his stomach twist nonetheless. He had left so fast he completely forgot to grab his dinner from the fridge. 

When he got down to the infirmary the door to Dew’s room was ajar. He had paused to scent the air. The door was never just left open unless someone forgot to close it. He had crept closer, still searching for the scent. He wrinkled his snot when he finally caught it. That unmistakable sweet yet sour scent of humanity. But there was an undertone of something else. Something that smelled like the Pits. He stopped just outside the door to listen, he wanted to figure out who was in there with his Dewdrop. 

He turned his finned ears towards the crack. When he had heard the sound of the words of the Morning Star muttered in a thick accent he had realized who it was. It was that man, Cardinal Copia. His summoner. He had no idea why he was here when it was his fault Dew was like this. He was not stupid. It did not take Rain long to figure out the Cardinal had a hand in Dew’s ritual. It had made his blood boil knowing he was in there instead of Rain. 

But he had not moved from his spot. He had to gather information before he attacked. He was not a mindless beast. He perked his ears and focused in on the sound of his voice. 

Praying. He was praying. Not only was he praying to the Morning Star, but to Lord Buer. The great Lord of Healing. This had piqued Rain’s interest immensely. Why was the one who caused this begging for it to be undone? It was too late to realize his mistake. The damage had already been done. His remorse did nothing to quell the heat of anger in Rain’s body. Infernal Blessing be damned, Rain would risk banishment to get just one good hit in on the Cardinal. If Dew did not get to leave that room unscathed then neither should anyone else involved. 

He had been ready to push open the door with fang and claw barred when something else caught his attention. Crying. The Cardinal was crying. He finished his prayers with a choked off Nema. Rain had thought that was it. He was going to get up and leave and he could spend the night with Dew. Alone. But the Cardinal had stayed. He had sat there and apologized to Dew. Over and over again he had said it was his fault. He should have done something different. Should have waited. Should have had anyone else do it. Should have told the Clergy no. 

Rain still was not sure he trusted or even liked the Cardinal, but maybe he had less control than Rain initially thought. It was still fault though that Dew was like this and he would not forget this fact anytime soon. Even so, he had taken a deep breath and sheathed his claws and pushed the door open. 

Rain stands from his chair and shuffles over to the door, laying the sketchbook and colored pencils down on the little nightstand. Maybe he is just hearing things? Either way he might as well check. Maybe the Cardinal is coming back for another visit. Or one of the other ghouls. Part of him hopes it is neither of those options. 

He pokes his head into the hallway. Looking right he just sees Omega’s office door. It’s cracked open and there is a soft light spilling out. If he focuses he can hear Omega talking, presumably replaying to whatever Delta is saying. Looking to the right he jumps a little when he catches the gaze of a human. One he recognizes. He does not remember her name, but she is one of the ones who works here. She gives him a polite smile in greeting before heading into one of the other rooms that are occupied.

Rain returns the smile though he is sure it looks more like a grimace than anything. How out of it is he if he gets all antsy just from the nurse doing her rounds? He really needs to sleep more. Maybe he can start skipping his bass lessons? No he is confident Mist would just show up and drag him down to the practice rooms. But that is all there really is cut out. Maybe he could get away with it. He has gotten away with avoiding Multi’s incessant invitations to the group rehearsal time for the new ghouls. 

Multi. 

Rain scoots his chair closer to Dew’s bed and sits back down with a huff. There was something about that ghoul that Rain did not like. Even if he ignores the fact that Multi nearly killed both of them by trying to shove himself into the Light meant for Rain, there is still something that makes Rain’s fins itch. That blinding smile hides something. 

Though Rain has a bit of an idea what that could be. It was Multi who interrupted his time with Dew yesterday after all. Rain is still angry about it, but he did learn something valuable so he cannot be too upset. 

Same as before with the Cardinal, Rain had immediately noticed something was not right. The door was closed when he had arrived at his normal time, but that was not out of the ordinary. What was out of the ordinary was the musky scent of each of the elements. Ozone and petrichor and citrus and smoke and fresh dirt. A multi ghoul was in Dew’s room. And there was only one multi ghoul Rain knew. 

