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xxkissesforchanniexx · 2 months

Note

What do we think about a enimies to lovers / academic rivals with Jeongin?? But It ends good.. Ive been thinking about and It cant get out of my mind

𝐈 𝐜𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐨 𝐁𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

Pairing: college student!Jeongin x fem!reader Word count: 2.8k Genre: Fluff 🥰💖 >.> in a sense & Smut 🔥❤️ Warning: enemies to lovers >.>, they in college don't be stupid use protection, use of y/n with you/your, baby bread is jealous, i think i got it all??

A/N: IM SO SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, theres a lot to go through in my requests and my computer wasn't working yesterday so I'll try my best to get all the requests out soon. THANK YOU FOR ALL THE SUPPORT! - Khxndle

"I can do better." were the words you had grown to dread over the years you'd known Yang Jeongin. It went all the way back to the third grade when you were top of your class, and then Jeongin appeared, and just like that, he was the "smart kid." It wasn't bad necessarily, you had someone to talk to about school, someone who understood, until it was bad, and Yang Jeongin drifted away from you in middle school. That wasn't when you started hating him though, it was that spelling bee of 8th grade year, you were so close, he swore to you it was an "I", it was a "Y" and you blew the competition.

"Bradykinesia." The teacher at the table asked you.

"Definition?" You asked.

"Slower or difficulty moving the limbs."

"Bradykinesia... B-R-A-D-I-K-I-N-E-S-I-A. Bradykinesia."

"Incorrect. Yang Jeongin?"

He smiled, his thin eyes crinkling. "Bradykinesia. B-R-A-D-Y-K-I-N-E-S-I-A. Bradykinesia."

Your eyes widened as you turned to look at Jeongin.

"Correct. Yang Jeongin will continue to the district competition."

You never really spoke to Jeongin after that.

You sighed deeply as you walked into you literature class, second year of college, it had been about four years since you had last seen Jeongin and even longer since you had a friendly interaction. As you sat down and the seats began to fill in the classroom you scanned the room for a bit. The sound of a notebook slamming down to your right made you jump, you turned to see a very cute boy with light brown hair and chubby cheeks.

"Oh, did I startle you?" He laughed lightly. "Sorry." He sat beside you, "I'm Jisung."

You nodded with a small smile, "y/n."

Jisung smiled brightly past you, "Jeongi-"

Your jaw dropped, Yang Jeongin stood at the door, he fixed his glasses and looked at you. "l/n y/n..." He smiled at you with all the care a chainsaw had to wood.

Jisung looked between you and Jeongin. "You know each other?"

Jeongin smiled as he sat on the other side of Jisung, "I know her very well."

It had been several weeks since the start of your literature class with Jeongin, and he was relentless. If you answered incorrectly, he was the first to correct you before the teacher could even say you were wrong, during learning games, it was always him a few points behind you, only to answer the final question faster just to watch your face fall as you placed 2nd. Jisung noticed after a while and asked what the problem was only for Jeongin to reply with a "She's the problem." and you to reply with a "The idiot to your right."

As if your life couldn't get any worse, Jeongin had a wondrous looking 98% on his 6th week report while you had a 97%.

"I can do better, I gave you ample room to pass me." he teased as he waved the paper in your face.

Jisung smiled sheepishly, showing his 74%.

You collected your things and checked your watch.

"Where are you going?" Jisung asked.

"Study date." You said.

"With who?" Jeongin raised a brow.

"Christopher from the theatre department." You picked up your bag.

"Does he even-" Jeongin started.

"He did literature last semester." you smiled. "Plus he's cute."

Jisung bounced his eyebrows comically.

Jeongin bit his lip. "Hm. Okay."

"Anyways, bye bye."

Jeongin looked at the desk for a minute, he could do better than Chris to help you study, who was Christopher anyway?

"Jeongin..." Jisung leaned in and smirked. "I smell the bitter scent of jealousy..."

"Huh-"

"You're mad she's going to ask Christopher for help studying,"

"What? No." Jeongin replied quickly,

"Why not just offer to help her?" Jisung tilted his head.

"Who in their right mind helps their rival?" Jeongin grabbed his things and started leaving.

"You know I'm right!" Jisung shouted after him.

"Nuh uh!" Jeongin shouted back.

Come the 12th week check, you and Jeongin were tied. He bristled as you proudly announced your 98% during lunch break, his grade hadn't changed.

"It's thanks to Chan." You smiled to yourself.

"Who is Chan?" Jeongin's brows furrowed.

"Christopher." Jisung said sipping his coffee.

"When did you start calling him Chan?" Jeongin stared at you.

"When did it become your business?" You shot back.

He sucked in a breath and huffed out hopelessly. It wasn't his business, but it bothered him that you were relying on some theatre major.

"Y'know, frat boys are having a party next weekend." Jisung looked at you, "Of course, being the such good friends, Chris and Felix are, I'm sure he's going."

You shrugged. "Don't have time for fra-" Your phone buzzed and you looked at it.

Channie😵‍💫 01:37pm My friend is gonna have a party, be my plus one?

You looked at Jisung. "I might just have time."

Jeongin glanced at your phone and his fist clenched. "I'm going." he said and looked at Jisung.

"Oh my!" Jisung smirked.

"Shut it." You rolled your eyes and smiled at your phone.

"You ready for the test tomorrow?" Jeongin nudged Jisung.

"What test?!" He practically shrieked.

"It's a miracle you have a C." You sighed.

"OH HELP ME STUDY!" He started pulling out books and vocabulary sheets.

"I'll he-" You started.

"Jisung, let me help you, I know the material better." Jeongin smiled at you.

You narrowed your eyes and looked at your phone, quickly replying to Chan:

You 01:43pm Sure :)

The test the following day was difficult, you even saw Jeongin looking confused, but you somehow finished with a 86%. As the students filed out of the class with the lunch bell you sighed.

Jeongin looked over your shoulder, "There isn't ever going to be a day you pass me is there?" He smirked.

You wanted to smack him. "I didn't study as much as I should've."

Jeongin's brows furrowed. "What were you doing with Chri-"

"As I said before, he's cute." You shoved the test into your bag and stood, Jeongin looked at you and opened his mouth as if he wanted to say something.

