#priest cross sans

[mikimakiboo]

Your meat isn't dead, it's still moving

Hi :D I'm here for another fanfic for @ancha-aus :D

But this time it's for the Ghost & Medium AU !

This fic takes place after Dust met Killer and Cross, and it is now time to meet Horror !

Tw: mention of death, forced starvation, sect, Killer flirting

- Stopping for a little snack ?

Dust's passenger asked as he stopped his van in front of the butcher's shop. He didn't even look at him, knowing he would see Cross grinning at him, well, not Cross, his body yes, but Cross wasn't in his body anymore, Killer has possessed him when he was supposed to be exorcized, and now he followed Dust anywhere he went. Cross was there too though, his spirit sitting on the back of the van, clearly displeased by the whole situation. Ash, Dust's ghost brother, was next to him, squinting disapprovingly at Killer like he always did when he flirted with Dust.

- I'm here for work.

- Oooh can I-

- You can't come.

Dust cut him before he could ask. He heard Killer whine but he couldn't care less, he couldn't take him with him, judging by what the butcher said the ghost haunting the shop wasn't a normal one, he couldn't risk bringing another inside without first making sure that it was safe, aside from his brother but he had a necklace to protect him, and even if it was a normal ghost he really didn't want Killer to bother him.

- You're not alone, you have Cross, talk to him.

He reassured the ghost.

- I don't want to talk to that body thief.

Cross said, still bitter about the whole possession thing. Dust could understand, he would be mad too if someone possessed him to go flirt with a random guy.

- You both stay here.

He commanded as he grabbed all the material he needed to communicate with the ghost, closed the van and went to the shop, Ash following him.

From what the butcher said over the phone this ghost had been haunting his shop for about two months now, they would throw the packages off the counter, slam the walk-in fridges' doors, detach the pigs' and cows' pieces from the hooks and generally just throw food around. Nothing weird so far, just a regular poltergeist, but what seemed off to Dust was that the shop had been there for years and it was the first time something like that happened, and no one had died in or near the shop these past few month, so that meant the spirit came to haunt this particular place, just like Killer did with the last house he was in, and seeing how it turned out, Dust wanted to be extra careful with this one.

The butcher was in front of the door, waiting to greet Dust.

- Ah ! You're here, perfect ! I hope you can do something about this.. haunting thing, I'm starting to lose customers and I can't afford to lose my business.

Dust saluted him with a nod.

- I will do everything I can.

- I don't doubt it. The keys are on the door, you do your things, I have a delivery to make so you can just leave them in the mailbox once you're done.

Dust nodded again, watching the butcher get in his own truck before sighing.

- Alright, let's see who's inside..

- IF IT FLIRTS LIKE THE OTHER ONE I AM LEAVING THIS PLACE.

Ash commented.

- I hope not, Killer's annoying enough I don't need a second one.

He pushed the door open, closing it behind him. The shop was dark, the curtains were down, indicating it was closed for the day. There was still enough light to navigate though and Dust went directly behind the counter in the staff area, as it was where there was the most activity.

- Hello ? I came here to talk, if you're okay with that.

He choose a table to put his radio and ouija board, looking around, there were pieces of meat everywhere, some scattered on the floor, it looked like an animal came to make a mess before leaving. He didn't see anyone. Maybe this spirit wasn't that strong ?

- IT DOESN'T KNOW HOW TO CLEAN APPARENTLY.

- Ash, please, don't be rude.

Ash huffed but didn't add anything, letting his brother do his job.

- Are you in here ? I heard you liked throwing pieces of meat on the ground, if I put one on the table, could you make it move so I know you're here ?

He asked, but the radio stayed silent and the ouija didn't move.

- I'm going to put his steak on the table, okay ?

He bent down, reaching for a steak that was already on the ground. Just as he grabbed it he thought he saw a glimpse of red but it was gone when he looked up. He slowly stood up, put the steak on the table, and waited for it to move.

He didn't wait long, just as he backed up the steak flew across the room and hit the wall before falling on the ground once again. Dust saw a vague silhouette in front of him, a tall and large one, but he couldn't see much more for now. Dust smiled.

- Hello. My name is Dust, glad to know you're here. If it's okay with you, would you mind telling me your name ?

The silhouette shifted, and Dust saw a bright red eyelight staring directly at him, before disappearing. In the distance, he heard a door shut, probably a fridge as he heard the noise of hooks being moved.

- YOU SCARED IT.

Dust frowned, but ignored his brother. He grabbed his radio and board and went to the fridge, knocking on the door to announce his presence.

- I'm gonna come in, okay ? I just want to talk, I'm not here to hurt you or take your food.

He said, assuming that the spirit's obsession over the meat meant they felt like it was theirs. He pushed the door open, shivering at the change of temperature, and closed it again. He could see the silhouette, this time a little more clearly, sitting in one of the corners of the fridge, all curled up. Dust stopped in the middle of the room to leave space for the ghost, sitting down, he put his material in front of him.

- Hey, sorry if I scared you, I didn't mean to.

The ghost didn't move, but they were staring at him. They looked like a male skeleton monster, with one glowing red eyelight and what seemed to be a hole in their skull, which was most likely the cause of their death as no-one could survive such an injury. But why were they haunting a butcher's shop then ? They were dressed with a big coat, some thicc sweatpants and winter boots.

- Would you mind telling me your name and pronouns so I can know how to address you ? You can use either the radio or the board.

The ghost stayed silent for a little while before muttering something, not using either instrument.

- Horror... I'm a man...

He had a deep raspy voice. Dust tilted his head, he didn't expect this spirit to be powerful enough to speak without help.

- Hello Horror, I'm going to ask you some questions, okay ?

He told him. Horror didn't respond, but he didn't flee either, so Dust took it as a sign he was okay with that.

- What are you doing in such a place ? Did something happen here ?

- There's... food...

Horror answered slowly, searching for the right words. Dust let him speak at his own speed, judging by his injury he probably had trouble speaking, no need to rush him.

- Are you here for the food ?

He asked. Horror nodded.

- I'm hungry...

Dust frowned. Hungry ? Spirits couldn't get hungry, they didn't have any body to feed, Dust should know, he had a ghost brother and Killer almost panicked when he heard his, well, Cross's, stomach gurgle.

- Do you feel hungry ? Or do you remember feeling hungry ?

He asked. Maybe this spirit had been hungry before he died and this feeling made him haunt the shop ?

Horror looked down, thinking about what the medium said. Was he hungry ? He couldn't feel his stomach, it didn't hurt anymore either. Was it because he wasn't hungry ? Or because he became so used to hunger that he couldn't feel it anymore ? He had been hungry all of his life, he knew what it felt like, he had felt it so strongly when he was there, in this dark room, but he didn't feel it now... he didn't feel anything... his head didn't hurt... was he... was he dead... ? Was that what death felt like... ? Was it why he couldn't eat... ?

- Heyyyyy Dusty ! Ya missed me ? Of course ya missed me ! Oh ! Who's that with you ?

An excited voice yelled, followed by another, less excited, voice.

- I tried to stop him ! I swear I did but he wouldn't listen !

Dust let out a loud sigh, not even needing to turn around to see that Killer was behind him with Cross.

- I told you to stay in the car.

- Yeah I know but then I thought you might be in danger, so I came to the rescue !

Killer argued, feeling very proud of himself.

- I am not in danger, Killer.

- Yeah yeah anyway, who's the newbie ?

It was no surprise that Killer could see Horror, as he was a spirit too, and Cross had gained this ability too since he wasn't in his body anymore and had entered the spirit realm.

- He.. doesn't look okay...

Cross noticed, seeing how Horror was still looking at the ground, his arms around his knees, not paying attention to Killer who was now very close to him, crounching down.

- I DO WONDER WHY.

Ash sarcastically said, squinting at Killer.

- You invaded his space without his consent.

- Well first of all it's Killer's fault, and second of all he really doesn't look good, and not just because we're here...

- What do you mean he doesn't look good ? He looks fine as hell. ~

Killer said with that particular tone of voice that always made Ash gag.

- Now's not the time for that, Killer.

Dust sighed again, sometimes he really regretted accepting going to Killer's house, he couldn't even do his job properly now !

- You're new here, huh ?

Killer asked, ignoring Dust. Horror looked up at him, only now realizing that two more persons were here.

- What killed ya ?

- Killer.

Dust got up, ready to grab Killer by the hood to drag him outside if he continued to mess with his work. The only thing stopping him from doing so was when he heard Horror answer.

- ... Hunger... I... died of hunger... I think...

He seemed so unsure that Dust's anger almost vanished. This ghost didn't know he was dead, it was obvious now, he wasn't here to scare people, he was here because he died hungry and wanted to eat, not realizing he didn't need to anymore.

- Ah yes, hunger, I know how it feels.

Killer confessed with a serious tone that almost caught Dust off guard.

- But it's okay, you won't get hungry anymore now, you're free ! You can do anything you want and go anywhere you want !

Horror blinked, still slowly processing the new information.

- I don't know... anywhere else to go...

- Aww come on, don't you got a dream destination ? Somewhere you really want to visit ?

Dust searched through his pockets to find his notebook, wanting to take notes on the conversation as Killer was surprisingly getting better results than he did.

Horror shook his head.

- Couldn't go out... needed to stay.. inside the walls... our leader said... outside was unworthy of.. of our presence...

- THAT SOUNDS LIKE A SECT.

Ash commented, and even if Dust would have preferred him to be less direct, he was right, that sounded like a sect. Was Horror in a sect before ? Did he die of hunger because they starved him on purpose ? Or did he go outside those "walls" and couldn't provide for himself ? Was it how he got hurt ?

- I know it must be hard for you, but would you mind telling us more about your.. your leader and the walls ?

Dust asked, trying not to jump to conclusions by calling it a sect, even though it clearly was.

- The walls.. protected us... Undyne was chosen by the gods... she decided who was worthy... and who was not...

- Worthy of what ?

Killer asked before Dust could.

- Food...

Dust frowned, that explained his choice in the place to haunt.

- Did she say you were unworthy ?

Dust asked softly, talking about death could be traumatizing and his goal wasn't to scare Horror, it was to understand his life, and death, better in order to help him rest, but he needed to ask questions for that.

Horror nodded after thinking for a minute.

- She didn't like... that I questioned her way... she said it was a shame... I had been worthy all my life...

- What made that change ?

Horror shriveled down a little bit more on himself.

- My brother... wasn't worthy...

No one responded to that as they could all imagine what happened. Horror continued.

- We had a room... for the unworthy... couldn't have food when... when inside... couldn't go out...

Dust looked up from his notes. They starved them. They starved Horror's brother and then they starved Horror, and he died of hunger.

- That must have been horrible, I'm sorry it happened to you...

Horror looked up at him.

- But Killer is right.

It pained him to say that, and it pained him even more to see Killer's smug expression.

- You are free now, you don't have to stay here.

- Can... go with you... ? Don't want... to be alone...

- Wh-

- Oh my God of course you can ! The more the merrier come on ! We'll have such a good time together !

Killer responded with excitement before Dust could even say anything.

Horror looked at Killer for a second before smiling hesitantly, quite relieved, and finally getting up as Killer already stood up. He was... tall. Like, very tall. But that didn't stop Killer from smiling brightly.

And then Dust felt it. He felt a link forming, a thread connected to his soul, the thread that formed between a spirit and the place, or person in this case, they haunted. The third thread, not counting Cross as he was still connected to his own body.

His third ghost.

He came here to exorcize the place, and instead gained another ghost.

Well... at least the butcher would be happy.

...

Where was Dust going to find enough place for everyone ? Why did it have to happen to him ?

He already felt a headache coming. God, he really regretted meeting Killer.

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[captain-joongz]

summer recap/favourite fics/fic recommendations for the first half of 2024!

Pretty flushed by @holybibly

♡ 2 parts, wolf!hwa x rabbit!reader x wolf!joong, a/b/o, smut smut smut, a little dark

Industry baby by @kitten4sannie

♡ mingi x reader x joong, rock band au, cuckold play, bf!mingi and bandmate!joong

Arriba! + Freak! by @teeskzagain

♡ f!reader x joong, yunho, san, woo and mingi, college au, a lot of smut, sex under the influence, ateez are absolute pervs, "the boardgame made us do it"

7 minutes of compensation by @k-hotchoisan

♡ hwa x f!reader x yunho, frat!teez, threesome

in the wings by @sanjoongie

♡ rapppers hwa and joong x f!reader, backstage pass, smut, double penetration, groupie au

Case: It's you by @potatomountain

♡ ot8 x f!reader, e2l, police au, workplace romance, investigative and horny ;)

Inception by @remedyx

♡ a repeat from the last list, but it's sooo good, go check it out!!

