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thewestern · 8 months

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Chapter 9

How could she turn Howlie against me like that?

Billy agonized over why his mother would gleefully torment him so. Through the dense fog of his denial and regret, she could spot his most painful failures as they bobbed beneath the surface like jagged icebergs and set a course bearing zero degrees toward them in the flow of casual conversation. As if it were he who broached the subject to begin with. (I.e. stop hitting yourself.) Heartbreaking though it surely was, Billy could just as well admit, unmitigatedly, Howlie had been an abject disaster. Despite an aggressive rollout and distribution playbook, bolstered by the full faith and credit of the Wolffenbeir Company and its behemoth marketing machine, like a lame gazelle calf on the Serengeti, the nascent brand failed to gain any footing among what was identified to be the target demographic segment — Craft Beer Explorers. Who is a Craft Beer Explorer? Meet Evan, a twenty-seven-year-old investment analyst at a commercial real estate brokerage, and Amanda, a twenty-six-year-old corporate attorney. Diverse young professionals with disposable incomes and an adventurous yearning for fresh experiences as expressed via purposeful consumer choices.

It requires courage of a man to admit his mistakes, Billy once wrote to himself in a Journal of Affirmations. But to learn and grow from those bitter disappointments, and to stunt all over one’s haters — well, that requires courage … of Conviction. (Beneath that he transcribed the unattributed quote: Not all who wander are lost … Beside that the margin note: tattoo idea?! Inner bicep?? … Thus consisted of this journal’s sole entry.)

But who is a Craft Beer Explorer, really? He asked himself this rhetorically. Billy, is a Craft Beer Explorer, he answered his own question. I Am a Craft Beer Explorer, he reiterated to himself, muttering aloud now. CBE, It Me. He was so, in every sense of the term that he made up. Apart from the Beer, that is. Insofar as that he didn’t actually drink the stuff, for reasons that are not important. But yes, beside that rather definitional characteristic, he very much embodied the Ethos of a CBE. Himself a young professional, navigating this digital landscape, in search of meaning and with the means to pay for it, handsomely. Who wanted desperately to engage and identify with brands of substance and character. Rather than churning Customers, brands which nurture a genuine connection to their Users and Followers. Brands that would travel the last mile to truly understand him. Brands that would help him to shape his understanding of himself. His own brand. In bright lights on the marquee: B*I*L*L*Y.

But don’t you see, he had it all wrong. Howlie was his level best attempt to live his mother’s truth. Not the truth about Billy. The Billy of it all. Let’s talk about Billy, baby. We need to talk about Billy. Billy was a different person, and more importantly a different marketing executive, living in a different time. This was the future — the one we always dreamed of. Brand mascots didn’t resonate with his generation. They had tuned out advertising in general. (Don’t try to dig what we all s-s-s-say.) We don’t buy print magazines or listen to terrestrial radio or watch linear cable. Just check the going rate for a glossy insert or an on-air live read or a 30-second TV spot — plummeted, the lot of them, to all time lows. Because we will not be Sold To. Not anymore. A new contract is being written, in which both parties — buyer and seller — enter into a non-binding resolution — a social contract. Sellers are now our Partners. And we are more than merely Buyers, mindlessly consuming. We are Shareholders, Investing with Mindfulness. In these, the human capital markets. (Murder capital, where we murder for capital.) Where there exists a Sense of Equity for All.

The time had come for Brands to Act. No longer reactively to consumer trends, but proactively in anticipation of those trends as they crest the cultural zeitgeist. Forecasting trends. Creating trends, even. Cloud seeding, for trends. It will demand an unparalleled understanding of our customer partners. We need to know them, at a cellular level. What were their likes and their dislikes … their hopes and their fears … their wants and their needs.

Their Wants and their Needs — what is the delta between the two?

How do we activate within that white space? That’s our blue ocean. We identify that, then we’re in the red zone. It’s all systems go — green light.

Traditional brand marketing, as we know it, is insufficient … Nay, obsolete.

Internal solutions can’t solve for external problems.

The Era of R&D has come to an end. All that researching and all that developing were all too costly and all too time-consuming.

This is the dawning of the Age of Acquisition. (Let the sunshine. Let the sunshine in. The sun — shine in.) Why try to steer the aircraft carrier around the craft beer buoy, when we could buy a jet ski with which to jump over the wake? Gone are the days, of the Wolffenbeir Company debasing itself to compete with these peons on their playing field. We will buy the players … And the field … And the naming rights to the stadium. (Stadium construction to be paid for with taxpayer dollars.) Build an entire portfolio of craft brands. Ones with pre-existing customer loyalties. Move boldly toward an event horizon wherein the Wolffenbeir-name would itself become synonymous with Craft. Whereby any well-traveled Beer Explorer would reach the inevitable conclusion:

The only good craft beer is a Wolffenbeir craft beer.

Billy needed to establish a beachhead in this total war. He couldn’t just acquire any brewery. Don’t you get it? This was going to set the tone for the entire portfolio. It had to have the horsepower to blaze the trail on Billy’s roadmap for Wolffenbeir Two-Point-Ayo. He had identified such a defector. It was right in their backyard. The ultimate brand weapon to help Billy lead the company boldly into the future.

Wolffenbeir would join forces with #x_brüing.

They were the perfect candidate for strategic acquisition. A charismatic founder in Jaime Delano, whose own vision and values aligned seamlessly with Billy’s. A digitally native brand with rockstar engagement metrics. (They have a fucking hashtag in their name!) Credibility as a compassionate and community-driven corporate citizen through their participation in the One Percent for the Planet initiative, for which Billy sat on the board of advisors. (You down with OPP? Yea, I’m Bil-ly.)

Together, Billy and Jaime would reinvent craft beer. Hold up, wait a minute … they would reinvent Beer. Period stop. The #x_brüing taproom would be a retail laboratory. The world’s first Incubeertor. Where they would iterate on a holistic, digital-integrated drinking experience. Automated kiosks taking the place of bartenders, facilitating frictionless transaction, and monitoring payment and purchase decision indicators at the point of sale (PoS). Smart Glassware for detecting fluctuation in biometric markers with each and every sip. Three-sixty imaging for analysing socio-behavioral patterns and demographic distributions. Real-time gamification for rewarding positive brand interactions and incentivizing personal disclosures.

Don’t you see? Billy was living this truth his mother couldn’t even begin to understand. They were not a Beer Company. They were a Data Company.

Because beer is only the beginning. (Damn, son … That’s fire! Write that shit down.)

Wolffenbeir x x_brüing (:Beer Is Only The Beginning) had the product market fit and growth potential to scale across verticals. The proprietary data mining and enrichment systems possessed endless application. In the office, on your commute, at the airport, in your hotel room. At the gym, in your kids’ classroom, at home. In the kitchen, on the toilet, by your bedside.

Sounds crazy, don’t it? Well ask yourself this: When do people reveal the most about themselves? Maybe a little too much. After they’ve had a couple pops. They’ll tell you whatever you don’t want to hear. But we do …

Because with each and every Smart Glass of beer served, Wolffenbeir will open another tiny window into your soul. And from our side of that one-way mirror, If, we can understand the way you drink, then we can begin to understand the way you eat, the way you work, the way you learn, the way you communicate, the way you travel, the way you sleep, the way you make love … The way you live.

###

Whoa, Billy. Slow it down now, kidd … Ur finna bust a nut, player. His mind was racing through this elevator pitch freestyle — a memorandum manifesto, rhapsody in Powerpoint — all dinner long. Inspired though he was by his own lofty rhetoric, Billy knew Hildy wouldn’t fuck with the vision. Eventually he was going to start the revolution, but she was the international arms dealer, so he had to cop the straps from her first. There was simply no way around it — he had to finesse his mother.

It felt like his whole life had led up to this moment to seize everything he ever wanted. Spaceships don’t come equipped with rearview mirrors; that’s right, I work for NASA. Billy wasn’t a businessman… He was a Business, Man. About that business, bitch. Doing million-dollar deals from his personal digital assistant. First name: Ever. Last name: Greatest. Middle name: Josef. Pop a wheelie on the zeitgeist.

And so on and so forth. This was approximately how Billy sounded to himself, inside of his head.

Here is how he sounded out loud:

Yes …

Erm …

Maybe …

Hildy could tell he was working himself up to something. Bracing for impact, she reached to replenish her Château Lafite-Rothschild, Nineteen Ninety. She wished that Ariel — himself a stocky sip of Manischewitzchewitz — had been here to see her third-empty glass and anticipate her thirst. But then if you wanted something done right you had to do it yourself. In the process of drinking herself to death, Hildy’s mother quite deftly had disguised the acceleration of her degenerative alcoholism as a passion for French fine wine. As such, she had amassed quite an auxiliary cellar here at the Wolffenhaus, all for the express purpose of sedating herself through another agonizing Sonntagsessen, alone with the children and her father-in-law and his housemistress. Although not explicitly bequeathed as such, Hildy considered the Bordeauxs to be part of her inheritance — reperation for their role in her parental neglect — and was slowly but surely working her way through the better vintages. However since her brother contested her sole claim (apart from said parental neglect, an expensive pallet was about all these Wolff pups had in common), it was incumbent upon her that she drink deliberately. Also, most of the bottles were well past their peak, declining into maturity. A cork can only last so long before it disintegrates, not unlike one’s will to live.

Mind you, unlike her son, Hildy could drink beer. Simply she chose not to. Never really had a taste for the stuff, to be perfectly honest.

Yes—what, darling?

Uh … Well, I was wondering if you got a chance to meet Jaime at the function this afternoon, at the New Frontier. He’s the founder of #x_brüing. They’re part of the One Percent for the Planet project to which I’m a board advisor. The one I told you about?

One Percent for What Was That? You’ll have to refresh my memory, sweetheart.

She said as she dismissively swirled her glass. (Is there any other way, to swirl one’s glass?)

Yes. As I’ve said before, it's a consortium of socio-enviornmentally conscious companies which have pledged one percent of their profits to causes that benefit the Collective Good.

Is that so? A whole percent. For the Planet Earth. I wonder … If global warming is the extinction-level event our leading scientists would lead one to believe that indeed it is, wouldn’t mounting a sufficient defence require marshalling a greater percentage of our surpluss resources than just the One. Quite literally the least one could do, at least speaking in terms of an integer. Have many companies of any significance signed on? I can’t imagine they would. One percent of our net could save all the whales, and I suppose their friends the dolphins, too. A shame then they don’t own voting shares.

Yes. Well really I was only wondering if you met Jaime. You know he was there as a guest of the Mayor’s.

Isn’t Larry just the consummate host? And a showman, not to mention. You missed quite the spectacle staying in the car, playing with your Thingy.

Mother, as I told you — I had an important email that required my urgent response.

Of course … Always with the Emails. You know while you’re staring down, twiddling your thumbs, passing notes at the back of the class, the actual business is happening all around you. And as for Larry, it’s clear to me you’re not fond of him, for whatever earthly reason, but you really should see the way he works a crowd. In a matter of minutes all those large, bearded men were eating out of the palm of his hand. He had more than their votes for governor. They would have mounted a charge on the capitol itself, right then and there on his order. And I know how you’re sensitive about this, but it wouldn’t hurt you to learn a thing or two about public speaking. Charisma … For a Chief Executive, it’s more than a nice-to-have. Nowadays at least. They have to love you, in the current climate. It used to be they could just as well fear you. But that Dickensian management style has fallen somewhat out of fashion. Your Great Grandfather Wolff was one of the last of them. The old lions. Although his was a sort of anti-charisma. Still gives me a shiver. All these years later. Since he went splat, so to speak.

Jesus, Mom. Jaime. Did you meet him?

Now Billy was losing patience, and thus the upper hand. This fucking always happened with Hildy. Wilhelm Wolff the Third. I detect the agitation in your tone and I’ll thank you to adjust it accordingly.

You’re right, mother. My apology. It’s just—I was really hoping you got a chance to chat with Jaime, the founder of #x_brüing. He’s a highly impressive beer entrepreneur and—

Speak up, please. You know I can’t hear when you murmur. My ears aren’t as big as yours.

I said, he’s a highly impressive beer entrepreneur—

Oh, Billy. Don’t be ridiculous. Now you’re talking too loudly. Lower your voice to an appropriate volume.

—and I think you two would have a lot in common.

Hildy waited to respond, for as long as it took to make emphatically clear the extent to which she was frustrated by this conversation.

Well no, sweetheart … I did not have the pleasure with your friend. If you were so eager for me to make his acquaintance, perhaps you could have removed yourself from the car and personally made the introduction. Couldn’t you have? HI-may, did you say? What is that? Hispanic?

Mom — I don’t know. I think he’s a third Portuguese or something. It doesn’t matter.

Oh, I’m afraid that isn’t possible, sweetie. You can be half, you can be a quarter, an eighth … you can even be a sixteenth — something. But you simply cannot be a third-anything. Although, Portuguese, perhaps if you had to make the case. What with all the Mixing that was done on the Iberian Peninsula.

Hildy had a fancy way of doing everything, even sounding racist.

No, I meant it doesn’t matter whether he’s Mexican or Portuguese or Span—

I’m quite sure it matters to HI-may and whichever the three sides of his family who came from there. You should know better, the descendent of a European immigrant yourself. Even if you’re not fresh off the boat as I suspect this Jaime character to be. Consider your good fortune, to be a full generation removed from the curmudgeonly old Kraut. I can use that word. Oh, how I’d prefer to be Spanish or Portuguese or even Italian. To German, I mean. Apart from being English, which of course I’d most prefer. Unabashed Anglophile that I am. But if we couldn’t speak Queen’s, then aren’t the romance languages rather … Well, you what I’m trying to say. Comparatively, the Germanic dialects are coarse, like sandpaper. I hypothesize that the sound coming out is a violent protest against what’s forced within. The cuisine, I mean, if one could call it that. The sheer length of white sausage served … at this very table. One could line the links all the way from here back to Munich. Every Bavarian dish. I’d have sent them all back. That’s had I the choice in the matter, which I certainly did not. I don’t know how you could have survived, what with your Selective Appetite.

(Hildy loved to prod him about his picky eating. Before you join her in judgement, Billy would ask you to consider this: Fuck You. Matter fact, how dare you? Only god can judge me. Additionally, it’s a disease, homes. With a mother fucking name — Avoidant-slash-restrictive food intake disorder [ARFID]. Affects point three to three percent of the total population. What are you going to say now?)

You’d have gone on a hunger strike. And we know how the old man dealt with those, don’t we? He’d have bungee corded the Gatling Gun to his wheelchair and rolled it in here himself. You know it is still back there somewhere. The mediator made him promise to destroy it, as part of their collective bargaining terms of unconditional surrender, as he insisted on calling them. But he kept it as an insurance policy, or perhaps a souvenir. One of the few times I was ever allowed to bring a schoolmate to der Sonntagsessen, she and I happened upon the thing, to our utter horror. In the library, of all places. Just sitting there, like furniture. Oh, who was it? Yes, that’s right … It was Bernadette, Bernice … No Bernadette. Bernadette Someone. I can’t quite recall, you see, because she didn’t want to be my friend anymore, I’m afraid. Not after such a macabre experience. It was like one of those awful public service messages.

—Mother … I’m asking you about Jaime because I want to talk to you about the Beverage Advancement Division. With the key learnings from the FMP launch …

FMP? Again, Billy, must we, with this? For the final time, I do not speak Acronym. And also must we discuss business at the table. It is der Sonntagsessen, after all. We can show some deference to family tradition, can’t we?

Full Moon Pale. FMP stands for Full Moon Pale, Mother. And yes, we must discuss business. Family is our business. All Opa ever did at this table or anywhere was talk business.

Not with me, he didn’t. And a word of advice: you would not be wise to emulate your grandfather’s interpretation of work-life balance, which even for its time was positively medieval. See where it got him.

Hildy raised her right hand above her head, arched her wrist and pinched her fingers downward, in the fashion that she was flamboyantly salting a large cut of meat. Then she lowered her arm so as to mimic a freefall onto the dining table, where she splayed her palm, simulating the moment of impact. This as she gestured her head leftways — and effortfully lifted her eyebrows in parallel — toward the direction of the driveway where Wilhelm I had face-planted to his past-timely demise.

Mother, I want to acquire #x_brüing.

After all the build-up in his head. The future of beer, This. A revolution in marketing, That. Billy just came out and said it. So much for committing to the hard sell. At least he seemed to have finally gotten Hildy’s attention. She re-raised an eyebrow and reached back for her wine glass as if to say, well, go on then.

I mean we should—it would be prudent to acquire. #x_brüing—

That is, I think, if you were open to pursuing strategic alternatives, well we could consider acquisition in the craft beer space, and if you assess the business to be sound, I think #x_brüing would profile to be a highly viable candidate.

Hildy took a moment in performative consideration, preparing her boilerplate response in the negative to requests of this and other natures. Billy choked on her silence.

You’re suggesting the Wolffenbeir Company make its first acquisition in nearly a century? Since your grandfather acquired the Ceramics division before the War. Do I have that right, my darling boy?

Um, not necessarily suggesting … Suggesting for your consideration, more like, I would say.

Oh, bloody hell, Billy! Grow some backbone! Make your ask and stand by it.

Okay … Yes. Can we acquire #x_brüing? Mom. Please.

You know, it’s not a bad idea.

Billy heard the word Bad and assumed the worst before turning a double take.

Wait … For real?

Oh please, don’t use that kind of language. And yes, I’m being serious. Quite. Have you ever known your mother to play silly games? No, let’s play this out. Consider for a moment the Beverage Advancement Division. Why go on wasting all this time and money on propping up these imposter brands? For a fraction of the cost, couldn’t we buy an existing brand and fold it into our portfolio?

Yes, Mother! That is exactly what I am saying!

I’ve come to the troubling realization that advertising doesn’t work on your generation. The spoils of war have changed. We aren’t fighting the good fight like we once were, for our customers’ hearts and their minds. That battlefield is a charred wasteland. The villages have all been burned. What this is, this is a guerilla campaign we are waging. Pillaging all that’s left. Amputation of the final, dangling fragments of your attention.

As such, the rules of engagement no longer apply. It’s acquire or be acquired. No honor among thieves, I suppose. Because haven’t we exhausted all other avenues? They must be made to assimilate to our way of doing business. It’s the only way to deal with them — these glorified hobbyists.

Mother, I love you! You’re a genius!

Oh, come off it now. Flattery doesn’t suit you. Anyway, you shouldn’t be so bashful; it was Your idea, after all. Be an advocate for yourself and take a little credit, for god’s sake. For whatever vision you possess, it’s as if you lack the self-esteem to adequately see it through, although I can’t for the life of me fathom why.

When it came to giving compliments, Hildy had a wicked backhand volley, which coincidentally was also the strength of her tennis game. Billy didn’t play sports and was well past being able to detect any ulterior meaning on behalf of Hildy whatsoever.

Thank you, Mother.

You’re welcome, Wilhelm. You see. And it was a fine idea. Such a very fine idea that I beat you to it.

Again, Billy was half a beat behind.

Wait. What?

Yes, dear. I’m afraid that a version of your plan has already been set into motion, by yours truly if you can believe it. It would appear that you do share at least some of your mother’s business intuition. And of that fact, you should be immensley proud indeed. Although I do think it was a fairly obvious next step, strategically.

In any event, a company-wide memo is set to send out tomorrow morning, first thing. The Beverage Advancement Division is undergoing a modest restructuring of sorts. Effective immediately, the Beverage Advancement—And Acquisition—Division will initiate preliminary negotiations with a number of market leaders in the emerging craft beer space. It’s all very exciting.

Ah. Okay. Yes. Very exciting. Um … will I be leading the negotiations then? I mean as the interim director?

Oh, sweetheart, no. I thought that was clear. You are being relieved of the interim title and placed on semi-permanent assignment. Also effective immediately, ahem, you have been selected to be the inaugural and sole participant in the new Wolffenbeir Executive Leadership Program. Congratulations.

But why Mom … I mean I don’t understand. I was only just starting to get my bearings with the Beverage Advancement Division …

… And Acquisition. Remember the modest restructuring.

… Yes, and acquisition. That’s exactly it. I really do think with my market intelligence, I could be a major value add in the acquisition phase. Like I was saying. I have these ideas, and, and— …

Yes, you do have ideas. But don’t you think the key learnings from Full Moon Pale Ale and its crash landing, such as it was, were that this position requires an executive with more — how shall I put it — Implementation Experience? I blame myself, really. It was too much managerial responsibility, too fast. At least for where you are, professionally. And for that matter, personally, wouldn’t you agree? In light of your recent Sabbatical, I mean. But buck up, Billy boy, because the Wolffenbeir Executive Leadership Program will provide you with exactly the tools you need to be more successful in your future endeavors.

