#big elephant flying in sky with wings

[archiewantsheetmetal]

[fantasy-anatomy-analyst]

I hope I'm not asking too many questions... but I really love the skywhale trope and wanted to hear your thoughts on them?

i think we need more variety of whales in the sky! seems like more people go for a blue whale or humpback whale design on their sky whales, which is fine because they are very iconic whales and i love the way they look. but how about some beaked or toothed whales? flying orcas? a bowhead? i think a sky whale that looked like a bowhead whale would be just wonderful, look at this thing.

(image description: first is an underwater photo of a bowhead whale's face. the top of its mouth is very narrow while the bottom of it is enormous, like a pelican. there is a white patch at the front of its lower jaw with black spots in a line across it. the second image is a detailed illustration of the whale's whole body, comparing it to the size of an elephant and showing the shape of its fins and tail. the elephant is roughly the size of the whale's lower jaw. end description.)

i love this thing. look at that face. the humpback whale may have longer and prettier fins for that sky whale aesthetic, but the bowhead's face shape is delightful. more diversity in sky whale designs!

but of course, the more interesting thought is how exactly to make such an enormous vertebrate work as a flying animal. where is it going? what does it eat? what happens when it dies?

it would be more realistic for sky whales to be smaller, but when people think of sky whales, they want the huge size! it's a fantasy, we want the epic huge flying creatures with their strange singing calls swimming through the clouds. so i'm not going to talk about the more logical small flying whales that go around in flocks to hunt birds (though the idea of smaller flying dolphins is also delightful!) I'm going to just talk about big slow baleen sky whales, the most iconic and desired of all sky whales.

step one: how the heck are these things in the air. it's easier to explain how a dragon can fly, they have big powerful wings. how do whales fly? I think the clearest answer is that they have some form of massive internal air sac full of lifting gas. real life oceanic whales are full of blubber, but maybe sky whales don't have as much blubber and get a lot of their size from their big air sacs instead.

lifting gas is just an umbrella term for any gases that are lighter than the standard atmospheric air. this includes heated atmospheric air, hydrogen, helium, coal gas, ammonia, and methane. (according to wikipedia) and with that list I think we've found our answer. whales are actually even-toed ungulates like cows. they could easily produce a lot of methane with the right diet. they'd just keep it in their air sacs instead of releasing it as a waste material! and for the best production of methane, these sky whales should have multi-chambered stomachs.

This does mean they're probably going to eat a lot of plant matter! so imagine them swooping low to take huge mouthfuls of tree tops! terrifying! maybe their baleen is structured to scrape the leaves off the branches. Maybe they swoop down to kelp forests in the ocean and take huge mouthfuls of that as well. any critters they happen to consume in the process are just bonus snacks full of protein. they likely also consume large flocks of small birds on the go, and probably clouds of flying insects too! locust swarms, for example. watch out for the low flying whales! I think they'd be slow like blimps and mostly use their tails and fins to steer and swoop down for food. they probably also rub themselves on tree branches or mountain sides to scratch their itches. I bet they'd have a symbiosis with many bird species that pick off their parasites.

like cow manure, sky whale dung could be a great source of fertilizer. best to avoid the usual paths of migrating sky whales so you don't end up dead by having giant poop clumps fall on you, but once it's hit the ground, that's free whale manure for every farmer in the area. the lands along the paths of migrating sky whales are probably very fertile, which also serves the whales, since they'll be eating the leafy tree tops! and when a whale dies, falling to the ground, the resulting small earthquake would certainly be startling, and both the impact and the rot process would cause a lot of damage to the surrounding land.

things are not immediately fertilized when a corpse rots. it takes a while! the rot causes more harm at first and then starts to nourish the ground later.

and dead bodies tend to bloat with gases and i have already established that these whales are full of methane. a lot of it would be released at death anyway, and i don't think the whale would drop immediately. or perhaps they fly lower in their old age and just crash land and die slowly. either way, these things are huge and full of methane and then they bloat. which means they might also explode spontaneously as part of the decay process. the air for miles around is going to be so nasty. but i think if you live in sky whale territory, you're just going to have to get used to the stink, because the manure that falls on a more regular basis is also going to be so so stinky.

like real world whale falls, sky whale falls will attract absolutely every carnivorous creature in the area. anything that eats meat will follow that awful stench right to the source and start gnawing away at the thick skin. people will have the easiest time, since they have tools for this beyond just their teeth and claws. the faster the whale is cut open, the less likely there will be an explosive bloat stage, so I'm sure the culture of the region would have some superstitions about leaving a dead whale lying too long. if you don't go harvest that bounty, it will explode and you never know where those chunks will land.

and then when there's only bones, people use em for building all sorts of things! the societies that exist in the paths of sky whales would be very cool to see.

that turned into a ramble and I haven't even designed a sky whale lol. lemme doodle one real quick.

(image description: a sketch of a sky whale, which resembles the aforementioned bow whale, swooping down to munch on trees in a forest. end description.)

[youryurigoddess]

On love and sacrifices

There’s so much more to this scapegoating business and big sacrifices referenced in the Good Omens narrative than the literal goats. And they’re only getting bigger, louder, final.

But let’s take it slow and start with the beginning, quite literally — i.e., with the Good Omens 2 title sequence. As we follow Aziraphale and Crowley on their journey, the universe warps and their usual left and right side positioning switches during the magic show (not accidentally an act of trust and sacrifice required both from the angel and the demon). They stay so throughout the next scene, which is their little dance in the air, and after they seemingly get settled on the A. Z. Fell and Co.’s roof and back to normal, the flipped sky in the background suggests that something’s not quite right yet. In the central part of the shot looms a large, humanlike shadow of the Elephant Trunk Nebula.

The nebula is a part of a constellation called Cepheus, after an Ethiopian king from the Greek mythology who agreed to sacrifice his only daughter in order to appease the gods and end a local calamity started by her mother and his wife, Cassiopeia (talk about generational responsibility). With time and a delightfully ironic twist of fate, the name of said daughter, Andromeda, became more famous than that of her father. Although she was chained up to a rock and offered to the sea serpent Cetus, the girl was spotted by the warrior Perseus, casually flying over the sea — either on the back of the Pegasus or thanks to a pair of winged sandals — after his victory over Medusa. He fell in love on the spot, defeated the serpent (with the help of a magical sword or Medusa’s severed head, depending on the varying sources), and freed the princess. That’s not exactly where their story ends, but we won’t be getting into the rest here.

Not surprisingly, Neil has mentioned two parallel child sacrifice stories from the biblical context back in August. The first is one of the big ones — The Binding of Isaac. God's command to sacrifice Isaac, his only son, was a test of Abraham's faith. The angel of the Lord intervenes and provides a ram to be sacrificed in the boy’s place.

The second one isn’t nearly as popular, but you might have heard a variant of it in fairy tales or as the Law of Surprise invoked in The Witcher saga. In exchange for Israel’s victory over its enemies in battle, Jephthah had rashly promised God to repay the debt with the first thing seen on his return back home. The victorious warrior didn’t suspect to see his only child moving innocently "to meet him with timbrels and with dances" though. In horror, Jephthah covered his eyes with his cloak, but to no avail: ultimately, he was forced to honor his vow to God, and the girl was sacrificed. As grisly as it might look like in the Old Master’s paintings, it’s important to remember that human sacrifices weren’t limited to physical offerings only — Jephthah’s daughter might have been offered to God in the sense of officially shunning her family and dedicating her life to service instead, probably sequestered in a temple somewhere.

Interestingly, the main character of a big chunk of the Bible and the reason for the Second Coming happens to be THE most influential child sacrifice in the modern history. You know, a certain 33-year-old carpenter sent by his Heavenly Father to die on a cross for the sins of the mankind? Someone better call Aubrey Thyme ASAP.

Circling back to Aziraphale, he could be also seen as a representative of the concept of filial piety, since Eden willing to personally take a Fall not only for the humanity’s collective or individual transgressions, but the shortcomings of his Ineffable Parental Figure as well. Our favorite angel angel always fights for what is right and good, sure, but why would that be even a thing if God was truly omniscient, omnipresent, and omnipotent?

If Aziraphale’s medal is anything to go by, it looks like we might get an answer from the way it’s introducing another mythological narrative into the game, that is the story of Daedalus and Icarus. The most absorbing thing about this is the stark contrast to the recurring child sacrifice references for S3 mentioned in this post — Daedalus isn’t a father who wanted to sacrifice his son, it was his attempt to save him from imprisonment that ultimately drove Icarus to his death. The boy ignored his father’s explicit instructions, committing the grave and culturally universal sin of disobedience to one's parents that simply couldn’t go unpunished, one way or another.

But Icarus’s transgression could be seen both as high-flying ambition and striving for personal accomplishment as well as humanitarian sacrifice for knowledge and humanity’s advancement in general.

Similarly to a certain angel who left everything for what superficially seems like a work promotion, but is the ultimate act of love — both for his demon and the children they have been protecting and nurturing together for six thousand years. From the very Beginning, his white wings have been shielding everything he holds dear in this world.

[incorrect-mtg]

Flavor Text Highlights - Mirage

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Funny - Pacifism

For the first time in his life, Grakk felt a little warm and fuzzy inside.

Funny - Elixir of Vitality

“Eternal life or your money back.” —Unnamed Suq'Ata merchant, deceased

Emotional - Reign of Terror

“I don’t know what takes them; they die around me without time to scream.” —Scout Ekemet, final journal

Worldbuilding - The entire Love Song of Night and Day* *which I will put under a line break because it's super long AND I want to repost content from a Wizards article which is no longer available

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The full poem, taken from the article of the same name originally posted in 2003 on the wizards website (here) with footnotes explaining which cards quote it.:

Love Song of Night and Day by Jenny Scott

He (Night) / She (Day)

Wrap yourself in your best bright clothes, your red and purple scarves of silk. Run with me to the festival, where we will dance until sunrise. The dwarves will beat their funny drums of zebra skins and hollowed trees, while stiltwalkers perform, and the musician blows his bamboo flute.

And late in the night, the poets and storytellers entertain, delight us with their dancing words, as we listen, clapping by the fire. Enchant me with your tale-telling. Tell about Tree, Grass, River, and Wind. Tell why Truth must fight with Falsehood, and why Truth will always win.1

I will tell my father's stories: how the giant mantis fooled Death by holding still as a felled tree; how the elephants trampled the leopard cub, and its father, though he knew, killed nine goats instead;2 how pirates gambled with a djinn and lost the thing more dear than gold.3

Tonight we'll eat a farewell feast. Cold corn porridge is not enough. Let's peel papayas, pineapples, and mangoes, drink coconut milk, and bake bananas.4 We'll dine on crocodiles, wild birds, and turtles, perhaps a hippopotamus--if only you can catch it first.

I'll build a palace made of stone. Two hippo-headed guards will serve, and tigers carry in your meals. I'll capture flying zebras for your steeds, and fill the stable with every kind of unicorn.5 Butterflies and salamanders will decorate your garden.

I'll strand long strings of beads for you, blue, the color only kings may wear. I'll carve a soapstone lioness, a wooden box to lock it in, girded with sapphire amulets, ostrich feathers, ivory. These things will protect you while I'm gone, remind you of my love for you.6

Your voice resounds like a songbird's, every word is a sweet, soft song. When you run you're graceful and swift, sleek as a powerful panther.7 Mysterious chameleon, you're a thousand women at once, sharp and strong as a lioness, yet gentle as a striped gazelle.

On this our last day together, let us walk across the grasslands. Hold my hand and let's walk slowly, seeing everything as children. Let's walk on the Daraja Plains, where leopards hang from trees, dosing, tasseled tails swaying in the shade, near villages of tree-dwelling elves.

Glorious, to walk again across the savannah with my beloved. A lion walks commandingly, a general among his troops, camped the night before a battle. A snake, colorful and coiled, loops around his bough, mischievous, hanging over the village path.

We'll find termites in their nests, hard tall towers above the plains, and point-eared cats, taking their turns, guarding their many entrances. We'll find the basket-nests of birds hanging from the acacia tree. Rhinoceroses and dragons for once will let us walk in peace.

When lightning tears the sky's dark cloak and heaven's bird beats the water on the muddy plains with its big wings, termites and frogs escape their homes toward the lamps in the nearest village. Spiders dry themselves indoors, the spotted lizards that never fall from ceilings suddenly appear.

In the forest, fires light the sky as the black clouds unfold their weight.8. The black-and-white sacred monkey holds her children to her, and waits.9 Love, like lightning hits suddenly. It sparks the heart with blows of light, its fire extending, bends, expands, beats and breaks your hiding places.

* * *

Remember when we were children, herding the sheep together, leading them over the grassy hills with long sticks. Your silly songs made me laugh, and in the evening, you'd enchant me with your stories, lying on your back beside me. Even then my heart was yours.

I remember your sacred rites. You were so funny, so grown up, so stiff and serious, all arms and elbows. You went in a girl, but you returned a warrior. You marched back with the others-- your hair was cut, your eye tattooed with the red triangle of war.10

Tomorrow I must go, my love. I will tattoo my head with braids. My shield will bear a shining sun so you will always be with me. Inlaid with gold, it will shine like glowing embers.11 I will return with lizard skins for your sandals. Paint your eyes black and wait for me.12

I am the sun, you are the moon. Wherever you lead I will go, following across the wide sky, as long as I live and you love. Sun follows Moon until she tires, then carries her until she's strong and runs ahead of him again.13 I'll carry you, too, my beloved.

My love, we are not Sun and Moon. Instead we are like day and night. The old ones say Day is a woman, who works only while it is light. She herds her goats and catches fish, fills her fields with golden corn, shows her children what is just and protects them from the cobra.

Day loves Night, who works in darkness, walking through heaven's milky sky collecting stars with his quick arms, piling them into a basket like a child collecting lizards and piling them into her pot until the pot overflows with lizards, 'til the basket overflows with light.

Night wears a black cloak lined with fire, studded inside with gleaming stars. At dawn and dusk he spies his love. Across the rolling hills of sky, they glimpse each other--so briefly. They throw each other kisses, cry. Their tears spill over Jamuraa. Mixed with blood, they wash everything red.14

But once, with a magician's help, Time was stopped and Day stood still.15 Night spread over Jamuraa, wrapped Day in his dark cloak and held her. In their miraculous embrace, the two became as One. Until pulled from Day's arms, Night sank, commanded by the western horizon that always beckons him to come.

I won't give up hope, my love.

Our love is like the river in the summer season of long rains: For a little while it spilled its banks, flooding the crops in the fields.16 But soon it will evaporate with the dry heat. Like Day from Night, I'll live my life apart from you, just glimpsing you across the sky, because you cannot change, my dear, and nor can I.17

[1] "Enchant me…" - Village Elder, Mirage [2] "I will tell my father's stories… how the elephants…" - Wild Elephant, Mirage [3] "…pirates…" - Kukemssa Pirates, Mirage [4] "Tonight…" - early harvest, Mirage and Sixth Edition [5] "I'll capture…" - Zebra Unicorn, Mirage (note that "flying" was changed to "gentle" on the card.) [6] "These things…" - Remedy, Visions and Sixth Edition [7] "When you run…" - Panther Warriors, Visions [8] "In the forest…" - Flare, Mirage [9] "The black-and-white…" - simoon, Visions [10] "…you returned a warrior… your hair was cut…" - Zhalfirin Knight, Mirage [11] "My shield…" - blinding light, Mirage [12] "I will return…" - Femeref Knight, Mirage [13] "Sun follows…" - Chariot of the Sun, Mirage [14] "Their tears…" - Mortal Wound, Visions [15] "But once…" - Sands of Time, Visions [16] "Our love…" - Summer Bloom, Visions [17] "Like Day from Night…" - Unfulfilled Desires, Mirage

[rhinorapscallion]

life in general is fascinating, and there's always something new to learn.

For instance:

Most frogs use their eye muscles to swallow, so they will always blink.

There are species of ants that cultivate crops and others that know caterpillar animal husbandry.

Ravens and crows are black, not because of pigments, but because of the structure of their feathers, this also gives a blue tint if you look at them in the right light. The tint is blue for the same reason the sky is.

Blue pigments are surprisingly rare in the natural world, so blue animals either do the sky trick like the raven's sheen or get their pigment by eating it from somewhere else. This applies to most butterflies, except one that we know of.

Termites can build huge structures that have built in climate control. Bugs figured out how to cool structures before we did.

Blob fish are actually normal looking fish when in their habitat.

Most bugs get oxygen passively. This is the reason that they were so big during the time that oxygen was more abundant, as the could absorb more to sustain a larger body size.

Elephants can't get too much bigger, their bones would snap. Same goes for us really. I'm not sure how much bigger we'd need to be, but being overly tall already causes some health issues.

If you hear a bird, it's most likely not an owl.

Penguins do, in fact, have knees.

Bananas have been cultivated so much that a verity has been wiped out by a disease. Remember those banana Laffy Taffies that absolutely don't taste like bananas. They do in fact taste like this almost extinct verity.

Most strawberries are clones, same for most cultivated apples. In fact, you will almost never get the same kind of apple from the seed of a store bought apple.

Pigeons are just generally awesome creatures. Nearly 360 degrees of vision, technically doves, can eat just about anything, extremely adaptable, some can fly home from just about anywhere.

Most mammals have a nerve that wraps from our brains, down to the aortic artery above our heart, and then to the larynx. This includes giraffes, to which this nerve is way, way longer than it needs to be.

Three separate animal groups have evolved three separate structures for wings. Bugs, bats, and birds. Birds and bats have their forelimbs as wings, but unlike birds, bats have their little wing fingers. And that's what they are, the structure of bat wings are just very weirdly shaped tetrapod forelimbs, humans also have tetrapod forelimbs.

And finally, if you had a picture every ancestor of yours all the way to LUCA (last universal common ancestor) you would not be able to tell where one species ends and another begins. In fact, there are ongoing discussions as to where genus Homo even begins because we've found enough fossils for it to be a startlingly smooth gradient.

It's my genuine opinion that people who find insects or reptiles ugly looking are choosing to do so, even if they don't realize it. If you look at anything in nature, anything at all, with the intention of seeing beauty you will see it immediately. That goes for dirt and decay and diseases or deformed things too, there's beauty in all organic formations. Some people are just black hearted and stubborn about things they're culturally conditioned to identify as weird.

This is in response to a post that disappeared off my dash where someone in a screenshot was grossed out by cute weevils, and someone I talked to on here just yesterday DISGUSTED by..... axolotls

I'm not talking about fear here, but people seeing "aesthetic ugliness." Like hating opossums or bats or crabs because somehow a scaly tail or spooky wing or jointed armor is supposed to be unpretty. I've met people who hate so much as pigs or cows for this nonsense concept. Or snails or moths or, I shit you not, whales. I saw a little girl once cringe at a SLOTH and say it's ugly. If you think any of those sound arbitrary and unfair I feel the very same of all organisms.

An ugly living thing is a fake concept.

[ahlulbaytnetworks]

🍃🕊🍃 Jafar al-Tayyar 🍃🕊🍃

🍃 The Beginning 🍃

Abu Talib, Shaikh al-Bat-ha, missed his nephew our Master Muhammad (s). So, he went to look for him. He was not alone. His son Ja'far aged twenty was with him. Shaikh al-Bat-ha and his son went to the hills near Makkah. They found him there.

Our Master Muhammad (S) was praying humbly. Ali, the young man of Islam, was praying on his right. They were not afraid of anyone but Allah. They were praying for Allah, the Creator of the skies and the earth, the Creator of creatures,

While they were praying, their number was a pitiful sight. Abu Talib turned to his son and said:

Join your cousin's wing

Namely, stand on his left hand, for Ali has stood on his right hand. The bird can't fly but with two wings. This means that Abu Talib, the Prophet's uncle, did not want our Master Muhammad (S) to stay with one wing. Since then, Ja'far's name has appeared in the bright history of Islam.

Ja'far bin Abu Talib was born about 25 years after the Year of the Elephant. He was 10 years older than his brother Ali. He was about 20 years younger than our Master Muhammad (S).

Ja'far bin Abu Talib looked like our Master Muhammad (S). He lived with his cousin al-Abbas. Abu Talib had a big family. Our Master Muhammad (S) wanted to relieve his worries. So, he took Ali to his house. Al-Abbas took Ja'far to his house.

The light of Islam illuminated the sky of Makkah. Our Master Muhammad (S) invited the bewildered to the New Light. He invited the defeated and the oppressed to the religion of salvation and freedom. He invited the drowning in the darkness of ignorance to the light of Islam.

But the Quraishi tyrants did not listen to the voice of Islam and the Call of the Sky. So, they began fighting our Master Muhammad (S) and those who believed in him. They wreaked their wrath upon the weak Muslims. They whipped Bilal al-Habashy, Summayya, Yasir, and other Muslims. They whipped them for no sin but because they said:

Our Lord is Allah.

🍃 The Immigration to Habasha 🍃

One night the Muslims met Allah's Apostle. He was sad to hear that the Muslims were suffering from torture So, he said to them:

There's a just King in Habasha. Immigrate to his country. Stay there till Allah drives away your worries.

The idea of immigration shone in the believers' hearts as the sun shone to fill the earth with light and warmth.

At midnight, a small group crept into the land of Habasha (Ethiopia), via the Red Sea. The Muslim immigrants stayed there.

In the meantime, the Quraish increased their torture against the Muslims who stayed in Makkah. So, they were in a fix.

At that critical time, our Master Muhammad (S) ordered his cousin Ja'far to lead a bigger group of Muslims to Habasha.

The number of the new group was over 80 Muslims. Ja'far began leading the immigrating caravan towards the coasts of the sea.

