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jeysbvck · 17 days

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even if it's a false god (we'd still worship this love)

a/n; ive been working on this for over a year, & after four rewrites, its finally here! thank you to @pedroassmanpascal for your help when i was conceiving this & working on it last year! this is my first time working in this genre, & it hasn't been beta read all the way thru, so please let me know what you think!

warnings; pov change, a butt load of angst, age gap (reader is in her thirties), violence, death/murder, near death experience, voyeurism, female masturbation, male masturbation, male!recieving, female!recieving, penetrative sex (if ive missed any feel free to let me know!!)

taglist; @likedovesinthewnd @harmshake @nightmare-viper

word count; 7.3k

summary; Joel's been pretending you don't exist for weeks now, and you have no idea why. But when you get caught up in a life or death situation, confessions are made, lines are crossed, and your relationship is changed.

Every single part of Joel's body hurt, and he was exhausted. Joel was always exhausted, but this day had been particularly hard. Everything that he - and you had gone through had been for nothing. The supplies and weapons you had been looking for had been looted already. Only a few old, rusty tins of food covered in at least a years worth of dust had been left behind. Not to mention the constant hoards of infected you had to fight through. Now, it was a fight to get back to the QZ to make another plan that could end the exact same way. Yeah, he'd had plenty of bad days, but this one would sting for a while. The hope that had been reignited had gone out again. Now he was just tired.

No matter how hard he tried though, he couldn't sleep. He was just lying on the hard floor -the fabric floor of the tent and his blanket doing nothing to help with the lumps under his back- with his eyes closed and ears alert. He knew how dangerous it could be, the horrors lurking in the woods, even when it was calm and quiet, and he hoped you had heeded his advice and were asleep with your gun.

But then he heard a whimper, and his eyes shot open as he stayed silent, his hand on his pistol. A barely heard whine, and he sighed with relief as he realised it was you. These past few weeks had been taxing - although the past twenty years hadn't exactly been a cake walk - and it dawned on him that you were probably crying. Joel had been so drained and tired during dinner that he selfishly hadn't noticed you were unusually quiet. He also didn't think about it when you retired to bed early. Joel tried to ignore the sounds, but he couldn't, he was just picturing you curled up in your tent, crying yourself to sleep, and the guilt of not noticing anything was wrong was gnawing at him. He groaned and slipped out of his tent, making his way to yours while putting the gun in the back of his jeans.

He quietly navigated the campsite and stopped outside your tent, unsure how to proceed. Did he knock on the fabric door, or did he call out your name? He wasn't good at this stuff, and he hadn't been for a long time, but he also knew that you needed someone; or, more specifically, you needed a friend. You were just that kind of person, even if the world had forced you to pretend you weren't. For a few seconds, he couldn't hear anything, but just as he was about to give up, he heard another noise, but this one sounded more like a moan. Then another one, louder now, and there was no mistaking it that time. Joel's body stiffened, and he started to get hot as his cock twitched at the thought of you getting yourself off, mere feet away from him. He heard your sleeping bag rustle slightly, and he bolted back to his tent, breathing heavily as he zipped the tent door.

He stared up at the roof of the tent, trying - but ultimately failing - not to think about what he'd just almost interrupted. His jeans were uncomfortably tight, and he had to unbutton them just for some relief. He tried to divert his thoughts, to think about anything else, but his mind took some winding paths just to get him back to thinking of you. Joel groaned. He needed a release, and it had been a long time since he'd done, well, anything. It wasn't going to hurt anyone, and you were doing it just mere feet away from him, so what was stopping him? They were all flimsy arguments. He knew that, but it was the easiest solution to the problem at hand.

Joel slipped a hand into his boxers, his cold touch sending goosebumps down his spine, the sensation making him harder. He began to stroke himself, and when he closed his eyes, he could see you writhing around in your tent, your fingers deep inside yourself. He could hear you from your tent still, your quiet whimpering and moaning sounding out through the stillness of the forest, and Joel caught his own moan in his throat as his movements got quicker. He couldn't bring himself to care about the possible dangers lurking, the grip he had his cock on tightening slightly as pictures of you clouded him. He imagined you being in here with him, imagined that you were both watching each other. It didn't take long for Joel to make himself orgasm, and he cleaned himself up, hoping sleep came to him before the guilt did.

Joel spent the next few days convinced he was going crazy. Every time you looked at him, he was sure you could see the guilt he was struggling to hide, like his memories would be projected for you to see. Every time you said his name, he was waiting for you to tell him you knew what he'd done, that you'd seen him outside your tent, and heard him in his. He felt so dirty, creepy, ashamed, and at some point, he shut down completely. He knew you were confused, you weren't as good at hiding your emotions as you thought, and you were confused by what you could've possibly done to warrant the cold shoulder from Joel, who could barely look at you, and it made him feel worse. He just didn't know what else to do, so he went back to what he knew best.

After traipsing through the woods for what felt like forever, Joel just wanted to set up camp and get through the night. He was tired, sore, hungry, and needed a moment away from you, without your sad eyes staring at him, without your attempts to get him to open up. So when you announced that you'd had enough and insisting that you stop for the night, Joel didn't argue. While Joel set up the tents, you gathered some wood from the perimeter of the "campsite", and Joel took a moment to watch on fondly, smiling to himself at the smug look of accomplishment on your face, taking the "win" against Joel.

Dinner was silent that night, as the past few had been, and while Joel refused to look up from his food, you were refusing to take your eyes off Joel. Your gaze was burning a hole in his head. He felt scrutinised as he ate, and it took everything in him not to engage. He didn't know if you were trying to annoy him into talking to you or if you were lost in your own thoughts, but he didn't ask.

Once again, straight after dinner, you headed into your tent, sending a soft "goodnight" Joel's way. He looked up but not before the sound of the zip echoed out, and he sighed, rubbing his temples.

The fire had died long ago, but Joel still hadn't found the energy to crawl into his tent. He stared up at the starry night, and just as his mind started to wander into dangerous territory -somewhere he never went if he could help it- he heard the noise that had been playing on a loop in his head for the past two days. His cock stirred and he covered his face with his hands. Not again.

He knew he had to get back to his tent and fast, but he had to do it quietly. He began to slowly move the canisters and empty tins, careful not to make any noise. He didn't want you to think he was a pervert. Although that's exactly how he felt right about now. He was about to stand up when he heard a single word from your mouth that made him stop in his tracks.

Joel.

Fuck. Oh fuck. Did you know he was there? Did you hear him? Could you see his silhouette projected on your tent, like it was a cinema screen? He ran through a hundred excuses in his head as he slowly turned to look over his shoulder, and he let out a sigh of relief when he saw no signs that you'd heard him. He scoffed at himself and shook his head. He really was going crazy.

Mmm, Joel, don't stop!

He definitely wasn't going crazy, there was no mistaking it. Not only were you masturbating, mere feet from Joel, but you were moaning his name, and he had never been so hard in his life. He couldn't stop himself, and once again, he unzipped his jeans and pulled out his cock, and while you moaned and gasped from inside the tent, Joel pleasured himself.

His precum was seeping out and over his fingers, and he bit down harshly on his lip to stop his own sounds from escaping. His motion got quicker, matching the sweet sounds coming from your tent, and when you brought yourself to orgasm and Joel's name slipped from your lips, he came undone. He emptied himself onto the dirt, too entranced by your gasps to notice the streams spilling over his fists. He dropped his head against the log behind him and groaned.

"Shit."

It happened three more times, and Joel had never been more conflicted. He was constantly stressed and on edge; the guilt from what he was doing was eating away at him. He'd always been someone that could control himself - he had to be - but when it came to this, to you, it was like something triggered inside him. He'd known you for years and had never had these thoughts or these feelings. Then again, he'd never spent this much time with you, and he'd never heard his name fall from your lips like that.

Joel couldn't deny he thought you were beautiful, and that maybe it inflated his ego a little, that you were thinking about him while you fucked yourself with your fingers, or dreaming about him, but he was under no illusions that it meant anything. You didn't have feelings for him. He was just the only person you'd seen in weeks that wasn't trying to kill you, and feelings get warped. Especially with the way the world was now. Besides, he'd seen the guys that hung around you like moths drawn to a flame. They were much younger and fitter than Joel was. Yet, he found himself as one of those moths, and he couldn't help but imagine how it would feel to be caught in your flame.

Joel was no longer waiting to hear you to get himself off. His mind would conjure up images that made it so he couldn't help himself. Images of your mouth around his cock, your hair tangled in his fingers as he fucked your face. His head buried deep in between your legs as he ravished you, his hand clamped over your mouth to muffle your moans of ecstasy. Of his cock slamming into you, his fingernails leaving little indents in your ass as he gripped firmly. The fact that he would never get the real thing didn't bother him. He was content with his fantasies. But he still felt guilty, and the tension between you and Joel was getting worse.

But things were beginning to simmer inside Joel, and his secret masturbating habits were no longer the sole reason for his behaviour. Joel would look over at you, by the fire feading the book you'd memorised front to back, and he'd let himself imagine running his hands through your hair as you sat lazily against him. When he slept, his dreams were of a life he'd never thought he'd want - or have again, and you were always by his side. He'd dream of dancing with you in the living room, waking up beside you, the sunlight making you glow like an ethereal figure. He'd dream of being happy. He'd put it down to the ridiculous situation he found himself in and told himself that once you were both back in the QZ, things would go back to normal. You would go back to people your own age, and Joel would just be a memory of a small fantasy you had while on a difficult run.

But then, as if the universe was trying to intervere, everything changed. The abandoned building you'd been hiding out in turned out not to be not so abandoned, and the two of you had gotten yourselves into a sticky situation. Hunters had cornered you, and in all the chaos and commotion, the last man standing had grabbed you, now using you as a human shield with his arm almost choking you, a knife pressed just above your collarbone while Joel had his gun aimed right at him.

"I'll take yer girls head off!" The guy yelled. Joel could see you were terrified, and it took everything in him not to let his rage consume him. He knew that one wrong move could get you killed. He needed to be smart about this.

"Look, man, we don't have much, but you can take it all. Just let her go." Joel said, trying to keep his voice even. He was terrified that he wasn't going to be able to save you, and he couldn’t live with that. It wasn't just about someone else that he cared about dying or about him failing. You understood him, and somewhere along the way, you had unknowingly brought him out of the darkness. You were his beacon of light, and if he lost that, if he lost you, he wasn't sure he'd ever find his way out of the darkness again.

"Yeah? What if I want 'er?" The hunter sneered, caressing your cheek with his knife, pressing the tip into your skin ever so slightly.

"Not an option." Joel growled.

"Seems like it is to me. I could drag 'er outta here right now. There ain't nothing you could do about it."

You felt sick. You couldn't believe you'd let yourself be distracted by Joel being tackled to the ground, and now this disgusting pig had you in a fucking headlock. You'd seen Joel take down hunters and the infected, sometimes effortlessly, so why the hell did you freeze when Joel had been pinned to the floor momentarily? Your feelings for Joel were getting more and more confusing, and you didn't like it one bit, they were going to get you or Joel killed if you carried on like this.

It's not like you wanted to be attracted to Joel, not when there wasn't a single thing you could do about it. Why would Joel ever go for you? He was twenty years your senior, old enough to be your father. There was just no chance in hell. Yet, you couldn't stop yourself from fantasising about him. It wasn't hurting anyone, and it was keeping you somewhat sane, and he'd never know.

"You won't make it out of this room." You heard Joel say in his deep, gruff voice, and it sent shivers down your spine. Your eyes squeezed shut when you felt the man breathing on your neck, the hot air making your stomach twist, bile rising up your throat as he inhaled your scent, his own vile one violating your senses. You clenched your fist and felt the cold blade of your dagger against your arm, the one you'd forgot you had up your sleeve, literally. How big of an idiot was this guy? How didn't he see you had a knife? As Joel and the hunter traded words, you quickly formulated a plan. If you could somehow manage to stab - or at least slash the guy - maybe he'd let go of you, and then Joel could get a shot in.

"Let go of me!" You shouted, struggling slightly, while slipping the knife further down your sleeve. It worked, and you smirked proudly. You raised your eyebrows at Joel before glancing down at your hand, subtly flashing the knife. You looked back at him, then darted your eyes to your captor. Joel took a second, and you knew he was weighing up his options before he nodded slightly. His eyes darted down to the guys leg, and you winked to let him know you understood the plan. The man still had a fucking knife to your throat, and you didn't want to give him any warnings or ideas.

"Don't worry." The hunter said, 'I'll look after 'er good."

Joel nodded to you, and you clenched the knife, stabbing right into the hunter's thigh. His yells of pain echoed around the room, and he released you from his grip, the knife in his hand clattering to the floor. You stumbled forward, kicking the weapon across the room, but you thankfully managed to stay on your feet. You grinned at Joel, feeling victorious, but it was a fleeting feeling.

"Fuckin' bitch!" The hunter shouted and you turned around, but not quick enough. The knife was sticking out of his thigh, but it didn't seem like he felt it, he was too overcome with rage, and the back of your head slammed against the wall as the hunter pinned you by the throat. You gasped for air, the guys hands squeezing the life out of you, spit flying as he screamed in your face.

"I'll fuckin' kill you, you goddamned bitch!"

You tried to pry the man's hands from around your neck, but it was no use. He was too strong, and your vision was fading rapidly. You were barely able to gasp Joel's name, and you were quickly losing consciousness. All you could do was stand there and let the darkness consume you as you thought about Joel. The way he'd try to hide his smile when you did something wrong, or when you said something silly. The way he laughed, how it was the rich sound you rarely got to hear. How he protected you, even though he clearly didn't want to be around you. How you were going to die, not knowing what you did to make him ignore you the past couple of weeks. Not knowing why he had this sudden disdain for you.

But then, the pressure around your neck suddenly disappeared, and you fell to the floor, gasping for air as you clutched your throat, your eyes wide and darting around wildly, searching for Joel.

He appeared on his knees in front of you and grabbed your face, his panicked, brown eyes staring deep down into your soul.. "Hey! Hey! Are you alright? Come on baby, just breathe for me."

His large hands were warm on your cheeks, the hunter's blood that stained them smearing across your skin as he caressed your cheek, but still, you leaned into his touch. He had never been this gentle before; in fact, he'd never really touched you unless being dragged by your wrist as you ran from infected counts. "I'm okay," you managed to say, and Joel sighed with relief.

"We need to move. Can you stand?" Joel asked, and you nodded, eyes closed as you took a few extra slow, deep breaths. "Okay. Take my hand."

You opened your eyes to Joel's outstretched hand and you took it, letting him haul you gently to your feet. He hooked his arm under yours to help you walk, and as you concentrated on walking with shaky legs, Joel guided you to the door. "Wait here." He said, disappearing out the front door to check for any danger.

As he did so, you turned to inspect the chaos you were leaving behind. Your stomach lurched as you saw the blood pooling around the dead man with a clean, almost surgical, maroon slice straight across his neck, and you wondered just how many times Joel had had to do it, to get such a clean cut. Your eyes snapped back to the door, where Joel was staring at you, his eyes wide and sad, like a puppy, before they hardened. "Let's go." Joel said. "We'll find a house to hide out in."

The universe had decided you could both use a break, and less than two hours after the attack, deep inside the seemingly never-ending woods, the two of you came across an unlocked cabin, the keys just sat on the side table. Joel put his finger up to his lips, and you nodded, following his lead as he crept through the front door. He pointed at you, then at the spot you were standing, and you nodded, doing as you were told while Joel checked it out. Neither of you wanted to take any more chances after today.

"Hey, you might wanna come check this out!" Joel's voice echoed through the cabin, and you closed the front door before heading towards the sound of his voice.

The cabin was rustic and run down, and looked to have been abandoned for a decade at least. It had been a hunter's cabin, judging by the animal heads mounted up on the walls, staring down at you with their black, beady eyes that seemed to follow you everywhere. The fireplace was brick, an axe resting against it with piles of wood stacked in front. You turned around and found Joel in the kitchen, staring down at the sink. As you got closer, you heard the familiar sound of a running tap, and you smiled. You'd take any kind of water right now, anything to get rid of this day.

But then you saw it, dancing through the air, rising from the tap. You were convinced you'd imagined it until you saw Joel's fingers rolling together under the water, a look of shock on his face.

"Is that what I think it is?" You asked as you got closer, and Joel nodded. You gingerly held your fingers out, anticipating cold water, not wanting to get your hopes up. But when your fingers hit the warm water, you let out a bewildered laugh, cupping both hands under the water, letting it spill over as it slowly but surely got hotter. "I can't believe it!"

"Yeah, well, we deserved a win eventually." Joel replied. You made eye contact, and the corner of his mouth curled upwards slightly, his eyes darting down to your neck before he took a sharp breath and turned away. "You should go have a shower."

"What about you?" You asked, and he sighed.

"Just go. I'll wash up here."

After stripping off your clothes, you looked at your reflection. Only then did you notice the bruising around your neck, and the blood smeared across your cheeks. You could still feel the way the hunter's hands squeezed so tight that you could feel the life draining from your body. You could still feel the panic and terror you felt and the relief when Joel forced the hunter to let go. The look in Joel's eyes when he held your face, the gentle touch as he caressed your cheeks and brushed your hair out of your face. You thought you'd made your peace with dying long ago, but that was until you almost met death, and it made you realise you didn't want to leave Joel. If Joel was in your life, maybe living was worth it.

You were so lost in thought, staring at your scarred body in the mirror, you didn't hear Joel knock on the door. It was only when the door burst open with Joel shouting your name that you turned around, surprised.

Joel kept his eyes on yours, refusing to let himself cave and look down; although it's all he wanted to do. You knew you should grab the towel, or the shower curtain, anything to cover yourself, but you were frozen, like Joel's gaze was keeping you locked on the spot.

Joel cleared his throat and shoved a bundle of clothes into your arms. “Sorry, I-uh, I thought maybe you were- it doesn't matter. I found those, thought you'd want some clean clothes.”

He left, slamming the door behind him, and you exhaled. You ignored the thoughts creeping in and the heat rising up your body and climbed into the bathtub under the running shower; watching the dirt and blood trickle off your body and down the plughole. Once the water ran clean, you stepped out, patting yourself down with the small towel. You then filled up the bathtub with hot water and then threw your underwear and clothes into it. It wouldn't fully clean them, but it'd be enough for now. You picked up the oversized flannel and pulled it over your shoulders, forgoing the jeans that were way too big for you, even with the help of a belt. You sighed and headed back out to Joel.

The fire was burning, the crackling wood echoing through the cabin. Joel was sitting at the wooden table in front of the window, sipping on a glass of wine. There were two plates of pasta on the table, a glass of wine next to one of them. You padded across the room and dropped into the seat opposite Joel, studying his face as he stared out the window. The sky was pink and orange as it set through the trees, the view almost as beautiful as the one sitting next to you; the light of the sunset cascading over Joel. He turned his head to you, and you glanced down at the food. Joel cleared his throat.

"I found some pasta and wine in the cupboards. It only went out of date a few weeks ago." He explained. "It should be okay for us to eat."

"I'm sure it's fine." You replied, "anything's better than beans again, right?" You leaned forward and took the glass of wine, taking a long sip, basking in the way it burned your throat slightly. It had been so long since you'd had even a sip of alcohol, you could swear your head was already fuzzy.

Like most dinners lately, this one was silent. But this was slightly different, considering you were probably the safest you'd been in a long time, and you were eating actual food off actual plates. If you and Joel were in a better place, it would be almost considered domestic. You might even consider staying here, leaving the QZ far behind. But you weren't, Joel could barely bring himself to talk to you — he couldn't even look at you. You really thought you were turning a corner with him until his behaviour changed one morning without warning.

"We should stay here for a couple of days, then head back to the QZ." Joel said. You sighed and finished your glass of wine, but it wasn't enough.

"Great." You replied, looking around for the bottle of wine. "Then you can go back to pretending I don't exist." You weren't sure where the outburst had come from, but you were pretty sure it had something to do with the alcohol running through your blood.

"Pretending you don't- what? I don't do that!" Joel insisted.

You scoffed. "Oh please, you're not as mysterious as you like to think." You said, although there was little truth to it. "You didn't even know my name in the QZ, yet we were around each other for months! I thought we were getting somewhere, but lately, you've been acting like we're strangers!" You told him.

"What?! Okay, maybe I was a little isolated in the QZ, but it's not like that now!" Joel replied, his fork clattering on the plate when it dropped from his hand. "All I do is worry about your survival!"

"Riiiiight, because you care so much." You said, rolling your eyes.

"It's my job to pro-"

"Your job?" You repeated, offended by his words, although you couldn't place why. "Well, allow me to relieve you of your duty." The chair screeched across the floor as you stood up and grabbed your unfinished plate and glass.

Joel inhaled through his nose and groaned. "That's not what I meant, and you know it."

"Well, I mean it. Leave. I didn't need a babysitter before, and I don't need one now!" You said loudly, heading to the kitchen for a reprieve.

Joel growled and slammed his palms on the table as he stood up, refusing your reprieve, following you to the kitchen. "I'm not leaving you to die out here. Which, you would've already if it wasn't for me. You've proven that multiple times!"

"Maybe," you replied, dropping the plate in the sink, staring at Joel, whose eyes darted away. "But I'd rather die alone than with someone who can't even stand to look at me!"

"I can't look at you because you drive me fucking crazy!" Joel exclaimed, his patience finally having worn thin. "Ever since I heard you moaning in that fucking-" He stopped, his eyes wide and on you as he realised what he said; watching his words dawn on you as your face cracked.

Nausea, or quite possibly embarrassment — rose from your stomach up through your oesophagus, and you drank from the glass of wine that was in front of you — which wasn't quite the best course of action as it didn't sit well on your spinning stomach. Joel had heard you masturbating. That's what he was saying, right? There wasn't anything else he could possibly be referencing. But why would it drive him crazy? Joel could be uptight sometimes, but it didn't seem to be in a "women shouldn't pleasure themselves" way.

You blinked a few times, and Joel's face came into focus. He had closed the gap between you both, now only a few feet away. He looked awkward as he shifted on his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, looking uncomfortable.

"You heard me mast -" You stopped, unable to say the word out loud, and you sighed, feeling ridiculous. "You haven't been talking to me for weeks because you heard me -"

Something clicked in your head, like a light had just been switched on. You hadn't just gotten yourself off once. And at some point, you began to fantasise it was Joel's fingers, or mouth, even his cock instead of your own hand. You were aware a couple of times his name had slipped from your lips, and you'd clasped your hand around your mouth afterwards, praying he hadn't heard you.

It was beginning to seem very likely he had heard you, and something in you shifted from embarrassment to…something else, and you arched your eyebrow, finishing off the glass of wine for some extra courage.

