#it’s a crime that it hasn’t happened yet

[liliesdiary]

Could I request something for ghostface pls lovely🥺 I don’t really request stuff, especially smutty stuff, so I’m a little nervous lol but I LOVE your stuff💕

Maybe where they’re in an established relationship, and reader knows her bf is ghostface but hasn’t actually seen him kill anyone, and somehow accidentally sees him kill someone, and is surprisingly very turned on by it, and ends with with her being fucked in the ghostface mask

and for kinks I was think if of these; Corruption kink and fear play, very rough, throat fucking, degradation, knife (obvs the knife be used to do the deed) + blood play (but no pressure if you don’t want to do them all, they were just an idea)

☆ 「 Scream For Me, Doll 」

☆ 「 bf!Ghostface x you 」

☆ 「 Dead Doll Do Not Eat 」: corruption and fear kink, blood play, knife play, reader gets fucked with the handle of the blade, very rough, face fucking / throat fucking, creampie, overstimulation, breeding kink, degradation & praise, doll kink/play

thank you for the request angel and thank you so much for your patience! I hope you enjoy <3

You were taking a hot steaming shower, daydreaming about your boyfriend, touching yourself to him once again. He was out, he was always out. You knew the inhumane acts he was committing and you couldn't help but be turned on.

You spend the days at home, fantasizing about your boyfriend and his killing sprees. You watched the news everyday, watching what other atrocious acts he committed, watching the news reporter report another crime your boyfriend commited.

As you fantasized about what other acts he's done, you heard commotion and grunts downstairs. You quickly turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. You stopped to listen once more as you put your head against the door. At first it was silent but then you heard a loud crash. You quickly wrapped yourself up in a white towel and didn't have time to try your hair.

You opened the bathroom door and a trail of water followed you as you heard grunts and groans in your living room. You carefully walked down the stairs, unsure if you should hide or find out what's happening.

You call out, “Who’s there?” yet no one replies. You walked carefully down the stairs, making sure you didn't slip on the water dripping from your hair.

You then saw your boyfriend in his infamous Ghostface mask, drenched in a man's blood. He violently repeatedly stabbed the man before him as the man choked on his own blood. You couldn't help but gasp as you saw your boyfriend's bloodlust for violence.

Blood drips down from the white mask as the man struggles to breathe. Blood dripped from his knuckles and onto the man’s face. Your wide doe eyes stare at your boyfriend as he stares at you back with lust filled eyes beneath the mask. You stayed silent as you watched him finish the guy off, slitting his throat and getting up from the pool of blood.

This was the first time you’ve actually seen him kill someone. You fantasized about this moment forever and now that you were in this situation you stayed silent, trembling as droplets of water dropped from your hair. Ghostface quietly chuckled, “I brought a gift for you, doll.” He says with his infamous deep voice.

He slowly walked up to you, leaving behind a trail of blood. He grabbed his knife as dragged it against the towel that was hiding your figure, wanting to unwrap your body and fuck you bloody.

Your wide eyes only made him desire you more. “Take that towel off before I slit your throat next.” his deep voice commanded.

Your eyes went wider, seeing this side of your boyfriend was so drastic yet enticing. You listened to him in a heartbeat and dropped your towel onto the wet floor.

Ghostface's eyes roam hungrily over your naked body, drinking in every curve and valley. The sight of you standing there, vulnerable and exposed after witnessing the brutal murder, sends a dark thrill through him. He steps closer, the knife still pressed to your throat.

He traces the flat of the blade down between your breasts, over your stomach, lower...teasing at the juncture of your thighs. His other hand reaches out to roughly grab your chin, forcing you to meet his starving gaze.

Without saying a word he commanded you to sit before him with just his eyes. You sat down with obedience before him, looking up with those doll eyes that make him want to ruin you. He pulls his hardened cock out, stroking it with his blood covered hands. He tapped your mouth with his cock, you stared at his white mask and obeyed. You opened your mouth as wide as you could as you took his cock into your mouth.

Ghostface groans in pleasure as your warm, wet mouth envelops his throbbing cock. He grips your hair tightly, holding your head in place as he thrusts deeper, making you gag and choke around his thick shaft.

He pressed the tip of his black boots against your wet cunt and laughed, “you're drenching wet, doll. Such a disgusting little doll for a serial killer, you should be ashamed of yourself.”

He grabs your hair again and shoves his cock back into your mouth, setting a brutal pace. The knife presses harder against your collarbones as he fucks your face mercilessly.

“Naughty dolls like you should be fucked till they break.”

Ghostface's eyes darken with lust as he sees the mix of fear and arousal in your bambi eyes, the blood dripping down your face only heightening his desire. He noticed your eyes staring at the “gift” behind him, out of anger he grips your wet hair tighter, fucking your throat with a even more brutal, punishing strokes. He wanted to break your pretty body.

Ghostface strokes his cock, slick with your saliva and blood. “Scream for me, doll.” He says as he pins you down onto the floor coated in the man's blood.

He pulled out his infamous blood stained blade and slowly entered the handle into your wet cunt. You trembled as he fucked you with the handle, praying that he'll be gentle and that he won't cut you. Yet you couldn't help but love this. Shamelessly you bounced slightly on the handle of the blade.

As you bounce yourself on the knife handle, your arousal overrides any sense of shame. A dark, twisted smile spreads across his face behind the mask as he realizes just how depraved his little doll truly is.

You continued to bounce on his blade, moaning at groping your tits as he was entertained at his doll’s naughty behavior.

Ghostface's eyes burn with a twisted mix of lust and adoration as he watches your small body writhed beneath him, your skin marred with the crimson evidence of his affection. He marked your insides with your blood with each brutal thrust.

"Such a good girl for me," he praises, his voice a dark purr. "Taking my cock so well, even with all these nasty little cuts. You're mine. My perfect fucking doll."

He leans down, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss, the coppery taste of blood mingling with the salt of your tears. His hands roam your body possessively, squeezing and groping, leaving behind finger-shaped bruises. A delicate doll breaking with each possessive touch.

He angles his hips, hitting that sweet spot deep inside your pretty body with every stroke. The obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, mingling with your pained moans and the creaking of the blood-soaked floorboards.

“It feels too good.” You moan out, squirming beneath him as you struggle to take his cock. Your boyfriend sadistically smiles as he pins you down, forcing you to take it.

Your desperate movements to escape his grasp only turned him on more. He made sure he hit every sensitive spot inside of your, making you yelp in pain.

“Take it like the good doll you are. You don't want to make me mad, right doll?” He asks as he holds the knife to your throat, pressing the sharp cold blade against it even more. The blade breaks skin and blood drips down.

You nod your pretty head that was trembling in fear. You didn't want to upset him, you yearned to be his good doll. The thought of being a killer’s doll made your cunt even more wet and loose. His cock loosened you up and slid right into your wet slippery cunt.

Ghostface's eyes roll back in ecstasy as your arousal allows him to slide in effortlessly. The wet, obscene sounds of his ravening you, mingling with your desperate moans and his grunts of pleasure.

"Fuck, gonna fill this pussy up," he growls, his hips snapping forward with brutal force. "Paint your insides with my cum."

He leans down, biting and sucking at the sensitive skin of your neck, leaving behind dark hickeys that will last for days. His hand tightens around your pretty throat, cutting off your air supply just enough to make you see stars.

"Gonna pump you so full of my seed, doll. Leave you dripping and marked, a walking advertisement for my cock."

Ghostface's thrusts become erratic, his balls drawing up tight as his orgasm approaches. With a final, brutal snap of his hips, he buries himself to the hilt inside you, his cock pulsing as he fills you with his cum. He made sure to not spill a single drop and forced it all deep inside of you.

Ghostface's eyes rolled back in his head as he emptied himself inside your abused cunt, his cock pulsing with each powerful spurt of cum. He grinds his hips against yours, ensuring that every last drop of his seed is deposited deep within your womb.

"Take it all, you filthy little cumdump," he growls, his voice rough with satisfaction. "Gonna breed this pussy, fill you up until you're dripping with my cum.”

He continued to thrust into your overfilled cunt, fucking all of his cum back into your holes. You were soaked in blood and sweat, tears falling from your closed eyes. You squirmed under his grasp as you were completely overstimulated, begging him to stop. He gives you another cut on the chest, “Stop squirming, doll. I'm not done with you yet.”

He continued his assault on your overfilled hole, not letting you rest. After today there was no going back to the innocent relationship you two had. He was going to corrupt your body and leave bruises on you everyday. He was going to stain your pretty body with cuts and hickeys for everyone to see. You were his pretty little doll, made to be broken just for him.

[jambread23]

Some Peter + Erik sketches :]

[i-am-an-atomic-bomb]

i see this and i raise you

ray toro rig rundown

Sure maybe a frank rig rundown doesn't matter TO YOU. I however am a nerd

[designernishiki]

im at the haruka + akiyama duo section of 5 now and i love it <3 both for the uncle/niece sort of dynamic they have and because i fucking love me a murder mystery baby

[tkstrandreyes]

What if at the end of episode 3 TK gets a phone call or the detective comes and tells him that Carlos is missing!

[bugpill]

If I see any more misinformation about Kamala Harris to dissuade people from voting I will explode.

1. She did a lot of work as a prosecutor to dismantle the system. When she was DA in San Francisco she was labeled as being “soft on crime” which she in turn claimed was “smart on crime”. Harris made a program called Back on Track so that low-level nonviolent drug offenders could enroll in school rather than doing jail time. She has believe and continues to believe that supporting people prevents crime far better than criminalizing people.

Yes, she put people behind bars. I know she called herself the “Top Cop” and I fucking hate that. However, the number of people who served time in jail was significantly reduced due to her program. She’s not a saint, but she tried to reduce harm as much as she could in her position. Since then, she’s called for even more action in terms of legalizing marijuana and I believe recently fully endorsed it publicly.

2. She is not transphobic. Harris backed the state of California when it tried to deny gender-affirmation surgery to a trans prisoner, but as attorney general, she could not deny the state’s Department of Corrections as a client of hers. Essentially, she had no say in the denial of surgery herself, as she had to represent the department’s interests over her own. Once she realized what they were doing, Harris actually worked behind the scenes to get that very policy changed so that any inmate who needs that care could get it. Additionally, she has lead efforts to put an end to gay and transgender “panic” defenses in criminal trials.

3. Kamala Harris is Black. For some reason, people like to say that she isn’t, and that she’s Indian and pretending to be black… for what reason? Depends on who’s telling the lie to begin with. Kamala Harris is Black and South Asian. Her father, Donald Harris, is a Black man who was born in Jamaica. Her mother, Shyamala Gopalan, was born in India. Speculating about her race with so much evidence towards the contrary is so wrong. If anyone tells you shit about this, just send them her whitehouse.gov biography.

4. Harris (reportedly) has different opinions than Biden on Palestine. Whether or not she makes a clear stance against Israel, I don’t know. That hasn’t happened yet, but I’ll remain hopeful until further notice. She reportedly tried to push Biden towards “a policy on Gaza that was both more humane and in alignment with international law” but wasn’t listened to. The only reason why this is one of my points is that I’ve seen a lot of people stating that she is totally behind every decision and stance Biden made as president, which isn’t necessarily true. I don’t want to give her credit for being pro-Palestine if she isn’t, just to be clear. That is not what I’m trying to do here.

I desperately want her to stand for a free Palestine. I cannot make the promise that this will happen. All I can hope for is that her policy will be less harmful than Trump’s- who wants Israel to “finish the job” and promises to “throw (pro-Palestinian protestors) out of the country”.

Conclusion: the fact of the matter is that people make shit up all of the time. Sometimes it’s propaganda they accidentally absorb, sometimes it’s deliberate misinformation. People often take rumors as facts, and we need to be more vigilant about it. What I know is that some people will do anything for you to not vote tor Kamala Harris, when in reality she’s our only hope here.

Is Harris my favorite person ever? Absolutely not. Does she share my exact views and opinions? Nope. Would I rather vote for someone who more aligns with my personal views? Yes.

Is voting for Harris the only way to stop Donald Trump and Project 2025? Yes.

Disclaimer for the blog: To be 100% transparent, this is only my (Fanya’s) opinions. Although this is a shared blog, I cannot claim that my stance and my voice speaks for everybody involved in this blog. Some members are not American. Some may have different takes. All I know is that all of us are anti-Trump. Don’t go after my friends if you have beef with what I’m saying. I’m trying my best here.

[earlysunshines]

fright night

kim minji x reader

synopsis: in which your university’s halloween festival leads to you and minji beating around the bush — finally.

warnings: making out. like the best makeout scene i've written in a bit i think. ohmygdoajsdf ; minji is a loooooser but we all know this ; pining ; dumb gay women ; FLIRTING. they want each other SO BAD i was giggling writing this im ngl ; SO cute i loved writing this ohmygod ; anything else not mentioned ; not proofread

a/n: lately i’ve been going insane bc of minji like she’s just so gf… so… she’s so… i need her

kim minji is an idiot, she’s literally the dumbest person you know.

well, academically she’s actually a genius, but she’s clumsy and clueless nine times out of ten. unfortunately yet fortunately(?) for her, this is only more of the reason for you to be completely in love with her.

which is why your roommate is dealing with another one of your little attempts to deny your feelings again.

“i think i should just die.” you groan into yunjin’s bed. she watches you, your body lifeless after you roll over to face the ceiling. “everything was just normal.”

“‘just’ as in… a month ago…?” your roommate snickers, folding a t-shirt and placing it next to your torso. “i think you’re the only person i know who doesn’t enjoy being in love.”

yes: you’re in love with kim minji.

no: you do not enjoy being in love with her at all.

it’s not that she’s an asshole, it’s just the fact that everyone is also in love with her. she quite literally has a line of girls (and men, but none of them stand a chance) waiting for her. she’s kim minji, one of your mutual friends who happens to be the captain of the university’s soccer team—which is why the clumsy aspect of her is often overlooked. so to most, she’s just hot, but she’s more to you, much more.

and you? you’re just trying to get by. you’re not in the spotlight, you haven’t gotten hit on in months — you and minji are two worlds apart.

“this is a waste of time. she only sees me as a friend, she’s cute and athletic. compared to her the most astonishing thing i can do is make a t-shirt and wide-legged jeans to sell on depop.”

“you should make a t-shirt that says ‘kim minji i want you so bad please marry me—“

yunjin is cut off when her just-folded shirt is thrown right at her face. she groans and throws it right back at you.

“i hope you get the same fate as a side character in a horror film.” you groan, sitting up and glaring at her.

“aw, thanks.” she says dryly, rolling her eyes. “hey, speaking of horror… the halloween festival is soon. are you going?”

“i fear.” you sigh, shoulders sinking a bit.

your partner in crime outside of your dorm, danielle, had convinced you with a look filled with sparkly eyes and a sweet smile to help out with face painting. there would be a variety of people passing by and you were notoriously known for being able to draw really well despite being a fashion major. “art is art,” danielle had shrugged, and so she bribed you with some coffee to really commit to it.

“danielle got me to do the face painting stall.”

yunjin’s eyes widen as she sets down a sweater. “did she?”

“yeah. i’m the only one within the circle – other than hanni – who can draw more than a stick figure.”

“you’ve got that right.” yunjin snickers. “you think your wife will be there?”

“minji?” you tilt your head, to which yunjin responds with a raised brow. she got you there. “oh, um. maybe? why?”

“don’t act all unbothered now.” your roommate scoots you over so she can pick up a pile and stack them somewhere else. “if she’s also doing something for the event, i see it as an opportunity.”

“why would i willingly do that to myself? im going to look desperate.”

“minji is an idiot, we both know that. why would it matter? i think she’d be flattered to have you there. hasn’t she literally taken you home like… three times? girl, stop overthinking.” yunjin scoffs. “plus, you never look desperate. you’re a little too good at acting like you don’t care. don’t you think you’re driving her away? it’s like, you’re so normal and even distant in real life, i don’t want to say nonchalant because it’ll boost your ego, but unfortunately, that’s what you are.”

“you—“ yunjin raises both brows as you start to speak.

“she probably wants you too. i’ve noticed you guys talking more — don’t think i don’t notice you guys next to each other in between classes, even if it’s with your circle. kazuha asked if you were dating actually.”

“really?”

yunjin giggles, turning away from her closer and back at you. she stands right in front of you, towering over and looking into your eyes scarily.

“you want that girl so bad.”

“i can’t.”

“no, no. listen to me, you’re going to take this halloween thing as an advantage to make a move and also look hot. i don’t know how many more complaints about you being a bomosexual i can take.”

“i hate you.”

“okay then pay full rent.”

“i love you?”

yunjin laughs, picking up another pile of clothes and putting it away.

—

hanni is the one to text you out of nowhere the day after, something about “minji wanted you to eat with us, but heeseung is at the cafe.” 

you squint at the message. you had just reached your class, and now you’re being invited over to grab a bite with the girl you want so bad while the guy who wants you so bad is in the same area. there is no way you should be saying yes, you can’t. one: you need to get over minji. she’s out of reach, a mere dream. two: heeseung will be checking you out the whole time and might throw in a compliment or two. 

“i’ll be there in five.” you respond, sighing and pinching the bridge of your nose.

…

the café seems a little busy, but that’s not surprising considering it’s around lunchtime and the cafe is not too far from the university. the second you step in, your eyes find minji across the room. she’s mid-laugh with hanni, but the moment she spots you, her smile stretches wider, something bright and giddy in her gaze. it’s that soft, familiar look she gets sometimes—too open, too much—but you’re just as bad, trying not to look like you’re seconds away from smiling like an idiot as you walk up.

“hey, you,” she greets, her voice warm as she sidles closer, her shoulder bumping yours as you both look over the menu.

