#'ive murdered half the town

[nevertheblood]

I am reading stormbringer and admittedly I have not finished it yet but

verlaine x the horror of our love by ludo

is that anything

[purplelupins]

Lamb

Midnight Mass

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul hill x fem!reader

Word count:12.3k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes:

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You were never a fan of when Beverly was given the opportunity to lead worship. You never felt fully untuned- half of the time it felt more akin to a scolding lesson in school than a reminder of Him. She liked to highlight “them and us” between believers and non believers of Crockett. Somehow she always managed to spin things into belittling those who didn’t attend church, and those days were always a little…tense. This was a time of worshiping and remembering God, not a time of a hierarchy.

“Here we are again. Back to normal. Funny how the pews empty back out once everyone has their ashes, isn’t it?” She paused as if to ridicule the non-churchgoers.

You pursed your lips as she continued, and found yourself looking at small details around the church. Chips in the paint, the crosses, the windows, Father Paul gazing at you-

Startled, you looked back to where you had just been looking and sure enough you caught the Father flicking his eyes away just in time as he bowed his head. You stared at him for a moment, but he was fixated on the rosary in his hand.

Had you imagined it?

You kept your eyes down for the rest of the morning, and ridiculed yourself for thinking the Father would look at you. Why would that be a thought that entered your mind? You didn’t even stop to speak with him after church.

If you had looked behind you, however, you would have seen the Father’s forlorn gaze flickering to your form during his conversations- distracted. He turned back to the islander he spoke to and flashed them a tight smile as they moved on and he spoke to the next person, but John felt a hollowness in his gut, and he wasn’t certain it was from hunger.

Even that night when John went for a stroll down the island like he used to, he stopped several yards from your house and forced himself to turn around. He muttered prayers under his breath the entire way back to the rectory, and knelt before the cross on his wall for another hour before he slept.

“Sheriff? Sheriff!” You yelled as you stepped off your bike at the marina the next morning. You needed a couple things from the Mainland, and had a short list you hoped Hassan would be able to get for you during his time there for his Friday prayer.

The man turned, hand on his hip, “Morning to you too.”

“I have a favour?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes and clasped your hands in front of you.

Hassan rolled his eyes and huffed but you could tell it was a show, “Out with it.”

“I’m just out of a couple things for the shop and you can get them all at this store- I wrote the address down and the list and it’s close to the mosque you go to! Please? There’s some cash in there too.” You held an envelope out hopefully.

He stared at you for a long moment, then slowly took the paper from you, “This isn’t going to be a habit right?”

“Thank you! Thank you thank you, I promise it won’t.” You bounced.

He fixed you another look, but you knew he was smiling a little under that moustache.

“You’re the best!” You called to him when you hopped back on your bike, “Oh! This is for you.” You reached into the basket and retrieved a brown paper bag.

Hassan smiled a little.

“One muffin and a berry tart.” You returned his smile.

He relented. “Fine, fine. I’ll be back this afternoon.” He grumbled.

“Have a safe trip!” You called, “And hey, you really should wash that jean jacket, Sheriff or it might walk away on its own one day!” You quipped and began pedaling away.

Hassan shook his head. He liked having you around. You were a breath of fresh air amongst the stale islanders, and he hoped he could call you a friend one day.

You knew you were cutting it close for Mass, so you sped your way across the island and up the hill to St. Patrick’s where you were happy to see still a few people filing in. You laid your bike down beside the church and jumped up the steps to go and find your spot. One of the perks of a small town was every person had their spot that they sat in- you never had to fight over it.

Your shoulders deflated slightly when Bev took her place atop the pulpit and began the service. “Our responsorial psalm today is Psalm 27. “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?”.”

“The Lord is the strength of my life, of whom then shall I be afraid? When evildoers came upon me to eat up my flesh, it was they, my foes and adversaries, who stumbled and fell. Though an army should encamp against me, yet my heart shall not be afraid. And though war should rise up against me, I will put my trust in Him. One thing I have asked of the Lord, one thing I seek, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord, all the days of my life.” Her reading was simple and dry. You found your eyes glazing over, waiting for the Fathers homily.

Then you mentally slapped yourself. This was a time of worship, it didn’t matter if it was boring. You had grown used to the vivid approach he always took during Mass. You laughed a little to yourself when you thought you were a little addicted to it.

As if someone could become addicted to a preacher…don’t be ridiculous.

You remained seated, and watched as Father Paul approached Leeza first for the Eucharist. You liked that he carried on the tradition of serving her first since the accident, even though he wasn’t there. The amount of respect and care he had for the islanders was so selfless.

“Body of Christ, Leeza.” The good Father murmured just as he always did. So gentle.

“Amen.” She said, cupping her hands out.

Silence fell over the church then. You felt confusion fill you when he stopped just a couple steps away from her, and then even took a few steps back.

“Come on. Body of Christ.” He repeated, beckoning her with the wafer.

“Father, what are you doing?” Wade chuckled nervously.

You looked over at Erin, and she had the same look of slight horror that you did. What was he doing? Surely he didn’t think this was a joke.

“Body of Christ.” He repeated.

“What are you doing?” Wade asked again with more of a bite.

Leeza directed her chair to move forward, but Father Paul only stepped back further.

“No. No.” He muttered, and stepped up the stairs of the pulpit.

The worshipers around you began to murmur. You felt pressure start to build in your chest. Anxiety and ire weighing heavy in your stomach the longer he stood there out of her reach. Was he sick? What was he doing?

“Come on. Body of Christ.” Now his voice echoed in the space as he called the girl up to him. Relentless.

“No, stop it.” Erin snapped as she stood, “That’s cruel.”

“Come on.” He repeated, still calm.

Dolly got up and knelt by her daughter, trying to comfort her, “Leeza, honey.” Then she looked up at the pastor and her eyes were like ice, “What is wrong with you?”

“Father Hill enough.” You spoke- emotion making your voice shake.

But still he only stood and waited for Leeza.

You watched Wade stand with his family, each person growing more and more defensive and outraged, “If this is a joke, Father, it’s not funny. I…”

But then, it was as if all air had left the church- all sound gone too. You didn’t know what it was that you were seeing, and you were terrified to blink lest it go away. All horror you felt sunk into the Earth and your head felt light.

Leeza was standing. Freely.

“Leeza?” Wade asked in disbelief.

A woman across from you fainted as she stood.

Your ears felt all prickly and your fingers felt numb.

You could still remember when the accident had happened. How devastating it had been. Hell you used to walk with the Scarboroughs some nights when they went as a family.

Dolly was a mess for almost a year…now they only managed.

Leeza took a step, and then another, and then she was stepping up the stairs and you felt tears start to well in your eyes as you stared up in shock. You couldn’t blink.

“Body of Christ.” Father Hill said once more, and placed the wafer in Leesa’s hands.

“Amen.” She said, voice wavering.

You released a breath, and tore your eyes from Leeza to look up at the Father. He was watching her with such kindness and pride in his eyes as she turned and walked into her parents arms.

Who was he? How could…how could he have known?

Murmurs filled the church as people praised God and crossed themselves.

But you could only see how Father Hill began to sway and cough. He caught himself on the alter, but then pushed himself towards the back door into the vestibule. Your blood began to run cold with worry as he almost ran out of view.

You would have run after him yourself if Bev hadn’t.

Your head was spinning and you felt disconnected from your body.

You didn’t know what to think or do, so you wordlessly walked to Leeza and embraced her. She held you and wept into your shoulder.

You felt your heart.

It hurt.

Ached.

You walked with the Scarboroughs into town to see Dr. Gunning, and kept quiet to let them speak to one another. Disbelief and awe coloured their words as they encouraged their daughter.You kept one arm under Leeza’s while Wade had the other; they talked, and talked until your face hurt from smiling, and you were helping her up the steps to the doctors house.

It all seemed so…miraculous.

Such a God given gift.

Once Leeza was inside safely, you quietly backed out and waved them off. You began your way to your shop, and the entire walk was within a blink of an eye. You might have looked calm and thoughtful from the outside, but oh your mind was churning.

How? How? You could still remember seeing Leeza for the first time after the accident. How broken her and her family was.

You remembered all the specialists they saw and all the visits they made to the mainland. How some visits left them hopeful but most left them even more lost and helpless than the last.

You knew they barely afforded groceries now because of the bills.

Now, you didn’t know if you should weep out of joy or fall to your knees and vomit. It was as if someone you loved had risen from the dead…certainly it was wonderful but somehow you felt a little weary.

Perhaps it was years of empty promises after the oil spill…

You didn’t even remember doing deliveries that day. But somehow you finished them. News travelled quickly- by the time you had been halfway through people were talking to you about little Leezas recovery. You didn’t remember talking much, only saying what a miracle it was. You were back at your shop, just hopping off your bike when you realized you had completely spaced out the entire time.

How?

How…

How did he do that…

It seemed as if something had taken root in the island and had begun changing the chemistry of everything attached to it. First the good moods, now Leeza was walking down Main Street like nothing had happened.

But then when you walked home, you realised how deeply you were dissecting the wonderful event. You wondered if you had become a sceptic without even knowing. Were you so cynical to Gods powers that you questioned his will?

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring down at the rosary in your hands. The little cross glinted in the darkness.

Faith…

Did you lack it?

Had you begun to loose it?

Were you so ungrateful?

You felt tears prickle at your eyes but you refused to let them fall. You needed guidance, not tears. With a heavy heart, you sunk to your knees and began to pray.

It took a full week for you to muster up the courage to ask the Father for an appointment later on Saturday afternoon. Your day to yourself, and your time to relieve your consciousness. Your day to work on yourself.

Which was why you stood on the rectory’s doorstep, fidgeting.

A part of you told you that you were being needy. Selfish. That you just needed to get your head on straight and that you didn’t need to worry the Father with you being self-centred. That if this had been Father Pruitt you wouldn’t have bothered but for some reason you were more willing to see Father Hill.

You knocked, and didn’t have to wait long before the door was being opened. Father Hill stood there with a welcoming smile, “Right on time.” He said, “Come in, y/n.”

You nodded and quietly entered the small house. It felt so strange to be there alone with him. Not uncomfortable just…odd. Like you were somewhere you shouldn’t be.

“Sit, please.” He gestured to the couch, and dragged a chair over from his desk over to sit in front of you.

You perched on the edge, and folded your hands in your lap, “Thank you, Father…I- I know I was a little vague when I asked you to do this…but if I’m honest I’ve always disliked the confessional booth. I’m um…a bit claustrophobic.” You admitted.

He chuckled a little and shook his head, “No apology needed. Sometimes that anonymity that comes with a confessional isn’t right for every confession. I told you I was here when you needed and I meant that.”

His honesty and understanding put you a little at ease. Your nerves were still very much there, though. There was no backing out of this now, so you took a deep breath.

“Have you…have you ever had difficulties with faith, Father?” You asked, eyes flickering to his white collar for half a second.

John admittedly was not expecting that from you. If the implications were that you were having difficulties with faith, then he was surprised. Regardless, he nodded.

“Certainly…we’re all human, even me, and we are made to have ups and downs no matter how dedicated we are to our Lord.” He said gently, resting his elbows on his knees.

You stared back at him, hard. You knew you were ridged. You hadn’t opened up to a soul about this turmoil you had begun to feel, and you hoped to God that Father Hill was the right person to hear you.

You clenched your hands against each other, and put your trust in him.

“I think…I think I’ve become…” you swallowed again when your throat became tight.

Be straightforward.

“I think I’m losing my faith, Father…” you pursed your lips, “It might sound silly for me to say that because you see me at church every day and I’m committed to the community, but I think that I’ve been losing my true love for my faith for a long time…” you whispered. Hearing it out loud made tears start to well in your eyes. You didn’t know why exactly, though perhaps it was the sense that you had failed yourself, your family, your community and your God.

“I’m here with you, y/n…keep going.” He took your hand, and gazed at you, encouraging you.

You took a tight breath.

“It’s just always been a part of my life- getting up and going to Mass and praying before bed and reading the Bible and being a good girl who doesn’t ask too many questions and puts everyone else first and keeps her head down…” you could feel tears start to fall.

“I never really thought about it but…it’s been a couple years now and…it just gets heavier and heavier and I don’t want that burden.”

You bit at your bit as you let everything out, “I read a lot. The internet connection out here is horrible but I’ve done a lot of research on the Bible to try and deepen my understanding and I just find myself tripping over questions, and holes that don’t have answers…things that have been added only a few hundred years ago and things that have been forgotten or omitted…I’ve never even mentioned this to anyone…I think they would assume I was joking because it’s just…a part of who I am. Who I’ve always been…”

You slowly looked back up to Father Hill, and found him watching you patiently. Non-judgemental, just waiting for you to have your time.

John slowly reached out and took your hands in his. You were hanging onto his every move, and he took your silence as a cue to speak.

“Ma-may I?” He asked, and you nodded, “This isn’t about God.”

You blinked. You weren’t expecting that.

Father Hill started again, elaborating,“You feel you’re losing your faith, but I think what you’re losing is yourself. Your sense of self…so much of having faith is endurance and I know you have that. You have faith, young lady and I know you won’t let anything take it from you. You know how I know?” He asked you.

You shook your head.

“Because you’re afraid.” He whispered, his large thumb rubbing your knuckles gently.

You let a tear fall as you held his gaze.

“Because you came here. Luke said “His mercy extends to those who fear him.” And I think that is exactly what will happen for you. I think your fear of God is just a testament of your faith. And I believe you will be granted a great mercy.”.”He said passionately, “But I think what you are truly going through is a need for guidance in yourself.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Perhaps a full minute.

Another tear fell.

Then another.

Then many.

Until you couldn’t see and your cheeks were soaked.

“Shh…shh, that’s okay, I’m with you…shh.” He cooed to you, “I’m here to help…” the Father scooted a little closer.

You nodded, trying to get a hold of yourself, “Sorry-I’m sorry-“

He squeezed your hands.

Had he been holding your hand this entire time?

You took slow shaky breaths until you could speak again.

“I love everyone here…and I do love my life here. It’s simple and fairly easy…but…I can’t help but feel I’m missing something. Like I pretended to be some expectation for so long that now it’s become me and I don’t know how else to be. But realising it is so much worse than just living that way. Delusion is an amazing thing.”

Father Hill sat still for a moment as he thought. “I think being honest will help that turmoil you feel. Nothing too out of your comfort zone but…just enough that you feel truer to yourself…I have been where you are…many years ago. Just as many have.” His voice lulling you into a state of calm.

You looked up at him, eyes starting to dry.

“I had an older sister…” he said gently, “She passed when I was 8…and her death was why I began to look at God and his divine plan and that was where I found my faith. I questioned why and how her death fit into everything and how her death was justified by Him and…in that quest to grieve and find answers, I found some, but I also found God. You are on a similar journey right now and you will find what you’re looking for. It might even be given to you when you least think it will come to you…it may even hurt at first but in time I think you might grow to see it as a revival.”

His words settled into your head, and you sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. One last tear fell, “Thank you, Father Hill.” You smiled.

The older man reached up and gently wiped that last tear away and patted your hand, “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you…” he murmured.

You nodded, and sniffled.

“I’ll make some tea.” He said, and stood after one last reassuring look at you. Somehow his calm seeped into you and your body welcomed it like it was made to. Your shoulders were relaxed as was your jaw. You felt at peace with having gone to him.

John needed a moment away from your proximity. It was a miracle he could keep his composure as you sat there- shooting pains rocked his stomach as hunger brutalized his body.

“I noticed St. Patrick’s has been fuller…” you murmured, wanting to direct attention from you.

“Ah- yes well it seems little Leezas recovery has reawakened the faith of many.” He agreed, regaining a steady voice.

“The island has had a religious revival Father,” you said as he returned with two cups of tea, “The only thing that’s changed…is you.” You looked up from the cup in your hands to gage his reaction. It had indeed been something you noticed, as had many people especially after Leeza…

He tapped the edge of his cup as he took a seat beside you on the couch.

You tried to give him the nudge to speak just as he had for you, “You don’t know what it was like before…I haven’t seen people so engaged in sermons before. You…you have a true gift. You have helped to resurrect this island, Father Hill.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.” He smiled a little.

“You help people everyday.” You turned to look at Father Hill directly.

“So do you.” The man shrugged nonchalantly.

Your nose scrunched a little, “Not really…I try to support my community, but I don’t know about helping.”

“No- no. You do, don’t deflect- you do,” Father Hill shook his head, “You know you do too but you’re so used to it that it’s second nature. That’s a blessed attribute to have.” He insisted, “Especially since things haven’t exactly been easy here since that oil spill. I can only imagine…”

You pursed your lips.

“It’s been…difficult. It’s better now but it was horrible for a long time. I just…” you looked down at the warm liquid in your cup, “I believe you can’t wait for life to be easy before you decide to start helping the people you love.” You muttered.

John felt his heart tug- this time not out of pain. It was a tug of sorrow. As he gazed at this young woman beside him he began to feel as if the two of you were kindred spirits of some kind. You both shared a look, and John found that he had come to understand you a little better, and he began to understand why you were the one he saw first that day on the dock.

You parted ways with the Father sometime later into the evening. It had been a little odd how he had almost ushered you out as soon as he had noticed the darkness outside. He had said something about not wanting a young woman like you being outside at night. You had almost laughed at how old he had sounded.

John had caught the tug of your lips that you hid by ducking your head down. He liked that you smiled around him- that you weren’t afraid…

It would make everything so much easier. You are already to receptive to his guidance…

You left the rectory that night feeling as if something had taken root in you too. Perhaps it was the Fathers spirit of hope settling into your sinew and melding with your blood that had you feeling a little more…looked after.

Cared for.

Seen.

You felt as if you truly were not alone. Like he was always with you even as you walked home.

After your confession, you found yourself bumping into the Father often in town. On a few occasions he walked you home after your working day was done if he happened to be in the area, and you even stopped by the rectory to borrow a book. You found a deep solace being near the preacher, and in your need for a cure to your listlessness, you didn’t even stop to think if you were following his word or God’s.

His sweet, compelling, passionate words that seemed to evoke such a vivaciousness in you.

You started bringing batches of baked goods on Sundays too. Nothing extravagant, but something for the worshipers to enjoy after. There was something in you, pushing you to do better, but on your own terms. Doing it for your own pleasure and not the pleasure of others.

You noticed how that laughter from the potluck was now a common thing. Smiles were normal. You heard people joking, and going for evening walks and morning jogs. Kisses and hugs.

Was there something in the air?

But while you were enjoying your new outlook on life, John could not be more worried for you. It had been two weeks now that he wasn’t able to give you the sacrament. He had tried once more after your first comment but he heard you say something to Bev about it.

Certainly you had a little of the gift in you…but it wasn’t enough. Perhaps a tablespoon. Only enough to make you feel a little brighter, but not enough to…to change. Revive.

He was at a loss.

But the more he prayed, the more he came to realize that perhaps it wasn’t your time. It would come. He knew it would. It had to. And when it did you too would be blessed…even if he was the one to bless you himself.

“Three weeks ago, when we began this journey of repentance, I asked those of you were here to keep a few words in mind. Rebirth, second chances, eternal life. That's a lot to wrap your head around, isn't it? I can barely visualize next week, let alone eternity, But, I mean, for most of us, eternity, it’s an abstract. It’s a metaphor, a colorful exaggeration. When we’re waiting for something we want, it takes forever.We sit in traffic for an eternity. Abstracts, metaphors, colorful exaggerations. To us, maybe, but not to God. Not to Him. ..” he said thoughtfully, “And it shouldn’t be for us, either. Communion, the transformation of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. A metaphor? No,” he slapped the pulpit, “God tells us. Miracles, walking on water, rising from the dead. Abstracts? No.” He slapped it again, “God tells us. Eternal life, a colorful exaggeration?”

You heard Wade say “no”, and the verbalisation made you jump a little. No one usually spoke.

“No? That’s right. You call it out.God’s gifts are as tangible as the ground beneath our feet,” he stomped the pedestal, and you jumped again.

“And His covenant, it’s not abstract. No. It’s a contract, scrawled in flesh, inked in the blood of the martyrs. And yet, try as we might, we cannot visualize, we cannot mentally picture the rewards promised…” you noticed him fan himself for a moment, and you were suddenly snapped from your trance.

Was he alright?

“Well, if you’re here seeking to know answers to the unknowable, it’s incumbent upon me to tell you that I have none. And if you want to know why or how God’s will shapes the world, brothers and sisters, so do I. I don’t have all the answers. Nobody does. What I do have though, and what God gives us plentifully, are mysteries.God gives us miracles very rarely, here and there, but mysteries?…”

Your worry began to grow when the Father stopped all together. He seemed to adjust himself where he stood, though somehow he still didn’t seem quite right.

“Sorry. Um…As… adults, we tend to dislike mysteries. We… We feel uncomfortable not knowing.No. To be a child. To look with awe and wonder, and live with staggering honesty. To be guiltless, light as air. To bend softly as the word of God sweeps…” he speech began to grow almost wandering. As if he wasn’t entirely lucid…almost like the old Monsignor-

John felt his stomach twitch with pain as he stood before his growing flock. He could barely see let alone think as his body seemed to betray itself.

