#also that leading lady cries like her life depends on it (in a good way) it feels super genuine when she cries :(

[einaudis]

december in movies [9/31]: to all a good night (2023) dir. andy mikita “Happy Christmas to all, and to all a good night.”

[loverandservantoftheahlulbayt]

🍃🌺🍃 Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa) Spending in The Path of Allah 🍃🌺🍃

Fatima al-Zahra (sa) was known to be very modest, and humble. Because as man's desire of the Hereafter increases, his worldly lusts decrease; and when someone realizes the loftiness of the Day of Judgement, the worldly life becomes trivial to him. Besides, as man's reasoning and ability advances, his desire for lusts greatly decreases.

Have you not seen that children play, have fun, become sad and fight over worthless objects; but as they grow up and their senses mature, they refrain from such actions because they consider them to be degrading to their personalities, and contradicting to the rules of observing dignified conduct.

This is the case of righteous worshippers of Allah (SwT) who look down to the ephemeral things of this world, and their hearts cannot be attached to its vanities. They do not like this world for its worldly goods, rather they enjoy living to gain good deeds, and further worship Allah, the Exalted. They collect money to spend it in the way of Allah, feed the hungry, clothe and support the needy and deprived. These were also the fundamentals of modesty on which Lady Fatima az-Zahra (sa) depended. She deeply understood this worldly life, and realized the extent of the Hereafter. It is not amazing to learn that Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was satisfied with the minimum requirements of life; she chose for herself the noble trait of preferring others over herself, and aiding them, as we resent sumptuous and extravagant living. It is a small wonder, indeed, for Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was the daughter of the most modest whose religious and social life required him to live in modesty; and Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was the first person expected to follow the steps of her father, the modest Messenger (as).

Fatima’s (sa) marital life was also surrounded by modesty, and satisfaction. Her husband ‘Ali (as) was a devout follower of the Prophet (S) of Islam, and there was not a man known who was more modest than ‘Ali (as). Imam ‘Ali (as) was the man who used to speak to the silver, and gold in the treasury by saying:

"O you yellow and white, deceive someone else save me!!"

It has been reported that once a bedouin approached Imam ‘Ali (as) for help. The Imam then ordered his agent to give the bedouin a grant of one thousand dinars, the later exclaimed:

"Gold or silver dinars?"

Imam ‘Ali (as) replied: "They are both just stones to me, so give the beduin that which is more beneficial to him."

Here we relate several narrations, which speak of Fatima’s (sa) modesty and generosity:

1. The author of the book Bisharat A-Moustafa was quoted by Al-Bihar v.10 to have written:

Imam Sadiq (as) quoted Jabir Ibn Abdullah Al-Ansari as saying:

"One day when we had finished the Asr prayer with the Messenger of Allah an old Arab immigrant man, who was wearing worn-out clothes and was barely able to walk because of his old age and weakness came by. The Prophet asked the old man about his affair; the old man answered:

`Prophet of Allah I am starving, so feed me, I am naked, so clothe me, and poor, so help me. The Prophet then said: `Surely I find nothing to give you. Yet, he who guides to goodness is equal to him who performs it. So go to the house of she who loves Allah and His Messenger, and Allah and His Messenger love her. The one who prefers Allah over herself I mean Fatima.'

Fatima’s (sa) house was near the Prophet's (as) house. He asked Bilal to lead the man to her house. When the old man reached the house, he cried out:

`Peace be upon you, O household of prophethood, the (dwellers of the place where) angels frequently visit, where Gabriel-the holy spirit-descends to bring what the Lord of the Worlds reveals.'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) said: `Peace be upon you; who are you?'

The old Beduin answered: `I am an old Arab man; I have immigrated to your father, The Master of mankind, from a distant place. Daughter of Muhammad, I am hungry and in need of clothing, so console me-may Allah bless you.'

When this occurred, the Prophet (S), ‘Ali (as), and Fatima az-Zahra (sa) had not eaten for three days. Yet, Fatima az-Zahra (sa) gave him a tanned ram skin, which was used as Al-Hasan (as), and Al-Husayn's (as) bed.

Then Fatima az-Zahra (sa) told the poor man: `Take this, may Allah substitute it for you by a better gift by selling it.'

The old man replied: Daughter of Muhammad, I complain to you of hunger and you give me a ram's skin? How can I eat with this?'

When Fatima heard what the old man had to say, she gave him the necklace, which was given to her by Fatima Bint Hamza Ibn Abd al-Muttalib.

The old man took the necklace and went to the Mosque to meet the Prophet who was sitting in the presence of his companions. He went to the Prophet and said: `Messenger of Allah, Fatima Bint Muhammad gave me this necklace and said: `Sell it, for Allah will grant you a solution to your problem.'

When the Prophet (S) heard what the man had to say, he cried and said: `Indeed, Allah will grant you a solution, for Fatima Bint Muhammad, the Mistress of all women gave you this necklace.'

Meanwhile, Ammar Ibn Yasir (may Allah bless his soul) said: `Messenger of Allah, do I have your permission to buy this necklace?'

The Prophet (S) answered: `Buy it Ammar, surely if all of mankind and Jinn participate in buying it Allah will not torture them in Hellfire.'

Ammar said: `How much do you want for it?'

The old Beduin said: A meal of bread and meat, a Yemeni shirt to cover my private parts and to perform my prayers in front of my Lord, and a dinar so I can return to my family.'

Ammar, who had just sold his share of booty from the battle of Khaibar, told the man: I will give you twenty (20) dinars, two hundred (200) dirhams, a Yemeni shirt, my horse to take you home, and your need of wheat bread and meat.'

The old then said: `What a generous man you are!!'

When Ammar had fulfilled his promise to the old man, the later came back to the Prophet (S) who said: Are you satisfied and clothed?'

The old man said: Yes, and I have become rich; may my father and mother be your sacrifice.'

The Prophet (S) then said: `So, reward Fatima for her kindness.'

The old man supplicated: `O Allah, surely You are our God whenever we ask You;

`We have no other God to worship besides you;

'You are the one who grants us beneficence in all conditions;'

`O Allah, grant Fatima that which no eye has ever seen, and ear has ever heard ....'

During that time, Ammar had perfumed the necklace with mush wrapped it in a Yemeni shirt, and gave it to one of his slaves by the name of Sahm, who he had bought with the money that he had received for selling his share of the Khaibarian booty. He told Sahm:

`Take this necklace and give it to the Messenger of Allah (S) and tell him that I give you to him also.'

When Sahm had delivered the message, the Prophet (S) said: `Take the necklace to Fatima and I give you to her also.' When the slave had told Fatima the message, she (sa) took the necklace and told the slave that he was free.

Upon hearing Fatima az-Zahra (sa), Sahm laughed, so Fatima az-Zahra (sa) asked him about the reason that made him laugh. He answered: `I smiled when I thought of the abundance of goodness put in this necklace; it fed a hungry man, clothed a naked man, satisfied a poor man, freed a slave and came back to its original owner."

2. Al-Majlisi, quoting Fural Ibn Ibrahim's interpretation of The Holy Qur’an in his book Al-Bihar, said:

'Abu Saeed al-Khudari said: One morning ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib woke up very hungry and said:

'Fatima, do you have anything to feed us?'

She answered: `No, by Him who honored father with Prophethood, and honored you with successorship, we have nothing edible this morning, and we haven't had any food for two days save that which I have preferred to give you and our two children, Hasan and Husayn.'

‘Ali (as) said: 'Fatima! Why didn't you tell me, so I could bring some food for you?'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) answered: 'Abu Al-Hasan, I surely become ashamed before my God to ask you to do something you cannot do.'

At this, ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib (as) left Fatima az-Zahra (sa), with full trust that Allah would help him. He borrowed a dinar, and while he was holding the dinar and trying to buy some food for his family, he came upon Miqdad Ibn Al Aswad.

The sun had burnt Al-Miqdad's face and feet on that exceptionally hot day. When ‘Ali (as) saw him, he exclaimed surprisingly:

`Miqdad, what brings you out of your home at this hour?'

Miqdad answered: 'Abu Al-Hasan, ask me not about what I have left behind in the house.'

‘Ali (as) said: `My brother, I cannot leave you without knowing your problem.'

Miqdad then said: 'Abu Al-Hasan, for Allah's sake and your sake leave me alone, and do not ask about my condition!!'

Imam ‘Ali (as) said: `My brother, you should not hide your condition from me.'

Miqdad replied: 'Abu Al-Hasan, now that you insist, by Him who honored Muhammad with Prophethood and honored you with successorship, nothing forced me out of my house save poverty. I left my children starving; when I heard their cries, there remained no place for me on earth-I have come out of my house in depression; this is my story.'

Imam ‘Ali (as) cried when he heard the story; he cried until his beard was wet from tears and said:

`By Allah, that which forced you out of your house and also forced me out of my house; I borrowed a dinar, but I prefer you to have it.'

When Imam ‘Ali (as) had given the dinar to Miqdad, he went to the Mosque and performed his Dhuhr (noon), Asr (afternoon) and Maghrib (evening) prayers. When the Messenger of Allah (S) had completed his prayers, he signaled ‘Ali (as), who was in the first line, to follow him. ‘Ali (as) obediently followed him out of the Mosque, and after the Prophet greeted him said:

'Abu Al-Hasan, do you have some food for dinner so that I can accompany you?'

Imam ‘Ali (as) was too shy to answer the Messenger (as); but the Prophet of Allah (S) had detailed knowledge about the dinar, and what had happened to it; for Allah, the Exalted, had revealed to His Prophet (S) to have dinner at ‘Ali's (as) house that night. When ‘Ali (as) did not answer, the Prophet (S) said:

'Abu Al-Hasan, why don't you say no, so I may leave you; or yes, so I may accompany you?'

Imam ‘Ali (as) said: 'Accompany me!!'

The Prophet (S) then took ‘Ali's (as) hand and proceeded toward Fatima’s (sa) house. When they arrived, Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was just finishing her prayers and there was a pan oil fire behind her. When she heard the Prophet (S) coming, who was the dearest person to her, she greeted him and he wiped his hand on her head and said:

`How is your evening, my daughter?'

She (Fatima az-Zahra (sa)) answered: `Fine!'

He (Prophet Muhammad (S)) then said: `Give us some dinner, may Allah bless you, and surely He has.'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) placed the pan in front of the Prophet (S), and ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib...

At that moment, the Messenger of Allah (S) put his hand on ‘Ali's (as) shoulder, and said:

'‘Ali, this is a substitute for your dinar. This is a reward from Allah for the dinar; surely Allah grants whoever He wills without limit.'

The Prophet (S) cried and said:

"Praise be to Allah, Who insisted on rewarding you in this world, too, and made you ‘Ali-like Zakariya and Fatima like Maryam Bint Imran, for whenever Zakariya entered the Mehrab, he found Maryam with her subsistence."

3. It is quoted in v.10 of Bihar that Imam Husayn (as) quoted Imam Hasan (as) as saying:

"Once, on a Far-Ridha’y night, I watched my mother, Fatima, pray all night long. She kept making Ruku' and prostrating until dawn. I heard her supplicate for the believers by name; but she did not supplicate for herself, so I asked:

`Mother, why don't you supplicate for yourself as you supplicate for others?'

She answered: `Son! Prefer your neighbour over yourself. "'

4. Al-Hasan al-Basri said:

"There was not a woman in this Ummah more submitting (to Allah) than Fatima. She used to pray until her feet became swollen."

5. Al-Bihar:

'The Messenger of Allah (S) said:

"As for my daughter Fatima, she is the mistress of all women; from the beginning of history until the end. She is part of me; she is the light of my eye and the fruit of my heart.'

'Fatima is my spirit, which I hold in me; she is a human huri. Whenever she keeps up prayer in her Mehrab before her Lord, her light illuminates to the angels in Heaven just as a star shines to mankind on Earth. So Allah, Exalted is His name, says to the angels:

'My angels, look at my servant, Fatima, who is the mistress of all my female servants, keeping up prayers before Me. Her limbs shake from fear of Me and she worships Me whole heartedly. Bear witness that I have safeguarded her Shiites (followers) from Hellfire..."'

6. Idat Ad-Da'i:

"Fatima (sa) used to breathe quickly while praying, for fear of Allah. Speaking about Fatima's worship is endless; especially her supplication to Allah, the Exalted, for she realized the deep meaning of worship and supplication to Allah, and came to enjoy keeping up prayer before the Almighty. Yet, this is no strange matter, because it is in regard to her father that the Qur’an says. We have not sent down the Qur’an to thee to be (an occasion) for thy distress.' Because the Prophet would pray for long hours, Allah, the Exalted, revealed this verse to him as relief, and comfort."

🍃🌺🍃 Fatima The Gracious 🍃🌺🍃

🍃 By Abu Muhammad Ordoni 🍃

.

[islaytonlost]

The Jigsaw Museum Part 7

So turns out I comitted a sin of unfinished works? That wont do it'd ruin my reputation as a good fanfic writer (dont look at my fics they're all finished I swear) .

Anywho enjoy a very untimely chapter 7. Cw for guns & blood. Please remember Alfendi is not a depiction of DID.

First Part, Chapter 6, Chapter 8

Alfendi hated Justin, he hated everything about that man and yet he needed to know everything. Maybe Justin would admit he hated Alfendi back instead of that pitying I did this to protect you speech.

At least Justin wasn’t boring. Unlike all the other small fry out there, those pathetic killers who couldn’t seem to find the pointy end on a knife Justin had been smart enough to fool him. Al couldn’t help but be hooked on every word.

Until it cuts off.

Static for a few seconds leads Al to snap his head up hunting down the speaker.

“A case solved years ago by another detective. I’m sorry detective Baker but you really havent done enough,” his hosts voice drifts through the speakers. She’s been in the interview but thes was different, the audio quality had changed.

“What more can I do!” Lucy? What was her voice doing there. For a second he considers the horrible implication that Lucy had somehow been in on this since the start, that she’d also been turned into the betrayer.

The thought was chilling. Warmth sucked out of his body leaving only cold hard fear.

Then his brain caught up. Lucy couldn’t have betrayed him, this was different, a different recording maybe? It was more than likely she’d taken audio from them without permission.

The best opportunity she had was on this tour, that matched up with the audio quality, reminiscent of his time spent with Diane…

"We’re in the same room.” Fendi’s voice is devoid of emotion, each word said slowly, each syllable enunciated.

They should have noticed sooner.

The room had been done up, it’d been repainted. All these thoughts, hasty excuses in hopes to appease whatever unkind deity watched over, in hopes he could get a redo. He did not.

“Die” the lady’s voice echoes through the room.

Anyone so obsessed with the cases he’d solved would know the significance of being in this room. Al lunges himself at the door. Locked. His eyes dart around the room, it was all papers, papers and pedestals bolted to the ground.

He attacks the thing, running up to it and throwing his weight against the solid object. The impact goes through him, bruising his soft flesh, still the door stood strong.

A projector buzzes to life portraying the scene, Lucy diving forward. She could be depended on to put up a fight. He had time, as long as Lucy fight he had time.

Still Al hurls himself at it, again and again and again until something in his collarbone crunches, he reels back just as the sound of a gun going off echoes through the room. Unwillingly he turns to the projection.

Lucy, Lucy had been shot.

The world stills, voices from the speakers not reaching his ears, was Lucy alive? He should be attacking the door, he should be back at the door trying to shove the useless thing down but instead he couldn’t seem to pull his eyes off the slowly growing pool of blood.

Lucy… He reaches a hand out to touch the image, it reflects on his hand now.

"Her blood on our hands, because someone was so selfish they had to walk into a trap to feed his own ego.”

Fendi’s voice had never been so angry, so cold. Al knew he deserved it. Time didn’t seem to want to move forward, all he could do was stare at his hand.

Lucy’s cries snap him out of it, she was alive!

Oh god she was alive. The Lady seemed determined to make Lucy’s death as painful as possible, kicking her over and over and over.

What vile words spewed from her mouth, as she professed her love to Alfendi. Professed how Lucy was the only thing in her way. How Lucy must be eliminated.

Al tries, he really does, to throw himself against the door again but he couldn’t follow through, as soon as his shoulder hit the door the pain paralyzed him, making him feel fain. The room span and still the door stood steadfast against him.

“aaaaaargh!” his hand moves his shoulder, instinctively trying to straighten it back out. Tears force themselves out his eyes, he screams again, louder this time. A howl of desperation, he needed to escape and yet there was no way out.

He was trapped in this room, watching the woman who’d saved him die before he could return the favour. This had been his call; he was a heartless being who’d put the person who he cared for most in a vulnerable position.

He was cruel for abandoning her despite having an awareness of the dangers.

He’d just thought she’d survive.

He hadn’t imagined… He hadn’t thought of this happening to her.

As soon as his scream ended he could hear Lucy’s again, clanging through his skull. They were everywhere and he dared not make another sound.

This was his reward for his selfishness. The least he could do is remember her final moments.

~~~~888~~~~

Chelmey liked running. He did it a lot. In his spare time, of which he had too much he chose to spend that time keeping in shape, hoping to live a long and happy life of napping, and trying to keep up to date with the latest trouble the Layton children had gotten into.

It’d been a relief when he’d finally found Flora, a gentlewoman by her own right prospering greatly who ignored every single one of his letters and calls.

He couldn’t blame her, it had been years since they’d been in contact but he couldn’t help but feel responsible and she couldn’t bare any ill will toward him. He’d never kidnapped her, locked her up or purposefully lured to her.

He’d once eaten her food and not immediately thrown up, if that wasn’t a sign that he was trying then what was?

It’d been a relief to find her fine, Luke was still nowhere to be found but some solace could be taken that he’d disappeared with the most senior Layton so Chelmey really didn’t have any control over that.

He just wanted things to be in order for when, if, his friend returned.

The scream echoing down the stairs did not point towards things being fine so. Chelmey, looked around for any kind of weapon and, finding a fire axe* he rushed toward the noise.

“Hello?” he bellows as he runs, “hello?” he was hoping that the owner of the scream could reply, that him calling out would allow them to alert help.

It did make him lose his edge of surprise against an aggressor but this castle was a labyrinth. He needed to rely on something to navigate. The sounds started up again in form of sobs.

Chelmey charges toward the source. Each sob seemed to he wrenched out from between the teeth of someone badly injured. Hissing and broken and painful.

The corridors seemed to tunnel the sound, it bounced off walls, echoed sown corridors, it could be all around him but Chelmey was trained at this. He could discern the difference between the echoes and the real thing.

Eventually he reaches a solid oak door, a vent in the middle that the sound had travelled through, “Hello?” he tries the doorhandle.

“It’s locked,” a familiar voice wafts out through gritted teeth, “break it down” it orders.

Chelmey frowns, he remembered it from somewhere but couldn’t seem to place it’s source, “stand back.” He hears scuffling as the person behind the door does. Then he raises the axe, bringing it down on the weak point of the door.

It takes a good ten minutes to create a hole large enough that the person inside could crawl out of, pulling away any wood that dared get in his way.

Alfendi was lucky for his slender frame. He managed to pull himself through easily. Chelmey squints at the man, bruises lined his left side that Chelmey was sure extended to under his jacket. The mans hands had bits of wood sticking out of them too an Alfendi seemed to wince whenever he flexed them.

There’s a second of silence between them, Alfendi clearly recognising the man who’d disappeared from his life the last time he was in this castle.

“They have Lucy, call an ambulance she’s been shot!” he orders again before running off.

Gorski would have loved all this being ordered around, he’d have been great with all this running too. Chelmey sighs, finding himself running back down all the stares he’d just run up in search of reception and a phone.

~~~~888~~~~

Florence was not good at thinking on her feet, mostly because she was not good at being on her feet, she use a makeshift wheelchair half the time. The other reason she was not good on her feet was the fact she’d never really caught up with the whole hand to hand combat thing.

This was quite bad when you realised that Lucy’s aggressor has a gun. Florance could immediately identify the type of gun (a Charter Arms Bulldog). There was a dent in the floor where a bullet had gone off, a second in a mans skull and a third in Lucy herself.

Two bullets left. Two potentially very deadly bullets. A foot buries itself into Lucy’s chest, her friend let out a pained groan. There was so much blood. She needed to act.

Detaching the IV pole from the bag and pocketing the fragile bag Florance grips the pole and throws it at the woman, aiming to distract her. A move that even while doing it she considered foolish. She wouldn’t die because of it though. Hopefully.

Lucy would definitely die if she did nothing.

She runs for cover behind a display of Alfendi’s clothes? How had the great detective not figured out they should all leave sooner? Even Florence could tell that she’s mad.

The woman turns instinctively shooting at the aggressor. The pole remained unaffected and collided straight into the woman.

Fortunately Lucy seemed to be lucid enough to notice this distraction and use it as a chance to crawl away. Using the wall as support she managed to push herself away. There was nothing that side of the room For Lucy to hide behind though.

Florance wanted to think of something, she wanted to be the hero but she just couldn’t, Lucy was the hero. She’d saved Alfendi and by proxy the station from his bad temper.

She brightened everyone’s days and was the hero in so many lives for solving so many cases. There were so many people who’d never even know what horrors they’d been saved from thanks to her.

Florance wasn’t a hero, she just helped out sometimes and pretended like she didn’t need help. She was happy in her role, usually.

Now she was desperate. Willing to change her part and having no idea how.

Lady Addems recovers quickly, there were only a few displays in the room and only one that could really be hidden behind. Florance runs out, simultaneously hoping to be shot at while dreading it.

If only the woman would use her last bullet.

She was not so fortunate as the Lady clearly realised that Florance would pose no further threat and headed back toward Lucy.

She didn’t even think. She just darted forward, straight for the pole and hits the Lady in the knees with it. They lock eyes.

