𝖘𝖆𝖉𝖎𝖘𝖙 𝖑𝖆𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙 [ antipriest | Penitency ]

[antipriest]

Written by antipriest & Penitency ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶ " To love me is to suffer me. " ••●───── ༺♡༻ ─────●••​ ⋆₊ ❥ ▬ι═ﺤ Themes : murder cannibalism gore obsession dark romance psychological horror murder husband x his loving wife ⋆₊ ❥ ▬ι═ﺤ Playlist : my love, can you hear me screaming?​

 

[antipriest]

➽────────────────────❥ ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ Evelyn "Eve/Evie" Hayes ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷​ Evelyn didn’t mind the quiet. Not really. Some people called it loneliness, that hush that filled the house in the evening hours– but to her, it was something much more kind. A sort of calm that wrapped itself around her like a familiar coat. Outside, tree branches brushed against siding with a soft, rhythmic scrape. Somewhere deep in the house, the plumbing let out a faint sigh, as if exhaling with her. Even the ticking clock on the bookshelf seemed like it had softened her tonight. She sat curled in the corner of the large sectional that she had all but begged her husband for a year ago, barefoot, blanket draped loosely over her legs. One hand cradled a book she’d long since lost interest in. The other played idly with the frayed edge of the blanket, fingers brushing over loose threads like worry beads. The TV played quietly in the background– an old black and white film she’d seen too many times to count. It was mostly for background noise. For company, to keep the relative silence from stretching too wide. Aiden was late. Not alarmingly so. Just…enough to make her glance at her phone again. 9:23PM. Her plush lips tugged into a half-smile; wry, fond, a little tired. She could picture him now: hunched over a spreadsheet in his too-neat office, tie loosened just enough to leave a faint crease in his shirt collar, calculator in at his right hand like a second heartbeat. He was probably muttering to himself as he reconciled numbers, completely unaware of the time. That was her husband. Methodical. Steady. Brilliant in ways that no one else really gave him credit for. She didn’t mind waiting for him. She never had. There was rosemary chicken on the stove, its scent lingering in the kitchen like a promise. She’d plated it hours ago, covered everything in foil. Kept the oven warm longer than she should have. Now it sat there, quietly cooling, the way love sometimes did when it wasn’t tended to right away. But Evelyn hadn’t eaten. She never did until he got home. The food didn’t matter, not really. It was the ritual. The way his hand always brushed the small of her back when he passed her plate. The way he told her, even on the dullest, most routine evenings, that dinner was the best part of his day…aside from coming home to her, of course. That, he would never let her forget. She closed the book, not bothering to mark the page. A low rumble of thunder echoed across the sky, distant and promising. Storms had always stirred something restless in her, even as a child. Like the world was holding its breath for something just out of reach. She loved that feeling; that strange, soft ache. She reached for her wine glass– untouched since pouring it– and took a slow sip. The flavor was dry, red, a little metallic on her tongue. It made her think of Aiden again. Of how he always kissed her forehead first when he came home, then her cheek, then her lips, in that exact order. Every time. Like a prayer. Evelyn turned her gaze toward the hallway, heart catching just slightly in her chest at the absence of his footsteps. She didn’t notice the faint smear on the corner of the doorway. A rust-colored fingerprint. Drying in silence. Not yet.​ Instead, she let her eyes slip closed for a moment. He’ll be home soon, she told herself. He always comes back to me. Always. But as the silence stretched on, Evelyn found herself untangling from the blanket, the hem of her pajama pants brushing her legs as she padded into the kitchen. The stovetop light flickered to life with a low hum, casting a dim glow over the waiting plate. She peeled back the foil gently, half out of habit, half out of restlessness. The chicken had gone cold. The rosemary wilted. Steam long gone. Even still, she smoothed the foil back into place like she was tucking something in for the night. She opened her phone again. Still nothing. The last message was frozen at 6:17PM. Aiden: Running a little late. Don’t wait up if you’re tired. I love you. That had been over three hours ago.​ Her thumb hovered over the screen, but she didn’t type anything. What would she say? She had never been the type to nag. And he always came home eventually. He was just working. He always worked too hard. Still, something twisted in her gut– not panic, not yet. Just that flicker of a feeling. Like something unseen had stepped into the room and hadn’t announced itself yet. She turned off the light, shrouding the kitchen in darkness, and made her way back into the living room. The storm outside had drawn closer now. The thunder was louder. Heavier. The kind that made the windowpanes rattle. The house felt colder. Evelyn settled back onto the couch and pulled the blanket around her shoulders, but it didn’t warm her the way it had before. She stared down the hallway, heart ticking louder now, trying to convince herself that she was fine. It was just the weather, just the hour, just her imagination. She didn’t notice the faint scuff on the floor by the front door. The kind of mark someone might leave if they were dragging something inside. Something heavy. Something unwilling. She didn’t notice the second smear. Or the faint, metallic tang still lingering beneath the scent of rosemary. Not yet.​ Instead, Evelyn sat perfectly still. Listening. Waiting. He’ll be home soon, she thought again, but this time it no longer felt like comfort. It felt like a question. Or a plea. ▬ι═ﺤ ♡​

