ciricesghost

[ciricesghost]

Mummy Dust - Cirrus Ghoulette

art by me :)

[ciricesghost]

yeah

[ciricesghost]

-The Rat deity- I like it when I have an idea and finish it the same day. At least it doesn't add to the pile of WIPs.

[ciricesghost]

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

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.”

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

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You, Forever (Chapter VI: Your friend Death)

Pairing: Papa Emeritus IV x g/n reader

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

Warnings: Mentions of blood and corpses, implied violence. This is almost 5K words, grab a snack and a drink. Happy (un)holidays, friends!

PART I / PART II / PART III / PART IV / PART V

There’s a picture on the desk.

The glass of the frame is cracked and the ink is discolored, faded into a faint print. Time has not been kind to it, yet the image remains visible. In different shades of brown and beige, the silhouette of a child occupies a big part of the paper. The big smile reveals a few teeth missing and there’s still a remnant of baby fat on his cheeks.

Next to the child, face and most of the torso out of the frame, there’s someone else. The slender arm is cladded in black, a hand resting on the kid’s shoulder.

Even after all this time, Copia still remembers that afternoon. They took the picture the day he received his first unholy communion. He must have been around eight years old, maybe even a bit younger. At that time, he was so full of hope and pride for his future.

The person next to him is Imperator.

Oh, how happy she was that day. Copia remembers how she hugged him tight, cradling his face between her hands as she swooned on how cute he looked with his new habits. Imperator was ecstatic, cheerful as he hadn’t ever seen her before.

And Copia felt just the same. Not being used to the attention, he devoured every little crumb Sister offered, recalling her praises and love for the days to come. Hell, maybe even for years to come.

To his teachers and caretakers, he was another faceless orphan. But to Imperator, he was talented and promising. “One day,” she said that afternoon, walking him around the Ministry while holding onto his hand. “One day, all of this will be yours, C. It’s your destiny.”

Copia used to love Imperator, like a child loves their mother. A part of him still loves her the same, no matter how much she has hurt him.

No matter how hard she has betrayed him.

The glass of the frame reflects Papa Emeritus’ face when he picks it up. Under the faint candlelight, he looks like a phantom, like a corpse ready to be buried deep within the dirt. There’s a heavy frown on his brows and his jaw is clenched tight, making his mouth nothing but a thin line.

Papa’s voice is full of air when he speaks up, hoarse by the lack of use. “Memory is a treacherous thing.”

In front of him, the Nameless Ghoul tilts his head. His hands remain clutched behind his back as he stands tall, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. His mask reflects the flickering flames. “Indeed,” he says, but he has no a tittle of idea of where this conversation is venturing into.

Oblivious to it, Papa continues. The picture dances between his fingers, making the leather of his gloves squeak with every slight moment. “The more you cling to it, the more it distorts and changes shape.”

For a long moment, the creature remains silent. It is not wise to interrupt Papa Emeritus IV, not since the incident happened. The pestilence of blood clings to every fiber of his being, coating the whole Ministry with the coppery smell. There’s so much death around. It wouldn’t be hard to trace a path from the Ministry to the gates of Hell using the blood of men and women who died under his fist.

“Sometimes the person you love is made of nothing but memories. You recall them fondly, take them out of a box one by one and hold them between your fingers, but it comes to the point where you don’t realize where the memory ends and the imagination begins. Often I think I’m clinging to my own fantasies, and not reality.”

Human vessels have their limitations. The ghoul holds his breath as much as he can, enjoying the burn in his lungs in an effort not to utter any remark. He bears the sensation until the need to inhale becomes overwhelming and there’s no other option but to yield. The oxygen emits a wave of relief to his body.

Fortunately, Papa Emeritus is lost deep inside his mind. Lately, life has been unkind to him. The night terrors have subsided, forcing him into a never ending state of solitude. You have become an elusive figure, a misty memory that dances inside his brain day and night. No matter how much he has run through the hallways, screaming your name and begging for your forgiveness, you are nowhere to be found.

Copia can’t stand it.

He thinks about you nearly always, reminiscing the words, laughs and looks you both shared in the past. Gradually, he can feel your real essence slipping through his fingers, becoming nothing but a wild imagination and a trick of his mind. The more you are missing, the more you become a shadow he’s almost sure he hallucinated one day in the past, when the loneliness was too much and he couldn’t endure it anymore.

