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captainsuke · 4 years

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Yusuf should be asleep, he should be wrapped around his husband's body, taking strength from the warmth he's never quite felt anywhere else.

Instead he's in the kitchen, the cool metal grip on his pistol warmed by his hand wrapped white knuckled around it.

He'd heard a noise.

He'd dreamed he'd heard a noise.

It doesn't matter. It's late and the little cottage they are currently calling home is empty, except for his sleeping husband, and Joe, standing vigil in the dark.

(rest of fic under the cut for all you ao3 haters)

There's a small gap between window and wall, and the wind flows through it with a whispering wail. Once all houses creaked and swayed and whistled with the wind, little leaks with pots that were emptied in the morning, a row of fine dust along the window sills and under the doors gifted from a night of wild wind. Now these things are considered nuisances, problems to be torn down and rebuilt new and unremarkable. His heart feels heavy tonight, the feeling of long years catching up on him and curling it's fingers around his soul.

Joe looks out the window of his and Nicky's little Maltese cottage, the moon shines bright enough behind shifting clouds that even the slivers of light allow Joe to see the branches of the apple tree in the front garden sway with the cool night's breeze. Many summers ago they'd laid in the shade of that tree, eating the sweetly tart fruit until they'd made themselves sick. He has a sketch - or eight - of the passing shadows dappling Nicky's face as he'd laid back, full and content.

A memory stacked upon another memory from the days they'd done the same with Andromache, years and years ago, four, five hundred years ago, filling their bellies with overripe apricots after several long hard years of fighting and barely being able to tell if they had even made a difference, let alone actually helped anyone. Even now Joe can close his eyes and see Qýuhn's hair blowing free in the cooling winds coming up along the Peloponnese peninsula. Andromache's fingers sticky with pasteli, her cheeks rosy where she laid them on Qýuhn's thigh. Nicolò, sunbleached and glowing in the golden of light of a Mediterranean sunset.

He remembers retelling the apple story when they'd all met up again, Booker with his ever present flask, Andy sharing long drinks from it, all them tired but smiling, leaning heavily of the heavenly taste of crisp apples and the folly of gorging on enough fresh fruit to upset their stomachs. Because it made Booker laugh. Because it gave them all something to laugh about, to distract themselves from the weather turning and Sèbastien's eyes growing cagey as the winter's teeth started to bite.

Nicky had stoked the cottage's fire til they'd been sweating in front of the tiny hearth, toasty and ridiculous in their undergarments, with thick woolen socks on their feet in respect for the wild weather that battered at the windows. He'd felt happy that they'd managed to turn that haunted look to smiling eyes that crinkled at the edges. Had that moment meant something? Anything? Nothing? Was the glow in his eyes merely momentary? A trick of light and the gleam of drunken eyes?

Would this be the rest of his days? Questioning every moment, desperately searching for where he went wrong, where he should have noticed Booker's pain. Looking for the moment that had been Sèbastien's last straw.

It's funny, Joe can joke, he can laugh, he can make vague reference and yell angry accusing words, he can recite a bit of original poem he's writing as he speaks, but he can't work out how to open his mouth and say the words why did you hurt me?

He's always horribly envied Nicky's ability to put his hurt away, to shelve it for later, or never if he feels it best. Even as he's pulled his hair out in frustration as his other half willfully tears himself to pieces in an effort to find a way to please everyone.

Oh, he knows they're both different shades of Not Dealing Well, both of them like a purpose to distract themselves.

Foolishly, stupidly, for a wild moment Joe wishes for someone else to try for them, to attack them, just so he can slip back into the head space of being a unit, a simple moving part in a machine much larger than himself, Nicky and him working hand in hand, two halves of a whole.

He desperately wishes for that feeling, for anything other than devastated, tearing, hating hurt that sits on his lungs like peine forte et dure, each time he feels like the worst of the pain has occurred he remembers some other occasion, some other memory now colored by betrayal.

He can forgive, he can sympathize, he can hold his brother close and cry for the losses he's suffered.

But anger stabs through at the thought of him not returning that empathy. Like he and all the kin before Booker haven't suffered days of death and nights of death. Day after day, month after month of unimaginable loss, not knowing how to stop it, how to help it, just enduring as time pass uncaring of the pain felt.

He's held Nicky as he begged for the end, for them to finally (please, please, please) be released from the unrelenting years of horrors, just as Nicky has pulled him close while he cried, screamed, wailed for even the slightest chance of reprieve. From the widow with dead eyes and fevered blush, burying her last child and going back to work at the sick houses, for the children with nothing – nothing - yet who could still muster a smile, for Nicky spitting blood, choking, drowning, dying, then coming back to do it all over again. Never ending and relentless.

This is stupid.

He is being stupid.

Awake in the middle of the night, stalking around their Malta house gun in hand, the most unnatural state of himself, but unable to rest, convinced that if he relaxed, if his guard dropped for a moment, he would lose it all.

He places the gun on the table, sits down, there's no peace or answers to be found in an old cottage kitchen by the sea at midnight.

All there is, is the long shadows of moonlight between furniture, the evening dishes neatly washed and drying on the sink, a glass full of pens on the table, Joe's gun now sitting atop Nicky's latest writing attempt. Never long, never complicated, Joe found himself devastated by each small letter his husband left for him, even the three thousand that merely read I love you ♥♥♥♥, he held each one to equal esteem, though Nicky barely seemed to remember writing them, he would just smile and say I was thinking of you.

you unmake me.

you remake me.

everyday

Doodled across cheap lined notepaper, tucked under his dinner plate. They'd shared that meal just a few hours ago, Nicky's eyes had been tired but he'd kissed Joe's curls with a soft smile as he'd served dinner.