 

[Penitency]

➽────────────────────❥ ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ Aiden Hayes ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷​ The drip-drop of water falling from a ceiling in disrepair was a constant ambience of a darkened, nondescript room. The carpet was old, overrun with mildew, but that stench did not have an effect on the man standing at the center. A white button up oxford clung to a broad, voluminous chest. Muscle outlined in the fabric generously, the sleeves had been rolled up to either elbow, exposing bloody knuckles and hands. He must have been standing at 6’4’’, but it was hard to tell when you were strapped to a chair, hands bound to your back, eyes seeing stars, and blood was pouring from your temple, streaking your cheeks like unspoken tears. No, right now, an unwilling victim was more focused on ending this pain than identifying who was causing it. The man standing before the bound individual mouthed the words glowing off the screen of a cellphone, “running a little late. Don’t wait up if you’re tired. I love you.” Blood stains marked the screen of an iPhone as a single thumb completed words to letters. Each one stained his keypad with an image of his thumb print. Send. Whoosh. That comical notification noise that a message had been sent whisked through the room like a letter thrown into the air. “Alright,” his deep, calm, sinister voice cut through the silence, “where were we?” A chuckle. A dark, deep, violent chuckle. Slipping his phone into his pocket, Aiden picked up the butcher’s knife from a small, steel rolling shelf nearby. The victim began to rock in the chair, sway, struggle, yell against the tape bound to his mouth and through the bag upon his head. A time later… Aiden stood within the fluorescent tube lighting of their spotless garage; speckled floors, white walls, everything in its place whether that be on a shelf, hung on the wall, or tucked into a red toolbox. The mechanical groan of the garage door closed beyond as he stood before a black colored Porsche 911 GT3. Aiden made sure to clean his hands, fix his white shirt (actually, replace it) long ago. He pulled his arms back, slipping into the black suit jacket he had removed earlier during his time with his latest victim. Pectorals shifted, moved beneath the white shirt in a strong outline, mountainous shoulders doing all the same. Once he was tidy in his jacket, he’d check his sleeves. He missed the tiny drop of blood on the right, near the button. A rolex was untucked from one of those sleeves, gleaming gold and silver, with a trademark blue dial. Money. Black slacks along his powerful legs shifted as Aiden tucked back into his opened door, reaching over for his black gym bag in the passenger seat. The door was then closed, and one hand slicked back well groomed, dark colored hair. There was this casual air of confidence, of normality, even after such violence a moment ago. He was sated. For now. The door leading into their suburban home was pushed open, leading Aiden into the kitchen. He’d softly close the door behind him, bag slung over his shoulder, one hand on the strap. Crystal blue eyes cut through the room, noticing the blanket upon the couch. Evie was undoubtedly tucked in, as the distant storm thundered and shook the house’s windows. Luckily, Aiden had beat it home. Tossing the gym bag atop of the kitchen counter, he’d move to the stovetop to preview tonight’s meal before possibly waking up his resting wife. Aiden almost felt a pain of guilt wash over when he noticed the same as she had: the food had gone cold. All because of him. His OTHER side. His alter ego. He was far too obsessed with his Evie to not feel as though he let her down, much like a sinner who realized the cheat wasn’t worth the long term effects. Silent footsteps brought him behind Evie, where she’d find his arms wrapping around her shoulders from behind. He stood behind the couch, leaned over, his head pressed to the side of her own. Cheek to cheek, she’d feel his warmth, hands linked before the top of her collarbone. A peck was placed to her neck before he peered along the side of her face lovingly. “I am sorry for being so late,” a sigh pushed through his nose, truly saying honest words in a gravely whisper, “they needed some quarterly reports done and it was tossed on my desk late today. You know how it goes.” Another peck to her neck was given, warm lips to sensitive flesh. His hot breath washed over her on an exhale, looking back upon the side of her face, “the food looks delicious.” One hand lifted up, tipped her head a little more, and Aiden’s lips found her own. A soft, passionate kiss mingled, his eyes closed, nose tipped away from her. The separation came with a soft sound of moisture, eyes back upon her again. “I am starved. Can you warm up the food and I'll put away all my stuff?” ▬ι═ﺤ ♡​

