#and he worries what Flynn will think

[izayoichan]

Emil: Don't look! I am shameful.

Flynn walked closer to Emil, a side of him wanting to just hug the dragon, and never let go, but the way he just turned around told him not no. To know more before he did so.

Flynn: Shameful? -he tilted his head.- You gave your horns away to save my family.. There is nothing shameful in that.

Was it perhaps that he was hiding his wings and his tail? He did remember Emil once telling them that he would never do that, he was a proud dragon. Eventually, he gently put a hand on the dragon's shoulder. 

Flynn: Please turn around.

Emil flinched at the touch and looked back at Flynn, being met by those confused and sad eyes. They slowly turned around, taking Flynn's hand in theirs, just feeling the warmth of his fingers on theirs. Then they looked down at them, wondering how Flynn would feel and would think once they showed them their scarred back and missing wings.

Beginning - Previous - Next

[constellationcrowned]

((All signs point to Kariom being a lot like Serban in his youth. Was he a stern kid? Yes. Grumpy? Yes. But he also had fun and was mischievous. He made pinwheels, he wanted to fly kites, he drew and colored in one of Flynn's gardening books (he drew constellations ofc but no doubt other things too) he ate so many cattails by the lake he almost choked to death, he ran around and got into trouble, he tried to make friends, and so on.

It's important to remember that he was a kid and he wasn't always so obsessively driven by his duty---and I mean driven to the point of where he, as an adult, considers all of that stuff as stupid, inconsequential, etc, and prefers not to think on it, driven to the point of self degradation (whether he acknowledges it or not and let's face it; he doesn't), etc, etc---such a severe reaction has to have a cause. Something changed him, something shifted his focus and it was definitely something huge. I imagine it's in part due to whatever happened to the Solomonari and his involvement on top of a variety of other things that built up over time until he could hold nothing else.))

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Glass Onion did many, many things well. But a few of my favorites are:

Gave Helen the LITERAL POWER of the dumb white man's idea of a good idea to BLOW HIS SHIT UP.

Gave Whiskey a moment to deepen her character beyond "dumb men's right bimbo." Do I agree with the way she's doing things? No. Do I respect that she gets the chance to show she is aware of what she's doing? Yes.

Gave Benoit a live-in partner who straight people don't clock at all. Bitch. The butler is not calling Mister Blanc's famous friends to express worry over his bath time. That's the job of a husband (colloquial).

Benoit solving Gillian Flynn's mystery because it's CLEVER but needing help with the ACTUAL mystery because IT'S DUMB. And not because he's TOO SMART but because he's bad at DUMB PUZZLES.

Everyone only willing to throw Miles under the bus after Helen literally blew up any chance he had of saving their asses. Did they learn anything? Fuck no. It's a very clear lesson on understanding who to trust. As Helen puts it: "You'll lie for a lie, but you won't lie for the truth?" They're not lying for the truth at the end. They're lying for the lie that they're not very much like Miles.

I have seen some people noting the Mona Lisa burned like canvas, and I've seen some people noting the Mona Lisa burned like wood, and what's important to remember is that everything you need to know about Miles is that he's got the fucking audacity of the insulated fuckboy to think he's being clever having someone build an un-failesafe button so the Mona Lisa could be safe.

"It's so dumb, it's brilliant!" / "No, it's just dumb!"

"You'd lie for the lie, but you wouldn't lie for the truth?" -- Yeah, I mentioned it already, but my GOD. WHAT A POINT.

"Your name will forever be remembered in the same breath as the Mona Lisa." -- STAB HIM AGAIN.

[molinaskies]

What We Get Wrong About Dark Sonic

I find Dark Sonic incredibly interesting.

I’ve said this before, but Dark Sonic represents an overflow of Sonic’s negative emotions, the ones he usually suppresses: anger, sadness, and fear.

However, many people believe that Dark Sonic is somehow a betrayal of Sonic as a character (even Ian Flynn, reportedly, but I’ve yet to see an official source). Sonic is meant to be a beacon of optimism. Sonic is meant to be the pillar of hope when all else fails. Sonic is meant to be the last one standing, no matter what.

In this sense, sure, Dark Sonic contradicts the notion that Sonic is “uncorruptable,” but I think that depends on how we define corruption.

I see it two ways:

1) Corruption by way of losing faith, through dishonesty and fraud. 2) Corruption by way of a forceful shift from one state of being to another.

In the first sense, corruption occurs when someone’s paradigm is shifted through lies, cheating, or manipulation. It’s a conscious mental shift. In the second sense, corruption occurs when something (or someone) is co-opted and changed without its will or influence, like data corruption, or a shift in the meaning of a word or image. It’s a literal, physical and/or metaphysical shift.

There’s a saying that floats around the fandom that says, “Shadow is just ‘Sonic, if Sonic had one really bad day’,” and I think that makes sense. Shadow is jaded and cynical because of how the world has hurt him, but he still wants to do right by people—just like Sonic. What separates Sonic from Shadow, however, is Sonic’s tenant optimism and positive paradigm. Without those differences, Sonic has endless reasons to be as cynical as Shadow, or even more so.

So, Sonic doesn’t let himself feel those feelings for very long, and especially not when other people are around. He pours everything into a clean, neat bottle, with a tight screw-on cap, right?

What happens when something tampers with that bottle?

Dark Sonic is a forceful corruption of body but not of mind. Let’s talk about it.

How Dark Sonic Works

What I think people misunderstand most about Dark Sonic is that it’s not an intentional state of being. It never was.

Dark Sonic is the polar opposite to Super Sonic, which is achieved when Sonic harnesses the positive energy of the Chaos Emeralds. If Sonic wanted to harness the power of the emeralds for the wrong reasons and his heart accessed the negative energy rather than the positive, he could possibly bring about Dark Sonic willingly. This, however, would likely never happen because that is the betrayal of Sonic’s character that everyone worries about.

That said, the only reason Dark Sonic ever appears is because of a mix of Sonic’s pure rage over Black Narcissist physically assaulting Chris and Cosmo and the presence of hundreds of the Metarex’s fake Chaos Emeralds, which possess an aura clearly shown to impact Sonic and make him ill.

Sonic’s first interaction with negative Chaos energy from the fake emeralds is filled with discomfort and even disgust. Sonic reacting to the negative Chaos energy poorly is critical, as it showcases that it’s seeking him out, not vice versa.

When Sonic was as triggered as he was, the negative energy from the fakes harnessed his emotions and corrupted him. It was a complete, freak accident.

This situation is very similar to Darkspine Sonic, the in-game equivalent to Dark Sonic from Sonic and the Secret Rings. Darkspine Sonic only surfaces when Sonic is severely triggered after Shahra starts to betray him, Erazor Djinn murders her (she sacrifices herself for Sonic), and he sees Erazor Djinn’s final form about to destroy the storybook world. In his shock and anger, the Secret Rings of Sadness, Rage, and Hate target him, painfully turning him into Darkspine Sonic. Once again, external energies corrupt him at the height of his emotional vulnerability.

