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aesopsharpmybeloved · 2 years ago

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No More Hiding

Things get a little uncertain for Father Paul and you, after you are caught red handed by no one other than Beverly Keane.

Requested by anonymous

I'm back and I am healthy (almost). I got a bit out of practice, so this may be a little wonky, but I hope you'll forgive me :) Also, please check out this post, I am open to some nsft Father Paul content, teehee.

No More Hiding - 3.7K

tw: suggestive themes (mention), humanising Beverly Keane, cheesy as heck, a lot of triple dots

What is it with priests on Crockett Island? Beverly thought, gravel crunching underneath her feet as she walked away from Saint Patrick’s church hastily. Bev Keane was a lot of things, but stupid wasn’t one of them - she was aware there was some funny business going on with the young priest who arrived on Crockett almost a year ago and that writer lady, but she could never be entirely sure. Until today, that is. Bev felt a fresh wave of anger as she remembered the scene she witnessed no more than ten minutes ago.

—

How could she have forgotten her bag? Bev shook her head at herself. She went home after wrapping up the daily mass on Saturday, and when she tried to reach into her handbag to pull out the keys to her home, she froze. There was nothing hanging on her shoulder. How did she not notice? In her head she suddenly saw the image of her bag, sitting on a table in the back of the church, entirely forgotten. With a sigh and an eye roll, Bev turned around and began walking towards Saint Patrick’s again.

She entered through the back door, and immediately saw her canvas bag, exactly where she’d left it. After grabbing it, Beverly was just about to go home again, but then:

A giggle.

A soft, feminine giggle sounded from the main room of Saint Patrick’s. Curious as to what’s going on there, The teacher crept towards the door leading to the front and put her hand against the handle. Very, very slowly, she pushed it and pulled the door open, just a little. She peeked out. The sight before her shook her to the core and Bev felt fury immediately settling in.

Sitting in a pew closest to the altar was Father Paul, still in his green chasuble, and next to him was (F/N)(L/N). Which, Beverly supposed, would be fine, if the priest (the PRIEST for goodness sake!) wasn’t currently pushing his tongue into her mouth and her hands weren’t messing up his raven hair. The teacher was frozen to the spot as she watched the two people exchanging passionate kisses, sometimes producing soft pleasured hums. What finally snapped Bev out of her shock was the sight of Father Paul’s hand settling on (F/N)’s knee, before pushing her skirt up as it moved forward onto her thigh.

Beverly pushed the door open all the way and coughed loudly. With malicious satisfaction she watched the couple practically jump away from each other and turn their heads in her direction, their eyes widening in horror. “B-Bev?!” yelped the priest, his face turning red, as did the young woman’s. “T-this- this isn’t what it looks like!” his hand, which left the girl’s thigh was now outstretched towards Beverly in a surrendering manner. Despite the furious storm within her, the teacher felt strangely calm as she took calculated steps towards the couple.

“Father, if you insist on indulging yourself in breaking your holy vows, it’d be nice if you had at least enough respect not to do so in God’s house,” she said, her voice cold as ice, her expression stony. The priest coughed: “Bev I-...W-we were just-” “ Don’t! Don’t… ” the teacher hissed and began walking off through the front of the church,clutching her bag in a vice grip. She shut the door with a bang.

Father Paul watched Beverly leave and winced as the old wooden doors banged shut. You then saw him wilt before your eyes. He put his elbows on his knees and placed his face in his hands. Your own hand found his shoulder and began stroking it, trying to comfort him, despite knowing that not even your touch would be able to comfort him now. Still, the priest leaned into your hand and soon raised his head to hide his face in your neck instead. You slowly stroked the hair at the nape of his neck.

“We’re screwed,” said Paul against your skin, his voice soft and tired. “Yeah,” you whispered back.

—

Bev’s idea of going home was long forgotten as she stalked across Crockett Island, glaring daggers at everyone who dared as much as acknowledge her, the teacher was seething with rage. What was it with priests on Crockett Island? She knew the old Monsignor Pruitt hadn’t exactly been celibate either, and that the island’s doctor Sarah Gunning had been the result. She found out during one of Monsignor’s episodes, when he’d weep softly and call for Mildred, apologising for not having been there for her. For their daughter.

Back then, she acknowledged this, not knowing how she felt about it. On one hand, the Monsignor went against his vows, sired a child who was then raised by a different man, and obviously never stopped lusting for said man’s wife. On the other hand, what was there to be done now? The Monsignor was old and frail, dementia claiming his mind little by little, and Mildred Gunning? Well, she was in no better state. George Gunning was long gone and Sarah was a grown woman, who grew up in a happy family with a loving mother and father, blissfully oblivious she was the illegitimate child of their local priest.

However, it was different now. God, Bev wished she hadn’t forgotten her bag in the morning. Suspecting something fishy is going on is better than actually knowing it - makes it easier to ignore. But now she knew. She knew Father Paul, a priest who was supposed to be Crockett Island’s spiritual leader, image of morality and virtue, was fornicating with a heathen, a faithless woman, who like a succubus seduced the holy man to sin.

Bev was already forming a plan in her head, a plan to inform the dioceses about the blasphemy happening right there in God’s house, if not to outright get the priest excommunicated, to at least stop this illicit affair. But then she heard a sound behind her, a girl’s high-pitched laughter. She turned around.

What she saw made her stop. It was Leeza Scarborough, laughing and squealing as she drove circles around Warren Flynn on his own bicycle. The youngest Flynn was looking at her fondly, his gaze filled with pride: “I told you you could do it!” Oh… Leeza regained the feeling in her legs during one of Father Paul’s sermons. Since then, she came out of her shell so much, yet she still remained a good, devoted Christian, never missing a single daily mass. She was smiling and laughing more, but still she prayed harder than anyone else. She even found it in her heart to forgive Joe Collie, the man who crippled her in the first place! Beverly would never!

Speaking of Joe Collie, Bev only now realised she was standing a short distance away from the general store, where said man was currently chatting up their Muslim sheriff. After Leeza forgave the town drunk, he… he actually stopped drinking. He began attending the AA sessions Father Paul started, along with Riley Flynn, and while Bev was sure he was bound to relapse, to her utmost surprise he actually stayed sober since then. He looked a little different, his clothes were cleaner, his hair and beard neater. He even started working again, on one of the fishing boats. He looked like he dropped a few pounds too. The biggest change was his face. He too was smiling more.

