Ao3
[ᯓ⛧⋆₊*.⁺𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙]
warnings: religious trauma (nothing particularly detailed) + mild hints at body horror
note: in honour of this awesome event put together by @lycanthra... i've decided to resurrect some of my favourite hcs and offer them to the congregation.
overview: a mix of character-centric rant/analysis bits and typical bullet point hcs. last year saw me trying to find balance in the way i portrayed perpetua's eldritch traits in my main fic. this is more gothic-adjacent/odd-leaning than opently monstrous. i wanted him to be uncanny and unsettling without making him fully monstrous or inhuman. in the end, i'm quite happy with the end results, so here they are! just bear in mind that this is my main characterisation of the babadook prince, not the only one I've got up my sleeve, so keep an eye out for more creatureposting!
I think all the previous Papas have had some non-human traits of sorts—not necessarily due to bloodline magic or inheritance, but mainly because the Infernal seems to relish in playing favourites and Sister Imperator's circle is definitely a part of that group.
The issue is that V's predecessors were raised around ghouls and the Satanic clergy; they had the time and resources to learn about and embrace their individual hell-given blessings. He, on another hand, spent majority of his life without even knowing that he'd been noticed by the Infernal. More than that—he grew up under the bonds of the very opposite of his family's religion, having been raised in a Catholic orphanage and then going on to pursue "regular" priesthood.
Despite that, the signs have been there all along, stretching all the way back to V's childhood; even suppressed by his Catholic baptism, the Devil's light still managed to shine through in glimpses.
𝔢𝔞𝔯𝔩𝔶 𝔬𝔫
V's eye didn't need to bear the silver mark for those around him to consider him an odd child from the very beginning. He would hear things sometimes—neither human whispers nor clear voices; strange hums in tones and language V could never pinpoint, yet understood in fragments he would forget not long after. They would slip from his memory like remnants of some fading yet complex dream, leaving V with little more than a feeling of strange absence in the place of clarity.
On other ocassions, he would sense the presence of something, even in empty rooms, as if it called to something in him, beckoning him closer.
None of these things would happen regularly to properly disturb the rhythm of his life, but they took plac often enough that he'd started to notice.
The first few times he brought it up to the sisters who ran the orphanage, with all the trust of a small child who hadn't yet learned how to fully suppress questions and fear. Naturally, the nuns brushed it off as typical make-believe. But the more the pattern persisted, the less it made sense to keep blaming V's overactive imagination, and soon the culprits ranged from the boy's bad dreams overstaying their welcome, to straight-up demonic possession.
That quickly taught him to keep quiet and try to resolve the matter himself. He would find himself internalising the adults' feedback; It's just your brain acting up. This is what you get from reading so many books, from asking so many questions. La curiosità è figlia del peccato.
He would try to pray it all away or (briefly) convince himself that perhaps those were some kind saints or guardian angels leaving him little signs—but that assumption felt arrogant, too dangerous to make. So he just let the signs pass—let them happen, let them disturb him sometimes, and then let them fade into monotony. It's not like they happened everyday, after all. It's just that some days proved more challenging than others.
Perhaps everyone experienced something of that sort at least a few times in their life, he tried to tell himself, and they simply felt too ashamed to tell anyone. Or perhaps he was cursed. Perhaps he really was imagining things. Or perhaps those were all symptoms of his soul's unrest and the need for holy healing. Or nothing, or nonsense.
He ended up traversing his previous life more or less accustomed to that weirdness. It never genuinely interrupted anything of importance anyway; it merely remained, the way some currents may be temporarily halted, yet refuse to properly shift.
𝔭𝔬𝔰𝔱-𝔲𝔫𝔟𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔦𝔰𝔪
Imagine V's surprise upon discovering a religion, an entire community, that doesn't negate or simply acknowledge those odd traits of his, but openly celebrates them. Considers them blessings, signs of favour.