"You heard me say your name.” You said, arching your eyebrow. Joel stared before he nodded slowly.

“I heard.” He confirmed, refusing to break eye contact. The air in the kitchen had shifted; it was thick with tension, and Joel wondered where this was going.

You hummed and tilted your head. “What did you do?” You asked, smirking when it was clear it caught Joel off guard.

"What?”

“What did you do, Joel?” You asked, leaning back against the counter. Joel's eyes darted to your bare legs before slowly dragging them up your body, stopping at the three open buttons that exposed your cleavage.

“I thought I heard you crying, so I came to check on you.” He explained. “When I got to your tent, I realised you weren't, and I went back to my tent.” His eyes darted to your face before he closed the gap between you until he was practically on top of you. “I tried to ignore you, but I couldn't help myself.” He lifted your chin with his index and middle fingers, so you were staring at him through your lashes. Your lips parted slightly as your chest rose and fell, your heart pounding against your rib cage. “I kept hearing your moans and thinking about you in that tent, and it got me so - I had to -”

His eyes were dark, full of lust, and you instinctively licked your lips slightly. "You- couldn't help yourself, huh?" You asked. Joel arched his eyebrow and tentatively reached his hand up to your cheek. He traced his finger over your cheek gently, and you closed your eyes as you inhaled. "Hearing you moan my name," He said, running a path down your jaw to your neck, "it sounded too good."

You reached up, closing the gap between your lips. Without hesitation, Joel reciprocated the kiss, his hand still around your neck as the other slipped around your hips, resting on the bottom of your back, pulling you closer to him. His bulge pressed into your crotch and you could feel it getting harder as the kiss deepened. You tugged his brown, leather jacket from his shoulders while Joel started an assault on your neck. If this lasted forever, it still wouldn't be long enough.

"Is this a good idea?" You asked through the gasps as he nipped and sucked at your neck.

"Mhmm, giving me some mixed signals here." he mumbled against your skin before pulling away, his mouth inches from yours. "I think it's a fucking great idea. Don't you?"

“I'm not sure.” You confessed. Joel cupped your cheek with his hand and stroked your cheek with his thumb, his eyes soft, even if still full of lust. Was this a good idea? He'd spent weeks ignoring you, and it felt like Hell — but the way he kissed you, the way he touched you; it felt like Heaven.

"I don't care if it's a good idea or not." You replied, and Joel grinned.

"Good," he replied, "Because you have no idea how much I need you right now."

"Then show me." You said, and Joel growled before he pressed his lips against yours and instigated another passionate kiss, illicting a moan from you. He picked you up and dropped you onto the counter, spreading your legs so he could step in between them.

The kiss was messy, teeth and tongues clashing together as both sets of hands roamed each other's bodies. Joel's hands cupped and massaged your breasts as yours unbuttoned his jeans, using your heels to push them down his legs. One hand trailed a path from your breast to your stomach, dancing around the place you needed him the most.

"No panties, huh?" He said into your mouth, his finger tracing a path up your slit so gently, it was like he was using a feather. "I never would've known you were such a slut." His finger grazed your clit, and he grinned as you bucked your hips.

"Maybe if you'd acknowledged my existence, you might have found out earlier." You replied, grabbing his bulge through the fabric and squeezed, tight. Joel gasped into your mouth as he thrusted into your hand, and it was your turn to smirk against his mouth. If he could tease you, you could do the same, you thought as you slipped your hand into his boxers, relishing the feeling of his cock in your grasp.

Joel growled, his hips bucking before he shoved two fingers inside you without warning. A yelp mixed with a moan slipped from your mouth as you threw your head back, and Joel groaned. He kept his pace up, pushing his fingers in and out of you, feeling your walls clench around them as he watched your face contort with pleasure, your moans echoing throughout the kitchen. Not even his fantasies could have prepared him for how incredible this felt. If using just his fingers made him — made you feel this good, he couldn't wait to use his cock.

But he would wait. For weeks, you had — albeit unknowingly, driven him to the brink of insanity. Clouded his mind so he couldn't focus on anything; which is why he didn't notice the threat today, which almost cost you your life. So now, he had to drive you insane in the only way he could.

He dropped to his knees and pulled you by your legs so you were hanging off the counter. He then hoisted your legs over his shoulders, and you watched Joel as he studied your cunt — the look in his eyes resembled one of a wild animal, one that was finally allowed out of its cage, to roam free as its right. Yet, he was biting his lip; almost like he was holding onto that last tiny bit of control he had left. But you wanted — no, you needed the wild animal, and so you tangled your fingers into his hair. He looked up at you, locking eyes as he let you guide his head to where you needed him to be.

Shivers ran down your spine as his beard tickled you as he dragged his tongue over the skin on the inside of your thighs. Once again, he touched every piece of you, but not where you needed.

“Joel,” you whined, the grip on his hair getting tighter as you bucked your hips, "Please." You begged.

“Oh baby, you're already so wet.” he tutted, his finger running through your folds and teasing your entrance before he lifted it to your mouth and pushed it between your lips. “Your pretty pussy is glistening for me.”

You tasted a hint of your juices as you wrapped your tongue around his finger, keeping your gaze on him as you did. He groaned, imagining how good your mouth would feel wrapped around his cock. He pulled his finger out, and you gasped when he pushed it inside you. When he flicked your clit with the tip of his tongue, you gasped and arched your back. “Oh shit, fuck, Joel.”

Every sense was heightened as Joel flattened his tongue and lapped at you. Your eyes rolled to the back of your head when he swirled his tongue around your clit. You pushed yourself against him, practically hanging off the counter, making Joel grab your ass with both hands as he buried his face into you. With his beard grazing against you and his tongue pushing you further to release, your thighs gripped his head. Every single part of you was on fire as his assault on your cunt continued, and you could feel your orgasm brewing.

So could Joel, which was apparent as his pace got quicker, bringing in his fingers to help finish the job. With his thumb circling your clit and his tongue deep inside you, you reached your climax, Joel's name spilling from your mouth. As you threw your head back, grinding yourself against his face; you saw stars, all while Joel kept up the relenting pace.

He finally pulled away and stood up, grinning as he leaned towards you. His beard was glistening, and when he kissed you, you could taste yourself on him, mixing with the wine you had with dinner. Joel hooked his arms under your legs and scooped you off the counter; carrying you fireman style out the kitchen, through the sitting room and into the bedroom, where he dropped you on the bed. He crawled on top of you and dipped his head to kiss you. It was a soft, sweet kiss, one that you didn't want to end, so when it did, you whimpered, and Joel smiled softly.

“You still wanna do this?” He whispered. “We can stop if you want to.”

You leaned up on your elbows and gave him your answer with a kiss. He pressed his palm on your cheek and deepened the kiss, pushing you back down as he did. The two of you made out like two teenagers, and you could feel Joel's cock hardening against you. You slipped your hand in between your bodies and gripped his cock, rubbing the head against your entrance. Joel groaned, his head falling into your shoulder. He bit down as you pushed his cock inside yourself, your moans harmonising, the sensation almost too much.

Joel took over, grabbed your hands, and pinned them above your head. The animalistic look was in his eyes again, grunting with every thrust, his grip against your wrists tightening. You closed your eyes, and Joel growled.

“You thought about this while fucking yourself.” He said, his voice low. “Open your eyes and look at me while I fuck you.”

You opened your eyes and were met by Joel's big, brown ones that were now practically black. He fucked you harder, thrusting in and out as his thumb once again circled your clit. There was a ninety-eight percent chance that someone on the other side of the forest could hear everything, but at this moment neither of you cared. After weeks of awkwardness, of fantasising about each other while you touched yourselves, this felt right, like something had finally clicked into place — and you'd be damned if this was the first and only time it happened. Now you'd had a taste, you couldn't ever go back.

Joel picked up the pace, and you could once again feel your orgasm rising. You pulled Joel closer, your foreheads touching, your vision falling out of focus as you stared into Joel's eyes, but you refused to look away.

“Fuck, Joel, I'm so close” You whimpered, bucking your hips to meet his thrust, his cock hitting deeper each time you moved.

“If you keep doing that, I'm gonna -” Joel grunted, your synced thrusts getting faster. “Fuck, baby.” Joel moaned. “I'm gonna, shit -”

“Let go for me, Joel.” You whispered in his ear. “Come for me, and next time, I'll show you what I can do with my mouth.”

It only took a couple more thrusts before you and Joel finished together, and he slumped on top of you, breathing heavily. You lifted his head up, brushed his hair out his face, and smiled up at him, hearts practically in your eyes.

“So…” you said, and he reciprocated the smile. “Sooo…” He repeated.

“Are you going to be all weird with me again?” You teased, and Joel arched his eyebrow, a smirk dancing on his lips.

“I don't think so,” Joel replied, dipping his head for another kiss. “Especially if I want this to happen again.”

“Oh yeah? What makes you think we're doing this again?” You asked, and Joel grinned.

“Oh we're definitely doing that again.” Joel answered, and you giggled as he rolled off you and reached a blanket that was on a chair next to the bed. He flung it over the two of you before pulling you into his chest and pressing his lips against your temple. “I wanna know what you can do with that mouth.” He mumbled.

You giggled again, your heart fluttering as he linked his fingers around yours and kissed your knuckles. “Keep this up, and you'll find out.” You replied before a yawn slipped out.

“Alright you little tease, I think I can hold out until tomorrow.” Joel chuckled. “Right now, I think you need to sleep.”

You snuggled into Joel's chest, his fingers running through your hair. You never thought you'd be in this position, in bed with Joel Miller. You knew there was a lot more to talk about, but right now, you didn't care. You just focused on Joel's heartbeat under your head, on his fingers in your hair. Focused on how — even though there were still many dangers to staying in this cabin, it was still the safest you'd been in a long time.

The last thing you heard as you drifted into a peaceful sleep was a quiet confession from Joel; one you weren't sure you were actually meant to hear. “I'll always keep you safe. Even if it means giving my life.”

#joel miller #joel miller fic #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #the last of us fic #tlou fic #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #smut writing #my writing*

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hazelfoureyes · 18 days

Text

HateJokeFuck

*very sacrilegious*

Alastor knew the best way to have a laugh on Halloween! Bother the fuck out of Lucifer. Literally. Nuns don’t wear pants, right?

For my sweetest @minkdelovely

「warnings/promises: TopLucifer x BottomNun!Alastor, hate fucking, clawing skin, wings come out, HCU (hazel cinematic universe), threats to tear Alastor apart, The Lords Prayer bastardized, anal creampie, still ace ass Alastor, rough sex」

Minors dni

Alastor wasn’t particularly excited for a Halloween party at the hotel, even if he knew watching the others could be fun.

But then he had an idea to make the evening positively entertaining.

Which led him to where he was now, pressed against Niffty’s various cleaning supplies in a hallway closet, ass pounded by his furious majesty.

Alastor had thought it would be funny to wear a nun’s habit, having hand stitched little X’s and an inverted cross in red thread to personalize the outfit.

While heaven did exile Lucifer and systemically murder his subjects, Luci still had a soft spot for what was now religious imagery. Devoting your life and body to the Lord was something he thought to be quite admirable.

So when Alastor walked into the party dressed in holy attire, Luci saw red. And black. And white. The colors of Alastor’s sinful costume. Dressed as Dadcula, Dad Dracula, obviously (Which was just Lucifer in a black cape and bat ear headband), Luci marched up to the radio demon.

“Hallway, now.” He grabbed Alastor by the arm, the nun leaving the party as quickly as he had arrived. Charlie saw the men rush out the room and worried a fight was brewing.

“Yes, your majesty?” Alastor steepled his hands together, “what’s the matter, pray tell?”

Lucifer smacked his hands down, “Stop that! You are making a mockery of centuries of worship!” Sputtering, he gestured up and down. “Take that off right fucking now!” He stomped his foot and managed a calming breath, “Please.”

The grin should have been enough to tell Luci he’d walked into a trap, “Who am I to deny my liege?” Alastor found the zipper in the back and pulled it down, letting the smock open and fall forward off his arms. Lucifer’s eyes followed the habit down from neck, to bare chest, to toned stomach, to-

“Are you-!” Lucifer’s hands came out to hide Alastor’s exposed cock, “naked!?” He seethed.

A voice called from the ballroom entrance, “Dad? Is everything alright?” Charlie was positive her father and Alastor were already tearing into each other.

To her credit, they would be soon enough.

Panicked and terrible under pressure, Lucifer opened the closest door and shoved both himself and the now nude Alastor into it.

It was, to his despair, a broom closet. Perhaps two people could fit comfortably had it not been occupied with a shelving system of supplies, mops, brooms, and a large outdated vacuum cleaner.

As soon as he pushed them in and closed the door, he found his body pressing into Alastor’s bare ass.

Alastor was certain there was a God now, and he a favored child. What hilarious developments. Even he couldn’t orchestrate such comedy gold.

“Oh, Father, is this confessional? I have a mighty long list.”

Lucifer smacked at Alastor’s back, “Do not call me Father!”

“Daddy?” Alastor asked, coyly looking over his shoulder to the smaller man.

“Dad?” Charlie echoed.

Lucifer’s hands shot up to cover Alastor’s mouth, “Shhh, or I will kill you once and for aAAH,” a moan breaking through his sentence as Alastor ground back into his crotch.

Alastor mumbled into Luci’s palm.

“What’s wrong?” Vaggie joined, her and Charlie now feet from the door.

“I thought Dad and Al were out here bickering…”

Alastor began grinding himself into Luci, feeling something there for him in the King of Hell’s lap.

Lucifer couldn’t help the reaction, Alastor had been intentionally winding him up for weeks.

Reaching for the newspaper and slipping, hand coming down onto Luci’s crotch. Needing something on a high shelf and just having to press his much larger body upon Luci’s smaller frame. He even sat on Lucifer once, joking, “Oh I didn’t see you there, hmm.” A size joke and groping combo.

He was touch starved and primed, so when he looked down to see skin and curves and warmth offered to him, he simply lost it.

Angel Dust had been so kind as to teach him the word hatefuck recently. And he was going to hatefuck the sass out of Alastor.

Was he using that correctly? Unimportant, a fleeting concern as he fought to undo his belt with one hand.

“They’re probably here somewhere fucking around, don’t worry about it babe. Come back and enjoy your party.” Vaggie, a psychic of some sorts, led her love away just in time.

Luci wasn’t sure he could keep it up knowing his daughter was just outside the door. But that little obstacle was gone. When Luci didn’t immediately remove his hand Alastor snaked his tongue out and around his fingers.

“Gross,” Lucifer took back his hand, thinking for a second as he stared at the wet fingers before sliding them between Alastor’s cheeks. The taller man shivered. “Did you…” the realization he had been played hit him like a piano, oddly familiar but still quite heavy. “Why are you already lubed and stretched?”

Alastor reached down slowly, face smug as he slipped a tiny bottom from a single garter belt on his right thigh.

“Holy water?” Luci took it from Alastor before his face fell flat, nose curling as he sniffed the air, “Is this coconut lube oil? You’re foul.” He used his teeth to unscrew the lid and poured the contents down Alastor’s lower back, “I hope you understand. You make me regret millennia of human free will more than I already did.”

“Your majesty I cannot get any harder, please stop the dirty talk.” Alastor shimmied his hips, elusive plush black-topped, red-bottomed tail swishing along.

Lucifer was briefly mesmerized, why was it so cute? Alastor should enter every room ass first, tail out. He’d be much more palatable. Blinking away the thought he swiped his leaking member up and down the demon’s ass as he spread lubricant on himself.

“I hate you, please don’t forget that.” Lucifer lined himself up and pressed in, groaning as he effortlessly was taken to the hilt. Alastor had prepared well. Another second to imagine Alastor in the nuns' habit, legs spread and hands busy working himself open for Lucifer. Alastor’s breath hitched as Luci’s twitched and grew slightly in him.

Alastor hadn’t started the night planning to get fucked. Once the outfit was on and he decided pants weren’t necessary, he began to consider all the ways he could fluster Lucifer. Nothing would be funnier than making the king of hell fuck a nun.

So here he was, gripping the shelves as Lucifer’s hips snapped into him.

“Oh fuck,” Luci moaned, Alastor was so tight and hot, how could someone so horrid feel so damn good? His nails dug into Alastor’s hips, pulling him back to meet every thrust.

Lucifer was enjoying himself. It felt good, Alastor not numb to pleasure, but he wanted to rile up Luci even more.

“Our Lucifer, who art in hell,” Alastor began his bastardized prayer. It worked, Luci’s hips slowing.

“Alastor.” He warned.

“Sullied be thy name; my king shall cum,” Alastor’s grin was audible. A growl came from behind him as a faint glow of fire illuminated his face, “thy sin be done,” he choked, Luci’s hips snapping into him with a sting to his ass. The fallen angel’s wings erupting and knocking the supplies off the shelves around them, no space for them to flex. Even though he knew Lucifer couldn’t hear him over the sounds of crashing bottles and broom handles, even though he could barely speak through the painfully rough fucking he was taking, he finished his prayer.

“On earth as it is in hell,” the sentence was squeaked out in staccato, air sucked in with every stretch of his hole by his king. Alastor gripped the metal shelf side so tightly his fingers were losing blood flow, the rage behind Luci’s punishing cock making his eyes roll back.

Lucifer gripped onto Alastor’s tail with a silent show of force, “You will stop this sacrilege.” Words forced through clenched teeth, “Or I will rent your dirty existence,” a pause to momentarily bury himself as deep as he could reach, “body and soul, asunder.”

Alastor couldn’t respond, mind slipping into a new realm entirely. He understood a threat had been made, and nodded as best he could with his head hung low between his hunched shoulders. He was making sounds as Lucifer’s nails cut into him, but he couldn’t place from where they came, pain or pleasure, only that his chest rumbled and his mouth was going dry.

As his hips returned to their literally bruising speed, Lucifer felt his orgasm nearing. He’d never been so angry and so determined to fuck his own seed into someone else. It felt like giving a punishment, like a humiliation. He wanted Alastor to wobble out of the fucking closet, cum dripping out much later from the previously unreached place Lucifer marked.

Alastor’s body was hit up against the shelves as his knees gave out, Lucifer’s strength too much for him to withstand. As Lucifer came his wings pulled back before coming down and in. Alastor felt a heat deep in him, pooling in his guts. On his arms and forehead the soft touch of feathers caressed sweat slick skin.

They both stayed connected, only their chests moving as they heaved in and out. Lucifer waited for himself to go soft before he pulled out, forehead resting on Alastor’s back, both men on their knees.

Sometime after Luci’s wings folded back in and disappeared, Alastor regained enough sense to speak.

“Amen.”

Lucifer pulled him to the floor by his neck, fist cocked back when the door opened.

“Oh sir, not again*. Your jokes are really not funny.” Niffty scurried over Lucifer’s back to retrieve a roll of paper towels before flitting out the room. Before closing the door she huffed, “Please stop telling them. No one ever laughs.”

“Dad, why do you smell like a piña colada?” Charlie leaned into Lucifer, taking in the aroma. “Wait a minute…. I know that smell.” Angel brightened,’“Awww baby’s first hatefuck!!”

*Alastor’s other bad joke

ଳ⊹₊ ⋆ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar , @straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove @saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings

@looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith ,

#nun alastor #radioapple #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor smut #alastor #hazbin alastor

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aphroditelovesu · 7 months

Text

Yandere Criston Cole w/Targaryen!Reader Headcanons (Romantic)

❝ 🐉 — lady l: I dreamed about this for some reason and had to write it down. It probably doesn't make sense, but I hope you like it! Now I want to write a oneshot of the scene of them sleeping together T-T. Good reading and sorry for any mistakes! :)

❝tw: Criston is the sworn shield of the Reader, mention of parental neglect, jealousy, obsessive, possessive and delusional behavior, murder, implied conspiracy, slight nsfw and kidnap.

❝🐉 pairing: yandere!criston cole x female!reader.

Criston doesn't remember when he fell in love with you, he just knew that since the first meeting he longed for you in a way he had never longed for anyone. Cole has become a ghost of what he used to be before you met him. He doesn't remember what it was like and he doesn't care. All he wants is you. His sweet, innocent princess.

All he knew was that you were everything he ever wanted in life. Having you as his wife, seeing you pregnant with his babies, who would have your silver hair and his eyes, or maybe the opposite. He wanted to grow old by your side. You were everything he wanted.

You are so perfect. So perfect for him, his beautiful silver princess. He wants nothing more than to protect you, to keep you in a safe place where only he can watch you. Where only he can adore your silver hair and purple eyes. Where only he can long for you. Where you would depend on him forever.

He knows he's sick, that he shouldn't have such thoughts for the person he's supposed to protect, but he can't help it. Criston cannot fight the feelings that consume him from the inside out. He wants you, he wants you to look at him the same way he looks at you, for you to love him the same way he loves you so much.

Criston can't hold back the overwhelming jealousy he feels when he sees another man by your side. You were his, not theirs. His to love and protect. His jealousy was something he had absolutely no control over, but was it really his fault? That's a good thing, isn't it? His jealousy shows how much he loves you and how much he cares about you and values you like no one else does. He hated his family, his father and his sister, they didn't pay enough attention to you and it infuriated him. You were perfect, a perfect princess, a perfect Queen, how can they be so blind?

But everything was fine. It was a good thing they didn't value you, because that meant he would. That he would be the only one to do it. And the gods be blessed for it, for it was your father's constant neglect that brought you into his arms. And he would never let you leave.

For one night, during Rhaenyra and Laenor's wedding, you felt alone and abandoned. Everyone was paying attention to the bride and groom, as they should be, and perhaps you had drunk too much wine. It didn't matter for it was the night you wrapped yourself in the protective embrace of your sworn shield. Criston, as always, accompanied you to your room and he would be guarding the door, but you invited him in. Something you had never done. In disbelief, Cole entered and closed the door behind him. You looked at each other and Criston saw the anguish, the pain in your eyes and, without thinking twice, he approached your fragile figure and wrapped you in a bear hug. He whispered a few gentle words into your ear, and you shivered. Before he knew it, yorus lips were on his.

The kiss was passionate and full of lust on both sides. Criston's hands moved up from your waist to your face, deepening the kiss even more. He had tasted your sweet lips and was already hooked. He helped you remove your dress and his armor, he almost came when he saw your body. So perfect and so untouched. He worshiped your body with his fingers and his mouth, circling your nipple with his tongue and making you wet by touching your sex. He knelt in front of you and used all his skills to make you tremble. He didn't stop until you came on his tongue and he enjoyed your juices.

Criston laid you down on your bed and kissed your neck, your breasts and your mouth with love. His hand touching your sensitive pussy and opening you with his fingers, gently penetrating your tight insides. He wanted you to feel nothing but pleasure, to know how much you were loved by him. And he would do just that. Once you were ready for him, Criston positioned himself between your legs and entered you slowly and gently, making sure you got used to his length. When he was buried inside your heat, Cole made love to you for the first time. He wanted to make you see the stars and that's what he did.