This would not end well.

~~~~888~~~~

* a fire axe is an axe used to break down obstacles in times of fire. Not a cool flaming axe smh

Alfendi Laytn is not a depiction of DID bc he does not have DID.

[thebadboyfanclub]

You Can Do Better (Rio x Reader)

Requested by anon, i’ve posted this for the third time and tumblr is being a fucking asshole to the point were i’m thinking of quitting this since every week I get a new way of them hiding my works. Enjoy it while it lasts

T.W. mentioning of attempted rape

(Y/n) had been Micks neighbor for a few months before the incident happened, this absolute dumpster was the only thing she could afford at the time, fresh out of college, in a foreign country without any family, but she was hoping to moving quickly. However, when Mick was coming home, he heard her screams and cries for help from the bottom of the stairs, he had seen her once or twice, even baked him cookies when he first moved in, she was nice and a quiet neighbor. 

He found (y/n) being held down by two men in masks and one of them try to rape her, she was begging and screaming, he almost acted on instict when he shot the guy in the back, the other tried to attack him and he also ended up with a bullet in between his eyes. (Y/n) thanked him and Mick had to stop her from calling the police. Instead they called Rio. He was met with two dead bodies, A girl in her torn pajamas shaking and crying and Mick trying to calm her down.

“Those motherfuckers”

Was all he said, it didn’t take a genius to figure out what had gone down, Rio was a criminal and balls deep in despicable things, yet he was proud to say he had never laid hands on a woman nor a child. He kneeled in front of her, took a good look at her eyes, her entire body shaking as she looked at him, you could sense the trauma she had been through.

Rio had heard of her when Mick told him about this little girl next door that baked him cookies as a welcoming gift, he recalled how his friend laughed when he mentioned that the girl asked him his opinion about the next tattoo she wanted to get. Now this happy light hearted girl was replaced because two men thought they are superior.

“Hi sweetheart, I understand this is hard, we will take care of everything alright? You trust us?”

“I had locked the door, I was sleeping”

“I know sweetheart, it wasn’t your fault. We’ll take care of you ok?”

“Thank you”

-

Since Mick had vouched for her and Rio had seen her at her worst they felt obligated to take her under their wings, maybe even help her earn a little more money, get a good car, pay her bills comfortably, that sort of stuff. Until one day she asked to do more, get initiated

“Mama this isn’t the playground, we ain’t playing cops and robbers”

“I know, but you said I am learning quickly, why not teach me more?”

“Why you wanna do this? All of a sudden you feel like being a gangster? You were shaking in your shoes a few months ago”

“I’m done being your little child Rio, I want to hold my own. I will do this with or without you”

Rio looked at her with a serious face. She was growing, becoming fearless, ruthless, he had seen it coming, she was picking up more slack, asking more questions, she wanted to prove herself.

“You’re threating me mama?”

“And what if I am?”

She quickly not only proved herself, she became one of his most valuable members, she was his secret weapon, nobody would suspect a young little hotel receptionist being linked to them. She worked twice as hard and smarter than most if not all his men, advised him wisely and was always cool, calm and collected, she worked best under pressure. Scared little (y/n) felt like had never even happened, she was his soldier now, she had Micks status and Mick couldn’t be more proud, he had a soft spot for her.

“Hey mister policeman, Have some room for another criminal?”

She joked as she leaned at the door of her car, waiting for the new little boy toy to get out of the police station. Now the normal question is why is (y/n) around a police man, there is a two part answer to that. Great lover and also great cover, she was his little thing, so nobody would dare blame you for any crime, the girl of the police man being a gangster? it sounded like a joke.

“Depends on what crime we are talking about miss”

“I can think of a few, we can put those handcuffs to use”

As he approached her she smiled and took off her sunglasses. She looked amazing in her blue loose ripped jeans and a simple oversized white t shirt, a chain necklace around her neck and some nice rings on her fingers as her hair fell  in front of her breasts, wearing a pair of high heels to style it up.

How you doing gorgeous?”

“Oh you know, thriving and surviving. How about you, I thought you had a day off today”

“Yes but I got assigned to a new case”

“Ohhhh should I be concerned? any criminal on the loose?”

“Not really, we are trying to find a link for this Rio guy”

Jackpot, this couldn’t have gone better. She tried to contain her smile and leaned back on the door, acting like nothing had happened.

“Oh I think you’ve mentioned him before, what did he do now?”

“Lots of things but motherfucker always slips away, chief thinks he has someone on the inside”

“Like a dirty cop?”

“Yes, so he wants me to look into it”

“Look at you, leading a case... Sexy”

The guy smiled at her, he was completely fooled and hooked. She hadn’t told anyone about her plan of seducing him to get information, she didn’t need to up until this point, yet what she did not calculate was Rio seeing her outside the police station talking to a fucking cop, the outmost enemy and being all close and cozy to him, acting all buddy buddy in broad daylight.

“I’m glad you like it miss”

“There’s a lot of things I like about you baby, anyway I have to go, I have a shift to clock in to”

“I’ll see ya later?”

“Maybe. Bye handsome”

At that (Y/n) got in her car and drove away. Rio was pissed, the girl he trusted and the girl he wanted was flirting with a policeman, how could she? He trusted her, taught her everything he knew, gave her everything with generosity and she was becoming a cops whore? Of course it wasn’t just about flirting with a cop, it was flirting with someone that wasn’t him.(Y/n) was a charming woman, he found her extremely attractive and she was even better now with the confidence she had gained over time, she was a woman he craved, the woman he wanted to have on his side, a queen that could hold the keys to his kingdom. Now all this was slowly shattering, no there had to be an explanation and he couldn’t wait to hear it.

Of course he could not just appear at her workplace, she was gracious enough to arrange a room for him incognito when Beth shot him, yet they had to act like strangers so all he could do was wait for her. 

“Hey boss, sorry I’m late I had to take care of a few things”

“Like that cop friend of yours?”

She had barely closed the door of his office before he blurred it out, he had this whole plan of making her confess by herself, except when he saw her he lost control. Betrayal and confusion clouded his mind, as she stood there a bit dumbfounded for a quick moment before smirking at him.

“Stalking much?”

“I like to make sure my people are in line”

“Really? Is that why Beth is still walking around unharmed?”

He knew how much that had shook her up, (Y/n) took care of him almost as good as the doctor, she stayed with him until he fell asleep, helped him renew his bandages and anything else he needed, even though she never said it he was aware she was extremely concerned for him and he was grateful for her care, which made it even more complicated considering the fact that he was slowly becoming more addicted to her, needing and wanting more than she gave him.

“Let’s just cut to the shit, what were you doing there?”

“Talking”

“Talking? to a cop? what is this (y/n) huh?”

She sat in the chair calmly, any normal person would have either shit their pants or told him what they were planning right away. (Y/n) on the other hand found this amusing, she had grown tired of him doing things without considering the danger he was putting himself, especially when it came to Beth and the others, if it was anyone else they would have been six feet under the second Rio opened his eyes, now he had cut them in once again and had almost gotten Boss status.

 “Yes, one of your little ladies is married to a cop, what’s the issue with me talking then?”

“Last time I check you ain’t never flapped your gums to a fed”

“I don’t flap my gums Rio, I have conversations and if you really want to know he is my new boy toy. He also was the one that told me about your case, how the fuck do you think I got the information? By holding interviews?”

Rio didn’t know how to feel, she was still working for him, had used her privilege to get information for him that had saved him a lot of money, however the whole “boy toy” thing did not sit well, she liked him, she gave him her time and even though she was stringing him along, she still had him in her life.

“You did what you were supposed to do and you got rewarded, so why you still talking to him”

“Don’t start the bullshit Rio, I’m not your daughter nor your girl so why do you care who am i fucking with”

“Where’s your fucking respect to your boss (y/n)?”

“Respect? how about where’s the respect for yourself? You let the suburban moms do whatever the fuck they are doing and I’m getting shit for having sex and getting you info from the feds?”

He was pushing it, he knew that and he didn’t care, it was time to reveal his cards and she was going to do the same, whether she liked it or not. Rio leaned back on his chair, his hand rubbing his chin as he looked at her, sitting there and looking right back at him, she wasn’t lying he knew that, she had a point for the suburban moms and she had expressed her disapproval for the little thing that was going on between him and Beth. What he did not understand was if she didn’t like it cause she was a tad bit jealous or because it fucked with their money and reputation?

“You are something else you know that?”

“Yet you still question my methods, if I remember correctly I wasn’t the one that planted three bullets in you”

“You are scared of losing me mama?”

She did not respond, she just turned and looked away from him. Of course (y/n) had picked up his little flirty remarks from time to time, she would be lying to herself if she didn’t admit she had thought of how he would be in bed, how his embrace would feel, his raspy voice was enough to start fantasies enough to make a book.

“Let’s say I am, what are you scared of Rio? Why do you care who I’m sleeping with?”

“He is a cop”

“A handsome cop, I’m sure you noticed how nicely that uniform was on him, let me tell you it’s even better when he sweats”

“I don’t need to hear it”

“Why? Does it bother you Christopher?”

She raised herself from the seat and placed her hands on the desk, leaning closer to him and making her breasts show just enough as her back curved in a perfect little S, she focused in his eyes as her tongue went over her upper lip. Rio got closer to her, his hand reached her face, as he held on to the side of her head and his thumb went over the lower lip.

“You’re not for him mama”

“Why not?”

“A woman like you is not for no goody two shoes, you can do better”

“Really? like who?”

They could feel each others breaths, their faces were almost touching as they both spoke in whispers, this conversation was not meant for no one else, they didn’t even have to speak as their body language was saying everything it needed to be said. She felt her breath become more swallow, his scent was getting her a tad bit flustered and so was hers to him.

 He wanted to take her right here and then, just the idea of her naked body was enough to drive him wild, her hair was so soft he could only imagine them stuck on her face from the sweat, the most amazing part was her lips, soft and full that made his mind go wild with the need to feel them in his lips and his body, the doors to her moans.

“I can show you better than I can tell you”

“Let’s get it then boss”

[ahlulbaytnetworks]

🍃🌺🍃 Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa) Spending in The Path of Allah 🍃🌺🍃

Fatima al-Zahra (sa) was known to be very modest, and humble. Because as man's desire of the Hereafter increases, his worldly lusts decrease; and when someone realizes the loftiness of the Day of Judgement, the worldly life becomes trivial to him. Besides, as man's reasoning and ability advances, his desire for lusts greatly decreases.

Have you not seen that children play, have fun, become sad and fight over worthless objects; but as they grow up and their senses mature, they refrain from such actions because they consider them to be degrading to their personalities, and contradicting to the rules of observing dignified conduct.

This is the case of righteous worshippers of Allah (SwT) who look down to the ephemeral things of this world, and their hearts cannot be attached to its vanities. They do not like this world for its worldly goods, rather they enjoy living to gain good deeds, and further worship Allah, the Exalted. They collect money to spend it in the way of Allah, feed the hungry, clothe and support the needy and deprived. These were also the fundamentals of modesty on which Lady Fatima az-Zahra (sa) depended. She deeply understood this worldly life, and realized the extent of the Hereafter. It is not amazing to learn that Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was satisfied with the minimum requirements of life; she chose for herself the noble trait of preferring others over herself, and aiding them, as we resent sumptuous and extravagant living. It is a small wonder, indeed, for Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was the daughter of the most modest whose religious and social life required him to live in modesty; and Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was the first person expected to follow the steps of her father, the modest Messenger (as).

Fatima’s (sa) marital life was also surrounded by modesty, and satisfaction. Her husband ‘Ali (as) was a devout follower of the Prophet (S) of Islam, and there was not a man known who was more modest than ‘Ali (as). Imam ‘Ali (as) was the man who used to speak to the silver, and gold in the treasury by saying:

"O you yellow and white, deceive someone else save me!!"

It has been reported that once a bedouin approached Imam ‘Ali (as) for help. The Imam then ordered his agent to give the bedouin a grant of one thousand dinars, the later exclaimed:

"Gold or silver dinars?"

Imam ‘Ali (as) replied: "They are both just stones to me, so give the beduin that which is more beneficial to him."

Here we relate several narrations, which speak of Fatima’s (sa) modesty and generosity:

1. The author of the book Bisharat A-Moustafa was quoted by Al-Bihar v.10 to have written:

Imam Sadiq (as) quoted Jabir Ibn Abdullah Al-Ansari as saying:

"One day when we had finished the Asr prayer with the Messenger of Allah an old Arab immigrant man, who was wearing worn-out clothes and was barely able to walk because of his old age and weakness came by. The Prophet asked the old man about his affair; the old man answered:

`Prophet of Allah I am starving, so feed me, I am naked, so clothe me, and poor, so help me. The Prophet then said: `Surely I find nothing to give you. Yet, he who guides to goodness is equal to him who performs it. So go to the house of she who loves Allah and His Messenger, and Allah and His Messenger love her. The one who prefers Allah over herself I mean Fatima.'

Fatima’s (sa) house was near the Prophet's (as) house. He asked Bilal to lead the man to her house. When the old man reached the house, he cried out:

`Peace be upon you, O household of prophethood, the (dwellers of the place where) angels frequently visit, where Gabriel-the holy spirit-descends to bring what the Lord of the Worlds reveals.'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) said: `Peace be upon you; who are you?'

The old Beduin answered: `I am an old Arab man; I have immigrated to your father, The Master of mankind, from a distant place. Daughter of Muhammad, I am hungry and in need of clothing, so console me-may Allah bless you.'

When this occurred, the Prophet (S), ‘Ali (as), and Fatima az-Zahra (sa) had not eaten for three days. Yet, Fatima az-Zahra (sa) gave him a tanned ram skin, which was used as Al-Hasan (as), and Al-Husayn's (as) bed.

Then Fatima az-Zahra (sa) told the poor man: `Take this, may Allah substitute it for you by a better gift by selling it.'

The old man replied: Daughter of Muhammad, I complain to you of hunger and you give me a ram's skin? How can I eat with this?'

When Fatima heard what the old man had to say, she gave him the necklace, which was given to her by Fatima Bint Hamza Ibn Abd al-Muttalib.

The old man took the necklace and went to the Mosque to meet the Prophet who was sitting in the presence of his companions. He went to the Prophet and said: `Messenger of Allah, Fatima Bint Muhammad gave me this necklace and said: `Sell it, for Allah will grant you a solution to your problem.'

When the Prophet (S) heard what the man had to say, he cried and said: `Indeed, Allah will grant you a solution, for Fatima Bint Muhammad, the Mistress of all women gave you this necklace.'

Meanwhile, Ammar Ibn Yasir (may Allah bless his soul) said: `Messenger of Allah, do I have your permission to buy this necklace?'

The Prophet (S) answered: `Buy it Ammar, surely if all of mankind and Jinn participate in buying it Allah will not torture them in Hellfire.'

Ammar said: `How much do you want for it?'

The old Beduin said: A meal of bread and meat, a Yemeni shirt to cover my private parts and to perform my prayers in front of my Lord, and a dinar so I can return to my family.'

Ammar, who had just sold his share of booty from the battle of Khaibar, told the man: I will give you twenty (20) dinars, two hundred (200) dirhams, a Yemeni shirt, my horse to take you home, and your need of wheat bread and meat.'

The old then said: `What a generous man you are!!'

When Ammar had fulfilled his promise to the old man, the later came back to the Prophet (S) who said: Are you satisfied and clothed?'

The old man said: Yes, and I have become rich; may my father and mother be your sacrifice.'

The Prophet (S) then said: `So, reward Fatima for her kindness.'

The old man supplicated: `O Allah, surely You are our God whenever we ask You;

`We have no other God to worship besides you;

'You are the one who grants us beneficence in all conditions;'

`O Allah, grant Fatima that which no eye has ever seen, and ear has ever heard ....'

During that time, Ammar had perfumed the necklace with mush wrapped it in a Yemeni shirt, and gave it to one of his slaves by the name of Sahm, who he had bought with the money that he had received for selling his share of the Khaibarian booty. He told Sahm:

`Take this necklace and give it to the Messenger of Allah (S) and tell him that I give you to him also.'

When Sahm had delivered the message, the Prophet (S) said: `Take the necklace to Fatima and I give you to her also.' When the slave had told Fatima the message, she (sa) took the necklace and told the slave that he was free.

Upon hearing Fatima az-Zahra (sa), Sahm laughed, so Fatima az-Zahra (sa) asked him about the reason that made him laugh. He answered: `I smiled when I thought of the abundance of goodness put in this necklace; it fed a hungry man, clothed a naked man, satisfied a poor man, freed a slave and came back to its original owner."

2. Al-Majlisi, quoting Fural Ibn Ibrahim's interpretation of The Holy Qur’an in his book Al-Bihar, said:

'Abu Saeed al-Khudari said: One morning ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib woke up very hungry and said:

'Fatima, do you have anything to feed us?'

She answered: `No, by Him who honored father with Prophethood, and honored you with successorship, we have nothing edible this morning, and we haven't had any food for two days save that which I have preferred to give you and our two children, Hasan and Husayn.'

‘Ali (as) said: 'Fatima! Why didn't you tell me, so I could bring some food for you?'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) answered: 'Abu Al-Hasan, I surely become ashamed before my God to ask you to do something you cannot do.'

At this, ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib (as) left Fatima az-Zahra (sa), with full trust that Allah would help him. He borrowed a dinar, and while he was holding the dinar and trying to buy some food for his family, he came upon Miqdad Ibn Al Aswad.

The sun had burnt Al-Miqdad's face and feet on that exceptionally hot day. When ‘Ali (as) saw him, he exclaimed surprisingly:

`Miqdad, what brings you out of your home at this hour?'

Miqdad answered: 'Abu Al-Hasan, ask me not about what I have left behind in the house.'

‘Ali (as) said: `My brother, I cannot leave you without knowing your problem.'

Miqdad then said: 'Abu Al-Hasan, for Allah's sake and your sake leave me alone, and do not ask about my condition!!'

Imam ‘Ali (as) said: `My brother, you should not hide your condition from me.'

Miqdad replied: 'Abu Al-Hasan, now that you insist, by Him who honored Muhammad with Prophethood and honored you with successorship, nothing forced me out of my house save poverty. I left my children starving; when I heard their cries, there remained no place for me on earth-I have come out of my house in depression; this is my story.'

Imam ‘Ali (as) cried when he heard the story; he cried until his beard was wet from tears and said:

`By Allah, that which forced you out of your house and also forced me out of my house; I borrowed a dinar, but I prefer you to have it.'

When Imam ‘Ali (as) had given the dinar to Miqdad, he went to the Mosque and performed his Dhuhr (noon), Asr (afternoon) and Maghrib (evening) prayers. When the Messenger of Allah (S) had completed his prayers, he signaled ‘Ali (as), who was in the first line, to follow him. ‘Ali (as) obediently followed him out of the Mosque, and after the Prophet greeted him said:

'Abu Al-Hasan, do you have some food for dinner so that I can accompany you?'

Imam ‘Ali (as) was too shy to answer the Messenger (as); but the Prophet of Allah (S) had detailed knowledge about the dinar, and what had happened to it; for Allah, the Exalted, had revealed to His Prophet (S) to have dinner at ‘Ali's (as) house that night. When ‘Ali (as) did not answer, the Prophet (S) said:

'Abu Al-Hasan, why don't you say no, so I may leave you; or yes, so I may accompany you?'

Imam ‘Ali (as) said: 'Accompany me!!'

The Prophet (S) then took ‘Ali's (as) hand and proceeded toward Fatima’s (sa) house. When they arrived, Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was just finishing her prayers and there was a pan oil fire behind her. When she heard the Prophet (S) coming, who was the dearest person to her, she greeted him and he wiped his hand on her head and said:

`How is your evening, my daughter?'

She (Fatima az-Zahra (sa)) answered: `Fine!'

He (Prophet Muhammad (S)) then said: `Give us some dinner, may Allah bless you, and surely He has.'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) placed the pan in front of the Prophet (S), and ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib...

At that moment, the Messenger of Allah (S) put his hand on ‘Ali's (as) shoulder, and said:

'‘Ali, this is a substitute for your dinar. This is a reward from Allah for the dinar; surely Allah grants whoever He wills without limit.'

The Prophet (S) cried and said:

"Praise be to Allah, Who insisted on rewarding you in this world, too, and made you ‘Ali-like Zakariya and Fatima like Maryam Bint Imran, for whenever Zakariya entered the Mehrab, he found Maryam with her subsistence."

3. It is quoted in v.10 of Bihar that Imam Husayn (as) quoted Imam Hasan (as) as saying:

"Once, on a Far-Ridha’y night, I watched my mother, Fatima, pray all night long. She kept making Ruku' and prostrating until dawn. I heard her supplicate for the believers by name; but she did not supplicate for herself, so I asked:

`Mother, why don't you supplicate for yourself as you supplicate for others?'

She answered: `Son! Prefer your neighbour over yourself. "'

4. Al-Hasan al-Basri said:

"There was not a woman in this Ummah more submitting (to Allah) than Fatima. She used to pray until her feet became swollen."

5. Al-Bihar:

'The Messenger of Allah (S) said:

"As for my daughter Fatima, she is the mistress of all women; from the beginning of history until the end. She is part of me; she is the light of my eye and the fruit of my heart.'

'Fatima is my spirit, which I hold in me; she is a human huri. Whenever she keeps up prayer in her Mehrab before her Lord, her light illuminates to the angels in Heaven just as a star shines to mankind on Earth. So Allah, Exalted is His name, says to the angels:

'My angels, look at my servant, Fatima, who is the mistress of all my female servants, keeping up prayers before Me. Her limbs shake from fear of Me and she worships Me whole heartedly. Bear witness that I have safeguarded her Shiites (followers) from Hellfire..."'

6. Idat Ad-Da'i:

"Fatima (sa) used to breathe quickly while praying, for fear of Allah. Speaking about Fatima's worship is endless; especially her supplication to Allah, the Exalted, for she realized the deep meaning of worship and supplication to Allah, and came to enjoy keeping up prayer before the Almighty. Yet, this is no strange matter, because it is in regard to her father that the Qur’an says. We have not sent down the Qur’an to thee to be (an occasion) for thy distress.' Because the Prophet would pray for long hours, Allah, the Exalted, revealed this verse to him as relief, and comfort."

🍃🌺🍃 Fatima The Gracious 🍃🌺🍃

🍃 By Abu Muhammad Ordoni 🍃

.

[weasleydream]

i got to say goodbye

okay so i’m really emotional with this one, i don’t know if you’ll be too but i really wanted to write this moment. 

As usual, feel free to like, comment, reblog and enjoy!

Masterlist

Fifty years. It’s something, isn’t it?

We’re used to hearing that a lot happens in a day, so how could we describe what happens in fifty years? Maybe it depends on the person. Maybe some would say things aren’t that different, same places, same people, only a few more wrinkles and memories. Maybe for others, life couldn’t have gotten more different, feeling like an eternity for them, barely remembering what days used to be, forgetting more and more about their childhood friends and simple things such as the portraits in Hogwarts’ corridors. 

On any other day of the year - or even of the last fifty years - I would have answered I was part of the first category. To me, getting old was the most normal thing, or so it had become. Everything that had happened from funding a family with George to officially letting our little Freddie run the shop in Diagon Alley, all of it had seemed to be written somewhere. No matter how heartbreaking things could be, deep inside I was convinced it was how things were supposed to happen.

But today wasn’t like any other day of the last fifty years. Today was different, an anniversary the whole wizarding world had prepared for, an anniversary I wished with all I had life hadn’t given us a reason to celebrate it. Today, George and I, along with plenty of other wizards and witches, had been invited to celebrate the fifty years of the battle of Hogwarts and the fall of Voldemort right in this castle we had loved so much. Plenty of the people we had fought with weren’t here anymore. Plenty of them didn’t want to come back, still haunted by green lights, screams and explosions. George was among them. More than anyone else, he had refused to put a foot in these corridors he had known so well so many years ago. 

“What do you want me to say?” he had replied when I had asked him if he wanted to come. “That those who died were heroes? That they are still missed today? We know that, Y/N. Those who fought with us know that and the others don’t care. It isn’t worth it, it isn’t worth the pain.” he had added in a whisper. 

But I knew it was worth it, because back then I thought it was written too. We had lived long enough to see this day, it had to mean we had to go to the ceremony, right? I had eventually convinced George by constantly arguing with him and he had finally accepted because in fifty four years of love, my stubbornness had become way too much. 

That’s how we had ended up walking between the forbidden forest’s trees, where we were currently. Written or not, neither of us was ready to actually enter the castle that had been our second home for seven years. What if it had changed so much we didn’t recognize it anymore? Worse, what if it was still the same and we discovered we were nothing more than strangers between these walls? 

The forest was another place full of memories, most of them quite painful and bittersweet as they were filled with people we loved and we had lost, but it was the good kind of pain. The one that leads you to smile sadly before laughing frankly, the one that at first you don’t want to feel but once it’s here, you open your arms and ask for more. 

George and I were both silent, holding hands like we used to when we were younger. Sometimes, one of us would stop and close their eyes, overwhelmed by strong memories, and the other would wait and remember too, only for a moment, how we used to be. George was now an old man, and I was an old lady. His hair wasn't that bright red I used to adore anymore, it was more dull, strewn with white strands. His eyes, even though they still had their famous sparkle, were showing more and more tiredness as the years went by. His hands were more calloused too, his once soft skin burnt by countless failed attempts to create the perfect product for the shop. Like mine, his face was wrinkled and he always used to joke on the first of April about where the freshly appeared wrinkle was hiding. And like mine, his shoulders were hunched. 

Maybe it was the special atmosphere of the forest, maybe it was the memories I had forgotten and slowly remembering again, maybe it was all of this or none of this or it didn’t matter, fact is that I was realizing how wrong I had been for fifty years. Our shoulders weren’t hunching underneath the weight of the years but the weight of the war we had gone through. If we struggled that much to keep our eyes open, it was because we didn’t want to see more horrors. It wasn’t the people we had gone through so much with that we were forgetting, but the pain we had felt when we had lost them. 

If our lives were really written somewhere, the author had been quite cruel with us. 

“Are you okay? Do you want to go back home?” 

George’s voice suddenly echoed and I opened my eyes. As it seemed, I had been lost in my thoughts for more than a second. 

“No, don’t worry, it’s fine. Unless you want to leave, of course.”

“I’ll be okay.” 

He smiled softly and for a second, I saw the goofy boy that had asked me out before the Yule Ball, and I couldn’t help but also think about his twin brother laughing at our clumsy steps and our red cheeks. Even if he had been gone for fifty years, the memory of him was still strongly implanted in us and when we had decided to name our first son after him, it was to make sure no one would ever forget him. Fred Weasley, first of the name, the most big-hearted and idiotic man this world had known. 

“I miss him,” whispered George. With the years, he had learnt to stop crying when mentioning his twin, but his eyes would always carry the pain he felt deep down. “It’s been so long, yet I still feel the hole he has left.”

“I know Georgie,” I said while stepping toward him. “I know. But, you know, I feel like he’s right here, next to us.”

“And making fun of our sappiness.” added George with a chuckle. 

“Probably, yes!”

George nodded and looked away, grabbing my hand with more strength than earlier. We kept walking for some time, not really caring about the fact that the actual ceremony had probably begun by now. 

“You know how I know I’m getting old?” I asked half an hour later, as we were sitting on rocks along the creek. 

George looked up to me, this playful look in his eyes showing me he was ready to say anything stupid that would cross his mind. 

“The wrinkles? The sagging skin? I know, the-”

“Your skin hangs more than mine!” I said, falsely offended. “I was talking about the fact that I’m exhausted and it hadn’t even been an hour and half since we arrived.” 