You looked at him waiting for him to say anything and when he didn't you made a face and left him alone in the classroom. It was when he saw you joining the well built man with dark hair and that stupidly charming accent in the hallway, he knew he was screwed.

It was the night before the party and you were knee deep in clothes from your closet, searching for an outfit, any outfit.

"You could just go in jeans and tee." Jisung said from where he lie on his stomach on your bed in your apartment, looking up from his phone and kicking his legs.

"You could just look more masculine." You teased, intentionally throwing a hoodie over your shoulder to hit his face.

"Hey!" His eyes narrowed and you chuckled softly. He looked at his phone again and sat up, "I have to go."

"Already? You just got here." You glared at your friend. "Who's gonna help me pick an outfit!?"

"Ask Hyunjin," he sighed, "I have to go see Minho anyway."

"Why?" You raised a brow.

"Who's gonna help me pick an outfit!?" he retorted.

You threw another hoodie at him as he left. You sat on your bed and picked up your phone about to text, Hyunjin to come over when you heard a knock at your door.

You groaned thinking Jisung must've forgotten something, another knock. Who was at your door at 11pm on a Friday without texting you first? "I'm coming!" You shouted as you walked to the door.

You opened it and made a face at the man at the door, his eyes met yours and you started to close the door.

He put his foot between the door and the doorframe. "Can I talk to you?" Jeongin sighed.

"Sure let's talk." You opened the door and pulled out your phone scrolling for Jisung's contact.

He grabbed your phone. "Can you not talk to me without Jisung keeping the peace?"

"I'm being peaceful." You huffed grabbing for your phone.

"Why do you hate me so much?" He asked, holding the phone out of your reach.

"Is that even a question?" You jumped for your phone and he somehow managed to push you back into your apartment, closing the door behind him and keeping you from stumbling.

He stared down at you. "Is it that I have a better grade than you now?"

You pulled away and tried to get your phone again. "No."

"Is it that I annoy you too often?" He held the phone between two fingers as far away from you as he could.

"No." You jumped for it and he grabbed your hand.

"Is it that I'm always in your business?"

"Ooh!" You mocked shock, "You're getting warmer." You said rolling your eyes.

He made a face. "You can't seriously still be on about what happened in middle schoo-"

"So what if I am?!" You snapped.

"It was years ago, what are you five?!" He shouted.

"You know wha-" You started. "Wait! How the hell did you get my addre-" You remembered how quickly Jisung had insisted on leaving. "JISUNG IS IN ON THIS!"

"Listen." Jeongin sighed. "Let me explain."

"What is there to explain?" You stared at him condescendingly, "That you love comparing yourself to me because I'm not as smart as you? That you were so desperate to be "the smartest" that you just had to lie to me and make me look like an idiot? That you just hate the fact that I'm so close to passing you after trying so hard?! No! I know, you really hate the fact that I'm not acting like everyone else and asking you to help me in litera-"

"Yes!" Jeongin yelled. "Why are you going to Christopher as if I can't help you?!"

"Why am I OBLIGATED to ask you for help!?"

"Because-" He hesitated and closed his mouth, breathing deeply for a moment. "Forget it."

"What?" You stared at him.

"I said 'forget it'." He handed you your phone.

You stared at the defeated look on his face and opened your mouth to say something.

He moved for the door before you could get the words out and you grabbed his arm. "Tell me."

He turned to look at you.

You felt your face getting hot as he spoke.

"Don't go with Chris."

"Why?" You muttered, taking a step back.

"If I tell you, will you still go?" He took a step toward you.

"Why?" You asked more persistent than before.

"Because I don't want you too." He whispered, walking closer.

You took another step back and you felt the wall against you back and tensed. "Why?"

"I don't want you to get involved with frats at all." Jeongin rested his hand on the wall beside your head. "I would prefer you sit and read "Things Fall Apart" with me. I would prefer you tell me about your day like you did in elementary school. I would prefer you talk to me, let me explain myself." He looked into your eyes. "I don't want you to get involved with those frats because I want you for myself."

You stared at him with wide eyes.

"I hate it that you would trust Christopher over me. I hate it that you would consider asking someone for help before me." He bit his lip. "Because I like you, I don't want you to be with anyone else."

You opened your mouth to speak.

"No, I'm not finished." He shushed you. "I was stupid in middle school, I was dumber in high school. But I want to try for you, because I know I can do better. I want you to be with me. I want to prove to you I can do better than Chri-"

His eyes widened as you kissed him gently. "You talk too much."

His cheeks went red. "I-"

You raised a brow. "What? I thought you were going to prove you were better than Chan."

Jeongin smiled and kissed you again. "I'm going to prove it. Let me enjoy myself for a minute."

You giggled as he peppered kisses all over you cheeks.

"I'm sorry for how much of an ass I've been."

"Prove it." You said looking up into his eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat at the sly grin on his face, "Come here." He swept you off your feet, "Where's your room?"

"First door on the left.." You whispered.

He carried you in and threw you gently onto the bed before climbing over you. "You're really pretty, you know that?"

You blushed as he leaned down and kissed you deeply, his tongue wrestling with yours before he finally gained entrance to your mouth, groaning softly at the taste of you. His lips moved from yours to your jaw where he bit gently.

You gasped softly.

He smiled against your skin and sat up, tugging at your shirt. "Can I take this off?"

You nodded and looked away as he removed the shirt. "Take off yours?" You gave him the most innocent doll eyes, he rolled his eyes and removed his shirt, before kissing your collar and chest, you squeezed your thighs together at the feeling.

His hands moved behind you. "Up please."

You lifted up a little and he quickly removed your bra, lowering you back down slowly, he took a moment to admire your chest before kissing your breast and working his way to your nipple before taking it into his mouth. You whimpered as he sucked at it, rolling the other between his fingers before switching. He smiled as he saw the way you rubbed your thighs together.

"Up." He grabbed the waistband of your pants as you lifted your hips and pulled them off your legs. He smirked down at you, "Chan ever see you like this?"

"N-no..." You stuttered, covering your mouth.

"Good." He sat got on his knees to admire your pantie clad sex for a moment, looking at the wet spot. "He doesn't ever get to see this, okay?" Jeongin looked at you.

"Okay." You nodded.

