#vi as flynn

[potchi-fics]

the tower (part two of caitvi tangled au)

          the peaceful day was ruined when caitlyn suddenly opened the window of her tower, exclaiming a little ‘aha’, running a hand through her head and resting on the side of her neck, her eyes looking suspiciously on the corner of the window, landing on a not suspicious chameleon hiding behind a plant pot.

she hums out, “well, i guess rifel’s not hiding out here.” her voice gets quieter as she seems to walk away.

          rifel, the cheeky chameleon he is, lets out a noise of victory, his yellow face holding out a grin, his entire body covered in brown except his blue belly to blend in with the pot. but that only lasted a second though because a few strands of hairs wrapped around his tail before quickly pulling him up. the reptile lets out what seems a scream of surprise, hanging upside down and facing an upside down caitlyn as well, scaring him to green.

“gotcha. that’s twenty-two for me.” her eyes excited and gleaming with her own victory, she returns to the ground, letting the poor animal down slowly, “how about twenty-three out of twenty-five?”

          rifel could only stare at her with an annoyed look, tired of playing the same game over and over again. caitlyn, hands on her hips, staring back at him. 

“okay. what do you want to do?” she takes a seat at the window, rifel perks up and his tail points excitedly outside of the tower, “yeah, i don’t think so. i like it in here, and so do you.” she maneuvers herself so that her feet are dangling on the edge of the window. she points her finger at her towards the end of her sentence and rifel retaliates by sticking out his tongue, she tries to convince the chameleon. “oh come on, rifel, it’s not so bad in there.”

          she carries him on her palm, going back in her tower, running across the room— her hair following behind. and so her day begins: at seven AM, she’s doing her chores: sweep until the floor is clean, polish and wax, do laundry, and mop and shine up. and of course, sweep again and by then, it’s seven-fifteen. all done with her chores, she’ll read a book, or maybe two or three; considering that’s her only books. she’ll add a few new paintings to her gallery afterward, she’ll also play guitar and knit and cook basically wondering when will her life begin.

she’ll indulge herself with puzzles and darts and bake after her lunch. do paper-mache, a bit of ballet, and chess. she’s not done yet, she’ll do pottery, ventriloquy, and candle-making. then she’ll stretch, maybe sketch, take a climb, even sew a dress for rifel. then she’ll reread the books if she has time to spare. she’ll paint the wall some more, she’s sure there’s room for somewhere. and then she’ll brush and brush and brush and brush her hair— stuck in the same place she’s always been. and she’ll keep wondering and wondering and wondering and wondering: when will her life begin?

she runs back to her window, the thought of the floating lights appearing, makes her curiosity deepen more, because it always happens on her birthday. walking to the painting she made, taking a brush in her hand and adding minute details, asking herself if her mother might let her go for the first time to see the floating lights. 

…

          sliding off rooftops, jumping from pillar to pillar, sweat drips down the side of her head as she makes her way to the top of the structure. carefully balancing herself on the ledges, the height not scaring her, vi, as well as two other accomplices: twins. they look exactly alike except one has an eye patch. the three made their way to their destination.

“wow, i could get used to a view like this.” vi soaks in the view from the top of the building, not caring that she’s meters high.

a gruff voice calls out to her, “rider, come on.”

“hold on,” she brings up a hand to shush them, not even bothering to look back, “yep, i’m used to it.” she puts her hands on her hips, a sly grin forming on her face, “guys, i want a castle.”

“we do this job, you can buy your own castle.”

          he grabs vi by the scuff of her shirt, roughly pulling her so that they can do the “job”, not letting vi utter another word. they tie a rope around her waist, securing it nicely before dropping her down the window, with the two supporting her weight. 

once she was able to put the crown in her bag, a guard sneezes.

her chin resting on the palm of her hand, with the other grasping the satchel, “hay fever?”

he responded, briefly looking back at her, “yeah.” realizing it was her, he turned to do a double look, “huh? wait, hey, wait!”

          but she’s gone. with her feet only being spotted by the dumbfounded guard. the three thieves run like their lives depended on it.

“can’t you picture me in a castle of my own? because i certainly can.” they sped up, with her running between the twins, heading for the forest. “all the things we’ve seen, and it’s only eight AM in the morning. gentlemen, this is a very big day!”

…

“this is it,” rifel sitting on the side of the box that contains her paint, caitlyn talked to him, “this is a very big day, rifel.” he jumped on her forearm, nodding his head as if he understood, “i’m finally going to do it. i’m going to ask her.” her gaze determined, she feels him run to her shoulder.

“caitlyn!”

          mother gothel’s voice echoes, resulting in caitlyn gasping in suspense.

“let down your hair.” she sings happily.

she looks at rifel, “it’s time.” he stares mischievously, a smile occupying his derpy face, “i know, i know. come on, don’t let her see you.” she puts him on the wall, letting him change the colors that allow him to blend with the wall. 

“caitlyn!” gothel calls out for her once more, “i’m not getting younger down here.”

caitlyn spots her mother down on the ground, her hood covering most of her face, “coming, mother.”

          she hooks her hair and throws it out the window. gothel catches the tip of her hair and wraps it around her hand, grabbing it onto the hair, she makes a makes-shift step so that caitlyn can pull her up. caitlyn lets out some quiet grunts as she pulls gothel up, but years of doing the same thing made her build up strength. it takes a couple of seconds but she did pull her up the tower.  

caitlyn, though out of breath, greets gothel, “hi, welcome home, mother.”

“ugh, caitlyn,” gothel removes her hood, exclaiming in astonishment, “how you manage to do that every single day without fail. it looks absolutely exhausting, darling.” gothel runs her hand down caitlyn face.

“oh,” caitlyn chuckles, albeit still panting a little bit, “it’s nothing.”

gothel boops her nose, indirectly insulting her, “then i don’t know why it takes so long.” but she heartily laughs afterward, “oh, darling, i’m just teasing.”

          caitlyn looks down with an unknown look, still chuckling to shake the comment off. she gathers herself, bracing her shoulders, a smile coming back on her face.

“so, mother, as you know, tomorrow is a very big day,” they walk to stand in front of a mirror, she didn’t get to say anything more.

“caitlyn, look in that mirror,” gothel pulls caitlyn by the shoulder, “you know what i see? i see a strong, confident, beautiful, young lady.” taking a second to admire the mirror. “oh, look, you’re here, too.” once again, with the backhanded comments— gothel laughs it off again. “i’m just teasing. stop taking everything so seriously.”

          gothel elbows caitlyn— strong enough to make her sway to the side, before gawking at herself in the mirror, pulling back her eyes and assessing her teeth— grey streaks of hair prominent on her head.. pushing through, caitlyn ignores all of it, she has one goal set in her mind.

“okay. so, mother, as i was saying, tomorrow is…” 

gothel glares at her hand after noticing the slight wrinkles, “caitlyn, mother’s feeling a little run-down. would you sing for me, dear? then we’ll talk.”

desperate now, caitlyn rushes to set up a chair, “oh, of course, mother.”

          she pushes gothel down to her seat, runs to get her brush, and rushes to finish the song. wait’s from mother gothel try to slow her down but it was no use. before she knows it, a puff of hair blows at her, making her look younger again: the wrinkles gone, the streaks of grey gone.

“caitlyn!”

caitlyn rushes to get in her face, “so, mother, earlier i was saying tomorrow is a big day, and you didn’t respond. so i’m just gonna tell you, it’s my birthday.” she laughs and leans her head on gothel’s bicep, “ta-da!”

“no, no, no, can’t be,” she gently removes caitlyn from her, attempting to dismiss her daughter’s oncoming proposal, “i distinctly remember, your birthday was last year.”

“that’s the funny thing about birthdays. they’re kind of an annual thing,” caitlyn cheekily replies, nervousness lacing her words. she sighs, sitting back down, “mother, i’m turning eighteen, and i wanted to ask… what i really want for this birthday.” she plays with her hair now, beginning to mumble, “actually what i wanted for quite a few birthdays now…”

“caitlyn, please, stop with the mumbling.” she scolds caitlyn, her eyes rolling, “you know how i feel about the mumbling. blah-blah-blah-blah.” gothel’s hand mimics a mouth yapping. “it’s very annoying. i’m just teasing, you’re very adorable. i love you so much, darling.” she pinches her daughter’s cheek and boops her nose to show that she’s only joking.

          caitlyn’s face morphs into sadness, like a kicked puppy and she hears rifel squeak, offering comfort. she looks at him and she sees him waving his tiny hand to encourage her to try more. she hesitates but she blurts it out.

“i want to see the floating lights.”

gothel chuckles in surprise, the exclaim making her pause from picking up an apple, “what?”

“i was hoping you’d take me to see the floating lights.” she stands up to show gothel the painting she made: it’s caitlyn sitting on top of a tree, with her hair flowing down to the ground, while watching the floating lights.

“oh, you mean the stars.”

“that’s the thing,” she throws her hair up to the hook of a window on their ceiling, pulling it open, letting sunlight seep through, “i’ve charted stars, and they’re always constant. but these,” she gestures to her painting, “they appear every year on my birthday, mother. only on my birthday. and i can’t help but feel like they’re meant for me. i need to see them mother. and not just from my window, in person. i have to know what they are.” her eyebrows furrow in desperation, hands clasped.

gothel scoffs, closing the opened window to where she came in earlier, “you want to go outside? why, caitlyn…” she walks to caitlyn and twirls her, patting her head lightly, “look at you, as fragile as a flower. still a little sapling, just a sprout. you know why we stay up in this tower…”

“i know, but…”

“that’s right. to keep you safe and sound, dear.” she caresses caitlyn’s soft locks. she dramatically puts the back of her hand on her forehead, pulling the curtain close, dimming the tower, “guess i always knew this day was coming. knew the soon you’d want to leave the nest.” she walks up the stairs, “soon but not yet.”

caitlyn attempts to get a word in but gothel shushes her, “shh. trust me, pet. mother knows best.” she slams her hips, the vibration making the lever go down and closing the window caitlyn opened prior before— now, darkness enveloped the entire tower. caitlyn lights up a candle, “mother knows best. listen to your mother.” posing as a scary monster, caitlyn sees her and screams, “it’s a scary world out there. mother knows best. one way or another, something will go wrong, i swear.”

          caitlyn, ever the innocent and naive teen she is, is starting to believe what her mother is saying to her.

“ruffians, thugs, poison ivy, quicksand,” gothel portrayed those using objects that is similar to shadow art. “cannibal and snakes, the plague.”

she looks at her left to find her mother showing a scary face while holding a green lantern, she screams, “no!”

“yes.”

“but–”

“also large bugs, men with pointy teeth,” caitlyn falls down due to gothel pushing her using a mop, letting her see the ‘men with pointy teeth’ she painted on the floor, “and stop! no more, you’ll just upset me.” once again with the dramatics, gothel sits on the floor while leaning back and putting her hand on her forehead.

          caitlyn wrapped herself in her hair, making a cocoon, with a candle in front of her. her gaze looks around wildly, truly terrified of what mother is telling her.

“mother’s right here. mother will protect you.” she lulls her into a feigned sense of comfort, pulling her up. she opens her arms for caitlyn, “darling, here’s what i suggest…”

          she hugs her ‘mother’ only to find out that it’s a mannequin. she sees the real one walking down the stairs theatrically, candles on each step.

“skip the drama, stay with mama,” she puts out every single candle, their home turning dark again before she appears under what seem a spotlight, she opens her arms, “all i have is one request.”

          caitlyn runs into her mother’s arms and this time, it’s real. she feels gothel’s arms around her, grounding her, and one hand moving to pet her dark navy blue hair.

“caitlyn?”

“yes?” she pulls away from gothel, slightly looking down at her mother.

gothel’s gaze holds strictness, “don’t ever ask to leave this tower again.”

“yes, mother,” her voice fades out softly, feeling her mother’s hands on her shoulders tighten.

“oh,” mother gothel affectionately tell her, “i love you very much, dear.”

“i love you more.”

gothel gently pulls her head down, kissing the crown of her head, “i love you most. don’t forget it, you’ll regret it— mother knows best.” she’s leaving the tower again, using caitlyn’s hair to go down, “ta-ta! i’ll see you in a bit, my flower!”

“i’ll be here,” she walks to the window, sitting and resting her chin on her arms, gazing down on the ground with a longing look.

          and just like that, the idea of her leaving the tower gets shut down. with her hair still swaying in the wind.

…

          back to the thieves— vi pants, coming to a halt beside a tree, gasping out in horror at what she’s seeing. it’s her in a wanted poster.

she rips it off the tree, “oh, no. no, no, no, no, no. this is bad. this is very, very bad. this is really bad.” the twins, their hands on their knees, chest heaving, stares at her in reply. “they just can’t get my nose right.” she shows them, her face displaying that of someone who just got their heart broken.

“who cares?”

“well, it’s easy for you to say,” vi responded back sassily, her eyes rolling, “you guys look amazing.”

          she stares in envy at the portration of the twins but her attention is caught by a faint neighing of horses. she looks back and the guards have caught up to them. without a second thought, they run again. turning and turning to lose their trail, adrenaline pumping into their veins. however, they stop when they see that they end up at a dead end.

“all right. okay. give me a boost and i’ll pull you up.” vi starts, 

the twins look at each other, “give us the satchel first.”

“wha…” vi looks at them betrayed, “i just.. i can’ believe that after all we’ve been through together, you don’t trust me?” ending her sentence with a hand on her chest.

          she doesn’t get much of a response from them, they just stare at her like they are done with her shit. letting out the word ‘ouch’, she grudgingly gives them the satchel. one twin stands on his brother's shoulders, allowing vi to climb them like a monkey. she intentionally steps on the twin’s head, successfully reaching the top.

his hand reaches out, “now help us up, pretty boy.”

