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ihavemanyhusbands · 7 months

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The Wine of Your Blood

Father Paul/Monsignor Pruitt x Fem!Reader

Also on AO3

As usual, thank you to G <3

Summary: After Father Paul's transformation, he is tormented by a hunger only you can quell.

WC: 5.1k words

Warnings: 18+ ONLY!, vampirism, blood drinking, religious imagery and symbolism (I'm not a religious expert tho I grew up catholic, sorry if I used wrong terms), canon divergence, hierophilia, corruption, graphic depictions of sex and some violence, unprotected sex (do not try at home), cunnilingus, ummm let me know if I missed anything pls!!

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The silhouette was there again, shrouded in a thick fog that rolled in from the tempestuous sea. It was tall and statuesque, like the guard of some mythical place – monstrous and terrible. Golden light blazed behind it, flickering like an ardent flame. Or like a beacon, slicing through the night’s darkness and calling you home.

You could not see its eyes, and yet you could feel the prickle of an assessing gaze. The siren-like lure was undeniable, and for a moment you could understand why sailors jumped into the sea with total abandon.

But you were not afraid. You’d seen this apparition for various nights now, like an omen, even if you didn’t really believe in that sort of thing.

The real questions were: What was it presaging?

And why, especially, did it feel so inevitable?

————-

You awoke, as you often did in the late fall, to a gentle rain. As the day progressed, you knew it would grow in intensity, but for now, there was peace and quiet.

You stared at the drops trailing down your window like glistening tears of melancholy. The milky white early morning sky was the same as it ever was, casting a thin, watery light on everything.

When you finally pulled yourself out of bed, you peeked into your grandmother’s room to find her still out, snoring softly. Her breaths no longer sounded like wet, raspy gurgles, which made you sag with abundant relief.

Sarah had diagnosed her with a mild case of pneumonia the previous week, but even so you knew things could turn for the worse on a whim. Your grandmother was nearing ninety, and while she had always been a sturdy woman, her body could only take so much now.

For a minute, you were seriously starting to consider getting in touch with the new priest, Father Paul, once again to talk last rites. For your grandmother’s sake, you wished Monsignor Pruitt could have performed them, but he was still recovering in the mainland.

But that all would be a problem for another day, given that she was doing much better.

Still, she had adamantly refused to miss mass, and while she wasn’t strong enough to leave the house, Father Paul had been gracious enough to swing by for a house visit on Sunday.

He seemed like a fine man, soft-spoken, amiable, and welcoming. Not to mention, he had quite a charming way about him, especially when he laughed. Perhaps you shouldn’t be taking notice of that, but you couldn’t help it, despite how conflicted you felt in his presence.

There was something vaguely familiar in his dark eyes you couldn’t place — something that seemed far older, perhaps wiser, but definitely weathered. At times, prolonged eye contact with him seemed daunting, but you attributed it to your general wariness of strangers.

He hadn’t been at Crockett for very long, but you appreciated the effort he seemed to be making with everyone on the island, but especially with your grandmother. There had to be some way you could repay his kindness… perhaps in the form of a homemade treat.

You padded over to the kitchen to make some coffee, rummaging through the cupboards to see if you had all the ingredients to make some banana bread.

You spent the rest of the morning cooking, your grandmother’s small house warm and permeated with the sweet, enticing smell of baking bread. You got ready after that, making sure your grandmother ate some breakfast and took her medicine before you headed out.

Gravel crunched under your rain boots as you trudged over to the Monsignor’s house, where Father Paul was currently residing. You nodded in greeting at passerby, stopping only to spare a few words with Leeza Scarborough, who was on her front porch reading.

When you arrived at the house, the curtains were drawn and there seemed to be no lights on inside. You frowned in slight confusion, given that it was past noon. Perhaps he was out and about, but with so few residents on the island, you surely would have seen him.

You stepped up onto his porch, hesitating for a moment before knocking on the door.

“Father Paul?” You called tentatively.

No answer. You tried knocking again, waiting for another few minutes.

When you were about to give up, you kneeled to set down the tupperware, and the door suddenly opened to reveal Beverly. Her eyes widened slightly upon seeing you there and you quickly straightened.

“Oh, Beverly,” you said as a form of greeting. “Sorry, just wanted to drop something off for Father Paul. As a thank you.”

She cleared her throat, hands clasping in front of her. “I’m afraid Father Paul has fallen ill and is currently indisposed for visitors…”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” you said sympathetically, further confused by the slight worry you felt at the news. “I can just give this to you, then. I’ll talk to him when he’s better.”

“How nice of you to do this,” Beverly smiled tightly, eyebrows raising just a little. “I’m sure he’ll really appreciate it, though I’m not sure if his stomach will be able to take it right now… Oh, I just hope it doesn’t go bad.”

You gave her a wry, uncomfortable smile in return. “It’s the thought that counts, right? Erm… I’m just glad he’s got someone to take care of him.”

“He’s in good hands, I assure you,” she nodded. “Mine, and the Lord’s, of course.”

You nodded in return, starting to back away slowly. “Right. Well, can you tell him my grandmother sends her regards?”

“Of course, I will let him know. Good day now.”

And with that, she shut the front door. You shook your head and let out a sigh, glancing only once back at the house as you walked away.

—————

For once, the night was clear. The stars and the waxing moon were visible, keeping you company as you stepped off your porch. The air was fresh and crisp, smelling faintly of petrichor.

You stretched a little as you looked up at the sky, thanking whoever was up there for letting the rain cease for the time being. It seemed like forever since you’d last been able to go out for a nighttime jog, no one around to talk to or look presentable for. It was the perfect time to clear your mind, now that a huge weight had been lifted off your shoulders.

You started down the gravel road, the wind whistling in your ears. Your legs kept a steady rhythm, the old houses of all your neighbors whizzing past your field of vision. You passed by the school and the convenience store, winding away from the main town area towards the harbor.

The moon’s reflection made the black waves glitter, endless, ominous, and hauntingly beautiful. You stopped for a moment near the pier, looking beyond the water at all the distant lights of the mainland. So close, and yet so far.

Sure, you yearned for all the mainland had to offer – an entire world that wasn’t just bite-sized, predictable, safe. But you could not yield to those selfish fantasies, not while someone who gave you so much throughout your life now required your help. You closed your eyes and breathed in the salty breeze.

Perhaps someday…

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?”

The familiar voice made you almost jump out of your skin. You whirled around to find Father Paul a few feet behind you, raising his hands to show he meant no harm. Maybe you’d been so distracted that you hadn’t heard him approach, but it still felt eerie.

“Oh, I’ve startled you, I’m so sorry,” he said with a nervous chuckle.

You placed a hand on your chest as if to placate your racing heart. “It’s okay, Father. I just wasn’t really expecting to see anyone, is all.”

“Especially not the priest, right?” he raised an eyebrow, which made you huff in amusement.

“Guess I just thought you didn’t come out at night.”

He smiled lopsidedly, looking down and clearing his throat slightly. “You know, I think I’m becoming more partial to nighttime. I guess you could say I’m an insomniac.”

“All that weight on your conscience?” You said as he approached, standing next to you.

“Something like that,” he sighed, now looking off into the distance. “Thank you for the bread. It was delicious.”

You shrugged it off modestly. “Grandma’s recipe. I’m just glad she’s right as rain again. Maybe… Your prayers helped. It’s what she insists on, anyway.”

He shook his head, a loose dark curl brushing his forehead. “That’s much too kind of her.”

You assessed his profile for a moment. “How are you feeling, Father? You were out for a few days, too.”

“I definitely needed some fresh air. Now, I’m much better,” he said with a smile, meeting your gaze. “I could not stay cooped in that house any longer. I’m really looking forward to our next mass.”

You said nothing, unsure of how to respond. Despite the fact that you’d grown up religious, you weren’t really practicing anymore. Sometimes you’d accompany your grandmother to sermons, but you often tried to find excuses to skip them.

So far, you had only been to one of Father Paul’s, and you had to admit there was something rapturous about his speeches. They were not only engaging, but the passion behind them was sort of infectious. You even caught yourself leaning forward in your seat, which you quickly corrected.

