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ironwoman359 · 3 years ago

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This is probably not the best place to ask, but you’re also a Christian woman too. I was wondering what you thought about what the Bible says about women and how we must submit to husbands and some other stuff that has me (a potential ace) Christain woman kind of terrified. I would go to my church but social anxiety and my church is pretty conservative. I don’t want to think that we’re just second rate citizens with this. Um…that’s all. You don’t have to answer. Love your Tumblr. It’s one of the main ones I look at. Thanks for countless enjoyment!

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(I’m responding on the submission and not the ask because the ask refused to post properly, I think it was too long for Tumblr’s fancy)

So I know you just asked for my thoughts and not a biblical interpretation lesson, but I didn’t spend 3 months writing an exegesis in college for me to never use those skills again, so buckle up for something of a long answer! (literally, this is almost 3 thousand words, so....sorry about that) *rubs hands together* The thing we need to take into consideration when reading the bible is Interpretation; any truly honest biblical scholar would tell you it is a mistake to take every word in the bible at its literal face value, ESPECIALLY since most of us are reading translations of scripture, not the original ancient hebrew/greek/aramaic/whatever else. So when interpreting scripture, we must consider these things:

Author (Who wrote it?)

Audience (Who was it written for?)

Context (What is written around it?)

So the verses you’re referencing are Ephesians 5:22-23, and in the NIV, they read as follows:

22 Wives, submit yourselves to your own husbands as you do to the Lord. 23 For the husband is the head of the wife as Christ is the head of the church, his body, of which he is the Savior. 24 Now as the church submits to Christ, so also wives should submit to their husbands in everything.

Isolated from author, audience, and context, they sound pretty sexist, don’t they? And male authority figures have used these verses as justification for the oppression of women for centuries, just as white men used the passage only a few verses away, Ephesians 6:5, as justification for the oppression and ownership of black people (Slaves, obey your earthly masters with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as you would obey Christ). So let’s look at each of the points above in regards to Ephesians 5 and 6. First, who wrote it? Sometimes that can be a tricky question to answer, but in this case, it’s actually very easy (though there is still a bit of fuzziness/debate). Traditionally, Ephesians is one of the Apostle Paul’s letters to the early church. Specifically, to the body of believers in Ephesus, a Greek city that was a part of the Roman Empire at the time. According to two different study bibles I have, the letter of Ephesians was not addressing any particular problem that the church in Ephesus had (as was often the case with Paul’s letters), but was meant as an encouragement of faith and to increase his readers’ understanding of what it meant to be a follower of Christ. So now what about the Context? Why are the verses at the end of chapter 5 and beginning of chapter 6 so damning to our modern sensibilities? To answer that, we must look at the passages both in context to the verses around them, and in historical and cultural context (which is where 1 & 2 come into play again). Going back to the beginning of chapter 4, which is subtitled “Unity in the Body of Christ” (and remember, these subtitles and groupings were come up with LONG after they were written; we grouped sections together in a way we thought was most logical, which honestly for a book as short as Ephesians I would argue is barely even necessary), we can see that the letter from chapter 4 onward is about living a Holy and Godly life. Chapter 4 urges us to be “completely humble and gentle, be patient, bearing with one another in love” and warns us against living “as the Gentiles* do, in the futility of their thinking.” *Gentiles in this case meaning not neccesarily all non-Jews, but non-believers. AKA, we should live like Jesus lived, WWJD and all that jazz. If the Holy Spirit is in our hearts and our relationship with God is at the forefront of our lives, then that should show clearly in our actions. The very first verse of chapter 5 reads “Be imitators of God, therefore, as dearly loved children and live a life of love, just as Christ loved us and gave himself up for us as a fragrant offering and sacrifice to God.” Chapters 5 and 6 especially are meant to act as a sort of guide for how a follower of Christ should act. There’s some stuff about obscenity, greed, sexual impurity, 5:15 sums it up pretty well basically, “Be very careful, then, how you live- not as unwise but as wise,” and then we reach the all important verse. Ephesians 5:21, “Submit to one another out of reverence for Christ.” That’s a full sentence, just that there. Submit to one another. The following three sections are all subsections of this point: one for Wives submitting to Husbands, one for Children submitting to Parents, and one for Slaves submitting to Masters. But when looking at all of these, bad shepherds (ie, racist, sexist assholes) like to ignore that first bit, submit to one another, just as they like to ignore 5:28, which says “husbands ought to love their wives as their own bodies. He who loves his wife loves himself;” or they ignore 6:4 which says “Fathers, do not exasperate your children; instead, bring them up in the training and instruction of the Lord;” and they ignore 6:9, “Masters, treat your slaves in the same way. Do not threaten them, since you know that he who is both their Master and yours is in heaven, and there is no favoritism with him.” I do highly encourage you to read chapters 4, 5, and 6 in full, or at least start at 4:17, which is where Paul starts talking about “Living as Children of Light,” because it makes the intent of these apparently damning verses much more clear. Paul is stating that as Christians, we should treat everyone around us with honor and respect. According to one of my study bibles, the grammar of the original Greek suggests that the “submission” involved in all three sections is intended to be mutual submission, and is to come from a filling of the Holy Spirit. However, to be quite frank, Paul still Lived In A Society. A highly structured, patriarchal society, in which all members of a household (women, children, slaves) were expected to submit to the patriarchal head of that household. Male children until they reached adulthood, Slaves until they were freed (remember that, while by no means a purely morally good thing, the system of Roman Slavery was VASTLY DIFFERENT from the Atlantic Slave Trade that men later used this passage to justify existing), and women, unfortunately, for their whole lives. In another one of his letters, what is now the book of Galatians, Paul says in chapter 3 verse 27-29 that “You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus, for all of you who were baptized into Christ have clothed yourselves with Christ. There is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus. If you belong to Christ, then you are Abraham’s seed, and heirs according to the promise.” This would have been radical at the time. Paul is promising all people of all genders and classes that, in the eyes of God, they are Equal, One, and all “sons,” meaning that they all have a right to the Inheritance of the Father (remember, at this time and in this culture women did not get any inheritance, and younger sons got significantly less than the firstborn. Paul assures the believers that they ALL are equal receivers of the Promises of God). But this equality that Paul speaks of was, in his eyes, a spiritual equality. He was not particularly concerned with overthrowing the earthly patriarchal society that subjugated women and lower classes, but rather instructed all members of that society who also were Believers to submit equally to one another out of love and respect, for they were all Equal in God’s eyes and would be Equal in heaven. This is why he both tells women to submit to and obey their husbands, but also husbands to love, cherish, and care for their wives. Children, obey your parents, but Fathers, don’t be dicks to your kids. Slaves should obey their masters (slavery was much more like a job that you weren’t allowed to quit until your boss said so) but Masters shouldn’t abuse their slaves. There are Societal Authorities, and Paul is telling his readers “look you can’t just go around not respecting those Authorities, but also hey, if you’re the Authority? That’s not a free pass to be an asshole.” As one of my study bibles puts it, “Paul counseled all believers to submit to one another by choice…this kind of mutual submission preserves order and harmony in the family while it increases love and respect among family members.” Paul is basically saying “it’s better for everyone if we all get along, and remember that Christ had a servant’s heart, and intentionally lowered himself for us, so we should do the same for each other.” And while a patriarchal class system is still super sucky for like 80% of the people involved, at least it’s a whole lot more bearable if everyone involved is being a Nice, Good Member of that Society. You mentioned being worried about being treated like a “second rate citizen.” The fact of the matter is that when this was written, women were second rate citizens; that is the context in which Paul is writing. And while I firmly believe that that was wrong, in every sense of the word, Paul wasn’t especially concerned about challenging that aspect of society. Priority one was “Spread the Gospel” and Priority two was “Don’t Get Killed while Spreading the Gospel.” Speaking of Paul, let’s talk a little more about Saul of Tarsus, shall we? In all literary analysis, it is important to examine the author’s beliefs and what biases may have made their way into the work. And while we believe the bible to be a Holy Book, it can and should be subject to the same rules of literary analysis as non-religious texts. First, you must ask yourself, what do you believe about the bible? There are four general ways of looking at it (which are called Theories of Inspiration).

The bible is the Divine Word of God, dictated word for word across centuries directly to its human authors by God Himself.

The bible is the Divine Word of God, written across centuries by men Inspired by the Holy Spirit. While they are writing in their own words, this Inspiration means that the bible is Wholly Perfect with no errors.

The bible is the Divine Word of God, written across centuries by men Inspired by the Holy Spirit. However, because they are imperfect, fallible men, there is a possibility of errors in the text, both in the account of events that happened and in the teaching therein.

The bible is a collection of accounts written by men, with no Divine Intervention from God. It is not Holy, God’s Word, or Infallible.

I was raised to believe theory 2, but now I personally believe theory 3. And since I’m the author of this analysis, it is through the lens and bias of theory 3 that I now present my next point: Paul was sexist. I don’t think he was maliciously so (see again, Galatians 3, and the statement in Ephesians 5 that men should honor, cherish, and care for their wives), but he was a product of his time who had ingrained ideas about women and their place in society. This does not A) mean he was right about how women should act OR B) mean that we should toss out everything he had to say, about women or otherwise, because he was Problematic. Most biblical authors were, in fact, Problematic. Either by our modern standards, due to the time in which they lived, OR by the standards of their own time, because God liked to use Imperfect People (we’re all imperfect, but He liked particularly imperfect people) in His plans. David was an adulterer and murderer. Paul happily sent dozens of Christians to their deaths. Peter was hotheaded and super prejudiced against Gentiles and Samaritans. And most of them were, in one way or another, sexist, racist, and homophobic. These biases then found their way, intentionally or not, into their writings, and then other racist, sexist, homophobic men used those writings to justify systemic oppression of anyone who was not like them. Oppression that is not Christlike. So where does that leave us, in our 21st century application of scripture to our daily lives? We must examine how it was to be read at the time (which we have done), and then see what we can apply from it to our own lives. For myself in my marriage, I look again to the original grammar of Ephesians 5, that indicates the submission is to be mutual. I “submit” to my husband, and he “submits” to me. In other words, our relationship is built on Trust, Clear Communication, and Respect for one another. Sometimes we have to compromise, and I have to put aside my own desires for his sake, or he must set aside his own desires for my sake. It is a willingness to listen to one another, to approach conflicts with an open mind, to consider each other’s feelings before we speak. It is an equal, mutual submission based on love for each other, which doesn’t contradict what Paul says at all. God created all people to be equal. Humans are stupid sometimes and try to insist that we know better, try to create hierarchies and use the bible to try and justify that, but that doesn’t mean those humans are right. If your church is trying to make you feel less than because of your gender, or if you date somebody who pushes TradWife rhetoric and tries to use Ephesians as their justification, then you Run, and feel justified in doing so. (Especially if they also try to use Paul’s words to tell you why you owe your partner sex; see again, Paul was not only sexist but also lived in a patriarchal time when women were second class citizens that had very specific expectations placed on them AND he wasn’t even in a relationship himself, forgive me if I take his advice on my sex life with a grain of salt. Without doing this whole process again, a good modern reading of “don’t deprive one another” is “don’t use sex as a weapon in your relationship/withhold it for bs reasons when you’re mad at each other, etc. Like all other relationship things, sex (or a lack thereof) with your spouse should be based on mutual trust, communication, and love, not petty arguments or the standards of others.)

Trust me, as an ace woman myself, I totally get the fear. I’ve felt it myself, in the past. But God’s intentions for you are not that you become a doormat or servant to a man. If a romantic relationship (or any other partnership) is part of His plan for you, then the bible clearly states, both in Ephesians and elsewhere, that it should be one built on Love and Trust, not Subjugation and Servitude.

I hope this helped you, and again, sorry it was so long XD. Have an amazing day! <3

#christianity #biblical analysis #religion #anti trad wife #ephesians 5 #ace things #taylor talks #for a loooong time

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writersrealmbts · 4 years ago

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Clearwater Springs: Part 1

Description: ot7 x reader, reader’s choice, fairy/supernatural/soulmate au. The choices you make influence the story! In this world, war-torn and ragged, you’ve been offered a home and a job working as a librarian. Will you meet your soulmates? Will you ever find the shelves behind the piles of books? Who knows.

Warnings: None

Posted: 08/29/2020

Tags: ot7 x reader, supernatural bts,

5,111 words

A/N: Once I was actually able to write, this came out really easily. I hope you guys enjoy it and don’t forget to do the pre-chapter 2 survey (link at the end of post)!

You stared up at the house in a bit of a daze, still untethered. Still vulnerable.

“Isn’t it magnificent?! A real masterpiece, this house.”

You glanced at your over-enthusiastic caseworker, then looked back up at the grand Victorian house, wondering if the inside matched the outside, and why such a grand house was way out in the middle of nowhere. Why its owner would offer to take in strays, misfits, and others in need of a new home after the recent war when they were obviously still doing well despite the near economic collapse.

Your caseworker was practically bouncing up to the house, making you dizzy as he jostled the itty-bitty fountain you were temporarily tied to.

But you’d been dealing with that for a month, and you were getting pretty good at walking a straight line while the world appeared to spin around you.

“Now, if you and he agree at the end of the day, you’ll be tethered to a natural spring and the creek it runs into nearby, and you’ll stay in one of the spare rooms and you’ll help him organize and keep his library, which he runs as a traditional library—when organized—for some of the locals.”

You didn’t bother responding since he didn’t seem to be looking for a response, instead heavily trodding up to the front door as he rang the doorbell.

“Also, to simulate what life will be like, I’ll be leaving you for the day once I set your fountain down in a safe spot.”

“You said,” You murmured, closing your eyes for a moment, feeling yourself swaying from side to side. As a xana, you were originally tethered to a fountain many miles away, but as the war reached that town, your fountain had been damaged and your original workplace—a large library where you specialized in the children’s section, reading to them and singing your songs—utterly demolished. Because the fountain wasn’t completely destroyed, you survived. An experimental spell and three weeks later and there you were, standing on the steps of the home of a human where you would be exchanging work for a place to sleep and food to eat. You didn’t even need that much food, about a meal a day was enough for you when your tethered place was healthy and strong and not being jerked around like a dog was playing tug-of-war with it.

The front door opened, revealing a man with pink hair. “Hello, you must be Y/n. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to Clearwater Springs.”

“We?” You asked, glancing at your worker.

The human did as well. “You told her about the house’s haltija, right?”

You relaxed. “Oh. Just a haltija?”

“Well, he’s also half-brownie, but thankfully that only manifests in the occasional clumsy or destructive moment. He’s quite friendly, though, and very fond of the forest,” The human spoke quickly, as though afraid you would pass negative judgement on the haltija—creatures who were known for guarding and protecting—for having brownie blood—admittedly, creatures who could become troublesome when disrespected, but otherwise also keepers of the home and chore-doers for the kind.

“I’m sure he’s very kind and gentle,” You replied.

“Right. And you’re a xana?”

You nodded.

“And...I’m sorry, I’m not sure what exactly that is, other than the fact that you’re generally tied to some form of pure water, like fountains, springs, rivers, waterfalls….”

You nodded. “I’m originally from a fountain. Um...I’m not sure how to explain what I am.”

Your caseworker took that hint. “Oh! Right, well, they seem to always know virtuous hearts through some test or other—though no one ever seems to be able to pin down the test—um, they have enchanted songs that bring feelings of peace and love to the pure and could almost kill those who are impure. Um, let’s see, she has combs made of moonbeams and sunlight, respectively. Can’t completely care for babies, but once they can feed themselves she’s fine.”

You frowned, fighting yourself not to glare at him. Your species couldn’t produce milk, so in the old days—before there was formula—it was a sort of changeling situation. A Xanino would replace a human child. Terrible, but true. Nowadays, most xaninos were adopted by naiads or other nature or house spirits—because now it was scandalous to try and raise your own child as a xana.

“Oh, she has treasure, but who knows where she keeps that—”

“It’s enchanted, you’re not supposed to know where I keep it,” You muttered, even though he wasn’t paying any attention to you.

“And she can give you a drink that we call ‘Love water’. Couldn’t tell you why, and I’ve never seen her hand it out. Think that’s it. Here’s her fountain, I’ll be back at sundown.”

The human almost dropped the fountain that was shoved into his hands, and if he wasn’t so surprised you thought he might have yelled at your caseworker.

But the car peeled down the driveway again, kicking up dirt.

You stared after him, a little disconcerted. “Mages.”

“Um, well, we’ve been preparing for your arrival. We’ve gotten the basement bathroom renovated so that you can shower or bathe in the waters of your spring when you need, and your bedroom is ready for you. We thought you’d prefer to decorate it with your things...but looking back now I probably should have known you wouldn’t have many things. It’s a hard time for everyone,” The human rambled, rubbing his neck. “Oh, I’m Seokjin, by the way.”

“Oh, yes, I suppose your name would be important. I’d hate to be rude and just refer to you as ‘The Human” when you’re my boss.”

Seokjin looked startled at the title. “I’d rather think of it as a partnership. I’ve been told I shouldn’t live alone, and you needed a new home. Also, my library is out of control and I have no idea where to start—I mean, other than the new library building that we just finished. Don’t worry, it’s very close to your water source as well, but your spring is still highly protected.”

You just nodded, wondering why he didn’t stare like most humans did. You were beautiful—that was one of the key points of defining a xana: being extraordinarily beautiful. Xana’s were considered more beautiful than any other species—and only a few other species even tried to contend with it since yours was more rare, and therefore more worth the attention.

“Um, let’s get inside so I can set this down. We’ll make sure Namjoon steers completely clear of it.” Seokjin stepped back and leaned his head in a gesture that suggested welcoming you inside and to follow him.

He led the way through the entry, and then to the living room through the arch immediately to the right. He took the fountain and placed it on a table that was against the wall—out of the way of general traffic. “There. Now, Namjoon should be around somewhere. Probably the garden, he likes it out there. But for now let me show you the house, including where you’ll be staying and then we’ll go and talk about the library. There’s a lot of work that I want to do, Namjoon is heavily involved in that too. He likes books, but between us...we don’t really have the skills to put what we want into action—which is why we’re really excited that you’re here.” He started the tour.

“I’ll do my best to h-hell, what is this hell?” You said, looking at the mess. It looked somewhat like a library, except you couldn’t even see the shelves. It was just piles upon piles of books, newspapers, journals, magazines, and comic books with a thin path between it all.

Seokjin winced. “It is...mildly organized. We’ve been receiving donations. Don’t worry, there will be a bigger place, we mostly just need to pack all of this up and move it to the new facility in an...organized fashion.”

You pointed at the mix of magazines and books. “This is organized.”

“I did say somewhat, didn’t I? We had a large influx of books very suddenly. Things got very messy in the chaos of it all. I think they were sending us books from destroyed libraries.” He shrugged a bit. “Don’t worry. We’ll be helping at every turn and I’m bringing in extra workers from town as needed.”

You supposed that was supposed to be comforting, but you were staring at a nightmare of a situation. One toppling tower, and there was no navigating through.

“Hyung? Is that you?” The pile asked.

Then it was all falling over and someone was diving out while Seokjin pulled you against the wall and out of the way.

Seokjin sighed. “Namjoon. Our guest is here.”

The man with blue hair looked up, then back at his legs (which were trapped under many books), then back at you. He stared at you with big eyes, looking a little flustered.

You took a deep breath. “Well, that is exactly what we didn’t want to happen.”

“Yeah. Namjoon, didn’t we talk about not going in there?” Seokjin bent down and grabbed Namjoon under the arms and pulled him out from the pile, helping him to his feet.

“I just wanted the next book in my series.” Namjoon rubbed the back of his neck. “I was doing okay until then.”

Seokjin shook his head a bit. “Namjoonie, this is y/n. She’s the one that’s going to stay with us and help with the library?”

Namjoon was definitely already staring at you, and he looked a little flustered and red. “Hi.”

“She’s a xana. Y/n, this is Namjoon, the haltija of the house.”

“Uh, nice to meet you,” Namjoon said hurriedly.

“Nice to meet you, too,” You replied, trying for a smile, but you were pretty sure you just gave him a woozy look.

“Maybe you should lie down before we continue the house tour? He was jostling your fountain around quite a bit.” Seokjin frowned toward the front door.

Namjoon nodded. “He’s right. You need rest. I can tell.”

You shrugged. “Nah, the world is supposed to be constantly spinning.”

“Should I carry her? Should I carry you?” Seokjin asked, sounding and looking a little panicked.

You shrugged. “I’m fine. This has been my life for the past three months.”

Namjoon’s eyes widened.

Seokjin looked like he was going to have a meltdown.

“Unless you’re going to have a panic attack, in which case you may carry me if it will help you,” You said quickly, concerned with how quickly he was freaking out.

Namjoon glanced at the human, then nodded. “I think that might be the only way to stall him out. He’s not wearing his glasses.”

You shrugged again, uncertain what not having glasses had to do with anything, and waited while Namjoon muttered something to Seokjin.

A couple moments later, Seokjin came over, muttering something about being sorry, then he carefully scooped you up. “Sorry, your dress is a little slippery. Silk?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My clothes just sort of...appear as I need them? Usually made of silk, but sometimes there’s a velvet cloak when it’s colder. Some linen when it’s warmer. Always dresses.”

“Cool,” Namjoon said, following the two of you up the stairs.

“I suppose so,” You replied, doing your best not to look at Seokjin. He was handsome for a human. And you’d never seen a non-fairy pull off pink hair before today. He had a sort of gentleness to his face, a softness that could easily become cold and judgemental. If that even made sense.

But honestly, there were very few things that made sense since the war had begun some ten years ago.

“Why is your hair blue?” You asked the haltija, looking over Seokjin’s shoulder as you realized you had been looking at him despite specifically thinking you shouldn’t and only noticing because his ears had started turning a violent shade of red.

“Oh...uh...we’re not really sure. It just sort of...changes now and then. A few days ago I woke up and it was this color. Before that it had been brown.”

“Did you two paint any part of the house?”

“Well, not in the same time frame as my hair color changing. And definitely not this color. Jin-hyung has this crazy theory that it’s connected to my soulmate or something.”

“You have a soulmate?” You asked, surprised.

He nodded, rubbing his left shoulder-pectoral area, which meant either his mark was located there or he had some muscle pain from his dive for freedom in the great August book-slide. “Yeah. Or...well, I have multiple sections in my mark...so, I guess I’m part of a soul-group. Probably a platonic one given my species.”

“You never know what’s waiting around the riverbend,” You replied, thinking back to Grandma Loire’s wise words when you had been fretting about the war. Granted, at that time, her words had been very wrong, but you wouldn’t begrudge the dead for their mistakes.

But also thinking about your own soulmark and the multiple parts in it. You were certain it was just a coincidence, but it was still an interesting fact that you filed away.

“You sound like a naiad,” Namjoon snorted.

“A naiad told me that. She was very wrong at the time. Told me not to worry about the battle in Manhattan.”

“Ooh,” He winced. “Very wrong.”

Seokjin held onto you a little tighter. “Where did you live before this?”

“Rocamadour. Our library was new when I started working there. Before there were a couple but they were in some towns over.”

“Where is that?” Namjoon asked.

“It’s in the Alps,” Seokjin answered, then paused at the top of the stairs. “Get the door?”

The door swung open before Seokjin had finished asking.

You craned your head to look at Namjoon, suddenly concerned with your privacy.

He held up his hands. “I can open doors and windows, I can’t see through walls. I can also hear things, if you want me to. If you want me to hear, just knock or tap your foot three times and I’ll listen.”

You nodded slightly and relaxed again.

Seokjin carried you into the room, which was painted such a calm color. The bed was a queen-size, and it was soft when he lay you in the middle of it. The top blanket was velvet-y and so, so soft.

Namjoon gave you a smile when you let out a sound of appreciation.

Seokjin smiled at you. “Well, I’m going to find out whether he’s coming back to check in on you tonight or not while you rest, then we’ll go over other things and go to the spring. Feel free to go anywhere in the house, as long as it isn’t one of our bedrooms. Mine is on the first floor, Namjoon’s is across the hall. Food in the kitchen is up for grabs unless it’s in the meal-plan that I have on the fridge. Oh, that door there leads to your bathroom, the one next to it leads to your closet, and this third door leads to your sitting room or office or whatever you want to use it for. We’ll let you nap now.”

Namjoon dipped his head as Seokjin pushed and pulled him out of your bedroom door.

You stared at the closed door for a moment, then lay back. You were still so accustomed to sleeping on your fountain or in your fountain that this felt weird. But it felt weird in a heavenly sort of way. You slid up and then managed to slide under the covers, a little excited about the silk sheets. It was so nice.

So heavenly that you woke up feeling so refreshed that it had to be illegal. Sure, you still felt a little off (because the fountain you were temporarily tethered too wasn’t the greatest), but you felt much better than before.

You slid out of the sheets, enjoying the feel of the hardwood on your feet as you cautiously checked out your bathroom, closet, and sitting room (which only had an armchair and a small sofa). Once you had tested the seats (because you had to know which would be your favorite, it was the armchair), you ventured out into the hallway.

Namjoon’s door was open, but you didn’t hear anything in there, so you decided not to bother him.

Instead, you headed back the way you had been carried, looking around for more detail.

The structure of the house, the woodwork, the moulding, the baseboards and the stairway all had a distinctly Victorian style, and all were likely original to the house. But the design was more subtle, softer, and more contemporary in the coloring and the furniture. It was a nice sort of mix that gave the house an air of elegance that was refreshing. You’d been in some victorian-style homes before and they had been so overwhelmingly Victorian that it was like you were trapped in England in that time period and about to choke on a piece of jellied eel.

