#um..hi new people following me. i may test your patience. but i also like to reblog cats so... yeag.

[a-strawbebie]

ough....... everyone is so nicey to me... a few people are leaving comments WAUGH 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺

[jokerscrazybrilliant]

Survive - Chapter 1 - (Captain Rex)

Idk why I'm so nervous to post this lol, but I'm new here, anyhow, I've been re-watching Clone Wars and re-fawning over the incredible Captain Rex, so um, here's the maybe beginning to something? I kind of don't know how to judge my own writing so I hope this isn't totally sucky lol..

ANYHOW CHAPTER 1 !! XD

Also out now:

Chapter 2 · Chapter 3 · Chapter 4

Story on other platforms:

AO3 · Quotev

________

sur·vive /sərˈvīv/ verb Continue to live or exist, especially in spite of danger or hardship. Similar: live · continue · remain · last · persist · endure · persevere · abide · linger · exist · be • continue to live or exist in spite of (an accident or ordeal). • remain alive after the death of (a particular person). • manage to keep going in difficult circumstances.

________

Darkness. Everywhere. Not just a lack of light, but the feeling of being lost and directionless, the great darkness that spread endlessly in every direction. And I was alone in it, unable to watch my step, I stumbled over my feet as I ran. Run. Run. RUN.

“MASTER!” The shout tore itself from my throat painfully as I shot up in bed, sweating and in a panic. Breathing heavily, I put a hand to my chest, feeling my heart pounding painfully rapidly. I tried to control my breathing as I blinked away tears, making my way to the refresher, the bright lights of Coruscant’s horizon making their way into the room through the window.

The shower helped calm me down and I got dressed in my tan and brown jedi robes, making my way to the balcony to meditate until sunrise.

Today the council would be informing me of their decision on my future. When I lost my master so close to being ready to take my tests to be knighted, the council was unsure of which path would be best for me. To assign me as a Padawan to a new master or to get me to take the tests early, neither seemed an easy option. I took a deep breath and let my mind quiet as I felt the force flow through and around me. Whatever may come would be for the best, I just had to keep my mind open and accept things as they were.

***

Standing there in front of the council, most of what was said passed around me in a haze. All of the comments on how what had happened was unfortunate, but the force willed it so, the comments on how it would make me a stronger Jedi to learn patience detachment and strength from this particular trial. While this was all true, I wasn’t in a place where I wanted to hear these words. I just wanted to know what their decision was so I could carry on without thinking about what happened.

“-so we believe that it would be best if you served under another Jedi master, not necessarily as his Padawan, but just to gain some more experience before you are ready to take the tests for your knighthood. And you would also be assisting him in leading his battalion and helping him plan strategies for key missions. This is a great opportunity, so I hope that you will make the best of it, and I’m sure you will, we have faith in you Nimra.”

“Thank you Master Windu,” I bowed my head to him respectfully. “Might I ask to which Jedi Master I am being assigned?”

At my question a half smile and a nearly playful twinkle appeared in the Master’s eye. “Anakin Skywalker. He is a very skilled Jedi, and things would certainly never be dull.”

I gave a slight smile in response and bowed once more to the council. “Thank you for the opportunity masters, I will do my best to make you proud.” With that I made my exit, sagging slightly once the door closed behind me.

Master Skywalker, huh? I had met him a few times with my previous master on certain missions, and Master Windu’s comment made perfect sense to me. Things would certainly be interesting, but I was just hoping to keep my head down and get through the next few months with him until I could take my tests.

***

He was late. This was a wonderful start. He was late, and he was arriving in an old trash pile of a ship, one that looked like it was found in a junkyard on an outer-rim moon somewhere. “Nimra!” He called my name joyfully as he made his way down the ramp with a small blue astromech and a young orange skinned Togruta following him.

“Master Skywalker.” I bowed my head respectfully and gave him a small smile.

“I’m so sorry to hear about what happened to your master. He was a great Jedi Master and it’s truly a loss to the republic and the Jedi Order.”

“Thank you, Master.”

“Of course. I’d like you to meet my Padawan, Ahsoka Tano, Snips this is Nimra Sayla.” I bowed my head to the padawan as well and she returned it with a smile. “Nimra will be joining us for a while, and we will be lucky to have her, I’ve fought on the battlefield with her, and she is a force to be reckoned with.”

“You’re too kind, Master.”

“You’re nearly knighted yourself Nim, stop calling me that would ya?” He laughed at my formality, and I gave a small chuckle myself.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. Master – Master Diya thought highly of professionalism and formalities.” I kept the smile even though saying my old Master’s name caused a sharp stinging pain in my heart. Anakin put his hand on my shoulder and gave me an understanding smile, which I appreciated immensely.

“Well, we should get going if we’re going to make the rendezvous with the rest of the fleet.” Anakin turned to climb back up the ramp before the astromech gave a series of agitated beeps at the Jedi. “Oh, you’re right, how could I forget. This, is R2-D2.” He laughed as he introduced the droid to me, it beeping appreciatively and spinning it’s head around slightly.

“Hello R2-D2, it’s nice to meet you.” I gave the droid a grin as we all made our way into the ship, me biting my tongue as not to comment on how this junk pile would possibly make the trip through hyperspace.

***

“Home sweet home.” Anakin commented as we made our way into the hangar of his Jedi cruiser we had met up with.

“Welcome back, General.” A clone trooper with the blue paint of the 501st met us as we descended. He was holding his helmet under his left arm, and he had buzzed bleached hair, with no other specific markings unlike many clones who chose to tattoo themselves or get very unique haircuts to set them apart from their comrades. Of course, being someone with the force, I could feel the energy signatures within people rather than just seeing their outsides, and that had always helped keep track of the clones, who while they had the same DNA, each had their own very different and unique personalities. “I see we’ve picked up a new recruit?”

“Thank you, and yes, Captain Rex, meet Nimra Sayla.” Anakin introduced us, gesturing his hands between us before focusing on an information disc R2 was giving him.

“Nice to meet you General.” The Captain gave me a salute.

“Oh, no, not quite. I’m not actually a Jedi Knight yet.” I gave him a slightly sheepish smile.

“Ah, sorry about that Commander.”

“That’s quite alright.”

“You’re not a padawan but also not a knight yet?” Ahsoka inquired from beside me.

“Uh, no, not yet. My master, he died before I could take my tests, so I’m going to complete my remaining trainings here with you until I can take them.” I was acutely aware of the pity entering Ahsoka’s eyes, but thankfully the clone did not show that same emotion, rather just a slight understanding of my situation.

“Sorry to hear that Sir.” Rex said, still standing at attention.

“Yeah, I’m sorry too.” Ahsoka said sweetly.

“It’s really okay, but thank you.”

“Alright, me and Ahsoka have to go prepare a debrief, and discuss how when I say ‘let’s go’, it means ‘let’s go’, and not ‘take your time Ahsoka’.” I chuckled at Anakin’s words.

“But Master, if I hadn’t stayed as long as we needed, we would’ve never gotten the information we needed!” She retorted, pointing at the disc in his hand.

“Yeah yeah, that’s not the point, Snips. Anyway, Rex, can you show Nimra around and to her quarters please?”

“Yes, of course Sir.” The captain saluted again and then turned to me as Anakin and Ahsoka walked away, still bickering.

“Are they always like that?” I asked, small smile still on my face.

“Yes Sir, for the most part.” His response made me turn to look at him in the eyes, serious expression taking over my features.

“I will do whatever it takes, whatever it takes, to get you to stop calling me that.” The moment he recognized my joking, some of his seriousness dissolved, and a small half smile appeared on his face.

“Whatever it takes?” He inquired, arching an eyebrow.

“I will personally make the trip to the end of the galaxy and back, on THAT scrap pile, with an agitated blurrg as my copilot, just to get you to stop calling me ‘sir’.” I pointed at Anakin’s ship behind me, serious expression never cracking even as I gained a full smile from the captain, which made my heart warm slightly.

“Well in that case, Commander.”

“That’s not any better!” I exclaimed, laughing as he grinned at me.

“Shall we begin the tour?” He offered, arm outstretched in the direction we would begin with.

“Yes, Captain.” My grin remained as he began to show me around. This will be interesting indeed.

[sneverussape]

with friends like these

oneshot, 3300+ words. unbeta-ed because i really only wanted to write an angsty-ish brotp snucius (although technically this has minerva in it more than snape because um he’s already dead in this), and it turned out to be a character exploration type thing idek

summary: “Headmistress McGonagall, I am requesting that he be buried on my family estate.”

-- It was with newfound purpose that Lucius Malfoy found himself apparating just beyond the wards of Hogwarts, with full intent of storming the castle and not leaving without having his demands met. He stalked heavily towards the nearest entrance, cane forgotten, as he resolutely ignored the sight of the half-ruined structure that loomed at him over the craggy hilltop, the relic seemingly taunting him for his sins. Christ, Malfoy! The deep baritone that haunted his dreams and waking moments rose automatically to the forefront of his thoughts. What’s got your knickers in a twist? The sound of the heel of his boots ringing against the castle’s stone floors were loud enough to drown out the ghosts that resided in his head. It was also joined by the general cacophony taking place inside: classes were still taking place while renovations still went underway, and students, staff, as well as what seemed to be a significant percentage of Britain’s wizarding population were milling about the corridors, elbow-deep in activity. Several aurors that he recognized turned their heads as he walked past, but Lucius made no effort to acknowledge them. He came here for one purpose and one purpose alone, and by Merlin he was going to see it through no matter what it took. He regarded himself as fortunate when he saw the target of his ire just outside the Headmaster’s old office, conversing with Shacklebolt—Minister Shacklebolt, the voice in his head tutted—and with a confidence that he hadn’t felt in many months, he managed to incline his head at them in greeting as they turned towards him as he approached. “Minister,” he greeted Shacklebolt, before turning to Minerva McGonagall, who looked at him as though he were an insect that she wanted to scrape off the sole of her boot. Lucius deftly ignored the expression and instead gave her a curt nod. “Headmistress. May I have a word?” His tone brooked no request and he was sure both Shacklebolt and Minerva had noticed. The Minister looked at him impassively. “On what matters, Malfoy?” he asked, equally obstinate, and Lucius had to restrain himself in order to not sneer. “I believe anything to do with your contributions to the castle’s renovations as well as any reparations to the war victims has to go through me, not the headmistress.” “I’m afraid it’s personal, Minister.” Lucius’ jaw hurt as he forced a smile. “It’s on the topic of…family.” Family! The bark of a laugh that resounded in his head made him startle. You’re having me on! Lucius nearly growled at his lapse of control. Both Shacklebolt and Minerva were now staring at him with a critical expression, quite likely debating about the possibility of him being unsound. “Family, you say, Lord Malfoy?” Minerva echoed, and although the witch looked like she had aged a century in the handful of months that had passed since the Dark L—Voldemort had been defeated, her voice still held an undercurrent of steel, sharpened to a point like a goblin-made blade. She knew, he sensed, that what he was going to ask from her was no trivial matter. “Minerva—” Shacklebolt started protesting, but Lucius beat him to the quick. “You may keep my wand for the duration of my meeting the Headmistress, Minister, if it suits.” He unsheathed his wand, brand new and unfamiliar, and offered it to Shacklebolt, who looked at him as though he had just offered himself up to a Dementor’s Kiss. Lucius of course understood the reaction, but it also only confirmed to him how little people thought of him, and the lengths he would go to obtain what he wanted. Pitiable fools. He goaded a bit more: “You may also inspect my person to ensure I do not carry additional weapons or wands. Perhaps a little Veritaserum afterwards—” “Enough.” Shacklebolt held up his hand then took Lucius’ wand with the other, gripping it with more force than necessary. His face had darkened at the mention of Veritaserum, which was a little-known sore point between Shacklebolt and his many heavy-handed aurors, and Lucius would have known of course, from personal experience. “We’ve little time for theatrics, Malfoy, so I would be grateful if you started and concluded this matter of yours with Minerva as quickly as possible.” Lucius nodded. “Of course, Minister,” he said, before turning to meet Minerva with a purposeful stare. She inclined her head and led the way towards the staircase, muttering a password too low for him to catch. The stairs appeared with a low grinding sound that made Lucius clench his jaw. She gestured at him wordlessly to follow. “Now,” Minerva said before they were barely within the confines of the Headmistress’ office, “Lucius Malfoy, I don’t know what game you’re playing at but I’m of the opinion that this is not about your son—” “It’s Severus.” His name tasted bitter and thick on his tongue, like blood, and Lucius’ anger that had awakened since the precise moment that morning when he had read the Prophet started to once more smolder as soon as he was face-to-face with the damnable witch. He released a pent-up breath through his nostrils as he stated the next few words: “Headmistress McGonagall, I am requesting that he be buried on my family estate.” Minerva had already gone pale at the mention of his name, but the succeeding statement leached out all the remaining color in her face. He doubted he could have elicited the same reaction even if he had held her at wandpoint, and the sight gave Lucius the familiar stirrings of satisfaction. The Headmistress, however, was able to recover swiftly, her composure returning as though it was as simple as shedding a cloak. “Professor Snape,” she began, and it was with much annoyance for Lucius to realize that her voice did not so much as shake, when his own felt like caving in whenever he even attempted to say his name, “had explicitly stated—” “That is a lie!” The thin veneer of Lucius patience cracked, and he could feel as his anger grew, enough to stoke his magic enough that it threatened to spill over despite the lack of a wand. The various glass ornaments on the shelves surrounding them trembled, the glass and metal tinkling softly in the still air. Careful, Malfoy, the soft voice now taunted, testing his limits. Careful… Lucius tried again. He would not lose control. Not for this. “Headmistress. With all due respect, I believe Severus would have more likely requested he be incinerated on the spot than be buried on Hogwarts grounds.” Minerva looked as though she wanted to hex him. “To be buried here on the grounds was a mutual decision made by the Minister and the rest of the staff, as he was the headmaster at the time of his death. He was also laid to rest beside Albus Dumbledore, who was his friend—” “I was his friend!” he thundered. The word made Lucius’ stomach turn, enough to make him want to be violently ill. His temper, carefully hidden away after so many months of questioning, of trials, of him burying his pride and family honor, all for the sake of his family’s survival, came rushing forth. He was seething, enraged at Minerva’s presumptuousness, at her utter damnable gall. “Albus Dumbledore only noticed him after he proved himself useful, but before that had seen nothing but barely a wisp of a boy. He was such a little savage that you would not care to look twice at him. But he was my…” He couldn’t bear saying the word again; it seemed to barely capture what they had had and what they had been through, and so he let the choked pause speak for itself. “I’d known him since he was eleven. I was his prefect…for Merlin’s sake, I tutored him! Think what you want of me, Minerva, but Severus….” He cleared his throat but found he was unable to say any more; his lips were trembling, and he clamped them together in a fit of desperation. Had he brought his cane he would have been gripping it by now. As it was, he had to resort to clenching his hands into fists behind his back. Across from where he stood, the Headmistress surveyed him with an odd expression, as though she was debating on the merits of having him summoned by St. Mungo’s for a thorough examination.  “We should have been consulted…Merlin, we should have been told!” Lucius concluded bitterly, not able to find it in himself to accept that no one had deigned to tell them of the memorial service that had taken place before the term had even started, and he had been left to find out through the thrice-damned Prophet a month after it had already occurred. He was insulted beyond all rational thought. “I will not leave until you grant me this request.” He would not beg. No, he would demand it. It was the least he could do, for Severus’ pride and dignity as much as his own. “I was not aware you and Severus had had any sort of…friendship.” Minerva told him, her tone flat. “He was not very forthcoming regarding such information, and had we known…” Lucius almost laughed. He would not be swayed by such platitudes, especially coming from a Gryffindor witch, no matter that she had, once upon a time, been a close colleague to his own father. “You would not have cared to inform us, at any rate, and Slytherins have long kept our circles intimate so any news of our friendship would not have been spoken about outside of it,” he said coolly. “However, as it stands, Professor Snape was…very dear to Narcissa and Draco and myself, and I would rather he be…laid to rest…where he would be safe, rather than have his grave be vandalized by hooligans—” Minerva gave him a pointed look. “And I suppose the Malfoy estate where Voldemort had resided for months would be a haven for him?” The voice in his head cackled, a rich carefree sound that Lucius had not heard in decades. “The Dark—Voldemort did not have full use of the grounds,” he found himself retorting, his face suddenly hot at having been so easily outwitted, and the fact that Minerva did not even flinch at saying his former master’s name. Damn it all to Hades. “Severus can be laid to rest in Narcissa’s garden, near the greenhouse where he planted his potions ingredients to his heart’s content.” This bit of information seemed to interest the Headmistress. “Severus had…what? He planted potions ingredients on Malfoy grounds?” “He had control of an entire greenhouse.” Lucius could not help keeping the haughty tone from his voice, her curiosity having given him an opportunity to gain leverage over the conversation. If he had to prove his claim over Severus, then so be it. “It’s been overrun by his vegetation since before Draco was barely a twinkle in his mother’s eye. No one but him was allowed inside. One of the bedrooms in the Manor is also his. He used to spend the summer holidays there, and on occasion, the Yule holidays as well. He used to play Quidditch with Narcissa on the pitch, then eventually it was the three of them with Draco. That little whelp had read nearly the entire Malfoy library. For Merlin’s sake, he has a personal house elf at the Manor—” Had. The voice was quiet now. Not that I never appreciated it, Malfoy, but then you were always a showy git… Lucius blinked rapidly as his eyes burned. He suspected dust…the entire office must not have been cleaned in months. He was surprised that when he next glanced at Minerva, her expression had changed completely. It had closed off, as though she was attempting very hard to not let her true feelings come to the surface. “If you need proof, I would be willing to…share my memories,” Lucius offered as a final attempt, although it rankled him to do so. He had had enough aurors and members of the Wizengamot poking around in his mind and memories to last five lifetimes, but it was a small price to pay in exchange for what he was asking for. “That would not be necessary,” the Headmistress said curtly. “Inasmuch as we have never really seen eye to eye, Lord Malfoy, I would be glad to take you at your word, especially when it comes to a man whom we both had seen as a friend. After all, you have absolutely nothing to gain from this unexpected demand, except perhaps the assuaging of your apparent guilt.” Her words made him feel as though she had physically struck him, and his ire increased tenfold. Once more, the shelves surrounding them tinkled and trembled. “We did not bury him here, however.” The shuddering that had been starting to build up in the room ceased and the room plunged into a filled silence. “What?” Lucius croaked. He wondered if he had gotten it all wrong then. Perhaps Severus was alive…? He would not put it past the whelp to figure out some way to cheat death… “He is very much gone, Lord Mal—Lucius.” Minerva’s tone had changed, and Lucius realized that he had spoken aloud. His face colored at the realization. “I am quite aware!” he snapped, although he could not deny the horrible emptiness that came with the snuffing out of that latest hope. Severus was gone. He had seen the body for all of twenty seconds before the aurors had taken him away. Since that moment, he had barely slept and had taken to eating only a necessary amount to not collapse during the long hours of questioning he had had to endure. It had almost been automatic, the steps to ensure his and his family’s survival, but it did nothing to quell the voice in his head. That was, until he’d seen the headline stating SEVERUS SNAPE GIVEN HERO’S BURIAL that morning, which he’d promptly reduced to ashes into his half-empty teacup. Hogwarts did not deserve Severus. Albus Dumbledore certainly had not. Severus had owed them nothing but had given them everything, had gone out of his way to put himself in the line of fire even when Lucius had told him repeatedly to be a face in the crowd, you must protect yourself first and foremost and the insufferable boy had gone and done the exact opposite. “Do you regret it?” Minerva asked him, and Lucius knew that if he had had his wand the witch would have wished she had never opened her accursed mouth. Just what more did these people want from him? He had told the Ministry, the aurors, even the Potter boy everything! He had contributed considerable sums for war repairs and reparations. He had given them names of other Death Eaters, none of whom he had particularly cared for anyway, and if they had been imbecilic enough to get caught and deny all of their known involvement, then that would hardly be on his conscience. He cared for little and for few. You sad bastard. The voice sounded amused. All that money and nothing to show for it, apart from a small family made from glass and a filthy half-blood brat with a filthy mouth… “I have never felt a loss this deep,” Lucius replied with much difficulty, which was the most he would allow. His pride may have been shattered, but he would not admit any of his true feelings in detail, especially not to the Gryffindor Head of House. A former version of himself would have gone apoplectic with rage had he known this would have taken place at any point in the distant future, but now…so many had been lost, Severus included, and the blood on his hands stained everything he touched. The Headmistress regarded him for a long moment, as though deciding on what to say next. “We did not bury him here,” she finally stated, and this time her voice was tight. “I regarded Severus as a friend, and occasionally we would have private conversations about…matters. In a rare moment of vulnerability, he had once expressed to me his wishes…should he not see the end of the war.” Lucius felt all at once enraged and betrayed. “And?” he asked, attempting to put on a mask of indifference, although he couldn’t help his lips from curling in distaste. He needed to know what they had done. Had they thrown him into the sea? Had they given him an unmarked grave somewhere in the Hebrides? “We did not bury him at all.” Minerva said, looking all at once despairing and yet triumphant. Her eyes glistened, pinning Lucius where he stood. “He had wished not to, because he was afraid…of people desecrating his grave, or not letting him rest. He stated that he wanted to be burned, for practicality’s sake.” This time Lucius laughed. Trust the little bastard to have proven one of his rare jokes right! “You cast Incendio on him then?” he asked, his tone sharper than expected. He felt ill and hollow. “That must have been a laugh since he had never been liked by your crowd…” Minerva looked at him heatedly. “We performed the Liberi ritual, of course. Two weeks after the battle, but we had told no one else. The staff had attended. The Minister and Mr. Potter had also been there, of course, but if I had known…” Something that looked like regret flashed in her eyes. “Forgive me, Lucius. I would have had you there, had I known. I would have ensured it.” “Liberi…” Lucius’ knees felt weak and as if all the air had been knocked out of his lungs. It was what they had done as well for his father, and what he would have done for Severus himself, had he been granted the opportunity. “You built a pyre? You followed the preparation rituals? Did you cast it properly?” “Horace was the only pureblood in attendance and ensured we did everything correctly. Hagrid built the pyre. I prepared the body myself. It helped we were all feeling no small amount of guilt for…everything.” Minerva said, and Lucius was momentarily curious but allowed her her privacy. They all had their ghosts. He knew about that most of all. “But the burial…?” he asked, although he already knew the answer. “It was a ruse.” “Yes. And we decided that we also still needed a physical memorial at any rate, but that the safest place would be on Hogwarts grounds. There is a frightening amount of wards on both the graves, especially after Voldemort saw to desecrating one himself.” This time, the name barely registered. Lucius gave a definitive nod. “I apologise I would not be able to acquiesce to your request, Lord Malfoy.” Minerva reverted to formality, signaling their conversation to be at an end. No matter. He had gotten what he had come for. He had gotten more than what he could have asked for. He gave the Headmistress a small formal bow. “You have my gratitude.” Minerva seemed to stiffen. “He was my dear friend as he was yours. I am…deeply sorry for your loss.” Lucius pondered for a moment if he should return the sentiment, for he knew the Headmistress had lost dozens of others apart from Severus, but he decided he could not bring himself to care. He nodded again and Minerva accepted, leading him back towards the door out of the offices. If you were still considering a plot for my grave at the estate, I would prefer it to be in the greenhouse rather than out of it. It should be great fun for you and Cissa, entangling the wards. I can’t assure your ridiculous hair will be safe from it, however... For the first time in many months, Lucius found it in him to smirk in amusement as the voice rambled on.