A meal that had taken more than half the day to create because if Nicky had the time he found peace in simmering oil and tomatoes, in adding all the extra ingredients that might make an Italian swear but had delighted them so when they'd first tasted them, that now they'd add them to whatever meal they could.

It'd been less than a week and Nicky was already on first name basis with the halal butcher a few blocks away, and many a day they stroll the streets, collecting fresh produce from the little garden markets, stopping by Zakaria's so he could wrap the evening meal with a only my finest cut for my favorite customers and a wink, despite having claimed the same to the little Italian grandmother before them, blushing and waving her hands in a flustered, delighted stop motion.

Joe closes his eyes, feeling suddenly overwhelmed, like his heart would be beat out of his chest, fall out onto the floorboards that they'd sanded and placed lovingly when they'd first started rebuilding this little cottage. Nicky could live his life with just Yusuf and the sea and be happy, but Joe needed people, needed to see people living their lives no matter how mundane. No matter how out of sorts he's been since they arrived, exhausted and devastated from London, Nicky hadn't forgotten that.

And so Nicolò knows the butcher by name, and, in turn, Zakaria's fisherman boyfriend, who stocks the butcher shop with the freshest of catches and shies away from company, with deep sad eyes and ankle bones that jut out like he needs a Nonna to fuss over him.

And so he's befriended the old ladies from the markets who give him unsolicited advice on his roses, on his apple tree, on the lush green vine that flowers bright bursts of color, on how to keep That Nice Young Man He's Always With happy.

And so each of these people is a friend of Joe's as well.

Joe takes one last long look out the window. Daring anyone who might be out there to take the moment. To give him a reprieve from his thoughts.

But the apple trees branches are the only thing moving. Wind rustling leaves the only sounds to be heard over the soft ebbing crash of waves in the distance.

There's no respite to be found tonight, he thinks as he put his pistol away. Part of him aches to remain armed, to keep vigilant, because last time, last time, but he won't walk into their bedroom with a loaded gun in hand. Not tonight when he feels like his very soul has been twisted, not when he still feels as if unseen eyes are watching him.

As Joe closes the bedroom door behind him, eyes open slow but sharp, immediately awake, perhaps awake before Joe came in. His Nicky is a light sleeper, more prone to 3 or 4 hours sleep before waking alert and ready to face the living hours,.

Nicky's eyes go soft, the faintest of gentle smiles curling his lips as he focuses on Yusuf.

“Where are you, my love?” he asks with quiet rasping voice of someone newly woken.

He doesn't know, he feels adrift, but Nicky's hand moves, reaches out and Joe crosses the room to take it as the lifeline he needs.

“What do you need?” His voice is steady and calm and ready to promise anything in his power to Joe.

And Joe feels his heart constrict, he can't live without this man, he thinks wildly

(a flash, a dagger in the dark, Nicolò on the ground, a halo of his blood, his beautiful skull, his precious brains scattered across the floor without second thought)

he wants to know Andy's okay, he wants her and Nile here immediately so he can see for himself that they're safe, he wants Qýuhn in his arms so much it physically aches. He wants her dark humor and her sharp eyes. He wants to hear her screech like stepped on cat whenever something delighted her. He wants Booker snorting into his wine at some stupid joke, he wants to know he's alive, that he hasn't thrown himself into another stupid situation.

In the morning, he thinks, in the morning he'll speak to Nile, her occasional furtive texting isn't quite as secretive as she perhaps thinks but none of them had felt the need to tell her to stop.

In the morning, he can wait til morning to soothe the lies and worries that his anxiety haunts him with. Til then, he threads his hands tighter with Nicky's, lets him pull Joe to bed, lets him rearrange them til he's flat on his back with Joe's head is resting on his chest, Nicolò's heartbeat in his ear.

He keeps a hold of Joe's hand, brings it up to his lips, presses a kiss to where they're joined, then curls it close to Joe and his chest, as if shielding it against the rest of the world.

“You, just you.” Joe tells the darkness.

“You have me,” Nicolò says, his breath, his lips, his jaw moving against Joe's curls.

“What do you need?” He asks again, free hand coming to rest, cradling Joe's head, gently gently he feels fingers move lightly in tiny soft circles.

“Tell me something.”

Joe pulls their joined hands close, presses his own kiss against Nicky's long fingers, holds it close enough for his breath to warm skin “Please. Tell me something good.”

It's a hard ask, he knows, he knows, every good moment of their lives can be tied to a bad one, the past could be a minefield with no directions or signs. But Nicolò rarely shied from a challenge.

“Did I ever tell you of the time Qýuhn demanded to know my intentions with you?”

“But she loved you!” He mumbles against their joined hands.

“Yes she did, but she loved your heart just as fiercely.” Nicky's chest moves against Joe's cheek as he snorts, amused, “We'd had to have been intimate for almost a year by this time, but she had me feeling like a sham of a man standing before the most beautiful man's guardian, offering a pauper's dowery.”

Joe starts shifting to argue but the hand on his head keeps him still, gentle but firm.

“It was good. To be reminded that you had someone else who would fight for your happiness, that my love for you was visible enough to be challenged, a reminder that we both still had family even if it looked very different to what we'd been born with. It'd been nice to know no matter how much I felt I didn't deserve, I'd been ready to fight for the right to let that be your decision.”

“You do deserve me,” the gentle circles on his scalp are making him sleepy but he puts a token argument, the principle of no one was allowed talk shit about Nicky, not even Nicky, one he was always ready to defend.

“Hush, you asked for a story, this is my story.”