He smiled. "Take this off." He tugged at your underwear and you moved to help him remove it. He didn't give you a moment to prepare yourself before his mouth was on you, licking wide stripes of your cunt. You moaned and grabbed his hair. He hummed contentedly into you, the vibrations send sparks through you. He grabbed your thighs and kept them open as he started sucking at you clit, his eyes flicking up to see your face every few moments. He pushed a finger into you.

"Jeongin! Innie!" You squealed tugging at his hair. He moved his finger slowly and tentatively added a second

You moaned and squirmed. His mouth on your clit and his fingers was too much. "I'm going to-"

He pulled away. "No."

You whined. "Why would you do that?!"

"Wanted you to come on me, not in my mouth." He stood again and removed his pants.

Your already red face went redder as he moved over you.

He kissed your cheek gently. "I wanted you for so long..."

"You have me, what are you waiting for?" you muttered, looking down at him, he was decently thick, but he looked so long you felt your stomach turn.

"Oh, nothing." He leaned down to breathe in your ear. "Stop looking at my dick like you want to eat it or I might just make you."

You blushed furiously, "Yang Je-" You moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he pushed into you.

He groaned softly into your neck, "So tight. I'm going to cum if I move..."

"Move." You hissed, opening your eyes to glare at him.

He sucked in a breathe before propping himself up on his elbows. He gave an experimental thrust and smiled as you moaned and wrapped your arms around him. He pulled out again and thrust into you a few more times, before he began moving into you confidently, kissing your throat and muttering sweet nothings into your ear.

"Chan can't do this can he?" He muttered against your lips before kissing you.

You moaned and nodded.

"Only I can make you look like this." He pulled back and gripped your hips, fucking into you harder. "You're not going to the party anymore?"

You shake your head, "N-no, I w-won't go."

He hummed happily and slammed into you faster.

"Innie! Innie! I'm coming!" You gasped out.

"Shit!" He moaned as his hips stuttered. "Can I come inside?"

You nodded mindlessly. "Come inside!"

"I love you." He whispered in your ear, he rubbed your clit and forced you over the edge, you moaned loudly as your walls pulsed around him, nails digging into his back. Jeongin followed close behind, he bit your shoulder to muffle his cry as he came inside you, his hips canting slowly before he fell onto you.

You held him for a moment and whispered. "I love you too."

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aurora-starwars · 1 year

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Hi! So ive seen that you take requests so i thought i give a try.

Could you do an imagine where the reader is the auntie of the kids? She treats them very good and is very gentle with them. She wants to make the kids feel that they can tell her everything.

So when one day neteyam comes to tell her that jake was too hard on him again, she tries to comfort him. She tells him that he is not a disappointment and he shouldn’t always take the blame on himself etc.

I hope you get what i was trying to say. I hope you have a great day! :D

Family Is Not An Important Thing. It's Everything.

Pairing: Sully Family/Neteyam x fem!Aunt!reader (platonic)

Summary: Aunt!reader comforts neteyam after a fight with his dad

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: crying, mentions of Lo’ak being an idiot, mostly angst with fluff <333

A/n: Thank you so much for requesting! I really liked this idea, sorry it took so long! Trying to get as many fics out as I can! Enjoy!!

Masterlist

[Name] had always been close with the Sully kids. From the moment Neytiri found out she was pregnant, [Name] had been an important part of the family.

It started with helping Neytiri function in the last few days of her pregnancy, grabbing objects off the ground, bringing her food to her while Jake was on a hunt, and helping her walk when she struggled. Neytiri was more than happy to have her sister help her and her new family.

But as the years flew by, [Name] became a friend to the Sully children. A open ear, a shoulder to cry on, a person to come to when you have no one else.

So when Neteyam entered [Name]’s hut, tears in his eyes threatening to spill, [Name] was happy to help.

Walking over to Neteyam, [Name]’s eyes quickly scanned his face for any signs of wounds or injuries. It wasn’t unusual for Neteyam or Lo’ak to walk into her hut with cuts or gashes from stupid things that would get them in trouble with their parents. She would sigh and clean them up, try to make them laugh before pushing them out, telling them to go do something useful, smiling while she'd rolled her eyes.

But as she looked over Neteyam for any sign of anything, she came up dry. The only give away was his eyes. Neteyam’s eyes, usually full of joy or annoyance as he interacted with his siblings, held a familiar emotion [Name] knew all too well.

Neteyam had a bad habit of taking the blame for his siblings mistakes, mainly Lo’ak’s as he made many. While [Name] didn’t blame him for this, seeing as he often felt his role as the oldest was to protect his siblings, she did feel bad every time she saw that look.

Smiling to Netayam sadly, [Name] asked:

“Is it your parents?”

To which Neteyam only nodded gently, still trying to hold back his tears.

“Did Lo’ak did something stupid?” [Name] asked again, voice getting increasingly more gentle as as the story in her head started to solidify.

Neteyam nodded again, his lip twitching downward for a split second.

“And did you take the blame for it,” [Name] watched as Neteyam looked at the ground in front of him.

“Again?” [Name] questioned softly, already knowing the answer.

A single tear fell from Neteyam’s eye as he nodded once again.

“Oh Neteyam, I am so sorry.” [Name] walked over to him, enveloping him in a hug.

Neteyam held stiff for a moment before completely falling apart in his aunt’s arms. Quiet sobs filled [Name]’s ears as he let all of the moments he took his parent’s wrath for Lo’ak. He could usually handle it, as he would claim, but the truth is it really got to him.

Neteyam has always had a great love for his family, from the moment he was born he was brought in to the world that only seemed to shower him in love. The same love he hoped to give his sisters and brother when they were born. But since Lo’ak came of age to get in trouble he couldn’t get away with, trying to shower his trouble-making brother in his love became nearly impossible. Neteyam loved his brother, he really did but [Name] understood that that does not stop Lo’ak from being an idiot. She can say that from personal experience.

As Neteyam’s sobs slowly subsided, [Name] released him from her gentle hold.

“Do you wanna talk about it?” [Name] saw Neteyam wipe his eyes quickly, taking a deep breath before he nodded.

“What has happened, my child?” [Name] asked, leading him to a soft place on the ground, where they sat down.

“It’s my dad,” Neteyam looks at the floor.

“I’m not even sure if I am upset at Lo’ak, even though he is an skxawng. Most of the time he means well, even if his actions don’t show it…” Neteyam trails off for a moment before [Name] sees his fist tighten into a ball.