[alittlewhump]

Unbidden - Act 2, chapter 1

Masterlist | Previous | Next

Content warnings: sex work mention, one noncon kiss, minor noncon touch (suggestive but not sexual)

Morgan was deeply uncomfortable. The caravan ride had been entertaining, at least for him. Cain was delighted to have an attentive audience, and after divulging all he knew about the events currently unfolding - Diablo's corruption and influence spreading, the dark wanderer last seen heading east and his possible motives - he had expounded at length on his theories about the forces of Heaven and Hell and what moves they might make next. He also shared tales of the time he'd spent in the desert cities in his younger days, and anything else that happened across his mind. It seemed he had an unlimited capacity for storytelling. Morgan liked it, content to absorb as much knowledge as he could.

However, once they'd reached their destination, they had been almost immediately ushered to the palace by a taciturn guard armed with a very sturdy-looking spear. Cain had already slipped away, ostensibly in pursuit of an old acquaintance, but both Blaise and Morgan found themselves visiting the sultan unexpectedly.

Upon their arrival, the man, who introduced himself as Jerhyn, had actually been quite friendly. He had somehow heard about their defeat of Andariel and was eager to pay for their assistance with problems that had arisen in his city. The mercenary guild was struggling to maintain their ranks in the face of increasing demonic activity. Blaise had agreed to join them readily; working together with a group to combat monsters and demons was well within her comfort zone. Morgan was trying to delicately express his preference to work alone, but the sultan was being insistent and it was proving difficult to argue.

The problem he was experiencing was rooted in the attack the harem guild had sustained weeks earlier, prompting Jerhyn to offer the members shelter within his spacious palace. Priests of Rathma had no particular rules with regards to celibacy, but surrounded as he was now by women and men in various states of undress, Morgan found himself wishing they did. He'd never managed to grasp the allure of intimate relations. He was aware of it as a possible motivation for the actions of others - there was a long list of those - but he'd resigned himself to simply not understanding it. The guild members flocked around Jerhyn, all flashing jewels and rustling silks. It was impossible to look at the man without seeing an astonishing amount of bare flesh. Of course Morgan was familiar with the human body, had helped with preparations for some of the more involved burial rites, but this was different. It felt like an invasion of privacy, despite the fact that the display was clearly intentional. His discomfort was making it difficult to negotiate.

Blaise, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying herself, gazing around with frank admiration. When Jerhyn finally relented, allowing them until the morning to come to a final decision, she grinned wolfishly.

"Does that mean we get to spend the night here?"

Jerhyn smiled indulgently. "Of course, if you wish it. You may stay as long as you like. Any of the companions here can show you to the guest chambers. Please, enjoy yourselves."

Morgan stood and bowed politely before turning to leave. A heavy hand came down on his shoulder.

"Where do you think you're going?" Blaise hissed next to his ear.

"To find an inn," he whispered back. Her grip tightened and he fought the urge to pry her fingers off of him. It would not be wise to make a scene so soon after their introduction, he reminded himself. No matter that he was already uncomfortable to start with, and it was only getting worse.

"You know it's incredibly rude to turn down an invitation like this, right," she pointed out. He... yes, he did know that, now that he thought about it. The overwhelming desire to be anywhere else was impeding his ability to remember all the rules of social interaction. He did not outwardly protest as Blaise steered him back toward the crowd of concubines. "Have a little fun for once," she said at a more normal volume, pushing him into the waiting embrace of a pale, slender young woman before turning away to mingle.

"Nice to meet you, sweetheart," the woman purred, running her hand down his chest. He tried not to shrink away from the contact. "Let me show you to your room. Don't worry, you don't have to be shy with me." She flashed him a dazzling smile.

"Thank you," he managed. She took him by the hand and led him down a staircase and up a corridor while he alternated between looking at his feet and looking at the ceilings. They appeared to be intricately painted tiles, but the details were lost on him.

Morgan heaved a small sigh of relief when she stepped into a room, beckoning him to follow with a wink. Finally, a respite. He opened his mouth to thank her for her guidance, but she muffled him with a kiss, pressing him into the doorway. He froze for a long, panicked second, torn between the desire to push her away and the lack of any adequately clothed spot on her body to push against. As she raised her arms to embrace him, that did it. He reached up to shove against her shoulder, leaning away.

"What are you doing?" he gasped.

"Showing you a good time, sweetie." He was not having a good time. She went to lean in again and he wriggled free, ducking under her arm and backing away into the room.

"Please, don't." He kept his hand raised to ward her off. She pouted.

"What, you don't like me?"

Not especially. The invasion into his personal space had been unexpected and unwelcome. "I'm sure you're... quite lovely," he said haltingly - it was more of a guess than a lie - "but I'm not... interested in... that." He gestured vaguely, hoping to somehow encapsulate the concept of physical intimacy.

A look of understanding dawned on her face, to Morgan's relief. "Oh. Oh! Sorry about that. I can usually guess. Your friend seemed pretty sure down there, doesn't she know...? Oh well, just sit tight, I'll get out of your hair." She flashed him that bright smile again as she left.

Morgan sat wearily on the edge of the bed. New places were exhausting, and he still had to figure out how to convince the sultan that he would gladly help the mercenaries as long as he was permitted to engage with them as little as possible. How best to frame it? He tested a few different scenarios in his head, starting to build a script from the pieces that seemed most compelling. It was laborious enough that he didn't notice the figure at the entrance to the room until it spoke.

"Not a lot of people turn down Meera's company. Perhaps I'll be a little more to your liking."

"Please, I just - um." He'd started to answer before looking up, and found himself wholly unprepared for the vision that greeted him. The most breathtakingly beautiful person he'd ever seen was leaning casually against the doorway. He smiled at Morgan, a flash of pearly teeth bright against the deep umber of his skin, and moved in to perch on the edge of the bed beside him.

"My name is Jemali. What should I call you?" He laid a delicate hand on Morgan's thigh. That broke the spell. Why did these people insist on so much physical contact?

"Morgan," he said, sliding away from the other man. "I don't like being touched," he added.

"You say that," Jemali smiled, edging closer, "but you've never been touched by me. I'd remember a face as handsome as yours." He reached out to caress Morgan's cheek, but he ducked away from the contact, standing and backing away.

"I don't like being lied to, either." The flattery was over the top. A particularly kind and tactful person might go so far as to describe him as distinctive, but that was just a polite way to skirt around the issue. He was ugly. That was an objective fact. There was no point in trying to disguise or deny it.

"Morgan, honey, I'm not - look, I think we got off on the wrong foot here. Let's start over." He patted the bed next to him. Morgan did not move. Jemali sighed. "At least meet me halfway here. I'm trying to please you. If you don't want Meera and you don't want me, what do you want?"

"To rest after a long journey." His patience was wearing thin and he didn't want any sort of company, no matter how lovely they might be to look at. "I just want to be alone."

Jemali arched an eyebrow. "You have a free shot with the finest concubines money can buy, and you don't want to take it?"

"I do not."

"You a eunuch or something?' He cast an appraising glance at Morgan's trousers.

"No."

"Well, now you have me curious." He sprawled across the bed, stretching long limbs to claim the space. "What possible reason could you have to turn both of us down like this? We aren't used to the sting of rejection, you know." He pouted.

"Is it not enough-" he closed his eyes briefly. Irritation was a loss of control, a failure to adhere to the principles that guided him. Plus, raising his voice was starting to hurt his throat. He took a calming breath and tried again. "I don't desire anyone's company. Please just accept that."

"Fine. You don't have to tell me." Jemali rolled over onto his stomach, propping his face up on his hands. "Akarat knows I could use a break anyway. So tell me about yourself, Morgan. Or don't you like talking, either?"

"Not really."

Jemali rolled his eyes. "Of course not. Just my luck, too. Stoic adventurer types are usually right up my alley, but you're going to be a tough nut to crack. I can tell. Don't-" he held up one finger to cut off Morgan's next words before they'd left his mouth, "- don't ask me to leave, because I will, but nobody's going to believe we've finished so quickly. And we're on orders from the sultan to see to you and your friend, so that means I'll have to send in someone else and you'll have to go through this all over again. So just let me sit here for... oh, an hour or so, and then we can both be on our merry ways."

"Fine."

Morgan seated himself in a plush chair opposite the bed, since the other man seemed to be making himself comfortable and he wanted to stay out of his reach. The following silence lasted for nearly a minute before Jemali's voice jolted Morgan out of his thoughts.

"So you must be some sort of wizard." Jemali was studying him, head tilted in what must have been a practiced pose. It was impossible for a person to look so thoroughly statuesque by chance. "You don't have the build to be a fighter. Are you any good? I mean, you must be, or else you wouldn't be here enjoying my company." He stretched languorously. Was he even capable of being still? "Oh, what a story! A strong, silent sorcerer, come to protect us from the clutches of foul demons! This could have been almost romantic, you know. What a waste." He splayed long fingers dramatically across his bare chest, casting his eyes up toward the ceiling.

Ah, yes, the demons. Perhaps he could get some useful information out of this encounter. "Were you there?"

"Was I there when - oh, you want to talk about that." Jemali hugged one knee to his chest, running the edge of a painted fingernail along his bottom lip. "No. No, I was lucky enough to be on a house call. Lost some friends, though." So he could be still after all. Morgan winced. Of course this lively individual had been friends with the victims. Of course the memories would be painful. He hadn't meant to distress him, even though he'd just been hoping for some peace and quiet.

"I'm sorry for your loss," he offered. The other man's lips quirked upward.

"Thanks, honey. That's nice of you to say." He gave a small sigh. "You want to know what you're up against, huh?"

"If I can."

"Smart. Now, we don't make a habit of judging our clientele, but everyone agrees there was a suspicious character who came through just beforehand. Refused to take off his cloak or even pull down his hood. Didn't want anything, just asked a lot of questions and left. Really strange. The demons showed up a few hours later."

Morgan leaned forward. That sounded like it could have been the dark wanderer Cain had described. "Do you know what he asked?"

Jemali shrugged. "Something about old myths, some sort of tomb or something. I don't know."

That would be enough to start with. He could question the sultan in the morning and go from there. Hunting for information was easy enough to justify as an individual task. If the wanderer was looking for something old, that might give him occasion to scour the city archives for information, a pleasantly solitary task. It could also be a justification for working with Deckard Cain, who clearly had some familiarity with the area. The scholar was a useful resource, he reminded himself. It was just a bonus that he liked the old man's company. Things were starting to come together.

Morgan leaned back, satisfied. The action made the collection of small pouches on his belt dig uncomfortably into his side, pushed out of place by the plush stuffing of the chair. He stood to remove them, but of course nothing could go without comment.

"What's all that?"

He considered his options. Ignoring the question seemed unlikely to work, given Jemali's persistence. A vague answer would just lead to more questions, and he didn't particularly want to get into the details of his profession. It might solve the pressing issue of privacy for the moment, but word would inevitably spread, and that could hinder his effectiveness with the sultan. Or get him expelled from the city, depending on the citizens' mood. It wouldn't be the first time. Might as well give a brief explanation.

"Potions. Ingredients for potions. Dried foods. Trinkets." He pointed at each pouch as he named its contents.

Jemali's face lit up. "What kind of trinkets? Like jewels? Oh, can I look at them?"

They were mainly jewellery. Sometimes a skeleton rose with some trappings of its former life still intact - clothes, weapons, baubles. At some point Morgan had started collecting the ones that were particularly appealing to him. The dead generally had no use for possessions. Sometimes he bartered them for supplies, which was useful enough to justify the collection. Sometimes he traded them for other, prettier baubles. To further aid him in his travels, he told himself. Nicer trinkets fetched him more supplies. But he also liked to just look at them sometimes, to appreciate their shapes and the way light played off their surfaces.

He passed the small bag to the courtesan at arm's length. Jemali upended it over the bed in front of him, spreading out the contents to admire them. Morgan, in turn, settled back in his chair and admired Jemali now that his attention was elsewhere. People didn't generally appreciate being stared at, he knew, but everything about the man was arresting. The shape and warm colour of his eyes, the smooth slopes of his skin, the slick, uniform coils of his hair. Even his movements were effortlessly graceful. His voice was easy to listen to, soft and lilting.

"Lost in contemplation of my beauty, hmm?"

Mortifyingly, he was right. "I - I'm sorry. For staring." Morgan averted his eyes. Stupid to have let himself get so distracted. He really did need to rest.

"You don't have to apologize, darling. Clearly you have excellent taste in pretty things," Jemali purred, playing his fingers first over the array of baubles in front of him and then drawing them up to frame his face. He batted his eyelashes. "You sure you don't want a little taste of this?"

"Quite sure." The threat of physical contact was enough to put Morgan back on the defensive. He shifted uncomfortably.

Jemali tilted his head. "You're a funny little puzzle, Morgan. Tell you what, let's make a deal."

"What kind of deal?"

"I'll tell the others that you've requested to be my exclusive client. They won't bother you if they know you're mine," he grinned.

It would have been preferable for the guild to ignore him entirely, but he supposed dealing with a single courtesan would be much easier than trying to explain himself over and over. At least this one seemed to understand his request not to be touched.

"And in exchange?"

Jemali reclined fully, wriggling his shoulders into the sheets. "You let me come and go as I please. I don't have a good place here to take a break when I need some alone time. I'll be as quiet as a little mouse, you'll hardly know I'm here."

He considered. It seemed favourable, provided he could count on Jemali to actually be quiet when he needed to concentrate. But would the guild really keep bothering him as long as he stayed here? Or was Jemali overstating the issue to get what he wanted? He eyed the other man warily.

"And I promise I won't lay a finger on you without your permission," he added. That was enough to tip the scales.

"We have a deal."

"Wonderful!" Jemali clapped his hands together and sat up. "Now let's seal it with a kiss, as a matter of tradition... oh, honey, it's all right, I'm just teasing. I said I'll respect your personal space, and honestly I meant it. I'm sorry, Morgan, you don't have to look so scared."

He clenched his jaw. He wasn't scared of being touched, he just didn't want it. Especially not from someone teasing him. Of course, he should have been expecting it. Tiredness and discomfort had interfered with his usual defenses. And if he was honest with himself, so had the peaceful journey, and so had the man's unexpected beauty. He had to remember that he'd earned a measure of respect from his traveling companions, that he couldn't expect the same sort of treatment from a stranger. Especially not such a pretty one, when he was just the opposite. That was just the way the world worked.

"I am going to rest here," he said, closing his eyes and hoping he could take Jemali at his word to leave him be. That ought to end the conversation.

"You can use the bed, you know."

"This is fine."

"All right, suit yourself." True to his word, Jemali was quiet. Morgan could hear the sheets rustle as he made himself comfortable, and shortly afterward his breathing grew slow and deep. Once he was sure the other man was asleep, he finally felt comfortable enough to slip into a light meditation.

It was nearly two hours later by Morgan's count when Jemali gave a soft, almost musical sigh as he awoke and stretched. There were some quiet sounds of fabric and jewellery shifting as he arranged himself, then the soft pat of his feet hitting the floor. "Until next time, darling," he said in a low whisper, and then he let himself out.

Morgan waited a few minutes before relaxing back into a deeper meditation. The chair was actually quite comfortable, much better than the back of the caravan. There was no need to move to the bed. Tomorrow he would meet with the sultan, well rested and hopefully on his own terms. He was cautiously looking forward to it.

[pseudophan]

can you tell us the summary of your love of your lives case? I don’t wanna watch the video I don’t have the patience to watch it

it's such a complicated case but in short(ish):

1993 in west memphis arkansas, three eight year old boys go missing and are later found murdered in the woods. the community is freaking the fuck out and because it's 1993 small town arkansas and satanic panic is sweeping the nation people go ITS SATANISM IT WAS A SATANIC RITUAL and the police keep interviewing this 18 year old named damien echols because he was into witchcraft and listened to metallica and wore all black (genuine points brought up in court like this is what the entire case is built on). im skipping some details here cause its all oh so convoluted but basically they eventually interrogate a 17 year old named jessie miskelley jr who confesses to the crime and implicates damien and damien's best friend jason baldwin (16, looks about 11). so then ofc they all get arrested

issue is: jessie is a minor with a reported iq of 72 and they interrogated him non stop for 12 hours with no parent or attorney present (his dad agreed to let them speak to him but they didnt tell him it was an interrogation) and less than an hour of it was recorded. jessie claims the cops coerced him into his confession and even on the 40 something minutes of interrogation we do have available to listen to you can hear the cops just continuously leading him on like theyll ask when this happened and he says a time and they go no the kids were in school then it was later wasnt it and he's like yeah it was [later time] and theyre like no it was around 8 wasnt it? and hes like yeah yeah it was then and it goes on like that foreverrrrr

ok im getting into too much detail here im sorry theres so much more anyway anyway TRIALS HAPPEN and its all a whole bunch of bullshit and hbo recorded it all for hit documentary paradise lost (watch it) and hhhooooooly shit!

theres way too much to talk about w the trial but besides everyone being fucking cracked and damien being a smartass and the judge looking bored out of his goddamn mind throughout the whole thing (FUCK that judge) one notable part that didnt come out until later is that during jury selection this one guy was hell bent on getting on the jury cause he wanted them convicted and not only was he let on the jury he became the jury foreman which goes against like every law cause juries are supposed to go into court with no preconceived notions of what happened. also jessie had a separate trial cause he wouldnt testify against jason and damien which means his "confession" wasnt admissible in their trial and the jury werent allowed to consider it, but the jury actively discussed the confession while making their decision (jury members have said they did + it was written on their goddamn whiteboard) which. h

ANYWAYYY so jessie and jason get life in prison without the possibility of parole and damien gets sentenced to death. damien is 19 at this point with a newborn baby. jason isnt even 18.

so then they go away and the documentary paradise lost comes out and everyone collectively loses their goddamn fucking minds cause how the fuck did this happen they didnt even have a single piece of actual evidence except a piece of hair that MAY match damien but also its the early 90s and they dont actually have a fucking clue

years go by, everythings happening so much, their appeals get shot down one by one cause its the same fucking judge and ofc hes not gonna admit any fault. the public suspect john mark byers (rest in peace he died like a month ago in a traffic accident, btw he also didnt do it but thats also a lot to go into. interesting guy, definitely inbred, violent tendencies but not a murderer) one of the kids' stepdads (technically adoptive dad cause he legally adopted the kid after he married his mum but hes generally referred to as his stepdad) of having done it cause hes fucking massive and is quite possibly the most colourful character ive seen in my life like that guy had no idea what was going on ever and he was hell bent on the teens having done it and wanted to kill them all UNTIL! until. 2007, they test the dna in the case and SHOCKINGLY turns out none of the west memphis 3's dna is anywhere to be found, the shit they had that could be damien's turns out to not even remotely match him in the slightest and suddenly theyre there like. well. now theres nothing. and yet theyre still in prison cause everyone who got them convicted is like NO THEY DID IT :) but the public outrage is so much by this point and finally they get to take it to the supreme court who take one look at it and are literally like ??? what the fuck happened here give them a new trial what the literal hell (theres a video of it their faces are literally so funny they all look like they absolutely cannot believe this required their help) so in 2011 they finally have the opportunity to retrial with a new judge but SUDDENLY the state of arkansas go um actually we are gonna offer you an alford plea which basically means they legally plead guilty to the charges while still saying they didnt do it and then they get let out but the state wont have to admit fault or reopen the case cause in their eyes these three are still guilty but theyre gonna let them out anyway cause that makes a whole lot of sense i guess. lol basically the state realised there was a real chance they could get exonerated in which case they were gonna get sued to hell and back and went FUCK give them a deal

now jason didnt want to take the deal he wanted to wait for the new trial and risk getting found guilty again cause he said this isnt justice for the kids cause the real killer or killers are still free and its not justice for us cause we have to plead guilty to save the asses of the system that failed us all BUT all three of them have to agree for it to be valid and damien's execution date, which he's already narrowly avoided on several occasions like its already been postponed multiple times, is once again coming up and if the new trial somehow goes wrong and hes sent back to death row he's gonna be killed so jason decided fuck all of that and agreed to the plea exclusively to save damien which ok ride or die king

i havent gone into who really did it cause once again there is SO much but the majority of people think it was terry hobbs (the stepdad of another one of the victims) including the kid's mother whos now his ex wife who he abused to no end. theres a Lot to this theory and while theres no concrete evidence cause they did a shittyass job with everything theres already more dna linking him to the scene than the teens. god i really wanna go into everything that points to terry being at least somehow involved but this has already gotten so out of hand

anyway follow damienechols on instagram all he does is post about witchcraft and cats. also watch the hbo paradise lost trilogy and west of memphis. and if u want even more details listen to the three true crime garage episodes on the case. also theres books. theres so much. i have so much more to say. someone stop me

[buckleyirondad]

I Hope I'm Ready (For Something New)

Happy holidays everyone!

This was written for the Irondad Fic Exchange. I loved writing this. Of course, I adored writing Irondad. However, exploring the dynamic between Tony and Michelle was a highlight!

I hope you enjoy it, @apawcalypse632-blog! 

Summary: 

“What is it?” Tony combs his fingers through Peter’s messy curls, “Is college work driving you crazy?” Peter doesn’t answer, “Spider-Man trouble? Need relationship advice?”

“I don’t know.” Peter cuts in, “All of them?”

“Ah, well, you see…I can help you there...work…”

“MJ’s pregnant.”

This is mostly fluff, but there is some angst.

Warnings: Description of Injury, Traumatic Cardiac Arrest, CPR.

Read on AO3 (it’s pretty long) or under the cut

Peter hates the rain.

Well, usually it doesn’t bother him, considering he is Spider-Man and has to survive every condition Mother Nature can possibly throw his way.

Right now, he isn’t Spider-Man. He is a college student, who stupidly forgot his raincoat and is struggling to survive the down-pour of the century in Tony’s old MIT hoodie.

So, yes, he hates the rain.

He pulls his paper grocery bag closer to his chest, attempting to shield it from further damage. “Ugh, crap...” He curses as he charges across the street, towards his apartment complex, neglecting to check for oncoming traffic.

