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dingoat · 3 years

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[SO MANY fun prompts to work with, haha, and once the idea popped into my head for this one I couldn’t shake it!

So Crow is alive and well in werewolf au, and I was given very gracious permission to give him a life of his own and he’s managed to play a much larger role than I ever originally anticipated! The following is rated... something, for alcohol, back massages, and general good times with a cyborg and shapeshifting monster agent. 1,600 words]

No Hands in the Galaxy

First run Heritage Alkasan Cognac Grande Champagne…

Thirteen’s fingers drifted over the bottle, the gold and jewel encrusted vessel worth almost as much as the sparkling liquid inside. Perhaps, perhaps....

No, not this one tonight. His gaze drifted upward, and he contemplated the tall, slender bottle of five-hundred year old Kaminoan burgundy, who he was reasonably certain Five hadn’t collected through any legitimate means. One day he’d get to try it, he was certain, but that would probably be more appropriate to share with Five himself, wouldn’t it?

Maybe… ah, yes.

The bottle didn’t look like much, square and dark, its lettering discreet swirls in gold on a single side of glass, but the ancient bottle of Tarisian scotch whiskey had passed through more hands than likely anyone really knew, the history of the liquor adding value in and of itself. Stolen, stolen again, lost and found, traded and put up for wager, stolen once more, confiscated and held for decades before finally being auctioned off and promptly stolen again… how much of the galaxy’s wealthy elite had at some stage had it nestled in their private collection, as a display of wealth to the privileged few permitted to view it?

What a waste of a good drink.

Thirteen took the bottle and carefully locked the cabinet back up, amused at how much Five liked to use physical keys for these things in addition to the electronically coded mechanisms.

And then he promptly broke the bottle’s seal, and had already taken several hearty swigs by the time he found Crow sprawled in one of the smaller lounge areas of the mansion. “You look terrible,” he laughed, dropping onto the plum velvet chaise beside the weary cyborg, squeezing his backside between Crow’s thigh and the armrest and letting his legs settle where they may. Crow groaned, but there was amusement in his tone as he spoke through the silk cushion his face was planted onto. “I ain’t the one dressed in a bedazzled aqua bathrobe.”

“It’s seafoam blue. And I think it brings out my eyes.”

A snort sounded through the cushion. “Whatever you say.” He tried to turn about to properly face the lanky agent, but Thirteen’s positioning made it difficult, and the way he tensed and locked his legs against Crow’s wriggling made it nigh impossible.

“Damn you, Hawkbat,” Crow laughed, managing to half-twist his torso and awkwardly spy him for a moment, before flopping face-down again with a grunt of defeat. “I hope you’re at least planning to share that…?”

“What this?” Thirteen pretended to notice the bottle in his hands for the first time. “Oh. Yes. Actually I thought you’d have wrestled it off me by now.” His words were teasing, but also truthful; it wasn’t that Crow had an insatiable appetite for alcohol, so much that he usually relished an opportunity to pit his strength against Thirteen’s.

“Mmrgh. Not today. Maybe once I’ve got some of that actually in me…”

Thirteen snickered, and clenched his legs tighter as Crow gave another half-hearted wriggle. “What’ve you been doing to get yourself so weary, then? A lesser man might wonder if he needs to feel jealous…” Helping himself to another swig of whiskey, he set a hand to the small of Crow’s back, and let his fingers press against his spine.

“Stars!” Crow yelped and bucked as Thirteen found a tightly knotted bit of muscle, but his response only encouraged Thirteen to knead harder, making him wince, even whimper once, and then finally let out a long groan of relief as that sharp little knot was finally smoothed out. “Ugh. Yeah well, all that museum paraphernalia ain’t gonna pack and store itself now, is it?”

Thirteen’s fingers travelled a little further up Crow’s spine. “Your back is so tense…” he murmured, momentarily absorbed as he found another tender spot and wasted no time in pressing hard, first with fingertips and then with his knuckles, making Crow writhe against the pain that he knew was ultimately doing him good.

And then the agent paused. “You’ve been clearing out all the Spirit of Kaas nonsense?”

“Yeah. I mean, your Watcher- ow!”

Thirteen’s fingers pressed deep. “Our Watcher.”

“Hmmh. He doesn’t exactly strike me as the type that would react altogether well to being reminded of his fail-- ahh, ow, stars, damn, I mean, being reminded of things that haven’t gone entirely to plan. Figure the less he has of that, the better.”

“But why do you care? I didn’t think you thought… especially well of him.”

Crow shrugged where he lay. “I don’t. The man’s an arse. But he matters to you, and I guess that’s… enough.”

Thirteen’s touch softened into gentle swirls against Crow’s skin, and he made a low sound, a contemplative warble at the back of his throat that wasn’t quite human. Then he leaned across Crow’s back and pressed the bottle into the man’s cybernetic hand. “Get some of this into you.” He drew his legs up and folded them neatly beside Crow, giving him the freedom to prop himself up and drink properly. “Do you want a massage? I think you could use a massage.”

Crow drank heartily, taking in almost a third of what remained in the bottle at once, and gave a very satisfied sounding sigh when he finally withdrew the bottle from his lips. “Kriff me dead but that’s some good stuff. Is this from his good cupboard?”

“His best. I really think you aught to get yourself comfortable though…”

Crow had another long sip, then shook his head up at Thirteen with a rueful grin. “Look, I appreciate the offer, but there ain’t no hands in the galaxy that can smooth out the muscles in my back that really need it, not with all the metal that’s over the top of them these days. Best I can do for myself is find a good stretch and hope I sleep comfy through the night.”

A slow and calculating smirk spread along Thirteen’s lips. “No hands? Now there’s a challenge if I ever heard one.”

Crow’s cybernetics were sensitive, to a point. He could shut off the nerve receptors if he wanted, give himself an edge of pain tolerance and built-in shielding if he ever thought he needed it, but in truth he preferred to be able to still feel with his arm, with his foot, he liked to know when someone else’s hand was resting against his metal hip or running their fingers across his back and shoulders…

“Hmmh,” Thirteen murmured, letting his fingers follow the grooves in the metal, prying here and there at the exquisitely delicate and yet profoundly strong sheets that folded in on themselves again and again, slotting so neat and tightly together and enveloping the entirety of Crow’s upper back. He spread his hand across where Crow’s shoulderblade must be, and pressed with his palm, first gently, and then leaning in with all his strength. There was absolutely no give, all his pressure distributed neatly across the sleek metal.

“Yeah, yeah that’d be the spot.” Crow spoke around the lip of the whiskey bottle. “If I didn’t have layers of SIS tech plastered all across it.” Thirteen’s hands were nice, even if they did nothing to smooth out his shoulder muscles. “Don’t worry about it, it’s something I’ve learned to live with…”

“Oh. I’m not worried,” Thirteen whispered against Crow’s cheek, his voice dropping to an unearthly rumble as the pressure against Crow’s back changed completely. “I think I have a workaround, just do me a favour and relax…”

It never ceased to drive a little spike of nerves into Crow’s chest, seeing Thirteen change into the monster hawkbat. It was a welcome thrill, these days, but there was no denying that little gut reaction, that flush of adrenaline that reminded him just what the creature was capable of. The spread of the hawkbat’s wings utterly dwarfed him, blocking out all the light from the oversized chandelier, and the savage hooks at their tips could skewer him easy as a hunk of dewback at a Tatooine barbeque. It was still with somewhat mixed feelings that he remembered the time he had been seized and tossed by one of those hooks.

Those jaws, that could snap him in two, that beak that could crush his skull, now pressed and nuzzled against his back, and the beat of his heart was anything but relaxed. He didn’t struggle when the end of Thirteen’s beak closed gently over his metal shoulder and tugged him down on the floor, nor did he try to wrench himself free when he felt one of Thirteen’s massive taloned feet pin him against the ground. It was all he could do but stop the whiskey from spilling, and just let Thirteen… try this, though he held onto his doubts.

He dropped them promptly.

The hawkbat was strong. Absurdly strong. Crow knew that well enough, but he wasn’t prepared for just how much control Thirteen had over where he rested the pressure in his foot. Or just exactly how it would feel to have a talon hook over his shoulder and hold him still, while the balls of the hawkbat’s foot rolled and kneaded over the metal surface. For a moment Crow wondered if his ribs were going to pop, but Thirteen’s efforts were precise, and slowly, gloriously, he actually felt the muscles beneath his cybernetics being worked. It hurt, but stars above it was an exquisite pain, and bit by bit tensions Crow never even realised he’d had were unwound and melted away.

“Gods,” he uttered, still clutching the whiskey but in no position to have another sip. “Okay okay, you win. You can do that all day.”

Thirteen rumbled his deep satisfaction in response.

Of course I win. I always win.

#dingoat writes #writing prompts #werewolf au #crow and thirteen #steel crow #monster hawkbat #cipher thirteen #TY FOR PROMPTS #what good boys they are

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crushersposts · 3 years

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*💰The Rich Man & His Will📜*

By Sheikh Waleed Basyouni

My friend shared this amazing story with me, & I want you to reflect upon it specially in these days where many have lost their lives unexpectedly.

Riyadh is not only the capital of Saudi Arabia but a city of more than ten million residents, one of them passed away & left behind him a great wealth but no one to inherit.

A judge in Riyadh’s court was asked to look at this interesting inheritance case.

The judge searched for any relatives for the wealthy businessman & he could not find any contact, & finally after almost a year they were able to identify three distant cousins who lived in another city. Sure enough the court contacted the three cousins & ordered them to attend the court without informing them the reason behind the request.

They arrive at the judge’s office & it was obvious that they were simple country men. They were wondering why they were summoned there but the judge quickly assured them that there was no reason for worry.

Did they know so & so (the deceased wealthy businessman)? They said he was a distant relative, they knew nothing about him, & the last time they saw him was when they were young decades ago, & since their own father passed away, they never heard about him.

Judge asked them if he has any children or if he was ever in a marriage that is not registered in the country or abroad or anything like that? They said we do not know, ask him?

The judge said he is dead, you do not know?

They said “no, may Allah have mercy on him. What we know is that he lived by himself & never married, nor did he have any family members other than our father.”

This answer comforted the judge & confirmed his conclusion that they are the only inheritors.

Finally, the judge took 3 envelopes out from his drawer & handed it to them while saying that the man’s inheritance was in the court’s bank account for almost a year now looking for the inheritors & you are the ones!

They looked at each other wondering what these envelopes can deliver? Each one of them got 15 million Riyals, almost 4 million dollars! They were in state of shock,

One of them fainted, the other one was crying & the third one was speechless & frizzed for a while when the judge confirmed the amount & stated that it is their money now, & they should be grateful & thankful to Allah & to pray for the man who worked hard to make this money.

After a few minutes they calmed down & the judge asked if they would agree to put together funds to build a masjid on behalf of their relative since he did not leave behind him children or wrote a well for Sadaqah (giving charity) , the judge suggested a project he knows of & it will cost them fractions of what he gave them.

The first one quickly replied, good idea but I have so many kids & debts. I will see what I can do later.

The second person said while he is looking down at the ground “ your honor I would love too, but I have big family as well & my kids are about to get married , Allah knows I needed money these days so badly but I will make sure I will give sadaqah on his behalf when I go back & remember him in my prayer.

As for the third one he said something the judge said “It was like a wakeup call for me”

The third person said: “Your honor if he did not care to benefit himself why would I care! My family deserve this more than anyone else.”

The judge said long after they left:

“ …if he did not care to benefit himself..”,

After this he made sure to write in his will that part of his wealth go to charity of his choice.

Many of my friends are judges & they share many of their stories but this one is quite different than any other story I heard. It shows the nature of men & the stunning truth about reality. I

➡️ My Reflections on this Story:

1️⃣ “ *If he did not care to benefit himself* ”

It is important to think about what will happen to you after you die & your deeds are stopped. And if there are children or relatives who will remember you after your death, please understand they will remember you for a month or a year for sure but not the next generation.

Always ask yourself “ *How can I ensure good deeds to continue after my death?* ” A few hundred dollars can make a well for a community who needs water. With a small amount every month you can sponsor an orphan, or invest money in supporting a school, or building a masjid. I need to put this as a part of my retirement plan & in my will as well so my reward can continue after my death.

2️⃣ Our lives can change from the outside in no time, but the important point here is, are we going to change from the inside. It is a pity if your income grew & you didn't.

I wonder if these three men were financially well off, would they respond differently?! My guess is no. Giving is never about how much you have but is based on how much you care.

That is why I advise you to get in the habit of giving now when you are young and do not have much income, *because if you think you will when you get rich or when you get older, you are wishful* and most likely it will not happen because if you live upon something most likely you will die upon it as well.

*And among them are those who made a covenant with Allah, [saying], "If He should give us from His bounty, we will surely spend in charity, and we will surely be among the righteous." But when he gave them from His bounty, they were stingy with it and turned away while they refused.*

{Surah At Tawbah 9: Verses 75-76}

*3️⃣Write your will, you do not know when your time will come,* and how fast things can change. If you have debts, bank accounts information, charity to give , Islamic obligations such as Fasting or Fidyyah (penalty to be payed), Hajj to be done on your behalf, someone you need to ask for their forgiveness, an advice for your family to reflect upon after you die, or who should handle your funeral make sure all of these are there.

The Muslim scholars agreed it is highly recommended to have your will written due to the hadeeth related by Ibn Omar (radiallaahu anhu) who said the Prophet (sallallaahu alayhi wasallam) said:

*“It is not permissible for any Muslim person who has anything to bequeath, that he should spend even two nights without having already written his Last Will*.”

[Al-Bukhari & Muslim]

4️⃣ I appreciate the fact the judge suggested for them to create a waqf (endowment) for the deceased , & if they did, it would have been a waqf for them as well. I know of another judge who suggested to someone to leave a Sadaqh Jariyah (continued charity ) & he did, & soon after he died & left behind an endowment that supported hundreds of students of knowledge & sponsored tens of poor families, all it took was a suggestion.

5️⃣ So I say to every one reading my story leave something behind you that will continue generating reward for you after death.

On the authority of Abu Hurairah (radiallaahu anhu) that the Messenger of Allah (sallallaahu alayhi wasallam) said,

*‘When a person dies, his deeds come to an end except for three: Sadaqah Jariyah:(a continuous charity), or knowledge from which benefit is gained, or a righteous child who prays for him ’.*

[Muslim]

Aиϑ it was narrated by Abu Hurairah (ra) who said, ‘the Prophet (sallallaahu alayhi wasallam) said,

“Indeed, the rewards of his actions aиϑ good deeds that will reach a believer after his death are:

knowledge which he taught and spread;

a righteous child whom he leaves behind;

a copy of the Qur’an that he leaves as a legacy;

or a masjid that he built; or a house that he built for wayfarers;

a canal that he dug;

or charity that he gave from his wealth in his good health and life. [These deeds] will reach him after his death”’.

[Ibn Majah]

6️⃣ The concept of Sadaqah Jariyah is an amazing idea, it shows the love for goodness & the interest of spreading good in society even long after the person’s death. Sadaqah Jariyah means a continuous, flowing & ongoing charity. It is one of the most rewarding acts we can do in our lives as the benefits of giving this type of charity can be reaped in this lifetime & long after we have passed.

*********

Please share with others so more can benefit

*"And keep reminding, because reminding benefits the believers."*(51:55)

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bellemorte180 · 4 years

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Songbird

Chicago knew her name just as they knew who her benefactor was. Her eyes flashed to him and suddenly the music on her lips tasted bitter. He devoured her gaze, sending her a dimpled smirk that infuriated her.

Especially with her by her side. Such a beautiful bride.

Written for June 2020 Bingo- Prompt "1920s" @klaroline-events

Songbird

1927

Caroline surveyed the room; the glitz and glamour still taking her by surprise. She was still not used to such luxury or even the flaunting of wealth in such a manner. She took in the guests and decor. Small lights littered the trees on the grounds and white balloons had been blown up for the occasion. The chandelier that hung in the main entrance of the large home cost more than anything Caroline had ever purchased in her life with its diamonds and crystals that sparkled when the light hit it in just the right manner.

Despite prohibition, alcohol flowed freely. Towers of glasses were stacked high while the champagne flowed down them like a fountain into a giant punch bowel. It was lavish and an insult to the rules the government put in place. However, he laughed at the rules, stating that they are guidelines that are meant to be broken, and did as he pleased. He owned speakeasies along with the rest of Chicago being in his pocket.

The marble flooring echoed as every woman’s heel tapped against it; rushing from one party goer to another. Their laughter drowned out by the sound of jazz coming from the grounds in the back of the manner. She could hear her own voice with the backup of the band she had grown to know and love over the last few years. Chicago knew her name just as they knew who her benefactor was. Her eyes flashed to him and suddenly the music on her lips tasted bitter. He devoured her gaze, sending her a dimpled smirk that infuriated her.

Especially with her by her side. Such a beautiful bride.

Caroline had always loved to sing and had dreamed of having a Jazz band of her own to back her voice; if it hadn’t been for him, she never would have had the chance; and most likely would be dead. She came from a poor family. She would spend her days in a tiny apartment in the middle of the city with her parents, singing to the neighbor’s child as her parents fought again. She never had more than those few walls to call home and it was enough for her. Even as the world fell into war and then the influenza took so many lives; her father’s life included. It baffled her mind that she ever would have made it so far to be standing on a stage, preforming for one of Chicago’s most lavish weddings.

His wedding.

She shouldn’t be so surprised. He had always made his interest known; from the moment they became acquainted. Yet, after having her in his bed for years, he still had not married her. Perhaps it was because she was not exactly a respectable woman. When they met, Caroline thought he was going to kill her, and if she had been anyone else; he probably would have.

Seeing him there with a woman who was one of the Chicago’s rich little debutantes, part of her wished that he had.

1922

Caroline walked along the docks, her heels hitting against the wooden boardwalk; letting anyone in the general facility know that she was there. She didn’t want to hide or run; Caroline was tired. She didn’t want to play this game anymore and besides; it wasn’t like she had nowhere to sleep anyway. She was tired and hungry. She had been sleeping under the stars for days and had little to eat. She hadn’t been able to find a man to take her in over a week and the money she had previously earned had since been spent.

Caroline was done. She knew what she was doing as the breeze from the docks grazed over her cold skin. She had left her coat behind somewhere and if she did not find what she was looking for, then the winter could take her. She heard that it would be like falling asleep. She looked down at her brown dress. It had since lost its luster and there were holes in it. Her stockings were torn, and her feet hurt from her heels; but she did not own another pair of shoes.

She had hoped that she would be in something prettier when she died but there was no changing that now.

Caroline’s thoughts turned from her inevitable death towards the Model T that just came to a halt. She could hear a terrified voice screaming from inside it. Two men exited the Ford and walked around to the back; neither man seemed to have noticed her presence. They pulled a third man from the back and tossed him onto the boardwalk before he quickly scurried to his knees. One man pulled a pistol from his belt while the other leaned up against the car.

“Please, please please! I didn’t mean it. I’ll pay everything back.” The man on his knees begged while the other man just aimed the pistol at him. The man kept begged while the other looked towards the man who was leaning against the car. That man raised his hand as though giving permission and the one holding the pistol fired. Caroline heard the loud pop of the gun and watched as the man who was keeling brains splattered against the docks. Caroline could not help the scream that passed her lips.

“Shit!” The man holding the pistol hissed and quickly went after Caroline; who started running. Reality of what was about to happen to her set in and her thoughts of death fled her mind. All she could think of was survival. She ran but the man caught her quickly and dragged her back towards the other, throwing her on the ground; right beside the dead body of the man they just murdered.

“Now, Rippah. Is that how we treat a lady?”

“Boss, she saw-“ The boss cut the man, Rippah, with a sharp look and the man fell silent. The boss knelt down before her and Caroline got a good look at him. He had curly blond hair and the most piercing blue eyes that she had ever seen. He was well dressed, and Caroline could tell by the state of his clothing that he was wealthy; and given how she was meeting him, most likely in the mob. Caroline was not a fool; she knew who came to these parts at this time of night. She had been looking for them in hopes of them doing the job for her.

“I apologize for my friend. He lacks manners sometimes.”

“It’s okay.” Caroline replied in a small voice

“What is a pretty little thing like you doing out here at this time of night?” His eyes traveled over her body and Caroline felt a blush fall over her skin. The man held out his hand and pulled her to her feet. “And so poorly dressed at that. You must be freezing.” He unbuttoned his coat and draped it over her shoulders and on instinct, Caroline pulled it tightly around her freezing body.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome but you didn’t answer my question. What are you doing here?” He didn’t seem angry, but Caroline got the impression that she should not have him repeat the question. Her eyes traveled to the body on the ground and the blood glistened in the moonlight; chucks of what she assumed was his brain lingered beside his head.

“For the same reason you are.” Caroline whispered, her eyes locked with his and she saw a moment of surprise in them. “I was hoping that something like this would happen. Having you do it for me would be easier than killing myself.”

“Then why did you run? Stefan here would have been happy to shoot you on the spot, but you ran.” Caroline looked over her shoulder at the man who she now knew was named Stefan. He holstered his pistol in his jacket and came to drag the body towards the edge of the docks; dumping him into the river. “You changed your mind. You realized that you don’t want to die.” Caroline gave her head a sharp nod. “Why did you want to in the first place?”

“I’m cold. Tired. Hungry.” Caroline’s voice was soft, and she saw the pity in both Stefan’s and his employers’ eyes. The latter reached out and tucked one of Caroline’s blonde curls behind her ear.

“I know how that feels all too well.”

“I don’t think I could stand another night sleeping in the cold and then I realized that it wasn’t going to be just one more night, but several. I thought ending it would be a mercy, but I don’t want to die. I just don’t want to live like this anymore.” Gathering her bravery, Caroline took a step forward and pressed her hands against his chest; dragging them downward towards his belt buckle. “But, if you’re willing, I’m sure we could come to an arrangement.”

“Is what you do?” He asked, stopping her hand by grabbing her wrist. His hold was gentle, and she was surprised by the lack of a painful grip. “You find a man willing to bed you in order to have a warm place to sleep? Then you go on your merry way when he pays you?” Caroline nodded and she could see a shift in his gaze. Gone was the sympathy and replaced by anger. “How old are you?”

“Seventeen.”

“So young.” He muttered and Caroline had to hold back a snort. She could tell that he was not much older than she was, despite the fact that the way he carried himself made him seem so much older. “Well, that ends tonight. Tell me, Sweetheart, what skills do you have? Other than the obvious, of course. I’m sure you’re excellent but I’m thinking of something that does not involve you lying on your back.”

“Uh…” Caroline was dumbfounded. She thought deeply at what she could possibly be good at. She could read but not well. Her father was never able to really devote the time to teaching her fully. She could cook when she had food and clean when she had materials to do so. Yet, there was only one thing she could think of that she excelled at. “I can sing.”

“You can sing?” He repeated, interest taking over him. Caroline nodded and he smiled widely, transforming his face into something far more handsome than should be legal. “Well, then. Sing for me.”

“Now?”

“Now.”

Caroline thought of all the songs she knew, and they all seemed to leave her. She was only left with one, the lullaby her mother had sung to her when she was a small little girl, scared of the shadows on the wall. Before he could ask her again, Caroline’s soft and warm voice caressed his ears. His smile softened and she could tell that he enjoyed what he heard. He didn’t stop her but instead let just listened to her sing. When the melody came to an end, Caroline could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

“You really are a songbird, aren’t you?” He moved his hand from her wrist and brought her knuckles up to his lips. He kissed her hand, his eyes still pouring into her soul. “And what is your name, Sweetheart?”

“Caroline.”

“It is very nice to meet you Caroline. I’m Klaus Mikaelson.”

1927

Caroline made her way into the makeshift dressing room she was using for her performance that night. It was one of the many demands she made when she was summoned to perform this insult to her person. It was large and lavish. There was a deep red couch pushed against the wall and a vanity set up at the far end of the room. She walked towards it and sat down on the bench; gazing at her reflection in the mirror. She did not need this much space, but she knew it was his way of trying to apologize; but she honestly did not know what she could ever forgive him for this.