Sonic never seeks out the negative energy of the Chaos Emeralds because his heart is good. When the negative energy seeks him out in such overwhelming waves, it corrupts his abilities, alters them, and pulls them out to play.

But—

If it’s simply a matter of fake Chaos Emeralds, then why can Sonic use Tails’ fake Chaos Emerald in Sonic Adventure 2 without any problems? I posit this to the fact that Tails might have a better understanding of the balanced nature of the Chaos Emeralds (in that they are powered by both good and evil), while Eggman and Dark Oak have only ever used (or desired to use) the Chaos Emeralds for evil.

Recall Eggman’s laser at the beginning of Sonic Unleashed and Perfect Chaos in Sonic Adventure. Both uses of the chaos emeralds drained them of their power—their negative power, that is. (Albeit through different means based on the lore of each game), Sonic is still able to restore and harness the emeralds’ power because he relies on the positive energy of the emeralds. As intelligent as he is, I imagine that Eggman (as well as the Metarex) has a hard time replicating the intricate nature and balance of the Chaos Emeralds because their hearts are filled with hatred and turmoil, so unwilling to heed the perspectives of others. The power is there, sure, but not the heart.

~Chaos is power. Power is enriched by the heart~

Tikal's Prayer

I think the difference between Tails’ fake emerald and every other fake emerald we’ve seen in canon is marked by the fact that both Eggman’s and the Metarex’s fakes disintegrate after excessive use (i.e., Chaos Control), but Tails’ fake remains intact.

The Metarex's emerald disintegrates upon excessive use

Eggman's fake emeralds can't hold their form upon excessive use

Tails' fake emerald is intact and ultimately used to stop the Eclipse Canon from firing

In short, Tails’ emerald is simply a better fake, more accurate to the originals.

also, I refuse to talk about how dumb it is that Sonic was able to use a fake Chaos Emerald to do Chaos Control for the first time. However, it is canon, and therefore relevant to my point.

Another key problem cited in Sonic X is just how many fake emeralds there are. One emerald pales in comparison to hundreds. Sonic feels all the latent negative energy consume him because that energy is a corruption, itself.

It’s not that Sonic gets so angry that he just gives in to darkness, it’s that darkness captures him when he’s in extreme emotional distress and his guard is down. Dark Sonic is the result of negative, unstable, potent Chaos energy clinging to him, using his latent Chaos powers as a vessel when he least expects it and, thus, is powerless against it.

I think I can best prove this by contrasting Dark Sonic with Sonic’s other intimate encounter with darkness…

Sonic Unleashed, Dark Gaia, and the Werehog

I’ve spoken at length about this game and this specific scene, already, so kindly forgive my hyper-brief summary this time around!

When Dark Gaia’s “weight issues” cause its essence to disperse around the globe, many people fall influence to Dark Gaia’s despair, losing faith and hope in the world. Nothing like the influences of Chaos energy, but enough of an influence that much of the world feels it. A core aspect of the game’s plot is that Sonic, distinctly, does not. In the cutscene No Reason, Sonic asks Chip why he stays the same despite the darkness inside his heart while so many others change at night. Chip answers simply, saying that Sonic’s too strong to lose himself and that part of his good will is because he never doubts himself, even when he’s on his own.

The difference is that while Sonic undergoes a physical transformation, he never loses faith or gives up hope—made especially clear by the fact that Professor Pickle, once as hopeful as Sonic, eventually does lose hope.

Also key to note that Amy also never loses hope.

Unleashed is just another fun, high-stakes adventure for Sonic; there’s never a moment where he’s aggressively triggered by something or when his personal morals are ever tainted. Irritated, maybe. Flustered, even. Never at a loss. The closest we see Sonic come to this is when he loses the werehog form to Dark Gaia before the final battle. He falls to his knees, worn and exhausted, and tells Chip to run because he doesn’t want him to get caught up in the mess. Yet even then he’s not giving up.

That’s why Sonic’s heightened emotional state is so important to the conversation. When Sonic’s will is intact, he’s much stronger, but when he’s triggered by something and his defences are down, it’s much easier for corrupting forces around him to take hold.

Mind over Matter

Even with the parameters for Dark Sonic’s appearance established, something that stands out to me about Sonic’s encounters with dark energies, and something I see as additional evidence that Dark Sonic is only a literal, physical corruption and not a corruption of his paradigm, is that Sonic is still in control of himself—to an extent.

Even as he seethes in his amplified rage, Dark Sonic never inflicts harm on the innocent. After Gold and Silver are destroyed, it’s not expressly clear if Sonic intends to stop or fight Black Narcissist, but Eggman implies that Sonic was fighting Gold and Silver until there was quite literally nothing left. Sonic was given a target to attack, and he kept his focus there, even when other enemies presented themselves.

This also goes for the Werehog and Darkspine Sonic.

He also has the mind to listen to reason—from Eggman, of all people—and stop when it’s clear that he’s finished what he set out to do. Sonic channels his anger to where it needs to be, and it’s clear that Sonic’s moral code and paradigm on life are thoroughly intact.

The only thing that changes is that he’s no longer imposing his usual limits. Sonic is stupidly powerful, even without any power ups. If he ever wanted to kill Eggman, he would have by now. If he ever wanted to kill anyone, he would have by now (and technically, he has).

Sonic throws Erazor Djinn's lamp into a pit, never to resurface, effectively trapping him and ending his livelihood indefinitely.

However, Sonic holds back because he doesn’t want to be an arbiter of justice—he doesn’t want to deprive someone’s chance to be good unless it’s been clear that they cannot be redeemed.

Why I Care About This

It is no secret that I believe that Sonic is a highly emotional character—far more emotional than many give him credit for. It bears repeating that Sonic’s emotions are very big and can be cataclysmic when left unchecked…

…but that’s just part of growing up—growing up as a hero and, damn it, even just a kid.

Dark Sonic isn’t a case of Sonic giving himself to darkness, nor is it a perversion of Sonic’s character. It’s an energetic, chaotically-charged version of Sonic when he is at his angriest—and even then it’s not enough to change his morals or make him lash out unjustly.

Dark Sonic is cathartic, in a way, and I definitely think it deserves its place in canon.

[lvrhughes]

Trick or Treat | C. Bedard

pairing: Connor Bedard x fem!reader

word count: 0.74k

summary: you and connor dress up for the trick or treaters.

warnings: none?

not my gif!

“I don’t get why we’re dressed up.” 

Connor’s voice drifted down the stairs, reaching where you stood at the bottom with a bowl of candy, waiting in preparation for the treat or treaters. 

“Because it’s fun.” 

You called back, waiting for him to walk down the stairs, waiting to see the costume you had put together. 

“Whatever you say, baby.”

