#believe it or not this comic was actually quite spontaneous

[2aceofspades]

Holding you to it

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Lil time skip from the previous update..| Next

[thestarlightforge]

“Darkhold” Hanging Plot Thread

I used to think the “dark magic” Agatha had supposedly been studying when Evanora tried to have her executed was the Darkhold—perhaps to try and learn how to control her succubus powers, which I do believe she couldn’t control in the beginning (much like Wanda and Billy at first). Now, it seems like there’s no way that timing can be true, for several reasons.

It’s unclear if Rio and Agatha continued some toxic version of their relationship while Agatha was on her post-Nicky killing spree, but Rio said the Darkhold had hidden Agatha from her—and they were in genuine love for quite a while after Agatha’s Salem trial (at least up until Nicky’s birth).

Evanora believed Agatha was “evil from the moment [she] left [her] body,” so it probably wasn’t anything Agatha had done that prompted the attempted execution.

She clearly didn’t trade Nicky for the Darkhold… “No, Billy. Sometimes, boys just die.”

It seems like the “horrible truth” she couldn’t face was that even after Nicky died and she didn’t have to protect him anymore (feeding Death those bodies to stave off his demise), she kept using Nicky and her song to kill all those witches.

In WandaVision, when Billy and Tommy ask Wanda to bring Sparky back to life, it’s clearer than ever that Agatha is there investigating the Scarlet Witch because she wants to use her rumored power to actually do spontaneous creation—when she made Nicky “from scratch,” she had to keep feeding him bodies/souls to stave off his Death, but Wanda actually can best Death and has powers of creation that don’t require an equivalent exchange.

I feel like there are a couple fairly plausible explanations.

Agatha found the Darkhold and it led her to Wanda—which could mean she acquired it fairly recently. (This would be an interesting twist that opens it up for Rio & Agatha to have continued being in contact for those hundreds of years, even if toxically, and would assert her serial witch killing really was out of grief/a substance abuse metaphor. I think this is actually more likely, or else she may have found an ancestor of the Scarlet Witch, and it’s unclear if that’s a thing in the MCU—the degree to which Wanda was created by the Mind Stone vs. inheriting her powers matrilineally as a kind of Blood Witch, like Alice & as in Scarlet Witch comics.)

Going off this “Book of the Damned” motif— Agatha got it sometime after Nicky’s death, and it promised her Nicky’s resurrection in exchange for the souls of the witches she killed, i.e. damning them. (This would potentially mean she hasn’t seen Rio in a much longer time, strengthen the Darkhold/drugs metaphor MoM lightly explored, and assert it could have been corrupting her for decades—but I honestly believe it’s less likely.)

I don’t know what the magic was that Agatha was sniffing around in when Evanora tried to have her killed, but I’m almost sure it wasn’t the Darkhold, now—or if it was, she had the Darkhold briefly and then lost it for a good while. But regardless, it seems that she—like Wanda—was trying to use it to get her kid back, one way or another (by feeding it or by using it to find Wanda). And as Rio said…

“It seems like there’s a story there.

[georgefairbrother]

Porn Yesterday was a 1974 episode of Steptoe and Son, from the final series. Harold (Harry H Corbett) picks up an antique ‘What the Butler Saw’ machine on his rounds and brings it home to Oil Drum Lane. He is delightedly running the images of vintage pornography through the viewfinder, until he recognises his father featuring in a scene that also involved a woman and bath full of milk. Suddenly it’s not quite as much fun, and Harold is worried that any scandal might affect his already faltering chances of getting into the golf club.

"What my poor mother must have gone through. She didn’t know about this, did she?"

“Course she did, that was her sister in the bath.”

“Auntie Rose???”

“They were desperate times. Everything we had was in pawn.”

“So were you!”

Although being played largely for broad comedy with some great one-liners, the writers, Ray Galton and Alan Simpson, could still bring out some intense dramatic performances with rapid changes in mood, a technique later used to great effect by John Sullivan in Only Fools and Horses.

Addressing Harold’s disgust, Albert Steptoe (Wilfrid Brambell) recalls the economic conditions of the time, the poverty and starvation, and how desperate young people were being exploited and misled with the offer of a fiver for being in what they believed would be legitimate films to be shown at the Gaumont. At times, the studio audience seems at a loss as to how to react. When Albert is reduced to tears, there is a brief laugh. The audience also laughs when Albert relates that poor Auntie Rose had died of pneumonia two weeks after being immersed in the milk bath.

There’s a happy ending; a deal is done with the local Vicar to make the machine available for the church jumble sale and split the profits. Albert becomes a celebrity in the parish, signing autographs for which the Vicar cheerfully charges two shillings each for church funds.

Steptoe and Son came about as a result of Galton and Simpson being offered a series of  ten 30 minute slots for the BBC’s anthology, Comedy Playhouse, with total creative freedom. One episode, The Offer (1962), featured father and son rag and bone men, and was innovative in that actors, rather than variety comics, were cast in the principal roles. Harry H Corbett, at that point seen as a serious dramatic actor with enormous promise, surprised and delighted Galton and Simpson with his interpretation of his role, especially crying real, hopeless tears at the end.

Steptoe and Son ran from 1962-65 and then again 1970-74; a total of 57 episodes. During the early run of the series, Harry H Corbett and Wilfrid Brambell were such big stars they co-headlined the 1963 Royal Variety Performance with the Beatles.

One of the interesting things to note about the series is the intensity of the acting through long, dialogue-heavy scenes, and with very few detectable mistakes. Retakes were frowned upon in those days due to the expense, and so as not to ruin spontaneity with the studio audience. It’s interesting to compare with Dad’s Army, for example, which retains obvious dialogue stumbles, continuity mistakes and goofs right the way through.

It’s also interesting to imagine Steptoe and Son without the audience laughter. (We get some idea from the feature films). Albert takes vindictive delight in derailing any attempts by Harold to live a life of his own, while Albert is, at times, cowering in fear in the face of Harold’s potentially violent temper. The comedic aspects aside, it would actually make a dark, confronting and occasionally frightening kitchen sink family drama.

It was reported that, at the 1964 general election, Labour Leader Harold Wilson attempted to have the Thursday evening screening of Steptoe rescheduled, concerned that potential Labour voters would be staying home to watch it, rather than coming out to vote. The BBC did not change their programming, and Labour won with a four seat majority.

[golden--doodler]

Looook, it's me with another ask! Okay okay, three headcanons for each Belcher, go :D!

Headcanons about all of the Belchers from Moi? You keep spoiling me with these perfect, perfect asks!!! 😭

Okay, let's start with Bob. Talking more about Bob makes me so happy because I'm still sad about not including him as one of my favorite Belchers (Linda and Gene just called to me too strongly, though).

1.) This ties into my AU, but his hatred of Jimmy Pesto began when Jimmy Pesto made a snide remark about Linda, something he's never been able to let go of ever since. He definitely hyper-fixates on their rivalry, I think it's gotten to the point where he's even more invested than Jimmy himself. Jimmy doesn't even remember what he said, but Bob will never forget.

2.) While he will never pick favorites out of his kids, of course, his favorite kid when they were a baby was actually Gene, believe it or not. While it was a close second with Tina because she was so quiet and good, Gene was just such a wild baby that he actually found it quite entertaining. While there were some moments where that ended up making him extremely stressed (like when Gene ate a fern) his antics always made Bob laugh more than he'd care to admit. It kind of reminded him why he loved parenting in the first place.

3.) Whenever Bob becomes too stressed out or overstimulated, his favorite thing to do is to hide in the employee bathroom and read something while Linda and the kids take care of everything. We already know from "Ancient Misbehavin'" that Linda loves it whenever he reads, so she supports this wholeheartedly.

Onto Linda now! :D

1.) I touched on this in my comic prologue I posted a while back, but Linda and Gayle occasionally got taken to the beach when they were kids if Gloria had some sort of work business to take care of around there. They always loved it there and would always try to look for shells so they could hear the ocean, even though they were already at the beach and could already hear the ocean very well.

2.) She was actually not as much of a social butterfly during her school years as one might believe. She did find her crowd, especially Ginger, but a lot of people, unfortunately, thought she was too much, and didn't like it if she spontaneously burst into song or rambled about something she enjoyed. She also used to get teased a bit about her braces. This is why she related to Tina during "These Boots Are Made For Stalking" and had that whole speech about how Tina wasn't the only one who wanted to change herself to be seen as cool. These experiences actually led her to be a bit nervous about rambling in front of Bob when they first started dating, but he loves it whenever she goes off on her tangents, so she's very easily excitable in the present.

3.) Linda is the reason that they all know Teddy! This was before the kids were even born, and their sink was having major issues. She tried calling a couple of handymen other than Teddy, but none of them were available. She eventually found him, and he came over and was immediately won over by her presence. After he was done, he revealed that he hadn't eaten all day yet, and she had Bob make him a burger. The rest is history.

Now for my precious, awkward baby girl Tina.

1.) She's been doing her signature groaning for as long as she could remember. It's always been her way of (to quote Sadness from "Inside Out") "slowing down and obsessing over the weight of life's problems". She heard Bob making a similar noise when he was upset and she copied it. It just kind of stuck from then on.

2.) She's known Jimmy Jr. for a very, very long time, basically since they were in preschool. When they first met, he was really upset about being by himself, so she went up to him and asked him to play blocks with her. He agreed, and it got his mind off his homesickness. He still remembers that day, though if asked, he will deny it. Tina treasures that memory a lot.

3.) Her first boy crush was actually on a member of Boyz 4 Now, much like Louise. She's known about the band for a long time, and the first time she stumbled across them, she was completely enthralled by Griffin. She hasn't stopped loving this band and boys ever since that day. Griffin is still her favorite member.

It's Gene time!

1.) The first piece of music Gene ever made on his keyboard was abysmally bad (to be fair, he was very young when he first got it) but his family, especially Linda, acted as if it was incredible and the best thing in the world. This boosted his confidence enough to continue playing around with his keyboard and realize how much he enjoyed creating music, and he got a lot better! It says a lot when he was able to eventually make things like "Electric Love" and "Work Hard or Die Trying, Girl".

2.) He actually really enjoys movies, a trait he got from Bob. It's why he was so excited to stage a "Die Hard" musical in the first place and why he got excited about that one Western movie during the first season, and why he keeps making random film references (like when he said "you can't handle the tooth" in the movie). He's actually wondered if having a career doing film scores would be fun, but he's still pretty deadset on wanting to be in some sort of band because he loves "The Itty Bitty Ditty Committee" so much.

3.) He enjoys putting on dresses a lot and used to wear Linda's, but they're way too big on him. Now, he tries wearing some of Tina's, though they are still slightly large on him. He thinks they're way prettier and more comfortable than men's formal wear, and they give him gender euphoria :D However, he has yet to wear any in public. His favorite feminine thing to wear are ballet outfits, and he apparently canonically used to take ballet lessons at some point.

Last but certainly not least, Louise!

1.) Louise actually respects Linda, more than she will ever admit. She's super curious about Linda's early years, especially because how Linda has said that she did things like set fires. Louise desperately wants to hear more context behind these random anecdotes. She also admittedly thinks it's pretty cool how Linda sprung her out of detention for ice cream that one time.

2.) She met Regular Sized Rudy when they were really young, around preschool or kindergarten. He was the only person who actually approached her, and didn't mind when she started going on about the random tricks she wanted to pull on other students. She didn't go through with most of them, but they did steal another kid's crackers during snack time together. He was the first one to ever compliment her ears.

3.) She first got Kuchi Kopi because as a toddler, she was pretty fussy and didn't like sleeping through the night or taking baths. She would regularly sneak into Bob and Linda's room to sleep because she didn't like being alone. However, when presented with the night light for the first time, she got super enthralled, and Bob and Linda thought of it as a miracle. They were super exhausted at that point, and seeing her so calm was incredible to them. But the best night's sleep she would ever get was snuggling with her parents with the night light (she definitely didn't like sleeping alone when she was young).

I could probably go on but here are some of my headcanons! I hope this was fun to read because I had a lot of fun with this.

[gloriousxdarkness]

7, 9, 13

SHIPPING MEME // accepting // @thatslayer

7. would your muse ever get married?

Yes, under specific circumstances:

1) The world, or a good chunk of it, will end unless she gets married. The Hand will win unless she does this in a ritual fashion to unlock some mystic power. This just happened in the comics, which is not to say Elektra didn't enjoy the romance of marrying Matt under these circumstances anyway.

2) Things somehow settle down and she and Matt somehow get on the same page. Elektra goes through enough emotional healing and is persuaded to do it. Again, would enjoy the romance of it, but it's kinda just a piece of paper next to the commitment from her point of view that already exists. The commitment is what's much more meaningful.

3) The same as above but takes longer; she moves on in a meaningful way and falls for someone else who also wants to marry her and persuades her to (for legal or practical reasons is the better argument here). It does help if Matt is dead in this situation. The girl carries quite a torch whether she wants to or not.

4) Spontaneous impulse. After a crazy near-death experience that was extremely thrilling and not traumatic for instance lol (a high bar) OR a cultural, informal wedding more for fun like handfasting or jumping a broom. Not those exactly, but she'd be more open to something less formal and more symbolic spur-of-the-moment.

5) MCU magic?

Elektra at one point envisioned marriage as part of her future, when she was younger, but now doesn't much see the point even if she's happily in love. 9. who are some characters you ship your muse with?

Elektra likes guys who have a warrior spirit and good hearts. To use shipping here to mean, I can see her having significant relationships with them which may or may not be full blown love: obviously Matt, Thor, and Steve fit the bill. I also like her romantic interactions with Frank, though I haven't gotten to RP that much. They seem to fit because they both have had their Big Love already and get that whatever is between them, it won't be that again, but it can still be good companionship. 13. how easily would your muse get over a bad breakup?

Not easily. Not easily at all. Elektra's stoic, but she takes a lot to heart. She's actually pretty sensitive to what people say or do to her and is quick to internalize anything that feeds into her negative beliefs, until presented with stronger counter-evidence. If someone matters to her enough to be in a relationship (and friendships, let's be real), to let someone into her life, she'll take it pretty hard afterwards to no longer have that. She'll grieve it. She doesn't really get over the stuff that happens to her.

Part of her is always waiting for the people she admires and loves to turn around and hate her one day if they see too much of "who she really is" (or who she thinks she is, the inhuman wrong inside her.) In a way the end of relationships is the expectation because it's all she's known, but it still hurts her deeply because she also wants so badly to believe this time will be different, because that means she's different, she's capable of and worthy of love. The hope and then despair of it is what hurts her the most, I think. And the fact that she's a solitary person out of conditioning, but not personality, so she's lonelier than ever after.

[beesarthur]

The X-Files, 5:5: The Post-Modern Prometheus

What is the plot? Of all of the wack-ass episodes that are part of The X-Files, I'm not sure I've ever left one feeling quite this agog at what I just saw. As far as what is "canonical", I interpret this episode in the same way I did Jose Chung's "From Outer Space" and Musings of a Cigarette Smoking Man - the way it's told is part of the story, and even in-universe, it need not be taken as something that "actually happened this way". Like, I interpret this as what would happen if someone wrote a comic book about an x-file, and maybe interviewed Mulder and Scully about it and based it on a real case, but took liberties, and not just with the ending.

What does this episode suggest about Mulder and Scully’s relationship with each other? They do some very good exchanging of ideas, exchanging looks, and working as a team. Mulder accuses Scully of seeing people as cultural stereotypes (people who would want to be on Jerry Springer), and she accuses him of relying on literary stereotypes (Frankenstein's monster). Turns out, they're both right! They dance at the end (of the comic, at least), and it's an exchange of spontaneity and joy and love, tbh! (But! It's also a comic book fantasy!)

Where are the aliens? No aliens here, and Mulder doesn't even know if he believes in aliens anymore, but there are people who do!

[adamwatchesmovies]

Warlock: The Armageddon (1993)

Like its predecessor, I can’t quite call Warlock II: The Armageddon a good movie. Plot points go nowhere, the special effects are unconvincing - even when we consider the film’s budget - and the performances are bad. Once again, I still find myself enthusiastic about the film despite its flaws. The dark sense of humor and occasional cleverness make it a film you alternatively make fun of and enjoy legitimately but either way, you remain entertained.

Since ancient times, Druids have stopped the birth of Satan’s son - an event that happens every 600 or so years - with six magical rune stones. In the present day, the order of druids has all but vanished, enabling the Warlock (Julian Sands) to be reborn. He has six days to gather the scattered stones and use them to bring his father to Earth and begin the end of days. Only Kenny Travis (Chris Young), Samantha Ellison (Paula Marshall) and their estranged fathers (Steve Kahan and Bruce Glover) - the last remaining druids - can stop him.

As you might’ve gathered, this film is a sequel to Warlock in name only. In fact, Julian Sands’ character is called a Warlock, but he isn’t one. He’s the Anti-Christ and I’d attribute his supernatural abilities to being from Hell, not from studying magic. It’s not the only bit of dodgy writing. I mean, why would druids be the ones keeping Beelzebub Jr. at bay? Shouldn’t that job be for a secretive order of monks or priests or something? Finally, it’s a bit comical that the Warlock is given six days to gather the stones and bring about his father’s ascension. Why the deadline? I know within the film it’s because he's born during a lunar eclipse and has to complete the ritual before the incoming solar eclipse, but from an audience’s perspective, this makes stopping him seem really easy. Can you imagine if all of the magic rocks weren’t located in the United States, for example? Good luck orienting yourself to the modern day, obtaining a passport and making your way to every continent within less than a week, buddy!