“I’m very sorry. I’m…Sorry, I’m just a little bit tired today. A tiny dizzy spell. It’s passed. I’m fine. Sorry. I’m very sorry. Um…The more that we know, the less we bend. The more brittle we become, the easier to break. Like some would say this island broke. Was broken. But I am here to tell you…the resurrection, body and soul, the redemption, body and soul, the miracles waiting for us here on Crockett Island. Not metaphors, not abstracts, not colorful exaggerations, no. Rebirth, second chances. Eter…”

You watched in horror as Father Hill tumbled to the ground with a thud. There was a rush to help him, but your mind seemed to click into gear when you quickly grabbed one of the phones left on a pew and dialled Dr. Gunning’s office.

She barely got a word out before you; your voice shook as you spoke quickly, “The- Father Hill- he’s collapsed, please come up to the church, Doctor.” You rushed out.

“Calm down, calm down, is he breathing?” She said, calm as ever.

You stood quickly and rushed over to the crowd. Without a thought, you knelt beside the Father and placed your ear on his chest.

“What on earth-“ Bev started to ask, from her spot beside you, but you didn’t pay attention as you sat up again and put the phone to your ear.

“Yes he is.” You said.

“I’ll be there soon. Get him some air if he wakes up.” She sighed.

You nodded, and hung up.

“Well?” Bev snapped at you.

You blinked, “Dr. Gunning- She’ll be here soon…water- uh can- can someone get some cool water and a towel please?” You tried to think of anything you could do to help in the meantime.

Someone started to go, but it seemed Bev wanted to be involved. “I’ll get it.” She huffed and disappeared from your side.

Wade crouched beside you, and checked over Father Hill. He looked over at you and you gave him a reassuring smile. “I think the Father could use some air, Mr.Mayor.”

He nodded and looked up that the distressed crowd.

“It’s alright everyone. If he could get some room please? He needs extra air…Sturge could you open the door please?” Wade asked.

The man in question nodded and did as he asked while the townspeople began to disperse.

Bev returned a moment later and you took the cloth from her and dampened it from the bowl of water.

“Thank you…” you mumbled, then very gently began to dab at Father Hill’s forehead, then at the skin peaking out from his chasuble around his neck.

A few minutes passed with Beverly fussing in the background, but slowly you noticed his colour returning, and eyes start to flicker until they opened slowly. You felt relief fill you up and you sighed.

John gazed up at you and he swore there was a halo surrounding your head as you sat over him. Your brows scrunched in worry, but your watchful eyes gazing down at him.

“Glory be…” Came his whisper.

You looked down at him and wiped his brow once more. The man blinked a few more times then went to sit up, but several hands rushed to keep him down.

“Slowly, Father…slowly.” Someone said.

You helped the Father rise up to sit, and dabbed the back of his neck. “You passed out Father.” you said.

“I’m sorry- so sorry…” he nodded. grinding his teeth slightly when a wave of pain hit him, “I’m…uh not sure what’s wrong with me today.” He said as humorously as he could, though both he and the islanders knew there was nothing to joke about.

Even as you watched Sturge and Wade help him into the rectory with Sarah and Bev, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something gravely wrong with him. Not that you have ever exactly noticed anything…but certainly there were times where he seemed to almost clench, and work through a minor pain- covering it with a cough or stretch. Things that were so barely there you wouldn’t even think twice.

While that day was your day to yourself and the shop was closed, you found that you were listless. Worried, curious. Fretting.

So silly really.

You mindlessly baked a batch of muffins, and remembered halfway through how much the Father liked them. On more than one occasion he had stopped by to purchase a few.

You put a few in a container, and set out on your bike across the island. You hoped he was doing well… if he didn’t answer you were content with just leaving them on his stoop, though you found yourself wanting to see for yourself that he was alright.

You leaned your bike by the church, and strode over to the rectory. It was still afternoon, and you hoped you could catch him before he went to the Gunnings. You thought it was so sweet that he did that for Mildred.

You knocked, and waited. It was quiet for a long moment, then the door opened slowly. Father Hill stood before you disheveled. His top button was undone, collar missing, and his hair looked to have been brushed back with his fingers.

“Oh- y/n please…come in.” He moved aside.

You looked to the side then slowly walked into the small home. It was cozy and simple. It felt warm. “I’m so sorry for bothering you father…I’m sure you’ve had plenty of people coming by to check on you…” you trailed off, looking for a spot to but the container down.

“Nonsense…I was hoping you could come actually…” he said quietly, gingerly perching against the edge of the kitchen counter, “I wanted to thank you.”

That caught you off guard.

You blinked, and shook your head, “What for?”

“For extending that helping hand of yours to me. It was a joy to be helped by you. A blessing- you are a uh, a blessing.” Father Hill stared back at you like he meant every word he said and more, though you couldn’t help but notice the slightly delirious stare he had.

You hadn’t expected anything like this when you had set out to drop off the muffins still in your hands, but you found yourself growing warm at his praise.

“I-well I just…-“

“Just what? Did what anyone would do?” He cut you off, smiling a little wearily.

“Yes…”you admitted.

“And did anyone else do what you did?” He prodded, head tilting so slightly to the side.

You looked down, then back up at him, and shook your head.

“And now you come here again to my aid with something that is not a casserole you see you truly are just wonderful.” He smiled a little more, and you did too, and laughed.

“Ah… the Crockett islanders at their finest. If ever you’re sick you will have at least a few of those in your fridge by night fall.” You joked, though it was true, “I- um I remember you liked those muffins that I made last week and I was worr- I made some extra and thought you might like them.” You caught yourself.

“Thank you, dear girl…” he said, but winced when he went to say something else. You placed the container down on the counter beside him and gently put your hand on his arm.

“Father? Are you feeling dizzy?” You asked.

“I- I am just a little…” he admitted, blinking a few times to get through the fog.

“I’ll help you to your room. Rest for a while, alright?” You took his arm and slowly directed him to the back of the rectory where you assumed he slept.

“I’m fine…just tired.” He tried to reassure you.

“I’m sure you are Father.” You walked him to the edge of his bed, and sat him down, “Rest. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“You’re a good girl, y/n, thank you. You’ve made this adjustment blessedly easy.” He told you, staring up at you.

You saw something in his weary gaze then. You didn’t know what it was. But you somehow noted it in your mind.

You squeezed the hand of his that held yours, “Rest, Father. God willing, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Father Paul nodded, “You will.” He smiled weakly.

You released his hand, and gave him a small wave before leaving the small house. You felt sorry for the man being all alone there, but you were sure Bev would be by to pester him soon if she hadn’t already.

Then as you picked your bike up, you heard the crunching of gravel under shoes. You looked up to see the very woman. “Hello Bev.” You called to her.

“Ah, y/n. I do hope you haven’t bothered Father Hill too much.” She smiled tersely.

“Not at all. Just dropped off something that wasn’t a casserole.” You smiled a little more genuine.

“Well, thank you for your contribution. Very kind.” With that she turned and began to walk past you. You half considered telling her he was resting, but you knew it wouldn’t deter her. You sighed, and peddled away.

Another shift had begun around you. Off balanced.

You noticed it in small things.

Not necessarily bad, but not especially good. Less and less wildlife hummed around the bushes and trees, and you noticed how there was such a divide between the attitudes of church goers and non. Conversing with someone who didn’t attend now felt like a bucket of cold water in comparison to those who you saw regularly. Like there was a bubble around the parishioners. And you weren’t certain you liked that.

Your worry only deepened when you went to Mass the next morning only to see that it would be candelled that day. A frown tugged at your mouth, though you tried to not think too much about it. The Father was ill, you knew that. It was nothing else but that.

It wasn’t as if you knew that the very man was dodging the gaps in the curtains to look out at his flock returning to their homes and jobs without their daily Mass. And of course there you stood- a worried look muddling your beautiful face.

Had you always been so pretty?

Vibrant.

A halo around your hair where the sun caught it.

John watched you back away from the church, though he saw you clench and unclench your hands and look to and from the church to the rectory. You wanted to check on him. Such a dutiful lamb.

Something visceral in him made him nearly open the door and call you inside. Beckon you to him. Just as he felt that need there was an ache in his mouth like he needed to bite, hard. A side affect to…to dying he supposed. He put his trust in God but this hurt was unbearable.

John prayed and wept and doubled over as he accepted and waded through the pain. The bulk of it finally subsided by the evening. It seemed almost as if as soon as the sun had gone down his body relaxed.

Just a little.

Enough to make himself look presentable, and step out from his front door no matter how nervously.

Like his body knew he was safe with the sun down. No more burns.

As he strode across the island, John found himself marvelling at the new-found beauty around him. Living halos of light around the stars, and lamplights. Colours and smells and sounds he had never experienced. He could almost feel the earth breathe.

Seeing Millie in her home that night was something special. She remembered him. Saw him. He could have weapt just by seeing the look of recognition on her face. Feeling her hands hold his and that smile. John’s heart ached.

As did his stomach. Painfully.

So hungry.

John hurried along after the little reprieve with Mildred, but found himself taking a little detour. He didn’t mean to; his feet just took him that way. Just a little bit of a longer walk home.

Past your house.

Your curtains were open again.

John found himself walking a little closer, something enticing drawing him in. He stood just outside your window. You were just getting ready for bed…he could almost smell you; all fresh from the shower.

John sighed, then winced when another surge of hunger punched his stomach. That ache he had felt in his jaw returned tenfold, and he felt his vision start to fade.

There was nothing to do but get back to the rectory. Quickly. John employed his long strides and muttered prayers under his breath. He needed to be away. Hide. There was no preparation for this next phase of revival. He wasn’t ready. This deep carnal hunger was eating away at him. He needed more of the sacrament.

Now.

He needed help. John paced the rectory, and felt his nerves and veins and muscles and tendons tugging at him, begging him for nourishment. Feed me, Father, feed me.

“Angel of God my, guardian dear to whom Gods love commits me here…”

He mindlessly grasped the bottle of communion wine, and let it empty down the back of his throat yet it somehow wasn’t enough. He needed more.

More more-

“Uh…Father?”

Something deep inside John Pruitt unfurled then. It began to seep into his tissue and into his bloodstream. John turned, startled.

“Oh…Hello Joe.”

The following morning was a little bit of a slow one for you. You half considered calling the rectory just to see if there would indeed be Mass at all, but decided against it. You brushed your hair, and tied it back; grabbed any extra ingredients you needed for the morning and set off.

Even as you kneaded the doughs and whipped cream and stirred batter you found yourself lagging.

The walk to Mass was slow too.

Off kilter.

You took your usual seat, but your brows pinch together when you saw Ali sitting not too far from you. You looked to see if Hassan had come with him, but to only deepen your confusion, he was alone. You leaned forward a little in your pew, “Ali?” You murmured loud enough for him.

The boy jumped a little, but relaxed when he saw it was you.

“Come.” You smiled and patted the spot beside you, and he instantly looked grateful. Ali stood and made his way back to you, and you sent him another smile as he sat. You didn’t ask him why he was there, it wasn’t your business. You had always liked Ali- a sweet boy with good manners for the most part.

Then, you looked to the other side of the church, and noticed that Erin was missing. She never missed Sunday Mass. Never.

Something in your stomach curled tight.

An anxious feeling of anticipation.

Without the presence of Father Hill to envelope the church, you found yourself gazing around the building. You looked at the windows, and the pews until your gaze fell upon the wooden figure of Jesus crucified.

Had it always been so grotesque?

Were you worshiping a man? God was supposed to be a being that governed over everything…omnipotent…why would he descend to earth in the body of a man? Why would he need to if he created messengers like Moses and Noah and so many others…

Your mind began to spin out of control until you were starting to wonder what you were doing there.

The distress you felt only grew deeper when a half hour passed, and Father Hill still hadn’t made an appearance. You looked over at Annie, then even looked up at that back of Bev’s head as if she might have an answer written there.

Finally the woman had had enough and made her way to the rectory. You perched on your seat, waiting for anything to happen. It was nearly another twenty minutes that passed before Bev returned- faux smile already on her face as she took a spot upon the pulpit.

“Good morning!” She began, “Well I have to tell you it is such a delight to see this church so full every day, thank God. I'm afraid this morning though that we have to - well, I think we'll have to cancel Mass.”

You scrunched your brows in surprise. But then that feeling you had had inside you tilted again, a little more in the wrong direction. Twisting. You felt nauseated.

“Father Paul's bouncing back from a stomach bug, poor thing, and I just had to physically restrain the dear man and put him to bed, he was so determined to be here! He'll be back on his feet in just no time at all but this morning, at least, our dear Dolly Scarborough - come up here Dolly…” she encouraged Dolly to come up beside her, and while the good natured woman did, she was just as confused as the rest of the churchgoers.

There had certainly been times with Monsignor Pruitt when his health was hanging by a thread and Mass was cancelled but…Father Hill was in prime condition how could he still be so ill?

“Uh, maybe Dolly can lead us in singing, and some readings, and some prayer, and we can still celebrate together, like the Christians of old, who sang praises to God long before they had priests to lead the way. Uh let’s start with Hymn number 473, "Be Thou My Vision". Dolly, can you lead us?” Bev looked over to Andy who began to play his organ, and slowly everyone followed Dolly’s singing.

But then you watched as Bev began to leave again, this time accompanied by Sturge and Wade. They disappeared out through the vestibule, and you mentally snapped yourself back from trying to see what happened.

Your curiosity started to gnaw at you so badly you almost missed the cue to sit down.

Mass ended simply…or rather it deflated. A somewhat awkward shuffle out the door was the end of Mass that day. Murmurs and worries stares at the rectory as everyone filed out and meandered down the hill to Main street.

You glanced over to the rectory, and paused when you saw Bev exit. You moved a little back from the entrance along the side of the church to catch her.

“You’re sure Father Hill is alright?” You asked her as she strode to the back door of the church.

“Just fine. In need of a little more rest we think. Nothing to worry about.” She said a little more brightly than usual. You felt in your gut there was a lie in her words.

“Annie’s making a hearty stew tonight I could stop by and bring him some-“

“No!” She snapped, then softened a little when she saw how startled you were, “No, no he needs to be undisturbed today. Thank you, y/n. Bless you.”

You nodded slowly, and flicked your eyes over to the small building. You could have sworn you saw the curtain move.

“Alright, Bev…take care.” You said. Something was making your nerves itch under your skin. Like an internal fear response that you didn’t usually need.

A cord was plucked inside you.

A voice inside you telling you to leave.

It wasn’t that Bev had snapped at you, or that you felt she was hiding something. It was that St. Patrick’s had always been a place of peace and safety for you, and now you found yourself wanting to be far from it. You feet almost itching to run.

You didn’t run. But you did walk quickly. You wished you had taken your bike that day.

You cast one last look at the rectory. Sturge and Wade still hadn’t come out.

Your feet acted for you, and carried you away from the church. Away from that itch.

Once the general store came into view, you hesitated in going directly to your shop. Since Mass had ended early, you didn’t need to start deliveries yet; instead, you walked into the store, and towards the sheriffs office. You waved at the old man working at the counter- Gerald- and knocked on the officers door.

“Come.” Came his voice.

You opened the door, and sure enough, Hassan was seated at his desk, reading a paper from a file on his desk.

“What can I- oh.” He said, then stopped upon seeing you, “Y/n? Everything alright?” He was suddenly concerned at the prospect of you coming to his office.

Your eyes widened, “Oh- yes fine. Sorry um…I just… I don’t know if you want to…talk about it but…I saw Ali today. At Mass.”

Hassan sighed heavily, “Ah…yeah he…” he didn’t finish his sentence.

“Curious?” You asked.

But the man only sighed again, “I love that my son is interested in God and looking for him…but…” he started.

“But you already have God.” You finished for him.

He nodded, “He’s not praying with me anymore…we fight…he just…I can’t lose him.”

You nodded, “I know…I can keep an eye on him, if you’d like?” You offered a little weakly- you knew there wasn’t much you could do.

“Thank you…I don’t want to discourage him but …he’s not Christian. He knows why we’re Muslim and it’s…” he didn’t know where to start with the issue. “Bev Keene handed out bibles at school last week. Since then…” he look his head, “I think he mostly is interested in it because he wants to fit in.” Hassan sighed and rubbed his brow.

You nodded, “I’m sorry Hassan…this…this must be hard to watch. Doesn’t help that he’s a teenager. Teens are…difficult to reason with.”

He huffed out a bitter laugh, “I only pray that he returns to his faith.”

“God willing, he will.” You didn’t know how to comfort the man, but it seemed that just having someone there helped.

“Inshallah…” he muttered.

You tilted your head in question.

“Means “God willing.”…” he explained.

“Ah…” you said. Silence filled the office, and you clasped your hands. “There’s…have you thought about asking to be stationed somewhere else? Maybe somewhere with other Muslims? He might just be missing that connection…”

“I’ve thought about it…hard to uproot a kid again though.” He crossed his arms.

You wanted to help him. You really wanted to help. This man was alone, and was practically ostracized by the very town he was supposed to protect and serve. You were almost certain you were the closest thing he had to a friend, and you needed to say something.

“You know…I don’t really fully believe Jesus is God.” You blurted out.

He looked up at you then.

You flushed. You hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, “Sorry…I just…just because I go to Mass doesn’t mean I believe everything.”

“Aren’t you Christian?” He asked.

“I…used to be. It’s more of a habit that I go to church. Been going since I was a kid. But…when you first came here that was the first time I heard about Islam…properly. You don’t believe Jesus was god either right?” You asked.

He shook his head.

“He was just another messenger…prophet. I did some reading a while ago and I found that the holy trinity is actually a new thing in Christianity…and I began to wonder what else was “new” or what had been taken out…I guess I’m just trying to say that…Ali might look for God somewhere else but you never know…he might find that the church is flawed and just come right back to you and Allah.” You mused.

Hassan felt tears prick at his eyes. “Thank y/n…thank you.”

You smiled, and nodded, “I’ll um…I’ll leave you to it. Come by later. Lunch is on me.”

“You’re gonna make me fat.” He grumbled

“A little pudge is cute.” You shrugged as you opened the door.

“You’re a bad influence.” He shot back- his walls back up as the door to the outside opened- literally.

“Guess you’ll just have to lock me away, sheriff!” You chirped, and smiled, then closed the door.

But as you turned away and walked back through the shop, that smile faded away.

Everything was changing.

Fast…so fast. Hassan and Ali had been on Crockett for close to a year, and you had never heard Ali mention something about church.

You knew the miracle with Leeza had been drawing many people in, but you could still accept it as a miracle without changing your beliefs.

Did he just want to fit in?

Was he just curious?

Then you remembered how you had felt that morning as you waited for Father Hill. That feeling of trepidation that seeded in your navel and seared into your fingertips.

When you unlocked the door to your shop, you wondered if it was because there was nothing to distract you as you sat in the church. Everyday there was something to keep you busy- the doddering Monsignor or now the invigorating Father. Something to guide you. But once you were left with your thoughts…you started to think a little too much.

Now you weren’t stupid- far from it. You thought a lot. Constantly. But there was something pressing about sitting in that church. You almost felt like you had woken up when you had stood outside the rectory.

Nervous.

Yes you had felt…so nervous as Bev stood there with you.

You wondered if that was how lambs felt before they were taken for slaughter.

Oh what a gruesome thought…pull yourself together.

You were spiralling into the morbid.

Tomorrow would be better.

You focused on that. Yes. Yes tomorrow would be better.

GOOD FRIDAY MASS AT 8PM

E4STER VIGIL SUN MIDNIG-

You watched as Sturge finished with the H and T.

That chord in you struck again. You twitched. The dread in your stomach rolling around like a marble on a metal track.

Leeza stood beside you, confused as ever, “Wait…you're saying every night? No morning Masses at all?” She asked.

Sturge sighed, “Time being.”

Your brows scrunched up, but you schooled your expression when Leeza looked over at you. No need to let her see your worry.

“Father Paul probably just needs another morning or two to recover from that head cold- but he’ll be up and about tonight. Isn’t that right Sturge?” Wade tried to reassure the crowd as a good mayor should, but you knew Wade. And you knew something wasn’t right.

“Yessir, spoke with him myself this morning’…feeling’ much better.” Sturge agreed.

You looked over at the weathered man, and noted that he was off too.

Rehearsed.

You made Sturge a birthday cake every year and the extent of his appreciation was a “Thanks.” Sturge was never a man of many words, and defiantly wouldn’t over explain something.

Wade nodded now, “Dolly spoke to him too and he had a few things to say about Good Friday isn’t that right, honey?” He asked his wife.

You turned to the woman in question, and saw that she was looking somewhere else.

“Dolly?” You heard Wade say, but he trailed off

You saw what she was looking at, and you understood why. You had seen Mildred Gunning now a few times on your deliveries to her house, but seeing her up and walking outside made you stop short. Certainly you had noticed how she was practically aging backwards, but you had only assumed Sarah was trying a new treatment for her.

But this. The walk across the island was a half hour on a good day. And there she was in her Sunday best.

The crowd of islanders began murmuring amongst themselves, and began embracing the older woman. You held back just a little, though your practiced smile was on your face. Your eyes found Sarah beside her, and somehow you weren’t sure if you found solace or anxiety in what you saw there.

She had the same look on her face that you were hiding on yours under your smile.

It wasn’t grim, but it wasn’t joyous.

You slowly began back into town. You missed Mass. You missed that energy that the good Father Hill brought to the church. You missed-

You shook yourself.

Stop it.

What’s wrong with you?