It only added to the confusion of how you felt about this man, but such a mystery was undeniably alluring.

“Will you be joining us?” He asked. “No pressure if not, but it’d be nice to see you there.”

“Ah, is that what this is? You’re trying to convert me or something?”

“You’re very clever,” he observed, his grin broadening. “But no, that's not all it is. Part of it, sure, but I don’t want you to miss out on something really special.”

You couldn’t help the slight blush that spread across your cheeks, your heartbeat suddenly spiking once again. His easy, confident smile faltered for a moment, and his Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed hard. The bestial hunger that had been tormenting him for days, rendering him weak and sickly, flared inside of him.

“T-think on it, but like I said, no pressure on my part,” he added quickly, gasping a little as if he lacked air.

You nodded, failing to notice how he slowly clenched and unclenched his fists. His muscles were taut with self-restraint, rooting him to the spot. Luckily, you moved first, taking a step back.

“Alright, thank you for the invite. Um…I should probably finish my jog and head back home,” you said, gesturing behind you. “Don’t get in too late, Father. You don’t want to catch another cold.”

————

Despite the fact that he was a passionate speaker, you had never seen Father Paul so worked up.

He started by speaking about eternity and how hard it was to visualize it. The fire inside him was stoked as he spoke of God’s gifts, his miracles and his mysteries. How they were something tangible, something within reach of every grasping hand… even if one couldn’t understand them.

Then the fire turned into a feverish glint in his eyes, his skin paling considerably. He stumbled over his words, pausing to keep nausea at bay. Sweat broke out across his forehead, and he dabbed at it with a handkerchief.

“I’m so sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “Just a little dizzy spell, but I’m fine now.”

Still, he braced his hand on the pulpit. You noticed Beverly was also leaning forward in her seat, ready to spring to action if need be. That was all the confirmation you needed that something was wrong.

But for a moment, as he continued talking, things seemed to settle. You relaxed in your seat, folding your hands on your lap.

“No abstracts. No colorful exaggerations. No. ‘Rebirth’, ‘Second chances’, ‘E-eternal li…’”

His eyes rolled to the back of his skull as his words faded into a shuddery exhale. He collapsed onto the floor, thudding heavily down the steps as the panicked voices of the congregation rose in volume.

Beverly reached him first, of course, but you knelt at his side only moments after. You hadn’t even registered you were running until you got there, cradling his head in your hands.

And even if he was unconscious, you could’ve sworn he leaned closer to your touch.

—---------

It was an audacious plan, you knew that well enough. Still, that clarity didn’t stop you from attempting to go through with it.

As soon as Sarah Gunning arrived to attend to Father Paul, Beverly had kicked everyone out, holding firm even as you insisted you wanted to stay. Her stubborn will was infuriating, but perhaps also commendable, in a way. You had to bite back a few bitter words as you left, but that didn’t mean you intended to stay away.

You waited for her to leave Father Paul’s house, which didn’t happen until after the sun had set. Even when you couldn’t hear her receding footsteps any longer, you waited a few more minutes before approaching the front door.

You raised your fist to knock, but the door suddenly opened to reveal a haggard-looking Father Paul. There were dark crescents hanging from his eyes and his skin was so pale it was almost translucent.

For his sake, you held back from gasping, but he could still see worry written across your features.

“It’s like you knew I was coming,” you said with a small smile.

“Keen senses,” he said softly. “Would you like to come in?”

You hesitated, despite the fact that a ‘yes’ was on the tip of your tongue. “I just wanted to see how you were doing. Gave us a real scare earlier.”

He swallowed hard, closing his eyes for a moment as if staving off an ache deep within him. In the dim light, you noticed the corners of his lips were a dark red. For a moment you wondered if he’d been drinking the sacramental wine.

“It may not seem like it but… better,” he said, mustering a small smile. “I fear I-I may owe you an explanation.”

“Oh, Father Paul, you don’t…”

“Please, I insist. I can make us some tea, if you’d like,” his voice dropped into the faintest whisper. “Just, stay. Please.”

The desperation in his voice gave you pause. You searched his face for the answer to a question you didn’t dare ask, and perhaps you deluded yourself into believing you found it.

You nodded, crossing the threshold and taking off your shoes. You heard him shuffle about in the kitchen, and you wrung your hands nervously as you glanced around the small, austere rectory.

This was wholly improper, you knew, but you felt a magnetic sort of pull towards him that was getting harder to resist. It was easy to deny it at first, brushing it off as curiosity and excitement over having a newcomer on the island.

Most were wary, but you… you wondered if he could be your link to the rest of the world. Your appetite for that dream was only whetted, closer to your fingertips than ever.

“Water’s boiling,” he said as he came into the living room. “Sit, please, make yourself comfortable.”

Obediently, you did as told. There was a palpable tension in the atmosphere that made your skin prickle. He sat across from you, gripping the armrests of the chair as he adjusted himself, unable to find a comfortable position.

“I have to insist that you owe me no explanation, Father. I just worry about your… condition,” you said.

“It’s no ordinary ailment. I think you’ve sensed that already, haven’t you?”

You nodded, unsure of where he was going with this, but willing to listen.

He continued. “You have witnessed miracles here on the island. Things that you can’t explain and yet are so clear to your eyes. Were you listening to my homily earlier?”

“Yes, Father,” you said, even if you’d only been half-listening.

But he was speaking the truth, if Leeza Scarborough was any indication. She had risen from her wheelchair just a few days prior, no longer in need of it. Since then, you’d seen other changes around Crockett, some of them more subtle than others.

You clasped your hands on your lap to keep from moving them. “You mean to say you’ve brought about these miracles?”

He smiled patiently, indulgently. In this light, his eyes seemed darker than you’d ever seen, like two chasms you could get lost in.

“No, not me. God. I am merely a vessel for His glory, and all of the gifts He wishes to impart on us,” he said, leaning forward slightly and resting his forearms on his knees. “On you in particular.”

“Me?” You blinked, genuinely surprised. “What sort of gift?”

“The gift of life anew. Rebirth. A holy transfiguration, if you will.”

His gaze was fixed on the way your throat worked as you swallowed hard, on edge despite your curiosity being piqued.

“You see, I was visited by an angel. Larger than life, with a greater wingspan than even an albatross. It was utterly magnificent… as well as horrifying. I was afraid at first, of course, for we all fear things that are unknown to us. I was on the brink of death regardless, but see me now, restored, in my prime!”

You frowned, a myriad of questions on the tip of your tongue, but then Father Paul doubled over, clutching his stomach. His dark brows were furrowed from the influx of pain and you instinctively rose to help, but he lifted a hand to stop you.

“But to be reborn, the old self must be destroyed, and thus… and thus it is not an easy road to walk,” he rasped.

You knelt beside him, concerned and abundantly confused all at once. “What do you need? How can I help you ease this pain?”

He looked at you from the corner of his eye, pleading, desperate. Like a wounded animal, almost. You wondered if he, too, might bare his teeth in warning.

“There is this hunger inside of me that I cannot seem to dispel. I-I fear it threatens to consume me,” he swallowed hard, straightening into a sitting position once more. “God asks terrible things of us sometimes, but I cannot help but think this is a test of my strength. My will.”

“I want to help,” you said softly, so softly, daintily placing a hand on his knee.

But his ears were keen, as he’d said, and he heard you perfectly fine. Still, his eyes – glazed over in pain and hunger and desire – searched yours for any sign of doubt. Instead, he found resolve, as well as a very clear distress at seeing him suffer so much.

Oh, pious, gentle little lamb. What a good heart you had. The idea that your blood might taste just as sweet made his head spin, his beastly hunger lashing out inside of him.

His hands cradled your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone ever so slightly. You found yourself leaning into his touch, too entranced by him to think objectively about the morality of the whole thing. The charge in the atmosphere changed into something more taut, all too close to snapping.

“You do not know what you are offering,” he said, holding fast to his self-restraint even as his mouth watered.

“Maybe you could show me, then.”

A slight chuckle escaped his lips at your eagerness, one of his hands leaving your face to pat his thigh. “Come, would you like to sit here? Perhaps I shall whisper it in your ear.”

