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scaranation · 1 year

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hi hi !! could you write an ANGST with Dottore and Zhongli where we break up with them? maybe in dottore we break up because we can't bear(?) his experiments anymore and in Zhongli one we feel not enough/that he loves someone else (maybe Guizhong?)

Gn reader or Fem!reader(if u write for fem. sorry if u do not,i couldnt find rules and im really really sorry ! :( ... )

p.s will there be To love another 3rd part? it's my fav fanfic ever !!

love your work ♡♡

hihihi i know this is like super late but this prompt is literally so good 😭 also im thinking of writing another part to that fic, but i just dont know where to take it so ive been procrastinating haha

dottore’s part is kinda ooc bcs let’s be real if he’s that whipped for reader he wouldn’t let them break up with him, but im going to pretend that he’s not as much of a red flag as he actually is 🤭🤭

༊*·˚ 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐈𝐓 𝐎𝐅𝐅

Pairing: Dottore x GN!reader, Zhongli x GN!reader (separate)

Content: Angst, no comfort. Mentions of canon typical violence, assumed past Guizhong x Zhongli

DOTTORE

“It seems my beloved has finally thought to visit me.”

You cringed from the overpowering metallic scent as you stepped into your boyfriend’s laboratory, trying hard not to look at the borderline gruesome sights on the clinical beds.

Dottore cleaned the blood off a bone saw he was holding, setting the instrument down carefully before walking towards you - eyes lit up, but holding a gleam different to the maniacal one he usually possessed.

“How was your day, my love?” His voice was humorous. He seemed to be in a good mood, humming lightly while opening the door for you.

“It was fine.” You sighed as you felt the weight of Dottore’s harbinger coat settle across your shoulders, registering the touch of his hand as he pulled you into him and away from the Snezhnayan cold.

“Has that coworker of yours still been bothering you?”

“… Don’t try pretending.”

“Whatever could you be talking about?” The Doctor’s grip on you tightened.

“I wouldn’t wish death on anyone, even if they annoyed me to that extent.” You sighed, finally tilting your head to stare into the planes of your lover’s mask.

“Oh, they’re not dead. Rather, they’ve been subject to some biological modifications of an experimental kind - would you like to see?”

You gritted your teeth.

“I’m hungry, don’t make me lose my appetite.”

“Good thing I have a nice place booked for dinner, my love.”

His compliance was almost uncanny.

Normal couples gazed affectionately into each other’s eyes over meat and wine, fingers fondly interlaced over the dining table. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to return Dottore’s adoring scarlet gaze, and his hold on your hand felt more like a death trap.

“Is the food to your liking?” He asked. He hadn’t touched any of the vegetables on his plate, only biting into the steak.

“Yes. You should eat greens, too.” You commented.

“Mm. Why don’t you feed me, then?” Dottore only tilted his head, smiling eagerly. Recently, a fear of you being turned into one of the harbinger’s countless experiments had taken hold, and it was this same fear that drove you to play right how he wanted. And so, lifting your fork, you fed him with all the patience you could muster - staring into those deep red eyes, feeling like nothing more than prey. Those eyes would’ve been the last thing many others had seen before their death, the end of their lives marked by that sadistic grin. You almost shuddered at the thought.

Normal couples slept under starry nights reflected in their star crossed hearts as they cuddled close under soft sheets. Normality was such a strange concept, you decided. Despite the fact that you were doing just what normal couples should, the situation was still absurd. However, your fear of becoming another one of the harbinger’s lab rats wasn’t unfounded. You mulled over this fact, almost snorting at the juxtaposition. Here you were - wondering if the man who cradled you in his arms would strap you down to a table in the name of research.

“My love, are you still awake?” You felt Dottore’s breath ghost over your neck, his face pressing into your nape. With a rustle, he readjusted the blanket over your shoulders.

“Yeah, I can’t sleep.”

“Nightmares, perhaps? I have a pill you can use for those.”

“No, just… thinking.” You squirmed in Dottore’s hold. His comment only reignited your spiralling train of thought, pushing you further to the point of resolve.

If he could kill his clones - literal versions of himself - then what would stop him from doing the same to you? Even if you remained alive, would you have to continue to tolerate being exposed to such grotesque horrors?

It was simply better to break things off, before you no longer had the option to.

Breakfast.

The first meal of the day, and the last meal you’d share with your boyfriend.

“Dottore.”

“Yes?” The Doctor’s head jerked up immediately from where he was chewing. You could feel the undivided weight of all his attention sinking into you, and for a moment, you faltered. He was notorious for paying little mind to anyone else, and yet, he treated you with the utmost attentiveness. You steeled your resolve.

“I think… we should break up.”

Silence. Then, the grating scrape of cutlery against crockery.

“Why.”

Not a question, more of a demand. You gulped.

“Do you want me to be honest with you?”

“Yes. Is it something I did?”

“I can’t bear your experiments anymore, Dottore. They’ve gone too far, and I don’t think I can stomach living normally with you as if I don’t know the kind of things you do. Even worse, every day I’m wary that I might be your next test subject - whenever I walk into your lab, I wonder when I’ll be the one under your needles. It’s exhausting.”

Another beat of silence. You could see Dottore’s chest rising and falling at an increasingly fast pace, his jaw tensing.

“I would never, ever do that to you. It’s ridiculous that you’d even think that, and as for your prior reason… I can arrange for you to come to the lab less often…”

“So you’re just going to cover my eyes and act like you’re not doing anything with those experiments? I just can’t be ignorant here, nor can I trust you. If you can get rid of your clones so easily, then what am I? What value do I hold-“

“Those creations do not even compare to you.” Dottore finally snapped, slamming his hand down on the table. You flinched, and he felt as though his lung capacity had been halved. His head spun in tandem with the rapid tightening of his heart, his mouth twisting into a scowl.

It hurt Dottore, realising that you didn’t trust him. That all those fond, intimate memories together were just you acting out of fear - or at least, the most recent ones were. It hurt, beyond anything Dottore thought he could inflict on his patients. And even worse, you were frightened of him. The light shaking of your shoulders and the way you flinched were enough indication.

The Doctor enjoyed seeing his victims become terrified, but that same terror on you almost made him feel like he’d been the one stabbed with a scalpel. Foolishly, he’d fallen victim to his own maniacal research tendencies.

“Listen, I didn’t mean to scare you. I just meant to say… that you can trust me.” Dottore raised his hand towards you to cup your cheek, wincing when you avoided the action.

“I tried to, I really did. But I don’t think I can do it anymore.”

“My love, please.”

The second harbinger was begging. What a strange sight.

“Let me go, Dottore.” You murmured shakily. You saw hesitation, hurt, and anger flit through those vermilion eyes you’d used to love. But that love you held for him had only smouldered into disgust and fear.

“… Then go. Get out of my sight.” Dottore hissed, his teeth clenching at the wary expression on your face.

It was painful, how you walked out without a second glance.

“My love…” Dottore whispered. He stared at the closed door, almost expecting you to return. He repeated the phrase, over and over to himself - his face contorting into an expression he himself couldn’t name. Was there truly an emotion as human as this? It was a twisted, unimaginable feeling the Doctor couldn’t categorise. The syllables came off his quivering lips, as though by uttering them he could make you come back.

But the truth was, your not-so-normal relationship was over. Perhaps, Dottore would return to the normality of his heartless experiments, and you’d return to the normality of a better fate than one you’d endure by his side.

He only regretted not being able to hold you more.

ZHONGLI

There were only two letters between you and your lover, but those two letters seemed to stretch wider every day - ‘I’, and ‘M’. The seemingly infinite synapse between mere ‘mortal’, and ‘immortal’.

Zhongli was undeniably a mortal vessel, but he as a being was not. He’d lived eons before you, loved and hated thousands. He’d experienced things you couldn’t even fathom, and yet, you couldn’t comprehend how he treated you as though your fleeting existence was the centre of his much larger world.

Whenever you looked into Zhongli’s amber eyes, heard his deep laugh, or felt his gentle caress, you could only feel insignificant. After all, he used to be a literal god. You couldn’t help the guilt that gnawed at your conscience, couldn’t stamp out the incessant feeling that he was too good for you, that you couldn’t compare to whatever lovers he’d had in the past.

“How’s the tea, darling?” Zhongli prompted. He sat with his back to the window, basking in an almost ethereal glow.

“Ah, I have yet to try it.” You shook yourself out of your thoughts to raise the cup in front of you. Zhongli only smiled warmly, but the gesture made your hand shake a little. You’d planned to break up with him today, and yet the way he still stared lovingly at you - full of infinite trust - made you feel terrible.

But how many others had he also treated this way? In his life, those others were probably far more special than you, possessing talents far more worthy of a god’s attention.

Suddenly, a shattering sound pierced your ears, and a scalding warmth set into your thigh. You looked down in a daze, before snapping out of it upon realising that you’d dropped the teacup.

“Are you okay?” Zhongli was at your side in an instant, mopping up the spilled tea and collecting the broken fragments of the cup.

“Yeah.” You gritted your teeth again. How dare someone as insignificant as you make Rex Lapis get down on his knees to clean the mess you’d made. It simply made you feel as though you didn’t deserve such a wonderful man at all.

“You’ve been distracted lately. Is there anything I should know about?” Zhongli asked slowly.

“No. Well, yes.” You stammered. You hadn’t planned this out very well, and your heart squeezed tighter.

“Go ahead. You know you can tell me anything, darling.”

A warm hand came to rest against your cheek. You closed your eyes, feeling tears build and slip down your face.

Zhongli wiped at your tears, holding your hands in your lap as he looked up at you worriedly - his thumbs tracing comforting circles on your knuckles. He thought of saying something, before deciding against it. He knew it was better to let you speak first.

“Let’s break up.” You blurted, feeling Zhongli’s fingers come to a complete stop.

“We can work through this, tell me why first. Has something been upsetting you?”

Your tears fell harder. He still showed you so much kindness, never jumping to any conclusions.

“I feel like I don’t deserve you. You’re too good for me, it makes me feel guilty that someone like me can have you.” You sobbed.

“Darling, you know it makes me happy to just spend time with you. That in itself is fair exchange, no?”

“But what makes that so special? You’ve lived for so long, you could’ve done this with anyone else, and you probably have. Who am I in comparison to someone like Guizhong?”

Through your blurred vision, you could still see Zhongli’s form kneeled by your side. He seemed to be choosing his next words carefully.

“You and her are both special, in your own way. Why don’t you calm down a little first? I can pour you some more tea.”

“I’m so selfish, Zhongli. I really don’t think I can stay with you.”

“Do you really want to leave that badly?”

Your heart twisted. You didn’t want to leave. You wanted to stay in his warm embrace, his soft understanding gaze. And yet, you couldn’t bring yourself to.

“… Yes.”

“Very well then. You know I won’t stop you, because I just want what’s best for you.”

The light grip on your hands released, and as you stood up everything seemed to spin.

“Thank you… for everything.” You murmured, stealing one last glance at the man you loved - before leaving.

Zhongli remained where he was for some time. In his life, many things came to an end, but this hurt a little more. When Guizhong had left him, it was due to her passing - the youthful Rex Lapis had found someone to blame, to ventilate his grief. But the most crude fact in this situation was that you were still alive, and had chosen to leave him of your own volition. Zhongli himself had made this happen.

However, an archon’s most prized trait was impartiality. Therefore, Zhongli knew that he had to maintain indifference. He refused to let himself chase after you, or force you into anything. It was only unfair, if an immortal were to impose such a fate onto a mortal.

And so, he could only watch as you faded from his life, like the cyclic ebb of waves on an ocean shore.

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angel-kyo · 4 months

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Pay it no mind

Part XIV

In which reader confesses their feelings to Gojo, but it seems these are not returned (maybe?).

Warnings: reader is on the receiving end of rejection (kinda), and the fact that I'm obsessed with unrequited love is a warning itself. There is a mention of reader being injured, and I guess everyone is ooc here, but thank you for bearing with me.

Previous: Part I, Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, Part VI, Part VII, Part VIII, Part IX, Part X, Part XI, Part XII, Part XIII

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A week. Seven full days of silence. When was the last time you had gone this long without any contact with Satoru?

