#fear da fro

[gorbalsvampire]

Superpower

"... so that's the long an' the short of it. All sins forgiven, all debts cancelled, if you just get out there an' make some fuckin' noise this weekend. I want the polis scraped out like your nan's been extra tight wi' the jam this Sunday. Any questions?"

The place falls very quiet. It's long and low and undergound; nestled into an arch of the railway, good old fashioned bricks and mortar, wood and brass, proper pint pots under the bar for the lads who've been coming in here since their grandas were still alive. And tonight, every granda who's still alive is in here, and they've brought their sons, and their sons' sons, because this is unheard of.

He's alive. And he's back. And he's calling us all in.

Either side of the entrance, Frankie and Sorcha are perched on tables. Frankie swings her legs to and fro, buckled boots clacking together arrhythmically; Sorcha watches her da with her head cocked and her eyes wide. Either side of the kitchen door, Finlay and Cali: dark herringbone and Harris tweed, tie and cravat, both flat-capped, armed and dangerous in an expensive kind of way.

Alistair's glare sweeps up and down the bar and the booths. Hawkish. Poised. There's always one. One wanker who -

"Fuck are we doin' cuttin' about after this, what, this fuckin' retired Batman villain? Fuckin' look at 'em!"

There's always one.

It's true; two goth girls, a hipster, a legitimate businessman, and a pensioner in his hornrims and creepers. They aren't exactly your modern road men, are they? No snapbacks and Adidas, no gym bags and vapes.

Alistair sighs, pushes his glasses up his beaky nose, and waves his hand, shoo-shoo, then turns it, beckoning with all four fingers. The ned who'd spoken slides off his stool and swaggers up. Class clown. Thinks six figures in coke makes him a hard case.

What does he know? He is only human. Bolt him down.

"That's verrah funny," he says. "Funny bastard. Would you like to see my superpower?"

"Aye. C'mon. Let's have it." The idiot turns to the room, egging his mates on, trying to whip something up. The younger crowd, they're into it. The older ones, the old men with two generations in with them tonight? They're not laughing. They know what's coming. They remember.

Alistair leans in closer as the younger man turns back to face him, and murmurs. If only he'd been looking - he might have seen Alistair's jaw shift, his eyes darken, the shadows falling as the Beast stirs. It's been a hell of a week; fire, and bullets, and burning bright light, and death in the family, and his baby girl weeping into the holes as she pulls bullets out of him, and he has had enough.

"I know exactly how you're going to die. And when. And where."

"Oh, ah! I bet you do. I bet you're gonna say it's right fuckin' here right fuckin' now, ah?"

Puff, puff, puff. Strutting with his chest up like a baby bird. Alistair grins. Let him see the edge of the Bite. Let him see what happens when he jumps up out of the nest and makes a fucking scene of himself.

Alistair huffs. Chuckles, humourlessly. "Don't be daft. You don't die in here."

This close, Alistair sees the shock blooming across the younger man's face, when he realises what's just happened, when he feels four inches of Gallowglass steel punch into his gut, clean and cold and - and Alistair twists the knife, and the shock on his face turns to something wide and raw.

Alistair can smell it, feel it. Thick, hot, heady, running down the blade and over his cold hand. He can smell fear, and pain, and regret, and life, cowering and apologetic life. Everything you don't get from a roll of tanners and a dozen plastic bags. He's got better things to do than this, most nights, and he makes do, but - this is living. Or not. Really, it's dying. That's the point.

The hawk can see you, baby bird. One look into those eyes, and you will freeze. You'll forget you ever learned to fly, what flying even is. You're looking at death, and you didn't even know it was real until just this minute.

Alistair's hand squeezes his collarbone - not unfriendly, not even really hurting all that much.

"You die in the kitchen," he murmurs, and then it's a bark, hoarse and ripping out of him, because there's blood running down the inside of his sleeve and it's getting very hard to ignore. "Finlay! Cali! Take this dopey cunt in the back. I'm havin' him for my fuckin' breakfast. The rest of you, get out my sight and get tae work!"

Two young men in suits drag a young man in a tracksuit away. An old man, and two beautiful women in black, follow him out. They are the only people moving in their direction. Everyone else is, at last, doing what they're told.

This is progress. Good honest progress. Not a lie in it. And that young twat with the mouth that runs faster than his brains? He dies exactly where, and when, and how Alistair saw it. On his back, thrashing on a steel worktop, with three sets of fangs in him.

Hell of a week.

[ra33ii]

I'm going to answer dis while im small!!

Nooo, usually im a big boy!

yeah. He's so cool and sweet and helpful.

It shifts fro 2-5!

No pacis, but dats okay! I don't like them dat much, I prefer stuffies.

I don't like movies.. der 2 long! I like Phineas and ferb + SVTFOE

I like gummies and spicy dings!

(It's Mary, our big bunny! Shhh)

Go kitty Go, rainbow connection, and love like you

...hmm. I think Ra.m is my fren when tiny

Nophin' I don't have insta :o

When little for accident, like to cuddle.

Hnmmm. DRAW!

Stuffies

Priss or prince!

Thirteen years? Sometime.

Always known! Was little for years in system headspace, adult body but very little. Adult now, but still small sometime.

It mean I get to feel safe and tiny. I get to be small when I wasn't allowed to be when I was a physical tini one. I get to have someone who luvz me in both my forms and protects me da best he can. I get to have da support for re-parenting myself and help heal with my system. I get to explore my trauma in the eyes of a child and see it in object form rather dan through the filter of exuses, denile, and tears i put it thru. It freedom to draw my emotions, draw my (bad) experiences in "glorified" ways, accept & cope with them, and let dem go.

Snake! Mudesa! Demon! Dog!

Markiplier plays fnaf! And oder horror games!

To my system... online is stll really hard bc. Fear of being seen az weak and easily advantaged :(

No! Have a lot of anthropophobia and pistanthrophobia :<

Juice! Apple juice alots!

Sippy cups

No ... :(

Kittens!!

Strawberry!

A lot. Probably over 30!! Dey make me happiness!

(Neg) Powerlessness, being talked down to, treated dumb, certain faces. (Pos) Strawberry milk, sleepiness, lullabies, kids show, and safety.

Hehe :3c I don it in 30 MINUTES!

[rk-ocs]

Yugioh abridged ebonics ep 4

---

Yugioh abridged ebonics translated episode 4

Yo Yu-Gi-awww!: Rex an' Weevil in: Huh-huh, you said "nigga-Eater" Bug!

On da boat

JOEY: Wow, an entire island all ta ourselves! It's sorta like dat book, Lord o' da Flies. Only wif uh lot less subtext, an' uh lot mo' card games!

TRISTAN: Wasn't dat da movie wif da evil ring an' da hobbits?

TÉA: Why would any o' those things be on dis here island, you idiot?

uh screen appears wif Bakura an' an arrow pointing ta his evil ring, an' an arrow pointing ta Yugi labeling him as uh hobbit

dey leave da boat fo' da island

TRISTAN (thinkin`): ah sho hope nahh one notices we's be trespassing!

GOON: werd up, you!

TRISTAN (thinkin`): da irony!

GOON: Quit drawing attention ta yo'self, you barely qualify as uh sidekick.

JOEY: Ahh-choo!

YUGI: You wouldn't gots caught dat cold if it hadn't been fo' Weevil.

JOEY: Actually, ah wouldn't gots caught it if you hadn't been uh naïve moron an' handed him yo' most powerful cards!

YUGI: nahh, it wuz definitely Weevil. He threw muh motha fuckin grandfather's cards into da ocean, an' ah'll never be able ta forgive him.

TRISTAN: It's sort o' like da tyme Joey threw away uh piece o' yo' Millennium Puzzle!

JOEY: Yeah, except ya forgave me fo' dat. Right Yug?

YUGI: (wif uh very angry glimpse in his peeps) sho Joey, sho.

Flashback o' Joey throwing away uh piece o' da Millennium Puzzle, while Ironside theme by Quincy Jones iz played

KEMO: Attention Duelists! If you can all stop staring at muh motha fuckin fro fo' uh moment, you'll see dat Pegasus's castle iz just behind me. Please follow da unnecessarily long staircase ta meet yo' host.

TÉA: muh motha fuckin limey senses is tingling! (sees Bakura down in da forest)

YUGI: What iz it, Téa?

TÉA: ah thought ah seen Bakura ag'in!

JOEY: Maybe we's should go check. He iz our nigga, afta all.

YUGI: an' let him cut into muh motha fuckin precious screentime? nahh way! Besides, it's not like he's uh main character or anythin`.

On top o' da castle

DUELIST 1: werd up, check out all da obligatory cameos. Weevil Underwood, Rex Raptor, Mako Tsunami...

DUELIST 2: But where's da reigning champion, Seto Kaiba?

DUELIST 1: Didn't you hear? He wuz barred from da tournament cuz his name wasn't mad stupid enough.

PEGASUS: Welcome ta da Duelist Kingdom. Let me assure you dat dis here tournament iz 100% genuine an' iz not in any way an elaborate ruse thrown together at da last minute so dat ah can git muh motha fuckin hands on an Ancient Egyptian artifact. ta advance ta da finals, an' da chance at three million bones, you mus' each win ten star chips by betting dem on card games. Remember kids, gambling iz pimp-tight fo' you!

Field

JOEY: Now dat muh motha fuckin cold iz instantly cleared up, ah can't wait ta win dis here tournament an' git da prize money!

YUGI: So you can pay fo' da operation, right?

JOEY: What operation?

YUGI: da one yo' sister's getting.

JOEY: What sister?

TÉA: werd up, it's Weevil!

YUGI: Weevil! ah challenge you ta uh--

Weevil runs away

JOEY: Wait uh minute, he's running away!

YUGI: It's almost as if he don' wants ta play uh card game wif me.

WEEVIL: Actually, dumbass, ah wuz just leading you into dis here vague trap or somethin`. Heh-heh-heh.

YUGI: Super Special phat Ultra Special phat Transformation Sequence GO! (Transforms into Yami)

YAMI: ah'm back, baby!

WEEVIL: Heh, two can play at dat game, dillhole. Heh-heh-heh-heh-heh.

YAMI: Sweet motha o' Osiris, he's transforming too! But who, or what iz he becoming?

WEEVIL: ah be Cornholio! ah need T.P. fo' muh motha fuckin bunghole! Heh-heh-heh.

YAMI: It's tyme ta duel, you strange silly nigga.

WEEVIL: is you threatening me? ah summon muh motha fuckin Generic Insect. Heh-heh.

TÉA: Wow, peep at all da phallic imagery.

(Yami plays Horn o' da Unicorn on his Feral Imp.)

JOEY: What is you jivin' about, Téa? dere ain't anythin` remotely suspect 'boutdis here duel.

YAMI: Now, quiver in fear, as muh motha fuckin Knight's mighty lance penetrates yo' moist cocoon.

TÉA: Huh. ah guess you right.

Mai arrives

TRISTAN: werd up peep! titties gots arrived!

MAI: You pimpz is wasting yo' tyme. Yugi don' stand uh chance! He's not nearly experienced enough.

TÉA: Compared ta friendship an' compassion, experience iz meaningless!

MAI: Keep telling yo'self dat, hun. What is you, uh virgin or somethin`?

TÉA: beotch, ah'LL SCRATCH yo' peeps OUT!

JOEY: Could you pimpz stop jivin' 'boutsex? ah'm trying ta ogle Mai's cleavage here.

YAMI: ah activate Deus Ex Machina!

WEEVIL: werd up, heh-heh, nahh fair, heh-heh, you can't use Spell Cards during muh motha fuckin turn!

YAMI: Tell it ta da writing staff. Summoned Skull! Destroy his cheap Mothra imitation!

TRISTAN an' JOEY: Yay! we's wuz totally ineffectual!

WEEVIL: ah lost! Heh-heh... an' sheeit. Heh-heh.

YAMI: Maybe next tyme, you'll think twice 'bfoe forcing someone ta part wif they valuables. Now hand ova yo' star chips an' kiss muh motha fuckin feet!

WEEVIL: Damnit! Heh-heh... dis here card game sucks. Heh-heh-heh.

YAMI: Settle down, buttmunch.

End. da theme rap from Ironside plays ag'in

werds n shit appears on screen: [new episodes every week]

Stinger:

ODION (as Samuel L. Jackson): dat's it! ah gots had it wif deez motherf*cking snakes on dis here motherf*cking plane! , wOrd!

[kettouryuujin]

In Which Pieces Come Together

[Inspired by @monsoon-of-art's Pokerus AU]

The trip back to Jubilife Village had been...interesting. Namely, for the distinct silence from Lord Braivary and Warden Sabi. Akari looked back, finding the pair’s shared glances cute - although the shared smirks were somewhat worrying. But as they got back to town and gone to bed, the Dewott brushed it off. Surely it wasn’t THAT big a worry, was it?

She was regretting those thoughts now that she was running through town like a mad’mon, Warden chasing her with strange half-and-half orbs. Those things had sucked Akari in once, but she’d gotten free. It wasn’t gonna happen again if she could help it!

“OOOH YOU AIN’T GETTING AWAY THIS TIME MISS SHINY DEWOTT!!” Oh, and apparently they’d dyed her leg fur light purple. For...some reason.

Of course, her thoughts were curtailed when a gust of wind kicked up, Lord Braivary descending. A few townsfolk knelt or bowed, while the sane ones - like Akari - noticed he had more of those suction spheres in his psychic grip. The wide grin on his face was all the young Explorer had to see before moving to dart down an alleyway. “Oh Akari~ We’ve got presents for you~” And of course the bird was in on this too. Of course. 

Well, regret not picking up the signals before. Keep dodging and weaving between telekinetically-lobbed balls for now. In and out, back and forth... y’know, this would be great training if she wasn’t terrified of getting Hoovered up (not that she’d tell anyo-)

*dink*

“...Distortion take me.” Not the most famous last words, but then again it was just getting sucked up and not, well, dead.

---

Rei (along with everyone in the Medical Corps) couldn’t help but burst out into laughter when Sabi returned to the Medical Corps tent, jumping into a pose with a Pokeball in hand. “Dewott Get!”

*da da da doo!* Odd sound for Lord Braivary to make, but really it just sent everyone into more hysterics. The ‘ball shook in response, which its wielder took as a cue to open it. 

Akari re-appeared in a beam of energy, stumbling and blinking. “Wooogh... That was...not fun...” She plopped her faux-Shiny rear on the floor, unable to really stand as she swayed to and fro.

Rei approached, chuckling. “So they caught you, eh? Guess they were bound to land a Pokeball on you sooner than later.” He snickered, not noticing the dawning horror on Akari’s face.

“...pokeball?”

It was so soft it came out like a whisper. Confused, the ‘chu looked Akari in the eye - and stepped back, seeing the look of pure horror on her face. 

“That...no. No no no no.” And she was panicking. What was wrong? “ There is no way that was a Pokeball. You guys wouldn’t lock me up like that, right? Right!?!” The sheer volume and fear in Akari’s exclamation made everyone step back. 