“Scusi, scusi,” he kisses Nicky's hand again, “tell your story, tell me how you convinced me that Qýuhn you were worthy of my hand in marriage.”

He swears he can hear Nicky smile in the dark.

“I didn't, Andromache came in and declared they should leave us to make our mistakes and then stab which ever of us was most in the wrong.”

Joe can't help but laugh. “Qýuhn like that?”

He feels Nicky's soft laughter vibrate through his skin, he wants to die like this, in a moment like this, just the two of them entwined.

“No, she called Andy soulless and unromantic, they went outside to spar. We didn't see them again til morning, and Qýuhn never mentioned it again, so maybe Andy had a little romance in her.”

“How have I never head of this story?”

Nicky's answering chuckle is a delight.

“You came back and we had the house to ourselves for the entire night.” The hand on Joe's head flexes, like he wants to hold Joe as tight as he is can but its as much as their position allows. “It was a good day. We were loved, we are loved.”

He wants to crawl inside Nicolò, live forever embraced by his heart, to feel every lung full of breath press against him

“Sleep my love,” Nicky says leaning low to press his cheek against Joe's curls, to place an unaimed kiss to his forehead.

Sleep.

Nicky’s heartbeat is a sure and steady thing against his ear

(a monitor screaming as his lives hand falls limp against restraints)

Joe squeezes his eyes tightly shut then forces himself to relax, to hear the beat that's been by his side for a thousand years. He thinks of crinkles at the sides of Qýuhn's eyes when she grinned, the way she'd look to Joe when she found something fun to share.

He thinks of the way Booker's face grew soft in the late of the night when the game had long ended and everyone had gone to sleep and it was just the two of them, keeping the sleepless night company.

He thinks of the glow of Nile's face when they walked the halls of the National Museum, her excited but obviously knowledgeable commentary, how he itches to draw the lines of her joy over and over til he gets it just right.

He thinks of Andy in Marrakesh, the feel of her ribs reverberating with the force of her laugh as he swung her around. She's mother, weird aunt, odd stranger, honored elder, pain in the ass know-it-all older sister and so many more things he can not think to name, but she's theirs, and it's going to take a lot more than mortality to take her from them.

He swears it.

Finally he thinks of Nicky.

Nicky with long hair in his face, of the ever changing color his eyes across the firelight, of the weight of his body passed out, sated atop Yusuf, of the weight of his body lifeless as Joe pulled him somewhere to revive safely. The heaviness of his gaze and the weightlessness of even his smallest smile. Of his hands as they held Joe together, the gentleness of his touch as he put him back together. Of the unique light in his eyes, the fire that burns brightest when his sword is out. He thinks of words freely given when speech was hardest, he thinks of the uncountable I love you's, the innumerable languages he's learnt just to speak them and hear them back.

He thinks of hot blood spattered across his face and the way Nicolòs eyes would fight to meet his own when the end was coming. He thinks of the tightening of hands before they became unbearably limp. He thinks of the bad deaths, of eyelashes glued together with tears as hes gasped alive and the watery smile that followed. He thinks of Nicky moving, his sword swinging, on broken ankle, spitting blood and still moving.

His head, his heart, his life is full, and sometimes it feels like he'll drown with all that's in it.

Nicky's hand moves from his head, moves to stroke down his spine, long and slow in repetition.

Sleep he says again, his own voice thick at the edge of sleep himself.

Joe hugs a small breath, then slows his breathing to match the deep level breathing of Nicolò asleep. He thinks about the first time they slept like this, arms around each other, tangled and holding tight. He thinks of the countless times he's rubbed his nose against the back of Nicky's neck as he tried to catch just a little more sleep time.

There's a heaviness growing in his limbs as he half dreams of Nicky as he wraps himself around and burrows himself closer to Nicky. Slowly, steadily and then suddenly all at once, the sense memory of nine hundred years in this man's arms lulls him into sleep.

#the old guard #joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #tog fic #fic #nicolò di genova #mine #teamsuke

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byorder-fanfic · 4 years

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Late Nights at Home

Summary: Colonel Ben Younger always ends up working late. Fortunately for him, his wife is more than understanding.

Word count: 1073

Warnings: Nothing really? A tiny little mention of racism but its mostly just fluff and domestic bliss

Author’s Note: My first fic of 2021! I really loved Ben in the series, although I also love Ada and Freddie, so I’m not a big fan of the two together. So, I gave Ben (who deserved better) a nice, fluffy story with absolutely no cars getting blown up. I really appreciate comments, so it’d mean a lot if you had something to say (nice or critical, whatever you think) and please correct me if I’ve said anything wrong/offensive! Hope you enjoy xx

Ben Younger's car came to a halt outside a modest London house, streetlamps twinkling under the dark sky. It wasn't Ben's first time coming home after the sun had come down. In fact, it was an unusual thing if he walked through the front door with the light shining over his just as bright smile. As he walked through the front door today (or tonight, he hadn't looked at the little pocket watch that ticked away by his chest yet) there was no lights on in the hallway, and as he looked up the stairs there was no candles lit, nor curtains drawn. Another smile fell on Ben's lips as he placed his coat on its hook, and he placed the hastily discarded coat that made a heap on the floor back to its rightful place on the hook next to his. Tidying up his shoes, he picked up his suitcase laden down with papers in search for the woman that was in such a hurry that she didn't even hang her coat up. It was an easy thing for Ben to find her- all he needed to do was follow the solitary light in the house, illuminating an orange glow onto the darkened hallway. From the open door, he got a clear view of the study. Considering their two professions and their heavy workloads, it was the most important things they looked for when buying this house. More important than the bedroom, she always joked. Ben could see why. Her back was a rigid curve labouring over the big desk. The chair opposite hers was empty whilst he leaned against the doorframe, yet her books and papers and ink and a single oil lamp managed to engulf the entirety of the surface. Her face was screwed up in concentration, the light material of her hijab falling forwards. And her golden ring, rolled between her thumb as her other hand busied itself with a pen. Ben grasped at the wall for a second before he found the switch.