The red roses in the middle of the room only made her want to scream. She knew who Klaus was. She knew what he was capable of from the moment she met him on the docks five years previously and yet she never imagined he would break her heart this way. She wished had had killed her instead. It would have been a kindness.

Caroline heard the door behind her open and fury swept through her. Klaus stood in the doorway and slowly closed it behind him. She turned on the bench and glided towards the table in the middle of the room. She picked up the vase full of roses and threw it at him. Caroline got a sense of satisfaction watching him dive out of the way. The vase shattered against the wall; water, glass and roses littered the floor.

Klaus, who she had to admit was dressed in such a dapper manner that it made her heart hurt, slowly approached her with his hands up in surrender. Hot tears pooled in her eyes and she knew that her black mascara was leaving a large trail down her cheeks. The mere fact that he had the audacity to look ashamed only made her angrier.

“Sweetheart-“ A large crack sounded across the room as Caroline’s open hand slapped his face. She hoped it left a mark. Klaus went still and Caroline raised her hand again to strike but before she could hit him, Klaus grabbed her wrist; making her hand immobile. “Do not hit me again Caroline.”

“Bastard.” Caroline hissed back at him as she pulled her hand from his grip. She turned her back on him and wrapped her arms around herself. She took a moment to collect herself before turning to face him again. “Well? Where is it? Where is this apology you have carefully constructed? Hmm? That is what the roses were for? Weren’t they?”

“They were.”

“Fuck you.” Caroline bit out and at least he looked ashamed. “How could you? For months I’ve had to watch you parade around with her. She wore that smile, gazing up at you as though you really loved her. Does she know what you are? Of course, she does. Everyone does. Tell me, how does your new wife feel about the fact that you had your whore sing for her on her wedding day?”

“Her name is Cami-“

“I don’t give a fuck what her name is.”

“and you’re not a whore. You have not been a whore in a very long time.” Caroline huffed. She felt in that moment that she never stopped being one. She remembered the first time Klaus took her to his bed. It was merely weeks after they first met, and he was the only man who had her body since; but Caroline realized that she still was a whore but only had one client. She thought he loved her, but she clearly was deluding herself.

“When we met, I had nothing to my name. Just a ratty dress and a pair shoes that hurt my feet.” Tears were falling fast now, and Klaus took a step towards her; this time Caroline did not stop him from touching her face. “But I had myself. I may have been desperate, but I gave myself to you. You gave me a life, but I gave you my body, my soul and my heart. I gave you a son.”

“A son that you have not let me see in months.”

“Really? You want to fight over that?” Caroline pulled out of his grasps; sending him a hateful glare. “What was I supposed to do? You broke my heart. You didn’t have the decency to tell me you were going to propose to that half-witted tramp until I read the announcement in the papers.” Klaus moved to interrupt her, but she held up her hand, silencing him. “So, what, I was just supposed to watch as you picked him up and take him home, to be raised by Cami.”

“Is that what you think?” Klaus whispered to her, his tone disbelieving. “Is that why you’ve kept Will from me? You thought I would take him from you? Give him to Cami and that the three of us would play the happy family?” Caroline turned and sat down on the bench that belong to the vanity. She crossed both her legs and her arms; refusing to look at him. Klaus made his way towards her and kneeled on the ground before her. He unfolded her arms and took her hands into his. “I would never take Will from you. You are his mother. Not Cami. You. I had hoped that you would extend that courtesy to me, but I suppose I cannot fault you for that.”

“I lost you. I couldn’t lose him too.” Caroline whispered to him and peeked at him. Part of her thought that she was coming here tonight; to this wedding and he would kill her. She knew that he would never harm their son, but she believed he had grown tired of her; her use to him having come to an end. Not even her singing voice could save her. “He was the last thing I had left of you.”

“I’ve been trying to explain for months Caroline, but you refused me at every turn.”

“You’re Chicago’s largest mob boss. If you wanted to see me bad enough, you could have managed it.”

“I respect you enough to not just barge into your home, Sweetheart.”

“Tell that to your wife downstairs.”

“I have handled this badly.” Klaus at least had the decency to look ashamed. Caroline thought back to all the gifts and flowers he had sent over the last few months and how she sent them back. She thought on how she refused him access to her penthouse in the heart of Chicago that he had built for her shortly after she started singing at his speakeasy. “How can I acquit myself?”

“Get an annulment.”

“Will a funeral do?” Caroline’s eyes snapped to his, her heart pounding. “If you would have let me explain instead of turning me away at every turn, we might have been able to avoid all this heartache.” Klaus picked up her hand and kissed the back of it again. “I needed the O’Connell assets and the only way to do that was through marriage to Camille. Unfortunately, the only way her brother would allow me to marry her was if she believed that I actually loved her. However, Cami is not going to survive her wedding night. Neither is her brother in fact. As her next of kin, I will inherit the entire O’Connell fortune and their business connections.”

“That was why you’ve been parading her around town for months? To woo her? Just so you could marry her and then kill her on your wedding night?” Caroline asked, knowing how charming Klaus could be. For months she had been imagining them together, doing all the things she had had done with him. Never before had she felt so discarded as she had when she saw them together at his club; him looking at her as though she hung the moon. “You bastard.”

Caroline, consumed with anger, pushed Klaus to the ground. He clamored to his feet quickly just as Caroline was getting to hers. She balled her hands and hit his chest; but they both could feel the lack of effort behind her assault. She hit his chest over and over again, hot tears streaming down her face. Soon enough the fight left her, and Klaus pulled her into a tight embrace; rocking her back and forth as she cried into his chest, staining his white button-down shirt black.

“I’m sorry Caroline.”

“You broke my heart.” Caroline muttered into his chest. “I thought you stopped wanting me and that you were going to take Will from me. I thought I was going to end up having to sell myself again to make ends meet.” Klaus froze under her touch, not believing that she would have thought such a thing. “Then you brought me here to sing to her. I thought you were going to kill me, making room for her.”

“It was the only way I could get you to speak to me.” Klaus told her, pulling her from his chest. Caroline looked up into Klaus’s eyes and she could see the pain being away from her caused; and it gave her hope. He placed his hands on her cheeks, smearing the mascara across them. “I want you to hear me Caroline. You will never lay on your back again to survive. I refuse to allow that to happen. I love you and I could never kill you. I have almost since that first time I heard you sing. My little songbird.”

“You’re still a bastard.”

“But I’m your bastard.” Klaus soothed her and Caroline gave an insufferable huff. He kissed the top of her head. He could tell that she was still mad at him and he knew that she should be. When he explained why Caroline was refusing to see him to his brothers, even Kol explained that he messed up. Hearing that he made a bad decision by his younger brother whose entire life was nothing more than a string of bad decisions hit home. “How can I make up for it? Shall I worship you? Shall I get on my knees and show you how much you mean to me?”

“Seriously?” Caroline stated with an amusement in her tone. “You’re newly married and instead of dancing with your bride, you’re up here trying to seduce the nightclub singer who probably looks awful at the moment?”

“You look beautiful. The long white silk dress was a nice touch by the way.” Klaus teased her, knowing that she chose to wear white for the soul purpose of making the bride even more angry. “And, yes. I want you. It’s been months since I’ve had you in my bed. I miss you. I miss waking up to you in the morning and hearing you sing to Will.” Caroline opened her mouth to retort but Klaus placed his finger on her lips. “I know it was my fault. You do not need to remind me of that.”

“Well, if you were so desperate for attention, I’m sure Cami would have been more than happy to meet your needs.” Caroline bit out, her hatred for Klaus’s new wife bubbling at the surface. Klaus had always made it known to Caroline that he did not want her in another man’s bed; and it was a sentiment that Caroline shared when it came to him. She knew that he was a powerful man who would do what he pleased but she did not want to share him. “I’m sure she has been very useful.”

“I’ve never touched Cami. Not like that.” Klaus told her and the firmness in his voice made her believe him. “I have not had another woman in my bed for years and I do not plan on starting now. I’ve done many horrible things but being unfaithful is not one of them.”

“Says the groom seducing the nightclub singer on his wedding night.”

“I’ve never been unfaithful to you.” Klaus clarified and Caroline gave a small genuine smile. Klaus wasn’t out of the woods completely, but he was making progress. She would still make him work for forgiveness and earn her trust back completely. Pretty words and murder do not make up for the months of heartbreak that Caroline had to suffer for his agenda.

“Good.” Caroline leaned up and kissed his lips gently. At first, Klaus did not believe exactly what was happening. Soon enough, Klaus deepened the kiss and pressed Caroline’s body to him; having her wrap her arms around his shoulders. Their kiss quickly turned into a battle of tongues that was going to have no winner; for they both where stubborn. Klaus backed Caroline up until her legs hit the stool of her vanity. Klaus reached over and tossed all the contents of the vanity onto the ground with a clash and sat Caroline on the hard-wooden top; her back pressed against the mirror. Caroline weaved her hand through his hair and pulled his head back. “I want you on your knees.”

With a devilish smirk, Klaus pulled the stool from the vanity and sat down upon it. He placed his hands on her legs and spread them; trailing the long silk dress up her legs until it was at her waist. His hands traced over the stockings, garter and the belt that held it around her waist. Caroline knew he liked to see her in lingerie; especially when it was hidden under her clothing, a secret only he knew about. She had hoped that he would see her in such clothing before slamming the door in his face, but this was far better. Klaus’s eyes turned upward when he noticed that she was not wearing anything that covered her center and smirked at her.

Knowing that it was a game she had wanted to play, Klaus remained silent and reached out to touch her clit; feeling how wet she already was. He traced the bundle of nerves and Caroline arched her back; crying out his name. He slipped two fingers inside her and began to pump them in and out; curing his fingers in order to hit that one spot inside her that he knew pushed her towards the edge. Klaus leaned forwards and replaced the thumb with his tongue; licking and sucking at her center.

“Yes. God yes. Klaus! Yes!” Caroline cried out as she gripped at his hair, guiding him in the direction that she wanted him to suck at her. She spread her legs wider as though to give him more room. She wanted to move her hips in order to fall into a rhythm, but Klaus gripped them; holding her still. She continued to scream out his name, knowing that the party was in full swing and they would not be able to hear her over the music she could hear; although, part of her wished that Cami could hear exactly what her husband was doing in that moment.

The thought of what would have been Cami’s heartbroken face is what sent Caroline over the edge. The wave of release washed over her and she did not care that how she looked in that moment; all she could focus on was how Klaus’s tongue licked up her juices from her release.

Once Caroline came down from her high, she pulled on Klaus’s hair and pulled him up to her, pulling him into a bruising kiss; tasting herself on his lips. Her hands went down to undo his belt and push his pants down his legs. Realizing what her intent was, Klaus pushed his pants down far enough that he was able to free his acing member. He lined himself up with her, his eyes pouring into hers, and he eased his way inside.

“Klaus.” Caroline hissed as she felt him stretch her. It had been months since she had been with him and her body was readjusting to having him inside her. Slowly, Klaus pulled out before easing back inside her. After a few gentle thrusts his pace began to pick up speed and turn into a harsher rhythm. He tilted his head so his lips were close to her ear and Caroline could feel his hot breath on her skin.

“Do you like that Caroline? Do you like how it feels when I’m inside you? Stretching you?” Klaus whispered in a low tone, that made Caroline whimper. The vanity creaked underneath their rocking movements. “I’ve missed you. I’ve missed feeling you and hearing you as you cry out my name. You are mine Caroline and I did not like it when you defied me.”

“You’re the one who got us into this mess. Oh! Just like that!” Caroline hissed as he hit a sharp angle inside of her, causing her to cry out. She dug her nails into his shoulder, knowing that his suit jacket would prevent her from leaving the claw marks she desperately wanted to leave. She wanted to mark him; to show the world that the most powerful man in Chicago belonged to her. “And don’t you dare assume that you do not belong to me. I do not care how powerful you are or who you are trying to screw over. Pull a stunt like this again and you’ll never feel this again.”

“Christ Caroline, I love it when you’re angry.” He thrusted hard into her; the vanity slammed into the wall behind them. “She could never compare to you. She lacks your smile and dark humor. She does not understand what it takes to be in this world. She wants to fix me and thinks that I am capable of redemption. She does not know me like you do. She has not stood beside me or given me her loyalty like you have. It will always be you Caroline. From this day forward, I will only give myself to you.”

It was his vow that made Caroline come again, screaming out his name as loud as she could. Klaus froze as he released himself inside her, wondering if she would be able to give him a second child. They lingered with one another for a few moments before Klaus pulled himself from her body; Caroline whimpering at the sensitivity her body now felt.

Klaus stood back and pulled up his pants while Caroline slid off the vanity; taking a seat on the bench in front of it; feeling Klaus’s release on her thighs. She picked up a few odds and ends and placed them on the vanity before looking at herself in the mirror. It was a frightful sight. Her hair was falling from the pins she had holding into a wavy bob; her make-up was completely smeared across her face. She had a few more sets to sing before the party ended and she could head home.

Caroline started to right her appearance when Klaus came up behind her. He placed his hands on her shoulders and leaned down to kiss the top of her head. Out of habit, Caroline reached up and took his hand into hers. He brought it to his lips and kissed it. A looked passed between them and they both knew everything hinged on what happened tonight once the party was over.

Caroline would go home after the last few rounds on stage. She would check on her son who should be fast asleep in his bed. She would kiss head and head to her own bed, knowing that she would be tired the next morning; wondering if Klaus was going to stay true to his word or betray her again.

Their relationship hinged on what he chose to do.

“Klaus.” Caroline called to him as he made his way to the door in order to return to the party below. He paused and looked over his shoulder at her. “If Cami is not dead by morning, I meant every word. You’ll never have access to me again.”

Klaus gave a curt nod and left the door; closing the door gently behind him.

Rumor had it that Cami’s screams could still be heard echoing in the mansion walls long after her husband murdered her on their wedding night.

#klaroline #kcbingo2020

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conceptstage · 5 years

Text

Faith & Trust

AO3

“Your Illuminance.”

Leylas looked up from the paper that she was reading on her desk to look at Essek standing in the doorway. She paused for a moment to wipe off her quill and sit it in the stand so that it wouldn’t drip on her paper and waved him to enter with her other hand. “Shadowhand, you may enter.”

He stepped inside and shut the door behind him. He stepped up to her desk and bowed before relaxing with his hands clasped behind his back. “You have a visitor from the council of Tal Dorei.”

She hummed thoughtfully and moved to stand. “The Voice of the Tempest again? It has been some time since her last diplomatic visit.”

“No, my Queen. A woman named Allura Vysoren, an arcanist.”

Leylas paused and gave him a considering frown. “Vysoren? Lady Keyleth has mentioned the name but I have never met the woman in person. Did she say the purpose of her visit?”

“She claims…” he paused and cleared his throat. She couldn’t decipher the look in his eyes, some strange mix of caution, worry and optimism. “She claims to have news on the whereabouts of The Mighty Nein.”

Leylas blinked in shock and stood up straight with her shoulders tense. “They live? Our scries have turned up nothing for a month.”

He cleared his throat. “When she arrived, before I came to you, I asked my assistant to do a quick scry and she says that she saw them in the Empire.”

Leylas frowned at her desk, suspicion swirling in her chest but she pushed it down. The Mighty Nein had not let them down yet, part of their appeal to her was their ability to move through the Empire uninhibited, there was nothing wrong with finding them there. But where had they been for the past month? Why had their earlier divination been blocked?

“I will meet her in the throne chamber.”

Essek nodded and bowed once more before turning to leave. Leylas milled around in her office for a few minutes, trying to quickly gather her thoughts and prepare her questions, and then made her way to the throne room. The large doors were opened for her as she stepped inside and she instantly saw a human woman standing in the center of the chamber look up at her. She didn’t know many humans but she could tell that this woman was quite a bit older than Beauregard, thought she wasn’t entirely sure how many years would be appropriate. Humans lived for such a short amount of time, it wasn’t until she met the Mighty Nein that she ever felt somewhat sad about that fact. She was a pretty woman with laugh lines and crows feet and long, braided blonde hair with faint streaks of gray. She was wearing very nice clothes which indicated wealth and a large diamond ring on her left hand, a married woman then. She gave Leylas an awkward bow at the waist like she wasn’t sure what was expected of her and Leylas gave her a nod of acknowledgement as she turned sharply towards her throne and started up the stairs. She handed off her staff to the young Prodigy next to her and took a seat, smoothing out her skirt around her knees. Essek stepped up beside the human woman, Allura Vysoren, and spoke quietly with her. The woman blushed and rushed to curtsy instead of bow.

“Your Illuminance,” she said. “My name is Acanist Allura Vysoren of the Tal Dorei Council.”

“I welcome you to our country, Arcanist. What can I do for the Tal Dorei council?” She wanted to jump right into her questions about the Mighty Nein but she knew better than to ask things of an unknown political figure without leverage.

“I am actually here, with the permission of the Tal Dorei Council, on information given to me by a mercenary group called The Mighty Nein, who I believe you’ve had dealings with in the past.”

Leylas raised a perfectly manicured eyebrow. “Yes. They have been a great asset to us.”

Allura bit her lip. “Do you… Do you trust them? Do you trust their word?”

This was an interesting turn. “I do,” she said. “As much as I can afford to trust anyone with ties to the Empire.” Essek looked off the side when his assistant, a young half orc prodigy, waved him over. Essek stepped away from Allura with a short bow to his Queen and they spoke quietly in the shadows.

Allura nodded and seemed to come to a conclusion. “I met the Mighty Nein recently, at the home of a good friend and colleague of mine. He had gotten himself in a spot of trouble and they saved him. I won’t get into detail about it, it’s not why I’m here, but afterwards I offered to look on a friend of theirs who had been forced by magic into the service of an entity called The Angel of Irons.”

“Yes,” Leylas said. “I remember when that occurred, they brought news of a being called Obann and The Laughing Hand who were doing the bidding of such an entity.”

“Well, I did look on their stolen friend, a young woman named Yasha, and found proof that the Angel of Irons was a ruse. The actual hand behind the chaos belongs to no other than Tharizdun, The Chained Oblivion. He and the cults that he is manipulating are influencing both sides into war and attempting to weaken the veil between this plane and the Abyss to bring him through.” Leylas kept her face even as she listened but several voices in the room with them started to rise. “The Mighty Nein are following the trail of Obann to bring a stop to him and to The Chained Oblivion before they can succeed.”

Leylas was quiet for a long moment that hung in the air before giving Allura a considering look. “And you, a member of the Tal Dorei government, have come all this way to bring me this news?”

“No, your Illuminance. Tal Dorei has been neutral in this conflict and we intend to stay that way. I bring you this news because I owe The Mighty Nein a debt of gratitude and they want nothing more than to see an end to this conflict. I am here to ask that you give them that chance. Both sides of this conflict are being manipulated into this to further the goals of a truly evil and chaotic being and I know that that would never be your intention.”

Leylas opened her mouth to speak but paused when Essek stepped back up to Allura’s side. “Your Illuminance,” he said. “I am terribly sorry to interrupt. We just got word from some of our soldiers in the assault on Rexxentrum. A half orc man with your symbol just spoke to him in the streets of the city. The Mighty Nein are in Rexxentrum as we speak. They do not appear to be fighting on the side of the Empire.”

Allura’s eyes widened and she turned back to look at the queen. “If they are there, then so is Obann. He is using your attack to hide his own machinations.”

Leylas tried to keep her face even but, in her mind, her thoughts were buzzing. “Melira,” she called. Essek’s assistant jumped in surprise and stepped forward with her head bowed.

“Y-Yes, Your Illuminance?”

“Would you please scry on… have you met any of The Mighty Nein?”

“Y-Yes, I have spoken to Beauregard, the blue monk.” There was a slight blush on her cheeks that Leylas did not mention or ask about.

“Would you scry on her and tell me what she and her team are doing at this moment?”

Melira nodded quickly and started drawing a spell in the air. Her eyes rolled back and started to glow slightly and it was only a moment before she began to speak. “They are standing in a place of worship of some kind, fighting a… monstrosity with several mouths all over its body. There is a demon above Beau’s head, a red skinned fiend. I- Oh my!” she cut herself off with a gasp. “Beauregard has gone down.”

She felt rage start to bubble in her stomach. How dare this cult use her righteous war to cover for their evil work? She would not allow it. She would never.

“General Trian,” she called. An older drow man stepped forward and bowed low, his dark armor clinking as he moved. “Withdraw your troops from Rexxentrum.”

His eyes widened. “Y-Your Illuminance-”

“Do not question me. I will not help this creature get his way. Withdraw your troops, we will regroup and attack again after The Mighty Nein have been successful.”

“And if they are not?” Trian asked. “I have no knowledge of these mercenaries, I do not trust them to do what needs to be done.”

“Your Queen does. Withdraw your troops, General. Now.”

He cowed and nodded. “Yes, my Queen.” He turned to leave and spoke quietly with his lieutenants while she turned back to address Allura.

“If the Mighty Nein succeed… I will be willing to come to the table and discuss peace. Provided the Empire returns what has been stolen.”

There was worry in Allura’s eyes but she nodded, her face determined. “They will succeed, Your Illuminance. I have faith in them. If you’ll allow me, I would go to Rexxentrum myself now. To bring your message to the King and to do what I can to help The Mighty Nein’s cause.”

Leylas nodded and waved her hand. “Thank you for your initiative, Arcanist, and for the news you bring. Do give The Voice of the Tempest my best when you see her next.”

Allura nodded and turned to leave, lead out of the chamber by Melira. Essek frowned and turned to his queen with his eyebrows furrowed. “This worries me. An entity like the Chained Oblivion interfering so easily with our plans. We have an agent in our midst, high enough to be privy to secret information.”

Leylas nodded and stood from her throne, walking down the stairs to stand in front of him. “Yes, it worries me as well. We must focus on rooting out this infiltration as quickly as possible and then we can begin preparing for this… peace talk, should it happen. And the Mighty Nein…”

Essek nodded, worry in the lines of his shoulders. “I trust that they will survive. If I have learned anything from working with them, it is to not underestimate their ability to crawl away after a fight.”