Warlock II is filled with missed opportunities. We’re repeatedly told that Kenny and Samantha's neighbors distrust the druids and think they're Satanists. They’re looking for ANY excuse to burn them at the stake and not helping is her father, who became a priest and has been holding a grudge towards Steve Kahan’s character for… reasons? I guess it’s because he didn’t believe the whole druid thing was legit after his wife died? Anyway, in a scene towards the end, the Warlock has crucified a woman upside down - the ultimate sign of evil. Everyone is gathered around her in disbelief but once Kenny and his dad show up… they just disperse, never to be seen again.

You’re wondering why - since I’ve done nothing but criticize this picture - I can still manage to sort of recommend it. Simply put, because I enjoyed the first one, this is more of the same in many ways. Born spontaneously from a woman who had no idea her jewelry was actually one of the rune stones, the Warlock proceeds to peel off a chunk of her stomach and use it as a map. To fulfill his quest, he uses his vaguely established powers to trick people into giving him what he wants in scenes reminiscent of the best the Wishmaster and Leprechaun films have to offer. It’s sick and twisted but the film isn’t trying to be classy. It is exactly what it wants to be. Julian Sands is clearly having a great time with his role and you are too.

Maybe Warlock: The Armageddon is a guilty pleasure. Maybe it's a film that’s “so bad it’s good” but does enough things well to make you occasionally consider whether it’s just merely flawed. The important thing is: there’s fun to be had if you choose to sit down with this film by Anthony Hickox. Everyone besides Julian Sands may be as convincing as the pipe that impales Kenny during the film’s big climax and the story might be as sloppy as the Warlock’s birth but if you enjoyed the first film, those aren’t bugs; they’ll be features. (July 22, 2022)

[lovethcrn]

❝ exactly ― consider it a hospitality break. like a metaphorical sorry, we're closed sign facing the outside world. come to think of it, i could grab a piece of cardboard and diy one right now. that should make everyone take the hint. ❞ a faint attempt at making her best friend laugh, although liv's undead condition didn't come with a revolutionary set of comic tools. quite the opposite. what came natural to her as a living thing, spontaneity, now cost her an extra effort, a strain that liv did her best to hide, overcompensate for the sake of a false sense of normalcy. ❝ i know it's kind of your default setting, but you don't have to be on for people everywhere, all the time. it can be healthy, to lay low, get in sweatpants, and be a couch potato sporadically. i can assure you, all your worries and clients will be there when the exhaustion's worn off. it will have been okay. no one will judge you, and if they do, that means they're a jackass, so you're better off without them anyway. blink twice if you actually believe me. ❞

𝐭𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐰𝐢𝐟𝐭 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭𝐬   →   accepting.

@cagedpotential : ❝ this is our place. we make the call. ❞

peyton, normally practical and almost scarily level-headed when it came to her job, had found those traits slipping away when it came to her life outside of the da's office. life felt far more unusual that it have ever done before (and that was saying something). but slumped into her couch, blanket over her body and wine in hand, as if building some sort of a safe comfort space around her, she found liv being the voice of reason. "you're right." words she'd said before, and would likely say a countless number of times again in her life, if history was any indicator. "we can do whatever we want to do. or don't want to do. and if that means not opening the door to those who knock, we don't have to."

[plainlo-inthemorning]

The Night Father Paul Let You Sit on His Lap

Warning: PRIEST SMUT. Children, avert your eyes. And always use protection IRL.

This is my Secret Santa gift to @see-you-in-a-new-light for the Hamish Linklater holiday event created by the lovely @the-weird-dane

I hope you enjoy! Happy New Year :D

Summary: He laughs again, a little more at ease this time. But his mouth snaps shut so fast it’s almost comical when you adjust yourself and ‘accidentally’ grind down on his lap…

When you come back from the bathroom, your chair at Erin’s long dining table has been taken by the mayor’s wife, Dotty, who, by the sound of her uncharacteristically boisterous retelling of some non-dispute at the convenience store with a pesky tourist last summer, is on her third or fourth glass of wine.

At least.

You’re betting that her rapt audience at the end of the table – her husband, Ed and Maggie Flynn and another elderly couple you don’t know that well – are not far behind.

You smile to yourself, even if you are now standing a little awkwardly in the middle of the room.

It’s good to see the parent generation of Crockett Island letting loose for once.

They deserve it.

When Erin, your old high school friend, had spontaneously gone up to the stage at the Crock Pot earlier today, clapped her hands together to get everyone’s attention and invited people over for drinks and a bite to eat later in the evening, the proposal had initially been met with uncertain side-glances.

It’s been that long since the good people of the island actually socialized with one another outside of church gatherings and said (poorly attended) Crock Pot ‘festivities’.

Beverly Keane, the self-righteous bitch, had had the audacity to snicker out loud at the suggestion, as if she personally couldn’t think of anything more ridiculous than spending her free time in the company of an unmarried pregnant woman (the horror!), and a former convict.

Yes, you hadn’t failed to notice how she had made a point of shooting her nose up at poor Riley too, who had been standing to a side, eyes to the ground, hands shoved deep in his pockets.

It was the new, charismatic priest, Father Paul Hill, who had warmly accepted Erin’s offer, effectively shutting Bev up when he’d proclaimed it a great idea, and that he for one would love to cap off the day in good company with his neighbors.

After that, a decent crowd had followed the priest’s lead (doctor Gunning and her date being notable exceptions), and if you hadn’t already found him quite alluring, watching him all but usher the island dwellers after Erin, beaming like a happy, handsome puppy, would have done the trick.

For someone who’s only supposed to be stationed at the island for a few weeks tops while the old Monsignor Pruitt recovers from illness on the mainland, Paul sure seems keen to get on everyone’s good side in church as well as outside.

Perhaps he’s a little lonely, you think. Him being fairly young and living a life in solitude.

Also, you absolutely wouldn’t blame him, if he felt like hiding from Bev for a few hours, knowing that she would never set foot in Erin’s house…

You have a feeling Bev is trying to make herself a permanent fixture at the priest’s small rectory, probably coming and going as she pleases, considering how she had been bossing Monsignor Pruitt around for the past years.

“I bet she’s totally into Paul. Dreams about him at night and draws little hearts around his name in her burn book and shit like that”, Erin had said, hilariously matter of fact the other day, and you had almost spit out your dinner laughing.

You’re inclined to believe her, though.

All in all, it’s been a nice week on the island for you, spending your holiday catching up with Erin and a couple of your other high school friends, Evelyn and Peter, who have also taken time off to come home.

Or: None of your parents actually live here anymore, having all left after that devastating oil spill, but you still like to return every few years to breathe in the ocean air of the place that shaped you growing up.

And now that both Erin and Riley have moved back more or less permanently, you think you may migrate over more frequently.

Of course, it had been Erin’s suggestion that you, Evelyn and Peter stay with her, like a mini reunion of sorts, and you’re so glad you accepted, even if the last-minute travel expenses were a bit steep.

You have a sneaking suspicion Erin may have put the thing together with Riley’s wellbeing in mind too.

His quiet, haunted demeanor is a constant reminder of how much he’s been through since you last saw him several years ago, and your heart breaks for him a little when you think of how spirited – if not downright cocky – he used to be when you were kids.

Always the charming troublemaker, always trailing after Erin.

It appears he’s still doing the latter. Good for them if they can find a way back to each other after everything the world has thrown at them (and, in Riley's case, everything he has thrown back at it...).

He has been opening up more over the past days, relaxing into the warm company of his old friends, and you regret not openly calling Bev out for giving him dirty looks today.

You, Erin, Evelyn, and Peter (who was Riley’s best friend at school) all feel protective of Riley these days, and you ought to have taken the witch down.

During your childhood, relations between neighbors and colleagues on the island had been less strained. Less burdened down by this odd ‘them and us’ mentality that has seeped into the tiny community and cleanly divided the island into die-hard cult-following believers (cough, Bev, cough), everyday believers and non-believers.

Back in the ‘golden days’ (God, now you sound old), barbecues between friends would turn into impromptu garden parties for everyone who happened to pass by.

There was less vicious gossiping, fewer frontlines being drawn up.

It was, for the most part, a carefree time, before the financial crisis hit in 2008, followed by the oil spill that saw the fishing industry crumble to its knees.

Before Monsignor Pruitt, much like the soul of the island, deteriorated into a permanently confused shadow of his former passionate self on the dais.

Before the likes of Ms. Keane came into power (where had she come from? You can’t remember. She was probably hatched by a dementor and exiled from Azkaban in the early days of time).

Today, many of the houses on Crockett are in dire need of fresh paint. Mailboxes appear even more crooked than when you were a kid and no longer romantically so, weeds creeping across the dirt roads that used to be streets.

If it wasn’t for the two small ferries still sailing stoically back and forth twice a day, you suspect the mainland would have completely forgotten about Crockett a long time ago.

An island out of time.

Perhaps, if only people would make an effort to take care of each other again and not shut themselves away in their homes...

Starting with tonight.

The lively chatter around the dining table and the fact that the adjacent kitchen has also filled up with guests leaning casually against the cupboards, making drinks and laughing (a whole batch of non-believers, Bev!) speak of the possibility of turning things around on Crockett.

If not financially straight away, then for the sake of the community spirit.

And in the middle of it all sits a stranger, already wielding such an influence over his congregations’ faith in both God and one another.

One smooth talker.

And good-looking.

So very good-looking.

Being naturally seductive never hurt anyone trying to get a message across.

You’ve had a hard time taking your eyes off the devout Father since you first saw him at church on Sunday (Erin dragged you all), and today at the Crock Pot when you, Evelyn, and Peter had said a proper hello, explaining that you all knew the old Monsignor, Paul had acted more than happy to meet you.

Walking up to the bench where he sat talking to Riley (who looked like he was about to make a run for it), Evelyn had, less than discreetly, grabbed your arm and squeezed it in the gesture universally known between close single friends as “HOT property straight ahead” – only for the two of you to actually bump your hands together with a loud smack when you both eagerly shot them out to shake Paul’s.

Crockett’s currently best looking though sadly least available bachelor had smiled a little befuddled, while Erin giggled, and Riley and Peter rolled their eyes.

You had blushed bright red, but that had been nothing compared to the feeling when Paul’s large hand finally did close around yours, his fingers brushing against your wrist and sending a very much not unpleasant tingle down your spine.

“We’re having a bit of reunion”, Erin had told the priest, her voice laced with bubbling laughter, and it had taken you a few seconds too many to realize that the source of her amusement was in fact you, holding on to the priest’s hand and gazing up at him with unguarded interest.

Not that he had seemed to mind, though.

Not at all.

His expressive brown eyes had searched your face too with a curiosity that…did things to you.

There was no point in denying it.

When you had withdrawn your hand and Father Paul turned his attention to Evelyn and Peter, you had felt like a cloud put out the sun.

“How wonderful for you all to be back here”, Paul had exclaimed with genuine warmth.

“I imagine this must have been a nice place to grow up, huh? So safe and peaceful.”

Perhaps he was once a small-town kid himself. Or the exact opposite, always longing for big skies and strong winds rustling the curtains of his bedroom.

His bedroom.

There’s a stray thought you won’t be following.

“Hey, Y/N, come sit! We were just about to play our old game!”

You’re brought back to the here and now by Evelyn who’s gesturing at you to come back to the table.

Her and the rest of the ‘gang’ are sat at the other end from the grownups. You’ll always think of them as that, no matter your own age.

Also missing a chair, Evelyn’s now magically perched on Peter’s lap (they always did have a flirt going at school), and Erin is dealing out cards for what you suspect is the version of poker the five of you invented as teens.

There are quite a lot of alternative rules involving shots, as you remember it.

Someone has put on what sounds like an 80’s greatest hits playlist.

Wade, the mayor, most likely.

Who knows what he and Riley’s dad, Ed, got up to when they were the youngsters running wild on the island decades ago?

“No room!” you mouth at Evelyn, who’s quite tipsy and then some and thus not taking no for an answer.

“Y/N, for God’s sake, just sit down anywhere!” she chides you and then, wouldn’t you know it, she wags a finger at the hot priest with the wavy black locks of delicious hair himself, Father Paul.

He’s sat opposite your friends looking a little out of place, even if he’s the one half-responsible for the merriment.

You’re guessing he’s probably not very used to going to parties when it comes to it.

“You can sit there!” Evelyn is saying, gesturing haphazardly at Paul and then at you.

“It’s either sit on his lap, or Riley’s, if we’re going to play.”

Riley looks decidedly alarmed at the suggestion, and so, emboldened by the couple of home-mixed drinks you made in the kitchen first thing when you got here, you turn to Paul and put your hand on your hip.

“Well, Father?” you say, and raise an eyebrow. “Can I?”

Evelyn and the others are suddenly watching the scene with intense interest and you’re grateful for the bad music being so loud or this would have gotten incredibly embarrassing, incredibly fast.

Maybe it already is.

If so, you’re just about tipsy enough yourself to push ahead regardless.

“Uh, um…”

Poor Paul is looking around him for a fast exit that’s not there, and you’re half a second from laughing it off and turning to Riley who’ll just have to man up and not be such a baby about having a girl who’s not Erin sit on his lap, when the priest makes a snap decision that takes everyone by surprise.

“Of course, sure”, he says with a slightly forced nonchalant smile, and pushes his chair back.

“Be my guest.”

A silence falls over the table as all eyes turn.

You’re honestly a little stunned that Paul didn’t just get up and bid you all goodnight, but he may not have wanted it to look like he fled.

And this is so, so much better.

Excitement flutters in your stomach.

Hell yes, you’re going to sit on the hot priest’s lap and drink and play cards with your old friends.

At the parents’ end of the table, several pairs of jaws nearly hit the floor.

This will go down in Crockett lore as the time Y/N, notorious flirt in her young years, came home and shamelessly cozied up to the visiting priest.

Good thing neither you, nor Paul are staying for long.

That’s probably the only reason why the priest dares to be this blasé about it.

Except he’s not, you notice with a thrill, as you sit down on his lap and feel his fast, hot breath on your neck.

He swallows a little when you adjust yourself, legs on either side of his thighs and your back to his chest, so you face your friends on the other side of the table.

You’re wearing a short summer dress (way too summery for the weather), and as the skirt hikes up a bit, your exposed thigh makes contact with the grey denim of Paul’s slim jeans.

Even though your legs are covered by the table, it feels positively wicked, and no doubt most of the people in attendance are thinking the same thing.

Even if the parents are now trying their modest best to resume their own conversation.

For Paul’s sake, you hope nobody will throw about snide comments tomorrow.

He’s just being a friendly, hip young’ish priest, showing that he can, um, accommodate all kinds of worshippers’, um, needs.

Right?

You make yourself snort with laughter and have to fake a cough into the new drink, Evelyn has pushed across the table to you.

Bev would combust into flames if she was to walk in.

“Okay, then! Crock Poker it is!” Erin finishes dealing out cards, and you gingerly take up yours while Peter lists off the ‘rules’, making up a couple of new ones along the way.

“We’re playing together”, you say to Paul over your shoulder, and lean back a little to show him your hand.

If he wanted, he could easily rest his chin on your shoulder in this position.

He doesn’t, of course, but even so the intimacy of it all is making your scalp prickle.

“Um, okay. I’m afraid I’m not great at card games, though.”

The priest laughs a little nervously and you assure him that that’s no problem, you’re not great at it either.

“Which is why I may get a bit drunk from this, with all Peter’s rules. Just giving you a warning”, you grin, winking back at him. “You’ll be my designated driver.”

He laughs again, more at ease this time … but his mouth snaps shut so fast it’s almost comical when you adjust yourself once more and ‘accidentally’ grind down on his lap.

You feel the muscles in his thighs tense under you, and it sends waves of heat straight to your core.

The game commences, and as expected, soon you, Evelyn, and Peter are doing shots while Riley and Erin stick with cola and lime.

Paul has a root beer in front of him on the table, but since you sat down on his lap, he hasn’t reached for it, perhaps because he’d have to reach his arm around your waist, and he seems intent on sitting still as a mouse so not to cause any, well, friction between your bodies.

You, however, have no such qualms, and the more you drink, the more you delight in subtly squeezing your legs around Paul’s thighs, and leaning back just a little further whenever you say something to him, your hair brushing against his black buttoned shirt.

Every time you catch a glimpse of his collar, you feel a shameful rush of adrenaline.

He’s keeping up appearances, but to you there’s no mistaking the way his breath hitches in his throat when you lean forward to pick up a card from the table and then sit back, placing a palm on his thigh to steady yourself.

Again, the table and tablecloth are partly covering your movements, but touching him like this with your hands still feels radical.

You’re straightening up to take a sip of drink when you feel it:

The fingers of his right hand near the hemline of your skirt.

You stiffen for a second and so does he, but when you exhale, his fingers move.

Up.

Slowly pushing under the hemline.

Tracing a slow pattern on your bare flesh.

“So, Paul, tell us about your background! I feel like we don’t know you at all.”

Oh, Evelyn…

Totally oblivious to what’s happening, your friend slaps a card on the table, then looks to Paul with slightly unfocused eyes.

“Well…” Paul shifts a little, but his fingers don’t leave you.

Instead, he suddenly becomes rather talkative while his hand continues on its expedition.

Not so chaste after all…

The secrecy, the dare, is a turn on for him, you realize, as you feel him slowly growing hard.

You’re acutely aware that there’re only a couple of layers of fabric separating his cock from the wetness between your legs.

You lean over the table again to take a card from the stack.

…and grind your ass against his length when you sit up.

He stifles a groan in the middle of a sentence, and you have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smirking.

You feel like the sexiest woman alive, tempting the priest like this in the middle of a room full of people.

But then Erin shatters your little bubble of lustful bliss when she asks you if you’d mind popping out to the shed at the back of the garden to get a few extra bottles of wine for ‘the parents’, who are going through the ones already on the table at an impressive speed.

Yes, Erin, dearest, you think, I do mind.