And yet, there are pictures, little letters and candy wraps stored neatly inside a box on his vanity table that prove you are real. Copia only needs to win you back, to make you forgive him and show you he can protect you. He can win all the battles and come back home victorious, asking only for a kiss in return for his eternal devotion.

Over the deep silence, the ghoul decides to speak. “Humans have weak memories. They tend to be forgetful, to disregard important parts of reality and then fill the gaps with lies that suit them.”

Papa’s eyebrows twitch as his pupils focus back on the office, turning his head to face the ghoul. “Aren’t we all the same?” He asks, and there’s a bitter strain on his words.

“Lying to myself serves no purpose. That’s only sentimentalism.”

“Oh, right. You infernal creatures are above it.”

“Or below. I don’t understand the point of it, that’s all.”

For a long moment, Copia nods absentmindedly. While some people might believe sentimentalism serves nothing, he would rather believe it to be the motor of all his actions. He’s a sentimental being. Sentimentalism is what gives humans humanity, what feeds the spark of his soul and warms the blood in his veins.

Copia dwells in sentimentalism, but maybe that’s why he’s been so weak. He has let his feelings get a hold of his logical mind, influencing his judgment with nothing but lies. And worse, he has let people hurt you and get away with it.

“Have you ever been in love with someone?”

The ghoul’s shoulders flinch at the question. It is something no one has ever asked before, and for a few seconds he meditates the answer. His head tilts to the side, making the light shine on the dark glass of his lenses. “I have loved no one, and never shall.” He says, finally.

Copia lets out a choked laugh. “What a sad existence it’s the one you’re damned to. Maybe it’s actually a good thing to be human.”

“Isn’t it too painful? To love someone means to accept that you'll lose them one day.”

There’s something sharp in Papa Emeritus’ face, a piercing dagger in his pupils. The energy permeates the room to the brim, making the sigil on the ghoul’s skin tingle and begin to burn. Papa’s white eye casts a faint glow when he shakes his head before gathering a deep breath, visibly calming down.

The ghoul doesn’t mention it. As much as he enjoys to feed off emotions, especially strong ones, he prefers the rather positive ones. Dread and anger are too bitter on his palate, too unstable inside his core.

“Good thing I’m not completely doomed by human rules, then. I have the power of the infernal divine on my side. I’m Papa now.”

“The first one I have ever seen to send so many souls to the Old One. Impressive.”

Outside, the bugs sing and the wind blows, signaling another peaceful night. The air is hot, thick and a bit humid. It sits heavy on the lungs, as an omen of heavy rain to come that will bath the ground with cleansing water.

Tomorrow there will be a storm. Yet, tonight the fire is the one that will purify the impure.

Following his train of thought, Papa Emeritus takes a deep breath too. The air fills his chest, fresh and cold, leaving behind only a resemblance of tranquility. “I have loved people and still do. Love requires sacrifice, but there’s no sacrifice without blood.”

Humans are entertaining. The ghoul knows there is nothing like it in the depths of Hell. Creatures like him, moved only by things that pleasure or displeasure them, do not seek for justifications as such. You kill someone because you want to kill them, you let them live because you desire so. To use something as love to justify a whole massacre…

That’s humanity. The darkest, coldest part of it.

And Satan, how much he’s amazed by it.

The ghoul’s eyes are vivid under the dark glass of the mask. In front of him, Papa Emeritus waves a hand as he stands up and begins to walk out of the room. “Ghoul,” he calls. “Let the rest know it is time. And Tell Imperator to meet me by the pyre tonight.”

Standing still, the infernal creature bows his head. In the gloomy room, his smile full of white, sharp teeth reflects the faint glow of the black candles as he speaks. “Will do.”

As Papa Emeritus disappears behind a closed door, the ghoul reaches out to the desk, knocking the picture off it with a flick of his finger. The glass shatters as the frame hits the floor with a muted thud.

How… interesting.

“We are alone in the Ministry, Sister.”

Papa Emeritus IV speaks over the creaking of the fire. The night is dark and cold, such a heavy contrast with the gleaming, dancing flames. Imperator feels chills running down and up her spine, striking every single nerve. She merely nods, because her voice is lost somewhere deep in her guts.

Luckily, Papa doesn’t press for a verbal answer. “There are no more siblings, no priest or priestesses,” he continues, without missing a beat. “Not even teachers.”