You avoided the pile of books spilling out of the library (but did notice that they’d been somewhat cleaned up), and checked out the living room again with the ulterior motive of checking on your current fountain.

The style was even more contemporary there, yet still paid a nice homage to the house. A monochrome color scheme, with pops of color in some of the throw pillows and delicate accents in the artwork.

Your fountain looked cleaner than ever and had a healthy amount of water in it for once, which you honestly felt boded well for you. There even seemed to be a new coating of pebbles at the bottom of the small basin.

You flinched as a cat hopped up onto the table next to the fountain and took a drink from it. It was young, a long-haired calico, so soft and pretty looking.

You let it sniff your hand, humming softly before you carefully picked it up. You snuggled it, happy when it seemed to revel in your attention, even seeking it when you started looking over the books that were seperated from the library and on the shelf beside the fireplace. There weren’t many, but you recognized one or two of the titles, and the taste there seemed to vary widely. You figured they were probably books from both of the boys, and left them as they were to go try and find the kitchen for a glass of water.

The office was nearby, but didn’t look like it got used as an office very often, but definitely seemed to have a gaming station in one corner.

You found the billiard’s room next, noting that there was a ping-pong table folded up in a corner. It seemed pretty abandoned, clean, but not nearly as used.

Then a smell permeated the air, drawing you back toward soft noise and even softer humming, murmured conversation and the sizzling of something cooking.

You peeked into the large kitchen, smiling when you saw Namjoon reading in one corner, and Seokjin cooking at the stove. Namjoon seemed to be explaining the book to Seokjin, quietly passionate about it.

Seokjin was smiling and humming, possibly more focused on what he was cooking, but still seeming to hear what Namjoon was saying.

“Smells good,” You said quietly, slipping completely into the room. Trying not to disturb the aura.

Seokjin turned and grinned at you. “Hey! You look like you feel better.”

You nodded. “That bed is heavenly. And thank you for cleaning the fountain.”

He shrugged. “It looked like it had been neglected for a while. Namjoon found some pebbles for it as well because he read that once they’ve been exposed to the tether it can make a transition easier, theoretically.”

Namjoon looked embarrassed, rubbing his neck. “I figured it couldn’t hurt to try it out.”

“That was very thoughtful,” You told him, smiling at him as well.

He was bright red after that.

Seokjin chuckled. “I’ll have dinner ready soon. Then I thought we could head down to the new library building, and then maybe go into town. There isn’t much, but I do need to pick up some things.”

You took the seat that Namjoon offered. “That sounds like a plan. Who’s the kitty?”

“Oh, that’s Parsley. She followed us home one day and has been here ever since.” Namjoon pet the cat carefully. “She’s a good mouser, so we just sort of created a pact that as long as she keeps us pest free, we’ll keep her pest-free.”

“She’s a cutie,” You said, pressing your cheek against the soft fur and enjoying the soothing vibrations of her purr. It was just one of the many things that made you feel so comfortable here. That and both men seemed relatively impervious to your enchanting beauty, which was refreshing. It gave you hope that this would work out. That you wouldn’t always be free-floating.

“She is. Do you know anything about this bird that practically forced it’s way into our house?” Seokjin asked, pointing toward the ceiling.

You leaned to the left to look at the little black and white fluff-ball. “Was wondering when he would show up. He’s been following me for a while. Don’t know why, but he seems to have formed an attachment. Whether he feels like conversing is a completely different matter.”

“Does he have a name?”

“Not that he’ll tell me.”

Namjoon started laughing.

Seokjin gave you an exasperated look. “What do you call him?”

“Fluffball, marshmallow, cotton swab, cotton ball, cotton candy, fairy floss—he really doesn’t like that one—squishy, fluffy, Caspar, and Leo.” You shrugged. “Like I said, he won’t tell me his name. Just what his name isn’t.”

“So, none of those are his name?”

“Well, fairy floss isn’t. I’ve gotten to the point where I think he’s just waiting for someone else to settle on a name for him—preferably one he likes.”

“And until then, he’s just going to come and go as he pleases?”

You shrugged again, holding it for a while.

Namjoon was still laughing, his smile revealing some adorable dimples.

“So...is he a magical bird?”

You looked up at your feathered friend, and resisted the urge to shrug once more. “Maybe?”

Seokjin huffed. “What does he eat?”

“Haven’t the foggiest. He always leaves to eat. Sometimes I’d see him eating bird-seed, but mostly he just flies off and comes back well-fed. I think he eats insects.”

“Great. He can deal with the mosquitos.” Seokjin spared the bird a glance, then dished up the food. “The store might have some insects we can get for him, just in case. You never know. They always have weird things.”

“Really?” You looked forlornly after the kitty as it leaped off and disappeared through another doorway. “Is it a magic shop?”

“Well….”

“We told you that Jin-hyung is the only human in town, didn’t we?” Namjoon asked, eyes widened slightly. “Everyone who lives in the area is magical to some extent, except for hyung.”

You shook your head, a little stunned. “No. No you did not tell me that.”

But man was that an idea to wrap your head around.

Seokjin shrugged, having plated up the food. “This is a pretty popular place for refugees. Sort of remote and accepting of different species. A nice place to make a fresh start.”

“But...you’re the only human. Doesn’t that get...I don’t know...lonely?”

He blinked at you, then shook his head and shrugged. “No? I have Namjoonie, and now you’re here too. And yeah, I’m outnumbered, but they’ve never held my species against me. I mean, that’s probably because I did sort of pay for the whole town, which isn’t much. But more people come each day, and some people move on to other places once they’ve gotten back onto their feet. It’s like an adventure, meet some new characters, help them on their journey, then return home to sleep in a big, soft, bed with a full belly.”

And maybe the look of genuine happiness on his face was just a little too alluring.

Maybe you were just desperate to belong somewhere, because when he included you...it was like the world lit up.

And no, you were not tearing up.

His hand covered yours, warmth spreading from his touch to the mark that was hidden under the sleeve of your dress as he smiled warmly at you. “I really do hope that this place becomes your home. Everyone deserves to have a home.”

And then he was moving away, maybe not even aware that he was one of your soulmates since he was human.

“Come on, let’s eat.”

Namjoon quickly complied with Seokjin’s words, but you were slower to follow, trying to figure out how all of this had come about.

“I heard that a new van full of people arrived yesterday, so I want to see if I can meet any of them. See if we still have enough housing for everyone. That might mean a couple people staying with us in the house if there isn’t enough housing. Is that okay?”

You nodded, just following their actions, but not taking as much food as they did. Mostly because you didn’t need much food to survive, but it smelled good. So good, and Seokjin did cook it himself.

“Alright, then it’s a plan. Eat, see the new library, go to the store, meet people, come home.” Seokjin nodded firmly at the end of the list, then seemed to remember something. “And talk to your mage-handler and see about tethering you to the spring. That’s probably more important. We can do the other things tomorrow if we have to, but the tethering should be done sooner rather than later. That is, if you want to be tethered to the spring. You wouldn’t necessarily have to live here your whole life, we could always get you your own home, it would just—”

“Living here is fine, and yes, I would like to be tethered to the spring,” You said quickly, noticing how his speech was deteriorating. “I just have one question.”

“Oh?” He looked so genuinely concerned, leaning forward in his seat.

“Namjoon said you wear glasses, so...have you actually seen me?”

Namjoon snickered.

Seokjin’s ears turned bright red. “Um. Yes. Yes I can see you. I have seen you. I’m seeing you. I, um, I put in my, um, contacts. I can see you quite clearly. Also, I could see you when I was closer. Just, not after a certain distance. And yes, we do plan on actively protecting you when we go out.”

You nodded. “Just curious.”

Namjoon paused after swallowing. “The mage is back.”

Seokjin sighed. “So, town tomorrow then. I’ll go let him in. I suppose this means I need to offer him dinner?”

“That would be the polite thing,” Namjoon said, gleefully.

Seokjin muttered as he left the room.

“He’s...unusual for a human,” You commented.

Namjoon nodded. “Yeah. He is. But he’s one of the best human’s I’ve ever met. We’re really glad you’re going to stay with us, Y/n. I hope you never regret your choice.”

“I hope so too.” But you didn’t think you would.

Namjoon turned toward the door, eyes narrowed slightly before rolling his eyes. “Can you help me cover the food? Apparently Mr. Mage is insisting on doing the tethering now if you agree to it.”

You rolled your eyes and got up to help him cover all three plates and the platters and bowls with tin foil to possibly retain some warmth. You highly doubted you’d be eating again that evening since tethering made you impossibly nauseous and sleepy. “I won’t be very coherent after the tethering.”

He nodded. “We’ll make sure you get back here and into bed safely, or into the tub downstairs.”

You nodded, then followed him out to where Seokjin was listening to your mage, looking strained.

“Ah, so, have you decided whether you wish to be tethered to the spring here or not?”

“I have decided to be tethered, yes.” Anything to not be in his careless hands anymore.

“Excellent! I’ll get the fountain!”

“How about I grab it, that way your hands are free to do the actual spell,” Jin quickly intervened. “Namjoon can lead the way back to the mouth of the spring.”

You breathed a sigh of relief as the mage agreed to it. At least Seokjin would be careful.

“Alright, then lets head to this spring! I’d love to be on the road before dark.”

Namjoon’s chin jutted out slightly.

Seokjin just gave a pained smile, nodding. “Yes. Driving after dark is a pain. Namjoon. Lead the way.”

And you weren’t about to tell on Namjoon when you saw one of the floorboards pop up to trip the mage, because you kind of felt somewhat vindicated.

The forest around the house was made up primarily of spruces, firs, pines, and hemlocks with birches, oaks, and red maples popping through here and there. The path that the four of you took (with a little fluffball following overhead and a calico furball following behind curiously) was discreet, yet also fairly well-worn. As though walked often, but also well-cared for.

It was quiet, with varying degrees of density—some areas providing a wide view of the rest of the forest, and other areas being so dense that you couldn’t see a foot past the nearest tree.

Namjoon followed the path for a while, then diverged into the forest down what appeared to be a game-trail, something not walked often.

Then you could sense the water. It’s purity, it’s cleanliness. Free and untethered.

The creek was beautiful, and all of you followed it to the head of the spring.

You grinned when you saw it, a thrill going through you. It was beautiful and so clean and lovely and it was going to be yours.

Seokjin set your fountain down so that the mage could prepare the spell, then came over to you. “You’re sure about this?”

You looked into his eyes, the eyes of one of your soulmates, and nodded. “I’ve never been more certain about anything in my life.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, a little more carefree now.

You hoped you’d have the courage to talk about soulmates with him someday, but today you were going to have your soul ripped from a tiny fountain and sewn back into a spring. You only had so much courage.

And then the mage started the spell.

Survey Results used for this chapter:

Namjoon-Blue (haltija), Seokjin-Pink (human), You-Cyan (xana)

Silk, Book-Librarian, Creek-what your water source is attached to, House/Apartment/Mansion, Style-Victorian & Contemporary, view-boreal/boreal-mix forest, calico kitty, white bird with black wings,

Whoops-meet Seokjin first, Oh No-meet Namjoon second, LaLaLa-C (some friends, some strangers), Loyalty-Soulmate au, Black-War tore through and you're all in relief housing situation.

Pre-Chapter 2 Survey

Next.

Masterlist. ot7 Masterpost.

Taglist: @missmoxxiesworld @bryvada @i-dont-even-know-fck @knjhe @alex--awesome--22 @kerikaaria @killcomet @letsreadbts @taestannie

#fairy au #supernatural au #bts fic #bts ot7 #ot7 #bts #kim seokjin #kim namjoon #namjoon #seokjin #haltija!Namjoon #human!seokjin #xana!reader #soulmate!au #soulmate!bts #readers choice fic #clearwater springs fic #ot7 x reader #bts x reader

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mummybear · 5 years ago

Text

The Sinners

This Is Day 12 Of Roleplay May

Words: 3155

Warnings: Smut, Swearing, Rough Sex, Spanking Teasing, Blow Job Under A Desk, Sex On A Desk, Edging, Orgasm Control, Roleplay, So much dirty talk..... Think that’s it.

Characters: Priest Dean, Priest Sam, Nun Reader, Unnamed Priest, Friend Of John’s (George).

Parings: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: The Winchesters and the reader are called to investigate murders at a church, but when Sam solves the case before Dean and the reader leave. What will they do? Now that they finally have a little alone time, will they take advantage of the situation?

This was some of the hardest and most strange acting you’d ever had to do since you’d started living with the Winchester brothers, maybe even since you’d first started hunting. But here you were, walking around this massive beautiful church, taking in every one of the locals who looked on respectfully.

Sam had quickly found out that this particular church had recently been remodelled, although if you would’ve shown up before checking, that would’ve been immediately obvious. Which is what had led the three of you to to easily conclude what had probably angered the spirit after such a long time.

You were dressed as one of the sisters, blending in surprisingly well, trying to remember everything you could from the film sister act, since that was the only form of reference you could call to mind. The brothers had sent you in a day ahead of them, they were due to turn up at any time now, joining as two new priests.

Turning the corner and you take another set of steps down, heading down to the dungeon where people were known to have seen the ghost. Dean was certain that the ghost was most likely to have been a bishop, who had died here in the late nineteen hundreds and whose body had been discovered in the basement. Things had become increasingly serious lately, ending up with two nuns and a priest being murdered in the basement, which is why the three of you had been called by an old contact of John’s, George, since he had known something was seriously wrong. He was someone who’d assured you that this wasn’t just some made up ghost sighting.

Your hand hovers over the iron blade, which is hidden just under your skirt, with the gun holster that you have fastened to your thigh. The door slams closed behind you and your heart starts beating wildly in your chest, adrenaline pumping through your veins as you carefully pull the knife free and you whirl on the closed door. But there’s nothing there, you can’t be sure but there’s every chance it’s the ghost. Adjusting your grip on the knife, you slowly walk a little further inside.

The musty smell hits your nose stronger the deeper that you go, holding your arm over your mouth and nose as you walk while keeping a tight grip on the blade. Then you reach the final chamber of the basement, proof that way back in the day this place had been a torture chamber of some kind. There were thick chains and shackles hanging from the walls, thick and dark blood still visible on the surface. There were also signs of blood on the floor still, from the bodies that had recently been found.

Beside you was a large sturdy table, with a few dusty books and piles of papers on top. There were a few old and broken windows on the floor, that were leaning against the wall. Your distraction is short lived, when you hear something that makes you stop in your tracks.

You hear heavy footsteps behind you, echoing off of the basement walls, causing that shiver to roll through your body all over again. When you turn this time your knife is poised to attack, however the person behind you is faster and catches your wrist in his hand and tuts.

“I think you need to work on your aim there, sister”

There’s no mistaking that voice, hearing it every morning you wake up and every night you go to sleep. Grabbing your knife from your hand, he flips it skilfully before handing the handle back to you and you can almost hear the smirk on those plump lips. His torch shines in your face so you have to squint a little, but the light quickly moves away shining on your body.

“Glad to see you could finally make it, father Winchester.” you smirk up at him, licking your lips when he leans in closer and your back hits the cold stone wall behind you.

He looks fucking amazing, you had no idea this was a kink of yours, not until Dean was stood in front of you dressed in it.

“I was doing a little research last night and I found out a very interesting little fact about the murders that have happened down here in the last month.” Dean reveals keeping his voice low.

“Oh yeah, what’s that then?” you ask quietly, feeling him press his body closer to your own.

“So get this, turns out the priests and nuns around have been getting a little too familiar. Sexually,” he grins wiggling his eyebrows, you can’t help but laugh at the massive dork in front of you.

You have your own idea of where this is going but you play along anyway.

“Really? Well I can’t say I blame them father.” you practically purr, slipping your hands inside his jacket, letting your fingers glide slowly down the thin black fabric covering his firm chest.

Dean’s smirk grows as he bites into his bottom lip, “Is something on your mind my child?” he asks with a slight change in his voice and his free hand not holding the torch gently grips your hip.

Licking your lips you nod slowly, looking up into those gorgeous green eyes.

“Yes, there is. All of last night I had some very impure thoughts about you. I may have even let my fingers wander.” you answer seductively, feeling his grip tighten as he growls your name in warning.

“Such a bad little girl. I thought we had this conversation last week, you don’t touch what’s mine, especially when I’m not there. Did you come?”

His question takes you by surprise, even though you probably should’ve expected it.

“Yeah, I did. Made sure I moaned your name though, just like I do every time, even if I did have to be really quiet about it.” You smile cheekily, knowing that you’re pushing all of the right buttons when he drops the torch on that large table beside you and his hand pushes under your skirt.

“You’re fuckin’ killin’ me here sweetheart, you wait until I get you home.” Dean groans, brushing his fingers over your wet but covered slit. You roll your hips against his hand as his lips just barely brush yours, “it’ll take a little more than a few hail Mary’s to save you here, safe to say you’ve earned your spanking today, don’t you think sister?”

“Whatever you think is best. You are the boss.”

“It’s a shame you didn’t think about that last night really sweetheart.”

Feeling his phone vibrating you slip your hand inside his jacket and pull out his phone from the pocket, unlocking his phone you smile, humming under your breath. You look back up at him and show him the message from Sam. “Looks like we have some free time baby, perhaps you should just punish me right now,”

Gripping your jaw roughly he presses a firm kiss to your lips, your hands fist in his jacket when he pushes your panties aside and two of his thick fingers slip inside your opening.

“I want you to meet me upstairs, in that empty office. But first, I’m gonna get you close and you're not gonna come, are you?”

“No father, I'll do whatever you want,” you gasp as he curls his fingers inside you and drags your bottom lip between his teeth.

He chuckles in the back of his throat releasing your lip, “of course you will my dirty little sinner. Maybe you’ll finally learn to do as you’re told.” Dean grunts when you move your hand over the bulge in the front of his pants. Kicking your feet apart. his fingers speed up and he adds a third, causing your begging whimpers to fill the echoing space around the pair of you, you cling to Dean tighter when the heel of his hand rubs perfectly against your clit.

Your chest is heaving and your blood is pumping hard in your ears, “Dean, please stop.” you whine desperately, feeling your pussy starting to clamp down around his insistent fingers.

“Pretty sure you can do better than that, can’t you sweetheart? I dare you. Give me even more reason to spank that ass red.” he growls as your head falls back against the wall, fighting every single part of you that’s desperate for release.

You cry out loudly when he finally removes his fingers and you slump against his chest, hearing the lewd sounds he makes sucking his fingers between his lips, licking and sucking your slick from the thick digits.

“You’re lucky you’re so fuckin’ sexy. Now, be a good girl and meet me upstairs and I might let you finish.”

You lean back against the wall to support yourself, when he finally releases you and grabs the torch, throwing you a quick wink he leaves the basement. Your head is spinning, only Dean had been able to wind you up this way. His voice always drove you almost as mad as those skilled fingers of his, not to mention his perfect thick cock which always had you begging him. You were nervous about doing this, but the excitement by far outweighed your nerves.

The minutes tick by and you regain your breath and readjust yourself, quickly exiting the basement. You slowly make your way towards the office Dean had told you about, smiling politely and nodding your head at the other sisters who pass you, doing your best not to show that you were rushing.

You see him sitting at the desk when you start making your way towards the room, he looks up as you walk in and you meet his eyes.

“Father, I heard you wanted to see me,” your voice is so innocent and quiet, Dean has to suppress the groan that’s threatening to leave his chest.

“Yes I did. Please, come in sister. Close the door behind you,” that filthy smirk on his lips is the polar opposite to how his voice sounds. Bowing your head you do as he asks and lock the door behind you. “Skirt up. Spread your legs and bend over my desk for your punishment.” he instructs you, keeping his tone even and his voice quiet.

You can’t help but smile, when you see the pile of stuff he’d quite clearly swept off of the desk as soon as he’d got inside the room. You watch him as you pull the skirt up your legs slowly, until you have to ease it over your ass and up around your waist. Seeing him stand from the chair and walk around the desk, you bend over the cold wood and spread your legs, hands gripping the other side when you feel his large warm hands smoothing over your ass cheeks.

“Forgive me father,” you whimper, hearing him groan behind you when he squeezes your ass cheeks roughly.

“Oh baby girl, this will help. How many do you think? Is ten enough?” he rasps voice much rougher than before, all you can do is moan into the table, feeling the arousal shooting straight to your core. “Answer me, you know the rules!” Dean demands, as a hard smack connects with your skin.

You manage to muffle the scream of surprise behind your hand, not missing the chuckle that it pulls from the man behind you. “S-Sorry father,” you whimper as your grip on the table tightens, “Whatever you say is right. I trust you,” you breathe out shakily, dropping your forehead onto the table as the second slap comes down just as hard on the other cheek, pulling a shaky moan from your already parted lips.

Dean quickly rips your thin panties from your body and tucks them into his back pocket.

You cry out against the wood, rolling your hips back into his hands, the next three slaps are against the same cheek, just as hard as the first. Your whimpering his name as his hand smoothes over the tender skin. You can feel yourself sweating against the table, stomach clenching and your pussy fluttering around nothing. He quickly evens out the slaps on your other cheek, three hard slaps coming down in quick succession on the other side. You have to stop yourself from clamping your legs together, when his fingers slip easily between your dripping folds.

“Such a good girl for me baby, look at that sexy ass. So fuckin’ pretty, all red for me baby.” he groans loudly. Your ass feels like it’s on fire in the best way possible, every nerve ending in your entire body is at attention. You’re so close already, with the way that he’s been edging you and you know he knows it. “You doin’ okay baby?” Dean asks gently, bending down to press his lips to your ass.

“So good, so good Dean” you whimper breathlessly.

Your entire body clenches and your eyes squeeze shut when he slaps your pussy, nowhere near as hard as the ones on your ass but it feels amazing nonetheless. Quickly followed by another sharp slap, which almost makes your legs collapse beneath you.

“You did so good baby, so fuckin’ perfect.” he praises you, pressing gentle kisses to your skin, his tongue running through your sensitive folds.

There’s a knock at the door as Dean helps you up from the desk and presses his lips to yours, “Under the desk, i promise we will finish up as soon as I get rid of them,”

Sighing you lower your dress and slip beneath his desk, whimpering when the heels of your feet press into your tender ass. Hearing the door unlock as you get as comfortable as possible.

Dean takes his seat at the desk, careful that when he pulls the chair in he doesn’t hurt you.

“Come in,” he calls just as you get an idea, sliding your hands up his thick thighs and you quickly unbuckle his belt as the door opens.

Dean’s legs fall open and his muscles tense when you unbutton his pants and pull down the zipper.

“Father Winchester, I’m sorry to interrupt. I was told you might know, I was just wondering if you’d seen sister Y/N, she seems to be missing,” the young priest asks nervously, as one of Dean’s hands slips beneath the desk and pushes into your hair.

You tug his pants and boxers down just enough to release his thick length, holding back the moan when you seal your lips around the head of his cock.

“As far as I’m aware she had to leave. Family emergency,” Dean explains quickly, biting his lip when you take him as deep as you can.

Dean’s fingers tighten in your hair when you start to bob your head over him, sliding easily up and down his length, enjoying the way that his free hand is clenched around the arm of the chair. “Oh, my apologies sir. Sorry for bothering you, I’ll leave you to your work.”

Dean realises that he suddenly doesn’t trust his voice, with a stiff nod of his head, he holds up his hand and the young man leaves.

The second the door closes, Dean pulls you up from the floor and presses a rough but chaste kiss to your lips, “Fuck I love you,” he groans standing from the chair.

“Love you too baby, we should do this more often,” you grin, pulling your skirt back up around your waist, loving the way he licks his lips watching every bit of new skin that’s revealed to him.

When Dean pushes you back, he lifts you, dropping your ass carefully onto the desk. Pulling you right to the edge, he lines his cock up with your entrance and slides right inside your wet heat. Your legs hook over his hips as you lean back on your hands.

“Just might have to take you up on that sweetheart,” he groans watching his cock slip inside you and back out with every slow thrust of his hips.

You throw your head back as your climax starts to build all over again, “Fuck, so close” you whine, as your lips part, “Have I been a good girl father?” you question behind your moan, as Dean slams back inside you.

“Oh you’ve been such a good girl for me sister, let it go when you're ready. Come all over my cock,” Dean growls, feeling your pussy clench around him, your whimpers slowly getting louder.

“Look at me,” he finally demands, as he picks up a more brutal pace and his hand presses over your mouth. You look at him breathing hard and fast behind his hand. Your entire body shivers, your eyes start rolling as your body aches and arches.

You scream his name behind his hand, sweat covering your clothed bodies. Your entire body shaking as you fall apart around him.

Dean pulls your shaking body against him and your arms wrap around his neck, your forehead drops against his shoulder, clinging to his back tightly. Dean pulls your legs higher, those strong fingers digging into your thighs and you know he’s getting close, hips are stuttering and his grip on you is unyielding.

“Fuck, you feel so good, my dirty girl. Gonna make me come.” Dean moans loudly against your shoulder, teeth dragging across your skin.

You press your lips to his ear, “You make me so wet Dean, come on baby do it, fill me up.” you pant breathlessly, as your knees dig into his ribs. Dean whimpers, his grip on your thighs tightening when he finally lets go and his orgasm hits him hard, his hips slow down.

Neither of you wanted to let go.

Then Dean’s phone starts ringing again. Finally Dean pulls his softening cock from inside you, a whimper falling past your lips as you sort out your clothes, already missing his touch.

“Sammy, calm down!” Dean laughs quietly, nodding although the younger man can’t see him, tucking his cock back in his pants, you help him do them up as he continues to talk. “Yeah, we’re on our way. Okay, yeah. We’ll see you soon,” Dean replies, before hanging up the phone.