“sorry,” she flashes them her foxy smirk, showing them the satchel. “my hands are full.”

“what?” he pats down his body, “rider!”

          long gone now, vi almost slips making a hard turn, the mossy and wet mud tainting her boots—behind her are four guards mounted on horses, chasing her down. 

the general, or atleast vi is assuming he’s the general, shouted at his men, “retrieve that satchel at any cost!”

“yes, sir!” the soldiers obeyed, holding crossbows. 

          vi was able to duck under a fallen tree just in time to avoid five arrows being shot at her. she looked back at them for a second, tensing that they really were gonna do anything to get the satchel. the forest seems like a blur to her, the speed and intensity of it all, the arrows flying past her, digging into trees, anything— she’s hysterical now.

“we got her now, maximus.” the general spoke to his horse.

          thinking quickly, vi uses a vine to launch herself high in the air. she circles back and spots him, using her momentum to kick the general off his horse. she laughs triumphantly at this and grabs his reins. but the horse notices her rather quickly, stopping in its tracks. they look at each other.

vi grunts out in frustration, lightly kicking him, “come on, fleabag! forward!” the horse, maximus, eyes the satchel and tries to bite it to get it back. “no. no!” maximus thrashes around wildly, buckling and still biting for the bag; victoriously getting a chomp,  “stop it! stop it! give it back! give it to me! give me that!”

          due to the force, it gets sent up in the air and lands at a perfectly convenient spot: a tree that is hanging horizontally off of a cliff, and the satchel landed right on the very edge of the tree, hanging on a tiny, slim branch. perfect convenient spot.

they race to it, pushing one another, hitting, et cetera. vi almost falls but she manages to grab the trunk, clinging to it like her depended on it— well, it did. maximus’ hooves thumps against the trunk, aiming at her hands and legs that is wrapped around the tree. that goes on until she’s near the satchel but she sees it slipping off; going faster, she barely gets there in time but she grabs it before it falls.

a smiles adorns her face, it was quickly wiped off when they hear the tree make a noise. it snaps off and a scream from a human and a neigh from the horse fills the vast forest. a rock sticking out, breaks the tree off in two. they should be dead but no, the mountain they fell off gave them the chance to roll instead, saving their lives. maximus shakes himself off and smells the ground, trotting past a big rock—vi is hiding behind it. the things she’s seen today, truly. she keeps an eye out, hands looking for a wall to lean on but instead, she nearly falls.

vi hears maximus in the distance, so she opts to part the hanging leaves, entering the secret cave. she hurriedly hides behind the stones, the silhouette of the horse making an appearance. maximus leaves and she sees it: the tower. caitlyn’s tower. 

using arrows, she climbs the tall tower, using the crevices of the stones to dig the heads of the arrows. her muscles burned, and she is running out of breath, but she did it. she reached the window. climbing inside and closing it, she takes the satchel into her hands and opens it.

“alone at last.”

but a clang of a skillet pan rings throughout the tower. she falls face first and behind her reveals a terrified caitlyn. holding the said skillet.

note: not proof read

[misfitmiska]

I do find it quite funny how quickly unrecognisable fanart can get depending on how different your art style is from the source material’s.

Case in point:

The struggle is real.

[crazy-concubine]

Mark Hoffman will never be Jigsaw, but he can be Jugsaw for how badly that mf needs to wear a bra.

[miidnighters]

@bloodykneestm sent [ movie ] while watching a movie together, Violet and Flynn fall asleep on the couch and end up staying there all night

It had been another night of terrible horror movies. Except the movies were so bad they couldn't hold either of their interest - not being turned off just to say they'd finished it, rather than any actual enjoyment. Rain pattered outside, sending a slight chill through the air that had sent Flynn to fetch a blanket a half hour ago, the pair of them bundled up together under it's cover.

Violet had nodded off first, her head drooping down onto Flynn's shoulder. Privately thrilled, he revels in the closeness for a moment, before hesitantly letting his own cheek rest atop her head.

This is probably a mistake, because he's asleep too before he knows it. Come morning, the pair of them are going to be stiff, and sore though Flynn, at least, won't be embarrassed by having spent so long so close to her.

[myhyperfixationisiforgot]

Jacob Stone actually makes me furious because Librarians came so fucking close to doing something really incredibly cool about the perception of intelligence in and around higher education, and then the entire show flinched away from that so fucking hard that they ended up with "Jacob Stone's big moment is submitting a peer-reviewed article under his own name rather than his (oft-used and somewhat renowned) pseudonym".

[forfoxessake]

August - (2023)

Full albums that I listened to this month:

Vide - “The Parish” (2023) Anthony Green - “Would You Still Be In Love” (2018) song: “Keep Your Mouth Shut” Thursday - “Kill The House Lights” (2007) Saosin - “Along The Shadow” (2016) Pixies - “Surfer Rosa” (1988) Circa Survive - “Juturna” (2005) song: “Act Appalled” Thursday - “War All The Time” (2003) song: “War All The Time” “Signals Over The Air” High Vis - “No Sense No Feeling” (2019) song: “Altitude” Incendiary - “Change The Way You Think About Pain” (2023) song: “Bite The Hook” Against Me! - “Crime (as forgiven by)” (2001) Sonic Youth - “Daydream Nation” (1988) Turnstile & BADBADNOTGOOD - “New Heart Designs” (2023) song: “Alien Love Call” Youth Code - “An Overture” (2014) Johnny Flynn - “A Larum” (2008) song: “Brown Trout Blues” Sweet Pill - “Where The Heart Is” (2022) Lacuna Coil - “Comalies” (2022) Within Temptation - “The Silent Force” (2004) Frank Iero and The Cellabration - “Stomachaches” (2014) Thursday - “No Devolucion” (2011) Wire - “A Bell Is A Cup Until It is Struck” (1988) Against Me! - The Acoustic EP (2001) Against Me! - Reinventing Axl Rose (2002) The Homeless Gospel Choir - “Fourth Dimension Intervention” (2022) The Sun’s Journey Through The Night - “Worldless” (2023)

[thejoyofviolentmovement]

New Video: Island of Love Share Mosh Pit Friendly Ripper "Fed Rock"

New Video: Island of Love Share Mosh Pit Friendly Ripper "Fed Rock" @grandstandhq @jaclynulman

Rising London-based outfit Island of Love — Karim Newble (guitar/vocals), Linus Munch (guitars/vocals) and Daniel Giraldo (bass) — can trace their origins to meeting through London’s hardcore punk scene, while playing in other bands, including Newbie’s Powerplant. They’ve all shared bills with bands like Chubby and the Gang and High Vis. Informed by their work in their previous project, the trio…

[pupsmailbox]

LOSER ID PACK

NAMES︰ acheron. adora. adrian. ajax. alice. amanda. angie. arthur. aspen. atticus. bane. ben. blaise. bobby. brennan. briar. bruise. cal. charlotte. clara. dean. devlin. dex. dexter. dominic. eddie. edith. flynn. grime. hattie. hiro. hyacinth. jabez. jacob. jamie. jason. jay. jenny. juno. killian. kitty. leon. levi. lukas. manny. mary. misty. monroe. morgan. nancy. noel. ozz. rento. robin. rust. sam. scottie. shadow. sion. tammy. toms. tristan. tucker. tyler. valerie. vera. viola. will. wolf. xavier. zack.

PRONOUNS︰ alone/alone. bro/bro. bru/bruise. brui/bruise. cat/cat. cool/cool. de/defile. dir/dirt. dirt/dirt. dream/dream. dude/dude. dumb/dumb. err/error. ex/expire. fail/failure. fall/fall. freak/freak. grime/grime. gro/gros. haze/haze. heart/heart. hx/hxm. idiot/idiot. it/it. ix/ix. loner/loner. lose/loser. loser/loser. love/love. lune/lune. melancholy/melancholy. misery/misery. odd/odd. paw/paw. pla/plain. quirk/quirk. rock/rock. rot/rot. sad/sad. scab/scab. scrape/scrape. shx/hxr. soda/soda. star/star. su/suck. thing/thing. thxy/thxm. vi/vile. void/void. weird/weird. yearn/yearn. zomb/zomb.

[starrrrrrfaces]

i better see more of their dynamic in s2. i BETTER.

vi: wanna check your pain tolerance?

jayce: sure how-

vi: *punches him in the face*

caitlyn: VIOLET!

Caitlyn: Do, what do you think?

Vi: I wasn’t listening but I strongly disagree with Jayce.

Caitlyn: He’s not even here.

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem!

Reader

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

Word count: 13.5K

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

I invite you to listen to the playlist I made that goes along with the story.

Notes: **please read** This story is told partially from John Pruitt's pov and partially from readers, as such, when it's John's (Paul) it will refer to him as John, seeing as he had no need for the alias when it's from his pov. But when it's from readers, she will be referring to him as Paul Hill. Thank you!

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

Crude oil is destructive to say the least. It is thick, and cloying; dense and dark and it holds no mercy for anything it touches. It kills and pollutes and fuses itself to anything it touches like some dependant parasitic bond. Not that it knows any better.

At one time, Crockett Island was a home off the Eastern coast to close to 500 residences. There was a harmony and calmness to that time; back when the island had summer visitors, and talks of an airport, and no one had to worry about how to pay for their groceries or if they could afford to pay for house repairs after a bad storm. Back when people were alive and helped eachother and laughed.

As the Breeze approached the marina of Crockett Island, there was a passenger who stood outside, leaning against the railing as he remembered Crockett when it was a secret haven. Then that horrible accident…Now, it was more akin to a shelter to the last 127 souls who remained. The brisk maritime wind tousled his black curled hair and flickered into his eyes.

Not that he minded too terribly- he didn't mind much of anything.

John Pruitt sucked in a full breath of the sea air- something he hadnt been able to do in decades when his old self's lungs had began to weaken. It nearly brought tears to his eyes to have been blessed with this second chance as he took in the mass of land before him. His home. His duty. John knew what he had to do. A needle of anxiety poked at him as he hoped his large cargo was still safe in the hold of the small ferry. Of course it was, but he couldnt help but worry until it was safely tucked away in the rectory.

His gift.

“I’m here to help…just here to help…” He repeated in his head.

The ferry lurched as it docked, though his sturdy frame barely flinched. John blinked, and adjusted his satchel one last time before coming to the off-boarding ramp. He slowly and shyly looked at the other passengers, and had to press his tongue to his teeth to keep from acknowledging a familiar face that stood only a few feet from him.

Riley Flynn.

It had been years since he had seen that face, and he felt a swell of happiness at the prospect of having another addition to his flock to receive this gift he so eagerly wished to bestow upon them. He could hardly wait to see each face and see them properly with his rejuvinated sight. See how they’ve grown and aged. He couldn’t wait to help them.

John stood off to the side after exiting the boat as he waited for his trunk.

"Whatcha waitin' for?" Came a gruff voice that John knew well.

He turned to see the island handyman, Sturge, and a small smile pulled at his cupids bow, "My trunk…should be the largest thing on there I’m afraid." John said.

Sturge huffed a little, but nodded, "Yeah its comin', you need a hand gettin' it to where your goin' we got a..." The man droned on about helping the man transport his precious cargo, but unfortunately John had inadvertently tuned him out after something had caught his eye; someone to be precise.

It was the shrill chime of a bicycle bell that had initially drawn his attention, though now he was entranced by the young woman riding the very bike that had made it.

The same wind that had combed through his own hair was now blowing yours back as you came to a stop by the small marine building for the fishermen; a large parcel was fastened to the back of your bike. In fact you were so engrossed in calling to the fishermen on the dock, while unfastening the goods from your bike that you didn’t notice the supposed stranger with his brown eyes glued to you. Staring at how the men approached you and tried to sneak a look at what you brought for them; of course he also was not blind to the evident leers you recieved from the same men. Men he knew were married and had children who he had baptised over the years.

Yet here he was practially on their same level as he watched you; transfixed by the way your hair would get caught in the breeze, and how your cheeks were a lovely pink from the cold. how you had a certain incandescence to you that brought up the spirits of the worn down fishermen.

In John's old age, he hadn't been able to see you properly since you were born; cataracts and dementia coupled with a few other ailments made you into a foggy memory for him, even now. But he knew you. He knew you had been a lovely little girl, and had decided to remain on the island and open a small bakery; John could recall Bev mentioning it a few times that you made food for the Crockpot luck each year. He remembered thanking you...not that he could properly appreciate your gift. You were a familiar face to St. Patrick’s, too.

It was only now that he could recall baptising you some twenty years ago when he had just broached 60 years...and he could see what a stellar young woman you had grown into.

Beautiful.

John had mumbled something to Sturge about only needing help to get out of the marina, and his hand gripped the top of his bag absentmindedly as his eyes flickered over you handing out pastries and sweet treats to the men.

You smiled so brightly that it truly must have been one of the many gifts you were given in life from God. Your calling to brighten up the cloudy days of Crockett island.

A patch of sunlight.

As John pulled the crate up the stairs to the rectory and pushed it across the floor, the solitude finally let him start to think. He knocked on the trunk twice, and slumped against the side as his mind began to wander. John Pruitt had been a priest for well over 60 years; he had seen and heard and dealt with just about every scandal, thought, sin, doubt and joy you could think of. Which was why he knew that there was a divine reason behind your delivery to the fishermen coinciding with his arrival.

It was no random coincidence that your face was among the first he saw upon returning. God’s plan was at work, and John felt anticipation fill him at the thought.

You were a good girl, just like your parents raised you to be, and it wasn’t as if you had a reason not to be. You had made a comfortable life after your family had either left or passed. Moving was expensive and you liked the quiet. It was a simple life and an easy one. Habitual and concise.

