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iamthecomet · 11 months

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Comet Coment Comet COMET

This came to me in a dream, I think, and I need to share:

Cumulus teaching trans Dew how to peg Swiss for the first time. Does she lead by example? Fuck him first so Dew gets her sloppy seconds? Or does she just instruct, guide? Does she get her hands on Dew's little hips and move him inside Swiss? Showing him just what he likes?

THE CHOICE IS YOURS AND I TRUST YOU IMPLICITLY

ILU ♡

MIASMA ILU. I'M KISSING YOU FOR THIS. I need you to know that I have barely thought about anything else since you sent this ask. It's ruining my life. 1.4k of trans Dew pegging Swiss under Cumulus' watchful eye. Cunt and clit used in reference to Dew's anatomy.

The dildo is pretty. Deep shimmery purple marbled with gold. It’s so soft under Dew’s fingers when he presses them over the molded head, over the space beneath.

Cumulus hooks her chin over his shoulder and watches him touch it. It juts out from Dew’s body, held on by the harness looped around his waist, his thighs. He strokes it the way he would if it was really his and Cumulus purrs behind him. Her cool body rumbling against his back. She’s the only one of them still dressed. Wearing tight shorts, and a sheer robe. No bra. Dew can feel the cool press of her nipple shields against his shoulder blades. They’re bronze this time, heart shaped.

Dew wants to put his mouth on them—but that isn’t why they’re here. The reason they’re here is spread out in front of Dew. Swiss, on his back, naked as the day he was summoned. Miles of dark charcoal skin open to Dew’s wandering eyes. Swiss grins up at him, a little heavy lidded already. Cock hard and leaking against his belly. Eyes darting down to the silicone between Dew’s legs.

Dew’s stomach flips. A flash of anxiety. He wants to do this maybe more than he’s ever wanted anything. But Dew’s always a little resistant to new tasks, worried—foolishly—that he’ll be bad at it.

“Tell him you want it,” Cumulus whispers, her breath cool against Dew’s shoulder. Swiss swallows, drags his eyes back up to Dew’s face.

“Want your cock, firefly. Please.”

Dew feels weak already. Knees a little wobbly. He’s warm, sweat already pricking at his temples in anticipation of this. Swiss’ words make it all worse. They feel like a gut punch. He feels himself get wetter. It’s like being a water ghoul again. He’ll be dripping down his thighs in no time.

He grips the silicone cock at the base like he’s trying to stave off his own pleasure.

They’ve already prepped Swiss. Taking their time with it, Cumulus sliding two of her fingers in alongside Dew’s just to watch the way Swiss’ eyes rolled back.

Look how much he likes it. She’d said to him. Imagine how he’ll be when he’s stuffed full.

Dew knows how he gets when he’s full. Has sat in this room before and watched it happen. Cumulus behind Swiss, her hands on his hips while she fucked him with this same strap. Swiss’ face buried in Dew’s cunt. Keening with his tongue pressed to Dew’s clit.

Swiss pulls his legs back a little further and Dew watches as his hole winks for him, clenching around nothing as Swiss adjusts. Cumulus reaches around Dew, lube in one hand. She uncaps it, pours a healthy amount onto the silicone and strokes it from root to tip. Polishing the head. Dew can’t look away from how her manicured fingers look wrapped around him. He shudders, blushing when he finally has the presence of mind to be embarrassed about how far gone he is.

Cumulus presses her lips to his jaw. She nudges Dew forward and presses the fat head of the toy against Swiss’ rim. She grabs both of Dew’s hips and pushes him forward. Dew watches as inch by inch that purple silicone disappears into Swiss’ body. His hole stretching around it. Swallowing it. Swiss groans. He tips his head back against the bed. Dew watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. Swiss’ mouth drops open as Dew bottoms out. Hips pressed flush against Swiss’.

Cumulus reaches around cup one of Dew’s tits. Small, barely a handful for her petite hands. She rolls his nipple between her fingers, tugs on the ring through it, and he gasps bowing forward, teeth digging into his lip. Swiss reaches for him, putting a warm palm on Dew’s stomach. Fingers digging in a little, a tiny dose of pain to bring him back to earth.

“Move,” he pleads.

Dew finds himself frozen. Between the way Cumulus is rolling his nipple between her fingers, and the visual, he can’t get his brain to respond. He wants to move. Wants to fuck Swiss so good he’s the one Swiss will come to when he wants this. That Swiss will beg him for it.

Cumulus nuzzles her face against the side of Dew’s neck, and finally takes mercy on him. Dragging her hands down his sides to squeeze at his hips. She pulls him back.

Dew watches as the strap reappears. Watches the way Swiss’ body clings to it, tries to suck it back in. Swiss groans, fists one hand over his weeping cock and the other in his hair.

“Look how greedy that hole is,” Cumulus purrs in Dew’s ear. “Look how hungry he is for you.”

Dew whines, a low feminine sound that he tries to swallow.

Cumulus only has to direct him for a few more thrusts, her fingers dimpling into his hips as she pushes and pulls him. Swiss arches off the bed, and Dew pulls out of Cumulus’ grip. Snapping his hips forward the way Swiss does when he fucks Dew. It makes Swiss keen.

He loses himself in the rhythm he sets. Swiss grinds down on his cock and Cumulus keeps a steady hand on his hip. He watches Swiss’ face, his body. Watches his stomach muscles jump with each thrust. Listens to the harsh huffs of breath Dew knocks out of him. Dew reaches down and puts his hand on Swiss’ belly, presses down.

Feels the slight bulge of his cock dragging against Swiss’ insides. He’s going insane. He’s doing this. He’s making Swiss moan like this. He’s responsible for the desperate pleasure twisting Swiss’ features.

Cumulus smooths one hand down Dew’s thigh. “You’re doing so good. Isn’t he Swiss?”

Swiss is flushed, his cheeks violet, eyes unfocused. He nods. “Y-yeah. Fuck, Dew. So good. Just like that.”

As if Dew would do anything different. As if he can stop himself.

Swiss pulls at himself, dragging spurts of precum from his cock with each measured stroke.

Cumulus backs off a little, makes room. And then her hand sneaks between Dew’s thighs, presses up. Through the slick gathered on them. She drags the pads of her fingers over his clit and he bucks, driving into Swiss harder than he means to. But Swiss only moans louder. Dew watches his fingers flex as he twists over the head of his cock. Fingers shiny with pre.

Cumulus presses two fingers into Dew’s cunt, pressing her thumb down hard on his clit as she curls her fingers. Dew wails. He searches for something to hold on to—finding only Swiss’ thighs. He drives himself deep, hard. Swiss’ thighs shake under his palms.

He’s babbling. Begging. He doesn’t even know what he saying. He feels the words on his tongue, hears them in a voice that doesn’t quite sound like his. Cumulus is guiding his thrusts again—he can’t focus on anything except her fingers against his g-spot, and the way Swiss moves against him.

Swiss cums with a shout. Dew watches his rim pulse around the purple cock. Puffy and slick, twitching in time with each spurt of cum across his chest.

Swiss drags his fingers through the mess and reaches up, shoving two of them into Dew’s mouth and he’s gone. Cumming so hard his vision darkens. Knees buckling as he leans his weight back on Cumulus and shudders through his orgasm. When he comes back, Swiss fingers are still in his mouth, petting over his tongue, but they’ve moved. He’s on his back, Swiss on one side, Cumulus on the other. One of her hands running up and down his skinny thigh. The strap is gone. He wonders how much time he lost. “Welcome back.” Swiss grins at him, pulls his fingers from Dew’s mouth and wipes the spit off on his nipple, swirling over the piercing and making Dew hiss. He bats Swiss’ hand away.

“How do you feel, firefly?” Cumulus asks into his hair.

“Good,” he mumbles. Closing his eyes and leaning back against her. Swiss reaches between Dew’s legs and drags his fingers through the slick mess on Dew’s thighs, unable to keep his hands to himself. Dew wants, as usual, to push his face into the mattress and fuck him until he cries. It’s how he usually feels about Swiss, a primal need to put him in his place. He can now, he realizes. Possibility opens up before him—he feels better than good. He grins. “When can I do it again?”

#comet writes #ficlet #miasma ♡#Dew/Swiss/Cumulus #Trans!Dew #dewdrop ghoul #Swiss army ghoul #Cumulus Ghoulette #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost fanfiction

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belle--ofthebrawl · 1 month

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Belle you keep teasing us with the hell on wheels au and I am here to beg most politely for some tiny crumbs. What is this treat you have cooking up for us in your big big brain????

Well...the explanation is very long but basically Augh Motorcycle Helmets Big Sexy.

So it's just Vibes at this point but grew into something more, especially after @miasmaghoul posted about mechanic Cirrus fucking Swiss. I adopted that immediately into what is now known as the Hell On Wheels Au, the barebones of which have been rattling around in my brain for about a year but exploded with thoughts quite recently.

The Ghouls are a Satanist Biker Gang that fully leans into the aesthetic, party at bars and get into fights but during the daytime? They rev their motorcycles and stand in court rooms as kids testify against their abusers. They work in partnership with local community support groups, have domestic violence flyers up in bathrooms, even have their own local version of an Angel Shot called a Devil Shot where one will pick you up from the bar if you've been roofied and takes you to the hospital while another hunts down the lowlife who did it and gives them a little talking to. Violence isn't usually involved since they have a reputation but they're fond of saying they never forget a face. Interpret that how you will.

This all evolved from a Vibes Based Daydream I had where Dew's bike broke down so he had to be Ifrit's backpack. And when they pull up at a red light, Ifrit's old chapter leader Alpha is there and he tells Dew "Killswitch him, it'll be payback for (something completely fucking made up)" EXCEPT when Dew hops off and turns the key to shut down the bike, the light turns green and Ifrit hollers something at Dew before popping a wheelie and racing away, leaving Dew to sweat nervously in the fish bowl distortion of his own reflection in the helmet glaring down at him.

"Get on." Alpha says gruffly and Dew seriously contemplates running before Alpha revs his bike again and growls "you run and you're fucking out." Because their whole thing is facing consequences, right?? So Dew's his passenger princess and Alpha takes him out of town on a backroad to a tall grassy knoll where Dew thinks he's going to be buried and parks his bike.

He meets the bookkeeper, a hulking retired boxer known in his glory days as Omega and they chat as Alpha looms threateningly in the background.

Notes: Swiss and Ifrit ride 1000cc sports bikes whereas I'm going for a more classical, solid build for Alpha. Or a chopper. Can't decide.

"This is all I have." I said to Miasma, but it proved to be a lie as my brain is forever a hamster running desperately on a wheel.

Swiss harasses the corrupt police force (defroque is the sheriff's son??) with Ifrit and Sunny, they do a lot of night rides with no plates and lead them in goose chases after triggering speed traps. Drop a gear and disappear, baby.

Aether does a lot of charity stuff and mostly works with local food banks to be a one man Meal on Wheels (ok...yup. get it out) for elderly and disabled folks. He dreams of owning a food truck with his buddy Mountain but right now he's happy to show up to court with a saddlebag of whatever he thinks that little tyke might appreciate or need.

Mountain is the son of a local cafe owner Terra, who was quite the hell raiser in her heyday but now is content to enjoy her retirement with her partners, Ivy (agoraphobic landscaper) and Pebble (weed dealer). He has a sidecar he brings Rain and Zephyr to work in. Rain's got a fruity little scarf.

Aeon as the new kid in town working two jobs to afford a bike of his own, Imperator as a lawyer/ex pinup model because learning is expensive. Copia is her assistant/son determined to make his mother proud but also can't help but wonder why exactly she chose to work in this distant town and what her relationship is to that decrepit old man sitting in the park, feeding the birds from his wheelchair and seems to know an odd amount of detail about a certain tricycle, hidden away in the depths of the shed. Copia doesn't like talking to him. Nihil knows too much and yet, can't remember anything at all.

Aurora is someone who prefers to pedal around town on her old mountain bike, vlogging her downright dangerous escapades that make seasoned motorcyclists sweat (motocross? BMX? She just likes her old bike. She does delivery for local restaurants and is a living legend in delivery times. Aeon's also into free running/parkour/skateboarding and they have a friendly...? competition over completion times.

Cirrus restores cars as a hobby and is a mechanic with Cumulus, who specializes in paint jobs on top handling the books and stock. Swiss loves it when she fucks him Amazon style on her prize restoration car (model make and year TBD) and he tells her about this little delivery biker who popped a forward wheelie on the other side of a red light, did something complicated that involved walking on her front wheel and stepping on the pedals before setting the bike frame easily back down and pedalling calmly past Swiss. Cirrus knows her of course, but Swiss hasn't earned that knowledge yet. Or his orgasm.

Sunny works in the shop too as an apprentice.

Cumulus likes to flirt with Mist, who owns the local dirt track. "As much as anyone can own a dirt field." Mist says. She's a water-skier, wheels aren't her preferred mode of speed.

