#and I wish people acknowledged their bond more

[urhoneycombwitch]

something I wish the show would have explored, even just as a throwaway line, is an acknowledgement or borderline relationship with Mrs. Henderson and Steve. Like just as a "Hey, my son has taken some bond with you and I'm not sure why since you've already graduated but I'm glad he has and you're welcome to dinner if you'd like"

I imagine that there are times when Steve is invited to stay for dinner after dropping Dustin off a couple different times and Mrs. Henderson does pick up on the off-comments Steve makes about his home life/lack of good parental figures which makes her only open up her home even more.

I think it happens at a Barbeque in someone's backyard, where there's a mix of the parents and other adults, young adults, and the kids and Mrs. Henderson maybe makes a comment to Steve that she made the potato salad with the red skins how he likes and she made extra for him to take back to his apartment and without thinking Steve goes "Thanks mom!"

I think that's kind of the relationship that they would have where it's like you're not really my mom but you treat me better than she did and also you came to my wedding and I mailed you pictures of my baby's ultrasound. Their relationship probably ebbs and flows with the years especially as Dustin gets older and Steve starts his own life, but if he ever needs help, he has her number to call for the best advice on how to get spit up out of onesies and all of life's little hiccups.

dude YES. Steve deserves parental love from the people whose kids he’s taking care of!!!

I want summer bbqs at the Byers’ where Joyce packages leftovers on plastic wrapped plates for him. Mrs. Sinclair saving Steve a seat at Lucas’s home game and slipping $10 in his pocket for gas money (“for all the times you’ve carted my son around town, I won’t take no for an answer, mister”)

I think you’re right, Steve’s proximity+closeness w/Dustin makes Mrs. Henderson a shoe-in for surrogate mother. I think she’d be thrilled to have an older boy to dote on and feed and knit winter sweaters for 🥲

in my for every ear dad!steve series, their oldest kid JJ is named after Joyce Byers 💖 I’d love to flesh out Joyce and Steve+Reader’s relationship (especially as it pertains to being new parents!!) eventually in a fic bc I know they called her over any pediatrician in the early days. and Grandma Joyce’s house was def a haven for exhausted mom!reader and newborn JJ 🥹

[bonebrokebuddy]

The Adventures of Superman time stamps for @stealingyourbones for not only fic writers to get inspo & for a place to get prompts but also people please listen to this show its a fascinating piece of history and it’s so damn interesting to listen to.

In EP 205 at 4:44:

Superman calls himself a “nice juicy beefsteak” to taunt timber wolves into biting him.

Ep 205 at 11:38:

Clark doesn’t believe in ghosts.

Ep 206 around 6:00 incorrect explanation of how coal was formed

Believed to be from fallen trees crushed under glaciers during the ice age

Ep 216 at 19:28:

One of the many times Clark implies that his Superman voice is his “natural voice” and his Clark Kent voice is not

Ep 216 at 21:55

This is meant to be a Grizzly Bear.

That is not what a Grizzly Bear sounds like.

Ep 217 at 1:56 (starts at recap narration that directly segways into the bit):

Clark fights a bear.

(Has a use of the “they can’t see me because it’s dark” trope that the show loves to use.)

Ep 303 5:45:

Clark still doesn’t believe in ghosts

Adventures of Superman: ep 619 “tell the truth or we go to the moon”

(Important Note: these time stamps and episode numbers are exclusive to how the host numbered & showed them on his The Old Superman Radio Show podcast where he reuploaded The Adventures Of Superman with commentary & ads before and after each episode. I’m going off of this version because it’s easily accessible but more so because I could also easily link the specific timestamp.)

Ep 207 Clark uses a gun:

This was in my notes but I for the love of god cannot find this occurring. I specifically remember in an episode Clark shooting a gun at a tree near a bad guy as an intimidation tactic. If anyone can help me find where that happened or a moment like it that I misremembered, please let me know.

[ispamstuffhere]

one thing i will always abide by: normalize writing for your audience, not *only* for your own self satisfaction.

[irafuwas]

some thoughts on how lilia views love

I’ve been watching through the Stitch event and there’s a bit of dialogue Lilia says that unfortunately made me Think, so I wanted to gather my babblings here.

This post contains spoilers for: Book 7, Tsumsted Wonderland 2, Lost in the Book with Stitch, Spectral Soiree/Endless Halloween, and Tamashina Mina

After spending the day fighting off Gantu’s robots, scavenging for food, and exploring the island, the boys rest for a bit in an old cottage they found. Lilia wants to take the opportunity to spruce up the cottage and make it more resort-like while they’re enjoying this “vacation”, and Riddle and Jack are both surprised and a bit peeved to hear him say this.

Riddle: Don’t you want to find a way off this island as soon as possible, Lilia Senpai? Malleus Senpai, Silver, and Sebek… Everyone at Diasomnia must be worried sick about you right now. I should think you’d want to assuage their concerns a tad bit faster!

Lilia: …Thing is, I trust them.

Riddle: You trust them?

Lilia: Mm-hmm. Knowing them, no doubt they understand I’m safe and sound and having a good time right now. Malleus and the others know I’m not the type of guy who’d get in a pickle over something as trivial as this. And that’s because they know me very, very well – just like family!

(snipped)

Lilia: It’s truly wonderful having people in your life who trust you and wish the best for you - and for whom you do the same in return - no matter how far apart you may be.

When you take this dialogue and look at in isolation of this event, then it’s a wonderful thing to hear Lilia say. He trusts his boys and they trust him - because they’re family, and that’s what families do. It’s always great to hear the characters themselves acknowledge their strong bonds with each other, and I thought it was really cute how Stitch got so happy to hear Lilia talking about his Ohana.

But when you take what he said and consider the broader story of Twisted Wonderland (vignettes and events, included), and you consider other things he’s said and done in the past… This dialogue just hurts.

There’s been small moments here and there that made me think Lilia has kind of an unhealthy(?) or warped(?) view of love. I’m not sure what the best word for it is, but I’ve noticed that he doesn’t like people worrying over him, he doesn’t like emotional farewells/sappiness, and he really doesn’t like letting others see him when he’s weak.  Additionally, he seems to value himself very little – he doesn’t think people would be worried about him if he were in danger, or that people would be happy getting pictures of him, or that his departure in Book 7 would hurt those around him so much. I’ll go ahead and put examples for each point so you all can understand better what I’m trying to say.

He doesn’t like people worrying about him

We can see this partly from the quote this whole post is based on, as well as from Book 7.

Based on his conversation with Riddle, Lilia’s way of thinking appears to be:

If someone trusts me -> that means they wouldn’t worry about me

As well as:

If someone worries about me -> that means they don’t trust me

But we do worry about the people we love and care about, don’t we? We worry about our spouses getting home safely from a business trip, and our kids making friends at school, and our friends acing the interview they’ve been practicing for because we love them, don’t we? And because we want the best for them. But it doesn’t seem like Lilia thinks the same way.

And to add onto this point, it’s very clear the boys do worry about Lilia a lot, contrary to what Lilia claims. Due to Lilia’s departure, Malleus brought a snowstorm to the island in his sadness, Silver considered dropping out of school and leaving with his father, only to end up breaking down and crying in front of their crown prince of all people, and Sebek used his one wish to make Lilia be healthy and have him stay with Silver forever. They were all worried terribly about him in their own ways, but it doesn’t seem like Lilia ever noticed (or maybe he did, and just didn’t want to bring it up for some reason. Who knows.)

At any rate, he also gets mad (well, more like tsundere lol) at Silver when the boy was on the verge of tears after Lilia took a nasty hit for him. (I know this exchange occurred with General Vanrouge, and he was quite the asshole back then, but he’s still retained that dislike for people worrying over him.)

Lilia: Oh, would you quit it with the sniveling. I drank the potion, didn’t I? I just to rest for a little bit, and then I’ll be good as new.

He doesn’t like emotional farewells/sappiness

He exhibits his distaste of sappiness in Book 7 and the Welcome to Tsumsted Wonderland 2 event. In the latter, when everyone is saying goodbye to their tsums, he mentions he doesn’t like the gloomy atmosphere. He wants goodbyes to be happy (and most likely, free of any emotional weight). The same can be said in Book 7, when he wholeheartedly agrees to the going away party the students wanted to put on for him, as well as when Silver mentions his father had wanted them all to send him off with a smile. I’m not sure if Lilia just doesn’t enjoy people getting serious with their emotions towards him, or if he doesn’t like seeing it in general. It gives me Macho Man (tm) vibes, kind of? Like, “don’t let people see you cry and feel sad because then you look weak” kind of thing but idk.

Lilia: Farewells are certainly sorrowful, but I hate leaving things on such a gloomy note. Let’s keep our chins up until the end. Tsum, your ability to surprise others was exceptional, and you made today so much fun. So long!

He really doesn’t like letting others see him when he’s weak

There’s still a lot of loose ends to be resolved in Book 7, one of them being the full extent of Lilia’s motives for wanting to leave so suddenly. It does seem to be he’s telling the truth that his magic ran out early, since he couldn’t muster up enough strength to fight back against Malleus when he was about to Overblot, but we don’t know if the real reason for that is just because he “went a little to wild” in his youth, like he claimed, or if something else caused his magic to deplete so prematurely. But we did hear him reveal a little bit of his motives when he was talking to Floyd at the party.

Floyd was dismayed he never got a chance to fight Lilia, and he wished he could’ve seen Lilia go all out at least once. When he asks Lilia why he’s dropping out, Lilia says under his breathe that he didn’t want “them” to see him so weak.

Lilia (whispering to himself): …It’s because I didn’t want them to see me so feeble.

Regardless of why his magic ran out and why he wants to go the Land of Red Dragons of all places, we know part of the reason for his departure is because he doesn’t want Malleus and the others to see how far he’d fallen from his former military glory. (sidebar: I have a feeling he thought he’d be a burden on Silver and co. with him losing his magic, and he was trying to leave so quickly to escape his shame towards his rapid loss of strength and independence (I imagine since he’s a magical being who comes from a country that runs on magic, him losing his powers must feel very isolating and limiting, like he’s lost a lot of the control he used to have over his own life).)