Suddenly, that perfect little routine you had made for yourself for years…was crumbling. You no longer felt the peace you once did, and now it seemed you had to flip the routine completely.

Nightly Mass.

You pursed your lips.

“Have a minute?”

You turned and saw the Sheriff coming towards you as you unlocked your door.

You nodded and grinned softly, “Morning, sure thing.”

The two of you entered the little store and you closed it behind you.

“Everything okay?” You asked when Hassan stood quietly.

“You know that kid, Bowl?” He asked.

You blinked, “Sure I do. Bit of a troubled kid.”

Hassan nodded, “You seen him lately?”

You frowned, “Can’t say I have.”

“Alright…worth a shot. You’re the youngest one here aside from the kids so…just wanted to ask.” He sighed.

“I’m sorry…” you wrung your hands, “Have um…have you seen Joe lately?” You asked, suddenly remembering the quietness in the sheriffs office and lack of grumbled greetings.

At that the sheriff hung his head a little, “No…no but I need to speak to him…I’ll let you know if I find him.”

You took a breath in and held it a little to try and calm yourself, “Alright.”

“I’ll see you later, y/n. Don’t work too hard.” He murmured, as he opened the door.

“You too, Hassan.” You said a little absentmindedly.

He left you to your thoughts. With Mass cancelled again, you had far too much time to kill before you really needed to start deliveries.

You sat on your little stool behind the counter, and found a book Father Hill had lent you almost a week ago under your receipt box.

The Divine Comedy: Dante’s inferno.

You began to read. Too afraid to let your thoughts run rampant again.

Nightime wasn’t much better. You felt something pulling in you to go and visit the rectory. No one outside of the Scarboroughs, Sturge and Bev had seen the Father, and there was that nagging feeling in you that you needed to see if he was alright. Why couldn’t he just come out to tell everyone he was on the mend? What was there all this dancing around?

You stood on your porch, cardigan pulled tight around you as you fought with yourself internally.

Then, just as you went to take a step, a gust of wind pushed you back. You felt that anxiety strum within you once again. Your gut cried to you to not go, and with blood running cold, you went inside and shut the door.

You closed your curtains that night, and prayed to any God that would listen. You didn’t know why fear had rooted itself so deep within your heart, and somehow that frightened you more.

You were afraid.

So afraid.

Good Friday. You put on that dress your mom had gotten you last year for Christmas- she said it brought out your eyes. You grabbed a warm sweater, and socks, and left for Mass.

It was strange walking across the island as the sun set. You strode calmly, pushing that nagging feeling that sat in the back of your throat away.

“Y/n!”

You turned and saw Sarah and Mildred walking behind you not too far. You smiled, “Hello you two!” You chirped. You might have been suffering from an internal turmoil but you weren’t about to let them know.

“Sarah, Mrs.Gunning. Happy to see you both coming tonight.” You smiled and fell into step with them.

Mildred nodded, “It’s been years…” she mused, then stopped and held your arm, “You’ve been so good to us over the years, dear…Sarah’s been telling me and…I wanted to thank you.”

You waved her off and smiled, “Oh it was nothing. Happy to make your lives easier.”

“You have…really. Thank you.” Sarah nodded, a tight smile on her lips.

“You’re a good girl, y/n.” Mildred smiled gently.

You returned it, “Come on…hopefully Father Hill is well enough to preach today.”

The three of you walked the rest of the way, and you noticed how many times Mildred was stared at. She smiled and nodded when people looked, breaking any tension. Then as you walked up to the church, you saw Bev standing to greet the parishioners.

You smiled at her, though she looked straight past you to greet Mildred. You nodded to Sarah, and left them there to talk.

You took your seat, and not long after, the Gunnings took theirs directly in front of you. You wondered if that was where Mildred used to sit before she grew too ill.

Several more minutes passed, until you heard that low voice of the good father from the door of the church to begin service, “All rise for our processional hymn- number 139 in the red hymnal: At the cross , at the cross.”

You rose to your feet, and began to sing, but you couldn’t help but feel relieved that Father Hill was alright. It had been days since only a couple people saw him, and while you would never assume any deception from your elders…the secrecy seemed so strange.

“They took the body of Jesus, and bound it with the burial cloths along with the spices, according to the Jewish burial custom.” Dolly stood on the pulpit, reading from her bible. The church was full around you, and you found yourself slowly feeling at ease. You felt so silly for having been distressed.

“Now in the place where he had been crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden, a new tomb in which no one had yet been buried. So, they laid Jesus there because of the Jewish preparation day. For the tomb was close by. The Gospel of the Lord.” She finished.

“Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.” You and the other churchgoers answered.

Then as soon as Dolly stepped down, you found your eyes locked onto Father Hill as he took his place. You took a moment to take him in after it being a few days of not seeing him. Indeed he did look well- skin no longer waxy and pale. There was something else to his presence though, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It almost felt like…home. What you came for. What you took comfort in.

That thought startled you.

“Good Friday. This is one of my favorite days of the year. The passion of our Lord. Just that word, “passion.” The word “passion,” it means a strong and barely controllable emotion. Barely controllable. That’s what Jesus felt when he gave his life for us, so that we might have life eternal. What a gift, told so beautifully in the Gospel of John. “Gospel” means good news! Good news on Good Friday. And yet, it’s a story of such profound suffering. What’s so good about that?” He paused to take in the filled church. You could see the pride he felt having brought the community together. You smiled a little.

“Jesus’s suffering in this story, it isn’t simply necessary. It is good. It is the price of eternal life. That suffering, he endures alone. At the Resurrection, he is alone. And then… Well… Ah, he has a few allies. And then more. A congregation. And then more and more people spread that good news. Tell that good story. And then, God has an army. What do they say in that commercial? Uh, “Be all that you can be.” Well, I mean no offense to the armed services, which are necessary and of course honorable, but that’s not all that you can be. In the Army, you’re fighting for God and country.”

You heard a few people murmur amongst you; admiration shining in their eyes as they listens to their preacher.

“Now, I am going to offend you now, but it is the truth. God does not want you to fight for this country. The arrogance… of that. God has no country. There is one God for the world. And the lines we draw, and the treaties we draft, and the borders we close mean nothing to Him. No, don’t fight for a country. You fight for God’s kingdom. A kingdom which Jesus tells us has no flags or borders. God’s army.”

You felt your throat tighten and your nose prickle.

“Now make no mistake. It is a war. That’s what an army is for.So, as a congregation, as God’s army, how do we know how the fight is going? We can’t see it. We can’t radio HQ for a status report. All we have, all God gives us, is right here.” He pointed to his chest, “How we feel. That moral compass inside each one of us pointing due north to the Holy Spirit. Conscience. In the army of God, conscience is standard issue. There are many like it, but this one is mine. You may think that that’s a line from a war movie, but it isn’t. That’s actually the Rifleman’s Creed. And a creed is, by definition, not just a belief, but it is a religious one. ” You could feel yourself hang onto each word. Rapt.

“So, it is a war, and there will be casualties. And we must be soldiers. That is what Good Friday is about. God will ask horrible things of you. Horrible. Just look at what He asked of His own son. Just look at what Jesus had to endure today. We had to call it the “New Covenant,” because God’s will, while perfect, changes.God’s will dictates morality, and as God’s will changes, so does morality change. It changed with the New Covenant. It changed when Jesus came, and we must, as his army, shed the Old Covenant and listen only to that. You rely on that compass. Good Friday is only good. The Gospel of the Lord, so full of horror, is only good, because of where it is headed. The Resurrection. Today is only good because of what’s coming Easter, this Sunday. When Jesus is risen, and death itself is lain dead. What is otherwise horrible is good because of where it’s headed. Welcome to God’s army. Yeah, we’re gonna do great things.”

Your blood rushed in your ears as Father Hill finished.

You somehow felt refreshed…full. You supposed you needed that sense of belonging amongst the other islanders. But when you went to converse with the Gunnings, you were surprised to see them already shuffling out towards the door as soon as Sturge had opened them. You wondered if perhaps it was all too tiring for Mildred and they needed to get home soon.

You sighed, and stood to find Annie. She was there with Ed, but they seemed off too. “Hi Annie, Ed…any plans for Easter?” You asked as you joined them in the thinning crowd.

But then you saw the anxiety in the older woman’s eyes. You knew instantly that something was very wrong. “Annie?” You asked, putting a hand on her arm.

“Oh it…it’s nothing. You know me.” She waved it off, “We uh were thinking of having a nice family dinner. You’re welcome to come of course.” She forced a smile.

You waited patiently with a gentle nod until she told you what was going on. She always did.

“Riley…he- we haven’t seen him all day.” She finally said.

Your brows pitched in worry, “Oh I’m- I’m sorry…maybe he’s with Erin? They’re close right?” You asked, trying to keep their spirits up.

“Probably. Like I said it’s nothing.” She reassured you again, “Anyways, isn’t that the dress your mom got you? What was it…your birthday last year?” She changed the subject, and you let her.

“Christmas.” You smiled, “Thought I’d pull it out of the closet.”

“You look lovely. See you tomorrow?” She asked, already moving out and down the aisle with the remaining parishioners and pulling Ed with her.

“Most likely! You know me…always around.” You nodded, following after them.

“Take care now!” She called back, and her husband gave you a small wave before they disappeared down the stairs and onto the road.

Now left to your solitude, you felt butterflies take wing in your stomach. You sucked in a breath, and began down the stairs after saying goodbye to another few islanders you knew speaking to Bev. You stepped outside, head a little in the clouds when you nearly jumped.

“There she is. How are you, my dear girl?” Father Hill stood at the bottom of the stairs wishing each of his flock goodbye.

You looked up at him as you came to stand beside him. But he wasn’t as vibrant as he usually was. You noticed a certain darkness in his eyes…

Of course he looks like that he’s been sick for days

You mentally throttled yourself.

“I’m well, thank you Father. You seem better.” You smiled a little, though perhaps not as wide as usual.

He noticed.

“Yes…yes much, thank you. Everyone has been so accommodating with me…so helpful. Good people.” He mused.

You nodded, “They are.”

John could almost feel your pulse in his head as you gazed up at him- so docile. The light from St. Patrick’s spilled over you and lit you like a holy revelation. He could smell your skin from his place a few feet away…could tell that you washed your hair not too long ago. But despite the loveliness of having you so close, John knew something in you was shifting.

You were more…anxious. Looking for justification to trust.

Skittish but still coming to his presence so diligently.

Like you didn’t even know what you were afraid of.

No need to fear sweet lamb…I am with you…

You started to shift away from him then, but it almost seemed like he didn’t quite want you to go. His gaze still locked onto you. “I trust I’ll see you on Sunday?”

You laughed a little, “No, no I think I’ll skip it.”

His face seemed to fall for a moment, but when you didn’t stop smiling it clicked that you were joking. “Oh- yes…you’re kidding.” He smiled with you, “Please do come. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Father Paul added earnestly.

You felt that tug in your chest just like when you had gone to the rectory to speak with him weeks ago.

You felt seen.

Appreciated.

“Well I…I’ll be there, Father. Rest.” You said, backing away, “Have a blessed night!”

John took a slow step toward you, but no more than that. He knew not to press his luck with your trust. Didn’t want to scare you off.

“And you, y/n.” He waved to you.

You turned and began your walk. But just as you had felt at home when Mass had begun, you felt a little empty as you walked away. You felt that tug grow more insistent the further you went; so much so that you turned before descending the hill to look back.

Father Hill was in discussion with Wade, but once you stood still, his head snapped to you.

You startled a little.

But it wasn’t so much the fact that he noticed you.

It was the strangest thing…you could have sworn you saw the light of the church catch his eyes and make them glint in the dark.

It happened so fast that you told yourself you just needed your day off. You were just tired.

You needed some sleep.

That was why you felt the contentment you had just been floating on start to drain away. That was why you felt so at ease when the Father spoke to you. Just tired.

You had no way of knowing then that it was the little bit of tainted blood in your system that was calling out to its patron. That it was humming around the others who shared the gift too…communicating internally with one another- somehow knowing that you’re like them.

By the time you were home, you felt as if the weight of the world was yours to uphold. Worry began to consume you as your thoughts swirled in the silence.

Riley was missing.

Joe was missing.

Pike was dead.

Bowl was missing.

You stopped brushing your hair for a moment. You hadn’t thought of the strange happenings like that before. Indeed there was quite a few. You had lived on Crockett your whole life you knew that the maximum a person could go missing for was a day and that was pushing it.

How long had Joe been missing…?

Your gut began to twist again, and you almost fell to your knees when you knelt to pray.

You didn’t know what was happening to you. To your home.

Fear began to encircle your heart, and you almost considered running back to the church to sleep on a pew.

You felt alone.

For the first time in a long time, you felt so very alone.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear

[starsstuddedsky]

Blonde Phase

Renjun x gn reader

summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?

genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any

wc: 4.4k

a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3

“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”

He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”

You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.

“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”

“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”

“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”

“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.

“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.

“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”

“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”

“I did not!”

“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”

“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.

“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”

You frown. “Tonight?”

“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”

“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.

He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.

And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?

.

.

Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.

“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.

You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”

Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”

“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.

“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”

“Seriously?”

Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”

You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”

“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”

“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”

“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.

“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”

“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”

“Those were their exact words?”

“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.

“That’s more on brand.”

Renjun nods.

You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?

“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”

Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.

You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”

You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”

He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”

When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.

He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.

“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”

You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”

“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”

You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?

To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?

“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”

“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”

“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”

You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.

“‘So, hair,’” he says.

“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”

This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”

.

.

“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”

“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”

Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”

You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.

“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”

“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”

You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.

You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.

He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”

You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”

You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.

“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”

“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”

“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”

“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”

“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.

.

.

The timer goes off halfway through an episode.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.

You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.

“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.

You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.

“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.

He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.

“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.

His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.

Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.

You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”

You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m right,” Renjun says.

You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”

“For what?”

“Doing all of this for me,” you say.

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”

Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.

You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.

“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.

“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.

“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?

Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.

“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”

Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”

“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”

Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.

“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”

“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.

It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.

Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.

“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”

“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”

You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.

“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”

Renjun grins.

“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”

“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”

“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.

“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”

“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.

“You like it?”

“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”

You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”

Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“We could have matching couples hair.”

He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”

“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.” You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”

“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.

Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.

“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”

You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.

“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.

“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”

For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”

“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.

You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”

He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”

His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.

There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

[rollingsins]

all hers, part iv

part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | part x | part xi | part xii | part xiii | part xiv | part xv | part xvi | part xvii | part xviii | part xix | part xx | part xxi | part xxii | part xxiii | part xxiv | part xxv | part xxvi | epilogue

summary: when someone touches you inappropriately at a party, Ghostface!Tara remerges.

warnings: dark themes, murder, non-consensual kissing/groping of reader (not by Tara, from another character) - if this is triggering for you, please skip this chapter.

word count: 2.7k

a/n: this part is a little bit of a break from the smut, more hurt/comfort, but don’t worry, the smut will be back for the next chapter. Let me know your thoughts and what you would like to see next.

It was the same every weekend: Amber, Tara’s best friend, would wait until her Dad left town, then phone up half the school for a Saturday night rager. Tara took you every weekend. It was the only real time the two of you would jump out of your love bubble, besides when you were in school. It was kind of nice to get out, get drunk and have a dance. 

The only downside? Having to hang out with Tara’s friends. 

Mindy and Wes were okay, but Chad was a fuckboy, Liv was a drama queen and Amber was a straight up bitch. You weren’t really sure why Tara was still friends with any of them, considering how little they all had in common. When you’d asked, Tara had just shrugged and said they’d been friends forever, since elementary school. So you put up with them for her, swallow your distaste for them with a red cup full of beer. At least the beer was free. 

You almost spill it over yourself as you lean over the couch, placing Tara’s cup on the table next to her. You drink out of your own cup, settle down onto the couch next to her. The party is in full swing, but as usual Tara and her friends claim the living room, passing around a half-lit joint as they talk amongst themselves. 

Tara leans into you. Presses a kiss to your cheeks. 

“You look so hot in that new skirt, baby.” She murmurs into your ear. You smile, press a quick kiss to her lips. She’d taken you shopping that afternoon, and the moment she’d seen it on you she’d insisted on buying it. Her fingers skim across your thighs under the material, rub the soft skin there. 

“Thanks, babe.” You say. She reaches for you, grabs you gently by the waist, trying to tug you into her lap. You shift your weight onto her, wrap your arms around her neck and kiss her, deep. 

The sound of Amber tutting breaks you apart. 

“You two are nauseating.” She sneers, “Can’t you go five minutes without being on top of each other?” 

“I think they’re sweet.” Liv coos from the other side of the room. She’s draped over Chad, her boyfriend, who’s mostly ignoring her in favor of watching sports on his phone. “I wish Chad wanted me on his lap all the time.” 

“You’re too heavy.” Chad says, mindlessly. Liv smacks him.

“You’re just jealous no one wants you in their lap, Amber.” Tara says. She rubs her hands over the tops of your thighs, skimming your underwear, not bothering to hide it. 

Amber rolls her eyes. 

“Please. I could pull half of this room. Guys and girls alike.” 

You raise an eyebrow. 

“Go on then.” You challenge. You scan the room quickly. Point out a broad shouldered jock. “What about him?” 

She grimaces. “Too dumb.” 

Your eyes fall on a slim blonde girl, you point her out. 

“Too skinny.” 

“Wes is single.” Mindy pipes up. Chad sniggers. 

“Ew. Too dorky.” 

Amber looks at you, suddenly. Her eyes narrow as she drops her beer to the table. She stands, moves in close so she’s hovering over you. 

“Maybe I’ll just take you.” She says, voice low. Smirk on her lips, “See what all the fuss is about. Figure out why Tara’s so obsessed with you.” 

You feel Tara’s hands tighten around your waist. 

“Why don’t you try and see what happens?” Tara says. Her eyes are hard, voice serious. Mindy and Wes stare. Even Chad looks up from his phone. Amber smiles. 

“Down girl.” She laughs. She backs away, picks up her drink, “She’s not my type anyway. I don’t do good girls.” 

Tara’s still rigid against you as Amber wanders off, no doubt to harass some poor freshman into doing another beer run. You lean back into her, press a warm kiss to her lips. “Love you.” You say, quiet enough so the others can’t hear, “Don’t let her under your skin.” 

And she relaxes. Smiles slightly, tilts her head up to meet your lips. 

The party continues. You watch as Mindy and Chad argue about the rules of beer-pong. Wes comes over at some point, engrosses Tara in a thirty minute conversation about some horror film they’d seen together. You scoot yourself off her lap, leaving her with a quick kiss. She looks up at you, questioning. 

“Need to pee.” You assure. She nods, goes back to her conversation. 

You move through the sea of bodies, manage to find a line that isn’t too long down in the hallway bathroom. Alcohol thrums pleasantly through you. You feel light, carefree. That might be the weed. 

When it’s your turn, you open the door and go inside, only to be stopped by a foot in the door. 

It’s Amber. You blink as she nudges her way into the bathroom, locks the door behind her. 

“What are you doing?” You ask. She shrugs, turns to the mirror. 

“I need to pee. It’s my house, I’m not waiting in line.” 

You stare at her for a moment. She brushes lipgloss over her lips. This is weird. You don’t want to be here any more. 

“Alright. Fine. I’ll leave you to it.” 

She moves in front of the door, blocks your exit. 

“You look really pretty tonight.” She says. Voice syrupy sweet. “That skirt is- wow.” Her eyes rake down your bare thighs. You cross your arms, self conscious. 

“Thanks.” You say. “Tara bought it for me.”

“I can see why.” Amber says. She leans a little close. “If you were my girlfriend, I’d make you wear slutty little outfits like that too. Easy access, right?” 

You take a step back. 

“She doesn’t make me wear anything.” Is the only thing you can think to say. 

“So you’re trying to tease her?” Amber asks, her eyes flashing, “Is that it? Get her all horned up for you so she’ll take you into a bathroom and fuck the life out of you?” 

“I should go.” 

This time you try and push past her. It’s a mistake, you realize all at once. Amber’s hands grip your shoulders, and now your faces are inches apart. 

“I don’t see Tara anywhere. But I’m here now. I’ll fuck you better than she ever could.” 

Before you can protest, she’s surging forward, taking your lips in a rough kiss. 

You try to jerk away but your hands grip your face, holding you tight onto her. You struggle, hard, finally prying yourself away from her. 

“Hey!” You slap her off but she’s stronger than you. She pushes you against the bathroom counter, sending toiletries flying to the floor. You grunt in pain as your back hits the counter. Before you can recover, she’s close again. Hands under your skirt, groping. 

��Don’t be such a fucking tease.” She growls. “You’ve been walking around half naked all night and you’re trying to tell me you don’t want it?” 

“Not from you.” You say. You shove her off, hard as you can. She stumbles back. It’s the chance you need. You surge towards the door, fumbling with the handle. Before you can pry it open, she’s back, pressing her hand against the door. 

“Hey.” Her voice suddenly soft. Sweet. “I’m sorry. We got off on the wrong foot. How about we sit down. Get to know each other?” 

“Fuck you.” 

You tug the door. She jams her foot in the way. 

“Tara won’t believe you.” She says, voice hard, “I’m her best friend. You’re just some slut she’s been fucking for less than a year.” 

“Two years.” You tell her. “Get out of my way.” 

She stares at you for a long moment. For a second, you think she might hit you. 

