hellsatanwelcomeyearzero

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

Chapter 1 - The Office

Chapter 2 - My Brothers

Chapter 3 - Omega

Chapter 4 - Coming Soon!

Hey, guys!! I've decided to go ahead and start a comic based on what we have so far in the Ghost Lore! This will begin "Book 1" of the series. I'm not sure how long this will take but I've got a good amount of story thought up, planned, and dreamed. So if you read the entire story, I thank you so much!

I've always been a closet artist and doing comics is how I learned how to draw. I'm still figuring out how to use some tools (I've always done ball point pen) so please bare with me! My friends have encouraged me to get my comics out there so... here it begins.

A Ghost comic, lore starting timewise from Episode 20.

Cover Art for Book 1 of "Your Friend, Death".

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

VELVET INFERNO

Papa Emeritus III x Female Reader (OC - Red)

READ IT ON AO3

CHAPTER I. | CHAPTER II. | CHAPTER III. | CHAPTER IV. | CHAPTER V.

Chapter 6. SATIN ROBES

The grand dining hall of the Ministry was a cathedral of shadows and flickering candlelight. Long tables draped in deep crimson cloth stretched beneath vaulted ceilings carved with ancient symbols. The air was heavy with incense and murmurs, the weight of tradition pressing in from every corner.

At the head of the hall, the High Clergy gathered around their imposing table...Primo, Secondo, Sister, and the enigmatic Papa Nihil. Not far from them, the Cardinals occupied a nearby table, their presence a constant reminder of the Ministry’s far-reaching influence.

Sister, radiant in her austere form, stood gracefully beside Nihil, a sly smile curving her lips as she introduced him to the band.

“This is Papa Nihil,” she said, voice clear and warm. “Our... enigmatic leader.”

Nihil’s dark eyes swept over the group with mischievous amusement, lingering on Terzo with a teasing glint.

“Ah, Papa Terzo,” Nihil purred in a low, playful tone. “So shy in front of your guests? Or perhaps... un po’ intimorito?” (A bit scared?) He chuckled softly. “It’s okay, figlio mio (my son) - I’m only teasing.”

Terzo shifted slightly, his usual composure flickering as Nihil’s eyes bored into him. A faint smirk touched his lips, but he said nothing.

Nihil’s gaze then slid over to Red, sharp and appraising, eyes sparkling with wicked delight.

“And you must be the famous leader - Red,” he said smoothly, voice dripping with dark charm. “Bella, feroce, e pericolosamente talentuosa.” (Beautiful, fierce, and dangerously talented.) He gave her a slow, appraising nod. “Your reputation does not lie.”

The band exchanged glances. Steve raised an eyebrow, Rowan chuckled softly, and Gabriel’s expression darkened with interest.

Nihil’s attention then turned casually toward the Sisters of Sin seated nearby - the nuns whose presence was as electrifying as it was unsettling. Their eyes gleamed under the dim light, and a few exchanged subtle, knowing smiles.

The band’s eyes followed Nihil’s gaze, and suddenly, the atmosphere shifted. Murmurs of excitement buzzed just beneath the surface.

Rowan leaned toward Gabriel, whispering, “Those Sisters... they’re trouble.”

Steve’s grin widened. “And we’re about to find out just how much.”

Sister caught the exchange and gave a soft, almost conspiratorial nod.

Nihil’s voice dropped to a near whisper, filled with dark amusement. “You’ll soon see why this Ministry is unlike any place you’ve ever been.” He glanced around, voice rising with theatrical flair. “La notte è giovane, (the night is young) and the game... is just beginning.”

Terzo finally spoke, voice calm but edged with steel. “Enough games. Let us eat, and prepare for what’s to come.”

The feast began - rich foods, fine wines... but the undercurrent of tension and unspoken challenges lingered like a shadow over the table.

Terzo glanced at Red constantly. Subtle, but not subtle enough.

She felt the weight of his gaze like static on her skin - tingling, distracting, impossible to ignore. Every time she dared to look up, she caught the end of a glance, the twitch of a smirk, and the burn of those mismatched eyes quickly turned elsewhere.

It made her stomach twist.

She barely touched the food. The lavish spread before her - roasted meats, delicate portions of pasta, fragrant vegetables drizzled with oil and herbs - blurred into background noise. Her fork lingered in her hand, unmoving. Appetite? Gone. Her nerves were louder.

She took a sip of wine just to ground herself, but even the burn down her throat felt too aware.

Terzo didn’t say much, not yet. But every sideways glance, every lingering pause before he answered someone’s question, every tilt of his head toward her direction - it all said enough.

And Red… didn’t know what to do with it.

Night draped the Ministry in velvet silence.

Terzo couldn't sleep.

He had tried...God, he had tried. Stretched out in the dark of his papal suite, silk sheets tangled around him like restraints, eyes shut tight as if willing himself into rest. But it was no use. His blood burned. His body pulsed with something raw and unspeakable.

He shifted again, fingers flexing against the mattress.

Red haunted him.

Her eyes. Her voice. That nervous flutter when he looked at her for too long. The way she barely touched her food. The way her lip had caught briefly between her teeth when Sister Imperator introduced her to Nihil. That flicker of discomfort, of curiosity, of something unspoken. It was seared into his mind.

He dragged a hand through his hair and let out a low groan, almost feral. “Che dannazione...” (Hell’s damnation...)

And then...his phone. Her profile. Again. Scrolling. Staring. Reeling. One photo: backstage, sweat on her brow, eyeliner smudged, middle finger raised to the camera. Another: moonlight on her bare shoulder, black lace straps visible, eyes hooded, lips parted just slightly. He exhaled like he’d been punched.

His hand gripped the edge of the mattress.

Meanwhile…

Red tossed and turned under the soft sheets of her dorm room. The jet lag clung to her bones like fog, heavy and relentless. She had hoped the wine at dinner would sedate her, but her thoughts were louder than exhaustion. Thoughts of the Ministry. Of that dinner. Of him.

She let out a quiet breath and turned to her side again.

The room was still, wrapped in the hush of holy halls, broken only by the ticking of the small, ornate clock on the dresser.

1:03 AM.

She sat up slowly, groggy and defeated.

Her bare feet met the cold stone floor with a soft hiss. The chill snuck up her legs as she reached for her robe - black satin, smooth and cool against her skin. She tied it loosely at the waist and stepped out into the hallway.

Maybe a walk would help.

Maybe breathing air that wasn’t thick with dreams and prophecy would pull her down from the edge of whatever this strange gravity was.

The halls were dimly lit with flickering candle sconces, shadows stretching long across the tapestries and ancient stone. The Ministry felt older at night. Sacred. Haunted.

She padded quietly past the Cardinal Table’s empty banquet room, her eyes tracing the golden trim of the corridor like a lifeline.

She didn’t know where she was going.

But something...someone was already awake.

Red turned another corner in the dimly lit corridor, the soft pads of her bare feet nearly silent on the cold stone floor. The satin robe swayed around her thighs, the black fabric catching occasional glints from the flickering wall sconces. Her sense of direction, usually sharp, was dulled by exhaustion - and something else. Restlessness. Heat. An ache she couldn’t name.

She stopped, rubbed her temple. “Of course I got lost,” she whispered to herself, glancing around the empty hallway. “Stupid Ministry and its gothic maze.”

She looked up...and froze.

A door creaked open ahead of her. Slowly. Silently. Like it had been expecting her.

Papa Terzo stepped out, barefoot as well, his papal robes replaced by a dark undershirt and loose black pants, his Grucifix still glinting faintly at his chest. His hair was tousled, and his eyes - mismatched, inhuman burned with something that made her breath catch.

He stopped when he saw her.

And for a few seconds, the silence crackled.

“Perseverare, anima mia?” (Persevere, my soul) he asked softly, a small smirk rising to his lips. “Wandering the halls of the damned, or just... lost?”

Red blinked. “I… couldn’t sleep.”

“Neither could I.”

He stepped forward, slowly, as though approaching something wild and fragile. His eyes flicked down, lingering briefly... too briefly - at the sliver of bare thigh visible through the opening in her robe.

“You’re far from your wing,” he murmured. “This part of the Ministry is... reserved.”

“I know,” she replied, her voice barely audible.

“But here you are anyway.”

Her pulse hammered in her neck.

He took another step. “Do you always sleep dressed like that?”

She crossed her arms on instinct - then immediately regretted it as it only drew more attention to the robe’s deep neckline. “I wasn’t planning on company.”

Terzo tilted his head, his eyes impossibly dark despite their mismatched hues. “Then it is I who should apologize.”

A pause.

Then, his voice dropped an octave.

“…Or thank whatever force kept me awake tonight.”

Red exhaled sharply, unsure if it was a laugh or a warning.

“I thought the Ministero had rules,” she said, keeping her voice cool.

“It does,” he said, almost too quickly. “And I wrote most of them.”

Another step. They were closer now - shadows meeting, energy shifting.

“You’re not wearing shoes,” she noted, like it would somehow anchor her spinning thoughts.

He smiled. “Neither are you.”

