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toournextadventure · 1 month

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our little secret pt.iv

Summary: Your sins catch up with you.

Word Count: 11.9k Warnings: swearing, heavy religion and religious trauma (Southern Christianity), heavy religious homophobia, slurs, misogyny, guns, threats of violence, talk of death Pairing: Lorraine Day x Fem!Reader (our little secret i) (our little secret ii) (our little secret iii) (our little secret iv) A/N: this has super heavy religious themes, if you're not good with that please don't read, do what's best for y'all 🫶

Lorraine was coming home.

Well, they were all coming home, but you were only truly excited to see Lorraine. It had been nearly three months since you had seen her last. There was little to no contact because they were moving around a lot, but you would get her letters. Simple little things to tell you where they were, what they were doing, how much bigger they were getting in the industry.

Each letter felt more precious than the last. She never said anything explicit - though you couldn’t say the same for the rare letter from Max or Bobby-Lynn - but the message never changed. She missed you. Filming wasn’t the same when she knew she couldn’t go to you immediately after. Sometimes, if you were lucky, she would even complain about RJ.

The letters stayed hidden in a lockbox in Beau’s truck. You had wanted to keep them with you so they were easier to get a hold of, but both he and Huck had reminded you of the dangers of such a thing. What if someone found them? It would put both you and Lorraine in danger.

It wasn’t something that should have been a surprise to you, yet it partially was. You had gotten comfortable with the small group you surrounded yourself with. All but one or two knew of your little secret, and every single one of them was in support. Or at the very least, they were accepting. When you were with them, you almost forgot you weren’t supposed to be with Lorraine; you were supposed to be in your good, Christian, church-ordained relationship with Beau.

Yet, it was easy enough to keep your secret when Lorraine was away so often. You were so very proud of her and all she was achieving. Each time you saw her, you made sure to remind her of such. A kiss for each time you had felt proud of her while she was away, just to ensure she felt proud of herself. It didn’t matter what she did, all that mattered was she was working hard and moving through life successfully.

Beau and Huck had just gotten back from their own trip as well. They were scheduled to get back a few days after Lorraine, but out of some strange sense of responsibility, they had come back early. You wouldn’t complain. After all, you may not have been romantically interested in either of them, but you still loved them. They were family. They were your family. When they were around, life felt less chaotic. You could breathe and relax and feel however you wanted to feel because you knew, no matter what, that they loved you.

Things felt… good. As good as they had in a long while. You often spent your evenings with Roy. After talking with Jackson a few times, you had some idea on how to talk with your brother. He had been hesitant at first, seemingly not even able to comprehend his own thoughts. But slowly, day by day, you managed to get him to talk.

In the dead of night when you should have been asleep in your room, you sat across from Roy in the barn and listened to his rambling stories. I was an electrician, he had said, a pole jockey. You didn’t ask what that meant. Average life of a pole jockey is 7 seconds. For the first time since coming home, he showed you his overabundance of scars.

It was no wonder he felt trapped within his own mind.

“How’s it goin’, Roy?” Beau asked as he walked into the barn with Huck right on his heels. “Brought you some barbecue.”

Roy grumbled an acknowledgement before gingerly taking the Tupperware box from Beau’s outstretched hand. He always seemed to go fairly nonverbal when someone else was around. A small part of you felt proud that he trusted you enough to talk with you. It didn’t outweigh the feeling of knowing he would probably never get better.

“You goin’ to church with us on Sunday?” Huck asked gently.

He took a different approach to interacting with Roy than Beau did. While Beau very much kept his “big boy britches” on (as he had so much fun saying), Huck was more outwardly compassionate. It wasn’t that they didn’t care, or they thought Roy incapable, they were just raised differently. At least it was better than how you were both raised.

At least they showed they cared.

“Our sweet girl is preachin’,” Beau continued.

Roy looked at you and raised an eyebrow comically high. If you hadn’t just been talking about people dying and his nightmares, you would have teased him for it. Maybe you should have, just to invoke a sense of normalcy in it all. You opted to keep your mouth shut.

“It’s just kids’ church,” you said with a shrug. “Nothin’ important.”

“You are shapin’ the young minds of America’s future voters,” Beau said with a finger pointed in your direction. “That’s mighty important.”

You laughed and kicked out at him, managing to barely catch his heel. “You hear that from the television set?”

“Yes ma’am, I did,” he said with that cheesy smile that made all the women in town swoon. “You’re doin’ the Lord’s work.”

“You still don’t have to go,” you said to Roy.

He looked at you with a small smile before looking back down at the food in his hands. Yeah, you knew that would be the answer. So did Beau, but he still tried, bless his heart. You looked at him as he continued talking with Huck and felt something tighten in your chest.

You wished you loved him the way you were supposed to. If you could just feel those butterflies whenever he held your hand, or kissed your cheek, or wrapped his arms around you, everything would be better. You could still love Lorraine, and you could still love Huck, but the guilt wouldn’t be sticking to your very bones, weighing you down until you could feel the very fires of hell licking at your skin.

Maybe you could learn. Perhaps you could learn to feel for him the way you were supposed to. Lorraine felt for RJ - or could at least pretend convincingly - and no one was the wiser. If you could pretend, or learn, then maybe things wouldn’t be so bad. You could get away with loving Lorraine if you could convince everyone that you felt for Beau the way you were supposed to.

While he talked with Huck and Roy, you sat back and really looked at him. He was handsome, you didn’t have to fancy him romantically to see it. Just near every girl in town thought you were lucky as could be; you couldn’t entirely disagree. His laugh, his smile, his kindness, he was everything a girl could want.

And you felt nothing.

It weighed heavy on your soul as the days kept passing you by. Each day brought you closer to seeing Lorraine again, which meant you distanced yourself from Beau. You desperately hoped he understood; you loved him dearly, and there was nothing you wouldn’t do for him. But you just couldn’t love him the way you knew you should.

You sighed and put your thoughts aside when a truck pulled up to the barn. It wasn’t one you had seen before, at least not one you could remember. But it pulled up beside Beau’s truck as if they had done it a million times before. Not even Jimmy pulled up so well, and he lived there.

“You invite somebody?” You asked whoever was listening.

“You say that like we got friends,” Huck said with a chuckle and a swig from his beer bottle. He didn’t even look.

“Then somebody invited themself,” you said.

The lights of the truck were still on, seeming brighter as the sun continued to dip beneath the horizon. It would have silhouetted the still-budding cotton field if not for the blinding lights. Not many people made it a habit of coming out to the barn; they went to the house with daddy and not much else. There really wasn’t much sense in coming out this way.

Roy’s knee pressed against your thigh before you heard something scrape across the concrete floor. Hesitantly, you stopped looking at the truck and turned to look at him. His eyes were glued to the truck, and his hand was wrapped carefully around the handle of a pistol. A pistol that you hadn’t known he still had access to.

“I got it,” you said softly as you reached out to place your hand on top of his. He stiffened beneath you, but nodded once and let go of the gun.

You would need to figure out what to do about that another day.

The driver’s side door opened without a creak - something unusual in your bunch - and someone stepped out. You stood up and took a few steps toward the truck in an attempt to see who it was. With the truck’s lights still on, you couldn’t tell. You couldn’t even properly see their silhouette. When the lights turned off, you were stuck blinking erratically; the beam of light wouldn’t fade quickly enough.

“You lost?” You called out. The words carried across the now-silent driveway. “Town’s the other way.”

“I’m where I wanna be.”

Every atom of your being sparked at the voice. If you had been thinking logically, you would have remembered Roy was sitting on a box behind you. There were witnesses to your actions. But you weren’t thinking logically. You could never think logically if she was around.

There wasn’t an ounce of hesitation before you practically sprinted toward the truck. Your arms knew where to go; they secured themselves around Lorraine’s shoulders as if that was where they belonged. In return, her arms wrapped around your waist, and her breath hit your neck, and her giggles reached your ears, and you were home.

She was your home.

“Got back a few nights early,” she said. Her arms squeezed tighter around your waist. “Thought I’d come surprise you.”

“It’s a good surprise,” you said softly.

You would have been content to stand there for the rest of eternity. With her head resting between your collar and jaw and her arms holding you like a lifeline, you didn’t have a single complaint. Why would you even want to leave? She was your home. She was what made your heart beat so fast you started to question if it would even hold up to the abuse.

“Look who’s back.” Beau’s voice came from behind you like the mighty voice of God himself; calling you out for the very sin of feeling love.

Lorraine pulled away to give everyone a hug, and you watched her do so. No one cared about your… affections for Lorraine; if Roy noticed, he certainly didn’t say anything. He even reached out to squeeze her hand, which was much more than he did for most.

Did he know? When Lorraine pulled up a box right beside yours and let her thigh rest only a hair’s breadth away from yours, did he see? It hadn’t ever occurred to you that Roy might know more than he let on. He was traumatised, not blind. How much did he see that you weren’t aware of?

Would he hate you? Had daddy gotten to him before you had even been born, teaching him that your very existence was a blight on the earth? Your stomach twisted into knots at the possibility. Jimmy was younger, he was more open minded, but Roy? The very thought of him condemning you to hell even after everything he had seen made your chest squeeze and tighten.

“You get yourself a new truck?” Huck asked as he held out a newly opened beer for Lorraine to take. “Looks mighty clean.”

“It’s daddy’s,” she said as she grabbed the bottle by the neck with her good hand.

“What happened to the truck I was fixin’ up?” You asked.

“He gave up on it,” she said with a shrug. “Said she was done for.”

“She was not done for,” you grumbled.

The toe of Lorraine’s shoe pushed gently against your heel; a teasing gesture she had adopted when other people were around. Just something small to let you know she acknowledged what you were saying. A habit you almost wished didn’t exist. The very existence of it meant you both were well aware of the ramifications of any sort of potentially scandalous words or activities. It was humiliating.

Your thoughts wouldn’t stop when everyone started talking and catching up. Lorraine was being particularly open. Nearly every time she came back from a trip, she stayed distant for a few days. The entire town knew you were all best friends, but you both tried to keep nothing but professional. It was fake. It was painful.

What about this break made her throw away that distance? Your chest warmed at the possibility that something had happened with RJ; perhaps everything wasn’t so awful. It wasn’t likely, but you let yourself relish in the feeling even if just for a moment. God could spare you a single moment of peace.

“We all gettin’ together Friday night?” Beau asked. “The usual?”

“Sounds good to me,” Lorraine said. She turned to look at you with a sparkle in her eye. “Think you can handle it?”

Roy’s knee pressed against your thigh at the same time Lorraine’s thigh did the same. Something about the potential judgment from your brother and the warmth from the woman you were forced to love in secret pulled at your insides. Tugging them in different directions, stretching you thin until you wanted to fade away into oblivion.

A moment of peace.

“I’m your huckleberry,” you said with a shrug.

Lorraine’s smile eased the tension in your chest. For the moment.

—---

The worn-down barn had been rearranged since the last time you had visited. The bar took over the better half of the left wall, and the makeshift stage had been reinforced at the back. Your usual table, which was originally found near the front of the barn, was now located closer to the back end of the bar; you could see directly out to the pitch black fields.

That was where your crew found themselves that Friday night; sitting at the table with more than a few empty drinks scattered around. It wasn’t like the Mexican restaurant down the road. There weren’t waitresses and people working there to clean. It was your responsibility to take your empty glasses back so they could be cleaned and reused. And on that night, it was your turn to be the waitress.

“Hey sugar,” Beau called to you when you were grabbing the empty cups to take back. “Get us another round?”

“You’re gonna have me lookin’ like an alcoholic,” you said with a pointed look.

You ignored Lorraine’s angelic giggle.

You also didn’t say no.

“What can I get for ya, Preacher?” Stevie - Stephen on Sundays - asked. “Your boys are throwin’ ‘em back.”

“So’s Rainey,” you said with a slight shake of your head. It didn’t erase your smile. “How’s about somethin’ watered down.”

“You truly are doin’ the Lord’s work,” he said with a smirk that most girls around town fell for. “A small bit of whiskey and some sweet iced tea.”

You mouthed a silent thank you as he got to work on the drinks and you turned to look back out at the scene. It was no surprise to see Beau and Lorraine already up and dancing. They couldn’t get you to dance to save your life, but you knew how much Lorraine loved it. She could have fun and laugh and smile without a care in the world. Did it help that she only danced when she was drunk? Yes, but that didn’t really matter.

The sight of her smiling has that vice grip closing around your heart again. It was cold and made you feel like you were drowning on dry land. Something about it didn’t sit right with you. Love was supposed to be something warm, something you could crawl back home to. It wasn’t supposed to hurt so bad, was it? Surely there was more to love than the hurt that you couldn’t even tell anyone about.

God was looking down on you. You could feel it. He was looking down at you, waiting to smite you where you stood. If he could hear your thoughts, could feel the way your body reacted to just hearing Lorraine’s voice, he would command Satan himself to drag you down to hell. You would feel the fiery pits of hell before you could ever show anyone how much you loved her.

But a part of you didn’t care. You would face whatever was thrown at you just to see her smile again. To feel her fingers brush against your hand when you passed her a bible at church because she had forgotten one again. You would have stood in front of God himself and rejected the heavenly gates if it meant you could hear her voice each morning you awoke beside her.

Blasphemy.

You knew it was.

You’re condemning your God for something that will never come to fruition.

You knew that too.

“Here ya go,” Stevie said, pulling you out of your downward spiral into a controlled madness. “Should help ‘em sober up a bit.”

“Thanks, Stevie,” you said with another polite smile as you grabbed the glasses he held out to you.

Lorraine and Beau were still dancing when you placed the drinks on the table and drug yourself into your seat. It was one of those tall seats that you almost had to climb into if you were a little shorter. Beau always teased you for it, but you at least got to tease Lorraine in return. She was shorter than you, after all.

“Please tell me these don’t have alcohol in ‘em,” Huck said even as he pulled the glass closer to him. “I can’t keep up with those two.”

“Little bit of whiskey,” you said, “mostly iced tea.”

He nodded once. “I can work with that.”

“Think they’ll dance all night?” You asked, turning your head to look at your boyfriend and the love of your life. That ball in your throat reappeared. You pretended not to notice it.

“They’re already stumblin’,” he said with a shake of his head. “I reckon they’ll come back in a bit.”

You nodded absentmindedly and continued to watch the pair. This very scene was a repeat of when she had gotten back a few months ago. The scenes played out in your head perfectly as you imagined the sound of Lorraine’s laughter to go with her dancing. It didn’t cover the sounds of her moans or the feel of her on top of you, but you were allowed an indecent thought every now and then.

If you were going to hell, you may as well enjoy the moment.

God, your mind was a mess. Maybe you needed to get away from town for a few days.

Lorraine’s voice reached you before she did. If you had been blinded, you would have been able to pick her voice out within a moment. Hers was the voice that guided you through your days, instilling a confidence and comfort that nothing else truly could. It rivaled God himself, and you understood how the prophets could be so comforted when listening to Him.

“You didn’t get yourself a drink,” Lorraine commented when she sat down beside you with the same grace as a newborn lamb.

“I’ll just share yours,” you said.

Her toothy smile sent a jolt to your very core.

“You’re dancin’ with me next, darlin’,” Beau said. He attempted to point at you, but just ended up making a mess and spilling half his drink.

“Ask me again when you’re sober, cowboy,” you teased.

“You goin’ to church with us on Sunday, Rainey?” Huck asked.

“Don’t talk about church,” Beau whined. “We’re tryin’ to have some fun.”

“Yeah, I’ll go,” she answered anyway. “So will the rest of the crew.”

That was new information.

“They’re here?” You asked.

“They said they missed y’all,” she said with a smile that was far more sober, almost even bashful.

“You sure they won’t burst into flames when they step foot inside?” Beau asked. You did your best not to laugh when Huck slapped his arm. Lorraine laughed aloud anyway.

You all talked about everything. You talked about nothing. You talked about plans that meant nothing and everything all at the same time. A vacation, perhaps out west, to see the ocean. Perhaps another one to Tennessee, where Huck knew a family that made moonshine in their shed. Or up to those big ole cities like New York, where rumour had it you could get yourself some crab that you didn’t catch out on the Gulf.

Lorraine’s thigh was flush against yours. It was just warm enough outside to warrant shorts, and even though you were wearing your sundress, you could feel her bare skin against yours. The very thought was indecent to its core. There were so many people around that had no idea of the indiscrete touch, yet it was enough to shake you to your very soul.

“I wanna watch you dance,” Lorraine whispered in your ear. It’s possible it wasn’t a whisper at all, but with the band and talking all around, no one else would have heard.

“I didn’t think you liked watchin’,” you said with a straight face that completely contradicted your teasing thoughts.

“I like watching’ if it’s you,” she said with a mirrored expression.

Damn her and those beautiful brown eyes of hers.

“Come on, lover boy,” you called out to Beau even as Lorraine brushed her knuckles against your thigh underneath the table. “You get one dance.”

“I’ll take it,” he said quickly.

He downed what little was left in his glass before hopping down from the stool. Your feet had barely touched the dirt floor when Beau grabbed your hand and pulled you with him. He was far past tipsy, though you wouldn’t quite say he was drunk. He was, however, well on his way.

“Just a nice lil two-step,” he warned you.

“Don’t drop me,” you warned.

He smiled the dopey, crooked smile that Huck loved so much. “Darlin’, I wouldn’t dare.”

As much as you hated dancing, it wasn’t half bad with Beau. He was one of the best in town, there was no denying the fact. There was something about his two-step that made it different, a little more special. He could have led the blind with how confident he was. Each step, each twist, each dip, you just simply had to follow. Not once would he ever leave you to falter.

You gave him more than one dance; after all, how could you stop when you had seen the look on Lorraine’s face as she watched? What would it feel like to dance with her, you wondered. Would she prefer to lead, or follow? How would her hand feel resting on your hip for something as simple as a dance? Would it send the same jolt of passion through you as everything else she did?

Once the music started to die down, you could feel the blisters starting to form on your heels. You couldn’t recall the last time you had danced in boots, and your feet were reminding you of such a thing. With a small grimace, you realised you would have to take care of them once you got home. The last thing you wanted were untreated blisters.

“I’m done,” you told Beau. You weren’t looking at his face; you were too focused on your feet. “I think I’m gonna regret this come mornin’.”

His grip on your waist tightened. “How’s about one more?”

“I ain’t losin’ my feet for a dance,” you said with a light laugh. You went to turn towards the table, but he pulled you back.

“Just one more,” he insisted. “Then I’ll let you escape.”

You tried to pull away again. “I reckon I really just need to sit dow-”

-Beau’s lips were pressed against yours before you had time to acknowledge the fact. He was pulling you tight, and your hands pushed lightly against his chest. His lips were chapped; they were nowhere near as soft as Lorraine’s. That was the only thing you could think about as the kiss seemed to drag on.

Until it clicked that you were kissing Beau.

No, he was kissing you.

You finally managed to push him just far enough away for you to look at him. He was looking down at you with startlingly sober eyes. That wasn’t like him at all. In all your years of knowing him, he had never sobered up so quickly in his life. He wasn’t a lightweight, but once he was gone? He was gone.

“What the hell was that for?” You asked softly enough for no one around you to hear.

He didn’t answer.

“Beau,” you insisted.

His eyes flickered above your head before meeting yours once again. What was he looking at? You shouldn’t look. The internal voice that so often resembled your guilt sounded more desperate. Desperate like the look on Beau’s face. It was right, you shouldn’t look.

You turned around anyway.

You didn’t immediately see anything out of sorts. Stevie was starting to pack up at the bar, indicative of either shift change or the barn being out of alcohol for the night. At the table, Huck was facing the bar and throwing back a shot that you didn’t recall him getting. Hadn’t he said he was done drinking? He wasn’t really one to go back once he was done.

Until you locked eyes with Lorraine. Who was standing right outside the barn in front of a kneeling RJ. Who’s left hand was clasped between both of his. Who looked painfully sober while he slid a ring onto her finger. Who looked at you with the same look you got from Jimmy and Huck and Roy when she was with RJ.

You weren’t supposed to look.

Each beat of your heart hurt.

“I think I’m done for tonight,” you said around the lump in your throat.

Beau’s arms held you tighter to his chest. “I’ll take you home.” His heartbeats hurt too.

“No thank you,” you said before finally turning back around to face him. You tried not to think too much about the look on his face. “Stay here with Huck and celebrate.”

“Baby-”

“-It’s alright,” you interrupted with a smile that convinced no one. “Stevie’s goin’ my way anyway.”

Every inch of your body was both numb and engulfed in pain all at once. You stood on your toes - ignoring the sting of raw blisters on your heel - and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek. He had a bit of stubble; it was scratchy against your lips and made a nice momentary distraction. It wasn’t enough.

He only tried to hold you close for just a moment more. It was nothing more than a half-hearted attempt, and the instant you pulled away, he let you. With each step, you focused on your heels. On walking carefully so the rough leather of your boots wouldn’t tear them to shreds. A practiced walk that any true Southerner had mastered by the time they were old enough to dress themselves.

The hair on the back of your neck stood up when you approached the table. It was itchy and you wanted to scratch it until you ceased to exist. But you didn’t, you kept your hands clasped politely in front of you until you grabbed your hat off the table.

“I’m headin’ on home,” you said to whoever was sitting at the table.

You knew who was at the table.

“You okay-”

“-Just feelin’ a bit sick ‘s all,” you interrupted Huck with a dismissive wave and a fake smile. No one was convinced. “Guess I can’t hold my liquor.”

“Need us to drive you home?” RJ asked. His voice alone set your nerves alight and a new pain radiating across your skin.

“I’ve got a ride,” you said. The next word forced its way out of your mouth. “Congratulations.”

She was looking at you, and you knew it, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. After all, why would you want to see the confirmation on her face? Did she not know what that would do to you? Your heart was barely getting by as it was, you didn’t need to add her pity to the mix.

You patted Huck on the shoulder before turning away, placing your hat back on your head in the process. It still smelled like Lorraine from when she had worn it earlier in the night. The act had made your fingers tingle with hidden excitement. No one had guessed the hidden meaning behind it; it was lovely.

Now it didn’t matter.

“You alright, sweetheart?” Stevie asked. Oh. You were at the bar. “You’re lookin’ a little green.”

“Just feelin’ a bit tired,” you said. “You headin’ my way?”

He tipped his hat. “Sure am.” A shit-eating grin took over his face. “Want a shot and smoke for the road?”

You should’ve said no. Stevie was someone you trusted greatly, and it was clear he wasn’t planning on taking the shot with you. Well, it wasn’t clear, but he only set one shot glass on the bar, so you assumed as much. But it wasn’t about his potential drinking and driving, it was the way it would look. It wasn’t proper for you to be leaving the bar with a man who wasn’t your boyfriend.

Your hands shook. Then again, it wasn’t quite proper for RJ to show up on your night out and propose to the woman you loved, either.

“I’d love one,” you told Stevie with a smile.

“Atta girl,” he said as he poured the whiskey into the glass. Bottom shelf; more than suitable for the job. “The smokes are in the truck.”

The hair on your arms stood up again. You tried not to think about it as you threw the shot back. The sting of alcohol hit your stomach like a semi hitting a brick wall. Nothing was appealing about it, and yet you weren’t disappointed. The sting was better than the pressure getting heavier and heavier on your chest.

