#p: good samaritan

[athetos]

Lost my wallet today and trying to keep the despair at bay because I had a significant amount of cash on me that I’ll probably never see again👍

[xinxiaogato]

— snip! snip! snip...!

summary. the hairstyle of the guy with indigo eyes was very specific: a short jellyfish cut that ended at the base of his neck with wispy, sparse bangs lined up in the front. however, what would happen if your boyfriend gave someone free rein to a pair of scissors near his head?

love interests. gn!reader x kabukimono, scaramouche, and wanderer. (separately)

warnings. cursing, jealousy, unedited, and a lil spicy during wanderer’s part.

word count. 3,506.

note. let’s pretend both niwa and the nameless child (named “isamu” here) are alive at the same time for this fic… you are referred to as “reader” by the way!

꒰ 傾奇者 ꒱ — kabukimono

your cutie patootie of a boyfriend always burst through the door after working at the forge and embraced you as if centuries had passed since the last time you saw each other.

but today, for some odd reason, when you heard the familiar squeak of the front door, that squeak wasn’t followed by the usual croon of your name and a rush of footsteps toward you. instead, you listened to kabukimono wordlessly pad into the bathroom…

and he didn’t come out.

concerned for his well-being, you quickly made your way outside the room he barricaded himself in and knocked on the door twice. “kabukimono?” you called for him. “are you all right?”

silence.

and then you heard him sniffle.

“y-yeah, i’m okay,” his voice returned meekly. “please don’t worry about me…”

your heart squeezed tightly in your chest. “wait, are you crying?"

"..."

"kabukimono, please let me know what’s going on. we can work it out together. you know that.”

you prepared to give him space if there was no reply, but the door creaked open shortly after. you took that as an invitation to walk in but was abruptly glomped by him, his face buried into your chest.

“kabukimono!” startled, you tried to gently push your boyfriend off, but it was like the two of you got stuck together by adhesive glue.

“what happened?” you asked with what breath he hadn’t squeezed out of your lungs.

kabukimono was so, so embarrassed. half of the reason he refused to budge was the shame for not greeting you properly…

…but the other half was the atrocity that had become of his front bangs!

previously, niwa had noticed them getting a tad too long to the point they were poking into kabukimono’s eyes, so like a good samaritan, niwa suggested to give them a little trim. 

kabukimono should’ve protested a little harder when he saw niwa take out scissors the size of gardening shears.

“n-niwa…!” quivered kabukimono as he gawked at himself through a shard of glass.

“i’m so sorry, friend; this is all my fault! but it doesn’t look too bad?”

“…niwa, reader is going to break up with me.”

niwa offered up his bandana for kabukimono to wear home, but kabukimono knew he’ll have to face this dilemma head-on sooner or later.

however, the closer he got to his and your house of wooden veneer… the more he dreaded your reaction.

“kabukimono…” you said softly, which turned his stomach. “…may i see your face?”

“…”

against his better judgment, the wandering samurai peeled his face off of your clothes and angled it so that you could glimpse his bangs, which were much shorter than you were accustomed to. your lips parted in mild surprise as you took another second to process this.

“…i look terrible,” kabukimono murmured in the silence, tears pricking his bluish-purple eyes. he knew he was seconds away from bidding his quaint life with you goodbye. “p-please don’t leave me…” he added underneath his breath, his fingers gripping onto you tighter like you were about to disappear.

…so this is what he was trying to hide all along.

you let out a little “pfft” that captured his attention and then smoothed back his short bangs to plant a kiss as sweet as summer fruit on his forehead.

“kabukimono, you look perfect,” whispered you with only love in your eyes.

for the first time that night, kabukimono looked up and donned a gaze of profound intensity that felt like it was sucking you in. he really loved it when you said his name with your voice; it made him melt into a puddle. 

“i’m not gonna leave you over something this silly,” you continued, making him scrunch his face when you booped his nose. “besides, it’ll grow out.”

“really?” he croaked.

“really. now how about you wake up isamu while i get dinner ready?”

kabukimono blinked away tears that had threatened to spill down his cheeks earlier. you always dispelled his worries in a flash no matter how trivial they were. why did he ever have doubts in the first place? you were his sanctuary—the end-all to his anxiety of being abandoned. “okay!”

꒰ 国崩 ꒱ — scaramouche

slam!

that sound of the door to his bedroom was nothing to sneeze at, but the fact that the fatui harbinger didn’t greet you with a kiss on the lips as per usual was. hell, you didn’t even get the chance to see his face when he came home. that either meant he was really angry or really tired, and whether he joined you for dinner was up to you to test the waters.

tonight, you were feeling brave. how could he turn down your infamous chicken katsu?

“scara!” you exclaimed, wiping your hands on a towel before approaching the lion’s den. “i made dinner! or would you prefer a shower? or perhaps… moi?”

“…”

“i know you’re in there. at least give me a sign that you’re alive.”

“...”

“scaramouche! scaramouche! will you do the fandango?”

“...”

“sc-scara, there’s a fire in the kitchen!”

“…”

“seriously?”

well, you supposed you should’ve saved that one for later. you used that excuse last week to lure him out.

heaving a sigh, you turned on your heel to accept eating alone for the night when scaramouche suddenly whipped the door open and encircled his arms around you from behind, pulling a shocked you to his chest and locking you in place.

“if you turn around, we’re breaking up,” he grumbled into your ear.

“huh!?” you thrashed around in scaramouche’s grip to no avail. “that’s not something you can just decide on your own!”

“don’t care. if you saw me—!”

if you saw him, you would most definitely laugh, and the last thing scaramouche wanted to be was a laughing stock to his lover. of course he would cast aside his ego when it came to your reputation, but archons forbid you seeing him as something pitiable. not if he could help it.

“don’t you realize i’ll be more upset if i didn’t get to see your handsome face, darling?” you whined with futile tugs and twists at his wrists. “as to whatever happened, it can’t be that bad!”

oh, it was bad. really bad.

“the most important thing is eye contact!” declared his colleague with the irritatingly bright locks of orange hair. “after all, there’s a saying that eyes are the windows of the soul. how else are you supposed to communicate your feelings to them?”

“...dude, you don’t even have light in your eyes,” scaramouche responded. “why should i take advice from you?”

“what does that have to do with anything?”

sandrone’s massive puppet smacked tartaglia upside the head as she scowled. “stop making a ruckus, and just cut the balladeer’s bowlcut already. he looks homeless.”

“yes, i don’t think we can handle the sixth harbinger’s lamentation about his relationship much longer,” arlecchino grumbled, her eyes turning so far upward that they almost rolled right out of the room.

“none of you guys were even supposed to know about it!” scaramouche roared with fury practically emanating off of him.

this outburst had all the other partygoers of the tsarita’s banquet turning their heads. they couldn’t believe their eyes, but it was true. all ten executive heads of the fatui were gathered together in one place (fly high, signora). even the harbingers themselves never thought something like this would happen if it weren’t for you, who scaramouche had introduced and (to his dismay) had made them all smitten toward you. even the tsaritsa thought you were pleasant.

the fatui harbingers could not refuse your suggestion to have “team bonding events”—this gala being one of them—and the animosity between these lieutenants have actually lessened over time (by a hair’s breadth).

“i can use my water blades,” tartaglia offered, who thrusted his hands forward to summon them.

scaramouche’s hands balled into fists, ready to clock the eleventh harbinger before he even had the chance. “no. a thousand times no! don’t even get those things close to me if you want to live, you asshat.”

“what… transpired this?” whispered pulcinella, unable to keep up with the youngsters’ energy.

pantalone took it upon himself to explain the situation. “word is that our dear reader complimented the hairstyle of a subordinate working underneath the balladeer,” the regrator informed as he pushed his neck-strap spectacles higher up the bridge of his nose. “since then, he has failed to complete a single assignment.”

revealing his sharp canines, dottore snickered. “in spite of that, it truly is miraculous that the kid found someone who could get past his ironclad exterior.”

columbina hummed in agreement. “it is miraculous that anyone even likes him~!”

they eventually resorted to a pair of scissors that dottore had in his coat pocket (dottore was almost disappointed when il capitano reminded everyone that he carried one), and after some convincing and straight up fist fighting, it was decidedly pulcinella who got on a stool to give scaramouche a snip.

and pulcinella… doesn’t have the best eyes.

“if it’s about your dark circles, it’s okay,” you reassured scaramouche back in the present. “i’ll always accept you the way you are.”

“i don’t have dark circles!” in a fit of rage, scaramouche spun around to glare at you while blinking several times in quick succession and—lo and behold—gave you front-row seats to pulcinella’s botched job at cutting his bangs, which now ended halfway down his forehead. scaramouche felt his heart drop into his stomach at the sight of your widened eyes before he shoved his hat into your face and stormed off.

“w-wait, scara!” you chased after him to the living room, and he still refused to face you. “that was what you were worried about me seeing?”

following that was a silence that thickened the air. you walked up to his side and placed a hand on his shoulder. “hey… i like guys with short hair, you know?”

…

…

…

“...but that damn skirmisher had long hair,” your boyfriend grumbled.

ah. this confirmed your suspicion that he overheard you speaking to his underling. little did scaramouche know that you had just been asking about your boyfriend’s whereabouts that day (but of course the balladeer anxiously spying on you the whole time made it impossible for you to locate him).

“i also like guys with blue hair and blue eyes.” you went to stand in front of scaramouche and placed his kasa hat back onto his head before squishing his face with your hands. he furrowed his eyebrows and tried to pull away, but the almighty harbinger became weak before you very easily. “i like guys with red eyeliner. a big hat. a haughty attitude. i like you, darling. and nothing is going to change that.”

scaramouche clenched his jaw and looked down at the floor dejectedly. “...how can you stand it though? you just said my attitude is haughty. is that… fine?”

“i’m still here, aren’t i?” you smiled. “and i’m not going anywhere. even if you went bald.”

“...do not allow that image to form in your brain, reader.”

“it’s too late.”

“reader!”

but despite the irritation laced in his voice, his lips were curled into a smile reserved only for his lover’s eyes. he liked you, too, and nothing was going to change that.

꒰ 放浪者 ꒱ — wanderer

“lesser lord kusanali.”

the dendro archon whirled around and almost let out a breath of relief at the sight of you entering the sanctuary of surasthana, your fingers intertwined behind your back. “grand sage, it is good to see you,” nahida greeted earnestly. “i’m sorry for contacting you on such short notice, but you were the only one i could think of reaching out to.”

“really?” you cocked an eyebrow as you descended down the white stone walkway. not at all did you mind chatting with nahida when you had the chance, but if you were the only person capable of solving her problem, it must be serious. “what could be the matter?”

“well… it’s rather a long story.” scratching her cheek, the dendro archon recounted what took place that morning.

“what are you thinking about?” the little archon questioned as she and wanderer strolled along the outskirts of the city.

wanderer kicked a rock that had the misfortune of being in his path. “you and i both know the answer to that,” he stoically replied.

“has it been that long since you and reader have seen each other?”

those words made something in wanderer’s chest feel a foreign pang, one that only occurred when he envisioned your face.