She took a shaky breath, suddenly all too aware of how thin her robe was. Of how she could feel the air against her thighs. Of the way his eyes softened, then darkened again.

“I should get back,” she said, finally.

“Should you?”

She opened her mouth. No words came out.

He stepped aside, gesturing lightly toward his door - not an invitation, not quite. Just a dare.

But Red didn’t move.

She couldn’t.

Then his voice came low, close to a whisper. “This corridor is very old, you know. It has seen confessions. Desires. Secrets.”

Her eyes met his.

“Is that what this is?” she asked, heat rising in her chest. “A secret?”

Terzo smiled again - slower, darker.

“It could be.”

Silence stretched between them, wrapped in candlelight and breathlessness.

Then, finally, he nodded once, as if releasing her from a spell.

“Buona notte, Red.”

She hesitated.

“Goodnight, Papa.”

She turned, heart racing, and walked back the way she came... never looking back, but feeling his gaze burn into her skin the entire way.

And behind her, Terzo remained still, jaw clenched, fists tight, like a man holding back a storm.

Later that night…

Terzo lay flat on his back in bed, one arm over his forehead, staring at the ceiling like it had wronged him. The silk sheets felt too hot. The air too cold. Every inch of him buzzed - with tension, with want, with frustration.

“La puttana miseria…” (fucking hell) he groaned, turning to the side for the twelfth time. “Why… why did she come out dressed like that?”

He squeezed his eyes shut.

Her bare legs… that robe barely tied… that scent… Dio mio, have mercy.

Of course, mercy was a rare commodity in the Ministry.

He sat up suddenly, pushing the sheets off with a grunt.

“That’s it,” he muttered, raking his fingers through his hair. “I’m going to lose my mind.”

A beat.

Then he stood, grabbed the silk robe hanging on the hook, and stormed out of his room like a man possessed.

She tossed and turned, the sheets twisted around her legs. Her eyes stung with exhaustion, but her mind wouldn’t let her rest.

That damn corridor moment replayed in her head like a scene from a forbidden film. The way he’d looked at her. How his voice had dropped. His scent. His breath.

A knock at the door startled her.

She sat up fast. “Hello?”

A brief silence, then...

“…È me.”

Her heart jumped. “Terzo?”

“Yes. Can I… may I come in?”

She hesitated, tightening her robe. Then padded to the door and opened it just enough to see him. Barefoot. Tousled hair. The black silk robe falling open at his chest. Eyes soft, yet burning.

“You alright?” she whispered.

“I couldn’t sleep,” he admitted, voice lower than usual. “And I figured maybe… you couldn’t either.”

She opened the door fully and stepped aside.

Once inside, he took a slow look around her small, warm space. A few books. A suitcase half-unpacked. A black cat figurine on the desk.

When she sat on the edge of the bed, he followed - perching beside her with uncharacteristic caution.

“You’re shaking,” he noticed quietly.

She gave a weak smile. “It’s nothing. Just… jet lag.”

She blinked at that. He wasn’t mocking. There was no playfulness behind the words - just concern. Real, raw concern.

“Something happened today,” he said gently. “At dinner. I saw it in your face. In your hands. You were somewhere else entirely. What was it?”

Red looked down at her hands, fingers threading nervously together in her lap.

“I wasn’t going to say anything,” she whispered. “It sounds ridiculous.”

“I like ridiculous,” he murmured. “Try me.”

A breath. Then another.

And finally, she began.

“Last year… I was in New Orleans. I’d just lost someone close to me. Everything felt… heavy. I didn’t believe in much anymore. But I walked into this little shop in the French Quarter. Smelled of incense and dust. The woman inside - she was old, with these storm-colored eyes. She didn’t ask me for my name. Didn’t ask anything. Just stared at me and said: ‘Your soulmate isn’t here yet. He will come with black hair, one green eye, and one white eye. You’ll know him because you’ll feel like you’ve met in another life. He will terrify you. But he will also save you.’”

Red paused.

Slowly, she turned her head toward him.

Her voice softened. “And then there’s you.”

Terzo’s breath caught.

His fingers twitched against the sheets.

“Black hair,” she said, almost with a smile.

“One green eye,” her voice lowered, gaze lingering on his left eye.

“And one white one,” she added, her gaze drifting to the right.

Silence.

She didn’t need to explain how that detail... so absurdly specific - had gripped her since the moment she saw him on the Ministry.

Terzo finally spoke, but his voice was different. Hoarse. Fragile.

“I scare you?”

She hesitated. “Yes.”

A pause.

“But not in the way you think.”

He swallowed, the corner of his mouth twitching with something caught between a smirk and a confession. “I’m not good at being someone’s… fate.”

“Maybe you don’t have to be,” she said softly. “Maybe you just have to… be real.”

That stopped him cold.

He looked at her for a long, long moment - really looked - before speaking again.

“You’re realer than anything I’ve known in years,” he said. “That terrifies me.”

She let her head fall gently against his shoulder.

They didn’t say anything else.

Eventually, her breath slowed. Her body relaxed beside him. Finally, after what felt like days without peace, she fell asleep - curled into the warmth of the last person she expected.

And Terzo, wide awake and tangled in emotions he didn’t yet understand, whispered into the darkness:

“Sei la mia maledizione preferita.”

(You’re my favorite curse.)

A soft beam of light pushed its way through the old velvet curtain, brushing Red’s cheek. Her eyes fluttered open, still heavy with the rare weight of restful sleep. The warmth of another body wrapped around hers made her pause. Slowly, she shifted her gaze.

Terzo was still asleep, one arm draped over her waist, his dark lashes resting against pale skin. The skull paint on his face had smudged faintly during the night, making him look more human than she had ever seen him - almost boyish, yet still decadent.

Her eyes trailed down to his chest, bare under the loosely draped robe. It had fallen open slightly, revealing toned abs, soft rather than sharp, but no less tempting. Her gaze hesitated at the two small silver rings glinting on his nipples. She swallowed.

His breath was steady, chest rising and falling slowly. He wore nothing but deep black briefs, the edge of them just visible where the robe parted at his hips. Her stomach twisted with the memory of their closeness the night before, and a low, uninvited ache simmered in her thighs.

She should have looked away. She didn’t.

And for a moment, in that silence, something heavy stirred inside her - longing and confusion and danger all tangled together.

She blinked hard and shifted slightly, not wanting to wake him. But his arm around her only tightened.

She was still staring...at his chest, his piercings, the way the robe barely clung to his body when his eyes blinked open slowly.

A lazy grin spread across his lips.

“If you wanted a better look, dolcezza…” his voice was hoarse from sleep, teasing and low, “you could’ve just asked.”

Red jolted slightly, her eyes snapping up to meet his. A rush of heat exploded in her cheeks.

“I wasn’t....” “You were.” He smirked, clearly enjoying her flustered reaction. “Caught in the act.”

She narrowed her eyes, sitting up just enough to create distance, though the sheets shifted dangerously low across both their bodies. “You sleep with your robe half open?”

“I didn’t plan to sleep,” he said, stretching with a groan. “You knocked me unconscious with that body heat.”

She rolled her eyes, but her lips betrayed her - the beginnings of a smile curling in the corner.

“Besides,” he added, peeking at her through thick lashes, “you were staring like a sinner at a stained-glass window.”

“Oh my God, you’re insufferable.”

“You liked what you saw, though.”

“Terzo!”

He chuckled, shameless and smooth, then propped himself up on one elbow, his expression softening. “Jokes aside… I’m glad you slept.”

Her gaze dropped. “Me too.”

A small silence passed between them before she spoke again, almost shyly.

“Do you… always wear the paint?”

He tilted his head. “Sometimes. Not always.”

She nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Just wondering what’s under it.”

He leaned in slightly, eyes glinting. “Would you like to find out, cara mia?”

A loud clack echoed as the door creaked open without warning.

Red jumped, instinctively tugging the sheet up to her chest. Terzo, unfazed and still lounging half-naked, sighed dramatically.

“Well, well,” Secondo’s gravelly voice cut through the air like a dagger laced with sarcasm. “Good morning to the Vatican’s latest scandal.”

Red blinked in horror. “You...do people not knock here?”

Secondo raised a dark brow, crossing his arms as he stepped in. “Clearly, I should start. But then again...this one never knocks either.” He gestured at Terzo with disdain. “You reap what you sow, fratellino.”

Terzo groaned and flopped back into the pillows, tossing an arm over his face. “Dio mio, why must you haunt me?”

“Because I’m still cleaning up your messes, even in other people’s suites apparently.” Secondo’s sharp eyes shifted to Red with a pointed stare. “Though this… this is not a mess. She’s quite lovely.”

“Don’t,” Terzo warned, peeking from under his arm.

Secondo smirked, clearly enjoying himself. “Relax. I came to tell you Sister Imperator is looking for you both. Something about final logistics for the tour.”

Red cleared her throat, still flustered and clutching the sheets. “We’ll, uh… be ready soon.”

Secondo gave her a nod of approval, then turned toward the door.

“Nice robe,” he said over his shoulder to her. “Very… sinful.”

Click. The door closed behind him.

Terzo groaned again. “He does this on purpose. I swear. One day, I’ll change the locks.”