No calls. No messages. Not even a glimpse of him. You had learned from Ijichi that he had been sent on a mission to a distant part of the country just a couple days ago. In other words, there was nowhere to see him.

Initially, it had been a relief. After he left on that fateful night, and you allowed your feelings out. It was only then that it hit you: you had never cried over his rejection. It had hurt, and you had grieved in some way, but maybe by immediately pretending it had never happened, you had prevented yourself from accepting heartbreak.

The truth was just too scary to accept, so you had told Satoru the same lies you had been telling yourself for the past months. ‘It was just a crush’, ‘It has passed’, ‘I’m over it’.

“Liar,” you muttered to your own reflection on the bathroom mirror. Dark bags were starting to form under the eyes that returned your gaze.

Your back was sore and your sleep had not been the best during the last few days.

At first, you had been upset with Satoru, and then upset with yourself for not being able to just dodge the hit and play it cool.

Satoru must have known how much of an unpleasant memory it was for you. Why did he have to bring up the rejection again?

He was not that dense, and neither were you. Your friendship had often felt as both of you stepping right on the line between friends and lovers. Sometimes one of you would lose balance and almost fall on either side of it. Even if both of you denied it, none of you had a similar relationship with anyone else. Still, you believed he had given you the definitive push the day he rejected you.

If he could not feel the same, you could respect that. In fact, you had vowed to just forget it. But why did he have to kiss you while being aware of the hold he had on you?

It’s probably nothing to him, that’s why.

You remembered what Shoko had told you once.

“He is a bit selfish when it comes to you,” Shoko said softly, putting her head on your shoulder.

It must have been summer with how hot it was, and you could see droplets of sweat forming on Shoko’s forehead. You and she were sitting on a bench, outside of a convenience store. She had sent Geto and Gojo for drinks inside.

Satoru had initially said that Shoko and Suguru should go, but Ieiri had refused, saying she was getting a heatstroke and needed to sit down, with you to keep her company. Gojo rolled his eyes but let Suguru pulled him into the store anyway.

“Are you really feeling unwell?”

She only smiled.

At the beginning of your friendship with Suguru and Shoko, Satoru had wanted for all of you to get along, but he was not particularly appreciative of you spending too much time with either of them without him. He had loosened up quickly, though, but Shoko and Suguru were an exception. If he could keep you by his side, he would.

He could not take it back. All he had said and done; all the ways he made it look like there was more to it when there was not.

He can’t take any of it back, and neither can I. Paying it no mind is not going to solve it either.

You looked at your phone. You had sent Satoru a message earlier, just to make sure he was okay. Not that you should worry; he was strong, and if the world had not yet collapsed under curses, he was probably still alive. However, it was not like him to stay away from you this long with nothing but radio silence in between.

I guess I did kick him out, so I can’t blame him.

You washed your face and went to bed, not bothering to take your phone back to the bedroom. You needed to sleep, and the only person you cared to chat with at the moment had not even read your message.

***

“Okay, this one is it. Just try it out.” Satoru patted the mattress of the queen size bed he had found at the department store you were currently at.

You sat down. “It’s… It’s okay,” you said.

To Satoru, you did not sound impressed at all. “Just okay?”

You nodded. “Comfortable.”

“Is that how you try out a mattress? Do you sleep sitting up, [name]?” he asked smiling as he laid down on the sample bed.

You looked around. None of the other clients were really looking at you, too focused on their own shopping to care, but still…

“It’s kind of embarrassing.” You directed your eyes back to Satoru.

“It’s not, and it’s the only right way to do it,” Satoru said smiling and patting the mattress again so you would lay down too, which you finally did.

“And?” he asked.

The ceiling lights of the store were a little too bright, but if you focused only on how the mattress felt, it was indeed comfortable.

You had just signed the lease for your first apartment and getting some furniture was the next thing on your to-do list to become an independent person. Among the basics, having something to sleep on would be nice. That is how Satoru had accompanied you shopping for your first mattress.

“It’s more than okay,” you admitted.

“You should get it then.”

“How much is it, though?” Your eyes widened a bit after looking at the price, and you got up from the spot immediately. "Forget it. It's one zero too much."

I wouldn’t be surprised if they charged for just trying it.

Satoru, on the other hand, could not have looked more unbothered even if he tried. This was why going shopping with him and a budget in mind was useless.

“If this is the one you like, I would not mind…”

You shook your head. “No way. I have a budget, I just need to stick to it,” you reassured him. “Besides, this one would not even fit in my bedroom.”

Of course, he would not mind lending you money. He might not even ever ask you to pay back, but this was your quest for independence. You would rather not to lean on his resources. It was the same reason you had declined Yaga’s offer to crash at the school dorms, even though now that you were starting your teaching career there, it might have been convenient. It was going to be nice to have your own space, plus, now that all your former classmates had left, the dorms were too empty and too full of memories at the same time.

“Is there anything I can help you with?” A store clerk had spotted you and landed next to you. The woman was quick to compliment the model ‘you two’ had chosen.

Satoru had sat up and was now looking at her. When she looked at him more closely, her words halted, and a light blush appeared on her cheeks.

Right, that’s the effect he has on people.

You mentally thanked Satoru for being so good-looking that people would become speechless on his presence and allow you to speak instead.

“Actually,” you started, “this is not quite what I’m looking for.”

“Oh, well…” She seemed to have recovered from the momentary shock of first meeting Satoru’s face, “We have some other options that are preferred by couples. I will be glad to show you…”

You and Satoru shared a small smile. Another one, huh?

“We are not…” he said.

“We are friends,” you stated.

“Oh, sorry.” Her smile looked sincere, “Then is there anything you are looking for in particular?”

“Are there any… smaller options?” you asked hopeful. Maybe she had some cheaper ones too.

She nodded politely and asked you to follow her to another area of the store.

“Smaller?” Satoru had stood up to follow you. “How will we both sleep in it?” He was smirking.

You elbowed him, and he was kind enough to pretend it had hurt.

“Don’t say anything else that will confuse the lady,” you hissed and he chuckled.

That day, Satoru pretty much ended up picking your bed. It was not as big as he had wanted it, but it was comfortable enough and, to your delight, within budget. The only downside to Satoru was that it would require a bit of effort for both of you to fit in.

***

“Fancy seeing you here.” Satoru sat across from Shoko at her table in the school cafeteria.

She had decided to take a break from reviewing files at the infirmary and usually, she would not go to the cafeteria, but you had pulled her there so many times that her feet had carried her there almost automatically.

She looked at Gojo’s face. “You are back.”

“Got back last night.” He took out his phone and Shoko saw him check something on the screen and put it down on the table. Was it her imagination or he seemed tired? Tough to say without seeing his eyes, but he did have a duller aura around him right now.

Shoko raised her cup of tea to her lips and eyed Satoru’s phone.

“New phone?” she asked.

Satoru had leaned back on his chair and a adopted a more carefree expression. Even if he was a grown man, Shoko would have said he looked just the same as when they were highschoolers.

“Yeah…” It was impossible to tell, but Ieiri also thought his eyes were looking around the cafeteria, and she had a hunch on what he was searching for, or rather, who. “The other one broke down. It’s the same number, though.”

His phone had broken down three days ago, it slipped and the screen turned pitch black. It had not shut down immediately, though, and it still rang when Ijichi called him, but if he could not see the screen, it was no use keeping it.

Satoru had not really cared at first, only getting a cheap phone to communicate through the end of his mission. Ijichi had gotten a more suitable replacement ready for him when he got back, and it was only after setting it up and retrieving his backup data, that Satoru realized you had actually messaged him days ago.

Unlucky.

He had not replied yet, figuring he would see you at the school anyway and could maybe set things straight between you two. However, he had not encountered you across campus, and when he peeked at your class, your students were being looked after by a first-grade sorcerer he had seen around a few times, filling in the substitute teacher position.

He wanted to ask Shoko. “Say, Sho-”

“[name] took a couple days off,” she interrupted him while placing her cup back on the table and encircling it with both hands.

Can she read minds?

Shoko could not, but knowing Gojo, it was taking him long enough to ask about you.

"Oh."

She looked at him. “They...”

Shoko wanted to tell Satoru you had paid her a visit after one of your missions that week, but she was not sure you would have wanted Gojo to know.

Ieiri had been surprised at first when she saw you that day. A lot of blood always made it difficult to perceive at first glance how big a wound really was. After a closer inspection, she realized the injuries on your torso were not too concerning, not for someone with her abilities at least.

But if they were a regular person and I was a regular doctor, they would have probably been bed-ridden for a while, she thought.

She had had you in walking condition after a couple days, but it still bothered her. Getting injured during missions was the norm for sorcerers, especially younger ones, however, she knew you were experienced in battle. A scratch here and there was expected, but she had seen you returning more beaten up lately.

They are taking on more difficult missions, that was what she wanted to tell Gojo. She was not sure whether you were trying to get promoted or if for some reason they were actively assigning you missions above your rank.

The cup Shoko was holding was warming her hands.

A thought assaulted her mind: There is no predicting the higher-ups.

If you had upset one and now had a target on your back, Satoru could help you out, could he not?

“What is it?” Gojo tilted his head looking straight at Ieiri, or at least she felt this time he was looking at her.

“Nothing. I think they will be back tomorrow.”

Satoru had thought about visiting you, but seeing how that turned out last time, he decided to wait.

Giving you space was the right call in his experience. Usually, no matter what the problem was, you could talk it through when you both had had some time to mull it over.

But, in this case, how much time did you need?

The whole situation was like nothing you and him had faced before. Fighting over snacks or over a joke that went a step too far was one thing. The look you had given him that night and the way you called him selfish, that was completely different, and it had haunted him since he left your apartment.

Satoru grabbed his phone and finally replied to your message. He hit 'send' and offered an attempt of a smile to Shoko.

“If I asked for advice, would you give me some?”

----------------------

Note: I almost forgot my iconic note (even though I'm the only one who thinks it's iconic). And the note is... there is no note, just my love. <3

Thank you for reading!

Next: Part XV

@mavs-stuff @witchbybirth @crookedlyaddictedone-blog @tqd4455 @maybe-a-bi-witch @mo0nforme @maliakealoha @zacatecanaaaa @blushhpeachh @astriarose @missesgojosatoru @ba-ks @sukunasleftkneecap @songbirdlully @cole-silas @heijihattorisgf @chokesonspit @hersheyzzz @smolbeanzzz @luciledreamz @avidreadee123 @moonmalice @ratscandaler @sadmonke @allie-jay @username23345 @spin-garden @ashehateaccount @kayzens @blehtotheblehtothebleh

#gojo satoru #jjk #gojo x reader #jjk drabbles #jjk fanfic #gojo x you #jjk gojo #gojo x y/n #gojo fanfic #satoru gojō x reader #satoru x reader #pay it no mind #jujutsu kaisen

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anundyingfidelity · 3 months

Text

I'M A RUIN — Soldier Boy/Ben (Part III)

Series summary: After the events of the Seven Tower, you present Grace Mallory a new secret project you're working on already to develop a cure to Compound V. The only problem? You need Soldier Boy for that.

Pairing: Soldier Boy/Ben x female reader.

Word count: 2.2k.

Warnings for series: set after S3 (spoilers), some OOC!Ben, some depressed!Ben, angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, slow-burn, language, PTSD, reader has Compound V (she's no Vought supe tho), Soldier Boy being an usual asshole, reader is a fucking liar.

Warnings on this chapter: panic attack, killing threats, violence, Ben my poor meowmeow, hurt/comfort, mentions of rape.

☕ if you like my writing, support me with a ko-fi !

get yourself in the taglist!

Notes: this is mostly a bonding chapter between Ben and the reader, also there's more about the reader's past in here plus a special guest lmao. I'm having too much fun writing this! If anyone would like to be tagged I'll be more than happy to do so! I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it.

this fic tags: @k-slla @syrma-sensei @mostlymarvelgirl @cheynovak

GEN MASTERLIST! — SERIES MASTERLIST!

Part III: Afraid of the Fall

Ben felt his head being hammered and strange voices in a foreign language mumbled to him, all while they laughed and mocked his suffering, causing loud screams and groans of pain falling off his mouth. He struggled, feeling his skin burning again and again. He hoped it stopped, sitting down on the edge of the mattress, but things didn't get better.