“Alright, you ready?” Stevie asked when you slid the glass back toward him.

“Yessir,” you said with a smile that you hoped was more convincing than the last few.

It seemed it was.

The whole group was staring at you, you could feel it. Looking at you in pity, like a stray dog no one wanted. Everyone would feed it, would love it, would treat it well until the moment it came time to go inside. Then it would be left on the streets to fend for itself. With any luck, it would survive until the next encounter, but no one would take the risk of bringing it inside.

“Here you go,” Stevie mumbled as he held the cigarette pack out to you. It was so worn you couldn’t even tell the brand. You didn’t care.

He held the lighter up, and you leaned forward to get the spark. When you inhaled, the scalding ash burned every inch of your throat. It coated your lungs and took the pressure off your chest, if only to relocate it. The truck started driving off before you could exhale that first cloud of smoke. That was okay. You quickly inhaled again.

The burn showed you what hell felt like.

—---

The sun had risen long ago, and you were still in bed. The dusty yellow curtains were drawn, allowing only the thinnest sliver of light to penetrate your room. Whenever you dared to face the world for a few seconds, you could see the dust motes floating in the air, almost like spring snowflakes.

Momma had talked to Mrs. Day on the phone that morning. You hadn’t been present, but you could hear her through the walls. Her excitement at the news made you sick. You simply held your head out of your window and let yourself be sick before crawling back into bed. The blankets did nothing to block out the world, but you could at least pretend to hide away for a few hours.

You tried not to let yourself think about Lorraine; no easy feat considering she held your heart and soul in the palm of her hand. No, if you thought about it for too long, you felt you might turn into Roy. Stuck in your own head, unable to go about the intricacies of life without the trauma constantly looming over your head. You were more than content to lay in your bed and just rot away.

Hell could go ahead and take you. Surely it was no worse than what you were already experiencing.

“Come on, lazy bones,” momma said as she finally made the bold move to open your bedroom door. “Gramma’s here to help with the garden.”

She didn’t wait for you, but you knew the expectation. When momma asked you to do something, you usually had about 15 minutes before she started to pitch a fit. If you wanted to avoid a guilt trip, you would at least be up and in the process of heading outside by the time she started to get irritable.

You made sure to take up every minute you had. The slightly windy weather was perfect for a pair of jeans, so you made sure to take your time picking them out. The worn pair of garden boots sat in the corner; your heels stung just looking at them. It wouldn’t hurt to work barefoot for the day. After all, God brought you into the world without boots, you could experience another day without boots.

Momma and Gramma were already kneeling in the garden by the time you finally managed to make your appearance. Your hat hung low on your brow to block out the high afternoon sun. It was already hot on your arms, but you could work with it. A bit of sun wouldn’t kill you.

No one said a word as you grabbed the trowel and kneeled next to a still forming row of… well, you weren't sure what it would be this year. Last year it had been carrots, but they hadn’t lasted long. Perhaps this year you would make a bold suggestion of black eyed peas again. You knew you could get it right if you had another chance.

“What’s got you so down today, honey?” Gramma asked after what felt like far too long in the sun.

It had only been about five minutes.

“Does it have to do with Rainey gettin’ engaged?” Momma asked. The question made you sick to your stomach again.

“Yeah, kinda,” you said with a shrug even as you refused to look up at either of them.

“Oh honey,” Gramma said softly, “don’t be upset.” You couldn’t help it. “Beau will propose before you know it.”

Oh. Right.

You didn’t want Beau to propose. You couldn’t imagine anything worse than putting Huck through what you were feeling at that moment. Knowing that his heart would break every time he looked at you, no matter how happy he would be for you. He would have to sit on the sidelines, pretending to be joyous about watching his lover marry someone else.

Would he question God the way you did? Because you couldn’t comprehend why you were getting punished for the very fate of falling for someone you shouldn’t have. It wasn’t like you had planned on falling in love with Lorraine; did He really think you would do this on purpose? After seeing how painful life could be, why would you willingly choose such a life? To not feel a single thing for the man you were “supposed” to be with.

Surely it couldn’t have only been you. Surely you weren’t the only one who didn’t feel a certain way for Beau. Momma felt things for daddy, didn’t she? She had to, there was no other explanation. People didn’t just marry someone they didn’t love, did they?

Did they?

“What does love feel like?” You asked aloud to neither one of them in particular.

“What do you mean?” Momma asked.

You set the trowel down and leaned back on your heels. It stung. “When you look at Daddy, do you ever get, I don’t know, butterflies or somethin’?”

You finally looked up and saw both Momma and Gramma look away in thought. You needed them to confirm it. Needed them to tell you that yes, they felt something for Daddy and Pappy. They felt butterflies, and their palms got sweaty, and they wanted to do everything for them because they loved them. They needed to say it.

“Don’t think I ever have,” Momma finally said.

“Never?” You asked indignantly.

“Not that I recall,” she confirmed.

“How about you, Gramma?” You asked.

She needed to answer differently.

“Not for your Pappy,” she said with a shake of her head. “But I’ve felt somethin’ for someone else before.”

“Mom,” Momma scolded.

“Oh please,” Gramma said with a dismissive wave of her hand, “we’re all grown now.” She turned to look at you. “A man I grew up with.” You kept your eyes locked with hers. “Every time we were together, I’d get this giddy feelin’ in my chest.”

“Did you love him?” You asked.

“I believe I did,” she said with a nod. “He was certainly the one I wanted to spend my forever with.”

The pressure in your chest returned. “Why didn’t you?”

“He wasn’t the one I needed to love,” she said with a shrug before going back to digging up a few weeds.

“How d’you know?” You asked. The sweat made it harder to hold the trowel in your hand.

“God told me,” Gramma said as if it was the most logical answer in the world. “I was s’posed to love him, but I needed to love your Pappy.”

The pressure in your chest turned sharp.

“And you?” You asked Momma. “God told you to love Daddy?”

She nodded instantly. “He certainly did, and I thank Him every day for it.”

“But you don’t feel nothin’ special for him?” You asked. You wanted her to deny it.

“I feel what I’m s’posed to feel,” she confirmed.

You looked back down at the dirt. The tiny little splinters of the trowel handle dug into your fingers as you gripped it tighter. If you looked close enough, you could see a worm or two digging through the rich soil. Would it be easier to be that worm? To not have to worry about who to love, or if God would punish you for desiring someone else?

“Don’t worry, sweetheart,” Momma said, and you felt her hand rest on your shoulder. “Beau seems to be both the one you’re s’posed to love, and the one you need to love.” You felt sick. “You’re mighty lucky for it to turn out that way.”

“Yeah,” you said with a small smile before digging into the soil again.

Even though Momma and Gramma got back to work, you dug mindlessly with your bare hands, the trowel all but forgotten. Perhaps you had given your Momma too much credit. After all of this, she had ended up with someone that she didn’t love. Gramma had missed out on someone she loved because it wasn’t proper. Three generations of women who were stuck.

Was it a punishment? Surely God wouldn’t punish three generations of women for having feelings for someone. Someone that wasn’t ordained as the “right one” for them. No one could be quite that cruel, could they? What happened to love being something pure, a true gift that was to be held dearly?

Maybe your Momma had fallen victim to the same sin as you. Destined to love someone you weren’t meant to be with. The thought made you sick to your stomach. You were your mother’s daughter. And you were all suffering for the sin of love.

—--

Somehow, some way, you had managed to avoid any sort of small talk with people before church had started. You had stood at the doors to tell everyone good morning, giving Beau and Huck quick hugs before ushering them in. Daddy was already in the chapel talking with everyone, and you were more than happy to practically push the Days in without sparing them a second glance.

You ignored the coiling in your stomach when Lorraine gave you that pity-filled smile.

“You clean up nice.”

For the first time in two days, you allowed yourself to smile for a moment. Maxine was the first to give you a hug, then Bobby-Lynne, followed up by Jackson and Wayne. Truth be told, you had missed them too. There was something comforting about knowing that they accepted you, all of you, and wouldn’t shame you for a single thing.

Except for being a preacher. They still teased you for that one.

“And Beau was convinced you’d catch fire when you stepped in,” you said with a small smile.

“Not yet,” Bobby-Lynne said in her most confident tone. It was a good look for her.

“Everyone’s already inside,” you said with a gesture of your head, “go sit where you’d like.”

“We’ll behave,” Wayne said as he tipped his hat at you.

“Please do,” you called out to their backs.

Only a few more people were left before church started and you could finally close the doors. The kid’s church was in the small connected building on the side of the church. It wasn’t anything fancy, but the whole town had pitched in one year to build it. Something about having their own building made the kids more excited to go to church than anything else. And quite frankly, no one cared what the children enjoyed about it as long as they were excited to go.

“Alright y’all, let’s get started,” you said as you closed the doors behind you.

Daddy had made it clear you would never be the head preacher at church; that right was reserved for when Jimmy got back from seminary. You had tried not to act hurt when he had broken the news to you. The original plan had been for you to go to seminary because Jimmy wanted to go to an actual college. But it seemed none of you would get what you want, and you were all having to live with the cards you were being dealt.

Leading kids’ church was something you enjoyed, so you wouldn’t complain too much. After all, kids were far more open to learning than adults were. They wanted to hear whatever they wanted to hear and nothing else. You couldn’t count the number of times you had preached to the adults and they had come up to you afterwards to debate the meaning of a scripture. The joke was on them, though; you had taken enough seminary to know some of the original translations, not just the watered down version they preferred.

It was a wonderful lesson for the day; love thy neighbour. Something most people seemed to have trouble with at one point or another. Hell, even you had issues with it. There was more than once you had wished trouble up on a neighbour. Particularly when they attempted to belittle you when you were trying to live your day-to-day life. You wouldn’t take it back, but you accepted it had been a fault of yours.

“Alright y’all,” you said when the clock on the wall hit 12:30pm. “Let’s pray for our neighbours before we go.”

“Except those faggots, right?”

“Excuse me?” You said as quickly as the words had reached your ears.

Mr. Dylan’s son - Scott - tilted his head in confusion. You had known it was him; he was usually the one who spoke out the most. And his views were… well, they were perfect copies of his daddy’s views, and that wasn’t something you accepted. Especially not when they came out sounding the way it just had.

“I ain’t prayin’ for those faggots up north,” he repeated.

“Don’t say that word,” you said. “Why would you even say that?”

He sighed and looked at you like you were stupid. “Daddy says those fa-” he paused at the look you gave him, “-homosexuals are dyin’ cause they’re sinners.”

That coil in your stomach from earlier had turned into hot lead. A part of your mind told you to keep your mouth shut; you were in the middle of a church in the middle of a very Baptist town. It was dangerous to say anything that could be considered problematic or un-Christian.

But those people were dying and no one cared. They were suffering for loving someone society told them they shouldn’t. No one was trying to help them, they were just being condemned for something they couldn’t help. All the guilt of the world was being thrown onto them for nothing more than the sake of putting the attention on someone else.

Like you, they were being punished for the sin of loving the wrong person.

You could feel a heat growing in your chest. “They’re God’s children too, and they deserve prayers and love just the same as you and me.”

“That ain’t what my daddy says,” Scott defended.

You couldn’t recall another time you had been itching to beat a child.

“Your daddy is divorced,” you said, “and that’s just as much a sin as anything else. We still pray for him, don’t we?”

Scott thought for a moment. “Yes ma’am.”

“Then we pray for everyone, understand?” You said.

“Yes ma’am,” he replied.

“Good,” you exhaled. The heat in your chest wouldn’t go away. “Now bow your heads and let’s pray.”

The prayer was half-assed at best. You couldn’t stop thinking about what Scott had said. The absolute nerve of Mr. Dylan to tell his son such a thing. You could only be so upset with Scott. He was a kid, and kid’s would mimic whatever their parents said. It was natural, and you wouldn’t fault him for it.

But you could certainly fault Mr. Dylan.

The kids all ran out of the church to go meet up with their parents in the parking lot. The sun was starting to shine down on everyone, and you could feel the asphalt burning through the soles of your shoes. They were a horrible pair, but they were the only ones you had that didn’t rub the blisters on the back of your heels. A small price to pay for the sake of not having nasty scars on your feet.

Across the parking lot, you could see the whole crew leaning against their cars. They were all talking and laughing, most likely catching up. You desperately wanted to go over and talk with them. You wanted to be part of their family again, to feel the comfort in acceptance.

But RJ’s arm stayed wrapped around Lorraine’s waist, and you just couldn’t bring yourself to go through that just yet.

You turned your body to go back into the church; you hadn’t grabbed any of your stuff, and Daddy usually wanted help cleaning up before heading out to lunch. If you could help him then maybe God would forgive you for the day. Surely he wouldn’t hate you if you were in His house-

-a loud smack hovered below the ringing in your ears before you felt the sharp sting.

Your eyes teared up almost instantly, before you could even bring your hands up to press against the tender flesh of your right cheek. That heat in your chest from earlier had frozen, leaving you motionless even as the threat loomed above you. Even though you couldn’t make out the words, you could vaguely hear the low rumble of a voice over the ongoing ringing.

When you finally managed to blink away a few tears, you looked up. First you saw someone’s back; they were so close you could smell them. Beau. In front of him was Mr. Dylan, standing tall and furious. He looked like one of the avenging angels. Was he coming to kill you? To end your miserable life and escort you down to hell himself?

“We may not be in the church, but this is still holy ground,” Beau said. He sounded angry. He was never angry.

“Then you best take her out back and beat some sense into her,” Mr. Dylan said just as angrily. Perhaps more. “If she defends those faggots again, I’ll beat her myself.”

“You’ll keep your hands to yourself,” Beau said. At least you thought he did. The ringing still hadn’t gone away. “And you’ll take yourself on home. Now.”

You finally locked eyes with Mr. Dylan, and you wished you hadn’t. He was furious. You couldn’t recall a time you had seen such raw hate in someone’s eyes. What could have caused him to have such a visceral reaction to someone’s differing opinions on life? Was that not one of the better parts of life? Being able to disagree and live in harmony?

“I’m watchin’ you,” he said as he pointed a finger in your direction. But just as Beau had commanded, he turned around and left.

“Are you okay?” Beau asked almost immediately.

“I’m fine,” you said slowly, ignoring the slight copper taste in your mouth. “I just wanna go home.”

“I’ll tell your daddy,” he said. “Go get in my truck.”

You didn’t really listen to what he was saying; the ringing had mostly gone away, but things still sounded a little dull. But you knew you could make it to his truck. Your steps were uncertain at first, and you felt like you were drunk. With the way the world tilted ever so slightly beneath you, you were sure you looked drunk too.

You passed the crew without a glance. If they were looking at you, you didn’t notice. The only thing you could focus on was stepping up into Beau’s truck and the warm metallic blood on your lips. Had it come from Mr. Dylan’s ring? Or had you bitten your lip when your head snapped back? You weren’t sure; you didn’t think it mattered.

The window felt cool on your cheek. It was a welcome feeling, easing the stinging sensation ever so slightly. What you wouldn’t give to have a cold steak on it. Maybe a cold washcloth if you could swing it. But as your eyes started to close and the noises stayed at a low thrum, you figured the window was more than good enough.

You were asleep before Beau came back to the truck.

—---

The barn was empty on Tuesday afternoons. Those were the days you used to find yourself hanging in the rafters with Lorraine. Sneaking away before you had found better ways to be together. Your fingers ran over the rough wooden beams that you had sat on time and time again. Even though it ached, you smiled at the memory. You were thankful you didn’t have to pick splinters out of your ass anymore.

“Beau said you were here.”

You could hear the creaky wooden ladder before you saw Lorraine pulling herself up onto the rafter. It had been just long enough for instinct to kick in, and you looked at her left hand. That ever-present pressure in your chest eased a little when you noticed she wasn’t wearing the ring.

You should have been ashamed of being relieved.

You weren’t.

“How’s your cheek?” She asked. Her hand lifted and hovered over your cheek before she thought better of it and let it fall back to her side.

“Fine,” you said with a shrug. You both knew it was a lie. The bruise had turned an ugly dark that circled your eye and highlighted the split of your lip.

“I don’t love him,” she said without hesitation.

“I know,” you said with a nod as you sat down on the barely-standing hay bale.

Lorraine sat down beside you and let her head rest on your shoulder. You desperately wished she wouldn’t. Her touch still sent a fire down your spine. The feel of your heart beating in sync with yours was enough to drive you to near-insanity. You craved her touch far too much for her to be so gentle with you.

“Can we please talk when I get back?” She said softly. “We have to.”

You didn’t want to talk. Honestly, that was probably the very last thing you wanted. No part of you wanted to hear about her having to marry RJ and pretend to be happy about it. Yeah, you knew it was going to happen. Some part of you had always known it would happen eventually. You were hopeful, but you weren’t stupid.

What you really wanted was for her to hold your hand. To pull you in for a kiss without fear of getting lynched. You had just gotten beat outside of a church, but you wanted to be able to feel love without fear of reprise. And you couldn’t even have something as simple as that, because you wouldn’t dare put her in such a position.

Lorraine lifted her head when you still hadn’t said anything. Her eyes held that pity that you hated. They always seemed to hold that pity when she looked at you. You dared to lift your hand to cup her cheek. The scars were healing up nicely, and you could barely tell the difference when your thumb rubbed lightly against her cheek.

You shouldn’t have done it. The crew was in the driveway, waiting for her to come down so they could get going. You didn’t care. You leaned forward and kissed her lightly, ignoring the sharp pain in your cheek. Her lips were warm and soft; they always were. She tasted of home.

As you sat there, kissing the woman you loved with the desperation of a man on his deathbed, you believed you would be happy if those were your last moments. If God had come down in that moment to take you, you would have been content. The last thing you would have experienced was a moment of love and the taste of Lorraine on your lips.

“I love you,” you mumbled against her lips.

You hoped she understood the many other things you were trying to convey with those three words. I love you. You’re my home. I have betrayed my God and my family for you, and I would do it again. The world hates me and wants me dead, but I would give up everything for you. Only you.

“I love you too,” she said just as softly before leaning forward into another kiss. Something softer. Somehow holding more desperation than the last.

It was all over far too soon. It was bound to be over too soon. Lorraine had a life outside the four walls of the barn, and you were being called back to the church. When she pulled away, you chased her lips for a moment more. One more kiss, one more touch, one more instance of the comfort and turmoil and peace that she instilled within your soul.

“I promise I’ll be back,” she said. “Please be here when I get back.”

You nodded. “I’ll always be waiting for you.”

Her answer was one more kiss, filled with everything she didn’t have time to say. It could have lasted for the rest of your life and it still would have been too short. When she pulled away, everything felt cold. But you were brave. You watched Lorraine head back to the ladder and pause. The tears in her eyes matched your own. As much as you hated to see her cry, it left a feeling in your chest that she hated leaving just as much as you did.

“I love you,” she said. Perhaps a bit too loud. You didn’t care.

“I love you,” you repeated.

She bit her lip and continued her way down the ladder. You let the tears fall freely as you listened to her boots on the gravel making their way to the van. It started up quickly and they were gone almost as soon as the van door closed. The barn didn’t feel so familiar when she was gone. No, it felt empty, foreign.

Sinful.

You waited until the moon was high in the sky before coming down from the rafters. It wasn’t wise to be out so late, but you had nowhere else to go. Beau and Huck had left the night before to help with an emergency, and home held no comfort. All you would have done was rot away in your bedroom, and even that didn’t sound desirable.

Instead, you found yourself walking to the church. It would take a solid thirty minutes, but that was alright. After all, what else would you be doing? You were certainly in no mood to sleep. You wanted to stay awake so you could remember the feel of Lorraine’s lips on yours for as long as possible.

She was right, you would need to talk. Even if it was a talk to cut everything off completely, you both needed to be on the same page. Neither one of you had to be happy about it, but the inevitable was coming to fruition. At some point, one of you was bound to get married. And not to each other.

Perhaps you could all still live near each other. It wouldn’t be the same, and you would still have to hide away, but it would be better than nothing. All you wanted was to stay close to Lorraine by any means necessary. If that meant you could only stay close to her as a friend, you would do it. It would drive stakes into your heart day after day, but it was better than losing her forever.

Your feet were aching by the time you reached the church. Like the true Southern child you were, you had gone barefoot for the night. Your body was used to it, but that didn’t mean the long walk on dirt and gravel wouldn’t leave its mark. Not a single part of you cared about the dust as you opened the church doors and walked into the chapel.

The candles up front were the first things you lit. They weren’t numerous, but they were enough to light the small part of the pulpit that you kneeled in front of you. The carpet was rough against your knees; you must suffer to worship God, your Daddy had said at one point. Nothing about your beliefs were easy, and that was the point.

You rested your hands on your thighs as you looked up at the cross hanging behind the pulpit. It was a simple wooden cross, stained white. If you looked at it hard enough, you could see every one of your sins staining the cross. A horrific red against the startling white.

You wanted answers. You wanted to know why you were being punished. Had you not been good? Had you not been dutiful in your passion for Him? You had done everything you had been told. You had preached, you had read His word, you had followed His rules to the letter. Most people struggled to follow the most basic of rules, and they certainly weren’t being punished.

Tears welled up in your eyes not from sadness, but from anger. He had created you. He had known everything about you and had created you anyway. And now you were being punished for that very same existence? No, you had been good, you had behaved. You were a good girl. What would it take to prove that you were good?

The church doors clicked.

You hastily wiped the tears from your eyes and stood up. No one was supposed to be at the church, it was late. Whether it was a person or an animal, no one was supposed to be around. Should you defend yourself? Daddy usually had a gun at the church, but he had started taking it home lately to prevent accidents.

“Needed some extra prayers?” Mr. Dylan asked. His voice gave him away before you even turned around.

He was in his usual work clothes, but his pistol rested loosely in his hand. Part of you hoped he had brought it for protection from the coyotes and wild boars that liked to roam during the nights. You weren’t entirely stupid enough to believe your own hope.

“How’s ‘bout I pray with you,” he said as he walked closer.

You didn’t want him to. You wanted him to go on home, and you would go on home as well. Neither one of you needed to be in the church so late at night, you both needed to be home. Your families were waiting for you, weren’t they? It wasn’t proper for you to be in the church alone with a divorced man.

“Mr. Dylan-”

“-go on,” he insisted as he used the pistol to gesture to where you had been only moments before. “Kneel and pray.”

You did as instructed. “What would you like me to pray about?”

“Ask God for forgiveness,” he said. You couldn’t see him from where you were kneeling. “For the both of us.”

The carpet still stung on your knees.

“Forgiveness for what?” You asked. Your heart was beating so loudly in your ears you weren’t sure if you would even hear him.

“See if He’ll forgive you for that hellish demon you’ve been afflicted by,” he said.

You kept your mouth shut. You couldn’t recall what he meant. Yes, you had defended homosexuals on Sunday, but surely that wasn’t worth threatening you over, was it? He was a bit rash in his decisions, but he wasn’t ignorant. He wouldn’t risk jail just for this.

“And for you?” You asked.

“See if He’ll forgive me for doin’ His work.”