You started to lift yourself, but then hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“Sure as I’ll ever be of anything, my dear,” he assured, his smile momentarily taking on a certain edge, like that of a wolf’s.

You situated yourself on his legs gingerly, closer to his knees, but he brazenly grabbed you by the hips and pulled you closer. You gasped, a tingle forming between your shoulder blades and slowly crawling down your spine.

“You’re so warm,” he murmured, closing his eyes as he relished the feeling, his arms circling your waist to keep you from squirming. “I hope you didn’t catch a fever from me.”

“I-I didn’t realize this was the sort of hunger you were referring to, Father,” you said tremulously, more heat sparking in your lower abdomen.

He traced his nose against the bare skin of your arm. “Not quite, but it’s making your heart race, isn’t it?”

You couldn’t help the blush that crept to your cheeks, silently willing your heart to slow as it hammered insistently against your ribcage. Tenderly, he brushed your hair off your shoulder, exposing your neck. Instinctively, you tilted your head back, showing more of it.

He hummed in approval, licking his lips. “Here, just a little taste first.”

He grabbed one of your hands, bringing it to his face. He kissed the tip of your index finger before taking some of it into his mouth. His inky black eyes held your gaze as you suddenly felt a painful prick on your digit that made you gasp once more.

He groaned softly, holding your wrist as he lapped at the thin rivulet of blood. The mere sight paralyzed you for a moment, but it’d be a lie to say it didn’t make your cunt throb.

And to make matters worse, the small rush of shame that followed this realization only seemed to turn you on more. Without thinking, you raked your free hand in his hair, tugging his head towards you.

“Do it,” you rasped, your tone dangerously close to begging. “Please.”

“God bless you,” he said deliriously, clasping you tighter against his chest. “Oh, God bless you. I-I want to make it good for you, too.”

He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breathing you in and letting out another weak sound at your dizzying warmth. You shuddered and he scented a small note of fear as you tightened your grip on his hair. He shushed softly, soothingly, his lips ghosting over a quivering vein.

When his teeth first pierced the sensitive flesh, you let out a pained mewl as all of your muscles seized. Then — as fast as it had come — the pain vanished and you went slack against him. Stars danced in your vision as you felt the vibration of his groan against your throat.

Every single one of your nerve endings was alight with pleasure, which only seemed to grow in intensity.

Without you really noticing, your hips rocked back and forth, clothed cunt dragging against his leg in short, desperate movements that made your eyes roll to the back of your skull. He gripped one of your hips tightly, guiding your movements with urgency.

In the kitchen, the kettle started whistling loudly just as an orgasm hit you like a freight train, rattling your very bones. You felt yourself melting in a way you never had before, toeing the line between life and death. You’d have gladly gone to heaven in that moment – or hell, for that matter – if fate so decided. He held you steady throughout, running a soothing hand up and down your spine.

Just when exhaustion began to creep in from the blood loss, he painstakingly pulled away, his mouth stained crimson. He looked drunken and dazed, like he was caught in between dreams. But he also seemed less frail, and definitely more alert, pupils fully dilated.

“Thank you,” he breathed, gazing at you adoringly. Reverently, even.

Diligently, he lapped at the weeping puncture wounds. His lips left a smear behind as he kissed your collarbone, hands ripping at your blouse to expose more flesh. Panting, you tried to undo the buttons of his shirt with shaking fingers, but he stopped you.

“Lovely, eager thing. We’ll get there. Let me take care of you first,” he murmured against your sternum.

He tore any garment that stood in his way fervently, until you were practically naked in his lap. Your back arched, taut as a bow, as he continued leaving sanguine kisses in his wake. He hauled you into his arms with preternatural strength as he stood up. Instinctively, you wrapped your legs around his waist as he carried you into his bedroom, laying you down on the bed gently.

There, standing over you, he seemed every bit the statuesque figure that plagued your dreams. His eyes glinted in the half-dark, reflecting the moonlight spilling in through the window. He sank to his knees as if preparing for prayer, his grin hungry as he hooked his arms around your thighs and pulled you to the edge of the bed.

“Come here, little lamb. My most precious sacrifice. My hunger for you has not nearly been sated,” he said, licking his lips. “I am yet to make a feast of you.”

A kiss on your navel that had you shaking all over again. If you had come so hard without so much as a caress, you couldn’t imagine the delirium of his mouth where you ached for it most. Perhaps then, you would truly cross the line for good.

He discarded the last garment covering you, revealing your glistening, slippery cunt for his appraisal. He made an agonized sound, ducking his head immediately to kiss your inner thigh. The tip of his tongue traced your skin just a little bit, getting a taste of your divine essence.

He knew then and there that he was utterly lost; That he would no longer know a greater devotion than this. What a perfect altar for him to worship you, the cradle of your thighs. It took all of his willpower not to sink his teeth into your femoral artery and drain you further, until all of your blood mingled with his.

Another day, perhaps, when you’d recovered some.

Instead, he finally licked a long, languid stripe through your soaked folds. With a low moan, his mouth latched onto your overly sensitive bundle of nerves, making your entire body jerk. He gripped your thighs harder as you squirmed, your fingers burying in his dark curls and holding on for dear life.

You hadn’t expected him to be so good at it, but then again, it was a night of surprises. Not that you could ever complain, anyway. Your wanton moans only encouraged him further, his lips and tongue and even the slightest graze of his teeth making you buck and arch on the mattress.

Once more, you felt a tidal wave begin to form, making your breath come out in sharp little exhales. But you didn’t want to let go again quite yet, at least not like this, with so much distance between your bodies.

You resorted to pleading, attempting to pull his head back. “F-Father wait, please, I want—”

“Don’t hold back from me,” he urged hoarsely, between licks. “Come on, give me one more. I’ll reward you doubly, I promise.”

You began to protest once more, but with an expert swirl of his tongue, the wave finally crested. Violently crashing against the rocks of your sanity. Your eyes searched for heaven again at the back of your head, mouth falling slack in rapture. He made sure you rode it all the way through, softly murmuring praises.

You lay there spent, chest heaving with great, deep breaths. He chuckled, both amused and inexplicably fond at the sight of you so undone. He pulled back to make quick work of his clothes, smears of dry blood further darkening his black shirt.

“I fear you might be turning me into a glutton,” he said, removing his collar and setting it down on the nightstand.

Your eyes trailed his fingers as he unbuttoned his shirt, and you gave him a weak, teasing smile. “You are not the only insatiable creature here, Father.”

“I see that now,” he grinned, his canines all too sharp. “What a great gift He has bestowed upon me, bringing you here.”

His jeans were next to go, merely kicked to one side, and his body slid over yours in a warm embrace. Then finally, mercifully, his lips found yours in a slow, searing kiss. It was the last piece missing from the puzzle that connected you; The last nail on the coffin of your fate.

You tasted yourself on his tongue, moaning into his mouth as you cupped the back of his head. Ankles crossed behind his back, pressing down, silently urging him closer. He guided himself into you, moving slowly so you could get used to the stretch. There was a growl low in his throat as he bottomed out, and his kiss became fiercer. Possessive, even.

The only sound in the dimly lit room was that of flesh slapping together lewdly as he quickened his pace, your sharp breaths and wistful sighs. The way he whispered your name like a prayer as he nearly dissolved with passion. It was then that you broke the kiss, tilting your head to the side as his lips chased yours in a dreamlike, desperate state. You shifted, baring your throat for him to ravage once more.

“Just like this,” you murmured, eyelashes fluttering over your cheekbones as you readied yourself. “I’m yours.”

“Only a little more,” he promised, kissing the base of your neck before tracing his way up with his nose.

A gasp, and then you were submerged in that languid, morphine state. Ecstasy hit him like lightning, and he was no longer able to hold back. He trembled against you as he came, crushing you tighter to him, buried to the hilt. You felt heat flooding you as he sealed the puncture wounds again, lips finding yours right after.

He rolled off of you only to tuck you both in, drawing you close and kissing the top of your head. His onyx eyes scanned your beatific features, wonder and amazement written all over his own.

