Hello! This is the writing side blog for @krakintakin
First and foremost, this is a dead dove blog. If you've somehow come across this blog unaware of that, do whatever you have to do to protect your peace!
You can still call me Krakin! I will also accept Miss/Amori/Amor (♡ˊ͈ ꒳ ˋ͈)
✍︎I am the author of the C x P fics
✍︎I’ll be posting lil ficlets and ideas here!
✍︎Requests are open! If I find your request uncomfortable/cannot answer it I will let you know privately :)
things might look messy for a bit, I've never made a side blog before so bear with me
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papa v perpetua announces that he's a dyke, does four lines, slams back a white claw, and does a perfect cover of 'what's up' by four non blondes. an audience member gives birth to the antichrist.
also everyone speculating what the duct tape is doing there next to the perfume and mask - Trans!Petua confirmed, and he's binding and/or tucking irresponsibly (never use duct tape friends)
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.
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Summary: Papa and Haze go for a ride in the desert
Characters: Papa V Perpetua (trans masc; vampire; he/him); Haze (in a human shimmer; cis-ish; she/her) Papa POV
Rating: M (smut, but not overly-detailed)
Warning: Car sex
W/c: 470
(shout out to i-hold-horrors-hand for the prompt!)
They'd sneaked off, a lightness in V's chest at the youthful thrill that came with it. He'd turn and beam at Haze every couple of miles or so, racing against the impending daylight in his Rolls Royce.
Northeast, away from the Ministry, away from the lights. Somewhere still; flat, dry wilderness surrounded by jutting, irregular cathedrals, carving out the horizon.
Her eyes are shimmered— an almost-human brown with a cat's glare. He watches her figure out the shape of the constellations, how her eyes dart when there's a shooting star. Her breath is soft, and she's awestruck. So is he.
To test the waters, he kisses the back of her hand, afraid he's interrupting something sacred between her and the sky, but she turns to him and kisses him like he'd given her the deed to the universe itself. He wishes he could.
Instead, all he can do is let his desire build and build as they kiss in the valley's quiet embrace, until he breaks off with a gasp, pale fingers tangled in her wild hair.
He doesn't need to say it out loud, she nods and says, "Me too."
And that's as much preamble they need before he's guiding her back into the car, letting her contort herself into a position that is near comfortable. After doing away with the more obstructive clothes, he's a breath away from what he wants. Before he does, he instructs, "Look up."
She does, and grins at the view of the sky from the sunroof.
He lets her lie back, between the front seats, so that he can fold her legs over him and dive in. She makes a routine: the stars, him between her legs, then closed in pleasure. He teases her when she closes her eyes so she'll open them back up in protest, and then it starts over.
With the roof open, the windows don't fog, and her breathless moans are lost to the desert, absorbed in the bells of the white lilies, mingling with the barks of the coyotes.
Her affirmations grow frantic, and her legs squeeze around him. He holds her there, lost in the bliss of her strength and pleasure beofre she finally lets go, calling for him. He shivers when she says it: "Papa."
It was ill-fitting at first, but hearing her say it makes it mold and bend to him perfectly. She looks up at him with more love than he'd believe existed, if he hadn't felt it himself.
Carefully, they untangle themselves, unable to completely avoid bumping against the console, smudging a window or two.
Outside, their bare feet aren't susceptible to the stickers and gravel— being a ghoul has its perks. They sit on the hood of the car, naked and stargazing for as long as they can, safe and vulnerable all at once.
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hey cardi do you ever hate yourself and your life in a weird all-consuming way that's hard to explain but sometimes you get the feeling estrogen would help
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