#Marina One Residences

[introspectivememories]

BERNARD GETS THE MARINA IN THE DIVORCE CANON!!!

[lupismaris]

Oh. Ooohh. But if sailors love a ship to the point their love and dying to save her gives it a soul, would necromancy raise it.

Oh. Oooohhh.

[hanoisignatureramondholdings]

Tìm hiểu Top căn hộ đắt nhất Việt Nam

Vậy những dự án nào đang gây sốt? Dưới đây là một số đặc điểm khiến giới thượng lưu khao khát sở hữu: Vị trí đắc địa: Những căn hộ này thường nằm ở trung tâm thành phố hoặc khu vực phát triển mạnh. Thiết kế sang trọng: Kiến trúc hiện đại, tinh tế và đầy tính nghệ thuật. Tiện ích cao cấp: Các dịch vụ như hồ bơi, phòng gym, spa, và an ninh 24/7. Cộng đồng văn minh: Sống trong môi trường với…

[somedayillbepeterpan]

Penelope and her robe of power

Shoutout to @whistledownbad for invoking and taking this out of my subconscious. I didn't even realise I was thinking about this deeply (I shouldn't be surprised anymore since S3 has burrowed deep in my brain).

A short discussion on the Polisanity discord (a very very lovely, creative, and hilarious discord community of the residents of the Polin brainrot) showed me how this robe represents Pen's power-- not just in sexuality but in her character.

And it is shown on moments where she loses something, where her power was seemingly taken from her.

S3Ep3 - Forces of Nature

The first time we see this robe, Pen has just lost a flirting battle against Cressida for Debling's attention while pretending to be someone she is not. She looks defeated and annoyed which contrasts a similar scene on Ep 2 (after the fan encounter) where she looks more embarrassed and slightly amused at the situation.

S3Ep4 - Old Friends

The second time we see it is at the beginning of Ep 4. Pen is losing her battle from her resolve to follow the familiar tide of the marriage mart (I elaborate more on this scene here because it's not just Pen who is losing their resolve) on the day that Debling asks for Portia's permission to propose to Pen (where we get this poignant statement from Portia about security being romantic. Which I actually agree on coming from a poor family/country. Also, can I just say Nicola looks absolutely stunning in this scene).

She is distraught and seem to be in the middle of convincing herself that she is doing the right thing.

S3Ep5 - Tik Tok

In the middle of the chaotic 24hrs of Penelope's life (where she gets proposed to by the love of her life and experiences her first sexual encounter), she is seen crying and having to write about herself on Whistledown for the 2nd time for the current season (she probably writes about herself regularly in the column so as not to arouse suspicion but she would have most likely focused on mundane things) when we see this robe for the third time.

She loses the chance to feel completely and irrevocably happy about her engagement when Eloise points out that she is harboring a heavy secret from the man who just lovingly confessed that he would rather feel tortured with love for her than to carry on living.

S3Ep6 - Romancing Mr. Bridgerton

Ahhh...Pen and this robe. I'm so curious now what actually is the design on the robe and the decision behind using it for these scenes.

The fourth time we see this robe, Pen seemingly decides to lose Whistledown forever, hiding a part of herself in the "name of love". A crossroad that she never thought she'd have to go through when she began that season, Pen gives up all power and decides (tentatively) to follow her mother's advise. It's admirable on one part as real life will tell you that sometimes, there are sacrifices you need to make for your partner. But this really is sometimes up for debate whether that action is made in love, out of love, or for love (or not at all). I've always thought that Pen also suffers the same hero complex that Colin has albeit more subtle than his. I think this was part saving Colin (from whatever trouble Whistledown brings) and also part penance for what her writing and decisions have put him through regarding Marina.

AND THEN-- the last last time on this season that we see her in it is so viscerally powerful that it probably made everyone forget that:

This wasn't the same wedding night robe (where Colin openly lusted on Pen and stubbornly wasted his opportunity).

That whenever we saw Pen on this robe in the earlier episodes, she seemed to be unhappy and devoid of power and agency within herself.

S3Ep8 - Into the Light

This wonderfully and deliciously short scene encapsulates Pen's embracing of her power-- the parts that she has been losing and letting go whenever she wears this robe. I also love that it's with Colin that she finally embodies the full strength of this power.

Come S4, I need this robe to be slowly taken off by Mr. Bridgerton off of Mrs. Bridgerton please.

[purplelupins]

Lamb

|Midnight Mass|

Father John Pruitt/Father Paul Hill x Fem!

Reader

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

Word count: 13.5K

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His gift.

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

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

Riley Flynn.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Beautiful.

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

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

A patch of sunlight.

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

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

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

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

A test. It was all a test.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrugged it off.

It wasn’t your business.

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

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

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

Coffee. A coffee was needed.

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

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

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

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

That same man from the dock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t drink the communion wine.

You never had.

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

You couldn’t accept the gift.

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

No lamb left behind.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You took a deep breath. “It was-“

“I hope-“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

To every single one except you.

Why you?

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

Fate.

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

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

No lamb left behind.

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

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

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

You nearly jumped out of your skin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You suddenly felt very silly.

Ridiculous.

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

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

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

Ridiculous.

Stop it.

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

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

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

Making people feel cared for made you happy.

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

“Such a striking young man.”

“Too modern.”

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

“How long do you think he’ll stay?”

“Where do you think he came from?”

And so on.

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

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

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

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

You smiled softly at the thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Anxiety filled you as you stared.

“Oh my-…”

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

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

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

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

The call of your name cut through your thoughts.

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

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

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

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

Then you took a deep breath.

And got to work.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A lamb.

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

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

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

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

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

A good memory.

And a good sense of humour.

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

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

He nodded.

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

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

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

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

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

You breathed out a laugh.

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

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

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

“Ah you’re still here, y/n!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were then met with a familiar face.

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

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

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

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

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

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

The man stepped back a little.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” He said.

You looked back at him, brows pitched in confusion.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

John was distracted.

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

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

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

The next morning was thankfully an uneventful one.

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

Until that evening.

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

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

It was soft and timid.

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

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

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

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

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

“Crock-potluck.” You corrected him.

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

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

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

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

“Oh- of- of course how silly-“

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

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

Funny girl.

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

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

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

Thus the need to make something for the potluck.

John Pruitt had never made something for the potluck.

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

No. No he had a purpose for being there.

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

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

A moth to a flame.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked, “The- the cookies-?”

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

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

“Sarah?” Came his voice behind you.

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

“Wonderful…” he said softly.

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

“I certainly can.” He confirmed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Who’s this little ray of sunshine?”

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

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

“You looked happy.” He smiled.

I was. You thought.

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

He was already watching you; hanging onto every word.

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

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

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

“I think Monsignor Pruitt was partial t-

DING!

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

Had it been 15 minutes already?

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

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

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

Modest girl.

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

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

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

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

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

You reminded him of…a better time.

An easier time.

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

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

Neither of you said a word.

Not there was anything to say really.

Somehow the two of you just felt very…human.

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart ached.

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

Hugs and pats on the back were about the extent.

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

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

Why had he done that?

Why did you do that?

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

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

Compelling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Father.” You whispered back.

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

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

And you believed him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You had insisted.

But he insisted harder.