His voice grew louder as he walked down the stairs, finding your eyes quickly as you turned to face him. 

“Oh my god.” 

His face flushed at the words, a shy smile covering his features as he reached you, wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you against him. 

“Think I look that good, baby?” “You look so good.” 

You returned, wrapping your arms around him, the bowl of candy forgotten on the table now. Pressing your face against his chest while you felt him laugh at your actions, leaving a soft kiss before pulling back. 

“Wear this everyday.” 

He laughed harder at the words, taking a moment to catch his breath before answering you with a kiss, feeling your body melt against his. 

“I am not spending everyday dressed like Flynn Ryder.” 

“I wish you would.” 

You shook your head, leaning back to take in his outfit once more, earning another laugh from him. 

“Do you want to stop checking me out and hand out candy yet?” 

His words had heat rising to your face, shaking your head as you moved away from him to retrieve the bowl again. 

“No need to call me out.” 

His arms slipped around your waist as you turned, pressing his body against your back as you  grabbed the bowl, peppering soft kisses to your neck. 

“I was checking you out too, don’t worry.” 

He hummed against your skin, earning more warmth to your cheeks as he lead you to the couch, moving around you to lay down before motioning for you to follow.

Laying between his legs with your head on his chest whilst you waited for the children, Tangled playing softly in the background as you stared at Connor.

“What are you staring for?” “You’re just so pretty.” 

“Really? Cause I think you’re way too pretty.” 

He smiled back, tucking a piece of your hair behind your ear before pressing a soft kiss to your lips. Letting your body melt into his once more as his arms wrapped around your waist, keeping your body pressed into his as he kissed you. 

The soft knocking on the door pulled your attention away from Connor, leaning up and back to shoot him a soft smile before moving towards the door, looking behind to ensure he was following. Opening the door quickly to reveal the front porch filled with children. A group seemingly all dressed as princesses, plus a single prince, with their parents standing behind them smiling. 

“Trick or Treat!” 

All their voices mingled together, making a smile grow on your lips as they held their buckets out towards you. 

You turned to grab the bowl that Connor held, taking it from his grip to pass a few pieces of candy to each child, wishing them a goodnight as they left. 

Closing the door and turning back to Connor, who held a soft smile on his face as you leaned into him. Letting out a soft sigh as his arms wrapped around you, moving to discard the bowl just before. 

“They’re so cute.”

Connor’s grip tightening around your waist, pressing a chaste kiss to the crown of you head before nodding with you. 

“Yeah they were.” He pressed another kiss to your hair. “I can’t wait to have our own family one day.” 

You pulled back slightly, looking at him. Feeling his hands shifting on  your waist to draw soft shapes while you continued to stand by the door. 

“You want that?” 

“More than anything.” 

He had a soft smile on his face as he spoke, watching you closely as you sent a smile back his way. His hands never stopping their soft movements on your waist, his eyes never wavering from yours. 

“I can’t wait to have a family with you too.” 

Connor’s smile grew at the words, moving quickly to press a kiss to your lips, your hands moving to cup his cheeks as he did. 

“I love you.” 

He whispered the words against your lips, earning a smile before you whispered them back before pressing against his lips once more, letting your body melt against his.

[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!

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

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

[agentlizardofowca]

perryshmirtz “maybe we should kiss just to break the tension.” from the quotes prompt

After three successful dates (and one bad one, it was not their fault) Perry invited Heinz to meet his immediate family. It had gone surprisingly well, and over the months that followed Doof somehow built a stronger friendship with the Flynn-Fletchers than he had ever managed with Charlene's parents and sister. They had never liked him much, but Perry's family didn't bat an eye at his strange behavior. Strangely enough, Heinz almost felt like he fit in.

It took almost two years of officially dating before Perry informed him that it was time for Heinz to meet the extended family. Perry's expression was not enthused, but Heinz was used to his boyfriend's stoic expressions so he did not think much of it.

The day of the Fletcher Family reunion arrived and Heinz was introduced to Winifred and Reginald Fletcher who were both hilarious, interested, friendly, and potentially insane. Never before had Heinz met a woman who was as unimpressed with Perry as his foster mother. She ordered Heinz to grab them "a cuppa" before she told him an array of embarrassing stories from Perry's youth. In her purse she had a stack of photos, some of a teenaged and awkward Lawrence, and then a few of a grumpy-faced peach-fuzz-lipped Perry who wore his school uniform with absolute disdain. His hair was too long, in one ear sat an earring, and in some pictures, he sported an impressive black eye.

"Perigrin wasn't very impressed with the school bullies," She said with poorly hidden pride. "He showed them what for!"

Perry was in the middle of begging his mother not to tell any more stories when a new group of people arrived. A young lady and a herd of boys all stormed in, followed by a man who had to be Lawrence's biological brother.

"Aiden, how nice of you to come!" Lawrence announced and went to hug his brother.

Distantly, Heinz registered that his hand was being crushed.

He looked down and found that Perry was looking particularly grave.

"Perry?" Heinz asked, and Perry blinked as if coming to his senses. He released Heinz's hand from the death grip, dusted his knees, and got up from his begging position.

Heinz then watched as Perry stiffly and awkwardly went to greet Aiden. They shook hands so politely that Doof couldn't help but feel a bit worried.

"It's been so long, Perry," Aiden announced loudly. "I see you haven't grown an inch!"

Perry bared his teeth in a most unnatural smile and continued shaking his hand.

After Aiden was done laughing at his own joke, he wiped a fake tear from his eye before continuing what Heinz could only describe as a comedy routine.

"I'll give you twenty dollars to say something right now," Aiden pulled out his wallet, and when Perry just grimaced at him uncomfortably he put it away and laughed some more.

Perhaps it was more like a roast.

"How's the wife and kids? Oh no wait! You're single and lonely!" Aiden laughed again, completely unaware that he was the only one.

Perry had crossed his arms two "jokes" ago, and beside Heinz, Winifred crossed her arms impatiently. Apparently, this routine happened every time? Heinz couldn't help but wonder why Perry hadn't smacked that guy yet, if Heinz made a joke that bad he'd be bruised for a week.

"Actually Aiden, Perry brought his partner along!" Lawrence announced, and he held his arms out as if he too was scared of what Perry was capable of.

Aiden paused his laughter. "Wait really?" He asked and he looked around the room in surprise. His eyes landed on Heinz and after a moment where Heinz and Aiden stared at each other awkwardly, the brother said "Oh," In an almost disappointed tone.

"Come meet Heinz," Lawrence tried to guide Aiden towards him. Heinz rose to his feet hesitantly, and his eyes checked with Perry who had apparently decided to stay there and let this happen.

"Aha," Aiden agreed. "Heinz. Foreign name?"

"Drusselstein." He agreed.