You heard a familiar sound from the pistol. Your hands shook. Your mind was screaming at you to turn around, to face him. He wasn’t the bravest man, there was no way he would kill you if you were looking him in the eye. And yet, your heart told you to close your eyes and pray.

“Somethin’ ‘bout you never sat right with me,” he continued. “Never figured you for one ‘a them queers.”

You had heard of this happening. Really, you shouldn’t have been surprised. But you were. You were scared. There was no beating around the bush, you were flat-out scared. He was holding a gun to your head. Wasn’t that something Daddy had always talked about in church? If someone held a gun to your head and said he’d shoot you if you were Christian, would you admit it? You had thought it was just some silly question he used to get people to think about his lesson.

You had never imagined he would be right.

“I shoulda done somethin’ ‘bout you years ago.” He just couldn’t quit talking. He’s nervous. “I ain’t gonna let you ruin these kids.”

He cocked the gun again; he must have uncocked it at some point. He just needed to get it over with already, what was he even waiting for?

The shaking in your hands stilled. Perhaps it would be for the best. The suffering would end. What would it be like not to hurt? Surely Lorraine would be alright, she had RJ and the crew. Beau and Huck would keep her safe. They always did. You wouldn’t have to feel that pressure in your chest and you could still watch over her anyway, couldn’t you? Probably better than you were now.

Something cold pressed against the back of your head.

“Say one last prayer.”

You risked tilting your head up to look at the cross one more time. Maybe it was time you died for your sins. After all, you hadn’t lived with the guilt for years without thinking this would happen eventually. How long had you truly thought you could get away with such a secret? No, this was bound to happen.

Lorraine had been smart enough to get out of town. She had gotten herself a beau that would be suitable for the purpose and had left. No one had any time to question her, and as much as you hated it, she had been right. Maybe she could be safe after all of this. Maybe she wouldn’t have to be so afraid.

She would forgive you. Lorraine had never been one to hold a grudge against you. Against others, sure, but not you. You were glad you had told her you loved her earlier. It eased the guilt. She knew you loved her; she knew you would have died for her. You were just upholding your end of the bargain.

You squeezed your eyes shut and let the guilt start to fade away. You had spent so long afraid of what God would do to you for your sins. Seemed He didn’t really care all that much; it was man who cared. No one was going to come save you. You let your mind wander to Lorraine as the barrel pressed harder against the back of your head.

I don’t want God’s forgiveness. I want Lorraine’s.

The metallic sound made you flinch, but you didn’t hear the shot. Your body froze completely. Had you missed it? Were you already dead? It didn’t even hurt, maybe it was quick. That was the best anyone could hope for, right? For it to be quick and painless.

You cracked your eyes open and looked around. It was still your church. The cross still loomed over you like some holy judge and executioner. Were you in purgatory? Well now, that would just be worse than hell, you believed. An entire afterlife full of nothing? You would rather burn in the fiery pits.

“I suggest you step away from my sister.”

“Roy?” You asked immediately even though you knew you should have kept quiet.

You turned around quickly, ignoring the carpet burns on your knees. It was him. Roy was standing near the back of the chapel, rifle held in steady hands. You didn’t know he still had one. It was aimed directly at Mr. Dylan who, for the first time, looked surprised.

“You’d best put that gun down, boy,” Mr. Dylan said. “This don’t involve you.”

“It does if you threaten my sister,” he said again. He wasn’t looking at you but gestured his head. “Come on, sweetheart.”

“Stay where you are,” Mr. Dylan said. He froze when Roy readjusted the rifle.

You kept your eyes on Mr. Dylan as you slowly pushed yourself up to your feet. His grip on the pistol tightened, but he otherwise stayed still. Each step you took was slow, calculated. It felt like you were walking before God to the gates for judgment. Your every move was scrutinised and all it would take was one wrong step.

But he never did anything. He just watched you until you were standing firmly behind Roy. The shakiness that accompanied his every move was gone, replaced with something you didn’t recognise. It was reminiscent of the old Roy, the one who had never gone to war. The only difference was the dull look in his eyes.

“Go get in the truck,” Roy said softly.

“What?” You looked at him. “I ain’t leavin’-”

“-Now.”

There was a harsh tone to his words. Authoritative. He sounded just like Daddy when he was preaching. It left no room for argument; his word was law. There was too much comfort in the way he held the rifle. If you left him, would he kill Mr. Dylan? Would he kill a man in the middle of the church?

He had nearly done the same to you.

Perhaps that was a good point.

“Okay,” you said aloud since he wasn’t looking at you.

You backed away slowly, keeping your eyes glued to the both of them. The last thing you wanted was to turn around and have something happen. It would have been shameful to go out that way. But no one else moved; they just stared at each other until you were out of the church and could run to Roy’s truck.

The silence was almost painful. You could hear the crickets outside creating a symphony with the locusts. If you strained your ears, you could hear a few frogs. But you weren’t listening to the wildlife; you were listening for the gunshot you were afraid was imminent.

Each second ticked by so slowly you felt you had aged another few years. What was taking him so long? He needed to leave Mr. Dylan alone so you could both go home. You could all get some sleep and pretend none of this had ever happened. You wouldn’t tell anyone if he didn’t, you just wanted it all to be over so you could see Lorraine again.

It felt like your heart had nestled in your throat by the time Roy walked outside. He wasn’t even looking back at the church. The rifle was casually slung over his shoulder, and for a moment, you could imagine him in the war. But then he got in the truck and tossed the rifle in the backseat.

He didn’t even put on his seatbelt before driving off.

“What happened?” You asked.

He didn’t answer.

“Roy,” you said again.

He missed the road to your house.

“That’s our turn,” you said aloud.

His hands gripped the wheel tighter.

“Roy, what the hell is goin’ on?” You asked again.

“We stay here, they’ll kill you.” The blood in your veins froze. “I know some guys out East.”

You leaned back in the seat and looked out the window. It was dark outside, but the stars were bright. Orion’s Belt was there, just as always. Night after night, he appeared to give you consistency and comfort. You didn’t entirely feel it.

“What about Lorraine?” You asked. There was no point in hiding it anymore; Roy wasn’t stupid.

Roy sighed. “She’s got Beau and Huck.”

His words didn’t put the pressure back in your chest. No, it was something worse now. It wasn't pressure, it was a knife. A knife that had missed your heart completely, keeping you alive as it twisted deeper, touching your very soul with its fiery edges.

Lorraine wouldn’t know what happened to you. She wouldn’t know where to find you. What if something happened and she needed you? What if you needed her? That wasn’t supposed to be the last kiss you gave her. You weren’t supposed to leave without even telling her goodbye. How were you expected to keep going when you knew you couldn’t see her again?

A hot tear fell down your bruised cheek. God had a cruel sense of humour.

You would have rather died. At least it wouldn’t hurt so bad.

#lorraine day x reader #lorraine x reader #lorraine day #jenna ortega x reader

262 notes · View notes

thebibliosphere · 9 months

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Hi there, ive come from your post about ADHD and emotional disregulation, firstly thank you so much for putting it into words, its such a complicated part of how i deal with emotions and i havent ever been able to articulate how to why.

Secondly, in that post you mentioned how you've used stress as a motivator and how eventually your stress regualtion broke, i was wondering if you'd be willing to talk about that? (If not, its not a problem)

I feel like the same thing has happened to me but until i read your post i had no idea that something had... snapped? I suppose? I struggle with motivation all the time and in the past id have a week or a few days left and id be able to suddently push myself very hard to complete whatever it is before the deadline, just barely making it in most cases. However now it seems that i can't find that motivation anymore, deadlines come and pass and i can't being myself to work on anything, and i just end up spiralling into shame and guilt. That motivation was the only thing that I was able to rely on sometimes for things like uni, and i conviced myself that it was just me growing lazy or trying to get out of responsibility as to why the "last minute panic-mode" doesnt work anymore.

Again, if you don't wanna tackle this can of worms or if it's something youd rather not post online i totally get it, its no biggie! thanks so much for making the original post as well, it means a lot

Hello friend, thanks for the message. I'm sorry you're also dealing with this.

The good news here is that I've already talked about this using the rubber band analogy my therapist gave me. (Stress is like a Rubber Band)

If you don't have the mental bandwidth to read all of it now, the tl;dr is "stress is like a rubber band; it can stretch to hold numerous things in place when you need to, but if you do it too often or keep adding more and more strain under the band, the elastic eventually becomes brittle and snaps, taking your mental and sometimes physical health with it too."

I've been in intensive therapy for this for roughly three years now, and trying to piece my brain back together after my last bout of stress-induced productivity gave me a total mental breakdown.

It's... odd not being able to use stress and having to actively avoid it to avoid a relapse. But it is doable. Medication would help, but alas, I've got weird health issues and am unmedicated at the minute.

(And just in case that sparks anyone to go, "Oh, you do all this unmedicated! Wow, that's so inspiring!" as sometimes parents do to me on here as they then tell me they don't want to medicate their kids, I've unfortunately also written a post about what that kind of success looks like from an unmedicated perspective and the kind of suicidal ideation I deal with on the regular because I cannot take meds. It is not pleasant reading, but it is necessary for some folks, specifically anti-med, "if you just tried harder" people.)

A book you may find helpful is Burnout: The Secret to Unlocking the Stress Cycle, by Emily and Amelia Nagoski. It was very validating for me to read about other people going through the same things, and made me feel less of a "this is a personal failing on my part" and more of a "Oh okay yeah, no stress literally breaks people."

It helped soothe some of my own internalized "I just need to try harder" and helped cement me on the path I was already going down with my ADHD therapist toward changing how I view myself and how I manage my ADHD.

I hope that helps! If you've got more specific questions or I didn't touch on something in my old post, I can try to answer them :)

#chronic health tag #adult adhd #adhd

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disneyprincemuke · 3 months

Text

you say nothing back

being in the hospital has never left a good taste in your mouth, even more when it’s your boyfriend that’s on the bed with an iv line connected to his elbow. it’s unsettling, saying ‘i love you’ to someone who’s in the depths of his medication.

you sigh and rest your chin in your palm, propping yourself up with your elbow by the edge of the bed. “you should wake up so i can say it to your face, you know.”

you stare longingly at his still hands when you feel something weigh your chest down.

you haven’t been with oscar considerably long. well, to both of you — and at your ripe ages of barely even turning 23 — 7 months is a very long time to be with someone. though, you find that your more experienced friends and mother disagree that it’s a significant amount of time to be head over heels for a boy.

one thing that they all agree on is the fact that you should have made your feelings clear instead of staying in the grey area together like two idiots. there should be a known status.

but you didn’t feel like you needed it. you and oscar have both agreed that you’re happy where you are, and that things should go at its own pace. take it one day (date) at a time.

these past few days, however, have felt like a fever dream. last week, you almost blurted it out to him when he had driven you home from a full-day date. luckily, you’d caught yourself at the last second and bit your tongue.

you weren’t sure, at the time, that it wasn’t just something you were saying out of habit. you’re usually very loose with the phrase: with your best friends, family, even sometimes yelling it in the bathroom of a club in the late hours. not saying it to oscar felt off to some degree.

in some way, it also felt right.

you can’t believe that it took an accident for you to realise that you are damn sure about saying it to him. now you’re here in oscar’s hospital room with a heavy heart and droopy eyes — you’ve been here for hours waiting for oscar to regain consciousness.

you sigh again, slightly louder this time, and trace shapes over the back of oscar’s hand. “it’s kind of unfair; i said it while you’re unconscious and you’ve said nothing back.”

“because i was unconscious,” you hear oscar croak out, eyebrows furrowed and his head moving slightly as his eyes slowly open.

you barely process the fact that he’s awake. all that floods your head is the fact that oscar has managed to turn his hand over to hold yours in his, giving it a soft and gentle squeeze. he smiles when your eyes widen and lips part at him being awake. “what did you say to me?”

you purse your lips together, face carving into confusion. “what?”

“i was just waking up when you were saying something about saying something to me and not getting a response,” he laughs, adjusting himself to sit up. you scramble to your feet, helping him adjust the pillows behind him to give him a structure to lean on. he thanks you softly, pushing you down gently to sit you back down in your seat. “i was, in fact, unconscious. so you should tell me again so you can get a response.”

immediately, you shake your head and push your seat away from oscar to keep your distance. you’re not risking embarrassing yourself simply because you can’t control yourself any longer. perhaps that’s actually a good thing? maybe you just need to get it over and done with.

“no, it’s really nothing. it’s not even important,” you laugh, hiding your face away to shield the blush that’s creeping onto your cheeks.

“come on,” oscar laughs. “tell me, please?” he gestures to himself with a small pout. “look at me — how can you say ‘no’ to me?”

“you can’t use that as a bargaining chip. that’s foul.”

“there are no rules in life, dear.”

“you’re in the hospital for something that could have been entirely avoided.”

“it’s just an allergy attack.”

“i know! could have been entirely avoided if you’d just told me that you were allergic to seafood, oz!”

“that’s besides the point!” he throws his head back, sniffling softly. he reaches forward for your hand and pats the back of yours. “what is it? you know you can tell me anything.”

you sigh and shake your head. “i can’t. and, it’s really not important.”

oscar drops your hand. he grabs your cheeks, lifting your head to meet your eyes. “please tell me? i promise i’ll listen.”

this is the first time you’ve ever been scared to tell someone you love them. it’s just always come so naturally to you because some small part of you always knew that you’d get a similar response. with oscar, it’s different.

it could be the constant stoic stare or the way that he isn’t typically a person with many words. he’s very reserved and careful with his words; often soft-spoken and not quick with his anger. it’s new to be associated with somebody who is so thought out with himself.

one would even wonder how someone like yourself ended up with oscar in the first place. not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just that you’re opposites. but oscar loves to argue that it’s your extroverted nature that made you fit so well together. you love talking, and he loves listening. if you asked him again, he would tell you that he loves your voice, your accent — hearing you talk.

“oz.”

“just say it,” oscar scoffs, a small smirk stretching his lips. he exhales softly and blinks slowly. “i have a feeling i know what you’re about to say to me. for the record, i feel the same way.”

@cashtons-wife @darleneslane @nikfigueiredo @happy-nico @namgification

#oscar piastri x reader #oscar piastri x you #f1 x reader #f1 x you #f1 fanfic #disneyprincemuke #disneyprincemuke imagine #disneyprincemuke imagines #disneyprincemuke f1 #disneyprincemuke isily

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he-calls-me-kitten · 7 months

Note

I'm back again <33

I've got more 3am thoughts and scenarios to share >:DD

Ive got 2 options for you, feel free to do the desired one, also this might a bit spicy?....

If you write for the other exchange students :

F!MC x Thirteen

(Desired characters are Barbatos ; Satan ; Solomon and Simeon but you can add or remove whoever your want cuz this is your writing and my opinion shouldn't really matter because your the one working on it and not me. )

Our lovely characters are looking for their darling human all across the RAD grounds since they have been gone since the last class and school's finished. They stroll through the halls to pause at the sounds of a familiar voice...WHIMPERING?!

DUN DUN DUNNNN

JOKING JOKING- LETS JUST CONTINUE

Peeking through the small crack in the door they witness our lovely MC layed down on one of the RAD desk, shirt unbuttoned and thrown aside, skirt flipped up, tears streaming down her flushed face, mascara running, lipstick smudged (I seem to have a thing for smudged lipstick-), quivering and trembling as they softly sob and moan Thirteen's name, their small frame trembling under the reapers touch who planted soft kisses and marks all over their body, decorating her thighs with various hickies and bite marks as she whispered sweet nothings into the humans ear, her hands gently tracing their sheep horns and fluffy tail which caused F!MC to squirm under her touch as their animals parts are especially sensetive <333

I just like making them jealous tbh

OR THE OTHER OPTION BECAUSE I'M A SIMP AND LOVE MALEWIFES :

Barbatos X F!MC X Simeon

X !!PLATONIC!! Luke

(I'LL HAVE TO MAKE THIS SHORT CUZ I NEED SLEEP 😭😭)

Luke seeing F!MC as a mother figure and his dad's just taking it as an opportunity to sweep their beloved human to themselves. Inviting her to have a sleepover at the purgatory hall for a sleepover was only innocent and all.... Till it wasn't

Simeon's bedframe collided with each of their movements, Simeon shushing their Darling with "Stay quiet little lamb, Luke's in the next room" or "Keep your voice down darling we don't want Luke to hear now so we?" While Barbatos is a little more dirty, whispering praises about how MC takes them both so well despite her small and "fragile" form, sweat dripping down their forms as her nails dig into Simeon's back, legs trembling as her brain slowly turns to mush from the pleasure, mindless moans falling from her swollen lips, during the of the moment one of then eventually slips something up like: "You easily accepted Luke as you child, I'm sure you wouldn't mind having more" or "How about we give you actual kids of your own instead?" <333

- M. 🪭🪷

M, SERIOUSLY YOU'RE TOO FULL OF AMAZING IDEAS I CANT WITH YOU😭😭😭 And since it took me so long to reply (again so very sorry) and but because there's a distinct lack of my queen Thirteen...

F!MC x Thirteen

Two Queens in a King Sized Bed

"I'll look over the classrooms once more." Barbatos sighed. "Maybe she fell asleep tired like she does in the library sometimes."

"Yes I'll go check there just for good measure." Satan shook his head.

"MC was supposed to go visit HOL with you wasn't she?" Simeon turned to Solomon.

"Well yes we were supposed to head there after this class- wait, do you hear something?" Solomon inched towards one of the empty classrooms. The rest of them followed.

Not one of them was expecting to see what they did. Their precious MC laid down on the teacher's desk with her shirt practically ripped off her and skirt hiked all the way up to the waist and panties pushed to the side.

"Thirteen..please..." You whimpered and begged underneath the reaper. She looked like she wanted to eat you whole.

"Please what, cupcake?" Thirteen smirked latching her lips to your neck as her pretty fingers plunged into your leaking hole again. You convulsed against her, moaning and clinging onto her arms.

"..too much..." You barely managed to string two words in this mindless state. She had been toying with you for an hour now, determined not to let you leave.

"Use your words, MC." She trailed a thumb over your trembling lips and down your neck and collarbone. "Else I cannot possibly help you, you know?"

"Thirteen-"

"And who knows I might make things worse?"

"Thirteen! Ahh~" You moaned as she caught you off-guard with her thumb pressing down on your puffed up clit.

"Are you perverts done enjoying the show? Cause I'm not willing to let you join." Thirteen side-eyed the door.

Satan and Simeon fall back, scrambling to get back their usual composure. The bulges in their pants are a dead give away as where they were looking the whole time. Even as you try to cover yourself up, you know they've already seen too much.

"Why you- you! How dare you!" Satan musters through unsettled breaths. He's not okay in the slightest. All he feels like doing is ripping Thirteen apart from you like an expired bandaid and lay himself down on you.

"Is a classroom really a place to be doing all this?!" Simeon smiles with gritted teeth. The nerve to just toy with an angel's will like this - to show such an irresistible side of his one temptation.

"Indeed. It is most inappropriate Thirteen. It seems I'll have to put you in detention again, please pack your things." Barbatos pretended to fix his glove as his fist tightened.

"Apologies Thirteen, I think it's almost time for another lesson with my apprentice so it's better if you get off then now." He smiled all the while a vein popped in his neck as he held out his hand to you.

Thirteen rolled her eyes, still holding you close. "Please as if you could ever pleasure MC the way I do. This cutie deserves way better than what you lot have got." She palmed your behind and gave it a gentle squeeze while smirking, watching the men fume silently in jealous rage.

"Thirteen. Detention room. Now please." Barbatos warned again. "Ugh. Demons." She pressed a sloppy kiss against your lips, before she left. "Don't worry, I'll catch you later, cupcake."

Barbatos was planning to put you in an entirely different detention room, somewhere in his quarters at the Demon Lord's Castle. Silk ropes and his ungloved hands awaited you there as he pulled you into the din lit room.

Simeon had lost all sense of personal space. He wasn't allowed you to have you in the way the others could. But there are so many ways to pleasure humans after all. His eager fingers and needy whispers had you begging for more.

Satan pounced on you at any opportunity he got. Against the bookshelves in his room, in secluded corners of the RAD library, even in a hidden alley on the way to HOL. He wouldn't stop until muffled screams slipped through your suppressed voice.

You don't remember the last time Solomon slept in his room. Every night, he towered at the end of your bed, his bare chest and shoulders glistening in the moonlight. Every night he pulled off your nightgown and rebranded you as his. No matter who had you during the day, you'd wake up the next day as his alone.

#obey me #obey me smut #obey me oneshot #obey me satan #obey me simeon #obey me solomon #obey me barbatos #obey me ask #obey me thirteen

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queenvidal · 3 months

Text

Welcome To The Sanctuary

Negan x Reader (Rick’s Daughter)

Chapter 3: Trust Is a Lesson

Chapter Summary: Rick's daughter won't be coming home, a decision Negan has to break to Alexandria.

Wordcount: 3775

Era: Season 7

- Part 5 of the The One And Only Series -

Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 - COMING SOON!

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

It's early in the morning. The Sanctuary is still asleep and the whole factory is peacefully quiet.

Slowly but surely do you make your way down the stairs, all the way down to the last level of the building. Even after a whole week of almost nonstop sleeping, you still feel drained and sometimes also lightheaded. After every managed staircase you need to take a second and catch your breath and fight the dizziness. It’s tiring but you’re determined. Today's your final examination with doctor Carson and you want to make a good impression.

It was offered to you, that the doctor would come to Negan’s quarters, but you quickly declined. After a whole week of lying in the bed you were dying to get back up at your feet again.

You have to cover a yawn with your hand, it really is way too early.

“Come on, Sweet Thing,” Negan’s voice sounds from the floor below. “You almost made it.”

Sill yawning, you move on to the next flight of stairs. You can’t help but to smile at the sight of Negan waiting for you, looking up at you with his big, hazel eyes and a faint smile of exhilaration on his lips. It’s almost adorable.

He’s already in uniform, wearing his leather jacket, glove and scarf. He’ll head out to Alexandria after your appointment with the doctor and depending on today's results, you will either stay at the factory for another week or join him and go back home.

Excitement is clear on Negan's features as he watches you ascending the stairs. He's more than happy to see you back on your feet again, but even better than that is seeing how much strength you need to do so. He was everything but subtle about how much he hoped you'd have to stay. Of course he'd let you go home either way, no matter the outcome of your appointment, but you agreed on staying if Carson would recommend that. Seeing you this tired just from walking stairs got his hopes up again. Although your recovery was and still is the number one property, he absolutely wouldn't mind to hear that you still need more appointments in the future.

When you’re just about at the end of the stairs, he reaches out his hand to help you down the last few steps. You look at him for a quick second, before taking his hand, letting him help you down. “Someone is in high spirits.” You tease him with a smile. Negan only chuckles in response. “One could assume you’re looking way more forward to the examination than I do.”

“So?” He asks. Once you’re off the last stair, he moves your hand to his lips, planting a soft kiss on your skin. “It will be good news either way, for me at least.”

You just shake your head, still smiling at him before moving on towards the clinic. Doctor Carson is already waiting for you outside, greeting the two of you before moving in. He goes straight to work, gathering his equipment, while you sit down on a cot, waiting. Negan is leaning against the wall, watching you and the Doc. He really doesn’t know the word privacy but he’d find out what's going on anyway and you don't mind having him at the appointment.

