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Love how the universe really said āyou wanna see something funny, you satanic little shit?ā and put me at an egregiously protestant hospital for 18 weeks of an inpatient pharmacy internship
So I went down a bit of a rabbit hole for putting the ghouls in different clothes other than their stage uniforms. It started out with these Phantom sketches and thought that I might as well do it for the others.
I decided to make it 3 things: their work clothes outside of the band, a casual outfit, and then lounge wear/whatever they find in the ministry's lost and found bin. I'll update this more with the ghoulettes and Mountain in the reblogs (maybe I'll also redo Phantom and put him in more dynamic poses)
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thinking about perpetua tucked away in his bed alone on his tourbus. growing up in an orphanage and later living in monasteries, he's never had a room of his own. so used to hearing someone else's breathing at night, he struggles to fall asleep despite exhaustion tugging at his consciousness. the bus hums to life, slowly making it's way to the next stop on the tour, and perpetua tries to focus on the steady thrum of the engine. his thoughts wander to the ghouls in the other bus. he wonders if they're up or all in their bunks. wonders if they sleep in pairs or alone; whether despite being papa now, he will be destined to sleep alone.
minutes pass into hours as he tosses and turns. he's afraid to crack open an eye to check the time on his phone lest sleep evades him completely. frustrated he decideds to check anyway. his phone tells him it's close to 3 am and that there's not a single message waiting for him. he feels a pang in his chest and shuts off his phone, expecting to be be plunged back into complete darkness.
except there's a faint glow illuminating the room, just enough to make out the shape of the furniture. confused he tries to make out the source of it and sees it's coming from the pile of clothes he tossed onto a chair after taking them off. perpetua slips out of his bed towards the pile of clothes and starts digging through it. as he pulls his silk shirt away, the source of the light reveals itself: a little ghost plushie.
a vague recollection of a fan throwing it on stage slowly emerges from the depths of his mind. he remembers hands reaching towards him and their adoration plainly painted on their face as they tossed their offering to their papa.
perpetuas long, slender fingers wrap around the plush as tears spring to his eyes. he wonders if they know how lonely their papa truly is. settling back under his heavy blanket, his thoughts circle back to the one thing he doesn't want to think about. copia. his brother.
he wonders whether he is still awake too or if he's sleeping soundly. wonders if he ever lies awake thinking of him. no, he thinks, why would copia ever even think of him. the pang in his chest returns in full force and he can't help but clutch the little plushie to himself. it doesn't soothe the ache, and perpetua knows that nothing ever will.
short prompts: there are small children and for some reason the only responsible adult within miles is Secondo. How does he handle it?
against what i assume people would default to from a superficial standpoint i genuinely think secondo would be really good with children. it's not just the clip where he sings happy birthday to a little girl in the crowd, it's also the fact that he has such a soothing voice and calm aura when he addresses them in the audience. and in my own HC i actually think secondo has a heart for orphans and children in difficult circumstances, especially those in the care of the ministry.
i always think of this one quote from papaganda as well:
āi like to be there for the children, or for the kids, as they say. itās almost like a religion to them. i mean not only religious in the same sense that we are, but their devotion to the band. it reminds me of how the children looked up to the local priest. it is very much like that, but without the guilt, violation, or corruption.ā
so no matter how you interpret that i think he is very aware of the responsibilty he has in influencing people and also the way adults and especially (religious) leaders are role models for the younger. he also thoroughly critizes the way that other religions take advantage of those who are vulnerable and feed them lies (like in idolatrine).
otherwise, for one, i think (a little bit like with cats), children respect when you don't baby them and flock more to people who aren't gushing over them and thereby overstep several boundaries. secondo is very aware of those boundries because he doesn't like his own being overstepped either and he was one of those kids that didn't really get the full freedom of enforcing them when growing up.
and on the other side, secondo might seem a little scary/intimidating but upon further expection he's really not and children see through this sort of facade way faster than adults do. kids are curious about him, especially when he's wearing his his full face paint and regalia or even just his sunglasses and fancy suits. he sticks out in most scenarios. then he'll notice them staring at him and BOOM, finger up his nose and the child is laughing uncontrollably. it's like an inside joke.
so i think in a situation like that (depending on why those children are alone) he'd try to carefully approach and find out why they're there and where the adults responsible for them have gone, to see if the situation is actually dangerous. then he'd probably sit down with them, sing some soothing songs, play some silly games and tell them batshit stories from his life (that are only age-appropriate if you squint real hard) until the parents/guardians return to find those kids.
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I do feel like thereās something important we havenāt been shown yet when it comes to Marikaās relationship with Cardi.
Yes, obviously, we havenāt seen much of them together. But Iām interested in the sheer dissonance in how Marika speaks to Cardi in the chapters VS the comics.