The happiest girl in the world by @holybibly

♡ camboy!hwa x f!reader, private call, smut, streamer x fan au

February filth fest 2024 day 13: Uniform by @sanjoongie

♡ new captain!hwa x former captain!reader, mutiny au, scifi, mean dom hwa, humiliation and degradation

February filth fest 2024 day 21: aphrodisiacs/overstim by @sanjoongie

♡ alien!joong x human!reader, alien poison as an aphrodisiac, oviposition

Ugh, as if by @ennysbookstore + Ugh, as if - bonus

♡ punk!joong x f!reader, joong works with leather, cute and hot, joong helps reader overcome insomnia with some good old-fashioned orgasms

Look after you by @mingigoo

♡ musician!joong x nurse!reader, a little angsty, but with a sweet ending, smut

Plug & Play by @bangtanintotheroom

♡ guitarist!joong x f!reader, rock band au, s2l, backstage sex, reader is horny and hongjoong is hot

this ask by @nateezfics

♡ sex with angry joong, bratty reader

Honey and blood by @nateezfics

♡ vampire!joong x maid!reader, dark but sweet, smut with feels

10:11 : féconder by @yeosgoa

♡ assistant!joong x witch!reader, academia au, accidental aphrodisiacs, desperate joong under the influence of a sex potion

cross my heart by @doitforbangchan

♡ brother's best friend!joong x f!reader, dark, yandere joong, he's very manipulative, dubcon/noncon, sex under the influence

February filth fest 2024 day 4: public sex by @sanjoongie

♡ cowboy!san x wise woman!reader, wild west au, san is injured, san is head over heels for reader, save a horse ride a cowboy ;)

no hesitation by @daemour

♡ fratboy!san x f!reader, bff2l, college party au, misunderstandings, fools in love, smut

February filth fest 2024 day 23: breeding kink by @sanjoongie

♡ kitty hybrid!woo x f!reader, rut sex, cumplay, bratty woo

deliver us from evil by @holybibly

♡ priest!woo (or is he???) x f!reader, hierophilia, sacrilege, church sex, very dark, rough sex and humiliation

IT's You by @shinestarhwaa

♡ debate team au, college au, e2l, mean woo, rough sex

Right here by @0097linersb

♡ bff!woo x f!reader, pervy woo who wants to fuck his bff, very sexually frustrated reader

My library | BTS fic recs

[arcanefox207]

These are some PPCU fics I have read and enjoyed this past month and would like to recommend. Some new. Some Old. All have smut. I am going to be doing a monthly rec list going forward in an attempt to read more and help reblog and support some amazing authors out there. Please show them some love. Read all warnings! Not everything is for everyone and that is ok. Please always comment AND reblog fics you enjoy to show love to the authors 🖤

Joel Miller

Feelings on Fire // @pedropeach You're back from college for the summer, staying with your devout catholic parents in your childhood home while they order you around and try to keep authority over you. as an act of rebellion you ask your new neighbor mr. miller to teach you how to play guitar, but it turns out there's a lot more he wants to teach you.

But He’s The One I Want // @wheresarizona All you needed was to see if your dad’s friend, Joel, had a spare key to your father’s house. Instead, you get railed within an inch of your life on Joel’s couch. 

Only then, I am good // @joelsdagger You have a bad day in which it makes you question your worth. only joel can make you see the truth. daddy jackson!joel x f!reader

'Tis thee Season // @joelsdagger You’re back in town for christmas, and it’s been months since you’ve seen your boyfriend, joel miller. and he decides to make the most of the brief window of time you have together or,  joel fucks you after taking viagra.

Subscribe // @joelmillerisapunk When Joel accidentally stumbles upon your only fans he convinces himself he's only subscribing to help you through college. And then you send him his top-tier subscriber personal video and he's fucked because you don't even know it's him your dad's best friend

Inhale, Exhale // @sp00kymulderr This world is not made for intimacy and both of you know it.

Dance With Me, Darlin' // @milla-frenchy You go to a club and want to fuck. So does Joel

San Angelo // @macfrog It's the summer of two thousand eight. after two weeks following his little brother cross-country on the back of a harley, Joel follows him through the doors of a dive bar where fate delivers him to you.

General Marcus Acacius

Prima Nocta // @fuckyeahdindjarin Tomorrow, you will marry your husband-to-be. But tonight - it belongs to his father.

Fit For A Goddess // @ozarkthedog You wear Marcus’s gold laurel crown while he worships you.

Ezra

Little Wren // @schnarfer Wild. West. Priest. Ezra. That’s it, that’s the idea.

The Beast Within // @aurorawritestoescape Trekking the Green with his new partner, Ezra is overtaken by his need to have you. While you sleep in the camping tent, the animal within Ezra pushes him to act on his desires. Little does he know, you’ve wanted him as well.

Frankie ‘Catfish’ Morales

Nut vid with the sound on // @syd-djarin You accidentally send Frankie a text that he wasn't supposed to see.

Javier Pena

Office Hours // @itwasntimethatdidit40 You should concentrate on work. But you can't do that with the charming bastard you share the office with in front of you. Why not find a more fun way to spend your office hours?

Banner by me. Dividers by @saradika 🖤

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Salome!

"La Belle Dame sans Mercy" ("The Beautiful Lady Without Mercy") - A ballad by John Keats

"The poem is about a fairy who condemns a knight to an unpleasant fate after she seduces him with her eyes and singing." please

This screams Knight!König x Fairy!Reader to me.

I just know König would gladly die by the hand of such an ethereal being.

"She looked at me as she did love, and made a sweet moan."

"And sure in language strange she said—'I love thee true.'"

That’s it. Thank you.

I swear this artwork kills me everytime I see it....

Ok this became the silliest fairytale ever 🩷✨️

CW: Historical AU blending with mythical/supernatural AU. König being a dreamy mess of a knight who doesn't fit in "normal" society. Reader is part of faefolk. Heavy Arthurian Romance vibes.

König returns to the castle one day. The son of a great liege lord, a warrior through and through, but some people say he should’ve been a poet: so dreamily he looks beyond the battlements at times, sighs after drinking too much wine, stares off into dark corners of the room while tending to his sword and armour as if he can see little pixies dancing there.

His siblings sometimes hit him on the back of his head, or wave a hand over his eyes when he’s about to slip into the fairy world, a forgotten plane that is not supposed to reach the castle. But the castle stones were taken from the moors and the woods, the old land not bending to the priest’s will no matter how many crosses they brought here. Fragile souls are wanton prey for the elves and the fairies who would take them to their land the moment they drop down their guard, and only prayer and fasting hold them at bay. In the fairylands, there is no toil or sorrow; the food is golden honey and wine, the dance and love everlasting, and the fae girls more beautiful than any human maid.

It sounded too good to be true, and it was: God had created men to work and women to give birth, and all the land was theirs to use and cultivate, it was not made to simply run and frolic upon. Some say that these were just old tales and that Christ would banish these creatures away, turn the land to yielding crops and tame firewood.

But some still believed.

When he was a child, the mighty son of the feared lord took porridge and almonds to the woods. “For the fairy people,” he said with bright, trusting eyes. Stole food from under the mistress’s nose, and no one ever dared to say anything about it.

But when this nonsense carried on to adulthood, people had to intervene. There was work to be done, war, harvest and building, and no matter how many coins this man paid to the visiting bards, it would never turn their stories true.

His arm was strong and his strike was true, but his head seemed to be filled with dandelion wine, even when he hadn’t been drinking. Sighed after this maiden or that, wished to travel to foreign lands, courted every nobleman’s daughter who visited the castle, but no one ever took him seriously.

This man had to watch how lady after lady chose some other valiant knight as their husband, some men whose heads were not filled with fairytales and dreams. They did flirt with him, for who could’ve resisted the temptation of making this giant a little sweaty under all that armor? Armor that demanded plate for two people, and a smith who had the talent to forge such a beastly thing.

Nevertheless, he was always left without a warm embrace, and so he was usually found outside, looking at the full moon or spending time in taverns, choosing the company of thieves and rascals over his serious kin.

And now he has returned from the woods, having been gone for months.

People thought he had finally left to fight for some other lord, posing as a simple footsoldier, a disguise that would relieve him of his tedious duties as a knight. Or to court some “lovely peasant girl” he always talked about – such talks were usually crushed by his father, demanding him to be sensible for once in his life.

But he doesn’t prattle about peasant girls now, nor does he ramble about screaming ships at the bottom of the sea. He doesn’t hold a speech about forgotten stone circles in the forest, the ones that already grow moss. No, he has finally lost it completely.

His eyes are wild, as is his hair; his armour is nowhere to be seen, and his sword is without its sheath. He doesn’t talk about what he saw in that forest to anyone, nor is he willing to tell where he has even been these past few moons.

He seems very shaken when he’s told they were worried he wouldn’t make it to the May Day feast, and asks for how long he was gone, drives a hand through dishevelled hair when he hears that he was away for three full months.

“Three months…” he mutters to himself, then leaves to his room, the huge sword dragging against the stone floor as he goes. He has always, always made sure it wouldn’t dull, but now he’s treating it like it’s become a part of him, confused and lost.

He doesn’t eat, hardly speaks after that.

The food tastes like ash, he says, and the ale tastes like bile. But the following evening, when his mother orders someone to pour her poor son some more wine, he looks up helplessly like a child.

“I have to go back,” he says.

A clamour arises, huffed exclaims of “What on earth is he on about” and “Sir, you only just got back!” His father rises from his chair and orders him to stop this nonsense at once. But this time, there is no embarrassed sweep of hand through hair, no red colour that rises on this peculiar knight’s cheeks. His lips only make a thin line before he rises as well and leaves the hall with a weight on his shoulders and dark determination in his stare.

At the stables, a stout Moorland pony and poor stable boy get to witness the drunken bawls of a forlorn knight. The wine sack almost slips from his hands to the dirt as he slumps against the timber of the stall, distorted face coming to rest against a wide, shaky palm.

Luckily, a friend of his knows where to look, and the stable boy sneaks into the shadows, slightly scared of the sorrow of such a big, intimidating man.

But even the companion who always listened to every enthusiastic story since they were kids and ran across the moors, throwing little rocks at his father’s soldiers and laughing when their helmets made a funny clinky sound, can not understand the drunken babble that comes out of König’s mouth this time.

He starts from the middle, which is highly unusual, and talks in strings of sentences that don’t make sense. “She was real, I just know it,” he repeats, over and over again in the middle of confessions about how beautiful she was, how her hair was like the softest spun yarn, her body incredible, naked and wild when she came to him. That her laugh was like the chime of little bells or the sound of the loveliest harp, a song on its own when she walked to him.

She was fascinated with his sword, especially the pommel and the handle interested her, and the curve in the middle of the blade she brushed with her fingers as if it was an entire vale.

He had never seen a woman touch his sword like that… They were never interested in such things, but she was, and she asked him so many questions.

Had he ever felled a tree?

Did he like squirrels?

Were his thighs as hairy as his chest?

She took him down the river, or he followed her; he can’t remember. Her step was so light it didn’t make a sound, and the moss seemed to turn brighter every time her little foot stepped on it. Her hands were tiny too when she wrapped them around his neck, pressed her body against his, and kissed him until there was nothing left of him: no helmet, no sword, nothing but sun and her, her hands and her lips.

Her mouth was still on his when she whispered she didn’t like his armour because it was so hard and rigid and cold, oh, she wondered if there was a man inside there at all.

So of course he showed her.

She giggled at the sight of him, especially his thighs, knelt down on the moss to see how hairy they were.

And would you believe the way she touched him then? It makes him heady even now…

Yes, he took her. But not the way a man takes a woman. She came to straddle him and laughed again, and the things they did together… He can’t even speak about them, but he knows the sun always shined when they rolled on the grass. Her giggles and moans surrounded him, her soft little thighs were stronger than they looked, her breasts so round and soft, so perfect he swore he had gone to heaven.

He bathed in her, with her, all day long. And the nights… You wouldn’t believe the nights: there was song and dance and more giggling women, and also a man dressed all in leaves, so big and thick he first thought he was a tree. An old king, she said, nothing he should worry about. And the wine tasted like summer and honey and gold; it was red, perhaps, but also like sea amber and sun…

She fed him flowers and laughed, caressed his face and said he’s the biggest and hairiest human she had ever seen. She let him lick honey from her fingertips and caressed him with heather and ivy, opened her mouth before feeding him a soft, sweet piece of cake, showing him how he needed to open his mouth as well if he wanted it on his tongue.

She kissed the crumbs from his lips and trailed a finger down his chest, all the way down, until…

Oh, he can’t talk about it.

It was better than he ever even imagined: better than the stories they tell in the taverns. It was like his wedding night, over and over again, it was like he was Lancelot, and she was his Guinevere.

No, no, she was not an enchantress, although everything about her was enchanting... All the stories came alive with her, even the moon was bigger than anywhere he’d ever seen, the deers ran past them while they made love, and the birds sang even at night.

He told her he loved her, but she didn’t know what it meant. When he explained it to her, she looked at him gently, so gently…

He cried from joy then, but she never mocked him. She only said it’s a sign that he’s hers. That he will never forget her. She said he’ll always find her, even when he’s old: she will make him young again. He’s welcome here if he wants: she has so many places to show him.

He thanked all the saints for having found her, Saint George and Saint Mary first, but stopped when her little brows furrowed with sorrow. Her eyes, filled with starlight and love, turned so sad that his heart couldn’t bear it, not for one beat.