You went to church on Sundays and attended daily mass with Leeza. She loved your cinnamon rolls, and you liked to sneak a few into her bag. John remembered noticing that after daily mass one day. It made his chest swell with what he told himself was pride and admiration; not pining and adoration. It excited him to see someone so full of life, even if it was quietly. But that excitement was a double edged sword, after all it too made the Father dread it when he felt it in him. That excitement would settle low in his stomach and make him lose his train of thought.

A test. It was all a test.

The first time you saw the man was when you were leaving the dock that morning. It was strange to see a new face on Crockett, let alone a handsome one at that. You had wished you were heading in his direction so as to give him a welcome; he had such a large trunk with him that you wished you could have given him a hand too. But alas you were needed in the opposite way back down Main Street.

You petalled down the road, and dropped off a few more deliveries down the island to the elders who couldn’t venture too far. Your routine every other day from 10:30 in the morning for an hour.

John knew that too. He remembered feeling someone cycle past him with a soft greeting everytime he visited town after mass. Everything was starting to click back into place as his memory was replenished.

You finished your route, and hopped off your bike as you came to the little bundle of shops in town.

You knew Monsignor Pruitt was returning the next day, and you found yourself hopeful that he hadnt exhausted himself…you were also excited for Bev to calm down after weeks of her relentless, poor moods…and that was saying something for a woman who already lacked a pleasant temperament. The Monsignor always seemed to calm her…perhaps it was that she was able to abuse his position for herself-

You took a deep breath to calm yourself as your temper flared at the thought.

The following day, Saturday, was your day to yourself. Your little shop remained closed until Sunday afternoon, and your appreciation for the downtime was great. You took extra time for yourself, and sat down to read that book that you had promised to read last year; tried a new recipe for dinner and baked yourself a fresh batch of cookies. It wasn’t terribly interesting, but it was easy, and you liked that.

As you brushed your hair out for sleep, your thoughts wandered to that strange face you had seen exit the Breeze the day previous. You wondered if he was visiting someone or if he was some kind of inspector for the island…so little happened on Crockett that new faces were so obvious. You were surprised no one had mentioned him during your day at the shop.

You shrugged it off.

It wasn’t your business.

The rosary you clutched as you prayed beside your bed dug into your skin as you squeezed it unconsciously. Some nights your worship came with difficulty…you mind wandered and you wondered if you were doing the right thing…praying to the right god. Not that you would tell anyone that.

You didn’t sleep well that night. Somehow you repeatedly awoke every few hours to a deep sinking in your gut and prickle up your neck that kept you from returning to sleep. The restlessness had you surrendering just before dawn, and you wrapped a thick blanket around yourself as you sat in front of your window that just peaked over the water. Your bleary gaze was heavy, though you felt yourself sober when you swore you saw a dark figure move into the thick bushes. You jumped, and felt your blood freeze, but when you leaned a little closer to look out, there was nothing but the gentle sway of the trees in the wind. It was so easy to dismiss what you had seen as simply your tired mind playing tricks on you.

You rubbed the heels on your hands into your eyes, and sighed as you stood.

Coffee. A coffee was needed.

The dirt road was muddy with the approaching storm that would be on the horizon in a few days. You hoped this one wouldn’t be too damaging.

You followed behind Leeza with Dolly, and told them what you had baked that morning for your shop, while Erin and Wade listened; enjoying how the air smelled of petrichor and pine. There was a comfortable chatter amongst everyone as they grew happy to welcome their Monsignor back to Crockett.

You sat yourself in the middle, in the same seat you always took. After months of Father Pruitt being gone, you routine was beginning to settle again.

The small organ began playing, and you stood to start singing with everyone else, but then as the alter boys passed you and you watched them, there was an unfamiliar voice behind them. You slowed your singing as you were once again distracted; sure enough, there was a much younger man who passed down the aisle in a gold chasuble and his hands held in prayer.

That same man from the dock.

You felt confusion fill you, and evidently you weren’t the only one as the churchgoers exchanged confused glances with eachother. You looked over at Wade, hoping he might look a little less confused as the mayor, but he mirrored every other face.

Knowing you weren’t getting any answers from your peers, you directed your attention to the pulpit as the stranger walked up to it.

“Good morning,” the man began, “I know I’m not who you expected to see this morning. I’m Father Paul Hill, and I was sent by the diocese to fill in for Monsignor Pruitt. Just know that I’m only here to help, and I look forward to meeting you all.”

You blinked in surprise at his explanation, thought you supposed it wasn’t entirely strange- just unexpected. Had something happened? You remembered how so many islanders had advised the Father not to make the journey, and now you were wondering if you all should have insisted harder.

The man looked a little nervous, but hopeful as he looked around to his new flock. But as his gaze passed over yours, you noted it paused for a moment. You smiled a little a him in hopes that it might make him feel a little welcome, and you briefly wondered if he recognized you from the marina.

There was a lilt to his strong, low voice that made you listen. He was compelling and direct; certainly not what you were used to with Monsignor Pruitt. He had always been a wonderful preacher, but for the last decade, he had grown slow and drawling.

You remembered your mother saying something about “It’s not about the sermon or who’s giving it, it’s just about being reminded of god and our mortality in this life.” And while you had always agreed with the sentiment, there was something about being invigorated while at church that was making your fingertips tingle.

You could already tell that Father Hill was appreciated amongst the churchgoers. There was a softness in their weathered faces as he spoke, like he was indeed connecting them to God.

As everyone filed in for the sacrament, you fell in line and felt your palms start to sweat. A part of you was thankful that Bev was there to provide the wine and your…replacement; you didn’t want to have to stop the church proceedings just to explain why you couldn’t drink the wine.

The discovery of your ethanol allergy had come as a distressful lesson when you had first drank the sacrament as a child. You still remembered what a fuss everyone made and how you had been rushed to Dr.Gunning who had only graduated from medical school recently. From then on your Monsignor had been very understanding and blessed your separate cup of grape juice every mass from then on.

When you accepted the wafer, and accepted the smaller cup from Bev, you noted in the back of your mind that the priest before you looked a little shaken as you drank. You paid it no mind- he was new and he likely had his quirks.

But it was no quirk. The Father felt his shoulders sink, and blood drain from his face as he watched Bev hand you that cup. He felt his idiocy fill him, then the subsequent dread and horror that followed his realisation.

You couldn’t drink the communion wine.

You never had.

A flash of the first day you tried it made his head hurt as he recalled how distraught your mother was upon learning what had happened. He tried to push the worried expression on his young face away but he was sure it was now more of a grimace.

You couldn’t accept the gift.

Panic clouded Johns mind as he continued to give the sacrament to each of the islanders. The devil on his shoulder proposed that it simply wasn’t your fate to be given the gift. But John had learned to ignore that horned heathen well, and he knew he must do something to guide you with the rest of his flock.

No lamb left behind.

As you filed out to leave, you walked behind Annie Flynn and her son Riley.

He had left years ago when you were still in your mid teens, and he didn’t exactly leave a lasting impression on a teenager. They stopped for a moment to speak with the new father, and while you wanted to say hello to the pastor, you hated to linger and get in people’s way; you knew you would see the Father again, and so you went to skirt around Annie, but as fate would have it, their conversation ended quickly, and the older woman took you by the arm as her son left.

“This is the beating heart of Crockett herself!” She beamed at you while you stood there suddenly locked in conversation with the young priest.

Annie had always appreciated your positive attitude and good nature. You found yourself always trying to cheer her up on her worst days while she worried herself sick about her husband and her son on the mainland. She was a mother through and through, and you often held her as a place-holder for your own flesh and blood since you saw your family only a couple times a year since they moved away.

And Annie seemed content with that. She had always wanted a daughter. The way she gushed about you then to the Father and introduced you had you trying to brush off the praise with a few failed “Oh no I-“ and “I’m not-“ and so forth. Your flushed cheeks had another agenda entirely however when you finally looked up at the Fathers gaze.

It was those soft brown eyes of his that struck you first. So focused and yet so…sad. Like he might cry at any moment. You wondered if his eyes stung.

He was handsome in a weathered, timid sort of way; couldn’t have been more than mid forties. He looked as if he had seen years of life beyond his age. Perhaps years of absolving sins had taken a toll.

“She is our baker here on Crockett…helps liven up the plain variety of food we have.” She half joked, thought it was mostly truth. Crockett was a place of bread and butter- basics. So a treat of some kind was greatly appreciated, and you were happy to deliver just that.

“Ah yes…the Monsignor mentioned his love for your pastries.” He smiled genuinely and nodded as if recalling being told, “I’ll be sure to stop by.”

There was a boyishness to him that endearing enough to settle your nerves.

Your eyes widened in surprise, “He did?” You asked.

You were certain Pruitt wouldn’t be able to recall something so insignificant in his declining health and old age. It had only been a few years that you had been running the shop, and you knew he hadn’t been fully coherent long before that. A poetic connection between him and Crockett Island you supposed.

Father Paul seemed delighted by your shock though, and the crows feet around his eyes deepened, “Yes he was quite adamant I assure you. I believe you’re also a regular face I will be seeing and that it may just be you and Leeza at times.” He added.

You clasped your hands in front of you to keep from fidgeting.

“I- well I try to be.” You looked away timidly, and shuffled your feet as Annie smiled at you. You weren’t used to someone being so passionate about small things- let alone a man.

“Oh she’s just modest.” The older woman said.

Father Paul chuckled, “Modesty is a virtue. Now, I noticed you weren’t able to drink the sacramental wine, is there something I should know?” He seemed so curious and invested.

You nodded, “I’m afraid I’m allergic to something in wine- ethanol. I’ve always been given plain grape juice instead…the Monsignor was always kind enough to have it ready. I hope that won’t be a problem-“

Father Paul shook his head as he rushed to put your mind at ease.

“-no no not- not in the least I assure you. Your presence and dedication is more than enough…you still receive the lords blessing even if it is from a sweeter drink.” He mused.

“Thank you, Father.” You replied and looked down again so as to hide the warming of your cheeks again.

Annie smiled and hugged you, “Well then, not to cut this short, Father but I’m starting my shift in a half hour. I’ll see you then?” She asked you.

You nodded, “Sure will. I’ll make us some coffee. I’m sure the sheriff could use some too.” You called after her as she walked away and bid the father farewell. Leaving the two of you to stand together. You turned back to Father Hill as he towered over you, and fought to find something to say as your nerves kicked in. You were usually good at finding conversation but you felt like you were a kid being forced to talk to some family member your mom insisted you knew.

You took a deep breath. “It was-“

“I hope-“

You both spoke over each other, and both looked at one another apologetically. You shook your head and smiled a little to ease his embarrassment, “Please you first, Father Hill.”

He looked at you for a moment for confirmation to ensure that he wasn’t being rude then he began again, “I was only going to say that I hope to see you here again…it’s enlightening to see a youthful face in a church.” He grinned- a curl of his dark hair falling over his forehead as he looked down at you.

You returned his grin, though yours was a little forced in comparison.

Attending church was a routine ingrained in you since childhood, and now it was just something expected of you. You knew the day you didn’t attend would make the talk of the town and you were never in the mood for Beverly to come knocking on your door to berate you.

You could still remember a couple years ago when you were sick and she brought you a batch of soup for you to help…the offer had been kind enough, but the soup itself had made you want to curl into a ball and chew on a dead seagull.

“I assure you.” You echoed his words from earlier, and he smiled. “I’ll see you soon. Enjoy the rest of your day, Father.” You said, and slowly stepped past him.

He turned his body to follow you. John told himself it was manners to speak to someone with your whole attention, and while that was true, he simply needed one last proper look at you before you left.

“Likewise, y/n.” He called to you as you walked down the steps. Out of your peripheral, you could see Bev still bending by the ear of one of the community members, and you made quick work of sending her a tight smile then hurrying along the path to the road. She returned the forced expression; not that she knew you forced it. Practice makes perfect.

The hairs on the back of your neck began to stand on end as you descended the hill from St. Patrick’s. There was something in the back of your mind that told you not to look behind you, but against your better judgement, you did just that. A pair of soft brown eyes were trained on you as you walked.

The Father’s stare startled you and made your stride stutter.

He was intense and direct. He wasn’t like most of the islanders, and he made you uneasy somehow, but regardless, you cast him a friendly wave, and continued on your way- but that same prickle on the back of your neck simply wouldn’t let go.

John watched you go until your head disappeared down onto the main road and out of sight. He felt his nerves pick up as he said his last goodbyes and returned inside the church. He sat amongst the pews and stared up at the four walls around him. The weight of the gift he was tasked to reveal was growing heavy. He wished so badly to bestow this marvel to every dedicated church goer, and he would.

To every single one except you.

Why you?

Certainly you were in some way special; that had been revealed to him when it had been your face for him to first see upon returning.

Fate.

But if that were the case then surely your way to salvation should be easier…yet here you were unable to accept it; all because of an allergy.

John sighed as he made up his mind to proceed as he did with the rest of his flock. He hoped you wouldn’t taste the blood in your juice tomorrow- if you did he would simply have to find another way for you to accept it.

No lamb left behind.

The walk into town that usually brought you so much peace now came with an impending sense of foreboding. You knew that nasty storm was nearly at your doors, but storms had never bothered you too much. No, there was something in the air that made you all too aware of your heartbeat, and your breath and how your skin felt. You barely paid attention to anything around you as your leisurely pace unconsciously changed into one of hurry.

It wasn’t until you had just passed by the general store, and didn’t respond to Hassan’s greeting that you snapped out of your trance.

“Y/n? Y/n you alright?” He called to you as you strode right past him.

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

“Sh-sheriff, I’m so sorry…” you stopped in your tracks and furrowed your brow as you fought to find an answer for your odd attitude, “I’m…I think I’m just a little out of it today.” You laughed.