“You know the house, please, Y/N”, Erin pleads from her spot wedged in between Riley and Peter (who make no attempt to get up, typically).

It’s true. Also, you are seated closest to the door.

But dammit, you don’t want to move off the priest’s lap.

Not that you can say that out loud.

Grudgingly, you get up (Paul has to push the chair back, his hand quickly leaving you), and you try not to look too sullen as you make your way through the kitchen and out the backdoor to the garden.

The cool evening air against your hot cheeks sobers you up a bit, but your thigh all but burns where Paul’s fingers touched you, and your mind is racing.

Who is this guy?

Did he really come to Crockett voluntarily or is he some kind of renegade priest-gone-bad who’s been specifically sent out here to Nowhere Land by the church to atone for sins committed elsewhere?

It definitely didn’t feel like he had never laid hands on a woman before.

When you left the table, he had been offering Evelyn some vague, yet drawn-out cliché about giving thanks for the present and not looking back which would be quite befitting of someone hiding a shady past.

The stars are out, you notice, and you stop in the middle of the garden to look up and take a few deep breaths.

Gazing at the night sky always calms you. Centers you.

Unlike gazing into Paul’s eyes…

“Hey…”

You turn to find the very same Paul coming down the few wooden steps from the house, his footing a little uncertain although he must be stone-cold sober.

At least you think he is.

“Um, I just wanted to see if you needed help carrying something,” he says, running a hand through that gorgeous raven hair of his, and looking a whole lot less self-assured now that it’s just the two of you.

No convenient tablecloth to hide forbidden desires in plain sight.

The air between you is so charged you want to laugh.

Help you carry something?

Yeah, okay, Father.

A moment of near-awkward silence passes as you look at him and try to find the courage to say anything else than a plain “Sure”.

Which is exactly what you end up saying anyway.

Ugh.

You walk to the shed and step inside, looking for the cases of wine on the shelves lining the walls. Leftovers from Erin’s mom, you think bitterly. Good thing they’re being cleared out.

There’s a single lightbulb dangling overhead, but when you reach up to turn it on, Paul is right there behind you, gently taking your wrist.

You gasp in surprise, and he lets go of you.

Then he closes the door and you’re enveloped in darkness.

You can’t see a thing and your heart is beating out of your chest, but before you can ask him what’s going on, the priest speaks, his velvety soft voice very close to your face.

“I’m sorry for what just happened,” he murmurs. “In there. I put you in a very awkward position, and I feel bad for, uh, taking advantage like that. It was very wrong of me. I don’t know what came over me, but I’m truly, terribly sorry. I’m not that kind of man…”

He inhales as if searching for the words.

“…normally.”

You try very hard to steady your own breathing.

“And do you know what’s come over you now, Father? Having locked us in here and turned off the light, I mean?” you ask him, as innocently as you can manage.

“Um, well, I just thought…”

More silence.

Then:

“No. No, I honestly don’t. And I guess there’s no point in being anything but honest.”

It sounds like he’s smiling.

Okay.

This is happening.

Without being able to see, all your other senses are firing at full power, and you feel the change in the air when he moves a little closer still.

His breath ghosts over your face but he doesn’t touch you.

Goosebumps spread all over as it dawns on you that he won’t; he’s waiting for you.

He’s waiting for permission.

You reach a hand out, your fingertips grazing the buttons of his shirt.

His breathing is heavy, but so is yours.

You place both palms on his heaving chest and slowly run them up to his shoulders (he's so tall!), then down his toned arms while he stands perfectly still, letting you feel your way.

Your eyes have adjusted enough to the dark by now that you can see the outline of him, but only just.

You have no idea what expression he’s wearing, but somehow that makes this whole crazy scenario even hotter.

Whether he personally prefers the dark because he thinks he can hide from God or something ridiculous along those lines, you don’t care to know.

He’s here.

Your hands slide down his waist, his belt.

There’s a sharp intake of breath when your fingers play with the buckle and, smiling in the dark, you lean in closer till you can feel him against you. Feel his hardness through the front of his jeans, and the way his arms twitch in his attempt not to move.

Your hands travel upwards again, and he exhales a little – only to stop breathing when you reach his face and lightly trail his features.

You feel his eyelashes flutter shut.

His mouth is slightly open when you brush your thumb over it, but you resist the impulse to see if he’d actually suck on it.

(He would, you know it.)

You weave your fingers through his soft, thick hair while your other hand caresses his cheek. When he leans into your touch with a small sigh, you feel like the blood in your veins has been replaced with sparkling champagne.

There’s really only one thing to say:

“Kiss me.”

And though you can’t see it, you know he has opened his eyes.

His large hands find your hips, gripping you almost tentatively at first, then with more purpose, as you press yourself to him and one of his hands come up to grab a fistful of your hair.

He doesn’t pull, but his grip is not exactly light either and it makes you shiver with want while your walls constrict in anticipation for what’s to come.

Then his lips are on yours, and as the world falls down and you melt into him, there is nothing but his touch in the dark, making you feel like you’ve never been kissed before in your life.

Your tongues meet and you nearly mewl with lust while he digs his fingers into your hip with a force that’s bound to leave blue marks.

Paul’s the one to break the kiss, tugging your head back a little by your hair, and a frustrated moan escapes your lips.

The priest chuckles, his thumb rubbing your sore hipbone.

“Are you sure you want this?”

His voice is hoarse with his own desire.

“Are you kidding me? Fuck, yes,” you answer breathlessly, and he chuckles again.

To hell with the fact that you know absolutely nothing about him, or that you’re standing in Erin’s freaking shed, of all places, with a house full of semi-God-fearing townsfolk and school friends behind you.

If you have to rip open those obscene slim jeans with your teeth, you’ll do it (because, honestly, by buying pants like that he’s pretty much begging for it).

You’re reaching for his belt when a thought enters your mind.

“Wait, have you… have you done this before?” you ask, fingers pausing at the buckle.

What if the man’s a virgin?

In that case, a rushed one-night stand in a garden shed in near darkness may not spell great success.

For either of you.

Also, sober Erin may be onto to you at some point within not too long.

Paul lets go of your hair, both his hands coming to rest on your waist.

“Yes,” he answers after a few seconds, a slight strain in his voice.

You have a million questions.

You don’t ask a single one.

Before you can unbuckle his pants though, he turns slightly away from you, and it feels like he’s reaching for something.

“Wait…” he says. “I thought I saw…”

“You can see in here?” you ask incredulously, and he hesitates for just a beat before assuring you that no, he can’t see a thing.

But before closing the door he did notice a stack of deck chair pillows.

“Oh, you just happened to notice those, did you?” you ask playfully and now you’d wish you could see his face. If he’s blushing or he's cool as a cucumber.

“I think you’ll be happy I did,” comes his reply that’s just the right amount of dry sarcasm and mischievousness to make you even wetter.

He lets go of you, and there’s a sound of him moving some things around on the floor, and then he’s taking your hand, guiding you down onto the pillows he’s spread out.

The man knows his way around tight dark spaces.

You’re taking that as a very good sign.

Paul carefully lays you down on your back, and from there you can actually see him a bit better in the faint, pale moonlight now coming through the spaces around the doorframe.

He’s on his knees, one on either side of you, and this time he doesn’t stop you when you reach up to undo his belt.

His cock is straining against his jeans and from what you can make out of his features, his eyes are hooded with desire as he looks down at you.

Somehow it still feels like he can see you a lot better than you can him, but it must be your imagination.

When voices suddenly reach you from the house, with the kitchen window facing the garden, you’re reminded that you don't have all the time in the world, as much as you’d like to.

“Take off your shirt and collar,” you demand, and with what looks like a slight smirk, Paul obliges, unbuttoning his shirt and shrugging it off his shoulders to reveal a very nicely sculpted torso.

The collar he puts down next to you a little more carefully, and you have the good sense not to make any jokes about it.

“Good. Now take off your jeans as well,” you say, and again the priest does as he’s told, and stands up to pull off his boots and socks, then his jeans till he’s standing over you in boxers that barely contain his erection.

With rays of moonlight illuminating parts of his pale skin, accentuating his build, he looks more divine than any god you know.

And slightly dangerous, too.

You don’t know why it comes to you, but it does, and it’s there:

Something within the priest is not quite right.

Besides the obvious breaking of sacred vows, he’s currently engaging in, that is.

You don’t have time to reflect on it though, as Paul now kneels between your legs and slowly pushes your dress up around your waist, then pulls it over your head (taking your bra with it!), revealing your breasts and soaked panties to him.

Hopefully he can’t see as much, but he can sure feel it when he traces the wetness with his fingers, humming appreciatively as he does so.

“Such an eager little lamb…” he muses, and you would have giggled were it not for how swiftly he pulls the garment down and off your legs, one of his knees spreading your thighs wider as soon as your most intimate parts are exposed.

“I think I would have loved to toy with you, to please you in all the way you should be pleased, but I’m afraid our time here may be rather limited…” he whispers, lowering himself down so he’s resting on his arms, his lips leaving kisses down your collarbone, the curves of your breasts...

“… which is why I’ll have to fuck you fast, now.”

Before you can respond – or gasp again – he covers your mouth with his hand.

“And you’ll stay very quiet while I do that, of course. We can’t risk ruining the party.”

His tone is at once both playful and slightly menacing, like he’s on a bit of a power rush.

Somehow it aligns very well with his intense magnetism at church.

He’s a man who loves to lead the way.

“Are you going to be a good girl for me?” he’s asking you now, and you can only swallow and nod, assuming he can see you.

“I knew you would.”

He removes his hand from your mouth, which he instead covers with his own.

His kiss is hungry, possessive, and when you put your arms around his neck, he breaks away to grab your wrists and pin them over your head, using one hand to hold them there, while his other finds your throbbing sex.

You arch your back off the pillows and bite your bottom lip to keep from crying out when two fingers part your slick folds, but when he proceeds to penetrate you, pumping his fingers gently in and out, you can’t stifle a desperate whimper.

You’re so turned on, you can already feel the coil tightening in your core, and when you squeeze your walls around the priest’s fingers, he’s the one trying not to moan.

“Don’t worry, I won’t deny you what you need”, he pants, removing his fingers from you so he can pull off his own underwear and settle between your legs.

He’s still holding your wrists, so you can only squirm under him when he aligns himself against your entrance and very slowly, so slowly you think you’ll lose your mind, pushes his cock into you.

It’s for your benefit though – he’s so big it actually hurts a bit when he stretches you, and you try to remember to breathe to accommodate him better.

“That’s it,” he praises you between his own gasps. “Just take it all, like that.”

The muscles in his shoulders and arms tense hard from refraining to thrust into you before you’re ready, but you’re so overcome with thirst for him that every delaying effort makes you want to scream.

“Please, Paul,” you moan, straining against his hold on your wrists.

His eyes immediately find yours and his movements stop.

Oh god, is he thinking you want him to stop?

You look him dead in the eyes.

“Just fuck me, Father. Hard.”

He kisses you again, then whispers:

“Didn’t I tell you to be quiet?” but you can tell he’s smiling, even if he’s too close for you to see it.

You’re about to say something back, when he pushes all the way into you, filling you so perfectly it’s nearly enough to make you lose it right then and there.

As if he can tell, the priest tightens his grip on your wrists in warning.

“Oh, you’re not allowed to come before I say so, okay?”

You nod, remembering to keep quiet for him like a good girl, and he starts thrusting into you with deep, hard blows that knocks the air out of your lungs every time his hips snap against yours.

You’ve never been fucked like this before, but you never want him to stop.

And yet you know he has to, soon.

He knows it too, and when he reaches a hand down between your bodies to massage your clit, you think he’s going to let you come.

“Ughhh, yes, please”, you beg, not able to hold it in, as Paul works you quickly towards the edge.

But he’s not letting you off that easy.

A devilish glint flashes in the priest’s eyes, and he pulls out of you, quickly flipping you onto your stomach on the pillows, and then grabbing your hips to pull your ass up.

“I didn’t tell you you could come yet, did I?” he growls, pressing his cock past your dripping entrance again, and you scramble to get up on your elbows.

“Well, did I?” he’s asking you, pushing deep inside you.

“No,” you gasp.

Then, throwing caution to the wind, you add:

“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.”

You feel his cock twitch inside you, and he tightens his grip on your hips.

“What did you just say?” he asks through clenched teeth, his breathing ragged, thrusts slowing to a halt.

“Forgive me, Father”, you mewl, going with it.

“I have sinned and need to be punis---” The last word is hardly more than a muffled sound as he thrusts into you so hard, your face is pushed into the pillows.

“You are a little sinner, aren’t you?” he rasps, gamely playing along, and as in reward, he reaches around your body to tease your swollen bundle of nerves while continuing his thrusts.

His fingers are slick from sweat and your juices, and they slip and slide over your clit while you fist into the pillows and whimper pathetically, trying not to come before he gives you permission.

He’s clearly enjoying delaying your pleasure, but finally – finally – he bends forward, plants a kiss on your glistening back, and speaks the words.

“Now, little lamb, now you can come for me. Come for me, and I’ll absolve you of your sins.”

His fingers don’t stop moving over your overstimulated nub and you come so hard you can’t hold yourself up anymore, exploding stars blinding your mind.

He fucks you through your orgasm while you writhe under him, and only when you’re completely spent, your body going limp on the pillows, does he let go himself, gasping as he spills his seed inside you.

For a while, none of you move, your labored breathing filling the shed, but then there’s a sound outside and you both start, Paul pulling out of you and straightening up.

Someone just opened the backdoor to the garden.

“Fuckfuckfuck!” you mutter and push yourself up to you knees, desperately searching for your panties on the floor.

Paul is a lot more efficient.

Somehow, he’s up in a flash, pulling on his boxers and handing you your underwear, and by the time you’ve managed to get hold of your dress and pull it over your head, he appears to be all dressed.

How?!

There are at least a thousand buttons on his shirt for christsake!

“Y/N,” he whispers urgently, grabbing your arm and pulling you in close as steps approach the shed.

He smells of sex and aftershave and something that’s just him, and the blend is intoxicating.

You have to actively shake your head to focus.

“Say that I left. That I went home.”

So dominant just minutes ago and now legitimately frightened to being found out.

You want to whisper back something smart about him maybe not thinking things through before stripping off in someone’s back yard, but then the door to the shed is being opened, and Paul steps behind it, shielding himself from sight.

Evelyn, who else, pops her head in, squinting in the darkness.

“Helloooo”, she croons, having crossed over from tipsy to plastered since you last saw her.

“What on Earth are you doing out here, Y/N?? Erin sent me to rescue you…and the wine. Or maybe she just sent me to get wine…”

You’re so relieved you don’t have to deal with Erin or Riley asking actual sober person questions that you laugh and put an arm around your friend, gently steering her out of the shed again as she tries to cross the threshold.

“Thank you, Evie, for rescuing me. I was just, um, deciding which bottles to bring in. So much stuff out here, you know”.

Evelyn nods dramatically.

“Yes. Very sad,” she slurs. “You know what else is sad, Y/N? The hot priest left! Didn’t even say goodbye…”

“Oh?” you respond, trying to sound casual, but you might as well not have bothered. Evelyn is already moving on.

“But! But, Y/N, look at the moooon!”

She staggers into the middle of the garden to look up, swaying dangerously from side to side.

You hastily step back inside the shed and look around you for the wine, but Paul shoves four bottles into your arms before you can get your bearings.

Again, how?!

He pushes the door closed with his foot, and takes your face in his hands, kissing you.

You pray Evelyn is as drunk as she looks and sounds.

“Thank you,” he whispers. “This was a rare gift.”

He brushes a lock of hair out of your face, and you want to touch him so badly, but you have the stupid bottles to hold on to.

“I thought so, too,” you reply, not wanting this to be your last exchange.

You’re trying to think of something else to say, but he beats you to it.

“Um, maybe, if you want, and you don’t wake tomorrow with a paralyzing moral hangover, you could come by the rectory sometime during the day? Just to talk, I mean. I feel like we…skipped past the talking part rather quickly tonight.”

His hands are by his sides now. Something about that feels so wrong, so demonstrably distant, seeing as your naked bodies were just pressed against each other.

And his cum is leaking into your underwear.

“Please touch me…”, you whisper, and he immediately puts his arms around you.

“I’ll come by,” you smile up at him, certain that he can see you, even if you can’t see his face now the door has closed behind you again.

“I’d love to talk. I’m sure you’ve got some fascinating stories to share.”

He chuckles softly.

“See you tomorrow then,” he says, planting a parting kiss on your nose in a gesture so sweet, it feels as intimate as the fucking you did on the floor.

You giggle like a schoolgirl.

“Okay, Resident Hot Priest of Crockett. Sweet dreams till then.”

You leave the shed and find Evelyn twirling on the grass, still looking up at the sky.

“The moon is fuuull, Y/N, have you seen? I think me and Petey are finally gonna do it tonight. Full moons make people SO HORNY!!!”

She shouts the last part at the top of her lungs into the night, and you nearly drop the bottles laughing.

Things are definitely looking up on Crockett Island, you're sure of it.

Thank you for reading!

You can check out my other Father Paul and John Tyler smut fics here:

MASTERLIST

[chatonne-rousse]

Great Minds (and Kind Hearts) Think Alike

Written as a gift for my sweet friend @sketchy-panda to celebrate a bunch of happy things in her life, as well as just because she's awesome. Inspired by this adorable piece of her art.

During a rooftop discussion about superhero merch while relaxing after patrol, Ladybug and Chat Noir each decide to share their favorite items with their partner. What results is an impromptu gift exchange that just might open the door to a whole lot more.

Read it on Ao3 here.

"My parents put us on the Christmas tree last year, Kitty! I had to see myself in the living room every day."

He bumps her shoulder with his. "And me, apparently."