“L-lock up...?” Rei stammered out.

The Dewott shuddered and nodded. “Y-yeah... Momma said that the meanest ‘mon get locked up in ‘balls, lucky to see light a few minutes a day... UFF!” 

Without warning, the Water-Type was bowled over by a Fire-/Psychic-Type, Sabi hugging Akari within an inch of the latter’s life. “I’m sorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msorryI’msor...”

The stream of apologies kept flowing, the Dewott’s features turning from scared to befuddled as the Magby cried her heart out. “I-I hadn’t seen you being scared... just...just how to get you with the ‘ball...I’m sorry...”

The Dewott numbly patted the Magby on the back as Rei’s brain was able to get past the pile of emotions to Akari’s tale. He’d been intentionally ignoring his “partner’s”...quirks...ever since they’d met. But this whole debacle thrust them back into the spotlight - and he had questions to ask. Questions he really didn’t want to ask.

...he could wait until everyone had calmed down. Well and truly calmed down. No reason to rush, especially with Akari and Sabi’s current states.

-----

Several hours later, whilst eating at the Wallflower (along with a lot of other Galaxy Team members), Rei took his shot. “So...Akari.” 

“Hmm?” She turned to him, mouth full of potato mochi. Another thing for the “Akari wasn’t transformed” list... oh he wasn’t looking forwards to this.

Maybe he should start small. “You never did tell us where you came from.”

*chew* *chew* *GULP!* “Oh. Well, I came here from Lively Town, but I was born and raised in Serene Village.”

“Y-you actually came from a town?!”

“Yesss?” She tilted her head, eyes narrowing as Rei realized he’d said that out loud. Whoops!

Still, that was a point in the “was transformed” column. “Um, what was it like there?”

“Lively Town? Eh, not that different from most other places. Admittedly, I only went there to join on a Exploration Team.”

“...you’ve mentioned that a few times. What is an Exploration Team?”

“Oh! An Exploration Team is technically any Guild-recognized group of Pokemon that go delving in Mystery Dungeons.” And a point for “wasn’t transformed”. “I was...more a trainee, than anything. Didn’t have any official team to call my own... I was actually coming back from my first solo mission before I fell down on...what was it called? Prologue Beach?”

“Prelude Beach.”

“Ah, thanks.” As Akari moved to keep speaking, Rei opened his mouth to try and interject. Then he saw the glimmer in Akari’s eyes.

It was the same kind of glimmer some people had on Galaxy Team. The people who joined purely because it had been their dream to see new places. The ones who would ramble at length at their experiences.

...Rei shut his mouth. Far be it from him to interrupt a girl discussing her passion. “So there’s two types of Exploration Teams, divided mainly by what they do. Expedition Teams are the ones who go check and see if a new Mystery Dungeon has popped up, and delve into it to try and get as much information as they can, so the brainy types can go over it and all. The other type are Rescue Teams - they’re the ones who go in and rescue ‘mon who’ve wandered into a Dungeon and been trapped.” The grin on Akari’s face was the widest he’d seen (barring Mr. Emmet, but his smile seemed a bit...abnormal. This was pure, natural joy). “Kinda like what we’ve been doing.”

“I...yeah, it kinda is, isn’t it?” Rei took another bite of mochi, thinking. “And Survey Corps... it’s kinda like the Exploration Teams, I guess.”

“Wait, really?” Akari leaned in, stars in her eyes. 

The ‘chu leaned back at the sudden invasion of his personal space, thankful for Captain Cyllene coughing and drawing attention to her. “Rei is...probably correct. While I’m not exactly sure what an Exploration Team does and how it operates, the job of the Survey Corps is to go out into places unknown and gather information. Why, Galaxy Team itself was formed from people outside of Hisui who wanted to see if the land was fit for settling. Heh...I suppose as it is now, human settlement is quite impossible, what with the rift’s apparent need to convert people into Pokemon.”

“Huh...” The Water-type nodded, seeming to accept the explanation - before blinking. “...what’s a human look like, anyways?”

----

The Wallflower’s diners used Eruption! It was super-effective.

---

Questions flew as the Dewott was dragged into the swarm of curiosity and confusion. Rei, for his part, just sat there with his mouth open. Akari... didn’t know what a human looked like. That basically proved his theory - that she was originally a Pokemon. But...her home was a town? And apparently there were many more like it?

...maybe this wasn’t such a bad thing after all. If what she said was true, then that meant that Pokemon could either use the ruins of civilization that man had left, or maybe even make their own...

He’d have to ask about it later. The poor thing was being bombarded with a trillion questions right now, and he didn’t want to add to the pile.

Especially since it looked like she was on the verg-yup. She’d Fainted.

[who-ever-said-i-was-nice]

Hi! I like your writing so much 🥰🥰🥰. How incredible they are! So, I have a resquest about how Napoleon, Mozart, Leo, Comte,Vincent, Will ( sorry if it is too much) react to a MC who is taller than them 😂😂😂 ( like her height is 185cm) and how they fall in love with her. Thank you so much ☺️☺️☺️

Ah girl. I'm sorry for taking so damn long. I am buried under so much work, but now I have a few minutes to spare so I decided to finish this for you. I hope you enjoy and It was worth your wait. Love you and thanks again.! Here is the part 2!

Napoleon

    Napoleon was strolling around the mansion one evening. It had been a surprisingly good day. He want out with Isaac and taught the children, he sparred with Jean. It was fulfilling. He walked passed the Door, but when he got to the end of the corridor he heard something. He turned around and hurried back, only to find..nothing. He looked both ways and was ready to dismiss it, but then he heard a small sniffle come from behind an open door a little down the hall. He opened it to reveal a very beautiful girl. And she was so tall, which only added to her beauty.He, Napoleon, The nightmare of Europe, The emperor of France, felt like the wind had been knocked out of his lungs. He quickly recomposed himself and glanced back to the woman who looked about ready to cry. He closed the door and took her hand. "Why are you hiding behind a door? Everything's alright you don't need to hide. And - he paused a little - please don't cry nunuche. He smiled at the woman and extended a hand.She took it without much hesitation. "Can I have your name?" he questioned, looking slightly up to gaze into her E/C colored eyes. " Y/n" she responded rather timidly and Napoleon felt his heart flutter.                                                                                                                                           -------------------Time skip to two weeks in-----------------     

       Napoleon still felt an odd stirring feeling whenever Y/n was around. Fortunately he had now realized why. He had fallen in love with her. He wanted to tell her, he really did, but he couldn't figure out how. One cold winter night he plucked up the courage to tell you, which was a lot harder then he would have thought. He walked out into the garden looking for a very specific flower. Finally he found it. An Algerian Iris.

He picked it with careful hands and hurried to Y/n's room. He got there and swallowed hard before knocking on her door. Y/n opened it and stared down at the man. He cleared his throat. " Y/n, I know I haven't known you for too long, but I can't suppress these feeling anymore. Over the past month you have always been there for me. We laughed together, shared memories together and even made new ones. Your smile always lights up the world and no matter what happens I want you to remember, I love you." He smiled up at Y/n. Tears of happiness streamed down her face. He offered her the tiny flower. She held it with such gentleness, as if it could shatter at any moment. She then embraced her lover as she sobbed. Napoleon hugged her back, his face buried in her neck. He urged her to lean down a bit and he kissed her. She kissed back smiling into it.

Mozart

    Mozart sat alone in his room. A thousand thoughts swirling in his mind, as he tried so desperately to perfect his new masterpiece. His skilled hands glided over the keys gracefully. Suddenly he was pulled out of his thoughts by the loud noises coming from the dining room. He got up. Annoyed at all of the residents for ruining his concentration. He walks out of the room in a hurry.  When he makes it there, he turns the corner ready to throw an insult at them, however the words die in his throat as his eyes land on the tall figure standing in the middle of the room.  He's baffled at how tall that woman was. He quickly composed himself and walked over to her. The closer he got, the more he noticed about her. The way her eyes sparkled as she talked to the residents, how she would bring her hand up to her mouth when she laughed, the sway of her hair, the way she shifted her way fro one long leg to the other. But most importantly, he noticed her eyes dart around a little when looking down, as if she was afraid of something. Mozart, however could not put his finger on it. He was soon spotted by the infamous flirt, Arthur. " Mozart! Our loved composer. Come over here don't be shy." he flashed his boyish grin and Mozart made a small noise of irritation, but cam up to her. " Hello, I am Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, composer" He looked up to find her eyes shining with excitement. "Hello! I'm Y/n. It's a pleasure to meat you! I love your music and..." She just kept going, rambling about how amazing he and his music was. Mozart will never admit it, but it warmed his frozen heart. As he watched her talk all he could think about was: ' You innocent, little lamb. Where you the one I was missing? I didn't even know I was missing something till now. Someday, somehow I will make you mine'          

                   -------------------Time skip to two weeks in----------------- 

        Mozart was playing the piano, channeling all his anger into it. He missed a note and jumped up immediately. He was angry and sad, but worst of all he felt betrayed. He banged his fists against the wall as tears streamed down his face. He didn't want to cry. He fought with all his might. but the river just kept flowing. He could not have her, he could not. That was the truth. He heard a small knock on the door. He yelled an angry 'go away', but the door opened anyway. In stepped Y/n. When she spotted him, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion and worry. She hurried over to his side and placed a delicate hand on his back. Mozart tried to trow a sarcastic comment her way, or at least push her or get her away from him, but he was rooted to the spot, crying his eyes out in front of this sweet, little lamb. " Wolf? What happened? Why do you cry?" her voice was cracking with worry and fear. Mozart lifted his head from the wall, but did not meat her eye. Instead he starred at the ceiling and spoke in and unusually quite voice. " That man...downtown. He had his arm around you....I didn't know you had a lover." He finally looked at her, only to find an expression of shock on her face. " You mean the man that walked up behind me, put his arm around me and attempted to flirt, only to get punched by Jean?" Now it was his turn to be surprised. However he could tell she spoke the truth. Had he watched a little longer he would have seen it all happen, but he was consumed by his emotions and as his anger turned to a forte, he could not look anymore.      Everything slowed down. It was a peculiar feeling. It seem like all noise had been muffled and all the thing and events faded. She smiled. A soft, sweet smile. She reached up and gently whipped his tears. She found his jealousy a bit childish, but she knew that she loved him and she would have broken down too. She understood and so she could accept. Mozart's eyes softened as he gazed into her smiling eyes and basked in her tender touch. They both moved at the same time and met in the middle. It was a sweet and gentle kiss filled with love.

Leo

      Leonardo da Vinci. The renaissance mastermind.That is what people called him, or so he had been informed by Sebastian. He always thought long and hard about that. He had invented and created a lot of things, yes, but he was not always certain he deserved that title. A nagging fear always crept up on him. Was he really that special? Was he worth it at all. After all, he faked his death. He lied to all those who adore him now. He did not deserve anything in his mind. And even if he did, he could not keep it forever. Time kills everything he loves. The people he cared for turned to dust in his hand and the hand on the clock just kept ticking. On and on and on. For eternity. He shivered and set the pocket-watch he had been fixing down. He needed some air. And a cigarillo. As he wandered the corridors he heard a bang coming from the direction of the magical door. Curious, he walked towards it only to find a simply ethereal woman standing and yanking at the doorknob. He walked up to her. " Can I help you Cara mia?" She spun around with a glare on her face looking ready to fight, but she relaxed when she saw that the man standing in front of her was not a threat.

                  -------------------Time skip to two weeks in-----------------            

       Over the course of  the week, Leo found himself enjoying her company more and more. The truth was, that he had caught feeling for her. She had beautiful h/l h/c hair and e/c eyes that sparkled every time she talked about something she liked. Not to mention, she was tall. Really tall. Taller then him actually. And he loved that. He thought it was the most beautiful thing in the world. Whenever she wore her 21st century pants or skirts you could see her lovely long legs. However he tried to push these things away. He could not harbor feeling for a woman he knew he was going to loose. He could not control or tolerate the ace in his heart every time she would pass him by, or help him with something. Unfortunately, he knew that if he gave in he would hurt a thousand times more.     It was 12 o'clock at night and he could not fall asleep. Well not that he was trying to hard. He got up and decided to walk around the mansion. As he passed Mozart's door he heart Y/n's small sobs. He stopped dead in his tracks and listened. He couldn't hear what she was saying, but he caught a few words. ".. Can't have him......doesn't love me....I'm too tall" Those words where like an electric shock to him. He could make out Mozart comforting you and another voice that he believed was Jean, but he couldn't concentrate. It felt as if the whole world caved in on him. He was selfish. He had chosen his comfort over your and now this was the price he had to pay. He should have known. The bill comes due. Always! He pulled himself together the best he could and knocked on the door. Everything went silent. Mozart opened the door, looking even more pale then usual. He was about to shut the door in his face when Y/n soft voice rang out. "Don't, it's alright. I will talk to him" Jean looked ready to protest, but he let her go anyway. The stood facing each other in the hall. Leo looking slightly up to meat her teary eyes. He reached up and wiped her face. He met her gaze once again and whispered: "I'm so sorry." He pulled her in and kissed her with everything he had. Pouring all the hurt, denial, pain and love he felt. She kissed back with just as much passion. Finally he had to pull away for air. He looked back at her again." Don't ever say, you are too tall, mia bella"

As you can see, it got really long. Idk if this is what you had in mind, but yeah. I will do the other half and maybe other residents too, because this was really fun. Once again thank you for your patience and have an amazing day/night.tags: @nad-zeta @dazaiswindow @blu-tigerr @jeanstan @ichigoamamiya @shookspearewrites @chaotic-coyote I ummm taggd you guys here, idk if you want me to tag you again next time or you want me to stop, ummmm tell me i don't really know how this works so if this is not how I'm supposed to do it, tell me. I appreciate it😅

[searchingwardrobes]

Valentine Throwbacks: Day 3

This Valentine’s fic was also written for the Tumblr Valentine’s prompts back in 2018. This one was day 8: First “I love you.” I don’t know if this qualifies as canon or canon divergent. I think of it as “filling in a plot hole.” Dark Hook’s words to Emma in Broken Heart about how he always said it first made no sense to me. After all, from what we saw on screen, Emma said it first and Killian had only ever said it indirectly. I know some people explain it by saying the darkness twists the truth, but I got to thinking . . . In Operation Mongoose, all Emma said was that she never told him how she felt. Maybe he threw the “L” word around all the time. I know people have very strong feelings about this topic, but this isn’t me portraying Killian as “taking away Emma’s agency” (because that would imply a man can never say “I love you” first, which is ridiculous, or that saying the words at all are somehow manipulative, which is also ridiculous). This is just me doing what fanfic writers do - taking canon and going, I wonder . . .

Can you tell I had to delete a nasty comment about this fic back in 2018? I still love it, though, and wanted to share it again.