“hey loser,” you reply, nudging her back a little harder, a playful rhythm forming between you. she pushes back with a smile, and you retaliate, each shove barely more than an excuse to keep lingering in that small space between you two. she laughs, cheeks a little flushed, and you can’t help but feel like coming over was the better decision.

you order first, dismissing minji’s offer to pay for your lunch. she frowns but nonetheless lets you order first. you order a sundried tomato and mozzarella panini, stepping to the side after and glancing at minji, who’s still staring at the menu.

hanni and danielle have already ordered, so you wait near the counter for minji so the two of you can meet up with the rest together. 

much to your dismay, heeseung’s voice breaks through your little bubble. he steps closer, leaning against the counter a little too casually. “so, do you always come here, or did you just need an excuse?” his smile is easy, maybe a little too practiced, and his gaze lingers as he looks you up and down, more intense than friendly. 

you try not to visibly cringe, offering him a polite smile. “not really—just here with friends today,” you say, keeping your tone light but cool. but he doesn’t quite take the hint, his eyes not quite leaving yours. he definitely thinks there’s something in the air, something other than his cologne that is way too strong for your liking.

“you look cute.”

“oh um, thanks?” you purse you lips into a forced smile, watching him smirk confidently. 

“what are your plans after this? got class?”

before you can think of another way to steer the conversation away, you feel an arm slip around your waist, pulling you close, and you look over to find minji at your side. her smile is wide and a little mischievous, and there’s a hint of something defiant in her gaze as she looks right past heeseung, keeping her hand snug on your hip.

“oh, y/n!” she says brightly, voice layered with just enough enthusiasm to sound like a joke but there’s an edge that makes it feel like more. “i remembered something so funny, it’s about yunjin. you know, during practice she got hit in the head.”

she doesn’t even look at heeseung as she tugs you back toward your group, keeping her arm around you a beat longer than necessary. heeseung’s face twists slightly, frustration crossing his features, but minji doesn’t give him a second glance. she launches into a conversation about her classes, her hand slipping away from your waist as she nudges you with her shoulder once more, an unmistakable grin still tugging at her lips.

you two get the chance to converse and danielle and hanni, who are more than happy to have you there. you can feel heeseung and his group eyeing you from a mile away, but that doesn’t matter because minji is in front of you and keeping eye contact the whole time you complain about him.

both your order and minji’s are called out at the same time and for a second, it’s just the two of you again as you both walk up to the counter. her voice and her closeness are enough to erase the last few awkward moments.

 “you looked like you were having fun back there,” she murmurs, half-laughing, and you can tell by the gleam in her eyes that she noticed everything. 

you laugh, trying to shrug it off. “couldn’t have done it without you,” you say, brushing her shoulder with yours. she looks down, almost bashfully, a hint of pink coloring her cheeks as she smiles—a smile that lingers long after heeseung fades into the background once again and you two rejoin the others.

…

before you make an excuse to leave, although it’s not really an excuse more than a complaint about your professor assigning a grueling reading, you hug everyone. when it’s you and minji, you two hold onto each other for a split second longer than social norms until she pulls away. minji smells like flowers and vanilla – you could drown in her scent.

“are you going to the halloween festival this weekend?”

“oh, yeah. danielle is forcing me to volunteer.”

“that’s funny,” minji chuckles, “because hanni is forcing me too.”

“is that so?”

“uh huh, pumpkin carving moderator or something.” she says, biting the inside of your lip. “we should um, do you wanna walk around after? maybe drop your shift early and i’ll do the same.”

you grin, pushing minji’s shoulder with two fingers playfully.

“couldn’t find any other girl lined up for you to hangout with?”

“what other girls?” minji asks, genuinely confused. 

you’re being an idiot. yunjin would so punch you in the face right now, so you come to your senses.

“i– nevermind. i’ll see you around.”

minji waves. “bye.”

…

after you leave, minji settles into her seat beside hanni and danielle, trying to keep her expression neutral. she fails, the smile on her face noticeably smaller and her eyes a little more dim. her friends have known her too long; hanni catches on first, a knowing smirk spreading across her face.

“you look like a disappointed puppy,” hanni says, nudging minji with a grin.

“what? no,” minji replies, clearly flustered. “what are you saying bro.”

“you were practically glowing when y/n walked in,” hanni teases, leaning in. “and then suddenly turned into a sad little puddle when she left. you want her soooo bad.”

minji’s cheeks turn a soft shade of pink, and she tries to laugh it off, glancing at danielle as if for backup. but danielle’s watching her too, a gentle, encouraging look on her face.

“it’s okay, minji,” danielle says softly. “it’s… pretty obvious, you know? you like y/n a lot.”

minji rolls her eyes, looking away. “maybe i do. but it doesn’t matter. y/n’s just… she’s too… normal, you know? she’s always so unbothered, so unfazed by anything. she probably doesn’t even want me. i’m always chasing her.”

danielle shakes her head, a knowing smile touching her lips. “i wouldn’t be so sure, minji. just because y/n’s good at hiding her feelings doesn’t mean she doesn’t have them.” she places a reassuring hand on minji’s arm. “trust me, i think there’s more there than you realize.”

minji lets out a small sigh, her gaze dropping to her hands. “it’s just… sometimes it feels like i’m the only one who’s feeling this way, you know? like i’m the only one getting flustered or waiting for her to look at me like… like i don’t know, she see’s me as a good friend.”

hanni wraps an arm around her, squeezing her shoulder. “please. y/n’s about as subtle as you when you’re around. i don’t know how you don’t see it.”

danielle laughs softly, nodding. “give it time, minji. y/n might just need a little nudge, and besides…” she pauses, glancing around conspiratorially before leaning in. “if y/n didn’t feel something, you wouldn’t have caught her staring at you like that when she thought no one was watching. plus, the whole nudging your shoulders the whole time. you two are like fucking thirteen year olds in love, it’s kind of gross.”

minji looks up, hope flickering in her eyes as a faint, shy smile tugs at her lips. maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t imagining it.

—

“im literally going to kill myself.” is the first thing yunjin hears when you get home, followed by you dropping your bag and crashing against her on your couch.

“girl what happened?”

“kim fucking minji. she’s insane, she wants me to die, i can’t do this, i resign from being a lesbian can i please resign.”

“well!” yunjin laughs, pulling you in. you lean on her shoulder and cover your face with your hands. “do you want to tell me what happened?”

through your hands, your voice is muffled as you explain, “basically hanni invited me to grab lunch with her and dani and minji. she looked so cute and like, we kept bumping shoulders and she kept smiling when she did it and then i ordered and—”

“you’re rambling–”

“and then i waited for my order while she ordered and heeseung started flirting with me,”

“ew, heeseung?”

“the bane of my existence— yes. i told him i was a lesbian at least three times! oh my god, anyway that doesn’t even matter, i don’t even care because—yunjin. huh yunjin.”

yunjin blinks at you as you stand up, pacing back and forth on the carpet now. she can’t help but laugh at you when you stop in front of her and groan, “jennifer huh.”

“wow, this must be serious.”

“minji fucking grabbed me by the waist like some wattpad story and then kinda shooed heeseung away and yunjin her hands are so nice and they were on my waist and i want her so bad. yeah. i’m gonna just die.”

yunjin pulls you by the wrist so you’re back next to her. she looks at you with a raised brow, waiting for you to recover from your high (if that counts as a high, but maybe you’re just insane). 

“she wants you.”

“she’s playing with me.”

“you’re insane. you know hanni asked if me if you like minji earlier, right? talking about how minji looked so devastated after you left.”

“what?”

“oh my god. you know what, i’m done with you. you’re such an idiot that it’s pissing me off.”

you whine, pulling yunjin by her forearm and pulling her back, which earns a scoff. yunjin looks at your little pout and puppy eyes, but doesn’t give in. instead, she pushes you off, leaving you to deal with the events of the day on your own.

before she disappears into her room, she sighs, “you’re gay and useless.”

you sink into the couch a little more. “thanks.” 

—

the weekend comes by all too fast. even with your time consuming assignments, it feels like you’ve blinked and now you have to deal with the whole festival.

you’re in a snug white cropped baby tee that shows a decent amount of your abdomen, your hair is styled just a bit, and the makeup on your face is a little more glittery and highlighted than usual. on your back there’s angel wings that complete the look. 

(“she’s going to want you so bad, trust me.” yunjin assures as she does your eye makeup.

it’s nothing much, just some darker warm tones with a faint hint of purple and highlighter to make you really look like an angel.

“and…” yunjin adds a bit of highlighter to your cheekbones. she pulls away and gazes at her work, bringing her pointer to her lips and biting on it jokingly. “heyyy gorgeous.”

“shut up.”

“minji’s going to want you so bad.”

“shut. up.”)

yunjin drives the two of you to the festival, she also looks really good. while you’re an angel, she’s a devil, showing off her toned body from soccer so she can pick up some girls that night.

(“you’re such a hoe.” you groan, doing her makeup to make her eyes smoky and lips plump. 

she rolls her eyes while putting on her little horns in her hair, checking herself out in the mirror. 

“how do i look?”

“like a hoe.” you assure firmly, earning a shove. then, you slide a finger down her collarbone teasingly, winking at her. “a really hot one.”

your roommate chuckles. “save that for minji, y/n.”

“i hate you.”)

the halloween festival is lively, lights flickering under dark skies, and you slip through the crowd in your angel costume with yunjin. you’re not even sure if anyone’s noticed your costume details, but the reactions make it clear you look… well, good. or maybe that’s just yunjin who’s doing the attracting, but a man winks directly at you and you have to force back a look of disgust.

as you make your way to the face-painting stall, you catch sight of minji leaning against a booth, dressed as patrick bateman. she’s really hot, that’s for sure, and it’s nothing new. the loose, slightly unbuttoned dress shirt shows her collarbone, and you can’t help but think about how your lips would feel on them. the loosened tie around her neck makes her look really good; you feel like she’s pulling you in without trying. despite the purposeful tousled look, she looks effortlessly put-together, but the smudge of fake blood on her cheek adds a wild edge (and makes her look even hotter). 

her eyes land on you, and her expression shifts just slightly before she pushes off the booth, walking over with a slight smirk.

“wow,” she says, looking you up and down in a way that feels way too intense. “you’re really… pulling off that angel look. you look really good, y/n.”

you giggle, trying to play it cool. “you look pretty good yourself,” you reply, letting your gaze drift over her from the blood on her cheek to the undone buttons of her shirt. “i didn’t know patrick bateman could look this… hot.”

a faint flush creeps onto her cheeks, and she lets out a quiet laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “yeah, well, didn’t know ‘angelic’ could look so irresistible,” she teases, but her voice softens as her eyes linger on you.

for a beat, the two of you just stand there, the energy between you charged. you’re painfully aware of the way she’s looking at you—like she’s holding back from saying or doing something, thouh—and you can’t stop yourself from mirroring that, a hint of want in your gaze. she clears her throat, shifting her weight from one foot to the other.

“well, i better get to moderating— i don’t want people accidentally slicing themselves instead of a pumpkin.” she murmurs, finally breaking eye contact but not before giving you one last once-over, her eyes lingering a moment longer than necessary. she brings her hand to your hair, using a finger to push away some of the strands framing your face. you gulp a bit, then again after she brushes her knuckles against your cheek. “i like this. the makeup.”

i like you. you fight back the confession.

“thanks.” you swallow, nodding. “well, i should,” you start, playing with her tie out of a burst of confidence. you tug on it just a little, catching her by surprise. her breath hitches just barely. “--get going. i’ll see you.” you say, dropping the piece of fabric in your hand. 

as you head toward your booth, the thrill from your brief encounter with minji lingers, leaving you more than a little distracted and hoping she feels it too.

…

you’ve painted more faces than you can count on one hand in only an hour, much to your surprise. if you were to do this full time you’d for sure develop arthritis the second week on the job. 

after your tenth person — some kid who just wanted two flowers on her cheeks — danielle taps your shoulder. you turn around, humming in response.

“you look beat,” she says.

your shoulders are drooping, your posture is much worse than when you started, and you’re moving your wrist in a every angle to stretch it out and relieve the soreness. 

“you think?”

“hanni says she’ll be over in a bit.” danielle assures, patting you on the back and massaging your back lightly. “the stall will close soon so we can all hangout after.”

“thank god. are the other activities closed?”

“not until before midnight – i think.” you sigh in relief, but danielle adds, “could you grab some stuff from the supply closet though? maybe some more white, blue, and red paint? maybe grab yellow and green too.”

she gives you those eyes again, earning a chuckle. “yeah, yeah. okay.”

“great! just go down and turn right, there’s a brown shed — it’s not creepy, i swear. it’s kind of modern actually.”

“something tells me you’re lying.”

“me? lying?” 

you roll your eyes and stand up, then you trudge on over down the gravel. you roll your shoulders back and massage your neck a bit, then fix your costume a bit. it’s funny; you’re at a whole festival and this is the only time you’re exposed to the groups of people, bright lights, and excitement all around — at least for longer than a minute.

turning the corner you reach a shed, one that matches danielle’s description. 

danielle isn’t a liar, she never lies — well, she never lies about anything serious. it’s quite modern inside, seemingly new due to the fresh paint smell. it’s lined with wooden shelves, each holding different items. the corners are filled with various decorations, ranging from not only halloween decor but also christmas and even valentines day themed trinkets. you laugh at the little cupid poster in the back, but recollect yourself and focus on the “task” at hand.

you have to rummage through the costumes in the corner to find a small box with face paint in it. the light in the shed isn’t on (there isn’t a switch, only some rustic-type light hanging from above in the middle of the building), so you use your flashlight to help you see clearer. 

it takes a bit more time to find the yellow bottle of paint, which is in your hand until you drop it from the sound of the door opening so suddenly.

you jump, gasping ever so lightly before turning around to see a very striking patrick bateman.

minji stands in the doorway, still looking as good as before, looking at you with a perplexed expression.

“what are you doing here?” she asks, looking around the area.

“minji,” you close your eyes, “you scared the shit out of me!”

“i’m sorry…” she says, jutting out her bottom lip and suddenly every ounce of fear is drained from your body. “i didn’t know you were in here.”

“danielle sent me to get more paint.”

“that's funny,” minji steps towards you, looking at the two paint bottles on the floor. “hanni sent me to grab trash bags.”

you don’t respond for a second because minji steps under the antique light above her. it illuminates her face in the best way possible, highlighting the smeared on fake blood and her features. you feel your throat tightening as you stare.

minji’s gaze softens, she steps closer.

“do you know where i could find trash—”

“yes, um, yeah, probably in the corner.” you choke out.

she chuckles, you swallow lightly. 

you take the stretch of silence to pick up the two bottles that had dropped out your hand and turn the flash on your phone off. you fix your tank top because minji is still within radius, but she’s busy looking for the trash bags, still.

“i’ll see you later?” you say softly. minji’s head whips around, and there’s a slight frown on her face. before she can respond, you hear a click coming from the door, then stare at the handle with furrowed brows. you reach over to twist the knob, but it barely budges. “what the hell?”

“what?”

“i think it’s locked. did you lock it?”

she shakes her head, her brow furrowing as she steps over, nudging you aside to try the handle herself. she pulls, twisting the knob a little harder than you did, but the door still doesn’t move an inch. 

“it’s locked.” she mutters, glancing at you with a hint of worry. “i think we’re stuck.”

you both stare at each other for a beat, the realization sinking in, and suddenly the small shed feels much smaller. you look away first, sighing before turning on your phone.

“i’ll call danielle.” you say, voice steady, though there’s a slight tremor as you dial.

“i’ll try hanni.”

you both dial. danielle doesn’t answer and you huff. you wait for minji, her phone against her ear, and the defeated groan is enough to tell you whether hanni answered or not.

“i guess they’re busy.” minji says, slipping her phone back into her pocket. 

for a moment, silence stretches between you both again, an awkward tension settling in. minji shifts, making a weird noise as she brushes dust off her shirt. you can’t help but find it cute. then she adjusts her loose collar, making you clear your throat and glancing around for any other possible way out; there’s none.

the only thing you catch is a window, a window that’s far too small and high for anything to happen.

“we’re stuck.” you mutter, looking back at minji.

“do you think dani and hanni will realize we’re missing?”

“they might be busy…” you pinch the bridge of your nose, resting your head against the door. “i have no idea how we’ll get out.”

you’re stuck with minji. kim minji. the hottest and cutest girl you’ve ever laid eyes on. the girl you think of way too much for it to be platonic. the girl who’s in a costume that genuinely has you considering ruining a friendship. the girl who’s leaning back against the shelf behind her right now, crossing her arms, and who’s eyes are flickering over you as she smiles.

“your costume is really something.” her voice is casual, like you’re not stuck in a shed. there’s also a warmth in her tone that isn’t hidden in the slightest. “i like it a lot. you look heavenly.”

if minji’s trying to ease the tension, she’s doing it very well. her stupid dad joke earns a laugh from you, and now you’re leaning against the door with one side of your body as you keep eye contact.

“thank you minji, your looks could really kill.”

she laughs, gums showing and eyes crinkling. you want her so bad. 

“that one was worse than mine.”

“no it wasn’t!”

she rolls her eyes. “it was.” she steps closer leaning her head against the same door and staring hard at every single feature of your face. she glances at your lips briefly, then back up. “bet you’ve turned more than a few heads tonight.”

“maybe,” you feel your voice growing quieter. “but i was stuck at the booth.”

“if i were at the booth i think i’d purposely stay just to see you. you look really pretty tonight y/n, i mean it.”

you blush. “maybe.” there’s a grin that you can’t keep off your face. “i’d say the same for you.”

she chuckles again, looking down at her slightly blood-stained dress shirt. “yeah, i think i took the pumpkin carving part a bit too seriously. got more guts on me than on the pumpkins.” she holds up her hands, still faintly stained with an orange hue, and shakes her head. “i’ll probably smell like pumpkins for a week.”

minji watches you turn to the side, covering your mouth to stifle a giggle. 

turning back, you’re mid-laugh when your eyes catch on a smudge of blood across minji’s cheek, just barely out of place. your hand moves without thinking, reaching up to brush it away with your thumb. the laughter fades, the shed shrinking around you, and everything slows, the only movement her skin warming under your touch.

minji’s gaze locks onto yours, intense and unblinking, and there’s something behind it that makes your heart skip. her eyes are barely liddied now, she swallows, biting down on the inside of her lip, before a slow, uncertain smile begins to take over her face. 