The sea was calm. The wind was gentle. The immigrants reached the coasts of the sea. Allah, the Almighty, wanted a ship to pass by them. The ship was going from Jeddah to Habasha. Ja'far asked her Captain to take them there. The Captain accepted.

The ship set out plowing the sea. The Muslims thanked Allah, who turned their fear into safety to worship Him only.

Ja'far himself was visiting the immigrants, especially the children. His wife Asmaa bint Umayys was visiting the women.

Days and nights passed. The ship anchored at the coasts of Habasha. The Muslims reached the land where our Master Muhammad (S) had ordered them to immigrate.

The Muslims were always praying to Allah freely. No one prevented them from that. During their prayers, they were always asking Allah to grant our Master Muhammad (S) and his Muslim brothers victory over the unjust Quraishi tyrants.

But the news that reached them was sorrowful. Yasir and Summayyah became martyrs under torture, They were in pain to hear about the torture that was happening to their brothers. But they firmly increased their belief.

🍃 In Makkah 🍃

Abu Jahal, who had a spite against our Master Muhammad (S), was always planning to destroy Allah's religion. He wanted to put out the candle of Islam so that people would live in darkness and ignorance.

But Allah's religion spread as the scent of roses did. It made happiness enter hearts as spring did.

One day, the Quraishi leaders held a meeting in Darul Nadwa. They were thinking about a way to extinguish the light of Islam. Umayyah said:

I'll make Bilal a lesson for slaves so that they'll not think about entering Muhammad's religion.

Abu Jahal said:

We'll go on banning Bani Hashim till they die of hunger or they give us Muhammad to kill him.

Abu Sufyan said:

But what shall we do for those who escape from Makkah and go to Habasha?

Abu Jahal said:

We'll bring them back.

How?

We'll send our friend al-Najashy lots of gifts. So, he'll accept our request.

Who will go?

We'll send a clever man to negotiate with al-Najashy.

After several weeks, they decided to send a delegation to bring back the runaway persons.

🍃 In al-Najashy's Presence

In the morning, Amru bin al-’As and Amarah bin al-Waleed headed for the sea holding gifts to al-Najashy, the King of Habasha.

The delegates crossed the sea with a ship. They reached the land of Habasha. They came to the King's palace.

Amru bin al-’As said to the guards of the palace:

We're the Quraishi delegates holding gifts to the King.

Al-Najashy greeted the delegates and accepted the gifts of the Quraish. The priests received their gifts, too. The King asked them about the purpose of their visit.

The delegates said:

Some foolish persons have taken refuge in the land of Habasha. They've abandoned their fathers' and grandfathers' religion. They haven't accepted the King's religion. Rather; they've brought a new religion. Neither you nor we have known it. We, the Quraishi noblemen, have come to bring them back and to educate them.

The King of Habasha was just and wise man. So, he said:

How can I hand you the people who have chosen my country and asked me for help? But I'll ask them some questions. If their thoughts are corrupt; if they are deviated, I'd hand them to you. Otherwise, I'd leave them to live in my country.

Al-Najashy sent for the immigrants. They came. Ja'far bin Abu Talib was in advance. They came into the palace and stood in front of the King.

The Habashian people bowed when they met the King. So the Habashian and the delegates bowed to the King. The Muslims did not bow; their heads remained high raised.

Al-Najashy asked the Muslims:

Why don't you bow to me?

Ja'far answered:

We don't bow to anyone but Allah.

The King said:

What do you mean?

Ja'far answered:

Your Majesty; the King, Allah has sent us an Apostle. The Apostle has ordered us not to bow to anyone but Allah. He has also ordered us to pray and to pay zakat.

Amru bin al-’As said evilly:

They're breaking the King's religion!

Al-Najashy asked him to keep silent; and asked Ja'far to go on. Ja'far politely said:

Your Majesty, the King, we were ignorant people. We worshipped the idols. We ate dead animals. We did bad actions and abandoned our relatives. We mistreated our neighbors. The strong oppressed the weak. So Allah has sent us an Apostle. We know his ancestors and his truthfulness. We know that he is pure and trustworthy So, he has invited us to worship the Only Allah. He has ordered us to avoid what we and our fathers had worshipped. He has ordered us to be truthful and to give the trusts to their owners. He has ordered us to visit our relatives, to be good neighbors, to stop bad actions and shedding blood. He has prevented us from atrocities, falsehood taking the orphan's money and speaking evil of the married women. He has ordered us to worship Allah only and not to be polytheists. He has ordered us to pray, to give alms, and to fast.

Your majesty; the king, we've believed him and followed what he has brought from Allah. So, we've worshipped Allah only- we're not polytheists.

But our people have aggressed against us. They've tortured us. They've prevented us from our religion to worship the idols again.

After they had persecuted us, we came to your country. We've preferred you to others. We want to live in your country. Thus, your majesty, the king, we ask you to treat us justly.

Al-Najashy said politely:

Have you anything of what your Prophet has brought?

Ja'far politely said:

Yes.

Al-Najashy said:

Read me something.

Ja'far began reading some verses of the Chapter of Maryam:

And mention Maryam in the Book when she drew aside from her family to an eastern place. So, she took a veil (to screen herself) from them; then We sent to her Our Spirit, and there appeared to her a well-made man. She said: Surely I fly for refuge from you to the Beneficent God, if you are one guarding (against evil). He said: I am only a messenger of your Lord: That I will give you a pure boy. She said: When shall I have a boy and no mortal has yet touched me, nor have I been unchaste?

He said: Even so; your lord says: It is easy to me: and that We may make him a sign to men and a mercy from us; and it is a matter which has been decreed. So, she conceived him; then withdrew herself with a remote place and the throes (of childbirth) compelled her to take herself to the trunk of a palm tree. She said: Oh, would that I had died before this, and had been a thing quite forgotten!

Then (the child called out to her from beneath her): Grieve not, surely your lord has made a stream to flow beneath you. And shake towards you the trunk of the palm tree, it will drop on you fresh ripe dates. So, eat and drink and refresh the eye. Then if you see any mortal, say: Surely I have vowed a fast to the Beneficent God, so I shall not speak to any man today and she came to her people with him, carrying him (with her).

They said: O Maryam! Surely you have done a strange thing. O Sister of Haroon! Your father was not a bad man, nor was your mother an unchaste woman.

Al-Najashy wept. His tears flowed on his cheeks. The priests and the monks wept humbly, too. Ja'far's voice was flowing humbly:

But she pointed to him. They said: How should we speak to one who was a child in the cradle? He said: Surely I am Allah's servant; he has given me the Book and made me a prophet, and has made me blessed wherever I may be, and he has enjoined on me prayer and poor-rate so long as I live and dutiful to my mother; and he has not made me insolent, unblessed and peace be on me on the day I was

born, and on the day I die, and on the day I am raised to life .

Al-Najashy stood up for Allah's Words and said humbly:

Certainly this and what 'Isa had brought come out of one niche.

He turned to the Quraishi delegates and said angrily:

I won't hand them to you and I'll defend them.

Then he ordered his soldiers to dismiss the delegation and to return the gifts to them. He said:

They are bribes. I don't want to be bribed.

He turned to Ja'far and his Muslim group and said:

You're welcome; Your Prophet is welcome. I admit that he is the Apostle whom 'Isa bin Maryam had given good news about. Live wherever you like in my country.

Al-Najashy wanted to know something about the manners of Islam. He asked Ja'far:

How do you greet each other?

Our greeting is to say Assalamu Alaikum.

🍃 Another Plot

On the following day Amru bin al-’As and Amarah decided to go to the King's Palace.

On their way, Amru bin al-’As said to Amarah:

This time, I,ll get my revenge on Ja'far. I'll tell the kings that the Muslims have another idea about 'Isa.

Again the delegates came to al-Najashy and said:

Your majesty; the king, the Muslims say that 'Isa is a slave.

Al-Najashy kept silent for a while then he said to the guard:

Go to Ja'far to hear his point of view

Ja'far came and greeted the King and said:

Assalamu Alaikum.

The King asked him:

What's your point of view about 'Isa?

Ja'far answered calmly:

We say as Allah and His Apostle have said about him.

The King asked him:

What's your Prophet said?

Ja'far answered calmly:

He's Allah's slave, His Apostle, His Spirit, His Word that He has given to the chaste, virgin Maryam.

Al-Najashy kept silent for a while, then he drew a line on the ground with his stick. So, he said:

Go to your friends. You're safe in my country.

Again the delegates' plot came to nothing. The delegates hopelessly came back to Makkah. Since that meeting, the Muslims had been happy in the land of the just King.

Our Master Muhammad (S) and the Muslims rejoiced at Ja'far's victory and his stay in Habasha.

🍃 The Good Stay

Days, months, and years passed.

Ja'far and the Muslims heard news. When they heard good news, they became happy. When they heard bad news, they became sad.

They became happy when the ban the Quraish imposed on Banu Hashim was over.

They became sad when they heard about the death of Abu Talib, the protector of the Prophet (S) and Khadijah's death, our Master Muhammad's wife, who stood by him and spent her wealth for Islam.

The Muslims in Habasha heard about our Master Muhammad's migration to Madina and the establishment of the first Islamic State, where the flag of monotheism was hoisted. They were filled with happiness.

The news of the decisive Battle of Badr, and the victory of Islam over polytheism and idols arrived to them. They heard about the news of the Battle of Uhud. They were sad to hear about the Prophet's wounds in the battle.

They were happy to hear the news of the Muslims' victories over the polytheists and the Jews. Their happiness was great when they heard about the Prophet's letters to the Kings all over the world.

The Prophet (S) sent letters to Hercules, the Emperor of Rome, Kossra, the King of Iran, and al-Mokawkas, the Pharaoh of Egypt.

🍃 A letter to al-Najashy

Amru bin Umayyah al-Dhimry our Master Muhammad's delegate, arrived in Habasha carrying the letter of the Prophet of Islam.

The letter read:

From Muhammad, Allah's Apostle

To al-Najashy the King of Habasha

You are safe.

I thank Allah. There is no god but Him, the King, the Holy, the Peace, the Believer; the Almighty.

I bear witness that 'Isa is Allah's Spirit, and His word He has given to Maryam, the Virgin, the good, and the chaste. Allah created him with His power as He created Adam before.

I am inviting you to worship Allah only, to obey Him, to follow me, and to believe in what has come to me. I am Allah's Apostle. I am inviting you and your soldiers to worship Allah, the Almighty. I have told and advised you. So, accept my advice.

And peace upon him who follows guidance.

🍃 Ja'far accompanied our Master

Muhammad's (S) delegate on his going to al-Najashy's palace. First they greeted the King of Habasha. Then he received the Prophet's letter respectfully.

Al-Najashy read the letter. He came down the throne and sat on the ground to show his humbleness and respect for Allah's Apostle, our Master Muhammad (S).

Al-Najashy put the letter on his eye to show his great respect. Then he ordered his guards to get him an ivory box to put the letter in. He said:

Habasha will be prosperous as long as its people keeps this letter.

The Prophet's delegate gave the King another letter. The letter asked the King to allow the immigrants headed by Ja'far bin Abu Talib to come back to their country.

The Muslims were very happy to hear about their repatriation to their homeland. In the meantime, they thanked al-Najashy for his good hospitality.

Al-Najashy ordered his guards to prepare some ships to bring back the immigrants to the land of al-Hejaz. He sent his representative with them.

The representative was carrying gifts and a letter of greetings to our Master Muhammad (S).

The sails of the ships were raised to start journey, the Muslims set off. They rejoiced at Allah's victory.

🍃 The Conquest of Khaibar 🍃

In al-Madina al-Munawwara, the army of Islam was getting ready to advance towards the strongholds of the Jewish Khaibar.

The Jews of Khaibar were always plotting to put out the light of Islam. They were always encouraging the Arab tribes to invade Madina to destroy the new Muslim State.

So, our Master Muhammad (S) decided to uproot the danger of the Jews so that people would live in peace.

The Muslim forces reached the road that joined the tribes of Ghatfan and the strongholds of Khaibar to surprise the enemy there.

The number of the Muslim Army amounted to one thousand and four-hundred fighters. Two hundred horse riders were with them. The Muslim women took part in the battle, too.

The Muslims advanced towards the strongholds. At dawn, they surprised the Jews and besieged them completely.

Some Companions launched strong attacks against the Jews. But they were in vain because the Jews faced them with a lot of arrows. The Jews were sneering at our Master Muhammad (S) and his soldiers.

So, the Prophet (S) said:

“Tomorrow; I'll give the banner to a man. The man loves Allah and his Apostle; Allah and His Apostle love him.”

In the morning, some companions wished that the banner would be for them. But our Master Muhammad (S) asked Ali, Ja'far's brother.

Ali (as) shook the banner strongly and advanced towards the strongholds of the Jews. When Ali killed Marhab, the hero of the Jews, they felt fear. Quickly, the Muslims occupied the strongholds of Khaibar, one by one.

Our Master Muhammad (S) and the Muslims were filled with happiness. So, they thanked Allah for the victory over their enemies.

In the meantime, the immigrants of Habasha headed by Ja'far bin Abu Talib arrived. Our Master Muhammad's (S) happiness doubled. So, he said with a bright smile on his face:

I don't know which event is more cheerful - Ja'far's coming or the Conquest of Khaibar!

Our Master Muhammad (S) embraced his cousin Ja'far and kissed his forehead and said:

“Certainly Ja'far and his friends have two immigrations - an immigration to Habasha and an immigration to al-Madina al-Munawwara.”

🍃 The Battle of Mautah 🍃

Our Master Muhammad (S) had sent a messenger to the ruler of Busra, a town in Sham. But the messenger was captured and executed in the land of Mautah. This action was against the humanitarian morals.

The Prophet (S) felt sadness. So, he ordered the Muslims to get ready to make an attack to punish the killers.

In the month of Jamadil-Ula, the second year after the blessed immigration, three thousand fighters went to take part in the battle. The Prophet's (S) advice was lightening their way:

I advise you to fear Allah. Invade in the Name of Allah. So, fight Allah's enemy and your enemy. You'll find lonely men in the cells. So, don't fight them. Don't kill a woman or a child. Don't cut down a tree. Don't demolish a building.

Our Master Muhammad (S) appointed Zaid bin Haritha leader to the Muslim Army. The Prophet said:

“If Zaid was martyred, the leader would be Ja'far bin Abu Talib. If Ja'far was martyred, the leader would be Abdulah bin Rawaha.”

The news of the Muslims' attack reached the Romans. So, they established an army. The army was composed of the Romans and the allied Arab tribes. The number of their forces was two hundred thousand soldiers. The armies gathered at the land of al-Balqaa.

The first clash took place between the two armies at the Village of Masharif near al-Balqaa. The mastery of the Romans appeared in the battle because they had a big army. Hercules, the Emperor of Rome, gave the general leadership to his brother Tyodor.

The Muslim Army, though few in number, chose the land of Mautah to be the theater for the war operations because the elevations of the land were suitable for the Muslims to protect themselves against the Roman Colossal Army.

Zaid bin Haritha got ready for the start of the battle. He strongly shook the banner of the Muslim Army and rushed towards the core of the enemy. His rushing made the Muslim forces start the battle with enthusiasm.

Strong fights took place. Spears tore Zaid's body. So, he fell on to the ground dyeing it red.

Before the banner dropped from Zaid's hand, Ja'far bin Abu Talib had rushed and caught it strongly. He began fighting severely. His voice became loud in the middle of the noise of the fights. He announced the good news about victory or martyrdom which each believer hoped.

Ja'far bin Abu Talib jumped off his horse to show his insistence on fighting. He was the first to do that in the history of Islam. He was like the mountain. He was facing the enemies hits. His firmness astonished them.

So, the enemies intensified their attacks against him. A sword hit his right hand. So, it flew in the wind.

Ja'far took the banner of Islam with his left hand and began fighting. Another sword hit his hand and cut it off. Ja'far pressed the banner to his bosom with his upper arm so that the fight would go on.

During those terrible moments, Ja'far was hit again. He fell over the ground and became a martyr.

Abdullah bin Rawaha, the third leader, rushed towards the banner to wave again in the sky of the battle.

The new leader fought bravely to stop the attacks of the Romans who were moving like waves.

Abdullah fell over the ground and became a martyr. So, Thabit bin al-Arqam took the banner and asked the Muslims to elect a new leader.

The Muslims elected Khalid bin al-Waleed.

Very quickly, the new leader decided to withdraw his forces. So, he did some tactic operations to cheat the enemy.

When it got dark, the Muslim Army withdrew with peace and disappeared in the core of the desert.

In the morning, the Romans were surprised to hear about the Muslims' withdrawal. They were afraid to go further into the desert.

At the same time, the brave Muslims, though few in number, dismayed them.

So, the Romans preferred coming back to stay.

🍃 In Madina 🍃

Jibreel came down from the sky to tell our Master Muhammad (S) about the news of the battle. So, Allah's Apostle went up the pulpit and addressed the

🍃 Muslims:

Zaid took the banner. He fought till he was killed and became a martyr. Then Ja'far took it and fought till he was killed and became a martyr. Then Abdullah took it and fought till he was killed and became a martyr.

Finally, our Master Muhammad (s) began condoling Asmaa, the great Martyr's wife.

The Holy Prophet (S) came into Ja'far's house. He found his children sitting. His wife had just finished doing her hair.

The Prophet (S) kissed Ja'far's children and held them on his lap. He shed tears. Asmaa felt that something had happened to her husband. So, she asked the Prophet (S):

“Allah's Apostle, have you heard anything about Ja'far and his companions?

Yes, they've been martyred!”

The Prophet (S) left the house. He asked his daughter Fatima al-Zahra (sa) to fix some food for them, for a disaster had befallen them.

🍃 The Owner of the two wings 🍃

When the soldiers of Islam came back to their homeland, they began telling their families about Ja'far's heroic actions and those who were martyred.

One of them said:

“We've seen 90 wounds in Ja'far's body.

Another said:

I've seen him when his right hand had been cut off.

The third said:

I've seen him when his left hand had been cut off. He had fallen over the ground and his wounds bled.

Our Master Muhammad (s) said:

Jibreel has told me that Allah has granted Ja'far two wings to fly with in the Paradise.”

That night, Ja'far's children lay on their beds. They were looking at the sky full of stars. In the meantime, they imagined that their father was flying with his wings like angels.

🍃🕊🍃🌓 al-Islam.org 🌓🍃🕊🍃

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🍃🕊🍃 Jafar al-Tayyar 🍃🕊🍃

🍃 The Beginning 🍃

Abu Talib, Shaikh al-Bat-ha, missed his nephew our Master Muhammad (s). So, he went to look for him. He was not alone. His son Ja'far aged twenty was with him. Shaikh al-Bat-ha and his son went to the hills near Makkah. They found him there.

Our Master Muhammad (s) was praying humbly. Ali, the young man of Islam, was praying on his right. They were not afraid of anyone but Allah. They were praying for Allah, the Creator of the skies and the earth, the Creator of creatures,

While they were praying, their number was a pitiful sight. Abu Talib turned to his son and said:

Join your cousin's wing

Namely, stand on his left hand, for Ali has stood on his right hand. The bird can't fly but with two wings. This means that Abu Talib, the Prophet's uncle, did not want our Master Muhammad (s) to stay with one wing. Since then, Ja'far's name has appeared in the bright history of Islam.

Ja'far bin Abu Talib was born about 25 years after the Year of the Elephant. He was 10 years older than his brother Ali. He was about 20 years younger than our Master Muhammad (s).

Ja'far bin Abu Talib looked like our Master Muhammad (s). He lived with his cousin al-Abbas. Abu Talib had a big family. Our Master Muhammad (s) wanted to relieve his worries. So, he took Ali to his house. Al-Abbas took Ja'far to his house.

The light of Islam illuminated the sky of Makkah. Our Master Muhammad (s) invited the bewildered to the New Light. He invited the defeated and the oppressed to the religion of salvation and freedom. He invited the drowning in the darkness of ignorance to the light of Islam.

But the Quraishi tyrants did not listen to the voice of Islam and the Call of the Sky. So, they began fighting our Master Muhammad (s) and those who believed in him. They wreaked their wrath upon the weak Muslims. They whipped Bilal al-Habashy, Summayya, Yasir, and other Muslims. They whipped them for no sin but because they said:

Our Lord is Allah.

🍃 The Immigration to Habasha 🍃

One night the Muslims met Allah's Apostle. He was sad to hear that the Muslims were suffering from torture So, he said to them:

There's a just King in Habasha. Immigrate to his country. Stay there till Allah drives away your worries.

The idea of immigration shone in the believers' hearts as the sun shone to fill the earth with light and warmth.

At midnight, a small group crept into the land of Habasha (Ethiopia), via the Red Sea. The Muslim immigrants stayed there.

In the meantime, the Quraish increased their torture against the Muslims who stayed in Makkah. So, they were in a fix.

At that critical time, our Master Muhammad (s) ordered his cousin Ja'far to lead a bigger group of Muslims to Habasha.

The number of the new group was over 80 Muslims. Ja'far began leading the immigrating caravan towards the coasts of the sea.

The sea was calm. The wind was gentle. The immigrants reached the coasts of the sea. Allah, the Almighty, wanted a ship to pass by them. The ship was going from Jeddah to Habasha. Ja'far asked her Captain to take them there. The Captain accepted.

The ship set out plowing the sea. The Muslims thanked Allah, who turned their fear into safety to worship Him only.

Ja'far himself was visiting the immigrants, especially the children. His wife Asmaa bint Umayys was visiting the women.

Days and nights passed. The ship anchored at the coasts of Habasha. The Muslims reached the land where our Master Muhammad (s) had ordered them to immigrate.

The Muslims were always praying to Allah freely. No one prevented them from that. During their prayers, they were always asking Allah to grant our Master Muhammad (s) and his Muslim brothers victory over the unjust Quraishi tyrants.