“Tell me about it, I feel like my back is going to break in two!” As if to address it, George stretched his back and several crackings were heard. “I’m still more in shape than you, though.”

I was on the verge of replying when a soft thump echoed and cries of distress arrived in our ears. I jumped on my feet - as quickly as my tired legs let me, of course - and followed George to where the noise was coming from. We discovered an empty bird nest, and a few inches away a tiny nestling calling for help. 

“The poor baby!” I exclaimed. “Come here little one, I’m going to help you.”

I grabbed my wand and changed a stick found on the floor into a sort of little board. There were feathers all around the nest; George put them back in so that the nestling would be comfortable and I helped the baby bird come back in the nest with the board. Then I made it levitate to the branch above our heads and watched satisfied as the mother of the nestling came back and checked on her baby. 

“What is this?” mumbled George. 

I looked at him. He was holding a pebble in the palm of his hand. With a finger, I turned it again and again, it had a strange shape and was really smooth and I was pretty sure it wasn’t just a pebble. I was going to say it was really weird when he appeared. 

“It’s been a while, brother.”

It was a reflex. I tightened my hand around George’s, too afraid he would let go of the stone. He wasn’t thinking about it at all though. His eyes were fixed on Fred, on his shape that looked more than real. His face was still the same, he was still the same. Tall, his hands stuck in his pockets, his hair messy and his eyes shining. George extended an arm, his hand a few inches away from his brother’s chest. Fred sighed and a crooked smile appeared on his face. George’s hand didn’t go further away. 

“I’m glad to see you, Georgie. I missed you.”

“I- Me too, I missed you too. So much.”

“I missed you too, Y/N/N.” Fred winked at me and I nodded, sure that I would explode in sobs if I said anything. 

His eyes fell back on George, and they exchanged one of these looks they were the only ones to understand. George’s hand was tense in mine, as if he was holding tight onto me not to get lost on what had always been his biggest dream. 

“That beard looks great on you,” finally said Fred with a smirk. “Almost better than the one I had after we tried to cheat to enter the triwizard tournament. You remember?”

“Of course,” murmured George. “It was stupid to try that.”

“I don’t think so.” Fred shrugged and took a step toward us. 

The atmosphere changed instantly, and what was feeling like a dream became the most real feeling we would ever experience. Fred’s aura was pure, the same as it had always been but so much stronger that it was enveloping us. 

“I’ve been here every step of the way Georgie, and you know I’ll be until the end. Love you, brother. Say hi to the family to me, would ya?”

George nodded, murmured a shaky I love you too, see you soon brother, and opened his hand just enough to look at the stone. I knew he wanted to keep it, I wanted it too, but I didn’t realize that the twins didn’t share this view. 

“It’s incredible…” began George.

“But dangerous.” finished Fred. 

He smiled, and George closed his eyes. 

The stone fell on the floor, and the forest became as silent as it was before. My eyes were fixed on the stone when George murmured. 

“At least I got to say goodbye.”

He looked at me, there was a tear on his cheek that he didn’t bother wiping away, but he was smiling more brightly than in the last fifty years. He didn’t need to justify himself, I knew the tale of the three brothers too and I knew the resurrection stone was dangerous. We had to keep it hidden here, where even us would be unable to find it again. After an undetermined amount of time, George grabbed my hand again. 

“I think it’s time for us to get in the castle.”

I nodded and followed him, the image of Fred still engraved in my mind. 

[viking-raider]

Hill Manor - Part I

Summary: Your life has never been easy, despite being from one of the most wealthy British Families. Between your neglectful parents and a cures you’ve been saddled with since you were a young child, your life gets harder, before it gets easier.

Pairing: Henry Cavill/You

Word Count: 10,205

Rating: PG-13 - Neglectful Parents, Mention of quick Animal abuse, Abuse, Drinking, Some Victorian Era Insults

Inspiration: I’ve been wanting to do a Fic like this for some time.

Author’s Note: Tell me what you think!

Tag List: @jennylovelyheart, @peakygroupie, @jessevans, @rosie-loves-things, @ohjules, @mary-ann84, @omgkatinka, @the-freak-cassie-131, @heelsamizayn, @agniavateira, @cap-barnes, @romyr4, @michelehansel, @kaatelyyynn, @badassbaker, @mrsaugustwalker, @authentic-bish-face, @rizeandvibe, @severuined, @supernaturalvikingwhore, @bellastellaluna, @wondersofdreaming, @thisisntmyrightera, @michelle-1185, @winchwm, @royallylazy, @sofiebstar, @worldicreate, @agniavateira, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @witches-of-discovery-a, @xuxszx, @ayamenimthiriel, @keiva1000, @fantasygirlsuniverse, @itsreigns, @constip8merm8, @scorpionchild81, @mylifefallingupthestairs, @onlyhenrys, @luclittlepond, @ellixthea, @lebguardians, @geralt-yennefer-jeskier, @cherrybloomn, @p3nny4urth0ught5, @iloveyouyen, @hollydaisy23, @mcuimagination, @psychosupernaturalhero, @sweetlybigdragonn, @whitewolfandthefox, @moviemonzy, @the-soot-sprite, @hell1129-blog, @trippedmetaldetector, @captaingothgirl1996, @dont8mind8me8eue, @peaky-marvel, @desperate-and-broken21, @monstersnmoney, @dancingwendigo, @redhot-mystacism, @thereisa8ella, @black-ninja-blade, @oddduckthatgirl, @rosewinx, @henrythickcavill, @tinabean37, @hnryycvll, @msblkfire84, @romangenesius, @emelinelovesjc, @strangerliaa​, @lovieebby, @pinksdaydream, @fanfictionaddiction99, @seb-owns-these-tatas​, @oh-for-fic-sake, @henrycavill-yes

Ulysses Dante McFayden was vengeful in all things and parts of his life, from his multi-million dollar company to his family. His wife, Matilda was the near female copy of her husband, though she was capable of being warm and affectionate, when she wanted something, or thought it would benefit her and husband's financial situation. The McFayden's had been part of the British Upper Class Crust for centuries and only kept climbing that social ladder, higher and higher. They were always the talk of Woman's Tea Rooms and Gentleman's Clubs all across Britain, for some new successful business venture or setting a new fashion trend. But, the one place they never felt successful was in their only child, a disappointment for Ulysses for not being a boy and to Matilda, for not being more like her. Y/n McFayden was the spitting image of her gorgeous mother and had the strong willpower of her father, but that's where all the similarities of her parents ended.

You were sweet and attentive, deeply concerned with the welfare and happiness of those around you, human or animal alike. You once took a near dreadful beating from your father, when he caught you nursing a wounded baby duck in the overgrown garden greenhouse at the edge of the estate. You cried for a week, when you found your father had killed the poor thing. From the age of two, your parents relinquished their parental rights to a host of nannies and tutors, some as cold and feeling-less as themselves. One of your nannies, Grace, was the greatest and sweetest out of all of them, she was a much needed breath of fresh air and sunshine in the dark and oppressive expanse of McFayden Manor. Grace was the only one that cared about you, that loved you and gave you any kind of parental guidance, that understood.

Grace was also the only one that you trusted your darkest secret too. When you were seven, not long after she started as your nanny and living in the family house, you had what your parents and previous caretakers called your, hysterical terrors. You woke just after one am, a bolt of sweaty terror washing over your body, as you sat up in your bed. Despite the still warm fire in the grate of your spacious bedroom, you could see each puff of your breath, white like a wintry mist. Your heart starting to pound, goosebumps forming as you trembled, the bumps coming down the long hallway leading to your room, other than your room and Grace's room on the very other side of the hall, the rest of the floor was empty, or to everyone else, it was empty.

There was a thud just outside your door, then the sound of nails running down it. You squeezed your eyes shut and hoped to wake up before it came through the door and stood at the foot of your bed, like it always did. But, it wasn't to be. The cold of the room grew, frosting the window panes of your room as the apparition melded through the thick arched Mahogany door, making you shiver.

“Child.” It rasped, like nails on a chalkboard.

“Let me be.” You whimpered, drawing your legs up inside your nightie and pressed your palms to your ears, desperate to block it out. “You aren't real!”

“Realest anything in this manor.” It gripped back, floating several meters off the black cherry wood floor, at the foot of your bed; flowing, black and mostly translucent. “Other than you, my sweet.” It hissed, moving closer.

“What do you want?” You whined, looking up at it and squeezed your eyes shut again.

“You.” It moaned, hovering above you, a transplant and skeletal finger following the curve of your cheek, freezing your skin like ice. “Lily Hill Manor. That is where you belong, where your curse will be its strongest and most fruitful.” It rumbled so close to your ear, its wispy hair caressing your face. “Only you can protect it from its fate. From his legacy.”

A terrible clicking and knocking sound came from it, its bony hand grazing your neck. A jolt of electricity raced through your spine, a scream ripped from your vocal cords, springing up and bounded for the door, yanking it open and rushed down the hallway for Grace's room. The spirit watched and dissolved away, just as Grace's door flew open at your frantic banging.

“Y/n, what is it?” Grace frowned, tying her robes closed and looking down at your wet and terrified face.

“There's a spirit in-in my room.” You panted, pointing behind you to your room.

Grace looked to your room, open and empty, then back down at you. “It's all right.” She said softly, resting her hands on your shoulders and hugging you against her.

“It was there, I swear.” You sobbed into her robe.

“I believe you.” Grace replied, patting you on the back, she'd never known you to lie and you were vastly too upset not to be believed, perhaps it was just a dream.

Either way, Grace believed you, when you told her about seeing it, and every one after that night. It broke your heart, when you were twelve years old and Grace fell in love with a local doctor and married him, ending her occupation as your nanny. Even though she moved away, Grace made sure to come and visit you as much as she could, knowing how lonely you were in the house, with cold parents.

At age sixteen, you no longer had nannies or tutors, you were the unwilling, for both yourself and your parents, added piece to the social gatherings and dinner parties your parents regularly threw at the manor. Your father's strict threats of never opening your mouth, unless expressly and specifically addressed, with your mother's cold and unblinking glares across the room or the table, to enforce your father's words, like they were law. In essence, they were law, with the amount of money and power he had behind his words and actions. Your life felt so lonesome, imprisoned in McFayden Manor day in and day out, the only breath of fresh air for you was the daily walks you took around the magnificent gardens on the grounds, you spent as much time out in the garden as you could, unable to endure the dark and suffocating house, all five floors, basement and attic. The estate and manor had been in your father's family for the last six generations, built by your seven times great-grandfather, after his first major and successful business venture. Your father was conceived, born and raised in the house, he never lived anywhere else, until he had the country home built, in Suffolk; which you had only been to once or twice, your parents leaving you at the Manor, on your own, with the butler and cook. Not that you cared, the place seemed cheerier without them, darkening the hallways and rooms.

“I swear, y/n.” Your mother hissed, looking you over as you gripped the post of your bed, your lady's maid tightening the laces of your corset. “If you ruin this night for your father and I, you will truly regret being born.”

“Like, you do.” You mumbled to yourself, groaning as the whale bone ribs of your corset cut into your skin.

“What was that?” Matilda snapped, looking down her nose at you.

“Nothing, Mother.” You chimed back with a forced smile.

“I thought not.” She hissed, lifting a sculpted brow at you. “This is a very important night for your father. He has several of his business partners, investors and prospective partners coming to this dinner tonight. It could turn out to be an expensive gain, or loss, depending on how it goes.” She pinched your chin between her thumb and forefinger, forcing you to look at her. “Don't ruin it.” She growled at you, sternly.

“Of course not, Mother.” You told her, meekly, staring into her moss-green eyes. “I will be on my utmost behavior, I assure you and Father.”

“Good.” Matilda huffed, letting your chin go, roughly. “Though, you couldn't disappoint us more than you already have.” She commented over her shoulder, leaving your bedroom.

You closed your eyes softly, listening to the click of her heels fade down your hall. Collecting yourself, you allowed your Lady's Maid to finish helping you dress for the party, then patiently waited for your mother to return to your room, knowing better than to go down on your own, even though from the window seat of your room, you could see the carriages coming and going along the lane leading up to the front of the manor, people of only the best stations, families and companies were given the coveted and expensive invitations your father sent out to the wealthy elite. You had seen all of their faces before, the only time a face disappeared or changed was, if someone died and their heir took their place, or they fell from the Upper Class Crust and were no longer deemed worthy of the honor to attend a Ulysses and Matilda McFayden party. You flicked through the pages of a book, Dracula, and continued to wait, stifling a yawn against the back of your hand, then heard the tell-tale taps of her heels and put the book aside, stood and smoothed down the skirt of your dress; heaven's forbid you had a wrinkle in the expensive fabric.

“Come along, girl.” Matilda called from your door, mouth pinched into a fine line as she regarded you.

“Coming, Mother.” You replied, following along after her and mounting the stairs down to the formal dinning room on the main floor.

The front hall, foyer, formal dinner room, study and library were brimming with people. You followed your mother to the library, taking your place beside her as she entertained the people in that room. You scanned the room, seeing if there were any changes to the attendees from the last party your parents had two weeks before. There was the Christopher's, the Gladstone's, and the Morris's, though Mrs. Morris looked worse then she had at the garden party. Movement at the door to the library caught your attention and you glanced in that direction, blinking several times seeing someone standing there, the butler taking their coat. They were new to the Manor, you had never seen this man before, and judging by the almost lost expression on his handsome face, he had never been to the Manor before either. He was incredibly tall and broad shouldered, looking immaculate in his finely tailored suit, his chocolate brown curls shining in the candle lit hallway. He felt your eyes on him, turning his baby blues towards you and smiled, revealing straight and pearly whites, raising a warm flush to your cheeks and you glanced away from him.

“Is that him?” You heard a low voice whisper to your mother, Ms. Whitlock.

“Yes.” Your mother nodded, covertly glancing at him, as he entered the room. “Mr. Henry Cavill.” She confirmed, watching Henry greet one of the men he knew. “He owns Cavill Enterprises. His father started the company, when he was just a lad. Rumor has it, his grandfather was a poor farmer.” She explained, turning her attention to Ms. Whitlock.

“How did he amass a company for so much money, if he's the grandson of a farmer?” Ms. Whitlock frowned at Matilda.

“I heard from Mrs. Grahams, his father worked his way up through the stations of a local shipping company, until he was the owner of it, then used his shares to start and invest in his own company, passing the shipping company off to his oldest son, Piers, then turned over Cavill Enterprises to his second youngest son, Henry; when he retired. His other sons, Nik, Simon and the youngest, Charlie, all work for one of the two companies.”

“Well, if his brothers are single, and as handsome, as he is.” Ms. Whitlock giggled, blushing at Henry's back. “Then, sign me up.”

“Oh, hush.” Matilda giggled back, playfully smacking her on the arm.

You repressed your frown at her, feeling that spot of jealousy in your stomach, wishing you had the relationship with your mother, like Leah Whitlock did. There was the high and clear sound of a bell and the Head Butler, Carlo, stepped into the room, announcing dinner. The guests funneled into the dining room and took their assigned places at the table. The room was a murmur with talk, the clink and ring of silverware and fine china, compliments on the food and wine, the amazing hosting and splendid night. After dinner and dessert, the ladies and men separated, men going into the study and the ladies going into the sitting room; talking about business and the upcoming fashion and ball season, before the guests retired and went back home.

Henry nervously paced outside Mr. McFayden's office adjusting his collar and tie as he waited for Mr. McFayden to be done with his meeting and his clerk, Mr. Sims, to show him into the tycoon's office.

“Mr. Cavill.” Mr. Sims called, appearing in the doorway. “Mr. McFayden is available to see you now.” He told Henry, with a polite smile.

“Thank you.” Henry smiled back, stepping into the office and gratefully took the chair he offered.

“Mr. McFayden will be in, in a moment.” Sims told him and stepped out of the room, back to his desk.

Henry glanced around the expensively furnished and decorated office, a painting of all Ulysses's ancestors that headed the company decorated the walls, there was a photograph of Matilda on the left side of his desk and a photo of you, as a small girl, on the right side of his desk. Henry leaned forward and picked up your photo and smirked at it, the classic ringlet curls in your hair as you smiled, bright and beautiful, at the camera; a contrast to the tight-lipped photo of your mother and paintings of grandfathers, that surrounded him.

“She was four, in that photo.” Ulysses's voice called, as he pushed open a pair of double pocket doors and entered his office from a board room. “She was so easy to deal with then.” He commented, taking the photo from Henry and stared at it for a moment, before setting it back in its place on his desk.

“I'm..sure.” Henry replied, slowly, unsure how else to answer him.

“What is it, that I can help you with, Mr. Cavill.” Ulysses asked, seating himself behind his desk.

“I would like to discuss that business venture, we started to talk about it at your party last week.” Henry answered, getting right to the point of the matter.

“The mining venture.” Ulysses nodded, resting his elbows on the arms of his chair and tented his fingers together.

“Yes, in Chester.” Henry nodded, smiling, glad that he remembered.

“Tell me about it again.”

“Um,” He cleared his throat, fiddling with the chain to his pocket watch. “My grandfather owned a farm that also sat on top of a mine, but wasn't able to do anything with the mine. My father wanted to make something of it as well, but got held up with running Cavill Enterprises and the Munro Shipping Company. My youngest brother, Charlie, has actually checked the mining site out and found it held a very large deposit of stone. I want to try and tap into that resource.”

“Why are you coming to me with this prospect?” Ulysses asked, brows drawing together. “I know you own and run Cavill Enterprises, as well as having stocks in the Munro Shipping Company and are on the board for it. So, you have a considerable sum of money.”

“I do.” Henry smirked, chuckling softly. “But, I have zero understanding and knowledge on mining and everything it entails. I know, one of your biggest businesses is in mining, that you have the knowledge and understanding of it.”

“You should also know, that knowledge like that has a price on it.”

“Of course.” Henry nodded and shifted in his seat, sitting up straighter. “I would, of course, pay for your assistance and guidance, entering into a partnership with you in the endeavor.”

“What sum are you considering?” Ulysses inquired, lifting a brow at the younger man.

“Well,” Henry cleared his throat, his collar feeling tight. “Until, we find out the success and quantity of the load the mine holds, I would be ready to pay you whatever fee you would like, then once it was found to be fruitful and a business could be made of it, I would be comfortable with going into a fifty/fifty partnership with you on it.”

Ulysses leaned back in his high backed and leather chair, regarding Henry with an experienced and meditative expression, drumming his fingers together. “Do you have a sample of the stone the prospective mine contains?” He asked, tapping his index fingers against his thin lips.

“Yes.” Henry nodded, reaching down to the briefcase he carried with him, flipping open the flap and plunged his hand inside, fishing a large stone out of it and setting it in the middle of Ulysses's desk. “It's Quartz.”

Nodding, Ulysses picked up the chunk and examined it, blindly pulling open a side drawer of his desk and pulled out a magnified eye piece to inspect it closer. “Hmm.” He hummed, turning the stone around and around. “It's clear mineral Quartz.” Ulysses told Henry, putting his eye piece back in its drawer. “In this form alone, this piece of Quartz can go for three pound sterling.”

“Really?” Henry squeaked, eyes huge with shock.

“Yes.” Ulysses nodded, setting the rock down within Henry's reach. “So, if the mine is full of rich Quartz like that,” he motioned to the sample. “then, it should be more than profitable.”

“The mine, rumored mind you, my grandfather investigated it not long after buying the land, but I and my brothers haven't had the time to confirm it, to contain Limestone as well.” Henry continued to explain to him.

“That's very profitable as well.” Ulysses pressed his lips together, contemplating the prospects, affordability, profitability and future possibility in the enterprise. “I would like to see the mine, myself.” He said, finally.

“Yes, of course. That's completely understandable.” Henry nodded, licking his lips and rubbed his sweaty palms on the knees of his pants, feeling like the meeting was going really well. “I would appreciate that, really.”

Ulysses shuffled through a calendar on his desk, clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth as he considered dates and events in his near future. “I have an open weekend in a month, I can make the trip up to Chester, then. If you would like.”

“That is absolutely perfect.” Henry beamed, moving to the edge of his seat with excitement. “I can have everything you want and need arranged by then.”

“Fantastic.” Ulysses smiled tightly back, standing up from his chair and extended his hand to Henry.

Henry stood, his smile not even faltering as he took the older man's cold hand in his warm one, squeezing and shaking it, brimming with pride and enthusiasm. “Thank you! Thank you so much, Mr. McFayden.” He thanked him, picking up his bag and putting the Quartz back inside of it. “I really look forward to working with you, and hope our future business is lucrative.”

“Same for me, Mr. Cavill.” He smiled back, nodding his head slowly. “I'll have Mr. Sims contact you ahead of my arrival and anything that comes up between now and then.” He assured him.

“I'll leave my card with him.” Henry replied and showed himself out, pulling a business card out of his pocket and handed it to Sims at his desk, before practically skipping out of the building.

Henry was invited to dinner at the McFayden's home a week later, to discuss the mine a bit more and he was excited about getting the venture started with him. He walked up the front steps of the Manor and checked his clothing, brushing off the arms and shoulders of his blazer, then rang the door bell, patiently waiting for the butler to answer.

“I'm Mr. Cavill, and I am expected for dinner with Mr. McFayden.” He explained, when the butler opened the door and lifted a brow at him.

“Of course, sir.” the Butler nodded, stepping aside and motioning for Henry to enter. “Would you like a drink, while I inform Mr. McFayden of your arrival?” He asked, pointing to the glass decanters at the small bar in the study.

“Yes, please.” Henry nodded, biting his lip. “Brandy.” He added as the Butler moved to the bar and pulled out a glass, pouring Henry his drink, then excused himself to go upstairs to Ulysses's personal study. “Oh, hello, Ms. McFayden.” Henry grinned, seeing you passing by the open doorway.

You looked up from your book, catching sight of Henry standing in the study, clutching his untouched glass. Startled for a moment, before you smiled back; politely curtsying to him and then continued on your way. Henry half frowned as the rustle of your skirts faded away down the hall, he had hoped you would stop and speak to him, or at least say something to him. When he was last there, and the first time, he had sat across from you at the table, but never heard you utter a single word the whole three hours at the dinner, you sat quietly and ate each course and dessert in perfect and polite silence, hardly even making eye contact with anyone, other than your mother, who narrowed her eyes at you a lot.

“Hm.” Henry grunted softly, pressing his lips together and resolutely deciding to get you to say something before he left for the evening. “So, how are you liking the food, Ms. McFayden?” Henry asked later, at dinner, smiling at you across the table and took a bite of his steak.

You gulped down your sip of wine and looked across at Henry, caught off-guard that he was addressing you, then looked to your mother for what to do; she lifted a brow at you slightly. “It's very delicious. Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” You replied in a quiet voice, meeting his eye again, nervously.

“Good.” He smiled at you, happy to finally get to hear your voice, but found it odd that you looked to your mother before answering. “You're very quiet.” Henry commented later, finding you alone on the back terrace, enjoying the cool night air.

“Um.” You blinked up at him, eyes shooting to the open double doors, the curtains billowing inside the house, but the pair of you were alone. “Yes, I am.” You gulped, looking back up at him, even in heels you barely reached Henry's shoulders.

“I'm sorry.” Henry frowned, blinking down at you as something struck him. “Do I make you uncomfortable?” He asked, afraid that he did.

“No.” You squeaked out, shaking your head at him, startled at the prospect that he thought such a thing. “Not at all, Mr. Cavill. I'm just not used to people addressing me, is all.” You explained to him, trying to put his concern at ease.

“Well, that's a comfort.” Henry replied, relieved, feeling a pressure in his chest loosen. “Are you an only child?” He asked, stepping closer to the railing, and you.

“I am.” You nodded, biting your lip and rubbing the edge of your sleeve, nervously.

“It must be lonely in this big house, by yourself.” He commented, looking over the expansive backyard. “I have four brothers, three older and one younger.” He explained, turning to face you and leaned his hip against the railing.

“I've always wanted a sibling.” You answered, frowning down at your covered feet. “But, even without one, I don't feel completely alone here.” You sighed and relaxed, as alone as you did feel, the ghosts that haunted your family home always kept you company, as tormenting as they were. You tensed again, hearing your mother's approaching steps and became panicked, knowing she would lose her temper if she saw you alone with their guest. “I must go, have a pleasant night, Mr. Cavill.” You bowed to him and rushed off, vanishing around the corner of the terrace.

Henry opened his mouth to bid you good night, but you were already gone. “Mrs. McFayden.” He smiled and nodded his head, as Matilda appeared in the open terrace doorway.

“Have you seen my daughter?” She asked, eyes narrowed and looking around for any sign of you.

“No, I have not.” Henry replied, lying for you.

“Hm.” Matilda huffed, pressing her lips together, then turned on her feels and went back inside.

– A Year Later –

The business venture for the Mine in Chester went off with a booming success, making Henry and Ulysses even richer. Henry spent a lot of time with your family, becoming a big part of it, your father spoke highly of him, treating him like the son he had always wanted. But, your father's attention to Henry came at the cost and jealousy from others, those that had done everything they had and could to be in the position they held in Ulysses's eyes, life and businesses. They felt the audacity of young Henry Cavill achieving such a highly coveted placement, especially with how fresh his entrance into their society was. But, Henry didn't let that bother him, he was assured of himself, he had fought hard to be where he was at, so had his father, and no one would ever discredit it.

“I don't think you deserve the distinction.” Elias Wells growled at Henry, as they stood in the McFayden library. “Some first generation Gentleman, encroaching on the position of someone with older and wealthier blood, should inherit.”

You could hear the conversation from where you sat, by the fireplace. You looked at Henry's face, but he was smiling brightly, genuinely, at the other man, his body language was relaxed and unbothered. You could tell Elias was trying hard to ruffle Henry's feathers, to heat up his blood and fight him. It was normal Elias behavior, you had known Elias since you were ten and he was fourteen, he enjoyed using his position and money to upset those he deemed the 'lesser class'. Even people wealthier than the Wells' family, got placed into the category by Elias, learned from his stiff lipped and nose-in-the-air father, who died six years before, leaving Elias as the 'man of the house' and their textile factories. But, Elias was all hot blood, he'd gotten into numerous fist-fights and duels, always highly public, he wasn't afraid to announce it, whether he won them or not. It was what he was trying to do now with Henry, he wanted Henry to lose his temper and either get into a fight with him or a duel; knowing that such public scrutiny would upset your father. Your father took his image extremely seriously, and would probably disown Henry and close their business plans together, if Henry got into a tiff with Elias, or anyone for that matter. You knew, if your father did that, then Henry would be ruined, not just because your father would end the profitable mining investment they were in together, costing Henry that money; which in itself wasn't a huge blow to Henry's financial situation and wealth, being that he owned and ran Cavill Enterprises, that was larger than the mining operation itself, and was also a board member and CEO of the Munro Shipping Company.

But, if something was to happen between your father and Henry, that would cause him to pull his wealth, name and influence with anything to do with Henry, then all of Henry's businesses would suffer. Depending on the enormity and publicity, People would stop giving Henry's businesses work, people would no longer seek the shipping company to be carried across the pond to the Americas for anything from personal items, like furniture, to official business, such as government contracts. Cavill Enterprises would suffer as well, dealing with trade and commerce. Henry could find himself in a worse situation than his poor farmer of a grandfather.