Mother, I really think …

But that’s just it! You have a nasty tendency to overthink these things. Overthink and Underdo. Beside, you haven’t even heard about the program! It’s a two-year rotation through a comprehensive cross-section of the company, with a strong emphasis on the production and operations side. Packaging, distribution, QA/QC … the brewery proper, of course. You’ll learn the beer business from the bottom up. Just like my father did. I have no doubt that it will be a wonderful learning experience. What I wouldn’t give to have been afforded such ample opportunity for advancement in my own career.

Billy was despondent. Two years … Where, on the loading dock?. Wearing safety goggles and a hard hat, like a dickhead. Or even worse, the lab. Peering into graduated cylinders like he had the slightest idea what he was looking for. Counting bubbles. This was no fast track to the C-Suite. She was handing him a one-way ticket to Siberia — The Brewing Gulag. Committing professional seppuku on his behalf.

As Billy pondered on his impending exile, Chef Fuji shuffled into the dining room for to make his final offering for the evening. Saba (サバ, mackerel) — a fish oft-overlooked by American diners on Japanese menus for its robustness of taste and aroma … Too fishy, they would say. Hand-selected by Chef Fuji’s brother from the fish market in their home prefecture on the southernmost island, it was then flown in overnight, traveling forward through time to arrive on this table. He placed the dish first in front of Hildy, then Billy, bowed, and about faced, returning to his station.

Chef had toiled his whole life away in kitchens. Starting with a decades-long apprenticeship before he could even begin working in earnest; it took a whole year just to learn to cook the rice. Someday, Tatsuhiro will have a large house, he would affirm to himself, gutting bluefin tuna by the school, each in one fluid motion, for hours upon hours on end. Before he and his fellow chefs’ apprentices retired to their crude barracks. Now here he was, in a larger house than he could have ever dreamed before. But alas it was not his large house. (And for that thank goodness, because it was crumbling all around him — the Wolffenhaus was a real fixer-upper. The kitchen was especially decrepit. All the appliances and cookware had been ordered away for out of some catalogue by one of Wilhelm I’s early-period spouses. The grease had been accumulating ever since. Tastes from every decade, preserved in the tiny crevasses.) No, he was here to serve. To humbly present the sum total of his thirty-year culinary odyssey in five courses. For the likes of Billy to blithely turn away in disgust. But that was fine by him. Chef Fuji did not know this person, and yet he felt pity for him. He could tell by the way Billy slumped in his chair. He is koshinuke (腰抜け).

Billy looked down at the fish, as if through the powers of ADHD, he could turn it into something more palatable. A chicken nugget. Longingly he gazed, looking for his reflection in the slimy silver scales, his face fileted into four pieces. The vinegary odor which wafted off from its overcast, lacteous flesh was abrasive. He looked up and out, past his mother, through the elk antler candelabra — a design flourish of Wife Three, who despite spending most all of her time in the Great Indoors, had quite the rugged streak in her, speaking strictly from an interior design perspective. Across the room he stared up at the oil portrait of his great-grandfather, who returned his gaze right back down at him. (In most portraiture, the subjects’ eyes look straight ahead. [See: Lisa, Mona.] Wilhelm I instructed all the artists who painted him — of which there were a great many, for reasons as yet to be explained — to depict his eyes at a descending angle, so that he could look down upon all those who looked up to him.) Billy had hardly known him before he died, having only met the man a dozen or so times, all at this very table. He smelled like butterscotch, was all Billy could remember. That, and how fucking terrifying a person could be, just sitting there. Even his likeness could send a shiver down your spine.

Mother, before you proceed, you should know that I’ve been in my own preliminary discussions with Jaime about partnership opportunities. There are quite a few potential synergies between our brands. Would you at least consider #x_brüing as a candidate for acquisition?

HI-may. Forgive me. I almost forgot. Yes, well, I’m afraid that won’t be possible. Not to say that your partially Portuguese friend isn’t doing well with his little brewpub, which I’m sure he is. Although that name is somewhat worrisome, isn’t it though? What was it … Ex-Brewery? Why so confrontational?

Beside, we’re courting brands that are more mature. You understand of course. We can’t risk The Wolffenbeir Name on acquiring some tin pan—underground—fly-by-night outfit. Beer garage band. In point of fact, we’ve—well, I’ve already zeroed on a target, as it were. I would have assumed you to have surmised as much by now. Anyhow I don’t anticipate the negotiations to be all that arduous.

Hildy talked normal mostly, but here and there she pronounced a word in a very highfalutin way. Such as ma-TOUR, or ni-go-SEE-a-shins, for example.

Billy picked up his chopsticks for the first time that evening. He may have never handled a pair before in his life. Clumsily he prodded at the biggest sliver of fish meat, until he could get a good enough grip on it. Raising it to his eye level for cursory inspection, he tilted his head back slightly as if to meet the gaze of the great Wilhelm I, and swallowed it hole with a grimace, as if he’d just taken a pull of shine liquor.

So who are we buying?

Oh, my sweet, sweet son. Darling Billy. My absolute best boy. By now isn’t it obvious? I’m buying the New Frontier.

#novls of tumblr #i'm starting a band called #chinese spy balloon

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goblinkingdomsblog · 3 years

Note

Bts as mafia series ask

What will they do after kidnapping agent yn who is not willing to give info

What will they do after kidnapping agent y/n who is not willing to give information

Members: all BTS.

Genre: mafia!AU, reaction.

Premise: you are a police agent who was captured by one of the most influential members of the criminal organization you have been investigating for weeks. He's trying to get information out of you through interrogation, but you're not going to give in, no matter what. So he needs to think of a new plan.

TW: a little bit of (V) = Violence, but more of (S) = Safe for reading and (Sg) = Suggestive.

Mafia Series Masterlist

Mafia Series Plot

I don't know if this is exactly how you imagined your request, but I hope you enjoy it. ;)

"Precious information is always worth it."

Namjoon:

You were tied to the chair for a long time, until he came and released you. You immediately thought about the easiest escape route, but the abandoned, damp pavilion in which you were, behind huge boilers, seemed to have no end.

He smiled calmly, standing a few feet in front of you with his arms crossed.

- Agent Y/N. What an honor. - his voice was sympathetic, lulled by a hoarse and low tone - I've been looking for you for a long time. I heard you're trying to get me in trouble.

You laughed bitterly, spitting on the floor to get rid of the taste of the gag that had been in your mouth just minutes before.

- I feel really sorry that I didn't cause more problems, then.

Surprisingly, he laughed back, as if he were in the presence of a rebellious child who he needed to educate.

- You didn't answer the questions my subordinates asked you, did you?

- I will never reveal anything. You can send those dumbasses back and make them punch me more. - you touched your aching jaw with your free hands, without looking away from the one who you knew were the leader of the Organization - I can deal with them easily.

With his arms crossed, he rubbed his expensive shiny shoe on the floor, lifting his index finger.

- Oh, no, no. That was my mistake, caused by a wrong choice of members. Let's say they are not exactly the smartest members of our... company. I'm sorry about that. - he laughed quietly, adjusting his glasses over his nose with the casualness of someone who was shopping at the supermarket.

- So what are you going to do, you bastard? - you grunted, trying to distract him just to have time to think of a good way to get out of there.

He laughed again, a short, somewhat dangerous laugh.

- Courageous. - he murmured, with a sharp gleam in his dark eyes. He stared at you for a long moment before proceeding - Well, violence is almost never the best option. It is always better to treat the guests with whom you want to have a conversation with calm and courtesy. And, of course, without haste.

Feeling a cold shiver down your spine, you stayed still.

- I have all the time in the world, my dear. I can wait until you're ready to start. - with a singing smile that exposed two deep dimples, which now seemed sharply malignant, he turned to the darkness - Ah, and don't even think about running away. If this place already seems big to you, know that it is bigger than you think. And there are some rather interesting obstacles around here.

With one last look over his shoulder, the faint moonlight that came in through the windows reflecting off the lenses of his glasses and preventing you from seeing his eyes, he clicked his tongue.

- But, if you insist on trying to escape... - he pronounced, as if he considered the whole situation a great pleasure, and not a threat - I wish you good luck.

Seokjin:

You were in a small house, surrounded by at least 4 tables full of electronic equipment, computer parts, baubles and dust.

The man seated in front of you, with his chin in one hand, kept his eyebrows raised. By moving your hands tied behind your back, you tried to free yourself from the wheelchair in which you were trapped.

- Stay still. - he murmured, harshly. His expression was divided between apprehension and irritation.

- I am still. It is kind of difficult to make any movement while you are tied to a chair.

Without paying any attention to you, he rolled his eyes.

- I don't know why they thought of me as the right person to fulfill this mission. As if I had nothing more important to do. - his face, beautiful as a carved brilliant, was extremely expressive - And now, to make things worse, you still don't want to collaborate with the interrogation!

You smirked, shaking your head in the middle of the room with brown walls and orange lamps.

- I'm sorry for being a stone in your path. I bet if you let me go, you would be relieved. - your tone was acidic.

Bitting his lower lip, he snapped his fingers. With an impulse from the floor, he slid the wheelchair in which he was sitting to one of the tables, turning on one of the computers.

- Actually, I have a better idea. - he said, his plump lips curving into a smile as his fingers typed quickly, as if he were thinking of a joke that only he understood.

After a few quiet seconds, in which the only noises in the house came from the computer, he turned towards you and rotated the computer screen to your direction, so that you could view it entirely.

- I think you will be the one relieved when you collaborate with my questions. - he murmured, pointing the image on the monitor: the security cameras on the street in front of your family's house, recording everything in real time. It was even possible to spot your mother through the window - It's not that hard to find out certain things on social media, you know? I would recommend you to be more careful from now on.

Your smile died on your face, replaced by an expression of fear.

Yoongi:

The stone basement under the busy bar was a much darker place than it had seemed at first. The endless noise of parties was able to hide the most diverse noises.

The man standing at the door, talking to two others who remained in the shade, seemed completely calm. Which was the total opposite of how you felt.

Trying to shake your body to get rid of the rope wrapped around your entire torso, you groaned. You knew that dozens of bruises would form on your arms because of the effort, but you couldn't stop trying.

Dismissing the two henchmen, the man near the door turned in your direction. Approaching with his hands in his pockets, he stopped a few inches away, bending to reach the height where you were trapped.

- As you didn't want to answer when I asked patiently, I decided to change my approach. - with a slow, almost lazy, gummy smile, he took his hands out of his pockets, revealing a pile of pills.

Knowing what "industry" he was in, you were sure those pills were drugs. Although you were afraid of what might happen, you would never let it show.

- What are you going to do? Forcing me to swallow and kill myself from an overdose? - you almost spat, bending forward in an attempt to hit him with your head.

He laughed, and his laugh was a little choked. He smelled of cigarettes, both in his baggy clothes and on his breath.

- Don't be so hasty. I already said that I am very patient, so I would never force you to take one of them. - he shook the pills in his closed fist, letting them make a noise - I'll let you choose one of them.

Grunting, you turned your head.

- The choice is entirely yours. You may take a sweetie pill, which just makes you more relaxed to answer my questions... - his expression went from amusement to a somber seriousness, while he averted his eyes downwards - or you may take a poisoned one that will kill you. Sadly you don't have the option of not taking any pill.

Smiling again, exposing his gums in a way that made his expression frighteningly youthful, he shrugged.

- I hope you have a good eye for analyzing pills. Or at least a good tolerance.

Hoseok:

He was smiling in your direction for good 3 minutes now. Sitting upright, his knees 5 centimeters away from yours (that were tied to each other), he looked like an experienced dealer wanting to convince you to buy something.

You were already so tired that you felt almost ready to "buy it".

- If you tell me some very simple details of the investigation, I promise you will be released without any injuries. - his face was soft and friendly, and he spoke with such conviction that it was easy to accept.

You were sweaty due to the fact that you had been struggling in that chair for hours on end, trying to break free. That damn apartment seemed to be in the end of the world, because no one on the floors above or below made a sound.

It was time to try something different, to put pride aside. You had full faith in your ability to act.

- Do you... really promise? - you asked, in a weak voice and with an innocent expression, which made apparent the tiredness you were feeling (on purpose, of course).

He broke into a big smile, crowned by his shiny, aligned teeth. He looked cheerful as a child who had just won a candy.

- Of course, my dear. - he replied, lightly touching your hand tied on the arm of the chair. His fingers were warm and soft.

You smiled back "timidly". You would lie masterfully, until you convinced that man to let you go. You knew you were able to do that, because it was a necessity.

- Then... I will collaborate.

Caressing your hand briefly, just before letting go and looking you in the eye, his smile lessened a little.

- Just know that liars are not treated so politely. - he murmured, in a practically humming way - And I always know when someone is trying to deceive me, my sweet. Always.

Suddenly, the touch of his fingers no longer seemed as gentle as before.

Jimin:

The man's eyes seemed to burn in his face, just as the hate burned inside you. He was lying beside a round table, stripped, staring at you through half-closed lids.

- This is kind of kinky, don't you agree? - he asked, breaking the silence, his legs spread in a careless pose as he watched you.

You wanted to scream. You pulled your arms out, listening to the clink of the metal rings and then feeling the physical immobility. Being chained to a cement wall by your wrists and ankles, standing for hours, was far from any pleasurable idea. That was a fucking torment.

- Fuck you, you crazy bastard! - you grunted, your voice hoarse in your scratched throat - If I ever have the opportunity, I swear I'll kill you!

He didn't smile, but something in the curve of his eyes exposed the fact that he was enjoying the scene. In a leap, he rose from his chair, an evil idea igniting in his mind.

- What if that opportunity reveals itself now? Could you kill me? - he purred, approaching cautiously. You didn't know if he was teasing or threatening you, as his body movements were unreadable.

- Chained here? How fair is this clash? It is obvious that you will win. - you spoke through, your head hanging forward. You were an accomplished fighter in the police, but no one with their arms and legs trapped would be able to win a hand-to-hand fight.

- Of course I'm going unchain you. I'll even give you some time to warm up. I like fairness in this type of game. - the way he spoke, with pleasure, showed an insatiable desire for combat. You wanted to punch him.

- How can I be sure that you will not cheat? You are a fucking mafious.

This time, he laughed sharply, putting his hands on his stomach.

- I promise you that our fight will be fair, based only on the skills of each one. Especially because, if I win, my only prize will be to chain you back on this wall right here. - he got close enough to hold the sides of your waist with his hands, more firmly than expected. You forced yourself not to shudder - And while I really appreciate the sight, it is nothing that I haven't already seen.

You thought about attacking him right there, but it was better to wait a little more. Using his hands on your waist as a support, he started to unchain you.

Taehyung:

The boy was standing, his back against one of the only walls of the ruined building. The empty terrain you were on was extensive and the wind was blowing strong, turning all that vastness into a damn desert of grassy ice.

You were standing a few feet away, with nothing to hinder your movements. Still, you couldn't move, as you knew he had confiscated your loaded gun and was now keeping it in his pants pocket, ready in case any attempt was made to escape. You didn't want the same thing that happened to your two coworkers, now two bodies lying on the ground in the woods, to happen to you.

- Will you tell or not? - the man asked, boredom evident on his face. His voice was low, peaceful as a lullaby.

- I won't. - you said, shivering from the wind and nervousness. Nothing mattered now, not even your life: you had vowed to keep the investigation a secret, and that's what you would do. You would die with honor, just like the others.

Arching one of his thick eyebrows, he remained still. His mouth went up in one corner, in a angled smile.

- Ah, too bad.

- Shoot fast, can you? - you shouted back, extremely tired of it. You wanted it to end fast.

- I will not shoot you. You are useful, unlike your unintelligent colleagues who tried to attack me.

You clenched your teeth, the sound of the wind almost deafening your ears.

- What are you going to do then?

Wiping the hair off his forehead, which insisted on sliding in all directions, he waved a hand, turning the loaded revolver in one finger.

- Ah, I decided to let your teammates answer the call that the... deceased agents sent on the radio. They will get here behind this wall, as it is the easiest way to access the terrain. - observing the barrel of the gun and then opening the magazine to see how much ammunition was inside, he continued: - It is always good to practice my shooting from a long distance, just to not lose the practice.

Wide-eyed, the scenario in which your colleagues were killed one by one by shots from a hidden sniper crossed your mind. It was terrible.

- But, if you like your colleagues very much and decide that your willingness to offer information is greater than my intention to play target shooting, it may be that things happen in a much easier way. - he stated.

Jungkook:

He almost never looked up from the ground, and when he did, his eyes kept hidden under the brim of his hat. Not that it was easy to spot anything inside a dark and metallic bunker, in which you could barely move because you were handcuffed to the table fixed on the floor.

After hesitating for a long time, the man with tattoos on his fingers sitting in front of you finally spoke:

- You have to answer. I am here just following orders, and you are delaying my other appointments. - if there was something behind which he could hide, he would probably do it. But not out of fear... it was for another reason.

- I already said I won't tell you anything. You can kill me already, dumb child. - you almost roared, the rage accumulated in hours of silence revolting inside you.

Yes, even though he was partially hidden by the shadows, the fact that he was young was evident. More a shy boy than a silent man.

His eyes widening in shock, he stepped back a few inches. With an increasingly wheezing breath, he got up and walked to a door in the corner of the bunker.

- You're making things more difficult for both of us. - he said, with a dangerous tone.

Opening the hidden door with a single movement of his drawing-covered hand, he revealed a gagged figure, struggling and muttering in a useless way: your partner in the police and best friend, Denyel.

You gasped with fright when his figure became visible, his body covered in sweat. With a sudden tug, the tattooed man dragged your friend over to the chair where he himself had been sitting before, forcing him to settle down.

- With each denied answer, a little bit of his life is gone. - the boy's voice was now expressionless, and his hands moved quickly as he took dozens of knives from the belt under his coat and placed them on the table, with a clang - I can make it drag on for hours, believe me. I know exactly how much "life" to remove until there is no more of it left.

That's it for now! Did you like it? Tell me your opinion and your suggestions, my dear reader.

If you want to request anything, send me your ideas!

The images used on this post are not mine. Credits to the owners.

Kisses from the Goblin Kingdom! :)

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five-miles-over · 3 years

Text

Let Me Save You (Thomas Sharpe x Abbé de Coulmier)

Pairing: Thomas Sharpe (from Crimson Peak) x Abbe de Coulmier (from Quills) Not sure if this should be platonic or something more.

Warnings: Mentions of incest, abuse, and murder. Also 1-2 instances of swearing

Summary: While on holiday with his sister Lucille in Paris, Baronet Thomas Sharpe briefly escapes from her vigilant eye only to flee to an asylum and find solace in the company of a kind-hearted priest.

Word Count: 1,691

"I have something to confess."

Thomas placed his snow-covered hands in his lap like a little boy, blinking in the confessional. His chest rose up and down, his breath scattered after this rather unplanned escapade. Lucille never liked going to church. She had always taught Thomas that God was nothing but an evil concept meant to make humans miserable. She hated going to church, and after their mother passed, the brother and sister duo rarely ever attended a service, apart from the occasional Christmas mass.

So what was he even doing here? Had he made the right choice to go to a church in an unknown part of Paris?

No, he shouldn't be here, he told himself. Lucille would be upset if she knew that he was here. Maybe he should leave, before any of the housekeepers noticed his absence. Was anyone even listening, or was he talking to an empty room?

"What is it you wish to confess, good man?" A soft voice responded from behind the somewhat see-through wall. "Speak, for here you shall be protected by the Almighty."

So there was someone listening after all. Thomas swallowed, his throat constricted as if he were choking on his own words. The baronet could feel his heartbeat quicken, and he began to rub his pale fingers together. This was it. Tonight, he would bare his deep, dark soul and seek peace for himself, and no one else.

"Tell me, my good man. Have no fear," the voice goaded.

The baronet swallowed again, simultaneously fighting the urge to silence the priest with a scream. Instead, Thomas turned to his left, daring himself to catch a glimpse of whom this priest could possibly be. Through the weaves in the wooden window, he could see a hint of pale skin - perhaps this man remained indoors most of the time. And the black curls…they almost reminded him of his own. A shame this man chose to devote himself to God; Thomas almost smirked at the idea of damsels mourning how he could never be a husband or a lover. A morbid joke indeed.

"My sister does not know I'm here," Thomas finally muttered after a long pause. The priest complimented Thomas for being considerate and thinking of her, only for the baronet to icily thank him in return.

"Is that all you wish to confess, my good man?

Say yes, the voice inside Thomas's head spoke. Say yes, and leave this place at once. If Lucille finds out…

"I confess…" Thomas blinked, going silent again.

"Yes, go on. Speak freely, my good man," the Abbe repeated.

Thomas crossed his arms and tried to take a deep breath. Instead, his breath grew even more ragged than it already was. Heavens, he wanted to speak…he shouldn't…he couldn't. What if this priest knew her? What if there was someone else in the church - if not her, it could be someone working for her. Lucille always wanted to be in control. By running off like this, he was openly defying her in a way he'd never done before. His hands shivered, suddenly colder and weaker. His muscles continued tensing, especially in his thighs and calves.