A car stops abruptly, and honks, the driver starts to scream expletives without rolling down his window. Thanks to Peter’s heightened abilities, he hears every word.

Peter holds up his hand and skips over to the curb, “Sorry!”

In his defence, he does have a lot on his mind.

Peter hugs the grocery bag under his arm, he fumbles for his key card, “Come on, come on, come on.” He stutters, he pats down his sweatpants, “Ah.”

He pulls out his card, scans it, and hurries into the lobby. It’s warm and welcoming, the opposite of the storm outside.

Peter hurries to the elevator, blatantly ignoring two of his classmates from MIT.

It’s Friday night, they are already drunk. They’re all twenty-one now, and you know, the skies the limit and all that shit.

Peter didn’t have the patience to deal with drunk people. Not today.

Normally, on a night like this, he would be out patrolling or acting as a designated ‘sober friend ’ for his classmates. Sometimes, he did both. Everyone thought Peter was a super chill dude who didn’t drink but in reality, he can’t get drunk. Thank you mutated genetics, thank you very much.

Peter pulls his hood down, “Eh.” He brushes a hand through his matted wet hair. As much as he loves wearing Tony’s hoodies, they aren't exactly weather-proof.

They used to give him ‘street credibility ’ among his peers. Being the kid, who Iron Man took under his wing, did a lot for Peter, but as time passed by, that buzz died down.

Before, they treated Tony like a God. Now, they treat him like Peter’s Dad.

Peter doesn't wear Tony's hoodies for that smug reason. He wears them because they make him feel safe.

After everything that went down with Thanos, Peter likes keeping Tony close. So, moving out to Massachusetts hasn’t been easy, and Tony’s hand-me-downs ease Peter’s constant worry.

Peter runs across the corridor, to his apartment door. His teeth chatter, and he prays that Michelle remembered to turn on the heating. God knows Spider’s suck at thermoregulation.

“I’m back!” He lets out a tired sigh, as he relishes in the warmth.

Michelle paces over, she has changed out of her work clothes, into her oversized Havard sweatshirt that cuts off above her knees. She anxiously bites her nails as she studies him, “You got it?”

“Yeah.”

“Um…” Michelle stares at her feet. She sways back and forth. Peter’s never seen her at a loss for words like this before. Not since their first kiss. He understands why. He is potentially holding the key to their future in a torn and wet grocery bag, “Good.”

Peter places the bag on the small table by the door, he pulls off his hoodie, “Ew.” He tosses it to the floor, making a mental note to sort it out later.

Michelle walks over, now holding a blanket. She throws it around his shoulders, “Here.”

“Thank you.” Over the years, she has seen him pass out too many times to count because of his blatant lack of self-preservation. She’s grown accustomed to the downfalls of his abilities - including the inability to stay warm.

She bends down and grabs the bag, with a shaking hand.

Peter places a hand on her arm, “It will be alright.”

“I know.” She pulls out the Pregnancy Test and looks up at him.

Peter offers her a reassuring smile, knowing there is nothing either of them can say that hasn’t already been said. He leans up to press a kiss against her cheek, “I’ll wait here.”

She nods and rushes into the toilet, leaving Peter alone. He puts down the blanket and throws his Star Wars hoodie on.

The toilet flushes.

Peter jolts back, he yelps, “Crap...” He drums his fingers against his hip.

Michelle taps the door, “Come in.”

Peter’s stomach gives out. He isn’t ready. He scrapes his teeth across his lower lip. If he is this scared, he can’t imagine what Michelle is going through, “Hey....” He greets, as he cracks open the door.

Michelle is sat on the floor, with her back rested up against the bathtub. The test is balanced on the corner of the sink, “Hey…” She shuffles up, giving him some room, “It’s not ready yet.”

“Oh.” Peter sits beside her, she takes his hand.

They sit in silence and wait. They aren’t teenagers anymore, but sometimes it feels like they are.

Inherently having a baby isn’t terrible. They do want children but the timing sucks.

They have a plan and they’re pretty good at following it. It helps ease their anxieties and it works around Peter’s double life; they want to finish college, find a job, travel for a while, and then, maybe get married.

Kids are on the agenda, just further down. They're headstrong, if the test is positive, they can simply change their plans. That doesn’t make it any less terrifying.

Michelle squeezes his hand, “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“If this is just me... “ She stutters, “Freaking out for no reason. I mean…” She smiles unsurely, “I’m like...sixty-seven percent sure I’m being stupid.”

“No, you’re not…” Peter shakes his head, “Don’t apologise…So, the other thirty-three percent?”

“I don’t know…” She sighs, “The plan…”

Peter scoffs a laugh, “I guess Tony’s right.”

Michelle raises an eyebrow, “About what?”

“Life’s too short to follow a plan.” Peter recites, doing his best Tony impression.

“Oh, I get it…” Michelle rolls her eyes, “He’s full of wisdom.”

“More like a collection of quotes that he stole from the internet.” Peter mocks, Michelle chuckles. She looks up at the sink, her face falls, “Is it ready?”

She nods. “Yeah.” She turns, her eyes misty, “I don’t want to look….”

“Me neither.”

“Not looking isn’t gonna change the outcome.”

Peter tightens his grip around her hand, “Want me to look first?”

“I got it.” She leans up and grabs it.

Peter can’t see it from where he is sitting, so he relies on her reaction.

Michelle’s breath catches and her eyes widen.

“MJ…?” Peter speaks with caution. She looks at him, wearing a small smile, “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Peter leans forward, pressing his forehead against hers, “That’s….”

“Terrifying?”

“Um-hm.” He lets out a wet laugh, “Pretty, um, great too though.”

“Yeah…” She leans back, “It is.”

Peter deflates and leans his head against her shoulder. She keeps her eyes locked on the positive test in her hand, she shakes it, like she doesn’t believe it. She wraps her free arm around her front and barks out a laugh. Peter chuckles nervously, “What?”

She lays her head on his, “Screw the plan.”

“Screw the plan. ” Peter echoes, “You think we can do this?”

“Boh.”

Peter mindlessly pulls on the string of his hoodie, “Hm.”

“It’s too early to tell…”

“Yeah.” He agrees, “We’re gonna be parents…”

“That’s usually how this thing works, dork.” She teases, “You see when a woman and man love each other…”

“Shut up.”

“We should probably work out what to do next. You should tell Stark...first.”

“Huh?”

“He’s been through some shit,” She shrugs, “He’ll probably know...what to say.”

Michelle knows Peter too well. He does want to talk to Tony, he is the first person who came to mind, along with May. Tony is Peter’s confidant, and also, his dad, in every way besides blood, “Maybe...but..”

“You tell him everything and I know--”

“What?”

“You want to talk to him.” She chuckles, “I mean, he’s a good dad, so…”

“Oh, you’re complimenting him now?”

“Don’t tell him.”

“I won’t.” Peter hesitates for a second, “I love you.”

“Eh...how cliché…” She nudges his arm, “I’m messing with you, loser...I love you too.”

The front door opens.

Tony leans back in his chair and listens out. His forehead creases. He wasn’t expecting anyone.

He skips out of his office and heads down the stairs.

He is home alone. Morgan’s spending the day at her friend’s house, and Pepper’s got meetings until late afternoon. Tony was planning to spend his alone time watching shows that he needs to catch up on.

It’s Pepper, he tells himself. He knows that she wanted nothing more than to escape her strenuous workload, and knowing her, she wouldn’t call ahead. She loves to surprise him.

“Honey, you’re home early…” He stops at the bottom of the stairs, “Oh.”

It’s not Pepper. It’s Peter.

Worry tugs at Tony’s heartstrings. Right off the bat, Peter looks like he hasn’t slept in months. He’s wearing Michelle’s hoodie and there is no telling if he chose to put it on or if it was an accident.

“Yeah…” Peter waves mockingly, “I’m not Pepper.”

“Clearly.” Tony snorts, “I didn't know you were coming over this weekend. Keeping secrets from us now, hey?”

“Kinda.” He gestures back, “MJ needed to...pick some things up, and I.. need …”

“What’s wrong, Pete?” He asks, “I can tell you’ve got something on your mind.” Peter kicks his foot forward, he chews his lip, “Kid, what do you need?”

Peter manages a half-smile, “A hug.”

“Well, you see…” Tony moves over, “You’re lucky there, kid. Hugging happens to be one of my many specialities.”

He wastes no time, he pulls Peter into his open arms. Peter sniffles, as he lays his head against his shoulder. Tony rubs circles on his back and gently shushes him.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Tony eases, “Something’s got you all riled up. I would like to think that you travelled all the way here for a hug, kiddo, but I know that’s not true…”

Peter steps back, wiping his arm over his face. Tony keeps a firm hand on his shoulder, concern settles in the pit of his stomach.

“What is it?” Tony combs his fingers through Peter’s messy curls, “Is college work driving you crazy?” Peter doesn’t answer, “Spider-Man trouble? Need relationship advice?”

“I don’t know.” Peter cuts in, “All of them?”

“Ah, well, you see…I can help you there...work…”

“MJ’s pregnant.” Peter blurts, it sounds rehearsed and Tony can tell he’s been practising in front of a mirror, for days on end. He sounds prepared, but at the same time, his voice cracks in fear. Tony prays that fear is directed to the situation at hand, and not him, “Um, and we like have…”

Tony’s jaw drops, and he stares at his kid for a moment, as he blabbers. Tony holds his hand up, it’s too much input at once, he needs a moment.

Peter freezes.

Peter is the definition of a tired college student. Now, Tony’s finding out that in a few short months, this kid would be a dad. Peter’s going to be a dad. Perhaps it is Tony’s fault, that whenever he looks at Peter, he still sees that Bambi-eyed teenager from Queens, too stupidly determined to run away from a fight.

“Um, err, okay…” Tony feels like he is malfunctioning, “Well, um...You’re having a baby…” The words sound foreign, “But...you’re a... baby .”

Peter snickers, “Um…I’m what?”

“Oh...ah, nothing. So…” Tony claps his hands, “You’re serious? You two are...”

“Having a baby?” Peter finishes, “Yeah …Are you mad?”

Tony narrows his eyes, “What?” He reaches over to reassuringly squeeze Peter’s shoulder, “Oh come on, kid...” He says softly, realising how scared Peter is, “Of course, I’m not...You’re both adults, and well...you’re gonna make pretty fantastic parents.”

Peter swallows a lump in his throat, “Are you sure?”

“As sure as the sky is blue.”

Peter snorts as he leans his forehead against Tony’s collarbone, “You need to stop letting Morgs choose the movies you watch.”

“Ah, try stopping her.” Tony wraps a strong arm around Peter’s back, “Anyway, it was Jones who introduced her to those Barbie movies.”

“True,” Peter mutters quietly.

“So…” Tony starts, Peter leans back, “I can...help out...I’ve been through...something similar.”

“I thought…” Peter’s eyebrows knit together, “...Morgan was planned.”

“She was….” Tony nudges Peter’s chin up, “You weren’t.” Peter shakes his head and giggles, “You see, Spider-Babies, I have experience there. Fourteen-year-old superheroes are very similar to energetic toddlers.”

“Oh really?”

Tony is not joking. Following Morgan around when she was a toddler, was essentially the same as chasing after Peter when he is on patrol, “Yeah really .”

Peter playfully pushes Tony’s arm, “You’re going to be a grandpa.”

“Nonno.” Tony locks an arm around Peter's back and pulls him close.

“Huh?”

“My grandkids are going to call me ‘Nonno.’” Tony explains. His heart skips a beat. Grandkids.

“Ah,” Peter grins, “I like that.” Tony places a kiss on his head.

They are the same height, but to Tony, Peter is still so small. So young. Tony wants to spend the rest of his life protecting his children because he lived through the alternative when he lost Peter, and he never wants to go through that again. He knows now, he has to learn to let go. Sooner than he wants, but times change.

“MJ will be here soon,” Peter says, “Um, don’t be awkward.”

“Me?” Tony squeaks, placing a hand on his chest, “I’m never awkward.”

Peter moves away, hiding his ashamed expression.

Tony wishes Peter would have clarified that by soon, he meant a few seconds. He catches sight of Michelle outside. She walks up the path that leads down to the train station. She buries her hands in her pockets and skips up the porch steps.

Peter rushes over, he opens the door, “Hey.”

“Hey, Tiger.” She kisses him. She steps off to the side and nervously fumbles with her fingers. She turns to Tony, and nods, “Stark.”

Tony’s mouth twitches into a smile, “Jones.” He steps ahead, pulling her into a hug.

“Oh.” She hiccups, bemused. Peter chuckles on the sidelines. It takes her a while but she moves her hands, folding them around Tony, “Hey…”

Even though Michelle and Peter are not married, Michelle and Tony’s relationship is what all ‘in-laws ’ should inspire to have. Essentially, they coexist to tease Peter, and they love every second of it. They were pushed to become closer, with everything that happens to Peter. Tony loves her, he’s more than grateful to have her in his life. He is glad that she’s the one that Peter fell in love with because they are good together, and that’s what is important.

Tony clears his throat, he steps back, “How are you?”

“Good.” She dots her eyes between the pair, “So, you know …”

“Yeah,” Tony nods, “I know.”

An invisible weight shifts off Michelle’s shoulders and she relaxes. Something warms spreads across Tony’s chest. He is the first person they’ve told. He can tell.

“Um,” Peter catches her hand, “We need to tell May...ugh, can….”

Michelle squeezes Peter’s hand, “Can you come with us?”

“Of course.”

Tony knocks on May’s door in his usual upbeat manner.

Peter and Michelle hover close by, whispering among themselves.

Tony knows how hard it’s been for them. He learnt that they've known for a month now and haven't told anyone besides the doctors. Even when you plan, having a child is scary. He panicked non-stop when Pepper was pregnant with Morgan.

May swings the door open, she welcomes him with a smile, “Tony?”

“Hey, Mrs. Parker.”

She pulls him down into a bone-crushing hug, “You should have told me you were coming over. I would have cooked something.”

“Oh….” What a shame ... “We can order in.”

May narrows her eyes, “What’s wrong?”

“Um, well…” He steps into the apartment, revealing the awkward couple.

Peter waves, “Hey, May.”

“Peter!” She exclaims overjoyed, “MJ…” She throws herself around the pair, “Hello.” She takes holds of their wrists and tugs them inside, “Come in, come in. Why didn’t you say you were coming?”

“We know you like surprises.” Peter kisses his aunt’s cheek and sits down on the couch beside Michelle.

Tony leans against the wall, May looks at him, knowingly. She’s not dumb, she knows something is up.

“What’s going on?” May asks, she settles in Happy’s armchair, “Something tells me this isn’t a normal visit.”

Peter falters, clearly overwhelmed by everything, “Um, May..you see, um...well….”

“I’m pregnant.” Michelle cuts in. Tony admires her bluntness, she cuts right to the point. Trying to get Peter to open up is like talking to a brick wall.

May sinks in the chair, “Oh.” Tony can’t read her, but her surprise is paramount, “You...you're having a baby?”

Peter nods, “...Yeah.”

“Wow.” May smiles, “That’s amazing…”

“We’ve got a plan.” Peter blurts, unable to hold anything back.

“Which is stupid…” Michelle says deadpan, “Because the last one failed.”

“Well, not everything’s perfect…” May reassures them, “But...so, what...have you…”

“We can finish college…” Michelle says, “Um, I’m not due until August anyways…”

“Then we want to move here.” Peter continues, these two finish each other’s sentences so effortlessly, it’s fucking adorable and painfully endearing, Tony’s heart can hardly take it. The kid turns, “Tony is that apartment by the Headquarters still ours if we….”

“It’s yours,” Tony tells him. No strings attached.

Peter has turned down that apartment a dozen times. He isn’t a fan of handouts, and Tony gets that. It wasn’t meant to be that. It was an idea. A thank you gift, for everything Peter does as Spider-Man. He isn’t on the payroll for his superhero duties. Even though it is technically a job. He thought being paid tainted what he does, and what he stands for. The suit is enough, for him.

Now, it’s about the baby. Peter’s thinking as logically as he can.

“Thank you.”

Tony waves his hand out, “Don’t sweat it.”

“I…” Peter sighs, “I guess being Spider-Man will take some thinking…”

“Yeah, kid.” Tony says gently, “We can sort that.”

“Well, we’re here…” May says, “Whenever you need us. You’re not alone in this.”

“Thank you.” The pair recite in unison.

May fumbles with her hands, “When do you both need to be back?”

“Um, tomorrow….”

“Oh.”

“Everything is…”

Tony skips forward and taps the back of the couch, “Chaotic?”

“We just wanted to tell you.” Peter admits, “Like...face-to-face.”

“That’s okay....” Tony ruffles Peter’s hair, “Dinner at mine tonight?”

“If that’s alright.”

“Always.”

Tony turns to May, “May?”

She is spaced, trying to understand what she’s learnt, “Um, sure.”

“Are you two planning to tell anyone else?” Tony asks.

“We’re meeting Ned and Betty for lunch.” Peter says, “We can tell the others tonight…”

Tony stifles a laugh, “Prepare yourselves for Morgan’s questions…”

Peter pales, “Oh, God.”

Michelle nudges Peter’s arm, “That’s your job.”

“What?!”

“So," Tony trails, "You need me to drop you off anywhere?”

“No thanks...” Peter points to the door, “They’re only down the street…Can Ned and Betty come tonight too?”

“Of course. We cook enough to feed an army.”

“Thanks.”

Michelle taps Peter’s leg and jumps up, “We should go.”

“Yeah.”

May gets up as the couple move to the door, “See you later.”

Tony watches them go, and it feels weird. They’re adults, they come and go as they please, but part of Tony doesn’t like seeing them leave.

May’s breath hitches. Tony turns to face her, “Hey…” He rushes to place a supporting hand on her shoulder. She dips her chin to her chest and blinks tears away, “May?”

“Tony….” She breathes sharply, “They’re having a baby.” She flaps her hands out in front of her, “Peter...is ...you know, our baby...and he is having a baby.” She shakes her head, “I’m not ready...and they seem to have it all…”

“May…” He guides her to the couch. They both fall onto it.

May hides behind her hands, “Sorry. God, I’m a mess.”

Tony snorts, “So am I.”

“They aren’t.”

“They are great..” Tony sighs, “But I think they’re more scared then they’re showing.”

“You know, Peter was six when Ben and I took him in…” May starts, “We never dealt with...this bit. Feels like I can’t help them…”

Tony gently nudged his foot against her leg, “Pep and I will deal with this. You take over in six years.”

May barks a quiet laugh, “Hm.”

“Or we just...try.”

May tucks her head on his shoulder, “Yeah.” Tony wraps an arm around her. May is like the older sister that he never had. Well, thanks to the blip, they’re the same age now, but still - she treats him like a little brother, and he’s got nothing against it. Since losing Natasha, he holds May a little closer, and loves her, knowing how easy it is to lose someone.

Tony reclines his head back, “This is selfish.”

“Huh?”

“We’re way too young to be grandparents!”

Tony stops himself, every day, from phoning Strange at some ridiculous hour in the morning to ask him if someone is messing with time. Time can’t go this quickly. It doesn’t make sense. Tony’s life used to move slowly.

He knows that he is an idiot. No one is messing with time. It’s him.

He is going to be a grandparent. He still can’t wrap his head around that. Even after five months. He’s gone through every possible emotion.

It’s been pretty morbid recently.

Michelle wants to be ahead on everything. She likes to be prepared, and she’s not a sugar coater, she says things how they are. She doesn’t do it in a harsh way, she’s gentle but straight to the point. Tony can tell that sometimes it hurts her to admit certain things. She knows that Peter being Spider-Man can be dangerous. She wants a plan for everything that could happen.

From life-altering injury to death.

Peter and Michelle are home for the weekend but they’re staying at May and Happy’s apartment.

Tony is reviewing one of Happy’s lengthy emergency plans, this one specifies what they'd do if Peter’s secret identity was revealed to the public, suddenly and accidentally. It includes scenario after scenario. They make his stomach turn. Happy did his research. Tony knew that all these schemes would work if they were ever in that situation.

A loud thump drags Tony out of his head. He leaves a sticky note next to the subsection he’s reading and hurries downstairs, “Please, please…” He prays that his stupid alpaca, Gerald, hasn’t managed to find a way out of his pen again. The last time was a mess. He stumbles to the kitchen window. Gerald is in his pen, minding his own business.

There’s a creak. It’s at the front door. It’s quiet but Tony’s on edge.

He runs over and pulls the door open. His heart sinks.

Peter is knelt on the porch steps, hugging his knees. He is leaning against the pillar, his head hangs lifelessly against his chest.

He’s in the suit. This happened on patrol.

Tony didn’t get an alert.

Peter isn’t wearing his mask. Tony can’t see it but that’s not important right now. Peter’s hurt. Like really fucking hurt. He’s covered in blood, there are multiple lacerations over his face and chest. He wheezes with every breath he takes.

Tony’s at a loss. Peter hasn’t been hurt like this in years.

“Peter!” Tony slides over on his knees, “Hey, hey, hey.....” He places a hand on his cheek, holding his head up for him, “Kid…”

Peter’s eyes are open but unfocused, “M’ster..” He leans his forehead against Tony’s collarbone.

“Alright, alright…” Tony cradles his head, “I’ve got you. Pete, talk to me.”

“T-ony…”

“Yeah, it’s me.” Peter grows heavy, “No, no...” He leans back. Peter’s eyes are shut, “Kid, open your eyes!”

“Boss, Peter is going into cardiac arrest.” Friday’s voice echoes from inside, “You need to perform need to cardiopulmonary resuscitation. A medical team is on its way."

“Shit, shit...” Tony scrambles. He moves Peter onto the porch, “Come back to me, kid.”

This isn’t happening. This can’t be fair. Everything was okay. Yes, they’re all having an existential crisis about the baby but that is a good kind of scary.

Tony knows how to do this. He’s trained. It’s a routine, but this is Peter. This is his kid.

With every rescue breath, a sob catches in his throat. “Pete?” Nothing, “Come on!”

One of Peter’s ribs cracks. Tony's stomach jumps into his throat. “Shit...” He carries on, “Please, kid, don’t do this...please” I can’t lose you. It will kill me this time, you hear me?

Tony spent hours reading protocol after protocol, all potential things that could happen to Peter. Reading them didn’t solve this, even if they were written for these situations. They didn’t reflect reality. Facts and figures don’t touch on emotion. They are just words.

This is happening. Right now.

Peter’s heart isn’t beating. He isn’t breathing.

Tony’s mind turns to the darkest of places. If Peter dies, what do they do?

Peter’s child will never know him.

How will Tony hold it together when he holds his grandchild? Knowing that their dad died in his arms. Twice.

“Peter!” Tony sobs desperately. Don’t go, don’t go, don’t go. “Fuck!”

This isn’t just about the baby.