The gravel creaks with each step Papa takes. The little rocks turn into nothing but dust under his shoes, leaving behind the clear footprint of his boots. Imperator allows her gaze to dart at the ground, then up and up until her eyes find his. A dull cloud obscures them; something that makes up a feeling Imperator cannot quite pinpoint. It resembles turmoil of anger, fear and raw anguish; a whirlwind of complex and visceral emotions she can’t name no matter how hard she tries.

Oblivious from her inner questioning, Papa continues. His voice is articulate, loud over the silence, and it conveys a commanding tone within it. “When I ordered the ghouls to not leave a soul inside the Ministry, I thought my beloved would find peace,” he says, before adding: “I was wrong.”

This time, a clear and undeniable strand of doubt takes over his speech. His voice trembles, breaking at the end of the sentence. Imperator looks into his pupils again, stares at the void they have become and falls deep inside the violent dread that devours him from the inside.

That’s the thing with pain and sadness. Like a famished beast, it feasts and feeds off people's insides. It consumes whatever makes them human, until there’s nothing but a hollow, shallow hole where a soul should be. Imperator knows Cardi used to be a man of raw feelings, of awkwardness and enthusiasm. Now, a part of her can’t recognize the person standing right there, at the patio they both used to play in years and years ago.

The man in front of her is not her baby boy, her sole son. He’s Papa Emeritus the IV, a monster of her own creation, the bringer of Armageddon. He’s the chosen one, the one whose birth and rise has been foretold by an ancient prophecy.

Is she proud or scared? Imperator can’t tell. It might be human nature, selfishness, but a part of her wishes she could hold onto the memories of her sweet little C just a bit longer before bathing in the reality and power of Papa Emeritus IV.

Is it wrong to wish to see her son once again, before welcoming her old friend Death? Can she ask for something like it, after everything she has done?

Satan is a kind, merciful deity, because he listens to her prayers and delivers. When Copia speaks up again, his tone is even more subdued, voice in a higher note. He’s almost shaking, scared like a child about to confess something shameful. He’s no longer Papa, not even Cardinal.

He’s just her little C.

“I have a suspicion, Sister,” he begins. His words remain a constant trembling, a languish sound he fights to let out through clenched teeth. “Something I don’t want to believe in.”

The air enters Imperator’s lungs, but there’s no oxygen in it. There is only smoke and the stench of burning flesh, coating the inner tissue of her organs and staining everything black. The soot covers her throat and obscures her vision, almost as dense as the sadness that coats Copia’s presence.

“You were always very clever but full of doubts. You need to be more assertive, C.”

“I’m trying to,” Copia adds, too quickly. His hand reaches out to caress his temple, moving to rub at his forehead as his brows furrow and his eyes close. “Tell me I’m wrong, Sister. Tell me I’m wrong, and I’ll be tempted to believe it.”

For a long time, Imperator considers it. How wrong would it be to let him live in ignorant bliss? A human is weak, fragile and blind in the eyes of an almighty being like her Lord. He would understand her hesitation, acknowledge the unyielding love of a mother towards a son.

And yet, what a selfish thing to do. What is life without illumination, knowledge and truth?

Only slavery.

Imperator’s hands press over her abdomen, clasped together so tight her knuckles turn pale. The fire of the pyre does nothing to warm her up, does not provide any comfort. Still, she summons strength to reply. “I think you should follow your own instincts. Have a little confidence.”

Copia’s shoulders rise as he gathers a labored breath. His eyelids are half lidded, trembling on his face almost as much as his lips when he tries to suppress the sobs that threaten to rack his body. He swallows once, then twice, head turning to the side in an effort to hide his anguish.

“Why then? I don’t understand. I trusted you… I loved you. I liked you.”

Seeing him eye to eye, Imperator lowers her hands and reaches out for him. Her palms are open, and her fingers extend in his direction without landing into anything. There’s not a substantial space separating them, but the distance between their hearts it’s immeasurable. “I have done lots of questionable things in the past, Cardi, but I have never betrayed you. I was only protecting you.”

“From my own partner?”

“You know from whom. To these people, a dead Papa is a statement they can control, while an alive one is a liability. Look at what happened to your predecessors, how they ended up as backstage props.”