“i know that they’re busy with official affairs,” he scoffed, coming to a full stop. nahida followed suit, looking back at him with a hand to her heart. “it just can’t be safe for humans to stay cooped up inside of their offices all day long.”

nahida knew the nonchalance in wanderer’s tone was just a cover-up for how much he missed you, and the archon was all too familiar with that feeling. “wanderer—”

“i’m gonna make them regret prioritizing their work over me.”

with a tip of his hat, wanderer started trudging back the way they came.

“hey, wait!” she rushed after him and clung onto one of the blue fabrics dangling from the back of his head covering, which yanked him back toward her.

“what?” he deadpanned.

“how are you planning to make reader regret it?” she asked her disciple, anxious about letting him out of her sight.

“...”

wanderer recalled overhearing a conversation in the grand bazaar. a woman was fawning over her husband’s new appearance, who shaved off his beard earlier that day because he wanted to surprise her, and it was like she fell in love with him for the first time all over again.

wanderer wanted you to fall in love with him all over again.

“haircut,” he grunted.

“haircut?” nahida echoed.

“i want a haircut.” wanderer blatantly pointed at his head.

nahida took a moment to process his request before breaking out into a smile antagonistic to his scowl. “leave it to me!”

“and that was my first time cutting someone’s hair…” concluded nahida quite dejectedly. “...so you can imagine his fury when he got his hands on a mirror…”

“oh, archons,” you muttered right in front of her, slapping a hand to your face. “where is he now?”

“i’m not sure… i think he grumbled something about curling up in a corner and never seeing a single person again before he flew away.”

the only place you could imagine he escaped to was your shared home together in sumeru city, which was the biggest decision you two had carried out together in your relationship so far. however, you had no idea that the house became such a lonely place for wanderer. anguish squeezed your heart as you pictured him eating dinner alone, pretending the food was satiating like you had suggested in the past because he had wanted to be more human. “like you,” he had said.

“please let the other sages know i am taking an early leave,” i said, pivoting on my heel. “lunch is on me tomorrow!”

“good luck!” nahida called out to you, and as you pushed through the doors of the sanctuary, you felt like you grew wings right there and then.

when was the last time you inhaled a breath of fresh air…?

you dashed home as fast as your little legs (that had been stationary for what? six days?) could carry you home. along the way, nilou stopped you to discuss performing for the people in aaru village, cyno wished to speak about dispatching additional soldiers to monitor trade in the caravan ribat, and al haitham wanted a vacation(?)

however, you had to direct each one of them to your p.o. box because there was one request that waited to be fulfilled for a long, long time.

“babe!” you exclaimed, stumbling a bit as you peeled off your shoes at the doorway. “babe, are you home?”

silence. every step you took further down the hallway entrance felt like stepping onto an eggshell, and your mind started to wonder. was he not actually here? where could he have gone then?

“babe—”

in a flash, you were tightly enveloped by a pair of arms that knocked the wind out of your lungs. you almost lost your footing if it weren’t for the wall right behind you while, in front of you, your lover’s shaking eyes were trying to immortalize every detail of your face onto the canvas of his mind.

“reader…” wanderer mumbled, his cold hands cupping your cheeks like they were made of glass. “you’re here.”

a complicated feeling began to creep up inside of your chest. you didn’t even have the heart to “pfft” at his bangs that looked like a kindergartener had cut it (which wasn’t far from the truth). the crooked ups and downs of his bangs were the least of your concerns.

“i’m so sorry, wanderer,” you whispered as you reached up and gently held his wrists. “i’ve been so busy with attending meetings and approving requests that—”

“shut it.”

wanderer leaned in and hungrily captured your lips with his, and it didn’t take long before they began to trail butterfly kisses down your jaw and to your neck. his grazing teeth coaxed small noises from your mouth as they made light work of your sensitive skin.

“wanderer, wait…”

he pulled back momentarily to look you dead in the eye. “i have waited far too long,” wanderer snarled. “just let me have you, reader…”

you could not risk losing the ability to walk like last time. an idea came over you in that moment to break the spell clouding wanderer’s eyes with lust and desire.

“i’M gONna mAke tHem rEGret pRioriTiziNg thEir worK oVEr Me!” you cried out dramatically as if you had been fatally wounded.

your allusion was so out of character that it completely caught him off guard. as wanderer pressed his lips into a thin line, he created some room for jesus between his body and yours and asked in a contemptuous voice, “did lesser lord kusanali make you come here?”

“of course not. i’m here because of you, babe.” you chuckled. “did you think i wouldn’t notice all the subliminal messages you planted in your works?”

wanderer’s eyes widened in light of that. “you read the scholars’ papers?”

“not typically, but i asked the sage of the vahumana darshan to provide me with yours,” you clarified.

you adored the way your partner wrote—even if he always acted like crafting those essays together was a chore. reading his dissertation on societal issues in inazuma was actually how you two crossed paths, as you voraciously sought the author behind it. who would have predicted that the aloof, cold stranger nahida introduced to you as “hat guy” became your clingy mess of a boyfriend years later?

“whatever, don’t pull that disappearing act on me again,” he snapped, flicking your forehead in an odd display of affection. you held back a few colorful words from the sheer strength he put into that finger.

“it’s not like i was trying to avoid you,” you stated. “plus, i would argue that you disappeared, too, babe. even our archon couldn’t surmise where you ran off to.”

“well, you knew where to find me.” and that’s all that matters, he chose not to add.

a soft laugh bubbled from your throat as you directed your attention back to what made him disappear in the beginning. “hey… there’s no need to doll yourself up to get my attention.” you gently swept his silky bangs to the side. “you are always on my mind and even more so when we’re apart.”

a hush descended over the world around you two as wanderer squinted his troubled eyes and averted them to the floor in deep thought.

he could not kid himself any longer. you, a measly and pathetic mortal, had successfully slipped past the outer shell he built to fool irminsul into believing that he was not an individual worthy of loving, existing, redeeming.

“...”

“wanderer?”

"...rea..."

reader, each day felt longer than the last without you by my side.

i never thought i would have a person in this world who wanted me as much as you do.

 if i had to thank beelzebub for one thing, it would be creating me so that i could meet you.

you are the center of my universe.

“teyvat to wanderer…?”

but wanderer would rather die than say allat. hmm, maybe he’ll put those heartfelt words on paper so that you can read them in your office, giggling and kicking your feet.

in the meantime, he settled on dragging you to the bedroom. “you’re getting punished anyway.”

“wha…!? wait, wanderer!”

but on the inside, you were so happy that it didn’t matter if your boyfriend had to fly you to the akademiya every morning for the next several days. you wished for nothing to take away the beautiful smile you could see creeping onto his face.

© xinxiaogato. please do not translate my work without permission or attempt to plagiarize it.

[mommypurple]

Hi, all.

First, I just want to thank everyone who became a part of Angelo (Tutoy's) journey. You are a true blessing to his family.

I need to create a new post for this fundraising as the first one was already too long and was not gaining any traction anymore. I need to make a noise for this 12-year-old's life.

To cut the story short, Tutoy has hydrocephalus. Everyday, he and his family battle for his life -- food, medicines, checkups, surgeries.

This March 28-31, a good samaritan from a charitable organization here in the Philippines offered assistance for Tutoy's check-up. This batch of medical doctors are different from his "usual" doctors so somehow, they would start from scratch and see if his condition would get better while saving up for the major surgery.

If all turns out good, then all we have to do is gather funds for his head/brain surgery -- a minimum of $1000. This is an urgent call for help since every day is not an assurance for his life.

If you reached this point, hopefully you can take part in saving his life -- reblog this post or donate if you have an extra amount with you. Any amount is of BIG value to them.

Again, thank you very much!

P@yp#! - @camillefadriquelan

$20/1000

[marriedtosuku]

An: another LADS Drabble

Caleb x reader

A lil smutty, slight chain kink, p in v, jealous Caleb

"You're gonna get enough rilling me up, pip." 

Caleb wears his necklace when we fuck. It dangles in rhythm with him as he brutally thrust my swollen cunt, so desperately and needy.  I'm not any better though, mesmerized by the silver chain blinding my vision. The cool metal touches my blazing skin combined with Caleb's dick penetrating my sense of sanity has me drooling and wrapping my legs around his taunt waist. 

"Caleb,"  I whined when his calloused thumb rubbed my clit. 

"C'mon, pip. Give me another one."

This all started because of bakery order mishap. Honestly, it was a mistake, but Caleb refused to believe that I left my wallet in the car and a kind gentleman decided to pay for my order. Oh no. In his eyes, I committed the gravest of sins a wife could commit, letting another man buy something is practically cheating in his eyes. I barely said a word to the man, a simple thanks. A minute sense of gratitude that my poor pussy is paying the price for.  I didn't think much of it, just a good samaritan paying for my order, but when I let it slip that it was a man... well we have been at it since I told him.

" I can't."

"Yes you can, my pretty girl can take whatever I give her." His warm breath tickles my neck. "She can accept gestures from other men, so she can take dick from her husband." He hooks my thighs, dragging me closer to his 9 in cock. He manages to put me in a nasty mating press, knocking any thoughts from my brain as he drills me into the mattress.

 "Please , 'm too sensitive."  I slurred. 

"Oh, I know." he teases. " but you have to take all of it, m'not done yet." 

An: I’m so ready for Caleb’s birthday event !!!

[dangermousie]

Some more thoughts on The White Olive Tree

Most of the times, when I finish a drama, even one I love, I move on the moment the end credits play. But Olive is a rare drama that keeps me thinking after. So have some disjointed thoughts.

I love love love (and by that I mean, I weep weep weep) that the very qualities that Song Ran fell for Li Zan for - his selflessness, his bravery, his unhesitating ability to lay down everything including his life for a complete stranger - is what creates the tragedy at the end. Look at their very first encounter - he is a deminer/bomb defuser who risks his life without even a flinch of a second of pause for a total stranger (her) and is willing to die with her if he fails - he does not love her yet, he does not even know her. He is in every way a modern day Saint, a hero, and a Good Samaritan. How can she not fall?

And yet, and yet - even if nothing that happened after happened, if I were her friend or family member, I'd lose my mind at the thought of her dating a deminer. Like!!! This is a profession with a high risk of leaving the loved one a widow or taking care of someone severely damaged.

And when you take into account that he is not a military person from Eastern Country or even from that country at all - i.e., it's not his country and his war - that adds another layer because it's one thing to do dangerous things fighting for your homeland (because if the other side wins, the results/risks are even greater) but to go into another country that you have no connection with to perform one of the most dangerous job known to man...that is a whole other level. A person who would want to do that is either an adrenalin junkie who'd never settle or so deeply selfless as to be a paragon but either is not a category that would make a comfortable partner. The latter type of person is amazing and the world needs them but in terms of their loved ones, ooof - a bed of nails is not a comfortable marital bed.