“He’s panicking isn’t he?” you ask with a smile, your breathing finally returning to normal.

“Oh yeah, big time. I am the big brother right?” he chuckles, watching the way your smile only grows, “Filthy fucking mind, you have.” Dean grins, pulling you into a sweet kiss.

“Right, I’ve got the dirty mind father.” you smirk, sliding off the desk with a pained whimper. “You’ve got a lot of ass kissing to do when we get home Winchester, literally.” you warn him playfully, straightening his collar and brushing down his jacket.

“Oh with pleasure sweetheart, now let’s get out of here.” Dean winks, unlocking the door, with you following dutifully behind him.

Tags: @chewie-redbird @julzdec @lettersofwrittencollective @stiles-o-dylan24 @mogaruke @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @dylanholyhellobrien @desireepow-1986 @emichelle @lilulo-12 @22sarah08 @deanwanddamons @simsadventures @charmed-asylum @nicole-lynne @hazel-eye-coffee-shop-girl-blog @defenderrosetyler @emilyshurley @emoryhemsworth @foxyjwls007 @mylovelydame21 @sunshineandwings86 @peaches009 @captain-shannon-becker @heimdoodle @plushpyrate @winchester-wifey @fandom-princess-forevermore @flamencodiva @hobby27 @akshi8278 @littlelonewolfgirl @ladywinchester1967 @screechingartisancashbailiff @maddiepants @spnfanfic-reblogs @holylulusworld @mrswhozeewhatsis @sonofabringmesomepie @mrsjenniferwinchester @hhiggs @pisces-cutie @trina44sb @heartsaved @matsumama @adoptdontshoppets @negans-lucille-tblr @fandomfic-galore

Pond Tags: @aprofoundbondwithdean @manawhaat @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @nichelle-my-belle @notnaturalanahi @deanscarlett @roxy-davenport @impala-dreamer @samsgoddess @frenchybell @scorpiongirl1 @deandoesthingstome @deansleather @curliesallovertheplace @whywhydoyouwantmetosaymyname @waywardjoy @imadeangirl-butimsamcurious @kayteonline @supernatural-jackles @wevegotworktodo @quiddy-writes @babypieandwhiskey @supermoonpanda @deanwinchesterforpromqueen @chaos-and-the-calm67-blog @memariana91 @plaidstiel-wormstache @teamfreewill-imagine @chelsea-winchester @becs-bunker @castieltrash1 @supernaturalyobessed @ruined-by-destiel @winchester-writes @evilskank-inthemegacoven @maraisabellegrey-blog @faith-in-dean @winchestersmolder @bennyyh @clueless-gold @deanwinchesterxreader @winchester-family-business @there-must-be-a-lock @just-another-winchester @cas-backwards-tie @winecatsandpizza @firefly-in-darkness

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kainumbernine009 · 4 years ago

Text

I literally cannot do anything else until I get this out.

I’m... really not okay.

And when I say that, I’m not mentally unstable. I say that because I’m tired of waiting on empty promises, I’m tired of never having money in our account, I’m tired of living in a fucking city where half of the white people fucking worship the ground Trump walks on, and where most of the gay community has so much messy drama that it’s worse than middle school. And I went to a rough middle school.

I never talk about my past, because I don’t like to. It sucked. HARD. Being and only child in my family was nothing less than torture, especially as a closeted queer person. We grew up in the white Christian part of Nashville that dominated Music Row in the 90′s and early 2000′s. I played basketball with Alan Jackson’s daughter, and being around famous people was just no big deal. But, my parents decided to leave Nashville after my dad lost his job at TPAC, and we moved down south an hour to the town where the KKK got started (Pulaski, TN).

I had maybe two non-white people in my private Christian school growing up. I was never afraid of Black people, but my parents showed their racist asses quick when we moved there. The KKK has never left America, guys, no matter how many articles you read or studies you do. From 2005 to 2009 I saw a white town show its very worst to the Black community. I’ll never forget the first time I saw a march for “White Christians for Purity” the summer before Obama got elected. The disgust I felt inside was palpable. I had all kinds of friends in school, and I didn’t give TWO SHITS who they were or what they looked like... but I saw children my age, being brainwashed by their parents, that “white” is “right.”

Ever since then, I have been learning and growing about the issues of race. I remember my white classmates using the N word and getting away with it. I remember hearing about the principal at the high school punishing all the Black kids but not the white kids. I remember being invited to a church south of town that was a historically Black church, and how nice the ladies were to me for coming.

But I’ll never forget the racism that the religious groups promoted there, especially First Baptist Church and the 12 Tribes. I’ll never forget how FBC told me that my friend was going to Hell because she killed herself. I’ll never forget my mom telling me not to marry a Black man because of “impure genes.” I WILL NEVER FORGET THE INJUSTICES I SAW WHITE PEOPLE DOING TO BLACK PEOPLE THERE. NEVER.

And thank God, I have shaken the burden of religious guilt, but I still fight against this mentality. I live in a place that’s usually not even 10 minutes away from Trump-humping, sister-fucking, meth-addicted Confederate cunts in any direction. And we’re even closer to the rich white people who silently supported him, upset that their taxes would go up because of Biden.

And in the past four years since Trump got elected, I’ve gotten married, graduated college with honors, started my own photography business, and was making more than my husband there for a minute. I did my own taxes, marketing, editing, and everything. And then I came out as trans.

I lost everything.

I lost my studio. I lost friends. I had rumors started about me. I had people post hate messages on my wall. I had people at my drag shows tell others not to tip me, for whatever fucking reasons. I’ve had bosses give cis people jobs over me, and I’ve had government workers give me second looks when I hand them my license.

It. Fucking. Sucks. To. Live. Here. Like. This.

Oh yeah, did I mention I’m also a witch/medium? I’ve talked to dead people before and have told their relatives things I shouldn’t have known otherwise about their grandparents. Like, this information doesn’t even exist on Google. And I’m attuned to reiki. I’m always aware of what’s happening on at least SOME metaphysical level. This is a gift that I’ve had to go through life developing and learning about myself, with no one’s help but me.

I didn’t even know until I was an adult that I have autism and ADHD.

I’ve taken bullets from people who were about to kill themselves. I’ve yelled at 5th grade music classrooms for doing racist dance moves and appropriating Native Americans (I have a degree in Music Education K-12). I’ve consoled kids in classrooms who suddenly have panic attacks. AND I’ve told horny teenagers to stay in their fucking lane and respect the girls around them. I’ve apparently been an inspiration to those around me, but inspiration NOR exposure pays the bills. I’ve already had COVID, and so has my husband, but I knew that after graduating college that I would never have a fulfilling life being a music teacher in Tennessee’s public schools.

And now that we have COVID, and an orange, small-dicked, pedophilic, rape apologizing, dirty, crusty white president who STILL REFUSES TO CONCEDE, who is DIRECTLY RESPONSIBLE FOR HAVING HIS FOLLOWERS SEND DEATH THREATS TO MY FAMILY, I really don’t know what the fuck else to do other than go burn down all the houses I know of in North Georgia that belong to these Christian sex cult pedophiles and call it a day. My girlfriend unfortunately was born into one of those families, and I know just how bad it can get. In fact, her dad’s lawyer threatened me with blackmail earlier in November, so that was fun!

And now, on December 11, 2020, I’m still sitting here in the same fucking house, doing the same fucking things I’ve been doing all year - trying to get a job and failing horribly. I’M SICK AND TIRED OF THIS COVID BULLSHIT AND OUR INCOMPOTENT CUNT OF A PRESIDENT! And there’s only ever one other person I’ve ever called a cunt... my own mother.

I’ve lived in many places. I’ve met many different people. I’ve made mistakes, and have grown, but there’s one thing for damn sure that I always make sure to do, every single fucking day.

I ALWAYS try to do better.

In addition to this, I treat everyone with the same amount of respect, unless they have done something directly to me to negate that. If I know that someone believes in something that directly harms me or my family, I don’t even associate with them. I don’t spend my energy on things that don’t need it. And everyone else should, too.

The problem with some of y’all is that you care about the wrong things. Like will Becky text me back or did I get front row seats to that concert, or did I slave my life away to capitalism just so that I can own a Mercedes and have my friends jealous. I’ve had way too many dear death experiences to know that EVERY single fucking day is a gift. EVERY day.

I don’t want to be remembered first for the art I create. I want to be remembered for my character. I want to be remembered as the courageous person who never backed down in the face of adversity. But when you live in a place that already hates you and that is against you, that’s really fucking hard. Trust me. My marriage went from a cis straight passing couple to a white gay passing couple. I’ve seen how people’s attitudes changed around me as I transitioned. I know what it feels like to slowly lose a piece of your privilege you were born with.

So yeah, I kinda get a little fucking upset when I see people saying All Lives Matter, or when I see doctors refusing to treat trans patients in pandemics, or when I see cops YET AGAIN harassing Black people only a few blocks away from my house for no other reason than racism. And at this point, anyone who thinks they know me but only knows what people think they know about me can suck my entire ass and eat ten dicks. I don’t give a FUCK about who you are or what you’ve done. If you treat me or other people with no respect for no reason other than to be an asshole, you’re just plain shit. If you SERIOUSLY believe every little rumor and lie that someone tells about me before meeting me, fuck you AND the horse you rode in on.

What I can’t stand is people doing or saying things just to get a rise out of me or others. I thought we left petty shit in high school. Some of the people that “know” me really need to fucking grow up and grow a pair and either say what they want to my face, or stay mad. I’m tired of playing fucking petty games with y’all. We have a whole ass pandemic to solve.

So here’s the ultimatum... if you agree that Black Lives Matter and that queer people deserve basic human rights, EVEN THE ONES YOU HATE, then that’s the bare minimum to even be a decent person. If you can’t even do those things, then I don’t fucking know what else to say to you.

So NBC, maybe not have John Mulaney joke about my license debacle with my gold van on SNL, and Seth Meyers... maybe HIRE ME INSTEAD of Mulaney because clearly y’all don’t know about the south as much as I do? Oh, and that gazeebo joke with Lee University... I caught that. I may have autism, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I mean. I’m funny when I’m given the chance. And yeah, I’m on a watchlist, but who the fuck isn’t these days? At least all my secrets are out for the world to see, and I have a bangin’ tattoo.

I’m tired of everyone being like “omg, I’ve seen what he can do, it’s fantastic!” or “omg you’re so funny haha” and bragging on me and then NOT FUCKING HIRING ME. I’m TIRED of waiting on something that’s clearly at this point never coming.

I don’t even have testicles, and my balls are bigger than most of the cis men I have EVER met.

So, if you want to help me, or hire me, or get me out to an audition... I’ll be there. But until then, I’m so fucking MAD at some of these producers. Yeah, my mom is a cunt, but she worked in various forms of digital production from the 1980′s until she retired this year. She taught me SO MUCH about directing, writing, shooting, and more. I know how these things are supposed to run behind the scenes. I know what the fuck I’m doing, and I don’t take constructive criticism like a bitch. I actually WANT to be criticized, so I can do even better.

So PLEASE, for the love of Christ... y’all need to get your priorities together AND PLEASE STOP LEAVING ME OUT OF THE LOOP WITH THIS BULLSHIT. Grow a fucking pair and either call me, email me, or leave me alone. It’s really not that fucking hard. Looking at you, Lorne Michaels.

Oh and someone tell my husband what the fuck’s been going on because I’m tired of him gaslighting me about it.

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years ago

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Permanent Record: Edward Snowden and the making of a whistleblower

I will never forget the moment on June 9, 2013, when I watched a video of a skinny, serious, unshaven man named Edward Snowden introduce himself to the world as the source of a series of blockbuster revelations about US spy agencies' illegal surveillance of the global internet. Please, I thought, be safe. And Please, don't turn out to be an asshole.

The thing is, the decision to flush your life and turn your back on your life's work for a matter of principle is not normal. We like to think that every whistleblower takes action for the purest of motives, but whistleblowers, like every other human being, are mixed bags, with complex motives, and if we only listened to whistleblowers who were angry at their bosses over a missed promotion or a bad disciplinary report, we'd know a lot fewer vital truths about our life.

Edward Snowden is, as far as I can tell, the rarest of whistleblowers: someone who was motivated purely by a commitment to principle.

I have "met" Snowden a few times: I was the opening act for his first-ever public appearance, and we did a double-act together in New York City once where he appeared by video, and I was thrilled beyond words when I learned that he'd taken one of my books with him when he fled Hong Kong, and even more proud to have published and reported out some of the documents Snowden brought with him and turned over to the journalists he worked with to publicize his revelations.

At every turn, I have been impressed with Snowden's thoughtful, principled, rigorous nature. He is, in some ways, a consummate sysadmin, one of those technical specialists who conscientious mix of technical prowess, careful planning, attention to detail, and sense of duty make them unacknowledged legislators of the world, every bit as much as poets are.

In Permanent Record, Snowden's memoir, we are given the best proof yet that Snowden is exactly what he appears to be: a gung-ho guy from a military family who believes deeply in service and the values embodied by the US constitution, who explored multiple avenues of squaring his oath to uphold those values with the corrupt and illegal practices he saw around him, and worked out a breathtakingly bold and ambitious plan to do what no one else had ever managed: to expose wrongdoing in a way that provoked sustained interest and sparked action, while relentlessly focusing attention on the misdeeds he was alarmed by, rather than on himself.

Snowden's life history bears this out: a smart kid who -- like so many of us -- fell in love with computers and the way that they exemplified how systems could work, and how they could be exploited to let you shortcut the most boring, or foolish, or hidebound parts of society, and who were lucky to come of age in a time when the desperate tech skills shortage meant that this kind of mischief was a ticket to a job, rather than a cell.

Despite this clever understanding of the fallibility of authority, Snowden's identification with his parents' -- and ancestors' -- military service meant that he was terribly vulnerable to jingoistic calls for revenge after 9/11, leading him to enlist in a program that promised to stream him into a job as a Special Forces sergeant, until he broke both legs in basic training.

That injury pushed Snowden into the intelligence services, where he could use his computer skills to effect less atavistic, but even more important contributions to the revenge he burned for. In the CIA and then the NSA, Snowden was slowly but surely disillusioned: first and foremost by the Beltway Banditry from a new generation of military contractors whom the spy agencies use to circumvent the staffing limits placed on them by Congress.

Since Congress never says no to a budget request, the agencies can "hire" more people than they are permitted simply by contracting with Dell or IBM or Booz-Allen or some other military-industrial swamp-dweller to fill positions, and since these companies operate on a "cost-plus" basis, collecting a percentage of the salaries they pay, everyone is incentivized to charge as much as possible for these deniable contractors.

Snowden contrasts this with the principle of service he was raised with and that was embodied by his own family and the parents of the military kids he grew up with, and then shows how the culture of corruption forms a toxic stew when combined with the pathological secrecy of the agencies and the normal military boondoggles and deference to the chain of command.

Nevertheless, Snowden thrived: as a smart, skilled technician who could write and speak coherently about his work and who also cared deeply about that work, he was in high demand, both as a "sales engineer" for the private companies he contracted with, and for the spies he supported on overseas postings in Geneva and Tokyo.

But as Snowden's career progressed (and as he was laid low by a seizure that was diagnosed as epileptic), his professional need to know a bit about everything the agencies were doing gave rise to a terrible suspicion as the shadowy contours of the agencies more-secret-than-secret global internet surveillance project revealed themselves to him.

In these chapters of Permanent Record, we're treated to a riveting blend of spycraft as Snowden painstakingly figures out how to confirm his suspicions without tipping off his bosses, and a brilliant ethical treatise as Snowden reveals the reasoning that took him from each step to the next, right up to Snowden's decision to burn his previous life down, fly to Hong Kong, and step into the jaws of likely life imprisonment, with the kind of torture that poor Chelsea Manning was subjected to, to make an example of him.

Snowden isn't just a principled patriot, he's also a gifted writer whose ethical reasoning shines through in a memoir that is more than a recounting of an extraordinary life: it's a manifesto for the importance of privacy, the corrosive dangers of corruption, and for a mass, global movement of resistance to the perversion of the internet into a system of control and surveillance.

Even if Snowden had turned out to be an asshole with impure motives, it wouldn't have made the things had to say any less true. But Snowden is a hero with the noblest of motives, and the native wit and tactical genius needed to turn his act of sacrifice into the start of a global movement for change.

Permanent Record is an extraordinary book, and it's hardly a surprise that Trump's DoJ doesn't want you to read it. Snowden says he'll come back to the US to stand trial if he can argue the ethics of his actions to a jury. Permanent Record makes it clear just how persuasive that argument would be. Let's hope he gets to make it, someday.

In the meantime, the whole world owes a debt to Edward Snowden, both for doing what he did, and, now, explaining how he did it, and, most importantly, why.

Permanent Record [Edward Snowden/Metropolitan Books]

https://boingboing.net/2019/09/24/pardon-snowden-now.html

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prehistoriics · 6 years ago

Text

Poetry In Motion.

Genre; an AU ficlet.

Characters; All of the active Hermits. (aka Joe, Mumbo, Grian, Iskall, Doc, Scar, Stress, Cleo, Ren, Jevin, False, Xisuma, and Cub)

Summary; this take place after the 100 Wither fight in S6! At the end of his video, Joe has a brief silence where nobody responds to his questions. My friends and i went off on a thing with it, and we came up with a Withered! Joe AU.

Words; 1,955.

Dying sucks; anybody could tell you that, but, it doesn’t suck as much as being trapped in a room with eighty-nine Withers.

Only Joe Hills could tell you that.

Nearly deafened by the sound of those Withers, the southern man called out for his friends. “Cub? Cuuuuuub?” He shouted quite loudly, eyebrows furrowing as he waited for a response. “F-..False?” He shouted out, a little quieter this time.

There was nothing. Only Withers, who didn’t seem to want to kill him.

Taking a deep breath, Joe frantically glanced around, daring to step outside the safe spot, the universe seemingly lagging behind. What was going on?

“Xu-..Xixum-...” He stammered, voice wavering slightly. “Xisuma..?” He called out one last time, taking off his glasses for a moment, only to wipe them off (and wipe out those slight tears). The brunet went quiet, putting his glasses back on and hugging himself lightly. There was nobody here; just Joe, and 89 withers. No False, no Cub, and no Xisuma.. just him.

A͡n̵d̶ t̡hat̡'s ţh́e J̸ǫe͝ ̨H́i̷l͢ls̷ ̵ d̢̨iff̴͢e̴̡r̡̕eń͡ce͘.

The deafening noises lasted on for days, the deaths as well. The chat log was filled up with his name, and only his. No ‘Grian fell from a high place.’ or ‘--- was slain by Biffa2001 using HUGS N KISSES!’. The only one that remained, and kept on playing like a broken record, was;

>joehillssays withered away.

≯͐̀̂ĵ͋̊͗ͥ͠ȍ̍ͬ̐̓̏͗̄ȇͣ̈́̿͋́͏̷͝h̊ͬ̋ͩ̚͢i̢̔̈́̉̌̑ͯ̚̚l͗ͫ͋ͣ̍̋̂͑͠͏l͌͒̀͗ͤ̎ͤͬ̈́҉s͒̌͒̿̈ͯ͡͞s̋̏̏̈́͋̆ͩͭa̢̿͊̏ͬͧy̴̴ͣ̽͛̐͛̾ͤ͜s̆̓̄́͏͞ ̵̛̊̀ͧ̅̍͛͋ͯw̸̾̐͒̇͌̕ȉ̈̔͊͡t̸̅̂͒ͬͮ̚̕h̒̍́ẻ̸̶̢ͯ̆̈r͋̆̽̇́͜ë̴́ͧ͑ͣͪd̍ͯ̑̊ͮ̇҉͏̡ ͊̓̃ͮͬ͗̀̉ͪ͏aͬͦ̍ͣ̀w̧ͨͭ́͐ͬ́̚ą̄̋ͤ̒̎̽̀͟yͮ̂҉͜.̵̑̅ͥ̆ͦ̍ͧͤ̂́͝

However, he had grown used to it by now, and it seemed like the withers had, as well. The messaged seemed to play less and less, and it almost seemed as if the remaining 89 weren't being so aggressive towards him anymore. There was one thing, however, that Joe has noticed;

His hands and wrists were getting a faint tint of black.

He hadn't noticed it at first, until he was examining himself in the ‘safe’ room. He doesn't know how he didn't notice earlier; because it was apparent. His nails had grown longer, and somewhat sharper as well. Whenever he moved them, they clicked together. He didn't mind it at all, really; it was just.. odd.

He turned his hand around, examining it closely. 'What caused this to happen?’ He thought to himself, recalling all the things that could've caused it by any means. Then it clicked.

It took only 20 deaths.

Searching the various double chests in the room, Joe looked for some glass (or even packed ice) and some wood to make a makeshift mirror. With some luck, he found some of both, and made the mirror. His curiosity getting the best of him, he peered into the mirror. Considering what he saw he wasn't too.. shocked.

His eyes had clouded over slightly, the Royal Blue still visible, but slightly lighter. Squinting at himself, he grinned. Were his teeth always that pointed?

They had started to come to a point with what was visible, but they weren't full on fangs yet. But, how could he fail to realize one of the biggest differences?

Underneath his left cheekbone, the skin seemed.. darker than the rest of his face. And no, it wasn't because of the shadow. He gently dragged a finger across it, glancing at his finger afterwards. It had a slight residue on it; about the same texture as powdered charcoal, if that makes sense. No longer focused on his new.. facial feature, Joe looked at himself in the mirror. The person staring back at him was different. It seemed like a person of impure intent, malice in his cloudy eyes, and somebody who seemed cold.

He quickly put the mirror down, leaning against the stone cold wall, and looked up at the ceiling. It was stone. It had been for weeks, and he had no doubt that it would be for a few more days, weeks, months, or even years before he could see the light of day again.

He closed his eyes and sighed, imagining feeling the soft grass on his toes, hearing the rippling water from the ocean surrounding the main island, and above all, hearing the various laughs, chuckles, and the like from his friends.

'Where were they?’ he wondered, trying to think of places the other Hermits could be, and what they could be doing.

Mumbo could be doing redstone..

Grian could be running his detective shop..

Iskall could be working on the Sahara project;

All three of those could.

Doc could be working on his drive by of the different biomes in the Nether..

Scar could be working on the film studio..

Stress could be working on that train..

Cleo could be working on her base, also..

Ren could be working on the HRN..

Jevin could be working on his base..

False could be t̶r̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶o̶ f̶i̶n̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ working on whatever she could..

Cub could be a̶l̶s̶o̶ t̶r̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶o̶ f̶i̶n̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ working on the film studio..

And Xisuma? He could be t̶r̶y̶i̶n̶g̶ t̶o̶ f̶i̶n̶d̶ h̶i̶m̶ working on his base, as well.

And Joe?

Joe was stuck.

He was stuck at the bottom of the world, next to bedrock, surrounded by 89 withers, slowly getting corrupted, with no way out.

Joe brought his knees up to his chest, and hugged them, hiding his face. He was crying, and trying to hide it, although no one would care. ‘The Withers don't care about emotions,’ he said to himself, wiping his tears. 'They're bosses. They're mobs. They wouldn't care.’ He finished, now sobbing into his arms.

‘There was no way he could see his friends, again.’

He thought.

'They'll forget about me,’

He continued thinking.

He wouldn't see any of them, for a long time.

Maybe in 365 years, he'll see two, but, even then..

That's a long time.

‘It’s been weeks,’ thought Joe, still trapped in the Wither hell-hole. His wither-like features had advanced, leaving him with completely black-ish blue-ish hands which made a gradient up to his elbow, long and sharp nails, completely whitened eyes, elongated fangs where some of his teeth used to be, and patches of murky, storm gray skin on random parts of his body. His shirt was torn, too, but that was the least of his worries.

He had killed a good portion of the remaining withers, putting the Nether Stars in one of the chests. Killing Withers, he found out, was easier when they trusted you. He now had a total of 10 nether stars, leaving 79 remaining Withers. Although it wasn’t a huge dent, it was something, right?

Once more, Joe slid down onto one of the beds in the safe room, fumbling with the very damaged diamond sword in his grasp. It's what he had used to kill those Withers; mainly because he didn’t have much of anything else to fight with. He narrowed his eyes slightly, placing the sword down on the ground next to the bed, and sighed. He had lost track of time within the few weeks, and he ran out of food the week after. He gently closed his eyes, and relaxed on the bed beneath him.

Black tinted hands grasped the calligraphy book that had been in one of the chests, for some odd reason, as well as the calligraphy pen from a random feather. Grabbing one of the random ink sacs in another chest, Joe began to write a poem. ‘How messy,’ he thought. ‘I can’t write anything with these claws..’ He mumbled to himself, writing it down easily, although, it did look like chicken scratch.

Down so low, with nothing but a faint glow,

Does anybody even know?

Does it even show, that way down below,

Trapped is a lone soul with nowhere to go?

Not sure if there’s snow or blow,

Up in ye olde globe,

But as certain as I know,

I’m stuck down here below.

He put the quill down, and sighed once more, before allowing the ink to dry and closing the book. Within the silence of the quieted Withers, Joe heard.. Something else. It was quiet, but it was something. Everything was silent, except for that; and it seemed to get closer.

“X? Are you sure we should be going down here? You did say that there were 89 withers..” A voice said. ‘Which.. one is that?’ Joe thought to himself, piecing together the puzzle pieces in his head.

“Well, do ya want Joe back or not? Geez.. its like you guys didn’t notice that he was gone.” X said, and Joe frowned a little. He gripped the cyan covers of the bed, claws puncturing through the cloth slightly, with them digging gently into his palms. The voices were getting louder and closer, with footsteps able to be heard as well. After some silence, a third voice spoke.