The Sheriff glanced you over for a moment, then nodded slowly. “There’s a fresh pot inside.” He tipped his cup filled with black coffee to you. He was a nice man. Exhausted…mistreated, but caring.

You smiled and nodded, “I’ll come by in a few minutes. Thank you.” You hoped your smile would reassure him. You didn’t need to worry an already stressed father and someone you would consider a friend. An awkward older friend who needed a break but a friend nonetheless. “Want an eclair? Got a few extra that I made this morning.” You asked.

He shook his head gently, “If I didn’t know better I’d say you were trying to give me my own form of insulation for winter.”

You gasped in faux shock, and shook your head, “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

The pebbles and dirt crunched under your boots as you stepped up to the little entrance of your bakery beside the general store. As soon as you stepped inside, you suddenly felt a little safer…at ease. As if you had anything to be afraid of.

You suddenly felt very silly.

Ridiculous.

There had only been one change that day, and that was the charismatic Father Paul Hill.

Had you become so sheltered on that little island that you were afraid of a stranger coming into your community? Surely not.

No. You hadn’t felt fear in the man’s presence so who would you feel it now?

Ridiculous.

Stop it.

You closed your eyes and did your best to clear your mind of any ominous thought and any thought about the new Father.

Out of sight. Out of mind. Not your business.

You strode to the back of the shop and prepared your morning deliveries; it was always the same. It was easy. And you knew it was appreciated. Feeling important was a virtue in a small community that was run into the ground.

Making people feel cared for made you happy.

The day came and went just as it always did, but you couldn’t help but feel like the island had turned a little off its axis. Like something had just nudged it into a slight other direction. Your suspicions were only enforced and justified when almost every one of your regulars mentioned the new pastor to you as they selected their desired sweet or savoury treat from your display case.

“Such a striking young man.”

“Too modern.”

“Nothing like our dear Monsignor…but I can’t say I’ve stayed so engaged during a homily in years.”

“How long do you think he’ll stay?”

“Where do you think he came from?”

And so on.

You had hoped any mention of the man would remain in your own thoughts, but it was as if he had swept through the town like a stiff winter breeze.

By the time you sold your last cheese bun and lemon tart, and closed up shop, there was a very real wind that surged right down Main Street. The cool air pricked right through your thick tights under your skirt and made you made a mental note to dig out some warmer ones.

That storm was due that evening. It had been the talk of the town all day, right after the endless conversations of the invigorating preacher. Once you had gotten home, you felt it start to push up against your boarded windows. The wind howled, and the lights flickered as the sky darkened outside; you took that as a sure sign to light a few candles.

There was something ethereal in the light from a candle. So beautiful. If you caught the flames out of the corner of your eyes, sometimes it looked like they had little halos.

You smiled softly at the thought.

You never stayed up late on storm nights. In fact you slept earlier than usual. You knelt beside your bed and clasped your hands in prayer.

“Father, as I lie down for sleep tonight, wash over me with the warmth of Your love. In Your mercy, soothe my pain, whether in my body-“ you paused your recitation when that familiar prickle began its way up the back of your neck like it had for the past two days. You listened intently, but there was nothing but the wind.

“-mind or soul. Grant me a restful night of sleep so that when I awake, I'm strengthened to do Your will. Amen.” You decided against thinking too much of the unease, and settled under your blankets and closed your eyes.

You didn’t dream that night. In fact it felt as if you had merely shut your eyes for a moment before you were opening them again at the sound of your alarm.

The storm had blown itself out by the time you took your wooden shutters off your windows. There was a sliver of light coming over the horizon as you peered out at the water. You stared at it intently, and clenched your hand into an absentminded fist.

You tried the lightswitch in your kitchen, and praised the lord that it worked. You wondered if Sturge had been up even earlier than you to fix the power lines.

The outside of your house was a mess complete with a crab trap hanging off your fence. Nets, ropes, bushes, clothes, coolers, toys riddled the streets as you walked in the dim light to your shop. But then after only a few minutes, your nose picked up a smell. You were used to the strong smell of the ocean, especially after the storms, but this was different. You started towards the beach, and nearly gagged when you got closer. You had to cover your mouth once you stood on the sand.

From left to right, the beach was littered with the corpses of cats. You knew there were quite a lot on the island, and had seen the odd dead feline, but this was as if something had wiped out every cat and dumped them by the shore.

Anxiety filled you as you stared.

“Oh my-…”

You spun around to see Hassan standing beside you; uniform half buttoned and a bag over his shoulder that you knew had his lunch. The two of you exchanged looks of distress, and you visibly started to shake the longer you looked.

“What…what would…Hassan what-…” you looked up at the man, and he only shook his head. At a loss for words.

“Cmon. I’ll walk you in. Gotta…gotta call the mayor.” He wrapped an arm around your back to direct you away from the mess, “We’ll take care of it.”

You nodded and followed his lead away from the beach and into town, but you found yourself remembering that prickle up the back of your neck that night, and wondered if it had had anything to do with the slaughter. Was there some predator that had somehow made it onto the island without anyone knowing? Was someone going around killing cats? Had the solitude of Crockett Island finally made someone snap and rip every feline to shreds?

The call of your name cut through your thoughts.

You looked up and saw that you were ex standing outside your shop, and the poor man who had walked you there looked even more distressed at your quietness.

“Thank you…thanks Hassan…I’ll…let- let me know if you find anything out.” You said quietly but gave him a small smile of reassurance.

“I will. Take care okay?” He said, and you nodded, but he was already disappearing up the steps into the general store.

You nodded to yourself, and unlocked your shop and stood inside.

Then you took a deep breath.

And got to work.

By the time 8:30 came around, your nerves had calmed, and your nose was filled with a far more pleasant smell of muffins, and tarts and sourdough.

You brushed off your hands, and bundled up the deliveries for that day, then quickly locked the shop up and left for mass. As you walked, you found yourself ever so slightly reluctant. Nervous like your first day of school.

It wasn’t until you heard the sound of Leeza and Annie behind you that you snapped out of a daze that had settled over you.

“Good morning, dear!” Annie called to you as you stopped and waited for them.

“Morning. You all survived the storm just fine?” You asked politely and began walking with them.

“Oh we were fine. Just a breeze.” Annie said good-naturedly, “Sure was strange what with all those cats this morning though hey? Heard Dolly saying they’re still trying to work out what happened.” She said a little hushed.

You nodded, “I know…the Sheriff and I found them this morning…scared me half to death…”

“They’ll figure it out I’m sure.” Annie dismissed the conversation; you could tell she was worried. She always worried.

Not wanting that to be the last conversational subject between your little group, you changed the subject.

“Anything exciting happening at school today?” You asked Leeza.

She shook her head, “Nah…but I think we’re starting on this project that I’m excited about…” the girl began on a tangent regarding her science project. It was nice to listen to someone prattle on about something that would be insignificant in a few years…it was somehow refreshing. Somehow you felt like an older sister to Leeza, and having her confide in you so honestly about mundane things made your heart swell.

The three of you entered the church, and just as always, you sat in your usual spot in the middle, across from Leeza and Annie. And you waited.

“Our processional hymn this morning is number 400 in the red hymnal. “Holy, Holy, Holy.” Please rise. “ came the voice of Father Hill from the door of the church.

A shiver made you twitch, and you blamed a draft in the church. You stood just as you always did; not needing the hymnbook but still holding it out of habit.

You sang, and kept your eyes trained on the text as the Father passed, his hands pressed in prayer as he walked up to the pulpit and continued his routine. You could feel the heavy presence of Bev Keene permeating the air, and you subconsciously ground your teeth. You knew if she had her heart in the right place, she could be a magnetic, beloved member of any community.

But sadly she didn’t have a heart to have it in the right place to begin with. Soot and malice was what sat beneath that gold cross she wore.

“Before he was given up to death, a death he freely accepted, he took bread and gave you thanks…”

Your eyes glazed over at you listened to that voice of his. Not that you weren’t hearing his words, or the message behind them; you were paying attention. But just like being read a story by your mother at bedtime versus a babysitter you had only just met, there was a certain comfort to be found in the former. Yet somehow, where Father Hill ought to have been less comforting, he brought great solace to his homily. It felt as if he was the one you were so used to listening to. Somehow he had eased himself into the Monsignor’s shoes seamlessly and had begun to preach his own gospel that melded with the tone you had become accustomed to since childhood and lulled you into a safe haven of worship.

“…He broke the bread, gave it to his disciples, and said…”

There was an effortlessness in his sermon. You wondered if he had started preaching very young.

With only 4 islanders in the church to worship, Father Hill stepped down from the pulpit and began offering the Body and blood of Christ to each. He saved you for last, you noticed, and for good reason as he retrieved your smaller cup and returned to you. You cupped your hands in front of you, and waited dutifully.

“Body of Christ, y/n.” Came that gentle voice of his like he cared deeply that you accept the blessing.

His long fingers graced the pads of yours so slightly as he placed the wafer on your fingers, and you failed to hide the hitch of your breath as you murmured “Amen.”

Then as he held your small cup for you to drink from, you failed to see how his gaze caught the sight of your pink tongue peaking out just over your teeth as you went to drink. John didn’t know why he noticed that; he supposed he noticed many small details now. Seeing your tongue now must have reminded him of any smaller animal with its mouth open- a small rabbit, a mouse, a cat, a-

A lamb.

The juice tasted strange that morning and somehow thicker than usual. You wondered if it was just in your head after being so shaken from the cats…

Annie took it upon herself to walk Leeza to school that morning, which left you to exit the church alone. On a day like that with the sun shining, you found coming out of the house of God almost ethereal. The light poured in through the single-paned windows and illuminated the dust particles that drifted so gently.

Once you stepped outside, the fresh air filled your lungs and you let yourself smile easily up at Father Paul as he stood patiently.

“Good morning, Father Hill.” You said, craning your neck to look up at the man.

“The beating heart herself!” He smiled, reiterating Annie’s analogy of you.

A good memory.

And a good sense of humour.

The warming of your cheeks was obvious , and John felt a little tug in his chest at the sight of it. Little flower pedals colouring your cheeks.

“She- I’m…”you tried to find a way to humble the dramatic compliment, but failed, “I hope you made it through the storm alright, Father. One hell of a welcome.” You said, trying to redirect the conversation, and to your mercy, Father Hill went along with it.

He nodded.

“It was quite nice actually. Being plunged into darkness almost feels like a renewal of some kind.” He said thoughtfully as his mouth seemed to threaten to tug into a smile.

“Quite sobering.” You agreed, “I’m glad it didn’t chase you off. Don’t know how many times I’ve seen someone buy a summer home here then flee the moment they have to endure a storm.” It was true. A little funny too.

The Father chuckled and nodded, “A fearsome thing to behold, but still a reminder of our creator…the power or lord holds, whipping storms against our rocks and shores just to knock on our doors and say hello. Almost reassuring.” He rambled a little.

You tilted your head, “That’s a very thoughtful way to look at it. Certainly more poetic than what you’ll hear from most of the locals.”

“And what would they say?” He shot back playfully.

You breathed out a laugh.

“One too many curse words for my liking, Father. And a couple confusing analogies.” You said.

Father Hill chuckled and somehow you half expected him to pat your head and tell you to run along. The Monsignor used to when you were a child so it wouldn’t be entirely foreign.

“Well we all have our ways of dealing with hardship-“

“Ah you’re still here, y/n!”

During your conversation you hadn’t noticed how the two of you had come to shift closer to one another; but when that cutting voice of Bev Keen startled you, you took an instinctive step away from the man with whom you had been speaking.

You forced a polite smile, “I am. Just asking how Father Paul made it through the storm-“

“The rectory has always been just fine.” She shot at you with a tight smile as if trying to end your time there quickly.

John could see your lips pull down so slightly into a tiny frown when Bev cut you off; he felt a flicker of irritation. Odd.

You recovered, acting like she didn’t mean any harm. “I’m sure it has. But just because a place is safe doesn’t remove fear. The Father here seemed to have handled it just fine though like you said… “In the storms, winds and waves, He whispers “fearnot” for I am with you.”.” You smiled up at the Father, and he returned it gently.

“Psalm 107:29…truer words could not exist for Crockett Island.” Father Paul said fondly to you; he had a way of speaking to those around him like there was a bubble around the two of you as you conversed. Like nothing else could take his attention from you.

You took in a breath and clasped your hands in front of you when you could feel the gaze of Bev scorching you, “Well thank you for a lovely service today Father, Bev…always a pleasure.” You said to both, but only made it several steps before Father Paul called after you.

“You’re always welcome here.” He said you name so gently. You noticed too that his tone was almost pleading…perhaps encouraging. Did he think you would stop your routine one day?

“I appreciate that Father Hill!” You smiled and waved as you turned to continue on your way; Paul’s lingering stare and Bevs look of distain following you as you went.

Your ear ached as a pull in you almost forced you to turn around and look back at St. Patrick’s again…but you didn’t. Somehow you felt it was in poor taste to do so. You had been startled by being watched once, and you were certain your nerves would not benefit from it again.

Instead, you hurried along, and made it down to the bakery quickly. You waved at a few locals who entered the general store and unlocked your door to grab your deliveries for that day. You always felt a pang of sadness when you looked at your list of houses and saw old customers crossed off; having passed or moved, but you supposed you ought to feel joyous for those who remained.

One by one you completed your deliveries. There were only 15 houses to visit, give or take a few from day to day. You treasured those houses.

You peddled up to one of the houses you frequented, and grabbed the order you needed. You almost bounced up the steps and knocked. It didn’t take long before the door was opening after the voice inside called that they were coming.

You were then met with a familiar face.

“Good to see you. Morning going alright?” Sarah Gunning was always a little direct, but kind. You supposed a good doctor ought to be both.