Tony is scared. This is his kid. No matter what happens now. If he lives or if he dies. Peter is Tony’s kid.

“Peter…” Tony pleads, he brushes a hand back through Peter's sweat-ridden hair, “Please.”

Peter breathes.

Tony holds his hands up and watches to make sure it wasn’t a trick of the light, or in his head.

Peter’s chest rises and falls. Again and again.

“Hey…” Tony checks his pulse. It’s weak but it’s there. He takes his hand, “Hey, hey..” He eases, “I'm here, kiddo.”

Peter’s eyes wander around, he’s spaced. Unaware of what is happening. He catches Tony’s gaze, he squeezes his hand weakly, “T'ny?”

“Hey.” Tony keeps his voice quiet, “It’s me, kid…” He leans down to kiss his forehead, “It’s me.”

“I’m--” Peter’s face crumbles, he frantically darts his eyes around, “W’at…”

Tony shushes him, “You’re okay.” He loops his arms under Peter’s back and moves him onto his lap. Peter leans his head against his torso and curls into his hold, “You’re okay.” The Quinjet flies overhead. Peter winces at the sound. Tony pulls him closer, “I’ve got you, kid.”

“Hm…”

Tony bites on his lip, to hold back a cry. He doesn’t want to startle Peter. He leans down and presses his forehead against Peter’s.

He’s gonna be okay, he’s gonna be okay.

We’re going to be okay.

Tony won’t leave Peter’s side. Even if someone held a gun to his head.

Peter is asleep. They’re alone in a private hospital wing at the Headquarters.

Happy’s rushed off to pick May up from work. Tony had a quick call with Michelle, who’s on her way. Ned and Betty are close behind.

He’s trying to stay awake. He doesn’t want Peter to wake up alone.

The door clicks open.

It’s Michelle. She freezes, her red-rimmed eyes lock onto Peter. She looks like she’s on the edge of breaking.

“Hey, Jones.” Tony greets softly.

She jumps. She rests her hand against her small bump, and looks over, “Stark.”

Tony buckles. He rushes over and wraps his arms around her, protectively. Images of what could have happened flash through his mind. The unimaginable.

“Hey,” Michelle says gently. A tone she usually reserves for Morgan, “Hey…” She folds her hands around him, “We’re okay.”

“Yeah…” He leans back, “We’re...okay.”

She squeezes his arm, “How’s he doing?” She pokes his chest, “No sugarcoating, Stark.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She walks over and sits beside Peter. She holds his hand, tight. Her knuckles turn pale. Tony used to roll his eyes at young love but these two, they are the real deal.

“So…” Tony sat opposite, “Um…” He can’t remember the details. It’s a blur, “I wasn’t really listening to the…” He reaches out and grabs Peter’s other hand, “You know…” Michelle extends her other arm over Peter’s chest and catches Tony’s wrist. “He took on that Rhino guy, it was...um, traumatic cardiac arrest but he’s healing. He’s got a few cracked ribs...that’s…”

“Not on you.” She cuts in. Up until that point, Tony thought that it was his fault. Even though the doctors told him he wasn’t. The assertiveness in Michelle’s voice makes him doubt that self-deprecation. He nods.

Silence grows between them. Michelle fiddles with Peter’s hand and keeps holding onto Tony’s.

Tony wishes he could go back in time to when they first met. Michelle’s distaste for him, in the beginning, seems laughable now. She wasn’t a fan of the whole billionaire thing but she outgrew that. Flash forward to now, and Tony couldn’t imagine his life without her in it. She is part of the jigsaw piece that completes Tony’s family.

It took a while, but he can read her. She is itching to ask something. He knows not to push her.

“The baby.” She mutters quietly, almost unsure.

Tony looks up, “The baby?”

Michelle shifts. Tears fill her eyes, “Are they going to be like him?”

Tony’s heart sinks. He’s already thought about that. He’s written a protocol for that. Code: Spider-Baby. Tony's kid being Spider-Man is hard enough, the idea that his grandchild could follow in the same footsteps is fucking terrifying, “You mean…”

“Spider-Man.”

“I--” His voice cracks. “Peter’s unique, Jones.” He squeezes their hands, “We know that. There’s no one else like him. There are the Inhumans, like Quake, and then there are people like Wanda, who were engineered. Peter was changed, his DNA...his genetics, mutated to make him Spider-Man. That’s part of who he is…” He falters, “And…”

Michelle lets go of Tony’s hand, and holds it against her bump, “Part of..."

“I think so, yeah.” Tony nods, “I can’t be certain.” Michelle sniffles. She wipes tears out of her eyes with the back of her hand, “Hey…”

“Uh…”

“I get it.” Tony admits, “I hate this. He does this because this is who he is…We can’t stop that.” He laughs falsely, “Trust me, I’ve...tried but this..” He stutters, “I don’t know if your kid is gonna go down the same road, but if they do, I’ve got some first-hand experience with...a certain Spider-Baby.”

“I’m not…” Peter mumbles. Michelle and Tony look at him. His eyes are still closed but he’s slowly coming to, “Spider-Baby.”

“Of course you’re not, kid.”

He so is.

Peter and Michelle’s bedroom at the Lakehouse is a shadow of what it used to be. With the baby coming in a few short weeks, Tony knew it was time for a change. Peter and Michelle designed it first, then he got to work. They stayed over whenever they felt like it, and Tony wanted them to feel welcome at all times.

This was their second home. No matter what.

Morgan already claims that her future niece or nephew is her best friend, so she must see them as much as possible.

The Star Wars wallpaper is the only thing that has gone unchanged. All the old furniture is gone. The gifts from the baby shower are all scattered by the window, ready to be used.

“What’s that?” Pepper is sat on the couch, getting her shoes on. She’s on her way out to collect Morgan from her best friend's house.

He holds out the parcel that’s just arrived, “I think..” He tears it open, “Ah, yes.” He takes out Iron Man and Spider-Man plushies, “These.”

Pepper grins, “They’re amazing.”

“I’ll put these upstairs…” He smiles, “And then the rooms done.”

“Wow.” Pepper leans her chin on her arm, “The next time they sleep in that room, the baby will be here.”

Tony chuckles. That’s a scary thought, “Yeah…” He kisses her forehead and heads upstairs, “See you later.”

He heads into the bedroom. He places the soft toys in the corner of the bedside crib, he steps back to admire his work. He is pulled from the moment when his phone rings. He digs his hand into his pocket to retrieve it.

It’s Peter. Perfect timing.

“Hey, kid!” Tony exclaims, “Guess..”

“Tony!”

Tony snaps into fight or flight mode, “What’s going on?” He heads downstairs, ready to jump into a suit and fly over.

“Sorry…Um, I’m trying to…” He’s not talking to Tony. Michelle’s voice is muffled in the background, “Yeah…” There’s a loud bang, “Ow.” Peter squeals, “No, I’m fine. I walked into the wall…” Tony debates whether he should interrupt or not, “Yeah, I’ve got the bag.”

The bag? Holy Shit.

“Peter. Is the…”

“Yeah…” Peter answers. The question doesn’t need finishing. The baby’s coming, “We’re on our way out...um, can you like...get everyone?” He stops to take a breath, “May’s not picking up and--”

“Don’t worry, kid.” Tony interrupts, “I’m on it. You concentrate on getting there, we’ll meet you.”

“Thank you…” Peter hums, “Love you.”

“Love you, Pete.” Tony smiles, “See you soon.” He hangs up and hurries downstairs, “Pepper!”

Her eyes widen in alarm, “What?”

Tony wraps an arm around the banister, “Baby Parker’s making an early appearance. “

Pepper jumps up, “The baby’s coming now?”

Two weeks early. It was always a possibility, “Just like Morgan.”

“Shit, um…”

“I’m gonna get hold of May, and make sure Happy’s gets her there. You..”

Pepper runs over and plants a kiss on his cheek, “I’ll collect Madam Secretary and we’ll meet you there.”

“Alright…”

The waiting area at the Headquarters Infirmary is desolate. There’s not a living soul in sight.

Tony and Rhodey are alone.

Tony leans his weight on a pillar, he’s messaged Peter and is waiting for a response. Rhodey is busy staring him down, with a knowing smirk, “What?” Tony whines.

Rhodey shrugs, “Nothing.”

“Tony!” Peter shouts. He runs around the corner and skids to an abrupt halt, “Hey…” He pulls Tony into a hug, “Wow.” He’s out of breath. It takes a lot for Peter to get like this. Well, this is ‘a lot.’

“Kid…” Tony pats his back, “You good?”

Peter clings to Tony’s arms and leans back, “I think so.” He turns, “Hey, Rhodey.”

Rhodey nudges his bicep, “Hey, Pete.”

“Um..” Peter leans his head down, he takes a deep breath and points back, “I better get back.”

Tony taps his shoulder, “We’ll be here, Pete.”

“Thank you…” Peter dashes away.

Rhodey snorts, “Oh…” He places a hand on Tony’s shoulder, “He’s totally going to pass out.”

Tony rolls his eyes, “No, he won’t.”

“You did.”

Tony’s jaw drops. He playfully pushes his friend away, “Not this again.” He groans, “I slipped over.”

“You keep telling yourself that, Tones.” Rhodey laughs, “I have to say the kid’s got some guts, I mean at least he doesn’t look like he’s going to throw up.”

“I hate you.”

“Love you too.”

Eight hours go by, slowly. Still no baby.

May’s in the room with Michelle and Peter, so Tony hasn’t seen her all day.

Everyone is dotted around the waiting lounge. Ned is sat nearby, with his back rested against one of the couches. Betty is tucked against his side, snoring on his shoulder. Morgan is scrawled across the floor, with her head rested on Ned’s hip.

Rhodey is in an armchair, fast asleep. He’s holding a half-finished cup of cold coffee in his hand, that’s a disaster waiting to happen. Tony can’t wait.

Pepper is tucked up on the couch next to Tony.

He's the only one still awake.

Footsteps echo close to the room.

Tony sits up.

It might be Happy. He left after noticing a nurse wasn’t wearing his identification badge.

Peter walks in. Dead on his feet, “Tony?” He holds a hand in front of his mouth and yawns.

“Hey, kiddo.” Tony smiles, he holds his hands up and gestures to everyone in the room, “You see this bunch of lightweights?”

“Yeah.” Peter laughs, “I can’t blame them.” He stretches his hands up over his head, “You not sleeping?

Tony jumps onto his feet, and closes the distance between them, “I’ll sleep when you do. How’s everything?”

“Okay.” Peter sighs, “Um, midwives think it’s gonna be a long night.”

He moves and tucks his face against Tony’s chest, “How are you holding up?” Tony asks, with a laugh.

“I’m good.” Peter mutters, “I came to get…” He holds out a hand, and points to the vending machines, “Some water.”

“Oh.” Tony pats his back, “You wait here. I’ll get a few bottles.”

Peter came and left.

Tony is now more awake than ever. Everyone is still asleep. Even Happy - who came back in, promised Tony he’d stay awake, and then fell asleep within five minutes.

Tony paces around, muttering quietly under his breath as he rubs his hands together, nervously. Having children and being minutes away from being a grandfather has made him soft. He ended up taking Rhodey’s coffee cup out of his hands, saving him from that embarrassment.

A crash comes from outside the room.

Tony jumps out his skin, “Jesus.”

“Shit.” Peter curses, “Ow.” He stumbles into the room, almost pulling the door off its hinges, he nurses his wrist in his hand. He might be Spider-Man but he is constantly running into walls.

The room stirs. Ned sleepily leans up, “What…”

“Oh…” Peter holds onto the doorframe, “I’m gonna puke.”

Tony runs over. They’re here. The baby’s here, “You good?”

Peter catches his wrists, “It’s a boy.”

Tony’s eyes fill with tears, and he smiles. A boy.

The room erupts in excited mumbles and celebrations.

“I knew it!” Morgan shouts. Suddenly wide awake. She drums her hands against Ned’s arm, “I told you.”

“A boy?” Tony sniffles, “That’s…”

Peter pulls on his arm, “Come on.” He guides him out, down the corridor, and into a room.

Michelle is sat up, cradling her son. Tony can’t see his face, it’s covered by her hand. He’s wearing the small knitted Spider-Man hat that Rhodey bought. May is in the chair, watching them with misty-eyes.

“Hey.” Tony coos quietly.

Michelle looks up, she smiles, “Hey, Stark.”

Tony darts his eyes between Michelle and Peter. He stops, to focus on the baby.

The last few months feel like a dream. Like it wasn’t real. It is now.

Peter pushes him forward, and they approach the side of the bed.

Tony leans over to see. His grandson is perfect. He looks like both Peter and Michelle, but he has Peter’s eyes without a doubt. Tony would know those puppy dog eyes anywhere.

“Wow.” Tony grins, “Can’t believe you two managed to pull this off.”

Peter crosses his arms, “Shut up.”

“You can talk, Tiger….” Michelle mocks, “You threw up.”

Tony turns on his heel, Peter holds his hands up in the air, “What…”

“You’re never gonna live that down,” Tony tells him.

“Never,” May giggles.

“Hey, Stark...” Michelle moves, “You wanna hold him?”

Tony’s heart flutters, “Of course.” He crouches down, with Michelle’s help he guides his grandson into his arms.

He’s awake but isn’t crying. His big brown eyes dart around. Taking everything in that they can.

Tony bounces him, “Hey…”

Peter holds out a finger, his son grasps it, “Benjamin.”

Tony looks at May, with glazed eyes. She smiles.

“Hey there, Ben.” Tony bops his nose, “I’m your Nonno.”

Everything clouds Tony’s mind.

A series of ‘what ifs ’ and ‘buts .’

Thanos took Peter away. Michelle and May too. They were gone, for five long years. It could have gone differently. Ben wouldn’t exist if Tony hadn’t discovered time travel when he did. So many little things happened to make this day a possibility. Tony’s only just met Ben and the world would be an empty place without him.

Ben notices Tony’s bright red prosthetic arm, he stares at it with wide curious eyes. Tony chuckles.

This is his life. He loves it and he wouldn’t change a thing, “Welcome to the world, kid.”

Shortly after everyone met Ben, Michelle fell asleep.

Peter took Ben onto the balcony, to see the outside world.

Tony steps out and tip-toes over, “Hey, Pete.” Ben is fast asleep, curled against his dad’s chest, “Well done, you’re a natural.”

“Yeah?”

“Morgan hardly slept...” Tony snorts, “We had to hold her under the fan in the kitchen.”

Peter grins, “If Ben’s anything like I was...he’ll sleep most of the time.”

“Like you were?” Tony raises an eyebrow, “You still do. You’re either out there being Spider-Man or sleeping on the couch.”

“That’s an exaggeration.”

Tony shakes his head, “It really isn’t.”

Peter laughs. It fades. He studies Ben, fear etches over his face.

His life is different now. A good different but Tony knows how scary that can be.

Tony plants a kiss on Peter’s temple, “You’ve got this sorted, kid.”

Peter’s mouth twist into a smirk, he looks at Tony with narrowed eyes, “Kid?” He chuckles, he motions his head towards Ben.

Tony rolls his eyes, “I’m not letting it drop, kid. ”

“Okay, okay...” Peter rubs a thumb across Ben’s cheek as he carefully bounces him.

“You’ll always be my kid.”

Peter leans his head against Tony’s shoulder, “I know.”

[takemedancingmaine]

Where I Belong

The weather had finally shifted to spring.

Although, if we’re honest, there’s not a real spring in Chicago. Only winter and then false hope then more winter and then, somehow overnight, summer. 

It was sticky and the air was heavy. You could feel it on your skin the moment you stepped outside. Paired with some of the bluest skies and the clear water of Lake Michigan, one could understand the allure of Chicago, finally making sense of why people brave the winters and the grey skies. Every year around this time, I fell in love with the city all over again, fell in love with the vibe of spring baseball games and a beer on my front porch with a good book in my lap. I fell in love with beach days and rooftop day parties and going to the zoo for a walk around just because. 

The trees along Lakeshore were green and full when I ran past them in the mornings, the birds were singing loud over the traffic, and kids were playing with chalk on the sidewalk in front of their houses.

It wasn't like I needed a reminder of all the reasons I loved Chicago, because I just did, but the month of May brought the reminders out for me anyway. I was enamored by the juxtaposition of the busy city behind me and the vast, empty expanse of blue water in front, kicking at the wall under my heels as I dangled my legs over the edge.

I was sitting on a concrete barrier on the edge of the Lake that separated two beaches in Bryn Mawr and writing in my journal. 

It was something I was doing more and more since starting therapy all those months ago. I was not a writer by any means, nor was I eloquent, but I never felt pressure to write well or to even make sense of my thoughts as they left my mind and etched themselves into words on the pages. I simply felt a pull to get the thoughts down so that they weren't festering inside of me. It was a relief I felt that was similar to running. It was a solitary activity where I was alone with myself and able to attempt to understand myself better.

Three and a half months since my secret came to light, since I faced it out in the open and gave it a name and came to terms with the fact that I had to accept it and push forward in a healthy way. Last week, Brian had ‘graduated’ us all from his self-defense class and was gearing up to start anew with another fresh batch of students.

He was excited to start all over again in the fall, and I was excited to have not only completed his class but to have gained more than just knowledge but two friendships as a result of pushing myself through it. Tala and Brian were instrumental in my healing process, and I couldn't be happier with them being a part of my life. They also folded in seamlessly with the rest of the group. Between Tala’s wit and Brian’s charisma, they were always a welcome addition whenever they could join us in our activities.  

There was just one thing about those activities that I had yet to rectify.

I also knew it had to be me, that I had to make the move to solve it. It took me a while to come to terms with this, longer than it had taken me to come to terms with everything else. It was countless hours talking to Louis and Cleo. I even spent a lot of time with Liam and asked his opinions. His advice had been incredibly simple: do what you feel like you’re ready to do, and even if you don’t feel ready, take that step anyway: test yourself.

Ordinarily, I would’ve scoffed at his idea, but Tala said something similar when I went to her with the issue as well. She was the one who, despite what her brother had told her, approved of my severing ties with Niall in the first place. She was the one who said it was better for me. Recently though, she was starting to push me more and more. The conversation we’d had last weekend had centered around the fact that I would probably never feel ready to make this move, but going off of everything else I’d done and all the progress I’d made, I was ready.

I still wasn’t sure, but that was the thing. Emotions are like water. They're impossible to compress. So once the thought was there, I couldn't push it back down. I had to follow through.

I think it was like Tala had said, that I might never be sure. I thought about how rarely sure we are in life and it made me realize just how much we as humans gamble and hope for the best, blowing on the dice for luck before we throw them down. So what if I still wasn't sure? I couldn't remember a time when I was sure. Life was about putting all the pieces together and hoping they made a puzzle, but if not it was okay, there was always a new path, a new puzzle to piece together waiting around each bend.

My journal entry was reflecting this sentiment as I scribbled in it in all caps. I noticed that when I wrote now, my penmanship was all capitals, blockish and somehow a little bit flowy. It was how I’d written notes and essays when I was in high school but had steered away from when I was trying to take notes at a much quicker pace in college. I had told Dr. Winters a few weeks ago that maybe it was because it was more deliberate, slower and more methodical to write in all capital letters. I wasn’t sure yet why or if it meant anything specific–it could always be as simple as I like the aesthetic more–but it was something to think about anyway.

“Hey,” a voice called me from my reverie. I’d been absorbed in writing, absorbed in listening to the sound of the water below me, entranced by the sunshine beating down on me. I slipped a page marker into the journal and closed it, setting it and the pen beside me before looking up. 

It was the hat on his head that made me smile. 

“Hi,” I said, patting the ground beside me, signaling for him to sit.

He did. He maneuvered himself down and leaned back on his hands, his head falling back as he looked up at the sky, his eyes closed.

I took that moment to look him over. He was tan, his skin practically glowing in the sunshine, and his facial hair was fuller. It suited him. I couldn’t tell what his hair was doing, but as he took a deep breath and lowered his head back down and opened his eyes, I noted that the easiness he’d always carried about him was still present. I’d worried that I might’ve stripped that from him, but from the looks of it, I hadn’t.

He turned his head toward me and I was struck by the blue of his eyes. Even with the blue water below me, the blue sky above me, and the blue hat situated on top of his head, his eyes were still the most vibrant, the most riveting of all the options. There was a depth to them that even the most renowned artists would struggle to capture. I could see them clearly even in the shade of his ball cap.

For months I’d thought that perhaps seeing those eyes again would cripple me, tear me down brick-by-brick until I was an amorphous blob on the ground, unable to function back at square one. Yet here I was, staring into those eyes and holding my own, maintaining myself. I had thought that I’d see something in those eyes that might indicate pain or regret. Instead, I saw curiosity and respect. I’d spent a few months dealing with both of those qualities in other people’s gazes to know what they were, and seeing them there, on him, felt natural. As if this was how it was supposed to be.

“You look tan,” I said. 

He nodded and looked out ahead of us toward the horizon. “Yeah, I um. I went on that trip to South Africa a few weeks ago with Greg. It was a place our dad had always wanted to go, so we figured we’d get down there and see what he’d been going on and on about for so long.” 

“How was it?”

“It was unbelievable,” he said. When he said that, I saw that smile, his smile, slip onto his face and watched as his features lit up. I could feel my own features shift into a smile as a response to his, the reaction involuntary, but I was unable to do anything but react to his contagious good vibe. “We did a great white shark thing, watched them breach from a boat and even went down in a tank to watch them from below. It was the scariest, coolest thing I’ve ever done by far. I don't know if I'll ever be able to top it, but I would like to try.” 

He was happy. 

I was struck by that when he looked at me full on again. He was happy and so was I.

We fell into silence. It was neither comfortable nor uncomfortable. There was so much to be said between us so much that needed to be discussed and sorted through, but somehow we both understood that we were under no pressure and that added a level of comfort to the situation.

He spoke first.

“You look lighter… somehow. Calmer,” he said, glancing at me, appraising, and then shifted his gaze back out to the lake.

“I feel lighter,” I said after a moment. Watching him, and then following his gaze to the horizon. He didn't interrupt me when I paused to gather my thoughts, and I appreciated his patience, and appreciated that even after all these months he still believed I deserved the time to get it right. “Therapy has helped quite a bit. As has telling everyone.”

“Louis mentioned to me that you told everyone, including your family,” he said. I watched him from the corner of my eye. “I was really proud of you for that. It must've taken a lot of strength.”

I let out a breathless chuckle. “The family’s response was something, to be sure. And it's funny, but I knew how our friends would react. I just didn't let myself believe that they would be so supportive, that it wouldn't make them look at me in pity. I knew that they wouldn't, but taking that leap of faith is still scary sometimes.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, the timber of his voice rattling my bones. “They're some pretty remarkable people, our friends.”

“If we're calling lunacy ‘remarkable’ nowadays, then sure.” He laughed out loud at my words and I felt it in my toes, his spirit floating lightly. His energy lifted me through this process. If it was anytime else, I couldn't have been able to do this, to tell them.