“Don’t you guys think that if we want to find him quicker, we should use sooome..” a pause, as some shuffling and a few ‘no’s’ before a fuse started going off. “DYNAMITE!” Shouted the voice, right before an explosion went off. “Grian..” Groaned Doc, clearly annoyed - just a tiny bit. After the explosion had dispersed, Joe covered his ears. Alright! That was loud! His ears are ringing! Why would h-.. He uncovered his ears, glancing in the direction of the voices. They were even closer. Maybe about 6-10 feet away. Joe anxiously bit the inside of his cheek, completely forgetting he had fangs for a moment. Great. Blood. How nice.

Grabbing some spare blocks from the chests, he blocked off the entrance to the big hole. Hopefully it wouldn’t like he was in there more than he should’ve been, right? The voices were quiet, now. Slight mumbling was heard, but that was it. Joe gripped the covers tighter.

What would they think of him?

Would they call him a monster?

Would they take him back?

Would they call him stupid?

W͛̾̑ͤ̿̾̇҉o͊uͬͦ́lͦ̊d͟ ̛ͩ̌tͥ̅ͫ̇͂h͐ͣ͌eͬ͑͑̍̎̀ͪy͛̅̀ ̷̽a̓̊̒̎ͥͮc̈́͟cẻ͆̎̂̍͒̋pͤͪ͟t ̃ͦ̌ͭ̆͛hͭͤ͌̄i͊̒ͭͥͤ̑͗m͆͑̓ ̸bͥ̿ͣͩͩ͜a͌̅ͦc̄̿̽̔͂̀kͥ̿̉͗ͭ͝ ̡̾̈̒̉̓ͮiͭ̈́́҉nͩ̿̍͝?̧̈̉͛͌

Without noticing, he had started to hyperventilate. He had no clue on how loud he was being, and he didn’t get quieter or stop until he heard another explosion.

As the smoke and debris cleared, Joe froze up, tightly closing his eyes shut. ‘Please don’t tell me my eyes glow, please don’t tell me my eyes glow, please don’t tell me my eyes glow..!’ He thought to himself, hearing a few coughs, and a culmination of footsteps. He held his breath, and kept his eyes shut tight.

“Joe?! Jooooooe, are you in here?” Called out Scar. Opening one eye, Joe peered out from under the blanket. The group of 12 Hermits went quiet. They weren’t able to see much, with only having a torch, but the bright glowing of the corrupted Hermit’s eye helped them tons.

With the covers now pulled away, Joe peered silently at the others faces. He didn’t know what exactly to say. It felt like he had been gone for weeks, even months - he hadn’t had human contact for that long, either, except for the murmuring of voices in his head. Finally, somebody broke the tension-filled silence.

Xisuma quietly cleared his throat, holding out a slightly hesitant hand to the other. “Uh-.. how about we get you back t’ reality, Joe?” He questioned, the corrupted bunet taking a few moments to process this. Soon enough, and very gently, he grabbed the others hand, slowly getting off of the bed. Xisuma flinched ever so slightly at Joe’s long nails, but quickly dismissed it. Then, after a few more moments of awkward silence, the group headed up to the surface.

Once they got up to the surface, Joe shielded his eyes with his free hand, hardly being able to see. The whole group lagged back a bit, but they soon got out of the whole mess.

#joehillssays #joehills #joe #xisuma #hermitcraft #100 wither fight #falsesymmetry #cubfan135 #wither #ficlet #au #withered! joe au #withered! joe #tw body horror #hermitcraft s6

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hisgirlwonder · 6 years ago

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Heart-Shaped Glasses cont. (Duncan Shepherd x Reader)

Length: 2.5K words Warning: Smut – daddy kink, age play/regression, food play, face fucking, “forced” orgasms, use of sex toys, degrading, that kind of thing. Synopsis: Summer days are for laying around, soaking in the pool, and drinking pink lemonade to cool down (but the sun isn’t the only thing that’s hot in this household.) Notes: I wanted to have this out a few days ago but things happened in my outside-Tumblr-life and I wasn’t able to. Please read my warnings and don’t click the button below if any of that offends you. Here on this blog we write for almost all kinks and are very open so expect some things you may not like. Oh and SORRYYYY if you feel like you have a sore throat after reading this, I enjoyed writing the nasty scenes and I hope you enjoy reading them :’) first part is here for my angels who haven’t read it.

“Well, do you?”

You say nothing, do nothing, except continue to suck on the popsicle Duncan gave you innocently. Your chilled lips stay shut with barely an inch of space around the frozen treat; bait for his frustration. Duncan wants a response and as the saying goes what Daddy wants, Daddy gets so when he sticks a hand out, palm faced up, you oblige without hesitation in handing over what you were eating.

Duncan thinks two can play at that game to himself and copies you, remaining silent. He drags the melting popsicle over your skin; along the curve of your neck, down your chest, and all over your nipples hiding behind the fabric of your swimsuit. Patches of red appeared and would probably stain but you were preoccupied with other things such as the thought of how it was so fucking hot when Duncan dirtied you up.

The feeling of his warm, wet tongue lapping up the sickly sweet remnants on your throat birthed goosebumps on your skin. Duncan traces a number of sticky paths over your flesh with his teeth and tongue; alternating between small licks with its tip and nibbles with those pearly whites. He brings the popsicle to your own mouth and sliding it in and out lewdly in a display of dominance and his other hand is undoing the bow around your neck.

Duncan tugs your swimsuit down and exposes your bosom in all its glory. He then follows this up by removing the popsicle slowly and allows it to drip down your chin. Duncan’s hands are turning into a mess too but he’s concentrating on your facial expressions while running the icy pole over your nipples; awakening them from their slumber and causing them to harden.

The icy treat breaks off the stick, probably from the heat of the day and also the heat between the two of you, and falls in your lap. Duncan has that look in his eyes; the one that appears before he’s about to do something mischievous. He’s a grown man but still easy to read like he’s thrown back in time and an oversexed teenager with a skull full to the brim of covetous and impure thoughts appears before you. He picks the melting treat off your lap and smashes it into your chest. You flinch from the sudden drop in temperature.

Duncan’s mouth takes a beeline dive to its favourite place, your nipples, and tries to clean up the mess he’s made. You interrupt him to slide out of the article of clothing that’s resting around your waist and has all of a sudden become pointless, throwing it to the side once it’s off without a care.

You slither around Duncan and into the pool. He soon follows suit by stripping off and jumping in. He swims over to where you are and you provoke him, fighting to break away from his reach but he overpowers you and wins. Duncan pushes you into the wall of the pool with his lower half; his erection pressing into your ass. “Now Daddy really has a problem,” he growls.

You act out imprudently and Duncan knows he could stop you but doesn’t, leaving you to escape the pool. As you’re swimming away, he stretches out an arm to grab your ankle but the fingertips of his hand only just grace the bottom of your soles.

“What are you doing all the way over there, princess?”

You look away and cross your arms over your chest, bringing them down as you begin to huff like a schoolgirl not getting what she wants. Duncan swims over and plants himself next to you. His sights are locked onto you in fascination watching the movements you can’t restrict so easily; the rise and fall of your upper body with each inhale and exhale, the way those crossed arms moved with your chest when you’d breathe, and the subtle, delicate movements of your lashes when you blinked.

He strokes your cheek and your eyes shut but still facing away from him so he couldn’t see the grin that was trying to emerge. That same hand drifts down to touch your chest, palming one of your swollen tits entirely. His strong, slender digits’ hone in on your nipples to play with them; something you couldn’t resist.

“Daddy just needs your mouth, baby girl. Look what you’ve done to him.”

“Is that so?” you drily remark. Duncan loved your smart mouth but he loved putting you in your place even more. He squeezes, tugs, and rolls your nipples around in between his fingertips causing pain to shoot through them.

“Ouch, you’re hurting me,” you cry out, pretending that you were in the kind of pain you didn’t enjoy. Duncan always knew when you were pretending because you apparently had signs you gave off; that or he played with you more than enough times to know when you really were hurt.

“Daddy has to show his baby girl who’s boss.” he reminds you in a tone that’s almost a taunt.

Duncan drops the assault with his hand and instead stands up out of the water. Your eyes are on his crotch and you've been made all too aware of just how badly he needs your mouth. He wraps a hand around the shaft and presses it to break through the crack in between your lips. Once he’s in, he starts off slow but the celerity soon picks up with each movement.

The physicality of how much of a tease you’ve been this afternoon hits and he doesn’t restrain himself. Duncan’s dominant hand finds the back of your head to slams the aching cock deep in your mouth repeatedly. The other one meets the hand already helping enforce the penance and by now your mouth is well and truly fucked; spit leaking everywhere and tears glazing your eyes.

He holds you in place, restricting your ability to breathe, and you’re starting to choke on his thick phallus. You’d try and push off but you know he’d overpower you and it didn’t even matter because moments like these are ones you’d happily die in.

A look of being drunk on your submissiveness and the power you’ve given him hits his face. You smack on his thighs as if to say I can’t breathe and Duncan yanks you back with a fist full of hair. In this moment Duncan begins to wonder how tear stained he can make your cheeks.

You gasp and begin trying to fill your lungs with as much oxygen as you’re able to but he thinks he hasn’t had enough and repeats the violent action three more times before deciding you’ve had enough and lets you go. Your body slumps forward in exhaustion but it’s very brief before the high of what just happened kicks in. You want more. An innocent voice breaks free from your beaten throat and says, playing, “There’s a feeling and I ‘unno what it is, Daddy.”

That was a flat out lie because you knew exactly what it was. It was a burning desire swirling between your legs, aching over your need for him to use you.

“I have an idea,” Duncan tells you, putting out his hand for you to grab onto. He assists in helping you step up and once you’re on your feet, squats down and signals for you to jump on his back.

“So soft,” you giggle as he’s towel drying your skin. Once satisfied he picks you up and your legs wrap around his waist with your feet locking together. Your cheek leans on Duncan’s shoulder and you query him as to what’s happening. He replies while walking to the playroom, “We’re going to play that fun game, the one you love so much.”

He lays you gently on the bed and grabs one of the soft toys strewn over the bed to hold it out and asking you to tell your beloved teddy where the feeling is. You point between your legs and Duncan winks to the admission. He grinds the stuffed animal against your bud which leads to you moaning in excitement and writhing around.

Duncan mocks you with things like looks like you’re enjoying that, you’re a dirty girl, and I should punish you for doing bad things to your toys before he hands it to you in a hint that you’ll need it.

For a second you aren’t feeling anything and you can’t see Duncan but that soon changes when his breath hits your slit and his tongue licks it clean. You try to thrust your hips into his face but he swiftly moves to hold them down and instructs you not to be so eager. The mouth that was mocking you ravages your needy cunt like it was starved and you were the last morsel of food it was going to taste. You sink your teeth into the toy you’re holding because it just feels so good.

Maybe Duncan was a deity that you were actually worshipping when oh my god would come out of your mouth in moments like these and perhaps your jokes about him being God were more literal than a figure of speech.

Your eyes close as you bask in the pleasure he's bringing to your body. It grows, and grows, and grows until you’re almost tipped over the edge. The climax you’re waiting for is nearly within your own reach but he stops. Your lids recede and you’re brought back to the present moment. You sharply exhale and glare at him in a way that was saying why did you stop but he gave you a one back that said don’t be so demanding because I haven’t finished yet.

Duncan pushes his cunt-hungry cock between your folds and slips inside without any effort required; you’re sopping wet from a mix of his saliva and your own lust. As he does his fingertips dance over your bud to beckons you over the edge, into the climax you so desperately desired. He didn’t dare move once he was in - he wanted to feel it all; the contracting of your muscles, the release, your jerks from the fulfilment of physical gratification.

With you right where he wants you he breaks the stationary position and slowly thrusts while thumbing at your clit – the post-orgasm stimulation to such a sensitive place forces a whimper in a mix of agony and arousal to escape. You try to shut your legs and wail it’s too much while giggling. Duncan holds them apart and looks at you with slightly narrowed eyes, growling, “Somehow I don’t think that’s true. You know you’ve been a bad girl and now you have to pay.”

He flips you over so effortlessly that he could have done it with one finger and drives himself back inside you, grunting as it glides in. Your back arches and you push back. He responds by asking how bad you want to make it up to daddy. You whine so baaaaad and by now he’d usually be retaliating but today he doesn’t and reaches over for your wand off the nightstand.

Duncan in the bedroom at times was a completely different person. Like, for example, right now he was saying obscene things about you while he fucked you and you love it. In the height of his endearing yet degrading you’re a little slut who loves her Daddy so much she’d do anything for him he switches the toy on and holds it against your clit – you squirm around because it’s almost unbearable but it feels so good and Duncan gets a kick out of it. He continues to fuck you and you orgasm two more times, each stronger than the last.

By his moaning you know he’s getting closer to his own climax and wants you to reach your peak once more so he turns the vibrations up even higher than it was. You cry out Daddyyyyyy while wiggling around beneath him on your knees and you orgasm harder than you previously had. Duncan notices just how much of your wetness is over his cock, the insides of your thighs, and his legs. He throws your wand to the side and hooks hands around your hips to pull you in close and fuck you mercilessly.

It isn’t long before he comes completely undone and filling you entirely while making heavy, guttural noises. He rolls off of you lays beside you. The bed now held two sweaty, spit-covered, cum-soaked, fucked-to-exhaustion, bodies - both of which were extremely happy.

Taglist: @avesatanormalpeoplescareme @sensitivethot @sacredlangdon @langdonsdemon @sammythankyou @taintedaffairs @queencocoakimmie @violett124 @1-800-bitchcraft

Also, adding in these ones who reblogged/commented on the first part and I can tag: @moltenskeleton @horrorr-hoee @langdons-little-girl @thedeviltohisangel @bbyduncan @fangirlbang @dramapenguinthe3rd @plsfuckmelangdon @michael-langdon-owns-my-soul

#hoc smut #house of cards smut #duncan shepherd smut #hoc fanfic #house of cards fanfic #duncan shepherd fanfic #duncan shepherd x reader #duncan shephered x you #duncan shepherd x yn #daddy!duncan #dom!duncan #writing #fanfic #house of cards #hoc #duncan shepherd #hopefully this doesn't suck because i've been all over the place

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ciaossu-imagines · 6 years ago

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Ciaossu!! Which flames do you think the Mysme crew has? I feel like Jumin with his whole "control of his own mind" thing is a solid candidate to have mist flames, though he could also be a very capable sky user... but what about the rest? And what use would they give it? Thanks!!

Oh, this is very, very interesting my lovely anon! Completely unexpected and absolutely wonderful request! I had a lot of fun thinking about this and I hope you’ll enjoy what I’ve ended up with in the end, though they probably differ from your own thoughts (which I’d love to hear)!

Yoosung

Yoosung is a Rain Flame user. His flames are very pure and very calming - just being around him when he uses them tends to mellow out most people and put them off of attacking. It’s funny because Yoosung himself is the opposite of mellow all the time - when he was first learning to use his Flames, he was very excitable and celebrated every victory happily. He panics easily but always tries his hardest - his resolve is never weak. But somehow, despite how contradictory it seems, his Rain Flame suits him and his combat style well and he’s a natural with them.

Though he does have box weapons, Yoosung actually likes to experiment with his flames and see what other uses he can find for them outside of the boxes. Rain infused weapons, freezing the flames, using them as a sneak attack - he’s not smart enough to come up with the ideas for these; it’s normally Seven who suggests them - but he finds the ideas interesting and works really hard to see if he can accomplish these feats.

Following the news of Rika’s death, Yoosung finds it really hard to maintain his Flame and can’t use it for any length of time, likely due to lacking any resolve. In addition to that, the Flame itself is warped and impure and instead of mellow contentment, it reeks of despair and depression.

Zen

Zen has a very strong, very pure Sun Flame. He absolutely cannot use any of the other flames, something that especially bothers him since Jumin can, though he won’t admit to that openly. Jumin likes to tease him about it as often as he can.

Zen’s Sun Flames are actually best used at healing. His monstrous recovery rate is really thanks to his strong Flames and he can heal from some incredibly rough injuries in a very short amount of time if he utilizes his Flame properly. His Flames also help him keep his body in the best form at all times and that, on top of his intense exercise routine, helps with how he actually fights.

Like most Suns, Zen is very active and likes to fight with his body instead of relying heavily on boxes. He has no problems with using his fists to fight or giving his body as a shield for one of the others if he has to. Just please don’t hit his face. Yes, he can heal it but that’s not the point. It’s almost sacrilegious, after all, to destroy such a work of art or so he says.

Jaehee

Jaehee is actually really odd in that she possesses two flames in equal amounts - that is, neither of her flames are pure and are both quite weak but they are both quite clearly there for her to use. It’s even more odd that her Flames are actually quite contradictory, since she possesses both Rain and Storm Flames.

Though her Flames are rather weak, Jaehee is very intelligent and determined. She experiments and works hard to find every way she can possibly make use of her Flames and brings out as much potential from them as she can. When working under Jumin’s orders, she tends to use her Rain Flames more though but uses her Storm Flames the most when it comes to things she really feels strongly about. She has yet to find a way to both at once.

Because neither of her Flames are very strong, Jaehee has problems opening Box weapons with animal partners and thus does not have one. She does tend to make use of storage boxes quite liberally though and has the most boxes of everyone, all very neatly categorized and decorated to enable her to pick the right one she needs at a seconds notice.

Jumin

Jumin has a Sky Flame and is the current head of the Han Family. However, the Han family has always had ties with V’s family and the two boys grew up together and are exceptionally close friends. Jumin is one of the very, very few Sky Flame users to have willingly submitted to another Sky Flame user. Not that he considers it submitting or being less than V. Not for a second. Jumin simply considers what he does and how he serves in the RFA under V as being a good friend to V. All Jumin’s resources and all of his power is at V’s disposal, something Jumin has always made clear to the other man and it frustrates poor Jumin when V won’t make use of them or refuses to allow Jumin to help him.

While Jumin’s Sky Flame can technically open any box, regardless of Flame type, he sees the best results with Lightning type boxes - if his Sky Flame wasn’t as strong as it is, his secondary flame usage of Lightning Flames would be much more pronounced than it is.

Elizabeth the Third is his box weapon, gifted to him from V. He has his box weapon out as much as he can since he adores Elizabeth and it may be because of this quirk of his that he has such impressive stamina when using his Flames.

Seven

Seven, much like Jaehee, is one of the the very known people to possess equal Flames of two different types. However, unlike Jaehee, both of Seven’s Flames are incredibly strong and he’s known as some kind of genius. He’s naturally gifted and intelligent enough to find new and creative ways to use his Flames. It’s a shame he next to never actually uses them for his own wants and needs. Mostly, he’s just selling his skills to the organization that owns him - the RFA is the only case where he fights for what he wants and it’s when his Flames reach their highest potential.

Seven is a talented illusionist and possesses two of the Hell Rings - the Segno and 666 Hell Rings. His skill as an illusionist is why his organization hasn’t done away with him yet and why they fight so hard to keep a hold of him.

Seven has an interest in the Flames themselves and will experiment and test them throughout his life. He’s a rather talented inventor as well and his inventions, especially once his brother starts helping him with them after they reconcile, will lead to revolutions in how the Flames are utilized.

Much like his childhood friend, V possesses a Sky Flame. At one point in time, V’s flame was incredibly pure and strong and he led the RFA as the Boss of a Family would, accepting everyone in the group and keeping harmony among them, as befitting of his flame. Benevolent and kind, everyone trusted and admired him to some extent. However, in the months prior to the whole Rika ordeal, Jumin noticed that V’s flame was sometimes cloudy and appeared to be slowly weakening. He kept it to himself and didn’t bother his friend about it. If Jihyun wanted to talk, he would and that was all, in Jumin’s mind.

After the news of Rika’s suicide was told to everyone, V became unable to ignite his Flames. At least, that’s what he told everyone. In truth, he can ignite them but they aren’t anywhere near pure anymore. He’s lost all his resolve, all his nerve, and his flames show just how messed up he’s become, in his opinion. They’re disgusting to him and he can’t bear the sight of them and so he simply refuses to use his Flames anymore. He was never really one to fight much anyways but the loss of his Flame is solely felt in the RFA. Though Jumin tries to fill in, their Flames are vastly different and it’s never the same.

Rika

Rika is an odd one in that she doesn’t fight with her primary flame. She’s got this weird complex about her flame, actually. She’s naturally a rain flame but she hates it. She despises the sight of her own natural flame and refuses to bring it out. Lucky for her, she did possess the ability to use a secondary Mist flame and it’s what she insists on using and trains to do better with.

Though her Mist flame was very muddy and weak to begin with, it seems that the worse things got for Rika, the clearer her Mist flame became. The more darkness she accumulates, the more twisted things she does, the clearer and more powerful her Flame becomes. She always says that she finds this Flame ‘much more beautiful’ than her original Rain flame and chooses to embrace it more fully.

Rika uses the Ossa Impressione Hell Ring and is a talented illusionist, as befitting her chosen Flame type. Jihyun noticed a marked change in her starting from the time she started wearing the ring and tried on several occasions to get her to stop using it but she refused. We can all guess how this story turned out.

Saeran

Since it’s been stated canonically that flame types do tend to run in families, I also see Saeran as being a Mist Flame. However, I also see him as having a really strong secondary flame, to the point where his dominant flame tends to change depending on which ‘side’ of himself is most present at the time. Ray has a stronger Mist flame while Unknown has a stronger Lightning Flame.

However, neither of his flames are anywhere near pure. When he was a child, his flames were murky and very weak and though he’s strengthened them as he’s aged (though definitely not in the right way), they are very unstable and he has problems properly drawing out the full characteristics of either flame and using them properly. It won’t be until he clears up his ‘issues’ that Saeran’s flames become more pure and he’ll be able to better control them.

Because of his difficulties with his flames, Saeran doesn’t use them to fight if he can help it. He’s found lots of ways to still fight and win against opponents using flames without ever using his own. Even when his flames begin to purify though, he finds them hard to get used to using and will avoid a box weapon for as long as he can (the latter definitely has to do with some trust issues he’s still working on).

Vanderwood

Vanderwood is constantly surrounded by idiots and constantly wondering how he got himself into whatever situation they’re all involved in. However, he’ll help out as he can, if he’s in the right place and he’s asked the right way. This moody Cloud won’t join anything, not even if asked properly but he will still protect and care for those few he lets into his life, if in his own odd little ways.

Vanderwood’s cloud flame is really pure but he hardly ever uses it. He refuses to use his flames for his work and will only use them to fight for things he actually chooses to care about. That being said, he’s quite smart and talented and is proficient with a handful of the other flames, though his flames for those are much less pure and are weak enough to just be able to use a box weapon properly but not to its full advantage. Still, somehow he seems to be able to do his job properly working that way.

Vanderwood does have a box weapon all his own though, but he hides it away carefully and it doesn’t get used often. Seven’s only seen it once, the one time Vanderwood saved his life, even against orders. His box animal takes the form of twin Dobermans, with collars made of cloud flames. They pull out and absorb the flames of anyone unlucky enough to touch them.

#replies #mystic messenger #katekyo hitman reborn #mysmes #mysmes headcanons #headcanons #vanderwood #saeran choi #seven #luciel choi #mysme rika #jihyun kim #v #zen #hyun ryu #yoosung kim #jaehee kang #jumin han

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synaps · 6 years ago

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I did not see this 5 years ago, though apparently I did

Hi there! So, in the light of the recent Ao no Exorcist chapters and Katou having a solid grasp on her timeline after all, my brain shocked itself enough to produce some serotonin and I decided I’m gonna diverge from my own principles and post this. Brain producing serotonin should be encouraged. Buckle up, everyone bothering to read: this timeline breakdown/fan theory emerged in 2012, when a bored AnE-fan pieced together a few of the plot reveals we’re starting to see now.

Spoiler warning for The End of the Beginning! Though strictly speaking they’re a timeline framework I developed in order to write TEotB, which means they’re gonna drop very soon via the flashback! So it probably isn’t as mind-blowing as it was to me... BUT I DON’T CARE I’ve been waiting 6 years for the content we’re getting right now, 6 years I’ve been on the edge of my seat for this misfit clone dork to finally tell his story and AAAAAH

This is basically a full-body search of the Kyoto arc chapters, 'cause that was the only bit of the past we had back when I started writing. To this day that’s the part of the manga I have the best grasp on. x’D But all those hours paid off, good gods they paid off! This is long. Bear with me, ‘kay? Old-time AnE-fans remember that it was commonly thought the twins were born on Blue Night, much due to the anime: Kyoto Arc said it wasn’t. If you looked carefully, you could figure out that Blue Night was in fact the time of the twins’ conception, not their birth. Though to be absolutely sure, I plotted out the timeline three times and dug up records from a weather station in Kyoto to see if there would have been snow at that time of year in the early to mid 90′s because that’s how goddamn obsessed I am. And if you did figure out that the twins were conceived on Blue Night, you were inevitably sucked into an even more obsessive downward spiral into crazy fan madness because that meant Fujimoto Shiro was sent to steal Kurikara to “kill some kids” before those kids existed even on an embryonic stage.

My original estimate was that the stage had taken 24 years to set up, based on the info in Kyoto Arc, but with Mephisto’s recent director’s cut of how he ghost wrote history that number bumps up to 36 years or potentially even longer.