“The purity and age of a man's blood, doesn't always show his worth.” Henry replied to Elias, taking a sip of his claret.

You watched Elias's face turn the color of his Pinot Noir, his brown eyes taking on an angry sheen as he glared death holes into Henry. As hard as Elias tried to use Henry's past and bloodline against him, the more relaxed Henry became, which only heightened Elias's anger. Thinking quickly, before a full brawl broke out, you set your glass down and stood up, gliding over to the two men, a small crowd had formed as Elias became more heated, slipping between the men and rested your hand on Henry's arm, smiling up at him, sweetly.

“I do believe, Mr. Cavill, you promised me a dance at the next song.” You said, lifting a brow at him, a hint in your eyes.

A smirk twitched up at the corner of Henry's mouth as he looked down at you, getting the hint and gratefully taking the offered excuse to escape the childish conversation. “I did, did I not.” He chuckled, sitting his glass on the mantelpiece beside him, and tucked your hand in the crook of his arm. “Excuse me,” He looked pointedly at Elias. “Gentlemen. I would hate to break a promise to this lovely lady.” He grinned, turning you gracefully towards the door and escorted you out to the spacious ball room as the band your parents had hired, struck up a fresh song. “I appreciate the aid.” Henry told you, bending his head down slightly, so he could speak quietly into your ear.

“Well, it was either this, or sit by and watch Elias rage at you, like a bull in a china shop.” You giggled, turning to face him, resting one hand on his high shoulder, feeling the muscles beneath his coat flex as he hugged his arm around your corseted waist, broad palm pressed to the small of your back.

“He was turning rather red, wasn't he?” Henry laughed, his head throwing back slightly as you both held out your linked hands and started turning and gliding across the dance floor to the flow of music.

“As a beet.” You smiled and sighed, you always felt so relaxed in Henry's presence.

During one of the turns, you saw Elias glowering in the doorway of the ballroom, his hands clasped into fists with a look of utter disgust and jealousy on his still beet red face. Stomping his foot, Elias spun around and stormed out of the house, muttering things under his breath as he stormed down the gravel driveway. You and Henry danced several more times before breaking off for a breather.

“What were you doing?” Matilda's voice hissed behind you, as you poured yourself a glass of punch.

“What?” You replied, sheepish, your punch glass trembling slightly.

“You could have made a scene.”

You licked your lips slowly, stomach twisting in knots. “Was I too just let them get into a screaming match, and possibly a fist fight?” You asked her, a hot brick in your throat. “Wouldn't have that caused a scene and reflected badly on Papa?”

“You should have come to get me.” Matilda jeered at you, quietly, making sure to keep her face fixed into its usual neutral expression, not wanting the guests to see how furious she was at you. “You stupid girl.” Her hand flexing at her side, like she wanted to slap you; and you knew she wanted too.

“Mrs. McFayden, such a lovely party you've organized tonight.” Henry's voice said, cheerily, behind you both, both of your freezing solid.

“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Matilda replied, her face lighting up with its masterful art of hiding what she was really thinking and feeling. “I am so glad you are enjoying yourself, on this splendid night.”

Henry rested his hand on his chest and bowed, politely at her. “Would it be all right with you, if I stole Ms. McFayden, for another dance?” He asked, smiling sweetly at you.

Matilda looked at you, you could see her still seething, you had known your mother long enough to know what signs to look for, to see beyond the armored wall she erected in her mind. You took a deep drink of your punch and set the cup down on the punch table, and turned to Henry, curtsying to him.

“I appreciate your request, Mr. Cavill.” You smiled at him, trying to hold yourself together. “But, it is late and I am tired, I think I will just retire for the night. I beg your pardon.”

“Of course, it is rather late.” He nodded, his expression soft as he looked at you. “I wish you a good night.” He said, bowing to you. “As well as you, Mrs. McFayden.”

“Thank you, Mr. Cavill.” Your mother smiled at him, then glanced at you.

Nodding your head, you excused yourself again and left the ballroom. You were meant to go back upstairs to your bedroom, but it was hot, your corset felt the tightest it possibly could be and you weren't actually tired. So, you detoured, using the servant hallways to reach the back of the house and stepped out into the garden. Groaning, you yanked off your shoes and walked barefoot through the dewy grass, it felt great to your sore and aching toes and arches. You knelt down at the edge of the pond, watching the ducks paddling in content circles together.

“Enjoying your night, y/n.”

You sighed, setting your shoes down and rubbed the side of your face. “Very well, and yours, Elias?” You replied, suddenly feeling the exhaustion you had feigned in front of Henry and your mother.

“Bet, you think, you are so cute in front of the ill-bred runt?” He hissed, still steaming with anger towards Henry.

“No, Elias.” You sighed again, wiggling your toes into the grass. “I was only trying to prevent the two of you from getting into a fight.” You told him. “It would have made my father look bad, and you know how he feels about people that make a scene in his home; importantly, in front of his distinguished guests.” You looked at him with a cold look, that would have made your mother unfailingly proud.

Elias snapped forward, grabbing you by the elbows and yanked you up to your feet, shaking you roughly, several times, gnashing his teeth at you as his anger bubbled over. “You will learn your place, just like that runt will.” He hissed at you and shoved you backwards, almost sending you staggering into the pond.

“What does that mean?” You hissed back at him.

“You'll see.” He growled and stormed back into the house.

“Mr. McFayden.” Elias called, squashing down his white hot anger, as he knocked on Ulysses's private study door.

“Come in!” Ulysses called from inside, shuffling around some papers on his desk.

Taking a deep breath, Elias entered the study, closing the door behind him, for some extra privacy. “Mr. McFayden, there's something I'd love to discuss with you.” He started, leading straight into what he had been considering for a very long time.

“Of course, Elias. By all means, speak your mind.” Ulysses replied, giving him his attention.

“I have been a very good acquaintance of yours, and your family's, since I was a small boy. In some respects, I consider you a father.” Elias said, clearing his throat and shuffling his feet. “With that being said, I would like to ask for your daughter's hand in marriage.” He just came out with it.

Ulysses stared at Elias for quite some time, regarding him, and making Elias feel like he could see his very insides. Licking his lips and looking down at the stack of papers on his desk for a moment, Ulysses looked back up at Elias. “I will consider your proposal of marrying y/n, and give you my answer in a fortnight. Should you not hear from me on the matter, in that allotted time, take it as a no and do not pursue it any farther. Am I understood?” He told him, in a cold and business-like voice.

“Clearly, Sir.” Elias nodded, feeling his anger quiver in the pit of his stomach, he was expecting an immediate yes to his marriage proposal to you.

“Perfect.” Ulysses replied, planting his hands on his hips and glancing around his study. “If you will leave me, I have pressing matters to consider and deal with.” He said, sitting down and pushing his chair closer to his desk.

Elias stood in the hallway after stepping out of Ulysses's study, trying his best to cool and control his temper. He had wanted you as his wife for several years, he had known as a fifteen year old that he wanted to marry you, and it wasn't necessarily a love reason. His own parents hadn't married for love, their marriage had been arranged for the social status and choice blood for children. While he felt something for you, he didn't know if it was just love, or a sense of entitlement and ownership towards you. Didn't matter, your father would tell him yes, and there would be a beautiful, and very public, wedding in the fall. It would be incredibly perfect, especially when your father died and he would inherit his businesses through you.

“She'll be mine, by the end of the year.” He smirked to himself, going down the grand staircase. “Come hell or high water.”

You sat at the breakfast table the next morning, your father turned to you and announced that Elias had asked for your hand. You nearly choked on your breakfast as he said it. “When?” You squeaked, quietly.

“He asked last night.” Ulysses answered, breaking open his hard-boiled egg.

“What did you tell him, dear?” Matilda asked, nonchalant.

“I told him, I would give him my answer in a fortnight.” He replied, both of them as cool as butter about the subject, while you sat there, wide-eyed and panicked at the thought of marrying him.

“Are you going to approve?” Matilda asked, glancing at him.

“I am unsure, my love.” Ulysses replied, taking a sip of his coffee. “He comes from good breeding, his family is quite wealthy and he's quite refined.” He said, frowning down at his toast.

You gulped at his words, remembering the way his was rough with you in the garden, and how easily he was angered, even when he felt the smallest thing slighted him. It terrified you to think your father would approve of Elias. It was something you had known to expect, he was your father and he would vet any suitors trying for your hand in marriage, and being almost twenty-one, the time for him to marry you off, whether or not you liked the man he picked, was closing in on you; which only made you more anxious over the matter. You didn't love Elias, you hardly liked him, but that wouldn't matter, how you felt, it wouldn't matter to your parents, it never has. A crippling fear of being trapped in an abusive and loveless marriage, like you were trapped in the care and home of your parents was nauseating to you. You always fantasized a knight in shining armour would come and rescue you, but that was just the silly fancy of a cursed girl.

“It would be an excellent match.” Your mother commented, staring at you across the table and raised an eyebrow at you, seeing your panic. “Pull yourself together, you silly girl.” She huffed at you, rolling her eyes. “You would be lucky to marry a man like Mr. Wells.”

“Yes, Mother.” You whispered and stared down at your plate, knowing better to comment any farther.

Those two weeks were the longest days in your life, you were always on edge, when your father came home or entered the room, expecting him to tell you he had accepted Elias's proposal and you would be married the next day. But, it never came, the two weeks went by, then three and four, five and six; not a word about the proposal, as if it had never happened. You slowly relaxed over the matter, figuring your father had told Elias no, for whatever reason, and whatever that reason was, you were more than thankful for it. But, one morning, after breakfast, you were sitting on the balcony, reading a new book, when your father appeared in the doorway.

“Papa?” You addressed him, looking at him with wide and expecting eyes, waiting for him to say what he had come to tell you.

“I accepted a proposal for your hand in marriage.” He told you, plainly.

Your eyes grew large with horror and shock, book dropping from your hand, feeling faint. “Who?” You whimpered, hiccuping at the lump in your throat.

“I will tell you, when I return from my work trip tomorrow night.” He told you, then left you in stunned silence.

Twenty-four hours of waiting to find out about the marriage proposal your father had accepted, you prayed so hard that your father hadn't changed his mind about Elias's proposal and accepted it after all. But, tomorrow night would never come, you were woken up by the echoing wails coming from downstairs, for a moment, you thought your ghost was coming back to torment you, but your mind quickly identified the noises as your mother's. You pulled on a robe and flew down the stairs, it was dreadfully unlike your mother to lose her composure over anything, so when you found her on the chaise in a swoon, you were floored.

“Mama, what's the matter?” You gasped, dropping to your knees at her side and took up her hand. “What's happened?” You demanded of the butler, your mother's Lady's maid and a man you knew as your father's business partner.

“Perhaps, you should sit down as well, child.” Ulysses's business partner, Thaddeus, suggested and motioned to a chair beside your mother; which you took up. “There has been an incident.” He told you, taking your hand between his, patting it in a reassuring way.

“What type of incident?” You frowned, glancing around the room, looking for someone to explain to you what was going on.

“Your father has..” Thaddeus cleared his throat and opened his mouth to continue, but was cut off by the ringing of the door bell.

The butler shuttled off and answered it, a rush of steps came towards the study and Henry appeared in the doorway, eyes frantic until he saw you and relaxed.

“I came as soon as I heard.” He told you, sitting down beside you and taking your hand from Thaddeus's.

“Do you know what's happened?” You asked him, squeezing his hand for support.

“No, all I heard was there was an incident at the McFayden residence, and rushed right over to make sure you all were all right.” He explained, squeezing your hand back and rubbing your wrist with his thumb. “What's happened, Thad?” Henry asked, looking up at the older man, still hovering over you.

“Mr. McFayden was discovered in his hotel suite,” Thaddeus gulped, looking between you and your recovering mother. “dead.”

You gasped, pressing your knuckles to your lips and turned your body into Henry's, laying your forehead against his shoulder as silent tears overwhelmed you. Dead, your father was dead. Ulysses Dante McFayden was no more, he was never coming home, you would never see him ever again. The darkness of the Manor seemed to grow even more as you clung onto Henry, who pressed his cheek to your hair and rubbed your back, shushing you softly and offering all the comfort he could.

“How?” Henry asked, looking up at Thaddeus, rocking you gently.

“I don't think, it's appropriate to discuss that in front of the ladies.” Thaddeus replied, looking at you and your mother again, sheepishly.

You looked up at Thaddeus, setting your expression. “How?” You asked, firmly.

“He was..” Thaddeus gulped, wringing his hands. “He was stabbed, repeatedly.”

Matilda whined on the chaise, blanching. “My poor sweet Ollie.” She whimpered in a broken voice. “My poor poor Ollie.”

“By whom was he attacked?” Henry asked, gobsmacked.

“It is unsure.” Thaddeus replied, deeply uncomfortable. “He had a client meeting in his rooms, but it is unsure if that's who attacked him, or if that person even arrived for their appointment.”

“Do they know who this client is?” You asked him. “To question him? To make sure, he isn't the scoundrel that did this.”

“The authorities are checking into him, I assure you. We are doing everything that needs to be done to bring this monster to justice and close the matter as quickly and quietly as possible.”

“Thank you.” You whispered and got a hold of yourself, gratefully taking the handkerchief Henry offered you.

“You and your mother will have to finalize your father's estate and businesses.” Thaddeus said, reluctant to bring the matter up so soon, but it needed to be done.

“Of course.” You nodded, your mind reeling even more.

“Don't worry.” Henry smiled at you, squeezing your hand. “I'll be with you, every way I can.” He promised, thumbing away a tear on your cheek.

“Thank you.” You sniffled, throwing your arms around his neck.

Henry was true to his word, he was there for you and your mother in the aftermath of your father's murder. That was still hard to come to terms with, your father was murdered, by someone and you couldn't understand why anyone could be such a monster to kill someone else. Henry went with you, to identify your father's body, being your mother was bedridden in her grief. You clutched Henry's strong arm as the undertaker pulled back the sheet from your father's face, his face a chalky white and flaccid. You reached out and touched his temple, trying to make sure it was all real and not some surreal dream you were having. But, the ice cold skin beneath your fingertips was all too real, shocking your system even more.

“That's him.” You whispered, your voice distant and foreign to your own ears.

“Is that all you need of her?” Henry asked, hugging his arm around you, tucking you into the warmth of his side and body, pushing out the eerie cold of the morgue.

“It is.” The Undertaker nodded, covering your father up again.

“Your mother has asked me to arrange the funeral.” Luis, your family lawyer, said as he stood beside the undertaker, a pile of papers in his hands.

“That's fine.” You nodded, not really paying attention.

Wishing you could be away from this place, squeezing your eyes shut as the throb of a headache pressed in on your temples, you could feel them, the lingering spirits, hanging closely to their now empty flesh; angry, confused and lost on what to do now, that life had left them. You could feel one close to your shoulder, the chill of it reddened your earlobe and a shiver quaked down your spine. Henry felt it and held you closer to him, supporting you against his strong and tall body. You dared to glance at the spirit floating over your shoulder, praying it wasn't your father, thankfully it was not. It was a young-ish woman, eyes white and blank, with half a caved in skull; you jerked at the sight of her, whimpering and squeezing your eyes tight against the sight, willing your mind not to etch it into a permanent place in your brain.

“Let's leave.” Henry said softly, looking down at you, concerned for your well-being. “We can sign the papers at the house.” He suggested, already turning away with you, your solid and living form brushing through the spirit of the young lady, displacing her like a plume of smoke, before her form righted itself. “Are you all right?” He whispered to you as you blinked at the bright sunlight, feeling it warm away the chill of death.

“I'm fine.” You whispered back, taking a deep breath and pushing it all away from your mind.

Henry cupped your face, rubbing your cheek with his thumb, a crease of deep concern on his brow as he looked into your eyes. “You can confide in me.” He told you, sincerely.

“Mr..”

“Henry.” He interrupted you, gently, smiling at you, hopeful. “Please, please, call me Henry.”

You blinked at him, and felt a flutter in your stomach. “Henry.” You whispered his name for the first time. “Y/n.” You mumbled back, shyly.

Henry grinned, brimming with joy. “Y/n.” He whispered your name back to you, his chest light. “Let's get you home.” He said, rubbing his hands up and down your arms as you shivered, the cold London wind whipping around you both.

“Okay, Henry.” You nodded, it felt nice to say his given name.

“Okay, y/n.” He nodded back, folding your hand into his arm and walked to the carriage with you, opening the door and helping you inside, before following you in and tucking a blanket around your lap, for added warmth.

“Would you..stay?” You asked, walking into the foyer of the Manor and looking up at Henry, so tired and depressed.

“Here?” Henry squeaked, blinking down at you. “With you?”

“You see how big this place is?” You said, waving a hand around. “A person can, and has, gotten lost in this house. It takes a week to go from one side of the house to the other.” You laughed, trying to lighten your and Henry's moods.

“If it would make you feel more comfortable.” He said, biting his lip, really hoping he wasn't overstepping.

“It really would.” You told him, softly. “My mother has my aunt, Bella. So, she won't notice in the slightest.”

It was a week later that you attended your father's funeral. Your mother sobbing on her sister, Bella's shoulder. Your aunt had come down from Yorkshire to be with your mother in her time of need. Thankfully in that time, you had Henry to be your strong arm and shoulder, your borrowed ear as you stood at the graveside in your black dress. Henry's hand rested on the small of your back, while holding the umbrella with his other, the wet snow fell all around you and the large procession, over four hundred people came to your father's funeral.

You laid in bed, staring up at your ceiling, that night, drained in so many ways, but sleep wouldn't take you. You shivered and pulled your blanket over yourself more, and groaned seeing your frosty breath in a mist above your face. A pounding vibrated through the house, shaking your bed, it happened repeatedly in a rhythmic kind of way, it was nothing like any of the ghosts in the house had acted before. Squeezing your eyes shut for a moment, you got up and grabbed the candle stick beside your bed, lighting it and went to your bedroom door, pressing your ear to it. You slowly opened your door and started, seeing the spirit that tormented you the most.

“What's the fuss?” You hissed at her, tired of dealing with the dead.

The spirit extended its arm and pointed down the hall to the stairs. Narrowing your eyes, you took the hint and made your way down the stairs to the landing, leading down to the second floor of the Manor, where you could look down over the railing to the foyer and front floor below. Your mouth slowly dropped open, seeing a spirit floating in the space in front of you.

“Papa.” You gulped, biting back tears as you saw him.

“Y/n.” Ulysses groaned back at you, glancing around the house like he didn't know where he was or why he was there.

“Oh, Papa. No.” You whined, heartbroken, setting your candlestick on a nearby table. “Why are you here? Go, in peace. Please, Papa.” You cried, gripping the banister. “You don't belong here anymore.” You tried to convince him to cross over, you looked over your shoulder to the other spirit. “Helena, help him. Please!”

“Lily Hill Manor.” She rasped back, crooking a bony finger at you.

“I don't care about the stupid Manor.” You roared, tears dripping from your face. “Help him cross over! I beg of you.”

“Say, yes.” Your father echoed, like the hiss of steam being released. “Tell him, yes.”

“Lily Hill Manor is where you belong.” Helena moaned back. “He needs you, his legacy.”

“Ah!” You screamed, frustrated and at your wit's end. “Papa, take my hand.” You begged him, leaning over the banister and stretching your arm out to him. “Take my hand, Papa. I'll help you, just touch my hand.”

Henry had been woken up by your cries and got out of bed, wrapping a robe around himself, he had stayed in the Manor at your request, concerned for you, since your mother and aunt only seemed concerned with each other. He went upstairs to your floor, found your bedroom door open, but empty and icy cold.

“Papa, please!” Your voice echoed up to him.

Turning he started to the ground floor, and found you teetering over the banister, arm extended to your max reach over the far distance to the ground, toes barely touching the floor. Henry's heart started at the sight of you, the look of sheer terror and panic on your face, tears flowing. He shivered, unaware that he was standing right behind Helena.

“Papa, crossover! You can't allow yourself to be stuck here. Not like the rest of them, please!” You begged him, desperate.

Helena turned to Henry, making her clicking and popping sounds as she brought her contorted mouth to his ear. “Save her.” She hissed to him, making his thick body shake with cold, then ran the sharp tip of her finger up his spine, and with a flicker and shake of his head, Henry could see the white, contorted and transparent floating apparition of your father.

“Dear, God.” He gasped, mouth falling to the floor.

Ulysses locked eyes with Henry, his pure white eye sockets burned holes into Henry's very being. “Tell her. Make her, say yes. Protect her.” He rasped and moaned at him.

You looked back and finally noticed Henry standing there. “Henry!” You called out, surprised to see him.

“Y/n!” Henry yelled back, starting forward as you started to slip and lose your balance, just managing to wrap an arm around your waist and pull you back from falling, potentially, to your death. “Y/n.” He repeated your name, in a scared pant, hugging you back against him.

“You saw him.” You panted back, in shock.

“Yeah.” Henry let out in a startled rush, glancing back, but didn't see your father anymore. “Is he gone?” He asked, looking back to you.

You looked back and saw nothing either, but still felt the chill of Helena. “No.” You shook your head. “I think,” You gulped, pressing your hand to your forehead. “I think he's crossed over.” You said, softly.

“Well, that-that's good.” Henry sighed, running a hand through his disheveled curls. “Y/n, I know this isn't the best time to tell you this.” He said, gulping and licking his lips as you turned to look up at him. “But, two weeks before your father died, I asked him for your hand.” Henry confessed to you. “He gave me his answer, the day before he left for his trip.”

“You?” You squeaked up at him, stunned at the revelation. “My father agreed to allow you to marry me?” You asked, shaking your head.

Henry looked at you, hot knots twisting up in his stomach, fearing your reaction. “Yes.” He nodded. “He said, he would tell you after his trip and that our courtship would start there after.” He explained to you, chewing on his lip and cheek.

“It was you.” You said softly, feeling incredibly relieved. “Oh, thank the heavens.” You let out a relieved breath, relaxing and slumping against the wall behind you.

“You're not upset, or opposed to it?” Henry asked, shocked that you seemed joyous about it.

“No.” You grinned and laughed, a sense of freedom washing over you. “No, not at all. He told me, the morning he left, that someone had asked, but wouldn't tell me who, until after he returned home.”

“But, you were afraid to find out who it was.” He said, it was plain to see.

“Yes.” You admitted, honestly. “I feared that my father had reconsidered Elias's proposal and told him yes.”

“Elias asked your father?” Henry asked, eyes wide with shock, and anger.

“The night of the ball, where he was trying to provoke you.” You explained to him, and rolled your eyes. “Probably his attempt to 'put me in my place'.” You huffed, shaking your head at the memory.

Henry growled at the thought of Elias trying to encroach on you. “Well, I know, it's not conventional or the best timing, but, would you like to marry me?” He asked, shyly.

You smiled up at Henry, resting your hand on his forearm. “I would love to marry you, Henry.” You told him, out of your wildest fantasies about being rescued from your life, Henry was the closet and most perfect depiction of that knight. “Does anyone else know about this?” You asked, narrowing your eyes, knowing that if you both were to go public with your courtship, Elias might dispute the claim, and now your marital status was in the feeble hands of your mother.

“Yes, Thaddeus was in the room, when I asked and when your father gave me his consent.” Henry assured you, cupping your hands in his, following your train of thought.

“That's good.” You sighed, relieved.

Henry smiled at you, and couldn't help himself, he cupped your cheek in his hand and kissed you, delicately on the lips. You smiled and giggled, your first kiss, and kissed him back. “I should get you back to bed.” Henry whispered, breaking the kiss, but still very close to you. “It's late and been a trying day.”

“It has.” You agreed, feeling the exhaustion and soreness in your body. “I'll tell my mother in the morning.” You said, as you walked back up to your room with him.

“I think that's a good idea.” Henry agreed, stopping in the doorway of your bedroom. “Is it all right, if I stay in one of the rooms up here?” He asked, turning his body towards the other closed doorways on your floor, he wanted to be closer to you, in cause you needed him again, but still respectful and proper, at least until you were truly his wife.

“Of course.” You nodded, getting into bed. “There's one at the end of the hall you'll find more comfortable. The others haven't been used in, at least, my lifetime.” Henry bowed his head at you, resting his hand on the knob of your door. “Don't.” You gasped, as he started to close it.

Henry looked at you, a small crease on his brow, but smiled gently at you, nodding his head. “Of course.” He assured you, letting it go. “Good night, y/n.” He bid you, softly.

“Good night, Henry.” You replied, laying down on your side.

You watched Henry go down the hall to Grace's old room, opening the door and stepping inside. He glanced around the room that had been shut up for several years, but you still occasionally went into the room, to sleep, when your hysterical terrors became too much for you. Her room had become a safe haven for you. Henry pulled back the quilts on the bed and laid down, both of you could see each other through the open doorways, and you fell asleep with the calming assurance that Henry was there, watching over you.

-- Part II --

[holylulusworld]

Done being your fool

Summary: A party, misunderstandings, and love confessions. What can go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Characters: Bucky Barnes, Natasha Romanoff, Sharon Carter

Warnings: angst, unrequited love, misunderstandings, sadness, mutant reader, special powers, low-self-esteem

Earthshattering, heart-wrenching…however you want to call the moment when the man you love, the man you planned a fucking birthday party for, not just forgot to pick you up, but also enters said party with another woman at his arm is life-changing.

“Y/N…” Natasha can see your expression change form utterly disappointed, to heartbroken to downright pissed.

Well, the fact your hair and eye color changes depending on your mood doesn’t help to hide your emotions. When your hair and eyes turn bright red and change to black seconds later Natasha knows she has to bring you away.

“I am fine, great even. Have fun at the party I planned for two fucking months in my free time and raise your glass on Captain Ass…” Storming past Steve, not even sparing him a glance you slam your hands against the door to get away from the party.

The door slams shut behind you with a loud ‘bang’ and it’s the most satisfying sound you ever heard. Everyone saw what he did to you, everyone knows you are ‘head over heels, butterflies in your stomach, and sleepless nights thinking about him‘ in love with Steve.

While you make your way toward the exit of the ballroom you rented for the party you angrily wipe the tears running down your cheeks away. It’s a chilly night and you are not wearing a jacket as you were dumb enough to try to impress Steve.

Your hair changes to light blue and you need to hold back a sob when you wave at a cab.

“Downtown as fast as you can…” The driver gives you a curt nod, daring not to ask why a girl in a breathtakingly beautiful gown cries uncontrollably on his backseat. “If you don’t make a detour or try to get more money, I’ll pay you twenty extras.”

“Wouldn’t dare to mess with a girl from the Avengers, lady.” Nodding you give him twenty bucks to apologize. 

“Take the tip…sorry for assuming you want to mess with me too.”

Repeatedly slamming your fists into your pillow to get comfortable you curse your heart, Steve Rogers, and the fact you were dumb enough to believe he would be impressed and fall for you after you threw a party for him.

Lying in your bed, a thousand thoughts swirling through your mind you try to find a way to face Steve and the others in the morning.

They will enjoy the party, come back to the tower and ask the question you hate to answer…

“Why did you leave?” Shrieking you jolt up in your bed, ready to attack the intruder only to look at Steve. “Y/N?”

“I was tired.” Defeated you slump back onto your bed, turning your back toward Steve. “Leave me alone and go back to your party.”

“It’s your party, doll. You planned it and I don’t understand why you leave it, pretending to be tired.” Steve steps further into your bedroom, sighing when you do not talk to him. “Y/N?”