#critical role #critical role spoilers #allura vysoren #leylas kryn #essek theylas #critical role fic

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kryptsune · 5 years

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🌼Good morning everyone and a happy Tuesday to you all! I had a lot of people ask me about my Outertale on Discord. That beat out pretty much all the other options on the poll so here we go! This is one of the larger ones because I had a lot of fun putting some of my favorite sci-fi concepts into this. I am a huge SG1 fan so you can definitely see that reflected. I admittedly am the fantasy genre girl so any ideas are welcome! I just liked the idea that the monsters in this were more than just typical monsters. DO NOT REPOST MY WORK WITHOUT MY PERMISSION IT IS NOT FOR YOUR USE. IF YOU LIKE MY WORK PLEASE REBLOG INSTEAD! It helps me so much! It makes such a difference.💙If you want more of these just let me know! It’s the only way I can gauge interest! Outertale Alternate “Nicknames” Info: Sans: Nova- Nova is the trickster though he is mostly associated with that of Loki. Loki is described specifically as “Playful, malicious ( ok maybe not that one), helpful, and nihilistic.” He helps others in a kind of goofy over the top way. He just doesn’t take much seriously. Nova is one of the youngest. He acts very childish at times coming to question how long he has been among the pantheon. Some argue his many centuries gave him a nihilistic outlook on life or that he is too young to understand the true ways of the world. Not to say that Nova can’t be serious but he is pretty laid back. It’s one of the reasons unlike the others he doesn’t really keep his cultural ties in his design. He should have more Norse in it but nah… varsity jackets are cozy right? I mean he is wearing star shorts for star’s sake. When asked about his job he mentions, “Hey, there kiddo. Nice of ya to drop by. Been up to? Heh well got a “new” job which is pretty cool. Not as cool as Pollux but I help arrange stars. Ya know, like the ones you see in the sky you can make pictures out of? I think you humans call em… constellations. One time I made this giant whoopee cushion one. Then I lost ma job. Got a second chance though. Andromeda’s constantly watchin me. hehe no harm done though.” Both Pollux and Nova refer to each other as brothers but it is unclear if they are biologically related. Their abilities and strengths are nearly opposite and their mythos even more so. Papyrus: Pollux- The presumed older brother of Nova. Pollux is associated with Egyptology specifically wisdom. Pollux tends to be the opposite of Nova in that he takes his job very seriously. Once on earth, he was known as Thoth gracing humanity with a mechanical and architectural knowledge that astounded the world. His mind and intellect put him at the forefront of innovation making him one of Capricorn’s best and most trusted advisors. He enjoys testing the mental prowess of others using puzzles and riddles of his own design. Unlike canon Pap, Pollux cares more about balance in life. Something his younger brother seems to lack. Not all work and not all play. He is kind, helpful, and willing to give advice to anyone that is looking for it. To the little human Frisk, he is a good mentor and teacher. (Pollux has made it his pastime to create a series of challenges to prove a humans worth. If they pass then they are able to speak/ see them. No one has managed to prove themselves.) Undyne: Andromeda- Andromeda is not different from canon Undyne as she embodies the Mayan mythology. She is most closely associated with the feathered serpent Quetzalcóatl. A deity of wind and rain. Also known as life-giver. Though Andromeda tends to harken back to her more aggressive roots she has a deep respect for the King and acts as his guard. Just like Pollux she too acts as an advisor, though more on matters of security than strategy or mechanics. Such a position is where she first met Elara and to this day the two are inseparable sharing their very different cultures. Her favorite kind of anime to watch are mech-based. Alphys: Elara- Very similar to canon Alphys just as this version of Undyne is. Alphys is based on Sukuna-Biko-Na (少名毘古那) or the Shinto god of medicine and rain. Elara is still very much a scientist and one that has a unique fascination with living things. Everything from the planets, to humans, animals, and plant life. She particularly enjoys spending time in her private greenhouse creating and taking care of all of the plant life. Before the monsters were forced to leave their place among the humans she was able to collect all the DNA of the plants and animals on the planet. They are stored in a kind of ark in which to preserve them if anything threatens their existence. Elara is very traditional in her work as her medicines are derived from her magic as well as herbal substances. She is very curious however as she is not allowed to interact with the progress of humanity but rather watches from afar. This is where her love of anime takes hold. Her favorites are ones like Sailor Moon or any type of magical girl anime. She will sit with Andromeda and watch them for hours. Her demeanor is very shy at first but once she opens up she will be a friend for life. Asgore: Capricorn- The head of the cosmic pantheon he is the King as he is in the original. He is associated with Celtic mythos though he has taken on many pantheon roles in his lifetime. Ambisagrus, a god of thunder and lightning, Ancestor God, Sky God, God of Wind, Rain & Hail is what he is based on. One such role is that of Zeus whose main symbol is that of lightning and thunder. Just like the Zeus of mythology Capricorn is constantly debating his involvement with humanity. Whether that be to stop their technological advances or aiding in their lives. A large portion of his time was spent with his subjects not so much his wife Aurora who is the jealous type. Capricorn is not a ruthless leader but he does know that sometimes hard decisions must be made. Just like UT Asgore, he is kind and benevolent, however, he has a temper if you make him angry enough. His magical abilities lean more toward lighting then fire but he has that ability as well. He tasked Elara to watch over human development should a problem arise. Toriel: Aurora- The Queen to Capricorn she is known to be easily jealous. It would explain why Zeus wife Hera also shares these traits. Her Gaelic deity tie is that of Arianrhod a goddess of the moon and stars. She creates life from the stars she creates sometimes causing them to take a form of their own. They are almost like living constellations. Some say that the Queen made such life to combat her own loneliness which her Son and Husband spent time away. In addition to the stars, she is also known for being a loving mother and caregiver. In her time on earth, she used to watch over and protect children and their families. Aurora though previously jealous of her simple in the universe has come to accept and embrace it. She is kind but rather overprotective. Anyone that forsakes life will feel her wrath. Muffet: Umbra- Umbra is associated with Hindu mythology as a goddess of wealth and prosperity. Though earthly riches do not concern Umbra she still has a taste for the fine silks and gold that she once had on earth. A little about the goddess that she represents: Lakshmi’s name comes from the Sanskrit word laksya, meaning an aim or goal. She is the goddess of wealth and prosperity, both material and spiritual. Unlike UT Muffet, Umbra also focuses on spiritual wealth. Peace of mind. She is ever the optimist even when things do not turn out to go her way. In times of need, she is called those in the struggles of self-worth trying to bring them into a different understanding. There have been many a time when Umbra calms Capricorns quick and rash judgments, much to Aurora’s displeasure. Just as with the rest of the pantheon she is kind and helpful even with her yearning to return to the people she so loved before they were forced to the outskirts of the galaxy. Grillby: Helio- Helio derived from the sun is my OT Grillby. He out of all the characters could care less about either being a deity or an observer. He is known to be at a middle ground. He would rather live his days running a social establishment but during his time on earth, he was known for his magic. Originally he was the right hand of Capricorn being depicted as a war deity for his fiery nature. He was the general of grand armies. His armor is something he hung up long ago but if called into court he will wear it once again. Its design is very reminiscent of Roman centurions. Though depictions of him are curious since his name back then was referred to as Merlin. He was best known for his magic and alchemy and the concoctions he made during a period of time far lacking in imagination. Just like Nova, Helio tended to interfere far too often in the affairs of man though noble in purpose. He tends to be outcast among the pantheon for his past conduct but he is content in his lab mixing crazy concoctions. Everything from love potions to disguises. His forte is all about alchemy and magic. Asriel: Azicree (Azi)- Azicree or Azi for short is the Crown Prince. By monster standards Azi is still very young, however, he has lived for far longer than any human can fathom. His mother used to shelter him until he begged for his father to let him prove himself. He still acts like a child always curious and desiring some form of exploration. Much to Capricorns dismay Azi enjoys spending time with Nova and the two become pranksters in general. He tends to not do as he is told, which is why they are in this mess in the first place. His reckless behavior had him appearing to a human that begged for his salvation. The matters of life and death are ones that are not to be messed with. Those that do find their souls being tainted for all eternity turning them into something other than just a monster. 9X is an example of such tampering. Azi does learn his lesson and begins to try and shape up to be a worthy successor to his father if such a thing ever did come to pass. He studies off of all those he knows especially Pollux who is more than happy to share such knowledge. His associations are nonexistent since he was born after the times of gods. His abilities seem to be mimic based. He is able to learn about abilities and use them at will. It is rare that monsters have children and as such Azi is the little prodigy child even though there are many times he just wants to be a kid. He makes friends with Frisk very quickly and learns a lot from the human visitor. Gaster: 9X (I can’t even)- 9x (can be pronounced NYX or Nine-X) is the Gaster of this universe. He is Capricorns pantheon counterpart. In essence the Hades to his Zeus. He is the monster that everyone thinks about when darkness takes hold. He is the one that associates with apocalyptic events such as Ragnarok. He is however not evil by any stretch of the imagination. He would be better suited to be called a god of chaos. He tends to reject the laws placed upon the rest of the pantheon regardless of repercussions. It’s speculated that both Pollux and Nova were a part of him and crafted into the monsters that are known today. Nova being his more devious side which Pollux is more his intellect and drive. He has been locked away for a very long time in a prison aptly named Tartarus. His abilities are space and time-oriented very similar to Nova which makes him difficult to imprison. He, of course, has been in his cell for quite some time and it is unclear if he actually has had a change of heart or using it as a manipulation tactic. The only one he speaks with on occasion is Azi wanting to learn more about this planet they all used to call home. It is information that the others tend to not speak of. His father more so as he is afraid it will instill a yearning in his son. 9X’s genius is on par with his godly abilities such as creating artificial intelligence. Something that is not considered life. He uses Azi as a template for this new program… FLOWEY- F- Friendly L- Life-like O- Operating system W- With E- Earthbound Y- Yearning F.L.O.W.E.Y was created by 9x and Nova with Azi as a template. He is a charismatic AI who was originally created as a helper as well as to teach the Prince about their planet of origin. Unfortunately, Flowey does not have the same reservations about disobeying his father as Azi does. Even going so far as to integrate with key and vital systems in The Capital. Flowey is not evil he just is driven to be the best help he can without regards to any type of consequences. He also feels abandoned by Nova as he was not only his creator but also his closest friend. It was why he was made. To be a companion and friend. He helps Frisk meet and learns more about their existence. He acts like a companion. However, when Frisk becomes friends with Azi Flowey’s AI goes haywire. He begins to feel emotions he is not technically allowed to such as jealousy. This causes him to try and eliminate those threatening him which in this case would be all the monsters. Eventually, Azi attempts to program himself into the interface changing its initial programming. Some of Flowey’s previous versions: Blookie: Nebula Riverperson: Omni Gerson: Quasar The Ursas: Ursa Major/Minor Greater Dog/ Lesser Dog: Canis Major/Minor Character Origin/Mythos: Sans- Norse (Trickster) Papyrus- Egyptian Undyne- Mayan Alphys- Japanese (shinto) Asgore- Celtic Toriel- Celtic Muffet- Hindu Grillby- Medieval (Merlin) Asriel- Celtic through lineage Gaster- Greek/Roman Blookie- Western Guard dogs- Constellations (Native American) Riverperson- Greek (Charon) Gerson- Chinese (Divination/ wisdom) Background and Context: A long time ago there lived beings of great power. They could bend space and time with a simple thought and bring life to their creations. These were the gods. Ones of great benevolence but also great and terrifying power. Humanity, a primitive race just starting to understand life itself, became their focus. At first, their interaction was very rare only occasionally appearing to help but as time went on those interactions became more drastic. Their assistance and knowledge were seen as godlike to these humans. They would bring gifts and offerings to their new deities in hopes that they would look favorably upon them. That they would impart their wisdom and magic if they were pleased. In time this became more and more of a tradition. A religion built upon pleasing these deities so that their lives would be far improved but this became a conundrum for the beings. Some remained benevolent and helpful while others become greedy and wrathful. The power began to go to their minds corrupting their souls. These instances were written down in variation by the humans making up grandiose stories of fiery chariots and jealous gods. Thus mythology came into being for humanity. A way to explain the things in which they did not understand. As with each religion and deity, the monsters each became associated with a specific culture or mythos. Some being pinnacles of their pantheon and others being lesser deities molded to suit a specific task. These monsters rarely interacted with ones of their own kind but as power shifted some of them took on roles of others. One monster could have been the god of war in Greek mythos but end up also as the god of thunder in Norse. There were no limitations to their influence. One such “deity” was that of the trickster. A monster that tended to be rather childish in his ambitions jumping from pantheon to pantheon looking to lighten up his other “deities” stern demeanors. The monsters began to pull away leaving their presences in name only and occasional help but this was short-lived. It caused problems, war, destruction, and feuding powers sadly began to use their civilizations as almost pawns. Their meddling almost destroyed that which they wanted to originally protect. Absolute power corrupts absolutely. The “gods” faded from existence only being remembered in myths and legends. The great prophecy of the Norse. The architectural marvels of the Egyptians. Now they reside in the furthest reaches of the galaxy. They spread out among the stars but a group of them resided in a Capital of sorts. A station at the edge of the Universe. One which no human could ever reach. The Humans Impressions: When the monsters left the humans to their own devices they worship continued long after. Eventually the magic and the miracles that had once been performed faded into history. The monsters were all but forgotten unless mentioned in mythology or scary stories. The humans never harbored any animosity toward them since they no longer believed in their existence in any form. They only understand what their ancestors depicted them as. The monsters as well don’t really have anything against humans either. All in all, they just go about their jobs and enjoy the universe, helping from time to time discreetly if need be but never showing their faces. Main Plot Synop: The plot to Outertale is very simple as it is more based around the world than it is the actual plot. It is very similar to that of the regular UT timeline with some notable differences. Once the humans reach an age of technological advancement they begin to spread out and search the stars. Some of them encounter monsters which they mistake for aliens (hilarious enough. I mean Jerry looks like an alien.) They begin to build colonies living more and more outside the reach of their own galaxy. Humans, however, tend to turn on their own creating factions within the space colonies. Some more prosperous than others. Frisk’s colony was one such beast being cut off from the other colonies as a drifter. Unfortunately, Frisk’s family was nearly non-existent and being stuck on a space colony was little to be desired. After seeing a streak of fire slamming into the outskirts of the colony. Frisk decides to investigate. They have always been the curious type disobeying orders and questioning everything. The colonies outer and more dangerous regions became their playground finding old pieces of technology. Eventually, they stumble upon a crashed ship. One that It seems too damaged to be used but it’s nothing like they have ever seen before. Everyone else on the colony considers it to be cursed. The strange runic language is confusing but Frisk finds that there is one lone computer onboard that seems to still function. It flickers with a bright yellow light showing an almost pixelated Flower with a =) face on the screen. Over the next few days, Frisk returns to decipher the runes with the help of their new friend which they find out is called Flowey. It is a project that the curious human enjoys and for once it is nice to have a friend. Eventually, the runes are deciphered claiming some sort of teleportation capability. Once Frisk is close enough the system fires up on its own sending the human straight to the monster Capital on the farthest reaches of the universe. A place that no human has ever been. The rest of the story is an exploration of this new environment. Frisk befriends the monsters who don’t attack first. They actually mostly want to engage with the human showing off their ability a little bit. A part of them misses the previous worship. Nova seems to take a particular interest in this new human especially when they befriend Azi. They work to help shut Flowey down only for Azi to impart his knowledge on the interface helping it understand. Frisk has nothing to return to so they stay with the monster and become Azi’s human tutor so that one day maybe the monsters can return and live side by side the humans once again. Both Azi and Frisk are almost like siblings coined the star children.

#sans #undertale #outertale #friskys multiverse #Nova #outertale sans #outertale cast #undertale universe #undertale au #Sans variation #space #space aesthetic #galaxies #concepts #friskys outertale #my art #lore building #world building #I do love outertale so I had to make my own version!

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whitefoxed · 4 years

Text

Form Contract!

Send “Form Contract!” for our muses to form a magical contract bonding them together! — @algrimthestrong, sent April 12th 2019, 3:16:42 am Chapter 1

P.S. Alternate verse where Vuhs never met Malekith and he’s speaking a dialect of Alltongue.

Vuhs flinched. He could sense the summoning coming from a distant place, with enough power to bring him there. A frown furrowed his brows. He was in no mood to play such games, he had an organisation to run.

The summons came stronger, striking an impulse for him to heed the call and accept it. Someone, somewhere, was offering deep magic for his services. Why him? There are other foxes… Vuhs froze, recalling his bloodline. A sacred one.

Looking at the blueprints of a new artillery engine on his table, he sighed. Blood was being offered. Tempting things were being offered, he could feel it in his bones. A different kind of hunger had him licking his lip and swallowing.

Fine.

Vuhs disappeared from his office on Earth and reappeared in the sigil, dressed sharply in his full black suit. “What is it, Älgrim Valgoth of Svartalfheim?”

The air was thick with the smell of blood by the time Algrim sat back to survey his work. The symbol had to be drawn precisely as shown in the book, or else the ritual would fail. Pressing a piece of cloth to the wound in his arm to staunch the bleeding, he compared the sigil he’d painted on the stone floor with the original illustration.

Algrim had found the grimoire tucked away in the Library of Sins, its pages stiff and brittle with age. It told of spirits, of demons, of powerful beings bound to do the summoner’s bidding - if one knew how to bind them to his or her will.

Clad in only a pair of loose linen trousers, Algrim gritted his teeth against the pain in his arm. The wound was deep - it had to be, to yield the amount of blood required to draw the magical symbol. He felt lightheaded, weak from the loss of blood, yet determined to see the ritual through to its end, driven by the burning need for justice - for vengeance.

Taking a slow, deep breath to clear his mind and focus on the task at hand, he began to recite the incantation. There was no immediate result, no flickering of candles, no whispers, no drop in temperature, nothing that indicated that his summoning had been successful. For several moments, only the sound of his own laboured breathing filled his ears, until—

The being that appeared in the centre of the sigil looked nothing like Algrim had imagined. A male, human in appearance, dressed in the fashion that was common on Midgard and looking absurdly out of place in a Svartalfheim dungeon.

Trembling with both exertion and excitement, Algrim climbed to his feet. When he spoke, his voice was raw with relief. “You came. You really came.”

He took several cautious steps towards the “man”, but took care not to cross the magical barrier. “I wish to employ your services, lord. I want you to help me kill someone - King Thryme of Jotunheim.” He spat the name like a curse, full of bitter hatred. “In exchange, I offer you wealth—” He nodded at a small wooden chest filled to the brim with rubies, “—the throne of Jotunheim, and—” Carefully, so as not to spill a single drop, Algrim picked up a silver chalice filled with blood - his blood - from the floor and offered it to the fox, “—myself, in any way I may be of use to you.”

The dark elf staring back at him was quite the sight. Sleek and strong, with cheekbones haunted by vengeance and a burning gaze of obsidian. Wafting around him was that alluring scent of offered blood which formed the sigil and dripped still from the elf’s arm. Vuhs licked his lips subtly. There was a difference between normal blood and that which is offered through magic. There was power in belief, one belonging to faith and the realm of ‘gods’. As per his bloodline.

Hunger. This was new to Vuhs, a sensation unlike any other. Of course, it was also his first time being summoned upon. He didn’t think anyone would have, in his time. And from what he heard from his mother… before they separated- it had not been done for generations. Vuhs waited silently with arms folded for the elf to finish exclaiming his appearance and get on with it.

Tilting his head to the left, Vuhs narrowed his eyes at the name. A king- naturally a Jotun from the sound of it- as such, a frost giant from the records he read in HYDRA. They have magic too, he supposed. What he wasn’t sure was if his own strength could compare to said king. Frost giants live much longer than humans- his own age aside, the mortal memories implanted in him were just that. Mortal.

And while he was considering such, the elf was already offering other things, which he merely gave a cursory glance at. Rubies- he could afford himself a chest if he wanted to. Though gems of such size would be hard pressed to find on Earth. He wasn’t very interested. The throne- why would he want to rule somewhere cold and unfamiliar? It wasn’t very alluring either. What did catch his attention though, was the chalice the elf was offering, inciting him to meet that careful gaze. Hm.

Silent moments ticked by as he considered, his silver blue eyes wandering between the chalice and the elf, with nary an expression on his face. Then all the sudden a burst of blue flames roared within the sigil, enveloping the area behind the barrier as Vuhs hair turned white, drifting with nonexistent wind. Ears and tails flared into view, as blue flames lighted up in mercury eyes and an opal claw tapped lightly on the barrier at the chalice.

“For that, and your true name, I can lend you my strength. You will be able to heal any wound in minutes as I guard you. You will have my speed and senses. You will be able to bear the deathly frost of Jotunheim. You can control the elements in your surroundings as I can. You will have my aide in illusion and glamour in your quest. ‘Tis what I will lend you.” He countered.

When neither riches nor the offer of a kingdom to rule over elicited the expected enthusiastic response from his visitor, Algrim was hard-pressed to fight off an encroaching sense of despair. Clearly, his offerings did not suffice. Only the chalice filled with his life blood seemed to be worthy of consideration, though the man’s expression remained unreadable, giving no indication as to whether or not he deemed the offer acceptable.

Holding the other’s appraising gaze, Algrim waited in tense silence for the fox to reach a decision. The answer to his unspoken question came not in words but in actions, and he barely managed to stifle a gasp when the fox dropped his disguise and shifted into his true form.

As plain as his human appearance had been, as splendid was the fox that hid beneath.

While he had expected his potential ally to smite King Thryme on Algrim’s behalf, the fox’s offer to lend his strength to the elf so he may carry out the deed himself was more than Algrim had dared hope for.

He inclined his head to the fox. “Your offer is more than generous…” Algrim’s tone was one of apology. He was desperate, but not so foolhardy as to blindly accept the deal and place himself at an obvious disadvantage. His own life mattered little to him after losing his wife and children, but if he was to meet his doom, it would be on his own terms. Foxes were sly, mischievous creatures, serving only their own ends. There was no telling what he would get himself tangled up in.

Blood, Algrim would gladly give, but to give out his true name would mean to eviscerate his very being, to give the fox power over him and make himself a tool of his whims. It was a bargain he was not prepared to strike. “Not my true name.” His voice was hard with resolve. “I am afraid, my lord, but this is a price I can and will not pay.” He offered the goblet to the fox, urging him to take it and sample its content. “I offer you wealth, power, and blood from my own veins. Is this not yet enough?”

He was desperate, longing for a chance to avenge his family, but even in his grief Algrim was no fool. Making himself a slave to the fox was not the path to salvation, but to eternal damnation. “Surely there is something else I may offer you instead, some other way this humble elf may be of service to you?”

Polite the elf may be, his tone had Vuhs narrowing mercurial eyes at him. Then at the suspected rejection, the fox huffed lightly, lifting his chin in displeasure. Ears which were angled forwards swivelled to the side with much disinterest, expressing every bit of it as he turned away to pace in a circle within the sigil. “You offer wealth I do not want, a throne which is not yours to give, you think a mere chalice of blood is sincere enough an offering?” Vuhs shook his head haughtily.

Testing and sensing the barrier of magic, he could return forcefully to where he was on Midgard if he wanted. After all, it was only meant to summon him here and keep him from leaving the barrier without permission. Its purpose was met. The blood offering may be the only thing he was remaining in the sigil for. Redolent of power, along with the rest of the blood spilled about the room, was tempting him to stay. But it wasn’t enough for what Algrim wanted.

Algrim wanted Thryme dead, and while Vuhs wasn’t certain enough if he could kill the king and hence offered his abilities instead, imbuing the other with his power meant he also had to keep company for the magic to work. The chalice of blood was worth buying his time, but it was far from sufficient for the risk on his own life even if he went alone to assassinate Thryme. Hence, as much as he lusted after the elf’s offered blood, he could only turn his nose away from it. A bound contract was not to be taken lightly.

Mild frustration frizzled his tails a little. Curling them before him, he preened and smoothed out the fur delicately with his fingers. Vuhs glanced back up at the elf who was so desperately trying to bind him. “There isn’t much I desire. A loyal servant I can fully trust thereafter would be an acceptable offering, but you wouldn’t even give me your name.” Highlighting again his displeasure, the fox remained aloof as he stated what he wanted. For that was the only reason why he demanded it. It was obvious he did not trust the elf’s simple pledge of loyalty and service.

Contractors had a history of trying to cheat their way out of the contract once they got what they wanted.

As expected, Algrim’s refusal to yield to the fox’s demands was met with irritation. The fox’s spurning of Algrim’s offerings, in turn, put the elf in a predicament he had not foreseen. He needed the power the fox had offered him to avenge his family, and though he refused to reveal his true name, there had to be something with which he could persuade the other into consenting.

“One can never be wealthy enough, powerful enough, or wise enough,” Algrim argued. “I offer you both wealth and power - and I will gladly lend my knowledge to you as well. You are correct in pointing out that the throne of Jotunheim is not mine to offer,” he admitted, “but once Thryme is dead, the throne will fall to the one who killed him. You could appoint a regent if you do not wish to rule the realm yourself. Jotunheim may seem like a bleak and barren world, but it has plenty to offer. Ore from the mountains, forests teeming with game, and the Casket of Ancient Winters, one of the most powerful relics you may ever encounter.”

Algrim’s offer would have satisfied even the most capricious business partner. Still, he felt it was not quite enough to tip the scales in his favour. His shoulders were tight with tension and his eyes bright with despair as he watched the fox pace within the painted sigil. “You may call me Algrim,” he added, offering a long-due introduction, though not his true name. “What name do you go by, lord?” That the fox had not yet left was a good sign. It meant there was at least a modicum of interest present, despite his apparent reluctance.

“If you do not want to do business with me, then why not trade a favour for a favour?” Algrim suggested, trying a different approach. “A favour, for which I will be indebted to you until I can repay it. You help me bring a monster to justice, and I offer you a safe place in exchange - a place here in Svartalfheim to which you can retreat should you ever find yourself in need of a refuge. I will be bound by my word, as is the law of my people,” he added, seeking to reassure the fox.