He begins to learn how to tune into them, or how to tune them out on occassion, but this time without the harshness of his younger years. And after his unbaptism, after having his soul torn open anew and letting the black light in… the signs amplify. Mutate. Unspool. They seep in bit by bit, extremely subtle until they're too apparent to ignore—and yet, they always feel like they were meant to take place. Like nothing has been added nor taken away, only illuminated.
The subtler ones are usually fairly easy to disregard, or even just miss—unless you're around him often enough and pay close attention: his skin being two or three degrees colder than most humans' (very useful during heatwaves...); his silver eye not only reflecting light but seemingly glowing with one ot its own; shadows moving and bending oddly in his proximity.
Corvids are oddly aware of his presence. It's something people only realise after having spent more time around him. Sometimes there's a crow or two perched nearby, just staring. Every now and then, they may bring him little trinkets: tiny bones, weirdly shaped beads that could be rocks or disassembled jewellery or merely glass shards smoothed out by time and rain.
Other changes V experiences more deeply just because they happen within his body rather than around it.
For example, one day someone notices that his pulse feels… delayed. It beats just a moment slower than expected, or may sometimes be felt in the wrong place (temple, wrist, but faint and misaligned).
Also, his wounds don’t bleed at first; there's a strange pause, followed by a slow oozing, as if his vessel's reluctant. Afterwards his skin might knit oddly, cleanly but without the sense of urgency.
I think the best way to summarise how I want to write "creature" V is uncanny valley? Hardly any of that is intentional and honestly the first few times the "bigger" changes happen the poor man is genuinely unsettled.
They, to quote my dear friend, "make his adjustment to the Church twice as complicated—he's not just adjusting to a new belief system, environment, and people. He's also adjusting to a new way of being him. Of how his body works, how he interacts with the world."
Imagine accidentally nicking someone mid-kiss because suddenly your fangs have grown. What if they don't always retreat back to normal right away? What if at one point they just stop mid-transformation and stay that way, and now you're stuck with your teeth forever suspended between human and something else entirely—
On that note, I don't think V needs blood, but he may want to drink it. Whether because he's not fully human or just because he's a sicko is completely up to you.
I think his choice of costumes is a blend of living finally out his gothic diva dream and also embracing those non-human aspects of himself, even if he doesn't necessarily have all the features we've seen in the photoshoots, such as an actual tail or wings. Probably.
His claws do make an appearance every now and then! They're just a rarer instance than the literal demon teeth + not something he can control particularly well yet. They're also shorter than what we've seen in the promo pics, though their length varies.
That's the thing: V's most noticeable physical creatre-shifts aren't consistent and are mostly temporary. Unlike a typical werewolf or kelpie transformation, there is no specific set of features that appear every single time a change takes place, because the process itself is not as much about shapeshifting as it is about the human body bending the rules of how it should function, in order to make space for something else.
Anyway, he purrs sometimes. It doesn't sounds exactly like a cat's purr, but it's not too dissimilar either. Have you ever heard a bat purr? Yeah, it's a little like that. Predictably, it happens when he feels safe and content, away from strangers' ears or eyes. It's also easier for him to get under wraps compared to some of the other changes, so if he notices his partner finds the sound soothing or pleasant, he may bring it out/emphasize it to some degree.
Another sound he sometimes makes: chittering. Clicking. It tends to veer into insectile or resemble the whisper of a rattlesnake's tail, and thus can be rather disturbing. It's also pretty much beyond V's control, especially since it happens in much different settings than the purrs. The circumstances primarily involve layered overwhelm of some sort (be it physical, emotional or spiritual) + more often than not appear alongside claws, oddly shifting eyes, various distortions: splintered voice, bones bendt at unnatural angles; breath turning freezing like a gust of catacomb air; shadows pooling along his skin in a way that's just not right.
He fixates in that state sometimes. Might not fully realise what's happening. It doesn't happen often, but when it does, it's best for the right person to be nearby until it passes.
let me know if you want to be tagged ♡ (make sure to specify whether you’d like to be a part of my general tag list, the one for worldbuilding and hcs, or just the one for a particular fic/character!)
the eye is not hereditary (at least not in the way you may think) || worldbuilding
obligatory disclaimer: this is majorly just notes and theories for my personal worldbuilding, although i prefer to keep a them canon-adjacent, if canon aligns.
