#taken in the basement of my church

[feverdreamwonderland]

[sonicfanthenightfury5099]

Slashers with an S/O who has a Newfoundland Dog

A Newfoundland Dog is my dream dog, and I had this thought of stabby men with a Newfie dog.

Characters: The Sinclairs, Jason Voorhees, Michael Myers (78, 07, and 2018), Thomas Hewitt, Bubba Saywer, and John Kramer (I know he's not a Slasher but I've watched Saw X and wanted another character to add here)

CW: Boys getting Slobby kisses from a large dog

Vincent Sinclair

Your dog came with you when you came to Ambrose. A 6 month old Newfoundland Dog

Your puppy found the way to the basement and found Vincent working at his desk

He was surprised that it wasn't Jonesy, and he walked with pup to find you

Let's just say one thing let to other

Vincent fell in love with Annie, your chocolate Newfie. He thought she was just like Jonesy, but he was so wrong.

6 months later and Annie's head is near his hips

You love seeing your big doggo with your Wax Hubby, giving kisses

Left side of his face is covered in slobber

Vincent would sketch your Newfe when whenever he doesn't know what to draw

Jonesy has a new friend to play with

Bo Sinclair

Your 3 yo Newfie walked into the Church when you weren't looking and had to go get

Bo turned around and got a big slobbery kiss from your doggo

"DAVID, GET BACK HERE." You said getting your Dog to come to you. Leaving Bo's face covered. "Sorry." You said as you closed the door.

You were telling your dog not to do that, when Bo came out to have a Cigarette

"Sorry about that. David is really friendly with people." You said 'That a Dog?" Bo said, "He's a Newfoundland Dog."

Bo thinks your dog isn't one but a Horse

David would try to give Bo more kisses when he sits on the couch

He would guard his food when he's eating at the table as David tried to get at it

"There a reason you named him David? Was it from that Werewolf movie?" He asked as he patted David resting head on his leg. "Yeah, you seen it?" You asked, "I may see it on tv."

Lester and Vincent definitely love David.

Lester Sinclair

Automatically in love with your pooch

Your dog, Aaron, knocked him over when they jumped up

Lester's face was covered in slobber, which he cleaned up with his tank top as he got up

Jonesy was taken aback from how big your dog was. But they got along real quickly

Bo and Vincent thought you owned a bear from how big they where

He's giving a lot of treats to your doggo

Michael Myers

Oh Great

A Dog?

Michael met your puppy when he came home from his walk

A black and white pupper looking at his face

Michael wanted to get rid of it as he grabbed the scruff of their neck till he heard your voice screaked at him. "DON'T YOU DARE HURT BOWIE!! "

Michael definitely wanted not to be hit by something, so he put down Bowie.

Michael would have Bowie giving him kisses on his cheek when he's on the floor. He didn't like it, with a sour look on his face

He had to get used to your puppy

A few months and Bowie is much bigger than when they were a puppy. Michael noticed that he had to ask what breed Bowie is.

A Newfoundland Dog?? And they Get How Big?? Oh God

8 months later, Bowie is near his hips and needs a lot more food.

Michael would take them for a walk when you're at work

Bowie is now fully grown, and their face is right at his when he sits on the couch

Michael is now in love with Bowie

Jason Voorhees

Hello, did you bring home a bear cub?

It's a Newfoundland Dog? Never heard of those before

That's an Adorable face I can't resist

Jason's keeping a close eye on your puppy when they go outside

Jason decided to give them the name Teddy cause of the mistake he thought

Couple months later, Teddy is double in size from the day you brought them home

Poor Jason nearly had a heart attack when Teddy jumped onto the lake, but Teddy started to swim back to the shore

Fun fact: Newfoundlanders have webbed feet that's great for swimming and a thick coat to fight the chill of the water.

Jason will take Teddy on long hikes when you're at work

His face is going to he covered in slobber from Teddy

Michael Myers RZ

Oh God, there's a Bear in the house

Oh, it's a Dog

Definitely a Big Dog

Michael didn't know what to do, so he just patted their head

When he's just working on his masks, Danny is right beside him

When on the couch, he let's them lay on his lap

He would give a kiss if they kissed him first (But not with His Tongue lol)

Thomas Hewitt

Thomas met you with your big doggo when your car broke down near his mama's gas station

Thomas was shocked at the size of your dog. He thought it was a bear when he saw them.

Mickey was the name of your Canine pal

Holty got licked by Mickey whenever he sat down on the couch. Thomas couldn't help but snickered

Thomas would come up from the basement to see Mickey laying at the top of the stairs waiting for him.

Laying in bed, Mickey would wake him up with wet doggie kisses on his face

Luda would spoil them with little goodies

The Hewitt resident's is a Dogs dream place. A lot of running around and places to go have privatize

Peepaw Michael Myers

Michael was taken aback by this large Dog, he thought it was a bear at first

It just Woofed. it's a Dog

Normally, not a Dog person Michael felt differently with this Newfoundland Dog

Michael would be woken from his old man naps with a slobbery kiss from Arnold

Would definitely give them a scratching on their neck when he's reading a book

You catch Michael napping with Arnold on the couch

Michael may share his food with Arnold

Bubba Saywer

Bubba Squealed in delightment, seeing a puppy bolting towards him

You brought home a puppy to brighten up Bubba's mood

Nubbin being himself tried to play fetch with the new addition to the family

"A Newfoundland Dog? Do they find new land?" Chop Top asked

Drayton hopes the dog doesn't pee inside the house

Jed gotten bigger as the months go by

Bubba loves getting kisses from Jed, but not Drayton

A run outside with you and Jed

Happy man loves the Big Doggo

John Kramer

Long story short, you became a caregiver to him

You sometimes bring your 5-year-old Newfie dog with you to John's "place of work"

Definitely a highlight of his day when you're gentle gaint rest there head on his leg. Much easier for getting pats on their head

Kisses on his hands

One Apprentice hope they don't pee on the floor

Bonus Character:

Corey Cunningham

Doesn't want to let go of your puppy when he comes over

Automatically, his therapy Animal

Loves getting kisses from your puppy makes him feel much better

Definitely would stay with you overnight to be with your puppy longer

He would volunteer to dogsit when your go to work

His mother is going to wonder why he's covered in dog hair

[eldritch-spouse]

*kneels down at the bagel alter in the basement

“Pinnie… I can no longer keep this secret… I admit that I read your works before going to Church, think about your ocs during service, and make up scenarios in my head after communion…” 😔

What's this? Catholic guilt? In my blog? Oh, I have just the monster for you then...

Say hello to Caius!

See, in some slightly more remote or just particularly religious parts of the world, monsters were sometimes still part of certain religious practices adopted by humans. Believe it or not, there have been monsters in churches, yes. Key words are "have been", for they were quickly shunned.

One such old practice affirmed that sinners could be purified in a different way. People believed that, the more you sinned, the more your blood would grow "corrupt", and sickness would follow as punishment for your ill deeds. And thus, someone should extract that corrupt blood, so you can be pure again. That someone would be a monster, because only those with some level of siadar descent could perform the purifying ritual and not succumb under the supposed filth of the blood they ingest. Nowadays, in the few sections of the world that still practice this, it is not known why the person that performs this has to be a certain type of monster, but it is taken as an unspoken rule.

Naturally, all kinds of vampiric monsters flock to these positions.

What is Caius?

A leech. Figuratively and literally.

This kind of blood-leech monster is considered to be one of the oldest vampiric monsters to ever pop up. And, curiously, although many of his kind are easily abhorred by the wider populous as no more than ghastly sanguine thieves- He comes from a lineage that lucked out, sporting long-lasting ties to several churches that perform the aforementioned practice.

In the eyes of many catholics, he's seen as a holy figure, not to be questioned and to be addressed with the proper respect. It doesn't help that he falls into the role perfectly, dramatizing his existence as some kind of martyr, consuming the corruption of others at his own detriment- Oh, but it's a weight he will carry in his soul! For the good of the community! To make sure everyone is freed of vices and the taint of malice!

He's totally not just super glad he can gorge himself day and night... Trust him.

Much like his adopted name suggests, Caius Draug is a joyous drinker, often getting drunk on the blood of the sinners that come to him for purification, and becoming a rather jolly figure.

Until he's denied something he wants. Like a particular human of little faith. Oh, then things get a bit messy, yes. But fret not, if there's one thing a predator that relies on charm has, it's patience.

You'll come around, he knows. The church will love you.

[sturniolosiphone]

introducing...morose!reader and pinning!matt

divider by: @bernardsbendystraws

In which morose!reader and pining!matt are best friends. Inseparable. They're there for each other..whether it's morning coffee, running an errand, or a night on the couch. There's connection, safety, and desire..they can feel it; they can tase it...

morose: sullen and ill-tempered.

⋆.˚morose!reader can come off as a little bitter, a little detached to strangers who aren’t in her inner circle. She finds small talk hard, and she simply does not have the energy to make new friends. 

⋆.˚morose!reader will disappear for days at a time. She is usually hidden in her room, racking up screen time on her phone or attempting to read the book she restarted four times. Her room is her safe space, filled with trinkets, clothes, and vinyls. 

⋆.˚morose!reader took "My Year of Rest and Relaxation" too literally.

⋆.˚morose!reader can watch movies for hours a day and constantly log them into letterboxd. She also loves the movie theater and often calls it her church. She allows herself to break down in the worn-down theater chair as her feet stick to the flooring covered in diet soda.

⋆.˚morose!reader is always saying she could do more, be more. She can’t feel fulfillment in any career path, any passion project…anything. She will come off confident and unnerving, but as soon as that bedroom door closes, she stares at herself in the mirror until she is unrecognizable. 

⋆.˚morose!reader is constantly changing her appearance. Cutting her hair, bleaching her eyebrows, small tattoos, and piercings. She is always trying to find herself, and understand why she is the way she is. 

⋆.˚morose!reader who knows Matt would be good for her but she just...

pining: suffering with or expressing longing or yearning for someone or something.

⋆.˚pining!matt, who is captivated by morose. He had been in love with her since the first time he saw her at that weird basement party, where they both decided to leave together and go to McDonald’s because the vibes were just off. He’s at her beck and call and is willing to do whatever to make her happy and satisfy her. 

⋆.˚pining!matt is soft and loving. He may come off as a little standoffish, but that is only because he is shy. 

⋆.˚pining!matt, who keeps his journal in his back pocket. He holds a list of all of morose's favorite things. What to order her at restaurants, how she likes her coffee, things that make her happy, and things that make her angry or upset. 

⋆.˚pining!matt is always lost in thought. He is having conversations in his head and lingering on other people's words. He keeps quiet most of the time, absorbing information and taking things in. 

⋆.˚pining!matt hates all of that “new age” shit but owns every Apple product. He refuses to use Apple CarPlay in his car and will only listen to CDs. He hates the internet and tries to keep off social media as much as possible. If he posts anything on social media, it's either morose or his album reviews that get five likes. 

⋆.˚pining!matt who prays one day morose will break, finally let him in completely and let him show her what it feels like to finally let go.

[A/N: this is my first AU! I have been absolutely taken by other writer's AU's and I love how free and creative you can be. I'd love to write for this AU if it is received well!! Please feel free to send in asks about morose!reader and pining!matt]

[thelampisaflashlight]

Some general sibling of sin and ghoul headcanons, because why not? Let's go.

-Most siblings wear some kind of uniform while residing within the abbey, but casual clothes are permitted and no one is forced to wear their habits or cassocks outside of special occasions/important events.

Even still, most of the siblings have customized their uniforms in some way, though some still prefer to keep things simple and leave them as is.

Ghouls, like the siblings, also follow similar rules with their uniforms, although they are only allowed to customize their non-stage wear uniforms, and cannot make any alterations to their masks beyond getting them properly sized and repaired.

For the most part, the ghouls tend to dress how they please, but some are stricter with wearing their uniforms while around the siblings and other residents of the abbey.

Dew, for example, often wears his uniform when in the presence of the siblings, as it's viewed as more professional and suits his status within the church's hierarchy more to do so, whereas Phantom/Aeon wears his uniform because he's new and wants to show his commitment.

-The siblings and the ghouls interact pretty much daily, as the abbey's population shakes out to about 65% humans, 35% non-human entities/ghouls, so it's not really seen as a big deal, at least not to the people who have been there for a while now.

This statistic does not include ghosts... or whatever is living in the lake... or the woods... or that creepy well no one goes near... Those don't count, because they don't live INSIDE the abbey.

Well, the ghosts do, but they don't exactly live-live in the abbey, ya know?

-Out of the main ghouls, Mountain is the one people see the most milling about the grounds and the easiest to approach, so he is considered a friend to many.

Likewise, Cumulus is always happy to interact with the siblings and has quite a few human friends that she hangs around with when she isn't in the ghouls' den.

It's a sort of sliding scale that goes like this; Mountain, Cumulus, Swiss, Phantom/Aeon, Aether, Aurora, Sunny, Cirrus, Rain, and Dew.

Dew is only the hardest to find because he's often scurrying around the abbey trying to get various tasks taken care of and refuses to take a minute to chill and shoot the breeze with people.

He's not going to say hi unless it's followed up by, "Move, please, you're in my way-"

Still says please though.

And lastly;

-The siblings have a separate dormitory from the ghouls largely because the ghouls dorm is located in the abbey's basement/ground floor, and gets very little natural light as a result, which, as it would turn out, isn't very good for most humans' mental health.

Most of the ghouls and siblings that reside on the abbey's grounds permanently/indefinitely have their own dorms that are outfitted similarly to small apartments, including their own bathrooms and a kitchenette, although some rooms lack one or both of these accommodations depending on whether they're in the newer parts of the abbey or the older ones.

The ghouls' den in smaller than the human dorms due to being partially underground, so many of the rooms aren't as spacious and thus lack certain features -they don't have cooking spaces in their rooms, and only two of the rooms have their own bathrooms-, but they also have their own kitchen attached to their common room.

Ghouls tend to work more as a pack, so their spaces are more open/less private than the human dorms as well.

It's like being in a friend's house and seeing their family hanging around.

Unless you're in their room, expect to see at least one other ghoul hanging around, if not ten more.

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 21 Prompt: Home and/or Dinner

I honestly think this is my favorite one yet!

Tags: Pre-Relationship Steddie, Eddie Munson Has A Crush On Steve Harrington, Holiday Parties, Overstimulation (the bad kind, not the fun kind), Steve Harrington Is A Sweetheart

wc: 2215 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

The holidays were always a quiet affair at the Munsons.

A few gifts, wrapped in week-old copies of the Hawkins Post, placed under a modest tree from Merrill’s. Wayne’s famous (well, famous to Eddie) chocolate chip pancakes in the morning with a questionable amount of syrup and a reheated casserole from Ms. Jenkins down the street for dinner.

No church or family plans, just the two of them, a couple of beers (root beer in Eddie’s case until a few years ago), and whatever movie Eddie had insisted they watch before he turned the TV over to Wayne and the Christmas basketball game.