He doesn’t think people would be worried about him if he were in danger

In Endless Halloween/Spectral Soiree, Lilia was surprised by how much Silver and the others had been worrying about him and Malleus when they disappeared. Interestingly, even though Lilia is the one that Silver was the most relieved to see (it’s hard to tell with the live 2d models, but it looked like he went up to hug? Lilia and Lilia slapped his hand away), Lilia later says “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about us.” (referring to himself and the others involved with the party shenanigans).

(I am aware they changed this line to “I didn’t think you’d be so worried about me” In TWST EN, but I’m just focusing on the JP version).

I just found it weird that even though Silver was very clearly worried about Lilia the most, Lilia kind of redirected Silver’s concern over from “Lilia” to “Lilia and everyone else”. Did it make him uncomfortable to hear Silver was that worried about him? I’m not sure, but it just stood out to me as being a little strange how he responded, and how surprised he was that his own son would get worried about him suddenly disappearing.

He didn’t think people would be happy getting pictures of him

At the end of Lilia’s Tamashina Mina vignette, Yuu stops by Diasomnia to give him some photos he’d taken of Lilia on their trip, and Sebek, Silver, and Malleus are delighted to see them, since it’s not often they get to see photos of Lilia. Lilia is surprised at how happy they are to receive those pictures of himself. But why wouldn’t they be happy? They love him and treasure him dearly, of course they’d be overjoyed to have pictures of him to remember him by. It’s like he thought they wouldn’t care about him that much, which is really bizarre, considering the whole “even if we’re not related by blood we’re still family” thing he told Malleus before.

Lilia: To think, you’d all be so delighted just to see some pictures of me. I never would’ve imagined you’d all react like this.

He didn’t think his departure in Book 7 would hurt those around him so much

This relates back to what I mentioned in the first point, but there’s one scene that demonstrates this perfectly.

After Silver breaks down in front of Malleus, Malleus teleports both of them to Lilia’s going away party. All eyes should have been on Malleus with how strangely he was acting, but the first thing Lilia honed in on was that Silver had been crying. And not only that, but Lilia looked surprised that Silver had been crying. And why wouldn’t he cry? The one person who formed Silver’s entire world and sun and stars was about to leave him and go die all by himself on the other side of the planet. There is no reason Lilia should’ve been surprised at Silver’s tears, yet he was. And I gather that’s because he never thought the boy could ever possibly want to choose to stay by his side, to choose him over all the hopes and dreams he’d burdened on the poor child from the moment he could walk, to choose him over his real friends and his real family members.

I hope when Lilia “wakes up” from his dream, the first he does is ask Silver what he’d been crying about back at the party. And I pray to god they will actually talk things out and Lilia will finally apologize for how much of a complete idiot he’s been acting.

My headache’s coming back so to wrap this up quickly, my current understanding of Lilia Vanrouge is that he either doesn’t realize just how loved and cherished he is by his family members, or that he does realize it and just pretends not to. If it’s the latter, which is what I personally lean towards, I think he does this as a means to protect himself.

He’s already lost so many of his loved ones, and he very well may be putting up these walls around his heart and pushing away the people who love him just so he doesn’t have to get hurt again. We don’t know how he became an orphan, but his birth family either gave him up or passed away and left him behind. Even when Queen Maleficia took him in, he was always made the scapegoat for the princess’s schemes, and it sounded like he was brought up more as Levan and Mallenoa’s inferior than their equal. And then war struck their nation. And then his one best friend went missing and the other one probably gave up her life trying to protect the very child who'd go on to shatter the ice surrounding his wounded heart.

Perhaps with Malleus and Silver and Sebek now, he thought his best option would be to exit their lives before they had a chance to do the same to him, because he knew they would do the same to him. Everyone does.

As a final note, I still keep going to back to what he said in Cater’s Halloween vignette. I think this one line sums up his views of love better than I ever could:

“But the more precious a bond is, the more pain it can inflict.”

(source)

[dnd-smash-pass-vs]

Inevitable been thinking about how that one anon viewed Laios as a monsterfucker, and I think it made me realize the source of that confusion:

I think many monsterfuckers, and also many (dare I say most) monster devourers like Laios, both derive their desire from the same source: a latent wish for apoteratosis, the wish to become a monster.

Linguistic side note: apotheosis, becoming a god, breaks down to apo- (towards the end point), theo (god), -osis (turn noun into verb), so I swapped in the root for monster, hence apo- terato -osis. Side note over.

Monster devourers are a rather rare archetype in (mainstream) fiction, but they do exist. Those who seek to mimic or emulate the monster's power, those who find them endlessly fascinating and study them well past the point of obsession, those who wish to show their dominance over the monster by proving that they can kill and eat it... and I think Laios is the first I've seen who takes the title quite so literally, where his obsession goes straight to monsters-as-food.

Monsterfuckers, meanwhile wish to become close to the monster in a non destructive way (or at least a typically less destructive one, usually the only casualties are furniture and few bandages are needed, but I'll acknowledge that exceptions definitely exist). They wish to bond with it, to connect to it through lust or intimacy, to be able to stand at its side. They wish, on some level, to join it. Side note, I'm not saying this is true of all teratophiles, some are just kinky and driven by the thought of positive physical pleasure, or who find the personality of a given monster appealing, but I do think the apoteratotic desire is an underlying driver for many, I'd guess well more than half, it's just a subtle enough thing that I don't think most are consciously aware of it.

There's also a third point to the secret apoteratosis triangle that might surprise you: the monster slayer. Sure many, even most, slayers are driven by something like disgust or xenophobia or even rationality, but a significant minority land in the "if you can't join 'em, beat 'em" a.k.a. "I can't be you, so I'll destroy you" camp.

And these three reactions are, I notice, the three most common reactions that people have to one thing: the unattainable desire. The sentence begins "I cannot have it..." and these three camps end it different ways.

The teratophages say "so I shall dominate it." They seek what power they can grasp so they can have some modicum of control, so they can try to "have" it anyway. The kaiju corpse scavengers in Pacific Rim including refined and suave mob boss types just smacks of this attitude.

The teratophiles say "so I'll get as close as I can." There's a werewolf romance book where they're considering trying to turn the girlfriend, though they have no idea if she'll survive it (boyfriend was turned by accident then abandoned, so he's clueless, and they haven't found any others to teach them), and she says that she's fine remaining human, because she shares the power through him. "I have it, because you have it." The façade eventually breaks and in a vulnerable moment she confesses that she'd be willing to risk even a likely death to try to be turned. When they get in contact with an elder who can turn her safely she doesn't even wait a week.

The teratophobes write that whole sentence as "if I can't have it, then no one can." I'm sure everyone has seen enough examples of this behavior to understand that it's just a kind of love turned corrupt.

I'm not the first to notice the underlying apoteratotic urge: the aforementioned werewolf story, indeed many werewolf and vampire stories romanticize the transformation of a human into a monster. Back to Dungeon Meshi, author Ryōko Kui is fully aware of it with how Laios's underlying desire is eventually brought out of the subtext and explicitly named as his dysphoria with humanity, and his wishing that he could be a monster. For Laios that desire skipped right past the socially unacceptable monsterfucking, explicitly a form of bestiality in that world, to the socially acceptable devouring, though tempered by his respect and admiration of monsters into a desire for symbiosis with them. He cannot become one in truth (or so he thought when younger) but he could become part of their food web. It's as close as he thought he could get. Of course, that's the Watsonian explanation; the Doylist explanation is that Ryōko Kui wanted to subvert expectations, and also wanted to explore this angle of it.

So, all taken together, I think people read Laios as monsterfucker coded simply because teratophiles, teratophages, and teratophobes all share the same root motivation: apoteratosis. Thus, all three branches are coded very similarly.

It's similar to something I've seen in Batman fandom: some fans project romantic love between various members of the Batfamily, which is both wildly against canon and thoroughly hated by some other branches of fandom. But it is understandable, since familial love and romantic love both come from the same root, love of another. If someone doesn't recognize the simultaneous similarities and distinctions, it's all to easy to conflate them. If you don't actually understand the distinction, then the signs of affection between siblings might look the same as the signs of affection between lovers. Likewise, if you don't understand the distinction, the urge of the monster devourers (or ecologists) might look the same as the urge of the monster fucker.

I've sat on this for near a month, partially because of my repeated absences, partially because I wanted to honor it with an equally in-depth response. But 24 days later I've still got nothing, while I can't speak for that particular person I think in general you hit the nail right on the head for the base roots. I got no notes. Even with Laios...like all I can add is how supplemental materials actually confirm he did want to be a monster researcher but found books too dry, the only one who seemed to really *get* monsters was shunned. and how wild he goes when talking with an actual werewolf, "The existence I thought unobtainable is now right in front of me".

[dotthings]

Probably preaching to the choir here since the spn people who follow my tumblr already know this, but for anyone who needs to hear it, no, Jensen was not "blindsided by the confession." He was filled in months in advance. He had months to ponder it. He and Misha talked about it. Misha and Jensen talked about it with Bobo. They all talked about. We've been told this, in bits and pieces, from various sources. The reason Bobo told Misha first was because by necessity, Misha needed to adjust how he played Cas in the final season to make it a bit more overt. On things that previously had been an undercurrent, and there in the performance, but when they realized that the confession was going to be greenlit, they realized they could lean on it more instead of treading carefully. Misha himself, fyi, said for years, he thought Cas was kinda into Dean and he put a bit of that into his performance, but Misha also was surprised they were permitted to go so far in openly acknowledging that feeling with 15.18, finally.

The reason Jensen wasn't told right off is that Dean couldn't know how Cas felt, and Jensen's method isn't to read ahead, he's told us many times, he doesn't read ahead because he wants Dean's reactions to be as organic as possible. So that was by necessity so Jensen would be playing Dean oblivious to just how far Cas's feelings towards him went. This was an actual plot point of Dean doubting their bond even. He was still informed well ahead of time, with plenty of time for discussion and processing and nothing we have ever heard has indicated he had any negative feeling whatsoever or wariness about Cas's confession.

Jensen in fact was visibly and openly pleased with 15.18 and the confession, as evidenced in PR interviews and all this has been heavily documented already. He has repeatedly praised the episode, and every time he sounds so proud of it and so excited, and he indicated on repeat occasions how excited he was for fans to see it.

In his post-spn comments, Jensen has said he wants to do a follow up where Dean and Cas get to talk about the goodbye scene and Jensen expressed that Dean was devastated, and that Dean wishes he'd told Cas I love you too and hugged him back. There's other examples I could cite.

