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#i was having such bad anxiety i couldnt even breathe

hiiragi-kagamin · 3 months

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been doing so bad i had to lay down and immediately started thinking of what my suicide note would be

#rambles #i was having such bad anxiety i couldnt even breathe #can someone like shoot me or something i feel absolutely miserable right now

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purplelupins · 2 months

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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!

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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

#father john pruitt #father paul hill x reader #father paul hill #midnight mass fanfiction #midnight mass #hamish linklater #flanaverse #happy Good Friday ya nasties #father John Pruitt x reader #father Paul hill fan fiction

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nekassvariigs · 1 year

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Thunder storms give me so much anxiety can I plz get Zoro comfort during a really bad storm?? Reader tries their best to hide that they’re terribly nervous but my mans can see right through <3 thank you ily

A/n: It's been a long time since i sat down to write something i actually enjoyed. I hope you like it <3

Zoro x reader

Thunder in the seas with a reminder of his childhood

The sea clouded with darkness, large clouds turned the whole sky nearly pitch black as if it was raining ash that day. No amount of sunlight peeked through them only loud bangs of thunder. The type of thunder that rattled the ship and the seas. The one that made your ears feels as if they were about to experiance a shockwave. You hid in your room trying to avoid the noise, trying to keep busy. Not a journal not a book helped to relieve the stress you were feeling, hands meek from the heightened sense of insecurity you stared out into the window. A thing you shouldn't be doing, however seeing the lightning strike you couldnt help but to await the next bang of thunder.

Nami had warned you that clouds have been forming in the sea for a while, the winds had picked up pace so why was it so surprising that there was actual rain and thunder?

The door clanked behind you, shrouded footsteps made their way behind you, Zoro's hands slid down from your shoulder to your hands.

"Dont stare at the sea." He assured speaking in a calm and low manner like he always did.

"Wasn't staring.. Just thinking." You puff a rather large breath. The anticipation of another strike was a little unnerving. Your eyes glimmered with fear that of a lost animal. You looked up at the familiar man smiling shyly to avoid any suspicion of your fear for the weather.

He smirked, he's not stupid. Youre barley holding his hand and even if you are, its so cold and boneless.

"Im gonna catch a nap, wanna join?" he retorted ignoring the issue just a little. Anything to find a distraction for you.

"I dont think ill be able to sleep Zoro." You watched as he slid off his boots laying in your shared bed, his hands behind his head he watched out of the small window, the sea looked pitch black almost, you couldnt even see the waves Sunny left behind.

"Doesn't matter just come." He waved you over.

You sighed. When hes set on something he'll stick to it.

You sat next to him in bed feeling the shift of his weight dip into the matress as his head landed over your shoulder he spoke lazily, voice a little choaked from the position.

"Youre afraid arent you?"

You stiffened up at the words your toes curling in your boots were the only indication that he saw through you.

"A little. It's only thunder." You laughed it off as a joke and yet the second you heard the sky roaring your eyes darted to the small window. The room shook a little. The new world really had some strangley strong weather.

"I was afraid of thunder as a kid. I remember my teacher telling me i used to cry the whole night if it ever thundered." He admitted calmly his hand reaching around your chest to your other shoulder he pushed you back on the bed.

Your head landed on the side of his torso, his steady breathing unnoticably calming your nerves a little bit.

"He had to start wearing ear muffs during late summer, apparantley i was the loudest crier he had ever heard." He scratched his cheek shrugging his shoulders a little bit.

"Did you grow out of it?" You asked even though the way he relaxed on your shared bed spoke for itself.

"More than id like to admit. Sometimes it still surprises me. Today's is a little harsh." He looks over at you and then out of the window once more. Sky is still dark as ever, The Sunnys creaking under the uneven waves of the sea, the whole floor sways lightly under the shackles of it.

"Thats what we get for going out to the New world, huh?" You steady yourself upwards only to rest your read over his chest.

"It's the price we pay for Luffy's dreams." He smiles to himself arm tracing soothing circles over your back. His hand moves slowly like hes thinking over each swipe of his fingers.