Summary: Three times Killian Jones tells Emma Swan he loves her, and one time he doesn't.

Words: 2k and some change

Rating: T

Also on Ao3

Tagging:  @snowbellewells​ @whimsicallyenchantedrose​ @kmomof4​ @let-it-raines​ @teamhook​ @bethacaciakay​ @xhookswenchx​ @tiganasummertree​ @shireness-says​ @stahlop​ @scientificapricot​ @welllpthisishappening​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @thislassishooked​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @kday426​ @ekr032-blog-blog​ @lfh1226-linda​ @ultraluckycatnd​ @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl​ @profdanglaisstuff​ @carpedzem​ @ohmakemeahercules​ @branlovestowrite​ @superchocovian​ @sherlockwhovian​ @vvbooklady1256​ @hollyethecurious​ @winterbaby89​ @delirious-latenight-laughs​ @jennjenn615​ @snidgetsafan​ @xsajx​​ @itsfabianadocarmo​ @spartanguard​ @hookedonapirate​

One: The First Date

The sea always calmed Killian, and while calm was an odd way to feel when he was finally on a date with Emma Swan, it was the best word he could use to describe how he felt right now. Despite his worries over his supposedly cursed hand, despite the ice witch who was out there somewhere, Killian felt deliciously content in this moment. Emma’s hand was in his, he could hear the soothing beat of the waves beneath the docks, and Emma’s hair glittered like gold in the moonlight.

She let go of his hand to lean against the railing of the boardwalk, and as she did, he noted the elegant curve of her neck, the way her ponytail swished against her shoulder blades, the almost girlish way she popped her foot and dug her toe into the old, wet boards. She shivered, and he inwardly berated himself for not thinking of the dropping temperatures or her bare shoulders (aside from admiring her soft skin, that is).

He shrugged out of his leather jacket and quickly draped it over her. “Here love, you have more need of this than I do.”

Emma accepted it gladly with a soft thank you, slipping her arms into the sleeves and hugging her torso. She was uncharacteristically vulnerable tonight, and he hoped that was because she felt safe with him.

She shivered still as she drew the jacket tighter around herself, and Killian came closer to wrap his arms around her from behind. She sighed and leaned back into him. Words didn’t seem necessary for the moment as they simply stood there, wrapped up in one another, gazing at the stars. Killian lowered his head to nuzzle into her neck, the scent of her shampoo making his heart thud loudly in his chest.

“I love you,” he whispered. He wasn’t sure if it was the quiet, or her softness in his arms, but the words just slipped out.

She stiffened slightly, and he held his breath, fearful that he had spoken too soon. She turned, still in the circle of his arms, her face flushed, eyes shining and darting to and fro. The moment stretched out, marked by the undulating sound of the waves below.

Finally, she raised up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He kissed her back, knowing it was the only answer she could give. At least for now.

 Two: Valentine’s Day

“Swan!” Killian shouted, as he burst into the loft. His fear ratcheted up a few more notches when he saw that the place was empty. It had been weeks since the Crocodile left town, and therefore weeks since there had been a crisis, but Emma’s text message had him falling right back into that mode. He glanced down at his screen to read the message again.

Come to the loft. Hurry.

He heard a laugh from the top of the stairs, and when he lifted his gaze from his phone, he saw Emma standing there, a bright smile on her face. Killian let out a huge sigh of relief as he pocketed his phone.

“Bloody hell, Swan, you scared me to death!”

“I scared Captain Hook?” she teased, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her head. “Yay me. Now get up here, pirate.”

Killian did as she asked without further complaint. Belle had teased him about being whipped, and when she explained to him what that meant, he couldn’t really argue. He’d traded his ship for this woman, jumped through a time portal for her. Anything else was a trifle, really.

When he reached the second floor of the loft, Emma stood in front of her bathroom door with her hands behind her back grasping the doorknob. She wore an eager grin and there was delight shining in her eyes.

“Do you know what today is?”

Killian scratched his jaw with the curve of his hook. “Aye, Valentine’s Day, a holiday which requires Granny to decorate the diner with tacky red hearts and naked babies with bows and arrows.”

Emma chuckled and shook her head. “Yeah, I know, it’s kind of cheesy. But you’ve done so much for me, I wanted to do a little something for you . . . so . . . “

With that she flung the door open, simultaneously grabbing his hook and pulling him through the door. The claw foot tub in the corner was filled to almost overflowing with big, frothy bubbles.

“It’s a bubble bath,” Emma explained, shaking his arm excitedly. “You were so thrilled with showers, and my parents said there were no bubble baths in the Enchanted Forest, not like this, sooo . . ta-da!”

Killian grinned at the thought she had apparently put into this. He approached the tub cautiously, dipping his hand in to find the water invitingly warm. It was difficult to keep water at such a perfect temperature back in the Enchanted Forest. He glanced around and also saw candles burning all over the room.

“Come on,” Emma said, yanking on his arm, “before the water gets cold and the bubbles disappear.”

She had already yanked off his jacket and tossed it on the floor. He was blushing, which was slightly embarrassing. “You, uh, talked to your parents about this?”

Emma rolled her eyes as she unbuttoned his vest. “Are you kidding? My dad would have a coronary. After he pulled his gun on you, that is. I just asked for a few hours without the baby. I think mom suspected something, but my dad seems to be a little clueless about that sort of thing. Or at least when it involves me.”

Killian’s vest was cast aside, and he watched Emma as she worked on the buttons of his shirt. Her tongue stuck out of the corner of her mouth as she worked them. “How do you do this with one hand?” She muttered. “These buttons are tiny.”

Killian cleared his throat nervously as he closed his hand around Emma’s, “I think I can handle it from here.”

“No way, sailor,” Emma corrected him with a heated stare, “that tub is big enough for two.”

His blush only increased as he gazed into her eyes. Not only was this a new step in their own relationship, but it was a level of intimacy he had never shared with anyone after losing his hand. Sex became nothing more than a rough, quick release with nameless, faceless women who craved a night to forget just as much as he did. While some women had seen him without his hook, no living person had seen him without his brace since that horrible, painful day on his ship so long ago. And he hated to admit it, even to himself, but he was ashamed.

“Emma,” was all he managed to choke out as he rubbed his thumb nervously along the inside of her wrist. He wasn’t sure how to put what he was feeling into words. He just stood there, staring at the floor and clenching his jaw.

“Hey,” Emma said softly, reaching up with both hands to cup his face. She eased his chin up until his eyes met hers, and what he saw there stole his breath. Understanding. Patience. And above all, acceptance. She ran her thumbs wordlessly across his cheeks for a moment, then her hands drifted down to finish the buttons. She eased his shirt off his shoulders and one arm, then carefully worked the other sleeve around his hook. Then she ran her hand over the leather straps, almost as if she were admiring them.

“It’s okay,” she whispered as she unbuckled them. Her voice soothed him, but he still closed his eyes as she eased the brace completely from his torso. He kept them closed as her hands mapped his chest, his shoulders, his arms. Then she was cradling his stump in both hands, running her thumbs over the scars. His eyes finally opened to see her do what he had thought was unthinkable. She lifted his arm to her lips and placed a soft kiss at the end of it. His own breath came out in a shaky hiss.

“It’s okay,” she said again, pressing his stump against her to rest between her breasts. She stepped closer, her free arm encircling his waist, her cheek pressed against his chest, his bad arm wedged between them.

Killian, almost overcome with the tenderness of the moment, brought his hand up shakily to run his one hand through her hair. He lowered his face to breathe in the softness of her hair. “I love you so much,” he told her huskily.

She lifted her head to look at him, her mouth agape. Her eyes were awash with intensity, and he waited with bated breath for her words to come.

But Emma’s expression changed to a smirk as she yanked at the zipper of his jeans instead.

 Three: The Cabin in the Woods

He stands there, simply gazing at her in amazement. He can’t believe she doesn’t know. Tears prick at his eyes. Is it that hard for her to believe she’s enough?

“Don’t you know, Emma?” he finally manages to say around the lump in his throat. “It’s you.”

The look on her face almost kills him. So shocked and full of wonder. They are drawn together slowly, tenderly, and as he kisses her, he can taste a tear in the corner of her mouth. He turns to kiss the salty path on her cheek.

“I love you,” he breathes against her petal soft skin.

She just buries her face in the crook of his neck and sighs.

 Four: The Loft

One moment, lowly deckhand Hook feels cold steel slice through skin, muscle, and sinew. He reaches his one hand out to Emma Swan, regretting that he hadn’t grabbed hold of the moment offered him earlier. That he hadn’t leaned down and kissed her. Because no one has ever looked at him that way before. And no one has ever looked as devastated as Emma Swan does right now as he falls to the ground, the life bleeding out of him.

The next moment, his eyes are opening and he’s on his back on a hardwood floor. He’s Captain Hook again. No, he’s Killian Jones, hero and the man who loves Emma Swan. He smiles. They did it. Henry and Emma did it!

Henry! He leaps to his feet, ignoring the groans of Snow and David still on the floor behind him as he races upstairs to be sure the lad is ok. He doesn’t even have time to look for the boy when Emma bursts in, “Hook!” the first word on her lips.

He can tell she’s frantic and distraught, so he plays cocky and comedic. It was the right choice, as her face lights up with joy. She comes racing up the stairs, his given name now spoken with delight as she tackles him with a hug. It takes him by surprise when she tumbles with him onto the bed, knocking the breath out of him in the process. But he delights in the weight of her pressing him into the mattress and he enjoys it even more when she pins his arms on either side of his head, propping herself up to grin down at him. He really wishes her parents weren’t right downstairs.

“Didn’t mean to frighten you, love,” he tells her, “when I woke, I came up here to check on your boy.”

“He’s fine, Henry’s fine . . . “ She trails off, her smile faltering, and her eyes getting a sort of far-off look.

Concerned, he sits up, his forehead creasing as he searches her suddenly pale expression. “What is it, love?”

“It’s just . . . when I saw you die . . . I was afraid I would never get to tell you . . . “

Killian thinks he knows where she’s going with this. He understands her walls, her fears, her insecurities. Mostly because he’s felt them too. He tries to encourage her, but feels he only succeeds in plastering a ridiculously broad grin on his face.

“To tell you . . . thank you.”

For a brief moment, his heart drops all the way to his stomach. He died for her, and still she holds back. But he swallows down the hurt and disappointment. It has to be on her terms, he only wants it on her terms, and so he smiles. He barely hears the rest of her babbling thank you.

“All in a day’s work for a hero,” he tells her when she finishes. She presses her forehead to his, burying her fingers in his hair. He wonders if she expects him to say it like he always does: I love you. But this time, he can’t.

Killian Jones is a patient man. One day, perhaps, she’ll simply say it. Those three little words he longs to hear from her lips.

[thenamesblurrito]

Unicron is a name long feared by Cybertronians, a sort of mythical plague embodied as a bogeyman or spirit. A greedy, corruptive force, the Unicron virus has been blamed for the loss of some ancient colony planets, for the corruption of vast databanks with no pr i o r  warning, for bad luck and ill will, and even the disappearance of the Knights of Cybertron. People are much less superstitious now, but the name i i i i is still a muttered curse whenever something goes wrong. Some countercultures have glibly adopted it, such as Megatron naming his band the Knights of Unicron.

But Unicron is still awake, still malevolent, and still hungry. Those who work with the Grand Architect in their quest to dest r o y  t h e factions of heroes utilize it as a powerful s e e e elf-aware tool, deploying a condensed version from a set of specialized datasticks. Bludgeon was given one of these, and n̶o̷w he uses it whenever possible, sometimes for c i n g Wheelie to apply it in areas he can’t easily sneak into. For infected technology and mechanical systems, it cor̶r̴u̴p̴t̷s̵ all data, jumps from network to network, and physically ro o o o o ots the hardware. For i̷n̶f̷e̸c̸t̶e̶d̷ peo p l e ...

There is a want and a need and a thirst an̷d̸ ̶a̸ ̵g̶r̵e̴e̵d̵ ̵a̶n̵d̵ ̷s̵o̴m̶e̷t̵h̶i̸n̵g̴ ̴i̴s̵ ̵c̶o̵m̸i̵n̵g̶ ̷t̶o̶ ̵f̷e̸a̸s̵t̷ ̵a̸n̵d̴ ̴i̷n̸c̷r̸e̴a̴s̴e̶ ̶b̷u̵t̶ ̸t̴h̶e̷ ̷h̴o̵s̵t̸s̴ ̸h̸e̵r̵e̶ ̶a̶r̷e̵ ̶w̷e̵a̸k̸ ̶a̷n̸d̷ ̶t̶h̴e̴ ̸e̵n̵e̵m̸y̵ ̸s̸t̶i̷l̴l̶ ̶s̸e̸e̷k̴s̶ ̸a̴n̷d̸ ̷a̸ ̶s̴i̶n̶g̷u̸l̴a̸r̶i̴t̷y̴ ̶w̵i̶l̴l̵ ̷t̴a̷k̵e̶ ̸a̸l̷l̴ ̶t̸h̸a̸t̷ ̴i̴t̴’̶s̸ ̶d̵u̴e̶ ̸w̵i̷t̸h̶o̵u̷t̴ ̵p̴a̸u̷s̸e̸ ̵f̷r̴o̶m̶ ̷t̶h̷e̷ ̸f̶i̸g̸h̵t̷ ̴o̷f̶ ̷g̷o̵d̵s̸ ̶m̵a̵d̷e̴ ̷a̷n̵e̴w̷ ̶a̸n̸d̵ ̵t̷h̴e̷ ̴v̴i̷c̵t̵i̷m̴-̸w̴o̸r̴l̴d̶ ̵i̴s̵ ̶l̵e̸s̵s̴̻̎ḛ̶͗r̴̡̅ ̸͉͘s̵͖̽o̸̗̒ ̸̬͒ä̵̤́l̷̹̚l̵͖͊ ̸̮͂ẘ̶̥i̵͔̿l̶͇̔l̴̘̔ ̸͇̽ḅ̴͊o̷͕̎w̶̮̒ ̸̮͝t̴̮̔ȏ̶̱ ̸̫̄Q̴̡̛̌̔̇̄Q̵̛̗̣͌̒̄͝Q̸̫̗̅̌̏̈͜Q̸͉̤͙̀̃̋Q̸̻͇͈̳̔̊̈́Q̷͓̝̻̈́̋͂̐̉͝Q̶̛͈̭̩͈͔̮͝Q̸̪̩̯͎̹̂͊̀̚̚-̷̛͎̬͈

[̴̺̦͈͕̀Ȩ̴̡̀́̚͘R̷̳͓̖̊̆̈́͝R̷̡̪̜̪̞͗͌͗̄͘Ǫ̶̰̠̎͌R̵̹̭̃]̸̟̪̹͉̍̃̐͜

[̸̢̧̩̠̞̜̼̩̖̹̹̤͇̖͓̗̊͒̊̎̓̋̎̾̔͝ͅĘ̵̭͉͓͇̪͉̻͍̪̞̓͌̐͛̌̓̌̂͂̽̀̏̿̔̑̅͛̈̌͋͜ͅR̵̢̬̙̼̯̱̤̘̦͚͖̣͎̭̥̥̳̐̋̈́́͂̊͑̈́̾̔̔̔͆̾̊͘ͅR̷̯̞̙̰̬̻͓̳̰̙̂̃̐̇̿Ơ̶̡͉̻̭̰̰̬͎̦̞͖̱̮̬̙̍͊̒̓͊̊̊̃̽͗̓͑̐̾̂Ŕ̴̡̛̪̩̫͙͎͎̜͓̠̺̱̩͚̬̱̣͖̦͚́͊̇̈́͌́̾̇͊͗́̈̾͐̽͛̚̕͜͝]̶̡̣̰̦̘̦͉̩̖̣̳͇̠̝̳̠̞̭̒͊̈̀́̃̽́̓̊̕͝

[thebookwormfairy]

Captain the Retired Police Dog Part 3

I had no idea this would turn out like this, but here we are part 3

Just a quick warning this chapter is a bit sadder, but there will be plenty of fluff and love to try and make up for it. Also like 1 curse word

The next morning was a sad one for Marinette

She didn't want to leave her baby boy in the hotel room for the better part of the day

But she has no choice they're going to some museums today and they really don't want dogs in there no matter how well behaved they are

So Marinette filled up Captain's food and water and headed out

Marinette: Bye Captain be good we'll be back around 2, I left animal planet on for you

Captain gave Marinette a lick on the cheek as a goodbye and watched as his girl left without him

Even though Marinette didn't have Captain with her she tried to make the best out of the situation

She had to admit without Captain or Damian the trip felt a lot more lonely

The first stop was to an art museum.