Make-believe wankbaiting games from bitter anti-shippers is not ever going to make it so that Jensen was snuck up on, conspired against, stabbed in the back, or "blindsided" by the 15.18 confession. Once he was filled in he immediately held Misha's cape and supported Misha and Cas expressing himself.

[recreationalfanfics]

Record of Justice: Wonder Woman! Reader HCs

I am so gay for Diana.

- Brunhilde doesn't HESITAITE to choose you as one of her champions, seeing as you're both demi-gods who come from a warrior race of women, I can see you and her honestly having a lot in common together.

- But yeah, no, Diana's whole thing is that she wants to save the world of man so even of Brunhilde didn't choose her, you would have still chosen to fight because it was your duty.

- So Wonder Woman has multiple origins: Her original one being that she was born from clay by her mother but there are versions she has a dad which kinda switches between Hades and Zeus. Zeus will be your father in this case because I genuinely like the idea of him blowing his fucking gasket when he sees you enter in the side of humanity.

- "YOU KNOW HER, YOU LOVE HER: LADIES AND GENTLEGODS, GIVE IT UP FOR THE AMAZONIAN PRINCESS AND SAVIOR OF MAN: (Y/N)!!!"

- Ares and Wonder Woman have so much beef in the comics so you and him definetly don't see eye to eye now. In fact, Ares would fight you himself if he could but like, you're also kinda scary when you're mad.

- Zeus and Poseidon are literally about to blow a fucking gasket when they see you. Zeus is more subtle as usual as he's all: "Oh, well she's always been the black sheep of the family!" but in reality, he feels deeply betrayed. Poseidon isn't surprised honestly, he genuinely believes you should have grown up with the Olympians instead of on Themyscira because then maybe you'd learn to look down on those pathetic humans instead of protecting them.

- Tbh, Poseidon does have a bit of a soft spot for you as his niece because you're the only one whose ever DARED to back talk him despite knowing his power. He wishes your mother, Hippolyta, wasn't such a stubborn woman. I can totally see moments when you're absolutely destroying Gods and Poseidon just smiling proudly at you but then quickly scowling so no one can see him.

- However the Greek Gods who explicitly still care for you are definetly Hermes, Hercules, and Aphrodite.

- Aphrodite, being your big sister, absolutely adores you even if you two aren't on the same side. She smiles when she sees you and if she can, she will try to catch you in the hallways and pull you into a hug, meanwhile you're kinda suffocating in her bosom. She compliments you on what a strong and beautiful woman you've become, the only reason she isn't upset with you for "betraying" the family is because...well, you've always been like that. It's just nice to see you again♡

-As for Hercules, you both are Demi gods and while you acknowledge humanities faults, you welcomed him with open arms and appreciate his dedication. You two might not be bound by blood but the way you carry each other's ideals and respect and tease each other, its very clear you two have an unbreakable bond.

- Hermes adored you since you were born. Despite Themyscira's laws that men weren't allowed on the island, he was a God, and would happily come and see you to play with you. Taking on a big brother role in your life, he smiles softly as you glare at your father and he thinks you're just as cute as when you were a little toddler struggling to walk on the sandy beach coast of your island.

- As for the human side, they're all in literal wonder of you...which makes sense regarding your hero alias, but when they watched you at work: you impressed everyone while Brunhilde smiled at you and it pissed Zeus off even more when you both shook hands and sent him smug smirks on your faces.

Enemies/People Who Dislike You:

- Ares is a huge hater as I stated before, maybe you humiliated him in the past in front of Zeus, or maybe it was that one time you stole his helmet in a fight and became the New Goddess of War for a while but either way: you and him should never be in the same room together because not even the Gods can predict that disaster.

- Loki thought the rope thing was kinda hot but found out the hard way WHY it was called the Lasso of Truth. Even when he is shaped shifted, he will revert to his normal form if you ever catch him with it AND YOU ALWAYS FUCKING DO. He also can't even try and mislead you by telling you half truths because he just blurts out the truth right away. Everyone absolutely adores you for it, ngl since Loki doesn't even bother pulling tricks when you're around and when he sees you fight for humanity, he throws a huge tantrum...He still finds the rope thing hot tho...

- Zeus. He has conflicted feelings for you, he does love you but he wishes you wouldn't always go against his wishes...though he supposes thats what he gets for having your mother raise you instead of him. You show him respect but you clearly harbour bitter feelings for him betraying your trust and wanting to wipe out humanity and he understands that. It still doesn't give you the right to laugh about him with Brunhilde and he'll be sure to get you back for it.

Allies/Friends Who Trust You:

- Brunhilde is honestly a good friend of yours, I genuinely think she sees you the same way she sees Hercules but she relates to you a little more. (The Valkyries and Amazon's would have martinis on the beaches of Themyscira, fight me on that-)

- Shiva, honestly. He likes that you're strict but you can definetly be fun and silly in your own way. You honestly remind him of Rudra, who he totally tries to set you up with so because you two really have a lot in common!

- Obviously Hercules, Hermes, and Aphrodite but also: Poseidon, surprisingly...sometimes. Again, he does soften a bit when it comes to you and he wonders if you're simply stubborn and brave or stubborn and stupid. You are his favorite niece but also, the one that causes him to roll his eyes the most.

- Honestly, all of the Valkyries. When you heard about Brunhilde and her Völundr's, you knew that it was clever but also: that you couldn't just stand to let your fellow sisters in battle fall, the odds being against them. Also, the will all hug you and tackle you to the ground.

- Sasaki Kojiro is a human you take a liking too, he reminds you of a friend whose clad in all black...except he's more cheerful and happy and might have lost in life, but still: he never gives up. You admire those skills in a human and he gets all shy and flustered when you compliment him but I can totally see the both of you practicing sword fights and even moments where he beats you, which you're proud of him for doing, honestly.

- Adam. He genuinely just is the dad Zeus never was, even though you're not one of his own children, he'll fight like you are. Tbh, the only man that deserves to set foot in Themyscira and the other Amazon's would agree. Eve also gossiping with your Hippolyta in the crowd and complimenting her on raising such a wonderful daughter and they talk about mom things.

Admirers/Characters Who Have a Crush on You:

- Thor, just straight up. Since you're a fellow immortal, you two have somewhat known each other, you didn't really care much for the godly affairs so it wasn't often, but he's had the biggest crush on you. When he saw you fight so fearlessly in the crowd, those feelings came back 10 fold. Definetly wants to fight you because that's his way of flirting. Zeus and Odin 100% want to pair you two together to create an official alliance and while Thor wants you to choose him out of your own volition, he will suggest that it is a good idea.

- Jack the Ripper. HE HAS BISEXUAL PANIC BECAUSE HERCULES WAS ALREADY SOKIND TO HIM BUT YOU?? OH, YOU'RE TRULY DESERVING OF THE TITLE OF GODDESS, your color is so gorgeous; filled with such love and passion. After his battle, after he killed Hercules, he is ashamed to face you. But, amazingly, you do not look at him in disgust or shame. You kneel down and gently hold his face, you are in mourning, but you still kiss his head gently and tell him: "You fought well. Rest." and he just short circuits as you begin to carry him.

- BUDDHA, BABY. He loves how serious you are but also, that you can be pretty goofy honestly. Also loves how you stand up to Zeus constantly. Not to mention he certainly has a thing for strong women. But also, he finds your work inspiring, trying to guide humanity to a better life of enlightment. HIPPOLYTA ALSO TRYING TO SET YOU TWO UP BECAUSE SHE'S A COOL MOM AND SHE'S ALL: "You know, that Buddha has been staring at you~" and you have to be all: "MOTHER!" And he walks over to you and offers you a snack and you take it. Zeus hates him because he thinks Buddha would be a "bad influence" on you.

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem!

Reader

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

Word count: 13.5K

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

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

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

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

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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

[steddio]

Eddie can’t listen to music anymore. God knows he wants to, would give anything to lose himself in a particularly intense guitar riff, or bang on the steering wheel of his van like it’s a drum kit, or just generally annoy those in his vicinity by refusing to turn down “that noise” (as his neighbors call it). Music was his life, his sanctuary, his whole reason for being on this stupid, fucked up planet.

But now, music makes him jumpy, panicky. Hands clenched into fists, the back of his neck prickling. He can’t help but look for the threat, for the reason music is being played. Eddie finds himself sitting in silence now, when before he couldn’t stand it. His bedroom eerily quiet, cassettes shoved in a shoebox, stereo covered with an old t-shirt. He drives with the windows down, radio off, listening only to the mundane sounds of small town Indiana.

He can’t even play guitar. Three days after he woke up covered in bandages, head aching, Wayne had brought Eddie his sweetheart, mumbling something about not wanting Eddie to be bored in the hospital. Eddie had tried to play, he really had. But just touching the strings sent him back into that life-or-death mindset, and suddenly his mouth felt like it was filled with blood and he couldn’t breathe, and the nurse had to rush in and help him release his death grip on the guitar, take deep breaths, count to ten.

After, he threw the provided pamphlets about Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder in the trash and tried to convince himself he didn’t really need to play guitar anymore. As Dustin is so fond of reminding him, he already lived the most metal moment of all time, embodied it, played for the lives of everyone he loves, for Chrissy’s death, for Hawkins’s survival. His sweetheart helped save the world, and now it’s enough that she’s only decoration in their new government payout trailer. It has to be enough, because he can barely look at her, can’t touch her without shaking, without almost throwing up.

His friends must notice. They must, because he’s been avoiding band practice, hasn’t scheduled any D&D sessions, staying far away from everything that used to bring him joy because it doesn’t. Not anymore. And sometimes he wishes they would say something, that anyone would acknowledge this 180 degree shift in Eddie’s entire being. But Jeff and Gareth are giving him space, letting him heal. And the kids are kids, dealing with their own trauma and shit. So it’s just Eddie and the silence.

—

Eddie is listlessly staring at his bedroom wall, actively trying to think about nothing, when he hears a car horn honking. He ignores it, sure that it’s irrelevant to him. The horn honks again. Then a third, fourth, fifth time, followed by, “Munson, dude, I know you’re in there!”

And what the fuck. Because Eddie knows that voice, and there’s absolutely no reason for Steve Harrington of all people to be outside his trailer. They’re not even friends! They’re just… trauma bonded. Or whatever. Maybe Eddie should have read those pamphlets.