Before doctor Carson starts with his examination, he sets up an IV bag, so you can get your needed liquid and supplements in the meantime. Once everything is ready and connected to your arm, the doctor is taking your blood pressure.

“Still not good but better.” He whispers to himself before writing down your vitals. “How are you feeling?” He asks, “Still fighting with fatigue, still being tired?”

“Very.” You admit truthfully.

“Hm,” The doctor huffs, scribbling away in his notes. You look at Negan, who is wiggling his eyebrows at you. You just shake your head at him with a small grin.

“Alright, now to the stitches.” Carson says. You pull up your top, exposing the bandages. The doctor cuts them open and removes them before examining the stitches. With a pad drenched in alcohol he cleans the edges, you narrow your eyes slightly at the sting. Negan pushes himself from the wall, wanting to have a look himself. He comes to stand right next to you, checking out the healing injury.

“The stitches are still looking good.” Doctor Carson affirms, filling in his report.

“Well?” You ask, with a faint smile on your lips, wrapping new bandages around your middle, “What’s your recommendation, am I good to go?”

“Well, Miss Grimes. That depends.” The doctor looks up from his clipboard. “Do you know how to pull the sutures out?”

Negan’s looking at you quite expectantly. You know what answer he’d like to hear. You look back at Carson again. “I do-” “Aw, come on!” The boss complains, looking at you with a disappointed frown. “Couldn’t you have said no-”

“But-”, you interrupt Negan with a smile, one of your hands resting on his chest to calm him down. “I’d be way more comfortable if you did that, doctor Carson.”

Carson shares a knowing glance with the both of you before stating, “In that case, I recommend more rest. You’re no longer bedridden but you should take it very easy still. Some strolls here and there but no physical labor. As soon as you feel dizzy or tired, you have to slow down again.

You nod your head at the doctor. “Napping when needed, got it.”

“Alright”, the doctor starts, moving back to his desk again. “As far as I am concerned, you are good to leave, once the IV’s done. Negan, I’ve made you a list of all used up medications. We are not out yet, but due to Miss Grimes high demand for iron, I need more saline solutions.”

Negan nods at the doctor. “Pass the list to Arat, by now she should be waiting at the trucks outside.”

“Of course.” Carson says, before taking his leave. You quickly yell a ‘thank you, doctor’ after him, before he disappears into the hallway.

“Now.” Negan says, coming to stand right in front of you, both of his hands on either side of your waist. “You really wanna stay?” You only nod at him. “You know you can leave anytime you want, right? One word and I bring you home, safe and sound.”

“I’d love to stay a little while longer.” You’re beaming up at him.

Negan smiles down at you before moving closer, capturing your lips with his. The kiss is slow and tender, almost sweet. You can't help but melt into his touch.

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

Carl is walking the courtyard up and down, nervously waiting for his sister. His eyes move towards the hung up walkers around the fence every now and then, their constant gnarling is making him uncomfortable. He can’t wait to finally leave this place.

Saviors are already driving up their trucks, getting ready for the pickup. Several men and women gather around the vehicles. All seems ready, the only ones missing are their boss and his sister.

“Good morning, folks!” Negan’s voice sounds over the courtyard. Carl quickly turns around, finding Negan exiting the factory. He is holding the door, waiting for Carl’s sister to step out before letting it fall shut again.

Carl quickly gets moving. Once at his sister's side, he’s bombarding her with questions. “How are you feeling? Is everything alright, what did the doctor say? Are you hungry, I got a ration from their kitchen-”

“All good, Carl.” you chuckle softly as you interrupt him. “You need to breathe,” you joke before explaining the results of the doctor's last examination. “I have to take it slow and still take some supplements, but everythings gonna be fine.”

Carl nods his head, listening to you attentively. “Sounds great. Dad ‘n Daryl will be relieved. And the others of course.”

Your brother told you what happened, when you passed out in the infirmary. No matter what he and Sasha did, the bleeding wouldn't stop. Your skin has gotten paler and paler by the minute. At this point everyone in the room was crying, afraid of losing you. Daryl eventually decided to cauterize the wound. His hands were shaking, when he pressed his heated blade against your skin. The smell was horrendous and Carl had to look away.

After Daryl was done, everyone took a moment to breathe, thinking or more so hoping it helped, that the bleeding finally stopped. Although no more blood was seeping through, it was evident that it was already too late, as even the color of your lips disappeared. Daryl couldn’t handle the sight, after only a few moments he took off without a word and Saviors arrived just shortly after that. You don’t want to imagine the turmoil everyone had to go through.

“We two driving with Negan?” Carl asks, but you shake your head.

“No,” you say, “you will, but I’ll stay here.”

Carl frowns at you. “But you’ve said the doctor gave his okay?” You rest your hands on your hips, “Yeah, but I think I’ll stay for another week. I still need IV’s and quite honestly I am still not feeling too well. I’d be way more comfortable with an actual clinic and a doctor around.”

Your brother crosses his arms in front of his chest. “I see, but… but Dad probably won't.”

A tired sigh leaves your lips. “Yeah, I know. But then again, I think he’ll understand my reasoning. Speaking of Dad-” your hand disappears in the pocket of your sweatpants, retrieving a folded piece of paper. “I wrote a letter, can you please give it to him?”

Carl is about to take it, when Negan appears behind him. “Jump in, kid. We’re moving out.” The boy quickly takes the note, shoving it into the pocket of his jeans.

You look at your brother in bewilderment, but Carl quickly hugs you goodbye before moving to Negan’s car. The head of the Saviors waits for the boy to be gone before moving his attention back to you. “So, my dear. We’ll be gone for a few hours. If you want to, you can take a look around my factory in the meantime.” You smile at him but shake your head softly. “Thanks for the offer but I think I'll go straight back to bed. The climb up to the fifth floor is probably gonna knock me out anyway.”

He chuckles at you. “Alright.” His eyes fall on your lips, as he comes to rest one of his hands on the small of your back. You almost automatically cup his face, when he slowly leans down to you for a kiss. Again his lips move gently against yours. Warmth spreads through your abdomen, a pleasant fuzzy feeling. You have half a mind to deepen the kiss, when Negan moves away again, just enough to be able to look into your eyes. “Enjoy your stay, Sunshine.”

After another quick peck on your lips, Negan lets go completely. He moves towards his men, ready to leave. Warmth settles on your cheeks, it still feels strange to be affectionate in public, in front of his people. But what’s even stranger is the fact that no one is watching. Your eyes are wandering through the crowd. None of his people are acknowledging what just happened, no one is batting an eye. You nip on your lower lip subconsciously. People here don't mind?

Negan and Carl finally hop into the car. You wave at them one final time before going back into the factory. On your way in, you still wonder about how little these people here seem to care about your thing with Negan, their leader no less. In The Sanctuary it’s just no big deal and such a stark contrast to Alexandria.

A smile finds its way onto your face. Although it’s odd, you have to admit that you actually enjoy it. It’s relieving to be so free of judgment and quite honestly you can’t wait for Negan to come back again. There is still a light tingle on your skin from where his beard scratched you during the kiss. He’s so careful with you now, gentle. It’s so sweet. The thought is accompanied by a fluttering sensation in your belly, making the smile only grow wider.

You’re on your way to the stairwell, when doctor Carson calls your name. “Miss Grimes? Miss Grimes, I’m sorry to disturb you but I was wondering if you could give me your input on one of my patients. I was informed you’re a pharmacist.”

Quickly you bring your thoughts back, focusing on Carson. “Sure.” You move away from the stairs and towards the doctor. “How can I help you?”

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

The convoy almost reached its destination. Carl’s looking out the window, seemingly enjoying the view, as the all too familiar suburb is passing by.

Negan looks at the boy for a second before asking, “Did your sister give you the letter?”

Carl just keeps looking out of the window. Nonchalantly he says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The head of the Saviors huffs a small laugh. “Sure, buddy. You really could not have been more suspicious even if you tried to.” After a tired sigh, Carl retrieves the letter from his pocket and holds it out for Negan to take. The man looks at him, confused. “The hell am I supposed to do with it?”

“What do you mean?” Carl asks, just as confused as him, “Don’t you wanna read it?”

“Nope.” Negan looks at the boy for a quick second before looking back at the road ahead of them. “She told me what's in there.”

Carl’s frown only intensifies. “And… you believe her?”

“Yup.” Negan answers. “So far she’s never given me a reason to distrust or doubt her. This was your chance to prove me right, that you’re someone to trust and congrats, Carl. You failed.”

The boy bites his cheeks nervously, looking out of the window again. He really can’t wait to get home.

Negan’s just shaking his head slightly, disappointed. He was able read the letter over her shoulder when she was writing it, but Carl doesn’t need to know that and the point is that his Sunshine told him about it without him even having to ask for it. She’s always been upfront and honest. Carl on the other hand, he is the opposite.

That boy still not trusting him it’s not just disappointing, given the fact that Negan safed his sister's life and allowed that little shit to stay not only in his Sanctuary but his own private quarters is downright insulting. That kid still has a lot to learn.

Finally Alexandria's walls come into view. Negan looks back at the boy, “Before we go in, I’ll fill you in on what's gonna happen.” The gate to Alexandria opens and the convoy drives inside. “I want you to go straight to your house and pack new clothes for your sister and come right back. No little chats, no lingering around, no nothing. You get back to the trucks and stay at the trucks, right where I can see you.”

Carl rolls his eye. With a clear hint of annoyance in his voice, he answers shortly. “Fine.”

Negan can’t stand the attitude but is too occupied to care at the moment. He has to concentrate on the pickup right now. Rick won't be pleased about his daughter's absence and Negan is not in the mood for a standoff.

As the car comes to a stop in the middle of the parking lot, Negan can already tell today's pickup is going to be different. Alexandria is full of life, people are already waiting for them. It’s totally unlike the last time. That's at least slightly easing Negan's mind.

Rick’s people are all swarming around the parking lot, waiting for his Sunshine no doubt. Once properly parked, Negan and Carl jump out of the car. The boy is about to get going, but Negan quickly orders him to stay and wait.

Rick can be seen making his way towards them. Distress and confusion are clear on his features as he realizes his daughter is not with them.

Negan greets the approaching man. “Morning, Rick.”

“Where’s Y/N?” Rick promptly asks in a striked voice, getting right to the point.

“Still in my clinic.” Negan states, displeased by Rick's tone.

Rick keeps on walking towards his son. Despite the order, Carl starts moving, meeting his father halfway. They hug each other. Rick looks down at his boy, asking, “Are you alright?” Carl lets go, nodding yes. Relieved, Rick’s looking back at Negan. “I want to talk to her.”

Negan scoffs at that, “Look who’s making demands here. You got a lot of nerve for someone who was ready to fight with me, while she was slowly dying on that cot.”

Rick’s eyes quickly move to the ground in shame, before looking back at the other man. In hopes of smoothing things out, Carl fetches the letter out of his pocket. “She's alright and wanted me to hand you this.”

Rick’s taking the piece of paper. While opening it, Negan orders Carl to get the stuff for his sister. Rick looks after his son for a moment before reading.

𝐻𝑒𝓎, 𝒟𝒶𝒹.

𝐼’𝓂 𝒻𝒾𝓃𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓌𝑒𝓁𝓁 𝒸𝒶𝓇𝑒𝒹 𝒻𝑜𝓇.

𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝒾𝓈 𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒸𝓀𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝑜𝓃 𝓂𝑒 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝓉𝒾𝓂𝑒𝓈 𝒶 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝐼’𝓂 𝑜𝓃 𝒶 𝐼𝒱 𝒹𝓇𝒾𝓅 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓇𝓎 𝓂𝑜𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔. 𝑀𝓎 𝓌𝑜𝓊𝓃𝒹 𝒽𝒶𝒹 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝓇𝑒𝑜𝓅𝑒𝓃𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃, 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝑜𝒸𝓉𝑜𝓇 𝒹𝒾𝒹 𝒶 𝑔𝓇𝑒𝒶𝓉 𝒿𝑜𝒷. 𝐻𝑒 𝒾𝓃𝓈𝓉𝒶𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒹 𝒶 𝒹𝓇𝒶𝒾𝓃𝒶𝑔𝑒, 𝓌𝒽𝒾𝒸𝒽 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝓇𝑒𝓂𝑜𝓋𝑒𝒹 𝒶𝑔𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓉𝒸𝒽𝑒𝒹 𝓂𝑒 𝓊𝓅. 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓉’𝓈 𝑔𝑜𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜 𝒷𝑒 𝒶𝓃𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝒹𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃 𝓉𝑜 𝓂𝓎 𝓊𝑔𝓁𝓎 𝓈𝒸𝒶𝓇 𝒸𝑜𝓁𝓁𝑒𝒸𝓉𝒾𝑜𝓃.

𝒞𝒶𝓇𝓁 𝓈𝒶𝒾𝒹, 𝐼’𝓋𝑒 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝓅𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑜𝓊𝑔𝒽 𝓂𝑜𝓈𝓉 𝑜𝒻 𝒾𝓉. 𝐼 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝓀𝓃𝑜𝒸𝓀𝑒𝒹 𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓊𝓉 𝓉𝒽𝓇𝑒𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎𝓈 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝑒𝓋𝑒𝓃 𝓃𝑜𝓌 𝐼 𝓈𝓉𝒾𝓁𝓁 𝓈𝓁𝑒𝑒𝓅 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝓂𝒶𝒿𝑜𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝑜𝒻 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒶𝓎 𝒷𝓊𝓉 𝒾𝓉’𝓈 𝓈𝓁𝑜𝓌𝓁𝓎 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝒷𝑒𝓉𝓉𝑒𝓇. 𝒯𝒽𝑒 𝓅𝒶𝒾𝓃 𝒾𝓈 𝓉𝑜𝓁𝑒𝓇𝒶𝒷𝓁𝑒, 𝓉𝑜𝑜.

𝐼 𝓂𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝑜𝓉𝒽𝑒𝓇𝓈. 𝐼’𝒹 𝒽𝓊𝑔 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝒶𝓁𝓁, 𝒾𝒻 𝐼 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓁𝒹. 𝒫𝓁𝑒𝒶𝓈𝑒 𝑔𝒾𝓋𝑒 𝒥𝓊𝒹𝒾𝓉𝒽 𝒶 𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉-𝓃𝒾𝑔𝒽𝓉 𝓀𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒻𝑜𝓇 𝓂𝑒.

𝐿𝑜𝓋𝑒 𝓎𝑜𝓊, 𝒴/𝒩

Tears welled up in Rick's eyes, as he eyes roamed over the writing. Negan rolls his eyes in annoyance, he can't lie he's feeling at least a little bit of sympathy for Rick’s current situation. Almost losing his Sunshine drove him crazy, he can’t imagine what it must have been like for her family.

Deciding he’ll let Rick’s defiance behavior fly this time, he slowly comes to stand next to the man. “She’ll be back next week.” Negan’s unfamiliar calm voice makes Rick look up again. “She wanted to stay until the next pickup, because she doesn’t trust herself with removing the stitches ‘n stuff. I’ll bring her home once that’s done. Honest.”

Rick takes a long deep breath, trying to blink away the wetness in his eyes. Once he got himself composed again, he's looking back at Negan. “Thank you.”

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

It’s late midday when you and doctor Carson are standing in The Sanctuary’s courtyard. The two of you are going over the Savior's latest delivery. A truck for one of their outposts is getting loaded. The doctor is checking the requested medications, asking for your opinion on several things.

It’s so nice to speak to someone who knows about your field of work as well. Although medicine and pharmacy are not the same, they are still similar enough to lay a foundation for very interesting discussions. Carson really respects your knowledge and ideas, he is even up for suggestions regarding the treatments of his patients.

“Huh, in that case I’d recommend Clindamycin.” You look at the doctors chart. “Given she’s allergic to Penicillin and the clinic's stock, this might be the only opinion.”

“Yeah, I was thinking about that, too.” Carson agrees. “Thank you, Miss Grimes.”

You smile at the doctor. It’s such a good feeling being appreciated for the work you do. When you’re about to reply, a yawn forces its way out. Quickly you cover your mouth with your hand.

“Oh, I have to apologize.” The doctor almost gasps. “We were working so nicely, I completely forgot the time. You must be exhausted.”

“Honestly, I am.” You truthfully admit. “But It’s no big deal, I’ll go for a nap asap once we’re done.”

The doctor is about to admonish you for not telling him earlier, when the guard on the watchtower announces their bosses return. Saviors hurry to get the gates open in time for the trucks to enter. Negan's convoy is driving in, coming to a stop further into the courtyard.

A big smile finds its way on your face, as you watch the Saviors exit their vehicles. Your eyes search for their leader when you suddenly notice that no one else is waiting for him.

An ugly feeling suddenly tightens your chest, forcing your smile to vanish. You find yourself wondering why none of his wifes are welcoming him back. Come to think of it, neither were they seeing him off in the morning. Not that you care to come in contact with any of them but their absence still strikes you as odd.

Subconsciously do you nip on your lower lip again, as you feel your chest getting even tighter. But the little voice in your head is forgotten, when you finally see the man you've been waiting for rounding the trucks. Once his eyes meet yours, they seem to light up. With big strides he's coming towards you with the signature smile of his.

“Hello there, Sweet Thing.” He greets you, resting his hands on your waist. “Been waitin’ for me?”

“Oh, don't flatter yourself,” you chuckle. “This was purely a coincidence.”

With an even brighter smile, Negan carefully pulls you closer to him. As he leans down, you sling your arms around his neck, meeting him halfway, kissing him.

Jolts deep in the pit of your belly spread fuzzy warmth through your whole body, loosening up the tight knot in your chest when you feel his warm frame against yours. His stubbles scrape over your skin and his smell surrounds you. He deepens the kiss, entwining his tongue with yours and you become wax in his hands.

It feels just as tender and sweet like it had this morning. You smile into the kiss, completely reveling in the bliss.

Franky observes the scene with watchful eyes, taking a sip from her glass of whine as she's looking out of the window. Her nose wrinkles in disgust. Eventually she turns her head towards Sherry, who is reading on a lounger. “Guess that must be her.”

Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 - COMING SOON!

Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series

Taglist: @starry-night-20 / @joceymoo / @srhxpci / @ladykxxx08 / @sunneeflower / @frombloodandflesh / @aleeeesa /@lanamiller / @fanfic-n-tabulous / @noirfan12 / @abbiesxox / @elinafresk / @obsessiveformiyatwins / @kokushibosgirl / @syrma-sensei / @oceandolores / @raininhell / @esposadomd

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moonsaver · 2 months

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yoooo, hope ur having a good day today :]

is it alr if i request sunday with timid s/o who enjoys dancing? ive a lil scenario in mind where theyre both at a masquerade ball or banquet and s/o is a bit shy when ppl ask them to dance but goes willingly to dance with sunday

Hello, i had a great day rotting in bed! I hope youre having a good day ahead, too.

This is a cute ask, haha.

Sunday probably had to squeeze out that information from you, or a bit of nudging that went a long way. He would be pleasantly surprised that you have a hobby of dancing, and asks general questions about it, asking you what type of dances you learn, how often you practice, and generally tries to accomodate for you if you need him to. Sometimes, dancing equipment gets expensive!

And considering Sunday, he's a classical romantic type. Takes you out for dinners to huge balls and banquets frequently whenever he can make time, and it's not soon before he imagines dancing with you. Slow dancing is probably something he'd love to try with you, especially when mutuals occasionally ask you at these banquets if you'll be taking part in the dancing. Your hesitance is noted by Sunday, and he starts thinking..

So, when the music starts, and people gather at the centre to dance, he gets up and gently takes your hand, softly urging you to come along with him and dance. He's so sweet throughout the entire process.. praising you softly in your ears, his thumb rubs over your knuckles to comfort you if you feel nervous, encourages you to dance with him, reassures you he's there for you, and you dont have anything to be afraid of.

Sooner or later into the dancing, his eyes are so focused on yours, and the heat of his body relaxes you so much your nervousness and timidness seems to melt.. his smile is so soft as it grows wider when he realizes you've become more comfortable now, and kisses the crown of your head gently to let you know how happy he is for you.

It's probably very late into the night as the normal ballroom dancing turns into slow dancing for the both of you. The night ends on a soft, loving note and in the morning you're bombarded with texts and praises from friends, cooing at how great you looked dancing, and how cute you two were. Sunday himself takes pride in how great of a dancer his lover is, and compliments you.

Sunday considers it a successful date. He now only considers a date 100% successful if it manages to end with a slow dance between you two, even if both of you end up in the kitchen at 4 AM, making pudding together and laughing sleepily, slow dancing with soft, padded footsteps.

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andhumanslovedstories · 7 months

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hello this is kind of heavy and no pressure at all to answer. and apologies because im sure you must have answered this before. but do you go through like a pain management flow chart for your patients and if so what are some of the steps? my dad is having some medical issues and i want to be able to help him manage his pain as much as i can. thank you and enjoy wasteland!

I work in a hospital setting so my pain management care plan is part of an interdisciplinary team in that setting. It's relatively easy for me to get, say, IV pain meds for a patient with extreme breakthrough pain. I don't know how well my approach would translate outside of that setting, I'm not palliative care trained, and I don't personally deal with chronic or acute pain (which is why I'm answering this publicly so other people can chime in), but in broad strokes:

First: Define pain. What type of pain is it? Muscle pain? Indigestion? Neuropathy? Surgical site? Stiffness from lack of movement? Is part of the pain also the fear of the pain? Sometimes when pain has been bad for a long time, or even has been bad in a short-term but very notable way, the idea of hurting that bad again is traumatizing. That fear of pain can, unfortunately, make you focus more on the pain you're feeling because now it's not just the physical sensation of pain, it's also the psychological impact of it.

Then, how does the pain affect you? Is it stopping you from sleeping? Is it stopping you from eating? Is it making you short-tempered or depressed? Does it make it difficult to focus on things? Does it make you nauseated? Anxious? Isolated? Do you feel like you need to hide it from those who care about you?

Everything pain is and affects is a place where you can intervene. Some of these interventions will be very small and would, if they were the only intervention, feel completely inadequate. Pain relief is rarely "you do one thing and you're done." You're addressing pain on multiple fronts, and sometimes that doesn't mean your focus isn't just the reduction of pain but the restoration of what pain has taken away. It's possible the worst part of pain for you isn't the pain itself but, for example, the immobility it causes. Are there different ways you can learn to move? Can you get a grabber? Can you get a shower chair? Can you find physical therapy exercises that help you regain strength or stop you from deconditioning to the degree you're able? What mobility aids might restore movement to you?

And if returning mobility is not possible at this time or ever, how can you modify your environment to support you? Can you figure out what bothers you the most about that immobility and mitigate that? If it's annoying that not being able to leave bed makes you bored, what can be within arm's reach? If it's frustrating that being too painful to move means you feel isolated from other people, can you make wherever you are more central? If pain makes having your bed on the second floor unfeasible, can you move your bed to the first floor? How can you adapt the environment around you?