The sea is far wilder here: he should come and see the ocean as it was at the dawn of time. The ivy is so strong you can use it to climb the trees and see the whole world from atop the tree, the whole land, covered in forest, such as it was before humans came. There’s no smoke or fire or war: just green everywhere, wild rippling streams and honey bees and berries and fish for everyone who ever feels hungry... They can make love day and night, and she’ll teach him all the songs of old. Humans only remember bits and pieces, but she knows how things really happened, she can tell him everything about heroes, kings and queens.

She said she wanted to sleep, and so he took her from the feast and laid her on the grass… She might’ve sung to him, he can’t remember, but it was like an angel’s caress all over him, somber and sweet before the dreams took him, a dream within a dream.

He slept for ages, it seemed, saw so many dreams, each more beautiful than the last until he woke up and saw that the forest had turned grey.

There was no maiden in his lap, no dance and song in the distance, no scent of flowers and dreams and springs to be found. The sun was up in the sky, but it didn’t paint all the colours with gold or fill the streams with light. The forest was half dead to him, just old, thick trees around him, a green-grey forest floor and a shaggy squirrel who chirped and squeaked at him as if it was his fault that the fae folk were gone.

He searched for her, called for her, but she didn’t answer, and how could she have? He didn’t even know her name. He only knew how lovely she felt, how soft her hair was when it fell to cover him like a veil, how adorable her sighs and tiny little gasps were when he filled her, over and over again.

His armour was nowhere to be found, and his sword was somewhere downstream, half covered with leaves and dirt, rusty and beaten by the wind. It was early spring when he came here; the land was still barren and grey, but now, everything was green. Still, it was not the green he wanted. It was not the green that filled his vision entirely, bright, blooming green that pulsed with lush joy. It was just… earth and grass and dirt.

So you see, he has to go back. He has to find her, whatever it takes. She promised he could always come back… She promised…

He cries once more, head bowed and mighty shoulders trembling from the force of his sorrow, and it is no use to tell him that the fae folk are evil. That they’re from the Devil and only want to make good, decent men like them forget. Forget their duty, their laws, their Christ.

It’s no use to tell him that it is not natural, the place he has seen. No doubt he has been somewhere, but it cannot be anything good… No man can survive on flowers and spring water for three months; they cannot frolic with the faeries for days on end without losing their mind and soul.

And König is already lost; he was lost since he was a child, rambling about how he received flowers, sticks and stones as tokens of the faefolk’s gratitude because he brought them food.

He tries to tell the boy who never grew up, the mightiest man in this kingdom, the dreamiest knight there ever was, that he needs to return to the real world. No fae woman would have him as a husband, they are only after his soul. But surely some human lady would take him into her bed, think about it, for God’s sake, please... He has duties here, people who love him, his father would make him a lord if he only put himself together. What kind of knight would abandon his sword, helmet and armour for the sake of an elf who despises the saints...?

But in the morn, König is gone.

His rusty sword is on the floor, the wooden cross taken off the wall. There lies a honeycomb and a flower on his window, a blossom so sweet it cannot be plucked from any field around here. Too exotic and bright, especially when placed atop the rough, grey stones, it looks like it could never wither from how beautifully it blooms.

The peasants now tell a tale of a man that haunts the woods: a huge giant dressed all in green, donning a leaf cloak of some sort and a beard that grows ivy. But they say he is not evil: he only shows himself to hunters who are about to fall a deer, or children who remember the land with little gifts.

Old men say they saw a green man when they were kids and brought bread and milk to the faeries, they swear to this day they saw a man who greeted them with a smile. And when they looked again, there was nothing but a tree where this giant stook, a young oak, sighing with the wind...

[quintessenceofdust88]

Wip Wednesday

I was tagged by @bidisasterevankinard and @typicalopposite for this one (thank you my loves!). I have gotten quite a few things that I'm writing, and y'all had me motivated for new things with your asks, so thank you sooo much for that! ♥ But for this one I'm going with my priest!Tommy AU, so here's the first scene complete. If some stuff looks familiar it's bc I posted snippets a few days ago!

Buck loves LA, but he hates days like this one, where it feels like the whole city is a greenhouse. The heat is sticky and humid, clinging to his skin and making him sweat in his uniform. All he wants is a cold shower and a minute to breathe. And, okay, maybe a cold beer wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Instead, he’s crammed in the back of the 118 fire engine, heading to San Pedro for one more call. And Buck loves his job, he does, but they’ve been on back-to-back calls for the last three hours. 

“Christ, I feel like I’m gonna melt” He whines, and Eddie smirks at him from the front seat (he had won rock paper scissors fair and square, the bastard), pushing his sunglasses up his nose. His Texas-raised ass does just fine with this horrible weather, and Buck hates him for it. 

“Yeah? Better start working hard to go to heaven then, cause you would not survive the eternal flames” He quips. Buck crosses his arms, too stubborn to let himself be influenced by the collective chuckle.

“I already work hard to go to heaven, don’t I? Saving lives and stuff” He says with a shrug, absolutely not pouting, thank you very much.. 

“I don’t know, Buckaroo.” Chim says, a playful smirk on his face. “When was the last time you set foot in a church? That’s supposed to be a big deal for the guy upstairs”

“Well, if that’s the dealbreaker, we’re all screwed” Hen says dryly, even though she doesn’t look particularly concerned. “Except for Cap, of course.”

Bobby chuckles from the driver’s seat, taking a turn to the right and stopping the truck. 

“Well, here’s your chance to make up for it” He says, and Buck comes down from the engine to find out they pulled up to a small stone-walled church. 

The doors are open, and most people are outside or at the very back of the church, chatting agitatedly, their eyes widened as most people when they find themselves witnesses to a 911-level emergency. It’s a sizable crowd, he thinks, considering it’s a Wednesday afternoon (which, as far as his Episcopalian-raised knowledge goes, is not a church day). 

As they rush up the church’s steps, he notices half of the crowd are the usual elderly ladies, but half of it are people around their 20s and 30s, and a few teens, which surprises Buck. They’re all whispering fiercely to each other and keep stealing glances inside the church. One of the ladies approaches them, relief clear in her eyes. 

“Oh, thank God you got here so fast!” She says, wringing her hands together. “It’s Mrs. Bellini, you see, she has low blood pressure, and this weather…”

“Ma’am” Bobby cuts her off as gently as possible. “Were you the one who called 911?”

“No, it was father Kinard.” She clarifies, leading them inside. “He’s already tended to her forehead, but he didn’t want to risk moving her until you arrived to check her situation.”

The church is relatively small, but the ceiling is high, and their footsteps echo against the walls. It’s a lot cooler inside, and Buck lets out an involuntary sigh of relief as they get out of the intense sunlight.

The woman leads them to one of the front pews, where they find another lady who’s sitting down, looking pale and sheepish. There's a white gaze pressed against her forehead, and a small red stain seems to have formed against it. Sitting by her side is a man dressed in white robes, a green-colored long scarf-looking thingy around his neck. 

He stands up when they approach, and Buck’s taken aback, because he’s ridiculously tall; a little taller than Buck, even, and that’s no easy feat. His features are sharp, a jawbone that could probably cut through glass, and he has a cleft on his chin (why did Buck notice that, he wonders? Is it weird to notice a priest has a cleft?). He’s looking at them with widened blue eyes that are filled with concern. 

“Father Kinard? I’m Captain Nash.” Bobby says, and the man nods sharply, his stance almost militarily. "Can you tell us what happened?" 

"He is exaggerating is what happened" The woman quips, her voice a little trembling, but her glare towards the priest is very firm. Father Kinard, however, doesn't seem intimidated. 

"Calling 911 after you passed out and hit your head is not exaggerating, Gloria, and you know that" He says gently, then puts a massive hand on her bony shoulder. "I'm your shepherd, I have to make sure my sheep are doing alright, don't I?" 

Buck smiles a little at that; it shouldn’t sound that endearing, but it does, and even the lady seems convinced, because she shakes her head resignedly, and doesn’t protest when Chim takes her arm and wraps the pressure cuff around it. 

“She fell unconscious during service and hit her head on the pew.” Father Kinard elaborates, still looking at Mrs. Bellini worriedly. “I figured the heat brought her blood pressure down, so I asked everyone to step outside and called 911 immediately. I applied pressure to the wound and it seems to have stopped the bleeding. I made sure to keep her awake and she’s not showing any signs of confusion or dizziness.”

He knows it’s not polite to stare, but Buck can’t help himself. It’s not common for someone to give them this level of information with so much calmness when they arrive on a call. Usually they try to gather what little snippets they can through tears, yelling and fainting over the sight of blood. But father Kinard is collected and eloquent in what he says, and Buck's astounded. 

“And you're right, her blood pressure is a little low. The wound looks fine, though.” Chimney says, gently removing the gauze to inspect the cut. “Wow, looks like your priest cleaned this up real well, didn't he, Gloria? My job is already done for me.”

“Father Kinard is great whenever anyone gets hurt.” Gloria gushes, and the priest blushes under the attention, shrugging sheepishly.

“I had first aid training in the army.” He says, and when they all turn to him with widened eyes, he gives them a wry smirk. “Which was obviously before I joined the seminary.”

“Well, you were trained well, father.” Hen says approvingly, inspecting the wound herself and dabbing at it with a cotton swab covered in anti-septic. Gloria flinches a little, but sits still as Hen gets it cleaned and then places a band-aid over it. “This won't need stitches, it's very superficial. How are you feeling, Mrs. Bellini?”

“Oh, I'm perfectly alright now.” She says distractedly, her eyes turning back to her priest. “But I am so ashamed you had to stop service because of me, father! I'm very sorry! And for such a small thing too.”

“We’re lucky it was small, but it could have been bad. I wouldn’t risk it.” Father Kinard says patiently. “And don't worry about the service, Gloria, it was after Communion; we'd already done the greatest bits anyway.” He winks at her, a blinding smile on his face. 

Buck doesn’t get the joke, but apparently it’s funny, because both Eddie and Bobby chuckle at it. Chim is removing the cuff from Gloria’s arm and patting it jovially. 

“Well, looks like you’re all set, Mrs. Bellini.” He tells her. “If you experience any dizziness or headache, you should look for a hospital, but otherwise, you’re fine.” 

“And thank God for that!” Father Kinard adds with a smile that makes his eyes crinkle, squeezing Gloria’s shoulder with genuine affection. “And thank you, first responders, as well. Come, I’ll walk you out before giving Gloria a lift home.” He says, and then strides along them to the back of the church, the smile still lingering on his face.

Buck has a hard time reconciling this laughing priest to the buttoned-up, serious-faced ministers he knew in childhood, from the few times his parents made him attend church. This man is full of joy and confidence, Buck can tell right away, and he just thinks he’s so cool. 

“You quite literally have nothing to thank us for, Father.” Bobby adds warmly, smiling at Kinard. Buck knows his captain has a close relationship with church, and he seems completely comfortable striking up a conversation with the priest. “You had done half our job for us before we were here.”

He shrugs modestly once more, walking alongside Bobby, and Buck is irrationally envious of his boss for a second or two. They stop by the church’s entrance, and the man extends a hand to Bobby. 

“Thank you, captain…” He says, trailing off, and Bobby firmly shakes his hand, smiling warmly. 

“Nash. Captain Bobby Nash. Your blessing, father.” Bobby asks respectfully, and the priest makes a cross sign over his head. 

“God Bless you and your team, Captain Nash. May He keep you safe in your very necessary jobs.” He says warmly, and then turns to Hen. “And thank you, firefighter…”

Buck watches in increasing despair as her, Chim and Eddie introduce themselves to the priest, shaking his hand, and realizes that soon it’ll be his turn.

He thought the church was cooler than the outside, but all of a sudden he's feeling hot all over again. Should he ask for the man’s blessing? He didn’t offer it to the others, and they didn’t ask, but should he? Is he even allowed if he’s not a Catholic? Does he even want the man to touch his sweaty forehead? 

And then the priest looks at him with that crunchy smile, an inexplicable blush creeps up to his cheeks. Buck thanks God - yes, he’s fully aware of the irony, and he does not find it funny - that he can blame it on the heat and his heavy uniform (never mind that father Kinard's clothes also look heavy and he's still perfectly composed, but Buck definitely won't think about how he'd look all sweaty).

“Thank you, firefighter…” He says, trailing off and extending a hand, and it takes Buck a second to realize he's supposed to shake it and offer his name (not his phone number. Definitely not his phone number).

“Evan. Buckley. Buck!” He blurts out like a complete idiot, and wonders if it's wrong to wish for a five scale fire so they can rush out of there.

Father Kinard raises an eyebrow at him, a smirk on his curved lips. That's when Buck notices he's still shaking hands with the man, and he lets go clumsily. 

“My, that's a mouthful” Kinard says, and Buck almost blurts out that he has something else that's a mouthful before his eyes clock the white collar around the man's neck. 

As it is, he just snickers awkwardly and mutters a goodbye, his voice high-pitched and strained.