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

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

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

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

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

He sat with a soft grunt.

“You did your hair different.”

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

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

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

John smiled at you.

You looked pretty.

Not that he could say that.

But you did.

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

You nodded, “Sure is…”

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

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

You thought for a moment. “Can I be-“

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

You smiled, “Yes.”

“Please do.”

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

He nodded, “Perhaps a little unorthodox.”

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

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

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

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

You pursed your lips.

You weren’t usually so unguarded.

You shouldn’t have said that.

Why did you say that?

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

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

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

He smiled.

Then you remembered something, “Father?”

“Hm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Pike!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thanks for that, y/n.”

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

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

His brows shot up, “Really?”

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

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

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

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

“See you Friday, sweetheart.” He conceded.

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

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

They really did love you.

And he understood why.

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

•••••••••••••••••••

@littleredwritingcat @zaunite-leo @f4er1e-g1rl @purplemotif @vampyre-kin @professional-sinner @hamishlinklaters @spacechupss @pansexualpamandabear @ebiemidnightlibrarian

[royaltysimblr]

Adelaide, Dowager Princess of the Isle (1847-1939)

Adelaide and her husband Charles enjoyed a remote honeymoon at Tregaron Castle on the Isle. Adelaide spent time reading while Charles was secluded in his rooms and went on occasional hunting trips with his friends. When Adelaide and Charles returned to San Myshuno he abruptly left, taking up residence at Dunkeld Palace in Victoria. Adelaide found herself alone raising his children as her own. Charles could never look at his daughters without thinking of their mother Maria Christina whom he dearly loved. After losing his father, his fiance, his first wife, and two children, Charles was never open to loving anyone ever again and distanced himself from his new wife and surviving children. Adelaide dedicated herself to raising Princess Alexandra who would one day become Queen of Windenburg and San Myshuno.

Like Maria Christina, Adelaide preferred spending time with family rather than at court. Adelaide organized a strict curriculum for her stepdaughters, employing tutors and professors from the top universities in the country. Adelaide frequently wrote letters to Charles and Queen Mary, updating them on the children. In December 1874, Charles visited his daughters for the last time at San Myshuno Palace. Charles had gifted his daughters new toys and dresses from Magnolia, gifts they would cherish forever. Adelaide believed that Charles's health had improved and seemed to be in "better spirits", however in February 1875, the Prince died from an illness. Charles had planned to return to Honey House and move in with his wife and daughters, however, he caught a fever which led to his eventual death.

Adelaide comforted the Queen during her grief and lived with her for months at the San Myshuno Palace. Adelaide was now raising the heir to the throne, Alexandra, whom Mary had turned her attention to. Mary saw herself in young Alexandra and believed she needed to be taken under her wing. Adelaide and her stepdaughters would spend months out of the year with Queen Mary at Statford Castle where the young princess would be educated.

In 1875, with the death of Queen Mary II, Alexandra became Queen. Adelaide became the most senior member of the royal court, after Alexandra, and was thrust into the position of a society hostess. Although Adelaide considered herself an introvert and preferred the company of her immediate family, she helped her stepdaughter entertain at the palace. Adelaide became one of Alexandra's senior advisers and was in charge of her household. Adelaide became the matriarch of the royal family by the time Alexandra's children were born. Adelaide helped Alexandra raise her children and took a huge role in their lives. Adelaide helped arrange the marriage of most of her grandchildren, including the marriage of the future King Albert II and Princess Marina of Brindleton.

Adelaide remained at Honey House for the majority of her life and continued to make improvements and renovations to the house. Adelaide turned the over 200-year manor into a shrine to the royal family and spent the rest of her life restoring the house. Honey House became the center of the royal family, with Adelaide's grandchildren visiting the house almost every week. In the 1930s, Adelaide moved into Kingston Palace to be taken care of by her stepdaughter, Princess Charlotte.

Adelaide continued to appear at family functions and official events concerning the royal family. Adelaide devoted much of her time to charities and organizations which she became the patron of including the Windenburg Disabled Veterans Fund, which she she established after the Tartosan Wars in 1905.

Princess Adelaide was diagnosed with breast cancer in 1938 and later died in 1939, leaving the royal family heartbroken. Queen Alexandra once remarked that the death of her stepmother was the greatest loss of her life. Alexandra's daughter, Princess Adeline, commissioned a statue of Princess Adelaide outside Honey House following her death. Adelaide was given a state funeral held at St. Bartholomew's Cathedral which was attended by 1500 guests. Alexandra had a mausoleum constructed at the Royal Burial Ground where Adelaide was buried.

[fuckaroundandfindouttournament]

Hey there, girlies (gender neutral)! Welcome to the ✨fuck around and find out✨ tournament, where we find out who’s the cutest badass! Submissions will be open for a week! (until 09/11 @ 12 EST)

✨The rules:✨

“Cute but can kick your ass” characters of all genders are accepted. Just no one from overly problematic sources. Vtubers and MCYT are not allowed.

One character per submission. You can submit multiple times, but only submit a character once! Please don’t spam.

No limit on characters from the same source.

Please be nice! Propaganda and feedback is allowed, but do not attack myself or others. You will be blocked.

This blog is rated M. Warning for potentially upsetting media. Let me know if you need anything tagged.

This bracket is for fun! Don’t take anything too seriously please. :3

✨Submit Here✨

Inspired by: @autistic-anime-girls-bracket @autisticgirliesbracket @girlygirltournament @pinkhairswagtourney@victimsofyaoipoll @morally-grey-girlbosses @best-kirby-character-tournament @controversial-blorbo-bracket @least-sexy-man-competition @most-datable-datable-bracket @leastdatablebracket @canonmisogynyvictimstournament @bi4bibracket @magical-mascot-smackdown @precureshowdown @precure-alphabet-showdown @mommy-daddy-issues-poll @uquiztournament @personasongshowdown @precuremusictournament @foundfamilyadoptionagency @ultimateanthropoll @ultimate-good-dog @ultimatepinkboy @magical-boy-bracket @guys-with-good-vibes-tournament @multicolorhairswagtournament @siblingtournament @tragicsibsshowdown @actually-insane-blorbo-bracket @favoritepokemontournament @favoritecapcomcharacterbracket @look-how-they-massacred-them (there’s more but i’m blanking lol)

Characters who are already entered:

all the Mew Mews (Tokyo Mew Mew)

all 4 Cures (Hirogaru Sky Precure, Fresh Precure, Mahoutsukai Precure)

Abigail (Stardew Valley)

Aerith Gainsborough, Tifa Lockhart & Cloud Strife (Final Fantasy VII)

Alice Liddel (American McGee’s Alice)

Alphonse & Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist)

Alucard (Castlevania)

Alyssa Hamilton (Clock Tower 3)

Baby Bonnie Hood (Darkstalkers)

Barbie

Bibi the cat (IRL)

the DDLC girlies (Doki Doki Literature Club)

the Elsens (OFF)

Princess Fiona (Shrek)

Fiona Belli & Hewie (Haunting Ground)

Garnet & Spinel (Steven Universe)

Guillermo de la Cruz (What We Do in the Shadows)

Hana Nono/Cure Yell (Hugtto! Precure)

Haruka Haruno/Cure Flora (Go! Princess Precure)

Heather Mason (Silent Hill 3)

Isabelle (Animal Crossing/Super Smash Bros.)

