ask-papavperpetua

[ask-papavperpetua]

He whines a bit, shaking his head.

“They’ll hurt me in my sleep… they always do…” he mumbles, though he drifts closer and closer with every passing moment. “Don’t let them near me… keep them away…”

And just like that, his eyes slip closed and he’s plunged into sleep, whether he likes it or not. His body relaxes in her arms as his breath finally evens out.

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

“Can’t fall asleep,” he mumbles despite being halfway there already. “My dreams… bad. Don’t wanna have them. Won’t sleep.”

His eyes continue to droop, but he forces them back open.

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

Satans, her embrace is so… comforting. Warm. Like a blanket of pure love laid across him. The light of Lucifer himself shining on him. For once, his nervous system begins to calm down, finding solace nestled in her arms.

Tiredness washes over him. His eyelids immediately start to drop, the box almost slipping from his hand. No— his body jerks. He must stay awake. Hannah might be safe, but his dreams are not. And Satan knows those dreams are going to be brutal tonight.

He grunts, shifting in her arms in an attempt to wake himself up a bit.

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

He takes small sips on the straw, some of the color immediately returning to his skin. The old blood is always a bit too metallic, making him grimace. Not to mention the temperature. Fresh blood is always hot, casting a soothing heat into his core, but not this. It chills him inside, settling oddly into his chest. But it is what it is, nothing to be helped.

Once Hannah joins him in bed, he immediately snuggles against her as he continues drinking. An odd silence seems to settle between them, one he isn’t sure how to break. He’s sure she has questions; she always does. It’s only a question of whether she will voice them and whether he will have the energy to answer.

Thoughts of his childhood still swirl in his head, of course, though he tries to push them aside. He’s safe, he tells himself. He’s safe. Now and forever.

“I love you,” he whispers against her. “So much. So so much.”

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

By the time she returns, he’s crawled into bed with the covers barely pulled over him. He’s curled up like a child searching for a stuffed animal to hold in his arms. His skin seems paler than usual, red splotches now contained around his eyes. Bony fingers reach out to take the box from her, trembling as he does so.

“Thank you, cara,” he says weakly.

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

Satanas, she’s so patient with him. He isn’t quite sure how she does it. He shakes his head.

“Neither. Can- can we just go to bed?”

He’s too exhausted to wash up at all; most of his energy had been wiped out from the distressing memories and tears.

“We can cuddle. And… would you mind getting me one of my blood boxes from the fridge? I’m too tired to drink properly tonight.”

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

There's a bit of rustling on the other side of screen as someone steps into the confessional. They fall to their knees, the cushion letting out a 'pomf'. After a long, quiet sigh, they speak up.

"Papa, I...there is something on my mind that I must air, lest it continue to haunt my every waking moment. Hells, how do I say this..." There is a hint of fear mixed amongst the guilt in their voice. "Do you remember the uh...the ah...the dessert you had stored away in the cold storage? The one that had gone missing a week ago...? I'm...I'm the one who had taken it! I am so sorry, Papa. I hadn't realized your name was scrawled along the side of the container until I went to place it in the bin. My sweet tooth clouded my better judgement, and for this I apologize deeply. I will do anything I can to make it up to you! Do you wish for me to make you a new dessert? Should I do all your laundry? Perhaps scrub your floors?"

- 🐦‍⬛

Perpetua listens intently to the voice on the other side of the screen. They seem awfully nervous, even pehaps afraid. He is about to open his mouth to comfort them and assure them that all is alright-- wait, they stole his dessert?!

He barks out a laugh, immediately covering his mouth to try to stifle it.

"Oh, I am so sorry for laughing!" he says through even more laughter. "It's just-- oh, well, perhaps here is a confession of my own. I assumed my brother had stolen the dessert, and subsequently gave him quite a harsh scolding over it. Ah, it is alright, dear. It was on honest mistake on your part; I had assumed it was an act done out of malice. I will apologize to my brother, but you do not have to do anything to make up for it. Eh, perhaps double check for the names on containers next time, si?"

[ask-papavperpetua]

They sit there together for a while, Perpetua crying in her arms while she whispers those comforting words in his ear. It takes a while, but her words eventually get through to him; the memories begin to wash away like the tide going out.

He shivers in her arms, still sniffling. The tears have made his eyes red and puffy, entire face flushed and hot. This is the second time she’s had to do this tonight. Of course, he feels incredibly guilty for laying this on her. She was so happy, so carefree for just a moment when he did her hair and then… he ruined it. Of course he did.

“I’m sorry for springing this all on you, amore,” he murmurs. “I didn’t mean to ruin your happy moment.”

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

He screws his eyes shut, tucking himself against her even more as the tears really starting to come. Which is a mistake. A big one.

Once his eyes close, he can feel everything. The hitting. The sharp tug on his hair. The clawing at his skin. Every handprint burns bright against his skin, as if they are freshly made. He can even hear their voices, screaming and berating him.

He flinches hard at an assailant that had been gone for forty-some years.

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

“Thank you, tesoro. I love you so much; you’re so good to me.”

