a flexible, low-pressure event for all your feral (and filthy) ideas about creature!Perpetua. werewolf? vampire? demon? something more monstrous? go crazy with it! all varieties of creature are welcome, as are all levels of heat and kink. please tag responsibly and include content warnings when necessary!
how it works:
⛧ post any time during the month of June (late posts welcome in case life gets busy!)
⛧ fics, drabbles, headcanons, art, moodboards, etc--as long as it includes creature!Perpetua
⛧ no prompts
⛧ no posting schedule
⛧ no limits!!
just make sure you use the tag #CreaturePerpetuaMonth2026 so everyone can find your work!
and again, i am so humbly asking for tags and warnings as needed. i want everyone to feel comfortable enough to let their freak flags fly, but we gotta make sure we don't scare anyone off.
MAKE SURE YOU USE THE READ-MORE LINK WHEN POSTING FIC DIRECTLY TO TUMBLR! 😅
any questions, feel free to shoot me an ask or a DM~
I’ve been on a bit of a artblock but I thought you guys deserved to see my tiny rework of Pyre. (My favorite little ghoul, I wish I had the ability to draw him more right now)
i’m posting this early because i have a feeling Ghostblr will be all a-flutter on the 25th due to, you know, it being Skeletá’s one year anniversary and all.
happiest of early birthdays to @tropicalscarab, who is one of the kindest souls i’ve met in this fandom 💖
1600-ish words of feeling forgotten on your birthday and Perpetua showing you you’re not:
It festers.
You’d meant to suggest to Perpetua that maybe you two celebrate your birthday before it came around, but you never quite found the words. The older you get, the more arrogant it sounds to try and make plans for your birthday. It feels like you’re saying: oh, I’m so special and important, let’s celebrate me, when will we celebrate me, we’re going to celebrate me, right? It’s embarrassing. Who cares about birthdays when you’re an adult?
And then the day comes and you barely get a chance to see him.
Because April 25th isn’t just your birthday—it’s the day Skeletá released worldwide. His first album after ascending to papacy, and one that debuted at number one on the Billboard 200 at that. It’s a huge success not just for him, but for the Ministry as a whole.
So, of course it’s celebrated.
Sermons and speeches, listening sessions, a showcase featuring art and costumes and relics—and naturally, a feast that lasts way too long. The day is a whirlwind. And it doesn’t even matter that Perpetua keeps getting pulled away to be congratulated and to talk about the tour and to talk about the future. Because your own duties pull you away too.
Frater Imperator is especially cranky after a run-in with a speeding truck, hobbling around with a crutch shoved up under his arm and muttering to himself about the things that need to be done. You’re not usually so hands-on, but he needs the extra help. So you take care of the guest arrivals—staff from other branches, members of the press, celebrity attendees and their plus-ones. And you take care of the gifts and correspondence. And you take care of scheduling, helping to make sure everything is running smoothly.
It all makes your head spin.
And yet, it’s not enough of a distraction.
It’s your birthday—and nobody’s said a word.
You feel selfish for being so bothered by it. What did you expect? Cake and a party? A clown making balloon animals like the time you turned nine? You’re ridiculous.
You get through dinner as painlessly as you can, and you’re relieved when Frater gives you the go-ahead to leave. The wine has softened him up, and his pain isn’t so bad when he has a chance to sit and prop up his leg. Before you make your escape though, you sweep your eyes over the hall, searching the sea of faces for Perpetua. He should be easy to find, given that he’s wearing his bejeweled mask tonight, but you don’t see him.
Probably whisked off for yet more ego-stroking and praise, you think. Oh well. He deserves it. But if there was one person you wanted to spend what remains of today with….
You trudge to your quarters, trying not to feel too sorry for yourself—and failing. In fact, you’re doing such a terrible job at it that you don’t even notice that the door is already unlocked. And as you step over the threshold, you reach for the lightswitch out of habit. It isn’t until your fingers brush against the switch that’s already positioned to ‘on’ that it hits you that the room is lit up.
And occupied.
“There you are. I’ve been trying to get you alone for hours.”
Your heart leaps in ways that are, quite frankly, kind of pathetic.
He’s on the couch, slouched back against the cushions with his legs stretched out in front of him. He’s still wearing his mask—the rhinestones catch the light as he turns his head to look at you—though he’s stripped off his jacket and boots and gloves. The black undershirt he wears shows off his throat and lean, freckled arms in a way that almost feels inappropriate. Hell, just seeing his hands ungloved feels wrong. You’re so used to the way he has to dress up for everyone else.
His face paint is still pristine, of course. The band’s makeup artists had learned long before he was even in the picture how to make it last—they couldn’t have it fading or melting away with sweat when Papa was on stage.
You swallow against your dry throat, pushing the door shut. “Yeah, you were kept pretty busy today, huh?”
“You’ve no idea,” he mutters. But for as exhausted as he sounds, he abruptly sits up and flashes a grin at you. Beneath the mask, his mismatched eyes are bright and smug. He gestures to the coffee table. And when you see what he’s brought you, the smugness makes sense.
A small cake. Modestly decorated, your favorite flavor. Two unlit numerical candles, since the cake is so small it would have been a mess to fit enough for how old you’ve turned.
Your stomach flips.