“Fine. Fucking prude.” She sneers, backing off. “I didn’t want you anyway.” 

You’re shaking when you go back downstairs. Tears spill down your cheeks, your lips still sting with the force of Amber’s unwanted kiss. She’s ripped your skirt, you hold it together with your hands as you make an escape for the back door. 

It’s quieter outside, only a few people lingering. You head to the bottom of the garden, stand against the fence. 

Your lip trembles. You’re wearing Tara’s jacket, pull it tight around your shoulders. You take a breath. Try and still yourself. Tara will be looking for you soon. If she finds you like this, eyes wet and sniffling, she’ll know something is wrong. She’ll know what Amber tried to do. 

Tara’s going to kill her, you realize with a jolt. Not figuratively. She will literally kill her. Tonight, maybe. A fresh wave of tears spill from your eyes. 

You catch your breath. Steady your breathing. It’s not ten minutes before you hear the crunch of shoes on the grass behind you, and someone’s hands looping around your waist. 

“There she is.” Tara’s voice jolts you out of your reverie. She presses her lips to your shoulder, “My sweet girl.” 

You lean back into her. Sniff back your tears. She can’t see your face from this angle. You blink away your tears. 

“Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.” She asks, as she rubs your arms. She smells familiar, like vanilla and cinnamon. You breathe her in, instantly comforted. You close your eyes, turn yourself in her arms. Nestle yourself into her neck. Her lips press to the top of your head. 

“Here.” You only half lie. “Just thinking.” 

“Thinking about what?” 

“Nothing.” You mumble into her neck. 

She hums against you. 

“Should we go home?” She wonders, “It’s getting a bit sad in there.” 

You tilt your head back to look at the house.

It’s emptying out. You nod. Stand up properly. You tilt your head slightly away from her, hoping she’ll miss your puffy cheeks. She doesn’t. Her hands catch your waist, tilting your face to her. 

Her brow furrows. 

“You’ve been crying.” She says, voice soft. 

You gulp. She has you, there’s no point in lying. 

“A little.” 

“Why?” 

You could try to lie. Save Amber’s pathetic ass. But you know there’s no point. Tara knows you inside and out. She can read your every mood. Hunt out any little white lie. She knows you off by heart.

“Someone tried to kiss me.” You hesitate. “She did kiss me. But I didn’t-” You can feel the tears pricking up once more. “I didn’t want it.” 

Tara blinks. Her hands on your waist tighten their grip. 

“Who?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” 

“It matters.” Tara says through gritted teeth. “Tell me. Now.” 

“Tara-“ 

“Baby, if you don’t tell me who it is I’m going to take my knife and slit the throat of every girl in that house.” 

You swallow hard. She isn’t kidding, you can see it in her eyes. 

“Amber.” 

Her eyes flash, but not with anger. Something else. Hurt, maybe, betrayal. Her jaw clenches. You put your hands on her forearms, try to bring her back to you. 

“Tara. Baby. It’s okay-” 

You can see the fight behind her eyes. 

“I knew she’d try something like this.” She says, sounding aggravated, “Bitch. She’s always wanted my things, even when we were kids.” 

Tara looks back to the house. Steadies her grip on your shoulders. Her hands cup your cheek, wiping away your tears. Her gaze drops a little lower, lingering on your ripped skirt.

“What happened to your skirt?” She asks. You swallow hard. “Did she do that?”  

You hesitate. She leans in, presses a reassuring kiss to your lips.  

“Tell me exactly what happened.” She says as she pulls away, voice quiet, “Every detail.”

And you do. She listens, a quiet storm brewing behind her eyes. When you’re finished, she takes you in her arms, presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m so sorry, baby.” She murmurs. “I never should have left you alone.” 

You sway in her arms for a moment, before she’s retracting, pulling her phone from her pocket. 

“I’m going to call Sam.” She says, pressing her lips to your cheek. “She’s going to take you home.” 

Your heart sinks. 

“No.” You say, “Tara, no. I want you to come home with me. I don’t want Sam-”

“I’ll be home as soon as I’m done.” She says, strokes your face reassuringly. She’s calm. Too calm. It sends a chill down your spine. You grip onto her arms. 

“Tara, no. You promised.” 

She looks at you, a little frustrated. 

“Sweetheart. She put her hands on you. She hurt you. She made you cry.” She cups your cheek, tenderly. Brushes away the fresh tears that trickle down your face, “Don’t you see? That’s why she has to die.” 

You shake your head, fervently. 

“No. That isn’t what I want. I don’t want you to kill for me, Tara. That isn’t what I need. I just need my girlfriend to hold me and tell me everything’s going to be okay, and that I’m safe with her.” 

She’s pulling you back into her arms. Cradles you tightly.

“Everything’s going to be okay.” She promises. You bury your face in her chest, comforted by her scent. “I love you. I’m going to keep you safe, I promise.” 

“You’re not going to kill her.” You say into her chest, “Promise me.” 

“Baby-”

“Promise me, Tara.” 

You’re pulling away from her, looking into her eyes. 

“I can’t lose you,” You say, cupping her cheeks. Your eyes are glistening with tears again. You grip onto her so tight, trying to make her understand. “Everytime you put on that mask you risk getting caught. And then they’ll take you away from me.” 

“Oh, baby.” She says, “Is that what you’re worried about?” 

It is what you worried about, more than anything. Sometimes you’d have nightmares about it: Tara, being dragged away in handcuffs, locked in a cell while they threw away the key. You nod. 

“No-one will ever keep you from me.” She promises. She looks so pretty in the moonlight. Soft brown eyes stare back at you adoringly, almost as if she’s not trying to negotiate murder, “I promise.” 

“You can’t promise that.” 

“Yes I can.” She says. Her lips press to yours, insistent. 

She takes your hand, presses it to her chest. 

“You feel that?” She murmurs. Her heartbeat is wild, erratic. You press your fingertips to her chest, trying to soothe her. It doesn’t work. “That’s what happens when someone tries to take you from me. It doesn’t feel good, baby. It hurts me. I can’t eat, I can’t sleep. Do you know what it feels like to have your heart racing 24/7?” 

You blink up at her. Shake your head. 

“There’s only one thing that can stop it.” She murmurs. “I know you don’t like Ghostface. But sometimes she’s the only thing that can make me feel sane again. Everytime you ask me to stop, I have to fight this storm in me. Fight my instincts. I don’t know how much longer I can fight, baby.” 

Her hands are shaking, you notice for the first time. 

You rub her arm with your hand. Duck down, press your lips to her chest. Close your eyes. 

“So, I’m going to call Sam, okay?” She’s asking now. Her eyes pleading. “She’s going to take you home.” 

Your heart jumps in your throat. 

Slowly, you nod. 

Relief fills her face. She grips onto you, squeezes you tight. 

“Be careful.” You murmur, “Please, baby, be careful for me.” 

She kisses you, soft. 

The next hour is like a fever dream. Tara puts you into Sam’s car, kisses you goodbye. 

Sam’s still trying to make up for lost time with her sister so she doesn’t ask too many questions. The drive home is almost silent, you staring out the window, imagining the tilt of Tara’s knife slitting Amber’s throat. All you can think about is her getting caught. Praying she was careful enough not to leave behind any evidence. Maybe it should worry you how little you care about someone dying. But it doesn’t. 

You climb into Tara’s bed alone, waiting for her. You stare at the ceiling. Minutes pass by agonizingly slow. All you can do is wait. 

Finally, after what must have been hours, you hear her come in the front door. You sit up, chewing your lip, anxious as you hear the shower run. 

When she opens the bedroom door, she’s dressed for bed. 

She climbs into bed with you. Wraps her arms around your waist. You turn in her arms, immediately. Press your hand to her chest. Her heartbeat is steady, normal. She’s calm. You relax. 

“She’s never going to touch you again.” Tara murmurs. She presses a tender kiss to your forehead. You don’t want to know. You burrow yourself as tight as you can in her arms. Focus on her steady heartbeat. 

“I promise.”

Next part

[d4rkthots]

夜の女王

(The queen of the night) Part one. -preview-

This story includes (mention of drugs, violence, murder, an other illegal acts -do not try at home.)

M (assassin/mafia associate) x F (Mafia Leader) seonghwa wanted you from the moment you met…

You stand staring out of your mansion window, getting where you were now wasn’t easily obtained. You wanted to become one of the most feared mafia leaders in Korea, men looked down on women, they didn’t see them as equals, you had to prove them wrong…you believed you were able to do whatever they could.

Seong-hwa was originally part of a rival gang that bullied you out of sales and becoming the biggest female dealer in Seoul. After his leader (Ryui Misano) was imprisoned for committing over a hundred murders Seong-hwa decided to help you. Seong-hwa was with Ryui when he got arrested but managed to flee and skip town.

Something about you made him want to reach out a feeling of longing, he was drawn to you before all this extra shit went down. After Ryui was arrested his other subordinate Yuto Yun received all of his properties and products, you needed to get rid of him before he targeted you. If you could get your hands on Ryui’s product you could be the biggest seller in Korea with extended connections. But you couldn’t find him.

Seong-hwa sits in a chair on his balcony, his messy black outgrown hair cascading over his forehead nearly fully covering his sharp brown eyes he stares at the scenery in front him pulling a cigarette out of its pack before dialing your number in his phone, he lights it and takes a long drag before pressing the call button and waiting.

You stare at the unknown number and answer the call after letting it ring twice. “Hello….?” You say a hint of caution in your voice.

“Hi there pretty~” Seong-hwa purrs into the receiver as he exhales a cloud of smoke.

Your eyes widen slightly and you quickly recognize the voice “…Seong-hwa…..? I thought Ryui got arrested, weren’t you with him….? How are you calling me right now?” You ask in confusion.

Seong-hwa lets out a faint laugh at your reply. “Oh dear~ you think I’m dumb?” He takes another long drag of his cigarette before speaking again. “I’ve been planning this escape for months, it finally paid off.”

You smirk slightly, flicking Your lighter a few times “so let me guess… you left town already? why did you call me…hmm?”

Seong-hwa can tell just by your tone over the phone you’re up to no good he lets out a soft sigh. “I want to make a deal.” Seong-hwa speaks plainly into the receiver and takes another long puff of his cigarette, he lets out another cloud of smoke that’s quickly blown away by the wind.

Your eyebrows raised slightly “and what might it be?”

Seong-hwa lets out a soft chuckle as he looks off into the night sky. “Ive been thinking about you…. Can’t stop. I feel like we were connected in the past life…I want to become partners with you…..Yuto’s staying at the Hyatt Regency…..Seoul bay hotel” The words came out of Seong-hwa’s mouth in a sensual way but he spoke with a serious tone of voice as well.

You scoff gently “How do I know I can trust you…..that you won't screw me like your boss did?”

“…….You don’t..” He replies back in a snarky tone of voice as he leans against the wall, he closes his eyes before taking one more deep inhale of his cigarette before exhaling and putting it out. “You’ll just have to find out for yourself~ if I’m trustworthy or not” He replies back playfully.

You wait a second before replying “…if you screw me I’ll make you regret it…” You say in a slightly threatening way “I hope you enjoy your vacation, don't miss me too much…and dont get caught…” you smirk

“Oh don’t worry dear I’m a professional~..” Seong-hwa speaks, being half sarcastic with a hint of playfulness before hanging up. The phone call abruptly ends and you hear a soft beep in your ear followed by a dial tone.

Despite Seong-hwa being a serial killer and complete psycho he acted like a genuine human he had limits when it came to assassinating (no women and no kids.)

If he wasn’t a killer he’d be a great husband.

Part two —-> (smut warning)

[deadboyfriendd]

Cochise IV: Laudanum

Summary: Today, Michael Doten would die. Today, old graves would be exhumed and a mirror image will be held in front of you. Today, you would have to speak your husband’s name. 

Warnings: Fem!Reader, Outlaw/Doc Holliday!Eddie Munson x Reader, wild west/Tombstone!AU, drug use, drug overdose (apparent suicide), death of minor character by hanging, period-appropriate death and violence, angst, fluff, smut

My content is 18+ Minors DNI

Word Count: 2.5k

Author's Note: Thanks Drac @dr-aculaaa and Jo @jo-harrington for listening to me vent and keysmash about this and let me get emotional about starting to wrap up Cochise. Love you guys <3 this one is for you <3

On this day, you wore white. 

Fingers sift past black gown and black gown again, burning a little less when it brushes the taffeta silk of your wedding gown. Dry knees scrape against soft fabric– much too soft for you. Untouched cotton catches on the hair of your legs. It squeezes at your middle much like that ugly dreadful serpent rattled its warning cry into the hollows of your ears and coiled itself tight and ugly into your ribs once more. 

On this day you wore white because, the last time you wore black, you felt the ripples between your husband’s fingers one last time. You ran your thumbs over the creases of your own to remember what his were like. Your heels sunk soft into the powdery grains of the sand outside of The Whispering Sands, a tomb trapping the hollow of your body on this day. You felt the sun on your skin almost immediately, the same way it had day after day after day– though, today it felt more like a sting. You stood outside, but felt the tether thick and winding against your back, reeling you deeper into The Sands until you pulled so hard it snapped. 

Today, you would watch another man die. 

Your footsteps were deafening as they crunched over compacted gravel, softening again as you transitioned from roadway to nothingness again, the crowd silent and tense in wait. There was not a gallows with a trap door on this side of Cochise county. Instead, a monstrous ironwood hung dry and ravenous over the west side of the city like a claw protruding from beneath the surfaces of Hell– several hundred yards out. 

The trial was fast, nothing ever happened in Cochise county that wasn’t. You’d have half a mind to call a kangaroo when you saw one, though, it was hard to argue killing a government official while the whole town watched. 

The sheriff and the plaintiff, a regal man from the state commissioner’s office, sat still and hollow-faced. The sheriff stared off in the distance, eyes rimmed red with unshed tears. You had it in your heart to knock on his door later. You would stew in silence together. You would fix him a meal and serve him a drink and refuse the money that he would inevitably leave on the counter, and you would dab at his knuckles as they seeped a deep red blood– just as he had done for you. 

Michael stood atop a stool, perpendicular to the flanks of a a broken Salt River mare, less slovenly. More sober than you had ever seen him in this lifetime. He blubbered a mess and immediately you were saddened. A man reduced to pleading. A man broken of pride and envy. 

“Just shoot me. Lord, please just let me go fast.” 

“Mr. Michael Doten,” The commissioner began, voice monotonous and stale. He had done this too many times, “You have been tried by the state of Arizona, Cochise County, and found guilty of the crime of Murder. On the evening of twenty-first day of August, in the year of our lord 1894, you fired a single shot that ended the life of State Marshall, Milt Kilmer. This crime was witnessed by Sheriff Steve Harrington, Mr. Edward Munson, and multiple other witnesses…”

“Please, Lord. An eye for an eye. Please just kill me fast.”

“Michael Doten, by the power vested in me by the state of Arizona, I hereby sentence you to death by hanging. May the lord be with you.” 

“Please, Lord.”

Soft cries of prayers ring poignant in the stale air. A broken man’s last pleas for forgiveness. Steve mouths a soft, “I’m sorry.” to Michael, before placing a rucksack over his head, pulling the noosehead over his throat and squeezing his shoulder. The mare is commanded to run. Prayers turn to chokes and then bittersweet silence.

There is a gilded line between life and death. In that moment, the sun shines too bright, the hum of the earth becomes deafening. The desert respires one heavy and pungent sigh. And all is silent again. A saguaro congregation stands in the distance, their joshua tree choirs bow their spiny heads in reverence. A silent prayer washes over the desert. 

You haven't prayed in years, but you bow your head and say a silent prayer for Michael Doten. You aren’t quite sure what for. Peace in death, maybe. Or even the blissful dissonance for silence would suffice. By the way he chokes his final breaths, you know it is too late to hope for painlessness. 

You look up, and lock your vision into a familiar warmth. You know Eddie can feel it, too. 

He is walking this line. He is standing over an old grave, just the same as you are. He is up North, cool, damp soil slipping between numb fingers and falling over a casket, how desperately he wants to peel it open and feel her chest once more for breath– how desperately he wants to crawl inside and lay himself next to her. How desperately you yearned to do the same. 

His movements are swift and sudden, rhythmic and graceful as he pulls himself on to his stallion and rides off towards the south mountain in a blind rage. The crowd dissipates at a sickeningly slow rate, and you push through hordes of black gowns and coats in search of him. You knew The Sheriff would be okay, you knew he would need his time to fester. Instead, you ran after him, toes kicking up clouds of powdery sand that sprayed behind you in clouds. 

By the time you reached the south mountain, you were breathless. The white ruffles had torn at the seam, hanging down ragged and dirty in the sand beneath you. 

It was spring, and the spring superbloom hung heavy in sheets on the mountain. The sun casting a pale gradient haze across the sky, orange mallows bleeding their bloom into the end of day, a royal hue and a vibrant pink mixing into a farewell song. 

“I felt it, too, Eddie.” Even now, you feel it. He looks at you, face angry. Just for a second, you’re afraid he might yell. “Like you’re there again, like you–”

“You’re standing over a grave?” 

“Yeah.”

“Yeah.” 

The silence was deafening, tension like bitter aspic encasing you in a mould inescabable. The seconds that passed by as you waited for him to say something were stretched like taffy. You waded through the quicksand of these moments, thrashing and drawning yourself deeper in tension. Finally, you spoke:

“Y’know, when Wilhelm died…” It’s the first time you speak his name. He feels real again, like he’s standing in front of you. You reach for his hand but find Eddie’s instead. “...when Wilhelm died I felt like I died with him. Or at least, something did. It felt like I just up and left a big fat chunk of my right there in the ground with him.” 

You squeezed his hand, firm, yet gentle, “You would have liked him.”

“Really?” He squeezed yours back.

“Yes.” It wasn’t an explanation, but it was enough. 

“You would have hated Christine.” 

“Really?”

“Yes, ma’am, you are too much like each other.” 

“What was she like?’

“Beautiful,” He started with a smile, “Pretty as a mink stole, but stubborn to Hell and back again.”

 He goes on like this, and you can see her in front of you. Barefoot and dancing in the orange mallow, firey hair against a vibrant wash of color in the background. She glows. Heavenly and celestial. Her feet are light and nimble. She never sleeps, she says, she says she will never die. She is dancing, dancing. She says that she will never die. 

“She sounds wonderful.”

It does not seem like a suffice enough answer. To be compared to something so lovely– so grand, as something so plain and mended. 

“She was.”

“Wilhelm was too.” and he was, tall and beautiful and lively as she. He is also never sleeping. He is also dancing. He also says that he will never die. 

“You know, you never say anything about him.” He says to you, turning in your direction, finally. 

You shrugged, allowing yourself to meet his eyes for just a moment, “I guess I’m just so used to the whole town knowing everything about me.”

“Well, I’d like to know about you, too.” 

He is close now, impossibly close. Decadently close. A closeness you have not felt since Wilhelm. It was sickening to know how close you felt to both of them. 

“I’m just a widow. I run a bar.”

“But it wasn’t always that way.”

“No, not always.” 

“Then tell me about him.”

“He was tall. The tallest man I had ever met.” You go on like this, describing to Eddie in full detail the discrepancies and your favorite, beautiful details of your beloved, then, finally, you spoke of his death, “That night, a handful of bandoleros came into The Sands. They took everything. They cleaned out the humidor. The last thing they wanted was his ring– h-he, he wouldn’t give it up.” Your voice wobbles, you don’t stop the tear from rolling down your face. 

“Christine died in her sleep,” He starts, and it is confiding and all-encompassing, “I like to think that she was finally at peace with whatever she was fighting. Maybe herself. They said it was laudanum. They said we wouldn’t ever know if it was an accident or not.” 

You’d have half a mind to ask him what he thought. It was better saved for another day. But you would always wonder. 

“I’m sorry, Eddie.” You chided, it felt long-winded, insincere, even. Maybe because you had heard it so many times yourself. But by the nature of practicality it felt correct. 

He shrugged at the insincerity. If he felt it, he would never say it aloud. There was a pause, in which he completed his next words carefully. You were past informality now, just as you were past Edward or Wilhelm or Christine. 

 “We aren't so different, y’know.” You begin, backtracking on that ugly, overused phrase like a tar. He is looking outwardly into the distance. You wonder if he sees her dance too. 

He turns towards you, purple overtaking the sky in a solemn pitfall of night, “But we are” 

“And how is that?” You ask, almost snide. A smile curls at the corners of your lips. Orange and yellow overtake the bowl of mountains to the west. 

“Ma’am, I feel like I could love you.”

“Not the same way you loved her.”

“You can’t love me the same way you loved him.” 

“But I could try.” 

He is walking this line. He is standing over an old grave, just the same as you are. He is up North, cool, damp soil slipping between numb fingers and falling over a casket, how desperately he wants to peel it open and feel her chest once more for breath– how desperately he wants to crawl inside and lay himself next to her. How desperately you yearned to do the same. But this time, he finishes the pile and sets it with his hands. A final goodbye to Christine. 

He pulls you from the sand where you lay, pulls you into the bed of orange mallow and lays you to rest upon your back. 

He is slow to undress you, planting his lips like glue upon your skin to mend whatever pieces he can find. His fingers are nimble and fumbling as he pries apart the button snaps of your dresses with more force than necessary. Desperate to feel your skin– quick to take his time. 