Let me begin by saying, less than two years ago I was deeply convinced of the popular "all Papas bear the Eye because their family has been chosen and elevated by the Devil" fanon theory, thanks to various cool fanfics and the overall appeal of Themes and Dynasties™.
But then I started dissecting all that we'd seen, along with considering the nuances of Ghurch/organised religion/cult politics, aaaand. I like to think that the eye is not inherited but earned (as explained in this great post). And if it might be inherited, I don't think it'd be in the purely biological sense.
I don't want to make this post all about the symbols and beliefs being used as political tools—because that is too obvious—but here is an article on the concept of the divine rights of kings as a point of reference. God kings, god emperors, L'Ancien Régime, etc. etc. You get it; either lean into the pre-existing beliefs that immense power could only be bestowed by some higher force, or insist that you specifically have been chosen—and keep insisting until others believe it (or just cave in and stay quiet).
In my stories, the history of the Ghurch is usually as follows: various unconnected Satanic/devil-leaning religious groups/cults/Churches have existed long before any of the canon characters came to be. Sister Imperator played a major role in unifying a bunch of them into what would be now considered the first form of the United Clergy of Ghost.
But how do you convince people that the face of the Church you've selected is the right one for people to follow? Well, you might as well craft a myth that'd also serve as a political protection. And what better way to do it than by using preexisting myths and beliefs...
So yes! In short, I think the myth of the bloodline as most laity and lesser clergy of the Satanic Church know it is mostly just smoke and mirrors expertly crafted and upheld by Imperator and her allies. I think some members of the upper clergy—especially those that come from the Church's older branches and even older families—know, or at least suspect, that the singularity of Nihil's family is largely a scam.
But... it is undeniable that all of the Papas have received the Marked Eye.
I like to imagine the Devil similarly to the way Bulgakov wrote him when he wrote Woland. Because it highlights the idea of higher sources being largely unknowable; they don't typically explain their reasoning to people, nor do they act according to mortal rules and expectations.
I think the Marked Eye had existed for centuries before Sister brought it upon Nihil—and we know that it can be obtained through some kind of ritual (hello Dance Macabre MV). Just as the Greek gods took different forms to approach different mortals, just as the scary dude from the Bible would reveal himself and give people directions via various means... wouldn't it make sense for the Infernal to reject definite rules and lean into its volatile nature instead?
Maybe there are some semi-tested methods of getting white eye'd. Maybe even those fail sometimes. Maybe there are tens of such rituals and some of them are now long-forgotten. Maybe sometimes a baby just gets born with a Marked Eye. Maybe one just receives it when they are halfway through their life (as is the case for a Particular Man™ in my main story). Maybe the Papas-that-were-not-quite-Papas—the ones that led some of those scattered Churches from before Sister's reign—had all obtained their Eye via different means. Maybe some of them didn't even have their eye marked and it didn't matter to their specific congregation. Maybe sometimes Lucifer plays games with his followers' hopes, letting the mark carry for a few generations to mimic the natural order of genetics, only to take it away completely all of a sudden. Maybe not everyone who sacrifices their flesh in hopes of being reborn with a mark ever opens their eyes again.
Maybe the Infernal likes to play favourites.
Actually, no, scratch that; we can be almost certain that it does. Sister Imperator is the only person we have seen talking directly with the Devil. And, if she is to be believed, she has both received and relayed infernal visions. Weren't the twins born with "regular", human eyes? Could she, having joined efforts with Marika or not, have prayed for the Dark One to notice her boys, to make them singular the way He chose to lend his sight to the men that led before them?
notes on terzo and socialism/shepherding || char. study
𝖈𝖔𝖓𝖙𝖊𝖝𝖙: i'm working on a fic that centers around terzo before, after, and while becoming the next papa. which made me think again about his shift from a frankly capitalist vision of what "the city of meliora" could be, to a disillusioned socialist that has probably never wanted to be a leader the way the clergy expected him to.