He peeks his head out the window to see Steve shading his eyes with one hand, the other on his hip. Eddie waggles his fingers in a hesitant wave, even more surprised when Steve’s face breaks out into a grin.

“There you are, buddy! Come on, let’s go!”

Eddie begrudgingly grabs his jacket, swinging it on as he slams the door of the trailer behind him.

“Um, dude, what’s up?”

Steve only waggles his eyebrows in response. “You’ll see, but c’mon, we’re running late.”

Eddie slides into the front seat of Steve’s BMW, eyes glancing to the radio, which is blasting some Top 40 station that not only sounds like nails on a chalkboard but is already making Eddie uneasy. Steve hops in the drivers seat and, as if he can read Eddie’s mind, turns the radio off before pulling out of the trailer park.

The ride is quiet, but comfortable. Steve has the windows down, it’s a breezy summer day, and Eddie feels something underneath the listlessness that has infiltrated his brain like cobwebs. Anticipation, maybe even excitement.

Steve pulls into the Wheelers’ driveway, and Eddie follows him inside the house, down to the basement, where Dustin, Mike, Lucas, and Will have set up their D&D table, Will at the head wearing… is that a wizard hat?

“Welcome back from banishment, Eddie!” Dustin shouts as soon as he sees him, smiling widely. And Eddie can’t help but smile back. Because these are his kids, and he missed them, and he really did feel banished even if it was somewhat self-imposed.

Four hours later, after part one of a thrilling campaign led by Will (who really is a promising DM, Eddie has to admit), he no longer feels like that. He’s glowing, breathless, warm. The feeling buoys him through the car ride home, Steve having left and then returned to drive Eddie back. And if that good feeling allows Eddie to glance a little too long at Steve’s hair blowing in the wind, his left hand loosely resting on the steering wheel and his right on his thigh, then that’s Eddie’s business and no one else’s.

They fall into a routine. Steve picks Eddie up, drives him to the Wheelers’ house for an afternoon of D&D, and drives him home. Eddie tries not to be too obvious in his appreciation of Steve in the summer sun but he’s just a man, okay, and Steve didn’t earn his reputation for nothing.

Every time, Eddie offers to drive himself, but Steve just laughs, shakes his head. “Get in the car, Munson.”

And every time Eddie does, Steve turns the radio off. Doesn’t say anything, doesn’t acknowledge it, but their car rides are blissfully quiet. Light and easy in a way that silences aren’t when he’s alone.

—

It’s pouring rain one afternoon, rattling the roof of the trailer. Eddie is contemplating whether he can get away with smoking out his bedroom window when he hears a familiar car horn. As he approaches the car, Eddie hears what can’t be, but what is unmistakably the sound of Steve… singing? Softly, almost under his breath, Steve is singing along to the radio. He cuts off when he sees Eddie, offering a half wave and a lopsided grin. As Eddie slides into the front seat, Steve turns the radio off.

“Hey why do you do that, man?” The question slips out before Eddie can stop himself.

“Do what?” Steve looks confused.

“Turn the radio off. When I get in the car.” Now that he’s asked, Eddie finds that he needs to know. Why of all possible people, it’s Steve who’s been the most accommodating.

Steve shrugs, puts the car into drive, turns onto the main road before answering. “It bothers you,” he says simply.

Eddie must look confused when Steve glances over because he continues. “I never see you listen to music anymore. I figured it must bother you. And hey man, if anyone understands fucked up reactions it’s me. I can’t hear fireworks or see Christmas lights anymore.”

Eddie barely manages to nod his thanks, to present a facade of normalcy while his mind is racing a million miles an hour. He knows that Steve has been through some shit, clearly he had even before Eddie walked headfirst into whatever the fuck is going on in Hawkins. But he never expected Steve to be so… observant. Not of him at least.

The D&D session takes his mind off the mortifying knowledge that Steve is paying attention to him. They’re approaching Will’s grand finale, and Eddie is caught off guard by how normal it feels. To be excited about a campaign, to mess around with the kids. To laugh, unironically.

The ride home is tenser than usual but as they pull into the trailer park, Eddie musters the courage to reach out. To touch Steve’s arm and mumble a quiet but sincere “thank you.” He doesn’t stay to see if Steve responds, but the pads of his fingers burn where they met Steve’s bare forearm, and he falls asleep that night with the ghost of a pop song in his head.

—

A week later, Eddie finds himself in the backseat of Steve’s car, his usual shotgun seat occupied by Robin. In situations like these, it’s hard not to feel left out, like a third wheel. Steve and Robin orbit around each other in a way that Eddie never has with anyone. But their jubilance is addictive and Eddie can’t help but be drawn in. A lone planet in their binary star system.

They’re telling some inside joke, something about Muppets, and Steve is glowing in the way he only ever does with Robin or Dustin, beaming like a carefree teenager instead of gazing sadly out of eyes that look too old for his face. Eddie is breathless, finds himself laughing along, eyes glued to Steve’s mouth (his smile, not his lips, Eddie lies to himself). Robin launches into song and there’s a moment when Steve joins in, and it’s ridiculous but possibly the most glorious thing Eddie has ever heard because it’s music. It’s music and it makes him feel safe.

After a blissful few seconds, Steve cuts off, as if catching himself, turns to meet Eddie’s eyes, face halfway between joy and panic. Robin doesn’t seem to notice, and Steve has one hand up as if to stop her before Eddie shakes his head slowly, starts to smile. Steve’s face begins to relax again, one eyebrow raising in question.

“Don’t stop,” Eddie mouths.

Steve turns back to Robin, picking up the thread of their foolish imitation. And maybe Eddie is still lying to himself because is this really music? But he thinks it might be the most beautiful sound regardless.

They drop Robin off at home and Eddie climbs up to the front seat, winking at Steve’s feigned outrage about “the leather, dude!” Steve backs out of Robin’s driveway, gets halfway down the block before he pulls over.

“Hey I’m sorry about earlier,” he starts softly. “I got carried away. I hope—. Well. I hope you’re okay, man. I know music bothers you.”

Eddie feels a blush rising at this ridiculous, lovely man and his concern. Steve is looking at Eddie, brow furrowed, assessing every minute detail of his face as if searching for evidence of injury. Eddie wants to reach out and smooth it with a touch, to make Steve laugh again in that carefree way. He settles for reaching out in a different way, laying a piece of himself bare.

“It doesn’t. Bother me, that is. Not when it’s you.”

The silence that follows is expectant, Steve’s expression hard to read. They’ve been on the precipice of something for weeks now, and Eddie has stepped off the ledge. But as always, Steve is there to catch him. His grin is lopsided, eyes warm, as he sings softly,

“But I know, uh-huh, that you're sad. And I know I'll make you happy with the one thing that you never had, baby I'm your man.”

And Eddie has half a second to think Wham!? Really? before they’re kissing. They’re kissing in the front seat of Steve’s car and Eddie has the sudden, embarrassing, wondrous urge to turn the radio on. So he does.

[suzukiblu]

. . . anyway I met a new soulmate AU concept and I'm gonna make it the Core Four's problem, natch.

It's kind of weird and awkward when Tim's Pocket shows up, because a) Tim's Pocket is Superman, and b) Superman is dead.

So that's . . . several kinds of weird and awkward, yeah.

"B," he says first thing into the cave, trying to sound professional and reasonable and not like he's kind of freaking out a little. Or . . . more than a little, maybe. "Can we, uh . . . talk?"

"Go ahead," Bruce says, not looking away from the Batcomputer. Tim really wishes he would. It would make some things easier to explain. Like his Pocket. Specifically his Pocket would be much, much easier to explain.

"My Pocket showed up last night," Tim says. Bruce nods in acknowledgement, still not looking away from the computer. His own Pocket is sitting on his shoulder, and at least she's looking at Tim. She also looks a little gobsmacked, which is saying something for her. Cat came from Selina, after all, and is very rarely gobsmacked.

"We'll get them a mask, then," Bruce says.

"Glasses might be better," Tim says resignedly. Bruce . . . pauses. Cat tugs his ear. He turns his head, and Tim tries not to die of embarrassment as his Pocket continues to hover over his head, peering curiously at Bruce.

He's Superman, still. The costume is a little different for some reason–there's black in it and different divisions of color and weird unnecessary-seeming belts and straps and gloves–but it's still undeniably Superman, big red cape and all.

Bruce looks blankly at Tim's Pocket. Tim's Pocket grins confidently back at him.

"What the fuck, Tim," Bruce says.

Tim does not in any way whatsoever blame him for it.

.

.

.

Cassie's Pocket is Superman and she has no idea how to feel about that. Superman's dead, for one thing. And also like in his thirties, at least? If not forties. And also dead.

"Uh, Mom?" she says when she comes down for breakfast. "Something . . . happened?"

Her mom looks up with a frown. Cassie's Pocket chirps a friendly greeting.

Mom stares.

"He's too old for you," she says immediately.

"Mom!" Cassie protests, and her Pocket cackles and swoops a circle around her head. "You–stop that, you jerk! And Mom, don't embarrass me in front of my Pocket, oh my god!"

"He should be embarrassed," Mom says darkly, glaring at Cassie's Pocket. He looks mildly offended. Cassie is very offended. To be fair, she also did not expect her Pocket to turn out to be a full-grown man with incredible alien superpowers and it's kind of freaky and a little off-putting, but that's her business, not her mom's.

Also, like, well . . . he's really cute, honestly. In a very weird way that she doesn't quite know how to reconcile with an adult man, but still. He's her Pocket, so there's no way he's a creep or a predator, and he's also Superman so there's definitely no way he's a creep or a predator, but the situation is really freaking bizarre all the same.

She's never even met Superman, so him being her Pocket really doesn't make sense. Especially because he is, again, dead. That'd be a really strong soulmate bond. Like, scary strong, Cassie thinks.

Though in retrospect, expecting Superman of all people to die was maybe kind of stupid of the world at large.

.

.

.

Bart is pretty surprised when his Pocket happens. It's Superman, he thinks? Which is weird. Superman's, like, super dead. Superman's from like . . . the twenty-first century, and Bart is definitely not.

And like . . . he's also just old. Like really, really old.

Lame.

"I'm gonna call you Soup," he decides immediately, poking his Pocket's curly hair. His Pocket looks just as immediately unimpressed and folds his arms. "What, you don't like it? Seriously? Okay, what about Soupy? Soupers? Soupette? Sou–ow ow ow stop!"