In the chapters (on the surface, at least), weāre given the impression of a sweet, doting mum who quite possibly spoils her son. She gushes about him to the new colleague, calling him her little boy. āCardi ā I always called him Cardi.ā And she puts on this baby-like voice when referring to their familial relation, or when initially addressing him.
And then youāve got the comics, where she seems initially excited to meet Cardi but later on, seems different. Distant. Strict. Mysterious in ways that frustrate Cardi to no end, and with barely even a hint at sweetness.
š This š doesnāt feel like a one-off interaction to me.
What is Mom doing? Where is she going? When will she return? It seems these are things Cardi is forever being left out of, and it chafes. Heās scared.
Whereās the baby-talking? Whereās the sweet, doting mother she implied herself to be to Judith? Her facial expressions are strict or disinterested even when reassuring Cardi.
And then thereās the subtler side of the chapters. Where you realise Marika is spilling Cardiās private information to complete strangers. Where sheās baby-talking the boss in front of his employees. Where sheās seemingly trying to make an executive decision she already knows Cardi, her boss, has made the opposite choice on (the covers EP ā more on that later). Where after seeing Cardi stumble on boxes, Marika begins to look and sound fed up ā and becomes progressively more so throughout their conversation.
When she goes to leave Fraterās office (āSo, we goā), itās with the attitude of someone who never wanted to be there to begin with. Someone whoās been patiently waiting for a gap in the ramblings to allow her an exit, but also doesnāt care about the ramblerās feelings enough to disguise that.
(I couldnāt get a good shot of the expression when Cardi stumbles on the boxes because it happens too quickly and just came out as a blur š)
The very first time Cardi called Sister āMomā was after months of being alone with Marika, the woman heād known as āMomā from childhood (but has never addressed as āMomā on-screen). My gut says that means something. Thereās something bigger going on here.
I really want to see what went wrong with these two. But, yāknow, months from now. Iād like to finish my WIP before its lore undoubtedly becomes non-canon, please. š„ŗ
Obviously, I have my own headcanons that I use for fics, but theyāre not relevant here because Iām discussing canon material only.
Also: What happened to get Marika, who adopted Sister as her sister, to start thinking of Sister as her friend instead?
Seriously, thereās something going on here. More than just the mess of a parent-child relationship getting flipped into a boss-employee relationship where the child is the boss. More than just Cardi being prickly due to his V-hate. Thereās something else.
BUT THEREāS MORE
Because nothing can ever be simple, can it?
In Chapter 24, Marikaās calling for something which ā from the way Cardi phrases things ā she knows Cardi wants the opposite of. And until Cardi returns to his office, this seems to be the uncontested truth.
But then Cardi returns to his office, and...
These two were setting Cardi up to assert himself all along!
So, Marika does care about Cardi. She wasnāt just putting on airs when she was talking to Judith about their relationship. But thereās also something more complicated going on in the background, which is as-yet undisclosed.
Well, at least something got cleared up lol
(Iām working on your ask btw, Nonny š Actually, you probably put this post in my head by getting me to think about children.)
STOP FUCKING SMOOTHENING THE PAPAS. THEY ARE ALL OVER 50. DID YOU FORGET THAT? WHAT 50 YEAR OLD HAVE YOU SEEN WITHOUT WRINKLES WITHOUT A FACE LIFT AND BOTOX??? I GET COPIA HAD PLASTIC SURGERY BUT HE STILL! LOOKS! DISTINCTLY! OLD!!! THE ONLY ACCEPTABLE NON WRINKLED PAPA IS PERPETUA AND THAT IS REEEAAAALLY TEETERING THE LINE, BUDDY. TOBIAS ISN'T 54 LIKE HIM. DO BETTER!!!!! DO BETTER ON BEHALF OF THE OLD MEN!!!!!!!!!! SEND POST.
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Iām continuing my Copia/Ves shit and subjecting people to itā
Words Left Unsaid:
Papa Emeritus IV x Ves (Male Ghoul OC)
Tags: Angst, Pre-existing relationship, Post (unintentional) break up, hurt no comfort, unsaid goodbyes
Rated G | ~1k words |
Copiaās back stage, minutes before the infamous KIA Center ritual begins. He knows his time is ending. He knows heās going to die. Even then, he canāt stop thinking about the ghoul he misses most. The one heād never be able to make it right with.
********
Context (since there is some and I donāt feel like writing the entirety of that right now):
Copia and Ves have been dating since his later Cardinal years (and as GHOST front man), which naturally continued into his time as Papa. However, with the rumors that Copia would die at the end of the final tour (Re-Imperatour), Ves became a notable problem for those who wanted Copia to focus on the task at hand (i.e. Sister Imperator & co.) so, by the threat of harm to Copia (during tour, a time Ves couldnāt protect him) Ves was made to push Copia away and effectively break it off, with Copia non the wiser. It was a nonsensical threat but he couldnāt risk it.
On to the fic:
"You're on in 10, Papa."