Marinette loved it she was so inspired by all the pieces

She even got a couple of new designs out on it

Next came the superhero museum

Marinette loved that and it even helped her come up with a plan to stop Hawkmoth for good

It turns out that cities or other heroes can make formal request to get help from the Justice League to help with problems

And even though her and her team have grown as superheros Hawkmoth has also grown as a villian

Marinette fears the day that Hawkmoth decides to try and recreate Hero Day again

She knew she didn't have enough allies to call on anymore.

After the rift of the class the boy people she feels she can call upon now are Luka, Kagami, and occasionally Chloe

Chloe has gotten a lot better and she doesn't torment Marinette anymore

She mostly just keeps to herself and Sabrina now

She sometimes talks to Marinette too, but she wouldn't exactly call them friends yet

The next museum was local history museum

That was where Lila thought it was best place to have the "talk" she's been meaning to have with Marinette

Lila: Oh is poor little Marinette lonely without her stupid dog

Marinette: What do you want Lila. I literally haven't done anything to you. I stopped trying to exposed you, you took away all my friends in class, what more could you possibly want?

Lila: You silly stupid bitch. I may have done all that but do you really think I'm done? I won't stop until you're completely alone friendless, familyless, and dogless.

Marinette: What does that mean?

Lila: You just better watch the ones you love Dupen-Cheng. We wouldn't want anything to happen to them now would we. And you know how easily somebody could be akumatized nowadays

Lila walked away leaving Marinette shaken for the rest of the day

Tikki tried to reassure her chosen but there's only so much she can do when she's forced to stay inside a bag

Tikki leaned into Marinette's leg hoping to show some comfort to the poor girl who had to grow up way before her time

Marinette numbly: Thanks Tikki

Luckily for Marinette that was the last museum of the day, and before she knew it Marinette was back in her hotel room hugging Tikki and Captain close to her as she cried

Captain hated this it was like nothing he could do could help his girl

He didn't even want to think about what possibly could have happened to but her in this state

Marinette was still crying when she's got a call from Damian

Marinette was going to hit ignore but Tikki stopped her

Tikki: You should talk to him Marinette I know he'll make you feel better.

Captain budge her with his head to show his encouragement

Marinette just nodded her head trying to calm her breathing before answering her phone.

Damian: Hey Angel Titus and I are out fro-

Marinette in a broken voice: Da-Damian.

Damian suddenly on high alert: What's wrong Marinette?

Marinette tried to think about what to tell him, but she realized all she wanted was to be held in his arms

Marinette: Can you please just come up to my room?

Damian: Of course Angel what room and floor on you on?

Marinette told him and Damian went running with Titus at his heels.

Damian was barely aware what was going on around him until he was standing in front of his Angel's door. He could hear her sobbing through the closed door.

Damian was suddenly filled with the need to hurt whoever put his Angel in this state

Damian pushed his thoughts of murder aside and knocked on Marinette's door

As soon as Marinette opened the door she rushed into Damian's arms

Damian didn't know what to do, but he did what felt right

He wrapped his arms around the girl he's come to love so quickly, guiding them back into her room before any of her classmates can see them and does his best to close her door behind them

Captain seeing Damian struggle got up from his place on the bed and used his nose to close the door for Damian

Damian: Thanks Captain.

Damian guided Marinette back to her bed

Maneuvering them so they were now sitting on the bed Damian continued to hold Marinette close as she cried

Damian kept silent and just let Marinette get everything out of her system

The only time Damian moved was to press light kisses to the side of her head.

Titus and Captain also got in on the cuddle action surrounding Marinette silently letting her know that they too were there for her

After what felt like forever Marinette pulled away from Damian enough to see his face

Marinette: Sorry about that Damian I guess I ruined our date huh?

Damian wiping a tear from her cheek: Not at all Angel. What happened?

Marinette: Dont worry about it Damian. It's not important

Damian: If it made you cry then it's important and I want to hear about it

Marinette stay quite for a minute before she finally broke down and told him everything. About Lila's lies, about how the friends she'd known almost all her life choose someone they just met over her, about the feeling of isolation, and about Lila's threats.

Damian: I won't let Lila hurt you or anybody you love Marinette. Before she can even try I'll yeet her to the sun

Marinette letting out a giggle: Did you really just say yeet?

Damian chuckling: I thought it would cheer you up

Marinette still giggling: You were right

Damian: Do you still want to go out tonight, or do you want to stay here watch a movie and cuddle

Marinette: I think I want to cuddle

Damian: excellent choice habibata, and I know the perfect movie

Marinette: Oh really what's that

Damian messed with his phone connecting it to the tv

Marinette waited patiently for Damian to show her the perfect date movie and much to her surprise it's the 1999 Mummy

Marinette was a little skeptical but Damian was completely right

It was funny action pack and had a pretty good romance

Seriously guys this is my favorite movie

Marinette: I have to admit that was a great movie Damian

Damian: I know right it was one of the first movies I saw when I first moved to Gotham

Captain stared at this strange new boy and his girl

He did what Captain couldn't do

Reluctantly Captain officially accept this boy into his and his girl's life

If he could make her feel better then Captain would let him stay as long as his girl wanted him there

Damian and Marinette decided to take their dogs for a short walk to give them a chance to do their business and get some exercise before heading back to Marinette's hotel room to continue their movie night

After ordering some pizza from a near by shop the couple and their dogs spent the rest of their time together watching the other 2 Mummy movies in the trilogy then had a blast tearing apart the remake with Tom Cruz

Damian and Titus left after that movie, leaving Marinette feeling much better and safer.

Damian finally got home sometime after midnight. He expected everybody to be asleep or out on patrol but instead he found his family sitting in the living room

Walking towards them he was met by Ace

Damian: Hey girl how are you?

Damain rubbed the german shepherd's head

Ace gave the boy a lick on the hand before trotting away with Titus to go to sleep for the night.

Damian: I thought you guys would be asleep by now or at least out on patrol

Dick: We were worried about you Baby Bird. We thought you would be home hours ago

Bruce: Not to mention that you completely ignored our texts and calls

Damian: Sorry father something came up with Marinette, and she needed some cheering up so we had a movie night

Jason: seriously you spent 9 or so hours watching movies with your girlfriend

Guys I actually looked it up it would take about 8 hours to watch the Mummy trilogy plus the remake

Damian smirked: Yep and it was one of the best dates I've ever had. She has another free day tomorrow and we're going to hang out and go on another date

Tim: Really another date? And when will we be able to meet this girl?

Damian: If I can help it never.

With that Damian turned on his heels and heads to his room

Jason: So we're going to ambush them on their date tomorrow right

Dick and Tim: Definitely

Alfred: Are you sure that is wise? What do you think Master Bruce?

Bruce: If you're going to do it make sure you get some pictures

Dick winking: Will do

A bit shorter then usual sorry. But after the Lila scene I wanted to spend the rest of the post making Marinette feel better, and I felt like this was the best way to end this part.

[damn-the-dark]

I'm craving for a soft Darkiplier oneshot but I usually find angst ;-; is it normal for wanting a soft and fluffy Dark?

Absolutely it is normal!! ;w; here’s a quick oneshot for you!! Let me just preface this with:

I Am Not A Writer

But like...uwu here’s some soft angst.

Ships: DarkiplierxReader(Y/N, the DA), DamienxReader

You’ve been rescued from the purgatory of stories Actor makes you live. You seek out the one who saved you to thank them.

------

Winter. It made the mansion shudder and groan under the harsh outside conditions, the snow had not let up since the previous night. You rubbed your hands together in an attempt to keep the chill off, unsurprisingly it failed. You cursed yourself for leaving your gloves back in your own room, clear across in the East wing.

You decided you’d rather sate your curiosity than go back for them. A single window, warmed by what you presumed was a fireplace, stood out against the storm and beckoned you from your room. You hadn’t been staying at the estate for very long, but the window had remained lit every night since you arrived, and stayed so long past all the others had darkened.

You had an idea of who resided there, when the others spoke of him it was always in a whisper and always full of respect. You’d only met him once, you think anyway, your memory was blurred beyond the moment you were suddenly brought to this place. Somehow though you knew he had done you a great favor. You owed him your thanks, and so you watched that window every night until you mustered the courage to brave the cold halls. Apparently central heating was not enough to warm the bones of the estate much less its occupants.

And so here you stood, outside the door left ajar, spilling warm flickering light out onto the tile floor. A faint hum in your ears and a chill prickling your spine. You peered inside.

He sat alone, aside the mantle, book resting on his lap, thumb on the corner of the page. It would have been a peaceful scene, but something hung in the air around him sapping the color from the walls and the light of the fire. His eyes were shadowed and sallow in their sockets and the fire’s light cast his whole form in a statuesque contrast.

“You can come in.” He didn’t look up.

You weren’t sure if it was the crackle of the wood or the hum in your ears that grew louder. You lightly opened the door wider and slipped inside.

Suddenly feeling awkward, you didn’t know what to say, be frank and state why you really crossed a frigid old mansion? Was that too strange?

The book thumped closed.

“Can I help you with something?” His voice was low, coupled with how his presence filled the room and you with unease, you could plainly see why the others were wise to fear him.

But when you met his gaze, he did not glower at you, but instead regarded you with…what? He was unreadable but at the very least he didn’t look to be angry.

“I wanted to get warm,” You spoke up finally, emphasizing your words with a shudder, “it’s pretty cold in my room.”

It wasn’t exactly the reason, but it would do at least maybe get your hands warmed by the fire.

He simply gestured to the couch across from him and you took that as an invitation to sit. He certainly didn’t seem apt to chat but at the very least maybe you could get used to his disconcerting presence enough to remember the  words you wanted to say.

As you defrosted in the fire light, you were keen to keep an eye on him as he shelved the book he had been reading. It seemed it hadn’t been any kind of novel at all, but a yearbook. You couldn’t read the script the year was lettered in, but the binding looked quite old.

Something flitted in the back of your mind, but before you could identify the feeling, it was gone.

“Would you like a blanket?” The question startled you, not in its suddenness, but its softness.

“I’d love one, thanks.” He paced to an old chest beyond the bookcase, unlatched it and drew a woolen blanket from within. It too looked a bit dated, along with other items in the study. You got the feeling he had an affinity for art deco, though it had lost its radiance long ago, you could still see the geometric patterns adorning everything from the furniture to the mantle itself.

As he stepped closer, the hum escalated to a dull ringing and the entire room warped to and fro in shades of dull grey. You wondered what unearthly sort of being he was, but weren’t alarmed by the shift in reality around you. It somehow offered another twinge of familiarity.

A vision took your consciousness, of another night like this one, in a study similar to the one you were in. Where was it? You couldn’t recall, but a person sat beside you, also warming themselves from the chill.

You were suddenly back in reality, blanket draped across you. Did he set it there? The world was in technicolor again, except of course where he stood next to the window. His gaze was distant.

“Have I been here before?” You asked, partially without thinking. “Something about being here…brought back a memory.”

He stiffened a bit. “No you haven’t been here specifically.”

Your incurable case of curiosity flared up again. Swathing yourself in the blanket you got up.

“I came here to say thank you.” Your voice was soft. You stepped around the couch toward him. “I don’t know how, but I know I’m safe here. I can’t remember much about anything before this, but I know it… wasn’t good.”

He turned to face you, a somber look on his face. You recalled someone- a friend maybe?- who would give a similar expression, but you couldn’t place who exactly.

“Of course.” His cool timbre was reassuring. “I wouldn’t let you live like that, if I could help it.”

“I just…need to know, who are you, exactly.” You took another step, allowing the greyness to tinge your vision. “The others call you Dark but…” But the more you look through the grey your memory grows clearer, cyan begins to dance in his silhouette. Something about you being in his aura, close to him, his shared -yes shared! – memories with yours came into view.

A thousand meetings, over and over, in a bizarre purgatory of another man’s making. But beyond that…

-

A warm college study on a frigid winter day. You’d stayed on campus for the holiday break, content to study you law books for the upcoming semester. And of course, the parties this time of year were the stuff of legend.

The crackle of the fire filled the air and dulled the sound of footsteps beside you.

“Still at it, hm?” You could hear the crooked grin in his voice.

You disguised the flutter in your chest with a deliberately patronizing reply. “Some of us would like to graduate at some point.” But you smiled through it and set your notebook and texts aside. “It can’t all be wild and fun times now can it?”

His grin broadened. “Of course not dear,” his gaze was warm, “but would you perhaps consider postponing your studies for the evening? There’s a wonderful event in the fine art hall tonight and you know I simply can’t go without my partner in crime.”

“Perhaps I’d consider it,” You reply, tapping your chin in mock deliberation, a soft smile creased your cheeks, “if you’d have a seat here for a moment I’ll finish this chapter.”

“I’d be happy to.” He took a seat next to you, close, but not quite in your space. Your flutter grows in intensity.

You try to focus on your reading but your eyes get lost on the page and soon wander over to him. You’d grown close over the past few years as your courses were in shared subjects. He was a kind man, you’d never know he came from money. He respected you and you respected him. It would be a shame to ruin your friendship by confessing your feelings for him.

As your thoughts turned inward, you found the late nights catching up with you. Allowing the glow of the fire to lull you, you didn’t feel yourself slowly slide to the side.