“you look so good right now,” she murmurs, her voice low, almost rough. her hand reaches up, covering yours, holding it there against her cheek, like she’s trying to commit the moment to memory, almost like it’ll end anytime – soon, or now.

you’re close enough to feel her breath, the slight catch in it. “good enough for you?” you ask softly, a smile playing at your lips, your words teasing, but your heart racing.

she chuckles, but it’s quiet, and her gaze doesn’t waver. “better than good,” she whispers, her hand falling from yours, trailing down to your waist, her fingers grazing the bare skin there, gentle, hesitant, like she’s testing the feel of you, seeing if you’ll pull away, but you don’t. minji smirks. “are you… seeing anyone?”

the question hangs between you, heavy and thrilling. you shake your head, your pulse pounding beneath her touch. “no one at all.”

she exhales, her voice barely above a whisper. “good.” her fingers press into your waist just a little more, her gaze flickering down to your lips, and you watch, almost dizzy, as she wets her own, her tongue darting out, just barely, the movement so subtle you’d miss it if you weren’t so close.

your hand moves from her cheek, trailing slowly down to the open collar of her shirt, brushing along her collarbone. her breath hitches, and her head tilts slightly, just enough for your fingers to press against her skin, her eyes closing for the briefest moment before she meets your gaze again. you don’t realize how close you’ve drawn until you feel her breath warm against your lips.

she glances at your lips for what seems the tenth time. you two are clearly vibrating on the same wave length, it’s evident.

then, with the faintest, almost imperceptible smile, minji closes the space between you, her mouth soft, warm, pressing into yours, a little unsure, like she’s savoring every second of it. her hand at your waist tightens, pulling you closer, her fingertips grazing the curve of your hip as she leans in, her other hand moving to cradle the side of your face, her thumb grazing your cheek. the world around you slips away, and all that’s left is her—the warmth of her lips, the feeling of her touch, and the overwhelming sense that every daydream you had is getting outdone by this moment. this real moment.

it’s so real when she pulls away with rosy cheeks. she looks at you nervously, as if she didn’t just take the oxygen from your lungs.

“was that alright?” she asks, sounding unsure. it’s cute, she’s cute, god she’s so cute.

“perfect.” you mumble.

your hand moves to where her tie is, it’s loose around her collar, making it easier for you to tug her right back into you. she gasps from surprise and groans into your lips, kissing you hard.

her fingers press into your skin and you shiver, parting your lips ever so slightly to sigh softly. minji smirks against your skin, trailing to your jawline with light pecks as you release your grip on her tie and snake your hand around her neck.

“i’ve–” a kiss to the side of your throat, “wanted to—” a kiss lower, “do this for—” and a soft kiss to the base of your neck, “so long.” 

your breath shakes after she finishes the sentence, she kisses your neck once more.

minji parts, moving you over so you’re is against some random, heavy box on the side of the shed and now both arms are around your neck. you’re a few more kisses in, mixed with content sighs and groans and handfuls of hair before you two almost bite each other’s lips off from the sound of the door opening. 

you barely have time to pull away, minji’s lips are still a breath from yours, her hand lingering at your waist. you both turn to see danielle, hanni, and yunjin standing in the doorway, eyes wide. you and minji spring apart, the movement so fast that it would be funny if you were witnessing the situation.

danielle’s shock morphs into a grin as she exchanges a look with hanni, and yunjin just has a hand over her mouth.

hanni’s mouth drops open before breaking into a smirk, her eyes flickering with pure satisfaction. 

“oh my god.” hanni breathes, relief in her voice. “it actually worked.”

before you or minji can respond, utterly confused considering they all look relieved rather than disgusted, yunjin takes one look at you and minji and bursts out laughing,

“i knew it! i knew you two would finally do something if we left you alone long enough.”

minji blinks, looking as if she’s still processing. you glance between them, your cheeks warm. “what?” you say exasperatedly, “what do you mean ‘finally’? what— what is all this?”

The three of them exchange looks before danielle nudges yunjin forward, her grin growing. “so uh, we might’ve had a little something to do with the door locking. maybe on purpose. maybe. perchance.”

“definitely on purpose.” hanni adds, crossing her arms. “we were all tired of watching you guys dance around your feelings. you two needed a push.”

minji stares at them with a mix of embarrassment and dawning realizaiton. then she glances at you, her face flushing before turning back to the trio.

“you all planned this?”

hanni nods, looking like she’s enjoying this way too much. “you guys are hopeless. you know? everyone could see that you two wanted each other except you two. who the hell nudges their friends like that? you both are like middle schoolers with their first crush.”

you exchange yet another glance with minji, who’s biting her lip. there’s a surprise mirroring on her face, and honestly it’s really cute. adorably cute. 

despite all the embarrassment, you can’t help but laugh, a little breathless.

“so… this was all a setup?” minji says, looking at them with a half-laugh, half-disbelieving shake of her head.

danielle shrugs, stepping aside to give you both room to leave the shed. “well, it worked, didn’t it?”

yunjin’s grin is teasing as she waves you both out, her eyes bright with excitement. “yeah, finally,” she echoes, a satisfied smirk on her face. you glance at minji, who’s still looking at you, and a shy, almost playful smile tugs at her lips.

and as you both step out of the shed, shoulder to shoulder, the knowing smiles of your friends after they glance behind, there’s a giddiness accompanying the space between you and minji.

they all explain something about your booths being over because you two were too busy making out — you barely listen — and minji nudges your shoulder again when they’re far enough to not hear her.

you turn, tilting your head a bit before she leans down a bit to mumble, “you know, i heard that if you don’t kiss me again, for at least an hour, bloody mary might show up in your room tonight.”

a laugh escapes your lips and you push minji, who’s grinning at you like an idiot. you roll your eyes and reach out to hold her hand, she squeezes yours excitedly. 

“that’s a new one. are you sure it’s true?”

minji quickly cups your cheek and steals a kiss, parting away to make sure your friends don’t turn around and tease you two relentlessly.

“that one just got rid of all the bad energy from before.”

“what bad energy?”

“the one that’s building up every second you don’t kiss me. it also builds up if you don’t go out with me for lunch tomorrow. or ever.”

you roll your eyes once more, then glance at your friends before kissing minji’s cheek.

“i can’t risk any of that, can i?”

[erosiism]

SACRED | YANDERE PRIEST X M!READER

prompt: yandere!priest x transmigrated!male!reader

character(s): priest (anton), you

warnings(s): mention of violence, god complex, religious imagery, dub-con, not to be glorified or romanticised

note(s): male reader, second person, past and present tense, not beta read. from twisted faith on my wattpad.

It takes a few moments for you to truly process what just happened. From the coarse sheets underneath your skin that differ greatly from the silken ones you have grown so accustomed to, to the air that smells like blood, you know something is terribly wrong.

Then you see a mural of a priest on the wall, and you remember where you are. A horror game.

Anton. It’s the name of the priest you need to find.

The first time you see the priest is the day after you transmigrate into a horror game. The said game, Spiraling into the Abyss features almost a cult like fanaticism with religion: you learn in the first few seconds of your time in the new world that they worship a priest like a God, and that they sacrifice humans to please the apparent gods of the heavens.

You’re a sacrifice. You know that. You are found to be guilty of some stupid crime you didn’t commit, and as far as you know, you are a worthless extra who will die by burning—you will do everything to prevent that.

To survive, you need to get into his good graces. You see him on the day or worship, when you come early to the Church: and his beauty astounds you. Symmetrical features—and the whole blue eyes and golden hair combination that is seen as rather cliche, in terms of beauty—but Anton doesn’t have a common kind of beauty; he is radiant. Benevolent. Ethereal. You marvel at him. His skin is without a blemish, and is fair, like he hasn’t gone out in the sun for a while...yet it has a healthy glow to it. His expression is serene. Anton's hair frames his face perfectly, and his eyes are expressive and rather captivating, with long, dark lashes that draw attention to it. His cheekbones are well-defined, his nose straight—and those only add to Anton's appeal.

He speaks to you in lilted tones, and immediately, you realize the priest isn’t just evil—he’s downright a menace.

"Sometimes I forget you are a new, naive believer. God is perfect, is he not? So his messengers, in turn, can do no wrong. He sends his messages through me. God is part of me. I'm merely ridding the world of evil."  He strides to where you are, and his hands touch the top of your head lightly. His fingers fall to your cheek, and he strokes it gently.

You can only swallow. “Yes, Father Anton.”

There’s one day where you ask him why he burns those bodies. He calls it “cleansing”, apparently.

“They donate to the church out of the kindness of their hearts,” you tell him, swallowing the bile down your throat as you hear more screams. “Is that not…a little extreme?”

“Extreme? Why, no, not at all.”

“You burn people alive.”

“That is the cleanest way to proceed. Their ashes tumble away, and it makes it much easier for the people, too. If we were to use magic, or beheading, or even hanging—it would be much messier, no? And I believe fire is such an awfully beautiful thing. It can make death look inviting; and even though the heavens might cast them away…in hell, all they will see is the fiery pits. This is their punishment. To feel sorry for them is strange, Y/n.”

Despite this, for the sake of your survival, you continue to visit him. Now, such visits are rare: Anton barely makes time for anyone. But he does, for you. 

Of course, this partial treatment doesn’t go unnoticed by you. He treats only you like this: it’s concerning, actually. His words are light and gentle, but the weight of it isn’t. In fact, he speaks of cleansing, he speaks of murdering in such a calm manner that you wonder if the devil truly resides in him.

But one thing is clear. 

To survive, you need to get into his good graces.

You feel your sanity slip each minute you spend in the game.

Anton kills. So does the Church. And you still can’t explain the goddamn obsession he has with you. Why has he not killed you yet? Anton is no saint, not at all.

Perhaps Anton was ensnared by the promise of Godhood—ensnared by the tendrils of his own self proclaimed grandiosity. Perhaps he had been idolized so much…worshiped by the devoted believers that he had simply been led to believe in his imagined divinity. Anton was a mortal who had dared to cast a shadow that eclipsed the very stars that he had reached for. Anton was simply adorned in robes of imagined omnipotence, and smelt of the fragrance of narcissus.

Here, he was god, but Anton was completely alienated from empathy. For what was a god in isolation but a sovereign ruler over an empire of one, ruling over a realm devoid of the richness of God’s grace?

You can’t deal with him much longer. He keeps murdering: he murders those who come to you under the guise of the silly notion of cleansing, he finds it amusing to see you sob and cry…and he has no qualms about drugging you. If not for the items you have stored in your inventory, warning you of drugs, you would have succumbed long ago.

Anton is no priest. 

And now he stands before you, his lips curling into a smile when he sees the look of despair on your face. He has just killed a friend,

You have to. You have to fight Anton…you have to…

Anton leans forward. You two are a hair’s breadth away.

God. Is God real? Is the devil real—has he taken form in Anton himself, twisting, persuading, begging, tempting people to court evil, to withhold the stench of death? The crimson flames have not faltered for long, and have only seemed to welcome him with fiery contempt, only surrendering when everything has been destroyed in its wake.

You long to spit curses towards Anton. You long for your limbs to connect with his face, and leave a mottled bruise there. You long for your twitching fingers to wrap around the priest’s neck; watch as oxygen slowly slips from his lungs out of your throat. You long to see his body grow limp.

“You are so perfect,” Anton murmurs, “so, so divine. So perfect…”

You don’t get why he says this. He’s been telling you this for ages: it’s the reason why you’ve been treated well. He claims you are some savior from an oracle ready to save him, he claims you saved him.

And now in this scenario, where his fingers are grazing your cheek?

You swallow. There was no way, right? No fucking way—

“I want to kiss you.”

Your heart drops. “…If I say no, you wouldn’t listen.”

A kiss. It would just be a kiss, right? That was okay. It means simply brushing your lips against Anton’s…yeah, that was possible.

You want to cry. Anton presses his lips on yours—it’s a mixture of heat and warmth; the way Anton ravages your lips has some sort of twisted hunger to it, craving and craving and craving. There is an obscene sheen of saliva coating your lips when you part.

The kiss tastes just like the forbidden fruit, plucked from the tree of desire. It is the same way that Eve sinned—eating a fruit that had belonged to the serpent. It was as if you had forged a pact with the devil himself—that in kissing Anton, it was like sealing your fate in the molten wax of sin, staining the canvas of your soul. Had matted it black. 

It was shameful. So utterly shameful that the kiss…

Once Anton fully lets go, he smiles, and you collapse on the ground, tears running down your face.

He needs you, Anton thinks, he needs you. You are the savior who has brought him from the depths of hell. You are his miracle. You are his little pet; his little divine sacrifice, the white sheep with the white wool. You are the one who will follow him guiltlessly. Untouched, untainted, clean.

You are shaking like a newborn lamb.

He presses another kiss on your forehead.

[ before, Anton’s pov ]

The world was dirty.

It needed a savior. Someone to bring them out from the depths of hell—to cleanse them. After all, was that not what the texts read? Was that not what he had learnt, ever since young? Was that not what had been instilled in him since his very birth? Luke 15:11-32. The wayward son who squandered his inheritance but was welcomed back by his forgiving father—Anton had marveled at it when he was young. To think someone would have such boundless grace; such forgiveness for a foolish person…

The oracle. Anton saw the oracle as a gift—a symbol from God. It had been delivered to him when he was young, naive, and careless. 

Anton remembered very little about his childhood. Extremely little. He remembered his mother, his father. But that was it—but oh, how he hated them. Anton did not remember why he hated them, why the portrait of his family had been torn out. He regarded life then, and now, as the beginning of the end.

Something fleeting, something ephemeral. Something tragic. Life was a wonderful tragedy.

People look at me with such endless wonder; such spellbound eyes and widened mouths. They see me as God—they see me as a deity above them all.

And that was true, Anton thought. That was very true. Sinners. Wretched, dirtied, horrid sinners, all of them! Anton despised humankind; they were worthless—made of brittle bones with flesh. He did not even see them as humans. They were just mere vessels in need of salvation.

“Father Anton!”

“Father Anton, would you please help me?”

“Bring me to the path of salvation!

He was anointed by a divine purpose to purify the soiled souls of the world…

Yes, that was his purpose.

It was relieving and calming to have a purpose. To drift in the vast expanse of the world; the universe without a tethering purpose is akin to being a feather in the breath of the wind. Useless, damaging, lonely. Anton could see—it was very easy for him to see who were those who were aimless in life, compared to those who had the bright, bubbly life shining magnificently in their eyes.

Oh, Mother. Anton would stand before her grave. Again, he did not remember much of what he believed was to be a mundane, boring childhood, but his mother’s name left a bitter taste on his tongue, horrid and painful. Somehow, he did not feel a single bit of…remorse, or guilt when he gazed at her tombstone. He expected to feel guilt for something he was quite sure he didn’t do.

But his lips would always curve into a smile when he saw the words etched on the grave. She was dead, he would remember. Dead. Occasionally, snippets of memories would come to him—her shrill voice, her messy, jagged hair, her crazed, crazed eyes. The way her fingernails felt on her skin when she scratched at him wildly.

Clearly, she deserved to die. How did she die, though? What exactly transpired? What kind of person was she, and what kind of person had she tried to make Anton into?

Anton found, to his surprise, that he was bothered about this. Detachment was something he prided himself on: he would never venture too close.

To have attachment with someone would be detrimental. Annoying. Haunting.

There were times—many, many times when Anton had awoken, hollow and void. 

The oracle.

The oracle.

When is it coming? When is it coming? Have the gods lied to me?

The oracle—his lifeline since he was young—was the very proof that this world had a chance, to live on, to heal.

A savior.

There were times Anton would grow impatient. He needed to do something about the state of the world. It would be easy, wouldn’t it? Why did people falter in front of flames? What did people shun away from blood? Was the sight not wonderful, not enchanting? The heat was welcoming—a gentle caress. Those who ventured in, would have their faces bathed in mesmerizing glow. Nevermind their screams, nevermind their bleeding, rotting flesh. 

The fire illuminated the world before it dissolved like nothing. Like it hadn’t existed. 

“Horrible! Horrible! You’re fucking horrible!” Then the stinging of flesh. There was something piping hot, something burning him.

“Why won’t you even flinch, you monster?”

Anton smiled loosely. Another memory. They came into his mind occasionally and quickly. He never pondered over them—it was useless to; for he already had everything he wanted.

The day you came into the world, was the day he felt alive. Waiting had become a bore to him—it was the same routine over and over again, with the same stupid, foolish people—

Something extraordinary had graced his reality. The oracle. You were the chosen one. The chosen one. The chosen one. The one he yearned for; seeked for; the change in the world.

“Dear God,” You had said the first time he saw you. “I confess I have been impure in my holy spiritual presence…”

Anton had seen you before the mural; your head lowered, your words soft and quiet.

Anton had stepped before you, tilting his head to the side as he observed you. In fact, you seemed to be struggling.

“You have to be sincere. You can’t just read off the mural.” Anton sighed.

You seemed to look at him with flickering recognition.

“Forgive me, Father Anton, for I have sinned.” You appeared shocked for the words to even slip past your lips; and oh, you were beautiful. Lovely. Innocent. Anton gazed at you—this was the person he had been waiting for his whole life—fervently, impatiently, silently. 

“You don’t seem to be used to this,” Anton said at last, as he took off his hood. He had not meant to come to church today—he was aware the crowd was growing more stifling, more crazed by the minute. The women of the church reminded him of his mother. There were times he wished he could draw a blade to their throat, and watch the blood spill out in a wonderful crimson.

“I’m afraid it’s been long since my last confession.”

Anton couldn’t help but smile. You were lying. 

“That’s alright,” He said calmly, “you have come now. Is there something in particular that’s troubling you, perhaps? To bring you to confession?”

