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the-whispers-of-death · 2 months

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Home Again

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Most gods would be happy that they were back in the paradise realm after previously being banished and stripped of their divinity, but Fallen God!Ghost aches for you.

His nights are spent dreaming about you, the mortal who showed him what love was. He dreamt of sleeping beside you, kissing you, even cooking with you. He dreamt of your beautiful hair, your breathtaking eyes, your jaw-dropping smile. His dreams were filled with memories of your laughter, your smooth and lyrical voice.

Paradise realm is a paradise, sure, but nothing could compare to you. Your beauty outshines the paradise realm's, your presence calms Ghost in a way the paradise realm can never. The air was always lighter when he was around you, the colors of the world always brighter. You are his light, his world, and everything is dull without you.

He spends week after week searching for how to get back to the mortal realm and back to you. His power is potent, he can just teleport himself down to the mortal realm to see you but that doesn't seem like a satisfying answer to him.

Ghost would eventually have to leave you and go back to the paradise realm, forced to be able to only visit you from time to time. He didn't want that, he can't bear the thought of leaving you. Of sleeping in his own bed, alone.

He also couldn't make you a concubine of his, bring you to the paradise realm. It didn't feel right for him to ask you to leave everything you knew behind just so you could spend hours alone in his temple while he worked. You deserve better than that.

So what else was there to do?

It takes Ghost a few days to realize what he must do. What he has to do in order to see you again.

He is standing in God!Price's temple, all of the deities summoned there for the monthly update of what the pantheon has been doing since they last convened. He can barely hear what the others are saying, it being meaningless as his mind finally reaches an answer to his burning question.

"I'm stripping myself of my godhood and powers, permanently," Ghost says, interrupting the conversation.

The entire temple is silenced at once, everyone turning their heads to stare at Ghost in disbelief.

A god deliberating turning himself mortal? That was unheard of. It was absurd to even those deities who loved the mortals so much.

Price frowns, clearly thinking Ghost has gone mad. "Now, Ghost, let's think about this," he says, his words slow and carefully curated. "You can't just abandon your godly duties, you're the God of Warfare. If there's one thing that the mortals do the most, it's engaging in war."

Ghost scoffs. "My duties can easily be done by our Goddess of War," he replies, gesturing with his hand towards said goddess. "I no longer want to be a god."

His words ignite a flurry of murmurs between the other deities, all of them shocked beyond disbelief. They don't understand why he wouldn't want to be a god, especially after centuries of hearing him look down on mortals.

"Is this because of the mortal you met during your banishment, {Name}?" Price asks, peeved now. "I hadn't thrown you down to them for you to fall in love with them, Ghost."

"No, you did it so I could learn the importance of mortals and I have," Ghost cuts in, his power flaring up as his anger spikes. This isn't up for debate. "I'm doing this no matter what any of you say, I was doing a courteous thing by giving you all a heads-up."

Price shifts in the seat of his throne, itching to get up and slap some sense into Ghost. "Enough of this, Ghost. You don't even know if they will take you if you're not a god. Perhaps that was the only reason they fell in love with you in the first place."

Ghost snarls in rage at the accusation and assassination of your character. "Even if that's the case, which I doubt it is, it is my choice. I'd rather spend the rest of my mortal life heartbroken if they turn me away than spend eternity aching for them," he says defiantly.

Immense power fills the temple, all of it Ghost's as he pools it all in his veins. Stripping himself of his godhood and powers is excruciating, the pain almost enough to stop him, but he keeps pressing on with the action.

It was worth it, for you.

"Someone stop him!" Price bellows at the other deities, but it's too late.

Just as God!Soap reaches for Ghost to try and stop him, Ghost's godhood and powers are stripped from him, his last act of being a god is to send his mortal form where it needs to be: at your doorstep.

His second fall seems euphoric, a laugh bubbling up in his chest as he falls through the clouds and lands on your front porch just like he had done months ago.

He looks to the side just as you open your front door, a smile gracing his lips at the sight of you. The weight on his chest is lifted, everything falling into place once more.

"Ghost?" You ask, surprised. You had thought you would never see him again. "Did... Did you get your godhood taken away again?"

Ghost stands with your help, his skin thrumming at the sensation of your hands on him again. "I took it away myself," he murmurs, breathless as he stares in your beautiful eyes.

Your face twists into confusion, which makes sense since he had been itching to be a god again the first time he fell. "Why?"

"For you, love. I couldn't bear to live eternity without you," Ghost says, secretly nervous that you won't take him now that he's not a god. "I love you, {Name}."

"I love you too," you reply, making him relax. You step closer, happy that this isn't a dream. "I don't care that you're not a god anymore, I only ever wanted you."

"You will always have me, for as long as you will have me."

Ghost steps closer as well, reaching up to gently cradle your face between his hands. He can't wait for you to lean in as well, though you do so as he gently presses his lips against yours.

The kiss can only be described as heavenly, all of the noises of city life fading away until there was only the sound of you two kissing. It's so gentle and slow, Ghost savoring what it's like to kiss you. He pours every ounce of love into the kiss, needing you to be filled with his love.

It feels like you are kissing for hours before you both pull away for air. Your soft pants fill the air between you two, you smiling at him.

"Come on," you say, gently grabbing his hand and intertwining your fingers together. "Let's go inside and have dinner together."

Ghost nods and follows you inside the house that truly feels like home now. He lets you lead him into the kitchen, not even complaining about having to cook with you.

He had been a fallen god when he had first met you but now, he was neither fallen nor a god. He was just Ghost. A man you loved.

Reblogs are welcomed & appreciated! Asks are open, feel free to pop in and talk or request something! (SFW requests only, please and thank you)

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munchmemes · 1 month

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taylor swift lyrics, ttpd: the anthology edition, part one

the black dog

▸ i am someone who, until recent events, you shared your secrets with. ▸ your location, you forgot to turn it off. ▸ i just don't understand how you don't miss me. ▸ old habits die screaming. ▸ i move through the world with the heartbroken. ▸ i may never open up the way i did for you. ▸ do you hate me? was it hazing? ▸ now i want to sell my house and set fire to all my clothes and hire a priest to come and exorcise my demons even if i die screaming. ▸ i hope it's shitty.

imgonnagetyouback

▸ you did your research, you knew the price going in. ▸ i can tell when somebody still wants me. come clean. ▸ i'm gonna get you back. ▸ you'll find that you were never not mine. ▸ i can take the upper hand and touch your body, flip the script and leave you like a dumb house party. ▸ whether i'm gonna flip you off or pull you into a closet, i haven't decided yet. ▸ even if it's handcuffed, i'm leaving here with you. ▸ i hate you but i love you just the same. ▸ pick your poison. i'm poison either way.

the albatross

▸ cross your thoughtless heart. ▸ one bad seed kills the garden. ▸ they tried to warn you about me. ▸ devils that you know raise worse hell than a stranger. ▸ you're in terrible danger. ▸ i've been there too and none of it matters. ▸ i was sleeping soundly when they dragged me from my bed. ▸ the devil that you know looks now more like an angel. ▸ i'm the life you chose and all this terrible danger.

chloe or sam or sophia or marcus

▸ i loved you the way that you were. ▸ you needed me but you needed drugs more and i couldn't watch it happen. ▸ i changed into goddesses, villains and fools, changed plans and lovers and outfits and rules all to outrun my desertion of you. ▸ cooler in theory but not if you force it to be. ▸ will i always wonder?

how did it end?

▸ come one, come all. it's happening again. ▸ i'll tell no one except all of my friends. ▸ how did it end? ▸ lost the game of chance, what are the chances? ▸ guess who we ran into at the shops. ▸ didn't you hear they called it all off? ▸ my beloved ghost and me, sitting in a tree, d-y-i-n-g. ▸ i can't pretend like i understand.

so high school

▸ i feel so high school every time i look at you. ▸ tell me about the first time you saw me. ▸ your friends are around so be quiet. ▸ are you gonna marry, kiss or kill me? ▸ no one's ever had me, not like you. ▸ touch me while your bros play Grand Theft Auto. ▸ you knew what you wanted and you got me. ▸ i'm hearing voices, like a madman.

i hate it here

▸ quick, quick. tell me something awful. ▸ tell me all your secrets. ▸ all you'll ever be is my eternal consolation prize. ▸ i don't believe in good luck now that i know what's what. ▸ i'm there most of the year 'cause i hate it here. ▸ nostalgia is a mind's trick. ▸ i'm lonely but i'm good. ▸ i'm bitter but i swear i'm fine. ▸ this place made me feel worthless.

thank you aimee

▸ all that time you were throwing punches, i was building something. ▸ i can't forgive the way you made me feel but i can't forget the way you made me heal. ▸ it wasn't a fair fight or a clean kill. ▸ i built a legacy that you can't undo. ▸ there wouldn't be this, if there hadn't been you. ▸ maybe you've reframed it and in your mind you never beat my spirit black and blue. ▸ i don't think you've changed much.

#rp meme #rp starters #sentence starters #lyrics rp starters #lyrics starters #roleplay meme #lyrics rp meme #lyrics meme #taylor swift lyrics rp meme

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desmorotu · 3 months

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lasko’s playlist ⭐️ (a glimpse)

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ for @morgansplace !!!

☆ lovesong - adele (lasko, despite already having a partner and is able to express how he feels freely to them, is still a hopeless romantic. he often feels a pit in his stomach when thinking about love, and this song conveys precisely how he can feel. he enjoys humming the melody and tapping his foot to the beat + has cried to this song just because 💀)

☆ i’m not okay - JVKE (he loves the piano!! he is a sucker for a good, heart aching melody that can bring goosebumps to his skin. he doesn’t particularly relate to the song per se, but he does agree with the message that it is okay to not be okay.)

☆ life eternal - ghost (he thinks about his partner when this song plays :p. he really enjoys the choral elements to it! damien’s been introducing him to different kinds of music and lasko is experimenting with ghost currently. he bobs his head to the beat and enjoys dramatically staring out the window when it’s nighttime. he’s witnessed damien screaming these lyrics at the top of his lungs.)

☆ closer - nine inch nails (gavin showed him this song LMAO. despite being shy about the lyrics when listening around other people, when he is alone he is definitely jammin’. he actually enjoys the suggestive lyrics a lot, but he will never admit it to the others. he lip syncs and looks in the mirror while he does it to make sure he looks “attractive enough.” not even his partner knows he does this yet.)

☆ singularity - bts (after having looked up the english translation, he feels a deeper ache when listening to it. he relates deeply to these lyrics, acknowledging that he oftentimes puts others way before himself and, just as in the song, “buries his voice” in fear of rejection. he loves taehyung’s deep vocals and prefers listening while driving because he seeks the vibration of the bass.)

☆ like crazy - jimin (lasko may or may not have gone down a bts rabbit hole at some point—but this song hits him to his core. it’s in a way that he can’t explain, but goosebumps take over his skin and he has to stop whatever he’s doing at the moment to listen and appreciate in its entirety. he was very happy when his partner told him that it was on their playlist after listening to it with them :3)

☆ sure know something - kiss (lasko’s an avid kiss enjoyer—i won’t be hearing any protests. he likes listening to this one with his partner and breaking out of his shell for a moment to dance along with them :). he likes the bass and paul stanley’s voice could “bring a grown man—yes, that grown man is me—to his knees.”)

☆ you know me too well - nothing but thieves (he heard this from another person’s car radio while stopped in traffic and he shazamed that shit. he loves the sensual vibe and, if he ever decides to make a sex playlist, will probably be putting this song on there.)

☆ sway - michael bublé (he fuckin LOVES the entirety of this song. he dances with his partner to it and often enjoys watching them dance to it by themselves. his mouth is always agape, eyes wide and looking desperately in awe. he loves spinning them around and seeing the mischievous glint in their eye. he regrets not ever picking up an instrument, but he would pick up a trombone or violin in a heartbeat if given the chance.)

☆ dancing queen - ABBA (this motherfucker IS the dancing queen even though he is no longer seventeen. he always smiles his biggest when he recognizes the familiar melody and lets himself dance to it even if there are people around. even in the most subtle of ways like walking to the beat or swaying his body, he cannot stay still with this song on. his partner likes to play it when they’re walking through the doorway as an “intro song.”)

refer to lasko’s playlist cover at the bottom!!

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷

okay omg i hope you like it 💔 more songs from my playlist that give lasko vibes this time. these are just my opinions + headcanons ! i tried really hard with this but sometimes i’m really bad at words so i’m sorry if the descriptions are repetitive :(. again, if you want to see more, let me know!! i personally love content like this and i’ve was actually really inspired by morgan’s OC icon post :3 it was SO COOL

k bye 💟

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted headcanons #redacted asher #redacted gavin #redacted lasko #lasko moore #redacted freelancer #redacted damien #redacted huxley #how did i forget tags #wtf is wrong with me #redacted damn crew

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jeonstellate · 10 months

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spaces between us

you never want to cross paths with seungcheol again but, as it seems, the universe has other plans.

๑彡 choi seungcheol x afab!reader

๑彡 secret baby!au, post-break up!au — angst

๑彡 paragraph format — 1K words

masterlist

[gif’s full credit belongs solely to its owner]

๑彡 title is taken from one direction’s spaces (whose lyrics fit the ‘past’ that led to this story, albeit it was not explicitly told here).

๑彡 this is quite impulsive, actually. i was reading through my old fics in my drive a couple days ago && thought i can tweak this one a bit to change the ml . . .

You were surrounded by an enormous amount of cuddly plushies and breakable action figures. Everywhere you looked, your eyes would land on a face you grew up watching. Every single character played an important role in your childhood, whether you admired them or not. As far as your younger self was concerned, you were in heaven.

But then . . . you weren’t.

In the flood came — strong, unwavering, and without any warning.

All you could see was smoky quartz. Dark and light all at once. Akin to whiskey and honey whenever there was an eternal sun shining upon them, addicting and melting you right in. You could hardly believe that there was a time when they were utterly comforting to you, instead of just reminding you of a seemingly endless pain.

You had always appreciated the color brown. It was the color of soil — where life always had a chance to begin. It was the color of cocoa, too — a main ingredient in making the world sweeter. For you specifically, it symbolized a never-ending list of possibilities and opportunities.

Then, there came a time when the color itself signified something else entirely. It promised a happily ever after you never purposely sought, but was granted by the heavens anyway. It promised to cherish and to love you always. It promised you forever, lasting until the end of time. With the hopeless romantic ideologies that surrounded you as you grow, you willingly believed in those promises.