The haunting of past memories forces Copia’s muscles to tense as he flinches. His gaze is gaunt, blooming to the brim with a deeply pained look. That inward stare remains buried deep in Imperator’s body, before he lets his lids fall. “I think you wanted to hurt me, Sister. I think you couldn’t stand to see me happy for once in my life.”

The weight of those words anchors Imperator’s feet to the ground, but she manages to take half a step forward. There’s a small, faint voice inside her head, something wicked and twisted that reminds her she’s only a selfish, wounded human; someone troubled and desperate for love. Did she feel threatened by your impact in Cardi’s life? Did she want to hurt you, to force you away?

She did. But she wanted to wound you, not Copia.

A sharp pain emerges from Imperator’s palms when her nails dig too deep in the flesh, leaving behind crescent marks. To the sound of her voice, Copia’s face lifts from the ground as he looks at her expectantly, almost pleading her to deny his previous statement. She indulges. “That’s not true. I’ve done nothing but care for you.”

“But you hurt me so much. Why couldn’t you just let me be happy for once?”

“And let you walk right into your death?”

“Si, if you had to.”

The cold clings to Copia’s skin like a mantle. His face feels frozen under Imperator’s fingertips when she gets close enough to hold his cheeks, in an effort to stop the tremors that rack his shoulders. The movements are violent, unforgiving as Copia struggles to stop them.

Even when Imperator’s hands become wet with tears, she doesn’t let go. He flinches away from her touch at the beginning, but then his vulnerability and wish to be held takes over any tittle of repulsion he had. At a slow pace, Copia lets the warmth from her palms offer him comfort as he leans into it with shut eyes.

The night becomes deadly silent, as if the time had paused to grant them a bit of respite and allow them to enjoy the moment before the whole world falls over them with bone-crushing weight. It hurts, but Imperator breaks the spell, sighing profoundly while searching for the strength to speak. Her voice is gentle but firm, heavy with truth but yet light enough with relief.

“Don’t you think a mother would save her own child from digging his grave?”

Copia’s mouth opens and closes, fighting to form words immediately after hearing her confession. “Her… child?,” he stutters, jerking his head to get free from her hold. She doesn’t let him.

“You knew it, right? You have to. You’re a smart boy.”

This time, Copia manages to get away, muttering something unintelligible under his breath. His pupils are frantic, darting from one place to the other while he paces back and forth. The pain of his scalp is grounding, almost a relief when he curls his fingers on strands of hair, pulling hard. Imperator reaches out to stop him, but she chooses to remain a few centimeters away.

She doesn’t dare to touch him. Doesn’t feel worth it.

When the wood creaks loudly, startling their already frantic heart, Copia suddenly stops. His voice trembles so hard it’s difficult to properly understand what he’s uttering. “Si, it’s possible you’re right,” he begins, pausing to snatch another breath. “Maybe I just didn’t want to wonder why my own mother was forcing me to live in a place that seemed to hate me right to the guts.”

All those years, that fear and pain are back, haunting as always. Copia feels small, young and lost, so useless and powerless. His rage isn’t over yet, and he can’t simply let it go. No, it burns and claws, it screams inside him with enough volume to cause his stomach to vibrate and bones shake. He’s shivering, either from the cold or from the sheer impact of his emotions.

He can’t let go. He can’t.

Copia takes a step closer, allowing his eyes to lock into Imperator’s. “I was only a child who didn’t understand why you would disappear for months, then come back like nothing had happened. I used to think if I studied hard, if I succeeded in my tasks, if I became Papa… then you would think I was worth your time and attention. Maybe If I made you proud, you would love me.”

Letting out a bitter chuckle barely helps remove a bit of the oppression his shoulders carry. Copia feels himself away from his body, as if his soul was floating outside of it and something else had claimed that place.

“I was a fool, an idiot,” He says, swaying his head. Strands of hair fall on his face. “You only like people when you can control them, right? You stopped loving the old man when he began to think too highly of himself, just like you stopped liking me when I started to choose other people over you.”

He’s wrong. Imperator’s teeth are clenched, jaw locked tight in a way that prevents her from responding. He’s wrong, so mistaken she can’t even begin to correct him. She's merely a human, a fragile one at the core, someone who had to fight and gain her right to live her own way. She has loved very few people, and even fewer have truly loved her back. Satan, her little Cardi… and no one else.

Not even Nihil. Not even her own mother.