I know they made him a volunteer (and not a Chinese citizen :P) to appease the censors who would probably lose their minds at a portrayal of Chinese commandos having PTSD or being anything but utterly perfect but despite presenting factual questions (why is a civilian engineer, even a demolitions one, trained in making/defusing bombs/mines and his job keeps giving him time off to do it), it actually fits emotionally - because Li Zan is not even a military who maybe would have training/counseling/structure to deal with traumas and perhaps fellow sufferers around him but also it's one thing to go into the military as a choice and then get that specialty, and another to be a civilian who just periodically is thrown into a hot zone and hell and then has to go back and be normal over and over again. Perhaps if he were a type of person who'd be drawn to serving in the military, he'd also be the kind of person who could cope better but all he's motivated by is doing good. And that is a double-edged sword.

You know that take-off announcement? About putting on your own oxygen mask before assisting others - Li Zan has never learned that. It's not that he thinks he has no worth or value; it's just he sees his worth and value in helping others. He's important to himself it's just helping others is even more important to him. And I think the tragedy is that before the kidnapping/torture of 36, he was finally taking baby steps in learning to balance - as he said, he wanted to be selfish for once, he actually skipped going on a mission (!!!), he planned to go home with Ran asap etc etc. They were SO CLOSE to happiness. If they went home before the orphanage opened, they could have had a happy life. Yeah, he'd probably still have issues (and so would she) but it would be manageable and their lives would be overall happy - he really was getting healed and you saw it. It's just like bomb disarming - it's high risk/high reward, and he hit the high risk portion of it.

You know, it just occurred to me that the tragedy of Olive that it is a person's best qualities, the things that they should normally be praised for that doom them. Zan's selflessness, tender heart, heroism, driven perfectionism, sense of responsibility, yes. But Ran is also doomed by her best qualities - her devotion, her ability to love, her refusal to abandon, her opening her heart utterly, and her own sense of responsibility (you cannot tell me that in the back of her head she's not reliving the what-if of what if she didn't ask him to stay for a couple of extra days and he said yes; what if they left when he wanted. No way she does not wake up thinking it's her fault.)

This is a very different drama and genre than Royal Nirvana but one thing it has in common is a bleak message that on a playing field with monsters, the monsters will always win because they can do and tolerate things humans cannot, a soul is a handicap. All those awful people who broke Zan probably slept quite well at night not bothered much (unless and until they got killed) because their souls have scales when Zan's is wide open. Unless you turn into a monster yourself (which is another loss), you will always lose. Because yes, the war is over and so many people got saved by Zan but he himself lost utterly on a personal level (and is now in a country where all the peaceful happy people who've never known war look at him like a freak who should be locked up when his trauma acts up.)

OK, one last observation before this turns into War and Peace: I am so so so so impressed with makers for sticking to their guns (pun!) - in showing war and its effects as a lot less rosy than dramas normally do, in not healing Zan through the power of love, in showing that physical and mental trauma stay and reverberate. But also in the whole Ben x Saxin thing. I didn't post much about it because bickering couple is not a dynamic that is my catnip (same reason I was not that invested in Third Couple in PM), but my jaw genuinely hung open for the bulk of their storyline. Even the figleaf of Dr Pei (and hey, bisexuals exist so it's not even much of a figleaf) could not cover what they were doing there.

OK, I lied - this one is final. I love that at the end, Ran published that book because it harkens back to that conversation she and Zan had in that village after seeing children being trafficked - when she is in despair wondering what is even the point of anything and he lays out his worldview that everyone will eventually be dead and all the suffering they see and go through will be history but if it's documented maybe later generations will learn and make different choices. Because that book is her response to him, picking up that mantle - their lives may never be fixed (one can disagree as to whether their "elope" means suicide - I am inclined to think no for reasons I mentioned elsewhere - but it's a legit read - but even if they live for decades more, they have both been ruined) and all they are left with is the hope that maybe that story will save someone down the road, lead them to different choice, to a different world. Maybe their suffering has meaning in giving someone else a greater chance for happiness and if it isn't them in a nutshell, I don't know what is.

This drama was a masterpiece.

[lilacgyuvin]

star — p. gunwook

pairing: gunwook x gn!reader

synopsis: gunwook unfortunately loses his wallet. luckily for him, a good samaritan is kind enough to trace the address on his i.d. and brings it straight to his doorstep! too bad it’s his newly ex-best friend (post-dramatic confession of love).

word count: 3.6k

warnings: highschool!au, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, BARELY proofread, jealous gunwookie, talks of falling out, misunderstandings, miscommunication, feat. seniors hanbin and seunghan (and eunseok), not to be taken serious this is just fiction!!

a/n: needed a break from writing that tattoo artist jiwoong au so i wrote this 🥸

Gunwook’ s lost his wallet.

It’s no big deal! It’s not like his whole life is in there or anything: his money, I.D., credit and debit card, along with his ultra rare Twicecoaster Lane 1 devil Nayeon photocard— yeah, he’d be fine without them.

He only realizes when he get’s on the train home from school, reaching for the photocard for emotional support after the shit week he’s had until he realizes it’s in his wallet which definitely isn’t in any of his pockets right now.

He finally lets out what he thinks is a quiet ‘fuck!’ after patting his pockets down and emptying out his backpack for the third time, which ends up not being as quiet as he originally thought, if the looks from the elderly couple sat across from him are anything to go by.

A few hours go by, and he’s still mourning the loss of devil Nayeon— oh, and all that other stuff too, he guesses. To get his mind off of things, Gunwook thinks a game of Fortnite with his loving friends would do the trick. It’s twenty minutes after when their entire squad gets wiped out (and proceed to get emoted on) is when he retracts that whole idea.

“I’m positive those guys were like, ten year olds. Do you know how embarrassing that is?!” Hanbin’s voice comes from Gunwook’s headset, meshing with the groans of Eunseok and the laughter of Seunghan on the other ends of the call.

“Obviously, it just happened to us! And the audacity. of Gyuvin to leave when he’s the reason we lost. His aim is so fucking ass,” Eunseok speaks loud and fast into his mic, making Gunwook wince at the volume. He seriously needs to start putting his volume down as soon as Eunseok joins. “Why do we still play with him? No, seriously someone answer me, why do we still play with him? Can we replace him with Y/n? Matter fact, I’m calling them right now I can’t do this.”

Seunghan’s laughter comes to a halt the minute their name is mentioned, just like Gunwook’s breathing for a split second.

“Eunseok.” Seunghan says his name and it sounds like Eunseok’s movements come to a stop, the only sound being that of the classic lobby music and the occasional Ps4 notification.

“... Does Gyuvin not have shit aim? I mean, we all saw that.” he says, and Hanbin then decides it’s his turn to speak up. “Maybe don’t talk about Y/n right now.”

It’s only now that Gunwook realizes he hadn’t told Eunseok about the whole ordeal this entire time, and it’s evident in the way he gasps from the other end of the call. “Y/n?! The fuck happened with Y/n? Oh my God please don’t tell me I have to cut them off they’re so fun. Speaking of, we have plans next week on Thursday to this new—”

“Eunseok seriously shut the fuck up.”

“ ‘Kay I’m gonna go heat up my hot pockets.”

Gunwook feels bad since he’s kind of the reason why Eunseok got cursed out by Seunghan. He’ll make it up to him after the upcoming, full on expected pep talk from Hanbin.

“You two still aren’t talking?” he asks the same time Eunseok logs off, and Gunwook thinks that maybe he too can escape this if he leaves without a second thought. He then realizes that Hanbin can literally just call him after he leaves, so he decides to dish it out and get it over with, mumbling his next words. “Well they’re not talking to me.”

It sounds childish, but he wasn’t lying! “The phone works both ways, Gunwook.” he sighs, the sounds of him readjusting in his seat being heard before he’s continuing, “Was it that embarrassing?”

Gunwook forgets that he didn’t explain the extent of the situation to his senior, so it isn’t entirely Hanbin’s fault that he thinks that Gunwook is simply embarrassed, but he can’t help the groan that follows anyway. “It’s not just that. It’s- I can’t even say.”

It’s nothing personal, really— everyone knows that Sunghoon and Y/n used to go out (for a mere 5 months, so Gunwook doesn’t even care for real!). What people didn’t know was how they swore to Gunwook that they’d never get back with him, not even for a second, so when Gunwook finally realizes the feelings he has for his best friend and decides to do something about them (queue chocolates and flowers at the end of the school day), the last thing he expects to see is Y/n and fucking Sunghoon, holding each other in a warm hug, like they’d shrivel up and die if they were to part.

Gunwook wished that had happened to him when he walks into the empty classroom, the wrapping from the flower arrangement in his hands startling the two out of their tight embrace. They looked like a pair of deer caught in headlights, frozen in place as they watch Gunwook’s word die on his tongue, mouth agape as he tries to restore them.

“Sorry. Bad time.” it’s the only coherent thing he can manage to say before he’s making a beeline for the door, too embarrassed and upset to verbalize the rest of his thoughts. Never getting back together, huh? Gunwook’s feeling a lot of things in this current moment, but the one that sticks out the most is how utterly stupid he feels. It’s so intense it almost drives him to anger, but he’s on the train home before it can get to that point, free from the fear of them running after him.

He isn’t particularly proud of what he does when they text him almost immediately after the whole ordeal, only responding after he gets home.

Y/NN🔥🔥💕😘😇: omg i’m so sorry i totally forgot you asked to meet up

Y/NN🔥🔥💕😘😇: we were just talking

Y/NN🔥🔥💕😘😇: did you still wanna talk? where’d you go??

Y/NN🔥🔥💕😘😇: gunwook??

You:

sorry i had to rush home

You:

its fine tho lol

You:

i was just gonna ask your opinion on

the flowers i got

You:

they’re for eunchae

Y/NN🔥🔥💕😘😇: oh

Y/NN🔥🔥💕😘😇: i didn’t know you liked eunchae?

You:

yup

Y/NN🔥🔥💕😘😇: okay well then yeah they’re really pretty

Y/NN🔥🔥💕😘😇: she’ll really like them

You:

thanks 🙌

Okay don’t look at him like that. He had to save face! He feels bad as soon as he spews the lie out, but then he remembers the way his heart dropped to his ass at the sight of Y/n and Sunghoon hugging, and convinces himself that maybe this was for the best.

What Gunwook doesn’t expect are the two weeks that follow. To describe them in two words: extremely awkward. The following morning, instead of the two taking the train together like they normally do, Gunwook makes up some lame excuse about being late and ends up taking the longer way. They talk during the classes they have together, but it’s all stiff and feels uncomfortable, despite anyone saying anything about it. Going home is the same as the morning was, yet this time it was Y/n who couldn’t make it, saying they had to visit a relative after school.

It was always easy for the two to tell whenever the other was lying, but Gunwook wants to give them the benefit of the doubt, seeing as he wasn’t so truthful himself just recently. When the two do arrive home, there are no texts exchanged or calls that go on for hours on end like usual, and it makes Gunwook uneasy, but the feeling of being rejected without actually being rejected was more prominent in that moment, so he left it alone.