“The night suits you, my dear,” he said, wiping strands of your hair away from your sweat-dotted face. “Perhaps it would be less lonesome with you around...”

He seemed truly vulnerable in that moment, smaller, entirely human. Eyebrows pinched together in consternation, lips pursed with some guilt at his actions. You snuggled even closer, leeching off his body heat. If anything, seeing this side of him, complex and familiar in a way you instinctively understood, reassured you.

“Will you take my hand and guide me through it?” You asked, voice low and wistful.

He nodded, lacing his fingers through yours. “Through the valley of the shadow of death and beyond. There is still so much for you to see, and the gift of time is at our disposal. Isn’t that a lovely thought?”

Yes, yes it was. Comforting enough to finally drift into dreams of the stars beyond the horizon.

#midnight mass fanfiction #father paul fanfiction #father paul x reader #monsignor pruitt fanfiction #monsignor pruitt x reader #minors dni

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buckaroo627 · 10 days

Text

the only time

The only time Ryan Guzman shared something about 'Buck and Tommy' was that article about the increase in viewership featuring the photo of Buck and Tommy at the loft.

Tell me if I missed something, but I was waiting for Ryan to post something about Buck's coming out, or any post regarding the episode.

There's no post about the date, Buck's kiss, or about Buck being out. I only know of that post about the viewership increase and that's days after the episode was released.

He may have mentioned something in his interviews, but before the coming out, he's been reposting posts of Oliver Stark: photos of him, the team, them together, but he's gone silent during Tommy introduction. Not even a like (tell me if I'm wrong though).

We may have gotten clips from the basketball game, but tell me if I'm wrong, there's no repost of those clips. Though tell me again if I'm mistaken, but did he repost that silhouette of Eddie and Buck?

It's not about Ryan not being supportive, but my thoughts are going through a cycle of explanations that because it's Tommy beside Buck and not Eddie. So Ryan doesn't really have any reason to repost any articles during those times. But I've seen other casts, like Aisha and Kenny liking posts about it.

Then Ryan reposted that Crockett and Tubbs picture of him and Oliver.

(((well, should have a screenshot of those repost, but never thought of it, because I never thought to point out that he's gone silent during Buck's Tommy arc.)))

I think this shows that Ryan is really supportive of Buddie, and he's #teambuddie through and through.

#911onabc #911series #911show #buddie #teambuddie #ryanguzman #oliverstark #eddiediaz #eddie #evanbuckley #buck #ryan guzman #oliver stark

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henrysglock · 7 months

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Salem's lot possible by king inspo for tfs? Was watching a vid about it and it has random things (very similar 1980s poster, Ralph/Danny brother dies at 12, becomes vampire, Father Callahan/Father Newby, Marsten House/Creel House, "original evil" haunting of house tied to csa) that just remind me of the creels, was curious if you had any thought abt the show or book

So sorry for taking a few weeks to get to this, Nonnie!! This time I actually have a reason for the wait, though: cross referencing.

(This is going to be a long post...)

I definitely think 'Salem's Lot is an inspo for The First Shadow for a few different reasons.

First things first, a lot of 'Salem's Lot is giving ST3 and the flayed, with One as a (supposed) Barlow figure and Will as a Danny type figure carrying on from ST1/2. However, as we know, Will and Henry exist as something of a repetition, and the Creel house does seem to function similarly to the Marsten house at first glance, as you said, with Henry being that era's Danny figure. (I'm going to come back to this later).

We also have some cool visual connections.

First off, like you said, we have the poster (and the book cover for good measure, since there's similarity there too):

Then we have iconic shots from the movie itself being replicated:

A third one comes, however, from a third source: Midnight Mass

As I've talked about before, the church in The First Shadow promo art is a near carbon-copy of the church from Midnight Mass:

There are also a fair number of other similarities. For one, the window silhouettes:

For another, the birds and cats:

(Added context: The TFS leaked audition tapes talk about cats being killed in Hawkins with no known suspect, much the same as the cats being killed on Crockett Island by the "angel" vampire in Midnight Mass.)

Further, the setup of the Midnight Mass rec. center as compared to set pieces for The First Shadow...as compared to the Rainbow Room in NINA:

And, while not strictly related to The First Shadow, there is an interesting detail to note across all three sources. The eyes:

(This also comes through in Annihilation (on the ST4 movie board) when altered Lena and the alien doppelgänger of her husband Kane reunite. Both of their eyes shimmer and glow, much the same way as the monster-fied humans pictured above.)

I bring all this up now in relation to 'Salem's Lot because 'Salem's Lot was a clear inspiration for Midnight Mass, to the point where Flanagan easter-eggs it into the show:

We also have other overlapping references, such as Se7en, which appears both in Midnight Mass and on the ST4 movie board:

So the question we're all asking is "why the tangent about Midnight Mass? How does that tie in, besides being a 6-degrees-of-separation thing."

Here, I'd like to posit a connection between the three: Barlow, Brenner, and Pruitt's Angel.

In Midnight Mass, Father Paul Hill (Msgr. John Pruitt), is a "newcomer" who brings a vampire (read: Angel) to Crockett Island. In truth, he's the missing Msgr. John Pruitt, who was restored to youth by the vampire's blood after an ill-fated trek to Jerusalem (much like 'Salem's Lot's Father Callahan). It is he who does most of the dealing on the vampire's behalf, feeding its blood to his concentration and convincing the people that becoming a vampire is a miracle...all while transforming into a vampire himself.

In 'Salem's Lot, Kurt Barlow is the vampire responsible for Danny's death and turning. He's the newcomer to the Lot who buys the Marsten house and hides within it. He does most of his dealing via Richard Straker, his human familiar.

In The First Shadow, Martin Brenner is a newcomer to Hawkins, establishing his spot in basement of Hawkins National Laboratory. We don't know much about him, but we do know that his later self has a fair amount of vampire coding (not appearing in mirrors, a habit of not dying from things that ought to kill him, etc), as does Vecna, a supposed byproduct of his experimentation. He's also got people who deal on his behalf, such as Connie Frazier and Sam Owens.

I'm not so much saying that Brenner exists as a physical vampire, but perhaps a more figurative one. As you mentioned, Nonnie, vampirism is often used as symbolism of non-consenual acts (see: SA in Bram Stoker's Dracula, CSA in 'Salem's Lot, and grooming in fanatical/fundamentalist church circles in Midnight Mass). They're also used to represent the spread of ideas and practices that are generally thought of as evil or unclean.

Brenner is no different, and his story is far more heavy-handed in this regard.

He may not physically drink blood, but he farms children to to be the figurative (and eventually literal) lifeblood of his scientific endeavors, all of which is possible via abuse of and a fundamental lack of consent from Henry and the children. Brenner may not be feeding on them, but he is feeding on them, if you catch my meaning. And, as we know, Brenner has a penchant for lying and manipulation. He spreads stories that aren't true, that turn people against his victims.

He comes to deliver messages regarding the reliability of the government and the dark underbelly of control and abuse that spreads under the patriot-acclaimed shining goal of "progress", much like Pruitt's fanatical church and its "miracles" that can only end in slaughter, or the blind eye being turned to a predator on the loose in the town of Jerusalem's Lot, in which the steady spread of vampirism denotes the fact that each blind eye becomes complicit in the spread of abuse.

Brenner, then, seems to be both the Barlow and the Pruitt of The First Shadow: A newcomer who does horrific things in pursuit of a selfishly "selfless" goal: scientific progress.

As such, I'd like to alter a conclusion slightly: Both the Creel House and Hawkins National Lab seem to be the Marsten house of Stranger Things, no?

And on that note...

Vecna/One and Brenner seem to exist as two sides of a coin: While Vecna/One literally sucks the life force from his victims, Brenner does so in a more figurative sense. Vecna/One doesn't literally spread lies the way Brenner does (in fact, any lies he might tell are very much contained between himself and his victim), but the way the UD spreads under his control is very much the metaphorical flip-side to that pattern of behavior.

In this respect, they both seem to be Barlows. While Brenner isn't the physical source of the magical terror in Hawkins, he did kidnap a child and through that act corrupt a neutral magical source into what it is today. In this he acts as half of Barlow, with Vecna/One acting as that literal magical source/other half.

