Secondo: Good morning to everyone except for people who put sirens and car horns on their song tracks. I hope you drop your phone in the toilet right after you’ve used it and before you’ve flushed.
Needing a wee break from actual story telling I have decided to share little fact sheets about a few of my characters (existing as well as OC).
I have put all under a read more for possible spoilers for things to come. There are spoilers if you haven’t read fics from my What’s This? A Ghost Series collection.
My take on Papa 2:
(mentions of abuse. not detailed.)
Full name: Dante Emeritus
Species: Half-breed demon (⅜ Human, ⅜ Andras demon lineage, ¼ unknown demon origin) While his demon heritage does not make him immortal, he has slower age progression and a life expectancy of approx 600 years
Date of Birth: 21 December 1739
Place of Birth: Rome, Italy
Height: 6 foot
Sexuality: Pansexual
Relationship status: Long-term committed relationship with Syver Andersson
Notable features: When you see Dante, you notice a man who clearly had a privileged upbringing. He is elegant and classic, well put together. He is a distinguished man, a wealthy man. He lost most of his hair at an early age, keeping his head shaved since his mid twenties. He looks older than middle aged, but upon seeing him you'd never know he was well over 200 years old.
In his demonic form, Dante stands an impressive 9 feet tall, if he stands upright. Large, heavy wings stretch out from his back, causing him to stand almost hunched over. His skin is solid black in color and a thick leathery texture. Sharp angles and bone give him a terrifying look, though he remains slightly humanoid. His legs bend back, like a goat, his feet are large and he has clawed toes. His arms are long, ending with massive claws. His face shares features of a large beakless owl, most notable are his large, yellow eyes. His mouth never fully closes, filled with 2 rows of sharp, jagged teeth. If his enormous size and horrific features were not enough, he smells of fire and brimstone, same as the very landscape that his demon relations call home.
His two forms are interchangeable - not one masked over the other. He endures full transformations. It's excruciatingly painful and leaves him drained for days. He will not take his demon form, unless it is entirely unavoidable.
Eye color: One green, one white (right & left respectively). They're both yellow in his demon form.
Hair color: n/a
Piercings: 5 frenum piercing- laddered barbells in increasing gauges
Tattoos: 2, both are on his chest. His first, a bold-line Satanic cross (brimstone). It’s thick black lines, outlined in a vibrant green. It is located on the right side of his chest. The other, an ornate grucifix done in grey-scale sits on his left pectoral.
Typical style: Dante will almost always dress in a manner that touches formal. His tastes are classy and expensive, always cut and tailored to him; he will not buy right off a rack. The closest he comes to casual is forgoing a jacket. He is always in dress pants, button shirts. He isn’t always in a waistcoat or jacket but often can be seen in wearing both. He does not own a pair of jeans nor a pair of shorts.
Personality traits: On first impression, Dante comes across cold, serious and a little bitter. On some level, these things hold true. However, once he is comfortable with someone enough to drop the exterior, he's actually warm, fun and sweet. He is very emotional but internalizes most of his emotions unless he deems it necessary to share them. He likes to be alone but with the right people, he enjoys company. He is not shy, but won't waste his time speaking to someone he doesn't find worth his time.
Family is important to him and he is very protective of them. Several poorly managed romantic relationships left him less likely to seek more than strictly physical, short lived relationships, most of which have been one night sexual encounters. With the right person, he will open up, spoil them, treat them well and love them more than anything. Growing up in his father's church, he has deep connections to faith and worship of Satan. Religion is important to him, guides him but he does not let it control him. He is not a selfish man, but believes that the central part of life is to put oneself first and foremost. He is slow to trust and doesn't cope well with loss of control. He is not a demanding person, feels that everyone should have the free will to choose, but he doesn't do well in situations where he can't be in some control. His desire to be that way stems from abuses in his past, specifically abuse from his demonic mother. (Demons aren't all evil, she was). There was a point in his life where he struggled with drug and alcohol addiction. It did shape some of his mannerisms but eventually he overcame the hardships, coming out victorious and as he believed, a better man. Dante has the ability to strike fear into men, make women swoon and babies laugh. He has extensive patience with people, unless it's stupid people. He is much more than first meets the eye.