He sits in silence for a moment, just resting against her. Various emotions war within him, though the most obvious is simple pain. It strikes through his heart, whistling through his bloodstream and settling into his bones. His voice cracks with his next words as the tears begin to wrack his body.

“A-and that song. They would sing me to sleep with it, gently stroking my back and tucking me into my blankets tightly. It was so… confusing. How could they act like they loved me so much, yet hurt me so badly?”

He’s a bit dizzy with the thoughts of it all. His vision swims before him, struggling to get enough breath into his lungs.

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

“I-it’s the hair, amore,” he says softly. “No one’s done my hair since…”

Shitshitshit— the memories come flooding back, the screaming, the fighting. He forces himself to breathe. Hannah’s safe, he tells himself. She won’t hurt him.

“Ah, I told you I had long hair as a child, back when I lived at a different ministry. It was a Christian one, very different from here. I was always a bit of a troublemaker, I suppose. The nuns practically begged me to cut my hair, said it was too feminine for a young boy like me. But I wouldn’t let them. It was mine, not theirs to control. But… it was in the old days where nuns could hit the children. They began to use it against me and tug hard on my hair every time I misbehaved. I would scream and kick, but they pulled it until I cried.”

If he closes his eyes, he can still feel the sting. So he keeps them open, staring down at his own trembling hands. Of course, tears begin to fall again, but it can’t be helped. He only hopes she can still understand him through his strained voice.

“It was only about a year until I finally buzzed my hair. Again, without their permission, but it was short as they had been wishing. But it meant they couldn’t hurt me anymore. I wouldn’t let them touch me. I would hit and punch and scream bloody murder before they could ever get their hands on me. I suppose my hair has always been a pawn in a battlefield for me. It’s… odd to have it taken care of so kindly. It feels wrong.”

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

He walks over to the couch with her, never letting go of her hand. When she sits, he immediately curls himself against her, swinging his legs over her lap and tucking himself beneath her chin. Honestly, he can’t bring himself to be eye level with her. There’s a certain amount of shame in this, this decades old pain.

“I’m sorry. I don’t want to ruin the evening,” he says softly.

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

He gently plucks the roses out of the braid and lays them carefully back in the basket. Luckily, he’d trimmed all the thorns off when they were picked, so nothing gets too caught or tangled in her hair. With a kiss to the cheek, he ushers her out of the bathroom to wait for him and closes the door behind her.

It’s then that everything comes crashing down.

He buries his face in his hands, desperately trying to keep silent as tears slip down his cheeks. Any reminder of his childhood tends to make him spiral a bit; clearly he had forgotten how integral his hair was to part of that journey. And the folks song… Satanas, he hadn’t expected it to dredge up so many memories, buried under muck and dust he hadn’t touched in a long time.

After a few moments, he splashes water on his face, hoping it will dull some of the redness in his eyes. But he pauses, water still cupped in his hands.

What is he doing now, if not shutting Hannah out, just as she did minutes earlier? Fuck.

He sighs and dries his face without looking in the mirror again. With shaking hands, he pops the bathroom door open and steps out into the next room.

“Amore?” he calls softly. “Can we talk? I’m not… feeling the best.”

Well. It sounds stupid coming out of his mouth. Nothing to be helped now.

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

He leans into the touch of her hand, finding hinself a bit desperate for more physical comfort from her. But it’s no matter, he’s sure they’ll be cuddling in bed soon enough.

“A bit sleepy,” he says, aiming for a smile. He’s not sure if it’s a convincing one, but a smile nonetheless. “Maybe we should head to bed, si? It’s been an… active night for the both of us. Ah, let me know if you want those flowers taken out while you sleep. They should be find if you intend to sleep on your side tonight, though they may be a bit uncomfortable if you’re going to sleep on your back. I will take no offense if that’s the case, amore. Otherwise, just give me a moment in here to brush my teeth and use the bathroom, then I’ll join you.”

It’s a night like any other— V and Hannah are spending a late evening in his suite after a long day of work. To take the edge off of their stress, V has poured them both a healthy glass of vintage wine, which he sips on as he tells his story to her.

“And then— I swear to Satan himself— Dew broke his foot a second time! What an animal, si?” he laughs. “Phantom painted broken bones on his boot so it matches the outfit, at least.”

For what must be the fifth time in that night, he stops to giggle and press a soft kiss to her lips. It’s hard to stay too far apart from her as they sit so closely on his couch together. Their thighs are touching, fingers intertwined— of course he’s going to steal a kiss at any moment he can get.

“I love you, cara,” he smiles sweetly. “But Dew will be fine, eh? He’s a tough cookie, as you say.”

He can’t help himself; he leans in for another kiss. Perhaps it’s the wine, making him just tipsy enough that he can’t resist feeling a bit clingy. But maybe too tipsy. The wrist holding the glass tilts far, far enough to spill onto his black pants.

“Merda!” he hisses, jumping back as soon as he feels it soaking through the fabric. “I’m so sorry, tesoro! Let me clean this up in the bathroom. Would you mind grabbing some pajama pants for me? It’s about time anyway. You’re welcome to grab any for yourself if drops landed on you, as well.”