Through the wooden wall of the confessional, the Abbé decided to take a different approach. "Are you afraid of your sister?" He asked in a soft voice, sensing the tension and uneasiness of the baronet. "Is that why you have come without her knowledge."

By this point, tears were welling up in Thomas's eyes when the Abbé's voice came through the wall. Was he truly going mad or was the priest still there, waiting for Thomas to speak? He placed a hand upon his fluttering stomach. He felt as if his insides were bubbling up and threatening to fill his throat with bile.

"I…am…afraid."

Thomas panted, realizing the words that had just slipped off his tongue. "I'm afraid of my sister," he repeated, much more audible this time. "I'm afraid of her, and that is why I came without telling her."

The Abbé took a deep breath, glad the man was able to voice his thought. "Why are you afraid of your sister, my good man?"

"I'm not," Thomas immediately denied.

"But you…"

"I KNOW WHAT I SAID!" The baronet shouted, clenching a fist and letting the tears freely roll down his cheek. "I know…I know…"

"Then tell me what you fear," the Abbé softly replied. He placed his palm against the wall, knowing it was the closest thing he could offer as a reassuring touch. "Your words are safe here. No one will know what you have said here, except for God. I promise you."

"I…I…" Thomas sobbed childishly. He clutched his knees while the tears blurred his vision. "I worry she'll find me. She'll hurt me and...she never…she never liked me leaving her sight. She claims it always made her sad. I want her to be happy."

"Your sister will not hurt you, my good man. The Lord protects those who take refuge."

The baronet shook his head. "My sister said that God only wanted to take people's happiness, and make them miserable…that's why she never wanted to pray."

The Abbé insisted, "That is far from true, my good man."

"Then…" Thomas reluctantly began, "Would God have mercy upon a sister with love for her brother? Would he not want to take her happiness?"

"What do you speak of?"

"My…my…my sister, she…my sister and I…we loved each other."

The Abbé nodded silently. He did not want to judge the other man; after all, one could never truly know another's story. "You loved each other."

"Yes," Thomas whispered. "We made love when we were young, she taught me how." He curled his fingers inward, wrinkling the fabric of his trousers. "Lucille told me that our love was the only thing worth preserving, and how everything else in this world meant nothing in comparison."

"I see."

"No, you don't," he asserted. "For so long, Lucille was the only real woman in my life. We lost our mother at a young age, and I married others, but she…there is no one like her. She made me promise not to fall in love with anyone else, and then promised to do the same. I did everything she told me to, everything." Thomas gritted his teeth. "I shared her bed when she wanted me. I fucked her, and let her fuck me in any way she pleased. And worse, I spilled blood for her! I willingly killed people who found out the truth about us, because nothing else mattered! Nothing else mattered except for her, and her love."

Thomas shook his head again, tightly shutting his eyes. "I kept quiet when she poisoned my wives, I kept quiet when she committed her dirty crimes, and I kept quiet when she lied to policemen time and time again! I kept quiet, and now…I don't know how to anymore."

Hearing all of this, the Abbé closed his own eyes and sighed. This man had been through far too much.

"You must be disgusted…" Thomas spat. If not before, surely the priest would have left by now. What was he thinking, confessing his and Lucille's sexual affair to this priest? It was no secret those men condemned incest.

"No, my good man." The Abbé quietly protested. "No. Rather, I am proud of your courage to speak up about these things. God is not angry with you. He sympathizes with your pain and if you take His refuge, He will certainly heal your wounds."

The baronet continued to keep his eyes closed. Aside from a ringing in his ears, the sound of his rapid heartbeat resounded inside his head. And the only thing that kept Thomas from passing out in the confessional at that moment was the priest's level-headed calming voice.

"Are you still here, my good man?"

"Yes," Thomas mustered. "Yes I am."

"Very good," the Abbé smiled a little. "Very good."

"So…what must I do now?"

"Now," the Abbé calmly advised. "You must trust in the Lord. Now that He knows of your pain, He has offered you protection. Wherever you go now, He will be watching you from above. Have faith in this, and let your soul be uplifted."

"How do I know he's there?…He was never there when I was a child," Thomas petulantly retorted.

"God was always there, and always will be," the priest assured the baronet. "You must believe in Him, that He will care for you."

After a long, aching silence between the two men, Thomas finally spoke. "I should go now."

"You wish to go leave - have you more to confess, my good man?"

"No," Thomas answered, this time with a strange sense of conviction. "I have nothing more to confess."

The Abbé nodded again. "You must be feeling immeasurable pain, my good man. Perhaps it would be foolish of me to even begin to imagine what it must be like…but I can promise you that it will pass. One day, it will all be better."

"Thank you, Abbé." The baronet sniffed, addressing the priest the way he knew most French people did. He rose up from the seat and opened the door, only to find the priest leaving the confessional as well. "Not many sinners tonight, I suppose."

The Abbé shook his head, a light smile forming upon his face when he beheld the other man for the first time. "No matter who may come here, no one leaves as a sinner, my good man."

"Thank you again for listening to me," Thomas reciprocated the priest's smile.

"My door will always be open to you, my good man."

"It's Thomas," he softly corrected.

"Enjoy your evening, Thomas." Standing on the tips of his toes, the Abbé air-kissed Thomas's cheeks and then calmly walked away.

And as for the Baronet, he closed his eyes and silently prayed, listening to the Abbé's footsteps fade into silence. God have mercy upon my sister. And protect this Parisian priest from all harm.

#thomas sharpe #crimson peak #thomas sharpe imagine #abbe de coulmier imagines #abbe de coulmier #quills 2000 #quills #tom hiddelston imagine #joaquin phoenix imagine

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from-delaford-with-love · 3 years

Text

Chapter III

The first dinner in Barton Park was horrible. Sir John Middleton and Mrs. Jennings made seemingly everything in their power to present you to the guest in the most unfavorable way so that no one sane would consider you a person who could in any degree excite the interest of friendship, or give pleasure as a companion. With sincere and intense conviction you scarcely managed to impress Colonel Brandon, you could only hope he’s already forgotten that evening and with it – inglorious performance of yours.

Intrusive attention of people the circumstances forced you to live with made your days unbearable, therefore you preferred staying in your room at first before finding salvation in long walks in the neighborhood; fortunately, sparsely populated area offered a picturesque scenery, and its breathtaking immensity brought harmony back to your soul. Mrs. Jennings, however, displeased with your obstinate inclination for solitude, never missed an opportunity to express her highest dissatisfaction about your frequent absence. “Young people always choose freedom over a subtle conversation!” knowing nothing in fact about subtlety, she exclaimed dramatically seeing you off every morning with a trace of disappointment on her face.

A week has passed since your arrival. You were getting used to living without your mother and aunt and gratefully accepted all the difficulties you had to face believing this twist of fate would bring valuable experience which would strengthen your spirit and faith and eventually result in good. Having no one to pour out your soul you wrote letters home each day sharing your feelings with the parchment and actually sending just one – of a different kind – describing how much you liked it here and thoughtfully inquiring about your aunt’s health not to discompose your mother who’s been dealing with a lot of trouble afore.

Finished with another note destined to join a plenty of unsent papers safely stored in a drawer you looked out of the window. The weather tempted to get out of doors. In thought about today’s destination, you draw back the curtain to let the sun caress your face as suddenly you noticed a silhouette of a rider far in the distance. Before your eyes could recognize an unexpected visitor, frantic beating of your heart alarmed it was exactly that man who evoked the same strange feeling the day you first heard his footsteps in this house – Colonel Brandon. Unable to give a fair and sensible explanation to such a severe emotional discomfort, you leaned against the wall pondering how to curb confusing agitation within your soul.

Recalling on the previous joint dinner with the colonel and your family you had no desire to come to the man’s sight ever again. If it were not for Mrs. Jennings’ vigorous and determined attempts to cause you the loss of dignity, you would certainly abstain from avoiding the company of a decent respectable person Colonel Brandon undoubtedly was.

The only chance to eschew an unwanted encounter was sneaking through the back door and off in the open. But as ill luck would have it, the guest has already arrived – you ascertained his presence right when heading downstairs. Limbs going numb, you stopped in your tracks. Colonel Brandon smiled amiably and bowed to greet you. However, sharing a word with you seemed destined to never happen.

“What a nice surprise!” you heard Mrs. Jennings exclaim joyfully and a moment later she emerged in the hallway. “I’m afraid Sir John left for Exeter on business. But I assure you, he’ll be back by noon. Let me offer you a cup of tea!”

“Thank you, I was actually…”

“No, no, no! You’re not allowed to refuse!” she broke into exuberant laughter, which brought no spark on the colonel’s face. “Ah, come in! You’re not going to stand in the doorway, my dear, are you?”

Colonel Brandon has surely expected such an unfortunate outcome and was prepared to accept it with courage and generously sacrifice his morning – and with it, what’s more substantial, his mental resources – as a price he would have to pay for the sudden impulse that brought him here. If he were asked what an unfathomable force drove him, he would probably find it hard to answer, be that reluctance to tell the truth or admit it – one would never know since the colonel was of that kind of men who kept their sentiment to themselves.

A quick glance Colonel Brandon gave you before entrusting himself into Mrs. Jennings’ will didn’t go unnoticed.

“Oh, there you are!” she sang out, gesticulating with intense and eager enjoyment. “Come here, child! Welcome our guest!”

“Colonel,” memories from that terrible evening ruthlessly hurting your pride, you tilted your head as a sign of respect and he answered with a delicate smile which, to your relief, suggested no disapproval or contempt.

“The lady spends all days outside!” Mrs. Jennings complained.

It was getting annoying. Not only did she call you a child but certainly treated you as such.

“Would be a shame wasting them indoors, wouldn’t it?” the colonel smiled lively, addressing you. He considerately meant to encourage you, but it made you feel pathetic instead – Mrs. Jennings entirely ruined your image.

Realizing he’s just dampened your spirits, Colonel Brandon instantly regretted indulging himself to frivolity he would ordinarily consider inappropriate and discourteous towards a person he barely knew and subsequently showed a composed serious manner.

“Wouldn’t it be nice, my dear, if you kept her a company from time to time?” Mrs. Jennings asked after a short yet careful observation, delighted with the idea.

You couldn’t believe she was imposing you on the man’s responsibility. Being a gentleman he’d have no choice but to agree. And he did.

“It will be an honor,” he said reticently, in accordance with the rules of convention.

Tag: @diaryofafan17 @venusetdiatribes @taschaschwarz @booklover2929 @crystalchrysalis19 @yourbadnightmare

#colonel brandon #colonel brandon x reader

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retvenkos · 4 years

Text

brilliant // neville longbottom

Harry Potter: Golden Trio Era - Neville Longbottom x Reader, fluff

Summary: You were always balancing right on the edge of something more, when it came to Neville. First it was the edge of being friends. Then confidants. Then something deeper than friendship. Now, it was the edge of something more than anything else you had ever felt before.

Neville Longbottom had a reputation of being terrible at magic.

It was commonplace to see him struggle in Charms or flub his work in Potions, and the whole school seemed to notice it - professors, staff, and students alike. It was puzzling, really, the amount of attention that was brought to his failures - unfair, even. Perhaps he wasn’t as clever as Hermione Granger or even Pansy Parkinson (she was actually quite gifted, when she wanted to be), but he wasn’t nearly as bad as everyone made him out to be.

You hadn’t noticed until your fourth year, when you had heard through the gossip mill at Hogwarts that Neville had been the one to help Harry prepare for the Tri-Wizard Tournament. After that, you talked to Padma Patil about it and she said that he didn’t fail much more than Ron Weasley or Seamus Finnigan, and yet he carried the worst reputation out of the lot of them.

It was the truth, wasn’t it?

That same year, you were assigned as Neville’s partner in Herbology, and your perspective on the boy changed completely.

Neville was brilliant when it came to Herbology. You didn’t know what it was, exactly, but he had a way with plants that was, in your humble opinion, far more magical than any spell you did in all of the other classes combined. Not only did he understand everything there was to know about hundreds of different types of plants, he also knew how to care for them in such a way that they grew stronger, brighter, and more cooperatively than any other plant in the entire green house.

The first time you had seen him work so skillfully, you had all but gaped at him. “How did you do that?”

He was a stuttering mess, saying that it was nothing, really, that he just liked to read and the Herbology textbook was the easiest of the required reading to digest.

You wanted to shake your head and tell him that wasn’t it - that he had a gift to give in this classroom. Instead, however, you just narrowed your eyes for a moment before turning back to Professor Sprout, saying, offhandedly, “You’re going to have to teach me that, sometime. It was quite brilliant.”

That had made Neville blush scarlet, his entire mindset unaccustomed to praise of any kind.

For the rest of the year, you did much the same, dropping little compliments or encouraging him to answer one of Professor Sprouts questions (eyeing Hermione Granger when she started to blurt out the answer and interrupting her so that someone else could speak, for once). Neville noticed the way in which you treated him - far different from his other peers at school - and was grateful for every moment of it.

When fifth year rolled around, he all but begged Professor Sprout to parter the two of you up again. “Not for selfish reasons,” he said, quick to backpedal on his words and smooth his delivery, “she’s just a great help in this class.”

“Don’t I know it, Mr. Longbottom.” Professor Sprout smiled, and her eyes sparkled knowingly. Neville flushed under her gaze and moved to help her with the pots she was prepping, avoiding he stare like the plague. “The two of you make a wonderful team.”

Neville was thankful to have a teacher listen to him. Professor Sprout was one of the few who saw him for being a little more than the clumsy, magicless buffoon he was made out to be. To have her weigh his judgement as being equal in validity was special and it meant everything to him.

“But Mr. Longbottom,” the Professor called to him on his way out, and he poked his head back through the green house doors to give her his attention. “It’s you I am most grateful to have back, for another year.”

Neville didn’t know what to do, other than nod awkwardly, swallowing in embarrassment. The stout woman shoed him out after that, and he walked to the castle with something akin to confidence in his step.

But bullying never seemed to cease in the Hogwarts castle, and it wasn’t long before Neville’s magical ability was the butt of a joke, once more. If you were nearby when voices started to sneer, you would roll your eyes and tell them to shove it. If anyone wanted to take jabs at Neville, it would do them well to remember who was on Neville’s side, and the extent of their magical prowess. You’re only ever as strong and talented as your allies.

Between you and Neville, you figured you had both of those qualifying factors in spades.

You hung around Neville, more, in your fifth year. Things were harder, then, and you needed more of his kindness than anything else. You had told him so, on a few occasions, and he had smiled warmly (he was used to your compliments, now, and no longer blushed like he used to) and told you that some days, he needed your conviction.

“You don’t need anything from me, Neville.” You were walking through Hogsmeade, the freshly fallen snow crunching underfoot, the chill nipping at your nose not enough to be uncomfortable, only present. Your head was bowed a little from the glare of the winter scape around you, and your hands were shoved in your pockets. The two of you walked, side by side, hats pushed low on your heads but your spirits high from having just left the The Three Broomsticks, the taste of Butterbeer still lingering on your tongue. “You’re very accomplished on your own - even if the whole school is too thick to notice it.”

“I don’t know about that,” Neville said, forever modest, “but I do know that I do need you - your friendship, at the very least.”

His words, simple and innocent enough, made your heart flutter just a little - a sensation you were just getting accustomed to, these past few months. “I need you, too,” you grinned.

Neville looked back at you - his usual, genuine smile accentuated by the brightness of the area around you, making his face light up and warm, his already pink cheeks deepening in color.

“What do you think Harry is going to teach us in our next D.A. meeting?” You changed the subject after getting flustered by the gentle way in which he looked at you; as though you were his whole world, and he couldn’t afford to lose it. You were being silly, you knew it, but you still couldn’t shake the intrusive thoughts from your mind.

“Hopefully something I can pick up.”

It was something he could pick up - counter-curses. Before the end of the day, Neville was one of the best in the whole room. You had cheered for him, and he bashfully tried to turn down your praises, saying you were the one to do it. “If it hadn’t been for you, I wouldn’t have been able to master them, (Y/n).”

“What do you mean?” you scoffed at how stubbornly humble he was - even when he deserved it.

“You trusted me to block those curses.”

“Of course, I did.”

You trusted in him. The revelation wasn’t anything new - he had always known your faith in him was strong, he just wasn’t sure if he should trust himself in making that discernment - but it stuck a chord in him.

He told you about his parents after that meeting. You had hugged him tightly, and it meant the world to both of you that this intimate knowledge was shared with each other.

“Thank you for telling me.” You whispered it into the hair that lay on his neck, and his arms tightened around you.

You had the urge to kiss him, then, an impulsive desire that you were still getting used to, the thought only having creeped into your mind a few months ago, but it’s insistence pressing upon you strongly. You didn’t, that night, although you were close to.

You were always balancing right on the edge of something more, when it came to Neville. First it was the edge of being friends. Then confidants. Then something deeper than friendship. Now, it was the edge of something more than anything else you had ever felt before.

Whether or not Neville felt it too wasn’t a question in your mind. You knew his thoughts better than anyone else. But still, something compelled you to hold yourself back.

So you did.

Through your sixth year, where (still Herbology partners) you relied on each other more and more. The world was changing fast, and you were both gearing up to face its challenges, leaning on each other more heavily than ever before. You got into the habit of holding onto him, in those days, you grip so constant that Neville was used to your hand in his, treating it as though it had always been there, a limb that he was only now gaining control over, and he grew from a gangly teenager to a young man.

He was growing, then, and you were right there alongside him, your steady voice calming him when he was unsure and still managing to compliment him with such sincerity that he could only answer back with the same earnestness and cheek.

You loved his intelligence in matters of the heart and his ease in which he navigated it. It never ceased to amaze you how he was able to be so vulnerable with those around him, paving the way for you to do the same and put yourself in his hands, allowing him to know you that deeply. It was always in those soft, quiet moments when you would tell him, “You really are brilliant.”

He would look down, then, and you would wait until his met met your own to repeat it, saying that you meant it. More than anything, Neville Longbottom was brilliant. In every sense of the word.

He would drift closer to you and you would feel that same urge to kiss him, to be as near to him as possible, to let your love for him overflow and suspend the two of you in time.

In your seventh year, the world crumbled around you, and Neville Longbottom was the only pillar that didn’t crumble beneath the weight of the world. He was steadfast in his beliefs and brave in his assertions of them. In those days, you thought he possessed all the strength and courage that those at Hogwarts had teased him for missing.

It was commonplace to see him stand up to the Carrows and still be raring to go after receiving hell for it. Anger bubbled inside of him, locked away for so long, it couldn’t go anywhere else but out.

At night, in the Room of Requirement, he closed his eyes as your hands ghosted over his injuries. He apologized to you for making a scene, and you immediately told him to take it back.

“You have nothing to apologize for, Neville. They only got what they deserve.”

He stared into your eyes until he was absolutely sure of their conviction, and then he sighed and take interest with his hands. “I’m not the same person you met, anymore.”

You led his eyes back to yours, then, your knuckles brushing against his cheek as you tilted his head upward, to where you could look at him and still feel those butterflies in your stomach and that strong insistence to kiss him - rough and gentle, fast and slow, and everything in between.

“No, but I’m not the same, either. We’ve both grown together.”

You saw that brilliant vulnerability in his eyes, then, that striking gentleness that made you feel wholly known and entirely loved.

He asked if he could kiss you, and it was deep and wanting.

You breathed your reply and he stole the breath from you, his lips soft and sweet, gradually growing in intensity and spreading warmth through your body. In his arms, you felt like a spring day and slowly, he made you believe this world wasn’t as cruel and harsh as you had known it to be.

#harry potter #hp #golden trio #hp golden trio #neville longbottom #x reader #reader insert #imagine #one shot #fic #fluff #neville longbottom x reader #neville longbottom x you

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erin-bo-berin · 4 years

Text

Angel With A Shotgun

MASTERLIST

This is my first fic that actually involves no smut. I was inspired by Angel With A Shotgun by The Cab and the Truth or Dare hostage scene from 14x15. If you want to listen to the song beforehand or while you read it, you can here. This one happens to be written all from Spencer’s point of view as well, which was different for a change. Like the last fic I posted, lyrics from the song will be in italics in between parts of the story. Happy reading!

Spencer Reid/Reader

Rating: G (just some drama, nothing else)

Word Count: 2,233

Get out your guns, battles begun

Are you a saint, or a sinner?

Darkness was all he could see. He heard scuffling as he was being transported. He could hear her uneven breath from behind him and he was relieved to know she was still nearby, even though this wasn’t exactly an ideal situation.

He was pushed to his knees, ordered to sit. The sound of duct tape ripping filled the silence and his wrists were bound together. He sensed movement to his right and he knew it was her turn to be bound.

A moment later the blindfolds were ripped off.

Spencer squinted in the bright light and looked over to see her, his partner, with a stoic expression on her face. He knew her well though, she was terrified, but keeping her cool. Between the ever so slight widening of her eyes, and her frantic assessment of him, Spencer knew just how freaked out she was on the inside.