He nips gentle marks across your chest, flesh gathering between teeth like ruffles. You do not yelp or cry out like Christine did. Instead, your breathy sigh washes over his face like a spring breeze, and your back arches to give leeway for his hands to find purchase. 

He is relentless in your dresses, pulling underclothes over the soft hair of your legs and feeling his way up again with wide, warm palms. His clothes come quickly after.

He undresses you in your entirety, then pauses to look over your body. You are not a woman who cowers away from his gaze, not a woman who slinks from his touch. You do not move your arms to cover yourself, instead, you let the waning heat of the sun bathe your skin in an ambergris orange glow. 

For a moment you stare at each other, taking in his form. Really, he is beautiful. Alabaster skin against a bleeding purple sky. He does not cower from your gaze, nor does he flaunt himself for you in a ridiculous masquerade of masculine offense. Instead he looms over you like the sun, warming your skin with his radiance. 

In him you do not see Wilhelm. Instead you see yourself. 

Mimicked faces of ecstasy mirror over when he pulls two gentle fingers through you, plunging them in a slow, methodic rhythm. It is soothing as much as it is arousing. A thumb rolling circles over the right places, placating a birdsong of quiet, breathless sighs not unlike his own. 

His skin is soft against yours when he enters you, flesh against flesh creating a warm friction masked by sand and sweat. 

His head is against your shoulder, teeth grazing over the flesh there and taking it in gently. His hands have purchase against your waist, keeping you grounded in place as he continues. His hair is soft against your neck, lye pungent in your nostrils as he encompasses your grief in his own jar and shelves it for another day. 

This evening, you will lay naked in the sea of this spring’s superbloom. He will roll the petals of the orange mallow over your skin and you will laugh as he twists the flower in circles. You have not laughed like this since Wilhelm. He has not laughed like this since Christine. 

On this day, you wear white. Married to your grief and eloped to this place.

On this day, you watched another man die, but you also breathed life into another man through nimble whispers and breathless sighs. 

On this day, you walked the plane between life and death. You held a man’s breath in your hands, so thick with his spirit you felt you could store it in a jar until you were ready to forgive him. 

On this day, you spoke Wilhelm’s name, and severed the tie that bound you to grief. 

You would not be healed today, but you say you will never die. 

[crossedsabers10s]

pookers gimme some words

ive got a vague idea and half a scene?

its supposedddd to be for an AU where Damon and Enzo escaped at the same time in the fifties and eventually caught up with Maggie and Damon just third wheeled for so long it went full tricycle. Fast forward forever and boom sort of canon with a few allowances for Damon being slightly less murderer-y about trying to free Katherine:

It starts off with a brown paper package, innocent and nothing unusual. On her way into the Boarding House, Elena almost trips over it on her way to meet Stefan. Cursing and nursing her stubbed toe, she picks it up and takes it off the porch and into the house rather than leave it to the whims of the already gloomy looking sky. With one last glare, she leaves it on the kitchen counter. 

She promptly forgets about it, even when she and Stefan find another on the porch that afternoon, tagged with international stickers. Assuming Damon ordered something, they bring it in and go back to playfully debating the merits of modern versus older cinema. 

Then the boxes multiply. 

...

“Did a delivery truck throw up in here?” Jeremy asks, staring around at the army of packages covering just about every free surface of the den. Interspersed between antique furniture and every hoarded knickknack deemed worthy of display by various Salvatores sits cardboard containers and crates of various sizes. 

“Reverse robbery?” Caroline theorizes, toeing a particularly beat up looking box. Something inside rattles. She freezes, then slowly withdraws her foot. 

Yet another box under his arm, Stefan returns from answering the door. “I don’t know what’s going on,” he says, words coming out like he suspects that the plague of mystery boxes that has descended onto his house like brown paper packaged locusts will soon consume the entire town, “but I have spoken to way too many delivery people today.”

“I don’t know,” Bonnie says, sitting on a throne made of cardboard, feet kicked up on a crate. “That second to last guy was pretty cute.”

Stefan tosses the box onto a pile in the corner. “You can take over signing for things.”

Bonnie looks contemplative. 

“Have you opened any?” Caroline asks him, looking like she’s two seconds away from finding a box cutter herself. 

“No,” he tells her. “They’re not mine so….”

“They must be Damon’s,” Elena finishes for him, eyes on a sticker that declares one crate to be from Florence. 

“All the more reason to snoop,” Caroline informs them, picking up one of the smaller, shoe-boxed sized ones and shaking it. Nothing shatters, so whatever it is, it’s not easily broken. 

“Until he figures out we opened his stuff and gets his revenge,” Stefan says with the grim certainty of a younger sibling. 

“And it’s an invasion of privacy,” Elena points out. 

“Yeah, but,” Jeremy says, eyeing one of the biggest boxes in the room with unabashed interest. “Would Damon respect your privacy?”

Stefan pauses. 

Elena makes a face. 

Atop her throne, Bonnie snorts. 

Caroline laughs at the very notion. 

“No, actually,” Stefan says after a moment. 

Sensing victory, Caroline waves the box at him. 

He reaches out for it, obviously having deemed whatever revenge Damon will perform worth it. “Fair’s fair.”

Elena says something about not stooping to Damon’s level, but she makes no move to stop them. 

They all relocate to the kitchen, Stefan leading the way, prize in hand, everyone else following after with various levels of pretending not to be curious on their faces. It doesn’t take long to finish clearing a few stray boxes off the table. 

Stefan plops their prize slash possible doom down in the middle. They all crowd around it, snagging front row seats. Despite their curiosity, no one makes a move towards it, each of them just eyeing the perfectly innocent package sitting there. 

After a moment of this, Caroline says, “Someone open it.”

“You open it,” Bonnie tells her, squinting at the box like she’s checking for visible curses. It appears she finds none, as the box remains unblasted into oblivion. 

“What, no way! I mean. I think Stefan should open it.”

Stefan eyes her. “Why me?”

“Because if you open it, you have plausible deniability. They were delivered to your house.”

“I know they’re not mine. Damon will know I know that they’re not mine. Did I tell you about the time he replaced all the decor in my room with taxidermied animals while I slept? Because if I touch his stuff, he’s going to do worse than making me wake up right next to a squirrel forever frozen in agony.”

“Where did he even get all of those?” Elena says hauntedly.

“Wait, wait,” Jeremy says, “when was this? Is this before or after the time he stuck me fifty feet up a pine tree for breathing on his precious bourbon?”

Caroline talks over him. “You were ready to do it a minute ago!”

Stefan grimaces. “That was before I remembered the freaking mountain lion he put in my bathroom.”

From there they open the box to find a bunch of pics and stuff that are basically a lil timeline featuring Damon Maggie and Enzo--including Maggie and Enzo getting married where Damon's best man, a bunch of other cute pics, then eventually they find like. Smuttier ones.

“Pictures!” Caroline repeats, looking for all the world like all she’s missing are a string of pearls to clutch. 

“Did he know?” Elena asks, looking back at the wedding photos, every face in them smiling happily. “God, you don’t think Damon killed him, do you?”

They’re interrupted by Jeremy’s yelp. He slams the picture face down on the table, whites of his eyes visible. “I think he knew!”

“What?”

“Yeah,” Jeremy says, carefully not looking down at the table. “He knew, he definitely knew—hey, I think Elena was right, this is an invasion of privacy, maybe we should—uh. Stop.”

“Please tell me you didn’t find a picture of a corpse,” Stefan says flatly. 

Jeremy shakes his head, hair flopping. “Nope, no corpses. God, I hope there were no corpses.”

“Now I’m curious,” Caroline says. Before Jeremy can yank the photo away, she grabs it. “If Damon didn’t just kill the guy whose wife he was banging, then what—“ She trails off, eyes widening. 

Resigned, Jeremy says, “Vamp speed is cheating.”

Caroline’s not paying him any attention. The rest of the table watches in interest as her jaw drops, both eyebrows raised. She blinks once. Closes her mouth. 

“Well,” she says. Stops. Blinks again and tilts the photo to the side like it will make more sense that way. “Well. Uh. Hm.”

Bonnie starts, “What are you—“

Caroline shushes her. “I’m rearranging my world view, give me a second. You know, this actually explains a few things.”

“Explains what?” Jeremy asks. 

Caroline raises a few fingers. “That thing with Elijah. Whatever he had going on with Alaric—“

“What? No way—Ric’s not—“ Jeremy falters. “You don’t really think…?”

Caroline raises a brow at him. “Drinking buddies?” 

[toiletwipes]

IM WAITING FOR THE PUNISHMENT, I KNOW ITS ON MY WAY | vampire!wilbur

~3k words / hey hey hey. so ahah. yeah. @l0veb0mb1ng keeps dropping bangers and they have good vampire fics so I couldn't help myself! blame her! anyways. hope yall enjoy!

[You get a little too invested in the murders happening around the city and get introduced to the phrase: fuck around and find out. Wilbur happened to be the person to save you. And he's kind of a vampire. Roll the tapes.]

Nothing makes sense in this fic, I am so sorry but the title is from Custer by Slipknot. I'll do a part 2 <//3

When one pictures their ideal death, it usually involves passing on during their sleep or perhaps something just as kind, maybe old age.

All this to say this is not what you pictured for yourself.

Curled up, in someone else's arms, a half-stranger, cradling your body as the two of you put pressure on the wound in your neck. You can hardly speak, struggling to even breathe, and all you can see is this man, speaking to you and you're hearing none of it. And after considering everything, yes you don't want to die… but dying in his arms seems nice.

A very handsome man, with brown, wispy, curling hair into his eyes as he looked over you, around you as he tried to find anything that could help. There was nothing. And you liked the way his eyes were red, despite knowing why they're red. His smile, you remember, had been the prettiest thing you'd ever have the pleasure to see.

"Wil-" you choke on the blood on your mouth, trying to speak, and his hands shake as they press harder on your neck and he shushes you, every part of him shaking even with the weight of your body in his lap.

"It's okay, you're gonna make it out of here, the ambulance-" and you lift a trembling hand to graze his cheek. It leaves a streak of blood on his cheek by his mouth.

"Smi- le. P-p-... please." And the two of you hear the sirens already, and his eyes flicker between the street and your face. And he chokes on air he doesn't need before flashing a small smile.

"You're going to make it out of here, I swear. You'll make it." He kept repeating it even as you felt the ache, the pain in your neck dull. Before you could realize it, you're being placed on the ground, gently as he could and without the added pressure from him, you gasp and gag on the flowing blood. But it doesn't last long, bright lights show and people slide into your blurring vision.

For better or for worse, you close your eyes and let them deal with it. Sleep tempts you enough to listen.

***

Blinking your eyes awake, you tilt your head to the side to see the monitoring equipment and the IV attached to your arm. You swallow, with an extremely dry throat you notice, and look away. You've always had a weak stomach when it comes to these things. Looking around as much as you could though, there's no one in the room. Your eyes trail to the door with the window and open blinds and people pass by every few seconds. Nobody opens the door.

You sigh, not that you really expected someone but… the last thing, the very last thing you remember, is the smiling face of a truly beautiful man. The thought of it, separated with the choking on your own blood part, still makes you feel warm.

The table beside you has your things on it, your phone and your keys. And a bouquet of flowers sitting in a vase, the prettiest you'd seen. You recognize tulips and carnations but nothing else. Still the white and blue flowers are pretty and thoughtful.

No tag on them to show who the flowers were from. Frowning, you take your phone, groaning for a second as you reach with a weak arm. Leaning back into the bed out of breath, the phone lays on your stomach, the cold screen apparent through the thin sheets.

When you catch your breath, you're quick to unlock the phone, going straight to your call log. There's a missed call from your boss and then there's your aunt in town, but there's one call that makes your eyebrows raise up.

It's a phone number you don't recognize, but checking the text messages, it seems like you did know him. Or, were going to know him. And then it all comes back to you.

Meeting him at night, having information about these strange killings in your part of the city, and then after a week of this, being attacked. Not by him. Something else entirely. And he'd tried his best to call the ambulance, let them know of your location and held tight to make sure you made it till then. At least you think. (And if you think hard enough, you remember part of his name. Will, maybe.)

The last thing you truly do remember is his smile and the warmth it brought you even when touching him made you shiver and the cold ground still sink into your bones, even now in this hospital, you could feel it.

The door opens and a doctor walks in.

He explains you lost a lot of blood, that they managed to get to you in time and that if they were a minute late, you wouldn't have been here. But then he explains that you've got a patch on your neck, that despite losing so much blood, it didn't even need stitches. ("It was… strange.")

When you asked about the flowers, he hums and scratches his beard, "I think I saw a guy deliver them to your room but other than that, I don't know I'm sorry." You mumble your thanks, sinking into your bed before the nurse comes back in and you ask for another blanket.

They let you out after twenty-four hours, and you make it home in time to see… nothing has changed.

Everything was exactly as you left it.

Which also meant the dinner you were in the middle of eating was still there. You grimace, throwing the whole plate away as you move through your apartment. Nothing had been out of place.

Tapping your fingers against your folded arms, you think absently about the wound. About how you asked if he could anything, from that night, and he froze, it was for a split second but he froze. And then he shook his head, stopping and cutting himself off every few words. But it sounded mostly like he couldn't do it. Like it would hurt him. And hey, modern medicine has its wonders, so you're not too upset.

But that night when you go to peel the bandage back after getting completely undressed to shower, your breath is stolen completely. There is hardly a wound, sign that a wound was ever there in the first place. There's two tiny dots, dragged down in a jagged line, but they're mostly scars. Fresh, and still tender when you graze over it with a finger, but still. Scars.

It made you wonder.

Whatever he did, he didn't make you into something like him. That much was obvious. The hospital food had left you hungry for real food, but the food was still things like a sandwich or a box of donuts, things like that. Nothing like whatever made him hungry.

So, scrubbing your skin off of any dirt, you get out, and dry as fast as you can. Throwing on shorts and a hoodie, you sit in the middle of your bed, arms wrapped around your legs as you dialed the phone number to this man.

He doesn't answer. And he doesn't answer the second call, and that's when you leave the voicemail. "Hey, um, Will, is that right? I- it doesn't matter, or it's not that urgent but it matters to me but I need you to call me? Or something because I'm seriously freaking out and something's wrong. Please call me back." You've never felt more pathetic in that moment but what could you afford to lose?

Dignity means nothing to you right now and as you pad to your kitchen to eat, you just knew you needed answers. Leaving your phone on the bed just in case because if he calls, and you know it's a bad time to be petty, you want him to feel just a little desperate like you did. Enough to call you a second time.

And when you come out of the kitchen after eating the leftover soup in the fridge, you see your phone has one missed call. And nothing else. Not even a voicemail.

You wonder if you should call him back when you hear frantic banging on your door. Glancing at your phone one last time, you manage to convince yourself that it couldn't possibly be him. It's way too soon, there's no way he lives close by and when did you ever give him your address?

The frantic banging didn't stop until you slide the lock off the door and opened it, and your mouth gaped open at seeing him. Him.

"I-" you stammer, struggling to form a thought. "I called you like four minutes ago, how-" he waves his hand and stops you from talking again.

"Will you let me in? And show me what's wrong?" His voice pleads with you and you bite down on your lip, chewing as you contemplated it for a second. It is why you called him, after all.

Letting him in, you lock the door behind him and show him to the couch. He doesn't sit but you're too bothered to care about it, you sit with your legs tucked under you.

"I want to start by saying I don't exactly remember everything that night, just that I was supposed to meet you and when I did, I got attacked and I- I almost died."

("Hey, hey, stay with me, you're going to be okay. Y- you're going to make it, just- just listen to my voice okay?" His voice shakes in your memory. And you have to pull all of your strength together to stay focus, even with all the blood leaving and choking and the hot, blinding pain in your neck.)

He doesn't move but you can see the flashes of emotion on his face.

"And- and when I got home and went to take a shower, it's just. Well, look." You stuttered through the beginning, breath catching in your throat as you thought about it and when you pulled the jacket down enough, just to show the scars, he stiffened. "And I wanted to know if you did anything to me- if you tried to heal me, even a little bit-" and he shakes his head, turning away and to the window. He stands by it and yeah, you look at his hands, they're closed and shaking with how hard he's clenching them.

"I told you at the beginning, there are going to be risks, looking into this." And he turns around, face definitely angry and frustrated. He can't cry, and it's not a thing of refusing to, no you can see them building in his eyes and they just won't fall. "If I tried to save you the way I was, you would have rathered me to kill you by now." And he starts pacing.

You look down at the ground, not feeling an ounce of guilt or regret. You know the truth of those murders, first hand. You know what's killing them and that's more than what the public knows. But it almost killed you.

"You have to drop it." He speaks.

And automatically, you refused, "no." You didn't even want to entertain what he wanted you to do.

"Either you stop looking into this or you die. It's as simple as that." He says, moving away from the window and towards you.

"The people need to know they're not safe-"

"-they already know!" He shouts, stopping four steps away from you. He digs his palms into his eyes, "five people have died the same exact way and nobody has been caught. People already know they're not safe. And if you tell them what, a fucking blood-sucking demon is the person behind it, they'll never believe you. And then you'll still get killed just like everyone else." He drops the palms from his hands and then steps closer, and despite being so frustrated and scared, your heart beats harder at being so close to him.

"You almost died already, just please stop." His hands hover over your neck and face, close enough to feel the chill of his cold skin.

"I can't stop. The people who died-" "-they're already dead, there's nothing you can do for them." And he steps away and when you watch him, he releases a breath he doesn't need. He turns away and for a moment, things are quiet.

And thinking real quick, to the moment where he stood so close and stared you in the eye like you staying alive mattered more than the justice these people deserved- you recall the dark irises. Nothing like the red color before.

"You're hungry." You state, and his shoulders tense up. "Why?"

"Trying to lose weight, it doesn't matter. That's not what I'm here for." He refuses to turn around.

"It- I just- there's still one thing that I'm confused about." He doesn't say anything as you stand up, moving closer to him. "I was bleeding out, I was right there. It would've been easy to-"

"To kill you?" He turns around and the both of you freeze at how close the other is, despite him being far more aware of it. And yes, that's what you want to know. He was right there, the same kind of creature that's killing your city's people, holding your bleeding body and you were right there.

"It would've been easy," you say, and his eyes dart to your face. He searches your eyes for something you can't describe.

"It wasn't." He said in the end and then backed up, backs away from you, holding his breath again. "Stop trying to be a hero and lay low for a while." And then he slammed the door on his way out.

***

It's one thing, to be told to stop being a hero, it's another to follow through with the advice. It's not like you wanted to die, far from it. But knowing what you know, you couldn't just let everyone fend for themselves against a feral vampire.

Not to mention, you're not going to listen to someone be cryptic, be the prettiest man you've ever met, and then leave you alone to make stupid decisions.

So right now, you've been following whispers and half-true rumors about this guy. It leads you all the way to this house. Right on the corner and in the middle of a neighborhood. You wonder if that's by choice for a second before wandering inside, quiet as you could with creaking floorboards. Not to mention, the door was already unlocked and swinging in the wind.

Not a good sign.

The inside was in a worse state. Things toppled over, blood splattered every imaginable surface. Bodies littered the floor. It was harder to hold the bile in as you followed the trail of chaos up the stairs, following the noise. As soon as you reach the top of the stairwell, you hear Will's voice and your heart beats a little faster. What the fuck is he doing here? And after a few whispered words, you heard vile things.

Limbs torn, flesh bitten off. Awful stuff and by the time you can even think of moving your feet because was that Will? Did he just die? You see something tossed across the hallway and seconds later, Will walks into your line of sight. He is just covered in blood. It's smeared around his mouth, coating his hands and it's seeping into his clothes. His hair caught some of it but in all honesty, he looked every bit of monster he claimed to be.

And you couldn't feel more relieved to see him.

"Oh thank fucking- you're alive." You feel your shoulders drop and you run up the stairs, just close enough to wrap your arms around his shoulders and press your forehead against his chest, standing on the lower step. You make a point to ignore the blood.

His hands slowly come up to rest on your shoulders, pushing you away enough to give him space. Enough space to tilt your head back to meet his eyes. His eyes are wide, wild and completely red. Brighter than anything.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" His voice drops in pitch and it's almost a growl with the way he speaks so low. And shit, you were supposed to stay low, weren't you?

"I caught wind of the guy being here and I was just-" your words get caught off as you watch him move, his hands dragging blood across skin and clothing, wrapping themselves around your throat in a delicate motion before pushing you against the wall, still on the stairs.

"Yeah, he's dead. Made sure of it." Your eyes, previously focused on his face, dashed to look at the dead body's direction but he clicked his tongue, lifting a finger to nudge your face back towards him. "Eyes on me." And something about him, probably knowing he's a monster, covered in blood, right after killing the man you've been tracking down, makes his gentle touch feel even softer.

He groans, leaning his nose into your hair and inhaling, and he nearly covers you in his body with how close he is. "Can feel your heartbeat under my hands, it beats so fast. Thinking about me?"

And you know your heart beat even faster, knowing he could hear it, feel it. "Are you gonna kill me this time?" You ask, because this is a strangely ill-fitting position to kill someone. Because you want him to be this close because…

"Oh, I don't want to kill you- maybe get a taste of you but," he moans into your hair, a hand leaving to press against the wall beside your head, "no, no. Want you alive. Want you begging, squirming underneath me. Need you. Need you so fucking bad" And then he presses even closer, his hips pressing against yours and you can feel him. Feel him hard and twitching beneath blood-soaked clothes. And by then you couldn't keep your hands off of him, coming up to grip his clothes, bite back your whines as he continues to grind you against the wall.