But the news that reached them was sorrowful. Yasir and Summayyah became martyrs under torture, They were in pain to hear about the torture that was happening to their brothers. But they firmly increased their belief.

🍃 In Makkah 🍃

Abu Jahal, who had a spite against our Master Muhammad (s), was always planning to destroy Allah's religion. He wanted to put out the candle of Islam so that people would live in darkness and ignorance.

But Allah's religion spread as the scent of roses did. It made happiness enter hearts as spring did.

One day, the Quraishi leaders held a meeting in Darul Nadwa. They were thinking about a way to extinguish the light of Islam. Umayyah said:

I'll make Bilal a lesson for slaves so that they'll not think about entering Muhammad's religion.

Abu Jahal said:

We'll go on banning Bani Hashim till they die of hunger or they give us Muhammad to kill him.

Abu Sufyan said:

But what shall we do for those who escape from Makkah and go to Habasha?

Abu Jahal said:

We'll bring them back.

How?

We'll send our friend al-Najashy lots of gifts. So, he'll accept our request.

Who will go?

We'll send a clever man to negotiate with al-Najashy.

After several weeks, they decided to send a delegation to bring back the runaway persons.

In al-Najashy's Presence

In the morning, Amru bin al-’As and Amarah bin al-Waleed headed for the sea holding gifts to al-Najashy, the King of Habasha.

The delegates crossed the sea with a ship. They reached the land of Habasha. They came to the King's palace.

Amru bin al-’As said to the guards of the palace:

We're the Quraishi delegates holding gifts to the King.

Al-Najashy greeted the delegates and accepted the gifts of the Quraish. The priests received their gifts, too. The King asked them about the purpose of their visit.

The delegates said:

Some foolish persons have taken refuge in the land of Habasha. They've abandoned their fathers' and grandfathers' religion. They haven't accepted the King's religion. Rather; they've brought a new religion. Neither you nor we have known it. We, the Quraishi noblemen, have come to bring them back and to educate them.

The King of Habasha was just and wise man. So, he said:

How can I hand you the people who have chosen my country and asked me for help? But I'll ask them some questions. If their thoughts are corrupt; if they are deviated, I'd hand them to you. Otherwise, I'd leave them to live in my country.

Al-Najashy sent for the immigrants. They came. Ja'far bin Abu Talib was in advance. They came into the palace and stood in front of the King.

The Habashian people bowed when they met the King. So the Habashian and the delegates bowed to the King. The Muslims did not bow; their heads remained high raised.

Al-Najashy asked the Muslims:

Why don't you bow to me?

Ja'far answered:

We don't bow to anyone but Allah.

The King said:

What do you mean?

Ja'far answered:

Your Majesty; the King, Allah has sent us an Apostle. The Apostle has ordered us not to bow to anyone but Allah. He has also ordered us to pray and to pay zakat.

Amru bin al-’As said evilly:

They're breaking the King's religion!

Al-Najashy asked him to keep silent; and asked Ja'far to go on. Ja'far politely said:

Your Majesty, the King, we were ignorant people. We worshipped the idols. We ate dead animals. We did bad actions and abandoned our relatives. We mistreated our neighbors. The strong oppressed the weak. So Allah has sent us an Apostle. We know his ancestors and his truthfulness. We know that he is pure and trustworthy So, he has invited us to worship the Only Allah. He has ordered us to avoid what we and our fathers had worshipped. He has ordered us to be truthful and to give the trusts to their owners. He has ordered us to visit our relatives, to be good neighbors, to stop bad actions and shedding blood. He has prevented us from atrocities, falsehood taking the orphan's money and speaking evil of the married women. He has ordered us to worship Allah only and not to be polytheists. He has ordered us to pray, to give alms, and to fast.

Your majesty; the king, we've believed him and followed what he has brought from Allah. So, we've worshipped Allah only- we're not polytheists.

But our people have aggressed against us. They've tortured us. They've prevented us from our religion to worship the idols again.

After they had persecuted us, we came to your country. We've preferred you to others. We want to live in your country. Thus, your majesty, the king, we ask you to treat us justly.

Al-Najashy said politely:

Have you anything of what your Prophet has brought?

Ja'far politely said:

Yes.

Al-Najashy said:

Read me something.

Ja'far began reading some verses of the Chapter of Maryam:

And mention Maryam in the Book when she drew aside from her family to an eastern place. So, she took a veil (to screen herself) from them; then We sent to her Our Spirit, and there appeared to her a well-made man. She said: Surely I fly for refuge from you to the Beneficent God, if you are one guarding (against evil). He said: I am only a messenger of your Lord: That I will give you a pure boy. She said: When shall I have a boy and no mortal has yet touched me, nor have I been unchaste?

He said: Even so; your lord says: It is easy to me: and that We may make him a sign to men and a mercy from us; and it is a matter which has been decreed. So, she conceived him; then withdrew herself with a remote place and the throes (of childbirth) compelled her to take herself to the trunk of a palm tree. She said: Oh, would that I had died before this, and had been a thing quite forgotten!

Then (the child called out to her from beneath her): Grieve not, surely your lord has made a stream to flow beneath you. And shake towards you the trunk of the palm tree, it will drop on you fresh ripe dates. So, eat and drink and refresh the eye. Then if you see any mortal, say: Surely I have vowed a fast to the Beneficent God, so I shall not speak to any man today and she came to her people with him, carrying him (with her).

They said: O Maryam! Surely you have done a strange thing. O Sister of Haroon! Your father was not a bad man, nor was your mother an unchaste woman.

Al-Najashy wept. His tears flowed on his cheeks. The priests and the monks wept humbly, too. Ja'far's voice was flowing humbly:

But she pointed to him. They said: How should we speak to one who was a child in the cradle? He said: Surely I am Allah's servant; he has given me the Book and made me a prophet, and has made me blessed wherever I may be, and he has enjoined on me prayer and poor-rate so long as I live and dutiful to my mother; and he has not made me insolent, unblessed and peace be on me on the day I was

born, and on the day I die, and on the day I am raised to life .

Al-Najashy stood up for Allah's Words and said humbly:

Certainly this and what 'Isa had brought come out of one niche.

He turned to the Quraishi delegates and said angrily:

I won't hand them to you and I'll defend them.

Then he ordered his soldiers to dismiss the delegation and to return the gifts to them. He said:

They are bribes. I don't want to be bribed.

He turned to Ja'far and his Muslim group and said:

You're welcome; Your Prophet is welcome. I admit that he is the Apostle whom 'Isa bin Maryam had given good news about. Live wherever you like in my country.

Al-Najashy wanted to know something about the manners of Islam. He asked Ja'far:

How do you greet each other?

Our greeting is to say Assalamu Alaikum.

Another Plot

On the following day Amru bin al-’As and Amarah decided to go to the King's Palace.

On their way, Amru bin al-’As said to Amarah:

This time, I,ll get my revenge on Ja'far. I'll tell the kings that the Muslims have another idea about 'Isa.

Again the delegates came to al-Najashy and said:

Your majesty; the king, the Muslims say that 'Isa is a slave.

Al-Najashy kept silent for a while then he said to the guard:

Go to Ja'far to hear his point of view

Ja'far came and greeted the King and said:

Assalamu Alaikum.

The King asked him:

What's your point of view about 'Isa?

Ja'far answered calmly:

We say as Allah and His Apostle have said about him.

The King asked him:

What's your Prophet said?

Ja'far answered calmly:

He's Allah's slave, His Apostle, His Spirit, His Word that He has given to the chaste, virgin Maryam.

Al-Najashy kept silent for a while, then he drew a line on the ground with his stick. So, he said:

Go to your friends. You're safe in my country.

Again the delegates' plot came to nothing. The delegates hopelessly came back to Makkah. Since that meeting, the Muslims had been happy in the land of the just King.

Our Master Muhammad (s) and the Muslims rejoiced at Ja'far's victory and his stay in Habasha.

The Good Stay

Days, months, and years passed.

Ja'far and the Muslims heard news. When they heard good news, they became happy. When they heard bad news, they became sad.

They became happy when the ban the Quraish imposed on Banu Hashim was over.

They became sad when they heard about the death of Abu Talib, the protector of the Prophet (s) and Khadijah's death, our Master Muhammad's wife, who stood by him and spent her wealth for Islam.

The Muslims in Habasha heard about our Master Muhammad's migration to Madina and the establishment of the first Islamic State, where the flag of monotheism was hoisted. They were filled with happiness.

The news of the decisive Battle of Badr, and the victory of Islam over polytheism and idols arrived to them. They heard about the news of the Battle of Uhud. They were sad to hear about the Prophet's wounds in the battle.

They were happy to hear the news of the Muslims' victories over the polytheists and the Jews. Their happiness was great when they heard about the Prophet's letters to the Kings all over the world.

The Prophet (s) sent letters to Hercules, the Emperor of Rome, Kossra, the King of Iran, and al-Mokawkas, the Pharaoh of Egypt.

A letter to al-Najashy

Amru bin Umayyah al-Dhimry our Master Muhammad's delegate, arrived in Habasha carrying the letter of the Prophet of Islam.

The letter read:

From Muhammad, Allah's Apostle

To al-Najashy the King of Habasha

You are safe.

I thank Allah. There is no god but Him, the King, the Holy, the Peace, the Believer; the Almighty.

I bear witness that 'Isa is Allah's Spirit, and His word He has given to Maryam, the Virgin, the good, and the chaste. Allah created him with His power as He created Adam before.

I am inviting you to worship Allah only, to obey Him, to follow me, and to believe in what has come to me. I am Allah's Apostle. I am inviting you and your soldiers to worship Allah, the Almighty. I have told and advised you. So, accept my advice.

And peace upon him who follows guidance.

Ja'far accompanied our Master Muhammad's delegate on his going to al-Najashy's palace. First they greeted the King of Habasha. Then he received the Prophet's letter respectfully.

Al-Najashy read the letter. He came down the throne and sat on the ground to show his humbleness and respect for Allah's Apostle, our Master Muhammad (s).

Al-Najashy put the letter on his eye to show his great respect. Then he ordered his guards to get him an ivory box to put the letter in. He said:

Habasha will be prosperous as long as its people keeps this letter.

The Prophet's delegate gave the King another letter. The letter asked the King to allow the immigrants headed by Ja'far bin Abu Talib to come back to their country.

The Muslims were very happy to hear about their repatriation to their homeland. In the meantime, they thanked al-Najashy for his good hospitality.

Al-Najashy ordered his guards to prepare some ships to bring back the immigrants to the land of al-Hejaz. He sent his representative with them.

The representative was carrying gifts and a letter of greetings to our Master Muhammad (s).

The sails of the ships were raised to start journey, the Muslims set off. They rejoiced at Allah's victory.

🍃 The Conquest of Khaibar 🍃

In al-Madina al-Munawwara, the army of Islam was getting ready to advance towards the strongholds of the Jewish Khaibar.

The Jews of Khaibar were always plotting to put out the light of Islam. They were always encouraging the Arab tribes to invade Madina to destroy the new Muslim State.

So, our Master Muhammad (s) decided to uproot the danger of the Jews so that people would live in peace.

The Muslim forces reached the road that joined the tribes of Ghatfan and the strongholds of Khaibar to surprise the enemy there.

The number of the Muslim Army amounted to one thousand and four-hundred fighters. Two hundred horse riders were with them. The Muslim women took part in the battle, too.

The Muslims advanced towards the strongholds. At dawn, they surprised the Jews and besieged them completely.

Some Companions launched strong attacks against the Jews. But they were in vain because the Jews faced them with a lot of arrows. The Jews were sneering at our Master Muhammad (s) and his soldiers.

So, the Prophet (s) said:

Tomorrow; I'll give the banner to a man. The man

loves Allah and his Apostle; Allah and His Apostle love him.

In the morning, some companions wished that the banner would be for them. But our Master Muhammad (s) asked Ali, Ja'far's brother.

Ali shook the banner strongly and advanced towards the strongholds of the Jews. When Ali killed Marhab, the hero of the Jews, they felt fear. Quickly, the Muslims occupied the strongholds of Khaibar, one by one.

Our Master Muhammad (s) and the Muslims were filled with happiness. So, they thanked Allah for the victory over their enemies.

In the meantime, the immigrants of Habasha headed by Ja'far bin Abu Talib arrived. Our Master Muhammad's happiness doubled. So, he said with a bright smile on his face:

I don't know which event is more cheerful - Ja'far's coming or the Conquest of Khaibar!

Our Master Muhammad (s) embraced his cousin Ja'far and kissed his forehead and said:

Certainly Ja'far and his friends have two immigrations - an immigration to Habasha and an immigration to al-Madina al-Munawwara.

🍃 The Battle of Mautah 🍃

Our Master Muhammad (s) had sent a messenger to the ruler of Busra, a town in Sham. But the messenger was captured and executed in the land of Mautah. This action was against the humanitarian morals.

The Prophet (s) felt sadness. So, he ordered the Muslims to get ready to make an attack to punish the killers.

In the month of Jamadil-Ula, the second year after the blessed immigration, three thousand fighters went to take part in the battle. The Prophet's advice was lightening their way:

I advise you to fear Allah. Invade in the Name of Allah. So, fight Allah's enemy and your enemy. You'll find lonely men in the cells. So, don't fight them. Don't kill a woman or a child. Don't cut down a tree. Don't demolish a building.

Our Master Muhammad (s) appointed Zaid bin Haritha leader to the Muslim Army. The Prophet said:

If Zaid was martyred, the leader would be Ja'far bin Abu Talib. If Ja'far was martyred, the leader would be Abdulah bin Rawaha.

The news of the Muslims' attack reached the Romans. So, they established an army. The army was composed of the Romans and the allied Arab tribes. The number of their forces was two hundred thousand soldiers. The armies gathered at the land of al-Balqaa.

The first clash took place between the two armies at the Village of Masharif near al-Balqaa. The mastery of the Romans appeared in the battle because they had a big army. Hercules, the Emperor of Rome, gave the general leadership to his brother Tyodor.

The Muslim Army, though few in number, chose the land of Mautah to be the theater for the war operations because the elevations of the land were suitable for the Muslims to protect themselves against the Roman Colossal Army.

Zaid bin Haritha got ready for the start of the battle. He strongly shook the banner of the Muslim Army and rushed towards the core of the enemy. His rushing made the Muslim forces start the battle with enthusiasm.

Strong fights took place. Spears tore Zaid's body. So, he fell on to the ground dyeing it red.

Before the banner dropped from Zaid's hand, Ja'far bin Abu Talib had rushed and caught it strongly. He began fighting severely. His voice became loud in the middle of the noise of the fights. He announced the good news about victory or martyrdom which each believer hoped.

Ja'far bin Abu Talib jumped off his horse to show his insistence on fighting. He was the first to do that in the history of Islam. He was like the mountain. He was facing the enemies hits. His firmness astonished them.

So, the enemies intensified their attacks against him. A sword hit his right hand. So, it flew in the wind.

Ja'far took the banner of Islam with his left hand and began fighting. Another sword hit his hand and cut it off. Ja'far pressed the banner to his bosom with his upper arm so that the fight would go on.

During those terrible moments, Ja'far was hit again. He fell over the ground and became a martyr.

Abdullah bin Rawaha, the third leader, rushed towards the banner to wave again in the sky of the battle.

The new leader fought bravely to stop the attacks of the Romans who were moving like waves.

Abdullah fell over the ground and became a martyr. So, Thabit bin al-Arqam took the banner and asked the Muslims to elect a new leader.

The Muslims elected Khalid bin al-Waleed.

Very quickly, the new leader decided to withdraw his forces. So, he did some tactic operations to cheat the enemy.

When it got dark, the Muslim Army withdrew with peace and disappeared in the core of the desert.

In the morning, the Romans were surprised to hear about the Muslims' withdrawal. They were afraid to go further into the desert.

At the same time, the brave Muslims, though few in number, dismayed them.

So, the Romans preferred coming back to stay.

🍃 In Madina 🍃

Jibreel came down from the sky to tell our Master Muhammad (s) about the news of the battle. So, Allah's Apostle went up the pulpit and addressed the

Muslims:

Zaid took the banner. He fought till he was killed and became a martyr. Then Ja'far took it and fought till he was killed and became a martyr. Then Abdullah took it and fought till he was killed and became a martyr.

Finally, our Master Muhammad (s) began condoling Asmaa, the great Martyr's wife.

The Holy Prophet (s) came into Ja'far's house. He found his children sitting. His wife had just finished doing her hair.

The Prophet (s) kissed Ja'far's children and held them on his lap. He shed tears. Asmaa felt that something had happened to her husband. So, she asked the Prophet (s):

Allah's Apostle, have you heard anything about Ja'far and his companions?

Yes, they've been martyred!

The Prophet (s) left the house. He asked his daughter Fatima al-Zahra to fix some food for them, for a disaster had befallen them.

🍃 The Owner of the two wings 🍃

When the soldiers of Islam came back to their homeland, they began telling their families about Ja'far's heroic actions and those who were martyred.

One of them said:

We've seen 90 wounds in Ja'far's body.

Another said:

I've seen him when his right hand had been cut off.

The third said:

I've seen him when his left hand had been cut off. He had fallen over the ground and his wounds bled.

Our Master Muhammad (s) said:

Jibreel has told me that Allah has granted Ja'far two wings to fly with in the Paradise.

That night, Ja'far's children lay on their beds. They were looking at the sky full of stars. In the meantime, they imagined that their father was flying with his wings like angels.

🍃🕊🍃 al-Islam.org 🍃🕊🍃

.

[voyage2africa]

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[yzafre]

when I'm lost in the storm (and I'm calling) | Ch 2

AO3

Previous

Sora was stopped almost immediately in the next world.  The tall, thin man sneered down at him from the shadow of his hat.

“I’ve never seen you before.  Your name?”

“Uh, I’m Sora,” he replied, reaching up to try and pry Komori Bat from his hair, where the Spirit had settled in, clicking irritably at the man.

“Such disgusting attire,” the man spat, venom dripping from his voice in such measure even Meow Wow flinched back, hiding behind Sora’s ankles, “I know what you are.”

“Judge Frollo, sir!” A man in armor jogged over, face frantic, removing the weight of Frollo’s attention from him as he came to a halt, panting lightly, “Monsters – they’ve invaded the square!”

Sora gasped, “Monsters?  I’ll take care of it!”

Sora rushed into the square, expecting chaos – and there was, if not the type he expected.  A crowd of Dream Eaters circled the center of the plaza, a large elephant-shaped one prancing in the very middle, a strange-shaped man waving from its back as confetti fell around him.

He rushed in, Keyblade in hand, watching warily as the Dream Eaters made space for him, tracking him with dancing, almost mocking eyes.  As he got within feet of the rider, his ears popped, like flying too high too fast, and suddenly he could hear the roaring of a cheering crowd.  His had snapped around without thought, and he could see – something, a shifting mass, a shadow of a crowd – but it wasn’t, where were –

He rushed in, Keyblade in hand, and called up to the rider warily, “What are you doing?  You need to run!”

“Oh no, I couldn’t!” the man called bad, “Today’s the festival – and look, I’m the King of Fools!”

He turned to Sora with a bright grin, only to freeze as his eyes caught on something over Sora’s shoulder.  Instantly, the blood drained from his face.  

“Quasimodo!” Frollo’s voice rose above the crowd, cutting and vicious.

Quasimodo flinched back, “It’s my master.”

There was a – a pulse, almost, a sudden squirming in his stomach, and he thought the sun dimmed a bit, though he couldn’t point exactly why.  What he could say for certain, however, was that the Dream Eater’s eyes flashed, their colors deepening and darkening, and they began to attack.

Sora swatted one away, trying to get closer to the man, “Get to safety!”

“Let me help,” a feminine voice cut in as a woman danced through the crowd, offering the man a hand up.

“Huh?  Who are you?” Sora asked.

“Esmerelda.”

“Thank you – I’m Sora.  Now, get inside!”

She nodded, ushering Quasimodo away as Sora turned his attention fully to the Dream Eaters.

When the fight was over, Sora thought he should probably check on the man that was riding the Dream Eaters – Quasi-what’s-it.  They’d escaped into the big building at the top of the square, so he headed in after them.

The cathedral was truly impressive – tall, arcing ceilings, the walls scattered with stained glass windows that sent colorful light scattering across the floor.  Quasi wasn’t anywhere to be found, though.  Instead, Sora finally found a small, narrow stair to the top of the building, which opened out to the sky above.

A bunch of bird-like Spirits perched along the edge of one of the towers, cooing amongst themselves.  Some of them were bigger, he noticed, squinting up at the flock – they had that altered mark, too, with the extra wing-like decorations.

“Hey!” he called, “Do you know where that Quasi-guy went?”

The smaller Spirits startled, taking off into the air with a series of chirps, but the big ones stayed behind, staring at him for a long time before giving each other equally long glances.  Then as one, they took off, circling in the air, and he slumped in disappointment.

A moment later, however, one swooped away from the flock, diving in a sharp whistle past his ear until it fluttered in front of a small alcove.  It gave one loud screech at that position, hovered for a few seconds more, then took back to the sky to rejoin the rest of the flock.

Sora raced over to the spot it had indicated – and there, hidden in the shadows, was a door.  Laughing, he raced back over to the edge of the tower.

“Thanks!” he called after the Spirits.  And Neku said they wouldn’t be his friends.

With a wide grin, he turned back to the door.  Time to see what Quasi-whatever was up to.

Inside, he found Quasimodo in much higher spirits, rushing around as he gave Esmerelda a tour.  Sora’s exclamation of relief caught the attention of some animated gargoyles, who were quick to crowd in and gossip, easily spilling Quasi’s life story.

“He never leaves?” Sora marveled.