“Well, so nice of you to play the game, agents.”

“We didn’t exactly have much of a choice did we?” she deadpanned.

Spencer looked up into the face of their captor. It had started like any normal case, just a week ago.

Victim had been killed, gunshot wounds to abdomen and chest. It was only when they started looking into the case that things got stranger, like the fact that the shooter wasn’t the actual unsub.

The actual unsub was playing a twisted game of Truth or Dare and kidnapping the victim’s loved ones, forcing them to commit murder before they could be released, if they ever were.

The real unsub was standing in front of them. They had managed to fall right into his trap and now they had become his hostages.

They’d cornered him in a jewelry store and after he’d shot both a civilian and the worker, he’d taken their guns, blindfolded them and bound them until he was ready to play with them. Apparently that time had come.

Spencer looked around, noticing the broken glass of a jewelry case, the dead worker laying next to it. They’d been moved to another part of the large store, most likely the reason for their blindfolds, so they wouldn’t know just exactly where he was taking them. Before he could give his surroundings much more thought he whipped his head back around towards the man.

“We’re not going to play your game,” she said, “There are feds and cops crawling outside and you aren’t going to get out of this by playing games.”

“Oh, is that so?”

Before Spencer saw it coming, the unsub had hit her upside the head with the butt of his gun.

She groaned, putting a hand to her head and wincing. Already blood was escaping the cut on her forehead, that the hit had created.

“Hey, stop it!” Spencer yelled.

“That’s what she gets for not playing by the rules,” he sneered, before turning back towards her, “Now, agent, truth or dare?”

If loves a fight

Than I shall die

With my heart on the trigger

She glared up at him, not backing down from the fight, even though she’d already taken a hit.

Spencer had to admire her. For all her fear came twice as much courage. She was the bravest person he knew.

He’d also been harboring a love for her.

He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what moment it happened other than one day realizing that she was the love of his life.

He would do anything to protect her.

His eyes slid sideways to the broken glass. One shard sat just out of reach; if he could get a hold of it without making the unsub suspicious, then he could have a good chance at cutting the tape apart.

“This isn’t the way to do this,” she said, holding all of his attention.

With a slight lean to his left as if he’s just trying to wriggle into a different sitting position, his hand touched the piece of glass. His attention was still on her.

“I’m not going to prison,” he laughed, “I know how this will end. Now I’m gonna ask you one more time, truth or dare?”

The barrel of his gun is angled at her. Spencer knew he had to get the gun aimed away from her. If it’s the last thing he does in this world, he isn’t going to let her get hurt.

She’s about to speak when he answers.

“I’ll play.”

They say before you start a war

You better know what you’re fighting for

The gun turned on him.

Good.

“Truth or dare, pretty boy?”

“Truth.” Spencer looked him dead in the eye, letting him know he’s as serious as him.

“I want you to tell your deepest, darkest secret.”

Slowly, but surely while appeasing the unsub, Spencer kept sawing the shard against the duct tape. It was making a tiny bit of progress, he just had to keep stalling.

Spencer took a deep breath before answering.

“I was wrongly convicted and in prison for three months,” he began.

“That better not be your secret, cause if it is, I’ll shoot you right now.”

“No that’s not my secret,” Spencer said, “While I was in prison I tampered with some drugs another inmate wanted me to move and I hurt a lot of men that I didn’t intend to.”

The unsub laughed like he’d just said the funniest joke ever.

“Oh we got a badass here. Is that all you got? People do shit like that and worse all the time. I’m not gonna warn you again. I want to know something that no one else knows.”

Well baby you are all that I adore

If love is what you need a soldier I will be

Spencer glanced over at her before answering.

They’re in the middle of a life or death situation, her clothes and hair are all rumpled and out of place and there’s blood sliding down her cheek and the side of her face. Even so, she’s still the most beautiful girl he’s ever known.

If he had any other choice, he would never even consider saying it, but this could be their only chance out of this hostage situation. He turned to face him again; he doesn’t know if he can look at her when he says it.

“I’m in love with my partner, SSA Y/N Y/L/N. I have been for nearly a decade.”

He faced her again when he heard a slight gasp come from her direction.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry, I should’ve told you sooner or maybe I shouldn’t have at all. I never really intended on telling you, but now it’s out there. I’ve always loved you.”

He can’t read the expression on her face. Is it a mixture of hurt? Confusion? To know her so well, this was one of the few times he had no idea what she was thinking.

Her lips are parted in surprise and she’s staring at him, slightly wide eyed, her brows pulled together. Maybe she thinks he’s lying, just saying something believable for the unsub. That might be a blessing in disguise.

“Wow.”

The unsub whistled above them, but Spencer doesn’t break his gaze from hers. All he wants to do is hold her and say he’s sorry, he never wanted it to happen this way, but now it has. He had basically just dropped an exploding bomb over her head all while they were being held hostage.

“Now that’s a secret. I’ll tell you what. I’m not going to kill you,” he grinned, pulling the gun away from Spencer’s direction.

“Instead, I’m going to kill your partner. It’ll be way more fun to watch you suffer.”

The next few seconds happened in a blur.

The gun swivels towards her and goes off before Spencer can even react. She shrieked as she fell backwards from her crouched position, her head hitting the floor hard. The unsub’s focus is no longer on him, it’s still on her, ready to take another shot.

The tape finally breaks apart.

I’m an angel with a shotgun

Fighting ‘til the wars won

I don’t care if heaven won’t take me back

Gunfire rang in Spencer’s ears.

But this shot didn’t hit her nor is it from the unsub’s gun. This one came from Spencer’s own piece.

After the tape broke, he’d reached for his second gun and shot the unsub, in one swift movement. The unknown gun had been hidden in his ankle holder this entire time, it had just been a matter of getting to it.

The unsub fell with a thud, but he can’t spare a moment of thought about him. He has to focus on the most important thing.

The fact that she hasn’t moved since she was shot.

He’s on his feet, ignoring the blood on his hand from the glass.

He runs towards her as fast as he can.

I’ll throw away my faith babe

Just to keep you safe

Don’t you know you’re everything I have?

“Y/N, Y/N,” Spencer hovered over her, eyes trying to locate where she’d been hit.

He spots the gunshot wound in her shoulder and covered it with his fingers, attempting to stanch the bleeding. He thought she’d lost consciousness, possibly from hitting her head, but he’s so panicked, he can’t think straight. The normal process of his ever running brain has come to a halt and he can’t think straight.

“Y/N, stay with me. You’re gonna be okay.”

He shouted at the SWAT members he could hear pouring through the front door that he needs medical, as fast as possible.

He turned back to her when he heard a tiny groan and saw her coming to. Relief washes over him when he realizes she hasn’t lost consciousness.

“Spencer?” she mumbled.

“I’m right here, you’re gonna be okay.”

Her face contorted in pain and she tried to sit up.

“No, stay still. You’ve been shot and have a possible concussion.”

“What happened?” she asked weakly.

“I managed to cut through the restraints with a piece of glass and shot him with the gun in my ankle holster.”

“My hero.”

Her smile is faint and his heart aches, hating to see her this way. If only he’d been faster.

“I’m so sorry Y/N, this is my fault. If I’d only shot him sooner-”

“Spence,” she interrupted, “About what you said.”

“Forget about it,” he said quickly and before anything else could be said he was quickly replaced by the EMTs that surrounded her.

He was soon swept away in the chaos of the agents, paramedics and police that filled the area. He was taken outside by one of his teammates to get his own injuries checked out.

“Is she going to be okay?” he asked, trying to control the frenzied feeling building inside of him.

He had seen her injured so many times before. But he truly never realized just how much he loved her until he saw her lying, bleeding on the floor today.

“I heard them say it seemed to be a flesh wound, but they need to get her to the hospital,” someone answered him, although he couldn’t say exactly who it was.

He needed her to be okay.

And I, wanna live, not just survive tonight

His hand was halfway wrapped by a paramedic when he saw her being taken toward the ambulance, one of the paramedics that was with her coming towards him.

All of his fears flooded to the front of his mind, expecting to hear the worst.

“She’s asking for you, but we need to go now.”

It didn’t take him any time to make up his mind.

“I’m going with her.”

“Agent, your hand,” the one paramedic who had been tending to his injuries said, indicating the half wrapped hand.

“It’s fine, I’m going.”

He didn’t miss the man’s exasperated look, but he didn't care about his hand at all; he cared way more about her.

They had just loaded her in the back of the ambulance when Spencer hopped in.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

Her restraints had been cut away and her arms laid on each side of her. Her shoulder was less bloody as they’d managed to temporarily stopped the bleeding. Her head and forehead was still bloody, some drying in the wisps of her hair that had fallen out of her ponytail. He ached to hold her, to feel her breathing against him, just to reassure himself that she was indeed alright.

“Everything hurts, but they said I’d live,” she joked.

He chuckled, not surprised that even at a moment like this she could still make him smile.

“Are you okay?” she asked, concern clouding her features.

“Just a cut hand, I’ll be fine.”

He settled by her side, intending not to leave her for the foreseeable future.

“Spencer?”

“Yeah?”

Her face is serious, her gaze level on his.

“I’m not sure if you meant it or not, but I wanted you to know that I love you, too.”

Realization spread across his face as it sinks in what she just said. He looked down, noticing her hand outstretched just the slightest towards him.

He put his hand in hers and she slowly intertwined her fingers with his.

If love is what you need

A soldier I will be

#spencer reid #spencer reid gifs #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid smut #dr spencer reid #dr spencer reid fic #dr spencer reid gifs #dr spencer reid smut #Criminal Minds #criminal minds gifs #criminal minds fic #criminal minds smut #spencer reid x reader

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dailyaudiobible · 3 years

Text

09/22/2021 DAB Transcript

Isaiah 39:1-41:16, Ephesians 1:1-23, Psalm 66:1-20, Proverbs 23:25-28

Today is the 22nd day of September, welcome to the Daily Audio Bible, I’m Brian. It is my joy and honor and privilege to be here in my seat around the Global Campfire and it is so good to be here with you around this Global Campfire that we call home. This little oasis in the thick of the world and the craziness of it all. This one place that we go and take deep breaths and let them go and allow God's word to speak in a safe and serene place. And so, let's dive in, we’re continuing our journey through the book of Isaiah. When we get to the New Testament, we have some new territory to move into; the letter to the Ephesians and we’ll talk about that when we get there, but first Isaiah chapter 39 verse 1 through 41 verse 16.

Introduction to the Book of Ephesians:

Okay, that brings us here to the beginning of the letter to the Ephesians, which is going to take us into some new territory and some new ways of thinking. Ephesians is different than any of the other letters that we've read so far, which leads and has led certain biblical scholars to wonder who wrote this, clearly, its Paul line, clearly, it comes from his theology and from his way of thinking, but some wonder like, is this his style or did this come later, or are there developments that are later? Did Paul actually write this? And that's been up to…for debate for…for a long time. But then other Biblical scholars would be like, look, these letters were being passed around and copied and sent to each other all over the places, there would be nuances. There's no way to nail this down and that's equally fair. And Ephesians, well Ephesus is not a place that Paul wasn't familiar with. So, the people receiving this letter knew Paul and he knew them, which could explain some of the differences in the ways that he speaks. I guess if you're writing a letter to people you don't know to introduce yourself or to a church, maybe that you’ve founded and you know the leadership but it has grown and there are new people involved. That’d be different than if you're writing a personal letter to a group of people that you knew them all. Paul had spent about three years in Ephesus in the community that was established there, that he had established there. Ephesus was an important city in the Roman Empire. It was a port city. So, imports and exports are coming in and out of there as well as people from all over the place, arriving by ship, which would obviously make it a melting pot of different customs and different spiritual ideas. Ephesians is a little different, because Paul's not writing to correct a bunch of stuff and we've seen that in the letters so far where he's correcting things because of others who have come in and taught differently. He's correcting things that he's been asked directly about; he’s correcting things that he's heard are going on. Rather, he's writing to people he knows and he's been arrested at this point. So, he's writing this from prison. That's really compelling, like, once we start reading this, to imagine that this was written from an incarcerated person that was up for capital punishment, like, a life-and-death case is pretty remarkable because Ephesians gives us a glimpse into who we are because of what Jesus has done and where this is all going and it gives us a glimpse of the good news that, if you really just stop and think about some of the things that are being said, it's almost like, how can that, that is to good, that is so good that it makes you think how do I, that's the world I want to live in, like that, yes how do I get there? So, for Paul to be in prison and sending along this encouragement is really compelling to read. And you can imagine, Paul gets arrested as a ringleader of those who are now following Jesus. Those who are now known as Christians. If you're in the Roman Empire near a Gentile, and you’ve heard of Paul and you’ve kind of, you’re in the culture and you kind of know that there's some things stirring around this, you’re not necessarily, I mean like, if he’s in jail and he could be executed. You probably not looking for how you can sign up to be part of this club and if you have found Jesus and now Paul's in jail and could be killed. It's hard to think about how you would navigate the marginalization and how you would navigate what you’re going to do, how you going to manage with the culture turning against you. So, for Paul to write such grand views of the faith. Such hopeful things to contemplate is really beautiful on a lot of levels. So, let's dive in, it's a letter, it's not a superlong letter but let's drink every drop and let it lift our spirits and lift our eyes to the horizon that we might see what's really going on here instead of just trying to cope and survive. And with that we begin Ephesians chapter 1.

Prayer:

Father, we thank You for Your word. We thank You for this new territory that we are moving into in the letter to the Ephesians. Holy Spirit come, reset our vision, reset our attitude and our convictions as we contemplate what is in this letter over these next few days. Come, Holy Spirit, and lead us into all truth. This is a promise and we need the Spirit of truth to guide our steps, so come, Jesus we pray in your mighty name, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base that’s the Daily Audio Bible website. And that’s where you can certainly find out what's happening around here. If using the Daily Audio Bible app, you can find everything within the app as well. Check out the different sections, check out the Daily Audio Bible Shop. There are a lot of resources there in the Shop that are, that are for our community around the Global Campfire. It’s specifically for our journey through the Bible together in a year, whether that be Global Campfire apparel or things to carry around or whether that be the Daily Audio Bible journal and the black wing pencils and all of the writing instruments that go along with journaling. That's all been created for the, for the journey. It's remarkable to Journal your way through the Bible in a year. Amazing, the things that happen and the things that become clear and the things that are challenging that God gets us through to have that documented, that’s a beautiful thing and so, and it's a biblical thing so we…we encourage that. Or other resources like The God of Your Story, which is 365 days of written commentary like what we talk about every day on the Daily Audio Bible leading us through the Bible in a year and that is a fantastic resource every day. Actually, it’s a great resource every day may be each morning or each night, whatever. Like if you listen to Daily Audio Bible in the morning and kind of just glance through God of Your Story at night you just kind of lock some things in or see them from a different perspective because what we talk about at Daily Audio Bible each year, that's always very dynamic to what's going on and how it's hitting us on that particular day. So, there are many resources for the journey and you can find them in the Daily Audio Bible Shop whether using the app or the web.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, thank you, humbly, humbly, thank you. We would not be here. We would not be here if we were not in this together and we have been in this together for a lot of years now and I’m deeply humbled and deeply, deeply grateful. There is a link at dailyaudiobible.com on the homepage. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address is P.O. Box 1996 Springhill, Tennessee 37174.

And as always if you have a prayer request or encouragement you can hit the Hotline button in the app or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today. I'm Brian, I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Prayer and Encouragements:

Hello Daily Audio Bible family, this is Asia from the City of Angels. And I just had to call in and pray for our sister Vicki from Northern California. Vicki, we hear, we hear the fragility in your voice as you tell your DAB family what happened to your son but yet we hear the strength of your faith in our Lord Jesus Christ and in the glory of God, even in your child and you’re suffering. I just want to give it up to you and my heart goes out to you, our arms are lifted to hold you during this time, our sister, and to give you the love of Jesus right now, through your fellow DAB family for what you're going through with the loss of your son. And, I do pray right now also Father God, please protect all of our medical care workers, our caregivers and workers in these environments Lord, in these current COVID times we’re living through. We just pray for them. We pray for their protection. We pray for their courage and we pray for their own health in this season, Father God. And, I just wanted you say thank you to the DAB Family for just your love, just showing everyone the love of Jesus Christ. Thank you.

I just want to praise God. And I want to thank you all for your prayers. Today, is September 18th and I am a little behind on my, on my, on listening to the Daily Audio Bible. I just…just finished listening to September 14 and at the end Cam in California had requested prayer for rain out here in the West. And I just want to tell you, I am driving on Highway 58 through the mountains in Oregon and it is raining. It started raining yesterday. We haven’t had rain for a long time and it has been so smoky and so dry, there’s been so many fires out here. It's just been really, really, really a rough summer. But it is raining and everything is wet. Everything is crisp and the air is clean and I just want to tell you that God is so awesome. And He’s heard your prayers. The prayers that have been prayed since Cam’s request aired on September 14th, four days before it started raining. God has heard your prayers and He has answered. And I just wanted to praise Him and I just want to thank you all for praying for us out here. We are so grateful for this rain, praise You God. You are so awesome, praise You.

Hello, Jermain here, new to the DAB community. And, I’ve been pretty moved by the different prayer requests and praise reports at the end of these talks and I wanted to request some prayer for a good friend of mine, his name is Bill. He has…he has done a lot of work for the Lord and he's brought a lot of, exposed a lot of people to Jesus since I’ve met him. A very strong soldier for the Lord. And, he, in the past couple years, he…he got schizophrenia and his relationship has been very, very rocky with God since then. At times, it appears he's an enemy of God. And I know it's has a lot to do with his mind, but I want to pray, I want to ask that we could, if you would pray for his healing. But in addition to that, pray also for everyone who is…who his around him, and help us to, pray that we would receive divine assistance in loving him the way that he should be loved cause it has been very hard since…since he's changed in this way, it’s like he’s a, almost like a completely different person. But that is my, that is my prayer request and I appreciate the existence of this community and I'm looking forward to getting more involved. Hopefully meeting…meeting some of you. Bye bye.

Hey Daily Audio Bible family. It's James no longer the teacher in LA after 11 years with our fine school district. I actually moved to a school district north of Los Angeles and been there for little over a month now and honestly spent a lot of those first weeks questioning the wisdom of my decision, finding out that benefits weren’t gonna be as good, a lot of things weren’t gonna be as good but you know what, I met another teacher there who was just reminding me that working for the students like this can be ministry and that's the word they used was ministry. And boy if that didn’t re-light a fire that's been inside me for a long time that made my last few months really crushed. So, in the last week, seven days, I’ve had the opportunity to reach out to four students already, but the good news, in one form or another, like one a day. And I went over to thank this teacher for just their kind words and they said this past Friday, they shared the news with three students in a day and this is not normal for either of us so please be lifting up our high school. Also, my therapist is really sick actually worried for his well-being so you can lift up my therapist John too. So, thanks family love you guys and I don't know if I could do this without you guys. Bye.

Dear sister, I hope I get your name right I think it was Vicki from California. That’s the lady whose son passed away on, I believe August 18, he took his own life. As soon as I heard this story that you told I texted my own son and told him I love him and we talked briefly on the phone. He had PTSD for other reasons but never been in the heroic position that your son has been in for such a long time. And we are so grateful to him and to all the medical people who’ve been right there on the front line, struggling in this battle. Lord, would you uphold this dear mom, thank You for her testimony of faith in You Lord. And, thank You for her son, who ministered really to all of us, day-in and day-out as we fight in this battle against the COVID virus. I pray it would go away soon. That we would find even more and new ways to cooperate to get this to just not be part of our lives anymore. Bless this dear mom in Jesus name I pray.

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mikauzoran · 3 years

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Marichat/Adrienette/Adrichat: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: Kiss Thirty-Nine

Read it on AO3: Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses: ...because time ran out.

The gigantic porcupine akuma (he was calling himself “Sonic”, but Adrien was pretty sure that he couldn’t do that because of copyright infringement. Besides, the name wasn’t even fitting. For starters, hedgehogs and porcupines were completely different things. Secondly, the porcupine akuma was bumbling and slow and brown and nothing like the speedy, blue video game hedgehog) swung around, swiping at Chat Noir with his massive claws.

The porcupine may have been sluggish and clumsy, but the dagger-sharp talons he wielded were nothing to sneeze at.

“How’s it going, My Lady?” Chat called to his partner as he dodge-rolled out of the way.

“Working on it!” Ladybug called back, searching their surroundings for the answer to her Lucky Charm.

She looked back and forth between the red and black polka-dotted baseball bat in her hand and the objects around her—tree, fountain, rubbish bin, boyfriend, park bench, newspaper stand, lamp post—to no avail.

“Ugh! I’m not getting anything!” she shouted to him in frustration as he dodged another swipe of the porcupine’s claws.