How can she explain to her son how scared she felt, how desperate at the idea of losing him? It’s impossible to find the right words, to make him understand that the weight of a mother’s love is not oppressive, but engulfing. She never meant to hurt him or shape him into anything he didn’t want to become. Imperator only wanted to make him strong, to keep him safe and warm, to help him have everything she never had.

It doesn’t matter anymore.

There are no tears in her. She ran out of them a long time ago, but the ghost of them haunts the corners of her eyes, forcing her to blink repeatedly until her vision clears. “No. I love you Cardi, always did.” She says, and it might be the first time she has ever uttered those words since she cradled him in her arms more than fifty years ago.”Everything I have sacrificed in my life was for you. You’re the Lord’s greatest gift towards me. How could I not love my own son?”

The air smells like rain when Copia gathers a shallow breath through his mouth. Even if it's gloomy, there are no clouds obscuring the night sky. There’s only the ghastly glow of the moon and stars, but Copia knows tomorrow there will be a storm. He can perceive it in his bones, in the distinct familiar scent of the wind.

Tomorrow it’s going to rain, but the knowledge doesn’t bring any relief. The water can’t wash away all the blood that has been shed within these crumbling stone walls, it can’t extinguish the funeral pyre that will burn and consume for eternity. Copia clenches his fist to prevent his fingers from shaking, but it’s useless. Imperator has revealed something he, not too long ago, would have died to hear.

Now he believes himself stupid, so blind to the truth. She’s right. He suspected it, of course he did, but he wasn’t courageous enough to accept it. It was easier to pretend they weren’t related. It brought him more comfort to pretend Sister had met him in the Ministry’s care home when he was a child, that she had taken pity on poor little him and decided to take him under her wing as much as she could.

Like a mother would save a son, Copia believes a son would also save his own mother from imminent death. And that’s something he can’t allow himself to delve on, because he comprehends what he has to do. He came prepared, ready to stop fooling himself with memories and sentimentalism. He wanted to stand proud, strong, firm, to prove to you he has changed so much, to show he’s no longer just a pathetic Cardinal, a good for nothing.

Now, oh Satan, he’s acting like a child again, allowing everybody to step over him and hurt him without a fight. How can he stand up and protect his loved one, if he can’t even defend himself? How much longer is he going to let everybody take a hit at him, without retaliating?

A rare feeling of relief wash over Copia’s body when he exhales the cold air. It will rain tomorrow, but he can’t wait for the water to purify and amend his mistakes. Born from Hell’s will and raised under The Evil One’s philosophy and teachings, his whole soul craves the comfort of the cleansing dark fire.

The beating of his heart is slow, heavy inside his ribcage, striking almost like bells announcing the beginning of midnight mass. There's a certain melancholy in it and when his blood flows again, Copia is sure his heart is mourning his own demise.

A distant chime shatters the silence, thumping slowly to mark the passing of time. Copia knows the moment has come to accept the truth, to die and be reborn as something better, more powerful.

“I’m not your son only, am I? I’m Papa now” Papa Emeritus takes a step ahead, fixing the neck of his coat. “So, what would Papa do in a situation like this? Advise me, Sister.”

A warm light reflects on Imperator’s face when she sways her head, making a few strands of thin hair fall on her forehead. How much she has aged, how different things are and still, how hard the memories remain written in stone and engraved in wood from the trees surrounding the building.

The faint smile that tightens her lips when she speaks is soft; it almost reminds him of better times. “I don’t know. To me you’ll always be my little Cardi.”

Nodding once, Papa allows himself to replicate the gesture. His smile is small, full of remembrance, but it tastes bittersweet in his lips. Advancing the distance that separates them, he’s the one to cradle Imperator’s face between his palms. Time has made him grow taller, only a bit bigger than her, and there’s no need anymore to look up to meet her eyes.

Gradually, he leans forward to place a chaste kiss on her cheek. Imperator’s skin is pale and cold. The papal paint leaves behind a dark, messy stain; a black promise of impending demise. “This is a goodbye, Sister. I’m sure sooner or later we all go into the night. Go softly, ti prego.”

Oh. How much her little Cardi is aching, how deep and visceral his pain is. It’s okay, Imperator understands. Raw emotions are a good offering to the Dark Lord. It’s a sacrifice, a big one that must be done for His kingdom to come. And when it happens her Cardi will be a prince.

No one will hurt him again.

This is a mother’s last sacrifice and, with open arms, she’ll welcome her doom.