For reference, the timeline I put together for TEotB plus the fresh dates from the flashback arc: 1977: Mephisto pressures Shiro into promising him a free wish because extorting a kid that’s struggling for his life is an ok move 1984: Satan fails possession for the first time because whoa so many limbs at once 1989: the Myou Dha is struck by disease 1993: Satan figures out how to properly possess someone, that’s Rin’s unrelenting never-give-up attitude right there 1994: after a nine year learning curve on just staying in a body Satan has three PhD’s and ditches school after one year of education - guess possessing a body really is a difficult thing to pull off huh 1995: Shiro unwillingly becoming the caretaker of orphans: part I 1996: not yet confirmed but Saburota’s first meeting with Lucifer/Asylum is probably now Also 1996: Satan returns to Section 13 with a reclamation claim on that crap body they sold him 1996-1997 (somewhere around New Year’s, I estimate): Shiro, who was an Upper First Class exorcist at the time, cures Myou Dha and oh is that a sword in your pocket or are you just happy to return to your boss after a successful mission? 1997 (probably mid-to-late March): Blue Night sucked for everyone, but at least Shiro and Tatsuma got promotions - yay 1997: Shiro unwillingly becoming the caretaker of orphans: part II 2003: when you’re a cursed, massacred and financially broke sect like Myou Dha, there’s few options but to join the Order of the True Cross to stay afloat 2005: Saburota recruits Mamushi to spy by raising suspicions against Mephisto ‘cause really, that ain’t hard 2013: a giant pile of shit appears in Kyoto and unleashes destruction on its surroundings and for once it isn’t Mephisto

The manga and the timeline are pretty self-explanatory so what I wanna stress here is what happened 24 years ago, in 1989, ‘cause that’s something Katou hasn’t touched upon yet and it’s really fun except for those involved. In 1989, a disease starts plaguing Myou Dha and the symptoms are identical to what you get from exposure to the miasma from the Impure King’s Eyes. It seems to be a very local problem, as we don’t hear of any epidemic in the rest of Kyoto. Did the seal on the Right Eye spring a leak? Nope. Because the Eye wasn’t there.

We haven’t seen the shrivelled up bit of IK cause any trouble - not saying it couldn’t, but it seemed like that one hadn’t been active much for the past 150 years and it had been constantly monitored by the High Priest. I cross-referenced with the dates given in the new flashbacks but the outbreak doesn’t coincide with any boost of demonic activity related to Satan’s progress. So? The disease in Kyoto is its own separate disaster, and it’s most likely engineered. Let’s work our way back from the present to see how Mephisto set up this stage~ Mephisto knew of Saburota’s plan to unleash IK, and was all cool with that ‘cause hey, good opportunity to test Rin’s flame, build some team spirit, power up Bon, etc. For that reason he decided to move the Right Eye from his own keep to Myou Dha’s: if Saburota had been able to steal both of them from True Cross he wouldn’t have needed the pit stop at the Kyoto Office. He would have revived IK straight away, and even Mephisto couldn’t have motivated sending a bunch of kids into that chaos. So, move the Eye to a secret strategic location in Kyoto and force Saburota into jumping through a couple of extra hoops to get it. The Eye was moved in 2003 or thereabouts: this coincides with Myou Dha joining the Order, and makes perfect sense. The relic has ties to their sect, and it’s kinda fair to give them something back since Meph indefinitely borrowed their main relic, and now that they’re part of the Order and all - yada yada, smoke screens. Mephisto gave them the relic to set Saburota up, but not until he had the means to also give Saburota a trail to follow. Our fav Uncle Goat approached Mamushi, his student, in 2005 and recruited her to get the Right Eye. He probably thought he was cleverly working around Mephisto’s attempt to prevent theft, but if we think about it: who gave Saburota the opportunity to manipulate her in the first place? It is much easier to get your hands on an impressionable young Myou Dha kid if the Myou Dha kids attend the school where Saburota teaches. But why would they? When their families are very competent exorcists on their own and they’re used to keeping to themselves and...

Keeping to yourself is only an option so long as you can survive by yourself, and from 1989 on Myou Dha couldn’t. But Granpa Suguro, being as stubborn as he is, has refused any modern/outside help for 7 bloody years. This disease is weird for several reasons. Its localised spread, for one; its similarity with the Eye mashou when there is no Eye present; the way it vanishes and is never heard of again after Shiro’s visit; the suspiciously good timing. We now know Mephisto is aware of the future to a certain extent - we saw that confirmed when he set Shiro up with that promise. That was the last doubt removed from my theory about the Kyoto disease, so here we are. Satan hadn’t even manifested with a consciousness yet but Mephisto had his sights on Kurikara and Myou Dha’s cooperation in 1989. He is a man of sophistication, so he takes the “if the mountain won’t come to Muhammad, Muhammad must come to the mountain“ approach: he used the Eyes to orchestrate an outbreak that would force the sect to reach out to True Cross - the biggest, most knowledgeable exorcist organisation around - for aid. Because the alternative would be to smash in there and outright steal the sword and nobody would send their kids to your organisation after that. But it didn‘t work. Granpa Suguro refused to follow script and so the years went by, Satan gained consciousness, grew intelligent, grew bored, oops there goes the Asylum ceiling, jfc Suguro how many more have to die before you just play along like a good boy...? In the end Mephisto had to deploy Plan B: screw it, theft it is. If Muhammad won’t go to the goddamn mountain I’m gonna drop the mountain right on Muhammad’s stubborn head.

Of course this means fucking things up for Shiro, ‘cause that’s just how these things go when you’re running a tight deadline getting the Antichrist(s) a birthday present. Also it’s fun.

This frame says everything, really. xD Come now, how would you expect these people to trust you, and develop a friendly attitude to the Order, if you barge in there on your black-ops mission like a humanoid battleship, grab their relic and ditch the scene? Bad PR, very bad PR. Buuut if you’re injured enough that you can’t make that immediate escape, and you just happen to know how to cure this very specific disease that never flares up again, which you can contract from only 2 items in the world, of which both are owned by the snake-tongued sass ball you are enslaved by work for...? What a fortunate coincidence, what a golden opportunity to create some debt gratitude and-

Nevermind...

I headcanon that if Granpa Suguro hadn’t died on Blue Night, Mephisto would have set him on fire personally for being such a roadblock to his plans. After Blue Night Myou Dha was decimated, bankrupt, thought by the population to be cursed - what is a poor sect to do? Who could possibly help? Oh wait wasn‘t there some guy a while back, y’know, that exorcist dude who came crashing in and saved the lives of our families and friends? He seemed to know what he was doing, think we could ask him? So the take-away from this is If not for that disease, if not for Mephisto’s misinformation and Shiro’s break-in, Myou Dha would never have joined True Cross. The Right Eye would never have been kept in Kyoto, there had been no Myou Dha kids at the Academy for Saburota to recruit, and the cram school kids would never have been in Kyoto to fight the Impure King. And also that Mephisto is a fabulous bastard and a pure joy to write! ☆

#ao no exorcist #ao no exorcist fandom #timeline #timeline theory #long post #Mephisto Pheles #Fujimoto Shiro #Myou Dha #Kyoto arc

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army-author · 7 years ago

Text

taehyung scenario | x and o

❝ You accidentally send ‘xo’ at the end of a text to your daughter’s teacher, and he seems to get the wrong idea... ❞

➸ prompt: My ex will be at the Christmas party, so you agreed to pose as my fiancé to keep them away.

➸ pairing: teacher taehyung x parent reader

➸ warnings: mentions of alcohol, brief mentions of bereavement

➸ requested by anon | 11.4k words | fluff, teacher au

In the busy whirl that is the life of a single parent you’ve done some pretty stupid things – like running out of the house in your pyjamas to try and get your daughter, Mia, to school on time, or accidentally giving her your lunch of chickpea salad while you went to work with her sandwiches made with teddy-bear shaped ham, or forgetting to check the weather before driving her to school on a snow day, only to realise your mistake and ending up needing to call in sick off work so you could stay home with her.

But out of all the stupid things you’ve done, distracted by the blur of days that are never long enough, this is by far the stupidest. You stare at your phone in horror, gaping down at the ‘xo’ send at the end of the text. That was not meant to be there. How could you absentmindedly tack on kisses and hugs, normally reserved for your mother alone, and accidentally send them to Mr. Kim, your daughter’s young, and unnaturally handsome teacher?

If only you could delete texts… if only you could delete yourself…

‘That would be fine xo’ was certainly not the appropriate response, to ‘Hello. This is Mr. Kim. I got your number from the school office. Sorry for the bother, but would it be possible to reschedule our parent-teacher meeting?’

You bury your head in your hands with a groan, having a mental breakdown as you sit alone in the car, waiting for Mia to come out of her singing lesson. Why do your brain and your fingers hate you, typing out things you don’t intend? You debate sending another text to explain yourself, but then decide that doing so will only make the whole situation more awkward. So instead you leave it, and pray he’ll just think you’re the sort of person that sends ‘x’s and ‘o’s to everyone.

Thankfully, Mia’s coming out of class now, clanging open the car door and clambering in, offering her bubbling conversation as a welcome distraction from your screw up.

“Hello!” she beams, clicking in her seatbelt and chucking her folder of music into the backseat.

“Hello, Mia Mouse, how was it?” you ask, which causes her to puff up her cheeks, and complain:

“You know I don’t like that nickname…”

“Sorry, Mia,” you keep smiling, “I’ll try to remember.”

Mia’s in the middle of a phase, starting when she hit the grown-up age of eight, where she’s decided that she doesn’t want to be cute anymore, and has discarded her old nickname, along with her old clothes, all shades of pink. Now she wears purple and blue, always opting for jeans, although you still sometimes see her staring yearningly at the sparkly section in the kids clothing section, not completely over her ‘girly-girl’ phase, despite her efforts to convince you otherwise.

“So, how was singing, Mia?”

With you now addressing her correctly, Mia goes on to tell you all about her class, how she got through her scales easily, and how her teacher complimented her for her technique. “She even said that if I keep this up I’m bound to get a solo for the school’s Christmas play this year,” she tells you, bouncing up and down in her seat, as you pull out of the singing teacher’s drive and head towards home.

“Wow, that’s amazing, Mia!”

As you drive through the bright lights of town, the accidental ‘xo’ is completely forgotten…

♡♡♡

That is until the day of parent-teacher interviews - then it suddenly hits you again as you sit alone outside Mr. Kim’s room, looking at the displays dripping colour, showing off the scribbly drawings of the children in Mia’s class. You jog your knee up and down as you wait, restless and anxious, realising you’ll have to explain yourself when Mr. Kim calls you inside. Maybe he’s forgotten, or doesn’t even care. A handsome man like him must be used to single parents flirting with him by now. If their lives are anything like yours, parent-teacher meetings may be the only time for flirting. There’s zero time for finding yourself a boyfriend while caring for Mia. You barely have time to care for yourself, you think, with your eyes self-consciously falling to the worn nails of your fingers, well-chewed from the stress of work and child rearing. You wonder how many numbers Mr. Kim gets slipped during these sorts of meetings, how many dates he’s been asked on over his desk. You shake your head to clear yourself of these thoughts and the impure jealousy that rises from them.

What’s it to you if the handsome teacher gets attention from women confident enough to show their affection? You’re happy in your own little bubble, just you and Mia, living contentedly together. Developing a crush is pointless. You try yo convince yourself of this.

The door opens at last, and Mr. Kim’s husky voice reverberates in the hall as he says, “Sorry for the wait. Would you like to come in now?”

You gather up your bag and coat and follow him into his classroom, splashed all over with bright colours, times tables pinned up on one wall, another wall showing off the children’s dabbling in poetry and painting, and in the far corner is the class Christmas tree, covered with decorations handmade by the children.

“Thank you so much for agreeing to reschedule our meeting,” Mr. Kim says, as he sits down at his desk and extends his hand to offer you the space across from him, “I’m sorry if this is inconvenient for you.”

“Uh… no… it’s fine,” you say, trying to keep yourself from staring as you sit down. You’re struck once again by just how handsome Mia’s teacher is. You’d forgotten it from the last parent-teacher meeting, your mind going rusty after all those months. Seeing him again is a shock to the system, battering down the imperfect copy your mind had created. With your lips feeling numb, despite the heaters in the school being switched to max, you press them together to get them working again, and quickly say, “About the text I sent you… the ‘x’ and ‘o’ were an accident. I have a habit of adding them to my messages without thinking… it wasn’t meant to mean anything… just in case you thought I was… flirting or something…” you trail off, disconcerted with Mr. Kim’s eyes boring into you.

He crosses his hands in front of his face, creating a bridge for his chin to rest on as he listens. “Well, yeah, I had expected so much… it would be odd for you to be so forward.”

You blush, and fiddle with your hands in your lap, absentmindedly picking at your ragged nails. He’s not wrong, but it bothers you that he’s able to pick up on your personality so easily from the few parent-teacher meetings you’ve had, already pinning you down as the type to send ‘xo’ by accident, rather than on purpose. Feeling the need to defend yourself, you ask him, “How would you possibly know how forward I can be?”

Mr. Kim raises his eyebrows over his hands. “Because I have to deal with women who actually send me ‘x’s and ‘o’s on purpose, and they do an awful lot more than just that when we meet in person... Did you know that the mother that came in before you spent the entire meeting trying to play footsie with me under the table?”

“No!”

He leans forward. “That’s not all. When I went to shake her hand afterwards, she tried to lean in and do the European-style greeting, you know, with, like, kissing on the cheeks and stuff.” His eyes glitter as your own widen. “So, I figured since you’ve never tried anything like that with me, you probably didn’t mean those ‘x’ and ‘o’s. It was just a guess though.”

“I can’t believe you had to deal with that…” you say, “These meetings aren’t meant for flirting… they’re for our children.”

“Yeah… well…” He leans back in his chair again and shrugs, “Not all parents are as committed to their child’s education as you apparently.” He laughs mirthlessly. “But the flirting has certainly got a lot worse for me since I broke up with my girlfriend.”

This is new information for you. In fact, him having a girlfriend in the first place is news to you. You make a point of not delving too deep into the personal lives of your daughter’s teachers.

“That’s rough,” you nod sympathetically, as Mr. Kim’s eyes droop slightly, probably recalling all the trouble the break-up has caused him.

His hand falls to his mussed brown hair, carding his fingers through it as he sighs, “Yeah. Wish she hadn’t been so vocal about it on Facebook… she probably knew the trouble it would cause me.”

You look down to inspect your nails, an excuse to stop staring at Mr Kim, whose face is like caramel candy for your eyes. All calories.

He lets out a brisk laugh, more of a bark, saying, “Guess that’s what I get for dating a teacher! Let me give you a piece of advice, never date a co-worker. Not only do you have to see them every weekday, but they also know all the worst parts of your job and know how to make them even worse!”

Somehow this parent-teacher meeting has evolved into a therapy session for Mr. Kim, who seems unbothered or unaware that he’s unloading all of his problems onto you. You wonder if you should direct the conversation back to Mia or leave him free to ramble. It’s late in the evening, and he’s probably flagging after having to deal with so many other parents, some of which don’t seem to know what personal boundaries are, so you decide you should cut him some slack if the meeting is a little disorganised. You hum softly, to show your understanding and let him continue:

“And what’s worse, whenever your boss organises any kind of meet-up, you end up having to see your ex outside of working hours as well. Like at Christmas parties. Christmas parties! They’re the worst when you’ve had a break-up, did you know that? She’s going to ruin it for me… and Christmas parties used to be my favourite thing as well…” His lips press together, as he licks them, considering all his problems. Then he gives himself a shake and says, “Anyway, Mia!”

At last the meeting gets back on track. But you can’t get rid of the feeling that Mr. Kim still has more to say on the subject of exes, that the meeting took too sharp a turn back on course, and that something is expected of you after his tangent. You get the sense that he wants to ask you something, but you can’t decide what it is. With this question clouding your mind, you try to listen as he explains how Mia’s grades are going, not telling you anything you don’t already know – Mia is doing well with music and art, but won’t show any interest for maths. You bite your lip, wishing you were better at maths so you could help her with that.

When that the meeting starts wrapping up, painless, no problems, Mr. Kim tells you, “Mia seems happy, she gets on well with the class, and she’s a delight to teach.” Your cheeks glow with pleasure and pride, hearing him praising your daughter.

As he collects his papers together, tapping them against the desk to straighten them, you grab your bag and coat, standing up ready to leave, before he halts what he’s doing, and says, “Actually… could I ask you something?”

You pause, the niggling question you had wedged in your head popping up again. “What’s that?”

He licks his lips, pink tongue poking out for a split second before he says, “Well… since you seem like a sensible person, with a good head on your shoulders… what do you suggest I do for the Christmas party?”

Your mouth freezes again, stuck slightly parted as you stare at him, caught, like a deer in headlights.

He smiles at you, only one side of his lips rising up.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Because,” the other side of his mouth finally rises up into a symmetrical grin, showing off straight teeth that make you understand why the mother he met before you had tried playing footsie under the desk. “You and I are friends now.”

“Friends?” you repeat.

“You sent me ‘x’ and ‘o’s at the end of your texts, and I decided to keep your slip up a secret, instead of laughing about it with my colleagues in the staff room. That makes us friends.”

“What? So doing the decent thing and keeping your mouth shut somehow… makes us friends?”

He shrugs, “It’s enough for children to consider each other friends. Sometimes I think adults should try to live as simply as kids do. Life would be a lot easier that way.”

Not entirely sure how much you agree, you still admit that the idea is nice, but not nice enough to pull down your sceptical brows.

“Listen, how about I tell you a secret, and then we’ll be even?” Mr. Kim grins, sticking his hands in his pockets. For a split second he reminds you of the young children he teaches, looking like a school boy ready to break a few rules, rather than a grown man, responsible for the education of twenty children. Before you can tell him that you don’t need to hear it, he leans forward a little, and says, “I left our class hamster food next to my ex’s lunchbox last week so that it got covered in seeds and hamster litter, and then I blamed it on the children.”

“That’s incredibly petty,” you say.

He just winks. “Don’t tell anyone.”

You shake your head, fighting off a smile that seems inappropriate. “Well, if that’s the way you play, then for the Christmas party: I say you make your ex suffer. Especially after all the trouble she’s caused you with flirty parents…”

His eyes light up, and he begins rubbing his hands together, “See, I knew you were the perfect person to ask! What would you suggest?”

Caught up in his schoolboy glee, you can’t help but go along, letting your own mind run wild with childish vice. “The Christmas party would be the perfect time to show her how well you’re getting on without her.”

“Like… I’m earning more money and living in the lap of luxury without her?” he asks, brows furrowing with confusion. Despite the evil glint in his eye, he’s sweetly innocent when it comes to making trouble for his ex.

“No, no,” you shake your head firmly, “I’m talking about getting on well romantically! Go to the party with a new girlfriend, or better yet, a fiancé, and show your ex that you don’t need her… and if it gets out that you’re with someone new, then maybe your problems with overly… interested… parents will go away as well.”

“But I don’t have a fiancé...”

“I'm not suggesting you actually get one. Just pretend. To get your ex off your back.”

He stares at you, mouth hanging open. You worry you’ve frayed a wire in his brain with your your plan. But then he’s leaping from his chair and rushing around the desk to grab your hands in his own, bowing his head to you, “You’re god level when it comes to this!” he gasps, eyes rising up to meet yours again, “I’m not worthy. Thank you, thank you!”

You can’t help but laugh at his genuineness, releasing yourself from his hands with a shy shrug, “Well… I do what I can…”

“Will you be my fiancé then?”

You stop, shock crashing into you, leaving you speechless and breathless. You swallow, and finding your tongue once more, manage to stutter, “I didn’t mean with me. I – it was just a suggestion. I wasn’t-”

“Please?” He clasps his hands together, “I thought we agreed we’re friends, and a friend would do this for another friend.”

“No. You agreed that we’re friends,” you remind him, “I had no say in it.”

“You were the one who sent me ‘xo’ on your text.”

“By accident.”

He closes his eyes, “Please. Help me out here. You can’t suggest such a good plan, and then leave me hanging with no one to carry it out with!”

You consider carefully, then tilt you head to the side. “Fine.”

His eyes light up.

“But on one condition.”

His eyes go dim again.

“If I agree to this, then you have to get Mia a part in the Christmas play this year. She’s been working hard on her music, and she really wants to be in it.” You’re not doing this if there’s nothing in it for you... besides a handsome fake fiancé for an evening that is.

Mr. Kim stares at you for a few seconds. You can see the cogs working in his mind. Finally, he nods his head. “Alright, I’ll see what I can do!” The he sticks his hand out to you. “Do we have a deal?”

You should know better, but, somehow, you find your hand in his and the fate for your Christmas holidays is sealed. “We have a deal, Mr. Kim.”

“Please, it’s Taehyung. We’re friends now.”

♡♡♡

As Christmas draws closer, your anxieties grow worse, and with Mia running to the car after school to you to tell you that she got the solo part for the Christmas play, you can only smile, while secretly dreading what you promised in payment. Seeing her face lit up with joy reminds you why you asked for it to begin with, and you know you need to bear the burden of it. Seeing her happy is all you want, and if one night of feigned romance is all it takes, then you’ll do it gladly.

“Well done, Mia Mouse,” you say, “You deserve it!” And although you know that she does, there’s a small seed of guilt rooted in your heart, reminding you of the cost of her happiness.

She doesn’t even seem to notice the unwanted nickname as you start up the engine and pull out of the school car park, casually adding, “Mr. Kim was asking about you by the way.”

You choke on a yelp of surprise, supressing it, since you don’t want your daughter to get suspicious. “Oh, really… did he?”

“Yeah,” Mia grins across from her seat, “He asked me how you were, and then he told me to tell you that he said hi. Wasn’t that nice of him?”

“I suppose it was,” you say, trying your best to concentrate on the road, while your mind is racing elsewhere.

“I really like Mr. Kim,” Mia decides, as she stretches her feet up onto the glove box.

“Feet down, Mouse,” you remind, and she kick her legs back again with a sigh, before continuing:

“All my friends say Mr. Kim’s very handsome. Do you think he’s handsome?”

Suddenly it feels as if the Spanish Inquisition has begun in your car.

“Well… I suppose… he is classically handsome…” you answer, “He looks like he could be an actor, or a model.”

“But do you think he’s handsome?”

You just shoot her a quizzical look. “Why all the questions?”

Mia shrugs her shoulders, turning to look out the passenger window, “I don’t know…. Just… don’t you think it’s time you got a boyfriend?”

“Mia!” You almost swerve off he road in your surprise, but quickly correct your steering, while you try to adjust your voice to a volume more appropriate inside the car, “What’s brought this on all of a sudden?”

“Well… it’s just… all my other friends’ parents are married, or they have boyfriends or girlfriends. I was just thinking… since everyone’s parents will be going to see the Christmas play…” she trails off, leaving your mind reeling. All her life you’ve tried to keep her happy, straining to fulfil the roles of two parents at once, and sacrificing your own time and happiness for it. But you know there are some things you just can’t do, things that a father could. It has crossed your mind multiple times that you shouldn’t stay single, even if you only want a boyfriend for her sake, but there’s never been time, you’ve never had the energy, and she never seemed to be bothered by it. Until now. Maybe she’s only just starting to realise that something’s missing.

After a long silence, only the road rumbling below you for accompaniment, she asks, “Do you still miss dad?”

“Of course. Every day. But I believe he’s somewhere better now, watching over us.”

She smiles to herself. “I like to think that as well. Even if I don’t remember him. Do you think he’s proud of me for getting the solo?”

“Absolutely,” you tell her.

With that, the subject of boyfriends is dropped, but that doesn’t stop your singleness from burning in your mind for the rest of the day.

♡♡♡

As you sit in your room that evening, with Mia tucked up in bed, (although you know that she’s still up from the light peeking out under her door), you stare at your phone, scrolling through the lists of dating sites on offer. There’s bound to be one out there specifically made for single parents. The bright light burns into your retinas as you search, the itching reminding you that you should sleep.

You drop your phone onto the bed. It was a silly idea in the first place. As if online dating will fix everything.

But then you remember Mia in the car, wishing she could have a father to watch her in the school play, and you pick up your phone again, clicking on one of the more promising sites. You’re almost ready to sign in, finger hovering over the screen, until a text flashes up, blocking your finger with the words, ‘Mr. Kim Taehyung’. You pause, wondering why he’s texting… and at this hour…

You tap on his message to open it up, and read:

‘Well, Mia’s in the school play, so I suppose I should propose to you now. I’m looking forward to seeing my new fiancé at the Christmas party ;) The dress code is ‘smart casual’ by the way xoxo’

Despite knowing it’s all a joke, you find yourself smiling fondly at your phone screen. He’s not planning on letting you forget the ‘x’ and ‘o’s any time soon.

You reply back:

‘Wow. What a romantic proposal… not... I’ll see you there xoxo’ just to continue the joke, and then set your phone down and turn over in bed, the idea of dating sites dropped for now.

After all, signing up for that would be cheating on your fake fiancé. You can worry about finding a boyfriend once all this is over. You convince yourself that’s the reason for leaving the dating sites alone, but you know there’s more there, lurking below the surface, stemming from Taehyung’s interest in you. It would be foolish to assume his jokingly flirty texts mean anything – he’s unaware of his affect ninety percent of the time. But he’s not completely clueless, and you wonder if he knows what he’s doing with you.

You curl your toes under the duvet, and fall asleep with a grin on your face.

♡♡♡

The school looks different at night. This is the first thought to strike you as you park in the driveway, ready for your evening serving as Taehyung’s fake fiancé. Well, as ready as you can possibly be with a storm of butterflies in your belly.