“That’s okay!” he assured, trying to be patient and supportive. “I’m good, so take your time. I’m sure you’ll solve it any minute now.” He jumped back as the porcupine stomped in rage, cracking the plaza pavement.

“I don’t have time,” Ladybug growled down at the baseball bat as her earrings gave a warning beep.

The akuma spun, raising his tail as if to smack Chat Noir with it.

Chat ducked, and the appendage narrowly missed taking Chat’s head off.

Unfortunately, that wasn’t the end of the attack. Porcupine quills shot from the tail, launching through the air.

Distracted, Ladybug didn’t see the threat until it was too late. She spun her yoyo to create a shield, but one of the spines got through her defenses, hitting her arm and dissolving on contact.

She dropped like a lead zeppelin, her Lucky Charm clattering to the ground beside her.

“Ladybug!” Chat screamed, heart stopping as he dashed to her side, fearing the worst.

“I can’t move!” she gasped in horror. “The quills must cause paralysis.”

“Thank God,” Chat sighed in relief, scooping her up.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” she snorted, glaring at her partner.

“I thought you were dead,” he explained, awkwardly grabbing the baseball bat before leaping up onto a nearby roof. “I’ll take paralyzed over dead any day. Now, let’s get you somewhere safe and regroup.”

“I guess you have a point,” she grumbled as he carried away from the battle, speeding down the banks of the Seine as if he were the wind itself.

Her earrings gave another beep.

“Three minutes,” she hissed, cursing under her breath.

“We’ll be there in thirty seconds,” he promised, hopping down off the rooftop and heading towards the river.

“The Liberty?” Ladybug remarked quizzically as they landed on the deck and Chat Noir carried her down below, through the main cabin, and into Luka’s bedroom.

“Safest place I know besides my girlfriend’s house,” he replied proudly, as if it had something to do with him. “The Couffaines are out having dinner with Jagged Stone and Penny Rolling, so we should be undisturbed.”

It briefly occurred to her to scold him for revealing that he was close enough friends with the family to know that bit of information because that was the kind of careless detail that could get his identity exposed…but they had more pressing issues to attend to.

“What are we going to do?” Ladybug groaned as Chat lowered her down onto Luka’s bed. “I can’t fight like this. I won’t be able to purify the akuma…and I’m going to detransform any minute!”

“No one will see you here,” Chat coaxed, gently running a knuckle along her cheek. “It’s going to be okay. You can still breathe normally, right? It doesn’t feel like the paralysis is spreading to your lungs or heart or anything, right?”

Ladybug pressed pause on all the other worries flying through her head in order to stop and evaluate. “…No,” she replied finally. “My breathing feels normal, and I can still move my head. It seems like the immobilization starts below my neck.”

He nodded, breathing another sigh of relief. “Good. Okay. Now that the important stuff is out of the way…”

“What are we going to do?” Ladybug asked only semi-rhetorically, her voice tight and fragile.

She was doing a good job of holding it together, of not letting on how afraid and helpless she was feeling.

He took her hand in his and gave it a squeeze. “Hey. It’s going to be okay. We’ll figure this out.” Suddenly, it occurred to him to ask, “Can you feel my hand?”

She shook her head.

He let go, moving his hand up to cup her face, running his thumb along her cheekbone, along the edge of her mask. “We’re going to beat this guy, and everything is going to be okay.”

Her frown betrayed her misgivings. “Chat Noir, I can’t fight like this. I’m not going to be able to purify the akuma.”

He bit his lip. “…Then…let me do it. Let me borrow your earrings. I know I haven’t been a very good Ladybug replacement in the past, but please let me try.”

She shook her head vehemently. “We can’t! I can’t remove the earrings myself the way I am now. You’d have to take them off of me. You’d find out my identity.”

His teeth sank further into his lip. “…About that…”

“No!” she insisted, her face awash in terror. “It’s too dangerous!”

He took a deep breath, perching one hip up on the bed beside her. “…Marinette? I already know.”

Her eyes went wide in shock and fear as she stared at him, abashed.

He lowered his head, shoulders scrunching up to his ears. “I’m sorry. I knew you were afraid for me to know, so I didn’t tell you when I figured it out. I didn’t want to take away your peace of mind.”

Her earrings gave a final beep, and, in a flash of pink light, her transformation faded away.

“How did you figure it out?” she whispered, voice glacial and carefully restrained. “What did I do wrong?”

He shook his head. “Nothing. You were just complaining about your therapist telling you that you didn’t have to save the world because you weren’t Ladybug or something like that,” he sighed. “And then it clicked out of nowhere suddenly. It was nothing you did.”

Her brow contorted into a scowl of confusion as she tried to recall the conversation. “When was this?”

He gulped. “About…a year ago? It was sometime in the fall. I think—”

“—A year?!” she exploded. “You’ve known for a whole year?!”

He winced, in the back of his mind worrying about whether this was a fireable offence and if she’d be looking for a new boyfriend after this.

Gathering his courage, he looked her in the eye and pleaded, “Marinette, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to constantly be living in fear.”

“Adrien, I have a right to know I’m in danger!” she snapped back. “You should have told me so I could be on my guard!”

“But nothing’s happened!” he argued, only it came out mostly as a whine. “You’ve been perfectly safe for an entire year.”

“But what if something had happened?” she challenged. “One of these days, there’s going to be a truth-telling akuma, and we’re both going to be screwed.”

“Fine,” he huffed, tail lashing and cat ears flat as he got up and walked over to the desk, his back to her and arms crossed. “Whatever. You’re right, and I’m just a reckless, thoughtless screwup like always. Can we just skip the lecture and focus on beating the akuma now? I don’t want to fight.”

“Adrien,” she sighed, regaining some of her patience as she remembered how much she loved him and didn’t want to hurt him. “You’re not a screwup. You just need to stop keeping secrets from me.”

He snorted indignantly, arms wrapping around himself tighter in search of comfort.

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I’m sorry. You’re right. Let’s just focus on defeating the akuma. We can talk our own problems out later.”

“So, you’ll let me borrow your earrings?” He peeked over his shoulder at her, turning slowly.

She shook her head. “You can’t use the Black Cat and Ladybug Miraculouses at the same time. It’s too dangerous.”

He rolled his eyes, growling softly. “Marinette, I’m not going to combine them and make a wish that destroys the world or anything. Can you at least pretend that you have a little faith in me, please?”

“I do!” she insisted. “I didn’t mean it that way. I’m sorry. I just…” She blew out a long sigh. “Sorry. I’m kind of freaking out right now.”

He dropped his transformation and went back to her side. “Hey. It’s okay,” he cooed, running his knuckle up and down her jawline. “Just take some deep breaths.”

She nodded, closing her eyes as she tried to focus on the flow of air in and out of her body.

He sat with her for nearly a full minute, playing with her hair and stroking her face as she attempted to calm down.

Finally, her eyes opened, and she looked up at him with conviction. “Take the earrings. And the Miracle Box is in my bedroom. Tikki can show you where, if you need backup.”

A bright smile of gratitude spread across his lips. “Actually, I think I have a plan,” he explained as he carefully reached out and removed the Miraculous from her ears. “The akuma is a lumbering oaf. He doesn’t move fast, so if I gang up on him and overwhelm him, I should be able to get the drop on him, clock him over the head with your Lucky Charm, and grab the pendant the butterfly’s possessing.”

Marinette frowned, hung up on one detail. “How are you going to gang up on him?”

He grinned, pulling up his pant leg to reveal the Fox Miraculous wrapped around his ankle like a bracelet. “Oh, I’ve got a whole army of illusions at my disposal. You don’t have to worry about me, My Ladylove.”

She considered him for a moment before nodding her assent. “Okay. Be careful. I’ll meet you at your apartment afterwards to collect my earrings and so we can have our talk.”

Tikki was hanging out in Adrien’s kitchen, perched on top of a plate of gingersnaps, when Marinette reached the apartment.

“They’re in the bedroom,” she advised, taking an enormous bite out of one of the cookies.

Marinette’s eyes narrowed. “‘They’?”

Tikki nodded, pausing in her feast to point to the plain jet earrings on the counter beside her plate. “He left your Miraculous here for you.”

Marinette nodded, coming over to reclaim her earrings. She’d felt so anxious the whole time she’d been without them. “How did the fight go?” she asked her kwami conversationally.

Tikki giggled. “He made the poor akuma think he was under attack by all seventeen heroes at once with Trixx’s Mirage. I have to admit, Marinette, he’s become quite adept at controlling illusions. While his army was keeping the akuma busy, he snuck up from behind and gave the poor porcupine a solid whack. He grabbed the pendant while the akuma was down, and that was that.”

Marinette scrunched up her nose. “He literally hit the akuma with a baseball bat? Talk about inelegant solutions.”

“Yes…” Tikki sighed, “He’s not really suited to complex Lucky Charms. I like Adrien a lot, but he’s not the type of person I typically choose to wield the Ladybug Miraculous.”

Marinette leaned in to press a butterfly kiss to Tikki’s head. “Thanks for keeping him safe for me. …Is he upset about me finding out he knows my identity? Does he still think I’m mad at him? Is he worried I’m going to break up with him?”

Tikki grimaced, gazing up at her chosen sympathetically. “Adrien is a very sensitive boy who doesn’t know how loveable and deserving of love he is. He’s very insecure, so be gentle with him, Marinette.”

“Thanks, Tikki.” Marinette blew out a breath and nodded, giving Tikki’s head a pet with a single finger before making her way across the great-room to Adrien’s bedroom door.

She knocked softly and was answered by a hoarse voice calling out, “Come in!”

She opened the door and stopped short when she found Chat Noir and Adrien curled up on the bed together, Chat lying half on top of Adrien with his back to the doorway and his face buried in Adrien’s chest as Adrien nuzzled and stroked Chat Noir’s hair comfortingly.

Adrien grinned sheepishly. “Please don’t judge our weird coping behaviors. Our parents didn’t hug us enough.”

“No!” she hastily assured, coming over to sit on the bed. “I’m not judging! I just…” She paused in the middle of slipping off her shoes to study them. “Sorry. Which one of you is…?”

Her eyebrows pinched together as looked back and forth between them.

“He’s real,” Adrien informed, motioning to Chat Noir. “I’m the Mirage.”

“You’re real,” Chat croaked in protest, squeezing Adrien tighter. “Don’t try to tell me you don’t have a mind of your own.”

“Shh,” Adrien coaxed, pressing a kiss to the crown of Chat’s head. “I never said I didn’t have a mind of my own. I just meant that you’re the original.”

Chat gave an appeased hum, nuzzling Adrien’s chest.

Marinette’s heart swelled as she watched them, an affectionate smile tugging at her lips.

“I’ve missed this these past two months since I found out you two were the same person,” she confessed as she crawled across the bed to curl up with them.

Chat tensed at the contact at first but then quickly relaxed back against her. “Does this mean you’re not breaking up with me for not telling you I knew your identity?”

“Oh, Adrien,” Marinette sighed, giving the back of his neck a kiss. “I’m not breaking up with you. I’m sorry, but, if you want to get rid of me, you’ll have to break up with me yourself. Otherwise, you’re stuck with me.”

“We’re more than happy to be stuck with you, Ohime-sama,” the Adrien doppelgänger assured, reaching out to run his fingers through her hair. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you when we found out.” His eyes pleaded for her forgiveness.

“We didn’t want to pile any more stress on you,” Chat added meekly. “We know how you worry yourself sick over everything, and we knew what a big deal revealing identities was for you, so…”

“We thought it was better not to say anything,” Adrien picked up the thread of conversation. “We’re sorry, and we know you have every right to be mad at us for not telling you, but the truth of the matter is that you would have been worrying needlessly if we had told you because nothing has happened this past year since we found out.”

“The most important thing to us was keeping you from having a mental breakdown,” Chat explained. “You weren’t in a good place mentally back then, Marinette. You’re still kind of a wreck, but last year was really bad.”

“We were afraid for you,” Adrien stressed, cupping her cheek and making her meet his earnest gaze. “It’s just like when we told you we were in a queerplatonic relationship so that you could stop stressing about cheating on Chat Noir. We were afraid knowing that we knew you were Ladybug would cause too much anxiety.”

“We didn’t want to push you over the edge like we did to Maman,” Chat concluded in a timid tone.

“Oh, my boys,” Marinette sighed, wrapping her arms around them and pulling them in close.

She gave them a tight squeeze and then let go so that she could tilt her chin up and capture Adrien’s lips, pressing her mouth to his hard. Once done with him, she leaned in and caught Chat’s mouth in an equally firm kiss.

“I’m still mad,” she informed them as she settled back down on the bed, her head on Adrien’s shoulder and an arm draped across both Chat and Adrien. “I mean, you should have told me, but I get why you didn’t…. I know you two are the same person, but your argument feels more persuasive when the two of you take turns laying out your thought process.”

Chat caught Adrien’s eye, and the two shared a puckish grin.

“We should team up on her more often,” Chat snickered.

“I was just thinking the same thing,” Adrien returned with an eyebrow waggle.

Marinette groaned. “No. Absolutely no tag teaming me. Bad boyfriends.”

Chat rolled over a little so that he was more on his back between Marinette and Adrien than on his side. “…Marinette, are you going to be okay now that you know we know?”

She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I don’t know. I had a long time to think while I was lying there immobilized, waiting for the Miraculous Ladybug to kick in. I tried some of the strategies my therapist has gone over with me to deal with stress and anxiety, and I really don’t know,” she replied honestly.

Adrichat nodded, expressions solemn.

She sighed again and shook her head. “I think it’s going to take a while to get used to and adapt. I don’t have any control over it, so I just have to come to terms with it, right?”

“That’s what Dr. Katsuragi tells us,” Adrien affirmed, and Chat nodded in agreement.

“You know we’re never going to let anything happen to you or your loved ones, right?” Chat sought confirmation.

Marinette took his face in her hands. “Chaton, I trust you. I know how capable you are, and I know you’d do anything to protect me. You’ve died for me…. I’ve never doubted you. This is just… This isn’t about you,” she tried to explain gently. “I don’t know how to put what’s going on inside my head into words, but just know that I trust you implicitly, and I believe in you. This isn’t about you. This is about me trying to manage my own thoughts and fears and…and everything.”

Slowly, he nodded, accepting her words at face value. “Okay. Just… If you want to talk about it…”

“I’m concerned that you’re going to get akumatized and destroy the moon and flood Paris,” she blurted.

Chat blinked at her.

Adrien and Chat shared a look and then blinked in tandem before turning back to Marinette with a frown.

She winced. “Okay. I know that sounds crazy, but there was this alternate timeline where that actually happened when you figured out my identity when we were fourteen, and I had to go and fight you and fix everything so you didn’t find out my identity and turn Paris into Atlantis. I’m not being ridiculous. And that’s not even the only thing I’m worried about, so—”

“—Marinette,” Adrien interrupted as both Adrien and Chat reached for her, maneuvering so that she was sandwiched between them.

“We do not think you’re being ridiculous,” Chat assured, trying not to think too hard about alternate timelines and an akumatized version of himself attacking Marinette.

Adrien nodded. “We believe you.”

“We know you’ve got a lot on your plate and that there’s a lot you have to worry about.” Chat gently nuzzled her neck, started to purr soothingly.

“We just don’t think an alternate timeline where we get akumatized because we know your identity is where you should focus your energy,” Adrien coaxed, beginning to massage her scalp.

“Yeah,” Chat seconded. “I don’t think that’s an issue anymore. Knowing that you’re Ladybug isn’t going to get us akumatized. You breaking up with us is what would do it.”

“And you’ve already confirmed that that’s not happening,” Adrien chuckled teasingly.

“…I…guess,” Marinette replied, slowly coming around. “I just…I think it’s going to take a while for me to get used to you knowing and to feel safe again. You’re right that nothing’s happened in the past year, and the things I worry about probably won’t happen—except for maybe Papillon holding my family hostage, but—”

“—Hey,” Adrien cooed as Chat and Adrien nuzzled her and pressed her tight between them. “We’ve got you.”

“Would you feel better if you wrote down the things you’re worried about and then we made plans for every scenario?” Chat suggested. “You always seem to feel better when you have a plan.”

Gradually, she began to nod. “…Yeah. That’s actually a really good idea. That would probably help. Thanks, Minou. Beau Gosse.”

“Our pleasure,” Chadrien chuckled, pressing twin kisses to her cheeks.

“I like this,” she hummed in pleasure. “…Would it be weird to ask you to use the Fox Miraculous sometimes so we could all three be together? I really like snuggle piles.”

“We do too,” Adrien confessed.

“Sometimes I use the Fox Miraculous when I’m feeling really down,” Chat sheepishly admitted. “Trixx said he was okay with it,” he added hurriedly. “He said he was glad his powers could help me. I know it’s kind of bizarre, but…I mean, you know I don’t get much physical affection, so…”

“There’s nothing wrong with it,” Marinette agreed, reaching up to pet Chat’s hair. “I mean…my therapist is all about self-soothing techniques and having me use whatever resources are available, so…I can kind of see using the Fox Miraculous as a self-soothing strategy. You’re not hurting anything, and, if it helps, it helps, so I say go for it.”

“Oh good,” Adrien chuckled nervously. “I was sort of worried you’d think it was really weird.”

She shook her head. “No. I mean…I’m just glad you found something that helps you cope and feel better….”

“He does,” Chat affirmed softly. “It’s nice to have someone around who’s loving and supportive when I feel crumby and alone, so…Pretty Boy helps a lot.”

Adrien grinned and then stuck his tongue out, giving his double’s hair a fond tussle. “Glad to hear it.”

“Is it weird at all for you?” Marinette wondered aloud. “I mean, being affectionate with yourself? Not that I think it’s weird,” she quickly clarified. “I just meant, I would think it would be weird for me if I made a Ladybug Mirage and snuggled with her. I was just wondering if it feels weird for you.”

The boys shared a look and then burst out laughing.

“Yes,” Adrien chortled.

“Definitely,” Chat seconded. “At first anyway.”

“It was really, really weird,” Adrien confirmed. “I mean…I’ve never really liked myself, honestly, so…it was hard to be affectionate with someone I didn’t like.”

“Oh,” Marinette replied in a small voice, a deep sadness washing over her as she really took in his words. She loved him so much, and it made her heart hurt to realize that he didn’t see all the good inside of himself that she saw.

“It was actually a good experience, though,” Chat added. “Pretending to like myself actually made me like myself a little more. Thinking of Adrien as my boyfriend and having to be nice to him and treat him well made it a little easier to be nice to myself. I’m still not really good at self-love and self-care, but, in the past year, I’ve been doing a lot better. Pretending to be two different people made me realize how crappy I treated myself. I would never talk to another person the way I talked to myself, so I learned to be a little kinder.”

“I’m really glad,” Marinette cooed, giving Adrien and Chat Noir each an affectionate nuzzle and a peck on the cheek. “You deserve kindness.”

“Thanks,” they whispered, scooting in closer to love on her.

They lay there for a few minutes, soaking up the comfortable warmth of one another until an unsettling thought occurred to Marinette.

“…Adrien…are you mad at me?” she inquired timidly, bracing for his response.

“Why would we be mad?” Adrien replied quizzically.

She took a deep breath and looked back and forth between them. “Because. For the longest time I kept turning down Chat Noir because I was in love with Adrien, but then I went and fell in love with Chat Noir as Marinette and turned Adrien down, so…I don’t know. Don’t you feel a little betrayed? Aren’t you mad that I didn’t tell you I was Ladybug and just started dating you as Marinette? I know you found out a year ago, so it’s been a while, but…”

“It hadn’t actually occurred to me to be upset,” Chat sheepishly admitted. “I mean, I kind of freaked out a bit right afterward because my girlfriend is Ladybug and holy crap and all that, but…” He shrugged.

“I’m just happy to be loved,” Adrien assured. “Life is complicated, and you had your reasons for not telling me. It kind of hurt, you not confiding in me, but I knew it wasn’t about me. It wasn’t like you told anyone else, so… I was just happy that you loved both of me, that I’d somehow managed to win you over.”

Marinette groaned, snaking her arms around the both of them. “Why do you always have to be so good and loving and forgiving? How could I not fall in love with you?”

“I don’t know,” Adrien chuckled. “Like I kind of said before, we don’t really think we’re all that great.”

“And you both always seemed so far out of our league,” Chat added. “Having one of you want us was like winning the lottery.”

“Finding out we had both of you was like a miracle,” Adrien agreed. “How could we be mad when we’d been given such a gift?”

“I don’t deserve you two,” Marinette sighed, suddenly feeling unworthy yet again.

They shrugged in tandem. “I guess it doesn’t matter because you’re stuck with us.”

“I could live with that,” she chuckled, settling back down into their snuggle pile.