Okay, he's gonna have to workshop the name a bit, he guesses.

[clanwarrior-tumbly]

So, I've had this strange and, maybe, cool idea that I would like to share with you!

Reader, who made their way up to the Galar Championsip, they are known for their strange connection to Pokémon, and for never talking, or showing their face. People know very little about them, and rarely see them, but on one day, the finally day, the truth unfolds!

When they step onto the field, surrounded by cameras, they throw off their cloak only to show that all this time, the Pokémon Trainer was not in fact human, but also a Pokémon! Bisharp, to be exact.

The shock, the news! The unexpected twist!

Hope that you'll like it! Take your time, I can wait, writing is a very tiring progress✨

"Leon! How do you feel about the mystery challenger you endorsed being moments away from battling you?"

"Have they ever spoken a word to you, Leon?"

"Who do you think they could be? Someone outside this region? An old rival looking for revenge?"

"I haven't got a clue who they are just yet, but if I know one thing...it's that this battle is going to be amazing! I can just feel it!" The Galarian Champion grinned with pride, standing amidst a swarm of reporters who wanted to question him before he prepared for the final match.

At last, the day arrived.

One that many anticipated.

Because today Leon will be facing a particularly unique challenger:

You, somebody who mysteriously showed up in Galar one day and kept their identity hidden beneath a covert cloak. Nobody knew what you actually looked like, and it was even harder to know what you sounded like....as you've never spoken to anyone.

Not even to Leon, although you made your wishes to enter the gym challenge very clear when you approached him, handing him a card with a simple request:

Endorse Me --B

"B" was the only name he knew you by, and nothing else. But he understood that you probably didn't like talking too much, similar to Allister. So he obliged, permitting you to wear the cloak as you were rather insistent on doing so.

Who would have though you'd conquer the Championship by storm and were now minutes away from battling him for the title?

You've truly wowed the crowd as you defeated the gym leaders with flying colors. And all you ever did was point at them and let your Pokémon finish the job--all without uttering a single command.

You even took down Raihan's Gigantamaxed-Duraludon in just a single turn!

It's like you shared a psychic connection with them, although you've ducked out of the way of reporters and fanatics who were just obsessed with you, refusing to be swarmed.

Still, your aura of mystery, strong bonds, and intelligent Pokémon quickly became the talk of the town. And it made Leon all the more thrilled to battle you, hoping he'll get to learn more about you that way.

So when the news crew started getting word that you arrived in Wyndon for the final match, he took that as his cue to get ready.

He was so excited, he almost got lost on his way to the locker room.

.........

Stepping out onto the field, you were immediately greeted by cameras hovering on all sides, mounted by Aegislash.

Every angle was determined to capture you in your star moment...as you were about to battle Galar's current champion.

But even with all of this attention on you, you didn't wave or acknowledge the cameras one bit. Your focus was only on the purple-haired man who was waiting for you in the center.

For a second or two, Leon was thrown-off by the uproarious cheers coming from the crowd after you appeared. Usually he was being rooted for the most, although it's clear that people were psyched to see you battle him.

You've been one of Galar's greatest mysteries since your arrival, and still nobody knew who you were or how you became so strong.

Stopping in front of him, you looked into his eyes, only giving a small nod of acknowledgement.

"Well this is it, B. The moment everyone's been waiting for." He grinned. "Are you ready for.......oh, guess they are.." His face fell flat as you simply turned and headed back to your position on the field.

Now he was just dying to find out who you truly are.

Who really stood under that cloak?

For now, though, all that mattered was this battle that would determine if he'd successfully defend his title as Champion...or if you were somehow going to come out on top.

Standing back at his position, Leon patted both side of his face, taking a few deep breaths. Then he tossed his heavy cape to the wind, which was hastily collected by a staff member before he struck his signature pose for all to see.

The crowd's cheers have grown tenfold, chanting his name as they mimicked the iconic gesture.

You grunted in interest, impressed how that simple action got everyone so riled up and excited. And it made you wonder...

Looking to your cloak, you gripped it with metal fingers that were barely visible to the cameras. For a moment or two you stood there debating, wondering if....

No.

You're done dodging people and hiding from the public eye.

You've kept up this mystery long enough.

It's about time everyone here knew who you really were.

"What's this? Is our mystery challenger about to reveal their identity??" An announcer cried out. "It's the moment we've all been waiting for, ladies and gentlemen!!!"

With another grunt, you finally threw off your cloak, letting it fall to the ground beside you, eyes closed as you anticipated everybody's judgement.

Most of the crowd descended into silence; even Leon, Hop, and the other gym leaders couldn't believe what they were seeing right before their very eyes.

After all this time, they thought they were battling a strong human Pokémon Trainer.

But no.

Instead it was a Pokémon itself.

"What a twist! I can't believe it! It seems that our mysterious competitor is none other than the Pokémon Bisharp! Somehow it has risen through the ranks of the championship without the assistance of a trainer! It's incredible! This has NEVER happened in the history of Pokémon battling!!"

Soon the crowd went WILD.

Many wondered how it was even legal for a Pokémon to enter a human competition; a few others--especially those watching from home--were convinced you were just a person in a Bisharp costume.

But the cameras surrounding you didn't lie.

You were a real Bisharp, and you were determined to become the first ever Pokémon to win a championship.

"Shar.." With a smirk, you raised your hands up to the cameras, giving them a small wave. You were relieved that your secret was finally out; it gave you a massive confidence boost after seeing how all the humans reacted.

As you then sharpened your bladed arms and readied your first pokeball, you gazed at Leon from across the way. His jaw was dropped in shock, unable to believe who he was battling.

It was quite amusing to you.

Of course, many knew Bisharps were strategic commanders of Pawniards....but nobody would have guessed they'd be intelligent enough to lead a competitive team of different Pokémon outside their lineage.

Well, you're the shining example that it was possible.

After sending out your Pokémon, you huffed, wondering when your opponent was going to snap out of it and start taking this battle seriously.

But he quickly realized you were waiting, and seemed flustered.

"Sorry. I just...wow....I can't believe you were.....ah, what does it matter?" Shaking his head, he grinned as he finally sent out his first Pokémon, ready to defend his title. "We're gonna have a champion time regardless. So give me everything you got, Bisharp!"

[alexxncl]

‼️NIGHTBRINGER LESSON 34 SPOILERS‼️

masterlist | all lessons | lesson 33 | lesson 35

i might be getting ahead of myself here, but are we lilith ?? like is that what's happening rn ??? he's not saying mc's name, and raphael doesn't day their name in the next scene...if so then that's actually really fucking sad 💀

it makes sense though, belphie not wanting mc to go into his head bc he's still clinging to the past and doesn't want to lose them forever like he lost his little sister forever, especially since human life is so finite compared to that of a demon or an angel or a reaper

also it's obvious by his choice of words that despite him looking older, belphie is very, very young in his mindscape, just like mammon was. i feel like this also shows how close mams and belphie are even if it's not shown much on screen in the game, or at least how much belphie takes after mammon's, if not all of his older brothers traits, for better or worse

well nvm...i still think my theory is valid though. belphie wants to go back to his old life and end up not losing lilith, but still have mc with him

i wonder how similar mammon and belphie's bond in the celestial realm is to their bond in the devildom. is belphie still as reluctant to ask for help and advice openly? is the banter still the same? are there less insults? how does the age gap here cause them to treat each other differently if at all? or the lack of angelic status?

oh i'm gonna cry

big brother mammon will always have my heart and i need more of him

we know belphie's love of stars and constellations and the night sky in general started when he was in the celestial realm, and seeing it manifest in mammon in his mindscape makes my heart happy, even if mammon isn't the reason he became interested in astronomy (was it michael? lucifer? idk i don't remember)

i also think it's very interesting how belphie's brain is actively working against him "wanting to hide from mc". he literally said "i don't want you to see the inside of my mind" and is hiding away from them. i think, in reality and in his mindscape, he's running from the fact that he has to face his feelings about the idea of mc leaving to go to the "human realm" and the possibility of losing them forever like he lost lilith

this was (obviously) not beel speaking, but his inner thoughts in the shape and voice of beel. circling back to belphie having the best and worst traits of his brothers, his insecurity and need for reassurance rivals levi's, and we don't get to see it as blatantly because he masks it way better than levi does

ok so we're here in the timeline...interesting. how much time passed between luci and dia's first meeting and the celestial war? how much time had passed between the celestial war and mc's initial arrival to the devildom? how much had belphie aged?

angels and demons age different than humans do, and belphie doesn't feel any older than like...10 or 11 at the most, but beel seems older than that. maybe its his mind warping things to make himself seem and feel younger, but maybe he really was that young. was lilith even born at this point? how old was belphie during the time of the war ?????

also i'm mad we didn't get to see michael bc i wanna know what he looks like but oh well 🧍🏾

oh baby :((((

i'm not the biggest belphie fan AT ALL, at least canon belphie, but i think it's necessary to acknowledge how his trauma severely affects the way he acts. he went from blaming himself, to blaming an entire race of people for his sister's death. he feels like he should've been the one to die, even if it meant leaving his twin without him

now, if he got a proper redemption arc after lesson 16, THEN we could talk. i think the devs fumbled his character in that regard, but my hcs about his redemption will have to suffice for now

he didn't want mc to see this dark part of himself because he hates that he still has this mindset, that he's trapped in a cycle of "what ifs" and wishing it were him instead of her, constantly ruminating and letting his anger and grief fester without ever dealing with it properly and letting himself heal. he not only thinks he doesn't deserve to heal, but that he doesn't deserve to live long enough to see himself heal, that he doesnt deserve to live at all

WHY ARE YOU BEING DIFFICULT????

i mean i knew this would happen since its only lesson 34 and there's still 6 more to go...but damn

i love and hate the fact that he's so smart. like, they could easily just ask barbatos to send them back to the human realm if it was that serious. he's clearly taken a liking to them. lucifer knows something's up, and he won't forge a pact with them until he gets to the bottom of whatever's going on

initially, i thought it was a spell to bring them back since he'd been the one facilitating the trips into the brothers' mindscapes this whole time, but this is wayyy more interesting

i feel like the barbatoses communicate across timelines, or that their lives intermingle with each others' somehow, so whatever they feel for one person in a specific timeline is felt for ever version of them in every timeline. we know barbatos, at the very least, knows that kayden is an important person in the grand scheme of things, whether it be because of the way diavolo feels about them or because they play a large part in the obey me version of a canon event

if it's more than base level importance, we can assume that there's a level of trust and love that barbatos feels for mc that stretches across time (callback to the login screen's dialogue)

maybe he gave us the piece of the grimoire for a reason outside of belphie's mindscape escapades. what if this is how we gain lucifer's trust? if a demon as powerful as barbatos can give mc a piece of his grimoire, then he should be able to make a pact with them, seeing as they're trustworthy enough to be in cahoots with THE time demon

anyways barbatos is nightbringer and you can't tell me otherwise. unless you think it's michael. then i might hear you out...i'm stuck between thinking either of them is the titular character simply because of the simultaneous lack and abundabce of emphasis on michael's importance

[mtkay13]

And yet.... another..... Face reveal illustration.