He was over the moon. Sometimes he feared it was all a dream, but it hadn't been. He had tasted you, taken your virginity and didn't feel an ounce of regret. You were his completely. Criston became even more possessive of you after that night, but he justified it by saying it was because he loved you. Even after he mercilessly killed a knight during a joust after he made a move on you, he continued to say it was because he loved you. And you loved him back, didn't you?

Criston desperately wanted to marry you. Taking you as his wife, but he was considered of low birth and was a royal guard. He could never marry you, not while you were still Princess of the Seven Kingdoms. Your title kept him away from you and he hated it. He hated all those suitors who thought they could steal you from him. Criston wanted nothing more than to beat them to death. He tried to convince you to run away with him, to go to Essos where you could become his wife, where your titles wouldn't matter.

But you said no. Being rejected, having his marriage proposal so brutally rejected hurt him like nothing before had. You were his, what right did you have to reject him? He was hurt and angry, but he didn't hate you. He could never hate you. Criston needed to make you see that he was the only one for you, that he was your future. He didn't want to scare you, he loved you too much to hurt you, but you needed to understand the truth, understand your true future. Your future was with him.

One night, you were sleeping soundly in your bed and he entered your room. He looked at an empty wine jug and smiled. You had taken it all, you wouldn't wake up for a few hours. Criston kissed your forehead affectionately and whispered how much he loved you in his sleep, he picked you up and escaped the castle in disguise, with you in his arms dressed like a servant and your hair tied up and hidden. When you opened your eyes, you were on a ship. Criston beside you, smiling like a fool in love, seeing your despair, he just assured you that everything would be fine.

There was no escaping him. You were his and Criston would do anything to keep you with him. His sweet, innocent princess. So perfect for him. He couldn’t wait to marry you and fill you with babies.

#a song of ice and fire #house of the dragon #yandere house of the dragon #yandere hotd #asoiaf #yandere a song of ice and fire #yandere asoiaf #yandere criston cole #yandere criston cole x reader #yandere criston cole headcanons #criston cole x reader #yandere headcanons #romantic yandere #targaryen!reader #headcanons #hotd

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joonipertree · 8 months

Text

Michael

Tags: Fluff, crack, absolutely stupid. Enjoy.

"michael"

a blank stare.

"michael manjiro." you said and promptly burst out laughing, leaning against your boyfriend who simply turned back to Draken and continued talking, face on his palm and body not budging at your weight.

toman chose not to mention your maniacal snorts and the uncharacteristic way their leader didn't pay attention to his partner. The one person he looked at every time he talked to them, the person he would give his food to, the person that he has any inclination in taking care of.

If there was a fight going on, they weren't getting involved. If a breakup was to happen, they would need a way to steer a sunken ship that would have their captain dangling from the side. Mikey and you fought but it was never public, nor did it last more than it takes you time to bat your eyes and cling to him.

"Can I please for the love of god ask what's so funny? Mikey looks two seconds away from murdering kenny." Emma was the only one who had the guts to ask.

You got off mikey's back and stared at his side profile that was indeed glaring daggers at the vice captain. ooooh, you didn't realise there was trouble in paradise.

"Oh my god, Kenchin did something? In this economy? To you? How exciting."

"I didn't do anything, he's not mad….he's just taking his frustrations out on me because he's fucking soft for you.”

“You sound whipped, bro.” You said with a snort. “Couldn’t be me.”

A hand comes to squish your cheeks together. Your boyfriend finally looks you dead in the eyes, expression blank but edges soft. Your pout was even more puckered up and you made kissy sounds to ask for love.

The boy didn't budge.

How fucking dare he.

"What's my name?" Mikey was not going to let this go.

“Michael."

"It is not."

"That's what Mikey is short for."

"what the fuck is this conversation?" emma murmured.

“I’ll give you a kiss if you call me anything but that white boy trash name."

Your lips quirked up, "Michael Manjiro." and you were back to giggling uncontrollably.

Toman had never seen Mikey give you a stare that unamused, you were his baby so of course he could never feel anything but complete and utter adoration for you.

He was still adoring, considering his rough calloused hands cradled your face but the vein popping out did not hide his irritation.

“No.”

“I said your birth name, I have done nothing wrong.”

“You barely call me Manjiro, it’s always when you’re serious. You are most definitely not serious right now.”

“Michael Manjiro is a meticulously crafted name that was forged from what’s yours to sound like the name of the dude from Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles. How is that not serious?”

“It has been three days, please for the love of god, call me anything else.” The gang never thought they’d hear their leader sound that desperate.

They’ve seen him cling to you and literally stop a fight just so he could go and hang out with you. They have seen many sides of Michael since you two started dating. But they have never heard their commander beg. They didn’t even realise he was capable of that and that you held all the power in Tokyo simply for being you.

The fear they had for you had grown, wondering if this was a torture device that could be used against them when an enemy attacks. Were you the enemy? Were you the devil toying with a poor man’s heart? Should they be worshiping you now??

“Mmmm, okay bro.”

And with that, they saw the fall of the most feared gang leader in Tokyo. The Invincible Mikey had been left for dead.

You squish his face.

"my lil baby, why you so angy huh? is it cuz I called you a thing that lives in the sewers?"

mikey felt his body melt at the pet name, leaning against your palms and deciding to ignore the second statement.

something caught his eye though.

both his hands cupped your face and you shut your eyes to enjoy how big and warm they were. he was always engulfing in his love, never scared to radiate his feelings onto you.

mikey told you once that he had a chance to live a new life and he wanted to feel unapologetically. you loved that his feelings for you were felt with no hesitation.

"is this some weird mating ritual?" hanma asked with his usual disgusted tone.

your hands squished your boyfriend's cheek harder in defiance.

mikey swiped his thumb under your eyes, the pressure soothing your tight skin and making your cheeks relax completely.

"when was the last time you slept, love?"

oh fuck.

"last night." You said in a meek voice.

mikey hummed and his thumb caressed the apple of your cheeks gently and you hoped if you stayed still long enough that he'd forget about you.

"how long?"

ofc he'd never forget u. fuck him and his undying love for you.

"the appropriate amount of time."

he said your full name with a warning tone and your bottom lip wobbled because my god, mikey using anyone's proper name? unheard of.

"there you are, I was looking for you." a voice chimed in just as you were praying to the eldritch gods. chifuyu had earned himself the title of best friend right then and there. a blessing from the universe, your saviour.

"what volume are you on now? are you done with the manga?

you hoped michael killed him.

your boyfriend stared at you, daring you to answer the question. you could just lie but in any case, you had been found out. mikey knew how you functioned. if a manga was good enough, you would sacrifice sleep and all worldly possessions to finish it.

"I did finish it." you mumbled, begging fuyu to read the room.

"in three days? god, it took me a week. so tell me---"

mikey threw a shoe at chifuyu, it landed square in the face.

#tokyorev headcanons #mikey headcanon #mikey x reader #tokyo manji gang #tokyo rev fluff #mikey imagines #mikey x you #tokyo rev x you #sano manjiro #mikey fluff #sano manjiro x reader #manjiro sano x reader #manjiro sano #tokrev manjiro #mikey tokyo revengers #tokyo revengers x reader #sano mikey manjiro

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niqhtlord01 · 7 days

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Humans are weird: Video Games Part 11

Alien: So what is this one about? Human: Vampires in the wild west. Alien: Sounds interesting. Human: You’d think so, but when the main characters are as animated as the undead monsters they fight it’s pretty hard to take them seriously. Alien: From your own admission they are fighting vampire cowboys…..how serious were you expecting it to be? Human: ……. Touché. ---------------------

Alien: What is “The Quarry”? Human: Murder porn and sadness. Alien: ……………… ------------------------

Alien: “Boltgun”? Human: A man too angry to die because of what a sassy bitch he is. Alien: How does being sassy make you avoid death? Human: Because even death is afraid of being mocked so hard. ---------------------

Alien: Why would anyone want to play an aquatic predator? Human: You ever just look at someone and wonder what they’d taste like? Alien: I believe that is called cannibalism. Human: Not unless you’re a giant fish. ---------------------

Alien: Why does the tiny creature have a machine gun? Human: To stop you from eating it. Alien: Most effective. ---------------------

Alien: I heard this one is a popular game. Human: Eh, I guess. Alien: What do you mean “eh”? Alien: There have been five of them made. Human: It’s mostly made for people that like to watch a slow mo shot of a bullet going through a man’s balls over and over. Alien: What sadistic beings are you?!? Human: You should let me tell you about Meat Boy sometime for more context. ---------------------

Alien: This one looks cute. Alien: It’s about a brother in sister in your primitive era. Human: And a shit load of rats. Alien: What? Human: Yeah, you can make the rats devour a man whole as he screams and begs for his life. Alien: I…..but…..just….why? ----------------------

Alien: Why on florps name would someone want to play a game about manual labor? Alien: is not the point of your entertainment games to seek enjoyment? Human: Some people feel pleasure from a job well done. Alien: That is the stupidest thing I have ever heard. Human: Didn’t your people worship a rock a couple centuries back because when the light hit it the thing sparkled? Alien: ………touché. -------------------------

Alien: I wish to escape this bunker. Human: You just need to find some dynamite and a plunger to trigger it. Alien: Sounds easy enough. Human: And avoid the ancient giant rat god stalking the halls of the bunker. Alien: What is with your people and rats?!!?!?!? ----------------------

Alien: What is this “Crackdown 3” about? Human: A cops fantasy about how they view themselves. Alien: How so? Human: They see themselves fighting crime when more often they help prop up a totalitarian regime. Alien: Did not the second one have monsters in it? Human: That’s how they see poor people. Alien: Holy gargle…..that’s messed up. --------------------

Alien: What is this one? Human: Designing overly elaborate death machines to murder guys in metal suits with swords. Alien: Is that not what we did to your people during the third age of your species? Human: Come again? ------------------

Alien: Is this game about zombies? Human: More a social experiment. Alien: How so? Human: It has no set rules or goal in a zombie apocalypse, but more often you find people choosing the worst things to do to each other for shits and giggles. Alien: It can’t be all that bad. Human: I watched a group of high level players capture a new player, strip them of their gear, and force them to drink bleach under pain of death for a meme. Alien: ……………….. ----------------------

Human: How’s the new game goin- Alien: *Grabs human friend and sprays them with foam Alien: Good…you’re not one of them. Human: spits out foam One of what? Alien: A shape shifter! Alien: They were everywhere on the station and that made me wonder if those bastards are here in the home as well! Human: Wouldn’t say they’re all bastards. Table: Yeah, some of us are actually nice fellows. *Alien and Human both scream*

#humans are space oddities #humans are insane #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #scifi #funny #niqhtlord01 #video games

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angelgoeslewd · 2 months

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Omegaverse Alpha!Chuuya, Dazai, and Ranpo Headcanons

⚠️ warnings: 18+ concepts and scenarios, Minors DNI! Omegaverse, GN!reader, mentions of heats and ruts, slick, knots, and sexual/explicit scenarios.

[Fyodor and Nikolai here!]

Chuuya

ARE U READY TO BE THE WORLD’S MOST SPOILED OMEGA??? :D ‘CAUSE BABY- YOU ARE!!!

Chuuya knows that he can be very absent in your relationship, both physically, mentally, and emotionally. But that doesn’t stop him from always trying to make up for it!!! Unlike OTHER ALPHAS-

Chuuya is honestly probably the best Alpha you can have. He’s very sweet!! He worships you, he’s caring towards your needs, sympathetic to any issues you have, will absolutely spoil the shit out of you, protective in all the right ways, very stable financially — the list goes on and on. However… it is extremely hard to break down his walls and actually GET to the point where you two are in a committed relationship. Between his trust issues and being a literal executive for the MAFIA- he isn’t the type to fall in love very fast or very easily. He wants to be. He romanticizes love to an extreme; but he cannot bring himself to actually relax and let down his walls in order to experience it. Basically, you gotta fight for this boy, but it is oh so worth it.

I know most people probably think you have to manage dancing around his outbursts and anger issues but honestly? Those are for people who Are Not You™️. You do have to talk him down from crushing the Alphas who mention you in the wrong sort of light to death, however.

They end up dead anyway. Yeah you really kinda have to be morally grey to date this man. And that might be a deal breaker for some. While I see a lot of fics talking him out of the dangerous life of the Port Mafia and having him settle down, I really don’t see that as a viable option. One, I firmly believe that Chuuya sees his place in the Port Mafia as one he’s earned, all by himself, without relying on anyone and proving himself worthy. The emotional ties to his job alone make it hard for him to even consider leaving. Two, even with all the danger, Chuuya prides himself on being able to keep you safe despite all of that. You will never be taken. You will never be used. He keeps you close enough so that you are technically protected, but far enough removed that you cannot be a pawn in this sick twisted game that Mori plays. And… it’s kinda stable for him. For you. A generous income that leaves you leaves you flush and living lavishly beyond your wildest dreams. He can’t give that up. So really, you have to be ok when he ends up having to murder a few people for his job. Not that you would know about it first hand. And he’s never malicious. He has his own moral code that will never be broken.

Heats???? Ruts??? This man will shower you in whatever you want during that time. No matter what, he will always be there for you. Uninterrupted personal time with Chuuya. His Omega always comes first. He is such a generous lover too. He’ll knot you as many times as you wish. He’ll make you breakfast in bed and make sure you hydrate. Loves eating you out until you’re begging for his knot, ass up and face down. Give you all his clothes for the nest you make. He’s so in tune with his Omega that his ruts will line up with your heats very early on in the relationship, so you might want to invest in child-prevention or otherwise both you and him will be looking at parenthood. 😳 He wouldn’t mind that. Considering how long it would take for you to get to that point… but he wouldn’t let you know that.

Dazai

Honestly, I love this man ok? He was my first BSD love and he’ll always have a place in my heart because of that. But my god. He is an absolute horrible Alpha.

Dazai himself is very guarded. He loves to have an air of nonchalance, but that’s all it is. An image. He is a fortress of walls that will never truly come down, unlike Chuuya, who eventually lets you in fully. Considering his past and his experiences, being able to break through a few of those will be a victory. Dazai, on the other hand, needs a partner who is okay with never truly knowing his own desires. A partner who’s ok with always being held at an arm’s length, because Dazai feels like if he loves you too much, something bad will happen.

Not only the emotional distance, but a physical one too. Dazai loves to be touchy, but at home, he also needs time to regenerate his own physical stimulation. It might be strange to some that he seems more affectionate and physical in public, but Dazai wants to trust you. He wants to feel comfortable enough to not always be what he feels like he should be. He might come off as cold or even uncaring, but he just needs time, no matter how much he loves you. And trust me, it will pay off.

And we also have to consider his job. Unlike Chuuya, who’s rather stable in his self-image and work life, Dazai almost is like Ranpo in a sense, where he feels like something bad will happen if he’s not available to ADA at every second of the day. Unlike Ranpo, Dazai cannot shirk these feelings or his duty, even though he basically goes in and does absolutely nothing all day. Mentally, he’s there. Thinking up solutions and plans without speaking a word of it. He needs to be there to get ahead, to minimize casualties, no matter how much Kunikida helps out. There will be many times you spend a heat alone, or Dazai will have to rush out to go to work during one of them.

Buttttt that’s not to say he’s a selfish lover. He is, in fact, a very, very good one. Not only through experience, but in creating a sort of intimacy that makes you feel like he’s all there. Even if he isn’t. Which, again, is sort of shady of him. 🙄 But honestly? His dirty talk is top notch. During the heats that he goes to work, he’ll talk you through the time that he isn’t there. Much to your embarrassment.

Dazai’s favorite thing is to feel you clench around his knot. He loves making you so horny that all you can do is beg him to knot you and scream his name or his title. It’s a moment that he can just forget everything, his past, his current situation, and just be with you. He loves being your Alpha and does wish he could be a better one, but that’s just not him. 100% keeps a pair of your slick stained panties in his pocket. Disgusting man.

His ruts will take a while to line up with yours. It’s a combination of both problems — physical and emotional distance. Feeling like he can even sort of trust you will cure that. He’s super restrained during his ruts though. Even if you’re in a long relationship, the only way you can notice is by his heightened scent, which he loves to blockers to suppress, because he’s stupid like that and feels like it interferes with his investigations (yes and no. it’s not very helpful if someone can smell you a mile away, but it’s also because Dazai likes to keep an air of mystery AND distance between any sort of work and personal life, in his own strange way. Stops taking them if it helps create a connection he can use) and the fact he just randomly wants to knot you at all times of the day. He doesn’t even seem that serious about it though — just like “oh! popped a knot in you! sorry!” and does that 10 more times until you catch on.

“Dazai… are you in rut???” “…yeah.” absolutely ridiculous mind game for no reason other than it’s Dazai.

Seriously, if this man is your Alpha, I’m sorry. He makes you jealous accidentally a lot because he has Omegas fawning over him, that he gives crumbles of attention for validation, but his secretly super possessive and HATES when it happens to you. Seriously. One Alpha hits on you and suddenly you’re covered in hickies and claim marks, rubbed so hard with his scent it almost stinks and you can’t get it out with ANY SORT of laundry detergent.

Ranpo

again, if this man is your Alpha, I’m sorry. I am actually less sorry than if Dazai is your Alpha but I’m still sorry.

Ranpo is childish. He has absolutely 0 clue on how to be a proper Alpha, despite Fukuzawa trying to teach him, but unlike someone like Kunikida or Sigma, has probably little to no desire to learn. That isn’t entirely true, especially with how earnest Ranpo is to want to learn with you, but honestly, he gives up very quickly.

He can be very selfish with his pleasure, but that’s mostly to your gain, to be honest. At least you have 0 emotional hangups when it comes to Ranpo. 🤷‍♀️ that’s all I can say.

He also has 0 embarrassment. He will fully scent you, partially undressing you to get to what he wants, like a breastfeeding CHILD, in the middle of the office. If you smack him away, he’ll be fully confused. Like “whaaaaat? I’m your Alpha. I’m supposed to do this.” NOT HERE, IDIOT.

Mouths your neck and your scent gland whenever too. Like just leans over in meetings to do so. You, as his Omega, almost have to leash him, your Alpha. It’s a bit of an unusual dynamic, but fits perfectly to Ranpo.

He will end up growing up a bit when he enters a relationship with you; however, that will take a lot of time. Your relationship probably starts off really casually too. Ranpo will most likely just offhandedly ask you on an outing, then he’s considering you his significant other, his omega, without it ever truly being discussed. “It wasn’t obvious? Why would I ask you out if I didn’t want to be with you?” Please teach him how to properly enter a relationship. Or at least discuss with him the standards of dating. Fukuzawa will give you a bonus. Just please.

Now, it’s very widely accepted that Ranpo is autistic/asperger’s syndrome, and I headcanon him as that as well so a little on that from another Aspie!!! Ranpo doesn’t always catch on to what is and isn’t socially acceptable. He has a tendency to sometimes be sexual in times that aren’t always the best, but if you tell him nicely, he’ll understand and back down. Usually with a nod and taking mental notes. You need to be very verbal with this man because he will not catch on in any sort of way. If you want a gift, ask him for it! If you want time alone, ask him. Seriously. You need to tell him or he’ll just keep doing his little routine.

He has stimulation problems. You might need to carry around headphones or some sort of fidget toy because he sometimes gets overwhelmed in public by all the information he’s taking in. He’s used to it, but that doesn’t make it better. If you let him sit on the couch with a weighted blanket and just sit with him in silence on the other side, he will eventually jump your ass after a while and cuddle up under your arm. He will probably not leave your side for the rest of the day, refusing to talk to anyone but you.

His libido is finicky, it jumps between hyper sexuality and almost completely disappearing, even if he wants to pleasure you. His ruts show that. Unlike most Alphas, they aren’t always timely, and show up randomly. It makes it hard for your heats to line up with his ruts. They rarely line up, and sometimes when you’re in heat Ranpo is completely disinterested and would rather be working on a case. Early on, he most likely will ignore you and them, not out of animosity or a lack of care, but just because he’s really not used to being in a relationship. If you give it time and practice, certainly after expressing your need, Ranpo will take care of you through them. Whether it’s eating you out or knotting you properly. He can finger you with one hand while working on his phone or laptop with the other, a skill he didn’t even know he had.

His ruts on the other hand… he’s very needy. You will have to call out of work for a week or two. He wants to be touching you at all times. Don’t expect to leave the bed at all. Actually, just plan on being on his knot the whole time. If you have to get up, even for a drink of water, expect him to be right there behind you, arms clasped around your waist, begging for you to come back to bed. His scent gets so heavy. He just wants to be comfortable and the only way he feels comfortable is with you. You might need additional call out days for how weak your legs will be afterwards.

Ranpo is apologetic though and will bring you painkillers or a heating pad. You probably could talk him into a massage every now and then. He knows how much you give to him, and struggles with sometimes feeling like your relationship is one sided. It is, in a way, but Ranpo gives back tenfold with how absolutely pure his love is for you. He’s loyal and will never entertain any sort of attention from any other Omega. He shares all his snacks and candy with you and tries to show you his love in little ways, like remembering your favorite flavors or something you mentioned you liked.

Ranpo isn’t the best Alpha, but he is a good soul. He tries and though he has his struggles, he really is there for his (and your!) best interests at heart.

Praise him. Praise him during his rut and you will be there for another week. It drives it crazy and ends up lengthening it for an extended amount of time.

#bsd #bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd dazai #bsd dazai osamu #bsd chuuya #bsd chuuya nakahara #bsd ranpo #bsd ranpo edogawa #bsd nsft #dazai x you #chuuya x you #ranpo x you #🍩 of bsd #dazai x reader #chuuya x reader #ranpo x reader #angelic songs #omegaverse!bsd

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mxtxfanatic · 4 months

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I really love how in the breadth of range Xie Lian shows, never does he ever defer to power. One of the earliest (chronologically) scenes we see with this is when he was still just a beloved prince. For one, Xie Lian disregards everyone telling him that he should have let Hong Hong’er fall to his death to continue the parade, because letting a child die to preserve a festival tradition is morally bankrupt. Then later, Qi Rong is injured by Feng Xin—indirectly on Xie Lian’s orders—and despite the fact that Qi Rong was in the wrong (causing chaos, destruction, and injury in the capital streets, attempting to publicly murder a small child, acting above the law and against the direct royal family for his own whims), Qi Rong still demands that Feng Xin’s arm be broken, to which the king agrees because “a servant should never injure royalty.” Xie Lian, seeing the blatant corruption in this, tells his father that if he really thinks Feng Xin was wrong, then Xie Lian, most beloved prince of his kingdom, should be punished in his stead for giving him those orders. Xie Lian never backs down from this, using his status to attempt to cow his own father THE KING into admitting fault and backing down, and it was only because Feng Xin broke his own arm and kowtowed to end the dispute (“you shouldn’t fight with your father, Xie Lian”) that it was “resolved.”