Jeanette Voerman (Vampire: the Masquerade — Bloodlines)

Juliet Starling (Lollipop Chainsaw)

Leon S. Kennedy (Resident Evil 4)

Link (The Legend of Zelda: Wind Waker)

Lisa Garland (Silent Hill)

Love Momozono/Cure Peach (Fresh Precure)

Kagome Higurashi (Inuyasha)

Kanji Tatsumi (Persona 4)

Kirby

Kotone Shiomi & Shinjiro Aragaki (Persona 3 Portable)

Madotsuki (Yume Nikki)

Mami Tomoe (Puella Magi Madoka Magica)

Marina (Splatoon 2)

Mega Lopunny (Pokemon Omega Ruby & Alpha Sapphire)

Mimikyu (Pokemon Sun & Moon)

Noelle Holiday (Deltarune)

Opal (Pokemon Sword & Shield)

Panty & Stocking Anarchy (Panty & Stocking with Garterbelt)

Penny (Pokemon Scarlet & Violet)

Princess Peach (Super Mario/Super Smash Bros.)

Pyro (Team Fortress 2)

Rabbit of Caerbannog (Monty Python and the Holy Grail)

Prince Sidon (The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild & Tears of the Kingdom)

Sora & Kairi (Kingdom Hearts)

Spyro the Dragon

Terry Hintz & Buddy (Lisa the Painful)

Top Speed (Magical Girl Raising Project)

Toriel, Asgore and Asriel Dreemur (Undertale)

Usagi Tsukino & Minako Aino (Sailor Moon)

Whitney & Miltank (Pokemon Gold, Silver & Crystal)

Wirt & Greg (Over the Garden Wall)

Zoey, Rochelle & Ellis (Left 4 Dead series)

[operafantomet]

Do we know how many (and if so, which) casts Gillian Lynne personally taught outside of the original London and Bway companies?

That is a good question, and something I have paid too little attention to. My GUESS is that she was at all the original / early productions, if only for a day. She would also have trained the associate and / or resident choreographer for the production.

So yes, she would have instructed the original and many later West End and Broadway casts, as seen here with Sarah Brightman:

Then the early productions around the world - I assume both Tokyo, Stockholm, Toronto, Vienna, Hamburg etc. Here she is with Marina Prior (Christine) in Melbourne:

And probably the US sit-down productions and tours. Here with Davis Gaines (Phantom), Lisa Vroman (Christine), Raymond Saar (Raoul) and Hal Prince (director) for the San Francisco production:

I also think she adored Sierra Boggess, cause she was present and working whenever Sierra Boggess was present... For Las Vegas:

...for the RAH celebrations...

...and for Paris...

(Sierra Boggess has also addressed that they had very good chemistry, and that she learned a lot from Gillian Lynne)

But I also know Denny Berry (original swing on Broadway, and later associate choreographer and production dance supervisor) has had a lot of responsibility in keeping Gillian Lynne's original vision alive. She has worked with POTO on four continents according to her own bio, in the US, in Hamburg, Sao Paulo, Buenos Aires, Cape Town, World Tour, Australia etc. In an interview in 2016 she said that "The detail in choreographer Gillian Lynne’s movement is well-known. And those of us who must pass it on, never, ever forget the beats and the meanings of every count.” Denny Berry was also married to Steve Barton, original Raoul, which makes the link to the original staging extra strong. Here's a photo of her rehearsing the Oberhausen cast, with Elizabeth Welch in the middle (Masquerade):

And one from Hamburg, with Rachel Anne Moore as Elissa / Carlotta (Hannibal):

Another original Corps de Ballet, Patricia Merrin who was in the original West End cast, has also worked as associate choreographer on Phantom and kept an eye on many a production, in Stockholm, Copenhagen, Moscow, the World Tour etc. Here she is in Cape Town, instructing Cat Lane and the Corps de Ballet there:

And for no reason at all, two bonus photos of Gillian Lynne on stage, just because. One is with Andrew Lloyd Webber and Zoë Curlett during the curtain call in West End:

And another with Hugh Panaro on Broadway:

[argumentativeaxolotl]

More Cars(humanized) headcannons bc the Formula 1 race is tomorrow and there’s something wrong with me‼️‼️‼️

This is gonna be more on like family headcannons lol

Lightning McQueen:

- he was raised in an orphanage, bouncing from home to home in Florida where he grew up

- he never really had a family growing up nor did he have close friends because he was constantly moving

- Mater was his first real best friend

- He’s abominable socially(he’s jus a little bit too much like meeeee. Yes that is a Marina & the Diamonds reference sue me)

- Doc was his first ever good, permanent father figure

- Mack is 100% Lightning’s older brother figure

- Lightning is very awkward in every familial situation you can think of since he doesn’t have too much experience. The folks in Radiator Springs claim him as their’s.

- Lightning thinks of Luigi and Guido as fun, foreign uncles

- He thinks of Flo and Ramone as the cool aunt and uncle

- Sheriff is another uncle-figure

- he sees Strip as a father figure as well

- Sarge and Fillmore are 100% the warring brothers/bickering older couple due to their varying lifestyles

- Lizzie is seen as the absolutely ancient grandmother

- He sees some of his friends as brothers(Cal, Bobby, Junior, etc)

- Red is seen as a cousin to Lightning

Chick Hicks:

- His father is a right dickhead(this is canon)

- he had a brother who used to race, but died on the track leaving Chick as the only heir of the Hicks racing legacy

- His father is an alcoholic

- His mother died while giving birth to him, yet she loved him anyways

- his mother was in the army or marines at some point and the only thing he has left are a few dated photos and her dog tags

- He was raised by his older brother, yet because of his father’s horrendous tendencies Chick grew to be more like him than his brother

- Chick’s dad is a failed racer who never made it big and was known for crashing his cars. He cared very little for Chick, blaming him and believing that Chick was the reason his wife died

- He sees his Pit Crew as his close associates and friends(his Pit Crew see him as their brother/son)

Strip Weathers:

- His brother and sister-in-law(Cal’s parents) died in a car accident leaving a 11-12-year-old Cal with Strip and Lynda

- Strip adores Cal, sees him as his own son

- He kind of sees Lightning(and Bobby) as a surrogate son too. Especially since Lightning and Cal are friends

- He comes from an extremely wealthy family with two very long lines of racing dating back decades

- Despite being rich, he and his parents had a strained relationship at best(Strip was more of a rebellious kid back in his teens and younger years) so his parents pulled a Prince Naveen and cut him off from his wealth to teach him a lesson. This is when Strip picked up racing and began to make a name for himself

- Neither he nor Lynda ever wanted kids and then Cal came into their lives and they were like “he’s our son and if anybody says otherwise they will feel the fury of GOD.”