And of course, another long post, LOL.

More thoughts on the passage below!

This illustration is born from a hyperfocus of mine on this sentence:

Ah-Xu... [...] Did... did I tell you that I like men?"

他忽然发现，其实对方一辈子都不将那易容卸下来，在自己心里，也从来就应该是这样一副模样，如今看到他长得竟如自己想象中的感觉别无二致，就像是……已经认识了他很久很久一样。 [Wen Kexing] suddenly realized that, should [Zhou Zishu] have kept the mask on forever, this was the face he'd have pictured in his heart. Now, seeing this face that exactly matched the one he had pictured, it simply felt like.... meeting again with someone he'd known for a very, very long time.

This, to me, feels like the comforting familiarity of knowing, of understanding a friend, feeling at ease despite the years, the distance; the feeling of meeting a friend IRL for the first time despite knowing them for years, and yet everything clicks--

To me, the beauty in this passage is in how the mask... never really did anything, change anything. Wen Kexing became friends with the person behind the mask, felt this deep connection for this man regardless of what he could look like, and seeing him, now, his face revealed, is that comfort of, yes--I recognize you. It's you.

What I really enjoy in TYK is Wenzhou's companionship, the way they understand each other so profoundly, and their friendship. The fact that they liked each other as people first, that they connected so well despite the odds. This connection between them makes a lot of the feelings mutual, and I feel like this sentence above, part of it is felt by Zhou Zishu as well; and removing his mask, although it is for practical reasons within the context of the story, showing his face to Wen Kexing is a way to affirm trust, both ways. I trust you with my own face, but you can also trust me--because I show you, I welcome you in. This passage... almost feels like a greeting. "Hello again, friend." except they've been tagging along for a while, now.

I used to wonder if Zhou Zishu was nervous about Wen Kexing seeing his face, as I do think he's a bit self-conscious about his frail body and struggles to understand Wen Kexing's big declaration of attraction to him--sort of like, "will he still like me, what will he think of my face?". I don't really stand by that anymore, because my understanding of ZZS has changed since then. It really feels more like, it's fine, we know each other, we're friends anyway now whether I like it or not. I wonder, is he a bit happy that he gets to greet WKX with his real face? He mentions having counted on keeping his mask until he dies, but... ? It's pretty obvious that at this point in the story, ZZS is already deeply fond of WKX, so I can't help but feel like he is happy, deep down, that he gets to make that connection.

For WKX, it must be comforting, but also quite bittersweet. His appreciation, his growing love for ZZS, only comforted by this familiarity, this acknowledgement of companionship, of ease together, while he is so deeply aware that ZZS is condemned... I feel like at this moment, he must want to hug him, to keep him close, and think, I wish I could have him longer, I wish he could stay; for he's the only friend he's ever had, for he never connected with someone like that before.

Now to adress the elephant in the room and jump onto the next topic, I keep saying "friend", "companion". Needless to say that I am well aware that wenzhou have a romantic+ bond, but I just feel like this part highlights this aspect of their relationship that I profoundly cherish. And thus we reach WKX's very famous line:

It's hilarious, perfectly timed, but I especially love how I feel like, rather than highlighting how gorgeous or attractive ZZS could be, this is yet another way for WKX to lighten his own mood, to detach himself from the deeper feelings, the longing, the fondess, the comfort--given how untimely this all is. It hurts, to feel attached to ZZS as a person, because he's going to die soon, while joking about fucking and being gay always works, and it has the benefit to make ZZS flustered.

So yeah, point is, I'm obsessed with that scene.

Also, obligatory reference to the past versions, which I noticed make sort of a nice movement? haha.

I'm not really standing by the first one anymore, but it works in that context!

[hello-nichya-here]

i hate that the general public has the ideia that sandor only sees sansa as a "little sister" and has a stronger bond with arya… got did irreparable damage to society

I get far less mad at the "He's closer to Arya" thing when the people saying it are honest about refering solely to show as that's the only version of the story they've consumed. What I cannot stand is the people that only watched the show and then try to use it as evidence to claim Sandor was closer to Arya IN THE BOOKS THEY'VE NEVER EVEN FUCKING READ!

Buddy, in the books he beat, threatened and insulted her every other paragraph. He HAD moments of campassion towards her, and Arya did take notice and retribute it sometimes, but their dynamic is overwhelmingly negative and toxic. They're not friends, he doesn't see her as someone dear to him, and Arya was 110% justified in leaving him to die - something Sandor himself acknowledges.

Don't get me wrong, I do believe has good in him, and that he will BECOME a good person, as that's clearly what's being set up, but for 90% of the story he is an absolute bastard, even when actively trying to be nice to the Stark girls - and he has ALWAYS put way more effort to be gentler towards Sansa than he ever did to anyone else on Earth, Arya very much included.

He talks about her all the time, makes his romantic/sexual interest in her very clear, and cries on his "death" about how he failed to protect her. More importantly, while he DID threaten Sansa when offering to rescue her, he was in the middle of a PTSD episode, and all it took for him to breakdown crying and leave her alone was her singing a song about mercy. He never bonded with Arya on that level or ever got even close to respecting her wish to not be around him like he did with Sansa.

And let's not forget why Sansa sang to him: because Sandor demanded a LOVE SONG about the fool-turned-knight that rescued the pretty girl and then became her lover. He wants to be Sansa's hero and wants her to LOVE him. He almost kissed her during that whole mess, and George R.R. Martin has Sansa misremember the event to include an actual kiss, because Sansa was, in his own words, "correcting" that moment - not by ignoring all the awful parts of it mind you, but by making Fantasy!Sandor act on his obvious attraction to her, because the fact that he didn't was more important in her head than him literally threatening her life.

In case that last bit didn't make obvious: the book was not subtle about Sandor NOT thinking of Sansa as his "little sister", but as the object of his lust/love AND the poor, innocent maiden that is waiting for a true knight to rescue her and safely take her back to her family's castle - and despite her not being reckless enough to run off with such an unstable man, Sansa DOES have feelings for him too. Hell, even the show wasn't always unwilling to go there, as they do have some moments that scream "there's something there"

I REALLY need to make a whole separate post on how GOT completely destroyed Sansa and Arya (plus Sandor) as characters, and how their dynamics with "The Hound" were all wrong since Dumb & Dumber clearly didn't get that they were not supposed to side with Sandor's "everyone is awful, so all awful things are justified" mentality.

[minicoffee00]

I’m just here as a distraction right? Part 1 Lucien x Reader

Plot: After Lucien finds out Elain is his mate, he spends the first year pining after her. After seeing her getting closer to Azriel and her found family in the Night Court, he starts to have feelings for a High Fae Girl who stumbled in Jurian, Vassa and Lucien’s home.

Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Lucien had listened to Feyre when she'd said to keep trying to reach out to Elain, to get to know her. He attempted getting her food and drinks but she always looked at it in disgust and pushed it away. She never accepted any of the offered gifts, or his time that he offered up.

Lucien got to the point where he wasn't even trying to woo her, just trying to be a friend, someone she could talk to when she didn't know who else to go to. But Elain was being cruel, she wasn't rejecting the bond, because when she did that it made it real and she didn't want to acknowledge it. However, she was completely happy to pursue Azriel.

When he saw them out in the garden, he couldn't help but see how Elain was forcing a connection between them, even more so when she knew he was watching.

"Feyre, I cant stand to be here much longer. I'm being treated like a stray wet dog coming into your home. I no longer wish to impose" he voices, knowing he had a place with Jurian and Vassa.

"Please Lucien, she'll come around" Feyre begged, holding Nyx on her hip.

"It's been a year Feyre, she wont even acknowledge me as a friend. Which i would have been to her despite the bond. It's running me ragged ... her not rejecting me and letting me move on while i have to watch her with HIM" Lucien grits out.

"I know, but please Lucien. You are my friend" Feyre breathes coming closer to him. Just as he was about to cave, and admit defeat and say he would stay here for a little longer, Azriel and Elain walked in from the garden, Azriel with a hand on her lower back guiding her through the door.

They both pause, seeing Lucien, Feyre and Nyx. Elain stops her laughter shying away a little seeing the red haired fae that always hung about.

"I'll take that as my leave" he says glancing at Feyre, and she knew what he meant. He wouldn't be coming back.

"Lucien, please" Feyre begs one last time.

"Goodbye Feyre" he says before winnowing out and to a place, he felt slighty better in, but not home. He never felt like he'd find a home.

Lucien arrived home, greated by a heavily drunk Vassa and Jurian. He joined them for the entire night only waking to a rough bang on the front door of their house.

Lucien was the one who drunk the least and ended up aanswering the loud knocking. He opens the door to a face he hadn't seen in a year.

"Tam?" he asks in shock, the blonde man seemed healthier now. His blonde hair was bright again no knots and no dirt in sight. He had washed, found new clothes and he looked like his old self.

"Hello, old friend" he greets, Lucien steps out pulling his old High Lord into a hug.

"I think there's something I've acquired that is off use to you" he grins out, in a teasing manner.

"You- You're here" Lucien breathes out, a deep chuckle coming from Tamlin.

"Yes, I am. Beron has fallen and Eris has had the transfer of his High Lord nature. It seems he had granted your mother access to go to her former lover" he says, the grin turning a little malicious, something that didn't go un-noticed by Lucien.

"And now that the Spring Court is back and thriving and my people are happy, I've had time to travel and well gather important information" he adds.

"Information like?"