[Name] rests a caring hand on his shoulder, nodding to prompt him to continue.

“But my dad… He just doesn’t understand! He doesn’t understand that Lo’ak is just young and stupid and that we are not soldiers! We are his sons! “Neteyam threw his hands in the air as he huffed in frustration. “And sometimes I wish that he wouldn’t yell at me or Lo’ak so much for just being his sons.” Neteyam finished with a sad, soft whisper.

“Neteyam.” [Name] spoke carefully, hoping to get Neteyam to look at her.

Neteyam turned his attention from his hands in front of him to his aunt. It was only after he looked up that [Name] could see the tears still streaming down his face.

“Neteyam, you are a wonderful kid and an even more amazing sibling. I know that it’s hard to take the blame for everything, and I know it’s hard having your dad not understand. But you are never alone. You know that?”

Neteyam only nodded softly.

“You can alway come to me, and even though you think he is an idiot,” Neteyam giggled at [Name]’s choice of words. “I am sure Lo’ak would be there for you too. Neteyam, even though it sometimes doesn’t seem like it, your father loves you very much. He loved you so much he wanted to have more of you!”

Neteyam laughed again, starting to finally feel better.

“Personally, I think he might treat you like soldiers because he wants to protect you. And if he can’t do that himself, I think he hopes that you will follow what he says so that you won’t get hurt. Although I get that that is frustrating, he just wants you to be safe. After all, this family is all he has.” [Name] finished, giving Neteyam an understanding smile.

Neteyam looked away for a moment, thinking about what his aunt said. When he determined that it made sense, he turned to his aunt before pulling her in for a quick hug.

“Thank you for making me feel better, Aunt [Name].” Neteyam said gratefully, smiling wide seeming feeling much better.

“Any time, Neteyam. Now go play with your siblings or ride on your Ikran!” [Name] smiled, watching as Neteyam waved as he was running away.

Although conversations like those were hard, [Name] would never turn down a chance to help her nieces and nephews. Those children felt like her own at times, and she wouldn’t trade them for anything. So as she watched Neteyam get on his Ikran and fly away, she promised herself she would always be there for the Sully family.

A/n: Thank you so much for reading! Let me know what you liked or didn’t like! <33333

Master-list

Taglist: @nyotamalfoy

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seeingivy · 11 months

Text

milestones

satoru gojo x f!reader

megumi thanks you and satoru for everything you’ve done

content: megumi + oc child, FLUFF, just sweet little wholesome family moment at graduation, lil family dynamics

an: based on a very cute family I saw while working graduation a few weeks ago. realized ive been giving no attention to my man gojo while I draft the longer fic so I will revive an unfinished draft. not proofread.

“Asami, stop ringing the cowbell. Your Megumi-nii is going to be here any second.”

You feel her tug on the end of your skirt and you look down to meet her crystal blue eyes, no cowbell in sight.

“That’s not me, Mama.”

You turn your neck to find Satoru standing on the platform, shaking the cowbell over his head. Megumi’s going to kill him. If you don’t get to him first. You grab his arm and yank him down, pinching the end of his ears in your fingers.

“Ow ow ow. Quit it.”

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to find Megumi, love! I would have used the air horn but Asami lost it.”

He reaches down, tickling her by the sides as she laughs out in protest. You pull them both in front of you, scolding the two of them under their breaths as you fix their outfits. Satoru’s tie was off center, Asami’s skirt was riding up, their matching white hair unruly. Before you can fix it, Satoru grabs your hand in the air, locking his fingers with yours.

“This is worse than when he was in the school play. You’d think he was getting married by the way you were acting.”

“Shut up. This is a big deal for him, I don’t want him to think we’re not taking it seriously.”

“You printed out minute by minute itineraries on how we were all going to get here. I think he knows you take this seriously, my sweet.”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to the top of your head as he fixes your hair, pushing it behind your ears. You give him one last eye roll, before standing on the tips of your toes to find Megumi in the crowd. The graduates had started coming out, other families wrapping their arms around each other.

“Megumi-nii!”

Asami spots him first, her tiny little legs running up to where Megumi was standing. She wraps her legs around his knees, catching him off guard as he breaks out of the conversation he was having. You watch him crouch down and pick up Asami, as you and Satoru excitedly walk up and crush him in a hug.

“Alright, alright. Calm down.”

Satoru reaches forward and ruffles his hair, the same way he had been doing since the two of you first got Megumi, all but knocking the cap off of his head.

“Congratulations Doctor Megumi. Don’t kill anyone, okay? Y/N and I love you very much but we have no interest in helping you hide bodies anymore.”

The couple standing to your side give you a weird look before walking across the courtyard. You reach forward, pushing Satoru out of the way as you readjust Megumi’s dark green hood, his cords, and his cap. He gives you a thankful smile - one that you’ve seen hundreds of times over the years, whenever you save him from Satoru’s pestering. Which was often.

“This is a…big deal. Satoru’s just being silly.”

You give him a smile before taking the flowery lei out of the plastic box and handing it to Satoru. You watch Satoru jokingly smack Megumi with the flowers, before placing them around his neck and ruffling his hair, nicely this time.

“You guys didn’t have to.”

You crush his hand in yours, squeezing twice as Asami runs in little circles around your legs.

“Of course, we did. I know we joke about it, but you really are our first kid. We wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He gives the two of you a smile, reaching to pick up Asami, who had been pulling on the end of his gown for the past five minutes. Satoru wraps his arm around you, leaning his head against yours as the two of you try your best not to cry at the sight of your two kids, smiling at each other.

“We’re really proud of you, Megumi.”

Satoru’s words make the tears well in your eyes and you crush him into a hug again. Asami’s still crushed in between the two of you, her tiny voice muffled by your arms. He pulls back, putting Asami on the ground as he nervously runs his hand through his hair.

“Ah, right. Um.”

“Something wrong, Megs?”

“No Y/N. It’s just- I wanted to thank you guys. I really couldn’t have done it without you.”

Megumi pulls the graduation cap off of his head and secures it on top of Asami’s little ponytails, poking the side of her cheek before standing up to face the two of you. Your face hurts from smiling, seeing your two favorite people being sweet together.

“Megumi.”

“You guys did so much for me when I was younger, and I never really made it easy for you. This is my achievement just as much as it is yours.”