“I don't expect you to forgive me,” I said, my voice quiet suddenly. “I know I didn't exactly go about, well, anything the right way at first. But I'm trying now and I wanted you to know that I'm sorry.”

“You don't have to apol-”

“I do,” I interrupted him. He cut his gaze to me quickly, the confusion clear within it. “I do,” I repeated with a nod. “I hurt you. I know I hurt you. Regardless of why or the outcome, I still did that. And for that, I'm sorry.”

“I accept,” he said back quietly, his eyes still watching me.

I stayed silent for a long while, looking out over the water, but I knew he was watching me, and could feel his eyes on me. It must've been a handful of minutes later before I spoke again.

“I don't have my nightmare anymore.” As much as I wanted to keep looking at the water I desperately wanted to see his face when he processed that news. So, I turned and watched.

“You what?” His mouth was wide, his eyes searching my face and moving at a quick pace, his voice was nothing but a whisper of words on an exhale of breath leaving him in a gust.

“Since early March,” I said, nodding. “Two and a half months ago.”

“That's great, Ruby,” he said softly and looked away again. I watched as he took his Cubs hat off and ran a hand through his hair before settling his hat back down. His hair was wavy and long on top, but shorter onthe sides. It was my favorite style on him.

“It's been a relief,” I admitted. He nodded at my words.

“I'm sure Moggy appreciates not being woken up in the middle of the night, too,” he said, a smile pulling on his features, knowing that the worst was behind us.

“Oh she's never been happier,” I smiled back. “I was putting a real damper on her beauty rest.” We giggled quietly and then fell into another bout of comfortable silence, the minutes just passing by as we took in being beside each other again. A couple of kids passed by on skateboards behind us and a man blaring reggae music from a speaker walked by at a leisurely pace, the sound fading as he made it to the beach to our left.

“I was thinking,” I started after it had been silent for a while, “that it's probably time our friends stopped making two sets of plans.”

“Yeah?” He asked, pulling his gaze down to me and quirking his eyebrows.

“This wasn't nearly as hard as I built it up in my head to be,” I said, letting him know I'd been nervous about seeing him. 

He let out a slow breath and nodded, another smile pulling on his lips. “Yeah, it really hasn't been.” I let him think for a moment, able to see the thoughts whirring behind his eyes. “I think that's fair.”

“You think we can pull it off, being friends?”

“Well,” he drew in a breath and let it out slowly, “we've done being a couple, and we’ve done being nothing to each other, so I think that maybe friends can be a happy medium for us.”

I hoped so.

Sitting there I realized that although I had patched myself up and that I was happy, content with my life and who I was, I had still missed Niall.

I'd missed his contagious laugh and his easygoing energy. I'd missed his quirky bookish quotes that would come out when he was trying to be introspective and I'd missed watching him interact with Louis and the rest of our friends. 

I realized just how easily I could be his friend. I thought about how he would fit in with Tala and Brian and how he'd compliment each of them as well. I thought about our group game nights having good music again because my choices wouldn't be voted down and the Guinness that would be stocked in all of our fridges for just-in-case purposes.

If anything were to happen between us in the future–and I recognized that hypothetical as a long shot because of the trust that would have to be built back up–that was for the future. For right now, I was happy just having him around again.

It was enough for me. It was calm and I felt that ease settling into my belly as I thought about that. I wasn't wary of what was to come or nervous of screwing anything up. It was an easy friendship and there were expectations that went along with being a friend, but they didn't feel impossible to meet or to breathe under.

“Hey,” he said, pulling me again from my reverie with that single word.

I looked over at him.

“This feels good.”

“It does,” I acknowledged. “Thanks for meeting me.”

“Thanks for reaching out,” he said.

I took a deep breath and looking out at the lake in front of me, seeing it for what was far from the first time, I felt myself sink into happiness, all of my nervous energy from before leaving me like the waves pulling away from the barrier and all that was coming in was a warmth and a relief that spread through me. 

Looking right, I could see the green grass and trees and the golden beach past them, could see skyscrapers reaching up into the blue beyond above and could see the sun as it travelled its path, steady and constant and not concerning itself with anything but its own power and strength.

The sun knew that it would be cloudy some days, but that never dimmed its shine, it was bright regardless of what was happening around it. I took a deep breath and closing my eyes against the light hoped that I could be like that too, bright and unwavering and strong in the face of life. I finally felt like I was in a place where that wasn't an unreasonable hope.

[julaibib]

(This is the question about telling a story with marriage as topic) You can tell me any story, as long marriage/love is the topic. I can’t many of them in Islam, so that’s why I wanted you to maybe tell some. It can be between anyone! A prophet and their wife, a sahaba and theirs or someone else from Islam. Maybe an odd thing to ask someone to do, but I think people should learn more about marriage and relationships from the best of us, instead of media and celebrities.

Fatima was a woman of eighteen and full of energy and passion with a personality that matched her father more than anyone else. This did not go unnoticed and many men started to come forward to ask her hand in marriage. First came Abu Bakr, and he was kindly refused by the Prophet ﷺ. Then came Umar, who was also kindly refused by the Prophet ﷺ. Umar went to Ali and suggested that he ask for Fatima’s (RA) hand. Ali was very much in love with her. However, Ali did not think that the Prophet ﷺ would accept his proposal, as he was very poor, especially when he saw that the proposals of two Companions were rejected. Umar reminded him of his family relationship with the Prophet ﷺ and his position in Islam and Ali became convinced that he might have a shot.All Ali’s confidence melted away though when he finally got to the Prophet’s ﷺ house. He came inside, sat down and said nothing. “What is the matter, son of Abu Talib?” said the Prophet ﷺ. Ali was still too nervous to speak. The Prophet ﷺ asked again, “What is your mind, son of Abu Talib?” Again Ali said nothing. “You have come to ask for Fatima’s (RA) had in marriage, am I right?” Ali nodded. The Prophet ﷺ broke into a great smile and went and asked Fatima her opinion. When she approved, he told Ali that they accept his proposal. He then asked him if he had any dowry for her. Ali replied that he did not. “What about your shield?” asked the Prophet ﷺ? “It is worth barely more than 400 Dirhams,” said Ali. “I accept it as a dowry,” replied the Prophet ﷺ.And so Ali sold his shield for 400 Dirhams and with the dowry the Prophet ﷺtold Bilal to buy some perfume for Fatima (RA) and he told Um Salama to buy her some new dresses. On the day of their wedding, their zaffa included all the Companians- Anas Ibn Malik, Abu Bakr, Umar, Talhah, Zubair and other Ansar and migrant friends. The food was dates that were offered to the guests. The wedding zaffa took them from Madinah to the outskirts of the city where Ali had found a home, as he couldn’t afford a place in the city.

Their house was a humble small room. It had a bed, a pillow filled with date leaves, a plate, a glass, a leather water bag, and a grinding stone for grinding flour. On their wedding night, the Prophet ﷺ told Ali and Fatima to wait for him in their new house. After Isha prayer, the Prophet ﷺ went to their house and asked for some water, which he used to make wudu, supplication, and said, “ Oh Allah bless them and bless their offspring.” He addressed Ali as his brother and asked him to place his hand on Fatima’s (RA) head and repeat some duaas. He then placed Ali’s hand on Fatima’s hand and advised them how to honor each other as husband and wife. “Ali do not get angry, and if you do, sit down. Remember Allah’s power over His servants and His tolerance of their sins. If you are advised to fear Allah, abandon your anger and go back to your deliberateness.” After he had given them all the advice he was walking out the door when he turned and said to them that they should pray two rakkahs.So began the married life of Ali and Fatima (RA).

Fatima (RA) and Ali were very devoted to Islam and integrated Islamic principles in their daily lives. One day, they were breaking their fast, when there was a knock on the door. Ali asked who it was and the person replied “a poor, hungry man”. Ali and Fatima (RA) gave him all of their food and broke their fast with only bread and water. The next day, they were breaking their fast when there was another knock on the door. This time it was “an orphan who is homeless and starving.” Again Ali and Fatima (RA) gave him all their food and broke their fast with bread and water. On the third day, at the knock on the door there was “a captive.” Once again Ali and Fatima (RA) at only bread and water as they gave all their food to the man. It was said that these three people were all angel Jibreel who was sent to test the patience of Ali and Fatima (RA). It was also said that Jibreel told Prophet Mohammed ﷺ about this and informed him that Ali and Fatima (RA) will have a carriage of silver in Paradise. Some scholars believe that it was this incident that caused the revelation of this verse:{And they give food, in spite of their love for it [or the love of Him] to the needy, the orphan, and the captive [saying], ‘We feed you seeking Allah’s countenance only. We wish for no reward or thanks from you.} –Holy Quran, 76: 8-9

The story of Umm Sulaym and Abu Talhah

Among the great Muslim women who are known for their strength of character, lofty aspirations and far-sightedness in their choice of a husband is Umm Sulaym bint Milhan, who was one of the first Ansar women to embrace Islam.

She was married to Malik ibn Nadar, and bore him a son, Anas. When she embraced Islam, her husband Malik was angry with her, and left her, but she persisted in her Islam. Shortly afterwards, she heard the news of his death, and she was still in the flower of her youth. She bore it all with the hope of reward, for the sake of Allah (SWT), and devoted herself to taking care of her ten-year-old son Anas. She took him to the Prophet (PBUH), so that he could serve him (and learn from him).

One of the best young men of Madinah, one of the best-looking, richest and strongest, came to seek her hand in marriage. This was Abu Talhah – before he became Muslim. Many of the young women of Yathrib liked him because of his wealth, strength and youthful good looks, and he thought that Umm Sulaym would joyfully rush to accept his offer. But to his astonishment, she told him, “O Abu Talhah, do you not know that your god whom you worship is just a tree that grew in the ground and was carved into shape by the slave of Banu so-and-so.” He said, “Of course.” She said, “Do you not feel ashamed to prostrate yourself to a piece of wood that grew in the ground and was carved by the slave of Banu so-and-so?” Abu Talhah was stubborn, and hinted to her of an expensive dowry and luxurious lifestyle, but she persisted in her point of view, and told him frankly: “O Abu Talhah, a man like you could not be turned away, but you are a disbelieving man, and I am a Muslim woman. It is not permitted for me to marry you, but if you were to embrace Islam, that would be my dowry (mahr), and I would ask you for nothing more.” [Reported by al-Nisa’i with a sahih isnad, 6/114, Kitab al-nikah, bab al-tazwij ‘ala’l-Islam.]

He returned the following day to try to tempt her with a larger dowry and more generous gift, but she stood firm, and her persistance and maturity only enhanced her beauty in his eyes. She said to him, “O Abu Talhah, do you not know that your god whom you worship was carved by the carpenter slave of so-and-so? If you were to set it alight, it would burn.” Her words came as a shock to Abu Talhah, and he asked himself, Does the Lord burn? Then he uttered the words: “Ashhadu an la ilaha ill-Allah wa ashhadu anna Muhammadan rasul-Allah.”

Then Umm Sulaym said to her son Anas, with joy flooding her entire being, “O Anas, marry me to Abu Talhah.” So Anas brought witnesses and the marriage was solemnized.

Abu Talhah was so happy that he was determined to put all his wealth at Umm Sulaym’s disposal, but hers was the attitude of the selfless, proud, sincere believing woman. She told him, “O Abu Talhah, I married you for the sake of Allah (SWT), and I will not take any other dowry.” She knew that when Abu Talhah embraced Islam, she did not only win herself a worthy husband, but she also earned a reward from Allah (SWT) that was better than owning red camels (the most highly-prized kind) in this world, as she had heard the Prophet (PBUH) say:“If Allah (SWT) were to guide one person to Islam through you, it is better for you than owning red camels.”[Fath al-Bari, 7/476, Kitab al-maghazi, bab ghazwat Khaybar.]

Such great Muslim women are examples worthy of emulation, from whom Muslim women may learn purity of faith, strength of character, soundness of belief and wisdom in choosing a husband.

Source Chapter 4: Ideal Muslimah Book

[mlmdarkfiction]

Oh, Where Have You Been, Billy Boy?

A multichapter fic of Billy Lenz X Transman!Reader

Story Description:

You've taken the newly vacant position as head nurse of The Ontario Criminal Institute, a hospital to take care of and study the criminally mentally ill. One of the patience under your care happens to be the infamous Billy Lenz, a man who was caught one year after highhandedly destroying an entire sorority brutally. All you want is to give Billy, and the other patients at the Institute, the help and care they seem to have been seriously lacking under the direction of the last head nurse.

Chapter 1 Description;

TWs: none for this chapter

You experience your first day of training at the Institute and have your first interaction with the infamous Billy Lenz. 

Taglist: @datenightfright

Read Below:

There’s lots of reasons to be excited for starting your new job. It pays better, it has better benefits, and most importantly is closer to your home. Really, there’s only one major downfall about your new job, the patients. You’re going from being an Extensive Care nurse to a nurse in a facility holding the criminally insane. Before you rarely had any conscious patients to deal with, but now you’d be thrusted into a world of not only awake, but highly dangerous patients.

The thing is, you feel a lot of sympathy for these individuals. After all, criminals or not, they’re sick. And sick people need care. That was the main thing that drove you to take the job, not the extra pay or the benefits, that’s all nice of course, but more than anything you wanted to help people.

“Are you sure you want to do this?”

Sergei, your boyfriend of the last five years, hovers nervously behind you as you dress in your scrubs, ready for the first actual day on the job. He’s been against your decision to go work at the Ontario Criminal Institute since the very beginning, you’d thought he’d gotten more used to the idea, but obviously not.

“It will be fine, Serg.” While you appreciate his concern, he as always, comes off a bit too strong. You wish he would understand that you’re not only capable of taking care of yourself, but capable of making your own complex decisions as well. “Besides, today is just to get the feel of things. Mrs.Macaty will be there the whole time to show me the ropes.”

You’ve not yet met Mrs.Macaty in person. What you know of her mostly comes from the phone calls you had over the phone, and what the head of staff at the institute had told you during your initial job interview. Mrs.Macaty was the head nurse for the institute, and had worked there for many years before finally deciding a few months ago to put in her retirement. Before she left the Institute for good she promised to show you what will be expected of you.

“I love you,” You press your lips to Sergei’s stumbled cheek as you make your way to grab your car keys. “You really need to shave.” With that you’re out the door.

-

The drive to work is about as nice as you’d expected. Most of the trip was regular early morning commute and traffic, but about half way the scenery changes. You go up through the mountains for twenty minutes before you catch sight of the Institution.

It’s a huge intimidating building. But it doesn’t scare you nearly as bad as it had during the time of your first interview. Still, even as your observe the heavily secure building, you find yourself doubting if you can really ever get used to working in such a gloomy place. You catch the humor in it. No, you’re not afraid (at least not outside the healthy realm) of your new job, that’s easy to adjust to, no the thing you’re having trouble coping with is the gloomyness of the facility.

It’s laughable. You muse to yourself about all of this as you park in the visitors entrance, and walk your way to the first set of doors accompanied by a matching set of metal detectors.  Although it’s unlikely any of the patients actually have visitors coming to see them, it’s nice of the hospital to even allow visitation.

“There you are,” Speaks a little old woman, shrunken with age, her hair in a high bun, and what you can only manage to describe as a friendly scowl taking her face. “You’ve last the first test.” The guard to her right hands you back your car keys, but not before telling you to place them in your locker.

“Don’t worry, I’ll show the boy the ropes.”

“So you’re Mrs.Macaty I’m assuming?” On your face is your best professional smile as you extend your hand out to her, but it seems she has no desire to shake your hand in turn. In fact she stairs at it for several silent awkward moments until you allow your hand to fall back to your side. The awkward silence makes you uncomfortable but thankfully after only another moment of her scruntinizing stare she clears he throat and finally leads you away from the main visitors entrance.

“This here’s the locker room. You can dress here in the morning if you don’t wanna wear your scrubs to work. There’s also lockers. You’ll be gettin’ one of your own today, all personal items, and sharp things like your keys go in there.”

It’s a decently sized space, the lockers lining the walls in a way that reminds you more of a high school locker room than anything else. With what little you can make out of coats and uncomfortable looking shoes left behind, you would guess the majority of your new coworkers would appear to be women. There’s nothing wrong with that of course, in fact it’s quite common in the nursing field, you had just hoped given the circumstance there may be some more male nurses than you are used to. It’s always a bit isolated to be one of the very few male nurses in a hospital.

“Now, before we get started, do you have any questions?”

“Oh- Um,  no ma’am.”

“Good, come on then.”

Mrs.Macaty shows you the ropes. You watch as she gathers medication for the patience on her part of the ward, and follow behind her as she gives them to the patients.

“Use a tongue depressor to make sure they took them, and be carefully, some of the nasty fuckers spit.”

The way she treats patients makes you upset, but you do your best to cope with it, all smiles and nodding, just wanting to get through the day. You try to give her the benefit of the doubt. You try to imagine how taxing it must be for he to have done this everyday for so many years.

She leads you to a door and then stops. “This man, this man will be the bane of your very existence as you work here.”

“Isn’t that a bit of an…”

A bit of an exaggeration is what you were going to ask her, but you trailed off as you see the patient name displayed on the door.

Billy Lenz.

The first patient whose name you actually recognize. You knew about the case, at least a little bit, about the sorority girls he’d murdered a year before he was caught, about the phone calls he made to his victims, how he was eventually caught because of the calls.

You remembered that case. You remembered it because you were in college yourself at the time, far away from the sorority, but at the time it had reminded you of an incident from when you were in high school. At the time you had felt such sympathy for his victims, and a deep fear that you could have easily been a victim as well. It was an overreaction by far. The calls you’d gotten in your senior year of high school on the family phone were nothing like the nasty calls those poor girls had gotten, it was just repeated calls of nothing but deep uncomfortable breathing.

Mrs.Macatay knocks on the door first, opening the sliding compartment to speak.

“Are you decent Billy?”

There’s no response,

“He hardly talks,” She tells you beginning to unlock the door. “Well he talks, but he never says anything worth listening to.”

You nod, mouth feeling like it’s filled with cotton, still caught up in your fears of a possible high school stalker. When the door is open, when you see Billy, a pathetic looking man, thin, and glaring at both you and Mrs.Macatay from beneath the locks of matted hair that covered his face.

Pity. You feel pity for the man. It’s obvious from his appearance alone that he’s not been getting the basic care he deserves, the basic care the facility is supposed to guarantee it’s patients.

When Mrs.Macatay approaches, paper cup full of pills in hand, Billy reacts violently. He hisses at her, dropping from his bed, and backing up against the wall.

It’s obvious to see he doesn’t like her. He’s trembling, and it’s that feeling again, that pity that entices you to act.

“Mrs.Macatay, would you mind if I gave Billy his medicine?”

Both parties stop, their attention on you.

“I watched you give the other patients their meds, and this will be my job from here on out, right?”

She eyes Billy warily, but nods backing up as she makes her way toward you. That’s another thing about this job, to never turn your back to the patients, lest you open yourself up for a possible attack.

“Billy,” Mrs.Macatay speaks the way your teachers regarded problem students, aggressive and authoritative. “This is ____, he’s going to be your new nurse.”  

“Hi Billy, it’s nice to meet you.”

He’s curious as you approach, his head is tilted, and although he stays scurried towards the back of the room and continues to tremble he doesn’t hiss at you, or lash out.

“Can you take your meds for me Billy?” You offer the paper cup to him, shocked by how quickly he snatches it from you. Despite his speed it gave you time to see his hands, nails bitten into bloody quicks, scratches on his arms and wrist. He wasn’t being taken care of at all.

Anger rises quickly in your throat, and you force it down. It would be different, with you in charge, you’d make sure the patients were all taken care of properly. That they got the help and care they desperately needed.

Billy takes the pills dry, or at least seems to. You’re relieved he’s behaving, after the way Mrs.Macatay had acted.

“Can I check your mouth Billy, to make sure you’ve taken them all?”

He hesitates, but nods moving closer to you. You barely catch it, the tail end of a murmured whisper hushed out by the scuffling of his clothes.

“ -pretty little mouth- “

Billy opens his mouth and even lifts his tongue for you. There’s no need to use the tongue depressor much to your relief.  Any reason to not get close to a patient’s mouth is acceptable in your book. The last thing you needed on your first day of work is to come home with stitches and a bite mark. You’re sure Sergei would just be thrilled with you, and your new job if that happened.

“Thank you Billy.”

You back up slowly, making your way to join Mrs.Macatay by the door. “We’ll be back later today okay?”

“Was...Was Billy a good boy?”

He catches you off guard with the question. You almost stop in your tracks. He seems lucid enough, at least right now, and the meds will help keep him that way. It just surprises you to hear him speak in third person like that.

There’s a click of disapproval, or maybe disgust, from Mrs.Macatay behind you, and you fight the urge to frown at her behavior.

But you don’t. You don’t frown, you don’t stop moving. You show no reaction to the sudden questioning or to Mrs.Macatay’s unprofessoinal behavior. Your caretakers smile remains on your face as you respond.

“Yes Billy, you were a very good boy today. Thank you for being good for me and taking your medications.”

The door to Billy’s room closes, and you let out a long held breath. Professionalism drops, along with your forced caring smile. That was stressful.

Mrs.Macatay and yourself are only just beginning to walk a way, pushing the medicine cart along with you, when you hear Billy again.

“ Bye, bye, pretty nursie… ”

And looking back you see him. Billy is looking at you through the metal sliding compartment Mrs.Macatay had left open, one green eye visible to stare at your retreating forms.

[riddlesandqueries]

Mild Intervention

A conversation between Edward and @askcelsiwilson following the events of Roman Sionis’ intervention.

The bistro that Edward had picked was awfully posh, all things considered, for such a little place. Upscale but private, and he waited by the door, dressed in a friendly sage green linen suit. "Good afternoon, Celsi." Edward smiled, quite polite. "How are we?"

Celsi walked up, feeling really nervous about this. She knew she had stolen and attempted to steal from Edward quite a few times. But after the last time, he was promptly placed on that no stealing list. She looked up when she saw him. "Good afternoon. I'm doing well, thank you."

"Let's go in, before we start chatting." He gave his 'name' to the reception desk, and the Ambage party of two was taken to a booth in a fairly discreet corner: the rest of the restaurant was visible, but their booth was in a world of their own. 

"Two waters to start, please, a twist of lime for mine...and my dear, order what you please." said Edward, taking his seat as he directed the waiter.

"Um... a lemon in mine please?" She said softly, completely confused right now. She didn't know what was going on. "Um, pardon me for asking but did I do something wrong?"

He waited until the waiter leaves before hanging his hat. "No, but I do need to have a serious talk with you, before things get much further as they are. It's just easier when there's food and a neutral space."