((@ask-papavperpetua)

Hannah puts her own glass on the table and wanders off to comply. It's a good thing he wears black so often, she thinks. At least it won't stain.

By now she has a pretty fair idea of where everything is kept in his room. She's got some of her own things in the wardrobe right along with his since she stays overnight with him so often.

Upon opening the drawer where the pajamas usually are, she sees things are a little out of order. The first three items she pulls out are tops, not pants. Maybe it's time for laundry day. She digs around for a bit -- and then encounters an unexpected object.

She takes it out for inspection. It's a collar. With a leash attached.

It's people-sized.

She tries, mostly unsuccessfully, to stifle a giggle.

This is something V's been talking all the way around for a little while recently without ever coming out and saying anything. He has a tendency to do that. It's like he wants to make it a guessing game for some reason. Or maybe he's just too embarrassed to tell her outright. You would think they'd done enough things together by now that this would no longer be an issue, but people can be mighty weird about sex, even here in the ministry where liberation is the ideal.

Having finally also located the pajama pants in addition to the very interesting article she found first, she peeks into the bathroom. Presumably he hasn't gone back to the couch yet since he was planning to change immediately anyway, she thinks.

"Sweetie? I brought you these. They were kind of in the back of the drawer, so..." she puts the pj's down on the counter.

"...Um. I wasn't trying to dig, but I found this on accident. Is this...yours?" She holds up the collar and leash. She's smiling behind her hand. She fully anticipates that his answer will be entertaining to watch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

He lets out something adjacent to a meow when she kisses him on the head.

He’s still not sure why this has happened in the first place, but he thinks it over in his mind as Jane speaks to her clients on the phone. In the past, there have been a few times where he’s turned in the middle of the night due to whatever dreams he was having, but he was usually able to turn back pretty easily in the morning. Was it possible that someone cured him? Is it a sick joke? He isn’t sure.

She holds Papa in her hands, once a taller man now self-turned into a small bat that clings to her beautiful and pale fingers.

“Oh, my darling, look at you.. Such a sweet thing in my hands, are you not able to turn back right away?” She brings him closer to her chest and cradles him, “Don’t worry, love, you can rest here.”

Jane cooed at the creature as she strokes his soft head. When she found him snuggled in bed with her she was nearly spooked. She remembered it being Perpetua, somehow turned in the middle of the night as a furry bat.

@imperatrixchaosjane

He chirps a bit and gently bats his wings into her chest in distress. It isn’t often that he gets stuck like this, and he’s not sure why it’s happening now. Now that he thinks about it, he really hasn’t gotten stuck since he was first learning how to switch between forms. So why now? His memory from the previous night is a bit hazy… he thought he fell asleep in human form, but he can’t quite be sure.

Her voice soothes him a little as she tries to comfort him. His chirps of distress quiet down as he nuzzles into her gentle touch.

[ask-papavperpetua]

Ahem, I just wanted to say you’re fabulous and I appreciate you and your writing. It’s lovely just as you are. Okay that’s all.

I’m not sure if this ask is in character or not, but regardless—

Awww thank you luv that’s so kind of you!! Right back at you, it’s a joy to write with you! <3333

[ask-papavperpetua]

“The heartbeat is what sets me off most of the time,” he admits. “It’s like… it’s like smelling your favorite food wafting from the kitchen, perfect and freshly made. Tantalizing, si? Enough to make tour mouth water.”

He feels her body relax a bit more against him. Satanas, it must have taken a real toll on her. The guilt has lessened a bit from her kind words, but hasn’t passed entirely.

“Are you feeling tired? You can rest against me if you need to. You can fall asleep, Sorella. You’ll be safe here, I promise.”

After some time to think it over and do some more research- checking in both the abbey library as well as Occult & Antiquities- Ephemera is once again thinking about the whole "possibly a vampire" thing. This wasn't her giving into any rumors, least that's how she saw it. No, she knew damn well that there were things out there, supernatural or hellish or otherwise. If her time with the Ministry had taught her anything, it was that.

She was able to find things here and there, information that made her mentally review the previous interaction between her and the current Papa. She only had the one encounter to go on- It wasn't like they crossed paths often to begin with- but that moment when he had gotten close to her...

It was still the image of the teeth- fangs most likely- that stayed stuck in her mind.

It's why she was now sitting in the chapel alone, mulling over a myriad of thoughts, torn between wary and curious. Open to believing that the same person who said such sympathetic words when she spoke of old rumors was also a vampire.

What was she to do with that if true?

(because in cany case she is not equipped to deal with vampires)

-Sister E.

Perpetua is lighting black candles in the back of the chapel when he spots her. A small figure sits in the pews near the altar. He can’t quite make her out from the back of her head, but… is that Sister Ephemera? The poor sister of sin he had scared half to death a while ago? He still feels a bit guilty for that, honestly.

He hasn’t seen her around much since then, so what is she doing now sitting all alone in the chapel?

The candle finally lights, so he puts down his tools and starts to walk over to her. His heels click against the stone floors, echoes bouncing across the empty walls. He stops outside of her pew, just within the bounds of her eyesight.

“Is there any way I can assist you, dear?” he asks, tilting his head at her curiously.