Red finally laughed, the tension breaking. “He’s… intense.”

“You have no idea.”

Red stood, still flushed from Secondo's uninvited entrance, and grabbed her black satin robe from the floor. She slipped it on and shot Terzo a sideways glance as she headed to the en-suite bathroom.

“I’m going to shower. Try to behave while I’m gone.”

Terzo rolled to his side, propping himself up on one elbow with that signature, devilish grin spreading across his face. “Need someone to wash your back?”

She arched a brow. “Do you always flirt like this?”

“Yes,” he said without missing a beat. “But only when it works.”

She shook her head, amused, and disappeared behind the door. A second later, he heard the water start running.

A beat of silence.

Then…

“You sure?” he called out teasingly, voice muffled by the door. “I make an excellent loofah.”

“Terzo,” she warned from inside.

“Just saying! You did curl up next to me all night. I think we’ve passed the formalities.”

“Shut up.”

He chuckled and sprawled out across her bed dramatically, arms behind his head, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. He stared at the ceiling, imagining the shape of her under that robe… the water dripping down her skin...

He groaned softly, palming his face.

“Santo Inferno, this woman will be the death of me.”

From inside the bathroom, she called out again... half annoyed, half entertained, “I can hear you!”

“Good. Then you’ll know I died thinking of you,” he called back, utterly shameless.

Red stepped out of the bathroom in nothing but a towel, hair damp and clinging to her shoulders, skin still glistening from the heat of the shower. She stopped in her tracks.

Terzo was still sprawled across her bed - but now sitting upright, robe loose, eyes dark and fixed on her.

She clutched the towel tighter instinctively. “I told you to behave.”

He rose slowly, as if pulled by gravity, by something beyond his control. His gaze never left hers. “I tried,” he murmured, voice rough. “Dio, I really did.”

Before she could react, he was in front of her - and in a swift, reckless move, he pressed her back gently against the wall, his hands landing on either side of her face. The towel stayed in place, barely. His body aligned with hers, warm and solid. Her breath hitched.

“Terzo…”

He leaned closer, brushing his nose softly against her cheek, lips just ghosting her skin. “You drive me mad,” he whispered, voice low and hoarse. “I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t breathe.”

She was stunned - caught between the ache in her core and the heat radiating from his body.

His lips nearly touched hers, but he stopped, groaning softly like the control was slipping through his fingers. “Tell me to stop.”

But she didn’t. She couldn't.

Her hands gripped his robe. “What are we doing?” she breathed.

He laughed, softly, bitterly. “I have no idea,” he murmured. “But I don’t want to stop.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly as she stood there, pinned softly between Terzo’s body and the cool wall. Her hands, almost without thinking, moved up fingertips brushing the warm, bare skin of his chest. His breath caught as she explored, trailing over smooth skin and subtle abs, brushing just shy of the silver rings that adorned his pierced nipples. She removes his robe.

She swallowed hard.

“You are literally in just underwear now…” she muttered, voice uneven, eyes dropping for a second to the low-slung waistband hugging his hips.

Terzo smirked wickedly, his voice dripping with amusement. “Mmm, I thought I’d keep it casual.”

She raised an eyebrow, trying to keep her composure, though her cheeks were burning. “You are indeed a satanic Papa.”

“Grazie,” (thank you) he purred, leaning in a little more, lips near her ear. “Best compliment I’ve had all morning.”

Red let out a nervous, breathy laugh, eyes flicking to the skull paint on his face, smudged and soft now, giving him a rawer, more human look. It made everything feel more real. More dangerous.

He didn’t kiss her.

But he didn’t move away, either.

Their eyes locked, the air thick between them.

Before anything else could happen...before the tension burst or gave way there was a knock.

No. Not even that.

A click and a creak.

The door opened.

“Terzo, per l’amore di—” (for the love of)

Secondo stopped mid-sentence, one gloved hand still on the doorknob, eyes taking in the full scene in a blink. Terzo, practically naked, pressed against Red who stood in nothing but a towel, cheeks flushed, hair wet, hands on his bare chest.

Secondo blinked. Smirked.

“Well well well. I was just about to say Sister Imperator wants to speak to us. But clearly, you have… priorities.”

“Secondo!” Terzo snapped, spinning slightly, though he didn’t fully move away from Red. “Have you ever heard of knocking?”

“I did knock,” Secondo said smugly. “The door just… opened.”

He glanced again at Red, who looked like she was trying to disappear into the wall.

Secondo cocked his head with an appreciative hum. “Quite the sight this morning. I can see why you’ve turned into a simpering idiot lately.”

Red arched a brow despite herself, pulling the towel a little tighter around her.

Secondo tilted his head at her, dark eyes gleaming. “Don’t worry, cara (dear), I’m not here to steal you. Unless you want to be stolen.”

“Out!” Terzo growled.

Secondo grinned. “Sister said now, fratellino. But sure. I’ll give you two a minute. Try not to combust.”

And just like that, he turned and strolled off with a chuckle, door swinging shut behind him.

They walked side by side through the stone corridor, the air thick between them, the sound of their footsteps echoing far louder than necessary. Red clutched her robe tighter around her as if it could shield her from the aftermath of… whatever that almost was.

Terzo was unusually quiet.

For once.

His robe was lazily tied around his waist, his hair tousled, and his usual paint was still smudged around his cheekbones and jaw, giving him a slightly disheveled, sinful saint appearance.

Neither dared to look at the other.

She cleared her throat.

He sighed.

They reached Sister Imperator’s office doors, carved wood and iron, gothic and grand. As Terzo reached for the handle, she whispered:

“Do we look like we...”

“Yes,” he muttered quickly, hand freezing mid-air.

Red groaned under her breath, cheeks hot.

He glanced at her then, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Just don’t look her in the eye. She’ll smell the sin.”

She snorted despite herself, elbowing him lightly.

As they entered, Sister Imperator looked up from her desk, brow lifting the slightest bit as her sharp gaze swept over them.

“You’re late.”

“We were…” Terzo began, voice cracking slightly. He cleared his throat. “Occupied.”

“I can tell,” she said dryly, rising to her full height. “Secondo already briefed me.”

“Of course he did,” Red mumbled under her breath.

Sister Imperator eyed her with something unreadable, then nodded toward the chairs before her desk.

“Sit. We have much to discuss.”

Sister Imperator folded her hands on the desk, eyes sharp as knives. “The tour will start in Texas and finish in California. You leave in exactly one month...early November, just after Halloween.”

Red and Terzo exchanged a glance; the timing felt deliberate, almost like a dark omen.

“You’ll be based at the Ministry until the tour. It will be your home, your rehearsal space, your sanctuary,” Sister continued. “It’s important you get to know Papa Terzo better...he’s the key to this.”

Terzo’s jaw tightened slightly. He wasn’t used to being called the “key,” but he kept silent.

“There’s a meeting with the band and the Ghouls this afternoon. I expect everyone there. No exceptions.”

Red nodded, feeling the weight of the plan settling into her bones.

Sister’s eyes flicked to Terzo, a small smirk curling her lips. “And Papa, perhaps consider wearing more than just that robe for the rehearsals.” Terzo’s cheeks flushed ever so faintly as Red tried not to laugh.

After Sister Imperator leaves, the room feels charged heavy with unspoken expectations.

Terzo glances at Red, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes. “Looks like I’m stuck with you for the next month.”

Red smirks, the nervousness from earlier softening a little. “Lucky me.”

As Sister Imperator’s footsteps faded down the corridor, Terzo turned to Red, his eyes serious, almost probing.

“What loss were you talking about last night?” he asked quietly, voice low enough for only her to hear.

Red’s breath hitched, her gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before she met his eyes again. Her voice was barely a whisper.

“Lucifer.”

The word hung in the air between them, heavy and electric.

Terzo’s expression tightened, a flicker of something unreadable crossing his face as the door clicked shut behind them.

The day had only just begun.

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

Browsing Meet & Greet photos, I found one they’d taken before the first fan photo. Thank you M&G photographer for this awesome candid shot.

Presenting, the scooby doomiest boy band ever.

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

They both enjoy it

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

Ghost Live Archive - Era 2 now available

i have archived 2637 concert videos for Era 2 / Infestissumam / Papa Emeritus II / Secondo .

i hope this will be useful to other fans of Ghost. thank you for your continued support 🫶

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

VELVET INFERNO

Papa Emeritus III x Female Reader (OC - Red)

Note: Will be uploaded to AO3

CHAPTER I. | CHAPTER II. | CHAPTER III. | CHAPTER IV.

CHAPTER V. THE MEETING

The door creaked open, and Papa Terzo stepped inside, framed by the warm flicker of candlelight from the hallway behind him.

His tuxedo suited him like hell gleamed subtly in the dim light - every movement measured, every glance deliberate.

“Buona sera,” (Good evening) he said, voice smooth with that familiar Roman flair. “Welcome to the Ministero.”

Red looked up.

And so did he.

Their eyes locked - and for a moment, nothing else existed. There was no Ministry, no band, no rules. Just two histories brushing up against each other again, cloaked in silence.