“I said I was tired!” Your hair threatens to change to bright red again and you take deep breaths to not explode. “Leave it there, Steve.”

“You planned the party only to spend it in your bed? You are not tired.” Steve sounds pissed but you are beyond the point of no return, so you jump out of your bed to face Steve.

“I was tired, Steve!” Your hair and eyes are red now and heat radiates through your body.

“Tired of you not seeing me. Tired of you bringing a girl to the fucking party I planned. I was tired of you not seeing that I am in love with you for what feels like ages.”

“I…I didn’t know.” Voice barely above a whisper Steve looks at your hair changing to pale blue.

“Yeah, I know. Everyone could see. Everyone told me to try to make a move and I did Steve. For months I threw myself at you. I cooked for you. Attended any mission with you, thanks to Tony and then…” 

Raising your hands in surrender you blink the tears away when your hair changes to grey.

“I had this idea to spend all my free time to plan the perfect party for you. I believed you would finally see how much you mean to me.” Laughing bitterly you cast your eyes down to the floor. 

“Why did you leave the party?”

“As you came with CARTER! I thought you would offer me a ride after I told you about the party. Hell, I manipulated my car and told you it’s broken but you didn’t show, and I had to call a cab.” 

Sniffling you wipe your eyes. “I was waiting at the ballroom, my birthday gift in my hands and then you come through the door, Sharon Carter at your arm and I knew…I just knew you give a shit on me…”

“Y/N, let me explain…” Your index finger presses against Steve’s lips and you shake your head. “I am tired of running after you Steve. From now on, we should keep our relationship strictly professional.”

“Okay…but…” One word leaving Steve’s lips rips you apart. You believed he would fight, would tell you that this is a misunderstanding and that he at least – doesn’t want to lose your friendship.

“Go! Get out of my room!” Hair blue once again you hold back the tears while you shove Steve our of your room. 

“Wait...we should…” Your door closes and you lock it, not wanting to talk to Steve ever again. 

“No, we shouldn’t, Rogers…”

“Will you tell me why you left the party?” Bucky nudges your side glancing at your pale blue hair. “Why is your hair blue?”

“Sadness,” Natasha whispers. “Her hair changes colors like a mood ring.” 

“I know that, Natasha. I asked for the reason why she’s sad.” Deadpanning Bucky bickers about hair colors and knowing you better with Natasha while to your utterly horror, Agent Sharon Carter enters the kitchen.

“Good morning. Has anyone seen Steve?” She asks and you feel like someone ripped your heart out. Last night you told Steve about your feelings, told him you are in love with him and he has the guts to bring her here.

“Got no clue. Maybe he’s polishing his fake halo…” Smashing your cup of coffee against the wall behind Sharon you laugh like a mad man. “I am such an idiot!”

Your hair changes to grey, and this time…it stays grey. Natasha must watch your storm out of the kitchen and her heart drops.

“Whatever he did, Steve fucked up big time. She just suppressed her emotions…”

Bucky’s eyes dart between the usually tough assassin who starts to sniffle and the coffee running down the wall.

“Let me talk to her. I will see what I can do…” 

“Doll, fuck! I was searching the whole tower only to find you on the rooftop in the furthest corner.” Bucky sits next to you, patting your knee when his eyes land on your blue hair. “Blue again?”

“I told him…last night…” 

“Why are you on the rooftop only to sit in a corner?” Bucky tries to distract you, tries to talk to you but your hair changes to grey again.

“I'm afraid of heights and of leading a life of no significance.” Huffing the words out you glance at Bucky. 

“Why do you come up here if you are afraid of heights?” Ludicrous Bucky watches your trembling fingers. Fear let your hair turn white and you fight to bring the words out.

“If I am up here, the fear is the strongest emotion and outpowers everything else. Sadness. Embarrassment. Anything…” Bucky slings his arm around your shoulders, still not saying anything.

“What did you tell him? That you love him, doll?” Humming you look at your feet. “What happened?”

“He told me that he didn’t know. I got mad and told him to keep our relationship strictly professional and he…he just agreed.”

Tears run down your face and your hair changes to bright blue. “It always has been that way. Every time I liked a guy, he backed off. Figures.”

“Figures? I don’t understand, doll. Why should Steve back off only as you love him? He should be overwhelmed and happy.” Now you punch Bucky’s shoulder, giving him a sad smile.

“I wear my emotions visible for anyone to see. I am a freak of nature, Bucky. Why should Captain America, the golden boy himself being interested in me if anyone else pushed me away?”

“Why the grey hair?” Looking at your hair Bucky stiffens. “Y/N?”

“I can suppress my emotions, Buck. When it gets too much to handle or I get hurt…” Voice cracking you wipe your nose. “I suppressed my emotions before. I am more focused, faster, sharper – a better agent.”

“Not a better girl, though.” Steve mumbles. “Buck, can you leave us alone for a minute?” Bucky refuses to move, rather glares up at his friend. “Please give us a moment. I need to talk to Y/N in private.”

Bucky reluctantly gets up, gives his friend a warning nudge to his chest before he nods at you. 

“One word, doll and I am back. Just holler for me, Y/N.” Walking past his friend Bucky snorts when Steve rushes to your side to kneel next to you.

“Doll, you kicked me out of your apartment. I thought…I wanted to…” Panting Steve takes your hand in his. “I agreed to act strictly professional on missions but outside…”

“Outside what, Steve? Can you not leave me alone?” Hair blue again you glare at Steve. “I am done being your fool. Not one day after I admitted my feelings to you, you brought her to your apartment and fucked her…”

“I did what with whom?” Steve cups your cheek, forces you to look up at him. “I wasn’t with anyone, Y/N. I left your apartment and didn’t go back to the party.”

“Sharon, she slept here, at the tower. Don’t try to lie to me, Steve. I told you that I love you and you…you just bring her here and…” Sniffling you try to blink more tears away.

“I swear on all that’s holy, on my mother’s grave, that I did not bring her here. I didn’t even speak to her.”

“But you brought her to the party, Steve. Now you are telling me you did not invite her to the tower.” Your hair turns red again and you punch your fist into Steve’s face. “Liar.”

“Fine! I admit that I did not want to go alone. I heard from Nat that you will attend the party with a hunk – I didn’t know what a hunk is, had to google it, but those guys looked like models.” Blinking a few times, you look up at Steve. 

“What do you mean with hunk? I was alone at the fucking party I planned for your ungrateful ass…” Slamming your fists into Steve’s chest you groan in annoyance as he doesn’t even flinch.

“I didn’t know. Natasha said you’ll come to the party with the hung hunk of your dreams. I wanted to ask you to be my plus one but then I thought you have a sexy guy and asked Sharon…only as a friend…I swear…”

Steve starts to stammer and for the first time, he looks less than the self-confident Captain and more like the weak and shy guy he used to be.

“Hung hunk? I never used such words to describe anyone, Steve.” Giggling at Steve’s confused look you let your hair change to your original hair color. “If I would use such word, I’d use them for you…”

“Me…” Leaning closer Steve presses his lips to yours, grasps for your waist to bring you in his arms. “I swear I don’t know why Sharon was at the tower. I did not spend the night with her. I was awake, thinking about the possibility to make you talk to me.”

“Then why did she look for you?” 

“As I wanted to hand him some very important documents on behalf of Director Fury. I slept at the tower as it was a matter of national security that those papers only fall in Captain Roger's hands. I slept at one of the empty apartments.”

Sharon hands Steve the papers, smiling as he won’t let go of you. “Tony Stark offered me a place to sleep.”

“Uh—fuck. I am sorry for the cup…”

“Don’t worry. People tent to throw things at me.” Sharon gives you a wink before she leaves you and Steve alone. 

His lips are back on yours, press firmly against your soft pillows. “Your hair is light red.”

“Yeah…”

“It was never light red before…” 

“I never was in love before…not like this…” It’s Steve’s turn to feel his cheeks heat up.

“So…can I show you my room?” Grinning cheekily Steve leans closer to brush his lips over yours.

“In your dreams, Rogers. You will have to prove you are my hung hunk…”

All works Tags

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@soryuwifeyxx​

@letsdisneythings​

@i-love-superhero​

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@thevelvetseries​

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@that-place-called-middle-earth​​​

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@belovedcherry​​​

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Marvel Tags

@stuckys-whore​​

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Steve Rogers/Chris Evans Tags

@roonyxx​​

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@multisuperfandom​

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@heyiamthatbitch​​

[mooshs-crack-headcanons]

Hey can we get some relationship headcanons with lady, trish and lucia? Thank you moosh! 💝💝💝

Possible tw: talking about Lady's survivors guilt because Arkham is a piece of purple blobby shit. 

Lady 

Lady is without a doubt a very strong woman, after having to deal with everything her father caused at the tower and everything that lead up to it including the murder of her mother, to killing him and slowly recovering from the guilt the best she can and suffering from it all even to this day, and that's not even getting into her successful career as a devil hunter. Even with how hard her life has ever since the death of her mother, Lady is strong and has learned how to treat her mental wounds and how to move on as best as she can. She's especially pleased now that she has the rest of the crew and you to call as family. You are very lucky to have this woman at your side. 

Lady loves hunting demons, she has ever since she started her revenge against her father, so if you're in the business (which I'm going to say is likely because I don't see Lady dating a civilian without having lots of guilt about you being possibly put ton of danger because her name is pretty big with rival hunters and devils alike) expect to be hunting partners like Dante and Trish are which she finds quite amusing seeing you in action especially on big jobs where the both of you have to bust out the big guns (and in her case literally.) 

With you two being partners, both in business and romantic sense, you can expect cut on jobs to be fairly equal (sometimes with her giving you most of the cut because you're so cute) compared to whenever she teams up with the rest of the crew which she keeps most because everyone has at least a little debt owed to her, and Dante (who has the biggest ridiculous amount of debt) has bitched and whined over this fact the most before going back to pout over his strawberry sundae, which the sight makes Lady laugh every time. 

She has surprisingly really soft hands, which you would expect calluses and for her to have joint issues given how much she shoots things on a weekly basis but the woman takes good care of herself and practices regular self care so whenever she holds you hands, caresses your face, or mindlessly runs your sides when in bed her touch is very comforting. 

She likes giving attention to scars, whether it be hers or yours she likes for the two of you to trace each other's and tell the either the cool stories about the badass ones you've received from jobs or share the the mental ones and the anguishing hardships from them that will end in the two of you finding quiet comfort in each other's embrace. 

Kisses with Lady go through a variety of stages depending on where you are in the relationship. In the beginning they are quick and flustered (especially on Lady's part) then they turn into more and more confident with time as the two of you get over possible embarrassment before finally they turn into kisses that tingles your brain and makes you forget how to breathe before one of you pulls back and gives the other a cocky smirk before going back to doing whatever they were previous. 

Lady's preferable date locations are at bars, she really likes the occasional drink and it's fun to hear gossip and possible leads for potential jobs. Lady is actually a lightweight so when she does have the occasional drink be prepared to take care of the mess afterwards because she is a clingy drunk and it's actually pretty funny to hear her complain to Dante about terrible lines when her pick up lines are godlike in cringe and it's fucking adorable added with the cute shade of pink dusting her cheeks. But without fail Lady is also a bitchy nightmare when she's hungover so also be prepared so her to often harshly snap back at you the next day but know she never means the harsh words thrown your way, just let her shoot Dante a few times and she'll be good as new. 

An activity that she absolutely loves doing with you before bed is taking a shared bubble bath together. She finds it super relaxing with you leading into each other and washing each other's hair as you talk about whatever that occurred in your dangerous lives that day, also a bonus if there's music playing in the background because she loves hearing you hum along with the tune as your hands make work shampooing her hair. 

Somewhere around the time she realized things between the two of you are very serious and that the two of you are going extremely steady, does she decide that she has to be a hundred percent honest with you. She loves you and you deserve to know about the truth about the nights that she leaves you alone in bed to do whatever random thing around the apartment to distract herself from sleeping. Her haunting guilt, even though she's come to accept that what her father did wasn't her fault...the guilt still comes up from time to time, his face still imprinted in her mind. When she tells you one night before the two of you were getting ready for bed, something in her just - broke and she had to come clean. When she starts telling you the details of how her father sacrificed her mother for being a descendant of the priestess that Sparda sacrificed, how that he probably never did love either of them and that he just manipulated them both for his own plans and that sometimes she would desperately think of somehow she could've changed things and at that point each word she speaks gets harder and harder to understand before she breaks down crying. Hold her and let her sob into your shoulder and let her take all the time she needs to let it all out. Once she's calmed herself does she apologize for having to see her like this, these types of situations are hard but make sure you tell her that you love her and other comforting words that slowly give her peace of mind. Your relationship noticeably deepens that night. 

Once long further down the road of your relationship does Lady start thinking about the future. Yes she loves hunting demons but she would absolutely love to retire one day and finally settle down with you and just...somehow live a normal life. However those are thoughts for way into the future and she still hasn't had her fill yet and she's proud to have you right along with her. 

Trish 

Trish has always been since the moment she was created a woman that was very hard to get a good read on what she's feeling, she just radiates this smug badass confidence everywhere she goes whether it be hanging around the office or gracefully slaying demons. However despite this everyone who has been around for long enough knows that expressing sometimes feelings can be really hard sometimes for Trish, with her still being demon and all. That doesn't mean she doesn't feel anything; the exact opposite in fact given the dmc rules she has cried therefore she feels human emotion, so she feels a lot but given her demonic nature she doesn't know at times how to apply them and that was the one of the exact reasons why she left Dante to travel the world to do some self discovery shortly after dmc 1, so that she can learn what exactly to do with these new sensations. And with that journey it eventually leads her to having you be a major role in her life. 

Trish can be a bit unpredictable and when it comes to this they're often moments that show her devilish side off, especially on jobs (again another case of not feeling very comfortable dating a civilian) where she jumps around the battlefield, bright volting yellow electricity trailing her every movements, slashing through devils one after another and another before leaving you completely abandoned and going off on her own or with her still massacring every demonic thing that moves but this time she's looming over you almost like a predator on prey when actually she's only taking a front row seat watching you beat the shit out of demons on your end or right after the two of you slay all enemies in one area she either complements or taunts you on your kills one form the other depending on your kill count versus hers and this ends with her challenging you to a friendly spar before going any further on the current job. 

With Trish being a demon and all she has a great memory so she remembers a lot of mundane things about you, some things that even you didn't notice. She remembers all of your favorite restaurants, your favorite breakfast dishes, what preferred time you wake up, how exactly you like to be held, what tell signs that you're embarrassed, and her personal favorite: what exact words to say to see those pretty cheeks heated up. 

Her hands are fairly smooth given the healing aspect to demonic nature but uniquely her touch always has a sparking touch to it so that's something you're going to have to get use to every time your skin comes in contact with them, but after awhile you'll find comfort in it every time your hands interlock together the electricity is like a spark of a reminder that two of you are there together and alive. 

She is absolutely not afraid to spook you at times either at your place or at the office with taking on different human forms, one time she took on her Gloria form to sneak behind you while you were cleaning your pistols and tapped a few fingers along your shoulders and next thing Dante knew was there were several new bullet holes in the kitchen that he didn't remember there being before. 

You know how I talked about the electric sparks on her hands? Well that doesn't just apply there but on other parts of her as well. So that being said it's no surprise that kisses between the two of you are quite electrifying, and again something that will take time to get used to but eventually it's quite comforting. 

Trish, like Lady, loves self care and that includes going on shopping sprees so expect a lot of dates at various stores, your girlfriend with Dante's -stolen- borrowed credit card in hand getting you everything your hearts desire. 

Being a full demon Trish technically doesn't need to eat or drink anything but still she goes for the occasional pizza slice since that's usually the only food to be found at Devil May Cry, which she only does when she's bored and wants to do 'human things' however if you so happen to cook anything she will always 100% eat your food. It doesn't matter if your cooking skills would put Gordon Ramsay in an absolute shit fit, she will eat all of it and proclaim that it's the best meal she's ever had, this is a cute way she's found a small way of expressing her love. 

In the beginning of your relationship, Trish has to actually remind herself that you're human and even though you're strong you're nowhere on the same level of strength that she and Dante are on, and that even though you can handle yourself you do need protection from time to time. But she doesn't just need to remind herself that on strength but also on the emotional aspect as well. As a human you've come into this world feeling emotions, she's only felt them for a few decades which in a demons lifespan is barely anything. Trish loves you deep down and she's told you that countless times, but there are situations that you've been dragged to your absolute worst and she...has no idea what to do. She feels awful and wants to comfort you but she just doesn't know how to express that, so she can only sit there next to you and listen to you sob for hours and just feel...hopeless. Over time the two of you find a way; she confronts you about this and tells you that she doesn't want to feel hopeless without being able to express and be able to properly comfort you, which ends up with the little system of whenever you feel sad that she says next to you and holds your hand, the light bolts of electricity becoming the way of her expressing her comforting presence to you for however long you need it forehead has all the time in the world, and if you need something further feel like it feel free to cry on her shoulder and tell her everything that's bothering you, she's a great listener and her memory is great after all. 

I think out of everybody it's Dante that notices and feels Trish's feelings the most, call it a demon thing with feeling auras and such, or that he really knows his friends, or just it's possibly both. He actually prefers when Trish wants to go on jobs with you instead of him, and sure it's a little weird seeing the clone of his dead mother with someone that isn't his dad, but he really appreciates that you bring something really amazing out of his old devil hunting partner, thinking about how vastly different the demon servant that led him to Mallet Island is to the woman he sees now, and even though he doesn't comment on it the sight of the two of you excitedly bustling out of the door to go on a hell spawn killing spree always without fail gets a smile on his face. 

Lucia 

Lucia has come a long way with her self acceptance. She's artificially a demon and not human and for a good while she worried there might be a day where she might lose control of the devil inside and kill Matier and everyone else she loves and cares for, but a certain son of Sparda changed her way of thinking and now she's proud to have her powers to protect the ones she holds dear, and that includes you. She's a proud guardian of Vie de Marli and she hopes that one day she can be just as strong as Dante, and with it that's her motivation to continue to train. 

Lucia has a duty to kill demons and she views it as the way to get stronger, out of her Lady and Trish she is the one that would be alright dating a civilian although with you being a civilian that puts an even heavy weight on her shoulders to make sure the island is protected at all costs, but if she were to prefer she would rather you be a demon hunter so she wouldn't have to stress as much. 

I think Lucia would really want whoever she's interested in to be liked and respected by Matier, she is her mother after all, adoptive or not. But I really don't think there's too much to make Matier not like you, she trusts her daughter's judgment after all but still expect the cliché: "If you hurt my daughter-" speech, and despite the older woman's small figure and age this is probably the most terrifying moment you'll ever see from her. 

Lucia's, even with the healing aspect from her demonic nature, hands are fairly callused with how much she's gripped her blades over the years. Maybe it's because of her artificial status that she can heal herself quickly like all demons can but it's just not perfectly on point, she does have many scars from slip ups from the past that never fully healed that she keeps mostly hidden. 

Despite her most being present on Vie de Marli she does like to travel to the Devil May Cry office to take jobs from Morrison from here and there. It took awhile for her to feel comfortable around everyone else who was Dante bit she came around and she actually likes spending time with Kyrie when Nero brings her over. So eventually when she considers everyone in the crew trusted companions does she bring you along on one of her trips. It really does warm her heart to see you around having a fun time with these ragtag gang of colorful personalities, maybe if she has the chance and the island isn't at that much threat she could also bring Matier along? 

Kisses with Lucia are awkward at first. You're most likely her first s/o so she has absolutely no idea what to do. She had pinned feelings for Dante awhile but after seeing him in day to day situations at the office she came to learn that it would never work between them and she would prefer to stay friends, but now she has you and an actual relationship? She gets embarrassed from the slightest touch so kissing is a whole different realm for her. But of course over time and she learns to have some confidence with you she slowly becomes used to it and those awkward fumbles become slow and sweet passionate entanglements. 

Dates with Lucia on Vie de Marli mostly include late night patrols around the island, a time where it feels like it's just the two of you on the island where any type of conversation can start. But on the mainland with Dante's suggestion Lucia really likes going with you to Fredi's dinner the food there is quite different from back home and the people that work there are so nice, she once got a compliment from Cindy about how pretty she was and the shocked flushed look on her face was so adorable and precious that it's something you'll never forget until the day you die. 

Lucia when she's not on duty has a hobby carving wooden figures, the process really relaxes her. So a lot of gives from her are of beautifully sculpted animals with your name carved neatly onto the bottom of them. You end up having lots of them on shelves in your study and whenever you're sitting down doing whatever while Lucia's away they bring a nice sense of comfort like she's still there with you. Another bonding moment the two of you have is her teaching you how to carve, it's a sweet moment with her place next to you holding your hands as she instructs you what to do, all potential shyness that she normally shows gone and instead replaced by full confidence, which is always really nice to see from her. 

Lucia has long before your relationship learned to accept what she is, but there are some times where she has moments of doubt that you would be much happier dating another human instead of a devil as herself. After the two of you have visited the office a couple of times and she sees how you've become good friends with Lady that her insecurities come up and she has the thoughts of if you'd be more happy in a relationship with Lady, another human, than her, an artificial demon. With this plaguing her mind she becomes more distant, which with her not being really good at hiding when something's bothering her you notice fairly quickly. When you finally approach her about it she does come clean and tells you what's troubling her and even more than she's still doubting her strength as a guardian and isn't sure if she's able to protect you, Matier, and everyone, and even more so that even though she has demon blood (even though artificial) that she is nothing like how strong Dante is. You then tell her that her being demon or human doesn't matter, that you love her for her and that she is strong but she doesn't have to be strong for everyone she can show weakness and that everyone does, and that you know Dante is proud of how far she's come and how far she can still go. She looks at you with a mystified look before pulling you into an embrace telling you how to Sparda she's so lucky to have someone as amazing as you. 

Lucia likes to think about Sparda from time to time, with all the stories that she's managed to get out from Matier and the various things she's read in books she wonders what type of man he really was deep down to love a human woman - Dante's mother - and if what he felt about her was anything how she felt about you. 

[loverandservantoftheahlulbayt]

🍃🌺🍃 Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa) Spending in The Path of Allah 🍃🌺🍃

Fatima al-Zahra (sa) was known to be very modest, and humble. Because as man's desire of the Hereafter increases, his worldly lusts decrease; and when someone realizes the loftiness of the Day of Judgement, the worldly life becomes trivial to him. Besides, as man's reasoning and ability advances, his desire for lusts greatly decreases.

Have you not seen that children play, have fun, become sad and fight over worthless objects; but as they grow up and their senses mature, they refrain from such actions because they consider them to be degrading to their personalities, and contradicting to the rules of observing dignified conduct.

This is the case of righteous worshippers of Allah (SwT) who look down to the ephemeral things of this world, and their hearts cannot be attached to its vanities. They do not like this world for its worldly goods, rather they enjoy living to gain good deeds, and further worship Allah, the Exalted. They collect money to spend it in the way of Allah, feed the hungry, clothe and support the needy and deprived. These were also the fundamentals of modesty on which Lady Fatima az-Zahra (sa) depended. She deeply understood this worldly life, and realized the extent of the Hereafter. It is not amazing to learn that Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was satisfied with the minimum requirements of life; she chose for herself the noble trait of preferring others over herself, and aiding them, as we resent sumptuous and extravagant living. It is a small wonder, indeed, for Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was the daughter of the most modest whose religious and social life required him to live in modesty; and Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was the first person expected to follow the steps of her father, the modest Messenger (as).

Fatima’s (sa) marital life was also surrounded by modesty, and satisfaction. Her husband ‘Ali (as) was a devout follower of the Prophet (S) of Islam, and there was not a man known who was more modest than ‘Ali (as). Imam ‘Ali (as) was the man who used to speak to the silver, and gold in the treasury by saying:

"O you yellow and white, deceive someone else save me!!"

It has been reported that once a bedouin approached Imam ‘Ali (as) for help. The Imam then ordered his agent to give the bedouin a grant of one thousand dinars, the later exclaimed:

"Gold or silver dinars?"

Imam ‘Ali (as) replied: "They are both just stones to me, so give the beduin that which is more beneficial to him."

Here we relate several narrations, which speak of Fatima’s (sa) modesty and generosity:

1. The author of the book Bisharat A-Moustafa was quoted by Al-Bihar v.10 to have written:

Imam Sadiq (as) quoted Jabir Ibn Abdullah Al-Ansari as saying:

"One day when we had finished the Asr prayer with the Messenger of Allah an old Arab immigrant man, who was wearing worn-out clothes and was barely able to walk because of his old age and weakness came by. The Prophet asked the old man about his affair; the old man answered:

`Prophet of Allah I am starving, so feed me, I am naked, so clothe me, and poor, so help me. The Prophet then said: `Surely I find nothing to give you. Yet, he who guides to goodness is equal to him who performs it. So go to the house of she who loves Allah and His Messenger, and Allah and His Messenger love her. The one who prefers Allah over herself I mean Fatima.'

Fatima’s (sa) house was near the Prophet's (as) house. He asked Bilal to lead the man to her house. When the old man reached the house, he cried out:

`Peace be upon you, O household of prophethood, the (dwellers of the place where) angels frequently visit, where Gabriel-the holy spirit-descends to bring what the Lord of the Worlds reveals.'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) said: `Peace be upon you; who are you?'

The old Beduin answered: `I am an old Arab man; I have immigrated to your father, The Master of mankind, from a distant place. Daughter of Muhammad, I am hungry and in need of clothing, so console me-may Allah bless you.'