“I…”

Anton could read human beings exceptionally well. From the way their eyes narrowed, the way their pupils widened marginally, to the gap of their fingers…you were trembling. You were thinking of what other lies you could say.

An adorable fool.

“You…?” He prompted. “You must not feel self conscious in the eyes of God. He already knows, Y/n. He is only waiting for you to confess.”

I am only waiting for you to confess. To tell me that you are from the oracle.

“I cannot even recall it.” You admitted.

You cannot recall it because it is not true.

“What do people come here for, Father Anton?”

Many things.

“The ones who have sinned so awfully they are made to be sacrifices.”

Oh. Sacrifices. Anton did not even—

There were times he would stand before dead bodies, blood in his hand, blinking slowly. When? When had he killed them? It all happened so fast, he wasn’t even aware of the blood staining his clothes, the bodies riddled on the ground.

“You tell me, Y/n.”

“Murder…?”

Anton wanted to laugh. A textbook answer. You had much to learn, didn’t you? It was alright. Anton could teach you. Teach you from ground zero, till you would become who you were supposed to be.

“Mostly, it’s their lack of faith. Rebelling against us. It is their perceived lack of loyalty, and their utter ignorance and disregard for God that leads us to take drastic measures.”

“But that’s…that’s killing isn’t it?”

So pure. So untainted, so innocent. 

The oracle. The person from the oracle. 

“But that doesn’t matter,” Anton said softly, “you show a desire to learn. And that is always very splendid, always welcomed.”

Anton would morph you and turn you into something splendid, divine.

remember to reblog and like! comments are always appreciated

[deebrisbyfish]

After spending most of yesterday numb, angry, and terrified, I took the time to think about how I both want and NEED to move forward.

For months, I've been pondering if it’s time to move on from my semi-autobiographical webcomic, “Finding Dee”, for a few months now. I wrote a whole blog post about it, and I’ve even been working on some potential new ideas for new comic strips. All kinds of fun stuff. I’ve been considering that when I had enough material for one more trade… about 40 weeks of strips… I might put this comic to bed and move on. Then, I woke up yesterday morning to the election results and have spent most of that day feeling like I’ve been repeatedly kicked in the stomach. That feeling hasn’t really gone away and likely won’t for a while, but like a lot of chronic pain, I’m learning how to function with it being ever-present. Whee.

As such, it was important to me yesterday afternoon, after I finished with work, to immediately draw THIS. To put these thoughts out there in my chosen medium of expression, doing the thing I love to do the most: make comics Now, another factor in my concerns over whether it was time to end “Finding Dee” came down to the election, and the promises contained within Project 2025. 

The incoming regime has promised that in their new world order, being publicly transgender can become a punishable crime. Telling transgender stories will be flagged as porn, and porn will be made illegal as well. I will be branded a sex criminal for telling what can quantifiably be called the LEAST sexy webcomic ever. Because Republicans needed a boogeyman to terrify their ignorant base, and we were RIGHT THERE.

But, after a lot of thought and consideration, I decided that I am not ready to retire this strip just yet. Maybe if something cool happens and I decide to move on, but like I said in the strip here… I want that to be MY choice. Not the government.

So, I’m moving forward. The strip will continue as it’s been until I DECIDE that I’m done with it. End of rant… for now.

[pelova4president]

Secreta

Salma Paralluelo x Barca!Reader

summary~ You’ve been dating your girlfriend Salma for a while now but never really told the team. Will they find out?

Hiding something from your teammates was difficult, especially when you’re part of the Barca squad. One big family. Well, a unique family but one nonetheless.

And it got even more complicated when the secret is between two teammates. Being in a relationship with a teammates was something itself, sharing it with the team meant endless teasing and god knows what else.

Salma was a flirtatious type so it wasn’t uncommon for her to hug you, pick you up and sometimes even slap your ass. Most of the team is Spanish anyway, they’re all more into pda than the English. Whenever someone would comment on it you had a good excuse, she does it to everyone. But it was hard to cover up the red that invaded the apples of your cheeks.

Mapi was the worst of them all, you may or may not have told her about your little crush on the striker before anything actually happened between the two of you, and she wouldn’t let it go. She might have her suspicions but she never really told you them out loud and luckily for you that saved you some embarrassment and unnecessary lying.

“Los tortolitos no pueden quitarse las manos de encima” (Lovebirds can’t keep their hands off eachother) Mapi yelled from across the pitch. Salma had swung you over her shoulder, having spurted water all over her earlier and now she wanted payback. Vicky, her partner in crime helped her with that. The younger girl had stolen a bucket full of ice cold water from the recovery room and was waiting for Salma to run towards her. Once she arrived with you over her wet shoulder Vicky drowned you in the freezing water.

Gasping for air you scolded the Spanish girls. “Joder! I’m gonna get you both for that, little shits!” and when you began kicking yourself free from the strong grip Salma had on you, they sprinted away.

“Jesus Christ..” you sighed, happy to be on your own two feet again. Alexia and Frido laughed at your wet state, “Kind of deserved it, don’t you think.” the Swede said. You rolled your eyes at her, receiving a disapproving look from the other woman.

After training Salma drove you home. You shared the appartement, deciding to move in together rather quickly, u-hauling. It seemed like the obvious choice, you needed to be at the same location at the same time almost every single day and you got to be the passenger princess. You would cook some actual food for the both of you, seems like a win win situation right?

That was until some teammates started to get suspicious of your whole living situation. Alexia thought she knew everything about you and when she discovered you lived with Salma she was a little surprised, you would’ve told her right, why didn’t you tell her. That was the base of her little Sherlock Holmes case.

Vicky was just noisy and like a little sister. Salma adored her and so, you did too. She was around almost every day so you couldn’t hide that you had moved in with your girlfriend. It was around the second week of living together that Vicky came around and walked into your bedroom, your shared bedroom. Obviously there were two bedrooms in the apartment but only one in use. With some garbage on the left side of the room and actual books on the right she knew that Salma had company.

“Salma, ¿tienes compañía?” (Salma, do you have company?) the noisy teenager asked. Salma walked towards the girl and kept herself cool. “La cama de y/n aún no ha llegado así que duerme en la mía.” (Y/n’s bed hasn’t arrived yet so she sleeps in mine) Salma replied. “You’d tell me if you liked someone, sí?” Vicky winked.

Apart from La Reina and the annoying teenager nobody suspected a thing.

salmaparalleulo

liked by lucybronze and 281.828 others

a pleasure to have been there last night and end 3rd. thank you ❤️

comments

vickyylopezz._ mi 🐐

keirawalsh 💫

aitanabonmati mi hermana

y/n_y/l/n 🤤

commenting that might not have been the best thing since it only raised suspicions, especially with Vicky. But honestly, how could she look that good. And Salma is your girlfriend so you had all the right to drool over her.

When she finally came back from her little ballon d’or trip you almost had no time since you were expected for training the next day. Your schedule was full, scarily so. You could be in Italy, playing against Ireland one day and the next you’d be expected at Barca to play a full 90 minutes against Atletico Madrid.

This also meant that you had little time with your girlfriend whenever one of you were off for some event or sponsorship.

But even once in a while you needed to let go and go out with your girls, even if that meant you had to Uber home since your personal driver wasn’t there to drive you.

y/n_y/l/n

liked by leahwilliamsonn and 186.725 others

🫶🏽🥂

comments

ellatoone take me with you next time xx

alexiaputellas what’s this?

vickyylopezz._ who’s that?

salmaparalluelo 🫶🏾

lucybronze barca’s doing you good

Stealing one last kiss you got out of Salma’s car. Hand in hand you walked towards the changing rooms. You were surprised there wasn’t anyone yet. Alexia would’ve already been here by this time. Tying your shoelaces up, not wanting to wear those football boots without them since they seem to be falling off players foots. Well, clumsy Alessia’s but a player nonetheless.

Salma had been done ages ago but decided to wait for you before heading into the canteen. “Ready, mi amor?” she took your hand, placing a kiss on your forehead. “Not quite yet..” you kissed her on her lips. Without meaning to really deepen the kiss it got heated.

“Hmm, need you Sal..” you hummed against her swollen lips. She kissed you even harder at that statement. “Haven’t had you in so long.” your grip getting tighter around her shoulders, almost like a koala clinging around a branch. Your girlfriends hands traveled lower and squeezed your ass before letting them rest there.

And before you could remove yourself from the striker, the changing room door swung open, revealing a complete Barca team. Vicky’s face was one with disgust, hearing your words from earlier. Alexia’s captaining face had taken over and disapproval was to be seen on some of your older teammate’s faces.

Mapi and Lucy burst out laughing. “Fucking told you so Mapi, give me my money!” ofcourse they had a fucking bet going on. Mapi and Vicky groaned at the same time but for different reasons. “My ears! I have to amputate them now! And my innocent eyes!” she screamed dramatically.

“Oh shut up Vicky, you’ve seen enough with those innocent eyes of yours!” your rolled your eyes at the teenager. “And you two had a fucking bet going on? How many of you had your suspicions?” It was your turn to be annoyed. Everyone seemed to find the walls, floor or even the ceiling more interesting than the questions you’ve just asked. “Joder..” Salma groaned, you really thought they had no clue.

“Well, dog’s out of the bagage. Everyone knows now.” Aitana says in broken English. “It’s cat’s out of the bag but yeah, good job with trying Aita” Keira praises her.

salmaparalluelo, y/n_y/l/n

liked by jillroord and 261.738 others

dog’s out of the bagage

comments

leahwilliamsonn what does that even mean?

alessia cute 💕

ellatoone love youse

janafernandez3 guapaaasss

alexiaputellas still mad.

vickyylopezz._ ew gross 🤢

[tswwwit]

Cipher's Personal Portable Portal

'How they meet' won the poll!

So just to make things fully contextualized, as far as they're gonna be - here's the full first chunk of this stupidly long fic I'm writing.

I hope you enjoy!

Standing in the wreckage of the burnt-out building, Dipper wishes he didn’t know who did it.

Anyone else would have left some trace sign. A scrape of blood, a hint of burnt hair. A friggin’ decent eyewitness report, even.

But here, like last time, and the time before that, and the time before that - there's absolutely zero traces. No video footage, nobody around at the time of the crime. Not even footprints.

Dipper kicks one of the remaining supports, sending a puff of charcoal up from the impact. 

If he knew the bastard’s name, he’d curse it all to hell.

With a sigh of exhaustion, Dipper sits on a chunk of scorched foundation. He pulls his shoe off to tip the ashes out of it; there’s enough that the resulting cloud leaves him coughing. 

Around him, the scoured west wing of the museum is silent, still, and empty. A grey-black skeleton of its former self, filled with dust and charcoal.

This arson is yet another one in a very, very long line of crimes. They’re not just ‘unrelated incidents’, or ‘bizarre coincidences’. Dipper’s not ‘being paranoid’ or ‘coming up with some pretty weird conspiracy theories’. 

There’s only one person who could manage this. The same guy who turned a bank upside down - literally -  and the same one who impaled a mob boss on an oversized silly straw and gave tails to half of a household last week.

It’s all connected.

Each crime is marked with the same style, mostly by how remarkably weird they are. Along with a thread of magic, distinct in its composition. One so distinctive that it's almost a flavor. Though admittedly, without certain magical analysis, it’s pretty hard to detect. 

And if other freelance magicians would take the time and look at Dipper’s notes, maybe one of them would help find this asshole.

Dipper stalks through the burned building, fists balled in his pockets. He stumbles over a fallen support column, and nearly trips before he makes a hopping retreat back. 

Though the culprit has been at his game - whatever ‘game’ that is - for a good half a year now, this is the most destructive ‘incident’ so far. Nobody was hurt, since it happened in the middle of the night. The one relief from a terrible crime, that only objects were obliterated in the process - 

But the ashes speak for themselves.

Here, there’s nothing left.

He breathes in slowly. Then regrets the attempt at calming himself as he coughs again.

Whatever the culprit’s initial motive was, it hasn’t lasted. He’s grown not only in ambition, but also in his abilities. Things are escalating at a rate Dipper doesn’t like to think about.

Someone has to get to the bottom of this. Before it’s too late. Dipper’s got his number, metaphorically speaking, so. Well, might as well be him. 

And when he proves that all of this chaos was created by the same person - 

Well. A little boost to his meager reputation couldn’t hurt. Maybe a few medals and accolades. There isn’t a trophy for best monster hunter, but he can imagine standing on a podium and -

Dipper waves that thought off, swearing under his breath. Stupid. He has better things to focus on.

He’s the only freelancer on the case. Definitely the only one taking this seriously, the only one who thinks it’s the same person to begin with -  and even he’s starting to have some doubts about ever finding the bastard. 

Six months of tracking this guy down, and what does he have to show for it? A ramshackle compilation of incidents, a vague feeling of magic, and a description that could fit any bottle-blond actor with bad fashion sense. Scraps. He might as well pin them up and connect them with red string for all the good it does him.

Another kick sends Dipper hopping back, clutching his foot with a swear. He winces at the hole in the tip, he nearly punctured his foot on a nail.

Just his luck. Wrong place, wrong time, always just barely avoiding disaster. Dipper shows up whenever there’s an event, he’s got the means to follow the guy - but he’s always just a little too late.

Even worse, lately the guy’s been picking places… not at random, exactly. More like he causes trouble wherever it’d be the most annoying to follow.

The culprit must know someone is on his trail. But he’s not making it impossible to keep up, or even majorly difficult for a determined pursuer. Just really, really irritating, like making moves at three in the morning, or pausing just long enough for someone to catch up, then heading right back where he came from. At one point Dipper had to trudge through a literal swamp, only to find that bastard had sauntered in by baking himself a neat little trail right through the damn thing. There wasn’t even footprints to follow.

It’s a repeated point in Dipper’s notes. Whoever this is, they’re a total, absolute dick.

With a sigh, Dipper runs his fingers through the ash on the museum’s floor. Not a single thing is left beyond the shattered glass of some display cases, and the charred remains of the building. Even the enchanted metal tools have been melted into slag. 

The day before yesterday, he could tell something was up. Building energy, something that felt like it was made by the culprit. Something with the twinge of a powerful curse, coiled and being wound up like a spring. 

Dipper spent that evening convincing - okay, maybe also bribing, thank you Stan for the idea - the museum to let him borrow materials. The day after that, he spent all night, morning, and most of the afternoon running around slapping up anti-curse emblems. The entire south of the city warded, in a fine careful net of spellcraft. The work was exhausting. Both in running around, and in the amount of magic he’d needed to use.

But it was worth it. That evening, in the quiet and very uncursed city, all the emblems activated. Dipper would have sworn he sensed someone in the distance, cursing his own name. That night he went to bed with a smug sense of satisfaction, floating on a cloud of triumph.

Which is probably why the bastard burned down the museum next.

With another sigh, Dipper tucks his notebook back into his knapsack. He’s gleaned all he’s going to for today; in the fading evening light, searching more is pointless.

So much for all the magical artifacts. Most of those had come in really useful in messing with the guy. 

…How the hell did the culprit know where they came from, though? He’d need a near encyclopedic knowledge of artifacts to know which ones Dipper used, then track them back to their origin. 

Or maybe he just searched on the internet. It’s hard to tell.

Dipper just wishes there were more clues. But just like every other incident, the guy up and freakin’ vanished.

No human can disappear like that without some very irresponsible use of power. That hope is one Dipper’s hanging his hat on. After six months? He has to be reaching his limits. He’ll burn himself out before he can manage too many more incidents. Maybe Dipper will find him by stumbling on his withered, dissolving corpse.

Whoever this is is pretty strong, but no power is infinite. He can’t hide forever.

It can’t be too much longer. Won’t be. Dipper has a plan, he’s gotten really close, and - He’s good at his job, damn it. He knows he is. 

Taking a deep, slow breath, Dipper lets it out. Patience is the name of the game here. He’s just gotta keep moving.

One day, he’s going to catch up with that bastard. He’ll see the guy in the flesh. Then he’ll grab that stupid dick before he can escape, again, and wipe that presumably smug look off his probably ugly face.

Turning around one last time, Dipper surveys the destruction, stuffs his hands in his pockets - and pauses. 

A speck of light glints in the pile of ash. The last bit of evening sun, shining off a metallic surface.

Alert with surprise, Dipper scrambles over to the pile. Kneeling down, he brushes the dust carefully aside, careful not to disturb anything fragile that might shatter if handled wrong. 

One thing did survive. Thank fuck, it’s not an absolute total loss. Just, uh… Ninety-nine percent of it.

He scuffles through the still-warm ashes, cupping his palms underneath the lump and lifting it from its bed. The motion sends white puff rising up as ash slips away from the artifact.

A small black, squarish thing rests on the pile, a bit larger than both his palms put together. The material is faintly warm from residual heat, insulated by the ash it laid in - and there’s not a mark on it. Not even a scratch. 

Dipper turns the artifact over in his hands with a frown. The shining black surface reveals no obvious buttons or secrets. Just a kind of phone-ish shape, though more square and squat. If he didn’t know any better, he’d say a guest dropped it on the rush to escape. 

The fact that it’s still intact though. Nearly glowing with magic, a tremulous feeling under his palms - this is not dropped by some clumsy tourist. Not even Ford could put this together.

 Wiping at the object with his sleeve, Dipper manages to clean off most of the smooth surface. On one of the sides, dust clings to the thinnest of engravings. The very faint outline of an equilateral triangle. No runes or other magical scribing, just… a shape.

Dipper thinks back but - no, he doesn’t remember seeing this in the collection. A quick check online reveals…

Basically nothing. There are - were - a bunch of stone and metal slabs in the archives, all described so poorly as to be useless. Some are even bunched up in groups. ‘Magical slab 1-24’ and ‘Metal artifact 1-78’, no description involved.

Not surprising. Probably dug up in some mass excavation site, transported here, then never really looked at again. The bulk nature of the shipment means it was overlooked, its magical properties never discovered.