Yet, apparently, forever only last for seven years.

Brown, as rich and magical as it would remain, had its enchantments fade. Promises were broken. Smiles were rare and deceptive. A home gradually turned into a mere flat. A shadow eventually turned into a ghost. Life, once full of animation, had become utterly silent and still. From that moment on, dark crystals signified neglect, abandonment, and . . . regret.

You did not think you would be able to forgive those morions, much less forget. Yet, with time, they began to symbolize hope; a new beginning.

You never meant for it to. But these new dark crystals were so pure . . . so innocent . . . and so full of life. They were everything you thought it would be, if that shade was given humane features. Rather instinctively, just as soon as you caught a glimpse of them for the very first time, you knew you must protect those gorgeous hues from any evil — and so you tried your best.

Despite being an exact replica of the former, you instantly loved the new smoky quartz with all your heart — even more than your own life.

Once the flood had calmed, you found yourself in a situation that you had been dreading for the past few years. You did not expect the inevitable encounter for at least several more years, thus not even the comfort of childhood assisted in composing your racing heart.

"Seungjae." You found it quite difficult to act indifferent around a presence you used to know so well. "Why don’t you explore the princesses’ section? Your Uncle Jonghyeon told me Sarang likes Mulan." It was not like you could blatantly ignore him, either. All you could do was get Seungjae as far away as possible in case a confrontation spark ablaze.

"Okay!" Seungjae was enthusiastic as always, just like any other toddler who never seemed to run out energy. They turned to the man next to them, an appreciative smile on their face, "Bye-bye now, Mr. Seungcheol, thank you!" They then turned back to you, holding out their hand, "Let’s go?"

"I’ll follow you in a minute, love, okay?"

"Okay!" Seungjae remained oblivious on the thickening tension between the two adults. They walked away while dragging a plushie behind them by the ear — somewhat ecstatic to leave and explore on their own.

By the time the toddler was out of earshot, but still within your watchful eyes, you had finally settled on the best way to approach your current situation. "Thank you for helping Seungjae reach that plushie. Heaven knows what stunt they would’ve pulled just to reach it."

"[Nickname]," Seungcheol dismissed your gratitude, almost out of breath, "it’s been four years."

You did not quite appreciate how he easily dismissed your effort to keep your conversation civil, so you decided to quickly put him in his place. "Call me [First name], you lost the right to call me that when we—" You suddenly stopped yourself, realizing that it might catalyze something you were not mentally ready for. So, instead, you opted to redirect your chat in a more civil route, "How’s life treating you, Seungcheol?"

"How old are they?" Once again, he flat-out ignored you. As it seemed, while you were determined not to discuss what happened four years prior, that was the only topic he was interested in. "How— how old is Seungjae?"

You were left with no choice. If you answered, he would know, naturally. If you did not answer, he would still know, anyway. "They’re turning three this summer."

As confident his stance might have been, you watched it crumble in a millisecond after reality hit him with full force. "You should’ve— I should’ve—" When he regained enough of his senses, he seemed to realize that it was not a conversation you should be having in a children’s store. "We should probably talk elsewhere."

However stunned you were in seeing him so broken (something you had not witness in your seven years together), you were quick to dismiss him. "There’s nothing to talk about."

"[Nickname]—" Seungcheol instinctively grabbed onto your wrist when you began to walk away, but quickly dropped his hold when he realized that he might have crossed the line. "[First name]. Please."

You sighed. You did not plan on letting him off the hook easily (not that you thought of anything beforehand, anyway), but the fact that he did not even question the truthfulness of your words — like he still trusted you with all his heart . . . like he just knew that Seungjae could only be half of him — made you second guess your initial decisions.

Maybe . . . just maybe . . . you would spare him from knowing your main reason for departing without a goodbye.

"I already forgave you."

#choi seungcheol x reader #scoups x reader #seventeen x reader #choi seungcheol imagines #scoups imagines #seventeen imagines #choi seungcheol scenarios #scoups scenarios #seventeen scenarios #choi seungcheol oneshots #scoups oneshots #seventeen oneshots #secret baby!au #post-break up!au #choi seungcheol #scoups #seventeen

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wangxianficfinder · 6 months

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In the mood for...

~*~

1. A) Itmf fics where wwx is actually a servant. B) Or has a specialized skill that is not cultivation related, possibly one he's known for?

1A)

The Myrmidon by Basingstoke (E, 33k, wangxian, NHS/WWX, LXC/JGY, major character death, graphic depictions of violence, underage, WWX raised as a servant, spiritual weapons, gusu summer camp, Flirting, they're young, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-Typical Behavior, War, WIP) sadly this is probably never going to be finished, but the WIP is great on the concept of wwx actually being raised as a servant to the jiang household

~*~

2. Itmf any fics that readers of this lovely blog absolutely adore. Their favorite fic, and please tell us why! :D Did it have beautiful writing? A plot you think about even ages later? Introduce a new idea or change ur mind about a rare pair? Was it a tearjerker, or make you laugh till you cried? Did it make you warm and fuzzy to read, or scare the bajeezis out of you? Let us know! :D

The Bunnies and The Roomba: A Love Story by Nikki373 (T, 6k, wangxian, modern, Fluff, Humor, Idiots in Love, Getting Together, Happy Ending, Siblings, Siblings Try and Are Trying, College/University, 1 if by phone; 2 if by text; 3 if by mouth, Kisses, Romance, Falling In Love, LXC is the eternal captain of the good ship Wangxian) I adore The Bunnies and the Roomba by Nikki373. It's a hilarious and sweet story that I believe is hugely under-appreciated.

The Fifth Type of Non-Contact Force by Caixx (Not Rated, 83k, WangXian, Modern AU, High School, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Fluff and Humor, Actually Somewhat Canon, Mutual Pining, Horny Teenagers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Graphic Smut) this fic has been on my mind a lot lately!!! i love the yearning and exploring the complexities of their relationship in this setting. i also just love the way the author's prose

ruined me with your regard by laallomri (T, 46k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Slice of Life, Introspection, Epistolary, it is not all letters but there are quite a lot of letters, Discussion of Canon Events, Pining) there's so much lyricism and elegance and emotion and I keep going back to it every time I need it.

Keep Holding On by abCEE (M, 316k, JYL & WWX & JC, wangxian, canon divergence, demonic cultivator JYL, YLLZ JYL, yunmeng siblings dynamics, role reversal, ghost general WQ, sunshot campaign, angst w/ happy ending, established relationship, accidental baby acquisation, PTSD) I’ve always LOVED roleswap AUs, and this one is the most in-depth one for mdzs. I’ve always loved reading WWX in JYL’s role just because I have the inner need to see him doted on and loved like she is, and this has all of that. Even past that, everyone in this fic is very fleshed out and all of the arcs still follow the og mdzs timeline, but have just enough divergence so it’s fresh!

~*~

3. Itmf wwx and wicked musical crossovers. Esp anything that uses/has the vibes of the song "no good deed goes unpunished"

it's not *technically* a fic, but I think the asker would enjoy this song parody

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4. pretty sure this answered this before, but i couldnt find it for the life of me. im looking for fics where jiang cheng (usually its him) makes wwx be forgotten or erased from the timeline and things just go downhill from there. if its bashing or at least not friendly to the other characters its preferably

The Way It Wasn’t by KouriArashi (T, 72k, WangXian, XiYao, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fix-It, (eventually haha), Slow Build, Family Feels, Moral Ambiguity, Eventual Happy Ending)

Ad Oblivione by Baph, HikariNoHimeWriter (M, 70k, WangXian, Time Travel Fix-It, Temporary Character Death, Canon-Typical Violence, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Grief/Mourning, Identity Reveal, Golden Core Reveal, Cultivation World Critical, Not JC Friendly, Abusive YZY, Angst with a Happy Ending)

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5. hello and thank you for all that you do. i was hoping you could help me with the itmf post and share some fics of wei wuxian’s core getting restored, perhaps with a focus on dual cultivation being the cause of it? and if none come to mind then what other fics handle the restoration of wei wuxian’s core well and stand out?

🔒 Truth Will Out (when caught on video) - End_OTW_Racism! by KizuKatana (E, 117k, WIP, wangxian, WN & WWX & WQ, graphic depictions of violence, modern cultivation, canon divergence, YZY abuses WWX , caught on camera, partial core removal, WWX kicked out of Jiang sect, livestreamer WWX, meet ugly, dual cultivation, smut, no war)

these colours fade for you only by doodlebutt (T, 36k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everybody Lives, Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, …eventually, Hurt/Comfort, Nightmares, bed sharing, Mutual Pining, like really unreasonable amounts of pining, Slow Burn)

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence) WWX meditates his core back, not realising he's actually taking his own core back from JC

Golden Core Reveal / Golden Core Fix-It Comp

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6. Hello Mods! 😃 for ITMF I was wondering if there are any fics that

A) have LXC be angry at JGY for everything that happened/he did, or just let LXC be angry at JGY

B) do something with WWX being the Yunmeng jiang head-disciple, like focusing in on that or it being a plot point or something like that

C) show JYL and WWX being close and spending time just with each other, - I can't really find any where get to do that without JC being there and while I like Yunmeng trio I would like to see them have a bond independent of him

thanks! 😃 and have a great day!

6A)

Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics) in 12 moons and a fortnight verse, there's this lovely scene (and I belive it also is recurring addressed through the series to various degrees of lxc dealing with how he feels about jgy and what jgy had done) where lxc *spoiler alert* has a rebellious breakdown and starts slashing up the Lan rules with his sword *end spoiler*

There's a fic that I can't find yet, its short (tagged angst) where lxc hurts himself with his sword in guanyin temple as leverage so jgy doesn't hurt wwx. he's either angry or cold toward him iirc

6B)

Check out "First Disciple WWX" under The Untamed fandom here

Twelve Moons and a Fortnight by stiltonbasket (M, 290k, WangXian, Humor, Slow Burn, Post-Canon Fix-It, Long-Distance Relationship, Epistolary, Love Letters, Family Feels, a-qing lives, teenage romance, Adoption, Romantic Comedy, Happy Ending, Weddings, Case Fic, Parenthood, Politics) (Link in 6A) literally the opening premise of 12 moons and a fortnight is based around the training that wwx received as the first disciple. He was always intended to be jc's second in command - who could even lead the sect in his absence or injury etc

🔒 Heart's Courage by RighteousInAdversity (T, 19k, wangxian, WWX & WQ, NMJ & WWX, WWX & Yunmeng Jiang Disciples, WWX & WN, Lotus Pier, Sunshot Campaign, No Golden Core Transfer, Golden Core Destruction | Golden Core Melting, WWX has a Golden Core, Genius WWX, Jiāng Family Critical, not Jiang family friendly, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, BAMF WWX, Happy Ending, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon JC Characteristics, Jiang Family Has A Redemption Arc, WWX Still Leaves Lotus Pier, not YZY friendly, Bad Parent YZY, not JC Friendly, As for JFM and JYL, not Bashing exactly, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Implied/Referenced Homophobia)

6C)

it's a long road but we're not alone by Stratisphyre (M, 62k, wangxian, JYL & WWX, LWJ & LJY, LJY & LSZ & JL & OYZZ, Canon Divergence, Not Everyone Dies, Canon-Typical Violence, Parenthood, Grief/Mourning, Family Feels, Reunions, Golden Core Reveal, Getting Together)

Atlas by Folderol (T, 2k, JYL & WWX, JYL & YZY, JYL & SL, JC & JYL & WWX, Child Neglect, Metaphors for living life with a cultivation disability)

~*~

7. Hi!! for itmf, could i ask for ppl's fave canon dynamics authors? (self-recs very welcome!!) i was advised to avoid untagged E-rated fics but then i feel like i'm missing some great fics, so i'd love some help! thank you!! 🙏🏽💙

hi! i asked for 7, and i didn't wanna over-explain, but since it was asked, maybe you could add this to the itmf to clarify, if it's not a bother? 😅 thank you

i do mean top lwj and bottom wwx (only because sometimes the other dynamic can get a little ooc, which is fine, put the blorbos in situations! but not what i'm looking for currently), but /also/ canon dynamics for me means exploring while keeping their personalities: lwj being mean and bitey and awkward, but respectful when it counts, wwx being bratty but confident and enthusiastic. both dom & helpless waif wwx are interesting headcanons rather than canon to me. (also cnc/breeding kink r nice but not obligatory ofc adskjkfs)

tl;dr basically i've been 4+ years in this lovely fandom, and i feel im still not done appreciating the thoughtful way mxtx writes the characters and their dynamics, literally none of her MCs or MLs can be called 'typical' in BL standards

these authors do mostly tag their works but to be sure: 🔒kizukatana, diamondbruise, and saltyfeathers are some of my faves

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8. i’m in the mood for fic where wwx is a talisman genius! @efavs

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 712k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement) This is absolutely *the* fic about WWX being a talisman genius

💖 Lessons relearned by Iamnotawriter (T, 44k, WangXian, LQR & WWX, Not Madam Yu Friendly, Time Travel Fix-It, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Inventor WWX, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, No Golden Core Transfer, YZY Bashing) his main invention is an array but talismans too

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9. For itmf, does anyone have any recs where folks treat wwx gently? Thanks!

🔒 Instead by apathyinreverie (T, 27k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, like self-indulgently so, by way of dark(er) gusu lan, manipulative elders, but in a good way, Golden Core Reveal, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, of sorts, not Jiang friendly, not really gusu lan friendly either, not particularly friendly towards anyone really, aside from wangxian of course, Cultivation World Critical, Sunshot Campaign, Fluff, Politics, Courting Rituals, possibly implied mpreg, Genius WWX, Talismans, No demonic cultivation, but wwx is still the lynchpin of the war, Possessive LWJ, Protective LWJ) (link in #11) depending on your definition, instead (in #11) counts for #9 as well?

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10. ITMF fics where jiangs are actually a family. Like not that they're only fam in name and are living together like in canon.

The Late Great Custody Debate by stiltonbasket (G, 9k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, LXC/NMJ, JC & WWX & JYL, modern, Domestic Fluff, baby a-yuan, Single Parent WWX, LWJ is a confused rabbit owner, nielan are married, nhs is: xoxo gossip girl, Custody Arrangements, engagement, Confused WWX, WWX voice: if i'm the one with the kid why are you suing ME for child support?, LWJ kills his own love life in the worst way, Happy Ending)

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11. Hi! For itmf, does anyone know of any fics where JC and LWJ find WWX in Burial Mounds after Wen Chao throws him in there but before WWX learns to conduct resentful energy? Like, they scoop him up and rush him to healers and WWX never goes down the single plank bridge?