Something stirred in her chest. Recognition, ache... unfinished business.

She swallowed hard.

Gabriel stood and extended a hand, giving Terzo a professional nod. “Papa Terzo. Thank you for having us.”

Terzo broke eye contact just long enough to return the handshake. “È un piacere,” (It’s a pleasure) he replied. But his gaze drifted back to her.

He didn’t smile. He didn’t need to.

Red gave a small, tense nod. Her voice stayed quiet. “Nice to meet you, Papa.”

He tilted his head slightly, reading her. Reading too much.

Then a shift. Professionalism returned to his posture. “Shall we?”

He turned and led the way down the corridor.

The boys followed, murmuring low comments to each other, while Red lingered at the back, her pulse racing for reasons she didn’t want to name.

When they reached his office, Terzo opened the heavy doors himself. Terzo closed the door behind them with a soft click, then walked around the long desk, his movements smooth, feline, sharp. 

The scent of incense and candle wax drifted into the hall, laced with old paper and something floral - maybe roses. The air inside was warmer, thick with energy.

He stepped aside and gestured inside.

“Please,” he said, his voice deeper now. “Let us begin.”

Terzo cleared his throat, lifting his eyes slowly from the papers. His gaze locked onto hers - and for a moment, the room vanished.

Red felt like she’d been seen. Not glanced at. Seen. Peeled open. She tried to keep her expression neutral, but her leg betrayed her - bouncing, jittery. Gabriel gave her a side glance. She pretended not to notice.

He leaned back in his chair, fingertips tapping together. His voice, when it came, was warm velvet laced with embers. "Benvenuti... alla vostra nuova casa per le prossime settimane." (Welcome… to your new home for the next few weeks)A slow smile curled at the corner of his mouth. "The Ministry is honored to host such... spirited talent."

Gabriel nodded politely. Rowan gave a half-salute. Steve was already eyeing the wine bottle on the corner table.

But Red... still couldn’t speak.

And then she looked at him.

Really looked.

And her breath caught.

It was his eyes.

One was deep green.

The other white. Pale, nearly silver, clouded yet piercing.

A flash of a memory returned, unwanted and overwhelming. A psychic last year, somewhere in New Orleans, drunk on absinthe and mystery. “He’ll have one green eye and one ghost-white. Like he sees the living with one, and the dead with the other.”

She had laughed at the time. Rolled her eyes.

Now, she couldn’t breathe.

Still caught that eye. That gaze . That stupid tuxedo and that stupid white eye.

Terzo’s smile sharpened. "Red, is it?"She blinked. “Uh. Yeah.” "The leader."It wasn’t a question.

She gave a nod, then wished she had smiled instead, then panicked about the fact that she hadn’t.

He tilted his head, still watching her. "You remind me of someone."It was almost whispered.

Her heart thumped in her chest. “Oh?” "Mmm." He looked away, too quickly. Picked up a folder. "Someone dangerous."

Rowan let out a soft oof under his breath. Steve elbowed Gabriel. Gabriel didn’t move. His eyes were still on Terzo.

The tension in the room stretched thin.

Terzo set the folder down. "Tomorrow, we begin rehearsals in the chapel. The acoustics will haunt you."He finally looked at the others. "You’ll be granted access to certain parts of the Ministry. Others remain off-limits. For your safety... and ours." He stood up. "Any questions?"

Red didn’t trust herself to speak.

Gabriel raised a brow. “Do we get wine with dinner?”

Terzo chuckled - a low sound, indulgent. "If you survive dinner, you may have wine."

The boys filed out of Terzo’s office, buzzing with excitement and wild plans for the upcoming tour. The dates were locked in. The American leg would start in less than a month - a whirlwind of cities, stages, and lights waiting for them.

Steve tossed his jacket over his shoulder, grinning. “Man, this is actually happening.”

Rowan slapped Gabriel on the back. “We’re gonna kill it.”

Gabriel nodded, his eyes sharp but calm.

Red lingered behind, her fingers grazing the edge of the polished desk. Everyone else was gone, laughter and footsteps fading into the long corridor.

Her gaze drifted back to Terzo standing by the window, his silhouette dark and still.

She caught the flicker of those mismatched eyes, the green and white that burned quietly like a secret flame.

Her breath hitched.

For a moment, time slowed just the two of them in that quiet space, the weight of unspoken things hanging between them.

Then, with a soft exhale, Red turned and left the room - the door clicking shut behind her.

Outside, the Ministry awaited. And so did everything else.

Her bandmates spilled out of the room, buzzing with excitement over the upcoming American tour. Laughter, footsteps, fragments of conversation - all faded the moment the door clicked shut behind Red.

Terzo remained motionless. Then, like a puppet with its strings cut, he dropped back into his chair, exhaling sharply through his nose.

“ Cazzo… ”

His hand slipped into his pocket like a reflex, pulling out his phone, the screen lighting up before he could even blink.

Red started following you.

Silence.

Then...

“Madonna santa... finalmente.” (Holy mother finally)

He ran a hand through his dark hair, the movement jagged, overwhelmed. His jaw clenched, the corner of his mouth twitching with something unholy - relief, fury, hunger - who could tell?

A bitter laugh escaped him, low and sharp.

“Cristo, ci hai messo una vita.” (Christ, you took forever)

His thumb hovered over her profile picture. He didn’t dare tap it. Not yet. Just seeing her name there was enough - for now.

His heart pounded like a war drum, echoing through the cathedral hush of the office.

This wasn’t just a notification. This was prophecy. A match struck in the dark.

A slow, wicked smile unfurled on his face - part wolf, part man, part something far older.

“Adesso giochiamo sul serio, anima mia.” (Now we play for real, my soul)

And outside the room, the air seemed to shift - like something ancient had just stirred.

The dorm room was too quiet. Red sat on the edge of her bed, fingers clenched tight around the edge of the thin blanket.

One green eye… one white.

The psychic’s words echoed again, a chilling prophecy that had haunted her for a while.

“He’ll have one eye that sees the living... and one that sees the dead.”

She hadn’t believed it then. How could she?

But now, sitting here, the image burned into her mind - Papa Terzo, standing just hours ago, those exact eyes burning into hers.

Fear and something darker churned inside her. Was this fate? Or a trap?

She tried to steady her breath, pulling the blanket closer around her shoulders like a shield against the storm inside.

Her phone vibrated on the desk, a message from Gabriel, light and teasing.

You okay?

She didn’t answer. She wasn’t sure she was.

Her mind spun to last year, to a smoky room deep in New Orleans where a woman with eyes like fire had spoken words that made her blood run cold.

“Your soulmate will have one green eye and one ghost-white. Like he sees the living with one, and the dead with the other.”

Back then, she had laughed. Rolled her eyes.

Now, laughter felt impossible.

She closed her eyes and whispered into the stillness, What do you want from me?

The shadows in her room seemed to lean closer. The night was no longer just night. It was a promise.

And she was caught in its waiting.

The papal suite was silent except for the soft tapping of his finger on the screen.

Terzo leaned back in the velvet chair, the flicker of candlelight casting shifting shadows across the gilded walls.

Her face appeared again - Red - sharp jawline, defiant eyes, a wildness in every shot.

He paused on a photo where she laughed, sunlight catching her hair like fire.

A slow smile curved his lips, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

So much fire. So much chaos.

He scrolled further, stopping on an image of her alone, eyes distant, a ghost of something deeper lurking beneath the surface.

That one, yes. That one spoke to him.

She was a riddle, a tempest. A danger.

The faint glow of the Grucifix around his neck caught the candlelight as he ran a finger along its chain.

He closed the app and stared into the darkened room, his mind racing.

She’s mine. Or I’ll make sure she belongs to no one else.

His jaw tightened. The quiet fire in his chest grew hotter, an unspoken vow burning in the depths.

Tonight, the game had begun.

And he would not lose.

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

no, i couldn't help myself

yes, i made two sets of this very important video

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

so. hi .

yes.

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

How can one not have an orgasm

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

The Unholy Trinity

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

VELVET INFERNO

Papa Emeritus III x Female Reader (OC - Red)

Note: Will be uploaded to AO3

CHAPTER I. | CHAPTER II. | CHAPTER III.

Chapter 4 — BLACK WINGS OVER ROME

The wheels hit the tarmac with a jolt that rattled every bone in Rowan’s spine.

“Jesus,” he muttered, gripping the armrest. “Do we land or get exorcised?”

Red didn’t respond. She sat by the window, sunglasses on, earbuds in, watching Rome sprawl out beneath a watercolor sky - ancient and gold and quietly humming with ghosts. Her stomach turned, but not from the flight.

Italy.

The birthplace of art and ashes. And now - Velvet Inferno’s next chapter.

Steven stretched in the aisle. “Remind me - is this the part where we get seduced by cultists or sacrificed in a ritual circle?”

Gabriel smirked. “You’d be lucky to be picked.”

They were trying to keep it light - tour banter, inside jokes, the armor of familiarity. But even they could feel the air shift. This wasn’t just another gig. This was the Ministry. Ghost’s domain.

And they weren’t just visiting. They were summoned.