After his ascension, we see him refuse to listen to the older, more “experienced” gods—including Jun Wu—who mock him for attempting to save his kingdom, telling him people are only good for the worship they provide while their actual lives mean nothing. When his kingdom is destroyed and he is at his lowest after being abandoned by his family and friends, he refuses to give in to Bai Wuxiang goading him into destroying Yong’an, despite the fact that none of the people stopped to help him as he lay for days with a sword through him (which by his own stipulations, meant they deserved death). When he ascends again and Jun Wu offers him his place back in the heavens, he rejects the offer, choosing to wander as a powerless, fortune-less immortal amongst the people over living comfortably as a powerful but removed god.

During his third ascension, he refuses to allow the other more popular and powerful gods to escape accountability for their actions, even as he is threatened for it. He goes after Pei Xiu despite everyone saying that it would get him on Pei Ming’s bad side, because he refuses to allow Banyue to take the blame for another’s actions, just because she is a ghost and he is a god. He refuses to stop associating with Hua Cheng despite everyone telling him to because, again, their hatred of the ghost king was based on bias and superiority complexes rather than the reality of who Hua Cheng was.

I could really go on and on, but you get the point: Xie Lian never bows to power or hierarchy to dictate his morality. He knows what’s right and wrong, and he’s gonna do the right thing, status quo and societal expectations be damned.

#tgcf #this was written way before my reread #think i was saving it for spoilers #no concerns about that anymore lol

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quiteliterallyilliterate · 3 months

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Could you write a yandere FD where reader finds his mask and accidentally frees him? I find the idea of him stalking reader after his freedom and reader being helpless to get help due to what he is.

Order up!

There really isn’t enough FD stuff (that isn’t smut) ((but also in general)) So here you go!

Edit: Part 2

tw: yandere, murder, slaughter of animals, blood/gore

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝

The deity despised what he had come to. A being of such pure power, capable of ripping Termina away from Hyrule thread by thread, was now bound to not much more than a piece of wood. The feeble fears of incapable gods now made a mockery of who and what he was. His prison was bleached and painted with the same war patterns that defined his godliness with the eyes empty for its wearer. Two blank spots —weak spots— in the mask. For when they bound his form to such fragility, there was something of a loophole left behind. The hallowed eyes allowed the wearer to see, and believe they had some control over their actions as his consciousness began to muddle with their own. You see, within the mask there were no holes allowing them —the wearer— to breathe. Because while they wore the mask, likeness of his own face, they didn’t realise the rotting wood begin to mingle with their skin. None of them did. Too hungry for more of the power he could provide and blood he could spill they hardly realized what they were becoming. The paint was always the first to merge with the new wearer, the pigments staining the skin as a faint, ever fading —but never truly gone— reminder of what he was. The hair came next. Silvery white strands mixing with their own around their fringe, framing their face, much similar to his own now. Last was the eyes. Not many kept the mask long enough to ever really hand themselves fully over to him, but his conscience would continue to invade nonetheless. No one held the power to hold him captive in their minds, so a corpse they were rendered. Their eyes would lose their iris, and as the wearer weakened, their eyes would become vast pools of stark white. He heard in the travelers’ wisdom that eyes were the doorway to the soul. Perhaps that was why the eyes were the last part of a person he was bled into. His final act to them was conquering their souls. Where once, double helix sword in hand, he would have slain any thing —living or otherwise— where once he could’ve conquered anything, now he was left to the slow trickle of energy from collected souls.

He’s first made aware of you by your gentle touch. You fingers cup the edge of his face —what was of it now anyway— and attempt to make sense of who it was you were looking at. Perhaps is was they no longer worshipped him in Termina. Centuries could slip by him in this form and he’d not know better. Hand in hand with that, the paint on his mask could very well be greyed and chipped beyond recognition. Immortality was always more faulty than the mortals made it seem. While boredom could be sated with bloodshed and war, it was aging that couldn’t be so simply ignored. Despite the fact his consciousness was as it was from the second he was bound into what he was, it didn’t stop the wood from rotting nor the paint from chipping and fading. Much he was like the warrior constellations in the sky. While consistent across the birth and death of many civilizations, slowly he died with them. Not in the final splatter of blood like the matter of mortality, but it was death in all the way that matters. Perhaps Hylia proved that you can kill a god. Sure, she may have ‘killed’ demise, but cyclically, he was still her tormentor. With Fierce, his form was weak. Too weak to hold him further. Much like the mortals who believed they could shoulder the weight, this form would too crack and rot beneath the earth. His point still stood that in spite of every possible factor that your serenity shouldn’t have met with his ruthlessness, you’d defied fate nonetheless.

By your grace he loved to watch you. Mounted on the fireplace, he could see everything in your tiny cabin. He could watch you cook food for yourself, sing as you cleaned the dishes afterward, and especially the fact you often would fall asleep on the couch meant he could spend even longer admiring the curves of your face. You were incomparably precious to the world. He remembers the days of his youth in divinity, freshly given his purpose. He’d killed many in those days, like an executioner who’s axe discriminated against none. The worship he once had, the temples he’d once been graced with, the concubines left for him… Perhaps he wanted more than to watch you. Being so close to what he wanted, truly wanted, made him antsy. And you’d live through life like you’d not known better. You’d talk to people where he couldn’t monitor to keep you safe, you’d leave the protection he offered. He’d long for you while you sat just out of reach, tempting him to try something. And so he did. It seems years of rot made the wood fragile.

You were honestly quite disappointed the mask had broke. The wood was splintered across the floor, and with how old it was, it really wasn’t worth saving. Still, you collected the bits from across the floor and kept moving. The forest was still and quiet as you traveled, the wind would whistle in the trees and a murder of crows crowded around you. Unfortunately, you had no bread or shinies to spare aside from a small green rupee, which they normally would’ve cawed and kicked around. Instead, their beady eyes watched you, huddled high in the trees as you waded through the forest. You could feel their eyes on you the whole way past.

The dead animals on your doorstep are not only mildly concerning, given their split open ribs, but incredibly creepy the longer it goes on. Clearly whoever was doing this was stubbornly persistent given their notes in a not very decipherable language. At first they left you a crow, the day they watched you. It had a small ring in its leg you didn’t bother to touch. The next was a badger, followed by fox, then an elk. Now, it was entirely beyond you who’d collect that many animals carcasses —you’d doubted they were hunted, given the large lacerations across their torsos— but it wasn’t much flattering. It wasn’t until you’d caved and cooked one of the elks and they’d kept giving you more that you’d considered they were trying to feed you. Sweet as that was, no one person had a use for that much elk. No one person could hunt that much elk. No person would see it right to draw a sigil in blood on the back wall of someone’s house in elk blood. No one person would help you.

You were still beautiful as you slept. He was glad now you were his spouse, though it did take you a while to get used to his courting. It was for the best though, you were well fed and protected now, more than any mortal man could hope to provide you with. He did enjoy killing all your other suitors. That tradition was always entertaining.

#linked universe #yandere fierce deity link x reader #fierce deity x reader #fierce deity x you #lu fierce deity x reader #yan!fierce deity

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kentopedia · 6 months

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it's been decades since you've last seen dazai; your lover & your maker. now that you're finally happy, he's haunting you again with a thousand buried memories.

overall contents. fem!reader, nsfw minors dni, exes to lover, gothic romance, blood drinking, vampire!reader, vampire!dazai, smut, cheating reader, complicated relationships, blood, gore, jealousy, manipulation, religious symbolism, betrayal, reunions — currently at 21k words

PART II ♰ MASTERLIST

For the weeks that followed, Dazai kept his distance, though it didn’t matter where he strayed—you could always feel him nearby. His company was overwhelming, conspicuous, and watchful. He crept behind you when you were in public and remained your shadow until you arrived back home.

Even in the moments that you were in the arms of another, Dazai’s presence remained with you like a malady you couldn’t shake. Within your very home, he lingered, his features behind your eyelids, his voice imbued in the melody of the neighbor’s overwhelmingly loud piano playing.

Dazai may have disappeared from your view, but he was never really gone. It was a theme that continued to plague your undead lifetime.

Although you rejected the musings of your irrational heart, it became clear to you that your feelings for Dazai had been buried instead of erased, pushed away to protect yourself from the wounds that he had given you.

A singular heartstring had pulled the minute you’d seen the dark-haired man again, and it had reached out, wrapped itself around him, tugged tight until it was drawing you nearer and nearer, desperate to be back with the person that controlled it like a marionette.

It was terrifying, really, to consider that years apart couldn’t diminish the lustful desperation you felt for the older vampire. A need that resembled worship, a desire to be close to the beautiful god that had created you.

Though you rejected it, hated Dazai with every logical fiber within your mind, a bout of guilt still grew within you. The bleak future ahead of you had suddenly brightened with Atsushi’s overwhelming warmth, and the revolting, otherworldly bond you’d once shared with Dazai threatened to steal all of the gentleness away from your existence.

Atsushi’s love was the kind you’d always wanted. It was without stipulations, wholesome, and sickeningly sweet. He gave you everything, and in return, you offered up only the parts of yourself that had stopped belonging to Dazai.

Since the dark-haired man had infiltrated your city, the newspaper headlines had been splashed with visceral depictions of death, gruesome scenes that would make any human’s stomach curl.

Atsushi showed them to you each day, relaying the formulated opinions of the other detectives he worked with. Though they were just as keen as Atsushi about the world of blood-sucking monsters, they seemed more willing to ignore the signs of a new vampire, certain that they’d already snuffed them all out.

When the seventh body had been drained of blood, the signs of a vampire finally recognizable, he asked the question you knew he’d been avoiding.

“Do you know anything about this?”

You looked up from the coffee that he stirred, the newspaper crunching in his other fist. It was dawn—late enough for you to be ready for sleep, and early enough for Atsushi to want just the same. Orange light began in the distance. You would have to retreat to your bedroom soon.

“About what?”

Your fiancé’s features pinched, but he remained patient with you. Always so gentle, never one to be quick to anger. He was different from Dazai—he was kind. That, at least, was a comfort you could hold onto.

Atsushi set the newspaper down, rustling through his drawers before pulling out a dossier of reports that he’d brought home from the agency. There were detailed descriptions of the murders; some had been ferociously torn apart, as if mauled by a wild animal, their organs exposed to oxygen. Some had been tossed into the river, left to decompose, their bodies gray and withered. Others laid naked, pale, and drained of their blood completely, large gashes in their major arteries.

Any rational person would guess that these were the work of separate individuals. There was nothing to link them together, no pattern that would signify that a killer ran rampant on the city.

“You know what I mean.”

You blinked, eyes shifting from the newspaper, back to his purple eyes. Though you tried to spill the truth from your lips, your mouth ran dry, resisting any incrimination of Dazai.

I know who it is, but he’s dangerous, Atsushi. Please stay out of this.

The truth didn’t come.

“If you’re insinuating it’s a vampire, I don’t know who it could be.”

Atsushi’s eyes narrowed, hardly noticeable, searching for any sort of lie. When he was unable to detect one, he exhaled, visibly relaxing.

“That’s good. Everyone said it wasn't a vampire, but I thought...” Atsushi trailed off, as if calming himself, and he was so distant that he didn’t notice your shoulders relax. “Well, it doesn't meatter what I think. This means we can handle it.”

Your smile was weak when he leaned down to kiss you on the forehead, still shaken by the macabre scenes he’d encountered recently. They affected him more than he let on—you could see the way his hands shook, his fitful rests at night.

Atsushi would try to stay upright for the sake of the agency and his duty to the public, though at what cost, you couldn’t be certain. He had seen his fair share of horrors, but it hadn’t been until Dazai had come to town that they’d turned so incredibly gory.

You had no idea what he would do if he found out that you’d once been the same way. That you’d created those same images with Dazai at your side, feeling no shame when you massacred villages just to see a smile on on the older vampire's face.

Sick with remorse, you cleared your thoughts, trying to forget how sweet the blood had tasted, how addicting being in love with Dazai had once been. It was a life you were glad to be rid of, even if you could never let yourself forget it.

“Are you being careful, Atsushi?” you asked, nervously twirling the edges of your skirt.

Briefly, you wondered if you were protecting Dazai or yourself.

In was no surprise, you wanted to keep the agency from calling in vampire hunters. They’d recognize what you pretended so hard not to be, and all your plans with Atsushi would be erased if others caught wind of what you were.

But when Atsushi smiled at you, so gently and completely without the darkness that had consumed Dazai, you knew that all of your precautions were also to keep him safe.

“I’m always careful, love. Don’t worry.” He adjusted his tie and then squeezed your hand once more, leaving you finally to rest. Though, even as the sun rose high in the sky, you remained wide awake, tinged with worry and fear that Dazai would change his mind.

Two days passed without incident. The papers didn’t reveal any more shocking murders, and Atsushi got a day off after working more hours than any living person should.

He’d been staying up late with no one to keep him company but you. When he couldn’t fall asleep, you sat on his lap, peppering his face with kisses, sinking to your knees until you’d relaxed him completely. Although, as much as you tried to help, your methods could only do so much to ease his mind.

Atsushi came home early on the second day without a murder, his eyes puffy and dark with exhaustion.

“Atsushi—” you began, displeased by how exhausted he’d become.

He ignored your rebuttals and tried to weasel his arms around you, pressing gentle kisses up your neck. “We can go out when the sun goes down,” he said, biting a mark just under your ear, the smile soft on your skin. “I’ve got the day off tomorrow.”

You laughed, running your fingers through his thick hair, lifeless heart beating at a thought of a night out with him. Though, when he rested his weight on your own, head drooping onto your shoulder like a child, you knew it wouldn’t be today. “You need a good night’s rest, Atsushi. You’re exhausted.”

“No, I’m fine,” he said, but his dramatic yawn was a better response then words.

“Another night, honey.” you kissed his cheek. “Promise?”

Atsushi frowned, somehow upset with himself for not being up for a night out in the city. Even though you hadn’t gotten much time together recently, Atsushi wasn’t to blame. The agency had been working overtime on these murder cases, and that included him. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I’d much rather wait until you’re up for it, and…” trailing off, you licked your lips, unable to focus on his curious expression. “I’m sorry we can’t go out like a normal couple.”

Atsushi’s feature shifted, melting into the usual pool of tenderness. His shoulders relaxed. “You know I don’t mind. I love you, my darling.”

He hugged you tighter, and when you stiffened at the sweet name that Dazai had always used for you, Atsushi didn’t notice.

He’d never called my darling before. It felt wrong coming from his lips—the wrong pitch, inflection. It didn’t have the same mocking pull to each syllable, didn't feel like the rush that cam with Dazai's lips.

“I’ve been working so much,” Atsushi continued, unbeknownst to your inner conflict. “We haven’t gotten to see much of each other recently.”

While you hesitated, you recovered smoothly, and pulled back to face him completely once more. “You’re saving the city. I can never be mad at you for that.”

Atsushi smiled, tired and beaten down, before brushing his bangs out of his face. Finally, he accepted his own inability to remain standing, and began to retreat back to the bedroom, letting go of your skin centimeter by centimeter. “I’m sure I’ll be fast asleep when you get back.”

You laughed. “Good night, Atsushi.”

Then, he was gone, and you were left with your oldest friend, the one that sent you a greeting in the dark night sky like a beacon. It was a full moon tonight, cold, and white.

Once, you’d loved the evenings, the calm serenity that came with the blackness of night. Now, all you longed for was the sun, even if the rays burnt your skin to a crisp. It seemed more alluring than the thought of a future with no definitive end.

Despite your hunger, you waited in the apartment for the night to fall completely. Even though you’d spent the entire day by yourself, you had no desire to be around great crowds of people, stumbling around in search of a last-minute meal.

You meandered around your home, vampiric hearing attuned to the tossing and turning that Atsushi did in his sleep. While he made soft noises of displeasure, he didn’t seem to be having nightmares—the only good sign that you could see.

All the books on your shelf were unappealing. The newspapers had been read from front to back already. Atsushi was exhausted, so you couldn’t make any noise, and every inch of the apartment was already clean.

Finally, you grew bored enough to leave, and you sighed as you felt the crisp air, dispelling your existential thoughts. There was still a hope in your future, as long as Atsushi was around. You would no longer have to dread the fear that came with a meaningless immortality.

The night was quiet, even for the city. People had retired earlier than usual, perhaps out of the fear that they’d be the next victims of the murders that rampaged.

You crossed the street, noticing that people kept an unusual distance from strangers, eyeing each person they didn’t recognize like they would stab them in the back. It was an unpleasant sight to witness.

The destination was sharp in your mind as you headed towards the pub at the edge of town, walking without thinking, despite only having been there once. It was in a seedy part of the city, run-down and cheap, but it was full of the kind of people no one would miss.

It was the kind of place a vampire would be certain to frequent.

For the past few days, as Atsushi worked late, you’d scoped out the location, staring through the window into the man you’d been certain would be loitering there. His long, dark coat dragged across the stools; beautiful features schooled into a charming expression.

Every night, he sat with strangers, but none of them had been victims in the paper. They were drunkards, prostitutes, gamblers, addicts—but they remained alive, even with Dazai in their midst. He’d evaded you, time and time again. Even as you watched with a close eye, Dazai killed right under your nose.

For the eighth night in a row, Dazai was there, indulging another man in conversation. You shifted from heel to heel, staring through the foggy window as Dazai lent an ear with attuned focus. You knew he was hardly listening. His nods were practiced, his responses vague, with only a hint of interest in his tone.

You moved your focus to the other customers, though there was no one noteworthy. A few deadbeat fathers, some women searching for their next client. A teenage boy had snuck in with a few older ones, sitting in the corner smoking frivolously. It was all quite boring, really.

There was a pianist there tonight—a pretty young women with dark hair cascading down her back, cleavage spilling out the front of her cream colored dress. She had her eye on Dazai across the room, two deep brown irises blinking at him from under long lashes.

A twinge of fury pinched at you, one that you subdued, hating the unconscious reaction of your body, the way your heart squeezed from the memory of possessiveness. Women looked at him everywhere he went, and he had never tried to avoid their lingering eyes, even when his flirtatious nature bothered you.

He’d always loved to make you jealous.

Now, though, he wasn’t your problem. Who he did or didn’t pay attention to wasn’t something you were to be concerned about. He could fuck whoever he wanted, pay them if he needed, and it shouldn’t leave a bitter taste in your mouth.

You snuck in through the front door, swallowing down that unreasonable emotion and stayed small in the shadows. The man that had been chatting to Dazai left, and you took his place, tapping your nails against the counter.

It was obvious he’d been expecting you. Dazai’s gaze was already on you, his dark smile curling onto his lips. “I was wondering when you’d be brave enough to come in.”

You sat still, staring ahead at the array of liquor, as if mesmerized by the different bottles. “I didn’t think you’d noticed me,” you replied, even though you’d been counting on it.

All you wanted was for Dazai to finally explain his true intentions, instead of lingering in your city with no explanation and a wake of bodies behind him.

Dazai choked out a laugh, setting his palm on his thighs. “You didn’t think I’d notice?” he asked, his eyes wide and innocent. “I was certain this was all a ploy to get my attention.”

You said nothing, shifting in your chair as Dazai’s smile widened, blood red and dripping.

“Well, you have it now, darling,” he said, gesturing towards you, eyes scanning your body. “If that’s not what you wanted, you must take me for a fool.”

You blinked, and when you turned to face him, Dazai was impossibly close, his knees just brushing yours. “What do you mean?”

“Well, for one, you’ve been spying on me. Two, your fiancée is a detective.” Dazai tapped his nails, the sound irritating and repetitive. “And, three: you want me gone.” He hummed, tracing the edges of the counter, his finger slender and pale. “All signs are pointing to the same thing. You’ve come here to bargain.”

You stared, anger pooling within you until you suddenly remembered how poorly this meeting could end for you. He was much too close, too dangerous to be around; you struggled to contain your bloodlust around him. Dazai’s very presence was a catalyst for your most primal desire, and every second with him just made that more evident.

Meeting with him was a mistake. You needed to leave. “Dazai,” you cleared your throat, placing your hands back on your lap. “I’ve known it was you, all this time, and I never said anything.”

Predictably, that had brightened his mood. “Really?” he said, curious. A part of you preened at being able to shock Dazai. “Now why wouldn’t you?”

You shrugged, grateful that he, at the very least, was curious. “I want you gone without any chaos. I want you out of my life, and I don’t want you to cause a scene.”

The bar was smoky, crowded, and the undeniable stench of sweat and odor overwhelmed your senses. Someone in the corner had vomited. A couple was fucking mere feet away from you, clearly intoxicated, and you balked, disgusted, wondering how Dazai could stand to be in such filth.

“I won’t put myself at risk, and I won’t let you hurt Atsushi.” You held his gaze, your eyes hard, unblinking. "So I won't tell anyone."

Dazai stared back, thoughtful, like these were the last words he expected from you, that your ultimatum was completely out of the blue. “You’re willing to let innocent people die just to keep me away from your fiancée?” He leaned forward, intruding your space, and traced the back of your palm. “Interesting.”

“There’s nothing interesting about it. I’ve learned that I can’t stop you from doing what you want.” You sniffed. “I know better. Even if I told you that I wanted you to stop killing those people, you wouldn’t.”

“I’d do anything for you. You just never asked.”

“Please,” a scoff left your lips. “Spare me that kind of disappointment.”

He hummed, though it was neither a confirmation nor denial, his innocence feigned. “So that’s all you came here for, then? To threaten me into bending to your will?”

“It’s hardly a threat, Dazai. What have I got to threaten you with?” you shook your head, laughing darkly. “If you care about me at all, you’ll leave me alone. I’ll spend the rest of eternity running from you if that’s what it takes.”

“No need for such dramatics. I told you: I’ll leave once I’m certain that you’re happy here.” He looked away from you then, focusing entirely on the actions of the bartender before him. Dazai seemed as if he knew a secret, held it all to his chest with pride. “I’m not yet convinced.”

That was the kind of self-assuredness you’d expected, though it would always elicit an aghast inhale from your lips. “I’m getting married—”

“To a man who will never fully understand you.”

“I love him. That matters to me more than whatever connection you think we still have.”

One of Dazai’s dark eyebrows lifted, barely noticeable. “I won’t leave.”

“Dazai—”

“But,” he held up a finger, ceasing your arguments, “I’ll cover my tracks better. Will that satisfy you?”