Once again Rain had pressed his ear to the door. Water ghouls may be known for their strong sense of smell, even by ghoul standards, but their hearing was a close second. He had held his breath to focus. To see if he could hear anything. 

He did. He had heard Multi’s deep, smooth voice clear as day. Though what he said Rain had yet to figure out the meaning. 

You have to wake up. I can’t take your place. Don’t make me do this, please Dewdrop. 

Rain was pissed when he first heard Multu say it and a day later he is still pissed. Take Dew’s place? What does that even mean? How could he possibly take Dew’s place? Mountain explained to him that each instrument is associated with an element, something about the humans wanting to preserve the balance, but Multi does not fit into any of them. Sure he has every element running through his veins, but if the whole point is to have a balance then he does not fit. So why the fuck does he think he can replace Dew? 

But fire and quintessence are Multi’s strongest elements. 

Fire. 

Would the humans do that? No they would not. They could not. Dew is going to wake up and he is going to be fine and they will make music together like he promised. It will be him. It will not be Multi. It will be Dew next to him. It has to be Dew. 

Dew cannot die. 

Dew has to wake up. 

Dew is going to wake up. 

He is going to wake up and he will not have any health problems and he will not be replaced and left to rot. He has to. How can Rain do any of this without him? None of these other ghouls care for Rain, not really, but Dew did. Does. He cares about Rain, he knows he does. He cannot go back to living in a world where he is alone. Not after bathing in Dew’s light. 

He cannot. 

He cannot. 

He cannot. 

He cannot. 

Rain grabs Dew’s hand, twining their fingers together despite how Dew still lays still, “Why won’t you come back to me? Please come back to me. I tried so hard, but I can’t take the silence anymore Dewdrop.” 

Rain pauses and takes a deep breath as tears well in his eyes. He brings their laced hands up to his mouth, pressing a kiss to Dew’s scarred knuckles. He is warm. Warmer than he has ever been. 

He lets out a shaky breath, “Dewdrop please. I don't. I can’t stay up here if you…”

The word gets stuck in his throat. He swallows thickly to clear it.

“I don’t belong up here. I don’t have a place Down Below either but at least I won’t have to watch as your scent fades and your room gets emptied. If you don’t come back to me I can’t stay. The only place I’ve ever belonged is with you. The only place I’ve ever truly felt at peace was next to you in your bed.” 

He drops his head, pressing their twined hands to his forehead, “I need you Dewdrop. I’ve never loved a ghoul like how I love you.” 

He has to stop as a sob wracks his body. He said it. Why did he say it? Every time he says it he ends up alone. Now he knows Dew is going to die. Because Rain is cursed to never have the one thing he has wanted most. Someone to give his heart to. Time and time again he has placed it in others’ hands and again and again they crush it in a bloody fist. He half expects Dew to flatline right this moment now that he said the words out loud. 

His shoulders shake as he openly cries. Nobody is around to hear him. Nobody is ever around. Rain is destined to be the lone ghoul for the rest of his unnatural existence. He cries and he cries and he cries as he finally accepts that Dew is gone. He is not coming back. Rain will never get to hear him laugh again. He will never get to hear him sing. He wanted to hear Dew’s song more than anything. But he never did. He cannot even carry it with him. Will not even be able to replicate it when they have to throw Dew’s body into the water. Dew is lost and Rain does not know what to do except to cry. 

He keeps their hands pressed to his forehead. If this is the last time he will feel Dew’s touch then he will commit it to memory. Those rough calluses and the points of his claws and his warm, leathery skin. 

He cries and he cries and he cries. 

He cries until there is nothing left, reduced to quiet sniffles as he sucks in air. The room is still all except for the sound of his deep breathing and the sound of machines. 

“Rainy baby?” A raspy voice croaks out, breaking the deafening silence. 