Bev bit her lip, deep in thought, reminiscing of the past year. Since Father Paul came to the Island, there was a change in atmosphere. After Leeza’s recovery, it was like a religious renaissance had happened. The church was usually nearly full on Sundays and more people started attending daily mass as well, Bev had to start ordering more than double the usual amount of communion wine and hosts, and even had to get some low-gluten wafers after several inquiries. Some of the people who moved away after the spill actually came back to their old homes, because the fishermen began returning from the sea with full nets of fish and crabs, just like they used to many years ago. The community was blooming.

The teacher looked around. In the gazebo of Crockett Island’s little park sat Riley Flynn with Erin Greene and her daughter… Their daughter, essentially. The child wasn’t Riley’s, yet he treated her as his own, loved her as his own blood. He moved into the Greene home and Annie even mentioned once that Erin was in the middle of divorcing her ‘nasty work of a husband’ so she could marry Riley instead, so they could become a proper family once and for all. The little girl, whom Riley Flynn was currently bouncing on his knee, had two godparents, and since only one of them had to be a practising catholic, it was Ed Flynn and the other was nobody else than (F/N)(L/N).

(F/N) had also started to help out in the school, taking upon herself some of Erin’s classes so the woman could focus on her little girl. The children actually really liked her. Bev would often hear laughter from the other classroom and most of the kids left it with a smile on their faces. When she wasn’t helping Erin, she was usually helping someone else, assisting Sturge in some maintenance work, helping Annie with inventory in the general store, even joining the Flynn men for a few fishing trips! Bev saw her once at the docks, and had to admit the young woman looked quite the natural in her work clothes.

Her previously malevolent intentions turned into conflicting thoughts. Beverly had to sit down. In a much slower pace, she finally walked home. Bev’s home wasn’t exactly filled with many decorations or personal effects. There were a few photos here and there, of her parents and her, when she was a little girl. There was a photo with Monsignor Pruitt, where she was bracing him by the arm, smiling into the camera. The older priest had his hand gently placed against hers, a kind smile on his own face. Bev rather missed the old man.

Despite the fact that the Monsignor too succumbed to the temptation of flesh, he never stopped being a good priest. And a good man. He never once refused to offer a helping hand, he was always ready to be of support. He was a rock for Beverly when she lost her parents, much too early. She could rely on him when she was all alone, when she had nobody else. Maybe that’s what really drove her to church so much… Most things in her house were of religious theme, verses were framed on her walls, there were crucifixes placed throughout the entire home, Bev only had records of gospel music laid by the old record player which belonged to her mother.

Beverly sat down in her armchair, the room so quiet one could hear a pin drop. The truth was that Father Paul, despite his immoral indulgence in carnal desires, was still a good priest. He took care of his parish, took care of his flock. Always ready to help and provide support… just like the Monsignor.

And (F/N)? Beverly scoffed unhappily. As much as she wasn’t fond of the girl and the fact she seduced a holy man, she had to admit that (F/N) was… a part of Crockett Island now. She came when everyone else left, this was her home, and the people accepted her as their own. She was popular. Beverly was not, she was aware of that. She knew that most people only tolerated her because she played such a big part in the church, and because she taught their children. She didn’t have friends, or a family, but she had this. And that was good enough for her.

However, if she were to… if she were to report Father Paul Hill to the dioceses, if she managed to actually get him out of Crockett Island… She probably wouldn’t be tolerated anymore… No, Beverly would be hated . There was a big possibility the people would be more willing to accept an uncelibate priest whom they adored, rather than have this beloved priest taken away. And God knows who’d take his place then? If it came down to taking sides, Bev had no qualms that people would actually take hers and not Father Paul’s. She’d then drop lower than Joe Collie, who was slowly but surely gaining more sympathy ever since he became sober. She’d be the town pariah. Not Joe, not Riley, but Beverly .

She put her face into her hands. Was she going to actually ignore this? Was she really just going to let them continue committing sins? Then again… everyone sinned, didn’t they? To sin was human after all, and the heavenly father forgives all those who try to make amends. And Father Paul and (F/N)(L/N)... they made amends constantly by all the work they put into this small community… The teacher sighed deeply. She supposed she could try to just … ignore it. She didn’t agree with what they were doing, but she could ignore it, for the sake of everyone else… Speaking of everyone else, Beverly wondered who else knew of this little affair. Erin Greene? Possibly, her and (F/N) were joined at the hip. And if Erin knew, then Riley Flynn maybe knew as well. Who else?

It was decided then. Bev looked up and released another deep sigh. In a way, she felt… lighter? Calmer? What was with this feeling of acceptance? She should still be angry, she should be hating every moment she allows this to continue, but she just wasn’t. In a way, she was… content. It was better for Crockett Island if Father Paul stayed, and, well, Bev reluctantly supposed it was better if (F/N) stayed too. She didn’t even realise the corners of her lips were turning up slightly. Sighing for the last time, she got up from her chair and walked to the record player. Maybe there were still some of her mother's old records somewhere, Bev thought, maybe she could use some non-gospel music for a little change.

—

Any day now, you and Paul expected some nasty letter from the dioceses, or maybe a surprise visit from the bishop. Or a phone call, inquiring whether it was true that the priest was in a forbidden affair with a woman.. But nothing happened. You haven’t really discussed what would happen to your relationship, because the thought was too terrifying, but you became so much more careful about it. You didn’t dare to touch one another unless you were in the rectory or your house, doors locked and curtains closed. You wouldn’t hold each other’s hand during walks, you didn’t feel safe expressing any physical affection even in front of the friends who knew of your relationship.

It sucked, not being able to snuggle up to the priest when you were outside in the woods, definitely alone, but unwilling to take any risks. You missed his warmth, the smell of him when he held you close, you missed the stolen kisses. You wouldn't even go to the Uppards, even though you’d never be caught there, especially by Beverly. It sucked.

On the other hand, you learned how to show affection in public through other ways. Like a deep look into each other’s eyes and a single slow blink - like a quick peck on the lips. A smile and head slightly cocked to the side - an ‘I love you’. It wasn’t the real thing, but it was lovely nonetheless. A week passed, then two and… nothing. No letters, no phone calls, no visits. In fact, it was very quiet. The priest served his homilies as usual, Bev helped him as she always did. She talked to him and treated him the same as ever, as if she never caught the two of you, as if it had all been a bad dream.

Yet, the two of you remained cautious, always checking over your shoulder. By the third week, you were going mad. As you lay in your bed, mind for once calm and quiet after a tender lovemaking, with Paul drawing little patterns on your bare back with his fingertips, you suddenly spoke: “We should talk to her.” “Hm?” asked Paul, and turned his head a little to look at you. “To Bev,” you clarified. Paul sighed and closed his arms around you. “Why?” he asked finally. You adjusted yourself in his hold and rested your chin on his collarbone to look into his eyes: “Well, it’s been a while. If she told someone, the dioceses… they would’ve been here by now, wouldn’t they? Or call, at least? She’d be smug about it, I think. But she’s, you know… normal. Well Bev-normal anyway.”