"Yes, but your ornament was cute!" She flails her arms comically and he tries not to focus too much on the fact that she called his likeness cute. "Mine didn't even look like me."

"Would you have liked it better if it had?"

"That's not what I..." Ladybug scowls, but there's no real heat in her expression or her voice. "It was just weird."

"No, the baby onesie that I saw on an actual baby that said 'Meow, My Lady' was weird," Chat mutters. "I didn't even know any civilians had ever heard me say that."

Ladybug's surprised laughter rings out across the rooftop they're perched on tonight, loud enough to be heard from any nearby open window until she muffles the sound with her hand over her mouth. "And whose fault is that, you tomcat?" she asks through her remaining giggles.

He tries to pout, but her laughter is contagious and his smile breaks through. He chooses to ignore the jab at his vain attempts at flirting. Wooing is difficult business.

"The baby was cute, though. I had to take a picture with him."

"You had to?"

He shrugs. "That's a very small request, Bugaboo. I've encountered way worse. A few pictures? I don't mind."

She stares at him for a long moment, something unreadable in her gaze, before looking back over the horizon. "Have you ever bought any Chat Noir merch? You strike me as the kind of guy to have a bookshelf full of action figures."

He is the kind of guy to have a bookshelf full of action figures, and he definitely does, but he thinks of the drawer in his closet that's full of red and black, reminders of his beloved partner. There are far fewer items in black and green.

"I...have a few things. The action figures of us are really cool, actually. Didn't you always want to be immortalized in plastic as a kid?"

"Can't say I did, Minou." She bumps his shoulder this time. "I'll bet you had your supersuit all planned in your head already, didn't you?"

Not quite, but only because he never imagined himself as a cat-themed superhero. He has no intention of ever divulging the fact that his first real transformation sequence was anything but random. That secret is between him and Plagg, and he's not telling. Plagg probably will, but that's a problem for future Adrien.

She laughs again. "I'll take your silence as a 'yes'."

"I'll have you know, My Lady, that I have a carefully curated display of collectibles that are very valuable. And no, this—" he gestures from his cat ears to his steel toes, "was all spontaneous. Can't help it if I've got cat class and I've got cat style."

Ladybug shoots him a deadpan look that dissolves into giggles once more when he wiggles his eyebrows.

Success. He loves to hear his partner laugh, loves to make to his partner laugh. These are moments he wouldn't trade for the world.

"Well," she finally says after her laugher subsides, "the Chat Noir doll I saw in the market did not have cat style, so I made my own."

"Really?" His voice is soft with wonder.

"Yep! And a Ladybug doll, too." She casts him a sidelong grin. "They're a duo, you know. I couldn't have Chat without his Lady, could I?"

He wills himself not to cry. It takes three blinks and one shaky breath before he can respond. "You made them? Yourself?"

"Sure. It's not hard. All it takes is felt and thread and buttons for eyes. They're simple, but—" she shrugs, "I think they're pretty cute."

"Wow," he breathes. "You really are amazing, Bugaboo. They sound incredible."

His Lady seems to amaze him anew with each revelation she allows. He could count on one hand the things he knows about her, really knows, and those facts are tucked away and treasured. She's a whiz at video games. She babysits. She has a loving family. She listens to Jagged Stone. She loves animals.

"Thank you, Minou," she says softly, as the barest hint of a blush spreads to her cheeks beneath her mask.

His heart beats a little faster. His tongue feels heavier. He falls just a tiny bit more in love with her.

Ladybug fills the silence again. "Better than mass-produced action figures, for sure. More cuddle-able!"

That startles a laugh from him. "Is that a word?"

"It is now." She shrugs, her eyes sparkling with amusement.

"I'm telling you, Bug, those action figures are cool. I can't believe you don't have a set."

"Guess I need to go shopping."

"Yup," he responds with a decisive nod.

When they make eye contact, it sets off another giggle fit, Ladybug's shoulders shaking with mirth and Chat having to wipe the tears from his eyes. It's not even that funny, but it doesn't have to be.

Paris is quiet tonight, and his heart is light as he relaxes against the rooftop and laughs with his best friend.

*****

Four days later, when they meet up for patrol again, Chat Noir is surprised when his partner joins him carrying a gift-wrapped box. Especially since he himself is hiding a gift bag behind his back.

He sweeps into a bow as she approaches, straightening with an exaggerated wink. "Something for me-ow?"

Her expression morphs into one of longsuffering annoyance. "Well, it was, but I'm reconsidering."

"You wouldn't!" He gasps, one hand clutching his chest over his heart.

Her lips twitch into the beginning of a smile and soon the stillness of the nighttime rooftop is broken by their shared laughter again.

"For you, Chaton," she finally says with a grin, holding out the box.

He produces the gift bag from behind his back and presents it to her, the tissue paper fluttering in the night air. Her eyes widen with delight, and his heart sings.

The handoff is a quiet affair, a hushed silence of surprise settling over the moment as they sit cross-legged, facing each other.

Even the box is beautiful, he notes, wrapped in shiny black paper and adorned by a giant bow of vivid green with black paw prints. He knows, of course, what's in the bag she's holding in her hands. Could this box contain...? He doesn't dare to dream.

He looks up and nods at the bag. "Go ahead, Bug."

The tissue paper rustles as she removes it, trapping it under her foot to keep it from drifting away on the breeze. She takes one look inside, sees the label on the top of the box within, and bursts into laughter. "You didn't!"

Chat grins. "I did."

She pulls out the box to take a closer look. There are several options when it comes to Ladybug and Chat Noir collectible figurines, but this one is his particular favorite. They're sold separately, but he's always been partial to the 1st Anniversary Special Partners Edition, boxed together as a pair and made to wield his baton in his left hand and her yo-yo in her right, leaving them free to hold hands in the middle. Which the figurines' hands are molded to do, and how they're currently posed in the box. They can also stand alone, but there's just something special about the fact that joined hands are an option.

"Okay, Kitty, you were right. They really are cool." She points at the Ladybug figure. "This looks so much better than that Christmas ornament!" Squinting at the box to examine his figurine, she suddenly snorts a laugh. "Your hair looks like a bunch of bananas!"

"Hey!" He pouts, but he knows she's right. When he bought his own set last year, Plagg had made the same observation and laughed so hard he nearly choked on his cheese. He then proceeded to call him Bananoir for days, until Adrien threatened him with a month of Velveeta. The ribbing didn't really bother him that much - honestly, he had to concede the resemblance - because it was an action figure...of himself. No matter how many were produced, that fact would never not be incredible, and no amount of banana hair or cat god snark could diminish his excitement.

"Oh, Chaton, I'm just teasing. I love them." She beams at him, cradling the box with both hands. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome, LB. I just...I thought it would be fun."

"Great minds think alike, it seems. Your turn!"

He glances down at the box in his lap and back at his partner. Her smile is bright, but her eyes betray a nervous anticipation.

"Bug, you know I'm going to love whatever this is, right?"

"I hope so. I made them myself."

His heart in his throat, he carefully slips the ribbon from the box and slices the paper with his claws. He can barely breathe as he lifts the lid.

His hunch (his dream) is confirmed when he finally sees the contents of the box. Nestled in a bed of tissue paper, side by side, are two handmade plush dolls, opposite in configuration to the action figures but with their soft little hands touching in the center just the same. Tears spring to his eyes unbidden, and he wipes them away quickly, partially out of embarrassment but mostly because he wants to see every detail with clarity.

The seams are pristine, the limbs symmetrical; the dolls are simple, but crafted with a skilled, sure hand. He picks up the Ladybug doll first, lifting it reverently from the box. Red felt with carefully-painted black spots form the doll's body, and her little black button eyes gaze up at him from a matching spotted mask. A sweet smile is the only other adornment on her face, but the doll is perfect without anything else. This is his beloved partner, created by his beloved partner herself. That alone is perfection to him.

He returns the Ladybug doll to the box and shifts his attention to his own likeness, resolutely ignoring the lump in his throat.

Equal in craftsmanship, the felt Chat Noir in his hands smiles the same sweet smile and looks at him with shiny button eyes from a black domino mask. Perched on his blond felt hair are two black cat ears, and a real bell is sewn at his neck. He gives the doll a gentle shake and the golden bell rings with a jaunty jingle. It's adorable.

Chat Noir is helpless to the grin that lights his face, looking up from the doll to his partner just in time to see that same joy reflected back in her own dawning smile. Warmth suffuses his chest, elation and love and an overwhelming gratefulness bursting firework-bright and making his breath catch.

He has never received such a heartfelt gift in his life. This eclipses the fine blue cashmere scarf his father gave him on his fourteenth birthday, folded in his closet and placed where he can see it every day. It's a treasure to him, and it always will be. But this, handmade just for him with obvious care by the person he loves most in the world? Nothing could come close.

"I don't know what to say, LB," he begins once he can finally speak, "They're...they're amazing. Adorable. Perfect." He takes a deep breath. "I'm fumbling this, but...thank you isn't enough."

Ladybug reaches out to place her hand on his knee. Even through two supersuits, the contact sends a shiver up his spine. Her expression is one of warm relief, clearly pleased with his reaction. "Thank you is more than enough, Kitty. It was nothing."

"Nothing?" he splutters. "These are far from nothing!"

"Oh, Minou," she laughs. "I meant that it was my pleasure. It wasn't difficult, but even if it was, you're worth it."

Do. Not. Cry. He thinks. He's been fighting tears since she handed him the box. Once he gets home, he's absolutely going to give in and sob while clutching them to his chest. He's man enough to admit that...to himself.

He takes several deep breaths and swallows against the lump in his throat as he arranges the dolls back in their tissue paper nest, making sure their hands are touching before replacing the lid on the box.

"Thank you, Ladybug," he says softly. "I love them. Us."

She pats the box still held on her lap. "And I love this version of us, too. Thank you for making sure I have the coolest action figures in Paris." After placing the box and the tissue paper back inside the gift bag, Ladybug stands and offers her hand to Chat to help him up. "Now, let's go stow these treasures and patrol. Last one to Sacre-Cœur has to buy the other an ice cream cone."

Still clutching the gift box under one arm, he watches her throw out her yo-yo to snag a distant chimney before she zips off with a giggle. He grins, shakes his head, and reaches behind him for his baton.

"That's my bug," he murmurs to himself, before setting off for home to secure the gift safely.

In a few minutes he'll rejoin his partner in a merry chase across the rooftops. He hopes the night remains quiet.

Chat Noir can't wait to buy ice cream for his Lady.

[astraeagreengrass]

Blue

The Blue Henley™ and that’s it.

Word Count: 1.567

Warnings: Short and sweet. Mentions of sexy times (no actual sexy times though). English is not my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

A/N: Did I just write something inspired by The Blue Henley™? You bet I did! This is my submission to @jalapenobarnes writing challenge. My prompt was “Basorexia - the overwhelming desire to kiss”. Thank you Saran for hosting this challenge and allowing me to participate!

Disclaimer: I don’t own Bucky Barnes. Unfortunately he is a fictional character and therefore is property of Marvel Comics and Marvel Studios. Sebastian Stan’s face belongs to himself. The plot is my own creation.

My masterlist

He is greeted at the threshold by the voices of John, Paul, George and Ringo. 

The Beatles were new to him - like online shopping and Nespresso machines. Maybe, if he’d gone home after ‘45, he’d have dragged Steve to one of their concerts or seen them at Ed Sullivan’s show. And his grandchildren would gawk at him and tell him how lucky he was to have seen the Beatles together.

Maybe.

He couldn’t help it sometimes - how his mind involuntarily drew intricate scenarios of “what ifs” and possibilities. Bucky supposed it was his curse for having lived so long and so hard. His atonement was the constant back and forth of then and now, dealing with the aftermath of everything he missed.

But at least he didn’t kill John Lennon.

The record player was a gift for his 102nd birthday. It resembled very little the one he had back home - his 1940s home. It was sleek, light and state-of-the-art, with that classic vintage look that people liked their electronics to have even if they were far from vintage. 

You’d been so nervous when you gave it to him you couldn’t even wait for the sun to be high in the sky and your lover to be out of the bed. Nervous hands twisted the duvet as Bucky opened the package, careful not to ruin the glitter wrapping paper. He loved it, even if it took him a while to learn how to use the record player. But, once he did, it made way for your favorite tradition: spring saturdays at the flea market, the one in DUMBO or maybe in Williamsburg, looking for old records.

The Beatles, the Stones, Led Zeppelin, Elvis Presley, The Doors, Michael Jackson, Bruce Springsteen, Marvin Gaye and Queen to more recent acts: Nirvana, Guns and Roses, Pearl Jam, the pop groups from the early 2000’s and performers like Bruno Mars and Beyoncé.

Any decade, any rhythm - Bucky Barnes liked music. And you indulged him in his new-found passion, adding soundtrack to the most unexpected moments of his day and being his partner whenever he fancied a dance.

Like now. He found you in the kitchen counter, hips moving slowly as you chopped carrots for dinner.

“Hold me tight / And tell me I’m the only one / And then I might / Never be theAAAAAH” you yelled, half a scream, half a laugh when Bucky surprised you by tickling your sides.

“Holy shit, Barnes! I have a knife on my hands. I could’ve cut myself!” you exclaimed while Bucky doubled over with laughter. 

You threw the knife on the sink, fake pouting, as Bucky came over to you, laugh forgotten. He was all saunter and swagger now, hands reaching out to hold you hips.

“That would teach you not to make dinner while shaking this ass” as to qualify his point, he landed a sharp smack on your left butt cheek, causing you to jump. 

You narrowed your eyes, snark remark at the tip of your tongue when you noticed it.

Blue.

Light blue. Almost teal, but not quite, evenly spread across the expanse of his chest and arms. Blue like his eyes, like the sky on a summer day, like a perfect Caribbean sea.

Beautiful blue.

“Is that… new?” was all you could muster while your gaze roamed the cotton. Your hands left their resting place on the nape of his neck and slid down, as if they could grasp the magnificent color and cradle it.

“Yeah” Bucky said, confused by your reaction. “I bought it last week.”

Such a simple explanation for such a magnificent happenstance. You could picture him: self-conscious and a little overwhelmed as he browsed some fast-fashion looking for simple pieces that didn’t stand out much. Bucky stuck to the classic blacks, whites and grays. Their simplicity made him feel safe and your boyfriend’s comfort would always come before any fashion trend.

Oftentimes a navy color would make an appearance and the way it complimented his eyes made your heart speed up. But this blue... This blue was different. You couldn’t place what was so special about it – was it the shade? An almost exact match to his irises? Was it the contrast of índigo fabric and golden-black forearms?

Bucky watched with raised eyebrows and a confused frown as the tips of your fingers carefully roamed the expanse of his torso, as if you were touching a valuable art piece instead of a US$ 9.99 henley from H&M.

“You okay, doll?” he asked. 

“Yeah” you gawked. “I’m perfect, actually.”

Bucky liked to think he knew you better than he knew himself – your spontaneity, creativity and enthusiasm over the smallest things. Life with you was never dull: it was a collection of happy moments that pieced his broken soul back together. Bucky believed he was used to the spur-of-the-moment midnight walks or the impromptu dance offs in the kitchen, but apparently he wasn’t.

Not when you grabbed him by the collar of the blue henley and kissed him.

It wasn’t a gentle kiss, like the sweet pecks you usually showered him with when he arrived home.  And it wasn’t a violent kiss, like the ones he usually took from you, breath out of breath, in the sacred intimacy of your bedroom.

This kiss was urgent and needy, yet full of the same love he felt every time your mouth reached for his. It tasted like honey on his tongue and sounded like a symphony made of the tiny moans that escaped you when he pulled on your bottom lip with his teeth.

The hand on Bucky's collar moved to his hair. The silky soft brown strands were much shorter, but still long enough to grab them, making him to groan. You felt light-headed, your lungs burning for air and your calves worn out from the effort of standing on your tiptoes, but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care. The only thing that mattered was him and that blue shirt.

“What was that for?” Bucky whispered when you manage to disentangle yourself from him. Your breath was coming in short, uneven gasps that teased him to no end. His gaze involuntarily lowered from your flushed cheeks to your chest, and the rapid way it rose and fell made him uncomfortable in his pants.

“Nothing" you replied. “You just look really good.”

Bucky laughed - a deep, delicious sound deep from his stomach, echoing at the walls of your heart. You swore you could live in the crinkles of his eyes because Heaven couldn’t compare to this world whenever Bucky Barnes laughed.

Especially if he was wearing that blue henley.

Bucky’s laugh turned into a smirk when he tightened his hold on your hips - one hand was warm and the other a little colder, just the way you liked it and how you wanted it to be forever. Swiftly, he rose you on the counter and moved to stand between your legs. The familiarity and domesticity of it didn’t make it any less thrilling. On the contrary, knowing this love was a constant rather than a possibility caused the butterflies to flutter harder in the pit of your belly. 

His vibranium hand squeezed you thigh before hooking your leg around his waist. The friction of your sweatpants with his jeans was the torturous prelude before the chorus. Bucky grunted in your ear, low and deep and warm as his breath hit the shell of your ear, right before he sucked it.

Oh.

Your hand was twisted in the blue fabric, unsure if you wanted to rip if off him or be it - to hug him and envelop him so perfectly and never let him go. Your embrace was suffocating. A tangle of arms, legs and lips dancing to their own song, writing notes on your skin. It was so easy to get lost in him. To drown in the blissful feel of Bucky’s touch and ignore the revolving world around you

A loud noise startled you, pulling you both apart. Bucky quickly turned to the crash, shielding your body with his. There, in the corner of the living room, the record player - now silent - was on the floor. Standing above the wreckage, nonchalantly licking a white paw, was Alpine.

You sighed.

“Did you say hello to her when you arrived?"

“Nope” Bucky said, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. He chuckled.