Rain freezes. 

He does not lift his head. 

No. 

There is no way. It is just a delusion. He is beyond exhausted and his mind finally snapped just like Delta said. 

He does not move. Not a muscle. Not even when he feels their fingers untangle and shaky hands trail down from his forehead to cup his cheek. Not even when warm, calloused fingers lift his head so dark blue can meet fiery orange and yellow. 

Dew’s eyes are half lidded and he looks just as exhausted as Rain. Even so, there is a little pinch between his brow, “Why’re you crying? Am I,” he coughs, “am I that ugly?” 

He gives Rain a crooked little smile, the best one he can muster. Rain feels like his body was dipped in Arctic waters. He just stares at Dew, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. 

“Rain?” Dew prompts, waiting for him to say or do anything. 

It is funny really. Rain spent the last three weeks thinking about what to do when Dew finally woke up and now that he has, he just freezes. There is not a single thought in his head. Part of him does not even believe this is real. He has to be making it up right? After all this time? Dew is finally here? 

He opens and closes his mouth a few times, like a fish out of water. He does not even get the chance to make a noise before the door to the room bursts open. Omega is there, hand still wrapped tight around the knob. He is breathing heavier than normal and his silver mask is nowhere in sight. His wide eyes scan Dew’s body before he finally steps into the room. 

“Dewdrop? Do you know where you are?” Omega says slowly as he walks over to the bedside, eyes never leaving Dew’s face. Like if he looks away he will be unconscious again. 

Dew closes his eyes and shakes his head to the best of his ability. The furrow only deepens, “Yeah yeah. ‘M in the infirmary. Recognize these ugly tiles anywhere.” 

“Good,” Omega clears his throat, “That’s good. Do you remember how you got here?” 

His eyes are still closed and he frowns as he tries to recall what happened, “I…the ritual. The ritual was yesterday. And I’m alive…so it’s because of the ritual right?” 

Omega and Rain lock eyes for a moment before he sighs, “Rain would you please give us a moment?” 

“No!” He says it so fast it surprises even himself, “I mean. I’d rather stay. If you’ll let me.” 

Omega offers him a sympathetic smile, “It will only take a minute. I need to run some quick tests and ask Dewdrop some questions. Just wait in the hall for me okay?” 

Rain swallows and looks over at Dew. His eyes are open again, but he is just staring at the ceiling. The last thing he wants to do is leave Dew now that he has him again, but he does not want to make things worse by staying. Omega said it would be quick. He will be back in here in no time right? 

Hesitantly he stands from the chair and makes his way into the hall. Dew’s eyes track him as he leaves. Rain glances back at him, gaze lingering for what feels like an eternity before cracking the door. He will not close it all the way. He needs to be able to peek in and see him. To hear him. To know he is really real and awake and alive. 

He jumps out his skin when he feels a hand on his shoulder. He quickly whips around to see Delta. His mind is most definitely playing tricks on him, but he swears he can see those void like eyes soften. It all hits him again and before he can even think he launches himself forward. Rain clings to Delta despite the shocks of quintessence. He tucks his nose against the jagged lichtenberg figure scars where his gills used to be. He does not cry, but he shakes like he is. He does not have the words to begin to describe what he is feeling, but he does know he needs someone, anyone. 

Delta is tense for a moment before very slowly wrapping his arms around Rain. He awkwardly reciprocates the hug, like it is the first time he has ever held someone else. He let’s Rain stay for a few more minutes before carefully pulling away, putting a bit of distance between them. 

His staticky voice echoes in Rain’s head, Sorry. If we touched for any longer it would probably start to kill you. 

For a creature that looks as unnatural as Delta, in this moment he almost looks timid. 

Rain just shakes his head and runs a hand through his hair, “It’s fine.” 

They stand there in awkward silence for a moment before Rain tries to speak up again, “Delta I—“ 

Before he can finish Omega opens the door and steps out in the hallway with them. Despite the thin sheen of wetness around his eyes his voice does not waiver when he speaks, “He is okay for now. In the morning I am going to run more in depth tests, but until then you may stay with him.” 