Then, a moment of clarity, you remember you're in a house full of dead bodies. Probably all monsters.

"Take me home, Will, and you can have me," whatever possessed you to say that, you don't know. But he pulls back and as you're about to head downstairs, he presses a hand against the back of your head, pulling you close to him as he kisses you. Hard with teeth clacking against each other, nipping at your lip before pulling away. Listening to you pant against his mouth.

"Hold on," he whispers against your lips, stealing another kiss before wrapping your arms and legs around him and all you can think as the world blurs around you is how lucky you are you aren't dead. Strange thing to say before you get fucked into the next week by someone who is probably legally dead- after he just slaughtered a house full of monsters- quite the strange thing to say.

But still. You're lucky. You're alive, and you're starting to think you might like this guy.

Strange things indeed.

[krii-bolts]

eelo. been a while since I posted anything art related (What with college and all :T) soooooooooooooooooooooooooo..

Fuck it, Have the main twin mcs refs of my "Murder Drones: Silver 4" oc world-thingy

Luger and Gewehr !!

Technically ive drawn both of em before, in this initial MDS4 post right here but Gewehr didnt have any name at the time so yeah. They needed proper refs big time lol

Below the keep reading is just. further oc info about the two + some info of Silver 4 / Town as a whole :)

Now. im off to draw more stuff, yeet

Luger and Gewehr are twins, thus same blue coloration for their LEDS

Both their names are based off of German Guns! Luger being a pistol, and Gewehr a rifle. May give em German as a secondary language they may blurt out at times, who knows lol

As seen in the art, Gewehr has biker gear and Often travels on motorcycle to explore the sun-scorched side of Silver 4

The Twins both live in a half-bunker, half-above ground town of a colony called "Dusk 28", in Silver 4's twilight / terminator zone

Gewehr doesnt have any memories of their father. Luger only has fragmented and disconnected memories of him.

Luger is part of Dusk 28's resource gathers, AKA going out and collecting shit for the colony. Im sure that wont end badly for him :)

Now for some Silver 4 info !

Silver 4 is Tidally locked after a incident with one of its 3 moons went... "kaboom", with the resulting after shock wiping out (assumingly), ALL HUMANS ON SILVER 4!!!

Silver 4's main moons go as followed: smallest is "Hope", next is "Wish", and the biggest (and one that went """kaboom""") was called "Promise".

Its no longer called "Promise". Its now called "Cursed Moon" (very creative i know).

There are rumors of "Boogeymen" and "The scrapped" out there spread about by drone colonies, though no one has yet to confirm or deny them..... yet.

anyways, all I'll put here for now lol :P

[turvuren]

cAN I CAN I CANICANICANIIIII

CAN I ASK YOU TO WRITE SOMETHING #WHUMP ABOUT MOON!PHOSPHOPHYLLITE/LITTLE VERS!PHOSPHOPHYLLITE????

and at the same time I’ll share my thoughts on this topic, like, you can ignore them but I just wanted to share so yeah

Maybe Moon / Phos M/F uhoh

I think Phos barely knows Moon...Like, she saw him a couple of times but that was all🤔

Moon is damn tall. Imean...5'8-5'9"??????? And Phos, on the contrary, is a rather short huh, small cute and fragile >:з

I think they would have a small age difference, about a year..

In general, that's all I would like to say, lol, bro. You don’t have to include thoughts in general in the post if you do write something, but it would be great if they were in the post :0

lol i usually write rutile centric stuff 😭😭 I'm pretty indifferent towards phos but I'll try OK SO ive had this idea for a while... sibling phoses. i couldnt think of a way to write them with diff names without it sounding corny in eng, i liked genki phos anyways. like imagine his literal name being winter or moon... or by god, joy. lol

name should be self explanatory. genki - happy, so its the og phos. tsuki - winter. winter phos. tsuki - moon. thats it

cw incest sorry not sorry.

"What the hell is that fucker's problem?..." "What?" Phos shakes her head, gesturing at the man with the weird bucket hair and that weird prosthetic eye. Because no way in hell there's anyone with a natural white iris, right? And heterochromia doesn't work that way. Never does. Her roommate, some weird girl Phos doesn't even bother remembering the name of, just shrugs. "That's just how he usually acts. I think he's a third year." "Still a goddamn weirdo." Phos is messing with the vending machine when he comes across her again, and she just about screams in shock - until she gets a nice, long look at that stupid face. "...brother..?" "Hiya. Long time no see?"

There are 3 Phos's - at least in this small little town. The youngest, Genki, the middle child, Fuyuki, and the eldest half brother to Genki and Fuyuki - Tsuki.

See, Tsuki was a little bit of a brat. And a troublemaker. Genki had never met him, only told stories of him - don't ever turn out like your brother, yadayada, he had been a little bit more than just a handful after - "You're a murderer," Genki says, getting a bit scared now. "How...? Aren't you supposed to be in prison?" Tsuki laughs. "Parole, kid. Anyways, never really seen you in person. What's your name again...? Gen...?" "Genki. You're..." "Tsuki. Your beloved big brother-" "Hell no!" Genki backs away. "Look. Get the hell away from me. I've seen you, watching me these past few... everything! What do you want?" Tsuki laughs again, grating, grating sound against her ears. "What? Can't even look at my own little sister?" "Absolutely not. Go fuck yourself." "What? We just met and you're telling me off?" Genki shakes her head. "You're a damn criminal. I will NOT associate myself with the likes of you - now if you'll excuse me, I have CLASS-" He grabs her by the shoulder and presses his lips against hers. For a moment, Genki is a stunned, unable to react, but as her thoughts return she pushes him away. "What the fuck-?" "I'll make this quick," Tsuki cuts her off. "I'm single. Lonely. You don't wanna see your big brother-" "Cut it out with that big brother crap! You're not my brother, I only have one, and that's-" "Fuyuki? Oh, he's much more pliant compared to you, isn't he? But that's what makes me... endear you. You're so much more feisty, more personality." "I-" "Back to the point. Nobody likes me around here." "And what makes you think I do?!" "Well? We're family. You share my blood. My dirty, murderer blood." "That's not true. We're not even-" "Fully related? That's true. I guess you're only half murderer." "Cut it out!" "No." Genki grits her teeth. What an infuriating bastard. Not even anyone else comes close to this level of... of... "Look, Gen," Tsuki sighs. "I just want someone to spend time with little ol me. Don't you pity me?" Genki narrows her eyes. Maybe... maybe. He's... kind of making her feel bad. "Fine. What do you want?" Oh, but how wrong a decision that is.

Genki buries her face in her hands as Tsuki pulls away, cigarette smoke filling the hotel room. Bite marks over her exposed shoulders where the covers can't hide her shame. "Well? That wasn't so bad, was it?" Dirty. So dirty. This murderer ... and her. "You did a great job there, sis. Don't mope about it. Poison isn't so bad. At least he died quickly. Painlessly." "Painlessly? Really?" They're not so different, are they?

[original-character-championship]

REAL NULL PROPAGANDA HOURS!!

(submitting this now so i don’t forget when the polls are posted lol)

you might be thinking. who is this chump? and why should i vote for them?

well.

this weird lizard is NULL and they are the blorbo from my brain!!!

Some random facts abut the beast:

1. Null used to be ½ of a god (kinda). They were created when a mage tore one of the universe’s founding deities in half due to a misunderstanding (long story). Both halves of this god-soul congealed into a physical form, with one half becoming Null (and the other half becoming Null’s evil twin sibling Nil).

2. Null is made out of rock. No, seriously. When Null was first formed, they were more energy than physical matter. They wandered into a cave and just went to TOWN eating rocks and incorporating it into their body. so null is entirely rock and mineral based and is kept alive entirely by freaky otherworldly “magic” (once again, long story).

3. considering Null was formed from the corrupted deity of death and destruction, Null was SUPPOSED to hunt down their counterpart Nil, kill them before Nil manages to kill Null, and be reformed as the true destruction god once again. instead, Null sat in a cave for like, 100 thousand years longer than they were supposed to.

4. Everyone wants Null to be the protagonist soooo bad but Null would much rather go back to their cave and take a nap. They only left the cave because the mountain they lived under Completely Collapsed on top of them.

5. Instead of doing what they were SUPPOSED to do (kill Nil), Null spent their time wandering with their new friends and having a fun adventure learning about the big huge above-ground world while aforementioned friends are DESPERATELY trying to lead Nil and their posse on a wild goose chase and stalling them as long as possible because, unlike Null, Nil IS actively trying to hunt down and murder Null. Null is aware of this, they just don’t care.

6. At various points, Null becomes: a semi-famous sculptor, a baker, a folk legend, a criminal, an archivist, an archaeologist, a geologist, an unlicensed therapist, and a temple statue (….long story.)

7. Cares WAY more about doing whatever the hell they want instead of following fate or expectations or anything.

8. Specifically USED to be ½ a god and not CURRENTLY ½ a god specifically because of how souls work in the universe. Null (and their counterpart Nil) both start out as literally just. half of the destruction god’s soul. but after going through Character Development Null got their Very Own shiny brand-new soul. so when Nil eventually confronts Null and dies (badly) in the process, the god-part of their souls reform into the destruction god, but Null is still fine! Kind of. They did get turned into a rock for a while. But it’s fine! They got better!

9. Null’s favorite food is limestone. Null’s second favorite food is mango.

10. Null exists in a plane of existence known as the Mortal Coil (which i talk about in depth on my oc lore sideblog @mortalllycoiled if you’re at all interested in the Lore). There are a Lot of guys involved. here’s a simplified relationship chart as a reference for the scale so far!

11. Null is my special little guy and I am simply happy that you have observed him for a little bit. I designed this creature back in 2017 and I still love them so much its unreal. Here’s some random old art to look at!

^ the OLDEST art of Null, from 2017! this is one of my oldest digital art pieces ive done. i think we’ve both come a long way c:

anyways, thank you for observing my specialist guy Null! so go ahead and vote for them (or don’t; i’m writing this post before i know who he’ll be going up against so like. idk follow your heart <3 )

[brekkie-e]

A little annoyed as I’ve gotten very behind on some posts I was wanting to make, but fun life updates!

My grandpa broke his hip a month ago. I am sympathetic, but the family dynamic is very complicated with decades worth of baggage so it’s hard on the family beyond just concern for his health. Ive been house sitting while my own mom stayed a few states away with her abusive mother trying to get his hospital stuff worked out. She slowly lost her mind in the process, and that’s been a very difficult journey to navigate supporting.

My sister’s wedding is 2 and a half weeks away now. She lives several states away, but the wedding is in our home town (where I live) so all the prep work is being done here. Which means I’m now juggling a lot of that on my own.

My grandpa has now moved in with us after a month of being in the hospital. Some days are good. Some days are very bad. Everyone is very stressed all the time and not a single person in my family has done any work on themselves on how to handle their emotions.

I have had to accept that my chronic illness treatment stuff is entirely on hold until my sister’s wedding is over and potentially after my grandfather leaves, if he does. (Which has at this point post poned progress by like 9 weeks, and might put me back an additional 3 months down the line at this rate). I obviously have feelings about this, but I’m not really allowed to express them as that would be putting additional burdens on the family as a unit for which I would instantly be murdered.

Unsurprisingly my migraines have gotten quite bad during this entire ordeal so there at an every other day if not daily basis at this point.

My doctor changed their prescription process so now I have to file under different insurance for reasons I’m still kind of confused about. Atleast it’s the right time of year I guess.

Oh and to top it all off! I GOT MONO THIS WEEKEND.

I can’t tell if the chronic fatigue or if the emotional exhaustion is worse at this point. I Wanna Be Sedated plays vaguely in the background.

[purplelupins]

Lamb

Midnight Mass

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V Part VI

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem! Reader

Word count: 10k

Summery: An entire life of being a good girl was a difficult cross to carry...especially in a tiny town with 127 residents on a good day. You kept the town fed and spirits as high as you could, but when a new face steps off the afternoon Breeze, things around you start to change; you don't even know you're in the eye of the storm.

Warnings: nsfw, reader is religious, religious symbolism, ideology, explanations and general conversations of religion, age gap (like this man is 80 technically and he watched reader grow up, and can remember reader as a little girl so if that’s creepy to you then go no further), stalking, manipulation, murder (hello have you seen the show?), drinking of blood, hunting of a person, grief, ANGST, description of animal death, reader is described as blushing, character death, non consensual help showering, guilt and god maybe more but I think that’s it…this is not really a fix it fic

Notes: I’m sorry

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Sleep had evidently taken you during the night, though you couldn’t recall when. Sometime between you telling yourself it would all be alright, and weeping for God’s grace. Now as you opened your eyes, you half wished you hadn’t. You wished you had stayed asleep and let this tumultuous time crest over you.

They say God gives his hardest battles to his best soldiers.

You did not want to be one of his best soldiers that day.

You wanted there to have been no oil spill and for the Monsignor to come back and for Leezas accident to have never happened and for Joe to be sober and you wished you had a crush on someone when you were a teenager and you wished the world was kinder-

You wished so many things.

You only managed to pull yourself up from bed when your stomach curled painfully and begged for food at around 7:30am. You begrudgingly put your kettle on the stove, and stared out your front window.

A watched pot never boils, your mother used to say.

Does if you stare long enough, your dad would reply.

You face fell as you watched a stray leaf float past your window. Your eyes glazed over as you waited, and only refocused when there was more than just a leaf going past your window.

Erin Greene slowly walked past your house, white as a sheet, and you found yourself transfixed by her. She looked…disturbed. You had heard that she had gone to the mainland for tests, and you wondered if there was a complication with her pregnancy. Perhaps she had started taking morning walks to help…

It took a moment for you to decide to open your front door, and when you did she didn’t turn around. She was further away now, and you wanted to shout to her and ask her in for a coffee, but it was early, and you didn’t want to wake your neighbours.

You went to turn back inside- your kettle starting to whistle. But something lurched inside you then. This wasn’t you. The you that you knew would run out after her friend and check on her.

Without another thought, you were down your steps in a second and running down the road after her.

“Erin! Hey Erin!” You called to her.

Erin stopped and spun on you- her eyes red.

You were panting once you stopped, and you waited for her to say something, but went she didn’t you did. “Sorry I just…I’m making some coffee an-“

You were cut off by her wrapping her arms around you and hugging you close. You slowly returned it, rubbing her back. You didn’t know Erin very well outside of Mass or the odd conversation, but you almost felt a shock zap you when she held you. Like you connected to her somehow.

“Erin are you alrig-“

“Don’t lose yourself…” she said as she pulled away.

You stared at her and laughed nervously when she remained serious, “I don’t…what’s going on?” You asked. But when you saw that deep sorrow in her eyes, you stopped looking for a reason.

She shook her head. And sucked in a breath as she released you, “You’re smart. And you’re good. Don’t lose that. You have your life ahead of you.” She repeated, then squeezed your arms and left you there in the morning air with only your whistling kettle in your ears.

You didn’t remember eating, or drinking your coffee for that matter; but your sink full of dishes said otherwise. Erin had startled you terribly. While you could have chalked up her behaviour to her pregnancy, somehow you felt she was talking about something else entirely. It was as if she had embodied all the turmoil you had been experiencing, and had shown it to you.

Did she feel the same discomfort you had? Was this something not unique to you?

You downed a few more cups of warm drinks as you dwelled and thought. You thought about calling your family on the mainland…but they were always so busy. Instead, you sat and pulled the book you had borrowed from the Father and began to read it again. You found you had a difficult time keeping up with the book itself; the sequence of a man’s decent into Hell. It was morbid though fascinating to read…almost like a train wreck that you couldn’t look away from.

Eventually, you snapped the book shut and set it down beside you.

You didn’t know how to feel about it, and you didn’t like how heavy it weighed on your heart. Like somehow it felt all too real.

It was only when the old streetlights outside your house started to flicker on that you realized how late it had gotten. Still a few hours left before Mass. You reached for a record to play, and stared at the one closest to you. The same one you had listened to the night before the Crock-potluck.

You berated yourself for associating Father Hill with the record, but it had been such a significant night that it was difficult not to.

You mindlessly played it, and as the sound filled your home, you listened. Calm began to come over you, though you weren’t certain you liked that. Sure it was an old family record from the 90’s, and brought some nostalgia, but you didn’t find yourself thinking of your family.

You thought of how Father Hill had taken your sorrows and given them back in the form of healing. How he had taken your hand and walked you through your first confession in years. How he hadn’t judged you. How welcomed you felt.

Renewed.

How he had single-handedly entered your life and begun to mend it with such precision. As if he knew what you needed.

By the late evening you had eaten dinner and washed your dishes, brushed your hair and wrapped a warm cardigan over your spring dress. You admittedly looked a little less pristine than usual, but you tried to not let it bother you.

A breeze crept up your thighs as you began down your front steps, and you faltered for a moment. You opted instead to hop on your bike, and began pedalling down the road. Somehow you felt more at ease the faster you went, though you just assumed it was because it meant you would be outside in the cold less.

You greeted a few people as you went, and found yourself starting to calm down the closer you grew to St. Patrick’s. Then as you created the hill, you sighed in slight relief; as you slowed your pace to the side of the building, you caught the eye of Father Hill as he welcomed his parish inside as he almost always did. You sent him a small wave as you stepped off your bicycle and leaned it against the church.

“Evening Father Hill.” You said, coming up to the steps.

John smiled at you. You looked so fresh with your rosy cheeks and less neat hair.

“How are you, little one?” He asked you, focus purely on you for a moment as Bev welcomed the others who passed.

The endearment caught you off guard. More than off guard. It must have been a coincidence, but that was what Monsignor Pruitt used to call you.

You shifted a little but started to make your way past him, “I’m doing well, thank you Father. I hope you’ve been feeling alright.” You put a small smile on, though your stomach was still tight.

“Feeling even better now.” Father Hill said- the crows feet around his eyes deepening.

You nodded and quickly made your way up the stairs and inside the church to your spot on your pew. In some way it felt as if you were a little outside your body; your ears rang and you found your eyes flickering over the heads and faces around you. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and you had hoped it would pass when Father Hill started speaking, but it didn’t.

“I hope these last 39 days have been rewarding and regenerative for you all. We are here on the eve of Easter…we have all come so far together this year. When I first come here to this community, I didn’t see a failed island, no…no I saw what I know God sees and that is an island on its way to rebirth. Each and everyone of you have helped it get there too. You think you’re insignificant or that you’re just small cogs in a large machine, but you’re all so much more. You are representatives of Gods glory.” Father Hill started. You had noticed that for a few days now, his passion for his sermons had returned tenfold. And while his words still moved you, you couldn’t shake that feeling of disconnect. You felt like such an outsider that evening, and you almost checked around you to see if you had done something different.

While you tried to ground yourself, you stared at the wooden crucification of Jesus behind Father Hill as he spoke, and at some point your eyes blurred and for a moment you swore the idol and the man were one and the same. The visual was enough to make you frightened.

You looked away quickly, and focused instead on your hands. You looked at each line and your knuckles and picked at your nails and traced the veins.

Before you knew it, Mass was finishing, and you found yourself a little shaken. More than a little. You rarely tuned out a service, but the anxiety that curled in your muscles refused to leave you.

Shame prickled inside you, but somehow your trepidation overwhelmed it. You wanted to leave. Quickly.

You didn’t wait to speak to anyone that night, and certainly not Father Hill. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t know what to feel towards that church or preacher anymore. All you knew was that you didn’t feel like yourself, and that the priest only seemed to enhance that.

You heard a few people call your name as you hurried outside, and as you were just about to grab your bike, there was one voice in particular that made your steps stutter.

But still you didn’t turn back, and only got onto your bike faster, and sped away until you were racing home like the Devil himself was licking your heels.

John Pruitt stood on the top step to bid his parish a good night, but as he stepped out into the cool air, he noticed one had already slipped by.

He called your name, and could hear your heart rate spike for a moment. He could hear you quicken your pace too. You were running from him.

Guilt and worry began to fill him. This was his fault entirely- he had been lacking in his guidance for you. You hadn’t had enough of the sacrament, and you were lost. That blood in your veins was a shadow of what you deserved.

John made up his mind. You would have the gift even if he had to give it to you himself.

No lamb left behind.

In the morning, you stared at the photo of you on Easter from when you were a child. The same one Father Hill had pointed out. Your hair in little pigtails and a carefree smile…that little dress that made you look like a doll.

Now as you stood there you were far from smiling, and instead found yourself fighting the nausea that stirred in your stomach.

In your hands was the book Father Hill had given you.

Dante’s Inferno.

You hadn’t finished it, and it didn’t feel right of you to have it. It didn’t feel right for you to finish it too. Like you shouldn’t know how it ends. The more you thought about it, the more you realised the same applied to your own future. You had no inkling as to where it would end up. At one time not too long ago you might have been fairly confident that you knew where you were headed or what you might do with your life, but now you found yourself unable to trust your own judgement. When had you lost your moral compass?

You swallowed and steadied yourself. Back to the task at hand.