The Emeritus family crossed over from Italy sometime in the last couple centuries. Ask anyone and they'll tell you where the real power in the city lies, with the unholy Trinity of the three offspring. But here, see, that's on the down low, see? One of them has to be Papa Emeritus, that enigmatic and rarely seen figure, who takes care of people who put their faith in him and that's more than the local priest ever does. Funny how that church building gets fancier and fancier every year while Mrs. Abernathy down the street can't even afford her medical bills. You know they're holding a fundraiser to build a heated hallway from the rectory to the church because Defroque slipped and fell on the ice last winter and now he's whining about needing a safe path to the building?

Be a real shame if something happened to all that money. Can you imagine Father Jim slipping every Sunday? Not that he's stable any other day of the week, mind you. I get the feeling, those prayers retreats of his....Mmm. but that's just gossip.

Ah well. You know, this is a quiet little town when all those bikers aren't revving their engines. But there's stories to be found in it, if you're willing to wait and be patient. Good things, and all that.

#Hmm... that's about everything. did i overshare? perhaps. will anything ever get written of this? maybe. but now it's out there.#and now you know.#you know im waffling back and forth on allowing reblogs for this...this is basically the Lore Bible #but who knows if everyone's stories will be told in a timely manner. so...i guess you can reblog it.#for now.

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mino-diabolik · 9 months

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[ Stolen Stars AU 👀✨ ]

"Mys~tic!" Scarlett's oddly animated voice called for the recently-turned Ghoul when she saw he's gotten up, a withered rose held but forgotten by her hand moved with every gesture she made, losing its petals all around, "I've been looking for you, don't you try to run away!"

The redhead scolded her friend, it has been a few days since the incident that overtook Scarlett's sanity in order to save Mystic's life; she was still able to communicate, only much more unstable than usual, occasionally and, at times, a little less coherent.

"How many words can you remember today? I remembered 936~," she giggled, proud, and joined her hands together, as the poor rose continued to fall apart, "fufu, and by the way, how are those shiny galaxies feeling...?" As she got closer, her hollow gaze focused on his own, "they look like they've been eating everyone else's light... huh, that's not healthy, are you hungry?"

In truth, Scarlett had become rather overprotective of Mystic ever since he was reborn. From his first moments exposed to the Demon World's miasma, to his awakening and the journey to bring back his usual capabilities, she has been considerably indulgent, and didn't look like she planned to stop.

Reborn.

Mystic leaned back against the window frame, gawking out at the sky. His memories were not entirely clear, but he remembered enough to compare these stars to others he’d seen before. There was something peculiar about how they looked from Rotingenbelk.

At the back of his head, he heard Scarlett’s animated voice. Even so, he remained slumped by the window for a while longer. He blinked continuously, as though he were waking from a long and heavy nap.

“Words…” Mystic mumbled, turning to face her at last. Previously precious amethysts lacked polish beneath a sheath of madness. “I remember… a few. Yeah.”

Her query made him settle back. He gazed down at her hands and watching the petals fall from the wilting flower. He hadn’t even really thought about it. Eating, that is. There had been a continuing bother at the pit of his belly for quite a while, however.

I suppose that was hunger, Mystic concluded.

“Wha—what’s for… dinner?”

#[AYEE 🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️🏃‍♀️✨✨]#mystic tsukinami #scarlett wakahisa #kindan-no-kanojo #myslett #stolen stars au #interaction

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mynameisjessejk · 6 months

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In Our Selves, Change, Part 4

Grim was not exactly thrilled to be riding deeper into Gadith Var, since the mist was growing thicker, the shrieks were growing louder, and the ghouls were growing more frequent.

Also, Feyrith’s grip on his hips was growing tighter and his shaking was growing worse.

Grim had never been this deep in Gadith Var before, and the miasma of evil that permeated the air near the swamp this deep in was so thick it was a coating on his tongue. Necromancy had always tasted to Grim like he imagined the stale air of a desert tomb might taste, dust and a hint of decay; this simply tasted of rotting flesh on a hot day. There was something visibly wrong with Gadith Var even from afar; from the middle of it the wrongness was a pressure between the eyes.

Couple that with whatever was wrong with their seer and Grim was seriously worried that things were about to be very bad indeed. He’d never felt much fear of the Varite monsters, sometimes irritation and sometimes the adrenaline of a true fight, but the horror of them had never touched him the way they took some. That Feyrith couldn’t bear to look at them brought some of that horror home, mostly a grief and disgust rather than fear, but there was an uncomfortable realization Grim was trying not to have about Rangers fallen in the line of duty and animated corpses.

Then a sentry hailed them, and Hirsent was demanding to be taken to her father, a Grim didn’t have to think about that any more. Grim squeezed Feyrith’s wrist. “Chin up,” he murmured, so soft it was just a rumble in his chest, knowing the elf would hear. “Here we go.”

Feyrith sighed softly and butted the back of his shoulder with his forehead, and then sat up from Grim’s back for the first time since they’d stepped into the swamp.

The sentries side-eyed Grim until with a growl of annoyance he took his Ranger talisman out of his gambeson and let it hang visibly.

Hirsent, he noticed, had not put away her crystal. He didn’t put the bow away either, though he didn’t knock a new arrow once he’d fired the one he had at a ghoul as they passed the rearguard of the army. “My lady,” a soldier greeted them warmly, trotting back to meet them. He wore the rank insignia of a captain.

Hirsent inclined her head to him. “Captain Amarion,” she said gravely. “I have urgent news for my father.”

Grim, fighting a surge of panicked adrenaline, thought intently at his talisman about how uninteresting he was, and how no one should pay him any attention, and there was nothing familiar or worth noticing about him at all. His talisman hung at his breastbone, a low hum of acknowledgment on the edge of his mind.

“What’re you doing?” Feyrith muttered.

Grim shook his head just slightly. Please don’t say anything, he thought desperately at his friend.

Feyrith subsided.

“For my escort I hired a Ranger of the marches, knowing I was coming to Gadith Var,” Hirsent was saying to the captain with a wave at Grim.

Nothing to see here, Grim thought, not without humor, and nodded politely.

“And the seer has the message I must bring my father urgently,” Hirsent added, nodding at Feyrith.

Feyrith, eyes squinted closed to keep from looking at anyone, waved airily, knowing he was being talked about.

“My Lady if you will forgive it, I am not sure that is wise,” the captain said softly.

Hirsent lifted her chin. “Do you doubt my capability in the marsh or my nerves, Captain?” she demanded coldly.

“Your father’s patience,” the captain replied softly, looking determinedly past Hirsent’s shoulder, his mouth a taught twist of discontent that looked something between fear and irritation.

Hirsent said, “Let me worry about my father.”

The captain inclined his head, mouth softening into acceptance. “Follow me, My Lady,” he agreed softly. “And mind the ghouls. They keep popping up underfoot.”

Hirsent smiled grimly and blasted the one that manifested next to the captain. “I’m aware,” she said dryly.

The captain bowed politely, something like admiration lighting his face instead.

By the murmurs and outright hails as they passed, Grim got the impression that most of these soldiers loved their princess. That was hopeful, maybe, that if things were about to go very desperately wrong in the middle of a hostile army, perhaps it wasn’t as hostile as he previously thought.

They heard the king well before they saw him. He knew the voice had to be the king’s because Hirsent’s lip curled, barely noticeably, and Feyrith went tense against his back.

The man was shouting. Raving, Grim might even have said, in obvious frustration about the slow progress of the army because of the ghouls, as well as disdain for the men who were frightened and fury over the few who had, apparently, simply deserted.

The ranks of the army were perhaps not quite a strictly even as a commander might like, and the faces of the men nearest the king were too incredibly blank to be anything but covering unhappiness of some sort. Along the edges and further from the king, few were bothering to cover their discontent at all. Some were visibly afraid of the marsh and a few were watching Wiclef rave with a mixture of fear and disgust. Others merely looked frustrated—likely by the delay.

“Dunno what he expected, coming through this place,” a soldier muttered nearby, perfectly audible to everyone.

The captain glared around, but no one else did much.

The evil in the air thickened even tighter as they approached the king. Grim spat off the side of his horse, trying to get the sickly film off the back of his tongue; he’d never rued his ability to taste magic more than this moment. Feyrith was even worse, choking on it, softly, and he hid his face in Grim’s shoulder till he had it under control.

There were mages with the king, Grim discovered. Making the ground passable for the army, thickening the power in the air, and simply increasing the terrible sense of rot.

“All you’re doing is pouring power into the spell that animates the dead,” Feyrith said clearly to the mages. “You’re making them animate faster, and you’re enabling them to kill more of your men. Those deserters aren’t deserters; they’re dead, and they’re coming for you the same as the other ghouls.”

Everyone whirled to face them.

Hirsent blasted another ghoul. “Hi Papa,” she said to the king. “The seer came to me with dire news, so I brought him straight to you.”

“This is stupid,” Feyrith said from over Grim’s shoulder.

It wasn’t a prophecy, Grim thought; he’d started to recognize the resonance in the elf’s voice when he prophesied, and that wasn’t it. It was true, though, so there was that.

“Is that the dire news?” King Wiclef asked dryly.

“No,” Feyrith replied, sliding off the horse from behind Grim and striding towards the king. It might have been majestic, or even terrifying, except that he was tiny, and limping from the uncomfortable horse. “But it’s true, so I’m leading with that.” He marched up to the king of Asharel, tipped his chin up to look at the man, and said firmly, “You are making a mistake.”

Wiclef scoffed, crossing his arms across his chest and tilting his head back to stare at Feyrith down his nose.

“Your doom draws near, King of Flames,” Feyrith said, and his voice had gone resonant and hollow again. “Soon it will look you in the eye and you will have to choose.”

“Choose what?” Wiclef asked, sounding bored.

“Which is more important to you,” Feyrith replied. “Your power or your heart.”

He had Wiclef’s attention now, because neither of those options were what the king had expected to be on the line.

Grim dismounted and scattered another ghoul with his shortsword. It reformed almost immediately at Feyrith’s back, and Hirsent blasted it with a growl.

“You’ve reached the point of no return,” Feyrith warned, not just Wiclef but the mages and captains around them. “If you keep on this path you will not return.”

“He means Gadith Var,” Hirsent added. “Literal path, literal death.”

There was some uneasy shifting in the company.

Wiclef was narrowed in purely on Feyrith now. “What did you tell my daughter to make her bring you to me?”

Feyrith sneered. “You have no hope of victory, and your first step into this swamp ensured it. All your actions now can only mitigate the doom that hovers just behind you.”

There was a dramatic shrieking noise from the swamp behind them, which though not intentional nor controlled in any way, was timed incredibly dramatically. Grim, still thinking unobtrusive thoughts, almost smiled.

“Sire, perhaps he’s right,” the captain who’d escorted them in offered hesitantly. His reticence was uncharacteristic, though Grim was trying hard enough not to be recognized that he was mostly avoiding recognition too.

Wiclef looked furious, and went for his sword.

Feyrith stepped between them, which nearly gave Grim a heart attack. “You kill him, his corpse will stand back up and lunge for your throat,” he warned. “Every shadow that has come out of the marsh was a person who walked in here of their own free will, and none of them walked out. How many of you will join them?”

There was another uneasy shift, though whether it was about their king drawing a sword on their captain or Feyrith’s words was uncertain.

Hirsent blasted another ghoul.

“He was one of yours,” Feyrith said, nodding after the disintegrated shade. “Young, blonde, freckled, wearing the insignia of a private, and a pair of crooked spectacles. He died choking in the marsh, and the broken magic possessing him wants to drag as many of you in with him as possible.”

Some of the men were turning green, now, staring into the mist with fear in their faces and their weapons in their hands. Several of them had a look that suggested they might have known the young private with the glasses.

Wiclef, though, just backhanded Feyrith to the ground.

#jessewrites #but in our selves #nanowrimo

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fyodorkitkat · 9 months

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These are my basically unedited batshit notes about the diabolik lovers bsd AU I might never write but if I do I am so sorry 💀 I've only outlined what is going on with the DoA so far. Absolutely none of this will make sense if you haven't played the games because the anime doesn't explain shit and is basically fanservice. And yeah it is basically overlapping dialovers universe with bsd universe and abilities still exist but at least for the DoA there are some memory issues and willful trickery there because abilities are a convenient cover to hide other supernatural things...

Bram: from Makai. Vamp. Related to Karlheinz but lost his memories and thought he was an ability user. He doesn't turn vamps the normal way like he should he is basically using magic/his powers and not realizing he is doing it. This is also why his vamps are easily controlled by him and also kinda monstrous instead of being normal and in control of themselves. Mfer is using powers not actually putting humans through the awakening (which majority wouldn't survive anyways). The reason the sword is working on him is because he is essentially letting it and not realizing he can actually overcome it if he wanted to and regenerate his body. If the sword is removed though he will likely realize he can do this for himself.