- Tex is like a brother to him and they met in high school then went to the same college and even lived together at one point. They are the bros of all time

Doc Hudson:

- He has no living relatives left except maybe like a random cousin or something

- Lightning is his son and he will fight anyone who says otherwise

- Sally is like a daughter to him

- He adores all the residents within Radiator Springs and treats them all as his family

- He came from an extremely poor family and started off as a mechanic under his dad’s wing then he started to race and he was really good

- his dad scraped enough money for Doc to go to his first race, gaining the attention for several well-known sponsors at the time

[drjemmanugent]

NEW FIC ALERT: i'll see your true colors

author: drjemmanugent (april) platform: ao3 posted on: 13 september 2024 fandom: bridgerton pairing: penelope/colin (polin) rating: E status: completed chapters: 3/3 summary: “Why did you not tell me?”   Penelope’s heart tenses in quick defense but she promptly realizes his tone isn’t accusatory or pointed, but rather even toned. It’s a vague question, one she wasn’t expecting out of his mouth tonight, but one she had expected to receive again for some time, at least since the night before their wedding.  – or, the one which, in the aftermath of the Season’s events, Colin and Penelope have a long overdue conversation about their past.

STORY PREVIEW UNDER THE BREAK

" Even though her cousin’s husband is a gentleman stepping up in his brother’s stead, Penelope knew Marina’s true heart was too traipsed on after the loss of her true love and Whistledown’s —Penelope’s— denouncement unto the Ton to find love again so soon. Penelope had often hoped there would ever be room in her relationship with Sir Philip for the love Marina deserved, admittedly in a selfishly feeble attempt to assuage her own part in Marina’s outcome.    Such admittance is what drove Penelope, when she revealed herself as Whistledown in her letters to the Queen and Lady Bridgerton, to also send a letter to Marina explaining everything she could, expecting Whistledown’s imminent demise. She had to explain her part in the mess, at least for some sense of resolution, should everything fall to ruin.     Penelope hasn’t received her reply, and by this point, she isn’t sure she ever will. Not that she blames her cousin; Penelope had caused her unpardonable harm, no matter how well intentioned she wished the outcome to have been, for her andfor Colin.     She had planned to tell Colin of her letter, but after the flurry of events at the end of the season, she realizes now she never in fact did. Once again, her intentions did not come to fruition as they should. Now that she’s recalled her letter to her cousin, she decides to bare out her actions.    “So, you have been in communication recently?” Penelope asks, glancing down at her fingers, trying to piece his words together.    “No, I have not written to the Crane residence since….” Colin reviewed the postmark on one of Sir Philip’s notes, “late last summer, before my trip.”   “I have.” Penelope says quietly.   

[ampheenix]

Marina: an Epilogue

F&H MARINA X LEVI FIC, TAGS: romantic fluff, angst, flashbacks, oneshot

SUMMARY:

“Marina left Prehevil, her ties to it severed by the festival. She would settle down in Valland, in the red lights district of the capital. She would find kindred spirits there. She had a good life, using her occult skills for a living. Though a certain person was always following her…”

Or, what happened to Marina after winning the Terminal festival… along with a glimpse into her memories, and what happened along the way.

Marina had a sneaking feeling her hair had been paler as of late. Her curly locks seemed less silky and smooth, more… subdued, and the bags under her eyes had been growing darker too. 

Every time she came across her reflection in the mirror, it felt like being doused in cold water. No matter how much she powdered her face, no matter how much lipstick she slathered on, she still seemed pale, ghostly and shrouded in a sense of misery.

It wasn’t a good feeling. She’d always been one to take care in her appearance (it started with fear of others realizing her secret, and then she’d soon started finding enjoyment in the process), but as she gazed into the mirror… the fear she could see in her eyes, shaky and brittle… she didn’t like it at all.

In the very least, it wasn’t exactly a shock… after the scarring events of the Termina festival, Marina wouldn’t have been surprised if her hair turned white.

Her hands still started to tremble every time she thought back to just a few weeks ago- sweaty fingers in a white-knuckled grip on the trigger of a trench gun as she would shoot, and shoot, and shoot again with a desperate sense of knowing you’re just an inch from death, clothes drenched in filth that made Marina want to peel off her skin and take it to the laundry-

Marina stopped, nails digging into her fists hard enough to draw blood. She… she a handful of good memories from the festival at least, so it wasn’t all shit (though 99% of it was horrors beyond comprehension).

After all, it was Levi who had taught her how to shoot in the first place, how to defend herself with something aside from a kitchen knife and sanity-sapping spells. A wan smile made its way onto Marina’s face at the bittersweet memories…

At the beginning of the festival, all she’d known about the Eastern Union ex-soldier was that he had hurriedly made his way off the train, in a rather suspicious manner according to Karin (but the journalist had seemed rather biased, at the time).

It was honestly a surprise to find out that they were both the same age, when they met again in the basement of Restaurant Bílý Vůl. Marina was hesitant to approach at first, seeing a young, dishevelled boy in overalls curled up in a ball, and despite all this was rather attractive- even when shaking from withdrawal symptoms.

Marina was questioning her taste within that moment, yet she couldn’t help but extend a hand. And not because she thought him cute, alright- she genuinely wanted to help him out.

Levi… he carried himself with an air of constant paranoia, the deep bruises under his eyes and black marks on his arms a dead-giveaway to his chosen poison. So, when she offered heroin, a momentary ease to his suffering, they became tentative friends.

Levi was rather quiet. All he did at first was constantly scan the area with his gun at the ready, and occasionally glance at her when he thought she wasn’t looking- letting out a small sigh every now and then.

He followed her instructions instantly during battle, with unblinking faith in Marina’s judgment- and with their combined strength, they won every fight they came across.

The disturbing sights of Prehevil’s residents scarred both their minds, and neither of them judged when one found themselves nauseous and losing their lunch after a particularly disgusting foe…. After encounters with things like the fecal hound it was often commonplace.

And if Marina passed him a blue vial and some herbs after a battle, and their fingers touched briefly for a moment, who could blame her for hiding a smile at the pink in his cheeks?

By the end of the first day, when they settled down to rest in the bookshop, Marina couldn’t help but ask about the interaction… and yes, alright, maybe she said it in a rather teasing manner. All-mer forbid a girl flirt in these trying times.

And gods, it was worth it. Marina couldn’t help but let a laugh bubble up at how red Levi’s face turned, but it wasn’t a mean laugh or anything- and Levi could tell, as he buried his face in his hands. He had apologized, stumbling over his words, and she just smiled, shuffling closer…

And then, before she could think about it too much, Marina kissed his cheek. Her lips lingered there for a moment before she drew back, seeing Levi gazing at her complete and utter shock in his eyes, flustered beyond belief.

It was… it was a really nice moment, amidst all the death and gore. Those moments tended to be few and far between, and this had been the sweetest yet.

The next day, Daan had joined them, and he was more blunt and dry in his teasing than was Marina’s style but it was nonetheless effective.

That second night, he had taken a long, slow drag of his cigarette with a small smile, before calling out the stolen glances they were sending eachother- which Marina would vehemently deny (like a lying liar who lies), and Levi would nod along with her with crossed arms.

And the third day… everything went to shit, and Marina found herself at the tower, alone. Her memories are a hazy, fucked up blur from that point onwards.

And all that…

That was in the past now. Marina’s soft smile slowly faded, as she rested her hands on the sink in front of her. After everything that had happened, in the festival…

Gods.

Her grip tightens on the sink.

She had never thought she would win. The first few days after it all ended were spent in a daze, body on autopilot whilst her mind was in overdrive, staggering off that wretched FUCKING train that had brought so much blood and misery.