I'd encourage movement too, to the degree it is possible. Being in the same position HURTS. If it feels good to stretch but you can't do it by yourself, can someone help you with range of motion? (You can look up "passive range of motion" to get an idea of how to do that.) This doesn't need to be exercising, just exploring the joy of moving your body. Related to movement is physical touch. I love lotions and medicated creams for pain patients because you can turn them into massages. Just be careful with pressure and be open about what hurts and what feels good. At the most gentle end of the spectrum is something called the M Technique which isn't even massage, it's like guided gentle touch. Give the body something else to feel.

Different medications work better with different types of pain. This part is hard to talk about in general because of the specificity of some pain med regiments. Tylenol is great, but be cautious with how much you are taking (acetaminophen overdoses are no joke) and remember that there's a point where more tylenol doesn't mean more pain relief. Opioids are great, but they can be very dangerous and aren't well-indicated for a lot of types of chronic pain. Even if opioids work best, I'd encourage you to be working on pain reduction on multiple fronts, as opioids are so controlled, it is easy to lose access to them. If opioids give you enough pain relief to do physical therapy, then make sure to do that physical therapy. Medications are amazing and I love them and I give out PRNs like crazy, but similarly to how I can't just take my depression meds and stop being depressed, pain medication works best in conjunction with other strategies. Those other strategies though can literally be something like "tramadol takes away the pain enough I can focus on something, and what I want to do with that focus is to watch a movie I've been meaning to rewatch for a while now but haven't had the spoons for." Sometimes all you will want to do when you get pain meds is sleep because you can't when you're hurting. Sleep is wonderful; how can you arrange your sleeping place and habits to make sleeping even more of a delight?

And if you find a medication that works, use it consistently. It is always easy to keep pain level than it is to address a pain spike. Don't wait until symptoms are at their worst to address them. Figure out what it feels like when your symptoms are ramping up, and intervene early.

Sometimes medications that aren't explicitly for pain can still help. If anxiety makes pain worse, consider an anxiety medication. If coughing hurts, can you get a numbing spray from your throat to make it less sensitive so you cough less?

I don't know how useful this is to you and your family. Hopefully it's at least something to think about. Think about palliative care (which is about the management of symptoms of illnesses rather than the treatment of illnesses) as not just taking away bad sensations but restoring good ones. You can't always get someone to a place with no pain. But what can you do to enhance life in the presence of that pain? There is a psychological aspect to pain, it's a parasite that drains you and makes you feel like you are nothing but a body that hurts and won't stop hurting. I want to make clear, I'm not saying pain is only in your mind. Bone mets and nerve pain exist whether you're cheerful about it or not. But pain doesn't have to mean suffering, it doesn't have to take away the things that make you you. Address pain through medication and therapies, but also remember that protecting, promoting, and prioritizing the parts of yourself that you most value and give you the most joy will help give your life so much substance that pain can't rob it all. You aren't doing one big thing. You are doing a thousand small things that make life easier, better, more suited to yourself and your abilities, and more aligned with the parts of life that you that give your life meaning.

(And a note in particular for being the family member of someone in pain--ultimately, they are going through this alone. It is their body. What can you make smoother for them? How can you protect their dignity and their privacy without making them feel abandoned or alone? How can you make it so your reaction to their pain is not part of their burden? Like for the six hundred other hypothetical questions in this endless post, the answers will be highly personal and will take time to figure out. Be patient and calm.)

#nursing tag #oops! sorry! it’s an essay with I think no definite answers for you #and also an extrapolation of my in hospital work and my home health work #long post

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wlwinry · 19 days

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appearing appearing appearing to ask if you have any more thistlecaster headcanons 👀

oh ive always got more thistlecaster headcanons

fabian has never gotten sillier at a school dance than when he goes w gorgug. completely gives up on sophistication and choreography and being the future of dance and literally just jumps around with him for like two hours. he gets spun a lot bc he's a head shorter than gorgug and it makes him laugh every time

gorgug really likes fabian's laugh--the big bravado-filled guffaw, sure, but also the shrieky, undignified cackle that he makes when he actually finds something funny

i know we may be losing bloodrush buds but luckily it is just as easy for gorgug to pine over a pretty, covered-in-sweat-and-dirt-and-grass-stains fabian from the stands as it is from the field. easier, even

couples tattoos are generally a bad idea. however these two get them after their fifth anniversary--worst case, they decide its a friends tattoo!

(fabian's is an axe with flowers twining around the hilt. gorgug's is a sword with a silk sheet flowing around the blade. both are in gold ink, and they're both on the inside of their right forearm)

gorgug is a big fan of picking up his boyfriend. physically. he can do it he's got the strength and fabian is just sooooo easy to lift AND it makes him laugh or blush and get all cute and flustered. it's a win either way

this usually ends in them kissing for a solid minute or two before they get moving

gorgug helps fabian learn how to cook and bake! he also makes food for fabian a lot bc it's a huge huge part of orcish culture and fabian is so unbelievably touched whenever he does. it's a lot of breakfasts

they'd have a lot of post-bloodrush sleepovers but apparently they arent my bloodrush boys anymore. don't worry gorgug still insists on having the sleepovers once he realizes fabian is more upset about losing time with him than about him leaving the team

gorgug is initially so careful when they kiss bc Tusks. fabian appreciates that but also he likes the tusks he does not mind getting nicked in his quest to kiss his boyfriend

when he writes and performs a song for fabian, fabian fully bursts into tears bc he's so touched. gorgug is so worried until fabian manages to explain that no it's just really really sweet and he loves him and then well gorgug HAS to kiss him about it

their wedding is a huge blend of elvish, gnomish, orcish and solesian culture. it's also a very small affair with only their closest friends and family--but, bc fabian is involved, it's appropriately lavish and also a dry wedding

they both become very good at dealing with each other's nightmares--gorgug usually needs to spar or do something to get the adrenaline-fueled energy rush out, but sometimes he slips back into life-or-death mode. meanwhile fabian usually needs quiet and to be held and to feel that gorgug is alive and okay, but sometimes he gets worried that he's still dreaming. they both adapt. they love each other enough to adapt.

not to overuse an old meme but they are most certainly "if i run at gorgug he will catch me in his arms" "wait don't i'm holding clobica--"

in their (married!!! adult!!! happily ever after!!!) house there's a doghouse/mini-garage for the hangman, a garage for the hangvan, and special perches in gorgug's workshop for all of the Creatures gorgug keeps making

fabian becomes reaaaaally good at cooking breakfast. and that's it. he's passable at the other two meals but that man can bake and make a stack of french toast. there's a lot of breakfast in bed

they never stop being just. so in love with each other. someone asks gorgug how he fell for fabian and he just blinks and goes "how could i not?" and fabian feels the same way about him

i fear i went overboard

#thistlecaster #i love it when people indulge my interests #d20 #thank youuuu #gorgug thistlespring #fabian seacaster #fhjy

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the-s1lly-corner · 6 months

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I was rewatching the Mulan films to get that childhood nostalgia, and I remembered how much I love Mushu...

So I thought "what would the cast of TADC x reader be like, who is practically a copy of Mushu's personality", I imagine that in appearance he would be a Chinese dragon humanoid but with his personality

TADC cast x mushu type! reader !

im finally back on my computer, woohoo! ill probably answer a few requests, since i wanna draw stuff today </3 i dont really like leaving my wips unfinished for more than a few days TToTT side note i gotta rewatch mulan, used to be one of my favorite movies as a kid (though i barely watched movies back then so uh uh its not like there were many contenders </3) relying on the good ol character wiki to help me through this because its been so long since ive watched the movie

CAINE:

i think caine would actually really enjoy you, a lot! in a weird way caine gives off similar energy, with the confidence and such you know? so you two probably bounce right off each other and build one another up... though sometimes this leads to more insane IHAs because you insist to caine that youre more capable than you actually are... as mean as that sounds... the only reason that things dont get too too chaotic is because caine, in my opinion, does hold some significant level of care for the circus members (at least as it stands for the pilot)

like would he die for them? probably not.. but he cares enough to keep the circus (mostly) safe and bothers with keeping them mentally stimulated and entertained; he doesnt even watch the IHAs himself so its likely that its not for his own entertainment

ponders

im getting off topic, though, point is i think you two would be friends !

POMNI:

honestly i struggle a lot with writing pomni, but i think the two of you would be friendly with one another ! i think she might be a little taken aback by your confidence, but hey, its not like its to anyones detriment, right? well... IHAs can get interesting, with you either insisting to run in, leroy jenkins style, into the conflict; or trying to push someone else to do (oftentimes ragatha, who i feel would be the most likely to do the most in IHAs if theres nothing pulling her away from it (cough cough checking on kaufmo cough cough)

honestly my brains a little fuzzy trying to remember mulan, but i feel like you and pomni would have a similar dynamic to mulan and mushu as well

JAX:

i think jax would try to push you more than he does the others since oftentimes your reactions are more... out there, youre so desperate to prove yourself as this big strong individual that you kind of make an ass out of yourself. and jax revels in your humiliation everytime someone manages to humble you.. in terms of the other stuff, i think he would tease and make fun of any abilities you have.. assuming you also have (some) fire abilities like mushu, jax would just call you names like "matchstick" and "lighter boy", making fun of your weak fire powers

RAGATHA:

as mentioned in pomnis part, you and ragatha have... an interesting dynamic... but i can also see you two having a similar dynamic to mushu and cri-kee . with you being bold and ragatha keeping you grounded. often you two end up together during IHAs with either ragatha seeking you out or someone pushing you to her

not much to be said, i think ! very similar dynamic, ragatha keeps you in check, though i think she would occasionally scold you if you did something particularly reckless

KINGER:

ooo this ones a hard one, but i think it would be similar to my personal take on what his and caines dynamic would be but with you as a fellow circus member rather than the ring master... has respect for you (though i think kinger would have respect for just about everyone who has come and gone to the circus, he doesnt strike me as the type to just diss others unless theres a reason he doesnt like the person... and even then he would mind his own business, i think) which... honestly, i can see this either making your ego more intense or actually mean something to have someone actually respect you.. ponders... character degradation(?) or character growth.. both are fun routes, i think! ill leave this one up to you...

slides my favorite kinger thing

you guys tell each other stories about your adventures, both of you hyping them up way more than they need to be

ZOOBLE:

writing zoobles part first because i think that they may be the hardest, but in the kindest way possible i dont think they would be able to stand your personality... maybe youre a little loud and out there, or maybe they just dont like your humor or often times self centered nature... i think they would tolerate you just enough to get through IHA but forming a friendship with zooble is going to be tough... though, they do find it amusing when you and jax butt heads

GANGLE:

very similar to pomnis part, i think... but like, gangle is shy whereas pomni is nervous so things are a little different... i think gangle would just along with most stuff you decide to do, that you rope her into, because she doesnt have a backbone to say no or suggest something else.. well she doesnt have bones in general but... you know? honestly she kind of envies you in a weird way, she wishes she had the confidence you have so sometimes she probably approaches you for advice.. how this ends up is up to you !

#tadc x reader #the amazing digital circus x reader #caine x reader #pomni x reader #ragatha x reader #jax x reader #kinger x reader #zooble x reader #gangle x reader

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idyllic-affections · 1 year

Text

dad!pantalone brainrot (ft. il dottore & baizhu) iv.

summary. when their health issues flare up, there are very few doctors that their father will permit to treat them.

trigger & content warnings. implied canon-typical dottore violence, (empty) threats, chronic illness, blood, mentions of death, etc.

tropes, pairings, fic length, & other notes. hurt/comfort. dad!pantalone & reader, il dottore & reader, baizhu & reader. 0.7k words. they/them pronouns for reader. prev | next

author's thoughts. this series is never ending... in my defense, it was going to be a full-length fanfic but i never ended up pursuing that idea. anyway baizhu and pantalone are brothers here! idc if it ends up being non canon, its canon in my heart 💖 this got... slightly angstier than i intended. whoops!

when it comes to his child's health, pantalone only trusts two doctors in all of teyvat.

(he objectively trusts one far more than the other, though.)

il dottore is an... unfortunately large part of their life. the regrator did eventually accept that it was inevitable, given how "close" he and the doctor tend to be. dottore is one of their many tutors, though admittedly, his teaching methods are probably a little concerning... at least [name] is proficient in anatomy and physiology! perhaps pantalone should reconsider whether or not his child should be left alone with him. he'd somewhat gotten over his initial concerns about leaving them with him and his segments after seeing zeta nearly tear someone's head clean off in their defense, but perhaps it's time to reconsider! the second may not be hurting them, per se, but he is creating a desensitized little thing.

(though... it may very well be for the best, given their harbinger lineage. they cannot afford to be soft or squeamish. pantalone knows this very well.)

the second fatui harbinger is also largely responsible for making sure they're in good health. semiannual check-ups are a standard practice as opposed to annual ones; they did happen to inherit their father's poor immune system. dottore once offhandedly commented that it probably came more from the regrator's brother, as even pantalone isn't as prone to illness as his child is. the doctor has never met baizhu personally, but pantalone knows he's right. they tire so easily... sometimes it makes him sick with worry. regardless, it runs in the family, and some get it worse than others, so check-ups are more common.

(check-ups are always an amusing sight when zeta is around, wordlessly fiddling with a needle suspiciously close to their neck.

"put that needle in my throat and i will tear out yours."

he only smiles at them.

their smug aura does not mock him; contrary to popular belief, he finds it quite funny and endearing! they are the only person that can get away with talking shit like that. not even the other dottore clones can talk to him like that without getting a violent response. he lets it slide with omega because he has to, but beyond that...

he's fond of them. he's just too emotionally constipated to admit it.)

however, sometimes pantalone doesn't completely trust dottore not to harm them when they're seriously ill and vulnerable. he knows dottore would gain nothing by bringing them harm, and yet...

archons, becoming a father has made him awfully protective, hasn't it? surely he wasn't like this before he took them back from arlecchino?

times like those, times in which their illness would act up to the point of leaving them bedridden, making them shiver and tremble and spit up blood... times like those are when he calls upon baizhu.

he'd understand their illness better than dottore ever could, anyway. pantalone was right to make such an assumption.

"has your father taught you nothing of energy management?"

"energy management?" they scoffed sarcastically, the warmth from the cup of herbal tea in their hands soothing the chill in their trembling fingers, "from the man who hardly takes care of himself? please. he acts as if he isn't also chronically ill. he'll literally work himself to death if he isn't more careful. it's... worrying, actually." they tapped their nails against the cup mindlessly, chewing on the corner of their lip.

anxiety was not good for their health, especially not when they were already this ill.

"oh?" baizhu's interest was very much piqued at that, and their lips twitched upwards slightly at the way his hand stroked over their head calmingly. "in that case, i'll have to teach you my methods, but... he's been taking poor care of himself, has he?"

"the poorest."

"i see. do tell me everything, for... future reference."

they knew very well that 'future reference' meant a firm chiding. oh well! it's not like they purposely exposed their father's poor habits, no no. they were a loyal child. they'd never do something so terrible and unforgivable...

unless it was baizhu who asked, of couse. it would be awfully rude to withhold secrets about his own relatives from him, after all!

pantalone may get sick with worry over their health, but the sentiment is very much mutual.

please consider reblogging, it helps me out quite a lot!

#aphelion brainrots 🌸#pantalone x reader #baizhu x reader #il dottore x reader #platonic genshin impact x reader #platonic genshin x reader #platonic genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader

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purplelupins · 12 days

Text

Lamb

Midnight Mass

Part I Part II Part III Part IV Part V

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem! Reader

Word count: 10k

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, ANGST, 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: I’m sorry

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Sleep had evidently taken you during the night, though you couldn’t recall when. Sometime between you telling yourself it would all be alright, and weeping for God’s grace. Now as you opened your eyes, you half wished you hadn’t. You wished you had stayed asleep and let this tumultuous time crest over you.

They say God gives his hardest battles to his best soldiers.

You did not want to be one of his best soldiers that day.

You wanted there to have been no oil spill and for the Monsignor to come back and for Leezas accident to have never happened and for Joe to be sober and you wished you had a crush on someone when you were a teenager and you wished the world was kinder-

You wished so many things.

You only managed to pull yourself up from bed when your stomach curled painfully and begged for food at around 7:30am. You begrudgingly put your kettle on the stove, and stared out your front window.

A watched pot never boils, your mother used to say.

Does if you stare long enough, your dad would reply.

You face fell as you watched a stray leaf float past your window. Your eyes glazed over as you waited, and only refocused when there was more than just a leaf going past your window.

Erin Greene slowly walked past your house, white as a sheet, and you found yourself transfixed by her. She looked…disturbed. You had heard that she had gone to the mainland for tests, and you wondered if there was a complication with her pregnancy. Perhaps she had started taking morning walks to help…

It took a moment for you to decide to open your front door, and when you did she didn’t turn around. She was further away now, and you wanted to shout to her and ask her in for a coffee, but it was early, and you didn’t want to wake your neighbours.

You went to turn back inside- your kettle starting to whistle. But something lurched inside you then. This wasn’t you. The you that you knew would run out after her friend and check on her.

Without another thought, you were down your steps in a second and running down the road after her.

“Erin! Hey Erin!” You called to her.

Erin stopped and spun on you- her eyes red.

You were panting once you stopped, and you waited for her to say something, but went she didn’t you did. “Sorry I just…I’m making some coffee an-“

You were cut off by her wrapping her arms around you and hugging you close. You slowly returned it, rubbing her back. You didn’t know Erin very well outside of Mass or the odd conversation, but you almost felt a shock zap you when she held you. Like you connected to her somehow.

“Erin are you alrig-“

“Don’t lose yourself…” she said as she pulled away.

You stared at her and laughed nervously when she remained serious, “I don’t…what’s going on?” You asked. But when you saw that deep sorrow in her eyes, you stopped looking for a reason.

She shook her head. And sucked in a breath as she released you, “You’re smart. And you’re good. Don’t lose that. You have your life ahead of you.” She repeated, then squeezed your arms and left you there in the morning air with only your whistling kettle in your ears.

You didn’t remember eating, or drinking your coffee for that matter; but your sink full of dishes said otherwise. Erin had startled you terribly. While you could have chalked up her behaviour to her pregnancy, somehow you felt she was talking about something else entirely. It was as if she had embodied all the turmoil you had been experiencing, and had shown it to you.

Did she feel the same discomfort you had? Was this something not unique to you?

You downed a few more cups of warm drinks as you dwelled and thought. You thought about calling your family on the mainland…but they were always so busy. Instead, you sat and pulled the book you had borrowed from the Father and began to read it again. You found you had a difficult time keeping up with the book itself; the sequence of a man’s decent into Hell. It was morbid though fascinating to read…almost like a train wreck that you couldn’t look away from.

Eventually, you snapped the book shut and set it down beside you.

You didn’t know how to feel about it, and you didn’t like how heavy it weighed on your heart. Like somehow it felt all too real.

It was only when the old streetlights outside your house started to flicker on that you realized how late it had gotten. Still a few hours left before Mass. You reached for a record to play, and stared at the one closest to you. The same one you had listened to the night before the Crock-potluck.

You berated yourself for associating Father Hill with the record, but it had been such a significant night that it was difficult not to.

You mindlessly played it, and as the sound filled your home, you listened. Calm began to come over you, though you weren’t certain you liked that. Sure it was an old family record from the 90’s, and brought some nostalgia, but you didn’t find yourself thinking of your family.

You thought of how Father Hill had taken your sorrows and given them back in the form of healing. How he had taken your hand and walked you through your first confession in years. How he hadn’t judged you. How welcomed you felt.

Renewed.

How he had single-handedly entered your life and begun to mend it with such precision. As if he knew what you needed.

By the late evening you had eaten dinner and washed your dishes, brushed your hair and wrapped a warm cardigan over your spring dress. You admittedly looked a little less pristine than usual, but you tried to not let it bother you.

A breeze crept up your thighs as you began down your front steps, and you faltered for a moment. You opted instead to hop on your bike, and began pedalling down the road. Somehow you felt more at ease the faster you went, though you just assumed it was because it meant you would be outside in the cold less.

You greeted a few people as you went, and found yourself starting to calm down the closer you grew to St. Patrick’s. Then as you created the hill, you sighed in slight relief; as you slowed your pace to the side of the building, you caught the eye of Father Hill as he welcomed his parish inside as he almost always did. You sent him a small wave as you stepped off your bicycle and leaned it against the church.

“Evening Father Hill.” You said, coming up to the steps.

John smiled at you. You looked so fresh with your rosy cheeks and less neat hair.

“How are you, little one?” He asked you, focus purely on you for a moment as Bev welcomed the others who passed.

The endearment caught you off guard. More than off guard. It must have been a coincidence, but that was what Monsignor Pruitt used to call you.

You shifted a little but started to make your way past him, “I’m doing well, thank you Father. I hope you’ve been feeling alright.” You put a small smile on, though your stomach was still tight.

“Feeling even better now.” Father Hill said- the crows feet around his eyes deepening.

You nodded and quickly made your way up the stairs and inside the church to your spot on your pew. In some way it felt as if you were a little outside your body; your ears rang and you found your eyes flickering over the heads and faces around you. It was an uncomfortable feeling, and you had hoped it would pass when Father Hill started speaking, but it didn’t.

“I hope these last 39 days have been rewarding and regenerative for you all. We are here on the eve of Easter…we have all come so far together this year. When I first come here to this community, I didn’t see a failed island, no…no I saw what I know God sees and that is an island on its way to rebirth. Each and everyone of you have helped it get there too. You think you’re insignificant or that you’re just small cogs in a large machine, but you’re all so much more. You are representatives of Gods glory.” Father Hill started. You had noticed that for a few days now, his passion for his sermons had returned tenfold. And while his words still moved you, you couldn’t shake that feeling of disconnect. You felt like such an outsider that evening, and you almost checked around you to see if you had done something different.

While you tried to ground yourself, you stared at the wooden crucification of Jesus behind Father Hill as he spoke, and at some point your eyes blurred and for a moment you swore the idol and the man were one and the same. The visual was enough to make you frightened.

You looked away quickly, and focused instead on your hands. You looked at each line and your knuckles and picked at your nails and traced the veins.

Before you knew it, Mass was finishing, and you found yourself a little shaken. More than a little. You rarely tuned out a service, but the anxiety that curled in your muscles refused to leave you.

Shame prickled inside you, but somehow your trepidation overwhelmed it. You wanted to leave. Quickly.

You didn’t wait to speak to anyone that night, and certainly not Father Hill. If you were honest with yourself, you didn’t know what to feel towards that church or preacher anymore. All you knew was that you didn’t feel like yourself, and that the priest only seemed to enhance that.

You heard a few people call your name as you hurried outside, and as you were just about to grab your bike, there was one voice in particular that made your steps stutter.

But still you didn’t turn back, and only got onto your bike faster, and sped away until you were racing home like the Devil himself was licking your heels.

John Pruitt stood on the top step to bid his parish a good night, but as he stepped out into the cool air, he noticed one had already slipped by.

He called your name, and could hear your heart rate spike for a moment. He could hear you quicken your pace too. You were running from him.

Guilt and worry began to fill him. This was his fault entirely- he had been lacking in his guidance for you. You hadn’t had enough of the sacrament, and you were lost. That blood in your veins was a shadow of what you deserved.

John made up his mind. You would have the gift even if he had to give it to you himself.

No lamb left behind.

In the morning, you stared at the photo of you on Easter from when you were a child. The same one Father Hill had pointed out. Your hair in little pigtails and a carefree smile…that little dress that made you look like a doll.