Hope Dangling by a String by KouriArashi (M, 70k, wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, everyone lives, angst w happy ending, hurt/comfort, psychic bond, telepathy, communication, emotional/psychological abuse, jiang family feels, lan family feels, canon-typical violence, canon-typical politics, improper use of sacred forehead ribbons, gratuitous hair washing) I'm not sure if this counts or not for 11. Lwj saved wwx just a few days after he's thrown in the burial grounds, but wwx still learns demonic cultivation. He's never alone though, and has support from lwj and his family

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12. Hi!! Is there any fic where Wy is indeed Jfm's illegitimate son?

leading tone by silencemostofall (G, 32k, WangXian, Modern AU, Soulmates, with a lil twist, Eventual Happy Ending, lesbian wq rights, Music, Orchestra, platonic and romantic pining)

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13. For your next itmf I’d like to find fics that focus on wwx’s kindness. It can be any setting except a/b/o. I just want to read stories where we see his kindness and generosity shining through.

Thanks for all your help.

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14. Are there any fics in which wangxian are in military? @constellationdks

囍 | a ghost wedding by sweetlolixo (E, 11k, WangXian, Arranged Marriage, Ghost wedding, Pining LWJ, Ghost Groom LWJ, Corpsefucking in the most romantic way possible, Angst with a Happy Ending, Non-Explicit Sex, Love at First Sight) probably not quite what OP wants, but LWJ is technically military in this fic

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15. Explicit ITMF! I recently reread the incense burner extra and I would just love to read some more stories where wwx is already soft and open without prep because of their everyday! Thank you lovely mods and reccers (novel dynamics only please!)

To Know, To Be Known series by cqlorphan (E, 38k, wangxian, Cock Warming, Multiple Orgasms, Marathon Sex, Under-negotiated Kink, Porn with Feelings, Aftercare, Dom/sub Undertones, Established Relationship, let LWJ get railed agenda, LWJ Learns Some Things about himself, sex tears, gratuitous use of names, Begging, Kink Discovery, Post-Canon, Bottom LWJ/Top WWX, Top LWJ/Bottom WWX, Switching, Light Bondage, Blow Jobs, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Let wwx get tied up but also let lwj railed, Repressed LWJ, and his journey to sexual abandon aided by, Inventor WWX, Cock Rings, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Dirty Talk, Rough Sex, Dildos, Rimming, Edging) a treat really this entire series, mentions of u what u asked for AND lwj being soft and open w/o prep as a bonus

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16. hello! are there any fic recs or lists about a Lan Sizhui Sect Heir? thank you! @mexicantransman

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17. Does anyone know of any WangXian Sentinel/Guide aus? Sentinels are kind of like superhumans with heightened physical senses, and Guides are like empaths and/or mind readers. The two usually bond with and balance each other.

Hyperprosexia by malkinmalkout (E, 192k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Sentinels & Guides, Sentinel WWX, Guide LWJ, Empath LWJ, Slow Burn, Rivals to Lovers, Fluff and Humor, Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, WWX POV, LWJ POV, Tags Contain Spoilers, Telepathy, Marriage, outsider pov, they have a kid, Telepathic Sex, Rough Sex, public exhibition, breath play, Rimming)

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If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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dawningfairytale · 7 months

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nerdy prudes must die (the song) is just. banger line after banger line. to keep this short, this post is on the religious allusions!! and that’s literally going to be so long anyway. am i reading to much into these lyrics? yes. and?

the obvious one “crusade”, with the medieval atrocities coming to mind, specifically one that the soldiers in believed was or acted as though it was righteous, when it was just bigotry. max’s is probably more reasonable than the actual crusades, given the nerdy prudes did kill him, but that’s not the point. it's also related to his power trip and intolerance for the school acting outside what he deems fit.

this whole verse actually can lean into this reading. “[the world] needs to be saved”. you know who else came to save the world (this’d be a great youth pastor segue if this were church appropriate). of course, Jesus saving the world was to break away slavery to sin (“you’re too weak to be enslaved” btw), at the cost of his own life, while max is killing people who were/are “too well-behaved” to rid the world of losers in death.

“jagerman will rise”. you know who else rose from the dead, improved beyond original (earthly) form? (seriously it’s so easy it makes me mad i can’t use it) yeah. but it’s twisted because max came back wrong. and Jesus came back right (like heavenly, in christian theology he was and always is God, this is a reference to the disciples not initially recognising him upon the resurrection).

“the jock you demonised” haha, demon, that’s what he is now. not unique to christianity, but there’s something to be said about him bragging about his reputation as a “literal monster” before loathing it. is it possible that he never liked it but he didn’t want to be seen as a loser who can’t take a hit? sure. is it more about how the nerdy prudes caused him to die in such a way that he became Like This? yeah. i don’t have more to say on this one, but i thought it’d be remiss not to acknowledge it.

and ofc, “who will pray for me when i’m gone?” and yeah, this is obviously about legacy and reputation but i’m doing specific words. prayer is not unique to christianity, but this line drew out to me praying for the dead. which is a Biblical context. some denominations believe this to be about purgatory, for others it doesn’t, because they don’t believe in purgatory. but yeah this act of care and intercession which max didn’t receive from his peers or family (he also came back as a ghost), and he forces that loneliness upon richie.

also “is this the eternal dark without a dawn” just goes fucking hard. like you can liken it to some iterations of death or hell, albeit not dante’s version we often default to, but i just think it’s a neat line mate.

#npmd spoilers #nerdy prudes must die #npmd #max jagerman #no wonder grace was turned on by him knowing the Bible

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starqueensthings · 10 months

Text

Colder Weather: Part One

Summary: a two-chapter (nice try, Holly! It’s three) ficlet that follows Post-Stassis/Pirate Kix as he navigates the see-saw of an unexpected love that he doesn't think he deserves, and the trauma of his past.

Pairing: Kix x Fem!Reader

POV/WC/Rating: 2nd, 4570, Teen + up

Warnings: extensive references of survivors guilt, grief, and mentions of previous character death. Seggsy time is implied but not described. This is emotional (it needs to be, so I'm not sorry)

A/N: the context of this ficlet won’t make much sense unless you’re decently familiar with the legends version of Kix’s life post-war (it might even be canon now? Not sure…). If you haven't listened to the song that inspired this little ficlet, I highly recommend you give it a listen; it's truly a lyrical masterpiece.

Chapter One | Chapter 1.5 | Chapter Two | ao3

“I want to see you again, but I’m stuck in colder weather. Maybe tomorrow will be better. Can I call you then? [...] Well, it’s a winding road when you’re in the lost-and-found. You’re a lover, I’m a runner, and we go round and round. I love you, but I leave you. I don’t want to, but I need you.” Colder Weather by Zac Brown Band

You’d long since memorized his movements; long since perfected this dance, having performed the passionate choreography of this duet with him countless times.

It always began with the sound of his speeder bike nearing your quiet cottage; the roaring of the engine muffled only partially by the towering hedges surrounding your acre of secluded paradise. That rumble so artificial amongst the constant tittering of nature that it took a mere fraction of a second to recognize it, and even less time to send a fervor coursing through your veins so rigorously that your hands simply abandoned whatever task that had been keeping them occupied.

Triggered by the sound of his approach, your feet took you earnestly through the front door and out into the gravel drive. A small smile, often concealed by the expanse of a thick, dark beard, tugged his handsome features upwards as he swung a leg over the seat of his bike, helmet clutched absently in one hand and arms stretched wide in a motion so welcoming, even the sheer power of the Force couldn’t have kept you from leaping into them.

He never failed to match your enthusiasm, scooping you clean off your slippered feet and into the familiar tight embrace that you’d spent weeks longing to be secured in. Hushed coos of “Mesh’la” amongst other breathy salutations were words that never needed voicing; the way his eyes danced reverently across your features spoke more volumes than any muttered term of endearment, any hushed apology for his absence. Watching the crease between his brows soften at the soft brush of your thumb against his cheek was a feeling that could have sustained life for all eternity; every caress of your fingers atop his skin powered by an ineffable desire to remind yourself of him, to remind him of you.

But there was nothing that consumed you as entirely as the dance itself… nothing that quite melted your mind like the way he laid you down on the soft cotton of that old patchwork quilt; the way that he stripped himself of his rigid encasement; the way his eyes locked on yours, twinkling with an unspoken promise that he was about to make up for his repeated extended absences… all the transmissions that he’d failed to respond to… the commitment that he continuously denied you.

And while even the ghost of his touch still set your very nerves alight, time had seen the unpredictability of his visits robbed of their spontaneity; lust replaced with a devastating love; passion diminished by the anticipation of his impending departure. The dance had become less of a dance, and more of a contemptuous game: how many seconds would lapse in the forlorn quiet between when the heat of his skin departed yours, and the door swung closed behind him? How many shaky breaths would leave your lungs in the too-short span of time that it took for the shadow of the unseen monster, forever-perched atop his shoulders, to rob his eyes of the twinkle only freshly illuminated by the return of your embrace?

The answer: always too few.

He would only ever grant himself a dozen-or-so deep breaths to dwell in the lingering serenity once the cresting waves of pleasure had subsided, the heaving of his chest eventually stilling to match the motionlessness of the incipient dawn.

Unable to withstand the suffocating languor, a poignant sigh would trigger the initiation of his exodus, body following the command from his anguished mind to climb from the bed and methodically redress himself in that disguising, blue plastoid kit. A tender, whiskery kiss was always your parting gift. Lips void of the passion that had seen them so ravenously devour yours only minutes prior, now gently atop your forehead in a wordless goodbye-for-now; the roar of the engine echoing amongst the whispering pines the perfect soundtrack to the disappointment that pulled shameful tears from your eyes.

Yet… sometimes… on nights like tonight, an inexplicable force inside of him would demand that he dawdle, and if the urge to flee stalled on its way from brain to body for long enough, he’d roll toward you, fold his arm underneath his head, and trail a gentle fingertip along all his favourite parts of your body: the fleshy space between neck and shoulder where he often sought the comforting fragrance of your skin; the shallow dimples on your lower back, perched just above the rolling swells of muscle that he could barely keep his hands off of; the gaps between your fingers that so-perfectly housed his, as if they were ten adjacent pieces of a puzzle crafted by divine artistry.

Time had yet to reveal any explanation for the mystifying tenderness of his touch… it didn’t seem possible that such rough hands could trail so gently against your skin, yet his calloused fingers could have been draped in velvet for how softly they graced your most sensitive areas. And his pillow talk? It was poetry. His honeyed voice would utter whispered stories of glorious mountain ranges on far away planets while the delicate strokes of his fingertips ghosted atop the swells of your hips. He’d speak of the freckles smattered across your cheeks, and how they almost perfectly mirrored the night sky in Wild Space where the stars were so many, that astronomy had become an obsolete science, the citizens opting to merely look upon them for their unrivalled celestial magnificence. And when he would speak of the vibrant array of wild flowers that adorned the meadows of Felucia, he’d scoop your hand into his and kiss each individual knuckle, as if the immense power to blossom such beauty dwelled inside the fingers interlaced with his.

But they were rare, those quiet moments, their emergence so ephemeral that even the span of a somnolent blink would have seen them escape your awareness and vanish into the past, and they were as devastating as they were infrequent. Laced not with the dread of his imminent departure, those near silent moments of deep connection were saturated in a hope so ensnaring that its warmth momentarily overshadowed the pain of his repeated abandonment, and you became enraptured by the could-be’s… the if-only’s… the maybe’s.

Maybe… maybe tonight would be the night that the orange glow emerging atop the horizon did not trigger his departure. Perhaps this would be the time that he’d stay and spend the morning with you, his muscular arms locked around your chest as you ceased to fight the blissful drowsiness engulfing your bodies, dozing together in the first rays of the ambient light. Perhaps he’d be so comfortable, there in your arms, that the ever-present impulse to run, forever-clenched like an iron fist around his soul, would be finally suffocated by the sheer power of your love for him.

Those optimistic moments often saw you rambling, thoughts slipping easily from mind to mouth in a desperate attempt to keep him connected to you; resolute in keeping him both physically and mentally present; urgently trying to protect him from the monster on his shoulders long enough for him to realize that everything he could ever want was lying peacefully beside him. Periodically, if your chosen topic was one he found particularly amusing, his eyes would crinkle under the embrace of a smile, and — if the universe deemed you worthy that night — a hoarse chuckle would pour from his lips. Despite your continued pleas to the stars, it was a sound that graced your ears with a tragic infrequence, yet the way its radiance illuminated your soul had you shamelessly begging the universe that it continue to spill from his lips for all eternity.

But despite the prophetic bond that kept him returning to your side, only once had the bliss of your union softened his guard enough to let something… slip. Only once had he mentioned a brother: Jesse, a man spoken of thoughtlessly as Kix snickered through the recollection of a frantic speeder ride across the plains of Saleucami. But the music of his laughter utterly vanished upon voicing the name that he never meant to speak, the silence that filled its wake so polluted in unexpressed grief, that even the hushed sounds of your breath felt inappropriate, and despite having watched the light leave his eyes so often in the past, you’d never seen it replaced with a darkness as deep and as sorrowful as then.

“Tell me about him,” you probed instantly, hopeful that the delicate touch of your hand on his shoulder would be enough to ground him there in the bed with you; hopeful that the soft caress of your fingers would prevent him from conceding to his anguish, tossing the sheet aside and leaving you with nothing but the familiar sight of his retreating back and the bittersweet smell of him lingering on your pillow.

A ringing silence encompassed the room, broken only by the occasional chirp of an uninterested cricket nestled in the tall tufts of grass just outside the window, and the soft brush of dry leaves twirling amongst themselves in the warm gusts of midsummer’s breeze.

Speaking his brother’s name had rendered Kix momentarily muted and seemingly paralyzed, his eyes wide and affixed on an image that cruel memory had imprinted upon the ceiling above him. His breaths quickened, shoulder rising and falling rhythmically against your palm while his nostrils flared against the same onslaught of turmoil also knitting his brows together.