You absentmindedly dragged your nails across the nape of his neck and he purred, much like his feline counterpart when he greeted her favorite human.

“That record player was so expensive” you grumbled, face tucked in the blissful blue henley. Damn Alpine for ruining the plans you had for that shirt.

“I know. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“It’s yours, actually.”

“You know what else is mine?”

“Huh?”

“You are.”

You looked up to find him grinning, mischief on the corner of his lips and a twinkle in his gaze. You barely had time to squeal when Bucky lifted you from the counter and over his shoulder and moved to the bedroom, making sure to shut the door. 

“What about Alpine? She’ll destroy the apartment” you asked, body bouncing on the mattress. 

Bucky shrugged then tugged on his henley, tossing the blue to the floor.

Yeah. He looked much better without it.

“It’ll be worth it.”

General taglist: @ivoryhazlewood​ @youclickedthislink​ 

[starr-fall-knight-rise]

Humans are Weird, “Autograph.”

Wrote this between sporadic bouts of studying because I have the attention span of a flea and the motivation of a blob fish. So This is for those of you asking about what happened after “Movie Star.” 

He watched his shuttle hit altitude and then vanish into a pristine blue sky. The roaring of the engines faded away until there was nothing but the distant thunder of jet engines, so much quieter in comparison to the wild screaming of the spacefaring craft headed on her way back to the Harbinger, and a crew that would be captained by his second in command. It hurt him to think that someone else would be captaining his ship, that she'd be in deep space without him.

He wondered if this is what it felt like for a parent to leave their child for the first time.

It all just made his heart ache, and he had the sudden desire to call and make sure she hadn’t spontaneously combusted as soon as he had entered that shuttle leaving her on the docking port moonside.

“Yep, she totally exploded, the entire crew is dead and their ashes will forever float through space.” He turned his head to glower at Conn floating at his back and staring up into the sky with a grin.

“Shut the hell up Conn.”

“Make me.”

“Do I need to remind you that the only thing between you and a snapped spine is a gravitational chastity belt.” he snarled 

Conn adjusted the gravity field harness around his narrow-protruding hips, “Speaking of chastity belts-”

He held up a hand, “NO-no I am stopping that line of conversation right there.”

A gentle hand rested on one of his shoulders, and he turned to find Sunny standing over him her head tilted slightly to one side. The expression she had on was almost comical for an alien without human facial structures, “They’ll be fine.” Then she slapped him on the back making him stagger forward, “Now stop frowning, You should be excited.”

He straightened himself out adjusting his jacket.

To his side, Krill sighed and looked up at the sky with an almost longing expression.

“What’s your problem?” Sunny wondered 

The Vrul sighed, “The amount of time I spend on a class A death planet is really making me question my sanity.”

“You’re only now beginning to question your sanity?” Adam wondered wryly as he looked around the tarmac. Aside from a couple of baggage carriers, and people in bright orange vests, there was no one here, and no way to tell where they were supposed to go.

“Ha ha, funny ...Where are we going?”

“Guess we sort of just head towards the terminal?” He glanced towards the taxiways between them and the terminal and shook his head. That didn’t seem likely, but also…. There was no one here, “Or not…. I would expect at least someone to be here.”

Sunny crossed her arms in annoyance, “Seems kind of rude they would ask you to come and then just…. Leave you.” 

His eyes scanned over the tarmac once more, baggage carts, buggies, distant buses, a fancy black car, but nothing close by. He adjusted his bag over his shoulder, “May as well walk to those people over there and ask them. I don’t want to get in the way of the planes.”

Adam, followed by his extraterrestrial entourage slowly began heading in that direction. A bus rolled by them going the opposite direction, and the black car from earlier turned onto the same road to roll past. Adam kept walking.

“Commander!..... Commander Vir.” 

The group of them spun in a tight circle turning to face the car, which turned out to be a limousine, the front window rolled down, and a man in a dark suit leaning out.

Adam looked around like there was someone else by that name standing behind him before pointing at himself, “I ur…. Me.”

The man parked the car and stepped out reaching over to open the car door, “Mr. Ellis apologizes that he couldn’t meet you in person, but he hopes that you will find his personal car satisfactory. Adam blinked like a deer in the headlights, “Er… uh… are you sure you’ve got the right person?” He eyed the car.

“You stupid or something?” Conn wondered floating towards the door and vanishing inside the car, much to the driver’s confusion and surprise. He stared after Conn with wide eyes before turning to look at Adam.

“Believe it or not he's actually pretty tame for his species.” The commander sighed stepping forward and thanking the man awkwardly as he slid inside.

He wasn’t entirely sure if satisfaction was the word he’d use to describe how he felt. Everything, and he meant everything was extravagant and eccentric to the extreme. Crystal glasses, with the appropriate liquor, adjustable colored lights, heated seats in a fabric he couldn’t even name, the absolute definition of leg-room so that even Sunny was comfortable. There was a TV just above the far end turned to the news, a snack bar, a sun roof. He folded his hands in his lap afraid to touch anything for fear of damaging it.

Sunny scooted to sit next to him while Conn and Krill took the other side. 

Conn leaned back in his seat, “Not bad.”

“You would say that.” Adam muttered leaning a little closer to Sunny hands pinned between his knees so as not to touch anything.

Sunny had no such qualms sprawling out like she owned the place head resting back onto a fluffy set of cushions just before the window, “Now this, I could get used to.”

Adam disagreed, there was no way that he would ever be able to get used to something like this. In fact, at this moment he was wondering what he was even doing here, hanging out in famous people’s fancy cars with private drivers. He wasn’t special enough for something like that. In fact, he was a soldier, that was it, and arguably not even a very good one. He was just some lucky son of a bitch who had alien friends and a spaceship somehow by coincidence.

He should have been happy, but felt himself wilt internally as he looked around the car at all the fancy things.

Conn watched him from across the car but said nothing.

Unfortunately for him, Sunny caught the tension glancing between him and Conn. 

The were rolling out of the LAX tarmac as she spoke, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Adam interjected over Conn, who continued to speak through Adam.

“Boo hoo, oh woe is me, I’m not special enough enough to be here, I am just an average guy who's not even actually good at anything wa ... was.”

Adam snarled at Conn, “get the hell out of my head Conn.”

“You can’t just leave your mind dangling open for all your thoughts to flop out.”

“Thanks for phrasing the analogy that way Conn, I appreciate it.” he leaned back in his seat arms now crossed, “And yeah, I feel a bit out of place. I should be back up with my men doing something useful but here I am being treated all special by people who barely even know me. If they really did they wouldn’t be half as interesting. If they knew how half the stuff I did was pure dumb luck, or how i spend most of the scared out of my mind. How I’m not some kind of badass.” Sunny hummed deep in her chest, “Yes, the story of the man whose dumb lluck led him to being the most important human in the galaxy is totally boring. Yawn, I am falling asleep already.”

“You don’t even yawn.”

“Why do you think I said yawn instead of actually yawning then?” 

He growled, “My point is, I just feel out of place.”

“Welcome to being a celebrity Adam. Having dumb luck that put you in a position for people to look up to you. You think these people got here because they are ACTUALLY special. No, they got here because their parents were famous, or because they got into good acting schools when they were kids, or because they knew a guy. All of these people got lucky, aren’t actually special, and there are plenty of people out there more talented than they are, but at this point they are so famous no one cares anymore.”

Adam sat in silence contemplating the thought, “II mean…. When you put it like that.”

“You know it's because I am always right.” Sunny said smugly.

He turned his head towards the window watching the city pass by below them. LA was the largest and one of the most ancient cities on the continent. Of course it spoke nothing of a city like Rome or London, but it was still pretty impressive. The entire place was so shiny and white mixed with delicate greenery all built on the bones of the slums. Not only was LA one of the oldest cities on the continent it was also one of the richest. The further they went the nicer the already nice buildings got reaching towards the sky all shiny and white.

Massive mansions dominated the distance with high gates and private shuttle pads. 

The sky above them was dominated by flying cars, private shuttles, and the occasional jet. One mansion they passed by was so big, it seemed  as if the front facade went on for almost a mile intertwined with many decorative fountains and trimmed hedges upkeep exclusively by robots.

They turned down another street heading into the city with expensive outlet malls and large flashy brand names that probably cost as much as the warp core used to power his ship. He was both parts intimidated and stunned leaning towards the window to stare at all the strange people that walked the sidewalks.

He turned his head following a very excessively dressed man in a tailored ball gown that took up most of the sidewalk.

Where he grew up in the suburbs, there had been people who dressed according to plenty of other time periods, but the trend had been early 2000s mostly thanks to his mother who performed the modest almost utilitarian style of their clothing plus they had never been rich enough to afford new fashion. Jeans were cheap, easy to make, a staple of the poor masses. Not that they had been poor poor per say, after the war his father worked as a farmhand for Megafarm producing millions of pounds of produce, while his mother had quit teaching to pursue business in talor-making period accurate clothing for those who were into that sort of thing. As a result, his family had been middle middle class.

But this…. This was for the 1%. A place he had never even dreamed of seeing.

He looked down at himself again, shabby jeans, black T-shirt and a hand me down leather jacket from his older brother David, which had seen better days.

He sunk down in his seat.

They took another corner and pulled up to the gate. He craned his neck to look out the window glancing up to the large sign hanging over the gate which read.

HOLLYWOOD STUDIOS.

Named for the ancient strip of land which produced many of the early movies when film was in its infancy. Once famous for the land and the people who lived there, it was now famous for being the highest grossing film studio EVER. A powerhouse of film that practically monopolized the world of action. While a lot of people demonized the studio for being a monopoly on film, Adam could see why.

They made some good shit.

The gate buzzed open and they were driven inside. He HAD to get a better look rolling open the skylight and standing to look out the top of the car. Hundreds of people dressed in costumes, carrying props, cameras, equipment. Mouth open like an idiot he stared through open warehouse doors and onto virtual projected sets on which actors stood in full costume, or in motion capture suits. Camera men walked around in massive exoskeletons controlling up to ten cameras at once.

A dog trotted past with a handler, a dog that Vir recognized from plenty of movies in which she had starred tail wagging tongue lolling. He dropped back inside the car with wide eyes staring at Sunny who was also looking out the window with wide eyes.

The car came to a stop towards the end of the strip, but then picked up again rolling into one of the giant warehouses and pulling to  a stop. The engine cut, and the doors opened. He stepped out thanking the Driver.

“Commander Vir! Just who I wanted to see!” He turned just in time to catch Director Ellis, or more like be blinded by him, as he skipped up wearing his strange sequin suit and cat-eye glasses. Instead of going for the handshake the man grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him, “It’s so exciting to finally have you here. You will be so excited to see what we have done. Just like you said, being as accurate as possible’ it's been a real challenge, but I assure you, you will be so proud. We have done so much research, and I have talked to experts everywhere” 

A mousy little woman scuttled after him holding two cups of coffee looking frazzled and exhausted as she tried to keep up with her boss.

Members of the crew looked up from where they were standing and a few exclamations of awe went up, and he couldn’t blame them, aliens were pretty cool. Despite Conn being a total asshole, he cut an impressive figure of billowing white ribbon and slow ethereal movement.

The man pulled back eyes widening at Conn, “You will be an absolute bitch to animate,”

“Match his personality.” Sunny quipped stepping out of the car.

She was greeted excessively by the director as well as Krill.

A sizable crowd had gathered, and Adam stepped back intending to allow his non-human friends the attention they deserved.

That’s not exactly what ended up happening. Stepping out of the circle he heard a shriek that made him nearly leap out of his skin. He turned to find a young woman with large glasses wearing a grey suit and pencil skirt. There was a pile of papers and a clipboard on the ground at her feet like she had dropped them.

Her eyes were wide as she stared at him mouth open.

���Er…… are you ok?” He ventured leaning down to pick up her papers.

When he stood back up she was still frozen her eyes wide. He offered her papers back.

That broke her from her frozen state but beginning with her hands which started to shake frantically in front of her. The shaking grew wider and wider, her expression grew more excited and she began to leap up and down squealing, “No way, no way…. No way no way no way.” That devolved  until she was simply squealing with excitement. 

Adam stepped back in shock and confusion, “It’s really you I can't believe it!”

She rushed forward arms out then paused, “Can I?” Her expression was so innocent and excited, her eyes so wide that he didn’t know how to respond.

“Er ...sure.”

She nearly broke his back wrapping her arms around him and squealing in delight again knocking her glasses askew. He grunted as the breath was crushed from his lungs. Despite being tiny she was surprisingly strong, and he felt his feet lightening upon the ground hands held out to the side still clutching her clipboard.

She stepped back after a moment with a big smile, her glasses canted at an awkward angle, “Can i get a picture with you.” She begged 

He glanced over his shoulder still not convinced that she hadn’t mistaken him for someone, “Um, Are you sure. I Maybe you have the wrong person.”

She shook her head vigorously giggling, “No, I’d know you anywhere. Commander Vir, the first man to meet sentient life, participated in the Drev war, commanding the first fleet of interstellar ships. You are my HERO.” She looked at him with eyes so wide, so innocent and starstruck that he hardly knew what to say.

He wondered if maybe he was dreaming.

“Picture?” She pleaded

“Um ... uh yeah, sure I guess.” She squealed again this time causing him to drop her clipboard as she grabbed him by the arm pulled him in and whipped out her phone snapping at least ten pictures of them before letting him go. “Mr. Vir it is such an honor.” She was saying, “I’ve read everything about you, all the declassified transmissions. Like that time you saved an alien race from extinction, or that time you ran a marathon on a A-1 death planet, or or like the three times you've saved entire planets.”

“Oh I…. really?”

She nodded, “Yes, Mr. Vir.”

He rubbed the back of his neck, “You can just call me Adam.”

He was nearly defined in the next moment as she shrieked again and hugged him.

“What’s your name?”

She put her hands over her mouth eyes wide, “S-samantha, but- but my friends call me Sammy…..You can call me Sammy.” He blinked in confused surprise and a bit of self consciousness feeling himself go a bit red.

 She may have been star struck, but he was sort of struck by her being star struck. This had to be some sort of dream, even more confusing when he realized the circle of people he assumed had been there for his alien companions had ll circled themselves around him. 

Men and women, stage crew, and actors in motion capture suits gathered around wide eyed and smiling.

He spun in a slight circle staring around at all the faces.

A man stepped from the crowd, a young guy in a motion capture suit. He held out a hand, “Commander, Ezra Hemming. I Well I guess I’m the stunt double for…. For your stunt double? Keith Jenning.” 

“So? You’ll be doing all the legwork?”

The young man blushed.” I guess you could say that.” 

Did he seriously seem nervous? It seemed so strange, and all these people were looking at him, approaching him, wanting to talk to him. It was insane, he shook so many hands learned so many names in such a short amount of time. At some point there was a hydraulic hiss, and the crowd around him parted.

A woman walked towards them elevated on a set of robotic stilt legs, wearing a motion capture suit, and an exoskeleton that gave her an extra set of arms. Vir felt his mouth drop open. Rita Ortiz… the penultimate action hero casting choice, and someone he had a boyish crush on for…. Well a couple of years now. 

In her exo suit, she was as tall as sunny, which he assumed was the point, “Commander.” She said politely.

“Ms. Ortiz…. Er…. Can I….. get your autograph.” He stammered out feeling stupid almost immediatly, but to his surprse she broke into a wide smile.

“I was about to ask you the same thing. Make it a deal and trade mine for yours.”

He choked with a rather sporadic laugh not believing her in the slightest.

Some of the crowd finally noticed his alien friends and Ms. Ortiz seemed especially interested in sunny, for obvious reasons. The two stepped up to each other examining the other with a critical eye.

Sunny seemed pleased.

Samantha lurked next to him, and he had a feeling she was trying to be discreet, but it wasn’t working. He was still wigging out about this hardly able to believe it. At some point, someone grabbed him and dragged him towards the director's chair where Ellis was was talking to some of the writers.

He turned in his chair, “Adam…. May I call you Adam, Good, the writers and I were just going over the script, and well we have run into a few snags. You gave us a pretty detailed explanation on some of the things that happened, but this part right here, the part where you lose your leg….. It's very vague.”

Adam shuffled his feet awkwardly glancing over to where Sunny was showing the actress how to more properly move like a Drev. A few of the VFX people were there as well examining her armor, its color and debating how best to reproduce that in post. 

“Well I….. It was taken off during the Drev war.”

“I mean, yeah we got that, and not to push but…. Unless you want us to cut that part out.”

He glanced again towards Sunny.

“I…. its hard to talk about.”

A hand on his shoulder, “I understand, I quite understand….”

He mulled it over for a minute while the writers were talking heart hammering in his chest. He had never told Sunny…. Never really explained about his post traumatic stress related to that incident. Never really mentioned how long it took him to trust her, and he never would. 

He'd never fess up to the nightmares.

Because he didn’t want them to matter anymore.

“I can’t explain it to you but…. I can show you.” The group of them turned almost surprised, and he was honestly surprised at himself too. What he was about to do…. It was a bigger deal than any of them might assume.

“Sunny!” he turned, and the bright blue alien trotted over humming happily the way that Drev did. She seemed so happy, nothing like the creature in his dreams, his friend, his best friend.

“Yes?”

“I…. Well I need to show them how I lost my leg, hard to explain, so I thought we might show them.”

He watched Sunny carefully, and was probably the only one who noticed the slight wilt in her shoulders. The guilt flashing in her gold eyes…. Of course the thing in his dreams would never have felt that way, “Oh ... are you sure.”

He cleared his throat waving it off, “Of course, here.” he stepped forward motioning around the room, “I remember the rocks being sort of like this. There was a shallow sort of bowl like a pocket and some rocks here. There were actually a Tesraki and a rundi soldier right there, and I was over here.”