The van that met them was black, of course. No logos. No names. The driver wore mirrored sunglasses and spoke only when spoken to. The countryside blurred past in sepia tones, olive trees leaning like they wanted to whisper secrets through the windows. The van hummed as it climbed the last stretch of the winding road. The countryside rolled past like a painting, but Red didn’t seem to notice. Her head rested against the glass, brows drawn together in a quiet storm.

Gabriel glanced at her from the passenger seat. “You’ve been somewhere else since we landed.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just shifted, pulled her knees up to the seat. Then: “I had a dream on the flight.”

He didn’t ask. He didn’t need to.

“About him?” he said quietly.

Red nodded. “It felt like more than a dream. Like… a memory I never wanted back.”

Gabriel watched her carefully. “What did you see?”

“His back. Walking away. I tried to follow, but I couldn’t move. My throat felt like it was full of smoke.”

She paused, pressing her palm to her chest as if the memory still lingered there.

“I woke up feeling like… something’s about to happen. Something I can’t stop.”

Gabriel’s voice was low. “You’ve felt that before.”

“Yeah,” she said. “The last time I saw him.”

The silence between them stretched - not uncomfortable, just weighty. They both carried pieces of that loss. Different pieces. Same wreckage.

After a moment, Red exhaled, trying to shake the tension off.

“And to make things weirder… Papa Terzo followed me on Instagram last night.”

Gabriel arched a brow. “Oh?”

She gave him a look. “Don’t. I don’t know how to feel about it. I mean - he doesn’t know me. Not really. But he… does.”

Gabriel allowed himself a half-smile. “He has good taste.”

Red rolled her eyes. “Shut up.”

But there was a flicker of something in her - a small spark of nerves she couldn’t place. 

“I just don’t know why now,” she said. “Out of nowhere. And it feels connected. Him. The dream. This trip.”

Gabriel didn’t offer false comfort. He just reached over, resting a hand lightly on her knee.

“Whatever it is,” he said, “We’ll handle it. Like always.”

Red looked at him, and for a second the past pressed in around them - too big for the van, too old for words.

She nodded, just once.

Then the Ministry gates came into view, tall and foreboding.

Whatever waited inside, Red wasn’t ready. But she was used to walking straight into the fire.

The air outside the Ministry was sharp with the late afternoon breeze, perfumed faintly by cypress and old stone. Terzo stood just outside the archway, fingers playing absently with the chain of his pendant with the grucifix. His sunglasses sat perched on the bridge of his nose, though the sun was already softening.

He’d been waiting for the van.

No - not the van. Her.

From across the long gravel path, a flash of auburn through the windshield made something stir uncomfortably in his chest.

“Eccola…” (here she is) he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t move. Just watched. The way her silhouette shifted in the seat, the way she turned her head to the window. She hadn’t changed much... at least not in the ways that mattered. But there was something heavier in her now. Something closed off.

Dio, he thought. You look through that glass like you’re somewhere I can’t reach.

His phone buzzed in his pocket - a reflex check - but no notification from her. Still nothing. No follow back. He exhaled slowly, muttering to himself.

“Ma che ti costa? Un clic, una risposta... Niente.”(“Would it kill you? One click, one answer… nothing.”)

He hated how much it got under his skin.

It wasn’t like him to feel… ignored. He was Papa Terzo, for fuck’s sake. He knew when he was being noticed. He knew how to be seen. Desired. Worshipped, even. But she - Red - She was already awakening something inside him - something he’d never known, something that scared the hell out of him. And he doesn’t know if there is a cure.

And still… he followed her anyway.

She hadn’t followed him back.

“Sei una dannata strega…” he murmured, though the corners of his mouth lifted despite himself. (“You damn witch…”)

The van rolled to a stop, gravel crunching under the tires. Terzo stood tall, fixing his jacket, slipping his phone away.

Play it cool. He could already hear Secondo grumbling in his head: “Don’t embarrass us.”

Too late.

Because something about seeing her again - even from a distance - was dangerous. And Terzo had always been too curious for his own good.

"Terzo. Dentro. Adesso." (Terzo. Inside. Now.)

The voice cracked through the courtyard like a whip-sharp, authoritative, unmistakably hers.

He didn’t turn at first. Just stared a second longer at the van, jaw tense. Red was stepping out now, stretching her limbs, hair catching the last strands of golden light.

"Terzo. Non farmelo ripetere." ("Don’t make me repeat myself.")

He finally pivoted, exhaling hard through his nose.

"Sorella, per favore… posso almeno—" ("Sister, please… can I at least—")

"No. Dentro." Her glare could cut marble. "You’ll have your moment. But not now. You are not a goddamn teenager."

His eye twitched.

"Ma vaffanculo…" he muttered under his breath, dragging his hand through his hair as he stomped toward the heavy doors. ("Go fuck yourself…")

“Cos’hai detto?” (What did you say?) she barked after him.

"Niente!" ("Nothing!")

Sister didn’t even spare him another glance - her attention now fixed on the van. Her face reset, calm and practiced, as the doors opened and the band began to pile out.

“Welcome,” Sister Imperator said with a diplomatic smile, arms open as though she hadn’t just been ready to strangle someone.

Gabriel stepped down first, always poised. He extended his hand, warm and steady.

“Thanks for having us.”

Sister nodded once. “You’ve had a long flight. Come - let me show you to your rooms. Dinner will be served in an hour.”

Red appeared just behind Gabriel, sunglasses covering her eyes. She didn’t speak, just gave Sister a faint nod.

But Sister noticed. Everything. The way Red’s fingers clutched the strap of her backpack. The tightness around her mouth. The fact that she didn’t scan the building like the others — just looked straight ahead.

Interesting.

“Follow me,” she said, turning toward the cloistered corridors.

The stone halls echoed with the band’s footsteps as she led them past relics, murals, and an eerie sense of history clinging to every wall.

“You’ll be staying in the West Wing,” she continued, her heels tapping steadily on the flagstones. “Each of you has your own quarters. Rest, unpack, and behave. You’re not in a hotel.”

A smirk from the guitarist. A grunt from the drummer. No one dared to make a joke.

Only Red lingered a second behind the others, glancing more than once, trying to spot Terzo wherever.

He wasn’t there. But she could feel him.

The long corridor of dorm rooms smelled faintly of incense and old stone. Each door bore a small symbol carved into the wood - something sacred, something secret.

Steve threw his duffel bag onto his neatly made bed. "Bro, this room looks like it hasn't seen a mortal soul since the 1700s."

Rowan peeked into the tiny adjoining bathroom in his. “Why is there a grucifix in the shower?”

Gabriel, already halfway through unpacking, called out from the hallway, “Just be grateful we’re not sharing. Sister said to meet in my room when we’re done.”

Moments later, in Gabriel’s room...

The boys plopped down anywhere they could - Steve on the edge of the bed, Rowan on the floor, Gabe leaning against the wall with a snack bar already unwrapped.

Steve: “So, this Ministry place... “

Gabriel (chuckling): “Sister said this wing is used for guests. Now it’s... us.”

Rowan: “I’ve seen less intimidating sets in horror movies. That library? Haunted. The garden? Cursed. The nun? Possessed.”

Steve: “At least the wine’s good.”

Rowan: “And we are home guys. Everything is Satanic.”

Gabriel (lowering his voice): “We are home indeed. It reminds me so much of my brother.” 

They all stay in silence. They were lots of secrets lurking in the dark.

Red had just finished dropping her bags on the floor. Her mind was elsewhere - lingering on the dream she’d had during the flight, the one that pulled old wounds open again. She sighed, rubbing her eyes. Why now? Why him?

Then came the knock.

Knock knock.

She blinked, slightly startled. “Yeah?”

The door creaked open, and standing there - composed, regal, entirely too intimidating - was Secondo.

He didn’t enter. Just stood in the doorway with hands behind his back like a shadow with manners.

“Mi scusi. I just wanted to ensure everything is... to your liking.”

Red stared for a second too long. Secondo analyzed her for a moment. He could see why Terzo was interested. She had something unholy in her.

Red (internally): Okay. Breathe. It's only Secondo. Only the voice behind your favorite Ghost album. Only the one who sings ‘Year Zero’ like he’s summoning ancient demons. Totally fine.

She stepped forward too fast and clipped her suitcase, stumbling straight toward him. “Oh! I...sorry, wow. Yeah. No. I mean, yes...everything’s fine! Totally fine!”

Secondo tilted his head slightly. “Bene.” He paused, eyes scanning her subtly. “You seem... distracted.”

“Just a long day. Jet lag. And dreams. The weird kind.”

"Dreams are messengers. Not always kind ones."

That hit a little too deep. She swallowed hard.

“Thanks. For checking in.”

He gave a slight bow of the head. “Benvenuta al Ministero.” (Welcome to the Ministry) Then turned, and was gone down the hall - leaving her heart racing, and her thoughts even messier than before.

Terzo sat in his office, the faint glow of the afternoon lights filtering through the tall windows. He was supposed to be preparing for the meeting with the band, but his mind was elsewhere - tangled in irritation and something uncomfortably close to anticipation.