I am not going to get too deep into why Papa Terzo was, quite objectively, a true socialist, but I am going to talk a bit about what I think he might have been like as a cardinal.
Here is how Bishop Necropolitus II speaks about Terzo's time in Kraków.
Now, what you need to know about Poland and many other regions that used to be occupied by the Soviet Union: most of them positively lost their minds over the idea of American Capitalism. The atmosphere of the 80s and 90s over there was full of idealising USA, secretely listening to American music, watching Hollywood films, all that jazz. These pro-capitalist sentiments still linger, especially since they have been marketed as synonymous with democracy.
Would it be so surprising for a young, world-curious, cultured young man such as Terzo to find himself under the influence of those ideas? Especially given his close friendship with Necropolitus. Kraków is ancient. It has housed entire generations of dreamers, poets, artists, revolutionaries.
(...) We would sit down to studying exciting Futurist manifestos, sketched the blueprints of utopian metropoles, spiked with shiny skyscrapers stabbing at the heavens belly... Wantonly swollen zeppelins would to carry our gospel of indulgence to the farthest corners of the globe to summon and enslave.
After the fall of the Soviet Union, people scrambled to re-imagine their countries anew. Through trial and error, as you can imagine. And all grand shifts call for blueprints, so I'm not even surprised that Terzo and his bishop gravitated towards the ideas left behind by pre-war visionaries. Of course such influences, especially once twined with inspirations like Metropolis and the Futurist manifestos, would result in Meliora as a concept—a place that rewarded ambition, merit, one's will to survive and create. Glorious individualism, I'd say. Perfectly fitted for the dreams of a young idealist that wanted to believe that most people were naturally good and therefore not eager to abuse their power once placed in a land of opportunities.
So what happened?
The papacy, of course. I think Terzo had always been more or less aware of what the role of Papa would technically ask of him, but he probably also hoped to take one more of a companion-guide role than a cult leader one. People were supposed to distinguish good and bad on their own.
I don't know what exact events might have caused him to become so disillusioned. Was it the realisation that many people don't want to make the effort of bettering themselves and fighting for their own greatness? Or that organised religions tend to abuse the trust of their flock and use it for their own gain? We don't know. But I think that experiencing the behind-the-scenes of how organised religions operate + what the Clergy expected of him probably played a major role in that change.
Going from “The Pinnacle to the Pit” is not the punishment it was meant to be. It is freedom to struggle against injustice, to march with crowns and sceptres. Here in the pit, we are all royalty now.
Papa Emeritus III is not here to lead. His journey is your own. “Majesty” is not the state that only belongs to him. He is merely the mask, the path into the fire where he has already been.
The introduction to Meliora itself states plainly: it is no longer a mission of leading people to Satan (we see you, Peepaw Primo), but an attempt to nudge them towards their own self-discovery and, through it, freedom, despite the rot and challenges of the world. At least that's what I think Terzo would have wanted.
I don't know if pre-papacy Terzo had ever believed in Lucifer or the Devil as an authentic, supernatural entity—but we do know that Papa Terzo (bitterly) recognised humanity's only true god to be money (ref. the previously linked post). And we do know that he was deeply aware of all types of corruption, especially political and religious.
So the original vision of Meliora-the-city-of-those-who-reach-for-greatness remains in fragments, but is no longer so individualistic. "We are all royalty now". I think "THE LIGHT BELONGS TO THE PEOPLE" is one of the most empowering quotes Ghost has given us (and it's a shame that it seems to be barely known?), and it's the very thing that made me realise, "Holy shit, Terzo's an actual socialist".