Fyodor: First Blood/Founder. Went kinda off the rails during the Endzeit genocide which is why he has memory issues surrounding his origins and true nature. Like he isn't even for sure. He knows he is functionally immortal and inhuman in some way but he thinks it is connected to his ability. He is the first son of Menae (illegitimate heir sort of? Prior to Menae marrying Burai of the Vibora. Maybe raised as part of the Tsukunami household but as an adoptee? Like he knows his lineage but wasn't recognized as royalty) his frail constitution that acts up sometimes is just residual effects of Endzeit that like Carla he survived. (But maybe he is still dying super slowly too? Unless he learns his origins and goes back to Makai to that one area to be healed by the miasma and become Ghoul instead)

Nikolai: Vamp. Nobility but not royalty. Knows he is vamp. Doesn't care that he is vamp. Like he eschews Makai culture and the chains of obligations being in the upper echelon. Obsessed with Fyodor still but amused by his memory issues. He wouldn't have known everything that happened with the Founders given his position but he does know Fyodor is Founder but doesn't have the heart to tell him. He still makes subtle jokes here and there around it though hoping it might jog his memory so he can figure it out for himself. The overcoat is just a cursed item he bought from a shop in Makai and he is playing it off as an ability. He is hiding the fact that he is vamp from the other DoA and pretending to be an ability user.

Sigma: Adler. We don't know shit about the Adlers from canon material really but that works here because Sigma is Adler and what I say goes then. 1. They don't bite or feed of anyone. No fangs. 2. Can shape-shift into an eagle but retain the coloring of what their hair was in humanesque form. So yes half white half lavender eagle. Can use magic and power basically like Founders but also can just sprout their wings and fly (ofc one white one lavender). Sigma is a younger Adler and isn't very strong so they prefer weapons over using their powers or brute strength but they rarely have to fight. Only recently came to the human world from Makai. Recruited as a spy basically their mission is to keep tabs on various people that Karlheinz might target for his plans. The Adler clan is concerned with being aware of everything going on because they don't trust Karlheinz and want to see it coming if he is going to try to eradicate anyone. Does not have amnesia but is very good with their cover story so they have their "ability" but it is just them using basic ass powers any other clan can use against humans. Or against someone like Fyodor who had forgotten who he actually is.

Fukuchi: Human and thinks he is surrounded by other ability users. Same goals as before. But Fukuchi's plans are influenced by Socrates. Yes Karlheinz is still playing chess with Socrates in the room between time and space in this and Fukuchi is one of Socrates' pieces.

#if you read this ty ty that was sweet of you #diabolik lovers #dialovers #bsd

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sentientpaperbag · 1 year

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Also, Ghost?

Oh boy. Ok lemme explain Ghost, sorry, this is about to be a looooooooooong post lmao but this is my current fixation so:

Ghost is a band. A band with fictional characters, and kind of a story.

The frontman is currently Papa Emeritus IV, or Copia. He's my favorite:

this is him.

Before him, there were three other Papas:

This is the first Papa, or Primo as the fans call him. He debuted around 2010

He is a very grumpy, very old looking man. He was the frontman until the next Papa took over in 2012

This is Papa II, or Secondo:

This Papa has his fans, a lot of people do think he's hot. He is also an old looking, grumpy looking individual but he's also been seen without the corpse paint

He kinda looks like Pitbull.

Anyway, the next is Terzo. The third Papa.

He's apparently a few months younger than Secondo but he doesn't look it. Also I learned recently that he's like 4'9 to make of that what you will lmao. He was Papa from 2015 to 2017-18 when he was forcibly removed from stage. I think it was because he started to make it about himself instead of the cause (which since this is a Satanic band, they're trying to spread the word of Satan i guess??)

After that, the current Papa, Papa Emeritus IV or Copia, became Papa. But before he was that, he was Cardinal Copia, and he looked like this:

Now when I first found out about this band, I thought these were all different people, but it turned out, they're all the same guy, and you can kinda tell in some of the pictures that he's wearing a mask. He had several made for the different characters.

This is the man behind the mask, and the band, he's the singer and songwriter. His name's Tobias Forge:

He's a dude from Sweden who came up with this elaborate storyline and band and honestly it's super neat. He kept his real appearance hidden for a while but ultimately due to some drama he finally came forward. He seems like a really cool guy from what I've seen

FUN FACT: Today's his birthday actually :D

But back to the storyline of Ghost, so there's one other Papa aside from the four current frontmen, and he's actually NOT played by Tobias.

Papa Nihil:

Primo, Secondo, and Terzo are his sons (and it's heavily implied that Copia is his son as well)

He's kind of the head Papa of all Papas, kind of a more Pope-like Pope I guess? He's a very grumpy man who doesn't like Copia and really didn't like that Copia got to become Papa, despite Copia being a fun character that the fanbase has ended up loving tremendously.

Also Papa Nihil is dead. Sometimes at concerts they bring his "dead body" out and revive it so he can have a saxophone solo in the instrumental song Miasma.

Then there's Sister Imperator

this is her when she was young, she's older now obviously but they've changed her actress several times. Here's some of her different older looks:

She's basically the real brains behind the operation of the Ghost Project, and she and Papa Nihil were in a relationship when they were younger (however, he fucked that up by being a bit of a player)

It's heavily implied she's Copia's mother, hence why Nihil is implied to be his father. She is the reason Copia became Papa, it was her choice.

Other characters include the ghouls! The bandmates for concerts, they usually have masks covering their faces:

this is their current look. Very steampunk-y.

So TLDR: Ghost is a Satanic themed band made by a Swede who was super into metal growing up and made a whole fictional group of characters in the process. They have videos on their youtube that show Copia becoming Papa and stuff. They actually just released a new vid not too long ago that might be implying something is going to be happening to Papa IV soon, cuz the previous Papas were killed.

It's a lot of fun and I don't take it too seriously cuz it's clear they're having fun with this, and the fanbase seems really cool from what I've seen. I'm leaving a lot out but that's cuz there's just... so much. It's really cool tho I recommend them

Someone once said their music sometimes sounds like Scooby Doo chase music, and yeah... Yeah it does.

Some song recommendations!:

Cirice (spelled exactly like that. this song got them a grammy!)

Year Zero (very heavily Satanic inspired but good God the song goes hard)

Mary on a Cross (classic, "the Tiktok song", also the first song I heard by them)

Hunter's Moon (FUN FACT THIS SONG WAS USED IN THE END CREDITS FOR HALLOWEEN KILLS!)

Call Me Little Sunshine (this song is so good holy shit. It almost got a grammy)

Square Hammer (this one has such a cool music video to go along with it tbh)

there's more but I've made this post way too long as it is so I suggest doing some digging by looking at wikis. I'd say look around on tumblr but the Ghost fanbase is kinda horny for the Papas and ghouls so be careful (i'm not kidding the fanbase is very horny for the characters... To be fair, there's lots of sexual humor at the concerts coming directly from Papa Emeritus and the Nameless Ghouls)

oh one last thing!

Copia got to throw the first ball at an MLB game and it's really fucking funny to think about

#long post #ghost #the band ghost #rambling #I'M SORRY I KNOW I RAMBLED A BIT WITH THIS #BUT IT'S MY CURRENT FIXATION AND I'VE BEEN DYING TO TALK TO SOMEONE ABOUT IT #me being asexual liking a weird hypersexual satanic band is the most ironic thing to ever happen to me i think #then again i also like beetlejuice and he's also hypersexual so i mean #maybe it's just the humor #anyway copia is my favorite and everyone thinks he loves to care for rats #his papa makeup kinda looks like a rat skull #he's also super awkward and i love that about him tbh #so anyway I GUESS I'LL MAKE AN OC?!?!?!?

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pinkiepiebones · 2 years

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If you’re in a narrative mood, what would it be like for a new person who knows very little to interact with the Ghost clergy and/or ghouls? Maybe a new congregant coming to their first Satanic service, or someone is visiting a friend who’s a novitiate/initiate at the abbey? Maybe even an outsider who’s new to the crew visiting to load stuff up and talking with Spesh and Papa IV? The choice is yours! Long time fan, first time caller and I love your work! You’re awesome!

*in their best Cecil from Night Vale voice* Well, thank you for your kind words, dear caller. We do not in fact have a phone number for the station, nor a phone, as the Sheriff has recently outlawed phones due to their tendency to emit a thick, black sludge that screams about your car's extended warranty, but rest assured that I am truly touched by your praise.

*back to their normal voice* ANYWAY!

Mo was not new to the hauling game. He had been hauling since he was a child, loading up rocks his mother had dug out of the flower bed into his toy truck and driving it across the yard to add the rocks to the pile by the weather-worn fence. He was a big guy, always had been. He was a man of few words- 'just point him to the haul,' his coworkers would say, 'Mo can carry most anything all on his own and load a truck up right.' Mo would hear this and nod. Damn right.

But then a coworker fell ill and Mo had to take her place on a special assignment. He sat in the back of the team van as it followed the cargo truck up winding, narrow roads Mo had never seen before. The landscape shifted almost imperceptibly, becoming darker, with a miasma of choking fog reducing visibility. After what seemed like hours, a building appeared on the hazy horizon, all black and steeples. To Mo it looked as though they were driving into the open palm of some ancient, incredible beast, fingers scraping the sky.

"What is this," Mo asked as the team rolled out of the van.

The team knew what to do, so Mo just followed, trying not to be mesmerised by the alien plants or the mist or the people- they had to be people, right?- standing on the roofs of the steeples. He focused on the large, old barn that the truck had parked near. A door rolled up, revealing many black cases with silver latches, varying in heights and widths.

A scrawny young man in an old band shirt and black skinny jeans bounded out of the barn and around the team, greeting everyone, exchanging handshakes and hugs. It was cold out and Mo noticed that the youngster's breath wasn't visible. "Huh."

"Oh, you're a new face," the guy exclaimed cheerfully. He grinned wide, bright eyes almost glowing. "You're Mo, yeah? Gary said you're fillin' in an' asked if I'd fill you in, so-" The punk spread his thin arms. "What can I tell ya?"

Mo grunted. In most cases he'd mutter something about the furniture, or the crates, or whatever needed to be loaded into the truck. In this instance, for once, he let his team get started and spoke more than he had spoken in the past seven months.

"What's this place?"

The punk spun on the heel of his black Converse sneakers and gestured grandly to the imposing building across the foggy lawn. "This is the church! We, uh-" he spun around again- "we don't have any such 'official' name, so, simply, it is 'the church.'"

Mo nodded. "Church of what?"

"Of... Oh! Satan. Myup. worshippin' Satan in there."

Mo's eyes widened. He looked at the building, then his coworkers. Didn't seem to bother them. And, as he thought about it, it didn't particularly bother him, either. He had not been raised in any sort of religion and figured, hey, as long as you're not hurting anyone, pray to whatever. He nodded.

"What're we loading?"

The punk bounced over to the open door of the barn. "This is mostly the band's equipment- uh, drums, many drums, guitars, basses, keyboards, keytars, tambourines, one old saxophone..." As the punk listed the instruments he counted them off on his slender fingers and appeared to be looking at the case that contained each named instrument or sets of instruments. "And then there's the stage stuff, like pyros and confettis and and concussions..."

"Special, are you inhibiting our fine moving crew?" a soft but commanding voice called out

Mo turned his head slightly to see a man his brain told him was 'dashing.' Mo had never used that word before and briefly wondered where his brain had found the word. The man was tall and slender, wearing a tailored suit that looked as though a fashion designer had skinned a black dragon to create a suit a biker could wear to an art exhibition. The man's salt and pepper hair was swept back and his face was painted black and white, resembling a skull. He walked with an elegant cane and a confident stride. He was almost knocked over as the punk- was his named really 'Special'?- gave him a bear hug.

"You're finally up from the nap! And no, I was not inhibiting anyone." Special the punk gestured to Mo. "This is Mo, a new hauler, I was tryna give him the rundown of all of this." The man in the elegant biker suit gently shooed Special the punk away with black gloves with blue, claw-like nails at the ends of the fingers. He then stepped closer to Mo and offered one of those clawed hands to shake.

"My apologies, this must be quite overwhelming. I am Papa Emeritus the Fourth, current, hmm, let's call my position 'man in charge.'" He smiled in a way that was friendly and deadly, and Mo shook his clawed hand.

"Y'all going on tour?" Mo asked.

Papa Emeritus the Fourth, the man in charge, nodded and leaned on his cane. "It's been a long time coming, but yes, we're coming back to our wonderful fans." He looked at Mo and Mo noticed the man in charge's eyes were different colours.

"Have you any more questions, Mo, or shall we leave you to it?"

Mo cracked his neck and his knuckles.

"Leave me to it."

Mo trudged off to grab the heaviest objects he could find and get them safely into the cargo truck. Papa Emeritus the Fourth and Special the punk turned and began walking back to the church.

"Special, you really need to remember to bring the informative pamphlets with you next time we have newcomers on the grounds."

"Nah, I prefer chattin' 'em up. I'm a people person! Er, ghoul."

#microfics #spooky ideas #ghost bc #the band ghost #papa emeritus iv

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alittlewhump · 3 years

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Unbidden - Act 1, chapter 5

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Content warnings: None

Morgan awoke to the sound of humming. He stretched, groaning as his muscles protested. Evidently his choice of sleeping positions had not been ideal, but he'd been too tired to care when he'd settled in. The humming stopped, and Deckard Cain turned to him from where he had been tending a pot over a small fire nearby.