"Seems like little Feyre, hasn't been completely honest with you. Someone you deemed a friend. So I'm here as a friend Lucien, because that's what we are and i, unlike some people don't hide the truth from them" Tamlin admits, and Lucien stays silent. A gentle nod for Tamlin to continue.

"Beron, isn't your father. Your mother had an affair with a different High Lord of the Seven Courts" Tamlin smirks, Lucien's head snaps up in shock, he kenw Beron treated him awfully and thats why he'd left to come to Tamlin.

"Who is it?" Lucien asks.

"Feyre worked out that Hellion is your father, he and your mother had an affair and thus you were born, so right now Lucien you my friend are the only heir to the Day Court. And a hopeful ally of mine. Now that Eris has taken over Autumn Court, god knows what he's agreed to with the night court!" Tamlin explains, however the conversation is cut short as you enter.

“STOP” a shout comes across, a young woman, running towards Tamlin, thanks to her attire it was obvious that she was from the Day Court.

“Lucien, you weren’t supposed to find out like this” you say running up to them, you go to punch Tamlin, regardless who he is until an unearthly growl stops you, Lucien stepping in front of you. To protect you.

“My father sent you?” Lucien asks testing the word, it sounding so odd and foreign.

“Yes, to come get you so he could talk to you and explain to you. I’m one of his most trusted warriors. Please come back to the day court, he wants to meet you… well as his son” you offered, Lucien only grunts a hand slipping up his face covering his tired eyes.

“I can’t, not right now” he grunts out turning to go back in the house.

“Then let me stay with you, I have to bring you back eventually. So please let me stay with you until you feel ready.

…

And it took a while for Lucien to feel ready, he had so much on his mind, he had a father who according to what you had told him only found out a day before he had and had sent you out the minute be found out. His actual father seemed to care and he couldn’t help but think of what his life would be like IF he had been raised by Hellion rather than Beron.

Then there was the Elain situation, he could feel everything down the bond that had only seemed to strengthen and pull at his heart strings as he left. But he could feel Elain and everything she did. There was also the Night Court as a whole, specifically Feyre for lying to him. And now the fact that Tamlin was back asking for his friendship only now seeing his as a potential ally.

The only person who had been patient with him was you, you’d waited and helped him with little tasks he just couldn’t bring himself to do.

And because if this he slowly started to cling to you, as his only support.

This turned sexual very quickly, he had wanted some kind of release, and you being his outlet made sense.

From your mind however, you had slowly started to fall for the Day Court Prince, as his father had said to you, you’d teased him for days about it.

Every little thing you did was from the bottom of your heart, you wanted him to feel wanted and needed as you could tell he hadn’t had someone show him this level of affection in a long time.

…

“Lucien” you moaned as he kissed up the side of your body, his mouth finding itself on your breast, sucking and pulling at the tender flesh as it perked up.

“Yes, sweetheart” he asks.

“I need you” you say to him, he hadn’t understood the full meaning of those words but to you, that was commitment to him in itself.

He pulled up the dress skirt that you were currently wearing courtesy of Vassa, whom said you could borrow anything while you were here.

His fingers slid up your thighs, finding you already bare.

"So naughty" he groaned, you were already very wet, meaning his two fingers slid in with ease. He pushed them in and out, making a scissoring motion. He leaned down kissing across your jaw and neck, while basking in the noises you were making because of him.

He pulled his pants off and down, leaving him bear. He slipped in thursting until he bottomed out, whines coming from both of you. He made you feel so full and satisfied, and with this feeling you'd assume he was your mate.

However, Jurian had made it his mission to tease you around the fact that Lucien was already technically bespoke for.

You'd done this many times and Lucien never said anything, other than the occasional compliment, not abouthow you looked just how you felt around him. Breathy groans and whines were the most of what came from him, you on the other were extremely vocal, telling him how his skin glowed in the light, or how his eyes danced with colour. How silky his hair felt as it brushed against your breasts when he leant down.

He started to thrust in an out of you quicker, his hips starting to stagger, you tightened around him feeling that coil in you unleash with white hot ecstasy.

"Elain" he moaned, as you both came, he stilled inside you immedielty realising what he said.

"I-" you start but he pulls out of you, looking mortified at what he had just done.

"I didn't mean to say her name I - cant. I'm so sorry" he says putting his head in his hands.

"It's okay, I guess im just here as a distraction right, while you figure everything out, with you dad and you mate and your old courts." you say, pulling the dress down and standing up. You walk to the bathroom slamming the door shut and turning on the water to fill the bath.

Quiet sobs came out of you as you sent a letter to Hellion through a Falcon telling him you'd be returning to the palace without his son and that you couldn't stay here anylonger.

A/N:

Later on today, i will post my up and coming and hopefully will be able to post what's in store for my 24 days of Christmas!

Not sure if a part 2 is needed however if there is demand i will be more than happy.

It's reading week at university this week so i can post more too! So my up and coming will hopefully be quick!

Taglist:

@cat-or-kitten

@sstrohma

@horneybeach1

@its-sam-allgood

@starryhiraeth

@xcastawayherosx

@glitterypirateduck

@azriels-mate123

@mavropouloupanagiota

@chasing-autumns-chill

@justdreamstars

[kaicubus]

Stains We Can’t Remove | Wayne M.

₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ───────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊ ─────────────── ₊˚⊹♡ ∘₊

warnings ✩° : angst no happy ending, cursing, angry wayne, trauma responses, hurt/no comfort, wayne not listening to reader, wayne’s mommy issues, spoilers kinda for the series, wayne WANTS to go after reader but doesn’t.

pairing ✩° : wayne mccullough x fem!reader

premise ✩° : wayne’s mom isn’t a perfect person, that’s pretty obvious to you and everyone around you. everyone but wayne, who gets defensive when you start to question his true place in her life after talking with her.

word count ✩° : 3.3k

authors note ✩° : this may get a part 2 but i had to leave it on a cliffhanger you know me teheh...anyways this uhm this really hurt my soul but i like doing angst no comfort until you guys come at me with knives demanding a part 2. so until then!

────────────────────────────────────────────

Maureen smelt like cigarettes.

Usually, people make an effort to mask the scent when they come back in for a short smoke break, knowing how most people find the smell revolting, dousing themselves in cheap perfume or body spray or even take off the clothes they were wearing that the smoke latched onto. But Maureen didn’t care. She didn’t even acknowledge it.

That’s just the kind of person Maureen McNulty was.

You had to admit, it bothered you seeing Wayne so attached to a mother who clearly didn’t give a damn about her son, in fact you’ve never seen anything like it before. In the short amount of time you’ve known her, you’ve seen Wayne’s mom force a smile and laugh with him like it’d been her dream to see Wayne after so long, out of the blue despite being the one to leave him since all these years. And seeing a look of hopefulness on your boyfriends face when she told him how much she missed him made something inside of you bubble with anger, knowing that all Wayne was to her was that certain stench of smoke she couldn’t be bothered getting rid of or even spare a passing glance.

Of course, you didn’t want to break Wayne’s spirits. After all, it was the first time in a long time Wayne had something else besides you to live for. He had his friend Orlando, sure, but Orlando wasn’t considered family. He was just someone Wayne bad to protect.

You fall under that category as well, but on a more intimate level. This was the first time though, that Wayne could be protected—comforted—by someone else. He could finally take shelter and relax in the arms of his mother, family he had been deprived of for so long.

But how could you relax seeing all the false, squinted smiles that told lies of ‘i love you’ and ‘i want you to stay here forever’, even taking it as far as showing him baby pictures of himself that Maureen had conveniently kept but ‘accidentally’ hidden away.

It didn’t help that you had overheard Maureen one day talking to her husband, who seemed to be frustrated with the sudden two additions in his household. You could hear the way his loud, angry voice, echoed throughout the halls and since it was only you three home and Wayne and Reggie were out ‘bonding’, you heard everything very clearly.

You almost wish you didn’t.

“Ok! Fine! You know what! Yeah, he’s a little annoying and clingy and following me around everywhere, but he was like that when he was a kid! Give him a damn break!” You heard her say, followed by a large clattering noise from her husband knocking his fist into the wall causing a painting to tumble down.

“I don’t care if you think he’s your little fuckin’ baby, Maureen! He’s not my son and I don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea! I want him out of my house as soon as possible, otherwise I’m just going to throw him on the street along with his skanky girlfriend too!”

“Don’t you call my son’s girlfriend a skank!” You liked that she defended you, “But, you’re right. I can’t have my past follow me around like some puppy dog. It’s not right. I just…give me time to break the news to him gently. I’ll tell him to back his bags. He’ll be gone real soon, babe.”

And that was it. Then Wayne and Reggie came home and Maureen pretended to act normal again, flying above Wayne’s radar and tricking him into thinking he can stay with his mom. It didn’t even matter if Maureen opened her arms to both you and Wayne and let you both inside of her home, because to you, it didn’t matter at all if all she was going to do was go back on her word and make you guys leave, breaking Wayne’s heart all over again. What also hurt was that Maureen was nothing like Wayne; She was actually fun, well spirited, unlike Wayne who barley spoke two words to her when he saw her again, while she spoke novels. It was interesting seeing the two interact, but it didn’t change the fact that none of it was real.

You just had to tell him what he failed to see. And you were going to do it tonight.

When the time came, you could hardly ignore the rapid beating pounding inside of your chest. The whole time you stood there, waiting for everyone to go outside or leave the house was spent pondering over every single thought in your head, debating on if this was truly a good idea and rehearsing what you wanted to say to him. Telling Wayne straight up that his mom didn’t love him and actually just wanted him out was completely out of the picture, so you had to lay it down slowly and sugar coat the hell out of it and pray he’d understand.

When everyone finally leaves, Maureen’s husband outside in their garage, Reggie out with friends, and Maureen smoking a pack outside by a bonfire, you tug your boyfriend back into the dining room and sit him down across from you. Wayne, who appears to be already over the moon from having a private conversation with you, smiles curiously at what you have to say, batting his eyes at you curiously when you just stare at him saying nothing.

“Wayne I have to tell you something.” You start off easy, folding your hands onto the table and looking anywhere but his eyes, “It’s...it’s kind of hard for me to do this, but. I think I should really tell you.”

Wayne’s eyes don’t leave yours for a second, giving you his full attention with that same hopeful smile he’s had all week. That only makes it harder for you to get your words out, and unfortunately, they do.

“Wayne, I don’t think your mom is who she says she is.” You hold onto your thighs and look up at your boyfriend through your lashes.