It was good. Great, even.

Eddie loved his holiday traditions with Wayne.

He did, but sometimes he’d catch sight of Ms. Jenkins welcoming her brood of kids and grandkids into her cluttered trailer or spot Gerald loading the passenger seat of his pickup with toys for his nieces and nephews and wonder what it would be like to have a big family to spend the holidays with.

Turns out, it’s loud.

So, very, loud.

The Hopper-Byers’ new house is bursting at the seams with guests. The entire We Survived The End of the World gang is here along with some guests — Wayne and Ms. Henderson. Mr. and Mrs. Sinclair stopped by for about an hour before excusing themselves to finish up holiday shopping (said in a hushed tone to not ruin Santa for Erica — as if she still believes, Eddie had thought). But mostly it was just the usual gang.

Eddie learned, in the form of Dustin’s “you’re being stupid” voice that it's become a tradition for them. Gathering a week before the holidays to pig out on food and dessert, play games, and exchange presents. Celebrate the year coming to an end and them making it.

As the apocalypse gang grew every year, the celebration got bigger and bigger until they were tripping over each other inside of the Byers house. That is, until this year when Joyce and Hopper got their shit together and finally moved into a decent-sized house on the outskirts of Hawkins. It’s no Loch Nora mini-mansion, but it works for them — even if it's still a tight fit when everyone is together.

Murray, Joyce, and Ms. Henderson are gathered in the kitchen — arguing over when to take the turkey out of the oven and the proper milk-to-cheese ratio in macaroni casseroles. A small radio sits in the corner, attempting to play Christmas music over the static. That’s the con about living farther out, Eddie supposes.

El and Max have claimed a fold-out table on the outskirts of the kitchen where they’ve been decorating cookies for hours, it seems. El’s simple and artistic, Max’s a chaotic mess of spilled-over frosting and candy sprinkles. (Eddie’s stolen one from each and thinks they’re both delicious much to their delight.)

The den’s been co-opted by Hopper and Wayne, and the TV volume turned all the way up (“We can hear just fine! It’s you kids that are making it hard,” Hopper gruffed when one of them pointed out the volume). They’re switching between basketball games while nursing beers and pretending not to hear the argument going down in the kitchen.

Jonathan and Argyle are hiding out in his room ��� smoking and trying to drown out the noise with whatever record he managed to pick up from the store he’s working at. Eddie thought about joining him, but the scowl he earned from Wheeler Jr. had him changing course.

The rest of them have taken refuge in the spacious basement. It’s too chaotic for Dungeons & Dragons so the boys and Erica have taken to playing an intense game of Monopoly. The threats he’s heard hurled at each other have been clever and downright terrifying. Way worse than anything they’ve uttered at his DM table. Those heathens.

For some reason, Steve’s taken on the role of the banker. Something about Dustin skimming from the top last time he held the role and played. Now, house rules say the banker has to be an NPC, and well, Steve fits the bill. Unfortunately, he seems to be struggling with the math of it all judging by the scoffs and annoyed eye rolls thrown his way. Eddie would go help, but he doesn’t think he’d be much help. Godspeed, Steve.

Nancy and Robin are there too, sprawled out on the couch and lost in their own little world. Occasionally Robin gets up to flip the record on the record player, but mostly they sit together, gossiping and talking about who knows what in hushed voices. Eddie might understand every little thing about dungeons and hobbits, but girl talk? That’s an alien language if he’s ever seen one.

As for him? Well, he’s hovering in the middle of it all. With Steve occupied, he’s taken on his babysitter role of sorts. Racing up and down the stairs to fetch whatever snacks the gremlins demand, rustling Max and El’s hair on the way in, and nodding at Hopper and Wayne on the way out. He narrowly escapes being sucked into being the official judge for the impromptu Murray vs Ms. Henderson pie off and almost makes it up to Jonathan and Argyle’s room before Dustin is bellowing for him.

It’s fun, mostly.

Getting to see everyone relaxed and having fun. A far cry from the last time they were all together like this back in March.

In some ways, it's what Eddie’s always dreamed it would be like. Being part of a big family, a cog in a never-ending machine of noise and organized chaos.

But it’s also becoming a lot.

Lucas is about to put a hotel on Boardwalk that has everyone shouting and throwing their own pieces at his head. Steve’s trying to keep them under control but it's a losing battle. One that pulls Robin and Nancy from their own little world to join the chaos.

And then there’s even more noise.

A crash from upstairs, the blaring voice of Joe Strummer coming from Jonathan’s room, more shouting, Wayne and Hoppers stopping, and giggles from Max and El.

Suddenly all Eddie can hear is noise.

It gets louder and louder and louder until finally, he’s certain his eardrums are going to explode.

Taking the stairs two at a time, he pushes through the chaos going on upstairs (dropped pies and frosting stains and shouting at TVs) and makes his way onto the wrap-around porch.

The crisp cold air is the first thing that hits him. Like an idiot, he ran out of the house without a coat or scarf or hell, even the warm hat Ms. Henderson knitted for him earlier in the month. He shivers, rubbing his hands up and down his bare arm as he tries to take deep breaths, watching as his warm breath twirls in the breeze.

As his body adjusts, so do his ears. He can still hear the chaos going on inside, but it's muffled now. Distant. He can hear himself think for the first time in hours and for once, it’s nice.

The snow is falling in slow but steady flakes, dusting the backyard in the white. Or, it should be white, but the hoard of Christmas lights decorating the house illuminates the backyard in reds and greens. It’s a real Christmas wonderland out there, now.

Reaching into the pocket of his jeans, he pulls out a pack of cigarettes and his trusty lighter. The first inhale of nicotine warms him from the inside out, sending the goosebumps packing as he focuses on his steady and slow inhale and exhales.

At some point he zones out, so focused on the snow falling and the repetitive nature of lifting the cigarette to and from his lips that he doesn’t hear the creak of the door or the heavy footsteps that follow until the intruder is standing shoulder to shoulder with him.

“Figured you might be needing this,” Steve says, hand outstretched with Eddie’s coat.

“Thanks, man.”

They swap, Eddie takes the coat from Steve and Steve takes the lit cigarette from Eddie, keeping it safe while he shimmies his way into the monstrosity that he calls his winter coat. When he’s finally situated in the plaid nightmare, he reaches a hand out ready to take his cigarette back only to find it perched between Steve’s lips.

Oh.

That’s different.

Sure, they’ve smoked together before. Bummed off cigarettes in the ally behind Family Video and in the parking lot of Palace Arcade waiting for the gremlins to be done. But they’ve never shared the same one. Never pressed their lips to the same filter. Felt the dampness of their mouths on their own lips.

“Sorry,” Steve says, lips turning up in a small smile as he removes the cigarette. “Couldn’t help myself.”

Eddie nods, unable to say much else as their fingertips brush when he takes it back. Is it weird if he puts it between his lips right now? Is he supposed to wait a minute? Let Steve’s taste linger for a moment. God, he’s being so weird right now. In the end, he brings the cigarette to his lips and takes the smallest inhale, nearly coughing as the smoke floods his lungs because he’s so distracted by the way the filter feels different now that it’s been in Steve’s mouth — as if that makes any sense.

“You okay? You sort of booked it out of the room.”

“Yeah,” Eddie sighs, before leaning against the banister of the porch. “Yeah, m’good. It just—“

“Got too loud?” Steve supplies, mirroring his position. “I get it. I remember my first holiday dinner. There were a lot less of us in ’83 but shit. It was still so loud.”

“Don’t get me wrong, I’m a pretty loud son of a bitch.” Eddie’s caught off guard by Steve’s snorting. Stealing a glance, he finds Steve lit up in reds and greens, a smile etched on his face so deep he can see the spot where smile lines are going to emerge in the next ten years, catching the way his eyes already wrinkle in the corners. Fuck, he’s beautiful. “But, uh, yeah, I don’t think I’ve ever been in a house that loud before. Not even when I’m fucking around with the Corroded Coffin boys.”

“Well, I doubt that. Your music is very loud.”

“Uh, yeah, ‘cause it's metal, Steve.”

“So I’ve been told,” Steve says, smiling that soft, private smile again.

If Eddie was braver, he’d close the distance between them and press his lips to his. But if this year has taught him anything, it’s that he’s not. Not really. So he lets a quiet fall between them instead. They continue to stand shoulder to shoulder, passing the dwindling cigarette between them despite the pack in Eddie’s pocket being brand new, and watch as the snow steadily starts to pick up.

“You know,” Steve says, then stops.

Eddie turns, watching the gears tick in Steve’s brain as he decides what to say next. It’s magical watching it all pass on his face — the knit of his brows, his pupils dilating and returning to their normal size, letting the hazel shine through. The way his lips open and close like some gasping fish.

“If it ever gets to be too much, you can tell us. Tell me. Hell, I know I need a break after a few hours with those shitheads. Maybe we could come up with a code word or something.”

“A codeword? That’s might nerdy of you, Steve.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve says, waving his hand through the air as he bites back a chuckle. “But yeah, a code word. It’d be easier to say than “hey it’s too loud and I can’t think” you know. Plus, it would annoy the shit out of Henderson.”

“Well, then. Count me in. You know I love annoying the shit out of that kid. Gotta keep that ego in check somehow.”

They spend the next few minutes going back and forth trying to decide on a word that could work. Steve wants something common — a fruit or a vegetable. Eddie disagrees, saying it has to be something uncommon so they don’t accidentally say it, but common enough that it doesn’t sound weird casually being dropped in conversation.

They wrack their brain, throwing out silly words left and right until there’s a crash from inside. Their heads swivel in tandem toward the source of the noise. A flurry of shadows passes on the other side of the window as Steve shakes his head and sighs.

“Come on,” he says, handing the cigarette back to Eddie. “If we’re not at the table the minute the food gets served, we won’t be eating. The gremlins know no manner.”

Eddie laughs, stubbing out the cigarette on the ashtray precariously balanced on the banister, “Teaching ‘em manners seems like a job for their babysitter.”

“Nah,” Steve snorts. “Maybe one for their Dungeon Master, though.”

Just as the words leave Steve’s lip, there’s a shout from inside followed by another crash.

“Think it might be a job for both of us, actually,” Eddie laughs. “Together?”

“We need all the help we can get,” Steve says. “Together it is.” 

[the-face-in-the-mirror]

As promised, here she is! Margaret in all of her new glory. I have scarcely been able to stop staring at this one, she's so pretty it's almost unfair.

Finally, a proper outfit for the icon herself. My goal here was to make Margaret look more like a princess and a royal heir, with some inspiration taken from Princess Zelda's design in Breath of the Wild while utilizing some of the colors that Margaret is seen wearing in canon. I might adjust the veil later to make it fit in more seamlessly with the rest of the outfit, but right now, I think it looks okay; let me know if ya'll have any ideas for that.

I always thought Margaret needed more love as the heir to the throne; being the firstborn, you'd think there'd be a little bit more emphasis on her and the position she holds, but she just kind of... exists in a bubble, it seemed like. This time around, Margaret gets a bigger role in terms of her place in Liones and the royal family. Given the time period, there'd be very little separation between Church and State, especially since the Holy Knights are a thing, so I've decided that Margaret gets to essentially be the head of the Church, or at least hold a high position in it. Since Margaret has never demonstrated any magical ability in canon, I imagine I can work with that to aid in her position as High Priestess; I'm still figuring that part out, but we'll get there.

Her overhauled role also gives Margaret more to do than just being constantly locked in a basement like in canon. Personally, I don't really get why she had to be other than the excuse that it was for her own protection, but even then it still seemed weird since Hendrickson had her being watched at all times by the chimera anyway. She'll likely be up to a bit more in this rewrite, and I hope to expand more on her character being stalked by the chimera versus no longer being stalked by it. Margaret could be cool and honestly it's what she deserves.

That's it for now, so I'll see ya'll just as soon as I figure out what to do next. See ya!

[violentdelightsandviolentends]

Western Nights.

You don't expect to bump into your dad's best friend Javier in a church basement on the outskirts of town. You also didn't expect to fall in love with him. Life seems to be full of surprises - and Javier was the biggest surprise of all.

Pairing - Dad'sBestFriend!Javier Peña x Female Reader

Age Rating - 18+

Word Count - 3.6k

Warnings - cursing. sexual content at the end. talk and themes of PTSD. brief mention of domestic abuse. several mentions of panic attacks. age gap (but all very legal and consensual). smut in future chapters.

Author's Note - it's finally here!! i've had this idea for so long and i'm so glad to finally put pen to paper. the dads best friend trope is one of my biggest weaknesses and javier peña is my favourite character ever, so naturally this was born. this fic will tackle some topics that may be a little tough for some people, so make sure to read the warnings!! can't wait to get this up on its feet and running, and for javi and peaches story to develop <3

as always, reblogs, comments and feedback (even anonymous feedback!) are immensely appreciated!! <3

Masterlist. Requests.

Series Masterlist. The Playlist.

Healing isn't linear. Recovery is a journey. This is a choice I have to make. No one else can make it for me.

You're repeating reassurances to yourself in your mind as you descend the stairs to the basement.

It's dimly lit, and it takes your eyes a minute to adjust. When they do, you're able to make out an old, heavy, oak wood lectern at the front of the room. Rows of flimsy plastic chairs are set almost as an audience, and tables line the edges. The carpet is worn, beige, and stained, the entire space smelling like must and bad coffee. You wonder how many girls like you have stepped foot in here in the past.

You pull the sleeves of your sweater down over your wrists and stick to the back wall, willing yourself to become invisible. Watching as people mill in slowly, you take a deep, steadying breath. In for 4. Hold for 4. Out for 6.

"Hi!" a middle aged, dyed blonde, motherly woman screeches at you. The cadence of her voice makes you jump.

"Sorry, sweetpea! Didn't mean to scare you," she looks you up and down before continuing. "You're new here, ain't ya?"

Her southern accent, albeit very high pitched, is somewhat comforting. It's something familiar in this room full of the unknown.

"Yeah," you just about manage to choke out.

She surveys you again, this time with no judgment. You realise she's just trying to figure you out, as you are her.

"If you need anything, just come find me. I'm Primrose."

You smile gently at the floral moniker, and decide that Primrose might be some much needed support. Her motherly aura was calming you ever so slightly.

"Alright, ladies and gentlemen, if we could all talk a seat, that'd be fantastic."

A tall, curly haired man - who can't be more than 30 - wearing a name tag sticker that reads 'Tobias' has taken his place behind the lectern, gesturing at everyone to sit down. You pick a chair near the back, slouching down and ducking your head.

"Wonderful. Hi, everyone."

A chorus of hellos echoes around the room, everyone clearly used to this routine.

"For anyone who's new here, I'm Tobias, but everyone calls me Tobi. I've been a Priest for the last five years, and I've been running this group for the last two. Usually, how it works is that we get a few people to come up and speak through their experiences."