Winning had never been her intention, she wasn’t the type of person to sell out everyone else and murder them just so she could go free. That was something her father would probably have no qualms doing, but not her.

And all the days after staggering off the train at a random stop in Valland were filled with the sickening weight of guilt and grief, for the friends she hadn’t saved. Marina knew it wasn’t her fault, but… their lost souls still weighed on her.

Marina stared at her reflection in the mirror as she ran a shaky hand through her hair, greasy from neglect.

Tried to pretend she was a normal girl, living a normal life in the red lights district of Valland, who had never seen a town of people scorched by the light of an old god. Tried to pretend that she was just your average occultist who had only the right sorts of secrets, the scandalous ones that make your friends giggle and go “ooh,” and “aah.”

Marina held her piercing gaze on the eyes of the girl in the mirror, a girl who looked tired beyond belief, like she hadn’t truly rested in a long while. And Marina let out a long sigh, like the ones Daan used to do whenever she and Levi did something particularly stupid.

And Marina took a step back from the mirror, planting her hands on her face as she breathed in deeply. In, and out. In, and out…

She’d be okay, as time went by. Marina had to believe that, because what else was there?

When you’re a participant in a festival like that…

Where all you have are the enemies who want you dead, the creepy Bremen soldier who wants to see under your skirt, a doctor who was forced to use his skills to murder instead of heal, and the ex-soldier who you may or may not have been crushing on… that is, before he was viciously slaughtered by a monster right in front of you.

No one walks out of something like that without a few scars.

And… well.

She hadn’t been the only one to walk out, apparently.

A certain someone had followed her to Valland’s capital, though Marina still had no idea who- or what- she was. She, or it, bared an uncanny resemblance to the girl from the festival, the one that was supposed to be dead.

Marina just barely recalled her name… Samarie.

Her face was one of many that showed up in her dreams each night. Greasy black her, sickly pale skin, and swathed in a sense of desperation… the girl who had said she loved her, the girl who had stabbed her father, and the girl who had apparently been a part of the ninth circle (that Marina had only ever heard sick and twisted rumours of).

Marina still struggled to even comprehend her.

And now, a version of Samarie had managed to follow her here, even though the rules of Termina had dictated only one may walk out. So either the black-haired girl managed to break the rules somehow, or she had been replaced by some twisted creature from Prehevil.

Samarie hadn’t been that bad company to be honest, aside from being a tad delusional and creepy. Marina definitely knew which option of the two she preferred, but unfortunately, she also knew which one was more likely- some kind of doppelgänger, no doubt.

Calmer now, she let her hands fall back down by her sides, letting out a deep exhale. Even now, she had a niggling feeling that Samarie was watching her…

Well, could be worse.

She could have jumped down that damn toilet at the beginning of the festival and have rotted there in faeces for the rest of her days, like some idiot. (Shit, imagine if she had done that? She’d never live it down… and she’d never live, period.)

Marina walked out of her cramped bathroom and let herself fall with a “thwump!” on a lumpy couch, courtesy of one of her newly-made acquaintances- she’d met some kindred spirits recently who also studied occultism, and they were nice, she supposed.

All she could do now was wait and see if “Samarie” ever revealed herself, and attempt to scrub her mind of the scarring memories from the festival. She didn’t even want to think about that bastard Per’kele and his twisted games ever again.

And just… hope, that everything would turn out alright.

But she knew one thing- she was never doing rituals in the name of that bastard Rher ever again.

[bookish-soup]

previously @bemusedrodent the era ended :(

daily click for palestine

bad at coping with change. i also seek a lot of change.

biology nerd, plant geek and england's resident bookworm :)

artists: tinyumbrellas, itzy, marina, lights and some others (kpop, bedroom pop sometimes also 60s-70s no rap)

books: priory of the orange tree, hp series (no jkr), grishaverse, good omens (also tv)

(book acc @green-glass)

i have two sides: studious, geeky and chaotic bookworm whos only goal is Corduroys, and kpop-obsessed Wearer Of Makeup And Fashion.

aetheist, 16, A LESBIAN! which i just realised properly, asexual, anxious but doesnt act it

no interacting if you: support/vaguely agree with jkr, tate, any other right wing etc, israel. im NOT in the middle ground with the gaza/israel war, but bear in mind a lot of those israeli citizens are probably living in terror afraid to speak out and not every single one of them deserves death as a lot of blogs on here seem to believe. people exhibiting racism, homo/trans/bi/aphobia, sexism/misogyny/misandry/TERFness get blocked. any offensive language/beliefs towards religions/beliefs gets blocked. also if you dont like my fandoms

i loudly hate politics but am also very opinionated on it. probably a radical leftist (not communist but if it worked...)

future biologist :) may post about study experience trying to get to a russell group uni

[decafdoodlez]

Hello! I just read up on your Rina facts, and I was very intrigued when you said she had contact with Rhino and Kangaroo (I love them sm). 🤧

I know you're open to sharing more info about Rina so I wanted to ask. Can we get some information of Rina's relationship/friendship with the goons? And how they interact? 🫣🫣🫣

Have a good one and stay safe! (Sorry for my bad english 😅)

Hi Anon!

Certainly, I’ll gladly give you some facts regarding Rina and the guards! Sorry for the wait on this, I was busy traveling, heheh. (And no worries, your English is perfect!) 🤍

Rina/Rhino/Kangaroo Dynamics and Lore

A short requested list of lore and headcanons regarding my TPoF OC/MC Marina, and Fox’s guards.

a/n: Thank you for this request! I’m always happy to answer any questions about my OC and how she fits in to the TPoF world, haha. Hopefully I’ll write actual one-shots when I have the time, as I really do love writing. ❤️‍🩹 Thank you again for this kind request! ❤️‍🩹

word count: 1.4k

warnings/tags: SFW + NSFW bonus section at the end | written with AFAB OC x Canon in mind, captive/captor themes, power imbalance, age difference (all are adults 25+), mentions of sexual content/conduct.

Rina/Rhino/Kangaroo Lore 🐇🦏🦘

Pre-Auction

First off…Rhino and Kangaroo are the ones who kidnapped Rina for Fox’s human product auction.

The two had surveilled Rina’s routine for about a month before kidnapping her after she had left early from an alcohol-filled get-together that had gone awry.

They had a physical profile to work off of for a “desired product” sought out by big human auction spenders. (Celia, Derek, and Mason)

Marina, among a few other targets, fit this physical profile, but Marina was ultimately the one snatched up for this specific auction.

Kangaroo is the one who anesthetized her, while Rhino is the one who held her down while Kangaroo sedated her.

Livestream Arc

Rhino and Kangaroo are of course the two goons that accompany Fox each time he visits Rina is her cell.

Each day, one of them brought Rina food. Rhino was generally more polite when placing food for Rina, being careful to not make a mess, while Kangaroo tended to shove the plate of food through the slot in the door with a bit of force, almost as if he was in a hurry.

Rhino did not watch the livestreams Marina co-starred in, while Kangaroo watched the streams on his phone outside of Fox’s streaming room.

Rhino is the one who called for medical help after Rina stabbed herself in her third and final gore livestream.