“Oh, he’s not allowed to leave,” one of the gargoyles said, “Judge Frollo forbids it.”

“Why?”

“Care to pull up a stool?” Another of the gargoyle’s remarked snidely.

The third sighed, pushing his way to the front, “The short version is, Frollo thinks he’s doing Quasi a favor by keeping folks from seeing that mug of his.”

“After a lifetime of watching from the nosebleed seats, Quasi just wanted to go to the Feast of Fools,” the first gargoyle said forlornly, “And we’re so proud of him for finally working up the courage to do it.  I just hope this one failure doesn’t cause Quasi to give up.  He was so close.”

Sora’s heart tumbled in his chest.  To give up, just like that?  It was so sad.

“He can’t let his heart be a prison,” he murmured, staring at where Quasi and Esmerelda had disappeared, before his determination firmed, “Don’t worry.  I’ll go talk to him!”

He’d make sure that didn’t happen.

When Sora found Quasimodo, he also found the guard that had approached Frollo earlier, the two talking together urgently.  Sora’s worries over Quasi’s heart had to take a backseat to the danger closing in on Esmerelda.

“Show me where it is,” Sora urged, wings spreading, “And I’ll fly ahead.”

With a few quick instructions, he took to the sky, soaring over the city and past the river, flying in circles until he spotted the graveyard.  He was just working on opening the hidden door when Quasimodo and the Captain caught up.

“How did you guys get here so fast?” he wondered.

“I know this city better than anyone,” Quasi said, helping him remove the door with a heaving shove, “I’ve watched it for years, I know all the best paths.”

“Quasimodo,” Sora said, words building on the tip of his tongue, but the man was already gone, delving into the caverns below with the Captain right behind him.

It was a trap – all of it was a trap.  Frollo knew that the Captain and Quasi would worry about Esmerelda, that one or the other would lead him to her people’s hideaway.  Sora tried to interfere, but there was a blur, a shadow of movement from the corner of his eyes, and then –

Pain.

Darkness.

The world tumbled in on itself, disorienting.  It was like he blinked, and the whole world changed.  When everything settled once more, the others were gone, and he was alone.

Sora leapt to his feet, rushing through cramped catacombs until finally he found the exit.  The moment he burst into fresh air, he spread his wings, speeding into the sky and over the city.  Smoke rose into the air, clouding his vision, stinging his eyes.  Below, the city burned.

He flew in diving arcs, falling far enough to get a grasp of his direction before rising again, taking in greedy gasps of fresher air.  When he finally spotted the cathedral, towers rising at the center of it all, he winged his way down in carefully circles.  As he approached, he could suddenly feel Riku there – not pulling, not saying anything, just present, like a force at his back.  He pressed back into it, then dove.

He could just barely make out shadows moving below – a hulking figure, swinging through the air towards the bright fire at the center of it all, growing larger as it moved past.  Sora drew closer as it climbed the walls, finally making out the details – Quasimodo, carrying an unconscious Esmerelda until they reached the top, and safety.

“Way to go, Quasi!” Sora cheered, swooping down – only to draw up short as a Nightmare rose before him.

He snarled, Key flashing to hand.  He wouldn’t let this thing cause any more damage.

Sora could hear Meow Wow howling from the roof of the cathedral, its magic occasionally pumping through him as he and Komori Bat swooped through the air.  The Nightmare was big, and it hit hard, but the most frustrating thing is the way it would sometimes – flicker, almost – going intangible, using that to slide away into the smoke.

“This is unfair!” he complained after the tenth time his blade sliced through nothing.  But then, it screeched.  It began thrashing in the air, a new cutting wound across its face – one he didn’t cause.

Riku.

He wasn’t sure how he knew, but he did know.  Riku was there, fighting right along with him.  Grinning, he pulled Riku’s bond close, releasing a burst of joy-love-together from his chest; a second later, a rumble of determination-love-yes echoed back.

With a whoop, Sora dove back in.

Being accosted by the local law enforcement the moment he landed wasn’t exactly Riku’s idea of a warm welcome.  Komori Bat stared the Captain down skeptically from his shoulder, head turning to follow him even as he disappeared.  That same cautious stare was turned on the woman who approached them next, even as Meow Wow bounced happily at her feet.

“Thank you; you stood up for me,” she smiled, leaning down to give the Spirt a quick pat, “I’m Esmerelda.”

“Riku.  And it’s not like I knew what he was asking me.  Why are they chasing you?”

“Judge Frollo has been hunting us for years,” she scoffed, “My people are guilty of nothing but loving our freedom, yet Frollo hates whatever he can’t control.  Now he’s even brought in fresh blood to torment us.  I’d hate to know what darkness drives that man.”

Riku’s heart skipped a beat, breath hitching.

“I think I can imagine,” Riku sighed, looking away, “Tell me more.  Was he always like this?”

“I don’t give Frollo much thought.  But if you’d like, you could try Notre Dame.  They say it’s a place for answers.”

Frollo was not at Notre Dame; instead, Riku met a man named Quasimodo.  He’d startled, at first, the deformed shadow he cast setting his danger sense alert, only calming when the other man called out to him.

“I’m looking for a man named Frollo,” Riku said, “Do you know where he is?”

“My master?  He said he had business on the outskirts of the city.”

“Do you mean you know him?”

“Oh, yes,” Quasimodo said, twisting his hands together, “He’s… very kind.  Master Frollo saved my life.  He protects me from the outside world.”

The outside world?  Riku paused, taking in the way Quasimodo curled in on himself, turned his face away.

“He… ‘protects’ you from it?” he echoed slowly.

Quasimodo nodded, “The people out there would be cruel to me.  I’m a monster, you know.”

Riku barely swallowed down a scoff before it could escape.  A monster?  Please, as if he could be.  He’d seen monsters, seen one every time he caught his reflection for so long – as if this soft-spoken man could be one.

“Is that would Frollo told you?  Trust me, looks can be deceiving.  A good friend sees you for who you are, no matter what face you wear,” he paused, a lump growing in his throat, remembering – a soft hand pulling back his walls, teary eyes staring up at him – I see you, I see you, I know you.

He shook it off, clearing his throat as he tipped his head towards the door, “You should go out there – find some friends who understand you.”

“Oh no,” Quasimodo replied, physically back pedaling, “My master forbids it.  I’m not to set foot outside.”

“Are you sure that’s what’s stopping you?  Because I think something else is holding you back.  Ask your heart.”

Quasimodo only shook his head, turning away to slip further into the cathedral.  Riku sighed, watching him go.

“Thank you,” he called, “I’ll check the edge of town.”

There was no response, and he nodded, heading out the door and back into the sunlight.  He stood there for a moment, tilting his face to the sky.  A hand lifted unconsciously, pressing to his chest as he fell into his bonds, watching Sora and Kairi’s stars pulse in the distance.  So close, so close, and yet –

He opened his eyes, shrugging his shoulders and heading out of the city.

“Wish I could take my own advice.”

As he reached a bridge leading to the outskirts, there was terrible screech overhead, and then a blast of fire slammed into the debris gathered on the edges, setting them alight.

“Oh, like this is fair.  Sorry, but I don’t have to stand here and take it,” he muttered, spreading his wings and taking to the sky, ignoring the sharp squeaking behind him.

The Nightmare quite obviously didn’t expect that, but it quickly rallied, roaring a challenge.  Beside him, Komori Bat did its best to return it – it came out as more of a shrill, chirping trill, but Riku echoed the sentiment.

The Nightmare seemed confident in its command of the sky – and Riku could see why.  It certainly flew higher, had more power, than any other Spirit he’d seen.  But in reality it was so bulky it shouldn’t have been able to fly at all.  Much like humans, it was magic, more than physics, that kept it afloat – and in the end, Riku was much, much faster.

After taking a certain amount of damage, it turned to flee, speeding towards the countryside.  Riku beat his wings once, twice, then leaned forward, falling into one of the arcing dives his wings’ namesake was so well known for.

If this Nightmare thought It could escape him, it had another thing coming; there was no distance it could flee that he could not follow.

The monster landed behind a tall, thin man wreathed in Darkness, who could only be Frollo. Across from him, the guard Esmerelda had fled from before stood in a defensive position, looking much worse for wear than he had hours before.

“What demon is this?” he gasped.

“Oh, you are mistaken, Captain Phoebus,” Frollo sneered, “This is no demon.  It is righteous judgement!  I have been granted this power so that I may smite all evil, now and forever!”

Riku landed beside the Captain, fire simmering low in his gut.  The Judge stared back at them, self-righteous and self-satisfied, and that heat seared through his veins, biting at the back of his throat, a furious storm inside him.

“This is all wrong!” The Captain shouted.

“He won’t listen,” Riku said, “Once you’ve fallen that far, there’s almost no coming back.”

Frollo bristled, “How dare you.  I am a virtuous man.  Good and evil shall be made plain by the time I am done.”

The Nightmare lunged – Riku lunged to meet it, but in a move defying its size it spun to the side, barreling into Phoebus instead.  Snarling, he threw himself around, pulling it away from the Captain and tangling with it briefly until with a beat of its great wings it broke free, spinning away into the sky.  In all the chaos, Frollo had disappeared.

The Captain was injured, barely able to walk; Riku would have to take it from here.

There was a squeak, and Riku looked down to see Meow Wow draping itself over his feet, staring pitifully up at him.  When it saw it had his attention, it began to whine, wiggling its feet sadly.

“Ah.  I did kind of leave you behind at the bridge, didn’t I?” he said, bending down to rub his knuckles over its head, “Sorry, but… I’m going to need to fly again.  And you don’t have wings.”

It pouted, rolling over to chew at the edge of his shoe, but eventually slumped off with a great sigh.

“Don’t worry, I know you’ll find me once I’ve landed.”

Meow Wow barked, getting an answering chitter from Komori Bat who landed on its back just long enough to nuzzle at its forehead before fluttering back into the air.

Nodding, Riku spread his wings, and took to the sky once more.

The city burned.

The center of the fire crackled in front of Notre Dame.  Below, Riku could see Quasimodo, ushering Esmerelda away.  On the roof above, Frollo stared down at the city with burning eyes.  Riku glided down on silent wings to set down just behind him.

The sound of his footsteps must have caught the Judge’s attention, as he turned, manic glee lighting his face.

“Yes!  Let it burn.  The flames will consume everything!” Frollo said, grinning wildly at him, “You see?  This is the power that has been granted to me!”

Riku wanted to be sick.

“I see a sad old man with a Dark heart.”

“Again, you are wrong!  Now you will be judged, just like the rest!”

Frollo called his Nightmare – to his detriment.  It had no care for him when lunging for Riku, knocking him over the edge of the tower.  Riku himself dodged, leaving the Nightmare to careen wildly into the smoke and smog.

Boots clicked across the stone floor.  Riku spun, Keyblade falling into his hand, only to falter as he met piercing yellow eyes.

It was him.  Of course, a part of him whispered, of course, it’s always him.  Did you really think you could escape?

“Ansem.  Why are you here?”

Sora defeated Ansem, Riku defeated Ansem, Kairi had banished his form – after all this time, how could he still be here?  Riku reached for his bonds, wrapping them around himself – safe, safe, safe, they were safe – there was no Darkness touching them, just pure focus flowing from each.

“Your best friend is never far,” a young voice crooned mockingly, the boy from Twilight Town striding up beside Ansem, who strolled casually to the edge of the roof, leaning over the banister to peer at the fires below.

“So sad,” he crooned, “The cost of yielding to the Darkness.”

Riku snarled, wings exploding from his back, feathers bristling, “You could write a book about that.”

“I embraced Darkness.  This is the fate of those too weak to fac it,” Ansem said, “And unless you hurry up and learn to do the same, it will be yours as well.”

“I will never walk that path again.”

The silver-haired boy laughed, cutting into the conversation.  His grey eyes twinkling mockingly, the gold at the edges glimmering, “Still afraid of the Dark, I see.”

A roar echoed from the smoke.  The Nightmare winged in from the dark, Ansem and the boy taking advantage of Riku’s distraction to disappear.

Growling, Riku clutched at his Keyblade.

“He thinks I’m afraid of the Dark?  No, not while I have the Keyblade; it will guide me to the Light!”

The Nightmare fell.

Partway through the fight it became clear that he was not the only one fighting the monster, an invisible partner flying alongside him.  Sora, his heart sung, and he dove in with renewed strength.  Even apart, he would never again fight alone.

When the fires died down, and the skies cleared, Riku gathered with Quasimodo, Esmerelda, and the Captain at the foot of Notre Dame.

“Master Frollo – he made me live inside the tower,” Quasimodo said, turning towards him, “But the real walls were the ones I built around my heart.  You helped me see that, Riku.”

He looked at Riku with soft, grateful eyes.  Riku’s stomach turned.

“I was speaking from… personal experience,” he said softly, chin tucking to his chest.

“I’d say you still keep a lot locked inside,” the Captain said, grunting as Esmerelda drove an elbow into his side.

“We all do that sometimes,” she said, “There are just some things we need to keep separate from the world at large, at least until we have time to figure them out.”

Riku smiled, nodded, agreeing – but something in his stomach still churned.

The world at large… until you figure it out…

The stained glass above the doors to the cathedral began to glow.  The world went quiet.  Summoning his Keyblade to hand, Riku locked the Keyblade.

As the world began to fade around him, he ran his thumb over the blade.

“But… I know the path my heart walks.”

Sora rushed into the cathedral when the Nightmare fell, immediately approaching Quasimodo.  The words nearly tripped off his tongue, so long had he waited to say them.

“Quasimodo, you can’t let your heart be – “

“I know,” Quasimodo interrupted, and Sora stumbled to a halt, thrown off.  A soft smile on his face, Quasi stared at the light creeping through the open door.

“I know. I can't blame Frollo for putting walls around me. It wasn't the walls that were holding me back.”

He turned away, walking towards the door.  The closer he got, the brighter the light grew, nearly filling the church.  It was just a whisper, yet his parting words echoed everywhere.

“But my heart is free now. I'm ready to really see what's out there.”

As he walked through the door to freedom, the light seemed to grow brighter, not just from the door but from the stained-glass above, until a Keyhole began to form.  Sora’s Keyblade jumped to hand on instinct, light threading from the tip of the Key to the lock, until it closed with a soft click.

The world began to dissolve in patchwork segments, leaving only white behind.  It went slowly, softly, fading into soft light that reminded him so much of the worlds reforming when he first closed the Door to Darkness with Riku, all those years ago.

“All that time, Quasimodo let himself be trapped inside the nightmares Frollo game him,” Sora mused.

“Hypocrite,” a voice scoffed, “You are the one who had made your heart a prison.”

Sora spun, seeing the boy from Traverse Town, standing in the growing white void and staring him down disdainfully.

“Even if you are not the prisoner,” he finished, and his voice layered, the world around them glitching for half a second, another face covering the other boy like a dark reflection.

“What are you talking about?” Sora called, but the boy vanished into a corridor of darkness.  It closed behind with him snap, a shattering sound that echoed through the world as it exploded out in a wave of Darkness.  It pressed against him, swept him off his feet, and –

His stomach lurched as he tripped, barely managing to catch his feet underneath him.  For a moment longer he lingered by the fountain, staring up at the castle and its many towers.

He walked through cobblestone streets, feet nearly moving on his own, until, at the bottom of the steps, he reached a door.  It creaked open, the deep darkness beckoning him inside, and –

In the distance, the bells began to ring, he –

Turned, there was a voice, but –

There was no one by the dresser, just an empty room.  He turned, and he caught a face in the mirror, blue eyes and blond hair and –

Roxas?

Sora breathed in sharply, the boy in the mirror snapping his gaze around, meeting his gaze.  No, not Roxas, this was someone….

Sora.  I managed to catch you, but I don’t know how long I can hold it, the boy in the mirror said, Listen, you shouldn’t be here.  You have to –

A light shone from above.  Sora blinked against the dazzling gleam, and suddenly the boy was standing in front of him, whole and present, reaching out to hold his hand –

A ghostly touch, brushing against his forehead –

Wake up.

Next

[archiewantsheetmetal]

Elephant flying in sky with wings big elephant in city

[fl5793]

Karini: What if..?

Part 3: When I became a pro hero

All Out series

Part 1 part 2 part 4

Blasian OC x Hawks

✫彡✫彡✫彡✫彡✫彡✫彡✫彡✫彡✫彡✫

𝟙 𝕞𝕠𝕟𝕥𝕙 𝕝𝕒𝕥𝕖𝕣

𝔸𝕦𝕘𝕦𝕤𝕥 𝟙𝟙𝕥𝕙

A hero in the sky wearing blue and black had a bow and arrow

“Okay Emily take your time and take breath. You know what your doing.... Right?“ Emily asked herself as she pointed her arrow at someone’s tentacle

3,2 1

Emily shot her arrow at the persons tentacle and big electric sparks shot out causing more mayhem

The villain fell to the ground and had sparks surrounding him

Emily looked in horror at the she caused and thought the villain was dead

Another villain with an electric quirk absorbed it and they became even more powerful

Emily flew off where there was another with bags of money

“Okay great there’s another criminal here let's see how I can work with this,“ Emily says and shoots another arrow at the criminal

This time Emily shot an arrow with some sticky elephant toothpaste but as soon as she shot the arrow the criminal moved away and instead the arrow went into an innocent civilian got in the way

“OH MY GOD!“ Emily shouted and flew away leaving that arrow there

Emily flew off where she saw a few heroes attacking nomu’s and thought to herself “ there's no way this can get ruined“

Emily saw a nomu who was attacking Hawks which made her mad

Emily shot a blade of hers instead and was able to cut both of their heads off sadly luck wasn’t on her side

When she cut it’s head off her blade cut a pole and it was gonna fall on Hawks

Emily jumped down and flew towards him picking him up and moving away as the pole falls on a fire hydrant and broke it

“You got to be freaking kidding,“ Emily says to herself holding him close to her

“Wow! I guess you really are my guardian angel,“ Hawks says with his usual smile

“I really have to date this guy. A guy who couldn't even take care of himself,“ Emily thought but then realized

Emily dropped him immediately as she saw a bunch of cameras taking photos of her and him

Many newsreporters ran after her as she helped Hawks up

“Who is this new hero?“ A reporter aasked

“ What’s your name?“ Another aasked

“ What’s your quirk?“ Another asked “What’s your relationship with Hawks?“ A reporter asked and Emily popped out her wings before flying about them and stole a mic from one of the

“I’m Angela the angelic hero I’m 19 and new to all of this. I graduated from college last year. And that birdbrain is my best bro and I’ll make sure nobody hurts him or else they’ll pay,“ Emily says and the reporters had a bunch more question

Emily dropped the mic and flew off with Hawks

“Woah Emily what was that about?“ Hawks asked

“Okay birdbrain I have an offer about me and you go out on a date. If I like it we can continue going out on more dates. And maybe evolve into something more,“ Emily suggested but Hawks held in his laughter

“ Are you sure your not just jealous at the fact there was rumors of me and Mirko dating?“ Hawks asked and my reaction surprised me

“Wait your with that bunny girl. You know I’m actually not trying to get with you to be higher in the rankings,“ Emily responded and went white

“Wow I'm surprised with how jealous you were but couldn't blame you I mean a lot of my fan girls get jealous when others just even brush past me,“ Hawks says and Emily him the top of your head

“Hawks you keep talking and I will take back everything I just said,“ Emily crosses her arms and faces her head away from him

“ Wait Emily I would love to go out with you maybe at a near by restaurant,“ Hawks says and oddly enough Emily smiled at his words.

“When are you free cause I am on Friday?“ Emily asked

“Same besides I got something special for you,“ Hawks said and was about to flew off but then stopped himself

“ Also Emily... Happy birthday,“ Hawks said then flew off

Emily was surprised with his words because she forgot her own birthday

“Damn how can I forget my own birthday,” Emily says to herself

Emily looks at her phone and sees a random text message on her phone

𝙶𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝙰𝚏𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚗𝚘𝚘𝚗 𝙰𝚐𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕𝚊. 𝚆𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚝𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞, 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚜 𝚝𝚘 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚍 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚠𝚘𝚖𝚊𝚗.

𝐼𝑛𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑡 𝑝ℎ𝑜𝑡𝑜

𝚃𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚑𝚎𝚛

“ Who is she?“ Emily asks herself while looking at the photo

𝚆𝚑𝚘 𝚒𝚜 𝚜𝚑𝚎? 𝙶𝚘𝚝𝚝𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚊 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎

𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚕𝚍 𝚔𝚒𝚕𝚕. 𝙽𝚘𝚠 𝚑𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚞𝚙 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚒𝚌𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐.