Megumi swipes the cords off his neck and swings them around your neck. He does the same with his gown, zipping it off and holding it out for Satoru to stick his arms in. By the way he’s looking at you, you know that you and Satoru are a mess. Cheeks pink, makeup smudged, tears running down your cheeks.

“You guys are corny. Stop crying.”

You take his face in his hands, squishing his cheeks.

“When did you become so grown? You literally slept in my bed till you were fourteen and now you’re acting so mature and grown up and-”

You feel Satoru’s hands curl around your wrist, pulling your hands off of his face. He lets go, lifting his hands to your face to swipe the tears off your cheeks. He gives Megumi a smile, beckoning for him to go talk to his friends who were waiting at the side. He takes Asami by the hand, introducing them to Nobara and Itadori as they all walk down the courtyard. He turns his head back to you, the tears still pouring out of your eyes.

“Are you done yet crybaby?”

“How are you not crying? Megumi grew up.”

He wraps his arms around you, pressing soft kisses to your hair as you watch Itadori and Asami play a very intense game of rock paper scissors a few feet away from you.

“Asami’s not going to stay a baby, you know. And when you’re the one crying about it, I’ll be the one laughing at you.”

“That won’t be a problem. We can just make another one!”

You smack him as Asami runs back over, followed closely by Megumi. “Ready to go, Mama?”

Satoru nods, picking her up and dragging her back to your car as you link your arms with Megumi and follow the two of them.

“You know, Satoru’s just as sentimental about this as I am. He’s just trying to act cool.”

“He’s worse than you. I asked him to fix my tie this morning and he had a whole meltdown.”

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah. Went on and on about how I made you two parents, about how I’m Asami’s big brother so I have to come back and take care of her, how I can’t forget you guys.”

You look up to find Satoru hanging Asami in the air by her ankles, the two of them laughing as he swings her in the air. You shove your head against Megumi’s shoulder, linking your arm through his.

“What a sap.”

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welldrawnfish · 9 days

Note

Hey !! How are you ? Did anyone give you donations, could you afford your meds. I am really worried about you

Hello yes! I've gotten donations! Really its an outpour of help and im so grateful, ive been going through a rough time (not adhd related) and one adhd related the past few days sorry I've been quite! Ill make a comic on it, i really want too. but basically i just moved to ontario, but my adhd diagnosis is in manitoba. Ontario's Premiere (USA TRANSLATION: Governor) Doug Ford has stripped healthcare funding in order to push his agenda of privatized paid medical care like america. without proper funding, doctors leave for greener pastures. so stuff like ER wait times? 14 hours. Family doctors? Ive seen wait lists up to a year. He does this cause then he can point to the medical care and go, see how government healthcare doesnt work? We need to privatize it. So the only choice I have is using a walk in clinic. Where I literally see someone for abotu 10 minutes. Just enough for a specialist referral or med refill. But, Walk in clinics wont perscribe me adhd meds, only a family doctor can. And like I said, Wait times. And I wont even know if they are trans friendly and safe or if they will refuse my medication. Speaking with my pharmacist they told me about a site called Tia health. They ONLY perscribe adhd meds if they are the one who diagnosed you. And a diagnosis is 700$. But as of right now it might be my only option. I've gotten so much help, I'm almost there and able to afford that. And Im so so so grateful for everybodies help literally been crying about it. it shouldn't fuckin be this way, what that man is doing should be illegal. That shouldnt be a political tactic I hate it. Right now im rationing my last 4 pills, taking them only when I need to get work done. I'll prolly be quite for a bit longer since i dont want to allow myself anything that could become a hyperfocus loop without medication I have to work.

#thank you all #really #i felt like my life was on track #and suddenly was about to halt cause of this

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steleir · 20 days

Text

i’m so close to like screaming bcs of every adult on this app writing smut for minors and telling actual minors to not interact. like yes, smut is a place for adults on this app. BUT i thinks it’s fucking disgusting when you try to say that knowing damm well your writing smut for a minor characters with no cannon time skip. “aging them up” isn’t actually aging them. their still a minor. and it’s fucking disgusting that you thinks it’s ok. why are GROWN adults writing smut for yuji who’s 15? megumi who’s 16? itoshi rin who’s also 16? niko ikki who’s 15? or, even if the character is 17 they are still a minor and you are still an adult. stop sexualizing minors on here. even minors shouldn’t be writing smut for minor characters. but them writing smut for someone they’re own age isn’t nearly as bad as wiring smut for a 14-17 year old as a person in your twenties or even older. adults if you say smut is a place for adults then stick to writing smut for ACTUAL adults or characters with ACTUAL time skips!!! need i remind you all of the miles morales smut? 18 year olds writing smut for a 14 year old? i wasn’t writing on tumblr then, i didn’t even use the app, but my friend who reads fanfic on this app told me about it. why are you writing smut for a minor? i need an actual reason. they may be fictional, and since they are fictional “it’s not a big deal” but it really fucking is. and i still cannot say how fucking annoying it is to see adults ridicule minors for reading smut or writing their own when they are writing smut for MINORS themselves. it really hypocritical and disgusting. adults stick to characters who are ADULTS too!!! smut is a place for your guys, but if you are going to write smut repeatedly for a character who’s a CHILD then you might as well as well let actual minors interact with your post. though they shouldn’t, at this point you should let them, your writing sex story’s for characters their own age are you not? also, i want to address the fact that nsfw belongs that are like 18+ follow minors too? like don’t go around following minors when you don’t allow them to follow you! this is a rare case but iv had a few smut blogs do this to me and it really irradiated me. like get a life!!! follow the rules you place!!! don’t follow minors, don’t write smut for minors, don’t sexualize them. i don’t care how attractive this character is your a fucking ADULT. this character is NOT for you to write smut for!!! this is so normalized and it’s so weird. like 10 years is cut from my life span and c child dies every time i see smut written for MINORS. and the thing is, smut is the most popular thing you’ll see when you search an x reader tag, and who are the characters you’ll see most of the smut be written for? MINORS. KIDS. adults stop being so hypocritical and stop being so fucking disgusting by writing smut for minors. this shouldn’t be normalized and should be addressed more. alll adults think it’s normal, they let it slide, iv never seen an actual adult address this. it’s always minors. you know why? because it’s fucking disgusting to see adults sexualize a character that’s your OWN age. for the last time, adults, if your going to write smut and say “MDNI” then make sure your not writing smut for a MINOR. it’s weird, it’s disgusting, it’s annoying. us minors are expected to respect your rules and everything but you can’t take a second thought while your writing for a minor. do you never stop to think “is what i’m doing weird?” do you ever stop to think that your writing HARD CORE smut for a CHILD you “aged up” ? no? that’s what i thought. please adults stop. this shouldn’t be normal. a person shouldn’t open an x reader tag expecting to see smut specifically for minors. they really shouldn’t. us minors shouldn’t have to watch you guys sexualize characters that are 14-17 which are our ages. we shouldn’t. and the worst part of it all, i know you guys won’t stop. because this CHILD is “so fucking hot” in your words.