Ultimately, Rhino and Kangaroo did not think Marina would live past her final livestream.

After Fox Keeps Rina

For a while, Fox keeps a guard posted at his residence to watch over Rina while he is away working.

Fox trusts only Rhino and Kangaroo with his most precious pet, and would never let any other set of guards watch over her while he was away.

Fox orders only one guard to stay with Rina at a time, having Rhino and Kangaroo alternate, rarely ever watching her together, as he himself needs a guard while on duty at his job.

The only time Rhino and Kangaroo ever watch Rina together is when Fox allows Rina to go into the city to shop without him and only the guards. (This is a privilege she gains after Fox is certain that she really is the obedient girl he is molding her to be.)

Rina is to never stray far from the guards, and Kangaroo is basically on her heels the entire outing. Rhino is always close behind, keeping a lookout for any potential dangers that could transpire in their outing.

Once the need for Rina to be guarded at Fox’s residence is no longer needed, Rina rarely sees them outside of outings, and the off chance Fox takes her to work in which she has to stay in his office the entire time.

How the guards interact with Rina

Rhino 🦏

Personally for me, I see Rhino more as a gentle giant type, and write him as such in his and Rina’s dynamic. :)

Rhino calls Rina, “Miss Marina.” :)

He is the more willing of the two to indulge in Rina’s hobbies alongside her when guarding her.

This includes building puzzles together, holding yarn while Rina practices her knitting, helping her with some artsy crafts, or watching her play video games.

Rhino is quite patient with Rina, and doesn’t find her shyness to be much of an obstacle, even in the beginning where she would not even speak two words to him.

Eventually, Marina does open up to Rhino, and finds his presence calming despite her situation. His patience and soft spoken personality is reminiscent of her deceased older brother, leading her to feel more comfortable with him in a strange way.

Rhino is usually more than willing to make food for Rina, considering she is not allowed to make food for herself.

In a way, Rhino pities Marina. She is not a bad person, she has never done anything wrong, she was just merely unlucky.

When shopping, Rhino is usually the one tasked with carrying Rina’s shopping bags. He does not mind one bit. :)

Once relieved of his post at Fox’s residence when Rina no longer needs to be watched, Rhino takes it much better than Kangaroo, and is happy to be given his routine at the bunker back in order.

Kangaroo 🦘

In my headcanon, Kangaroo is a bit more on the abrasive side. He’s not gentle, and he can be a bit brash with his words and actions, so I write him as such to fit into his and Rina’s dynamic. :’)

Kangaroo calls Rina, “Pet,” or “Princess.” (Condescendingly of course)

Kangaroo hates watching Marina. He considers this side of his job as “babysitting,” and “not in his job description.”

In comparison to Rhino, Kangaroo is much more impatient with Rina in the beginning of their interactions.

If Rina stutters or trips on her words, Kangaroo is sure to mock her by mimicking her stutter, or chastise her by telling her “I don’t have all day, pet.”

Kangaroo does not go out of his way to interact with Rina on a “human-level.” She’s more or less just a task for him to complete.

Kangaroo is the less likely of the two to make food for Marina, opting to order food for delivery on Fox’s dime.

Kangaroo is a bit of a domineering presence in Fox’s residence when watching Rina, so in turn, Rina tends to keep her distance from Kangaroo.

Though Rina is always on her best behavior around him, Kangaroo still finds ways to note misbehavior to Fox at the end of his shift.

During scheduled outings, Kangaroo is always on high alert, keeping a watchful eye on Rina, much more than he would while watching her in Fox’s residence.

Despite his abrasive behavior towards her, once he and Rhino are no longer needed to guard Rina in Fox’s residence, he harbors some bittersweet feelings now that Rina is trained well enough to not need to be watched anymore.

Once relieved of his post at Fox’s residence, he’ll say that he misses the “babysitting bonus,” but Rhino likes to think that he just misses Rina above all. :)

Fox’s Rules for the Guards

Though Fox trusts his guards with his darling Rina, he does have a set of guidelines and rules he has in place for them to follow. Violation of these rules could result in the demotion or termination of their position in Fox’s operation.

Do NOT touch Rina.

Unless advised or instructed, it is best to keep your hands off of Rina.

Do NOT punish Rina.

Take note of any misbehaviors she may display, and report back to Fox at the end of each shift. (Fox will dole out punishments for Rina.)

Do NOT let Rina cook.

If Rina gets hungry, please make her something to eat.

If cooking is out of the question, please order food for delivery.

Do NOT let Rina go outside.

Unless scheduled and approved by Fox, Rina must stay in Fox’s residence.

Keep Rina away from things that could harm her.

Knives, scissors, or anything sharp should be locked away securely and only be handled by guards.

Secure all possible escape exits.

Ensure that the front door and windows are indeed locked or not conducive to becoming an escape route.

Do NOT follow Rina into the restroom.

There are no locks on the doors, if you feel Rina is taking too long in the restroom, please avoid barging in unless she does not answer you verbally.

BONUS: NSFW Notes

Just a few NSFW things to note! I don’t see Rhino or Kangaroo actually indulging in Rina’s body unless instructed by Fox, but I could see unsavory thoughts/acts crossing their minds.

If Rina wasn’t Fox’s pet, Kangaroo would fancy Rina and hearing her squeal as he fucks into her mercilessly. She is more or less his “type:” Innocent, shy, almost begging to be violated (in his mind, lmao.)

If instructed, Rhino and Kangaroo would most definitely engage in group sex with Fox and Rina.

Fox gets off on displaying his power over people, so ordering his goons to fuck his pretty little pet to contentment as he watches (or joins in) makes his cock twitch at the thought of it.

If ever given the chance to Fuck Rina at the behest of Fox, Kangaroo is rough and mean as he slams into her weeping, puffy cunt, while Rhino displays a bit more care and softness towards Rina, careful to not “break” her under his size.

BUT! This is all merely conjecture. :) I more or less see Fox to be the type to not share Rina, especially after keeping her for a long time, but it is always fun to speculate and bring in some different dynamics, heheh. >:3c

[zhongrin]

non-transferable

◇ characters ◇ zhongli

◇ tags ◇ fluff, reader is depicted wearing lipstick but no specific pronouns are used

◇ a/n ◇ this is most definitely not written just because i bought a new lipstick what are you talking about-

𝑚𝑎𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡 ⬙ 𝑡𝑎𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡

“zhongli, zhongli, look!”

“yes, dear?”

you beam at your husband as he looks up from the array of tea leaves on the kitchen counter to give you his utmost attention. like an excited puppy, you bound over to his side and grins up at him before pointing towards your lips. his hand promptly settles onto your cheek lightly, amber eyes examining your face before they widen slightly in realization.

“a new lipstick?”

“mhm! does it look okay?”

“it looks perfect on you, darling.”

“thank you, but get this! it’s not just the normal lipstick!” you make a show of kissing the back of your palm and showing the clean skin afterward, “ta-da! it’s non-transferable, non-smudge, and waterproof! the merchant said it’s a new invention from sumeru!!”

zhongli nods sagely, an impressed look lighting up his expression before it falls into a solemn, thoughtful look. you catch onto his worry almost immediately and instinctively wiggle your pointer finger with a reassuring smile.