“What else could you possibly desire, my lord?” Algrim asked, his voice close to cracking as he felt his only chance at vengeance dwindling. “Would you have me disgrace myself, to fall at your feet like a common serf?”

Running his sharp claws through his fur, Vuhs listened to the elf’s appeal. Jotunheim was being sold like potential land. The Casket did draw a twitch from the pointed white ear, but the fox soon recalled what little he knew of it. A powerful relic, nevertheless. But it served his own purposes little. Vuhs continued grooming his tails. He had nine of them, after all.

The introduction of a ‘name’ lifted the fox’s silver gaze from its hooded focus, expressionless. Another offering was brought onto the table. A refuge. A way out. Vuhs’ gaze fell once more on the bright white of his own tails. “I need not a common serf.” He spoke once more after he sensed the other’s whittling confidence. “I need not, a throne that would be contested.” He continued, pausing in between. “I need not, a power that is not mine, however powerful it is.” Looking up again, his combing hand settled atop a tail, lightly resting on the fluffy cushion.

“I need not wealth I cannot spend. Nor a refuge I cannot allow myself to have.” Holding his gaze right with the elf’s, Vuhs gave him time for his words to sink in. “Because like you, I understand vengeance. However, unlike you, your enemy is one and final. Mine is not.” Silver eyes fell on the ancient sigil that the elf before him had found out of desperation, and in it laid all their skill and knowledge possible. Magic was never easy, a sigil was not simply a symbol drawn. It was also obvious the elf before him was not of a sorcerer’s grounding. Time, discipline, calculation and resourcefulness, Vuhs saw that in his summoning.

“You suggest a trade in favour, and offer your knowledge as well. Then, I aid you in the completion of your vengeance, and you, offer your time, skills and service, according to my wishes, till the completion of mine. My abilities as this favour, and the chalice for my time.” The fox lifted his chin with a certain finality, knowing the elf had offered all they could in their beseeching earlier. Vuhs ignored the request for an address.

There was no need to give a name when the deal was not finalised.

The fox bid his time. Silently, Algrim watched him as he stood grooming his tails, as if the action held so much more interest for him than what Algrim had just offered. Frustration coiled in his stomach, adding to the misery he felt deep in his heart, and the crushing sense of despair at seeing the deal he sought to strike slip through his fingers. The wound on his arm, too, had begun to bleed again, warm trickles of blood sliding over his skin and dripping onto the stone floor, but he barely registered it.

The fox’s taking apart every advantage Algrim had cited, squashing it into insignificance with shocking ease, almost shattered what was left of the elf’s composure. Each word had the bite of a knife to it as it sank in deep, shredding his hope to pieces until—

The fox’s mention of an enemy had Algrim perking up his ears. It was only natural that a powerful creature like him had made a few enemies of his own throughout the years, but the fox’s disclosure was still enough to surprise Algrim, as was his confession that he, too, was driven by a desire for vengeance.

Algrim was silent for long moments as he considered the fox’s counter offer. What did he have to lose? Nothing. Everything he loved had been taken from him. If he pledged allegiance to the fox, he would be granted a chance at revenge at least. There was no telling if he would survive such a dangerous quest, even with his strength and abilities enhanced. If he did, though, Algrim would hold up his end of the bargain. A favour for a favour.

“I accept.” His voice was oddly calm, as chill as winter mist. Stepping forward, Algrim went down on one knee, bowing his head in supplication as he lifted the chalice to offer his blood to the fox, urging him to drink.

Vuhs knew he wouldn’t have to wait long, watching as the elf considered his counter offer. Since they were not willing to give their true name, this was as close to a loyal contract he could get. And though he would not admit it, there were times when he felt too drained and exhausted to carry on his plan. He needed someone, someone who wasn’t a doll, a manufactured marionette, someone with brains that could pick up the pieces he missed, so he wouldn’t have to constantly watch his back. When the elf agreed, he would have smiled if it was his old self.

Instead the relief was minimal and he simply nodded, more than aware the probability of success ahead of them. Releasing his tails and walking back to where their barrier met, his hand reached out and allowed out of the barrier, to grasp the chalice. “Let it be so.” Sealing the deal, blood red runes rolled out from where their hands touched, running along their skin and spiralling like constricting snakes towards their hearts. Such was the effect of this ancient sigil and contract. Bearing the discomfort of a weight settling on his frame and sinking in, Vuhs helped himself to the fragrant blood that touched his lips.

Power surged through his veins.

Spreading from his abdomen to the tips of his limbs, it was a novel sensation that had his silver irises shrink to pinpricks. Different from the raw strength of magical power, what he expected to be warm was cold as biting winter, yet rushing like ice shards through the ravine of his veins. Oddly, what should have been painful felt refreshingly right. Like it was something he should have had, since he was born. A power that was originally his.

The barrier fell away. Vuhs swished his tails before they faded from view, the lowered chalice clean as if it never contained blood. His appearance returned to how he was when he first arrived. With a brush of his hand on the elf’s shoulder, Algrim’s wounds disappeared.

“Now, let’s get started. You may call me Vuhs.”

When at last the fox accepted the proffered chalice, Algrim’s shoulders sagged with relief and he let out a long exhale, but the moment was short-lived. From where their fingers touched, a burning sensation started spreading upward, needle pricks that travelled along his arm, into his shoulder, and towards his heart, causing his chest to constrict with pain. Resisting the urge to pull away, Algrim pressed his lips together tightly to let no sound of complaint escape him as he bore the sting of magical runes. Having read about this part of the summoning in the grimoire, he recognised it as the final stage of the ritual. Their deal was binding now, a contract sealed with magic and blood that could not be broken.

By the time it was over, a fresh sheen of sweat had formed on his skin. Algrim rose to his feet, watching silently as the fox consumed his blood. The effect it had on him was instantaneous. The fox seemed invigorated, revitalised, brimming with energy. Though he had made it a point to state his disinterest in Algrim’s offer, Algrim could tell the other was already benefitting from their deal.

His gaze dipped to where claw-tipped fingers curled around the empty chalice, a shiver crawling down his spine at the notion that a part of himself was now inside the fox. When the other touched his shoulder, Algrim felt his pain and exhaustion abate as new strength washed over him in cool, soothing waves. As it would seem, Vuhs had not been exaggerating when he had touted his abilities to Algrim. The deep, bleeding cut on his arm had disappeared, leaving only smooth, healed skin in its place.

“Lord Vuhs.” Algrim bowed his head in gratitude. “How are we to proceed from here?” Was there another ritual that had to be completed in order for the fox to transfer his powers to Algrim? While he was desperate to leave for Jotunheim, rushing into action was not the way to move forward. A quest such as the one that lay ahead of them required thorough planning. Maps had to be consulted, supplies gathered, and precautions taken to ensure the success of their journey. This was his only chance. Algrim would not fail. He could not fail.

“I would be honoured to host you for the night, so we may devise a plan of action.”

Tapping his foot lightly along one of the sigil’s lines, Vuhs lingered in the room where it still attracted him so. “There’s no need to call me Lord now you know my name.” He said upon hearing the address, pointing it out first before continuing methodically, nodding to accept the offer. “I would assume you have maps of Jotunheim and possibly Thrym’s lair, as well as some idea on travelling there from here. If not, we’d have to at least start from there.” Gesturing for the elf to lead the way, Vuhs calmly followed after.

Looking at his summoner, the fox’s features gradually changed, using glamour to mask his appearance once more. Fair skin took on a blueish sheen, gradually shading towards an almost metallic silver hue, while his short hair returned to its white flair, lengthening down loose to his waist. His ears too, tapered longer. Sliding his gaze from the elf to his own hand, Vuhs adjusted the shade of his skin further to his satisfaction. Within mere minutes, the fox was every bit a dark elf apart from his Midgardian garb.

“Tell me more about this Thrym, such as his personality and combat style. Until we have a few executable plans of action, then we can work on coordinating our combat style and get you used to having my senses and strengths. As for illusions and healing, they are techniques which require too long to learn. Therefore as long as I am around, I will perform as you dictate.”

It can’t be said that Vuhs was not rushing for time either. The summoning was sudden, and he still had a lot of work to do. Though he trusted his operations would not fail in the near future, and would even keep his disappearance a secret, he would not wish to risk all his plans and preparations from not returning soon enough. But he accepted this deal with the elf, and would see to it that Algrim finds the result satisfactory. It was his first contract of such sort after all…

“After that however, you have to rest.” Giving the elf a once over, Vuhs pursed his lips. Though his power - especially the new strength he had just absorbed - healed and replenished the elf’s stamina, evoking such magic and the effort to do so must have likely strained his summoner’s mind. Algrim needed rest, of a different kind. “It’s been this long, your revenge can wait another day.” Or a few, depending on how much they had to plan and train. Mildly concerned that the deal’s success would spur the elf to carry on, persuasion slipped from his lips.

As a former general and recently appointed advisor of the Accursed, Algrim was used to wielding authority. Giving orders and directing subordinates had become second nature to him during his many years of service. In Vuhs’ presence, though, he felt almost docile, ready to yield to the fox’s supervision. Vuhs was every bit his senior, perhaps not in years, but certainly in abilities. With Vuhs’ powers to call upon, Algrim was hopeful that the fiend who had made his life a living nightmare could be brought to belated justice.

“Of course we have maps.” Now that he was presented with a task to focus on, he was back in his element. “Jotunheim is a huge realm, a vast world of countless dangers and very few amenities. That the Jotuns have managed to thrive in such a harsh environment should be proof enough of their… superiority,” Algrim admitted bitterly. “As for Thryme’s lair, it is not so much a lair or a cave, but rather a well-guarded citadel. He is a brutal and cunning leader, with his nephew Laufey set to follow in his footsteps.”

Watching Vuhs out of the corner of his eye, Algrim could not help but marvel at the fox’s disguise. He did make a very convincing dark elf – no, not just convincing. Striking. His Midgardian attire, though, was very different from the clothes worn by the natives of Svartalfheim, drawing many a curious glance as Algrim led him though the castle’s twisting hallways. “They are called frost giants for a reason. Their kind relies mostly on their colossal strength,” he explained when Vuhs requested information about Thryme’s preferred style of combat. “The weapons they use are of the primitive variety. War clubs, spears, rocks, fists,” he spilled forth, eager to provide the fox with the information he needed to begin their training. “Stealth and speed will be our best bet for success. A poisoned blade may do the trick, but getting close enough to pierce that thick skin of theirs will be a challenge of its own.”

When they arrived at Algrim’s quarters, he held the door for the other man, waiting for him to enter first before following him inside. “May I suggest you change into something a little less conspicuous, Lo—Vuhs?” Masking his slip-up behind a practised smile, Algrim left Vuhs waiting by the door while he went to retrieve a set of clothes from his wardrobe. He held out a moss-green tunic, a pair of brown leather trousers, and well-worn boots to the fox. “If you are going to stay here with me until we are ready to depart, it is imperative that you try to blend in.” What they were about to do had to be done in secret. The king would not take kindly to Algrim going behind his back, which was why the advisor intended to have Vuhs stay with him instead of giving him a room of his own. It was safer to have Vuhs pose as a friend or lover than risk raising suspicions as to his identity.

“I will rest after we agree on how to move forward,” Algrim promised. Vuhs’ concerns were justified. At the moment, Vuhs’ energy still lingered in Algrim’s system, but that borrowed strength would wear off soon enough.

He pulled a folded map from a shelf and spread it out on his desk. “I know a witch who might be persuaded to help us travel to Jotunheim.” If Vuhs did not want the rubies Algrim had offered him, they might just as well use them to buy passage to Jotunheim for the two of them. “From there, it will be a journey of perhaps three or four days to Thryme’s fortress.” He indicated the route on the map, tracing it with a finger.

For all the dangers Jotunheim represented, Vuhs had an innate sense of superiority to a realm he had never been to. Ever wary of his inner workings, the fox reminded himself to take more caution and heed the elf’s advice. From Algrim’s words alone, he could visualise a sly ruler safely shielded within layers of ancient walls of medieval brute force. All the more cracks to slip through. “Do they have magic?” He found himself asking, another factor to be concerned about, though the frost giants seemed to prefer physical combat.

Entering the rooms without hesitation— the elf had no reason to harm him after all that effort to summon him here— Vuhs raised his brow slightly at the elf’s suggestion. He did not mind having to change outfits, doing as Romans do was standard practice. Taking the clothes, he opened them infront of the elf to double check if he knew how to appropriately wear them before putting them to a side. “I will change later when you rest.” Time was of the essence, and it would be better to finish their initial discussions while Algrim was still present.

Moving to the elf’s side, he studied the map unfurled before them. A swift glance to the side of it showed the map’s legend and scale. Unfortunately, it was not a script he could read. “Explain this. Also, are there other maps? Of our route to the witch, as well as the citadel? If we don’t have the latter, is there someone or somewhere we can buy such information from?” Used to such arrangements, Vuhs’s mind was listing out what he needed to know before Algrim could rest. He fully intended to continue planning while the elf slept. “If possible, I’d like a sample of Jotun hide as well, or at least something similar.”

Times like this, he missed human technology. Spying devices, temperature and bio scans all minimise mission risks. Though he doubted they could maintain functioning condition in Jotunheim climate. He also wanted to know the jotun guards’ shifts and routes. But that would have to come later. The fox did not expect Algrim to have all the details, considering he was but a one man mission before their alliance. If he did, he doubted the elf would even need him around at all.

As for now, he considered the option of poisoning their target that Algrim proposed. The elf who was so focused on revenge would have considered other options already before settling on such a suggestion. Rather than poisoning a blade, wouldn’t poisoning their food be much easier? “As for the poison you suggested, what is it? Or do you not yet have one in mind?” If anything Vuhs was frustrated about, it was the language gap. If he could read, he would simply ask for relevant materials and send the elf to bed.

#algrimthestrong #t.algrimthestrong #t.algrim.form contract #t

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realityhelixcreates · 5 years

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Lasabrjotr Chapter 54: Give A Reason

Chapters: 54/? Fandom: Thor (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe Rating: Teen And Up Warnings: none Relationships: Loki x Reader (Getting There) Characters: Loki (Marvel), Thor(Marvel) Additional Tags: Post-Endgame: Best Possible Ending (Canon-Divergent), How Do I Love Thee, Let Me Count The Ways. One: That Bangin’ Ass, Two-

Loki explores his feelings.

Loki was over the moon.

“She cares about me, Thor. Me specifically.” He was practically wiggling in smug excitement. “She confessed it to me, herself.”

“So you have said, brother. Several times. In the past hour.” Thor said, leafing through a book about metalurgy. “I am glad for you. This is progress in several ways.”

“Yes. She is coming to see my obvious superiority as a potential consort.”

“Possibly. I meant more that you are becoming someone that a human from her country could care about. That you are progressing, as a person. Look at all of the things you have been doing lately. Caretaking mortals, participating in their justice system, housing them, defending them. You know. Like a benevolent god.”

“I...” Loki paused. “I suppose I've come full circle, haven't I?”

“You're starting to see them as they are. We ignored them for so long, encouraged everyone else to do so as well. We didn't see them as they are, and it's one of Asgards lasting flaws.” Thor said. “We don't see anyone as they are. Look at these humans. Look at everything they have accomplished in their short time. For better and for worse. It's amazing. You're seeing them now, like I do. As people. People worthy of respect, of admiration. Of protection. Of love.”

“I still do not understand them. Do you think there is anything more I can do?”

“Stick with one project at a time.” Thor suggested. “You like to think big, but Earth is bigger still, and it will overwhelm you. Your longhouse project is a hit; stick with it until it is done.”

“I am thinking of asking the general populace for volunteers to help with the building.” Loki said. “I know all of our dedicated builders are tied up with city projects right now, but anyone who has time to spare and an interest in doing so, should be able to do simple things, like hauling soil, or stacking stones. Most of all, I want mingling. I want human and Asgardian to become acclimated to one another. It's going to happen sometime, so it might as well be soon. We should be building our bridges as early as possible.”

“Hm. I'm inclined to agree, though I think there should be some regulations. Einherjar to watch over them-”

“Perhaps a joint human-einherjar force?” Loki suggested. “Humans may never be able to match Asgardians, but they could still benefit from training with us.”

“Hm. You're right. However, humans tend to favor weapons like guns.”

“Yet we have both worked with a man who specialized in the use of a bow, and was far superior to most gunmen.”

“I think worked 'with' is a bit of a stretch on your part, brother.” Thor pointed out.

Loki rolled his eyes. “Yes, well.” He huffed. “All I am saying is that we know humans can learn to be extremely proficient in weapons that aren't guns. I do not believe the Icelandic government would allow us to authorize the use of firearms for non-Asgardian citizens anyway. But they have not disallowed the axes and swords that Trolekaerhalla brought with them, so I am assuming those are still legal.”

“Outside city limits, anyway.”

“Outside Icelandic city limits.”

Thor closed his book. “Oh, damn. I just thought of something.”

“I do not believe you.”

“Ha ha. We are thinking of building a permanent human settlement. On land that has not yet been granted to us.”

“Oh damn!” Loki echoed. “I keep thinking of that area as already granted, rather than 'potentially granted in the future, if expansion warrants it'.” What was 'future' to humans, was 'tomorrow' to them.

“We will have to consult the embassy.”

Loki groaned. The 'embassy' consisted of a cluster of small buildings across the river and to the north, from which a farm was also seasonally run. It was staffed by a rotating roster of minor officials, whose job was to 'oversee' Asgardian building and regulate their impact on the local environment. They were not particularly troublesome, and, except for a near obsessive concern with the health of the fens and the river, they did not bother Asgard with all that many demands. But it was an absolutely galling reminder of their fallen status that the king of the Shining Realm had to ask permission for anything, and from such minor officials.

There was an element of helplessness and subordination involved, and Loki despised it. They were going to need to accrue power quickly, if they were going to create and maintain relevance in this realm.

“I'll get a messenger ready.” He said.

“No, I'll go myself.” Thor offered. “Bring some clout to the conversation. Unless you'd like to go? You could bring your little lady with you, get her some experience in things like this.”

“Perhaps. That reminds me; I should send her father a gift.”

“You are getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?” Thor teased. “You haven't even asked for her hand yet.”

“Not like that, you wag!” Loki exclaimed. “It's just that when we first brought _____ here, we did not know that it was going to be permanent. But it is. We have found no cure yet for our co-dependent weakness. In that light, I have essentially taken his daughter from him, and into our household, so I owe him. You know that. Isn't that why you sent all that junk to Dr. Selvig?”

“Erik is not Jane's father, and it wasn't junk!” Thor protested. “It was Asgardian objects that were no longer needed!”

Loki gave him a long look.

“I see your point though. Perhaps you should send a gift.”

“Hm. Her father is a peasant who spends most of his time in a confined space with a cat. What would be suitable for such a man?” Loki pondered.

“No weapons.” Thor said. “No armor. Not only could he not make use of them, but customs would confiscate them immediately.”

“Surely a knife...” Loki began, but Thor shook his head. “Very well. Cloth? A bolt of fine silk, or linen. Wool? Surely we can provide something better than wool.”

“It's not a troth gift, Loki. Send him some cotton, and call it a day. There is no need to overthink this.”

“A careless gift can become an insult.” Loki said. “It may not be a troth gift, but I still want to convey to the man that I place his daughter at a high value, and that I haven't just absconded with her as if she were otherwise worthless. Perhaps I shall go with the linen. Or a heavy cotton. _____ tells me that her Iowa becomes very hot in the summer, and very cold in the winter. He could make use of both.”

“I do not think that anyone who has laid eyes on you lately could believe that you do not value her.” Thor teased. “Though some of the more jealous among them might wonder why she compels you so.”

“That is their loss. If they cannot see her many virtues, it is not up to me to enlighten them, though I might choose to do so anyway.”

“You have a list?”

“She has many virtues.”

“That is something I have been meaning to ask you about.” Thor said. “The nature of your affection for her. Where it springs from.”

“Are you questioning my feelings again?” Loki asked defensively. It was something Thor had been doing a lot these past few years. Loki realized that it was good for him to explore his emotions; a thing he was admittedly terrible at doing for himself. But when someone prodded him about it...

Well, he wasn't happy about it, but with someone guiding him, he could analyze internal issues that he would never have allowed himself to touch on his own.

“It is good for me to love my seidkona.” He said. “I'll be able to open up to her like I need to. This way, you don't need to shoulder the whole burden of my odious emotional instability.”

“It's not that much a burden. And you are being evasive.” Thor said.

“Of course I am.” Loki shot back. “I...I guess I'm just pleased to find that I am still able to feel this way at all. I do not wish to examine it too closely and find that it is somehow false.”

“Oh, I do not doubt it is real, and neither should you. Your feelings are your feelings, no matter what. What I believe we should examine is from whence these feelings have sprung, then we might better know how to proceed. That is, if you want to proceed.”

“Yes, I want to proceed!” Loki said. “Of course I want to proceed! The desire consumes every moment that I do not distract myself with something else.”

“Well, talk to me about it.” Thor prodded. “Do you know why you love her so? Is is guilt?”

“What? No!” Loki scoffed. “Any guilt I feel is completely separate from all this.”

“So this has nothing to do with effectively destroying her life, and taking her from everything that she loves and taking her from everyone that loves her. And that's absolutely not why you shower her with attention and prestige, and want to send a gift to her father. No guilt over what you did there. That's not why you want to build homes for Trolekaerhalla, in leu of helping to rebuild New York. Guilt absolutely does not drive your actions there either. I see.”

“Any guilt I feel is...partially separate from this.” Loki amended, face burning. “But it's not the only reason. I feel like she deserves much more than the world has allotted her, myself included. I see a potential in her that I would never have guessed hid in the depths of humankind.”

“Humans have caused you much trouble in the past.” Thor pointed out. “The Hulk flung you about like a toy, the Captain held his own in battle with you.”

“The Hulk is a special case.” Loki said. “All of your little company are. Or, at least, I used to think so. But she had nothing, you understand? No advantage. She hadn't the hoard of wealth, nor the high education, nor the job with a powerful organization, nor the exposure to scientific innovations that all of your Avengers did. And yet, she is this. If this potential exists in her, the most common of humans, might it be in them all? Fascinating. Horrifying. And so, so intriguing.

But that's not the only reason either. Outside of my feelings regarding her species and magic, she has great virtues of her own. Her mind is hungry, so much so that I fear if I were not by her side, her curiosity would lead her to destruction. She doesn't lack ferocity or courage when they are needed, but she also balances that with such compassion. I find that impressive, with everything she's been through.”

“It doesn't have anything to do with her being the only woman to show you affection in some time?”

Loki's face went even redder. “No...There were a few on Sakkar...but I refused their advances.”

“Really? Why?” Thor remembered the people of Sakkar as being very odd, but not altogether repulsive.

“Lack of trust, and a distinct cultural difference. To them, the fact that they could be exiled or executed at literally any moment led them to a hedonistic, live-in-the-moment lifestyle. Nothing meant anything to them. They didn't truly care about anything, and couldn't be trusted for anything.

But _____ cares. She cares about so much. Things have meaning to her, as they have to me. Maybe none of our troubles would have come about if I just hadn't cared so damn much. But I do. And that care has gathered her up into it now, wrapped like a cloak about her shoulders. I can no longer see myself without her.”

“Yes, you were besotted mere days after meeting her.” Thor pointed out. “Perhaps you were just ready. You are getting to that age where a man wishes to settle down and think of family.”

“I am younger than you!”

“Barely. But...That is another thing to think about. You will need to tell her.”

Loki pressed his lips together tightly, making an irritated sound through his nose. He knew that. He wasn't going to do it, not until he couldn't put it off any longer.

“Have you been looking at yourself? Like Sjofn suggested?”

“Yes, but I still don't see the point. I find it no less repulsive for looking upon it more often.”

Thor shrugged. “Sjofn has always been wise when it comes to these kinds of things. You know.”

“I know. I just don't see it, that's all. I wish I did.”

“Maybe _____ will. Speaking of, do you have any plans?”

“Your party is very soon. I thought I might dance with her.”