Rain does not need to be told twice. He spares one last glance at Delta who only nods at him as he comes to stand next to Omega. Rain gives him a quick nod back before slipping into the room and closing the door. At the noise, Dew turns to look at him and Rain’s chest feels tight. They just stare at each other. They stare and they stare and they stare. Rain’s breathing just grows faster and faster until he cannot take it anymore. He finally breaks the spell by running over to Dew so fast he nearly trips over his own feet. 

He practically flings himself at Dew, crushing him to his chest and burying his nose in his hair. Dew winces at the suddenness of it, but he makes no move to get Rain off. His arms shake as they wrap around Rain with all the strength he has left. He knows he probably should not be doing this with how fragile Dew’s condition has been, but right now he cannot find it in himself to care. Dew is hugging him back. He is moving and awake and speaking and alive. 

“I thought I lost you,” Rain says softly against the top of his head. 

Dew huffs a raspy little laugh, “Oh please. You’re gonna have to kill me yourself if you want me gone.” 

Rain does not respond. He just holds Dew, breathing in his scent. It is different. Under the sterile smell of the infirmary that clings to both of them is something else. It is warm, like cinnamon and campfire. It is nice. 

When the silence stretches for too long Dew speaks again, voice still cracked, “Too soon? Mega gave me an idea of what happened while I was…out.” 

Rain pulls away to look at him. He just smiles and shakes his head before crushing their lips together. He knows he really should not be doing this, but he cannot help himself. Mere moments ago he thought he would have to set Dew’s body to sea and now they are holding each other. He wants to tell Dew how much it hurt seeing him in such a state. How much he missed him. But he does not have the words. Even if he did he does not think they would get the point across. So he puts everything he has into this kiss. 

When they break Dew is grinning up at him, “So I take it you don’t think ugly?” 

“You’re as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on you.” Rain cups his cheek, gently brushing his thumb over the new dark markings. Like ash and charcoal smeared on canvas. His mind briefly wanders to the unfinished sketch of Dew in his desk drawer. 

He is snapped from that train of thought by the feeling of wetness on his fingers thought. There are tears running down Dew’s face as he stares up at Rain. 

Rain gasps quietly, “Dew—“

“Sorry. I’m sorry I don’t. I was gone for so long but it wasn’t long for me and Omega told me everything and you stayed here and and…” 

His breathing is shallow as he goes on and on. The beeping of the machines gets a little faster as his heart rate picks up. Rain can feel himself getting choked up again at the sight, but he swallows it down. He just shakes his head and wipes Dew’s tears away. 

“Dewdrop. Shut up,” he says affectionately. 

He sniffs and blinks at Rain, “What?” 

“None of that matters. You’re awake now. I would have waited for forever but it hasn’t been forever. So just. Just be with me.” 

Truth be told it did feel like forever. Rain is not lying though. He would have waited by Dew’s side until the earth turned to dust if that is what it took. But Dew has no reason to apologize. He will not hear it. He has been around Delta enough now to know just because he is awake that does not mean this is all over. Their time could still very well be limited, so Rain does not want to spend it trading I’m sorry’s back and forth. He does not want to spend it listening to Dew beg for forgiveness when there is no resentment. He wants to spend it like this. Holding him and kissing him and telling him how he looks like the sun shining on the waters of the lake. 

Before Dew has the chance to say or do anything, the door bursts open. Rain jumps up from the bed on instinct, like he was caught doing something he should not. He stays close though as he whips his head around to see who or what caused the commotion. He keeps a hand on Dew’s shoulder, still desperate to feel his warmth. His life. 

When he turns, he is face to face with Aether and Mountain. They are both still in their pajamas and panting. There is a little sheen of sweat around Aether’s hairline. Their eyes still look heavy and bloodshot, like going from a dark room to a light room without time to adjust. 