Do with that what you will.

#long post #asks #stranger things: the first shadow #stranger things and salem's lot #stranger things and midnight mass #stranger things

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godslush · 2 years

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Crawling out from the abyss that is Twitter again to show off more Mega Man Mechwarrior Minis (technically Battletech, but ssshhhhhhh).

I’ve already shown off two of these, but I replaced the Mars King Crab with a Crockett for having a way better silhouette (though the regular Crab got Venus colors despite having nothing in common aside its name). I knew that if I pulled a Victor from Salvage (IE a blind-box) I would paint it Sunstar colors because effing look at it.

I also couldn’t NOT paint a Flashman like Flash Man. Quick Man Mongoose was sort of an accident while trying to decide what to paint the Mongoose and it just sorta worked.

I don’t know how many of these I’ll end up doing long run but they’re fun when they call to me and I can get over my fear of making a mistake and ruining one.

#roll of the dai #miniature painting #battletech #dai's mega man dump #mega man #stardroids #okay back to the abyss that is twitter

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sparrowsfall · 2 years

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† @immortalled ❤’d for a starter | for nathan !

“ Shit. ShitShitShit--- ”

It’s no surprise that the body’s been left undisturbed at this hour--- the seawater is black and the breakers provide the only contrast, white foam peaks that transform the Atlantic from void to ocean. All of Crockett is sound asleep in their beds, and the dim cast of the street lamps reveal no silhouettes. Father Paul sprints off of the gravel road and out towards the now-low tide, fighting the exhaustion quickly overwhelming his calves from trudging through wet, heavy sand. He hops along on one foot, then the other, tearing at the laces of his boots and tossing them aside without care to wherever they might land, hoping the loss of weight will help him traverse the beach’s length with more ease. And it does, to an extent.

He can’t make out how long Nathan’s been here, but it’s been long enough that the blood has dried brown on his skin and the sand alike. Where the blood is coming from, exactly, is yet another thing he cannot make out in the darkness. His search for a wound is hurried, sloppy, yes, and yet it’s as if any mere suggestion of injury has all but disappeared from the young man’s body. Only the blood remains.

Blood.... Blood.... If the blood of an angel can turn back the clock on an 80-year-old man’s mind and body, then surely it can resurrect a dead boy. It should. It must.

In truth, he hasn’t a clue. But it won’t stop him from trying.

Shaking hands fumble through his worn leather messenger bag, until they at last pinch the cool glass of a small bottle. He twists the silver cap off of the Sacrament with excessive, urgent haste. One hand lifts Nathan’s head by the nape of his neck, the other holds the quivering rim of the bottleneck against his lips. And the priest mutters curses of frustration as the crimson liquid keeps pooling and spilling from Nathan’s mouth, staining the boy’s chin and cheeks with thin rivulets of red.

“ God, no--- God dammit Nathan. Drink. Wake up and drink. ”

#ic.#book i.#immortalled #HOWDYYYYYY im sorry this took so long holy shit #lemme know if you need anything changed and i'll be happy to do so asap :)c anyway im READY.#nathan does not need paul to save him but ofc......he doesnt know that so he'll try lsdkfmkms #and feeding people vampire blood is all he knows how to do in a crisis anymore #what an interesting first aid method. good lord.

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thenixkat · 3 years

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Characters on the Black superpower breakdown list

Hunk (vld) Static [Virgil Hawkins] Black Lightning [Jefferson Peirce] Kwame (Captain Planet) Storm [Ororo Monroe] Strag (Magi-Nation) Chur (Magi-Nation) Sistah Spooky (Empowered) Aqualad [Kaldur'ahm] Bronze Tiger [Benjamin Turner] Black Panther [T'Challa] Bumblebee [Karen Beecher-Duncan] Nubia (DC comics) Cyborg [Victor Stone] Taranee Cook (W.I.T.C.H.) Spawn [Al Simmons] Alex Wilder (Runaways) Blade [Eric Brooks] Brother Voodoo [Jericho Drumm] Falcon [Sam Wilson] Empress [Anita Fite] Green Lantern [John Stewart] Lightning [Jennifer Pierce] Pantha [Rosabelle Mendez] Tunder [Anissa Pierce] Vixen [Mari Jiwe McCabe] Agent 355 (Y: The Last Man) Prowler [Hobbie Brown] Prowler [Aaron Davis] Spiderman [Miles Morales] Rocket [Raquel Ervin] Icon [Augustus Freeman] Cassie (Animorphs) Anansi the Spider (Static Shock) She-Bang [Shenice Vale] Kipo Oak (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts) Zak Saturday (The Secret Saturdays) Catwoman [Patience Phillips] Frozone [Lucius Best] Erik Killmonger [N'Jadaka] Black Manta [David Ray] Holocaust [Leonard Smalls Jr] Tombstone [Lonnie Thompson Lincoln] Killer Croc [Waylon Jones] Deadly Nightshade (Marvel Comics) Ebon [Ivan Evans] Baxter Stockman (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) Monica Rambeau (Marvel Comics) War Machine [James Rhodes] Steel [John Henry Irons] Cloak [Tyrone Johnson] Queen Bee of Bialya (DC Universe) Hot Spot/Joto [Isaiah Crockett] Alan Albright (Ben 10) Mal Duncan (DC Comics) XS [Nora West-Allen] Tempest [Joshua Clay] Star Boy [Thom Kallor] Kid Quantum (DC Comic) Jet (DC Comics) Jakeem Thunder (DC Comics) Slipstream (Static Shock) Boom (Static Shock) Tamara Lawrence (Static Shock) Hyde (Static Shock) Kangor (Static Shock) Brickhouse (Milestone Media) Madelyn Spaulding (Static Shock) Puff (Static Shock) Onyx (Static Shock) Replikon (Static Shock) Osebo (Static Shock) Mmoboro (Static Shock) Onini (Static Shock) Allie Langford/Nails (Static Shock) Miranda/Mirage (Static Shock) Adam Evans/Rubber-Band Man (Static Shock) Garnet (Steven Universe) Ruby (Steven Universe) Sapphire (Steven Universe) Bismuth (Steven Universe) Doc Saturday (The Secret Saturdays) Kilik Rung (Soul Eater) Tsume (Wolf's Rain) Blue (Wolf's Rain) Manny Armstrong (Ben 10) Bow (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power) Netossa (She-Ra and the Princesses of Power) Numbuh Five (Codename Kids Next Door) Cree Lincoln (Codename Kids Next Door) Paninya (Fullmetal Alchemist) Jerso (Fullmetal Alchemist) Scar (Fullmetal Alchemist) Darui (Naruto) Killer B (Naruto) A/3rd Raikage (Naruto) Karui (Naruto) Omoi (Naruto) Muhammad Avdol (Jojo's Bizarre Adventure) Silver Sentry (TMNT) April O'Neil (Rise of the TMNT) Sid Barrett (Soul Eater) Usopp (One Piece) Spyke [Evan Daniels] Talon (Gargoyles) Winston Zeddmore (Ghostbusters) Wolf (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts) Black Racer (DC Comics) Bloodwynd (DC Comics) Coldcast (DC Comics) Gravedigger (DC Comics) Mister Terrific (DC Comics) Blue Marvel [Adam Bernard Brashear] Night Thrasher [Dwayne Taylor] Jo (Kid Cosmic) Philly the Kid (Cannon Busters) S.A.M. (Cannon Busters) Amalia Sheran Sharm (Wakfu) Kaz Kaan (Neo Yokio) Dr. Facilier (The Princess and the Frog) Raven Baxter (That's So Raven) John Henry (Folktales) Darryl (Mercyverse) Asil the Moor (Mercyverse) Hork-Bajir (Animorphs) Ashio (Magi-Nation) Gogor (Magi-Nation Duel) Rayje (Magi-Nation Duel) Strom (Magi-Nation) Sugar Hill (Sugar Hill 1974) Thunder (Soul Eater) Fire (Soul Eater) Miruko (My Hero Academia) Rock Lock (My Hero Academia) Ogun Montogomery (Fire Force) Manifold [Eden Fesi] Yoruichi Shihōin (Bleach) Yasutora Sado/Chad (Bleach) Gantenbainne Mosqueda (Bleach) Zommari Rureaux (Bleach) Shuri (Marvel Comics) Alya Césaire (Miraculous Ladybug) Nora Césaire (Miraculous Ladybug) Max Kanté (Miraculous Ladybug) Razahir “Raze” Khemse (Underworld) Jermaine (Xiaolin Showdown) Piccolo Jr (Dragonball) Koen West (Cleverman) Xavin (Runaways) Goo (Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends) Wilt (Foster's Home for Imaginary Friends) Tobias Whale (Black Lightning) Zak Monday (The Secret Saturdays) Dion Warren (Raising Dion) Hex (Ben 10) Charmcaster (Ben 10) Annabelle Cane (The Magnus Archives) Oliver Banks (The Magnus Archives) Khalil Payne / Painkiller (Black Lightning) Issa Williams (Black Lightning) Perenna (Black Lightning) Giselle Cutter (Black Lightning) Brandon Marshall/Geo-Force (Black Lightning) T.C. / Baron/Technocrat (Black Lightning) Domino (Deadpool 2) Clayface/Ethan Bennette (The Batman) Ironheart (Marvel Comics) Silhouette (Marvel Comics) Fish Mooney (Gotham) Valerie Gray (Danny Phantom) Hack (DC Comics) Peek-A-Boo (DC Comics) Madam Slay (Marvel Comics) Alex (Totally Spies) Olivia (Pokemon) Abra Stone (Doctor Sleep) Tia Dalma [Calypso] Allura (Voltron) Raphael (RoTTMNT) Donatello (RoTTMNT) Leonardo (RoTTMNT) Michelangelo (RoTTMNT) Bebop (TMNT) Zack Taylor (Power Rangers) T.J. Johnson (Power Rangers) Aisha Cambell (Power Rangers) Jack Landors (Power Rangers) Tanya Sloan (Power Rangers) Scott Truman (Power Rangers) Noah Carver (Power Rangers) Joel Rawlings (Power Rangers) Will Aston (Power Rangers) Katie Walker (Power Rangers) Ethan James (Power Rangers) Max Cooper (Power Rangers) Cestro (Power Rangers) Damon Henderson (Power Rangers) Zane (Power Rangers) A-Squad Green Ranger (power Rangers) Kevin (Power Rangers) Shelby Watkins (Power Rangers) Zayto (Power Rangers) Hayley Foster (Power Rangers) Aisha (Winx Club) Flora (Winx Club) Catwoman [Selina Kyle] Rodger (Dino Squad) Koki (Wild Kratts) Darla Dudley (DC Comics)