Paul nodded and closed his eyes. “Hm… That’s going to be very uncomfortable,” he said at last. You pulled yourself up to press a kiss against his perfect mouth, making him smile softly. “Yeah… but we’ll face it together.”

—

It was… very very awkward. You were sitting on the uncomfortable metal chairs in the recreation centre, you and Paul next to each other, Beverly Keane opposite of you. You were so nervous. The priest grabbed your hand, which was gripping your knee painfully, in silent support. Bev frowned for a bit, but didn’t say anything. You took a deep breath, it was now or never. “Miss Keane, we wanted to talk to you about what you saw in Saint Patrick’s some time ago. There’s no point in lying. What you saw was exactly what it looked like, Father Paul and I, we… we’re lovers. And have for a long time.” Paul nodded next to you and squeezed your hand tighter.

Beverly nodded as well: “I’ve gathered as much. Why are we here?” You swallowed in nervousness and took a breath to answer, but Paul beat you to it: “You are a very devout woman, Beverly. I am breaking my vows. Yet, you still… help me in church, you treat the two of us the same… You didn’t tell anyone?” Bev’s eyes were piercing, you felt quite tiny under her scrutinising gaze. Finally, she looked down at her hands which were neatly folded in her lap: “No, I didn’t… Not really for your sake, though. I don’t approve of this. I didn’t tell anyone because… Crockett Island relies on you, Father. And, to a certain amount, on you as well (F/N)(L/N). I will keep quiet about this… However, you must know that if I… caught you, someone else will too, eventually. So you may, at the very least, attempt to be… decent.”

You bit your lip. Bev was right, it was only a matter of time before the relationship would be found out. But then again, you didn’t think there were that many people left to find out. Over the months, you received more and more knowing looks, from both friends and acquaintances. One time a woman named Betty, who ran the island’s teeny-tiny beauty salon and attended Sunday masses pulled you aside to tell you what a lucky woman you were, having a good looking man like that. In fact, the only person you were seriously hiding your love from was currently promising she’ll keep her mouth shut about it. It was nearly surreal.

After some more awkward and uncomfortable talking, during which you revealed to Beverly that your relationship began after the Easter vigil (by which she was surprised, since she suspected something was going on much earlier), you parted ways in a rather civil manner. As you left the rec centre, Paul took your hand in his right away, leading you to the woods for a stroll. You smiled and leaned into him, thankful to feel his warmth again.

Over the following weeks, you settled back into your routine, except you were way more relaxed. Someone saw you holding hands, or sharing an embrace and a kiss from time to time, but they never once commented on it. Well, most of the time. One time you pressed a kiss to Paul’s cheek when you thought you were alone, in front of the general store, just to hear a wolf-whistle behind you. “Knew it,” came Joe Collie’s voice, as he left the shop and walked away jovially, Pike following behind him with a wagging tail. “He didn’t know shit,” said sheriff Hassan, leaning against the doorframe, “I knew, though.” You stuck your tongue out at him, making Paul chuckle.

—

Hard to believe it had been a year already, you thought as you stood by the gazebo, a sooty cross drawn on your forehead. There were more people attending the Crock Pot Luck this year, as the town’s population grew slightly. You observed them fondly, feeling at peace. Feeling utterly home. One year ago exactly, you were sitting at one of the tables, sipping wine and chatting with Father Paul. Back then, you only ever allowed yourself to think of him in secret, today he lived in your mind rent-free and you were far from being mad about it.

Speaking of Father Paul, a pair of long arms wrapped themselves around your waist from behind and soft lips brushed against the back of your neck. You smiled and put your hands over his. He came around, keeping one arm around you and pulled you close for a real kiss. And what a kiss it was, sweet and passionate at the same time, and it filled your heart with utmost joy. When you pulled back, you noticed a number of people looking at the two of you. Some of them had a knowing expression and a smile on their faces, some were wide eyed, but said nothing. Others simply returned to minding their own business. Bev Keane was one of the latter. You smiled at your lover and he mirrored you.

“No more hiding, huh? You asked quietly. His smile grew: “No more hiding.” You stroked his smooth cheek. “The secrecy was kind of thrilling though,” you teased. The priest chuckled, “we can do a little bit of hiding, as a treat,” he promised. You giggled airily and pressed one more kiss to his lips before grabbing his hand and leading him to one of the tables.

No more hiding.

Hello again! Hope it wasn’t that horrible lol. You can check out this story and the entire series on AO3. Thank you for being patient with me <3

Tagged: @i-was-ok-then-i-saw-hamish

I will feed you a sugarcube and scratch your head for feedback ;-;

Also, please, if you're on insta, go and report account named 32181045, who hacked Hamish's account, got Hamish deleted and gloats about it in their stories.

#fanfiction #midnight mass #father paul #father paul hill #father paul x reader #father paul hill x reader #fluff #human!beverly keane #beverly keane #erin greene #riley flynn #sheriff hassan #joe collie #leeza scarborough #beverly keane has a heart #beverly keane is human #debitchization of beverly keane #humanization of beverly keane

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ihavemanyhusbands · 10 months ago

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Hellooo! I absolutely adore your writing. It hits me in the chest 😮‍💨. It’s beautifully descriptive and sensual, and it’s unique. It’s not like majority of fanfic out there. Very refreshing for me im glad i found your page :)) anyway I was wondering if you would do a Monsignor Pruitt x Reader smut where Bev Keane walks in on them bc she uses her key to Monsignor’s cabin. 🤭 Then reader and Pruitt kill her when she starts lecturing them or something. It’s up to you :).

Hiiii!!! Omg thank you soooo much im sobbing 😭😭😭 this means the entire world to me!!!❤️ ❤️❤️

I'm gonna have to make this one extra saucccyyyyyy.

———

John hadn't noticed her at first. He was deep in the throes of desire, absorbed by the sight of your form draped across his lap. One hand on the swell of your ass, the other cupping your aching, desperately needy cunt.

You noticed, though.

It should have been more mortifying to have her catch you like this, holding his rosary in your teeth. One strike, one bead. You better keep count, or else I’ll have to start over.

“M-Monsignor!” She gasped, but her voice was like a harpy’s shriek in your ears — a terribly unwelcome intrusion. “What in Heaven’s name is going on!?”

John finally looked at her, but he was beyond shyness or modesty. His eyes didn’t even seem like his own. He curled his lip in annoyance, the flash of his teeth a silent warning for her to stay back.