You left Mia happy at home with the babysitter, who she insists she’s old enough to not need, although you know better. Now, you have nothing to worry about, except whether or not you’ll make a fool of yourself in front of Taehyung. The chances are highly probable, but you still find yourself smiling as you hop out into the freezing air, wishing you’d brought a coat to compliment your sweater dress and uncomfortable high heels. With your arms crossed around you to hold in as much heat as possible, you run to the school, using the side door that Taehyung promised to leave unlocked for you. You head to his classroom, where he’s still crouched over his desk, marking papers. He seems completely absorbed in his work, not even getting up to switch on the light, he sits in the dark, squinting at his work.

You rap lightly on his door, and he looks up, wide-eyed, like he forgot he invited you over to his room before the party started.

“Hi,” you hold up your hand awkwardly, not sure if you’re interrupting him from the flow of work.

A smile breaks across his face when he sees you, and he quickly jumps up from his desk.

“Hello,” he purrs in that deep voice of his, “I’m glad you didn’t bail on me at the last minute.” He almost goes for a hug, but then decides against it at the last moment, and instead offers you a quick pat on the shoulder, as he surveys your outfit. “You look good!”

“What about you?” you take in his well-fitting trousers, red tie, and white shirt, tucked in to accentuate his slim figure, “You look amazing!” you can’t help but gush. Amazing is an understatement. He really does look like a model. “You said it was smart casual,” you complain, “There’s nothing casual about this!”

He looks down at his outfit. “You don’t think it’s okay?”

“Well, no, it’s fine,” you tell him, “But I’ll feel underdressed standing next to you all evening.”

“What?” He pouts his lips, “But you look so pretty. You’ll be fine.”

He might say that, but you still feel embarrassed about your simple dress, and black tights, with no jewellery to set it off. Self-consciously, you wring your hands together.

“Oh, before I forget!” Taehyung dashes back to his desk and hunts about in the drawer by his seat, pulling out a small box, “I got this to make our story convincing.”

He opens the box and pulls out a shining ring, with a diamond sparkling at the centre. “Give me your hand.” His voice is low in the darkened room, pulsing through you like a tremor in the earth below your feet. Body responding to him before your brain does, you hold out your hand, and he takes it in his own, slender fingers wrapping around yours as he pulls you a step closer, and carefully slides the ring on. With his hand still supporting yours, you admire the shine of the diamond on your finger.

“Where did you get this?” you ask, staring in awe, “I hope you didn’t go out and buy this just for me.” It’s meant as a joke, but then you remember his recent break-up and the thought shoots through you, violently, like a bullet, that maybe this was intended for his ex.

He quickly dispels your worries, with: “It was my grandma’s.”

“Your grandma’s?” You gape at him, “Are you sure it’s okay if I wear it?”

He grins, “It’s fine. It’s what she would have wanted.”

“For you to use it to get revenge on your ex?” You raise your eyebrow at him, and he offers a wide grin in return:

“She had a good sense of humour.”

Still unsure, but happy that he deems you worthy of his grandma’s heirloom, if only for one night, you remember: “We should probably come up with a good story before we go out.”

“Oh right!” he frowns, “How should we say we met?”

You fall silent, thinking, before you decide, “Maybe we shouldn’t stray too far from the truth. We can say that we met at a parent-teacher meeting.”

“Yeah,” Taehyung nods, “And then I was interested in you, so I asked if we could grab coffee together sometime… but you played hard to get…”

“Until I thought about Mia and how she would need a good male figure in her life,” you say, blushing at how close it is to the truth.

Taehyung hangs for a breath, considering what you’ve said, “And when you saw how good I was with children, and how well I got on with Mia, you decided I was the one.”

“And the rest is history.”

You stare at each other in the half-light, Taehyung’s pupils dilated without the sun. For a second you almost let yourself get swept up in your made-up romance, tantalisingly close to reality. It could almost be true, but it’s just out of your reach.

“I like that story. Let’s go with that,” Taehyung nods, breaking the spell, as he goes to grab his blazer from the hanger by the door. His designer clothes look odd hanging off one of the pegs designed for children’s coats. He puts it on, and then gives a spin for you, “Do I look okay?”

You beckon him over, and when he reaches you, you stretch out your hand and hook your finger through his tie, loosening it slightly before you pull out the top button. “There, now you look a bit more casual.”

He chuckles, a deep sound at the back of his throat. “You know I have to tell off my students when they don’t have their school ties neat, so this feels a bit hypocritical.”

You shrug with a smile, “What your students don’t know won’t hurt them. It can be another secret we share.”

His smile widens, lips parting. “Alright.” He reaches out his hand to you, and you take hold of it. With one shake, he promises, “Partners in crime.”

“Partners in crime.”

As you leave the room, you keep your hand in his, lacing your fingers together – just as practice for later, when you’ll have to convince his ex that you’re in love.

♡♡♡

The school Christmas party is being held at the bar and restaurant in the next street over from the school, but a few of the teachers are meeting up outside the front doors to walk down together. As you approach the crowd, you feel your stomach dipping, and grab Taehyung’s hand a little tighter. “Is she there?” you whisper, to which Taehyung answers:

“No. No sign of Inna yet. I’ll warn you when she shows up.”

Two men spot Taehyung and come over, smiling. You fix on a smile, despite the worry pricking your skin.

“Well, Taehyung, who’s this?” The taller one asks, “We didn’t know you were seeing someone.”

You freeze under their curious gazes, but Taehyung, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world, announces, “This is my fiancé.”

The two men’s faces go slack in surprise, while Taehyung, seemingly oblivious of their reaction, explains to you, “These are my friends, Namjoon and Seokjin. We’re the three Mr. Kims of the school, and we ended up getting to know each other when all of our photocopying would get sent to the wrong Mr. Kim.”

You chuckle as he tells you the story, but can’t remain completely ignore the shocked stares you’re receiving from the other two Mr. Kims.

“Taehyung?” the taller one, introduced as Namjoon, exclaims, “You’re engaged?”

Taehyung turns back to them with an innocent smile, eyes devoid of anything worthy of suspicion, “Yeah!”

“And you didn’t tell us?”

Taehyung scratches at the nape of his neck, “Well… after what happened with Inna I didn’t want to go around announcing my latest adventures in love… but things are going really well, obviously,” he holds up the hand that holds yours, showing the shining ring on your finger, “So, I guess this is our announcement.”

Seokjin and Namjoon just stare at him blankly. “No way,” Namjoon says, “There’s no way.”

With a husky giggle, Taehyung raises his hands up in defeat. “Okay… you got us… actually, keep this between us four, but we’re just pretending to be engaged to keep Inna off my back…”

Namjoon frowns, dimples pressing into his cheeks as his lips thin into a line. Seokjin on the other hand, seems excited by the idea, giving Taehyung’s arm a light push. “Mr. Kim number three! That’s sneaky!”

You incline your head towards Taehyung, raising your eyebrows in a question. “Is it okay that they know?” you ask.

“You can trust these two,” he says, “They won’t tell anyone.”

After all you had shared with Taehyung, you feel oddly let down that he had so easily revealed your plan to these tow men. Betrayal might have been an over-exaggerated reaction, but there’s no other word to describe the nibbling in your chest.

As the group starts moving towards the restaurant, ready to meet the other teachers who are already there, your feet drag and Taehyung ends up pulling on your arm a little to keep up with his co-workers. His head turns back as he walks, face lit up with the blues of the Christmas lights. “You okay?” he asks, “Too cold? Do your feet hurt in those shoes?”

You shake your head. “No, I’m fine.” But already he’s moving back, shrugging off his blazer for you, and offering you his elbow to relieve some of the weight off your high-heeled shoes. With him fussing over you it’s hard to stay upset, even if you do feel some childish disappointment stirring in your gut because your secret doesn’t belong to just you and him.

You barely have the right to be upset in the first place; you can’t explain why you feel upset about it, let alone try to relate it to him.

With Taehyung helping you along, the scent of his cologne leaking into your head from his blazer, you walk in silence behind the rest of the group.

“So, how’s Mia,” Taehyung asks, making conversation as you try to keep balanced on your heels.

“She’s good,” you say, face softening into a smile when you think of her, “I left her with a babysitter, which she was a little upset about. She’s at that stage now where she thinks she’s old enough to stay home by herself… maybe that’s me being too protective.”

Taehyung shakes his head, a laugh rumbling through him, “No, a babysitter’s probably for the best, although the name ‘babysitter’ isn’t so good. Kids don’t like to be called ‘babies’ and they certainly don’t like to be ‘sat’ on.”

The joke is stupid enough to make you crack a grin. “Yeah… with Mia there certainly won’t be any sitting happening anyway. The sitter will be on her toes all night!”

“Mia’s great,” Taehyung rumbles, “Always so cheery when she’s in class. And so full of energy.”

Your chest swells with pride when you hear this.

“And so talented too,” Taehyung continues, “Maybe I shouldn’t be telling you this now, since you might feel a bit cheated, but she actually got the choir solo without any of my input… so I guess I didn’t even uphold my end of the bargain.”

“That’s my girl!” you smile, so overcome with pride that you can’t get angry at Taehyung’s deception.

On a high from your daughter’s accomplishment, you finally arrive at the restaurant, and all your good feelings come crashing down, to leave cold fear. Your hand grips at the fabric of Taehyung’s shirt as the other teachers who were waiting at the restaurant wave you inside, babbling over who should sit where and how nice everyone looks.

“Which one’s the ex?” you ask, tugging on Taehyung’s sleeve to keep his attention amidst the buzz of noise.

Taehyung nods in the direction of a woman sitting at the far side of the table, conversing with some friends. “That’s her,” his voice sounds distant, something you’ve never heard in his tone before, “That’s Inna.”

You sneak a glance at her, as casual as possible, and feel your insides wring themselves out. She’s absolutely stunning, dyed blonde hair hanging in waves around her slim face, strong make-up making her look like she just stepped out of a beauty magazine. She really does seem perfect for the model-like man by your side. You’re struck by your own ordinariness compared to her, and despite not even being in a real relationship with Taehyung, you feel your confidence departing you in tatters.

She glances over, sensing your looking her way, and her false-eyelash eyes narrow when she spots your arm through Taehyung’s. She mutters something to her friends, and then stands up, giving you a display of her tight-fitting back dress, sparkling down to the middle of her thigh, showing off well shaped legs, accentuated with tall heels. She walks over, a lot more confident in her stilettoes than you are in your own small heeled shoes.

“Taehyung,” she coos, and his eyes widen at her tone. You’re not sure if he’s surprised to see her talking to him, or if he’s struck by the dress that leaves little to the imagination, but you see him lick his lips nervously, before he responds:

“Inna. It’s been a while.”

She smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes, which stay glued to the ring on your finger. “Yes, well… I figured since it’s Christmas I’d try to be nice. You know… season of good will and all that.”

Taehyung winces a half-smile. “That’s good of you.”

She giggles, high-pitched and breathy. It’s the kind of laugh you used when you were in high school, trying to make boys look your way. “And who is this, Taehyung?” she finally looks to your face, acknowledging your existence as more than an arm attached to her ex. Her brown eyes sparkle bright as she sweeps you up and down. Embarrassed, you drop your gaze to the floor – the room suddenly swims with heat and the smell of wine.

“This is my fiancé,” Taehyung explains.

“Fiancé?” Inna’s voice rises above the murmuring of her colleagues, turning to you with her mouth hanging open in exaggerated surprise, although you can see something else, much more sinister burning below the surface, “Wow. So soon?” Her smile is scarier than the most furious of glares, and you feel as if she’s stabbed you in the face with her bitter-cocoa eyes.

“Yep,” Taehyung pops the ‘p’ in his response, souning oddly terse compared to his normal tone. This whole thing is getting more and more awkward by the second, and it suddenly strikes you how bad this idea is.

Taehyung continues, “When the right one comes along, you just know, don’t you, baby?” He nuzzles his nose into your neck, skin cold against you, and you bite down on your surprise, smiling through your shock.

“That’s right.”

“I’m so lucky,” Taehyung breathes against your skin, and even though you know it’s a show for Inna, you can’t stop your heart from missing a beat. Maybe he’s spooning in on a little too thick now.

You see Inna’s lips pucker in a scowl, before she softens out her pretty face again and smiles, “Well, isn’t that just great!”

There’s an awkward silence, and then she continues, “Well, anyway... my boyfriend’s taking me on a trip to France next month.”

Jealousy is already rippling out from her, and you’re not a minute into conversation. You swallow, not sure if you should laugh, or bolt away before she rips your face off - those unsmiling eyes in her smiling face promise your pain.

As Taehyung stiffly mutters about how nice France will be, and how she should take advantage of all the good food while she’s over there, you feel a hand slide around your shoulder, and Namjoon and Seokjin appear at your other side, saying, “Taehyung, we’re just going to steal your fiancé away for a split second.” Before you or Taehyung can protest, they drag you out of his hold, and towards the other group.

With the air clearing the further you get from Inna, you breathe a sigh of relief.

“We thought you needed some help,” Namjoon says, “Inna looks about ready to claw that ring off your finger.”

“Will Taehyung be okay?” you worry, glancing behind to see him standing poker-straight, feigning interest while Inna talks.

Seokjin nods his head. “We’ll give them a second alone to sort themselves out, and then we should probably keep them away from each other for the rest of the evening.”

You can’t keep your gaze from straying back to Taehyung as his friends lead you around the group, politely introducing you to the other teachers. Your stomach squirms uncomfortably seeing Taehyung talking with his ex, and you wonder what’s wrong with you. You can’t be worried about him being with his old lover when you don’t even count as a new lover. Still, you can’t relax until he manages to detangle himself from the knots of Inna’s conversation, and escapes back to your side.

“You okay?” you ask him, as he slots his hand back into yours.

“Yeah. She just kept on talking about how nice her boyfriend is, and how much money he’s spending on her…” you see Taehyung’s jaw tensing as he talks, and rub your thumb up and down the back of his hand, soothing.

“Do you think she’s jealous?”

“Jealous?” Taehyung looks at you, “What do you mean?”

You raise your shoulders in a small shrug. “What I mean is… in her mind you’ve left her and got on with your life. You’ve got it all settled. She’s trying to prove that she’s got everything she could want, that she’s just as happy as you…” You let out a sigh through your nose, “Sorry… I came up with this idea just to keep her off your back, but maybe it made the whole situation worse.” But even as you explain this, another possibility is burning bright in your head: that Inna isn’t jealous of Taehyung for getting his life sorted out, but she’s jealous of you, realising what a great guy she got rid of.

As her eyes burn through you from the other side of the room, you become more convinced of this possibility, and a curiosity niggles at you. How exactly did Taehyung and Inna part ways… and is there a possibility of them getting back together? You glance up at Taehyung, who’s refusing to look back at his ex, and swallow before asking, “Sorry if this is too personal, but how exactly did you break up with her?”

Taehyung’s sides heave in a deep sigh. “It’s… not too personal. But it is a complicated story and I was never good with words-”

Before he can even start, the man you recognise as the headmaster is tapping his wine glass with a spoon, and saying: “Dinner will be served soon, and before we all take our seats, I’d just like to say a few quick words.”

“Ha!” Taehyung mutters under his breath, “When he says quick words what he really means is a ten page pre-made speech.”

You can’t help but giggle at this, and quickly disguise it as a cough, while the other teachers fall silent, listening.

By the time the headmaster is done thanking everyone, your feet are aching in your shoes, and it’s a relief to sit down at the table next to Taehyung. For a second, as Inna passes your spot, you worry that she’ll sit down next to you and make the whole evening awkward, but instead Namjoon and Seokjin quickly slot themselves into the seats around you, and Inna ends up at the other end of the table, out of sight and out of mind.

The rest of the dinner passes by in a blur of lulling conversation, and a few glasses of wine to make the meals melt together in a swirling of jokes and laughter. It’s pleasant, sitting by Taehyung’s side, with him smiling and laying his hand on top of yours on the table when the occasion calls for it. You had forgotten what it was like to go out without Mia, but this is a pleasant reminder.

Before you know it, your dessert plates are being taken from you, and a few teachers are waving goodbye, while another group talk about going upstairs to the bar for a couple more drinks.

You’re aware that you should get home to Mia, but Taehyung’s colleagues are pulling him back, saying, “Come on, Taehyung. It’s not like you to go home early.”

He pauses, stuck between the hold of his friends and your own hand wound in his. He looks back to you, clearly torn, and you know how bad it will look if you separate now.

For a second you worry he’ll give in to his friends, but then he shakes his head, stepping towards you. “Sorry, but my fiancé needs to get home soon. We’ve left Mia with a babysitter, but I’m sure she’ll want us home soon.”

Your heart swells with gratitude, thankful that he explained it for you, not leaving you to flounder among his friends that you barely know.

But his co-workers are unconvinced, cajoling him – “Just one more drink. Don’t tell us that getting engaged has made you boring!”

Inna choses this exact moment to insert herself into the conversation, saying, “I never thought you’d be the type to go for someone with kids, Taehyung.” Her voice is icy, and you don’t know if the frost is directed at you or at Taehyung, but it makes you shiver, despite the heat in the room.

Taehyung gapes at her, clearly lost as to what he should do, searching his brain for what to say. In your hand, you can feel his fingers damp. “Well… Inna… like I said, when you meet the one, you just know, you know? And I love Mia as well. I really do. She’s a part of the family…”

Inna sniffs, and then shoots you a look you can’t quite fathom. With the exchange clearly finished, Taehyung’s friends butt in once more, and with one firm tug on his arm, pull him towards the bar, saying,“Mia can wait. You don’t mind, right?” Not wanting to cause a scene, you bend:

“One more drink’s fine.”

And so, you find yourself being pulled up the stairs to the blaring music of the bar, and the burning bright lights of the small dancefloor set up at its side.

“Sorry you got dragged into this,” Seokjin murmurs to you, as the group detaches you from Taehyung, herding him towards the bar to order drinks, and with Taehyung turning back to give you a guilty grin, you press your lips together in a line, and turn your attention to the other Mr. Kim.

“It really is okay. Mia can handle herself,” you tell Seokjin. You know it’s true, but you still feel bad. It’s already approaching eleven o’clock and you said you’d be back at half ten.

“I don’t know if you’ve realised,” Seokjin says, “But Taehyung’s pretty popular at our school. He’s sort of known as the mood maker among our co-workers, and we all joke that a party can’t be a party without him. That’s why it’s important he stays… even if it’s only for a little while.”

“Really?” you watch as Taehyung frowns over the bar menu, and then gives his order to the bartender, adam’s apple moving as he shouts to be heard over the music.

“You’ll see what I mean,” Seokjin offers you a wink, and then moves over to talk with Namjoon, while you slide back to Taehyung’s side again.

“This is okay, right?” he asks, as his rum is slid over to him, “You’re not just saying it’s fine when it’s really not fine?”

You nod. “I said I’d be home by half ten, but Mia’s pretty independent, so she won’t be worried… I just hope the babysitter has the sense to put her to bed soon. She’ll be grumpy tomorrow if she doesn’t get to bed early…”

Taehyung chuckles at this, “Yes, I’ve seen her grumpy in class. She’s certainly a force to be reckoned with.” He takes his rum in one gulp, and then sucks in a breath through his teeth with the alcoholic burn. “We’ll leave after a few songs, okay?”

You nod as he slips from your hand, shrugging off his blazer and handing it to you. With a smile your way, eyes bright, he heads for the dancefloor, loosening his tie. He means serious business when it comes to partying, and you can’t help but smile after him, while the other teachers begin cheering as he steps onto the dancefloor.

As the next song starts up, you’re not entirely sure what you’re expecting. With Taehyung this could go either way - he could take dancing completely seriously, or he could make a whole joke out of it. It turns out that it’s a mixture of the two. He begins striking strong poses, with legs and limbs twisting, all in time with the music, and all completely over exaggerated, while still looking like they could be the ending poses of a fashion runway. You end up laughing along with the other teachers, and every so often, he’ll shoot a glace to where you stand at the edge of the floor, gauging your reaction, and obviously happy when he sees you grinning at him.

As you wait on the edge of the group, you sense someone sidling up beside you, and turn to see Inna by your side.

“Hi,” she offers you a smile, and you return it, as polite as possible.

“Hello.”

“Um… listen…” she curls a strand of bleached blonde hair around her finger, “Can I talk to you… somewhere a bit quieter?”

Your stomach twists, worrying what she could have planned for you. You’d rather not agree, but you don’t want to be rude, so you shrug, “Sure.”

She heads back towards the stairs leading down to the quieter foyer of the restaurant, and you have no choice but to follow behind, but not without shooting a glance back to the dancefloor, desperate for help. Taehyung pops into your vision for a split second in between all the other bodies, and his brows raise quizzically at you, while you give him a look that translates roughly to: “I have no idea what she wants with me, but I’m scared”.

On the ground floor again, Inna turns to you, and you cross your arms defensively, asking, “What do you want?”

She sighs, running a hand through her hair, before she says, “Listen, I know I might have come across as a little bit… cold tonight, but I don’t want you to take it the wrong way. I was just... um... surprised that Taehyung’s already thinking about marriage! And to someone who already has a child as well!”

“What’s wrong with having a child?” you ask, ready to shield yourself from whatever judgement she might throw.

“Well… you know,” she raises her eyebrows as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “It’s just extra baggage. And I didn’t think Taehyung was… mature enough to handle that.”

Irritation stirs inside you, “Actually, Taehyung’s amazing with children. You should know that yourself, seeing him in school everyday.”

She snickers, “Yeah. Only because he’s a child himself!” She raises her hand to her mouth, and clears her throat before continuing, “Ah. Maybe I’m coming off as rude again. I really don’t mean it.”

You’re believing it less and less every time she says it.

“Seeing Taehyung acting so mature now, I thought maybe I should start acting a little more my age myself,” she goes on, “And since I’m an adult, I’d like to tell you that I don’t have any bitterness towards you, even if you are with my ex. I can move past that. And I think it would be nice if we became friends.” She smiles sweetly at this, extending her hand to you.

She seems to have the same ways of securing friendships as Taehyung, settling it over a handshake. But this feels different from when you agreed to help Taehyung. Something in her smile warns you that there’s more to her than her sugar-coated words, and you keep both hands firmly by her side, refusing her offer.

She scowls as you remain motionless.

“Sorry,” you say, “I think… it would be best if we just kept to ourselves. You’ve broken up with Taehyung for your own reasons, and I think you should try to stay out of each other’s lives now.”

“Oh, I see how it is,” she snaps, acerbic as she jerks her hand back to her side, placing it on her hip, “Whatever. If you’re worried about me, then don’t be. I don’t want him back. You’re welcome to him.” And with that she storms off.

Seeing her terse reply is enough evidence that you did the right thing. From her track record of passive aggression, and her complaining about Taehyung all over social media, you already know she only wanted to use you as yet another way to get back at her ex, as if she hadn’t made his life miserable enough. She can’t seem to let go of her anger. You feel a little sorry for her, and for her new boyfriend. Only a little.

Returning upstairs, you decide it’s about time you went back home. Taehyung’s still busy on the dancefloor. As he spots you in the crowd, he waves you over and you read his lips moving, trying to shout over the loud music, “Come dance!”

“We need to go now,” you try to tell him, and he frowns at you, obviously not hearing you over the thrumming beat. You try again, raising your voice, but he still looks totally lost, instead just shouting, “Come on!” and you let him pull you onto the floor, holding your hand as he continues to make a spectacle of himself in front of his co-workers. You bow your head, hiding your face in his shoulder to escape the embarrassment as he keeps moving. But as you nestle closer to him, his movements becoming smaller so he doesn’t end up hitting you with one of his wild limbs, and the other teachers begin cooing over how cute the new couple is, and now you’re embarrassed for a completely different reason.

As the last chords play out, you take the small gap of silence before the next song to say, “We really should go, Taehyung.”

He nods in agreements, and you sigh in relief, seeing the end of the night finally in sight. With Taehyung making his rounds through the group, saying goodbye and shaking hands, you finally feel your body relax.

At the door, you hold out his blazer to him again, but he shakes his head. “It’s cold outside, keep it.”

And with that, you open the doors to the frozen December air and step out, waving final goodbyes as the door swings shut on the noise of the restaurant. With your breath billowing in clouds, Taehyung offers you his arm to help you walk back to the school again, where your car waits with heated seats and a short drive back home.

“Thank you for this evening,” Taehyung says, as you walk down the street, now quiet with everyone either busy partying, or wrapped up at home. Each step is becoming more painful for you, so unused to your high heels.

“It’s no problem,” you say, forcing yourself to smile, even as your face fights to wince instead.

“I really appreciate it,” Taehyung goes on, “I’m not good with words, but… I guess, if you were one of my students I’d give you one hundred gold star stickers. You did an amazing job being my fiancé.”

You can’t help but chuckle at his explanation, but then end up wincing again, and stop in your tracks.

“Hey, is it okay if I take off my shoes? These heels are killing me.”

“In this cold?” Taehyung asks, while you bend down to undo the buckles, and step out of the prison of straps. Even on the frozen concrete, feeling your soles flat again is deliciously soothing.

“It’s okay,” you say, wiggling your toes in your tights, “It’s not too cold.” You say this with another clouded breath misting from your mouth to completely debunk your argument.

Before you can say anything else, Taehyung kneels down in front of you, offering his back. “Get on, I’ll carry you the rest of the way.”

“I’m fine Taehyung,” you say, picking up your high heels and stepping around him, “My car’s only a street away.”

“Exactly, it’s only a street away and I can carry you no problem.” Without any more warning than that, you feel his arms wrapping around his waist and the world tips upside down as he heaves you into a fireman’s hold.

“Taehyung!” you hit at his back, trying to argue through your laughter, “Put me down. I can walk.”

“Sorry,” he hums, “But if you won’t accept a piggyback from me, then this is the only way I’m letting you travel back to your car.”