Aiden's face contorted for a moment. "Like Matteo Spieler, Drusselstein?!" He asked loudly. And his face got quite red, quite quickly

Heinz had to think for a moment. He wasn't much of a sports guy, but even he knew that Matteo Spieler was Drusselstein's most famous soccer player. He was currently playing in the European league and was personally responsible for the winning goal against England. Ah. Heinz might understand the sudden burst of anger.

Aiden turned to Perry. "You're DATING THE ENEMY?!" He shouted and he grabbed an apple from the counter and threw it on the floor. Where it burst into many pieces.

"Now, now Aiden!" Lawrence interjected and he tried to calm him down. Linda sighed loudly and left the room, if anyone expected her to clean up that mess they were wrong.

"Drusselstein?! Really!"

Whilst Lawrence kept Aiden occupied, Perry returned to Heinz's side and circled his heart with one finger 「Sorry.」

Heinz watched the hissifit with amazement. "Not your fault. I think?"

"Honestly, I expected his homophobia to be the issue, not your nationality," Winifred remarked as she sipped her tea casually.

Heinz blinked and turned to his boyfriend. "Do you think that if we kissed to break the tension that would snap him out of it?"

Perry snorted in amusement and pulled Heinz along as he stepped up to Aiden. He cleared his throat dramatically, twirled Heinz around, dipped him low, and mashed their mouths together in an unelegant but enthusiastic kiss.

Winifred cheered happily.

Aiden paused his argument with Lawrence to look at the performance.

When Perry eventually released the Drusselsteinian enemy from his kiss, he smiled at Aiden and winked.

It worked, in that Aiden shut up about football for a while, but Heinz very quickly learned that the other members of the Fletcher family were a lot more fun to talk to. After all, Winifred still had pictured from Perry's youth he had to see.

[drugs-and-daddyissues]

𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝐒𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐎 After an attack on the Black Pearl leaves you seeking refuge on another ship, you become distraught at the lack of knowledge on the whereabouts of your husband, Jack, and the fear for the safety of your baby

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 mentions of attacks, angst, stillbirth. This may be triggering to some audiences, read at your own discretion.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 Jack Sparrow x f! reader

You went overboard when the canons hit, you struggled against the waves, but you tried to break through the surface of the water. You wanted to go back, find Jack, but you knew you couldn't keep swimming forever, you needed to get to safety, whether that was land or another ship. If you and your baby were going to survive.

You swam for what felt like hours, until another ship found you. "Captain, I think we found another one!" One of the crew members called, while a few others pulled you to safety. "She's with child!"

You were cold, tired, sore, worried for your baby and not knowing if Jack was even alive. You just began to weep. The crew members of the ship led you below deck, and you were relieved to see some of the crew from the Black Pearl, but no signs of Jack. You were given a small, more private room - given the fact you were a woman and pregnant. And hysterical but that was besides the point.

You kept crying out for your husband, for Jack. One of the crew members from the rescue ship, a young man, promised that, if they found Jack, they'd bring him straight to you.

Your worry only grows, and your sobs don't stop, when maybe 15 minutes later, still nobody knows where Jack is. By this point, you've been given fresh, dry clothes to change into, and some water. You change into the simple white shirt and trousers, drinking the water before trying to dry your tears. You go on deck again, despite the protests from both crews.

"Please, I need to find my husband." You begged, and who were they to say no? A pregnant, potential widow looking for her lost husband.

It takes an effort but 25 minutes later, Jack is spotted floating along the waves on a plank of wood. "Jack? Jack!!" You call out, rushing towards his direction on the ship. That same crew member from earlier keeps you from jumping in the water to rescue Jack. But much like you before, Jack is recovered onto the ship, and you're immediately jumping into his arms. He's laying down but he pulls you close, letting your legs hang over his body (imagine that scene in tangled where Flynn is holding Rapunzel).

"Oh love.. Are you okay? Is the wee one okay?" He immediately asks. He's uncharacteristically soft with you, only you. You're his wife, how could he not be?

You nod, everything's okay now that you have him again.

He gets the same treatment, clothes, water, and he gets to rest in the room with you.

You have hope again, and although you're confused about what was going to happen now, you had your husband and you had your baby.

But that night, you started having pains, as if you were going into labor. But that wasn't right, you were only 5 months pregnant. That couldn't be right.

They brought you back above deck (Well, Jack did, as he knew you'd want to be under the stars in the circumstance of your birth.) The crew of the ship let you two be, knowing not to interrupt such a moment.

You were terrified, but Jack just held your hand and kept giving you reassurances as he slipped your trousers off. You pushed and pushed, squeezing his hand, until eventually he could see the head. "Come on, you're doing great, love. Keep pushin' for me." He encouraged, seeing the tears slip down your cheeks. You gave one final big push before he could pull the baby out.

But instead of hearing the cries of your infant, there was silence, deafening silence. "My baby... Why aren't they crying?? Jack..? You began to get distraught again, weary.

He looked distant, speechless for once in his life. For once, he did not have a witty remark to make, the heavy, dark truth of the situation weighing over him.

Your baby was gone. You knew it in that moment when you saw the guilty expression on his face. "Oh my god.." You painfully choked out, your hand coming to cover your mouth as fresh tears slipped down your face, now from sadness and grief rather than physical pain.

He immediately cut the cord, then called for Gibbs, whispering something that you didn't hear to him, handing him your dead child. "No.. No!" You cried, but Jack quickly shushed you.

"I know, I know, I know. It's okay. I'm right here, we'll be okay. You still have me." He whispered, his own eyes getting teary. Jack never cried, but how could he not cry at this situation? At the loss of your child? Gibbs quickly walked away, and you didn't even want to think about what would happen to the body of what was supposed to be your child.

"Jack.. Hold me. Please Jackie." You cried.

And he did. He held you, cried with you. He cleaned you up, helped you birth the placenta. Gibbs helped here and there, more with getting rid of the placenta, the cloth Jack used to clean you up. He couldn't leave your side for one second as he put your trousers back on, carrying you back to the bed.

It didn't take long for everyone to understand what happened, giving the fact there was a lack of a baby bump on you, but no chubby baby in your arms.

┆𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐈𝐈┆

𝐀/𝐍 This was originally supposed to be a drabble but I got a little too into it. Oops. I cannot pay for anyone's therapy, so good luck with that

🌺 taglist: @amy-fontaine @littlerobbinphantomhive19 @needz1nk @kittenlittle24 @ghsttk

♡ add yourself to my taglist here

[indecisiveoverthinking]

I like to think the player has a small picture of them and their child(ren) in their pocket and pull it out to keep them going after a battle or when they get to a new floor. I wonder how the mascots would react to them doing that or if it fell out during a battle that let them get a glimpse of it, the player looking so happy while holding their just as happy child(ren), before they hastily snatched it back up as if on instinct.

I had the same thought as well!

Banban

He already knew that the player is here for their child(ren), and it was no surprise when he saw them looking at a picture of them and their child(ren). Despite everything that had happened between the two, he tries his best to help.