Rain is tense as they rush over to the bedside. Despite how much he wants to stay by his side, he shuffles away as Aether and Mountain get close enough to touch Dew. Everything in his body screams to shield Dew from them. Do not let them get close. Flash his fangs and bite and snarl to keep them away. They cannot be around his Dewdrop when he is still so injured. But he stops himself. 

Barely. 

He has to bite his tongue so that the growl he can feel bubbling up does not become audible. Logically he knows they have more of a right to be here than him. He has only known Dew a fraction of the time Aether and Mountain have. But that does not stop the feeling. It does not stop the want, need, to keep Dew all to himself. So he just stands off near the door, giving those two as much time as they want with Dew. He is not stupid enough to invade their space. 

Aether stands on the left side of the bed while Mountain takes the right. They both hunch and crouch so they can be closer to him. Aether takes Dew’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles. 

“Dewdrop. My Dewdrop.” His voice is higher pitched, cracking under the weight of unshed tears. 

Dew looks almost confused, “It’s the middle of the night isn't it?” 

“Like that would stop us from coming to you,” Mountain twines his fingers with Dew’s other hand, “Omega called as soon as you woke up.” 

Dew just shakes his head, like he wants to protest. To come up with any reason why they should not be here, why they did not have to come right away. But he does not. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, but no words ever leave. Aether and Mountain continue to just stare at him, giving him all the time he needs. 

Finally, Dew slowly looks over at Aether. He moves his hand that is still intertwined with Mountain’s over his chest, “I’m sorry.” 

Rain looks away when he sees the first tear fall from Aether’s eye. This feels. Intimate. Like he should not be here. He hears Aether’s soft, shaky voice and he tries not to listen. He is almost certain he is not meant to hear his words. He instinctively turns back though when Mountain’s voice rumbles out. 

“You’re alive. That’s all I care about now.” 

Oh he wishes he had not. The sight makes his chest ache. They each have noses tucked under one side of Dew’s jaw, careful to avoid the bandages covering his gills while still getting as close as possible. Their huge frames completely cover Dew. Rain can only see his head poking out. Aether chuffs softly, trying to soothe Dew who started to cry again. Despite the severity of the situation, the scene before him is warm. It is full of time together that Rain will never understand. Echoes of a thousand I love you’s Rain will never hear. No words have been spoken yet Rain can see an entire story. 

A story he does not have a place in. Not really. Maybe one day sure, but right now he is just the new ghoul who shoved his way in without a care to the previous relationships. This moment is not for him. He wraps his arms tightly around himself as he debates whether or not he should just leave. He does not want to, he knows this, but the itch in the back of his brain that he is wrong is too much to ignore. 

His eyes drift over the scene before him until he finally notices Aether staring at him. They lock eyes for a moment and Rain feels his stomach jump. He wonders if Aether is going to kick him out. Wonders if maybe he will confirm everything he is thinking. He is a quintessence ghoul after all, it is not out of the realm of possibility that he just heard all of Rain’s thoughts. Rain swallows thickly as he waits, not sure what else to do. Last time this happened he was knocked out cold. He can feel the tiniest spark of fear as he waits for his verdict. 

But then Aether smiles at him. It is weary, but it is genuine. He holds his hand and motions for him to come closer. Rain hesitates for a moment. He is not sure he deserves this. But then Mountain looks over at him with something soft in his eyes and it is all over. He darts over and joins probably the most unconventional pile he has ever experienced. 

Dew gives him a tired little smile when he feels Rain rest his hand on his thigh. He lets out a sigh and closes his eyes, laying his back against his pillow once more. Aether must feel his confusion and panic because he pulls Rain just a little closer. 

“He’s just going to sleep. Don’t worry.” He says it for both their sakes. 

“He just spent three weeks asleep.” Rain shakes his head. 

Aether nods, “Not asleep. It’s a lot to explain, but I can guarantee you it wasn’t restful.” 

Silence hangs in the air for a moment before Rain speaks again. 

“Is he going to be okay?” 