“oh, don’t worry! i’ve interrogated the seller about the ingredients, and she was, in fact, very knowledgeable about the process of the creation! i suppose everyone else had the same thought after hearing about such an invention, and they were also worried about toxic chemicals being used or if there were any side effects that developed in order to make such a thing possible, but rest assured, i’ve memorized everything and researched beforehand, so i can confidently say tha- mm?!”

both your body and your brain freeze when you feel your husband’s soft lips descend unto your pigmented ones. the surprise is soon taken by excitement as you dazedly grant him entry, head tilting to slot your lips better, arms instinctively pulling him closer just as one of his hand rest against your nape. he smells - and tastes - like tea; something with a sweet undertone to it, refreshing and light, you suspect it’s a new blend of his, considering the batches of tea leaves sitting on separate bowls on the counter you briefly saw as you walked in earlier. you wonder how long it would take for this one to brew, so it can achieve the ‘full flavor’, as your resident tea-fanatic husband always says. it would definitely be longer than the kiss you share - though when he pulls away it still leaves you breathless nonetheless.

eyes half-lidded, head pleasantly buzzing and dopamine swimming in your veins, you’re silent as the hand resting on your cheek shifts, his thumb sweeping the bottom of your lips towards the side.

a disappointed frown and a slight pout grace his handsome face, and you're tempted to laugh at the adorableness of it all.

“hmm. a shame. it truly does not smudge.”

© zhongrin | 2022 ◆ no repost. reblogs much appreciated. feel free to reach out to submit suggestions, feedback, comments, or if you just want to talk!

◇ taglist ◇ @thestarsofenkanomiya | @genshinparty | @abyssmal-skies | @hamdehlesmis | @depressivecomforts | @sophiethewitch1 | @why-am-i-here-someone-save-me | @sunnshineflxwer | @heartonthemoon | @yuutasbabe | @percyval-archives | @carbs-need-more-love | @rebeccka | @queen-belial | @stygianoir | @niverine | @silentmoths | @niktwazny303 | @dustofthedailylife | @herdrops | @clovcly | @marina-and-the-memes | @angryhope | @mixed-kester | @shuangxo | @fiannee | @lordbugs

[hughiecampbelle]

Parting Pt. 1 (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

Character/s: Kendall, Logan, fake husband, fake baby lol

Word Count: 2,394

Requested: i have been obsessed with your baby!roy fics recently they are so so good! can you please write something to do with the subs & then being super protective over baby!roy (specifically kendall) please. if not it is all good, thank you so much 🫶🫶 - anon

Inspired By: Family Jewels by Marina

Tag: @locke-writes

A/N: In this fic you have a fake family, I just wanted to make that clear since I named a fake baby lol. It was getting too confusing without names lol. I love protective Kendall so much!!! I hope you like it my loves! Feedback is always appreciated 💜💜💜

Parting Pt. 2 (Roy!Sibling x Kendall Roy)

Succession Masterlist

He used to smell like laundry detergent. The sweet kind that reminded you of feeling clean, feeling safe. Even when he got his suits pressed, that scent lingered. It wasn’t his cologne or his soap, you learned over the years, it was just him. His body, his skin and hair. You liked when you came back with his scent, like it was choosing you, like you were worthy of it, of him. You thought it was a sign that somehow the universe was telling you that this man, this man who smelled of fresh sheets and warm sweaters, would offer you salvation. He would offer a home you had never had before, the kind that you feared you never would have, one you thought you were undeserving of. One of warmth and safety and stability. It sunk into your sheets, in his pillow. It lingers in every room he resides in, even if only for a moment. You used to love it. You used to follow it, searching the many rooms, trying to find him. You used to wish your whole house smelled like that, reflected that, so that anyone who stepped in would feel how you felt. No one seemed to notice though. Only you. Now you wonder if you made it all up, if you were under some kind of spell. Now you roll away from him in your bed, the scent too much, too strong. Suffocating. You take your pillow and a blanket and go to your son's room, choosing to sleep on his floor instead of your bed. You’re not sure when it started, when you’d shut the bedroom door and listen to his soft breathing, when you started slipping away. Sometime after his glass narrowly missed your head. Before you stopped speaking altogether. Somewhere in the middle, between all that, you decided that scent, the lavender, the cotton, somewhere in between then you decided you didn’t want to smell like that anymore.

You never wanted to smell it again. 

The ride over feels excruciating. You sit in the back, beside your son, distracting him with toys, stuffed animals and cars. Almost three, he babbles to you, pointing out the other cars in the heavy traffic, the strangers on the sidewalk. He looks like you, thankfully. He has your eyes, your nose and hair. You hope he doesn’t share his temper, his paranoia, his moodiness. He kicks his feet, growing restless. Up front your husband bangs the steering wheel, equally irritable, eyeing you from the mirror, talking straight ahead. Don’t pull any shit, you hear me? Don’t be rude. You don’t say anything, just kiss his cheeks with his teddy bear, hearing that laugh that melts your heart. High, from the belly. He laughs until he can’t breathe. They’re my family, you want to correct, but you bite your tongue. One night, that’s all. All you have to do is get through one night. You move quickly, unbuckling yourself, then Liam. You hold him close, thanking the driver for parking. Your husband steps out, barking orders, before meeting you on the curb. He doesn’t initiate contact, not anymore. He doesn’t even try with Liam, you won’t let him. Not since that night. He hasn’t been drunk since, but you don’t care. He will not lay a hand on your baby. The doorman greets you warmly despite the cold radiating off him. All the way up you’re surrounded by silence. When you step out of the elevator you’re greeted with noise. Your brothers and sister, niece and nephew, in-laws, as well as the regular work associates, everyone’s here, everyone’s busy. It sounds like it did when you were growing up, so unlike your own quiet home. He greets Marcia with a hug and a kiss while you stray, peeking into the living room. Rava and the kids, Shiv, Tom, Rome. They all showed. Just seeing their faces makes you feel better, more like yourself than you’ve felt in weeks. You greet Marcia, asking how your father is. In one of his moods, she shrugs. She holds Liam, spinning him around. You linger, not wanting her to hand him off to him. You should know better, though. He leaves you for Frank and Karl, talking to them like there’s nothing wrong. He’d leave you both for dead if it meant getting an inch up the corporate ladder. 

Your siblings all give you big hugs. You’re happy to see them. They stay the same, they always have. Shiv makes a remark about Marcia you can’t help but smile at. Connor is a tad bit oblivious, asking how your husband is doing as if he’s not in the room. Good, Con. He’s good. Rome is ready to drink the night away, pointing out how tired you look. Haven’t been sleeping well, you smile, unphased. Those hardwood floors aren’t exactly the most comfortable, you want to joke, but stop yourself. You toss and turn, checking on Liam every time you wake up, every time he stirs. A few times he crawled into your arms, dragging along his Spiderman blanket, his small body emitting so much heat, so much warmth. That is when you sleep the best. Only Kendall, your second biggest brother, notices something is off. You’re not looking at him, you can’t stand to, you weren’t even holding his hand or anything. You looked like strangers when you walked in. And you do look tired, exhausted, as if you hadn’t slept since he’d last seen you. He doesn’t say anything there, now, but he makes a mental note to. You talk with Rava, who wants to eat Liam up, and the kids, who are always a delight. You keep tabs on how many drinks your father pours your husband. Finally, you go over to Logan, who welcomes you with open arms. There you are, he greets, buttered up by your husband's ass-kissing. Here I am, you laugh. It takes everything out of you to be cheery, to be upbeat. You didn’t want to come, but you hadn’t gone to the last family dinner and he still believed in keeping up the facade. Look how big you are, William. You cringe. Named after your husband's father, you always hated the name, insisting he go by his nickname. Almost everyone in the family called him Liam, but your father was a traditionalist. No grandson of his would go by a nickname. Your son buries his face into your neck, suddenly shy. You’re not listening to anything he says, about work, Gojo, Matsson, Mencken. All the names start to sound the same. You’re too focused on what he has to say, what web of lies he’s stringing. Came down with the flu, poor thing. Luckily they didn’t get the baby sick. They’re feeling much better, though. We’re both so glad to be here. . . Tuning in and out of conversation until you can’t stand it any longer. You excuse yourself, needing air. 