After today, he’s just glad that even one item escaped this onslaught. 

The other artifacts must not have had much to them. But some magical property in this artifact’s making must have saved it from the blaze. Fireproofing, perhaps? Against weird fire? That’s unusual. Maybe even unique.

As the only survivor, it really needs investigating. 

Dipper glances over his shoulder, then around. With everyone evacuated, it’s quiet in the rubble. Nobody here would notice if, say… a clue wandered off.

The artifact slips easily into his pocket. The shape conveniently looks just like a phone, even if the shape’s a bit off. Not something that would attract any attention.

Whistling nonchalantly, ducking out of the way of local law enforcement and any onlookers - Dipper makes his escape. 

Another day of pursuit. Another scene of disaster, the culprit there and gone in the blink of an eye. 

He’ll be up to something new, next. Never the same thing twice, never in the same place. 

Dipper will follow in his evil tracks, of course. But for tonight - his fate is another crappy hotel room. 

He ditches his backpack by the door, slumping against the wall and its chipped paint. He could start going through his notes, and the pictures of the arson. Put in more work, find further connections - 

But it’s been a long day, and he’s tired. He might be magical, but he’s only got so much to work with. A reasonable night’s sleep, if he can manage, will make the task loom less horribly over his tired brain.

With a sigh, he drops back on the mattress. There’s some bounce to it, springs squeaking like they’re full of mice. Hell, maybe they are. The type of room he can afford isn’t exactly decadent.

That, though, should be temporary. Dipper’s career is only just starting; freelancers in the ‘solving magical problems’ scene don’t get great rates. Especially as a beginner. Definitely without a partner; it makes him look super young. Like he’s just starting out, fresh-faced and not having any inroads.

Because this field is really stupid, and doesn’t pay attention to results. Dipper’s been fine on his own for years, and he’s done really cool things without that ‘networking’ crap. 

All by himself. Totally cool with that, because Dipper’s a cool guy, sometimes. If Mabel hypes him up enough on one of their phone calls, he almost believes it too.

Though it would be nice to have some backup, it’s hard to find someone who really gets the job. Or does it in the way that Dipper goes about it. The number of people who are willing to take long treks in hyper-magical territory to search for an obscure clue, or set up really complicated traps for  dangerous monsters, or talk over high-level magical theory while sitting in the rain all night just to get one body-snatcher are…

Well, besides Ford, who recently retired, there aren’t any. Only Dipper himself.

One day, things are going to change for him. All his effort will pay off. If he keeps solving mysteries, and fighting monsters, he’ll forge a reputation as someone who always gets the job done. No matter how hard it is, he can handle it. The work is picking up, too. The last six months have shown the biggest series of magical incidents in decades. 

And he’s gonna be the one to get to the bottom of it.

Dipper Pines, the guy who proved it’s all connected. He’ll have it laid out in facts and math, all the evidence. They’re all gonna see that he was totally right.

Once he finally gets this guy, everything’s going to start looking up. 

The sheets rustle as Dipper settles back, holding the artifact up over himself. He stares into the black surface, and a slightly distorted reflection narrows its eyes back at him. 

A good mystery always intrigues him. This one should take his mind off the other, irritating one for a while.

The only remaining object from the fire is clean and smooth. A mysterious creation, of unknown purpose. Clearly riddled with magic, too; Dipper feels it running just under the surface like a rapid current. It gives the artifact a weight that has nothing to do with mass. 

Power.

Did the criminal see this artifact, still intact after all the other magical objects were gone? Did he try to destroy it too, and fail? Or simply not notice he’d missed one out of thousands?

Whatever it is, it’s got a lot more going on than meets the eye.

Dipper casts a quick identifier, which comes back with nothing. He’s not surprised. That’s the first thing anyone would try. If it was that simple, he’d already have the full description off the site. 

With a shrug, he traces another set of runes, his own version, adding a little more oomph behind it - 

And the magic leaps back instantly, with the bizarre sensation of a bouncy ball hitting concrete.

“Huh,” Dipper says, thoughtfully. He sits up, hunching over the slab in his hands. “Now that’s new.”

A more subtle approach, then. Tracing the lines of energy with the barest brush of magic upon magic reveals something deeply complex. Thin layers twist together deep under the surface, building an entire circulatory system. Dipper has to put it down for a moment, suddenly worried that it is organic. 

When a cautious prod doesn’t get a response, he relaxes. Not fleshy, just complicated. Which also proves he was right earlier - the artifact’s just as powerful as he’d thought. The spellcraft is unlike anything he’s ever seen. 

Dipper rubs his hands together, starting to smile. 

Even if he doesn’t find the guy he’s after, figuring this out could be a heck of a win.

Several attempts later, he’s beginning to get why this bastard brick got tossed in with all the other junk. 

Nothing here is working. It simply deflects. Standard spells poing off of it like rubber, while giving his magical senses an odd, back-of-the brain afterimage of a circle with a slash through it; a firm ‘nah’. 

Dipper nearly chucks the thing across the room in frustration, before shutting his eyes and taking several, calming breaths. 

Okay, weird thing, weird enchantment. The ordinary stuff won’t work. The magical logic is… twisted in a way that leaves it incompatible with most everything. He’ll have to find a different approach. 

“What are you?” Dipper says, low and frustrated. He gives the artifact a shake, as if he can knock the secrets out like a rock from a shoe. “What secrets are you hiding in there?” 

No response, not that he expected one. With a wry smile, he taps the sleek surface with a finger, twice. “C’mon, man. Talk to me.” 

Huge yellow letters flash onto the black surface. 

HEY

Dipper throws the artifact, a bit awkwardly since he’s lying on his back. It sails in the air in a high thin arc, landing with a thump between his legs. He scoots rapidly backward, sheets pulling up behind him. 

The artifact lies where it landed, an unmoving brick.  There’s magic in the air now, but no sense of any spell building, ready to unleash power to blow his face off. The latent spellcraft of the artifact has just been activated.

More text displays on the surface, bare except for the glowing letters. 

To the jerk that’s swiped my private stuff: You got some nerve! I expect this back by interdimensional mail in a week, or trust me - there will be consequences.

Dipper waits a full minute before he lets go of the headboard. Tentatively, he kneels near the…

 Is this a phone? 

Clearly it’s a communication device of some sort, with the freaking text messages. A phone is the obvious equivalent, only - he thought it looked far older than that, something way before mobile phones. Possible ancient. Is that a coincidence, maybe, or is it secretly modern?

Dipper taps the ‘screen’, just below the glowing words. To his surprise, there’s actually a keyboard, what the hell. This thing keeps getting weirder.

Since it hasn’t already thrown a horrible curse at him, or burst into flames - it’s reasonably safe to assume that it’s simply ‘on’. Not ‘explosive’. 

With hands that are definitely not shaking, he picks it up, and types,

Who is this? 

His own text pops up in blue. A strange contrast to the yellow, but he’s guessing it’s for convenience - there’s no bubbles to tell who’s said what otherwise.

A few seconds of nervous waiting later, there’s a response. 

Oh hey, you answered! Well, human - You’re talking to the one and only Bill Cipher, Dream Demon, all-powerful master of the Mindscape! I’d say it’s nice to meet ya but you’re not supposed to have a direct line to me!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. 

Now that’s one hell of an introduction. It might even have been interesting, if it didn’t smell of complete bullshit. 

Complicated spellwork, sure. Incomprehensible architecture? Maybe. Dipper can admit it; he’s never seen anything with a web of spells on it this complex, in such small of a package.

But the idea that Dipper just stumbled onto a demonic artifact of all things. One that wasn’t instantly detected, recorded, then ritually destroyed is…

Someone’s fucking with him. 

Dipper rolls his eyes as he types back,

Really? Demon? You can’t expect me to believe that. 

What, you calling me a liar? ‘Cause I am, but not about this! I got better things to mislead mortals about. This is my property, not something for your grubby mortal mitts.

Dipper snorts. Guess this person’s sticking with the bit. Obviously whoever created this would want it back - but too bad. Whether they’re delusional, stupid, or just a flat-out liar, they’re really good at enchanting. It’d be a waste not to study their work. 

He lies back on the bed as he replies.

Sure, have fun roleplaying, or whatever, it doesn’t make a difference. Finders keepers, losers weepers.

ARE YOU CALLING ME A LOSER. MORTAL.

Hmm, I’m detecting a certain amount of ‘crying about it’, so. Yeah. Suck it, loser.

Smirking, Dipper settles back - then his half-smile drops, as he holds the ‘phone’ a little further away from himself. 

Though the blue fire building up in the screen looks like a bad sticker effect, the artifact’s also getting a alarmingly warm. It vibrates in his hands - then suddenly stops, cooling down. 

Ha! Alright, alright, I admit - you got some balls.

Maybe you’ll change your tune once you REALLY know what you’re dealing with! Might wanna check the connection, if you’re even capable of it! Mortal magic doesn’t reach across dimensions!

With a grimace, Dipper taps his fingers on the phone. It’s slightly cooler now, but still worryingly reactive to… whatever happened on the other end. 

Damn. Whoever this is, they’re not only really really good at enchanting, they’re also pretty confident that tracking them down won’t spoil their game. The confidence exuding from this ‘Bill’s’ words feels genuine.

Honestly, though, the suggestion is a good one. Dipper should have tried to trace the call the second he knew someone else was on the line. 

Maybe ‘Bill’ thinks he won’t manage to find him. Joke’s on him, though; Dipper’s amazing at finding stuff. He’s the best tracker of magical anything in years. Maybe decades. With a solid, stable connection right in front of him? Hell, he could do this one in his sleep. 

Time to call the bluff.

He casts the tracing spell, though it takes longer than usual. A few gestures and muttered ritual aren’t gonna cut it; he has to improvise around the strange construction of the enchantment. Even trailing along the magic seems harder than usual, like it resists mixing with his own, and it takes him a few attempts to match the signal. 

Once he finds the right way to tune it… the lead snaps along the already-existing connection, and zips away to find its source.

The line extends out from the shabby hotel room, a plucked string in Dipper’s senses. It twists around the phone, rising slowly. Invisibly passing through the walls and the - 

Ceiling? Dipper looks up on instinct, even though nothing is visible.

From there it swirls around in the air like a silly straw on steroids, and then - out, very far, in a way that isn’t up or down or left or right, just  

Away.

Dipper has to cut off the tracing spell before vertigo has him reeling. The swirling sense of standing on top of a skyscraper is followed by a flip in his stomach. That he’s using a device he barely understands that reaches out into something even more incomprehensible.

He drops the phone-artifact, trying to clear his head by shaking it rapidly. 

That’s not nearby. Not on this planet. Possibly, genuinely, not even in this dimension. 

Shit. Bill wasn’t bluffing.

Dipper wipes sweating palms on the sheets. To pick up the phone again takes an effort, willing himself to grasp it in unsteady hands.

A demon. 

All the monsters he’s fought, curses he’s broken, years of work tucked into his belt, and he’s never seen one of those. 

Demons are dangerous, evil, and very, very powerful. Consorting with them is by all accounts a terrible idea. He should never have picked this up. He should hang up, and throw the damn artifact out the window, hoping that nobody else makes as dumb a mistake as he just did. 

On the screen, there’s a long long scroll of yellow letters, filling the entire surface. ‘HA HA HA HA’ over and over and over again. 

Before he can think better of it, Dipper starts a response. He’s halfway through a sentence - what the fuck, that’s not funny- before he pauses.

Terrible evil monster. Stupid powerful. Probably Bill sensed the tracing of the connection, like he did with Dipper’s other testing. Bill wanted the result startle him. Because he thinks it’s funny.

Dipper grits his teeth, and glares at the screen. 

Actually, screw this guy. Dipper’s keeping the stupid phone. If for no other reason than spite. This ‘Bill’ guy seems pretty full of himself, like he’s totally above some human. He’s in for a bad time, then, because Dipper’s not going to let one little surprise scare him off.

Besides.  The average guy would get into horrible, even deadly trouble, whereas Dipper… sort of knows what he’s doing.  No, he is good at his job. Finding secrets, solving mysteries, thwarting evil jerks who think they’re oh-so-hilarious, the whole shebang. He does it all.

Taking another breath, hissing through clenched teeth - Dipper lets it out. Losing his temper isn’t going to help deal with an extradimensional being. He has to be careful.

He thinks for a long moment before he responds. 

Okay. Let’s say I believe you. Maybe. Then you should know I didn’t steal your… whatever this is. I found it lying around, and I just. Got kind of curious. 

HA HA HA! Of course you were! Careful with that impulse, kid, it kills more than just cats!

A jerk who definitely thinks he’s hilarious. Dipper rolls his eyes, then, rather pettily, decides to ignore that statement. 

More pressing questions take the lead. Like what the fuck he’s holding right now, and if there are any other nasty tricks in store. A little bit of him, bubbling under the surface, wonders what being a demon is like. What they get up to, common habits. Ways they could be tracked down and, y’know, defeated, maybe. 

Theoretically, he’s got a line to a bunch of innocent, totally not-thwarting-related information that could be super useful to someone trying to, maybe, be a super cool monster-fighter.

Dipper backspaces a bunch over some poorly thought out questions. First things first. Like what the hell he’s holding right now.

So. What is this?

Good question! The gadget you’re poking at with your sweaty meat-paws is paired to the one I have here at my place. A little one-on-one communication assistant, if you will. Once you started groping around with your magic, it wasn’t hard to tell someone had picked it up!

Dipper raises an eyebrow. Though he already has an idea… a little confirmation never hurts. 

Like, you got a notification? Or literally felt?

The latter! Kinda like smell, but by touching things with your eyeballs. And with all your prodding around you might as well have been stinking up the place! Your spells aren’t real subtle!

Hey, they’re subtle! Having weird extra senses is just cheating.

Sucks to be human, then! In that you suck at everything! What’s a LOSER like you gonna do about it?

Dipper nearly throws the stupid artifact again - but he holds back, gripping it tight. Instead he sits up, leaning down and hauling his backpack up from the side of the bed. 

Maybe Bill thinks he can’t do anything. That he’s some ignorant nobody, who doesn’t have any real skills or talent or doesn’t have any friends - but he’s got that wrong. Dipper’s not a loser. Bill’s not getting away with that bullshit.

One quick unzip and a bit of rifling around later, he finds what he was looking for. Carefully, Dipper bounces the heft of a flashlight battery in his hand. Shutting his eyes, he focuses on crafting a quick working.

Magic is all about energy, and its direction. Focusing power, conveying it from one place to another. Pushing anything across dimensions would take impossible amounts of energy, stuff Dipper doesn’t have. If it weren’t for a very convenient connection, already in his hand.

Dipper has nothing on hand to actually exorcise the guy - he’s not sure that’s even possible when Bill’s where he should be - but retribution is in order.

More text lines appear on the artifact. He ignores them. Changing this up to work with the demon device is a challenge, but after figuring out how to alter the tracking spell changing this one up isn’t hard. He adjusts the flow of magic this way, into the tangle of not-veins in the device that way, finishes the chant-

Then touches his tongue to the battery.

The jolt passes through him painlessly, following the spell. It zips along his nerves, down into his hand and from there - into the artifact itself. 

Where it should, theoretically end up right at that bastard.

Dipper tosses the battery back into his backpack. Picking up the ‘phone’, hunching over to stare at the screen. 

That worked. He felt the energy move… unless he got the math wrong. Or a detail of his spell. Or maybe demons are immune to electricity, and he just did something totally pointless. 

God. It might even prove Bill right, and wouldn’t that be the worst - 

The next line of text comes in. 

What the hell? A joy buzzer? That’s some real petty prank stuff! You seriously pulled that bullshit? And across dimensions?

A tense pause. Dipper taps the phone, checking for it heating up again - but another line pops up after a few seconds.

Y’know what, kid? I think I might actually like you! You’re FEISTY.

Dipper nearly does a double-take. 

But no, that - what? Aren’t demons supposed to be vengeful? He was half-sure he’d have to chuck the phone out the window before it exploded in his hands. 

In fact, you’re in luck! ‘Cause I’m pretty bored, and I can totally show you how to improve that jinx of yours! If you can keep up with a little theory, that is.

Because that’s not suspicious or anything. Conversation with a demon can only lead to ruin and disaster. He should absolutely, definitely stop this right in its tracks.

Still, Dipper shrugs, and types, 

Try me.

[notjustjavierpena]

Thank you for the Husband Javi series. This family is absolutely incredible. Would you ever write about their miscarriage in between Lucas and Ines? It would definitely add to and shows strength of the bond between wife and Javi.

Loss

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N:  This was done with utmost respect and care. If anything in this piece is unrealistic and tasteless, I take full responsibility. Please read the tags.

Summary: You wake up to a nightmare.

Pairing: Javier Peña x f!reader (no y/n)

Tags: Miscarriage, loss of a child, heavy angst, grief, child in distress, description of vomit, description of blood, brief mention of loss of a parent, hospitals, the inherent suffering and guilt of being a mother, hurt/comfort, somewhat happy ending

Word count: 5.4k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58943479

Loss

It is a known fact that you easily stir from your sleep when Javier is out of your reach, always needing to feel his skin on your own in some way even if it is just your fingertips touching him. It is why you are confused about being woken up by your body in the early morning hours when Javier’s hand rests so gently on your shoulder as he snores beside you. On top of it, having a toddler in the room next door makes you sleep through the night whenever you can. 

Lucas doesn’t need you right now. Javier is right there. There’s a hint of anxiety in your mind because the only explanation must be that something is wrong and your brain is yelling at you to figure out what. You sit up carefully, fumbling slightly as your hand searches for the light on your nightstand. You flick it on.

However, it is not the sight of red that makes your heart skip a beat. It is that you feel it; you are sitting in a pool of your blood, its dampness cold and clammy underneath you as it has soaked through your sleep shorts only to stain the sheets in a dark, crimson color. Where it comes from hasn’t clicked yet but when you throw the covers to the side, the realization of what is happening creates a drop in your stomach that is nauseating. 