Your chest lifted, then fell, and you cleared yourself of any hostility. This was the best you were going to get out of Dazai, and you knew it. “Fine.” The stool screeched as you began to climb out of it. “Then if we’re both in agreement, I think—”

You were unable to finish your sentence, the words falling from your lips as the sharp smell of blood hit you. It was almost immediate, overwhelming, and inebriating. Hunger reacted before your intelligent mind could, the baser of your instincts overpowering logic.

“Shit,” the bartender muttered as a bottle shattered, quieting the room. When you turned, a deep gash had run down on his arm, a vein split open while a dangerous amount of blood poured out. It was dark red, picturesque, staining him so beautifully with an almost smoky tint to it.

The woman who had been carrying drinks rushed over to help him, but your eyes were glued to the wound, two pointy canines slipping over your bottom teeth. Your mind quieted, nothing circulating there but the memory of the euphoric taste of warm blood, so heavenly when it came from creatures more sophisticated than rodents.

It wouldn’t matter if people saw. They were all too drunk to notice anyway. You could pretend to help him, lead him back to the alley, and then—

A hand was heavy on your wrist, pinning you down to the countertop as the world moved slower and slower around you. Then, a tug, sharp as you collapsed into Dazai, your head falling against his shoulder, far too close to the deep purple vein that strained against his neck. You licked his skin, unable to help yourself.

Dazai laughed, theatrically, patting you on the head as he stood with you still in his grasp. “You’ve had far too much to drink, my darling,” he said to no one in particular. “We should get home.”

He led you to the door, and you stumbled over your feet, keeping a hand over your mouth until the hunger subsided, until you could no longer smell the coppery scent of blood. No one batted an eye, even looked your way, unconcerned by the fact that you hadn’t seemed drunk before, nor had you ordered a drink in the first place.

The alley was empty, and the crisp night air slapped you on the cheek, bringing you back into consciousness as you shoved yourself away from Dazai, putting distance between you. You couldn’t risk latching onto his vein, and though depriving yourself of him was proving to be a difficult task, you wouldn’t let yourself stoop to such unfathomable depths again.

Silence was thick between you; Dazai didn’t speak until you had composed yourself. Your teeth slipped back into a normal position and your eyes were no longer luminescent. It was enough for you to get a solid grip on your bearings once more.

“Are we going to continue to pretend like there’s nothing wrong?” Dazai asked from behind you, his presence nothing more than a pestering fly. “You should have more control than that—”

Another minute of silence lapsed. You considered ignoring him completely.

“Now you see why I need you gone, Dazai,” you said sharply, whirling around to advance upon him. He was closer than you anticipated, and your finger dug into the center of his chest, pointed and sharp. “I can’t…” It was humiliating, really, to admit it. “I can’t control myself around you.”

His eyes flashed. First, of mockery. Then, the dark irises melted into honey, and he was sympathetic, loving. “I’ve got nothing to do with it,” he frowned, too caring, too willing to curl himself around you in a safety net. “We’re not meant to live off the blood of rats.”

You snarled, tried to push him away, but he was too strong. His hands were gentle when they grabbed your wrists, stopping you from any further assault.

“I was just fine until you came back,” you said, sniffing. "You made me into what I am, and you use that power against me."

“You weren’t fine, and we both know it.” Dazai spoke as if he knew of your life before he returned to the city. If only he’d seen how free you were without him—how much more relaxed a world without him had become. “I can help you.” His hand drifted up your arm, a thumb tracing your chin. “I want to help you.”

Drawing back, you placed enough distance between you that you could recover from his steely expression. “I’m trying to be a good person.”

“You’re not a person anymore,” he replied, almost amused. Though he didn’t touch you, you knew he longed to. Even when you told yourself that he was a terrible monster, you knew the depth of his emotions. He had once loved you with a passion you’d never known humans to be capable of. Perhaps, he still did. “You’re dead. You’re a vampire.”

“I don’t want to be. I don’t want to be like you.” The words weren’t meant to be cruel. They were factual, unfiltered, and true. There would never be a world in which you wanted to be like him, even if there had been one that you were.

His eyes were cold. “You were worse than me once. I remember it well.” He smiled, and it turned unkind, the same expression that had always confused you. How he could go from the passionate, loving man into a sadistic devil would never be something you understood. “You enjoyed it, and I loved you for it.”

“That’s the worst part of it, Osamu,” you said his name like it was poison on your tongue; it almost hurt for it to cross your lips. It had been a prayer before. Two syllables you’d vowed to never say in vain. “I shouldn’t have to become a monster for you to care.”

A cumulation of emotions crossed Dazai’s face, like he was auditioning for a role, trying to decide which expression fit best. Finally, he settled back on a neutral countenance, his jaw set, dark eyes hiding everything he refused to say. “Don’t blame this on me. I never forced you into anything. You wanted this. I’m not the one who turned you into a monster; you did that yourself.”

The silence crept up on you once more, so darkly familiar. Around you were nothing but shadows, the home you’d begun to know more than the one you’d been born into. There were so many things you’d missed out on because of the allure of Dazai’s charming smile. You’d lost people—you’d killed people—all for him.

Every time he flashed his grin at you, the one that had brought you to him in the first place, you forced yourself to remember that you’d never gained anything but pain and tragedy by being in love with Osamu Dazai.

“It seems we’ll never agree on that point.” You turned away from him, facing the dimly lit streets, the sound of carriages reverberating down the alley. A horse forced a breath of air through its nose, and you wondered if maybe, draining such a large animal would finally be enough to satiate the hunger that hadn’t left you in years. “I’ve no desire to argue it any further.”

“You never do,” Dazai said, and though your back was turned, you knew he was taunting you, his expression dark with satisfaction. “Running away is so much easier.”

You clenched your teeth, scraping the back molars together so tightly they were sure to chip. Once more, you thought of the home you had to go back to, the bed with your fiancée, the light that would threaten you in just a few hours. It was better than this—it was better than the life that Dazai had once shown you, and you’d created it all on your own.

“Good night, Osamu,” you said, walking back into the shadows, and despite your malignant thoughts, it was almost impossible to ignore just how badly you wanted to sink your teeth into him.

His response was lost to the wind as you began your journey back home, across the city, through the destitute neighborhoods, with the kinds of people that could disappear. No one would bat an eye if they were gone.

Starved and with a weakened spirit, you considered how easy it would be to end the miserable life of the drunk homeless man who was passed out on the street. How, perhaps, draining an opium idled prostitute would be doing her a favor.

The moment passed quickly. Atsushi’s kind eyes always brought you back. How horrified they would turn if you crawled into bed that night with the blood of a human as a stain for your lips. It would be so opposite to the way that Dazai would react. He’d be too disgustingly pleased by your fall from grace.

Instead, you settled on a dog, its eyes far too innocent for your demonic instincts. Somehow, it felt worse than killing a human. It had never done a thing to deserve such a life of suffering.

The blood did little to appease you. Miserable, and still hungry, you headed back, feeling no better than before. Atsushi would be long asleep by now, deep in a dream after so many days of exhaustion, and you would be alone with nothing but old memories and the question of what would happen in the future.

Your neighbors were shouting when you walked up to the house. The dark-haired woman waved a hand dramatically as she shoved her husband onto the street. It was nothing you hadn’t seen before. They would argue, he would leave, probably get drunk, sleep with another woman, and come traipsing back home like they’d never fought at all.

She’d accept him, of course, because she loved him. She always would; and somewhere, in his lousy heart, he loved her too. It was a miserable tragedy. You didn’t know her well, but you were certain any woman deserved better than that swine of a husband.

When she met your eye, you smiled sympathetically, hoping your face wasn’t covered in the dark fur of the hound, your teeth smeared with iron. Despite your kindness, she only scowled back, slammed the door on the fool of a man, and crept back into her home.

As you let yourself into your own apartment, you realized how thankful you were that none of your neighbors were observant—they were all too distracted by their own troubles to care about yours. Never once had you seen any of them outside of sundown, but they didn't seem to care. Perhaps, your odd lifestyle wasn’t as suspicious to strangers as you thought.

You supposed that it made sense, even if it seemed too difficult to comprehend. Back when you'd met Dazai, you’d never guessed that there had been anything off about him.

A frustrated exhale left you, and you shook off your thoughts. It didn’t matter, so long as they didn’t cause you trouble.

Upon entering the apartment, your bloodlust doubled, hunger back in full force at the scent of Atsushi’s comforting aroma. He smelled almost as good as Dazai; the blood was saccharine, such a perfect blend of everything that Atsushi was.

You could ignore the scent—usually. There was always something to outweigh it. Atsushi burned candles, left out garlic. He jarred the strongest spices and set them in every room. When you were really desperate, he let animals rot on the porch, hoping the disturbingly strong smell of death was enough to distract you.

It almost always was.

As you latched the door to your bedroom, undressed, you realized you had none of those things to protect you now. The memory of the bar remained at the forefront of your mind. The bartender’s large cut, Dazai’s vein just inches away from your neck, the ache in your body that would never be appeased by an unconventional diet.

It was painfully hard to resist. You couldn’t take your eyes off Atsushi’s peaceful form, his eyelids fluttering softly, light eyelashes fanning against his cheeks. Under the blankets, you could hear the steady thrum of his heartbeat, reliable, unyielding, pumping him full of the very life you were someday going to take away from him.

Squeezing your eyes shut, you tried to recover your composure, remind yourself that this was Atsushi. You couldn’t take advantage of him, and you wouldn’t, but somehow, you’d climbed into the bed.

You were on top of him, your legs on either side of his waist, a position that was familiar, but not like this. He shifted, grumbling in his sleep, and though the alarms were ringing in your head, your fangs were borne, and you bent down over his neck.

You were so hungry. Just a taste, that would be all. It would be enough to fulfill your desire for human blood, and you’d go back to being the perfect saint, the one you’d sworn yourself to becoming.

A hand was on your hips when you kissed his neck, tight and confused. “Honey?” Atsushi’s voice brought you back to reality, raspy with sleep. “What are you doing?”

For a moment, red-hot anger swirled through you before you realized that you were grateful for his interruption, and you’d almost done something you’d regret immensely. The irritation was gone, and you were sick, horrified, flying off of Atsushi before he could say another word.

“I’m sorry—” you said, choking on your words as you cowered in the corner of the room, biting down on your fist. Blood flooded your lips, but it tasted stale, like dead animals that had marinated and rotted in a muggy summer sun. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to...” you trailed off, looking away from him, the thrum of his heart too distracting. “I’m sorry.”

Atsushi was quiet, breathing steadily, in and out like an anthem. Then, he padded over, feet soft against the floor. Close enough to touch you, but never quite getting there. “It’s okay.”

“It’s not okay,” you shrieked, recoiling, putting enough distance between you that you couldn’t reach him. “Don’t come any closer.”

He didn’t move, though you knew he wanted to, and the wheels in his mind spun desperately for a solution, looking towards the higher beings that he still believed in. “I want to help you.”

“You shouldn’t. You shouldn’t want that at all.” It struck you, then, that you’d been ignoring the gravity of the situation. The fact that at any moment, you could lose the thin thread of control that you’d never really grasped at all. “I’m a vampire. I’m a monster.”

“You’re not,” Atsushi argued, his voice so incredibly soft, even though he’d never known the true horrors you’d committed, your violent acts that had destroyed cities and ruined families.

His foot moved closer, and you bared your fangs, menacingly, as if to show him that another step could put his life in danger. Though, he was unfazed, not a single muscle in his features twitching. “Tell me what I can do.”

“Get away, Atsushi.” You were pleading with him now, eyes sad as you covered your mouth once again. Perhaps this was a mistake. You never should’ve let yourself fall in love with him. He deserved so much better than the eternal pain that you succumbed to. He wouldn’t survive a life as a vampire if it depleted his humanity. “Please.”

“If you need,” he said, pulling down the collar of his shirt, ignoring your cries with a frown. “You can—”

“No!” you shouted, much louder than you meant, and Atsushi stumbled back, for once, startled by your outburst. “I’ll kill you. I—” You stopped, swallowed. There was so little you’d told Atsushi about your past, your past with Dazai, that it seemed shameful to admit it now. “I won’t be able to control myself. I’ve never been able to stop once I start drinking from a human.”

Atsushi blinked, his mouth forming words that almost didn’t come out. You’d never told him that before. It made you seem much more dangerous, the reality of what you were more obvious than ever. “You killed someone every time?”

“No.” You couldn’t look at his blank eyes, unsure if he was curious or filled with contempt. Perhaps it was a mixture of both. “I was with another vampire. He stopped me when I went too far. Most of the time.”

“But… you did kill?” Atsushi asked, uncaring about the elusive figure from your past. Someday, you’d tell him everything. It just wouldn’t be now.

You sighed, your gaze hard on the bouquet of roses beside the bed, a few of them already wilting. Something about the vision was incredibly foreboding, like your rampant thoughts about Dazai would continue to lead to deplorable actions, just as one beautiful rose would die after the other, until your relationship with Atsushi was strained and fragmented.

“You know I did, Atsushi.”

The silence was sharp, unbearable. You longed to hear any sound other than his shallow breaths and aching heartbeat. “It’s hard to imagine you that way.”

You met his eyes once more. They were naively kind, like any fearsome action you’d committed could be forgiven because your heart had been cleansed, scrubbed raw of all your previous sins. “Perhaps, but that’s how I was.” You smiled sadly, twisting a finger in your hair. “There’s still a chance for you to run away from me.”

Atsushi shook his head, his eyes wrinkled in the corners, the moonlight glinting off his bright pupils. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m foolishly in love with you and I can’t help it.” Despite yourself, you melted, the hunger overpowered by a pure love for the kind soul before you. “I’ll sleep in the other room for tonight.”

“Atsushi—”

You protested, but Atsushi leaned forward, kissing you deeply, with finality. “No, you need this room,” he said, pulling away before your body could even comprehend his proximity. “I can’t ask you to be around me if you’re suffering.”

“I’ll be okay,” you promised, eyes despondent as you watched him retreat into the living room.

Though when he turned around, hand lingering on the doorknob, you both knew that that wasn’t true.

You didn’t sleep for the rest of the day, and locked in a room with no light, there was nothing for you to do but watch the single beam of sun flick under the door. Bright yellow rays taunted you, and you missed the heat with every fiber of your being, like a friend you would never reconnect with again.

Staring, eyes empty and hollow, you rested against the pillow and resolved yourself to a decision that could prove to be a mistake. You had no other choice but to find other ways of satisfying your hunger, and while it certainly wasn’t optimal, you reminded yourself that your future husband was the most important person in your life. If this would save Atsushi from your malevolent impulses, you would gladly go back to the devil and sell your soul another time.

Atsushi came home that evening at the same time as usual, just as tired, but not without a gentle smile. He was strong, and he was kind. You hoped that even as a vampire, he wouldn’t have the same urge to kill that you always had.

That fact alone made you ache with adoration for him, the innocence that he’d always been able to keep, through every struggle that he endured and continued to face. He was a good person, and you couldn’t imagine a world where he didn’t stay that way.

Though you rarely slept through the day as normal, you often grew tired of the same routine. By the time the sun had gone, you were itching to leave the house, and kissed Atsushi briefly before rushing out the door.

You couldn’t linger close to him for long, for a starved and weary vampire was no match for a human, even one as physically capable as Atsushi.

Once you’d ejected yourself into the bustling evening, you sped through the crowd, trying not to focus on a single person’s heartbeat. If you lingered too long, you were certain it’d become too much for you, the taste already infiltrating your consciousness, the desire of another person to make themselves a part of you too.

Humans were naturally drawn to vampires, your looks otherworldly and appearance so mystifying that it was hard to resist. That made it all too easy to steal prey away, feast on them until there was nothing left but a hollowed-out corpse.

A headache had begun in your temple, the tell-tale sign of your desperation. Finally, you reached the beaten-down pub, no livelier than the previous nights, and more calmly than you felt, let yourself in through the door.

As suspected, Dazai was back at the bar, the usual glass of liquor in front of him, even if only sipped. The effects of alcohol only worked on vampires if ingested through the blood of an intoxicated human, and you couldn’t remember the last time he’d let himself indulge in that.

Dazai was alone, this time, but the pianist from the previous night still eyed him, ironically, like he was her very own prey. He was smiling softly to himself, already aware of your presence as he rolled the glass around in his slender fingers. The ice clinked against the sides, an unceasing rhythm.

Steadying yourself, you pushed away the warm smell of his blood, how deeply you craved it, the underlying affection there. Instead, you steeled yourself for conversation, stole some sort of inhale, and took a seat.

Dazai’s sharp features were on you the moment you were within his orbit, pink lips curling up with satisfaction. “I thought you didn’t want to see me,” he said, leaning towards you, his expression unguarded and curious. “This makes two nights in a row.”

You opened your mouth, then shut it, flushing with shame. To admit that you needed him was foolish and humiliating. You’d let him win at his own game, and as hard as you’d thought, you couldn’t come up with another solution.

This was for Atsushi’s sake, you reminded yourself, and you were no longer sure that the solution to your bloodlust would be remedied with Dazai’s exit from the city. Your hunger had been festering for centuries, and spending all of your time with a human had weakened you, leaving you incapable of resisting such a small drink.

If you continued on this path, you’d kill him. That was something you’d never be able to live with.

Dazai continued to watch you, tilting his head as if deciphering your thoughts as they gathered in your mind. “What’s the matter?” he asked, and you realized your panic was just as evident on your face, the sick conflict of need and disgust clashing against one another.

Your mouth was sour, tasting like whatever kind of acids lingered within you as a vampire. You forced the words out before you could regret them. “I need it, Dazai.”

Dazai blinked and was silent for a mere moment before he laughed loudly. The sound was mocking and cruel, and far too obnoxious in the miniscule space. “How ironic,” he said, leaning back on his stool. “Just yesterday, you wanted me to leave, and now you’ve come crawling back, so beautifully desperate.”

Your skin burned, and you refused to look at him, disgraced and remorseful. There were two options: leave and see if he took the bait or plead with him and risk more embarrassment. One seemed better than the other.

Standing, you took the former, hoping that Dazai was telling the truth about his affection for you. If he really cared as much for you as he once had, then maybe, he would crave the high of sharing blood. A vampire as old as him wouldn’t open his vein for just anyone.

“I still want you to leave. I just thought, perhaps, we could talk about this like we’d once been lovers instead of enemies.”

Dazai stared, knowing that you were manipulating him, but trying to decide if he cared. “What a silly thing to say,” he smiled, eyes raking over your body like it pained him to do so. “I’ve never been your enemy, sweetheart.”

Maybe not, but there seemed no other word to describe the animosity you felt for him. The stool screeched as you pushed it away from the counter, making your way to your feet. “It was a mistake to ask you this.” You held his gaze one last time, waiting for him to decipher whatever message you thought you were sending. “I’m leaving.”

He stopped you, a hand on your wrist as he licked his lips. There was a softness to his features, the hard lines of mockery bleeding into sympathy. “I’ll go with you.”

You glared for a moment longer before, finally, you shook him off and went outside. Dazai trailed behind you in the shadows like a cat, and you wondered if he’d been fated for this all along. Perhaps he’d been born only for an immortal existence; a human life was never in the cards at all.

It was a foggy night. The feet ahead of you blurred into nothingness, and Dazai stood close to you, just to be able to see your features clearly. The smell of him drove you near the brink of insanity, and without thinking, you let your fangs slip down over red lips, face falling at the acknowledgement of your aching need for him.

Dazai smiled.

“What changed your mind?” he asked, staring at you like he’d never seen you before, beautiful, and dangerous and once his.

You debated telling him. Dazai didn’t deserve your honesty, but it would be much easier to put this behind you, pretend that your reasons were entirely heroic, if you told him outright. One way or another, he would uncover the truth.

“I almost drank from Atsushi,” you said, looking at anything but his knowing brown eyes, the ones that had never been able to hide his adoration for you. “I would’ve killed him.” Your teeth were sore, and your jaw clenched with the insatiable hunger that never seemed to ease. The blood of animals was no more nutritious to you than candy was to a human. It made you feel bogged down, weary, and so much weaker than you wanted to be.

“You still don’t have any control.” Dazai’s eyebrows drew together, so tightly that his face marred into something akin to anger. It was a statement, not a question. One you were senseless enough to answer.

“No.”

“That’s why you haven’t turned him. Not because he doesn’t want to be turned, but because you know you’ll kill him.”

“Yes.” You hated being so known by Dazai, but you were liberated by it at the same time. Never once were you forced to pretend with him, and though that had sometimes been a blessing, it wouldn’t allow you to slip anything past him either.

Dazai was inches away from you in an instant, his speed otherworldly and graceful. There was a slight flush to his skin—he’d fed recently. Had he spared their life, or would another death make the headlines? “Why do you continue to punish yourself?” he asked, thumb grazing across your cheek. “Is killing so different from humans slaughtering animals?”

Disgusted, you tried to push him away, but the smell of his skin, his blood, was too appetizing to pass up. Instead, you let his hand remain on your cheek, nuzzled it even further, and frowned. “You know it is. You’ve known for centuries, and you delude yourself into thinking it’s not.”

Dazai sighed, but a weary smiled pulled onto his lips, satisfied that you’d not run away from him. “Perhaps,” he said, unbuttoning the collar of his pressed shirt, exposing the smoothness of his neck. You traced the skin, mesmerized, all at once, by his centuries of existence. “Perhaps I just don’t care.”

You swallowed, unable to remove your eyes from the vein, your hunger flourishing and expanding into something all its own. You indulged yourself in the moment of bloodlust, let yourself feel every moment of desire, so when you finally tasted his blood, it would be that much sweeter.

“But I care,” you admitted, mind hazy with need. “You’ve spoiled me, Osamu. Your blood is better than anything I’ve ever tasted.” The words were outside your lips before you could stop them, unretractable, but true, nonetheless. “Everything pales in comparison.”

He exhaled, and you were surprised to find that it was stuttered, breathless from your proximity. You rested your head on his shoulder and closed your eyes, tilting his jaw away.

“And your fiancé?” Dazai asked, kissing the thumb that rested on his chin, his voice deepening, almost dangerous. “Will his blood satisfy you when he’s all you have?”

You opened your eyes, contemplative. “I don’t know,” you answered truthfully. “How can anyone compare to the vampire that made me?”

“They can’t.” Dazai laughed, and then he tipped his head, exposing the vein completely with a hazy grin. “Drink, my sweet angel.”

It was a request that you couldn’t refuse. You were upon him, tearing at the flesh like an uncontrollable beast, inhaling the blood with the need of a starved man.

The taste of him was heavenly, otherworldly. It was a drink bestowed upon you by the devil, luring you into a life of sin with something you couldn’t resist. That’s what Dazai was, of course. He was something that you, in all of your strength, were far too tempted by.

Dazai’s fingers curled into your back as you lapped at the vein, bringing yourself closer and closer to him until you were pressed so completely against him. His body was cold and hot all at the same time, like a burn, dangerous and compelling.