"Would you believe," he said, "that none of the Sisterhood would give me your name, friend? Such a strange thing."

He would believe it. He'd learned long ago that it was generally not worth the trouble to correct people once they'd decided what they wanted to call him. The strange thing here was how little Cain seemed to be troubled by his presence. He would enjoy it while it lasted.

"It's Morgan."

"Well, Morgan, we have much to discuss. But before we get started, let us eat. You must be famished after yesterday's events." He held out a bowl of steaming soup, which Morgan accepted gratefully. It was hot and filling, exactly what he hadn't realized he needed. He'd gotten cold overnight.

Morgan briefly summarized the request that had brought him here: to disturb the progress of the unidentified manifestation of darkness taking root in these lands. Cain filled in quite a lot of details while Morgan mainly listened, asking occasional questions for clarification. A great and ancient evil had come to light in Tristram, leading eventually to the tragedy that had befallen the city. Although a hero had been successful in defeating that evil, it seemed he had been unfortunately corrupted by the same. He had fled eastward, but to complicate matters, another powerful demon had arisen to trouble the area.

Cain suspected this new demon to be Andariel, the Maiden of Anguish. Quite a title. He shared what he knew about her: a venomous demon queen with the power to enthrall mortals unlucky or unwise enough to look her full in the eyes. Like most major demons, her power also manifested in a sort of influence that spread out from her like a miasma. By Cain's estimation, this would be apparent through increased emotional sensitivity in those affected, to complement the physical anguish she was capable of inflicting. That would be something to look out for; emotional regulation was the foundation that gave strength and clarity to the priests of Rathma. To have it disrupted would compromise his ability to act in the best interest of the Balance. Morgan would have to be careful about that.

He was enjoying the conversation, to his surprise. Cain had a vast wealth of knowledge and seemed eager to share it. He was explaining his interpretation of a particular prophecy when Blaise stalked up to them with a sour look on her face. She glared daggers at Morgan, crossing her arms.

"Good, you're awake. Come with me, we have work to do."

"We do?" He'd expected - hoped, if he was honest with himself - that her involvement would be finished after retrieving Cain. That was as far as Kashya had demanded it, anyway. "I thought you-"

"I thought this nightmare was over too, but I just finished arguing with Akara. One of our old commanders has risen from the dead to attack us, and she blames you." She looked back toward the gates. "I told her that's not how your stuff works, but she didn't believe me." That was a surprise - he would not have guessed she might speak up in his defense. He wondered what had changed. Maybe Cain had convinced her somehow. The man was good with words, with people, in a way Morgan knew he could never hope to echo. "So if you don't come with me to put her back in the ground, you're probably going to regret it," Blaise continued with a pointed look.

Well, Morgan couldn't argue with that. He stood and stretched, taking stock of his belongings as Cain pressed Blaise with questions. She bore them with more patience than he'd expected. One of the other scouts had survived the attack, but her recovery was not going well. It sounded like she'd been poisoned. A shame they hadn't kept the arrow; he might have been able to identify the toxin. But then again, if he tried to treat her and failed, they would be even less willing to trust him. If Cain was right, it would be a moot point anyway - he thought the resurrection was Andariel's doing, meaning that the poison was likely due to her influence. He had no experience with that type of venom.

"Oh, Morgan, I almost forgot," Cain called out as they were leaving. Morgan turned to see him holding something in an upraised hand. "You had better take another scroll of town portal, in case you should need to return with haste."

"Thank you." He accepted the proffered scroll with a small bow of his head, tucking it into his belt.

"Let's get a move on already," Blaise called. She had already started walking. Morgan jogged to catch up, already apprehensive about the journey ahead. Her mood had softened around the old scholar, but it seemed Morgan would not be privy to those benefits. He hoped this situation would be resolved quickly so he could begin planning his attack on Andariel.

The battle was over in short order. The reanimated rogue captain had called out to Blaise by name, which confirmed Cain's guess about her origins - only very powerful forces could resurrect both flesh and spirit. She must have been buried inexpertly, leaving her vulnerable to those malign forces. Most funeral proceedings not led by the Order of Rathma or other experienced practitioners were more for the benefit of the living than the dead. At any rate, it served only to fuel Blaise's already considerable anger, and she'd defeated the revenant with only a moment's hesitation. Several piles of earth were evidence of Morgan's attempts to provide support. Each golem was ever so slightly faster to rise than the last, but this enemy had been agile enough to render them all but useless until she'd stumbled over a previously flat spot of ground. Not an elegant solution, but effective enough in the end. Now Blaise was examining the body, brow furrowed.

"Hey. Ghoul... uh. Morgan." That was a surprise. Cain had called him by name in front of her, but he'd assumed she wouldn't be bothered to remember it. "If you do that... ceremony. Like in Tristram. Will it... help her?"

"The final rites will lay her spirit to rest, and consecration should prevent her from rising again." He'd planned on performing them anyway, as a matter of course. At the very least, they would prevent her from being wholly resurrected again - powerful magic could overcome a properly consecrated body, but it could not pluck a spirit back once it had passed on.

Blaise seemed reluctant to ask outright, but she did step in to help when he went to move the body back to the grave it had clearly clawed out of. He opted for a more thorough consecration ritual and a shorter liturgy, both of which seemed to be well received. Blaise didn't raise any objections, at least. The interment was easier than the last ones, the ground more yielding, but a frown crept onto Morgan's face as he stood up and surveyed his work.

"What are you making that face for? Didn't it work?"

"No, that's not it. Your commander is at peace now, but there are many restless dead here. It must be Andariel making them stir like this." He could barely hear their whispers at the edge of his awareness if he concentrated. It was a little unsettling; usually he could only just sense a hint of the spirit lingering on a set of bones, nothing near this strong. He lacked the natural facility with spirits that drew some of the acolytes to his Order. At any rate, their agitation was cause for concern.

"I don't have the supplies to handle this many."

"I guess we'd better take the fight to Andariel, then. Don't look so surprised," she added, folding her arms across her chest. "The Sisterhood doesn't want there to be a... demon queen or whatever just running loose. She's killing our people. And apparently bringing them back again, and that's just fucked up. I may not like you, but you're the only person who's come through lately and survived. So we might as well work together on this."

"Yes, of course. You're right." The suggestion was wholly unexpected, but sound. Their objectives aligned, at least on the surface. If that was enough for her to tolerate working with him a little longer, he wasn't about to turn down her assistance. She was many times stronger than him. Luckily, she seemed capable of putting aside her personal feelings temporarily in order to meet a goal. It was really about as favourable a partnership as he could hope to make.

Now seemed like an opportune time to present a peace offering of some sort. But given her previous overreaction to a completely innocent comment, he didn't really want to risk giving a gift that could be taken as a token of anything he didn't intend. Perhaps... knowledge? There had been few of his brethren in the Order who'd had trouble with the portal scrolls, but their difficulties had always been resolved with a little coaching. It seemed like it would be worth trying.

He plucked the scroll from Cain out of its spot on his belt and held it out to her. She eyed it suspiciously. "Here. These are useful. You should try it again."

"It isn't that far to go back, you know," she said, not making a move to take the rolled parchment.

"The object is to see if you can use it. Not to actually travel. You might need one in the future."

She snatched the scroll from his hands and unrolled it with a snap of her wrist. "I can't even read what it says," she grumbled.

"Neither can I," he said. She looked up from the parchment with a perplexed frown. "It's not words, it's more like a spell," he explained. The look on her face told him she was going to need more than that. "You just have to believe it's going to work. Try telling it that it's going to open a portal for you."

"You didn't have to tell it anything when you did it yesterday."

"I already know how it's going to work. I just have to... acknowledge that I expect it to let me travel somewhere, and think about where." It was much easier to do than to explain. "Just try," he urged. "You don't have to say it out loud," he added, in case that helped.

She looked back down at the scroll. Her lips moved a little, and shortly a small circle appeared in the air in front of her. Her eyebrows rose in surprise.

"See, it works for you. Now try to think about a specific place," Morgan advised. Slowly an image came into focus within the circle. It looked like the inside of a building. There were rows of beds lined up, presumably the barracks of the Sisterhood. Blaise looked cautiously pleased as the portal opened up fully now that it had a destination.

"I guess it's not so hard to use magic, is it?" she said with a smile. It was strange for a moment, having that smile aimed at him.

"Not this kind," Morgan agreed. There were many different types of magic and some of them were quite difficult to use even for experienced mages, but he suspected this would not be the time to get into a discussion on the topic.

"How do I close it?"

"It will close on its own when you come back through it, or if the spell is disrupted. Yesterday I tore the parchment to close it."

"Huh. Thanks."

Morgan nodded an acknowledgement and turned to go. The walk back would give him a chance to think about how to best approach the situation. Andariel was probably lurking within the nearby cathedral, if the patterns of undead were to be trusted. Demons often liked to pervert religious spaces, and major demons tended to draw flocks of lesser evils around them.

"Aren't you coming?" He turned back to see Blaise standing by the portal, hands on her hips.

"I'm walking. It isn't that far to go back," he parroted.

"This is easier, though. And faster."

"That looks like your sleeping quarters," he pointed out. "I doubt I would be welcome."

"Oh. Uh, yeah. Good point. I'll see you back outside the encampment, then." She turned and paused for a moment, then strode confidently through the portal. Morgan waited until it had flickered closed behind her before taking his leave. He would have preferred to be able to put more of the spirits to rest, but that could be seen to after Andariel had been defeated. There would be little point in wasting his energy on a task that was likely to be undone. He stopped at the cemetery gate and knelt, touching a hand to the soil. A thin line rose up, curling around itself in a simple sign. It marked the area as requiring the attention of a priest of Rathma. This way, if he was to fall in battle, the next of his Order to come along would be able to soothe the unquiet dead.

He raised another golem and started walking. With this new partnership, there could be a reasonably good chance of defeating Andariel. He wondered what state the cathedral would be in, and how many skeletons he might hope to find lying beneath its floors. He hoped there would be some stained glass still intact. Not for any strategic purpose, just because he liked it. It was his personal opinion, not endorsed by the priesthood, that artisans who spent their efforts on creating beautiful things were doing work for the Light. Of course beauty and skill did not appear in the list of attributes that added up to make the weight of a person's goodness or lack thereof, and it was really just idle musing on his part. Still, he appreciated beauty where he found it.

#my writing #story: unbidden

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miasmaghoul · 11 months

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As a resident Dew lover I am here for your Dew NSFW headcanons if you please <3

>:)

Switch, but usually bottoms. Topping is fun, but it tends to make him finish too soon. Doesn't play dom often, but enjoys every moment of it when he does.

Despite this, though, he never bottoms for his first time with someone.

Little dick, most of the others can fit the whole thing in their mouths with no trouble. Including his pudgy little knot.

Entirely too weak to having his neck and ears kissed/licked/otherwise mouthed at.

Obsessed with nipple play. OBSESSED.

Biter. Enough to draw blood, and he loves that too.

Loves marking and being marked. Wants evidence of every encounter, even if that sometimes means Swiss bruising his ass to the point where he can't sit for a few days.

L O V E S feeling shame and humiliation. Loves being broken down and treated like garbage.

Blames everyone else for his kinks ("Swiss made me like piss!" "Rain dressed me like a girl and now I'm into it!" "Mountain gave me a thing for feet!")

Massive size difference kink, likes feeling tiny despite how much he bitches about his height.

Speaking of, ELITE SIZE QUEEN.

The only one to have taken Mountain's knot (not counting Rain's jaw trick), and to regularly request DP. He loves being overwhelmed.

Bratty tendencies, but I don't personally hc him as whiny and obnoxious about it.

Mommy and daddy kinks

Edging forever and always. Also overstim. He likes to pretend he's had enough, but it's never enough.

Up for any position, but generally prefers being on all fours or bent over something. Eye contact is hard for him - Swiss likes to force it, but Aether gets as much as he likes.

Lost his "virginity" to Aether and developed A Thing about it.

Has different dynamics with everyone, very few people see the same side of Dew behind closed doors.

Don't tell anyone, but he would do literally anything Aether asked of him. The others all have points at which he bows out, but Aether? Dew can never say no to him.

VERY into dubcon. He likes to struggle, to feel scared and trapped. Adores when one of the others will let him give them the same treatment.

Breeding kink. BREEDING KINK.

Loves to choke, not super into being choked. Makes him nervous, and not in the way he likes. A hand on the throat to threaten or be possessive is fine, but he can do without the pressure.

Loves feeling used and objectified. The others play rock, paper, scissors on hotel nights when they're touring to see who gets Dew rights for the night. He grumbles about it, but always ends up chubby when someone argues that they want him instead. Like he's not even there.

If you pull his hair right when he's about to cum he screams. Every time.