His heart beat is slow and steady, roaring in his chest is only the sound of pure calm. You listen in the steady thumps keep pushing up against your cheek with each beat eliminating the sound of thunder as you lose your sense of hearing anything but his heartbeat.

His eyes close, and yet his hand still draws lazy circles over your back, he shifts a little forward placing an unusual kiss on your hair as he continues.

"I don't think it'll stop anytime soon." He speaks softly the gravel in his tone is unparred.

"We could sleep it off if that's the case." You chuckle, theres no way Luffy wouldnt come barging it at the slightest hint of hard rain exclaiming hes all soaked in the rain.

Zoros free hand moves to take out each katana out of their signature spot, he lays them besides the bed staring up into the celing.

A big yawn echoes in the room causing you to yawn aswell. Whats with that coincidental mimmickery?

"I can't picture you crying over thunder." you speak up resting a hand over his chest just before your face.

"I can. The way my teacher said, it was the most annoying thing hes ever had to hear for hours. I imagine he started telling me that thunders nothing to be afraid soon after i ruined his ears." He chuckled with a puff of breath, stifling another yawn, the circling on your back seemed to pause, coming back for a few seconds and then dissapearing once more.

He was fighting his sleep to make sure you felt alright.

"Sleep mosshead, im alright." You throw a joking nickname watching as his hand rests on the small of your back his brows furrow.

He says nothing only the sound of slow breathing fills the air his brows unfurrow lightly as you pick up your head to check on him.

"Thank you." You whisper drawing lazy circles over his chest, the thunder roars outside but it cant get inside this room anymore. His presence seems to be enough to calm down the fear that tends to set on your skin. A little noise won't do much if he's there with you.

#onepiece #one piece fanfiction #onepiece x reader #one piece #zoro x y/n #zoro fluff #one piece zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #zoro roronoa x you #roronora zoro #zoro x reader #zoro x you #roronoa zoro #zoro headcanons #ronoroa zoro #zoro imagine #roanoa zoro

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matthewmurdockswife · 9 months

Note

Hello!! Could you please do one where Tony Stark is the readers dad and he finds her SH?? Thank you!

Iron brusies x tony stark (platonic)

Tw: self harm, depictive description of cutting, anxiety attack, hitting,

a/n : guys im always here to talk feel free to talk to me about anything at anytime good or bad my messages are and will always be open you can even send me a anonymous message in the req box if thats what you need to do Talk to me or a friend theres always someone there for you if you look hard enough I promise

I never felt like enough, which is unexpected when you’re constantly put out into the media and are being portrayed as ��the happiest person alive” everyone wants my life many envy my family and my life style but not very many people understand it, and I mean truly understand it. Underneath the media personality I had to put on as an avengers daughter and a future avenger hid many scars.

It started a few years ago on accident I was shaving my legs when I accidentally sliced myself. But my reaction wasnt the same as it used to be, instead of being upset I was relieved. It felt like an escape and from that moment foward it felt impossible to stop

“ hey kiddo” My dad walked over to me while I leant against the kitchen island “hey” I remained looking at my phone my voice was faltering and was sure to give me away I didnt need my dad knowing about how I felt. If I ever wanted to be an avenger I cant have problems like this I cant let anyone see me weak.

He had stopped his movements, looking at me he reached out to touch my shoulder in an attempt to comfort me he always seemed to know something was up. without looking I pushed off the island without a glance or a word. I couldnt let him see me break. No one can see me break.

Everything felt out of control, my world was spiralling and so I went to the one thing that put me in control. My razor blades. I took the elevator up to the secluded floor I knew what I was doing in order for me to not get caught I had to think smart. I had this memorized, never say where your going, never go to that floor with another avenger and never use your own room.