You stepped out your door, book in hand, and began making your way through town to the rectory of St. Patrick’s. You told yourself you were just going to leave the book on the porch and walk away. No knocking, no visit, just simple and quick.

A few people stopped you on your walk to ask if you had been alright after last night. “You left in such a hurry after Mass, honey, just wanted to make sure if you were okay.” They would say.

And you were so well practiced with your sweet smile and unbothered tone that of course they believed you when you told them you thought you had left your oven on and raced home. You even earned a laugh from one of them.

You wished you could laugh as easily as them. Smile as easily. You wished you weren’t burdened with this disturbance.

In an attempt to make yourself feel stronger, you tried to put your shoulders back, and began to walk up the hill, but the closer you got, the smaller you felt. You felt very much like a child going to the principal’s office.

That dread that had been festering in your nerves peaked as your eyes fell upon the rectory. The lights were on. Somehow that made everything feel so much more difficult. Your nerves vibrated and seemed to shake in tandem with your hands.

You sucked in a breath, and held it as you pushed yourself to walk down the side of the church and to the small house. Quickly, and as quietly as you could. Things almost seemed hopeful as you went to place the book down on the porch, but just as you bent, the door opened, and you jumped.

You were frozen in place.

“Ah, Y/n. Can we help you?” Inside, you could see Bev was sat at Father Hills desk, while Wade stood, Dolly sat and Sturge held the door open. Father Hill was standing by his bookcase. The same one he had retrieved the book you held from.

You swallowed but tried to muster up that practiced smile to seem apologetic.

“So-sorry, I’m um…I just wanted to return this book to Father Hill.” You held the book up, and went to give it to Sturge, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Bev went to speak again, “Oh that’s just fine, Sturge why don’t you take the bo-“

“Please, you’re welcome to stay,” Father Hill cut her off.

You startled again by the sound of his voice. He was watching you. Had his eyes gotten darker? “…I think we were just finishing up.” He added.

Bev smiled tightly.

You didn’t.

“Oh that’s alright, I’m sure you’re all very busy with tonight and the sheriff is actually expecting me to talk abou-“ you tried, almost looking helplessly at Sturge and Dolly as they started to file out past you. You had hoped that using Hassan would gain you some credibility, though it seemed to fall upon deaf ears.

“Please…” The Father said again, now coming closer as he followed the group, though he stopped just at the edge of the couch, “I’d like to know what you thought.” He added with a small, quick smile that showed his teeth.

John didn’t like you avoiding him. He had nothing notable against the sheriff, but somehow you wanting to prioritize a meeting with the other person irked him when you had clearly walked across the island to see him. It was as if you were crying out for help, but refusing to let yourself follow through…

Do not deny yourself my lamb…let me be your guide…let me help you.

You felt your fingers go numb and your mind start to go fuzzy as Bev slipped past you and left you alone. That was the last thing you had wanted to happen.

You gaze was fixed on the older man before you, and he grinned and beckoned you inside. A chill ran down your spine. At one time he had been a beacon, but now you weren’t so certain. It was as if he knew you weren’t yourself. Like he knew you were having doubts.

“Come in.” He said, and gestured to the chair that Dolly had sat in.

You stood in the doorway.

John could almost taste your fear. He was losing you. Fast. He needed to help you find your way back to him.

“R-really it’s okay, Father…” you tried again, weakly.

“I insist.” He replied.

You sucked in a breath, and took the step inside. You knew you shouldn’t, and your gut screamed at you to leave.

You closed the door, and timidly walked further inside.

With the door shut, John walked over to you and placed a hand on your back to guide you to sit at the desk there he sat across from you.

“I didn’t finish it, Father.” You said honestly. You felt guilty for the look of surprise on his handsome face.

He blinked and nodded, “It’s a difficult read.”

You placed the book on the table in front of you, and slowly looked up at him. It was strange to not try and fill the silence, but you truly didn’t know what to say.

You’re scaring me, Father

I’m afraid.

Of course you wouldn’t say that to him but that was all you could think of.

“I want to apologise.”

You looked up at him. You hadn’t been expecting that.

“I- forgive me…I want to apologise for not being the guide you need. My health has been unpredictable for a while, and I haven’t been there. For you, and for many others.” He said gently, leaning forward to fold his hands on the desk.

You swallowed, “That’s alright, Father.”

He stared back at you then, thinking. Contemplating.

“How are you?” He asked after a moment of studying you.

He knows.

You clenched your hand.

“I’m alright, Father.” You whispered, not that you meant to.

“Are you?” He asked. The Father refused to take his eyes off of you.

You forced that sweet smile you had, and nodded, “Definitely.”

He knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows…

You put your hands into your lap to hide how you shook.

“Good.” Father Hill said plainly, “Off you go then…big night tonight.” He smiled a little.

You nodded and stood up a little too quickly, “Yes- yes for sure. Have a good day, Father.” You already started backing away, and he stood to follow you. You didn’t dare look away from him or turn your back on him…and you didn’t know why.

“See you tonight.” John called to you as you turned the door nob. He cursed his gift in that moment. How he couldn’t walk you out…just have a little more time to calm your anxious state.

You didn’t say anything, though you did nod and smile tightly as you opened the door.

You were out the door and down the steps and walking briskly away before the Father could manage to say anything else. The door barely clicked shut from how fast you left. You kept your head down and continued that way until you were home.

The tremor in your hands hadn’t stopped. You clenched and unclenched them in an attempt to remedy it but nothing seemed to stop it. You were troubled…so troubled.

You weren’t even certain if you wanted to go to the vigil anymore. All you wanted was for that feeling to go away.

But this was Lent.

This was Easter.

It was just an evening in the church, then after that you could keep your interactions with Father Hill short, and simple until he left and Monsignor Pruitt returned.

Your gut jolted at the thought of the younger pastor staying indefinitely.

No…no Father Pruitt is on the mainland…for…months.

You pulled your knees to your chest and gripped your rosary as the night grew darker. The shadows began to envelop you in their grasp, and you found you had never missed the sunlight so much before. The power had stopped working an hour ago, and you found yourself nervous to wonder why. Now the darkness around you seemed to weigh down on you. You muttered prayer after prayer as you contemplated going, but then suddenly you stopped.

The faint sound of singing reached your ears, and you walked to your bedroom window to look down. Sure enough, there were dozens of little lights being held by islanders as they sang their way through the roads. You turned away, and looked down at the rosary in your hand; it had cut you. You pursed your lips, then sucked in a breath, and descended your stairs to the main floor and grabbed a sweater before walking quietly out your door. Beverly was stood just beyond your gate, and she paused when you caught her eye.

“Good evening, Y/n, join us.” She beckoned you down with an outstretched candle.

And against your better judgement, you went to her.

You took the candle, and she patted your arm like she cared about you. “Bless you, my sister in Christ.” She whispered, then continued singing. The hymn was pulled from you like “Please.” and “Thank you.”- you didn’t even realize you were singing until you approached the church and your throat was growing tight. A tear fell into your cheek, and you didn’t bother trying to hide it.

Just one more night. Then maybe I can go to the mainland for a while…just one night.

St. Patrick’s glowed amongst the trees. Calling you all in. As you ascended the stairs, the glow of hundred of candles swallowed you whole. Your skin prickled at the warmth, and while you didn’t notice, your hands stopped shaking. The hard, old wood of your pew was supporting your weight as you sat without thinking. You found yourself in a slight daze as you looked from left to right to see the people around you. Faces you knew so well. It was only when you looked behind yourself that you jumped a little. Hassan was sat with Ali not far away, and while it was strange to see both of them there, you found that you grew calmer knowing your friend was there.

Both then when Hassan’s eyes met yours, you found that same look of disturbance there, and it was like a bucket of ice water. He didn’t look uncomfortable. He looked…worried.

You pursed your lips and looked around a little more, and noticed that Erin was back in her usual spot. You almost wanted to sit beside her to ask if she was alright after the last time you saw her that morning…but everyone was finished sitting, and you lost your chance.

It seemed your staring was enough to make her look in your direction though, and it was like looking in a mirror. She looked horrified. Terrified.

Something was wrong.

Any comfort you had felt began to wane. You both exchanged a look, and you suddenly wondered if you had been right; perhaps that underlying terror that had been poisoning you hadn’t been unique to you.

Both of you turned away from each other after a moment, and that feeling of solitude returned. Even amongst your community, you felt so very strange.

You slowly turned back and watched Father Hill take his place on the pulpit. His demeanour was so at ease now…he walked and stood like he belonged up there. You supposed he had been there for over six weeks…he had settled in.

You swallowed.

“This right now is one of the most beautiful things that I’ve ever seen. Now, some of you may have noticed that I’m wearing a gold chasuble tonight. I was actually wearing this on that first Sunday, the first day of the New Covenant. Bev called me out on it, in fact, and asked why I was wearing it on a day in Ordinary Time. And what I couldn’t tell her then, but what I can tell you now, is that I chose it because it was not an ordinary Sunday. Not even a little. And I had cause to celebrate, to rejoice. It was a holy day. And tonight will be different as well. Tonight is the beginning of a new era. And we are meant to celebrate the Resurrection tonight, and, and we will more than anyone ever has.”

You listened, staring at the pew in front of you. The man’s voice alone curled in your ear far too easily, and you didn’t dare look at him. Too afraid of what you might see or how you might feel.

“But first, bless me, brothers and sisters, for I have sinned. It has been too long since my last confession, and it is so long overdue, but here is my sin. I’ve lied to you all. I didn’t come here to replace Monsignor Pruitt. He isn’t recovering in a hospital in the mainland. He’s perfectly healthy.” He admitted.

At this, you looked up.

“He has been blessed. As you have all been blessed, he has been made well, made whole, made young, the same as you. He was healed long before you ever saw this face. He was the first, in fact, and he stands before you right now, asking for your forgiveness.”

For a moment, you looked from left to right at the front of the church, expecting to see the Monsignor, but then his words sunk in fully, and you grew pale. The realization fell from the base of your skull to the pit of your stomach like an iceberg. Cold paralysed your spine as confusion curdled to horror and ate at your bone marrow.

“Now, some of you must have thought it before, in the backs of your minds. Minds so trained by the world to ignore that voice, because how could it be? That would be impossible. But nothing is impossible with God. As we have seen. I was lost and confused, tired and old, on the road to Damascus when lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared unto me and bestowed upon me the healing graces of God. And I was restored, as you have all been restored. I returned to you all and I brought with me that angel of the Lord so that he might bless us all, and we have, we’ve seen the miracles. Our new bodies. The resurrection of the body, new and everlasting life. Now tonight, we will be tested, just a little, but we will be tested, as was Jesus. I was afraid when the New Covenant was fulfilled for me. Afraid as was our Savior, but “he who says he abides in Him, ought himself also to walk just as He walked.” “Be imitators of Christ.”I followed him into the valley of darkness, and like our Lord, I endured death. Mercifully short. A leap of faith, a step out onto the water, was all he asked of me. And, like Jesus, you will doubt, you will feel fear, but believe me, I promise you, brothers and sisters, if you follow me, if you follow us, if you follow Him, He will raise you again in His glory to eternal life. There is a price to be paid for everlasting life, as there was for our Savior. And each one of us will have the opportunity tonight to pay that price. But first and… I know after everything we’ve been through together, this is not easy to believe, so I invite you as Jesus invited Thomas to witness for yourself…Sturge?” He beckoned the gruff man over.

“And I John saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down from God out of Heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of Heaven saying… ‘Behold, the Tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them and be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more. Mourning and crying and pain will be no more. For the first things have passed away. And the one who is seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.'‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.To the thirsty, I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.'”

You watched, unable to look elsewhere. You half hoped this was some horrible dream you were having, fuelled by the discontent you felt. But as each second passed, the more you realised you were never going to wake up.

“This will be frightening for all of us, but, Sturge, my brother in Christ, are you afraid?” Father Pruitt asked him and he grasped the communion cup.

“No, Father. No, I’m not.” Sturge answered, so tamed.

I am! I am, Father! You shook.

“God be with you…” Father Pruitt murmured as Sturge drank, “I’m with you. I’m with you. I’m with him.” He cooed so gently that you actually started to feel a calm come over you, but it was gone again in a flash.

You watched Sturge jolt and grip his stomach; you jumped to your feet in horror.

“It’s all right. That’s okay,” the Father tried to sooth the crowd, but you only watched as Sturge began to cough blood all over himself, “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

The older man collapsed into the priests arms, and they both slowly lowered to the floor, “That’s all right. He’s all right. It’s all right.It will be over soon. It will be over soon.It’s all right.”

Father Pruitt cradled Sturge’s head as he convulsed, “It’s all right. Have faith! Have faith! Have faith, my brother. Have faith! It’s all right…This will be over soon. Soon. Soon.” He shushed him.

“Faith!” John cried, now looking up at the parishioners, “Just a few minutes! Just a few moments, really! The body is dead, but just for a moment! The resurrection of the body is what Easter’s about. That is what we are about to witness.”

You gripped your rosary so hard it dug into your fingers and carved into that spot it had already cut.

From behind you, you heard shuffling, and you turned to look. Hassan stood then, and gripped Ali’s arm in an attempt to pull him out the door, and you very nearly followed them, but you stopped cold when you looked past them and to the door.

“Sheriff, please. I…” Father Pruitt started to say, but as everyone turned to the door, a hush fell over the church. As your eyes focused there, you could taste your heartbeat.

There was no knowing exactly it was that stood there before you, but what it was…was evil. It was death, and pain, and forced that visceral sense of terror you had been keeping at bay to infect your sinew.

John straightened and stretched his hand out in welcome, “Behold…Lo… lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to them. And they were afraid.” At his words, you dared to look away from the creature walking slowly through the church, and stared instead at the very man who you had begun to think was a true testament to the good of man. In the face of such harrowing calamity his smile was one of giddiness.

He was…joyous. Excited. Almost shaking as he beheld the beast perverting his church.

You stared at him. And as he smiled…you finally noticed how that smile was so much more dangerous than it once had been. Where it had once been one of wise luminosity, now it was one that could shred flesh from bone. Those sharpened peaks that sat just a little further from his other teeth. You wondered if he had practiced hiding them.

Then that dread that had seated itself in you curdled into anger. An anger so burning that your cheeks began to warm.

“Have faith, brothers and sisters. I would not make you see what you have seen, I would not ask you to choose what you may choose, without first showing you God’s messenger. And remember, brothers and sisters, have faith that in the Bible, every time they mention an angel, when an angel appears to we humans, we are afraid. ‘And an angel of the Lord appeared to them on the right side of the altar of incense.And when Zechariah saw him, he was terrified and overcome with fear.’”

You watched the beast unfurl two massive wings from under the chasuble. Gasps echoed around you, but you could barely hear them. You were lightheaded.

“Just then, an angel of the Lord stood before them. And the glory of God shone around them and they were sore afraid. And the angel said, ‘Fear not, fear not, be not afraid!'”

Just then, Sturge gasped and sat up. You jolted and almost fell back into your seat.

“And then they took away the stone from the cave where the dead man was lying.” Father Pruitt helped the man up and embrace him, “And Jesus looked up unto the sky and said, ‘Father, I thank you, for you have heard me. You have heard me.' ‘Thank you for hearing me.'” He sobbed.

Your skin began to crawl when you heard Andy start to play the organ, and Wade and Dolly leave to the vestibule. Leeza stood there, tears in her eyes.

These were not the people you knew.

You silently walked over to the girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, but she only wept harder.

“And he cried out in a loud voice! ‘Lazarus, come out!'And the dead man came out!” You saw the Scarboroughs hand out cups to each churchgoer, and a dolly even smiled at you as she handed you yours, “And his feet and hands were bound with shreds of cloth, and his face was wrapped in cloth, and Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him and let him go!'”

Bev, Wade, and Dolly all made their way through the parishioners, cups upon cups upon cups of liquid that made you more nervous than ever.

“ Brothers and sisters, you are so close to salvation. The miracle is already in you. The blood of the angel is already in your veins, but it is incomplete. The final transformation will not be yours unless you let your earthly body die, so that your divine body can awaken.” Father Pruitt pleaded, and the horrified knot that squeeze your stomach only tightened.

“One moment of faith. That’s the price God asks of us. Just one moment of courage. A small step out of the boat. Just onto the water itself. A small moment of discomfort. A small passion of our own. A gift offered up, and then we are reborn. Open your minds! Open your hearts! And listen to that voice. That voice in the back of your head. That voice the world has tried to silence, has tried to teach you to ignore! The voice of our angel, telling you, “Be not afraid.”

“No. No.” Hassan shook his head and gripped Ali’s arm, “Come on.”

You watched your friend try to pull his son out and away from the horrors, but Ali tugged, trying to stay back, “Dad. Dad! Dad! Stop! Stop!” He twisted free and stood away from his father.

Your heart broke. You couldn’t watch this. You put your cup down, and walked from Leeza and took Ali’s arm, but when you tried to reason with him to go with his father, Father Pruitt began to speak again.

You were silenced.

“Sheriff, Sheriff. I implore you not to deprive yourself. Not to deprive your son of the opportunity for salvation.” He said, hand outstretched to try and calm your friend. You held Ali, trying to inch him away from Father Hill.

You saw something change in Hassan then. Like something in him finally broke.

“Okay.” He muttered, then drew a gun from his belt and pointed it straight at Father Pruitt. You gasped, and pulled Ali but he stayed put as the priest stretched his arm out in front of you and the boy.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks as you watched helplessly. Guilt and fear began to bind itself to your tendons. You should have told Ali to stay away. You should have-

“Everybody stay back! Ali, come here right now. You’re coming with me right now. And if one of you fucking people come anywhere near my son!” Hassan spat.

You swallowed and turned Ali towards you, “Ali, Ali you need to go…please…listen-“ you tried, but he wasn’t listening.

Wade slowly began to walk out in front of the sheriff, and spoke so slow and dazed that you almost didn’t recognise him, “Hey, Sheriff, put that down. There’s no need to be waving a gun.”

Hassan raised his hand and shot the ceiling- everyone ducked in fear, cowering amongst the pews. You tried to pull Ali again, but he stood there watching as three men jumped onto his father and wrestled him to the ground.

You stared down at your friend as he struggled to look up at his son. You quietly begged Ali to listen to you, but there was a strange smile on his face. Your words weren’t being heard by him.

He was gone.

“How dare you?” Bev sneered, slowly walking down in front of the sheriff, “How dare you bring a firearm into the house of God!”

She turned then, on Ali and her violent face turned gentle, “Blessed are you, my son, for setting an example of courage. This young man is choosing God in the face of pressure from his own father.That we should all be so fearless. Thank you. For setting an example…Welcome, my son.” Said, handing him a cup just like the one you had been handed.

You went to take Ali’s arms again to stop him, but just as you went to move, your shoulders we enveloped and tugged back by large hands. You were walked backwards, firmly but gently, out of the way, “Shh…it’s alright. This is a blessing…” Father Pruitt whispered in your ear and he kept you away from the boy. You struggled against him, but you couldn’t even move under his strength.

“Let- let me go-“ you tried. But if what he said before was true- he was far stronger than you, and you were only wasting your energy.

“It’s okay, little one…it’s okay…” his voice might have eased your worry at one time, but now you found it sending your mind into a panicked frenzy, “Have faith.”

You could hear the horror and heartbreak in Hassan’s voice as he pled with his son, “No, Ali. Hey, look at me.” He struggled just as you did, “No.”

“Ali-“ you tried to get his attention, but he was already raising the cup to his mouth.

“I choose God.” He decided.

You struggled harder, twisting and turning to no avail as he tipped the cup and swallowed the contents.

The rest was all white noise. Father Pruitt released you slowly, and you wriggled away to run to the nearest person. Begging them not to drink. Most were tentative, and you were stupid to hope that meant they wouldn’t do it. But one by one, despite your pleas and a few others, they drank. You watched as Dolly stood with Leeza and drank. You rushed over to them and pulled the young girl away from her mother as she collapsed and turned her away when she convulsed.

Faith. Faith. Faith…

You could hear the Father repeating that word.

You felt Warren take Leeza and guide her back further away from the scene unfolding around you. You let him.

So many of the people you held dear drank and died before your eyes. Men, woman, children, elders. You knew you couldn’t do anything. You wanted to curled into a ball and sob.

Faith! Faith! Faith!

“When he raised them up, and carried them on eagle’s wings and brought them to himself!” His was elated to see so many accepting the gift. John stood and couldn’t help the smile on his face as he reassured his flock.

Everything seemed to slow down then. Your eyes were nearly glazed over as you watched Mildred Gunning stand and stare down the priest. You still held Leeza with Warren, and you both tried to figure out what she was doing, though it seemed she answered your question for you when she gripped the Sheriffs gun in her hand.

Your ears rang as a shot rang out.

Your tongue went numb when you saw the bullet tear a hole through John Michael Pruitt’s head.

He collapsed.

Panic rose in you again. It was second nature to want to check on the Father, but you shoved it away; he had trained you so well…preyed on your giving nature. But everything came rushing back to you when that winged creature screeched and tore Mildred from the church; her screams filling the air.

Somewhere across the church, Sarah was sobbing for her mother. The kind of cry that chilled your blood. You found her in the row next to you being held back by Erin.

It was silent…so silent aside from her sobs. All around you were bodies of the people you knew and loved. Gone in minutes.

Was this what was to become of Crockett Island?

You felt fear begin to drain from your body then.

This was your fate.