#miasma has ghoul thoughts #dewdrop ghoul

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unnameablethings · 4 years

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Uxorious

(submitted this to Silk and Steel back in February - made it to the second round, didn’t make it in! so now all u lovely folks get to read it! Same universe as Toothed-Bird Grin, but wlw now. this one is also about 6.5k long, so, uh, hope the readmore works. I’ve put it up on AO3 so you can read it there if you want.)

The timing of the Earl of Tabiner’s call was rather inconvenient, considering the ghoul’s teeth were still embedded in the meat of Dell’s good sword-arm.

Under ordinary circumstances, Dell would readily greet him with every ounce of her good St. Catherine’s manners, but in this particular instance, her formidable self-possession was occupied with biting back a string of deeply unladylike language. With a great feat of strength, Dell set her feet in a square, sturdy position and wrenched the deuced ghoul’s jaws apart with her bare hands, arms trembling as she did so. The great lout of a lord stood with fastidious, scowling displeasure as she slammed the ghoul down into the open grave she had prepared for it, driving the sainted blade down through its heart to pin it there. It would be very polite of the ghoul to stop squirming so much when it was clearly downed, but, as with most ghouls, this one had no sense of decorum.

Nothing for it but to climb out of the grave and finish the job, and Dell gritted her teeth as she put weight on the injured arm, hauling herself and her sword up and out. The ghoul stayed put for the moment, which would be, hopefully, long enough. The lord’s foot tapped fretfully, his nose wrinkled in disgust. There was no avoiding him any further, it seemed.

“Good evening, my lord. To what do I owe the pleasure?” Dell inquired through gritted teeth, and wished for a bath and a change of clothes. Perhaps even a decent supper.

“I am in need of your… services,” said Lord Tabiner, with a frustrating lack of elaboration. I had assumed, Dell carefully did not say. She dusted a half-inch of soil off her thick, gray trousers, and unhooked a flint and steel from her belt.

“By all means, sir, make your request,” she said, and struck a few sparks into the grave. The corpse inside keened as it went up in a blaze far faster than any corpse should, crackling and moaning in the flames. Lord Tabiner’s face drained of color, acquiring the texture of sealing wax. This seemed like an appropriate admonishment for his unfortunate timing, so it was difficult to pity him.

“It is a delicate matter,” Lord Tabiner hedged. “One that must be handled… discreetly.”

“Well, if you’ll give me a moment, sir, I will gladly meet you in private to discuss.”

There had been a time when Dell had insisted upon a chaperone for these sorts of meetings, but she was twenty-eight, and had been working at this sort of thing for twelve years. She was clad in trousers and blood, for heavens’ sake, and a holy blade was sheathed at her hip. Eventually, the damage to one’s reputation was irreparable. And with Dell’s mannish shoulders, broad stature, pronounced nose and close-cropped hair, the unwanted attention of men had not been a concern for many years.

Lord Tabiner stood back as Dell finished with the ghoul, reburying it so that, when the ghoul’s poor widow came to see what had become of her husband, she would find him peacefully lain to rest at last. Another few coins toward Dell’s freedom.

And perhaps a few more, yet. Dell joined Lord Tabiner in his stuffy carriage, raising an eyebrow as he shut the door and drew the curtain like a man hunted.

“I have reason to believe,” said the whey-faced lord, “that a daemon has placed a spell of wantonness and seduction upon my wife. She pines for the daemon, and seems to dream of her. She has confessed the temptress visits as often as fortnightly.”

“St. Catherine’s will happily send someone to your estate to invoke a blessing against daemons, I am sure,” Dell said, and thought, rather uncharitably, that this was not something she particularly needed to be bothered for, nor was it urgent enough to preempt a chance to treat the wound that pained her at present. A daemon was a powerful creature, but their primary harm was in seducing good, God-fearing people into sin. Really more of a religious matter than one that Dell’s particular brand of violent intervention was suited for.

“I want you to deal with the daemon directly!” Lord Tabiner exclaimed, loudly enough that Dell’s eyes flashed in warning, fist tightening on the hilt of the blade laying across her lap. “I have had blessings placed left and right, and yet I am continually cuckolded in my own home by this unholy creature. If this gets out, my reputation will be in shambles.”

“I see,” said Dell, though if she had been frank with the man, daemon-slaying was somewhat beyond her ordinary purview. Dell considered herself a fairly straightforward woman, suited to the battling of ghouls and wyverns. “Straightforward” was the one thing daemons consistently were not.

Lord Tabiner coughed uncomfortably into his hand. “As it is so sensitive a request, I would appreciate your discretion, and would be willing, of course, to compensate you for the trouble of anonymity.”

“And what would be my compensation?” Dell inquired, intrigued. Perhaps she would come out of this with a tidy sum after all.

“How much is the remainder of your debt to St. Catherine’s?”

Dell blinked, feeling rather like she’d received a blow. “Come again?”

It was not an insignificant sum - she owed nearly two hundred pounds for the cost of her upbringing and training, still, which would be three years of income for even a well-to-do lady’s maid, and the income from doing battle against the cursed creatures riddling the country was largely eaten up by St. Catherine’s charges for maintaining the blessing on her blade, with sundry other costs.

“However much is still owed on your life, I will gladly pay it. In return for your utmost secrecy and your swift and effective action, of course.”

“I am not certain you know what you are saying, sir,” Dell said, weakly. “I still carry a debt of nearly two hundred pounds.”

Lord Tabiner sneered, emanating a miasma of condescension. “Is that all?” he asked. “My wife has gowns more costly. I will sign the contract here and now, if I will be rid of this nuisance.”

Dell’s traitorous heart was lifting already, thinking of her freedom - yes, she was a spinster already, and would never have a husband, but that was not a hardship. The unhappy visages of the women who had married to escape St. Catherine’s had thoroughly cemented in Dell’s mind that husbands seemed more trouble than they were worth. But to be able to make her own money and live in her own home and choose her own work - that was worth having to deal with a daemon.

“It will take me a day or two to acquire a contract through the proper channels, and I will need to speak to Lady Tabiner about her predicament, I’m afraid, but that is quite the offer, my lord.”

“Call upon my estate once you have the contract. I will ensure you receive the information you need.”

“Yes, sir,” Dell said, and was dismissed to go about her business.

Dell arrived at the Tabiner estate on that following Tuesday, as promised, with a St. Catherine’s signed contract in hand, dressed as respectably as was manageable. There was not much to be done about her hair or the scars or her unsightly complexion, but she had scraped herself into impeccable tidiness and a dress that had fit perfectly well when she was eighteen, but not so much anymore. It strained uncomfortably at the muscle of her arms, irritating the bandaged wound.

Immediately upon being admitted to the small, informal sitting room, it was clear that Lady Tabiner was beautiful, but her posture next to her husband was arched slightly away from him, collapsed into herself like a cowering dog. She looked for all the world like a terrified, scolded child, and the helpless anger that struck Dell was an old and familiar one. Dell had not assumed that a man like Lord Tabiner would be very forgiving of such rampant infidelity, but regardless of the poor gentlewoman’s sins, it was difficult for Dell to see a woman suffer and not long to come to her aid.

"Sir," Dell said, quietly, a greeting less polite than originally intended, and proffered the contract to Lord Tabiner. He signed it with barely a scan of the contents, which would be almost insulting, if it were not for the sheer amount of money. Dell was hardly going to complain if a wealthy man was less careful of his money than he should be. She almost wished she were planning to scam him, the wretched man.

“Thank you, sir,” Dell said, retrieving the contract. “Now, if I may speak to your wife in private, please?”

“Absolutely not,” Lord Tabiner puffed, chest swelling. He was a tall man, but Dell was a tall woman, and she did not flinch. She waited for him to finish, and then repeated herself.

“If I may speak to your wife in private, please?” she asked in the same neutral intonation. “Sensitive matters, you understand, of a feminine persuasion.”

Eventually, Lord Tabiner was convinced to vacate the premises, and left with a grumbling sense of simmering anger that left Lady Tabiner still and cold; Dell maneuvered to put her broad form between the lord and his wife until he was safely away. Only then did she sit down across from Lady Tabiner and fold her hands in her lap, sitting in polite silence to allow Lady Tabiner time to collect herself.

“You’re here about her,” Lady Tabiner said, finally. Her hands clenched in her skirt, her voice sharp with unguarded vulnerability. Dell found herself looking away from the raw intimacy of her expression.

“I am.”

“Does he-” She said the word in the exact opposite of the tone she had said her in, bitter and curdled, “-expect me to fall in line merely at the threat of a St. Catherine’s hunter of sin? You cannot hurt her. She is too strong, and I - I refuse to allow you.”

“Has she done something to deserve being hurt?” Dell asked, meeting her eyes. Lady Tabiner was the first to look away.

“No. Perhaps- No. She is not at fault. It was I who did the wrong, and perhaps I would have done it without her to ask me to.”

“Tell me,” Dell said, and Lady Tabiner heaved in a breath so deep her stays creaked. She was a tiny woman, but swollen with suffering. Dell leaned forward in an attempt to project understanding and gentleness - she was hardly a charismatic woman, strong and unbeautiful and often lacking tact, but she had found that other women tended to gravitate toward her. Lady Tabiner’s fine mouth trembled, and then she began to speak: rapidly and tripping over herself, her voice raw and choked. Dell let her speak, silent out of shock as much as respect.

“I never meant to betray my husband - I am not that kind of woman. I obey my vows, madam, it is important that you know. I should have remained a respectable wife and mother, it matters not how much I - how much he- I ought never have let any of this happen. I knew not what she was, at first. I met her in the gardens while on a promenade and all I knew then was that she was kind to me. She told me I was beautiful. She spoke to me like I was important, and I felt a kinship with her as is only possible to feel with another woman. And she was so lovely. She was perfect, with roses in her hair, and I felt as though the sun were out for the first time since- In the beginning, all I wanted was to see her again, to speak with her, to attain the sort of romantic friendship that women have in novels.

“And then a few nights later, I woke up and she was there. In my room. It had been a… difficult evening, with my lord Tabiner, and I was so glad to see her that I did not question as I ought. I assumed it was a dream, and I reached for her-” Lady Tabiner’s hand rose slightly, mimicking the motion, and her eyes were distant.

“She said my name. Her voice was like a concerto, and her eyes shone in the dark, and I realized what she was, and I did not care. I didn’t care. Not then.”

“What was she?” Dell asked, barely above a whisper. She was drawn in despite herself, could see the tragic circumstances, the beautiful seeming-salvation of the daemon offering comfort, as vividly as if she had lived it.

“You know what she is,” Lady Tabiner spat, and pressed her trembling lips together, staring hard at Dell’s shoulder, where she could not avoid her bandages showing above the collar of her dress. “A daemon. She called herself Uxorious. Perhaps she did bewitch me, because when I looked at her that night, I could not bear to look away. I am… ashamed of what I did that night. Of what I do, when she comes. But I can’t say I regret it. She makes me feel precious, and beloved, and beautiful. And- and safe. Just for a night, now and again. Perhaps that is the spell speaking.”

Dell felt herself react at learning of a name, though she did her best not to interrupt or startle her. The name itself was interesting - Uxorious, to love one’s wife overmuch, an ironic name for a daemon that seduced married women into adultery. It was also useful, as was a location where the daemon could presumably be found - either in the promenade gardens, or in Lady Tabiner’s bedroom at uncertain intervals. Best to check the gardens first, however, so as not to intrude upon a lady’s privacy.

It was difficult to blame the poor woman for seeking solace from the brute whose children she was forced to bear. It was equally difficult to ask the question that must be asked. “How did your husband find out?”

Lady Tabiner’s complexion turned a cold, washed-out grey.

“I was unwise. Lovestruck, one could say. I called her name in my sleep, I tried to draw her portrait, I wrote her name over and over. I was besotted with her, and I rejoiced too visibly in the mornings after her visits. My husband thought I was betraying him with a man of our acquaintance, at first, but he dragged the story out of me, eventually. He was… displeased, with my weakness, but better that it be a daemon than an ordinary man, for at least I was victim to a devilish temptation, and not an earthly one. A daemon’s bewitchment would mean it wasn’t entirely my fault. I… I do not know if I believe that Uxorious has treated me so cruelly as to bewitch me so, body and soul, or if I merely fell prey to ordinary temptation. I would… I would like to know. My husband certainly believes I have been bewitched - I suppose that is why he summoned you here.”

“Thank you for telling me that,” Dell said, with a tenderness and a sympathy she could not hide. Lady Tabiner’s dark eyes were wide and wet. “I will investigate whether or not there is a spell involved, and inform you of my findings.”

“Thank you,” Lady Tabiner said, and then slumped back in her seat and burst into tears.

Privately, Dell felt dread begin to brew. It seemed more and more likely there was no bewitchment, and that meant that when Dell did battle with the daemon and stopped her from visiting Lady Tabiner, there would be no breaking of the curse, no return to normal. Lady Tabiner would be forced to feel every ounce of misery in her right mind. It was cruel of the daemon to play such havoc with the woman’s tender feelings merely to feed on her eternal soul.