Perché non ha ancora accettato il mio follow? (Why hadn’t she accepted my follow yet?) He scrolled through his phone again, eyes narrowing at the empty “pending” notification. She knew who he was. She knew what he represented.

The knocking on his door startled him - it was Sister’s voice, sharp and commanding through the heavy wood. “Vieni dentro, Terzo. Non farla aspettare.” (Come inside, Terzo. Don’t make her wait.)

He gritted his teeth but obeyed, stepping into the hallway where Sister gave him a pointed look and a subtle push inside the room.

Madonna mia (OMG), he muttered under his breath, rubbing his temples. The nerve.

As he closed the door behind him, Secondo appeared like a shadow at the threshold, his expression unreadable.

“Ho incontrato Red,” (I met Red) Secondo barked quietly, the word hanging in the air like a challenge.

Terzo’s eyes flicked toward him. “E allora? Come sta? Ha detto qualcosa?” (So? How is she? Did she say anything?)

Secondo shrugged. “Distratta. Confusa. Ma viva. Più di quanto mi aspettassi.” (Distracted. Confused. But alive. More than I expected)

Terzo frowned, fingers drumming on the dark wood of the desk. “Bene. O male. Non lo so ancora.” (Good. Or bad. I don’t know yet)

He glanced back at his phone, fingers itching to send a message she might never read.

This is going to be interesting.

Red slipped into her room, the heavy door clicking shut behind her. The faint scent of incense still lingered, mixing with the restless swirl of her thoughts. She peeled off her jacket, the fabric sliding smoothly as she changed, her mind elsewhere.

Her phone buzzed softly on the bedside table - another follow request from Terzo. She stared at the screen, thumb hovering over the button.

Why the hell did he keep trying? she wondered, biting her lip.

Part of her wanted to keep him waiting, let him feel the uncertainty she felt. But then, a slow, mischievous grin crept across her face. Maybe this was a game worth playing.

With deliberate calm, she tapped Accept. Almost immediately, she followed him back.

Let’s see how this dance unfolds, she thought, feeling a rush of anticipation.

Her pulse quickened, a cocktail of thrill and wariness swirling inside her. Was it just a follow? Or a subtle invitation? She didn’t know yet - but she was ready to find out.

Pocketing the phone, she glanced at her reflection in the mirror, catching her own eyes sparkling with something dangerous and alive.

Let the game begin.

Red took a deep breath, smoothed her clothes, and stepped out of her room. The corridor still smelled faintly of incense and old stone, shadows flickering softly in the candlelight. Her footsteps echoed as she made her way toward Gabriel’s room, where the others were gathered.

She knocked lightly and then slipped inside.

“Hey,” she greeted, forcing a casual smile.

Steve looked up, Rowan raised an eyebrow, and Gabriel gave her a warm nod. “You okay?”

“Jet lag,” she lied smoothly, settling down on the edge of a chair.

Before anyone could reply, the door creaked open again, and Sister appeared, her presence commanding yet calm.

“Siete pronti?” (Are you ready?) she asked softly. “Before the meeting with Papa Terzo, I must remind you all of the Ministry’s rules.”

The boys exchanged glances, Steve muttering, “Here we go…”

Sister’s gaze swept the room. “Respect is not a suggestion here. No unnecessary questions during meetings. And privacy is sacred - what happens in the Ministry, stays in the Ministry.”

Gabriel nodded respectfully. “Understood.”

Sister turned to Red with a subtle smile. “And you, giovane donna, (young woman) remember this is a place of power and purpose. Be cautious.”

Red’s smile deepened, but she kept her tone steady. “Got it, Sister.”

Sister glanced at her watch. “Papa Terzo is ready to receive you. The meeting begins shortly.”

With that, she slipped out as silently as she’d come.

The room grew quiet, anticipation thick in the air.

Gabriel leaned forward. “Let’s get this over with.”

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

VELVET INFERNO

Papa Emeritus III x Female Reader (OC - Red)

Note: Will be uploaded to AO3

CHAPTER I. | CHAPTER II.

Chapter 3 — THE WATCHER

The room was dark, save for the blue flicker of the screen.

Papa Terzo leaned back in the velvet armchair, one leg draped lazily over the side, fingers adorned with silver rings steepled against his lips. The laptop sat open before him, the video paused at a precise frame - her, in the spotlight, crimson hair wild, mouth open mid-lyric, eyes blazing.

Red.

He exhaled slowly, as if the breath he’d been holding since the clip began had only now remembered how to leave his lungs.

Velvet Inferno.

Not just a good band - a force. She was magnetic, chaotic, and alive in a way that made stages tremble. There was grief in her voice. Fury in her rhythm. And something else… something sacred. Unpolished. Dangerous.

He hit play again.

The growl of her opening note filled the air. She leaned into the mic like it owed her a debt. And he felt it - the pull, the ache. Not lust, not admiration, not just. Something far more complex.

A knock at the door.

He didn’t answer.

It opened anyway.

“Fratellino,” came a voice behind him, dry and amused. “You’ve watched this what - cinque volte?” (five times?)

Terzo smirked but didn’t turn. “Sette.” (seven)

Primo stepped inside, his hands clasped behind his back, robes falling heavy around him like history. He moved like someone who’d built the floors himself.

“She’s good,” Primo said, glancing at the screen. “Raw. A little unhinged.”

“She’s real,” Terzo murmured.

Primo tilted his head. “O ti piace più di quanto tu voglia ammettere?” (Or do you like it more than you want to admit?)

A pause.

“I like what’s true,” Terzo replied, voice low. “And she bleeds truth on that stage.”

Primo moved closer, studying the image frozen onscreen. “The others will ask questions. About your reasons.”

“I have reasons,” Terzo said. “You saw the numbers. The timing is right. She fits. The music fits.”

“E il cuore?” (And the heart?) Primo asked. “Where does that fit?”

Terzo finally looked up at him, eyes gleaming.

“Vedremo,” he said softly. “We’ll see.”

He closed the laptop gently.

The flame had already been lit.

The rehearsal space smelled like cables, coffee, and nerves.

Velvet Inferno had taken over one of the bigger studios downtown - four walls of acoustic padding, cords snaking across the floor, amps humming faintly with anticipation. Red stood in front of the mic, boots planted like she owned the earth beneath them, while the guys tuned and tested behind her.

Gabriel adjusted his bass strap. “We’re seriously flying to Italy to rehearse in a literal ministry?”

“Not just any ministry,” said Rowan from behind the drums, twirling a stick between his fingers. “The Ministry. Ghost’s headquarters. Like... black candles and blood oaths and orgy wine.”

Steven, hunched over his guitar pedals, didn’t even look up. “Sounds like a weekend at your mom’s.”

Rowan flipped him off with a grin. “Jealousy’s ugly, man.”

Red smirked but stayed quiet, focused on her tablet - scrolling through the updated setlist, marking transitions, noting everything Joe had sent her about the tour dates. Her hair was pulled back, eyes sharp.

They weren’t just playing clubs anymore. This was the big leagues. And she could feel the weight of it in her chest like a second heartbeat.

“Okay,” she said finally, tapping the mic. “Let’s take it from ‘Sin Made Flesh.’ Same tempo as the Brooklyn set. Rowan - hold the bridge longer this time. I want that pause to feel dangerous. Like we’re dragging the moment by the throat.”

“Damn,” Rowan muttered. “Poetic and terrifying. Classic Red.”

“Shut up and count us in.”

He did.

The sound exploded through the room.

It wasn’t perfect. Not yet. But it was raw and sharp and alive - like a monster still forming teeth. Red’s voice cut through the wall of sound, laced with fire and fury. She didn’t just perform the song - she devoured it. The grief she’d kept hidden in silence poured out through her throat, and the band followed, caught in her orbit.

When they hit the final note, the room rang with it - like a bell struck by something unholy.

They stood still, catching their breath.

Then Steven broke the silence.

“Well,” he said, “if that doesn’t win over Satan’s personal house band, I don’t know what will.”

Red laughed, just a little. “Let’s run it again. Twice.”

Groans.

“Do you want to open for Ghost or not?”

“Fair,” Gabriel muttered, reaching for his water bottle.

As they reset, Red’s phone buzzed on the amp beside her.

MESSAGE FROM: JOE GRAY: “Need your passport number for the flights. Don’t forget. Also, check your email. Primo replied.”

Her fingers froze.

Primo.

She hadn’t expected to hear from him directly - not yet. Not this soon.

She tapped into her inbox, heart giving a slow thump against her ribs.

Subject: Welcome to the Ministry.

Sent from: primo@ministryghost.org

Her eyes narrowed.

She opened it.

“Cara Red,

We look forward to meeting you in person. The Ministry is prepared to receive you and your band. Your space has been arranged. Rehearsals begin Friday.

Papa has already reviewed your work multiple times. He seems… deeply inspired.

I trust you will arrive ready to ignite something worthy of that fire.

— Primo

P.S. Please refrain from lighting any actual fires without prior approval.”

Red let out a short breath - half a laugh, half a gasp.

“Everything okay?” Rowan asked.

She looked up at her band - her brothers and something inside her eyes burned hot and electric.