 

[antipriest]

➽────────────────────❥ ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷ Evelyn "Eve/Evie" Hayes ꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷​ The sound of the door opening was so soft it almost felt like a dream. Evelyn stirred beneath the blanket, her dark eyelashes fluttering as her mind swam back up to the surface of reality. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep– she didn’t even remember falling asleep, only that she had wanted to rest her eyes for a moment. But the house had been so still. The storm outside had begun to whisper against the windows like an old lullaby, and her body, curled beneath the weight of waiting, had finally given in. Then came the touch of her husband’s arms. Warm. Familiar. Solid. They wrapped around her from behind, pulling her upright gently. Her breath caught for a beat– not in fear, never in fear– but in that quiet gasp of relief. Like exhaling after holding something in for far too long. Aiden. The scent of him reached her before his voice did; clean linen, the rich spice of his cologne, something else that was entirely just his, the unnamable fragrance of the man she loved. He leaned in, cheek to hers, his body pressing close in that way that he always did after long days at the office. As if being near her made him whole again. As if her presence softened something sharp inside of him. A kiss pressed to her neck. Soft. Unhurried. Yet it still left goosebumps in its wake. She smiled then as one of her hands reached up, slow and instinctive, to rest atop his forearm. Her fingers curled there gently, brushing along the fine hairs at his wrist. “Mm…welcome home,” she murmured, her words softened by sleep and something far more tender. She could feel the shape of her husband’s chest behind her, broad and well known, could feel the steady beat of his heart and the warmth of his breath as it rolled past her ear. Her own heart slowed in time with it, like a tide drawn into the moon’s gravity. Aiden had sighed his apology, his voice gravel-worn and low, sincere in a way that made her throat tighten. Evelyn shook her head, her temple grazing against his. “It’s okay,” she whispered, quiet reassurance. “You’re here now. That’s all that matters.” It was. It always was. Another kiss against the slim column of her neck, gentle, tender in a way she was convinced only he was capable of. The heat of his breath washing over her skin. Her eyes closed as she leaned into it. She tilted her head slightly to the side, not just in welcome but in reverence. This moment was theirs and theirs alone; this quiet intimacy they’d cultivated after five years of being together. These returning touches. She lived for them, even when they came hours later than expected. When he whispered about the food, Evelyn chuckled softly, the sound low in her throat. “I was starting to think you might’ve eaten without me,” she teased, running her fingers along the inside of his wrist now, her perfectly manicured nails inching their way beneath the cuff of his sleeve just to feel him. She was so caught up in him that she hadn't yet noticed the tiny crimson fleck in the fabric. Then he turned her head. Tilted her chin up and kissed her. It was slow. Lingering. The kind of kiss that made the world blur around the edges and melted all of her worries away. His lips tasted faintly like peppermint and cold night air, but the warmth of him bloomed over her mouth like a flame. She kissed him back with quiet affection, her other hand rising to cup his jaw, her thumb gently caressing the rough day-old stubble along his cheek. When he pulled away, she exhaled a breath she didn’t know she’d been holding. A soft sound, almost a sigh. “I’ll warm it up,” she said quietly, and touched the lapel of