As soon as the light turned on, Farah jumped in her seat. Her eyes looked bloodshot but they were bright and wide when they saw her husband standing in the doorframe.

"You shouldn't work in the dark," the words had come from Ben's lips so many times yet Farah never fails to repeat the rolling of her surely sore eyes. "You'll strain your eyes, and then-"

"Then I'll have to get spectacles, yes, I know," she interrupted with a chuckle. She sat up in her seat, stretching her back and reaching her hands as far to side as they could go. "You're late home, Colonel."

The nickname from their first meeting hasn't faded, just how Ben's joy at seeing her has never dulled although it has been years since he first saw the young woman cloaked in light fabrics that seemed to be the only person as far as he was concerned at the House of Commons.

"Work," he sighed as he took the seat opposite her, looking over the papers, which he could make out the words 'bill' and 'act' and such. "You're working late, too, I see."

"Some things I wanted to get done before the weekend," she excused herself, pretending there wasn't sizable bags under her tired eyes. "We promised to have one weekend free."

The reminder brought another thrill to his heart. Two busy people like them had to put the effort in to have days meant only to spend together. Whilst working side by side on this sizable desk was pleasant and reading in bed together was relaxing, it had been far too long since Ben had taken his wife out on a proper date, he thought with great shame. And that was exactly what weekends like this one were for. Without the Parliament problems and military missions, they were completely free from the troubles of politics.

"And we will." He reached a hand over the table to hold onto hers, catching sight of her ring again making him smile at the realisation he got every day that this was his wife. His beautiful, brilliant wife. "I've got us a reservation at a very nice restaurant and I've made sure that they will have halal food other than a bloody salad."

Far too many times had they gotten all dressed up only to leave once they realised they would not be getting a good meal.

"Oh, really?" There was something in that which amused Farah. "Did you threaten to get the whole British army on them if not, Ben?"

He gave a small shrug, a conspiring look passed between the two Youngers. It was truth that Ben was not above using his title to get respect. But, with their dark skin and her religious beliefs, respect was something they had grasp for and seize for themselves. It was a lucky thing that were so expertly placed for such a thing. And with each other, respect was plentiful and happiness filled every waking moment.

Ben reached up again, hand cupping her face and her hijab (in the light, he could see that she wore a dark burgundy colour today) shuffled again, still messy with her working mess of thoughts.

"I forgot to redo it off when I started working, now the pins are digging into my head," Farah laughed quietly, starting to reach her arms up to unwrap and unpin the burgundy fabric. Ben held his hands out as she laid the fabric carefully over his wrists, placing each pin into his open palms as she meticulously undressed herself. It was always a wonderful thing for Ben to watch ever since their wedding night, his face heating up as her dark hair fell over her blouse. Many of her friends had wondered why she had married a man who was (truthfully) clueless about Islam until he locked himself up in the library for days on end after accidentally making roast pork for their first date. But, at least he wasn't a white man, was a constant compliment he received whenever they stopped by at Farah’s family home. Farah always protested when they said that, but he always just laughed with her sisters. They were a wonderful family, warm and bright as the colours they wore, and he was lucky to be a part of them. A family. And, maybe, one day, Farah and Ben will have a family of their own, he thought.

#ben younger #colonel ben younger #Peaky Blinders #peaky blinders oc #peaky blinders fanfiction #peaky blinders fanfic #peaky blinders fluff #ben younger fanfic

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canyouhearthelight · 5 years

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The Miys, Ch. 48

This chapter got away from me a bit, but I brought it back and I kinda like it!

If you haven’t seen your fave characters recently, don’t despair. There is so much going on now in the story that I’m having to be careful to pace myself.

Mentions of food and alcoholic beverages. Mentions of dom/sub culture. Lots and lots of fluff, plus one insane cat.

After trying a belly-aching amount of chocolate, our new friends decided to leave for the night. I was sad to see them go – I found myself really liking Charly – but when she explained that several hours in the packed crowd had left her drained, I couldn’t argue. I get peopled out, too, I had explained. She was delighted by my and Tyche’s term, testing it out and finding it the perfect way to describe what she felt.

Once we waved them off, my two chaperones and I decided to tackle the last item on our list. We carefully weaved our way through the crowd, Conor wordlessly going in the front to break through the crowd and Maverick behind me to bring up the rear. With surprisingly little difficulty, we managed to reach our destination: The Undine, Sebastian Reed’s new pub. Like most areas on the Ark, the outside was nothing out of the ordinary, although I knew the door had been replaced with one whose sweeps and swirls of texture translated to Noah. At first, the Hujylsogox method of marking doors and corridors had meant nothing to any of the humans on board, but after this long it held a kind of eerie beauty and even I could see that the pattern here was new and unique, even if I didn’t know what exactly it said.

The inside was a completely different story, however. Originally a little-used lounge area, the space had been transformed into a crisp, high-end restaurant that nonetheless invoked the feeling of standing in a low-heeled but well-maintained pub. Even the ever-energetic Conor had to just stop and take it in for a few moments. “This is incredible,” he breathed in awe, eyes closed.

“Mmmhmm,” was the only reply I could muster as Maverick watched us both with a small grin before he gently tugged on both our elbows.

“Sebastian’s coming,” he murmured before gesturing with his head.