Too distracted by your own hunger, you hardly registered his sharp moan, loud and distracting in the alley. “Taste so good, Osamu,” you said against his neck, barely a whisper before you dived in again, curling your sharp nails into his shoulders.

Dazai made a sound in the back of his throat, and then his hands were in your hair, rough and forceful as he pressed you closer towards the delicate skin under his jaw. You smiled, full of lust and desire and the lingering scent of his blood.

“You’re so beautiful.” His voice was faraway, hushed by the roaring of the ocean in your ears as you focused on indulging yourself completely. “I’ve missed you more than I want to admit.”

The last statement was not meant for your ears, but you heard it all the same, and you preened from the praise that came so sparingly. Fisting your hands tighter in his collar, you sunk your teeth deeper, mouth pressed against his skin delicately, a kiss more than a bite.

If anyone had walked into the pathway, it would’ve seemed like nothing more than a loving embrace, not the threat of murder, two vampiric beings caught in a dance of death within the moonlight.

You stumbled forward, trying to crawl deeper within him, but there was nowhere to go, and Dazai hit a streetlight with a quiet laugh, curling his fingers against your scalp. “You’ll make yourself sick if you keep going,” he said, but he let you carry on for another minute, until his skin had grown impossibly pale, and he staggered with light-headedness, drained and once again, starving.

“Okay.” Dazai’s blood squelched salaciously around your lips, and he finally stopped you, disappointed. “That’s enough, my love.”

Although you heard him, you were unable to pull yourself away, and the sweet liquid from his vein continued to pour into your lips.

Dazai tugged you back by the neck, sharply, ripping his skin open wide in the process. He was stronger than you—older and wiser and much more powerful, but a part of him always let you take from him. For better or worse, Osamu Dazai had never been able to deny you your simple requests. “Enough.”

“Sorry,” you said, licking the last droplets of blood from your lips, blinking into eyes that were full of affection and pride.

“Don’t apologize. I’d give you more if I could.” Dazai smiled, the blood loss weakening him just enough to look sentimental. “How do you feel now?”

Your cheeks grew hot, and you felt the effects of his blood taking hold, intoxicating, and stupefying. You’d forgotten how much it was like a drug, an addiction that you’d spent years of your life living off of.

It hadn’t been so harmful, then. Only an aphrodisiac that paired nicely with your unconditional love for him. Now, you felt that you were playing a dangerous game. You risked a lot of things by letting yourself remember him.

“Less hungry,” you admitted, frowning, unsure how you could possibly walk away from him with an appetite still rampant, if only subdued. In the years away from him, you’d undeniably weakened. It was as if now, it was catching up to you at once, your immortal body trying to compensate with proper nourishment. “Stronger.”

This wasn’t how this conversation was supposed to go. Your mind was telling you to seal your lips shut and walk away, leaving Dazai where he was without so much as an explanation. You should kill him, end him—whatever it took to live a long and happy eternity with a man who truly deserved your undying affection.

Though, when those brown eyes softened, two pools of melted chocolate, you knew why you had loved him so deeply. “I’m glad.” He was gentle as he caressed your skin, your fragile collarbone, every touch a sin.

I miss…

You ceased your thoughts, looking back at him, at the affection that mixed in with years of malice and vindictiveness. A perfect summation of every day that you’d loved him.

He’d never looked at anyone like that before, had he? Like the entire world was a blur around him except for the beautiful work of art that stood in front of him. At least, not the fleeting affairs he’d had with artists, nor the women he’d fled to when you argued over nonsense.

Had he even looked at you like that before?

With years and years of built-up hatred, it was, truly, hard to remember. So hard, in fact, that you weren’t quite sure what it was about him that you’d been missing.

“It’s near sunrise,” Dazai said, like the fact wasn’t painfully obvious. You could see the beginnings of a glow beyond the horizon. “Do you need a place to stay?”

Whether that was a caring invitation or manipulation tactic, you couldn’t be sure. What you did know was that you needed to get away from him before you did something mindless—something you wouldn’t otherwise do if you weren’t dopey from his blood.

“I’ll manage,” you choked out, grateful only when his wound closed, and you could release your inhale once again. “Don’t worry.”

He seemed hesitant, looking around like there was a creature more dangerous than you lurking in the night. “I’ll walk with you.”

“Osamu, I’m fine.” You went for a softer approach, knowing that he’d be unable to deny the subtle blink of your lashes, the seductive smile that plastered your painted lips. “Thank you.”

He nodded, smiled, and then took your hand within his own, kissing the back of it chastely, like you were courting for the first time. As if you hadn’t once had him deep inside you, hadn’t shared every ounce of blood from your vein, your life reborn from the very taste of him.

It was a moment doomed to expire once you were reminded that you had moved on. This wasn’t the person you were supposed to be anymore.

“I’ll be here tomorrow,” he said. “If you need me.”

Regretfully, you squeezed his hand, knowing that you would.

PART III

tag list: @cerberels @thateldribitch @hauntedsol @hannzai @cha0thicpisces @kissesmellow21 @sukiischaotic @hinata7346 @scinclaitnoir @mimimimiminanana @yolkyuyi @xxoolii @zephoncocaine @sookisaurus @angelsdemonsandhumans @kouyoumarryme @avocate-assia-dazai @mort-froggoo @fyodorisbbg @iluv-ace@kemis-world @pe4rl-diver @lacunaanonymoused

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enyalios-shrine · 7 months

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𝘼𝙧𝙚𝙨 𝙒𝙤𝙧𝙨𝙝𝙞𝙥 101

Hi! I’m Raven (or Ray), and I’ve been an Ares devotee for almost five years now. You want to start worshiping him? Great! Despite what today’s media makes of him - which I will talk about a lot in this post - , he’s actually a very caring, gentle and (dare I say) beginner-friendly deity! In general, a great choice! (Also, this is inspired by another post I saw but forgot to save - so, credits for the idea goes to that person) So, let's get started.

WHO IS ARES? - MODERN MISCONCEPTIONS

Since I’m assuming you already know the broad strokes of who he is (Greek god of war, bloodshed, violent and so forth), this section will be about some of the misconceptions most people have of Him. If you’ve ever consumed any Greek mythology-related media, I’m sure you’ve seen the following caricature: beefy, misogynistic, violent, stupid jerk, rude and always looking for a fight. While, yes, He IS violent (He's the god of war, afterall), that's far from all He has to offer.

Did you know Ares is actually historically a major feminist? That’s probably the first thing to get demystified about Him when you talk to an Ares devotee or worshiper, so I’m not really saying ground-breaking news here, but since a fair amount of people don’t know about it, I thought it was a fair mention. So, let’s get into the actual myths and proofs for this claim:

Ares was the father of and supported the Amazons in battle, a group of female-only warriors and hunters.

He’s one of the only male deities in Greek mythology to not have sexually harassed or raped someone. Yes, even other deities viewed as “nice” such as Apollo and Hermes have done so (I don’t mean any disrespect for those deities here - I’m also an Apollo devotee).

Ares was held in trial for the murder of Halirrhotius, a son of Poseidon, after he raped one of Ares’ daughters, Alkippe. He was acquited of murder by the gods. Remember, back in ancient Greece, women didn’t have ANY rights - raping one was not considered a crime or even frowned upon as far as I'm aware.

One of His epithets is “Ares Gynaikothoina", which means "feasted by women". During a war between the Tegeans and the Spartans, the women of Tegea defended the city from a invasion led by the Spartan king Charilaus. After arming themselves, they defeated the Spartans following an ambush. Among the prisoners was the Spartan king himself. In commemoration, they would hold a feast in honor of Ares, to which only women were invited.

All in all, Ares is protective, just, and encouraging of His children as well as worshipers and devotees. He’s not the piece of shit jock most people think of when you mention His name. Please stop doing my man this dishonor, He deserves so much better.

BASIC INFO

His Roman counterpart is Mars. He’s the son of Zeus and Hera, and his consourt is Aphrodite (even though they’re not officially married). His divine children are Phobos and Deimos (twin daimones/personified spirits of panic and terror, respectively), Harmonia (goddess of harmony and concord), Antero (erote/god of requited love) and Eros (erote/god of carnal love), all which he had with Aphrodite, as well as Drakon of Thebes (a giant serpent), which he apparently had by himself.

As for hero children; Cycnus (a bloody-thirsty men who was murdered by Herakles), Diomedes of Thrace (who had man-eating horses for some reason), Thrax (who founded Thrace), Oenomaus (Greek king of Pisa), and the Amazons (female warriors and hunters as mentioned above).

His symbols and associations are: spears, swords, helmets, armour, dogs, chariots, shields, The Chariot & The Emperor tarot cards, etc.

FESTIVALS AND DAYS

Tuesdays are holy to Ares and are ruled by the planet Mars (again, his Roman counterpart), which means they’re associated with action, energy, strength, and courage, as well as the color red.

As for festivals, He was typically honored with special rites in times of war or just before battles. There were also two annual festivals: one in the town of Geronthrae in ancient Laconia, celebrated only by men, and one in Tagea in Arcadia, celebrated only by women, where His "feasted by women" epithet came from. There's hardly any info on exact dates (from the Attic calendar or not) or info about any other festivals.

SACRED ANIMALS

Serpents

Dogs

Vultures

Woodpecker

Barn owls

Eagle owls

SACRED PLANTS

There’s no plant, flower or tree traditionally associated with Ares, unfortunately, so I’m gonna give a list of my UPG’s. Now, I’m not a witch, so I don’t know about the magical properties of the plants I’m about to list (if you’re a witch and were looking for something like that, my bad). However, I am a florist and have a special interest in floriography, so I assign them to Him based on vibe, meaning, etc.

Amaryllis (Means “Pride”)

Basil (Means “Hate”)

Water hemlock (Means “Death”)

Snapdragon (Means “Presumption”, but I think he just likes the way it looks)

Poppy (Means “Eternal sleep”, but has a long history with wars, being the first kind of flora to start growing in abandoned battlefields that were previously considered infertile)

Nettle (Means “Cruelty”)

Magnolia (Means “Dignity”)

Yarrow (Means “Cure for a broken heart”, and is said to have been used by Achilles to heal his men on the battlefield, which is why the scientific name is “Achillea”)

Ginger (Associated with “Heat”)

Pepper, spices, etc (idk he just gives the vibes)

OFFERINGS & DEVOTIONAL ACTS

Honestly, the only slander Ares should be getting is that He likes edgy teenage boy things. That being said, here's some ideas/suggestions, first for devotional acts and then offerings:

Workout or do any kind of physical activity

Take care of your mental and physical health

Stand up for yourseld and what you believe in

Learn about past wars, battles, and riots

Do things that make you feel badass/brave/empowered

Go to a protest

Work on managing your anger (especially for my fellow BPD havers)

Pet a dog

Honor His children and Aphrodite

For offerings; any kind of meat, especially red

Anything sharp (cool knives or daggers, broken glass, etc)

Bones!!

Halloween decor (I personally have those fake plastic snakes, spiders, and a skull on His altar)

Black coffee, the stronger the better

Any alcohol, but especially whiskey

Anything spicy

WHY WORSHIP ARES? - A PERSONAL RANT

Living in an extremely physically abusive household, I had to know and be acostumed to violence from a very young age. That violence left with many things - BPD and C-PTSD, to name a few - but mostly importantly, it left me only being able to feel one thing: anger.

I was angry at everything. Angry at the world for allowing me to have to live through such a horrible situation, angry at my mom for not standing up for me, angry at my abuser, even angry at myself for not ever trying to fight back or protect myself (though now I realize that was completely out of the question. I was only 8, what could I have done against a man in his 30's that was three times my size?).

That anger didn't go away after I got away from my abuser. If anything, it grew worse. I'd yell, break everything around me, say horrible things to the people I loved - I was a totally different person. I could barely recognize myself. I was an empty shell, filled with absolutely nothing else than the purest form of resentment and wrath, things that had been brewing inside of me since I was a child. I never had the choice to become anything else.

Ares understands violence. He's the god of it. He knows when it's justifiable and when it's not, when it serves a purpose and when it's out of pure malice. He helped me realize that instead of trying to fight against my anger out of the shame it made me feel, I had to embrace it - become one with it. It's a part of me, at the end of the day. I just had to figure out how to control it instead of letting it control me.

He embraced me when I was too disgusted with this ugly side of me to even look in a mirror. I was scared of myself - he wasn't. He's seen worse. I never had someone accept me and all my flaws before, god or otherwise.

That's why it's so upsetting to see the modern depictions so many people have of him. Someone so understanding and loving being defined by the worst parts of Himself, just like I used to do with myself in the past.

Ares is the god of war, war is not the god of Ares.

#hellenic pagan #hellenic polytheism #ares #ares devotee #ares devotion #ares worshiper #ares worship #hellenic polytheist #my posts

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purplelupins · 22 days

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Lamb

Midnight Mass

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul hill x fem!reader

Word count:12.3k

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

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

Notes:

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You were never a fan of when Beverly was given the opportunity to lead worship. You never felt fully untuned- half of the time it felt more akin to a scolding lesson in school than a reminder of Him. She liked to highlight “them and us” between believers and non believers of Crockett. Somehow she always managed to spin things into belittling those who didn’t attend church, and those days were always a little…tense. This was a time of worshiping and remembering God, not a time of a hierarchy.

“Here we are again. Back to normal. Funny how the pews empty back out once everyone has their ashes, isn’t it?” She paused as if to ridicule the non-churchgoers.

You pursed your lips as she continued, and found yourself looking at small details around the church. Chips in the paint, the crosses, the windows, Father Paul gazing at you-

Startled, you looked back to where you had just been looking and sure enough you caught the Father flicking his eyes away just in time as he bowed his head. You stared at him for a moment, but he was fixated on the rosary in his hand.

Had you imagined it?

You kept your eyes down for the rest of the morning, and ridiculed yourself for thinking the Father would look at you. Why would that be a thought that entered your mind? You didn’t even stop to speak with him after church.

If you had looked behind you, however, you would have seen the Father’s forlorn gaze flickering to your form during his conversations- distracted. He turned back to the islander he spoke to and flashed them a tight smile as they moved on and he spoke to the next person, but John felt a hollowness in his gut, and he wasn’t certain it was from hunger.

Even that night when John went for a stroll down the island like he used to, he stopped several yards from your house and forced himself to turn around. He muttered prayers under his breath the entire way back to the rectory, and knelt before the cross on his wall for another hour before he slept.

“Sheriff? Sheriff!” You yelled as you stepped off your bike at the marina the next morning. You needed a couple things from the Mainland, and had a short list you hoped Hassan would be able to get for you during his time there for his Friday prayer.

The man turned, hand on his hip, “Morning to you too.”

“I have a favour?” You gave him your best puppy dog eyes and clasped your hands in front of you.

Hassan rolled his eyes and huffed but you could tell it was a show, “Out with it.”

“I’m just out of a couple things for the shop and you can get them all at this store- I wrote the address down and the list and it’s close to the mosque you go to! Please? There’s some cash in there too.” You held an envelope out hopefully.

He stared at you for a long moment, then slowly took the paper from you, “This isn’t going to be a habit right?”

“Thank you! Thank you thank you, I promise it won’t.” You bounced.

He fixed you another look, but you knew he was smiling a little under that moustache.

“You’re the best!” You called to him when you hopped back on your bike, “Oh! This is for you.” You reached into the basket and retrieved a brown paper bag.

Hassan smiled a little.

“One muffin and a berry tart.” You returned his smile.

He relented. “Fine, fine. I’ll be back this afternoon.” He grumbled.

“Have a safe trip!” You called, “And hey, you really should wash that jean jacket, Sheriff or it might walk away on its own one day!” You quipped and began pedaling away.

Hassan shook his head. He liked having you around. You were a breath of fresh air amongst the stale islanders, and he hoped he could call you a friend one day.

You knew you were cutting it close for Mass, so you sped your way across the island and up the hill to St. Patrick’s where you were happy to see still a few people filing in. You laid your bike down beside the church and jumped up the steps to go and find your spot. One of the perks of a small town was every person had their spot that they sat in- you never had to fight over it.

Your shoulders deflated slightly when Bev took her place atop the pulpit and began the service. “Our responsorial psalm today is Psalm 27. “The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom then shall I fear?”.”

“The Lord is the strength of my life, of whom then shall I be afraid? When evildoers came upon me to eat up my flesh, it was they, my foes and adversaries, who stumbled and fell. Though an army should encamp against me, yet my heart shall not be afraid. And though war should rise up against me, I will put my trust in Him. One thing I have asked of the Lord, one thing I seek, that I may dwell in the house of the Lord, all the days of my life.” Her reading was simple and dry. You found your eyes glazing over, waiting for the Fathers homily.

Then you mentally slapped yourself. This was a time of worship, it didn’t matter if it was boring. You had grown used to the vivid approach he always took during Mass. You laughed a little to yourself when you thought you were a little addicted to it.

As if someone could become addicted to a preacher…don’t be ridiculous.

You remained seated, and watched as Father Paul approached Leeza first for the Eucharist. You liked that he carried on the tradition of serving her first since the accident, even though he wasn’t there. The amount of respect and care he had for the islanders was so selfless.

“Body of Christ, Leeza.” The good Father murmured just as he always did. So gentle.

“Amen.” She said, cupping her hands out.

Silence fell over the church then. You felt confusion fill you when he stopped just a couple steps away from her, and then even took a few steps back.

“Come on. Body of Christ.” He repeated, beckoning her with the wafer.

“Father, what are you doing?” Wade chuckled nervously.

You looked over at Erin, and she had the same look of slight horror that you did. What was he doing? Surely he didn’t think this was a joke.

“Body of Christ.” He repeated.

“What are you doing?” Wade asked again with more of a bite.

Leeza directed her chair to move forward, but Father Paul only stepped back further.

“No. No.” He muttered, and stepped up the stairs of the pulpit.

The worshipers around you began to murmur. You felt pressure start to build in your chest. Anxiety and ire weighing heavy in your stomach the longer he stood there out of her reach. Was he sick? What was he doing?

“Come on. Body of Christ.” Now his voice echoed in the space as he called the girl up to him. Relentless.

“No, stop it.” Erin snapped as she stood, “That’s cruel.”

“Come on.” He repeated, still calm.

Dolly got up and knelt by her daughter, trying to comfort her, “Leeza, honey.” Then she looked up at the pastor and her eyes were like ice, “What is wrong with you?”

“Father Hill enough.” You spoke- emotion making your voice shake.

But still he only stood and waited for Leeza.

You watched Wade stand with his family, each person growing more and more defensive and outraged, “If this is a joke, Father, it’s not funny. I…”

But then, it was as if all air had left the church- all sound gone too. You didn’t know what it was that you were seeing, and you were terrified to blink lest it go away. All horror you felt sunk into the Earth and your head felt light.

Leeza was standing. Freely.

“Leeza?” Wade asked in disbelief.

A woman across from you fainted as she stood.

Your ears felt all prickly and your fingers felt numb.

You could still remember when the accident had happened. How devastating it had been. Hell you used to walk with the Scarboroughs some nights when they went as a family.

Dolly was a mess for almost a year…now they only managed.

Leeza took a step, and then another, and then she was stepping up the stairs and you felt tears start to well in your eyes as you stared up in shock. You couldn’t blink.

“Body of Christ.” Father Hill said once more, and placed the wafer in Leesa’s hands.

“Amen.” She said, voice wavering.

You released a breath, and tore your eyes from Leeza to look up at the Father. He was watching her with such kindness and pride in his eyes as she turned and walked into her parents arms.

Who was he? How could…how could he have known?

Murmurs filled the church as people praised God and crossed themselves.

But you could only see how Father Hill began to sway and cough. He caught himself on the alter, but then pushed himself towards the back door into the vestibule. Your blood began to run cold with worry as he almost ran out of view.

You would have run after him yourself if Bev hadn’t.

Your head was spinning and you felt disconnected from your body.

You didn’t know what to think or do, so you wordlessly walked to Leeza and embraced her. She held you and wept into your shoulder.

You felt your heart.

It hurt.

Ached.

You walked with the Scarboroughs into town to see Dr. Gunning, and kept quiet to let them speak to one another. Disbelief and awe coloured their words as they encouraged their daughter.You kept one arm under Leeza’s while Wade had the other; they talked, and talked until your face hurt from smiling, and you were helping her up the steps to the doctors house.

It all seemed so…miraculous.

Such a God given gift.

Once Leeza was inside safely, you quietly backed out and waved them off. You began your way to your shop, and the entire walk was within a blink of an eye. You might have looked calm and thoughtful from the outside, but oh your mind was churning.

How? How? You could still remember seeing Leeza for the first time after the accident. How broken her and her family was.

You remembered all the specialists they saw and all the visits they made to the mainland. How some visits left them hopeful but most left them even more lost and helpless than the last.

You knew they barely afforded groceries now because of the bills.

Now, you didn’t know if you should weep out of joy or fall to your knees and vomit. It was as if someone you loved had risen from the dead…certainly it was wonderful but somehow you felt a little weary.

Perhaps it was years of empty promises after the oil spill…

You didn’t even remember doing deliveries that day. But somehow you finished them. News travelled quickly- by the time you had been halfway through people were talking to you about little Leezas recovery. You didn’t remember talking much, only saying what a miracle it was. You were back at your shop, just hopping off your bike when you realized you had completely spaced out the entire time.

How?

How…

How did he do that…

It seemed as if something had taken root in the island and had begun changing the chemistry of everything attached to it. First the good moods, now Leeza was walking down Main Street like nothing had happened.

But then when you walked home, you realised how deeply you were dissecting the wonderful event. You wondered if you had become a sceptic without even knowing. Were you so cynical to Gods powers that you questioned his will?

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring down at the rosary in your hands. The little cross glinted in the darkness.

Faith…

Did you lack it?

Had you begun to loose it?

Were you so ungrateful?

You felt tears prickle at your eyes but you refused to let them fall. You needed guidance, not tears. With a heavy heart, you sunk to your knees and began to pray.

It took a full week for you to muster up the courage to ask the Father for an appointment later on Saturday afternoon. Your day to yourself, and your time to relieve your consciousness. Your day to work on yourself.

Which was why you stood on the rectory’s doorstep, fidgeting.

A part of you told you that you were being needy. Selfish. That you just needed to get your head on straight and that you didn’t need to worry the Father with you being self-centred. That if this had been Father Pruitt you wouldn’t have bothered but for some reason you were more willing to see Father Hill.

You knocked, and didn’t have to wait long before the door was being opened. Father Hill stood there with a welcoming smile, “Right on time.” He said, “Come in, y/n.”

You nodded and quietly entered the small house. It felt so strange to be there alone with him. Not uncomfortable just…odd. Like you were somewhere you shouldn’t be.