Your chest tightens, and you have to remind yourself to keep breathing. As if he sees your panic, Tobi continues.

"Most people find that being able to talk freely and without judgment is a useful coping mechanism. PTSD is complex, and it isn't something that can ever be fully 'cured' - but we can find ways to make things easier. You're in a room full of ladies and gentlemen that might not understand your experience, but definitely understand your feelings."

He catches your eyes across the depth of the room and smiles gently. You muster up the strength to smile back cautiously, and he nods before speaking again.

"Some just come here to listen. Others find it beneficial to talk. No one is going to pressure you, judge you, or scald you. This is a safe space. Share as much or as little as you'd like. Okay?"

Everyone nods and murmurs in agreement. Tobi seems to have a way of reassuring the entire room without really trying. He's calming, tender hearted, genuine. You like him already.

"Who wants to start?"

Primrose shoots up out of her chair on the front row and makes her way to the front. Tobi squeezes her shoulder as she passes, and she beams at him.

"Hi, y'all! I'm Primrose."

The room is clearly familiar with the blonde ball of excitement. Everyone yells greetings at her, her energy almost infectious.

"Most of you know my story, but just in case you don't -"

Her eyes flit to you briefly, and she smiles. You half smile back, relaxing slightly.

"I was in a marriage where I suffered domestic abuse. He used to hit me, manipulate me, call me names. You think it, he did it."

She takes a breath, putting the smile back on her face where it's faltered.

"I have some news to share. I'm engaged!"

A few people jump out of their seats to hug her, congratulating her with pats on the back and yelled excitement.

"Thank y'all, thank y'all! I couldn't wait to tell you guys. I just... I never thought that I could ever be happy again. I certainly never thought that I'd ever find the courage to be with another man, after everything. But I've found someone amazing. And he treats me like a queen. So, to anyone who's new here - it is possible. I promise you. Y'all better help me pick out a dress!"

The room erupts into applause, and Primrose smiles so bright you're surprised the lights don't shatter.

After Primrose, an elderly man named Walter takes the stage. He explains his experience in the military, and the trauma and violence he witnessed for years. You learn that he's a recovering alcoholic, who wasn't had a drink for 9 years. He shakes slightly where he stands, leaning against the cane in his hand. You can tell he's lived through hell.

Finally, after Walter, Tobi stands at the lectern. He's the sole survivor of a car accident that killed his two best friends. After struggling to cope, he turned to God, and became a Priest to better help people just like him in his community. He speaks with such ease, such grace. A wave of calm sweeps over the room as everyone listens intently.

He checks the brown leather strapped watch on his right wrist before clicking his tongue.

"Well, folks, that's all the time we have for today! Feel free to stick around and chat to each other, as always. There's coffee and cookies on the table, and Janet made some of her famous honey loaf too. Thanks for coming. Same time next week?"

Everyone agrees in shouts and thumbs up directed towards the front. Slowly, people rise, stacking their chairs away before making their way over to the table where the coffee sits next to the styrofoam cups.

You remain seated for a little longer, catching your breath. Your teeth are digging into your bottom lip, knawing at it anxiously. You suddenly taste pennies, and lick up the blood quickly with your tongue.

Standing up shakily, you fold your chair at its hinges and add it to the stack at the front of the room. A yawn overtakes you, tiredness suddenly settling into your bones.

Coffee. You need coffee.

You make your way over to the tables, timidly smiling at Primrose as she shows off her ring to a small group of people. Just as you reach over and grab an empty cup, you become suddenly aware of a presence behind you.

"Don't drink that."

A warm, rich, booming voice hits your ears. The large, looming presence comes a little closer, towering over you.

"Trust me, honey. It's the worst coffee you'll ever taste in your life."

You know that voice, it's familiar timbre.

Javier Peña.

You turn around to be met with the sight of him peering down at you intently. He's wearing a flannel and blue jeans, heavy boots on his feet. He smells like musk, sandalwood, and the Texan heat.

God, he looks good. He's strikingly handsome. Objectively attractive. Everyone in your town agrees that Javier Peña is one beautiful man.

And seemingly unattainable. Since leaving Lorraine at the altar years ago, no one has heard any word of Javier so much as dating.

"Such a waste," your mom always says. "Gorgeous man like that. He could have anyone he wants!"

And it's true. Chocolate hair, broad shoulders, strong thighs. The man is a heartthrob.

A heartthrob with a secret, apparently.

"Javier?" you question. "What are you doing here?"

It's now you realise that he's here. At the meeting. You've done such a good job of keeping your head down, going relatively unnoticed. And now, staring down at you, is your dad's best friend. So much for covert.

He must see the realisation on your face. Or maybe he notices the way your breathing quickens. Either way, he places a warm palm on your shoulder, looking at you carefully.

"Hey. It's okay," he reassures. "I won't tell if you won't."

You nod meekly, trying to stay calm. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

The basement suddenly feels too small, too dark, too stuffy. The carpet is too scratchy, the chairs too hard, the table too white. You need to get out before your chest caves in.

"You know, if you still want coffee, there's a diner like ten minutes from here. They do really good pie," Javier tells you, distracting you from your impending panic attack.

You take a breath and nod.

"Yeah. Okay. I like pie."

"Come on," he encourages, gesturing at you to lead the way. "Walk with me."

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You and Javier walk steadily side by side in silence, fingers occasionally accidentally brushing each other. After it happens twice, you decide to put your hands in your pockets the rest of the way, ignoring the warmth that radiates off him.

You eventually arrive at Cherry Pie Diner. The neon sign is blinding, shades of bright pink, yellow and blue flashing and flickering. Inside, the white overhead lights illuminate classic red leather booth seats and waitresses in pinafore aprons.

"Here we are. When you go in, ask for JoJo. She'll take care of you," he winks.

You stand stuck in your place on the sidewalk for a minute, processing his words.

"You're not coming in?"

He seems taken aback by your question. Now he's the one processing.

"You... uh - you want me to?"

"I, uh, yeah. I mean... if you're not busy... I just, uh - nevermind. Sorry. Forget I said anything."

"I didn't want to overstep, you know, it, uh- But if it's okay with you... I could do with some coffee."

Javier smiles at you gently, gauging your reaction. When you smile back hesitantly, he pushes open the door to the diner, gesturing at you to head inside.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"What looks good, honey?"

You raise your eyes from the menu you were staring at intently to quirk your brow at Javier.

"Hmm?"

"I asked if anything looked good," he repeats kindly.

"I, um, I'm not sure. What do you recommend?"

"The peach pie," he says without hesitation.

The quick response makes you laugh, the melody of it tugging at Javier's heart strings. He realises, sadly, that he hasn't heard that sound in a hell of a long time.

"Listen, I know it's not anyone's go to," he justifies, "but it's honestly the best thing on the menu. There's nothin' like it."

"Okay," you say with complete certainty. "Peach pie it is."

JoJo is a bubbly, Southern woman with rosy cheeks and a smile that never seems to falter. She takes your orders happily, flirting with Javier like you weren't sat watching, confusion and awkwardness plastered across your face.

"You two seem close," you approach gently, trying to make conversation.

"Yeah, I know her husband. JoJo's been serving me here for at least 10 years. Peach pie, every time," he laughs.

"I'm usually a cherry pie girl. Maybe you'll convert me."

You both sip steadily at your coffees, humming in contentment at your first bites of pie. Halfway through your slice, you break the silence.

"Okay, fine. This might be the best pie I've ever had."

"I told you," he smirks. "I'll never lead you wrong, honey. Promise. Not where pie is concerned, anyway."

You finish off your slices in comfortable quiet, neither of you quite sure what to say next.

"So, uh... about tonight..." you begin nervously.

"I won't tell anyone I saw you, cariño. I swear."

You breathe a sigh of relief.

"Thank you, Javi. Really."

Javi. The nickname so rarely used, it makes his heart stutter for a second.

"You're... you're not gonna ask what I was doing at that meeting?"

He tilts his head slightly, gazing at you carefully before replying.

"If you wanted to tell me, you would. I'm not gonna push you. These things take time."

He smiles like he knows. You think, maybe, he does.

"Can I ask you something?"

"Anything, sweetheart."

A breath. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

"Was that your first meeting too?"

He shakes his head, soft curls rippling.

"I've been going for a few months. I sneak out of town every week, so I'm pretty sure Chucho thinks I'm having a secret love affair. He doesn't ask questions."

You both laugh, and JoJo's head whips up, her curiosity peaked. She's never heard Javier laugh like this. Sure, he chuckles at her jokes, but the sound doesn't usually reach the corners of the room like that.

"He'd probably love it if you were, you know. Your love life is often a topic of conversation in my house, among many others in our neighbourhood."

He scoffs, and kicks your foot under the table teasingly.

"Man, nothing happens in that damn town, does it?"

"Nothing at all. Think we're overdue a secret love affair from you, Mr Peña. It might liven things up a little."

"Shut it, you," he chuckles, rolling his eyes.

You pull the sleeves of your sweater back down over your wrists again.

"I haven't seen you in a while. Think my dad is starting to get worried, you know."

A deep crease appears between his brows abruptly, hand rubbing the back of his neck.

"Yeah. I've just been busy, I guess. Tryna sort my shit out," he snickers dryly, no real humour in it.

"So did you do it?"

"Hmm?"

"Sort your shit out?"

Now he laughs genuinely, bright smile gracing his cheeks.

"Absolutely fucking not."

"Man, I know the feeling," you reassure.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Your breathing speeds up slightly, eyes darting around the room. Javier notices, reaching across the booth to grab your hand. He intertwines his fingers with yours, thumb rubbing comforting patterns on your skin. You take a deep breath. In for 4, hold for 4, out for 6.

"I feel like... like I'm... uh...," he nods at you reassuringly, squeezing your hand a little tighter. "I feel like I'm drowning. I'm barely keeping my head above water at any given moment. And I'm tired, Javi. Fuck, I'm tired."

A warm, salty tear escapes you, running down your cheek. Javi leans forward and brushes it away with his thumb, big brown eyes never leaving yours.

"It's okay, cariño. You're okay," he murmurs. "I get it. God, I get it."

"You do?" you sniffle.

"I do," he confirms. "More than you could ever know. And I know how lonely it feels. But I promise you, sweetheart. You're not alone. Not anymore."

His voice is like warm honey, soothing and golden. It melts into you, releases some of the tension from your shoulders. The tightness in your chest loosens slightly, and you take a deep breath. You find the courage to look at him again, and find that he hasn't taken his eyes off you once. His gaze is like an anchor, tethering you to reality. You surprise yourself by not wanting to shy away from the intensity of it. No, you want more.

Javier lets go of your hand to trace his fingertips up your forearm. He draws patterns carefully, as if he's learning every inch of you, committing you to memory. Like he isn't sure when he'll get to touch you like this again. If he'll get to touch you like this again.

You're still looking at each other, neither of you gathering the courage to look away. It's as if Javi is reading the words off the very surface of your soul. You're not sure you've ever felt so understood in your life. It terrifies you.

Without thinking, you grab a hold of Javier's hand and raise it to your lips, kissing each of his knuckles gently. The tenderness makes his heart ache.

"Hermosa," he sighs almost wistfully.

The sound of his voice snaps you back to the present moment.

"I'm sorry," you stutter, letting go of him. "Fuck, Javi, sorry. I don't - oh, I... fuck."

"Why do you do it?" he asks.

"Do... do what?"

"Apologise for everything. Every other word out of your mouth is 'sorry'," he chuckles affectionately.

"Sorry," you mumble without thinking. You pause, registering your words. The two of you break out into laughter, clutching at your stomachs.

"Are you?"

"Am I...?"

"Are you sorry? Or do you just say it because you think people want to hear it? You can't apologise for your entire existence, cariño."

You look into those warm, chocolate eyes, and realise he's read you for filth. He's right.

"I'm not sorry," you whisper.

He quirks a brow and nods attentively, urging you to continue.

"For... for what I just did. I'm not sorry."

You're praying that he understands what you're trying to say. I'm not sorry for my tender gesture. I'm not sorry for this connection we've made. I'm not sorry for my soft heart.

"I'm not either," he replies, barely above a murmur. You hear him, clear as day.

You reach out, this time, and interlock your fingers with his across the table. His large hand envelopes yours, and he squeezes. It effects you more than it probably should.

JoJo drops a plate behind the counter, the red and white china shattering across the checkerboard floor. The smash snaps you both out of the moment, making you jump. Your heart kicks into overdrive, battering against your ribcage.

"Hermosa, it's alright. Just a plate."

You hear him, but your nervous system doesn't seem to want to cooperate. Your breaths become laboured and frantic, and your hold on Javi's hand tightens almost painfully.

"Come on, Peaches, let's get out of here. It's getting late."

Javier stands from his bench seat and pulls you up with him, never once removing his fingers from where they're locked with yours. He shoots a smile over to JoJo, who returns it with glee. The two of you walk across the parking lot, hand in hand, illuminated by the neon light of the diner's sign. The colours dance across Javier's cheekbones, reflecting off the brush of his mustache, painting the rich brown warmth of his hair. He's never looked more handsome.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

"Peaches."

"Hmm?" Javier asks from where he's leaning against the side of your car, back in the church parking lot.

"You called me Peaches. In the diner."

He nods, smirk etched on his streetlit face.

"Because of the pie."

"Because of the pie," he echoes.

"I like it," you confess quietly. "Peaches."

Javier pushes off the vehicle and stands, towering over you. Without a second thought, he brushes a thumb over your cheekbone in a featherlight touch.

"Sweet like peaches," he murmurs. "Too fuckin' sweet for a world like this one."

You look up at him, breath catching in your throat when you meet his eyes. He's gazing at you with adoration. With tenderness. With so much softness. Your knees go weak with the weight of it all.

It hits you, suddenly. The realisation.

You want to kiss him.

You want to kiss Javier Peña.

You want to kiss him more than you've ever wanted to kiss anyone in your entire life.

You're stood in the parking lot of a church on the outskirts of town with your dad's best friend and you're feeling the closest thing to happy you've felt in months.

You take a step forward, closing the gap between you. The warmth radiating from the older man settles itself in your bones, shielding you from the chill of the night. Just as you tilt your face up towards his, your phone buzzes.

Jumping apart as if you've been caught, you check your messages with shaky hands.

"It's my mom. She thinks I'm with a friend, so she's just checking in. She doesn't like it when I drive in the dark."

The mention of your mother snaps Javier out of his peachy haze.

"You should get back, cariño. It's late. Sorry for keeping you."

"Now who's apologising for no reason?"

He laughs, and you feel like you've won a gold medal. An achievement in its own right.

You climb into the drivers seat of your car, starting up the engine. Just as you're about to leave, Javi taps on the window. You roll it down.

"Same time next week, Peaches?"

"Same time next week, Javi."

You drive away with a smile on your face and a warmth in your stomach, the taste of peach still lingering on your lips. You notice that Javier drives behind you steadily, following you carefully to make sure you get home safe.