“This looks promising as hell,” she said.

“Cool,” Steven replied. “Just let me pack my eyeliner.”

Terzo lay in bed, one hand behind his head, the other resting on his chest, lit only by the faint red glow of a candelabra flickering in the corner of the room. Sleep wasn’t coming. His thoughts were too loud.

Velvet Inferno had filled his headphones again earlier, not just that Brooklyn clip now. That had been the spark, but the fire had spread. He’d gone digging - through YouTube uploads, bootlegs, half-lit live sessions in sweaty little clubs. He watched everything. Twice. Then found the two albums on Spotify and devoured them in one sitting.

It wasn’t just noise or rebellion. It was something older. Something sacred. Bluesy, dark, unpolished in the best way. Like sin whispered through velvet. Her voice carried that same quality - smoke and hunger, pain and control all braided together. The kind of voice that didn’t ask for your attention - it commanded it.

Red.

He barely knew her, but her energy had already started threading its way into the corners of his mind. Dangerous territory. He knew that. But he'd always been drawn to flame.

He reached for his phone. Opened Instagram.

Her band’s official page had hundreds of thousands of followers - all high energy, tour clips, promo shots, and fan art. This account was polished and curated. Aesthetic. The kind of profile that knew it was being watched.

But it was the other one that caught his attention. The private account he’d found earlier. @redinferno.

It had thousands of followers too, but fewer posts. A little more cryptic. The bio confirmed it was her. He had a feeling she’d made it private recently.

He’d stared at it more times than he was proud to admit.

And tonight, alone in his bed with that low ache between his thighs, he finally gained the courage to do it. He tapped “Request Follow.”

The screen blinked. Request sent.

He tossed the phone onto the nightstand like it had burned him, then scrubbed a hand over his face, muttering under his breath.

He wasn’t a teenager. He was Papa Terzo.

Red was curled up on the couch, legs tucked under her, still in her faded rehearsal tank and sweatpants, hair twisted messily on top of her head. The apartment smelled faintly of sage, incense, and ketchup.

She took another bite of the burger - greasy, glorious - while absently scrolling through her phone. Notifications buzzed under her fingers, mostly routine: comments on the latest band reel, new messages from Rowan about the setlist, a story reshare from a fan account in Brazil.

Then she flipped over to her personal profile. @redinferno.

One new follow request.

She tapped it.

And froze.

@papaterzo.official

Her jaw went slack for half a second. She blinked. Burger halfway to her mouth.

What. The. Fuck.

She stared at the screen like it might morph into something else. But there it was. His handle. The blue check. The bio she knew by heart.

And she... wasn’t hallucinating.

Her heart thudded once - hard. Then again. Her thumb hovered over the screen like it couldn’t decide whether to smash accept or throw the phone across the room.

It wasn’t that she didn’t expect contact. Joe had said they’d be working together. But this wasn’t about the tour. This was him. Requesting access.

To her space.

The quiet one. The one with low-lit photos of rainy windows, selfies, and scribbled lyrics and her cat napping in sun patches. The one where she didn’t perform.

Red exhaled slowly and set the burger down on the coffee table.

Then she laughed. Just once. Dry and surprised.

“Well,” she muttered, locking the screen. “That’s not nothing.”

And now she couldn’t stop thinking about it.

Red lay on her bed now, burger half-eaten on the coffee table, the city humming outside her cracked window. The rehearsal had left her body sore in that satisfying way. Her voice was still echoing faintly in her chest.

But it wasn’t music that kept her up now.

It was him.

The request.

She’d locked her phone a dozen times in the past ten minutes. Unlock. Stare. Lock again. She wasn’t even sure why it mattered so much - maybe because it felt personal. Intentional. Not filtered through a manager or a publicist.

He’d heard her voice and followed it. Straight to her.

Red ran a thumb over her bottom lip, thoughtful. Her cat Umbra hopped onto the bed, curling into the space behind her knees. The room smelled like guitar strings and warm fabric softener. The kind of night that asked for quiet.

She unlocked her phone again.

The request was still there. Waiting.

Red hovered over the Accept button.

Paused.

Then dimmed the screen and let the phone fall to the sheets beside her.

Not yet.

But almost.

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

VELVET INFERNO

Papa Emeritus III x Female Reader (OC - Red)

Note: Will be uploaded to AO3

CHAPTER I.

Chapter 2 – THE FLAME

The penthouse was immaculate.

Glass, marble, and silence.

Red padded barefoot across the cool white floor of her open-plan living room, the hem of her black satin robe brushing the ground. Everything was minimalist sharp edges, soft lighting, and no real color. Just monochrome and space. Space she barely filled.

Sunlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting long lines across the black couch, the untouched grand piano, and the perfectly curated bookshelf no one ever read. Beyond the windows, the pool shimmered - crystalline and still as if waiting for something to disturb its surface.

She took a sip of espresso from a delicate cup. Her reflection blinked back at her in the glass - red hair a flame against the muted backdrop, eyes distant, rimmed with shadow.

A year and the grief still lived with her. Not loudly. Not in screams or sobs anymore. But in the pauses. On the way she walked through the apartment like a ghost who didn’t know she’d died.

Her phone buzzed on the counter.

CALL FROM: KATIE

Red answered, her voice soft. “Hey.”

“Hey, babe.” Katie’s voice was a jolt of warmth. “Just checking in. How’s your head today?”

Red leaned against the marble counter. “Heavy. But manageable.”

“You know you don’t have to be okay all the time, right?”

“I know. But… it’s been over a year. And I can't keep letting it stop me.” She glanced toward her guitar. “My band - it’s the one thing that’s kept me breathing. Velvet Inferno’s been growing like hell the last two years. We’re not just playing tiny clubs anymore. We’re building something. I want more. I want to take it to the next level.”

Katie exhaled. “You’re stronger than you think. You always were.”

“I’m trying.”

They said their goodbyes a few minutes later - the kind of goodbye that’s really a promise: I’m still here.

Red set the cup down, and walked to the guitar stand by the window. She sat cross-legged on the floor beside it and picked up the instrument like it was sacred.

She strummed a few chords, absently. Searching for something inside herself that hadn’t come out in words yet. Then she sang - quietly. Unpolished. Honest.

The song wasn’t finished. Neither was she.

Her phone buzzed again.

CALL FROM: J. GRAY

She sighed, wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her robe, and answered. “Joe?”

“Red,” he said, already breathless with excitement, “I’ve got news.”

She tilted her head. “Good news or industry bullshit?”

“Oh, it’s real. Listen. You’re not gonna believe who reached out.”

“Try me.”

Joe paused. The dramatic kind of pause only Joe Gray could get away with. Then:

“Papa Terzo.”

The name landed like thunder.

Red’s breath caught in her throat. Papa Terzo? The frontman of Ghost. One of her biggest inspirations. The band that had helped shape Velvet Inferno’s darker, theatrical edge. The band she listened to alone at night when she couldn’t sleep. The man she may or may not have had a long-standing, very secret, very inconvenient crush on.

“You’re fucking with me,” she said quietly.

“Nope. Dead serious. I sent him the Brooklyn clip this morning in his time zone. He watched it. Loved it. We exchanged some emails, and we had a call this morning.”

Red pressed a hand to her chest.

“But listen, it gets crazier,” Joe continued. “After he confirmed interest, I looped in Sister Imperator. She was... cautious, let’s say.”

Red arched an eyebrow. “Suspicious?”

“More like protective. I think she picked up on the... personal enthusiasm in his message, and she wanted to make sure this wasn’t just a crush thing. That he’s focused. Serious about the project.”

Red blinked.

Crush?

Her heart did this stupid little skip in her chest before dropping like a stone.

What did that mean exactly? Personal enthusiasm? Was he just a fan of her music - or was there something more layered in the way he spoke about her? She immediately hated that her pulse quickened just thinking about it.

No. No. She wasn’t thirteen. She wasn’t going to spiral into fantasies because someone mentioned the word crush and Papa Terzo in the same breath.

But still…

Her cheeks burned, and she silently thanked every god that Joe couldn’t see her face right now.

She cleared her throat, trying to rein herself back in.

“And is he?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s dead serious. She signed off after the call. We’re on.”

Her mouth went dry.

Joe laughed softly. “You're really going on tour with Ghost, Red. Velvet Inferno will be opening for them on the American leg of the Popestar tour.”

American leg.

Not just Europe. Not someday. Now.

“We're flying out Wednesday night,” Joe added. “You, Rowan, Steven, and Gabriel. The label already booked the flights. You’ll land in Italy on Thursday morning. First stop: the Ministry.”

Italy. Her skin tingled.

She turned to look out the massive windows, where the light poured in gold over the rooftop pool. It shimmered like a distant dream.

Something in her eyes shifted. A flicker. A fire.

“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s burn.”

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

VELVET INFERNO

Papa Emeritus III x Female Reader (OC - Red)

Note: Will be uploaded to AO3

Chapter 1. - THE EMAIL

The Ministry building always felt colder in the morning. Marble halls echoed with his shoes as he walked, coffee in hand, half-awake, sunglasses still on despite the dim light filtering through the stained glass. A new day, a new fire to put out or light, depending on his mood.