When this occurred, the Prophet (S), ‘Ali (as), and Fatima az-Zahra (sa) had not eaten for three days. Yet, Fatima az-Zahra (sa) gave him a tanned ram skin, which was used as Al-Hasan (as), and Al-Husayn's (as) bed.

Then Fatima az-Zahra (sa) told the poor man: `Take this, may Allah substitute it for you by a better gift by selling it.'

The old man replied: Daughter of Muhammad, I complain to you of hunger and you give me a ram's skin? How can I eat with this?'

When Fatima heard what the old man had to say, she gave him the necklace, which was given to her by Fatima Bint Hamza Ibn Abd al-Muttalib.

The old man took the necklace and went to the Mosque to meet the Prophet who was sitting in the presence of his companions. He went to the Prophet and said: `Messenger of Allah, Fatima Bint Muhammad gave me this necklace and said: `Sell it, for Allah will grant you a solution to your problem.'

When the Prophet (S) heard what the man had to say, he cried and said: `Indeed, Allah will grant you a solution, for Fatima Bint Muhammad, the Mistress of all women gave you this necklace.'

Meanwhile, Ammar Ibn Yasir (may Allah bless his soul) said: `Messenger of Allah, do I have your permission to buy this necklace?'

The Prophet (S) answered: `Buy it Ammar, surely if all of mankind and Jinn participate in buying it Allah will not torture them in Hellfire.'

Ammar said: `How much do you want for it?'

The old Beduin said: A meal of bread and meat, a Yemeni shirt to cover my private parts and to perform my prayers in front of my Lord, and a dinar so I can return to my family.'

Ammar, who had just sold his share of booty from the battle of Khaibar, told the man: I will give you twenty (20) dinars, two hundred (200) dirhams, a Yemeni shirt, my horse to take you home, and your need of wheat bread and meat.'

The old then said: `What a generous man you are!!'

When Ammar had fulfilled his promise to the old man, the later came back to the Prophet (S) who said: Are you satisfied and clothed?'

The old man said: Yes, and I have become rich; may my father and mother be your sacrifice.'

The Prophet (S) then said: `So, reward Fatima for her kindness.'

The old man supplicated: `O Allah, surely You are our God whenever we ask You;

`We have no other God to worship besides you;

'You are the one who grants us beneficence in all conditions;'

`O Allah, grant Fatima that which no eye has ever seen, and ear has ever heard ....'

During that time, Ammar had perfumed the necklace with mush wrapped it in a Yemeni shirt, and gave it to one of his slaves by the name of Sahm, who he had bought with the money that he had received for selling his share of the Khaibarian booty. He told Sahm:

`Take this necklace and give it to the Messenger of Allah (S) and tell him that I give you to him also.'

When Sahm had delivered the message, the Prophet (S) said: `Take the necklace to Fatima and I give you to her also.' When the slave had told Fatima the message, she (sa) took the necklace and told the slave that he was free.

Upon hearing Fatima az-Zahra (sa), Sahm laughed, so Fatima az-Zahra (sa) asked him about the reason that made him laugh. He answered: `I smiled when I thought of the abundance of goodness put in this necklace; it fed a hungry man, clothed a naked man, satisfied a poor man, freed a slave and came back to its original owner."

2. Al-Majlisi, quoting Fural Ibn Ibrahim's interpretation of The Holy Qur’an in his book Al-Bihar, said:

'Abu Saeed al-Khudari said: One morning ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib woke up very hungry and said:

'Fatima, do you have anything to feed us?'

She answered: `No, by Him who honored father with Prophethood, and honored you with successorship, we have nothing edible this morning, and we haven't had any food for two days save that which I have preferred to give you and our two children, Hasan and Husayn.'

‘Ali (as) said: 'Fatima! Why didn't you tell me, so I could bring some food for you?'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) answered: 'Abu Al-Hasan, I surely become ashamed before my God to ask you to do something you cannot do.'

At this, ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib (as) left Fatima az-Zahra (sa), with full trust that Allah would help him. He borrowed a dinar, and while he was holding the dinar and trying to buy some food for his family, he came upon Miqdad Ibn Al Aswad.

The sun had burnt Al-Miqdad's face and feet on that exceptionally hot day. When ‘Ali (as) saw him, he exclaimed surprisingly:

`Miqdad, what brings you out of your home at this hour?'

Miqdad answered: 'Abu Al-Hasan, ask me not about what I have left behind in the house.'

‘Ali (as) said: `My brother, I cannot leave you without knowing your problem.'

Miqdad then said: 'Abu Al-Hasan, for Allah's sake and your sake leave me alone, and do not ask about my condition!!'

Imam ‘Ali (as) said: `My brother, you should not hide your condition from me.'

Miqdad replied: 'Abu Al-Hasan, now that you insist, by Him who honored Muhammad with Prophethood and honored you with successorship, nothing forced me out of my house save poverty. I left my children starving; when I heard their cries, there remained no place for me on earth-I have come out of my house in depression; this is my story.'

Imam ‘Ali (as) cried when he heard the story; he cried until his beard was wet from tears and said:

`By Allah, that which forced you out of your house and also forced me out of my house; I borrowed a dinar, but I prefer you to have it.'

When Imam ‘Ali (as) had given the dinar to Miqdad, he went to the Mosque and performed his Dhuhr (noon), Asr (afternoon) and Maghrib (evening) prayers. When the Messenger of Allah (S) had completed his prayers, he signaled ‘Ali (as), who was in the first line, to follow him. ‘Ali (as) obediently followed him out of the Mosque, and after the Prophet greeted him said:

'Abu Al-Hasan, do you have some food for dinner so that I can accompany you?'

Imam ‘Ali (as) was too shy to answer the Messenger (as); but the Prophet of Allah (S) had detailed knowledge about the dinar, and what had happened to it; for Allah, the Exalted, had revealed to His Prophet (S) to have dinner at ‘Ali's (as) house that night. When ‘Ali (as) did not answer, the Prophet (S) said:

'Abu Al-Hasan, why don't you say no, so I may leave you; or yes, so I may accompany you?'

Imam ‘Ali (as) said: 'Accompany me!!'

The Prophet (S) then took ‘Ali's (as) hand and proceeded toward Fatima’s (sa) house. When they arrived, Fatima az-Zahra (sa) was just finishing her prayers and there was a pan oil fire behind her. When she heard the Prophet (S) coming, who was the dearest person to her, she greeted him and he wiped his hand on her head and said:

`How is your evening, my daughter?'

She (Fatima az-Zahra (sa)) answered: `Fine!'

He (Prophet Muhammad (S)) then said: `Give us some dinner, may Allah bless you, and surely He has.'

Fatima az-Zahra (sa) placed the pan in front of the Prophet (S), and ‘Ali Ibn Abu Talib...

At that moment, the Messenger of Allah (S) put his hand on ‘Ali's (as) shoulder, and said:

'‘Ali, this is a substitute for your dinar. This is a reward from Allah for the dinar; surely Allah grants whoever He wills without limit.'

The Prophet (S) cried and said:

"Praise be to Allah, Who insisted on rewarding you in this world, too, and made you ‘Ali-like Zakariya and Fatima like Maryam Bint Imran, for whenever Zakariya entered the Mehrab, he found Maryam with her subsistence."

3. It is quoted in v.10 of Bihar that Imam Husayn (as) quoted Imam Hasan (as) as saying:

"Once, on a Far-Ridha’y night, I watched my mother, Fatima, pray all night long. She kept making Ruku' and prostrating until dawn. I heard her supplicate for the believers by name; but she did not supplicate for herself, so I asked:

`Mother, why don't you supplicate for yourself as you supplicate for others?'

She answered: `Son! Prefer your neighbour over yourself. "'

4. Al-Hasan al-Basri said:

"There was not a woman in this Ummah more submitting (to Allah) than Fatima. She used to pray until her feet became swollen."

5. Al-Bihar:

'The Messenger of Allah (S) said:

"As for my daughter Fatima, she is the mistress of all women; from the beginning of history until the end. She is part of me; she is the light of my eye and the fruit of my heart.'

'Fatima is my spirit, which I hold in me; she is a human huri. Whenever she keeps up prayer in her Mehrab before her Lord, her light illuminates to the angels in Heaven just as a star shines to mankind on Earth. So Allah, Exalted is His name, says to the angels:

'My angels, look at my servant, Fatima, who is the mistress of all my female servants, keeping up prayers before Me. Her limbs shake from fear of Me and she worships Me whole heartedly. Bear witness that I have safeguarded her Shiites (followers) from Hellfire..."'

6. Idat Ad-Da'i:

"Fatima (sa) used to breathe quickly while praying, for fear of Allah. Speaking about Fatima's worship is endless; especially her supplication to Allah, the Exalted, for she realized the deep meaning of worship and supplication to Allah, and came to enjoy keeping up prayer before the Almighty. Yet, this is no strange matter, because it is in regard to her father that the Qur’an says. We have not sent down the Qur’an to thee to be (an occasion) for thy distress.' Because the Prophet would pray for long hours, Allah, the Exalted, revealed this verse to him as relief, and comfort."

🍃🌺🍃 Fatima The Gracious 🍃🌺🍃

🍃 By Abu Muhammad Ordoni 🍃

.

[adg1115]

I Need Your Help Ronnie

"Veronica, you better get up now or you are going to be late for school."

"Ummph," I mumbled into my pillow as I turned my head towards where my dad's voice came. I didn't get much sleep last night. Every time I closed my eyes, Lilly would come visit me. This is not the first time she came to give me some afterlife guidance. The first time she appeared to me, I cried for three hours straight. Now, I have gotten used to seeing her face in my dreams and usually it is comforting. She always looks so peaceful in my dreams - like an angel.

Lilly tried to remind me of the good times I had with Logan. Like the time my mom was so drunk she forgot to come pick me up from pep squad practice. Lilly and Duncan were out of town and my dad was still at work. When Logan picked me up he could tell how upset I was so he took me to the boardwalk and filled me full of junk food. We stayed out until my legs couldn't move anymore then drove home in silence. Before I headed into my house, he told me that anytime I needed another day at the boardwalk he would gladly oblige. Every time my mother drunk herself into a stupor, he was always a phone call away. We never had to talk about why he was there.

"Veronica get up now!"

"I'm up!" I yelled dragging myself out of bed and into the kitchen. "I don't smell bacon."

"Did you not sleep well dear?" My dad asked completely ignoring my need for bacon. He stepped closer to me to exam the dark circles under my eyes.

"Eh, what is this sleep you speak of?"

"What's going on Veronica?" Dad asked in his fatherly tone.

"Ahh the usual-late night out with Chico and Tyrone. Hmmm, those boys," I said trying to distract dad. Yeah I know I should probably tell him. Oh nothing is going on dad except being visited by my dead best friend's ghost who is trying to convince me to ease up on the guy who made the last year of my life a living hell and take his case of the missing offspring. Yeah, I don't think so.

"Veronica."

"Seriously, it's nothing dad. I was just up late studying last night." Which wasn't a total lie, I did read a page from my English assignment.

"Whatever you say honey," dad said as he kissed the top of my head. "I got a lead on a bail jumper in Nevada and I will be heading out after I run by the office. Or I could stay…"

"No. Go. I'm fine," I said as I shooed dad out the house. I really didn't want to be alone but I also really really didn't want to talk about my feelings.

I had done my best to find Logan the next day at school. If he himself wouldn't have come to me begging for help, I would have thought he wanted nothing to do with me. I knew how much this would mean to Logan. He used to talk to about how he would marry Lilly and have several children causing their own chaos out in the world.

On my way to my locker after lunch I spotted him. Maybe I could take longer at my locker than usual and corner him before the tardy bell rung for next period. Or I could cowboy up and just talk to him, since he does need my help.

"Hey. Can I talk to you?" I asked Logan. I'm sure he and his toadies were discussing what 'bitchin' party they were going to this weekend or what 'gnarly' waves they were going to surf. I could honestly care less. And the fact that I had to breathe in the same air as those uptight '09ers made this interaction even less appealing.

He turned towards me with an evil smirk on his face. Oh shit. "I just can't take the begging. I'll relent, just once - but no cuddling after, and I won't call you in the morning." Oh and there he is ladies and gentlemen! Logan Echolls, jackass extraordinaire. I know it's his defense mechanism and I shouldn't probably bring this up in front of his groupies but his avoiding me wouldn't bring his kid home any faster.

"Smooth Echolls. Just forget about it, I can't believe I was actually feeling sorry for you." I didn't give him time to respond as I headed to my next class. If he wanted to act like he didn't need my help, I would play right along with him.

Once school let out I headed to dad's office to print out a billing sheet stating exactly what the cost of my services would be. Ha Logan would get a kick out of that! I put all the paperwork in a manila envelope and headed over to the Echolls estate. The sooner I started this the sooner it would be over.

The last time I was at Logan's house was the day of Lilly's funeral. Logan and I just sat around stuffing our faces with junk food and watching movies. Neither one of us spoke about the fact we just lowered my best friend or the love of his life down in the ground. It was all surreal walking back to the pool house where Mrs. Navarro said Logan would be. And of course there he was wasting all his brain cells on a mindless video game. His stupidity made so much sense now.

"I love the smell of testosterone in the evening."

"This is why I suggested attack dogs. But no, my mother wanted an alpaca." I could tell he was mad at me but at this point I really didn't care.

"I brought some paperwork dealing with your case. If we could just go over a couple of points, I will begin the search for your daughter."

That sure got his attention and he was across the room in a second grabbing the top of my arm leading me further into the pool house slamming the door behind us.

"God Veronica, do you know what my dad will do if he hears about this? Or do you just not care anymore?"

"I wasn't trying to get you in trouble Logan but until you talk to me about this, there is nothing I can do for you. I seem to recall trying in school but that didn't work either." I gave him my best 'innocent' face. "Can we please just talk about this so I can get back to work and you can get back to whatever it is you are doing?"

He led me over to where a poker table was set up and took a seat right next to mine. You could cut the tension with a knife and I honestly hated that but I didn't know how to act around him anymore. He wasn't the Logan that was my best friend. He was damaged. Hell, we both are.

Besides the occasional head nod and grunt of agreement there was hardly any response from Logan. He shut down on me and I was glad for that. It would make my job so much easier.

"This is a list of my cost depending on which services you are looking for." That brought a small smile to his face. "Since its obvious you don't want to be seen with me at school or in public, I think it will best if we don't contact each other unless we have something of importance to share."

"Ronnie it wasn't like that."

"Logan this is for the best. We will keep it professional."

His face fell a little and I almost wanted to apologize – almost.

"Fine Veronica, just let me know as soon as you find something out." And with that he was up and showing me to the door.

That night I had trouble sleeping again. I hated the fact Logan got himself into this situation and came to me for help but what I hated the most was that I wasn't there for him when he needed someone. He couldn't turn to his parents and his friends were only his friends because of his status and money. His only real friend left is Duncan but he was lost somewhere inside his head and never came out to play.

Since I wouldn't be getting any sleep, I figured it wouldn't hurt to start on his case. As I guessed, not much came back on his summer lover, Amanda Washington. He was unsure of her father's name but knew her mother's name was something like Cindy or Candy or Bambi, your typical trophy wife name. I would get my dad to run Amanda's cell phone number tomorrow and see what came of that.

"You look rough, supafly." Along with trying to solve the case of the missing Echolls, I also was helping my dad with some of his cases he got backed up on, studying for upcoming first semester midterms, and trying to prove that the best teacher in school did, in fact, not have sex with that skank Carrie Bishop. Sleep was only something I could wish for.

"Thanks." I mumbled out to my best friend.

"Hey, listen I'm not going to be around at lunch but maybe we can hang out later. I know you are missing you some bff time."

"Yeah that sounds good Wallace," I said as Wallace practically skipped down the hall. That boy was much too happy for it being as early as it was. When I opened my locker, I noticed a folded piece of paper stuck between my books. A love note perhaps? More like hate mail.

Meet me in your office fourth period. That's all the mystery note said. Three guesses as to who the note was from the first two don't count.

[silvokrent]

So since Tyrian's arrest screen didn't list everything he was wanted for, what else do you think he did? My brother thinks arson, I think more along the lines of torture.

It’d probably be easier to ask, “What crimes didn’t he commit?”

I think you’re both right. Arson and torture seem like equally valid possibilities, but they’d have to be the result of context and circumstance. On one hand, Tyrian always struck me as someone that’s adaptive, flexible, and capable of improvisation, which is why I doubt he’d be averse to either. On the other hand, Tyrian appears to have a modus operandi—speed and stealth. Like most Faunus, seeing in the dark (presumably with tapeta lucida, the eyeshine a lot of nocturnal and crepuscular animals have) affords him an advantage many of his victims lack. That, coupled with his stinger, sets him up by default for a very specific tactic: hit-and-run assassinations. Catch your target off-guard, deliver the killing blow, then melt back into the shadows before anyone’s the wiser. Fire lacks discretion, and torture involves prolonged interaction with the victim (which increases the odds of him getting caught, as time/duration would be proportionate to the risk of being discovered).

If a situation called for it (like setting a car on fire in order to distract pursuers), or he was contracted to complete a specific job (like torturing someone for information), then I could definitely see him committing arson and torture. But if he’s recreationally killing, then I think it’s more likely that he’d indulge in his preferred repertoire, envenomation and stabbing.

The nice thing about his criminal record being truncated (with a “see attachment for more details” appended to the file) with multiple redacted sections is that it leaves a lot of room for speculation. Bear in mind that much of this is either conjectural with little supporting evidence, or my personal headcanons.

One of the things that I found interesting about Tyrian’s character was his reverence of Salem. “Goddess” isn’t just an affectionate title or a term of endearment—he literally apotheosizes her. Compare that to how his teammates interact with her. While they treat her with respect, none of them use the same venerating language as Tyrian (“Your Grace,” “my lady,” “our divine savior,” “our goddess”). This tells us that his worship of her isn’t the norm amongst her followers, which also means that he has a reason for doing it.

Personally, I’ve never been a fan of labelling people who commit heinous crimes as crazy or insane—not only because it implicates nonviolent mentally ill and neurodivergent people, and scapegoats them for the actions of others—but because in this instance, it robs Tyrian of the complexity that comes with rationalizing one’s choices. Tyrian’s decision to deify Salem shouldn’t stem from some sort of psychopathology, but rather a logical, personal, or historical precedent.

Let’s reverse-engineer this thought process:

Tyrian worships Salem.

Salem (in Tyrian’s eyes) is the extreme embodiment, manifestation, or expression of cathartic violence.

Tyrian worships this form of violence.

And what else in RWBY’s universe embodies those traits?

The Creatures of Grimm.

So, with that in mind, let’s talk about all the illegal things Tyrian’s done over the course of his life, and more specifically, why.

Archotherolatry: This is a term I coined for my RWBY worldbuilding blog. If you break down the etymology, archotherian (Greek - ruling beast, the scientific term for Grimm) + -latry (Late Latin - worship of), it translates to “the worship of Grimm.” The practice was outlawed by the King of Vale (King Ozark) after the Great War. While the decision was rooted in common sense—like, you really don’t want people to see the Grimm as gods for fairly obvious reasons—Ozark had ulterior motives for outlawing it. You see, Ozark was one of Ozma’s incarnations, and the immediate predecessor of Ozpin. While archotherolatry had been falling out of favor over the last few centuries, it was still a religion with a presence in certain corners of Remnant. Salem used to recruit these cultists directly into her ranks. By making the practice illegal, Ozma was hoping to cut off a potential source of followers.

Prior to meeting Salem, Tyrian was one of the surviving few practitioners of the faith. Not only that, but he had a particular mania about it. Grimm worship in Remnant changed depending on where in the world you went, but one of the recurring practices involved human sacrifice. Now, while Tyrian didn’t subscribe to any specific holy doctrine and wasn’t a member of any secret groups, he did adhere to certain rites and ceremonies. He savored the taking of lives, but even more than that, he enjoyed offering up his victims to the Grimm. During the months that Pickerel spent hunting him down, his trails would often lead him to secluded areas outside cities or towns. There he’d often find a large ornately-detailed circle on the ground painted with blood, with the tattered corpse of the victim lying in the center. The surrounding trees and rocks would sport eye-like patterns drawn in blood, similar to the patterns seen on the bony white protrusions on a Grimm’s body.

When selecting potential victims, Tyrian didn’t discriminate. Gender, age, nationality, race, economic background—they all bleed red, so it didn’t matter. Not technically, anyway. That wasn’t to say he didn’t enjoy abducting business owners that were prejudiced against Faunus, or that he didn’t find ironic humor in sacrificing Huntsmen to the Grimm. He just wasn’t particularly choosy about who he sacrificed.

In a similar vein, I think this is how Salem first learned about Tyrian’s existence. Whenever her scouts or sentries returned to Evernight and reported in, they’d inform her about a man that would drag people into the woods and invite the Grimm to feast upon them. This possibility excited Salem for several reasons: not only was he predisposed to loyalty to her, but the fact that he’d clearly been doing these sacrifices for some time meant he was talented. It took a lot of skill to kill so many people without being caught by the authorities. She needed an assassin, and he would do perfectly.

When Tyrian wasn’t feeding people to the Grimm, he probably murdered for sport. He thrilled in the hunt, in the dizzying slick of blood beneath his fingers, the intoxicating coppery smell, the beautiful song of his victims as they cried, begged, and screamed. Acts of violence honor the Grimm, but in addition to that, he simply relished in the joy of killing. And he was good at it.

Of course, sacrificial manslaughter doesn’t pay the bills, so Tyrian had a day job. Well, I say “day job,” but it was more along the lines of contract killer/thief/kidnapper/smuggler. Tyrian operated largely out of Mistral’s criminal underworld, particularly in the capital (though depending on the work he was doing, he’d travel to Wind Path or Kuchinashi). Potential clients sought him out and hired him for any number of jobs: collect the debt that this person owes me and kill them if they refuse to pay; abduct the member of this rival syndicate and bring them to these coordinates; assassinate someone for me, and bring back proof that they’re dead; transport this contraband (weapons, drugs, Dust) and ensure the shipment arrives safely; kill these people and destroy the evidence; capture this person and extract information from them by whatever means necessary; follow this person without being detected, and collect information about their routine. Although Tyrian preferred jobs that involved bloodshed, he’d still accept contracts for more mundane work (even if he found it somewhat boring). Tyrian didn’t have a ton of dealbreakers in terms of jobs, though he refused to do anything that involved sexual assault. (Even serial killers have standards.)

Destruction of public and private property was likely an unintended or indirect consequence of his work. As much as Tyrian enjoyed wanton carnage, he prided himself on being stealthy and thus had to exercise some level of restraint, so as to not leave behind damning evidence in the form of collateral damage. Breaking a window or kicking in a door is a liability. Accidentally setting off a Dust explosion is a good way for the authorities to track you. That being said, there were a few memorable occasions where Tyrian absolutely wrecked shit up. Perhaps the most noteworthy of these was the day that he was finally captured by Atlesian and Mistrali law enforcement. On the day of his arrest, Tyrian caused nearly 50,000 lien’s worth of property damage, including the destruction of three Paladins.

Tyrian’s name, while spoken among the criminal element, was unknown to the public. Even so, he garnered a reputation as Anima’s most infamous serial killer. People often referred to him by his title: The Ghost in the Mist. (Years later, a documentary by the same name was released. It was an hour-long production that detailed his activity in Mistral, all of his victims, an analysis of his signature, and other relevant or interesting trivia. It even featured an interview with Pickerel, prior to his death. Tyrian absolutely loves this documentary and has re-watched it several times.)

I’m sure there’s more that he’s done that I can’t think of presently, but hopefully this gives you a general idea of all the criminal activity I think he’s committed.

[imnotwolverine]

The Englishman JACK - CHAP 4

< Chap 3 | Chap 4 Lady Things | Chap 5 >

Summary: When living in a man’s world, you need to know a woman’s worth.  

Author’s note: I wasn’t sure how I’d introduce Lucia. My initial draft made her too meak. So I hope it sort of works... 

Word count: 4813 (17 min. read)

Disclaimers: NSFW - Strong language, misogyny, lots of cigarettes, alcohol abuse, corporal punishment, mobsters, mystery

–

Lady Things

--

‘I tell you boy. It’s a ..marveilleuse..place!’ Jacques slurred. 

The once stoic man was giggling like a twelve year old boy in love, moustache curling at the edges. Jack grinned and tugged him along. 

Ever since the incident at the lunchroom a few weeks prior, Jacques had changed. Before then he was never late and ever precise. But meeting Stella had set something off. And though Jacques was still a very capable detective, there were moments he finally let loose. Like right now. 

With unsteady feet he and Jack crossed the cobbled road towards Madame Chartreuse. A small looking club with green shutters and bright red neon signs. The rain that had fallen an hour earlier, casted everything in a devilish hue, the whole world seemingly aflame with red delight. 

‘Is it just because she is here?’ Jack asked, eyes studying the stupidly grinning man hanging from his shoulder.

‘No no...there’s other...’ Jacques hiccupped. ‘Other reasons too.’  

Jack smiled. Indeed, there must be other reasons or they would have simply gone to the far more established Moulin Rouge.  

‘Well you take care of yourself old man.’ Jack tapped him on the shoulder as they halted before the doorman. Outside a few people were having their smokes, coats hanging from their shoulders. The streets here were far more quiet than the abundant area near the Moulin Rouge. And were it not for the silent passing footsteps of a couple passing, it would have been close to dead quiet. 

The doorman tilted his grubby face and with the exchange of a few words, coins and gauging looks, Jacques and Jack got inside the most well-kept secret of Paris. Madame Chartreuse had once been a home. And though Jack had never seen it when it had been an actual house, the vibe still clung to its happily wallpapered walls. 

The entrance hall was small but crowded, and smoke wrapped everything in a magical yellow mist. Live music and dancing feet were heard in the back, whereas the living room and reception room on the left were more merrily entertained by conversation and card games. Beaded curtains hung from the door frames and for a moment Jack wondered what the purpose was of such contraptions. It didn’t even manage to keep flies away if the flies were the size of a hand, so why bother? 

‘This way.’ Jacques said, pushing through one of said curtains, its glass beads clicking above the sound of soft chatter.  

‘Zja-zja!’ A woman jumped from her recline and before Jacques could respond, she was already on his lips. 

‘My dear.’ He grinned stupidly, blinking at her sudden closeness. 

‘I missed you so-so much.’ The woman pouted her painted pretty lips before she turned her dark brown eyes towards Jack. ‘And you brought a ..present?’ She smiled.  

‘Oh, yes. Couldn’t leave the poor bugger -’ 

‘My pleasure!’ She pushed her upturned hand towards Jack, who carefully pressed a kiss there. 

‘Likewise. Jack.’ 

‘Stella.’ 

Jack cleared his throat and looked around the room. Some ten people were lounging about on dark green couches and the whole atmosphere seemed to breathe the pure and utter eroticism of decay. The lights were low, but Jack saw the slight fraying of the wallpaper. The wear-down of the shut curtains. The slight crookedness of the lamp shades that dimmed the chandelier’s many, many lights. 

‘I’ve never seen you before.’ Stella said. With a tantalizing bite of the lip she looked down Jack’s physique. He was a good looking man with his square jaw, dark hair and crisp blue eyes. But he never seemed to be truly aware of it - or so it seemed. With a slight quirk of the eyebrow he questioned her intentions. 

‘And! You won’t need to see him again.’ Jacques interfered, using his large palm to turn her attention back to him. ‘Oh my dearest dear!’ 

‘Oh my Zja-zja!’ She cooed back. 

Before long Jack had lost interest in the lovebirds who started to french kiss each other like their life depended on it. With another clearing of his throat and a soft: ‘I’m going to look for some drinks,’ Jack moved to inspect the rest of the curious club. 

Back in the hallway, the entrancing strum of a jazzy bassline lured Jack in closer. The people here were crowding and the air was hot. A quick beat was introduced and a trumpet cheered; people started dancing and before Jack could escape he was dragged into the moving body of the young and merry. They didn’t have these type of parties in England; there the men would hang out in dungy bars, losing their nickles and dimes on shots with ladies hardly worth the time. 

Yet here. Here, there were ladies in abundance. Here the ladies were sweet and slick with sweat that drizzled down their provocatively deep-cut dresses. Here.. Jack hesitated as he stood amidst the dancing crowd. The upbeat drum became more hastened and everything seemed to swim. 