[ Great post thread on that + what the vision/concept of Meliora as a place might have evolved into, by the way. ]
But he never actually grew resentful of the people (the flock) themselves. Instead, his entire papacy ended up being about encouraging them to survive difficulties, to push through the unfairness of the world as equals, all the while dealing with one's individual struggles. But no longer with some singular solution for everyone, or a world where only the most ambitious and determined individuals win.
Like I've mentioned in the last screenshot, I think becoming the face of the Clergy had forced Terzo to realise that there was only so much one person—no matter how clever, or assertive, or driven—could do or change once faced with entire systems and organisations.
But if the Light belongs to the People, then the solution is to shield and carry and use it as a community.
let me know if you want to be tagged ♡ (make sure to specify whether you'd like to be a part of my general tag list, the one for worldbuilding and hcs, or just the one for a particular fic/character!)
not necessarily a creature-habit but. perpetua bringing his partner little gifts the way a befriended crow would offer tiny trinkets. or how a cat or dog might hunt for critters and then bring them to their owner as a sign of devotion. it's usually anything but flowers.
he's doesn't have much patience nor intuition for that. but gift-giving? as long as the other person's open minded— (yes, that means they would sometimes receive tiny bones if they're not too sqeamish about that...)
Ao3
summary: Perpetua texting you from tour. Because of course he would, the little attention-sucking vampire he is.
warnings: they do get a little filthy at the end i guess, but for most of y’all that’s mild like sunday prayers. mdni.
word count: 843
notes: so. that damned envelope, huh? it might have caused me to delve back into my tour fic and excavate some parts that won't get used in the final version. and toss them around a bit and stitch them into something for y'all. 🦴🍏🦷
ᯓ⛧⋆₊*.⁺𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙
They vary in form. It would be difficult to find any long, bleeding heart type of sonnets (he doesn't have much time for those) but it's not like he needs them to make your chest ache.
They arrive daily, not necessarily around the same hours; the timing is semi-steady during the European leg, but then just ends up scattered all over the place once Ghost begins touring America and timezones start properly colliding.
Yet, the nature of his messages never changes. They may not be long but each one is intentional, thought through, never lazy. He checks on you, of course. Asks about your day and whether you’ve managed to take care of yourself — “You haven’t overworked yourself again, I hope.”
Many of his texts read like pocket-sized letters: careful, capitalised, deliberate in their word choice. Sometimes they're from the venues, pre- or post-ritual.
The Nameless tried harmonising during soundcheck. It was awful. I think they’re trying to mock me. I’ll send a clip when I stop wincing.
or:
Tonight they screamed louder than ever before. Made me believe I might be destined after all. I kept looking for your eyes in the crowd like a fool.
Other times, he focuses on whatever surrounding they’re currently haunting.
The moon was red at the edges tonight. I thought you might have liked it. I tried to take a picture but it didn’t do it justice.
or:
Oslo’s cold. I keep thinking about the warmth of your hands. You’d hate the way the wind chews at the collar.
To some of them, he attaches photos from wherever they’re playing next: a stray cat curled under a church step in Łódź; the way a canal bends in Amsterdam, golden with early morning; the smudged interior of a backstage mirror in Tampa.
Each image is picked carefully, like he’s gathering the world bit by bit just to give it all to you later, pressed into text like a collage.
But — and as we know, there is always a good but there — there are also the other ones. Curled into lowercase, either due to stage rush or just his own impulsivity. Or mischief.
my hotel room smells like your perfume. can’t tell if i imagined it or you’ve hexed me. might have to steal something of yours next time.
or
should have argued with them to let me bring you along.
They’re sly, improvised, too fast to have been rehearsed but too precise to deem careless. Perhaps typed mid-step, mid-meal, or right before curtain call.
And the deadliest ones are those that end with <3. Like the silly glyph is meant to veil the filth it punctuates.
wish you’d been backstage tonight. low lighting. too many corners. would’ve kept you quiet. <3
or:
the nameless say hi.
i say: if you’d been here tonight you’d be dripping with it right now. i wouldn’t even let you clean up.