Buck's at the truck before anyone else, mentally preparing himself for being teased all through the shift they just started. 

His only saving grace is that, as much as he made a complete fool of himself in front of father Kinard, it's not a problem. Buck'll never have to see the man again, will he? So it's not like it matters.

Naturally, the priest shows up at the station the next day.

Np tagging @agentpeggycartering @unhingedangstaddict @fairytalegonewronga03 @laundryandtaxesworld @mmso-notlikethat and whoever else would like to do it!

[orshii]

Guilty Pleasure - Follow You (Part 2)

✟ Pairing: Choi San x female reader ✟ Word count: 6k ✟ Warnings: cursing, suggestive, mentions of death, blood

✟ Summary: You go back to your hometown for the summer vacation, not expecting the small town's priest to be a total eye candy. But he seems to be hiding dark secrets underneath his holy façade.

Will you find out the truth?

✟-First Part-✟

✟ A/N: Heeyy, so here is the long-awaited part 2 of this story. When I first wrote it I would've never thought it was going to head this way, but it happened and we finally know all the dark secrets of Priest San and why is he acting like this. Also, Yunho and Mingi appear in this story as well, and they are from @bvidzsoo's Who Am I fanfiction, it's happening in the same world but the mention of it is just slight. I find it funny and exciting to write in the same world lol, as in the future that is going to happen more often if she is in hehe. Anyways, read part 1 before reading this to understand everything. Tyy, byee! (Also I'm obsessed with this song again, and it matches the vibes of the story so I recommend listening to it)

         I was sitting on the church’s brown bench again as I watched the familiar face who was standing in front of the altar with the Bible in hand and a rosary strolling around his veiny hands the familiar cross hanging on his chest, as he was preaching for the people who came to the church on a bright Sunday morning.

People need to hear some reassuring thoughts about their God so they are going to feel less burdened about the sins they have committed. As if going to church will liberate them from the bad things they all did. Including me, that had the biggest sin anyone had in this church.

And that was—sleeping with the priest who was standing in the middle of the church, trying to motivate the people who came and prayed for their freedom. His sharp but innocent-looking eyes never met mine. Maybe he felt guilty about the sins we committed or he was pretending like I did not exist.

Two weeks went by since that night. And I barely saw Choi San, the priest of the town I grew up in, well he wasn’t a priest, he just pretended to be one, because he had some dark secrets that he did not share with me. After we slept together—some not-so-innocent images popped up in my mind, as he looked down at me, hovering over me, whispering some dirty thoughts into my ears that made me commit any sins that existed. The way his hands ran through my thighs up and down as he made me feel good with a burning desire in his eyes. That night I just cut all my sanity and gave in my guilty pleasure, and so did San—But after that night we did not speak. We had met a few times at the store or at the servings he held, but he pretended like nothing happened and it made me feel uneasy.

Why did he pretend like nothing happened? Was I just a one-night stand to satisfy his needs as it was rare for him to find someone who is in for a fuck with a priest? But in reality, he wasn't even a priest and I still did not know what he was doing here, and why he pretended to be one.

And as I watched him standing in front of the altar, the hall as quiet as the church's mouse, in his long black vestment his eyes observing the people sitting in front of him, I had enough of this game and I needed to talk with him.

When the mass ended, I waited until the church emptied, pretending to pray a little longer. I needed this moment, especially since my thoughts during the service had been less than innocent. Once everyone had left, I stood up and made my way to the vestry room where San always prepared for the mass.

As I entered the room, I saw San speaking with an old man. He was smiling, his dimples showing—a rare sight since he was always so serious with me. His hands rested on the old man's shoulders as he reassured him, promising to pray for the man's sick wife. It was kind of him, revealing a caring and warm side to his personality. But I knew it was all an act. He fooled these people with promises he couldn't keep because he wasn't the person they thought he was.

When the man finally turned, I smiled at him and bowed a little when he passed by me, leaving the two of us in the room. San just glared at me with his sharp eyes, his dimples disappearing the moment the old man left the room.

"Hi," I said as I walked further inside leaning against a table that was full of crosses and Bibles, on the walls there were a few glorious paintings and a closet in the corner of the room where the priest's vestments were hanging. I looked at San with crossed arms in front of my chest.

"Hey," he said, not even meeting my eyes as he turned his back to me. He began taking off the black vestment he was wearing, revealing an ironed white shirt and black pants underneath. 

"Why are you avoiding me?" I said as I stared at his wide shoulders where my nails drew blood a few weeks ago.

He folded his black vestment and put it into the closet. Then he turned around to face me as he leaned against the closet mirroring my position. His eyes scanned me up and down. "I'm being watched. I have to pretend everything is normal and fulfill my priest duties," he said in a low voice, his expression unreadable. 

I scoffed. "So, I do not deserve at least an explanation?" I lifted my hands questioning him. "You can't keep fooling these people, they really trust you San. Some people would give their life into your hands."

He pushed himself off the closet and slowly approached me with predator's eyes. "I know, I hate to do this, but I have to. I can explain everything. Let's meet at the cemetery tonight." He said as he stood in front of me, he hovered above me, making me feel small. His eyes, burning with intensity, stared into mine, lighting up even in the dimly lit room.

"A cemetery? Really?" My brows furrowed in disbelief.

"Yes, I want to show you something." He stepped closer to me, even though we barely had space between us, his hands squeezing my waist tightly.

"First you kidnap me to an abandoned mansion, and now you want to take me to a cemetery? Are you planning to hide my body in a used coffin?" I folded my arms in the narrow space between us.

He hummed, leaning close to my face, his lips brushing against mine. "I want to do other things with your body, and they're far from innocent," he whispered as his thin lips moved to my bare neck, leaving slight kisses along the way. My lips parted, my body growing hotter, and my heart pounded with uncontrollable desire. I gripped the table behind me, trying to pull away, but he held me in place, not letting me escape. 

His hands on my waist pulled me flush against his body, one of his hands traveling up to my jaw as he held it and pulled me closer to his parted lips. "You are my guilty pleasure." He whispered the words onto my lips as his thumb traced over the bottom of my lip. I couldn't control my body or my thoughts, so I just gave control to him. His familiar candy-like scent drove me crazy, making me lose my mind.

Then I felt his lips crush onto my lips, which immediately parted letting his tongue in as it discovered my mouth. This feeling was too familiar yet too strange. I felt like all of this was wrong, I didn't know anything about him, yet I was here kissing him like he was the love of my life.

His lips moved against mine, meanwhile, his hands discovered my body that was flushed against his, I wrapped my hands around his neck like it was in a script of a movie, all of this felt so natural but inhuman at the same time. While he was kissing me, his hands traveled down to the back of my tights just to lift me to the table, swiping the things off from the top so I could sit. He was standing in between my legs that I wrapped around his small waist. His hands brushed against the top of my thighs up to my back where his hands ended up in my hair as he ran his fingers through my dark strings.

The desire that lit my heart in that moment was endless, I felt like it could never burn out, but I couldn't let this go further. After all, we were still in a church… I slowly pulled away from him a string of saliva still connecting our lips from our passionate kiss as San captured my lips in a deep possessive kiss again, pulling me into a more rushed kiss, sucking my lower lip between his teeth, as my hands were on his pumped-up chest trying to push him away carefully.

He leaned his forehead against mine as we both breathed heavily. "I want you," He whispered in between quick breaths.

"We are in a church," I whispered back as my eyes met his, our eyes mirroring the same desire we felt for each other.

He nodded with a slight smile, as his lips met mine again, leaving a long peck on my warm lips. "I have to go, meet you at the cemetery at 8 p.m. darling." He left a kiss on the corner of my mouth and with that he left me there sitting on the table, the crosses and Bibles on the floor scattered, making me want to run away as quickly as possible from there, and I face-palmed myself mentally for being this high over heels for a man, who made me forget humans had sinned and that needed forgiveness.

I parked my car in the cemetery’s parking lot, the sun was slowly settling down, to hide behind the hills that hugged the town around. The weather was quite chilly, as it was already the end of summer, early autumn knocking on the door to let them in. This change of season meant I would soon have to return to where I lived and resume teaching the children who counted on me. I didn't want to let them down.  

When I stepped inside the cemetery goosebumps ran through my body. The sun was barely shining, leaving me in a quiet and dark cemetery that was swimming in mist. I heard some weird noises that I couldn't comprehend. Perhaps it was a bird nesting in the branches or a squirrel scurrying up and down the tree trunks. I stood frozen at the entrance, hesitant to venture deeper into the eerie yet noisy cemetery. There were a lot of gravestones and some flowers that were long withered.

Then I gathered all my courage and stepped deeper into the cemetery not knowing where should I wait for San. The cemetery slowly swallowed me as I went deeper, the graves forming a labyrinth around me.

Suddenly, I heard footsteps, but I couldn't tell which direction they came from. My heart was beating wildly, and I was frozen in place, my legs refusing to move. Then, I felt hands on my waist from behind, squeezing me. I jumped and let out a small scream.

"Holy shit San, don't do this again." I felt relieved as I turned around and saw his face where the curves of his lips were up his dimples on the sight.

"Sorry," He chuckled as he saw my terrified face. "You seemed lost in here, darling." His hands were still on my waist as he pulled me closer to him.

"Of course, it's not me who comes to the cemetery daily to bury random people." I squinted my eyes looking up at him and I noticed he was in casual clothes that was a black T-shirt, glued to his chest and broad shoulders, the familiar cross hanging on his pumped-up chest, the T-shirt paired with black sweatpants. He looked so comforting in normal clothes I wanted to hug him so badly.

He giggled, seeming genuinely happy—a rare sight to see him smile in a way that wasn't fake. His hands reached for mine, interlacing our fingers. "Come, I want to show you something," he said.

He began pulling me along by our interlaced hands, guiding me through the maze of graves and random sculptures of fallen angels that I didn’t quite understand. I realized there were many things about this small town that I didn't know, despite having grown up here.

Suddenly, San stopped, and I bumped into his broad back, feeling as if I had collided with an unbreakable wall. As I looked around, I saw we were standing in front of a grave that was unique—nothing like the others. It was crafted with care, adorned with fresh flowers in two vases on the ground, and featured graceful curves with winged decorations. I had never seen anything like it before. I turned to look at San, who stood next to me, gazing down at the grave with a look of deep grief.

"This is my grandmother's grave." He said with a low voice still holding my hand as I stood next to him. I nodded and caressed his shoulders signaling I was here next to him. "She raised me with my grandpa. My parents passed me to them when I was little. We have not heard about them since then." He sighed and sat down in front of his grandma's grave pulling up his legs to his chest and resting his elbows on his knees. I followed him and sat close to him and ran my hand up his back my fingers slowly combing through his raven-black hair. I wanted to be there with him, I wanted him to know I was by his side no matter what.

He was staring at his hands in front of him as he continued. "So, I was growing up here until I was eighteen, that was the time I left the town so I could study more."

"How come I don't remember you? I was growing up here, yet I never seen you." I asked with a frown.

His lips curved a little. "Well, I changed a lot. I was a weak and not-so-social little boy, maybe that is why." He tilted his head towards my direction to look at me with a slight smile. As I pouted trying to remember the boy he was describing. "If it helps you more, my grandfather was the priest before me." He smiled at me looking at my face, my eyes going wide at the realization.

"No way, you are the mysterious grandchild of Father John? Oh my God." I looked at him as I couldn't believe it. "Look at you, now being strong and independent." I squeezed his biceps as he chuckled. But then his expression turned serious.

"So, the thing is, I don't know where is my grandfather." His gaze went back to the grave in front of us.

"What? Isn't he retired?" I asked him a little confused.

"No, he had this year to complete, and he wanted to retire next year. I came to visit him, but he was nowhere to be found. I searched everywhere, but there was no trace. Then, one day, these guys came after me and mentioned a 200-year-old golden relic that my grandpa owned, worth millions. " He glanced at me briefly as he spoke. 

"Those were the guys who chased us?" I asked him, trying to stay calm, it was a lot of information to process, as I remembered the night someone was chasing us with a black car, that night led us to San’s mansion.

"Yes, it's a mafia gang. They call themselves The Boyz and their leader is Sunwoo. One day they cornered me and told me they captured my grandpa and they were going to kill him if I don't tell them, where is the cup." His voice was full of rage as I watched his sharp side profile as he gritted his teeth. "When you saw me negotiate with some guys the other day, it was another gang called Ateez, their leader is Kim Hongjoong and I turned to them to ask for help. But the only way they agreed was that I give them the cup to keep it safe because they were famous for collecting different kinds of relics, and I agreed because I couldn't save my grandpa alone… I gave them money to help me but they only told me they were going to come when needed. And since that, I never saw them. So, it was a waste of time and I don't know if my grandpa is still alive." He sighed weakly in frustration, the burning rage slowly fading out of his eyes.

I ran my finger through my hair trying to calm down and think straight. "Do you know where is the cup?"

"Yes," He looked at me his eyes full of sadness alongside revenge. "We are sitting on it."

I frowned at that, looking around in confusion. "Where?"

"It's in my grandma's coffin."