209 characters thus far. If ya fave superpowered negro ain’t here, leave a name, pic, and list of their powers

#nix meows #black characters #black superheroes #black supervillains #long post

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9-wing-1 · 2 years

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@ruabadfishtoo tagged me to list four current song favorites. Thanks homie! Here we goooo:

Blackjack County Chain by Charley Crockett

We Will Become Silhouettes by The Postal Service

Nothing In This World by The Kinks

The Only Living Boy In New York by Simon & Garfunkel (Pacifica Cover)

If you want: @urdadsashyknees @dominicanmermaid @yourcoldclay @vvexpyke @snail--shell @dreamlogick @fakeshotegalica @mooonlightquench @deepspacelove @ellos444 @nasser-x @komplikacije @krebstar3000 @defjux @adryc0

#music

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dippedanddripped · 3 years

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The French luxury label’s creative director Olivier Rousteing first worked with Maluma this summer when he created a one-of-a-kind tropical look for the 2020 Video Music Awards. Inspired by the sherbet tones, sexy styling, and ’80s silhouettes worn by Crockett and Tubbs in Miami Vice, Maluma debuted the new relaxed Balmain look while singing his hit “Hawái” during last August’s awards show.

After the success of that VMA appearance, the duo knew they had to push their partnership further. That’s when Maluma and Rousteing began working closely together on a whole new line of designs intended for his tour. And, although the pandemic might have forced a rescheduling, Rousteing and Maluma have decided to release their new Balmain x Maluma collaboration as a special, limited-edition collection.

“At the same time that Maluma and I were working on these designs, the speakers inside the Balmain atelier were blasting out a continual loop that both inspired and reflected our work,” said Rousteing. “I’ve pulled that selection of tunes together for our collaboration’s special playlist, which is now available on the Apple Music Signature platform. This Balmain x Maluma seamless mix of music and fashion makes perfect sense, of course. It reflects this house’s distinctive DNA, in which music and fashion are thoroughly intertwined—and neither Maluma nor I could ever conceive of fashion without a full helping of music (or vice-versa).”

“I released two albums in eight months, and no one was expecting that,” said Maluma. “First, Papi Juancho, with all those vintage Miami Vice vibes, and then I went to Jamaica and fell in love with the culture there. I feel like Olivier and Balmain do that, too, by trying to change the rules of the game every time you want to play it. This collaboration represents us merging our fashion and music worlds, and breaking the rules with style, colors, and most importantly blending our cultures together.”

Maluma added: “It’s been one of my goals to work with a respected fashion house on a collection, but this journey was more exciting, as Olivier pushed me to design with him and sketch looks that I personally will wear off the stage and showcase high couture with a bit of Papi Juancho. This process was exciting as I have always dreamt to design one day, and I was happy to have a friend like Olivier let me express myself creatively through fashion.”

The collection of one-of-a-kind Balmain x Maluma sneakers and ready-to-wear designs, which retail between $495 and $2,550, are now available across the globe

#Balmain x Maluma #one of a kind #luxury streetwear #miami vice #music blog #Olivier Rousteing #luxury fashion blog #columbia #columbian rappers

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farlydatau · 11 months

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Davy Crockett Silhouette T-Shirt Texas Map Davy Crockett Hatchet Graphic Shirt Folk Hero T Shirt Gift for David Crockett Texas Alamo Fan

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neworleansspecial · 4 years

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Crockett is one of many wandering these streets, looking for shelter as they wade in the flooded neighborhoods. It’s been days. His mother is still missing, his sisters out of the city probably desperately calling to find out if they’re alright. There are so many people displaced and hurt and scared, and he wishes he could help them- he really does. But the skin is peeling off his legs from submersion in water, and there’s still dried blood crusted down the side of his face, making it near impossible to think clearly. Some part of him recognizes it as a head injury. The rest is just focused on moving. Keep going. Keep moving. Eventually, he’ll find shelter that’s safe. Somehow.

There’s a young woman to his left holding a baby to her chest, walking slowly. She looks like she’s been dipped in mud. She’s shivering. He means to reach out to her in comfort, but unfortunately, the best he can do is stumble vaguely toward her before his legs give out and he winds himself sitting in the water. It’s only six inches deep or so. But this far down, his butt against the concrete below it, it feels like an insurmountable current trying to drag him back where he just spent an eternity trudging away from.

He’s just too tired to stand up again. This hurricane is going to be the death of him and at this point, he has no choice but to accept it. The water drags him away, slowly, and he relaxes into it and allows himself to float. What had been a warm end of summer week turned into this cold, murderous thing from a tropical storm they were all told would not be as awful as it turned out.

It carries him for what feels like miles before he slams against the side of a building on a sharp turn, and simply grabs onto it because he doesn’t know what else to do. Everything hurts. He hurts. Crockett is going to become another statistic, he knows, but then he hears a siren-like sound and a bullhorn-amplified voice.

“New Orleans Fire and Rescue! Call out!”

Someone out there wants him alive.

“Fire and Rescue! Call out!”

He musters his strength to yell back, “I’m here! I’m alive, help me!”

“Hold on, sir, we’re coming to you. What’s your name?”

Faintly, he can hear a motor. It’s a rescue boat. He realizes he’s reached water up to his chest now, should he try to stand. He doesn’t, of course. The water is already threatening to scrape him along the cinder block wall and sweep him out to the sea once more.

“Crockett.”

Silhouettes rise at the edge of his vision, finally. “Okay, Crockett. Are you hurt?”

“I don’t know.”