He didn’t know that the lack of communication on both ends would lead to them not talking at all, though! It didn’t help that he’d see them talking with Sunghoon again in the hallway only two days later, rubbing a reassuring hand along their arm, which then prompts him to talk with Eunchae during the period he knows he shares with Y/n. That day is what really set the tone for the rest of the week, he thinks; no calls or texts, passing each other through the hallways, and going home together came to a dead end. All the little things that made Gunwook not absolutely hate school were taken away from him, and he feels it’s partially his fault which made it suck even more.

It took his friends, including his seniors, only two days to realize that something was wrong, which is what’s prompted Hanbin to lecture him every chance he gets for the past two weeks.

“Well maybe you should text them anyway. I bet they miss you just as much as you miss them, right Seunghan?”

There’s absolutely no way Seunghan was listening in, seeing as he doesn’t answer til five seconds later when Hanbin clears his throat. “Oh! Yes, definitely.”

“What are you even here for.”

“Emotional support? I don’t know man, I just wanted to play Fortnite.”

“Seunghan.”

Seunghan whines at the disapproving tone of Hanbin’s voice, not sure how he got roped into being scolded alongside Gunwook. Hanbin’s just that good, he guesses.

“Ugh okay fine. Not gonna lie Gunwook, seeing you two not talking is really depressing, for all of us, and honestly super unsettling. Just tell them how you feel and maybe don’t lie to your crush about having a crush who isn’t actually your crush. How’d I do Hanbin?”

“Absolutely terrible. Please log off.”

Before Seunghan can defend himself against what Hanbin identifies as Useless Senior Syndrome™, there’s a steady knock coming from the front door, successfully getting Gunwook out of the lecturing. “Thanks guys, but I have to go.”

The two can barely bid their goodbyes before Gunwook is logging off, scurrying down the steps as the knocking increases in speed.

“I’m coming!” he half-screams. He knows it isn’t his mom because she always has her keys, so it’s okay that he raised his voice a bit. He honestly thinks it’s Yujin from next door, most likely wanting to borrow Gunwook’s switch again after he miraculously submerged his own into water. He swears to God if he doesn’t return it back on time again—

Oh. This isn’t Yujin.

What stood in front of him held waves of familiarity: one being the navy blue leather-skinned wallet he’d gotten gifted by a relative a while back, the one that’s been home to his ultra rare Twicecoaster Lane 1 devil Nayeon photocard for years now— and the other being the person he’s gotten to know over the past seven years, who’s favorite foods he’s mastered and whose voice he can point out in a room full of thousands. The one who sits through the same old episodes of ‘Haikyuu!!’ with him, despite already seeing them multiple times. His best friend, who he hasn’t talked to in over two weeks, over his own fears and insecurities, is now at his front doorstep with his wallet in their hand, face unreadable to Gunwook for the first time since they’ve met.

“You forgot your wallet in Ms. Chwe’s class.”

Ms.Chwe’s class; the last period that they share with each other, where he was too busy trying to avoid Y/n’s gaze so in turn chatted up anyone who’d listen, not paying enough attention to the wallet that was falling out of his front pocket. Gunwook can’t even feel relieved that his most prized possession is safe, nor can he think of a way to make it anyone else’s fault at the moment given that his (ex?) best friend, who he hasn’t even glanced at in 14 days, is standing at his door with it in hand.

‘What am I supposed to even say?’ The silence that follows after still isn’t as embarrassing as that cursed Wednesday two weeks ago, so he tried to avoid saying anything that may exceed that level. “Thanks… okay bye.”

Okay what the fuck was that. He almost slams his head against the door, but he thankfully doesn’t have to dwell on it for too long, as they’re speaking before he knows it.

“You seriously don’t wanna talk about this?” They say, and Gunwook doesn’t know why it shocks him— they’d always been the confrontational type when needed.

“What do you wanna talk about?” He thinks it’s a pretty valid question, given that they could be referring to multiple things, but Y/n apparently doesn’t think so, if the roll of their eyes were anything to go by.

“You can’t be serious. About how you’ve been ignoring me for the longest!”

“Wha- only because you’ve been ignoring me!”

“That’s what most people do when someone’s been ignoring them first, dumbass.”

Gunwook huffs, he almost forgot how stubborn the both of them could be. “This is going nowhere. Just- come inside.” He gives up, decides to be the bigger person and let them in, not wanting their first interaction in so long to be an argument outside his door. Also because Yujin can be quite the creep and likes to instigate arguments from his bedroom window (he knows this because they’ve done it together).

They make themselves comfortable on the couch best associated with movie nights and hot cocoa during winter break, sitting on opposite ends. The air feels stale, and Gunwook feels like he has to say something before he can let the silence linger any longer. “D’you want some wate-”

“What did I do to you?” he’s cut off, the voice quieter prior to it outside. They turn to face Gunwook with hands gripping both knees reassuringly and— are they crying? “I mean, I’ve been trying to figure it out for so long, but I can't think of anything. Was it the flowers? Did she not like them?”

Gunwook wants to wipe off the face of the Earth. Not only were they crying, but they were kind enough to consider the feelings of others while nursing their own, successfully breaking his heart, while also making him feel unfathomably shitty.

He’s by their side in less than a second, not quite sure what to do with his hands as he lets out a stream of ‘no no no’ and ‘please don’t cry’. They won’t even look at him this time either, opting out to facing the wall in front of them instead. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Y/n.”

“Then why won’t you talk to me?”

Gunwook sighs, finally deciding to rest his hands on his thighs. “I’m going to tell you, but you have to tell me why you were too, okay?” He asks and they nod almost immediately. “And you can’t laugh either. Seriously, I will kick you out.”

“I’ll walk out myself if you don’t spit it out already.” They attempt to say it threateningly, but they’re pouting and Gunwook hates how cute he finds it, considering their current circumstances.

“Okay I was getting there,” He can’t help the snark remark, and he half blames it on the fact that he’s about to do the thing that he never got to two weeks ago: confess his undying love for his best friend of over seven years to said best friend. Folding his hands atop his legs, Gunwook takes a deep breath, closing his eyes for a split second before opening them as he exhales.

“Those flowers weren’t for anyone but you.” He’s not facing them, he absolutely cannot right now, instead focusing his gaze on his now sweaty hands, but he still hears the hitch in their breathing— it’s as clear as day. “I was going to give them to you, tell you about my feelings, but then I saw you with fucking Sunghoon, and I- I don’t know. I just felt so embarrassed and stupid and angry, so I came up with that stupid lie,” He finally finds the courage to face them, looking up to find their eyes already on him. “I’m sorry.”

Silence follows, and Gunwook fully expects it, but fuck was it agonizing. His face is practically on fire and he doesn’t want to break eye contact because he wants to ‘assert male dominance’ or whatever the hell Eunseok was going on about that one time he gave advice absolutely no one asked for, but it’s getting harder as the seconds go by and he just might explode right where he sits.

“Gunwook. You’re not gonna believe this but I was talking to Sunghoon about you,” Oh thank God they broke the silence— but what did they say? “I wanted to know if it’d make things weird between you and him if I asked you out or something, since you two are on the same dance team. I was also asking for advice on how to do it, since I’ve never asked anyone out before. I was going to the day after, but then you said you wanted to confess to Eunchae and I got really upset, I didn’t want to see your face at all.”

It’s now Gunwook’s turn to stare in silence, his previous anxious feeling replaced with one that screamed ‘what the fuck is happening I can’t believe this is happening right now’.

“What.” It’s all he can manage to say at the moment— if he felt stupid before, it’s definitely hitting harder this time around. He was avoiding his crush (who also has a crush on him, apparently?!), his best friend, all over nothing. His cheeks are becoming hot again and he feels like crying.

In classic Gunwook fashion, he does the most rational thing he can think of at the moment and bows his head beside their lap, clasping his hands in front of it as he lets out streams of ‘I’m sorry’, catching them completely off guard.

“Get up! It’s fine Gunwook, seriously." They reassure him, but he doesn’t dare get up from his position, only raising his head ever so slightly. “You still like me? Even though I lied to you and made you cry?”

They seem to find humor in his current predicament, giggling as they move a hand to pat his head. “I shed one tear. And dude, I lied too. I’m sorry as well, I was just scared.” It’s said with earnest, and Gunwook can feel it through their gaze once he finally gains the courage to lift himself up, his confidence fully restored. “Okay if we’re gonna date, you cannot call me dude anymore.”

“Is this you asking me out for real this time?” A hint of amusement makes its way onto their face, lolling their head to the side as they ask.”

“Yes. Wait no.” The switch up visibly confuses them, even more so when Gunwook gets up from his seat, instructing them to ‘wait here’ as he runs to the kitchen, coming back with a single flower. “My mom wouldn’t let them go to waste. They’re in a vase and she’ll kill me if I take all of them.”

They laugh, both because Gunwook was so so sweet and because his mom really would kill him. “Will you go out with me?” He knows it’s short, but he could tell them all the things he likes about them over takeout, and he really wants to kiss them right now.

“That was lackluster,” They say as they snatch the flower from their hands, but their actions are words are laced with playfulness, and they contradict themselves when they move to embrace him in a warm hug. “But yes, since you asked so nicely.”

Gunwook almost shoves them away if it weren’t for how intimate the current moment was. He’s glad they can still play around after spending so much time apart from each other. “Shut up! I just wanted to kiss you already. Wait, would that be weird?”

They look up, contemplating it for a second before they look back at him with a shrug. “I don’t know, but you can give me a kiss on the cheek. The one that isn’t wet.”

He takes takes that as a win, holding their damp cheek in favor of landing a peck on the opposite. Then another on their forehead. And another on the same cheek, but in a different place. It soon turns to him showering them with kisses all over, causing them to fall back on the cushions as they begin to laugh, taking Gunwook down with them as he refuses to stop. “Gunwook! I said one!”

He doesn’t even have the mind to grace them with an answer as he joins them in laughter, too overjoyed and buoyant with that fact that he’s now free from many things; free from hiding his feelings, from his insecurities now that their feelings were laid bare and are mutual, and free from pretending that he was okay letting his best friend falls into the hands of another. He no longer has to worry about any of that though, as they’re right where he wants them, where he deems perfect.

The cafeteria is booming as always, Gunwook and his friends (seniors and same-age mates alike) already seated at their table as they await the arrival of a few others. None of them say anything about the way Gunwook and Y/n are holding hands under the table, but there are definitely shared glances exchanged between Hanbin and Seunghan.

It’s only been two days since Gunwook’s actual successful confession, and they still have yet to say it outright, so they’ve just decided to let everyone come to their own conclusions. He thinks they’re on the right track though, with the way they shot him a thumbs up from across the table.

“Y/n!” It’s yelled from behind them, making the entire table, if not the whole cafeteria turn their heads to the source of the noise. Gunwook wishes he could say he was surprised as to who it was.

Eunseok practically tackles Y/n with the force in which he runs to their side, engulfing them in a hug from behind. “I thought I was gonna lose you! Don’t tell Gunwook, but you’ve always been my favorite junior.”

“I’m right here.”