My jaw hung open as I looked at the grave in front of us. "So, what will you do?"

"I don't know, Y/N…" He ran his fingers through his hair stressed. "I don't know what to do, what is the right choice I'm all by myself—"

"Hey," I said, reaching out to gently pull his hands away from his hair. I moved in front of him so I could look directly into his eyes. "I'm here. You're not alone, San." Kneeling between his spread legs, I cupped his face in my hands. "We'll figure this out together, okay?" I gazed into his eyes as I rested my forehead against his. 

He nodded and enveloped me in his strong arms and legs while I remained kneeling, almost making me disappear in his embrace. "Thank you so much, Y/N." He whispered into my ears his voice going weak. The familiar scent of candy hugged me tight, giving me a comfort that I didn't even know I needed.

Then San pulled away as his hands cupped my face. "I want you to be by my side…I want to be with you, but I'm scared you might get hurt in the process. I have a difficult life, Y/N…especially now…I don't know if I can keep you safe." He whispered as his gaze never left mine, his eyes welling up with tears.

I traced my thump on his cheek, where a teardrop escaped his eyes and wiped it away. "I'm going to be okay, it's easier to fight together than alone, right?" My lips curved up a little, giving him comfort.

He smiled at me emotionally, as his finger reached towards my hair, brushing a string behind my ear. "You are so beautiful and perfect, my darling. I don't deserve you." His eyes beamed caring and unlimited love, which made my heart twist painfully, but that pain was good, it whispered good things for the future.

"You do deserve someone by your side. And I want to be that person." I whispered back, leaning close to his face. When his lips met mine, it felt like he was kissing me for the hundredth time, yet each kiss still felt like the very first. It wasn't rushed, it was careful and warm, we sealed our lips together as a promise to protect the other no matter what. Something in my heart started to grow and it felt right for the first time in my life. But then a voice interrupted our promise to each other. 

“Well, well—the love birds are hiding in the cemetery. How romantic,” a voice said from behind us. I glanced over San’s shoulder and saw five men standing there, their eyes fixed on us with a predatory gaze.

San immediately got up and hid me behind his broad shoulder, his arms out in a protective manner. He looked like he was the mountain that hid people from danger. "Sunwoo…what do you want?" Sunwoo—then he was the leader of The Boyz… they were after the cup and we were standing right above it.

"Wasn't I clear enough on that?" I peeked out from the safety of San's back and saw the man who was speaking, he had foxlike eyes and black hair, and all of them were wearing leather jackets with ripped jeans, making them disappear into the darkness of the cemetery. I could barely count how many of them were still hiding in the dark.

Suddenly I heard hustling from behind and I had no time to react, all I felt was a hand around my neck and that pulled me away from San, a sharp, cold thing replacing the strange hand. San turned towards me, looking at the man behind me with sharp, glaring eyes. "Let her go, she has nothing to do with this!" He shouted as he tried to attack the man who held a knife to my neck. From the sudden movement, the knife went deeper into my skin, as blood streamed down my neck like tears. But San had no chance as the leader caught him in no time and held a gun to the back of his head. "Don't try to act like a hero, or she'll die," Sunwoo mumbled into San's ear.

I couldn't process what was happening, my heart was pumping loudly in my ear, and I barely heard what was happening. My vision was on San the whole time, whose eyes were staring at me, trying to give me some strength that I needed at that moment. I breathed heavily, trying to calm myself down, but as I lifted my chest to breathe the sharp knife dug deeper into my skin, making me panic at the sudden pain.

"If you tell us, where the fuck is that cup, I'm going to tell you where is your old man and we won't kill this sweetheart." The leader nodded towards me with a perverted smile. I wanted to throw up from the pain and the faces they all made while looking at me.

I met San’s gaze again; he was signaling that he was about to make a move. In a sudden burst of action, he spun around, grabbed the gun that was pressed against his head and punched the man in front of him who fell to the ground. At the sudden movements, the man behind me lost the grip of the knife and I immediately kicked him in the balls and he hunched over immediately from the sudden pain. San ran towards me and held me by both sides of my shoulders. "You have to run, Y/N! Drive to the mansion and wait for me there, please!" He said hurriedly, as the other men were running towards us. Fuck, I had no chance there, but I did not want to leave him alone.

He saw my face as I hesitated a little, "I promise I'm going to find you, darling. Just go!" He begged me as the man behind him gripped his shoulder trying to hit him. I wanted to scream and shout at the men who attacked him, but I needed to run and get some help for him. San was fighting with the two men, punching them and trying to dodge their movements.

Then I got an idea, San had no chance against a bunch of people we were surrounded by, it was impossible, so I needed to distract a few of them. The ones behind my back were walking towards me because they knew I had no chance, but I quickly jumped over a grave and started to run so they were going to get far away from San. I needed to reach my car, but navigating through the graves was difficult in the dark; I could only make out vague shapes.

 I jumped over several gravestones and tried to be as quick as I could and try to distract them, hoping one of them was going to get lost in the dark mist, trying to move quickly and create enough confusion that maybe one of them would get lost in the darkness. Then I heard gunshots—lots of them. The sound made me stumble, and I fell to the ground, feeling a surge of fear and wanting to cry. "San," I whispered, still on the ground as the men behind me closed in. I couldn't let them catch me, for San, I needed to gather my strength and get help for him. So, I stood up with determination and started to run towards the exit. 

When I finally arrived at a trail that led me to the exit, I felt relieved as the adrenaline gave me a burst of power, making me run faster as I looked behind me. Three men were running after me, the fourth probably gave up on chasing me, or he did get lost in the labyrinth of the cemetery.

I ran through the exit and quickly sat in my car. I fired the engine, the lamps lit up and the three men were standing in front of my car, their faces like the devil's, smiling in success as they trapped me. But I was in a car, and I had the advantage of simply using it as a weapon. The engine of the car roared up as I hit the gas pedal and the car speeded towards them. Two of the men managed to jump out of the way, but the third wasn't as fortunate.

He leaped onto the hood of my car, trying to avoid the impact. He looked at me with killer eyes through the windshield as I was still speeding, but then I hit the break and he stumbled forward, hitting the ground with a loud thump. I hoped he wasn’t seriously injured—or worse.

I was frozen for a moment as I tried to think what to do, my breathing was loud and heavy, and blood pumped in my ears. Then I looked to my right and saw a baseball bat lying on the floor. I had kept it in the car for situations just like this. Why not use it? I couldn't just leave here San; I promised him we were going to fight together.

So, I grabbed the bat and opened the car door. The man I had hit was groaning on the ground, clearly in pain but still alive. The other two men were running towards me as I held up the baseball bat preparing to defend myself as they approached.

But then, I heard a loud engine sound and all I saw was a big, black jeep, hitting the two men that were running towards me. It all happened so quickly. The jeep stood in quiet for a moment, the front a little broken from the impact and smoke coming up from the engine.

Then someone opened the passenger door and a tall man got out of it, whom I barely saw in the dim lights of the parking lot. The other door opened as well, and another tall figure stepped out, both of them heading in my direction. I held up the baseball bat again because I did not know if I could trust these men.

"We are here to help." The one with the soft features raised his hands in the air.

"Who are you?" I asked them, gathering all the strength I had left.

"I'm Jeong Yunho, Kim Hongjoong sent me to help San." He is Song Mingi, we came to help." The tall boy came closer to me and reached his hands to shake hands, his features full of kindness.

"We don't have time for this, San is in the cemetery and we got attacked, he needs help." I started to panic as I did not hear anything after the gunshots.

"Mingi stay with her, she is injured, I'm going to find San! " Yunho said with a serious expression on his face as he was speaking to the other guy, whose expression was bored as he leaned against my car folding his arms. Then Yunho ran towards the entrance of the cemetery as the dark swallowed him.

I leaned against my car, waiting impatiently for Yunho and San to come, I tried to go after them a few times but Mingi stopped me all the time, saying 'Let them do their job'.

After half an hour that I spent worrying about San, their dark figure finally appeared from the cemetery as Yunho was holding San by the waist and San's hands were clinging around Yunho's neck. I hurried in front of them quickly, San seemed injured.

"San-ah, are you okay?" I cupped his face, which was a little beaten up, with a few cuts on his lips, and on his cheekbones.

"I'm okay, darling, I'm okay," he whispered as he released Yunho and pulled me into a protective embrace. When he gently pulled me away, his eyes roamed over me from head to toe, checking for any injuries. His gaze finally landed on my neck.

"Fuck, Y/N!" He traced the cut on my neck with great care, where the blood had already dried—I had already forgotten about my wound. "Does it hurt?" he asked softly. Leaning down, he placed a tender kiss on the wound, sending shivers through my body. 

I shook my head as a no. "It's not that deep."

He tilted his head up looking into my eyes with anger. "I'm glad I killed those motherfuckers." My heart started to race at that, it was a new side of him, that I did not see until now. It did scare me, but at the same time, I knew he had no other choice than to kill them. It was a choice between him and them, and clearly, the better option was for San to survive. 

"Okay you love each other we get it," Yunho clasped his hands together, making me remember they were also there. "But we should hurry if you want to save your old man, San."

"Where is he?" San asked turning towards the two tall men, both leaning against the car. San's eyes were full of determination.

"Right now, as our people told us, he is in a building that is going to explode in like…" Yunho looked at his watch on his wrist. "…10 minutes." He said casually.

"Then why are we even here, let's go!" San said, already forgetting he was injured, as we sat into the black jeep, the guys already gone that they hit.

As we made our way to the building, I cuddled up to San’s side. He caressed my back and ran his fingers through my hair, whispering how proud he was of me for standing up to the bad guys and staying by his side. Even if I had the choice, I wouldn't have it any other way. I knew I was meant to be with San, and I never wanted to leave him.

When we arrived at the building, which was about to explode, I stayed in the car despite my urge to join them. I figured it would be easier for them if I stayed behind. Nervously biting my nails, I watched the clock ticking down to the explosion—just 2 minutes remaining—and they were still nowhere to be seen.

I couldn’t stay still. I stepped out of the car and paced back and forth in front of it, my anxiety making it impossible to remain in one place. 

1 minute - nothing

30 seconds - nothing

I was on the verge of running into the building just before it was about to explode when I saw four figures run through the entrance the moment the building exploded. The moment the building erupted, a burst of orange filled the dark air pieces of the building everywhere in the air, which landed in a rain-like form on the ground with a loud thump as the explosion shook the ground.

I lost sight of the figures running as I held my arm out forming a shield. Bits of concrete and debris struck me, and some landed on the car. When the building caught on fire I looked around to search for them.

But I saw no one in between the burning pieces. I walked closer, as I spotted them between two big concrete pieces that fell from the building. As I ran to them, I saw that San held his grandfather on his lap, crying as Yunho and Mingi were kneeling beside them, Yunho's hands on San's shoulder trying to calm him down.

I speeded next to San my hands on his back, as I looked down at his grandfather. His abdomen was full of blood, his T-shirt long soaked with red, his chest unmoving, and his eyes were glassy, a single teardrop falling towards his temple as he was staring up at the sky full of stars, with no reaction in his eyes. He left us.

"I couldn't save him," San's voice came out and stumbled as he was sobbing, holding his grandfather's dead body. His grandfather raised him and made his grandchild the most caring and passionate human on earth. He fulfilled his job and it was time for him to leave us behind.

I hugged San as he was sobbing into my neck, still careful not to hurt the wound on my neck. I whispered to him some reassuring thoughts that slowly calmed him down. Yunho and Mingi waited for us patiently to calm down so we could talk about the cup that was the cause of this turmoil that ended with the death of San's grandfather.

 It is interesting to think about how humans are capable of anything just because of a two-hundred-year-old relic that was worth millions—even billions. They do not realize the value of a human's soul; it is higher than the paper that is worth—perhaps millions.

A human's soul is worth the universe which has more value than a piece of paper. But people are greedy and they do not care if someone gets lost along the way. They only see the gold and money, that keeps them going, not caring about burning the world along the way.

This is why San decided to entrust the cup to Yunho, whom he trusted deeply. San knew Yunho was a man of his word, reliable, and always present when help was needed. As we handed the cup over to them just before they left, Yunho's final words were:

"Welcome to Ateez."

With that, they drove away with the cup, leaving behind a trail of trouble but also opening the door to a mysterious future with the gang Ateez. 

-1 month later-

"That's all," San said as he closed the rear door of the car, clasping his hands together as we were in front of his mansion, I needed to go back because the summer vacation ended.

"Are you sure you want to come with me?" I asked still unsure of why would he come with me back to where I was living.

He stepped closer to me as he grabbed my waist, one of his right hands cupping my cheek as his thumb traced it with care. "I have nothing left here." He whispered resting his forehead against mine. "I'm going to follow you, wherever you go."

"Promise me you'll never leave my side," I whispered, overwhelmed by the surge of emotions that suddenly hit me.

"I promise, darling." He whispered looking into my eyes. "I love you," He cupped my face, his eyes full of sincerity and passion that burned with flaming desire.