“And?”

“And make nice with your Avengers. Or at least try to. I feel Stark shall never be friendly with me, but she might be impressed. I would like to kiss her, should she allow it. The last time was...not ideal. I can do better.”

“She makes you want to do better?”

Loki nodded, and Thor smiled.

“I think that is how it is supposed to work.”

******

You swept the fancy green dress Loki had given you in wide circles around the room. There was going to be a party tonight! People were already arriving: Tony Stark had landed an advanced aircraft right on top of the former site of the militant camp, and he had brought others with him. More had come across the river. They were all unmasked, and causing great excitement in the city. Saldis had been talking about it nonstop.

You were starting to get the impression that she had a special interest in humans.

She helped you dress and did your hair, blabbing about their fashion, and strangeness, and beauty. Perhaps Andsvarr was going to have some competition soon.

You had worn this dress before, but only for Loki. It was still scandalously low-cut, in your opinion, but easily the fanciest thing you'd ever owned. Of course, this was going to be a fancy party, so you had to be dressed your best.

What did one do at a fancy party? Waltz about in a great big ballroom? Eat little appetizers off silver trays? Or did the rich and powerful get completely faced just like everybody else?

You'd probably better warn everyone about the crystal mead.

“These are the most important people of your world. Do you think they would speak with a servant?” Saldis asked anxiously.

“What? Of course!” You said, putting on some of your personal jewelry. It was cheap and fake, but you didn't honestly see how anyone could tell the difference. Besides, your dad had gotten you most of this, for birthdays and Christmases over the years. That was the real treasure, wasn't it? “I mean, they talk to me every week, and I'm a nobody.”

“How is it that you still think that?”

“Habit, I guess.” You shrugged. “I've never felt like I really meant anything before, and it's hard to adjust my thinking. It sorta comes and goes; one moment I feel proud of everything I've done, and the next I feel like a complete impostor.”

“I understand that. They warn us not to fall for the nobles, because we wouldn't know how to live their lives, but I feel like that's a sham so the nobles can keep their sons and daughters as bargaining chips in political marriages. But that shouldn't be a problem anymore.” She added, noticing your disgusted expression. “Allfather Odin started phasing that out before I was born, and it seems like Allfather Thor is going to continue his work.”

“His Highness is in accord.” You said. “He told me so. It still grosses me out though. But if you want to go talk to some Avengers, I don't see why you shouldn't. Besides, aren't you kind of falling for a noble yourself?”

Saldis cleared her throat. “Well. If it works out, yes. But if it doesn't, neither of us are exactly hurting for potential suitors. It's just that we like each other best. Just like you and the prince.”

You sputtered. “What? No, we're not-”

“It's fine, everybody knows.” Saldis said. “I heard the Valkyries gossiping about it, and the general didn't tell them to stop. That's how you know that she knows it's true.”

“Everybody doesn't know anything.” You insisted. “Me and Loki aren't a thing.”

“Which is why he had that dress made for you, and why you moon at him every time you think no one is looking. Someone's always looking.”

“I don't moon...” You said. “Wait what was that about the dress?”

“It's very fine. A courtier's dress, to reflect your position as advisor, that you belong in the court with him. That's quite a statement. If you ask me, he's been making that statement for some time.”

“No way.”

“Perhaps. Perhaps not. The prince has always been hard to read, but the emotion that he does show seems quite genuine.”

“You really think so? Other people think so?” There was no way. But if it was true, if it was true...certain things were falling into place. But there was no way, was there? No way it could work. You couldn't dare to hope.

Could you?

#lasabrjotr #loki x reader #loki (marvel)#thor (marvel)

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pikapeppa · 5 years

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Fenris/f!Hawke and the Inquisition: Cole

For @dadrunkwriting, a new chapter of Lovers In A Dangerous Time (i.e. Fenris the Inquisitor) is up on AO3!

In which Fenris makes the tough decision about whether to let Cole stay with the Inquisition or not, with Rynne Hawke’s “help”. Also, SOME MARRIAGE-RELATED FLUFF and Josie being delightful.

Full chapter is here, or you can read on AO3 instead. (~8200 words).

***************************

Fenris stepped into the Great Hall and quietly closed Josephine’s office door behind him. He was feeling rather disgruntled about the meeting he’d just had with the advisors.

Josephine and Leliana had mentioned that Empress Celene was holding a masquerade in a few weeks’ time. They were both quite insistent that the Inquisition’s interference – and Fenris’s attendance at the masquerade – were necessary to prevent Celene’s assassination and to stop Orlais from collapsing like it had in the dark future. Fenris was not particularly keen to get involved in Orlesian politics, and he was absolutely not keen to attend a formal event filled with human nobles who would sneer down their noses at his pointed ears. But Josephine and Leliana’s rationale could not be denied, and he’d finally – albeit reluctantly – agreed to Josephine’s suggestion to get the Inquisition formally invited to the ball.

He was still having difficulty adjusting to the idea that he was considered the best person to represent the Inquisition. During the entire discussion, it was on the tip of his tongue to argue that a Tevinter elf would hardly be a good spokesperson to represent the Inquisition, but he had to keep reminding himself that that reasoning was no longer valid. To the advisors and the rest of Skyhold’s people, he was the Inquisitor first and foremost. Anything else he was – or used to be – was a moot point now.

To make matters even more aggravating, Josephine had pulled him aside after Leliana and Cullen had returned to the war room. “Inquisitor, if I may have a word?”

“It’s just Fenris, Josephine,” he said, politely but firmly.

She smiled and bowed her head slightly. “As you wish, Fenris. There is one relatively simple way to gain the favour and alliance of any number of noble houses, both in Ferelden and Orlais.” She tilted her head. “The Inquisition can host a formal celebration of our own.”

Fenris frowned. “... a formal celebration? Here?”

“Yes,” Josephine said. “Skyhold is becoming more hospitable with every passing day. Ser Gatsi has informed me that the major repairs will be complete in a few weeks’ time, and – well, I must admit that Leliana and I have been arranging for the castle’s decor…”

He gave her an odd look. “This castle just became livable, and you’ve been thinking about decorating it?” Then her words sunk in, and he blinked in confusion. “Wait. Leliana has been arranging for decor?”

“She has, yes,” the Antivan advisor confirmed. Her expression was as pleasant and calm as always, but her bronze cheeks were becoming slightly flushed. “The Inquisition will soon be receiving guests from all over Thedas. It is important that they feel both safe and comfortable in our new home.”

Fenris stared at her for a moment, then shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “All right then,” he grumbled. “You and Leliana are arranging for decor. What bearing does this have on building alliances?”

Josephine smiled. “Well, as I mentioned, a formal celebration will help demonstrate to the rest of Thedas that we are an organization worth working with. An organization with the power to make real change.”

Fenris folded his arms. “A flagrant display of power and wealth. That is your suggestion?”

Josephine gave him a wheedling look. “Think of it as extending a generous hand in friendship.”

He raised one skeptical eyebrow, and Josephine bowed her head once more. “I know you do not entirely approve of this approach, Inquis– ah, Fenris,” she said. “Unfortunately, this is how the game is played. If we wish to curry favour with those in power, we must speak to them in a language they understand.”

He pursed his lips. This was another reason he hadn’t wanted this position. Playing these political games, pretending he had anything but disdain for those who flaunted their wealth so blatantly… All of it rubbed him the wrong way.

But if he was to dismiss Josephine’s advice without hearing her out, he would be no better than the egotistical, know-it-all nobles that he disdained.

He sighed and tried to control his annoyance. Josephine was only trying to be her usual helpful self, after all. “If we were to host a formal celebration, what reason would you suggest?” he asked, only slightly sullenly.

Josephine beamed at him and put her tablet on her desk. “Well,” she said in a suspiciously coy tone, “it’s come to my attention that you and Lady Rynne are not married.”

Fenris stared dumbly at her for a moment. That was not what he’d expected her to say. Then he shook his head. “No.”

“Oh, but a wedding would be the perfect occasion!” Josephine enthused. “The Inquisitor and the Champion of Kirkwall, joining in holy matrimony…”

To Fenris’s mild alarm, her expression was growing wistful, like that of a young girl reading Swords and Shields. “Hawke doesn’t go by that title anymore,” he protested.

Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “Her title does not matter,” she said brightly. “What matters is that you are our Inquisitor, and Lady Rynne is well-loved by everyone here. To see the two of you being wed before all of our people, and any number of respected guests–?”

“No,” Fenris said, more loudly than before.

Josephine drew back slightly. Fenris took a slow breath through his nose, then lowered his voice. “My – Hawke and I – we are not figureheads to be put on display and gawked at by nobles,” he said, quietly but firmly. “I understand that you want to garner favour and resources for the Inquisition. But you will have to think of something else.”

Josephine bowed her head in resignation. “As you wish.” She picked up her tablet and made a little note with her plume, then tilted her head curiously. “If I may ask… why have you and Lady Rynne not married?”

Fenris raised one eyebrow. “Have you ever tried to find an official to marry you while on the run from the Chantry itself?” he drawled.

To his surprise, she giggled. “If the romance novels my sister Yvette reads are true, then I would have thought it was quite simple,” she said.

Fenris smirked. “I’ve watched Varric writing part of a romance novel. They are not reliable sources of information, I assure you.”

Josephine giggled again, then smiled at him. “Inquisitor – Fenris. If ever you and Lady Rynne decide you would like to be married, please do not be afraid to ask for my assistance. I would be… delighted, frankly, to arrange such a happy occasion.”

He gave her a chiding look. “And to invite a few nobles houses to the event.”

“Only with your permission,” Josephine said delicately. She smiled at him as she returned to her chair. “Please do consider it. A good day to you.”

“You as well,” he said, and he left her office.

As he made his way through the Great Hall, he brooded over the meeting he’d just had. His relationship with Hawke was not some entertaining plot to be picked over by prying eyes, despite what Varric’s not-so-sly references in his Tale of the Champion seemed to imply. As though being forced to go to an Orlesian ball wasn’t bad enough...

Just then, Toby lolloped over to him with a happy bark. Fenris smiled faintly at the mabari, who was wagging his tail so hard that his whole body was shaking.

“Toby,” he greeted. “What thrilling activities have occupied you today?”

Toby barked again, then trotted away in a manner that implied that Fenris should follow. Fenris trailed after him, then frowned curiously as Toby came to a stop beside a young man in patched clothes and a large hat.

Fenris peered at the boy. He looked to be around twenty years of age, with untidy flaxen hair and eerily pale blue eyes…

Suddenly Fenris remembered. “You’re Cole,” he said. “You warned us about the Red Templars.”

The boy looked at him. “Yes,” he said. “And you’re the Inquisitor.” His gaze was vague as he studied Fenris’s face. “The weight of everything is on you. All the hopes you carry, fears you fight… You are theirs. It must be very hard.”

Fenris frowned. That was an oddly intimate thing to say to a complete stranger. And yet, Cole wasn’t wrong. He was… uncannily accurate, in fact.

Fenris swallowed hard. Then he narrowed his eyes as he remembered something else odd: Toby’s uncharacteristically fearful reaction to this boy when they’d first met.

He frowned at Toby. “I thought you didn’t like this fellow,” he said.

Toby tilted his head, then sat next to Cole and leaned against his leg.

Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Changed your mind so quickly, hmm?” He folded his arms and gave Cole an appraising look.

Cole blinked at him in a vacant sort of way. Fenris frowned, feeling slightly at a loss for words. “You helped Roderick to lead the refugees out of Haven,” he finally said.

“Yes,” Cole said. “He was sorry before he died.”

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Sorry for what?”

Cole blinked again. “Blood everywhere. Monsters, madness, dying, we’re all dying. The Herald stands against it, and heads turn.” He lifted his eyes toward the newly-cleaned stained glass windows. “Voices in the Chantry. Years since I’ve sung the song and felt it flowing through me, but this is real. So long since I felt it, falling, flying: faith. And I fought him.” Cole looked at Fenris once more. “Maker forgive me. I hope I did enough.”

A rash of goosebumps rippled down Fenris’s spine, and he stared at Cole for a nonplussed moment. Why was Cole talking in that strange manner, as though Roderick was speaking through his mouth?

He folded his arms more tightly across his chest. “Roderick said that to you?”

“Yes,” Cole said. “No. He was in my head. He wanted you to hear it. He would be happy that you did.”

Fenris studied him cautiously. In my head? What does that mean? he wondered. Maybe this boy was addled? Or… perhaps he was infected with red lyrium. He had spent time around Corypheus’s red Templars, after all.

This doesn’t sound like red lyrium ramblings, though, Fenris thought. Red lyrium brought out the worst part of a person and manifested it, like Bartrand’s greed or Meredith’s paranoia. Or in Hawke’s case…

Fenris shivered slightly. Then Cole interrupted his thoughts. “It wasn’t real,” he said.

Fenris looked at him. “What?”

“Red rivers running down her face. She asked to die, but that wasn’t her. Red, wrong, you were ripped away from her, but it wasn’t real.” Cole smiled slightly. “You made it not real. You helped.”

For a long, paralyzing second, Fenris stopped breathing. How…? How did this stranger know about his nightmares?

He took a step closer to Cole. “Did Dorian tell you this?” he hissed. Dorian was the only one who had seen Fenris’s distress when they were stuck together in that dark future. He was the only one who could have told Cole about what they’d seen, how Hawke’s infected mind had made her beg for death…

“Dorian?” Cole said. “No. Sharp and shining like a gem, cutting when he needs to, but not unkind.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Dorian understands hurts. He hurts too, in his way. He wouldn’t tell.”

Fenris scowled. “Then how–?”

“Hello, handsome!” Hawke bounced over, and Fenris tensed in surprise as she squeezed his arm. She smiled at Cole. “Hello, Cole. Perfect timing – Cassandra and Solas want to talk to both of you.”

Fenris stepped away from Cole. “About what?”

Hawke pulled a little face as she led him out of the Great Hall toward the courtyard. “Uhh… better if you hear it directly. You know Solas and his explanations. I’m listening to him, and I’m understanding everything and I’m all on board, and then he’s all, ‘and the complete opposite can also be true.’ And suddenly I’m wondering about the meaning of life and the universe and everything when all I asked is if he wanted a sandwich…”

Fenris grunted. He could hear the clack of Toby’s nails on the stone as he and Cole followed them down to the base of the stairs, where Cassandra and Solas were engaged in some sort of debate.

‘... but this violates everything we know about the Fade!” Cassandra exclaimed as they drew near.

Solas tilted his head in agreement. “So it does,” he said mildly.

An auspicious start, Fenris thought waspishly. He folded his arms. “What’s the problem?” he asked.

“Fenris,” Cassandra greeted. She nodded to him and Hawke, but her face was creased in a frown. “Solas and I were discussing Cole’s… unusual abilities. I wondered if he was perhaps a mage.”

Fenris frowned. “Unusual abilities?”

“He can cause people to forget him, or even fail entirely to notice him,” Solas said.

Fenris raised his eyebrows. “Those are… he can do that on purpose?” He glanced suspiciously at Cole. He was sitting on the ground nearby and petting a very happy-looking Toby.

“Yes,” Solas said. “From my conversations with him, I understand that his presence has been objected to in the past, and thus he is making himself… inconspicuous, as it were, so as not to offend.” He shot a quick pointed look at Cassandra. “In any case, these are not the abilities of a mage. It seems that Cole is a spirit.”

Fenris whipped around and stared at him. “A spirit?” he said flatly.

“Yes,” Solas said. His expression was absolutely neutral.

Fenris narrowed his eyes. Then Cassandra mirrored his thoughts. “A demon, more likely,” she said.

“If you prefer,” Solas said. “Although the truth is somewhat more complex.”

Hawke grimaced slightly. “Told you you’d want to hear it for yourself,” she said quietly to Fenris.

Fenris shook his head slowly. It was making sense now. The odd things Cole said… the way he had spoken Roderick’s last words in the councillor’s own voice, and the way he knew what Fenris was thinking – his concerns about being the Inquisitor, and his fears about Hawke…

He glared at Solas. “If he is making people forget him, that means he is changing their thoughts. Such manipulations are the purview of a demon.”

Hawke’s grimace deepened as Solas lifted his chin. “In fairness, Cole’s warning at Haven allowed you to escape and saved many lives,” Solas said.

“You dodge the issue,” Fenris accused. “He manipulates minds. He… I have witnessed it myself!”

Cassandra folded her arms as well. “You speak as though Cole’s intent is to help,” she said to Solas. “But we cannot know the true motivations of a demon.”

Solas frowned slightly. “If this is a terminological issue, then you should know his nature is not so easily defined.”

“Speak plainly, Solas,” Cassandra said bluntly. “What are we dealing with?”

Fenris turned to her. “Solas maintains that spirits and demons are two faces of the same coin,” he said flatly. “What you and I call a demon, he calls a corrupted spirit.” He gave Solas a hard look. “The issue is not terminological, but an issue of whether this ‘Cole’ is corrupted or not.”

Solas nodded politely to Fenris. “That is part of the issue, yes.” He looked at Cassandra. “Demons, or ‘corrupted spirits’, normally enter this world by possession: by attaching themselves to something or someone in this world. In their true form, they look bizarre. Monstrous.”

“But Cole looks like a young man,” Cassandra said. Her frown became even more severe as she darted a look at Cole, who was now `rubbing Toby’s exposed belly. “Is this possession?”

“No,” Solas said firmly. “He has wilfully manifested in human form without possessing anyone. From what I can tell, he predates the Breach. He has lived in this world for months – perhaps years. He looks like a young man. For all intents and purposes, he is a young man.” He glanced over at Cole. “It is… remarkable,” he said softly.

“How do you know he is a spirit in the form of a man and not a man possessed by a spirit?” Fenris demanded. “How can you tell for certain?”

Hawke awkwardly shifted her weight. “Well, we know what a possessed man looks like,” she said.

He glanced askance at her, then wilted slightly. “Anders,” he grumbled.

“Exactly,” she said. “When Venjustice came out, it was pretty fucking obvious. And, well, Anders told us he was hosting a spirit. Or demon, or whatever you want to call it. He was able to tell us that he was a man with a spirit inside of him.” She smirked for a moment – at her own double entendre, Fenris was sure – then cleared her throat and shrugged. “I’ve spoken to Cole a few times. He seems… confused, I suppose, which makes sense if his home is the Fade. But he doesn’t sound like Anders did. There’s none of the ‘normal one second and crazy the next’ that Anders had going on.”

Fenris harrumphed quietly. Then he looked at her in surprise. “Wait. You remember speaking with Cole before? He didn’t force you to forget him?”

“No,” she said. “I didn’t even know he was making people forget him until I heard Bull and Dorian talking about it. Dorian never forgot him, either.”

Fenris frowned. Why had Cole tampered with his and Bull’s minds, but not Hawke’s or Dorian’s?

Then Solas spoke once more. “Cole is unique, Fenris. He has achieved something that I was… not aware was possible. More than that, he wishes to help. I suggest you allow him to do so.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. The mage’s tone was mild, and everything about his posture was deferential, but Fenris didn’t like the hint of command in Solas’s words.

He looked at Hawke. “What do you think of this?”

She shrugged and pulled a little face. “Honestly, Cole seems pretty harmless to me. But it’s up to you.”

He pursed his lips, then glanced over at Cole… but Cole wasn’t there.

He tutted. “Where in cursed Void is he?”

Cassandra seemed equally displeased. “If we can’t remember him, he could be anywhere,” she complained.

Hawke tapped Fenris’s arm and pointed. “He’s there, by the healers’ tents.”

Fenris turned and spotted Cole’s large hat. “Come,” he said to Hawke, and he walked over to Cole with Hawke close behind.

The healers’ tents in the courtyard now held only the most wounded patients: the ones whose condition was too fragile for them to be moved indoors. Cole was just standing there and looking at the wounded patients, and Fenris watched him with undisguised mistrust until he spoke.

“So many soldiers fought to protect the pilgrims so they could escape Haven,” Cole said softly. He looked down at one particular soldier, whose blood-stained bandages covered him from chest to waist. The soldier’s pale and sweaty face was twisted in agony, and his breathing was rapid and shallow.

Then Cole began to speak, and his words seemed to ring in time with the soldiers’ breaths. “Choking fear, can’t think from the medicine but the cuts wrack me with every heartbeat. Hot white pain, everything burns. I can’t, I can’t, I’m going to… I’m dying, I am…”

The soldier exhaled one last time. “... dead,” Cole finished.

The hairs on the back of Fenris’s neck were standing on end. “Stop that,” he hissed. “Stay out of their heads.”

Cole gave him a faintly quizzical look. “They’re in mine,” he said. Then he drifted over to a table bearing jugs of water and empty cups.

“Cracked brown paint, dry, scraping. Thirsty,” Cole murmured. He poured a cup of water, then knelt beside another soldier. “Here,” he said, and he held the cup to her lips.

She gulped thirstily from the cup, then gasped for breath. “Thank you,” she rasped.

Cole rose to his feet, then turned to Fenris. “It’s all right,” he said reassuringly. “She won’t remember me.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Why do you force them to forget? If you truly mean to help, just show them that you’re there. This deception is unnecessary.”

Hawke scratched her ear. “Didn’t Solas say that people rejected him when they found out he was a spirit?”

Cole blinked at her. “Yes. They want to forget. They would be troubled if they knew, like Rhys. I don’t want them to be troubled. It’s better this way. I’m better.”

Fenris scowled at him. “You’re tampering with their memories. You cannot do that.”

“Oh,” Hawke said suddenly.

Fenris looked at her, then frowned; she was looking at him now, and her expression was oddly sympathetic. “What?” he demanded. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

She took a deep breath, then stepped closer to him. “I don’t think it’s… he’s not erasing their memories, Fenris, not really,” she said softly. “It seems like he’s just erasing himself and nothing else.”

“You don’t know that,” Fenris said fiercely. “You don’t know what he is capable of, and that is the entire problem. Erasing himself is just the start. What if he decides that erasing himself is not enough? Entire conversations, entire days – where would it end?”

Hawke nibbled the inside of her cheek. “I suppose,” she said finally. She eyed Cole sadly for a moment, then shrugged. “Okay then. Are you going to send him away?”

Fenris clenched his jaw. His instinct was indeed to send Cole away. But for some blasted reason, he couldn't help but recall the conversation he’d had with Dorian a few days ago, when Dorian had teased him about dismissing the things he didn’t understand. And then there was that big argument with Solas — the argument about this very issue, when Solas had accused him of scorning any being whose nature was unlike his own…

Fenris gritted his teeth for a moment longer, then sighed bad-temperedly. “We’ll watch him for a day,” he announced. “Observe him. See what he does and how he does it. If he performs any sort of sinister act, I will kill him myself.”

“Yes. That’s good,” Cole said.

Hawke and Fenris both looked at him in surprise. “You would… want Fenris to kill you?” Hawke said slowly.

Cole nodded. “I don’t want to hurt anyone. I want to help. If I start again, you or Cullen or Cassandra need to kill me.”

Hawke shrugged in a bemused sort of way. “Well, I suppose that’s a tidy enough solution,” she said, but Fenris narrowed his eyes.

“What do you mean, ‘start again’?” he asked suspiciously.

“When I was in the Spire, some of the mages wanted to die,” Cole said. “Too sad, too scared, too much. I didn’t know what I was; a ghost, I thought, fading in the Fade. I used the knife to set them free. When Rhys found out, he made me stop. Made me understand there were other ways to help. I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know that you were murdering innocent people?” Fenris demanded.

“No, I knew,” Cole said calmly. “I just thought I had to. They were hurting, helpless, haunted. It was all I could do.” He stood a little straighter. “It was wrong. I was wrong. If I start again, you need to kill me.”

Fenris glared at him. “I will if I must,” he said threateningly. “Do not doubt that.”

Cole nodded. He seemed unaffected by Fenris’s ire. “Thank you,” he said.

Fenris eyed him for a moment longer, but he said nothing more, and finally Fenris stepped back. “All right,” he said, and he jerked his chin at the castle at large. “Do as you had planned. We will follow.”