‘Jack..?’

The grabbing hands that slithered around his jacket felt like hooks, clutching to him like..

‘I’m going to die, huh?’ Harry’s lip shivered as he lay there amidst the many fallen men. The bloody fields of Hannut stank of piss and sweat and shit. And here lay Harry. His childhood friend. 

Jack gasped and looked around. The room and fields blurred into one indistinguishable mess of then and now. 

‘No.’ Jack started to shake his head, hands wanting to grab for Harry who somehow continued to remain out of reach. ‘..noo..no you won’t!’ Jack screamed as a rogue tear fell from his cheek. 

Suddenly he was back in the club, where people backed off like he wore the plague. The music hadn’t managed to drown out his heart wrenching sob and panicked cries, and were it not for the slightly muted lights, he surely would have seen the true terror in the eyes of the dancing crowd. 

Fuck. 

With hastened steps, Jack moved back to the hallway, ashamed of the way his heart still beat in agony. He had hoped that the liquor and ladies would soothe his aches, but his heart only screamed louder. Louder and louder and.. The drum returned like the drums on the fields. 

Oh gods. 

Gasping for breath he grasped onto the door that separated the dancing room from the hallway, where people were still giving him a few looks. 

He felt so terribly lost and broken. It was like the war had eaten a part of him and spit out a mere shell. A shell with pretty blue eyes. One that made women want and men wonder. It was this shell that had gotten him his job as boy-errand for Jacques. The good looks helped to get an in, and for many months Jack had just followed Jacques lead, hoping that with time he’d feel the ache of war wear off.

Those same many months he would lay sleepless in bed. Sweating and hoping, wishing, waiting that it would get better. 

Perhaps he just needed another drink. 

Turning to the left he entered a room with a long table. A low light hung just above it, washing milky light over hairy hands that moved poker chips back and forth. It was hard to see at first who these men were. Perhaps he shouldn’t have entered. But then there was also the intrigue.

With careful steps Jack moved around the table, watching as the men continued on, undisturbed. In the darker corners of the room were a few women as well. Their hazy eyes looked up at him, though they too seemed to care little for his presence. 

‘You!’ One of the man called and Jack swiftly turned heel. The stress of the war fell away as he noted who it was; the peculiar man from the bistro. What was his name again? Manari? Minaria? Jack moved closer and greeted the man without disturbing the others. 

Where the rest of the house was filled with conversation, here the room was hushed.  The only sounds were the swallowed sound of the music further up in the house, alongside the clicking of poker chips, the sucking on cigarettes and the mumbling of the men. 

‘Jack, wasn’t it?’ The man quirked an eyebrow at Jack, smiling. ‘Come sit down with me.’ 

Miniri? Maniri? Jack just couldn’t grasp the man’s name, and so he just did as requested. 

‘Luigi, your call.’ One of the other men nodded. 

Luigi, that was it. But what was his last name? Sinking down on the proferred seat, Jack unbuttoned his jacket and watched as Luigi moved coins to the mountainous stack in the middle. 

‘All in.’ 

The other men grumbled and snarled, but Luigi didn’t care. He just smiled and turned his frame to get a better look at Jack. 

‘You look like you can use a drink.’ 

‘Indeed.’ Jack breathed out. 

‘Madame!’ He snipped his fingers and a woman appeared from one of the dark corners. ‘Champagne please!’ 

Jack gasped. ‘Oh no, no. Some beer or..’ 

‘Eh!’ Luigi shushed him and grinned.

Jack frowned. ‘Why.. champagne is for celebrating and you have not even won!’ 

‘But I will! And if not..well..let us celebrate friendship.’ 

‘Friendship?’ 

‘Indeed. And if not..’ Luigi shrugged. 

Jack smiled and sniffled back the last of the tears that burned his eyes. Real men didn’t cry now, did they? 

‘Thank you.’ With a sigh he settled back in his chair. He was a little rattled by the trauma that had reared its ugly head just now, but Luigi’s ease was perfectly soothing. Even with this man being obviously a good many ranks above him in stature and earnings, he treated Jack like an equal. Or better yet.. a new friend. Jack cleared his thoughts and turned to Luigi as well. 

‘Seen that woman since?’ 

‘Her? No, no. Ha! But got a sweet deal out it with Delancour.’ 

Jack wondered for a moment what or who Delancour was, but he felt it inappropriate to ask. Why couldn’t he be as suave and amiable as these men? He felt so young in his years. Then again, he figured that he just really needed to practise before he could be like Jacques; fake it, until you make it, Jack-boy. 

‘A little tense there, huh?’ Luigi’s French-italian accent was funnily unnerving and Jack smiled, shaking his head. Just never fake your smiles. 

Jack sighed and nodded his head, watching as more and more men folded away their cards. ‘Just haven’t been out since the war.’ 

‘Ah, the war!’ Luigi smacked his lips and turned to reach for the filled champagne glasses that had appeared behind their backs. The pretty crystal cut goblets shone pretty spots of light on their arms as they toasted. ‘It’s like there’s no end to it!’

--

Jack’s stomach rumbled quietly, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to interfere. 

‘But you see my mother is not all bad.’ Luigi said, sitting in the window sill. Outside dusk had settled in over the Tuscan hills, and with every puff of Luigi’s cigarette, a new small cloud flew up in the pitch black dark. For a good many minutes the two men had conversed. Or better yet: Luigi had spoken about his peculiar mother, and Jack had listened. Sitting on the floor, with his back against the bed, he was rolling fresh cigarettes to smoke - he enjoyed those more than the factory made.

‘So free women are bad?’ Jack lit one of his freshly rolled cigarettes and looked through the smoke at Luigi. Luigi kept his face turned to the gardens outside. 

‘No. No. More like..’ Luigi shrugged. ‘You just don’t marry free women. You see Jack. There’s two types of women. The women that make your blood boil and cock hard. And the ones that soothe your pains and raise your flock. Can’t have both, never both.’ 

‘Might as well not have any women at all then, hmm?’ Jack grinned, allowing himself to sneak a peek at the key hole that was still far darker than it should be. Was he right? Was someone there? And if so, could he guess who? Sucking on his cigarette again he returned his attention to Luigi, who hastily looked away from him. 

‘Yea..yea. Women..’ Luigi cleared his throat and dragged a long breath from his near-finished cigarette. 

‘Do you..want a family though?’ Jack leaned into the bed and folded an arm over the neatly made bed. Luigi shrugged, keeping his eyes where Jack couldn’t see. 

‘And risk losing it all, again?’ A tinge of sadness crossed Luigi’s usually preppy and confident tone of voice. 

Jack sat up and stood to place a hand on Luigi’s shoulder. 

‘I’m sorry about Alfi, man. Truly. But we’ll find him.’

Luigi kept his head turned away, jaw tight. ‘It’s not that.’

Jack hesitated. With cautious eyes he watched Luigi stare out into the dark nothingness. A few silent moments followed, before Luigi finally, though testily continued. 

‘We’re cursed, that’s what. Every time good things happen for our business, another one of us bites the dust.’

Jack remained quiet. 

‘First it was Zazoo..’ Luigi sighed and flicked his cigarette out onto the terraces below. ‘It was our first big deal that brought us out of the shitter. He was..barely seventeen. Three bullets in the head. And then there was Paris.’

‘Paris?’ Jack asked. Luigi sighed again and offered a half-smile over his shoulder. 

‘Way before you and I met, English.’ 

‘Tell me.’

Luigi bit his lip and shook his head. ‘It was a mess. Father was sick for months. We needed the cash. We were all young boys, hardly capable. But family is family and business is business. We’d have a simple deal with another Italian family. Snip-snap hand in cash.’ Luigi flicked his wrists. ‘But instead it was snip-snap Piero is dead.’ 

Luigi spat out the window. 

‘You took care of that?’ 

Jack was near shocked to hear himself say it. But he knew what The Business was. And he had chosen to come here. Like a moth would come to a flame, even if it knew that it would burn. With a tight throat he watched Luigi’s lips curl in a thoughtful smile. 

‘Ever the detective.’ He said. 

Jack felt a cold shiver run up his spine as Luigi pushed himself off from the window sill. Suddenly the large man felt near threatening as he looked deep into Jack’s eyes. A silent second passed as Jack looked back, waiting for this to be the fire that would melt down his wings. 

But no. Luigi smiled, genuinely.  

‘To me you’re Jack though.’

Jack let out the softest of sighs, and Luigi took it for an invitation to pull his English friend in for another hug. 

‘There’s few like you Jack. Truly.’ Luigi backed away and cleared off invisible dust off Jack’s open hanging jacket. With admiring eyes he watched down Jack’s half-unbuttoned blouse, before he looked up. ‘So very few.’

Jack wasn’t sure what that meant. Italians always tended to be a bit more intense with relationships, so his friendship with Luigi left him at times a little unnerved. But then again, it was fine. Luigi was the man who had pretty much saved him from death by trauma. And he was the one who accidentally had introduced him to her. 

Lucia. 

--

There was something exhilarating about Paris after the war. After years of suffering and pain, people wanted to live. And they wanted to live hard. Jazzy pop and cigarettes filled the nightly skies. And if not working, Jack found himself more often than not in the company of either Jacques or Luigi. 

The two men were like fire and ice. Jacques was calculating and gentle. Luigi was fiery and extravagant. And now Jacques’ attention had turned towards his new lady-love Stella, Jack found himself more and more often in the company of Luigi. 

Luigi appeared to be a textbook style caricature of an Italian man. Or so Jack thought. He had the slicked back hair, well cut suit and sparkling, mischievous eyes. But there were also some elements that were perhaps just typically Luigi. Like the ever-present hands that smoothed around Jack’s shoulders and back. The resting gazes and tight pressed hugs. 

Perhaps it was just Luigi. 

Where was he anyways? 

Sucking on his cigarette, Jack looked around the fairylike-lit courtyard. People stood around under the glow of the lights smoking cigarettes, all huddled away in their coats. Spring had come a few weeks ago, but the nights were still chilly. 

Looking around in the half-dark, Jack could recognise a few faces, but not Luigi. He likely had found himself another type of entertainment. A lady perhaps? Who knew. 

Jack sighed and killed his burned out cigarette beneath his well-polished shoe. If not for Luigi, he sure could find some different entertainment, right? Turning to the party inside, he was soon back in the lavish palace-like home of Monsieur Martinique-de-Boncour. The old man was rich and cared little for high society, but apparently these type of parties did please his wife who now stood by the grand piano, singing some hardly bearable tunes. 

Turning to his right, Jack found himself in the lobby. People were mostly here in passing, couples all arm-to-arm as they either moved out for air, or to the backyard for love. Jack, however, was alone. 

‘Jack right?’ Another man stepped in. Wide-shouldered, but in fact no more than a boy. Jack turned on his heel and outstretched a welcoming hand.

‘Indeed. Pleasure to meet you, mister..’

‘Maniari. Big.’

‘Ah, I see. Family of Luigi, then?’

‘Indeed.’ The boy already had the smug look down, eyes studying Jack for a moment before his attention moved to a familiar face. Luigi, slightly deep in his cups came strutting into the room. By his side he had two lovely ladies, the two of them either just as drunk, or terribly enamoured. 

‘Family! Family!’ Luigi laughed before he noticed Jack. With a swaggering step Luigi freed himself from the ladies, two arms wrapping tightly around Jack. ‘And a friend!’ A wet kiss was pressed on Jack’s cheek. ‘Good! Where’s Alfi?’ 

‘Only God knows.’ Big sighed, reverting his attention back to the entertainment room where Mrs. Martinique-de-Boncour gave a rather shrieky rendition of Toute Le Jour, Toute La Nuit. 

Luigi wet his lips and let his eyes fall on a woman who passed by with an even more exaggerated swagger. With a wrinkly hand she grasped for a curtain, near dragging it down as she tried to steady herself. It was then she laughed, ridiculously hard. Even the crowd in the entertainment room by the door took a gander. 

‘Oh my..’ Luigi tutted and wrapped an arm around Jack’s wide shoulders. ‘Would you look at that.’

Jack felt the innate need to help the poor woman, but the men just stood there, chuckling. There was some type of distaste on their lips as they watched the woman struggle to get up on her old, but dainty feet. 

‘I am well! Please!’ The woman snarled as she was helped up by another woman who passed by. With a sharp tug the old woman righted herself, shoulders pushing back to take on a more confident mien. She wore an oriental type of dress. It stood out from the crowd of auburn and champagne frocks that most women wore. Like molting purple gemstones it wrapped around her, all the up to her slender neck.

With a sure nod she greeted the Italian brothers, who didn’t bother to nod back. 

‘Do you require assistance madame?’ Jack asked. With a sure step he moved towards the woman, leaving Luigi’s arm falling down behind him. The woman blinked at him and tilted her head. Perhaps Jack had just done something uncalled for, because her eyes betrayed that she was taken aback by his gesture. With quick flitting eyes she looked at the Maniari brothers behind Jack.  

‘A new family member?’ She said testily. 

‘Oh shush it Lucia.’ Big groaned. 

She frowned and looked at Luigi, but the big brother did not intervene. Instead Luigi’s eyes bore into Jack’s back. He was obviously not amused with the way how Jack had side-stepped from his brotherly arm-on-shoulder. Slowly he returned his gaze to Lucia, who received all the annoyance a man could muster. 

‘Could have chosen a better frock, hmm. No longer mourning your husband, I see?’

Lucia returned his disgusted stare. ‘Do not speak of my Leo, Luigi.’ A flicker of emotion moved behind her high cheekbones. 

‘Yea yea. I hope it was worth it!’ 

Lucia’s eyes started to spit fire. ‘I did ..not! I did not ki-- I..’ She sputtered as Luigi and Big continued their way to the entertainment room. 

‘Come on then Jack, want to hear some of our hostesses’ fine singing?’ Luigi called, but Jack stayed, eyes remaining fixed on the woman named Lucia. She had olive skin, a slightly Italian lilt and fire in the eyes. Even with the Maniari brother’s hurting words, they glittered with the promise of hell and passion. 

Again, perhaps Italians were just all like that. 

Stepping forward Jack hoped that people would stop staring. Lucia, however, couldn’t be bothered by the stares. With another burst of laughter she started shaking her head. 

‘All of you. Sheep! You’re sheep!’ She turned her gaze to all who dared to look, but just as curious as they had been moments earlier, so ashamed were they of looking at her now. 

‘And you..’ She looked at Jack. ‘I don’t know you.’

Jack smiled. He liked her. ‘Not part of the family.’ He said.

‘Good.’ 

--

The man in the bushes ducked down a little more. A light burst from the small shed he had been investigating. And though the night was dark, he felt suddenly aware of his exposed position behind the young Cypress trees. A car was parked just outside the shed and a few minutes earlier he had seen someone enter, shrouded in mystery and a long raincoat. 

Peering into the quiet, he watched as the light beam shifted. It was as expected. 

‘Oh mom..’ He sighed. 

The light died out again. 

--

Jack hoped that dinner would be served soon. His stomach was growling after the long day of rent collecting and fruitless investigating. Leaning into the window frame he watched Luigi. Luigi kept a pensive gaze out of the window, cigarette in hand. 

Outside the first lisps of mist were crawling over the darkened Tuscan hills, and it wouldn’t be long before everything would start to look like a scene out of a classy horror movie. Luigi, however, didn’t seem to be bothered by the gloomy scenery. With focused eyes he was looking at something in the distance. 

‘See that?’ He asked, puffing out smoke. Jack stepped in and followed his pointing finger. Right through the mists, some few hundred meters from the house, came a light. It was nearly too small to catch if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but it was definitely there. And it blinked. Which was curious. Was it a car? 

A little thump broke the silence. 

Luigi reared his head towards the source - the door - and before Jack could intervene, Luigi had rushed towards the hallway where two Bambi-big eyes stared up at him. Jack followed in quick pursuit and like always he had been right; someone had been staring at them through the keyhole. Bunny. Brown haired, long legged, ever curious; Bunny. 

Since their meeting in the village square Jack had wanted to get a word in with her. But with the thrill of a literal chase, followed by the whirlwind that was the Maniari household, he simply hadn’t managed. Besides, it was likely not a good idea to be alone with her, lest he be daring to face the wrath of Augusto. 

‘Looks like little Bunny wants trouble, huh?’ Luigi grasped her by her shirt collar and started dragging her down the winding staircase until they stood before one of the most dreaded doors in the entire house. With little squeals and whines Bunny tried to fight Luigi off, but he held a tight grip on her.

With a sharp rap he knocked the door three times. And were it not for Jack to be right behind them, he would have missed the little exchange brother and sister made. 

‘I do love you.’ Luigi whispered as the door was opened by a bored looking bodyguard. 

Bunny stiffened and as she was pushed inside, Jack and Luigi were also invited in. 

‘What?’ Augusto grumbled from behind his desk. He was hiding behind a newspaper the size of a tablecloth. 

Luigi cleared his throat, which left Jack just enough time to step in instead. 

‘Before we do continue, sir --’

The newspaper was lowered and two dark eyes stared over its edge. 

Jack nodded his head in greeting and continued: ‘I’d report on my findings regarding your missing son.. Alfonso.’

Augusto kept a straight face. ‘Well, I don’t see him here, do I now?’

Jack tilted his head, thinking. ‘Indeed. Yet he may not be far. Even ..close-by. I’d like to perform more rigorous searches tomorrow, early morning, when tracks are fresh. Also, do you happen to have a pair of his shoes that I could take for measurement and wear and tear?’

Augusto lifted an eyebrow. ‘Shoes.’

Their eyes met. 

‘Even one shoe would help considerably.’

‘You think he’s alive?’ Augusto said with a tinge of melancholy. 

‘There’s no signs of the contrary, so there is a good chance he --’

‘Number Three will see to it. Luigi?’ Augusto looked towards his son, who still held firmly onto a stiff-standing Bunny. 

Luigi tilted up his chin. ‘The usual.’

Augusto sighed in utter annoyance as his dark beady eyes shifted towards Bunny. She visibly shivered, though her face remained stoic. ‘Might as well have you married off and done with. Would you like that Bunny-dear?’ 

Bunny kept her gaze focused on the bookcase that stretched along one of the walls. Everything here was brown; the mahogany wood, the smoke-tainted leather, the chesthair that poked out of the men’s crisp white shirts. It was the very last place a woman like her wanted to be. That much was clear. Especially now Augusto raised from his seat. 

With a grunt and slow, stiff joints, the man pushed himself up from behind his desk. A silence fell over the room as he awkwardly shuffled forward until he stood in the middle of the room, arms folding behind his back. With a plopping lick of his lips he shook his head. 

‘So many sons. Good sons. And then there is you.’

Bunny looked up and pain flashed behind her lashes. She shut her eyes in shame. 

‘Always causing trouble. From the day you could walk, you did everything you shouldn’t.’ He stepped forward and used his grubby finger to tilt up her chin. ‘Now look at you.’

Jack felt a rush of dizziness come over him. Perhaps it was the hunger in his stomach. And perhaps it was the start of another war flashback. 

‘Look at me Jack. I’m here.’ 

Bunny was struck across the cheek with a snapping flat hand. 

‘It’s okay. Breath for me.’ 

Another slap to the other cheek. 

'I’m right here.’ 

Bunny let the force of her father’s hand turn her face towards Jack. Her eyes found his. 

‘Right here.’

A silent tear fell from Bunny’s pained eyes, but she did not give a kick. Jack looked back. 

‘Don’t ever let them take your worth Jack-my-sweet.’ Lucia’s long fingers curled around his cheek and for a moment the harsh looks of the aristocrats at the party fell away. Not even the war could trouble him beneath her fingertips. She smiled. ‘I mean there’s only so few who know a woman’s worth.’ 

‘What if I can’t? Can’t do it?’ 

‘There’s always a way.’ 

--

Chap 5 >

--

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[goldenretriever-nicknelson]

Tom wanting to admit his feelings for you but it’s the end of filming and you’re both so busy as actors he knows it wouldn’t work long distance. He’s got you for one more day and he’s devastated by the end of the day because being with you is so perfect, and he knows he can’t have you. 🥺🥺 ANGST! Lol

I think I wrote this slightly different to the ask and I got very carried away so I’m sorry but I hope it’s still good. 

WC: 1.7k (oops) Warnings: ANGST (but also fluff cause I couldn’t help it), very rough unedited writing, a teeny tiny bit of implied smut but nothing explicit.

When Tom had been given the script for a rom-com movie, he had been hesitant. He prefered action roles but Harry had convinced him to give it a go and so he had gone for the screen test. And that’s where he met you. 

“Tom, this is Y/n L/N she’ll be your leading lady.” 

He swore his heart stopped when he saw you and took your hand to shake it. “Hi, I’m Tom.”

You smiled the brightest smile that could have put the stars to shame and nodded. “I know I’m a big Marvel fan.”

“Me too.” He laughed and a pink tint appeared on his cheeks. Tom wasn’t one for blushing but he couldn’t seem to help it around you. 

The screen test went off without a hitch and the producers could see the chemistry as much as Tom could feel it. Within a matter of weeks he was on set filming the movie with you and as the romance flowed between your characters, he could feel himself wanting what they had. 

The shooting was the most fun he’d had on a movie set. You would constantly make him laugh between takes and you’d even go to each other’s trailers after a long day, ordering takeout and watching Netflix. 

All too soon it was nearing the end of shooting. Tom could feel the time slipping away from him. You were both busy actors and besides the press tour, there was little chance you’d spend this much time together again. Tom just wanted to be around you and tell you how he felt but he knew long distance wouldn’t work with your schedules. You’d also told him how you had sworn off of dating actors after your last messy breakup. So Tom kept his feelings to himself, no matter how much it hurt. 

“I love her. There’s no other way to put it.” 

You paused as you walked closer, both of your starbucks orders in hand. Tom was on the phone, looking intense and almost sad as he spoke. You wondered who he was speaking about. It was clear he had been distracted lately but you didn’t know he was in love. 

You brushed it off and sneaked closer, noticing Tom’s back was turned to you. You bit back a giggle, about to scare him before Tom sighed and spoke again, making your whole body freeze. 

“I love Y/n and I can’t even tell her.” Tom ran a hand down his face before turning around, his eyes widening as he came face to face with you. 

Your heart was beating loudly in your chest, echoing in your ears as you held out the coffee towards him with a shaky smile. 

Tom quickly hung up the phone and took the coffee, his hand shaking and cheeks flushed red. An awkward silence passed between the both of you and just as Tom was about to speak, the director loudly called you back onto set. 

The next day that followed was full of awkward tension, neither of you wanting to admit how you felt or talk about what had happened. Everyone could tell that something felt off that day in the way that Tom and you hardly spent any time together away from the camera. 

You decided to use the time to pack up your trailer since it would soon be your last day. Your heart felt heavy as you moved around the small space, thoughts of how soon you would be filming a new TV show on the other side of the country. 

A loud knock on your door pulled you away from your thoughts. You assumed it was one of the on set assistants but instead you opened the door to find Tom. 

“Oh hi.” You shuffled nervously on your feet as you met his gaze. He looked at you unsurely as if he wasn’t sure what he was doing there. 

“Hi. Can I come in?” 

You nodded and stepped aside so Tom could enter, suddenly wishing you had cleaned up more. You were just about to apologise as you closed the door before Tom turned to you and kissed you.

You let out a gasp in surprise and stepped back. Your heart was thudding loudly, all the feelings you had tried to push away floating back to the surface. 

“I-I’m sorry, I just- tomorrow is the last day and-”

You could barely register Tom’s rambles as he spoke. Your head was reeling from the short kiss, lips still tingling from Tom’s touch and you knew you needed to feel his lips again, screw everything else. You wanted him. 

It was Tom’s turn to gasp this time as you kissed him with a smile. He seemed stunned for a moment before quickly relaxing into the kiss and kissing you back, his hands cupping your face and pulling you closer. 

The rest of your feelings left unsaid as you kissed each other, tongues brushing against each other as you both tried to pour everything into it. When you parted for air, Tom rested his forehead against yours and smiled wide. 

“Wow.” 

You giggled and bit your swollen lip, nodding in agreement. “Yeah.” 

You stayed like that for a while before you both had to go back to set for the last bit of shooting for the day. Both of your spirits felt lifted as you got to kiss again as your characters and be just how you wished you could be, together. 

Tom invited you back to his rented apartment whilst he was filming and you happily accepted. He held your hand the whole way there and as soon as you were behind closed doors once more, he kissed you like his life depended on that one moment. 

Everything felt just like you had both imagined and you felt like you were floating on cloud nine and that’s how it stayed until it came to your last day together. 

You woke up in Tom’s arms, wrapped up in his warmth as the sun gently woke you up. He snuggled closer to you as he slowly stirred awake, kissing your head. You smiled and let yourself bask in the morning’s afterglow before your alarm reminded you that it was your last day on set which meant that whatever this was wouldn’t last long. 

You let yourself enjoy Tom’s warmth for as long as you could before getting up, giggling slightly at Tom’s sleepy protests. You got dressed and threw his shirt at him so he would follow your lead. 

It wasn’t until the director reminded him that after today, the film would be over. His heart sank to the pits of his stomach as he looked over at you. He knew today would be rough but he wanted to hang onto every moment with you that he could.

Tom didn’t leave your side for most of the day and it made you smile because you never wanted the day to end. He stole kisses cheekily when he could and cuddled with you in your trailer at lunch. Neither of you were sure what it was between you but you knew that you didn’t want it to end so soon before you had a chance to figure it out. 

The cast had arranged a dinner to celebrate the end of filming, full of champagne and laughs. It was a fun night that took your mind off your sadness for a little while. You ended up back at Tom’s apartment like you usually did, cuddled up in his arms. 

“This feels like a one-night stand.” You gave a slight laugh, rubbing Tom’s arms as they wrapped around your waist. 

Tom turned to you in surprise and sighed. “It’s not. I don’t want it to be.” He shook his head quickly and took your hand. You smiled sadly and squeezed his hand before turning in his arms to face him, hands still linked.

“Tom, you know this can’t work.” 

He sighed again and looked down at your hands, interlinking his fingers with yours. “I know. It’s just being with you these past few weeks has been perfect and I-I don’t want it to end.” 

You sniffled and nodded silently, squeezing his hand to let him know you felt the same. He caught one of your tears with his thumb before kissing you softly, letting it linger on your lips. 

“I lo-”

“Don’t say it.” You quickly cut him off, voice shaky as were your hands. “It will only make things harder.” 

Tom nodded and kissed your cheek before holding you close, savouring every last minute he could. You could tell you were both trying your best to not cry that night even as you snuggled under the covers later that night, both slightly out of breath from your previous activities.  

The words you were dying to say left unsaid on both of your tongues as you smiled at each other, trying to cover up the pain you felt as your heart started to break. 

When Tom woke in the morning, his arms were empty and the bed felt colder without your presence. He felt his emotions crumble as he laid there before hearing something in the kitchen. He got out of bed and smiled wide as he saw you in the kitchen, cooking pancakes. 

His arms were around you in an instant, kissing your cheek and neck. “I thought you’d left.” 

“Without saying goodbye? Of course not Tommy.” You smiled and served up the pancakes, pulling Tom to sit with you as you ate. Both of you enjoying the little bit of domestic bliss before you would have to go to the airport. 

Tom was with you every step of the way until they called your flight for boarding. He hugged you tightly, allowing himself to finally cry before kissing you without a care of who saw. You cried with him and smiled before finally pulling away.

“I’m gonna see you again I promise.” 

You cupped his face and wiped away the tears before leaving one last lingering kiss on his lips. Tom watched you walk away, feeling numb before he felt his phone buzz in his pocket. He quickly pulled it out and saw a text from you, a hopeful smile spreading onto his face. 

I love you

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[himbo-buckley]

Intimacy, Sex and Buddie (better known as I have a lot of feelings about this show, some of which are related to the before mentioned topics)

I should preface this by saying this meta was supposed to be a lot shorter and only talk about how both Buck and Eddie use sex to distract their respective partners from whatever topic they actually wanted to talk about but since I decided to rewatch the show to make sure I don’t miss any such scenes, it has exploded a bit and taken on more topics

I should also preface this by saying that the whole of the 118 has some obvious intimacy / commitment issues except Bobby (which is sort of surprising) but *John Mulaney voice* we don’t have time to unpack all of that!

On another note I cuss a little in this Meta because my parents let me listen to TicTacToe as a small child and after that it never stuck that cussing is wrong so, uhm, parental supervision is advised or something?

This Meta will so far have three parts, one for each season and is organised by episode so you could technically follow along

Without further ado I present: Intimacy, Sex and the Buddie of it all, Season 1: (Better known as “Not a Sex Addict”)