I held his wrist that held my face as I left a feather-like kiss on his wrist. "I love you too, San" I smiled at him with all the warmth in my heart, gazing at him as if he was my entire world—and it wasn’t a lie. He truly was my world, and I was committed to following him wherever he went. From the moment I saw him, I knew we were destined for each other. 

Then he kissed me carefully his lips moving against mine in a possessive way, like he wanted to ensure I was his forever, his hands pulling me closer to him, locking me in, as if I wanted to run away from him, but that was the last thing I wanted to do. I kissed him back reassuring him I was never going to leave him.

Our story had only just begun, and I was eager to discover what destiny had in store for us. The red strings bound us together to connect us so we could fight the obstacles that life would throw our way. It was easier to fight against the bad things when you had someone by your side.

Choi San had me, and I had Choi San—together, we were ready for whatever came next. 

[yazihowell]

God, What Have You Done?

Drabble, 431 words

Backstage, as Dan’s gotten changed into Sister Daniel. Spoilers for Terrible Influence!

There’s a moment backstage, the second the tights are on. The dress lays lightly over his thighs, and the habit is pushing down over his hair, giving him curly little bangs. He’s got several seconds - minutes, really - to get into costume, but that’s nothing in the middle of a live stage show.

Tonight, though, it’s different. He gets the dress on too quickly, and he can hear Phil’s monologue loud in his ears at a much earlier point than usual. He’s in position, and he’s off to the side enough that he can only just see Phil. He can feel him, though. He knows the expression on his face, the gentle sincerity as he talks about the hiatus, sans standing microphone. Dan can hear the love in his voice as tells their fans that maybe the hiatus was - a good thing. He can hear the audience agree.

Dan can feel his heart thump in his chest. He’s suddenly starkly aware of the rosary around his neck. The habit falls onto his shoulders the same way he can imagine long hair would, if he had it. The tights hug his thighs, centering him in this moment, and he grips onto Phil’s all black priest outfit in his hand.

His heart still pounds as he places his other hand on the rosary. His fingers brush over it, the touch cool against his warm hand.

He still remembers bringing up Sister Daniel’s involvement in the show to Phil. It was obvious, really. Like putting the Golden Pig on stage. A joke within their community, but an important joke that their audience loves.

In many ways though, they both know She isn’t a joke. She represents - something. Everything. Their audience have noticed, of course they have, how she moves differently to Dan - even when she’s wearing underwear. She openly flirts with Phil. She’s - she. She should be a joke, and yet she heals something deep within Dan when she steps off the wings of the stage and saunters over to Phil, swinging his cross around her finger.

Dan no longer prays to God each night in the hopes of making him straight. He wouldn’t do that anymore anyway. But Sister Daniel allows him to play, to turn that old wound into something new, something fun, something queer, and he gets to do it all with Phil. Phil, who’s talking about how much he loves his audience, how much they both love them. He’s talking about forgiving ourselves, and - that’s his cue.

That’s her cue.

She takes one deep breath, and she starts talking. She’s happy.

[songfell-ut]

Happy birthday, Vene

This was drawn by @venelona on Discord and I cleverly tricked her into letting me put this here so I can do a very small gift and rewrite the fork scene if Frisk was a dude. I realize this is not reassuring to those of you who are tired of my self-AU, but I super swear I am editing the final draft of Chapter 34 in the other tab right now.

Also, it's not the entirety of their first meeting in Frisk's room, just skipping around to the relevant bits, explaining how there's still a dramatic reveal if this Frisk isn't wearing a veil because you can pry that dramatic reveal out of my cold dead hands.

Over a day later, the High Priest shut the outer door to his chambers, whistling to himself. He set a covered tray on the table, sat down at the mirror, and checked that his eyes were clear, or at least not too red. Then he picked up his coronet and settled it over his head. He stared at his reflection for a full minute, as if waiting for the young man in the mirror to get up first; with a sigh, he finally pushed himself to his feet.

Just outside his bedroom, he let the whistle peter out into a thread of magic that ran ahead to check the loose barriers he'd set around the bed. Two echoes came back, one very close by. "Good morning. Please step back," he said into the slight crack in the door.

A pause, then a soft creak of floorboards, unnervingly quiet for something – someone – his size. "Further, please," he ordered.

The skeleton made a noise he couldn't interpret. Floorboards creaked again, and the bedframe groaned under his weight. The priest turned the doorknob, picked up the tray, and elbowed the door open.

Sans was sitting near the edge of the bed, legs crossed, elbows on his knees. He had left the nearly transparent inner bedcurtains closed, but opened the windows, and even just his outline through the thin curtain looked menacing; the light shone through his filthy shirt, shadowing the spaces between his ribs, and the fire in his sockets fully illuminated his features. The young man made himself place the tray on a side table and pull up a chair with perfect unconcern, as if he couldn't feel him staring his down. "I see you're all healed. You must have slept well," he said coolly. "I know I did."

The skeleton glanced behind him at the rumpled sheets. "Uh..."

"You were alone the whole time," the priest hastened to assure him. "There's a very comfortable couch in my office that I've been using."

skip

That didn't feel quite right, but without more evidence, the priest decided to leave it for now. Instead, he pulled the side table closer and removed the tray's cover.

Sans twitched at the sight of steaming hotcakes, piles of cheese-sprinkled eggs, tomatoes, and crisp-crusted sausage links. The priest cut a tomato slice into quarters with his fork, speared one and popped it into his mouth; rather than making Sans share the napkin, he dabbed his lips in passing with the very edge of one sleeve.

This courtesy was lost on the skeleton. "Need somethin�� ta wipe with?" he inquired, and plucked at the curtain. “How ‘bout this?”

The young man ignored him and made a show of chewing, swallowing, and lifting another tomato to his mouth. Sans didn't have a stomach, but if he had, the priest probably would have heard it growling; the monster was shifting around and scowling, clearly agitated. So the human quickened his pace, taking a huge bite of egg, a chunk of hotcake, and a sausage in turn, eating as fast as he could.

Sans' eyes had lit to orange again, and the human was glad to put the fork down. "There. You see? It isn't poisoned," he said briskly. he stood and pushed the side table over to the bed. "Help yourself."

The orange faded. Sans’ skull tilted this way and that, like a wary but curious animal. "What?"

"I had breakfast over an hour ago. This is for you," the priest explained.

Sans glanced at the tray, then back to him. The human waited for a full ten seconds, almost holding his breath, before he was rewarded with a rude noise. "Can I have another fork? Don't want your germs," he said.

skip

The skeleton's face was impossible to see clearly. Now that it was quiet, it reminded the young man too much of when he'd grabbed him in the cell. His instincts screamed at him to pull his hand back and throw a barrier between them, but determination surged as he remembered how he'd already faced down the boss monster’s attempts to kill him. He was going to forge a lasting bond between their worlds and hand over a kitchen utensil like a normal person or die trying.

Slowly, Sans reached down through the gap in the curtains, and the human fought to keep from panicking as the massive hand approached. The skeleton paused...and plucked the fork from his grip with delicate courtesy, holding it up between them. "Hm. Too small. Still dirty." He tossed it to the floor.

The High Priest stared at the fork. He stared at him. He retrieved the fork, stood up, dropped it into the pitcher, and plunged his hand in after it. Out came the utensil; the young man strode over and shoved the bedcurtain aside enough to gather up a fistful of it as a makeshift towel. This bed was centuries old and the curtains worth as much as a commoner’s entire wardrobe, but they belonged to the High Priest, which meant they were his. And as High Priest, if he wanted to use his antique linen to dry a mostly-clean fork in order to please a giant monster who was intimidating him and somehow also being a complete snot, then who was going to stop him? No one, that was exactly who.

With a righteous huff, he turned back around, still polishing the bedamned fork. "Here," he said, fully facing Sans for the first time. "I hope this is satisfactory."

Sans looked at him. He didn't say anything.

The world always seemed a little too bright with the bedcurtains open, and the light from the window was in his eyes. The priest rubbed them on his sleeve, and scratched under his jaw where the curtain had brushed it. "Well?" he demanded.

Sans didn't take it. He was leaning forward, hand dangling as if he'd started to reach for it and somehow forgotten what he was doing. His sockets were blank, an odd color washing over his bony face. "Uh," he said. "It's."

The priest didn't know that that could be a complete sentence. It probably wasn't, he thought in growing irritation. "Sans," he said carefully, "are you going to use this, or would you like to eat with your hands?"

The skeleton shook himself and turned away. "Never mind. 'm not hungry," he grumbled.

The human bit back the urge to call him a colorful name or two. "Sans, this is not a joke. There is nothing wrong with your food, except that it's cold. Eat it. Please."

"I will, I will." Sans hunched his shoulders. "Just gimme a couple minutes."

He did not have the time or patience for this. "Sans. Look at this." The monster glanced up, and in one motion, the human stabbed a sausage and another chunk of hotcake. "Say 'ahhh,'" he ordered, and when Sans blankly repeated, "Ahh?" he thrust the fork into Sans’ mouth.

skip

Sans was not wondering the same thing. He was thinking how he'd woken up not knowing where he was and had had to figure out that he wasn't dreaming about the battle in his cell: a human witch really had trapped him and knocked him out with some kind of weird brain-magic. Once he got over the fact that he couldn't take any shortcuts and wouldn't fit through the windows, though, he had to admit things could be worse; the bed really was the most comfortable thing in the world.

Talking with the witch was not comfortable. It was bad enough when he was asking Sans questions about his capture and not breaking out of prison, but then he had to give him food and say things that made sense, and things that made even more sense, and then...

Sans did not like anything about humans, especially their looks. He never understood how they could be attracted to each other long enough to reproduce; they seemed far shallower than monsters, for whom the inside really did count more than the outside, except maybe when it came to reproduction. But that was a rare occasion for them, and they thought humans' obsession with it was shallow and weird at best. Sans in particular had no interest in the human form unless he was trying to destroy it: male or female, they were all just skeletons with varying degrees of hair, meat and fluids in the way.

And then this infuriating human had turned around in the sunlight, curtain and stupid fork in hand, and Sans suddenly couldn't breathe. The overall picture was what made him feel a huge mess of feelings he didn't like or understand, but he could see every detail perfectly: lips pursed in annoyance, the sun reflecting off that black circlet thing, chestnut hair shining and reddish-brown eyes half closed against the light…even the seemingly dull, coarse hair on his face showed wavy patterns picked out in golden threads.

And then the human had tipped his head and shown a glimpse of his throat, and now Sans couldn't think things right. All he could try to do was turn away, then eat it all in order to make him go away, and only his punning instinct had saved Sans from saying or doing anything else stupid.

Why did Frisk have to like puns, too?

This was bad. It had gotten very complicated, very fast. He had to get out of here. The human had demonstrated some emotion behind his priest-y facade; maybe Sans could appeal to it, persuade him to pick some other monster and not risk boning things up? Priests weren’t supposed to bone, right? Ha, ha, etc.

…Granted, this one could probably manage it, given how powerful he was, not to mention easy on the eye sockets, but there was no telling if he was—

"...going to do it," he was saying, wiping away tears of laughter. "I'm not all-powerful, but I have enough influence at court and with the Church to guarantee your safety." Frisk looked up at him, bright-eyed, and his SOUL did another loop-de-loop. "So, Sans. Will you stay?"

He didn't want to, it was a bad idea, and he said, "No," in his mind.

Frisk smiled, tilting his head.

"Yeah," Sans said out loud.

[mikimakiboo]

Ghosts & Medium AU by @ancha-aus :3

I'M FINALLY DOOOONE I was busy so I couldn't finish sooner :(

A nice AU idea where Dust is a medium and goes to haunted places to help the ghosts leave and rest in peace :)

Until he finds Killer, a very flirty and clingy ghost who seems to have fallen in love with him at first sight

The post that started it all

And my interpretation of everyone's backstories under the cut !

Tw: mention of torture, death, starvation, possession, religious trauma, sect

Medium Dust

( official backstory )

He had a rough childhood, being bullied most of his life because he kept saying he "could talk to ghosts", that made him the weird kid

He can really talk to ghosts tho, but it depends on how strong the ghost is, if it is a weak ghost he will need material to be able to communicate with them, but if the ghost is strong (like his brother, Killer, Horror and Cross) he will be able to see and talk to them without any material needed

He later decided to use this ability to work as an exorcist and soon became popular as he was one of the rare ghost hunters to actually have good results and not doing it for tv

That's when he met Killer, and regretted chosing this job

He used to be a lone wolf, only talking to his dead brother who never left his side after Dust failed to reanimate his body after studying necromancy, but now he is a tired guy trying to monitor four ghosts and a demon, and killing himself isn't an option for a very obvious reason that is: he would become a ghost too

Ghost Killer

( official backstory )

I wrote his backstory in an ask before making this post

Quick summary: Killer was a hitman who killed a very important man (possibly mafia boss), the man's family got mad, kidnapped him, kept him tied up in their cave to torture him and make him pay for the murder, and ended up leaving him to die in an abandoned train wagon, still tied up so he wouldn't escape, due to that Killer is deeply afraid of loneliness and ropes (and just restraints in general)

He caught an interest in Dust because for the first time someone wanted to know him, and having been manipulated all his life the fact that Dust asked him things about himself and listened to what he had to say made him fall for him in an instant

He then swore to stay by his side no matter what ! Dust is not happy about that

Priest Cross

( official backstory )

Cross is the priest of the universe !