Parents: Enzo Emeritus (Papa Nihil) is his father. His mother is an Andras-line heiress named Aurrah. He has a close relationship to his father and a burning hatred for his mother, who was banished back to Hell when Dante was in his late teens.
Siblings: a younger brother, Alessandro (Papa 3)
Other noted relatives: a close cousin Celso (Papa 1)
Pets: A python named Cassandra
Occupation: Retired. He was the former Papa (Emeritus the Second) at his father's church.
Hobbies: reading, writing (texts and music), collects vintage wines, scotches and bourbons, he enjoys hiking (mostly on his own), he loves to cook (for himself or others), he likes listening to music and watching old films, he enjoys playing games (card & board), he likes to travel, he likes to gamble.
Favorite color: Green
Favorite food: Italian cheesecake
Favorite movie: The Devils
Favorite song: Seven Lives - In Strict Confidence
3 likes: peace & quiet, the smell of old books, kinky sex
3 dislikes: being lied to, having his time wasted, willful ignorance
6 Random facts:
- Dante is very close to his cousin Celso, as they grew up together.
- He helped with raising his brother, when Alessandro's mother left.
- He is deeply afraid of the dark. Like he cannot be left alone in total darkness.
- He learned to drive as a teenager, just to go against his father's wishes.
- Laughs at his own jokes.
- His top three places to visit are Florence Italy, Paris France, and Las Vegas Nevada USA.
So here’s a kinda angsty piece based around my little headcanons around The Church and Papa II. I’m usually a fluff/smut writer so this was different.
im mostly scared that people will hate my headcanons but they’re just headcanons im throwing into the void.
AO3 Link
Francesco Emeritus knew his position had it’s lows. They never show when you first become Papa, in the beginning it’s all parties, admiration and love,
a shallow love.
Even looking down to the crowd before him in the darkened chapel, he knew their celebrations was an act, sure there were some who were happy to see the title move through the family, but honestly, most didn’t care who was in charge, as long as they lived without issue, that was good enough for them.
Emil placed a hand on his younger brother’s back, Fran looked to the older man, his skull paint worn away, his aged skin beginning to show through like the sun through the drapes in the morning, a stark contrast to his own, new painted face. He looked sad, of course he would be right? he was no longer in charge.
No.
This look was a sad look of pity.
The paperwork was hell, maybe he died during the celebrations of his papacy and got there already? Who knows. But there was a lot, he never quite realized the work his brother did. He was able to set up smaller churches around the country and did so much to spread their gospel, he was a really respected man from the letters he’d receive from the churches, welcoming him into his position, but also hinting that they'd miss his predecessor. Fran would have hoped Emil worked hard, all he did was work when he was Papa.
He had to make sure all branches were working accordingly, following the rites of their religion, and not become corrupt like their contemporaries. It was hard work, and many, too many, died for it. Some may question his choices, and say that Papa Emeritus II was bloodthirsty, no, he was just protective of what he had, and he saw no reason not to kill to protect it.
His younger brother would often peek into his office, Giovanni thought he wasn’t seen, but most of the time, he was, Fran just didn’t want to scare him away, so he pretended he didn’t. He liked the company.
He could tell his brother worried about him, they were close, but being Papa took a lot of time away from family, he didn’t even visit Emil that often. He hated that.
When Sister Imperator told him he would be continuing the Ghost Project, something he regarded as a silly waste of time, he was annoyed, he had to much to do, he protested greatly, it always became a fight with Sister, two strong-headed forces against each other. He was one of the few with the gull to yell at her.
“Do it,” Emil had once whispered into his ear when he stopped them both in the hallway one day, “you will soon realize, what freedom is.” The eldest didn’t wait for a reply. Fran pondered over it all night.
Then he realized.
You would think leading a church meant you were free from oppression within that church. No, Fran felt more oppressed now than he ever was, he was beginning to be told how to act, what to do, what to say, it wasn’t like this at the start, he was able to do as he pleased, but slowly, they wrapped the strings around his limbs and began to control him.