It would be easier for Dell to battle the daemon if she could ask around for more information, perhaps find others who had made Uxorious’ acquaintance, so to speak. In this particular instance, however, there was absolutely no way to inquire after that information without causing great offense. Nothing for it but to parade around a garden chanting a daemon’s name under her breath like a fool until the daemon got either intrigued or irritated enough to come and see what was happening. What a dignified excursion this would be.

It was hardly like Dell had any gowns fine enough to show off around the gardens anyway, so she did not bother with a gown at all. As a hunter of unholy creatures, she had some leeway when it came to crossdressing, and she took full advantage of it. Dressing in men’s garb gave Dell a queer feeling of comfort. She felt calmer and more confident, able to act with a man’s brashness and dispense with thoughts of beauty. While she appreciated the look of skirts on other women - there were gowns which truly took Dell’s breath away, on others - she felt only discomfort when wearing them herself.

She dressed in sturdy trousers, armed herself thoroughly, and strolled in the garden with the calm austere severity of a true woman of St. Catherine’s. None would publically call a St. Catherine’s hunter anything but respectable, however improper the manner of their garb and their work, so she gathered many odd looks but no comments as she wove between the finely adorned women and their gentlemen suitors, through the spiraling rose paths. Dell was not entirely certain what she was looking for, but she hoped she would know it when she saw it.

And, in the end, she did know the daemon when she saw her. The sunlight touched Uxorious’s braided hair like a lover, and her smile shone across her small, impish face. Her eyes were a brilliant green as she touched a woman’s arm, smiled up at her; her dress, green and brown and white in a confusion of embroidery and gems, was cut just barely within the restraints of modesty. All these could have been merely the mark of a beautiful woman, but the dazed, enraptured look on Uxorious’ companion’s face was difficult to mistake.

“Uxorious,” Dell murmured, too softly and distantly for a human woman to hear. Uxorious’ pretty head snapped up, and she turned to look with eager alacrity. Dell was expecting her to look nervous at the sight of a woman clearly demarcated as a hunter with cross and sword and trousers, but instead the daemon lit up with unholy glee. She whispered something to the woman she was speaking to that made her blush and smile, and abandoned her companion to glide over to Dell with a slinking grace. A single dark ringlet fell softly over her freckled cheek as she smiled up at Dell.

“Did you call for me, ma’am?”

Lady Tabiner’s description of Uxorious’ voice as reminiscent of a concerto was barely an exaggeration - it was truly musical, in the way of harps and flutes. The daemon was more diminutive than expected, however, barely reaching Dell's ribcage. She looked as delicate as a porcelain doll, and Dell felt an uncomfortable twinge of protectiveness that she knew was intentional on the daemon’s part, and yet seemed unavoidable.

“Lord Tabiner hired me to come and speak with you,” Dell said, stiffly, fighting the urge to soften. It was hardly as though Dell had never met a monster disguised as a beautiful woman before. She knew better than to give in to her weaknesses.

“Did he? Lord Tabiner? Whyever for?” the daemon asked, round-eyed.

“Oh, you are perfectly aware,” Dell snapped. The daemon looked innocuously uncomprehending, small, soft lips parting slightly. Dell fumbled for words that were not entirely inappropriate for a public setting. “You know,” she said again, and the daemon’s innocent face cracked into the most self-aggrandizing smirk that Dell had ever seen. Lord above, this would be an uncomfortable conversation.

“Are you here to kill me, ma’am?” Uxorious asked, easy and smiling. “Or do you prefer sir? I suppose you may make the attempt, though I must warn you, it is unwise.”

“No, not to kill you,” Dell said. “Not unless I have to. But what you’ve done to poor Lady Tabiner - I am here to make you undo it.”

“I’m afraid Aurelia has been quite thoroughly done, so to speak,” Uxorious said, and seems to feel the opposite of remorse. “Is it my fault, when women cannot resist my charms?”

“She is miserable,” Dell said, quietly.

Uxorious stilled. Her voice seemed a decade older when she spoke next. “Perhaps this would be better suited as a private conversation?”

Dell became aware of the curious passersby, never quite rude enough to eavesdrop, but certainly wondering what sort of scandal was brewing when a well-armed St. Catherine’s hunter was conversing with a beautiful stranger.

“And where would you prefer to have it?” Dell asked.

“I have a place,” Uxorious said, and proffered a small, elegant hand.

Dell narrowed her eyes. “You want me to enter a circle of Hell of my own volition?”

Uxorious smiled. More than ever, her beautiful form seemed like the lure disguising a hook, and Dell did not care to bite like an unwitting trout. “On my blood and power, you will come to no harm within my domain, and you will be freed into the world before the sun sets tonight.”

Dell thought over the wording, and then said, “Freed specifically back into these gardens, and I will have your word that no more time shall pass inside your domain than outside it.”

“Freed into the Promenade Gardens, right where I found you, and you will experience no more time than is truly passing,” Uxorious confirmed.

This seemed acceptable, and Dell hardly wanted to have this conversation in the middle of a public garden, so she inclined her head and offered Uxorious her arm. Uxorious slipped a hand into the crook of Dell’s elbow as though they were intimate friends, and pulled her through an archway. The effect was odd - she did not reappear on the other side of the archway, but went through it into emptiness, as though the garden on the other side were an illusion. There was little time to puzzle over it, however, before Dell was through the archway as well, and into Hell.

Hell did not look like Dell expected. Of course it did not, this was a daemon’s domain, not the torment-chambers of sinners. Yet Dell had expected some reminder of its location. Instead, she found herself in another garden, this one forest-like and untamed. The trees were enormous, some bearing fruit and others blossoms, a heady mix of scents filling the air. Blackberry thickets cluttered the undergrowth, and the floor of the forest-garden bore plants that Dell recognized as poisons side by side with strawberries and sunflowers.

It was all so wild and earthy and green that Dell could not help but look around in awed admiration. It suited Uxorious, who reclined in the crook of a low, sturdy apple-branch with the comfort of one who sat there often.

“Now. What was it you wished to speak to me about?” Uxorious asked.

“About Lady Tabiner,” Dell said.

At the reminder of Lady Tabiner, Dell felt her soft, sun-warmed awe harden back into cool resolve, and her shoulders straighten, hard and cold. She clasped her hands behind her back, drawing herself up to every inch of her full stature. Yes. She was here on behalf of the sorely wounded Lady Tabiner, and she could do battle for the lady, even if the spirit quailed at the thought of battling a woman on behalf of the lord. Uxorious’ only response was to languidly lay a cheek against the trunk of the apple tree and casually kick off her shoes, one, two, letting them hit the clover beneath with a thump.

Now her feet and calves were bare, dirt-smudged and scandalous. She should have had a petticoat, stockings, should not have had so much sun-gold skin on display and such a casual air. It was hardly as if Uxorious were not aware of what she was doing. Of what she had done to Lady Tabiner.

“I’m not the reason she’s miserable,” Uxorious said, sharply. Dell’s eyes jerked guiltily back up from her hemline to meet her eyes. The green of Uxorious’ eyes seemed to have deepened unnaturally, and her jaw was set in a cold rage. Dell could not blame her. The brute of a man that Lady Tabiner - and now Dell herself - were beholden to for their livelihoods was prone to inspiring such emotion.

“And yet she is,” Dell said, “She thinks you bewitched her. She begged me not to kill you, and she wept.”

“Is it bewitchment to provide a miserable woman with a moment of light?” Uxorious said, and began to let down her hair, neatly picking out dark pins and combing it out with her fingers, strand by strand. Dell looked away. It felt like a sin of some indefinable sort to watch. “If she must be with him, is it not a gift to allow her some affection now and again, at least?”

“But did you bewitch her? Or do you linger simply because you are so memorable?”

“I think you underestimate how memorable I am,” Uxorious laughed. Her teeth were blinding white, and oddly sharp behind her rose-petal lips. Dell scowled at her, folding her arms tighter, but a blush tipped her ears with heat that she couldn’t suppress.

“She betrayed her marriage vows,” Dell snapped. “That is not behavior for her to take pride in, and you ought not take pride in tricking her into it. She is ashamed.”

“A sham of a marriage, and sham-vows.” Uxorious shrugged, elegantly. Dark hair fell around her face in a curtain of curls, all of her pins vanished. “He vowed to love and to cherish, and he has done none of that.”

“Would it stop you, if he had?” Dell asked, disgusted.

“Who knows?” The daemon seemed unconcerned. “The promises of humans to deny themselves their indulgences has never meant much to me. Why shouldn’t a woman be allowed to take pleasure in the arms of whomever she likes? I am happy to bestow my gifts upon the unhappy married and unmarried alike.”

“Gifts?” Dell frowned. “I thought you just seduced them.”

She realized how hopelessly naive she sounded when Uxorious started, and then tossed her head back to laugh in a gleeful, uproarious peal. Her teeth have changed, two long incisors jutting out like fangs, and her laughing mouth opened wider than it should. Dell flushed, dully.

“Oh, my dear,” Uxorious said, when she finished laughing. “Am I not a gift in myself?”

Dell said nothing, flustered and guarded. She felt herself a fool, and Uxorious’ beautiful, vulnerable delicacy concealed a razor wit that set Dell quite at odds. The sinuous line of Uxorious’ body and the glittering sharp of her eyes and teeth made Dell think of a serpent, jewel-bright and venomous. For the first time, she put a hand on the hilt of her sainted blade.

“Don’t draw that blade, hunter, not in my place,” Uxorious said, with the same lilting, careless tone. Dell neither drew the sword nor removed her hand from the hilt, challenging.

“You speak of your attentions as gifts, but I doubt there is any charity involved,” Dell said. Uxorious drew her knees up under her skirt, shifting to reclining sideways on the apple branch.

“Of course I get something from them,” she said. “But it is a more than fair exchange, I feel.”

“You feed on their immortal souls and call that a fair exchange?”

“No need to be so dramatic.” The ‘s’ in ‘so’ is sibilant, hissing. “I take nothing they cannot regenerate with time, and I make very sure there is no pain. They all agree to it, in the end.”

“Because you trick them and seduce them,” Dell argued, but the smell of the garden was heady and Uxorious’s half-hooded eyes were heavy on her, and she suddenly found it quite easy to understand how someone could lose all track of their vows and the integrity of their soul under such a look. Uxorious’s dress seemed to be getting tighter, conforming to the shape of her, and the shape was odd. Not quite a woman’s, and then very much not a woman’s at all.

“Why are you here, Dell?” Uxorious asked, instead of answering the accusation. By now she was a serpent in the apple tree, her skirted legs melded into a sinuous length that looped and coiled. Her dress was melted into her skin, birch bark and leaves and scales covering her elegant form, a mix of plant and serpent. Beautiful and terrible, strange and lovely.

After too long a look, much too long a pause, Dell said, “I am here to make sure you don’t bother the Tabiners anymore.”

“And if I say no?”

“No?”

“If I say I will go back to the Tabiners as I wish, and draw Aurelia Tabiner into my bed whenever she consents to be taken? If I follow my own will and take my lovers without care for the constraints of your congregation?”

“Then I will do as I must.” Reluctantly, Dell drew her sainted blade.

Uxorious hissed as the blessing-inscribed steel was bared, and the sound struck a bolt of fear into Dell’s chest. Uxorious was so small, in her mortal disguise, so harmless and round-faced and big-eyed, and now as she approached her coils seemed to surround Dell entirely. The smell of apples and herbs and summer was strong enough to choke, the glimmering green of her eyes hypnotic and her mouth red enough that it hurt to look at. The world seemed to bend around her as her long, ophidian body curled and wove. The daemon was so beautiful, so much, that Dell felt tears stream from her eyes without her permission, that she wanted to kneel, but she locked her knees and her spine and held her blade firm.

“Put that away, Dell,” Uxorious ordered, softly.

“I have my orders,” Dell said, and her voice barely escaped her lips, rough and strangled. Her hands were strong, though her shoulder pained her at the strain, and she had killed more frightening things than this with her rough and bloodied hands. “I have no choice. Surrender, or do battle.”

“You always have a choice.”

Dell’s hands shook, arguments rising to her lips and then dying there. She struggled with the emotion for a long, furious moment, silent as the daemon watched.

“Well?” Uxorious prodded.

Dell’s voice rose to nearly a shout as the words escaped at last, different words than she had planned. “I am not free to make them! The nunnery owns me, and I must do as I am bid until I can purchase my freedom. Do you think I want this?”

Uxorious’ small, exquisite face was close enough to Dell that her warm breath brushed Dell’s cheek. Her eyes were bottomless pools of green, and up close, the scales on her body were revealed to be leaves and blossoms, bark and bone and small, glittering gemstones. There were delicate vines mingled with the waterfall of her dark hair.

The myth of adders hypnotizing their prey came to mind, and Dell kept the blade up between them, the scant few inches of blade-width and the sharp of the edges all that separated them. Uxorious, languid, laid her cheek against the flat of it, and though the burning glow of the saint-markings must have hurt, she betrayed no sign of pain.

“You do not need to pay,” she murmured, “for the crime of being born. Children are owed care, and you ought to have incurred no debt for it.”