#Marichat #Adrinette #Adrienette #Adrichat #Miraculous Ladybug #Miraculous Ladybug Fanfiction #Chat Noir #Adrien Agreste #Marinette Dupain-Cheng #Ladybug #Kissing #Reveal #Writing Prompts #Mikau's Writings #Serendipity: Fifty Marichat and Adrienette Kisses

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frmartinshomiliesandreflections · 3 years

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20th June >> Fr. Martin’s Gospel Reflections / Homilies on Mark 4:35-41 for the Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time, Cycle B: ‘How is it that you have no faith?’.

Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

Gospel (Except USA)

Mark 4:35-41

'Even the wind and the sea obey him'.

With the coming of evening, Jesus said to his disciples, ‘Let us cross over to the other side.’ And leaving the crowd behind they took him, just as he was, in the boat; and there were other boats with him. Then it began to blow a gale and the waves were breaking into the boat so that it was almost swamped. But he was in the stern, his head on the cushion, asleep. They woke him and said to him, ‘Master, do you not care? We are going down!’ And he woke up and rebuked the wind and said to the sea, ‘Quiet now! Be calm!’ And the wind dropped, and all was calm again. Then he said to them, ‘Why are you so frightened? How is it that you have no faith?’ They were filled with awe and said to one another, ‘Who can this be? Even the wind and the sea obey him.’

Gospel (USA)

Mark 4:35–41

Who is this whom even wind and sea obey?

On that day, as evening drew on, Jesus said to his disciples: “Let us cross to the other side.” Leaving the crowd, they took Jesus with them in the boat just as he was. And other boats were with him. A violent squall came up and waves were breaking over the boat, so that it was already filling up. Jesus was in the stern, asleep on a cushion. They woke him and said to him, “Teacher, do you not care that we are perishing?” He woke up, rebuked the wind, and said to the sea, “Quiet! Be still!” The wind ceased and there was great calm. Then he asked them, “Why are you terrified? Do you not yet have faith?” They were filled with great awe and said to one another, “Who then is this whom even wind and sea obey?”

Reflections (4)

(i) Twelfth Week in Ordinary Time

I have a childhood memory of my father taking myself and my brothers out for a row in a hired boat in Bray, County Wicklow. I remember my father struggling to turn the boat around to head back to shore because the current was so strong. Myself and my brothers were quite fearful, especially as we could see that our father was showing signs of anxiety himself. Eventually, he turned the boat and we arrived at the shore. That momentary experience of fear and panic lived on in my memory and I can still picture the scene very clearly to this day.

Those who make a living from the sea know the dangers of the sea better than any of us. I would imagine that the kind of sea conditions that would terrify me would leave them reasonably calm because they are used to sailing in all kinds of weathers. Many of Jesus’ first disciples earned their living from fishing in the Sea of Galilee. The inland Sea or Lake of Galilee is about 200 metres below sea level. The hills around it reach to a height of about 600 metres above sea level. On the hills, the air is cool and dry. However, at the level of the lake the climate is semi-tropical and the air is warm and moist. The large difference in height between the hills and the lake causes large temperature and pressure changes and this in turn generates strong winds which funnel through the hills and drop onto the lake, with violent results. Because the lake is quite shallow, the winds can whip up waves of two metres or more. This is the kind of storm that hits the boats in today’s gospel reading. Even though some of those in the boat would have been fishermen who knew the sea very well, they were terrified. Their panic is palpable in their way of addressing Jesus, ‘Master, do you not care? We are going down’. Jesus had been asleep in the stern of the boat on a cushion, perhaps exhausted after his day’s work. In the Jewish Scriptures, when the people of Israel thought that God had abandoned them in their need, they often spoke of God as asleep.

If we are in a dire situation and someone to whom we had looked for support falls asleep in front of us we could easily conclude that he or she has abandoned us. That was the experience of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane. He had asked his disciples to stay awake in this agonizing hour, but they fell asleep. Jesus felt abandoned by his disciples at a time when he needed them most. In today’s gospel reading, it is Jesus who is asleep in the storm and it is his disciples who feel abandoned by him. Yet, Jesus had not abandoned them. He may have been physically asleep, but he was spiritually alert. He was present to them in the boat as the storm howled. His being physically asleep in the storm reveals not his lack of concern for his disciples but his complete trust in God’s sustaining care. His sense of calm stands over against the panic of his disciples; his trusting faith in God stands over against their fear. In the gospels the opposite of faith is often not doubt but fear, as is clear from Jesus’ question to his disciples, after he had calmed the storm, ‘Why are you so frightened? How is it that you have no faith?’ Jesus’ disciples had rebuked him for his lack of concern, a rebuke that was wide of the mark. Jesus rebukes his disciples for their lack of trusting faith in himself and in God, a rebuke that was completely justified. The sleep of Jesus and the panic of the disciples portray two contrasting ways of being in a storm. As the storm raged, Jesus had a still centre, which was rooted in his trusting relationship with God his Father whom he knew loved him unconditionally. In contrast, the storm that raged around the disciples was an image of the storm that was raging within them. The storm without can seem threatening, but the deeper threat is the loss of faith and courage.

The first believers understood the boat carrying Jesus and the disciples as an image of the church. They knew that as a community of disciples, and as individual disciples, they often had to navigate stormy waters. They came to recognize that the risen Lord was with them in the storms that left them feeling so vulnerable. He was with them, even when it seemed as if he was asleep and uncaring. The gospel reading invites us to renew our trusting faith in the Lord’s sustaining presence in those times when we feel assailed in some way. Even when we sense that we have no control over what is happening to us, ‘the love of Christ overwhelms us’ in the words of today’s second reading. Even as the storm is raging, our sense that the Lord is with us and is bringing us to a new shore, can calm the storm within, leaving us more like Jesus in the boat than the disciples. The gospel reading assures us that the Lord is stronger than our deepest fears and is more powerful than the forces that threaten to overwhelm us.

And/Or

(ii) Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

In these Summer months many people head to the beach and swim in the sea. Some might be members of sailing clubs and will make the most of these days when the sea tends to be quieter. Ferries that sail across seas are less likely to be cancelled these months for reasons of bad weather. Yet, we know that the sea can be treacherous and can claim lives at any time of the year. Those who know the sea have learned to treat it with respect, whatever the season.

The Sea of Galilee which features in today’s gospel reading is more a very large lake than a sea. Yet, because it is below sea level and surrounded by hills and valleys, winds can blow down the valleys and whip up those waters without much prior notice. Some of the disciples that were in the boat with Jesus were fishermen. They knew the lake well. When a storm broke on the lake, however, they were understandably filled with fear. Something of their panic is captured in the words they address to Jesus, ‘Master, do you not care? We are going down’. The panic of the disciples stands in sharp contrast to the attitude of Jesus – ‘in the stern, his head on a cushion, asleep’. The panic of the disciples revealed their anxiety that the chaos of the storm would overwhelm them; the sleep of Jesus indicated his deep conviction that all would be well. Different people can react to crises in different ways. Some remain calm and others go to pieces. In a crisis we need at least some people to remain calm and to have a calming influence on everybody else.

Mark’s gospel was probably written to the church in Rome about the year 70. This was a church that had gone through very stormy times. It had experienced the trauma of Nero’s persecution, and, in the process, had lost many of its key leaders, such as Peter and Paul. Here was a deeply traumatized community which felt very insecure in a society that could unexpectedly and violently turn against them. As the members of the church tried to come to terms with their bruising experience, some of them may have been wondering, ‘Where is the risen Lord in all of this?’ Has he abandoned us? Is he asleep to what is happening to us? In including this incident in his gospel, Mark was trying to assure them that this was not the case. As Jesus was in the boat with the disciples when the storm broke, he is now with the church in its ordeal. The implication in the disciples question, ‘Master, do you not care?’ is unfounded. The risen Lord does care. The question the Lord put to those disciples was being put to the church of Mark’s day, ‘Why are you so frightened? How is it that you have no faith?’ The members of the church in Rome are being asked to put their faith in the Lord in the midst of the storm and to trust that the Lord is stronger than the storm. In the words of today’s first reading from the book of Job, they are to trust that the Lord has the power to say to the storm, ‘Come thus far and no farther: here your proud waves shall break’. The disciples of Mark’s own day are being invited to reflect on the question of the disciples in the boat, ‘Who can this be?’ and to give the answer, ‘Jesus is the one who brings order out of chaos, life out of death’.

This is also the answer that we, the church today, are being asked to give to this question. We may not have to contend with a Nero, at least not in most parts of the world, but no one can deny that the church has been through some stormy times, with some of the storms of the church’s own making. Recent years have been a disheartening time for many believers. In Western Europe at least, the church appears to be in a period of decline. The waves of secularism and materialism threaten to sink the church, which has often been understood as the ship of Peter. Such storms can have their own cathartic effect on the church; they can work to the church’s good. The disciples in today’s gospel reading undoubtedly learned something important from their traumatic experience on the Sea of Galilee. The storm made them question more deeply, ‘Who then is this?’ The church has had to grapple with many painful questions in recent times. A weakened, vulnerable church can come to recognize in a new way its total dependence on the Lord. When all is not well, we learn to seek the Lord with greater passion, like the disciples in the boat, rather than presuming that we already know him. Difficult and painful times can deepen the church’s relationship with the Lord.

In today’s second reading, St. Paul reflects on the relationship between the Lord and the church. He declares that Christ died for all so that we might live no longer for ourselves but for him. He died for all so that we might live for him. We who are the church do not live for ourselves, but for the Lord. The church exists to serve the Lord, not itself. The storms through which the church passes can help it to re-appropriate this fundamental truth.

We all need something to live for. As baptized members of the church, we do not live for something so much as for someone. In all we say and do, we try to serve the Lord rather than ourselves, to promote his cause, his purpose, rather than our own. This is our goal in life, what today’s gospel reading refers to as ‘the other side’ of the lake that we are always striving to reach.

And/Or

(iii) Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

We are fortunate to be so close to the sea here in Clontarf. In good weather it is lovely to live near the sea, especially when we have such a lovely promenade. Last month I was involved in a blessing of boats ceremony organized by Clontarf boat and yacht club. It was my first time in the premises of that club and it brought home to me how many people, including young people, from the Clontarf area are involved in sailing and boating. We are fortunate to have a relatively sheltered stretch of water between the promenade and the open sea where people can sail reasonably safely. It is a wonderful amenity. Let’s hope it is left to the people of the area and to the people of Dublin well into the future. Yet, for all the attractiveness of the sea, we know too that the sea can be treacherous. Even our sheltered stretch of water can sometimes look quite choppy, never mind the open sea beyond the lighthouse. Those who spend time on the sea learn to treat it with respect, because they know it can be a destructive force as well as a benign one.

The Sea of Galilee was a very large inland lake more than a sea, yet, like a sea, it could turn very nasty due to winds suddenly blowing down onto it from the surrounding hills. Something of the fear that a storm at sea can evoke is very well captured in the way that the disciples address Jesus, ‘Master, do you not care? We are going down!’ They could have been forgiven for thinking that Jesus did not care because, according to the gospel reading, he was asleep as the storm raged. There is a striking contrast between the relaxed demeanour of Jesus in the storm and the great agitation of the disciples. Jesus was clearly coping with the storm better than they were. Having been rebuked by his disciples, Jesus goes on to rebuke them, ‘Why are you so frightened? How is it that you have no faith?’ They had been with Jesus for some time and had witnessed God powerfully at work in and through him. That experience should have been enough to reassure them that, in spite of the raging storm, all would be well, because Jesus was with them. He had said to them at the beginning of their journey, ‘let us cross over to the other side’. They should have trusted that, with Jesus with them, they would make it to the other side, in spite of the storm they were encountering.

The church in Ireland has been going through some very stormy waters in recent times. Unlike the storm in the gospel reading, the storms the church has been battling are, to some extent, of its own making. Perhaps, in the midst of these storms some of us may have been tempted to cry out with the disciples in the boat, ‘we are going down’. We may be asking, like those disciples, where is the Lord in all of this? Like them, we may find ourselves fearful and loosing faith as the church lurches from side to side in the stormy waters. One of the messages of this morning’s gospel reading is that the Lord remains with the church in the storm. The Lord is present to his fearful and faithless disciples. He may rebuke us as he rebuked those disciples in the boat. However, his presence to us in the storm is not just a rebuking presence. It is ultimately a creative and life-giving presence. In the gospel reading, the Lord brought calm out of the chaos; he tamed the storm and saw to it that the boat reached the other side. The Lord remains stronger than the storms that threaten the church, whether those storms are self-inflicted or brought on by others or a combination of both. The Lord works to bring the church through the storm to a new place where, as in the gospel reading, fear gives way to awe and the rebuking question, ‘Master, do you not care?’ gives way to the amazed question, ‘Who can this be? Even the winds and sea obey him’. This conviction that the Lord of the church is stronger than the storm that threatens does not leave us complacent. Yet, it keeps us hopeful and faithful, even when so much seems under threat. Today’s responsorial psalm assures us that if we cry to the Lord in our need he will rescue us from our distress. Our need and distress can open us up more fully to the Lord’s life-giving presence among us.

Saint Paul makes a wonderful statement at the beginning of that second reading, ‘the love of Christ overwhelms us’. Another translation would be ‘the love of Christ urges us on’. The love of Christ for us was revealed above all in his death on the cross. As Paul says in his letter to the Romans, ‘God proves his love for us in that while we still were sinners Christ died for us’. It is that remarkable love of God in Christ for us that urges us on, even when we are battling against a headwind. It urges us on until we reach what the gospel reading calls ‘the other side’, the place towards which the Lord is guiding the church - the place where he wants us all to be.

And/Or

(iv) Twelfth Sunday in Ordinary Time

The Sea of Galilee which features in today’s gospel reading is more a very large lake than a sea. Yet, because it is below sea level and surrounded by hills and valleys, winds can blow down the valleys and whip up the waters without much prior notice. Some of the disciples that were in the boat with Jesus were fishermen. They knew the lake well. When a storm broke on the lake, however, they were understandably filled with fear. Something of their panic is captured in the words they address to Jesus, ‘Master, do you not care? We are going down’. The panic of the disciples stands in sharp contrast to the attitude of Jesus – ‘in the stern, his head on a cushion, asleep’. The panic of the disciples revealed their anxiety that the chaos of the storm would overwhelm them; the sleep of Jesus indicated his deep conviction that all would be well. Different people can react to crises in different ways. Some remain calm and others go to pieces. In a crisis we need at least some people to remain calm and to have a calming influence on everybody else.

This is also the answer that we, the church today, are being asked to give to this question. We may not have to contend with a Nero, at least not in most parts of the world, but no one can deny that the church has been through very stormy times, with some of the storms of the church’s own making. Recent decades have been a disheartening time for many believers. In Western Europe at least, the church appears to be in a period of decline. The waves of secularism and materialism threaten to sink the church, which has often been understood as the ship of Peter. Such storms, however, can have their own cathartic effect on the church; they can work to renew and purify the church. The disciples in today’s gospel reading undoubtedly learned something important from their traumatic experience with the storm on the Sea of Galilee. The storm made them question more deeply, ‘Who then is this?’ Stormy times can help us all to question more deeply and, in the process, to recover some basics. A weakened, vulnerable church can come to recognize in a new way its total dependence on the Lord. When all is not well, we often seek the Lord with greater passion, like the disciples in the boat, rather than presuming that we already know him. In that way, difficult and painful times can deepen the church’s relationship with the Lord.

In today’s second reading, St. Paul reflects on the relationship between the Lord and the church. He declares that Christ died for all, so that we might live no longer for ourselves but for him. He died for all so that we who believe might live for him. We who are the church do not live for ourselves, but for the Lord. The church exists to serve the Lord, not to serve itself. The storms through which the church passes can help it to re-appropriate this fundamental truth.

Fr. Martin Hogan.

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bjpb08 · 4 years

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I could not post this some three weeks ago. I had to do some healing. Late Friday night early Saturday night I did just that by being able to give back. Sitting with family members of a patent who were saying goodbye to their beloved family member. He never recovered from his hospital stay starting July 14. Another causality of Covid. Time, they say, is the great healer. I am not totally convinced of that. I do believe it allows, provides perspective. I found my ability to empathize and be compassionate was not lost even in my own suffering. My tears were as valid for their family as mine. I now feel a great need to post what I wrote approximately three weeks...

This hit me hard this weekend. We have all lost this year. Whether it be jobs, freedom or loved ones, etc. I spent time this weekend at a memorial for my beloved brother(he may have been my in-law, but to me he was my brother) and to me it brought home just how bad 2020 sucked! He was a man with integrity, conviction, honor, moral fiber, etc. I may not have agreed with all of his beliefs, he did believe what he believed. He also came from a faith he strongly held true. His convictions were based on what he grew up with. Perhaps it is a new world order we must look to. We can no longer look to the past, the future is at our door, we must answer. He will always be loved for his love of family and God. He will always be loved and missed.

I have to seek my solace, my comfort in the people, places, beings that heal me. I believe in Angels. Both good and bad. I take refuge in the good of this world. I do not believe there has to be bad to find the good. That is a lack in one's ability to trust.

I have heard so many say they would like to see it...2020, be gone and never think of it again. Worst year ever.

I am going to take this a different direction and say I hope we never forget. For it is in the forgetting we repeat it. "Those who do not know/learn history are doomed to repeat it." philosopher George Santayana.

I have often wondered/thought if we look somewhat like Germany right before Ad/olf Hi/tler completely took over because someone looked the other way. Where too many were lulled (Caused (someone/many) to feel deceptively secure or confident.) into a belief that they had no power, or "it will be what it wil be", life will go on, can't happen again, I can't change things, I can't change anything etc, etc, etc.

My point is to remember what it could be, what it can be and strive to not make it any more of a history lesson then it already is. Let your voice be heard.

I would like to look back and truly say 2020 did not go down in total infamy (-the state of being well known for some bad quality or deed ;notoriety, disrepute, disreputableness, ill repute, ill fame, loss of reputation, disgrace, discredit, shame, dishonor, ignominy, scandal, censure, blame, disapprobation, condemnation, contempt, humiliation, loss of face, disesteem, wickedness, evil, baseness, sordidness, vileness, iniquity, iniquitusness, depravity, degeneracy, turpitude, immorality, unscrupulousness, corruption, dissolution, sin, wrong, offense, violation, abuse, indignity-an evil or wicked act.)

While the definition is long I could not in all conscience not include all the nouns similar to infamy hoping at lest one if not all strike a cord in different people's brain and soul. Please make a difference and never forget! Because the POTUS that exist now would like nothing better than to see this year as well as the next four go down in infamy.

The best way to say it is we all know narcissistic behavior well and the best way to not have to see it or live it is to take a stand. I do not want to lose anymore than I already have.

Empathy, compassion, even wariness are our weapons. For when exhaustion ensues, there is one last ounce of effort/strength/force that sees us through...love/heart/courage/backbone. Never give up!

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kaypeace21 · 5 years

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I have a question but I just want to say first that I love your theories. They’re very well thought-out and interesting. Anyway, I wanted to ask if you could explain how Mike is queer-coded? I’ve seen you mention it and I’ve seen others talk about his attraction to androgynous El, but is there more? Thanks!

ALOT MORE! I talked about it here in the past- but without getting too much into s3 (since I’ve already talked about s3 byler extensively).I’ll just have links for everything I noticed in s3 at the bottom of this post. In regards to s1 and 2, Mike was heavily coded as queer. But most significantly this was done in s1- arguably he was more queer coded than Will ever was. I won’t get into all the details (we’d be here all day) but the highlights, at the top of my head are-

- Mike in his his basement has a red heart being propelled by a rainbow.

- 4 separate characters said El looked like a boy, but Mike doesn’t care! Even one of the men thought El might be the missing ‘Byers boy’. When El loses her wig , Troy said “she doesn’t even look like a girl” to the cops. But Mike just calls her “really pretty”

-Nancy says “I thought you were acting weird, but I thought it was because of Will” And Mike responds “I thought you were acting weird too I thought it was because of Steve … Do you like Jonathan now”?” Nancy: “No, do you like Eleven?”. They literally compared the explicit love triangle between Steve/Nancy/Jonathan to the Will-Mike-El dynamic!

- Mike literally uses gender inclusive pronouns when talking about crushes using the word “someone” (3 times), and embarrassing himself because he can’t articulate the difference between friendship and romance. When he could of simply given the 80s heteronormative answer of ‘when a boy likes a girl’.

Mike: “ you go to school dances with someone.

You know someone that you like”

El: “a friend?”

Mike: ‘not a friend uh … uh someone like a” (gives up and kisses her)

-Mike’s mom said “ What’s been going on with Will, I can’t imagine what it’s been like for you. I just … want you to feel like you can talk to me. I never want you to feel like you have to HIDE anything from me” (she even emphasizes the word ‘hide” (which is heavily queer coded)

- when Will ‘dies’, “we can be heroes” by David bowie (a bisexual singer) plays, “And we kiss as though nothing could fall and the shame” is the lyric that plays when Mike returns to his house and cries in his mother’s arms over the ‘death’ of Will. Do I have to explain how ‘kissing and shame’ are queer-coded . And how such a lyric is oddly romantic- if we’re supposed to see their bond as nothing but platonic XD

-his dad jokes “Absolutely not” *turns to wife* “our son with a girl?”.