✵  ✵    ·　 ✵ 　　 *  · ✵

You're staring at the ceiling.

You're plagued by insomnia.

According to the Internet, it goes hand in hand with your PTSD. You make a mental note to work up the courage to ask Tobi about it in the next meeting.

You lie in bed, watching as the sunlight slowly illuminates the room. Usually, you'll make a cup of tea, read a book, watch a TV show. Pace around the room like a caged animal. Count sheep. Do yoga. Listen to music.

Tonight, you take a different approach.

Tonight, you slip a hand under the waistband of your underwear, and replay the way Javi murmured your name in the diner on repeat.

It does the trick.

@frogers @farintonorth @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @pedrobaby @grace46 @harriedandharassed

[justjams2003]

Desire to be Loved- 4

Summary: Love is Desire's first creation. As Cupid she shoots her arrows of love and rips them from people's hearts too. Occasionally, shooting a soulmate arrow. What does she do when her first Soulmate arrow in 100 years is between Cupid and Dream?

Pairing: Dream of the Endless x OFC Love/Cupid/Venus (you know how these beings have millions of names) (Also technically it could be an x reader because love is sort of anthropomorphic but in this story a she)

Warnings: Manipulation, threats, crying, cliffhanger, unedited, kind of like enemies to lovers, soulmate au, cursing, tell me if I miss any

Word count: 1,8k+

Dividers by: @hyelita

Tags: @intothesoul @briskesby coffeebeforewater @i-voluntears @dreamingblueberries @idkamt @deniixlovezelda

Masterlist

(I've moved that next part link to the bottom)

Once he saw it, it was hard to ignore. The human world looks so dull. So empty and lame. While he’s been in the waking world a century, he hasn’t been around the humans. He hasn’t seen how the humans built new castles and then broke them down. And as he waits outside this church his mind wanders again.  

When speaking to the Fates, they were vague as always. Not to mention, he only had three questions he could ask. He had to weigh what was more important to him. Finding answers or finding his tools. And while her being missing does have an effect on the humans, he has to trust, even a little, that Desire wouldn’t put his shrewd need for power over the well being of the humans.  

While he did say he wouldn’t go in search of the woman, doesn’t mean that he has much control over where his mind wanders to. Why hasn’t he seen her before? Suddenly one day she stumbles into the right basement of the right house at the exact time he’d been caged?  

Is that some strange coincidence or an act of Destiny... Should he go visit Destiny? No, no, that’s not right. He shouldn't bother Destiny about something that doesn’t have anything to do with his realm. About something paranoic jumping up and down the walls of his brain.  

“Constantine!” This woman does have that redish hue coming from her heart. He fights hard to control the twinge of his lip that tries to sneak up on his face. The remanence of love seem to be everywhere. The woman stops in her tracks. “My gran used to tell me stories about you lot.”  

“What do you want with me?” Johanna asks, still keeping her distance from the man clad in black. “Something of mine came into your possession. A leather pouch filled with sand. I need it back.”  

It hurt, seeing Johanna fight and cry over her soulmate. Of course, she doesn’t know that they’re soulmates. She can’t see the red hue grow bigger when they get closer together. Seeing her in this state, before he wouldn’t really care too much. Now...no, no that’s not it. He gave her something just for the last minute of pain.  

Dream didn’t realise love could hurt so much... 

The crowds of hell are all cheering with excitement at the sound of a challenge. “You know the rules, Dream Lord. If I win, you will return my helmet. And if you lose...” The demon slows down. There is so much and so little that can be taken from the Dream Lord. Lucifer's smiles at this. Her wings stretch out in excitement.  

“Why don’t we keep things interesting...? If Morpheus loses you get to have Dream’s soulmate as a slave to serve you in hell for all eternity.” The Sandman’s head snaps up to Lucifer. “Soulmate...?” He asks, his brows furrowing and his lips pouting like it always does.  

The ruler of hell pretend to act shocked. “Oh? Don’t tell me you didn’t know...?” She smirks, a wicked one. She’s playing Dream, but how would she know? Dream is clearly thinking, his jaw is locked. His soulmate? The red arrow Cupid left him, is it their names carved in?  

Did Desire know about this before? Had he been planning this with Destiny? Does Desire and Destiny make soulmates? The same question is if Desire and Dreams make love. That could be the only way that Desire would’ve known to keep Cupid away from Dream. A soulmate... If soulmates are a thing, can Endless have them too?  

“What will it be, Dream? Your helm or soulmate?” Lucifer asks, circling Dream like you would a shark. “You’re bluffing.” He says, the words jumping from him. He doesn’t usually act impulsively. Usually he thinks things through for at least more than a few seconds.  

“If you believe I’m bluffing it should be an easy choice to make.” The Devil points out, still only just fighting off her smile. Is this why it scared Cupid so much to read the names on the arrow? Did she fear Dream that much? Or rather what Desire would do to her if he found they were soulmates?  

That implies that Desire doesn’t know that they’re soulmates. “I accept the terms.” Now he most certainly can’t lose.  

“You have a soulmate?” Mattew caws when they make their way to the storage unit where his ruby is being kept. “I...did not know I had one. I did not know Endless could have soulmates.” The crow looks up at him. “Doesn’t everyone have one?” Dream just shrugs his shoulders. “Not my department.”  

The crow scoffs. “Who’s is it then?” They enter the storage unit. “I did not know soulmates were a thing until now. It seems that there a huge part of the human’s working that’s been kept hidden from me by my sibling.” He explain, already reaching out for the ruby in the box.  

The waking world is looking much better now. Again, he can’t not see every few people having a pink aura. The pigeons gather around him, pecking at the bread he’s thrown on the ground. “What are you doin'?” Dream sighs looking up at Death. “I’m feeding the pigeons.”  

“You do that too much, you know what you get?” Death asks, putting her hands on his hips. Dream doesn’t answer, he just watches the pigeons jumps about after the bread. “Fat pigeons.” Again just more silence from the dream lord. “That's from Mary Poppins. Did you ever see it?” His eyes slowly turn up to her. “No.” 

The grass is green around the lake. Children run around, giggling with laughter. Dream’s eyes wander for only just a moment. But in that moment he catches a twinkle of a pink dress right in his peripheral vision. His head snaps in that direction. 

Just quick enough to see Cupid come and go in a flash. He stumbles forward to grab her but he’s just too slow. He gasps, his eyes rapidly jump around trying to find her again. Any glance of a pink tule or golden strand of hair. But, nothing.  

He and his sister continue walking. Over a bridge where... there it is again! He runs to the edge of the bridge, leaning over trying to see it again. He saw her, crouching behind some poor human who likely just had their heart broken. His heart is in his ears again but why?  

His sister stops and furrows her eyebrows. She didn’t say anything but Dream knew. “When I was captured, Cupid visited me three times. She was the one who helped free me.” He explains to her then lets the arrow form on his hand. “She left me this. Lucifer placed my soulmate as a betting card before even I knew I had one.”  

Death takes the arrow from him, she too can’t read it. “Cupid, she’s one of Desire’s creatures. Why haven’t you gone to her? See who’s names are on this?” Morpheus doesn’t say anything. His eyes tell it all, that and his reluctance to speak. She rolls her eyes at him, then continues walking on her mission.  

“I wanted to wait until I had all my tools back and now I’m more powerful than ever and yet...” He trails off, is that why he was feeding the pigeons? Waiting for the right moment to go and see her? What if she’s been harmed by Desire? Clearly not, he just saw her, doing well. 

“You’re not scared of Desire, you went to hell with only your sand. It’s something more...” She trails off inspecting each of his reactions. “You are more scared of her. Or rather that it might be true.” Dream scoffs at this. “Just think of the power a soulmate could have over an Endless. If I accept this, anyone could hold her over me.”  

She sighs and shakes her head. “You have one friend, Dream. Maybe this isn’t as bad as you think it’s going to be?” Again Morpheus refuses to speak. “She’s just too pure. Have you seen her before? She has this glowing semblance surrounding for. It...seemed to stop time. And these eyes that just... holds all the pureness in the world. Could you imagine something so... innocent? No malice, no harm, no intent for revenge.”  

“What? Are you scared you’ll taint her with your broodiness?” She chuckles at him. “I’ve had past lovers and none of them...wanted this life forever. Something always goes wrong and I don’t want for it to be the same this time.” He thinks over each word he speaks. When did his heart become this attached to this girl? 

She glances over her idiotic brother. Brothers never know anything about anyone. “Who says it will? Think about it, your previous lovers didn’t work out because they weren’t meant to. You had a soulmate, this time it will work.” They continue down the path, winding back to the park.  

“I cannot force this to happen. Love me because you’re supposed to. I’d be just as bad as Desire, puppeteering her for my lonely heart just as he had.” They slowly find back down to the park where the pigeons still wait for their bread.  

“It won’t be. If it’s meant to be, it won’t feel forced. I have one last appointment. Just try and see what happens?” Dream’s lips only slightly raise in a smile. “It seems I too have multiple missed appointments.”  

He watched her, from the corner of his eye he watched her every step of the way. She flew. Used the wings made for her for her and followed him all the way to Hob Gadling’s little Inn. She thought he couldn’t see her. But it’s strange it feels like she’s breathing down his neck either way.  

“There’s something watching you.” Hob says after a while, looking over Dream’s shoulder. Dream shivers, “I know I can feel her watching me.” He says, his back feels burnt with her glare. “Do you mind, Robert, if I cut this short, it seems there are some urgent matters to attend to.” The English teacher just smiles at him. “Go.”  

In one swift move, Dream stands up from his seat and grabs Cupid, right by the wrist. Like his body just knew where she’d be. “Cupid.” But something is wrong. There’s no reaction from her. She doesn’t pull back or gasp or speak. She just sort of stares at him, swaying on her feet. 

She looks right through him. Worst of all, her eyes they look dull. Her usual glittering brown is now more like dry dirt under your nail. There is no warm inviting pink aura coming from her. Looks like her, but nothing feels like her. She looks hollow, like a shell. Love looks entirely loveless. 

This isn’t Cupid.  

If you want to be added to the taglist, just ask!

Part 3~Part 5 (coming soon)

[vveissesfleisch]

it was all a blur and then it was nothing

Fandom: Masters of the Air

Pairing: John Egan/Gale Cleven

Rating: M/18+

Word Count: ~2.4K

Summary: A slice of postwar life, featuring hurt & comfort on a sleepless night.

A/N: Happy @hbowardaily summer exchange to my lovely recipient, @newcathedrals! i hope this scratches your hurt/comfort itch with our beloved pilots, & that you enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it. xx

Read it here on AO3.

Gale awoke with a start. 

He wasn’t disoriented. His heart wasn’t pounding.  

It had been a dreamless sleep, or at least one left unplagued by clear blue skies riddled with flak, fire, and death, or endless marches through German wasteland in a cold that froze him, blood and bone and core. 

He reached over to find the sheets beside him cold and rumpled. His heart sank. John had been sleeping so well this week. 

He absently stroked his fingers over the indentation of John’s body, half-heartedly debating whether he should roll over and try to get back to sleep. John would return when he was ready, but the thought of him up and about somewhere, pacing, smoking, worrying, had him heaving himself out of bed and pulling on his pajama pants. 

He leaned against the bedroom doorway, blinking blearily into the dark, yawning hallway. “John,” he rasped. He cleared the sleep from his throat. “John.”

Silence was his only response, so he made his way downstairs. 

It was quiet here too, save the steady drip from the kitchen sink. John would want to fix that this week. Gale smiled, mildly surprised that he wasn’t under there right now working on it, but there were plenty of things in their home to occupy idle hands on sleepless nights. 

Their home.

A place they could call their own. A place where they could exist as nothing more than themselves, together, two sides of the same coin.

It was still a heady thought, even a year later. 

Down in the basement, John had wedged a workbench against one of the walls, the one without the leak. He’d taken to tinkering with various woodworking projects down there. Right now, he was refurbishing an antique captain’s chair he’d picked up at the church flea market to accompany the drop-leaf table he’d refinished last month. Gale often found him down here in the middle of the night. 

“Might as well make myself useful if I’m not sleepin’,” he’d joke with a smile that never quite reached his eyes. 

Not tonight, though. The basement was as dark and quiet as the rest of the house. 

The garage was dark, too, indicating that John had decided that Gale’s old pickup was not currently in dire need of yet another upgrade. 

Gale understood John’s need to work with his hands, especially now that they were no longer manning yokes or guns. While he enjoyed fixing a car or shed as much as the next guy, Gale preferred to take his pencil to paper, which is why John usually found him holed up in the second bedroom that served as a makeshift study with a weighty textbook on nights when he was the insomniac. 

“How can you make sense of all this stuff,” John would say, shaking his head fondly so his overgrown curls fell across his forehead in an entirely too charming – and enticing – fashion. 

“The more complex the equation, the more closure I get from solvin’ it,” Gale would reply, already distracted, pushing a soft, rogue wisp of dark hair behind his ear. “Guess it’s kinda peaceful.”

Peace. 

Gale couldn’t believe he’d ever thought it would come easily, now that the war was over. 

No one had warned him how maddening it would be, trying to cram himself back into civilian life, a puzzle piece that had once fit, now warped beyond hope of its edges ever matching up to the negative spaces. 

Unable to find John in any of his usual haunts, Gale returned to the kitchen. He was toying with the idea of putting on a pot of coffee when he spied movement in the backyard. 

John was out in the pitch-black garden, mid-summer moonbeams bouncing off of his white tee shirt. 

Gale approached cautiously, not wanting to startle him. He was kneeling in the dirt beside a neat row of sprouting string beans, labored breaths syncing up with the silvery strike of the trowel into the earth.

Gale rested a hand on John’s shoulder. “John.”

John said nothing, just kept digging and digging, until he finally threw the trowel to the ground with a frustrated grunt in favor of his hands. 

“They didn’t bury him,” he said, voice straining. Gale knelt beside him as he heaved clumps of dirt and mulch into a growing pile. “They didn’t bury him, Buck.”

“John.” Heart aching, Gale grabbed his forearms. His skin was clammy with effort in the slight evening chill. “John. Stop.”

John turned to him, eyes wild and mournful, the ghosts of tears etched on his cheeks like an epitaph. 

It had to have been a bad one, to upset him like this. 

Gale knew the feeling entirely too well. 

“What happened?” he asked softly. “Tell me.”

“There was…” John thrashed, a half-hearted attempt to buck Gale off, but Gale tightened his grip. “There was just…nothing. He was there, he was with us, and then he wasn’t. And there was nothin’ left.”

“I know.” John could have been talking about any of them: their lost brothers, lying dead in a ditch somewhere, bodies slowly rotting back into the earth, little more than a home for maggots and fungus, or burnt to nothing in the sky, antimatter. “I know.”

Each of them still visited Gale, too. 

“I have to…he has to rest. It’s not right.” John glanced at the hole in the ground, eyes glittering with fresh, unshed tears. Gale wished he could wipe them away before they fell, along with all of the hurt. “I gotta lay Curt to rest, Buck.”