Why did he become a priest ? To please his father, and as a punishment too

Cross's father, XGaster, didn't like that his son was bisexual and after trying many conversion therapies he forced him to go to the church and become a priest so that he would devote his life to God, never take a partner, and hopefully quit being bi

Cross, of course, got influenced by his father's opinions and thinks that being a priest is the best choice, he got traumatized by the therapies and genuinely thinks that being bi is a sin and that he will burn in hell of he ever feels attracted to a man

Needless to say he didn't take it well when he realized he was attracted to FOUR men, one of them being a demon, two of them being dead, and one of them (Killer) having possessed his body to flirt with Dust (Cross was supposed to exorcize him but messed up and Killer possessed his body instead, so now Cross is the ghost following Dust around, waiting to take his body back, and having to witness his own body flirting with Dust)

Ghost Horror

Horror was born and spent all of his life in a sect in the middle of nowhere, not that he wanted to leave anyway, but even if he wanted to he couldn't have reached out to anyone because there wasn't anyone aware of their existence

Food was sacred in the sect, so much that it would be used as sacrifice for their supreme leader (Undyne) and that only the worthy would be allowed to eat, and they still didn't have much food left

Horror was part of the worthy, he believed whole heartedly that the sect was good and only ever acted for its good

Until his brother made a mistake and was left to starve

And Horror loved his brother way more than he loved the sect, so needless to say his death greatly affected him

He started questioning Undyne, questioning the sect, and of course he got into troubles for that

He was hit, his head got badly injured, and he got locked up in the room where they left those unworthy of food, he later died of hunger

He haunts Dust now, and he always makes sure he eats during the day, being very scared that he might be hungry too as he had been hungry all of his life and died because of that, he is very insecure about food and always scared that there won't be enough

Demon Nightmare

Angels don't want to hear about him as he is a demon and demons don't trust him as he has angel magic in him and angel magic is more powerful than demon magic

( official backstory )

A demon born in heaven and banished in hell, twin brother of an angel

Thanks to, or because of, the angel magic Nightmare is one of the most powerful demons in hell and quickly got a reputation among mortals who summon him quite often

But the thing is, he is too powerful, and demons don't trust him even if he never showed any sign of rebellion, but to prevent any risk they decided to lock him away, separating his spirit (not his soul as demons don't have souls) from his body, leaving him as a broken version of himself only able to do small spells

But he still has a reputation, and Dust summoned him in hope he could do something for all the ghosts already following him, and Nightmare agreed on one condition: Dust had to give him his body back

Lots of things happened, Nightmare got his body back and is now tied to Dust because of their deal, but he never gets rid of the ghosts because he grew attached to them even tho he won't admit it, he will say that he finds them untertaining instead

Anyway Nightmare has big trust issues as he was betrayed by heaven first (and by Dream who did nothing to defend him) and then by hell, so it takes a long time for him to admit liking the group as deep inside he's still afraid they're gonna turn their back on him like everyone else did

(He also tries to convince Dream to stop trying to exorcize Dust when there is clearly no need to (Dust doesn't agree with him))

God Error

A God with not many followers but the few he's got are very devoted

His followers tried to sacrifice Dust once as they recognized he had a great power (plus the fact he had a demon following him around), but of course Dust's mates stalkers intervened and killed the followers

Blood having been spilled, and followers' blood being a greater sacrifice than other people's blood, Error got summoned, but instead of being mad that his followers got killed he was actually curious of Dust and declared him as his high priest to keep an eye on him and his little teammates

Error now shows up once in a while to appreciate some drama, Nightmare also became his new gossip buddy as Error talks shit about other Gods and Nightmare talks shit about Angels and Demons

[zu-is-here]

<– • –>

[echoing-death]

I'm too lazy to turn this sketch into something complete. In fact, these sketches are inspired by the song "Orthodoxia" and I just couldn't pass by and not make Nightmare a priest who would take advantage of others instead of helping them. I think Cross would have easily fallen for his ploy ~ Nightmare belongs to Jokublog Cross! Sans belongs to JakeiArtwork

[storkmuffin]

@awooooooooooo OK I lied about having to stop writing about Ateez dancing styles. LOL. This isn't a total overview but! Here goes for Hongjoong, Seonghwa and Yunho for now!

HongJoong adds character and wit to everything he does. He's expressing himself rather than trying to perfectly adhere to the steps. Also, he's very self-aware as a performer, and he knows he's little, so he moves really big.

Like. This jump on the left is so extra. Explosive little squirrel man. And on the right - He's giving himself lower back disk issues in order to make that maximum sassy point while in center. The way these are danced aren't necessarily the cleanest way to dance, but they are both in service of his persona.

Seonghwa is elegant and expressive, but he's also very dominant and very clever about communicating that he's The Lead Dancer actually, the others just don't know it.

He's the one who consistently seeks sustained adagio poses like this one. Look upon my fabulosity. Has everyone noticed how extremely long and attenuated I am?

Here's a moment where you can see (I hope, in my fuzzy capture) the difference of stylistic orientation between Hongjoong, Seonghwa and San. You can see Seonghwa go for maximum horizontal reach here, fully extended to the edge of his fingers, while HongJoong is grounding downward, and staying very faithful to his sassy King's Jester who sees all type of persona. San is pulling up out of his feet, where his heels are fully off the floor because he tends to go for quality of motion rather than final pose.

Seongwha really really goes for these positions to look as long as possible, because he has that length to use, for one, but you know, this is also a "lead dancer" flex, because Mingi and Yunho are both taller than he is and just as long limbed, and they don't do this - show maximum arm skin whenever he can, and show off his waist and his calves. The neat parallel line he maintains with his arm and leg? That takes a lot of proprioception - he has to be aware of how it looks as well as how it feels in his body.

I have to watch that Yunho in Ruby Slippers thing, but i will say that during another dance rehearsal, he does this. He looks like a skinny noodle, with that long oval face on top of a very long body, but he is very, very strong if he can do this and then get back up at the speed this dance moves. Holy shit?

I will also add that in the Halazia sign of the cross, Yunho is the one who first off, knows how to make a proper Catholic sign of the cross (I know this because I come from a hardcore Catholic family that produced a bishop and a priest in consecutive generations, as well as multiple nuns, and a president of a catholic university). But I don't think this is just due to having religious awareness. Yunho seems to always know WHY he's doing the movement he's doing.

[keouil]

let my blood be water to you

"oh, right, sure!" gojo scoffs. "blame the vampire!" 1k. gojo/nanami. vampire!au. also on ao3.

In hindsight, it really was Yuji's fault.

But he digresses:

"Let me begin by saying," Gojo starts, addressing the makeshift town hall full of angry townsfolk glaring daggers at him. "That while yes, parts of the village are currently burning, it was not my fault for once."

"Bulltshit." Someone swears from the crowd. Gojo doesn't even have to check to know who it was, the raspy cadence to it familiar. "I saw you go into the church earlier with boxes of candles."

Gojo sighs. "Yes, Nanami-san," he nods along, somberly. "The church. Likely place for a prospective priest to be, don't you think?"

"We already have a priest," offers Nanami, gritted teeth.

"And how good you do it," parrots Gojo back in turn, canines flashing.

"You're dead," Megumi deadpans, choosing that moment to stroll in with more blankets and a fresh load of refreshments from Tsumiki. "I don't understand why you don't burn every time you try entering the place."

Gojo gasps, affronted. "What did I say about using the D word!"

"It's what you are," Shoko this time, who was currently tending to a wounded Getou, who was actually looking particularly scrumptious with burn cuts all over his chest but the middle finger he was giving him in response just soured his appetite altogether. "Didn't you basically beg Toji to give you civil rights and all that?"

"First of all," Gojo lifts a finger. "I do not beg. Begging is for puny mortals. I consider myself elevated in that regard, quite literally, as an immortal myself. Second of all," he continues, eyes going over the crowd. "I think everyone here can learn a thing or two from last year's Thanksgiving feast that your local governor and I, unfortunately, do not get along."

"You called him a deadbeat dad and told him you could do a better job at raising Megumi than he ever could," reminds Meimei, not even bothering to look up from the town registry where she was currently counting down their inventory. Gojo reminds himself to remind someone of the not so sneaky way she was palming a few bills to her corset. "I know I'm not a saint and all, but lines, Gojo. There are lines."

"I said none of those things!" defends Gojo.

"To his face," says Utahime, helping put down a few makeshift cots. "But the implication was clear enough."

"Megumi," Gojo turns his attention to him. "Did I or did I not imply those things." 

Megumi didn't even wait for a beat to answer. "You implied," he says, before sauntering off to the rest of the other younglings across the square currently trying to calm down other even younger younglings. Yuji, in particular, was surprisingly good at his bedside voice; Nobara, however, not so much. Stop crying or we’ll make Megumi-nii sing and give you a real reason to cry!

Gojo waves them all off impatiently. "One crisis at a time," he decides. "We can save Megumi's daddy issues for another hearing."

"I wasn't aware that's what we were doing," says Nanami, a frown on his brow. “Considering you just burned down parts of the town hall, along with the rest of the church you so verbally favor.”

Gojo snaps his fingers once for a gavel to appear on his hand. "Gavel, see," he relays. "I have the justice thing going on and everything." 

“Fine,” Nanami crosses his arms. "Then what exactly happened?"

Gojo breathes once, twice, before finally saying: "It was Yuji's fault."

Yuji, from way across the other side of the square and has Gojo convinced was partly supernatural himself because of that pesky inhumane hearing, decides it is decidedly not his fault. "Not true!" he cries out, covering a peasant child’s ears. "I didn't even know what he was going to do with all the candles!"

Shoko makes a face. "What were you doing with that many candles?"

“Mood lighting,” Gojo deadpans. “Gothic vibes and all that.” 

"That's not a thing," says Nanami. “It’s literally already a gothic church.”

Gojo’s eyes slant to a glare, and if his ears reddened just a fraction despite having no blood to filter it at all through, they blame it on the heat of the flames currently licking on his skin. At least Nanami does.

He doesn’t say that to anyone, however.

-

The day started off fairly innocently.

There Gojo was, on his usual morning leisure walk across the town, trying in vain to ignore Meimei propositioning him for a night of fun provided by her many consorts at the local brothel. Nervous little Yuuta was trailing behind Miguel, the town judo master, and nearly tripped on his feet when one of the carriages brought in a fresh batch of pumpkins along with an even fresher batch of royal twins. It's pathetic, really, the way his eyes lit up the moment Maki descended from the carriage. Miguel had to bark at him at least three times to follow before he finally snapped out of it and did. 

Ah, thought Gojo breezily, Young love.

The rest of the morning followed in a fashion so like it did in the past however many months he'd been assigned vampire consort to this bustling little town by the forest. He made his rounds on the local townsfolk, pledging on and on the strategic nature of the vampire-human alliance that was precariously dangling on it's tenth year of cohabilitation that, despite all taunts from anyone otherwise, he actually did not want to jeopardize.

So really, things were going really well.

Until he got to the church.

Until apropos of nothing, not a knock or a hiss or a warning; the wooden doors to the cathedral unceremoniously swung open to reveal the tall and bulky and downright delectable frame of one Nanami Kento, Head Priest and Number One Cause for His Temptation. Gojo paused at the landing of the stairs and could have sworn to himself he was staring at the sun himself. There Nanami stood, an unwilling guide to his otherwise lovely company, with nothing but the displeasure in his face as a greeting.

Gojo's face immediately fell. "What," he said in alarm. "What is it. What have I done wrong now."

Nanami just quirked an eyebrow at him before lifting a finger, gesturing for him to follow. Gojo does so on shaky legs and absolutely does not, he insists, fall back just so to admire a certain back side.

Nanami led them to the farthest room of the building at the farthest hallway, where the smell of something waxy was starting to grow gradually stronger with each step they took. 

"What is that?" Gojo sniffed. "Is something burning?"

Something about that seems to bemuse Nanami, but he doesn't say anything and instead shoulders his way through the last door. Gojo pretended not to be impressed, and pretended even harder not to see how the movement made the muscles in his uniform stretch past his forearms against the fabric enough he actually saw the muscles trying to bulge out. He didn’t have to do much in the way of an award-winning performance of pretending, however—because the sight that greeted him on the other side of the door was enough to elicit a genuine shock out of him.

"Itadori Yuji!" Gojo gasped. "What are you doing with all this!"

"He told me you told him to meet you here," Nanami relayed, patiently it seemed but thawing by the minute. "For the thing."

Gojo was gobsmacked. "What thing."

"The thing."

"I have no such recollection whatsoever about this thing."

"The Megumi thing then."

Gojo paused. "Megumi—" he stopped, blinked, and then his eyes widened in realization. "Oh you mean the—"

-

"Proposal," Nanami finishes the recollection for him. "You were helping him do.. a proposal?"