“Kix?” you probed in a soft whisper, fingers raising from the swell of his shoulder to gently stroke his hair. Those waves of black, sparsely peppered with the beginnings of grey, almost entirely concealed the remnants of a tattoo… letters… pieces of a phrase that he’d consistently evaded divulging. The ink, seemingly unblemished by time, looked as if it had only recently been embedded into his olive skin, yet his repeated, vague explanation of ‘I was a dumb kid’, suggested it was a choice made long ago; a decision made deep in a past he refused to speak of.

“Tell me about Jesse, my love…” you implored to his continued silence, watching with bated breath as the muscles in his jaw contracted in near perfect cadence with the bounding pulse in his neck.

“My brother…” Kix muttered, wrenching his eyes away from the ghost hovering over top of him, his solemn gaze dancing around the room in every direction but yours. “He… he died a long time ago. They all did.”

Your fingers faltered in their gentle strokes only for a breath, the impact of his words sending a crippling wave of aghast sadness throughout your body. “Who did?” It left your lips in barely more than a whisper, the unexpressed heartbreak lingering in the air robbing your tone of the intense curiosity that he so often shirked from and dissuaded, but despite the feigned composure precariously wrapped around your words, he offered no response. “Babe?” you pressed, your fingers abandoning their soothing dance along his temple to trail under his chin and weave themselves into the dark bristles of his beard. Hyperaware of the fragility of that moment, you gently cupped his jaw and turned his hagridden face toward you. “Who is ‘they’?”

His eyes finally met yours, darkened by apprehension and a deep sorrow that had yet to be explained. “My family.”

It was like nothing you’d ever heard before, the tension in his voice. Those two choked words constricted by a heavy lump in his throat, immediately transformed the gruff and callous pirate that you knew into a man so momentarily fragile that even the soft cotton sheets draped atop your bodies felt too abrasive. Even more unexpected was the mist gathering earnestly in his eyes, reflecting the moonlight beaming in the window as if suddenly encased in a dome of sparkling crystal.

Whatever was left of the feeble breath housed in your lungs escaped your parted lips in a devastated huff, your stomach torquing uncomfortably as your thoughts began to whirr frantically around your mind. Resisting the transcendent urge to lock him in an embrace, you merely swallowed the lump forming in your own throat and hastily blinked the wetness from your eyes. Like the quiet moment that he’d gifted you tonight, you were all-too aware that his vulnerability was fleeting; at risk of dismantling completely should you misstep. But this was the knowledge that you’d be aching to know your months… years; this was the monster on his shoulders that tore him from your bed… from your home so devastatingly often. You were desperate to know it all… desperate to know him.

“Your… your family?” Two stammering words were all that you could force from your parted lips as he wrenched his jaw from your grasp and turned his gaze back toward the ceiling, grinding his knuckles aggressively into his eyes.

A heavy sigh was his only response, teeth clicking from how tightly he ground them as he seemingly tried to rub the image of his dead family from his sight. You swallowed heavily again and perched yourself up on an elbow, leaning in to him with every intention of planting a protective kiss to his temple.

It might have been the shift of your posture that triggered it, or more likely, his patience diminished by your continued probes for information that he wasn’t willing to share, but a sudden banishment of lassitude saw him instantly tossing the sheet from his naked form and swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

Horrified and disappointed, you hurried to mirror his movements, kicking away the bunched cotton from your knees and pushing yourself to a kneeling position on the mattress directly behind him. Your lids narrowed to near-closed against the sudden ignition of the lamp on the nightstand, but neither the pain nor the spots now floating in your vision were enough to stop you from firmly wrapping your arms around his waist and holding him firmly against your chest. It wasn’t until you pressed your lips softly against his back, did he seem to notice your touch, and even then, his only acknowledgement was to peer, frowning, over his shoulder in your direction.

“Please, love,” you breathed against his skin. “Don’t run. Just talk to me.”

A soft sigh forced his shoulders into a defeated slump, and the tender drape of his hand atop his navel where yours were tightly clasped, lacked much of the warmth and intention that typically swaddled his touch.

“They were… tortured.” His head drooped sadly toward his chest, the previously urgent mission of collecting his clothes from their scattered placement on the floor, momentarily deferred.

It was the initial shock that he’d even answered you that forced your lips to still against his skin, forgoing the ever-present urge to pepper him with chaste kisses for the sake of listening to the response that he’d previously deemed you unworthy of getting, but it was the horrifying implications of his explanation that forced your eyes open and the pain that drenched his words as they left his scowling lips that sent an all-consuming chill down your spine.

“All of them,” he continued quietly to his lap, absently drumming his fingers against the back of your hand. “Just— just stripped of their will, their identities… and made to carry out the commands of a sick, sick man. They never stood a chance. No one could survive that.”

He permitted himself one last, poignant sigh, the emptying of his lungs pulling his posture away from your still poised kiss, and it wasn’t until his palm departed yours, fracturing the wreath of your arms around his waist, that you returned to some semblance of awareness. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, beating against his back where the diffused glow of the lamp failed to soften the appearance of several misshapen scars along his shoulder; scars that you’d seen countless times previously, and had paid only little attention to.

Robbed of coherent thought by the repulsion surging through your veins, and rendered utterly speechless by the knowledge that you’d so desperately craved, you dropped your gaze to your knees, unmoving eyes watching them thrown intermittently into shadow as Kix moved about beside the bed, redressing himself in a suit of black compression, and the rigid, scuffed armament.

It was the soft scrape of plastoid against wood that broke you from your revolted torpor, his lean frame now completely encompassed in the blue suit that you despised, his helmet retrieved from the nightstand and hanging slackly from a gloved hand at his side. The sight of his impending departure returned you to a jarring cognizance and sent you frantically scrambling from the bed, bare feet ignoring the bite of the cold floor as you dashed toward the chair beside the window and collected the robe that you’d unceremoniously tossed onto it hours previously.

“Wait, Kix!”

You clumsily thrust your fists into the arms of the silk garment, your entire body laced with an exigent need to reach the doorway before he did. He couldn’t leave this time, not now… not now that he was finally opening up, finally sharing something other than trivial grievances about his crew members. He needed to know what you thought… how you felt. You had to tell him that none of it mattered to you… none of it made any difference. Except it did. It made all the difference. You thought you loved him then. That was nothing compared to now. And there was nothing that would stop you from loving him; not a past full of trauma, not tears leaking from his eyes, not the whispers that he denied hearing when the room got too quiet. None of it made a difference to you except that it did, and you would willingly spend the rest of your life banishing the ghosts that haunted his every move if he would just let you.

“Can’t— can’t you stay this time?” you pleaded from your perch in the doorway, hastily tying a knot in the sash of your robe. “Even just a little longer?”

The snort that left his nose at the sight of your position, arms wide and clutching each side of the door frame in some pitiful semblance of a barricade, was anything but genuine, betrayed by the failure of the smile on his lips to crinkle his eyes. “Come on, Mesh’la,” he cooed, absently shifting the armoured belt around his waist. “You know I can’t.”

“Yes you can,” you argued, refusing to let the softness of his gaze weaken any of your resolve. “You just don’t. There’s a difference and you know that.”

The desperate sadness that encompassed your words surprised both sets of ears; you hadn’t intended for the sentiment to leave your lips drenched in such disappointment, yet his departure tonight felt more like a robbery than it ever had; stealing a fractured piece of you and leaving nothing but a shadow behind to replace it.

That small smile slipped from his features and he froze, upturned helmet held slackly at his side as he hung his head to his chest again. Your heart drummed heavily in your ears, the lump in your throat threatening to all but suffocate you as he stepped slowly forward, the old wood floor beneath you creaking and shifting under the weight of his heavy boots.

“Please don’t start this again, Mesh’la,” he begged in a whisper, tenderly tucking a displaced lock of hair behind your ear as his eyes flickered back and forth between yours. “We’ve been over this. I… I don’t want this for you. You deserve a better life than what I ca—”

“I want this life,” you choked, chin threatening to quiver under the intense duress of your welling disappointment. “I promise— no, listen!— I promise, Kix. I love you more than everything that you’ve been through. In spite of it all… because of it all. Just trust me. Stay with me this time. Let me— let me prove it to you. Let me sho—”

“I know you love me, Mesh’la,” he interrupted, gently cupping your trembling chin and guiding your jaw upwards to look directly into your eyes. “I have never doubted it for a second. In another time… another life, I’d be able to give you back the love you deserve, but… I’m too sad of a man, now. I’m too angry… too volatile… too restless. No matter where I go or what I do, I can’t stomach my past, and I love you enough to not let you suf—”

“I’ll suffer if I choose to!” you blurted, voice thickening in earnest. “I’ll suffer with you. It’s my choice, and I choose you, so just choose m—”

“Why?” he interjected, releasing your jaw and perching his hand on his hip. “Hmm? Why am I your choice? Why do you waste your time with a pirate like me when there are decent men lining up around the planet for your hand? Men that will shower you with gifts and affection? Men that won’t selfishly come and go as they please, like I do?”

“My time with you isn’t wasted, Kix,” you spluttered, eyelids unable to contain the flood of tears blurring your vision, banishing them to the heat of your flushed cheeks. “You don’t listen. I want every minute to be a minute with you. Every hour, every day. Stop running away from what happened to you; stop running from me. We— we can have a real life together.”

The aversion of his gaze to the floor did not stop you. You were too resolute in your convictions; too certain that if he just listened to you, he would finally understand. “I’ll make you caf every morning,” you continued, pulling your hands from the doorframe to hold his. “And… we can shower together every day if we want to. You can make the water as hot as you want, and I won’t complain… I promise. We— we can grow berries in the field out back, on the other side of the tree line. You know, in that clearing where the flowers grow? The spot that gets all the afternoon sun? And… and we can brew our own wine. We—”

“Please stop.”

He was pleading with you in more ways than just the despondent words that left his lips; his dark eyes watching in something near agony as the tears abandoned your cheeks for the draped silk of your robe, but you were deaf to the desperation in his voice and blind to the anguish in his eyes as vivid images of what could-be erupted like a tragic film in your mind.

“We can climb onto the roof and look at the stars on clear nights,” you persisted, releasing his palm and guiding your trembling hands onto the rough and worn plastoid of his shoulder bells. “And when it’s not, we’ll snuggle on the couch and listen to music. We’ll get drunk… and giggle about stupid shit… and make love in every room… an—”

“Please, Mesh’la.” He clamped his eyes closed, cowering beneath your watery gaze and gently tugging your hands from his shoulders, pausing to hold them weakly in his own for a breath before dropping them completely. “You have to sto—”

“No, Kix!” you refused, stomping your cold, bare foot on the floor below you. “You stop! Stop saying you don’t want this life for us, because you do!”

“OF COURSE I DO!”

Your hands flew back to brace yourself in the doorway, shoulders jerking with fright, choked breaths freezing in your lungs. He’d never shouted like that before… and if he had, it certainly hadn’t been in your presence. Never once had you seen his eyes shrink behind lids so narrowed that the even the bridge of his nose scrunched to assist in their efforts. You’d never seen his thick, expressive brows contract so tightly and shoot toward the messy curls of his hairline in such earnest, and you’d never seen a look quite like that in his eyes… the frenzied look of a man desperate to be understood.

“Of— of course I want all of that,” he continued, his tone softening slightly as the ghost of his outburst rang back at him from the quiet corners. “But it’s not that simple. You don’t understand. I want it, Mesh’la, but I shouldn’t have it. I can’t have it. Why… why do I deserve the promise of a quiet life, when they never even had a chance at one? Why should I be the only one gifted with a happy ending, when they were robbed of theirs? If they can’t have it, then I ca—”

His voice cracked… fractured under the duress of the emotion simmering too near the surface, and it echoed more poignantly around the room than the hoarse shout which preceded it. That quiet moment, as you watched his shoulders sag in complete and utter dejection, with his head slowly shaking against a myriad of thoughts that he refused to speak, you would have withstood nearly anything to ensure the music of his voice never cracked like that again. You would have agreed to stand near-naked in the doorway for all eternity, willing to shoulder any amount of shouting, any verbal reprovement… anything if it promised him true peace from the sorrow that robbed him of his voice… of his life.

The threat of a sob forced your face into your clammy palms, pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes until tiny, glimmering phosphenes erupted in your vision. Why couldn’t it all be as beautiful as those silly little dancing lights, brought to life with just a slight pressure from a small hand? Why could people not be free to dance about in darkness, as they are? Why must our darkness diminish our light? Why are those pretty dancing lights, free from the plague of guilt and sorrow, forever permitted to slumber until external pressure brings them to life, an occasion in which they shine so marvelously?

The thunk of his boots and the creak of the floor signaled his slow approach. “I have to go, Cyare,” he mumbled into the space beside your ear, his free hand dusting soft strokes up and down your forearm.

You exposed your tear-streaked face and stared blankly across the room, unwilling to nod and acknowledge the disappointment. So this wasn’t going to be the time that he stayed.

“You know I love you,” he muttered into your hairline before planting a soft kiss on your temple, but the disillusionment had numbed you almost entirely, and you felt nothing of his lips on your skin, nor the brush of his body slipping past you through the door… you heard none of his footsteps fading down the hallway… nothing of the door closing behind him as he disappeared into the diminishing darkness outside… nor did you hear the roar of his speeder engine reverberating around the corners of your secluded paradise, all too eager and willing to rob you of him again.

tags: @anxiouspineapple99 @sinfulsalutations @dystopicjumpsuit @523rdrebel

#starqueenswrittenworks #kix x reader #kix x you #pirate!Kix x reader #Kix fanfic #clone wars fanfiction #clone wars fanfic

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dewitty1 · 2 months

Text

He Comes Like a Thunderstorm

korlaena @korlaena

Explicit Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling Relationship: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter Characters: Draco Malfoy, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, Hermione Granger, Ginny Weasley, Original Muggle Character(s) Additional Tags: Enemies to Lovers, Fuckbuddies, Creature Fic, Incubus Draco Malfoy, Dragonologist Harry Potter, Hate Sex, Rough Sex, Casual Sex, Manhandling, Dirty Talk, Choking, Spanking, Overstimulation, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, Dom Harry Potter, Switching, Lots of Sex, Past Sexual Assault, past sexual dysfunction, Mentions of Past Abuse From Dursleys and Lucius, Smoking, Drinking, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Jealousy , Accidental Bonding, Misunderstandings, Panic Attack, False Accusations, Angst with a Happy Ending Language: English Collections: Fandom Trumps Hate 2020 Published: 2021-12-01 Completed: 2021-11-30 Words: 140,147

Summary:

Draco is doing his best to balance the life he wants to live and the life he’s forced to live. He’s nearing the tail-end of a long, post-war probation when Harry Potter crashes back into his life with all the grace of a charging Erumpent, breaking through his carefully constructed rules and routine. Caught up in a whirlwind of sex and lust, Potter unwittingly shows Draco that his life as an Incubus doesn’t have to be as lonely and unfulfilling as he thought, but how long can it last?