Far away, he heard a familiar voice, shouting to get inside. But he couldn't move from his place to reach it. He groaned again, grabbing the sides of his head strongly and covering his ears, elbows on his knees, at the same time he felt a fire forming on his chest. It was happening again. He didn't want to do it. He couldn't do it. He had been trying to control himself with the reefer the past few days. Why now? Why here? He thought he might lose control over himself one more time, and it scared him to death.

There was a loud sound of metal and high heels running towards him, until someone dropped in front of him.

"Ben?"

He barely recognized your voice, but he felt your hands running all over his cheeks, until he opened his tired eyes.

"Ben, you're fine, okay? You're safe here," he took in your gentle voice as you knelt in front of him. He saw you observing his chest and the blast forming in there. "Please, you can control yourself. Look at me, breathe."

He moaned in pain again, closing his eyes shut. He was holding back as much as his strength allowed him, but it wasn't working. Your worried eyes locked when he opened his own again, green and teary.

"Please just breathe. Inhale and exhale," you said, mimicking the directions as he tried to steady his breath following you.

"That's it, go on," you repeated, encouraging him to keep doing the same. "Take my hands, here," he felt your palms embracing his rough hands, his grip hard on your soft ones. "Keep breathing."

The explosion on his chest was still there but as you soothed him with your voice, he eventually felt as the burn dissipated little by little.

"You're safe now, nothing's gonna happen," you mumbled. "Breathe."

Ben took in your whispering voice, until the burn stopped. You remained there with him, hands together, as he opened his eyes anew. He found a comforting smile on your lips, but as soon as he scanned the room he found two men standing in the doorway. Armed and pointing at him, ready to shoot him. He looked between you and the men, and abruptly got on his feet, shoving you away with such force. You landed over your ass on the floor just a couple of steps away from him. The guards aimed their guns immediately.

"Don't!" you ordered.

"Doctor, he was about to blast," said one of them.

"Stop it!" you raised your hands, with glossy eyes and lungs out of air. "Please, leave," you pleaded. Ben remained in the same spot, figuring out if he had to fight you and the men.

"Doc, the gas-"

"Leave now!" you shouted. They hesitated. "I can handle this, just go and don't turn on the gas, that's an order."

Your gaze might've worked because they slowly backed up and left, closing the heavy door and leaving you alone with the supe. He looked at you, breathing steady and an outraged face. You stood up, fists tight, as Ben closed the distance between both of you.

"Ben, I'm so sorry-"

You choked on your own words, his hand grabbing your neck with his tight grip. "Don't fucking tell me I'm safe. You've built a chamber that'd kill me while I sleep," he growled. Your hands took on his wrists.

Ben just held you in place, denying oxygen into your lungs. He was fucking mad at how you decided to play with him and his life. All these days, he had the chance to end you and that fucking building, and he didn't do it. He felt like a fucking idiot. He had to finish this now. Suddenly, he loosened the rough grip around your throat and slammed you harshly, until your back hit the hardwood of the coffee table.

You coughed as you tried to lift yourself to a sitting position, the mess of the broken wooden lying underneath.

"Ben," you gasped looking up at him. "It's okay if you want to kill me. I'm only asking you to think twice because I'll be dead but it'll be worse for you."

How could it be? Ben couldn't take a fucking break without knowing the damn gas could be turned on if any of those cocksuckers, you included, wanted to. He was beyond pissed. Over and over, he became surrounded by traitors, people who didn't give a single shit about him. And now, he just wanted to rip your head off, kill everyone inside, and run away. Yet somehow he couldn't. With brows furrowed and a cold expression on his face, he watched your figure on the floor, vulnerable and aching due to the impact, at his cruel mercy. But his body wouldn't move an inch to get to you.

Slowly you got on your feet again and for a moment that felt eternal, you looked at each other. Ben was just waiting for the rage to flourish and do what he had to since he met you in that fucking office. He had to kill everyone when they took him out of that box. Too sad he couldn't go back to the past and change his decisions.

You held his haze, and all of the sudden you stepped forward wrapping your arms around his muscular waist. He was shocked.

"I'm so sorry, I'm sorry," you whispered, hiding your face on his chest.

Ben felt your warmth against his flesh, but he couldn't do more than stay frozen in the middle of the room. The only physical contact he had felt for a long time was for the purpose of torture, pain, and suffering. A hug felt strangely uncomfortable to him. More so after he was the one ready to kill everyone around, starting with you. You must have noticed the stiffness on his body because you slowly backed up and separated from him.

He gave you a confused look and you started to speak softly again.

"I can leave if you want-"

His voice came barely as a whisper. "No."

You nodded, locking your eyes with his own. "Okay. You want to talk?"

"I don't know," he said softly.

Calmly, you asked him to sit on the edge of the bed and Ben soon followed as you did. His eyes were lost in the room and he felt regretful for what he did to you. Anyone in your place would just have left and ran away. He'd be alone, just like he had in the past decades. But you didn't. You were there by his side because you wanted to help him. At least that's what you said.

"I had a nightmare," he began. "It felt so real."

"I'm here, you can let it out," you reassured. Ben felt your eyes on him, but he wasn't strong enough to see your face, so he focused on the wall on the other side of the room.

"I was there... Again. I thought I was there, and thought I was going to blow up everything. Haven't felt this pain since you brought me here, until today," Ben mumbled. "I don't know what happened. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"There's nothing wrong with you," you replied once he finished. "You're not a bad person."

"I could've killed you," his words sounded like a fear confession.

But he didn't have any idea of why he would care that much for a stranger like you. He harmed you, and still here you were. It was almost as if you were not scared of him, the atrocities he had done and the ones he could do in the future.

"But you didn't, so don't torture yourself with things that are not real."

He believed you were right. At the same time, it was difficult to push those thoughts away.

"I'm a fucking mess," he said, his eyes locked on his lap as he played with his hands like he was a child. "My father was right."

"Ben-"

"I could've done so much better with him."

"Who?"

"Homelander."

This time, he found your intense gaze. You shook your head.

"You didn't know what Vought was up to. That is not your fault."

"But he is my son in the end," Ben grumbled. "And he has a fucking son of his own."

"A lab experiment," you corrected. "A lab experiment that has a child, product of a rape. You don't have to call that your blood."

He gave a sad smile that quickly disappeared. "I wish I didn't have to. I always wanted kids. Y'know, give them the figure I never had, let them know I'm proud of them, tell them they mean everything to me... Be a better father. And I feel guilty for no reason."

You nodded. "I understand all that, and you'll get over the generational trauma and the PTSD. I promise. Just remember before you run, you need to learn how to walk."

A part of his heart refused to believe your words, that you were lying, but the look in your eyes said otherwise. Probably you were not as bad as he thought you'd be. After all, you were there. You had the courage to step in front of him, to be in the same room as him, and to come every day just in hope to have some sort of advance even when he was pushing his pain away. All those efforts and insistences, they had to mean something in the end. Right?

Last couple of days were hell. You caught something good though. Soldier Boy finally talked to you. Just a little. Anything was fine at this point. For you, work didn't stop. Rest was not an option most of the time. So on Sunday morning you drove back to your apartment after spending the whole Saturday working on more details about the Anti-V prototype.

Once in the building, you made your usual way to your door and immediately got rid of your coat and shoes in the entry hall. You were so tired and craving for a sleep, so you made your way to your bedroom, until a horribly annoying voice you knew too well stopped you on the doorframe.

"Well, don't you work your ass off," the blonde man swung into your room in his usual ridiculous outfit, admiring every detail of the place. He gave you a disturbingly disgusting smile.

You also noticed the balcony windows and curtains were open. Of fucking course he'd used the easiest way to break into your home.

"What-"

"Oh, you know who I am, doctor. I can break the president's home if I want to," Homelander beamed when he stopped just inches from you.

You gulped and crossed your arms on your chest.

"And may I ask why are you here?"

"You know why, don't play dumb."

"No, I don't. Enlighten me, please," you replied, faking it. "You know, I don't really think we've met before."

"Actually, we did. It was in an audition. Around 2009, remember?"

"Now I do," your jaw clenched. That was a fucking memory you wanted to erase and bury forever. "I'm glad I didn't pass that shit."

"Yeah, you were such a waste now that I think of. Could've been with our team now."

Homelander chuckled, proudly and honorably, walking around and stopping in front of your vanity. He started to check your perfumes and jewelry that spread on there, like a damn kid. You followed him immediately.

"What do you want?"

"Straight to the point, fine," he began, facing you once again. Smile long gone. "I know you're up to something. Fucking stop it."

Your lips opened but he shut you up with a gesture of his hand and went on.

"Uh-uh, not now. Don't try to deny it. Don't make fucking excuses," Homelander closed the distance between both of you. His lips brushed your ear and somehow, you were frozen in place. You didn't know what would happen next, he was unpredictable.

"I know you have my dad with you, and what you're doing will not benefit me," he whispered and he pulled back to see your blank face, eyes staring with rage. "Just a small warning. I got my eyes on you," he chuckled. "But don't worry, I'm giving you a chance. Only one chance to stop whatever the fuck you're doing. Trust me, you don't wanna know what I have for you."

He started to walk to the balcony without giving you time for an answer. Not that you had much of a comeback in mind when your life and project were now in danger. At least he was going to finally leave your place. Before flying away, he turned around one last time.

"Better take care of the old man, uhm?"

Those were his last words. And you knew he didn't mean them.

You were so fucked now.

#soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #soldier boy x female reader #soldier boy imagines #soldier boy fanfiction #the boys amazon #the boys series #the boys tv #jensen ackles fanfiction #jensen ackles #soldier boy/ben

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dailyadventureprompts · 11 days

Note

hey! was wondering if you have some ideas/tips for running a dark fantasy campaign? ive been running one for about a year now and while ive included horror elements im a naturally silly person and i feel like i go a couple sessions without including something strange and off-putting. i do wanna be distinct from grimdark, i want my story to have hope and moments of levity, but still feel scary and like the world is against the pcs.

hope ur day is well :]

Genretalk: Dark Fantasy

Maintaining a consistent tone at our d&d table is a notoriously hard thing to accomplish. Partially it's because it's a collaborative game and not all of our players might be as dictatorially inclined as we are, there's also the dice to contend with and those little polyhedral bastards don't care about dramatic consistency or the wrath of god.

So it falls to us as dungeon masters to do most of the work, but luckily I've found that evoking a specific genre can be pretty easily done through keeping a few ideas in mind while we're running scenes and building out our worlds.

First, a meditation on loss :.|:;

What makes dark fantasy dark? The surface level is aesthetics; dirt covered fauxmedivalism, horror imagery, gritty "realism", a lack of smiles and rainbows and happiness. These are all too common but they only reflect the feelings the genre exists to convey, specifically ones related to both the fear of loss and the suffering caused by it.

If people are going to lose something (whether they be players or npcs), you're going to need them and your audience to care about it, which means learning to build connections and evoke sympathy. Having those moments of levity is SO important because they're the point of attachment for your players, the thing that makes them care about this sometimes rotten world you've crated that they've taken on the responsibility of saving. If you skipped this step you'd be going into grimdark, which is one of the reasons I dislike the genre: death and suffering lose all meaning if there's no alternative.

Likewise, as easy as it is to lose hope, people are going to try to make the best of bad times. There's good food and the warmth of a fire and the company of friends and the chance of something better happening tomorrow. People are going to want these things no matter how turbulent circumstances get, so it's important to focus on them to give contrast to the darkness of your story.

Bad things happen to good people and there's (probably) nothing you can do about it

One of the central conceits of playing D&D is that the players are heroes, characters with a unique power and agency in the world and the ability to shape the outcome of events, specifically to beat the odds and save the day. However we can still lean into the dark side of dark fantasy by highlighting that while the players are privileged by their protagonist status, most other people aren't.

Most NPCS the party end up getting to know should have something tragic in their backstory; a war, a famine, a plague, a loved one's death. This will have affected them deeply and have coloured their outlook on the world and will set up their later dramatic arc. The town magistrate is going to have opinions about adventurers after her sister befriended a passing gang of sellswords and ended up dying in childbirth after being seduced by their charismatic leader. The townspeople are unlikely to rebel against their petty and sadistic baron since they remember his military acumen that saved them during the last border war. This also sets up the unexpected moments where the party can fight against the darkness of the world by getting people to see past the lifetime of cruelty they've been forced to endure.