Facing the two Ghouls standing at the back of the patio, Papa Emeritus waves a hand in a silent order. The Ghoul on the right smiles big and bright, but doesn’t budge an inch. “You have to say it, your Infernal Holiness. Give us a command.”

“Burn everything to the ground.” Papa Emeritus walks slowly, with heavy footsteps. The burden he’s been bearing for years has not subsided and the tears cloud his vision. The black paint around his eyes is smudged, running down his cheeks when he’s close enough to hold onto one of the Ghoul’s forearms. The infernal creature growls at him, baring his teeth as a warning, but doesn’t dare to attack. “Don’t leave anything behind. It’s an order!”

“Yes, sir.”

Papa Emeritus IV doesn’t spare a last look at the place he used to call home before exiting the gates. He walks into the dark.

The flames light up the Ministry, brighter than the morning sun. Standing in the middle of the Ministry, the Nameless Ghouls witness the fall of an Empire. There’s peace born from fulfilling Papa’s hunger for vengeance and yet, they are all covered in blood.

Ps: Woah, this took so long. This chapter didn't want to be written and it fought so hard against me. I won, but at what cost. Anyway, we're near the end. Like Imperator, I too welcome my doom with open arms.

I'll probably edit this a bit when I have the time, but for now please take it as it is. If I don't post it today, I'll probably won't ever post it.

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x

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holy mother

"Holy Mother You washeth the sin from my feet."

[guess whose mother this is. level: easy.]

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You know you fucked up when Papa angrily screams your full name

Bonus cute head shot

Tip Jar

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He is

Nostro dis pater, nostr' alma mater

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Am i the only one who thinks people are gripping at air for lore in the lyric video? Everything in the video is all stuff we basically already knew. I think the lyric video is simply just a lyric video. Nothing more nothing less.

I guess, a little, yes. I think theories and speculations are fun and one of the things that drives this fandom! Nothing against them. I do this a lot myself. HOWEVER, I can't help but notice (also in myself) that by going down the rabbit hole a bit too much, some people set themselves up for disappointment without even realizing it. Eventually things always seem to end with someone feeling disgruntled because every next news or release never lives up to their expectations or desires. It's as if no matter what the band or Tobias do, they can't match the hype that fans have built up in their minds. While I DO encourage enthusiasm, I'd also suggest always toning it down by a notch just in case. Not all of the band’s actions will be earth-shattering and revolutionary, not every second of content needs to be scrutinised and dissected into pieces as a potential clue; it’s also fun to sit back and enjoy it for what it is - and nothing more 🧘

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so i made a ghuide (ghoul guide) | update fell free to repost it, just credit me! (x) (x)

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You are cast out from the heavens to the ground :((

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By Travis Shinn / Metal Hammer

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Harri’s Concert Photography // Ghost // Coca-Cola Coliseum, Toronto // September 2022

https://www.adamrharrison.com

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how it feels | cardinal copia x reader

summary: You've been struggling with your body image lately, Copia notices and tries to comfort you.

content: 2k words, emotional hurt/comfort, tw for body image issues, reader is gender neutral with no physical descriptions, established loving relationship, Copia is an absolute sweetheart angel baby.

This is absolutely self-indulgent, but I kept it very vague so that it’s as relatable as it can be. It’s more on the emotional side for sure but (I hope) still ends with a positive message. Please don't read this if you’re acutely triggered by negative self talk.

Ao3 link

✦ ✧ ✦ 

It happens by chance.

You have been avoiding the big, ornate mirror in your room for a few days now, pretending to wear blinkers. If you weren’t sharing a bedroom with Copia, you might have covered it with a sheet. But this morning, as your love gets ready for work, humming to himself in the bathroom, you can’t find your habit. Panicked that you can’t immediately cover yourself, you start a frantic search and your gaze gets caught by the reflection of your hectic movements. Your eyes meet your full-length mirror image, not the small one you’re used to seeing in the bathroom, and it’s like looking at a stranger. For a second you’re in  shock, wondering who this body you feel so unfamiliar with belongs to. But then you realise that it’s yours. Instead of walking away, your eyes focus on every single part of it and the vile thoughts that enter your brain meet you like old friends.

You know the image in your head, the view in the mirror and your real body are three separate things. You know that what you’re seeing is distorted by the pain and self-loathing you’ve been harbouring for the past week. And yet no rational thought fully settles in. They pass, they don’t even puncture the disgust you feel.