“The church disagrees,” Dell said, though Uxorious’ words hurt more than if she had dug her claws into Dell’s wound. The sword was pressed so close to the curve of Uxorious’ throat that the scattered petals there bent around the edge. The sword was not so sharp as to cut with just a touch, but if Dell moved to raise her blade, the friction would slash those white petals in twain. She did not allow it to move, even with Uxorious’ slight weight leaned against it.

“The church disagrees with me on nearly everything, and I am right about all of it,” Uxorious said, with a glittering smile. A strangled laugh burst from Dell’s throat, and hurt as it did.

“There,” Uxorious said, and her tone had dropped all malice or conceit, merely gentle now. She delicately touched a cheek Dell had not realized was wet. “There’s a smile, lovely.”

Dell froze at the touch, terrified and wanting to lean into it all at once. The steel between them was not enough of a barrier, and yet was far too much of one. Uxorious’ hand was warm, and felt less like skin than like new leaves. Thorn-claws prickled at Dell’s skin. She was so near.

“Free yourself,” Uxorious breathed, and rubbed her cheek along the steel flat of the sword in a way that made it even harder to think. “They will never let you repay the debt - they cannot afford to let a warrior like you leave. They will only find ever more reason to keep you. Come away, and make your own choices, freely, as your strong soul dictates.”

“They’ll find me, if I run,” Dell said, bleakly.

“Then run away with me.”

Dell flinched back, violently, and Uxorious let her go, though she felt herself come up against the sun-warmed wood of Uxorious’ thick tail. Her arms trembled, her shoulder aching so badly she could hardly move it, and she dropped the sword to one side to look at Uxorious better. A tiny cut on the curve of her jaw dripped liquid gold.

“What?”

“You heard me.”

“Why?” Dell begged.

“You’re magnificent,” Uxorious said, and her coils tightened slightly, brushing against Dell’s calves, bringing her body a little closer. The sword was no longer between them, and Uxorious’ scaled chest brushed Dell’s. “The church would like to keep you because you serve them well and obediently. I would like to keep you because you are handsome, interesting, strong. You are the sort of woman who puts men to shame.”

“Do you make this offer to all of the women you seduce?” Dell said, almost laughing. The heat in her cheeks was unaccountable and embarrassing, and almost certainly obvious to Uxorious’ close, gleaming gaze.

“Some of them. Often they deny me.”

Dell was so warm, pinned against the daemon, sun and earth and sweetness. She could hardly move her sword hand, trapped in the daemon’s coils, and if this was a plot to disarm and destroy her, then it was remarkably effective.

“I refuse to make myself into anyone’s servant,” she warned.

“You are free to come and go as you please, and do as you wish,” Uxorious promised. “Only be strong and brave and kind, as you are, and allow me to admire you.”

“And where are the teeth in this trap?” Dell challenged. “It is a very pretty lure, but there must be a hook underneath.”

“No teeth. No hook. I am taking a gamble.” Uxorious’ body rippled, brushing up against Dell, and she swayed, intoxicated.

“What do you mean by gamble?”

“You have a magnificent soul,” Uxorious said. “Strong and warm and sweet. The gamble I am making is this: I think you will let me taste it-” At this, her tongue flicked out, delicate and forked, scenting the air a hair’s breadth from Dell’s face. “-and that it will be even sweeter with the taste of freedom, and the space to grow to your full strength.”

“Lord above,” Dell said, faintly. “You’re very presumptuous.”

“Allow me to presume a little more?” Uxorious’ intention was clear, her mouth angled toward Dell’s, murmuring so quiet and close that their lips almost brushed with every word.

“Please,” Dell said, barely breathing. Uxorious laughed, and kissed her. Quite thoroughly.

Her mouth was soft, the kiss sharp and bright. It felt like Dell had never been touched before this moment, and she abruptly felt desperate for more of it, to be kissed and kissed and kissed. Dell fisted a hand into the daemon’s long hair, careful not to crush the fine stems entwined there, and kissed back, at first with more fervor than skill, but learning how to kiss more gently as the movements of Uxorious’ mouth taught her.

This was a remarkably persuasive argument as to the goodness of Uxorious’ ideas, and Dell lost her objections for a considerable amount of time, dazed and adoring. But eventually she pulled away for long enough to have thoughts again, her mouth feeling odd as she looked into Uxorious’ half-hooded eyes.

“Well,” Dell said, with a sense of almost hysterical humor. “If I am to run away and let the church go hang, something needs to be done about Lady Tabiner.”

“I bring her happiness, when I can, but she will not ever leave the Tabiner estate when her child and her family will be left behind with it,” Uxorious said, and her body rippled in a way that made the wood of it clatter and rattle.

“Then something must be done about Lord Tabiner.”

Uxorious smiled a slow, ophidian smile. “I am no warrior, but do you have any ideas, my strong knight?”

“A few,” Dell said, darkly. Uxorious laid her head against Dell’s chest, a soft weight, and Dell daringly petted her hair, momentarily distracted from her anger. “But my thoughts are not the most important to consider, I believe.”

“Agreed. Perhaps we ought to ask the lady herself?”

“Perhaps we ought.”

The door did not open, that night, onto sunset in the Promenade Gardens. It opened, instead, into a darkened bedroom. The conversation was brief, and Lady Tabiner’s desires were clear.

The Earl of Tabiner, the rumors said, had fled in the night, to parts unknown. He left behind his fortune, his only son, and his wife. It was agreed by all that his wife was to be pitied, so noble and brave in the face of the loss, and that the Earl was quite the cad. There were no rumors about the St. Catherine’s hunter who had vanished from the ranks - casualties were not uncommon, and the church disliked gossip.

Lady Tabiner’s smile, these days, was remarked upon as brilliant.

#original #my writing #original fiction #short fiction #f/f #silk and steel #butch #femme #lesbian #wlw

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iamthecomet · 5 months

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Comet my dear, do you have any aethshine thoughts you would like to share? I am Thinking about them and thought, perhaps, you would like to as well. 😌

Dearest Miasma, I'm sure I can conjure up some thoughts (I am plagued with thoughts). 650ish words of Aether/Sunshine musings. Not quite ficlet, definitely not just headcanons. Some angst (of the missing their packmates variety). More smut. They just love each other a lot ok!? Transfem Sunny because I said so.

With the rest of the pack gone, the ghoul wing is eerie. Sunshine's never seen it like this. Impossibly quiet. So many doors shut, rooms sealed off. Sure if she wanted to she could open Cirrus' door, slip in. Bury her face in the the blankets and pillows and clothes left behind. She could sleep in a different empty bed every night. Drift off to the smell of her missing packmates. She doesn't though, doesn't have to. Aether's with her. Noise carries differently when they're the only two in this part of the Abbey. Like a room with all the furniture moved out. The television drones, and she can hear it down the hall. Distant mumbling. When Aether's in his room, playing guitar, humming a tune she can hear him like he's next to her. They spend a lot of time together. Neither of them talk about it, but the emptiness of their home has seeped into the chambers of their hearts too. Bittersweet and aching with each video call where Cumulus pans the phone around so Sunshine can see the Eifle Tower lit up against the sky. Or when she can hear Aether and Dew talking through the walls. Dew's voice terse as he complains about everything except what's really bothering him. Sunshine slips into Aether's room once she's sure he's off the phone. Once they've both exchanged their good nights with their pack, halfway across the world. Sometimes they talk. Curled up together on Aether's big bed. TV on some show they've seen a hundred times. Voices hushed like there is someone they might wake up. Sometimes, Aether pulls her close. Kisses the breath from her lungs. Hands sunk into her curls as he holds her where he needs her. Thumbs pressed against the base of her horns, tongue sweeping over her teeth. She's glad it's Aether. Has been since they both announced their retirement independently of each other. Grateful not to be alone and glad it's him. Steady, devoted, Aether. Who only has to look at her to understand. Who will sit with her at the piano in their empty rehersal room and sing. Who lets her tag along on his infirmary shifts when she can't sleep. Aether who has good book reccomendations and makes sure Sunshine never gets bored enough to really feel how much she misses everyone else.

Aether, who knows exactly how to touch her to shut her mind off. Who holds her with confidence, knows she won't break as he presses her down into the mattress. Slips one hand into the waistband of her leggings and another up, under he crop top to cup a small breast in his giant hand. calloused fingers dragging over a pebbling nipple. Aether feels like home when he touches her. Even when it's rough and desperate. Even when he has both of their cocks in his fist, dragging the heads together, making her vision fuzzy at the edges. Even when he's three fingers deep inside of her, scissoring her open, pressing against spots that make her feel like she's going to cave in on herself.

Pleasure bowls over her, over and over again. His teeth pressed to her pulse. Breath huffed out in sharp pants over her sweat slick skin. Pressing in as deep as he can go, making her feel the way he carves out a place inside of her, his hand pressed firm over hers on her belly so she can feel him fucking her. There is no difference between this and the times when they move slower. When Aether presses his mouth to every inch of exposed skin on her body. When she does the same, grazing teeth over the swell of his belly, the cushion of his thighs. When I love yous are whispered freely. Either way, when she cums under Aether's gaze, it feels like going home.

#comet writes #miasma ♥#ficlet #ish #Aether Ghoul #Sunshine Ghoulette #Aether/Sunshine #I could talk about them forever #but this is going to have to be good enough for now #ghost fic #ghost fanfic #ghost headcanons #nameless ghoul headcanons #ghost band fic #ghost band fanfiction #I don't know man the metaphors and flowery poetry language really just got away from me tonight

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haresisxdea · 4 years

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I’ve seen a lot of pictures and videos about yesterday’s concert that the fans posted and OMG I’M STILL SHOCKED!! 😍 I’ll make a short list about my thoughts:

• Papa Emeritus IV looks so regal with that blue papal robe (which is so excellently detailed!)

• Let’s be honest, I’ll miss Cardi. He has a special place in my heart.

• BUT he still has his mustache under the skull paint, THANK YOU 🙏

• Ghouls and Ghoulettes were amazing as usual! 🖤 My love for them is unexplainable. Hope they won’t change or I’ll be forever mad at TF

• R.I.P Papa Nihil (but does this mean miasma won’t be played anymore?)

• DRACOPIA WITH SKULL PAINT

• I SAID DRACOPIA WITH SKULL PAINT

• They played Con Clavi Con Dio, I FEEL BLESSED

• Just a MASSIVE THANK YOU for this band that makes me feel so many positive emotions 🖤🌹

And, after all, even if I wasn’t ready to say goodbye to Prequelle era (which is the one that got me into Ghost and literally saved my life), I am so excited for what’s coming next!

HAIL GHOST 🤘

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alchemization · 4 years

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“Stretch your legs, Silas.”

Her words still echo in his mind; an open invitation to do what he so often wished he could on any other given day. Yet, it seems as though today was meant to be that day. From the princely comfort of his bed did he rise, scarcely clothed in loose fitting pants and an even more loose nightshirt. The fickle violet flames that denoted Akamoth’s coherency lit up with his awakening, and thus did the apothecary’s compatriot float from its pillow. A scarce whisper was let loose unto the air, breaking the silence that Silas otherwise found comfort in. He sighed, immediately in fact, for it was far too early to endure the moaning and groaning of his friend.

“You have prepared your things, all of them in fact. It is strange, there is much you must carry... How do you plan to do it? Where will we... Ahhh.” Akamoth’s words ebbed away into his realization, that same breath returning once more to lend life to his words again. “You are going to go see her, aren’t you?” The companion questioned, though it seemed more hypothetical than anything else, Akamoth already knew the answer.

A proper rub was given to Silas’ eyes by his own hands, removing any remnants of crust that still encroached upon his vision. With the creaking of the bed left in his wake, he rose and ventured over to the trio of hangers that kept his suit away from everything else in the room. Piece by spotless piece was it adorned, as he replied in earnest to Akamoth. “I am going to see many things, it is not just her. I will likely see the friend we just made last night there, or perhaps we shall make new ones. Why do you fixate upon her and her alone?”

“Because you fixate upon her and her alone, you fool.” Akamoth gloatingly replied, drifting over to the nearby window to peer outside at all those that still patrolled the streets. It was a pitiful sight as they all scrambled to face a threat, one that they should’ve already knew was coming. So easily were Stormwind’s walls infiltrated by the undead, and still they did not close any of the gates leading to the city. It was mind boggling to Akamoth, that much was clear when he scoffed and ventured away before he could be seen.

Silas did not deem Akamoth’s words worthy of a response, as the last piece of his ensemble was placed upon him; his overcoat. A myriad of pockets housed many an important piece that made up the entirety of the apothecary’s utility, he had no intentions to go anywhere without it. In the passing moments of silence that now harbored between them, he did at least mull over Akamoth’s words. He had, by no means, fixated upon her, but business was business, it was only natural that they’d run into one another if they both haunted the same grounds.

Nevertheless, today was the day that he’d travel to Kestramere, to provide aid to those that would have need of him. Be it with potions or otherwise. And as he ventured outside, he realized he’d have to make multiple trips from his room to the horse that he had waiting for him outside. When at last all of his belongings were prepared, and the horse was assuredly not overburdened, he mounted the creature and set out against the warnings of numerous argent crusaders.