I told friday the floor number remaining as composed as possible the cracks in my voice a dead giveaway “ mrs stark are you alright your blood pressure and heart rate have dramatically increased” taking a deep breath I reply to the ai “im fine fri” using an irritated tone in an attempt to conceal how im crumbling apart “ are you sure mrs stark? I can contact your father if needed” fridays tone questioning and concerned “im fine friday im just not feeling well” And I darted out of the elevator the moment the doors where opened

I opened the drawer containg the one thing I needed my razor as I smashed it against the floor over and over again until the metal blades broke free and I grabbed one and pushed it into my leg letting the metal drag across my skin. The blood dripping down my leg.

my hands shook and my body trembled one more I told myself each time. one more and ill be okay one more I kept repeating it over and over again in my head like a melody, a mantra like a prayer for help

my hands shook I felt my mind scream a blood curdling scream when I heard the thing I dreaded most. a knock on the door “hey kiddo you alright friday said you felt sick do you need anything can I come in”

i was panicking i thought i had this covered i thought i could be smooth about this i thiught i coukd do this and no one would know the thought of my father finding out about me about what i am what i do what ive become is enough to start sending me into a anxiety attack “ im about to have a shower” my voice was faulty and a dead give away and i covered my mouth trying to stop the broken sobs from escaping my lips anymore then they already had .” dont lie to me friday said your heart reate was through the rough whats going on kiddo” I let a sob escape my mouth but quickly covered it I heard a sigh and then a click

the door had been opened it was my greatest nightmare my breathing quicked as I lunged full force at the door trying to keep my dad out but he had had the advantage he was standing I was flipped onto my stomach as he pushed open the door once again

“ why are you on the floor kiddo c’mon stand up” he reached under my bicep as attempt to help lift me up “ NO” I screamed ripping my arm from his grasp looking up face stained in tears my dad’s expression written of pure shock guilt washed over me my emotions reaching an all time new high

I felt that drowning feeling begin again in my chest and then in my stomach and the voices in my brain began chanting on how I had messed this up, how it was all over, how I was worthless.Any negative comment anyones made on me being thrown at me by my own mind I scrambled to sit up against the tub holding my legs to my chest gasling hard for air. I was having an anxiety attack in front kd my dad who sat there eyes wide motiomless and wearing a shocked expression he came to sit down next tk me stroking my back while I sobbed wildy he pulled me into his chest while I fought against him throwing weak haphazard punches and his shoulder screaming kicking and crying to be let go off but he knly held me tighter and stroked my hair gently shishing me quieting my cries as he had done when i was younger to console me .

only then did I relax into his embrace

only then did I allow myself to be vulnerable

only then did he notice the multitudeof faded and fresh marks on my legs including the ones I had just freshly reopened

only then was I honest and opened up about the past two years of hell I went through

only then did I begin to see my dad differently as someone who understood what I had gone through because he had gone through it himself. I gained a new appreciation for my father that day, I’ve never been better and I owe it all to him

A/n

girlie im so sorry i didnt even see this lol sorry It took me so long to get around to. anywho sorry if this wasnt what you meant also sorry if this is bad its like 1 am my eyes are burning 🤭 love you guys never be scared to reach out for help, and always drink your water <3 bye loves

#reading #avengers #tony stark #iron dad #sh related #sh recovery #anxienty #anxitey #anxiety attack #trauma #iron man #fantasy #fanfic #marvel mcu #mcu x reader #mcu fandom #mcu imagine

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canvasbaby · 8 months

Text

trafalgar law x reader part three :3

ereerrrrrrm sorry its been so long ive been going to therapy teehee but i miss creepy gross evil law so heres more but this might be the last part of this specific storyline, but i will for sure do more stalker one piece fics WOOHOO this is two different scenarios of your time with kidnapper law.

WARNINGS suffocation, descriptions of organs being cut, hardcore sex, bodily harm, rape roleplay but its kinda actual rape but you have stockholm, stockholm syndrome, jewelry made of bone, woman in unsafe scenarios, victim blaming/ not understanding victims point of view, lemme know what i missed.

PLEASE DO NOT TAKE THIS AS DIRECTIONS OF HOW TO ACT IN REAL LIFE. THIS IS A FICTIONAL SCENARIO FOR PEOPLE WITH FANTASIES. I REPEAT FANTASIES. IF YOU HAVE TROUBLE DISCERNING FACT FROM FICTION, DO NOT READ.