A centeral part of the players having agency is making choices, but sometimes things go wrong, and sometimes there's no good options. Innocent people get hurt, there are costs that we end up having to pay that may or may not be worth the price. Keeping the young lovers apart and letting the unpleasant political marriage go through is the only way to avert war. There's a murder demon stalking town and the only way to banish it is for someone innocent to be ritually sacrificed, none of the heroes count, they've all got blood on their hands.

One of the best tricks I've learned to highlight the "no good options" approach is to present the party with a status quo that needs to change, but characters they like who are reliant upon it. It's easy to justify toppling the evil empire, those guys are jerks and are actively making life worse for everyone, but things get messy when doing what needs to be done involves making life worse for a lot of generally good people.

Messy decisions are what we want in dark fantasy because it really gives the party agency over the story. Are they willing to give up something they care about to perform an act of heroism? Are they willing to let the world tip further into chaos for the sake of seeing justice done? If there is no right choice, then what choice will you make?

The universe trends towards darkness

Worldbuilding is an important part of establishing your tone, and while you don't need to constantly keep ratcheting up how dreadful things are it pays to be mindful while thinking up new details for your setting.

Living in the world is a bloody business and people are all too often accepting of awful things if it makes their lives easier. On the base level it's the "kill people who are different monsters take their stuff" angle of self enrichment, but it gets more abstract as you venture into the non-adventuring levels of society. It's stuff like religions venerating painful martyrdoms as miracles, joyous feast days and festivals to commemorate some bloody event, national or family pride over participation in historic slaughter. A dark fantasy world is one that celebrates it's hypocrisy and compromises because it has long given up on good actually winning out.

To really hammer in that "fighting against the odds" feeling, stories/legends/songs about other heroes should either be tragedies or well known falsehoods.

Change (to say nothing of actual improvement) comes at terrible cost. It isn't fair that the world/narrative/universe is set up this way, but now the heroes have to deal with it.

Artsource

#genretalk #heavy topics #dark fantasy #writing advice #prompt postage #dm advice

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purplelupins · 2 months

Text

Lamb

|Midnight Mass |

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

Father Paul Hill/John Pruitt x fem!reader

Word count: 11k

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

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

Notes: There’s a little Easter egg in this chapter for any Hamish fans…let’s see if anyone clocks it.

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

Crickets were the first to make a sound.

For days, that speck of an island was silent. Birds either flew away or hid in their nests. They didn’t chirp, or caw.

Bees slowly began to appear again too after a week.

Flowers began to open.

Months passed and finally things looked almost as they used to.

Buildings repaired, town cleaned up.

Only now the island looked abandoned during the day.

You had never liked summer. Too hot and humid. You still didn’t like it.

John was used to hearing the Crockett Island community wander the island every night.

He was used to the occasional sound of your screams, too.

It wasn’t often, but sometimes your fortified house lacked, and you were forced to run into the night and hide until sunrise.

John pursed his lips bitterly the first time he had stopped them from finding you on the abandoned spit on the west side.

They claimed they just wanted to help.

Wanted you to be at peace and be a part of the community again.

Those words stung like poison; hearing his own justification used back at him.

He’d seen you run past him on one of his walks, not even knowing he was there as he stood amongst the skinny trees. Eyes like little pinpoints in the darkness.

A predators eyes.

A wolf’s eyes.

When he had only wanted to be a Shepard.

Though of course that had been the issue. He would have had to have wanted to be a fellow sheep for him to see just how wrong his actions were.

Now there he was, just one of the wolves watching their token sheep run for her life.

You were so resilient. Determined to stay alive. Hope incarnate. But you were not delicate or wispy like most imagined hope to be; a foolish thing. Your hope was bruised and battered and exhausted from having to get back up again after surviving another night.

You still prayed.

He heard you at night when he would walk past your house and listen close to one of your boarded windows. It was mostly to check that you were alright.

It was a little because he found your heartbeat soothing.

But hearing you pray was what helped him continue. That you hadn’t lost your faith. He didn’t care who you prayed to…just that you had faith.

And that faith had you.

You tasted copper as you ran.

It had been months since they had last managed to get inside your house, and you had begun to get comfortable with the couple knocks at night and the pleading to come out. But over the last week, the knocks had turned to pounding, and tonight the pounding turned to splintered wood and you bolting across Crockett as fast as your exhausted body would carry you.

The best shot at safely was the thick woods on either end of the island. You used to keep a boat in the Uppards for emergencies, but they had found it and taken it one night.

Now you had become stellar at losing them, but tonight something felt different. You had noticed clear medical baggies of blood in trash cans just a few weeks following…following that night. You assumed they used Sarah’s medical connections to have shipments of blood brought to the island at night.

You wondered who Bev had to bully to have that done. Not like it was hard.

But you wondered now if perhaps the latest shipment wasn’t received, and now the islanders were…antsy.

Not that the reasoning mattered to you greatly as you passed by one of the abandoned buildings. What mattered was that they were closer to you than usual, and you hadn’t slept properly in weeks. That, and your terror that they winged bast might still be prowling around looking for a new body to drain.

You pushed yourself to go faster but you couldn’t put distance between you and them. That feeling of fear began to creep back into your tissue. It was only natural; it didn’t matter how at peace you were with death. A lamb being hunted was a lamb being hunted.

And wolves never stopped being terrifying.

John sat, book in hand inside the rectory.

Collarless.

He heard your heartbeat from a half mile away, and it was fast. Too fast.

He stood, and walked to his door and opened it to step out onto his porch. You didn’t usually come this way, but as fate would have it - or your great misfortune- you did. John could hear feet following you- a few sets by the sound of it.

John walked out into the middle of the cemetery.

He waited.

Sure enough, a few minutes later you came up the hill; your adrenaline being the only thing that kept you going.

John called your name.

It was the first time since Easter that you had heard his voice. It made you take such a quick breath that you stumbled a little. It felt like you had been sprayed with ice water.

He looked down the road where the small militia was chasing you, then back to the rectory- door wide open. You stood there for a moment, and you wanted to keep running. But those footsteps were close and you figured it would be easier to fight off one instead of several.

You could feel your rage start to rear its head over the fear, but you knew it would only get you killed.

You ran towards him, and he began leading you inside. The warm glow of the rectory enveloped you, and John shut and locked the door as soon as you stepped onto the floorboards. He closed the curtains and turned off most lights aside from a reading lamp, and began taking you to the far end of the house. As you approached you stopped short and shook your head.

“What are you doing?” You whispered, eying him wearily.

He knelt down and lifted a part of the carpet in his room and lifted a small door.

You stared at him hard.

And he stared back. “It was built for me decades ago for storms.” He said simply, and calmly.

You were apprehensive. Even more now than just being in his presence.

Uneasy.

Terrified.

Cold.

“Please…they won’t find you.” He whispered a little harsher- you couldn’t hear them but those footsteps were getting closer now. Just cresting the hill.

You might have resented the monster before you more than anything, but you did need help. And you didn’t have a plethora of options. You walked over to him and sat down on the edge of the opening- feet hitting the steep stairs. “I don’t trust you.” You said, staring down into the dark room. You could see a lamp there.

“I know.” He nodded.

You blinked, and didn’t look at him as you began to lower yourself. John grasped your arm to help you, but you wrenched it from his grip, “Don’t touch me.” You snapped.

He immediately dropped his hands, and had to almost sit on them to keep himself from reaching out to you to help.

As you hit the ground, you reached into your pocket and pulled out a small fishers knife to show him.

“If you don’t let me out, or try anything I’m killing myself and braving Hell, Father.” You shot at him.

Again, Father Pruitt only nodded in understanding, “The lamp is fully changed. There’s a blanket on the shelf.” He said, then looked suddenly back towards the front of the house.

You flicked the light on, and when you stared back up at the preist, he quietly shut the door.

You watched it for a moment, then slowly took in the space. A very small room that looked more like a bomb shelter. There was a small bed and a shelf with some canned food. And indeed there was a thick blanket there. You sighed, and went to settle in only to jump a little when you heard voices. You stayed still and tried to listen as close as you could…but then it went quiet, and you only heard one pair of soft footsteps.

John opened the door to see a handful of fairly new parishioners standing there on his stoop.

“Evening Father…she ran past here a few minutes ago did you hear anything?” One of them asked.

She.

You didn’t even have a name to them anymore.

John sucked on his teeth, “I’m afraid not. She’s quick.”

Another one nodded, “G’night Father.” They mumbled and began walking away- eyes scanning the trees and brush.

He watched them for a moment, then walked back inside and locked the door again. He might have gone out that night for a walk or to visit someone in the community. While he didn’t fully count himself as a priest anymore, he was still the guide to many of his flock. They were even more lost now than ever.

After that first night, many turned to the church for help. His heart ached that still his parish turned towards God for help; that he hadn’t driven them away from their faith entirely.

Many resented him.

He didn’t hold any blame towards them.

But still, when he held Mass, many came. Many still confessed to him. Many still asked for his aid.

But John Pruitt was less of a person now, and more of a symbol.

A tool.

He kept to himself- accepting his passive segregation.

Unwanted, but needed.

With no need for food, John felt a sudden panic when he hadn’t given you anything fresh. He strode back to the little door and gently opened it; the lamp was still on, but even in the low light he could clearly see you sitting against one of the walls breathing deep, heart rate slow.

You hadn’t used the blanket, he noticed. John knew you were strong willed, but he didn’t know how stubborn you were. Perhaps a trait you hadn’t discovered until he ripped your life apart.

John carefully lowered himself down into the little cellar, and crouched down in front of you. He gingerly eased his arms under your knees, and pulled you to his chest, then hoisted you up and carried you back to the main level.

John didn’t care if the others heard your heartbeat. He didn’t care if they came to his door. He knew they wouldn’t dare try to get you while he was there. He had been turned for longer than them, and was much stronger, and much faster. For the ones who were present when Sturge had shot Sarah, they knew he wasn’t incapable of beating a man bloody.

He laid you down on his bed, and slipped your boots off carefully; he caught the knife that fell from your left one, and rolled it over in his hand.

He had pushed you to violence. Self-defence, but violence all the same. He tarnished that ray of sunlight he had seen that first day he returned.

John smiled bitterly. He supposed it was only fitting that you were sunlight and he would die if he touched it.

You were so limp as you slept- your exhaustion taking over and forcing your body to rest. John brought the blanket over you, and left you there to sleep.

The bed laid unused most days.

It wasn’t as if he truly slept anymore.

The first thing you were aware of was the great sense of comfort that enveloped you.

The second was how that feeling horrified you.

You knew you had slept in an uncomfortable position, so why was there a pillow under your head and a blanket over you.

The third was how well rested you were.

You instinctively reached for the knife you kept in your boot, but then that came to your forth realisation: you weren’t wearing your boots.

You bolted up, and took in your surroundings. You were back in the rectory. You felt fear start to creep back into your flesh as you realised just how deeply you had slept. Your hand instinctively reached for your neck and shoulders so ensure you didn’t have any marks. You checked your arms and then you saw the flicker of metal out of the corner of your eye- your knife sat comfortably beside you on the bedside table. You snatched it up, and slipped your feet down onto the floor as quietly as you could-

“I made you some coffee if you’d like it.”

John called to you; he had heard your heart rate spike as you awoke. In an effort to not spook you too much, he waited to speak from his place in the living room until you were fully up.

You crept to the door, and tentatively pushed it open, knife clutched tight as you surveyed the room.

The curtains were all drawn, and two lamps were on. If it weren’t for the man who lived there it might have been a very inviting home. But you saw the man in question sat at his desk, writing.

John paused, and looked up from his paper to you.

“How are you?” He asked, genuinely wanting to know. It was a loaded question- he knew- but he truly wished to know any ounce of your mental state that you would provide him with.

You looked around once more- ensuring you were alone.

“Don’t worry, they all think you’re in the Uppards.” He said, turning a little towards you.

You stood there. And stared at him. You didn’t even know what to say to him.

“A shipment was late.” You finally said.