“We’re busy, as you well see,” he said. “Leave your keys and go. We’ll discuss your continuous intrusions of my privacy later.”

“B-but this is— and what about he—”

“Now, Beverly. I’ve got no patience for this impertinence.”

She hesitated but stood her ground, lips pursing. “Monsignor, I’m afraid I must insist that—”

“If you don’t leave right now, I’m gonna let him rip your throat out,” you said, frustration turning to rage. “God knows how much we’d both like that.”

Blanching, completely aghast, she tossed the keys on the ground and slammed the door in her haste. You could barely relax before tensing once more, feeling John’s hands return to you.

“Don’t worry, I’ll still deal with it later,” he murmured, his voice raspy and low and not entirely human. “As for you, well… it seems I’ve lost my count.”

———-

#monsignor pruitt x reader #father paul x reader #midnight mass fanfiction #monsignor pruitt smut #anonymous #minors dni #he’s more evil here yay!!!!

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error4343 · 4 months ago

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Rules: Choose any three fandoms (in random order) and answer the questions, then tag 10 people you want to know better.

I'll tag less than 10, but still!

Tagged by: @midnightella-mass

Fandoms:

Midnight Mass

Faith: The unholy trinity

Control

First character you loved:

Annet. From first frames she reminded me of my grandma and it was love on first sight.

John. Tbh, he is the first distinct character in whole Chapter I, so it's not hard to be first fav.

Ahti. Came for chill, stayed for lore.

the character you relate to most:

Joe. It is a very strange connection, but um. As you know, I'm ukrainian. And because of fact that my life is payed by lives of hundreds, theme of seems-like-irredeemable quilt and then redemption though actions hits close.

John again. Again, themes of quilt and redemption, but with (semi?) happy end. Also, untreated anxiety problems, yupiee!!

I think Jesse? Not thematically tho, mostly because I grew attached to her while playing.

the character you’d slap:

RILEY FLYNN. At this point my hate for Riley became a running joke among friends. I will elaborate on it later in this post, but for now SLAP HIS BALD HEAD WITH ALL HEAVENS MIGHTY.

Garry Miller. Also slap his bald head.

Dylan Faden. No hair? Get slapped. It's a rule here.

three favorite characters in order of preference:

John Pruitt (ofc he is), Sarah Gunning (need more of her), Beverly Keane (...i can explain-)

John Ward (who could've guess huh), father Garcia (who doesn't love Garcia?), Lisa (patiently waiting for her development in Ch IV)

Jesse Faden, Casper Darling (goofy aah man), Emily Pope (://3)

a character you liked at first but don’t like anymore:

Riley Flynn. Here we are. I could write an essay about why I don't have any respect for this man, but in short: self-pity doesn't equal redemption. At first, I was justifying his behaviour by mental problems, but then recalled that Angels blood fixes everything, so every action he takes really is dictated by his own will. And a lot of those actions is questionable to me.

Miriam. As character - she rocks. But I grew spiteful towards her because of her fucking boss fight in Chapter II that screws my attempts to get "Good Christian Boy achievement" over and over.

None!

a character you did not like at first but now do:

Beverly fucking Keane. As every normal human being, I hate her. But in same time, from the first watch couldn't deny how well written and played she is... And then something happend that now I have legit lesbian panic over her. I have no idea why. Please help me.

Lisa. At first, thought of her as cliche protag-love-interest™ (and she is tbh), but headcanons and expanding beyond original media did a trick.

Dylan Faden. I KNOW ONE PERSON HERE WON'T AGREE but I do like him! Just in my special ways!

(less than) three OTPs:

All canon ships... Plus Paul/Riley. Don't ask, my morals were questionable already on Bev's part.

Holy smokers (John/Lisa) and Vatican approved yaoi (Garcia/Alfred)

Jesse/Emily and Darling/Trench. Also, me and my bestie have codename "bumblebees" for first one. All because on Ukrainian their names together make something, remotely similar to word bumblebee: Джесі/Емілі (Jesse/Emily) -> джемілі (jemily) -> джмелі (bumblebees).

I spy with my lil eye: @orsanedraws @https-yaracchi @neldartkhaina

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baubeautyandthegeek · 9 months ago

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Fair Warned Yet True Loved – Father Paul Hill/Beverly Keane/Mildred Gunning

A/N: Day 2 of @polyamships Multiamory March.

“But you, monsignor, did it have to be true of you?” A crack in Beverly’s voice says it all. Hope faded, eyes stinging with tears, but she continues to talk. “I suppose virtue isn’t a virtue if it doesn’t cost you anything… and it was always going this way… You were always going to be the last, the hardest test of my faith. You. Get thee behind me…” Beverly’s voice falters then, her body crumbling with pain, true pain. She had given all she had. Her hopes, her dreams, her nightmares and her fears. She had entrusted them all to him. Mildred Gunning, dear Millie who had always been a balm is no longer that. She is pain compounded. Until she isn’t, she steps closer. “Beverly…” “You are setting your mind not on divine things but on human things…” A crack, tears flow and Mildred steps to cup Beverly’s face in her hands now, wiping away tears that come so quickly, pressing a soft, swift, kiss to Beverly’s hairline. Beverly is silent, sobbing with the agony of a hope faded. “Beverly… you were never not chosen…” Her voice is soft, strong and Mildred leans to kiss Beverly gently but firmly. “You were always meant to be ours… that’s why we did all this…” Paul steps closer at last, tucking stray hairs from Beverly’s face tenderly, caressing away new tears. “Sweet believer… little lamb…” His voice softens. “Come, come away…” He leads her now, arm around her, Mildred slipping to her other side and allowing herself to stroke her hand over Beverly’s back. They head into the church, Sarah pauses and looks up. “Burn it.” A single command from Mildred’s lips. “We will start new, together… as a family.” They do. The island does not burn, Beverly takes her place with Mildred as Paul’s true believers and wives. Blessed at last.