They arrive. And carefully, they bring him into their rescue boat and check him over for every injury spread along his body. There are cuts and bruises from debris in the water, the blood on his head, the sores on his legs. He probably needs help. Others probably need it more. A man in a yellow turnout coat wraps a foil-lined blanket around his shoulders and cradles his head until Crockett finally feels enough at peace to fall asleep.

Reblog if you enjoyed!

#chicago med #crockett marcel #whumptober2020 #no.27 #extreme weather #fic #emwrite #emwt #userdee

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cupidmarwani-archive · 4 years

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Their First Night

Summary: Ethan and April invite Crockett home for a night. (Smut)

WC: ~2k

Warnings: It’s literally just porn.

For as much as the three of them have been dancing around each other, Crockett never really expected to get this far. The kiss he shared with April, he considered a stroke of luck which would never be repeated. The drink he had at Molly’s with Ethan, he thought a fluke despite the hand that rested just too high on his thigh to really be friendly. The way they both looked at him every day, he figured he must have been imagining because good things rarely happen to him, if ever.

But somehow, he’s here in their bed, April kissing him like he had wanted all those weeks ago, Ethan’s mouth leaving little marks inside his thighs to remember them by later. He must be dreaming, and he never wants to wake up, trapped in the feel of smooth skin under his palms when April guides his hand to her chest. Silently telling him that it’s okay to touch. She wants him to. At the exact moment he decides to map out the feel of her breasts, Ethan’s mouth finds his balls. He forgets how to breathe.

“You good?” April asks.

The way the light filters past her silhouette, some of it bouncing off her curls, reminds Crockett of a halo. He nods and runs his fingers through it, so soft. Ethan has decided to put his mouth to use in a sloppy, if enthusiastic, blowjob. It’s clearly not something he’s really done before, but he’s trying, and Crockett loves the way Ethan leans his cheek against the inside of his thigh when he takes a few deep breaths.

“Can Ethan fuck you?” She asks.

It’s something Crockett’s had a fair share of wet dreams about. He’s still unable to really form words and nods again, even with the question of where that leaves her. It’s not a question for long. The second Ethan’s mouth pulls away for good and the click of a cap sounds out of Crockett’s line of sight, April’s planting her knees on the bed and crawling forward to brace them on either side of his head. Jesus. Crockett has died and gone to heaven.

“Yes,” he says, before she can ask.

She lowers herself down when Ethan presses two slick fingers against his hole, just a little pressure to get him to start to relax and make the muscles in his abdomen jump. April’s warm and wet to the touch, and when he dares to open his mouth, she sighs above him and threads a hand through his hair. Pull it, he wants to say, but his mouth has better things to do.

This must be an out of body experience, because he stops existing within himself. All he is, all he’s worth, is the body between Ethan and April, drawing out their pleasure and moaning against April’s pussy when Ethan gets up to three fingers and scissors them to make sure he’s ready. He’s more efficient with this than blowjobs, making Crockett’s brain idly file away a question of if Ethan has fucked April like this. If she had asked, maybe because she wanted to know how it felt to have him inside her and something else, because she wanted Crockett’s touch as well. His mind gets away from him sometimes, but is reined back in by a sudden emptiness, followed by the blunt head of Ethan’s cock against his hole and April’s insistent tug on his hair.

He loops his arms over her thighs to pull her closer, adjusting her so he can press his tongue into her cunt properly and when she shifts, it allows her clit to grind against his nose. He can’t do this forever without taking a breath, but he’d gladly suffocate like this if it means he gets to live in whatever dream surrounds him.

Ethan’s moans are deeper than Crockett thought they would be, closer to a growl as he pushes into Crockett’s hole and holds his hips with a bruising force. God, he can’t wait to see the marks this leaves come morning.

“Ethan feels good, doesn’t he?” April asks above him, pulling at his hair again to get his attention. “Makes you feel so full.”

Whining, he nods to the best of his ability. Words aren’t something he can summon. Not now, maybe not ever again.

A firm hand, slightly calloused and delightfully warm, pushes one of Crockett’s legs up so Ethan can fuck him deeper. His eyes roll back in his head. There’s nothing beyond the two of them, nothing beyond completely surrendering to the most beautiful people he’s ever seen and knowing that they’ve been thinking about him too, craving him. His pining has not been unrequited.

By now, Crockett is drowning in their gentle touches, in their affection, in their increasingly frantic pursuits of their own pleasure. He has to lift April off his face for a moment to take a few ragged deep breaths, reveling in her whine at the lack of stimulation.

“Sorry, ma belle,” he mumbles, and returns to letting her use his face to get off. She’s dripping. He’d gladly drown in it.

Ethan’s moans get kind of muffled as April’s praises trail off, replaced by a soft sound that tells him they’re kissing above him. He wants to be kissed like that. To recapture their attention, he whines against April’s pussy and she laughs.

“Poor baby,” she teases, but her voice is breathless and he can almost taste how close she is to coming all over him. “Don’t worry, we’ll kiss you plenty when I’m finished with your mouth.”

He doubles down on his efforts, rewarded by Ethan not only fucking him harder, but curling a rough palm around his cock and giving him some much needed friction. Every nerve is alight with fire. Dying of it. He bucks his hips to try and get more, only for them to be pinned easily by Ethan. If he could see, he’d be staring at the rippling muscles he’s dreamed of putting his lips on since the moment he was transferred to the day shift.

“Fuck, don’t stop- Kett-” April cries out and pulls his hair hard enough to hurt, hips jerking in an off-beat rhythm as she rides out her orgasm. One he gave to her. He made her feel like this. He keeps fucking her on her tongue, tasting every drop of her and humming for added vibrations until she sighs and pulls away. He misses her weight immediately. “You’re good at that,” she laughs, coming to lay beside him and stroke his sides. He’s twitchy. She smiles about it. “Ethan?”

Like he was waiting for her permission, Ethan leans over Crockett’s body, propping himself up on his forearms, and kisses him like he’s chasing April’s taste in his mouth. It’s not surprising. She’s sweet like nectar, and it’s a brilliant combination with Ethan’s hungry kisses. Insistent. Driven, just as his sharp thrusts are when he adjusts his angle until it hits just perfectly and makes Crockett cry out.

Then there’s a moment that Ethan goes stiff and whines against his mouth. Crockett looks at him, really looks at him, then- the way his brow furrows, mouth open, stricken silent. He hasn’t come, though, so Crockett looks to April for guidance, realizing she’s moved. Now, she’s instead behind Ethan, and it’s not difficult to guess what she’s doing.

“Shh,” she soothes, kissing the back of Ethan’s neck. “Relax, babe. Just like we practiced, yeah?”

“Practiced?” Crockett repeats, while he still has the breath in his lungs before Ethan adjusts and starts moving again. “Do that for me?”

Ethan nods, suddenly almost shy, and kisses just to the side of his mouth. “Wanted- wanted to-”

“He wanted to be able to take it when you fuck him,” April fills in. “Think you’d like that, Kett?”

While he doesn’t quite understand where the shortening of his name came from, it makes him feel so cared for in a way he can’t explain as he nods. This is everything he’s ever wanted. It’s his life and death. Ethan has moved onto leaving hickeys down his neck while he fucks him, a little less aggressively than before, navigating the feeling of being both penetrated and fucking someone else at the same time.

“You know, he melts when he gets fucked properly,” April says conversationally. Crockett watches her arm moving, just visible beside Ethan’s muscular torso. “Completely relaxed. He gets all sweet about it, too. He won’t admit it, but,” she pauses to kiss Ethan’s shoulder, “he just wants to be told he’s a good boy.”

“That so, Ethan?” Crockett gets out. It’s easier to talk when he’s guided, and Ethan’s rhythm is faltering fast. It still feels good, but it’s a little clumsier now. It lacks the single-minded determination that had made each thrust so punishing mere minutes ago. “You know you are, by the way. So good to me, and to Miss April. I bet you tire her out good.”