Now as you stood there you were far from smiling, and instead found yourself fighting the nausea that stirred in your stomach.

In your hands was the book Father Hill had given you.

Dante’s Inferno.

You hadn’t finished it, and it didn’t feel right of you to have it. It didn’t feel right for you to finish it too. Like you shouldn’t know how it ends. The more you thought about it, the more you realised the same applied to your own future. You had no inkling as to where it would end up. At one time not too long ago you might have been fairly confident that you knew where you were headed or what you might do with your life, but now you found yourself unable to trust your own judgement. When had you lost your moral compass?

You swallowed and steadied yourself. Back to the task at hand.

You stepped out your door, book in hand, and began making your way through town to the rectory of St. Patrick’s. You told yourself you were just going to leave the book on the porch and walk away. No knocking, no visit, just simple and quick.

A few people stopped you on your walk to ask if you had been alright after last night. “You left in such a hurry after Mass, honey, just wanted to make sure if you were okay.” They would say.

And you were so well practiced with your sweet smile and unbothered tone that of course they believed you when you told them you thought you had left your oven on and raced home. You even earned a laugh from one of them.

You wished you could laugh as easily as them. Smile as easily. You wished you weren’t burdened with this disturbance.

In an attempt to make yourself feel stronger, you tried to put your shoulders back, and began to walk up the hill, but the closer you got, the smaller you felt. You felt very much like a child going to the principal’s office.

That dread that had been festering in your nerves peaked as your eyes fell upon the rectory. The lights were on. Somehow that made everything feel so much more difficult. Your nerves vibrated and seemed to shake in tandem with your hands.

You sucked in a breath, and held it as you pushed yourself to walk down the side of the church and to the small house. Quickly, and as quietly as you could. Things almost seemed hopeful as you went to place the book down on the porch, but just as you bent, the door opened, and you jumped.

You were frozen in place.

“Ah, Y/n. Can we help you?” Inside, you could see Bev was sat at Father Hills desk, while Wade stood, Dolly sat and Sturge held the door open. Father Hill was standing by his bookcase. The same one he had retrieved the book you held from.

You swallowed but tried to muster up that practiced smile to seem apologetic.

“So-sorry, I’m um…I just wanted to return this book to Father Hill.” You held the book up, and went to give it to Sturge, “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

They were quiet for a moment, then Bev went to speak again, “Oh that’s just fine, Sturge why don’t you take the bo-“

“Please, you’re welcome to stay,” Father Hill cut her off.

You startled again by the sound of his voice. He was watching you. Had his eyes gotten darker? “…I think we were just finishing up.” He added.

Bev smiled tightly.

You didn’t.

“Oh that’s alright, I’m sure you’re all very busy with tonight and the sheriff is actually expecting me to talk abou-“ you tried, almost looking helplessly at Sturge and Dolly as they started to file out past you. You had hoped that using Hassan would gain you some credibility, though it seemed to fall upon deaf ears.

“Please…” The Father said again, now coming closer as he followed the group, though he stopped just at the edge of the couch, “I’d like to know what you thought.” He added with a small, quick smile that showed his teeth.

John didn’t like you avoiding him. He had nothing notable against the sheriff, but somehow you wanting to prioritize a meeting with the other person irked him when you had clearly walked across the island to see him. It was as if you were crying out for help, but refusing to let yourself follow through…

Do not deny yourself my lamb…let me be your guide…let me help you.

You felt your fingers go numb and your mind start to go fuzzy as Bev slipped past you and left you alone. That was the last thing you had wanted to happen.

You gaze was fixed on the older man before you, and he grinned and beckoned you inside. A chill ran down your spine. At one time he had been a beacon, but now you weren’t so certain. It was as if he knew you weren’t yourself. Like he knew you were having doubts.

“Come in.” He said, and gestured to the chair that Dolly had sat in.

You stood in the doorway.

John could almost taste your fear. He was losing you. Fast. He needed to help you find your way back to him.

“R-really it’s okay, Father…” you tried again, weakly.

“I insist.” He replied.

You sucked in a breath, and took the step inside. You knew you shouldn’t, and your gut screamed at you to leave.

You closed the door, and timidly walked further inside.

With the door shut, John walked over to you and placed a hand on your back to guide you to sit at the desk there he sat across from you.

“I didn’t finish it, Father.” You said honestly. You felt guilty for the look of surprise on his handsome face.

He blinked and nodded, “It’s a difficult read.”

You placed the book on the table in front of you, and slowly looked up at him. It was strange to not try and fill the silence, but you truly didn’t know what to say.

You’re scaring me, Father

I’m afraid.

Of course you wouldn’t say that to him but that was all you could think of.

“I want to apologise.”

You looked up at him. You hadn’t been expecting that.

“I- forgive me…I want to apologise for not being the guide you need. My health has been unpredictable for a while, and I haven’t been there. For you, and for many others.” He said gently, leaning forward to fold his hands on the desk.

You swallowed, “That’s alright, Father.”

He stared back at you then, thinking. Contemplating.

“How are you?” He asked after a moment of studying you.

He knows.

You clenched your hand.

“I’m alright, Father.” You whispered, not that you meant to.

“Are you?” He asked. The Father refused to take his eyes off of you.

You forced that sweet smile you had, and nodded, “Definitely.”

He knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows he knows…

You put your hands into your lap to hide how you shook.

“Good.” Father Hill said plainly, “Off you go then…big night tonight.” He smiled a little.

You nodded and stood up a little too quickly, “Yes- yes for sure. Have a good day, Father.” You already started backing away, and he stood to follow you. You didn’t dare look away from him or turn your back on him…and you didn’t know why.

“See you tonight.” John called to you as you turned the door nob. He cursed his gift in that moment. How he couldn’t walk you out…just have a little more time to calm your anxious state.

You didn’t say anything, though you did nod and smile tightly as you opened the door.

You were out the door and down the steps and walking briskly away before the Father could manage to say anything else. The door barely clicked shut from how fast you left. You kept your head down and continued that way until you were home.

The tremor in your hands hadn’t stopped. You clenched and unclenched them in an attempt to remedy it but nothing seemed to stop it. You were troubled…so troubled.

You weren’t even certain if you wanted to go to the vigil anymore. All you wanted was for that feeling to go away.

But this was Lent.

This was Easter.

It was just an evening in the church, then after that you could keep your interactions with Father Hill short, and simple until he left and Monsignor Pruitt returned.

Your gut jolted at the thought of the younger pastor staying indefinitely.

No…no Father Pruitt is on the mainland…for…months.

You pulled your knees to your chest and gripped your rosary as the night grew darker. The shadows began to envelop you in their grasp, and you found you had never missed the sunlight so much before. The power had stopped working an hour ago, and you found yourself nervous to wonder why. Now the darkness around you seemed to weigh down on you. You muttered prayer after prayer as you contemplated going, but then suddenly you stopped.

The faint sound of singing reached your ears, and you walked to your bedroom window to look down. Sure enough, there were dozens of little lights being held by islanders as they sang their way through the roads. You turned away, and looked down at the rosary in your hand; it had cut you. You pursed your lips, then sucked in a breath, and descended your stairs to the main floor and grabbed a sweater before walking quietly out your door. Beverly was stood just beyond your gate, and she paused when you caught her eye.

“Good evening, Y/n, join us.” She beckoned you down with an outstretched candle.

And against your better judgement, you went to her.

You took the candle, and she patted your arm like she cared about you. “Bless you, my sister in Christ.” She whispered, then continued singing. The hymn was pulled from you like “Please.” and “Thank you.”- you didn’t even realize you were singing until you approached the church and your throat was growing tight. A tear fell into your cheek, and you didn’t bother trying to hide it.

Just one more night. Then maybe I can go to the mainland for a while…just one night.

St. Patrick’s glowed amongst the trees. Calling you all in. As you ascended the stairs, the glow of hundred of candles swallowed you whole. Your skin prickled at the warmth, and while you didn’t notice, your hands stopped shaking. The hard, old wood of your pew was supporting your weight as you sat without thinking. You found yourself in a slight daze as you looked from left to right to see the people around you. Faces you knew so well. It was only when you looked behind yourself that you jumped a little. Hassan was sat with Ali not far away, and while it was strange to see both of them there, you found that you grew calmer knowing your friend was there.

Both then when Hassan’s eyes met yours, you found that same look of disturbance there, and it was like a bucket of ice water. He didn’t look uncomfortable. He looked…worried.

You pursed your lips and looked around a little more, and noticed that Erin was back in her usual spot. You almost wanted to sit beside her to ask if she was alright after the last time you saw her that morning…but everyone was finished sitting, and you lost your chance.

It seemed your staring was enough to make her look in your direction though, and it was like looking in a mirror. She looked horrified. Terrified.

Something was wrong.

Any comfort you had felt began to wane. You both exchanged a look, and you suddenly wondered if you had been right; perhaps that underlying terror that had been poisoning you hadn’t been unique to you.

Both of you turned away from each other after a moment, and that feeling of solitude returned. Even amongst your community, you felt so very strange.

You slowly turned back and watched Father Hill take his place on the pulpit. His demeanour was so at ease now…he walked and stood like he belonged up there. You supposed he had been there for over six weeks…he had settled in.

You swallowed.

“This right now is one of the most beautiful things that I’ve ever seen. Now, some of you may have noticed that I’m wearing a gold chasuble tonight. I was actually wearing this on that first Sunday, the first day of the New Covenant. Bev called me out on it, in fact, and asked why I was wearing it on a day in Ordinary Time. And what I couldn’t tell her then, but what I can tell you now, is that I chose it because it was not an ordinary Sunday. Not even a little. And I had cause to celebrate, to rejoice. It was a holy day. And tonight will be different as well. Tonight is the beginning of a new era. And we are meant to celebrate the Resurrection tonight, and, and we will more than anyone ever has.”

You listened, staring at the pew in front of you. The man’s voice alone curled in your ear far too easily, and you didn’t dare look at him. Too afraid of what you might see or how you might feel.

“But first, bless me, brothers and sisters, for I have sinned. It has been too long since my last confession, and it is so long overdue, but here is my sin. I’ve lied to you all. I didn’t come here to replace Monsignor Pruitt. He isn’t recovering in a hospital in the mainland. He’s perfectly healthy.” He admitted.

At this, you looked up.

“He has been blessed. As you have all been blessed, he has been made well, made whole, made young, the same as you. He was healed long before you ever saw this face. He was the first, in fact, and he stands before you right now, asking for your forgiveness.”

For a moment, you looked from left to right at the front of the church, expecting to see the Monsignor, but then his words sunk in fully, and you grew pale. The realization fell from the base of your skull to the pit of your stomach like an iceberg. Cold paralysed your spine as confusion curdled to horror and ate at your bone marrow.

“Now, some of you must have thought it before, in the backs of your minds. Minds so trained by the world to ignore that voice, because how could it be? That would be impossible. But nothing is impossible with God. As we have seen. I was lost and confused, tired and old, on the road to Damascus when lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared unto me and bestowed upon me the healing graces of God. And I was restored, as you have all been restored. I returned to you all and I brought with me that angel of the Lord so that he might bless us all, and we have, we’ve seen the miracles. Our new bodies. The resurrection of the body, new and everlasting life. Now tonight, we will be tested, just a little, but we will be tested, as was Jesus. I was afraid when the New Covenant was fulfilled for me. Afraid as was our Savior, but “he who says he abides in Him, ought himself also to walk just as He walked.” “Be imitators of Christ.”I followed him into the valley of darkness, and like our Lord, I endured death. Mercifully short. A leap of faith, a step out onto the water, was all he asked of me. And, like Jesus, you will doubt, you will feel fear, but believe me, I promise you, brothers and sisters, if you follow me, if you follow us, if you follow Him, He will raise you again in His glory to eternal life. There is a price to be paid for everlasting life, as there was for our Savior. And each one of us will have the opportunity tonight to pay that price. But first and… I know after everything we’ve been through together, this is not easy to believe, so I invite you as Jesus invited Thomas to witness for yourself…Sturge?” He beckoned the gruff man over.

“And I John saw the holy city, New Jerusalem, coming down from God out of Heaven, prepared as a bride adorned for her husband. And I heard a great voice out of Heaven saying… ‘Behold, the Tabernacle of God is with men, and he will dwell with them and they shall be his people, and God himself shall be with them and be their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes. Death will be no more. Mourning and crying and pain will be no more. For the first things have passed away. And the one who is seated on the throne said, ‘See, I am making all things new.'‘I am the Alpha and the Omega, the beginning and the end.To the thirsty, I will give water as a gift from the spring of the water of life.'”

You watched, unable to look elsewhere. You half hoped this was some horrible dream you were having, fuelled by the discontent you felt. But as each second passed, the more you realised you were never going to wake up.

“This will be frightening for all of us, but, Sturge, my brother in Christ, are you afraid?” Father Pruitt asked him and he grasped the communion cup.

“No, Father. No, I’m not.” Sturge answered, so tamed.

I am! I am, Father! You shook.

“God be with you…” Father Pruitt murmured as Sturge drank, “I’m with you. I’m with you. I’m with him.” He cooed so gently that you actually started to feel a calm come over you, but it was gone again in a flash.

You watched Sturge jolt and grip his stomach; you jumped to your feet in horror.

“It’s all right. That’s okay,” the Father tried to sooth the crowd, but you only watched as Sturge began to cough blood all over himself, “It’s okay. It’s all right.”

The older man collapsed into the priests arms, and they both slowly lowered to the floor, “That’s all right. He’s all right. It’s all right.It will be over soon. It will be over soon.It’s all right.”

Father Pruitt cradled Sturge’s head as he convulsed, “It’s all right. Have faith! Have faith! Have faith, my brother. Have faith! It’s all right…This will be over soon. Soon. Soon.” He shushed him.

“Faith!” John cried, now looking up at the parishioners, “Just a few minutes! Just a few moments, really! The body is dead, but just for a moment! The resurrection of the body is what Easter’s about. That is what we are about to witness.”

You gripped your rosary so hard it dug into your fingers and carved into that spot it had already cut.

From behind you, you heard shuffling, and you turned to look. Hassan stood then, and gripped Ali’s arm in an attempt to pull him out the door, and you very nearly followed them, but you stopped cold when you looked past them and to the door.

“Sheriff, please. I…” Father Pruitt started to say, but as everyone turned to the door, a hush fell over the church. As your eyes focused there, you could taste your heartbeat.

There was no knowing exactly it was that stood there before you, but what it was…was evil. It was death, and pain, and forced that visceral sense of terror you had been keeping at bay to infect your sinew.

John straightened and stretched his hand out in welcome, “Behold…Lo… lo and behold, an angel of the Lord appeared to them. And they were afraid.” At his words, you dared to look away from the creature walking slowly through the church, and stared instead at the very man who you had begun to think was a true testament to the good of man. In the face of such harrowing calamity his smile was one of giddiness.

He was…joyous. Excited. Almost shaking as he beheld the beast perverting his church.

You stared at him. And as he smiled…you finally noticed how that smile was so much more dangerous than it once had been. Where it had once been one of wise luminosity, now it was one that could shred flesh from bone. Those sharpened peaks that sat just a little further from his other teeth. You wondered if he had practiced hiding them.

Then that dread that had seated itself in you curdled into anger. An anger so burning that your cheeks began to warm.

“Have faith, brothers and sisters. I would not make you see what you have seen, I would not ask you to choose what you may choose, without first showing you God’s messenger. And remember, brothers and sisters, have faith that in the Bible, every time they mention an angel, when an angel appears to we humans, we are afraid. ‘And an angel of the Lord appeared to them on the right side of the altar of incense.And when Zechariah saw him, he was terrified and overcome with fear.’”

You watched the beast unfurl two massive wings from under the chasuble. Gasps echoed around you, but you could barely hear them. You were lightheaded.

“Just then, an angel of the Lord stood before them. And the glory of God shone around them and they were sore afraid. And the angel said, ‘Fear not, fear not, be not afraid!'”

Just then, Sturge gasped and sat up. You jolted and almost fell back into your seat.

“And then they took away the stone from the cave where the dead man was lying.” Father Pruitt helped the man up and embrace him, “And Jesus looked up unto the sky and said, ‘Father, I thank you, for you have heard me. You have heard me.' ‘Thank you for hearing me.'” He sobbed.

Your skin began to crawl when you heard Andy start to play the organ, and Wade and Dolly leave to the vestibule. Leeza stood there, tears in her eyes.

These were not the people you knew.

You silently walked over to the girl and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, but she only wept harder.

“And he cried out in a loud voice! ‘Lazarus, come out!'And the dead man came out!” You saw the Scarboroughs hand out cups to each churchgoer, and a dolly even smiled at you as she handed you yours, “And his feet and hands were bound with shreds of cloth, and his face was wrapped in cloth, and Jesus said to them, ‘Unbind him and let him go!'”

Bev, Wade, and Dolly all made their way through the parishioners, cups upon cups upon cups of liquid that made you more nervous than ever.

“ Brothers and sisters, you are so close to salvation. The miracle is already in you. The blood of the angel is already in your veins, but it is incomplete. The final transformation will not be yours unless you let your earthly body die, so that your divine body can awaken.” Father Pruitt pleaded, and the horrified knot that squeeze your stomach only tightened.

“One moment of faith. That’s the price God asks of us. Just one moment of courage. A small step out of the boat. Just onto the water itself. A small moment of discomfort. A small passion of our own. A gift offered up, and then we are reborn. Open your minds! Open your hearts! And listen to that voice. That voice in the back of your head. That voice the world has tried to silence, has tried to teach you to ignore! The voice of our angel, telling you, “Be not afraid.”

“No. No.” Hassan shook his head and gripped Ali’s arm, “Come on.”

You watched your friend try to pull his son out and away from the horrors, but Ali tugged, trying to stay back, “Dad. Dad! Dad! Stop! Stop!” He twisted free and stood away from his father.

Your heart broke. You couldn’t watch this. You put your cup down, and walked from Leeza and took Ali’s arm, but when you tried to reason with him to go with his father, Father Pruitt began to speak again.

You were silenced.

“Sheriff, Sheriff. I implore you not to deprive yourself. Not to deprive your son of the opportunity for salvation.” He said, hand outstretched to try and calm your friend. You held Ali, trying to inch him away from Father Hill.

You saw something change in Hassan then. Like something in him finally broke.

“Okay.” He muttered, then drew a gun from his belt and pointed it straight at Father Pruitt. You gasped, and pulled Ali but he stayed put as the priest stretched his arm out in front of you and the boy.

Tears began to roll down your cheeks as you watched helplessly. Guilt and fear began to bind itself to your tendons. You should have told Ali to stay away. You should have-

“Everybody stay back! Ali, come here right now. You’re coming with me right now. And if one of you fucking people come anywhere near my son!” Hassan spat.

You swallowed and turned Ali towards you, “Ali, Ali you need to go…please…listen-“ you tried, but he wasn’t listening.

Wade slowly began to walk out in front of the sheriff, and spoke so slow and dazed that you almost didn’t recognise him, “Hey, Sheriff, put that down. There’s no need to be waving a gun.”

Hassan raised his hand and shot the ceiling- everyone ducked in fear, cowering amongst the pews. You tried to pull Ali again, but he stood there watching as three men jumped onto his father and wrestled him to the ground.

You stared down at your friend as he struggled to look up at his son. You quietly begged Ali to listen to you, but there was a strange smile on his face. Your words weren’t being heard by him.

He was gone.

“How dare you?” Bev sneered, slowly walking down in front of the sheriff, “How dare you bring a firearm into the house of God!”

She turned then, on Ali and her violent face turned gentle, “Blessed are you, my son, for setting an example of courage. This young man is choosing God in the face of pressure from his own father.That we should all be so fearless. Thank you. For setting an example…Welcome, my son.” Said, handing him a cup just like the one you had been handed.

You went to take Ali’s arms again to stop him, but just as you went to move, your shoulders we enveloped and tugged back by large hands. You were walked backwards, firmly but gently, out of the way, “Shh…it’s alright. This is a blessing…” Father Pruitt whispered in your ear and he kept you away from the boy. You struggled against him, but you couldn’t even move under his strength.

“Let- let me go-“ you tried. But if what he said before was true- he was far stronger than you, and you were only wasting your energy.

“It’s okay, little one…it’s okay…” his voice might have eased your worry at one time, but now you found it sending your mind into a panicked frenzy, “Have faith.”

You could hear the horror and heartbreak in Hassan’s voice as he pled with his son, “No, Ali. Hey, look at me.” He struggled just as you did, “No.”

“Ali-“ you tried to get his attention, but he was already raising the cup to his mouth.

“I choose God.” He decided.

You struggled harder, twisting and turning to no avail as he tipped the cup and swallowed the contents.

The rest was all white noise. Father Pruitt released you slowly, and you wriggled away to run to the nearest person. Begging them not to drink. Most were tentative, and you were stupid to hope that meant they wouldn’t do it. But one by one, despite your pleas and a few others, they drank. You watched as Dolly stood with Leeza and drank. You rushed over to them and pulled the young girl away from her mother as she collapsed and turned her away when she convulsed.

Faith. Faith. Faith…

You could hear the Father repeating that word.

You felt Warren take Leeza and guide her back further away from the scene unfolding around you. You let him.

So many of the people you held dear drank and died before your eyes. Men, woman, children, elders. You knew you couldn’t do anything. You wanted to curled into a ball and sob.

Faith! Faith! Faith!

“When he raised them up, and carried them on eagle’s wings and brought them to himself!” His was elated to see so many accepting the gift. John stood and couldn’t help the smile on his face as he reassured his flock.

Everything seemed to slow down then. Your eyes were nearly glazed over as you watched Mildred Gunning stand and stare down the priest. You still held Leeza with Warren, and you both tried to figure out what she was doing, though it seemed she answered your question for you when she gripped the Sheriffs gun in her hand.

Your ears rang as a shot rang out.

Your tongue went numb when you saw the bullet tear a hole through John Michael Pruitt’s head.

He collapsed.

Panic rose in you again. It was second nature to want to check on the Father, but you shoved it away; he had trained you so well…preyed on your giving nature. But everything came rushing back to you when that winged creature screeched and tore Mildred from the church; her screams filling the air.

Somewhere across the church, Sarah was sobbing for her mother. The kind of cry that chilled your blood. You found her in the row next to you being held back by Erin.

It was silent…so silent aside from her sobs. All around you were bodies of the people you knew and loved. Gone in minutes.

Was this what was to become of Crockett Island?

You felt fear begin to drain from your body then.

This was your fate.

You were going to die.

That realization made everything so much less paralysing.

But you certainly were not about to be dinner.

“Close the doors. Close the doors!..Lock them!” Bev shouted as she knelt beside Father Pruitts body, “He is okay. He will be okay. He will heal. That is part of God’s miracle!His miracle which some of you would destroy!”

You turned and watched Bev cradle the priest’s head and speak to him so gently. She spoke to him like a mother might her child; you had never seen her care so much for another person.

You realized then that she was just as lost as the rest of you. He was her Jesus. She put her faith in him and made him her idol.

Gods army. He had called you all gods army.

But he had made an army for himself, with him at the centre of it.