#multiamory march #midnight mass #day 2: hope #beverly keane #mildred gunning #father paul hill #paul/beverly/mildred

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ao3feed-midnightmass · 11 months ago

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I Am The Antichrist To You

by Locuswarm Adam moved away from Crockett Island when he was 16, he never wanted to look back, never even wanted to think of the island. Yet, when his mother dies, her medical debts creep onto the mainland and find him, along with a letter she wrote before her death. It begs for his return to the island, a key to his newly inherited family home accompanying the letter. If Adam knew the ferry only went one way these days, he would have never stepped foot back onto the Crock Pot. (Weak plot, no ending in mind, just wanna write abt broken people hurting each other in a sorta seductive way yano yano) Words: 9126, Chapters: 2/?, Language: English Fandoms: Midnight Mass (TV) Rating: Mature Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence Categories: M/M, Multi Characters: Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt, Sheriff Hassan (Midnight Mass), Original Male Character(s), Original Trans Character(s), Ooker (Midnight Mass), Beverly Keane, Annie Flynn Relationships: Father Paul Hill | Monsignor John Pruitt/Original Character(s), Sheriff Hassan (Midnight Mass)/Original Character(s) Additional Tags: Alternate Ending, the island is crawling with hungry vampires but they're secondary to cheesy problematic romance, Human/Vampire Relationship, Obsessive Behavior, Religious Conflict, religious trauma, Transphobia, out of character john pruitt, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, very brief though, I tried to write a slowburn, Mild Blood, i describe blood like it's vampire ectacy, Not Beta Read, Eventual Smut, like kind of a lot of it, i was not in the greatest space for some of these chapters fellas ngl December 18, 2023 at 02:59PM Read it on Ao3 » https://archiveofourown.org/works/52353967 ✞ Don’t forget to leave kudos and comments to let the author know you enjoyed their work ✞

#ao3feed-midnightmass #midnight mass #midnight mass fanfiction #ao3 #ao3feed

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eggelette · 1 year ago

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Midnight Mass: A Masterpiece

So I've dipped my toes back into Mike Flanagans' work. I watched Haunting of Hill House, Haunting of Bly Manor and Hush. Then after my hiatus, I watched the Fall of the House of Usher, and now Midnight Mass.

Midnight Mass is particularly special to me, especially as I'm currently grappling with my own faith.

I think it's that God narrative presence within the show as sunlight, even when the clergy twist their words and lie, and slither in the darkness, chase immortality. It is in dawn that Riley is redeemed and forgiven by the girl he killed, even as it burns him alive. It is that the burst of atoms and neurons is God, and that the cosmos just dreams of itself but we forget our dreams. It's that Riley the atheist and Erin the believer are both right and wrong in their own ways.

Pruitt is a particularly human character, faced with not having the courage he preaches about, the courage to be with Mildred that he believes himself that the monster he brings back is an angel. He has to, he has no choice but to have faith in the miracles he's shown. He becomes warped by his devotion, even though him and Mildred faced the same fate and could have, would have, should have reconnected in their elderly states, had a second chance there. Instead he goes down on his warpath, twists and lies, does unholy things in the name of God. He refuses to redeem a man and instead condemns him, ignoring his own moral conscience in the name of his holy hunger.

It's that God acts through us, and God does not pick and choose, God cannot pick and choose, that Sheriff Hassan is correct, we have found God already. That terrible things like aging, dementia, pancreatic cancer, being rendered paralysed are due to either natural process, being in the wrong place at the wrong time, or the acts of others. But so are wonderful things like becoming pregnant with Littlefoot who saves you, so is reconnecting with a childhood love, they too are natural processes, being in the right place at the right time and due the acts of others. We are part of it all, the good and the bad.

It's that amidst all of this God loves us all. Loves the saint, loves the sinner, loves the hypocrite. Loves even Beverly Keane who cannot stand that she is loved equally. She needs to be loved more, wants to be loved more and in her efforts she strays far from God's path. She sees a man dead and a monster and ignores half the bibles she so clearly knows and vets. She sees a dog of a flawed man and poisons him out of her self-righteousness and unkindness. For the chance of divinity she sacrifices her humanity easily, but is unable to accept either by the end and that they are one and the same, and is STILL loved.

This was a really beautiful show, really thoughtful and considerate of its characters and their journeys.

#midnight mass spoilers #midnight mass

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tropes-and-tales · 3 years ago

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At Your Window

Day 22: Exhibitionism/voyeurism (Sheriff Hassan x F!Reader)

(For the 2021 Kinktober event offered by @beeschaos and @withlove-sid. The original post and calendar/list can be found here.)

CW: Smut, though nothing very explicit (voyeurism; exhibitionism; masturbation (F implied; M slightly heavier implied)); 18+ only to be safe.

Word Count: 2376

AN: This is very late - apologies! Kinktober is going to go into Kinkvember, alas.

Crockett Island is quiet. After years of living in New York City, any small town without all-night bodegas would seem quiet. But Crockett Island – population barely 120 – is quiet. Quiet as the grave.

Sheriff Hassan doesn’t mind it. Actually, he sort of loves the quiet. Loves the lack of traffic noise, the lack of so much humanity stacked up on top of each other in a city that never sleeps. He loves sipping his coffee in the morning when the grey dawn breaks over the island. He loves the wash of color at sunset, the quiet in his home. Playing music as he makes dinner for himself and Ali. Evening prayers with his son.

Taking a final pass around the house – locking doors, turning off lights – before going to bed. On Crockett Island, in the deep quiet, Hassan can actually fall asleep with a book. No car alarms, no early morning delivery trucks. He falls asleep and stays asleep until his alarm in the morning wakes him.

It’s a balmy summer night. In New York, it is probably unbearably muggy, but on this island, there’s a lovely breeze coming in off the ocean. Hassan skips his usually post-dinner, post-prayer book (he’s working through “Lonesome Dove” currently). Instead, he sits out on his porch. The back porch.

Crockett Island is quiet at night, but people do tend to sit on their front porches in the evening. Hassan, not entirely embraced by the population yet, prefers to sit on his back porch some nights. There’s little chance of getting those looks from certain citizens. The askance look, the suspicious way some people eye the bearded Muslim on an island of mostly white Christians.

Okay, may as well say it: some people means Beverly Keane.

So Hassan, who’s feeling good on such a beautiful summer night, sits on the back porch, just in the off-chance that Beverly Keane comes strolling by with her sharp little sparrow eyes and judgmental, pursed mouth.

He settles back in the porch swing, sets it gently swaying. There’s no moon tonight, and the stars glitter like a spill of diamonds across black velvet. Hassan was born and raised in New York City. He never knew the night sky held so many stars.

But his eye is drawn away from the sky. It’s a sound that pulls his gaze away first – a woman’s voice, singing – and Hassan peers across his narrow backyard of sandy scrub to look at his neighbor’s house.

The residents of Crockett Island seem to fall along the lines of his experience in life: there’s some overtly prejudiced people (Beverly Keane), with the majority falling in some agnostic middle ground – not hostile, but not openly friendly.

But on the furthest end of the spectrum, opposite of the Bev Keane’s of the island, are people like you. His neighbor that lives in the little saltbox behind him. Two days after he and Ali moved in, there you were: at their front door with an actual apple pie, a wide smile on your face as you introduced yourself.

“It’s halal,” you had told him when you handed him the pie. “I checked a website before I baked it.”