You were going to die.

That realization made everything so much less paralysing.

But you certainly were not about to be dinner.

“Close the doors. Close the doors!..Lock them!” Bev shouted as she knelt beside Father Pruitts body, “He is okay. He will be okay. He will heal. That is part of God’s miracle!His miracle which some of you would destroy!”

You turned and watched Bev cradle the priest’s head and speak to him so gently. She spoke to him like a mother might her child; you had never seen her care so much for another person.

You realized then that she was just as lost as the rest of you. He was her Jesus. She put her faith in him and made him her idol.

Gods army. He had called you all gods army.

But he had made an army for himself, with him at the centre of it.

“Hold him down.” She snapped to the men gripping Hassan still. You turned back to stare at him, “What is wrong with you? Spitting in the face of such a gift! Remove the sheriff. Take him out back. We’ll need… We’ll need food soon.” She seethed.

You felt dizzy. Your ears began to ring again, and though you saw Bev’s mouth moving, and the look of fearful realization that Sturge was staring at the blood on her hands, you couldn’t hear.

You saw Ali awaken, and felt sick at the look of euphoria on his face.

Then, one by one, the bloodied bodies around you began to twitch and groan. You couldn’t feel your toes, and you wondered if you had somehow died along with them and were floating off the ground. Just as slowly as they rose up, your hearing returned too. Though you wished it hadn’t.

“Mommy?…Mommy?” You heard Leeza cry as Dolly slowly stood.

“Leeza…” she whispered. You watched, gut twisting horribly as Dolly’s expression was nearly blissful. You had watched blood erupt from her lips just minutes ago…yet here you were now staring at her as she regained her footing.

You looked this way and that, and while the people you once knew were indeed standing, there was something in them that wasn’t quite as it should be. Something…something-

Magnetic. That was what you had first thought of Father Pa-

John Pruitt.

You corrected yourself mentally. There was no Paul Hill.

Another lie from a pious man.

Then after another few minutes came the begging. The “Please don’t hurt me.” And “Mommy it’s me.” And the calling of names. The crying. The screams. All at once. It was so loud; you could hardly think. Impulse and instinct kicked in when Sarah came to you and Leeza and helped you tear her away from Dolly as she smelled her daughter’s neck.

You were pushed and shoved amongst the chaos of it all until Hassan grabbed your waist and pulled you through to the church vestibule, then hauled in Sarah and Leeza and Annie and Erin. You all piled into the small room and knocked into the wall and the table. You heard Annie sob for Ed as the door shut…and your heard broke even more.

After a second, you looked around to see tins of rat poison on the table. But it wasn’t that that made you go stock still. It was the cowering figure of Bev Keene at the end of the room that made you all stop.

“That’ll all be over soon. And they’ll all wake up, eternal.” She said like she was trying to justify the hell on Earth that was unravelling just feet from you.

“You hid?” Sarah asked in disbelief.

Then as you all stood in silence, Bev caught sight of the gun Erin held in her hand, “What are you gonna do, Erin Greene?Guns? Those things don’t matter anymore, “she egged her on, “Not in the new world. The world without death. You could shoot me right now. It would mean I’m five minutes behind-“

Erin fired, and the bullet tore right through Bev’s chest.

You all stood there stunned.

“We have five minutes.” Erin said calmly.

And just like that, you all ran.

Keeping off the main roads seemed the best route, so you sprinted through the trees and tall grasses into the heart of the island to get some distance. After several long, exhausting minutes, you all seemed to slow and duck into a thicket near town square.

“We need to get to the boats…” Annie panted.

Hassan nodded, as did you, but Erin and Sarah shook their heads, “They’re not working. Sturge disabled them all.” Erin looked out over the landscape.

“How did…?” You started to ask.

“We…we knew something was wrong…tried to leave this afternoon but it was too late.” Sarah chimed in grimly.

And suddenly, you felt as if you could weep. You weren’t crazy. It wasn’t just you who didn’t feel right.

“Anyways…we’re going to have to figure out a strategy. We can wait them out until morning…then we can radio for help.” Erin sighed.

“Erin?” You asked, and she turned to you, “I don’t think you should be running so much what with baby-“

“She’s gone.” Erin muttered.

You went pale, eyes wide. Sarah nodded in your peripheral, and you felt your gut twist painfully, “I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Better than her getting stuck on this fucked up island.” She shook her head.

“We should burn down any empty houses…try to warn as many people as we can.” Hassan said. His voice was thick with emotion, and it took all of your strength to not hold him and weep.

Instead, you nodded.

“Y/n, you take Leeza and Warren to the Uppards…hide there. Take one of the row boats out into the water if you need to.” He stared into your soul, and you nodded.

“I want to help-“ you tried.

“You will be. Keep those two safe.” He said, and you finally nodded.

“Atta girl.” He said, “Alright…Annie let’s go find some fuel.”

Your throat went tight when he spoke to you, and you could feel yourself on the cusp of hyperventilating, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You all stood up together, and you gathered the traumatised teenagers. You all stood there for a moment looking eachother over.

“Be- be careful.” You forced out as tears began to rise in your eyes.

“You too.” Annie smiled tightly, and kissed Warren’s head, “I love you my boy.”

No one hugged aside from Annie and her son, no one said much of anything. There was so much you all wanted to say to each other but there were not enough words to say it. You cast Hassan one last look and offered him a small, tight smile before your groups parted. He returned it with a nod, and you patted his arm before you grabbed the children by the hands and began leading them back towards the church to get to the Uppards.

Once you were halfway through your journey, something caught your attention, and you quickly yanked both teenagers down u to the high grass with you for cover.

“What’s wro-“ Warren started to ask, but you put your finger to your lips for him to be quiet, and you all listened. You could hear feet on gravel. Several pairs of feet…meandering down the road not far from you. You felt a wave of nausea crest through you. They let them out of the church.

On the loose to feed.

Adrenaline had been pumping in your bloodstream for well over an hour now, and it told you to run. That you could make it- that they wouldn’t catch you. But you weren’t about to risk it…not with Leeza and Warren with you.

Minutes ticked by, and your muscles ached from being in the same position, but after a long while, you didn’t hear anyone else. You smile rose your head up and sighed a breath of relief that was short lived. Just moments after you had deemed it safe to run, a new sound reached your ears.

Faint screaming.

You turned and looked back towards the town. Small plumes of smoke had begun to spiral into the sky. You sucked in a breath, and steadied yourself before taking the hands of the teenagers and pulling them up and began running again. You moved deeper into the trees, and twigs scratched your legs and face as you pushed on, gasping for breath as you tasted iron.

Tears began to sting at your eyes again. You wished you could have told your friend’s how much they meant to you. That you would see them after. But it all seemed so empty in hindsite. Even just telling them that wouldn’t have been enough.

As the three of you began to pass the church, you slowed your pace amongst the trees to stare at the glowing building.

You didn’t know why you needed to go there, but you felt that pull inside you.

One more time.

“What is it?” Leeza asked when she noticed you had stopped.

“Nothing. Go. Go I’ll meet you there okay?” You whispered, “If I’m not there in twenty minutes, you push one of the rowboats into the water and you get out into the bay, and you pray to God. Okay?”

They both nodded, and you returned the gesture before shooing them away. You watched them go for a few minutes- the sound of screams growing more constant all around you.

The possibility of death was not so horrible as you strode through the woods that thinned at the back of the rectory. You had accepted your likely death back when you had been sitting on your pew.

Be not afraid…

How ironic that indeed you no longer held any fear for your end.

You slowly walked through the grass, down the side of the church, and up the stairs. With each step you saw more and more of the remanence of the carnage that had taken place. Bloody handprints streaked the doorway and the floor, and various articles of clothing were left strewn around. You looked at the pews that you had sat in since childhood, and at the windows that you used to stare out of. A flood of memories you had from St.Patrick’s invaded your head, and you felt a single tear roll down your cheek.

Your gaze moved down the aisle, taking in what was left of St. Patrick’s. Then as you reached the stairs of the pulpit, you stopped.

There sat John Pruitt and Mildred Gunning, both staring back at you.

You sucked in a breath.

There were no words you could say to that man. Not anymore. You might have spilled your heart out to him at one point not long ago, but whatever it was that you needed to say to him didn’t matter anymore.

John heard a heartbeat approaching from outside, and waited as it approached. He felt his gut twist at the prospect of it being lost islanders who didn’t understand what was happening. How did this all go wrong?

But he wasn’t prepared for it to be you. There was so much he needed to say to you…so much you needed to know, but he had never seen you cast such a cold look before.

Father Pruitt went to stand, “Y/n-“ he called to you, but you were gone just as fast as you had appeared.

Hearing him say your name was like a blow to your stomach. You spun around and bolted outside and into the bushes to save a life you barely had. Your lungs burned painfully but you didn’t dare stop running until you were on the sand of the Uppards. The trees thinned into high grasses, and you slowed your pace as you walked out to the shore. You looked out at the water, and saw Leeza and Warren in a small boat in the water. You saw them spot you, and you waved, which they returned.

You thanked God that they were safe.

There was still a couple hours left before sunrise and the safety it brought you, so you found a softer patch amongst the thick brush, and you sat down. Either you would be found and killed, or you would live another day. There wasn’t a great deal you could do to avoid the former, so you waited.

Waited for that sunrise of revival that you used to love as a little girl.

You rocked back and forth, and sang gently to calm yourself as the world began to glow. Smoke from the town had begun to fill the air, and you wondered if you would be able to say hello to your friends again. You were anxious to walk back into town; you just wanted to know who survived. You needed to see Hassan to radio for help or see if he had any connections to the coastguard. You knew he would be alright…he had to be. Even if he was turned you were certain he would try to help you get away.

You stayed in your place until Leeza and Warren returned back to shore. The sky was a bright blue then, with fading pinks and oranges- colourful just like the Easter eggs you used to hunt.

The teenager’s eyes were just as bloodshot as yours, and you were certain there were no more tears left in you to cry.

The three of you began walking back down the island. You tried not to focus on the blood stains in the dirt and grass every so often, and the other two didn’t seem to wish to comment on it either.

You came to the church, and the other buildings there, and noted that the windows were all covered and boarded up aside from the rectory.

You looked back at Leeza and Warren, and they both stared at the buildings, lost. You knew what they were thinking. “Our parents are in there.” But they didn’t say it. You pursed your lips and began guiding them along, down Main St.

The closer you got to the town, the more bodies and…remains you saw. You steeled your nerves and kept going, hoping and waiting to see someone else alive.

Various buildings were still smouldering. You walked past the general store, and stopped short when you came to your little shop. Or what was left of it.

You thought you might burst into tears at the sight, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. You couldn’t feel anything. It wouldn’t matter if you did or didn’t. Everything was gone.

“Warren?” You muttered.

“Yeah?” He said, tearing his eyes from a bloodied shirt on the ground.

“You know where my house is right?”

“Yeah it’s-“

“Go there.” You breathed out, “Check if the windows are covered…if not, go inside and wait for me. Don’t go anywhere else. There’s food in the fridge.” You gave them both a tight smile and ushered them away. Leeza took his hand and cast you one last look before hurrying to keep up with Warren’s stride.

As they disappeared down the road, you started to look around the town more carefully. You weaved through buildings and along the shore, calling out for anyone.

“Hello? Hello!” You yelled as you trudged along the sand. But on seagulls cawed back to you, “Hassan?” You tried.

You walked further, and came to a pause as you stared out over the water. You had always liked how quiet Crockett was, but now it was silent.

You sighed, and turned back towards the bushes to find a break in them so you could survey the damage further. Just a few meters away there was one, and you began trudging towards it. But as you grew closer, your steps slowed.

There was a body lying there.

You hadn’t noticed that you were walking again until you stopped cold. You had thought that you couldn’t feel your stomach drop anymore, but it seemed that you were able to one more time.

It was the blue denim jacket that stopped you.

You knew that jacket. You saw it almost everyday. You made jokes about that jacket.

“No…”

You took the remaining steps to it, and collapsed to the ground- knees colliding with the earth painfully.

Your friend. Your coffee buddy. Your ally.

Hassan Al Shabaz.

Your throat was tight and dry as you wept. Rivers of tears flooded your cheeks as you knelt over his body, and gripped his limp arm.

“Wake up…Hassan wake up…pl-please…don’t leave me alone…” you sobbed, shaking him.

Out of everyone you thought he would be the last to go…and never like this.

You wished you had told him what a wonderful father he was. You wished you had hugged him. You wished you had told him that he did all he could and that was enough. You wished you told him he was loved by God. You wished you had been able to say goodbye.

You wished none of this had happened.

You wished John Pruitt had stayed lost in that desert. You wished you had told him to leave and never look back.

You wished you had done better.

But now all you could do was roll him over, and push his hair from his face. You took a shuttering breath when your eyes caught the bullet wound in his stomach with the halo of blood around it that saturated his clothes.

You could have sat there until night fall to let the islanders have you. But you knew Leeza and Warren were waiting for you, and you were going to keep them safe.

When you walked to your house, Warren asked you what you were doing as you grabbed your shovel. It only look one grim look for him to understand.

“Need a hand?” He asked you.

You shook your head, and walked back to where your friend laid. It took the remaining daylight for you to bury him. You placed a halo of stones around his grave, and retrieved a photo of him with Ali from their house. You placed it directly over him, and let out your last few tears before returning home and reinforcing your house.

It took an hour past sunset for the power to be restored. You hid in the basement that night. You could hear the Flynns and Scarboroughs pounding on your door begging to see their children. But they didn’t break the door down. They understood.

It wasn’t until a couple days later that the islanders got the kids.

You were out during the day when their parents called your landline, begging for them to see them. It was likely with good intent, but while their parents might have meant well, there was dozens and dozens of hungry islanders who didn’t.

You had felt so numb when you returned to find them gone.

You would survive purely off the idea that one day your rage would be witnessed by the man who made your life putrefy from the inside out.

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02

[cricketchaology]

resident alien 2.15 rewatch

ohhhh ben's sleepwalking dream makes me. so crazy

d'arcy recovery speedrun

the pacing of the last half of this season is suuuch a disaster. its so good thru alien dinner party and so messy afterwards

i do love that liv is always right

I FORGOT THEY JUST FUCKING PLAY DONT STARVE LMAOOOOO LIKE WHERE AM IIII

the ben getting locked out and sleeping on the porch story. help me. help me. help me

i do wish they'd introduced his sleepwalking earlier but w/e

i really do hate the pacing of the second half of this season. the first half is so good but then they got sooo lost so fast

hi baby

rip ben you would have love nausea before the game from in trousers

oh we're back to dont starve

let dan and d'arcy hang out. asta don't mother ur friends

dan i love uuuuu get asta's ass !!

tbh idgaf about the alien tracker and his son

oh god. oh god its the gay people

god, the like, asta having that different sweet voice she uses when she talks to d'arcy. its so fucking sweet. its adorable. its like, she feels so safe with her. she can be soft with her. help me

I GET THAT. THAT FUZZINESS. ITS LIKE MY LIFE IN A NUTSHELL. ITS WHY I HAD TO BE HERE THIS WEEK> WHEN IM AROUND YOU ITS LIKE YOURE HOLDING THE ANTENNA. EVERYTHING GETS CLEARER....

sorry but i dont care abt the alien tracker dying

CIRCUMCISION BABY !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

"ive been trying so hard to make this town perfect and it already is" there have been multiple murders

"i'm just so tired of trying to get everyone to like me" "oh honey, everyone loves you" "no, they dont" we should all die

i really cannot believe alien ball is the name they went with for that thing. idk

everyone in the town going to check on ben when he's actually hurt :(((((( help meeeeeeeeee

[dailycass-cain]

Detective Comics #1069 has a SURPRISE appearance and yeah it caught me completely unaware of that sneaky sneak Ram V (okay he did hint this was coming). So let's get into this.

I've been following this tale off and on (I kind of want to read this more in trades because the wait is killing me every month for more issues. 😝

I'd rather read this all in one sitting). But I still find myself drawn to these issues making me get and read them cause THEY'RE SO GOOD!  This run feels like an under-the-radar thing.  It's got good Bruce, doing stuff with Gordon, Renee, Talia, Two-Face, and Mr. Freeze.

The character work is exceptional that writer Ram V is doing here. Weaving stuff from his own run on Catwoman while also tying other stuff.

Here we get that in spades this issue with Batman and Oracle talking about the lower levels of Gotham (which Ram V has been going to town on).

Now a new player has been added to this run.

I do like how Ram V goes back to the James Tynion IV way of treating Cass/Steph like agents Babs uses while she does Oracle things. It gives Babs a rest as Batgirl (allowing her to be Oracle), and allows when she does make those issues more special.

So yeah, we have Cass entering this run for the first time and yeah I'm hyped.  Because there are subtle little things Ram V is doing here besides just bringing her in.

Cass is only in it for a few panels but her presence is all over the back half of this issue. The setup for the next is sweet. Because you have Cass, Lian Harper, and a SURPRISE guest in these Warrens taking on the goons of the "Big Bad" of this run.

I doubt we'll get much but there could be some GREAT character interaction to be had here. You have Lian/Cass both daughters of murder moms. Like, this might be the first time the two could be meeting.

Then you have the SURPRISE guest who ties into well what modern Cass has been doing well with but not so much in Batgirls (yet) and that's bond with the "freaks" of Gotham.

We had that with Clayface in Tynion's Tec run. We had that with Wong doing that with Orca in their issue of DC: Doom & the Damned #1.  Now we might be getting that too.

I mean there's a chance Bruce might interject, but man there's so much character work to be had here, and the character's been put thru the ringer. I want this so bad next.

If not we got Cass/Lian vs the goons vs WILD CARD. No matter what, this'll be a very a fun read next issue.

Plus the back half art just slaps. There are multiple artists this issue and I'm at a loss for who drew this amazing Cass.

There's just a proper Batman-lite in the way Cass acts here in just the panels. I'm really hyped now about where she goes for this story.👊

[thevampiresoc]

ramble. under read more. also fixed pacing.

starting off with the ogs diego/gumball and doug those two. god. depressed jester to silly neighborhood old man pipeline. in canon he works at a library now where he sometimes puts on puppet shows. doug is no longer pathetic scared man he teaches geology for fun and as clean-up crew for crime scenes for normal. old probably 58? now? men living with peace and letting their past not get to them. and then matthew and sasha. god . their beef went from like "that purple doesnt match your pants" & "your hairs a mess" to geniune death threats and "YOU WERE MARRIED TO A DRUG SMUGGLER WHO'S SKIN WAS WHITER THAN SNOW" & "I'M NOT LISTENING TO A MAN UNDER 5'5" WHO CAN'T COUNT HIGHER THAN 8 IN ENGLISH WITHOUT USING HIS FINGERS". potato knows whos who. matthew 'ohh good lord what the fuck' to 'i'm PROBABLY traumitized but my boss wants me to go clean the Scary Hallway so I can't think about that right now' domino effect. is it affect? idfc. im in here saying bullshit. speaking of bullshit sasha went from "... please try and get better" to "*grabs you by your eye sockets* You Are Going To Stop Eating Twice A Day. Full Meals Are Not Just Seven Ritz Crackers™️©️ And Sour Cream."

and its great.

she still does taxidermy and murder. taxidermy's her side-job since she works as a welder now. shes in there with blowtorches welding shit. your car needs repairs? shes got it boss. oh yeah matthew working as a knight in rp-1 is funny if you consider how his main job went from freddy fazbears janitor to comfortably retired lighthouse keeper. OHHHHH CHARLES I ALMOST FORGOT CHARLES he died in canon. not really. you ever get zombied. yeah jhe got zombied. i should start breaking this up but i cant

snapshot at the start of the rp was just. fucked up guy with a dead wife and platoon with a pet mouse droid. he went into a coma so he didnt participate in order 66 and misses his wife. alot. but NOW? NOW???

okay so imagine walking out of a hospital room, disorented as shit and you go to find your wife jedi and fellow clones and when you DO find them shes just cut one in half with her light saber. Turning to you with fear, she almost chops your head off but you stumbling back and showing that your unarmed gets her to stop. "It was self defense," the jedi pleads for you to understand as your blood flows into your mouth, preventing you from screaming but you want to scream, need to scream.

You both are uneasy and fearful, trying to calm down. Order 66, something you just thought of as a far off nightmare to enact, had happened a mere few minutes ago.

years later, probably a decade, the tragedity now only becoming stale on your mind- a healing wound to your already mangled brain- you had been cut off from the "empire", hiding on fucking HOTH of all planets. You managed, sure, but it was still hoth… "Your" Jedi, surviving by faking her own death with you saying you had killed her, picking you up randomly only to tell you that your being relocated to a terrestrial planet. So called 'Retirement' in some barely populated town, living on a farm. Great.

nottt much really changed except for TMCs status. just that they upgraded from living in a shitty one room apartment to a still shitty apartment where the bedroom, living room, dining room and bathroom were seperate rooms. also parents. good for it.

neeed to traumitize that war machine

anyways my ocs going from eueueueuuuu to Can You Shut Up im going to Kill You With My Bare Hands is funny

conffession sometimes i watered downn my oc when using them. im shouting into the void but do you guys think you could handle he/him sasha. i feel like if i ever rp again with any of you itd be hell because ive just done so much stupid ass writing with my little sillies. like andreas' kingdom got slightly more fucked but id keep it silly for yall