“Yes,” Cole said, and he ambled away from the healers’ tents.

Fenris and Hawke followed silently in Cole’s rambling path, and Fenris watched with some bemusement as Toby bounded over to prance around the demon boy.

After about thirty seconds of walking in silence, Fenris raised an eyebrow. “Speak, Hawke. You are never silent for this long,” he drawled.

She snorted a little laugh at his bluntness. “I’m just surprised you would want to spend the day doing this. We’re going out to Crestwood tomorrow. I thought you’d be, you know, talking to the advisors or something.”

“I did speak to them. Just before you found me,” he said. He declined to tell her about Josephine’s formal celebration suggestion for now. Getting married was hardly a pressing item on the agenda, even if it had been at the back of his mind for the past couple of years.

“Ah,” Hawke said. She nodded knowledgeably and fell silent again.

Fenris gave her a flat look. He knew the real reason she was biting her tongue. “I am not incapable of changing my mind, you know,” he muttered.

She looked at him. “Nobody is saying you are,” she said carefully.

Fenris huffed moodily, then lowered his voice. “Solas and Dorian think I am… inflexible.”

Hawke pulled him to a stop with a hand on his arm. “Solas and Dorian don’t know you,” she said. She was frowning slightly. “And since when do you care what other people think?”

“Since we joined this blasted organization and everyone is scrutinizing every move I make,” he hissed. “This is not like Kirkwall, Hawke. We work with these people. They are allies, not friends. They’re not…” He broke off before he could inadvertently say something unkind.

Hawke finished his sentence anyway. “They’re not family,” she said, a little bit sadly.

He sighed and took a step closer to her. “No, they’re not,” he murmured. “In Kirkwall, it didn’t matter what Anders or Merrill thought of me. Their displeasure was inconsequential. But it is different here. These people we’re collecting… If they think my… predispositions will interfere with the Inquisition’s work–”

She cupped his cheek in her palm. “Fenris,” she said soothingly. “You are capable of change. If that’s what you’re really worried about, don’t be. I mean, look, here’s a perfect example: you hated me when we first met, and–”

“I never hated you,” he protested.

She gave him a skeptical smirk, and he scowled. “I did not hate you,” he insisted. “I was… rightfully suspicious of you, given my circumstances.”

A slow smile lit her face. “Rightfully suspicious, hmm.” She leaned into his chest and curled her fingers against his abs. “And look at you now. You love me.”

He snorted and gently squeezed her arm. “Yes, I do, for some unfathomable reason,” he grumbled.

Hawke chuckled and tilted her chin up, and Fenris smiled faintly at her. Then he jumped as Cole’s vague voice drifted over his shoulder. “You love her smile. You hold, hide, hovering in her lips: hope like a lighthouse, happiness like the fireplace at home.”

Fenris whipped around and stared at Cole, who was standing just behind his left shoulder. “What – how did you – stop that!” he snapped.

Cole recoiled slightly. “I’m sorry. I wanted to help,” he said.

Fenris glared at him. Hawke, meanwhile, was positively helpless with laughter. “Well well, this is going to be a fascinating day,” she wheezed.

Fenris hunched his shoulders defensively and scowled at Cole. He could feel his ears getting hot. “Will you be doing that all day?” he demanded.

Cole twisted his fingers together. “Yes? Maybe. Sorry? It’s loud sometimes. When it’s all I can hear, I have to set it free, like birds from a cage.”

Fenris wrinkled his nose with displeasure. Then he tsked loudly at Hawke. “Kindly pull yourself together,” he scolded.

She wiped the tears of mirth from her eyes. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m– he’s just so cute,” she exclaimed. She slung an arm around Cole’s shoulders. “All right, little ghost, let’s pluck some more entertaining thoughts from people’s minds. Ooh, we should go follow Bull around for a while. He’s got an excellent imagination ripe for the plucking.”

“But I’m not a ghost,” Cole said as Hawke pulled him along.

Fenris glowered at them, then turned his scowl to Toby, who was panting at his side. “Why do you both favour this demon so greatly?” he demanded.

Toby tilted his head, and Fenris sighed. “Never mind,” he said grumpily. “Let’s catch up to them before Hawke dares him to possess someone for the fun of it.”

And so Fenris and Hawke began trailing Cole around the castle. They initially followed him quite closely, as Fenris didn’t trust him to leave anyone’s minds untouched. But at one point, when they were standing on the battlements, Cole requested – in a roundabout, indirect sort of way – that they follow him at more of a distance.

“Why?” Fenris said suspiciously.

Cole blinked benignly. “They see you,” he said.

Fenris folded his arms. “And?”

“Too bright, too much, but in a good way. Hope, help, a hero. They can’t not see you. It’s not your fault, but I can’t help when they’re looking.”

“Oh, I suppose he’s right,” Hawke said. She looked at Fenris. “People are hardly going to think their normal thoughts when the Inquisitor is around.”

Fenris started to protest, but Cole addressed her before Fenris could speak. “It’s you, too,” Cole told her. “Bright and bursting like fireworks. They can’t help but look and hear. If they see you, they’ll see me, too.”

Fenris raised an eyebrow at Hawke. For the first time today, he was slightly amused. “The demon is calling you an attention seeker,” he said.

Hawke threw her head back and laughed. “He already knows me so well.” She shrugged agreeably. “Well, I’m fine with following him at a distance if you are.”

Fenris studied Cole critically for a moment. Then he tutted. “Fine. We will follow at a distance. But if you attempt to shake us off completely, I will eject you from this castle on the spot,” he threatened.

Cole gave him a vague sort of half-smile. “All right,” he said. Then he promptly disappeared.

Fenris looked around in consternation, then rubbed his forehead. “Festis bei umo canavarum. Hawke, this cursed demon–”

“Fenris, look, it’s fine. He’s right there.” She pointed surreptitiously across the courtyard toward the tavern, where Cole was standing near the window.

Fenris peered over the battlements. Cole was pulling something from his pocket – something round and dark purple in colour.

“Is that… a plum?” Hawke asked.

Fenris nodded wordlessly, and they watched as Cole sliced the plum into pieces, then left the pieces on the windowsill of the tavern and wandered away.

Fenris was utterly perplexed. “What the–”

“Quick,” Hawke hissed. “We’d better hurry down if we want to catch up to him.”

They scrambled down to the main courtyard and pretended to be casual as they followed Cole’s dawdling path into Skyhold and down to the lower levels. They hid beside the stairs as Cole made his way to the kitchen, and a few minutes later, they watched as Cole emerged with a wheel of cheese, a small bushel of mint, and three loaves of bread – and smelling, for some reason, like burnt turnips.

“What the fuck is going on?” Hawke whispered gleefully.

“I don’t know, but I am not pleased about it,” Fenris groused, and they hurried up the stairs before the demon-boy could disappear again.

They spent the rest of the day following Cole as he did all kinds of odd things around the castle: sprinkling crumbled cheese on the floor beside bowls of crushed mint, stealing daggers from soldiers’ belts and hoarding them in a random barrel, throwing the perfectly good loaves of bread onto the battlements. Fenris was initially of a mind to stop him; the wasting of the bread and cheese in particular was making him antsy.

“Demons do not eat,” Fenris hissed to Hawke at one point. “He can’t understand what it is to starve. That’s why he is discarding all that food!”

“Hang on,” Hawke said slowly. Her eyes were wide, and she was looking at a pair of healers standing near the tavern windowsill where Cole had placed the sliced plums earlier that day.

Fenris frowned, and he and Hawke edged closer to hear their conversation. “... the spiderwebs help stop the bleeding, and they prevent wounds from getting infected,” one healer was telling the other. “Gather as many as you can.” She scratched the back of her neck. “Strangest thing, though. I can’t recall where I heard that. I think I remember… a young man?”

Fenris looked at Hawke, then at the windowsill. The sliced plums were crawling with flies… many of whom had gotten trapped in the spiderwebs that now hung in silken webs from the corners of the window.

He frowned slightly, then jumped when Cole appeared beside him. He ran an annoyed hand through his hair and studied Cole in silence for a moment.

“You put the plums there to attract flies for the spiders,” he said slowly. “So they would make webs for the healers?”

Cole nodded. “The plums are already dead. They don’t mind helping.”

Fenris lifted his chin appraisingly, and Cole unblinkingly returned his gaze. Then Fenris shifted his weight and folded his arms. “Fine. The cheese and the mint, then. What was the point of those?”

“Mice like cheese,” Cole said. “The mint was for the cats.”

Fenris narrowed his eyes. “Mint makes cats act strangely…” His gaze drifted to Hawke, who was smiling.

“That cranky cook,” she said excitedly. “She was laughing earlier today about the mint-crazy cats dancing around, remember?”

Fenris’s eyes widened, and he turned back to Cole. “You made the cats act foolish to cheer up the cook,” he said slowly.

Cole nodded again. “Kitchen fires are hot, like when Haven burned,” he explained. “The old cook lies under rocks. His head is in pieces. She needs to make it all work, so nothing will burn again. But if she laughs, she forgets for a while.”

“Hmm,” Fenris said. He studied Cole for another moment, then unfolded his arms and turned to Hawke. “Let’s find out what the rest of this demon’s antics have achieved.”

She clapped her hands as she followed him toward the stables. “This is great,” she said with relish. “A spirit scavenger hunt? This is the best thing we’ve done since Sera sent us on that mad little hunt around Val Royeaux for the Red Jennies.”

Fenris huffed, but with less annoyance than before. He still didn’t see why Cole couldn’t simply tell the healers about the spiderwebs. Or found some other way to cheer the cook up that didn’t involve wasting a week’s worth of cheese. Admittedly, Fenris was no expert at cheering people up, but surely Cole, or… or someone else could have thought of… something. Something that would also seem spontaneous and unplanned enough to make the cook laugh…

He pursed his lips in annoyance. Once again, Solas’s angry words rang in his ears. Do you scorn every being whose nature is unlike yours? Whose mode of being you do not understand?

Perhaps Fenris was – albeit grudgingly – starting to understand what Solas meant.

It was suppertime by the time Fenris and Hawke had figured out the reasoning behind all of the seemingly random things Cole had done. As the sun descended behind the west-facing mountains, Fenris and Hawke leaned against the battlements eating the leftover bread and cheese from Cole’s deeds that day, while Cole himself sat awkwardly on the ground in front of them.

Hawke sighed musically as she tucked another mouse-nibbled wedge of cheese into a bird-pecked hunk of bread. “Remind me again why you’re making me eat this possibly pestilence-ridden food?” she said to Fenris.

He swallowed his own bite of cheese. “It is not that bad. I have eaten worse,” he said chidingly. “Don’t be wasteful. Think of the people starving in the Hinterlands. They would have given a kidney for your pestilence-ridden cheese.”

Hawke huffed in amusement. “Well, if you’re going to make me sound so spoiled… Bon appétit, as the Orlesians would say.” She took a big bite of bread and cheese, then winked at him while she chewed.

Fenris smirked and took another bite of his own impromptu cheese sandwich, and they ate in silence for a few minutes more.

Then Fenris folded his arms and looked down at Cole. “So this is how you help. These convoluted sequences of tasks that eventually ease someone’s pain?”

Cole blinked benignly, and Fenris narrowed his eyes. “You also alter people’s thoughts. Do not deny it. You planted that idea about the spiderwebs in that healer’s mind. You gave her an idea she did not have before,” he accused.

Cole tilted his head quizzically. “But it helped. She healed people. They hurt less now.”

“That is not the point,” Fenris argued. “You listen to people’s thoughts. You take their… their private thoughts and speak them aloud. It’s…” He shook his head disapprovingly. “Do you hear everything that everyone is thinking?”

“Maker’s balls, I hope not,” Hawke interjected. She grimaced at Fenris. “Can you imagine trying to get anything done if you heard everyone’s every thought?”

Cole shook his head. “I don’t hear everyone. They have to need me. Pain, fear, sadness, guilt, anger, hurt: things I can fix.”

Hawke raised an eyebrow. “But everyone feels those things sometimes.”

“Yes,” Cole said simply.

Fenris and Hawke studied him in silence for a moment. Then Fenris grunted. “You’re not going to stop poking into people’s heads, are you?”

Cole bowed his head. “I… don’t know. If I stop, I might stop being me. I might become the other way. You might have to kill me.”

Fenris twisted his lips. This whole day had been… unnerving. Enlightening to some degree, but highly unnerving nonetheless. Fenris had been hoping to have this whole demon issue sorted by the end of the day, but it was turning out to be more complex than he’d hoped.

He closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead tiredly. Then Hawke leaned against his side. “So? What do you think?” she murmured.

Fenris pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment. Then he finally lifted his face and gave Cole a stern look. “You can stay. For now,” he said forbiddingly. “When you accompany us on our journeys from Skyhold, you will be supervised by Solas and Cassandra at all times until I say otherwise.”

Hawke whistled softly. “Cassandra will love that, I’m sure.”

“Her judgment mirrors mine,” Fenris reasoned. “If she deems Cole a problem, she will do what is necessary to keep us safe.”

As usual, Cole seemed unbothered by Fenris’s blatant mistrust. “Thank you,” he said. “I want to help. I will go with you where the hurts hang heavy, and I’ll help you melt them down.”

Fenris grunted. “That is… something, I suppose.” He closed his eyes once more and leaned his head back against the battlements. Would it be unseemly if he went to bed, despite the early hour? Truth be told, he wasn’t particularly tired; he’d been sleeping quite well the past couple of nights, in fact. But just yesterday, Josephine had assigned him and Hawke to the newly-renovated lord’s bedchamber, and although the huge bedroom made him feel uncomfortably entitled, he couldn’t deny how much he was enjoying the privacy.

I should get a full night’s sleep before we leave for Crestwood, he reasoned. The journey would be a solid five days by foot. But as soon as he thought about going to sleep, the usual jolt of anxiety poked at his belly; would he dream of that dark future again, or were the dreams finally gone for good?

“It’s all right,” Cole said. “You’ll sleep soundly, safe from scarlet dreams.”

A chill of realization ran down Fenris’s spine. He opened his eyes and slowly straightened. “You,” he said. He swallowed hard. “You stopped the… you stopped them?” he asked.

“Yes,” Cole said, as though this was obvious.

Fenris recoiled, and Hawke frowned. “Wait. What’s happening?” she said.

Fenris didn’t answer. He stared at Cole with mounting discomfort and anger. “I didn’t say you could do that,” he accused. “You – you went in my head without asking me!”

“Fenris, what’s going on?” Hawke asked sharply.

“It’s… it is nothing,” Fenris blustered. “I…” He glared forbiddingly at Cole. He still hadn’t told Hawke the full extent of the horrors the dark future had presented to him. He didn’t want her to know that how thoroughly her usual shining, hopeful self had crumbled into a creature of despair.

But it seemed that Cole didn’t understand the look on Fenris’s face; he was already speaking Fenris’s mind directly to Hawke. “He dreams of bloody walls, of red crystals twisting from the floor and your face and back. ‘Kill me, Varric,’ you begged, and you broke his heart.”

“What?” Hawke squeaked.

Fenris took a step toward Cole. “Shut your mouth, demon,” he barked.

Cole bowed his head and twisted his hands together. “Sorry,” he said. “I’m sorry. I thought you wanted the dreams to die. ‘Please make them stop, make them go away,’ you said, so I did.”

“I did not say that,” Fenris yelled. “I thought it. There is a difference!”

Hawke took hold of his arm. “Fenris, is this true?” she asked. “That’s what you saw in that dark future? You saw me asking Varric to kill me?”

He took a deep breath and glared at Cole, who was still wringing his hands. “It was not your place to tell,” he snarled. “I didn’t – I don’t–”

Hawke took his chin and turned his face to hers. “Fenris,” she said softly. “Is it true?”

He dragged in a deep, calming breath through his nose. “Yes,” he gritted.

She inhaled slowly, then exhaled through her lips. “All right. What else happened?” she asked matter-of-factly.

He shook his head and tried to lean away, but Hawke cradled his neck in her hands. “Fenris, talk to me,” she begged softly. “That’s all I’ve wanted since Redcliffe. I just… I know there’s something you’re not telling me. Just talk to me.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. Venhedis fasta vass, he thought.

He opened his eyes and glared at her. “You gave up,” he said bluntly. “You thought I had died, and you stopped… fighting. You gave up. You wanted to die, you – you asked Varric to kill you, but he wouldn’t. And then you did die, because–” he broke off and scrubbed a hand over his face. “You… a demon killed you. It… you sacrificed yourself to protect me from demons, and I… Hawke, I can’t–”

She surged toward him and wrapped her arms around his neck, and Fenris pressed his face against her sandalwood-scented neck. Her body was warm and solid in his arms, and he was probably squeezing her too tightly, but she wasn’t complaining, so he continued to clutch her so closely that he could feel every rise and fall of her ribs.

She turned her face toward him and pressed her mouth to his ear. “Hey. I promised you, remember?” she whispered. “I won’t ever give up, no matter what. I keep my promises to you, Fenris, all right?”

Fenris pressed his lips together hard, then buried his face in her shoulder and swallowed. Her fingertips carded gently through his hair, and he clenched his fingers tensely against her back as the fabric of her tunic grew damp beneath his cheek.

Hawke held him tightly for many long minutes, and he held her tightly in kind. The evening breeze blew through the leaves in the courtyard, and the faint strains of a lute floated up from somewhere in castle grounds, and Fenris just breathed slowly until the tight, knotted ball of tension in his chest had completely melted into Hawke’s unfortunate tunic.

He heaved a heavy sigh against her neck, and she pulled away slightly. Her thumbs carefully wiped his cheeks as she looked him in the eye. “We’re going to do everything we can to make sure that shitty future doesn’t happen,” she told him. “We protect each other, just like we’ve always done. No stupid sacrifices, and we both watch each other’s backs. All right?”

He nodded and swallowed again. “All right,” he rasped.

Hawke smiled. She kissed his cheek, then his cheekbone and his ear, and then she was hugging him again. Fenris hugged her back, but the desperation of their earlier embrace was gone. He felt looser now – loose and relaxed and… lightened somehow.

He closed his eyes and sighed. Then Cole spoke in a quiet, tentative voice. “I didn’t steal the dreams,” he said. “I stopped them from stealing your sleep. Do you… want them back?”

Fenris inhaled slowly, then pulled away from Hawke to look Cole in the eye. “No,” he said quietly. “Keep them. Or… get rid of them. Or whatever it is that you spirits do with such poison.”

Cole nodded. “All right.”

Hawke’s arm was snug around his waist, and her smile was tender and warm. He gazed at her adoringly for a moment, then raised one quizzical eyebrow. “He hasn’t exposed any of your thoughts,” he murmured to her. “Why is that?”

She smiled. “Well, I’m an open book. He probably can’t tell you anything you don’t already know.”

Fenris raised one skeptical eyebrow, and she laughed. “What, do you want Cole to tell you one of my secret thoughts?”

Fenris frowned. “No,” he said. The safety of this whole mind-reading business was iffy at best.

But Hawke only laughed again and turned to Cole. “Go ahead, then,” she said. “Pick something juicy from my head for Fenris to hear. It’s only fair.”

“Hawke, there’s no need–” Fenris protested, but it was too late. Cole tilted his head and looked at Fenris with his eerie blue eyes. “I’m scared. Maker’s balls, I’m scared,” he said.

A shiver ran down Fenris’s spine as he recognized the cadence of Hawke’s words from Cole’s mouth. “Scared, so scared, red Templars and magic in his hand and undead darkspawn, everything is insane, nothing is what it should be. But he smiles, and I’m not scared anymore. Picture his smile, think of him laughing in that deep growly voice: I’m fine, I’m safe, I’m not scared anymore.”

Fenris and Hawke were silent. Then Hawke looked up at him. “Well, now you know,” she whispered. “That’s what I do when I’m scared. I imagine you laughing.” She smiled slowly. “It’s my favourite sound.”

Fenris stared into her brilliant eyes and forced himself to breathe. He didn’t want her to be scared. He didn’t want her to worry. But before he could think twice, before he quite knew he meant to do it, he was kissing her.

He buried his hands in her short dark hair, and her arms twined tightly around his waist. As Fenris kissed her deeply and took the taste of her tongue in his mouth, all he could think was that her laugh was his favourite sound as well.

Hawke nipped his lower lip, and Fenris exhaled heavily against her lush mouth. “Come,” he whispered. “Let’s go inside.”

“Okay,” she breathed.

“Oh,” Cole said. “You don’t need to follow me anymore?”

Hawke snorted and clapped a hand over her mouth, and Fenris scowled at Cole. “No,” he said firmly. “Go stay with Solas.”

“All right,” Cole said, and he disappeared.

Fenris turned back to Hawke, and she grinned at him and twisted her fingers into his vest. “You’re blushing,” she teased.

Fenris pinned her against the battlements, and she laughed. He admired her dancing coppery eyes and savoured her lilting laughing voice, then nuzzled her cheekbone.

“I don’t want you to be scared,” he whispered.

She stroked his neck and brushed his lips with hers. “Just keep laughing for me, Fenris,” she murmured. “That’s how we’ll get through this.”

He nodded, then exhaled tremulously as Hawke licked his lower lip, and then they were kissing once more, kissing ravenously on the battlements as the navy-blue blanket of night bled across the sky.

A minute later, Hawke broke from his lips and stroked his chin with her thumb. “Let’s go to our room, shall we?” she suggested. “I have a few other favourite sounds that I’d like to hear you make.”

Her smile was wicked, and her eyes were bright and brazen with laughter. Fenris lovingly stroked her cheek with his knuckles. “Yes. Let’s go,�� he whispered.

Later that night, when the stars dotted the sky outside the balcony and the rumpled sheets lay twisted around their bare bodies in the bed they shared, Fenris fell asleep.

And when he dreamed that night, his dreams were sweet and bright.

****************************

ENDNOTE: I purposely left out the moment when the Inquisitor decides if Cole should kill the dying soldier or not, because I feel the canon writing of this scene is biased against the mercy killing: Cole approves if you tell him to let the soldier live, and there is no change in approval if you let him follow his own judgment and kill the soldier. I’m a clinician in an acute care hospital, and in my opinion, a ‘mercy killing’ for a terminal patient (also known as physician-assisted suicide or medical assistance in dying, in modern parlance) may be the most compassionate thing you can do if it is what the patient wants and nothing else can be done for them. And I personally think that Cole would feel the same.

#fenris #fenris fic #fenquisition #fenris the inquisitor #Lovers in a Dangerous Time #fenhawke #fenris/hawke #fenris x hawke #hawris #f!hawris #fenris x femhawke #fenris/femhawke #fenris x f!hawke #fenris/f!hawke #pikapeppa writes #cole #cole dragon age

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lifeofresulullah · 5 years

Text

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad: Exemplary Ethics of The Prophet: The Leader

THE OBLIGATORY MARCH

The army sets off against the tribe of Sons of Mustaliq. Victory is easily captured… However, something happens during the way back, which heralds a grave danger.

At a resting place, a dispute takes place out of a trivial cause between a Muslim from Medina and another who migrated from Mecca. Afterwards, the incident swells up fast and starts to turn into a clash between the Meccans and the Medinans. If no precaution is taken, solidarity and brotherhood among Muslims, which until then constituted the greatest pillars of their material power, is about to vanish.

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) intervenes and gives commands; the army starts to march. In fact, these are the hottest hours of the day which are always spent resting. That day a rapid march is carried on up to the evening and during the night. The next day at about noon, the permission to rest is finally given, but nobody in the army, which has been marching for nearly twenty four hours, has the power to continue yesterday’s fight. The whole army falls asleep in a faint-like state. In the meantime, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) has made initiatives to eliminate the emerging danger and the most dangerous hours for the fight to grow have passed.

THE MAN WAS RIGHT

He borrows a certain amount of dates from one of his friends. When the time to pay back comes, as he does not have the means to pay himself, he asks a Muslim from Medina to pay off his debt for him. However, the dates the Muslim from Medina gives are lower in quality. The creditor does not consent. The Muslim from Medina gets angry and says:

“Do you turn down the dates that Allah’s Messenger gives?”