You cant breath. his hand pushing hard on the back of your head, gripping the fuck out of your hair. you would have noticed the pain in your skull, but the lack of air is taking over your thoughts.

you cant even feel his dick anymore. your body responding without your permission. your heart and organs all under his control, only with your brain and asophogous preoccuppied. as he pounds you from behind , his other hand rubbing out another orgasm from your mutilated pussy. you should feel how exaughsted you are. how your uterus burns and squelches from the blood and cuts. his and your cum are mixing inside you, his favorite way to take you. you should focus on how he talks to you. how hes whispering dirty degrations in your ear. calling you little sex doll, his sweet desperate girl. you should be focused on him.

but all you can do is try to get a breath of air. struggling against him as you try to shake his hand off. law wont budge. he watches you squirm against him, adding to his friction and horniness.

barely able to breath. your lungs burn as you black out. not for long, however, as you keep coming back from your sweet unconsciousness. the sting of you chest was killing you. literally. its been like this for hours. its like he cant get enough.

he was looking…. good? apparently his crewmates said he wasnt treating you very well (they didnt know the half of it) so they told him he should try and 'woo' you. he took this advice very seriously. he loved you very much, in his own way. treating you bad? oh god, really? he couldnt believe it. you never complained about being mistreated!! if anything, you had been rude to him! pushing him off of you, screaming at him, crying and whining. but that was all at the begining of your relationship. he thought you were happy. but taking this advice to heart, he decided to take you on a date.

now, you were at an incredibly fancy restaurant at a popular pirate-friendly island. you dressed in a black bodycon dress with some cute jewelry he had made out of your old bones. they actually turned out good. he thought you looked incredible, and told you as such, but it was him you were focused on.

he wore a red button-up, it was half open, showing off his tattoos. his rings (also made of your bones) and his dress pants, they fit him perfectly. he had ditched his usual hat, deciding to style and brush his har, and shaping up his beard. he looked the best he ever had.

the date was really nice. it felt like an actual date. for a few blissful moments, youd forgotten the past half year. it felt perfect. for those few moments.

but, of course, all good things must come to an end. so, you followed the orders he gave you before this date. standing up and leaving the restaurant without him. he had to take a few moments to pay, so you had a headstart.

winding down the confusing streets, getting lost in the alleys. you felt your heart beating faster. youd felt this feeling before. nearly everyday since he took you. the butterflies turning into cockroaches as the feeling of anxiety rising up your throat. you were scared. but this time, it was ever so slightly different. you werent scared of law tonight. you were all alone in an unfamiliar alley. you were scared of another person finding you. the island WAS pirate- friendly. what if a strong pirate like law showed up and tried to take you? someone worse than law? you had seen some wanted posters. some of a red-haired man with a metal arm. one of a green-haired swordsman with a mean scowl. and one of a blonde womanizer with heart eyes. they seemed like people you wouldnt get used too. though, youd thought that about law…

"whats a pretty girl like you doing out here all alone?" there he was. the bugs crawling around your insides calm themselves. you turn around excitedly to see his handsome face. but you quickly rember your role. one youre quite familiar with.

"im lost, la- uhm, sir" you give him your best innocent look. he swoons. he had want to roleplay some more, but he couldnt help but kiss you right away, pushing you against the wall. lifting up your dress.

errrrrm uereshsjrkdkkkk i dummo man i hope you like it woohoo yippee wowza gahhhh

#trafalgardwaterlaw #one piece smut #trafalgar d law x reader #law x reader #dead dove do not eat #one piece #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar law

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tacticalkinky · 10 months

Text

Relax, Baby~

Ghost x Reader (by JM)

Tags: stress relief, blowjob, massage, smut, oral, glasses, fluff to smut

A/N: In this, Ghost is slightly disabled but still working. PTSD and anxiety ail him as well. Luckily you know how to help him. (Consider donating to a starving artist @ cashapp: $judamars)

Written by: judaciousmars

The door slams and makes a loud bang noise that pounded your ears hard enough to make your eardrums tingle and startle you from slumber. You groggily sit up in bed and clumsily slip your glasses onto your face. The covers whip off of you and you hurriedly swing your legs off your bed. Whoever is making all this racket had better have a good reason for it, you think to yourself as you swiftly carry yourself out to the living room.