The crew, following his words began moving around the greenscreen landscape creating the sort of space that he was talking about.

“Now I had one of those older models M-23s pieces of shit, and a knife.” He reached out for the prop weapon offered to him, “And the drev had a spear.” He glanced towards Sunny, who was looking very, very uncomfortable, but someone handed her the prop spear. She looked down at it and swivel it in her hand like the thing was an extension of her body.

She didn’t seem particularly satisfied but didn’t say anything. He moved up onto the fake terrain, and she did the same looking over at him with concern. It was almost as if she knew that even though he had never bothered to tell her. 

He came up one side of the set while she came up the other; she had the spear held out ready, and he had the gun up. Of course, he dropped it on it’s sling when it supposedly overheated, 

He remembered this like it had been yesterday, how the rock had felt under his feet, the panic he had felt for the two defenseless soldiers she was stalking. He remembered panicking when the gun malfunctioned, he remembered how he wasn’t thinking straight. He remembered making the decision that cost him his leg.

He didn’t bother trying to go easy on her, catching her around the neck and raising his hand with the collapsable knife.

The world began to spin, and before his eyes he saw the ash and fire.

He heard the gunfire felt his body moving as it once had. Saw the dark shadow, heard the screaming and felt the hot air over his body. He remembered the knife biting into her skin. He remembered being thrown to the ground.

Set lights flashed around him as he slammed into the floor, padded but still painful as he rolled to the side. Sunny’s foot came down right next to his head as he rolled to the side cutting at her heels.

The creature reached down to grab him, but he rolled to his feet cutting at the hand.

He remembered the sweat trickling down his body from the great heat of the volcanoes. He remembered how the ash had coated the stone making things strangely slippery. He remembered the poorly equipped gear and the oversized shoes.

He remembered slipping backwards landing hard on his back as the spear cut downwards.

He remembered bone cracking and flesh splitting in half.

He braced for pain but none came. The fire died, the ash vanished, and he found himself on the ground hands over his face, a spear tip lightly grazing the outer carapace of his prosthetic leg. Sunny stood over him spear held in one of her lower arms. Though her posture was ready for a fight, her eyes….. So much more expressive than that of the creature he remembered from his vision, looked at him in worry and something that looked like pain.

He lay on the ground looking up at her, at her mercy, just like he had been on that day.

And he knew she wouldn’t hurt him.

She withdrew the spear and stepped back offering one hand to him. 

He didn’t hesitate to take it, and she hauled him to his feet.

Together, they turned to look at the spectators who were looking on in awe,and shock.

Quietly sunny began, “Our orders were to remove their limbs…. In our culture Disability IS death. We thought that simply removing their limbs would stop them…. We were wrong.”

Adam tried to keep his voice light, “I don't remember much, but I crawled about ….50 feet down that hill before someone managed to find me and stabilize me. The leg was completely gone, no hope of reattaching something that’s just gone.”

“That was….. Intense.” Ellis finally cut in, “We should have had some cameras rolling dammit. Can we recreate that!” He began ordering his men around, and for a moment, the two of them were forgotten in the crowd. He stood there quietly noticing on the instant as two pairs of arms wrapped themselves around him. Enveloping him in an armored hug that almost completely encased him…. Safe.

A voice at his ear.

“Don’t EVER make me do that again.”

He placed a hand over hers, “Never, I promise.” 

[typewriterghcst]

Title: The Willow Bud Processional

Fandom: The Cat Returns

Characters: The Cat King, Natori, brief mentions of others

Summary: The Cat King discovers that in all his time in court, Natori has never learned to dance, and heroically takes up the position of dance instructor for himself. It’s about damn time he got to feel like the smart one.

Notes: hi i’m here to regale you all with a tale of two old dumb cats interacting with each other like they think the other one will spontaneously combust at some point even tho they know each other so gd well they could probably quote each other word by word :v

i will say this one is Unfinished, but the missing parts are explained orz i’ve honestly just run out of steam on this one. me writing this was like ‘oh two characters dancing together in a casual setting? excellent my favorite’ and then the slow, sad realization that i’d have to actually write The Dancing and slowly losing that motivation until i was a dehydrated husk lying on the floor

i also listened to this song like. Way Too Much while writing this

[ insert a beginning Narration detailing that this is some nice party probably celebrating lune and yuki’s wedding or something SHHH the king is feeling weirdly down, lacks the emotional intelligence to put a word to What He’s Feeling, so wanders out onto a balcony to sulk, and is eventually followed by natori jfjfkd; ]

It doesn’t take long at all for him to be followed, of course. He hears Natori’s arrival not as a patter of careful footsteps, but as a slight, brief increase in the music volume through an opened door, one that is just as quickly diminished. And he knows his visitor must be Natori— no one else will so consistently come looking for him.

“Did you find yourself needing some fresh air, sire?”

“Yeh,” the king decides to agree, turning to look at his new companion. Natori almost always appears quite polished, those moments he’s comically caught off-guard aside, but there’s something implicitly different about him when he’s clad not in his usual dark linen, but what looks to be plum-colored silk. Were he feeling slightly more charitable, he’d most likely mention to his advisor that the color was appealing on him.

Instead, the indistinct melody he catches from indoors hogs all his attention.

“...eh? Is that the Willow Bud Procession they’re starting up again? They already did that one tonight.”

Natori, surreptitiously glancing back through the glass doors to the dancing pairs inside, responds, “Yes, but I’m led to believe a striking number of the courtiers are quite proud of their costumes tonight. I assume they all wished for another opportunity to show them off.”

“Oh, yeah? If that’s the case, I’m surprised you’re not out there with them— that shiny stuff you’re wearing had to set you back a pretty penny.” It comes out perhaps more sullen than he’d intended, and he can’t quite place why. 

Regardless, he makes no move to amend his tone.

Natori turns a studying look to him, one paw still on the frame of the door. The king shares his gaze for only a few seconds before he hastily looks away, back out into the sun-drenched hills of the Cat Kingdom, where his attention falls on Little Sister Lake. There’s birds there now, cranes— tall, white. Formless. Hm, he thinks then, perhaps they’re not birds, after all. They’re occasional visitors, but no cat in the kingdom has yet been stealthy enough to see them up close.

Natori has remained silent for so long, he’d almost forgotten his advisor had joined him. Nevertheless, he eventually says, “...I might say the same for you, sire. You seemed quite enthused about your crown’s replacement earlier tonight.”

The reminder brightens the king’s mood a little.

“Yeh— Natoru did a top-notch job on it, didn’t she? I’d give her a promotion if I could remember what her position actually was. An’... you know, if I wasn’t retired.” And there, remembering what the original topic was, he follows that up with a more subdued, “Eh, but everyone’s already seen it. Also, I never liked that stuffy procession, to tell you the truth. ‘Willow Bud Processional’ is a pretty whimsical name for what amounts to shuffling rhythmically around the dance floor. Drove me up a wall having to practice it all the time as a kitten.”

Were he facing Natori, he’d see the other cat visibly relax. Alas, he only turns to face his advisor after the revelation Natori sees fit to offhandedly drop on him.

“I’ve never actually learned the steps to it, myself.”

He turns back to survey Natori with some measure of disbelief. “You don’t know how to do the Willow Bud Procession? How have you survived all the parties without knowing?”

Natori hesitates here, and the king reads a definite embarrassment in it, as if the other cat is uncertain what he should admit to. It seems he does settle on honesty, however, as he soon after offers the king a rueful smile and an apologetic tilt of his head.

“I’m afraid I don’t often do much dancing during them, ha.” Too focused on keeping you out of trouble, he doesn’t say, but they both know.

The Cat King thinks on this for a long moment or two, gaze drawn back out to the distant white birds bathing in the kingdom’s cherished lake, the Not-Cranes.  In silence, casually, Natori joins him there at the balustrade, and the air is distinctly companionable until the king speaks up again, distracted.

“It’s not hard. You’d probably pick it up in no time, babe.”

“Perhaps you might teach me, then, sire? It sounds as if you’re quite the expert.”

The king pauses, trying to ignore the bloom of smug delight that comes with being referred to as an expert of anything, but, of course, not very diligently. It’s not like he’ll correct anyone who wishes to feed his ego, least of all Natori.

He looks to Natori and finds that his advisor is regarding him with an expression he can’t quite define. Concerned? Affable? Sly? It’s somehow all of them. Not for the first time, he finds himself wondering if Natori has some obtuse plan he’s orchestrating in subtle ways the king himself can’t quite catch. He’s been proven wrong in this line of thinking so many times before and yet still can’t shake its occasional return in those times when his advisor seems particularly unreachable.

“Hmm. Yeah, babe, I can do that.” The idea of teaching his ostensibly better-read advisor anything is perhaps unsurprisingly enticing. He gives the empty balcony behind them a cursory inspection. “We can have a lesson here. There’s space.”

[ insert the cat king teaching the steps to the ‘willow bud processional.’ if you’re really curious what this might look like, pls feel free to look up ‘pavane’ on youtube. at some point, the king still feels Ignored (or, more accurately, like he’s not Truly Connecting and Socializing with someone), so like a sullen two-year-old he gets natori’s attention by tossing a wrench into his plan ]

“I want to hear a story,” the king says airily.

Natori, who had been gazing down at his feet with a faraway stare, looks back up to him with a raised eyebrow, and somewhere inside, the king whoops at his tiny victory. “Now..?”

“Yeh. Now.” The Cat King takes Natori’s apparent break in concentration as an opportunity to spin the two of them across the balcony, as if they were hapless passengers on a carnival ride as opposed to two old friends trying to have an impromptu dance lesson. Natori stumbles but doesn’t fall, righting himself with a deceptively practiced air, even if his grip is noticeably tighter than before. “Tell me a story, Natty.”

Natori, feeling the situation so characteristically slip from his grasp, glances down to his feet again to gather his thoughts.

“Well…” He eventually starts. “What kind of a story, sire?”

“Hmm. I dunno.” Another too-fast spin. He’s fairly certain he’d seen both Natori’s feet leave the ground for a fleeting second. The other cat definitely looks a touch aggravated now, though he’s trying bravely to hide it. “Tell me one you might have told to your sisters once upon a time.”

It isn’t often the topic of Natori’s family arises between them. The boundary between his advisor’s working family and his personal one often feels like an insurmountable wall at times, one which he doesn’t always possess the interest or fortitude to scale. The oddness of it seems to add only more tinder to Natori’s uncertainty, but in his usual way, he manages to sidle past it. In the meantime, also, the king slows their pace, this time only holding their joined paws in the air and waiting (Natori seems to twirl under their ‘canopy’ without thinking, still too engrossed in choosing a suitable story.)

After a long couple of moments waiting, the king finally speaks up again. “There were that many?”

Natori laughs, genuinely (the king can tell by the way it —). “It’s been a long time since I was the storyteller, sire. Lune always did prefer Natoru’s stories to mine.”

“Hers always involved more explosions and punching. You were outgunned.”

The king watches Natori’s eyelids flutter slightly from long-cold exasperation.  “...Indeed.”

“So tell me one of your favorites. One you never did get to tell Lune.”

Natori doesn’t say that he has the less-than-flattering suspicion the king’s attention span and his appreciation for fairy tales are about on par with his son’s as a restless, curious child, but he’s certainly thinking it quite loudly. If the Cat King has even an inkling of the same thought, he’s for once discreet enough not to mention it.

Natori blows out a breath and an uncomfortable laugh with it, and starts. “...I suppose my favorite was always the one that explained why the sun lived in the sky.”

The faint strings of the Willow Bud Processional from the open door leading onto the balcony begin to fade, and instead revive themselves as another familiar dance, a much slower, more intimate one (one Natori recognizes as the charmingly-named Lilycat Waltz). The king wonders if perhaps the bride and groom had requested a quiet moment. He and Natori move away from each other, standing across from the other in apparent uncertainty over what to do next.

“...You know how to do a waltz?” The king finally asks Natori, though he’s already guessed what the answer will be.

“You’ll have to show me, sire.” As expected. Yet with a bit of good humor mixed in. The king thinks to himself that the two of them are sharing an inside joke neither has yet spoken aloud, and it’s a familiar and comfortable nook they’ve settled into.

“Alright, babe, alright. So stand here— give me your paw—”

Natori complies with both directions with little hesitation, and he raises no protests when he’s pulled close or when he’s otherwise (perhaps less-than-gently at some points) guided into the right stance and position.

And when they’ve gotten situated into another habitual nook, this time closer together in the easy, thoughtless way only the oldest of friends can manage, the king speaks up again.

“You took right to it, babe. Said you’d be a fast study— didn’t I tell you so?”

“You did tell me so, sire,” Natori replies indulgently. Seemingly as a consolatory afterthought, he then adds, “Are my feet in the right position? It feels off.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re new to it.”

Their words, now, feel like a recital, a carefully-rehearsed script. The king thinks it’s about time they broke away from it.

“I have a question for you, Natori.”

“Oh? If it’s important, there’s no need to keep it to yourself, then, Your Majesty.”

“Why does the sun live in the sky?”

Natori laughs. Surprised, perhaps, self-effacing, because he’d been waiting for the question on both their minds, not a request for the continuation of a story he’d assumed had been forgotten.

“His Majesty has a long memory.”

“But you already knew that about me, babe.”

"So I did." Yet Natori continues where he left off readily enough. “The story goes that once, long before the world as we know it was formed, the sun and the water were close friends. Inseparable, one might say— and both lived on the earth, of course. The sun would make frequent visits to his friend, but the water never once returned the favor.”

“Hmph.” The king sounds somewhat discomfited by this beginning, and the intense contemplation Natori spies in his expression tugs at an unexplained apprehension within him. He doesn’t otherwise respond, however. Natori continues, perhaps more gingerly than before.

“Well, of course the sun would find himself curious, if… ah, perhaps suspicious, over this odd discrepancy. He finally saw fit to go to the water themselves for an explanation.”

“That was an awkward conversation.”

“Ha— I always thought so, too, as a child. When my—” Here Natori stumbles just slightly, and the king has little reason to wonder why. “--my mother used to tell the story to me, I always thought of it as the worst part. I always thought… well, if I ever did end up in the same situation, then nothing in all of the kingdom could get me to approach this friend of mine.”

“Were you expecting to make friends with the lake, or…”

“I was five, sire,” Natori deadpans in response to the king’s jest seamlessly.

“Oh, so you definitely were.”

Natori doesn’t answer— he’s too distracted by the faint increase in pressure where the king’s paw is holding his waist, and how the cat suddenly spins them around and then leans the both of them forward, to the degree that Natori’s balance is compromised. In the heat of the moment, he can’t decide whether crashing to the floor or clinging to his self-proclaimed teacher will prove to be the most embarrassing option, and in the end is relegated only to grasping his partner by the arms, stiffly holding one leg outwards in a weak attempt at a counterbalance. (He does not have the core strength to keep this up for long, he can tell that already.)

He’s been exceedingly patient before now, Natori thinks, in dealing with the king’s antics, but this finally proves too much.

When he speaks, it’s softly, but there’s an undercurrent of resigned exasperation, and his expression, he knows, must fail to belie his chagrin.  “...sire, I’m not certain how being tossed across the, er, balcony like a bag of rice is going to teach me any of these dances.”

The king snorts in apparent amusement as he pulls the two of them back upright, much to Natori’s relief. “What’s the matter? You don’t trust me to hold you up..?”

You don’t have the most promising track record runs through Natori’s mind, but it’s gone so quickly it might as well have stayed obscured, he thinks in light resentment. 

“Sorry, Your Majesty,” is what he says, but his grip hasn’t yet slackened.

The king doesn’t respond for a concerningly long time, staring at Natori for so long, and in such a sour manner that speaks of stewing rumination, that the other cat finds himself feeling distantly nervous. Yet, ultimately, he seems to decide against speaking entirely, gently prying Natori’s paws away and back into the air beside them (the other resting quite naturally along the king’s arm).

Without another word on the matter, he compels the two of them to start the dance all over again. And Natori lets him. After a lengthy minute of this loaded silence, the king’s gaze distant from morose thought and Natori’s eyes averted elsewhere, Claudius finally speaks up again.

“So, the sun went to bug the water about the situation. What was the water’s excuse?”

Natori appears surprised, but duly grateful, to be given this escape from the awkward energy that now smolders between them. Given time and distraction, it will die back down again, as it always does. He clears his throat.

“The water’s excuse— y-yes. The water... expressed their sincerest apologies, but explained also that the sun’s house was not big enough for them and all their people to visit, and to do so without heeding that fact would be to drive the sun from his own home. ‘If you do so truly wish for me to visit, then you must build a house large enough to hold me,’ in the water’s own words. But, they warned also, it must be quite substantial, as the water was immense and their people were many.”

“Sounds like too much work if you ask me. Might as well just keep the same old setup.” Seems the king is still feeling a touch cross.

“To travel a great distance, and to always be the one to make that trip, might prove tiring after so many times, as well, sire. Don’t you think?”

The Cat King frowns, more pensive deliberation, but this time he speaks up. “...I don’t think it would.” Then, in a lighter, more promising manner, “He’s gonna do it, though, isn’t he? The sun?”

Natori nods once with a permissive blink.

“Indeed. The sun agreed to the challenge and waved off his friend’s warnings.”

“Think I see where this is going, babe,” the king says lowly as they spin lazy circles across the balcony.

Natori laughs again. “It’s not quite a mystery epic, is it?”

“Alright, so how does the sun mess this up?”

“Well. The sun built himself an enormously vast house. There’s no telling how long it took him. But when it stood finally finished, he invited the water to tea and waited. And when the water arrived, one of their people called up to the sun— ‘We are here! Is there room for us all?’ Of course, the sun, being the passionate host he was, again told his friend not to worry and invited them in.”

The king snorts. “Here we go.”