Like a marionette. Spun around for others to enjoy, gaudy costume and all.
Some nights he wanted to scream, curse his blood, he wanted to confront Emil for putting him here, but what could he do? Defy the church and be Papa until he died? We’d be back to square one. And Giovanni, he was such a free spirit, he couldn’t become Papa, the church would never let him out alive.
The roads were long, and the bed very uncomfortable, but he preferred it to the large bed in his quarters at home.
With Emil’s words echoing his mind, he continued the project, it gave him something that almost felt like joy. No Sister Imperator, no church to hover over him, only he and his ghouls, loyal only to him. He felt in charge again.
He took this freedom in stride, partying, fucking, all of it, satan knows when he’d have fun like this again, before being locked away in the church, tormented by the never ending work that faced him.
That’s when the nightmares began, he would return home, walk to Emil’s chambers to talk, only to see his large door broken open, he would lightly push it open to find the chamber wrecked, all of Emil’s treasured books thrown around, tables turned and materials spilled everywhere, he would look down to see Emil, blooded and lifeless, he looked like he had tried to keep the door closed from whatever wanted to enter. He would before him to see his little brother, sprawled on the staircase that lead to the bedroom,
Without his head.
He would wash these nightmares away with black coffee and a shot of fireball, his ghouls could feel the anxiety, but couldn’t do anything about it.
Her name was Miriam, he was doing the festival rounds when they met, she was one of the many photographers, but she, she had stood out to him.
She traveled as long as he did, and the two always ended up running into each other, usually in the mornings, both fancied the morning fog on the festival grounds and walked together, she would share stories on the road, the crazy rock stars and the crazier things they did, he shared his black coffee and fireball. It was a good give and take.
He began to catch himself daydreaming. Her by his side, even back at the church, perhaps, and he knew he was going to far with this, they together created a new bloodline, and he and his brothers overpower the current high ups in the church and live happily, safe.
He slapped himself at the idea, but yet, he kept doing it.
He laid awake one night, it was pitch dark, the moonlight peeking through the bus’s shitty curtains, she layed on top of him, lightly snoring. The festival circuit was coming to an end, time was almost up, he’d soon come back to the stone walls of the stiff chapel, back to his office, back as a pawn.
He felt bad for thinking it, but running off wasn’t all a bad idea, just tell Miriam the band wanted to break up, and that he’d just stay with her and explore this… what was this? She wasn’t sleeping with other rock stars, and he wasn’t sleeping with anyone but her, he never thought he’d find himself like this, in some kind of relationship.
But he knew he couldn’t run, make his younger brother Papa from his own selfishness? No. he couldn’t.
He told her the truth the day before he left, the project, the church, what he was, all of it. He also presented a second plane ticket, and asked a daring question.
“Be with me, and come with me back to the Chapel.”
He sat beside an empty seat on the way home.
He really didn’t blame her,
Either she was disgusted she fell for a deluded madman, or she feared the truth, and wanted no part of it.
If he was a mean, bitter person before, we had become twice as mean and bitter. He never allowed someone into his heart like that again, he never even spoke of her, Emil and Giovanni never knew of the woman that their brother, dare say, had feelings for. She did not exist.
He really began to truly feel the curse of his position, alone, a toy, no real free will.
He feared the day he would pass the torch onto his younger brother. His hands shook as he placed the Mitre on his brother's head, he almost threw it to the side, proclaiming that this church was a monster, and taking the arms of his two brothers and running out.
He didn’t. And has Giovanni arose before him, as Papa Emeritus III, he shed a tear for his brother.
As he laid on the wooden table, uno cards scattered everywhere, Francesco Emeritus looked back on his life, playing in the rose gardens as a child while Emil gardened, meeting Giovanni and holding him for the first time, his young escapades in the church, and his Papal career. He thought of Miriam, for the first time in a decade he allowed himself to think of her, he hoped that she had created a good life for herself, maybe gotten married, had children, maybe he had just become a faded memory, something she can barely recall outside of the photos she took on the road.
He tried to reach out for his two brothers, but his arms were too heavy.