He would offer the player words of encouragement, as well as to remind them that he'll help no matter what. He'd also mention the picture, and if possible, he'd like to take a look at it. No, he won't take it from them. He's a trustworthy mascot.

Nabnab

The spider mascot probably had no idea why they're here, but after accidentally spotting them looking at the picture, he probably felt their loneliness. As an attempt to comfort them, he just crawls over and gives them a pat on the shoulder.

He had seen people doing it before, so he thought it was the best way to comfort them. At least he tried.

Banbaleena

For Banbaleena, I'm sure that she probably overheard the player's conversation between Banban about their child(ren). She's quite surprised about it.

I think she'd comfort the player and give them the warmest hugs, as well as not to talk about the said picture. She was sure that they'd be uncomfortable if mentioned.

Also, she'd give Banban a punch because she thought that one of the best ways to comfort someone is to give them hugs and NOT to bring up a sensitive topic.

Queen Bouncelia

Although Queen Bouncelia just met the player not too long ago, she knew why they're here. And like Banbaleena, she won't bring up about the picture, knowing it's a sensitive topic. She has many questions, yes, but won't ask them.

The least she could do was to wish them luck in finding their child(ren) and to be safe. She'd be rooting for them.

Stinger Flynn

This jellyfish will bring up the picture. What do ya expect from him? He told them to leave while they still could, yet they didn't listen. And of course, he'd tell them it's their fault, should've leave and bla bla bla, all that. He will not sugarcoat the situation either. Accept the harsh truth.

But despite all that, he'd do small things to help the player ease their stress. Lost their key card? He would simply hand the said key card because he found it nearby. Sleeping? He'll drape a blanket over the player. Tired? Like the game, he makes them fall asleep(so they can have enough energy to survive the next floor).

Sheriff Toadster

When Toadster saw the player looking at the picture of them and their child(ren), it reminded him when he was thrown down to the 4th floor. They were both lonely.

He knew it was unhealthy to bottle emotions, so he did a rational thing anyone could've done. He hugs them. Even if the player fights back, he'd keep them in his embrace. He wants them to spill all their bottled up frustration and worry. He did it before and knew it would work. And before he even knew it, the player had stopped and hugged him back while crying.

Bittergiggle

I would think that he's the type to try and make the player feel better by doing something funny and entertaining. Like Banbaleena and Queen Bouncelia, he knew it was a sensitive topic, and it would make them uncomfortable if he ever mentioned about the picture.

He'd try his best to make the player happy, even if it's just a bit. He'll do funny tricks, like making his snake lip sync to his talking, or even do those magic tricks kids know. Sometimes, when he finds something, he hands it to the player. Like candy, instant noodles(most of them are likely to have expired), or things that reminded them of the player( a toy or probably a drawing he did).

Unfortunately, I didn't really have many ideas for the other characters in the game, I apologise for that. I'm not the best at explaining either, and I apologise for that as well :<

[mayzi33]

So. Sonic Dream Team. I just watched the cutscenes and I have SO MUCH to talk about. Let's just dive right into it no intros

First of all, this little moment.

Cream runs off to fight a boss, and the others can't follow her. Of course, Amy immediatly gets worried, but Sonic calms her down saying that Cream can do this, and that "she's growing up on us fast".

Now, doesn't that sound familiar?

Of course Sonic is gonna tell Amy something like that, because he knows what it's like first hand with Tails. He knows what it's like to be worried about your younger friend, but you still gotta believe in them and let them fight their own battles. I love this so much.

Now, I'm not sure if Dream Team a part of the Sonic mainline or not, but if is, I want to think it takes place wayyyy after Frontiers, after Tails, Knuckles and Amy came back from their solo journeys perhaps? I don't know how to explain, maybe it's just Ian Flynn doing his magic again, but the characters just feel so much more mature but still the same they've always been you know? Just- better. Whatever the case, let me be delusional and have the reassurance that Team Sonic will reunite after their solo journeys okay thank you very much.

Now, let's talk about Knuckles.

Something I noticed in the cutscenes, is that Knuckles doesn't mention the Master Emerald, or about coming back to his island at all. He doesn't complain about being "dragged into this" and having more "important stuff to do". I'd like to think that this time, whatever happened to get this group reunited and look for Cream, Knuckles didn't tag along on accident or because he was forced to somehow. He tagged along because he genuely wanted to help look for Cream and save the world from Eggman again. That he genuely wanted to go on this adventure with this friends. And I love how he says "Now we can help protect Ariem too. That's what guardians are for, right?" Again, he doesn't mention the Master Emerald, Knuckles just said himself that as a guardian, his duty can be to protect anyone, not just the big shiny rock. That alone, shows Knuckles' growth a lot to me. He's protective over the E.M, but that's not all his character is about. He's protective over other people. He's protective over his friends. He's protective period. Because that's a part of his personality, of how Knuckles is. He's actually a person, not a machine that cares about nothing other than his duty.

And then, this little moment.

Again, he doesn't mention the E.M or his duty, but you don't have to be a genius to know that that's what he's thinking about. He understands Ariem more than anyone in the room. He admires her for taking her duty so seriously.

That's another reason why I want to think this takes place after Frontiers. Knuckles still thinks about his duty and takes it seriously, but still cares about other things, like protecting others and helping his friends in adventures, unlike other Sonic contents where he's just stuck on his island all the time. (Cough cough IDW cough cough)

Now, a little on Tails.

I love this little moment. Sonic checking up on his little bro, asking if he's okay, which he immediatly responds to "you know me!" As if, "Yeah, you know I can take it." Like Amy and Cream, Sonic still worries and cares about Tails, but also believes in him.

And then this little moment, if you choose to go with Tails instead of Cream to the boss fight.

Eggman uses his usual taunting, and Tails' confident and challenging response made me be on the edge of my seat. Another reason why I want to believe this takes place after Frontiers, is just that Tails sounds way more confident on himself.

And as he says, "Don't underestimate me, Eggman!"

Eggman himself responds with, "Oh, I won't."

He could've easily gone for another taunting, but then he simply decides not to and admits he won't be stupid to underestimate Tails, and tells his machines to go on full power or whatever. Reminds me of a moment when Eggman complimeted Tails in Frontiers Final Horizon saying "You're turning out quite formidable, Tails." I mean like?? You know you're crushing it when the villain himself admits it.

And I love how through the game, the gang keeps turning to Tails for answers. I didn't even screenshot it because there are just SO many moments where the gang goes: "Tails! Is there anything you can do?" "Tails, you're super smart, is there something you can do?" "Tails, what do we do?"

Which Tails also has a response to. Even if he doesn't know for sure, he always comes up with a plan for them to proceed, which the gang follows with no question. "Buy Tails some time!"

And obviously, I won't even get started on how they gave Cream so much importance. I feel like everyone pointed it out already, so I wanted to make this post mainly to point out things I noticed about our classic gang, Amy, Knuckles and Tails.