Sure enough, as soon as we turned, there was the owner himself. “Welcome to The Undine,” he greeted us warmly, reaching to shake my hand. “Councillor Reid, it is wonderful to finally meet you.”

“Sebastian Reed,” I nodded my head toward him. “This is Conor MacMaoilir and Maverick Okima.”

“Bastian and I go back a bit,” Conor assured me, clasping the man’s hand and clapping his shoulder roughly. “Same therapy group, ‘bout since we came on the ship.”

The bar owner nodded before turning to Maverick. “Lieutenant Okima. Thank you. It’s an absolute pleasure to tell you that in person.”

“I’m not a lieutenant anymore,” Maverick tried to correct him uncomfortably. “Just Maverick is fine.”

“Well, just-Maverick, thank you all the same. Without you, we may still be mining ore, and I probably wouldn’t have this,” Sebastian gestured at the crowded pub. “Let’s get the three of you seated.”

I gently reached down and squeezed Maverick’s hand. He glanced down and flashed me a quick smile, squeezing my hand back. The tall pilot was still adjusting to the idea that people appreciated the things he did, and being shown gratitude left him in uncharted territory as far as social interactions went. With as much time as he spent with me and Conor, we had both quickly noticed that it helped if he just had one of us to ground him. Nonetheless, he was still holding on to my hand as we were ushered to a table in the back corner.

“Surprise!” Tyche grinned as she stood to give me a hug. She didn’t even try to dislodge Maverick’s hand and just included him in the squeezing. When she stepped back, I noticed that, instead of her usual flowing cardigan, she had on a sharp black bomber-style jacket that I had never seen before, and made a note to mention it when I had a chance.

“VIP treatment?” I joked, cocking an eyebrow at Sebastian. “Other people will get very jealous.”

He waved the comment away. “Councillor Reid – “

“Sophia” the four of us corrected him as I heard Antoine start chuckling in the background.

“Sophia,” he grinned, “It was your suggestion that this place even exist. Antoine supported me completely when I mentioned my hesitation to him, and your sister was incredibly insistent. Add to that Maverick and Conor, and I really can’t think of anyone who better deserves a reserved table during the grand opening. So, have a seat, and I’ll bring out drinks in a blip.” Before I could even make a token argument, he vanished into the crowd.

“I already told him our orders,” my sister explained, drawing my attention back to her.

I nodded before gesturing with both hands. “I’m loving this jacket, woman! Where did it come from?”

Instead of answering, she gave a pointed look at Maverick. “It’s tradition,” he explained hesitantly while rubbing his neck, a gesture he had picked up from Conor. “She completed about six pilot certifications on the same day, so it felt right to give her the jacket. It’s like a graduation present.” Nervously, he glanced at me.

Tugging his arm down, I held on to his elbow. “Hey, it’s okay. You didn’t do anything wrong, I swear. I was just curious because I’d never seen it before… wait.” I jerked my head to look at my sister before turning back to Maverick, wide-eyed. “Did you say six certifications? On the same day?” Biting her lip, Tyche nodded and turned pink with the laughter I knew she was holding back. Maverick nodded emphatically in agreement. “Holy rabies! That’s amazing!” I squealed and practically tackled my sister in excitement.

To my utter shock, her jacket attacked me. The black-furred collar started squirming, sharp claws hooking into my shoulder in its attempt to get away. Before I could step back, it pried itself out from between me and Tyche before shooting itself behind me to attack Conor. I whirled around, panicking, only to see Conor neatly catch the disgruntled collar as it yowled in a plaintive and familiar tone.

Throwing my hands up in exasperation as Mac glared at me and Conor tried not to die of laughter, I groaned. “I’m done. That’s it. My sister is a pilot, has a snazzy jacket, and the collar turned out to be a cat. My life is officially a cartoon.”

Antoine took his chance to jump in the conversation. “At least sit down and have a drink with us,” he gestured with a grin toward the empty chairs. Conor was the first to claim one, Mac still taking shelter with the giant of a man. Before I could take a seat, Maverick slid into one and tugged me onto his lap by my wrist, laughing at my disgruntled expression. As she sat down, Tyche gave the three of us an odd look before glancing at Antoine, who just shrugged.

Once our drinks arrived – I was delighted to find out that I had, indeed been given the Bloody Mary I hoped for – we shared our experiences with the festival so far. Tyche had not found the chocolatier on either of her visits, but very smugly gushed about the patisserie that I had searched for in vain. The tiny ramen bowls had been a universally huge hit, it turned out, as had the kosher, halal, and Jainist vendors.

When we got to the point where we bumped into Charly and Coffee, Maverick threw his hands out to interrupt. “Hang on, someone explain the collar to me please? You promised you would.” He looked at me pointedly.

With a sigh, I glanced around the table. “Anyone else want to tackle this first?” When no one spoke up, and all three of them smirked, I shook my head. “Traitors,” I muttered before turning to Maverick. “It’s a sign of serious commitment in dom and sub culture. And I mean serious.”

“You know,” Tyche chimed in, tapping her nails on the table. “That’s something that hasn’t really come up a lot, at least that I’m aware of. I know it’s barely been a year, but not even the Council has said anything about how marriage is going to work now.”

I furrowed my brows as I thought about it, realizing she was right. Conor nodded, eyes wide, but Maverick looked confused. “What do you mean? Wouldn’t something like that work the way it always has?”

“That’s the problem,” Antoine pointed out. “There is no ‘way it always has’ for something like that. Before the End, there had to be some sort of legal process for a marriage to be recognized, and even then, it wasn’t recognized everywhere. Polygamy, for example, was widely not recognized, and there were even still a few small regions that did not recognize same-sex marriage.”