His brows perked up, “Yes.” He nodded, “Yes there…there was an issue. Has been pushed back but it’ll be here by tonight, not to worry.”

You nodded.

John sucked in a breath and exhaled, “I’m sorry-“

“You’re not ashamed of what you did, Father?” You cut him off, voice breaking more than you would have liked. Finally meeting his eyes properly for the first time in months.

Father Pruitt placed his pen down and leaned onto his knees, staring up at you, “I believe I…I do feel shame yes. For my actions, but even the good intentions that I attempted were misconstrued, I never meant-“

“But it happened,” You shot back - eyes starting to sting, “You were selfish. You just…assumed everyone would want what you wanted.”

He nodded solemnly and stood slowly, and suddenly you were a little more afraid. You didn’t know what he was fully capable of anymore, and you did not want to find out. As if he could sense your apprehension, John backed away and leaned against the kitchen counter.

“You’re welcome to stay if you have questions-“ he started, trying to give you an open space.

“Questions? I don’t have any questions, Father,” you did. But you wouldn’t admit that yet, “I am alone, and I will live alone and I will die alone. I don’t need to know much more if it won’t change that.” Your voice shook.

He nodded and looked down- brows pinching together as he began to feel the weight of your burden, “I’m so-“

“Please don’t.” You said, tears forming in your eyes.

John raised his gaze to look at you, and he pursed his lips that you once thought were so pretty. A moment passed as both of your gazes were trained on one another.

John watched your beautiful eyes well up the longer you looked at him, and he clenched his fists to stay put lest he try to comfort you. He had only just gotten you to open up the tiniest bit to trust him for a few hours that night, he didn’t want to take one step forward and three back. So he didn’t try to defend himself. He didn’t try to make you stay or understand.

He hoped there would be a time when he could, but he knew that it wasn’t time yet.

You took a shaky breath, and turned to the door, and left.

Once upon a time you might have looked back and maybe would have waved goodbye. Might have said that you'd see him tomorrow.

Might have wanted to stay longer.

Might have flushed in his company.

But you didn't look behind you. Not anymore.

If you had, you likely would have caught sight of the preacher in the window where one of the curtains was pulled back a sliver; you might have seen how he let the sunlight fall over his face; how he let the sun burn him as he watched you.

John listened to your heartbeat fade as you walked further away and out of his sight. His chest ached just as his skin did. And that ache churned and curdled down into his stomach and out into his fingertips. He felt that thing that he had once been so thankful for not feeling- guilt. It felt like so long ago that he had sat across from Riley and told him about how God had moved through him and how remorse had never come after Joe...Now he felt sick when he dwelled on his delusion. So selfish he had been. So utterly desperate.

Sometimes he could still hear that record you had played for him...how you had reminded him of his youth. Your vibrance had overthrown him, and drawn him in. That memory alone made him feel younger than the blood he drank.

The warm summer air immediately made you feel sticky. Humidity filled your lungs as you took a few settling breaths. Then as you reached the bottom of the hill, you finally allowed the tears in your eyes to fall. You sobbed quietly as you walked past the general store. It was an unwritten rule that they kept out of there- that was your space during the day. Most of the time they abided by the understanding.

Sometimes someone got hungry and waited to see if they could sneak a bite of you.

You had to laugh a little though- it was always a dead giveaway if it wasn’t safe to enter the store. All you had to look at were the windows.

Covered: not safe.

Uncovered: safe.

They kept the store stocked enough for you. Sometimes you felt ill at the thought of them just doing it to keep you alive. You bet they thought it was a mercy. You wondered if they fought over it; end the food supply to make you starve and beg them to turn you vs. keep you alive because you didnt deserve their fate.

You went to the shop everyday knowing that one day you wouldn’t have food stocked. Shelves and fridges empty.

Waiting for the day that they finally broke and had enough of keeping you alive.

You passed by more houses...Scarboroughs and the Flynns, and you didnt dare look up at the buildings. You never did anymore. It hurt too much.

The families you knew well used to leave you things…food they made out of boredom…flowers…Annie used to write you the odd letter. Then after a while they stopped.

Back in the later spring sometimes someone would be stupid and run out of their house to try and grab you...The smell of burnt flesh was still engrained in your nose.

No one tried anymore.

You wondered who was still there. You wondered if Ali was still there... you wondered how he was. You wondered how Leeza was and if her family was okay. You wondered if Bev was pulling the strings.

You missed that routine you used to treasure. You missed seeing your friends and neighbours. You missed talking.

It was like some sick joke that the first person you had spoken to in close to 6 months was the very man who had done this to you.

When you finally reached your house, you felt your heart sink even lower as you took inventory of the damage. The broken doorframe and smashed windows were going to be an issue.

You sighed and walked to the small shed at the back of your house to retrieve tools you had accumulated and set about fixing your home. Hours passed as you tried and tired again and again to make sure everything was fixed and strong. But the longer you worked, the lower the sun settled, and the less time you had to ensure you would be safe. But as twilight began to set in, you sighed; you were done. The inside of your house was almost pitch black with all the windows boarded up over the broken glass. You stretched and locked your doors, then began up the stairs to wash yourself after the previous night. But then as you walked past the spare room, you stopped breathing.

You had missed a smashed window.

The wind blew against your face as if it was taunting you of your mistake.

Your gut tightened as you began weighing your options.

You didn’t have many.

And the most feasible one made your eyes glaze over as you contemplated every life choice you had ever made.

With one look out that window, you knew you didn’t have time to think of anything else. So against your better judgement, you grabbed a large bag from your room and began shoving anything you might need, showered and bolted out your door within ten minutes with your hair still wet.

You weaved through the island's foliage and kept off the main road lest anyone be watching from their windows. The last thing you wanted was for anyone to know where you were going. As you crept through the trees past the marsh, you crouched down and stared up at the rectory in the distance. There was a warm light coming from the building like a beacon; your gut clenched at the memory of Easter... how you had thought the exact same thing for St. Patricks.

The sun was just a sliver of light now on the horizon, and you knew you had to decide quickly if you were going through with this or finding a tree to hide in tonight. You closed your eyes, and took a deep breath.

I’m here to help

Those words of his…they still rang in your ears from that first day. He was sick. Selfish. Egotistical and manipulative and…

You sniffled.

You had really thought he was a kind man. You had let him in and he had made a home of your soul. Healed you and guided you and aided you, but all for himself.

You pursed your lips. You hated that you needed his help. But you did.

With another deep breath, you began stalking up the grass, and hurried a little more when you heard voices down the road. You hadn’t even noticed it was properly night time and worry spiked in you as you stepped up to the door and went to kno-

“Come in.”

You jumped at the sound of his low, soft voice calling out to you from inside. You slowly opened the door, and took a tentative step inside.

John Pruitt was stirring a cup of tea by the kitchen counter, and looked up at you- a weak smile on his face.

“Twice in one day, to what do I owe the pleasure, young lady?”

You clenched your jaw at his honeyed words. So gentle and honest-sounding.

“They destroyed my house. I didn’t have time to repair it completely. Didn’t feel like being dinner.” You murmured, then looked at the cup he seemed to have forgotten he was holding.

John followed your gaze, and nodded, “I heard you come up through the trees 10 minutes ago…I hope you don’t mind, but I made it for you just in case.” He extended the cup out to you, and you eyed it wearily.

You didn’t see him make it. Anything could be in it.

John knew that look. The same one you had given him when he ushered you inside the previous night. He retracted the offering and placed it on the counter.

“I apologize for their brutality …many of them don’t know better. I will speak with them tonight at Mass. They won’t harm you again.” He assured you like he used to when you thought his last name was Hill. “It’ll be fixed by tomorrow.”

Your gaze snapped up to his, “Mass?” You asked.

He nodded in realisation that you likely weren’t around when service happened, “I- it’s…well…it wasn’t my idea…it’s- everyone is so lost and they need something to hold onto…I cannot undo what I did. And I know they will never give me forgiveness, but many of them are still very close to God and some have become closer in their…confusion…and I’m just…I try to keep them on the right path. The path I should have been on..stayed on. Your path.” He pushed his hands towards you as he spoke so sincerely.

You pursed your lips as you listened. You wanted so badly to believe him…but the last time you did it had been the worst decision of your life.

The silence stretched between you. You didn’t want to ask for his help, but it was too late to not ask-

“You are welcome to stay here again.” He added, trying to get you to engage. Like he needed you to speak to him.

You nodded, “My warning still applies.” You reminded him of how he’d better play nice or you’ll be dead before he can do anything.

John sighed and nodded. His brows pinched and his eyes drooped, “Of course- I- Mass is in a couple hours…but I can stay-“

“I’d rather you weren’t here, Father.” You said quietly, looking down as guilt started to creep into your gut. He was so wonderful at making himself seem small. Non-threatening. You forced yourself to remember how easily he had restrained you in the church; how his hands had held you without making a mark yet you couldn’t pull away…

“I understand.” He muttered, then something seemed to catch his attention outside as he almost jerked up from the counter and looked towards the front window. You twitched at his reaction, and already knew there was someone nearby before he said it.

“Come on, let’s get you settled.” He said almost to himself as he began back towards the small door in the floor.

You followed behind him, and gripped your bag’s strap a little tighter as he crouched and opened the hatch. He shifted away a little to make room for you to get by, but you saw how tightly he clenched his fists. Whether it was to keep himself from reaching out to help you or to grab you, you didn’t know.

As you descended, you noticed that it was far cleaner down there, and had an extra lamp.

“Knock twice if you need anything.” He said softly. Earnest.

“I won’t.” You stopped looking up at him as that guilt started to return.

“I’m sure you won’t. But everyone needs something sometimes.” He finished, and offered you a tight little smile.

You stared up at him, and neither of you moved.

“Goodnight, little one.” He murmured.

The endearment made your stomach flip upside down and your throat constricted; you ached from how much you missed...well...everything. You missed being called "Hun" by the fishermen and being hugged by Annie and walking Leeza to church and sitting among the pews and enjoying your morning walks and you missed your life.

Before you could say anything, he closed the door, and you heard him lay the carpet over top. There were no footsteps though- not for a few minutes. You listened close, and felt your eyes unfocus when you heard him muttering a prayer over you.

You almost shouted up to him to stop it.

That you didnt need his protection.

But your mouth went dry when you realized that you did.

Why else were you letting him hide you?

Several minutes later, you heard his long strides move throughout the rectory, then the door shut, and you were left in silence.

Mass.

Sadness flooded you in mourning of your beloved routine, but jealously quickly took its place when you realized you were the only one being deprived of your time of worship. The jealousy startled you. Anger was understandable, but jealousy was new.

You closed your eyes, and focused on why you were there. Safety.

The feeling slowly left you, and as you calmed, you turned on the lamp. It was cold, and with no extra warmth, you shuffled onto the cot and grabbed the thick blanket that sat folded there. As you settled in, cocooning yourself in it, and laid your head on the pillow, you felt your eyes start to droop. You found yourself breathing in the smell of the blanket, not even noticing that it was the smell of the man keeping you hidden that you were inhaling. It comforted you…like smelling your mother or father. Somehow familiar.

It was early when you awoke the following morning, not that you could have told that by your surroundings. Your sleep could have been five minutes for all you knew. You laid there for a few moments, listening. The last thing you wanted was for it still be night and for Pruitt to have a visitor. You paled at the thought of Bev being there. But when a few minutes turned into several, then you were certain there indeed was no additional company.

It was silent.

You gingerly raised yourself up out of the bed, and made your way up the ladder- bag in tow over your shoulder. You didn't even make it up to the top to knock before you heard shuffling and footsteps above you. The door was pulled open, and you stood stock-still for a moment as fear clutched your heart for a moment. The light from the lamp below you caught his eyes and made them glow in the darkness of the bedroom. Indeed it was dim in the space around him which only seemed to accentuate his dark features and made him appear as more of a creature than a cursed man. You swallowed.

“Good morning, young lady.” He greeted you with a hand outstretched.

You clenched your jaw, but took his offered hand tentatively, and he pulled you up with far more strength than he should have had. You got your footing, and noted the light illuminating the drawn curtains- it was bright enough for you to leave.

You didn’t say anything, and chose instead to dig your nails into the palm of your hand.