You awoke to an arm wrapped softly around you and the blanket that had been atop the couch draped over you, including your forgotten books.

“Damien…” You managed through the sleep.

“Awake at last I see.” You glanced up. He was so gorgeous with the orange light flickering across his features. He regarded you through drowsy half-lidded eyes of his own. A powerful emotion welled up in your throat, overcoming your waking inhibitions.

“Damien, I-“

-

Tears slid from your eyes. You remembered.

“Damien.” Your lips clung tightly to the name, desperately, as to not lose it again.

Your heart stung. You knew it wasn’t him anymore but it didn’t stop you from regarding the entity who shared his face with the same love you felt for him.

“You… may call me that.” The pain was visible in the flashes of red and blue behind him, “but only fragments of him remain.”

Overcome with the weight of your own returned memories, your knees sank to the floor, coming to rest on the hot tile in front of the fireplace. You stared into it through glassy eyes.

In a breath he was beside you. Close, but not in your space. A cold hand brushed your cheek and delicately turned you to face him.

“If. It means anything at all to you. I can feel how he did. He loved you very much.”

And that was all it took. You wrapped your arms around him, the greyness freezing the room around you into a still quiet. Your sobs were the only sound to be heard.

It was like that for a while. Somehow, he held you until you’d exhausted yourself and your fits of tears subsided. You focused on the sensation of static where you touched him. Oh Dames, what happened to you.

He ran his hand through your hair, a slow and soothing motion. You finally mustered the strength to sit up and face him… the one they called Dark. The one they feared, the one with so much rage inside him it bled into the air itself.

“I’m sorry. I know…I know you’re not the same. But, you’ve watched over me this whole time. You saved me. Thank you.”

You leaned forward unaware you were doing so. He kissed you softly on the forehead, static tinged the contact.

“Of course my dear.”

-

The sound of his voice still lingered in your ears and the kiss on your skin as you found yourself back in your own room. Wispy darkness receded into the corners.

A note sat atop your nightstand and when the weight in your body lightened enough, you moved over to read it.

Next time, please remember your gloves.

                                                 -Dark

 A choked laugh bubbled up through you. You promised him silently you would.

[beyondflashpoint]

Prologue 1: Bedtime stories.

John massaged his temple. He’d been pouring through ancient tomes and cross referencing half forgotten folklore for what felt like hours. He sat back in his overstuffed chair, considered lighting a cigarette, then recalled the one unlit, currently pressed between his lips. How long had it been there? He needed a break.

“Da- ... John?” The little voice inquired from the doorway. John slowly raised his eyes.

The child had been in his care for over a year now. Looking at her now, wearing an adults band tee like a nightgown and dragging the large stuffed bat she carried everywhere, it was hard to remember how dangerous she could be.

“Well, what have we here? Little Bird escaped her cage?”

She smiled at the affectionate nickname, but there was still fear in her eyes.

John Constantine had never once thought of himself as anything close to fatherly. After all, his own dear old dad had been nothing short of a five-star bastard. But she wanted to call him dad, wanted him to be a father to her. Seeing her, putting on a brave face, but desperately craving comfort and company, it reminded him why he had taken the girl from a dying world, a dying mother, and her own five-star bastard. He moved in a way that only a concerned father can move, a delicate balance between caution so as not to startle, and haste to provide that comfort she was practically begging for. In moments he had scooped her up, cradled like a princess in his arms.

“Bad dreams again Rachael?” He asked tenderly. She nodded.

“Can’t get back to sleep then either, I take it?” She shook her head.

He pointed at he stuffed bat, now held in a chokehold by her scrawny little arms.

“Now you listen here Batsy, I told you more than once that you’re supposed to keep our girl safe.” A stern voice, usually reserved for pit fiends and people fooling with things they didn’t understand. John Constantine was upbraiding a stuffed toy. If that ever got out it’d be the end of his reputation. But bullocks to that.

“His name is Bartok. And he’s just a stuffed animal.” But she was giggling, genuine and true.

John exited the study carrying the girl back to bed. Neither noticed that the doorway which had previously opened into the foyer now deposited them on the second floor landing, a few doors down from Rachael’s bedroom. This was the House of Mystery, and it changed to suit its owner’s needs. Thankfully it knew John well enough to know that carrying a six year old child up a flight of stairs was a little excessive.

“That’s not entirely true, now is it luv? We studied totems and objects of power just last week. You’ve given him a name, and you carry him with you everywhere. Bartok is probably absolutely pulsing with magical energy. With the right focus and a solid incantation Barty could be a regular supercharged dream catcher.”

He was laying her down now, pulling the covers over her, but making sure to leave the bat’s stitch’s smile free. Rachael listened intently and nodded.

“Zatanna will be here all day tomorrow. I’m sure if you ask really nicely she’ll help you.”

“Is she doing a magic show right now?”

John smiled and nodded.

“Some of us have day jobs. You’ll want to follow her lead on that. Don’t be a deadbeat like ol’ Johnny boy.” He ended with a silly face, and was rewarded with another giggle.

“We’ll have to tell Zee to get you some proper sleepwear. I’m not sure how I feel about a six year old trundling about in a Mucous Membrane tee that’s older than Christ.”

“I like it. Zatanna says it’s the band you were in when you were a teenager. Uncle Boston let me listen to some of your songs, but he made me promise not to tell. He said there were bad words.”

“Did he now? I’ll have to have a talk with ‘Uncle Boston’ later. Punk is for your rebellious teenage years.” He smiled to show he was joking, but mentally cursed Boston Brand for starting her off with his old rubbish. “All tucked in. Close your eyes now Little Bird. Try and sleep.”

He started to stand, but the girl’s eyes doubled in size, wordlessly begging him not to go. He settled his weight once more.

“How’s about a story then?”

She immediately brightened.

“Will you tell me a Hellblazer story?”

John laughed.

“Those stories are a bit too dark for you Little Bird. When your older. Promise. I was thinking something a bit more age appropriate. With dragons.”

Her face dropped.

“A fairy tale?”

“Not exactly, luv. By all accounts this is a true story.”

She quirked an eyebrow suspiciously.

“It does begin a long time ago, in a land far away. About a thousand years ago. In a land called Nol. It was a different dimension. Nol was a peaceful kingdom, in the heights power. Arts, sciences, magic. A true utopia by all accounts. Streets of gold and all that. Actually,” he smirked, leaning onto his side, and gesturing with one hand while chanting under his breath. Sparks of gold light shot from his fingers, and after a few quick twirls, he flicked them towards the ceiling with a flourish. “Better to show than tell, innit?”

The sparks of gold fluttered and danced, multiplied, and arranged themselves into an image. Rachael gasped and watched in wide-eyed wonder that briefly made John understand Zatanna’s Copperfeild routine. Hovering above them, at an angle suited for a child to fall asleep to, the streets of Nol took shape, exactly as John pictured them when he read about them.

Polished marble walls rose ever skyward the tallest among them of height with a modern skyscraper. The streets, onyx, not gold, sloped downward in a gentle incline towards the port, and the sea beyond. All manner of strange vessels were docked there, traders and travelers from strange unknown lands. The great gates of the walled city were many, made of bronze, and flanked by the figures of many fantastic beasts. Here a griffin, there a sphinx, manticores, and many others beyond listing. The houses were of chalcedony or marble, with each their own walled gardens. No workers tools had ever touched these stones, and in fact it looked more like the stone had grown into the shapes they now held.

Of that same seemingly grown stone was the palace, directly in the city’s center. The highest of its towers dwarfed the Great Wall of Nol. And there were many towers. The palace was an opulent thing of soaring towers and impossible domed buildings, of high bridges between towers that seemed impossibly fragile from below.

The child consumed every detail with awestruck wonder.

“The people of Nol enjoyed a thousand years of peace, power, and prosperity. Now, the thing about good times is that they make people soft. See, the soldiers of Nol, save a few brave fools, had grown fat and confident. Sure there were a handful of knights and soldiers who traveled the countryside solving problems and seeking honor and all that rubbish, but mostly the good people of Nol believed nothing bad would ever happen to them.”

“And that’s exactly when something bad happened to them, right John?”

“That’s right. That’s the first lesson in this story, Little Bird. Prepare for the worst, and always expect it to get worse.” She nodded.

“And so, it was a great shock, then, when the dragon came.” The image of the city was replaced with the silhouette of a dragon, a massive thing with glowing eyes. The earth seemed to tremble at its wingbeats and Rachael gasped at the sight of it. “The Primordial Serpent, The Conqueror Wyrm, Malkior. From the east the dragon came, in the late hours after the sun had set. The beating of his mighty wings stirred the whole city to waking, and the soldiers, who were used to only marching about and yelling at rowdy kids prepared for a fight. The first fight for most of em.”

Even as he spoke, images of soldiers rushing too and fro in panicked chaos replaced that of the dragon.

“Now, the great dragon made quick work of the city’s walls, with his great claws and his mighty tail, and even quicker work of the inexperienced troopers practically throwing themselves at him. Even those brave knights who had returned to the city failed to even scratch the dragon’s mighty scales. All seemed lost for Nol, as the beast made his way towards the heart of the great city, intent on the palace and full of sinister purpose.”

Though Constantine had made sure the images were age appropriate, Rachael had pulled the covers up to her nose and was squeezing Bartok tightly.

“But, and this is the most important lesson from this story, it is always better to be clever than it is to be brave, or strong. And very luckily for Nol, there just so happened to be a very clever mage named Rorek. See Rorek had spent his whole life studying magic specially to kill Malkior. Rorek happened to be in the palace, studying magic with the king’s high mage, and when he heard the beating of those sinister wings he knew exactly what to do. Armed with naught but his personal spell book and his wits, Rorek claimed the tallest tower in the palace of Nol to face his hated foe.” The words flowing forth from John were just as magical as the scenes mirroring them to the little girl, and she fought against drooping eyelids to not miss the epic battle she knew was fast approaching.

“ The dragon reached the palace just as Rorek emerged on the tower’s roof.

‘Hark dem-“

“Do the voices.” The girl demanded in a voice laden with sleep. John could think of no reason to refuse.

“ ‘Hark demon! I am Rorek! For too long you have burned and killed and destroyed unchecked and unopposed. I oppose thee now!’” The voice he used now was softer, and a bit more proper. One might allege that he based it off one Jason Blood, though Constantine would never confirm this if pressed on it.

“ ‘Little man,’ said the dragon,” in a voice not dissimilar to Jason’s better half, “ ‘ I am the destroyer, the defiler, the conqueror. I am Malkior! I have seen worlds rise and fall, only to rise again. I have slain kings and emperors, heroes and champions. Who are you to think to stand against me?’ And Rorek stood tall and began his spells. The battle was fearsome, for Malkior too was versed in powerful and ancient magics. It seemed for every spell, hex or curse Rorek threw at Malkior, the dragon knew it’s counter. But Rorek was clever, and even while casting an unending torrent of spells, he prepared his last trick.

‘Foul beast, demon that you are, thy name does not suit thee, but nonetheless, Malkior, I call thee by thy true name, and by thy name bind thee!’

And the dragon roared with fury, lashing, thrashing and cursing even as he was pulled into Rorek’s book and bound. But with a final curse, disaster struck, and the tower which had been the scene of their epic battle was reduced to rubble, and Rorek was lost. But Nol remembered its hero, and until it’s final days celebrated the triumph of Rorek of Nol.”

As the final scene came to a close, the image faded, and the swirling cloud of golden dust dissipated and dissolved.

“So you see-“ John cut off as he turned to look at the girl and found her snoring softly.

He smiled, whispering an enchantment to ward against bad dreams, and brushing her hair back, kissed her forehead to seal the spell in place.

The barrage of vision and memory came with shocking clarity and coherence. Had he not been seated, John would have been knocked off his feet. The things he saw would haunt him for years to come.

It took time to compose himself well enough to stand, much less return to the study, where, hours later Zatanna found him, cigarette in one hand, scotch in the other.

It had been some time since Zee had seen John this upset. It was only after a second and third drink that he smoothed his unruly blond hair back, took a deep breath and spoke.

“We need to talk about Rachael. And her dreams.”

[skost-skribbles]

The Shore

AKA, Sad Dad Takes Son on Depressing Roadtrip, AKA I can’t think of good titles I’m not sorry

More OC nonsense with our ( @bogglebabbles and myself) characters in a scene that happens before the story even takes place but consider the following: so what

What was she like?”

The soft but endlessly inquisitive voice of his son rose above the clatter of the train storming along the tracks. Faramund turned his head so slightly downward, met immediately with hazel eyes, staring solely at the older gentleman. Already he could see the striking slivers of grey seeping into the hazel.

“I…” Faramund licked his lips, adjusting himself upright on the bench. “I can’t say much for certain. She…”

She was in so much pain, and we were powerless to help.

“We didn’t have many opportunities to talk on the ship, y-you see,” he mumbled, hooking his fingers along one of his cufflinks. “Everyone rather kept to themselves.”

The uncertainty was not caught by the young boy. He leaned closer, hands pressing firmly into the wool seating. “Did she look like me? What did she sound like? Did she have a pretty voice?”

Desperately, his fingers searched for a loose button or even a thread to pluck at. Finding that the tailor’s immaculate work lived up to its infamy and neither were found, he prayed for a distraction among the blurry scenery outside. The country landscape offered nothing.

“I don’t…” Faramund paused, gulping down the hesitation trembling in his voice. “I, ah, I don’t recall. It was risky to go out on deck during the day, and even at night any trace of light would have alerted us to unwanted eyes. On the chance I did see her before… I wouldn’t have remembered.”

“Oh.” Sotiris sank into the seat, shoeless feet dangling and swinging to and fro off the bench. Lips pursed, and suddenly his head lifted with a wide grin. “Maybe she was really nice…! And she sang as good as you do!”

A small, somber smile played on Faramund’s face and he chuckled. “You’re far too kind, son. If you believe my singing is good, then hers would have been the voice of angels! You certainly got your generosity from her.”

The younger beamed, throwing a brief look to the empty seat across the way. “How come Da didn’t come with us? He said he loves traveling!”

“A-ah, he does, yes! It’s, well…”

I worry he’s done what he always does with things that put him in great distress: he avoids it at all cost. He’ll always tell me he’s fine, but it upsets me to know how much he’s allowing to build on his shoulders. I fear it will be too late for me to pull him free when it collapses on him.

“He thought it better to stay at home to oversee the factory’s remodeling. But, I know any other day he would have loved to join us.” His smile broadened and he mussed the curly mess that was Sotiris’ hair. A moment later, the smile dropped. “Are you certain you want to do this now? We can always come back when you’re older, no one will fault you for that.”

When I can be stronger for you. When even I can accept this.

Sotiris was quiet for a passing minute, then leaned against Faramund. He pulled his knees to his face and lowered his gaze.

“I do; I don’t want to wait. I… I want to see my mom.”