“Okay fine!” you admit defeat, “I’ll take a piggyback! But not this. Please.”

Satisfied, he sets you down again, and you skirt around to clamber onto his back, arms locking around his shoulders. With a gentle “hup” he lifts you up, hands firm on your legs, as he holds you up and continues walking towards the school.

You go on in silence for a short distance, only hearing your heartbeat thundering in your head, and Taehyung’s gentle breath as he walks.

At last, he cracks the quiet, asking, “What did Inna want with you?”

“Oh…” you’re taken aback by his question, but continue, “She wanted to apologise for her behaviour… said something about wanting to be more mature… but I don’t think she really meant it.”

Taehyung laughs at this. “Good. I was worried she might say something nasty. I was going to go down and get you myself, but the other teachers kept holding me back, and… well, you handled it yourself anyways, so I guess you didn’t need a knight on shining armour after all.”

You rest your chin against his shoulder. “You never did explain why you broke up.”

Taehyung is silent for a moment, and you wonder if he doesn’t want to tell you, but then he says, “We both had very different ideas about what we wanted from a relationship, I think. She always thought I was too childish, and that I wasn’t responsible enough… I guess I kind of was… I was scared of ever committing to her. You know, we’d been dating for quite a long time, but I never mentioned marriage or anything. She didn’t even move in with me. That was bad sign for her… she kept getting angry, wanting to move her stuff over to my place, and saying I mustn’t love her enough if I didn’t want to live with her. But there was… something holding me back… I don’t know how to explain it… but… it was intrusion? Intru… no! Intuition. It was intuition.” He laughs at himself. “Sorry, I get so used to speaking simply with the children that I forget how to use long words with adults sometimes.”

You smile, “It’s okay. I’ve only spent my free time with Mia for as long as I can remember. I don’t really know how to relate to adults either.”

“At least we know how to talk with each other then…” Taehyung chuckles, with a cloud of mist escaping his throat, “Anyway… Inna didn’t really understand me, and I guess I never understood her either, so we ended up breaking up. She blamed my immaturity for the whole thing.”

“But that wasn’t immature!” you feel anger bubbling up, “In fact, from the sounds of it, you behaved very maturely in that situation. If you can’t relate to each other, then the relationship can’t possibly last. It was good to end it as soon as you could.”

He nods his head, “I thought so too… but I am sorry that it ended so badly...”

“No, don’t be,” you adjust your grip around her shoulder, holding him a little more tightly, partly to keep yourself from slipping off his back, and partly to offer him some comfort under your touch.

As he turns the corner, and the school appears ahead of you, you feel a tug of remorse that the night is over, that you’ll have to leave Taehyung’s hold and return to being single. It was nice to remember what it was like to have someone to hold hands with, someone to be with, and the whole evening had almost convinced you to fall in love again, to allow yourself the leeway to care for someone else besides your daughter. It’s difficult to remember that Taehyung isn’t anything more than a self-proclaimed partner in crime, and that the ring around your finger is nothing more than a prop.

As Taehyung walks you up the school drive, he says, “Well… I’ve told you what happened to me and Inna… would it be too rude to ask what happened to Mia’s father?”

You fall silent as he reaches the edge of the car park, slipping off his back and onto the cold pavement.

He turns back with wide, worried eyes. “Sorry. I overstepped a line, didn’t I? I’ve had a bit of alcohol and… my tongue gets a little more lose when I do. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay,” you sooth with a gentle smile as you dig for your keys from your purse and head for your car, “It was a long time ago, so it’s not that painful anymore.” By your car, you stop, hand on the door. “He died a couple of months after Mia’s birth.”

“Oh.” Taehyung’s face falls at this, and he licks his lips, unsure how to respond.

“Like I said,” you continue, “It was a long time ago. And even though I do miss him… I’m not sad about it anymore. He gave me Mia, and she’s the best part of my life.”

Even though you should be leaving, it feels wrong to part like this, so rather than standing in the frost you say, “Would you like to get into the car for a bit? Just to get out of the cold?”

He nods, and so you end up with him sitting in the passenger seat, body twisted towards you as you continue talking about your husband, reliving old memories with a wistful smile twinging your lips.

“That must be hard for Mia,” Taehyung says eventually, and you nod sadly.

“Yeah, she doesn’t remember him well, but she’s recently started noticing the absence. You know, just the other day, she said she wished she had a dad to come and watch her in the play.” The thought makes the smile wobble off your face, replace by pain, as you remember her innocent questions.

“I’ll come to see her in the play,” Taehyung offers, and then his cheeks flush and he begins rambling, “Well… I mean… ah, maybe this is the alcohol still in my system, and I’m definitely overstepping a line here… but Mia’s a good kid… and…” His hands go up to run over his face, pushing at his closed eyelids. “Ahhhh… what am I saying?”

“Taehyung,” you say gently, and he peeks at you past his fingers, “Mia would be delighted if I told her you’ll watch her in the play.”

He drops his hands and offers a cautious smile.

The conversation seems finished, but still you don’t want Taehyung to leave, and he makes no movement to do so. Absently, you fiddle with your hands, and feel the cold of the ring still on your finger.

“Oh, right…” You pull it off carefully, and hold it out to Taehyung, “I believe this is yours.”

He puts out his hand, and as you press the ring into his fingers his warmth seeps below your skin.

“Oh, and the blazer as well,” you murmur, the stillness in the car seeming to call for a lower voice. You slip off Taehyung’s blazer, catching one last breath of his cologne, as he leans closer and you throw it around his shoulders for him.

Even though it’s time to part, you can’t let go of the collar of the blazer, holding him close. You feel that if you let him go, the whole night will slip from your fingers, like the mist of a dream. Forgetting what it’s like to be held, to be felt, to be connected, what it’s like to be in love, you’ll return to a single-minded focus on Mia, living in love, only for her, with no time to love a man and no time to love yourself.

In the subdued moonlight Taehyung looks all the more ethereal, eyes dark and glossy, lips shining wet as he licks them, and you allow yourself one act of self-love, allow yourself one split second of happiness, just to satiate your own curiosity for what might have been. In the hold of the night’s murmurings, you lean in, just as Taehyung does, and close your lips to his own, locking against him. Your eyes shut instinctively, and all that’s left is his warmth on you, warmth around you, as his hands pull you an extra bit closer, trying to manoeuvre you awkwardly, so he can get as close as possible with the gear box in the way. Your arms snake up around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, and you melt away on this moment.

It’s all heat, all Taehyung, all you, all you’ve been wanting all evening.

At last, he slips out of your hold again, and you sit, short of breath, with him leaning, watching you from the other side of the car with a dopey smile on his lips.

“I should probably go now,” you remember, knowing it’s far too late, and Mia definitely needs to be in bed.

“Yeah,” he breathes. It takes him another second of staring at you, in awe, before he moves, opening the car door again, letting cold air to rush in and knock sense into both of you, drunk on each other’s touch.

“I’ll see you at the school play,” he says, and then jumps out, and with a wave and a boxy grin, he closed the door behind him, and heads across the car park, towards his own house.

You sit for a few seconds, holding your burning cheeks in your hands and trying to steady your heartbeat, knowing driving like this would be dangerous. You give yourself time to clear your head, before finally starting the engine.

♡♡♡

Mia’s still up when you arrive home, sitting in her pyjamas watching TV with the babysitter. The babysitter looks sheepish when you arrive. “I did try to get her to go to bed,” she explains, but you just hand her the rest of her money, and tell her it’s fine.

Your daughter spins around, and you can sense she’s hyper off sugar that the babysitter probably shouldn’t have fed her. “How was the date? How was the date?”

“Mouse... I told you...” you say, “It wasn’t a date!”

But even as you say this, memories rush back of all that happened this evening, and you realise there’s absolutely no fooling anyone. It was a date.

“You’re blushing! It was totally a date!”

You smile. “Alright, Mouse, maybe it was…”

As you shepherd her up the stairs you feel a vibration in your pocket, as your phone goes off. Reminding Mia to brush her teeth before she goes to bed, you watch her slump to the bathroom, complaining that she’s not ready to sleep. It takes a lot of coaxing, but you finally get her into her room with the lights switched off, and allow yourself to collapse into your own bed, still with a full face of make-up and your dress hugging your body.

You check your phone, and smile to see a message from Taehyung:

“Thanks for tonight. It was great. You did great. You were great…. Am I rambling? Haha! I’ll see you later anyways. Xoxo”

You smile involuntarily, roll over in bed, curling up in the duvet. You type your reply, “I’ll look forward to it xoxo”. This time the ‘x’s and ‘o’s are completely on purpose.

♡ END ♡

Author’s note: I’m sorry this is late! It wasn’t meant to be so long, but my brain got carried away, and it ended up taking longer than expected to write! I hope the wait was worth it!

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janeykath318 · 7 years ago

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Wrong Number 5

Chris was waylaid by Jim on his way back to his office one morning about a week after he’d gone to Leah’s.

“Hey, boss man, what’s this I hear about you hanging out with my client? Thought you didn’t do stuff like that.”

Chris gave an irritated sigh. Once Jim found out, it would be all over the place. Kid couldn’t keep a secret to save his life and loved speculating on any possible romantic entanglements, the nosy brat.

“Really? You went to her place. You never go out unless it’s for work,” Jim pointed out astutely.

“She’s almost six months pregnant, Jim,” he sighed. “I went to her place because it’s far less stressful on me than her. We talked and played Scrabble. She’s ten times the player you are and it was refreshing to have good competition for once.”

“I’m wounded!” Jim clutches his chest dramatically. “Does this mean you’ve replaced me?”

“No, I’ve upgraded,” Chris said bluntly, brushing past Jim and leaving his nosy friend gaping behind him.

Unfortunately, Jim was not long discouraged by this brush off and stared after Chris with a knowing grin.

“Oh, he’s interested all right. I see all the usual symptoms. I wonder if Uhura noticed too.”

Jim made a mental note to drop by her office to discuss the interesting development. Nyota was known for reading people like a book and if he’d noticed Chris’s slightly altered mannerisms, well, he was certain she would have as well.

Chris remained blissfully ignorant of most of the gossip because he determinedly shut his eyes and ears to anything not work related while on the job.

If he wanted to befriend the sharp-tongued, witty, delightful doctor it was none of their business and he wouldn’t let them get to him.

He’d been texting back and forth with Leah nearly everyday since he’d been at her house and was quite enjoying her scathing commentary on idiot humanity and friendly back and forth trash talk about a possible Scrabble rematch.

He found Leah McCoy entirely refreshing and one of the most interesting people he’d met. And to think, it all started because of a misdial. He was glad that her painful divorce ordeal was coming to an end. The stress was extremely hard on her, not that she let on much. Her complaints were mainly about work related incidents and the inconveniences of her growing baby belly. She was starting to make plans for her child’s arrival and worrying over the future as a single mother.

He had no idea what to say, having no knowledge of pregnant women, but listened and offered support as best he could, being totally out of his depths.

The next time he visited with Phil, the doctor had clearly learned about his friendship with Leah, judging by the gleam in his eye as his greeted Chris.

“Chris, my old friend, how’s the courtroom these days?”

“As exhilarating as it always is, Pal,” Chris answered dryly. “How’s the operating room?”

“Busier than I would like, sadly,” Phil admitted. “However, I heard that we know have a mutual friend. Leah McCoy’s been grilling me about you.”

His blue eyes were dancing with questions and excitement and Chris was resigned to his fate.

“What did you tell her?” He sighed, afraid of what Phil would say.

“That you’re a fine, trustworthy man who’s a touch rusty on the social scene, unlike your brilliant, hard-hitting eloquence in the courtroom. I also said you are inclined to hermit life and it’s good for you to make more than legal friends.”

Phil’s reasons made Chris roll his eyes. So, he preferred solitude. They acted like he was one of those crazy hermit types who lived in an isolated log cabin with no running water or electricity and chased visitors off with a fierce scowl. However, he was enjoying the change in his routine whether he admitted it or not.

“I suppose you heard how we met?” Chris inquired, thinking about the out of the blue call and the angry southern voice that had chewed him out on the phone before he’d informed her she had the wrong number.

“Yes,” Phil confirmed, blue eyes once again dancing with amusement. “What a doozy. She says your gracious handling of the situation caught her completely off guard. Made me proud, Chris. Hope you’re cleaning that no good ex of hers out in the divorce. Jack was a snake and never deserved her in the first place.”

“I agree with that, but Jim’s actually the one who will be cleaning him out,” Chris told him. “I’m very confident Leah will come out of this with a favorable settlement. You know how tenacious Kirk is when he’s on a case and he hates cheaters with a passion.”

“Sure do,” Phil chuckled. “I’m glad she got connected with you two. She’s had a lot of stress and that’s not good for her at all right now. Hanging out with you seems to have relaxed her a bit.”

“Anything I can do to help.” Chris said fervently.

“And you really mean it,” Phil said approvingly. “Any other man, I’d be worried about ulterior motives, but not you.”

“It shouldn’t be that rare,” Chris said with a frown. “But even if I did have impure motives, she could smell it a mile off and kick my ass to kingdom come.”

“True. I’ve never known Leah to be a shrinking violet,” Phil agreed. “She’ll take care of herself, all right. Let’s hope I won’t have to join her in an ass-kicking session.”

He shot Chris a meaningful look and the veteran lawyer picked up the meaning, much as he was irritated that Phil felt the need to hint a dire warnings. There was no need for a shovel talk when the two people weren’t even romantically involved and had no interest being so!

#my fics #mcpike #pike x mccoy #leonard mccoy #christopher pike #genderswap #fem! bones #star trek AU

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namariea · 7 years ago

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Hello, Neighbor | V

Since moving in you have compiled a comprehensive list on your mysterious neighbor across the way.

Do Kyungsoo, otherwise known as Asian Bobby Flay and apparently Bruno Mars’ protégé.

Pairing: Kyungsoo x Reader

Words: 3.4 k

Genre: Fluff

Previous: I II III IV

The coffee shop by the apartment was bustling with life, the endless stream of customers eager to get their caffeine fix.

An easy jazz tune filled the gaps between the chatter in the room but tucked away in the back corner, no amount of smooth saxophone could ease the tenseness in your body. You hung your head in your hands over the table, silently having an existential crisis as the figure across from you hummed in contemplation.

“So let me get this straight….and feel free to stop me if I go astray” Seulgi started, her voice slightly wistful, paying almost no mind to your despair.

You grunted.

“For the past month that you have been living in your apartment, you have been having sporadic encounters with the guy living across from you”

Grunt.

“During that time, you thought nothing of those moments except for about two weeks ago when you apparently saw him looking … how was it you described it…. Ah, like Korean Adonis”

Your head slipped lower in your hands.

Grunt. “And since said moment, rather than simply asking the boy why he was dressed like some incubus you decided the logical path to take would be to just never look at him again. By keeping your curtains closed for the past two weeks in an attempt at avoiding him…”

…

“Are you an idiot?”

Slipping from your grasp, you let your forehead crash into the table with an audible thud. People around turned and glanced quizzically in your direction, but you paid them no mind, starting a rhythmic smashing of your face against the surface. You heard Seulgi give a forced, polite laugh and quietly apologize to the fellow patrons saying something along the lines of quarter life crisis, nothing to see here, terribly sorry. Groaning, you gave your forehead a couple more good thumps before looking up. You were immediately met with a blank face, but you knew she was secretly reveling in your pain.

You are surrounded by sadists.

“I really do not see what’s the problem here, from how you’re reacting he must have gone from 0 to 10 real quick”

You grumbled from your splayed position on the table

“That’s not true….”

“He was at least a 7 before that”

Seulgi gave you a dull look

“…8.6 at the most.”

Letting out a bored sigh and picking at the remnants of what was a blueberry muffin, she deliberated “So you have always had a hot neighbor, woo, good for you, but just because seeing him in something other than baggy workout clothes suddenly got you all hot and bothered-”

“Oi, I was not hot and bothered-”

“-as I was saying” she gave you a pointed look, not appreciating your interruption “now would be the prime time to be looking, no? Icarus loved the warmth of sun so what did he do? Boy got himself some wings to see it closer.”

“Leading him to fly too close, thus melting his wings and falling to his death.” you deadpanned.

She waved a dismissive hand, “Pah, that’s just the Grimm brother’s version"

“Seulgi, the Grimm brothers didn’t even- look” you sighed, finally sitting yourself up from the table.

“You’re right, I probably shouldn’t have avoided him for so long, but what else was I supposed to do? He looked so…” you trailed, hand waving in the air in search of a fitting word, not having to wait long as your impatient comrade offered after a beat,

“-bangin?”

“Wow. It is truly a wonder why you never took the literary route when we were in art school”

Seulgi scoffed, taking a sip from her coffee “I had the option of being active and dancing to my heart’s content or sitting on my butt all day taking notes about some dead guys poems, it was a no question”

“Regardless” she continued, “the reality of the matter is that you now know you have the hots for your beta-turned-alpha neighbor and you’re going to have to face him eventually, lest you move again”

She almost smacked you from across the table as you gave a thoughtful look. Looking at her watch she reached for her bag and began to stand, you reluctantly following suit, realizing your break was over and it was time to head back to the office.

“Don’t be such a coward. He’s just a guy, he won’t even be in the same room as you when you talk for crying out loud, not unless he decides to break through two panes of glass, leap 10 feet over and land in your apartment. Though seeing your behavior, I wouldn’t be surprised if he resorted to that”

“And just what exactly am I supposed to say if he asks where I’ve been?” You shook your head as you felt the start of a headache beginning behind your eyes.

If he even noticed my absence that is

“Well that’s your fault it dragged on this long, isn’t it” She replied flippantly, the both of you exited the shop and started walking towards the subway.

“But if you want my opinion, I’d highly suggest not revealing how you have hiding because you cant control your impure thoughts around him-”

“For God’s sake, I told you it’s not even like that -”

“Ohhhh” An arm came out in front of you to bring you to a halt on the sidewalk. Turning to you slowly, you saw the beginnings of a smile take form on your friends face.

A very scary smile. One that only appeared when she was about to suggest something really dumb.

You were getting bad ju-ju vibes.

“I know exactly what you should say, say that you had …company…over and didn’t want to be disturbed”

You blinked. Once. Twice.

Then you hit her over the head.

“He has never shown any interest in me, what am I supposed to gain from that?”

Not deterred from your violence, if anything her eyes lit up with mischief, she pressed on “nono, it’s great, it’s like in those dramas, you throw down the boyfriend card and he is suddenly drawn to you because your unobtainable” she actually let out a cackle.

“I’m saying this because you are my friend and I care about your well being,” you almost let out an appreciative awww, but alas, tender moments were never in your cards.

“But if I find out you haven’t emerged from your hermit hole by Wednesday, I’ll come over and get his attention myself” You began to protest but she wasn’t hearing any of it “whether or not you listen to my advice is up to you, but so help me if I don’t get some juicy update by Wednesday I’ll take matters into my own hands”

Sadists, I say

You were walking past the living room one day when you heard a sharp yowl from the window.

Pausing on your way to the kitchen, you cast a tentative glance towards the cat perched on the windowsill, figure hidden by the curtain. You listened carefully, thinking that maybe she got her claws tangled in the fabric of the curtain again. The first time that had happened you calmly approached her with the full intention of relieving her from her cloth prison, as any caring owner would do. However, it would appear the frightened lump of fur was so lost in her terror, clearly thinking that this was the end, that she mistook your hand for that of the curtain God’s there to take her away. She then proceeded to bite and scratch anything she could get her stubby hands on.

Two and a half hours in an emergency waiting room later, you were being stabbed by multiple needles and given three beautiful stitches on your right hand. The freeloader didn’t even have the decency to look ashamed when you got back.

Since then you have always made sure she was fully aware of your presence before doing anything to help, for both her safety and yours. But secretly you were also still bitter about the first incident that you wanted to watch her struggle and realize her folly.

That’ll show her that the one with the opposable thumbs is the boss around here.

Another yowl came from behind the curtain and you made your way over, rolling up your sleeves in preparation.

“Missed me that much huh?”

You stopped mid-step, hand halting in pushing up your sleeve. The smooth baritone carried to your ears and you couldn’t stop the nervous stutter your heart gave in response. You were not ready for this confrontation, it wasn’t even Wednesday yet. Your palms began to sweat, not knowing how to proceed, however the voice was oblivious to your presence, and carried on.

“Looks like it’s just you and me again, Miss Mimi. Are you sure your owner hasn’t left you for some other stray?”

Meow.

There was an easy laugh in response, “Well hopefully despite wherever she has run off to she has you looked after, I wouldn’t want to have to pull some mission impossible stunt and save you”

Your eyes widened in horror as Seulgi’s words from the other day echoed in your mind. There was absolutely no way he was serious, you knew this, but just the thought of him being in your apartment set your mind into a frenzy.

You heard a phone ringing in the distance, “Ah, I’ll have to cut this short today, Mi. Say Hi for me the next time you see her, ok?”

Meow.

The silence that followed indicated that he had indeed left his spot at the window and you let out a shuttering breath. A million thoughts were swirling in your mind, so he did wonder where you’ve been. Granted, he said it because he wanted to know Mimi wasn’t going to starve, but it was still indirectly about you nonetheless. He also said he had to cut it short today, just how often does this man sit there talking to your cat? You try to think, but you were positive you’ve never heard him before today.

The nudge to your leg had you looking down, staring into bright cerulean eyes.

“You’re either the best or worst wingman ever”

She purred in response.

Eyes cracked open tiredly, blearily staring at the ceiling you blinked until your vision cleared.

Noting the lack of sunlight, you rolled over and pressed the home button on your phone, the harsh light making you squint in annoyance.

5:33 AM glared back at you and a groan highly resembling a beached whale emitted from your throat. Knowing there was no way the remaining hour before your alarm went off will be spent sleeping, you begrudgingly rolled out of bed.

Today was Wednesday. The thought came to you as you stirred creamer into your coffee, throwing a wary eye towards the closed curtains in your living room. Oh, how easy it would be to just keep them closed for all eternity… it wasn’t like you were some houseplant that needed sunlight for photosynthesis anyways. But you knew deep down that you would have to face the inevitable, because even though you loathed awkward situations with a burning passion, you feared the wrath of the brunette waiting for a reply today much more.

Best not tempt the fates today.

Cautiously you approached the curtains, suddenly feeling a strong sense of trepidation.

Oh square up you pathetic f-

You pulled back one of the white curtains with gusto, coffee in hand and eyes shut in anticipation. Cracking an eye open, you almost let out a victorious laugh, as you were met with dark curtains blocking your view from the apartment across.

Well…that wasn’t half bad.

You took this time to take in the view you had for the first time in two weeks. It really makes the room look a lot nicer, you mused, glancing back and watching the rising sun trickle in and brighten the living room. You almost felt foolish for your behavior, it was your house for Pete’s sake, you shouldn’t be letting one encounter prevent you from living your life as you wished.

Berating yourself, remembering your inner dilemma weeks ago that you knew nothing of the dark-haired male that lived in the other apartment. You owed each other nothing and if you didn’t want to interact with the man all you had to do was not talk to him, it wasn’t like the conversation was mandatory every time you saw him, you weren’t friends.

But you want to have those conversations, don’t you? Wouldn’t mind getting all buddy-buddy with Mr. Mysterious.

Your left eye twitched in annoyance as your heart and mind continued to have heated debate over what if’s. Once your coffee had gone cold and barely half finished, you were no closer to coming to a decision on how you were going to interact with your neighbor whenever you saw him again. Making the decision to get ready for work earlier than usual, you did so for no other reason than not wishing to be in this apartment any longer.

Picking up the keys off of the coffee table, as you made your way towards the door an hour ahead of schedule you missed the site of a familiar pair dark curtains pulled back.

Once you returned to your apartment the sun had almost set in the sky.

Not only had you arrived earlier to work that day, you had unconsciously stayed later than usual as well.

You thought nothing about it until Seulgi found you in your office, typing away at your computer.

She all but forced you out of the building, raging to herself about I don’t care if it’s not politically correct in 2017, but you need to grow a pair and man up, woman.

In all honestly it was not your intention to stay late, you were so caught up in your work that you simply lost track of time.

It was not until Seulgi found you that you realized what may or may not be waiting for you when you arrived home.

Having left your curtains pulled back, it was highly likely that you would encounter the other when you got back, and you still hadn’t figured out what you were going to say to him.

Deciding to wing it as you approached your door, as you unlocked it and stepped into the hallway you took a long, meditative breath.

Here goes nothing.

You started by walking to the light switches in your hallway and in one fluid motion, your living room was illuminated.

If you were going to do this, you weren’t going to do it as a coward.

You had, as a wise woman once said, grown a pair and manned up.

Not entering the lit-up room just yet, you instead walked back to the bedroom and changed out of your work clothes, wishing for nothing more than to get out of the business casual attire you were confined in all day.

Slipping on a baseball tee and some shorts you took your laptop out of your bag and padded towards the kitchen.

Since the kitchen and living room were situated in an open concept you had no choice but to eventually face the kitchen, however you busied yourself with dinner first, as your stomach was making itself known.

Whipping up a quick meal that you found on your laptop, you hummed as you worked, mindlessly bopping to the music that you had playing in the background.

Once you finished cooking you walked to the cabinet and refilled Mimi’s bowl before taking your culinary creation to the small dining table.

While watching an episode of your favourite drama you finished off your dinner and did the dishes. Returning back to the table to retrieve your laptop, you had intended to finish the remainder of the episode.

Meow.

You swore that cat was out to get you.

You stopped midway from picking up your laptop and glanced over at your cat who was sitting on the windowsill.