“Wait, polygamy?” Maverick asked, shaking his head. “But Councillor Hodenson’s parents – “

“Were only recognized within their sect,” Conor pointed out. “But in a legal sense, they had no standing.”

“Can we please table this?” I asked, resting my chin on my folded hands. Maverick was drumming his thumb on my hip in agitation. “Let’s enjoy the rest of tonight and save the major issues for… next week. I agree this needs to be addressed before it comes up and there’s a huge mess, but right now I want to enjoy time with my family.”

I felt Maverick stiffen behind me, his fingers digging painfully into my hip. The next thing I knew, Conor dumped Mac unceremoniously into Tyche’s lap and made his way around the table in two ground-eating strides. Gently, but firmly, he wrapped his arms around both me and Maverick, ignoring the confused looks he got from Tyche and Antoine.

“Hey hey hey,” he chanted softly into Maverick’s hair. “It’s okay. That means you, too, man. That means you, too. You’re family. You stay. She meant you, too. You’re family, Maverick.”

Leaning back into the both of them, I dug Maverick’s hand from my hip and wound my fingers into his. Something wet trickled down my cheek, and I realized that Maverick was crying. I felt terrible. I never meant to make him think he had to go. Reaching one hand back to hug him the best I could, I realized Conor’s head was still buried in his hair, and tracing back further found Maverick holding onto Conor as desperately as he was holding on to me.

After a few minutes of us just sitting there like that, Tyche finally broke the silence. “Why do I feel like I shouldn’t be watching this?” she asked Antoine in a loud mutter.

It was just enough to break the tension, and the three of us started to laugh. “I must look awful,” Maverick chuckled, pulling his hands away so he could wipe his face and try to fix his hair. Hopping off his lap, I let him stand up.

“Come on,” Conor smiled, eyes red. “Let’s get you cleaned up, man.”

I must have watched them walk away for a bit too long, because I heard my sister clear her throat. Like a deer in the headlights, I turned to face her.

“Mind telling me what that was?” she grinned evilly.

I was in so much trouble.

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#the miys #humans are weird #human are space orcs #science fiction #sci fi #found family #aliens #earth is space australia

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acti-veg · 5 years

Note

hi, i’ve been seriously considering going vegan someday, but i have a number of things that are in my way. i’ve tried talking to my mom about my decision and unfortunately, since i’m from a muslim family, meat is an essential part of every gathering. i cannot convince my mom through ethical reasons (for reasons that are too long to explain), so i’m trying to convince her that meat is harmful and that veganism is a much healthier lifestyle. she’s much more yielding now, but +

+ not completely because halal meat isn’t injected with hormones, so she thinks it’s fine. i cant bring up ethical reasons as to why halal meat won’t cut it for me, so what can i tell her? my father, however, is completely against it. he won’t even listen to my point of view. it’s because i’m extremely underweight, and he’s concerned. i don’t want to disrespect him so, as heavy as it will weigh in my heart, i will eat normally only in front of him. just so he doesn’t suspect anything.

+ another thing that i’ve also thought about is how hard it’s going to be during dinners. in my culture, we always invite one another for dinner occasionally—friends, family, relatives, relatives of relatives etc., so it’s more than difficult to get every single person to eliminate diary and meat in their cooking….just for me +

+ i’m really really passionate about this and even cried to my mom the last time we talked, but all these things make it seem close to impossible. i’m sorry this is so long but i need to vent somewhere. i feel like no one will ever truly support me and it‘s suffocating me.

Your Mum is wrong about Halal meat, just for a start, hormone/chemical use is not covered by Halal law, which refers mostly to slaughter procedures. What she is talking about may be tayyib, but that isn’t quite the same thing, and it’d be a mistake to assume that because something is halal that means it must be chemical/hormone free. Regardless, I think you may be approaching this in slightly the wrong way, though for very understandable reasons.

You don’t need to be able to convince your parents of the ethical arguments for veganism, or even the health ones, all you need to convince them of is that this is important to you, that you are going to do this and that they need to respect your decision. You’re not trying to convert them here, you’re just trying to gain the space and permission to live your values the way you want to, and honestly, they should understand that. The Qur'an is full of positive messages about animal cruelty, and the Haditheven moreso, you going vegan is not at all incompatible with Islamic dogma or law.

As for dinners, I think this is something all vegans struggle with to some extent. At most meals there will at least be something, even if it’s plain rice and vegetables, that will be enough to get by. If not, you can always cook and bring your own food, make those traditional meals vegan and I bet they’ll be excited to try it for themselves. Just bring enough to share, so it is like you’re contributing, rather than not participating. It’ll feel strange at first for sure, but I promise you, people do get used to this.

Just a word on your Dad, too. Obviously this is your call, you know him and I don’t, but I just want to tell you that if you bend for him now, and go back on your values to make him happy, that will never stop. He will always expect you to do that, and until you put your foot down and set your limits out clearly, that won’t change. I’ve always found it better to do that as early as possible so that everyone knows what to expect. I have a post on dealing with parents here which should help you out a bit.

In terms of being underweight, I’d just recommend paying close attention to that as you transition into veganism, and getting regular checkups to make sure there are no issues. It is perfectly possible to get all of your nutrients on a plant based diet, and even to gain weight if that’s something you want. I have a nutrition section on my website here which may help you out. You can also feel free to drop me a message anytime and I’d be more than happy to help you in any way that I can.