Instead of seeing a complete stranger or even one of your annoying roommates, like you expected to see in the moment of suspense, you instead saw Simon sitting at the kitchen table with his head in his hands. You were very confused to say the least, but the adrenaline quickly wore off as you realized you didn’t expect Simon home for another few hours. Cautious but concerned, you come up to him and sit in the chair on his left side, the strong side, since the incident…

“What’s wrong?” You ask, hovering your hand over the space in front of him so that he saw you but wasn’t triggered by your presence. Living with him for three years and dating for six taught you enough to know what makes things worse and what makes them better when he’s distressed. Simon was slightly prone to panic attacks and mental breakdowns, but luckily he had been regularly attending therapy and finding ways to help himself when youre not around. Some days were worse than others though, and this seemed to be a bad day. But you felt pretty confident it wasnt bad enough that you couldnt help.

After sitting in three minutes of awkward silence, you lay your hand palm side up on the table and slowly reach your right hand to his shoulder. Simon’s very tense in his muscles and joints, but doesn’t twitch or jerk when you reach towards him, so you rub his back. He takes your left hand with his own and leans on your shoulder. You look in a different direction than him but continue rubbing his back and letting him squeeze your hand.

Both of you sit there like this for a few minutes. You rub enough circles on his back to start a crop farm, and he silently cries but doesnt make a sound as you hold him close. Eventually, you both get tired of the silence, and begin to speak

“Sooo-“

“So-“

After realizing you both interrupted each other, you and Simon laugh. “Sorry baby, you go first.” You insist, holding his hands on the table and looking at him intently. Simon clears his throat and wipes away his tears on his sleeve. “I-I…uh…I…” Simon began to speak. He struggled to find his words but found immediate relief and comfort knowing you weren’t impatient. “I got sent home because…because…”

You cock your head to the side in confusion, because it wasn’t like him to get sent home. Simon loved his job, and had a great relationship with his supervisor, what could he have possibly done to upset Doug? Still, you patiently waited for him to collect his thoughts. “Okay.” Simon starts, taking a deep breath in and exhaling what felt like the air of a thousand winds. It seemed as though he had been holding in his stress for a while.

“It got pretty busy today. There was so much to do in so little time, I probably didn’t look happy or something because I was working the line when someone else told me to grab something from the shed. Well, I told them I’d be a second but I could get it for them as soon as I was finished with what I was doing.” Simon explained, grimacing as more tears welled up in his eyes and made his vision blurry. Simon squeezed your hand a little harder for one second to express both slight pain and general anger. “Well, honestly no one did anything wrong but they said something…I guess something like ‘Fine I’ll do it myself’ and that kinda made me mad, yknow?” Simon explains, looking at you for reassurance. You nod in understanding, of course he was right in feeling that way, you’d be mad too if someone got passive aggressive with you at work. “So anyways, I was kinda stressed already and trying to get through the day but barely holding it together, so I…may have…thrown things and walked into the break room to calm down. Well, because I threw a wrench, Doug followed in after me and talked to me.” Simon concluded, looking slightly more down like he was ashamed. You waited a minute before asking, “What did he say? Did anyone get hurt?”

“No, no, no one got hurt. I didn’t even lose my job. But Doug was pretty firm about me going home for the rest of the day to cool down. So i did, and now Im here.” Simon answered you. You breathed a sigh of relief and mentioned, “That is so good that he understood and didn’t make it a big deal. That’s a good thing, right?”

Simon nodded and brought your face closer to his and kissed your forehead. “It is. It’s kinda funny cause on the way here half of my thoughts were rushed and panicked and the other half of them kept thinking about you.” Simon tells you, grinning from ear to ear. You chuckle and nudge his shoulder with your forehead. “I love you.” You tell him.

“I love you too.”

You then light up almost instantly as you remember something that happened earlier. A special package came in the mail, and you had been waiting all day for Simon to get home to open it. You figured it would make him happy to see, so you explain yourself immediately. “Something exciting came in today. Do you wanna see?”