“Apples aren’t haram,” Hassan had told you with a smile, but he was secretly touched at the effort.

“No, but lard is. I used vegetable shortening.” A beat. “The crust is also gluten free.”

Hassan had smiled wider at that. “Gluten is halal.”

“Ah, but celiac disease affects all colors and creeds,” you had replied. “And I didn’t want to take a chance at making the new sheriff or his kid sick in the off-chance they had an intolerance.”

“Didn’t want to end up on the radar of the law?”

You had laughed at that, then turned to leave. “You’re already onto me, sheriff,” you had joked. “I was going to bribe you with baked goods, then expect you to turn a blind eye to my criminal enterprises.”

-----

It is the joke that the two of you build your neighborly relationship off of: you as the criminal kingpin of Crockett Island, him the staid law.

“Staying out of trouble?” he’d call out when he saw you at the general store.

“Of course,” you’d call back to him in his office. “I certainly know nothing about that cocaine refinery in the Uppards.”

Or he’d see you walking the path between your houses and stop you. Give you a stern look, hands on hips. Tell you that he had his eye on you in his most official-police voice.

“I’m definitely not on my way back from cutting tags off of mattresses,” you’d reply.

“The most heinous of crimes,” he’d agree.

In reality, you work as the dispatcher for the ferries to the mainland and island contact for the fishing boats when they are out at sea. In reality, you and Hassan only exchange a handful of words any given week. In reality, as much as Ali teases him about the cute woman that lives behind them, Hassan doesn’t pursue anything. You were born and raised on the island, and Hassan is still an interloper. You may be sweet and funny, but…

Okay, there’s no good reason why he doesn’t ask you out. When Ali teases him, Hassan never has a good reason why his son is wrong. He has a bunch of bad reasons. Flimsy reasons.

But each day that passes, each joke the two of you exchange…even those bad, flimsy reasons crumble under the pressure.

-----

Now, sitting on his back porch in the summer darkness, his eye is drawn to the sound of you singing. His house is a little higher than yours, on a slight rise, so he essentially can look down into your house. There’s light in one window – your bedroom, from the looks of it – and Hassan can hear you singing along. You’re a little off-key, but you’re listening to Nina Simone.

In his music collection, Hassan has an entire portion of his shelf that belongs to Miss Simone.

If he leans forward and focuses, he can see into your bedroom too.

There’s so little crime on the island. Really, as a sheriff, he’s more of an all-purpose problem-solver. But this…this is a crime. And Hassan knows it.

He’s become a Peeping Tom.

Because when he leans forward and focuses and really looks, he sees that you aren’t just singing along to Nina Simone. You’re getting ready for bed, and it’s a warm summer night – you’re in a soft-looking slip. It’s not sexy lingerie – it’s just you in the bedroom alone – but the straps are thin, and the bodice looks like it’s straining across your breasts. It’s also short, showing off a generous portion of your thighs.

Hassan keeps thinking, “I’ll go inside now. I’ll stop looking now.” But he can’t tear his eyes away.

It’s mundane, everyday. Ordinary. You walk across your bedroom and turn off the music. You sit on the edge of your bed. You put lotion on your hands, then rub it into your knees and elbows. The gesture makes tears rise in Hassan’s eyes, unbidden – his wife had done just the same when she was alive.

That’s what makes him turn away and go inside. The intimacy of the scene.

-----

Hassan sees you the next day. Flags you down as you walk between your house and his. He’s embarrassed, a little, but he feels that it’s the right thing to do.

“Hey, Kingpin,” he calls out. “Can you stop for a moment?”

The sun is setting, and the sky is a soft pastel wash that casts the island in a dreamy light. You walk over to him, swinging your lunch cooler like a kid. Your smile is wide, and you tilt your head at him.

“What’s up, Johnny Law?” you ask.

He clears his throat, hesitates to answer. Confessing seemed better when he was alone in his office, but now that you’re in front of him, his courage flags a little.

“Look,” he finally says. He points across the scrubby, sandy yard to your house. “I didn’t know if you knew but…people can see into your bedroom window at night when you don’t draw your curtains.”

You turn and follow his pointing, and your brows knit together. “People? Who complained?”

“Well, no one,” he admits. “I was sitting out here last night and saw you.”

You turn back and face him. “What did you see? Anything good?” You cock an eyebrow at him.

“Saw you…rolling joints. Counting cash. Filing serial numbers off of stolen guns.” He leans into your usual joking routine, unwilling to admit that he was ogling you in your sleepwear.

“The usual Tuesday night then.” You laugh, and it makes him smile.

“Just wanted to let you know.”

You look around, take in the landscape before you turn to face him. “Well, I think you’re the only one with a view, Sheriff.”

“Just wanted to let you know,” he repeats.

You gaze at him a long moment, and Hassan is so rusty in relationships, widowed for so many long years and nary a date since then. But he swears he can see something in your expression. Can’t quite place it, but it’s something.

“If you want me to draw the curtains, I will,” you finally say softly.

Hassan shakes his head. “Just wanted to let you know,” he says a third time. He swallows, puts his hands on his hips. “Just…wanted you to be aware that whatever you may do at night, someone may be watching.”

You give him another long look, but then you nod. You tell him good-night and turn to return to your own home, and there’s a strange feeling deep in Hassan’s stomach that takes a long time to die off.

-----

It starts small, that summer. Hassan guesses that you’ve guessed at his apprehension at returning to the dating pool, and it takes him until the winter – when both of you are in a full-fledged relationship – to realize what you did all summer.

You lead him, a half-step at a time, out of his comfort zone. Out of his solitary life as a widower and a single father. Out of his apprehension, and towards you.

The first time after his confession to you: you in a t-shirt and sleep shorts, at your window with the curtains open wide. You standing in the window, backlit by the soft light of your lamp, the light throwing your silhouette in relief. Hassan can’t make out the details, but he can see the lines of your body – and you stand there a long, long moment before turning away.

The next few times, you undress by the window. Again, he can’t make out the details, backlit as you are, and you face away from the window, so he can only see your back. Still, there’s something about the gestures: pulling your shirt over your head, the way you arch your back a little to untangle the shirt from your stretched arms. The little shimmy you do to push your pants down.

All the while, during the mornings and days, he talks to you more. You walk up to the general store for your lunch break sometimes, stop in for a mid-afternoon coffee with him. Some mornings you stop in to greet Joe Collie sleeping off his bender – you’re one of the few residents to treat Joe kindly, which makes Hassan love you even more. You stop by the front of the store to pet Pike and scratch the great big mutt behind his ears.