Hope yall enjoyed this rambling.

[kaycode1999]

I wanted to request some head cannons or drabbles for Sun Wukong(LMK) x daughter_of_buddha!reader or just like female_gojo!reader. [ romantically ]

I think it might be funny to see how they interact since neither cares much for rules or gods. Not to mention with the whole buddha putting the golden headband on Sun Wukong thing. Ngl, I feel like they would only meet because of monkie kid( but you can make it so that they knew each other before him).Like reader is a big sister figure for MK. If they do meet and realize who the other is, I think they would fight/spar immediately and it would end up in a tie. IDK

To start off, I think the relationship would be some mix between like Flynn Rider and Rapunzel or Jake Peralta and Amy Santiago.

I do see this going one of two ways though

1.

In the case of the character being a daughter of Buddha, I kind of think Wukong would initially transfer his negative feelings toward Buddha/Sangzang putting the pain crown on him and trapping him in insolation for 500 years onto her and similarly he would assume she is stuck up, unfeeling and snobby ( high and mighty- that kind of thing). So he'd intentionally be a teasing nuisance to her until he eventually comes to his senses and/or realizes that isn't the case.

He and the daughter of Buddha are more snarky with each other than being violent because she loves MK and feels like Wukong will not protect him and be a bad influence. Eventually the two start bonding/finding common ground over not caring about any of the celestial B.S. And shared care for MK

When he does realize she isn't what he thought, he starts to notice some weird things happening. Suddenly he finds himself getting distracted thinking about her, staring at her absent-mindedly whenever she's around, wanting to be around her, and just generally being nicer than he usually is to her and he doesn't know why

She fell first - he fell harder

The worst is when she brings her new boyfriend around. Wukong doesn't understand why but whenever he sees the guy it’s ON SIGHT.

He doesn't actually do anything but the person just makes his blood boil and anyone who knows him well enough can tell whenever the guy is around he gets quiet and pouty like a child

MK is the one who has to explain to him that what he's feeling is jealousy and that he has feelings for Buddha’s daughter

Of course he denies it. And denies it. And denies it. And denies it

That is, until she gets hurt either physically or emotionally. Seeing her in any pain would cause him to realize his feelings, and it sucks because he wants to eviscerate whatever caused it but he might not be able to depending on the circumstances. But if he CAN do something about it, believe me he’ll tear whoever or whatever hurt her to shreds

He doesn't easily admit his feelings but he does eventually

Or

#2

The daughter of Buddha’s character dislikes Wukong because of his past and instantly threatens him out of fear for MK’s safety and Wukong is instantly in love because he sees her as strong and beautiful

*basically this*

Wukong constantly shamelessly and blatantly flirts with her who in turn makes it clear she dislikes him

That is, until she spends more time around him and sees how much he truly cares for MK and also gets to know him better

All of a sudden she starts noticing how attractive he is and though he does have flaws he does have a nice personality

*he fell first- she fell harder*

She is very pissed to realize she’s fallen for the monkey king at first. However, she can't keep from acting different around him because she's nervous about him finding out and he picks up on this immediately

Initially, he worries he's done something wrong or overstepped some boundary he was unaware of and so he asks about it

She denies anything being different and doesn't want to say anything to him because she believes he doesn't truly feel anything special towards her- surely he flirts with any girl he sees right?

He lets it go for a while until he can't stand it anymore and confronts her about it and that's how her feelings come out

I might do actual fanfics about this in the future but for now I just wanted to do the head cannons

P.S. Thank you! This was super fun 😊

[constellationcrowned]

((It's almost funny that the constellation associated with Flynn is a legitimate death trap when he himself is ensnared. Also the fact that both Kariom and Flynn are ensnared (not to mention slowly but surely being destroyed) by both external and internal forces, most of which (but not all) are far beyond their control.))

[bumblekastclips]

KYLE CROUSE: We’re back, and we’ve got a question from Sockerkott! “I work as a forklift driver transporting large domestic appliances like Refrigerators, Microwave ovens, Washing machines and dryers. How would various Sonic characters each handle that job?”

IAN FLYNN: Uh, Sonic doesn’t have the patience for that kind of deliberate maneuverability. Tails is fine. In fact, he’ll figure out a way to automate it, if he hasn’t already. KYLE: Yeah. IAN: Amy… I think she’d get a handle on it. She’d be alright. Knuckles? Do not trust him with that, nothing will be intact by the end of it. He’ll just get frustrated with it and pick it up and put it there himself. And Eggman, we already know he’s certified. KYLE: Yes. [reading chat] Silver thinks the forklift is stupid, because he just… [laughs] all he has to do is just think about lifting a thing up, and it goes up! It’s like, “I don’t need that!” IAN:[chuckles at the thought, then smugly, as Silver] “Oh, you need a machine to lift things! How quaint.” KYLE: [still laughing] Yeah, pretty much! IAN: He’s like, flexing as everything flies into place. [as Silver] “That one goes over there, and that one goes over there… oooh, done in record time!” KYLE: Yes! Yeah, pretty much! [laughing] IAN: Careful, Silver, you’re starting to sound like Randy Savage, there. KYLE: T-Tang— [laughs] Yeah! Tangle’s trying to use, uh, her tail to stabilize something on the forklift. [losing composure laughing at the thought] It’s not working! Oh no! IAN: [as Silver] “No, guys, guys, guys, she can totally lift it all the way to the top! She just needs to stabilize it a little bit! Trust me! This’ll— she can put stuff even higher! You’ll see, you’ll see, you’ll see! Oop…” KYLE: And there goes. [chuckles] Oh, boy. IAN: But don’t worry, Silver catches it as it falls over. KYLE: Of course. IAN: [smugly, as Silver] “Oops! Did you drop something? Don’t worry… I caught it.” KYLE: [laughing] Pretty much! … Oh, darn, it could’ve dropped on Starline! What the heck?! [both laugh] IAN: [as Starline] “I wasn’t even doing anything evil this time! Come on, now!” KYLE: Starline, you’re always doing something evil! IAN: [as Starline] “True, true.” KYLE: [laughing] After all, a forklift is an efficient way of killing. Forklift simulator… guess I’ll see you later! —– TRANSCRIBER’S NOTE: Please remember that nothing that is said on BumbleKast is canon! It’s just some guys and their opinions occasionally spitballing ideas. If you don’t like an answer, you don’t have to take it as Word of God or anything like that. It’s all just for fun!

[evecolourshock]

@smellslikejail continuing from here in case you're not interested, do you mind experimenting with interactions between two Sams?

Sam winced at the dead weight of several kilobytes of Program landing on top of him. He lay back for a moment, winded, then tried to shift Eve off him. She lay unresponsive, circuits dim. Why-

He took a shaky breath. An energy surge at the Beacon, him in the critical part of transport. Eve, by far faster than Tron if she needed to be, grabbing his disc from the air and pushing him out of the bolt of raw power's path. The Beacon malfunctioning despite the emergency stop protocols.