Simon nods and holds on to your hand as you slowly stand up and guide him to stand up as well. You figured his leg wasn’t doing well either by how it had been propped the entire time. Once he got to his feet on a steady balance, you carefully lead him to your bedroom, turning on the lights and moving things to the side on the way. Once you get to your shared room, you switch on the lights and leave him at the doorway to rummage through your dresser and find………

(Part 2 will be up later. Consider liking and supporting me, cashapp: $judamars)

#mask kink #cod mw2 #mask k!nk #tactical gear #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon riley x y/n #ao3 writer #smut fic

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jalwyn21 · 3 months

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What’s bothering me the most about these lyrics is that at no point does she seem like she’s apologizing. She admits to punishing her ex for his mental health problems, cheating emotional abuse etc, but after he broke up with her we’re supposed to sympathize with her??? These lyrics sound like a 10th grader’s sympathy bait facebook posts. She wants 100 comments of “oh no what’s wrong” “don’t listen to them you have friends” because nothing is eeeeverr her fault even when she’s suuuch a bad girrl.

All of her work is heavily one sided to show her in a positive/victim light but this album is Taylor’s version of joes sadness. He’s the bad guy for breaking his cheating exs heart. He couldnt keep his mental health issues private even if he wanted to, she took them as her own. Comparing this breakup to woolfs suicide is awful, too. She’s taking other peoples sadness and mental health issues and exploiting them for her own monetary gain. She is so disgusting and I hope karma catches up to her.

What do you mean apologize? Babe, she is "the best thing at this party". And Joe should have been tankful she allowed him to breathe in her universe or something.. 🙄🙄 Like she was clear enough : "Baby love, I think I've been a little too kind" ..

Yes, she turned his mental health into lyrics (If your cascade ocean wave blues come; And if I would've known How many pieces you had crumbled into I might've let them lay; Is it really your anxiety That stops you from giving me everything? ) It's all about her.. everything 🙄🙄🙄🙄🙄 "What's a girl gonna do? " A diamond's gotta cheat... I mean shine.. 🙄🙄🙄

#free joe alwyn #nonnie #q&a #jalwyn #anti taylor swift #shit swifties say #toxic swifties #toxic taylor swift

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never-again-virgil · 2 years

Text

Are You Alright? Wrench x Reader

I found this prompt today

B noticing that A's a little off today.

Person B: hun', you okay?

Person A [lying]: mhm

Person B [softly]: you know you don't always have to be okay, right?

tears spring into A's eyes at B's words

Person A [weak now]: mhm

and thought hey i need comfort and the wd2 x readers need more content so roday im doing it (im sorry if its bad im still getting used to writing for wd2)

context : you the reader, have been working at dedsec for a few months now, and you like to say that your mostly friends with everybody, but mainly wrench.

*ring*

*click*

Hello? you asked while picking up the call

"Y/N, Where are you?" Marcus asked

Huh? What do you mean Marcus? you asked still waking up from comfortable sleep in your bed

" You had to be here 15 minutes ago" Marcus explained

'Marcus you're acting like yall couldnt start coding without me...' you say while leaving your warm bed slowly wishing Marcus had not called you

" Just hurry up y/n" and with that Marcus hung up the phone

*at the hackerspace*

"There they are!" Marcus said happily

" Now lets get a move on!" Marcus tld the rest

*after*

It was just me and wrench now, im not sure why but wrench has been avoiding me lately, after his ex gf broke up with him, hes been distant with me...

'Hey wrench?' I asked

"yeah?" wrench responded

'Are you okay? you've been quite lately and that not the wrench i know..." you asked with concern in your stunning (e/c)

"mhm" wrench said

"you know you don't always have to be okay, right?" I say trying to see what wrong

then he went quiet then that when i saw it

"wrench your shaking are you sure your ok?"

"mhm" wrench answers after a while

then the shaking turns into quiet sobbing

then his breathing goes shaky and irregular

oh shit i thought is wrench right now having a full blown anxiety attack?