And Hassan walks down to the docks to see you too. He uses the guise of his role as sheriff (“looking for contraband,” he jokes once), but he gets to see you more. Talk to you more.

And he sees you more at night, across the narrow backyard the two of you share.

He never sees anything explicit. Only ever your body backlit by your lamp, or you in your sedately sexy sleepwear. Never any scandalous lingerie. Never your naked body. Somehow that’s more erotic, more intimate, watching you get ready for bed in your soft cotton slips or sleep shorts, watching you work lotion into your wind-chapped hands.

One night, he watches you climb into bed and pull out a book. He asks you about it the next morning, wants to know what you’re reading. It’s the first time he acknowledges that he watches, and you don’t seem surprised – which is an acknowledgement from you that you’ve known he was watching the whole time.

But another night, you appear in your window. You’re in another slip, and your head is backlit by the light so that you look like an angel, the soft yellow light shimmering around you like an aura, like a halo. You fix his back porch with a long look – he knows that you can’t see him, shrouded as he is in darkness.

Then you draw the curtains.

Hassan’s first thought is that you have someone in the house with you. That you’ve brought home a lover – maybe one of the gruff, older bachelor fishermen, or maybe someone your own age from the mainland. The flare of jealousy burns hot in him, and he can feel the heat rise up his neck at the thought of you in bed with another man.

But the logical cop part of his mind tells him the truth: no one is in there with you. You’re alone. And you’ve drawn the curtains….which means, maybe, that you’re doing something you’d be embarrassed for him to see.

Not applying lotion. Not reading. Not singing off-key to Nina Simone.

The realization hits him harder than the initial sting of jealousy. It makes his face burn hotter, makes the blood course southward.

Makes Hassan give your dark window one last, lingering look before he hurries inside his own house to make his way to bed. To relieve himself of the tension that suddenly has him gripped like a fist.

The thought makes him come in no time whatsoever, like a teenaged boy: the thought that as he is touching himself, you are a mere handful of yards away, likely doing the exact same thing.