It takes a moment for him to process the statement in his head, but it doesn’t register. He looks up with a confused expression, with one of his eyebrows arched and squinted eyes, “She’s not my mom?”

“No, Wayne, she is your mom,” You laugh a bit, feeling a weight lift from your shoulders with his innocent question, “But I don’t think she’s as…perfect, or even motherly like you think she is. I mean, you’ve seen how she raised Reggie.”

“Reggie has a shit father, Y/n, I’d blame that more on him than my mom.” Wayne points out, “And yeah, my mom’s not going to be perfect, no moms are. But, she’s trying her hardest, and I got to see her, so I think that’s good.”

He wasn’t getting it.

You let out a short sigh and scoot closer to him, gently moving your hand to the center of the table where you could comfortably meet halfway and hold his hands. “Wayne, It’s not about her being a good mom or not.” You say gently, “It’s more about her not...wanting to be a mom to you.”

“That’s crazy, Y/n. I’m her son. I was here first. That don’t make no sense.” Wayne shakes his head and laughs under his breath.

“I know, I know baby. But I heard her talking, when you and Reggie were out. She was in the other room, and well,” Your shoulders fall, “She said she didn’t...she didn’t think it was a wise decision to keep past...personal assets in her...new life...” That was the best way you could put such horrible news. In a way, you understood the feelings Wayne must be going through; No child would want to be told from someone that their mom was talking shit behind their back, especially when that mom left them when they were just a kid and left no explanation saying why or even bothering to leave behind some lame excuse. To your knowledge, Maureen never told Wayne she was going to grab some milk and be right back, instead she just left one day and never returned.

The more you tried to spell it out for him though, the more confused he got. You were already dancing around the issue and trying to sugar coat it as best as you could, but his expression tells it all: he has no clue of what you’re trying to say. Wayne wrinkles his brows in utter confusion and stares at you, his smile fading away the more you stammer on.

“Look, Wayne. When you were gone, I heard her talking to her husband, he was all mad and whatever that we were staying here.”

“So? We’ll just move near by, my mom probably knows a place we can crash and we’d be out of his hair.”

Your back stiffens, “N-No, Wayne, he doesn’t want us—you—here, period. I’m not family, and I’ll have to go back some time. He knows that, and so do you. But I’m talking about you and your mom.”

Wayne re-positions his hands separately from yours and clasps them together tightly, rubbing his calloused thumbs over each other in thought. “What, uh. What else did he say?” His watchful eyes crawl back up to yours.

“He said that you’re not his son, and your mom agreed, and therefore he doesn’t want you in his house.” You look down nervously. If there was one thing you knew about Wayne, it would be that he talks a lot, just not in words. When Wayne holds a conversation, he doesn’t speak all too much, instead he pays attention to the person talking, mimicking their movements, and using body language to talk—hands to express his levels of comfort, eye contact to silently communicate, and his posture to dictate his attention—you can tell what he’s thinking just by looking at him. The body tells a lot of secrets the mouth won’t, but it was no secret that Wayne hated this conversation.

He hated everything about thinking his mom isn’t who she says she is or how his 5-year old mind remembers her. Instead of the woman who brought him toys and taught him how to read and decipher shapes, who cooked him and his father meals especially warm tomato soup on rainy days, your words were practically shredding that woman down to someone who doesn’t care one bit about him, who would and did leave him because she couldn’t care less. But Wayne tries his best not to show it all too much.

“What else?” He drums his fingers on top of the table and glances down too.

“She told him, she doesn’t want her past following her around like some...” Your lip curls, knowing what’s coming next would utterly destroy him, “...some sad puppy dog.” and it does.

Wayne feels your shoe turn and nudge him when he goes silent for too long, his body voided of any kind of language and instead replaced by nothing at all, but he doesn’t react. How could his own mother, he thought, think of him as some helpless dog when he did everything to hell and back to try and find something so dear to him? He rolls his head forward and allows the shadows of the flickering light above trace over his nose and forehead.

“Wayne..?” You say softly, softer than you ever have before. You fear that the slightest bit of volume could send him destroying everything around him, knowing that’s all he wants to do right now. The static in Wayne’s mind suddenly starts to fizz, jumping from a background noise right to all he can hear. The sound fills his ears and it fills his ears fast, leaving him no time to think.

“No.” Wayne shakes his head, “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Y/n. My mom wouldn’t do that to me, she wouldn’t say that to nobody. Not her kid, especially not me. She wouldn’t compare me to no dog. Why’d you say that..?”

Suddenly, your words were stolen from you. Was he really shifting the blame onto you? There was some misunderstanding. “No, that’s not it,” You lurch forward and try to catch his wrists to assure him you’re telling the truth, but he rips them away from you before you get the chance, “Wayne, I’m not lying to you. I heard how she talked about you.”

“Yeah, well clearly you didn’t hear right!” Wayne shouts. His abrupt change in tone makes you jump right back into your seat, eyes wide from how easy it was to yell at you, and it even shakes the table. Or maybe that was because of how hard he was gripping it in that moment. Still, you look at Wayne in shock, fear, and some lingering taste in the back of your tongue of anger.

“What are you talking about?! Wayne, I heard her say that shit! Why would I fucking lie about that?”

Wayne shrugs harshly, “I dunno, maybe you wanna like, split us up or somethin’? I don’t know! I do know that my mom wouldn’t call me a damn dog, following her around.”

“You might not want to believe it, but that’s what she said. I’m saving you from a whole world of pain, Wayne. Imagine if she was the one to tell you? You’d believe her since it was coming out of her mouth, so why is it so different when I tell you out of mine?!” His words hit you like a truck right into your chest. You wanted to defend yourself and explain to him that the truth was evident, but Wayne just keeps shoving.

“You don’t know my mom, ok?”

“And you do?! You didn’t even know why she left you until she came up with some lame excuse so you wouldn’t keep pressing her for answers!”

Wayne stands up and balls his fists tightly. If there was anything distracting himself from the pain splitting his heart in two, it was the biting sensation of his nails digging crescents into his already scarred palm. “What? You think you know her just by lookin’ at her? You’ve only known her for a couple days, but I’ve been here with her, in a photo album or a wallet—she knows about me! She understands me, and I’m happy to be here with her. Why is that so hard for you to understand, Y/n?”

There’s a pause, a moments of hesitation, before you speak. In that moment, you stare at the way Wayne’s chest falls heavily, heaving with guilt and burden, knowing as much as his anger consumes him, the last thing he wants to do is yell at you. Your eyes flicker away from his for a second, catching a glimpse of all the photos and picture frames hanging on the walls of Maureen, her husband, and Reggie. Reggie’s baby pictures, her and her husband out on an anniversary date wrangling gators, Reggie grinning ear to ear holding up a gold club and soon after, a beer. Your eyes scan over all the memories this family has where they seem so well put together, one would even say, happy and loving.

Maureen was there, sure, displaying her crafts and small businesses she’s worked on over the years, and her husband was always in a picture with his eyes red because of the flash and holding something up to show, and then there was Reggie. There was nothing of Wayne. Not even a small picture on the fridge.

Wayne said that his photos were locked away, secret, but all that told you was that Maureen was ashamed of her past, and even more ashamed of him. If Wayne failed to see that, there was nothing more you could do. You had already lost to her.

Maybe you’d wish you hadn’t brought it up, or somehow made Maureen tell him himself so this didn’t make you seem like a liar trying to tear Wayne apart from his mom. You only wanted to let him know. Your eyes return back to him, and shamefully, you give him a half-hearted smile. “What I understand, Wayne, is that she’s not ready to be your mother. And frankly, I don’t think she ever was, and that’s why she left you. You’re holding onto something that doesn’t want to be held onto.”

Wayne falls silent. “Then I don’t think I want to be the one to hold onto you anymore.”

Your head flips back up, your brows furrowing. Now more than ever, it felt like your world seemed to shatter right beneath your feet. Those few words stung like burning needles stabbing right into your gut as the wind in your lungs struggles to escape, leaving your chest constricted and heart fully broken beyond repair.

You wanted to have misheard. You wanted him to regret what he said and quickly apologize. Like he always does, he always fixes it. But this time, Wayne doesn’t even turn his head up to look at you. Instead he keeps his eyes fixated on his hands, mindlessly picking at the skin around his nails.

You swallow, hard, and attempt to speak, but nothing comes out. You try to open your mouth more, but it snaps shut. There’s nothing you can say or do that will change his mind, so what was even worth defending? Your dignity was long gone when you first sat down with him, and it feels like there’s no love for you inside of Wayne’s heart, but you still hold on the best you can.

Even your strength can’t hold back the tears that eventually spill from your eyes though, and soon enough, streams of hot tears come barreling down the sides of your face, seemingly endlessly. You bring your sleeve up to your face and start hastily dabbing away your tears, blotting softly at first but quickly bashing your fists into your eyes to get them to stop.

Wayne’s ears perk up when he hears you sniffle, but he doesn’t look over. Even when he doesn’t speak, he still says a lot, and his silence was all you needed to realize that Wayne McCullough had chosen who he wants to be around and to spend his time with, and that person was not you.

Even if it meant leaving you behind, Wayne’s mind was set. He couldn’t change the past, but he was hopeful for the future, and if there was any ounce of changing that, then Wayne held on. It just meant that you were something that he couldn’t keep as well.

Despite everything, Wayne doesn’t bother looking up, he doesn’t even spare a passing glance. He ignores you. He ignores the tears now rushing from your eyes and spilling onto the only clothes you had on your back. He ignores all of those times where you’d saved him and he’d saved you, running from the cops and any authoritative figure to escape into a fleeting feeling of freedom. He doesn’t even acknowledge it.

He doesn’t have to tell you what to do next. Him not looking at you was more than he needed to say, and before you knew it, your bag filled with missing things was over your shoulder, and you, halfway out the door. Wayne still remains in the same position, back turned to where you had left him, only now he was facing you as you left. Dark eyes stick onto your teary-eyed expression like magnets stuck to their piece, but no words are exchanged.

For a moment, you see his hands twitch from his sides, but he stops moving all together. Now you were certain. If you left or not, Wayne would still go back to his mom. Even if she had left him all those years ago, she was stuck to him and he didn’t want to get rid of her or even see how much she’s hurting him.

In the end, you couldn’t change his mind after all.