Seconds turned to minute, and minutes turned to hours as he made his way through the forest of Elwynn, nary a single soul deeming it fit to question or approach him. Everyone was keeping to themselves now, prioritizing their own safety over any semblance of do-goodery. Even the bandits that often roamed around were quelled, holed up in their shacks of filth and deplorability as they wait for their moment to strike like fleas on a hound’s back.

Trekking into the cursed forest of Duskwood, he wasn’t far away from the Grand Hamlet now known as Darkshire, and it was there that he’d be given a moment of rest surely. Unfortunately for him, such an option would not be something he’d be faced with. The undead that were already present here in the forest were only whipped into a maddened frenzy, in the wake of what had happened. Those that still sought to control the hordes that now roamed from their old haunts, they too were scattered throughout the land, biding their time, harvesting the fresh corpses of anyone that made the mistake of straying too far.

The horse that Silas rode upon began to fret, huffing louder as it neared on the brink of a whinny. Something was upsetting the beast, thus his violet eyes scanned the nearby tree line for anything that might descend upon the unsuspecting lone traveler upon the road; him. When at first a single set of eyes were spotted staring back at him, complete with an unholy glow, he thought that it would be easily dispatched. The reality that dawned upon him came when the strips of sinew hung from their jagged, bloodied maws. A plethora of freshly turned ghouls were now present, teeming just over the small ridge. Up ahead, he spotted the remnants of a caravan, one that was likely meant to bring relief and supplies to those in Darkshire. It was a terrible fate, and it was now one that vexed him.

“Both of you, be ready. We cannot afford to show ourselves yet, we are too close to the border and to the town. Someone will definitely come to help us if we stay, and there are too many to simply hold back as we wait for such.” Silas instructed.

“So you’re going to run.” Akamoth astutely chastised, but remained concealed.

“We’re going to make our way to Kestramere, either with or without this pack chasing us down. If we can get to Kestramere, we can deal with them as we see fit. Any witnesses can be handled accordingly, and if it is not until we see the gates and guardsmen themselves, then so be it. I will not become fodder for the hungering tide this day. I refuse.” Silas replied, his tone holding a semblance of urgency as he snapped his instructions towards Akamoth, and the other entity that still traveled with the two of them.

Off of the beaten path did Silas go, his steed galloping through the trees as the horrible, hideous cries of the living dead chased after him. Their speed wasn’t something to underestimated, and their heckling gargles attracted the attention of others that sought their next meal. More and more of them had begun to chase after the horse itself, Silas was merely just an appetizer to the true course. Thus it was away from Darkshire, and any semblance of civilization that they were led.

Trees blurred past him like reeds of grass to an arrow, steering his horse clear of any terrain too dangerous to go over. He could ear the roar of blood rushing through his ears as his heart pumped with adrenaline, and his breathing grew heavy. “Behind you!” Akamoth hissed, keeping Silas aware of any creature that got too close for their own good.

Backwards did his right hand swing, his head turning just briefly to locate the ghoul that was hounding upon their heels, dirt kicking up into its face from the hooves of the horse that dug into the ground to gain traction. An incantation was spoken aloud, there was no time for secrecy here, nor in this moment. “Nyx vos-internum expul!” A jettison of black magic coalesced shot forth like a miasma at the ghoul, and did nothing outright, but a moment later is when its body violently convulsed. Ribs cracking and decaying organs bursting as it fell to the ground, the entirety of his form becoming twisted and malformed as a virulent curse ate away from the inside out.

There was no time, they would catch up to him eventually, his horse could not run forever. They were close though, Kestramere would not be much farther and it was there that he could obtain the help that he needed. He just had to hold out a bit longer, but already had his horse begun to protest, head shaking in retaliation of the reins that sought to direct the steed. Each breath that the creature sputtered was heavy, heavier than it should’ve been, and it was then that he knew that the beast might not complete the journey.

There it was though, Kestramere, and the guards out front that saw the rapidly approaching rider and the combined force of two packs of ghouls chasing after him, being led directly towards Kestramere. Curses were sputtered and some variation of an alarm was sounded, be it a bell or something else, the guards themselves were brought to bear, and downwards did their pikes prepare themselves to defend Kestramere after the stranger got inside.

With the arrival of their weapons though, Silas’ horse skidded to a halt, or at least attempted to, and with its overworked condition, it was unable to keep itself upright any further and promptly tumbled to the ground. Thus it was into the dirt that the apothecary was cast, mud clinging to his side as he pushed himself up and out of the dirt. Horror struck his face as he looked down at the filth upon him, the sheer audacity that the earth itself had to stain his clothes; HIS CLOTHES. The amethyst gaze lifted to the guards, a piercing glow illuminating his eyes as his attention turned unto the mob of ghouls that were about to descend upon him.

“Vio-igni’axi expul eradi!”

None truly know what happened then, as the two guards that were the lone witnesses refused to speak to anyone about what truly transpired. Though the report they gave to those that would have the authority to know would be told thus: “Whatever it did, whatever -he- did, it wasn’t natural. People shouldn’t be able to do that, they just shouldn’t. He said he was just an apothecary, and that he was here to help, but... But how can help us? Like he helped those ghouls? No... No! Please, I don’t want to be stationed at the gate anymore. Put me on the wall, put me on the latrine, I don’t care, please... Just... And then the words- those words he spoke after it happened. It has shaken my faith, my belief in what I’m doing.. He said - No, -they- said... The voices... There were three voices.”

“Take me to Annalise.” “Take me to Annalise.” “Take me to Annalise.”

( Mentions: @annaliseharlowe )

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brandonkbills · 4 years

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Ghost concert on Acid

Back in September a friend of mine introduced me to Ghost, showed me some of their more popular songs and music videos and my fancy you could definitely say was tickled. I was instantly drawn to the costumes and the theatricality of them. I’d continue to listen to their more popular songs like Square Hammer, Cirice, Rats, Dance Macabre etc.

He invited me to come see them with him on their Ultimate Tour Named Death in SLC, Utah. I was immediately down. I was so looking forward to this show but had no idea what exactly I was in for.

In the parking lot he offers me some LSD and he was expecting us to just microdose but feeling brave I decide on taking the full tab. Things feel pretty normal as I groove to Twin Temple, the Satanic doo-wop band who’s opening for them. I look over to my friend, he has another tab of LSD on his fingertip and offers it to me. We both take an additional tab, we’re going in balls deep now.

Twin Temple ends their set and the audience waits with anticipation. I start to really feel something as I watch the people in the pit from the seats above; they move around like their own living organism. Suddenly, black out. The audience roars eagerly waiting for the show to begin. They kick it off with Ashes immediately followed by Rats and just rock my dick off immediately but even the instant dick rocking couldn’t prepare me for what was to come. Cardinal Copia is just mesmerizing to watch on stage. It’s immense fun to watch him dance around and sing all so passionately, and his intense sexual charisma is just hypnotic. He’s especially delightful in between songs. He holds the audience in the palm of his hand. Then he ominously utters “We’ll see how well we get to know each other” I now know shit’s gonna get crazy. The Cardinal asks the crowd “Are you all feeling tingly yet?? No? We’ll get you there.” I’ve no idea what that’s about.

I’m now tumbling down deep, dark mental roads during this badass satanic spectacle. The two Ghoul guitarists begin a riff off. A Heavy Metal Ghoul Duel if you will. My mind’s digging far down into my soul as these two masters of their instruments pull out deep rooted interpersonal quandaries from within my psyche. It’s like each guitarist is a little ghoul on my shoulder and each have their turn making their solos a chance to make their case. The Ghouls guide me down this train of thought as the black guitar Ghoul leads to the thoughts “You’ve always been curious of Satanism but that’s not you. You’re really not a Satanist.” I’ve never seriously considered the thought of being a Satanist. The Ghoul with the white guitar brings me to “Oh? And Why’s that? What exactly about it do you not agree with?”. I think to myself “Oh shit”. I don’t disagree with any of their ideas necessarily. Independence from Religion and being the Master of your own reality sound pretty fuckin cool to me. I stand in awe as these two ghouls shred opposite the stage from one another across the checkerboard floor. It’s like a mental chess match and it’s no question that by the end of it the white guitar ghoul was the victor. “I’m just tripping, I’m on drugs.” I think to myself. “Just because the white ghoul won the guitar battle doesn’t mean I’m a Satanist now...but also it doesn’t mean I’m not...I’ll keep an open mind”. The song continues to rock on and they just absolutely dominate the arena. After the song, the audience blows up with applause. I clap. Man, I clap so hard. I clap so hard I can hardly feel my hands and before I know it, I feel this insane vibrational aura around my hands. The Cardinal speaks with certainty “Oh yeah, You’re feeling tingly now”.

Holy fucking shit.

Miasma starts. I’ve never heard this song before but I’m instantly digging it and jamming away and then Papa Nihil appears out of thin air in a cloud of white fog with this epic fucking Saxophone solo. This is easily the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever witnessed. A Satanic Pope with sunglasses fuckin blowing everyone away on a Sax like Bill fucking Clinton on late night. What could be cooler?? It’s equal parts mind blowingly ridiculous and hilariously awesome.

Now I’ve been to concerts where during a song I’ve thought to myself “This is fine but I can’t wait for the next song”. This is not one of those concerts. I’m totally enthralled by every single set entry. Every single god damn song’s just incredible. The whole show is an audible and visual feast. There are times I catch myself just gazing into the stained-glass style mural in the back. There’s a faux painted portrait of Papa Nihil in the center of the mural. Spirit starts. Papa Nihil’s forehead breaks into fractals and starts to dance and weave into itself infinitely. I begin to suspect Ghost has tons of fans who trip and it’s just a thing that Ghost is aware of. I don’t know how true this is. Either way the idea is entertaining.

From the Pinnacle to the Pit has me staring at the stage during a guitar solo as I literally feel my fucking face melt off. Meanwhile slowly forming a grin on my face like some crazy demon man just to have a *POP* sudden burst of fireworks into a blackout that slaps that silly fucking grin off my face and my jaw nearly drops to the floor.

I start to notice that some people just are not as into the concert as I am. I’m assuming they are just Mormons and/or other religious folk who showed up unaware of how inherently Satanic Ghost’s music is.

Spöksonat begins, it’s very dark on stage but there are these bright blue/violet shapes beaming out from the darkness and some people around me get headaches and exit. I interpret this as weak-minded religious sheep/mormons whose meek minds can’t handle Ghost’s awesome and enchanting music. They’re too buried in their illusory faith. Again, idk how true this is but I love to believe this. It’s definitely what I believed at the time of the trip.

He is starts. I begin to realize. This is my new faith. I am in awe. The song is composed and performed with such conviction and love, I think to myself “If this is Satanism’s attempt to convert me and this much effort was put in to this to make it this beautiful... I just don’t want to refuse.” The next song begins. Mummy Dust. Which in the Cardinal’s words is “So gosh darn Infernally fucking heavy that it will not only wobble your asses but it will TICKLE YOUR TAAIINNNTS” and tickle my taint it does.

Kiss the Go-Goat is yet another excellent groovy jam but then Dance Macabre comes on right after, ooooh shit buddy I get excited. I start clapping and dancing, I stand up on the stairs, grab the railing and whip my hair around. I dance my god damned heart out and as I dance I see the Cardinal walk to the left side of the stage and he looks right at me, I fucking felt it. He nods approvingly and returns to performing. I finally feel like I fully understand the lyrics as I see this song live. “Just wanna be, wanna bewitch you all night”. That’s Tobias Forge not just saying he wants to be with us all night but he wants to enchant and perform for us all night because that is what this brilliant master of his craft was born to do. He has as much fun as the audience does at these shows, if not, more. This song would’ve been a damn fine closer but as stated in the lyrics, he didn’t wanna end like that.

Square Hammer hits and it hits hard. People are losing their minds, myself included. Still riding the energy of that last song, I head bang my soul out of my damn body. Once again, I fully understand the lyrics. “Are you on the Square? Are you on the level? Are you ready to swear right here right now, before the devil?”. I realize absolutely fucking am. When the show ended The Cardinal waved everyone goodbye and you could see how thankful he was for an audience and I’m still not sure if this was the drugs or a special effect (pretty sure it was the drugs) but each band member appeared to have strings like a marionette while waving goodbye and bowed to the audience and the audience appeared to having strings too. It looked like a lighting effect but I still have no idea how that happened, most likely a hallucination. So fucking cool regardless.

I left the arena drenched in sweat, baptized into a new yet familiar world. I don’t see life the same way I did before (but hey, that’s LSD for you). I realized through this trip how badass the symbol for rebellion against tyranny really is. Along with the profound nature of freedom from religion and realizing self divinity; that you the individual possess powers of a god and most importantly, I just had a good fucking time. My first Ghost concert was a religious experience and one hell of bash. They’re easily my favorite band now and I’ve been listening to all their albums on repeat and I can’t wait till I can see them again.

#the band ghost #cardinal copia #lsd #acid #rock concerts #ghost #ritual #psychadelic

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