Episode 1.01:

Buck, we meet first in the pilot and one of the first things we learn about him? That boy fucks! Like literally his second scene is him having sex in the firetruck, which in the episode is presented to us as his way of dealing with the stress of firefighting (it cuts from Bobby’s confession scene saying some firefighters are sex addicts to Buck racing the Brunette). Then later in this episode, between saving a baby, getting in a fight with Athena and not knowing who Rambo is, he fucks the snake horder and get’s himself fired for his trouble. He also tells Bobby he is a sex addict here.

Now you could easily read both those scenes as proving Buck’s statement or you can read it as him justifying his actions, which I think is what Bobby did, or you can fall in love with the cocky bastard and think there is more to it, which is obviously what I did. And also what I think this show wants you to do? Because in the same scene Buck gives the first of his many heartbreaking speeches about having nothing else besides being a firefighter and how that is the best part of him (or whatever, I’m combining the speeches, I didn’t rewatch that scene because it gives me too much second hand embaressment)

And let’s look at this statement and what we know about Buck by fast forwarding a bit, okay? Because we know virtually nothing about who Buck was prior to the Pilot. We know he spent a summer in South America as a bartender, we know he tried out for the Seals about a year ago and we know he’s been a firefighter for 3 months (meaning the first season is his probationary time the same way Season 2 is Eddie’s), so depending on how long firefighter training takes he probably has lived in LA for less than a year, meaning he probably hasn’t made too many meaningful connections yet and the 118 are really the closest thing to family he has there (a fact that if you fast forward again is sort of proven in canon if - if we take every word as being word of god - by Maddie saying „If our parents call“ in 2.01, implying Buck is probably not close to them) (he also tells Maddie „It was getting pretty lonely here“ in 2.01, so you know, point proven?)

Now I don’t think Buck is a sex addict after all. Yes, he is using sex to unwind (and good for him, at least he isn’t drinking or taking drugs, Bobby), but he is also using it to substitute actual intimacy, because that boy is fucking lonely.

Just look at the scene with the brunette, alright? After the act he asks her: „So can I have your actual number?“ and she says no, and he does this whole macho spiel about „the golden times“ or whatever, but come on, we know this is bull, right? Look at how earnest he looks when he asks! (and here I have to applaud 911 again, because the show only has one young conventionally attractive character at this point and instead of his character just being badass ladies man, but he is held accountable for his actions and the show went out of its way to point out how problematic his behaviour was, so kudos! I love you!)

Episode 1.02:

In this episode Buck loses two people and is understandably distraught. And Bobby comes to him in the locker room, to, as Buck thinks, express his disappointment, which is what Buck thinks he deserves, except Bobby is in full Dad-mode and just wants Buck to talk about it. Which Buck does almost imediately leading to us learning about the Seals and that our Buck has so many emotions and knows it and likes it (again, shoutout to the writers for having their young attractive Macho-dude cry in episode two! Ya’ll the real ones).

Now Bobby clearly didn’t see this coming and is like „Uhm, how about we talk to a professional about all that, I have my own shit, kiddo“ and then we get our first therapist scenes and look, while I do see where people are coming from, I do not consider this rape. I do however think it was a badly thought through scene and also an abuse of power and Autumn Reeser should not be allowed to work as a therapist again. The way this scene is shot and cut however makes it seem like Buck came onto her and did not regret what happened, so you know as the german saying goes: where there is no complaint there is no judge. (which does not mean I condone what happened, but, tbh, this is one of those scene where I feel the writers just did not think the implications through. Someone with a twitter go ask Tim Minear about it)

Anyways, let’s talk about everything before the sex because I think this is what’s relevant:

The scene begins with the therapist asking Buck if he is uncomfortable, he seems that way (and kudos to Oliver Stark for the way he acts this scene because we can truly feel everything Buck feels) and Buck saying his „I’m not really into feelings. I mean yeah feeling them, just not talking about them.“ after which the therapist throws some things at Buck to see what sticks (which is something therapists sometimes do in early sessions, just try to gauge a reaction, see where the no no - zones are, especially with people like Buck who are quote „not scared“. Like, he is so walled up already.)

And now comes the part that I’ll give you word for word, because this is what matters in this scene, okay?

T: „You lost somebody, that’s hard“

B: „Yeah but we lose people. At least that’s what everybody keeps telling me.“

T: „Was this your first time?“

B: „Well, I’ve had calls where it’s been to late but I’ve only been doing this not even 6 months. Now I just can’t shake the feeling that this one didn’t need to go down the way it did.“ (up until the second part Buck sits tall, then he leans forward, his voice becomes urgent, THIS is the important message)

T: “So do you think there is something you could have done differently?“

(close up to Bucks face looking distraught, ding ding, we have a winner!)

After this they cut away to Athena and when we come back Buck is crying and the therapist tries to explain why the guy might have died and then walks toward Buck and tells him how they’re actually here to talk about him and then Buck deflects, he tells her to call him Buck, they talk about facebook, scene change, they come back after Sex, Buck is all better. 

(Slightly unrelated sidenote at this point we have seen Buck have sex 3 times and every single time it’s sitting on some chair with the girl on top, uhm, what’s up with that? (He’s a bottom))

But I truly think the important part is what I’ve highlighted, this is where she hit a nerve and sure, he let her finish and listened and cried, but Buck’s a multitasker, he was just waiting for his opening - which the therapist gave to him by sitting down across from him and touching him, so now Buck turns the tables on her and makes her uncomfortable - or: she struck a nerve and he deflects, so instead of the emotional vulnerability she wants from him, he gives her physical intimacy, probably aware that this way he will not have to come see her again (because isn’t that what all women do? Hi, Brunette from Episode 1). 

And then the episode ends on the very relevant conversation were Abby asks him out and Buck says no because HE REALISED HE HAS SOME ISSUES WITH WOMEN AND INTIMACY!!! I love this show so much, you guys! Buck tells Abby he can’t go out with her because they’ll definitly have sex and he tells her about the therapist and Abby is all you wish and he tells her how much he likes her and how he has no one else in his life that make him feel good and it’s all cute and dorky and yes, sometimes I do find myself shipping them. A little.

Episode 1.03 has nothing of relevance as far as I recall so we ignore it.

Episode 1.04:

... also not that relevant except that little scene at the end that I thought was in Episode 5 titled: The moment I fell in love with this show! When Bobby says „help“ it gets me every time! I keep expecting him to not answer but he asks for help and I gasp. Every. Damn. Time.

Episode 1.05 

... is when it get’s really interesting because this is when the Sex addict meets the women he has been emotionally intimate, which is, you know, the thing he’s sensitive about!

I really like how Buck is all in Protector-Mode and seems so competent up until when they’re in the car together and Abby starts to talk about them (him) not having wanted to meet and it hit’s him that uuups, this is the actual woman he has been talking to! A human being (and not just some voice on the phone he talks to) and an attractive one as it is (and boy do I love how dressed down Connie Brighton is most of the time? Look, she’s pretty and she’s not 25 and she looks it and that’s okay!) so again Buck deflects by making the whole exchange about Sex - you know, physical intimacy because he is scared of emotional intimacy. Which is what I have been trying to prove here.

Then they save that little girl and have the very sweet moment in the car were Buck is very vulnerable, though I think it’s mostly for Abby’s benefit? Because Buck is in protector mode and there is nothing Buck wouldn’t do to help someone else, even flay himself open. He’s just selfless like that.

And then they find Patricia and bring her home and he is very uncomfortable and then he says goodbye all sweet and Patricia tells him to be kind to Abby and Buck is already in so deep, so really someone should have taken the time to tell Abby to be kind and nice to this boy (if Buck gets another love interest I want someone to give them the shovel talk, mainly Hen or Eddie, possibly together, because this boy gives away too much of himself and it hurts me), but alas no one did, so Buck tries to protect himself by, you guessed it, talking about sex! 

It really is a defense mechanism for him, which might prove that he came from a conservative background or might just not mean anything, besides that he is very comfortable with Sex and other people are not which is why he uses it to deflect. People generally don’t try to look to deep if you make them uncomfortable, which is generally Buck’s way of dealing with problems: he either pushes back and steamrolls over it or is it too loud and open about something, which keeps people from looking to deep (Season 3 is proof of that, the only person who sees through his act, I think, is Hen because she also uses false bravedo to deal with things. Eddie sees it too, but only after Buck explains it to him, because Eddie operates completely different - but that’s something I’ll talk more about later)

And then all of Bucks fears of people not liking him after seeing what’s underneath are proven right when, after spending a whole day with him, Abby tells him they shouldn’t see each other again because she too likes him and if they continue mistakes will be made (which is just her respecting Bucks wishes from 1.02 but also proves to Buck that no one can like him on a deeper level). She gives this very sweet speech about how good he makes her feel but if you look at Buck’s face it’s just sooo closed off. And then she does this very mean thing with the „do not fuck some tinder-girl“, which i find very hypocrit of her, because she basically told Buck she won’t give him more than what they currently have but also he’s not allowed to look somewhere else for it (although she is very right, Buck needs to learn to find validation in himself and not through other people, which is something he sorta did in Season 3? More on this later)

Which is why we get the phone sex scene at the end. Because at this point Buck has been emotionally intimate with this women and then he met her and he kept being emotionally intimate with him and she basically rejected him so Buck made it about physical intimacy. He rejected her back. Found a loophole. Pushed back.

And I know I’m ignoring the scene in between when he is all proud about not having sex with Abby, but yeah, he would have had if Abby let him so it doesn’t really count.

Side note: this whole Episode proves that Buck is not a sex addict - if he were we would have seen him maybe try and convince Abby or seen a scene of him struggeling with whether he should pick up another girl or something, but they didn’t. Nope, they gave up „Buck with Hen and Bobby - bonding time“.

Episode 1.06:

I dislike this one a lot because it calls the episode before a liar by having Abby go on a date with Buck, after saying they shouldn’t meet each other again. I actually checked IMDB to see if there was a christmas break between those episodes, but nope, they aired a week apart! (Also how everyone pushes Buck into doing Valentine’s day even though he doesn’t like it? Yeah, not on board.)

But you know what’s relevant af about this Episode? The scene between Bobby and Buck where Dad helps his son get ready. I truly think this scene, combined with his firing in 1.01 is what caused the shift into Buck 2.0.

Also canon yet again tells us that Buck is not in fact a sex addict but rather using sex to avoid real intimacy and then they have this bantery conversation about not being a dick by having sex on the first date and being a gentleman and I love how Peter and Oliver play off of each other here. This scene is so much fun to watch because they clearly had so much fun acting it.

We can basically jump over the rest of the episode, but I do want you to look at the scene between Bobby and Abby in the hospital for a moment because I 100% thought they were setting up a love triangle here? (Again, someone with Twitter ask Tim Minear)

Episode 1.07:

The actual time jump according to IMDB happens between those episodes (someone who watched Season 1 live please confirm) although in the story there isn’t - they just decided to air the Valentine’s episode in November and then come back in February to talk about the full moon - apparently.

Aside from that Buck is such an adorable dork in this episode which i truly think is why half this fandom is in love with him and some more scenes with Peter and Oliver that are just plain fun happen (and I love season 3 but I miss how much fun they got to have in Season 1). Also our first real bi!Buck sighting and the implication that Buck went from delivering Babys to delivering a tapeworm, only to go: I’m gonna have sex with my girlfriend now! And I honestly love him for that.

Other than that, not much to prove or disprove this meta except Buck being hesitant to go on another date and trying to explain away why he came to see Abby but her just cutting right through his bullshit.

Episode 1.08: not relevant

Episode 1.09:

Our second instance of Buck nearly dying. Buck’s „I don’t suppose you do a lot of pull ups“ kills me every time and Hen freaks out about it a little and he just loves it off. He is a true badass.

Also there is the Ballon scene which makes me mad, because Buck has every right to be upset about everything, even if none of it is Abby’s fault. I’m really up in the air about how I feel about the Bobby and Buck talk in the locker room because on the one hand side I do agree with everything Captain Dad says and I think this scene also is part of creating Buck 2.0 but on the other hand side he is kind of invalidating Buck’s feelings?

Anyways, Bobby tells him, that if Buck really likes Abby he needs to stop trying to feel like she needs saving and let her set the pace. I’m not saying it’s why Buck waited around so long for her in Season 2 but I do think Bobby basically telling him this is what a real man would do - the thing Buck wants so badly to be - plays a role. It’s too bad that while Buck is all in, Abby is not.

I’m also gonna put my clown shoes on real quick and say we get a nearly identical scene in 2.10, when Buck talks to Chimney about Eddie and Shannon. Make of that what you want.

Episode 1.10:

Buck identifies with the guy using him to cat fish girls because he understands his need for connection and intimacy. After all he did the same thing, just a different method.

Also Abby leaves.

There’s not more to say

So this is where Season 1 ends, with Buck aware that he was trying to substitute physical for emotional intimacy and trying to correct it and build a life with Abby - which did not work because Abby left.

But I just wanna mention real quick how much character development Buck has in such a short amount of time! It floors me every time. And while we all know he attributes this to Abby, it’s really just about Buck being Buck and he was already on his way to becoming this guy, simply because through his job and the firefam suddenly he got validation? I feel so proud. I really only wish Buck would finally come to this realisation himself or maybe someone would tell him this. He deserves it.

[boxoftheskyking]

Something Good, Part Five

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four.

In which there are water ghouls.

---

There are water ghouls in Caiyi Town. This is apparently not a new phenomenon, and dealing with them is common enough that the senior disciples can use it as a test of sorts. Lan Wangji has also decided it will be an educational experience for the junior disciples to observe. In reality this is an end-of-the-first-month test for Wei Wuxian called “Herd eleven children down a mountain for two hours.”

They are tired. They are thirsty. Lan Feifei has lost her shoes. Ouyang Zizhen got an extra turn on Wen Ning’s back and it’s not fair. Lan Ting is allergic to some kind of leaves, but will not stop touching all of the leaves. Lan Jingyi is… consistently Jingyi.

Wei Wuxian does not believe in having favorite children—he and his siblings suffered enough under their parents’ favoritism and expectations. And, anyway, these children are far too different to compare. Zizhen is sweet and asks for adventure stories every night and looks at Wei Wuxian like he created the heavens and earth. Lan Feifei has her head in the clouds and the cutest little dreamy smile right before she falls asleep. But Jingyi is truly a child after Wei Wuxian’s own heart.

He’s not the only orphan left after the ambush that Wei Wuxian was blamed for, but he’s the youngest by far and still wakes up crying in the middle of the night. Wei Wuxian rearranged the dormitory so Jingyi now sleeps cuddled up with Lan Sizhui, which seems to help a bit. Wei Wuxian isn’t sure what Sizhui’s story is—he assumes the kid is also an orphan, but occasionally he spends extra time with Lan Wangji that’s never been explained. Perhaps he’s a close nephew or cousin.

But Jingyi is the most un-Lan Lan child of the bunch, and Wei Wuxian is very invested in keeping him that way. He doesn’t remember being four—his memories are fuzzy before life on the streets of Yunmeng, and even that is more images and impressions than any full events. Except for the dogs. But he thinks that four-year-old Wei Ying must have been like this child—excited, curious, incapable of looking before he leaps (off a table, off a step, into the underbrush, into a puddle), only taking a break from asking “Why?” in order to ask “Why not?”

Wei Wuxian loves it, and it drives him nearly off the ledge. Knowing Lan Jingyi as he knows himself, he spent an evening hand stitching extra ribbons into the back of Jingyi’s robes, reinforced around the waist so it doesn’t tear or pull or pinch when he grabs them. Far from being offended or annoyed the first time Wei Wuxian yanked him back on track by his handy leash, Jingyi simply crowed “I’m a horse!” and threw his whole weight forward against Wei Wuxian’s grip, little boots scuffing uselessly against the dirt. 

Without a golden core and after months in the Qishan prison he’s felt weak, scrawny and uncentered in his body. But lately, arms full of laundry and children, hands calloused from work instead of swordplay and more often than not tucked into scruffs of necks or latching onto misbehaving elbows, he’s starting to feel like a person again. Something solid, ground for building on.

Right now, Sizhui is on his shoulders, absently patting little fingers along his hairline, and Jingyi is being dragged along behind him like a dead fish.

“A-Yi, are you going to walk at any point today?” Wei Wuxian sighs.

Jingyi holds on to the leashes and flips himself around so he can look upwards. “Can I run?”

“No you cannot.”

“Then no.”

“Lan Jingyi!” Sizhui calls down from his perch, swatting a low-hanging branch out of his face. “You should behave better. You’ll be all dirty when we get to town and you will get in trouble!”

Wei Wuxian squeezes his chubby knees and turns around to wave the older kids forward.

“Wen Ning! Come here my friend, take this bag of turnips into Caiyi Town. Try to get a good price for it.” He swings Jingyi over and Wen Ning hauls him over his shoulder

Jingyi smiles as he bounces along upside down, singing, “Turnip turnip turnip” to himself all the way down the mountain.

Before they enter the town proper Wei Wuxian does his best to line them up properly and pick stray leaves out of hair.

“Now, young masters and ladies, remember you are representing the GusuLan Sect. Yes? Heads up, hands to yourselves.” The kids shuffle mostly into position. “The Lan Sect is very important to Caiyi Town. You understand? The town depends upon Lan cultivators to take care of problems like these water ghouls. So when the people see you, you want them to be confident in your abilities, yes? We are proud of where we come from. Lan Hua! Eyes front. You’re not just representing your humble Wei-qianbei, you know. You are representing our Hanguang Jun!” At that, shoulders snap back and grumbling ceases. Wei Wuxian feels a rush of fondness and gives them a grinning salute. “Very good! We want Hanguang Jun to be proud of us, yes?”

“Yes, Wei-qianbei!”

“Very good! On we go!”

Wei Wuxian feels like a mother goose, wrapped in grey servants’ robes and leading his white flock through the streets, Wen Ning bringing up the rear. Sizhui holds onto his hand, hopping every third step to keep up. Normally, Wei Wuxian would happily pick him up, but today is about being dignified. He’s glad for the firm little grip on his fingers, though. It’s been a lifetime since he’s been out of Cloud Recesses, and part of him expects the townspeople to spit at his feet. No one recognizes him, though. Passersby stop to watch the procession pass, bowing respectfully to the disciples. Wei Wuxian feels an odd warm pride unfurl in his chest, and when a mother in the crowd meets his eyes and gives him a knowing eyebrow raise, he lets himself laugh. Feast your eyes, everyone! Eleven children!

By the time they reach the edge of the lake, the senior disciples are already out on their boats near the center with Lan Wangji and Lan Xichen, having flown down on their swords earlier. Nothing exciting seems to be happening so far, but there’s a tense hush in the air that can be felt even at the shoreline. It’s just Wei Wuxian and the children at the water’s edge, townsfolk having decided it’s not worth the risk even to get a good look at cultivators in action. Wei Wuxian arranges the children around an ancient tree, roots and branches gnarled and grasping towards the water, so they can rest their tired legs and still have a decent view. Sizhui tugs on his robes until he lifts him back up on his shoulders.

“What’s happening, Wei-qianbei?” Lan Feifei pipes up from beside him.

“Hmm. It looks like Hanguang-Jun and the senior disciples are waiting for the water ghouls to appear. Perhaps they’re seeing something moving in the water.” He wiggles his fingers and puts on his most dramatic voice, and Feifei gasps appropriately.

When it happens, it’s sudden and almost anticlimactic. A boat flips, tossing one of the senior disciples into the air and the other straight into the water. Lan Wangji flies over immediately, hauling the first into a waiting boat and grabbing onto the other’s arms before he’s pulled completely under the surface. Almost immediately there’s a great rumbling sound and the surface of the lake starts to roil.

Wen Ning runs to the edge of the water. “Wei-qianbei! Someone needs to help Hanguang Jun!”

“This isn’t just ghouls,” Wei Wuxian mutters to himself, though he can see some of the creatures moving, just breaking the surface like sentient seaweed, swirling closer and closer to Lan Wangji’s hovering form. “It’s an Abyss.”

If he’s seen it, then certainly the two Jades have as well. He can’t tell what they’re doing from here, but the remaining boats seem to be regrouping, pulling away from the forming whirlpool. Lan Wangji and the drowning disciple are swept up in the tide, pulling closer to the shore where the juniors stand frozen, hands over tiny, terrified mouths. Bit by bit, Lan Wangji is starting to rise from the water, arm now locked around the disciple’s chest. His normally pristine hair and robes swirl around him, soaked nearly all the way through. The walls of water rise and fall around their bodies as the whirlpool increases in size and intensity. Suddenly, a dark tendrilous form rises from the wall of water, reaching towards the men from behind. Before it can make contact, the water whisks it away, but others begin to rise in its place.

“Wei-qianbei!” Wen Ning calls. “The ghouls!”

Wei Wuxian sets Sizhui down and hurries to the water’s edge. “Hanguang Jun!” he yells, cupping his hands around his mouth. “Lan Wangji, get your sword up!”

Whether he’s unheard or ignored, he’s not sure, but Lan Wangji does not react. 

“Lan Zhan!” he shouts, and he can feel the children behind him gasp as Lan Wangji’s head whips around towards him, just in time to duck another ghoul. There appears to be three of them whirling around, closing in little by little as the whirlpool increases in ferocity. From the corner of his eye, Wei Wuxian can see action from the other boats, Zewu Jun leading the disciples in a spell that makes energy crackle across the misty air. But he only has eyes for Lan Wangji and the ghouls.

“Wei-qianbei, do something!” Yao Hualing cries, grabbing onto his sleeve. 

Wei Wuxian shakes her off and grabs his talismans out of his robe. Time doesn’t slow, exactly, but he feels his brain sharpen and focus. He bites at a hangnail on his thumb, ripping into the skin, and brushes a few hurried characters of negation in blood along two of the talismans—one meant to repair broken objects and one to put out fires. If he had his golden core he’d only need a few gestures—or, better yet, he’d have a sword and could fly into the fray—but this will have to do. 

Lan Wangji ducks another ghoul, and Wei Wuxian rethinks his plan. He rips his talismans into three and opens his cut further, drawing out more blood to repeat his characters on each torn piece. Then he pushes them away from him in a burst of energy, directed at the low-hanging tree branch to his right.

With a great crack the branch shatters into three pieces, all of which burst into flame and arc through the air to collide with each ghoul. There is a series of terrible screams and a smell of burnt grasses, and the ghouls sink below the surface. Lan Wangji rises up out of the water, the now-unconscious disciple wrapped in his arms. As he hovers, the whirlpool suddenly moves back across the lake, seeming to be pulled by a great force. 

Wei Wuxian misses whatever Zewu Jun is doing to address the Abyss. He probably should be paying attention to explain it to the children, but the gaping emptiness in his gut feels no smaller than the whirlpool Abyss itself. He finds himself on the ground, hands holding his body up, gasping in the wake of spiritual power. All humans have a reserve of some power naturally, but without a golden core to focus and grow it, it’s like a spark that never catches tinder. 

He feels a collection of little hands on his back, in his hair, a buzz of worry surrounding him as he coughs up blood. He’s just getting his breath back when one of the children screams, then another, then there’s a mighty roar that shakes the ground and almost forces out the rest of his breath. He shoves himself back onto his heels to see a wall of black-green water, taller than the tree beside him and advancing like a storm. 

“RUN!” he screams, shoving whoever he can reach behind him, picking up Sizhui by the back of his robes and throwing him at Ouyang Zizhen. He manages a step forward, arms held out in front of him, but there’s nothing inside him. No power, no fire, no anything. Even if he could get a spare talisman out, it’s nothing against the mass of water. He reaches instinctively for any resentful energy in the area, whistling out a tune of power and spitting out blood. But it’s not enough. Not even close.

Every town has a certain amount of latent energy—both spiritual and resentful—due to generations of living and dying on the same patch of land. But it’s not enough, barely anything, a few wisps of black smoke that he desperately weaves into the thinnest barrier, a blanket unable to keep out the cold. It’s not enough.

If this is how it happens, he thinks, his mind sinking into calm, at least I tried.

The last time he almost died, his mind was shrieking, desperate, clawing at the world and trying to hold on. But now, all he thinks about is the children. Run, please, run. And then, from nowhere, Lan Zhan, I’m sorry, I tried.

He closes his eyes and braces for impact.

It doesn’t come.

He feels a cold spray against his face and the skin of his chest where his robes have pulled open. When he opens his eyes, the water has subsided and Lan Wangji is standing in front of him, guqin hovering in the air before him and humming with an undeniable power.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Wuxian breathes, struggling to his feet.

Lan Wangji turns to him. “What did you call me?”

“Hanguang Jun. I—”

“How dare you summon resentful energy in Gusu.”

Wei Wuxian’s hero worship dies down as his hackles raise. “What was I supposed to do? Let the children drown? Not even try?”

Lan Wangji glares at him, a muscle in his jaw twitching so violently Wei Wuxian is reminded of Jiang Cheng.

“I don’t think anyone saw,” Lan Wangji says, finally, turning back to the lake.

“What?”

“My brother and the others. I don’t think they saw you.”

“I—” 

But he’s gone, sailing out over the lake to the boats at the center, white robes flapping behind him like the wings of a swan.

“Fucking—” Wei Wuxian mutters, but he cuts himself off and wipes his face on his sleeve before turning back to the children.

“My disciples!” he shouts cheerfully, pasting on a smile and holding out his arms. “How brave you all are!”

---

They commandeer an entire inn for the night. It’s been a long day; the children are exhausted, and a storm has been gathering at the edge of the horizon that promises lightning and torrential rain. The children packed into a few rooms upstairs, senior disciples on the ground floor, and Wei Wuxian has ended up with his own small pallet in what was probably once a storage closed. After the children are fed and sent to sleep, he wanders back down to the dining room.

He won’t sleep tonight. He’s tossed between so many emotions—thrill from the adventure, fear for the children, triumph at his successful talismans. But above all, the ache, the emptiness. 

Useless, useless, useless echoes inside him, screams into the dark canyon under his ribs. Completely useless.

It’s one thing to give up puppet armies, raising spirits and casting bolts of dark energy into a battle. It’s another to encounter himself at the moment of crisis, the moment he is truly needed, and to find himself just another man. Mediocre. To face the imminent death of the children he’s grown to adore so entirely. To stand with empty hands before the deluge.

I’m completely useless.

The innkeeper is leaning against the bar, absently reading over a scroll.

“Sir?” Wei Wuxian asks politely. “Can I trouble you for some wine?”

“Indeed, young master!” the man crows, jumping to attention. “Some Emperor’s Smile? The finest liquor in all of Gusu. No, in all the world!”

Wei Wuxian smiles slightly, not quite bitterly, remembering a night on a roof under a clear moonlit sky. The taste of sweet liquor and the smell of sandalwood.

“Ah, I’m just a simple servant. Whatever you have that is cheap will do me just fine.”

The innkeeper narrows his eyes, looks over his damp and rumpled appearance. “Were you with those cultivators that banished our water ghouls today?”

“I was— Yes, I was with them.”

The innkeeper grins, showing three shining gold teeth. “In that case, the drink is on the house. Please, enjoy with our gratitude.” He holds out two delicate white jugs tied with lace ribbon.

I don’t deserve it. I did nothing.

Wei Wuxian grins. “Your generosity will not be forgotten!” He bows and takes the wine back to his closet.

Useless.

With a rumble of thunder that shakes the foundation of the inn, the sky opens above him.

Part Six