(੭ˊ͈ ꒵ˋ͈)੭*⁺˚. * ･｡ﾟ☆

Excerpt:

The moment was weighty with meaning. There was an uncharacteristically skittish look in Draco’s eyes as the song played softly between them, reciting the last few months of Harry’s life in verse as if it had been written about him.

It had to have meaning, yet Harry filled with nerves as each bar of music rolled on. After months of denying and pushing down his feelings while trying not to read into anything Draco did, it was a terrifying bridge to cross.

The curve of Draco’s neck caught his eye. His jugular was visibly pulsing with the same rapid, nervous beat drumming in Harry’s. It settled his swimming stomach to see evidence that he felt the lyrics as sharply as Harry.

Harry gathered his courage and pulled them closer, leaning forward and dropping his eyes to Draco’s lips. He stopped well before they would touch, looking to Draco’s shadowed eyes with a question.

A trail of magic followed Draco’s hand as it slid up Harry’s arm, landing behind his shoulder. Draco pulled Harry closer as he leaned the rest of the way in. The warm light from the fireplace below threw his face into soft shadows, and the air was charged with anticipation.

Draco’s warm breath ghosted over his lips, and his nose softly bumped Harry’s. Within a second that stretched on like an eternity, they breathed in that same electric excitement buzzing in the air between them. Then Draco’s warm lips pressed to Harry’s.

His body flashed hot and cold. His heart felt like it was gearing up to jump out of his chest, and perhaps his fluttering stomach would fly off with it. He shut his eyes tight against the physical and emotional whirlwind happening inside him.

The kiss was like none other. Harry didn’t know how to classify it. He thought he’d felt the heights of pleasure with Draco, but he was wrong. They’d done nearly everything else they wanted with each other, checking off kinks and curiosities like marking off points of interest on a map during a road trip.

A single press of Draco’s soft lips to his, a curl of his hair tickling Harry’s temple, and their feet tangled together had his heart swelling and breaking through all his carefully erected barriers. Affection burst out like a caged animal feeling the sun on its skin for the first time.

A quiet whine rose up his throat, unintentional and unstoppable as his body shivered with surges of magic and his head swam with hope.

“Harry,” Draco breathed against his lips, soft and trembling with need. In it Harry heard everything he’d been unwilling to hear.

Harry pulled him closer and pressed another kiss to his lips, then another and another. Draco rolled half on top of him, his hands moving like he couldn’t decide which part of Harry he wanted to hold onto—clinging to his shoulders, squeezing his waist, gripping his hair, then finally holding his face in both hands so he could keep him in place as he laid kiss upon kiss on him.

Harry slipped his arms around him and hugged around his waist, squeezing their bodies together. Fingers dug into hot flesh and magic flared under his skin, hot and cold and right.

Draco pushed his tongue into Harry’s mouth, and he couldn’t have held back his moan if he wanted to. Draco moaned back as their tongues twisted together and lips opened and closed against each other, sucking and biting and tasting each other in the one way they’d never permitted themselves before.

Harry rolled fully onto his back, pulling Draco the rest of the way on top of him, filling his senses entirely with Draco. He was everywhere—the weight on his body, the magic under his skin, the sweet scent in his nose, and the taste on his lips. Harry felt drunk on him.

They kissed, and they kissed, then they kissed some more.

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#He Comes Like a Thunderstorm #korlaena #Drarry #Drarry fic rec #Fic rec #hp fic rec #draco Malfoy #Harry potter #Drarry fanfiction #Harry potter fanfiction #Fandom Trumps Hate 2020 #hp #drarry squad #Drarry fanfic #hp fanfic #Carey's bookmark Fic recs #Carey's personal Bookmarks

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ghostsmybeloved · 1 year

Text

Fond Memories

Papa Emeritus IV (Copia) x Reader

Summary: Papa had no idea who you were, or how you came to suddenly be such an important thing in his life. He wasn't complaining though.

Words: 3.2k

Copia held his head down as he rushed through the Abbey towards the abandoned wing, tears threatening to fall as he could hear members of the Higher Clergy call out behind him. The Papa didn’t care though, he needed to escape away from his Papal duties.

As he entered the abandoned wing, the atmosphere almost immediately changed. He could hear scampering of nonexistent creatures, the wind whistling past him as he continued on his journey. Copia figured it was just his paranoia, his anxiety as the Papa ignored the feel of eyes on his back.

The Papa grew closer to the old practice rooms, used by Papa Nihil when the Ghost Project was first founded. The wing had been abandoned when Nihil tried to turn away from the spotlight of the stage. Copia had heard stories about the wing growing up, but none of them suddenly came to his mind as he continued his trek.

Slowly, faint singing reached his ears as he stopped. If his Ghouls were here, he’d deny that he was nervous, scared even, but in his moment of isolation, Copia thought of turning around. As the Papa remained still, he could slowly hear the lyrics more clearly.

As if his body moves on its own, Copia found himself following the sing as he came upon one of the practice rooms. Silently opening the door, he found himself in the presence of you, who hadn’t quite noticed the Papa.

Your singing of Life Eternal had both your and the Papa’s attention, sitting on the piano bench as your fingers grazed above the old piano. You weren’t playing it, your fingers barely above the keys as you sang. Copia started swaying to the song, smiling softly as he felt his worries from earlier slip away like they were swept up by the ocean.

“Can you feel me longing for you forever and ever?” you finished, opening your eyes to feel the mismatched eyes on your body, making you tense up and turn around. Copia jumped at your turn, clearing his throat.

“Ah so sorry for interrupting! I just- uh- heard your voce incantevole!” Copia stuttered, making you giggle as he cleared his throat again, “You are a- uh- beautiful- I mean great- singer…yeah.”

Your smile held even though your giggling stopped, “Well I am glad you enjoyed it Papa. It is one of my favorite songs from the Ghost Project. Your singing is so much better than mine, but I am honored that you praise me.”

“I am Papa- Copia, I mean. Per favore, chiamami Copia.”

“Well what brings you to my wing Copia?” You scoot over on your bench, offering the Papa to sit down with a bright smile on your face. Who is he to deny your offer?

Striding to the stage, he quickly gets up and sits down on the bench next to you as you both face the piano keys. Your fingers dance above the keys once again, like you were teasing both him and the piano of a performance.

Copia takes a deep breath as he begins to spill his Papal secrets, “Mi nascondo. The meeting with the Higher Clergy today did not go as planned, they doubt my abilities. They want me to be like my brothers before, while being nothing like them.”

Finally, your fingers grace the piano keys as you started performing a piece Copia had never heard before as you spoke, “Do not listen to them. The differences between Primo, Secondo, and Terzo is what made them shine so bright when they stood on those stages.”

The Papa does not reply, listening to the old piano as he closes his eyes. The piano was withered by age, yet despite the disoriented sound that was hidden underneath the music, it was still beautiful. It reminded him of one of the Ghoul’s lullabies, making Copia quietly hum along to the keys.

You two stayed sitting as you performed while he hummed. Copia had no idea how long time had passed, he didn’t care much, until your piece ended. Before the Papa could praise or ask for another, you took his hands and guided him back to the abandoned commons.

“What-”

“Papa! There you are!”

Copia quickly turned around at the mention of his title, seeing Aether rush over to him. The Ghoul looked exhausted, like had overused his Quintessence energy again. Though, he still was filled with joy to find the Papa.

“My Ghoul! Aether, this is-”

As he turned around, the Papa didn't see you behind him anymore, like you snuck away. Seeing this, Copia’s words died on his tongue as he looked between Aether and where you were standing.

"Are you alright Papa?" Aether asked, putting his claw on Copia's shoulder, making him look at the Ghoul, "Are you seeing things?"

"No, no, no. Giuro, qualcuno è stato qui!"

Aether looked at the Papa concerned, before nodding, "You can tell us all about this mystery person back in the Den, okay?"

"..okay."

* * *

Copia was restless in his seat, desperate to be free of another meeting with Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil. She was scolding him for rushing out of yesterday's meeting, but her words never reached the Papa's ears. He wanted to rush back to the abandoned wing to see if you were there again.

"Are you even listening?!" Sister Imperator growled, making Copia snap to look at her. She had a scowl on her face when he looked at her.

"Of course I am, Sorella. I am just tired."

It wasn’t a complete lie. He was tired, he hadn’t gotten much sleep because he couldn’t get you out of his head, your singing of his song and your performance on the old piano. You felt so familiar to the Papa, but he couldn’t understand why.

Papa Nihil went to say something, but Sister Imperator quickly glared at him, making him shut up with a quiet apology. She turned her attention back to Copia with a fake smile, her eyes glaring daggers. If the Papa wasn't so distracted by the thought of you, he might've been intimidated by her.

Sister Imperator rose out of her seat quietly, striding over to Copia's desk, "How about you get some rest, C? Your assistant can do the rest of your work today."

The Papa sighed quietly, nodding as Sister Imperator and Papa Nihil left the room arguing about something. Copia didn’t really care what they were arguing about, he cared that this was the perfect time to escape and try to find you again.

As he listened to the faint footsteps get fainter, Copia took this as his time to escape as he slipped out of his office and down towards the abandoned wing. Unlike yesterday, his anxiety and sorrow was replaced with excitement and a fluttery sense.

Creeping behind the wing’s large doors, he smiled brightly as he almost ran down the hallway. The small footsteps of creatures and the wind whistling didn’t bother the Papa today, he was too focused on seeing you again. You were like his most sinful dream, a gift from Lord Lucifer himself.

Copia entered the abandoned commons to see you sitting on the floor, noticing that the couches were far too dusty for anyone to sit on. In your hand was a book he was all too familiar with, it was an ancient Latin book that only the most knowable Clergy could read.

“Hello…” Copia squeaked out, mentally slapping himself for the sudden nervousness around you. Hearing his voice, you turned around with a big smile on your face, “Ci scusiamo per l'intrusione.”

“Oh no Papa, it’s no intrusion. Between us, I shouldn’t even be here, but I tend to get quite lost,” you chuckled, patting the spot next to you as another offer to the Papa, “Come, sit. I knew you’d be back.”

“You did?”

You made a quiet noise in response, nodding your head as he walked over to sit next to you. Once Copia was seated, you moved the book to rest on your legs to share it with the Papa next to you. It was senseless gibberish to him, but you looked like you understood it all.

The two of you made eye contact, making Copia blush and quickly look down at the book, “You.. uh… understand this book?”

“Ah yes. My father taught me when I was young. He told me it was going to be a great skill.”

“Your father? Is he a part of our church?”

You hesitated, opening your mouth to speak as you took a couple of seconds before answering, “No. My father… does not agree with my choices.”

“E tua madre?” Copia is quick to ask. A little too quick which makes him quickly speak again, “Sorry, nothing bad! I am just curious!”

You giggled again with a bright smile on your face as he stuttered over his words again. He felt like such a fool in front of you, but hearing your laugh was worth it. It warmed the Papa more than the deepest pit of Hell could.

“I never knew my mother, I don’t know whether she died or just didn’t want anything to do with me,” you explain, your smile turning sorrowfully as you looked up at Copia, “It was just my father before I joined.”

“I am an orphan,” Copia admits, making you squeeze his hand gently, “I was left on the Abbey’s steps one day with nothing. I was one of the few orphans to stay within the church though.”

“That must have been hard.”

Copia hums in response before turning his attention back to the book, “Can you tell me what it says?”

“Its written about our Lord, describing His kindness. Have you ever felt His presence, Copia?" You looked over at him, your hand still on top of his as you questioned again, "Have you heard His messages?"

Copia feels his heart to race, pounding in his chest like a cage. He doesn't know if it's racing because of your hand or your questions, but he quickly responds, "I haven't. I pretend to do so, I am Papa, but I have not. È vergognoso."

"I think those closest to our Lord don't hear His words because they are going down the right path."

Copia smiles softly as you start reading from the book, your voice soothing the Papa. He wasn't listening to your words, instead focusing on your voice. It sounded sweeter than any fruit of Eden.

As you ended the chapter, the Papa was so grateful you read to him. He hardly listened to the chapter, he knew it was bad since it was about Lucifer, but he couldn’t help himself. Copia loved your voice and your talent.

Looking up at the old grandfather clock, you hummed in disappointment, “It’s time for you to go Copia. Dinner starts soon.”

“Hm?” Copia looked at the grandfather clock and gasped, shooting up, “Oh no! I’m late! I promised to help set the tables in the grand hall!”

Before he knew it, he was rushing out the hall without saying goodbye to you, and without even getting your name. Copia only realized it as soon as he got to the grand hall, his frown apparent as he looked back in the direction of the wing.

Tomorrow, the Papa promises himself, tomorrow he’ll get your name.

****

Tomorrow came and went, along with many more weeks as he visited you daily. Every day the Papa sees you, you are doing something different. Copia then is mesmerized by what you have to say, he listens for hours and hours, which only feels like minutes, till someone finds him or he has another event.

Every time, he doesn’t get your name, and every day he promises himself the next day. Copia has told his Ghouls all about you, the way your eyes shined when you spoke, the beautiful laughter of yours.

Today was just like any other, the Papa practically skipped to the abandoned wing with such joy of seeing you again. As he reached the large doors, Copia couldn’t help, but push them both open to make a grand entrance.

Entering the commons, Copia noticed how you weren’t sitting on the floor like you have been a couple of times. He shrugged it off and went through the practice rooms with no sights of you. Slowly, anxiety creeped up the Papa’s neck as he opened almost every room to look for you.

When he came up empty handed, he glanced at the old summoning room as he gulped. You had joked with the Papa that the summoning room held a beast that could tear humans apart with no trouble. Your joke now didn’t seem so funny as he stood in front of the oak door.

With a great hesitation, his breath hitched as he slowly opened the door. Copia peaked his head in to see a fire within the circle reach to the stone ceiling. As he stumbled in, the Papa saw you standing in front of fire with a frown on your face.

“What’re you doing?” Copia asked, making you sigh with the flames dancing off of your face, “I asked what’re you doing?”