                                                       ~ ~ ~

In dreams, he would see the beach.

He saw the same shoreline, walked along its eerily perfect curve over and over, to the point where he could spot even a grain of sand out of place. He would see the same waves roll and crash along the shore leading to the forest on overseeing hills. Sometimes, the sky would be as blue as the ocean’s surface, with nary a cloud to be seen; sometimes, it would be hidden by the dark blanket of the moonless night.

For a moment, Faramund would hold a hand in the air, running his fingers through the incoming winds, and in that moment, he believed all would be well.

Truly, what a fool he was.

It would happen so quickly, so suddenly that he would stumble and fall on the rocks. The flames swelled high from the scattered ruins, a sickening odor of smoke choking his lungs. In both the distance and within an arm’s reach, he heard the cries and pleas of the faceless, nameless passengers before they succumbed to silence, swallowed by the fire, or the dark waters. Tomas was nowhere to be seen, and his own hands began to burn to a ghostly heat. Somewhere, elsewhere, a woman -- no, a child cried for help…

In a blink, the calm waves returned below a gray sky, the melody of crying seagulls echoing far away. Faramund’s hands started and he threw a panicked glance downward. Uneasy relief in the form of a gentle breeze slithered past him; they were not burning, but shaking.

A small voice calling for him pulled his head upright and he turned. Sotiris stood at his side, hands grabbing the back of his heavy coat. His eyes followed the child’s sight, spotting the barren, skeletal remains of a vessel lodged in the shallow waters. A hand cupping the boy’s head, they walked towards the looming, metal wreckage. Perhaps a curious passersby would mistake the sight for an unlucky ship running aground, never to make it back to the vast waters; perhaps the House of Gilroy succeeded in wiping the ambush off the face of the beach to mask their crimes on innocent lives before one became wise.

Sotiris tightened his grip on the coat, taking a cautious step forward towards the waves. They sputtered to a stop before his feet and retreated in haste. One, both hands slipped away from the safety of the thick wool and he edged around the coming of another wave, eyes wandering up the bare frame trapped within the sand and ocean.

Softly, Sotiris spoke. “Is this, is this where...”

Faramund nodded, his voice wavering slightly. “Her and many others, yes.” He forced a swallow and exhaled faintly. “We were to dock in a small fishing mill down the coast, go about our new lives.” A shell crunched beneath his foot as he stepped towards his son. He rubbed his thumb in circles along Sotiris’ hair. “Had they mistaken us for the enemy, or they simply despised the idea of newcomers, I’ll know not, but… it won’t change what they did. What they stole.”

The last words lingered in the air; like a hot knife, they poked and prodded at invisible wounds thought to be healed years back. Across the waters, he spotted the protruding, smooth rocks of the foreshore making itself known; at the hitch in his breath, day swirled into night, and he stood, rooted in place, watching a scene so utterly familiar to him play out.

Two obscure silhouettes pull themselves upon the rocky outcrop, towing along a single lifeboat. Through the roaring flames, the crashing water, the whimpers and gasps of a young woman are barely audible. One slumps to their knees, the other scrambles to grab hold and gently ease her out of the boat, immediately dipping and catching as she collapses upon setting foot on land. She shrinks closer into herself, and a sharp, keen sound of shock breaks into the night sky. 

The cry is not from her.

“I don’t see Mom.”

Night flashed back to day in a fell swoop, wiping the tidal pools clear of any beings, of any boat. Faramund started in place, shuddering at a swell of goosebumps riding up his arms and neck and a patch of cold sweat breaking across his neck. Shaking his head, he rubbed furiously at his eyes with the heel of his hand before catching a trail of footprints leading away from him, aimless in their journey as they stopped in numerous directions in the sodden sand, stopping at the foot of marram grass atop a small mound further from the shore. There, he saw Sotiris, head and body twisting and turning for a destination he knew not. 

“What was that, Sotiris?” 

Sotiris wrung his hands along the hem of his capelet, frowning slightly. “I don’t see her. All the people in the cemetery had graves and headstones, and so did the people in the churchyards back home. How come there’s not one for her, Dad? Or for the others?”

“O-oh,” Faramund whispered, his heart sinking like a stone. “I,” he continued, louder, his own hands now pressing tightly against one another. He feared both would break under the mounting pressure any moment, and he forced them to latch onto his coat. “I’m afraid… I’m afraid there aren’t any.”

Sotiris turned quiet, eyes downcast. “Why?”

He opened his mouth to reply, but Faramund found his voice to be dry, bare. What could he say to the child? That their attackers likely held no interest in granting the passengers a proper burial, for doing so would bring to light their crimes?

Faramund’s head drooped, his gaze at his sand-coated shoes. “I’m sorry, Sotiris, but… I don’t know.”

The distant lapping of waves turned heavy to his ears, accompanied with the howling of winds that were once faint and soothing. Above, the gray clouds split apart to reveal blue skies, and rays of the summer sun found their way to the crescent shore and waters. The warmth it delivered, however, was but a fleeting touch to the man. 

“I wish I could tell you so much more.” Faramund exhaled heavily, his eyes settling upon the tidepools. “I wish I could tell you with certainty that her voice was soft and surpassed those of the angels. Of what she looked like, of how you have her eyes, her smile. I…” Heat bit at his eyes, and tears trickled freely down his cheeks. “I wish I could say why there’s no grave for your mother. I wish… And knowing that I can’t, knowing that my memory is as dark as that night… I-”

He found himself at a loss of what to say when a cutting, sudden sob broke into the air. His head snapped up, panic written across his face before, trembling, guilt swept over him in a landslide. 

Rooted in place among the marram grass, small fists clenched at the capelet’s hems, Sotiris stood, his own tears brimming and rolling wildly downward and disappearing within the grassy sea. Immediately, Faramund stumbled over to the mound and rested his hands lightly over Sotiris’ arms, kneeling as he gave the boy’s arms a reassuring squeeze.

He opened his mouth to speak, to freely utter words of comfort.

“I’m sorry,” Sotiris choked out. He shut his eyes and tugged at the capelet, shaking. “I-I’m sorry!”

Rigid, he furrowed his brows. “Sotiris, wh… what are you…”

“I, I…” The boy sniffled sharply, raising his hands as if to wipe away the tears before they fell limp at his sides. “Y-you’re supposed to r-remember all the good times you had with s-someone before they died, and you’re supposed to know wh-who they were when you visit them. But, but… I don’t remember Mom. I don’t kn-know, know anything about her. I thought if y-you o-or Da knew, seeing Mom would...” His breath began to hitch between deep, heaving sobs.

All Faramund could choke out was a shuddering “Oh,” and with it came a devastating realization that gripped his soul. “Oh, Sotiris-”

“I… I…” He threw himself at Faramund and buried his face within the man’s shoulder with a mighty whimper, his small arms wrapping tight around his torso as his fingers dug and twisted into the coat’s fabric. Though muffled, his voice rang clear as day. “I wanted h-her to see I was a go-good son and m-make her, her proud! How can I do th-that when I…” His voice cracked and devolved into hoarse, sharp sobs, each one a striking flinch through the child’s body. 

Faramund absorbed each snivel, each flinch with the same countenance one would find on a prisoner facing the judge. The persistent questions shot at both he and Tomas to the point of exhaustion; pressing requests to return to the island, a land once home to them all, hidden over the ocean’s horizon. These questions were not to fulfill a child’s curiosity; they were to earn sole gratification from those of the past, from those whose voices were as silent as the night stars. 

Both arms easily took up Sotiris in a warm embrace, pulling him closer with a gentle squeeze. “My dear, sweet boy,” he said slowly. One hand trailed up and rested upon the boy’s hair. “You’ve nothing to apologize for. Not for this. You can’t fault yourself for something far out of your control, out of anyone’s control. You were much too young when she passed; it would be maddening to think she or anyone else would condemn you for it.”

He shut his eyes, exhaling shakily. He fought to keep his voice steady. “I know it hurts, Sotiris. I know it hurts to have your mother’s image as nothing more than a blank slate, and the memories you would hold close to your heart are vague details told from others. But, she did not leave you stranded. What she left you is something that surmounts everything else, something no one else could provide or take away.”

Sniffling, one teary, reddened eye peeked from the shelter of the coat, staring upward.

“Your mother… she loved you more than anything the world could have given her. When the ship was attacked, through the destruction she made certain you were safe, e-even when it meant risking her own well-being in doing so. She…” He stilled, swallowing down a growing break in his throat. “It didn’t matter to her that she was hurt, how far she had to pull that lifeboat through the cold ocean waters that night. Nobody or nothing else mattered to her. Only you, Sotiris. The love she had for you, even in her last moments… Try as your father and I might, there’s no such affection or obstacle that can master it.”

His gaze flickered back to the tidepools, and through half-lidded, misty eyes, he saw her.

It’s a challenge to keep her head upright, to stop herself from completely slumping over and away from the lifeboat. In slow, harsh gasps, she puts on a rueful smile and stares at the crashing waves along the rocks. It takes minutes for her to gather her bearings, more to utter a pained request. There’s no hesitation from the two figures at her side, and immediately a small bundle is set in her shaking arms. Her smile only grows, the tranquil demeanor along her face a stark contrast to the grim injury stealing her life. She lowers and presses her forehead into the bundle, holding off the trembles that took over her body a short while ago as she murmurs a hushed promise to the infant wrapped snug in the dry blanket. 

‘You’ll protect him, won’t you?’ She breathes out. Her eyes don’t leave the bundle. ‘Please, he deserves what I can’t give him anymore. My Sotiris, he…’

He found himself nodding, an anguished, silent reply to her plea that night. Neither he or Sotiris moved or pulled away from one another, and it wasn’t long before a growing wet patch broke through his coat and seeped past his shirt. His hand lightly rubbed circles into the boy’s back as the sobs rumbled against his shoulder, dying off into sputtered coughs before a spell of stillness fell over them both.

After a long while, sniffling, Sotiris withdrew from Faramund, the heels of his hands rubbing at his eyes. Faramund wasted no time, fishing out a small, green handkerchief decorated in red holly leaves and carefully taking hold of Sotiris’ arms in one hand, dabbing away tears fresh and old along the child’s eyes and cheeks with the other. 

He mustered a small, melancholy smile. “One does not require memories to mourn the loss of a loved one, Sotiris, and let no one tell you otherwise. You’re allowed to grieve for your mother, now and forever.” He paused to wipe a new tear from the corner of Sotiris’ eye. “Her love for you, you carry it wherever you go, and it will stay strong through your own love. I know… if she were here now, she would be proud to see how far you’ve come. To have such a bright and passionate child as her son… she’d be honored.”

Sotiris’ voice was meek, croaky. “R-really?”

“Of course.” 

Sniffling again, his eyes bloodshot, Sotiris glanced to the tidepools. “Can we stay here for a while longer? Please? I don’t want to go back to the inn yet.”

Faramund blinked in surprise before his face turned somber, patting the boy’s shoulder. “We can stay here for as long as you’d like. Come, the tide’s still low, and we can look at all the little plants and creatures nestled in the pools…”

                                                     ~ ~ ~

He found himself thinking of her. 

With the exception of a single candle fluttering in an ashen-coated lantern in the corner, the inn’s room was completely dark. Outside, the clouds returned in hordes and hid the stars and moon from curious onlookers, much to one’s displeasure outside their window. Much to Faramund’s relief, their outcries of vexation did not disrupt the sleeping occupant in the bed across the room, curled halfway into a ball beneath a patterned quilt. 

In the dark, his back and shoulders pressed along the headboard and hands wringing themselves, Faramund thought of her. 

How would she react, knowing he brought her child to not only her unmarked grave, but to the grave of the other passengers? He came to the only reasonable conclusion he could think of: furious. No doubt she would have berated him for such a foolish action, and he wouldn’t have blamed her had she decided to strike him.

Children should be basking in the care of their parents, running around and exploring imaginative worlds. 

They should not be led to an area once clenched in death’s cold grasp.

Ah, a voice sang in his head, but the boy was in those cold hands once not so long ago. Is he not already familiar with its ways?

He winced at his fingers nearly choking one another, prying them away with some hesitation. He shook his head, shutting his eyes closed with a shaky breath. 

What was your name?

Quiet.

Why were you on the ship? What were you running from?

Nothing.

Had she survived, he wondered what would have become of her and Sotiris. Would she have gone the way of her unknown goal, possibly to be never seen again? Would she have accompanied him and Tomas to Amaranthine, perhaps extending a branch of friendship and camaraderie? 

He shook his head again, shifting his position on the mattress. He had all these questions and more, questions to answers that will forever be out of his grasp.

“Dad?”

A sudden creak of wood against pressure snapped him from his thoughts and he started, his hand nearly slipping from the bed and almost throwing him to the floorboards below. He righted himself, fumbling with the ends of his undone necktie when he turned his head. In the dim light, Sotiris’ outline wrapped in the quilt stood out clear.

“Dad?” he repeated, hushed. “How come you’re not asleep?”

“Ah, unfortunately it’s one of those restless nights I picked up from your father. Did I wake you?” 

He could barely make out Sotiris shaking his head. “I can’t sleep. I did all the suggestions you and Da say to do and I can’t. I don’t feel tired.”

“Given today’s events, I’m not wholly surprised to hear that.” There came a moan from the bedframe, and Sotiris’ mattress dipped from the newfound weight shifting on the edge. “It was a lot to take in, I’m sure.” 

A moment of stretched silence crept through the room.

“I suspect, however,” Faramund added, slowly, “that today isn’t all that’s currently on your mind.”

“No,” came the shy response. The quilt rustled faintly in the dark. Then, “Da said you were an orphan, and… a-and you didn’t know your parents, either.”

His brow knit, Faramund said nothing at first. His hands took to tugging at his cufflinks once more, and he swallowed. “He is correct. Why… How did he come to tell you this?”

“I asked,” Sotiris mumbled. “I was asking him about his family, and then about yours, b-but he didn’t say anything else after it. Da wouldn’t talk about his family, either.”

“That… sounds like your father. But don’t take it too hard, Sotiris. He…” The corners of Faramund’s lips flickered downward. “The less he’s asked about that particular subject, the better.”

The fabric of the quilt continued to swish in Sotiris’ grip. “Did you miss them? Your parents?”

Were the lantern closer to them, a shadow would have fallen over Faramund’s eyes. “Truthfully, I did not think of them with pleasant thoughts growing up. I was about your age if not younger when th… When I lost them.” He licked at his lips, pinching his fingers deep along his cufflinks. “I didn’t miss them.”

“Oh.”

The candle sputtered out its last flames, then the once feebly lit corner turned black. 

Sotiris’ voice was barely above a whisper and he shuffled closer to Faramund. His head rested along his father’s arm and he said, “Dad?”

“Hm?”

“Is… is it okay if I miss Mom? Even if I can’t remember her?”