"Yes," Gojo nods along vehemently. "Yes, that sounds right."

"Your brilliant idea of a proposal idea was for the kid to light up a hundred candles in an old, wooden church that helped spell out 'WILL YOU MARRY ME FUSHIGURO' knowing full well how weak and brittle the firewood is?"

A beat.

"No," Gojo lies. "No, that doesn't sound right."

"Yuji said it was your idea and that you were going to take care of everything," Nanami explains. "I don't suppose taking care of everything means also taking accountability for intentionally wrecking a historic site that's been here longer than anyone else?"

"Oh, right, sure!" Gojo scoffs hotly. "Blame the vampire!"

"Your being a vampire has nothing to do with it!" Nanami argues right back. "This isn’t the first time you've tried to endanger the town with your satanic ways!"

"Blasphemy!" Gojo cries out. "No priest has ever said the S word and survived!"

"It's in the Bible for a reason and that's not the point," Nanami rubs at his temples. “Seriously. A burning candle in a wooden church?”

“I never said anything about vampires being particularly smart,” Gojo puts his hands up in surrender. “About us being ridiculously good-looking with deathly charms, however—”

"Two," Nanami cuts him off.

Gojo’s grin falls. “What.”

"We found two boxes of candles on the scene," Nanami elaborates impatiently, turning to face him. "What were you going to use the other one for?"

Gojo, for the first time in literally a hundred years, is rendered speechless. Yuji, having enough of being ostracized and made guinea pig to useless men and their useless attempts at flirtation, uses that time to cry out from the other side of the town hall:

"HE WANTED ME TO DO THE SAME THING TO ASK YOU OUT!"

No one speaks for a full second.

Then a minute.

Then—

"Now that, Gojo-san," says Nanami slowly, the corners of his mouth tugging up. "That's just plain old sin."

[gatabella]

"One evening, as I was waiting for someone at the Beverly Wilshire, the most radiant apparition emerged from the elevator. Covered with gold and topaz like some Byzantine idol, hair floating on royal shoulders, Maria Montez crossed the lobby and disappeared into the street. How beautiful she was! As soon as I could get friends to introduce us, I invited her to dinner. In those days she was the queen of technicolor enchantment, having just achieved success in those innocent and outlandish screen epics Arabian Nights and Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves. Knowing these films, I’d expected the same studied languor which she displayed on screen. Instead, I found her spontaneous, direct, and childlike, warbling the tale of her nomadic life in an adorable Spanish accent: Born in Santo Domingo, where her father was consul general of Spain, brought up in a convent in the Canaries, married for eighteen days to an Irishman who was naive enough to think he could lock her up in some frosty castle. Then Maria had whirled through London, New York, and San Francisco like a cyclone before settling in Hollywood, where her beauty and personality soon made her one of the most popular new stars. To say that between us it was love at first sight would be an understatement. From that day on, I spent every evening at her place. It was a strange house. You didn’t answer the telephone or read the mail; the doors were always open. Diamonds were left around in ashtrays. Lives of the Saints lay between two issues of movie magazines. An astrologer, a physical culture expert, a priest, a Chinese cook, and two Hungarian masseurs were part of the furnishings. During her massage sessions Maria granted audiences."

-Jean-Pierre Aumont, Sun and Shadow, autobio (1977)

[villainscomplex]

Reverence

OUGH.... posting zine pieces part 2. this one was for the @bpfineartzine Also on: AO3

--

There’s something about cathedrals that makes Yotasuke feel impossibly small. 

It’s something to do with the architecture, surely; the way the roof arches endlessly overhead and makes the entire building look larger than life. At the same time, it’s nearly suffocating inside, the weight of thousands of years of existence coming down at the doorway. If he’s being honest, Yotasuke doesn’t know why he keeps agreeing to go along with Yatora and his last-second whims. They’re university students now, adults in every sense of the word, but here he is, loitering at the entryway of the Holy Resurrection Cathedral while Yatora wanders in with wonder in his eyes.

In a way, he supposes, he owes Yatora. The other man ceaselessly drags him out of his shell, relentlessly pushes him out of his comfort zone, and challenges him at every turn. It forces Yotasuke to stop and think about his perception of things. That, perhaps, is why he agrees when Yatora calls, asking him to tag along. 

The cathedral is in Tokyo, so the ride over isn’t long. Yatora dozes off, and his hair is still mussed from where it was pressed against the window when they get to the doors. Yotasuke fixes his stare on the strands, smooth where they’re pressed flat above his ear. The right thing to do, he considers, might be to tell Yatora to fix it. He doesn’t.

They pay their donation at the door and receive candles to light inside. When they enter the cathedral, the room ahead is nearly empty. This is when the feeling strikes Yotasuke; when the doors shut behind them and the oppressive weight of the room comes crashing down. Yotasuke takes in the red carpets, the blue of the stained glass windows, the alternating dark and light of the paintings lining the walls. There are no pews like he anticipated, only rows of brown chairs with crosses carved into the backs. 

Yatora comes to a halt near the center of the room, his head turned up. Overhead, the domed ceiling yawns widely, reaching out with a grand chandelier. 

A personal project, Yatora had called it. Yotasuke doesn’t know why he chose a cathedral of all places for a personal project, nor does he know what this project entails. All that he knows is that it feels like he has thousands of eyes upon him now. Every painting, every statue, every window watches him. 

“It’s beautiful,” Yatora’s voice comes out, barely a breathless whisper. 

It’s terrifying, Yotasuke thinks. He doesn’t understand architecture or religion. But what he does understand is that existing in this place makes him feel infinitesimal, merely a fleck in the course of the universe. Yatora moves, and Yotasuke follows. 

Yatora has his sketchbook in hand, but he keeps it clutched close to his chest like he’s forgotten he’s holding it to begin with. He crosses over to the furthest wall, taking in the rows of paintings. Yotasuke stands where a priest would, turning to look out on the church. There’s only a few other people in the room, murmuring together near the doorway. They look as if they’ve had their time and are prepared to leave. Yotasuke is sure there must be someone leading other tours here somewhere, but if there is, they’re nowhere to be seen. 

“Yaguchi-san,” he asks without looking back. “Do you believe in a god?”

He doesn’t need to look to know Yatora is listening. He hears the shuffle of shoes and assumes it’s Yatora turning to look at him. There’s a beat of silence that follows, and then Yatora steps past him, walking to sit in the first chair on the first row. He gazes up at Yotasuke, still standing at the pulpit. 

“I think there’s something out there,” he replies after considering it. “I don’t know what’s correct, but we can’t possibly be alone, right? It can’t just be a coincidence we were created.” 

Yotasuke makes a noncommittal sound. There are theories, of course, of the how and the why. The Big Bang. God. Gods, plural. In the end, there’s no way of knowing what the truth is until the day they die. The distinctive scratch of pencil on paper draws his attention, and he glances back once more. Yatora has dropped his head, sketchbook propped up on his knees as he hunches over it. 

“I don’t know,” Yatora continues without glancing up. “I think believing in something is just comforting. It gives us purpose, I guess. Like we were all put here in this specific lifetime for a reason, meant to be who we are and meet the people we care about. I don’t know about fate and destiny and all that, but it couldn’t just be a fluke that I was able to meet everyone. I think we were meant to be friends.”

Yatora pauses in his sketching, glancing up to catch Yotasuke’s gaze. The blond smiles sheepishly.

“Sorry,” he laughs awkwardly, “that sounds kind of strange, I guess.”

Yotasuke dwells on this for a moment. He doesn’t know where he’d be if it hadn’t been for Yatora entering his life when he had. By now, he surely would have quit art entirely. It had been his sole purpose for his whole life, and he can’t imagine where he would be if he had quit. These days, he’s coming to terms with his feelings more often, but he still doesn’t quite know who he is outside of art. It’s a process, certainly. 

But he doesn’t think Yatora is wrong, not really. Yotasuke doesn’t know about belief, but he does quietly think that he was meant to meet people like Yatora. At first, he’d been resistant to the idea of a friendship between them, and though he won’t admit it, these days he doesn’t think he can imagine his life without any of them. 

“No,” he finally replies quietly, not intending to say it at all, “it doesn’t sound strange.”

I get it, he thinks, but he leaves that much unspoken. 

Yatora gives him a strange, near indecipherable look. For a moment, they hold each other’s gaze, and then Yotasuke turns away once more, breaking first under the intensity of Yatora’s golden-eyed stare. After a moment, he hears the sound of Yatora’s sketching resume. He doesn’t look to see what the other man is drawing, focusing on the line of paintings along the wall again. Despite their light backgrounds, the paintings themselves are dark against the brilliant gold and white of the architecture, almost frightening in their intensity. 

Belief, Yatora had said. 

Yotasuke can’t claim to be an expert on Christianity, much less religion as a whole, but he’s witnessed the unyielding belief some of them hold. He walks the line of paintings slowly, taking in the details of the carefully crafted faces, the depictions of stories he doesn’t know. He wonders if the artist had painted these with that same belief in his heart. Perhaps it had been someone eager to express their feelings on the subject, but maybe it had simply been a commission by someone entirely indifferent. 

Still, it makes him feel something. 

It’s this, perhaps, that keeps drawing people back. In the same way that he keeps coming back to art, people keep coming back to religion, to their god, whichever one it may be. He thinks about Yatora calling it comforting, rolls it around in his mind contemplatively. He isn’t sure how comforting the idea of all-powerful being watching over them is, knowing all of the things that happen in the world, wondering why that being wouldn’t put a stop to them, but he supposes there’s a part of him that understands it. It’s easier than the idea that it’s just them in a big, empty universe. 

He drops his gaze from the paintings, shoving his free hand into his jacket pocket as he turns around to leave the pulpit. During the holy days, he’s sure this building is packed. A place like this probably isn’t meant to be viewed this way, empty and haunting, the weight of its purpose hanging over their heads. Yotasuke knows he won’t come again, but he can’t help but wonder what it’s like when the cathedral is full of life. He’s never gone to a Christian church, but he’s heard how they are, seen videos of what they look like with the masses of people and their hands raised in worship. 

Yatora is still hunched over his sketchbook, nearly bent in two. It’s an almost comical sight, the sketchbook balanced on one leg and his candle tucked up between his stomach and thigh, but Yotasuke finds himself watching anyway. It’s a fervency of its own, the way art is Yatora’s god, and he’s merely a disciple passing on its word. It’d been that unadulterated passion with no real skill to back it up that had pissed Yotasuke off when they’d first met. For the first time, he’d felt genuinely threatened, and he hadn’t known how to deal with it. These days, he almost finds solace in it, knowing that even he still has a passion for art somewhere in him. 

Belief and worship, passion and reverence—none of those feelings were so far detached from one another. 

“I think I’ve got it,” Yatora speaks so suddenly that Yotasuke jumps a little. 

The blond looks up, a mixture of determination and contentment swirling in his eyes. He grabs his sketchbook and stands, sending his candle tumbling to the floor. They both watch it roll across the crimson of the carpets. The tips of Yatora’s ears burn just as red.

“Right,” he says, like he’d only just remembered it existed.

Yotasuke hides a smile. “Let’s light them before we go.” 

Yatora scrambles for the candle, and Yotasuke steps around him to make his way to the rows of firelight from other visitors. He finds a less lit area, setting his candle down among them, and Yatora joins him. Without a word, they both light the wicks, watching the flames spring to life, two more pinpricks of light against the brilliant backdrop. Yotasuke puts both of his hands in his pockets, watching the wax melt. 

“Thanks for coming, Yotasuke-kun,” Yatora murmurs, his gaze fixed on the two fires, sitting side by side among the countless others. 

“It wasn’t all that bad,” Yotasuke confesses. 

“What about you?” Yatora asks.

He looks up from his candle, turning his gaze on Yotasuke once more. Behind him, the stained glass approximation of Jesus himself stands with his arms spread, wide and welcoming and blue. 

“What about me?” 

“You asked me, but I didn’t ask in return. Do you believe in a God?” 

Another group enters through the doors at the front, led by one of the guides that Yatora and Yotasuke had turned down after they’d made their donation to get in. He hears their voices, but not the words they’re saying. Yatora is still watching him, gaze unwavering, eyes unrelenting and curious. 

Yotasuke straightens up, leaving his lit candle among the many others. They’ll be extinguished by nighttime, taken out of the way for the groups that come in tomorrow, and the day after that. Still, it feels like they’ve left some sort of mark here, their own personal immortality. Yotasuke doesn’t think he believes in a god, but he thinks there are things here that could only be the work of something outside of their understanding. 

“I wonder,” he murmurs at last. 

Yotasuke doesn’t think he believes in a god, but as he watches the light filter through the stained glass, dyeing Yatora blue, he thinks that perhaps, in the wake of everything, there could be one after all. As they make their way back towards the door, Yotasuke looks up, gaze flitting over the still flattened strands of Yatora’s hair. He reaches up and fixes them himself. 

“It was messed up from the train,” he says in lieu of a real answer. 

It isn’t what he really wants to say, but Yatora smiles like he knows.