“And he don’t even give me a freaking chance to breath. dipshits forcing me to do all this just cause I’m broke and have nothing to do,“ Emily says to herself and flies around the city

“Okay so I gotta kill someone who probably knows something. But who is she?“ Emily asks and suddenly she flies right past her

Emily flies back towards her and tries making conversation

“Yo barbie doll what’s up?“ Emily asks making gun noises

The blonde girl stops and set Emily on fire

Angela screams and flies off trying to put out her suit which was burning her “Don’t call me barbie doll when I’m obviously a devil,“ The blonde girl angrily says pointing at her demon horns and her tail

“Wait is she not the right person she literally looks exactly like her just without those features,“ Emily thinks to herself

“Theres no way they would want me to fight the literal devil,“ Emily said to herself

Emily flew after the blonde girl

“Hey shawty we can be the macoroni and make cheese together,“ Emily says and the blonde girl looked at her with a disgusting face

“I’m not gay,“ The blonde girl says walking past her

“Excuse you ma’am but I’m not gay I’m pan thank you very much!“ Emily blurted out and the blonde just rolled her eyes

“Same differnence now leave me alone,“ The blonde says but Emily grabs her arm

“Hey get off of me,“ The blonde says and sets herself along with Emily on fire again

“I’m suppose to kill ypu not the other way around!“ Emily shouts in agony

“Who the hell said that?“ The blonde asked

“Ken Martin my buddy in crime,“ Emily admits and the blonde stops pulling away

“Wait, Ellioty’s son? Why would he want to kill me?“ The blomde asked

“Cause he wanted me to- now time for me to do my job,“ Emily says but The blonde took her arm out of her grasp

“Are you a newbie or something? I’m Vanessa,“ Vanessa introduces herself

“Did I ask?“ Emily responded

Vanessa grabbed some random guy and hid behind her

“Kenji there’s some insane person trying to hurt me. Protect me,“ Vanessa commanded while pointing at Emily

Kenji pushes Vanessa away and stands in front of me like a lost puppy

“Agent Angela! I’m glad your okay after what happened I also see your thriving as a hero so far,“ Kenji says

“I started today,“ Emily said making a weird smile

“Well I was told to spy on you. Anyway why does Agent Lucifer want me to hurt you?” Kenji asked

“Because I was assigned to kill her and yet she’s telling me her name in defense,” Emily explained and Kenji seemed so confused

“Who told you to kill her?” Kenji asked in confusion

“ Ken did of course,” Emily said and showed him her phone

“ Emily this is some random spam they just happen to have the same name. Also I told you your missions would come through mail not through online. Wasn’t you listening when I explained everything to you?” Kenji asked angrily

“Uh… well do it seem like I was listening,” Emily was sarcastic while Kenji face palmed

Three weeks ago

Emily was on her phone with ear buds listening to music and texting Hawks while Kenji had a board and writing stuff on it

𝙼𝚘𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙷𝚊𝚠𝚔𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚠’𝚜 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚘? 𝙸𝚜 𝚒𝚝 𝚝𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚝𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚞𝚙 𝚋𝚘𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐

𝐼𝑡’𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑖𝑡’𝑠 𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝐼 𝑔𝑒𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑡𝑎𝑙𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑒𝑙

𝚈𝚘𝚞 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚌𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚖𝚎 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕 𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘 𝚠𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚊𝚛 𝚒𝚗𝚗𝚘𝚌𝚎𝚗𝚝

𝐵𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑢𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑜𝑛𝑒

😊 𝚊𝚠 𝚑𝚘𝚠 𝚜𝚠𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞. 𝚆𝚎𝚕𝚕 𝙸 𝚐𝚞𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚊𝚜 𝚊𝚍𝚘𝚛𝚊𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚊𝚜 𝚊 𝚋𝚒𝚛𝚍𝚋𝚛𝚊𝚒𝚗

𝑊𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑏𝑖𝑟𝑑𝑏𝑟𝑎𝑖𝑛𝑠 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑏𝑒 𝑠𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑎𝑠 𝑤𝑒𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑠 ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑜𝑖𝑐 𝑠𝑜 𝑦𝑒𝑎ℎ 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑟𝑓𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑙𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑠𝑐𝑟𝑖𝑏𝑒𝑠 𝑚𝑒 🦸‍♂️🦅

𝙷𝚎𝚛𝚘𝚒𝚌 𝚖𝚊𝚢𝚋𝚎 𝚋𝚞𝚝 𝚜𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚝... 𝚄𝚖

𝐷𝑎𝑚𝑛， 𝑛𝑜𝑤 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑦 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑠． 𝑌𝑜𝑢 𝚊𝑙𝑤𝑎𝑦𝑠 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑡𝑜 ℎ𝑖𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑒 𝑖𝑡 ℎ𝑢𝑟𝑡𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑡𝑖𝑚𝑒．

“Are you even listening to me?“ Kenji asked breaking his chalk in half

Out of fear that she would be next Emily nodded vigorously

Present

Emily hid herself behind her wings while Kenji groaned

“And this is suppose to be the smartest person in the defenders,“ Kenji said holding his head

“What’s a defender?“ Emily asked and Kenji was two seconds away from exploding

There are three groups protecting a dystopian like world one group is called Defender, the other challenger, and the last one revenger. You are in the defender and Vanessa is the leader of the challenger,“ Kenji said moving Emily’s wings away from my face

Emily’s wings were sharp and they cut off a piece of his leather gloves

Before he left Emily saw his right hand barely and it was grass green

“Damn so what Kenji was like a literal plant,“ Emily thought

Anyways

“ I’m sorry Ms Vanessa I hope you have any forgiveness in heart to forgive me and the amount time of yours I possibly wasted,“ Emily apoligized and bowed

“No worries it’s cool besides it’s not like I had anything to do. I was just gonna go to starlight entertainment,“ Vanessa admitted

“Wait you work there?“ Emily asked

“My cousin wanted me to review her pop groups song so I was gonna go but whatever,“ Vanessa says in a calm voice while rolling her eyes

“Review a pop groups song? Cousin? Starlight?... Holy crap is her Allison Smith. Wait a minute song? I gotta go,“ Emily thought and flew off

Years later

“Bad luck follows me wherever I go,“ Emily says and Courtney taps her pen on her notebook

“Emily I wanna give you credit for acting like such a lucky ass,“ Courtney said looking at her

“Excuse me!“ Emily said with attitude

“Yeah I said. You rejected him than randomly say yes. You are lucky this guy likes you or else he would’ve rejected you the way you rejected him,“ Courtney smiles to herself while Emily fakes how shock she was by her words

“Okay but I mean he could’ve just done it so his lonely chicken ass wouldn’t cry himself to sleep at night,” Emily joked but Courtney gave her a look

“Damn! okay okay, yeah I was lucky he said yes so I wouldn’t be lonely but also so I wouldn’t die,” Emily tried to convince Courtney but she rolled her eyes

“Yeah no the defenders are so not as violent as you think they it’s on the revengers the one I’m in. You are considered the most aggressive and violent one there just cause you are scared you’ll get killed when others are scared to get killed by you,” Courtney admits shocking Emily

“They’re scared of me? The wannabe accident prone hero who can’t go a day without hurting herself?” Emily asks in disbelief

“I literally got this cut on my finger from tying my shoelaces,” Emily continues

“The way you act around them says otherwise. With everything going on and the possibility of you going to jail you need to realize your with last days here in America that not everyone is after you…” Courtney sighs as she sees Emily look away

Courtney holds her hands tightly making her look back at Courtney

“But just because their not after you doesn’t mean your not safe,” Courtney says to her and Emily nods smiling

“My story isn’t over until we make it back here to the present. We still got a long way to go,” Emily says as they both sit back realize that they are not even close to finding out the truth

[blood--king]

The depth of the night was as depressing as beautiful. It was relaxing as a cold drink, the sound of the mighty waves, the salty breeze blowing through the air. This night was like a cage of peace: anyone who enjoys of the lack of light would fill like floating on the ocean. However, the embrace of the darkness didn't last long. A cold sensation crawled up her spine, like a cube of ice falling upwards. Was this madness? No, this was followed by the feeling of being pulled from inside, like if a string was tied around her bare soul. It was the primal emotion of any prey, thinking they're been watched. Could she resist before this divine presence?

That gloomy state found its end as the moonlight illuminated the landscape; followed by a rumbling noise, the clouds separated letting a huge ball of fire enter the sky, it was very small compared to a meteor, what was it then?

Suddenly, from a forest miles away, animals started to run and fly, escaping the zone of the impact. Even the ground started to tremble as the stampede increased; it didn't take many seconds until the animals from the surrounding areas started to flee as well. She could watch elephants, rhinos, lions, cheetahs and many more. As the time passed, some animals had reached her location. They were trapped on earth for they couldn't swim away; foxes, lynxes, wolves were...speaking?

"It's him! He came! It is too late!!" She could hear from the terrified animals, it was a scene of horror, some of the creatures were hurt, trampled by the bigger ones of the stampede. The cries continued: "Where is your brother?!" "We are doomed!!" "Father!! Please don't leave me!" But everything stopped when that thing crushed into the earth.

A massive creature could be seen even from there, it looked like a dragon, with tentacles, several wings and many big red glowing eyes all over its body. The monster roared and slowly the enormous creature, that was being illuminated by the fire of the woods, turned into a single person, still, their eyes' light was so as powerful as a lighthouse; the person closed most of those eyes leaving only two on his face. This strange being disappeared, and the chaos began once again: earth was trembling and the cries were even louder. On the distance, at the impact zone, a huge cloud of smoke could be seen, and it was approaching quickly.

One single rabbit looked at Freya, it turned into a human with two large bunny ears, from the ground he tried to stand up and reach the woman with a hand, but the cloud was faster

"Help——!"

She didn't suffer from any harm, nevertheless, when she recovered her sight, there was nothing left. The living creatures were turned into statues that crumbled into ashes, there were no trees, everything was flattened, it turned into a huge desert.

In the darkness it couldn't be seen, but the responsible of this all was still there, waiting for something that didn't take long to show itself. Three huge red sphere-shaped spacecrafts landed around the man, from them, troops and troops started to come out, along with what seemed to be some kind of futuristic motorcycles. And the man responsible for the chaos she witnessed, could now be seen because of the lights of the ships, and he was just there, waiting...

@hanakohanabe

◢【“New Spectrum”】

◢【🌌】 Nɪx. interaction w/ Freya, @hanakohanabe

The next story takes place eight thousand years ago. Before Hell became the Supreme King, when his uncle, Vlad Bloodborne, was the absolute leader of the Blood Empire. In his reign, Vlad became a horrible creature for other species. He was a warlike man, unlike his father, who was more like a conqueror, Vlad wanted wealth for his kingdom and himself. The vampire used to take over village, cities, countries and sometimes entire planets, all because of his philosophy.

The king certainly wasn’t the typical man on the throne with a castle, he spent his time traveling between his colonies to claim the proper payment in order to maintain their status under the greatest empire. This visit was like any other, except for the fact that out there beyond this universe, someone was about to jump into this one and precisely in the same planet our King was visiting.

This planet wasn’t from Vlad’s property, it was in the galaxy called Myles, this particular galaxy has the politic that its planets should not be part of any greater government but have their own form of government and culture. However, our bloodthirsty dictator made a deal with a country on the planet he is about to land on. They should preserve their prisoners and sell them to the Blood Empire.

And suddenly, on a beach a few kilometers away from the kingdom, a portal opened for a couple of seconds allowing a woman from another universe to come into ours. It happened in the middle of the night, she could see the lights of the distant city and also, three red stars that seemed to be getting closer.

[greenorangevioletgrass]

haven: fall [b.w.]

series masterlist | ko-fi

pairing: college!bruce wayne x OC

summary: on his final year at Yale, Bruce Wayne, aged 21, stumbled into a theater class and fell for the girl who played Hamlet. In his coming of age, Bruce is torn between his past and his present, and whichever path he chose would determine his future.

word count: 11.8k

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, language, smoking, more Hamlet references, angst in a play, mention of grief with Bruce’s parents, fluff, hurt/comfort, so much yearning ohmygod, smut [dry humping, fingering, handjob], bruce is an awkward lil bean <3

notes: reposted as a longer oneshot! big thanks to @awkward-darkness @shipping-not-sailing @skyebounded @inklore @tommysparker for making this all possible, and @blue-aconite @spnbarnes for saving this from getting shelved!! see you in the 'winter'! <3

*follow @ficsbygreenorangevioletgrass to get notified for my latest words <3 happy reading and please reblog and share if you liked it!*

PROLOGUE

Bruce Wayne was seven years old when he first stood on a stage.

He’s always liked The Lion King. He’d watched it countless times—so much so that the tape had stayed in the VHS player in the playroom for a whole year. The tie-in books were his favorites whenever his dad could read him before bedtime, right before he fell asleep snuggling his Simba stuffie. Some nights, he would dream of golden savannas and purple skies and red-billed hornbills flying overhead. His mother swore she found him humming what sounded like Hakuna Matata in his sleep once.

So when he saw it live for the first time—the first time he saw anything live—so early even in his childhood… It changed his life. Rafiki’s opening chant cut through the quiet theatre, and the choir sounded so grand, he felt it in his bones as he buzzed in his seat. The animals came out—elephant and rhino trodding down the aisle, passing right by him—so unlike the animated pictures he grew to love but so enchanting all the same. The golden savannas and rising sun and grassland creatures coming to life before him.

At the end of the show, someone made a speech and called his parents onto the stage. He didn’t understand much of it then—something about supporting arts and renaming the Minskoff Theater into Wayne Theater. Bruce didn’t pay it any mind; he was too busy marveling at the ‘animals’ next to him. Life-sized puppets attached to the actors, like an extension of their bodies. The man who played Simba caught him staring, and when he nodded, the lion’s head on top of his moved, too.

And as his mother and father shook hands with people after the curtains closed, Bruce was more interested in the chaos that ensued on the wings. People with headsets and clipboards milling around, little red and green lights blinking on panels, thick ropes that held the golden sun together… 

These were the things that brought his dreams to life.

***

Bruce Wayne was eight years old when he swore off the stage.

He’d just lost his parents—gone forever, just like that—and he had to stand by as the police commissioner made a speech. He didn’t really hear a word of it—just the shutters of cameras and blitzes of the flash. And the rare clear sky over Gotham that morning. The warmth doesn’t feel comforting.

And standing on a platform in front of Wayne Tower, with no wings or curtains framing the stage… It's a cruel awakening, knowing that nothing held this fragment of reality up. No suspension of disbelief, no strings or ropes holding this surreal scene together.

It’s a nightmare that stood on its own. And Bruce had nowhere to run.

He just squeezed Alfred’s hand tighter, wishing the curtains would close on him. Any minute now.

It never did.

***

ACT ONE

Bruce Wayne was twenty one years old when he found himself backstage at his university’s theater space.

It was his own stupid fault, really. He meant to sign up for Theater Studies as an elective, a critical textual analysis of classic and contemporary plays. But instead, he accidentally clicked on Theater Production, which was a practice-based class where they would collaborate with the Acting program. By the time he’d mustered the courage to switch classes, it was already time to choose which department to join for their final project, a full production of a classic or contemporary play. 

Hence Bruce, ever so quiet and invisible and withdrawn from classroom discussions, was mapping out a costume inventory list in a little corner in the wings.

It’s strange, a backstage area that’s not fully active. Just a few of his classmates in the art department and the stage management team. People coming and going for the auditions this late Sunday morning. Different interpretations of the same monologues performed in the background, on the stage. He didn’t mind it; at least the attention was not on him, this time.

He tidied up his notes and his copy of the design sketches, maybe he could get a cup of coffee while he worked—

“Fuck!” a girl crashed right into his shoulder, sending his notebook flying. She dove down and scrambled for the scattered pages before he could see her face. “Shit…”

And yet, the first thing that came out of Bruce’s mouth is, “Sorry.”

She looked up, meeting his evading eyes. “What? No, I’m sorry. It’s… the nerves.”

“Are you auditioning?”

She looked towards the stage, where a guy was performing his monologue, grand and dramatic and just a tad over-the-top, and then nodded at the boy in front of her—as if embarrassed, almost.

“Good luck.” Bruce managed a smile, although he was sure she knew it’s out of courtesy more than anything else.

But the smile she returned was genuine, almost amused, and he wondered if he said something wrong. Or maybe there’s something on his face?

“Isn’t it bad luck to say good luck in the theater?” She handed the stack of papers back to him.

Right, Bruce internally kicked himself. “Sorry. Break a leg…?”

She nodded as she got back up on her feet. “That’s more like it.”

“Thanks, you too.” Bruce walked away, mentally kicking himself once again for that nonsensical response. He skulked along the corner aisle, quietly making his way towards the exit. Only stopping when he heard a familiar voice introducing herself on the stage.

The girl who sent his work flying. 

“And who are you auditioning for today?” Marc, the director, asked.

“Hamlet.”

There’s a brief pause as he took a good look at her, for a moment thinking she’d misheard him. “Uh… yeah, what role?”

“Hamlet,” she confirmed without missing a beat, as if it’s the most obvious thing ever.

Another pause between Marc and Angela, the stage manager, exchanging subtle looks of surprise. They leaned into a hushed discussion—they weren’t expecting that. But now that the possibility was presented in front of them, safe to say they were… curious.

“Alright. Whenever you’re ready.” Marc ultimately decided.

The girl on the stage nodded gamely, taking a deep breath, and Bruce found himself intrigued too, leaning against the velvety walls of the auditorium. And then, simply, almost matter-of-factly, she spoke.

“To be or not to be,” she asked, to everyone and no one in particular. And upon the silence replying back to her, she hummed. “That is the question: whether ‘tis nobler in the mind to…” her mouth twisted in distaste, “...suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,” she paused again, and just like that, her features softened, as if presenting a much preferred option, “or to take arms against a sea of troubles, and by opposing… end them?”

Bruce—along with everyone else in that room, he’s sure—didn’t know what to expect. The prospect of a female Hamlet was so far off of the production concept that the team had come up with; so teeming with rage and male bravado. But there she was. In a black dress, so calm, almost catatonic in her grief, so understated, so unlike what everyone imagined. And yet, so true to the text that it didn’t feel like Shakespeare anymore.

It was hers. Her own contemplation whether to live, or…

“To die.” she smiled ruefully. She looked out towards the audience and caught Bruce’s gaze, as if finding moral support, using the plainest of words in the lightest of manners. “To sleep, no more.”

Not that she needed to. He knew exactly what she meant. To cease life itself; the heartaches and the body aches that came with possessing this physical flesh. To rest, that's it. He wished for it everyday for the last thirteen years, and wondered if this part of the play was a cruel prophecy to his fate, written centuries ago.

“‘Tis a consummation devoutly to be wish’d,” she admitted. Her gaze broke away from him as she moved away from his side of the theater. “To die… to sleep. To sleep, perchance to dream,” she mused, letting out a longing sigh. And then, it dawned on her. 

Here’s the catch: what happens after death?

It’s a question responsible for many of Bruce’s sleepless nights. What calamity awaits out there in death that we’d much rather put up with the humiliations of abuse and heartbreak and injustice and time instead? And to see the exasperation, the disdain as her pace and emotion picked up, so similar to his own… it almost felt like an out-of-body experience.

“Who would fardels bear? To grunt and sweat under a weary life, but that the dread of something after death.” she stopped in her tracks, and the tears that welled up in her eyes glimmered under the spotlight. “The undiscovered country. From whose bourn no traveler returns—”

Her voice caught as the three words echoed in the room—in her mind. No traveler returns. Not Hamlet’s father.

Not Bruce’s. Nor his mother.

The facade cracked, just a little, and the question whether it’s worth it to bear the known ills in life than to face the uncertainty of death came out raw because what’s the fucking point. The tears escaped not out of sorrow anymore, Bruce suspected, but out of pure exhaustion.

But with a sharp inhale, she pulled herself together. Calm and composed. Prim and proper, as she patted the tears dry with her palm flat on her cheek. Fingertips gently pressing against her skin.

“Thus conscience doth make cowards of us all.” she walked back to her original spot with a wry nod, a ghost of herself now that she’d shown her cards, and Bruce’s heart stopped as she met his gaze again for a moment. 

And then, she addressed the audience (and herself) using more… diplomatic words, although she’s not fooling anyone. “The native hue of Resolution,” the straightforwardness of Death, “is sicklied o’er with the pale cast of Thought,” cockblocked by the slightest Reason. “And enterprises of great pitch and moment with this regard— their currents turn awry, and lose the name of–” she mused thoughtfully, as if shuffling through the head for the right word—the end of everything—only to come up with… 

“Action.”

Action. A word that Bruce could never amount to, after hours of staring at the pills in the medicine cabinet or the knives in the chef’s kitchen of the Wayne Tower. Action, as he went through the motions just enough to not be carried away in the motions itself. Action, a funny word to represent the lack thereof.

Action. 

As her performance ended and his own began, as a functioning member of the production. And the society overall.

A round of applause erupted—as much as it could with seven people scattered in the 200-seater theater anyway— and Bruce followed along. Eyes still following into the girl onstage, bowing and relaxing into her own form as she disappeared into the wings, leaving Hamlet out on the stage.

***

ACT TWO

Bruce Wayne never cared for college social life.

He didn’t care for parties or casual hangs in the common room. But apparently, the pre-production party was an unofficially mandatory part of the class. As soon as the read-through concluded, the director ushered everyone to the edge of the forest, just around the block, for a ritual celebration of sorts, something about blessing a Shakespeare production. He wanted to bail, tried so hard to slip away from the crowd, but the theater kids were a superstitious bunch and he didn’t want to create any unnecessary rift with the people he had to work with.

So he stuck around, as the director made an opening remark by the open fire, marking the start of the production. Drank as they raised a toast “to the stage!”. Inching further and further to the back when somebody rolled out a speaker, and played some pop-y, campy tune he didn’t recognize. All he wanted was to go back to his room and read one of the five books he checked out from the library this week. It was lame and a little pretentious, admittedly, but it’s peaceful.

Predictable.

The girl clocking him and walking towards him from the crowd was anything but.

Hamlet, Princess of Denmark. So cold and deranged in the reading of the tragedy, yet so… warm in the chilly autumn air, huddled into her jacket. Greeting and weaving her way through classmates milling and hanging around like she’d known them forever, all the way to this new boy. Standing alone, sticking out like a sore thumb, all the while trying desperately to blend into the background.

But she spotted him, and he spotted her.

“Congratulations,” he greeted her briefly, and then cleared his throat as he heard his sentence hanging in mid-air, “on getting the lead, I mean.”

She beamed, either unaware or unfazed by his awkwardness, and mock-curtsied. “All thanks to you.”

“Do you say that to all the guys?”

“Only the sweet ones who wished me ‘break a leg’ and stood in the aisle in support.”

“Right…” he shifted on his heels. A smile threatened to break out of the corner of his lips and he had to remind himself: don’t get carried away. She was an actor, for fuck’s sake, she could play him like a flute. “Well, I’ll see you around.”