The creditor humbly asks:

“If even Allah’s Messenger does not behave justly, from whom shall we expect justice?”

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is not informed about this situation. When notified, he gets sad and, with tear-filled eyes, says:

“The man is right!..”

With his command, the dates are changed.

VENDETTA

While giving a sermon in the mosque, a recently converted Muslim who was seeking a vendetta stood up. He interrupted the speech of the Prophet Muhammad (PBUH);

-“O apostle of Allah!” By pointing a group who was sitting in the mosque, he says, “Their ancestors killed a person from our family. Therefore, we demand killing someone from them in response” The prophet Muhammad (PBUH) answered calmly but in a decisive manner:

“Father’s revenge cannot be taken over the son”

WHEN HE EXTENDS THE STICK

He is distributing the spoils of the war among his friends. He is pressured by the crowd. Someone leans on the Prophet with his weight. He wants to push away the man with the small stick in his hand and to ease the crowd around him. However, the stick accidentally scratches the side of the man’s mouth and it bleeds a little. When Prophet Muhammad sees this, he (PBUH) immediately stops distribution. He extends the stick to the man and asks him to do the same to him and to settle. He is serious. Everybody is in bewilderment. His friend hesitates a while but then pushes the stick away with his hand and says:

“O Allah’s Messenger! I forgive you.”

YOU HAVE NEVER TOLD A LIE

It was the first and most difficult years of his prophethood. Of the hundred doors he went in order to explain his religion, perhaps only one was opened. One day, he gathered his close relatives in the foot of a hill near Mecca. He was going to show his personality and previous life as a proof of the truthiness of His claim as a prophethood. He asked his relatives:

“If I say there is an army of enemy behind this hill and preparing for a raid, will you believe me without asking any proof?”

They said, “Yes” because up to now no one has witnessed any lie of you. We swear that you are “Al-Amin” (the Trustworthy)”.

During the rest of the conversation, perhaps the same people there refused his invitation to the Islam and his prophethood, but in fact they had approved him without being aware of it…

THE SUN IN ONE OF MY HANDS, AND THE MOON IN THE OTHER…

The fear Quraysh’s notables have is growing more and more. In spite of all the precautions they have taken, the grouping around Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) is ever widening. They gather and decide to “try it the sweeter way”. They choose a deputy whom they believe will be influential on him. The deputy starts speaking to the Prophet (PBUH):

“O Muhammad, you hurt our gods, sowed seeds of dispute and enmity among us, destroyed our solidarity and unity, brought us all sorrow and suffering. If you want wealth, let us make you the richest person of our land. If you want strength, power, and leadership, let us make you our leader. If you want a beautiful woman, tell us, she will be yours. If you are ill and this claim of prophethood stems from that, let us find the best doctors and get you treated.”

With the confidence that a human being cannot possibly resist such offers, the deputy finishes his speech and waits for his answer. Now Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) has the word:

“I do not want property. Neither do I have a wish for rulership. And I do not have any desire for anyone other than Khadijah (his wife). I am not ill. I am only a weak slave of Allah. It is He who sent me as a messenger to you. If you accept this, follow me. Otherwise, do not ever forget this: if you put the sun in one of my hands, and the moon in the other, I shall not turn back from this cause.”

FIFTEEN DAYS LATER

One of his friends comes near him and begs. He is not pleased with that; he thinks that everyone should cater for themselves and not be a burden to others. Instead of giving something and sending him away, he asks:

“Do you have something worth money in your house?”

“There is a sack I use as a sheet and bed and a cup I drink water from.”

“Go and bring them here.”

When the things are brought to the mosque, they are auctioned. They are sold for two silver coins. Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) hands him the money and says: With one silver coin, buy food. And with the other, buy an axe and bring it to me.

His friend carries out what is said. When he comes with the axe, Prophet Muhammad is preparing a handle for the axe himself. He puts the axe on the handle and gives it to his friend. He says:

“Now go to the forest, cut wood and sell it. Let us meet fifteen days later.”

His friend comes back fifteen days later. He is beaming with happiness. He says:

“O Allah’s Messenger! I saved up ten silver coins.”

And he shows the money. Now the Prophet is also smiling:

“Buy some food and clothes with the money. Get what you need and do not forget that it is more honorable for someone to stand on his own feet than begging. Begging is only for the ill and the disabled.”

WHEN YOU ARE LOST

A nomad Arab comes with the intention of becoming a Muslim, but his decision is not certain yet. In order to make it clear, he asks Prophet Muhammad (PBUH):

“What are you calling people to?

“To worship only Allah. It is He whom you call in trouble; He saves you. It is He whom you call in drought; He makes the ground green. It is He whom you call when you are lost in a desert; He causes you to find your way.”

The man’s all questions are answered because Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) explained the religion he is calling into in a way that the man would understand.

IT SOMETIMES HAPPENS

One of his friends shares a big distress, which he cannot mention to anybody, with Prophet Muhammad (PBUH):

“O Allah’s Messenger! My wife gave birth to a child; its skin is dark. But I am white.”

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) understands the problem. Tactfully, he handles the matter in another way. He asks a question without waiting for him to finish:

“Do you have camels?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Then, what are their colors?”

“Generally red.”

“Are there grey ones, too?”

“Yes, sometimes.”

“Where does this grey color come from?”

“Probably, they take after one of their ancestors.”

“The child your wife gave birth to maybe takes after one of its ancestors.”

His friend leaves with a satisfied conscience and a happy face.

A SERVANT FOR FATIMA

His daughter, Fatima (May Allah be Pleased with er), is leading an extremely troubled marriage life. With the words of her husband, Ali (May Allah be Pleased with Him):

“We did not have a servant at home. Fatima carried out all the work herself. We were staying in a house consisting of only one room. In this room, Fatima would light the stove and try to cook. Many times, while blowing the fire, sparks would make holes in her clothes. Therefore, her clothes were full of holes. This was not the only thing she did. Among her chores were making bread, and carrying water needed in the house. Moreover, her hands were calloused because of turning the mill wheel and her back was calloused because of carrying water.”

Those days captives of war are brought to Medina. They are distributed among needy Muslims to help with the housework. Ali says to his wife:

“Go and ask one for us from your father.”

Fatima does. However, her father’s, the Prophet’s, answer is negative:

“My daughter, the needs of my poor friends who are sleeping in the mosque and are busy with learning come before yours. Sorry, but before providing for them, I cannot do anything for you.”

EVEN IF SHE WERE MUHAMMAD'S DAUGHTER, FATIMA

Mecca had just been conquered. The daughter of the chief of the tribe Sons of Mahzum commits theft. The name of the thief is Fatima. She is brought to Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) to be punished. However, the political state of affairs of the time necessitates that the relations with the Sons of Mahzum should not be upset. Having evaluated the delicacy of the situation, some of his friends appoint someone as a mediator whom they think Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) cannot turn down. This is the son of the Prophet’s adopted child Zayd; namely, young Usama. In other words, his grandson in a way.

Usama says:

“O Allah’s Messenger! Will you forgave this woman for the sake of her father…”

However, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) experiences one of the angriest moments of his life. His answer is stern:

“What you are asking now is the reason why other peoples before you were eradicated. Among them, too, when someone respected and powerful committed a crime, s/he was forgiven; but when someone from the public did, s/he was punished. By God I swear, if the one who committed this crime were not the daughter of the chief of the tribe Sons of Mahzum, rather if she were the daughter of Allah’s Messenger, Fatima, I would decree the same punishment.”

He gives the command and the thief’s punishment is carried out.

WHOEVER DECEIVES US

He is inspecting the market. He plunges his hand into the wheat sack on the counter of one of the shops. The grains on the surface are large, shiny, and of high quality whereas from the inside he takes out wet and lower quality grains. Frowning, he asks the shopkeeper for the reason and the shopkeeper says:

“I cannot sell otherwise…” upon which the Prophet says:

“Whoever deceives us is not one of us.”

He gives the command and the wet grains are brought up to the surface and they are sold that way.

MY OWN PRECAUTION

On the plains of Badr, the first serious and decisive war of Islam is about to start. Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) has stationed his small army in war po

sition and waits for the enemy to start, which is three times larger than his army. In the meantime, one of his friends, Hubab son of Mundhir, who is regarded as an expert in war positions, comes to him and asks:

“O Allah’s Messenger! Did Allah command you to position the army this way?”

“No, it is my own precaution.”

“Then, O Allah’s Messenger, the army is positioned in the wrong way.”

And he explains the correct way of positioning in accordance with the discipline of military. Without showing a hint of contradiction and caprice, Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) follows his friend’s advice. The army’s position of war is changed. A couple of hours later Islam wins its first victory.

Prophet Muhammad (PBUH) would pay attention to competence and worthiness in appointing authorities to different ranks in administration and he would appoint the deserving people even if they were young or not from noble families. In the rightful matters, he would want obedience to himself and to his authorities, but would state that in the matters contrary to justice and truth, the community did not have the responsibility to obey. Thus, seeing it necessary to obey the ruler within the realm of justice, he would not see the public as compelled to serve himself and would not regard himself above them. On the contrary, he was one of them.

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thatishogwash · 6 years

Text

Love is in the Stunts

KuroDai Mid-Birthday Weekend 2018

Day 1: Phenomenon - Celebrity AU

AO3

Kuroo, along with half of the cast and crew, watch as one of the main actors for the would-be historical action piece storm off the set. Kuroo isn’t all that surprised, the man had been throwing childish fits since day one as if he didn’t realize what he was getting himself into. Nothing seemed to be how he wanted it to be and most of the crew spent their valuable time trying to talk him back from ledges instead of doing their actual jobs, which meant they were behind schedule even before they started filming. Kuroo looks down at the head of wardrobe and costume design, Yachi Hitoka. Yachi is fairly young and sometimes her nerves get the best of her but Kuroo already know she’s got a backbone of steel and after a small pep talk to herself she could get anything she set her mind to done. She also happened to be brilliant at what she did, the elaborate kimono she had crafted fit his long form perfectly, though she was making minor edits before the first day of shooting tomorrow.

Yachi had lost her laser-like focus as she looked over at the director, Ennoshita Chikara. Ennoshita was only a few years older than Yachi, young to be directing such a big production but he had won several awards for his independent films and was quickly picked up by a large production company. This film would be his first big one and one of the main actors had just stormed off. His face betrayed nothing, his eyes were tired looking and his shoulders were relaxed but his hands were curled into tightly balled fists. Ennoshita and Yachi had attended the same high school and she had worked on his previous films with him. Kuroo could see the clear worry written all over Yachi’s face.

Recasting was a dangerous road to go down. The actor that had stormed out might have been a big man child but he was a talented man child, none of his pomp and arrogance ever came across on screen and the public loved him. The character of the mild mannered but loyal bodyguard would be a tough one to fill, especially with the direction that Ennoshita planned to that the relationship between the bodyguard and Kuroo’s own character.

“Yo director-san!” Tanaka Ryuunosuke was the stunt coordinator for the film, along with being an extra in it. He was a childhood friend of Ennoshita’s and had to be held back a couple times when the actor who had stormed off got into Ennoshita’s face. Tanaka swung a muscled arm around Ennoshita’s shoulders, giving the other man no choice but to follow him back into the office where the door was closed for privacy.

“Yachi-san?” Kuroo questioned softly, snapping Yachi out of her daze.

“Oh! I’m so sorry!” Yachi said quickly, bending back down to make her final adjustments on the kimino. “How does that feel?” She asked, fingers running over the fabric covering Kuroo’s legs to straighten it out before backing away. Kuroo stepped off the heightened pedestal he was on and walked around. The garments were heavier than anything Kuroo was used to wearing with more layers that promised to make him sweat under the bright studio lights but Kuroo had to admit it was a beautiful piece of work. It was the perfect blend of historical accuracy and modern adaptation, just as the story Ennoshita was trying to create with his movie. Kuroo had been entranced the moment he read the script and was only that much more inclined to do it when he heard a rather famous actor had agreed to play the role of the emperor.

“Yachi,” Oikawa whined as he put away his phone after taking a minimum of 40 selfies. “What about me?”

Oikawa Tooru was admittedly probably one of the best actors of their generation. He was one of the select few child actors who managed to crawl their way out of that ambiguous time and come out stronger on the other side. He had a loyal following that only seemed to grow with each new project he did and every magazine he graced the cover of. Kuroo was humble enough to admit that he didn’t think they’d ever cross paths, let alone be in the same movie together. But Oikawa was clever, far more clever than his public persona let on, and he recognized Ennoshita’s talent and how far it would take him.

“Your wardrobe suits you perfectly.” Yachi said diplomatically, not mentioning that Oikawa technically didn’t even have to be there. Despite Oikawa’s longtime fame and the wealth he’s accumulated since he was a child, he still showed up for every single meeting, dress rehearsal, lighting and sound check, and everything in between. Yachi was also very carefully not saying that Kuroo’s own wardrobe needed a lot of last minute changes due to much of it not fitting.

Kuroo’s previous project had been a guest appearance as a vigilante on a popular tv show. He had appeared in five episodes and had been shirtless for a total of seven scenes. The no carb, high protein diet had been torturous along with the hours of training and working out he did for the action scenes, but Kuroo couldn’t deny the results were there. Kuroo had always been on the lean side, good genetics and his height made that possible. Yachi had made his wardrobe to fit his measurements before he had started training for his role as a vigilante and things had changed since then. Kuroo had apologized profusely but Yachi had waved it off and worked hard to make sure everything not only fit Kuroo but looked good too.

As Yachi helped Kuroo carefully remove each layer he couldn’t help but look over at the closed door and wonder what solution they were coming to in there.

-------------------

Kuroo let out a long moan specifically designed to earn him a glare from Kenma. Kuroo continued to eat the tempura, moaning with each new piece until Kenma kicked him and Yaku threatened bodily harm unless he stopped. Truthfully it was more so Bokuto threatening to take away the food that made Kuroo stop, but honestly it wasn’t all for show.

“I haven’t had anything fried in months.” Kuroo complained as he snatched another piece and shoved it in his mouth. The strict diet he had been on for his last role was broken the second they wrapped up but considering Yachi had made so many adjustments to his wardrobe he was being good about what he ate.

Except it was rare for all of them to be able to get together. Kuroo saw Kozume Kenma more than the others but not nearly as much as Kuroo would like, though Kenma might argue further Kuroo knew he was missed. It was good to have people who weren’t in the same business as him even if it made it difficult for all of them to gather in the same place more than a handful of times a year. Kuroo was always busy with one project or another and Kenma was a full time app designer.

Bokuto Koutarou was a professional athlete. They had met when Kuroo had gotten injured on set and Bokuto was seeing the same physical therapist for an old elbow injury. Bokuto was one of the silliest people Kuroo had ever met, he was always coming up with wild schemes and saying the most ridiculous things that almost made sense. The guy was always one of the most hardworking people Kuroo had ever met, Bokuto wasn’t good at anything but sports but by god was he good at those.

Yaku Morisuke was an old high school friend of Kuroo’s, they had turned severe hatred into a lifelong friendship. Whenever Kuroo was feeling adrift or too far from who he wanted to be, he could always count on the daycare teacher to straighten him out.

“Have they found someone to replace that actor yet?” Kenma asked. It had been three days since he stormed off the set and Kuroo hadn’t been able to do any of his scenes because all of them involved his bodyguard. He could see the stress settling on everyone's shoulders as time continued to crawl on.

“Not that I know of.” Kuroo answered honestly. Technically he wasn’t allowed to speak of such things but they were in the safety of Yaku’s apartment and Kuroo trusted the three of them enough not to repeat anything he told them. “Oikawa’s just as amazing as everyone says he is.” Bokuto asks if Kuroo can set him up on a date with Oikawa, which Kuroo instantly denies.

“But why not? Do you think I’m not good looking enough for him?” Bokuto asked before curling up a bicep with a grin. Kenma snorts as Yaku gives the large muscle an appreciative glance.

“I think he’d eat you alive.” Kuroo answered. “And then I’d have to hire some guys to break his legs and one of those guys would turn out to be a cop and I’d be thrown in prison-”

“Don’t retell one of your own movies you tool!” Yaku called foul, hitting Kuroo with a pillow as they moved onto other subjects.

-------------

Kuroo sat back as they reset the scene, script balanced on his knee but mostly forgotten as he watched Terushima and Yachi step back from Oikawa in full outfit and makeup. Terushima Yuuji was a talented makeup artist that Kuroo thought was going to be a big problem considering he hit on everyone, especially Yachi who was clearly uncomfortable with his advances. Kuroo had been about to step in during one of these interactions, about to play mediator before someone like Tanaka got whiff of Terushima’s bad attitude and caused a scene. But a second after Yachi had recoiled she had sprung to life, finger pointing and telling Terushima that she didn’t like the way he talked to her and how uncomfortable he made her feel, unsafe on her own set when approached so aggressively by someone much larger than herself. Kuroo had expected the makeup artist to scoff and continue his ways but he had actually looked sheepish and the next day he had bowed deeply to Yachi, apologizing and promising that he would stop.

To Terushima’s credit he did stop the aggressive flirting. Kuroo suspected that he was just a flirt by nature so he didn’t cut it off completely but he always gave people their space, always asked for permission before stepping closer, and had mostly become a better person. Kuroo had been proud of little Yachi for telling him off but in a way that was constructive, allowed Terushima to see things from her point of view and forgave him when he made a conscious effort to better himself.

Kuroo still wasn’t a huge fan of Terushima’s but he couldn’t hold it against the kid forever when clearly no malice or ill intent was meant by it. But he still watched Terushima, making sure the other man didn’t slip back into bad habits. If Kuroo had to talk to him he wouldn’t be nearly as nice as Yachi was.

The sound of a motorcycle coming closer had most heads swiveling around to see who it was. It was a closed set, which meant whoever was driving up had the credentials to be there but Kuroo didn’t remember anyone riding a motorcycle to set before.

“Was that a motorcycle? Is Daichi here?” Tanaka popped up from seemingly nowhere, head swivelling around after the motorcycle had cut off. Moments later a broad figure walked into the large warehouse where they were housing several sets for the movie they were working on. The man was wearing a black helmet, the visor tinted so nothing could be seen inside, along with a black leather jacket, dark washed jeans, and old brown boots finished the look. “Daichi!” Tanaka did a running leap and the man must have been used to it because he braced one leg slightly behind him before catching Tanaka, making it look easy even though Tanaka was tall and muscular.

“Oh, excuse me!” Yachi dipped her head in a quick bow before walking over to the stranger and Tanaka. The man released Tanaka, who hopped to his feet and immediately made room for Yachi. The man removed his helmet, revealing a would-be plain looking, tanned face. What could have been plain features were made striking but a large and genuine smile that made his eyes crinkle and a dimple appear in his left cheek. “It is so good to see you.” Yachi said with genuine enthusiasm as she took the helmet despite the mans protests.

“Ennoshita is back here.” Tanaka lead them both away, where Ennoshita had walked off with a few of the lighting people to find something that wasn’t as harsh as the ones they were using now that washed out too much color from the set and actors.

“What do you know?” Oikawa asked and Kuroo turned to see him addressing a grinning Terushima.

“So much but information isn’t free.” Terushima turned to his make up kit, reorganizing it. Oikawa narrowed his eyes.

“What do you want?” Oikawa asked, voice wary.

“You know what I want.” Terushima threw another grin over his way. Kuroo watched with amusement, propping his chin onto a closed fist as he looked at Oikawa, wondering what his response would be.

“I’ll figure it out on my own eventually.” Oikawa scoffed, adjusting his yukata with practiced hands, a fake air of nonchalance that even Terushima could see through. Terushima went back to organizing his kit while Oikawa stared holes in the ground. “Okay! One instagram picture but I get to choose what we do and how we look.” Terushima let out an excited shout and they shook on it. Poor Terushima had no idea what he was getting into, Kuroo had once witnessed Oikawa take no less than a hundred pictures in four different locations before declaring all of them ugly.

“His name is Sawamura Daichi,” Terushima revealed as Oikawa brought out his phone. Kuroo stood up, placing his script on his chair before hovering over Oikawa’s shoulder to see what he could dig up. “He’s a stuntman who has worked all over Asia but the past couple years he’s been in a long term contract with a pretty big company in America coordinating a series of superhero movies. He’s also a senior member of the film club Ennoshita, Tanaka, and Yachi were in.” Kuroo read the long list of films that Sawamura had not only coordinated all the stunts but was an extra in too. He had won awards and there were pictures shared by A-List celebrities all around the world crowing his greatness. Sawamura Daichi’s instagram was a mixture of various stunts, gym pictures, and a plethora of furry creatures.

Before they could dig any deeper Ennoshita walked out and called for everyone to gather. He introduced their newest cast member, Sawamura who gave a good natured grin and bowed before asking them to take care of him. Kuroo tried not to think of pictures of revealing tank tops, flexing muscles, or a smiling face as a cat butt his head up against Sawamura’s chin.

Kuroo tried not to think about those things and failed miserably in doing so.

----------------

Kuroo finds he loves doing scenes with Oikawa. Oikawa real personality is a bit too much for Kuroo, too much intensity, too much scrutiny, too much pride but all that focused into his character provides the perfect sounding board for Kuroo’s own acting abilities. There’s no bend or give in Oikawa but he does find the perfect way to balance and blend with whoever he’s sharing screen time with. He makes Kuroo better and Kuroo’s humble enough to admit that.

Real Oikawa though is a bit childish and gets jealous easily, it’s almost laughable how easy Kuroo finds it to provoke the other male and he knows that’s not always a good thing. Acting is an odd job to have, it’s difficult to find boundaries when those get blurred so often in their field. It’s why all of Kuroo’s closet friends aren’t in the same business, he needs people to ground him, to feel comfortable just being himself and not being on all the time.

Oikawa wants to work out all of Kuroo’s secrets. Kuroo doesn’t think Oikawa wants to do anything unsavory like post them on twitter or sell them to a trashy tabloid magazine but it’s still unnerving to be the center of that high intensity focus. Kuroo enjoys his privacy, he likes where he is in life, likes the acting roles he takes and his small niche of loyal fans. He doesn’t want more fame and he already makes a comfortable living wage, all of that confuses Oikawa who is always aiming for a high goal, he can’t understand people who are just content with what they have.

Kuroo had been Oikawa’s focus for a while, until Sawamura Daichi came along and stole the spotlight. Kuroo couldn’t say he was sad to see it go, but he pitied the other man. Oikawa couldn’t believe that Sawamura was as wholesome and stalwart as he appeared to be, but with each passing day he just proved himself to be a good old country boy. A country boy with thighs that could crush a watermelon and a smile that made angels cry, but Kuroo was beginning to think that was a more him thing than anyone else.

Kuroo shoved those feelings deep down inside him because godforbid Oikawa discovered Kuroo’s little parttime crush and weakness for men with deep voices and soft eyes.

It was several days after Sawamura’s initial introduction that Kuroo found the other man in a slightly compromising position. Kuroo had been walking around the set, generally staying out of people's way and avoiding Oikawa who wanted to go out for drinks afterwards and get to know each other, as if Kuroo was born yesterday. His headphones were pulled over his eyes, he had a penchant for American blues and alternative rock, when he spotted Sawamura sitting amongst racks of clothes and discarded props. His back was ramrod straight, his knee bouncing with anxious energy and there was a deep frown on his usually smiling face.

Kuroo would usually never pass up the opportunity to tease someone, especially when Sawamura was oh so teasable, but the slightly battered and crinkled script in Sawamura’s white knuckled grip made him think it through more. Sawamura was a stuntman whose career was boiled down to Thug Number 2 and Attacker Number 4. It must be nerve wrecking being thrust into a speaking role, expected to carry part of the plot on his, admittedly nice, shoulders. The rest of them had time to study the script, to talk things over with Ennoshita, and slowly slide into their roles.

“Having trouble Sawamura?” Kuroo asked, purposefully dragging out the syllables of Sawamura’s name. He had really meant to offer help but something about the other man brought out the teenager in Kuroo. Sawamura looked up, his leg stopped moving and he looked like he was about to give false assurances but then he sighed.