“They put in new windows and fixed your door…I’m so sorry that happened…I spoke with them and they will do better.” He murmured gently, as if he didn’t want to scare you away.

You nodded; mouth clammed shut. There once had been a time where you would have bared your heart to him, and poured your soul into his hands, but now you found yourself unable to find much more than a few words to utter to him.

“Did you manage alright? I know- I know it’s a bit cold down there…” His voice was a low rumble as you adjusted your bag.

“Just fine.” You whispered, looking away from him. You couldn’t stand that he cared.

“I can-“

“I’m fine, Father.” You snapped. He looked like you had slapped him; to his credit he also looked like he understood it. “Thank you.” You added when the pain in your chest twisted unbearably.

He nodded, seeing your unease.

"Goodbye." You whispered as you gathered yourself and headed to the door.

He so deeply wanted to tell you to stay and let him explain everything, but he supposed if he needed to force you to say, then his apology would be hollow and selfish.

Days passed quietly again. A few knocks on your door was the most disturbance you got. Things had calmed considerably.

He must have been right…that shipment did come.

Something itched in the back of your mind as you sat in your fortified house one night. It had been over a week since you had last been hiding in the rectory, but something he had said stewed inside you.

He still held Mass.

You wondered if that had been something agreed upon by everyone…they must have felt so lost…

It had been close to midnight when Father Pruitt had left for Mass that night…and it was just past midnight now.

You wondered if…if you could just climb up one of the trees and listen. If he still preached with the same vigour as he used to you were certain you could hear a little. It was silly and dangerous- you knew that- but it had been so long with just yourself and your thoughts…you craved just a little bit of something else.

You slowly walked downstairs to your front door and listened. It was silent outside.

You very slowly undid your several locks, and gingerly pried it open when you still heard nothing.

Indeed, there was not a single person in your field of sight- not that there were many who ever came down your way that far down the island. You opened the door a little more, and stepped out into the night air. It was refreshing when you weren’t running for your life.

You shut the door just as carefully as you had opened it, and quickly knelt down to check that you had your knife in your boot before starting to walk as softly as you could towards the bushland. The tall grass that had been bleached by the summer sun rose up around you the further you walked and helped to hide you while you trekked across the island and through the marsh and into the skinny trees that slowly grew thicker until you were on the same hill that you used to walk up everyday.

You could see the back of the church, and the bright light that shone through the windows. You had been right- you could hear them sing. It would have been so easy for you to just go back home, but you moved without thinking, and began towards one of the older trees behind St. Patrick’s and jumped up to the lowest branch, and began to climb.

As you grasped each branch, climbing higher and higher, you began to sing along; your throat was tight as tears threatened to fall, and you let them.

John felt a little tick in the back of his head that made him twitch slightly as he began down the aisle. Something off. Something he wasn’t used to during church. The people around him sang their hymn, and as he listened closely, he recognised a sound that he hadn’t heard in so long.

Your singing. Broken by your cries.

John’s sinuses stung as tears rose that wouldn’t fall, and he nearly stopped service right then to go and find you, but he was stuck.

You sat above the church, and leaned your head against the trunk of the tree as you listened to the preacher. You could have sworn he was louder than he used to be… though he wasn’t so much about revival, as he was about reconciliation and guidance. His words no longer made you uneasy. You didn’t want to admit it, but it did indeed sound as if he just wanted to help. Finding the light in the dark.

Mass finished, and you watched the islanders leave slowly…and saw the tall figure you knew wellstand at the front to bid everyone a blessed night. It was so strange to see it all from your viewpoint then- truly a stranger looking in. You perked up when you started to recognise some faces and felt your throat grow tight all over again. Your eyes burned from the tears that wouldn’t stop.

The church grew empty, and John waited until he couldn’t hear footsteps before finally turning back inside to shed his chasuble. His thoughts preoccupied him as he moved quickly and placed the fabric onto the table in the vestibule and walked out the back door. He hoped he wasn’t too late…that you hadn’t left yet. Then as he stepped into the chilled night air, he knew you were still in your perch.

That sweet smell of your skin…the gentle thump of your heartbeat.

John slowly followed the sound, and stared up at the trees until he spotted you. He stood down at the bottom amongst the roots, and cast one last look behind him then back up at you and extended his hand for you.

You stared down at him, and while he was the last person you wanted to help you down from that tree…he was also somehow the exact person you wanted, too. His sermon had made your hardened shell break a little, and you gradually climbed down to him. You sat on that last branch, and tentatively took his outstretched hand; he closed his fingers around yours and you jumped.

Your feet hit the ground with a soft thud, and you quickly looked around out of habit.

John still held your hand in his, and he gazed down at you so softly that you thought he might weep. Instead, he slowly brought his free hand up to your cheek and wiped away the remains of your tears.

“God loves you…” he whispered earnestly.

You felt your nose sting, and your lips pulled into a small, bitter smile as a tear fell and caught the corner of your mouth, “Just not enough to save me.”

The man before you pursed his lips at that, and looked down at your hand in his. He didn’t show it, but you felt a single drop of water on your thumb.

So he could cry.

And he did.

His eyes were red from holding them back once he did finally look back up at you.

Neither of you said another word before you took your hand from his grasp and left him. You took off into the brush and kept low, and didn’t look back even as you felt that prickle on the back of your neck like you used to after Mass.

September brought with it a crisp wind.

Colder weather meant you prayed harder that no shipments were delayed or you would have to hide out in the cold if they got inside your home. The autumn that you once loved was now a marker for your extreme isolation. You knew snow would eventually come, and winter storms that would knock out the power.

There was one night when you were delirious with loneliness that you actually walked into the main town. You walked along the beach. You knew most islanders would be at Mass, so you strode to the marina and sat on the shoreline. You stayed there for hours, and found yourself not caring when you heard voices of people passing by on the road. It wasn’t until you heard a couple familiar old voices that you looked up at the doc. Leeza and Warren were standing at the edge of the platform looking out over the water.

It was Leeza who stopped talking first. She stalled, and looked down sharply and you stared up at her. She looked as if she saw a ghost, and you didn’t blame her.

You were practically like a unicorn on Crockett.

You watched her elbow Warren when he asked her what was wrong, and he looked down at you with the same expression. You waved slowly, and offered them a small smile.

They looked behind them, then back at you and waved back.

They didn’t come down to see you. And they didn’t tell anyone where you were.

You stayed and watched the slow approach of the Belle that they now used for shipments. It tore through the waves of the Atlantic, and you watched as it docked. You wondered how easy it would be for you to sneak aboard, but you knew that was next to impossible. You didn’t know who sailed it, you didn’t know who intercepted the shipment…for all you knew you would be offering yourself up on a platter for Bev to serve to the community.

The sky began to brighten, and you still remained where you were as the boat sailed away.

You almost started waving your arms and screaming for them to come back.

Almost.

The sun was still down when you stood up and brushed off your pants. You sighed and turned to start back to your house for a needed cup of coffee, but when you looked up to the main road, you went still.

His dark eyes bore into you. Father Pruitt stood on the edge of the road staring down at you. You wondered how long he had been standing there. You hadn’t heard him.

He had that same pained expression on his face that he seemed to have every time he saw you. Like you were even more of a reminder of his sins than the turned islanders.

You stared back, and shivered when a wind picked up. You could feel the sun start to rise behind you, and you wondered if he was going to stay there looking at you until he burned.

It seemed like he wasn’t quite ready to face his wrongdoings as he slowly turned and began to walk away. You stood there alone as the day came and embraced you.

And once again, the island was silent.

Another day alive.

Another day alone.

November was cold. So cold.

During the day you could sometimes see sheets of ice floating on the top of the shore. Frost on the trees. Complete silence.

You had been trying for weeks now to map out the arrival and departure of the Belle and who sailed it, how long it stayed, if there were any moments when it was left unattended. Anything.

You could feel yourself start to lose yourself. You looked at old recipes you used to love making, and considered trying them out…but your shoulders would sag when you remembered you had no one to feed and a shortage of ingredients. You listened to every vinyl in your house and had started several books. Your internet connection was horrible as it always was but you tried to learn something new when you could. You were jamming your brain full of information so you could ignore the hole in your heart that grew everyday.

You knew you couldn’t stay like this forever, but if you were honest you didn’t know what else to do.

You were afraid.

John pulled his long coat a little closer around his collar as he began his trek back up to the rectory. He waved at a family as they passed him, and he found that he now received small smiles from people instead of grimaces. That change alone had him humming a little as he ascended the hill, but before he even started, he stopped short.

Those sensitive ears of his prickled as he picked up the sound of a rapid heartbeat.

He listened carefully to see if it was just an animal in the trees, but it was much too strong. He began to follow it, but after only a few strides, a sense of dread filled him.

It had to be you.

And you hadn’t come this way in months.

With your heart beating that fast, you were either terrified or exhausted. Or both. Neither was a wonderful option. John hurried his steps and walked up the pathway to the rectory when he slowed again just shy of the steps.

John had to steady himself.

The stench of blood confronted him like a wall, and he felt that repressed hunger inside him rise, but the last bit of goodness in him beat it down like a heathen. It was then that his sharp ears picked up the sound of several pairs of feet walking on gravel…perhaps 50 meters away. They were coming that way, fast.

John stepped up to the door, and noticed then that the door was ajar. He never locked it- it wasn’t like he needed to. But it wasn’t the open door that made him even more compelled to move quickly, it was the drop of blood there on his doorstep.

You were actively bleeding.

John pushed the door open, and scanned the dark home. It was so still inside. If it weren’t for his heightened senses, he could have missed what was wrong. The Monsignor, however, did know very well that there was something or someone in his room. The man slowly made his way back to the dark room, and his eyes lowered to the floor at the edge of his carpet.

Little bloody fingerprints were imprinted on the floor and smudged onto the fabric.

John knelt down and gingerly gripped the edge of the hidden door, and pulled. If it weren’t for his stellar sight in the dark, John wouldn’t have seen a single thing in that cellar. But as he stared down, he remained calm and refrained from making any sudden movements.

You were there against the furthest wall, curled in on yourself, eyes just barely visible in the sliver of dim light from up above; blood soaked your visible clothes and you trembled terribly.

“Don’t you dare come any closer!” You cried in a strained voice.

You were in pain.

“What happened?” He asked gently, crouching a little more to get a closer look at your shaking form.

“You lied that’s what happened!” Your voice was strong despite the tremble from fear and pain.

“How did I lie?” He asked. The Father tried to keep his voice as level as he could without begging you to tell him who did this. However, he took a very slow, very cautious step down onto the stair and that was not the right move.

“I said-…I said don’t come closer!” Your edge was lost as fear began to take over.

He held his hands up and knelt there on the first step, “You’re clearly hurt, I just want to help-“

“That’s what you said before! And the time before that! But if you had meant what you said about telling everyone to leave me alone then I wouldn’t be here!” You were almost crying- throat growing tight and heart beating faster as anxiety set in.

Father Pruitt felt his fingers itch with want to carry you up to his home and care for you, but he couldn’t risk scaring you before expressing his submission. Disbelief settled in as he looked over your tattered and bloodied clothes.

“They did this…” he said aloud to himself as he came to terms with the carnage, “I told them very clearly that you weren’t to be bothered I promise you-“ he started.

“Even i-if you’re not lying they didn’t listen…” You curled in tighter on yourself. Your weakening voice strung at Johns heart.

John swallowed and made to take another step down to you as he tried to quell his rage.

“Hey- shh…okay. I’m- listen to me sweetheart I’m-“ John paused then. He could hear those same footsteps he had heard before now just outside the rectory and he had a sneaking suspicion that he had what they were seeking, “I’ll be right back.” He whispered and lowered the door again.

John slowly straightened himself up and stood to his full height; he began walking to his door, but as he grew further from you, his calm walk turned into a determained stride that was in no way welcoming and anything but docile.

He wrenched the door open and without missing a beat he stepped out in front of the small group of islanders who were now half stumbling back from him.

Johns nostrils flared and his eyes lacked any semblance of the gentle man he was. His eyes glinted in the light from their lanterns, and his shoulders hunched slightly like he was ready to attack. In that moment, John was thankful that you couldn’t see him in such a state- he was certain he would never lay eyes on you again if you did.