The name tore into Gale’s tender heart like shrapnel. Of all of the names, all of the faces, all who had been lost before their time, Curt had hurt the most. It hurt to the point that they rarely spoke of him, though he had been a dear friend, someone who they could easily envision occupying a third bar stool, or seated at their table for Sunday dinner. Though the memories were fond, the knowledge that he would never get to see what it was like, after, cut too deeply to invoke them. 

“He’s gotta…” John hung his head, voice breaking as tears began to fall. “He can’t…”

Gale pulled John close. John buried his face in his neck, clutching at him fiercely as he let out great, body-shuddering sobs. Gale held him as the stitches holding his heart together itched and popped, reopening wounds that time had failed to heal. 

“It coulda been us,” John mumbled against Gale’s neck. “It coulda been…it coulda been you.”

“But it wasn’t.” Overwrought, Gale grabbed his face. He searched his eyes, as desperate to remind himself as he was to remind John that they had survived. “It wasn’t me. It wasn’t us.”

John’s kiss was sudden, hot and urgent as a summer thunderstorm. That raw, jagged crack in Gale’s chest began to close itself back up as he returned the kiss with equal fervor, driving away tear-salt and anguish with every pass of tongue and clack of teeth, cloaked away from the world in the night, here in their little garden behind their little home that they had made together after everything, in spite of everything. 

“I’m sorry,” whispered John wetly, breaking away from Gale. “I’m sorry.”

“Nothin’ to be sorry for.” Gale brushed their noses together, a near-unslakable craving for closeness blooming deep within him. “Come inside. I got you.”

John allowed Gale to help him up, abandoning the trowel in the disturbed dirt. He didn’t let go of Gale’s hand as he led him up into the bathroom.

“Sit,” said Gale, and John obeyed. In the light, Gale saw the streaks of dirt and hastily wiped tears on John’s face, the smudges on his white tee shirt, the stains on the worn knees of his pajama pants.

John started to protest when Gale ran the bathtub tap, but any objections died in his throat as Gale stripped off his shirt. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

The tub was too small to comfortably fit the both of them, but that had yet to deter them. John got in first, then Gale slid in between long, bent legs to face him. He said nothing as he ran a warm washcloth over John’s face, gently ridding him of sweat, tears, filth, and mucus. Gale expected at least one less than subtle overture, or for John to bat his hand away, but John just let himself be washed, a helpless adoration eclipsing the sadness in his eyes as his breathing steadied. 

Their gazes met as Gale ran the cloth down John’s arm. Gale’s knee brushed against John’s as he scrubbed him clean, one large hand after the other, evoking a lovely, helpless little whimper. 

The negligible amount of space between them suddenly seemed an eternal abyss. 

With a wry smile, Gale teased his hand between John’s legs. 

“Buck –” inhaled John, but Gale simply rested his fingertips against his inner thigh. He relished in John’s shiver as he softly dragged them down to his inner knee, his calf, until he lifted one of John’s feet out of the water. 

Thrown off balance, John gasped and slipped down until his calf pressed against Gale’s shoulder. Alarmed, he grabbed the lip of the tub to stop himself from sliding further underwater.

The sight was so endearing – and ridiculous – that Gale couldn’t help himself. He laughed. 

John’s eyes crinkled up around the edges as he laughed, too. Gale could have cried with joy at the sound – not only was it his favorite sound in the world, it was also the sound of fear and pain leaving John’s body, at least temporarily. 

“You good?” Gale bent his leg to kiss the inside of his ankle. 

“I think I’ll manage, somehow,” said John, rolling his eyes as he pulled himself back to a seated position. 

When Gale moved to wash his foot, John gently kicked the washcloth away. “Okay, Saint Cleven,” he said, eyes bright with mirth and more than a little desperation. “Just take me to bed already.”

Gale dropped his leg and surged forward. Way too much water sloshed over the side of the tub as he kissed John as though his life depended on it, because it did, it always did. John groaned and kissed him back, his need sliding hot and hard against Gale’s stomach. 

“We’re here,” he whispered into Gale’s mouth, almost like he hadn’t meant to. “We made it. You and me.”

An incendiary yearning flared in Gale’s chest. He wrapped his arms around John’s shoulders, nearly climbing into his lap as he pressed their bodies as close as they could get. “That’s right. You and me, baby.”

John clutched at him, sighing and kissing, touching and grinding. For a delirious moment, Gale thought that they might not make it to bed before forcing himself to pull back. He needed to be closer, and judging by the way he was looking at him, like he might not survive a moment’s separation, John felt the same. 

Gale dried them both briefly in the same towel, just enough to avoid trailing water from the bathroom to the bedroom. 

Their bedroom.

He couldn’t find it in his heart to feel the crushing weight of guilt he so often did when he thought of all of those who hadn’t made it as he laid John down on the bed, near-feverish desire colliding with the burning joy that they were alive. He kissed him deeply before guiding him onto his stomach, entranced by the way his back muscles rippled in the moonlight. He pushed morbid thoughts from his mind as he trailed kisses across bath-damp skin from John’s shoulder to his neck, pausing to nibble on his ear, choosing to focus on the delicious sound of John’s breath, heavy with pleasure, rather than sorrow, as he worked him open. 

Sometimes he couldn’t believe that they were able to have this, that they had survived and prospered when so many others had not. 

But they had. They had survived, and John was here, so wonderfully, beautifully alive, and so wonderfully, beautifully Gale’s. He arched beneath him and whispered the name he’d given Gale when they’d first met, as indelible as ink in skin, as holy as an ancient prayer.

Gale pressed his chest to John’s back as he sank into him, sighing as blood-stained memories and grief melted away in the heat of ardor. Gratitude lit him from within as he laced their fingers together and buried his nose in the damp tendrils plastered to the base of his neck. He inhaled deeply and nearly finished on the spot; the scent of the man who had been with him through the best and the worst times in his life, who understood him better than he understood himself, was an intoxicant like no other. And John was just as gone as he was, moaning and drooling shamelessly onto the pillow as he pushed back to meet Gale, desperate to be closer, closer, closer. 

“Love you,” panted Gale against a flushed cheekbone, his heart hammering against John’s through layers of bone and muscle, rushing blood and heaving flesh. “God. I love you.”

John let out an ecstatic sob and tightened his grip on Gale's hands until his knuckles turned white. He turned his face into the pillow, and Gale saw him through a rapturous release, vision blurring with adoration as John’s body trembled beneath his, before following him quickly over the edge of bliss with a gasp. 

Afterwards, they laid on their sides in the sticky sheets, fingers and legs tangled together, watching each other breathe as they came down. The droop of John’s eyelids signaled how quickly he was fading, but he kept forcing his eyes open, like he couldn’t stand not to look at Gale as long as he was awake.

“Think I’m gonna pass out,” he finally mumbled.

“That’s alright.” Gale pressed his hand to his lips. “So am I.”

“Good.” John’s chuckle turned into a noisy yawn. “You could use it.”

Gale stared at him long after he drifted off, tracing everything from the slope of his nose to the delicate jut of his collarbone with his eyes. 

No detail was too small to be savored. 

As sleep eventually overtook him, he hoped that if he did dream, he would dream of John, just like this, face unmarred by tragedy, snoring softly beside him. 

He hoped he would dream of peace. 

[scumdrug]

Alexander "Eynos" Schäfer

english isn't my first language so i'm really sorry for any errors and such :{

tw for paranoid episodes, suicidal ideation, cult imagery, self-harm, addiction and such, i'm really bad at trigger warnings, sorry

his playlist!

Alexander was born in Leipzig, Germany to a single mother. He was born with several health complications, which included being born with one arm, leaving his struggling mom with a lot of medical bills and spending most of his childhood in a hospital, alienated from other kids. The only friend he had was his younger cousin, with him Alex started discovering his interest in music, though he couldn't play any instruments at the time, lacking the equipment and knowledge to do so. This left him with studying music theory and leaving the playing to his cousin, who he taught how to play guitar.

When Alexander turned 13, things started to take a turn for the worse, as his mom started to struggle keeping up with bills, as well as holding a job. As she was always a very religious person, as a way to cope she started spending most of her free time attending church and various religious organizations, which left adolescent Alexander even more alone.

Soon enough, Alex's mom meets a representative of an organization that promises her help with her son's medical bills, as well as stable housing and community in Canada. Alex had very little to say in the move – his mother already decided, he had to leave all he knows behind, including his only friend.

They joined an enclosed religious community in Canada, where Alex got forced into catholic practices. This is where his mental health started declining further, as he started struggling with undiagnosed schizophrenia, unbeknownst to him. The cult, as well as his mother, made him believe his hallucinations are actually dead souls, or even God, trying to communicate with him. With that, Alex got treated – or used – as a "medium" of sort.

Alexander's "visions" often turned violent, which left him more paranoid over time. He started to question if God was a vicious deity, who he soon started to despise. Alexander felt disgusted with having to worship something so hateful, which led him to various failed escape attempts. When he was 17 however, he carefully crafted a plan, which led him to a succesful escape, that he soon started to regret.

Alex soon realized he had nothing. No education and near to no knowledge of the outside world, on top of that all of his personal documents got taken by the organization. This very quickly led to Alex struggling on the streets, then a chain of drug addictions and difficulties keeping jobs, as his paranoid episodes often led to complete isolation and deep fear of the outside world.

Throught all this, Alexander tries to find peace in music and art, trying his best at painting, taking inspiration from his favourite artists such as Beksiński or H.R Giger. Alexander's biggest dream was to make music, though with his money situation that dream seems to prove difficult.

By the time Alexander's 30, he gets evicted from his apartement due to not paying rent, as he's too terrified to leave his house. Through an accident or luck, he meets a man — soon turned out to be a hitman of sorts called Kaban. The man offers help, he takes Alexander in to live in his basement and helps him find a night job in a warehouse. It is unclear to Alex why, but they soon form a close friendship and he finally manages to save up for proper music equipment. Alexander forms a one man dsbm project called Leere under an alias, Eynos.

Despite everything, Alexander is a gentle, quiet man. He rarely leaves his "room" (basement) and tries his best as existing as little as possible. He loves bugs, especially Death's-head Hawkmoths that he keeps and takes care of in his basement :}

:]

[paingoes]

Destroyer - Like An Arrow

(Masterlist)

a finale of sorts

(Content: dehumanization, parental death mention, alcohol mention, drug use, impalement)

=======================

Paris let out a low whistle as the atmosphere faded from the blackness of space to light gold. The morning sky of Thales was coming into view. He’d hung out by the helm to view the entry. One of the helmsmen gave him an amused look.

“Glad to be home?” He asked.

“There’s nothing like it in the world,” Paris said, which did not answer the question. He stood up, getting closer to the window. The palace was visible on the horizon.

Delta was already up. Even when nobody wanted him, his body had adjusted to waking at inhuman hours. He rested on the bed, tapping his hands idly as he waited. He tried to focus on the pulp cover he was supposed to be reading, but a mild claustrophobia was coming over him as they got closer to the castle. It was hard to think about anything else.

There was a crowd as the ship lowered. Thales was loyal to Paris. He’d always have a home field advantage there, despite the fact he hadn’t visited in months. And because there was a crowd, it had to be a performance. Delta sat patiently as Sierra did him up. The theme was not danger this time. When he looked in the mirror, most of his skin had been blotted out as if with soft light. The cloth he wore was white and flowing. It was practically church garb. The gold collar stood out nicely against it.

Paris was wearing his father’s coat. It had to be tailored to fit him properly, but it was unmistakable. His short hair hung loosely and undecorated. The saber hung on his hip, outfitted with a jewel-studded sheath.

Sierra tried to attach the chain to Delta’s collar, but Paris waved her off. She raised an eyebrow.

“I need my hands free,” He explained. 

They had a heavier security detail than usual as they worked through the swarm of people. Paris walked on ahead, greeted them all warmly. It wasn’t hard for him to work the crowd. He didn’t have to fake it, either. Most of them could remember the day he was born, the way the fireworks had lit up the sky. In their way, they’d watched him grow up. 

The guards kept Delta mostly hidden from view, only allowing glimpses. This was an intentional obfuscation, meant to add allure to the act. Delta just felt nervous. Paris’s hand kept drifting to his sword hilt.

You wouldn’t need to get close to the castle to see it was in disrepair. It had been staffed by a total skeleton crew, since practically everything valuable had already been taken away from it. Nobody lived there anymore.

Paris dragged a finger along the dining table, leaving a thin line in the dust. He wasn’t speaking much. Delta followed him around aimlessly, having been given no other instructions. Delta hadn’t seen most of these rooms before. He’d rarely been outside of the castle’s basement, only emerging briefly into the main courts for special occasions. The rooms did not look so dilapidated to him as they must have to Paris. To him, they simply looked dark.

Paris worked his way up to his bedroom, skipping completely over the room that had once belonged to his father. They’d both been sitting untouched since the day he left. He pulled the curtain back, letting the sunlight in. He turned around, startling a little as he saw Delta in the doorway.

“Oh, shit. I forgot you were here,” Paris’s voice was softer than Delta had ever heard it. 

Paris locked him in one of the guest bedrooms, which he supposed was better than being chained to the bedpost. 

============

They weren’t on until twilight. Paris hit his bong in the car. It was his childhood bong; it’d been waiting in his room for him all this time. He offered it to Delta, who politely declined. 

“Fuck,” Paris coughed, his eyes watering, “I fucking hate speeches.”

The car pulled up behind the stage. The sound of the crowd was deafening, even from a distance. Paris put the bong on the floor of the car, wrapping his jacket tighter around him as the chauffeur let him out. Delta’s door opened. One of the guards guided him out with a rare gentleness. He was pretty sure he’d never seen so many of them posted outside of an active war zone. The moon was slowly becoming visible against the purple sky. Despite its reputation, most of Thales remained a very rural area. There were more stars visible here at night than most other planets in the galaxy.

They were both kept under guard until it was time to go onstage. One of Paris’s advisors, an old friend of the Emperor, led with an introduction. Some of the local lords would also go on to say their piece. Delta listened in out of curiosity, but he quickly found their doublespeak unbearable. They weren’t saying anything worthwhile. He had developed a kind of snobbery towards middle management types. He knew it was silly; he was technically ranked below every single one of them, classed as no more than a weapon. But he’d spent enough time in proximity to the top that their attitudes had rubbed off on him. 

Paris took a last sip of some clear liquid — hopefully water. He gestured for Delta to follow him, jogging up the stairs to the podium. Delta tracked behind him. He folded himself into a kneel at stage left.

Paris raised his arms. The cheers were rapturous. Delta now found it almost impossible to tune out Paris’s voice the way he would others. It always triggered his stress response on some level; he’d conditioned himself to listen for it. He couldn’t help his body’s reaction.