“Sit, please.” He gestured to the couch, and dragged a chair over from his desk over to sit in front of you.

You perched on the edge, and folded your hands in your lap, “Thank you, Father…I- I know I was a little vague when I asked you to do this…but if I’m honest I’ve always disliked the confessional booth. I’m um…a bit claustrophobic.” You admitted.

He chuckled a little and shook his head, “No apology needed. Sometimes that anonymity that comes with a confessional isn’t right for every confession. I told you I was here when you needed and I meant that.”

His honesty and understanding put you a little at ease. Your nerves were still very much there, though. There was no backing out of this now, so you took a deep breath.

“Have you…have you ever had difficulties with faith, Father?” You asked, eyes flickering to his white collar for half a second.

John admittedly was not expecting that from you. If the implications were that you were having difficulties with faith, then he was surprised. Regardless, he nodded.

“Certainly…we’re all human, even me, and we are made to have ups and downs no matter how dedicated we are to our Lord.” He said gently, resting his elbows on his knees.

You stared back at him, hard. You knew you were ridged. You hadn’t opened up to a soul about this turmoil you had begun to feel, and you hoped to God that Father Hill was the right person to hear you.

You clenched your hands against each other, and put your trust in him.

“I think…I think I’ve become…” you swallowed again when your throat became tight.

Be straightforward.

“I think I’m losing my faith, Father…” you pursed your lips, “It might sound silly for me to say that because you see me at church every day and I’m committed to the community, but I think that I’ve been losing my true love for my faith for a long time…” you whispered. Hearing it out loud made tears start to well in your eyes. You didn’t know why exactly, though perhaps it was the sense that you had failed yourself, your family, your community and your God.

“I’m here with you, y/n…keep going.” He took your hand, and gazed at you, encouraging you.

You took a tight breath.

“It’s just always been a part of my life- getting up and going to Mass and praying before bed and reading the Bible and being a good girl who doesn’t ask too many questions and puts everyone else first and keeps her head down…” you could feel tears start to fall.

“I never really thought about it but…it’s been a couple years now and…it just gets heavier and heavier and I don’t want that burden.”

You bit at your bit as you let everything out, “I read a lot. The internet connection out here is horrible but I’ve done a lot of research on the Bible to try and deepen my understanding and I just find myself tripping over questions, and holes that don’t have answers…things that have been added only a few hundred years ago and things that have been forgotten or omitted…I’ve never even mentioned this to anyone…I think they would assume I was joking because it’s just…a part of who I am. Who I’ve always been…”

You slowly looked back up to Father Hill, and found him watching you patiently. Non-judgemental, just waiting for you to have your time.

John slowly reached out and took your hands in his. You were hanging onto his every move, and he took your silence as a cue to speak.

“Ma-may I?” He asked, and you nodded, “This isn’t about God.”

You blinked. You weren’t expecting that.

Father Hill started again, elaborating,“You feel you’re losing your faith, but I think what you’re losing is yourself. Your sense of self…so much of having faith is endurance and I know you have that. You have faith, young lady and I know you won’t let anything take it from you. You know how I know?” He asked you.

You shook your head.

“Because you’re afraid.” He whispered, his large thumb rubbing your knuckles gently.

You let a tear fall as you held his gaze.

“Because you came here. Luke said “His mercy extends to those who fear him.” And I think that is exactly what will happen for you. I think your fear of God is just a testament of your faith. And I believe you will be granted a great mercy.”.”He said passionately, “But I think what you are truly going through is a need for guidance in yourself.”

You stared at him for a long moment. Perhaps a full minute.

Another tear fell.

Then another.

Then many.

Until you couldn’t see and your cheeks were soaked.

“Shh…shh, that’s okay, I’m with you…shh.” He cooed to you, “I’m here to help…” the Father scooted a little closer.

You nodded, trying to get a hold of yourself, “Sorry-I’m sorry-“

He squeezed your hands.

Had he been holding your hand this entire time?

You took slow shaky breaths until you could speak again.

“I love everyone here…and I do love my life here. It’s simple and fairly easy…but…I can’t help but feel I’m missing something. Like I pretended to be some expectation for so long that now it’s become me and I don’t know how else to be. But realising it is so much worse than just living that way. Delusion is an amazing thing.”

Father Hill sat still for a moment as he thought. “I think being honest will help that turmoil you feel. Nothing too out of your comfort zone but…just enough that you feel truer to yourself…I have been where you are…many years ago. Just as many have.” His voice lulling you into a state of calm.

You looked up at him, eyes starting to dry.

“I had an older sister…” he said gently, “She passed when I was 8…and her death was why I began to look at God and his divine plan and that was where I found my faith. I questioned why and how her death fit into everything and how her death was justified by Him and…in that quest to grieve and find answers, I found some, but I also found God. You are on a similar journey right now and you will find what you’re looking for. It might even be given to you when you least think it will come to you…it may even hurt at first but in time I think you might grow to see it as a revival.”

His words settled into your head, and you sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. One last tear fell, “Thank you, Father Hill.” You smiled.

The older man reached up and gently wiped that last tear away and patted your hand, “For I am the Lord your God who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you…” he murmured.

You nodded, and sniffled.

“I’ll make some tea.” He said, and stood after one last reassuring look at you. Somehow his calm seeped into you and your body welcomed it like it was made to. Your shoulders were relaxed as was your jaw. You felt at peace with having gone to him.

John needed a moment away from your proximity. It was a miracle he could keep his composure as you sat there- shooting pains rocked his stomach as hunger brutalized his body.

“I noticed St. Patrick’s has been fuller…” you murmured, wanting to direct attention from you.

“Ah- yes well it seems little Leezas recovery has reawakened the faith of many.” He agreed, regaining a steady voice.

“The island has had a religious revival Father,” you said as he returned with two cups of tea, “The only thing that’s changed…is you.” You looked up from the cup in your hands to gage his reaction. It had indeed been something you noticed, as had many people especially after Leeza…

He tapped the edge of his cup as he took a seat beside you on the couch.

You tried to give him the nudge to speak just as he had for you, “You don’t know what it was like before…I haven’t seen people so engaged in sermons before. You…you have a true gift. You have helped to resurrect this island, Father Hill.”

“I’m glad you see it that way.” He smiled a little.

“You help people everyday.” You turned to look at Father Hill directly.

“So do you.” The man shrugged nonchalantly.

Your nose scrunched a little, “Not really…I try to support my community, but I don’t know about helping.”

“No- no. You do, don’t deflect- you do,” Father Hill shook his head, “You know you do too but you’re so used to it that it’s second nature. That’s a blessed attribute to have.” He insisted, “Especially since things haven’t exactly been easy here since that oil spill. I can only imagine…”

You pursed your lips.

“It’s been…difficult. It’s better now but it was horrible for a long time. I just…” you looked down at the warm liquid in your cup, “I believe you can’t wait for life to be easy before you decide to start helping the people you love.” You muttered.

John felt his heart tug- this time not out of pain. It was a tug of sorrow. As he gazed at this young woman beside him he began to feel as if the two of you were kindred spirits of some kind. You both shared a look, and John found that he had come to understand you a little better, and he began to understand why you were the one he saw first that day on the dock.

You parted ways with the Father sometime later into the evening. It had been a little odd how he had almost ushered you out as soon as he had noticed the darkness outside. He had said something about not wanting a young woman like you being outside at night. You had almost laughed at how old he had sounded.

John had caught the tug of your lips that you hid by ducking your head down. He liked that you smiled around him- that you weren’t afraid…

It would make everything so much easier. You are already to receptive to his guidance…

You left the rectory that night feeling as if something had taken root in you too. Perhaps it was the Fathers spirit of hope settling into your sinew and melding with your blood that had you feeling a little more…looked after.

Cared for.

Seen.

You felt as if you truly were not alone. Like he was always with you even as you walked home.

After your confession, you found yourself bumping into the Father often in town. On a few occasions he walked you home after your working day was done if he happened to be in the area, and you even stopped by the rectory to borrow a book. You found a deep solace being near the preacher, and in your need for a cure to your listlessness, you didn’t even stop to think if you were following his word or God’s.

His sweet, compelling, passionate words that seemed to evoke such a vivaciousness in you.

You started bringing batches of baked goods on Sundays too. Nothing extravagant, but something for the worshipers to enjoy after. There was something in you, pushing you to do better, but on your own terms. Doing it for your own pleasure and not the pleasure of others.

You noticed how that laughter from the potluck was now a common thing. Smiles were normal. You heard people joking, and going for evening walks and morning jogs. Kisses and hugs.

Was there something in the air?

But while you were enjoying your new outlook on life, John could not be more worried for you. It had been two weeks now that he wasn’t able to give you the sacrament. He had tried once more after your first comment but he heard you say something to Bev about it.

Certainly you had a little of the gift in you…but it wasn’t enough. Perhaps a tablespoon. Only enough to make you feel a little brighter, but not enough to…to change. Revive.

He was at a loss.

But the more he prayed, the more he came to realize that perhaps it wasn’t your time. It would come. He knew it would. It had to. And when it did you too would be blessed…even if he was the one to bless you himself.

“Three weeks ago, when we began this journey of repentance, I asked those of you were here to keep a few words in mind. Rebirth, second chances, eternal life. That's a lot to wrap your head around, isn't it? I can barely visualize next week, let alone eternity, But, I mean, for most of us, eternity, it’s an abstract. It’s a metaphor, a colorful exaggeration. When we’re waiting for something we want, it takes forever.We sit in traffic for an eternity. Abstracts, metaphors, colorful exaggerations. To us, maybe, but not to God. Not to Him. ..” he said thoughtfully, “And it shouldn’t be for us, either. Communion, the transformation of bread and wine into the body and blood of Christ. A metaphor? No,” he slapped the pulpit, “God tells us. Miracles, walking on water, rising from the dead. Abstracts? No.” He slapped it again, “God tells us. Eternal life, a colorful exaggeration?”

You heard Wade say “no”, and the verbalisation made you jump a little. No one usually spoke.

“No? That’s right. You call it out.God’s gifts are as tangible as the ground beneath our feet,” he stomped the pedestal, and you jumped again.

“And His covenant, it’s not abstract. No. It’s a contract, scrawled in flesh, inked in the blood of the martyrs. And yet, try as we might, we cannot visualize, we cannot mentally picture the rewards promised…” you noticed him fan himself for a moment, and you were suddenly snapped from your trance.

Was he alright?

“Well, if you’re here seeking to know answers to the unknowable, it’s incumbent upon me to tell you that I have none. And if you want to know why or how God’s will shapes the world, brothers and sisters, so do I. I don’t have all the answers. Nobody does. What I do have though, and what God gives us plentifully, are mysteries.God gives us miracles very rarely, here and there, but mysteries?…”

Your worry began to grow when the Father stopped all together. He seemed to adjust himself where he stood, though somehow he still didn’t seem quite right.

“Sorry. Um…As… adults, we tend to dislike mysteries. We… We feel uncomfortable not knowing.No. To be a child. To look with awe and wonder, and live with staggering honesty. To be guiltless, light as air. To bend softly as the word of God sweeps…” he speech began to grow almost wandering. As if he wasn’t entirely lucid…almost like the old Monsignor-

John felt his stomach twitch with pain as he stood before his growing flock. He could barely see let alone think as his body seemed to betray itself.

“I’m very sorry. I’m…Sorry, I’m just a little bit tired today. A tiny dizzy spell. It’s passed. I’m fine. Sorry. I’m very sorry. Um…The more that we know, the less we bend. The more brittle we become, the easier to break. Like some would say this island broke. Was broken. But I am here to tell you…the resurrection, body and soul, the redemption, body and soul, the miracles waiting for us here on Crockett Island. Not metaphors, not abstracts, not colorful exaggerations, no. Rebirth, second chances. Eter…”

You watched in horror as Father Hill tumbled to the ground with a thud. There was a rush to help him, but your mind seemed to click into gear when you quickly grabbed one of the phones left on a pew and dialled Dr. Gunning’s office.

She barely got a word out before you; your voice shook as you spoke quickly, “The- Father Hill- he’s collapsed, please come up to the church, Doctor.” You rushed out.

“Calm down, calm down, is he breathing?” She said, calm as ever.

You stood quickly and rushed over to the crowd. Without a thought, you knelt beside the Father and placed your ear on his chest.

“What on earth-“ Bev started to ask, from her spot beside you, but you didn’t pay attention as you sat up again and put the phone to your ear.

“Yes he is.” You said.

“I’ll be there soon. Get him some air if he wakes up.” She sighed.

You nodded, and hung up.

“Well?” Bev snapped at you.

You blinked, “Dr. Gunning- She’ll be here soon…water- uh can- can someone get some cool water and a towel please?” You tried to think of anything you could do to help in the meantime.

Someone started to go, but it seemed Bev wanted to be involved. “I’ll get it.” She huffed and disappeared from your side.

Wade crouched beside you, and checked over Father Hill. He looked over at you and you gave him a reassuring smile. “I think the Father could use some air, Mr.Mayor.”

He nodded and looked up that the distressed crowd.

“It’s alright everyone. If he could get some room please? He needs extra air…Sturge could you open the door please?” Wade asked.

The man in question nodded and did as he asked while the townspeople began to disperse.

Bev returned a moment later and you took the cloth from her and dampened it from the bowl of water.

“Thank you…” you mumbled, then very gently began to dab at Father Hill’s forehead, then at the skin peaking out from his chasuble around his neck.

A few minutes passed with Beverly fussing in the background, but slowly you noticed his colour returning, and eyes start to flicker until they opened slowly. You felt relief fill you up and you sighed.

John gazed up at you and he swore there was a halo surrounding your head as you sat over him. Your brows scrunched in worry, but your watchful eyes gazing down at him.

“Glory be…” Came his whisper.

You looked down at him and wiped his brow once more. The man blinked a few more times then went to sit up, but several hands rushed to keep him down.

“Slowly, Father…slowly.” Someone said.

You helped the Father rise up to sit, and dabbed the back of his neck. “You passed out Father.” you said.

“I’m sorry- so sorry…” he nodded. grinding his teeth slightly when a wave of pain hit him, “I’m…uh not sure what’s wrong with me today.” He said as humorously as he could, though both he and the islanders knew there was nothing to joke about.

Even as you watched Sturge and Wade help him into the rectory with Sarah and Bev, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something gravely wrong with him. Not that you have ever exactly noticed anything…but certainly there were times where he seemed to almost clench, and work through a minor pain- covering it with a cough or stretch. Things that were so barely there you wouldn’t even think twice.

While that day was your day to yourself and the shop was closed, you found that you were listless. Worried, curious. Fretting.

So silly really.

You mindlessly baked a batch of muffins, and remembered halfway through how much the Father liked them. On more than one occasion he had stopped by to purchase a few.

You put a few in a container, and set out on your bike across the island. You hoped he was doing well… if he didn’t answer you were content with just leaving them on his stoop, though you found yourself wanting to see for yourself that he was alright.

You leaned your bike by the church, and strode over to the rectory. It was still afternoon, and you hoped you could catch him before he went to the Gunnings. You thought it was so sweet that he did that for Mildred.

You knocked, and waited. It was quiet for a long moment, then the door opened slowly. Father Hill stood before you disheveled. His top button was undone, collar missing, and his hair looked to have been brushed back with his fingers.

“Oh- y/n please…come in.” He moved aside.

You looked to the side then slowly walked into the small home. It was cozy and simple. It felt warm. “I’m so sorry for bothering you father…I’m sure you’ve had plenty of people coming by to check on you…” you trailed off, looking for a spot to but the container down.

“Nonsense…I was hoping you could come actually…” he said quietly, gingerly perching against the edge of the kitchen counter, “I wanted to thank you.”

That caught you off guard.

You blinked, and shook your head, “What for?”

“For extending that helping hand of yours to me. It was a joy to be helped by you. A blessing- you are a uh, a blessing.” Father Hill stared back at you like he meant every word he said and more, though you couldn’t help but notice the slightly delirious stare he had.

You hadn’t expected anything like this when you had set out to drop off the muffins still in your hands, but you found yourself growing warm at his praise.

“I-well I just…-“

“Just what? Did what anyone would do?” He cut you off, smiling a little wearily.

“Yes…”you admitted.

“And did anyone else do what you did?” He prodded, head tilting so slightly to the side.

You looked down, then back up at him, and shook your head.

“And now you come here again to my aid with something that is not a casserole you see you truly are just wonderful.” He smiled a little more, and you did too, and laughed.

“Ah… the Crockett islanders at their finest. If ever you’re sick you will have at least a few of those in your fridge by night fall.” You joked, though it was true, “I- um I remember you liked those muffins that I made last week and I was worr- I made some extra and thought you might like them.” You caught yourself.

“Thank you, dear girl…” he said, but winced when he went to say something else. You placed the container down on the counter beside him and gently put your hand on his arm.

“Father? Are you feeling dizzy?” You asked.

“I- I am just a little…” he admitted, blinking a few times to get through the fog.

“I’ll help you to your room. Rest for a while, alright?” You took his arm and slowly directed him to the back of the rectory where you assumed he slept.

“I’m fine…just tired.” He tried to reassure you.

“I’m sure you are Father.” You walked him to the edge of his bed, and sat him down, “Rest. I’m sure you’ll feel better in the morning.”

“You’re a good girl, y/n, thank you. You’ve made this adjustment blessedly easy.” He told you, staring up at you.

You saw something in his weary gaze then. You didn’t know what it was. But you somehow noted it in your mind.

You squeezed the hand of his that held yours, “Rest, Father. God willing, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Father Paul nodded, “You will.” He smiled weakly.

You released his hand, and gave him a small wave before leaving the small house. You felt sorry for the man being all alone there, but you were sure Bev would be by to pester him soon if she hadn’t already.

Then as you picked your bike up, you heard the crunching of gravel under shoes. You looked up to see the very woman. “Hello Bev.” You called to her.

“Ah, y/n. I do hope you haven’t bothered Father Hill too much.” She smiled tersely.

“Not at all. Just dropped off something that wasn’t a casserole.” You smiled a little more genuine.

“Well, thank you for your contribution. Very kind.” With that she turned and began to walk past you. You half considered telling her he was resting, but you knew it wouldn’t deter her. You sighed, and peddled away.

Another shift had begun around you. Off balanced.

You noticed it in small things.

Not necessarily bad, but not especially good. Less and less wildlife hummed around the bushes and trees, and you noticed how there was such a divide between the attitudes of church goers and non. Conversing with someone who didn’t attend now felt like a bucket of cold water in comparison to those who you saw regularly. Like there was a bubble around the parishioners. And you weren’t certain you liked that.

Your worry only deepened when you went to Mass the next morning only to see that it would be candelled that day. A frown tugged at your mouth, though you tried to not think too much about it. The Father was ill, you knew that. It was nothing else but that.

It wasn’t as if you knew that the very man was dodging the gaps in the curtains to look out at his flock returning to their homes and jobs without their daily Mass. And of course there you stood- a worried look muddling your beautiful face.

Had you always been so pretty?

Vibrant.

A halo around your hair where the sun caught it.

John watched you back away from the church, though he saw you clench and unclench your hands and look to and from the church to the rectory. You wanted to check on him. Such a dutiful lamb.

Something visceral in him made him nearly open the door and call you inside. Beckon you to him. Just as he felt that need there was an ache in his mouth like he needed to bite, hard. A side affect to…to dying he supposed. He put his trust in God but this hurt was unbearable.

John prayed and wept and doubled over as he accepted and waded through the pain. The bulk of it finally subsided by the evening. It seemed almost as if as soon as the sun had gone down his body relaxed.

Just a little.

Enough to make himself look presentable, and step out from his front door no matter how nervously.

Like his body knew he was safe with the sun down. No more burns.

As he strode across the island, John found himself marvelling at the new-found beauty around him. Living halos of light around the stars, and lamplights. Colours and smells and sounds he had never experienced. He could almost feel the earth breathe.

Seeing Millie in her home that night was something special. She remembered him. Saw him. He could have weapt just by seeing the look of recognition on her face. Feeling her hands hold his and that smile. John’s heart ached.

As did his stomach. Painfully.

So hungry.

John hurried along after the little reprieve with Mildred, but found himself taking a little detour. He didn’t mean to; his feet just took him that way. Just a little bit of a longer walk home.

Past your house.

Your curtains were open again.

John found himself walking a little closer, something enticing drawing him in. He stood just outside your window. You were just getting ready for bed…he could almost smell you; all fresh from the shower.

John sighed, then winced when another surge of hunger punched his stomach. That ache he had felt in his jaw returned tenfold, and he felt his vision start to fade.

There was nothing to do but get back to the rectory. Quickly. John employed his long strides and muttered prayers under his breath. He needed to be away. Hide. There was no preparation for this next phase of revival. He wasn’t ready. This deep carnal hunger was eating away at him. He needed more of the sacrament.

Now.

He needed help. John paced the rectory, and felt his nerves and veins and muscles and tendons tugging at him, begging him for nourishment. Feed me, Father, feed me.

“Angel of God my, guardian dear to whom Gods love commits me here…”

He mindlessly grasped the bottle of communion wine, and let it empty down the back of his throat yet it somehow wasn’t enough. He needed more.

More more-

“Uh…Father?”

Something deep inside John Pruitt unfurled then. It began to seep into his tissue and into his bloodstream. John turned, startled.

“Oh…Hello Joe.”

The following morning was a little bit of a slow one for you. You half considered calling the rectory just to see if there would indeed be Mass at all, but decided against it. You brushed your hair, and tied it back; grabbed any extra ingredients you needed for the morning and set off.

Even as you kneaded the doughs and whipped cream and stirred batter you found yourself lagging.

The walk to Mass was slow too.

Off kilter.

You took your usual seat, but your brows pinch together when you saw Ali sitting not too far from you. You looked to see if Hassan had come with him, but to only deepen your confusion, he was alone. You leaned forward a little in your pew, “Ali?” You murmured loud enough for him.

The boy jumped a little, but relaxed when he saw it was you.

“Come.” You smiled and patted the spot beside you, and he instantly looked grateful. Ali stood and made his way back to you, and you sent him another smile as he sat. You didn’t ask him why he was there, it wasn’t your business. You had always liked Ali- a sweet boy with good manners for the most part.

Then, you looked to the other side of the church, and noticed that Erin was missing. She never missed Sunday Mass. Never.

Something in your stomach curled tight.

An anxious feeling of anticipation.

Without the presence of Father Hill to envelope the church, you found yourself gazing around the building. You looked at the windows, and the pews until your gaze fell upon the wooden figure of Jesus crucified.

Had it always been so grotesque?

Were you worshiping a man? God was supposed to be a being that governed over everything…omnipotent…why would he descend to earth in the body of a man? Why would he need to if he created messengers like Moses and Noah and so many others…

Your mind began to spin out of control until you were starting to wonder what you were doing there.