“Oh—you…” you trail off. Because it feels like a dick move to say, ‘you remembered.’
For a moment, his smile falters. “I got it right, didn’t I? This is the flavor you like, yes?”
You huff out a sheepish laugh, nodding quickly. “Yeah, yeah—of course. It’s—I’m just—it’s been a long day.”
“Terribly long.”
“And I guess I’m just overwhelmed.”
“Yes, well, temper your whelm, per favore. It’s not as though I broke the bank for this.”
But he remembered.
He pulled himself away from the revelry to set it up for you.
On a day where everyone wanted his attention, he made time to celebrate you.
And you feel silly for being so hurt and caught up in your feelings. Did you really think he didn’t care?
He grabs a lighter from the table and moves to light the candles. “I’m not in much of a singing mood today—something about hearing my own songs all day long and all from my well-meaning but utterly frustrating congregation—but say the word, amore, and I will sing for you. Just… maybe a little off-key. For the sake of fun.”
“You’ve been performing all day—save your voice.”
“Oh, grazie al diavolo.” He drops the lighter and gestures you closer. “Come, come. Make a wish.”
You indulge him with a little smile, closing the distance between you and where he sits on the couch. He watches you with those eerily clashing eyes, his mouth still quirked up into a playful little smirk, and your heart swells. It’s been a while since anyone’s made you feel this special. What more could you wish for?
You lean down and blow out the candles.
And as the smoke lazily curls up from the wicks, it’s like the tension of the day all drains away.
He pushes himself to his feet and rounds the coffee table, and as you turn to face him, his hands come up to your face. He holds you by your neck, his thumbs notching under your jawbone and tilting your face toward his. There’s possession in the gesture, but his touch is tender. Loving.
“You did not have a good day.” It’s a statement. He doesn’t ask.
You shrug a little.
“Tell me,” he says.
“Birthdays just… feel weird. The older you get. It just feels like—what’s the point of celebrating? You’re not special. No more than anyone else is. I guess I’m just nostalgic for when it felt like it actually mattered. When you’re a kid, your birthday—I don’t know—feels like it means something.” You laugh a little, because it sounds absurd to say it aloud.
But he doesn’t laugh. He just looks into your eyes, unblinking, and says, rather plainly, “Who says you’re not special?”
Your stomach does that flip thing again. Heat crawls up your neck and into your face. You want to duck your head and tear your gaze away from his, but his thumbs press a little harder under your jaw. He keeps your face angled to his—keeps you from looking away.
“I spent the entirety of today thinking about this,” he says. “About the way your face would light up when you saw the cake. The way the candlelight would reflect in your eyes. I’ve had to listen to the absolute worst people today act as though the only things that matter are sales and numbers and chart positions—as though spreading the word of our dark lord wasn’t even the point. But I powered through it because I knew this is how tonight would end for me.”
Your throat feels kind of tight. You feel your heartbeat in your flushed cheeks.
And he adds, “It means something. Today.”
You swallow a little and nod. You don’t really trust yourself to speak.
He softens. Using his hold on you, he gently tugs you forward and presses a kiss to your forehead. And then he releases you.
But he doesn’t move away. And his eyes still bore into you.
You know what he’s waiting for—why he’s kept the mask on. He likes for you to be the one to remove it. And maybe that does make you special. There are more people at the Ministry who haven’t seen his face than there are those that have.
With a little smile, you reach up with one hand to take it off. You slide it back, smoothing his dark hair back with it, and he gazes at you with such softness in his eyes that it almost hurts.
“Happy birthday, angelo mio.”
“Happy Skeletá anniver—” you start to say, maybe a little cheeky.
But he groans and cuts you off. “Please. I’ve heard enough of that to last a lifetime.”
And he hauls you in for a hard kiss that tells you he really has been thinking about this all day.
It’s not a clown making balloon animals or anything, but as far as recent birthdays go, it’s pretty damn perfect.
I don’t usually reblog things but I had the honor of receiving this early birthday present—I wanted to share their hard work and talent here on my page and say thank you for this wonderful present! If you like this check their other work but just know they’re a super kind person and deserve all the gratitude I have for this.
It’s late at night here but technically still Easter.
I happened to have made a few bunny suit designs for my oc and my friends’ ocs, so here’s Pyre’s. It’s a reverse bunny suit! He’s not the best in revealing clothing.
Happy Easter everyone!!
Expect more bunny suits soon….
Everything is mostly covered so it should be good, just a little suggestive.
So I recently did a like up of possible options for Frater V—specifically for my au, it would happen at some point in the timeline—anyways I experimented with some different versions and thought you all might like to see them
I had made a version when he switched from his chrome mask to an all black mask for some flavor. Then you have some where he wears the eye pant under the mask or not and all—and then of course the ones where he wears only the paint and no mask.
I also made some variations with longer or shorter hair (I personally like the longer hair ones)
But feel free to let me know which ones you guys like!
One of the things I like to do when I don’t know what to draw is reference animal facts as a cute little thing, and with Perpetua being a vampire for this au I figured I’d reference some things bats do!
Though this information isn’t singular to vampire bats, it’s a few fun facts from a few different types of bats.
I was commissioned to draw a work of art involving their oc and Copia and I really liked how it turned out, so I figured you guys would want to see it too!