- when Lucas makes fun of his crush on EL, Lucas gets down on one knee and says “ I love you so much, will you marry me?” and literally 1s later, we’re introduced to the bullies and the idea (for the first time) that Will is ‘gay’, and Mike is in the forefront of the scene and unlike his friends he is THE ONLY ONE physically assaulted (like a gay-bashing) . They leave Lucas and Dustin unharmed. Even though Lucas just proposed to another guy- which should have gotten him a beating by the homophobic bullies.

It’s supposed to subconsciously hint Mike is queer like Will, and likes Will. The first interaction with the bullies, they mention Will being ‘gay’ right after they mention Mike’s crush on androgynous El and have a guy propose to Mike. Mike says to “ignore them” ( the homophobic remarks) but is assaulted anyways. And when asked what happed he doesn’t want to tell El the details cause he’s ashamed .

2nd time the bullies talk about Will, Mike is once again in the forefront, unlike his straight friends who are in the background . But this time Mike initiates the confrontation), as the bullies say Will is “flying in fairyland with all the other little fairies. All happy and gay”. Mike was literally on the verge or tears at this comment (despite being happy a few moments earlier , telling the others to ‘act sad’ because they’d look suspicious other wise). But this is the comment where Mike snaps and pushes Troy back (because he took it personally/wanted to defend Will).

The framing of Mike once again being in the front and snapping at the homophobic remarks (these gifs don’t do it justice, just rewatch the scene -Mike eyes water at the remarks). Then the last time the bullies appear , Mike jumps off the cliff and “flies like a fairy” (like Troy said) thanks to El . Troy at the police station even uses the word “fly” not levitate.

- Mike proclaiming “I’m the only one who cares about Will!” Seems like something a kid with a crush might say ( because obviously his other friends care about Will). But he thinks he cares the most.

-Mike sneaking out to find Will, as Steve sneaks in to Nancy’s. They both even make eye contact (and pretend not to have seen each other).

- they share dinosaur toys , in s1 and 2 they appear to be the only ones with dinosaur toys.

- The s1 mom hug scene where Mike feels he lost Will is paralleled in s3 - signifying how he lost him a 2nd time.

- Mike in the 1st ep being the one to insist on looking for Will in the rain (callback to s3). But he never went looking for El when he saw her through his window? Even when Mike saw Will’s dead body, the second he heard his voice he convinced his friends to help rescue him!

- You remember the binder (from s1) that Mike keeps, filled with 100s of Will’s drawings, and how he caresses the drawing after thinking Will was dead. That’s totes platonic.

- Will in all 3 seasons identifies as a wizard. But in s2 Mike (the paladin) says Will is a cleric. Meaning this reflects how Mike actually feels about Will. In d&d, they have similar moral values, powers, and generally need and depend on each other in the lore of d&d. Paladins have similar healing powers to clerics, but clerics have stronger healing abilities - which is interesting since Mike has always been viewed as the protector. But to Mike Will has helped him (maybe deal with the loss of El and other trauma) , just by being there. And if Mike says Will is a cleric,despite Will still identifying as a wizard in s3, it shows how deeply Mike actually feels about Will. It shows he views Will as one of the only people who understands him and views him as a healing presence and his moral compass.

“ strength of conviction gave many paladins a sense of common fellowship but did not always endear them to others. In many cases, paladins did not get along quite as well with other non-paladin adventurers, with the exception of clerics with similar beliefs.”

“A Paladin tries to hold to the highest standards of conduct, but even the most virtuous Paladin is fallible. Sometimes the heat of emotion causes a Paladin to transgress his or her oath (of honesty, courage, compassion, honor ,and duty). A paladin who has broken a vow typically seeks absolution from a cleric who shares his or her faith or from another paladin of the same order. After a rite of confession and forgiveness, the paladin starts fresh.

-Mike stands next to Will under the rainbow poster

- Mike forces Will to dance with a girl, but you literally see Mike’s shocked expression like ‘what,why’d I do that ?’ And after this, they show Dustin looking sad about Max/Lucas dancing and then they have Mike get into the frame (next to Dustin) and look sad when Will/girl are dancing in the same exact frame as Max/Lucas. As they switch between these 2 shots.

- All the mileven byler parallels or byler scenes were almost ALL initiated by Mike. If the parallels were meant to show a one sided love triangle (on Mike’s end). They would of made Will the instigator not Mike! Parallels can be watched here , start at 6:50)

-Mike initiated the “crazy together’ line- and in s3 he said ‘blank makes you crazy’. So subconsciously he knew the line had romantic connotations.

-Mike initiating the hand hold (with a zoom in shot) and in the show this is only done for romantic pairings. Also Mike being the one to initiate the ‘arm thing’ which is generally romantic. But in s3 , Lucas also does this, saying “I am spending quality time with my girlfriend’

-Mike saying, asking him to be his friend was the “best thing I’ve ever done”

-Mike constantly following Will around, asking if he’s okay or biking to his house to check on him. In s3 running out to chase Will to the garage and apologizing, and running into a storm to apologize a 2nd time.

YOU SEE A PATTERN! Mike is whipped! And is the one constantly chasing and pursuing Will, not the other way around! Before s3, people always portrayed Will as the (stereotypical- problematic trope of ) a sad-pinning-gay in a one sided love with Mike. It’s like people didn’t even watch the show (and just assigned tropes/stereotypes they wanted, that weren’t actually there). Will (probably too shy or scared to- because of homophobic taunts) never initiated a single byler moment- it was ALWAYS Mike!!! If people were actually objective, they would of thought it was Mike who was the one pinning! I talked about it here.

We literally only saw Will pine or be jealous in s3 when Mike was in a relationship with El/when they fought.

The cannon Spotify playlists

called ‘Mike’s basement beats’- These are character playlists that Spotify and St worked on together after s2.

-his first song is “small town boy” an 80s LGBT anthem about living in a small town and being queer and bullied. Every band member was openly gay.

-his 11th song is ‘don’t you want me’ from a “celebrate your gay pride” album

I’m not repeating my literal essays so here are the links to pretty much all my s3 byler meta. (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) (x)

- brief s3 mentions) it’s implied Will and Mike go on movie double dates all the time (right after he makes out with El). He celebrates the holidays (generally associated with introducing s.os) with Will/El. The breakup with El is treated comedically - and all Mike does is complain and burp on the couch. The byler breakup is serious (with the backdrop of rain)while Mike was visibly upset he hurt Will and apologized twice almost immediately . Running to the garage and then into the rain and banging on his door (s2 callback). The “it was the best thing I’ve ever done “ shed scene was shot purposely more romantic than the pool shed scene of “you’re the most important thing in the world to me”. The fact he think “blank makes you crazy”,and he used a similar line on Will in s2. The fact that Mike equates falling in love with girls as a part of growing up and his love for El as something “old people” say. While his affections for Will , he believes are childish (like d&d) and something he has to grow out of. The “I love her” scene was treated comedically. The last Mike/Will exchange vs Mike having his eyes open and not kissing El back . Not remembering he said “I love her”, and dismissing it as something he said in the heat of the moment. Mike looking back at the Byers house , then flashing to Will crying, than flashing back to Mike hugging his mom. Then those scenes having a monologue about not wanting feelings to change but how it’s inevitable.

Also we see in s3 (in El’s room) the return of the heart being propelled by a rainbow.

No hate, but I’m honestly flabbergasted when people think Mike is straight when he’s literally MORE queer coded than Will. Is it just my autistic brain seeing things as obvious, that others easily miss- or just people refuse to see it … or heteronormativity getting in the way?

gif credit : (not sure about the first 2, tell me if they’re yours so I can give credit), last 3 by eggogorgon , the last gif by cath-avery

#byler #byeler #mike wheeler

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tanadrin · 4 years

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Like, I think I can handle people who merely disagree with me, even if they disagree with me in critical and fundamental ways; even if they hold political views I think are morally indefensible, but smug sanctimoniousness is much harder for me to put up with. Also, one virtue I appreciate in this little corner of tumblr is finding lots of people to follow who like to take ideas seriously, even if they disagree with them. If you link an article that fails to make its point, they’ll think about, and post about, why, and there’s a certain effort to overcome inferential gaps where they exist, in order to have a genuine exchange of ideas. One person who I really appreciate for this is @jadagul, who I think it’s safe to say I disagree with in pretty significant ways, but who I’ve always felt engages in discussions about politics in good faith.

Going to the trouble of reblogging something I post with “ugh, I gave up reading this because it’s full of strawmen,” with no elaboration, isn’t just engaging in bad faith, it’s pretty irritating. If you don’t to discuss it or engage with it, great! You don’t have to! If you do, more than “this is bad but I refuse to elaborate any further” is at best a non-contribution; at worse, an admission you can’t come up with any coherent arguments as to why something is wrong, you’re just annoyed that someone could Be Wrong on the Internet, and want to make that known.

And the specific irritation I have with reactionaries who spend their time going “oh you poor decadent, corrupt, sinful, wretches” on tumblr is that, hey, you’re in this mudpit with us, buddy! This is a website for weird porn and discussions of fucking dead chickens, don’t pretend like you’re somehow above it all. If you want a separate godly community go have the courage of your convictions and spend your day in the fields, and come home to a log cabin without wifi like the old-style Anabaptists still do. But sitting around tut-tutting while you pretend not to enjoy all the conveniences of modernity (and self-righteously passing judgement on everyone around you) just makes you a mean old church lady, not a warrior for the Christian faith.

I grew up Catholic, and I have known more than my share of people who are religious. The ones who impressed me–for whom religion seemed to be a force for good in their lives, at least so far as I knew them–have been people who are genuinely humble both in themselves and about the things they attach themselves to. Epistemically humble, too: the kind of people who, if you asked them, would tell you why they believed, what drew them to faith, but not claim that either they, or their religion, necessarily had all the answers. I don’t think their faith was weaker for it, either: I think they genuinely recognized that there are a lot of different paths by which people gain spiritual insight in life, and spiritual fulfillment, and one reason I probably considered myself Catholic longer than I would have otherwise is that I had experience with religious people who had very little of the doctrinal arrogance, or the dogmatic cruelty, of the institution they represented.

(The arrogant, judgemental, and self-righteous people of religion I have known have always been laypeople. There are probably plenty of people in religious orders who are assholes, and I reckon you probably get the same mix of asshole-to-non-asshole people as in the general population, but it’s been a funny fact of my life that more of the professional believers I have personally known have been open-minded, curious, and compassionate than the people who were, as it were, amateurs.)

So anybody who claims treating gay people like sinful perverts is a necessary consequence of their religious beliefs, or who thinks that the sign of this sick, sinful, fallen world is women having the same rights and social status as men, who thinks “decadence” or irreligiousness or gender-nonconformity are signs of moral failure of the individual or society or both, strikes me as someone who wants to believe these things regardless, not someone who was reluctantly led to these conclusions by religion and finds them heavy burdens to bear. They strike me as just another instantiation of the purse-lipped nose-in-the-air hypocrite, who has to feel better than other people to feel better in themselves, and would find a reason to do so regardless; religion just happens to be their current excuse.

#reposted below a cut because it's too ranty

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rex101111 · 4 years

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She Is The Moonlight, Shining Down On Me, Chapter 1

BOY DID THIS TAKE A WHILE.

Hey guys! This is a bit different than my usual fair, in that I actually planned this out and had a beta! That’s right. @imbeccablee actually sat down with me and pointed out all the tiny little mistakes in grammar (of which there were over a couple dozen), tenses misplaced (all of them), and in general helped me clean this up and make it much better than it would have been otherwise. So you really have her to thank for how good this is!

Anyway this is a fantasy AU inspired by one post from a few weeks back calling Miruko a moon goddess. Literally that’s it, hope you enjoy it! I got some GOOD STUFF planned for down the line ;D

Princess Fuyumi's kingdom is burning.

That's the nightmare she'd been waking up from for weeks now, the sight of her home crumbling and her people screaming at her to help them. Their faces swirling into ash and fire before she would bolt up in bed, her hair plastered to her brow with sweat and her heart pounding.

Every few days it would come to her again, the fires burning bright and the screaming louder, the last time it happened she swore she could smell smoke. She manages to keep it from her brothers and father, washing her face with ice cold water and having her handmaidens put an extra layer of makeup to hide the growing bags under her eyes.

Though they do not miss her requesting more and more patrols on their borders, nor the way she furtively looks out windows looking for war banners on the horizon. Her dreams are glad to provide her with all the ways her kingdom would burn, but fall smugly silent whenever she tries to see the enemy that will light the torches.

She refuses to let that hinder her responsibilities; still she goes out to the people near the castle grounds, still she takes a tour of the knights training, still she keeps up her visits to her mother and her tutoring of her younger brother.

She feels foolish, allowing a nightmare, even a reoccurring one, to haunt her as it is, but every time she takes a moment to catch her breath, the sound of fire and screaming invades again.

Old wise women speak highly of dreams, of how they are messages from the gods above, signs to prepare and pray and hope for aid, and nightmares as omens of impending doom.

Fuyumi grew up on tales of gods and heroes, same as almost any child growing up under the light of the sun, tales of the unparalleled strength of the mighty king of gods and his once mortal wife, legends of the god of wind flying with his mighty red wings, and myths of the moon goddess with beauty unmatched and courage unrivaled.

She heard stories of demons too, creeping things of mangled flesh and rotten souls, things told to children to make them behave and go to bed on time.

Before she thought legends were just that and nothing more, that there was no king of gods, that the moon was not some heroic maiden, and that demons did not hide under her bed to make sure she didn't sneak off to the library after her parents had retired for the evening.

(At least she never saw any when she did, perhaps the space under her bed was too small, perhaps demons had bigger things to plan…)

She thought that up until soldiers came back from their western border, barely twenty men injured and limping that used to belong to a battalion of some of her father's most elite guard.

They whimper of monsters encroaching in the capitol, twisted shadows riding during the fall of night with their sights set on the lives of everyone they come across. Panic sweeps across the city, people abandoning their homes to run, knights being drilled night and day with no breaks, her father spending every second of waking planning and strategizing with his advisers.

She overhears them speaking of plans to spirit her and her siblings away to a neighboring kingdom, to fulfil the promised union between her youngest brother and the only daughter of king Yaoyorozu a full decade early, to cut Shouto's childhood tragically short, to put her so impossibly far away from her mother.

Her nightmares worsen. Now shadows lick at the walls of her home along with fire, and the shadows have jagged teeth and rotten flesh like all her forgotten childhood memories. She stays in the fire longer, long enough to see the walls of the city crumble and the shadows rushing forth to devour all she holds dear.

And right before she wakes up, she would look up at the sky, and see the moon.

Glowing a brilliant ivory, it's shine blinding the stars, looking down at her as if it is waiting for something.

Waiting for a prayer.

Gods descending from on high to save mortals in their times of greatest need, that was another one she heard frequently. Is that what the moon wanted from her, a request for aid? A hope and a wish for her family to be saved? Is that all she needed to do? Simply ask?

But nothing is ever simple with gods, the tales where they rescued kingdoms and kings never ended there, there was always a catch. Gods do nothing for free. Prices were steep, deals set in stone and enforced with blood.

If the lives of thousands hung in the balance, what could her kingdom possibly offer the moon in exchange?

She didn't have long to wonder, her worsened nightmares only had three days to fray her nerves before the omen came creeping over the horizon.

It is late at night, a full moon hanging in the middle of the sky, just low enough for Fuyumi to see it from her window as she packs her bags. The monsters are closer now, far too close for comfort as far her father saw it, and so her and her two brothers would pack light, dress like commoners, and flee before the hell nipping at their heels closes its teeth around their feet.

She's nearly done packing her things, her hands shaking and her heart heavy, eyes glued to the bright moon outside her window as her mind got pulled in a hundred different directions. Would King Yaoyorozu be faithful to his promise? Would Shouto be able to handle that responsibility so soon? What would become of Natsuo in all of this? Would he be stubborn and try and stay and fight?

Will she ever see her mother again?

Fuyumi's kingdom may be strong but her house is a broken one, one brother dead, the other endlessly angry, and the last scarred and destined to be bargained off. And she herself lost in the middle, reaching out to them and their father to try and salvage what she could of her family.

It's what defined her, she kept busy to keep herself sane, doing a million things a day so her mind wouldn't wander down dead ends. But now she's limited in what she can do, only pack her bags and keep her guard up; her family will be forever torn to pieces and there is nothing she can do about it besides hope that whatever is left of it will not slip through her fingers. And perhaps for some divine salvation.

"What would it cost?" She whispers as she closes her travel case and stares at the moon through her window one last time, "What do I need to give to save my home, my kingdom, my family?" She bites her lower lip hard enough to draw blood, feeling sick to her stomach, "Please, tell me what I need to do."

The moon simply shines down quietly among the stars, refusing to answer so easily.

She's on the verge of getting on her knees and praying when Shouto bursts through her doors in a panic, his usually stoic face shivering and eyes wide with alarm. He grips the door frame with whitening knuckles as he breathes heavily, "Fuyumi, you need to come with me, now."

She's flat footed, so suddenly torn from her thoughts and shocked at the face her brother was making, "S-Shouto what are you-"

He grabs her hand and begins yanking her out of her room hurriedly, his steps harsh against the marble floor as he quickly stomps towards a tower on a higher floor of the castle, overlooking the city and the hills outside the gates.

"Shouto! What is going on?!"

"We were too late."

She feels her stomach sink through the floor, hoping against hope that she is sleeping, simply tossing and turning in her bed as her mind ties itself in knots over childhood nightmares.

Shouto squeezes her hand, one of his nails digging slightly into the skin of her palm making her wince in pain.

Awake now, fully and completely, Fuyumi Todoroki, beloved princess of the Endeavour kingdom, watches a hoard of snarling shadows crest the horizon of a hill. Her brother says something, something about calling the army back, calling Natsuo or their father, to do what she isn't sure.

She turns to him, sees him full of panic and alarm, and she feels a familiar strength raise in her, a strength she only found when he came to her late at night because of nightmares. She put her hands on his shoulders, squeezing gently and keeping her gaze locked with his, and said, "Everything is going to be okay." The words come out with no real conviction, but it is simply the only thing an older sibling can say when the world is ending, "Shouto, find Natsuo and father, it will still take them about half an hour to reach the walls, and our walls are strong, do you remember how strong they are Shouto?"

He looks aside at the gathering hoard, but she puts her hand on his chin and pulls his eyes back to her, her grip firm until he starts talking, "…As strong as a mountain," He recites from memory, a thing she had him remember whenever he had nightmares like her own, "our walls reach to the sky…" There is barely conviction in his voice, but the tremble subsides for the moment as he takes a breath, "Fuyumi…"

"Natsuo and father," She repeats firmly, the soft smile on her face thin as paper, "go to them and have them evacuate as many of the people as they can, I'll do the same and be waiting for you all by the back exit of the city." She lets go and leans away, and she can see in his eyes that he doesn't believe her at all. She swallows back the bile in the back of her throat and forces her smile again, so weak she isn’t surprised her little brother can see right through it, "I'll come find you once things calm, now go."

Shouto could be oblivious, bless his soul. He says his piece and takes situations as they appear, no more and no less. More than once she and his other tutors had to hold back a groan when he ignored court niceties and continued on as if nothing happened. But he is no fool; no, the crown prince is still a sharp young man, and when you lay the pieces before him he is very capable of putting them together.

Which is why his stricken face doesn't surprise her. She expects him to object, to grab her by the wrist and drag her to father so they can all flee together, but she stares him down and he folds. He grits his teeth regardless, "I will see you at the back entrance." He says stubbornly, almost petulantly, but she simply keeps smiling. "Promise me."

Lying always leaves a poor taste in her mouth, but she has grown used to ignoring it to keep her family happy and advisors appeased, "I promise." Her words feel weightless as she says them, and again Shouto seems to know, but he nods and turns to run to the throne room, leaving her on the wall alone.

She turns away from his shrinking form to walk to the rim of the wall and stare out at the horizon again, the mass of shadows growing steadily bigger, the sounds of gnashing teeth and scraping claws slowly gaining volume.

She reaches into her jacket, and pulls out a small knife. It's unassuming in every respect; a simple wooden handle, a simple iron blade, but it's adequate in doing what every blade needed to do and that is all that will ever be required of it.

It's an old blade, given to her ages ago by Natsuo a few weeks after her mother was sent away. She never really knew what he expected her to do with it, she never so much as threw a punch by the time he gave it to her, but it was a gift from her brother regardless, so she sharpened it and polished it and kept it clean merely on principle.

She never had to fight anyone, never had to defend herself or her loved ones outside of a throne room or courthouse, but still the knife remains near her, more as a reminder of what she had to protect than a weapon she ever intended to use.