But before he took another step, her hand grasped his arm. Warmth emanating from her palm even through layers of wool and cotton of his coat and sweater. “Whoa, wait. You’re leaving already?”

Bruce shrugged, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, come on. Stay another ten minutes, at least,” she cajoled him, “If the party still sucks, I’ll walk you home myself.”

“Wow.” he looked away bashfully. “Chivalry’s dead, huh?”

“Fell on its sword, God rest its soul,” she chuckled, and he secretly loved the Hozier reference. Then, as if sensing his discomfort among the crowd, she motioned away from the crowd, “Come on, the view is better out here.”

Bruce felt more at ease when he could hear the leaves crunching under his shoes. The tree roots coiling and bulging on the ground like veins to the earth. She sat back against a red oak tree and scooted aside to make room for her new friend (acquaintance, more like). Chelsea boots crossed at the ankles, and olive green dress flaring over her knees. The singing became more of a distant humdrum, and the cheering and shrieking of people playing drinking/kissing games was easier to tune out. Although not enough to completely ignore.

“Never thought theater kids would be so… wild.”

“Oh, we’re the wildest of the bunch. All that angst and tension brought out on purpose… See those guys?” she gestured at Shannon and Gabbie from Set Design, making out by the bonfire. “Their story was far more dramatic than the show we were doing last year. And we were doing Passion.”

Bruce had no idea what the play was about, but he understood the sentiment and appreciated the irony.

“So what major are you? Can’t be theater, right? ‘Cause I’ve never seen you around before.” she swirled the drink in her hand.

He shook his head. “Criminal Justice, actually.”

“Christ, you’re a long way from home.” her eyebrows went up to her hairline at his answer.

“You?”

“Acting, final year.”

He pursed his lips and took a sip of his drink, unsure why he asked in the first place. Figures.

“So why’d you take this elective?” she caught herself, realizing how harsh it sounded. “Not in a weird gatekeeping way or anything. But it’s shit credit, too much workload... It’s basically unpaid labor, at this point.”

“I… didn’t. I signed up for the wrong class, and then I was too late to withdraw,” he admitted with a grimace.

She chuckled. “Oof. My condolences.”

Bruce tried his hardest not to stare. No matter how unsurprised he was by how comfortably she’s lounged on this uneven surface. Legs stretched out, arm resting on a small crook of the tree, sipping crappy wine out of a plastic cup. A complete opposite of his position, bent knees and elbows shirking in on himself. Somehow finding themselves in each other’s company at the edge of this party.

When he finally turned to look, it was because of the click-click-click of a lighter and a tiny spark of ember in his peripheral vision. Beside him, a blunt hung between her lips and one hand sheltered it from the wind.

“Oh, shit. Sorry. Where are my manners.” she pinched it between her middle and forefinger, pulling it away from her mouth, and his eyes caught on the lipstick mark on the wrapping paper, rosy and glossy even in the dim lighting. “Want some?”

And just like that, he was brought to a frantic awakening as he stammered, “Oh, I– I don’t…”

“Don’t smoke or don’t know how to?”

A pause. He tried to muster an answer that sounded a bit more dignified, but maybe in his time of thinking, the pause all but indicated it was the latter. 

“Nothing to be ashamed of.” she waved him off. “To each their own. Do you mind if I…?”

“Please.”

He tried to keep cool, he really did, and for a moment, he thought the short, quick answers would save him. But she lit the joint, and in the brief second that the tiny flame illuminated her face, he could see her long lashes fanning against the freckled skin under her eyes as her lids dropped to a close. Her cheeks sank in, and the line of her cheekbone gave some edge to an otherwise soft face. And as the back of her head hit the tree trunk, smoke in her wake, he was utterly lost. Fuck, she’s hot.

“Can you shotgun me?”

Her eyes snapped open (and to be honest, he’s just as surprised as she was), although she tried not to move so suddenly, as if worried he might scatter away. “Seriously?”

“I mean…” he muttered lamely, “If you want.”

“I mean, sure…” she started, looking him straight in the eyes for good measure. “Are you sure about this?”

He shrugged.

“Huh.” she smiled to herself, unable to contain the surprise in her features as she straightened up into a more upright position.

Neither of them could ever anticipate the closeness of this encounter. Shoulder to shoulder, legs colliding and finding their way to coexist. Face inches away from each other. Her forefinger touching the underside of his chin, the rounded end of her nail gently scratching his five o’clock shadow. 

Bruce was starting to wonder if this was a bad idea. But then her voice pulled him out of his reverie, soft and low,

“Just breathe in. Hold. And breathe out, okay?”

He nodded exactly once. Afraid that if he’d done more than once, one of them would change their mind.

No.

Afraid she would, because in this moment, Bruce realized he wanted nothing else.

She inhaled deeply through her joint, and tilted him closer to her. He swore he could almost feel her lips as she blew into his slightly ajar mouth.

“Slowly… that’s it…” she watched him intently as he followed her voice. Proud as it didn’t catch in his throat, making him cough. She just studied the smoke coming out of his lips. “Look at that. You’re a natural.”

Bruce watched her smirk, watched how one corner of her mouth pulled, how the tip of her tongue darted out ever so slightly for a moment, wetting her lips. “All thanks to you,” his throat felt scratchy, but he managed a somewhat cheeky reply, recalling her own words earlier.

“Do you say that to all the girls?” her voice was honeyed with teasing.

And he wanted to come up with something smart and quippy, by God he did, but maybe his brain only limited him to one line per conversation and he’d used it up already. So he just admitted, quite pathetically in his opinion,

“No.”

There was a certain brand of thoughtfulness as she took another puff for herself. And then another. And then a look of question when she gazed up at him again, and he leaned in at her wordless offer.

This time, their lips did touch. And he thought he was imagining it.

Barely a graze. She might have even done it by accident. But even in doing so, it made him forget how to breathe. The smoke just hovered in his mouth cavity for a moment. It wasn’t until her nose grazed him that he came to and shallowly, involuntarily gasped.

There was just a haze between them.

And then there was none.

At the same time, there was so much more. So much that Bruce didn’t know which one to process first. The smell of leaves and fresh laundry and flowery shampoo. The sweet, tangy taste of wine on her tongue.

The warmth of her lips on her.

Soft. Gentle. She deepened the kiss tentatively, like she’s knocking on his door, asking to be let in. He was never a big believer in higher power, but as God as his witness, he would let her knock down his entire wall and make herself at home in a heartbeat.

No questions asked.

She, on the other hand, seemed to have one, judging from how she pulled away, brows furrowed in thought.

Oh, no. Back in the figurative mental safehouse you go.

“Fuck. Where are my manners? Uh…” she giggled, “I haven’t even got your name.”

He relaxed, releasing the breath he didn’t even know he was holding. “Bruce. And you are…?”

He felt stupid for asking her this. He really shouldn’t have to ask, she’s the lead for fuck’s sake, but he came in late from a class and missed the introductions. By the time he arrived, the read-through had already begun and they were already calling her by her character’s name.

But she didn’t seem to mind. She simply uttered, “Eden,” and kissed him stupid again.

It took him embarrassingly long to realize that she was saying her name instead of describing what this was.

His hand braving itself to settle on her soft cheek, warm and flushed from the alcohol and the influence of it all. Meanwhile, her touches were bold, pushing the dark strands off of his face and tangling her fingers through his hair. Lips joined together in a kiss, deeper and deeper as they went on.

Heaven.

Heaven was the hand that ventured along his jaw. Down his chest.

Trailing up his inner thigh.

Her knuckle grazed his crotch, and he wondered if these featherlight touches of hers were never coincidental after all. But there’s a more pressing issue at hand; that of… a growing ache between his legs, and she giggled. Lazy, breathless, and hazy.

Fuck. I’ve been made.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth, tugging it a little. Drawing it out. Weighing in her choices once again.

But then she broke the kiss completely, straddling his lap, and Bruce thought he was losing his mind.

It had to be the weed, right? Because kisses weren’t dizzying, and the way her dress hiked up her thigh shouldn’t make his palms vibrate with the need to touch her. And when her palm trailed down to where he needed her…

The party nearby just fell away. The music and celebration died out. Just the rustles of the trees. The shuffling of fabric rubbing against each other, from chests heaving up and down. From breath, stolen and taken away by each other. A little bubble that felt like no time and all of the time in the world had passed at once.

“…but the Act 1 finale to Sunday in the Park with George is un-fucking-paralleled, though!” a girl’s voice gushed in the distance, footsteps approaching closer to where Bruce and Eden were tangled together, and she all but jumped back to her original spot. Raking through her hair really quickly in a daze.

Bruce froze in his place, secretly hoping they would veer away from their path. Or not see them somehow. Or anything. But the voice grew closer and closer, and he could hear another set of footsteps with this one.

“Like when the real painting came down? Ugh, I nutted!” she groaned, barely acknowledging them. “Oh, hey guys.”

Eden nodded at the girl—Laura, head of the costume department—trying to play it off like nothing happened.

But, when Laura didn’t give a flying fuck, Angela—the stage manager—, did a double-take... First at Eden. Then at the joint between Eden’s fingers. “Damn, you corrupting the new kid already?” she turned to Bruce, “Careful there. This one’s a troublemaker.”

“Um. I was just leaving.” Bruce shot up to his feet, wrapping his coat around his body tightly and barely looking at her when he said, ”Bye, Eden,” rushing off as fast as he could.

And when the party was entirely out of reach, he realized just violently he tore himself away from her. The gloss of her lips still lingered. Her hand. Her scent. Her hand over his hard fucking cock. The way her name tastes when he said it the first time.

How much he’d taken for granted all of the above.

***

ACT THREE

Bruce didn’t see Eden for much of the week.

He supposed it was better this way. There were quizzes and assignments to be done, and he spent most of his time at the library and his dorm. When he went to the Theater building, he stayed in the costume workshop. On different floors, on opposite wings. Copying designs, doing the math, preparing materials… he had a lot of learning to do, but he could do it fast.

It was definitely for the best. Anything to get his mind off of thinking which one is more stupid; making out with her or walking away from making out with her.

“Hey, Bruce?” Laura hollered, without looking up from her workstation. “Can you go upstairs and take Eden’s measurements? They’re rehearsing in the Woodard Studio.”

Fuck. He looked around the room, finding nobody else there. This was a nightmare coming to life, but damned if he was going to be spoiled brat Bruce Wayne in a setting where people finally let him be.

So even with his heart in his throat and his brain telling him to run the other way, he grabbed a pencil, a tape measure, and a blank new measurement sheet. “Okay, sure.”

The climb up to the top floor was entirely too short, that Bruce had half a mind to take another lap to the ground floor and back. But Lady Luck seemed to continuously be on his side, and Eden walked out of the studio just as he reached the top of the stairs. They locked eyes for a moment, like neither knew how to act, until she addressed him. Cool and nonchalant. “Hey.”

He braced himself, approaching her by the water fountain as she refilled her bottle. Trying not to even think about the yoga pants clinging to her thighs. The sports bra wrapped around her chest like a corset. Or armor? Because she looked like she could break someone in half in that.

Focus, Bruce.

“Got a minute?”

“‘Sup?”

He paused, caught off-guard with her short reply. But he powered through, lifting the piece of paper in his hand. “I, uh, need to take your measurements.”

She hummed dryly, “Right,” leading him into the rehearsal space.

Bruce should’ve been careful with what he wished for, for the walk to be longer, because the 15-foot distance from the door to the row of seats in one corner of the studio felt like miles as they walked in silence, careful not to disturb the rehearsal in the process.

And he never minded the silence, not once, but he minded hers. She was normally so talkative, so engaging, and these monosyllabic answers—the stare burning into his back as he unrolled his tape measure—was quite unnerving. He hated it.

“What.”

She shrugged noncommittally, looking out at the fight sequence being rehearsed. The thumps and squeaks of shoes on the floor felt deafening

He sighed, a quick glare before he began measuring the width of her shoulders. Her back. Her arms. Down her spine. Jotting down the numbers as he filled out the form. Trying not to go insane in the sheer intimacy of his fingers treading along her body, learning every inch in between the fabric of clothing and the skin it clung onto, and how he did it under such a cold, clinical circumstance.

An agonizing stretch of silence.

Her silence.

Especially knowing that she must’ve had something to say.

“So, let me get this straight.” she drew a sharp breath, and Bruce was kind of relieved to be on talking terms, at the very least. “First, you made out with me, and then you ditched me, and now you’ve pulled me into a corner to take my measurements? My, my. Talk about mixed signals.” Eden tilted her head to the side, sarcasm lacing her voice this time, and he knew he was in for it.

“This wasn’t up to me,” Bruce quietly, evenly replied, trying not to feel like a scolded schoolboy.

She turned around to meet his gaze, taking this as a personal challenge now. “Ah, but you’re a big boy, aren’t you?” she straightened up with a ghost of a smirk, as if squaring up to him, and it terrified and excited him at the same time. “Laura could’ve done it. I’m sure she’d much prefer to do this over carrying big logs of fabric into the workshop. So… what gives?”

A heavy pause hung over their heads. Even with her arms outspread, so open and vulnerable, she was still the one in control. Her head held high and eyes searching into his. It took Bruce everything to keep his fingers steady as they pinned the tape measure on her waist.

He wanted so desperately to have some semblance of upper hand in this game. He unpinned his fingertips from the tape and pulled it back. “You said shit credits, so… gotta make it worth it.”

Her eyes rolled in amusement, and Bruce thought he’d made a complete fool of himself. She definitely saw through his bullshit answer, she was kind enough to let it slide, if the little smile she was sporting was any indication. The air wasn’t as heavy anymore, and he was tempted to leave it be.

It wasn’t quite an upper hand, but it’s as good as it’s gonna get.

But the edge, the anticipation persisted (and no, it wasn’t because he’s measuring her underbust next), and he couldn’t shake off the feeling that it was his turn to speak. Her cold shoulder treatment was warranted, and she merely opened the door enough for him to prove he was worth her time. 

And he wanted to be worth her time… for reasons unbeknownst to even himself.

So he cleared his throat to make his case. “I also wanted to apologize for last weekend.”

“For what, making out with me or ditching me?” Her eyes flitted back to him.

His heart clenched, and he barely had the gall to look in her direction. “You’re never gonna let that go, are you?”

“Jury’s still out,” she quipped, though there was no malice in her tone.

Bruce grimaced, but it’s all fair, he supposed. “It won’t happen again.”

“Hm.” she softened. Thoughtful, but said nothing else.

And as she let him work quietly, he couldn’t help but wonder if he’d made another mistake with that promise. Yes, he was wrong to just leave her there. But did he really want it to never happen again? To never experience her mouth that drove him crazy, be it in banter or kiss, ever again? To never study the curve of her hips beyond this flimsy string he held together around her? To feel her warm, intoxicating body on top of his—

“I don’t hold it against you, you know.”

He looked up at her in question. In surprise. Mildly in worry that she caught sense of the filthy things he was thinking about—for a second horrified that she could read his mind somehow. Especially with his thumb accidentally grazing along the side of her chest, pinching the tape right over the swell of her chest. He should’ve looked at the number quickly and then moved on.

But he couldn’t.

She stilled and he stilled with her, eyes still locked on each other, much too close for comfort. 

“We were both caught in the moment, under the influence. It happens. No hard feelings.” She paused, and then…. “Well. Maybe some hard feelings.”

His mind was running a mile a minute, and for a split second, he thought she genuinely bore some hard feelings—which was fair. But then a mischievous grin bloomed on her face, and he realized exactly what she was referring to.

A literal hard feeling. In his pants. Under her palm.

“Eden…” he shut his eyes in horror. This can’t be happening right now.

She laughed in the way that made his heart flutter, and he wondered if the endless teasing would be worth it. “I’m just saying…” her light chuckle dwindled into a bright glint in her dark eyes, and then earnestly, “We’re good, Bruce.”

It was strange to associate the sound of his name with a smile—not even a smile, a grin. The kind that made crinkles on the corner of her eyes. Where the light sheen of sweat made the apple of her cheeks glow as it pulled the corner of her mouth upwards.

Strange, but nice.

***

ACT FOUR

In the next few weeks, Bruce saw Eden sporadically. In passing. In between slaving away at the workshop; tracing, sewing, altering costumes, carefully following the instructions of his much more experienced peers—Laura seemed to appreciate his careful handiwork and keen eye for detail. She began sending him upstairs to sit in on the rehearsals, delivering updates to the director and observing the blockings, reporting back to his head of department.

And in between those moments, if he’s lucky, he would see her drop by the workshop, gabbing away with Laura. Trying out different period dresses, different shoes, the all-white fencing suit that one time. Or sometimes as her tragic hero character in rehearsal, a timeless Shakespearean force to be reckoned with in a baggy Yale sweatshirt.

They might not be friends per se, but they were on friendly terms, at the very least.

Which was probably why he didn’t immediately say hello when she strode out the back of the Drama Department building, where Bruce was reviewing his Criminal Homicide notes whilst getting some air (although to be fair, it was mostly the latter.) He heard the door open and shut, familiar lines murmured, as light footsteps paced back and forth on the platform. 

And there she was; like Juliet on the goddamn balcony.

Well.

If Juliet were a miserably jaded character on the brink of insanity instead of a wide-eyed girl in love.

“O vengeance!” she recited from memory, devoid of any emotion. “‘This is most brave—’ no, that’s not right. Did I skip a line?” she stopped abruptly, and then he heard a rustle of pages being flipped. “‘Why, what an ass am I.’ Ha. That’s… apropos.”

Bruce looked up, finding Eden holding her script close to her chest, looking out into the distance with a frown as she started over.

“‘This is most brave that I, daughter of a dear father murdered, prompted to my revenge by… heaven and hell, must—like a whore…’ Fuck!”

“Unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing,” Bruce finished it just above a murmur, just for himself.

Eden’s head whipped towards his direction. “What?”

Caught eavesdropping, he immediately buried himself in his notebook again. “Nothing. Sorry.”

“No, no. What did you say?”

“Um. ‘Unpack my heart with words and fall a-cursing?’” It felt weird to say it now. To hear it in his own voice. “‘Like a very drab. A scullion’.”

A lull as she checked her script. And then, “Hold up a minute.” she leaned against the railing, chin propped up on her hand. “You know Hamlet, Bruce?”

He looked up at her, finding fascination and that ever-present witty glint in her gaze. “I’m surprised you didn’t know Hamlet, Hamlet.”

“Very funny.”

It was a little funny. He might’ve even smiled a bit.

She padded down the platform and round the stairs, joining Bruce sitting cross-legged on the ground, back against the wall. It never ceased to amaze him how she managed to make herself comfortable anywhere. “This whole Shakespeare thing is hard, you know.”

“Really? I never would’ve thought—” 

“It’s almost like a foreign language.”

“But you’ve always looked so… fluent.” he frowned at his own choice of word. Fluent was an understatement; the lines felt native to her tongue. “I guess I’ve always assumed it comes naturally to you.”

Eden chuckled ruefully. “Hell no. This is what generally happens, outside of rehearsals—just so I have some idea what’s going on in the scene.”

“Some idea, huh?” He didn't buy it at all. She had to work hard, of course, but he was dead sure that come rehearsal, she’d had her shit down on lock.

“You probably know more than I do.”

“Nah, I’m just… I’m familiar with it,” he played it off.

This time, she didn’t buy it. At all, if her lingering look was any indication. But she looked away like she knew more.

Well, as much as she could’ve known for a single look, anyway. It barely scratched the surface, but he didn’t have the heart to wipe that captivating smile off of her face.

Not with such misfortune behind the story.

He first read Hamlet when he was thirteen. In truth, it didn’t pique his interest until his English teacher offhandedly mentioned that the Lion King was based off of it. And at first, he read it just out of spite—just to see if it’s true. But the structure of words felt alien and there were words, references, scenes he didn’t understand, unlike that little movie he knew like the back of his hand.

But some parts, like this one, stuck and stayed with him since he first read it. What Hamlet lacked in the starry-eyed nostalgia that Lion King had, it made up in anguish. For the longest time, there were no words to describe what he was feeling. He never knew how to explain himself, how to explain why he didn’t want to. Until this line.

‘That I, the son of a dear father murder'd,

Prompted to my revenge by heaven and hell,

Must, like a whore, unpack my heart with words,

And fall a-cursing, like a very drab,

A scullion!’

Eden was struggling, albeit for an entirely different reason, but he understood. He probably wouldn’t even be able to say the whole sentence without razors slicing his throat from the inside.

“Hey, what are you doing right now?”

“Um, studying?” He mustered, caught off-guard by the knee lightly nudging his own. Maybe a little bit flustered. 

She glanced at his textbook, sparsely highlighted and full of legal terms she’d only heard in passing. “Right. I keep forgetting you were pre-law. You’ve been hanging around here most days.”

“This elective is a full-time job, basically.”

She smiled sympathetically. And then, “Would you help me run lines? You just— I don’t know, make sure I say the right words and… read out the odd lines if there’s any.”

“Sure,” he answered immediately. Not for any particular reason; he just happened to know the play very well, and he liked being useful, however menial the task.

Not because he finally had a valid reason to spend some time with Eden.

She handed him her script, highlighted in yellow, pink, and blue, and heavily annotated with her own handwriting. Some were so small and loopy, they were undecipherable. One line was noted in big capital letters, ‘FUCK THE FUCK OFF’. Bruce chuckled a little bit at that.

He fiddled with the edge of the page. “So... From the top?”