“It’s an honor. Really. It’s always good to be home. I’ve missed Thales dearly and I am…immensely humbled by your support,” Paris was white-knuckling the podium. Delta could’ve rattled the campaign promises off one after another, he was so sick of hearing them. But this time, without question, there was some foreign sentimentality seeping into the prince’s voice. Some miniscule amount of strain as he struggled to talk around it.

Still, it was all going perfectly well until the arrow pierced Paris clean through the chest.

Screams. Rough hands immediately shoved Delta to the ground, shielding him with their bodies. Blood had splattered onto his white robes, across his face. If not for the shock, and if not for the terror, he might’ve laughed. All those fucking security guards, for what? By the time he got another look, Paris was laying limply on the ground. The arrow tip stuck out of his back. His blood pooling around him. It was the last view Delta got of the scene, before quickly being shoved back into the car. 

~~~

Tags: @catnykit @indigoviolet311 @snakebites-and-ink @vivulapom @defire @scoundrelwithboba @whatwhump @pumpkin-spice-whump @deluxewhump

[lenavonschweetz]

Grace For Sale

Sam Winchester x Reader

Synopsis: Your town could definitely handle themselves, but a little help isn’t something you’d willingly turn down.  When the Winchesters show up - do things get better, or worse?

Warnings: language, anti-religious sentiments, slight religious inner conflict, angst? If you squint?, smut, Under 18 keep faaaar away.

A/N: Takes place during s5:e17 - 99 Problems.  So funny story, I actually AM a preacher’s kid so this episode kinda made me laugh then gave me the idea for this.  Title comes from The Devil’s Carnival.  Also, this has been sitting in my drafts for literal years, guess it’s about time I post it. As always, I don’t have a beta so please excuse any typos. I’ll fix any that are pointed out to me.

Enjoy!

Sam and Dean aren’t exactly sure what to make of your little town.

The welcome wagon was a little more off the wall than they were used to - what with a firetruck full of holy water, a portable exorcism, and a group of civilians that actually knew about the things that go bump in the night.  Still, it wasn’t…the strangest introduction they’d encountered.

“So, are we gonna talk about that?”  Sam asks as Dean steers impala into town - right on the tail of the Sacrament Lutheran Militia’s truck.  What kind of a name was that anyway?

A church looms overhead, answering Sam’s unspoken question, and he wishes he hadn’t even asked.

It’s definitely the apocalypse, what with the devil’s trap brandishing the walkway up to the church door.

Sam’s eyes are heavy - spending the wee hours of the night fighting hellspawn will do that to you.  Especially when you’re bleeding out.  At least the militia had some quick fix first aid handy.

The first thing the brothers notice upon entering the sacred building is the couples standing at the alter, all facing the priest who prattles on about finding something special amidst the impending doom.  The second thing they notice is all of the townsfolk holding shotguns.

Sam scoffs.

“A wedding?  Seriously?”  How in God’s name - no, y’know what, scratch that - how in the Hell were they hosting a wedding at a time like this?

“Yup.  We’ve had 8 so far this week.”  The man to his right, Paul, says and it’s obvious Sam isn’t the only one who’s less than impressed.  At least they’re in good company.

It’s definitely the first time the brothers can be completely transparent in their introductions.  Sure, sometimes they’re found out, or sometimes they’re among other hunters.  But to tell an entire town - and a priest, no less - that they are demon hunters?  Yeah, that may take a little getting used to.

So is the priest toting a gun and the children packing salt rounds in the basement of the church.  Dean makes a quip about running scared or sticking around and making a home out of the place and Sam thinks he’d be leaning toward the later if the end of the world wasn’t resting on their shoulders.

But none of that explained how a whole town had taken up hunting.

Well, until the mystery prophet is introduced in the form of the “Packing Preacher’s” daughter - Leah.

Well…he’d been through stranger.

Dean makes a pass at her - right in front of her father.  The father.  Sam just rolls his eyes, gaze landing on the corner where another figure lurks.

Oh.

This one…he thinks…this one is much more his speed.

“Ah, my other daughter.”  Pastor Gideon says, holding a hand out to beckon you forward.  Sam watches as you push off the wall and approach the group.  There’s little family resemblance, he notes, but definitely isn’t complaining.  While your sister is clad in muted colors, baggy sweater, and tennis shoes - you opt for something a little form-fitting under your dark leather jacket with the combat boots to match.  You scream ‘hunter’, ‘capable’, and ‘danger’ more than anyone else in this town and he has trouble tearing his eyes off of you.  Now, you’re not complaining.  In fact, your eyes linger on Sam just as much as he does on you.  And when he realizes this, the mountain of a man becomes a flustered mess.   It brings a smirk to your face and a blush to his.  “Y/N, this is Dean and Sam Winchester.”

“So I’ve heard.”  You chuckle, arms crossing in front of the very cleavage Sam’s staring at beneath your open flannel.  You cock a brow, baiting him, though he seems too nervous with your father present to answer the challenge.  “Shame Leah never mentioned you.  Though,”  you cast an appreciative glance over their strong frames and Sam very nearly shivers.  Beside him, Dean practically preens.  “I can see why.  If I knew fine specimens such as yourself were going to be crashing in our little town, I’d keep it to myself too.”

The Father is none too amused when you wink at your sister and the two of you share a giggle.  Again, Sam notes the distinct lack of resemblance but brushes it off.

“Y/N,”  Your father says in warning, which you completely ignore and grant the taller Winchester another ravenous once over before turning on your heel.  If anyone asked, you would deny that you were overemphasizing the swing of your hips.

“If you need me,”  you tell him without so much as a glance, calling over your shoulder as you saunter up the basement stairs.  “I’ll be at Paul’s!”

—————

The next time you see the brothers, it’s at the house Leah’s vision lead you to.  Well, actually, that’s a lie.  You saw them the night before at Paul’s bar, but they seemed to be wrapped up in a very important conversation - if the concentration on their brows had anything to say about it. 

Still, that hadn’t stopped you from ordering the brothers a couple of beers.  To his credit, Paul doesn’t judge you - which is a lot more than you can say for your family as of late - and even brought the boys their drinks so that you could do the ever so clique cheers across the bar.

Sam merely nodded in his head in thanks, raised his own beer with a silent ‘cheers’, then went back over to his brother.

So you couldn’t get a better read on them that night.  That’s ok.  It gave you the perfect opportunity to ogle to your heart’s content.

They were some fine specimens, that’s for sure.  The perfect hunters.  Sharp eyes, strong statures.  Hell, Sam looked like he could take out multiple demons all on his own - I mean, come on.  Those arms!

God, you had gotten such a perfect look at them while they brooded and planned what with the way Sam’s sleeves had been rolled and pushed up to his elbows.  Had you ever found forearms as attractive as you did at that moment?  Probably not.

And that jawline?  Christ, you could cut glass on that thing.

The sideburns may have been a little much, but hell, if that was all you could pin as off, you’d take it! 

Your ogling session had been cut short by the bell tolling - another of your sister’s visions - and after arguing with your father in front of the whole church that ‘yes, I am going with them’ - your hunting group was on the doorstep of the abandoned home.  Most of the townspeople are toting guns full of salt or sprayers of holy water, all armed with the ridiculous incantation your sister had told you to use to exorcise them.

But not Sam.  No, Sam was only wielding a knife, and God did he make it look easy.  If you weren’t too busy kicking ass and getting your ass kicked, you’d be drooling over that too.

Only when the dust settles do you take the opportunity to approach the brothers.

“You really are the hunters my sister made you out to be.”  Sam’s perfect eyebrow arches at that, gaze flickering to the way your chest rises and falls with your heavy panting.

“You didn’t think we would be?”  You mirror his smirk and shrug, ignoring the way Dean is eyeing the two of you like he knows exactly what’s going on in your head.  Honestly, he probably did.  Dude seemed about as horny as you did.

 “So,” Sam pants, following the group out of the house.  You miss the way he’s eyeing your ass as you’re just steps ahead of him.  “That’s what it’s like.”  There’s no shortage of sexual innuendo in his voice and you decide to poke the bear a little more.  Whether your father was in earshot or not.

“What what’s like?”  You’re turned to him now, handing in your pockets and treading carefully backward.  He meets your hungry look with one of his own and shivers absolutely rattle your body.  Again he smirks, making sure the coast is clear of your father before saddling up right next to you.

“Having back up.”  He all but whispers in your ear, large hand grazing just inches above your bottom and god, how did he make such an innocent statement sound so filthy.  There’s no way he misses the way you tremble and sigh, not with the way he smirks at you while walking away.

You’re not sure what’s going to kill you first.  The Demons or your insatiable need for Sam fucking Winchester.

—————

Neither.

Neither of those things is gonna kill you first.

Because it’ll be your father that kills you.

Because you’re going to fucking murder your sister.

After the Winchesters brought back a murdered Dylan…well, things were tense. People started to resent them and the warm welcome they had initially received turned cold. Only you and Paul would speak to them without adding to the guilt you knew they already felt.

You knew it wasn’t their fault.  Hell, half of you had been through it before - coming off a hunt all together too cocky and not aware of the demon that still lurked around until it was too late.  Dylan was a good hunter.  Dean and Sam were good hunters.  It had happened to the best of you.  And so you do what you always did - you held a funeral and vowed to be more vigilant next time.

But that wasn’t enough for the townspeople.

Or for your sister.

No, she had to go and suck the fun out of everything.

No drinking, no gambling, no pre-marital sex.

All per the angels’ command, of course.

“What a crock of shit.”  The empty glass thunks against the wood of the bar - as hollow as you feel right about now.  Paul only echoes your sentiments and pours you another glass.  The only thing that pulls you from your ire is the bell signifying a newcomer.  For the first time since Leah’s proclamation, your scowl softens as the person you wanted to see most walks right through that door.

“So, what happened to, uh,” he makes a grand gesture to the empty bar - earning a snort from the two of you,  “’the apocalypse is good for business’?”

“Yeah, right up until Leah’s angel pals banned the good stuff.”  Paul says, earning a groan from you as you pinch the bridge of your nose at your damn sister’s name.  “Y/N’s here helping me kill some inventory.”  Sam chuckles at the glass you raise, tipping it toward him and saying ‘I’m only doing the good work.’  “Want to help?”

With a drink in hand, Paul pours a shot for each of you.  He doesn’t hold back on his opinion of the ‘holy rollers’ nor their hypocrisy, to which Sam calls him out for his noticeable lack of faith.  Paul shrugs it off, defending his honorable lack of prayer.

“Look, there’s sure as hell demons.  and maybe there is a god, I don’t know.  Fine.  But I’m not a hypocrite.  I never prayed before and I ain’t starting now.  If I go to Hell, I’m going honest.  Besides,”  Paul nods to you just as you put your shot glass - empty again - back on the bar.  “I figure if this one can get away with it, so can I.”  Sam’s eyebrows raise at that, eyes finding you.

“You either?”

“I grew up in the church,” you explain.  “I’ve seen how the…holiest of us all can be far worse than the ‘hooligans’ of the world.”  You wink at Paul, air quotes bouncing as you mimic your father’s ‘preacher’ voice.  The two of you share a laugh and you miss how Sam’s fingers tighten around his glass along with his jaw at the intimacy you two seem to share.  “Yeah, I believe in some kind of higher power.”  You continue, focus shifting to the Adonis beside you.  He doesn’t miss the bitter tone your voice takes on. “But I don’t believe in the church.  The organized religion crap.  Never been too big on it.  But then, neither had Leah.  And now, out of nowhere, she’s some chosen prophet?”  You scoff.  “I dunno.  I just can’t trust it.  And like Paul said, I’m no hypocrite.  I know I’m messed up.  Won’t pretend otherwise.”

This time when you regard Paul, patting his hand as one would a brother, Sam’s shoulders relax.

“Yeah, I, uh…I know what you mean.”  A moment of heavy, thick silence passes between the two of you before you’re pressing him for his thoughts with nothing more than a look.  “I believe.”  But he doesn’t sound so sure.  More convincing himself than he is you, maybe, so you stay quiet and let him work through his thoughts.  “Yeah, I do.”  He says, more assured this time.  “I’m just pretty sure God stopped caring a long time ago.”

“Yeah, I can see that.”  A big sigh breaks from your chest, one of those sighs that comes when you feel like you’ve forgotten how to breathe, and suddenly this conversation is too heavy for how drunk you are not and for how drunk you want to be.

After a few moments, a morbid, hindsight joke blooms in your head and you can’t help but laugh, noting the questioning look on your drinking buddies’ faces.

“Guess those newlyweds knew something we didn’t.”  You chuckle, taking a pull of your drink.  “Tied the knot before Leah could restrict ‘em.  Betcha they’re bangin’ like rabbits right about now.”  The liquor burns, smothering your humorless chuckle as you knock it back.  “Lucky bastards.”  

Behind the bar Paul chuckles, noting the tension in the air, the sudden shift of mood, and takes his exit - mumbling something about grabbing more from the back. Neither you or Sam really hear him, though - too wrapped up in the other’s stare you share at what you’re implying.  

Helluva wingman, that Paul.

Once the two of you are alone, Sam swivels in his chair until his long legs drape open and you have to force yourself not to look down.  A bushy, perfectly masculine brow arches.  Then he speaks - voice low and sweet and pure sin.

“Really?  You, uh, don’t seem to have much issue with breaking the no-drinking rule.”  And it isn’t a question.  He flicks the back of his fingers against your glass, warm eyes staring right at you as the faint tinkling tickles your ears.  Your heart shutters in time with the tinkling of skin on glass and you don’t realize you’re chewing on your bottom lip until his eyes flicker to it.  “You gonna draw the line at pre-marital sex?”

“Now, Sam Winchester...who said I would do that?”  The look you fix him with has him adjusting his suddenly too-tight pants.

“Not afraid of being damned?  Of not being one of the ‘chosen’?”

“I’m no ‘chosen’.”  You scoff, bouncing air quotes once more.  “That’s my sister.  Me?  I’m just the poor little preacher’s kid who lost her faith a long time ago.”   It isn’t seductive talk - in fact, it’s dark as hell.  But he asked, and like you’d said before - you were no liar, and you were no hypocrite.  You turn to your companion, renewed .  “But you know…there is a curfew.”

The tonal shift isn’t subtle, but that doesn’t keep the space between you from growing ever smaller, Sam’s large hand sliding up your thigh and again you must fight off the urge to shiver.  Especially when he lowers his voice once more, those big hazel eyes glancing at you from under his full, coal black lashes.

“Is that so?”  A squeeze to your thigh, and you jolt just the tiniest bit, to Sam’s great amusement.

“My place is right around the corner.”  You explain with a shrug, that damn lip caught between your teeth again. And suddenly in the dark, empty bar, you don’t care if you are damning yourself to hell.  As long as it’s at the hands of Sam Winchester, you’ll go willingly.

—————

The wall of your entryway meets your back sharply, a hiss of pain escaping you momentarily before it’s silenced by Sam’s eager lips.

Hurried hands rid you of your clothes, his own falling like breadcrumbs alongside yours until the two of you are falling on to the bed.  Fingers skilled at far more than knife-wielding ghost up your thighs, featherlight touches leaving a fire under your skin.  He’s slow in his undoing of you.  Reverent even.  Watches the way you keen beneath him, begging for his fingers.  Holds your eyes as he drags those fingers through his lips before trailing the wet tips down your front. When he finally gives them to you, one long digit sliding right up to the knuckle, your teeth break the skin of your lip just enough to hurt and you’re gasping - begging for more - which he gives to you, gladly. Working you until you’re ready for him and at the precipice of falling over the edge.