Your heart sinks at the thought of what is lost and your breath catches in your throat before you let out a wreaking sob, frantically scooting back on the bed until you are pressed into the bedframe and wanting to get away from what feels like a bodily crime. Your hand is on your belly, your breathing so fast that it is dizzying. 

Beside you, Javier stirs from his sleep when his mind registers the noises coming from you. He blinks a few times in his barely-awake state, confusion evident on his features, until the realization hits him as well and his eyes widen. 

He sits up immediately and flicks on the lamp on his own bedside table, “Fuck, baby. Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“I’m losing it,” you breathe so rapidly that you are about to throw up, trying to abstain from looking at the trail of blood you have made from moving around on the bed, “I’m losing the baby. Javi, I— I’m losing my baby. I’m lo— I’m losing my baby.”

Javier is out of bed not a moment after, having walked around it to stand by your side. He puts a firm hand on your shoulder, demeanor having changed to show that he is completely in control of the room. He squeezes you, “Hey, heyheyhey, hey, baby. Eyes on me, mi amor (my love).”

You raise your gaze to him, your wet eyes huge like a doe’s from the panic in your body. You sound so frail as you talk, your voice filled with nausea, and Javier feels like he could punch a hole into the Earth for you, “I’m not pregnant anymore. I’m— my baby. I’m not… Javi.”

“Honey, we gotta get you out of bed, okay?” Javier tries to hold his own tears at bay. He swallows a little too often, still struggling with the disorientation of being abruptly interrupted in his sleep. You take his hand when he offers it, and he gets you onto your feet, “That’s it, there you go. We have to get you to the hospital. They have to take a look at you. We don’t know anything yet.”

“I know but… I think I do know,” you are sobbing on the spot, barely comprehensible as you do it but you still follow when he starts guiding you down the stairs. He wraps you in your longest coat, gets the car keys, and walks you to the truck all the while praising you with each step.

“But the car seats,” you cry, trying not to gag from the whole situation, “I’m bleeding.”

“Fuck the car seats, baby,” he reassures, stroking his hands up and down your shoulders, “Listen to me. I’m going to get Lucas. I don’t want to leave you here all alone but I need to get him, okay?”

You nod with a whimper, so brave in this moment of peril that it floors him a little. How do you manage to think of anyone else when you are experiencing the most horrific thing? He unlocks the car for you and makes sure you get inside alright. 

“Five minutes,” he says, holding up his hand for show in case your ears are ringing like his are. Then he staggers back into the house with the most neutral expression he can force onto his face. Upstairs, Lucas is sobbing loudly in his nursery as he has sensed that his parents have gone. He is holding onto the railing of his bed, screaming his head off from anxiety but Javier feels nothing but relief at the sound because then at least he is alive and breathing. Who knew those little lungs could make such noise? 

He hurries to his son’s side and scoops him up into his arms, cooing soothing words at him as he moves through the house like he is treading water. Lucas doesn’t seem convinced and Javier doesn’t blame him, frustration building up in his chest as his son cries until he feels tears escaping his eyes as well. 

“I know, mijo (my son), I’m sorry we left, I’m so sorry,” he says with a shaky breath, passing the car with guilt in his chest to cross the neighbors’ front lawn. He knocks frantically on the front door, waiting impatiently while bouncing Lucas to make him settle even if it’s to no avail. 

The Correas, the elderly couple, who live next door open the door with bleary eyes, startled by the noise at three in the morning. Mrs. Correa looks at Lucas with sympathy but then frowns in concern at the lack of color on Javier’s face. 

“You alright, son?” Mr. Correa asks.

“I need to—“ Javier catches the swear that bubbles up in his throat but he doesn’t manage to keep his sob in. He bounces Lucas desperately but he still shrieks, “My wife needs to go to the hospital. I know it’s late but we really need your help. Can you take him? I know it’s a lot to ask for—“ 

They exchange glances of concern but then Mrs. Correa nods and her husband squeezes her shoulder with a little smile, “Of course, dear. Anything to help.”

Javier passes his son to them, and they already start comforting him with soothing words during his wailing for his parents. Javier hears him even as they close the door, bombarded with the image of his tiny frame being wracked by fear and confusion every time he blinks. He feels it coming as he approaches the car again, the burning sensation in his throat that makes him run to the nearest bush and empty his guts into it, coughing up bile because he hasn’t eaten since dinner time. He isn’t a father of two anymore. Was he ever? He can’t figure out where definitions start or end. This is worse than anything he felt back in Colombia.

Back in the car, you’ve gone numb. Javier finds you sitting in the backseat with your knees against your chest and your arms clutching around them. He swallows at the sight of the red stains on the car seats, the red on your palms too. You look so small as he glances at you in the rearview mirror, wrapped in yourself with your eyes distant as if you’re trying to make yourself disappear. He wants to say something but he is at a loss for words, figuring that he might make it worse if he tries to comfort you in a situation that is unable to be comforted. 

However, as the car takes off and he drives you towards the hospital, things seem to make everything worse on their own accord. You suddenly gasp on the backseat, clutching at your lower belly as your pelvic floor starts to cramp up. Any hope that this might have just been bleeding is squashed because you know instantly that your body is trying to reject something. 

Javier reaches behind his seat to take your hand in his own, feeling your clammy palm and trying his hardest to not let it show how helpless he feels, “I’m almost there, okay? They’ll get you something for the pain, baby. They’ll take care of you.” 

You nod with gritted teeth, feeling like the rest of the drive is longer than an eternity. Seconds feel like minutes, minutes like hours in this fog of pain mixed with grief. You don’t know when you’ve started crying again but tears drip down from your chin, landing on the coat that you try to drown in. 

When he’s finally pulling into the hospital’s parking lot, you’ve laid down on the backseat with tears streaming steadily down your face until they dampen your hair. You can barely breathe every time sharp pains in your pelvic floor crash over you like a wave, causing you to whimper like a wounded stray. 

Javier slams the door behind him as he hurries to help you out of the backseat. His heart hammers in his chest as adrenaline rushes through his veins. He remembers this feeling from his time in Colombia, the dizzying high from being on guard and ready to fight, but he didn’t actually think that he would ever experience it again. 

“C’mon, baby, just a few steps, attagirl,” he coos as he walks with his arm wrapped around your shoulders, you hanging onto him for support as you tremble. He was, however, never quite this gentle in Colombia. 

The automatic doors to the emergency room slide open and Javier can’t see anything for a few seconds due to how bright the lights are. He manages to get your staggering body inside, barely making it to the nurse at the front desk before she calls for assistance and a wheelchair. 

Two nurses help you into the chair, already asking questions that quickly blur together and follow each other so rapidly that he cannot comprehend what is being said, hearing nothing but the adrenaline-infused blood rush in his ears. You answer mechanically, something that frightens him too, your mind seemingly trying to process the reality of what is happening while he feels in the middle of it, overwhelmingly aware. 

They wheel you to a private examination room, helping you undress, and then onto a table. Javier follows helplessly behind, making himself known by saying your name so you don’t fear that he has abandoned you in all this. He holds your hand tightly while watching a middle-aged doctor enter the room, a serious expression on his face as the both of you cry silently. As the doctor does a quick scan of your belly, Javier tries to hold onto you, feeling as if you’ll fall apart if he lets go.

Your doctor is silent for a while, his mouth a thin line as he moves the stick around on your stomach. He looks like someone who hopes for better things than what he sees on the screen, uncomfortably quiet and drowned out by the whirring of the ultrasound machine. Eventually, he swallows thickly. 

“I’m so sorry,” he says softly. “There’s no heartbeat.”

The words hit Javier like a punch to the stomach, knocking the breath out of him. His vision blurs with tears, and he hears a wail of grief escape your lips, raw with anguish and absolutely heart-wrenching.

He keeps hearing the sentence inside his head, feels his knees start to tremble so much that he has to grip the edge of the table you’re lying on until his knuckles are white if he doesn’t want to collapse to the floor. Your wailing is unbearable, cutting through him until everything hurts and bile starts rising in his throat again. He swallows it down despite the burn, trying not to think of how robbed he feels; there’s laughter and sibling rivalry that won’t be happening now. 

In front of him, the doctor is holding his hands in front of himself, palms clasped tightly together as he gives you a moment. He looks down at nothing in particular, looking like someone counting the seconds until it is okay to open his mouth again. Javier doesn’t want him to say a single goddamn word.

But he speaks again, and Javier tries not to want to punch a hole through him. “We need to act quickly. Your wife—“

Javier glares at him. He turns to you, “Mrs. Peña, you’re losing a lot of blood, and there’s a risk of infection. We need to perform a procedure to remove everything from the pregnancy to ensure your safety and recovery.”

You look to the doctor, swallowing thickly through the tears, and then glance at Javier. He leans in to rest his forehead against yours, holding your hand as it rests in your lap, “They need to take care of you now, okay?”

“Don’t leave me,” you beg quietly, breaths shaky.

“I’m right here, I’m not leaving,” he replies, brushing his thumb over your knuckles repeatedly, trying to ground you. You nod slowly and look so small, “I love you so much, baby. You need to let them take care of you for me.”

“Okay,” your voice is barely there, weak and frightened. 

The medical team works quickly after that. A nurse puts an IV into your arm and gives you something for your anxiety, causing you to half-doze off while they wheel you out of the room. 

Javier walks down the hallways of the hospital until he cannot follow you anymore, his hand slipping from yours as you are wheeled into an available OR. When the doors close behind the team of medical professionals following you, the reality of what they’re going to be doing to you crashes over him like an avalanche. It is unbearable. Each second feels worse than the last. 

A kind nurse touches his arm, makes him flinch, but then she apologizes and tells him the directions to the waiting room. His feet take him there without him quite knowing how but when he finally collapses into a chair against the wall, he doubles over and buries his face in his hands. A shaky breath leaves him in the colorless room, his thumbs pressing into his eyes until fireworks go off behind his eyelids. There’s the sound of the clock on the wall ticking quietly and then there’s the sound of his violent sobs, his chest burning as he finally allows himself to let devastation consume him. 

“Fuck,” he swears under his breath, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He has never felt this kind of fear, not even when he was fighting for his life in Colombia, and never knew the outcome of the dangers he faced. This isn’t the same terror that ambushes and flying bullets coming from machine guns brought along because back then, he knew - and still knows - how to act to keep himself safe, to get out of there alive. But back then, there was nothing to lose and if tragedy was upon him, it was only him arriving home in a casket. This is new and the fear suffocates him because there’s no clear enemy to fight, no escape route or strategy that can save him from watching his family suffer. His instincts tell him to return the fire but there’s no fire to return. All he can do is sit idly with the feeling that he can’t fix this, can’t protect you or him from the hurt. All his instincts from the chaos of Colombia are useless here. 

Instead, he just feels like he did when he sat through the funeral of his mother at barely ten years old. This fact makes him reach into his pocket and fish out his work phone to dial the number of his father’s landline with the intention of getting told what to do, his inner child screaming for the soothing words and guidance of his parent. 

Chucho Peña answers groggily on the fourth ring, “¿Bueno?”

“Papá…” Javier breathes quietly, pinching the bridge of his nose. He feels his throat constrict as tears well up in his eyes again and how the words suddenly feel too hard to speak. 

Chucho knows something is wrong from the way his son trails off and suddenly his voice comes through the receiver again, sharper and fully awake, “¿Qué pasa, hijo? (What’s going on, son?)”

Javier swallows hard around the lump in his throat, his nose prickling, “I’m calling from the hospital. We— we lost the baby, Dad. There was so much blood. I didn’t know what to do.”

There’s a moment where he can only hear his father’s hitched breath, the older man seemingly trying to process what he has just been told. He clears his throat, “Lo siento mucho, Javi (I’m so sorry, Javi). You don’t have to have all the answers right now.”

“But I am sitting here and I am doing nothing,” he answers bitterly and a tear rolls down his face again just when he thinks he has it under control. 

“Javier, listen to me,” Chucho commands, his voice still soft even when he is stern, “Some things we have no power over. Losing your mother taught me that. You don’t have to fix it, mijo (my son). You just have to be there.”

Javier wants to throw up at the mention of his mother. He shudders in his seat, trying to push down the flood of tears that threatens to repeat itself as before he made this call. He doesn’t want to think about his mother, doesn’t want to experience loss that same way again. All he wants is to fix it, “It’s not enough.”

“It is enough. She doesn’t need anything more from you, and even if this feels like it overshadows everything, you’ll find something to fight for. For me, it was you. And for you, it’ll be your family. Lucas. And her.”

“Fuck,” Javier’s throat tightens again as his thoughts turn to Lucas. He had barely been able to say goodbye before rushing out of the house, and the guilt of seeing his tiny, devastated face is going to keep hurting for a while. “I left him next door, Lucas, I mean. He was screaming for me, Pop, and I just left him.”

Chucho’s voice softens even further in reassurance, “You did what you had to, mijo (my son). He’s safe. Do you want me to get him? I can be there by morning. I can take care of him, handle things at the house so you can focus on her. Whatever you both need, Javi. You don’t have to do this alone.”

“I don’t want to bother you, Papá. It’s late, and—”

“Javier,” Chucho interrupts, the gentle sternness returning but when he continues, Javier swears he can hear his voice wavering even as he tries to be strong. “You’re not bothering me. You are my family. You’re my son, and you need help. I’ll be there if you need me. Say the word, and I’m on my way.”

A nurse taps Javier on the shoulder. He looks up at her and she gives him a gentle smile as soon as she sees the tear streaks on his face. She speaks softly, “Your wife is recovering from surgery. Everything went smoothly. You can go see her now, I’m sure she’ll wake up any moment.”

“Papá,” he speaks into the phone after mouthing a ‘thank you’ to the nurse, sighing softly, “She’s out of surgery. I gotta go see her now.”

“You want me to go get Lucas?” Chucho asks as a final question.

“If it’s not too much trouble then—“

“It’s not,” he reassures steadfastly, “Hang up. I’ll make sure everything is okay at home. Te quiero tanto (I love you so much).”

“Te quiero también (I love you too),” Javier replies and hangs up. He pockets his phone and pushes himself to stand, walking to the front desk to get your room number, and then practically runs down the hallway to get to you faster. 

He enters the hospital room after bracing himself outside the door. You’re lying underneath the dimly lit lights in the ceiling that are supposed to be soothing but have lost their charm. Javier has never seen you actually sleep soundly in a hospital room, barely saw you do it when you had Lucas because you didn’t like the cold, sterile interior. He doesn’t like seeing it now because he knows you’re not sleeping on your own accord, especially does not like seeing it accompanied by the steady beeping sound of a heart rate monitor. 

He carefully drags a chair across the room to sit by your bed, dropping down into it with a small sigh from finally being at your side again. You don’t move by the little noise, and he recalls the nurse telling him that the drugs might take an hour or so to wear off enough for you to wake. 

“I’m here, mi amor (my love),” he hears himself whisper, taking your hand in his own and resting his body against the white mattress. He closes his eyes, allowing himself to doze off while still being completely aware of the room around him. He had no idea that sleep would overtake him as soon as he saw you, all the tension of wondering if he ever was going to again seeping out of his body. 

The clock tells him that half an hour has passed when he jolts awake but it only feels like barely a minute, his poor back killing him from leaning forward in the chair. Your fingers twitch in his hand - a sign that you’re waking up - and the pace of the pulse monitor’s beeping increases. He straightens to watch your eyes flutter beneath your lids before you blink a few times to adjust to the lights. Confusion clouds your face for a moment before the memory of what has happened hits, and Javier sees the pain flood back in without being able to do anything. He squeezes your hand, trying to offer some comfort, but it feels useless against the weight of what you’re about to remember.

“Hey,” he says quietly and you turn your head to the sound of his voice. He is sure that he looks tired, bags under his eyes, “I was waiting for you to wake up to me.”

When you don’t say anything, he reaches out to gently run a hand over your hair, his thumb occasionally rubbing against the spot between your eyebrows, just like he has come to love it when you do it. He soothes you whilst you try to find out what is happening, speaks quietly and gently, “Are you thirsty? Hungry?”

“Where’s Lucas?” You don’t register the question, voice cracking as you speak and Javier is sure you are distracted by the lack of life in your belly. He swallows thickly as you talk, “We left him. He—“

“He’s fine. He’s with the neighbors. I made sure he’s safe,” he pauses to press a kiss to your forehead before resting his head where his lips have been, “He’s okay, baby. Pop will get him in the morning. You don’t have to worry about him.”

It’s as if the fact that you don’t have to be strong for your son makes your face crumble. You breathe shakily as tears start to well up in your eyes. For a moment, it looks like you cannot breathe and then you sob. 

“It’s my fault,” you tell him through tears.

“What? No… no,” Javier feels disoriented by that statement, pulling back to let you see him shaking his head, “No, baby. Why on earth would you say that? Of course, it’s not.”

“I should’ve been more careful. I should’ve known something was wrong, but I didn’t, and now— We could’ve seen a doctor—”

“No,” Javier interrupts firmly. He takes your hand to stress his words. He suddenly feels strong in your hour of need despite his own tears having started to fall from his eyes, “No, don’t do that. This wasn’t your fault. You couldn’t have known. You did everything you could, everything you were supposed to do for our baby.”

He watches tears slide down your cheeks until they drip down from your chin, some of them even sliding down into your messy hair. He pushes the chair back when he gets up from his seat, the legs on it scraping loudly across the floor. 

You are inconsolable even when he moves onto the edge of the bed, one leg stretched out on the mattress and another dangling over the edge, so he can plant his foot on the floor. He holds you gently, crumbling the sheets by wearing his usual jeans in bed, and rests his lips against the top of your head. 

“Hey hey hey,” he shushes you softly and rocks you as much as he can without disturbing your IV, “You have already given me - us - a beautiful boy. You are so good to me.”

You quiet down a little at that but there seem to be no words to describe how you feel. You whimper at his words and shake your head, and it makes him ache to make all of this go away. 

