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falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
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Re: Aches and Sorrows 2/?
(Anonymous) 2012-06-14 10:02 pm (UTC)(link)“What?” she says defiantly.
“Why do you dress that way?” he asks. “You look ridiculous.” She bristles, hands clenching into fists at her sides. She liked this dress.
“Because that’s how you dress for Church,” she hisses. He scoffs, leaning back and folding his arms behind his head.
“Church? What do you worship?”
“We give praise to the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit,” she says, as if it is common knowledge. He snorts, leaning forward.
“Oh really? And where are ‘the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit?’” he asks, gesturing across the room with his hand. “I don’t see them anywhere.”
“They’re in Heaven,” she says, not liking the direction this conversation is headed. He stands, laughing hollowly and running a hand through his hair. He steps toward her and she steps back, fists clenching into the fabric of her dress.
“Heaven? Are you serious? You can’t possibly believe in such an idiotic notion,” he says, leaning forward as if to share with her a great secret. “There is no Heaven. There is no Father, no Son, no Holy Ghost. There is no God.” She steps back from him as though he were on fire. She makes the symbol of the cross to protect herself.
“Diablo,” she hisses. “That’s blasphemy!”
“It’s not blasphemous if it’s the truth,” he taunts. “You people are idiotic.” With a cry, she lunges at him. He grunts from the force of the impact and falls to the ground. Her hat falls off of her head as she wildly swings at him.
“Take it back!” she says, hitting him across the face.
“No,” he says past a swollen and bleeding lip. “I won’t.” She hits him harder at that. She keeps hitting him until her knuckles begin to split open. Blood stains her dress from the wounds of his her assault reopened. She hits him even harder as she realizes he isn’t hitting her back.
“Fight back, pollo!” she cries. She slaps him across the face. “Back up your blasphemy, diablo!”
“Dolores!” a harsh voice calls out from the hallway. In an instant, strong familiar arms link underneath her armpits and drag her off of the boy. She looks up to see the stern face of Padre as he carries her from the room. She sees Madre rush to the boy’s side to help him up. He stands with a wince and looks at her with a pained expression. They make eye contact and she is struck again by the color of his eyes. He sticks his tongue out at her. She makes a face back at him, only to hear Padre’s reprimand.
“Dios Mio, what on earth were you thinking?” Padre’s voice booms as he drops her to her feet. She shrinks away from him, instead staring
at the floor.
“He said God didn’t exist,” she mumbles, kicking at the floor. “Said Heaven wasn’t real. Said my dress looked stupid.” Padre sighs and she looks up to see him rubbing the bridge of his nose.
“’But I say unto you, Resist not him that is evil: but whosoever smiteth thee on thy right cheek, turn to him the other also,’” he says.
“But he said-“
“I don’t care what he said,” he kneels down and places a hand on her shoulder. “Think of what he has been through. He needs kindness and understanding, not violence. Think of his wounds.” She winces before nodding, looking down at the blood that stains her dress. Padre sighs, standing up.
“Get changed,” he says. “And after the service, go to confession.”
“Si, Padre,” she says, her hands fisting in the fabric of her dress, trying to will away the blood.