Against the window, faint droplets of rain tapped and splattered along the glass and shutters, falling to a rhythm lasting seconds before it unleashed a mighty torrent to the inn and streets. For but a moment, Faramund feared some had broken through the ceiling, as the sleeve of his shirt became damp. His heart sank at the reality, but he shifted and closed his arm around the child’s shoulders with an assuring squeeze.

“Absolutely.”

In the distance roared thunder. Neither seemed to notice, nor care.

“I miss her.”

Faramund closed his eyes tight at the brimming heat poking at them. 

“So do I, Sotiris.”

[risalei-nur]

TAFSIR: Risale-i Nur: The Letters: The Nineteenth Letter - Part 45

FIFTEENTH SIGN

Just as rocks, trees, the moon and the sun recognized God’s Noble Messenger (Upon whom be blessings and peace) and affirmed his prophethood by each demonstrating a miracle, so too, animals, the dead, the jinn, and the angels recognized that blessed person and affirmed his prophethood. 

For by each of those species of beings displaying a number of miracles, they demonstrated that they recognized him and they proclaimed their affirmation of his prophethood. This Fifteenth Sign contains three branches.

First Branch

The animal realm recognized God’s Noble Messenger (Upon whom be blessings and peace) and displayed his miracles. 

There are numerous examples of this Branch. Here as examples, we shall mention only those which are well-known and definite to the degree of ‘consensus in meaning,’ or have been accepted by authoritative scholars, or have been deemed acceptable by the Muslim community.

The First Incident: This is well-known to the degree of ‘consensus in meaning,’ and concerns the two pigeons coming and waiting at the entrance to the cave of Hira, where God’s Messenger (Upon whom be blessings and peace) and Abu Bakr the Veracious hid from the pursuing unbelievers, and the spider veiling the entrance with a thick web, like a curtain holder. 

Ubayy b. Khalaf, one of the leaders of the Quraysh whom God’s Messenger (UWBP) killed with his own hand at the Battle of Badr, looked at the cave. When his companions suggested that they enter, he replied: “Why should we? I see a large spider’s web which appears to have been there since before Muhammad was born. And look, those two pigeons are there. Would they perch there if there was someone in the cave?”

In an instance similar to this, a blessed pigeon cast a shadow over the head of God’s Messenger (UWBP) during the conquest of Mecca, which was related by Imam Jalil b. Wahab.

Also according to a sound narration, ‘A’isha al-Siddiqa relates: “We had a bird in our house called a da\jin, similar to a pigeon. When God’s Messenger (Upon whom be blessings and peace) was present it would stay quiet, but as soon as he left the house, it would start hopping to and fro without stopping.” Thus, the bird was obedient to the Messenger (UWBP), remaining quiet in his presence.

The Second Incident: This is the extraordinary story of the wolf, which has been narrated through a number of chains of transmission from some well-known Companions and about which there is ‘consensus in meaning.’ In short, Abu Sa‘id al- Khudri, Salama b. al-Akwa‘, Ibn Abi Wahab, and Abu Hurayra, and Uhban, a shepherd who was involved in another event, relate through numerous chains of transmission: “A wolf seized a goat and the shepherd saved it from the wolf. The wolf exclaimed: ‘Don’t you fear God? You have deprived me of my sustenance!’ 

The shepherd muttered to himself: ‘How strange! Can wolves speak?’ The wolf said to him: ‘You’re the strange one, for beyond the hill someone is calling you to Paradise. He is a Messenger of God, yet you do not recognize him!’” Although all the lines of transmission agree on the wolf’s speech, in his report, which has a strong line, Abu Hurayra says: “The shepherd said to the wolf: ‘I am going to see him, but who will look after my goats?’ The wolf replied: ‘I’ll look after them.’ 

So the shepherd handed over the herd to the wolf and went to see the Noble Messenger (Upon whom be blessings and peace), believed in him, and returned to his herd. The shepherd found the wolf; not a goat had been lost. So he slaughtered one for the wolf, for it had become his teacher.” 

According to one chain of transmission, one of the chiefs of Quraysh, Abu Sufyan, and Safwan saw a wolf pursuing a gazelle into the enclosure of the Ka‘ba. As it returned, the wolf spoke, telling of the messengership of Muhammad (UWBP). They were astonished. Abu Sufyan said to Safwan: ‘Don’t let’s tell anyone about this;

I’m frightened everyone will join him and Mecca will be emptied.’

[lady-o-ren]

Underneath the Elder Tree

Chapter One /  Chapter Two / Chapter Three / Chapter Four /

Chapter Five

Dawn had risen in delicate blooms of lavender and blushing heather across the waking sky, down to a pine drizzled cabin, quiet inside. Only stirring with the shuffle of Claire dressing for the day about her room.

Hers

To have

To keep

Where she could litter the floors with crumbs of bread, warm with honey, never to be stale. Dress without fear of a presence lurking, panting, leaping, as she dashed through trees, toppling over jutting stones, desperate for a brook, a stream.

Only to be seized by her hair in a fisting twist.

A ribbon lost. Rips of cloth, bruising skin.

A blade unseen tearing fatty flesh that had her fleeing, crossing waters rushing rapid, crawling beneath a tree.

To a home where Claire could sleep without worry, deeply, soundly, wrapped in a heat that seeped across her skin that always held a chill. Like now within the silence of the surrounding four walls, luring her mind to wander, blurring to a blue dipped memory.

She, young and shivering in her mother's arms where warmth slipped away with every slap of wind, as they laid in a ditch overgrown with weeds, far from home to a destination elsewhere. Her mothers breath at her cheek, voice losing shape from years gone and farther still, warning Claire of others who found themselves bound to men, so desirous of a woman's flesh to unsheathe them of their very soul for the secrets flickering behind their eyes. The silkiness of their skin.

“What of, Father? Did he steal yours away too, Mama?” A question hushed in broken breath, as Claire feared that her father was not the noble knight her mother had proclaimed him to be.

A beloved man whose hollowed heart held her endless tears and gasping prayers to breathe with life again. Those desperate pleas fell heavy as the dirt scattered around him as he laid in darkness amongst a sea of flowers, picked by her smudged little hands, to keep forever beautiful.

"Mama?" Claire persisted, squeezing her mother to speak despite the quiet flow of grief she felt dewing her crown of locks.

“Yes, he had but no more will he ever, my darling. Nor will you ever know the cruelty of any mans heart as I."

The vision dimmed, love warm whisked away to infinity by the sounds echoing in the air of a man anything but cruel. One Claire felt an intangible pull to trust despite her wary instinct that thought her a fool, whispering of the white petaled tree where the promise of all that she was still waited for her.

Calling for her.

But so did the tuneless whistle that stole a gentle sound from her, felt sharply in her cheeks dimpling in a smile. That same oddly beating thrum of her heart, the only call she cared to answer of a man who thought her friend.

And now she of him.

_______

Woodsmoke lightly scented the air, drifting through a window left ajar as the newly kindled logs in the hearth caught a rising flame, heating the kettle to and fro along with Willie, drowsily draped across his father's chair, legs swung over the arms. While the lad had been eager to rise to quell his ever insatiable appetite, the lack thereof was enough to keep him stuck between the brim of wakefulness and the heavy pull of dreams.

No bother to Jamie though, as he rose with a sigh from his crouched position in front of the budding fire, arching his broad back to crack the bones knotted from another hard night spent on a pallet. That would have to be tended to and soon, he thought. But until then, Jamie rolled up his sleeves, baring the coppery brush of his arms, getting on with a breakfast of bannocks lest his son wither away to dust, belly first.

By the time Claire emerged from her room, Jamie was stickied white in oat dough from brawny wrist to blunt fingertips while crooning like a thrush, (without the harmony, but ever so the pitch) that could only delight the blessedly deaf. But from his lips the song vanished as his attention was drawn to her curls flowing wild in rebellion from their binding braid, framing a face softly nestled like a pearl, glowing in fondness seeing Willie's dozing form.

And then her eyes that could shame the very sun, a wonder that coaxed his sons imagination and in this moment Jamie's, of an otherness that enveloped her like a veil, a shield, now settled on him. The dusted hairs along his arms lifted, tingling to the back of his neck in what he reasoned was from a breeze slipping through the window.

But why was it warm as if sunkissed by spring?

An uneasiness struck through him, or rather a wave of something foolish stoking hot in his wame that had his hand hovering white and dangerously close to his cheeks to swipe away at the creeping heat. But he caught himself just as a smile curled at Claire's mouth in a prelude to a laugh that tempted him to be that very fool if only to hear the joyous sound.Jamie wanted her happy always.

"Did Willie have a restless night?" Claire asked, dispelling Jamie's pondering, quietly in voice and touch that grazed Willie's hanging foot, tugging his wool sock dangling near off his toes to a snug fit.

Jamie shook his head in response as he wiped his hands on a strip of cloth. "Far from it, only the lad is no morning lark as he's had ye believe, what wi' him trying to charm ye these days past. I have to throw him over my shoulder half the time just to get him moving as I did t'day. And even then, as ye see."

Claire did see in a way that sputtered a giggle out from her belly, as even the spouting kettle only provoked a scrunch of Willie's dark brows in annoyance. Mindfully, she removed the steaming pot from it's hook where it gave a whimpering splurt, moving towards Jamie when he beckoned her near, upturning the bowl of dough with a heavy plop.

"Let's have ye earn yer keep, Sassenach, and maybe we can wake that wee lazy boy of mine."

Under lashes Claire gave Jamie a skeptical look, poking a finger to the mound. "I'm not afraid of hard work but I must admit I have a hand that lacks the skill to prepare anything remotely edible. They're better suited covered in dirt which is what you'll be salivating for if you have me as your cook."

"Were ye a miscreant as a child then? Forgoing yer chores to climb the tallest trees, perched like a curly wig bird without a care for falling and breaking bones, turning all who loved ye grey?" Jamie's wicked tease of a grin dwindled as Claire's paled to a thin line, dragging her hands to grip the powdery edge of the table leaving ghostly streaks. She didn't want to speak of a time that haunted her like a phantom, yet she didn't want to be a mystery to entice curiosity.

Chancing a glance when Jamie uttered his apology, she saw the disquiet darkening his blues, carving deep around the set of his jaw that regretted ever opening and Claire then reasoned that no secret of hers would unfold from sharing a fragment of childhood.

"I was skinned from palm to knee if you must know." Claire began, offering Jamie a sheepish smile that eased his marked concern. "Disobedience was a skill I mastered from the moment I could walk. Always leading me astray from home to anywhere that crawled with life different from my own."

And oh how she wandered and disobeyed with devilish glee before disillusionment tainted her in blood but Claire pushed that aside for the precious wonderment she once had.

"My dresses were miserably torn and stained, replaced with trousers that fared even worse, all because I would hide in the crooks of split trees and old fox holes just to see of I could brave the dark. I even carried my -" her breath hitched in momentary hesitance, only to carry on as she was unable to prevent buried memories from spilling free.

"I even carried my father's satchel in my explorations, stole it really. Filling it with every sprig of green I could possibly find, pressing them to his books with the roots still dangling between the pages, and father would always say I must've born under a cabbage leaf for how could he ever have such a troublesome daughter as I."

Claire hastily blinked away a glimmer that shaded her amber eyes when the sudden quiet built between them was bridged in light reply.

"My da reckoned me a changeling. A hellion most days." Jamie half laughed, taking the burden of memories on himself as he handed Claire a rolling pin, gesturing to the dough with a flick of his chin.

"I gave the poor mans heart holy hell with my recklessness, spending my youth wi' a band of lads riding on horseback raiding cattle, crossing swords - for fun mostly, mind ye, lass. No' even a whisker bristled my chin." Jamie rubbed his now full mass of hairs, leaving streaks of flour amongst the golden copper that had Claire bearing a smile bright.

"Most often though, it was for opening my mouth when I should'ha kept it closed. Always questioning and pestering, challenging every word from his mouth, whether it an order or simple conversation over the weather. I have a knack for that, as ye know, Sassenach."

"Me standing here and not knee high in the forest underbrush is testament to your persuasive skills."

"I'm starting to think my offer of shelter had more to do wi' the promise of a decent meal." Jamie squinted his eyes to a catlike slant of judgement, clicking his tongue at Claire. "Ye're punishing that puir bread like it's insulted yer virtue."

"Regale me on how exactly your father handled that gaping mouth of yours." Claire huffed even as a grin peeked from seeing Jamie drag a finger down the bridge of his nose leaving another stripe.

"By grabbing me by the scruff, damned exhausted he would be too, and have my mam deal wi' me. She could make a grown man piss himself wi' just a look, so ye can only imagine what it felt like as a snot nosed bairn, squirming and hoping I didna wet her floors."

Jamie shifted in his step, creaking the wood underfoot at just the very thought which begged the question…

"What did she have you do then if not dirtying her floors?"

Leaning on the table he eyed Claire in consideration or rather her slender, mussied hands, having resorted to palming needlessly at her handiwork to make a perfect circle. "If ye manage to no' burn the bannocks, I'll tell ye, Sassenach."

They dipped their heads towards one another then to the mess that was Claire's attempt at domesticity. She arched her brow in question at the misshapen circle between them with Jamie giving it a satisfactory nod.

"My mam would appreciate the effort. The proof is in the taste she'd say." He gave the rolled out dough a light pat before sectioning it off to a cast iron pan to set over the fire, with one piece clearly larger than the rest. "And no doubt reward ye wi' this piece here, big as my fist to be slathered in molasses or jam, always in butter and a fat slice of he ham. Too bad yer drooling devoted will nip yer fingers if ye try for it."

Claire cast a glance to Willie as she made her way to the hearth with the readied bannocks, where he was now bare footed, wool socks kicked to the floor.

"He isn't much trouble at all is he?"

"None so much considering I'm the one who sired him, but he'll grey me soon enough I reckon. Turned my father's by the time I was his age, or so my godfather has told me."

"Is he the one who could pipe smoke through his nose and spit farther then he could piss?" Willie had painted a rather colorful image to Claire of a man seldom seen yet left a lasting impression of awe.

"Aye, a charmer Murtagh is to any young lad or lass who cares to live the life of a scoundrel. He has the keeping of my parents land, my birthright since they've passed." Like yours, he would have said but he wasn't willing to upset her as even just the mention of loss shook her to a flinch and that wouldn't do.

"Tis no' much," Jamie continued, as Claire fixed her attention to poking the logs. "Only a stone walled home bigger, larger though than this patch of wood, wi' fields to farm but I hope to travel wi' Willie when he's older or the very least big enough to mount a horse himself."

"So until Willie sprouts like a weed you're stuck living in a lonely place?"

"The living here may be harsher with only a small village days away from here, but when I stumbled to these mountains it took my mind off my troubles - for a time at least." He shrugged dismissively, more to himself to rid the image of another ghost.

“Now it's just Willie and I under this roof, with you, our fairy lass, who ought to keep her eye on - Sassenach! Ye dinna fan the - Daingead!"