You nodded as you handed her the two loaves of bread and bundle of fruit cakes. “Not too bad…was a little shaken by the…uh…the cats this morning but nothing a sunny day like today can’t fix!” You assured her. “How’s your mother?”

Sarah nodded, “I heard…smelled it too. She’s alright, thank you y/n.” She took the package from you and gave you a tight smile.

“Good…see you soon.” You chirped, and began backing down the steps.

You turned around and strode out the front yard, but sighed when you noticed one of the straps that kept your goods in place at the back of your bike was loose. You knelt down and retied it. You supposed everything on this island was falling apart just a little.

When you straightened, however, you gasped and nearly toppled over. “F-Father Hill! I’m so sorry-“

The man stepped back a little.

“Im sorry I didn’t mean to sneak up on you.” He put his hand up to show he meant no harm, face apologetic.

“No…no that was on me, I’ve been a little in my head lately.” You said, having a hard time meeting his gaze.

“We all can be a little distracted.” He said. A slightly awkward silence fell between you, but it was he who broke it. “You know the Gunnings well?” He asked, and nodded to the house behind you.

You followed his gaze and nodded, “Not terribly, but I remember seeing Mrs. Gunning in church when I was a kid…I just deliver to them now. Mrs.Gunning’s health hasn’t been the best for years and her daughter Sarah cares for her…I just try to help out where I can.” You smiled.

There was something nagging at you though. Something odd. Of course you hadn’t fully realized that this stranger already knew who lived there; you were so used to everyone knowing everyone.

You did notice how the man before you shifted when you mentioned Sarah’s mother. He seemed almost a little more compelled to listen.

“That- that’s kind of you.” He stumbled a little over his words, “Giving to those in need that’s very selfless…a trait that can be hard to come by though we all possess it.” Father Hill forced a smile that crinkled the sides of his eyes.

“We all have traits in us that we can chose to embrace or not. Good and bad, Father.”

His smile turned a little more genuine then. “Ah yes, the never ending duality of man.”

“ “Everyone who does evil hates the light, and will not come into the light for fear that their deeds will be exposed.” John 3:20.” You quoted a little absentmindedly as you saw Beverly pass by on the main road. The distraction kept you from seeing how the man towering over you had his eyes go wide, and looked away for a moment.

You both stood there for a moment, then you ducked your head a little and pulled your bike towards yourself. “Well Father, I’ll leave you to it.”

Father Hill nodded, and pursed his lips ever so slightly, “Good to see you…”

You slowly walked past him and back to the road, but stopped when he muttered something that you wondered if he meant for you to hear.

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked back at him, brows pitched in confusion.

“For…taking- taking care of everyone.” He ended his sentence a little weakly, and you tilted your head a little to the side. An odd man.

“It’s my pleasure.” You decided on. It seemed to be what Father Hill wanted or needed to hear, and you both parted ways.

You paused at Main Street, and turned to look up at the Father as he ascended the stairs to the Gunning house. This time, it was his turn to glance back at you as you watched him. You waved and smiled, and didn’t wait for his response before you were pedalling away.

John had been standing just out of view of Sarah when he had said goodbye to Leeza, and saw you knock on Mildred’s front door. He stayed there, enjoying how much life you held inside you. Youthful and magnetic. Of course the ease in staring at you had nothing to do with the fact that your dress swayed around your legs and picked up so slightly in the wind.

He watched how startled you were by him when he approached you…so cautious yet so trusting. A lamb weary of wolves just looking for her Shepard.

I will be your Shepard sweet lamb…let me. Bend for me…for God.

Then that quote…oh you were no mere lost soul. No you were thoughtful. John felt excitement fill him at the thought of how you would benefit from his gift. He would be lying if he said you saying his true name didn’t startle him. A coincidence, of course.

Then when he turned back and saw you already watching him. Then that peak of your thigh when you hopped onto your bike…John was…

John was distracted.

An ideal lamb to guide yet so concerning. Not a blind lamb…no you were good. You were caring, and strong. Hopeful…hopeful like a man overboard who knew he had to weather swell after swell of water but kept treading water because he knew he was strong enough despite his muscles wanting to give out.

Instead of staying afloat like that man, John lost his breath.

Then he gasped in the salty sea water and breathed you in. Gulped you down his throat like a greedy boy to nourish his body and fill his lungs.

The next morning was thankfully an uneventful one.

Hassan and Wade had managed to get the dead cats cleaned up by the evening of the day before, and you weren’t sure when the last time was that you were so happy to have nothing happen.

Until that evening.

You were fairly proud of your abilities to make delicious confectioneries for Crockett island, and as you stared down your journal of recipes that sat in your lap, you pondered which to chose for the approaching Crock-potluck. You knew there would be a great deal of food already there, but you also knew that something freshly made for desert changed an atmosphere fast.

You were just looking through your various cookie and sweet bread recipes when a knock on your door made you jump. It was rare that you had visitors, especially at this hour. Certainly Erin had come by numerous times for slow walks around the island in the evening from time to time, and then Annie sometimes ran down to your house if she needed an ingredient…but somehow you felt that the person knocking was neither.

It was soft and timid.

You uncurled yourself from your nest of blankets on the couch, and strode to your door, then opened it with a pleasant smile on your face. It faltered only a little once you saw who was standing there.

“I- I uh…I’m sorry for this intrusion so late but I have a favour to ask of you if I may.” Came that low rumble of the man’s voice as he stood in the dim light of your porch.

You blinked, “What can I do for you Father?”

Father Hill shifted a little- an awkward smile on his face as he looked to the side as he stalled.

“This is my first uh- Crockett Po- crock-“ he stumbled a little and you smiled.

“Crock-potluck.” You corrected him.

He laughed a little, “Yes. And I wanted to have something to bring. Something my mother ingrained in me as a boy and well I was hoping if…if you could lend a helping hand so to speak.”

You bit at your cheek to keep from smiling too wide at his request. Here was this man likely twice your age, taller than most trees, fumbling with his words when he preached for a living. He was endearing.

“Well Father…it is getting late.” You started, and his face instantly turned to that of a kicked puppy.

His eyes softened, and the corners of his mouth tugged down so slightly.

“Oh- of- of course how silly-“

“-and I was going to make something for the potluck anyways…so having an extra pair of hands would be a godsend.” You finished.

John chuckled and stared you in the eye when your nose scrunched up so slightly at your tease.

Funny girl.

“Come in, please…make yourself at home.” You ushered him in. You were thankful that Bev didn’t live near you lest she see her dear Father Hill enter the home of a young woman alone.

Of course, John knew that you were indeed preparing to make something. Just like most islanders, you kept your drapes open even at night, and while he had just meant to take an evening stroll and check in on you- his dear lamb- John had found himself standing just outside your window watching you for well past a half hour. You flicked through that book of yours that John remembered seeing on your counter just two days ago when you had tested a recipe from it. You hadn’t seen him that night either. So domestic and sweet in your own space…

It was only when he snapped out of his trance-like state that he felt a little perverse in his current situation and told himself that he must have a reason for being there so long.

Thus the need to make something for the potluck.

John Pruitt had never made something for the potluck.

But he would not just leave your house that night after watching you through your window.

No. No he had a purpose for being there.

Of course he did. Why else would God have guided him there on his walk?

It wasn’t as if he was subconsciously drawn to your little home.

A moth to a flame.

You watched the older man remove his boots, and unzip his grey hoodie, and remove it to fold it neatly onto your couch. He looked so domestic and human.

“We’re going to make a cult classic, Father…I hope that’s alright. Safer for large numbers.” You explained as you flipped to your browned butter chocolate chip recipe. You slowly walked into your kitchen as you reviewed what you needed, and Father Hill trailed after you.

“This might take a couple hour- oh!” You started to say, but jumped when you turned around and bumped right into his chest.

He chuckled, “I think I might need a bell on me…I’m afraid I have a talent for startling people lately.”

You waved it off, “It’s just me…I’m just- I…” you sighed and looked up at the man as he waited patiently for your explanation, “Can I…can I be completely honest with you, Father Hill?” You asked a little timidly.

He nodded- open and calm, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You sucked in a breath, “You’re…well you’re a new presence here on the island…a welcomed one! But because you’re new…you startle a lot of us because we’re simply not…used to you. We’ll get there but in the time being…I think that’s why. I’m- we…we’re glad you’re here.” You stumbled and then when he smiled softly at you you suddenly worried that you had offended him, “I’m…I’m sorry I don’t think that came out right…”

“No no please…it makes perfect sense given how isolated the island is…I take no offence.” He said good-naturedly and waved his hand.

You sighed, and looked down, “Alright well…let’s get started. You might want to roll your sleeves up though it can get messy, Father.” You perked up as you changed the subject, and began to walk to your counter where you had already taken out a mixing bowl and, whisk and measuring cup.

“I am at your disposal, young lady.” Father Paul came to brace himself against the counter edge beside you, looking down at you thoughtfully.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, but kept your head down enough for him to not see, “Can you get me the butter from the fridge? Should be on the door.” You asked, and pulled out a small saucepan.

He nodded, and retrieved the butter for you. As he looked for it, you glanced over at him, and found your eyes drawn to his exposed forearms from him rolling up his sleeves. You looked away almost instantly, embarrassed for having been looking at your priest like that.

“You know this is the first time I’ve done this. Gotta admit it’s a bit exciting.” He said as he popped the butter beside you on the counter proudly.

“Baking is always fun…especially when things turn out yummy.” You smiled and put two large cups of butter in the heated pan. It started to sizzle. “We brown the butter to give the cookies a sort of nutty flavour…makes it a little tastier even if they’re just chocolate chip cookies.” You explained. He watched over your shoulder, enrapt.

“Did you always want to do this?” He asked you.

You blinked, “The- the cookies-?”

“No.” He laughed, “No, being a baker.”

“Oh. Well…not exactly. I grew up here and when you grow up in Crockett you have a lot of time to think…sometimes too much. I guess I knew I would end up doing something here and when I got older I got into baking and in my spare time I got really good at it…took years but before I knew it I was graduating and had a pretty fortuitous hobby. It was actually Dr. Gunning who suggested it.”

“Sarah?” Came his voice behind you.

“Yeah, Sarah was in the general store when I was there to get some milk and we got to talking…I had made her mom a few loaves of bread that she used to like and Sarah said I should make something out of my skill. And here I am!” You laughed, and stirred the butter as it browned and thinned.

“Wonderful…” he said softly.

You nodded, “She’s a nice lady. You’ll get used to her- just a little direct. Think it comes with being a doctor.” There was a moment of silence between you; only filled with the bubbling of the butter, “Alright, can you go into the freezer and pull out the flour, and measure out 3 cups of it into the bowl there?” You asked the man behind you.

“I certainly can.” He confirmed.

“Oh! Can you get 4 eggs as well?” You asked quickly.

He hummed and looked through your fridge for what he needed, and placed everything by the bowl. The counter was so much lower for him that he almost had to hunker over with his height to work.

He looked so…normal. It was sweet. A little odd to see your pastor baking with you but it was nice. Somehow it made him feel more human than just a man who absolved your sins and blessed you every morning.

The two of you worked together, and you came to find that Father Hill was eager to learn. He was methodical and took his time to do things right. Listened. Before you knew it there was a massive bowl of cookie dough on the counter and your oven was full of baking sheets.

“Each sheet should only take about 15 minutes so this shouldn’t take more than another hour.” You said, “If- if you need to take off I can finish-“

“A good man does not abandon his task, not to worry.” His tone was stern but he was smiling. You returned it.

“Well…” you breathed as you looked around for something to do, “I can put some music on if you like? You’re welcome to look around.”

He nodded, and you went to find something to listen to, “This used to be my family’s house. I’m afraid I only have their old records…Hope that’s okay?”

“More than.” He called out to you as you went into the living room.

You flipped through a few envelopes, and settled on one from Jeff Buckley. It was mostly slow, and you could still talk if you wanted to. You set it up, and as the needle sat atop the vinyl, a calm song began.

“Who’s this little ray of sunshine?”

You turned and followed Father Paul’s voice. He was standing in front of a few picture frames hung on the wall that you kept from when your family lived there.

“That was me.” You laughed, “That was right before Easter I think…I was 5.” You said thoughtfully.

“You looked happy.” He smiled.

I was. You thought.

“I loved Easter. Mostly for the chocolate…” you both chuckled a little, “But…now it’s just the time of year that I like. Spring. Revival…blossoming of plants, birds chirping…everything just seems so much more alive. The world starts to hum with God’s greatness during Easter, I think.” You thought aloud, then looked up at Father Hill once you ended your musings.

He was already watching you; hanging onto every word.

He remembered how much you enjoyed Easter. “One more chocolate, Monsignor? Pleeease?” He could still hear that little voice.

“What do you think, Father?” You asked him.

“I have to agree.” He hummed. You noticed that his eyes were almost glassy-that same teary look you had noticed when you first met him. Like he may weep.

“I think Monsignor Pruitt was partial t-

DING!

You both jumped apart and looked behind you at the sound of your timer sounding.

Had it been 15 minutes already?

You both returned to the kitchen and you began removing the sheets of golden treats. “If you can put them on the cooling rack while I take them out that’ll help a lot, Father.” You smiled.

“They turned out so nicely.” He mused as he followed your orders, “I supposed I shouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

You laughed a little, “It’s just trial and error until you figure out your best method.”

Modest girl.

John grinned at you from the corner of his eye while you placed the last hot sheet on the counter.

The two of you continued the routine until the last round was in the oven, and you were starting to feel more at ease with the man. Almost playful. He certainly was a young priest, and every bit a red blooded man; his humour was dry, and he smiled easily. His laugh was infectious, though you could tell he didn’t do it often. You supposed the church wasn’t exactly a place rich with humour.