Natori smiles. His eyes are still closed. The king thinks he looks oddly content like that. He scarcely remembers the frustrated betrayal he’d been afflicted with just moments earlier, and the abrupt, brisk spin he’d been on the verge of executing also fades before it’d even legitimately formulated.

“The water began to flow in, of course, and with them, all the creatures of the seas and the rivers and the lakes. It didn’t take long, now, for the water to fill the sun’s great house to a depth that would easily surge far over a cat’s head.”

“And the sun just let it keep happening without a word, I’m guessing.”

“He didn’t know any better,” Natori attempts to clarify, eyes opening now to fix his companion with a rueful look, one side of his muzzle quirked so that he looks vaguely hapless. “His assumptions were woefully imprecise because of it. It’s a misfortune.”

“Hmm. Up for another spin, babe? They’re my favorite part.”

Natori’s startled confusion is evident, but the sudden change in subject registers soon enough. Something else lingers, though, echoes of a rapt surprise.

“I don’t mind, sire.”

“Good, ‘cause I was gonna do it no matter what, heh.”

“Hm. I appreciate the considerate word of warning, then.” Spoken dryly, but it lacks the exasperation the Cat King had been expecting.

Natori is clearly preparing for the breakneck whirlwinds he’d endured earlier in their ‘lesson’, but it’s not what he receives— the king is sure of that this time.  The music which had begun as an overtly intimate, if not downright romantic, waltz now boasts a noticeable bounce and pep in its tempo, and to himself Natori gives some silent thanks for the shift. This soft, slow dance would be quite hard to justify were he still hearing those faint notes of sweetness from the barely-open door.

He’s struggling already to justify the warmth of his companion’s paw, again settled loosely at his waist, and the perfect fit of the king’s other paw which folds mildly, tenderly, over his own— all have been present for some time now, since they began their so-called waltz, yet Natori is only just now noticing them.

Staring up at the sun-streaked sky of their kingdom, swaying idly side to side under the king’s lead, he continues then, unprompted. “...To the water’s credit, they did ask for reassurance that the situation was still acceptable time and time again. But even by the time the house was crowded with so much of the water and their people that he was forced to sit on the roof of his own home, the sun refused to withdraw his invitation.”

“Why would he do that?” The king sounds baffled.

“I don’t know,” Natori admits. Then, gently, thoughtfully, “...I suppose if one truly wants something, and has their heart set on it, they might be quite amenable to bearing more hardship for it than others might feel is strictly necessary or appropriate…”

The king doesn’t respond to that, and Natori feels perhaps rather oddly like he’s crossed too far over an invisible line, and nervously, resolutely, says no more.  What had been a companionable air now lies stretched too thin over the pair, teeming with uneasiness. Eventually, the king does speak up again, and his voice is too low for Natori to discern his mood with any measure of accuracy.

“Gonna take a stab at guessing the ending to this one, babe.”

“...please do, sire.” It’s a near whisper.

“The sun never told his friend ‘no, that’s enough’, so the water never stopped, and the house flooded so much the sun had nowhere left to sit. So he went up into the sky and never came back down. And I guess never did speak up, either.”

Natori smiles, weakly. “You guessed it.”

“The water, too, never put two and two together, huh..? I’m not the most sensitive of the bunch, but I think even I’d know something was up by the time a friend of mine had to hang around in the sky because I was taking up too much space.” The king snorts.

“Do you?” Natori’s voice remains faint, timid, even; he feels still like he stands at the edge of a great crevice, and he’s not yet sure what lies at the bottom. The king seems also surprisingly fazed or rattled by the further, simple question.

Gently, so much so Natori almost doesn’t notice, he rests his chin on his companion’s shoulder.

“...well. Maybe not,” he eventually says, nonplussed.

They lapse into another silence, then, one that doesn’t quite recapture their earlier easy comfort, but neither does it feel intrinsically charged, either. Natori finally turns his gaze from the unchanging sky to their other surroundings.  They’ve been out here together, away from the other guests, for some time now. He’s surprised no one else has come searching for the two of them yet.

He’s just about to echo the king’s movement and lay his head down when the other cat suddenly speaks up again.

“I’ll tell you one thing I do notice, babe.”

“Mm? What’s that?”

“When someone who obviously knows how to dance says they can’t.”

[ and here we see that i ran out of steam before writing the ending rip natori admits he already knew the steps to the dances, the cat king has long since come to the conclusion that natori lied in order to have this long dance together (also briefly joking that natori clearly just wanted a romantic moment, which natori will vehemently deny) and that it speaks to a kind of comforting Idea that natori knows him Very Well, being aware that the easiest way to cheer him up would have been to Make Him Feel Smart ]

[harrylee94]

Log Entry XXXXXX - Chapter 3

Summary: A new space station, complete with the most high spec and up to date technology there is to offer, has been set up at the edge of the known universe, a new way point for explorers to keep in contact with the rest of the human race. It has been carefully designed by the best scientists and engineers Earth could offer, and now 7 brave souls are being sent out to ensure everything works perfectly.

However, when Logan wakes from cryosleep from the journey, he is informed that several things are now in need of repair, though everything had been in perfect working condition when the station had been reconstructed before he and his crew had arrived. They will have to solve the problems they’ve been left with before the station is up and running, and yet Logan can’t help but feel he’s done this before…

Relationships: Intrulogical (Remus/Logan)

Warnings: Blood, Gore, Parasites, Remus having an overactive imagination, It’s an Among Us crossover so there will be bad stuff afoot.

A/N: This was so difficult to write, partly because I got a job, but mostly because it was emotionally draining.

For those of you who don’t know, this story is based off of a comic by @fangirltothefullest which I HIGHLY recommend you check them out on the link above! Their art is AMAZING.

Note to everyone before we begin; there will be graphic descriptions of gore, dismemberment, possibly torture, and any other awful things that come with the territory of writing a story in an Among Us universe.

Link to; Part 1 Part 2

To read it on AO3 please click here.

Chapter 3: Log Entry #3

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:02 AM

Logan hit the ground with a pained grunt, his shoulder having hit the ground much too hard, and he pushed and rolled himself across it until he’d plastered himself to Remus’s side. He was warm and real and here and now he was holding him. Logan curled into his chest and gripped at the skin-tight suit that Remus was wearing, stretching the fabric but not bringing himself to care as he listened to the beating of his heart.

“You only get like this after something so shitty happens that you can’t logic your way out of it,” Remus said, his fingers gently rubbing circles into Logan’s scalp.

He hummed.

“... You want to talk about it?”

“Not yet.”

“Sure. Take your time.”

Logan smiled. This is why he loved him. Remus was loud, he was gross and he was strange, his ideas bordered on the demented at times, he was intrusive and annoying… but he was also spontaneous and accepting. He could be quiet when it was needed, and he would listen with his full attention (provided he had something to keep his hands busy). He understood more than his first impression led people to believe, and he would protect Logan with everything he had.

Tears ran down Logan’s cheeks as he thought of his body, shredded and so completely empty on the ground, and he choked on a sob at the thought of him dying alone.

“Hey,” Remus said, his voice soft as he rubbed Logan’s back. “I’ve got you. It’s okay.”

Logan shook his head. “No. No it’s not.”

“Why not?”

Logan shook his head again, curling further into a ball atop him. “You… I wasn’t there.”

“Weren’t where?”

“With you.” He could remember that focus, running to the reactor, forgetting everything else. Forgetting Remus. “I left you!”

“Hey, no, I’m right here,” Remus said, kissing Logan’s hair, but Logan was all but sobbing now. “It’s okay, Ana-Logie. I’m here now.”

“But you won’t be, because I’ll leave, or I’ll look away for a second, and you’ll… you’ll…”

“Breathe,” Remus told him, pushing them both upright and cradling Logan in his lap. “Like you taught me, remember? In for four. Hold for seven. That’s it. And out for eight.”

Logan shook as he followed Remus’s instructions, struggling against his emotions, but gently, over time, they calmed to a more manageable level and his grip on Remus’s clothes loosened.

“Good,” the moustached man said, continuing to rub circles into his hair and back. “Just keep breathing.”

The scientist nodded numbly against his chest and relaxed into his hands until his shaking ceased. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“But-”

“No buts!” Remus interrupted. “Not unless it’s the sexy kind!”

Logan chuckled and set his head against Remus’s shoulder, looking up at him as he wiped at his eyes. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” Remus replied, though he looked a little surprised. He had every right to be, considering Logan didn’t say those three words very often, and to have done so unprompted was unusual. “What is it? What happened?”

“You won’t believe me,” Logan said, running lines down Remus’s cheek with his fingertips.

“Try me.”

Of all the people who were with him on this shuttle, Remus was the one who would be the most likely to believe him. Not that that was any guarantee that he would. He had already wasted time with his emotional state though, so perhaps he should keep the explanation short. “... Groundhog Day meets The Thing and I’m Phil.”

Remus blinked at him a few times before his face fell. “What?”

“This… This is the third time I’ve woken up in that cryopod,” Logan said. “You’ve fallen out of your pod three times. And… and we’ve all…” He stopped, looking away. He shouldn’t have said anything. Remus didn’t believe him, and it would have been better if-

“Died?”

Remus’s soft tone -- no, more than that, it had an edge of anger, and fear -- made him turn back. There was no disbelief in his eyes, no hint of criticism or of simply trying to appease him. It almost made him tear up again, but he kept it down and nodded, not quite trusting his voice.

“... I died.”

Logan nodded again.

“We all died?”

Another nod.

Remus hummed and stroked his cheek. “Are you sure it wasn’t a dream?”

Logan’s hope crumpled and he pulled away, or at least he tried to. “Let me go.”

“No,” Remus said, holding him tighter to his chest.

“Let me go!” he exclaimed, kicking out.

“Logan, stop!” Remus cried, struggling with him. “I believe you!”

He paused. “You think it was a dream.”

“You wouldn’t have reacted like this if you didn’t know that it was real.”

“... You insulted me to check if I was genuine.”

Remus shrugged. “You don’t make up stuff like this, but we did just get out of modified freezers after sleeping for years.”

“A fair point,” Logan granted with a blush. It wasn’t like him to overlook something so simple as proof. He blamed his high emotions. “It could still be affecting me.”

“Might be,” Remus said. “Do you think it is?”

Logan frowned. “It felt so real…”

“Then it’s real until we know it isn’t,” Remus said with a decisive nod. “You said it was like The Thing?”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:57 AM

Strangely, Remus’s questioning had actually been quicker than the distractions he usually pulled, the kisses and delaying tactics replaced with hugs and supportive mutterings, and now the two of them were heading into the depressurisation chamber. Remus was holding both of their helmets so Logan could more properly look at his tablet, trying to find any clue in the messages they received from the construction crew of what it was that had caused this loop, or at least what these creatures were, but there had been nothing.

“And our fearless leader arrives!”

Logan looked up from the tablet to find Roman stood in the middle of the room, arms stretched out in a flamboyant and unnecessary manner.

“Aw, bro!” Remus exclaimed in return, stretching his own arms out in a mirror image of his brother. “I never thought you’d admit my superior leading skills.” He grinned as Roman physically stepped away from him with a look of disgust.

“He was talking about Logan, you unhinged octopus,” Virgil said, though he sounded more playful than biting.

Remus gasped dramatically. “How did you know I loved cephalopods?”

Both Logan and Virgil rolled their eyes and Logan nudged his partner with his elbow. “This is not how I was hoping to start the conversation.”

Remus had the courtesy to look at least a little chastised and he stepped back, allowing Logan to take the place of the ‘fearless leader’, as Roman had put it, though he was definitely not fearless so he wasn’t sure why he had said that.

“As we are all here,” he began, looking around at each of them, noting how they were all more or less where they usually were, though he did make a note that Virgil’s previous panic attacks had probably been brought on by his tardiness, “I have some news. Now please keep an open mind as I know that what I am about to say will sound rather fantastical, but I assure you that I am speaking the truth.” The others looked at him in confusion, as he’d expected they would, and he took a stabilising breath. “I have lived through this day twice, and we have all died, both times.”

The air was heavy with the silence that followed, and he tried to hold strong, but he could see the disbelief in their eyes.

“Did Green put you up to this?” Orange asked with a snort.

“That’s not funny,” Virgil muttered, and Patton moved to comfort him, sending Logan a worried look.

“What proof do you have?” Janus asked, looking amused.

“... None,” Logan admitted quietly.

“That’s because this is a useless charade,” Janus said with a wave of his hand, rising to feet. “As entertaining as it is to see you try to make a joke, perhaps next time make it something more believable.”

“I’m telling the truth,” Logan said, but even Roman had turned away. “This is serious!”

“Whatever, Blue,” Orange said, slipping his tablet into its pouch. “Can we just get started?”

Logan’s shoulders fell. He should have known that this would happen. Remus was one thing, but everyone else? He could see them losing their faith in his abilities, in his cognitive functions. His leadership was now under question.

“Are you serious?”

Logan almost jumped when Remus stepped past him, helmets now set aside, and he looked ready to tear someone limb from limb.

“Logan doesn’t lie, not even for jokes,” Remus said, his voice low and dangerous. “He’s trying to warn you guys about something and you just dismiss it outright? What the fuck?”

“Rem, don’t try it, alright?” Roman said, stepping forwards to meet him, eyebrow raised  and arms folded across his chest. “It’s sweet that you’re defending him and all, but we all know the effects of prolonged stasis.”

“We know you probably didn’t mean anything by it, Logan,” Patton said, “but-”

“He’s not lying!” Remus exclaimed, but no one was listening. “Come on! Janus!”

The man in yellow sighed. “Just get your helmet on.”

Their words stung, but Logan knew that if their positions had been reversed he would have thought the same thing. “Remus.” The man turned back to him. “It… It was a dream.”

“Logie…”

“It’s fine,” Logan said with a forced smile. “They’re right. We should just get on with things. We’re on a tight enough schedule as it is.”

Remus gave him a look that should have meant tears, he could see the heartbreak in his eyes, but he stepped closer and took Logan’s face in his hand to press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips. “I believe you,” he whispered, “even if they don’t. I will always believe you.”

Logan smiled, comforted by the support even though he knew it wasn’t enough now. “Let’s get through this.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:15 AM

Virgil, Janus and Orange had all headed off in the same directions they had the previous times they had entered this place, their expertise leading them to very specific locations, but Roman had decided to go to Shields while Patton accompanied Virgil in the Medbay, something that Logan would not have chosen but they had all decided to make the decision themselves, since they ‘wanted Logan to take it easy’. In other words, they had decided that Logan’s skills and intelligence had been compromised.

Remus, who would have usually headed straight to the central control panel in the Weapons room, had been helping Logan sort out the oxygen filter, and they were now sitting side by side, the tasks in the room complete and their helmets resting in their laps.

“They weren’t going to believe us,” Logan was saying. “When it comes to anything outside of my area of expertise they don’t listen. The only reason I was named leader was because I knew so much about the mission. Roman probably would have been chosen otherwise.”

“That princess wouldn’t know the first thing about leading a mission like this,” Remus said with a snort. “He’d have led us all into a black hole to be strung out into wires thinner than a hair, or crashed us into an asteroid, or a planet. Maybe even a star.”

“He’s not quite as bad as that,” Logan said with a chuckle. “He’s actually quite competent, when he needs to be.”

“Well they’re still all a burning bag of dicks for not listening.”

Logan hummed. “We might have scared Virgil enough to keep him from entering, and maybe even Patton, but everyone else… Even proof wouldn’t have made much of a difference.”

Remus looked like he wanted to argue, but instead puffed out his cheeks and slunk further down against the wall, releasing the air as a fart noise. “Our friends suck.”

“They are being practical,” Logan pointed out. “If this were any other situation I would commend them for not trusting my word.”

“But it’s not any other situation.”

“No, it’s not.”

“It fucking sucks worse than an elephant giving you a wet willy.”

“... Elephants don’t have fingers.”

Remus shrugged and leaned into Logan’s side to rest his head on his shoulder, which was enough of an invitation for Logan to rest his own on top.

“You said it was Orange first, right?”

“I did.”

“Do you want to see if we can try and save him?”

Logan turned his head to regard his partner more critically, but, again, he seemed entirely genuine.

“Wouldn’t hurt to try.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:22 AM

“I really don’t need any help,” Orange said as he continued to work on the reactor. “Aren’t there any other tasks that need doing? I’m sure the list was long enough to keep us all busy for several more hours yet.”

“There certainly is an abundance of tasks that need to be done,” Logan agreed, fingers twitching with the need to adjust his glasses but he and Remus had donned their helmets again before they had left the oxygen room. “However, I believe it would be more… socially fulfilling if we completed tasks together.”

“He means it’ll be more fun if we worked together,” Remus said, though why he felt the need to clarify, Logan was unsure.

Orange hummed. “Well, I’ll be needing some fuel soon, and I think I saw the tank in Storage,” he said, closing a panel and pressing a few buttons. “If you get me about ten gallons then I’ll have this done in no time.”

“Great!” Remus exclaimed and grabbed Logan’s hand to pull him away before the scientist had a chance to protest. “We’ll be back before you can say ‘mouldy entrails’!”

“Whatever,” Orange said, still concentrating on the panel before him.

“I thought we were going to stay close to him,” Logan said once they were out of earshot.

Remus shrugged. “You said he always died in Storage.”

“I did.”

“So that means that whatever cuts his chest open does it there.”

“That might be true, but that does not guarantee that it will be the same this time.”

“You said it has the last two.”

They pulled to a stop next to the fuel tank as Logan shook his head.

“Things have already changed,” he said as Remus found an empty fuel container to fill up. “Patton has never gone with Virgil before, Roman hasn’t gone to work on the shields, I’ve never told-”

“Hey, cool your jets, Wall-E,” Remus said, catching Logan’s hands in his before Logan had the chance to pull out his tablet to go over everything he could on there, to find something to try and make some sense out of everything. “Everything’s going to be fine. We’ll get through this, yeah?”