She nodded. "I'm all ears. And um... " She passed over a small box. "A white flag of sorts. I'm returning what I had stolen from you before."

He peeked into the box. What was it? it’s been ages, after all...Ah. It was a few of his question mark pens and a tie. "Thank you...you know, I have to ask: why did you take these?"

"I was in a bad place at the time. The orphanage was pretty abusive, and the police would never listen to us. I thought I would break into rogues' place to try to earn a bit of money. And if I got caught, you guys would have to be kinder than the orphanage." She rubbed the scar from her recent bout with Black Mask. "I was wrong about that."

"At the time." he repeated, setting aside the box. "But it's different now, isn't it?"

"Yeah. I have to break out of the habit I have of hiding things. Arkham Jr did a number on me. But I am trying."

The waters are served: are they ready to order?

Celsi looked at her menu. "Um.. May I get a burger and fries please?" She asked.

The waiter was a bit nonplussed, as this is not quite that kind of place, until he saw Edward's expectant expression. Yes, yes. Certainly. Edward ordered the salmon over wild rice pilaf, Brussels sprouts on the side, and a coffee. The waiter absconded, and Edward turned back to her. "Do you intend to continue being a thief?"

"I mean... I want to. But the list of people to not steal from is getting longer by the now." Celsi said softly. "Plus the one jewelry store heist went south so quickly. I didn't know Black Mask owned the store. I thought I was doing a good thing by getting a store that was selling drugs to kids."

"And why do you want to continue to be a thief?"

"Because it seems like a rush. It's fun. And if I can learn to target those who are doing wrong in the world, I can feel like I'm giving them some well deserved karma. It's a challenge for me."

He sipped his water, considering her with some degree of scrutiny as his coffee is delivered and left in a hurry. "...how's that scar of yours?"

"It is getting better, but I have a feeling it's going to stay with me forever. It's the one thing that's making me reconsider staying a thief."

Edward nodded, then pointed to his shoulder. "Gunshot, through and through." He taps his head. "A few concussions, three by the Bat." He tapped his chest and torso in various spots. "Explosive shrapnel, broken glass, knives." His leg. "Open fracture, this one took months of physical therapy. I still carry a cane for a reason." 

 With that, he prepared his coffee. "Celsi, I'll do something I don't usually afford to people and tell you directly: you're at the point where you don't have to be a thief. You're in a safe home with loving parents and a girlfriend, and the potential for a safe and healthy future. There's plenty of other things that will delight you, inspire you, and you can target wrongdoers in any line of the humanities." 

With that, Edward took a sip. "I'm not here to tell you how to live: it's your life. But I am telling you now, in no uncertain terms, that you'll either have to get very good very fast, or you ought to get out while you safely can."

She nodded. "I've been thinking on that for a while, since I had that run in with Black Mask. I've actually got an idea. A way to earn money and challenge myself legally while still in a way doing what I love. I mean, I could test the security systems. See how easy they are to get through, and then help fix the problem. But that's only for the rogue gallery. If they are not in the rogue gallery, I can mess with the system, and then they're wide open for you guys."

"How so, precisely?"

"I found that I really like hacking. It challenges me in a way that breaking into places never did. I mean stealing the same things over and over can get boring after a while. But there's always new things to hack, and more secure things to try to break through. So messing with the system means I can rig the alarm to go off several times, and make it a false alarm. That way, I'm not in danger. Also.. if all that fails, Dad says I could sell my art to museums."

Lunch is served, thank you. Edward chuckled, arching an eyebrow. "Then I have some serious advice for you: do your research. Don't overstep into danger needlessly, and most important of all: study physical systems most of all: there's no need to code when you just need to pull one wire."

She nodded in agreement. "I will definitely be doing that. But I am confused. Why did you want to help me?"

"The rogue life isn't for everyone, and I consider it a poor first choice. In fact, it's a last resort, and a waste of alternatives when you have them."

"So maybe I should just stick to my art?"

"That's your choice, ultimately."

She went silent for a bit, thinking long and hard on her choices. What Edward had said seemed to sink in with her. "You know what. I think I'm going to stick with my art."

He nodded, and gestured to her burger. Eat, it's fresh. It's a fantastically made meal. "A hard decision is the one most worth making."

She nodded, starting on her meal. "I know. And it's the least likely to get me killed." She said with a smile. "Do you mind if I add you in my family list?"

"...family list?" Edward hummed, glancing up.

"Well.. I mean... I'm asking if it's okay to consider you family?"

"Celsi, though I appreciate the gesture, you don't know me well enough for that, nor I you." Edward said calmly. "Just because I'm being good counsel doesn't qualify me for that level of closeness: consider it later once we've got a bit more interaction under our respective belts, hm?"

Celsi nodded. "Friends, then?" She asked.

"Acquaintances." he nodded primly. "I have my own social strata: call it what you will, it's based on obligation. At any rate: I look forward to seeing what you do with art. And speaking from experience, if it doesn't work out, you can always go into rogue work." He smiles a bit.

She nodded again. "Thank you for everything, Edward."

"You're welcome. I thought it was fairly important, and I appreciate your patience in hearing me out." said Edward, setting in. "Now, let's get to lunch properly."

[captainswanandclintasha]

Awake and Alive - Chapter 3 (3/?)

Summary: While Emma and the other Nevengers are leaving Storybrooke for Neverland to search for Henry, a misterious and unkown woman comes in Storybrooke, looking for a long lost man and some answers about herself. Meanwhile in Neverland Emma and Hook descover something about themselves that is going to change their lives forever.

Type: AU

Rating: M (for future chapters)

FF.Net | AO3

Surprise! 

I know I said the story is going to be posted on every Saturday but I have two reasons for posting today. First because I want to test something for myself and secondly because both me and my friend, Sofia, had an awful week and this is kind of a gift for her as well. I can’t promise a new chapter on Saturday, but we will see! 

In this chapter we get more answers about Milah but we also find out what happened with Killian in the last chapter! Also angst is coming my dears! And I am not talking about that soft angst. No no no no. Pure angst! Angst is coming in Neverland and this chapter is the beginning of the real Neverland story with my own twist to it! 

Tagging @cinnamonduckling, @effulgentcolors and @captainswan-shipper88 . Let me know if you want to be tagged in future chapters (or if you don’t want to be tagged)!

As always many many thanks to @ultraluckycatnd!

______________________________________

Storybrooke

Milah entered Granny’s after another tiring day in Storybrooke, searching for Killian. It was just her second day in town looking for him, but no matter how many people she asked, no one seemed to know Killian.

She sat down at a table, asking one of the waitresses to bring her a hamburger and a coffee when she saw the door of the diner open and Ruby came running inside with another girl. Milah watched Ruby as she scanned the customers quickly and then her eyes stopped on her. Ruby told something to the girl beside her and then both of them come towards Milah.

“Hi Milah,” Ruby said when she came in front of her.

“Hello Ruby. Can I help you?”

“Actually, yes. We have a few questions for you if you don’t mind.” Ruby motioned to the chairs in front of her and Milah nodded. Both girls sat down, face to face with Milah.

“About me?” Milah asked curious.

“Well, about you and the man you are looking for,” the other girl said.

“You know Killian?” Milah asked hopefully.

“Does he have a hook?” Ruby asked, making Milah confused about her question.

“Ruby!” the other girl screamed at her.

“Sorry.”

“Sorry. Ruby is a little too… direct. My name is Belle,” Belle told Milah with a soft smile.

“It’s nothing. I was like her once upon a time. I’m Milah.”

“I know. I mean, Ruby told me.”

“What can I help you girls with?” Milah asked again.

“Okay, so this may seem too forward, and if it is, please don’t hate us but... umm…,” Belle said quickly.

“Are you Rumplestiltskin’s wife?” Ruby said out of nowhere.

“Very subtle Ruby,” Belle said, putting a hand on her forehead.

“What?”

“Well? Are you?” Ruby asked again, this time with less patience.

“I… I was... I was his wife, yes,” Milah admitted.

“Then why are you not looking for him?” Belle asked her.

“Is he here?!” Milah asked panicked.

“No. I mean not right now.”

“Rumple is alive?” Milah asked, this time more terrified than panicked.

“Yes. Why are you afraid of him? I can see it in your eyes,” Belle asked softly.

“He is the one who killed me,” Milah said, shocking both Ruby and Belle.

“What?” both Ruby and Belle cried at the same time.

“What do you mean?” Belle asked her with a calmer voice this time.

“I was, as you already know, Rumplestiltskin’s wife,” Milah started her story. “A long time ago, before he was the monster he is now. I was in an unhappy marriage; Rumple was a coward, and he was always looking for the easy way out of a problem and I started to feel trapped in that marriage. But we had a son, my Baelfire. He was my light, I wanted to be there for him, but one day I had too much of Rumple’s shit. Bae was sick because a snake bit him, and Rumple made a pact with someone that Bae would be saved but if Rumple was to have another child, that man would take it. I couldn’t even look him in the eyes, I was so angry with him. That night, I went to a tavern in our village and there I met Killian. He was a pirate. He punched someone in the face who wouldn’t take no for an answer, and then he offered me a drink.”

“What happened after?” Ruby asked.

“We talked for a few hours and Killian offered me a chance to go with him since I wasn’t happy at home. But I couldn’t leave Bae, so I turned him down. A few weeks passed, my marriage with Rumple was getting worse and worse and then Killian appeared again in the town. I spent the night with him and his crew at the tavern until Rumple came after me. The only problem was that Bae was with him too. I couldn’t take it anymore after that night. The following morning, I went to Killian’s ship and I begged him to take me with him. So he did. Killian told me a few hours later that Rumple came to take me home, Killian challenged him to a duel and he refused. I left with Killian and for almost ten years we were together.” Milah finished with a smile on her face.

“You said Rumple killed you? How?” Belle asked curiously.

“After ten years, we went back to the town to take Bae with us. He was old enough to be on a ship. I missed him and Killian wanted me to be with him again. Besides that, we didn’t want to leave him with Rumple. But then came a surprise. When we arrived in town, we found out that Rumple was the Dark One. He saw Killian and he was furious. He wanted to kill him because he took me with him and challenged Killian to a duel. On the second day, I went to the place where the duel was supposed to happen and I arrived just in time to stop Rumple from taking Killian’s heart. Rumple was prepared to kill him but I couldn't let him do that. I made a deal with him, to give him a magic bean in exchange for leaving us alone, to live our lives in peace. He broke the deal hours later when he put his hand in my chest and took out my heart. I don’t remember anything after that, just that I woke up, years later, in Hong Kong.”

“Why there?” Belle asked again.

“There was a man called The Dragon. He never told me his real name, though. He told me about this city and that everyone here was cursed and was from the Enchanted Forest.”

“So you knew who we were the moment you came here?”

“I just knew that you were from the Enchanted Forest. I didn’t know who you were back there.”

“What have you done all these years?” Ruby asked Milah.

“The Dragon told me that I couldn’t come here; that no one knew their identity and my presence would have a bad effect if I came. That was twenty eight years ago.”

“Twenty eight years ago?!” Ruby yelled, making some people turn their heads.

“Then what have you done all this time if you couldn’t come here?”

“The Dragon tried to find an explanation of why I was alive but he couldn’t. So I decided to travel around the world until he told me that I could finally come here.”

“So you came to find Hook?” Belle asked.

“Yes.”

“But he wasn’t here from the beginning,” Ruby pointed out to Milah.

“I know. The Dragon told me when Killian came here for the first time. He knew everything that happened here. When he told me that Killian was here, I decided to come here too. For him.” Milah explained to them and then realised something. “I have a question for you too. You said you didn’t know him when I asked you yesterday, but now suddenly you do. How?” she asked Ruby.

“You said you were looking for Killian Jones. We only know him as Captain Hook,” Ruby explained to Milah.

“Why are you calling him that?”

“Because that’s what he calls himself. He has a hook in place of his left hand.”

“How?” Milah asked shocked.

“We don’t know that.”

“So where is he now if he’s not here? Is he back in the Enchanted Forest?”

“He’s in Neverland,” Belle said.

“Neverland?”

“Yeah.”

“No, that can’t be. Killian hates that place.”

“He is there with our friends and Rumplestiltskin.”

“Why?”

“Before you came into town, we all almost died because two idiots, a woman and a man, tried to kill us. Remember when I asked you if you knew Tamara and Greg? Yeah, that’s them. They tried to kill us not long ago. But Regina, known as The Evil Queen back in our land but the mayor of the town in this land, and Emma Swan, who is the sheriff and the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, saved us. Emma's child, unfortunately, was kidnapped by Greg and Tamara and fell through a portal. Hook, I mean Killian, offered his ship to go search for the boy. The next thing we  knew, the ship went into a portal."

“Who is there with him? Beside the parents of the kid I mean.”

“Um, just Emma, she’s Henry’s mother. Also there are Mary Margaret and David, Emma’s parents, and Regina and Gold, erm Rumplestiltskin.”

"Killian and Rumple are on the same ship?" Ruby could see that the look on Milah's face was one of total fear. “But why?”

“Erm...,” Belle started but didn’t know how to continue so Ruby talked.

"Because Emma's child is Mr. Gold's grandson."

“But that means that…?” Milah started but couldn’t end the question. It couldn’t be. It’s been hundreds of years.

“Bae is Henry’s father.”

“My Bae is alive?”

“We… we don’t know that. He was hurt, badly from what I heard from Emma and then he fell into a portal.”

“So that means that...?”

“Henry is also your grandson.”

“Oh God…,” Milah said even more shocked.

Neverland

Emma turned to see what happened behind her when she saw Hook on the ground.

“Hook?” She said dropping on her knees beside him while Regina hit the boy who shot the arrow towards them with her magic.

Hook was on the ground with his eyes closed. Emma tried to wake him as the others came around them.

“Hook, come on. Wake up, you idiot!” Emma screamed at him. Yet, nothing happened.

Emma started to get angry at the fact that he jumped in front of her. She wasn’t careful, she had her back turned to them and to the Lost Boys and yet, somehow, she knew that he jumped between her and the arrow that was now on the ground beside him. Emma hit him in the chest one more time and right then Hook opened his eyes with a deep breath.

“Bloody hell!” he said, putting his hand on the new wound.

Emma could breathe again. He was alive.

“You idiot!” she yelled at him.

“Emma!” Mary Margaret snapped at her.

“No,” she said looking at Mary Margaret and then again at him. “You, what were you thinking?!” Emma yelled at him.

“I was thinking about the fact that you have a son who most likely doesn’t want his mother dead,” Hook said while still on the ground, trying to take a better look at the wound that was forming on his side.

“And that means you can die?” Emma snapped back at him.

“Why don’t you just say thank you and leave me alone, Swan?” he snapped at her.

Emma was surprised by his tone because right there, in front of her, her parents, and Regina, stood Captain Hook, the terrifying pirate. Not Killian Jones, the person Emma started to see every time she looked into his eyes.

“Sorry. Thank you, Hook,” she said rising from the ground.

She took one more look at him while her father was helping him stand up, but his eyes were still on the wound, not at her.

“We should go back to the camp. We don’t know if the Lost Boys would attack again or not.”

The rest of the group nodded and started to move back to the place they had used as their camp in the last few days. Hook stayed behind, not talking to anyone. Even when they made it back to camp, Hook decided to stay in the back, not talking to anyone; even when Mary Margaret asked him if he was okay after the hit he took earlier or when Regina offered to heal the wound.

When everyone decided to go to sleep, Hook offered to stay awake all night while everyone else got a full night of sleep. But as usual, Emma’s sleep refused to come. She turned again and again on her cot but she couldn’t fall asleep, her mind too full from the events of that day. When she opened her eyes and looked towards the fire, she expected to see Hook, but instead, the place was empty.

Emma rose from the ground and looked around her in search of the pirate. He wasn’t in the camp, she was sure of that. Emma looked around, in the forest, and saw a shadow there. Emma started to walk towards that place, Hook being even more visible. He was sitting on a tree trunk looking at something in his hand.

“It’s not nice to spy,” she heard Hook’s voice say softly.

Emma decided to go closer to him and when she was in front of him, she could see that the object he was holding was the arrow that hit him earlier.

“Take a seat?” Hook asked her, showing her the place behind him and then took out his flask and gave it to her.

She sat beside him and took the flask in her hands, but refused to drink from it.

“I’m sorry,” she said not looking at him.

“For what?”

“For earlier. You saved my life and all I did was yell at you.”

“What’s done is done,” he said with a hollow voice, still not looking at her but at the arrow in his hand.

“Okay, what is going on?” Emma watched closely as Killian’s eyes stayed on the arrow without a word. She wasn’t even sure if he heard her question.

“Hook?” Emma asked again putting a hand on his shoulder.

Hook blinked twice and looked at her as if she woke him up from a deep sleep.

“Sorry love, what were you saying?”

“What is going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Don’t lie to me. You know I can tell when you are lying.”

“That you do.”

“I’m serious Hook. What is going on? You’ve been staying away from us since you were hit, even if physically you were here. Is it the wound? I can try to heal it if you don’t want Regina to do it. I don’t know how, but I can try.”

“Yes, Emma, it’s about the wound,” Hook said defeated.

“What is it? Honestly, Hook, you’re starting to scare me.”

“The arrow had dreamshade on it,” he said looking at her with sadness in his eyes.

“What?”

“It’s a plant, remember? I told you about it when we first came to Neverland.”

“Yeah, I remember, but I don’t understand.”

“It’s a deadly plant Swan.”

“And…?”

“I’ve been hit with it, Emma. I’m a dying man.”

[harry-ruinsme-blog]

High School Daze

Sorry this took me so long to get out loves, sometimes life gets in the way! Hope you guys like some HighSchool!Harry, it was surprisingly hard to write. Don’t worry-- I have all your requests and they’re all coming. Also would anyone like to see something a little... smuttier soon? Let me know! Love to you all, thanks for the patience xoxo S.

can do some high-school!Harry write? imagine Harry having a big crush on you that his friends teasing him about it and he tries really hard to flirt with you and like sit with you in class, teasing you, make cheeky comments and ask you for a date

Monday mornings were already the worst. You had to trudge back to school after a fun weekend with your friends and family and try your best not to fall asleep during math class, which for some unknown reason was first block Monday morning. All of that coupled together had led you to hate Mondays, not to mention the obnoxious group of boys that you had to sit next to.

Even early on a Monday morning they never failed to be loud and rowdy, throwing crumpled balls of paper at each other and talking over the teacher until she inevitably gave up halfway through the lecture. And while math may not have been your favorite subject in school, you still needed to pass the class to do well on your A-levels and hopefully get into a good university. But in order to do that, you had to actually be taught. But your poor teacher was no match for the class of rowdy boys and as the year wore on you were worrying that there was no hope for you to pass the test come May.

“Settle down, c’mon let’s get on with it!” Came the voice of your teacher, a nice woman who went by Mrs. B. She had been at your school for decades and it seemed that she had lost interest in fighting her students long before you wound up in her class.

“How was your weekend, Mrs. B?” The question came from Harry Styles, unquestioned ringleader of the obnoxious kids in your class. His smile seemed to soften even the sternest instructors and most of the student body bent to his every will. He was notorious for his weekend ragers and his ability to charm his way into any girl’s pants he so desired.

“Fine, thank you Mr. Styles. And dare I ask how yours was?” All she received in return was a smirk from Harry and the catcalls of his followers that resounded around the room.

You rolled your eyes and leaned your head on your hand, zoning out on the board in the hopes that if you stared hard enough, the algorithms and equations would magically make sense. Just as you felt yourself nodding off, a low whisper sent a zip of electricity up your spine, “Are you as bored as I am?”

Slowly, you turned your head to meet the green eyes of Harry Styles. His facial expression gave nothing away, his close proximity making it seem like whispering to each other in class was a common occurrence. Styles, nor any of his friends, had ever really looked twice at you. You ran with a different crowd and to be fair, you had never given any of them more than a passing glance either.

“I’m more confused than bored,” you finally answered, meeting his eyes with bewilderment in yours.

“What’re you confused ‘bout,” he asked, his usual dimples traded in for a furrow between his brow. He leaned in a bit closer, one elbow leaning on your desk. You moved back a bit, not used to someone invading your personal space like he did.

“I’m most confused about your lack of respect for personal space,” you drawled back, pointedly staring at his elbow that was touching yours. With raised eyebrows and that signature smirk, he slowly pulled his elbow back, but didn’t relent.

“Seriously, s’it the equations?” he asked again, glancing towards the board.

“It’s everything,” you finally sighed, looking down hopelessly at the frantic notes you had taken in previous classes, “I didn’t get the first part and now everything else doesn’t make sense either.”

“She’s a bi’ of a rubbish teacher, hm?” he smiled.

“I think she’d be better if she could teach without being interrupted,” you quipped, glancing behind him at his friends who were watching your exchange with interest. You leaned back in your seat, as far away from Harry as you could get and willed yourself to tune into the lecture and try and catch what you had missed. You tried, you really did, but your attention span was shot once again when you felt a nudge against the elbow resting heavily on your desk.

Glancing down you found Harry casually sliding over a stack of papers, his eyes trained to the front of the room. You sighed and lifted your elbow, allowing him to put them on your desk, and stared down at the pile of notes now sitting on your desk. Thumbing through them quickly you saw they dated back to the first day of class, all detailed and explicit, much better than your own chicken scratch.

“Alright that’s it for today, remember the test we have coming up on Friday, see you all Wednesday,” your head snapped up as your teacher began to dismiss class, nearly twenty minutes before the bell was even set to ring. You scrambled to collect your notes as well as the ones Harry had shuffled onto your desk and put them into your backpack without ruining them.

Beside you Harry began to stand up, stretching and laughing at a joke one of his goonies had squeezed out. You looked up to catch his eye but he seemed keen to ignore you now, grabbing his backpack and heading for the door, trailing at the back of his pack of friends. You shuffled quickly after him, grabbing his arm once you were both in the hallway to turn him towards you.

“Uh, thanks?” You questioned, pushing a piece of wayward hair behind your ear.

He shrugged one shoulder and gave you a soft smile, “S’not a problem, sounds like they might do you more good than me.”

“Yeah, uh,” you cleared your throat awkwardly and glanced behind Harry to where a few of your friends were getting out of their respective classrooms, “Well I better go, I’ll get these back to you before Friday.”

With that you headed towards your own group, beyond confused as to why the Harry Styles had decided to strike up a conversation with you and then give you his notes. Which, were surprisingly detailed and methodical for someone who you thought paid absolutely no attention to his education.

“Wait!” Rang Harry’s voice, and this time it was his hand on your arm, spinning you around to face him. He pulled his bottom lip between his thumb and pointer finger, looking down at you in thought.

“Are you free tonight?”

“Um, yes,” you nodded, adjusting the strap of your backpack on your shoulder. The hallway was starting to fill up now, people giving you and Harry interested glances before minding their business.