The record had nearly finished after almost an hour of listening, and the two of you were leaning against the kitchen counter listening. You swayed gently to the music, but then perked up when a favourite of yours began to play.

“I love this song…” you muttered under your breath and turned your head in the direction of the living room.

John looked down at you in recognition of what you had said, but in the low light of your kitchen, and the softness in your face, he couldn’t help but be reminded of being young. Not just himself but the island. Back when the people who were not partners used to be children he had baptized. Back when there were dances in the old town hall that had since burned down decades ago.

You reminded him of…a better time.

An easier time.

You were so occupied in your little bubble, that it took you a moment to notice Father Paul coming in front of you with his hands out.

You looked down at his palms, then up at him, and he waited patiently. You slowly placed your hands in his, and he pulled you away from the counter and began to sway with you. So gentle, then he tentatively brought your hand up to his shoulder and he brought his other hand to your waist; guiding you through a little dance.

Neither of you said a word.

Not there was anything to say really.

Somehow the two of you just felt very…human.

Your neck hurt from looking up at his dark eyes, but you didn’t stop. He watched you just as closely as you moved slowly through the room in small circles.

“…You know I used to be alone before I knew you…and I’ve seen your flag on the marble arch, and love is not some victory march. It’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The smell of baked cookies surrounded you, and you almost laughed at the absurdity of it all.

But in that moment, it didn’t feel absurd.

It felt like two kindred souls enjoying some shared time. Any obligations or expectations melted away as you felt the warmth from his hands meld into your tendons and heat your sinew. His fingers holding yours felt more akin to a cradle and his breath between you was like smelling your childhood.

Your heart ached.

Perhaps it was that no one had held you in years. Let alone danced with you.

Hugs and pats on the back were about the extent.

“…and it’s not a cry that you hear at night, it’s not someone whose seen the light, it’s a cold and it’s a broken Hallelujah…”

The two of you slowed until you came to a standstill in the kitchen, simply standing less than a foot from eachother. When the timer dinged this time, neither of you jumped away. The sound certainly brought you down to Earth, but somehow you only found yourself staring up at the man. You weren’t altogether confused, though you were curious and a little nervous.

Why had he done that?

Why did you do that?

You had felt so comfortable…like this was an old friend of yours who you had just seen again after years apart.

John gazed down at you…his mind rich with turmoil and deep contemplation. When he had taken your hands in his, it had been as if God had moved through him.

Compelling.

Like God had told him to embrace the good of the past, and remember what he was working towards. To restore exactly that.

After a few breaths, Father Hill released your hand, and you both quietly walked to the oven.

The last batch now sat on the cooling racks, and you sighed.

“I’ll pack these up and bring them by the rectory before service tomorrow, Father.” You broke the silence.

Father hill nodded, “Thank you my girl.” He said softly.

You nodded and looked down at your hands, “Thank you for your company.” Then looked back up at the man before you.

He tilted his head to you as if to tell you that you were welcome or that it was his pleasure.

He slowly unrolled his sleeves, and you picked his sweater up for him from the living room.

You almost felt bad to watch him go. It might have been nice to talk to him for a few hours more.

He finished tying his boots and graciously took the sweater from you, and slipped it on over his collared shirt.

“Goodnight, y/n.” He murmured as he opened your door.

“Goodnight, Father.” You whispered back.

He stayed a moment longer, and smiled gently at you, then he was gone.

You stood in your doorway, watching him go, and as he left your sight, you found yourself returning to your senses. A wave of embarrassment chilled you when you realised what you had just done. Yet somehow you didn’t feel entirely guilty. It had felt as if some kind of blanket had enveloped the two of you just like when he conversed with his flock after mass- a bubble around you.

You packed the treats away after cooling, and silently went to sleep. You didn’t let yourself dwell.

-

“It’s great to see so many of you here today. But I do have to ask, why not every Sunday? Christmas, Easter, I get that. But there’s also always an uptick around the start of Lent. Why is that? What’s so special about today? Ash Wednesday, beginning of Lent. It’s hardly a crowd-pleaser.The beginning of repentance, making amends for our sins. Sin. This darkness, this blackness that spilled into us. That darkness, we wear it on our forehead today. Just a smudge of it. Uh…A smudge of death, of ash, of sin for repentance. Because of where this is all actually heading, which is Easter. Rebirth, resurrection, eternal life. Life that rises again…” Father Paul stood before you at the pulpit, presence commanding as ever.

“Even out of blackness, love rises again. Even out of sin. And this island, it will rise again. Even out of disaster, rebirth, restoration, eternal life. Jesus sees you. Sees you, best of all, and he sees you true. Because, don’t forget, who did he seek out? Who did he turn to, to build his church?His apostles. Jesus’ first disciples, they were fishermen. One of his first miracles, right? The nets are empty, fishermen desperate. Jesus says, “Put out into deep water and let down your nets for a catch,” and when they pulled up those nets, a bounty of fish.” You could practically feel the worshipers buzz around you as their heart rates picked up, just like yours.

“He sees you. Oh, yes, he sees you, brothers and sisters, and he will resurrect this island, and he will again fill your nets. It’s great you’re here today, but please keep coming back. Those doors, they’re always open, as the gates are always open. You just bring yourself. God will do the rest. As Psalm 60 tells us, “God, You have rejected us, You have broken us down, You have been angry. Restore us again.” Do you know what psalms are? They’re songs.The word psalm from the Greek psalmoi. It means “music.” Songs of prayer. Songs of praise. That’s who we are. That’s who we must be. That’s what it means to have faith, that in the darkness, in the worst of it, in the absence of light and hope, we sing. “Restore us,” we sing to the sky. And He will, my friends. He will. That same hand that dealt you your hardship, that same hand will make you whole.”

A single tear fell from your eye. God works in mysterious ways, and you could almost feel God working through Father Hill that day. As if God truly was trying to tell you that he was there with you. And Father Hill spoke as if he knew something good was to come- as if God had shown him.

And you believed him.

As you stood, you could hear Annie trying to urge her son to accept the cross of ash, and you gave her a small reassuring smile when she filed in behind you.

“Y/n remember you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” The preacher murmured to you. Your face was bright that day, happy. John suppressed a smile.

“Amen.” You said quietly, flicking your eyes up to his. He stared down at you steadily, calm as ever.

“Bless you my child.” His was was low and serene.

It was a peaceful stroll down to potluck. You watched as birds started to flit in the trees and chirp; bees starting to buzz, the gentle sound of the shore. Rebirth.

You checked behind you every so often as you walked in case you saw Father Hill; you had brought the cookies to the rectory that morning before service, and when you had offered to help carry the three large containers after, the Father had declined.

You had insisted.

But he insisted harder.

It was wonderful to see the islanders enjoy the little festival. Sharing with each other and laughing. It didn’t happen often. It was as if everyone pushed off their exhaustion just to enjoy that day. Problems could wait until the next day.

You made your way through the locals that you knew well, and stopped a little longer with some. Annie stood with Ed, and you noticed them smiling; perhaps it might seem like a strange thing to notice, but you knew all about Ed’s troubled back, and how their marriage was a little exhausted…it made your heart glow a little to see them happy. Most everyone seemed happier if you were honest, and it wasn’t just that day.

Your legs began to ache after a half hour, and you took to the edge of the festival to sit. You liked this. Watching everyone around you.

“Mind if I join you?” You looked up to see Father Hill walking over to you, a cup of juice in hand.

“Please do.” You scooted over to give him a little more room.

He sat with a soft grunt.

“You did your hair different.”

You turned to him. And your lips parted in surprise, “Wha-“

“I’m sorry- I noticed during communion. Just came to mind.” He said a little awkwardly though no less sweet.

Your mouth fell open a little, “I did. First day of lent…I like to do a little extra for it.” You rambled.

John smiled at you.

You looked pretty.

Not that he could say that.

But you did.

“The crockpot luck…I hear it’s a yearly staple for the island.” Father Hill said to you as you both looked out over the festival.

You nodded, “Sure is…”

John turned to you then; your tone was a little more reserved. Like you weren’t saying all you wished to.

“You’re not a fan of it?” He asked curiously.

You thought for a moment. “Can I be-“

“Honest?” He cut you off. Echoing your words from the night before.

You smiled, “Yes.”

“Please do.”

“I-… Lent is supposed to be a time of fasting and repentance and prayer…I just…it seems strange to have a festival on Ash Wednesday.” You said quietly.

He nodded, “Perhaps a little unorthodox.”

“I think I’ve always found it just…a little odd. Our Monsignor was the one who came up with it, you know? Coined the name. I just…I can’t help but wonder if his theology was a little…uh…off.” You mused, looking down at your hands.

Father Hill regarded you for a moment, and nodded, but didn’t say anything.

“I know you didn’t know him…he was a nice man…but…he was- is just a man. Man has his faults.” You shrugged, then turned to the man beside you, “No offence, Father.”

He chuckled and sipped at his cup, “None taken. I appreciate your candour.”

You pursed your lips.

You weren’t usually so unguarded.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Why did you say that?

This was the second time you had inadvertently said something to insult him within 24 hours. You felt shame start to rise in the back of your throat.

“I don’t want you to worry about offending me, y/n. I’m a friend and an ear to listen…if ever you want to talk.” He said, staring out at the sea of people, then back at you.

You sighed and nodded, “Thank you, Father. You’re very kind.”

He smiled.

Then you remembered something, “Father?”

“Hm?”

You shifted a little awkwardly, “I want to first thank you for maintaining my uh…specialized sacrament, but I just wanted to ask- have you changed the juice?” You asked him.

He thought for a moment, “I don’t believe so. We just got a new shipment…I can check if it’s any different…why?”

“It…it’s just…it tastes very strange. Almost metallic. I don’t know how else to describe it.” You thought back to how the taste stayed in your mouth after only a sip.

John shifted in his seat. You knew. He would have to find another way of give you the gift.

“I’ll find another one to give you. Not to worry.” He said, and patted your hand.

“Thank you, Father.” You chose not to dwell on him touching you.

“Well, I should return to my flock…trying to get to know everyone.” He said, then pushed himself up off the bench.

You nodded. You knew he was only temporary, but it was kind of him to try and get to know the members of the community while he was there.

He was charming and approachable, it wouldn’t be hard for him.

“Of course, enjoy!” You called after him. He waved back at you, and you scrunched your face up as the sun hit your eyes.

You sighed to yourself and after an hour, you began to make another round of the park. The town had truly lucked out with such a beautiful day for such a special day. After such a nasty storm just a few days ago, it was surprising.

You watched at the sun started to lower in the sky. Things were starting to wind down, and some had began to return home-

“Pike!”

You whipped your head around in the direction of the scream. On the other end of the park, you could see a crowd forming. You knew Pike was Joe Collie’s dog, and by the sounds of it, there was nothing good happening. You knew he was old, and loud, but he wouldn’t hurt a fly. You hoped he hadn’t bitten someone.

You crossed the field in just a couple minutes, and when you came to stand in the crowd, you felt yourself grow lightheaded. Pike was laying in a puddle of foamy bile and blood- the light leaving his eyes. You could hear Joe accusing Bev, and saw Sarah knelt over the dog…it was horrible.

“Alright everyone…back up.” Hassan waved his arms to try and disperse the crowd. Everyone began to walk away, and you could feel a solemnness come over the islanders. Like somehow they had all been snapped out of a trance and remembered their troubles.

You pursed your lips, but ultimately backed up as well. You wanted to help, but you knew there was virtually nothing to do. Pike was dead.

You kept to yourself for another hour, the as the afternoon dragged on, you started to collect the now-empty containers that had once held the cookies.

“Thanks for that, y/n.”

You looked over at Wade who was taking one last helping of…something brownish. A casserole of some kind.

You smiled, “Oh it was no problem. It was actually a group effort between the Father and I!”

His brows shot up, “Really?”

“Yeah he wanted to bring something. Wasn’t that nice of him?” You picked the empty containers up.

“Yeah…he- he seems like a real nice fella.” He mused, moustache twitching.

You nodded, “This was great, Mr. Mayor. See you Friday?”

He chuckled- you knew he was just fine with Wade, but you also knew he liked when people used his title- made him feel important. And you did your best to remind each person of their importance when you could.

“See you Friday, sweetheart.” He conceded.

You waved him off, then began your way back home.

John stood on the edge of the park watching you go. He had initially taken the spot to gaze at Sarah, but his gaze had been drawn when you were speaking with the mayor.

They really did love you.

And he understood why.

He watched you disappear down the road, dress fluttering in the wind.

•••••••••••••••••••

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

[potchi-fics]

caitvi tangled au

          this is the story of how i died. don’t worry, this is actually a very fun story. and the truth is, it isn’t even mine. this is the story of a girl named, 

caitlyn. 

and it starts with the sun.

          now, once upon a time, a single drop of sunlight fell from the heavens. and from this small drop of sun, grew a magic golden flower. it had the ability to heal the sick, and the injured. oh, and there’s this old woman, you might want to remember her— she’s kind of important. 

well, centuries passed and a hop, skip and a boat ride away grew a kingdom. the kingdom was ruled by a beloved king and queen. and the queen, well, she was about to have a baby; but she got sick. really sick. she was running out of time, and that’s when the people usually start to look for a miracle. or in this case, a magic golden flower. 

this old woman, named mother gothel, hoarded its healing power and used it to keep herself young for hundreds of years. and all she had to do was sing a special song. 

flower, gleam, and glow,

let your power shine.

make the clock reverse,

bring back what once was mine,

what once was mine.

alright, you get the gist. she sings to it, she turns young. creepy, right? told you she’d be important. 