It has a use now, but still not what Natsuo probably thought it would be, at least not for now.

Every part of her reoccurring nightmares is creeping towards the city, every sinking feeling she's had for the past few weeks is going to be proven true within the hour. But there is one part she has yet to figure out, the shadows and the flames and death she has already puzzled out.

Only the moon remains.

A beacon in the night sky, a light house in a sea of stars, only its purpose remains vague to her. But she does have an idea, an idea born from dusty old tomes that she read ages ago when she still believed in fairy tales and legends.

In those legends the gods saved mortals from danger as often as they damned them for their hubris and disloyalty. More than once she read of the heavens parting and a gracious figure resolving a trouble far beyond mortal ken. But never for free, never without a price, never without a demand.

A deal is always needed; a god does not leave their perch in the clouds without reason. Fuyumi supposes that is fair enough. How many screamed at the gods to save them from disaster, betrayal and death? How many of those prayers and pleas went unanswered?

…They always answer in the legends though, every myth is about when a true believer was rewarded, every legend, every fairy tale, every old story she read is about a time the gods showed some measure of benevolence.

She's now in her own little myth it seems a kingdom long plagued by a severe king and his broken family, soon beset by a hoard of monsters, only to be saved by an act of sacrifice. Or at least, hopefully saved.

And she's ready to sacrifice anything.

She looks up at the moon, the shadow across its face (some call it a man but she only ever saw a rabbit) unmoving as clouds pass it. She squares her jaw, unsheathes her knife, and grips the naked blade in her bare hand. "Please save my kingdom."

The glow of the moon remains silent, so she grips the blade with more force, a sting and a pearl of blood quickly following.

"Please, save my kingdom, my people, my family!" She grips the blade harder, more and more blood trickling out. "I'll do anything! Give you anything! It doesn't matter what you ask of me! It doesn't matter what you demand! I'll give it! I'll give you all I am worth!" Tears start flowing down her face, the sounds of the demons howling and snarling barely half a mile away, "Please! Help us!"

She bleeds, and cries and pleads, but the moon says nothing.

Her blood forms a small pool at her feet, staining her shoes and beginning to soak her socks. Her tears turn to sobs as she lowers her head from the moon in the sky to look down at the pool she formed to see her own despairing face, the drops flowing down her cheeks and into the crimson blood on the floor, disturbing the mirror image of the moon reflected in it.

The ripples her tears kicked up slowly die, and the shadow of the rabbit on the moon blinks.

She freezes at the sight of it, her grip on the blade of the knife easing off as she stares at the reflection in the pool. Just as she's sure she imagined it, the head of the rabbit moves, moves to look at her directly, blinking with eyes of pure starlight.

She looks up slowly, her heart picking up speed as she tries to grasp what is happening. When her eyes reach the true moon in the sky she sees it is no illusion dreamt up by blood loss and desperation. Indeed, the rabbit on the moon is looking at her, looking directly at her even though it is a million miles away.

She opens her mouth to say something, anything, but words fail her, her mind simply cannot reconcile what it is seeing with the reality she knows. Myths and legends are for children needing a good night's sleep, and yet here she is, staring up at an image she never even saw in paintings.

She fails at her words long enough for something even more impossible to happen. The rabbit on the moon glows, its obsidian body shimmering a brilliant silver. The glow grows brighter and brighter, so much she has to shield her eyes from it, and in the distance she hears the demonic hoard reel back in alarm and pain.

She dares to open her eyes to the blinding light just in time to see the rabbit leap out of the moon, to see it transform into a ray of pure ivory light and race across the sky towards her. Some deep seated panic raises in her chest and she takes a step back, but before she could back away further the light lands on the wall she had been leaning against a second before in a blast of air that knocks her off her feet and onto her backside. The knife clatters out of her hand, and the light kicks up a cloud of dust as it lands that made her close her eyes

When she opens her eyes again, she is met with the most striking sight she has ever seen.

A woman stands on the wall, surrounded by an aura of ivory light. Her stance is confident and proud, one foot planted on the ground while the other curled up, her skin a brilliant bronze shining in the star light. She's dressed in a silver garment that hugged her figure, showing off curves that makes Fuyumi blush like a teenager whenever her eyes rest on one spot for too long.

A golden crescent moon adorns her chest, the garment leaving her arms completely bare, displaying an ample amount of muscle, and her legs are covered in a shimmering black silken fabric that seems to merge into her skin and hide nothing of the sculpted build of her lower body. Her feet are long, furred, and padded like a rabbit's.

Her most striking features, however, are further up. A pair of cotton white rabbit ears where human should be, with silver hair flowing down her back and passed her hips, eyes whose shade matches the crimson blood she spilt to summon her, and a smile, full of gleaming teeth, sharp like a wolf looking at an especially tasty morsel.

Fuyumi could recognize her anywhere, her visage adorning temple walls all around the continent, her likeness and deeds immortalized in countless books and endless folk tales.

In front of her is the brilliant Moon Goddess Miruko, she who challenged the sun, the bravest warrior of the heavens, tales of courage and brutality following her in equal measure. The unbeatable, merciless, unstoppable Miruko.

She is beautiful.

She is terrifying.

She is walking towards her.

Her steps are dew drops on the grass, not a sound is made as she draws closer to the princess, her razor sharp smile unmoving. Fuyumi's heart speeds up more and more with every step, the pain in her palm ignored as every nerve in her body is focused on making sure no movement the goddess makes is missed.

Soon she is above her, her strong figure casting a shadow over her as her smile shines with starlight.

The first sound she hears the goddess make is a deep throated chuckle, making her bones tremble and her heartbeat skip, before at last Miruko speaks, "Anything?" Her voice is strong and clear, cutting through the air like a moon beam, "Is that what you're offering me, Princess, anything?"

The way she said Princess makes something curl up and burn in the pit of Fuyumi's stomach, a hint of amusement at her predicament that doesn't sit well with her at all. But she swallows her sudden indignation with practiced ease born from a lifetime of royal matters and nods gravely, putting pressure on the wound she made in her hand with Natsuo's knife, "Yes my lady, I offer you all I can give, if you would save my kingdom…I will pay any price you wish to name."

Her smile turns sharper, the sight of it nearly enough stop Fuyumi's heart, and then she laughs, the sound echoing deep into the night and reaching the hoard of demons now knocking on her city's gates. "So brave! Been a while since I even heard of a mortal ready to throw everything away like this, so noble! So selfless!" She continues to laugh, the sound harsh but honest; there is no mockery in her for the Princess it seems, only condescension, "What else am I to do but answer in kind? I think I like you, Princess, so I'll take you up on that offer."

She turns away, Fuyumi suddenly able to breathe now that the weight of those crimson eyes is absent, and begins walking back to the edge of the wall, the sounds of demons banging on the steel gates increasing in volume. Somewhere to her left, she can vaguely hear the sounds of hurried footsteps getting closer.

The goddess jumps up on the rim, the muscles of her legs tensing under the fabric, her shoulder bunching up to gather force as she moved her weight to the tip of her toes. Looking at her from behind Fuyumi could see a small ball of fluff under the small of the goddess' back, a rabbit tail to complete her image.

Of all the things that she has seen so far, to see a goddess with a smile like a drawn blade and legs strong enough to crush a boulder sporting a bunny tail is nearly too much, and so, nearly hysterical at this point, Fuyumi can't help but crack a tiny smile and giggle softly at the sight of it.

One of Miruko's ears twitches and she looks back, just quick enough to see Fuyumi's smile before the Princess nearly swallows her tongue in fright. To her surprise the goddess apparently isn't insulted, instead flashing her sharp smile again with a low chuckle, "Oh, you and I are going to get along just fine, Princess."

Fuyumi barely has a moment to ponder what Miruko means by that, the smile promising something she feels she's wholly unprepared for, before the sounds of footsteps finally reach the both of them. She turns to see her brothers and father standing flabbergasted as they stare at her and the radiant figure standing on the wall.

Her father is the first to gain his bearing, stomping forward past his sons with a stiffness in his shoulders. "Fuyumi!" He bellows, stealing furtive glances at Miruko as he looks down at his daughter and her bleeding hand, "What is the meaning of this? What have you done?"

"She saved your asses is what she did, jackass." Miruko laughs with a snort, "While you chicken-shits were shaking in your boots, she came up here and actually called for help from someone who can actually do something."

The whole crowd turns to her as one, Fuyumi feeling her face heat up at hearing a goddess speak such foul language, her father's chest puffed out almost on reflex, "Who are you to speak to me like this? What is-"

"Father!" She shouts at him, finally getting back on her feet, panic surging some power to her core, "Calm yourself! This is the moon goddess!"

She can hear Shouto gape and Natsuo chocking on his spit, but her father's reaction is what captures her attention. Some deep dread flickers across his face, a mix of wounded pride and disbelief flashing in his eyes before he grits his teeth and his signature glare places itself on his features again.

"She's-" He sounds choked, like he can scarcely believe his ears, looking between his daughter and Miruko at a loss, "That-that can't be!" The screech of bending metal sounds from the direction of the city gate, howls and screaming beginning to ring in the air. His face twists in a furious scowl, bending down and screaming at her, "Fuyumi forget that, what are you still doing here?! You should have left the city ages ago! You and your brothers could die if you delay them any longer! There's nothing for you to do here! This isn't one of your damn fairy tales!"

"On the contrary!" Miruko exclaims, suddenly between of the irate king and the panicking Princess in a flash of moonlight, "It’s a brand new legend your Majesty." Despite barely reaching his chin, the broad shouldered king can only take a step back from the goddess as she speaks down to him, "Years from now, future generation are gonna be telling the tale of how the valorous moon goddess descended from on high to defeat a hoard of ravenous demons about to kill a thousand innocent people."

She takes easy steps, almost casual in her gait, while the king nearly scrambles back from her whenever she got too close, her aura of light burning bright with each word she speaks until it nearly hurt to look at. Eventually the king is with his back to the wall, and far away from Fuyumi, his anger wilting in the face of uncompromising divinity.

"…Of course, they'll only do that if you get out of my way." Miruko's voice echoes through the crowd, the sound reverberating near the end as Enji takes careful steps aside from the goddess' path. Miruko turns her head to follow the king, Fuyumi catching a glimpse of a glow in her eye when she did, before the goddess scoffs, "Good job, your highness."

She can practically hear her father grinding his teeth from where she's standing, but her father does nothing more rebellious than clenching his fists and glaring with all his might at Miruko, the act being repaid with a smug, unaffected grin.

"Now," The goddess rolls her shoulders idly, hopping back up on the rim of the wall facing the quickly deteriorating city gate, "What was I doing?" She looks back at Fuyumi with a smirk, one hand on her hip, "Well Princess? Does your offer still stand after all of that?" She points at her fuming father, who says nothing in return.

After a moment of catching her breath and exchanging a quick glance with her brothers, who are stunned silent this entire time, utterly at a loss at what to do, she wraps her still bleeding palm in the fabric of her cloak, "Yes, it does, if you will save us from these demons…I will honor it."

Natsuo speaks up at last, the sight of her wounded hand stirring him into action, "Fuyumi, what happened to your hand?" He stops, his breath hitching, before he throws a glare at Miruko, his hand reaching for his sword, "What did you do to my sister!?"

"Natsuo don't!"

His sword flies out of its scabbard and he runs towards Miruko, lifting his weapon into the air with a savage cry. He swings his blade down with all his strength, blood in his eyes, but just before the blade meets its target, the goddess catches it between two fingers. It stops dead, like it's embedded in stone, and refuses to budge no matter how much Natsuo tries to pull it free.

"Seriously kid?" The goddess smirks, a tone of amusement in her voice, like a lioness being challenged by a mouse, as she casually moves the weapon in her grip from side to side like a blade of grass. Natsuo is pulled along with it like he weighs nothing. "I came here to kill demons, not waste my time with royals who have a death wish." She pulls the sword closer with a laugh so she and Natsuo are nose to nose, her brother ceasing his struggle out of shock. "I didn't touch her, Princess over there did that to herself."

"She-what?" Natsuo pulls his head away from her to look between Miruko and his sister in confusion, "Fuyumi why-why would you do that?"

"To prove she was ready to make a deal," Miruko answers for her, letting Natsuo go with a toss before turning back around to the hills outside the wall once more, leaving him to nurse his aching wrists, "that she was ready to pay any price I care to name so long as I take care of your little demon problem."

Shouto finally comes to his senses, rushing over to Fuyumi while ripping his shirt to make a bandage for her hand, "Fuyumi…" He mutters as he wrapped her bleeding palm, "How did you know that would work?"

She didn't, but she doesn't say it out loud; she can't tell her little brother that little plea of hers was born of overwhelming desperation, he deserves a sister stronger than that. As he finishes wrapping her wound, she looks at the back of the goddess as she looks out at the demons, clenching her muscles.

"And since she gave me her word, I intend to keep my end of this little bargain." She clenches her fists, crouches, and looks back one more time, straight into Fuyumi's eyes, the look conjuring something between dread and hope in her stomach, "Be right back, Princess."

With a flash of light and a jump that shattered the stonework she was standing on, she flies into the sky, whirling in the air for a quick moment before she races towards the outside of the city wall, crashing into the demon hoard with whoop of victory.

The sounds of demons attempting to break down the iron gates halt almost at once. After a brief moment where they are apparently stunned at the appearance of a god, they howl as one with a war cry and advance away from the city. The goddess is the bigger target, her glow visible even above the high walls of the city.

Very soon, the roars of violence are replaced with cries of horror and panic.

Fuyumi can feel the impact of every blow Miruko struck all the way from the tower. Every crack of breaking bones and every sickening sound of flesh torn like paper. The demons, the very same monsters who had plagued her dreams for days on end, seem like ants fighting a forest fire.

Above the sounds of violence, the roars and howls of the goddess are the clearest. She mocks the demons like they were children as they are crushed under her blows, she screams her triumph with every earth shattering attack and never does she ever sound like she's even trying, much less in danger.

She is doing her part, just as she promised, and just as Fuyumi pleaded for her to do. She is every bit as amazing as the legends told, she flies and soars through her enemies with grace and ease. And she laughs too; her laughter is a war drum, echoing high above the battleground and making Fuyumi's ears ring and ache.

It is vicious, a bloody cackle to rival all the gnashing teeth of the shadows in her nightmares.

People begin flooding the streets, on their knees praying in thanks to whoever called the wrath of heaven down on the demons. She can hear, very faintly, the sound of a chorus of her people calling out to the gods, calling out for their savior's victory.

Fuyumi is frozen on the spot, her heart beating loudly in her ears. This is what she prayed for, what she begged for with every ounce of her being. It surpasses every hope she had, utterly dwarfs every childhood fairy tale of divine victory her mother ever told her.

She can imagine her, ripping apart the demons with a flourish, that same razor sharp grin adorning her features as she did. This is a goddess, every bit as awe inducing as she hoped and more so, it is almost too much to believe.

She should be relieved, her city is being saved, her people will no longer need to hide away in their homes, she has succeeded. But the longer the fight drags on, the more the goddess howls and laughs, the more doubt begins gnawing at the pit of her stomach. This is the one she has bargained with, this feral rabbit goddess cracking skulls and ripping flesh outside her city walls. She has promised her all she can give, all she has, and she is sure that she has nothing that can possibly satisfy someone who laughs louder than hell.

But it's too late for regrets now. Fuyumi knows this well, knew it from the moment she had drawn her knife. She will not turn away from her fate now. She will look it in the eye with a proud heart and strong spirit, no matter who will deliver it.

Soon the sounds halt, the battle much shorter than Fuyumi ever hoped it would be, the last demon breathing their last breath at Miruko's hands. A moment later a light suddenly appears far above the battle, a round ball of ivory moon light that houses the silhouette of a powerful figure with rabbit ears. Fuyumi can hear people begin to cheer at the sight of it, many recognizing it from tales they heard when they were children much like she did.

Natsuo stares wide eyed at it, utterly taken aback by how thoroughly Miruko had vanquished a foe that had completely decimated their elite forces with so little effort. Shouto bites his lip quietly and looks at his sister from the corner of his eye, as if he can see past this display of victory.

Their father's face is empty of expression as he stares at the goddess as she takes in the praise, but his fists are shaking quietly at his side. He turns fully away from the light and walks to the opposite rim of the wall, showing nothing but his back as he leans heavily on the stones with a sigh.

Fuyumi can only focus on her people, happy and alive.

The feeling of dread and fear that had gripped her beloved city vanishes in an instant as the sight of the moon goddess triumphant above the demons glowed in the sky. Fuyumi smiles at the sound of them giving praise, the sight of men, women and children standing in the street and on their roofs to cheer Miruko.

This happiness, this small moment of relief and peace, if that is all she will accomplish with this choice, then she will be content with it.

The light floats there motionless for a moment, as if to fully soak in the praise the people shout and cheer. If Fuyumi strains her eyes, she can barely see the figure, Miruko, crossing her arms with a grin.

And then the goddess turns back to the princess, and Fuyumi straightens her spine at the sight of it, taking in a deep breath to steel herself for her part of the deal. She puts a hand Shouto's shoulder, giving him the same paper thin smile from when she told him to leave her on the wall, before slowly stepping towards the light as it began to race back to her.

Within a moment, the goddess is in front of her again, her silver hair in disarray from the fight, her smile feral with adrenalin, but otherwise completely untouched and unharmed, the breeze high in the air apparently doing the most damage to her out of anything else that night.

"Woah!" She cries out in delight, all her teeth on display as she laughs lowly and catches her breath, "Man, those guys were angry! Haven't had this much fun fighting demons in centuries!" She smooths her hair down with a hand and lets out a breath, her wild grin shrinking into a more controlled smile as she looks back at Fuyumi, "Well then, I did as you asked, Princess, you know what that means, right?"

She nods quietly, trying to stop her mind from racing to a conclusion as to what the goddess might possibly ask in return for her help, "Yes, my lady, you saved my beloved subjects, my family, and so I stand to honor our deal, please," she bows deeply at the waist, her eyes closed to stop the tears from flowing out, "name your price."

Gods ask for many things, riches from kingdoms, children from heroes, complete devotion from priests, and everything in between from everyone else. She does not know what she will need to give to Miruko, but she offered all that she could give, and so the goddess can only ask for what Fuyumi has in her power to bestow.

If her father had somehow been convinced to swallow his pride and ask for help from the heavens, the entire kingdom could have been the price demanded. Her brothers might be forced to give up their futures for one dictated by a god.

But her? The Princess of the Endeavor Kingdom? She who snubbed countless offers of marriage to princes and heroes alike? The one with her nose stuck in books since she was six? The teacher, the quiet sister, the smiling face in the public square feeding birds and talking to the merchants about the little goings on in the capitol?

She has nothing for the goddess to take, not really. All her money is from the royal treasury, she has no power despite what people believe her to possess, she has precious few things that she holds dear and has the authority to give away.

Her diary, her flowers, a toy bird her mother gave her when she was an infant.

Nothing of the sort a goddess would demand, nothing that equals the value of a deal that saved tens of thousands of people. No, the goddess can take nothing from her kingdom, nothing from her family, nothing from her people, the only thing she can take from Fuyumi is something she was always willing to give for the happiness and safety of her family.

The only thing the goddess can possibly ask for is Fuyumi's life, and that she was ready to surrender from the moment she looked up at the moon and cut a blade across her palm.

But she forgot one thing about gods, they never acted as they should, never as mortals thought they would, so when Miruko puts a gentle hand on Fuyumi's chin to lift her eyes, meeting the goddess' gaze as she kneels before her with a pleased smile, what she demands next comes as a complete shock.

"Princess Fuyumi, eldest daughter of King Enji Todoroki," Her smile becomes a grin again as she declares confidently, all her teeth gleaming with starlight, "You requested a deal between gods, and so you have declared you are prepared to pay me my due."

So far, it was all as Fuyumi expected it to be, excepting the rather distracting finger on her chin, but something in her gut is telling her that things are taking a turn, the only thing she can do is nod quietly to Miruko's words and await her demand.

The goddess draws closer, until their noses touch and all Fuyumi can see is the crimson sky in her eyes, "Fuyumi Todoroki, my price is thus;" The Princess holds her breath almost painfully, wishing for her to simply take her life and get it over with- "You are to come with me to the heavens, to spend eternity with me, as my bride."

A stunned silence drops on the crowd like an anvil, Fuyumi finding it impossible to breathe all of a sudden. She can feel the blood leaving her face, and in her surprise she was absolutely sure she had misheard, but the goddess goes on, heedless of the fear and terror no doubt building on the Princess' face.

"To repay me for saving your kingdom, my demand is this," Her grin grows feral again, and this time Fuyumi does not shrink away, "I want you to give me your heart."

#My hero academia #Rumi Usagiyama #Fuyumi Todoroki #fuyumi x miruko #MiruYumi #snowbunny?#whatever the hell is their ship name #stuff rex wrote #She is the moon #miruko

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