“Come over to mine and we’ll study, I need help for our Bio quiz on Wednesday too,” he said handing you his unlocked phone. You stared at it dumbly for a minute and then looked back up at him.

“Put your number in so I can text you the address?” he asked, laughing a bit at your expression. With a new heat to your cheeks you hurriedly typed in your number and handed his phone back to him like it had burned you.

“Brill’, see you tonight, love,” Harry called, already running down the hall to catch up with his friends. A few heads turned your way to see who Harry was talking to and you found yourself cowering under the questioning gazes. Harry rarely hung out with girls that weren’t in his immediate circle of friends, and there were some interesting rumors about what Harry liked to do when he was “hanging” with them.

With that you turned to find your friends talking amongst themselves, discussing the weekend, none of them appearing to have seen your interaction. You stood silently with them, trying to piece together when you had become someone that Harry Styles took interest in. You were tempted to ignore his request to meet him, but you needed to do well on this test and the chance for a good grade won out over your skepticism about his kindness.

“Harry finally find the balls to ask you out?” she laughed, nudging your hip with hers. You turned to her with wide eyes, almost offended at the offhand comment.

“What?” You squeaked.

“Don’t look so shocked!” She exclaimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you two began the trek to second period, “Shiloh told me that he’s been talkin’ to his mates about you; apparently it’s all Johnny’s heard about since you got sat next to him in math class.”

“I’ve literally barely talked to the kid,” you breathed, staring wide eyed ahead in front of you, completely overloaded with this new information, “I really don’t think that’s it. He saw how much I struggle in maths, everyone does, and he offered to help. He’s got good notes.”

“Whatever you say,” she smiled, “Just don’t say I didn’t warn ya.”

You found yourself knocking at the front door of the Styles residence just after dinner on Friday evening. Harry suggested you come to his and split time between Math and Science, even promising you baked goods for having you come out on a Monday night. You were shocked that Harry was the one who suggested it seeing as you were used to seeing snaps of him out with his friends no matter what night it was.

All thoughts of the conversation between you and your best friend had been forgotten. There was one jab in the group chat, but it was more to have a laugh; no one really thought anything of Harry offering to tutor you, least of all you. Your friend Savannah had even explained it away saying Harry had tutored her in Maths last semester when they were in class.

The door swung open after just one knock and revealed a relaxed looking Harry, outfitted in a pair of joggers and white t-shirt. He ushered you in the house quickly, taking your backpack from you and leading you through the foyer towards the rest of the house.

“This is my mum, Anne,” he motioned to a woman sliding cookies onto a plate fresh from the oven. She had dark hair like her son and it was clear where his dimples came from once she smiled in your direction. She wiped her hands on her apron before offering her hand.

“Nice to meet you, love. Thanks for helping this one with his course work, he goes on and on about how smart you are,” she laughed. Harry pinked up at bit at the dig from his mum and dug his hands into the pockets of his sweats.

“I think I need more help in math than anything, it was really nice of Harry to offer,” you clarified.

“Alright well cookies are cooling here, I’m headed out for a bit so if I don’t see you, it was lovely to meet you,” she smiled, kissing Harry on the cheek and flying out the door.

Harry looked around awkwardly for a moment before clapping his hands together, “Righ’, well, shall we?” He led you to the dining room table where he was already set up, making sure to direct you into the chair next to his rather than across the table.

“Should we start with math and just get it over with?” you groaned, hauling the textbook onto the table. He nodded and the two of you worked diligently for the next half hour, Harry showing you how to do equations and then showing you again as you tried to do them on your own. He was incredibly patient, more so than you were, before you both decided if you tried any harder, you’d probably fry your brain.

“So what do you need help with,” you sighed, leaning back against your chair after finishing your third cookie. You chalked it up to stress eating from doing math and working with Harry. Being around him was a bit unnerving, mostly because you didn’t know why he had taken a sudden shine to you and was spending his Friday night helping you revise rather than at the party you knew was happening just a few streets over.

“Could we go over a few of the body systems?” he asked, “I keep mixing up all the parts of the brain and what hormones they control.”

And so you began again, going through Harry’s flashcards and giving him as many pneumonic devices as you could. He took to it quickly, much better than you had ever handled any equation and you were pleasantly surprised at how smart he really was. Harry Styles was much more than the popular class clown that you had made him out to be, turned out he actually had a brain up there.

“I’m gonna go to the toilet real quick, help yourself to anything and then can we go over photosynthesis?” You nodded and smirked as he tripped over his chair in his haste to go to the bathroom. He grimaced and then shot you a signature smirk before skittering up the stairs.

With no texts that needed your urgent response you began to shuffle and organize the papers spread out on the table in front of you, carefully separating what was yours and what belonged to Harry. As you shuffled papers around your eyes caught the marks Harry had received on his last Biology test and his last quiz, both of which were near perfect, and higher than yours. You moved more of his papers aside only to see much of the same, Harry scoring consistently better than you on all of his tests but one.

Harry strode back into the room, a cookie in hand as he leaned over your shoulder to see what you were looking at.

“Care to explain?” You asked, fanning out his tests on the table. You can’t ever remember seeing Harry Styles embarrassed, but his cheeks pinked up immediately and it looked like the cookie he had just scarfed down was going to make a reappearance.

“Listen Harry,” you sighed, standing up and beginning to organize your things, “Thanks for helping me with math, that was really nice, but you can forget whatever else you were expecting to happen.”

“No, I didn’, fuck,” he sighed, running his hands through his hair. You zipped up your backpack and spun around to let yourself, but Harry was in your way and looking the most frazzled you’d ever seen him.

“Move,” you intoned, arching your eyebrow in defiance as his feet stayed planted. You shook your head as you moved to skirt around him, but his arm shot out to block you once again.

“Wai’, lemme explain, please,” he begged, “Jus’ one minute.”

You looked at him expectantly and he swore again, “‘ve been tellin’ my mates for ages that I think you’re right fit and smart and so they’ve been fuckin’ buggin’ me to ask ya out but I didn’ know how so I though’ if I could just get ya to hang out wi’ me, I dunno,” he rambled.

“You think I’m fit?” you scoffed.

“Fuck, no, I mean, yes, but I think more of you than tha’,” he groaned. He ran his hands through his hair again before stepping directly in front of you and gripping the tops of your arms, “I thin’ you’re really sweet and cute and jus’ like, a good person.”

You threw your hands up in exasperation, knocking Harry’s from your arms, “So you’re not failing biology then?”

With a groan and a roll of his eyes Harry’s hands cupped your face and his lips were on yours. You let out a startled squeak at the sudden action, staring at his closed eyes as he kissed you before taking a quick step back and breaking apart.

“What the fuck was that?” you exclaimed, putting your hands on your hips.

“Love,” he sighed, “I’ve literally just sat here tellin’ you how I feel for the las’ five minutes. Fuckin’ faked failin’ a class jus’ to hang out with ya alone.”

“Well,” you sputtered, “You should’ve asked me before you kissed me.” Your thoughts were a jumble, the seemingly harmless study time now long gone from your brain, only to be replaced with the seemingly impossible turn of events that had just occurred.

Harry Styles had just confessed he thinks your fit and then kissed you. In his house. Where you thought you were just going to be tutoring him in biology.

His hand reached for yours, breaking your train of thought and focussing your attention back on him. His hair was mussed, eyes a bit wild, but still that bright green and his lips red from his apparently urgent need to kiss you just minutes ago.

“I’m almost positive you’re the only one who doesn’ know tha’ I fancy ya,” he laughed. You shook your head at him, completely bewildered as to how you had missed this. Before today he had barely spoken in your direction before. “My mates ‘ve been takin’ the piss outta me all semester, figured it was time I did somethin’ bout it.”

“All semester?” you squeaked.

“Yeah, your friend Shiloh talked ‘bout ya a bit and then Johnny said you were nice and so I watched ya in class, sounds a bit creepy now,” he mumbled, fingers slotting between yours with ease. You nodded, trying to take in all this new information and process it while now holding hands with him. And he seemed to be getting closer, you could smell the cookie he had just eaten on his breath.

His free hand came up to cup your jaw, his thumb stroking by your temple gently, “Can I kiss ya?” Words seemed impossible so you gave a small nod.

Now this was a kiss.

His lips were soft and smooth as they covered yours. His head was tilted at just the right angle so your noses didn’t touch and your body seemed to mold to his as you relaxed in his hold. You felt his smile in the kiss and it triggered your own. And as he went to pull back, you surged forward, reconnecting your lips much to his delight.

So you stood in his dining room with your backpack on, pressed up against Harry Styles as if your lips had fused together. Every once in awhile he would hum low in his throat, his head shifting to a different angle and you were more than happy to follow his lead.

When you both finally parted you were sure that your lips looked as swollen as his, if not worse. His cheeky smirk was back and he bit his full lower lip as he looked at you, eyes shining as he let go of your hand to rest both on your lower back. You hummed in content, hands falling to his hips as you began to process the turn of events in the last hour.

“So you really don’t need help in biology?” you checked. He let out a barking laugh at that, burying his head in your shoulder for a moment to compose himself.

“No,” he smiled, “But you do need my help in maths.” You blushed a bit at that, shrugging in defeat. He pinched the apple of your cheek a bit, seemingly pleased with the reaction he had gotten.

“Wanna come over tomorrow then? We’ll study for the test on Friday, go over more equations,” he offered.

You looked at him dubiously, one eyebrow arched in disbelief, “Are we actually going to study or are you just trying to lure me into snogging you all night.”

He had the audacity to look offended, resting one hand on his chest in surprise, “Love, I think we both know I don’t have to lure you,” you rolled your eyes and moved toward the door again, a playful grin on your face, “But yes,” he smirked, pulling you back, “We’ll actually study, we’ll save the snogging for Friday nigh’ when I take you on a proper date.”

You looked at him in thought before nodding slowly, “Alright Styles, you’re on.”

“Perfect,” he leaned down and grazed another kiss over your bruised mouth before leading you to the door, “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow mornin’, drive ya to school wi’ me.”

“Harr-”, you sighed.

“‘S’nough outta you, gotta go text my mates that they can stop givin’ me shit now that I finally kissed ya. And that I can’t pick ‘em up in the mornin”.”

[inexchangeforyoursoul]

I know noone is interested, but I’m 6 chapters into this shit and will continue uploading until I’m out of steam

(yeah more of this still-not LawxOC thing) (on a sidenote I saw a post the other day about how lame he is and I hope we all agree that the canon awkward nerd Law is the one where it’s at) (also AO3 and ffn links for those who value their eyesight)

“... it's... angular...”

The baffled comment wakes her from the awe stupor, and she slowly leans back to stand normally again. He's holding the desk piece, which she didn't notice him taking until now, and is pasting the mess at the entrance. Indeed, that's literally the corner of the desk. Anyway, what?

“What do you mean, 'angular'?”

He directs his attention back to the desk piece and takes a closer look at the cut. It's as clean as it can get, alright- but upon closer inspection, it's not one, straight guillotine chop- towards the far end, it splits into smaller shapes, which are not even cubic, but hexagonal.

“When I use the Ope Ope Fruit, it's... well, spherical in nature. Meanwhile, what you did...” he raises the piece of material with the cut well visible to her, “is this.”

She takes it from him, giving the funky cut a good ogle. “I see... each to their own, I guess? People think differently and such, after all.” He nods. That's probably all there is to it.

She puts the bowl on the chest of drawers that Law raided earlier, and turns the other object in her hand around. Then looks back at the bowl. “I guess I needed an extension to my arm, and that's just what happened... Except I was everything but precise.”

He crosses his arms, thinking- her straightforward conclusions make perfect sense. It makes them no less interesting, though. He might want to record her progress and maybe even get into some deeper research if they have time to spare.

As he's thinking about that, she goes back to the damaged piece of furniture and places the missing block to where it belongs. It will probably need some glue to make sure it stays put, but otherwise? Looking as good as new.

“Well, I'm off to get this mess under control. Meanwhile you could... get into some clothes you are comfortable in?” Now that she noticed, she's really wondering about that. “Which you haven't done yet for some reason?”

Law needs a second to process the question before the penny drops- he's been going through a whole wardrobe, but never even thought about changing. He just about forgot about the dress-induced cramp from earlier. Fiddlesticks.

“Right...” Good thing he's not the type to show embarrassment. Thankfully, she seems satisfied enough with the meager answer and makes her way downstairs with the not entirely wrecked bowl in her hands; meanwhile, he steps back to the bed to pick out a shirt with those rhinestone jeans he's definitely gonna wear just for the hell of it.

After a quick survey of what Kat's left in his stack (and resisting a tee with golden pressed pattern for the time being), he settles on a simple black shirt with some small embroidery on its left. It has the town's name, and by association, its likely crest. Must have been some free merchandise. Now, for the problem at hand...

He'll have to take the dress off, which should pose no problem, in theory. He's also a doctor, been there, done that. The impasse is at not being sure where to begin... there's no buttons or zips he's noticed. The neck seems little too small, but he should probably just pull it over his head nonetheless. The test run never starts, however, because as soon as he grabs the end of the fabric, Kat is coming up, into and out of the bathroom, then reenters her study-slash-bedroom.

“Never mind me,” She says kneeling down with a broom and dustpan to the semi-garbage pile in the doorway, immediately putting a clipped pencil and some undamaged sticky notes aside. Noticing the dead silence, she checks on Law to see him ogling her. Then clearing his throat.

Oh, that's what's going on.

“Sorry... it's hard to remember that you are supposed to care about privacy... I've either been alone or sharing one bathroom-slash-toilet with five other people. Won't look, alright?” With that, she steps over the pile and turns around to clean up the mess that way instead.

He blinks, hands still holding onto the skirt. “Dude...” Whether he's willing to strip with her around, -in his own body, nonetheless, which is the one thing that makes this really weird,- is one thing, but also, that was more detail than he'd ever need.

Which she catches onto almost immediately. Goddammit. “Oh... sorry again, you may have already noticed I don't have a lot of filters. Anyway, thinking about it... if anything, it's our own current bodies that we shouldn't be looking at, no?” She asks, musing. He kinda agrees. “By the way, unbutton the back first, or you'll never peel that dress off.”

Noted. He releases the fabric to fiddle around his neck. Which is really dumb, how is he even supposed to reach there easily, her arms apparently being flexible enough to do so notwithstanding...? Actually, why do clothes for women even have buttons and zippers in places like that all the time? It's so unpractical... eh, there's probably some sexy factor. Either way, this.. is not getting him... anywhere...

“... um...”

“Need help?” She asks just about the time he's given up on the two buttons he managed to find at least, sweeping the leftovers she deemed disposable onto the pan.

“... I do...” And it's such a simple task, too... Those times when he could just snap a finger and get rid off everything he had no patience getting out of after a long day? Yeah, he remembers those. Good ones.

“Alright, let me see,” she mumbles walking up to him. As he doesn't react past standing still, she takes matters- that is, her hair- in her own hands.

Every single strand of his sticks up from the sensation. He's always been picky about letting his hair being touched, but the same with long hair is worse... the less ticklish and more nerve-stroking, odd feeling on the nape that sends shivers down his spine is not something he'll want to experience again any time soon. The locks fall over his shoulders, then he feels a warm finger on his back for the shortest moment and the collar loosen shortly after. Thank god it's over.

“I see you are uncomfortable... sorry about that.” she says with a sheepish half-smile, feeling somewhat embarrassed because of that herself.

He shivers once more. “Never mind, had worse. Anyway, I'd rather do this without you being around, okay?” He says, tucking the hair back.

“Well then...” She is about to go and bring out the trash, but before even taking one step, she takes his hat off on a whim. “This will be in the way, though.”

“Ah...” His hand instinctively reaches towards it and he sounds almost... disappointed- and is beating himself up for both immediately after.

Aw.

She offers it back to him. “I won't take it anywhere if you don't like.” He takes it away with a hum, but doesn't look like putting it anywhere anytime soon. Peeking at the nodachi she propped up against the wall upon arrival, she comes to the realization that letting him keep it is actually counterproductive: the item on her body's head could eventually get them both into trouble. It's way too easy to have an outsider get the wrong and dangerous idea. He's a wanted man for various reasons, and she could be seen as a weak point. Law could get targeted while he's stuck inside her, but at least help would be ready at an arm's length; Kat herself could, however, also get into deep shit if the trouble hits after they get their bodies back and the alliance is long gone. They would probably come back or send help because of people like Nami and Chopper, who were also likely the only reason they stuck around to help her and the townspeople taken hostage last week, but still, this is bad in either scenario. She sighs. “I think you do agree that it's probably a bad idea to wear it yourself out in public, though. No?”

Hearing this breaks him free from the frigid haze. He doesn't like it, but he knows what he means and she's right, hell, late with the reasonable remark as they already marched down the main street like this. “Yes, it's... indeed a bad idea.”

He reaches the fluffy piece back over to her after giving it a thoughtful stroke.

“I'll take good care of it,” she assures him, giving her own hand a small squeeze before taking it. “I'll be your coat rack while outside, and you'll have your stuff back as soon as we're back on the ship, alright?”

He nods, to which the answer's a reassuring smile. “Well then... I'll let you do your thing. Will come  back up in about 10 minutes, is that okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, still feeling a little naked with the hat gone just like that. She puts latter on to make her hands free for the other stuff, then takes the door by the foot and hop-drags it until it counts as closed, somehow keeping all the paper and whatnot in the dustpan while at it. She could have used the broom to do that... but she's rather goofy, so whatever. Indeed, he can hear her hum a tune while leaving. He shouts after her:

“Slick it back, otherwise the hair will just annoy you.” There's a brief stop outside, followed by a muffled 'got it'.

Before long, he can barely hear anything she does. He looks back at the clothes, but stops to rub her fingers a bit before changing. First, he thought that his body's temperature seemed really high...  but it's her hands that are as cold as ice.

[missmeikakuna]

Chad and the Incel Chapter 5

Rated: M

Fandom: Original Fiction (but inspired by the Virgin vs Chad meme)

Relationship type: Male/Male with a bit of Female/Female (the lesbians are adorable, btw) and unrequited Male/Female (in other words, the guys are bisexual).

Description: Chad is, well, a Chad, or at least he looks like one. He’s got his sights set on the cool nerd Becky and enlists the help of her shy incel ex-friend Noah, offering to help him get the gorgeous girl (Stacy) he desperately wants. Noah is reluctant to help, believing that he will be stuck in inceldom forever, but Chad’s interest in his life gives him hope. When their plans go awry, they start turning their romantic attention towards each other.

Content Warning: Given the subject matter, you can guess that this story has dark themes in it, such as suicide and self-harm (plus the mental health issues that often cause them), sexism, slut-shaming homophobia, biphobia and transphobia. There is also swearing and some mentions of sex but nothing too explicit (hence the M rating as opposed to an Explicit rating).

5th Post: Rate my looks

Noah’s hand wobbled as he held his phone up. The same words repeated in his head.

‘I’m not taking a selfie because I’m a narcissist. This is important research.’

He took a photo and glowered at it. He took another photo. Then another. Eventually he had taken ten photos and hated all of them. He took one last photo and sighed. It would have to do.

He uploaded the photo to Incels.me while holding his breath. His nerves were set aflame and he felt like pacing through his house. He expected low ratings on his looks from the other incels but he knew he needed to see those bad ratings, anything to take him out of the fairyland he’d let himself fall in thanks to Chad. He lied down on his bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if he would ever get any sleep. Half an hour later, his drooping eyes gave him his answer.

When he arrived at school the next day, his jitteriness was not lost in Chad. ‘You okay?’ Chad asked as they sat down to eat at lunchtime.

‘I’m fine!’ Noah snapped at him.

‘Jeez, who woke up on the wrong side of the-’

‘I have no patience for clichés right now, Chad Thundercock.’

Chad’s cheeks cherried up. ‘What did you call me?’ The speed of his heartbeats would impress a bullet train.

Noah’s face turned into the colour opposite to the pill mentality he followed. He looked around the cafeteria and thanked the laws of nature that everyone was too busy talking to each other to overhear what he said.

‘I didn’t mean… it was an accident. I’ve heard people call popular guys Chad Thundercock, so it just kind of slipped out. It’s just a meme.’

A high-pitched and overly loud laugh came from Chad’s throat, his mind repeatedly telling his cheeks to turn down the heat and said cheeks refusing to listen. His eyebrows raised and pushed themselves together, creating wrinkles on his forehead.

On the other side of the cafeteria, Becky walked up to Stacy’s table, which was full of equally blonde and tan girls. She gestured to the one empty seat at the table.

‘May I sit?’

‘Um, I guess?’ one of the girls responded. ‘Why, though?’

‘I would like to get to know Stacy more.’

The girls at the table went, ‘Oooh!’ Stacy’s face went hot enough and her eyes grew big enough to make the sun jealous. Becky noticed this.

‘I see,’ she said. ‘I shall keep my reasoning between Stacy and me.’ As Becky sat down, Stacy looked away.

Another girl said in a nasal voice, ‘I’ve got to admit, it’s unusual for someone like you to want to be friends with someone like Stacy.’

Becky smiled. ‘Yes, friends. Well, Stacy approached me first.’

Never mind the sun, at this point Wolf-Rayet stars were probably envious of the heat coming from Stacy’s cheeks. The other girls leaned towards her. Becky crossed her arms as if expecting an answer.

‘Well, um, well, uh, I saw a photo of a fangtooth fish on her exercise book in science class,’ Stacy explained.

After a moment of silence came laughter. ‘That’s the reason?’ the nasally voiced girl asked. ‘What the hell is a fangtooth fish? Sounds gross. As if someone like you would like something gross like that! And wait, since when do you take science classes, Stacy? You do realise that’s not compulsory for seniors, right?’

‘Uh, well, it’s a…’ Each word Stacy said went quieter until nothing but her breaths could be heard. Becky gave her a warm smile and the other girls a cold glare.

‘The fangtooth fish is a deep-sea fish,’ she explained. ‘I thought it would be fitting for me to put a deep-sea fish on the cover of a book that encourages me to dive deep into how the world works. It’s a symbol of curiosity and I am glad Stacy noticed it. It may look gross but I still find it more encouraging to look at than a group of pretty girls who belittle their friend’s interests.’

The girls stared at Becky in stunned silence. Breaking the silence, the nasal girl asked, ‘Do you think you’re smarter than us or something?’

Now it was Becky’s turn to stare in silence. After a while she bowed her head and apologised. ‘I shouldn’t let intellectual snobbery take over me. I hope you know that your appearance is unrelated to my view of your intelligence. After all, Stacy is visually appealing and I don’t find her to be particularly unintelligent. I should go.’

As Becky stood up with her tray, so did Stacy, who apologised to the other girls and followed Becky to another table. 

‘I’ve accomplished my mission,’ Becky said with a smile that grew bigger when Stacy raised an eyebrow. ‘I’ve learnt more about you. And in such a short time! You like deep-sea creatures and your friends are a little bitchy.’