“I’m not an actor.” Sawamura admitted. Kuroo put his headphones around his neck, letting the tones of Muddy Waters continue on as he sat in front of Sawamura.

“Ennoshita isn’t an idiot, he wouldn’t have asked you to fill this role if he didn’t have confidence in your abilities to pull it off.” Kuroo held his hand out for the script and Sawamura handed it over. Kuroo looked at the first couple lines, knew the familiar scene and couldn’t help but grin up at Sawamura. “Is it the lines giving you troubles or the fact that you have to say it to a man?” Kuroo knew he wasn’t being particularly fair, but he had gone most of his career with people asking him frankly bigoted and homophobic questions. He could work with Sawamura if he was either of those things, but it was best to know it now so Kuroo could swallow down his anger and if he was being honest with himself, disappointment too.

“Ennoshita made me aware of the role I would be playing.” Sawamura seemed to pull back on his own frustration. “Men or women, I don’t really care but it doesn’t change the fact that I’ve never had to do any of those type of scenes before. The most I’ve had to do is yell things like ‘Get him’, and yeah I’ve gotten very good at being punched but this is-” Sawamura made an aborted motion with his hand but Kuroo still understood. It was about some heavy emotions, it was a relationship that had to be believable otherwise it would create a disconnect with the audience.

“Okay, tell me what you know about the character.” Kuroo asked. “Who is the actor here? You did ask for my help after all so trust the process.”

“I don’t think I asked for your help at all.” Sawamura grumbled but he straightened up. “He’s a bodyguard to the daimyo, a trained samurai in a time where samurai’s are coming to an end. He has no living family, his only purpose in life is to protect.”

“And his relationship with the daimyo?” Kuroo asked.

“He loves him but he thinks of himself as lesser, unworthy of that type of love but it doesn’t matter to him because all he wants to do is be by his side.” Sawamura’s cheeks are a little pink and Kuroo finds it adorable but he forces himself to concentrate. “He’ll never make the first move because that would be stepping outside the boundaries he’s created, he would think it’d be disrespectful. He loves the daimyo he protects and would give up his life for him without question.” Kuroo had to clear his throat twice before he could speak again.

“Well you’ve got the characterization down.” Kuroo handed the script back. “So let's see how your acting abilities are.”

They run through lines together. Sawamura isn’t bad but he wouldn’t be winning awards anytime soon. There’s a certain stiffness to his deliveries, which actually works quite well with the respectful and rule abiding samurai he’s playing, but there’s a hesitancy there that someone who spent their entire life preparing for their role in society wouldn’t have. Kuroo knows it’s nerves and he knows it’s because Sawamura won’t take his eyes off the script, concentrating too hard on getting the wording exactly right to put real emotion behind it.

“You need to get off script.” Kuroo said after his name had been called. He stood up and stretched out his long body. There were people who did better with things like tele prompts but it was clear despite Sawamura’s staple of society looks, he was a bit of a wild card and needed to have the freedom to put a bit of himself into the character. “Ennoshita told us at our first reading that the words weren’t as important as long as-”

“The emotion behind them was conveyed.” Sawamura grinned ruefully down at his script. A brilliant idea came to Kuroo that would allow him to sneak out of drinks with Oikawa while getting to know Sawamura better.

“Do you want to go over lines after filming?” Sawamura looked up, surprise written on his face.

“I’m learning the stunts from Tanaka after but if you don’t mind sticking around?” Sawamura asked, a hesitant smile on his face. Oh no, Kuroo thought as he nodded without a second thought, he was definitely in trouble.

#kurodaiweekend #kurodai #sawamura daichi #kuroo tetsurou #haikyuu!!#my writing #haikyuu

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basicsofislam · 6 years

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THE CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN OF THE PROPHET (PBUH) : Hasan (r.a.)

The Prophet (pbuh) married his beloved daughter Hz. Fatima off to Hz. Ali upon the order of Allah. Both of them were brought up and educated by the Messenger of Allah. Therefore, they led a life that could serve as a model for all Muslims. The Prophet (pbuh) visited them frequently and gave them various advice; he dealt with all of their problems.

It was the 3rd year of the Migration. About one year passed after their happy marriage. Fatima was pregnant. This rejoiced all of the Muslims, primarily the Prophet.

Finally, the day determined by Allah came. The Prophet sent his nanny Umm Ayman to Hz. Fatima’s house. He advised her to read Ayatu’l-Kursiyy and the chapters of al-Falaq and an-Nas. Hz. Umm Ayman went to Hz. Ali’s house without losing any time. She did what the Prophet told her. After a while, Hz. Hasan was born.

As soon as the Prophet heard the news of the birth, he hurried to his daughter's house. He was very happy. He said, “Where is my grandson? Show him to me!” They brought Hz. Hasan in swaddling clothes. He held the baby and cuddled him. Then, he asked, “What did you name him?” Hz. Ali said, “Harb (War)”. The Prophet said,

“You will definitely be called by your names and your fathers' names on the Day of Judgment. Therefore, give nice names to your children.”

Then, the Prophet recited adhan to the baby's right ear and iqamah to his left ear. He changed his name as “Hasan”.[ Mustadrak, 3: 165; Usdu’l-Ghaba, 2: 10; Musnad, 5: 194. ]

Two rams were sacrificed on the seventh day of Hz. Hasan’s birth. His hair was weighed and its weight was given to the poor in silver. He was also circumcised.

The house of Hz. Fatima had a different significance in the eye of the Prophet. It was the abode for the generation of sayyids. The Prophet started to visit her daughter more frequently and loved his grandson, by smelling him and putting him on his shoulders.

Once, he put Hz. Hasan on his back. A Companions saw this and said, “O child! What a nice mount you have!” The Prophet (pbuh) said, “He is a nice rider too.”[ Tirmidhi, Manaqib: 31. ]

Once, the Prophet was caressing Hz. Hasan. Aqra bin Habis (r.a.) arrived; he said, “O Messenger of Allah! Do you love children? I have ten children but I do not kiss any of them.” The Prophet said, “He who shows no mercy, will receive no mercy.”[ at-Targhib, 3: 203. ]

Hz. Hasan sometimes visited his grandfather and talked to him. Once, he went to see his grandson. He stayed there for a long time. It was late and dark. The Messenger of Allah (pbuh) said to him, “Go home now!” Abu Hurayra was there, too. He said, “O Messenger of Allah! Shall I take him home?” The Prophet did not allow him. Meanwhile, a light shone and Hz. Hasan went home easily thanks to that light.[ Hayatu’s-Sahaba, 3: 451. ]

The Messenger of Allah loved Hz. Hasan very much and advised his ummah to love him. He said, “O Allah! I love him. Love him and those who love him.”[ Muslim, Fadailu’s-Sahaba: 56. ] Thus, he stated that Allah would love a person who loved Hz. Hasan. This deep love of the Prophet's toward Hz. Hasan was not due to kinship only. It had more important reasons. Badiuzzaman Said Nursi states the following regarding the issue:

“Yes, the Most Noble Prophet (pbuh) used to take Hasan (r.a.) tenderly into his arms and kiss his head for the sake of the luminous, blessed, Mehdi-like descendents who would spring from him, like Shah Geylani, Ghawth al-A'zam, who would be the inheritors of prophethood and would bear the sacred Shari'a of Muhammad. He saw with the eye of prophethood the sacred service and duty they would perform in the future, and approved and applauded them. He kissed Hasan's head as a sign of approval and encouragement... Yes, Shah Geylani has a large part in his kissing Hasan's head.”[ Lem’alar, s. 18. ]

Hz. Hasan about whom the Prophet said, “He is my basil that I smell in this world” and “He is the master of the youths of Paradise”, was brought up and educated by the Messenger of Allah (pbuh). He learnt many things from his grandfather. Hasan's heart became very sad when he lost his grandfather when he was eight and his mother six months after him. However, he was consoled by the fact that death does not mean disappearance and that he would be able to see them again in Paradise.

Hz. Hasan’s body from his head to his navel resembled that of the Prophet. Therefore, Hz. Fatima loved him by saying, “my baby who resembles the Prophet but not Ali”.

Hz. Hasan was distinguished for his generosity. He gave all of his property to the poor twice and half of his property three times. When the grandson of the Prophet had two pairs of shoes, he would definitely give one pair to the poor. He always gave sadaqah. When he bought something, he would bargain and try to get things cheap. This attracted the attention of the Muslims. Once, somebody said to him, “You give thousands of dirhams to the poor but when you buy something, you bargain for a long time.” Hz. Hasan explained why he did so as follows:

“We give money to the poor for the sake of Allah. It is not enough no matter how much we give. In business, deceiving is possible. We bargain because we do not want to be deceived because being deceived originates from lack of mind and causes one's property to decrease.”

Hz. Hasan was a Companion who worshipped a lot. He performed prayers and fasting a lot. He went to hajj from Madinah to Makkah on foot 25 times.

Hasan (r.a.) was away from pride and arrogance; he was a modest person. He would accept the invitations of the people whether they were poor or rich. Once, he was passing by a group of Bedouins. They were eating plain bread. He greeted them. The Bedouins answered his greeting. They said, “O grandson of the Messenger of Allah! Come and eat with us.” Hz. Hasan said, “I will. Allah does not like conceited people.” He sat down and ate plain bread with them. When he was about to leave, he said, “I accepted your invitation; now I invite you to my house.” Thus, he invited them to dinner.

Hz. Hasan gave advice to the believers from time to time. Once, he gave the following advice:

“The world slams a person who desires the world. A person who does not attach his heart to the world does not care who obtains worldly riches. A person who loves the world becomes the slave of the rich. A person whose yesterday and today are equal is at a loss. A person whose yesterday is better than his today is at a complete loss. A person who regards himself perfect actually has a lot of incompleteness. Tender-mindedness is a jewel for man. Loyalty is treasure. Haste is frivolity. It is a stain to be friends with those whose hearts are attached to the world. It causes suspicions to be friends with bad people.”

The beloved grandson of the Prophet was distinguished with his courage too. During the mischievous times when Hz. Uthman was the Caliph, he kept guard with his brother Hz. Husayn at the door of Hz. Uthman upon the wish of his father. He prevented the mischievous people from entering the house through the door. However, he could not prevent the raving men from entering the house through the chimney and martyring Hz. Uthman.

Years after this incident, Hz. Hasan became very sorry when his father was wounded. He went over to his father by crying. When his father asked why he was crying, he said, “How should I not cry? You are on the last day of the world and first day of the hereafter.” Hz. Ali told him not to cry. Then, he said he would give him some advice, that he should keep his advice and that he would always benefit from his advice.

Hz. Hasan asked, “What is your advice, dad?” Hz. Ali spoke as follows:

“The greatest wealth is wisdom; the greatest poverty is stupidity. The worst ignorance is vanity; and the best superiority is high ethics. Do not make friends with a fool because when he tries to do you good he will do you harm. Do not make friends with a liar because he will make you visualize very near the things which lie at a great distance and will make you see at the great distance the things which are near to you. Do not approach a miser because he will not give you what you need at the time of your dire need. Do not be friendly with a vicious and wicked person because he will sell you and your friendship at the cheapest price.”[ Hayatu’s-Sahaba, 3: 370. ]

A little while after this speech, Hz. Ali passed away. He went to the gardens of Paradise from the dungeons of the world. He rejoined the Prophet, Hz. Abu Bakr, Hz. Umar and Hz. Uthman.

His death saddened the Muslims. The people were in a daze and did not know what to do. At that moment, Hz. Hasan stood up. After praising Allah, he made the following effective speech:

“O people! Tonight, a man has died whom the first Muslims did not outrun with good deeds, nor did the last ones catch up with him in pleasing acts. The Messenger of Allah would send him to wars. Jibril would stand on his right and Mikail on his left. He would not return from the battlefield until Allah had given him victory. He died on this night, when Isa (Christ) ascended to heaven, and when the repentance of Children of Israel was accepted.

“Those who have recognized me knows me. As for those who have not, let him know that I am the (grand)son of the Holy Prophet. I am the son of the bearer of the good news, and the warner. I am the son of the Caller to Allah by His permission. I am the son of the bright lamp. I am the son of the person who was sent as mercy to people. I am from a family whose members Allah kept away from uncleanness and made them totally purified. I am from a household whose love Allah made an obligation on every Muslim. In a verse, Allah said to His Prophet, 'Say: I do not ask of you any reward for it but love for my near relatives;...“

After this nice speech of Hz. Hasan’s, the Muslims paid allegiance to Hz. Hasan and chose him as the caliph. In the following days, the number of those who paid allegiance to him reached 40. 000. Thus, the beloved grandson of the Prophet became the caliph of the Muslims living in Iraq, Hejaz, Khorasan, Yemen, Makkah and Madinah. However, the people of Egypt and Damascus did not recognize his caliphate. They had paid allegiance to Muawiyah beforehand.

Uniformity among Muslims could not be secured. It looked as if there would be a war and the blood of Muslims would be shed. In the seventh month of Hz. Hasan’s caliphate, two armies confronted at Madayin. When Amr Ibn As, who was with Muawiya, saw Hz. Hasan’s army, he said, “I see such an army confronting me that it will not return before eliminating the army against it.” Thus, he had to admit the power of Hz. Hasan’s army.

However, Hz. Hasan did not want Muslim blood to be shed. He did not pursue a high rank or position. Besides, he was very disturbed by the acts of dissidence and mischief that started during the caliphate of Hz. Uthman and that caused Muslims to fight one another instead of serving Islam. That day, he had a big opportunity. He could have beaten the army of Muawiya and united Muslims under one flag. However, he did not choose to do so; he showed a great example of sacrifice and waived his right of caliphate. Thus, he hoped that the Muslims would be strong again. They would conquer new countries and many people would become Muslims.

In fact, Muawiya did not want Muslim blood to be shed, either. He also wanted peace. He sent an envoy to Hz. Hasan with a proposal of peace. He said he would accept all offers of Hasan if he waived his right of caliphate. Hz. Hasan set some conditions. One of them was that the Muslims should choose their own caliph. Therefore, he set it as a condition that Muawiya should not appoint Yazid as heir to the caliphate after him.

Another demand of Hz. Hasan, the beloved grandson of the Prophet, was that Muawiya would send a certain amount of money to give to the poor. Muawiya accepted all of the conditions.

Then, Hz. Hasan addressed his supporters to tell them why he waived his right of caliphate as follows:

“It is wise to act in accordance with taqwa. Mischief and evil originate from foolishness. If caliphate is my right, I waive my right in order to unite Muslims and to prevent Muslim blood from being shed. If it is the right of someone who deserves it more, it means I am doing what is necessary.”

After this speech, the supporters of Hz. Hasan paid allegiance to Muawiya.[ Mustadrak, 3: 372; Hayatu’s-Sahaba, 3: 350. ]

Thus, another miracle of the Prophet (pbuh) appeared. For, the Prophet (pbuh) addressed Hz. Hasan as follows: “This son of mine is a noble and honorable person.and may Allah make peace between two big groups of Muslims through him.”[ Bukhari, Sulh: 9; Tirmidhi, Manaqib: 31. ]

Hz. Hasan narrated 13 hadiths from the Prophet. One of them is as follows:

“O people! I do not order you anything but what Allah orders; I do not forbid you anything but what Allah forbids. Pursue your sustenance in a nice way. I swear by Allah in whose hand of power is my life that your sustenance will find you just as death will do. If you have difficulty in finding your sustenance, do not disobey Allah while you look for it.”[ Hayatu’s-Sahaba, 3: 292. ]

Hz. Hasan was martyred in the 49th year of the Migration by being poisoned. Before his death, he was asked who had poisoned him. He said, “I cannot accuse anybody. I do not want an innocent person to be harmed because of me.” Then, he sent Hz. Husayn to Hz. Aisha and asked permission from her to be buried next to the Messenger of Allah. Hz. Aisha gave permission but Marwan bin Hakam, the governor of Madinah, did not give permission. Hz. Hasan was buried in the Cemetery of Baqi.

May Allah be pleased with him!

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wisdomrays · 6 years

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THE GUIDE FOR THE YOUTH: The Twenty-Third Word.Part7

THIRD REMARK In regard to his acts and deeds and his labour Man is a weak animal, an impotent creature. The extent of his power of disposal and ownership in this respect is so narrow that it is no greater than as far as his hand can reach. Domestic animals, even, the reins of which have been given to Man, have each taken a share of his weakness, impotence, and laziness, so that if they are compared with their wild counterparts, a great difference is apparent. (Like domestic goats and cattle, and wild goats and cattle).

But in regard to passivity, acceptance, supplication, and entreaty, Man is an honoured traveller in this hostel of the World. He is the guest of One so generous that infinite treasuries of mercy have been opened to him and innumerable unique beings and servants subjugated to him. And a sphere so large has been prepared for this guest’s recreation, amusement, and benefit that half its diameter is as long and broad as the imagination can stretch.

And so if Man relies on his ego, and making worldly life his goal, works for certain temporary pleasures within the struggle for livelihood, he becomes submerged within an extremely constricted sphere, then departs. All the members, systems, and faculties given him will testify against him at the resurrection and will bring a suit against him.

Whereas if he knows himself to be a guest and spends the capital of his life within the sphere of permission of the Generous One of Whom he is the guest, he will strive for a long, eternal life within a broad sphere, then take his rest and ease. And later, he may rise to the highest of the high.

Moreover, all the members and systems given to Man will be happy with him and testify in favour of him in the hereafter. For sure, all the wonderful faculties given to Men were not for this insignificant worldly life, but for an everlasting life of great significance. For if we compare Man with the animals, we see that Man is very rich in regard to faculties and members, a hundred times more so than the animals. But in the pleasures of worldly life and in animal life he falls a hundred times lower. For in each pleasure he receives is the trace of thousands of pains. The pains of the past and fears of the future and the pain at each pleasure’s passing spoil the enjoyment to had from them, and leave a trace in the pleasure. But animals are not like that. They receive pleasure with no pains. They take enjoyment with no sorrow. Neither the sorrows of the past cause them suffering, nor the fears of the future distress them. They live peacefully, and offer thanks to their Creator.

This means that if Man, who is created on the most excellent of patterns, restricts his thought to the li-fe of this World, he falls a hundred times lower than a creature like a sparrow, although he is higher than the animals a hundred times in capital.

I explained this fact in another place by means of a comparison. It is related to this, so I shall repeat it here. It was like this:

A Man gave one of his servants ten pieces of gold and told him to have a suit of clothes made in a particular cloth. Then to a second one, he gave a thousand pieces of gold, and putting in the servant’s pocket a note on which certain things were written, sent him to a mar-ket. The first servant bought an excellent suit of the finest cloth with the ten pieces of gold. While the second servant did not use his head, and looking at the first servant and not reading the account note in his pocket, he gave the thousand pieces of gold to a shopkeeper and asked for a suit of clothes. The dishonest shopkeeper gave him a suit of the very worst quality cloth. Then the wretched servant returned to his lord and received a severe reprimand and a terrible punishment.

Thus, even the most unintelligent will understand that the thousand pieces of gold given the second servant were not to buy a suit of clothes, but for some important trade.

In just the same way, each of the immaterial members and subtle faculties in Man have expanded to a degree a hundred times greater than that of the animals. For example, consider faculties and members like man’s eyes, which can discern all the degrees of beauty, and his sense of taste, which can distinguish all the varieties of the particular tastes of foods, and his mind, which can penetrate to all the subtlest points of reality, and his heart, which yearns for every sort of perfection, and then consider the extremely simple members of the animals which have developed only one or two degrees. There is just this difference, that in animals a member particular to some function and special to a particular species develops more. But this development is particular.The reason for man’s wealth in regard to faculties is this: by reason of the mind and thought, man’s senses and feelings have greatly developed and expanded. And numerous emotions have come into being because of the multiplicity of his needs. And his senses have become extremely diverse. And because of the comprehensiveness of his nature, desires have appeared turned towards numerous aims. And because he has numerous duties due to his nature, his members and faculties have expanded greatly. And since he has been created with a nature capable of performing every sort of worship, he has been given abilities which embrace the seeds of all perfections.Thus, this great wealth in faculties and abundant capital was certainly not given for procuring this temporary worldly life.Rather, man’s fundamental duty is to perform his duties, which look to innumerable aims; and proclaim his impotence, poverty, and faults in the form of worship; and observing the glorifications of beings with a universal eye, to bear witness to them; and seeing the instances of the assistance of the Most Merciful One, to offer thanks; and gazing on the miracles of Dominical power in beings, to contemplate on them as objects from which lessons may be drawn.

O Man who worships this World, is the lover of worldly life, and is heedless of the meaning of ’the most excellent of patterns’!

The Old Said saw the reality of worldly life in a vision. It transformed him into the New Said. You too listen to it in the form of a comparison:

I saw that I was a traveller and was going on a long journey; that is to say, I was being sent. The one who was my lord gradually gave me some of the money from the sixty pieces of gold he had allotted me. I spent them, and came to a hostel where there were amusements of all kinds. In one night in that hostel I spent ten pieces of gold on gambling, amusements, and the enjoyment of fame. In the morning I had no money left. Moreover I had done no trade nor bought any goods for the place I was going. All that remained to me from the money were sins and pains, and from the amusements, wounds and sorrow. While in that sorry state, a Man suddenly appeared. He said to me:"You have wasted all your capital and deserve punishment. You are going to your destination bankrupt and with your hands empty. But if you have any sense, the door of repentance is open. When you receive the fifteen pieces of gold that remain to you, keep half of them in reserve. That is, obtain the things necessary for you in the place where you are going."I looked, my soul did not agree to this.So he said:

"A third, then."My soul still did not obey him.Then he said: "A quarter."My soul could not give up the habits to which it was addicted, so the Man angrily turned his back on me and left.

Suddenly, the scene changed. I was in a train in a tunnel, which was travelling fast as though downwards vertically. I took fright. But what could I do, there was no escape anywhere. Strangely, attractive flowers and enticing fruits appeared on both sides of the train. And I, like the foolish and inexperienced, looked at them and stretching out my hand, tried to pick them. But they were covered in thorns and tore at my hands when I touched them making them bleed. With the movement of the train, my hands were lacerated at being parted from them. They cost me much. Suddenly a porter on the train said:"Give me five cents and I shall give you as much of the flowers and fruits as you want. You are caused the loss of a hundred cents with your hands being torn, rather than five cents. Also there is a penalty; you cannot pick them without permission."In distress I put my head out of the window and looked ahead to see when the tunnel would end. I saw that in place of the tunnel’s entrance were numerous holes. People were being thrown into them from the long train. I saw a hole opposite me. On either side of it was a gravestone. I looked in amazement. I saw that written on one of the gravestones was the name SAID. In my bewilderment and anxiety I exclaimed: "Alas!"

Then suddenly I heard the voice of the Man who had given me advice at the door of the hostel.

He said:"Have you come to your senses?"I replied: "Yes, but it is too late now."So he said: "Repent and place your trust in Allah."I replied that I would.

Then I awoke and saw myself as the New Said; the Old Said had disappeared.

So, that was the vision. May Allah cause good to come of it! I shall interpret one or two parts of it, then you can interpret the rest for yourself.

The journey was the journey which passes from the World of Spirits, through the mother’s womb, youth, old age, the grave, the Intermediate Realm, the resurrection, and the Bridge of Sirat towards eternity. The sixty pieces of gold were the sixty years of life. I reckoned I saw the vision when I was forty-five years old. I had nothing to guarantee it, but a sincere student of the All-Wise Qur’an advised me to spend half of the fifteen that remained to me on the hereafter. The hostel for me was Istanbul. The train was time, and each year a carriage. As for the tunnel, it was the life of this World. The thorny flowers and fruits were illicit pleasures and forbidden amusements which cause pain while indulging in them on thinking of their passing, and on separation lacerate the heart, making it bleed. And they also cause a punishment to be inflicted. The porter on the train told me to give him five cents so that he would give me as many as I wanted.The meaning of this is as follows:

The pleasures and enjoyment Man receives through licit striving within the sphere of what is lawful are sufficient for him. No need remains to enter the unlawful. You may interpret the rest for yourself.

2 notes · View notes