Darkness. Falling. Digitizing and re-rezzing over and over again.

And then here. A Grid on fire.

Gold circuits flashed in his vision, and he flicked on that camouflage subroutine Tron had bullied him into adding to his Gridsuit. That was Clu. And Flynn, battling each other, heedless of the destruction they were causing.

But that was impossible. Clu was with Alan, slowly unlearning a runtime's worth of poor decisions made with the best of intentions, and Flynn - his dad - was put in an isolated Grid, unable to be brought back analogue and drifting in and out of fantasy. Thinking of it as his dad being in a kind of nursing home helped, but not much.

Some rubble fell way too close, and Sam put the impossibility of the situation out of his mind. Survive first, then worry about what was going on and how to get home.

He scrambled up, hoisting Eve onto his back - thankful Programs tended to be lighter than humans - and joined the crowd fleeing the area. He ducked into some kind of secure facility, still standing and clearly heavily fortified, but was still close enough to hear Flynn yell his name and how Clu had murdered his son. Sam shuddered, then nearly dropped Eve in horror as he saw the tell-tale white glow of attempted reintegration.

If it succeeded...

This facility was not going to survive, and neither would anyone in it.

Screw the whole... apparent war over who was right or wrong, and any potential consequences, he was getting everyone out now.

[taryk]

“What the fuck did this damn crown prince manage to do in a day?”

It was when Cale shouted in anger.

Beeeeeep- Beeeeeeep-

There were constant emergency calls inside the tent.

“Human! We have another call!”

Raon started to read the messages left on the video communication device.

“Cale! It’s Toonka! Are you really dead? No, right? Pick up the call!”

The black Dragon read the messages without stopping.

“Young master-nim, it’s Billos. I heard this weird rumor... You're alive right? I’m worried because I can’t reach you.”

The Whipper Kingdom's Commander Toonka and then the Flynn Merchant Guild’s Billos, who should be in the Empire.

“Young master-nim! My goodness! I threatened the God of Death and said nothing better have happened to you! You're okay, right, young master Cale? Please give me a call if you are fine. It must be a lie that you are dead!”

And even the crazy priestess Cage.

He received a few more calls after that as well. The one that Cale couldn't believe the most was the message from his father, Count Deruth Henituse.

“Pretending to be dead, huh. I will cheer you on. I will also help you.”

Cale brushed his face with both hands.

‘Why am I dead?!’

“Human! We keep getting calls!”

‘Driving me nuts.’

Cale could see Raon tilting his head in confusion.

“Our human is still alive! Why are people saying all these weird things?!”

Raon then chuckled as if it was funny. The ancient Dragon was chuckling next to him as well.

The frowning Cale finally managed to get something out.

“...The crown prince.”

‘What the fuck did he do in one day?’

Chapter 317 - Alberu spread certain news that Cale thinks was very exaggerated, and now everyone thinks he is dead lmao

[obsidianimagines]

Just Like Old Times

Sam surprises you with a visit to the newly restored Flynn's Arcade.

Sam Flynn x gn!Bradley!reader

Warnings: None

Notes: This is my first Sam imagine. It's connected to some other imagines that are coming up, I just wanted to do this one first because it's cute. Reader is Alan and Lora's kid, but could easily be adopted if that works better for you! Enjoy ☺️

"You busy tonight?"

"Yeah, a little bit." Looking up at the home screen of your Wii, you smirked. "I've got a date with a little Italian plumber."

Sam chuckled from the other end of the phone. "Can Princess Peach wait a little longer to be rescued?"

"I don't know," you sighed, already shutting off the system and your television. "What do you have in mind?"

"Still got your helmet?"

Back when the two of you were still dating, and even before that, Sam used to take you out on his Ducati all the time. He'd gotten you your own helmet because even though he drove much more cautiously with you on the back, he still wanted you to be as safe as possible. "I think it's around here somewhere," you replied, trying not to betray that you still knew exactly where it was.

"See you in ten minutes." His motorcycle revved loudly before he hung up the phone.

Grinning, you jumped up from the couch and rushed to your closet to search for something other than the sweatpants and loose shirt you'd been wearing since you got home. Since you didn't have much time, you settled on a t-shirt and jeans look, and a hoodie on top to protect you from the wind. It wasn't like it was a date, so casual was just fine.

You took a minute to dig the old helmet out of the back of the closet, and you smiled at the sight of it. Sam had it painted in your favorite color, with a golden Triforce on the back. It brought back a lot of good memories.

With only a few minutes left, you fixed yourself up in the bathroom mirror and finally left to meet Sam.

You noticed him the moment you stepped out of the entrance to your apartment building. He sat on his bike, helmet off and resting in front of him. You tried to ignore the striking blue of his eyes and how the glow of the street lights played on his dirty blond hair.

Sam smiled when he saw you approaching. "You look great."

"I didn't keep you waiting too long, did I?" you asked as you took the spot behind him, avoiding the compliment.

"Don't worry, I only just got here." He put his helmet back on, and you did the same for the first time in years.

You wrapped your arms around his middle, instantly feeling right at home. This was getting a little too dangerous already. "Gonna tell me where we're going?"

"You'll see."

Sam started the bike back up and took off, smirking as he felt you hold on a little tighter. Riding with you was one of the many things that he'd missed. He remembered the first time he'd taken you out for a ride, back when you were both 15. Alan wasn't happy about it afterward, but your father's protests didn't keep you from regularly ending up on the back of his bike.

You rested your head against his back and closed your eyes, feeling the rushing wind and the rumble of the street beneath you. If anyone else were driving that motorcycle, you would've avoided it like the plague. But you trusted Sam with your safety, and with your life. There was no question about it.

Remembering that made it that much harder to stick to the idea of starting over again as friends. Spending more and more time with him had you craving it all, even though he'd broken your heart when he ended your relationship. Circumstances were much different than before, but you didn't want to jump into things. You wanted to take it slow for as long as you could manage, and thankfully, Sam had understood that.

You weren't sure exactly how much time had passed when Sam finally came to a stop and turned off the engine. "Here we are."

Pulling your helmet off, your eyes went right to the huge glowing sign that read FLYNN'S. You hadn't seen it lit up since you were six. Even the Tron billboard up top looked exactly the same, not faded and worn. "Whoa."

"You should see the inside," he said, taking off his helmet and standing up, placing it on the seat. "Come on."

You followed his lead, watching as he unlocked the door and opened it up to let you inside. The place was almost pitch black as you stepped in, the outlines of some of the arcade cabinets barely visible. "I can't see much of anything like this."

Sam walked further into the arcade. "Wait there."

Shoving your hands into your hoodie pocket, you did just as he said, and moments later, heard the flipping of a few switches.