“Yes,” he stresses, reaching for your hand to hold it against his mouth. He kisses it repeatedly, opening your hand like a flower to kiss your palm too, “I love you both so much, and I love our baby. Even if they weren’t ready to meet us.”

“How can you love me when I can’t even—“

He shushes you gently, cooing at you as he would his son whenever he is in distress, “You are not hard to love, baby.”

“Yes, I am,” you sniffle.

“No, you’re not,” he sniffles, feeling a tear drip onto the covers, his hand still clutching yours to ground the both of you, “Loving you is the easiest thing I’ve ever done. You and I are forever, you know that.”

And this is where your cries intensify because you had never expected to find anyone who would do this for you, say these things to you. You weep and kick and scream for your baby in the small hospital bed, and Javier holds you through it all, not wavering once.

Silence fills the room when you miraculously feel empty of tears even if it’s brief. You breathe deeply into the quiet room, not sure what to do from now on because it feels too surreal to imagine going home.

“We can try again soon,” Javier says eventually. 

“It’s going to take a while,” you reply. 

“Then it will,” he reassures, reaching up to run a hand over your hair and kissing it too. 

“Okay,” you sniffle. 

“Okay,” he repeats and then pulls you close so you can bury your face in his chest. He rests his palm on the back of your head, cradling you gently, “Now we’re just gonna lie here and you are gonna let me protect you from everything in the world. Just for a moment.”

You let him and he lets you cry quietly into his shirt whilst he coos at you. The only other sound is the sound of the hospital; its continuous, rhythmic beeping, and the sound of squeaky shoes worn by nurses that pass by outside. Javier rests his cheek against your head. He can tell you feel soothed by the way he breathes quietly against you, the steady and reliable sound of his heartbeat, and his chest moving up and down. 

— 

The sun has gone down enough over Chucho’s ranch that everything has a golden hue. You kiss and hug goodnight and then head to the car, an SUV that has replaced the truck a few months prior. You are walking a few steps in front of Javier, dangling the key for Lucas to take because he has asked to press the button to unlock the car. Your son snatches the bundle and runs along excitedly, watching the car lights with fascination as they blink when he pushes the button. 

You grin over your shoulder at Javier who smiles back at you. On his strong arm, Inés is fast asleep with her legs dangling with each step he takes as he carries her to the car. Her mouth hangs open, her eyelids flutter just slightly, and sometimes, she grabs at her father’s shoulders without waking up. She wears her new sandals, the ones with sunflowers on them that she begged you to get for her when you were last out shopping with her. Javier carries her so gently. You look at the sky behind them, feeling a tug in your heart. 

It’s been four years since you lost their sibling. However, there’s a feeling of peace within you now, even if that night in the hospital is always with you, lingering just beneath the surface. Now, instead of a sharp constant ache, it has dulled into a grief that sometimes knocks on memory’s door and you answer it by letting Javier hold you a little tighter in the house that has become your home even more. 

Lucas crawls into the backseat and confidently clicks his seatbelt in, having neared that age where he desperately wants to show you how much he can do by himself and grins with a ¡Mira, Mamà! (Look, Mom!) to win your praise. He has grown so much since that night, doesn’t even remember it that much but you have talked to him about it a few times when he has caught you in your grief, mostly back when it was a fresh wound to your heart and tears would sneak up on you out of the blur. It’s rare that he’ll mention it now but he knows he has two siblings; one here with him and one that he didn’t get to meet. 

You had been so afraid of letting him carry the weight of your grief, trying to find the right words that would not overwhelm him but seeing him grin at you out of the car window, you know that you have done just fine. You wave at him with a big smile and knock on the window as you pass by it to see his excitement bubble over in a little laugh. 

You sense that Javier lags behind and when you turn around, you see him cradling Inés in his arms as she only blinks a few times but doesn’t fully wake. He is quiet as he coos down at her, cupping the back of her small head and kissing her head with a smile. He loves her, there’s no doubt. You think back to how scared you both were after losing the baby, unsure if you could go through it one more time if it were to end up in tragedy again. But here she is, your precious daughter, peacefully asleep in her father’s arms who will do anything for her safety.

He meets your gaze as he walks up to you and smiles enough to make his eyes crinkle. You offer to take your daughter but he shakes his head, so instead you walk to the side where Inés’ car seat is and open the door for them. 

Your husband carefully lowers Inés into her seat beside Lucas, and you catch the way his fingers linger, brushing her cheek as he fastens her in. She stirs slightly but doesn’t wake, her little mouth still hanging open, completely at peace.

When the both of you are in the car - you in the passenger seat - Javier puts a hand on your thigh. He squeezes it, rubbing a soothing circle with his thumb, “¿Estás bien? (You okay?)”

You nod, glancing back at the kids in the rearview mirror before turning to him with a soft smile, “Estoy bien, te prometo (I’m okay, I promise).”

He looks at you for a moment, searching your face like he always does, making sure you’re truly okay. When he sees the truth in your eyes, he leans over the control center to kiss your lips like he has a million times before, “Good.”“Keys, mijo (my son),” he then says and Lucas hands him the car keys when he is asked, stretching dramatically to reach his father’s hand and looking curiously when Javier inserts it in the ignition and starts the car, “Let’s go home.”

.

.

If you would like to follow my writing then go follow @notjustjavierpena-fics and turn on notifications 💖❤️

[jaspvids]

The Diagnosis Of David

Disclaimer: I am by no means a mental health professional. This is just a meta-analysis.

What do we think of when we think of David?

His values of kindness. Optimism. Hope. Conviction. Passion. His drive to do his best every single day. The way he always makes an effort to reach out to others.

But also:

Attachment issues. People pleaser. Rose-colored glasses wearer. And at times, though the fandom doesn’t want to acknowledge it — Selfish. Unstable. Rude. Hypocritical. Kind of a dick.

See this video I made;

He’s complex, so let’s try to unpack him, and figure out what he’s got going on under that floof.

On David’s Childhood

David has been through a number of traumatic events in his childhood, most notably:

Witnessing Jasper fall to his near-death.

Finding Jasper, and being almost mauled by bears during the escape.

Clown school was apparently very bad, given the flashback-like reaction he had when it was mentioned. I’m unsure of his age when this occurred, however.

The fight with Jasper at the cave before they parted ways.

Losing Jasper. He says Cameron told him he was picked up by his parents, but I’m not convinced it’s not just his mind trying to erase painful memories.

As far as what we don’t necessarily see in the show, but can infer, David’s father was either not present or not great. He dreamt Cameron was his real father, as seen below.

And we all know Cameron is an awful father figure to begin with.

Yet, that’s better to David, apparently, than whatever he had at home. Which implies it was likely a pretty bad situation.

This can also be backed up by his attachment to the camp — growing up (and even now) it seems to be more of a home to him than his actual home.

That’s a home that hasn’t ever been mentioned, by the way. Contrary to Gwen, we know absolutely nothing about his family. He hasn’t talked about them once, if I recall correctly.

David is often open with emotions, if not wearing his heart on his sleeve. So why would he never mention his family and home?

We know why.

Even as an adult, he has retained this attachment to Cameron (who has in turn, continued to use this attachment to his benefit). He gets very excited about helping Cameron change in “keep the change” — because he needs to believe people who hurt him can get better. Otherwise, it’s too painful to bear.

The Loss Of Jasper

Part of his childhood, but significant enough to warrant its own section.

Jasper and David had a very interesting relationship. We’ve seen in the past that David was pessimistic, foulmouthed, and hot-tempered, directly compared to an optimistic, peppy, popular Jasper.

But then Jasper saw Cameron’s real self, and David received a modicum of praise for what was likely the first time based on his reaction. And so, they basically did somewhat of a switcheroo.

(David takes on many traits of Jasper after this experience, showing that he does admire him at the end of the day. I believe these traits are the foundation of David’s many masks.)

Despite the whole shebang, further episodes show us that they form a strong bond (or maintain one, we don’t know what happened before the first Jasper and David episode.)

What makes this friendship especially crucial in David’s development is that I believe Jasper was the first person to truly stand up for David.

David is, as we have seen, easily manipulated. Jasper picks up on this, and knowing Cameron’s just trying to use his best friend, tries to take Cameron down.

Jasper essentially died trying to protect David.

If Jasper hadn’t died, I don’t think David would have ended up as gullible and dependent as he is. If he had the more rational and realistic Jasper by his side during the rest of his developmental years, I believe things would have ended up much, much differently.

With Jasper’s death, there seems to be nobody else at camp who knows of Cameron’s crimes, or possibly, doesn’t want to speak out about them. Nobody to stand up for him. Nobody to redirect him.

So there’s nobody to stop the unhealthy-attachment-train from picking up speed.

Cameron And David’s Relationship

Cameron is manipulative and abusive towards David. This even becomes physical:

Despite this, David continues to idolize him as is seen in many cases of abuse. He works his ass off maintaining Cameron’s camp. Cameron’s approval makes or breaks him, because this is the man he sees as a father, unfortunately.

In addition, David is unable to let go of the hope that Cameron can change, because he’s convinced himself that deep down Cameron is still “good”, based on his skewed perception of him. And we all know how that ended.

But as Diane from Bojack Horseman once said —

And that is David’s problem — he wants so much for there to be a “deep down”, that there will be a day where Cameron showers him with praise and throws signed adoption forms at him, etcetera.

He judges Cameron not on who he actually is, but who he wants him to be. And so, the unhealthy attachment remains.

(Which is, of course, incredibly destructive to his mental health.)

Other Things We Know About His Mental Health, From Canon

We know he takes meds.

We know he has (sometimes dissociative) panic attacks.

We know he has been seen to suddenly snap, even to the point of violence.

My Final Conclusion: C-PTSD

(As the trauma has been not just one event, but many over the course of his life, and among other reasons, I believe CPTSD fits better than PTSD.)

David meets much of the criteria, most notably:

Lack of emotional regulation

Dissociation

Flashbacks

Anxiety

Guilt and shame

Distorted perception of abuser

Relationship difficulties

Okay this was long I’m tired good night.

[p0orbaby]

A blurb of drunk Leah and drunk reader, and a drunk cig together.

-

You’re both hammered, swaying on the pavement outside some bar you can’t remember walking into, and somehow you’ve found a cigarette in your hand. You don’t even smoke. You tell everyone that, at parties, in the pub, at your cousin’s wedding when someone offers you one like it’s a perfectly normal thing to do. “Nah, I don’t smoke,” you’d say. Yet here you are, staring at this slightly bent Benson & Hedges, wondering if it’s a bad idea, while Leah—actual Leah Williamson, captain of England and the woman who once made a PowerPoint presentation about the benefits of stretching—leans in like she’s fully considering having a drag.

You’re stunned. This is Leah, for god’s sake. The woman who orders sparkling water at the pub and checks the ingredients on snack packets like she’s reading her own death certificate. The same Leah who doesn’t even let you fry bacon in the flat because it “stinks up the whole place.” But now she’s watching you hold this cigarette with more interest than she’s ever had in your poor attempts at cooking.

“Are you really gonna light that?” she asks, eyes narrowing, like it’s some kind of test you’re failing, but her voice is too slurred to be convincing. You shrug, suddenly very aware of how dumb this all is. “Dunno,” you say, realising that the lighter you’re looking for doesn’t exist because, of course, neither of you brought one. You're both standing there, staring at this cigarette like it’s an alien object that neither of you has ever seen before.

Leah smirks, pulling one out from behind her ear, where it’s been tucked this whole time like some absurd accessory, and you’re left wondering how someone so organised, so put together could be this drunk and carrying a cigarette like she’s a rebellious teenager in the back of a schoolyard.

“What the hell are we doing?” you ask, fully aware this is a ridiculous scene: two women standing outside a random bar at 1 a.m., both far too old and far too responsible to be doing this. Leah just shrugs, then laughs, her head tilting back in that exaggerated, almost theatrical way that only happens when she’s properly pissed. “Being idiots,” she says.

You’ve never seen her like this, loose and unwound. She’s always so serious about her health, so intensely focused, like the weight of the team is permanently stitched into her skin. And now here she is, all casual, asking you for a light for a cigarette she’ll probably never actually smoke.

You eventually find a lighter from some bloke passing by, who gives you a look like he’s just witnessed a crime. Leah doesn’t hesitate. She takes the lighter, cups her hand around the cig like she’s done this before, though you know for a fact she hasn’t. When she finally takes a drag, she coughs—immediately. You nearly drop your cig from laughing so hard.

“I’m a bloody athlete,” she croaks, waving the cigarette in the air like it’s the thing’s fault.

[starlightguh]

Intertwined

Word Count: 4,655

Summary: Somehow Sylus and you have a strange bond from his Evol. Neither of you know the meaning of this or what exactly it is. After searching for some answers and ending up empty, you end up giving in to a strong temptation in the form of the tall and cocky Onychinus leader.

Tags: Smut, enemies to lovers, divergent from canon lore since we don’t have his backstory yet

AN: This is an 18+ fic, so MDNI! This is a multi chapter story that you can also read on my Ao3, I will try and post updates both on here and there, so please enjoy!

Being trapped in the Onychinus headquarters felt like a nightmare. It had only been a couple of weeks but I had been desperately missing familiar faces, sights, and sounds.

Since being trapped and forced to stay with Sylus as he tries to resonate with me, I’ve felt just like another bird trapped in his extravagantly large cage.

Recently, our Evols bounded us together in a way I never thought possible. When the red mist handcuffs appeared around both me and Sylus’ wrists the confusion and panic had settled deep in my bones and still hadn't gone away.

He even recommended cutting my hand off as a solution. Of course, he wasn’t serious, but the situation at hand caused him to briefly panic.

But no matter how dire the situation, that man gets on my nerves unlike anything else.

I currently lay in the large plush bed of my current living quarters in Sylus’s mansion of nightmares. The dark red silk sheets felt so smooth and luxurious against my skin, but my eyes were just focused on my hand. Nothing was there, but I stared at it as if to summon the answers to this mysterious situation into my palm.

Feeling a mix of frustration and boredom, I decide to go poke around Sylus’s lair and see if I can dig up any books or something that could lead me down a research path as to what’s happened between us.

Since the incident a few days ago, nothing has really changed, other than more heavy creases between Sylus’s brows. As of late he’s been more blasé about it and that’s just another thing about him on my long list of ‘things Sylus does to piss me off.’

I shiver as I step out of my room into the empty and echo-y dark hallway. Being barefoot and in a thin white nightgown, I was left vulnerable should a certain crime syndicate leader decide I was useless. But somewhere deep in my body I knew I was safe within this crow-obsessed man’s lair.

I wandered, a bit aimlessly, around to see if I could find the proper library. Truth be told, the only places I had explored were the kitchen, the armory, Sylus’ room, and the long hallway near my room. I had a vague idea of where Kieran and Luke’s room was, since they would sometimes tease me about visiting them for a ‘bedtime story,’ but I never had an interest to give in to their silly demands.

It felt like I was constantly poking my head in and out of rooms, most of them looked very untouched. For someone with a big mansion he surely never used it. Most occasions Sylus was out on ‘business ventures’ and on the other occasions he would be in his room, the dining area, the terrace, gym, and once and a while asleep in the lounge area’s couch. But beyond that he never seemed to use the space in his extravagant home. And he hasn’t yet dared come near the quarters I was currently living in. At least I have some privacy there.

It was strange. I felt captive, yet very free at the same time. He never restricts where I can go and explore my curiosity, in fact, he encourages me to snoop. How annoying, I sigh to myself.

As I reach a wing of the manner I’ve never been into before, I open a set of double doors to a very spacious and well stocked library. I smile to myself pleased with my venture as I flick on a light and scrunch my face as I take in all the dust and cobwebs littering the various large black shelves that wrap around the whole room.

There must’ve been thousands of books covering the shelves of the walls, the only other furniture to grace the room was a large black leather upholstered chaise lounge, and a small side table with a simple gold lamp. I hummed as I approached the first wall of books nearest to me.

My eyes start scanning the shelves for anything useful. I grab a couple of books that look like they have research and information on Evol and sit down in the lounge chair to start my research.

As my eyes scan texts for what only feels like a few minutes, a deep and sultry voice reaches my ears.

“Are you trying to have a competition to see who can stay up the longest? Are you sure you could compete with me?”

My head pokes up to see Sylus leaning in the entryway to the library. His long legs were dressed in black silky lounge pants and his chest was hardly covered in his matching silk robe. His pale white skin was tantalizing as the warm light from the library illuminated his fair features.

His red eyes looked at me with mirth in them, while his face was painted in an amused grin as he stared at my lounging form.

“I was just feeling a bit restless is all…” I rolled my eyes at his haughty demeanor.

He walks over to me in smooth strides and looks down at the reading material. Or he’s trying to stare down my nightgown, who knows with this man.

“Anything good? I’m afraid you’ll find my collection lacks the whimsical fairy tales I’m sure you enjoy…But I might have one or two children’s books you could find amusing,” he teases.

My face doesn’t move at his attempts to provoke me, I don’t have the energy to entertain his taunts. “I’m trying to see if I can find any information about this unique connection we have…So far nothing’s come up.”

He frowns a bit at this, his expression is hard to read. I can’t tell if he knows any more or less about this situation than I do. He did seem just as surprised and upset as I did when this occurred.

“I don’t know if there’s anything quite like us…As I said before, you and I are more alike than you know,” his silver hair shakes as he moves his head in a dismissive manner.

“But I’m nothing like you! You’re crazy! You live up in this empty castle where you sit around and plot the demise of people! Innocent or bad you selfishly propel yourself to the top of everything, and for what? A home you barely enjoy? An empty life full of nothing but death and destruction? Tell me Sylus, how are you and I alike?”

I slam my book shut and stand up. I don’t meet his insane height, so I glare upwards. My patience has run thin and I’m tired of being kept on a string with him. If he knows something I don’t, why doesn't he do something to cast me aside? Certainly the aether core can’t mean that much to him if he hasn’t cut it out of my chest yet.