“He will be.” Aether brushes a strand of hair out of Dew’s face. 

Rain smiles. Aether is right. Dew is going to be okay. More than. Because he has ghouls that would turn the earth to ash for him. Even if things are not okay and Dew ends up as damaged as Delta, he will be okay. Rain will not let Dew turn into ghost stories that get spread to all the new summons and Siblings. For as long as he is alive Rain will be by Dew’s side. His heart fell into Dew’s hands the moment he was pulled from the ground. He knows it will only stop beating when Dew’s does and by every ounce of power in his veins he will make sure that does not happen until the collapse of the universe. 

Because Dew deserves to be loved that long. 

~~~

Rain can barely breathe through the black fabric covering his mouth. He cannot tell what is louder, his pulse in his ears or the roar of the crowd waiting for them to come on stage. He is so sweaty already and they have not even done anything yet. His uniform clings to him and it just makes the feeling of unease that has settled in every part of him worse. 

He has tucked himself away in some dark corner backstage while everyone waits for the Cardinal. There is not much longer now. In a matter of minutes he is going to have to face thousands of humans and do what he was summoned for. Perform. Put on a good enough show that His message stays in their hearts. 

He feels like he is going to pass out. 

There is no way he can do this, why did he think he could do this? No amount of rehearsals could have possibly prepared him for this. His leg bounces so fast he is surprised the whole building is not shaking. He vaguely hears a techie call out another time check and his mind works a mile a minute. All he can think about is every little way in which he can fuck this up. 

He could trip and fall off the stage. He could miss his cue. He could flub every single note. His bass could just stop working. What if he moves too fast and his mask flies off? What if he does actually pass out? What if he loses control of his glamour? What if he—

“There you are. I was wondering where the fuck you ran off to.” Dew slides up beside him and puts a hand on his shoulder. 

He must be able to feel how tense he is because his blue glamoured eyes minutely soften behind his silver mask, “I brought water for you. Trust me you’re gonna need it, it gets hot as fuck out there.” 

Rain just silently shakes his head. He thinks if he puts anything in his body right now it will just come right back up. 

Dew hums and pulls Rain into an awkward side hug, “Nervous?” 

Rain nods. 

“Ah don’t be. You’ve got nothing to worry about. If those humans liked our music when it was me on bass then they’ll like anything.”

Dew chuckles but cuts himself when he realizes Rain is not laughing with him. He sighs, “I get it though. But trust me, you’ll be fine. You just gotta remember you’re not alone out there. If you fuck something up then I’d bet money someone else is also gonna fuck something up. We all fuck up together and then move on. It’s just a part of performing.” 

Rain looks at Dew while he speaks. He is not very eloquent, but the sentiment remains. He is not alone out there. Dew is gonna be out there with him. His whole pack is gonna be out there with him. He has been practicing for this for six months. He knows what he is doing. 

Dew must sense his change in demeanor because his eyes crinkle behind the mask. Rain is sure if he pulled the balaclava down all the way he would see a big, lopsided grin. 

“Thank you Dew.” 

“Ahhh don’t mention it,” he gives Rain a proper hug, squeezing him hard, “now come on there’s fruit in the green room and you need to eat so you don’t pass out and die.” 

Dew begins walking off, expecting Rain to follow. He waits a moment just to watch Dew leave. He smiles at the back of his head, rubbing a hand over his arm where Dew touched him. 

“I love you too Dewdrop,” he whispers. 

“Rainy come onnnnn! We don’t have forever!” Dew shouts over his shoulder when he realizes Rain has not followed him. 

Rain pushes off the equipment box he was using as a stool and rushes after him to catch up. He is glad Dew came looking for him. He probably would have stayed trapped in his own head if not for it. If not for Dew Rain would not be here. 

It has not been easy adjusting to a new life in a new world, but it means he gets to keep Dew by his side. As long as he has Dew’s hand to hold then he knows he will be okay. 

Always and forever. No matter what the future holds for him.

[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

Support My Work!

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. :)