#ask #vegan #dealing with parents #long post

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theycallmethespacecowby · 6 years

Text

A Look Into Diego’s Mind

That’s when I found you, somewhere between pain and fear you got me on my feet

And then you walked into my thunderstorm and stopped the rain from falling, then you made flowers from hurricanes you got me through

That’s when I found you

Sometimes everything became too much for Diego, his brain would spiral filled with the same thoughts circling around and around like a hurricane in his head that he couldn’t stop. Why wasn’t he number one why wasn’t he as good a Luther he just had to practise more his power wasn’t good enough it was his stutter his god dam stutter the fact that he still needed grace to help him he wasn’t good enough he wasn’t good enoughhewasntgoodenough just went around and around until the light hurt his eyes and the sound of vanya’s violin hit his skull like a de railed train and and feeling of his scratchy blanket beneath him just hurt. In these hurricanes Diego would run to the roof, to the cold fresh air and the silence of outside. He would sit for hours head buried in the crook of his arm just waiting for the world to stop being so much.

One of these nights Diego didn’t notice the thundering rain and lightening happening outside as he raced to the attic stairs. His head was pounding with the overwhelming feeling of ‘it’s too much’. He threw the window open and crawled out onto the roof. It had been a normal mission, just another bank heist they’d done it a hundred times but this time Diego messed it up he messed up in front of everyone, he would never be number one if he kept just messing things up. He grabbed hold of the wet tiles and pulled him self up rain soaking him instantly. He didn’t realise there were two of them he thought it was just one guy and it was his job to get the guys in the vault, he threw both his knives at the first guy he saw and the other one got away. He scrubbed at his face the rain mixing with the tears rolling down his cheeks. He scrunched his eyes shut and covered his ears with his hands and prayed his brain would just shut up for a minuet. He couldn’t move he couldn’t breathe he couldn’t do anything other then grip his head and just wait. The rain felt soothing on his skin and he tried to focus on the feeling of the cool droplets hitting his arms and soaking his hair and his jumper. Slowly the swirling hurricane in his head faded down to just a storm. He was still frozen feeling like he was unable to move but the rain, the rain felt good. He was so far into his own head that he hardly noticed the sound of the window opening again and the soft grunts of Five climbing up beside him.

Five had noticed Diego was off since the mission had ended. He probably blamed himself for the fact that one of the guys escaped, Diego was always too worried about being number 1. Five was walking down the hall when he noticed the attic door was open, slowly he poked his head in but didn’t see anyone in the room but he saw the window at the end of the room was half open, he stuck his head out of the window and noticed a small shaking figure sitting out in the room, Diego...how long had the smaller boy been out there it must have been freezing, without thinking Five opened the window up and clambered out onto the roof, as he got closer he recognised the signs of a panic attack, Five had suffered through a few of them himself. He knelt down, far enough from Diego that he wouldn’t corner or frighten the other at all

“Diego?” He said quietly “Hey Diego, you there?” He moved a little closer to the other boy who looked up slightly. Five noticed the flushed cheeks and the tear stairs on Diego’s face, there was a distant look in his eyes as well, Five knew that Diego was lost in his own head

“Hey, come on Diego it’s freezing up here, why don’t we get you back downstairs yeah?” He moved a little closer again reaching out gently placing a hand on Diego’s knee

Diego heard his name being called, he felt something warm and solid grab his leg, looking up he saw Five, well he thought he saw Five his vision was blurry and his head was spinning and he didn’t quite feel like this was real

“Five?” He asked quietly looking the shorter boy up and down “Five”. Five nodded

“Yeah that’s me, Number Five as I live and breathe” Five’s other arm gently reaches up and grabs the hand he had covering his ear pulling it away gently “come on Diego, it’s freezing up here why don’t we go dry you off”. Diego felt like someone had stuffed cotton into his mouth, his tongue felt heavy and his mouth felt dry. Fives hand moved from his knee and he whined quietly at the loss of warmth, but then he grabbed Diego’s other hand and pulled it down so he was now gripping both Diego’s hands, softly running his thumb over the others wrists. Slowly, after a few moments of silence, Diego nodded his head and let Five pull him to his feet, he noticed how cold he was, he was shivering his teeth chattering, his hair was plastered to his forehead from the rain that was still pouring down on both boys. Five guided him back into the house, stopping only to shut the window behind them, he lead Diego into his room and let go of his hands, Diego couldn’t help the whimper that left his mouth at the loss of touch but he didn’t have the energy to be embarrassed about it right now. Five left the room promising that he would return, after what seemed like forever to Diego but in reality was probably less then a minuet, Five returned with some towels, he passed them to Diego. The warm soft fabric felt amazing in his cold hands and he lifted it to his face, feeling the warmth against his cheek and letting the smell of detergent fill his nose. It smelt like mom. Five pulled out the others pyjamas and place them on the bed

“Dry off and get changed, I’m gonna go get out of these wet clothes as well I’ll be right back” Five said before disappearing into the halal. Diego quickly pulled off his wet uniform and dried himself off with the towel, pulling on his warm pyjamas, the pants making a soft swoosh sound as he put them on. He then carefully climbed into his warm bed pulling the blankets close around him. The storm in his head was gone, leaving only exhaustion in its place. He was asleep in a matter of moments.

Five walked back into the room to check on his brother and found him already asleep in bed. He carefully picked up the wet clothes and towels off the floor and put them into the laundry shoot for Grace to look after tomorrow. He flicked the light off in Diego’s room and left, shutting the door behind him with a quiet click.

From that day on during a storm Five would find Diego sitting by the attic window, watching the lightning flash through the sky. On particularly bad nights Five would find Diego back up on the roof and, like the first night, he would gently lead Diego back down into the house and dry him off.