…

          as mother gothel finishes her special song, she hears distant voices approaching to where she’s kneeling. Hurriedly, she covers the magical flower with a bush, however, in her hurry to leave the scene, her lamp bumps into the cover and exposes the magical flower. and just as she was about to be spotted, she disappeared— her green light fading into the darkness and a yellow one replacing the night. 

a guard yells out, “we found it!” his lamp illuminating his face.

without wasting time, they quickly dug around the flower, careful to not hit any stem. they lift it carefully as mother gothel watches in frustration behind the untamed shrubs of the forest where they make their way back to the castle to bring it to their king and queen. they placed the flower in a bowl filled with water, letting it be soaked, and with tender actions, the king led the edge of the bowl into the queen’s mouth, letting her drink it. 

          the magic of the golden flower healed the queen. a healthy baby girl, a princess was born, with beautiful dark navy blue hair. i’ll give you a hint, that’s caitlyn. to celebrate her birth, the king and queen launched a flying lantern into the sky. and for that one moment, everything was perfect. and then that moment ended. 

… 

flower, gleam, and glow,

                  a wrinkly hand darts out to touch the glowing hair of the sleeping baby.

let your power shine.

                 the magic turned that wrinkly hand to that of a young woman, making mother gothel smile sinisterly down at her. the glow from caitlyn’s hair bouncing on her youthful face.

make the clock…

              the snip of scissors, followed by her gasping out the word reverse, interrupted her song— stunned that caitlyn’s hair turned black once cut. she stares at her hand with a horrified look as she turns old once again. she grabs caitlyn, and sneaks off onto the balcony, taking one last look at the startled king and queen, before jumping off with the baby in her arms.

gothel broke into the castle, stole the child, and just like that, gone!

          the kingdom searched and searched, but they could not find the princess. for deep within the forest, in a hidden tower, gothel raised the child as her own. teaching caitlyn the special song as she brushes her luscious dark locks, successfully manipulating the little girl. gothel has found her new magic flower, but this time, she was determined to keep it hidden. 

caitlyn innocently asks mother gothel, her back turned against her as her hair gets brushed, “why can’t i go outside?”

“the outside world is a dangerous place, filled with horrible, selfish people. you must stay here, where you’re safe.” gothel continues to brush her hair, tenderly using the nickname she gave her, “do you understand, flower?”

“yes, mommy.”

          but the walls of that tower could not hide everything. each year, on her birthday, the king and queen released thousands of lanterns into the sky in hope that one day their lost princess would return. 

[crappymixtape]

tangled • part two

PART I • PART III • PART IV • PART V • PART VI ❝ all you’ve known your entire life is in the inside of your tower – the brick walls covered in your murals skating around you in a semi-perfect circle, the view from the very top one that would take anyone’s breath away, but how could it be beautiful when you could never leave? that is, until an unexpected someone happens upon your hidden tower and offers you a chance to escape | (  2.7k, tangled AU • fluff, angst, strangers to lovers, steve x you, steve x reader )

I N T O T H E W I L D B L U E 🎶 strawberries for two, tinyumbrellas

I said, cowboy take me away, fly this girl as high as you can into the wild blue. Set me free, oh, I pray, closer to heaven above and closer to you, closer to you.

Flynn’s head hurt, my gods it hurt, like it’d been cleaved in two and a groan rumbled in his chest, his brow furrowed tightly as he slowly opened his eyes.

The last thing he remembered was climbing up that bloody tower hoping to find respite, but instead found whoever the hell had clobbered him over the head with something awfully heavy and, well, awful.

Blinking the room into view, everything swam into focus. An odd little room full of the necessities: a stove, a wardrobe, a table and chairs, plates and cups and silverware and the like, but there were other items too. Paint and brushes and discarded canvas, a basket full of sewing things and a tiny pottery wheel with a half finished pitcher sitting atop it and…

“Is this…hair?”

Eyes growing wider by the second, Flynn saw long locks looped over the rafters above and diving down to the floor. Over the table and around an ottoman and slipping up the leg of the chair he sat in and holding him tightly, very tightly, to the hard wood at his back.

“Is this hair??” he asked again to no one until a voice sounded from the shadows just ahead of him.

“Struggling is pointless! I know why you’re here, and I’m not afraid of you.”

Flynn shook his head, trying to clear the cobwebs and properly process the situation he found himself in. Held captive. In a chair. Bound to it with hair and, oh, bloody hell.

“I’m sorry–what?” he half scoffed, confusion melting into frustration.

Something shifted in the shadows and he sat back, waiting, anticipating, heart hammering in his chest until you stepped out into the sliver of sunlight falling in from the window above.

“Who are you and how did you find me?” you worked hard to keep your voice level, frying pan still held in your hands, wanting to make damn sure this man knew who he was dealing with.

But this man. Oh, this man was in trouble now.

Mouth dropped open in a little ‘o’ his brows softened and the tiniest breath pushed from his lungs. Yes, it was an absolutely impossible amount of hair, but gods. You were unlike anyone he’d ever seen. In fact looking at you felt like getting hit over the head for a third time.

The soft slope of your cupid’s bow and the way it firmed around the tiny scowl on your lips, the long sweep of your lashes across your cheeks, hell, even the way you handled that frying pan.

“Who are you and how did you find me?” you demanded again and it shook him from his stupor as he flicked on the charm. That would certainly get him out of this.

“Forgive me,” he said, head dipping in a small nod, “I know not who you are or how I came to find you, but might I just say…hi. How are you? Name’s Flynn Rider.”

Your scowl shifted, confused, then irritated. What was he doing? Maybe you hit him a little too hard. Pointing the pan back at him you took a step forward and prodded him in the chest. Unimpressed.

“Okay, Flynn Rider, if that’s even your name,” you fixed him with a look, one you hoped conveyed you weren’t going to be tolerating any bullshit. “Who else knows my location?”

A huff of protest fell from his lips, brows pinching together and exasperated as he shifted in his chair. How did that not work? That always worked, especially with the ladies. Flynn rolled his eyes and dropped the act, struggling against his restraints. “Alright, princess–”

“Rapunzel.”

“Sure, whatever, I was running through the forest and came across your tower and–” Flynn stopped. Where was the tiara? That was his ticket out here if he didn’t have that…”Oh. Oh, gods. Where’s my satchel? Where’s my satchel??”

A most pleased look came over you and you crossed your arms over your chest, swinging the pan back and forth a little too casually and dropping it to the floor with a loud CLANG! Cheeks flushed you quickly bent down to grab it and pointed it back at him.

“It’s hidden. Where you’ll never find it,” you insisted.

“What?” Flynn grumbled under his breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, pulling a steadying breath into his lungs. Soft. Kind. Maybe you’d let him go. “Please? C’mon, princess.”

“No. I’m not telling you where it is until you tell me what you want with my hair! Cut it? Sell it? What d’you want!”

That could be the only reason he was here, for your hair. It was why you were in this tower, protected and safely tucked away from all of the ruffians who wanted to steal your hair. Your precious, magic, hair. The hair your Mother swore to never let anyone lay a finger on and made you promise to never let anyone else touch.

“Your hair? Gods, no! What’s wrong with you? The only thing I want with your hair is to get out of it. Literally.”

He didn’t want your hair? Surely that was a lie. Mother told you it was all anyone ever wanted from you. It was all they’d ever want from you and nothing else and the only person you could trust was Mother.

Right?

You narrowed your eyes at him and stepped up to him, “You’re telling the truth?”

“Yes!”

The look on his face was earnest enough and he certainly seemed desperate to get his satchel back. The one with the sparkly gold tiara in it. The one that most definitely meant he was a thief, but you needed someone to take you to see the lights and well, you didn’t have much choice. This was it. Your one chance.

“Alright, Flynn Rider. I have a deal for you,” you said, taking a step back pulling aside the long drape of fabric on the far wall to reveal a beautifully painted mural of the night sky full of brightly shining dots. “Do you know what these are?”

It was beautiful. A masterpiece. Artfully crafted and coming to life through an incredible use of color and movement and brushstrokes of–

“Of course I know what those are,” Flynn huffed, shaking the look of astonishment from his features, “Those are the lanterns they release once a year for the lost princess.”

Lost princess?

You tried to keep your expression neutral, ignoring the images the tiara had pulled forth in your mind, and straightened up tall, walking back to Flynn’s chair.

“Yes. The lost princess, everyone knows,” you didn’t, but he didn’t need to know. “You will act as my guide, take me to these lanterns and then return me home safely. Only then will you get your precious satchel back.”

Flynn tipped his head back and barked a laugh. “Sorry, princess. No can do,” he said through a few last little chuckles, “The kingdom and I are sort of…at odds with one another, so that won’t be happening.”

A flicker of anger simmered in your chest, being treated again like you didn’t know the half of it. Like you were an idiot. Like no matter what you did it was never going to be good enough.

Folding your arms over your chest you fixed him with a look, lips twisted around a frown, “Listen. Something brought you here, Flynn Rider. Call it what you will, fate, destiny, whatever you might believe in, but we are at an impasse and I think we can help each other.”

The smug look on his face melted the longer he looked at you and it shook the firm stance you’d taken. Those striking hazel eyes, the strong line of his jaw, the way his gaze held yours. You sucked in a breath, steady.

“And–and I’ve made the decision to trust you–”

“A horrible decision–”

“But trust me when I tell you this…” You leaned down to press your hands to the tops of the chair arms and tried your best at intimidation, “You can tear this tower apart, but without my help you will never find your precious satchel.”

Flynn narrowed his eyes for a beat, his breath warming over your cheek with how close you’d pushed into him and your pulse fluttered in your neck. A warning, curiosity, something a little more until he broke.

“Okay, princess–”

“Rapunzel,” you corrected. Again.

“Sure–lemme get this straight. I take you to see the lights and you give me my satchel back?”

“That’s the deal.”

He held your gaze a moment longer, waiting, anticipating you breaking under the long, drawn out silence that was stretching thinner and thinner through the air, but he didn’t know who he was dealing with.

“Gods, fine!” he cracked, chin dipping to his chest in defeat as he grumbled a string of curses under his breath. “I’ll take you to see the stupid lanterns, but if I don’t get my satchel back–”

“You will!”

“I better.”

“You will,” you said again and his features softened a touch at the earnest sound of your voice.

He guessed he trusted you too. Somehow.

I wanna walk and not run, I wanna skip and not fall, I wanna look at the horizon and not see a building standing tall.

“You comin’, princess?”

Looking down out the window to the ground made you dizzy. Made you second-guess everything. Made you scared. It was so far down. Much further than it had ever looked before, further than every other time you’d tossed your hair down to Mother.

“Of course I’m coming!” you shouted back, your frustration fizzling out with the distance to the grass below.

Swallowing down the nerves that had bumped up into your throat you tossed your hair over the hook like you always did and held tight, feet perched at the edge of the windowsill.

It’s fine. You’re fine. You can do this. You can do this.

You pulled air into your lungs, deeply, closed your eyes and pictured the way the ground would feel under you. The way you could dip your fingers in the river. The wind in your hair and the sun on your skin and when you leapt from the tower you left your stomach somewhere with your paints and pottery wheel and sewing.

A squeal pitched high in your ear and it took you a moment to realize it was coming from you and when your feet finally hit the meadow floor, the force of it tripped you forward into something solid.

“Whoa! Whoa, whoa, whoa–” Flynn dashed forward to meet you, catching you before you hit hard and his heart stuttered at the way you felt pressed close to him.

Clinging onto two fistfuls of leather vest and tunic like your life depended on it, you suddenly realized – you’d done it. You made it. Out of the tower, out from under Mother’s ever-watchful gaze, out into the world.

Free.

Heart hammering in your chest, you were sure it would crack your ribs as the world swam back in around you. The birds in the trees, the burble of the river, the softness of the breeze against your cheek and the warmth of Flynn’s hands wide at your waist–

“Wait–what–I’m fine, I’m fine,” you insisted pushing against him, pushing away from him, “–I’m fine.”

“Oh–o–okay. Sure, sorry,” Flynn stuttered, confused at your sudden protest to his helping you and held his hands up in defense.

Your eyes watered at the bright rays of sunlight falling on you, your arm moving to shield the view with the crook of your elbow, and when you finally acclimated a rush of colors struck you.

Brilliant, green grass beneath your feet, flowers yellow and orange and pink swaying and waving hello, slips of blue water flowing swiftly between the riverbanks and glittering in the afternoon sun. The corner of your mouth tugged up into a small smile, wiggling your toes against the cool dirt, the feel of it lifting your smile bigger and bigger until an astonished laugh fell from your lips.

“I did it…” you marveled, clasping your hands over your mouth. “I did it!” you shouted again, flinging your arms out and spinning, hair fanning out behind you in waves. Spinning and spinning and spinning.

And for the first time in a long time, Flynn felt something bloom deep in his chest. A feeling he thought wasn’t possible anymore. A feeling that split a crack in the wall he’d worked so hard to build, the one that was supposed to keep things out. Things like you. Pure, joyful, beautiful things like you.

“Alright, alright. There’s plenty of time to frolic, princess–”

“Rapunzel,” you corrected for the millionth time.

“We got a long way to go, c’mon,” Flynn waved an arm toward a small gap in the cliff, the one Mother always snuck through, and dread pooled at the pit of your stomach.

A long way to go. As in, out there. As in, away from your tower, your home, everything you owned with only a frying pan in your hand and panic pinched in your chest.

As he reached the way out, Flynn turned back to make sure you were still following, but instead saw you standing frozen just a few yards away. His brows knitted together. “You coming?”

“I’m a horrible daughter, I have to go back,” came out just above a whisper and Flynn took a few steps toward you.

“What?”

“I can’t go.”

“Sure you can, just use your feet,” Flynn teased a little, but tears were welling up against your lashes and that feeling hit him again, but he steeled against it. He didn’t owe you anything and the only thing holding him back from getting out of this place was the fact you still had his satchel – the one you promised you’d give him once he took you to the lanterns.