#sorry #i’m just so fucking annoyed #it’s so fucking disgusting #like get a life #bllk smut #jjk smut #✦ : important!

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sluttywoozi · 1 year

Text

IV. Glitch

INTHAF Masterlist

Rating: M(18+) | WC: ~3.2k

Warnings: food, alcohol, suggestiveness

You’re quiet on the walk back to the hotel, your eyes warm and heavy on him just like they have been since you stepped out of the room with your hand in his. Jeonghan doesn’t mind, in fact, he’s appreciative that he’s got some time to think about… everything.

Something changed in you today.

Jeonghan isn’t sure what exactly, but he knows something did. It wasn’t obvious at first, especially with how he woke up by himself, but as the day grew longer it became more and more clear.

The first sign was the way you’d smiled at him when he caught your eye in the dining room this morning. He hasn’t seen you beam so freely in years, and the grin you greeted him with was shining, full of happiness and affection. It’s a smile he’s not sure has ever been directed at him and the force of it almost sent him reeling, stealing enough of his strength that he had to lean the majority of his weight into you in an excuse of a hug.

The second was how you hadn’t bothered to pretend you didn’t want to cuddle before the post-breakfast, pre-excursion nap. You’d shuffled right over and plopped your heavy head on his chest, falling asleep not even five minutes into him playing with your hair and rubbing your back. Usually, you don’t get closer until you’re barely awake, and even then you don’t lay on top of him like you did earlier.

The third was the second most jarring. He’d begrudgingly woken you up to tell you the excursion was canceled and instead found himself in a play fight because he had no idea how to deal with you looking at him the way you were. Your gaze was so open, so full of all the things he feels when he looks at you, not that he has a name for them yet. But then you’d withdrawn again, brushing off the moment with a playful poke to his nose that led to said play fight, which led to him straddling you and pinning you to the bed by your wrists. The feelings flared even stronger then, with a suspiciously non-platonic tinge to them, and he’d done his own brushing off when he’d felt the ridiculous urge to lean down and press his lips to yours.

That’s just not something best friends do. Not even best friends who are supposed to be married, he thinks with a grumble, somewhat annoyed that there hasn’t been a reason to kiss you yet. He isn’t sure when he started looking for one, but he does know he’s running out of the patience and will to wait for a motive when he should be able to just kiss you because he wants to.

The fourth sign almost knocked him off his feet. He’d called and ordered more room service while you were indisposed, knowing that you’d likely shout at least a little about the insane upcharge and how you hadn’t budgeted for so much. He was fully ready to accept the scolding and promise to take care of the bill when you’d walked to him with seemingly wobbly steps and wrapped your arms around his waist. Your face was smushed into his chest, the fabric under your eyes becoming dubiously moist, and your voice was the most watery he’s heard it since the last time you cried in front of him.

He’d really fucked up that day. It was your third annual best friendiversary, in the works for weeks, and he stood you up for someone he’d only been seeing for a few months. Well, he didn’t quite stand you up, but he did cancel the day before (at their request, for the third time) with weak offers to reschedule. He’d really thought you were fine with it, only felt a little terrible, until Joshua called to curse him out for upsetting you. Josh had never been so mad at him before, his tone relating clearly that if Jeonghan wasn’t his best friend he’d be wringing his neck, and Jeonghan had been honestly, truly fearful for his life in that moment.

He’d driven over to your place before Josh even finished yelling at him, left his car in park, jogged to your door, and knocked as calmly as he could. You took eight minutes to open it for him and when you did, his reaction was visceral. You were crying, your eyes red and your face a bit swollen, like you’d been at it for hours already. You hoarsely murmured, “Not right now, Jeonghan,” before gently closing the door in his face and locking it, his heart wrenching painfully with the click. He’d never felt so regretful in his life, realized then and there that he’d been taking you for granted, assumed you’d always be there for him even if he wasn’t always there for you.

It had taken gallons of your favorite expensive ice cream and a four minute long, heartfelt, teary apology delivered on his knees for you to forgive him.

He broke up with them the next week when they asked (told) him to bail on you again.

You sounded so much like you did then but instead of anger, you seemed to feel… guilty? He still has no idea why - he’s the one who ordered fifty euros worth of extra food - but he’d attempted to comfort you anyway, awkward pats on your back melting into his arms wrapped around you and his body rocking yours. You’d clung to him for a few minutes before thanking him and letting him pick all three movies (The Lego Movie, The Lego Batman Movie, and The Lego Ninjago Movie).

Who does that? Definitely not you, or the you he knows at least.

It comes to him in startling, terrifying clarity. The conclusion is absurd, but it’s the only possible explanation for your recent behavior.

You’re in love with him.

That has to be it, right?

Jeonghan doesn’t need long to get used to the idea, not long at all to admit to himself that he loves it, loves that you love him (he thinks). He wants you to love him, needs you to love him, because it’s so fucking obvious to him now that he’s in love with you. The foundation has strengthened brick by brick, year by year, smile by smile, and all it took for him to figure it out was getting to experience you loving him openly. He wonders if you’ve been pushing it down this whole time, or if it lines up with when you started pulling away. It doesn’t matter, not right now at least, because not only do you love him, you want him.

The black silk shirt wasn’t meant to be a test, but the results are clear: you want him.

You’ve been staring all night, your eyes locked on the bit of skin he’d left visible for you. He undid a couple extra buttons while you were talking with the host of the restaurant, wanting to tease you but unprepared for just how you’d react. There’s something about the way you’ve been looking at him that says you want to eat him alive, and he hopes you won’t mind if he’s just a little starving too.