“Hold him down.” She snapped to the men gripping Hassan still. You turned back to stare at him, “What is wrong with you? Spitting in the face of such a gift! Remove the sheriff. Take him out back. We’ll need… We’ll need food soon.” She seethed.

You felt dizzy. Your ears began to ring again, and though you saw Bev’s mouth moving, and the look of fearful realization that Sturge was staring at the blood on her hands, you couldn’t hear.

You saw Ali awaken, and felt sick at the look of euphoria on his face.

Then, one by one, the bloodied bodies around you began to twitch and groan. You couldn’t feel your toes, and you wondered if you had somehow died along with them and were floating off the ground. Just as slowly as they rose up, your hearing returned too. Though you wished it hadn’t.

“Mommy?…Mommy?” You heard Leeza cry as Dolly slowly stood.

“Leeza…” she whispered. You watched, gut twisting horribly as Dolly’s expression was nearly blissful. You had watched blood erupt from her lips just minutes ago…yet here you were now staring at her as she regained her footing.

You looked this way and that, and while the people you once knew were indeed standing, there was something in them that wasn’t quite as it should be. Something…something-

Magnetic. That was what you had first thought of Father Pa-

John Pruitt.

You corrected yourself mentally. There was no Paul Hill.

Another lie from a pious man.

Then after another few minutes came the begging. The “Please don’t hurt me.” And “Mommy it’s me.” And the calling of names. The crying. The screams. All at once. It was so loud; you could hardly think. Impulse and instinct kicked in when Sarah came to you and Leeza and helped you tear her away from Dolly as she smelled her daughter’s neck.

You were pushed and shoved amongst the chaos of it all until Hassan grabbed your waist and pulled you through to the church vestibule, then hauled in Sarah and Leeza and Annie and Erin. You all piled into the small room and knocked into the wall and the table. You heard Annie sob for Ed as the door shut…and your heard broke even more.

After a second, you looked around to see tins of rat poison on the table. But it wasn’t that that made you go stock still. It was the cowering figure of Bev Keene at the end of the room that made you all stop.

“That’ll all be over soon. And they’ll all wake up, eternal.” She said like she was trying to justify the hell on Earth that was unravelling just feet from you.

“You hid?” Sarah asked in disbelief.

Then as you all stood in silence, Bev caught sight of the gun Erin held in her hand, “What are you gonna do, Erin Greene?Guns? Those things don’t matter anymore, “she egged her on, “Not in the new world. The world without death. You could shoot me right now. It would mean I’m five minutes behind-“

Erin fired, and the bullet tore right through Bev’s chest.

You all stood there stunned.

“We have five minutes.” Erin said calmly.

And just like that, you all ran.

Keeping off the main roads seemed the best route, so you sprinted through the trees and tall grasses into the heart of the island to get some distance. After several long, exhausting minutes, you all seemed to slow and duck into a thicket near town square.

“We need to get to the boats…” Annie panted.

Hassan nodded, as did you, but Erin and Sarah shook their heads, “They’re not working. Sturge disabled them all.” Erin looked out over the landscape.

“How did…?” You started to ask.

“We…we knew something was wrong…tried to leave this afternoon but it was too late.” Sarah chimed in grimly.

And suddenly, you felt as if you could weep. You weren’t crazy. It wasn’t just you who didn’t feel right.

“Anyways…we’re going to have to figure out a strategy. We can wait them out until morning…then we can radio for help.” Erin sighed.

“Erin?” You asked, and she turned to you, “I don’t think you should be running so much what with baby-“

“She’s gone.” Erin muttered.

You went pale, eyes wide. Sarah nodded in your peripheral, and you felt your gut twist painfully, “I’m- I’m sorry.”

“Better than her getting stuck on this fucked up island.” She shook her head.

“We should burn down any empty houses…try to warn as many people as we can.” Hassan said. His voice was thick with emotion, and it took all of your strength to not hold him and weep.

Instead, you nodded.

“Y/n, you take Leeza and Warren to the Uppards…hide there. Take one of the row boats out into the water if you need to.” He stared into your soul, and you nodded.

“I want to help-“ you tried.

“You will be. Keep those two safe.” He said, and you finally nodded.

“Atta girl.” He said, “Alright…Annie let’s go find some fuel.”

Your throat went tight when he spoke to you, and you could feel yourself on the cusp of hyperventilating, but you forced yourself to ignore it. You all stood up together, and you gathered the traumatised teenagers. You all stood there for a moment looking eachother over.

“Be- be careful.” You forced out as tears began to rise in your eyes.

“You too.” Annie smiled tightly, and kissed Warren’s head, “I love you my boy.”

No one hugged aside from Annie and her son, no one said much of anything. There was so much you all wanted to say to each other but there were not enough words to say it. You cast Hassan one last look and offered him a small, tight smile before your groups parted. He returned it with a nod, and you patted his arm before you grabbed the children by the hands and began leading them back towards the church to get to the Uppards.

Once you were halfway through your journey, something caught your attention, and you quickly yanked both teenagers down u to the high grass with you for cover.

“What’s wro-“ Warren started to ask, but you put your finger to your lips for him to be quiet, and you all listened. You could hear feet on gravel. Several pairs of feet…meandering down the road not far from you. You felt a wave of nausea crest through you. They let them out of the church.

On the loose to feed.

Adrenaline had been pumping in your bloodstream for well over an hour now, and it told you to run. That you could make it- that they wouldn’t catch you. But you weren’t about to risk it…not with Leeza and Warren with you.

Minutes ticked by, and your muscles ached from being in the same position, but after a long while, you didn’t hear anyone else. You smile rose your head up and sighed a breath of relief that was short lived. Just moments after you had deemed it safe to run, a new sound reached your ears.

Faint screaming.

You turned and looked back towards the town. Small plumes of smoke had begun to spiral into the sky. You sucked in a breath, and steadied yourself before taking the hands of the teenagers and pulling them up and began running again. You moved deeper into the trees, and twigs scratched your legs and face as you pushed on, gasping for breath as you tasted iron.

Tears began to sting at your eyes again. You wished you could have told your friend’s how much they meant to you. That you would see them after. But it all seemed so empty in hindsite. Even just telling them that wouldn’t have been enough.

As the three of you began to pass the church, you slowed your pace amongst the trees to stare at the glowing building.

You didn’t know why you needed to go there, but you felt that pull inside you.

One more time.

“What is it?” Leeza asked when she noticed you had stopped.

“Nothing. Go. Go I’ll meet you there okay?” You whispered, “If I’m not there in twenty minutes, you push one of the rowboats into the water and you get out into the bay, and you pray to God. Okay?”

They both nodded, and you returned the gesture before shooing them away. You watched them go for a few minutes- the sound of screams growing more constant all around you.

The possibility of death was not so horrible as you strode through the woods that thinned at the back of the rectory. You had accepted your likely death back when you had been sitting on your pew.

Be not afraid…

How ironic that indeed you no longer held any fear for your end.

You slowly walked through the grass, down the side of the church, and up the stairs. With each step you saw more and more of the remanence of the carnage that had taken place. Bloody handprints streaked the doorway and the floor, and various articles of clothing were left strewn around. You looked at the pews that you had sat in since childhood, and at the windows that you used to stare out of. A flood of memories you had from St.Patrick’s invaded your head, and you felt a single tear roll down your cheek.

Your gaze moved down the aisle, taking in what was left of St. Patrick’s. Then as you reached the stairs of the pulpit, you stopped.

There sat John Pruitt and Mildred Gunning, both staring back at you.

You sucked in a breath.

There were no words you could say to that man. Not anymore. You might have spilled your heart out to him at one point not long ago, but whatever it was that you needed to say to him didn’t matter anymore.

John heard a heartbeat approaching from outside, and waited as it approached. He felt his gut twist at the prospect of it being lost islanders who didn’t understand what was happening. How did this all go wrong?

But he wasn’t prepared for it to be you. There was so much he needed to say to you…so much you needed to know, but he had never seen you cast such a cold look before.

Father Pruitt went to stand, “Y/n-“ he called to you, but you were gone just as fast as you had appeared.

Hearing him say your name was like a blow to your stomach. You spun around and bolted outside and into the bushes to save a life you barely had. Your lungs burned painfully but you didn’t dare stop running until you were on the sand of the Uppards. The trees thinned into high grasses, and you slowed your pace as you walked out to the shore. You looked out at the water, and saw Leeza and Warren in a small boat in the water. You saw them spot you, and you waved, which they returned.

You thanked God that they were safe.

There was still a couple hours left before sunrise and the safety it brought you, so you found a softer patch amongst the thick brush, and you sat down. Either you would be found and killed, or you would live another day. There wasn’t a great deal you could do to avoid the former, so you waited.

Waited for that sunrise of revival that you used to love as a little girl.

You rocked back and forth, and sang gently to calm yourself as the world began to glow. Smoke from the town had begun to fill the air, and you wondered if you would be able to say hello to your friends again. You were anxious to walk back into town; you just wanted to know who survived. You needed to see Hassan to radio for help or see if he had any connections to the coastguard. You knew he would be alright…he had to be. Even if he was turned you were certain he would try to help you get away.

You stayed in your place until Leeza and Warren returned back to shore. The sky was a bright blue then, with fading pinks and oranges- colourful just like the Easter eggs you used to hunt.

The teenager’s eyes were just as bloodshot as yours, and you were certain there were no more tears left in you to cry.

The three of you began walking back down the island. You tried not to focus on the blood stains in the dirt and grass every so often, and the other two didn’t seem to wish to comment on it either.

You came to the church, and the other buildings there, and noted that the windows were all covered and boarded up aside from the rectory.

You looked back at Leeza and Warren, and they both stared at the buildings, lost. You knew what they were thinking. “Our parents are in there.” But they didn’t say it. You pursed your lips and began guiding them along, down Main St.

The closer you got to the town, the more bodies and…remains you saw. You steeled your nerves and kept going, hoping and waiting to see someone else alive.

Various buildings were still smouldering. You walked past the general store, and stopped short when you came to your little shop. Or what was left of it.

You thought you might burst into tears at the sight, but you didn’t. You couldn’t. You couldn’t feel anything. It wouldn’t matter if you did or didn’t. Everything was gone.

“Warren?” You muttered.

“Yeah?” He said, tearing his eyes from a bloodied shirt on the ground.

“You know where my house is right?”

“Yeah it’s-“

“Go there.” You breathed out, “Check if the windows are covered…if not, go inside and wait for me. Don’t go anywhere else. There’s food in the fridge.” You gave them both a tight smile and ushered them away. Leeza took his hand and cast you one last look before hurrying to keep up with Warren’s stride.

As they disappeared down the road, you started to look around the town more carefully. You weaved through buildings and along the shore, calling out for anyone.

“Hello? Hello!” You yelled as you trudged along the sand. But on seagulls cawed back to you, “Hassan?” You tried.

You walked further, and came to a pause as you stared out over the water. You had always liked how quiet Crockett was, but now it was silent.

You sighed, and turned back towards the bushes to find a break in them so you could survey the damage further. Just a few meters away there was one, and you began trudging towards it. But as you grew closer, your steps slowed.

There was a body lying there.

You hadn’t noticed that you were walking again until you stopped cold. You had thought that you couldn’t feel your stomach drop anymore, but it seemed that you were able to one more time.

It was the blue denim jacket that stopped you.

You knew that jacket. You saw it almost everyday. You made jokes about that jacket.

“No…”

You took the remaining steps to it, and collapsed to the ground- knees colliding with the earth painfully.

Your friend. Your coffee buddy. Your ally.

Hassan Al Shabaz.

Your throat was tight and dry as you wept. Rivers of tears flooded your cheeks as you knelt over his body, and gripped his limp arm.

“Wake up…Hassan wake up…pl-please…don’t leave me alone…” you sobbed, shaking him.

Out of everyone you thought he would be the last to go…and never like this.

You wished you had told him what a wonderful father he was. You wished you had hugged him. You wished you had told him that he did all he could and that was enough. You wished you told him he was loved by God. You wished you had been able to say goodbye.

You wished none of this had happened.

You wished John Pruitt had stayed lost in that desert. You wished you had told him to leave and never look back.

You wished you had done better.

But now all you could do was roll him over, and push his hair from his face. You took a shuttering breath when your eyes caught the bullet wound in his stomach with the halo of blood around it that saturated his clothes.

You could have sat there until night fall to let the islanders have you. But you knew Leeza and Warren were waiting for you, and you were going to keep them safe.

When you walked to your house, Warren asked you what you were doing as you grabbed your shovel. It only look one grim look for him to understand.

“Need a hand?” He asked you.

You shook your head, and walked back to where your friend laid. It took the remaining daylight for you to bury him. You placed a halo of stones around his grave, and retrieved a photo of him with Ali from their house. You placed it directly over him, and let out your last few tears before returning home and reinforcing your house.

It took an hour past sunset for the power to be restored. You hid in the basement that night. You could hear the Flynns and Scarboroughs pounding on your door begging to see their children. But they didn’t break the door down. They understood.

It wasn’t until a couple days later that the islanders got the kids.

You were out during the day when their parents called your landline, begging for them to see them. It was likely with good intent, but while their parents might have meant well, there was dozens and dozens of hungry islanders who didn’t.

You had felt so numb when you returned to find them gone.

You would survive purely off the idea that one day your rage would be witnessed by the man who made your life putrefy from the inside out.

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

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian @erialuna @nilla-bear @vintageglassheart02

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

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leolingo · 6 months

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(long post about purgatory and meta and rp)

sigh one thing ive been thinking is that it feels a bit unfair to see so many people complaining or doomposting over how purgatory affects the overarching qsmp rp story or how it ~interrupted arcs~ or is ~disturbing current storylines~ or ~narratively unsatisfying~ like. Sure. its a bit abrupt and most players were caught off guard because lore-wise it stems from the federation which means none of them were told about anything beforehand

but... its only been three days. maybe we could have a little faith? like idk ill be soooooo out there rn and say that maybe the admins did this now for a reason. maybe itll make sense later on. we already see lore repercussions with elquackity and his motives and all the nods to the eggs.

theres fair criticism to be made (when done respectfully) if youre mainly here for the roleplay but i feel like we sometimes need to remind ourselves that the qsmp storytelling is a VERY ambitious project. lmao. imagine being the writing team and trying to wrangle 20+ characters with distinct points of view and journeys on an ever-changing story because of the very nature of live rp. its practically IMPOSSIBLE to tie up every loose end neatly and at this point i dont think we should expect that. keeping up momentum with all plotlines must also be pretty hard, cc's schedules and outside factors like server programming and building and mod tweaking and all those meta elements considered and so on and so on

i DO also want the story to move forward and be cohesive and make sense in a satisfactory way. like i really do!!!!!!! but i try to understand that thats not ALL the qsmp is about. from the start quackity said the server wouldn't be exclusive to the rp aspect. it sure is that way right now, but thats because most of the active members are VERY passionate about roleplaying. thats a good thing! they have fun and its fun to watch and the experience is mostly good for everyone because it corresponds to their expectations to an extent

the thing about purgatory is that i feel like its a lot more meta than most people doomposting realize. it ties into the story, sure, but to me it feels like the sudden switch in environment and vibes and stakes isnt actually catered to the rp and thats FINE. like thats not what it exists for and thats fineeeeeee

pac for one has said he appreciates the event for the change of pace, though its very hard (lol), because regular qsmp was starting to feel a bit stale to him and he was kind of running out of things to do. THATS A GREAT THING! managing player engagement like that is awesome and sometimes necessary. YES, purgatory caters to a very different playstyle than what we're used to -- and thats one of its strenghts.

a lot of hispanic creators have also felt this!!!! roier, rivers and carre most prominently have been VERY excited about this event because its similar in format to a lot of spanish speaking events like mc extremo and such. a lot of these players are also not particularly interested in rp-ing and had not been logging on very often prior to purgatory.

even roleplay regulars like tubbo, fit and bbh have shown interest in purgatory for the competitive nature of the setting!!! thats cool too!!!! something different, new possibilities to play around with. thats what the events should be about. kudos to the admins and dev teams for attempting it in such a big scale. their effort shows and all the mechanics weve seen are really fucking cool

i love the roleplay!!!!!! its one of my favorite parts of the qsmp!!!!!! but its not ALL there is and it shouldnt be! non rp-oriented creators are also part of the project and deserve to have a little fun too -- not to mention a big chunk of the hispanic fan community that has blown up twitter with support bc what we have rn is similar to events they already love!!!!!!! im glad to see so many of them get excited again!!!!!!

at the end of the day, qsmp is a LONG long term project, and purgatory ends in two weeks. by the time its over, we can all choose to engage with it as we wish. it can be a big filler episode in your mind, if you want. it can be just for fun..... otherwise, if its not fun, your regularly scheduled qsmp will be back soon anyway :3 its fine to not like it, its fine to have something negative to say about it if properly tagged and not like. crazy entitled or blown out of proportion for what this situation is.

i just hope we can all manage our online experiences accordingly and avoid making things less enjoyable for each other. this is supposed to be fun

#rant kind of #i hate hate hate doomposting it drains me #lets not assume the worst!!!!!! lets wait and see!!!!!!! theres so much time!!!!!!! how about that #qsmp #discourse

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girlfriendsofthegalaxy · 16 days

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tuesday again 4/9/2023

the best photo i took this week

listening

i have not been keeping up with either the tuesdaypost spreadsheet or the tuesdaypost playlists so there's a strong possibility i have already talked about Joywave's It's A Trip! off the 2017 album Content. spotify

youtube

driving ten hours in one day is ideal for listening to albums and i listened to almost every joywave album on my way home from the eclipse. american indie rock band from rochester ny, i have loved them since early college. i think they were made in a lab to get to stuck in my head bc they tend toward lower register synthier tracks that deceptively amble cheerfully along and talk about dealing with fear. songs for a male protagonist to splash water on his face, look at himself in the mirror haunted by what he's seeing, linger in his children's bedroom doorways, and then drive off into the night for the finale.

i think i listened to this song for an hour on loop yesterday bc the chorus so perfectly got stuck in my brain

When you've gotten what you want (Maybe I should start over) There's nothing left to want (Up and at 'em again) You don't know what you want (Yeah, I'm thinking it over) Just tell me what to Want

they have spent a lot of time figuring out how to have longevity as a band: "The record kind of attempts to figure that out but it doesn’t end in a definitive place. For me personally, it’s just to create things that matter as long as I possibly can, and to make things that are going to outlive me that people can hang onto for at least five to six years after I’m dead." they are deeply cranky about virality/content churn, especially in this interview. i appreciate this in an artist.

could not tell you how i first found them. i think i would have to go back to the proto-tuesdayposts of 2018.

reading

when you're not sleeping well you can average a book a night!

Uprooted by Naomi Novik destroyed me. (image from here)

“Our Dragon doesn’t eat the girls he takes, no matter what stories they tell outside our valley. We hear them sometimes, from travelers passing through. They talk as though we were doing human sacrifice, and he were a real dragon. Of course that’s not true: he may be a wizard and immortal, but he’s still a man, and our fathers would band together and kill him if he wanted to eat one of us every ten years. He protects us against the Wood, and we’re grateful, but not that grateful.”

my best friend real-life influenced me into reading this book and i have since managed to convince four other people to read this book bc i won't shut up about it. the descriptions of the physicality of magic and how different kinds of magic and different families of spells Feel was only part of the coolest magical system ive ever read about. this is not a dark romance but it is a little brutal in a brothers grimm/this is how battles shake out sometime kind of way. i think a companion piece of media written from the Dragon's point of view would nicely parallel that post going around about how Howl's Moving Castle the movie is from Howl's point of view and Howl's Moving Castle the book is from Sophie's point of view. i would die for Agnieszka.

Spinning Silver by Naomi Novik (image from here)

Miryem is the daughter and granddaughter of moneylenders… but her father isn’t a very good one. Free to lend and reluctant to collect, he has loaned out most of his wife’s dowry and left the family on the edge of poverty–until Miryem steps in. Hardening her heart against her fellow villagers’ pleas, she sets out to collect what is owed–and finds herself more than up to the task. When her grandfather loans her a pouch of silver pennies, she brings it back full of gold. But having the reputation of being able to change silver to gold can be more trouble than it’s worth–especially when her fate becomes tangled with the cold creatures that haunt the wood, and whose king has learned of her reputation and wants to exploit it for reasons Miryem cannot understand.

i don't know if i've ever read a book with seven points of view before? i think it was well handled, but it required significantly more brainpower than screaming through three of kingfisher's light fantasy/romances in two days and it threw me a little. saying this book is about debts cheapens it a little, i think. it is concerned with debts but also safety, and it is very much about cost in a very fairytale way and in the horrible everyday calculus of survival way.

Swordheart, Paladin's Hope, and Paladin's Strength by T. Kingfisher. god these go down So smooth. kingfisher has a niche and i respect that. i am reading the Saint of Steel tetralogy out of order bc even four library systems can only do so much, and i don't think you particularly need to read them in order.

i'm a bit cranky that the terfs took feminist fantasy from me, bc when the protagonist got her period in Paladin's Strength a little alarm bell went off in my head and i had to put it down and google some stuff (the answer is no btw). there is a way to write female-focused lightly historical fantasy without being terfy and kingfisher does it, but it's so rare that i was genuinely expecting some sort of. weird agenda to be at play.

these were all fun, fast reads and i don't have much else to say about them! not that they are better or worse than novik's books but they will not live in my head quite as long. there are fewer tantalizing hints about systems of magic that make me want to graph things out u kno

watching

kanopy has Animation April as their focus this month which is how i saw The King and the Mockingbird (1980, dir. Paul Grimault) which is a longer piece adapted from something he'd been working on since the 40s.

youtube

This animated fantasy tale follows the romance between a lovely shepherdess and a handsome chimney sweep. The land's imperious king falls for the beautiful woman and tries to thwart her relationship, but a kind mockingbird assists the lovers in evading the ruler. At the king's command, the chimney sweep and his bird friend are imprisoned, and they must escape in order to rescue the young man's true love.

GOD the animation in this. there are so many references to early animation and silent film. there are so so so many gadgets and methods of conveyance in an absolutely architecturally dizzying castle. there is a ROYAL MECH that plays its own theme music. the backgrounds have a very Chuck Jones quality in that they are exactly as detailed as they need to be for the gag to work. the castle is lush and beautiful but not dizzyingly, overwhelmingly lush. there is a clear vision to every shot and a clear path your eye is meant to travel, which i appreciate very much. i think a lot of technically impressive animation (i am specifically thinking of the Nimh movies) muddies itself by trying to jam too much on the screen. just a fucking delight of a film. a delicious confection

playing

nothing specific to say about genshin this week ur welcome

making

painted a frame (it was a dead basic michaels frame i got at a yard sale and it was giving little boy's room) and framed a thing. this is a poster that came as a freebie with a 1997 album, and i actually bought this CD case without the CD inside bc i was so delighted with the poster. scuff sanded the frame with 120 grit, i went with a matte black acrylic bc i felt that disguised how the poster did not quite fit the frame a little better? and also bc it was what i had in the house.

i did not bother with a mat, i just used the lining paper with the stock photo and painted the back of that. do not do this with particularly valuable or beloved pieces. i do not think this is necessarily acid free and there is some danger that the paint may transfer to the back of the poster over time.