" okay, how about we go to the couch?" i ask softly

wrench nods and follows me to the large gray couch

I rub his back with one hand and hold the other one

Wrench hides himself in my neck to muffle the sobbing

"shh- shh - shh, it's okay wrench your safe, Marcus is safe, so is josh everyone is okay" i say trying to clam him down from this

after a while his sobs turn into whimpers and breathing back to normal

then i feel a heavy weight on me and to see wrench has fallen asleep on me!

he was so warm and cuddly even with the spikes!

and then soon so did I.

#watch dogs #wrench x reader #wrench watch dogs #watch dogs wrench #wrench wd2 #wrench #x reader angst #x reader fic #x reader fluff #x female reader #watch dogs headcanons

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floatingonalowvibe · 1 year

Text

The Most Dangerous Thing Is To Love - chapter one

dabi (touya) x ftm vigilante!reader

y/n’s pov

I knew it was time. I had put this off for too long. The moment I had been waiting for since the day the blue haired man approached me. The day he proposed to me to join their little gang. I had never really seen myself as a villain, and I am most definitely not a hero, but this offer intrigued me nonetheless. An offer to join and fight with these people.

My heart was beating out of my chest as I waited on the park bench, waiting as I was told to. I couldn't help but keep checking my watch, seeing the second hand tick by as I sat there, leg bouncing at record fast speed. I knew I was overthinking this, that this couldn't be some police scam to get me. I’ve been missing for 3 ½ years now, why would they get me now? How could they even recognize me? I’ve changed so much, cut my hair, dyed it, pierced myself, gotten tattoos, everything I never even thought I could ever do before.

As my anxieties carried me into a word of my own thoughts, I heard it. I heard the pair of footsteps behind me. The man had told me that he would meet me there, and I could only assume that this was him. I turned around, Expecting to see the same blue hair as before, only to be met with an unfamiliar face. This new Figure’s face was covered mostly by a black medical mask, so that mixed with the darkening night threw me off.

I immediately stood myself up, fully prepared to fight whoever this was.

“Hey, chill the fuck out, im here to bring you to the league, not to kidnap you or anything.” He said, throwing his arms up to show he was not caring anything. Through the darkness I could make out burns traveling up his arms, purple and rough.

“ I was told Shigaraki would be here, not whoever you are.” I said, looking him up and down. “Yeah I know, but he’s busy. So are you coming or not?” he asked with annoyance laced in his words.

I knew that following this man would be a bad idea, not only because he most likely is dangerous and is going to murder me, but I still have no idea what the hell i am getting myself into. I sucked in a deep breath, breathing out all the dignity I had left. This was my life now, following shady people to an even more shady place. I walked over to him, making sure not to get too close to him.

—

After about 10 minutes of walking, we were at what I assumed to be their little hideout. I could feel my heart beating strong again, worrying if anyone could hear it. I knew that they couldn't, but for some reason I thought they could. It was a stupid thought, but i couldnt get rid of it. He opened the dark, dingy looking door into the hideout, revealing a blonde girl, Shigaraki of course, and…a smoke man? OK then. The blonde one jumped out of her seat and ran towards me, grabbing my arm roughly and pulling me close. I was quick to push her away, not knowing who the hell she was. A puppy-eye stare fell upon her, she looked as if she would cry.

I looked around to the others, seeing the smoke man cleaning some shot glasses behind the bar, the man who brought me here plop down on the couch that was there, the blonde still looking at me, Shigaraki standing up to walk towards me.

I looked at him approaching me, looking him straight in the eyes. I had to look up at him, as he was taller than me. He stared into my eyes, and his eyes wavered to look at every part of me. I felt as if he was interrogating me without saying a single word. “Are you two just going to stare at each other?” the blonde said, breaking the silence. “Because I want to get to know my new friend!” I looked at her with confusion. Who the fuck said we were friends??

“ Toga, I think you are making your new ‘friend’ uncomfortable.” I looked over to see the smoke man walk over to me as well. “If no one else is going to be kind enough to introduce themselves to our new guest, I will. My name is Korogiri, and your’s is? Shigaraki never told us.”

“.....Y/n…” I hesitated saying my name, but what could I lose, it's not like it’s my legal name. And besides, I'm legally dead anyways.