______

It was the thick acrid smell of bread blackening to a crispy brick that finally stirred Willie to wake, nose pinched and teary eyed, then quickly bolting upright to Claire's howling curseswith his father hissing right along while hurrying out the door, smoking iron pan in his towel wrapped hand.

"Was that breakfast?" Willie questioned, swatting at the smoke and his own cloud of disheveled curls, only to be answered with a cough.

Still blanketed in a thinning grey the threesome took to their morning meal made solely by his father's hand, that had Claire stained the shining pink of failure, yet sitting defiantly straight, daring the man in front of her to babble a remark.

He did of course, head tilted with a mouth full of mocking buttery delight .

And despite her glaring demeanor, she laughed full hearted and in such a way that illuminated his father's being, flaring indistinct in a gaze unabashed towards Claire.

Because of her.

It was then a seed planted in Willie's mind rooting deeply inside his heart. Thriving. Shooting to his thumping fingertips on how to make a moment of happiness flourish past days and weeks. Long through the winter, far beyond the summer.

Where he might gain a mother of his very own.

To have

To keep

Always

____

A/N: Thank you to all the people who gave me support and cheered me on (There were too many and I know I exhausted you all!!) This has gone under SO MANY scene changes that all the words have bled together, so sorry about that and how short this ended up being.

*I pulled from the first outlander book and one of the future books for the cabbage line when I did a random quote finder. I just can’t remember which one since this was a year ago.

[turnipemblem]

Parenting

Ship: Sylvain x Felix

Au?: Domestic After War AU

Authors Notes?: Hi, I’m a sucker for SylVix. It’s dumb and they are dumb and I need some wholesome shit in my life okay? They are dumb parents, who have twins they asked Mercedes to bear bc Mercedes is beautiful let's not lie

Parenting was hard. Well, that’s what Felix thought at least. The way children behaved was like a foreign thing to the young man, but hey. Maybe he should have thought about that before him and his husband became fathers. With Mercedes willingly becoming the surrogate of the two children, twins, Sylvain and Felix had their hands full since the day they arrived in the world.

A tired Sylvain woke to the tugging of his covers at such a ridiculous hour. As he was about to complain to Felix about how he hogged the covers, but when he sat up, there stood his darling daughter. His hands crept forwards, cupping his daughter's face with a rather gentle touch. He felt the tears peppering the young girl's face, and his face morphed into a frown. He knew it was a stupid idea to leave his bed, especially when Felix was a worrier, but his daughter worried, so he had to support her like a good father. He left his bed, only to hear the grumble and rusting of bedsheets from Felix, and he soon rose from his slumber due to the soft light flickering from the candle that Sylvain had lit.

“What in the Goddesses name are you doing you da-” “Shh...its okay...papa will help you get back to sleep...”

Felix was stunned to see his husband cradling their young daughter, cooing and humming as he sway too and fro. Was he actually staring at Sylvain? Felix rubbed his eyes before shuffling over the bed, noticing his daughter crying and his fatherly instincts kicked in. He sleepily leant over, pressing kisses to Sylvain’s cheeks and pinned his hair back to get a clearer picture of the Male and the child.

It was clear Sylvain was hiding his worry. His eyes had the dull gleam which Felix knew very well what it meant. He carefully kissed his daughter, running his hands through her rather pale orange hair, and her light blue eyes glazed with her tears. Sylvain continuously wiped the tears away, kissing her nose with a smile and to which the young child giggled with a sort of reluctant smile. Ever since the two had started their serious relationship, they had always wanted a small family. Felix always said on how ‘one child is plenty’ but one turned into two, and it was clear who was like Felix and who was like Sylvain.

Felix had taken over at this point so that Sylvain could go and grab a few things, and yet he seemed so lost without his husband. His parenting skills vanished and he seemed fearful on hurting his daughter.

“Daddy...c-can I sleep with you and papa t-tonight?” The young girl asked, placing her tiny hands upon her fathers face, tracing every scar that Felix had acquired during the war and every other battle. Felix gave a nervous and half asleep grumble as a reluctant response, only for the little girl to make a pouting face with rather large puppy dog eyes.

“W-well..we will have to speak with p-papa then, I’m s-Sorry darling..”

“Oh..I spoke to papa and he said it’s okay!”

“Ah..well..shall we go and get your t-things then?”

Felix let his daughter down, holding her hand as they walked to her bedroom. Since the two were nobles, they had been given a rather stately home upon marriage. The little girl had vast amounts of unused and untouched toys, with her only used toy being her brothers swords and rocking horse. She scrambled into her large bed ,that was practically an adult bed, and she grabbed a comforter blanket and a well loved stuffed toy cat. The cat resembled a mischievous one, a tuxedo wearing a yellow bandana and piercing blue eyes..how odd..it seemed like it would steal its owners heart, and it did so rather well with his daughter loving it so much.

After fetching for her things, the two returned to Sylvain already asleep in bed, snoring rather quietly as he had woken so early. Felix let his daughter squirm in the middle of the bed, and then lay down beside her. His arms wrapped around them both, making sure the young girl was safe. “I do not regret marrying you Sylvain...” Felix whispered to himself, only to hear a feint chuckle from the opposite side to him, with Sylvain responding simply with a, “I love you too.”

[greenglasslov3]

Auld Fashioned - Chapter 1: Ain’t No Mountain

Author’s Notes:

This fic was inspired by a prompt from @theministerskat​ for a prompt exchanged hosted by @thelallybrochlibrary​: Imagine modern life on Fraser’s Ridge.  Well... over six months later, this fic has grown into a modern re-imagining of Roger & Bree’s engagement, wedding planning process, and eventual marriage.

The soundtrack for this chapter is (of course) Ain’t No Mountain High Enough

This is un-beta-ed word vomit - so please be gentle.

Chapter 1: Ain’t No Mountain

Stumbling over the jagged rocks in the path, Roger crested yet another incline.  Sweat covered his brow and trickled down his cheek, stinging uncomfortably as it occasionally dripped into his eyes.  As they climbed impossibly higher, his lungs burned from the added exertion of trying to breathe in the ever thinning atmosphere.  His muscles slowly fatiguing, his legs felt heavy as if his shoes were filled with lead.  He couldn’t fathom how he could take another step, and yet he did.  Step after step, mile after endless mile, Roger kept climbing, his goal clear in his mind’s eye pushing him to reach the top of this mountain.  He could do it - would do it.  He had to reach the top… for Bree… for their family...

If he didn’t die first…

It was all Faith’s idea.  She had accompanied Roger on his final trip to the jewelers to inspect the ring he’d soon give Brianna.  She’d babbled over the bauble for a good twenty minutes, examining the cut and the quality of the stone, testing the fit by trying it on her own ring finger.  Roger endured twenty minutes of endless chatter from the dear girl who would someday be his sister-in-law before she grew suddenly quiet.  Faith paused as she returned the ring to it’s velvet box.

“So,” she began, rocking to and fro on her heels, “how do ye plan to ask Da?”

Roger nearly fainted in the middle of the shop.  He’d been so focused on picking a ring and planning the proposal he hardly had time to think of anything else.  Certainly, Dr. Fraser was a modern woman.  If he’d formally asked her permission for her daughter’s hand, she’d waive him off, ever the cool and collected Brit.  

“Roger, darling,” he imagined her explaining to him in her office on a sunny afternoon over a proper cuppa.  “Brianna is a grown woman - and a mother no less! She is clearly old enough to make her own decisions without her dear, old mum throwing in her two cents. Ask her yourself!”

Dr. Claire Fraser was not his concern.  Brianna’s father, however, was a different matter entirely.  Roger simply could not propose without his permission, and yet the thought of asking Mr. Fraser for his blessing made his stomach uncomfortably roll as if he’d just ridden the dizzying teacups at Disney World.

James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser was possibly the most intimidating man to walk the earth.  One harrowing look with his piercing blue eyes could send Attila the Hun crying for his mother.  Fraser stood well over six feet tall, solidly built with large hands that could probably challenge a bear if he wished it.  The son of Scottish Catholic immigrants, Fraser was an outdoors-men at heart, preferring the sound of rushing rivers over blaring rush hour traffic, but he loved his wife Claire even more than the rugged wilderness of the Smoky Mountains.  Since her life’s work as a surgeon required her to live in some sort of metropolitan area - like Charlotte where they settled - he adapted and compromised.  He combined his love of nature and his head for numbers to establish the most lucrative specialty outdoor retail franchise in the Southeastern United States.  

Physically imposing, fiercely traditional, incredibly sharp, and insanely successful - yes, Roger found James Fraser to be particularly intimidating, especially when it came to his daughters. He desperately wanted - no needed - Mr. Fraser’s permission… which is how he found himself scaling a bloody mountain with the Scottish Grizzly Adams on this particularly warm spring afternoon.

“Do something with him!” Faith had suggested urgently.  

They reviewed all of the options.  At first, Faith had suggested either shooting or fishing - at both of which Roger was entirely inept.  He held a strong objection to guns, and Mr. Fraser swore the deep, melodic timber of his voice lulled every fish in the Atlantic to sleep.  It was then Roger suggested a whisky tasting at the distillery their cousins - the Murrays - had just opened.  Before he could finish his thought, Faith had her arms across her chest and was shaking her head as she bit back giggles of the memories of Roger and her father last New Year’s Eve entirely pissed and loudly singing the auld songs entirely off key in the middle of The Green.  

No, simply none of these activities would do… but hiking might.

Two men at one with the wilderness, scaling a mountain side by side, celebrating with a wee dram as they reached the top - his plans played out in his mind’s eye, ruggedly romantic and ideal like one of those Barbour advertisements he’d seen when watching that far-fetched Scottish time-traveling show Brianna loved so much.  As silly and idyllic as the commercials appeared, Roger could not argue with the sentiment.  They offered the perfect plan on how to win over his (hopefully) soon to be father-in-law - enjoying the outdoors in not matching but coordinating plaid, hiking up a mountain, toasting their victory once they’d reached the top with a wee dram… and Jamie Fraser’s blessing on Roger and Brianna’s impending engagement.

This plan had to work… or so he thought about a mile back before his left calf muscle cramped for the millionth time.  This proposal was long overdue - longer if you asked the gossiping old ladies at church, but if you asked Roger himself, he’d wanted to propose marriage to Brianna the first moment he ever saw her.  After almost two years of irregularities, stress, and unnecessary judgement, they - Brianna, wee Jem, and himself - needed some normalcy in their lives.  This was what people did after all - fall in love, get married, start a family… Although their plans had gone a bit out of order, Roger was eager to check that last box on their to-do list.

Fueled by determination and grit, he dug deep as he crested that final hill to reach the top of the mountain.  The thick, dense forest gave way to a clearing that overlooked the valley below.  The sky above them was fairytale perfect blue - bright, clear, and not a cloud in site.  A gentle wind filtered through the trees.  Roger shed his jacket and allowed the breeze to cool his heated skin.  He staggered towards a fallen tree to sit upon and rest his weary legs when he spotted his future father-in-law proudly staring off into the vast horizon, flask in hand and cheeks barely flushed as if he’d just taken a brisk walk around the park.

Was he part Scot and part bloody mountain goat?!

Reaching into the pocket of his cargo shorts, Roger retrieved his own flask before stumbling over to join Jamie.  He never imagined that he’d ask for Mr. Fraser’s permission for his daughter’s hand in marriage at the edge of a cliff, and as he peered over the edge, he quickly understood why.  Though he knew that posing this very question to one Jamie Fraser he would be taking his life in his own hands, he hadn’t realized the threat to his own person would be quite so literal.

The clinking sound of metal tapping metal broke Roger from his thoughts as Jamie offered a salute to their successful climb.  Together, they murmured the traditional Scottish toast before tipping back their flasks to enjoy more than a drop or two of whisky.  Silence fell between the pair as they quietly enjoyed nature’s splendor in each other’s company.

“So…” Jamie started after quite some time as he rocked forward on his toes, “What did ye need to discuss wi’ me, then?”

Roger’s eyes grew wide as his heart began to hammer behind his ribs.  This was not how he had planned to begin the conversation, and he never once expected that Mr. Fraser would be akin to his plan.

“Nothing!” he managed to squeak out around his constricting throat.

“Come on, Mac, it’s written plain on your face that ye have something on yer mind...” The older Scot nudged him with his elbow before taking another generous sip of whisky.

Shaking his head, Roger swore. “‘Tis nothing, Mr. Fraser...”

Jamie snorted and rolled his eyes, “If I told ye once, I’ve told ye a thousand times - ye can call me Jamie, lad.”

With just one long stride, Fraser closed the gap between the pair.  Roger always thought of himself as a tall bloke of decent size, but next to Brianna’s father, he felt like he was no bigger than the wee lads he led in the choir at church.

“So what is it?” Jamie asked again, looming over him and prying a little more, the timber of his voice deepening as his questions grew more serious.  “Ye did no’ get my daughter pregnant again, did ye now?”

“God, no!” Roger exclaimed, jumping backwards about ten feet to escape the grasp of his rather intimidating, hopefully soon-to-be father-in-law, who in turn gave him a suspicious look.

“No?” Jamie questioned with a raised eyebrow.  “Ye dinna wish to grow yer family with my daughter? Was wee Jem a mistake then?”

Roger felt the color rising in his cheeks as he began to panic.  His heart hammered wildly against his rips as his breath came quick and shallow.  Things had taken a horrible turn, and he had no clue how to redirect the course of the conversation.

“Yes!” he shouted, blurting out the first answer that came to mind.  “Wait - no!”

Fraser’s expression changed instantly.  His eyes narrowed to thin slits as he sized Roger up as if he were a 12-point buck he intended to snag.  Brianna’s father took another step towards him, and Roger backed away quickly, stumbling over rocks, twigs, and even his own feet until he felt his heels leave the edge of the cliff.  He felt his balance shift backwards and fear settle into the pit of his stomach.

Suddenly, Roger felt himself jerking forward as Mr. Fraser grabbed him by his shirt collar and pulled him away from the cliff.  They stumbled forward further into the belly of the clearing.  Both men rested, hunching over with their hands on their knees and panting with the exertion of their efforts.

“For Christ’s sake, will ye tell me why ye brought me up here before you throw yerself off the top of this God forsaken mountain?” The older Scot demanded, his deep voice booming throughout the clearing.

It was now or never.

Roger took several deep breaths before he stood up straight and shouted his truth for all of creation to hear:

“IWishToAskForBrianna’sHandInMarriage!”

Roger’s words echoed over the cliff and throughout the valley below, his love for this girl - this perfect woman - ringing out above the treetops. Brianna’s father straightened to his full height and folded his arms across his chest.  His long fingers drummed against his forearm as the words sank in.  A moment passed, and then another - which felt like an eternity for Roger before Jamie crossed the clearly to him and firmly shook his hand.

“Of course ye can, lad,” Mr. Fraser said with a smirk as he clasped his left hand on poor Roger Mac’s shoulder.  “An’ for the last time - it’s Jamie.”

To be continued...