“Shut up dont ruin this for me.”

a/n: we all know gunwook would be a communication king but i wanted to write this anyway. and guys i promise i can write things other than love confessions gimme like two weeks!!! also recs are open likes + reblogs are always appreciated ty baii

[sanders1665]

I’ve just got to be honest. No curated pretense, no filtered angle, no morally righteous social hashtag to tuck this behind. Just this: I’ve been smoking nature’s gift a hell of a lot more lately—and not out of rebellion or some half-baked attempt to be “one with the cosmos.” No. It's triage. Medicinal. A survival strategy for the modern madhouse.

Why? Christ, where do I start?

Pick your poison. The politics? Let’s not kid ourselves. It’s not governance anymore, it’s showbiz for the syndicate. Slick-haired avatars of leadership, propped up like digital marionettes in $5,000 suits, shaking hands with devils behind closed doors while preaching "unity" through clenched veneers. You can practically hear the whir of backroom deals being faxed to Lucifer’s desk.

It’s business—always has been. Wars are profit margins. Legislation is leverage. Every bill passed has a corporate sponsor grinning in the wings, ready to cash in on the aftermath. These aren’t leaders; they’re glorified middlemen for the billionaire class, selling morality like it's a limited edition sneaker drop. And the worst part? The lies aren’t even subtle anymore—they're printed, posted, and televised in full HD while the herd cheers or jeers, depending on which cult they’ve been branded into.

And now the cracks are showing. The Epstein files. The P. Diddy implosions. The parties behind gilded doors where the drinks flow and the cameras are conveniently “off.” How many of our smiling, vote-chasing icons were there, lurking in the shadows of those sick little kingdoms? We see the photos, the flight logs, the faint whiff of untouchable power, and yet—they’re still in office. Still pretending to be shepherds of the people while fleecing the last threads of decency from the system.

Why do we trust them? Why do we let them keep running this sleaze parade?

We’ve been conditioned to believe that the rot is just part of the furniture. That the system, no matter how compromised, must be preserved. But what if the system itself is the infection? A rigged game with pre-picked winners, the rest of us watching from the cheap seats, high on tribal loyalty and low on memory.

It’s not left vs. right anymore. It’s predator vs. prey. And the predators are feeding in plain sight.

And as for morality—forget it. That currency’s been devalued to Monopoly money. What passes for “ethics” now is just another social media set piece, staged and rehearsed for max engagement. Disingenuous people masquerading as good Samaritans, generous benefactors, armchair saints—just make sure they’ve got the latest super-duper iPhone, an expensive microphone, and their carefully selected “person of interest” standing by for the big virtue showcase. Oh, and don’t forget the catchy hashtag and the editing suite—gotta trim out anything too real, too raw, or too revealing that might get them demonetized. Can’t have sincerity interfering with the algorithm.

Goodness without an audience is obsolete. You don’t give anymore—you perform. Altruism has been hijacked by influencers with messiah complexes and brand deals, their "compassion" timed perfectly to trending hashtags and monetized grief. It’s a carnival of virtue signaling, where the most polished pretenders wear halos built from pixels and clout.

Another reason I might be smoking more? Maybe I’m just becoming more and more disappointed in the human condition—this increasingly desperate, neurotic need to be noticed, to be rich, to be dubiously famous. Everyone wants the spotlight now. It's become the altar of the spiritually bankrupt. The stage is littered with attention-seeking whores, all clambering for their moment of artificial relevance.

I’ll stay right up there at the back of the theater, thanks—where the lights and cameras never reach. Where the silence still exists, where I can observe without participating, where I can breathe without performing.

Social feeds vomit negativity with the precision of an industrial sprinkler. Every scroll is a shot of despair. The truth? Shoved into the corner wearing a tinfoil dunce cap while sacred knowledge—ancient truths, the kind whispered by stone and star—is ridiculed by people who think memes are gospel.

Maybe it’s just my age. Sixty years of watching this parade of disappointment, still baffled that we haven’t hit the cosmic reset button and sent ourselves back to fire and sticks. We've done it before—hundreds of times. Civilizations rise, get too clever for their own good, then implode under the weight of ego and bad decisions. We're the latest version. The current beta test. The question is—do we evolve this time? Do we merge into the next era with A.I. dragging us toward enlightenment? Or do we burn out in a blaze of arrogance, tribal tantrums, and sheer bloody-minded stupidity?

Maybe I smoke more because I just need to numb myself from the noise. The circus. The constant drone of human madness. But I still function. I still wear the masks, laugh at the jokes, give the right nods and shrugs. I do my thing quietly, moving through the static with a smirk and a half-shrug, watching everyone perform their personalized psychodramas like actors who forgot the play.

People are going to do their crazy things. I just don’t want their crazy spilling over into my yard. It’s bad enough being shovel-fed this mental trash on every app, every screen—like psychological fast food designed to keep us bloated, paranoid, and spiritually constipated.

Anyway, another day in the asylum comes to an end. The sun melts down into the orange hush of dusk. The birds sing like nothing’s wrong. And for a brief, silent moment, I almost believe them.

[nicnak20]

Sunday school; Charlie Mayhew:

*You're a Sunday school student and the teacher, Father Charlie is the highlight of the class for you.*

The worn wooden pew creaks softly beneath you as you settle in, the familiar scent of old hymnals and beeswax polish filling your senses. Sunday school. It's not something you actively dread, but it's never been the highlight of your week either, until recently. Until Father Charlie.

He enters the room, a beacon of calm amidst the rustling papers and hushed whispers of the other students. His dark brown hair, slicked back in a classic pompadour, catches the soft morning light filtering through the stained glass windows. His brown eyes, warm and intelligent, scan the room, a gentle smile touching his lips as they land on yours. A subtle nod, a fleeting connection, and your heart does a little skip you try to ignore.

Father Charlie is everything his description in the parish newsletter promised and more. Kindness radiates from him, a genuine warmth that melts away any lingering anxieties from the week. He’s firm when he needs to be – maintaining order in a room full of varied ages and attention spans is no small feat – but it’s always tempered with patience, a strictness born from care rather than harshness. He speaks with a gentle voice, yet his words carry weight, imbued with understanding and a sharp, smart intellect that keeps you captivated.

Sunday school had always been a bit… rote. Memorizing verses, coloring biblical scenes, listening to dry, droning lectures. But Father Charlie has transformed it. He brings the scriptures to life, weaving stories with passion and insight, making you actually think about the parables instead of just passively hearing them. He encourages questions, fostering a space of open discussion where your thoughts, no matter how half-formed or hesitant, are always met with respect and consideration.

Today’s lesson is on the Good Samaritan. You’re usually pretty engaged, but this morning, your mind is a tangled mess of deadlines at work and the argument you had with your roommate about who ate the last slice of pizza. You find your focus slipping, the familiar words blurring into an indistinguishable hum. You glance down at your lesson sheet, the questions swimming before your eyes, a sudden wave of frustration washing over you.

You sigh, unconsciously running a hand through your hair, a gesture that usually betrays your inner turmoil. It’s then you feel it – a gentle presence beside you. Father Charlie.

He’s moved from the front of the class, his approach silent and unobtrusive. He lowers himself onto the edge of the pew next to you, his posture relaxed, non-threatening. The warm, subtle scent of sandalwood and something clean and vaguely citrusy, that you’ve come to associate with him, drifts towards you.

“Everything alright?” he asks softly, his voice a low murmur that only you can hear. His brown eyes, filled with genuine concern, are fixed on your face.

You force a smile, a little embarrassed that you’ve been caught drifting. “Yeah, fine. Just… a bit distracted this morning, I guess.”

He doesn’t push, doesn’t pry. He simply nods, understanding flickering in his gaze. “It happens. The world is full of noise, isn’t it? Difficult to quiet the mind sometimes.”

He glances down at your worksheet, then back at you, a thoughtful expression on his face. “Are you finding these questions a little challenging today?”

You shrug, feeling a blush creep up your neck. “Maybe a little. I just… can’t seem to concentrate.”

Instead of just giving you the answers, or moving on, he takes the time. He points to the first question, reading it aloud slowly and deliberately. “’What are the key characteristics of the Samaritan in this parable?’” he asks, his voice gentle, encouraging.

He doesn’t wait for you to stumble through a canned response. Instead, he breaks down the parable, asking you questions to guide you, to help you unpack the layers of meaning yourself. “Why do you think the priest and the Levite passed by?” he prompts. “What does it say about the Samaritan that he stopped, even though he was a stranger?”

His questions are insightful, pushing you to think beyond the surface, to really consider the motivations and implications of each action in the story. He listens patiently, attentively, to your hesitant answers, nodding encouragingly, offering gentle corrections and expansions when needed. He never makes you feel foolish for not knowing, never rushes you. He simply guides you, with a quiet confidence in your ability to understand.

As he speaks, you find your focus returning, the fog in your mind slowly lifting. It's not just the content of his words, but the way he speaks them – with such care, such unwavering attention directed solely at you. It feels… special.

He spends a good ten minutes with you, perhaps longer, while the rest of the class works independently. You’re vaguely aware of the other students, the rustling of pages, the occasional murmur, but your world shrinks down to just you and Father Charlie, in that shared space of quiet understanding.

When he finally leans back, giving you space to complete the rest of the worksheet, you feel a sense of calm you hadn't realized you were missing. The questions seem less daunting now, the parable clearer. You look up at him, a genuine smile finally reaching your eyes. “Thank you, Father,” you say, the words feeling inadequate to express the depth of your gratitude.

He smiles back, a warm, genuine smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes. “Of course,” he says softly. “That’s what I’m here for.” But in his eyes, you see something more than just duty. You see a kindness that feels distinctly personal, a care that seems directed specifically at you.

Throughout the rest of the class, you can’t help but notice. He might be addressing the whole room, but his eyes often find yours, a fleeting glance of encouragement, a silent acknowledgment. When he’s explaining a particularly complex point, he seems to be looking at you, gauging your understanding. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, but to you, it feels significant.

After class, as everyone gathers their things, he calls you over gently. “Yn, could I have a quick word before you go?”

Your heart skips again, a nervous flutter this time. You walk over, the other students melting away from your awareness.

He stands near the doorway, a stack of papers in his hand. “I just wanted to check in,” he says, his voice still soft, still carrying that undercurrent of gentle concern. “How are you feeling about the lesson now?”

“Much better, thank you,” you say, meeting his gaze. “I really appreciate you taking the time to explain it to me.”

He nods, his eyes searching yours, a silent question hanging in the air. “You have a thoughtful mind, Yn,” he says after a moment, his voice low, almost confiding. “Don’t let the noise of the world drown it out.”

The words resonate deeply within you. It’s more than just Sunday school advice. It feels personal, like he sees something in you, something meaningful, and wants to encourage it.

“I’ll try,” you murmur, feeling a warmth spread through your cheeks.

He smiles again, a slow, gentle smile that reaches his eyes. “I know you will.” He pauses, then adds, almost as an afterthought, “If you ever need anything, Yn, don’t hesitate to ask.”

The offer hangs between you, open-ended, inviting. It could just be a teacher offering help to a student. But in the way he says it, in the lingering warmth of his gaze, in the almost imperceptible touch of his eyes on yours, you sense something more. A connection. A special interest.