You startle when you feel two strong arm wrap around your midsection, when the smell of freshly-applied cologne hits your nose. Copia pulls you into his chest and it takes you every ounce of restraint not to flinch back, not to fight your way out of his arms and hide like a wounded animal.

“Hmm, you look beautiful today, amore,” he whispers, then stamps a wet kiss to your cheek. “You always do.”

The disconnect between his reaction and your own perception is enough to make you frown. Copia’s eyes widen, like he’s afraid he said something wrong. He stares at you in the mirror and he must see the tears that colour your eyes red.

“Cara…”

You slip out of his grasp, in search for the habit. It sits on a chair next to the bed, waiting for you, your saving grace. But before you can pull it over your head, Copia takes your arm, gently holds in his strong grasp.

“I need to get ready.”

“Something is wrong, amore,” he states. “You are upset.”

“I need to get dressed, Copia.”

He shakes his head vehemently, nearly dropping his red biretta. “Is it about last night? You said you were tired, too.”

“I know. I was.”

You truly were. But if you’re being honest, exhaustion was not the reason you were glad that he didn’t initiate anything last night. There is no way you would be able to let go right now, to allow yourself any pleasure.

 “I know, I have been busy lately, we did not have much time for… for intimacy.” His thumb rubs a slow circle over your wrist. “But that does not mean I desire you any less. Ti amo, ti desidero, con tutto il cuore. Always.”

His words caress the wounds on your soul. But even so they can’t heal them, not after you ripped them open for days. “I know.” You try to force out a smile. “It’s okay, really. You did nothing wrong.”

“Che cos’è? You are almost crying, amore. I don’t believe it. You don’t even say you love me back.”

You desperately want to, you wish you could find words for him. But instead you vaguely shrug, not sure what to tell him for fear of lying, of abusing his trust. You stare at his hand on your arm. Even though his grip is loose now the black leather of his gloves makes it look almost violent. As if he has the same thought he moves his hand down in favour of linking your fingers together. You wish he would just let it go, that his touch wouldn’t make it all worse, even with the leather as a barrier. How is he not repulsed, how would he willingly be close to you?

“Maybe I am a little upset,” you admit, finally.

“With me?”

His soft voice breaks your heart. You look up at him and see the insecurities plainly written on his face. Of course he assumes that he is the reason. Even now, after being together for so long, he is still so scared of messing up.

You squeeze his hand. “No, not with you. Never with you. I do love you back, so much.”

His shoulders visibly relax and he pulls his brows up into a pleading look. “Can I hug you?”

Despite feeling so ashamed, so miserably vulnerable, you nod. You cannot refuse him, no matter how scared you are of what his touch will do to you. So you wrap your arms around his neck, feel him sink into you. The fabric of his cassock is stiff, hiding the shape of his body and making you feel even more naked. His hands rest on your bare skin, the leather warm as his fingers spread over the small of your back. You feel his warm cheek on yours, the only true skin contact, his sideburns tickling when he nuzzles your neck with a deep sigh.

“Tell me why you are so sad, amore,” he whispers. “Help me understand.”

You know you would never have told him if you’d had to look at his face. But here, hidden in his embrace, your senses busy taking in his scent, his warmth, you feel infinitely safer. Completely filled with the affection you don’t feel like you deserve, you whisper your question. “Copia, do you think I’ve changed?”

He lets go just enough to look at you. “Changed how?”

You shrug, averting your gaze as you fiddle with the buttons just below his neck. “Changed… physically?”

“Your body?”

“Mhm.”

He frowns and you regret the question. This must seem so trivial to him, so pointless. He may not be able to see any changes, he may not even have payed attention, so swamped with work and more important things to worry about.

“I don’t think so,” he finally says. “Did I miss something? You did not get a haircut? New clothes?”

“No. No, that’s not what I mean.”

“What do you mean, amore?”

You fight back tears. Satanas, you feel pathetic, so embarrassed by the situation. How is he still asking? How is he not giving up and telling you to get a grip, that he needs to go to work? You cannot help but feel a bit crushed, undeserving of this love that he has for you, of his patience, all the comfort he offers. You wish you could love yourself like he loves you, be gentle and kind with your body.

Copia takes your chin between his fingers and gently tilts your head up. 

“You know I think you are bellissima?” he asks. “That you are a gift, not only for my eyes but for my soul?”