The distress you felt only grew deeper when a half hour passed, and Father Hill still hadn’t made an appearance. You looked over at Annie, then even looked up at that back of Bev’s head as if she might have an answer written there.

Finally the woman had had enough and made her way to the rectory. You perched on your seat, waiting for anything to happen. It was nearly another twenty minutes that passed before Bev returned- faux smile already on her face as she took a spot upon the pulpit.

“Good morning!” She began, “Well I have to tell you it is such a delight to see this church so full every day, thank God. I'm afraid this morning though that we have to - well, I think we'll have to cancel Mass.”

You scrunched your brows in surprise. But then that feeling you had had inside you tilted again, a little more in the wrong direction. Twisting. You felt nauseated.

“Father Paul's bouncing back from a stomach bug, poor thing, and I just had to physically restrain the dear man and put him to bed, he was so determined to be here! He'll be back on his feet in just no time at all but this morning, at least, our dear Dolly Scarborough - come up here Dolly…” she encouraged Dolly to come up beside her, and while the good natured woman did, she was just as confused as the rest of the churchgoers.

There had certainly been times with Monsignor Pruitt when his health was hanging by a thread and Mass was cancelled but…Father Hill was in prime condition how could he still be so ill?

“Uh, maybe Dolly can lead us in singing, and some readings, and some prayer, and we can still celebrate together, like the Christians of old, who sang praises to God long before they had priests to lead the way. Uh let’s start with Hymn number 473, "Be Thou My Vision". Dolly, can you lead us?” Bev looked over to Andy who began to play his organ, and slowly everyone followed Dolly’s singing.

But then you watched as Bev began to leave again, this time accompanied by Sturge and Wade. They disappeared out through the vestibule, and you mentally snapped yourself back from trying to see what happened.

Your curiosity started to gnaw at you so badly you almost missed the cue to sit down.

Mass ended simply…or rather it deflated. A somewhat awkward shuffle out the door was the end of Mass that day. Murmurs and worries stares at the rectory as everyone filed out and meandered down the hill to Main street.

You glanced over to the rectory, and paused when you saw Bev exit. You moved a little back from the entrance along the side of the church to catch her.

“You’re sure Father Hill is alright?” You asked her as she strode to the back door of the church.

“Just fine. In need of a little more rest we think. Nothing to worry about.” She said a little more brightly than usual. You felt in your gut there was a lie in her words.

“Annie’s making a hearty stew tonight I could stop by and bring him some-“

“No!” She snapped, then softened a little when she saw how startled you were, “No, no he needs to be undisturbed today. Thank you, y/n. Bless you.”

You nodded slowly, and flicked your eyes over to the small building. You could have sworn you saw the curtain move.

“Alright, Bev…take care.” You said. Something was making your nerves itch under your skin. Like an internal fear response that you didn’t usually need.

A cord was plucked inside you.

A voice inside you telling you to leave.

It wasn’t that Bev had snapped at you, or that you felt she was hiding something. It was that St. Patrick’s had always been a place of peace and safety for you, and now you found yourself wanting to be far from it. You feet almost itching to run.

You didn’t run. But you did walk quickly. You wished you had taken your bike that day.

You cast one last look at the rectory. Sturge and Wade still hadn’t come out.

Your feet acted for you, and carried you away from the church. Away from that itch.

Once the general store came into view, you hesitated in going directly to your shop. Since Mass had ended early, you didn’t need to start deliveries yet; instead, you walked into the store, and towards the sheriffs office. You waved at the old man working at the counter- Gerald- and knocked on the officers door.

“Come.” Came his voice.

You opened the door, and sure enough, Hassan was seated at his desk, reading a paper from a file on his desk.

“What can I- oh.” He said, then stopped upon seeing you, “Y/n? Everything alright?” He was suddenly concerned at the prospect of you coming to his office.

Your eyes widened, “Oh- yes fine. Sorry um…I just… I don’t know if you want to…talk about it but…I saw Ali today. At Mass.”

Hassan sighed heavily, “Ah…yeah he…” he didn’t finish his sentence.

“Curious?” You asked.

But the man only sighed again, “I love that my son is interested in God and looking for him…but…” he started.

“But you already have God.” You finished for him.

He nodded, “He’s not praying with me anymore…we fight…he just…I can’t lose him.”

You nodded, “I know…I can keep an eye on him, if you’d like?” You offered a little weakly- you knew there wasn’t much you could do.

“Thank you…I don’t want to discourage him but …he’s not Christian. He knows why we’re Muslim and it’s…” he didn’t know where to start with the issue. “Bev Keene handed out bibles at school last week. Since then…” he look his head, “I think he mostly is interested in it because he wants to fit in.” Hassan sighed and rubbed his brow.

You nodded, “I’m sorry Hassan…this…this must be hard to watch. Doesn’t help that he’s a teenager. Teens are…difficult to reason with.”

He huffed out a bitter laugh, “I only pray that he returns to his faith.”

“God willing, he will.” You didn’t know how to comfort the man, but it seemed that just having someone there helped.

“Inshallah…” he muttered.

You tilted your head in question.

“Means “God willing.”…” he explained.

“Ah…” you said. Silence filled the office, and you clasped your hands. “There’s…have you thought about asking to be stationed somewhere else? Maybe somewhere with other Muslims? He might just be missing that connection…”

“I’ve thought about it…hard to uproot a kid again though.” He crossed his arms.

You wanted to help him. You really wanted to help. This man was alone, and was practically ostracized by the very town he was supposed to protect and serve. You were almost certain you were the closest thing he had to a friend, and you needed to say something.

“You know…I don’t really fully believe Jesus is God.” You blurted out.

He looked up at you then.

You flushed. You hadn’t meant for it to come out like that, “Sorry…I just…just because I go to Mass doesn’t mean I believe everything.”

“Aren’t you Christian?” He asked.

“I…used to be. It’s more of a habit that I go to church. Been going since I was a kid. But…when you first came here that was the first time I heard about Islam…properly. You don’t believe Jesus was god either right?” You asked.

He shook his head.

“He was just another messenger…prophet. I did some reading a while ago and I found that the holy trinity is actually a new thing in Christianity…and I began to wonder what else was “new” or what had been taken out…I guess I’m just trying to say that…Ali might look for God somewhere else but you never know…he might find that the church is flawed and just come right back to you and Allah.” You mused.

Hassan felt tears prick at his eyes. “Thank y/n…thank you.”

You smiled, and nodded, “I’ll um…I’ll leave you to it. Come by later. Lunch is on me.”

“You’re gonna make me fat.” He grumbled

“A little pudge is cute.” You shrugged as you opened the door.

“You’re a bad influence.” He shot back- his walls back up as the door to the outside opened- literally.

“Guess you’ll just have to lock me away, sheriff!” You chirped, and smiled, then closed the door.

But as you turned away and walked back through the shop, that smile faded away.

Everything was changing.

Fast…so fast. Hassan and Ali had been on Crockett for close to a year, and you had never heard Ali mention something about church.

You knew the miracle with Leeza had been drawing many people in, but you could still accept it as a miracle without changing your beliefs.

Did he just want to fit in?

Was he just curious?

Then you remembered how you had felt that morning as you waited for Father Hill. That feeling of trepidation that seeded in your navel and seared into your fingertips.

When you unlocked the door to your shop, you wondered if it was because there was nothing to distract you as you sat in the church. Everyday there was something to keep you busy- the doddering Monsignor or now the invigorating Father. Something to guide you. But once you were left with your thoughts…you started to think a little too much.

Now you weren’t stupid- far from it. You thought a lot. Constantly. But there was something pressing about sitting in that church. You almost felt like you had woken up when you had stood outside the rectory.

Nervous.

Yes you had felt…so nervous as Bev stood there with you.

You wondered if that was how lambs felt before they were taken for slaughter.

Oh what a gruesome thought…pull yourself together.

You were spiralling into the morbid.

Tomorrow would be better.

You focused on that. Yes. Yes tomorrow would be better.

GOOD FRIDAY MASS AT 8PM

E4STER VIGIL SUN MIDNIG-

You watched as Sturge finished with the H and T.

That chord in you struck again. You twitched. The dread in your stomach rolling around like a marble on a metal track.

Leeza stood beside you, confused as ever, “Wait…you're saying every night? No morning Masses at all?” She asked.

Sturge sighed, “Time being.”

Your brows scrunched up, but you schooled your expression when Leeza looked over at you. No need to let her see your worry.

“Father Paul probably just needs another morning or two to recover from that head cold- but he’ll be up and about tonight. Isn’t that right Sturge?” Wade tried to reassure the crowd as a good mayor should, but you knew Wade. And you knew something wasn’t right.

“Yessir, spoke with him myself this morning’…feeling’ much better.” Sturge agreed.

You looked over at the weathered man, and noted that he was off too.

Rehearsed.

You made Sturge a birthday cake every year and the extent of his appreciation was a “Thanks.” Sturge was never a man of many words, and defiantly wouldn’t over explain something.

Wade nodded now, “Dolly spoke to him too and he had a few things to say about Good Friday isn’t that right, honey?” He asked his wife.

You turned to the woman in question, and saw that she was looking somewhere else.

“Dolly?” You heard Wade say, but he trailed off

You saw what she was looking at, and you understood why. You had seen Mildred Gunning now a few times on your deliveries to her house, but seeing her up and walking outside made you stop short. Certainly you had noticed how she was practically aging backwards, but you had only assumed Sarah was trying a new treatment for her.

But this. The walk across the island was a half hour on a good day. And there she was in her Sunday best.

The crowd of islanders began murmuring amongst themselves, and began embracing the older woman. You held back just a little, though your practiced smile was on your face. Your eyes found Sarah beside her, and somehow you weren’t sure if you found solace or anxiety in what you saw there.

She had the same look on her face that you were hiding on yours under your smile.

It wasn’t grim, but it wasn’t joyous.

You slowly began back into town. You missed Mass. You missed that energy that the good Father Hill brought to the church. You missed-

You shook yourself.

Stop it.

What’s wrong with you?

Suddenly, that perfect little routine you had made for yourself for years…was crumbling. You no longer felt the peace you once did, and now it seemed you had to flip the routine completely.

Nightly Mass.

You pursed your lips.

“Have a minute?”

You turned and saw the Sheriff coming towards you as you unlocked your door.

You nodded and grinned softly, “Morning, sure thing.”

The two of you entered the little store and you closed it behind you.

“Everything okay?” You asked when Hassan stood quietly.

“You know that kid, Bowl?” He asked.

You blinked, “Sure I do. Bit of a troubled kid.”

Hassan nodded, “You seen him lately?”

You frowned, “Can’t say I have.”

“Alright…worth a shot. You’re the youngest one here aside from the kids so…just wanted to ask.” He sighed.

“I’m sorry…” you wrung your hands, “Have um…have you seen Joe lately?” You asked, suddenly remembering the quietness in the sheriffs office and lack of grumbled greetings.

At that the sheriff hung his head a little, “No…no but I need to speak to him…I’ll let you know if I find him.”

You took a breath in and held it a little to try and calm yourself, “Alright.”

“I’ll see you later, y/n. Don’t work too hard.” He murmured, as he opened the door.

“You too, Hassan.” You said a little absentmindedly.

He left you to your thoughts. With Mass cancelled again, you had far too much time to kill before you really needed to start deliveries.

You sat on your little stool behind the counter, and found a book Father Hill had lent you almost a week ago under your receipt box.

The Divine Comedy: Dante’s inferno.

You began to read. Too afraid to let your thoughts run rampant again.

Nightime wasn’t much better. You felt something pulling in you to go and visit the rectory. No one outside of the Scarboroughs, Sturge and Bev had seen the Father, and there was that nagging feeling in you that you needed to see if he was alright. Why couldn’t he just come out to tell everyone he was on the mend? What was there all this dancing around?

You stood on your porch, cardigan pulled tight around you as you fought with yourself internally.

Then, just as you went to take a step, a gust of wind pushed you back. You felt that anxiety strum within you once again. Your gut cried to you to not go, and with blood running cold, you went inside and shut the door.

You closed your curtains that night, and prayed to any God that would listen. You didn’t know why fear had rooted itself so deep within your heart, and somehow that frightened you more.

You were afraid.

So afraid.

Good Friday. You put on that dress your mom had gotten you last year for Christmas- she said it brought out your eyes. You grabbed a warm sweater, and socks, and left for Mass.

It was strange walking across the island as the sun set. You strode calmly, pushing that nagging feeling that sat in the back of your throat away.

“Y/n!”

You turned and saw Sarah and Mildred walking behind you not too far. You smiled, “Hello you two!” You chirped. You might have been suffering from an internal turmoil but you weren’t about to let them know.

“Sarah, Mrs.Gunning. Happy to see you both coming tonight.” You smiled and fell into step with them.

Mildred nodded, “It’s been years…” she mused, then stopped and held your arm, “You’ve been so good to us over the years, dear…Sarah’s been telling me and…I wanted to thank you.”

You waved her off and smiled, “Oh it was nothing. Happy to make your lives easier.”

“You have…really. Thank you.” Sarah nodded, a tight smile on her lips.

“You’re a good girl, y/n.” Mildred smiled gently.

You returned it, “Come on…hopefully Father Hill is well enough to preach today.”

The three of you walked the rest of the way, and you noticed how many times Mildred was stared at. She smiled and nodded when people looked, breaking any tension. Then as you walked up to the church, you saw Bev standing to greet the parishioners.

You smiled at her, though she looked straight past you to greet Mildred. You nodded to Sarah, and left them there to talk.

You took your seat, and not long after, the Gunnings took theirs directly in front of you. You wondered if that was where Mildred used to sit before she grew too ill.

Several more minutes passed, until you heard that low voice of the good father from the door of the church to begin service, “All rise for our processional hymn- number 139 in the red hymnal: At the cross , at the cross.”

You rose to your feet, and began to sing, but you couldn’t help but feel relieved that Father Hill was alright. It had been days since only a couple people saw him, and while you would never assume any deception from your elders…the secrecy seemed so strange.

“They took the body of Jesus, and bound it with the burial cloths along with the spices, according to the Jewish burial custom.” Dolly stood on the pulpit, reading from her bible. The church was full around you, and you found yourself slowly feeling at ease. You felt so silly for having been distressed.

“Now in the place where he had been crucified, there was a garden, and in the garden, a new tomb in which no one had yet been buried. So, they laid Jesus there because of the Jewish preparation day. For the tomb was close by. The Gospel of the Lord.” She finished.

“Praise to you, Lord Jesus Christ.” You and the other churchgoers answered.

Then as soon as Dolly stepped down, you found your eyes locked onto Father Hill as he took his place. You took a moment to take him in after it being a few days of not seeing him. Indeed he did look well- skin no longer waxy and pale. There was something else to his presence though, and you couldn’t quite put your finger on it. It almost felt like…home. What you came for. What you took comfort in.

That thought startled you.

“Good Friday. This is one of my favorite days of the year. The passion of our Lord. Just that word, “passion.” The word “passion,” it means a strong and barely controllable emotion. Barely controllable. That’s what Jesus felt when he gave his life for us, so that we might have life eternal. What a gift, told so beautifully in the Gospel of John. “Gospel” means good news! Good news on Good Friday. And yet, it’s a story of such profound suffering. What’s so good about that?” He paused to take in the filled church. You could see the pride he felt having brought the community together. You smiled a little.

“Jesus’s suffering in this story, it isn’t simply necessary. It is good. It is the price of eternal life. That suffering, he endures alone. At the Resurrection, he is alone. And then… Well… Ah, he has a few allies. And then more. A congregation. And then more and more people spread that good news. Tell that good story. And then, God has an army. What do they say in that commercial? Uh, “Be all that you can be.” Well, I mean no offense to the armed services, which are necessary and of course honorable, but that’s not all that you can be. In the Army, you’re fighting for God and country.”

You heard a few people murmur amongst you; admiration shining in their eyes as they listens to their preacher.

“Now, I am going to offend you now, but it is the truth. God does not want you to fight for this country. The arrogance… of that. God has no country. There is one God for the world. And the lines we draw, and the treaties we draft, and the borders we close mean nothing to Him. No, don’t fight for a country. You fight for God’s kingdom. A kingdom which Jesus tells us has no flags or borders. God’s army.”

You felt your throat tighten and your nose prickle.

“Now make no mistake. It is a war. That’s what an army is for.So, as a congregation, as God’s army, how do we know how the fight is going? We can’t see it. We can’t radio HQ for a status report. All we have, all God gives us, is right here.” He pointed to his chest, “How we feel. That moral compass inside each one of us pointing due north to the Holy Spirit. Conscience. In the army of God, conscience is standard issue. There are many like it, but this one is mine. You may think that that’s a line from a war movie, but it isn’t. That’s actually the Rifleman’s Creed. And a creed is, by definition, not just a belief, but it is a religious one. ” You could feel yourself hang onto each word. Rapt.

“So, it is a war, and there will be casualties. And we must be soldiers. That is what Good Friday is about. God will ask horrible things of you. Horrible. Just look at what He asked of His own son. Just look at what Jesus had to endure today. We had to call it the “New Covenant,” because God’s will, while perfect, changes.God’s will dictates morality, and as God’s will changes, so does morality change. It changed with the New Covenant. It changed when Jesus came, and we must, as his army, shed the Old Covenant and listen only to that. You rely on that compass. Good Friday is only good. The Gospel of the Lord, so full of horror, is only good, because of where it is headed. The Resurrection. Today is only good because of what’s coming Easter, this Sunday. When Jesus is risen, and death itself is lain dead. What is otherwise horrible is good because of where it’s headed. Welcome to God’s army. Yeah, we’re gonna do great things.”

Your blood rushed in your ears as Father Hill finished.

You somehow felt refreshed…full. You supposed you needed that sense of belonging amongst the other islanders. But when you went to converse with the Gunnings, you were surprised to see them already shuffling out towards the door as soon as Sturge had opened them. You wondered if perhaps it was all too tiring for Mildred and they needed to get home soon.

You sighed, and stood to find Annie. She was there with Ed, but they seemed off too. “Hi Annie, Ed…any plans for Easter?” You asked as you joined them in the thinning crowd.

But then you saw the anxiety in the older woman’s eyes. You knew instantly that something was very wrong. “Annie?” You asked, putting a hand on her arm.

“Oh it…it’s nothing. You know me.” She waved it off, “We uh were thinking of having a nice family dinner. You’re welcome to come of course.” She forced a smile.

You waited patiently with a gentle nod until she told you what was going on. She always did.

“Riley…he- we haven’t seen him all day.” She finally said.

Your brows pitched in worry, “Oh I’m- I’m sorry…maybe he’s with Erin? They’re close right?” You asked, trying to keep their spirits up.

“Probably. Like I said it’s nothing.” She reassured you again, “Anyways, isn’t that the dress your mom got you? What was it…your birthday last year?” She changed the subject, and you let her.

“Christmas.” You smiled, “Thought I’d pull it out of the closet.”

“You look lovely. See you tomorrow?” She asked, already moving out and down the aisle with the remaining parishioners and pulling Ed with her.

“Most likely! You know me…always around.” You nodded, following after them.

“Take care now!” She called back, and her husband gave you a small wave before they disappeared down the stairs and onto the road.

Now left to your solitude, you felt butterflies take wing in your stomach. You sucked in a breath, and began down the stairs after saying goodbye to another few islanders you knew speaking to Bev. You stepped outside, head a little in the clouds when you nearly jumped.

“There she is. How are you, my dear girl?” Father Hill stood at the bottom of the stairs wishing each of his flock goodbye.

You looked up at him as you came to stand beside him. But he wasn’t as vibrant as he usually was. You noticed a certain darkness in his eyes…

Of course he looks like that he’s been sick for days

You mentally throttled yourself.

“I’m well, thank you Father. You seem better.” You smiled a little, though perhaps not as wide as usual.

He noticed.

“Yes…yes much, thank you. Everyone has been so accommodating with me…so helpful. Good people.” He mused.

You nodded, “They are.”

John could almost feel your pulse in his head as you gazed up at him- so docile. The light from St. Patrick’s spilled over you and lit you like a holy revelation. He could smell your skin from his place a few feet away…could tell that you washed your hair not too long ago. But despite the loveliness of having you so close, John knew something in you was shifting.

You were more…anxious. Looking for justification to trust.

Skittish but still coming to his presence so diligently.

Like you didn’t even know what you were afraid of.

No need to fear sweet lamb…I am with you…

You started to shift away from him then, but it almost seemed like he didn’t quite want you to go. His gaze still locked onto you. “I trust I’ll see you on Sunday?”

You laughed a little, “No, no I think I’ll skip it.”

His face seemed to fall for a moment, but when you didn’t stop smiling it clicked that you were joking. “Oh- yes…you’re kidding.” He smiled with you, “Please do come. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Father Paul added earnestly.

You felt that tug in your chest just like when you had gone to the rectory to speak with him weeks ago.

You felt seen.

Appreciated.

“Well I…I’ll be there, Father. Rest.” You said, backing away, “Have a blessed night!”

John took a slow step toward you, but no more than that. He knew not to press his luck with your trust. Didn’t want to scare you off.

“And you, y/n.” He waved to you.

You turned and began your walk. But just as you had felt at home when Mass had begun, you felt a little empty as you walked away. You felt that tug grow more insistent the further you went; so much so that you turned before descending the hill to look back.

Father Hill was in discussion with Wade, but once you stood still, his head snapped to you.

You startled a little.

But it wasn’t so much the fact that he noticed you.

It was the strangest thing…you could have sworn you saw the light of the church catch his eyes and make them glint in the dark.

It happened so fast that you told yourself you just needed your day off. You were just tired.

You needed some sleep.

That was why you felt the contentment you had just been floating on start to drain away. That was why you felt so at ease when the Father spoke to you. Just tired.

You had no way of knowing then that it was the little bit of tainted blood in your system that was calling out to its patron. That it was humming around the others who shared the gift too…communicating internally with one another- somehow knowing that you’re like them.

By the time you were home, you felt as if the weight of the world was yours to uphold. Worry began to consume you as your thoughts swirled in the silence.

Riley was missing.

Joe was missing.

Pike was dead.

Bowl was missing.

You stopped brushing your hair for a moment. You hadn’t thought of the strange happenings like that before. Indeed there was quite a few. You had lived on Crockett your whole life you knew that the maximum a person could go missing for was a day and that was pushing it.

How long had Joe been missing…?

Your gut began to twist again, and you almost fell to your knees when you knelt to pray.

You didn’t know what was happening to you. To your home.

Fear began to encircle your heart, and you almost considered running back to the church to sleep on a pew.

You felt alone.

For the first time in a long time, you felt so very alone.

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

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

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