"Oh, yes! Yes. Thank you. Heard."
Copia stood backstage, head bent at a sharp angle downwards, staring at the flip phone held in his shaking hands. White light of the square screen illuminated his fingers and face sharply in the shade behind the stage. He could hear the low rumble of the crowd just beyond the curtain. Waiting for him.
Well, heard is a strong word. Heard would mean he truly registered what hit his ears and fully processed the incoming noise. No, this was less than that. This was a faint acknowledgment, the sound little more than that of the blood rushing in his ears. The only difference was the consistency of the roar.
It was the last show. The big one. The LA KIA center grand finale. After this, he was finished. Done, dead, finito. He was sure of it.
His mouth felt far too dry, his eyes far to wet.
He still stared down at the phone.
Within that tiny phone screen sat as an illuminated text box, the recipient made out to someone he hadn't seen in weeksāscratch thatāmonths. The last time they spoke had beenā¦painful. Everything they had together seemingly dissolving on the spot with underhanded dismissal and avoidance.
Years, just gone.
Perhaps there really had been nothing there in the first place, though that wouldn't explain the progress that had been made. The comfortability. The vulnerability. The touches and lingering presence. The 'I love you's' that had taken so long to work up to.
Up until that point, it'd been a while since thoughts like that crammed themselves into his brainānow, since the unofficial breakup, it'd been a near constant. Constantly warring with the thought that, yes, they had had something together, but that something had faded.
Vindictiveness and desperation had clashed within him any moment they had the chance to in the beginning. Nowā¦now any sense of justice for his own purposes lay dead. He just wanted him back. He would have done anything to have him back.
Black text, stating the name 'Ves', blurred together with the 'to:' that preceded it as the threat of tears welled within his eyes.
Tour had been busy enough to keep his mind off of it for the most part. It was the moments within those moments, the ones where there were no buffers for his thoughts, that it all came back with a vengeance.
Nights he lie awake, unable to succumb to the exhaustion that usually knocked him out without a second's glance or the moments of silence he'd find throughout his day that he couldn't fill with distraction. In the shower, on a plane, at hungrily eaten meals with the band and crew (though his appetite really hadn't been the same since he left), and periods of calm on the road. Even early morning breakfasts where everyone was still bleary eyed and half-awake and after show moments when the band was much too tired to keep conversation were rife with it.
There was a growing hole inside him that ached at the memories he had to look back on and nothing seemed to fill it. Even the absence of Ves in his arms was not nearly the same as it had been the other times he'd been on the road without him. This time, the absence was marked not only by physical distance but the poignant lack of anything to compensate for it. No texts, no calls, no video chats or letters, not even postcards. Nothing.
Using the ruffle at the end of his sleeve, Copia dabbed lightly at the burgeoning tear that sat in the corner of his eye.
"On in 5, Papa."
His head whipped up briefly, only just enough to acknowledge the crew member who walked by with the message, before falling back down to his phone once again.
He stared at the mostly empty screen, eyes almost unblinking. The words, 'to: Ves' had become burned into his corneas by the time he finally began to type.
The clicking of buttons was messy, far more inaccurate with his felt-fingered gloves than his past leather or nitrile. He muttered a curse under his breath.
The message stared back at him, equally if not more searing than the words above it.
"Luv u" (I love you. I don't want to try not to. Please, don't make me. I can't. I can't not love you. Please remember that. Remember that I love you.)
Hot pinpricks of new tears plagued his eyes and his face began to burn, though it still paled in comparison to how much the message and the finality of it all, hurt.
His thumb hit the backspace repeatedly. Furiously.
He typed again.
"Mis u" (I miss you. I miss you every moment you're not here with me. I miss you every moment I can't look forward to coming home to you. I miss our nightly calls and your texts about stupid things that frustrated you during the day. I miss the feeling of you in my arms and next to me in bed.)
Backspace again.
His breath hitched in his chest. The bright, white square of light blurred even further. He could barely hit the right buttons, his fingers sliding over them as the phone shook within his trembling hands.
"Sry" (I'm sorry. For whatever I did to make you to leave me. I'm sorry I won't have time to fix it. That I won't be able to come home and talk it through with you. To beg you to take me back. I'm sorry I'm sorry I'm sorry.)
It stung the most out of everything he had typed, the potential for fixing and rekindling their relationship dead within its three letters. It was an apology for his absence, his inability to fight for one of the things he cared for most, and his cowardice for not trying sooner.
Yet he still pressed delete.
Copia stared at the screen, empty as it had been when he'd first opened it, full of potential if it was anyone else other than him typing.
A sudden, inextricable sense of homesickness overcame him. A longing to go home so strong that he fear his knees may buckle and collapse. But there was no home.
Home was with Ves. He was his home.
And now he had nothing. He was alone.
He was going to die alone.
Would anyone tell him? Would anyone let Ves know before the rest of the Ministry knew?