He had looked good in his clothes, sure, but god damn he’s ten times more beautiful out of them.  Infinite smooth, golden skin lays beneath your greedy fingers, a dusting of fine hair contouring the plane of his chest and down below his waistband.  Your mouth waters and you tug impatiently at his jeans.

“Someone’s eager.”  He chuckles, low and husky, standing to drop both pants and boxers.  Oh.  Good God.

“Oh, you have no idea.”  You only break your eyes away to grab a condom before you shove him on his back and straddle those strong thighs.  "I've been wanting to get your clothes off since the second I laid eyes on you."

"Trust me," he breathes - no, borderline growls - and you shutter, walls fluttering at how fucking empty you are and just how fucking bad you need him inside of you right now.  "The feeling's mutual."

He’s big all over, just like you expected, and even rolling the latex over his thick shaft has you shivering in anticipation.  The action doesn’t go unnoticed by the gigantic man beneath you and before you can react, he’s rolling his hips with a moan that takes your breath away.  It takes immense focus to speak through your gasp.

“Don’t finish this before it’s even started, Winchester.”  He laughs at your warning, fingers digging into your thighs and ass.  Oh, this man is going to wreck you, you just know it.

“You have so little faith in me?”  A quip lies on your tongue, something about having no faith at all, but that melts into a strangled moan the second his fat head presses past your opening.  “Oh, Christ.”  He hisses, teeth clenched and head thrown back in unadulterated pleasure at the feel of you, your hips rolling slowly as you try your best to take the overwhelming size of him.  Your fingers digging into supple pecs does nothing to ebb the overwhelming feeling of Sam spearing you open.

“Leave him outta this.”  You quip, sinking down the rest of the way - finally.  You both shiver at the feeling of him fully seated in you before you start rocking against him.

Not much else is said - not much else needed to be said - as the two of you chase relief and distraction in each other.

The stretch burns in the best way and you realize you're going to be feeling this for days.  Every step, every shift is going to take you right back here - your hands splayed out on sculpted pecs, Sam's angelic and angular face contorted in ecstasy as he does his best to keep his eyes open and watch you ride him for everything he's worth.  Those big hazel eyes blink up at you, fluttering and rolling at a particularly deep stroke before they're suddenly open - fiery and determined.  There's no time to even tease or question before he's pistoning up into you, his marble body rubbing yours in such a way that has you gasping for air, his massive hands splayed over your ass to keep you exactly where he wants you. Sloppy thrusts turn to rocking hips and the new angle has your toes curling.

His cock grazes just the right spot with every rock of his hips, both of you whispering moans and groans of the other’s name.  You do your best to keep up, rolling your tired hips when you can, nails biting into his skin when you have to focus solely on not imploding right where you are.

Your orgasm crests, and you beg him to go faster - to take control - and he does, practically throwing you onto your back to angle you the exact way he wants to.  The height difference is dizzying - even with you on your back and him on his haunches - all you can see while he hammers into you is the brand on his chest.  You itch to bite into the ink, to make him mewl against your skin once more but all rational thought flies out the window when his thumb reaches between your splayed legs, presses in tight, dizzying circles, and sends you spiraling into oblivion as aftershock after aftershock rocks your nerves.

In the aftermath of it all - after you’ve seen white from the intense pleasure he milked out of you - you lie in a daze.  Memorizing the way his hands feel as he wipes some of his spend off your chest.  Jesus, the sounds that man had made when he came...you have half a mind to tie him down and never let him leave - your sister's 'orders' be damned.

“It’s past curfew, y'know?”  You remind him, fingers tracing the divots and curves of his abdomen.  God, he’s perfect.  You could spend hours memorizing every inch of skin.   Pity said skin disappears behind thick flannel once more.  You bite back a disappointed groan, casting your eyes over his massive stature.  You don't think you'll ever get over just how small he makes you feel - in the best possible way, of course.  Especially when he flashes that perfect fucking smile at you, dimples and all.

“Yeah?  What about it?”  He urges, a shit-eating grin playing at his lips as he dares you to ask him to stay.  You sit up on your knees then, leveling yourself with his chest and drag your fingers down once more.  "Something you want to say, Y/N?"  If possible, his grin grows wider when you crook an eyebrow at him, beckoning him to your level with a come hither finger to match.

“If you’re waiting for me to ask you to stay, Sam Winchester,"  you whisper, lips ghosting over his own and you take great pride in the way his sinfully long lashes flutter against the tops of his sharp cheeks.   "You can keep waiting.”  The low groan that escapes his throat when you cup him once more makes you ache in the absolute best way.  You're seconds away from throwing your pride to the wind and pulling him back into bed with you.  But this is the end of the world after all.  No doubt he has other pressing matters to attend to.

“Yeah, well, as much as I would love to…I should get back before Dean gets worried.”  Disappointment laces his words, but you’re both too grown-up for any fairytale crap.  Your life felt like more a horror lately than a fantasy, anyway.  So, with incredibly gentle fingers, he pulls your hand toward his lips, grazing them over your knuckles as his eyes bore into yours.  Hmm, he plays dirty.

“Yeah…my dad’s probably expecting me at the church.”  You offer lamely, though there's probably some truth to it.  Not one night goes by without a demon attack or a vision from the chosen sister.  You're surprised you haven't been interrupted by a frantic call from your father already, as a matter a fact.  He smiles at you again, your heart running rampant as he's tossing the towel down to wrap his arms around your waist once more.  The look in his eyes and the hardness pressing into your belly are tempting enough, but you manage to grit out a warning "Sam..."

“And here you are, sinning with the outsider.”  He rumbles, smirking as his eyes drink in your face for - most likely - the last time.  You return his smile, reeling him in for one last kiss...or twelve.

“Yeah, well, if I’m going to hell anyway, may as well make the road there fun.”

If only you knew the literal hell that awaited you in the next few hours…

FIN

[betterbooktitles]

The first time I ever saw someone answer a cell phone in a movie theater was in the middle of a midnight screening of Mel Gibson’s The Passion Of The Christ. A blood-drenched Jim Caviezel was being whipped when I heard “Hello? Yeah, what’s good? I’m in the movie.” My stomach started to bounce as I tried, unsuccessfully, to stifle a laugh. My friend Jeremy elbowed me to either egg me on or stop me, knowing the laughter would catch on with the rest of our group: ten other Saint Ignatius High School students who chose to go on an “Urban Immersion” retreat our senior year.

I saw Mr. Grady’s tear-stained face turn in the darkness. He was sitting a row in front of us, and he appeared to be livid. He let out a sharp “shhh!” then looked over to let us know he’d do far worse if we did anything further to disrupt his viewing experience. Disciplinary actions would be taken if we giggled again. Our trip would be cut short. A teacher threatening to send us all home to our parents that week, however, would have been welcomed.

Most Ignatius students went on “Kairos” retreats (Greek: “God’s Time”) that featured three days of camping and praying, followed by a “witness” portion where students arrived back on campus to share, at the center of St. Mary’s chapel, what they’d learned during their period of reflection. Typically, they said “I love you, Dad!” while fighting back tears before running back to their pews. They also wrote letters about their newfound or newly confirmed love of Jesus Christ. I received one of these letters from my best friend who was a year ahead of me. His words moved and excited me. I anticipated my trip all year.

The students in the movie theater with me that night, however, had all signed up for a retreat in which we spent the week living as if on the streets of inner-city Cleveland. The Urban Immersion retreat was four days of sleeping in a church basement, living off the equivalent of food stamps (about $5 a day for groups of four), and eating the rest of our meals at shelters where we also volunteered our time. There was also a “scared straight” period where we sat in a circle of folding chairs at the 2100 men’s shelter my friend Luke’s dad ran and listened to grown men scream about how “crack does not discriminate!” 

Also, we got to see The Passion of The Christ opening night.

Perhaps you read about the record-setting earnings this movie made the week it premiered. The first $125 million was thanks to big groups like ours attending. Also thanks to the guy who had to answer his phone while the Romans killed Christ. I’m not sure how we as mock-poor kids on our immersion trip were supposed to be able to afford the movie ourselves in keeping with the rules, but the timing seemed right, so our teachers took us.

Read the rest here.

[freshlyrage]

Running Like Water

Chapter 1

pairing: Javier Peña x OFC (written as xReader)

fic warnings: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI) language, strained family relationships, mentions of drug abuse, discussions of insecurities and body image issues, daddy and mommy issues, first few chapters are flashbacks to high school, they WILL NOT be explicit just fluff.

fic tags: Best friends younger sister, Life-long crush, Friends to lovers, Unrequited love, slow burn, Push and Pull, Small Town Dynamics, Secret Relationships, latina MC, Fluff and Angst, OFC!Jessica Alba face claim, sorry Lorraine I'm bringing you into this, Time jumps, 2 year age gap, pre-canon

Fic Summary: Andrea has loved Javier since she was a girl in pigtails, yet he has always been off limits. Andrea's older brother Frankie makes sure Javier never crosses any lines, which was an easy task considering Javi's relationship status with long term girlfriend Lorraine. Somewhere, the lines blur.

A/N: Hi tumblr, I decided to also upload on here so heh Hi! It was mentioned in the tags but Ms. Jessica Alba is my face claim for Andrea my beloved. I do have little pinterest boards but I feel like I could also post my inspo pics on here too hehe. Anyway my pinterest is maribari11. My Running Like Water Boards are titled;

Before 1985

Genie and Frankie

1985+

Lor.

Diaz House

First ten chapters are being slowly uploaded on here but can be accessed on ao3. Enjoy :)

word count: 3.3k

Andrea was fifteen, thirteen, twelve and twenty one in his basement. In 1977 Andrea was only thirteen. Her brother, Frankie was fifteen and most definitely couldn’t be bothered hanging out with the girl. She was a bit awkward and interested in things he wasn’t. Deep in his rebellious phase, skipping church and frequenting smoking pot at Genevieve's house. That bitch. Andrea would mutter when she would roll her car into the dirt driveway.

She used to pick fun of Andrea and Andrea wasn’t one to just “forget” about something like that. Having Frankie around definitely pushed that potty mouth that they wouldn’t dare use around their mama. Having been the one of the only Puerto Ricans within a 3 mile radius, mom would take them to church trying to follow along with the differences in words between the way they spoke on the island and how their preacher from Mexico preached.

Melissa Diaz, single mother with too much money for her own good. The largest home in their neighborhood, courtesy of her grandfather who wrote Melissa’s name in his will. He struck big with oil in the 30s and his only alive relative was his little one Melissa, who wasn’t so little. She was already pregnant with Andrea at the time and obviously dropped her life in Miami as a struggling single mom for sudden Texas luxury.

They were also one of the few people in the neighborhood who didn’t like the ranching lifestyle.

Melissa wasn’t into that, she opened up her boutique in town and let the money pile that way. But it was lonely, for Andrea at least. She had friends in her sixth grade classes of course but it was never close enough to be invited out when they would leave school on Fridays and walk to Genevieve's (bitch) dads ice cream parlor. Despite Frankie’s new habits, maybe once a month he’d take Andrea out. And he had taken her out that summer.

The fishing rod sound was comforting, down the hill and a sharp left into town. “Frankie! My legs are too short to keep up.” Green short overalls and a baseball ring t-shirt. His back was facing you and you grip the handles, lean forward but it still doesn’t make you as fast as him. You mutter curses under your breath like your mama could hear.

The town came into view, the shops, moms shop and the police station smack in the middle. The police of Laredo, who mama very much disliked after she was pulled over for having Frankie in the front seat when he was six.

Genevieve's beetle parked in front of the ice cream shop, the speed increases and you can’t help but groan with annoyance. You follow him any way knowing you will be ditched for the next 2 hours, I can just ride back home now.

You don’t though. You follow him before the two of you park our bikes by a post, you two hadn’t had your locks because one of the two of you usually would stay out with the bikes, (it was always Frankie) while the other (you) bought ice cream. With Ice Cream you and your brother would walk your bikes to a bench. Sit for a bit and eat ice cream, it was the time where you two actually enjoyed each others company. Frankie is eyeing the car, “Stay here, I’m going to see if I can catch Genie.”

You give him pleading eyes, “No Frankie, this isn’t fair.” You look around anxiously at the thought of being alone in the street next to two pricey bikes. He laughs and shoves your shoulder before walking into the shop. God, you hate this phase he’s in. He’s totally in love with her and she was older- seemed like she just wanted to be around him to smoke. You look out at the town surrounding you. Summer classic, just so busy this time of year. You watch as 3 girls leave mom's shop, bags in hand. Teenage boys laughing over something near the bar that was closed.

“Andrea?” A deep voice comes from behind you, deep voice? You turn, your pigtails practically slapping against your face. You blink rapidly as the boy approached you. He looked your close to brothers age, but with one of those awkward puberty staches. “Sorry, your Frankie’s sister right?”

You nod, looking down at the bikes, still confused as to why he was talking to you. Or how he knew your name, or why he was getting so close. “You should know that your brother owes 30 cash for a few ounces, has been avoidin’ me” His steps even closer and you can’t hold both bikes at once, Frankie’s bike drops to the floor. Shaking your head, you already had a fear of boys, let alone teenage boys. Now one is close to you asking for money you for sure did not have.

“That’s not my issue dude.” You squeak, and grimace, you really couldn’t have looked weaker than at this moment. Twelve years old in overalls and pig tails. The tween quickly retrieve a blade from his pocket.

With quickness and without any time for thoughts you step away from the bike.

Fuck this.

The boy crouches down and stabs the wheel and the scream you let out is nothing short of embarrassing.

Is no one seeing this?

In a split second the kids face is on the ground, pushed as he stabbed the wheel.

“What the fuck is your issue?” A voice growls, not deep like the prick on the floor but definitely a voice of someone awaiting puberty. Your eyes flash up from the sight-seeing the voice, reaching down and grabbing the collar of blade boy, turning him on his back. “Get the fuck out of here.” He shoves the kid further into the concrete and now people were paying attention.

Yet still, no sign of Frankie, who was probably already smoking with Genie in the back of the store.

The guy with a smudge of sidewalk dirt on his cheek runs away from the 14-year-old vigilante, abandoning his weapon.

The boy had a familiar look, like you’ve seen him in school. A grown look to him already to which his voice contrasted. Your face flushed red when he reached down to grab the bike, “Are you okay?” He stood straight, tall. You nod embarrassingly quick, wishing for a moment that you hadn’t looked so young.

“Yes I-”