Your tears fell freely now and Flynn’s hand twitched at his side, wanting to sweep them softly from your cheeks, his feet betraying him and pushing him a few steps closer. He pulled in a breath, No, Rider. Not now.

“You know,” he started, tutting at you gently, “I can’t help but notice you seem a little at war with yourself here. Protective mother, roguish stranger taking you from your tower, but trust me. You’re way over thinking this. Will this disappoint your mother? Yes! Will you break her heart? Definitely.”

“What?” you gasped, break her heart??

“Yes, a horrible thing to do. Just horrible,” he tutted at you, folded his arms over his chest and let out a sigh of resignation. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m letting you out of the deal. Alright? Let’s get you home. I get my stachel back and you get to please Mother dearest.”

“Wait–no, no no,” you shook your head, “That wasn’t the deal. How do you know she’ll be disappointed??”

The words were tumbling from your mouth, stuttering and fighting against yourself as you buried your head in your hands. Quieted your mind and tried to calm down. And then it hit you.

“No! I’m seeing those lanterns!” you looked right up at Flynn and gave him the most decided look you’d ever mustered and he let out the loudest groan.

“Oh, c’mon!” flinging his hands up in defeat he gave you the most pathetic, pleading look, “What’s it gonna take to get my satchel back??”

“The lanterns, Flynn!!” you walked right up to him and poked a finger into his chest, hard.

Expression faded from his face, brows and mouth firm lines, unimpressed, stuck and all but conquered.

“I’m not doing this for you. You know that right?” he said, aiming to at least knock you down a peg, but the triumphant look you gave him was enough to tell him he had no idea what he was dealing with.

“I know. Now scoot,�� you shoved at his arm, pushed him toward the hanging vines over the secret path out and he begrudgingly picked up his pace again.

“Don’t ever tell me to scoot again.”

crappymixtape™ • steve harrington masterlist // stranger things masterlist ♥️ reblogs and comments keep me going, friends! ily! ♥️

[elvishdemigod]

Had a thought, an idea

The Healing song from Tangled, specifically the version Rapunzel sings at the end while holding Flynn, but Jinx.

Flower gleam and glow, let your powers shine This will be Powder being encouraged by Vi to keep working on her monkey bombs, that she has a gift.

Make the clock reverse, bring back what once was mine Powder and everyone she used to know: Vander, Mylo, Claggor, Ekko, Vi, Benzo. Family, broken apart. Maybe even throw in a moment of her and Silco.

Heal what has been hurt, change the fate's design The alternate timeline, what could've been, with Ekko and Powder grown up together. (Or can be switched with the previous verse)

Save what has been lost Jinx and Isha, happy, a little found family.

Bring back what once was mine Isha, giving Jinx one last smile, one last little pew before her sacrifice.

And the final scene will be Jinx mumbling a final What once was mine, as light from somewhere in the room illuminates her hair and makes it seem as if it glows blue, bouncing around the cell, as she being to cry into her knees.

[yourdarlingness]

Forest Adventurer themed　names , pronouns , titles

✦　requested by @silverdoescringeffs524　...　other slightly similar npt (link)

　◞◟　NAMES　✦

cypress . cider . basil . flynn . willow . sage . rosa . ipomea . elowen . rune . hawthorne . thorne . forrest . archer . everest . everett . aster . lief . wren . finn(ley) . echo . quill . lucinda . lucy . lucky . pebble . river . lake . alfie . ashe . striker . story . strider

　◞◟ 　PRONOUNS　✦

se ser . pi pix . si strike . vi vier . ey em . qu quest . le leaf . fe fer(n) . bee bees . mo moth . h✦ h✦m . sh✦ h✦r . th✦y th✦m . hi hits . ci cir . jou jour ney

　◞◟ 　TITLES　✦

the forest adventurer . the adventurer who treks through the woods . the [x] who ventures through the forest . prn* grassy scent . the adventurer who dwells in the forests . the nature-loving [x] . prn* arduous path

[asoftepiloguemylove]

all three of us were drowning, and we didn't know how to save each other, but there was an understanding that we were drowning together.

Hera Lindsay Bird Mirror Traps excerpt from "Hera Lindsay Bird" / Fariha Róisín excerpt from How to Cure a Ghost / Aeschylus excerpt from The Oresteia / Fariha Róisín excerpt from How to Cure a Ghost / unknown / Gillian Flynn excerpt from Dark Places / John Mayer In the Blood / unknown

i. Hera Lindsay Bird, Mirror Traps

[ "there is something wrong with you // there is something wrong with you that is also wrong with me" ]

ii. Fariha Róisín, How to Cure a Ghost

[ "sometimes i forget how i got here. / sometimes i forget how much i didn't want to survive." ]

iii. Aeschylus, The Orestia

[ "ORESTES This was always going to happen. / She's been dead since the beginning." ]

iv. Fariha Róisín, How to Cure a Ghost

[ "Your father could have been kinder, he could have been gentler, he could have held his tongue and his fists." ]

v. unknown

[ "I was not a loveable child, and I'd grown into a deeply unlovable adult. Draw a picture of my soul , and it's be a scribble with fangs." ]

vi. Gillian Flynn, Dark Places

[ "i don't want to just survive anymore, mom. / it hurts it hurts it hurts, mom." ]

vii. John Mayer, In the Blood

[ "How much of my mother has my mother left in me? / How much of my love will be insane to some degree? / How much of my father am I destined to become? / Will it wash out in the water, or is it always in the blood?" ]

viii. unknown

[ "All my mother wanted at the end of her life was to understand. Had she been the victim of an injustice, or was it she who responsible for her unhappiness? I am quite familiar with her unhappiness, I could even claim it to be mine too, but that would be asserting too" ]

[saturniasxenos]

Cyber / Virtual ID Pack

Inside this pack, you will find: Pronouns, Titles, Names, and Genders that relate to Virtuality, Cybernetic, Robots, and anything alike!

This features a LOOOONG list of pronouns and dystopian-ish names!

Pronouns:

Cy/Cyb/Cyber/Cybers/Cyberself

Vir/Virt/Virtual/Virtuals/Virtualself

Ne/Net/Network/Networks/Networkself

Ne/Net/Nets/Nets/Netself

In/Inter/Internet/Internets/Internetself

Co/Comp/Computer/Computers/Computerself

In/Inpu/Input/Inputs/Inputself

Ou/Out/Output/Outputs/Outputself

Vi/Viru/Virus/Viruses/Virusself

Anti/Antivir/Antivirus/Antiviruses/Antivirusself

Er/Erro/Error/Errors/Errorself

Sys/Syste/System/Systems/Systemself

Pro/Proce/Processor/Processors/Processorself

Di/Digi/Digital/Digitals/Digitalself

Do/Down/Download/Downloads/Downloadself

Up/Uplo/Upload/Uploads/Uploadself

Cor/Corru/Corrupt/Corrupts/Corruptself

Mal/Malwa/Malware/Malwares/Malwareself

Se/Secur/Security/Securitys/Securityself

Cry/Crypt/Crypto/Cryptos/Cryptoself

We/Web/Webs/Webs/Webself

Web/Webs/Website/Websites/Websiteself

Fu/Futu/Future/Futures/Futureself

Ro/Rob/Robot/Robots/Robotself

Rob/Robo/Robotic/Robotics/Roboticself

By/Byt/Byte/Bytes/Byteself

Fi/Fil/File/Files/Fileself

Ra/Ram/Rams/Rams/Ramself

Scr/Scre/Screen/Screens/Screenself

Te/Tech/Techs/Techs/Techself

Te/Tech/Techno/Technos/Technoself

Tec/Techno/Technology/Technologys/Technologyself

Ma/Mach/Machine/Machines/Machineself

Wi/Wir/Wire/Wires/Wireself

Na/Nan/Nano/Nanos/Nanoself

Da/Dat/Data/Datas/Dataself

Plu/Plug/Plugs/Plugs/Plugself

Ele/Elect/Electric/Electrics/Electricself

Ke/Key/Keys/Keys/Keyself

Pa/Pass/Password/Passwords/Passwordself

Ter/Term/Terminal/Terminals/Terminalself

Cy/Cybo/Cyborg/Cyborgs/Cyborgself

Ty/Typ/Type/Types/Typeself

Fi/Firm/Firmware/Firmwares/Firmwareself

Ha/Hard/Hardware/Hardwares/Hardwareself

So/Soft/Software/Softwares/Softwareself

Ha/Hack/Hacks/Hacks/Hackself

Ha/Hack/Hacker/Hackers/Hackerself

Si/Sig/Signal/Signals/Signalself

Clo/Clou/Cloud/Clouds/Cloudself

On/Onli/Online/Onlines/Onlineself

In/Insta/Install/Installs/Installself

Co/Cod/Code/Codes/Codeself

Ad/Admi/Admin/Admins/Adminself

Gra/Graph/Graphic/Graphs/Graphself

Sy/Syn/Synth/Synths/Synthself

Phi/Phis/Phish/Phishs/Phishself

Phi/Phish/Phishing/Phishings/Phishingself

Do/Dox/Doxs/Doxs/Doxself

Si/Sit/Site/Sites/Siteself

Bo/Bot/Bots/Bots/Botself

Pho/Phon/Phone/Phones/Phoneself

Key/Keyboa/Keyboard/Keyboards/Keyboardself

Mo/Mou/Mouse/Mouses/Mouseself

Chi/Chip/Chips/Chips/Chipself

Moth/Mother/Motherboard/Motherboards/Motherboardself

Co/Com/Compute/Computes/Computeself

Pi/Pira/Piracy/Piracys/Piracyself

En/Encry/Encrypt/Encrypts/Encryptself

PDA/PDAs

CPU/CPUs

URL/URLs

404/404s

📱/📱's

💻/💻's

⌨️/⌨️'s

🖥/🖥's

🖱/🖱's

💿/💿's

🎙/🎙's

Titles:

The Cyborg

(X) Whos Wired

Made of Nanotech

(X) Who Uses Nanotech

Scholar of Machines

The Cyber Security

(X) Who Has Cyber Wings

Connected Online

Offline

Unable to Connect

The Administrator

Synthesizer

The Hacker

Nanohacker

The Antivirus

Reconnecting...

ERROR: Unable to Connect

ERROR 404

ERROR: Malware Detected

Names:

Since names don't usually have "techy" meanings, I picked one's that sounded the most cybernetic, cyberpunkish, dystopian, virtualish, etc!

Fem: Althea, Ameris, Astoria, Arcadia, Astra, Beretta, Cyra, Crystal, Crosselle, Eve, Io, Jinx, Kit, Lilith, Meridian, Morrian, Nebula, Nova, Neve, Noxia, North, Octavia, Odette, Odile, Prota, Pistol, Rey, Rue, Rain, Raine, Stormy, Seraphina, Sona, Skye, Thundra, Tempest, Vega, Viva, Vinette, Venus, Xenia, Xya, Xena, Xiomara, Xenara, Xanthe, Zephyria, Zyla, Zadie, Zia,

Masc: Alaric, Aksel, Arden, Antares, Apollo, Ace, Asher, Cole, Cyrus, Code, Draven, Drift, Ender, Flynn, Hawk, Isaac, Jericho, Kip, Kai, Koios, Knox, Nox, Neo, Nero, Octavian, Orionis, Oghma, Paine, Rocket, Ray, Rai, Silas, Slader, Sebastian, Seth, Seraphim, Thalax, Theo, Thatch, Vox, Vector, Wyatt, Xyon, Xane, Xylan, Xerxes, Xayden, Xavier, Xander, Zander, Zayden, Zenith, Zev, Zale, Zane, Zaire, Zeke,

Neu: Andras, Axe, Axiom, Alloy, Allele, Ash, Arrow, Beetle, Chrom, Corvus, Dakota, Dell, Eos, Echo, Eden, Fox, Ghost, Glöckner, Hydrae, Ion, Jesper, Jett, Kursk, Lesath, Locklyn, Lyrae, Maddox, Nemo, Orca, Onyx, Oxygen, Panther, Rikko, Robin, Rune, Scorpion, Scorpius, Saturn, Sparrow, Sonar, Tore, Tauri, Techne, Techno, Ursae, Vesper, Volt, West, Wolf, Xen, Xenon, Zephyr, Zodiac, Zenon, Zeru, Zero, Zen

Genders:

Futuracityc: A gender related to futuristic cities

Futurafashic: A gender related to futuristic fashion

Futurahousic: A gender related to futuristic houses

Digigender: A digital gender. Rangeable from any digital thing or file; virus, malware, .txt, .mp3, antivirus, trojan, email, etc.

Cybergender: A gender or form of gender expression where ones gender or expression is deeply tied into Cyberpunk lore, culture, fashion or media.

CYBERWEAPONIC - a gender that feels like a digital or robotic weapon. this gender may also have ties to sentient AI used as a weapon, but not necessarily.

BIOAMOROBOTIC - a gender connected to being a robot who loves humanity and the world and finds joy all around them!

RobAnatomic - a gender under the anatomic system(link) related to robots, anatomy, robotic anatomy, the anatomy of robots, robots made to teach/study anatomy, anatomy based/related robots of some kind, the anatomy/biology of someone or something being robotic, having robotic anatomy, being a robot with an interest in anatomy and more.

Robogender - for people who’s gender identity aligns with machines/robots/androids/mechs/AIs.

Cyborwebic - a gender related to webcore, evil scientist aesthetics, artificial beings such as androids/cyborgs etc, turtleneck sweaters and old computer monitors

AI flag - this can be used for nonhuman, otherkin, gender, delusion.

Gendervirtual / Genderdigital - a gendersystem in which your gender is related to virtual ) digital themes and x , such as being a virtual ) digital x , a x who loves virtual ) digital themes , a virtual ) digital being who loves x themes , etc.