Not alone.

You stared at the man in the distance and though you couldn’t properly see him, you nevertheless lent forward and offered a polite bow.

He returned the gesture and you took a deep breath.

Showtime.

You began to make your way over to the window, closing the laptop and tucking it under your arm as you gave the man before you your undivided attention.

“I’m sure she has told you all of my deepest darkest secrets by this point,” you started, throwing a suspicious look at the furry mass by your hip “there isn’t a loyal bone in her body.”

The man smiled and let out a chuckle, “She has been talking about you in great detail I’m afraid”

“Just bad things, I presume”

“Only the worst” he offered a secretive smirk and you snorted.

“Speaking of the worst, I was afraid that the paint fumes had done you in” setting your laptop down you paused at his words and your mind went into overdrive thinking about how you were going to respond.

Briefly you wondered back to your friend’s advice, wondering if you should lie and make up some outlandish story.

Deciding that living a life of treachery was not something that tickled your fancy, you looked up in response.

“Ah, almost, I must have breathed in too many fumes, I was quite sick so I was out of commission for the last while” that wasn’t a whole lie, you were feeling oddly sick, just that it was most definitely not from paint fumes.

But like hell you were going to let him know that.

He let out a hum and nodded his head, apparently accepting your answer, but his eyebrows then furrowed.

“But you’re fine now, right?” he looked cute, worrying over you like a mother hen.

You gave him a grateful smile, waving your hand dismissively.

“It’s going to take more than paint fumes and bad ramen to do me in, fear not good sir”

“Besides, I need to see if SooJin wakes up from her coma and realizes that Joonwoo-“

“-is actually the man that saved her from the burning building when she was a child and that he is being swindled by her uncle who wants to take over the company?” you blinked at the excited look the boy gave you, who was nodding his head eagerly, hands animatedly waving as he spoke.

“….you watch soap operas?” You couldn’t believe the usually reserved man was actually gushing about a daytime drama.

Eat it, Seulgi, you uncultured swine. I told you it was an art.

“Well I’m never home to watch them when they air, but I usually stream them when I get the chance.

I dislocated my ankle really bad a few months ago and was put on home arrest, it was the only thing on at the time and I’ve been hooked ever since” He let out a sheepish laugh as his shoulders shrugged indifferently.

You let out a loud laugh and he seemed startled by the sound, but you weren’t paying attention to him anymore as tears began to well up in your eyes.

You started to shake as giggles bubbled from your throat, needing your hand to brace on the windowsill, not being able to stand straight.

“I can’t…believe…this…is happening…” You could barely breathe, “-looks are definitely deceiving” You commented, sending him a sly smile, eyebrows wiggling.

His face suddenly was dusted with a stunning shade of pink and you wanted nothing more than to squish his cheeks together.

Too precious

He began to mutter something about being totally manly and how it was good study material.

You started to come down from your hysteria but the smile never left your face.

“It’s ok, it will be our little secret, neighbor. But really,” you leaned in conspicuously, as if you were discussing something top secret.

“What do you think Soojin’s next move will be once she wakes up?”

From that moment on you managed to entice him into a totally manly conversation about plot holes and never-ending character resurrections.

Much like work, you were so lost in the conversation, completely forgetting about the awkwardness that you were supposed to be feeling, that you lost track of the hours passing as the two of you talked. The conversation drifted from daytime dramas, settling on mindless chatter that left you with bits of information about the man before you that you never knew you wanted to know.

All the while a wide smile adorned both of your faces.

Chapter VI

#muse: kyungsoo #length: chaptered #kyungsoo imagine #kyungsoo fanfic #do kyungsoo #exo imagine #exo fanfiction #exo scenarios #exo fanfic #exo

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mostlysignssomeportents · 5 years ago

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Cory Doctorow: Permanent Record: Edward Snowden and the Making of a Whistleblower

I will never forget the moment on June 9, 2013, when I watched a video of a skinny, serious, unshaven man named Edward Snowden introduce himself to the world as the source of a series of blockbuster revelations about US spy agencies’ illegal surveillance of the global internet. Please, I thought, be safe. And Please, don’t turn out to be an asshole.

The thing is, the decision to flush your life and turn your back on your life’s work for a matter of principle is not normal. We like to think that every whistleblower takes action for the purest of motives, but whistleblowers, like every other human being, are mixed bags, with complex motives, and if we only listened to whistleblowers who weren’t angry at their bosses over a missed promotion or a bad disciplinary report, we’d know a lot fewer vital truths about our lives.

Edward Snowden is, as far as I can tell, the rarest of whistleblowers: someone who was motivated purely by a commitment to principle.

I have “met” Snowden a few times: I was the opening act for his first-ever public appearance, and we did a double-act together in New York City once where he appeared by video, and I was thrilled beyond words when I learned that he’d taken one of my books with him when he fled Hong Kong, and even more proud to have published and reported out some of the documents Snowden brought with him and turned over to the journalists he worked with to publicize his revelations.

At every turn, I have been impressed with Snowden’s thoughtful, principled, rigorous nature. He is, in some ways, a consummate sysadmin, one of those technical specialists whose conscientious mix of technical prowess, careful planning, attention to detail, and sense of duty make them unacknowledged legislators of the world, every bit as much as poets are.

In Permanent Record, Snowden’s memoir, we are given the best proof yet that Snowden is exactly what he appears to be: a gung-ho guy from a military family who believes deeply in service and the values embodied by the US constitution, who explored multiple avenues of squaring his oath to uphold those values with the corrupt and illegal practices he saw around him, and worked out a breathtakingly bold and ambitious plan to do what no one else had ever managed: to expose wrongdoing in a way that provoked sustained interest and sparked action, while relentlessly focusing attention on the misdeeds he was alarmed by, rather than on himself.

Snowden’s life history bears this out: a smart kid who — like so many of us — fell in love with computers and the way that they exemplified how systems could work, and how they could be exploited to let you shortcut the most boring, or foolish, or hidebound parts of society, and who were lucky to come of age in a time when the desperate tech skills shortage meant that this kind of mischief was a ticket to a job, rather than a cell.

Despite this clever understanding of the fallibility of authority, Snowden’s identification with his parents’ — and ancestors’ — military service meant that he was terribly vulnerable to jingoistic calls for revenge after 9/11, leading him to enlist in a program that promised to stream him into a job as a Special Forces sergeant, until he broke both legs in basic training.

Since Congress never says no to a budget request, the agencies can “hire” more people than they are permitted simply by contracting with Dell or IBM or Booz-Allen or some other military-industrial swamp-dweller to fill positions, and since these companies operate on a “cost-plus” basis, collecting a percentage of the salaries they pay, everyone is incentivized to charge as much as possible for these deniable contractors.

Nevertheless, Snowden thrived: as a smart, skilled technician who could write and speak coherently about his work and who also cared deeply about that work, he was in high demand, both as a “sales engineer” for the private companies he contracted with, and for the spies he supported on overseas postings in Geneva and Tokyo.

But as Snowden’s career progressed (and as he was laid low by a seizure that was diagnosed as epileptic), his professional need to know a bit about everything the agencies were doing gave rise to a terrible suspicion as the shadowy contours of the agencies’ more-secret-than-secret global internet surveillance project revealed themselves to him.

In these chapters of Permanent Record, we’re treated to a riveting blend of spycraft as Snowden painstakingly figures out how to confirm his suspicions without tipping off his bosses, and a brilliant ethical treatise as Snowden reveals the reasoning that took him from each step to the next, right up to Snowden’s decision to burn his previous life down, fly to Hong Kong, and step into the jaws of likely life imprisonment, with the kind of torture that poor Chelsea Manning was subjected to, to make an example of him.

Snowden isn’t just a principled patriot, he’s also a gifted writer whose ethical reasoning shines through in a memoir that is more than a recounting of an extraordinary life: it’s a manifesto for the importance of privacy, the corrosive dangers of corruption, and for a mass, global movement of resistance to the perversion of the internet into a system of control and surveillance.

Even if Snowden had turned out to be an asshole with impure motives, it wouldn’t have made the things had to say any less true. But Snowden is a hero with the noblest of motives, and the native wit and tactical genius needed to turn his act of sacrifice into the start of a global movement for change.

Permanent Record is an extraordinary book, and it’s hardly a surprise that Trump’s DoJ doesn’t want you to read it. Snowden says he’ll come back to the US to stand trial if he can argue the ethics of his actions to a jury. Permanent Record makes it clear just how persuasive that argument would be. Let’s hope he gets to make it, someday.

In the meantime, the whole world owes a debt to Edward Snowden, both for doing what he did, and, now, explaining how he did it, and, most importantly, why.

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2019/09/cory-doctorow-permanent-record-edward-snowden-and-the-making-of-a-whistleblower.html

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hiatusfluff-blog · 7 years ago

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third and final compilation of shimayu moments from the novel

part 1 part 2

Here’s the shimayu interactions in chronological order so that you can get a feel of the progression (details mentioned in the first post are largely omitted, though there are also parts with overlaps). It was a long and arduous process and admittedly, I had zero motivation to translate anything, but then I decided to grit my teeth and glue myself to my chair. And lo behold! :D Pardon the grammatical errors, jarring jumps between certain paragraphs and the changes in pronouns. Usually, when I switch to ‘Mayura’ after using ‘I’, I’m summarising rather than translating. Other times, it’s just... a grammatical inconsistency. Sorry ‘bout that. ≡(*′▽`)っ

Mayura asks Shimon to guide her in becoming stronger because she cannot think of any other person to depend on. Shimon responds by telling her that her request is unreasonable (and Mayura sighs in dejection), but he agrees to help her nevertheless, citing that it’s not in his character to be afraid of hassle.

Shimon’s popular with girls at school. Mayura acknowledges that it’s only natural since he’s not only good-looking but also strong. -bumping scene from post 2- Shimon points out that Mayura has always been looking at Roku since before. Mayura denies his claim but Shimon tells her that he has noticed that her eyes were always following him. Mayura frantically continues to deny his assertion and says that “Roku already has Benio” and “it’s not like that”. Shimon’s cluelessness manifests in his conclusion that Roku is someone Mayura respects greatly and she looks at him to observe and learn from him. Mayura forcefully changes the topic and asks why Shimon is eating in such a place. -bread scene from post 2-

Jinya insults Mayura very harshly and tells her to give up on her futile effort, saying that he sensed absolutely no potential in her. He tells her that to the Amakawa family, she was but a burden who will drag the family down and she has no value as a family head. He tells her to get lost and return to her comfortable home. (Note: this guy also defeats Mayura in chapter one and if I remember correctly, he punched her in the guts during the process. I was raging at him until I found out that he was deliberately behaving in such an obnoxious fashion so that Mayura will give up on being the family head and live happily as a normal girl. After the battle in the last chapter, he acknowledges Mayura’s strength and role as family head, bows his head and seeks forgiveness for his rudeness). Unconsciously, Mayura has kneeled and budding tears blurred her vision. Her throat burnt and she could not help but to sob. Right at this moment, Shimon’s voice rang through the room.

“You guys are the worst.”

Jinya tells Shimon to stay out of it since he’s an outsider but he replies by saying that he’s not an outsider because he’s the one training with Mayura every day. Shimon declares, “I don’t care what you guys think, but Otomi will definitely become stronger. One month later, I guarantee that you will not dare to talk to her in such a rude fashion.”

After Jinya exits, Mayura thanks Shimon for coming forward to help her. Internally, she admits that even though it really feels horrible to be told such harsh words, Shimon coming to her help really made her happy, and her declaration that “Otomi will definitely become stronger” gave her much courage. In her heart, she thinks that no matter what happens, she will definitely respond to Shimon’s expectations. For Shimon who is giving her his utmost support, she will certainly surpass Jinya in a month!

Mayura asks if she could accompany Shimon on a mission to gain more experience and so they go off together. Shimon defeat the impurities. As he turns to walk to his comrades, Mayura notices a shadow behind him and she calls out to Shimon.

“Shimon, behind you!”

The impurity was three metres tall and it was going to bite off Shimon’s head. Even for Shimon, such a sudden attack was hard to deal with.

“I have to protect him!” Mayura thought.

Despite the seals on her body (she’s wearing some sort of limiter seals for training purposes, I believe. That’s what made her body so heavy in the bumping scene) she does some kickass magical exorcist stuff and charge towards the impurity, shouting, “Get away from Shimon!” She defeats the impurity like a boss, stunning Shimon, because the seals should have limited her power.

There’s more exorcist explanation. The gist is that Shimon tells Mayura that her seal power and her seal control (at least I think he’s talking about something related to seal; take my exorcist summary with a pinch of salt) are superior to Roku.

“Anyhow, you need to be more confident. Your aptitude for exorcism is without a doubt on par with Master Seigen.”

They arrive at the island for training. After training, Mayura asks if there’s a place to shower and Shimon gives her the directions.

“That place should also have clothes for you to change into; feel free to use them as you please.”

After thirty minutes, Shimon greets Mayura with a stunned face. Here’s yet another adorably awkward conversation (first person from Mayura’s POV):

“O-otomi… what’s with your appearance…?”

Shimon stared at me with wide eyes. Such a shocked expression makes me a little embarrassed.

“U-um, is this very weird…?”

“Damn… there are people who come to this island for vacation huh. Just what sort of place do they think this island is?” (i.e. the bikini is probably prepared for or by those on vacation)

Shimon’s gaze erratically moves away and back to me again (and then he looks away and looks back again). How do I say it… Shimon’s indeed a boy. I wavered a little and felt really shy.

“But you see, won’t I sweat a lot from the training? In this outfit, I don’t have to worry about getting dirty.”

“Even though that’s true, how do I put it, this is poison to the eyes…”

As he desperately tries to shift his gaze away from my body, I was thinking that Shimon is really a serious person. Afterwards, they talk and Mayura asks him if he has any hobby. Shimon nods and talks about what he does outside of training (he plants, waters, trims and finds fertiliser for his plants and Mayura is like, “They’re all related to plants. O_o”). Mayura then asks if he has never played with friends. Shimon replies that there’s no exorcist of his age so he has only played with his sister. Mayura asks if he has played with any girl other than his sister.

“Other girls?”

“You see, aren’t you popular with girls at school? It wouldn’t be strange if you had a girlfriend.”

“What are you saying? I probably wouldn’t have one. Missions and jobs make me busy enough. How will I have the time to play with girls?”

“I see… Well, let’s not talk about girlfriends. You should at least have a girl you’re interested in, right?”

“A girl I’m interested in…?”

Shimon thought about it for a while and his reply was clear. “No.” During a training, Mayura exhausts her energy and Shimon catches her body as she almost falls.

The boat they came by was washed away by the waves so they’re now effectively shipwrecked.

Shimon berates himself for causing the situation due to his negligence.Then comes this line from Mayura’s internal monologue, “In these days with this serious, perfect exorcist genius, I saw his various sides. Honestly, I sometimes think that he’s very cute. But of course, I won’t be able to say something like this.”

Here’s the conversation from the bed scene mentioned in the first post:

“Well then, I’ll be sleeping here.”

“Eh, why?”

“The cabin is small. It’s hard for two to sleep inside.”

“Ah.” The space, while limited, should suffice for two. But then, a young man and a young woman living under the same roof… noticing this point is still embarrassing.

“[some (Chinese?) proverb about girls and guys older than seven needing to stay in different places]. There’s such a saying right? Therefore, I will sleep outside.”

“Ehhh? Outside… outside’s very cold though? Hey… it’s better to stay inside. I’ll… try my best not to be bothered.”

Even though there’s nothing more embarrassing than this, I’d feel very sorry for Shimon if he hurts his body here.

“B-but…” Shimon’s face was bright red. “If this thing is discovered by others, such as Roku, you’d be troubled too right?”

“Well, that’s the case but… but as I’ve said, it isn’t as though I want to do anything weird… Eh!? Could it be that Shimon wants to do something weird….?”

“Huh!? I definitely won’t do something like that! Definitely not!”

“Well then, sleeping in the same room shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Urgh. Fine.”

Don’t even talk about weird things, after he crawled into his blanket, he turned to the other side and was completely silent. I have no idea if he should be called a gentleman or what…Speaking of it, from the start, I’ve never thought that he would do anything rude to me.

They talk more the next few days (sorry I’m not translating every conversation ^^’). Basically, because they open their hearts to each other during their conversations, Mayura feels that their distance is now closer. “Because he has been supporting me, I feel that I should work harder!”

One night, Mayura asks what will happen if they’re trapped forever on the island.

“That’s impossible. Hmm. I can’t imagine being on this island forever. That’s not a good thing.”

“Ahaha. As I thought. It’s boring if you keep training with me, isn’t it?”

“No, I don’t dislike accompanying you for training. It’s just that I have something that I want to do regardless of what happenes, and that is, to use my hands to save my sister’s future. If I can’t do that, I’d be pained.”

He talks more about Tenma and Roku (both of whom he admits he does not get along with; with Tenma, it’s because he lost to him and he wants to beat him and make him remember his name).

And Mayura thought, “The usually calm Shimon harbours such fervent feelings towards his peers. This side of Shimon really fits my impression of guys that age. It’s a bit cute…”

“That’s why I cannot stay on this island forever.”

“That’s true.”

“Of course, the reason I cannot return is not just that.” Shimon gazed at my eyes. “Otomi has not yet received acknowledgment as the family head, and it is for this reason that I’m helping you to train. If we cannot return, I cannot fulfill our agreement.”

“…Yes. You’re right.”

Anyway, Shimon’s concerned about me too. To say something like that makes me really happy.

“Shimon is such a good man!”

Shimon shakes his head.

“From discussing various things with me to accompanying me for training. I can’t thank you enough.”

“Don’t mind it. Besides, I’m not helping you for your thanks.”

“Hey, Shimon, why are you helping me to such an extent?”

“Why… something like that… indeed. To be honest, I’m not sure.”

“You yourself don’t understand it”

“At the start, I want to repay Master Seigen. But now, it’s different. How do I put it… I feel as though I can’t leave you alone.”

“Can’t leave me alone? Why?”

“Hmm… I can’t express it well with words. It’s just that when I see Otomi, I feel as though I’m seeing my younger self.”

“Even though you’re very weak, you seek to become stronger and never give up. These parts are very similar to me. Also, your gaze is always seeking someone. This part is similar too.”

They talk more about Shimon’s admiration of Seigen.

“One day, I’ll definitely catch up to Master Seigen and surprass him!”

“Shimon’s really amazing. You’re an exorcist and you have no fears or doubts. I really respect you!”

“Is that so?” Out of shyness, Shimon scratched his cheek.

“If that’s the case, Otomi’s the same. You’re working hard daily.”

“… But I… I still feel fear from some corners of my heart.”

Mayura confides in Shimon her fears and Shimon reassures her that he’s the same.

“For my sister, I definitely cannot die, and don’t want to die. I’ve always been facing battles with such a feeling. This is not an embarrassing thing.”

I suddenly feel as though my doubts are dissipating.

“That’s why, Otomi, you’re not wrong.”

Hearing Shimon’s strong declaration, I feel warmth from the depth of my heart. To be acknowledged by someone I respect is really such a happy thing.

Shimon further reassures Mayura.

“You have to know, that you are not alone.”

As he speaks, he places his hand over my right hand. Our hands overlapped.

Shimon explains that his sister will do the same for him when anything happens. He hopes that Mayura will receive the similar courage and assurance that she’s not alone.

“That’s why, I hope that you can have courage. At the very least, I hope that you know that there’s a person here who is your comrade.”

Mayura thanks Shimon for dispelling her doubts and proclaims that she will become stronger for everyone. She wants to become an exorcist who can protect her loved ones.

“Ahh… If it’s Otomi, you can definitely do it.”

“Ehehehe, thank you. Ah that’s right. I’ve been thinking this since some time ago. It’s very stiff to call me by my first name; ‘Mayura is fine!”

“Hm? Is that so…?”

“Yup! I’ve been calling you Shimon from the start.”

“Ahh, I know. If that’s better then I’ll do that.”

Our hands were tightly linked and we nodded at each other.

Some time later, they’re rescued. Trouble has cropped up for Jinya and Mayura insists on going to help but is turned down because it’s too risky for her to go alone.

“I know it’s dangerous, and it goes against the rule, but it’s precisely because it’s dangerous that I cannot give up on helping Jinya and the others!”

“No one talked about giving up.”

“Eh?”

“If you cannot apply for a rescue mission, I’ll be the one to do it.”

“Shimon!”

“To help you gain acknowledgement as the family head, I’ll help you. That’s our agreement, isn’t it? If Jinya dies and you win by default, you’d not be able to gain anyone’s approval. Besides, I don’t dislike that determination to save someone even at the expense of breaking rules. Master Seigen also had such moments. You’re indeed his daughter. You can definitely become an amazing exorcist like Master Seigen. To fight together with such an exorcist is a thing to be proud of. That’s why, I ask of you, do fight with me, Mayura.”

“Shimon…!” My heart overflows with gratitude. This boy known as Shimon, just how much help has he given me. If I think carefully, it’s great to have him here. So long as I have Shimon’s help, I feel as though I can overcome any obstacle.

Yuzuru’s face was that of relief. She bowed her head low to Shimon and said, “If I can receive the Ikaruga family’s aid, nothing can be more assuring. Take care of Miss Mayura!”

Shimon nodded and replied, “Okay.” His face looked really reliable.

Yuzuru turned to me and said, “Miss Mayura, you have a really great friend.”

Just as she said, Shimon is already to me, an irreplaceable friend.

And then they head off to battle and there’s Mayura’s narration:

I suppose this is also the result of our long training on the island. Whatever attack Shimon wants to make, I am unintentionally able to understand the rhythm of his movement. For him, this is probably also the same. The earth and the sky, even though the distance is great, our heart and body have completely merged as one.

“Next is [insert direction and distance]!”

“Understood…!” As Shimon controls his blades, a bitter smile surfaced. “Speaking of which, Mayura, isn’t it a bit too much to order me around like this?”

“This is payback for putting me through the brutal Spartan training!”

“Good grief.” He shrugged his shoulders.

“Really, you don’t have to be so polite!”

As Shimon and I bickered like a married couple ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°), we dealt a critical blow with our full strength and the miasma (the black fog. I can’t remember the term for it) in front dispersed.

Even though this is a battle with lives at stake, I felt very happy for some reason. This feeling is really amazing. It is not as though I’m not afraid of battles and injuries, but if it’s with Shimon, it doesn’t feel as scary. This must be because he gave courage to me!

“Somehow, my body feels very light…!”

It must be the result of the training. But the reason is not this alone; it’s also because I have dependable comrades to lend their strength to me, and I have people to protect at my back. Because of these, I can continue to fight with my hands.

After hearing Jinya’s words, I wonder if I can become the head the family is proud of. That is probably something to work towards my whole life. Regardless, I will surely be fine. The me now has the courage to press on. Even when in doubt, there is nothing to stop my steps… the important friend who taught me all these now places his hand on my shoulder.

“That’s great. You’ve now accomplished your goal.”

I smiled and held his hand in response.

That’s right. I’m not alone. From now on, I’ll continue to work hard.

A week later, Mayura sees Shimon in school. He tells her that the heavenly commanders are very busy and have special permission to skip lessons. It’s the first time Mayura heard of such a thing and she suddenly realises that Shimon has been coming to help her even though he’s busy, and not once has he brought this up. Mayura could not help but think that this part of Shimon’s really gentle.

Mayura heaves a sigh of relief upon seeing that Shimon’s sight has completely recovered.

“Ahh. There’s no problem at all now. I came today to borrow some books on plants from the library.”

“Is that so?”

“Also, I’m a bit concerned about your situation.”

“Mine?”

“Amakawa family’s situation. After that, did you settle everything properly?”

So he was worried about me. I explained everything to him and he went along with me like a family member as I spoke (basically he nodded and responded with phrases like “is that so?” and “that’s really great”).

“My goal was to help you earn respect as a family head, but I didn’t think that you would master the [control over the white tiger seal, I think] in the process.”

“Me too. Really, it’s all thanks to Shimon. Truly, I thank you. I can never repay your kindness in my whole life.”

“How many times do you want me to say it? You don’t have to be so concerned. I did this willingly.”

“Hey, Shimon. If I can do it, you can talk to me about anything. As repayment, I’d help you no matter what it is.”

“Ahh, I’m grateful for that.”

“Yup. You can talk to me without reservation about anything. Even though I can’t win you when it comes to anything related to exorcism, I can help you with things other than that, such as cooking, desserts, fashion, and whatnot. Even topics related to love would be fine!”

“Love discussion…?” Shimon frowned.

“You see, didn’t you say that you don’t have girlfriend a while back? But what if you have such a person some time later? Even if it’s not to the degree of ‘like’, you can talk to me when you have someone you’re ‘interested in’.”

With a perplexed expression, Shimon replied in a low voice, “I see… if it’s a person of the opposite gender that I’m interested in… there is someone.”

“What!? Is that so?”

“I became… interested recently… I wonder.”

“When exactly did that happen?!”

“Well, whatever discussion it is, you don’t have to mind.”

“Ehh, since you’ve said something like that, I’ll be more concerned…”

That day, regardless of how I probed, Shimon stubbornly refused to disclose the meaning of what he just said. Feeling that Shimon’s attitude was a bit weird, I was in a state of confusion the whole day.

After a very long time, when I discover what Shimon really meant… that is yet another story.

#shimayu #shimayu novel #shimon ikaruga #ikaruga shimon #shimon x mayura #mayura otomi #otomi mayura #otp #novel translations #i'm ded #no energy remains for me to check for grammatical errors #but they're so cute aren't they?#hohohoho #sousei no onmyouji #sousei novel

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