And that’s how it started. Running lines and hanging out. Sometimes she’d stop by the costume workshop and drape her arm over one of the mannequins, or perch atop one of the empty workstations, while Bruce worked on a costume—her costume. Or outside the rehearsal studio, while waiting for the dance club to finish their thing. Sometimes they’d do it over a meal, and he found himself frequenting the dining hall of her dorm at the Hopper College instead of his own—it was closer, but mostly, he liked the dark wood-paneled walls under the high columned arches, and how nicely everything was spaced out. And how completely at home she looked, leaning back in her seat. It made him at ease to see her at ease.

But most of the time, it was just this. Crouched behind the theater building, sitting side-by-side with a script and her pack of Lucky Strike between them.

“Oh, I’ve fully corrupted you now,” she lamented, watching him light a cigarette between his lips. He even did it with one hand this time.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” he huffed, exhaling out a berry-minty smoke (he only ever bummed her cigarettes when she had the flavored ones—he would never admit that he hated the normal ones). “What’s for today?”

She shuffled into her bag, reaching for her script. “The breakup scene with Ophelia.”

“Mm. That should be easy.” 

She looked at him incredulously. “Easy for you to say!”

“Easy for you to do. Come on.” he snatched the script out of her hand, flipping through the pages until he found the one. And then he waited. Pointedly. “Any day now.”

With a dirty glare, Eden took a deep breath and uttered, loudly but without any passion whatsoever, “The fair Ophelia! Nymph.” she elbowed him on his side.

He liked that they’re comfortable enough to do this. It was the first time Hamlet made him laugh—and not in a wry, self-loathing way. There was always something new this girl found—a cheeky pun, an off-handed comment. Lines he’d always imagined having a certain context, only to be interpreted completely differently.

Like this one.

“I did love you…” she trailed off thoughtfully, “...once.”

His eyebrows perked up, interest piqued as he never read the line broken in two parts like this, although his tone stayed flat as always. “Indeed, m’lady, you made me believe so.”

“You should not have believed me,” she responded, surprisingly just as sapless. “I loved you not.”

“I was the more deceived.”

The air between them was changing. Each line was filled with more heavy pauses—but not the kind she would make when she was trying to remember what she was supposed to say. No, this was something else. She sounded like she was… thinking. Composing her breakup speech as she sat next to her dear love. Pondering whether she should be cruel or kind.

“Get thee… to a nunnery.” The words started out cautionary, but her tone was vicious, and everything else became a cruel charge from then on. “Why wouldst thou be a breeder of sinners, huh?” she didn’t raise her voice, but it made her all the more terrifying. “Perhaps it were better… my mother had not borne me. I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious…”

Bruce’s brain registered that she was talking about herself. As Hamlet. A performance, no more. And yet, he’d never heard it performed like this; so stripped down, so much like the voice in his head his entire adolescence—the constant questioning of how things would’ve been if he’d never been born—, that he felt like it was aimed towards him.

“We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us.” Maybe it was a little bit about him too, he thought as she spat, “Where’s your father?”

The question felt like a punch in the gut. He knew that was her next line—he’d read it a million times, but he’d never had anyone ask him that. Not in that order. Not with such bitter taste in their mouth.

He tried to compose himself, but his voice sounded feeble as he answered her, “At home, my lady.”

“Well.” she looked down, picking her nails absent-mindedly. “Let the doors be shut upon him… that he may play the fool no where but in his own house.” It was cold, heartless the way she made up her mind without so much as a glance his way, and it reminded him of how the doors of Gotham shut upon his own father, and he was left for dead like a fool in a city that he built.

Somehow, somewhere along the way, he didn’t realize when he stopped looking at the page and when he started looking at her. Jaw stiffened, trying her damnedest to contain the slight tremble on her lips. Eyes stubborn as they tried to keep the tears from falling. Hands fisting the hems of her own jacket. And as she nodded, she accidentally (or on purpose, he wouldn’t know) blinked a stray tear away,

“Farewell.”

They sat there for a long while. In a daze. Watching the lights twinkled in the dusk; white and yellow against purple and pink. The Halloween decorations were put up, over the windows and doors, jack o’lanterns on the side of the pavements and skeletons propped upright in the lawns. He wasn’t even thinking about the play anymore—he couldn’t if he wanted to—, his insides were all amok.

Bruce heard a click of her lighter, a flash of orange from the corner of his eye—first a flame, then a flaring ember—and with an exhale, she slumped back against the wall…

And leaned her head on his shoulder.

He carefully tapped his cigarette and put it out. It was burnt to ash and he barely had a couple of puffs—he was too occupied, too vexed with her. More stoic than him as she continued to look ahead. It’s disconcerting.

“Are you okay?” He simply asked, though with a sliver of worry there.

“Yeah.” he couldn’t quite explain it, but Eden sounded like herself again even with a single word. “Are you?”

“Yeah.”

It was an automatic response at this point, but whether it was honest… was an entirely different matter. And she seemed to notice that.

“I heard it in your voice,” she said quietly, carefully. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. I’m just… checking in.”

A pause. He didn’t answer right away; he didn’t know how to.

“It’s just… my parents, is all.”

“Right.”

One word said so much. One word, and she understood.

One word, and he knew.

He was no longer some new guy in the production; she knew him and his name and his burden of a legacy. A trauma. The very thing he was running away from. The little bubble around them had burst, and although he knew it was inevitable, he couldn’t help the sinking feeling in his gut.

But she placed a hand on top of hers, filling the spaces between his fingers. Not quite. Just… ever so tentatively. “I’m sorry.”

And for the first time in years, he allowed it. He allowed her to invade his space, if ‘invade’ was even the right word. She eased in like something familiar, like she’d always been there, and it made it all the more easier to let her in.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she offered.

“I mean… there’s nothing to talk about.” he sighed heavily, immediately set off by the all-too-familiar feeling of prodding questions. “I know as much as everyone else.”

“That’s not what I—” she noticed the sharp edge in his voice, and she was quick to rebuff him. But then she realized the edge in her tone, and she softened up again immediately. “Bruce. All I’m saying is, if you ever want to… I don’t know. Either way, I’m here. Okay?”

Oh. He didn’t have to talk if he didn’t want to. Or he could, if he was ever so inclined.

Either way she’s here.

His other hand landed on top of hers, patting it limply but entirely too heavy to pull away. “It’s fine. You don’t have to—”

“I know I don’t. I want to.” her fingers tangled themselves in his. “That’s what friends do, right?”

Friends. The word hung heavy above them, as he turned her hand over. Palm facing upwards, he studied every line that twisted and branched on her skin, tracing it with the pad of his thumb. Feeling the indents, soft against his calluses. Trying to comprehend how this person eased—maybe invaded was right, after all—into his life, inching closer to his most vulnerable parts…

And that it was okay.

Because in entering his space, she also let him into hers. Palm facing upwards, her thumb caresses the side of his forefinger that rested atop hers. Not squeezing. Not even grasping. Just running up and down, from knuckle to knuckle. As if saying, come in.

I won’t hurt you.

He took the chance and held her hand for a moment. It wasn’t quite a response to her invitation, but at the same time it was. And that’s all they needed.

That’s all he could take for now.

Bruce took a breath, trying to find a fresh subject to get out of this one, and the first thing that he blurted out was, “Grilled cheese?”

She lifted her head and turned her whole body towards him. “Huh?”

If those two words out of his mouth weren’t enough to sober him up, the blatant disconnect between them sure did the trick. They were spouting Shakespeare just moments ago, but now that he’s panicking and in desperate need of an out, he turned into a goddamn monkey and it puzzled the fuck of her.

“Grilled cheese,” he repeated. Why did he do it again?! He slung his backpack and got up to his feet; if he’s already standing, it would be easier to make an escape. But maybe he should give it one last shot? “You know… at the Beanjamin.”

“Oh.” she blinked at him dumbly, whether at his stilted but persistent topic change or the mention of the punny cafe two blocks away. But much to his surprise, she shrugged and gathered her stuff. “Alright. Let’s get some grilled cheese.”

“Wait, really?”

“You’re buying.” she absently said as she patted the dirt off of her pants.

He sighed in relief, although he tried to play it off as a huff. “Fine. But you get the ciggies.”

“Ciggies?” she balked. “Wow, my influence on you knows no bounds.”

“Don’t flatter yourself, it’s just shorthand.”

“Sure thing, Brucie.”

“That’s not a shorthand. That’s an extra syllable.” He scowled, but she slapped his back lightly, linking her arm with his as they walked on crunchy reddened leaves in the fall. Each biting back a smile as the heaviness of their conversation didn’t tarnish this easy banter they had.

They were friends, after all.

***

ACT FIVE

Bruce was late. Very late. His Restorative Justice final presentations ran long and he wanted to punch every one of his obnoxious kiss-ass classmates in the teeth for drawing it out, asking questions for the sake of loopholes and extra points. Sending him on a wild sprint to the University Theater.

In the rain.

And as if that weren’t enough, he was greeted by Laura, practically steaming out of her ears, pulling him aside and telling him off.

“We’re entering tech week, man! We got plenty of people to dress. I can’t have you disappearing in the worst of times like this.”

She was right on all three accounts. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m sticking my neck out here for you!” Laura huffed. “Look, if anything happens, you need to let us know. Call, text, anything. God, I sound like a clingy girlfriend here—”

She was cut off with a dragging, dramatic creak of a door opening. They both turned around to find Eden there, her head popping out of a dressing room, grimacing. “Hi. I’m so sorry to bother you, but— I need a hand…”

Laura softened up, slightly caught off-guard in the middle of her tangent. “One sec.” Then she turned back to Bruce, a little calmer now. “You go, I’ll handle the ensemble.”

He nodded, still apologetic as he made his way to their leading lady’s dressing room, catching her sly grin as she made way for him.

“You picked the wrong day to slack off, Brucie,” she lightly murmured as she threw him a towel to dry off.

All she got in response was a grunt.

A grunt and nothing else.

Because all the frustration, the ennui, the fucking cold from getting drenched in a 44-degree weather… all went when he finally caught sight of her.

Clad in silk—her gloves ivory, her dress black. Draped down her body all the way to the ankle—seemingly resting on her curves and wanting to glide off of her skin at the same time, held together by a thin strap on each of her bare shoulders, ruffled point d’esprit tumbled down her arms.

“I know. It’s different from the usual sweatshirt and joggers…” she droned on, barely glancing at him as she shifted in her dress. “Shit, I should’ve worn these things more in rehearsal. This feels too new. I haven’t even put on the corset—do you mind?”

“Y-yeah. Sure.”

He knew exactly how to do her corset—they discussed it exhaustively in the workshops, deliberating which one was the most secure and efficient—and yet he still found himself fumbling at the laces the first time. Then again, maybe lacing up a mannequin would never compare to a living, breathing being.

Especially one like her.

It’s awfully intimate; he vaguely remembered seeing his parents getting ready for a night out like this. Eden putting on her earrings—a beautiful silvery thing with a dot of blue as its main stone—while he laced her up. Grazing her back with featherlight touches, but not really. Barely missing each other’s gaze through the mirror. So close, and at the same time, having absolutely no chance to get closer.

“You got me worried for a bit there.”

“I know. I’ve got—”

“Finals, I know. But this counts as finals too, you know. Like, come on, man, this is important.”

“It’s an elective.”

He felt her tense up—felt the slight expanse of her ribs as she drew a sharp breath. “It’s not just an elective for some of us, Bruce.”

“Come on, Eden. I’ve been over this. I don’t need this from you, too.”

She scoffed. “Excuse me?”

“What else do you want me to do? I was held up, I came here as fast as I could, I told Laura I was sorry. Now you’re gonna give me shit while I do my job, too? Give me a fucking break.” 

He never minded the silence, but this one was deafening. Eden was understandably stunned to see him snap. He had never shown anything beyond mild—whether it’s amusement or discontent. But it was nowhere near the end of his day, and he was tired. And it disappointed him more than anything that she was not on his side on the one moment he needed her to.

But he’d shown just enough to get his point across, and now it’s time to just bite his tongue.

“Do you know why we worked so hard for this show?” Her tone was still terse. Clipped. But it wasn’t accusatory—not anymore.

He said nothing. Didn’t even look up. He just continued pulling at the loose crossing laces, tightening them right on the dip of her spine.

“We don’t know who’ll be in the audience. Directors, agents, producers or their fucking daughters for all we know—people who might hire us. Maybe for a gig over the holiday— maybe something more. If we’re lucky. Most of us won’t be, you know. Most of us are just gonna be stuck in this rat race until we’re burnt out, or dead, or dead from getting burnt the fuck out, so to call it ‘just an elective’ is a gross understatement which—“ she gasped as he pulled the strings just so that her back straightened up and she nearly stumbled into his chest.

“You okay?” his eyes flickered towards the mirror, studying her face. Realizing that there might be something more than giving him shit for committing the cardinal sin of tardiness. Something having nothing to do with him.

“Yeah. It’s just…. Nerves.” she breathed out, and he had to look again and make sure she wasn’t suffocating.

Suffocating, she was not. But agitated, definitely. The corset made the rise and fall of her chest more prominent with every breath, and he willed himself not to stare.

“It’s alright. You got this.” he managed a reassuring nod, surprising himself that despite what happened, he was still on her side.

Eden softened at that, as if warming up to him again. “So, yeah. This is why it’s important to us.” she spoke, quiet and resolute. “I hope you understand that.”

“I do,” he answered evenly. “And I hope you understand that I’m doing my best.”

“Fair enough.”

The air swelled between them. Stifling as the aggression dissipated. The lightbulbs framing the mirror did so much to expose every microexpression. The tight crease between her eyebrows, the clenched jaw as she struggled with her necklace. Blindly trying to clasp it together on the back of her neck, underneath her long dark waves.

“Let me.” He gently brushed her hair aside, seeing the hook and clasp colliding, but never really linking together.

It was entirely too easy. Bruce almost hoped it would be trickier, and he would need more time here. Nearly pressed against her. So close. The temptation was too much. Even after he let go of her necklace, he couldn’t resist smoothing his hand down her dress. Adjusting the cinch under her bust. Making sure it didn’t bunch.

Their eyes met through the reflection, and he lost all words. And no, not because of the glimmery strings and stones adorning her neck, the lavalier falling like water drops on her chest—silver and white against her bronze skin. Not entirely.

But the way her brown eyes, ever so mischievous and mysterious, looked so… naked in this light.

He had never been able to read her—there’s always this hidden card on her sleeve, even beneath her ‘open book’ way of carrying herself. But this time, he could see her waiting.

Wanting.

“Well?” Her voice was soft against the silence.

“You look…” he trailed off. 

Maybe it was simply the tension in the air. Maybe it was pure awe. Maybe it was the unshakeable possessive pride in the fact that he’d had a hand in creating this look, knowing how she would turn out in it.

No word would ever amount to this—to her—and he would be foolish to even try. So he just shook his head, returning his attention to her corset. Making sure nothing bent or bunch in a way it wasn’t supposed to.

“This not too tight?”

She shook her head, and he swore she looked demure, for the first time ever.

“Turn around, let me see.”

He grabbed her waist with both hands, studying the brocade details of the corset. How it’s an even darker shade of black than the dress, but shinier, like swirling scars—the pain, the anger, the fury, wrapped around her waist.

Oh, the divine curve of her waist.

Eden’s gloved hand dropped to his wrist, and he froze. He wondered if this was a sign to let go, but at the same time… he couldn’t. Not when her thumb is mirroring the very pattern he was drawing on her waist. Not when she trailed up his arm, along his shoulder, so warm and gentle that it made his breath hitch in his throat.

She brushed back a dark strand that fell in front of his face, searching his eyes. “Is that the only place you’ll touch me?”

And there it was again. The waiting. The wanting. He’d never dared to dream it, because he knew—like he knew now—that it’d be all he wanted from then on.

To give in. Melt into her touch. Get lost in her gaze.

“Where else do you want me to touch you?” he rasped.

Heartbeat pounded in his ears, and he’s not sure whether it’s hers or his own. It took him everything to tune it out, just so he could hear her respond,

“Everywhere?”

He expected it to come with a smirk, a teasing twinkle in her eyes; it didn’t. It sounded like a question, and she looked every bit as vulnerable as he felt asking it, and it was all too easy for him to answer.

“Please.”

Because what other answer was there? Everywhere was more than he’d ever hoped for and he couldn’t even think where to begin. His first instinct was her waist—the divine curves of her waist— as his hands were already there. But the necklace was calling out to him with every rise and fall of Eden’s breath. Beckoning him to trace the spaces between the hanging stones, the gentle slope of the neckline, leaving shivers in his wake.

So much, and at the same time, not nearly enough.

She pulled him in closer—the crook of her nose on the crook of his neck. Nuzzling. Resting. Claiming him with kiss after kiss on his skin, and it made him weak. Pliant as she sat herself on the dressing table, hiking up her skirt and allowing him to be lodged between her open legs. Guiding his hand towards the swell of her breast, squeezing his hand, right here. He thumbed her nipples through her dress, marveling at how it hardened under his touch, while her hand roamed his chest, sneaking under his shirt, feeling his lean stomach—his bulging crotch through her silk.

“Your gloves, don’t ruin your gloves…” Bruce miraculously mustered, even as his palms slid down to her hips, squeezing her ass as she left a dizzying hickey on his neck.

Eden clicked her tongue, tearing herself off him with a glare, though it didn’t deter him—then again, maybe it wasn’t supposed to. She bit the tip of her glove at her middle finger, and the fabric slid off, one hand after the other, and she had no right to be so alluring. Running her hand through his rain-drizzled hair. Stroking his prominent jawline. Drawing patterns on his wrist with her bare hands.

Guiding him once again; this time, up her inner thigh. Following the warmth of her body underneath the cool cloth.

All the way up until he reaches something damp.

She gasped.

“Here?”

“Mm-hm.”

He swallowed, yanking her panties aside to find her nether lips, all slippery on his fingertips. His fingers drew up her gushing cleft, and when he touched the swollen little nub, her eyes fluttered ever so slightly, and he could come right then and there if he weren’t so taken by her, mellowing in pleasure.

He rubbed her tentatively, gauging the smallest reactions as a sign. He’d only ever seen it in porn, and it went quite differently in real life. There was no guarantee of a happy ending—not even a guarantee of doing things right. And everything was quieter, subtler with her.

Prettier.

She followed the trail of hair down his navel, absently palming his cock over his jeans—firmer, surer than the last time—and his mind went blank.

“Fuck, Eden…” he sighed, forehead falling against hers. “I’ve never— I don’t— Tell me…” he bit the inside of his cheek, hoping she would get the hint.

She nudged his nose with hers. “Your fingers, Bruce.”

He slowed down his circling motion, trying to figure out whether her squirming meant less or more.

But she chuckled, lazily kissing along his jaw. And then, nipping at his earlobe, she whispered, “I need them inside me.”

Jesus Christ.

His hand traveled down from her clit, and he nearly moaned at how gushing wet she was. All of this just for him? His middle and forefinger slid right in, as if she’d swallowed them whole, and she let out a strained whimper.

Bruce stilled inside her, not wanting to cause any pain by moving in or drawing out. Instead, he just waited. Slowly pulling away to study her face, waiting for her command. God, he’d follow her anywhere.

“You okay?”

Her head fell back against the mirror as she caught her breath. “‘m good. So good,” she sighed, stroking his back as if he was the one who needed soothing. “Keep going.”

He’d always been captivated by her. Her grit, her humor, her warmth that seeped into his cold dead soul. But in the three months he’d known her, he’d never seen her so… tame. Her guard down, all soft and needy under his touch, as he started pumping his digits in and out of her experimentally. Reveling in how she coated his fingers in her arousal, gripping him around her silky walls. How she mewled when he crooked his fingers just right.

He liked that she let him see this side of her.

And as he picked up the pace, her hands grew frenzied on his belt buckle. Frantic as she unfastened it and pushed it down just enough—boxers and all—to take his cock out. And when he thought being freed from the painful restraint of his pants was blissful enough…

She closed her fist around him. 

“Fuck…” a pathetic whine threatened to rip out of his throat, so he busied his mouth on the open stretch of her neck. Dousing himself in the taste of her skin. The smell of her hair. The clench of her cunt.

The grip on his cock.

Thumb rubbing on the tip—smearing precum along his length as she stroked up and down, up and down…

“Bruce...” God, he loved her saying his name like this. “Bruce, I’m close.”

His heart nearly leapt out of his chest, and with that, he pulled away. Her eyelids fluttered heavily, but she kept her eyes locked on his. Self-bitten lips parted as she told him, “Don’t stop. Touch my clit.”

It’s messy and clumsy, the way the heel of his hand pressed down on her sensitive nub with every thrust, and he couldn’t maintain the pace to save his life. But she’s practically riding his hand, canting her hips forward, her own hand faltering from his length. And he needed a release oh so bad, but he was much too enraptured in watching her come. Her hips stuttered with every touch, and her lips pouted as she murmured yes, yes, yes until it fell open with a trembling sigh.

He wanted it seared onto his memory forever.

She hovered in like she was going in for a kiss, but Bruce turned a little bit, planting his lips on her jaw instead. Soft pecks towards her thrumming pulse point. It was nice, but aggravating all the same.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” She found his cock again, stroking him nice and slow. 

“I promised you it won’t happen again.”

He could see how hazy her mind was as she tried to rake around when he’d said that. After the party in the woods. Confusion turned to realization turned to amusement. “I think we’re way past that.”

And he knew that. She came on his hand, goddammit, and he was well on his way to do the same on hers. But somehow, he couldn’t seem to move past that—and he didn’t know why.

But her grip tightened just a little bit, and he was so close. “Besides… is that really what you want?”

He shook his head.

“Good.” she wrapped her legs around his hips, stroking him from tip to base. “I never wanted that, either.”

And just like that, he gravitated towards her lips until they collided. This is what he needed.