The hotel comes into view right when Jeonghan opens his mouth to tell you and he decides he can wait a little longer, long enough to get you alone and underneath him again. His hand settles on your waist as you cross through the doors, your flesh warm and soft beneath his palm, and he tries to pretend he doesn’t want to move it both higher and lower in front of the whole lobby. The chorus of “Buona sera, Signor e Signora Yoon!” is literal music to his ears, a song he wants to hear every day for the rest of his life, and he promises himself that by the end of this trip, it’ll be the truth.

Is it a little rash to admit he wants to marry you for real after only two days of being fake married to you? Yes.

But, all of his best decisions have been made on the move, Jeonghan thinks as you near the elevator.

Like going up and talking to you at that party all those years ago. You’d looked miserable and he’d wanted to cheer you up a bit, so he’d appeared next to you with an unopened beer and a smile. You’d seemed like you didn’t want to talk to him, or anyone, but he wore you down with his teasing and giggles until you were laughing with him. He knew it was soon to invite you back to his place but he had a lego set that needed finishing and you’d just admitted that you almost liked to sort more than you liked to build, and he needed the extra hands. And the intelligent, gorgeous, sparkling company.

Another impulsive decision was telling the staff during booking that you were newlyweds and it was your honeymoon. He was angling for the upgrade, sure, but he also wanted the added fun of lies and deception on this trip, and this was the perfect way to achieve all three. Now look at him, in love with his best friend and wanting to be your actual facts husband. Not a bad turn of events, in Jeonghan’s opinion.

The ding of the elevator arriving breaks him out of his thoughts and makes him jump, his hand squeezing your waist in surprise before you step into the metal box together. You’re alone, for once, and the tension feels stifling. It’s like a hot, heavy blanket over the both of you, the knowledge that you want each other and now both of you know. He wonders what will happen when you get up to the Honeymoon Suite, knows what he wants but doesn’t know exactly what you want, and fuck, is he itching to find out.

The walk (run) down the hallway feels endless, his hand slipping from your waist to hold tight to yours and practically drag you behind him as he speeds to the room. Suddenly, he feels like there’s no time to waste, like the seven years he spent being your best friend were perfect but just not enough. He needs to be yours now, needs you to be his, needs you needs you needs you. You seem to agree, your free hand fumbling with the keycard and your body near vibrating with anticipation. The lock finally clicks open and Jeonghan tries not to bodily push you through the door but he’s desperate, frantic to feel you like this. It’s a travesty that he’s spent all this time knowing you in nearly every sense but this one, and he’s looking to rectify that immediately.

It shouldn’t be difficult, your dress looks easy enough to remove and though he’s a bit out of practice, he doesn’t see how anything could go wrong. You’re his best friend, he’s seen you at your worst and you’ve seen him at his, and no moment with you could possibly be awkward for long. He’s already unbuttoning his shirt when you turn around to face him, your fingers twisted up in the hem of your dress and your eyes nervous. You must be gearing up to confess to him and he wants to make it easier on you, he really, really does, but the idea of getting you to say you love him first is just too delicious to pass up.

His hands still on his buttons when you come closer, the deep, calming breaths you take making your breasts rise and fall in a way so tantalizing he almost misses the quiet sound of his name on your lips. That’s delicious too, something he wants to hear many more times throughout the night, though preferably without the anxiety clouding your voice.

“There’s something I should tell you. I feel like you already know but I’m scared to say it anyway, so you have to promise not to laugh,” you warn him, your tone stern but your gaze full of fear, “And if you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all!”

Jeonghan tries not to giggle at your fear, holding his pinky out with his lips bitten between his teeth to stifle the smile in an action nearly as old as your friendship. You inhale several more lungfuls of air before visibly steeling yourself and all but shouting, “I’m in love with you and I have been for an embarrassingly long time and I feel like I’m going crazy!”

Hearing it directly from you is so much more impactful than simply thinking it himself, his knees growing weak and his body having to lean back against the door for stability. You almost sound angry, as if your feelings for him are a problem, and most of the puzzle pieces fall into place. The way you distanced yourself from him, the way you stopped being affectionate with him, the way he’d flirt with you and watch you melt then turn to ice. What doesn’t make sense is why you think that.

Don’t you know that you’re the most important person in his life? That when he wakes up, he wonders if you’re still sleeping. That when he turns in for the night, he wonders if you’re going to bed too. That when he’s away from you for more than a few days, he starts to miss you like he’ll never see you again. That when he hears you’re going on a date, he wants to run at least three levels of background checks on them and make sure they’re good enough for you. That he has a list of requirements for your future partner, and huh, somehow he checks all the boxes. He should have guessed by now that no one could ever be better for you than him, and he’s thankful that you figured it out because he might never have.

“I’m in love with you too, you beautiful dummy. Isn’t it obvious?” He replies sincerely, with the slightest tinge of a jest behind his words.

“Don’t call me a dummy! You’re the one who only just realized how you feel, don’t act like I can’t tell!” You reprimand him, like you haven’t actually processed the first part of his sentence and only focused on the dummy part.

He supposes he shouldn’t have called you a name in the middle of his love confession, but that’s just who he is as a person and you should be well aware of this by now. It’s honestly not his fault if you’re not and he’s about to tell you so when your eyes widen and you smack his arm with a sharp palm.

“And what do you mean you’re in love with me too?”

“I mean that I love you, and I want to be in a romantic relationship with you, and I want to have sex with you.” And he wants to marry you, but he’ll leave that part out for now. He’s not sure you’d believe him, anyway. He says all of this very matter of factly, only his eyes betraying the sheer joy and adoration and lust swirling within him. He wants to sweep you up into his arms and throw you on the bed but senses you need a bit more time to come to terms with his feelings, and it’s almost funny how confused you are when he thought you’d be ecstatic. This is something he should have seen coming, should have known you wouldn’t take his words at face value after how many times he’s tricked you, but he’s being for real this time.