“Did I not say that that young woman was off limits?” He bellowed, teeth bared as he snapped, taking another step forward off the porch.

There was a small gathering there, but not a single person had been prepared for the Father to burst in such a way. The attack on you had seemed like such an insignificant thing for them- like they were trying to catch a stray cat.

“Hey now! I-we- well you know how- I- it was-“ the man at the front floundered.

“I gave you all specific boundaries to abide by. I might as well have said nothing because now I have the last creature on this island that deserves Gods grace, and she is halfway to meeting her maker.” John paused and looked down at the stomach of the man then back up at his face. There was a large bullet hole there just above his bellybutton that had a ring of blood surrounding it, “Did she do this?” He asked, still seething, cold and direct. His tone quieted as he spoke now.

The man nodded, “Y-yeah she blew me right off-“

“Good.” John nodded and shifted back up to his full height, “You know what this is good because now you all know the consequences of disobeying your limitations. Daylight is one of your limits, and this girl is now too. Get that through your heads or god help me I’ll hand her the gun next time myself.” He didn’t wait for a rebuttal before he was slamming the door and locking it.

John barely broke stride as he turned and marched right back to the door in the floor and opened it back up to peer down at you. You were still there, and still cowering in the corner.

“I’m so sorry…They’re gone…I- please let me help you…I can keep you safe here but you’ll bleed to death if you don’t let me help you.” He pleaded with you.

John watched you for a few very long moments. When you didn’t respond, he felt a jolt of dread spear his chest and he was suddenly flooded with the memories of his sister on her deathbed; how he hadn’t been able to do anything about it. It only intensified when memories of Sarah’s limp body flashed in his mind.

He had lost his sister.

He had lost his love.

He had lost his daughter.

Now his eyes blazed as he decided he was going to help you whether you let him or not.

You were not going to die.

Johns eyes prickled as he pushed those memories away and leapt down the remaining steps to you and gathered you into his arms. You weren’t completely limp, but you weren’t doing well. You must have gone into shock from the attack, coupled with the freezing cold night and your lack of proper clothing.

As he pulled you up with him and gently laid you on his bed, he finally saw why you had come to him.

On your shoulder was a very deep bite. Whoever had done that to you had not wanted to let go- looked as if the perpetrator had almost taken a chunk of flesh right out of you. John felt that anger in him start to seep into his veins as he thought of someone maiming you so brutally- he nearly considered finding that man who had done this to you and-

No.

No he was better than that. That man would meet his fate when it was the right time.

John sucked in a breath despite not needing to, and went to his small bathroom. He searched frantically for a small medial kit he remembered he had there, and almost tore it open to find what he needed. He took a moment to gather himself as well. Certainly he was well stocked with blood, and he wasn’t hungry, but there was always something about fresh blood that made that beast inside him claw at its bars.

But this was you.

And he would be strong for you.

When he returned to you, your face was buried in the blanket there, hugging it to yourself. John pursed his lips, and ripped open the disinfectant wipe and gauze. He wetted the material in the sink, and began dabbing at your wound.

“Holy Spirit, please come like a dove…Shield and protect now the one that I love. Cover her wounds with Your grace feathered wings…Shield them from sorrow, breathe hope songs within…”

John’s voice began to shake as your wound came clean; as he prayed for you, all he could think of were how many times he was unable to stop Gods plan of taking those he loved. How he was perhaps still foolishly trying to stand in His way.

“Tend with Your goodness the pain that she bears. Heal now her sickness with miracle care. Carry her high far above till she sees...”

He pulled your night dress down over your shoulder to clean the rest of the dried blood. He swallowed as his mouth began to ache. His teeth itched at the sight of such fresh blood- flesh already broken…so easy…

But he pushed it away.

“Your rainbow of promise, real hope lies ahead. I love her so dearly, so help me to be. All that you, would give out through me.”

John gazed down at your sleeping form and felt his chest tighten. His last little piece of hope. His ray of sunshine that burned him to touch but he couldn’t let go. Even with your skin clean, your clothes were still sodden with blood and sweat. He knew that if you stayed in them you could risk getting ill, and worsening your recovery. He sobered at the thought.

John looked up that the cross on his wall, and closed his eyes for a moment. “Oh God, in beautiful ways, you created and redeemed mankind. Give us steadfast minds to resist the allurements of sin so that we may attain the joys of eternal life. Hear us, Oh Lord. Amen.” He muttered quietly, and slowly as he focused on the words, he found that his thirst ebbed away slowly and the ache in his mouth dissipated.

After a moment, John carefully unfurled you from your position and pried your hands away from the blanket. Then as tactfully and quickly as he could, he gripped the edge of your dress and pulled it up. He kept his eyes glued to the fabric in his hand, then once it came away, he stared only at the wound you had; to keep your warm, he pulled one of the blankets you had bled on up over your body. John wiped and dabbed as gently as he could, chastising himself when he would accidentally watch one of the droplets of bloody water run astray and trail down your collarbone over your clavicle. Your skin was coming clean, but there was still the grime and sweat on you.

John hung his head- his forehead touching your arm.

“God help me…” he murmured. If you got a fever because he didn’t clean your wound and body fully then he would fret and stress even more than he already was. It would torture him just as it would torture you.

After contemplation, John made the decision to hold you under a gentle shower steam- just something to wash you a little better. If he had dwelled on the idea a little longer he might have talked himself out of it and spiralled for a while, so instead he chose to act quickly. He strode into the little washroom and turned the tap. Waiting until the stall was filled with steam that would warm you up.

John stared down at you for a long minute- wondering if there was some other way to do this. When he didn’t come up with anything, John trained his eyes on a point on the wall to keep from accidentally seeing your bare skin, and gathered you into his arms as gently as he could, and carried you into the shower. As soon as he stepped in, the water began to drench his clothes. The warmth permeated the small space and cocooned both of you as the water soothed your filthy body. John was mindful to not constantly hold you under the direct spray; he slowly let your legs down to hang limp and he dangled your arms around his shoulders as he swayed with you under the spray like a doll. With his height, your feet didn’t even touch the ground as he held you, and it seemed to make things easier as he could manipulate you enough to rinse off most areas of your skin without needing to jostle you too much and cause more bleeding or wake you up.

The longer he stood there with you, he began to realise that there was something so tranquil to stand there with you in his arms. Relaxing and hypnotic - the warmth of the steam invading his senses. The intimacy of having someone’s body against his. John found himself humming, and his thumb drew small circles on your back. It was selfish to say he enjoyed it. Sinful too. But he did. He could feel your soft breath on his neck, and your heart beat against his soaked chest.

He felt young again.

Human again.

John basked in the rejuvenation.

After several minutes, he carefully stepped out with you, and cradled you to his chest as he grabbed his towel from the back of the door. He sat with you on the lid of the toilet and did his best to wrap you in the towel while barely looking at you. He praised God for the halted bleeding, and while he was still dripping he walked back into his room with you.

John positioned you on the bed, and rubbed the towel against your damp skin until he was satisfied. He then pulled any hair away from your shoulder and placed a large bandage over your wound. He paid attention so as to not irritate any small cuts from the bite. It would scar, but you weren’t going to turn.

Then as he pulled away, John could feel his soaked clothes cling to him, and he stood quickly to not get the bed any wetter. He needed to change you, but if he was going to keep you dry he needed to deal with himself first. He grabbed whatever he had folded on the edge of his bed and went back to the washroom to change. As he removed his shirt, he paused when it clicked that now he had to dress you while you were completely bare. He swallowed thickly, and quickly settled into the mindset that you were his patient, and he was giving you care. Nothing else.

If he was honest he wished the earth would swallow him up.

What time was sunrise?

Maybe he could go for a walk and just disappear forever in the wind. The thought was fleeting but so tempting at that moment when he straightened and quickly changed. Even the dry clothes didn’t fully dissipate the sweat breaking out on the back of his neck.

The Monsignor returned to your side quickly albeit timidly now. He eyed you wearily as he gathered some clothes for you, and had to muster up some courage to continue. He stood there just feet from you, and watched you breathe for a moment.

You looked so calm.

Serene.

Beautiful.

But he couldn’t stand there forever. And he knew it would be so much worse if you woke up in the current state you were in versus dressed.

He bowed his head and crossed himself as he muttered a prayer, then inched over to you and gingerly sat beside you. Father Pruitt slipped an arm under your back and rolled your torso into his lap. He focused on the top of your head as he fiddled with the shirt he was now getting over it, and cursed to himself when he had to look for your hands to bring them through the shirt. His ears would have flushed pink if he had been human. He told himself it wasn’t his fault for catching sight of your nipple. It was his fault for noticing that it had become pert in the cold.

John finished with your top as fast as he could, then he guided you back further onto the bed and rested your head on his pillow before glancing down where the towel was draped over your legs. He gripped the sleep pants in his hand like a vice and he gulped down the saliva that pooled on his tongue. The good Father’s hand shook as he took the towel away and instantly looked down at your feet where he started to hook the pants onto you, slowly sliding them up. Up, up, up until he had to finish the last of it a little roughly as he looked away.

The intimacy of it all had his head dizzy. It had been such a strained relationship with you for months now that having you in a state like this made him feel like a perverted old man taking advantage of your state. Of course he knew he wasn’t and that he was just taking care of you, but the guilt remained.

John looked down to inspect his work, and sighed with great thanks that the stressful task was over.

You were washed and dressed and you weren’t bleeding out as badly.

The Monsignor carefully placed a small towel under your head for your damp hair, and brought the thick blanket up over your body; he retrieved an extra one for good measure and laid it over you too. He petted your head for a moment- smoothed his thumb over your forehead to draw an invisible cross there, and read a prayer for your health and forgiveness. He was well aware that he was undeserving, but they prayers came out of habit, and soothed his anxiety of what he had done.

John then pressed a kiss to your temple and left you there to sleep. Your gentle breaths filled the room, and the Father sighed. No doubt you would be spitting fire at him tomorrow, but for now he could admire how innocent and peaceful you looked.

He cast one last look at you as he shut the door, and his mouth twitched into a small smile.

Sunshine.

Hours passed. John watched the sun rise and began writing, then read, then he checked on you, then prayed. Then began the cycle over again. If your shortness of breath and rapid heartbeat was any indicator when he had found you, you must have ran very quickly across the island…that coupled with your blood loss must have exhausted your body. You needed rest.

He had stood guard outside the rectory until twilight began- hand clenching and unclenching. Digging his rosary into his palm. The scales were out of balance, and he hadn’t wanted to rectify that so badly until now. Wanted to find the man likely still healing from the bullet hole in his stomach and make him feel the same fear you felt.

John briefly wondered where you had gotten a shotgun from. A pistol wouldn’t do that damage. Though he supposed it wasn’t entirely foreign that you had one.

He heard you stir and move from inside, and abandoned his post to return to your side; wetting a new cloth to lay on your head.

Now, he was sat on the small couch, and waited. He filed away several passages from the Holy book in his hand- ones that he may enlighten you with should you need it. There he remained until he heard your heart rate pick up again, and the blankets start to rustle. John slowly placed the Bible in his lap, and stared at the pages as he waited. It took a while until you slipped from the bed and your bare feet hit the cold floor. He really should have put some slippers there for you.

He heard you scramble for a moment, most likely grabbing something to throw at him or something to defend yourself with. He understood both. The last thing you likely remembered was laying in his dark cellar as you bled. Now you were in his bed and changed.

Johns suspicions were proven correct when he felt a pair of scissors fly at his head and nick his ear.

He didn’t blame you for a second.

“Good morning.” John murmured calmly as his flesh stitched back together.

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

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02 @ethanhoewke @dancingisdangerouss @cherrysugarx @daisychainsinknots @thesoundresoundsecho

#midnight mass #father paul hill #hamish linklater #midnight mass fanfiction #flanaverse #father paul x reader #father john pruitt #father John Pruitt x reader

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bjornswoman · 6 months

Text

Destruction XII

Author's note: Hello, happy New Year to you all! Sorry for being too late to post the last part of these series. However, here it is I hope you will enjoy it!

Pairing: Modern!Ivar x Reader.

Genre: Modern!au, series, fluff, drama, angst.