Maybe thinking of him, just as he’s thinking about you.

~~~Tag List~~~ @bananas-pajamas @rachelxwayne @stardust-fray @massivecolorspygiant @imspillingcoffee @amneris21 @paintballkid711 @mad-girl-without-a-box @bestattempt @rosiefridayrogersunday @strawberrydragon @hoeforthefictional @greeneyedblondie44 @leannawithacapitala @stardust-galaxies

#sheriff hassan #sheriff hassan el shabbaz #sheriff hassan x reader #sheriff hassan imagine #sheriff hassan el shabbaz x reader #sheriff hassan el shabbaz imagine #midnight mass #kinktober2021

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fatherpaulkill · 3 years ago

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Honestly one of the most blaring indicators that Father Paul is not only a terrible judge of character but is also a huge fucking idiot is the fact that he trusts Bev. This guy decides that Bev is the perfect person to put his trust into not realizing what 99% of everyone else on the island has already observed and that is that Bev is a MONSTER. This dude was clueless from day one! Just closed his eyes and covered up his ears to the walking human red flag that is Beverly Keane.

#midnight mass #father paul hill #beverly keane

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scarlettscribbles · 3 years ago

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Savior [i]

- Msgr. John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Reader

← previous ✧ masterlist ✧ next →

Tags: 2k words - Fluff, Reader & Joe Collie friendship, Reader & Sheriff Hassan el-Shabbaz friendship, investigation

Tags-list: @wolfieellsworld @maximumcoffeeme

Summary: While the monsignor mourns the loss of his Angel, you begin to gather information.

a/n: just heads up ! although i am periodically consulting the series for the events, i’m taking massive creative liberties with the timeline and some details :> please enjoy !

✧ + ✧

As the sun went up over the horizon, John knew. He didn't know how but he knew.

His Angel was gone.

✧ + ✧

Your trip to mainland was uneventful. It was easy enough to feed from a city rife with desperation. Normally, you would enjoy your little excursions but something was occupying your mind.

A blood-sucking vampire was on the island. That was annoying enough on its own but it's a recently-turned one, a fledgling. Hopefully whoever it was, was still human enough to not go into a murder spree. If they were able to get here without a string of bodies trailing with them from the mainland, maybe they could be.

You rolled your shoulders, massaging the phantom pains from your newly-healed neck. This wasn't how it's supposed to go. Crockett Island was supposed to be only a boring, safe place; your little pocket of fishy heaven. You chose it for the reason that it was isolated.

You remembered the first time you set foot on the island with only a small case of clothes and a whole lot of trepidation. A dog came running to you. For a moment, you just stared at it running around you in circles and butting your legs. The dog was either a shapeshifter messing with you or it was just dumb. You couldn't sense any supernatural aura from it, so probably the latter. Ever since you were reborn, the only response you ever got from animals was fear or aggression. You didn't feed like that, not anymore; but they would always sense something unnatural about you, something dangerous. So the fact that this black bundle of energy on four paws didn't seem to share the same sentiment was curious.

"Pike! No! We don't run at strangers like that!" Joe said back then. You didn't know him so all you saw was a bearded man with greying hair and a ruffled appearance. He didn't feel like a threat. In fact, he seemed to naturally curl in on himself. "'M sorry about that. He hasn't done that since he was a pup. Had to train it outta him else the town people would get upset. Especially that Keane, always had sum'n against my Pike." he said as he tugged on the dog's leash.

You crouched down and let the dog - Pike - sniff your hand before you petted him. Warm. That was the first positive interaction you had with a live being that wasn't for the purposes of feeding and it was a dog. "It's alright." you responded tentatively. "He seems - sweet." You remembered fumbling with your vocabulary; not quite used to saying something soft. Not in a long time. For a while, your language was blood, screaming, and the odd obscenities in between.

"The sweetest really." The man put his hands on his hips, eyes twinkling in fondness. "Anyway, you're new around here. 'M guessing you just arrived?" Joe observed before he seemed to remember himself and retracted again. "I mean not to pry. 'S just that there's not many newcomers on the island so your presence is pretty noticeable."

You furrowed your brow back then, concerned. You couldn't stand out more than you already were. "Am I unwelcome?" You hated how your voice wavered. Even after running away, you still retained that distaste of vulnerability.

"'M not gonna lie to you. Some folks will be wary of you. Say, are you religious?"

Your lips almost curled back into a sneer, remembering the bitter memories that came with worship. "Not particularly."

"Ah, then I betcha Beverly Keane wouldn't be too keen on ya. She is one prejudiced bitch, pardon my language." the man clicked his tongue. "The rest of the community is less so, but it still varies. Anyway, if you need assistance you can call on me. I live in a trailer just a little bit away from everybody else. 'M an outcast myself." he smiled deprecatingly, pointing at himself. Something went through you. You thought it was something bad back then but now you realized that it wasn’t anything negative - only foreign. Acceptance.

"Hey, um. What's your name?"

"I haven't introduced myself yet? Pardon, that was rude a' me," he said. "Joe Collie, and you?"

Maybe it was the way he felt like him but less of the murder and blood and more of dog, guilt and alcohol. More human. Warm - that word again. You made eye contact as you said your name, watching the slow tell-tale purple glaze over his eyes.

"Nice to meet you Joe Collie. I'm your distant relative."

You jolted out of your reverie when the ferry slowed down. You still couldn't help but feel that small stab of guilt from using glamour on him. You had to do it. You didn't want people questioning you as much. You also didn't want to be alone, and you thought yourself selfish to want something more. Even as an outsider, you wanted to be connected. To be able to build something of your own here.

And by the heavens, you did.

In hindsight, you should've probably surmised that two people couldn't fit in the trailer so Joe asked the sheriff to house you in exchange with helping around the house and occasionally in the office. Hassan was initially reluctant but soon, you became fast friends. You also found good company with Sarah, Erin, and weirdly enough, the two kids down the road - Sean and Dana. Some people didn't like you though, just by virtue of being 'related' to Joe. But that didn't matter. You had a life here and like hell you'll let a vampire ruin it. Not again.

"How hard can it be to find them?" you mused to yourself. They should still be on the island. There's the possibility that the creature was dropped off like Crockett was some sort of nursery, but where could it have hidden? No, someone housed it. You had to ask around for any newcomers.

This should be easy. Not too many people come to the island.

✧ + ✧

You were right. Not many people came to the island. Just two, apparently. One Riley Flynn and apparently a new priest. You were debating which one was more likely to have had the misfortune of encountering the creature. You considered just flipping a coin and cornering one of them. Play pin the tail on the fucking fledgling.

You let yourself sag against the kitchen chair, petting Pike from under the table. Smart dog, already claiming prime position to ask for scraps at dinner. To your left sat Joe and across you was Ali. Hassan was at the head of the table. Somehow, this became a regular occurrence between the four of you (and Pike). You liked it. It was nice. Your little band of outsiders. Another thing you couldn't let be ruined.

"Two newbies? That's exciting." you said dryly, reaching for the plate Hassan passed you. The man slapped his son's hand when he tried to nick it. You raised a brow at Ali as you picked up your fork, giving him an amused look.

"As much excitement this island can get, I suppose." Hassan leaned back on his chair, stress evident in the line of his body.

"I could do with more excitement." Ali piped up.

"Ah, to be so young and always looking for trouble." you responded, putting a hand over your chest, mimicking the air of an old crone.

"You're not much older than me," the boy narrowed his eyes. You almost laughed. Only if he knew.

"Old enough to know what you young 'uns get up to."

"Well, only one of them is new, technically," Joe said, sipping some of his canned beer. You eyed the beverage warily. You needed to make sure he didn't have too much of it.

"I noticed the first one's surname. Is he Annie's?" you tried to pass it off as mere curiosity. You hoped you hadn't come off as too desperate for information.

"Her eldest son, yeah. Got out of the island then ended up in prison some years later, just got out. I don't know exactly what happened but he was a good kid. Good friends with Erin too." From your limited interactions with the Flynn’s, they seemed like a good sort. Annie and Ed were always welcoming and civil. You’ve talked with Warren much less than you did with them but the boy was friends with Ali and you haven’t heard anything negative yet. You also felt like Erin won’t tolerate someone awful. Despite this, you have to separate the returned son from the people you knew. You couldn’t judge him based on his associations and a lot can change in a few years.

"And the priest?"

"Father Paul Hill, I think it was. I caught some of his first mass when I passed by the church with Pike." Joe answered and took another swig. "Shame about the old monsignor though."

"What happened to him?" It was Ali who asked this time, which you were thankful for.

"Age got to 'im. Pretty sure he had dementia before fucking Keane shipped him off to Jerusalem or something." Joe shook his head, oozing distaste. "He was a good priest but he clearly wasn't alright. Apparently he got worse on the trip and 's now recovering at the mainland. Father Hill's his temp."

Something felt off about that. You weren't crossing Riley Flynn off your list but this new priest was suspicious, especially with the missing monsignor in the picture. It doesn't add up. Could he have killed the old man to get the position here and wreak havoc? If so, then the implications were more dire. That he knows what he's doing. Was he even a priest? A small part of you wants him to be guilty. A man of cloth in cahoots with an unholy creature sounds like the opening of a joke.

"When did they even get here?"

"That night of the storm, When, you know, you got stuck in the mainland even though you promised you wouldn't." Hassan intoned, and you flushed at his reprimand. Feeding took longer that day and the storm caught up to you. It didn't help that there were apparently dead cats that washed up on the shore the morning after. By the time you got home, Hassan was full with the righteous fury of a concerned dad friend.

"Yes, yes. You've already told me off." you waved, willing the embarrassment to go away. "Many times,"

Hassan gave you a hard look, his lips twitching at the edges and you scoffed. Despite the play at annoyance, you were pretty pleased that he didn't look so grim anymore. You felt a nudge from your side and you turned to Joe.

"It's Ash Wednesday tomorrow," he stated. You narrowed your eyes.

"I'm not going to mass."

"Neither am I, but there's an annual pot luck tomorrow after, so..." Joe shrugged.

"Free food?"

"Free food." he confirmed.

Also free chance to gather information on your current suspects. It's a community thing and Crockett was big on community things so they had to be there, right? A thrill of excitement went through you at the prospect. It's been so long since you were hunting anything or anyone. It was different from before, of course, but the idea of a chase, of figuring it out makes something primal thrum within your body.

You looked at Pike's head which peeked from under the table, his two front paws sitting on your thighs. "Looks like we'll be eating well tomorrow baby,"

✧ + ✧

The darkness had overtaken the sky and it took with it John's hope that his gut-feeling might be wrong. He had been praying all day, begging for another chance, for forgiveness. Did the Lord deem him unworthy anymore of an indication of His divine presence? Did He decide that the island was undeserving of the miracles?

"...my Lord, they are good people. They may stray sometimes but they are good and in need of healing..." he murmured into his fist, clutching his rosary tightly. And oh, Millie, his dearest. He hasn't given the blessing to Millie yet. How could he?

The miracle stopped before it had even begun.

✧ + ✧ [cont.]

#midnight mass #midnight mass x reader #father paul x reader #father paul hill #monsignor john pruitt #gender neutral reader #reader-insert #scarlettscribbles

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