You were young when you got together, teenagers. He was the son of one of your fathers many associates. Deeming him worthy enough to date you, the pair set you up per his insistence. You thought he was nice, kind, smart, like them all. Like the rest. He wasn’t anything special, anyone special. But he liked you and that was enough for them. Over time, over the years, you found things to like and eventually love. His scent, but also how respectful he was to your father and mother, how he got along with your siblings, how driven he was. You’d noticed early on he was eager to anger, that everyone was against him. You thought, naively, he’d grow out of it, he’d mature. You should have known a man like that doesn’t change. Just look at your father. Still, you stayed with him. What else were you supposed to do? Your father believed he’d created the perfect match, that you would eventually marry. And you would. Just old enough to legally drink, he popped the question over champagne and an expensive ring. You couldn’t say no. Years you spent together. Breaking it off wasn’t an option. You’d get a fancy apartment with too many rooms and you’d have Liam, the catalyst, you think, to your many fights, to the rift. It was bound to happen eventually. You wanted a big family, like your own. He wanted one. Two, if the first was a girl. You have one. And he is the love of your life. You would do anything for him. He just wanted a legacy, an heir, to share a scotch with him on his eighteenth birthday. Before then, he preferred to be strangers. You couldn’t let that happen. You would die before it did, before he acted that way with him. You? You got yourself into this mess, you never disobeyed him, you never resisted, but Liam didn’t deserve that, he didn’t ask for it, he’d simply been born into it. You couldn’t let the cycle repeat. You just couldn’t. 

Your hands hang over the banister, the balcony's edge. The noise of the traffic, the horns, people yelling, it wasn’t any more comforting than the noise inside, but at least it wasn’t him. You’d handed Liam off to Willa with clear, strict instructions. Do not let him near you, either of you. If he tries anything, find me. Willa nodded, cautious, her hand cradling his head. She’d protect him. She’d protect you, keeping whatever you say between you. You watched her and Connor play peek-a-boo and talk to him, pointing out family members. He smiled brightly, even giggling. He’s in good hands. You’re shivering, but you don’t move. It’s better out here. It feels safer out here. Your family, your father especially, love him. Logan sees himself in your husband, that is enough to want to run and never stop. After a few minutes, the door slides open. You jump, expecting something awful. Expecting meanness. What the fuck are you doing? Where’s Liam? You can’t act normal for a few hours, is it too fucking hard. Jesus y/n. . . Instead you feel something over your shoulders: a suit jacket. Kendall's. He holds out a glass to you, wine probably. You only take a sip, needing to be sober, alert. You need to be ready. He doesn’t say anything for a while, just stands beside you. And then: How come you’re not sleeping? His tone is genuine, dipped in worry. You thought you’d played it off well, but he had second thoughts. The bags under your eyes resemble bruises. Hollow. You’re not sure what to say, if you should lie or tell the truth. You wait a moment, wishing you’d just stayed inside. I, uh, I’ve been sleeping on Liam's floor. Before you can stop, your words come up, out, leaving you clutching the banister. I’m leaving him. I, I don’t know when, but soon. I should have done it a long time ago, but I was scared. You know how Dad loves him. It’s a deafening silence, your brother taking it all in. He lets out a sigh. In anger? In relief? You can’t tell. Is he hurting you? Is he hurting- No. You’re quick to say. Do you need a lawyer? The question comes out so earnestly, you almost laugh. Not mine, but, but Rava has a good one. A really good one. You nod. Yes, yes you do. Want me to kill him for you? Startled, you look up in his eyes, deep brown. They look so sad, so grown. Can you make it look like an accident? You smile, knowing you shouldn’t. Anything for you. You lean into him, wishing you could freeze time. So many things go unsaid. How much you appreciate him, how thankful you are that he picked up on something no one else had. He’s always been there for you, but you’ve felt isolated since your marriage. This is your family, not his. He could co-op them however he liked, you were Roy. You were, not him. You still are. 

Kendalls hand never leaves your back as you walk in together. Willa looks at you, and you nod, when Kendall takes Liam, giving you a break. He sits beside you at dinner, him and Rava having a conversation with nothing but their eyes. In the end, she seems to understand. He puts a barrier between the two of you, one your husband starts to notice, starts to get irritated by. He tries to put his arm around you, but Kendall intervenes. Coming back from the bathroom, you watch your brother lean over your chair to his brother-in-law, where he says something you can’t hear, but can read, covering Liam’s ears. Go fuck yourself. As you sit, they resume like nothing happened. Your husband looks stunned but only for a moment. He never tries to touch you again, using all his attention at the opposing end of the table. You’re trying not to grin.

When it’s time to go, Kendall hugs you last, slipping a card into your jacket pocket. You don’t have to read it to know it’s the lawyer, one of the best in the business. He doesn’t want to let go, he can’t for a few seconds. He doesn’t want to let you go home with him. You’ve already called a driver, your husband unsteady on his feet, Liam asleep on your shoulder. It’ll be okay, you whisper, I'll be okay. He can’t say anything, nothing comes to mind, just begging, pleading, cursing. He wants you and your son to stay with him, Shiv, Con, even Rome. Anyone else, anywhere else, but home. He wants you safe, the both of you, far from that prick. He never liked him, but now he loathed him. You manage a smile, a shaky one, before letting go. Your husband leans on to you, forgetting the rules. You offer your big brother one last wave before the doors close. He doesn’t know it, and neither will you, but it’s the last time you see him for a long time, all of them. Did he do the right thing? Did he do enough? He resists the urge to pry the doors open, to call after you, a horrible feeling washing over him. Something terrible is going to happen, he fears, and he has no one to blame but himself. . .

[blank-house]

I fear that the new demo has made me into a jamie lover,, I was so into percy in the old one but now JAMIE

FHDHDHR YOURE UNLUCKY ANON THAT IT IS I, MARINA— THE RESIDENT PERCY LIKER IN THE STUDIO— WHO SAW YOUR MESSAGE FIRST

How could you, you traitor 😭😭 I CANT BELIEVE YOUD JOIN LILLYS RANKS

pls turn in your I heart Percy shirt, cup, button, and member ship card 😔

lilly edit: IT'S OKAY I'LL ADD MORE JAMIE FOR US! FOR US!!!!!