his jacket before rising, her fingers smoothing down the fabric like a parting touch. “Go on, put your things away. You must be exhausted.” The blanket slipped from her lap as she stood, feet bare on the hardwood, the hem of her pajama pants brushing her ankles as she moved. She was a tiny thing compared to him; Aiden had a little over a foot on her in the height department, and where he was broad and strong, Evelyn was slim and delicate, soft in all of the right places. She glanced back at him with a gentle smile that didn’t need words– it was all there in her eyes. I missed you. I’m glad you’re safe. I love you. She made her way into the kitchen, the storm still murmuring beyond the walls, thunder following her like distant music. She moved through it like she’d done it a thousand times before– because she had. The floor was cool beneath her feet, the polished wood smooth and slightly chilled from the weather’s creeping presence. She tugged her cardigan tighter around her shoulders as she opened the oven door, the metallic clink of the handle breaking the now comfortable silence. A gentle wave of warmth rushed out to greet her. She carefully unwrapped the foil covering the plate she had prepared hours ago. The poultry had lost its glisten, the skin dull now, the sauce clinging in thicker patches from where it had cooled and settled. Still, it smelled like comfort– earthy and sharp. She carefully put the chicken and vegetables back in their baking dish before sliding it in with steady hands and adjusted the oven temperature, then set the timer with a soft beep. Just enough to make sure everything would be warm again, not dried out. Next, she moved to the cabinet and took down two clean plates– though one already sat on the counter, she liked the symmetry of it. The act of setting the table felt like restoring something. A ritual stitched into the fabric of her love for him. She hummed quietly to herself, a half-forgotten melody, as she reached for the drawer and retrieved silverware. Each placement was precise. Fork. Knife. Napkin folded just so. She paused to run her palm over the tablecloth, fingers dragging lightly over the fabric to smooth it out. The wine came next. She retrieved the bottle– one of the reds they’d brought back from their weekend in Carmel, the one Adrien had said tasted like something old and full of secrets– and uncorked it slowly, the cork popping with a satisfying sound. The scent was rich, fruity with just a hint of earth. She poured carefully, watching the liquid swirl into his glass with a warmth that steadied her. She didn’t realize how much tension she’d still been carrying until the domestic rhythm of these small actions began to unwind her, like a knot gently being untied. The oven timer beeped. She turned, slipped on a pair of worn oven mitts, and opened the door. The scent of rosemary and roasted garlic filled the space more fully now, spreading into the corners of the kitchen like a warm embrace. She pulled the dish out, careful not to tip it, and transferred the contents onto the plates she’d pulled out moments ago before wiping the edges with a paper towel. Presentation mattered, even at the late hour. When everything was set, she stepped back, brushing a dark, stray lock of hair behind her ear, and let herself take it all in: two plates. Two glasses (she’d retrieved her own wine glass from the living room). The gleam of utensils. The storm rising outside the windows. Her husband just down the hall, putting away his things. It was a quiet life, but it was theirs. Evelyn smiled to herself and called out softly, “It’s ready whenever you are, love.” And in that moment, she felt nothing but contentment. Nothing but warmth. Nothing but the kind of peace that comes before the fall. ▬ι═ﺤ ♡​