And then, thirty seconds later:
<3
Gods below preserve you if you manage to attend one of the rituals (and who are we kidding — he would arrange that himself). Have fun walking the next day. Have fun not getting distracted.
And if you miraculously manage to do so, the little <3-ended missive of doom is still going to hunt you down — ruin your peace. Eventually.
you’re still thinking about it, aren’t you. <3 if you come to me next week i’ll make it worse. or better. depending on whether you like crawling out of dressing rooms again. <3
or:
still remember the sound you made when you came with your mouth full of me. sweetest chorus i’ve ever heard.
play it back in my head like an encore. <3
They come at odd hours and always manage to catch you off-guard. You never quite know which version of Perpetua you’ll be getting— the composed one, with velvet syllables and properly punctuated fondness, or the one that sends you wild little messages that grin and bite like fae, only to semi-apologise by handing you that makeshift heart at the end.
He doesn’t really send photos of himself, though his ghouls might (usually blurry ones, taken suddenly, or with his reflections caught in some surfaces). He doesn’t mind, he just doesn't fully understand the appeal of selfies. He thinks there are enough official photos of him out there anyway.
He might bug you for photos of yourself, though. Nothing indecent — he just misses your face.
Still, you may bring up the unfairness of this arrangement. Most of the times, he’ll probably brush it off or have to disappear before forming a proper response.
But... one of these days, when you are, of course, focused on something else and immersed in your duties, mind busy with anything but touring antipopes for once—
Your phone lights up. You unlock it and open his messages.
The preamble makes you raise your brows:
Well, beloved. You may win this once. I’m feeling generous today.
The photos that follow make your eyes widen and your face burn.
And, right after, as if he hasn’t done enough damage:
i keep getting torn between wanting to write v like an absolute fucking menace, claws and teef galore, a cross between unnamed scp and some sort of incomprehensible "be not afraid" human-ish abomination
and being like
this is a man deeply traumatised by the catholic church, actually. we shall now see him step over all the boundaries that have been weighing him down and become a version of himself he accepts and is celebrated for by many. even if that includes funky freddy krueger claws. especially then.
not necessarily a hot take. very possibly the opposite of a hot take. iced matcha latte with coconut milk take;
terzo emeritus was a semi-high-functioning disaster. terzo emeritus wished to be the person his flock believed him to be.
or maybe, in a more nuanced way, he was both of these things.
i do think his charisma, whether used as a smokescreen or a tool for guidance, was a genuine gift. i do think his interest in art and literature was absolutely, undoubtedly sincere.
i also think he had fallen asleep on the floor without getting changed into proper pajamas more times than he could count, and not for the lack of a proper bed, but simply due to the emotional and physical weight of Everything.
i think he'd have been the type of person to stay up for vague reasons despite exhaustion and 1. never get anything done in the end + 2. end up passing out. i think if he'd stayed up, it could have been due to ruminating. i think he probably had bouts of regret and romanticising his younger self's potential.
i think he was much more likely to order out than cook. i think he could cook; knowing how to do something and having the willpower and energy to actually Do It are two entirely different things.
i think terzo's love for his community was authentic and one of the main reasons he stuck around. i also think he was prone to internal brooding whilst meeting people (especially outside of performances), and to external assholery whenever said people would get too pushy on one of his worse days—and likely very little of that upset would be caused by them, and more by himself and his own assumptions because going through life feeling like a fraud and impostor while everyone seems to praise their idea of who you are. can make a bitch out of a person. so i think he might have been difficult to be around sometimes. and probably had few genuine friends.
i think it was easy for him to disregard warning signs. i think it is easy to go through life with a severely failing immune system and addiction issues and sleep deprivation and falling on stage, and keep repeating the same song and dance with the assumption that you may be lost but, as long as you serve some higher cause (by which i do not mean the devil the way old hymns described him, but rather art and knowledge and liberation), there is a chance that you may lead others towards a better life; towards the very idea that they deserve to stick around and see how this weird mortal theater ends, if it does.
anyway, this was sparked by his Canon and Frequent eye infection.