Cursed be his brain, because his memory could never recall her kiss being so… good. It was so much like the last time, and yet nothing like it? Her lips were soft, he remembered that, but the way she kissed him was different. Dirtier. Like she wanted to consume him, and God, he was ready to give her all that. Anything at all, he swore, fuck, Eden, so close—

“Come for me, Bruce,” she murmured into his mouth, tugging his lower lip between her teeth.

He had no chance against her.

“Fuck,” as he lurched into her hand, spilling out his pent-up release for her. “Fuck…” he panted out, catching his breath, basking in the pleasure of giving everything for her. For Eden. Eden, in all her glory of kiss-worn lips and heaving chest and— 

“Fuck!”

Little drops of white on her black corset.

“Bruce.”

“No, no, no, no…” all sobered up, Bruce immediately tried to wipe it off. It went, but not without a faint stain on the fabric. He’s in a lot of trouble.

“Bruce, it’s fine—”

“No, it’s not. Fuck…” he muttered under his breath, like a whirlwind as he pulled his pants back up, scrambling for tissues, returning to the dress—barely registering that Eden stayed unmoved in her place.

Perched on top of the dressing table. Watching him fuss.

Dazed and docile.

“Eden, we can’t do this. We can’t—” he was so weak for her. She smoothed out his stubbornly sticking-out hair so tenderly, and he nearly lost his train of thought. “We gotta keep our shit together for this. You said so yourself, right?”

Her face dropped just a little bit, but she nodded anyway. “Right.”

He tried to move on. The stain was going bit by bit, and his head cleared enough to remember grabbing a Tide pen later on. But he couldn’t shake off the subtle switch in her expression. That hint of… disappointment when he told her no.

Because neither of them wanted to stop.

“Closing night,” Bruce decided.

“What?”

“We’ll pick this up after closing night. Okay?”

She blinked at him in surprise. In question. In curiosity.

“You need to focus, and I need to do my job,” he reminded her, unable to fight back the amused smile that came with her uncharacteristic lack of witty remark. It’s kind of… cute.

“Okay, deal.” Eden offered her hand. “Closing night.”

He stared at her hand for a moment—the hand that was just on his dick, for fuck’s sake—before gingerly accepting the handshake. With the hand she came all over.

The irony didn’t seem to be lost on them as they started giggling. An honest-to-God, straight-from-the-core giggling that led him to lean in, kissing her one last time. Sure and easy as day, relishing the warmth of her lips as the two of them made the most of it.

Until closing night.

[fatehbaz]

Insects in the sky. A “green wave.” Fig wasps building entire tree groves. Hummingbird hawkmoths keeping endangered violet flowers alive. Migratory creatures and the prosperity of a “salmon year.” Creatures do “not need to be big to be consequential,” do not need to be warm-blooded “to register in the very heartwood of a forest.”

---

On the natural exodus and ingress of insects, science was, for much of history, limited to guesswork. Invertebrates have proved hard to track for all the obvious reasons - tininess, diffusion, difficulty telling kindred species apart - and, too, because many insects shapeshift across their lifecycle. Especially elusive have been “noctivagant” or night-wandering insects, those that take advantage of a drop in thermal currents after sunset to wend their way by cover of darkness. Even in very large numbers, nocturnal insects can pass by unnoticed. One morning the bugs are just here: they’re everywhere. An old magic is frisking the shrubbery. No wonder the thinkers of antiquity held that many insects were inert matter sparked to life. [...]

The fact of insect migration - not to mention the basic biology of metamorphosis - has since been well substantiated, but though researchers have known for over a century that insects undertake seasonal, long-distance travel, the misguided belief that such movement is entirely passive and dictated by the winds persisted into the 1980s. Some insects clearly are at the mercy of the weather [...]. But [...] it has become clear that several winged insects - including bogongs - sense, and selectively choose, which air currents to ride, some forming massive, multispecies “bioflows” at high altitude. [...] What [entomologists have] seen up there is, frankly, astounding. The spectacle of animal migration may be typified by the grandeur of herds sweeping over the Serengeti, but most terrestrial migrants are insects -- by number of individuals and, perhaps more surprisingly, by mass. One study showed that each year in south-central Britain two to five trillion high-flying insects migrate over an area roughly the size of Georgia. Together, those insects have an estimated biomass greater than that of the nation’s migratory songbirds. Indeed, the volume of insects up in the air is so tremendous that researchers have suggested thinking of them as “the plankton of the sky”: a constant particulate, bobbing overhead.

At the same time our [knowledge of aerial insects] [...] has been upgraded, so too has our understanding of the impact of insect migration down on the ground. Large, traveling vertebrates, including elephants, caribou, and wildebeest, have long been known to link up ecosystems, transporting energy and nutrients [...]. Upstream salmon rushes in British Columbia have been shown to pump nitrogen into surrounding forests, where fish carcasses fertilize fir, spruce, and cedar (so much so that tree rings record rapid growth in a banner salmon year). An animal does not need to be big to be consequential; it does not need to be warm-blooded, or a grazer, to register in the very heartwood of a forest.

The passing of mammalian herds and fish runs can score a landscape visibly by magnetizing carnivores to an area, leaving torn-up vegetation behind, or creating a “green wave” where animal activities encourage plant growth. But though the movements of insects are often more covert, over generations their transit can shape an ecosystem in equally durable ways. Very small beings have system-wide effects. 

Because many winged insects are pollinators, they create gene flows between plants they alight on along the route of their journey. In Spain, for instance, endangered violets surviving in geographically distant islands of habitat are genetically enchained together by the migration of hummingbird hawkmoths. Each hawkmoth threads flower to flower.

Trees along a 250-kilometer stretch of the Ugab River, in Namibia, have genetic linkages that flow with the easterly movement of fig wasps.

Billions of pollen grains are shifted southward each year by high-flying hoverflies in the UK, some lifted over the English Channel to the landing-pads of flowers in Europe -- a targeted haulage the wind alone could never achieve.

---

Text by: Rebecca Giggs. “Noiseless Messengers.” Emergence Magazine. 27 June 2022. [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Italicized first paragraph/heading added by me.]

[sopxhiea]

Palpable

Farrier X Reader

Summary: Farrier meets a young woman who works as a spy during the war and it so happens that this young woman’s next mission means she’ll be around for a while.

“Sorry… I wasn’t born with a filter.” 

The sky seems to be too clear for a day of war. The base is full, new soldiers come and go as they’re instructed to do while the ones that have been here for a while just watch. The air force base is a big metal box with high walls that house the destruction machines.

But that’s not how Farrier would describe them.

He sees them as his wings, maybe he was given a pair before he was born but they’d morphed into longer limbs. He knows he’s meant to be flying, whether it’s for his country or not. The war adds danger and thrill to the mix, two things that don’t necessarily go together.

He watches as the newbies walk into the space, they’re mostly young lads with their heads held up high. He knows they’ll come out of this as men, men who are emotionally drained and will never return to their old selves again. It’s a new week, he concludes and walks back to his wing on the base.

His stare drops on Collins first and the scotsman gives him a nod of his head. There’s a line of men waiting to be briefed about their next mission, even though there’s not much to be said. They need to keep the sky clear of any enemies and that’s mostly it. He stands next to Collins and they start making small talk.

That is, until the General walks in.

He’s wearing the dark green uniform, stars embedded across his wide shoulders as he takes a look at the line of men. They become less with every passing day. There’s a bunch of papers on his hand that are soon to be thrown out and a lieutenant follows his footsteps.

And there’s you.

It’s no wonder why you stand out, given you are in a base filled with men and men only. You’re wearing a black suit, similar to what Collins is wearing but it’s baggier and less formal. There’s no indication of a rank on your shoulders but a maroon beret and compartments filled with small guns for all he can see.

And you’re beautiful, too.

He thinks it’s not something that they pay attention to when choosing officers of any sort but the only women he’s seen around are nurses and they certainly do not look as gentle to the eye as you do. There’s a boyish hint to your walk as you eye each and every men on the line, they seem interested.

The briefing starts, it’s short and completely unnecessary. The air force is not the most liked part of the army but you know they do their job, more so than some other parts of the military as far as you’ve seen. You listen to the General as he talks about certain areas the pilots are required to stay away from and then he finishes his words. 

The wing commanders then separate into another room, it’s a different briefing about the movements of the Germans and Farrier follows the General as he walks into the small room. There are four commanders, the general and you in the room and everyone is waiting for the General to address the elephant in the room, that being you.

The general then proceeds to clear his throat and look at you before facing the commanders and speaks.

“This is Ms. Y/L/N from the Secret Intelligence Service. She’ll be here to carry out a couple missions for the crown.” he finishes his sentence and the commanders all nod except Farrier, he’s looking at your gentle orbs instead, the ones that are directed right at him.

Your gaze does not shy away from his or any other commander’s unlike all the nurses or the women they have met through the course of the war. You hold a weight within yourself, something he’d seen in soldiers who’d been bombed and almost died but he just goes along with the General’s orders.

You’re young, he thinks. Young enough that he feels uneasy but not enough to make him speak up.

He then walks back to where his precious Spitfire rests next to Collins. Collins starts making talk about how he’d seen a couple of new soldiers fuss about Farrier’s plane but Farrier is not as present as he sits on the familiar seat of the pilot and gets ready.

A long day waits for him.

--------

The sound of bullets through the air and a plane engine crashing into the water hits his ears as he walks around the base. It’s far past midnight but the base is even more alive. He sees a couple guys he recognizes, some of them from the morning briefing and some are just familiar lads.

He waits for the engine fuel while there’s a clear rush around. It’s not the kind of rush he’s seen a lot in the air force base but more of the kind he’d come across on the ground. He then sees a couple soldiers being carried into the base, wounded badly with nurses overcrowding around their heads.

His gaze falls on you.

You look like you’re walking out of hell with cuts and bruises all over your face and upper body. He sees the blood covered bandage on your left arm and no matter how injured you look, you walk towards the general with full ambition. You look furious.

Your mouth moves, hair falling on to your forehead as you talk to the general and he nods at your words, telling you to meet him upstairs in his room. It’s not much of a room, Farrier thinks but they make do.

The general walks past Farrier and tells him to do just the same, wait for him in his office. Your eyes briefly meet his blue orbs but before he has a chance to say something, a nurse comes to your rescue and drags you around the place only to sit you down and take care of some of the wounds around your face.

The truth is, there are many soldiers that need the nurse’s help. Farrier finds it obscure that this nurse is taking extra measures to make sure your face is more put together when there’s men losing limbs around the place. 

But then he puts it together.

He’s heard things about the secret intelligence spies. He’s heard of a few women but he know they do business with their faces first. He can tell you’re trained to kill but your face says something else, which is just what you need when you’re trying to get into places no soldier can possibly have access to.

He walks upstairs into the crumbling room where the General waits. There’s another lieutenant in the room and you come in with blood and cuts around your face not too long after. Farrier takes a good look at your face, he thinks you manage to look beautiful even with countless glass cuts all over your face but he stops when he finds you staring right back at him.

“Y/N.” the General speaks and you both straighten at his voice.

You nod and speak, it’s the first time Farrier’s heard your voice. “Yes, sir.” you say, a gulp follows the stern voice. He thinks you sound just like how you look, confident but young.

“This is Wing Commander Farrier..” the General speaks and you look at Farrier for a brief moment with the shake of your head, as a way of saying ‘hello’. “...His crew will be the ones assisting you on your next mission.” he finishes the sentence and you nod. You recall the place you need to go for the next mission assigned to you, you catch Farrier nod from the corner of your eye and the General leaves the room along with the lieutenant. 

When the room is fully empty, you turn to Farrier and offer your hand with a soft voice. “Y/N.” you speak, you know he knows your name but there’s always time for proper introduction.

His large hand envelops yours as he shakes it, your soft skin feels new as he speaks. “Farrier.”

Just as you’re about to speak up, Collins walks into the room.

“Hey-” he says but before he can continue, he looks at you from head to toe. Farrier sees no reason to waste any time and speaks up.

“This is agent Y/N.” he says, looking at you and you only while you offer your hand to the scotsman who’s currently inspecting your face. You don’t blame him. You’d had a perfectly clean face in the morning and now, you have blood all over your face.

“Pleasure to meet ya’.” Collins speaks and you nod, he’s dressed sharply compared to Farrier and you note the attitude change.

“It’s been nice meeting you gentlemen but I have a mission to get to.” you speak with a low smile, a childish hint to your voice that makes Farrier want to rescue from what you’re about to do but he watches you walk away and so does Collins.

Just as Collins is about to speak, your soft voice as a shout comes from the corridors of the space, making both of them look out of the door while your back is turned at them for a momentary second. 

“Good luck out there!”

-------

It’s a day later. There’s smoke in the base from the malfunctioning machines accompanied by the silent screams of the lucky soldiers who have been rescued from around the place. There are a couple nurses away from the tent they’re assigned to, running around with hopes to help some of the new comer soldiers covered in wounds.

And there you are, cleaning your fresh wound on your own. 

It’s on your right shoulder, you can see it when you lean down but not too clear. Your irises burn from the smoke around but you know there’s no escaping it. You ignore the oozing pain from your ankles and try to clean the wound to the best of your ability.

Then, he shows up. 

The exhaustion is clear on his face, the day was spent chasing enemy up on the sky but he can’t help but walk towards your figure. You sit on the floor with some bandages around you as you rub alcohol into the wound. You’re actually doing a good job but he figures a hand wouldn’t hurt.

Your eyes meet his when he sits on the ground next to you. You’re about to say something but he takes the cotton from your hand and does what you were doing just a little earlier, just gentler as you watch.

You gulp and speak, he can see the fancy dress you’re wearing but he doesn’t ask questions. Figures it isn’t his place. “Thank you.” you say, eyes far away while he looks at your face, it’s healing up.

You’d gone to a noblemen’s party today, you were assigned to gather information on one of the trusted funders of the war. He was French but the intelligence had enough dirt on him to assume that he was helping the other side, the side that was currently destroying the country from its heart.

Everything was all going well until a drunk rich lord had decided to load his gun and play a little game on his own. You’d stopped the gunfire but it had cost a bullet on your shoulder and cuts from the shattering glass around. It was silly, just how luxurious these lords and madams lived while the poor and unfortunate suffered.

“Your assigned mission is tomorrow?” he spoke, the mission he was meant to watch for was tomorrow and he wanted there to be as little damage as possible. You got up after he finished with patching you up and you both started walking towards the briefing area.

“Yes, although It will be shorter than what you’ve been told.” you spoke and started walking down the stairs and he followed with brows furrowed.

“How much shorter?” he spoke, accent filling each word as you licked your lips before answering him. You had report today’s work to your superior and he was just following you.

“About an hour. It’s an easy job, in and out. It won’t take me longer than that.” you spoke while his boots thudded against the surface of the floor.

He sped up his steps to catch up with you, he was trying to get your attention but you were completely ignorant to the idea. It was war time and you were focused, you had to be.

“What’s the job entail?” he asked, although he already knew the answer.

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you that.” you said, finding it silly that he would even ask an agent to expose any information but he was just trying to get you to talk. And you did. “The general will inform you on your side of the job.” you spoke, eyes looking up at his and you ignored the fact that he had been staring for a while now. You kept on walking and he followed you.

“Now, Commander, If you’re done asking me about classified missions, I have to report back to the base.” you spoke, voice confident while offered Farrier a smile. He didn’t mind your professionalism, he knew this wasn’t a place of love.

He nodded and murmured a small ‘yes, ma’am’ before you disappeared. Your walls were made of steel, he wouldn’t be able to melt them no matter how hard you tried and you figured, he already had someone as most soldiers did. If they didn’t, they’d take it up on themselves to find a lover around their base.

He was just curious about the mission, you told yourself.

------

Twenty hours, five bullets, two airplanes and three explosions later, you were seated between Collins and Farrier.

The mission was complete, the Queen’s man had been protected and you had enough information about the new individuals to act on them. It also happened that you were covered in your own blood since there had been a surprise attack to the mansion you were in.

The look of surprise in both Collins’ and Farrier’s face was a picture when they saw you. You looked like a dead bride of some sort, every inch if your face and upper body were covered in blood, some your own and some of the other guests’.

You were currently waiting for the general to come out and give you the new details. The pilots were there, waiting to get fuel in their death machines next to you. You got a pack of cigars out, ones you’d gotten from a French aristocrat. You didn’t regularly smoke them, only when you’d been face to face with death.

“Those kill ye’, ya’ know.” Collins spoke, watching you light the cigar and you inhaled once before looking at him.

They weren’t covered in blood like you, they looked just fine but there was a hint of horror in both their eyes.

“I’ll die soon if it goes like this anyway.” you let the smoke go as Farrier watched you with intent eyes. There was no point in lying, the missions had been extra challenging and you’d been shot too many times to be able to function properly.

You realised what you’d just said to two soldiers who faced death everyday. They saw men die all the time, it wasn’t pleasant or wanted but seeing you, a young woman who’s supposedly in the prime stage of her life saying that she’ll die soon had felt like a bullet in their hearts.

“Sorry… I wasn’t born with a filter.”  you said, earning a chuckle from Farrier. You offered them the cigar, licking your lips and speaking as you’d not just said that you would be dead soon.

“You’ll think you’ll make it?” Collins spoke, looking directly at you as you sat next to him on the metal surface.

Farrier’s eyes locked with yours the moment Collins’ words left his mouth. He was not keen on living afterwards, he’d seen his fair share of the world but it was clear that you hadn’t.

“Probably not.” you said, taking another puff from the cigar as they waited you to speak further. “..most of the agents who work for the crown die in their first six months of the missions.”

“How long have you been working then?” Farrier spoke, you gulped before answering him. You weren’t the typical agent.

Most of them were men who were in their mid twenties. It became easer to identify them and targeting them became no hassle for the germans which was why they had secretly started hiring women, young women in particular, to work as spies since they seemed to be more versatile.

“About nine months.” you said, chuckling when Collins murmured a small ‘cheers’.

But what you were saying was different and Farrier was the only one caught up with it. You were a walking corpse. You’d done and knew too much to even survive if you went back home. You had too much information, your young age didn’t matter to the crown. Only your service did and you’d done your fair share of the spy work.

Collins then left, something to with the engine of his machine. You watched as he walked away, probably leaving the base soon to do his job. You were left with Farrier on your side then, the cigar was long gone.

“Are you always that close to death?” Farrier asked, genuinely curious after seeing you work today. You’d went in with a fancy party dress and came out with three bullet wounds and blood all over you. “Like today, I mean.” he kept speaking but you knew what he was saying. There was something calm about him that made you want to take it easy but this was war, not a calm tuesday afternoon in a the peaceful world.

“Mostly.” you gulped and kept on speaking. “They have a line of agents who do inside jobs like me. I deal with the risky side of the business.” you spoke, like it was just regular business and not dangerous criminal work.

“What about the others?” he spoke, curious as to how this all works. He’d heard things but this was the first time he even had the chance to speak with an agent of the crown face to face, let alone a young woman like you.

You eyed him first, he was being nosy. If it was anyone else, you would’ve just told them to mind their business, the information was confidential. But something about Farrier made you lower your guard for some reason. You looked around before speaking.

“They deal with the common people. Officers and workers. They gather information on things like...” you waved your fingers through the air and made a confused face before speaking. “..hideaways and all that.”

He looked at you then, you were far too young for this but he of all people knew that war knew no age. If it was a different time, he was sure he’d find you with rosy cheeks, under a blossoming tree but now, you were covered in blood in a dress the military had provided you.

“I assume you deal with the posh ones then.” he spoke, just trying to make conversation. He knew there was no way he could get personal so he kept the topic on work.

You nodded before speaking again, eyes not meeting his most of the time. “Noblemen, aristocrats, madams and sometimes even presidents.” you said, lifting your eyebrows at the last words as his expression changed from interested to shocked. You dealt with people who caused this war in the first place.

“You ever get scared? Cold feet?” he asked, earning a genuine grin from you. He was cracking up to be something.

“Always.” you spoke, it was the full truth. You didn’t go into a room full of aristocrats and their beloved butlers without sweat on your hands.

He looked at you then, scanning you from head to toe to see any kind of fear of doubt. You smiled at the soldier next to you, a genuine curve of your lips greeted his blue orbs but it felt like a bullet had gone through his head. Your earnest smile was the first thing that had managed to make him feel at ease since he’d gone into this mess.

What was he doing?

He nodded at your words, long after they stopped hanging around the cool air around you as you looked at him. Really looked at him for the first time. He seemed rough around the edges, not like his colleague Collins who was dressed sharply and knew every sign in the book. 

He then asked the biggest question he had, the one that appeared the moment he saw you.

“Aren’t you a little too young to be carrying out missions for the crown?” he said in one full breath. His voice wasn’t as confident.

“I am.” you gulped and spoke again. “That doesn’t really matter. They just want someone who can attract attention and do the job at the same time.” you said, liking the way his orbs change when you spoke.

“And that’s you.” he said, as a matter of fact.

“Surprised?” you asked, finding comfort in talking to this stranger you just met a couple days ago.

“Nah.” he shook his head at his own words. “If anything, I think you’re quite perfect for that sort of job.” he said, watching your curious eyes as he spoke. You laughed at first, it was genuine and he swore it was like birds singing or that time he’d heard a beautiful melody inside a church.

“Well, Commander, I need to leave but it’s been a pleasure.” you spoke, eyes formal and stern again. It was like you had a switch.

“Will I see you?” he said in a heartbeat. He didn’t think twice before saying the words, hence why he was cursing at himself while you gave him a sweet smirk.

“I’m sure you will.”

And you were off.

--------

Tagging: @clairecrive  @parkbearum @sourirez  @vetseras @mollybegger-blog @jelan-bike

a/n: Let me know what you thought of the chapter/if you want to be tagged!! <3 And so sorry this took so long but i hope you enjoyed it.