He entered his office, still cluttered from last night’s meeting: tour schedules, merch mock-ups, setlist debates. He didn’t bother sitting down at first - just walked to the window, cracked it open, and lit a cigarette. The smoke curled into the grey sky. Autumn was creeping into Italy.

He finally turned to his desk. Dozens of unread emails blinked back at him.

One stood out.

The subject line was simple:

“Opening Act Proposal: Velvet Inferno”

He raised a brow.

“Dramatic,” he murmured, already intrigued.

Click.

“To: Papa Emeritus III

From: Joseph Grey (Manager, Velvet Inferno)

Subject: Opening Act Proposal – Velvet Inferno (Popestar Tour)

Greetings Papa,

I hope this message finds you well. My name is Joseph Grey, and I represent the band, Velvet Inferno: a unique blend of haunting melodies, poetic lyrics, and raw stage energy.

We’ve followed your work closely for years and believe this tour would be a perfect fit. Our vocalist, Red, is a force of nature. Her voice and presence bring something rare to the stage, something I think you’ll appreciate.

I’ve attached live clips, media kit, and streaming links.

If interested, we’d love to schedule a meeting, even virtual.

Thank you for your time,

J. Grey”

Terzo leaned back, scanning it again.

Red.

The name caught somewhere deep in his chest.

He clicked the folder. A live performance video loaded. The image froze on her mid-scream, hair a violent flame under red lights, eyes closed, body moving like she was part flame, part ache.

He pressed play.

The sound shook him.

Her voice was low and wild, full of sweetness dragged through the dark. Every lyric is laced with hurt and heat. The band behind her was tight, loud, yes, but controlled. And she… Red, she wasn’t just singing. She was bleeding out on stage.

Terzo stared at the screen long after the song ended. He felt… off. Like a bell had rung somewhere in his bones.

Then came the dreams.

Not now - he’d had them for years. Always the same:

A woman with fire for hair.

Eyes he couldn’t quite see.

Hands reaching for him through the smoke.

A name he never remembered.

A feeling that always lingered.

He’d assumed it was guilt. Grief. Lust.

But now he wasn’t sure.

He opened a new tab and started to type:

Red Velvet Inferno vocalist

Red singer Velvet Inferno band

Red – real name? Interviews? Bio?

A flood of images and articles came up.

Promotional photos: her standing barefoot in a graveyard.

Behind-the-scenes shots - laughing with her bandmates, a tattoo peeking under her leather jacket.

Fan pages. Tumblr gifs. A few stolen quotes:

“Music is the one place I don’t have to hide.”

“I don’t believe in love like most people do. Mine comes with blood.”

He stopped when he found her Instagram.

@redinferno

Private.

He hovered over the “Follow” button.

No, he thought, jaw tightening.

Too soon.

He copied the username and pasted it into his notes.

Just in case.

Something about her was crawling into his skin. He didn’t know her. But he’d seen her. In dreams, in fire. Before.

He turned back to the email and replayed the performance again. He barely blinked this time. Just watched.

The cigarette had long since burned out between his fingers.

He didn’t believe in fate.

But she made him reconsider

“Red…” he muttered under his breath.

He stood, pacing now, cigarette ash drifting onto the stone floor like snow. The band name lingered in the back of his mind like a song he couldn’t forget. Velvet Inferno. Even that sounded like her.

He started talking to himself… a bad habit he never quite broke.

“Who sends a proposal like that out of the blue? Eh? With a singer like that? Either they’re desperate or…”

He paused.

“Or something’s coming.”

He poured himself a glass of amaro and leaned against the cold wooden desk, staring at the screen again. Terzo finally replied to the email confirming the interest. 

Ding.

Another email landed in his inbox.

Subject: “Meeting Confirmed – Velvet Inferno + Ghost Management”

From: Joseph Grey

“Papa,

Following our previous email, we’ve booked flights and will be landing in Rome this Thursday.

The band is thrilled at the possibility of working with you - Red especially.

We’ve arranged to meet at the Ministry headquarters at 3PM, if that time still works.

Thank you again for the opportunity.

J. Grey”

Terzo closed the laptop slowly, his lips curling into a half-smirk.

“Three days,” he said aloud. “Three days and I meet the girl who’s been in my dreams.”

He grabbed his coat and strode down the long hallways of the Ministry. Shadows clung to the corners. Candles burned at uneven intervals. The scent of incense, old stone, and leather books followed him.

He headed toward the council chamber, where he knew they’d be, his siblings. These days, Primo looked after the garden and was always ready to help Terzo with whatever he needed. Secondo, the paper guy, also took pleasure in guiding his younger brother through his tasks.

The large iron doors creaked open as Terzo stepped into the council chamber.

The room, ancient and dimly lit, smelled of incense and old leather. Candles flickered against high stone walls. At the far end, Sister Imperator stood like a statue of judgment - poised, arms crossed, dressed in sharp, structured black. Her stare cut through the room before Terzo even spoke.

Primo sat reading scripture, delicate and focused. Secondo sipped a heavy glass of red, eyes already rolling. He muttered, “Cazzo… what now?”

Terzo didn’t flinch. He walked forward, dropped the folder onto the massive oak table, and leaned against it with that trademark swagger.

“I’ve chosen an opener for the Popestar Tour.”

Primo looked up, calmly curious. “Così presto? (So soon?) We haven’t reviewed any of the lists.”

“No list needed,” Terzo replied. “I received a proposal this morning. I listened. I watched. I… felt.”

Sister Imperator arched an eyebrow. “And what exactly did you feel, Papa?”

He turned to her, more serious now. “There’s something about her… her voice. The music. It stirred something. Old.”

Secondo barked a laugh. “Ah sì, it stirred your coglioni. (Ah yes, it stirred your balls.) That’s what.”

“Basta, Secondo,” Imperator snapped her tone like a blade. “Let him speak.”

Terzo nodded once in gratitude, then looked back at them all.

“The band is called Velvet Inferno. American. She’s the singer. Red. I listened once and couldn’t stop. Then I saw her face.”

Secondo narrowed his eyes, still unconvinced. “Fammi indovinare. Capelli rossi. Occhi tristi. (Let me guess. Red hair. Sad eyes.) You’ve dreamt of her, sì?”

Terzo met his gaze. “For years.”

That earned silence - even from Secondo.

“I’m not saying she’s a sign. I’m just saying… maybe the flames finally have a name.”

Sister Imperator turned away to the window, thinking, the morning light hitting her sharp cheekbones like silver. Then she spoke:

“This band. This Red. Are they serious about flying here?”

“They already booked the flights. They’ll be here in three days.”

She turned her head slightly. “Then we host them. But you lead the meeting. I want to see if your instincts are as sharp as your tongue.”

Terzo gave a sly smile. “Always.”

She stepped forward slowly, stopping inches from him. “If this is more than a crush, prove it. Don’t waste our time with a passion that burns out in a week.”

“Non è una cotta,” he whispered. “È una fiamma vecchia.” (It's not a crush/It's an old flame.)

Later that night, in the rehearsal hall, he found Omega - his closest friend, the most trusted ghoul.

The other ghouls were rehearsing quietly under low light, but Omega broke off and walked over when he saw Terzo approach.

“Something’s bothering you,” Omega said right away.

Terzo handed him a headphone. “Listen to this.”

The track began - Red’s voice like velvet and smoke.

Omega listened for a moment, then raised an eyebrow. “Who is this?”

“Velvet Inferno,” Terzo replied. “They want to join the tour.”

“You want to sleep with her.”

“I want to understand her,” Terzo said, a touch defensive.

“Same thing, to you,” Omega grinned.

Terzo rolled his eyes but didn’t deny it.

“There’s something strange about all this,” he admitted. “Like… I’ve heard her before. Known her. Long before this.”

Omega looked at him. “Then maybe you were always meant to meet.”

Terzo stared into the space between them.

Something inside him whispered:

She’s coming.

And nothing will ever be the same.

I hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter of something I cooked for years. I never gained courage to post it. This chapter is Terzo's POV, next one is Red's.

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

get wiggled upon

[hellsatanwelcomeyearzero]

Not to be an insufferable self promoter but... to the fellow Terzo fans that are sad about his fate I welcome you to join me in my retired terzo delusion 😊

For the past three years I have been writing mainly about an alive (albeit not well, at least not at first) Terzo and what he might be up to.

There's a couple where he mostly turned out well:

Pastimes for a Retired Papa AO3 Tumblr

Banchetto AO3 Tumblr

And some where he came back a little wrong 😈

From this slumber you will wake AO3 Tumblr

When true love's kiss AO3 Tumblr

Amongst many others you can find on my Tumblr and AO3. But there is a lot of very very good Terzo fic out there by hundreds of other fantastic authors that will make you feel a lot better. It is easier to scroll back to the beginning on AO3 then on Tumblr but I urge you too because there is some gold there.

Things in Terzo land have been a little weird recently but I promise you it is entirely possible to love and celebrate him regardless of what is happening in canon. We have been doing it for years and we will continue to do so!!!