“Y/n!!! That’s a really cool name!” The blonde spoke up again, her energy at an all time high ( though i was sure she most definitely had more in her)

“Thank you?”

“Mines’s toga! Himiko Toga!”

“ok.”

“You know my name, but this time we can properly meet.” Shigaraki finally spoke instead of just staring at me. “Welcome to the league, I hope you can find comfort here.”

“Dabi!! Come hereeeee!!” toga urged, walking over to where the man, who I assumed his name is dabi, grabbed his arm, making him stand. His face showed utter annoyance. I watched as Toga grabbed his arm and pulled him up, and as he walked over to where we were all standing. I hadn’t noticed that he had pulled off his mask, and I saw the same rough purple burns that I saw on his arms, on his face, under his eyes. The staples and how they kept it all together.

“..Y/n, right?” he asked, looking me up and down, but not in a negative way. “..yea.” I matched his energy of awkwardness, the feeling of not wanting to be here.

If I am being honest, I didn't expect these people to be so, not exactly nice, but tame. I thought they would be tough, keeping themselves closed off.

“Now that we all know each other, why don't you tell y/n why he is here,” Korogiri said, “I bet he’s just bursting with curiosity.”

"Well, first," Shigaraki started, " have a seat." he said, patting the seat next to him. I moved over to where he sat, sitting next to him. The stools were tall, so my feet dangled a little. I had to restrain the urge to swing my feet. I didn't want these people to think I was a child, I wanted them to think I was a good fit for their team.

"So why am I here?" I finally spoke. " I didn't really get a lot of information on why I am here."

"well, we have been watching you, well dabi has," he began, " and we find that you would be interested in what we are doing, a new mission if you will "

"Why in the hell were you watching me?" I asked, my confusion and anger mixing.

"Because we needed to see if you were a good fit. like I just said." shigaraki said all matter of factly.

I clenched my jaw, wanting to say more, but at the same time I knew to not test these people's limits. I've heard about the things they have done.

"Now, have you heard of the new business taking its place in the spotlight?" I had no time to respond before he began speaking again. "Well, they have been doing things, things that we can't just let get swept under the rug."

" What type of things?" I asked, interested already.

"Human trafficking." The low and steady voice of Dabi put a blanket of silence over the rest of us. a feeling of disgust and anger came over me.

"....yea." Toga was the first to break the silence. "They are some pretty shitty people."

"We could really use your help." Shigaraki looked me straight in the eyes, and this is the first time I really got a good look at his eyes, as the first time I had met him he had that weird ass hand thing on his face. But I saw the red hues in his eyes.

I thought for a moment, how in the world could I be of any help? Hell, some days I can't even open a bag of cheese. "what's in it for me?"

" Your life." The blunt answer came from across the room, the same low voice from before, Dabi.

I knew before I came here that if I left without some sort of deal with them that my life would be taken, so this wasn't a surprise. I knew I was getting myself into something bad.

—----

Everything was in place. I knew everything I needed to know about the business and its disgusting CEO. But first, I had to get trained, and evaluated. Apparently them watching my every move for a month wasn't enough.

When I had finally reached my apartment, I was exhausted. I had a long day already, and now I have to do all this shit with the league. I guess I could have just said no to Shigaraki when he initially asked me, but I didn't.

I opened the door, expecting to see my insomniac of a roommate on the couch playing some type of video game, but no. I looked around the house, wondering where she went. I looked in the kitchen, and on the fridge there was a note.

Hey sorry, work called.I left you some chinese I ordered. Also, Jared stopped by. He wanted you to check his messages.

Jared.

God.

I didn't feel all that hungry at the time, so I took the note from the fridge and left, off to my room.

On my nightstand, my phone sat, charging. I knew I needed to check my messages from Jared. I know I was being petty during our argument and that I should apologize, but then again, why should i? He’s the one who started it, the one who hit me. He’s the one who always has a bullshit excuse for everything.

But he always made me feel special, like I was the one. When he holds me, when he looks at me, I feel loved. I sat down on my bed, grabbing my phone.

Jared ( don't answer)

3:27 pm

Hey, I'm sorry. Please answer me.