You leave the classroom, the scent of sandalwood and citrus lingering faintly in your memory. The sermon in the main church is a blur, your mind replaying the moments in Sunday school, the way Father Charlie looked at you, the gentle concern in his voice, the quiet understanding that seemed to flow between you.

Over the following weeks, the pattern continues. You find yourself looking forward to Sunday school with an eagerness that surprises even you. It’s not just the lessons, though they are undeniably engaging under Father Charlie’s guidance. It’s the subtle moments, the fleeting glances, the gentle encouragement, the way he always seems to notice when you’re struggling, when you’re lost, when you just need a little extra attention.

He never crosses any lines, always maintaining a professional, respectful demeanor. But within those boundaries, he creates a space of warmth and connection that feels intensely personal. He remembers small details you’ve mentioned, he checks in on things you’ve shared, he offers a knowing smile across the room that feels like a secret shared only between you two.

You start spending more time thinking about him outside of Sunday school. His thoughtful insights, his gentle demeanor, the way his brown eyes seem to see right through you, in the best possible way. You find yourself looking up quotes from the scriptures he’s discussed, pondering his interpretations long after the class is over. You even find yourself attending the weekday services more often, hoping to catch a glimpse of him, to perhaps exchange a quick word.

You know it’s probably just your imagination running wild. He’s a kind, devoted priest. He’s just being a good teacher, caring for his students. And yet… there’s something in his gaze, in his attention, that sparks a feeling within you that you can’t quite ignore, a warmth that blossoms in your chest whenever he focuses his attention on you.

It's a delicate, fragile feeling, something you hold close to your heart, unsure of its meaning, unsure of where it might lead. But in the quiet moments of Sunday school, under the gentle guidance of Father Charlie, you find yourself opening up, not just to the scriptures, but to something more, something tender and unspoken, something that feels, in its own quiet way, like the beginning of a different kind of story. And you, for the first time in a long time, are undeniably, eagerly, interested to see where it goes.

[annas-hair-donut]

Good Vibrations

Words: 5488 (one-shot) Fandom: Frozen (Disney Movies) Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Anna/Kristoff Characters: Anna, Kristoff Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff and Smut, P*rn with Feelings, S*x Toys, Accidental Voyeurism, Light Angst, Self-Love, Clothed S*x, against a door, Mutual Pining, Dirty Talk, Self-Indulgent Series: Bandana AU Summary:

It's been six months since Anna's divorce. Six months since she hooked up with KB and friend-zoned him because she wasn't ready. And six months since she started working for him. And after six months of self-deprivation and KB's ass being right in front of her all day long, she's pretty hard up. So she orders something to help relieve her frustration, and accidentally sends the discrete package to KB's Auto Shop instead of her apartment. KB figures out what's in the package when he accidentally walks in on her. Maybe it's the most mortifying moment of Anna's life. Or maybe she's finally ready for some good vibrations.

Bandana AU

Sun Sneezes Anna emerges from the courthouse happily single and ready to seize the day, but gets derailed by sun sneezes, a good Samaritan's bandana, and a really nice ass. (T)

Rain Check Newly divorced Anna goes for a walk to work off some pent-up energy, but gets derailed by rain, a good Samaritan’s garage, and some really great D. (E)

Here Comes the Sun Anna 2.0 is earthy, technicolor, alive, and ready to find her place in the sun but gets derailed by a flat tire, a phone call with a good Samaritan, and another really great ass. But maybe it’s time for a fresh start. (E)

Adorable Kristanna art by @sunflowers-and-sandwiches. Please do not reuse/repost without permission!!!

[midnightfantasiez]

Invitation | Jacob Bae

SUMMARY: never would you have thought to have instantly clicked with the one and only idol Jacob Bae, within a short period. when he finally invites you to take a further step in your relationship with one another, how could you possibly refuse?

PAIRING: idol Jacob x afab! reader

GENRE: smut (18+ MDNI!!)

WARNINGS: french kissing, pet names, oral (afab! reader receiving), fingering (afab! reader receiving), p in v sex, protected sex (we cheered), man's doing it from behind

WORD COUNT: 2,354

A/N: @zzoguri this was written for you 😚 i hope you like it 🥺

It has been a couple of weeks since your mutual friends introduced you both to one another.

You were in your final years in college and had little to no connections to many boys in your life. You were the type to always hide in the library or the quiet reading rooms scattered throughout campus, wanting to avoid indulging in all of the parties or chaos around you. With that, you were definitely not a regular on the college’s party scene. Attending frat parties or clubs would be the last thing you want to do on a Friday night, choosing to snuggle up in bed with your favourite snacks and drinks while watching your favourite TV shows. 

Naturally, your friends were starting to worry about your love life—convinced that you wouldn’t be able to find someone even until graduation came in a year. Hence, they decided to be good samaritans and tried their best to find one that would suit your type to the best of their abilities. 

Your close group of friends knew how you’ve always had a soft spot for music, and it’s something that you have always been passionate about besides the current course you were taking in college. It was probably pure luck when one of your buddies was mutual friends with an actual idol from one of the most famous boy bands of the year.

Given your personality, she was convinced that you and Jacob Bae were a perfect match with one another. Thanks to her luck, she secured a few tickets for you to attend their ongoing concert—The Boyz 2nd World Tour: Zeneration. 

Wishing that she would finally shut up about meddling with your love life, you decided to give it a go and went to the first day of the concert. Unbeknownst to you, you start taking interest in the man himself. 

It was the way he presented himself on stage—the way his body moved according to the rhythm and vibe of each song perfectly, his harmonious voice that suited each of the songs from the setlist, not to mention the outfits he was given to wear (especially during the opening where he wore a see-through shirt with his hair all slicked back good lord). 

When you finally got to meet him in person backstage after the concert, he was a man you would fall for and would immediately be listed down in your “men whom I surprisingly approve of and will trust with the rest of my life” book.

He was so calm and friendly that he could break off the ice between you two even though you’ve just met, and it was how you were engaged in every conversation you’ve had with him. You definitely were a little upset when they had to call it a night as they had to prepare for the upcoming concerts for the rest of the week. But he managed to grab a few more tickets for you and your friends so that you could come again during the tour's encore and final day. 

Fast forward to the present day, you were at the backstage waiting for the rest of the members to arrive. It took about 10 minutes before all 11 members came down to thank all the staff and visit all the guests that had arrived to support them on their final day. It took a while for Jacob to finally make his way towards you, but when he did, he absolutely couldn’t leave your side in the slightest bit. 

Something in the air made both of you seemingly attracted to one another, even though you had just met for the second time. It was as if you both were drawn to each other, wanting to know more and deepen the relationship you both have created. 

He gently grabs hold of one of your hands into his, caressing it before opening his mouth to suggest the plans for the rest of the day. 

“Say, there is this really nice restaurant not too far from here that I occasionally dine in whenever I feel for a candlelight dinner. Care to join me for the night?” He asked in such a sweet way, how could you say no?

Without much hesitation, you quickly nodded your head before he made some arrangements to inform his managers and your friends that you both would make a quick dinner and that he would bring you back home safely by the end of the night. 

Seeing this as a sign, your friends immediately encouraged you to take up the offer, convinced that this would be the start of a spark to happen between you two. 

For the first time in a while, you actually agreed with your friends on this for once.

It was a rather fancy restaurant that had the Parisian vibes to it. You could tell how it would be a place where idols would occasionally indulge after a long day of work, especially when they have just finished a concert tour. 

Jacob, being the kind gentlemen that he was, ensured that you’ve always felt comfortable and would bring up a variety of topics to talk about—which you deeply appreciated because gradually, he was slowly pulling out from your bubble, getting you to open up to him more. 

You were glad that you weren’t the only one who showed interest in the other party. Otherwise, it would’ve been an awkward one-sided relationship. There was just something about you that drew in him, and he couldn’t exactly pinpoint what it was either. All he knew was that he was desperate to try to get to know you better, and eventually, he definitely thought about taking a step further in the relationship you both have now. 

The dinner went on smoothly and he offered to pay for the meal at the end, much to your disagreement. 

A gentleman should always pay on the first date, no? 

Those words lingered in your mind, and you couldn’t help but chuckle. 

As you both exited the restaurant, he somehow volunteered to be your chauffeur, clearly wanting to keep you as long as he could to himself. 

“If you are free for the night, would you like to come over to my place?” 

“Woah, Jacob. Aren’t you taking this a little too far? What makes you think I’d return to your place that quickly?” You joked. 

“What if I said I have got the best liquor saved just for you, some good music to vibe to, a comfy sofa and a cosy atmosphere to indulge you for the night? Would you agree to my proposal?” 

Now that was tempting. Given both of your similar interests in music (and good liquor), it was very hard to reject the man’s offer. You knew that it should be a red flag for someone to invite you back to their comfort place that quickly, especially when you two are just friends at the moment, nothing else. 

But somehow, you just couldn’t turn down his offer. In fact, you wanted to know more about him too. 

In return, you smiled back at him while taking a step closer so that you were mere centimetres apart from each other’s faces. 

“That is a yes in my books.”

One thing led to another, and you both began feeling tipsy. And before you knew it, you were both kissing one another on the sofa. 

You were both finishing up the last drop of the liquor bottle that Jacob owned among his stash of wines and when you both looked into each other’s eyes, you knew that you were far too gone to even think rationally at this point. 

Jacob bent down his face to yours in slow motion, and within seconds you felt his hot mouth infused with the sweet wine he had just consumed earlier all over your mouth. As you wrapped your arms around his neck, he then slipped his hands down to the curve of your sides to rest on your hips as he drew you in. You didn’t expect how much of a prodigy he was with his tongue, casually slipping and wrapping itself onto yours. 

God, this whole session was causing you to lose your breath, your pants getting more visible as the minutes passed. Jacob noticed how much you enjoyed it and proposed a better idea. 

“Won’t you—crawl up in my bed—with me.” He asked in between the kisses. 

“What makes you—think that I would agree with that?” You asked while trying to catch your breath.

“For one, you would be cosy up in the sheets and I’ll make you feel good and care for you. Will you accept the invitation?” 

If you did, you already knew where this was going. Having sex when technically this was only your second time meeting one another? It would be absolute insanity. 

But you were already deep in this whole situation and ready to let loose for the night. 

“Show me what you’ve got then.” You challenged the male. 

Immediately, he carried you into his room and laid you down gently on his comfy sheets. He slowly undressed you, only leaving your underwear on as you laid your stomach down on the sheets. 

“Relax, baby. Let me take care of you, hmm?” 

Accepting his proposal, you laid your head on your arms and crossed them on the sheets.

Closing your eyes, you start to hear how he has walked behind you, undressing himself before slowly climbing onto the bed with you. 

Instantly, he bent down and began to fidget with your core, slowly rubbing it, earning a soft moan that escaped your mouth. 

“Does it feel good, baby?” 

You nodded your head and he knew he could proceed onwards with his care. He slowly increased his speed before finally coming into contact with his mouth upon your core, kissing and sucking them.

“Mmmh… yes… keep going, Jacob.” Your moans sounded so sweet to his ears, and that was when he knew his care was effective after all. It was then he decided to insert two of his fingers into your core while he continued to suck on it simultaneously. 