Logan took a deep breath and nodded.

“Great. Now let’s get this stuff to Orange, yeah?”

“Yes,” Logan agreed and looked around for a second container, only to find the surprising sight of a man in cyan blue stood near the door. “Patton! I thought you were going to stay with Virgil.”

For a moment their navigator said nothing, and Logan started to wonder why he looked so stiff, but then he relaxed, his body language becoming something much more soft and familiar.

“I was, but now we’re waiting for some of the samples to process,” Patton explained. “He’s staying in the Medbay but I wanted to see how everyone was doing! I see you two aren’t fueling around!”

“Yes,” Logan said, unimpressed by the pun, though Remus snickered. “Well, thank you for checking on us.”

“No problem!” Patton said, rocking back on his heels before heading on. “I’ll go check how Janus is doing. See ya!”

“Bye Pat!” Remus called after him with a wave. Logan watched after him with suspicion for a few moments more but still collected the container and brought it back to Remus.

“I think they got him.”

Remus blinked at him. “They who?”

“The… The Things,” Logan replied, unsure what else to call them. He should have thought of it before; it had always been Roman and Virgil, and they had always gone to Medbay. Medbay wasn’t safe, and now Patton had been caught. “I’m such an idiot.”

“Wait, Patton?”

“Yes!”

Remus stared up at him, his eyes growing wide. “Janus.”

They dropped the containers without a second thought and sprinted after Patton, skidding around corners until they reached the Communications room. As luck would have it, Roman had been near the corridor and the commotion had caught his attention.

Patton had turned back to look at them all in surprise, or rather the creature that had taken Patton’s form had, as there wasn’t a shadow of a doubt that this wasn’t their lovable father friend anymore. No, this thing’s arms had been buried deep inside of Janus’s chest, one sharp tentacle-like appendage having exited his back with a small number of vertebrae clutched in its grasp, and the other coming out of Janus’s mouth.

Bits of spinal cord dropped to the floor from within the vertebrae, landing with a squelch in a pool of gathering gore, and a few moments later Janus’s limp body joined it. The three of them watched in horrified fascination as the creature’s appendages morphed back into Patton’s suit covered arms, and the blood covering them seeped into the fabric, removing all evidence of the brutal murder it had just commited.

“Whoops,” Thing-Patton said with a shiver inducing smile. “Looks like I should have been more careful!”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:35 AM

Patton was struggling in Remus’s grasp, kicking and wiggling and hissing as everyone left alive stood around the table in the cafeteria. Logan’s heart hadn’t stopped racing since Remus had charged towards the creature that had torn through flesh and bone and tackled it to the ground. He was still holding back his panic at the thought that he was holding it with his bare arms with no protection against being slaughtered in front of everyone.

“What the hell is going on?” Orange demanded, as Remus struggled with Not-Patton for a moment and was forced to push him down against the table. “Green!”

“He… It… The thing that looks like Patton killed Janus!” Roman explained, going to join his brother to hold the Thing down. “We saw it!”

“Let me go!” Not-Patton shouted. “You’re hurting me!”

“What do you mean, ‘Patton killed Janus’?” Virgil asked, looking like he wanted to jump in to help, but Logan had set himself between them. He knew what Virgil had become.

"It's not Patton!" Remus exclaimed grunting when Patton swung his head back into his nose but never once losing his grip. Perhaps all those scraps were good for something after all. "Fuck! He killed Janie! He’s dead! He’s dead God damn it! You tore him to fucking shreds!"

Logan so desperately wanted to go to his side, to wipe the tears that were falling down his cheeks, but he had to stay here. He had to protect them from Virgil too, or all of this would have been for nothing.

“He’s not the one with blood all over him!” Virgil declared, waving at Remus’s gore covered suit. “How do we know it wasn’t you?”

“Purple’s got a point,” Orange conceded with a nod, and Not-Patton smiled.

“Yes! Thank you, Orange!” the creature said, still struggling.

“No!” Roman exclaimed. “I don’t know what you are or what you did to Patton, but we saw what you did.”

“But Remus-!” Virgil began but Logan cut him off.

“Do you honestly think that all three of us would lie to you about this?” he asked, waiting for a few moments before continuing when no answer was forthcoming. “I don’t know how, but this… this thing is able to absorb… blood through the suit.”

“That’s ridiculous!”

“Oh I wish it was.”

Virgil looked between the three of them, looked at Not-Patton who was struggling under the twins’ weight, then over at Orange who was considering Patton with suspicion. “You can’t seriously think they’re telling the truth!”

“All three of them are corroborating the same story,” Orange said.

“Orange, no,” Not-Patton begged, and Logan had to force himself not to look at it when he heard the wetness of its voice. “Please. Please! I didn’t do it!”

Orange’s expression twitched. “What are we supposed to do with him?”

“Orange!” Virgil cried, but Logan couldn’t help but feel relieved.

“We could throw him out the garbage chute,” Remus suggested as he and Roman kept a tighter hold on the squirming body beneath them.

Roman stared at him. “You want to pull a HAL 9000 and vent him into space?”

“He just tore my best friend up from the inside out in front of our eyes!” Remus all but screamed in his face. “He pushed pieces of his spine out through his back! There were pieces of his liver and pancreas all over the floor! He’s got fucking tentacles for arms!”

Roman continued to stare at him in silence for a few seconds, at his red rimmed eyes and wet cheeks, then he nodded slowly.

“I can’t believe I’m agreeing to this,” Orange said, but he also nodded in agreement, though he looked severely conflicted. Not that Logan could blame him; it still looked like Patton after all.

“What?!”

Logan spun around, holding his tablet out in some poor excuse of a shield as Virgil charged at him, only to get pulled to a halt by Orange.

“You’re all crazy!” Virgil screamed at them as Roman and Remus started to drag a wailing Not-Patton towards the garbage chute. “You’re crazy!”

“Logan, the door,” Roman said, and Logan headed to the panel to open it.

The door to the dumping ground hissed open and Not-Patton’s cries only grew in volume as Virgil continued to shout and scream at them to stop. The twins struggled to shove the Thing into the alcove, and it tried to cling onto Roman before Remus batted it away, and then Logan shut the door.

There was a lever that needed to be pulled to activate the venting, one that had to be held down to keep the hatch open, and it burned at Logan’s fingers through the suit. He could hear Not-Patton banging on the doors, Virgil screaming behind him, Roman trying not to throw up as he held back sobs…

“Logan.”

He shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, Remus’s hand falling on his shoulder. “I…”

“Let me.”

He shook his head, but still he couldn’t move. He was frozen, stuck, unable and yet knowing he needed to. “I can’t.”

Remus’s hand covered his, fingers curling slowly through his own. “Let me.”

Logan took a deep, shaking breath, forcing the noises around them away, and swallowed as he let his arm drop, leaving only Remus at the lever. Much as Logan had done, Remus hesitated, but it was only that, a hesitation.

The banging fell into silence as the chute emptied, its contents emptying out into the void of space as Remus held the lever for five seconds, ten, twenty…

“Remus,” Logan said softly as he touched his partner’s arm, then up to his wrist until he could peel his fingers from the lever. Once they had come loose it was like a chord had been cut and he dropped to his knees, clutching at Logan’s hand as he held his head with the other.

“I killed him.”

“No!” Logan insisted, kneeling before him to hold him, even as he kept an eye on Virgil, who looked stunned. “That wasn’t Patton anymore. It wasn’t even human.”

Remus choked on his tears and gripped Logan’s back.

“We did the right thing,” Roman said as he slid closer, sliding his fingers into his brother’s hair.

“The right thing sucks,” Remus said into Logan’s shoulder, but eventually raised his head enough to smile at his twin. “Thanks bro.”

“No problem,” Roman said, and he leaned closer to press his forehead to Remus’s.

It was a beautiful moment, one that didn’t happen nearly enough between the siblings, but in the moment of distraction Logan had taken his eye off of Orange and Virgil. He should have known better. He was doing so many things wrong!

Lights flashed overhead, an alarm blared, and all three of them looked up, drawn from their moment of solidarity.

“The reactor,” Orange said and took off running, Virgil following soon after, and Logan scrambled to his feet.

“Virgil,” he said, pulling Remus up. “He’s the other one.”

“What?” Roman said, only to have to catch up with them as they  headed towards the reactor. “Other one of what? What are you talking about?”

“It’s the Thing, Roman,” Remus explained simply, “except this time there are two, and we only got one of them.”

“That’s-!” Roman started, only to cut himself off, no doubt thinking of what he’d witnessed. “What are we going to do?”

“Stop him.”

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 10:51 AM

They had been too late. Orange had been bleeding out on the floor and Virgil nowhere to be seen when they had arrived, the countdown bringing them closer and closer to the end of everything. They had stabilised the core as quickly as possible, but now they were walking around the station like a tiny waddle of emperor penguins in the dead of winter, jumping at every little sound. Logan was disgusted with himself for making so many mistakes, for not being strong enough to do what had to be done. Now there were only three of them left, and he had a feeling that it would only be a matter of time before that number went down to zero.

“He’s got to be in the vents,” Remus said, glaring at the grate in the corner of the cafeteria, shifting the pipe he’d picked up in his hand. “This is turning into an Alien movie.”

“There’s only one or two survivors in most of those!” Roman hissed in complaint. “I’d rather not have that happen. Four is plenty enough already.”

“I don’t think we’ll get much of a choice in that,” Remus said. “Whatever happens, next time, we do something different.”

“Next time?”

Remus looked back at Logan as dread started to build in the scientist’s gut. “Groundhog Day, you said.”

“Remus,” Logan said, reaching for him, and catching his hand.

“If we lose, you have to warn me next time,” he said, only sparing a few moments to watch him before turning back to keep watch. “You have to let me help you, alright? I know what you’re like.” He smirked. “You can be as stubborn as a crocodile chowing down on a wildebeest.”

“This isn’t a game, Remus,” Logan said. “Losing you -- losing any of you -- hurts.”

“What the hell are you guys talking about?” Roman asked.

“He already told you, and you called him a liar.”

“He…” Roman blinked. “You can’t have lived through today already. That’s impossible.”

“I know,” Logan agreed, “and if I wasn’t living it I would agree with you.”

“But-”

The lights started flashing again.

“Oxygen,” Logan muttered as he looked at the light. “Two locations. We won’t be able to fix it in time if we don’t split up.”

Remus nodded. “I’ll take the one in Admin, you two take the other.”

No. No, he couldn’t let Remus go on his own. He couldn’t do that. He couldn’t let him die alone. He wouldn’t-

All thoughts in Logan’s head screeched to a halt as Remus pulled him in for a deep, needy kiss. A last kiss.

“I love you,” the love of his life said before he pulled away.

Logan didn’t get the chance to call after him, Roman dragging him towards the oxygen room before he could even breathe. He wouldn’t have been able to say anything though; he felt too numb, knowing Remus was doing this, even though he knew the consequences.

As they entered the room he headed over to the panel next to the filter, entering the code to fix it… and the countdown didn’t stop for a moment.

“... He didn’t make it,” Roman murmured, and as the numbers dropped lower and lower Logan took his hand, squeezing tight as the air thinned, as spots appeared in his vision, as he became dizzy and dropped to his knees. Wheezing, he pressed close to the warm body beside him as consciousness finally slipped through his finger.

_______________________________

Stardate: October 17th XX20. 6:00 AM

The light of the cryodeck grew brighter beyond Logan’s closed eyes as he steadily awoke, his fingers curling. He waited in silent hope for several long and dragging seconds until he heard the familiar sound of Remus falling out of the cryotube. He didn’t know whether to laugh in relief or cry, knowing now that he would have to live through everything all over again.

[trashexplorer]

BLCD Review: Itoshi no XL Saizu

Title:  愛しのXLサイズ (Itoshi no XL Saizu)

Author: Omoimi

Release date: 2019/09/11

Cast: Nakajima Yoshiki x Saitou Souma

Synopsis: University student Aoi Yamamoto joins the Sake Research society hoping to get a girlfriend and lose his virginity, despite being unable to tolerate alcohol. At a club event, he gets wasted on liquor chocolates and is taken care of by Kobayashi-kun, a member of the same club. Despite being very handsome, Kobayashi-kun confesses that he is also a virgin… because of his enormous dick! How will the drunken Yamamoto deal with coming face to face with the ‘Anaconda’? A sweet and sexy comic romance between students, extra-large size! (Hero Scans)

Review Proper

Yo, I’m glad I put this after Konomi ja Naka to in the list. This is how you adapt a comedic BLCD! I mean, what did I expect from Fifth Avenue? Though there are certain things like the BGM and voice acting that I had some minor concerns with which I will cover in a moment, but this should be the minimum! I’m actually quite happy with the adaptation because if you’ve read the manga, Omoimi is fond of sudden stops and surprise turns in dialogues (think Masao Sangatsu), so I was curious about how they’ll execute that in audio. They were fantastic! They made the dialogues more alive! This is how you do it, Marine Ent., take notes. Also, can I just say how this reminds me of Seto Umiko’s Customer Masquerade!? But Anaconbayashi’s heaps better than Kishimoto tbh. 😂

Again, the BGM could use just a tad more improvement because I felt that they were lacking in some parts. Nothing I can’t forgive. I was more concerned with the actual voice acting because I didn’t trust Nakajima Yoshiki enough to survive acting with Saitou Souma. Oh my gosh, I can’t believe I saw Saitou Souma grow up from that cutie rookie Teo in DMMD to QUEEN SAITOU SLUT AOI. 😭😭😭 My worries proved true because Nakajima Yoshiki did get swallowed up by Saitou Souma’s acting, especially in the first few tracks. 

Man, Saitou Souma was just...too good at it that Nakajima Yoshiki had a hard time matching their breaths in the first mattress mambo. It sounded like Saitou Souma was having sex with another man (Maeno maybe??? I’m sorry Furukawa) in his head while Nakajima Yoshiki was just jerking off. 🙊 Now, I admittedly am not that familiar with Nakajima Yoshiki’s voice and the only notable role I’ve heard him in is Akai Ito’s Akira-san where he did a stellar job with btw, but he really struggled here. His Akira-san was a rich but high pitched tone, if you know what I mean, and I felt that the pitch that he was going for was a little too deep that I could hear him strain it at times. I feel like he finds it difficult to drag long and spontaneous dialogues out because of this, which is weird because I listened to the cast talk and his voice was just a tad higher but was rich and smooth like Ono Yuuki’s. Idk. 🤷 It was as if he was going for Furukawa Makoto’s Shida-kun in Alternative, but ended with his Kiriya in I Hate instead. He did manage to make me ride his acting the longer the CD played, but the strain does pop up like a sore thumb at times. 

I also had an issue with the semes in the last three BLCDs I listened to before this, but rather than a miscast, I think this more of a mistone because Furukawa Makoto’s Shida-kun would have passed as Anaconbayashi—even though I find it too serious a tone for him. I honestly don’t know who we could replace him with, though. 😂 Roles like Anaconbayashi’s are hard to cast!

As for Saitou Souma, I think that this is his best BLCD yet on this list (let’s see if Yoidore can top this). Man, I’m sorry for everyone else who was vying for this crown, but Saitou Souma is 2019′s Queen of Queens. I’m sure Okitsu will be doing phenomenal in Koi ga Ochitara, but the number of BLCDs Saitou Souma’s voiced as an uke alone is enough to steal that title. But this isn’t about quantity, now is it? Unlike Furukawa Makoto who’s a hit or miss in the plethora of projects he has done this year, Saitou Souma makes it a point to always hit that mark. What an artist.  👏👏👏 I don’t understand how he can act like such a veteran when he’s only 28!

Furukawa Makoto (probably): What have I ever done to you, Cheska???

I love Furukawa Makoto, too. Don’t get me wrong. They’re both my babies. 😂 My love for him makes me include him in every BLCD review even. Pls get used to it, Furukawa, because I still have more BLCDs to review! 😂

As for loyalty, there weren’t a lot ad libs; and though there were some changes in the arrangement in the dialogue, it isn’t that hard to follow. If you’re a beginner, this shouldn’t pose a problem for you at all. Plus, it’s funny and steamy af! I highly highly recommend listening to this while reading the manga. This is undoubtedly one of 2019′s best BLCDs/adaptations, so definitely give it a try!

[mybookbath]

“If you don't watch it people will force you one way or the other, into doing what they think you should do, or into just being mule-stubborn and doing the opposite out of spite.” —Ken Kesey, One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest 🔸 Whoa, what a novel! Can’t believe I hadn’t read it before (or even watched the film). I finished the book a couple of weeks ago yet it is still whirling around in my head. Overall I thought is was a stand out classic. It definitely kept me entertained right up until the end. Oh, and that ending! 🔸 One thing, however, quite early on I noticed that the few women in this story are not depicted well. They are actually referred to as “ball-cutters”. What?! This had me scratching my head. So, I quickly searched online and found this; “By polarizing the battle between repression and freedom as a battle between feminization and masculinity, machinery versus nature, and civilized versus wild, Kesey offers a simplified mythology much like the comic book heroes he reveres. The war isn't between the sexes, but an archetypal battle between the more positive masculine qualities and the more negative feminine qualities. This motif suits his purpose because it allows Kesey to express a worldview of good against evil in which one of the cardinal virtues of McMurphy's world is masculinity. It is the masculine virtue that engenders nature, spontaneity, sexual freedom, and rebellion against the feminine qualities of societal repression under the guise of civilization.” 🔸 Have you read this book? If so, please weigh in on your thoughts. #oneflewoverthecuckoosnest https://www.instagram.com/p/CNNYClGHUmF/?igshid=p59aqou2x9ki