‘They’re not bitchy! I swear they’re nice.’

Becky chuckled. ‘Then why did your voice get quieter at the word ‘nice’?’

‘And besides, it’s not deep-sea creatures I like, per se,’ Stacy revealed as she repeatedly stabbed her mash potato with her fork. ‘It’s sea creatures in general.’

‘I’ve got to admit, I’ve never heard of someone getting a crush on someone because of a fangtooth fish. Do their strong jaw muscles make your heart race?’ Becky winked and decided to test Stacy with the next question. ‘Or is it their ability to see in the dark?’

‘They have terrible eyesight, actually. You of all people should know.’

Becky leaned in closer, once again bringing heat to Stacy’s cheeks. ‘Marry me.’

Stacy pushed her head away. ‘Shut up! There are loads of people around. And besides, what made you want to get to know me? I thought you wanted to focus on school.’

It took Becky a while to answer, and during that break she stole a forkful of mashed potato from Stacy’s plate, earning a little whine from her. She laughed before swallowing the mash.

‘I’ve been thinking about it and I realised I’m fine. I’m doing fairly well in school so there’s no need for me to hold off on interpersonal relationships. If you haven’t changed your mind, I’d be happy to go out with you.’

Stacy covered her mouth but the creasing in her eyes told Becky that she was smiling. The blonde girl nodded and the brunette held out her hand.

‘Can I put my number in your phone?’ 

After swapping numbers, the two ate and talked about sea creatures until they had no food left. At that point they chatted about school until the bell rang.

Instead of paying attention in class, Noah scratched his itch by looking at his phone, which finally had more gigs of data. He went on Incels.me and felt his heart drop.

Ropeornope- You look disgusting. You’ve got no chin and your eyebrows are giant bushes. I’d say a 1/10. Find a sub-3 girl and you’ll have a chance. Maybe.

Ricecel- I’d say you’re a 3/10, but your tiny wrists threaten to put that number into the negative. Like, dude, you sure you’re a guy? My dick’s thicker than both of those things combined.

Lookcel404- 2/10. No femoid’s going to go after a deformed chinless dude like you. And why has no one pointed out your eyes? You look like a fucking femoid with them, so your only hope is to go for a pseudo-lesbian or some shit like that.

There were several more but the teacher asked Noah a question so he didn’t look at the rest. When school ended, Chad asked Noah if he could hang out at his place. 

When Noah asked why, Chad responded, ‘I’m curious. I want to see what it looks like.’

‘Am I some kind of zoo animal?’ Noah asked with a sneer, but he ended up leading Chad to his place in his old beat-up car, with Chad driving behind him in his shiny new car.

The wide one-story house stood in the middle of two palm trees whose dark leaves made the creamy walls stand out. The pebbled walkway to the house was lined with punch bowl godetias and California poppies. Between the letterbox and the stone-bordered pond was a grey limestone statue, about the height of the letterbox, of a cat sitting on a pillar. That statue made Chad forget about his initial disappointment upon seeing such a quaint, normal house.

When Noah opened the door, he was greeted by the loud meow of a silver cat with carbon-grey stripes. Chad was about to take in the features of the house’s interior but this kitty was much too distracting.

She rubbed herself against Chad’s legs. Noah chuckled. ‘Even cats like Chads, apparently,’ he said as he picked her up. He grabbed her paw and shook it up and down. ‘This is Mittens. Mom chose the name, so don’t call me a normie.’ Chad lightly tapped the cat’s head. Noah frowned and grabbed Chad’s hand, stroking the soft-furred cat with it. ‘Do it properly. Mittens deserves the best.’  The sudden grin on Noah’s face spread warmth throughout Chad’s heart. 

Noah’s bedroom was a mix of expected and unexpected things. There were anime posters on the walls and figurines in a display cabinet, of course, but there were also model planes in that same cabinet. The bed was covered with a knitted quilt decorated with kittens. Near the door was a large wooden desk with a gaming laptop on it. Next to the laptop was a mirror.

The mirror faced the other way, so Chad turned it and saw a little crack in the corner. Noah stormed up to him, shoved his hand away and put it back.

‘I’ll die if I look into that damn thing again. I’d break it, but it’d make me look even uglier.’

Chad chuckled with a raised eyebrow. ‘What? Who told you you’re ugly?’

Noah sat on the bed, wrapping his fingers around his slender wrists. ‘Haven’t you got eyes? Look at these skinny things! They’re probably smaller than the average dick. I shouldn’t have bothered teaming up with you. I’m ugly as sin, practically deformed.’ He ran his hand up his neck and rested it against his chin. ‘My chin’s weak. Maybe if it was a few inches longer, I’d be able to get any girl interested, but no. I’m stuck with this chin and this overgrown nose and these pimples that make me look like I’ve got the plague. I’m surprised no foid has fainted in horror when looking at me yet.’ When he saw Chad stare at him, he covered his face.

Chad walked up to him and leaned down towards him, grabbing his wrists and dragging them down. Noah flailed but wasn’t strong enough. Chad let go of one of his wrists and took off his glasses, getting a closer look at him. He pushed his bangs away.

‘What are you talking about? You’re…’

There weren’t many pimples on Noah’s face, at least no more than Chad did most of the time. His nose wasn’t overgrown at all despite what he claimed, just slightly Romanesque. He was right about his chin not being huge but he seemed to miss the fact that it made his face look soft and welcoming. 

As Noah bit his medium-sized lips in embarrassment, Chad basked in their sultriness. To him they were the absolute perfect size.

Noah’s thick eyebrows prevented his large round eyes from overwhelming his face, though those eyes were what Chad focused on the most. They were a brilliant shade of peridot and framed by long lashes.

Chad gulped, his eyes making him look like a fish on land. ‘… hot…’

Noah mustered enough strength to push his arms off him and take his glasses back. ‘Thanks, way to make me feel great about wearing glasses. You’re a real charmer, you.’

As he put them back on, he saw that Chad was continuing to gawk at him. ‘Still… hot…’ Chad whispered. ‘Then again, glasses are my…’ He coughed the final word away, straightened his back and walked back to the mirror, picking it up and showing it to him. Once again Noah covered his face and, just as before, Chad pulled his hands away. ‘See? You’re fine. What kind of girl would run away from this?’

Instead of looking at his reflection, he looked up at Chad. As their eyes met they just stared at each other in wide-eyed silence.

Tears built up in Chad’s eyes. He blinked them away and dropped the mirror onto Noah’s lap. He picked up his bag and rushed out of the room.

Even after escaping the house, Chad could feel his heartbeat throughout his entire body. Shivers kept swimming down his skin and his hands became drenched in sweat.

‘Fuck,’ he hissed. ‘Not again.’

[hsj-scenarios]

Office AU with Yabu please... I'm glad that I found this blog, I love all your works ^^

My Amnesiac Boss⎢Pt. 1 of ???⎢Song Inspo: “It’s Me” by Kahi

( Note: I based this off one of my favorite shows, Samantha Who. In the show, Samantha is a notoriously mean boss who ends up getting amnesia, which turns her into a super nice person who strives to make amends with the people that she wronged. Normally, I would’ve made Yabu the senior, but I know how, in interviews about love, he often refers to being the kohai to an office senior that he likes. Like, a lot (lol). – Mod L )

Flump!

The sound of a large folder dropping heavily on his desk made Yabu jump, fingers lifting from his keyboard. Without even taking a look up, he knew the perpetrator of said action and truly had no need to. Various thoughts brought him out of his focus, the man wondering what he had done now to cause you to stray from your office and over to his lone cubicle of many. Whatever the reason was, he wasn’t anticipating it because it certainly wasn’t good.

Before he could truly speak, your voice carried over any word that the man managed to say. “The proposal for the new project needs to be revised. It’s too simple, not creative enough. Yabu,” You sighed and, before he could defend himself, you continued. “Why do I keep you as my assistant when you can’t even be creative and think outside of the box? Do it over and have it on my desk by five o’ clock. I’m also going to bring a new product that I want you to test out and review for tomorrow morning. And, may I add, you got my Starbucks order from earlier wrong. Again.”

By the time you had finished speaking, he’d hardly remembered what he was working on previously; now having to prioritize the orders that you just gave him. Trying to catch up with his thought process, Yabu brought his attention away from the folder to you. “The product itself was simple, I didn’t know any other way to word it.” Catching the fiery glint in your eye at his words, he quickly rethought the statement. “Okay, okay…I’ll look it over again and try.”

“And, it will be on my desk by five.” There was no room left for argument. “There’s no third chances on this. If this looks bad…”

His head began to hurt. “RIght, you have my word.”

You turned to leave, bumping into a new employee who coward away without losing your confident stride, and Yabu was finally allowed clearance to sigh in exasperation. He watched as the knew employee scrambled away under your glare before turning back to the folder, picking it up.

Too bad for them, was his stray thought. Or, maybe good for them. The new employees would never know the person you were just a couple years ago. Perhaps it was right that way, they wouldn’t be teased and fooled into thinking that you might change; preferably back to the kind person that you once were. The person that trained him so kindly and with such patience.

Nope, that person was long gone.

And, this was going to be a long day.

Morning already?

Eyelids fluttering open, your hazy vision was greeted with white walls and bright lights. It felt not different than waking up in your own bed, though you’d swore that you were just awake and moving around only minutes ago. Could it have been that you were dreaming?

Your arms stretched high above your head, a huge yawn escaping from your mouth.

“Nurse, please get the doctor! They’re awake!” A voice called out.

Abruptly pausing mid stretch, you noticed the suited man near the entrance of the room. A businessman? He left the room before one could think more of him, only serving to bewilder you more. Brows crinkling in confusion, you moved to settle back into bed before a striking pain shot through your right arm like lightening.

“What the…” Head turning to the offending arm, the sight of an IV caused you to fully realize what exactly you were. A hospital room.

The suited man returned, a doctor and nurse following close behind. The doctor spared you a kind smile before pulling out his stethoscope. “Ah, ____-san. You’re awake, I see. How are you feeling?”

Eyes wandering to each of the three new faces, you were absolutely, positively, confused. “I feel fine, actually.” You began, stiffly watching as the doctor checked your vitals. “How did I get here? I remember…”

Wait. What did you remember?

You couldn’t even finish the sentence. “I remember…”

The man in the suit, who had been standing by patiently, spoke up. “A bucket hit you on the head at work, don’t you remember? They were doing renovations and a worker accidentally dropped it as you passed.”

Thinking over the man’s words, fragments of a lost memory seemed to come to mind. Angered shouting, employees gathered around, white paint splatter. All were faint and fragile, and you felt as if the sparks of memory would disappear as soon as they came.

‘You’re a constant failure!’

‘Hey, watch out!’

‘I can’t forgive what you said.’

Your silence and blank face was telling, as the businessman seemed to pick up on your mental absence. “____-san?” He urged.

“I don’t remember.” You answered honestly. This was beginning to get creepy. “Um, if I’m hospitalized…Shouldn’t my family be present?”

The man seemed perplexed. “Your family?”

His gaze trailed from you to the others and, from there, the doctor stepped in to ask more questions. As time passed, it was found out that you had partial amnesia; memory loss. The loss seemed to date back not even a few months, but years. Back to around the time you had been promoted to office manager of the importing company you worked for. It was at that time you transferred to a new department, gaining an executive assistant and unofficial ‘second in command’ named Yabu Kota – the suited man.

Yabu had been kind enough to go with you to the hospital and see to it that you got proper care. You had been in a coma for three days, with him as the only visitor. Your family had recently cut ties with you – or rather you with them, as Yabu explained. There were no familial contacts or even friends in your cell phone, merely names of people from work.

“T-That sounds so sad…” You couldn’t believe such was your life, gripping the thin sheets of the bed. “So, I’m a workaholic?”

“Well,” Yabu seemed hesitant to go on, his conflicted gaze staring down at the floor. “You are, that’s true…However, it’s also for another reason.”

You leaned in towards him, causing the man to jump back a bit. “What reason, Yabu-san?”

“Yabu.”

You made a noise of confusion. “Hm?”

Hands on his knees, he suddenly looked at you as if two heads sprung. “Call me Yabu, please. You stopped calling me ‘Yabu-san’ ages ago and it feels strange to hear it now.” He shook his head before dismissing the topic. “At any rate, you stopped talking to them because you felt as if they were nagging you too much. ___-san, I have to say…You aren’t the most pleasant minded person in the world.”

That took you off guard. “Pleasant minded?” Your eyes blinked before you gave a laugh. “You mean that I’m rude? Or, moody? I don’t remember being that way.”

“You used to not be…” Yabu seemed to agree. Somewhat. His expression bared faint nostalgia, seeming to think back on yet another thing that you couldn’t remember. Suddenly, he stood. “Well, I should go. Do you remember how to get home? If not, call me when they release you from the hospital. I’ll take you.”

Now panicked at the thought of losing your apparently only friend – and that word tentatively used – you quickly held your hands out. “Yabu, wait!” You asked of his retreating figure. The man turned, politely sparing you more moments of his time. “You’re the only person I have right now. Please, stay and tell me more? I’m so lost…I just want to know what’s been going on these past years. And, you say that I ‘used to not be’ rude? Am I such a terrible person?”

If you were, he must’ve wanted nothing to do with you.

The man paused in his footsteps before releasing a tired sigh. His eyes spoke volumes and there seemed to be an inner conflict with himself that was not easily decided. Finally turning to face you once again, Yabu made his way back to the chair at your bedside.

“Since you asked nicely…I haven’t gotten such a curtesy in a long while.” His face was defeated as the man sat down, and you could tell that Yabu was likely a kind-hearted person. Did you really treat him so terribly as well?

“Yabu,” The name still felt foreign on your lips. “For everything that I probably did, I’m sorry.”

He gave you a wary once over, as if you’d do a total 180 on him and begin to breathe fire. By the look on his face, the businessman was simply shaken to have you speak so nicely to him at all. You might as well have been speaking Mandarin.

Eventually, Yabu shrugged in defeat. “Okay…Where should we start?”

“…Please, tell me everything you know about me.”

[onestowatch]

sobhhï Discusses Branding, Moods, Inclusion, & New Single “facts up / الحين” [Q&A]

“I'm just trying to knock out all these handshakes and you know, trying to be more social this year,” says Sobhhï in between a laugh as he walked the streets of New York with me on the other end of the phone. Miscommunication for our chat didn’t alter his demeanor, but in fact broke the ice, calling it a “lucky coincidence” on my timing before he continued his travels to Dubai.

The alternative R&B artist simply known as sobhhï has purposely stepped out of the limelight during the duration of his career and embraced a shadowed persona. The pressure to disclose his identity to a constant growing fan base became more apparent with his musical success. “Like my youngest followers are the ones that are most curious, so definitely I do feel that pressure. But I always get reconfirmation too that making the focus not so about me has helped make it more about the music so, I'm pretty happy with the fact,”  explained sobhhï.

On his latest single, “facts up / الحين,” taken off his forthcoming EP, BLACK I, set to release on Feb. 19, sobhhï brings a multitude of intangible moods on a sultry production. Once again blending trapsoul with R&B, the track is an appetizing fill for colder nights. “facts up” maintains a sensual bedroom soul soundscape which softens a tinge of erotica from sobhhï’s dreamy vocals. His articulation from sensuality of lust towards a mental aspect intertwines with Arabic, English, and the undertone of distance.

In the same vein, sobhhï’s attention to detail on his continued color-palette themed EPs stretches beyond his music, but towards his draped branding. Recently teaming up with like-minded individuals, sobhhï’s latest endeavor, NUIT SANS FIN (night without end), acts as a record label, luxury fashion, and design house focusing on a nightlife style. Heavily influenced from Marty Neumeier’s “The Brand Gap” and “Zag,” sobhhï’s marketing mindset is prevalent on NSF. In order to stray away from the “standard cookie cutter” presentation among a saturation of similar artists, sobhhï states that when people zigs, he zags.

The conversation naturally leads from the ideals of NSF, moods, and the real reason why he spoke Arabic on “facts up.” A lighter side of sobhhï is shown throughout our conversation, always stemming from inclusion, offering a better insight of sobhhï’s thought process. What follows is a condensed version of our conversation.

OTW: Your brand is polished and it kind of goes into something that I noticed that you recently did in NY, it's NSF — which celebrates, if I may quote a "nocturnal lifestyle" — so I wanted more information on that and how that meshes with your overall brand and music.

Sobhhï: I took a look at my catalogue, and I realized there was a little bit of lack of cohesion of what kind of message I’m sending, and I looked around [to] more successful artists. And to me, the music industry’s success is more really about money; it’s about do you have a hit single that's gonna recoup that cost of your advance and all the monthly costs, but for me the success criteria is if fans or people who are listening feel like they're apart of something that's just not music that they hit play, but kind of a world they live in. So, I look at things like you know Drake's OVO and [The] Weeknd's XO, Wiz Khalifa’s Taylor Gang, and A$AP Rocky’s A$AP brand, and I realized those brands are much bigger than the music. They allow people to feel more included. They allow people to change their social media handle to feel like they're part of a family. It's gonna be a design house at the end of the day, which means that it can range from anything from photography to architecture, but the point is it’s a project that allows me to make the feeling that people get from my music to go beyond just the music itself and make it more inclusive. And since then there's been people changing their handles on social media, feeling they’re more included in this family, and I hope I can make it bigger than me. And then one day when I'm not here anymore, it will still be here. And again, NSF means endless night, or night without end, and it kinda describes my music and my whole circle's sort of mindset or lifestyle. It also describes a lot of the millennial culture. You know, binging on Netflix [laughs], sleeping till noon.

OTW: So, are you of the millennial culture?

Sobhhï: That's a good question. [laughs] I would say— are you saying by age or by mentality?

OTW: Either or — it's subjective.

Sobhhï: Okay, I'll say mentality wise. You know like I said, everyone zigs or zags, so if I ever feel like there is a culture of some kind I try not to be so, included. I try to find a way to like stand out a little bit.

OTW: On Essentials, there's a couple tracks that I've noticed that are probably going to be on your upcoming BLACK I EP, right?

Sobhhï: Yes.

OTW: Did you kind of see this as testing the waters in a sense to what would stick, before you would put out, or I guess, polish the EP?

Sobhhï: Um, no. The Essentials are actually the curation of the very best songs from all of the EPs, so you can think of it starting with the concept of colors. I name my EPs after colors because I feel like there's many shades of R&B and hip-hop now, it's not just one sound. So, instead of having an album that sort of has these waves and people take the songs they like out of it, I decided it would be better to just package things in small, very, very, concentrated pieces of bodies of work that have a theme. And I also noticed there's a shift in the music industry, it seems to be diverging, and we're getting really, really, long albums now for people who are shamefully trying to jack up their stream numbers, and we're also getting a movement towards just singles from more independent artists because people don't have the patience to listen to full projects. So, I thought like 3-4 song EPs would be the perfect size that would allow me to go deeper into a topic or a mood, than just one song, and allow me to experiment with transitions, but not long enough to be considered having a dropout rate by the time you're done.

OTW: What I want to touch on is your immersion of Arabic. Even certain references in titles, whether it be a capital and the actual language as well; I think that's very beautiful. What was the idea to immerse Arabic because you really don't hear that a lot. I love Arabic indie rock but I don't hear it in R&B. [laughs]

Sobhhï: Yeah, thank you for appreciating that. I know some people don't. For me, the main motive for that is hip-hop started as a story about being African-American in America and certain forms of oppression that those people faced, and then it's something that grew and was kind of an empowering sound and empowering genre. And as the world became more like immigrant population, hip-hop has kinda gone to the world stage from where it started. And now, it's just... I look around, and I see there's a lot of representation of hip-hop in certain places and then there's certain places where there's people who really like hip-hop but it's not represented for them there. So, the whole point for Arabic for me is I just want more people to feel included in the movement. I look at a lot of my fans. I have a lot of Turkish fans, I have a lot of Arabic fans, I have a lot of fans from France for example, and it's like hopefully one by one I can find ways to represent my supporters in my music over time. And Arabic was just the first thing I did because I happen to speak it [laughs] but you know, that's kinda the concept with it. I want people to listen to it and be like, “Oh wow this isn't just something like happening thousands of miles away that I can't be apart of anymore,” it's like world culture. It's world pop culture.

OTW: You mention a lot about inclusion, whether it be the side project of the record label, as well as immersing cultures and languages together — is that just an overall theme that’s intentional?

Sobhhï: Yeah, I mean it's not like I have an overt agenda. Just like the way I grew up, my parents were both immigrants and they came here to get educated. My dad came for an accounting PhD and then he stayed, and then my mom came for an MBA, and they didn't really like each other very much. You know when your parents don't like each other, it's hard to have family friends; it's hard to even keep good ties with your family. I would say my younger brother and I grew up very lonely and on holidays and special occasions there really wasn't anyone around. And we also moved around a lot too, so these things culminated I guess. For me it's like family, like building a family, is a very important thing. And the same way I'm against racism, and against sexism, and every kinda -ism, I'm also against the concept that family has to be people you're related to because that's just a game of chance, like who you end up being related to doesn't necessarily mean they're good people.

OTW: Let's talk about your single “facts up”— what was the little push behind it? Because that one sounds like something I would ask a distant relationship, like, “Hey, what’s going on?”

Sobhhï: Yeah, so it's hard for me tangibly describe these things because you know, my process is very [laughs] loose. I kind of just step into a studio and these things just come out of my head and then you know I go back and edit them on paper, and then it's done. So, it's hard for me to walk through a very perfect story for you about “there's a girl” [laughs], but there's definitely a distance component to this. I'm hopping between all these cities and it's hard, for my friends and people I always care about, [who] aren't always in the same place. Also, originally I wasn't planning on speaking Arabic in this song, but there was this... I was talking to this girl and she said, “I want to hear you speak in Arabic.” [laughs]

OTW: [laughs]

Sobhhï: So I was like… Okay [laughs].

OTW: Was it that easy?

Sobhhï: Yeah. I didn't think it would turn out that good. [laughs] I mean, I happen to be in the studio at the time and you know nivo, who is my close collaborator, he just finished a session and we were going to get food and usually right before we leave to do something there's like a period of 20 minutes where like he's checking his phone or we're packing stuff up, so I took that 20 minutes to be like, "Okay let me get this out the way" [laughs]...so this is one of the songs where I let nivo hear it in the car and he's like, “Yo, dude you gotta get on this vibe” and I was like, “Really?”

OTW: That's hilarious. Love how things fall into place. Did you ever get to show that girl?

Sobhhï: Yeah, she knows about it [laughs].

OTW: Is there anything else you want to add, talk about?

Sobhhi: I will say BLACK I is just the first project and color dropping this year, there will also be Red III, Purple I, White I, and White II, if I have the stamina and the luck so look out for that, and they will all explore different moods and different feelings and different themes.