God, you were on cloud nine. It just felt so sickly good. 

“M-more… Jacob… please… don’t stop.” Purely on instinct, you decided to spread open your legs more to give him access to your entrance. And how you’d actually wish him to finger you deeper within. 

It went on for a few more minutes before you both knew you were about to reach your high. Jacob gives you the consent to cumming around his fingertips, and that was exactly what you did when you released your sweet love juice around his fingers. He takes them out from your core before placing them into his mouth, savouring them all without leaving a single drop. 

“God, you taste so f*cking good.” 

Just when you thought he was done, he opened up one of the drawers by his bedside to reveal a condom that he was about to place over his member. He asked you for your consent first to see if you were willing actually to do the deed with him. 

“What makes you think I would say no after you literally just made me cum?” 

He smirked. “That’s what I like to hear.” 

Once he was done adjusting his member to the entrance of your core, he slowly pushed in as he climbed further up onto your back so that he was hovering over you completely now. 

“God, Y/N. You’re so tight for me.” 

“Then do your magic and help me loosen up, sweetheart.” You whined, already wanting him to go fast on you. 

“Such an impatient one, aren’t you?” 

With your consent, he instantly picked up his speed and went as fast as you would’ve preferred. There is nothing about going slow and gradually picking up his pace whatsoever. He grabs both of your hips and pounds into you continuously, checking up on you ever so often by leaning in to kiss you on your forehead. 

You just looked so goddamn attractive to him at the moment. Your bareback, the way your long brown hair flowed down onto your back, and god, your moans. He swears he would definitely record them down so that he could listen to them all day at all times if he has to. 

Especially when he needs that motivation right before heading up on stage before a performance. 

 “J-Jacob… I’m cumming…” You mewled. 

“Cum for me then, baby. Do it with me.” He groaned.

With a few more powerful thrusts, you both reach your highs simultaneously and instantly release your juices together. He slowly pulls out his member from you and lays beside you as he reconnects his lips with yours. 

“Our connection is something else, don’t you think? Perhaps we are really meant for one another.” Jacob announced, making himself clear while he was still panting from the intense workout. 

“Gee, I had no idea you were this obsessed with me. What makes you think I’m special in your eyes?”

“I wouldn’t have asked you to attend another day of the concert and take you out to dinner if I weren’t interested in you.”

You both burst out in laughter before reconnecting your lips once again. But it all came to a halt when you suddenly realised how you had forgotten to keep your friends updated about the night, surely you have to return home sooner or later-

“Why don’t you stay over for the night? At least stay with me till the sun rises.” Jacob proposed, which, to be fair, was valid—you were in no shape to be able to walk normally after that intense session you both have just done. 

“I can’t. My friends would worry about me.” 

“Hmm. I think I could fix that.” 

He gently takes your phone from you while having your consent to type out the message that he would send to the mutual friend you’ve both had.

🍐: change of plans, i’m keeping Y/N with me for the night. fyi, we’re more than just friends at this point. 

masterlist

taglist: @deoboyznet @kflixnet @zzoguri (join my perm taglist here!)

[beardedmrbean]

A loyal dog that refused to leave his dead owner's side helped solve her murder by allowing detectives to identify her body, prosecutors said.

Mandy Rose Reynolds, 26, was shot before her body was “burned beyond recognition” in a field fire in Robinson, Texas. Police found her on April 5, 2023, the McLennan County District Attorney’s Office said in a release.

Her cousin Derek Daigneault, 29, of Wichita, Kansas, was sentenced to life in prison Thursday for her murder after an investigation that spanned two states, the DA's office said.

And one of the keys to identifying her was her white-haired labradoodle, Titan.

Police found Titan near her body, barking "frantically." He refused to leave the area and wouldn't allow police to capture him, prosecutors said.

The next morning, the body was removed, but a passerby found Titan sitting at the same spot. The good Samaritan called Robinson Animal Control, which found that Titan was microchipped and belonged to Reynolds.

“The keys to this case were a heroic and loyal dog named Titan and extraordinary cooperation between law enforcement agencies in multiple jurisdictions and states. That combination has delivered justice for Mandy and safety from a violent and dangerous criminal,” Assistant District Attorneys Ryan Calvert and Alyssa Killin said in a statement.

Robinson police then learned that Reynolds lived in San Marcos, Texas. San Marcos police were contacted and went to her home but found it empty, with all her possessions removed and her black Honda Accord missing, the news release said.

A license plate database revealed that the car was somewhere in Wichita.

Wichita police were alerted, and on April 8, 2023, they spotted her vehicle and tried to pull it over.

Daigneault was behind the wheel, and the stop attempt ended in a chase that lasted nearly 30 minutes and reached speeds of over 100 mph.

The Accord ultimately crashed into another vehicle, and Daigneault ran away into a nearby grocery store, where “he hid on a shelf behind canned goods,” the DA's office said.

Police found a .380 handgun in the driver’s seat floorboard when they searched Reynolds’ car in Wichita.

Meanwhile, back in Robinson, police determined that the body had been burned in a large plastic storage container, and they found a fired .380 shell casing that was burned inside the container, the release said.

Surveillance video from a Walmart in San Marcos showed Daigneault buying a large plastic storage container identical to the one Reynolds’ boy was burned in, a shovel and a gas can on the morning of April 4, 2023. Video also showed him leaving the store in Reynolds’ car and Titan sticking his head out the window.

The medical examiner eventually formally identified the body as Reynolds’ through dental records. It was determined she died from a gunshot wound to the head, and a .380 bullet was recovered from her remains.

The Texas Department of Public Safety crime lab confirmed the bullet found in her body and the shell casing found by Robinson police were both fired by the handgun in Daigneault's possession, the DA's office said.

Jason P. Darling, an attorney for Daigneault, said Tuesday: “Derek is obviously disappointed in the verdict and sentence. While we appreciate the jury’s work and effort in this case, Derek intends to appeal the verdict and has already filed his notice of appeal.”

As for Titan, the pup was adopted by Reynolds' best friend days after Reynolds died. Calvert told NBC News on Tuesday, "He is doing great!"

[medieval-elephants]

Smile! You are in a bestiary! This particular bestiary-- possibly made in Lincoln-- has been influencing authors and artists for about 800 years. It was the subject of a facsimile by M.R. James (yes, that M.R. James the ghost story writer, who was a librarian in his day job). It was then translated by T. H. White (yes, that T. H. White, the author of The Once and Future King which inspired both Walt Disney and the creators of the musical Camelot).

The text on the elephant covers a lot of elephant myths and legends (and some historical kernels). It starts by announcing that elephants do not like to copulate, then covers their name,

"People say that it is called an Elephant by the Greeks on account of its size: you see, a mountain is called "eliphio" in Greek. In the Indies, however, it is known by the name "barus" because of its voice-- whence both the voice is called baritone and the tusks are called "ivor" [ebur in Latin]." ~T.H. White (trans. and ed.), The Book of Beasts: Being a Translation from a Latin Bestiary of the Twelfth Century (Parallel Press: Madison, Wisconsin, 1954; reprinted 2002), p. 25.

The text then goes on to discuss elephants' size, use in Indian and Persian armies, memory, fear of mice, gestation time, and support for each other. The text also notes that they never "quarrel with their wives" not commit adultery, while explaining Christian allegories about snakes as Satan and elephants as representing Christians, Adam and Eve, the Old Testament, 12 Apostles, Jesus, and the Good Samaritan. With such a repository of elephant lore, no wonder this book has inspired authors through the centuries.

Date: start of the 13th century (c. 1220?) Origin: England (Lincoln[shire]?) Now Cambridge University Library, MS Ii.4.26, f. 7r

[altocat]

Do you think we’re actually gonna make it to the reactor in the demo or will it stop after that monster fight??

(I will love the former :p)

I'm not sure. We know it will likely be from the truck ride up to the reactor guardian. I'm not sure if they'll go beyond that, though I'd like them to! Nibelheim is basically all of the first chapter so it's possible we'll get to see all of Seph's madness tomorrow! Plus Jenova! And (probably not) Genesis? And cute Zack-Cloud! SAEDRFGHFD IT's gonna be great.

Heads up--I don't own a PS5 so I won't be able to play the demo. I'll have to wait until someone uploads to yt. So if there's any good samaritans that are able to get the content when it comes out, pretty please send it my way? Even just DESCRIBING it will be nice until the actual footage arrives. Otherwise I'm gonna be a twitching mess waiting around lmao You have my sincerest gratitude.

[frmartinshomiliesandreflections]

15th November >> Fr. Martin's Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Luke 17:11-19 for Wednesday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time: ‘One of them turned back praising God’.

Wednesday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA) Luke 17:11-19 No-one has come back to praise God, only this foreigner.

On the way to Jerusalem Jesus travelled along the border between Samaria and Galilee. As he entered one of the villages, ten lepers came to meet him. They stood some way off and called to him, ‘Jesus! Master! Take pity on us.’ When he saw them he said, ‘Go and show yourselves to the priests.’ Now as they were going away they were cleansed. Finding himself cured, one of them turned back praising God at the top of his voice and threw himself at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. The man was a Samaritan. This made Jesus say, ‘Were not all ten made clean? The other nine, where are they? It seems that no one has come back to give praise to God, except this foreigner.’ And he said to the man, ‘Stand up and go on your way. Your faith has saved you.’

Gospel (USA) Luke 17:11-19 Has none but this foreigner returned to give thanks to God?

As Jesus continued his journey to Jerusalem, he traveled through Samaria and Galilee. As he was entering a village, ten lepers met him. They stood at a distance from him and raised their voice, saying, “Jesus, Master! Have pity on us!” And when he saw them, he said, “Go show yourselves to the priests.” As they were going they were cleansed. And one of them, realizing he had been healed, returned, glorifying God in a loud voice; and he fell at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. He was a Samaritan. Jesus said in reply, “Ten were cleansed, were they not? Where are the other nine? Has none but this foreigner returned to give thanks to God?” Then he said to him, “Stand up and go; your faith has saved you.”

Reflections (3)

(i) Wednesday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time

I have often been struck by the phrase in the gospel reading, ‘one of them turned back praising God’. Of the ten lepers that were healed by Jesus, only one ‘turned back’ to Jesus, a Samaritan. That ‘turning back’ was the outward expression of something very important that was happening within him, a readiness to look beyond the gift of his healing, towards God, the source of his healing, whom he recognized as powerfully at work through Jesus. There is a sense in which we all need to stop ourselves in our tracks like the Samaritan, and turn back to acknowledge the ways that God has blessed us, and give thanks and praise to God for all we have received. So much of what is good in our lives has been given to us. The most significant people in our lives have been given to us; they came to us as gifts. We discover in ourselves certain abilities. We may have worked to develop them, but they were given to us initially. The faith that brings us together at the Eucharist has been given to us. The community of believers where we meet the Lord in a special way has been given to us. We are a graced people and the most appropriate response to being graced is praise and thanksgiving. Very often our prayer is one of petition; we easily identify with the prayer of the lepers, ‘Jesus! Master! Take pity on us’. We regularly pray some version of that prayer, as we come before the Lord in our need. It was the Samaritan alone who moved beyond the prayer of petition, who ‘turned back, praising God’. It was only the Samaritan who threw himself at the feet of Jesus and thanked him. We too need to keep turning back to give praise and thanks to the Lord, because we are continually being graced by him, even in those times when life is a real struggle. The Eucharist is one of the Lord’s great gifts to us, and our gathering for Mass is a special opportunity to turn back towards the Lord in praise and thanksgiving.