“Javier? What the fuck happened to my bike?” Frankie steps out of the shop, Genie behind him, her hair in its perfect voluminous state. The small crowd that formed from Javier’s quick action had already desolated.

Javier, Javier.

Javier scoffs, “You left your little sister with your bike and some kid nearly mugged her.” Frankie’s eyes widen, looking at you, your fear and embarrassment broadcasted on your face. He closes his eyes for moment, pinching the bridge of his nose. Cursing under his breath. He takes a few steps forward, disarming the bike from Javier’s grip.

“Dillan…” He grits. Frankie puts his hand on your shoulder, Javier stood to your left shaking his head. “Shit, Andrea I’m sorry,”. Frankie turned to look at Genie. “Would you mind driving us to Javi’s”

She agreed instantly and by the grace of God we somehow fit the bikes in her small car. To your benefit, you and Javier peeled next to each other. You just couldn’t help but crush immediately. Frankie explained that Javier’s dad “Chucho” used to fix bikes, he probably had a replacement wheel there. He also apologized over and over, Genevieve laughing at how apologetic he was. And Chucho fixed his bike out in the driveway. So you stayed in Javier’s basement for hours. But like always, you felt like an outsider.

A bit too young to be in that crowd. They spoke of things you couldn’t relate to yet. But you were occupied, a gaze on Javier seemed to be the only interesting aspect of the night. And your assumptions were right-well almost right...

Javier was fourteen, turning fifteen in August and he was at your school but just in the 8th grade. Its something you two shared in common, you were both a year older than everyone else in your grades. It was the summer going into 7th grade which meant Javier was joining Frankie at Laredo High School in a matter of months.

And again, to your advantage, it became a constant routine.

Biking to Javier’s basement, you, Genie and Frankie. You didn’t complain despite still feeling out of place, you finally had people to hang out with. And for mama, she was ecstatic that her two kids were actually hanging out together. They would joke about things you hadn’t experienced yet. “Cover your ears Andrea,” Genie jokes as Javier described hooking up with one of Genevieve's friends. She was definitely too old for Javi. God do all 8th graders “hook up”.

You were also quick to realize Genevieve wasn’t all too bad, it sure seemed she grew a bit since her playground bully days. Yet you still managed to be the butt of every joke in Javier’s basement.

“Do you even have friends in school?” Frankie leans into his knees, passing his blunt to Javier. The pass was always skipped over you because you were too little. Surprisingly, you actually agreed. Your eyes narrow at Frankie as he tried to dig at you.

“Leave her alone, I mean you’re here hanging out with your twelve-year-old sister, so you really are no better.”

You couldn’t help it. You were doomed when he beat up that kid Dillan. You couldn’t help but blush at anything he said. It was classic. Little girl crushing on one of her only friends just because he was nice to her. The whole thing just grew deeper with time as you all got closer. As Javier proved himself to be the only one on your side.

Slinging an arm over your shoulders as you all walked home the following summer. It was all friendly to him but you knew Genevieve could read your face.

That face when you're trying to be serious to avoid smiling ear to ear from being so close to your one-time-knight in shining armor.

Though, you never really saw Javier during the school year. It wasn’t surprising, you weren’t even in the same school building during his freshman and sophomore year. You also had to accept that it was just a summer thing, enough time would pass where Javier would be shocked every time he saw you. During his sophomore year you had not seen him those whole nine school months. Not even with all the quinceañeras and town events. You just never saw him, even when you would deliberately bike past his house. You would always see Chucho though. He’d wave, you’d return it and then look straight ahead, oh my god I’m such a creep.

It just became devastating when you were going into high school. You had gotten taller, maybe prettier. But you think it was just the fact that you were 15 now. He hadn’t truly seen you since you were 14. Back when you still had to patch your knees from typical middle school rough housing.

That year he was gone, 1979, he came back briefly just to leave again at the very start of the summer. Attending a summer police camp, for boys. In turn, Frankie spent the summer working and Genie (who was finally your brother’s girlfriend) was taking summer courses at a beauty school.

No, absolutely not, is what you tell Genie when she asked to dye it blonde. You did give in with a haircut and your once long mane now only reached just below your shoulders. “Layers, it makes you look more grown up. Getting you high school ready.” She gleams as she chops your hair in her classroom.

Luckily, despite all of your older asshole brothers jokes, you weren’t completely socially inept.

In that Javi-less year you had met with some girl’s you played lacrosse with. Liandra and Monica. And they really kept you busy that summer. The three of you went swimming and Monica would drive you all around town. They were surely some characters, Monica a bit of a spaz, older than you of course. Javier’s age. Liandra was tougher and much more athletic than the rest of the girls on your team.

It was late in summer, end of July. That familiar feeling was settling in every time you would pass a store with a sign that said Back to school sale.

In your final beach trip with your girls you had come back in Monica’s car like you always did, in shorts and your bikini tops.

7-11 was your haven, steal a few candy bars and pay for Slurpee’s. “God, your tan line.” Liandra grabs your shoulder with her cold hand as it was just gripping her drink. You wince at the feeling.

Gritting your teeth, “Yeah, I just catch sun a bit more.” The cold air of the store nipping at you, goosebumps rising. Monica curses as the slushie overflows, Liandra shoves her in annoyance.

“Mujer, tienes que poner la tapa primero. Tapa ¡primero!” Liandra says very seriously, earning a groan from Monica. You laugh, sipping your cherry flavored slush. The flavor so sweet and concentrated, how you liked. Your eyes fall to the ground as your friends argued in Spanish. You could understand them of course but speaking it, oh that was a whole different story. They thought it was so funny to leave you in a room with their family members to hear you struggle.

An elbow digs into your bare rib. Your eyes snap up at Monica, annoyance prevalent in your face. “Hot guy, older… staring at you right now.” She speaks out the side of her mouth in the most cartoonish way ever. Your eyebrows screw together as you try to slyly look to your right, red straw between your cherry-stained lips.

A familiar pit in your stomach forms, one you would get just a summer ago or when you would bike passed his house and see his truck in the driveway. Your eyebrows shoot up as Javier stands near the refrigerated drinks, a confused look on his face.

 He looks so much older; he was taller and his hair. God, he would be 17 by now. Or 16? It isn’t august, he’s still 16.

“I thought it was you.” He laughs walking towards you, not helping the throbbing in your chest. You could hear the girls stir from behind you. His smile doing the thing. When the corners of his eyes crinkle and you could barely make out the color of them. Has he been working out?

Fuck of course he has, he’s been training. Where was he all year?

“Shit, I feel like I haven’t seen you since last summer.” Without letting you think he pulls you in for a hug, too distracted by his scent and hold to realize you were just in a bikini top. His large hand flat on your upper back, stinging the mixture of burn and tan you had received from being by the seaside.

He lets you go but still has a hand on your tanned arm. You try not to focus on the touch and instead speak. “Uh- yeah where have you been all year.” You blurt, fuck did you sound desperate? Obsessed? You were. You had kind of been worried sick. Worried that something was wrong although you knew deep down that Chucho just wouldn’t just go on with his day if there really had been an issue.

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I know, I know. Chucho sent me to that High School for law and justice last year. Lived with my uncle out there” Your eyes widen, that was in Houston. Chucho really let him leave all year-and then for summer?

He laughs again at your reaction, “I know, I’m back now, going to finish junior and senior year at Laredo, it was pricey keeping me over there. I’m here again” He smiles, he hasn’t stopped since he realized it was you. He always looked at you with that sort of gaze, you wanted to believe it was adoration. And his voice, oh my god when did it get this deep. His eyes fall to the girls behind you.

 It snaps you from your Javier Peña daze.

“Oh- that’s great. Sorry-” You awkwardly look at both girls by your side. “These are my friends, Monica and Liandra we play on the varsity lacrosse.” They both are ogling him and you mentally roll your eyes. It’s just the way they are.

Javi crosses his arms and nods, a smirk playing on his lips. He puts a hand out and ruffles your hair. Your cheeks immediately warming at the act, “Freshman on varsity, maybe I’ll stop by some of your games, right ladies?” He crosses his arms again. They both nod, Monica laughs snorting along with it.

Oh my god…

Still a smile playing on his lips, staring down at you. Tall, fuck when did he get so-“Listen, I have to go home to dad but I’ll see you around school, yeah?” He says it like he means it, like he wants to see you around. Like he’s hopeful.

Or maybe you were just making it all up in your mind.

He waves a goodbye to your friends and leaves empty handed, the brass ship bell rings as he goes.

Monica wraps her arms around you and makes a fake moan into your ear. You cringe again pushing her off, “You have to be joking who in the world-”

“Javier, he’s my brothers friend” You brush them away and walk to the register. Taking your change out, 60 cents for a large like always. Monica groans and Liandra puts down her own change, covering for Monica. It was “pay-back” for all the rides she provided you guys.

“He’s so sexy oh my goodness Andrea.” Liandra gushes. You look at her from the side of your eye for a moment, knowing he surely wasn’t her type. She liked those big buff knuckle heads. You smile and thank the cashier before you all exit the store before loading the car.

You do see him in school. He never really sees you, maybe he’s tries not to. Within the first month of freshman year you had seen him in the hall with a new girl at least 4 times. You had heard he was a bit of womanizer, a sweet talker. And he was charming with you so you could only dream of how sweet he was when he was really flirting.

“You wish that was you, don’t you?” Monica laughs from your left, your eyes widen. She caught you staring at him walking with another girl. Truly, shamefully, you weren’t paying attention to the girl he had his arm around but instead the way his ass looked in the jeans he wore. Your cheeks flushing red.

 “I’m good.”

You lied. You would walk home nearly everyday with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes. You had a lot of alone time that fall, You had a lot of time to just pine over him now that you had to see him everyday. You wondered most importantly, if he’d ever want you, maybe not now but soon. Before he graduates, You also wondered if he was hooking up with those girls. God, he had gotten so popular when he came back. And you just watched.

You did a lot of watching. You watched Genie and Frankie nearly break up over dinner at your house. You watched Monica get a boyfriend only 3 months into high school, and you watched Liandra have her first kiss at a party.

You watched everyone else have experiences, you could only just watch.

[anamelessfool]

WIP WHENEVER

Thank you @kissingghouls for the tag!!!! I tried to pick something a little unique for this challenge...

VISITATION (From 'Domestics')

(family, humor, self-indulgent fluff, Dad Secondo)

2013: Papa Emeritus Terzo, Copia, and Nihil visit their estranged brother Secondo after the birth of his youngest child.

I have this whole ficlet series similar to Bestiary but based on small domestic moments in the lives of the brothers and the characters in my AU. Why? Because it's fun and ridiculously self-indulgent.

I love me a good flashback....

⛧⛧⛧

“Which way am I turning here?” Copia asked.

“Left,” muttered Terzo.

“Left...”

“Right.”

“Oh, Right then?”

“Yes, left is right!” Terzo paused then groaned. “Left is correct.”

“Marian couldn't come?” Terzo asked Copia idly. He smirked. “Hope your leash is long enough.”

Copia frowned. “At some point I wil fly out of this car, yes, jerked back by the leash, your Unholiness,” he replied flatly. “But ah… I'm into that.” Two hours in the car with Terzo gave one plenty of time to practice talking trash. “We should have arrived twenty minutes ago.”

Terzo shifted in the passenger seat. Car rides made him sick, and therefore extra irritable. He glanced in the rearview mirror at Nihil in the back. Nihil was staring ahead, expressionless, his eyes dull like a mesmerized cow. “We would have made time if we didn't stop back there.”

“Terzo, the old man barely asks for anything these days,” Copia said firmly. “So when he asked to stop and buy a balloon for his new grandson I um…had to indulge him.”

“Isn't this thing just brand new? A little ball that sleeps and cries? Why—why does it need a fucking balloon?”

“That thing… is your nephew,” Copia said, and he squeezed the steering wheel. “Have you ever taken care of anything small and helpless like that? You'd understand.”

Terzo muttered something in Italian and dropped his head against the door, staring out the window. Copia assumed if he wasn't so carsick he would really put on a pissy show for them all.

“We’re nearly there,” Copia said, slowing to an agonizing stop at the intersection, looking carefully right and left, waiting the appropriate three seconds at the stop sign, and then continuing on.

[They pull up to a plain suburban house.]

The door opened, Secundo towered over them all, his dark intense presence unmarred by his years away. The former Papa Emeritus II of the Satanic Church of the Void was now wearing a checkered button-down shirt and dark khakis. His grip on his cane tightened as his shark-like gaze flicked from guest to guest. Four Infernal Eyes regarded each other on the porch. Secundo's pitted face moved slightly. “Shoes. Off.” He shifted back, granting them entry.

They were led inside to a sunken foyer. Beyond a small railing was an ordinary living room with a beige carpet. There were halls nearby leading to kitchen, basement and bedrooms. All with as few stairs as possible made it easier for Secundo to easily walk around in his current state. His time as Channel of the Void left him permanently weak in his left side, but they all knew it could have been much worse.

Copia was struck by how unbelievably ordinary the place was. There was an unusual number of crammed bookshelves and a piano near the window, but other than that there was very little evidence of this being the home of a former leader of The Satanic Church of the Void. A single taxidermied goat head loomed over the television that displayed a muted cartoon program. Two small children sat near it in the center of a pile of wooden blocks.

Copia pulled his own shoes off, then knelt to help Nihil out of his. “It's nice to see you again, Secundo.”

Secundo never dropped his intensity and simply changed the words he spoke. “Yes, it is, Copia. Welcome.”

“Is that…is that little Paul?!” Copia nearly squealed as he pointed towards the little face peering from between the metal railings. The boy Paul had a shock of messy dark hair and a wild look that was all too familiar. “He's a small version of Terzo! Look!”

“That had been my unfortunate impression as well,” Secundo replied flatly.

Terzo gave them all a painfully polite smile, then joked. “Not to worry, I had nothing to do with it.”

Nihil’s head whipped from Paul to Terzo. “Yes, definitely our little scamp! An even smaller Terzo, heh!” Both grandson and son threw him identical scowls.

“Do you remember us?” Copia asked Paul. The boy cocked his head, thinking. He was born at the Ministry but the whole family left by the time he was five. “I remember we took out my old trike and you were pedaling up and down the hallways…”

“I distinctly remember you pedaling up and down the hallways on his tricycle,” Secundo said with an amused smirk.

“Just that once! To teach him!” Copia shot back.

[They settle into the collection of couches and proceed to observe the newborn.]

“Nihil, would you—” Sandra frowned. The old man had fallen asleep in the recliner within the past five minutes. She chuckled. “Well then, we will try later! How about you, Terzo?”

Terzo furrowed his brow. “No, certainly not. No thank you, sorella.”

Secundo looked quietly invested from his place on the opposite couch. “He'll reconsider later.”

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Tagging @katyaoaksdottir @fishwithtitz and @thew0man and you, yes YOU!