He lets out a deep and guttural growl as he uses his Evol to wrap around my body and lift me up higher in the air.

“Sweetie, it’s almost embarrassing to see yourself in this much denial. Honestly kitten, you cannot be this naive… You're just painting me out to be the boogeyman because you’re little head can’t understand what’s really happening.” he tilts his head with a frown and continues, “You think you’re so self righteous with your little hunter title, but are you also not causing death and destruction for those around you on your little missions? That you’re also coming home to an empty bed?”

He then forces a smirk on his face as he finally spits out, “Or am I wrong to assume that? You certainly have enough men around you to keep your bed warm kitten.”

I try and lash out against his Evol and let out nothing but frustrated yells and grunts. “What the hell is wrong with you?! Put me down!”

He brings me down, but he uses his Evol to pull me closer to his face, we’re pretty much nose to nose as his red eyes look at my face with disappointment.

“Who is it…Is it that little space hunter who should be dead by now? Is it that ridiculous artist? Don’t tell me,” he pauses and puts his large hand on my face to cup my cheek, “You’re sleeping with your own doctor?” He lets out a deep chuckle at the thought and there’s something behind his eyes that sends a shiver down my spine.

I grit my teeth and reply, “And why should you give a shit about something like that?”

His hand slides down and grips a bit at my throat. Not hard enough to hurt me, but definitely enough to make my eyes go wide with shock. “Because once I find a high value prize, I don’t like to share.”

He swiftly takes his hand off my throat and puts me down, he goes to strut out of the library. I presume he’s storming off to go to his room to pout, but something in me stops him.

“None of them…” I call out and pause a moment before continuing, “I guess you’re not wrong in that element…We both have our empty castles to defend.”

He stops in his tracks, he glances to the side back at me, “I hope you keep it that way kitten, for their sakes.”

Without another word he stalks off like a gloomy shadow. What the fuck is his deal? Is all I can think to myself as I rub my neck.

After that sudden outburst between us I go back to my quarters with a headache. I lay in the lavish bed once again and my mind begins to wander. I do hope the others he mentioned aren’t worried for me…

Rafayel was the last person I talked to before entering the N109 zone. I hope he isn’t trying to do any more shady stuff at the nest. As for Xavier, he’s probably too busy running away from the bounty he has. And Zayne….I feel a bit of pang in my chest as I can clearly picture his worried hazel eyes. I silently hope he’s too busy with his research in Snowcrest to even think about my whereabouts.

But how dare Sylus insinuate I’d have late night proclivities with any of them. Besides Zayne, I hardly knew Rafayel or Xavier, and with all my curiosity of the information grandma left me, I have no time to think about being intimate with someone.

After a few minutes of dancing around the idea of intimacy with any of those prospective suitors, my thoughts seem to betray me as they recall the dance I shared with Sylus…Or the instance of laying on top of his nearly naked body searching for that crow broach….The way he felt hard beneath me-

I shake my head and slap my cheeks, nonono go away horny thoughts… I sigh to myself. Maybe I just need to get laid… It’s been what feels like eons since I’d been intimate with another person and with all this stress, frustration, and seductiveness of Sylus running around, I felt no better than a horny teenage boy.

Sleep was avoiding me and no matter how hard I tried to think of literally anything else, Sylus’ half naked body kept popping up in my head.

I’m getting a drink, I can’t handle this

With another frustrated groan I get up from the bed to leave this room and stalk my way to the dining area that has a gold metallic wine rack in the corner. I decided to just grab the bottle for myself. As I twisted it open and drank straight from the source I couldn’t help but growl with frustration as the bitter dark red liquid went straight down my throat.

After the warmth of the alcohol hits my stomach, I turn around to go and stomp back to my room when my face smacks into a soft and plump set of pectorals.

Great, just fucking perfect, I think to myself as he chuckles and placed his hand on my lower back.

“Sweetie,” I shiver as his deep velvet voice coos to me, “I’m sorry about our little spat earlier,” he forces my face away from his chest to make me look up at him. “But you know…I didn’t think you would turn to my liquor cabinet as a way to blow off steam.”

I glare up at his stupidly handsome and cocky face, “Well consider this bottle of wine your apology.”

He pauses for a moment as he leans in to study my face more. His right eye is glowing as it feels like he’s looking into my very soul. I shiver as I suddenly feel more exposed than ever.

For a moment I feel as if I did in our first encounter, dizzy, confused, and painfully, empty. The whispers of “Devour him,” and “So empty,” echo through my hazy brain.

Suddenly he leans back away from me and that feeling goes away. As I remain frozen, Sylus bursts out into laughter after a moment of pause and suddenly his hand on my lower back tightens its grip.

“Well, I must say this is not how I envisioned things to go…But after seeing what it is you desire most right now…I’m more than happy to ease your frustrations Sweetie.”

My face flushes, fucking damn his stupid ‘desire’ seeing eye! That’s not fair!

“Sylus be serious…” I look away from him.

“Oh I am,” he grabs the bottle from my hand and takes a swig himself, “And here I thought you were disgusted with me…Seems like my kitten is still ever in denial,” he leans in to whisper in my ear, his nose brushes against my skin just below my ear and my back straightens out in attention to his hot breath and fleeting touch. My skin lines itself with goose flesh as his face lightly brushes against my skin and wanders down my throat.

“Mmmm,” he purrs as his lips find a spot on my neck to lick and suck.

I let out a yelp of shock as my hands latch onto the silk of his robe. Sylus just pulls away with a chuckle.

“Hmmm,” he looks down at the bottle of wine in his hand, “Does my kitty need liquid courage to be honest with herself?” He tilts his head and I’m too stunned to retort.

He chuckles and takes a swig from the bottle and leans down to capture my lips and pour the liquid from his mouth to mine.

“Mmph!” I can’t help but yelp as I’m forced to quickly swallow a large mouthful of wine as his mouth now has full access to explore mine.

It’s hot. The room temperature, his body, my body, the atmosphere, it feels like he just lit a fire in me. It all but consumes me as I decide to close my eyes and let his tongue try and find all the things I cannot say on the tip of my own.

As some of the wine had spilt on the side of my lip, Sylus, like a man possessed, goes to lick it up. After our lips are separated is when I notice something tight around my wrist.

We both looked down and the red misty handcuffs seemed to have appeared again.

“Huh…Why is it here now?”

“Let’s save your questions for later Sweetie…” he clears his throat after speaking, “Do you want me to continue? I’m not going to stop unless you say no to me right now.”

His eyes were serious, but they also held something else. It was the first time I ever saw a desperate expression cross his face. This nonchalant crime lord since I met him has always laughed in the face of danger or a challenge. But in this current moment, it seemed like he would crumble if I refuted.

Fuck it.

“Go ahead Sylus,” I say a bit too breathlessly for my own ego, but in the next minute he picks me up fireman style and he’s quickly gliding us to the double doors of his bedroom.

Before my mind can catch up, my back is hitting the plush of a mattress and his lips are kissing down the exposed neckline of my nightgown.

He had set the bottle that was in his hand on the nearby nightstand and both his hands were gliding down the expanse of my body.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he moans out as he lowers the top of the gown to expose my bare breasts to the open air.

His mouth quickly latches on and my head bends back and my legs twist upwards as his large body is currently parting them. I place my hands on his shoulders as his suckles.

“S-Sylus…I-“

“You don’t need to talk… I know,” he pulls away from my chest to reply. He looks sincere and still a little desperate, it’s sending me into a tizzy, but honestly, I’m too turned on to really process everything at the moment.

Suddenly large and hot hands are raking up the hems of my nightgown to meet the sides of my underwear as they’re quickly pulled down.

“Kitten…” he sighs as his head lowers to be face to face with my bare center. He breathes a teasing puff of air at my now hot and aroused sex.

Without a second of hesitation his lips dive in to taste me and I let out a shocked moan as the hand that’s still being shackled by the mysterious Evol grips into his silver locks.

Both my legs wrap around the center of his back as he slowly but purposefully laps his tongue around areas I’ve never even felt before.

“F-Fuck! Sylus,” I cry out as he then decides to just drink the source of wetness from my hole and his tongue enters me.

He places his hands on my stomach and just hums in approval. To think this tongue that’s always lashing out teasing insults is fucking me right now, I moan at the thought that crossed my mind as I feel nothing but a pooling heat drip down into Sylus’s greedy mouth.

It’s hard to stay focused on anything at all as his mouth is lapping up my insides like it’s his final meal. Between that and the feeling of his large hands that reach the whole expanse of my stomach pushing down on me.

I can feel his nose brush against my clit as he works his mouth to devour me whole, and it feels like an invisible thread inside my body just snaps. Suddenly I’m screaming out his name and all he does is chuckle into me and move his other hand to softly grab my non-Evol locked one.

“Fuckfuckfuck,” I cry out as I fully come undone all over his face. Unable to care or think about how his face must be covered in my essence. I feel my body slack in relaxation from an intense release.

Suddenly, a burst of dark matter and energy explodes throughout the room, causing both of us to pause and snap out of our lustful haze.

I’m panting and his wet face comes up from under my dress to show me his bewildered and almost bloodlust expression. After a moment's pause he lets go of my hand and chuckles as he licks his luscious lips.

“Perhaps we should’ve just done this from the start…” he looks down at me with a smile and a look of genuine pride.

“What just…?” I’m still very breathless and dazed from my orgasm.

“That, my lovely kitten, was our resonating.”

Sylus looks so genuinely happy and proud that I can’t help but let out a “huh…”

His eyes darken, “Which means we should further test how much more we can do,” he whispers as he flings off his robe and goes to strip from his trousers.

I lift my wrist and still notice our strange Evol connection, “Well this is still here.”

“It might stay there for awhile Sweetie, we’re not done yet.”

His eyes never leave mine as he removes his boxers. My eyes widen at the sight of his length.

Holy… I think back to the glances I’ve stolen of the bulges of his tight leather pants and I had assumed that he was very well endowed, but seeing it full on display….I was rendered speechless.

“Like what you see?” He teases as his hands are pulling on my nightgown to fully remove it.

I can’t explain why, but suddenly I was relaxed as I was caged underneath him. We’re fully exposed to one another and I would’ve thought the idea of that would be horrific, but currently, it felt…Safe. A dance of a nostalgic feeling trickled within me, but I couldn’t place where those feelings stem from.

He must’ve noticed the shift in my demeanor, as he leaned down to capture my lips. The taste of wine and my sex mingled together as our lips met. It’s no surprise that Sylus’s lips lead me to his whim as his tongue would coax my mouth to his will.

To be expected from the man who always has control.

I let my hands wander down the muscles of his back as we kiss. I decide to rake my nails up and down his back in a light and feathery teasing manner.

Sylus shivers and pulls away, “Be careful kitten…”

He warns as he reaches down to grab my spread legs and places them from being wrapped around his back, to straddling his shoulders.

I hiss at the strength of my muscles as he lines himself up with my body. Sylus looks back at my face, his red eyes are surprisingly gentle as he whispers, “There’s no going back from this Sweetie…You’re finally mine again.”

Before I could really think on his words he slowly enters me and my eyes nearly roll into the back of my head at the feeling.

The voices from that hazy daze I had earlier seem to all simultaneously sigh in contentment along with me. Full, finally full.

Meanwhile Sylus is ontop of me hissing a string of curses, “You feel so good Kitten.”

His praise makes me whimper a bit, he keeps leaning down to kiss and nip at my collar bones as he keeps inching into me.

I feel like I’m drowning as he finally bottoms out and I can’t help but gasp and whine, “Moremoremore,” I cry as I feel teary eyed.

“Who knew you were so greedy?” He chuckles as he begins to thrust at a gradual pace.

“S-Sylus please,” I groan in frustration at his slow movements.

“Please what Sweetie?”

I dig my nails harder into his back as I pull myself up to his ear, “Fuck me like you mean it damnit.”

He snaps at that and suddenly he slams roughly into me and sets a more aggressive tempo to his rhythm.

Sylus leans back to grab at my hips with a throaty groan, “You’re a spoiled kitten,” he pauses as he keeps thrusting at his intense pace, “But I’ll give you anything you want…”

My hands can no longer reach his back or chest so the scrunch the silk sheets around me as I throw my head back and cry. I can feel the tip of his cock buried deep inside me as it pounds into a sensitive spot within me.

I feel like my soul is leaving my body as he takes his thumb to start rubbing my clit. “SylusSylus,” I cry out his name as my back is arching higher and higher, “I’m-I-“

“You can come kitten it’s okay,” he gasps out.

It was like my body could hear his words as I felt nothing but pleasure at my crescendo. I was putty in his hands as he slowed his pace to reach his own peak.

“Sylus,” I whisper, my own voice nearly unrecognizable to my own ears.

“Yes?” His voice choked out as he was clearly struggling to hold on.

“It’s okay….To come inside me…I want you to,” I pant out.

“F-Fuck,” his head drops to my chest again and with one harsh thrust I fill his hot seed spill inside me. I purr and humm at the feeling and I go to bring my hand to play in his hair, when I notice the dark embers flickering from my palm.

“Is this…?” I show him my palm.

“Mhmm…If a certain someone is more attracted to me now we can resonate,” his brow lifts in question as he peers his now tired eyes at me, “Unless you want me to do this every time we need to resonate?”

I tug at his hair to retaliate against his taunting tone, “Don’t start with me Sylus…Let me enjoy this…”

He gives me a soft smile and goes to move himself off me, “Alright…But don’t think you’re safe from me tomorrow kitten.”

I whimper a bit as he detached from me, his spend dripping out of me. He stands from the bed and puts on his robe to walk over to the bathroom as he grabs a fluffy white towel. “Here, let's just clean up and go to bed. I have all the time in the world tomorrow to figure out this Evol bond with you.”

I hum in agreement and finally exhaustion hits me as Sylus wipes between my legs. I blink slowly and don’t realize I’ve fallen asleep until the next morning when I’m trapped in the embrace of two strong arms wrapped around me.

I try to move to go to the bathroom but he grips me tighter and whispers, “Don’t go…” into my ear.

I shiver at his pleading voice and just reply back, “Sylus…I just need to use the restroom…let go…”

He tsks his lips and sets me free, I can’t help but giggle at the absurdity of the situation. First I wanted to beat the shit out of him and then the next instance we were fucking.

I look in the bathroom mirror and notice dark splotches in my collarbone and neck, I sigh in disappointment at his handiwork. How am I going to cover these…I bet Luke and Kieran will have a field day if they see these.

When I glance down at my palm again I notice a strange red mark on my hands now. I brush my fingers over it and it seems to light up a bit when I touch it.

“Kitten?”

“Hmm?” I leave the bathroom and return to the bedroom where Sylus was looking around confused. “What is it?”

He looks at me and shakes his head, “it just felt like you were calling out to me…”

I look down at my wrist and show it to him, “Do you know what this is?”

He grabs it with a look of concern. “I think we might be even more connected now…”

“Even more? What do you mean?”

He just shakes his head and stands up, “I’m not entirely sure…but I have some theories… You up for a joyride?” He raises a brow.

I pout at his dismissal of answering me properly, “After breakfast…”

He laughs and his eyes light up in amusement, “But of course Sweetie… I’ll make sure you’re fed first.”

Who knows where he wanted to take me…. But as we ate breakfast together I couldn’t help but reflect on something Sylus said last night… “You’re mine again…”

As I ate my food I felt like I had more questions than I would ever get answers for…But something deep in my gut tells me to trust Sylus for now. I’ll have to find a way to get answers behind his back since he never wants to tell me anything.

I just hope the answers I find don’t break my already confused heart.

[slayfics]

Katsuki injured a villain on your behalf.

500 words

Warnings: yandere themes

You raced through the streets making your way to the corner where a criminal was said to be making a getaway.

It was easy to spot the man making a run trying to evade police officers who were a far cry behind him. However, once the man caught sight of you close on his trail he surrendered.

“Ok ok you got me, I give up!” The villain yelled, raising his hands up and dropping his knees to the floor.

“Hu?” You cocked your head to the side in confusion. This was the third villain this week that had suddenly given up in a fight as soon as they recognized your hero costume. “What the hell is going on this week, why hasn’t anyone been putting up a fight?” you wondered out loud.

“I don’t want to fight you!” He panicked. “I didn’t touch you! Everyone sees right!?” He confirmed looking to the civilian onlookers passing by at the scene.

“The hell is the matter with you?” You asked.

“Just make sure Dynamite knows I didn’t hurt you!” The villain yelled.

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion, “What does Dynamite have to do with this?” You asked. You had been dating Dynamite for a while now, but it wasn’t publicly stated yet, and he wasn’t on patrol in the city today.

As far as you were concerned, Dynamite had nothing to do with this fight or this villain.

The villain looked at you in equal confusion. “You didn’t hear about what happened?” he asked. “Don’t you remember that villain that fought with you last week? The one that gave you a black eye?”

“Yeah… he got away and Dynamite found him the next day.” You answered and looked back trying to find out if the cops were finally catching up.

“Mhm,” the villain confirmed. “Dynamite found him and the dude is on life support now. Doesn’t look like he’s going to pull through.”

“What?” You exclaimed. You heard Dynamite had found him but nothing about him injuring the villain so severely.

“Word on the street is your new boyfriend is going around hunting any villain that’s laid a finger on you. That villain wasn’t even committing a crime when Dynamite took him down. He was just being a civilian,” the villain explained further. The cops were finally closing in on the scene.

“Dynamite wouldn’t be so severe on a low-level villain like that,” you argued.

The villain laughed, “believe what you want but just tell him I didn’t touch you ok?!” He pleaded.

“You’re under arrest,” the cops yelled surrounding the villain.

“Great job we’ll take it from here,” an officer nodded at you.

The villain continued to yell out that he hadn’t touched you as he was placed into a squad car, “You all saw I didn’t touch her right?! See?! I gave up respectfully!”

You watched the scene dumbfounded, as an eerie feeling crept over you.

What kind of relationship have you found yourself in?

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