“I cannot stay, Copia, my time is over. I failed.”

“What do you mean?”

You looked over at the Papa, tears streaming down your face as you spoke, “You're not the son of Satan, none of the Papas have been or will be.”

“Step away from the fire, piccolo topo, let’s talk about this somewhere else,” Copia begs, slowly walking closer to you as you continue to cry, “Explain it all to me, please. We can go to the gardens.”

The flames quickly died as you stepped towards him, grabbing the Papa’s wrist as you stormed towards the exit of the Abbey in the wing and out into the cold October night. You dragged him into the forest, muttering something about it being your last chance. You finally let go when you brought him to a clearing.

“Do you remember this place?” you asked, facing Copia as you spoke, “Do you have any of your memories? We were right here! Years upon years ago!”

With a wave of your hand, the surrounding forest changed as someone who looked oddly like Copia stood in front of you. He had a beautiful set of white wings that protected him as you had the same. His voice was similar to Copia’s, but a bit deeper.

“Y/N,” he spoke clearly, making you almost take a step forward.

“Yes?”

He looked back towards the now changed forest, “I’m going to stay and fight for these humans. You don’t have to do this with me.”

“But I want to!” you exclaimed, finally taking a step forward as you tried to reach out for him. Copia saw your desperation and your pain in your eyes as tears fell into the grass.

“I know you do. Please please understand, if we lose, we’ll be killed, and if we win, we can never go home,” he explains, going to grab your hands, only to go through them.

You smiled sadly as you moved your hands like they were in his, “Why would I ever want to go home if you’re here?”

“My angel, you’re wonderful,” he chuckled, leaning in to kiss you, but as soon as he was close enough, he disappeared along with the surroundings.

“Everything I ever did, I did for you.”

“I don’t understand…”

You turned to face the Papa as you grabbed his hands and held them close to your heart, “You aren’t the child of Satan, because you are Satan! You’re Satan and I’m your angel! Please please remember!”

Copia subconsciously took a step back, overwhelmed by your frantic words. You took this as a rejection, sighing as you let go of the Papa’s hands. Muttering a small goodbye, wings sprouted from your back as you took off, leaving him alone in the clearing.

“No! Wait!”

It was too late, you were gone by the time he called out. Copia was alone once again, with new memories.

* * *

It had been months since you left, every day for the first month he kept going back to the wing for you, but there was nothing. You had left a hole in the Papa’s heart he didn’t know was there. Even though you weren’t in the abandoned wing, he still found himself going there to process his new memories.

Copia had only told his Ghouls of his discovery with you about his true history, to which all responded with joy. They knew who he was, but it wasn’t their place to tell him. They asked about you a lot, knowing you as the ruler of Hell after Lucifer disappeared.

As his memories of Lucifer slowly came back to him in waves, he found himself missing you even more. The Papa started searching through books for a way to summon you back to Earth, but even with the Ghouls help, the search came up empty.

Until one day, Copia finally found the book you had read him all those months ago, which now thinking about it was almost two years ago. The final page had a ritual, a way to summon the ruler of Hell for those brave souls who were stupid enough to try it.

Copia was more than willing to do it.

The Papa gathered all of the Ghouls in the Abbey for the ritual, telling some to protect the wing and the summoning room as he prepared for it. Chatter was large as Copia grew the signs needed for the ritual with the help of Aether and other Quintessent Ghouls.

It was midnight now, the bell ringing through the Abbey to signal the time. Copia took this time to start the ritual, chanting with the Ghouls as the flame started in the summoning circle. The Papa almost cried at the sight as he heard your voice ring through the room as you sang.

Once the fire calmed down, he finally saw you again, just like the first time all over again. You were singing Life Eternal, your eyes closed as you stood in the circle. All Ghouls gasped, bowing as they quieted down.

“Can you see me longing for you forever?” you sang, slowly opening your eyes as you gasped at the sight. You turned around till you faced Copia once again, “Copia? What’s going on?”

“Ciao mio angelo,” Copia whispered, making you gasp once again as your hands found a home against your mouth. The Papa held out his hand for you to take, “I have missed you so much. I could not wait to see you again.”

“My Lucifer!”

You sob, rushing into his arms as Copia cradled you, running his fingers through your hair. He finally held you in his arms again, your Hellish warmth mixing with his as you two hugged. Slowly, the Papa lifted your head to look at him as he pulled you in for a kiss. Copia finally had you, and he wasn’t going to let you go anytime soon.

So sorry for not posting for awhile! I got a little bit of writer's block. I hope you enjoyed this!

#ghostsmybeloved works #ghost x reader #the band ghost x reader #aether ghoul #cardinal copia #cardinal copia x reader #copia x reader #papa emeritus x reader #papa emeritus iv x reader #sister imperator #papa nihil

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onedaughterofman · 1 year

Text

You, forever (Chapter VII: Zenith interlude)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader

Summary: The Clergy takes something from Copia, but he refuses to let go.

Warnings/tags: Mostly fluff, some angst here and there. Mentions of blood, some sexual innuendos. I put my whole heart and pussy into this. It was supposed so be "short and sweet". It's more than 6K words, I think.

PREV CHAPTER HERE

“Cardinal? Care for a dance?”

Draped in ceremonial robes and surrounded by a faint, golden glow, a Sibling of Sin stands right in front of him. The Cardinal lifts up his head, focuses for a brief moment on their face before looking away again.

The music coming from the ballroom is distant, barely above an echo in the air. This party is supposed to be for him, Imperator said. A celebration of his arrival at the Ministry and a welcoming to his recent role as the head of the Ghost project. They are celebrating the release of Prequelle, the general favorable reception it caused on the public.

Despite that, the Cardinal is hidden away from the rest of the clergy and Siblings. He’s on a bench, and the halls continue for a long way to his right and left following a labyrinthine path. A part of Copia wishes he could mingle with the rest of the guests and celebrate, but he’s positively not in the proper mood. Even if Prequelle is a work born from his blood and sweat, he can’t help feeling that there’s something missing. He tried hard, so hard to make something good, but people are still clinging to the past.

During tedious days and interminable nights, he paid attention to the critics and reception. It didn’t matter how hard Imperator tried to shelter him from the negative reviews, focusing exclusively on the praises and applause. Copia read everything, listened to each complaint.

At last, there’s no way to escape the truth. He’s not Terzo. Not Primo or Secondo, either. He’s not the mastermind behind Infestissumam, the rebel innovator behind Meliora or the messiah that brought Opus Eponymus to life, relaunching Ghost.

No. He’s only Cardinal Copia, creator of nothing but a mild disco-flirtatious album that lacks the raw power or lyrical profundity of his predecessors.

What a disappointment. He doesn’t deserve this stupid party or even his appointment as the new frontman. A brief noise forces his head to shift again. Next, he notes you are still standing there, staring at him with dark pupils and piercing eyes. The strength behind your gaze makes his shoulders tense, and he struggles to summon the right words as he swallows. You follow the movement of his throat, the way his muscles contract and relax.

Fuck. What did you say to him?

“I’m sorry,” Copia stutters, after a beat. “I’m not… I’m not good at dancing.”

The phantom of a smug smile appears on your lips, vanishing almost as rapidly. You nod slowly, taking a few steps forward until you take a seat right next to him. The Cardinal instinctively scoots away, putting as much distance as he can without standing up.

Without mercy, you move a bit closer. There’s that small, tight smile in your lips again, and your stare is heavy on his skin.

“Is that so? Because I saw you in the Rats video and that looked a lot like knowing how to dance.”

Oh, Satan. What do you expect from him? Are you here to laugh, to mock him? Is this part of some cruel joke, or a bet?

He’s too old for this.

You are too, but some people never grow over their mean phase. He’s about to excuse himself and sprint away when you finally look away, eyes locking into the paintings on the wall. Copia does the same, analyzing the minor details in the frame before observing the painting.

The infinity is built in front of his gaze. A red snake, swallowing its own tail, symbolizing the never-ending circle of life, death and rebirth. Just like the snake, Copia feels terribly trapped in an eternal cyclic path that will just lead to his own demise. The recent, tragic and sudden passing of the Emeritus lineage has struck hard in the Abbey, causing all kinds of speculations

If he’s not cautious, Copia will end up just like them, he fears.

In the distance, the music changes. The piano is a bit softer, carrying the melody with grace. Your head follows the rhythm, foot tapping on the stone floor. “I must admit I didn’t know what to expect when I first watched the video,” you continue, whispering. The tone of your voice is soft, hushed, as if this was a secret no one else should discover. “I never saw any Papa doing something like that before.”

That’s it, then. You’re here to remind him how different he’s from the rest, how he doesn’t fit along the Emeritus’ heirs. The Cardinal gathers a deep breath, feeling the air burn in his lungs before exhaling. It’s useless for you to come here to taunt him, when he already knows anything you may say and more. He knows he’s extremely different, too unusual or particular. It doesn’t matter how hard Imperator insists he’s suitable for this job, Copia knows she’s wrong.

And here you are, to solidify his theory. No one in the Clergy agrees with his designation. He’s…

A failure.

“I like it.”

The music stops for a moment. The echo travels through the air, following the interminable corridors until it disappears down the hall. Copia studies your face, searching for any clue of sarcasm or a lie, but not a single trace appears. Your mouth is stretched in a smile, and your eyes are sincere, shining with the reflection of the faint golden light.

“You left me speechless for a while, Cardinal.” You continue, averting your gaze. An air of familiarity clings to your body and hair, slowly tearing at his walls. You’re not the frightening, intimidating person he initially thought you were. No, you’re calmer, way kinder. “That’s why I was hoping you might dance with me. Everybody's having fun tonight. It’s a shame you’re here all alone.”

“We can try it, if you want?”

The words leave his mouth before his brain can process them. Copia's mouth is agape while he's fighting to produce a coherent thought. The way your face lights up at his proposal doesn’t make things easier for him, but he achieves the strength to continue. “I mean, I still remember some of my dancing lessons.”

“I knew it!” Your hand lands on his arm, a fleeting and yet burning touch, marking his skin with your emotion. “You looked so professional in that video! You took lessons?”

“A long time ago. Sister thought it would help me become a bit less… shy? I don’t know, truly.”

“I assume it didn’t work.” The mischief coats your words, and he smiles in return.

“No, but it was a good workout. I still work-out, you know. Lots of walking inside the Ministry.”

“You do have a nice, toned body.”

The confession seizes him by surprise. Being raised inside the Ministry has made him almost immune to all sorts of lascivious, hedonist behavior. He has heard and seen things that will be forever branded in his memory, no matter how hard he tries to forget them. However, he’s not used to that being directed at him.

He should get used to it, probably. He’s read the comments some people make about his clothing and moves. They are... creative, to say at least. Tremendously interesting.

“Ah, si. I also… run a bit,” Copia says, when the silence becomes excessively oppressive on his back. “And I do some thrusting, here and there.”

You chuckle.

He has made you laugh, and it’s a breathtaking sight to behold. “Not that I need the training,” the Cardinal continues, moving a bit closer. “My junk works just fine. More than fine. Uh…No complaints.”

When you laugh once more, Copia fears the entire world has come to a stop. He sees you in slow motion, notes the way your lips stretch and your hair sways following the movement of your head. He swallows, but his mouth is incredibly dry.

You’re beautiful.

“Do I know you? No, sorry. I mean, can you tell me your name?”

You do. “I’ve been serving the Ministry for a while, but I’m mostly cleaning and cooking. I’m afraid Sister Imperator doesn’t trust me in clerical duties.”

“Why not?”

“Apparently I speak awful Latin and get lots of herbs and incense confused. I need to study more diligently, she said.”

“Well, if you need any extra help, you can ask me. I know some stuff.”

“I’d be honored, your Dark Eminence.”

“No need for that. Cardinal it’s okay. Or just Copia.”

“Copia.” The way you mention his name, pronouncing each sound with a slow, clear intonation is music to his ears. The Cardinal fears he might become addicted to it. He knows he has just met you, but he’s passionate at the core of his heart. He can’t help but to yearn for love, for someone to adore during days and nights.

It might be a fantasy, but he keeps his hopes high. Maybe, you can become the one he’s been searching for.

“So, dancing lessons?”

Holding onto your hand, Copia follows you through the corridors.

Your hand is warm between his fingers. Copia holds onto it, following you through the empty corridors.

“Thank you for helping me hide from Imperator.”

“You’re welcome,” Copia says, breathless from all the running. “But I don’t see why we are running. I thought you did well in your Latin lessons.”

“I did, that’s the problem! She thinks I cheated!”

He laughs, absentmindedly leaning closer to you.“I’m sorry for being such a good teacher.”

“Then I’m sorry for being such a good student.”

Steps resonate in the distance. You flinch, drawing a short breath before your hand jolts to grip his forearm. The Cardinal hurries behind you, rapidly hiding from whoever is wandering the Ministry. It’s only when the noise fades he realizes how close he is, how your fingers are still closed on his flesh and your bodies are almost pressed together.

The air is not enough to allow him to breathe. Copia opens his mouth to let out a slight gasp, fighting to calm the frantic beating of his heart. He can’t move. In the enclosed space, he doesn’t know where he wants to go, if he wants to put more distance between the two of you or to lean closer. His hands hoovers over your body, fingers twitching in an effort not to touch you. He wants to, but doesn’t dare.

To resist his desire becomes harder when you look at him through your lashes. From this distance, you can feel the heat radiating from his body, smell the way his perfume mixes with the minty scent of his aftershave. The Cardinal averts his gaze, staring at the stone wall. He’s extremely nervous, timid.

“Copia?” You whisper. That sultry, half lidded stare burns on his face like fire. “Thank you.”

Without saying anything else, you lean to place a kiss on his cheek. It’s a soft gesture, a chaste one, full of innocence and tenderness he never experienced before. You begin to walk away, turning around to call for him when he remains in place.

“Are you coming?”

Dumbfounded, he follows.

“Come on! Faster!”

“Come on! You can go faster!”

The wheels on the tricycle don’t agree. They creak and whine, almost as if they were about to fall off the frame and roll into nothingness. It's natural. The frame is not meant to support the weight of not only one, but two adults.

Yet, your nails dig in the Cardinal’s shoulders, as you cling to him for dear life. You laugh loud and the sound echoes on the walls and before disappearing into the hallways. Copia’s voice alerts you shortly before he turns on a corner, hoping not to crash and wreck anything. He can’t explain to Papa Nihil why more and more vases and decorations keep getting broken in the vestibules.