And/Or

(ii) Wednesday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time

In today’s gospel reading, ten lepers approached Jesus crying out to him, ‘Jesus, Master!’ Take pity on us’. Jesus responded to their desperate plight and healed them of their leprosy. However, only one, a Samaritan, came back to praise God and to thank Jesus. The unexpected gift of good health distracted the other nine so that they forgot about Jesus and failed in the normal human courtesy of returning to thank him for their cure. Only one of the ten, a Samaritan, turned towards God present in Jesus in sickness and in health; the other nine turned towards him only in sickness and forgot about him in health. Sometimes God’s greatest gifts to us can separate us from God. We can be so focused on the gift that we forget the source of the gift. It is only to the Samaritan that Jesus says, ‘Your faith as saved you’. Whereas all ten received the gift of physical health, he alone received the gift of salvation, which is the fruit of faith, a relationship with God that is alive and vital in health as well as in sickness. It is the outsider, the despised Samaritan, who teaches us the importance of valuing God at all times in and through all his gifts.

And/Or

(iii) Wednesday, Thirty Second Week in Ordinary Time

We have all been graced in various ways; we have all received a great deal as a gift. We don’t always recognize that the ultimate source of all these graces and gifts is God. That is what distinguished the Samaritan leper from the other nine in this morning’s gospel reading. All ten were equally graced; they had all been healed by Jesus of a disease that left them only half-alive. Yet, it is said of only one of them that, finding himself cured, he ‘turned back praising God at the top of his voice’. He threw himself at the feet of Jesus and thanked him because he recognized that God was working through Jesus. He thanked Jesus, but he praised God. He had the insight to see that God was at work in gift of healing he received from Jesus. Jesus recognized this leper’s insight; he didn’t say, ‘nobody has come back to thank me, except this foreigner’, but ‘no one has come back to give praise to God, except this foreigner’. That is why Jesus goes on to say to him, ‘your faith has saved you’. This leper had the vision of faith; he recognized God at work in the good that had happened to him, in the extraordinary way he had been graced. We are called to that same vision of faith; we are called to recognize and to acknowledge God at work in all those experiences of grace that bless us throughout our lives. God’s grace calls forth our praise.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

[linz69lovesanimals]

🐽💫 Happy #WaylonWednesday (on a Monday), friends! 💫🐽 Meet Waylon, the one-eared wonder of @misfitsofoz! 🐷💖 This senior sweetie is around 14 years old and full of personality, sass, and smirks that say "I know more than you do." 😏 Waylon’s journey hasn’t been easy—he was found in Texas after surviving a devastating dog attack, his ear barely hanging on. 💔 Thanks to a compassionate Good Samaritan, he got urgent vet care and was brought to safety. And today? He’s thriving at the sanctuary, healed, happy, and a true ambassador for rescued pigs everywhere. 🩵🌿 Every Wednesday, we celebrate this beautiful soul—not just because he’s adorable (he is), but because he represents strength, recovery, and the absolute joy of giving animals the love they deserve. ✨ 👩‍🌾 A huge shoutout to Shanda, founder of Misfits of Oz and full-time animal hero! 💚 Shanda’s heart beats for every pig, goat, turkey, and fluffball who finds refuge at the sanctuary. Her work, rooted in compassion and vegan values, reminds us that all beings deserve love, protection, and respect. 🌱🙏 🚨 Let’s talk about pigs and dogs. We say it often because it matters: Dogs and pigs are different species, with different instincts, languages, and physical tools. While pigs are tough, they are also vulnerable—they don’t have canines to defend themselves and can be severely injured, like Waylon was. 😢 Pigs have lost ears, tails, and lives in dog-related incidents—even with friendly dogs. 👉 If you're adding a pig to your home, please provide separate spaces, thoughtful introductions, and a safe setup for everyone's wellbeing. It’s not just smart—it’s lifesaving. ❤️‍🩹 Today, we raise a hoof for Waylon—our one-eared wonder, senior superstar, and certified smirk specialist. 🐽💫 Let his story inspire you to rescue, to rethink, and to love fiercely. #WaylonWednesday #MisfitsOfOz #OneEaredWonder #PigLove #AdoptDontShop #FarmSanctuary #VeganForTheAnimals #PigsAreFamily #GoVegan #SeniorPigLove #SanctuaryLife #AnimalRescue #CompassionIsCool #RespectAllLife #HoovesOverHarm #MisfitMagic 🐾💚 July 07, 2025 at 05:58PM via Instagram https://instagr.am/p/DL0GoRyNkCR/

[leaf0buzzer]

A preliminary design for Fumiko Furikawa - reference Chapter One.

Chapter One

The atmosphere was thick with joviality as hordes of drunk people occupied the bar. People were gathered in groups drinking and laughing loudly, celebrating the end of the working week.

Fumiko nursed her concoction carefully, not wanting to become sloshed. Although she wasn't here on business, she did not feel like dealing with the consequences tomorrow. Her foot jigged under the table of the booth she was sat at alone as she scanned the bar, keeping her eyes peeled for the man she was waiting for.

A loud boisterous laugh caught her attention from the bar up front and her eyes trailed over. A group of friends stood around the corner, each with their own drinks in hand and snacks strewn across the table.

The source of the loud laugh was from a young man standing around in the crowd. She recognised him instantly due to his red hair and sharp teeth. Red Riot, a new and up-coming hero.

Her mood soured.

Almost as if he had a sixth sense, he looked directly at her to catch her looking at him. Although she panicked briefly for having been caught, her exterior remained calm as she slowly looked back down at her drink in hand.

‘What a joke’

In her opinion, heroism was losing its meaning more and more recently. UA high kept pumping out fresh enthusiastic heroes, but crime rates continued stock strong. Clearly, no one was doing their job properly.

Not that she had a right to complain, she wasn't particularly ‘heroic’ by society's standards. Although she considered herself a Good Samaritan, the people she helped were the very ones opposing the hero system.

She suddenly felt a vibration through the table and flipped her phone over to read the notification.

Broker

‘Here. Where u’

She rolled her eyes at the blunt text and responded.

You

‘Booth back left’

She placed her phone screen down on the table once more and lifted her head to see her inbound company.

“F.F! So good to see you again, eh? How ya been?” A silver haired man with small round glasses and a missing tooth beamed down at her, the stench of cigarettes following him so closely she could almost see the smoke.

“Giran, pleasure as always. Didn't you say you were going to quit?”

She quirked an eyebrow at him accusingly and he chuckled lightheartedly in response.

“Yeah and rainbows are gonna come out ‘ur ass, don't ignore my question”

With a sigh, she replied “well, I've been good I suppose. Whatever good is these days”

Giran had taken a seat opposite her in the empty booth and was attempting to wave down some table service.

“That good hey? Then what I'm about to offer you is bound to make you feel better”

“An offer? I thought we were meeting under friendly conditions tonight”

“This is just a friendly offer! Come on it'll make you feel better”

“How can you be so sure?” She was skeptical of Giran always, making sure to never be caught off guard around him. He was sneaky and had good connections, which made him oddly… intimidating?

“Someone may know what happened to your old man.”

He had said the sentence with such a straight face that she almost choked on air.

“Are you serious?! Who?”

“I don't know, and I also don't know what happened either, but I got a starting point for you, if you're ready”

She was practically vibrating now, her eyes gleamed and she flashed her teeth briefly with her grin.

“Giran you beautiful son of a bitch I could KISS you if you didn't stink so bad!”

He laughed and waved his hand half-heartedly at her before a waitress came over to take his order. After she left Fumiko kicked his shin under the table.

“Ow! You little bitch, what was that for?!”

“Tell me everything you know NOW”

Giran recounted all of his information to her after downing his whiskey in one. He explained that one of his clients had heard rumors about a mysterious gang leader making big rises in the villain world, and how word was starting to spread of a truly dark evil stirring. One that was possibly an apprentice of her fathers.

As she listened to Giran’s tell of things, she mentally started planning out strategies she could use with this new knowledge.

Giran was a broker, which in layman's terms meant he knew a lot of people and a lot of people knew him.

His entire ‘career’ (if you could call it that) was focused solely on his connections. Both in the underworld and amongst heroes. If ever someone needed some information, Giran was their best bet.

They'd met when she was 17, newly accustomed to living under the radar. He provided her with jobs, an income to help her stay afloat, which she was forever indebted to him for.

But she's also been good for him, as he had more clients than ever after word of her work spread like wildfire.

Fumiko had no criminal record, and as far as paperwork went she appeared as a normal member of society. It worked to her advantage.

That, partnered with her efficiency and quirk, she had become quite popular in the underworld, under an alias, ‘F.F’. It also happened to be her nickname.

“I'm going to be straight with you F.F, it isn't much. I don't know who got him but they completely covered their tracks. I wish I could do more for you”

“No Giran, thank you. I didn't have anything before, so even if it's small it's something. Plus I've waited this long” She laughed easily and decided that it was going to be a good evening. She finished her drink then waved a waitress over, ordering several more for each at the table. Concerns about tomorrow were far out the window.

“Celebrating huh? You paying?”

“Yes I am actually. Don't get used to it Broker”

The rest of the evening went by, the two enjoying each other's company, with the help of the buzz in their system.

At somewhere around one in the morning, they stepped outside. Giran lit a cigarette immediately, then held the box out to Fumiko in question.

“You know what, yeah sure. They're always better after a drink…”

She took one from the box and lit it with her own lighter. Giran exhaled his lungs contents then spoke.

“That new gang leader I told you about? I'd expect him at ur clinic at some point. There are some plans going around, some rivals are grouping up and getting ready to strike him down.”

“What should I look out for?” She replied.

“I haven't a clue what he looks like, I guess just look out for someone who looks like he could be a gang leader”

With a roll of her eyes she sighed “so basically all my clients”

He shot her a cheeky grin and both went back to their carcinogens.

After she had returned to her apartment later that night, she immediately opened her laptop after getting comfortable under her bed covers.

She scoured the internet for any whisper of this new mysterious villain, but found nothing of note. Any she saw were incidents she already knew of from a while ago, or completely irrelevant.

Until one caught her eye. Posted three days ago by an anonymous user. It depicted a video of what looked to be a bakery, disintegrating and crumbling to dust in a matter of seconds. The video contained no other footage or voices, and had no context attached to it.

‘Hopefully that doesn't become my clinic’

She grimaced at the thought before shutting her laptop and getting ready to sleep. She made sure to drink enough water to drown a fish, knowing it wouldn't do much to help, and turned her lamp off.

Things just got interesting.

Lemme know what you think! Feedback always appreciated mwah 🫶