After 20 years of abandonment, you'd expected the place to look dilapidated, covered in a thick layer of dust. But no, once everything turned on, Flynn's looked just the way it had in 1989. Neon signs on the walls, the arcade cabinets flashing with idle animations, and the jukebox blasting pure 80's nostalgia. Tears pricked at your eyes, and you couldn't help the huge grin on your face.

For a moment, you were six years old again.

Sam smiled as he watched you take the place in, the awe on your face making him feel even more pride. It'd been a long time since he'd seen you so happy.

He came to stand beside you, only adding to that feeling of nostalgia. "I hired some people to clean the place up and get the cabinets in working order. Grand opening's in about two weeks."

"Dad said you mentioned doing something with the arcade, but I wasn't expecting this."

Passing by the neglected arcade had always stung a bit. There were so many days where your parents would bring you and Jet by, and you and Sam would play games with his father. Then Kevin Flynn disappeared, and the place was shuttered, remaining only in your memories until that night.

"It just felt like the right thing to do." Like taking back ENCOM and actually doing something with his life. Like reconnecting with you.

"How many hours do you think we spent trying to beat your dad's high scores?"

Sam glimpsed the leaderboard on a nearby cabinet, his father's initials still firmly at the top. "Nowhere near enough."

You walked further into the arcade, Sam trailing behind. "So did you bring quarters, or are you just being a tease?"

"Me? A tease? Never."

A loud laugh left you as you made your way over to Space Paranoids, and Sam headed off to fetch the coins he'd prepared. You fiddled with the buttons, getting a bit of a feel for it again. You'd played some arcade games off and on in the last two decades, but Space Paranoids was not one of them. Hopefully, you weren't too rusty.

Sam returned, holding a cup full to the brim with quarters. "Now that's what I'm talking about!" You slid one coin into the machine and got into position.

Sam's heart grew warmer as he watched you play. You'd always been at your most adorable when you were singularly focused, your eyebrows furrowed and tongue poking out from between your lips. It took everything he had not to kiss you right then and there.

"Come on, come on, come on," you mumbled, shooting at the Recognizer. This was the last stretch, and while you surely wouldn't beat Flynn's score, you still wanted to do your best and show off a bit. Once the final enemy was destroyed, you didn't quite make it on the leaderboard, but to be fair, you did have some stiff competition.

You moved back from the cabinet and nodded towards it. "Your turn."

"No, thanks. This one's a bit too real for me now."

Sam had told you about 'The Grid' and how he'd found his dad and Quorra there. Apparently, Kevin Flynn had succeeded in his dream of a digital frontier and ended up trapped there, in a world much like the Tron game in the back of the arcade. He'd told Sam stories about it as a kid–which Sam had relayed back to you a few times–but they were just stories, right?

You bumped your shoulder into his playfully. "I think you're just scared you won't do as well as I did."

And though you'd met and already adored Quorra, the idea of her being a program living in the real world seemed completely impossible.

Part of you wondered if Sam might have been concussed while base jumping off ENCOM Tower, or maybe just had a bad acid trip or something. But whether or not an adventure on The Grid really did happen, you were just glad that it triggered something in him. Everyone who knew him could see how much better he was doing already.

He would be the first to admit that you were better at most video games than he was, given that you continued to play them regularly into your teens and adulthood, but he stepped into the open space anyway. "Alright, I'll give it a try," he said with a laugh, putting a quarter into the machine.

"Don't forget, it's all in the wrist."

"Man, that was the most fun I've had in a long time."

"Happy to help." Sam smiled, his arm casually resting over the back of your seat. After playing every game in the arcade, the two of you had decided to hang out in his dad's old office for a while. And he might have had an ulterior motive in getting you away from the loud music downstairs. "Not to ruin the mood, but I wanted to talk to you about something while we're here."

You placed your drink on the coffee table. "Uh oh. Should I be worried?"

"It's not bad, I promise." Sam ran a hand back through his hair, almost nervous. Would this be too much too fast? "Alan told me that you tried pitching a new games division a while back."

You'd talked about it off and on for years, but he'd had no idea that you'd actually brought it to the board until he began looking into more ways to change ENCOM for the better. Among other ideas proposed by employees, your father had informed Sam of yours, and he knew that it hadn't gone well.

"Oh, that?" There was a tinge of sadness that you couldn't hide from him, even though you tried to act nonchalant. "They practically laughed me out of the meeting. Told me that ENCOM Games went out the window a long time ago."

"Well, the new CEO happens to think it's a great idea." You could see the serious glint in his eyes as he continued. "I want you to be the head of game development for ENCOM."

In spite of the sincerity in his expression and tone, you laughed. "What?"

"We both know that operating systems aren't your passion. You got into programming to make games."

"Yeah, but I thought you were focusing on medical technology and research." He'd told you about ISOs, and how Quorra was one herself. How her DNA could change the world.

"ENCOM's a big company." Sam put his arm around your shoulder and gestured his other hand out in front of the two of you. "Come on, just picture it. An office that's not the size of a closet, with a great view of Center City. The power to make the games you've always wanted without having to answer to anyone. Except for me, technically, but I trust you completely."

Over the years, you'd showed Sam so many ideas and sketches for games that you wanted to make some day. Some fully fleshed out, others just interesting bits and pieces that you could expand on later. You had notebooks full of them, but you hadn't looked at any since the board shot you down. Sam knew better than anyone how much it all meant to you.

"I got on at ENCOM because I hoped things would eventually go back to how they were before. Over the years, it became more and more apparent that it wasn't happening. Then my pitch went to hell, and I gave up. I decided it was time to go and do what I've always wanted. But I was wrong. You're finally making ENCOM better, and I'd like to help you do it."

Sam needed all the help he could get, and he knew it. Thankfully, he had people he could trust. "We'll get you moved into your new office tomorrow."

He already had an office, which meant he must have already had space reserved for a new department, which meant..."You just assumed I'd say yes?"

"More like hoped."

"You almost missed your chance, you know. I was so close to being hired by Nintendo."

The idea that you were planning to leave Center City, especially now that you were in his life again, made his stomach drop. But if anyone deserved the chance to follow their dreams, it was you. He couldn't blame you for having written off a future at ENCOM. "...They would've been lucky to have you."

"I know," you replied with a shrug. "But now you're the one who's lucky to have me."

"That's old news."

Sam's bright blue eyes bore into yours, and you found yourself leaning in just a bit. His arm still rested around your shoulders, his fingertips brushing your arm and making your skin tingle even through the fabric. You glanced at his lips for a moment, and he started to move in to meet you. You could still remember the feeling of his mouth on yours as he held you impossibly close, making your heart pound in your chest every time.

The thumping drums of Separate Ways started up in the arcade, and you managed to break out of the spell. "We still had some quarters, right? We should go use them up."

Sam let out a breathy chuckle. "Yeah, that's a good idea." He would've been more than happy to stay up on that couch kissing you, but you obviously weren't ready for that, and he would never push it.

So, he gladly went back downstairs and played more games with you, just like old times.