#tuesday again #tuesday again no problem #Youtube

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randomfoggytiger · 3 months

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Fics That Deserve More Comments (Part IV)

Back on the fic list grind with a part four~!

**Note: Will ghost edit later.**

Loose chronological order below~

@hipsbef0rehands/Millenial_Falcon’s(WBM/WBM)

What do you think Mulder and Scully's best days were, respectively, as children?

He took her onto the navy ship which he he worked, showing her everything from the command room to the engine room. He took her to the tiny bunk beds where the crew slept, the head, and the kitchen. Young Dana looked at the living arrangements in horror. When he took her to the forward dock of the ship and she could see the vast ocean before her. It was then that she understood her fathers love for the sea and adopted the same passion. It was this day that her love and respect for her father grew immensely, and sometimes where she needs to take a break from life and retreat to her happy place, it is on the dock of that ship.

Mulder and Scully come to separate but important realizations as starry-eyed children.

4. Mulder shopping for Scully

It had been easy in the past, with women like Diana and Phoebe, he found the most dazzling expensive piece of jewelry and they were happy. The gifts were nice but he never really put much thought into them. That wasn't Scully.

Post IVF-- Mulder wants to pick the perfect gift for Scully's birthday after the IVF and before the impending millennium.

BED SHARING

Scully continued on with he night-time ritual of putting on her pajamas, fluffing up her pillows, and turning down her sheets, when Mulder emerged from the bathroom. He plopped unceremoniously onto the bed disrupting the sheets that she had just perfected.

Pre-Dating-- Mulder and Scully take their own personal liberties.

20. “You need to wake up because I can’t do this without you.”

Heaving herself out of the sunken cushion of the battered chair, she pushed it closer to Mulder’s bedside. Once settled back into the Scully-shaped indent she had managed to create over the last three days, she hesitantly reached out and took Mulder’s hand in hers. Despite his improving condition, fear wound around her heart, squeezing out all hope and replacing it with the heavy weight of despair. He could very easily be ripped from her life once again.

Deadalive Scully waits (and begs) for Mulder to wake up.

A Nice Hike in the Woods (Ao3)

“Mulder, are we out here looking for aliens?”

“No” he chuckled. He held his arms out. They were surrounded by pine trees in various shapes and sizes. “Well…” he said. “Pick one”.

Scully raised her eyebrows looking up and down, questioning him with her eyes.

“No, Scully, a tree…. pick one”

Pre-IWTB Mulder tries to make their unremarkable house a home.

You're told to write/direct/produce a msr scene of your own doing for one of the revival episodes.......go.

Taking her left hand he raised it to the level of their eyes. Gently, he began to play with the silver band that no longer adorned her neck but once again, her ring finger.

“I gave this to you almost 4 years ago. I never made good on my promise.”

Revival Mulder and Scully are back on the road and back together, giddy and happy and ready for the next step.

Babylon Headcanon

“She is a doctor, Scully.”

“Yeah, so I’ve heard. Well, Mulder, I’ve been a doctor for a lot longer and let me tell you, if you ever do anything like that again, I will have you committed.”

“Scully… you know I will, eventually” he said with a smile.

Babylon Mulder cannot, of course, escape a Scully scolding.

You're the only one I trust (archive.org)

A free-floating assortment of The X-Files fics that are fun to scroll down and read.

mad_martha's (annex-files, x-sites)

Pilot Flipped (Ao3)

In contrast to the corridor outside, the office was brightly lit and austerely neat, its untidiest feature being a pinboard near the door that was covered in newspaper cuttings and photographs. Even those were arranged in a semblance of order. There was a desk which, apart from a stack of ageing files, a set of document trays and a slide projector, seemed to be empty of even normal office equipment; and a set of shelves around the walls filled with orderly rows of books and box files. Mulder couldn't remember the last time he'd seen any office in the Bureau looking so tidy, and he included the Director's inner sanctum in that assessment.

AU-- Pilot Mulder is assigned to Scully.

9 Minutes

The label inside the blouse collar bore the name of one of Scully's favourite outfitters and as she examined it, noting that the size was also her own, she made a disturbing discovery. Just inside the neck of the blouse lay a small tangled gold chain and cross.

Scully's fingers flew to her own neck, where an identical cross, given to her by her mother on her fifteenth birthday, lay against her skin. What the –

Her thoughts were suddenly jerked away by a distant scrabbling sound, barely audible above the noise of the machines around her....

Scully jumped to her feet. That voice had been familiar. "Mulder!" she shouted, hearing her voice echo horribly.

No reply, but there was a series of thumps and grunts, brought up finally by a loud thud.

AU-- Pilot Scully flashes to the FTF hallway in the 9 minutes she and Mulder lose on the road.

Conversations

There was a pause as she tried to hang onto her anger and hurt, but Scully's innate sense of what was fair wouldn't allow this statement to pass unchallenged. "I don't know about that, Mulder," she observed ruefully. "I can think of a couple of occasions when I haven't been particularly fair to you. More than a couple, if I'm honest."

"I won't argue you with you, but nothing you've done, or imagine you've done, can possibly match how unfair I've been to you over the past five years."

"I don't want to play "my blame's bigger than your blame" either."

Mulder gave a rough chuckle. "Okay."

Pre-Dating-- Mulder and Scully get nudged and scolded by her family (twice) and Skinner (once) before they finally confront their S6 hurts and confess their love... in a cave-in.

@two-microscopes/twomicroscopes's

Sicktember 2022 Day 12: Psychogenic (Ao3)

He swallowed. “Scully, even if that’s what I’ve done to you–”

“Don’t make this about yourself.”

“Take care of yourself.”

S1 Scully's health keeps breaking down in her overexuberance to keep up; and Mulder, worried, tries to look out for her.

Sicktember 2022 Day 1 (Ao3)

“Chicken soup, I said–I said I’d bring you some,” he spluttered.

He was so desolate, it tugged at her heart.

“Buffalo chicken pizza soup, to be specific, I guess.”

Scully is sick and snappy about Mulder's mother henning, but relents.

Sicktember 2022 - Chapter 4

“Do you just want to get into pajamas now?”

“Mulder,” she sighed, slumping onto one bed, “you know they took our luggage.”

Ah, yes, when the vengeful cultists also smashed their rental car’s windows and slit its tires. They were nothing if not thorough. You had to grant them that.

Scully is running a temperature, and Mulder gets her to a motel as fast as he can with slashed tires and missing luggage.

Sicktember 2022 Day 5 (Ao3)

He leaned closer and drew a deep, argumentative breath against his congestion, instead sneezing dramatically.

“Great, now I have your germs all over me.”

Scully insists on taking Mulder home after he keeps sneezing in the office.

Sicktember 2022 Day 20 (Ao3)

They’d last seen each other at that briefing–was that three days ago already? By then even Mulder had admitted this case might not be an X-file.

No, a serial killer was ravaging across DC and their already non-existent work-life balance.

Buried in their office, Mulder swam in a sea of tissues, too.

Scully skips an autopsy to care for her sick, insomniac partner.

Sicktember 2022 Day 3: Painkillers (Ao3)

In the dim light, he could make out Scully’s eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. She rolled her head towards him as he leaned down to touch her matted hair. This was worse than he’d been expecting.

Cancer arc-- Mulder rushes to help Scully, reasoning past her refusal to take painkiller meds.

Sicktember 2022 Day 9: Home Remedy (Ao3)

“Scully? Scully!” Mulder called through their adjoining motel rooms’ door.

Faster than a conspirator to a smoke shop, she rushed out of bed and burst into his room.

Post Redux II Mulder's nose bleeds; and Scully rushes in to assess the injury and calm their panic.

Sicktember 2022 Day 10: Excessive Use of Tissues (Ao3)

Here Scully was, curled up with her Capote novella. Only Jeopardy playing in the background split her attention. Oh, and her sickly partner sniffing on her couch.

“Mulder, for the last time, blow your nose.”

“But, Scully,” he whined from her couch, “I just did.”

Dating-- Mulder is sniffly during a cozy night in.

@hamster-on-fire/fade_into_the_dusk_with_me's For The Sake Of Driving (Ao3)

‘I just. I need to drive, Scully.’

It’s trivial & bizarre & it really is too late....

‘Yeah- um, yeah, alright.’ She nods along to herself, as if he can see her. As if it matters.

Car rides shared between Mulder and Scully through the years.

@sunlightscully's

Travel

There are moments where he makes a fool of himself in airports. He catches glimpses of dark braids, swinging for just a moment before disappearing into the throng of people, and finds that his hands are shaking. She is forever escaping him, forever just a few steps ahead, and his chest tightens with the absolute conviction that it was her, that those braids belonged to her and now he has lost her again in the crowd.

It happens for the first time around Scully. She reaches for her gun and then his hand. He is incredibly grateful, suddenly; he hadn’t realized he’d been afraid that she wouldn’t.

Early seasons Mulder and Scully bond in airports, learning to appreciate each other.

City in the Clouds

He tells her he wants to settle down in the country, grow old where he can see the stars. He tells her she could be a mother, and she thinks for the first time of settling down with him. Fleetingly, she sees herself in the window of a little white farmhouse, wearing an apron. Cooking oatmeal.

She couldn’t stand it.

Scully realizes, years later, that she did want to live Home Mulder's domestic dream.

Kitchen

On the tabletop, her index finger splashes into a small pool of blood. “Come on,” she says, and Mulder leans obediently forward. The cut isn’t bad, or deep – head wounds always look worse than they actually are – but she dabs at it anyway, cleaning the blood away, applying disinfectant. He hisses, tries to move away, but she has one hand pressed to the top of his head, holding him steady.

Scully cleans up Mulder's latest injuries; and the two make a laughing but important blood brother pact.

Food

“There’s cheese on your mouth,” she says, and he tries to see it in the reflexion of the window but the car weaves and she grabs his arm instinctively.

“Mulder! Watch the road, I’ll do it.”

She wipes the corner of his mouth crudely with the scratchy brown napkin.

Mulder realizes he loves Scully while they eat food in the car, scratchy napkins and celestial comparisons serving as evidence for his belief.

Beautitudes

“I can’t accept it,” he says, and she wants to say, “You have to, it’s happening,” and, “There’s nothing anyone can do about it,” but he wouldn’t believe that either.

He makes everything harder.

Somehow, though, she is thankful. He’s fighting for her, and no one fights harder than Mulder.

Scully and Mulder support each other through their shared and separate tragedies.

My_Love_Forever's

The Strength of Their Beliefs

Sometimes he talks. Don't leave. I need you to stay. Keep fighting. I'll make them pay for this. I don't know who did this. I can't let them let you go and I can't make you stay.

One Breath Mulder desperately clutches Scully's necklace while Scully feels his gaze, even in her coma.

The Realization of Weakness

Hidden in the back of his mind, the thought of not finding the thought of the Scully he lost. He has noticed that things faze her that she never blinked at before. Now she turns away and says she needs a moment when she is faced with the horrors of the world where previously she would have been fired up with rage at the perpetuator and would be shooting down his theories with facts. That is one of the things he missed most when she was taken for that long time; he would say "I think you have a vampire problem here" and pause, expecting her to take a deep breath and start listing all the reasons why that can't be after her exasperated "Mulder."

Irresistible Mulder wants to help support or heal Scully, hoping that, somehow, he is.

Waiting, in Reverse Order

For once, in a change of pace, she waits at his bedside. They have changed places, one sleeps on the bed and the other keeps a vigil in the uncomfortable chair at the bedside. Last time she was the one in the bed and he was waiting but now they have changed. She saved his life and waits at his bedside, hoping that her last memory of him is not the one where he ditches her to keep her safe.

End Game Scully waits in the hospital instead of Mulder, for once.

Viridian5's

Blowing Smoke

"Things are tough all over," I replied in my best hard-boiled voice.

He smiled darkly. "A change is gonna come..."

"Yeah?"

"You may not see me again. I think I'll be getting a promotion soon. I only had to stab a few backs to capture it."

S2 thug observes Krycek on a break.

Haunted

//As the roar and keening whistle grew louder, I stood up and walked into the trough between the rails. With an increasing feeling of clarity and peace, I turned to face my ride. When I threw the empty bottle against the rails, I couldn't help smiling at the sharp, crashing sound it made as it shattered. It sounded final. The approaching train looked liked a darker, moving cutout in the night. Except for the flashing lights.

//The lights.

//I couldn't move. Terror and a bone-deep feeling of loss gripped me along with paralysis as the flickering lights froze me in place. I couldn't see through the glare, and I heard someone screaming, and I could swear it was a girl, and she was screaming words, but I couldn't make them out, even as I sensed that she yelled the same word over and over again, and I was helpless and couldn't move again...

//NOT LIKE THIS! FIGHT! MOVE!

Mulder is transported to the memories of his childhood suicidal ideations while investigating a ghost and train tracks casefile.

Dead to the World

He looked so pale and still lying there. He had something odd, something that had left bruises and abrasions, wrapped tightly around his neck. Two more lines of that something enveloped his wrists. When she felt his neck to search for a pulse her fingers brushed it and quickly shied away. It was warm, moist, and alive. The other end of each of the lines trailed off into the darkness.

But he still lived. She took a scalpel from her coat pocket and prepared to cut him loose.

Mulder's eyes slowly opened, as if consciousness didn't come easily. She watched so many emotions flicker through them before he settled on blankness.

S5 Mulder willingly lets a monster parading as Samantha kill him; and Scully watches, horrified at his suicidal tendencies.

Circle - Chapter 1

It’d be interesting to see what Alex’s Consortium would be like. Maybe no better. Maybe his would even be worse.

But he was the one paying me.

AU-- Cashier rises through the Consortium ranks with the help of Krycek... only to face him again, years later, in a darker context.

Unprotected

"You have a neck brace on. You could have been killed. It was a stupid thing to do."

Mulder couldn't tell if he felt rage or despair. It teetered from one side to the next from second to second. He told myself that she was just upset that he'd ditched her and injured himself again, but--

He remembered why he never confessed anything to her or anyone if he could avoid it.

An injured Mulder feels alone after a careless comment from Scully.

7-Eleven Nightmares at 3 a.m.

Mulder was surprised his whole head didn't get devoured in his last yawn, which felt like it had split his face. //If I were a cartoon character...//

An insomniac Mulder is bored out of his mind... then starts to question his sanity after spotting a cup of very black, very oily diner coffee.

Starbuck_Lover's Under The Milky Way - Chapter 1

“You insisted I come with you in the middle of the night, you won’t tell me where we’re going, and you’re being incredibly vague,” she gestured wildly, “Excuse me for noticing a pattern.”

“You’ll love it,” he beamed at her, “I promise.”

Mulder wakes Scully up, taking her to a field to watch the stars.

Deb Longley's

Whistlewood - Chapter 1

I take a little longer than I should to turn back around, but the room behind me has transformed: it is lit softly, by candles fixed on each side of the fireplace, casting amber halos on the walls, and the fireplace now has a fire, which has burned down to nothing but softly smoldering ashes....

I swing back in his direction. He hasn't budged. Unexpectedly, he moves past me into the room, startling me into a yelp which he doesn't seem to hear.

An unconscious Mulder witnesses the vision of a dead man sledgehammer his family.

The Fear Place

I wonder what other people see when they look at him; the man is beautiful with his wild, windblown dark hair, and eyes, and tall, lean frame. A few of them are audacious enough to look him up and down, but they usually stop when they get to his eyes. He's thirty-eight, but he has the eyes of an old soul. He sees deep, and through, observing things that others overlook. He looks at smiles and perceives the lies hiding behind them. He sees the truth.

Mulder's messed-up knee and mother-son dynamic drives him to call Scully on Thanksgiving for reinforcements. Tena finally relents, if only a little.

story_monger's Predictable

He’s predictable, and he knows that.

Want to see the Mulder guy do some flips? Stick him in front of a missing child’s report; make it a little girl with dark hair. Watch him run.

He feels sick....

They should know that there’s a girl missing, and she has dark hair, and she’s supposed to turn ten in a week.

Mulder loathes his own reactions to cases similar to Samantha's; and Scully helps him to calm and get some sleep.

enigmaticblue's

True Hearts

He’s told Scully that the truth will set them both free, but he feels like a hypocrite for saying it. Mulder believes in the truth, he trusts in its power, and yet he’s hiding the truth from his partner.

Mulder has half-convinced himself that it’s not important, that they have to get through this crisis first. He owes Scully the truth, but he can’t bring himself to add to her burden.

Post Memento Mori Mulder feels guilt over not telling Scully about her ova.

Let Them Eat Cake

Scully peruses the plate of donuts at the end of the table, irritated when she realizes that cake donuts are all that’s left. She feels someone lean in close behind her, and an arm snakes around to snag one of the chocolate-frosted ones with multi-colored sprinkles.

She glances over her shoulder to see Mulder’s grin. “You didn’t want that one, did you, Scully?”

She resists rolling her eyes through a strong effort of will. “I don’t like cake donuts, Mulder.”

“Cake donuts are the best kind,” Mulder protests, taking a big bite, catching the crumbs with his tongue.

S6 Mulder and Scully debate donuts at a team-building conference.

Under the Mistletoe

“Hm?” He adjusted his glasses as he looked up at her.

“Is there something you wanted to tell me?”

“About what?”

“You know about what.”

He frowned, clearly confused. “No, I don’t know. What did I do?”

Scully pointed to the mistletoe, waiting for him to confess, or at least smirk. Instead, his face remained completely innocent—although that didn’t mean much, since this was Mulder.

Pre-Dating-- Scully notices but avoids the mistletoe. Mulder does not.

Reflections

His old man had missed Vietnam, but Doggett had an uncle who’d joined up. He’d heard a few stories, most while on leave after boot camp. Uncle Duane seemed to think they shared a connection that hadn’t been there before, and he talked about steamy nights that were filled with gunfire and the smell of reefer.

Later, much later, when he’d been given an honorable discharge after Beirut, Uncle Duane had talked about the horror of watching your friends get limbs blown off, of hands stained with the blood of innocents.

Pre-This Is Not Happening Skinner shares the details of the Unrequited case with Doggett. Both wonder what was and wasn't worth it.

A Strong Shoulder

The knock on the door came as a surprise around ten, and Scully heaved herself up off the couch, one hand on her back for support. A quick glance through the peephole had her hurrying to open the door.

Mulder stood there, a crooked grin on his face, his eyes a little lost, a little vulnerable. “Hey.”

Post Three Words Mulder slowly drifts in, glad Scully wants him to stay even if he's handling reentry badly.

All I Ever Get For Christmas Is Blue

Scully gave thanks that William was such a good-natured baby; he stirred once as she bundled him up, opening his eyes sleepily, then immediately closed them again once he was secure in his carrier. Keys in hand, she set the car seat down in the hallway to lock the door behind her, then froze as she heard footsteps.

How was it that she could recognize his walk after he’d been gone for months? How was it that she could sense him coming even though she had no expectation of his arrival?

AU-- S9 Mulder returns to Scully and William for Christmas; but he leaves again, though both wishes he could stay.

@cauldronoflove/thegoodthebadandthenerdy's

Close Your Eyes, Be Patient

He stood in his forlorness like it was a new winter coat. It was draped across the downward curve of his shoulders, tugging impishly at his struggling-to-remain-steady mouth. It wasn't that she'd never seen him like this - as much as he tried to hide it, she knew there were certain cases that kept him awake long into the night, same as her - it was just that she'd never seen it so set in.

Pre-Dating-- Scully makes a calculated effort to carefully disentangle Mulder from his mind.

The Prairie State Debate

Dinner twisted away like dandelion wishes, table plated in hard plastic cups and warm to the touch dishes. The tea was syrupy sweet, made by the hand of a true Southern child despite their current place on the map, and the food sported heavy gravys and savory score marks - a combination that left Scully, two servings and only yeses for 'would you like a refill?' Scully, ready to collapse into the gossamer sheets of her bed until tomorrow.

But when she felt fingers on the rise of her shoulder, heard an absence of footsteps beside her, glanced up at a dazzling marquee, she lead the way in to the theater. She was tired, yes, but she had been more so, no doubt would be same time next week, and these moments like monthly allowances were something she needed as much as anything.

Dating-- Scully remembers their first not-date.

••• - •- -•--

It's dark out, moonlit sky extrapolating between the slats of still open blinds, but he gets the sense that it's not the same night he remembers falling asleep in. The only other light is a small lamp somewhere above him, casting low light that does nothing for his pale, thin skin. He looks fragile, even from his own estimates - battered and bruised and made from poorly picked and sewn together parts.

He can't help but think he doesn't deserve the smile he finds waiting for him, not in this state. That doesn't stop her though....

Scully saves a drugged up, nearly dead Mulder.

All I Need's a Fraction of Your Happy Heart

Scully ducked her head into the street, looking both ways before bustling across the crosswalk, Mulder following a single footstep behind. To onlookers, their height difference was exasperated as they hitched their arms up and jogged quickly through the sounds of honking traffic, but it never seemed to cross their minds. When they picked back up on the sidewalk, he ducked his head and leaned forward, just enough so she could hear him, just enough so she could let a laugh kick up her throat.

AU-- Scully, giddy and freshly married on a case, reflects on the events that led to their mutual proposal, and courthouse wedding.

Gravity, Oh Gravity

because the second thing he sees is scully. scully in a shirt he's had to have seen her in a thousand times, the one he thinks is green, but isn't sure because his eyes have always betrayed him. his eyes have to be betraying him. scully and-

and and and

(and his heart stops beating.)

it thunders back to life as he stumbles forward, legs feeling like they've been chopped from his body and reattached in the wrong direction.

AU-- This Is Not Happening Mulder wakes on the ground to the stars and Scully's face. Even Skinner cries.

Looking Back Over My Shoulder (I See it Clear as Day)

There are few people that Mulder is okay with calling him Fox. Admittedly, they're all named Scully....

Her sister isn't, though.

Revival Mulder and Scully chuckle over Melissa's ghost's audacity to chew out her sister's partner.

@youweremytouchstone's First time she winked at him!

He looks back over at the door. As usual, nobody down her except for him this early in the morning. He turns his attention to the cases piling up on his desk.

And then in a flash, she’s at his desk, looking at him like she’s been there the last hour.

Dating-- Scully enjoys teasing Mulder and pretending it never happened.

@pukajen's (Ao3, LJ) Sleep Cycle

Even all these years later, it feels like a stolen moment to watch him sleep peacefully; undrugged, unconcussed, in their bed, the one they've shared for years. So many times in the past she's kept vigil over his hospital bed, watching him sleep, worried he'd never wake up.

Revival Scully still loves watching Mulder sleep.

@dinascully/unsedentary's Miles Adrift

She said something about being blinded by someone’s brights, losing control, ending up in the ditch, and he tries not to think about whether or not this was an accident. He’s already called Skinner.

He waits a few minutes before trying to start the car again. If he’s lucky, they’ll be on their way and home before Scully wakes up. But the car has other plans – it coughs pitifully, whines, and refuses to go anywhere.

Breakup-- Scully and Mulder reconnect after a car accident. His car breaks down, forcing them to have a tearful conversation.

Thanks for reading~

Enjoy!

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