You close your eyes, trying to let his words sink in. “Yes. Yes, I know.”

He clicks his tongue. “No, you forgot. I made you forget because I was so busy. I did not love you enough.”

You don’t have the heart to tell him that it’s not a lack of compliments or displays of affection, not when he seems so happy to have found a solution. How could you explain that you’re just messed up sometimes? Maybe it is unfair to let him try, to exploit his affections. You can’t let him think he’s lacking in any way.

“You did, you alway love me enough. You–“

“No, it is alright.” Copia shakes his head. “I will make it better, amore.”

His soft, plump lips press against yours. Before you can reciprocate, he moves them to your jaw, to your neck, featherlight touches that make you shiver. For as long as his body covers yours, they feel wonderful, but then he lets you go and you’re exposed again. Copia sinks down before you and his lips dance all over your chest, leaving a trail of black lipstick.

“So beautiful,” he whispers against your sternum. “Sono tanto fortunato.”

His words, as genuine as they may be, ring hollow. Your mind is telling you that he’s lying. That he can’t possibly mean any of it. He’s saying it because he has to, because he wants to cheer you up, because he is kind and generous like that.

“Cara mia, sei tutto per me. More than I could ever deserve.”

His hands trail down your sides as he kisses your belly, moving down to your navel. That’s when you tense up completely. You can’t take it, it’s like he’s trying to extinguish a flame by adding more fuel. His words, his kisses, his obvious display of his undying devotion, they are too heavy.

“Stop,” you say, barely able to breathe out the words. “Please.”

He looks up at you in utter confusion, chin resting against your stomach. “Amore?”

“I’m sorry,” you blubber out. “I’m so sorry, I don’t think I can do this right now.”

“Nonono.” He moves his hands up and down the backs of your thighs. “I am just trying to show you how beautiful you are. How much I adore you. We don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s not it. Its’ just…” You feel the first full tear rolling down your cheek. “I don’t think I can believe any compliments right now. They are wasted on me. You are wasted on me.”

You can practically see his heart break at your words and you cry silently – for yourself and for him. 

“What are you saying, tesoro?”

You know the question is rhetorical. He perfectly understands. “You deserve so much better, my love.”

He stands up and you watch as he takes off his gloves. With his now bare hands, he cradles your face, wipes the tears away. He’s too slow to catch them all and you wish he would not have to see you cry, he would not see you puffy and pathetic. But you are too weak to move, too weak to fight him when your whole body and your very soul are so desperate, so hungry for his love.

“Can you feel this?” he asks. “How my hands feel on you?”

You nod and he strokes your cheeks. He is so gentle, his fingertips massaging your skin like he’s trying to rub the sadness out of you.

“When I touch you, do you think about how it looks or how it feels?”

“How it feels.”

He brings his face closer, waits for you to flinch, to pull back. But you don’t. So he kisses you, firmly, tenderly, and beneath the salty tears you can taste his love for you.

Ever so patient, he doesn’t pull away. His lips linger, barely grazing yours, as he whispers against your mouth. “And when I kiss you, what do you think about, amore?”

“How good it feels.”

Copia smiles, a pained but beautifully heartbreaking smile. “What about when we make love? What do you think about then?”

“I think about how much I love you, how good you make me feel.”

“Me too. It’s all I think about when we’re together. But it is more of a feeling than a thought. You agree?”

Again, you nod and he nuzzles your nose, keeps his hands on your head. He pushes them into your hair, angles your head up just slightly so that he can kiss the tears from your cheeks. For the first time today you don’t want to leave your body, you want to stay exactly where you are.

“If you cannot believe my words, then maybe you can accept my affection? My love?” he asks. “Can you accept that it is not tied to your body but to all of you, even the things you cannot love about yourself?”

You take a shuddering breath. “I don’t know, Copia.”

“Let us try, amore. Let us try every day to love each other the best we can, sì? To focus on how good it feels?”

You hum in agreement and he hugs you again, pulls you so close that you barely even feel your body anymore, just him and what he does to you. Maybe you can accept his love, even if you are not always capable of understanding it. And maybe by loving him with all your heart you can find a way to extend that love to yourself as well. One day.

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Thank you for reading! I hope you're feeling okay and that this story helped a little bit – and if not, my inbox is always open. Take care now, I love you, I like you. Get sleep, get well etc etc ♡