He feels it the moment his words register with Ethan’s mind, because the stuttering movement of his hips turns to pressing as far into Crockett as he can manage, gasping against Crockett’s neck and twitching inside him as he comes. It’s been too long since someone came inside, he decides. The feeling of warmth, wetness spilling in him is a feeling that cannot be compared to any other. Ethan’s body is practically shaking with it, and he inhales sharply with a movement that Crockett can only assume is April pulling out of him. Her hand is slick with lube, burning hot when she touches him with a firm grip.

“Wanna give it to him?” she asks. Her voice is liquid honey, and with her free hand, she’s touching herself again. Wet fingers, he knows would taste perfect pressed against his tongue. “Fuck him, show him how good you can make him feel.” She kisses him as encouragement when he gets his hands on Ethan’s hips and plants his feet flat on the mattress. Not an ideal position, but he recognizes the fragility of the trust currently placed in his hands. Ethan’s slow when he moves now, breathes like all the air has been punched out of his chest as he slowly takes Crockett’s cock. He’s vice-tight, unbelievably warm and wet inside. This is unbelievably good. He’s so scared that in a moment, he’ll blink and it will all be gone. “Well?” April prompts.

“Shit.”

She laughs and kisses him again, a connection to tether him to reality as he focuses on fucking Ethan through his overstimulated little whimpers in chase of his own orgasm. He’s the only one who hasn’t come yet, but if it means he gets to keep feeling like this, he’d gladly wait forever.

April lifts the hand that was between her legs to his lips for him to taste again, replaces it with his own against her silky cunt, quickly finding the same rhythm of earlier that he knows she likes. But this time, he comes before she does, inside Ethan to the symphony of his moans, and once Ethan pulls off him, he simply wraps an arm around Crockett’s waist and kisses his neck lazily until April finishes again.

They’re all out of breath, the scent of sex in the air, and Crockett revels in the seconds of kisses before he has to get up and leave, move on with his life like this never happened in the first place. He’ll have to live knowing that he’s felt them, tasted them, but it has ended so quickly.

He sits up and runs a hand through his hair, licks his lips for the remnants of what he had used them for. It’s over.

“Hey,” April says softly, reaching up to cup his face. “Where are you going?”

Crockett looks at the space between them on the bed. Just his size. “I thought…”

“Stay,” Ethan interjects.

Ethan sits up beside him and kisses him again, but it’s more tender this time. Not as urgent. Instead, this kiss is lazy and drawn out, a Sunday afternoon poured into the meeting of their lips while April still holds his face steady, strokes his cheek.

Slowly, he lays back down, and falls asleep in their hold.

#ethan choi #crockett marcel #april sexton #sexceltoi #chexton #sexcel #charcel #marchoi #chicago med #mine #fic #smut

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menswearmusings · 4 years

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SuitSupply vs. Isaia? Satisfaction In the Un-Quantifiable

Do you tend to be a brand loyalist, or do you shop around for whoever has the thing that strikes your fancy?

When it comes to menswear, I think the tendency of men is to shop until they find the maker, brand or specific item that suits them well, then just stick with that because finding it in the first place is usually a pain. Fit issues, quality questions, and pricing all make finding a garment maker that you love and which fits your style, body and budget a hassle.

Learning about wristwatches lately has gotten me thinking about it. I’ve been binge watching YouTube accounts of watch enthusiasts. My two favorite are Jenni Elle for her overall joyful disposition, and Watchfinder & Co. for its superb production values (Jenni’s no slouch either). One thing I’ve found hilarious is the ubiquity of this basic formula:

Has the Rolex [insert model here] been finally dethroned by [insert challenger brand here]?

If you’re not into the luxury watch industry, one prominent story of the the last decade or so is that Rolex is highly desired by many, but the more popular models like the Submariner are impossible to actually buy. They have waiting lists months and even years long, so for those who are lucky enough to get to buy one at MSRP ($9,000+), it’s extremely tempting to simply turn around and sell it at 1.5x or more online. And people will pay that, instead of wait.

Why?

Brand loyalty. Cachet. Marketing. Artificial scarcity. Rolex is a brand recognized for quality, distinction and good taste the world over; they know it, and they manipulate their supply to maintain those illusory qualities.

Every YouTube video that asks the question of whether a Grand Seiko bests a Rolex, for instance, essentially comes to the same conclusion: that the Seiko is better in nearly every way—it’s as good or better quality than the Rolex, with as good or better fit and finish, with better technology, it’s half the price (depending on the watch), and you can buy one whenever you want at MSRP from any authorized dealer—but…

And what comes after that “but” is that brand cachet, that loyalty, that mystique, that artificial scarcity giving them an “investment piece” quality about them. It makes for loyal customers (or aspiring customers; or frustrated customers waiting years just to buy the things).

Back to menswear: how clothes fit and the silhouette they cut on your body is an additional dimension not really applicable in the wristwatch hobby. But some of those questions about what makes certain brands and garments special still come into play in much the same way. So for instance, I have a SuitSupply blazer that’s full canvas, with a natural shoulder, spalla camicia and grinze shoulder detailing, in a beautiful wool/silk/linen blend hopsack fabric from a famed Italian mill, all with the lightweight construction I’ve come to love from Italian tailoring. But it was made in China. So there’s no logical reason it should be any less desirable on paper than the ones I own that were made in Italy. And yet…

The Italian jackets I own from Eidos have an extra layer of satisfaction for me. There is a better story behind them; an entire country’s artisanal expertise brought to bear, and the future of that skillset hanging in the balance. In this case, it’s not just that particular brand I feel that sense of affection for, but rather a cultural connection to the inventors of something I love. They deserve support because without them, it wouldn’t exist.

And you know what, I find much greater satisfaction in owning and wearing articles of clothing that have an inspiring or unique story I can plug into. The materialistic way of life we all live is hard to resist when there are so many beautiful, amazing things to buy and wear, collect, then flip and sell to someone else so you can buy the next new thing. But that old cliche about buying less, but buying better, is true. And I have concluded that what constitutes better isn’t necessarily only the technical details on the page or even the fit (those things can be copied and reproduced by anyone sufficiently motivated), but the story that you can plug into and the connection you can make with its artisans and their history.

That’s not to say the other labels won’t create their own story and have a place in this club. Seiko is just as old as Rolex, and those who buy the Grand Seiko (their ultra-premium handmade line of watches) will tell you the quality is outstanding. Similarly, a company like Ring Jacket out of Japan makes a product inspired by Neapolitan tailoring, but to a quality level as good or better, and I love them. Same goes for some of the bespoke and made to measure companies started in the recent past in Hong Kong like Prologue or The Anthology.

At the end of the day what brings the greatest satisfaction is how any given piece of clothing or accessory weaves its way into your own life. The memories you make with it—maybe how you came to buy it while on a special trip or after a special occasion; or the good times you have wearing it that you recall when you put it on or see photos from that time. Ultimately, cool clothes or watches or anything are not an end to themselves, but should be things you wear to enjoy while living a life of joy, grace and adventure.

Here are some makers whose history I’ve connected with and appreciate in the clothing realm.

Sartoria Carrara x No Man Walks Alone line of tailoring, which utilizes a factory in Tuscany that has retained the skill sets of the region

(Add Brunello Cucinelli for probably the ultimate expression of this mindset though I have no personal experience with them; add the Savile Row tailors for their fighting the good fight; and there are plenty of other great Italian makers, too)

Drake’s, which manufactures ties, shirts, scarves and pocket squares in England

Anglo-Italian, which cherishes the same values and makes their house label in Italy by skilled artisans

Ring Jacket, which has created its own story of quality tailoring made in Japan

Crockett & Jones, making high quality shoes in England

Alden, making high quality shoes in America

Brooks Brothers, which made suits, ties and shirts in America (sadly bankrupt now, having sold those factories off, so get the goods while they’re still available)

Red Wing boots, still made in America

Tweed from Magee, Harris Tweed, Abraham Moon & Sons, or any of the other traditional Scottish or Irish mills still making it like they used to.

And since we’re talking watches, I’m an Omega guy

What are your favorite brands, makers, or even cultural traditions to support?

(Help support this site! If you buy stuff through my links, your clicks and purchases earn me a commission from many of the retailers I feature, and it helps me sustain this site—as well as my menswear habit ;-) Thanks!)