He really, really loves you, but you still look apprehensive, your eyes squinting just a bit and your lips pushed out in wariness as you consider what he’s said. You seem to decide to trust him right when he’s about to fall to one knee and vow his eternal devotion, and he sighs in relief at not having to dirty his pants or struggle to get up from kneeling. You’re moving closer and closer and he knows he should make this easy for you, but he can’t resist teasing you just a bit more by leaning his head back against the door and waiting for you to come to him. Your glower tells him you know but he’d hoped you would, hoped to show you that he’s the same person he’s always been, your person, your Hannie. There’s nothing to be afraid of, especially not from him, and he’ll always be willing to remind you. By teasing you, of course.

He’s got lots of plans for you already and they all start like this, with him smirking and you pouting as he makes you do the work. He’ll take over soon enough, take such good care of you, you’ll be boneless and breathless underneath him, but for now, he’ll let you make the moves. He likes the ones you’re choosing, one hand coming up to rest on his chest and the other hooking into his belt loops. You’re so close he can almost taste you, breathe your air like it’s his, but he needs you closer. He needs you closer and you’re taking so long, like you have all the time in the world and he’s not currently vibrating at just the thought of kissing you.

Oh, now you’re teasing him.

He figures it out just a bit too late to claim it was on his own, the smirk painted on your lips telling him all he needs to know. This is something else he should have expected. He should have realized that you always know his game, always know his angle and, thus, how to subvert his expectations so he’s the one left guessing. He happily concedes, playing into your hand and pressing his mouth to yours with a sigh. Losing has never tasted so good or felt so right, your lips lush and your body warm against his.

The feeling leaves his mind spinning, his feet untethered, his hands famished. He’s always loved kissing, but this is something else. It’s the closest he’s ever felt to someone, ever felt to you, and that makes it all the more dizzying. He can’t get enough, his tongue swiping at your bottom lip before he sucks it into his mouth, his teeth nibbling and his breaths coming faster and faster. He’s practically panting against you but he doesn’t care, doesn’t know why he would when he can feel your knees getting weaker, feel more of your weight leaning into him with every suck and lick. You’re susceptible to him in this as in everything, and Jeonghan plans on taking full advantage by kissing you into a stupor and getting you to say you love him again.

That might be difficult when he’s not willing to let you part with him long enough to get the words out, but he’s nothing if not resourceful.

Part Five

Taglist: @monamonay @marimossy @smalliechelle @pearlygraysky @dreamhannies @jihoonliker @seizethedaygodhatesus @dejavernon @sehyns @flrtsbin @lilactangerine @justasoftstan @bvbblytea @rubyreduji @m1nghaos @sweetnsourhannie @marksflute @cheonsacakes @ateezworlds @listxn @asweeetdisposition @kussaaaaa @yongwonu @xuimhao @catwonwoo @1004luvangel @awkwardnesshabitat @jarjarabinx @jeanjacketjesus @nanamioo @cindyp19 @club-mom @stoobfoobnoob @samedreamsamemind @ohgeezitsbreadgenie @funyunmoon @scoupshawt @burningupp-replies @winterbeartaehyungbestboy @kt-rny @baechannnss @burning-maam @prismwon @ddaengpotate @ace-eee @seung-sungs @uwukook @wonweirdo @luveveryonewoo @itsscrystal

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purplelupins · 18 days

Text

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem!

Reader

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Word count: 13.5K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gift.

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

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

Riley Flynn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful.

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

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

A patch of sunlight.

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

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

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

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

A test. It was all a test.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged it off.

It wasn’t your business.

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

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

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

Coffee. A coffee was needed.

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

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

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

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

That same man from the dock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t drink the communion wine.

You never had.

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

You couldn’t accept the gift.

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

No lamb left behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You took a deep breath. “It was-“

“I hope-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To every single one except you.

Why you?

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

Fate.

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

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

No lamb left behind.

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

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

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

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You suddenly felt very silly.

Ridiculous.

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

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

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

Ridiculous.

Stop it.

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

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

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

Making people feel cared for made you happy.

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

“Such a striking young man.”

“Too modern.”

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

“How long do you think he’ll stay?”

“Where do you think he came from?”

And so on.

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

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

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

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

You smiled softly at the thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anxiety filled you as you stared.

“Oh my-…”

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

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

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

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

The call of your name cut through your thoughts.

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

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

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

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

Then you took a deep breath.

And got to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lamb.

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

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

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

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

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

A good memory.

And a good sense of humour.

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

You breathed out a laugh.

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

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

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

“Ah you’re still here, y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were then met with a familiar face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man stepped back a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked back at him, brows pitched in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John was distracted.

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

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

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

The next morning was thankfully an uneventful one.

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

Until that evening.

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

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

It was soft and timid.

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

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

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

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

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

“Crock-potluck.” You corrected him.

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

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

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

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

“Oh- of- of course how silly-“

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

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

Funny girl.

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

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

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

Thus the need to make something for the potluck.

John Pruitt had never made something for the potluck.

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

No. No he had a purpose for being there.

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

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

A moth to a flame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, “The- the cookies-?”

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

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

“Sarah?” Came his voice behind you.

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

“Wonderful…” he said softly.

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

“I certainly can.” He confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s this little ray of sunshine?”

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

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

“You looked happy.” He smiled.

I was. You thought.

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

He was already watching you; hanging onto every word.

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

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

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

“I think Monsignor Pruitt was partial t-

DING!

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

Had it been 15 minutes already?

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

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

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

Modest girl.

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

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

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

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

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

You reminded him of…a better time.

An easier time.

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

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

Neither of you said a word.

Not there was anything to say really.

Somehow the two of you just felt very…human.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart ached.

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

Hugs and pats on the back were about the extent.

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

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

Why had he done that?

Why did you do that?

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

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

Compelling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Father.” You whispered back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And you believed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had insisted.

But he insisted harder.

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

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

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

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

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

He sat with a soft grunt.

“You did your hair different.”

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

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

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

John smiled at you.

You looked pretty.

Not that he could say that.

But you did.

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

You nodded, “Sure is…”

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

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

You thought for a moment. “Can I be-“

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

You smiled, “Yes.”

“Please do.”

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

He nodded, “Perhaps a little unorthodox.”

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

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

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

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

You pursed your lips.

You weren’t usually so unguarded.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Why did you say that?

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

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

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

He smiled.

Then you remembered something, “Father?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pike!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for that, y/n.”

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

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

His brows shot up, “Really?”

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

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

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

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

“See you Friday, sweetheart.” He conceded.

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

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

They really did love you.

And he understood why.

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

•••••••••••••••••••

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