Oblivious to his worry, you merely chuckle louder, gripping onto him with more strength. “Faster!”

“I’m the only one pedaling here!” He yells, breathless. The muscles on his legs burn and ache, but not as much as they will tomorrow in the morning.

Oh, well. A bit of pain is nothing when he can enjoy the comfort of your body pressed against his back or hear the sound of your chuckles. You look so cheerful, gull of joy. It makes his heart race and sing.

“I thought you said you worked out!”

Upon hearing your words, Copia continues. A dead end halts him on his tracks. The wheels produce a sonorous screech on the floors, leaving behind marks. You climb down from the tricycle, and a sad, disappointed expression manifests on your face. Copia doesn’t like seeing it. He despises it.

Even if your feet make contact with the ground, your hands remain on his shoulders, toying with the collar of his cassock. The gesture sends shivers down his spine, electrifying his body. “We’ll have more space to ride outside,” he says, hoping you’ll accept his invitation.

“A race, then?”

You run without waiting for him to signal the beginning of the competition. He grants you some advantage before following at full speed.

On the patio, you run. Copia’s voice is carried by the wind, no more than a faint counting sound in the distance.

You're extremely thrilled he’s taking some time to indulge in a foolish game with you. He’s been exceptionally busy lately, so full of stress with all the tours and his clerical obligations. Sadly, you almost don’t have time to spend with him, even if he tries to dedicate a few minutes of his days to you.

Crouching behind a big statue, you cover your mouth with your palms in an effort to muffle the noise of your panting. All your efforts are fruitless, because Copia takes no time to find you.

His fingers tickle at your skin, over the ribs, and you jump in place both from the sudden contact and the surprise. “This is unfair! You always win.”

“Si, certo. I used to play here all the time when I was a child, there’s no corner I don’t know. Most orphans preferred the playground near the west entrance and not this one because it’s close to the Chapel of Rituals, so nobody bothered me.”

In a swift movement, your fingers close over his wrists, pulling him closer. Copia falls on the soft ground, green grass staining the white material of his suit. Despite that, you don’t stop tugging until his head is set on your lap. Even if he attempts sitting up, you don’t let go. You merely move your hands from his arm to his face, ghosting over his cheekbones and nose before setting down on his hair.

Gradually, your nails lightly scratch at his scalp. Copia’s eyes go from wide open in surprise to half lidded, all fluttering eyelashes. “You need some rest, Copia,” you mumble, making him nod.

“I know, I know. There’s so much to do.”

He’s right. The clerical duties are never ending, so heavy on his shoulders. More than once you have discovered him passed out in the library or in his office, head against the hard wood of the desk and hand clutching a pen. The Cardinal’s shoulders are always so tense and high on his body, from carrying both Nihil’s and Imperator’s expectations.

If only you could do anything to relieve him from some of that pressure, you would. You have been gaining more and more responsibilities, but it’s never enough to grant him respite. “I’ll tell you what,” you offer, when you think he might start snoring softly at any moment. “When this is all over, we’ll go to the beach. I heard the Ministry owned a beach house not too far away from here.”

Eyes batting open, he furrows his brows. “Where did you hear that?”

“Imperator mentioned something when she was talking with Papa Nihil the other day. I might have eavesdropped.”

A deep, slow sigh it’s the sole answer you get. “It doesn’t matter” you cut him before he can complain.“Promise it. When you have time, we’ll go to the beach.”

“I don’t like the beach.”

“Because you have never been there with me.”

The glint in your eyes, he clearly sees it. There’s so much hope and excitement within your pupils, it’s impossible to deny you. Hell, he’d accept anything you propose, asking only for you to gaze at him in return. “Okay, okay,” Copia whispers, looking elsewhere. His lips stretch in a timid smile. “When this is over, I’ll take you to the beach. But then, we’ll have to go somewhere I want.”

“Where?”

“Let’s go get rigatoni affumicati al pecorino, from that nice Italian restaurant near here,” he declares after a beat. “ Do you want to?”

“Deal. But first, the beach.”

“Vabbè. The beach.” Your palm is warm and soft when his fingers make contact with your hand. He takes it gently, placing his lips on the back of it. The black makeup leaves behind the faint mark of a kiss. “I promise it.”

There’s so much echo around. Step after step, your shoes make a loud noise that breaks the heavy silence of this place. Almost as if he was sensing your uneasiness, Copia’s fingers caress the back of your hand, moving to graze over the palm. “Only a bit more,” he murmurs. “Watch your steps, my dear.”

“It’d be easier if I wasn't blindfolded.”

“You didn't complain about it last night.”

Copia abruptly stops before you can reply. His hands move to your head, deft fingers swiftly removing the blindfold. Nothing prepares you for what you see.

The space is large and broad around you. Illuminated by candle light and a few faint lamps, there’s a fountain in the middle of the room. From right to left, you note some tunnels extend for meters and meters before disappearing in the dark distance.

Where's this place?

Has it always been here, hidden under the main building?

“I know this is not like the beach.” Copia speaks up from behind you. His fingers bend around your shoulders, pulling you lightly until your back meets his chest. As always, he’s gentle and tender, an incredibly comforting presence. He makes you feel giddy inside, so at ease. “But I thought it was a nice sight anyway.”

“Are we under the Abbey?”

“Si, ecco. A whole system of tunnels goes even beyond the fences. It’s supposed to be an escape route, used during the old times in case of an attack. Nowadays it’s mostly abandoned and closed, unless you have permission to be here.”

“Do we have permission?”

“I do. Don’t worry. I’m the only one who comes here.”

“That’s selfish of you. Maybe I want to come too.”

“I can help you with that, very well.”

His arms are strong when he surrounds you in a hug, tilting your head until his lips find yours. Copia lets out a few chuckles against your skin, closing his eyes to thoroughly enjoy the coziness of your body next to his. In front of your eyes, the water of the fountain dances to its own song. The statue of the Fallen Angel stands watchfully in the middle of it, beautiful and magnificent.

Just like Lucifer fell from the heavens to the ground, searching for freedom and truth, you feel yourself falling for Copia. If he’s your damnation or the promised land, you don’t care. As long as you can have him close, worship him and walk by his side, then nothing else matters.

Nothing can offer you absolution or console, if it’s not him.

“Thank you for showing me this.” Your voice is scratchy, coarse from the lack of use.

“Prego,” Copia replies, holding closer. “This place was always a shelter for me, to hide when things became too bad. I want you to have it too.”

The murmur of the water travels through the air, lulling you into a sense of peace and safety. In your lover’s arms, you cling to these private moments you get to expend together, away from the rest of the Clergy. Now and forever, the light from memory will conduct you through the shadows.

In moments like these, away from the world and outside expectations, you feel incredibly free.

Over the muffled music, the water is a constant buzzing in your ears. It’s dusky in the tunnels, more than usual, and a part of you wonders if Copia dimmed the lights on purpose to allow himself to camouflage into the shadows.

The entrance to the main room stands in front of you. Written in stone, an ancient warning lays carved in somber color for your eyes to see.

“Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch'intrate.”

You take a step forward. The distant ticking of the clock it’s the only sign of time passing. Under the Abbey, everything seems to be put on a stop. “Copia?” You call, and for a long moment there’s no reply. “I know you are here.”

“Si, uh. I was just…”

“Hiding?” Your chuckle is full of air. “You need to stop hiding during celebrations prepared in your honor. Everybody is up there wanting to congratulate the new Papa Emeritus the IV.”

“Lo so, believe me. I just need some air.”

Distorted, the melody of the piano keys hardly manages to resonate in the underground. You don’t recognize it, only acknowledging it’s a slow ballad. Your hand extends in Copia’s direction, floats in front of his face until his eyes look up to meet yours. There’s sadness clinging to his factions, drenching him in a unique kind of sorrow you fear you’ll never completely understand.

This man, as much as you love him, remains mostly a mystery. He has shared a few details, scarce information about his childhood and teenage years. How someone who has been through much can remain kind and cheerful it’s something you can’t comprehend.Every so often, you feel as if the world’s weight was balancing on his tense shoulders, oppressing his true nature into dust.

The Clergy clearly searches to transform Copia into the perfect frontman, a well curated marionette they can maneuver round and round. There’s a bitter glint behind your irises, a misery you hope he can’t discern in the shadows.

If your love could guard him, then not a god or Satan would be able to touch a single hair of his head.

Then, you’re just a human. Another Sibling of Sin, someone who performed their vows not too long ago and who comes from nowhere.

“We met on a night like this. Do you remember?”

Copia’s hair follows the movement of his head when he nods leisurely. He holds onto your hand, tenderly cradling the palm to his cheek. His eyelids are pressed together when he snuggles closer, lessening the deep crease of his brows.

“How could I forget it?”

“Was I the first person you danced with? After you were ordained as the new leader?”

“Yes.”

“Can I be the first person to dance with you, now that you have become a Papa?”

As if your words had struck him right on the face, Copia’s eyes flutter open. “Please,” he whispers, through gritted teeth and quivering lips. He’s scared, terrified even, and now he’s clinging to you as a life line.

It’s okay. You can be his anchor, his sheltered place. Everything will be alright, for as long as you are together.

Even if the music is muffled by the sturdy stone walls, you begin to escort him through the vast room. Your voice rises in a melody you heard him singing, nights and nights ago. Copia seems surprised that you recall it, but how could you forget the way that song draped around your aching heart and eager soul, touching every nerve of your sensitive core?

If he composed it for you or not, you don’t care. That’s the song you love, the one you’d sing forever and ever if you were ever granted life eternal. The humming travels up your chest, throat and mouth, exiting your lips and filling the silence before getting lost into a distant echo.

Clinging to your body tight and circling around the room, you dance.

Copia’s body is squeezed tight against you. Laying in bed, limbs tangled and hair tousled, the two of you struggle to regain a regular breathing rhythm.

For a long moment, you stay silent. There’s a thick veil of worry covering your skin. He realizes, sensitive as he always is to your emotions. Copia clutches your hand between his, caresses the back of it without breaking eye contact. “What’s wrong, my dear?” He asks gently.

There are no words in your mouth, nothing logical that can explain why your throat is filled with anguish. It’s most likely nothing, you know it, but your heart beats rapidly and heavy inside your chest.

“I think it’s going to rain soon.”

“Why do you say that? There’s not a cloud in the sky tonight.”

“The wind has changed,” you murmur, averting your gaze. “And I’m worried.”

“About what?”

“Your trip. How long will you be gone?”

This time, his facial expression is the one that denotes concern. “Not too long, and there’s no need to worry,” he comments, squeezing your hand. His fingers curl around your wrist, pulling you closer. “Sister will be there with me. It’s just a dumb meeting with some members of the Clergy, to plan the next tour and album.”

“Let me go with you, then. No one should object to a Sibling of Sin accompanying their Papa.”

“You’ll get bored.”

The same conversation, time after time, is what bores you the most. Why can’t Copia allow you to travel with him? That is something you don’t fathom. A part of you suspects it has to do with Imperator’s presence always following him like a shadow.

“I mean it, Copia,” you stand firm, sitting up. “ I miss you so much when you are gone. Why can’t I go instead of Imperator?”

“She’s the one behind the whole project, I can’t ask her not to go.”

“Then why does she despise me so much?”

As usual, he remains silent. “She doesn't,” Copia states, but there’s an undeniable doubt in his voice.“She has an old vision of how things should be.”

“She has a vision of me dead, I’m telling you.”

“Come on, don’t say that.I’ll be okay and will take care of you. Do you trust me?”

Yes.

“Of course I do, Papa.” The mention of his title, the one he holds in the highest regards, causes him to feel as if he’s about to burn and melt into the silky sheets. His heart is about to explode in a whirlwind of emotions and excitement. Copia is happy, so moved and sensitive every time you call him that.

“Then believe me when I say this. Everything is going to be alright. I’ll be back from my trip soon, and then we might even have some time before the tour. You know what that means?”

“Our beach trip?”

“Yes, why not.”

“It’s winter, Papa.”

“That won't stop me. If it’s not the beach, I’ll take you somewhere else.”

“Okay. Maybe somewhere warm. I really think it’s going to rain soon.”

The next morning, the clouds are distant in the blue horizon when Copia takes one last look at the Ministry before stepping into the car.

Dark clouds float above his head. It’s going to rain soon and the drops of dew that cling to the air are almost frigid cold, dampening his clothes and hair.

“They are looking for you.”

The ghoul maintains his distance. The sturdy boots barely produce any noise against the moist ground, due to the carefulness of his walking. He advances slowly, step by step, as if he’s dealing with a hurt and scared animal that might bolt away at the first sign of danger.

Maybe the ghoul is right. Copia feels like a wounded and terrified creature, about to dissolve into dust. His body is closed tight, holding him together by threads that may break and disintegrate with the slightest wrong movement.

Still, he breathes.

“Saltarian and the rest are wondering where you are.”

“How… How did you find me?”

Without hurrying, the ghoul outstretches one hand. He’s not wearing any gloves, and his silver jewelry shines under the pale glow coming from the lamps. One finger points to himself, right at the chest, over the place where the Emeritus’ sigil has been branded on his skin. “We’re bound together by our deal,” he says. “I’ll always know where you are. That way I can come when you call me.”

“Then the others know where I am too.”

Under the black night sky, the ghoul stands still. Through the dark glass of his mask, his pupils emit a dull light that can barely be discerned. Copia focuses on that glow, on the way the ghoul’s head tilts in his direction as he lowers his body to the ground. Sitting on the dirt, the creature only stares at him.

Next, his fingers toy with the long sleeves of his uniform, rolling them up his arms. Copia follows the action, silently. “Do you remember when you summoned us?” The ghoul questions. His body irradiates heat, reaching a temperature that would be too hot for any normal human. Copia feels half tempted to lean into him, because he’s freezing to his bones.

“Sí, I do. I was terrified,” he admits, narrowing his eyes and breathing through his mouth. It’s a bad habit. He knows it, but he can’t help himself. The oxygen isn’t enough. It’s never enough,

“Then you remember our deal, right?”

“You serve me, and in exchange I let you inhabit a human vessel to roam through the earth.”

This time, the ghoul moves his head slowly. His tongue clicks. “Not exactly. We are summoned here to look after the Ministry’s best interest and ensure the safety of Papa Emeritus. In exchange we are provided with a body to possess and energy to feed off. It’s simple, but the contract is up to interpretation, as it always is.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because the Clergy has issued a command in your absence. They told us to stop you from leaving the Abbey’s ground, no matter what," the creature confesses. “And right now, you’re very close to abandoning our profane land.”