Warnings: Strong language, mentions of pregnancy.

A couple of months later.

You had forgotten the sound of your own giggle the past year. However, those two last months were enough to prove you wrong and remind you that you still contained the ability to feel happy and laugh — finally.

“You can’t be serious!” You exclaimed laughing at your friend Torvi. There had been a long time since you last met each other. Actually, the last time you saw her was before your wedding.

A wedding that never really happened because Ivar decided to take you away. He had confessed that he loved you that same day as well. You could recollect the memory as it was yesterday.

Flashback – Two months ago.

“It’s not what you believe, (Y/N). It wasn’t just revenge for me. You mean a lot to me. You know I am just not good at saying those things and you, also, know that I can be dickhead sometimes. Don’t cry for me. I - I care for you.”

Ivar had said and kissed you like his life was depending on this kiss – like both of your life were depending on this kiss.

“Don’t get married, you don’t deserve being treated like that. Dump that asshole.”

You needed to hear these words back then – you needed a motive to stop that madness. After all, you didn’t love Mason, but Ivar.

You didn’t treat Mason right, so leaving him before this mistake would be the only thing you would do to save him from being miserable next to you – because of you.

“I won’t, Ivar.”

“You are mine.”

“I am yours.”

End of flashback.

“Oh, I’m and that’s not even the end of it.” Torvi continued speaking and got you out of your thoughts about that particular day. “Your mother was about to kill Hvitserk when he announced that Ivar had stolen you – those were the exact words he used.” She laughed. "Besides you know the love your mother contains for Hvitserk." You both laughed at her remark.

It was well-known that your mother loathed the sons of Ragnar – especially Hvitserk. She would call him peccant or sinful. Generally, she would criticize his way of living. Not that Ivar was her favourite brother though, but Hvitserk worked as a red flag for her.

You could picture your mother's face after hearing Hvitserk announcing that the wedding was over because you run away with his brother. You were sure long before Torvi told you about the events of that evening that she was furious – that was the main reason you hadn't even tried to contact her since then.

"What about Mason?" You hesitated to say his name after the way you treated him, though he wasn't honest to you either – as he lied to you about the events of the past and blamed Ivar about his doing.

Anyways, you felt guilt of your own lies, because you acted the very same way you accused Ivar of when you walked away on him.

"Oh well, I heard that he is fine though he and the boys are distant after what happened. He blames them for helping Ivar. Anyways, Ubbe told me that Ivar mentioned that he is after Freydis again."

You could understand the way Mason felt, but you couldn't focus on this after some names were mentioned successively.

"Ivar?" You muttered before you could stop yourself.

"Yes, Freydis told him."

You felt jealous once again about the same thing – you were back to the beginning of this messed up story. You felt weird after everything that happened the last two months in contrast with what Torvi just told you. Maybe you were just overreact, but still you couldn't bear lose again.

Maybe your love wasn't the healthiest one , but it was strong enough to swallow you if he hurt you like he did previously.

"Don't tell me you are jealous." Torvi said smiling after receiving no response from you.

"I'm not jealous of her." You fought back and she chuckled. It was too obvious that you were lying.

"You didn't really tell me what happened with Ivar after you left." She mentioned and you smiled at the memory.

Flashback – Two months ago.

Your heart was full after a very long time it felt half without him. You felt happy again being close to the person who you loved the most. Probably this wasn't the best way to come back together – not even close to be honest – but what was worth it for you was the fact that you were sitting on the passenger's seat of his car and he was on the driver's seat taking you away somewhere that only he knew.

Nobody spoke a word though – an awkward silence was surrounding the car. You didn't know what to say – you didn't know whether you had to say something or not. You knew Ivar by heart and yet you couldn't predict what was inside his head. You knew when he was mad, happy or sad, but you couldn't say what was bothering him.

"Ivar." You breathed and turned your eyes at his figure. "Do-do you love me?" Your voice was barely coming out as a whisper. It was a silly question to ask – even after he crashed your wedding and told you that he cared for you – you wanted to hear him saying this particular word. You hadn't heard him saying it – at least not to you.

"What kind of question is that? Didn't I told that I care for you less than an hour ago?" You could say by hearing the tone of his raised voice that he was getting annoyed by your question. You were aware of the fact that he wasn't good with words – especially this kind of words, but you wanted to hear him saying just for once.

"Why is it so difficult for you to say it again? Tell me, do you love me, Ivar?" You raised your voice out of frustration. You couldn't understand the reason why it had to be that hard for him to tell you about his feelings.

The possibility that he didn't feel that way came in your mind. Maybe he was just possessive when it came to you or it could be obsession the feeling he contained for you. Those could be the actual reasons why he couldn't express his love fore and that would be because it was non-existent.

"Yes!" Ivar yelled with obvious anger at you and hit his hands on the wheel.

"Yes, what?" You pressured him more as you were angry and disappointed at the time because of his inability to express himself to you – the person he was supposed to love.

Ivar hit the brake pedal so forcefully that if you weren't wearing the seatbelt you would be out of the car when it stopped. You turned your face at him and he had already focused his furious blue eyes on you.

"No, Ivar, you don't." With those last words you stormed out of his car and started walking at the opposite way from the one he was driving on. Though, you didn't get to make it far away because his hand grabbed yours tightly and forced you to turn back and face his wrath.

"What do you think you are doing? And what the Hel are you saying?" He growled on your face as you were trying to break-free from his grip to no avail.

You breathed heavily and looked his angry face.

"All you feel about me is some kind of authority and possessiveness as I'm one of your belongings." You spoke and motioned on your hand he was holding firmly. "The worst part of it is that it isn't even new to me to get this treatment from you. You don't love me, because you don't know how to and that's due to the fact that you feel that you don't deserve the love the others are trying to give you. The only thing you know how to do is hurting these people with your childish behaviour." You continued telling him with tears falling from your eyes – tears that you wiped away with your free hand.

Ivar was looking you without speaking, he was just looking at you quite shocked. Behind his anger you could spot guilt and redeem. He knew himself that you were right and that was the most painful part for both of you.

"The next one who will come in your life and try to give you the love you deserve let her." After these words, more tears threatened to fall from your eyes. You grabbed your gown on the palms of both of your hands and took a couple of tiny steps believing that Ivar would let you walk away from him – from his life.

However, such a thing didn't happen because he used the hand of yours he was gripping and pulled back – this time he held you closer to him your bodies were touching. You tried to fight back again, but he was too strong for you in such way that when he pulled you the lacework of your dress was ripped.

This time he even stopped holding your hand and he went for your throat. His grip was as tight or strong as it was on your hand, but it was firm enough to pull your face closer to his.

"Too late for that." Ivar said in raspy voice. "There is someone who has already made my heart beat for her – who have made me feel all of the things you've said before. I didn't know how it felt to be truly loved by somebody because of the problem I faced. I thought everyone pitied me – the poor cripple – until you came. You saw me what love really means – what it is – and I sent you away. When our paths crossed again, I thought that all I felt for you was just lust or possessiveness for a woman who used to be my partner. However, I got hold of my feelings – of my true feelings – after our first kiss in the bowling alley, when I called you to come to that bar to tell you about my conflict with Mason and after we got drunk and went to my house and slept together, remember? In fact, all this was just an excuse because I wanted to see you."

When he finished, Ivar let go off you throat and one of his hands touched your arm as the other when on one of his pockets. His touch was really genuine on your hand.

"I remember." You mumbled and smiled as you remembered that particular night you spent together.

"You want me to tell you that I love you, but you know that I'm difficult with words. Though, for you, I'll say it, but before I have to do something else." Ivar stopped and afterwards his hand got out of his pocket holding a red-whine velvet box.

You looked first at the box shocked and then at Ivar.

"Ivar, you don't have to do that just to prove your words to me." You tried to say, but he stopped you by taking your hand in his, after he opened the small box. As you expected, it contained a ring, but it was not just a random ring he picked. It was the ring you had told him years ago that you wanted to be the one you would be proposed with. It was a unique design which you couldn't find easily, but he did for you.

"I love you." Ivar finally confessed and you could even spot a tear on his cheek. His forehead touched your own as he eyes found yours. "Will you marry me, (Y/N) (Y/L/N)?" He asked and you smiled widely.

At the sound of his words, you felt your heart hitting your chest with just force that it was going to rip out of your body.

"Yes! Yes, I will marry you, Ivar Lothbrok!" You exclaimed and kissed him passionately. This kiss wasn't like anything you had experienced. It was different from any other you had shared. One that both of you were expressing within it your deepest feelings about the other person.

When you stopped, Ivar pulled you closer to him again and placed the ring on your finger.

End of flashback.

After that moment that you would never forget about, you spent two months away from everyone you knew. It was just the two of you in the middle of nowhere. However, you had to return back in Kattegat to face the real life and what came after the decisions you made.

Ivar's family welcomed you back and they were glad to hear about your engagement – though they could see it coming. They knew better that you two about the feelings you shared.

So, there you were, talking with Torvi about the days that came after your almost-wedding with Mason.

Torvi looked at you with narrowed eyes and a huge smile on her face.

"And after this you are still jealous? You are crazy girl!" Torvi exclaimed and both of you laughed again. "No, I am being serious now." She said and you both burst into laughter again. "No, seriously now you are getting married with the love of your life!" You smiled and looked back at your feet.

"And that's not even the end of it."

"What do you mean?" Your friend asked confused and your smile became even more wider than it was already. "(Y/N)?" She asked you again anxiously this time.

As an answer, your hand moved on your stomach and you caressed it meaningful. In Torvi's face formed a smile identical to yours.

"Don't tell me that you...." She exclaimed and you tried to prevent her from let everyone know about your little secret.

"Shhhh, I am, but Ivar doesn't know yet. I am going to tell him tonight and then we are sharing it with the others. Keep it for me, okay?" You spoke on a soft tone of voice and Torvi agreed happily before she congratulated you about your pregnancy.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Later that night.

The night sky was very beautiful – enchanting you could even say. But that wasn't the best part of the night, that part would be the fact that you were sitting next to your fiancé, trying to find the best way of telling him that you were expecting his child as he was engrossed in with laptop with work matters. You were away for so long and matters had piled up.

"Ivar, when do you think that we should get married?" You asked him out of the blue as you stood up and walked through the balcony. Ivar glanced at you for a quick second and then turned his attention back on his laptop.

"I don't know, but we should not rush. In three to four months, what do you think?" He proposed without looking at you and you smiled, because this conversation was taking the way you wanted.

"That won't be convenient. I think that it should happen in one or two months." You continued.

"Why so?"

"I'll have gained weight. I won't feet in any dress."

Your words caught him off guard. He abandoned the computer on the coffee-table and fixed his eyes on you confused.

"What do you mean?" Ivar asked as the edges of his mouth lifted and left the sofa to come closer to you. He stopped on when his body was behind yours.

"What do you want me to mean?"

"Don't riddle me, (Y/N)." His voice was stern and you couldn't help your little smirk. "Are you pregnant?" He asked as his body collided with yours and his muscular hands hugged your torso and stayed on your stomach. Your back was touching on his chest, so you couldn't see his facial expressions. "Tell me." He demanded impatiently and you smiled.

You knew how much he wanted a child – a daughter or a son. You were also aware of the fact that he was delighted when Freydis had told him that she was pregnant in the past and thought it was his child when it wasn't.

"Yes, Ivar." You whispered and tilted your head at the side to catch a glimpse of his reaction to your news. What you saw was a tear slipping from his eye and you smiled again. "Are you happy?"

"No." Your blood froze in your veins and your smile died on your lips. You turned so you could face him. "No, I am not just happy. I'm thrilled!" He exclaimed and you felt your heart beating normally in your chest again.

His hands closed you inside them and one of them caressed your hair softly.

"I love you, wife."

You giggled when you heard him calling you wife.

"I love you, husband."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ The End ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Tag list: @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog, @anotherfan07, @heavenly1927, @zvacu-te-pile-moje

#vikings ivar #ivar imagine #modern ivar #ivar ragnarsson #ivar #ivar lothbrok #ivar the boneless #ivar fic #ivar fanfic #ivar x reader #vikings modern au #vikings imagine #modern ivar x reader #vikings x reader #modern vikings x reader #modern vikings

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