Copia stiffens, skin pale. He’s struggling to inhale and exhale, almost shaking.

“Where is Sister? Has she arrived?” Copia whispers through his teeth. Each syllable is hard to pronounce, because his jaw is almost as tense as the rest of his body. The cold stone causes his teeth to clatter and stomach to shiver, but he doesn’t want to step out of his hiding spot and go back inside the building.

No. His shelter is safe, while the abbey is dangerous. Copia doesn’t know who he can trust in anymore, who might be waiting for him in the shadows. The ghoul shakes his head, solemnly.

“Something horrible happened,” Copia adds, and his companion only nods. “I know something happened.”

Word by word, his shoulders rise as his head drops. The dirt is wet, wetting his clothes. “I can’t find them anywhere,” he mutters, quivering. He wants to disappear, to curl up in a hole and die from anguish and pain.

You can’t abandon him, you can’t simply go and never come back. Copia needs you, more than anything in this world, more than anyone else.

Love me, his soul screams. Love me and never leave me. Never cast me aside, never ignore me.

Love me

Love me.

“I smell blood on the dirt.”

No.

“Not too old. It’s recent. A few kilometers from here, down the south.”

Copia stands up, but the demon grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket before he can move. The sharp nails leave behind marks, slicing through the cloth. “I have to go,” he pleads.

“You can’t leave the Ministry grounds. That’s the order.”

“Let me go.”

“Even if I do, the others will follow you. And I’m not going to lie, most of them don’t care if they have to drag you back by force.”

The reasoning falls into deaf ears. Copia struggles with all his might, but it's useless in the face of an eternal, inhuman being. “I’m the one in charge here. It’s an order!", he yells, desperate. "I command you to let me go!”

“No, you don't. You can’t even use the binding magic right. It’s a sad attempt.” There’s a glimpse of something in his voice, a bitten emotion that doesn’t quite match the ferocity of his nature. He’s not aggressive, or indifferent. He’s almost sorrowful.

“I don’t understand! You are my ghoul. You serve me!”

A deep sigh is the only reply he gets. “My loyalty is to you, but contractually I serve the Ministry's interests. The pact doesn’t mind who’s in charge of it, if it’s you, another Papa or some old human behind the shadows.”

“Then come with me. That way you’ll be certain I’m safe. No harm done to anybody in the Ministry.”

“You don’t get it, right? To ensure Papa Emeritus’ safety is not the same as to obey you. If you ask most of us, an easy way to keep Papa safe is to lock him inside the Abbey and forbid him from doing something crazy, like going outside in the middle of the night when it’s about to rain.”

Like a marionette with no strings, Copia's arms fall to his side. The creature's grip on his flesh lessens, but the sting of sharp claws remains. “If something happens to Papa Emeritus, if you get sick or injured and can’t perform, then the Old One’s message won’t be spread. There is a tour coming soon. It would be a problem to lose you.”

In the wind, the top of the trees dances in a serpent-like manner. Copia focuses on it, trying hard to match the movement with the rhythm of his air intake.

It's useless. Nothing can bring him peace if you are not around. “But I have to find my beloved.”

“That’s the problem here. You’re not only Papa Emeritus IV. That’s merely a title you endorse. Sadly, right now my duty is to stop you from leaving, not to care about Copia’s feelings and wishes. They don’t serve the Clergy or Satan.”

“I have to find them, please. You said you smelled blood. They need help.”

“I smell blood under the dirt, permeating the ground. It’s not fresh, just recent. I don’t think they need help anymore.”

No.

It can't be.

He won't believe it. Hasn't he given enough? Hasn't he given away his name, his face, years and years of his life to serve this Ministry? Hasn't he done enough?

Copia is asking only for one thing in return to his efforts: you.

They can't take you away.

No one can.

“Silenzio!” He yells. In the darkness, his eye emits a faint pale glow. “Tell me where they are, now. I’ll go.”

The ghoul's bared teeth shine when he growls, in a silent warning. His muscles are tense under his tight skin, almost as if he was ready to pounce and devour him to the bones. “Alright," he breathes out, after a beat. "No need to get so mad, I said my loyalty is to you and not to the Clergy.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I spend too much time with humans. I’m starting to feel things I’m not supposed to, like empathy and pity. It might be your fault. You always treated me like a friend and not a servant.”

“You’re like family to me.”

Instead of offering comfort, his words seem to shatter the creature's spirit even more. “Something I learnt from humans is that even family can stab you in the back. Don’t trust us. We’re not like you in the end.”

Copia listens carefully when the ghoul tells him where to go. It's not far away, but it is beyond the Ministry's fences. He can make it before it begins to rain, probably, but it will be a tough journey.

It doesn't matter. He can't fail.

“One last thing. The tunnels under us, you know them right?”

“Yes.”

“Most of us would consider them part of the Ministry’s grounds. That way, you can get farther away without any ghoul on your heels. I’ll try to distract them as much as I can, but there’s no guarantee.”

“Thank you. For everything.”

“I hope you don’t regret it. This won’t go unpunished for me.”

“I’ll reward you when I get back.”

Without agreeing, the infernal creature begins to walk away. He doesn’t turn around when Copia speaks up, only tilting his head to examine him through the corner of his eyes.

“You said you spent too much time around us, and that’s why you’re experiencing new feelings.” Copia inquires. “Would it be too bad to be a bit more human?”

For a small eternity, an infinite of seconds that weigh as much as his sorrow, the ghoul stays in silence. After that, he swallows. His fists are pressed against his body. “It’s dangerous,” he says softly. “What happens when you lose everything that makes you yourself?”

Copia doesn’t know what to reply. His gaze pierces into the creature, searching for any clue. He detects nothing, only a rare sense of humanity.

To discover humanity in a demon, that’s something he was never prepared for. Copia feels his blood freeze when he witnesses him go without looking back. Before completely disappearing in the distance, the ghoul’s voice continues in an incredibly gentle manner, almost breaking at the end

“You die.”

NEXT CHAPTER

Ps: Sorry for writing a nice ghoul and then implying they died. That wasn't very fluff of me.

Next chapter is probably the end! This is a wild ride. Be prepared, maybe? And, as always, thanks for the support! This wouldn't have been a multi-chapter fic without it <3

#ghost band #ghost band fanfic #ghost band x reader #papa emeritus iv #cardinal copia #papa emeritus x reader #cardinal copia x reader #evil cardinal copia #antichrist copia #nameless ghouls #my writing #my fics

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dulcamaramuck · 8 months

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#fatuitober2023 DAY 7: costume party

We dance once more, I feel your hands are cold

Within your heart, a story to be told

This is the moment of just letting go

-lyrics: "Life Eternal" from Ghost

#il dottore #dottore #pantalone #genshin impact

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fishhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh · 6 months

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I LOVE LOVE THE CRANE WIVES !!!!!!!

IVE LOVED EVERY PIECE OF THEIR MUSIC WHICH I THINK IVE LISTENDED TO ALMOST ALL OF IT.

NEVER HEARD A CRANE WIVES SONG I DISLIKED!!!1

THE FUNKY LITTLE LEADING BASS LINE AND THE HOWLING VOCALS HAVE MY HEART AND SOULLLLL

SOME OF MY FAVORITE CRANE WIVES LYRICS: Album - Safe Ship, Harbored

You won't find me where you left me No, I'm long gone (Long gone)You can't bind me in the state you kept meFor so long (So long)

I give up my sight To see I give up my air To breathe

We're the daughters of sinners, we're the sons of saints

If there's a hole in the silver lining I'll be the one, the one to find itI take it upon myself to make sure I do . I might find nothing when I start lookingBut I turn it over in my hands untilMy fingers wear it through

Where does your faith fall? Where does your faith fall in me?Don't break the bottleDon't waste your blessings on me

My dreams keep diggin' up the bones of memories Discarded remnants of former timesNow every skeleton is slappin' its knees Laughin' at the holes he left behind

I have all the time I need (And when full moon beckons)To repent my wicked deeds(She relives the night that took her life)Plant my guilty seed(To suffer it in her eternal penance) By the moonlight in the cemetery

Album - The Fool in Her Wedding Gown

Spreading out the ashes of a love That only gave and gave

I'm swimming in this dress, a child in her mother's clothes This ring around my finger's like a chain around my throatAre you so sure you've tamed me?

Don't just watch me go, you fool Run with me, keep up, keep up, keep up

That though we're gray, we can stay young, and wild, and free

And if I were someplace else And if I were someone elseAnd if I were not myself, would this be easier?

I'm at a loss for better plans 'Cause this is all I haveSo I'll just close my eyes and try To pretend That it gets easier

All you're doing now is losing me

I gave you everything I had And now I want it back

You built the glacier house in the fadin' SummerYou cursed the earth you settled under

I know that you mean so well But I am not a vessel for your good intent

Though I planted the seeds, gave them everything they needBut the flowers in our window box don't growLittle buds make their graves as the warmth inside us fadesBut I still don't know shit about letting go

Just give me back, give me back to the ground

When my ghost sings my battle cry you'll be too sorry to dance

Am I the only thing that keeps you safe when the light is gone?

But I still hold out hope that maybe someday I'll be worth more than all the silence left in my way

But if in the end I lose my voiceWill you forget about your love for me?

And when you break the surface oh without mePlease don't return me to the dark of all the memories

The heart is just a muscle with a rhythm all its own It doesn't stop when you decide not to move on The heart knows nothing of your love or of your loss

Album - Coyote Stories

No amount of fear will keep you safe

With the risk of fall I never climbed at allEvery day I told myself“I’m not ready”

Their stories reveal Regrets their smiles can’t conceal

I could have been anyone, anyone else Before you made the choice for me

Bore the shadows that you made With no light of my own

I shine only with the light you gave me

All is fair in love and war, but I can’t fight with you anymoreThis will be the death of me

I'm one deep breath away from a breakdown My nerves are wrecked and coming unwound

I rip myself apart at the seams I find one weak spot and start unravelingHoping I can find a better me

I keep my closet free of skeletons 'Cause I'm much better at digging graves

I've seen good men spoiled Chained to their jobs like houndsThey work and sleep and work againIn the darkest nights they howlTheir cries are a warningTo everyone followingNo man should stand to work all of his daysAnd have nothing at the end of them

I got no money but the changeThat jingles in my pocketsReminding me how little I haveAnd as for time I amPowerless to stop itIt keeps rambling on like a mad, wandering man

And my dear papa gave me Lessons in regretHe said all that he'd done would be for nothingIf I followed in his steps

He taught me that the hand that feeds Deserves to be bitten when it beats

And that no man should get More of my time than me, than me

I may never be a rich man But I can, make sure that I am free

That these hands of mine were clumsy, not cleverAnd I tried to do the best that I couldBut try as I might I couldn't bring myself to hold you

There is love that doesn't have a place to rest But it would have buried you if it had settled on your shoulders

For keeping my claws away when they were close enough to hurt you

I want to know that there are lands Not yet touched by human handsI want to be the one to find them

Album - Foxlore

Sure, you can forget about all the things you've done But what about the rest of us?

High-tail it when it gets to be too much What about the rest of us?

Marrow made a wife of Eve But no one gave up a rib for me and mine

Time has changed the metaphor Now, dust is not the origin of boneLittle girl, don't let them sell you any armorAll your ribs are still your own

The time has come for moving on You can't be always trying to dig upWhat you've already buried

Every word I say is kindling But the smoke clears when you're aroundWon't you stay with me, my darlingWhen my walls start burning down, down, down?

You don't have to believe every single thought That tumbles through your headJust 'cause it sounds like you talkingSometimes all you can doIs say goodnight and tuck your demons into bed'Cause they're not worth fighting

What good has ever come of it? What answers will you find?Turn out the lights on your mind

Don't buy me flowers It pains me to watch pretty little things wilt away

Keep the light so dim that you can't see What's out there ahead

If only I could break the chain of disappointments Weighing me downShake off the ghosts that whisper warnings

The crows in the garden are laughing at my expense

Put your ear to my heart or set your teeth against my throatGive me something pretty to wear beneath my blood-stained clothes

Tell the crows they can have their pound of flesh

Get on your knees and dig up the garden Won't you throw down that spade andDig up the garden, darling?Get your hands dirty and rip up the gardenWon't you cut down that apple tree for me?

Album - Here I Am

I thought it would be easier to change How many times can someone start again?How many more times will it take?

Got bombs that are falling on my mind I'm getting used to the noise and light,

I wanna be found I think I'm ready to be hereTie me down, tie me down

This ghost town is making a ghost of me

They shake me off and ask why I bother The answer is simpleMy father, his fatherI come from a long line of people who believeIn the flowers that growIn the cracks in the street

Tender as a bruise Sharper than a razorWraps her tentacles around meLike she'll never let me goFury shakes the rafters, but never in my favorI'm trembling in the eye of the only storm I've ever known

Stop the car, I wanna get outI'm craving open air and solid ground'Cause I've been watching from the backseatWatching the world slipping past me

Like a moth in the night I'm desperate for a minute in the light'Cause everywhere that I goSomething pulls me to the shadows

I'm a fool I've been howling at a hollow moon

Is this a bunker or a shallow grave? Either way I'm leftHolding onto the shovel and ropeDigging in the dirtFinding bones, finding ghosts

Take me in my damaged state Walked a thousand miles to be here againPull apart your useless gamesBut your song sings in my veins, and I'mSinging tooI can't drown you out no matter what I do

I’m just a ten cent copy Of people far more advanced than meEvery thought that I’ve ever hadCould be ripped from a magazineCut me a path, and I will follow itDraw me a line, and I’ll avoid itI’m nothing if not obedientYou have my word

I am not a builder I’m much better at blowing things downI will join the wolfAt my door

I keep tallies I keep scoreI'm a petty thing on a high, high horseYou've got your mouth openI hold my tongueThere's so many things that we can't ignore

Congrats to anyone who made it this far down the post lmao

(Life Series / Trafficblr fans, i see you all and im with you all.)

Europe/Britian/Scotland tour when??? plsplspls i need to see them live on stage!!!

This has been a Crane Wives Appretiation Post , Thank you for Consideration and please listen to their music if you dont already!!!

#the crane wives #crane wives #folk band #rainbow text #lyrics #the crane wives lyrics #trafficblr #life series

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