Diego noticed that, ever since Five found him on the roof that night, the world seemed less overwhelming to him, he wondered if it was the knowledge that someone was there for him that stopped the crushing loneliness from over taking his brain. He would go and watch the storms roll by and would feel a pair of concerned eyes on the back of his head, he knew that Five thought he was subtly checking up on his brother but Diego wasn’t an idiot, someone doesn’t use the bathroom that many times in one afternoon.

And, just as Diego finally felt comfortable in his own head the universe decided to test him.

It had been 3 days since Five had disappeared He hadn't contacted anyone, know one knew where he was. He was gone. After the 4th day with no word from Five Reginald decided to hold a press conference, to get the academy out in front of the cameras to discuss what had happened to Five and to make sure they understood that just because one of them was gone id didn't mean the academy would stop. Diego was dressed in his clean pressed uniform, standing in front of the mirror, glad that his mask masked his blood shot eyes. He had his hands shoved in his pockets to hide how badly he was shaking as he tried to practise his speech.

“f-f-four days a-ago, Number F-Fi-” he snapped his mouth shut in anger, he couldn't talk, he couldn't just get the stupid words out. “We w-w-will be continuing our t-training-” he ripped his hand out of his pockets, covering his mouth as tears filled his eyes again and sobs pushed their way up his throat. He couldn't do this, they shouldn't be able to do this, his brother was gone and could be dead and they had to find him they couldn't just keep going about like nothing was wrong because five was missing Five was gone and could be dead hewasgonefivewasmissing-

Vanya’s quiet knock on the door snapped him out of his thoughts, he jumped a little looking over at her

“Dad said it was time to go” she said quietly, looking at Diego with concern “are you alright?” Diego felt angry, he didn't know why but he just did. He felt so angry, and he snapped at her

“Like you would care, you’re not really apart of this family” he pushed past her storm down the hall to the front door, shoving his hands deep into his pockets with his head down, climbing into the waiting car.

The press conference went...well it went as well as it could have. Luther stood in front of the cameras and talked with ease, like he was talking about someone else and not his own brother, Diego took a deep breath and went to step up, it was his turn to talk, but Reginald put a hand on his shoulder.

“I don’t think you should speak today son, we don’t need anymore embarrassment shed on the academy”. Diego looked up at his so called father and suddenly the world stopped spinning. The sound of cameras clicking was too loud, Reginald’s hand was too heavy on his shoulder, his mask scratched at the side of his head burning into his skull, the light from the sun blinded him. he pulled back from Reginald and ran towards the car, stopping behind it as he dry retched, clutching at his head as he waited desperately for the crushing feeling to leave him. Eventually his siblings came back to the car and they all piled in, except for Five, and drove back to the academy. Everyone was too happy, everyone was talking, the car engine was rumbling, the car was bouncing, every movement every sound every glint of light was like a drill in Diegos mind, pressing further and further in, tearing his brain in half. As they pulled up at the Academy rain began to fall from the sky, Diego raced up the stairs, ignoring his mothers concerned calls and his siblings eyes following his shaking from up the stairs. He pushed the attic window open clambering up onto the roof as he began to sob, gut wrenching sobs that shook his entire body and ached him to his core. His mind spin and spiralled out of his control, he felt numb and overwhelmed at the same time, he distantly noticed himself hyperventilating but he couldn't stop it he didn't know what to do he couldn't make it go away. Then suddenly there was a hand on his knee and and he snapped his head up hoping to see Five. But it wasn't Five Five was still missing, his brain supplied. He realised that it was Vanya, she was saying something but he couldn't hear it over the rush of blood in his ears. She reached out and grabbed his hand which had somehow become buried in his hair and pressed it against her chest. Diego could feel her heartbeat and could feel her taking deep breaths. She kept his hand between her warm ones and her chest and slowly he began to to copt her slow breathing, he could hear what she was saying now, his mind slowly letting the outside world in.

“It’s alright Diego, just breathe it’s okay, you’re alright, I’m here just breathe, deep breaths Diego it’s going to be okay I promise just stay with me it’s alright”

“Vanya?” he asked quietly, she nodded at him giving him a soft smile “Vanya..w-what are you doing up h-h-here”

“I followed you up here, I was worried about you after you snapped at me this morning.” Diego dropped his head

“I’m s-s-sorry” he stuttered quietly, her hand tightened around his

“what’s going on in that head of yours Diego?” She asked gently, moving a little closer to him, thats when the floodgates opened and everything that had been spiralling around in his head flew out of his mouth. Vanya sat and listened to him quietly, she didn't complain about the rain, she didn't push him when he stuttered or sobbed, she just listened to him. When he was done she moved forward and slowly pulled him into a tentative hug, after a moment Diego gripped her back tightly, they sat there together for a long time, until neither of them could take the cold anymore. Quietly they clambered back down into the attic together, going off to their rooms separately, drying off and going to sleep.

After that evening a strong bond formed between Vanya and Diego, they would often meet on the roof together and talk, sometimes Vanya would hold him while he trembled and cried, his desperate need to be number one, the overwhelming sadness of Five still being gone, Ben, Ben passing away. She would hold him through it all. Then sometimes he would gently take the violin out of her hands when her fingers would bleed from practising over and over again and take her up to the roof here he would hold her hand as she cried. Together they made it through day by day. Sometimes Diego would feel an ache in his heart, Five was the one who helped him and as amazing as Vanya was...Well she wasn’t Five. Five was gone. So it was Diego and Vanya against the world.

Until Vanya wrote her book.

It hurt reading Vanyas book, he thought that the two of them were close, that they cared about each other but according to her the entire family was just a bunch of ‘heartless egotistical thrill seekers’. He read the book from start to finish then he took it outside and burnt it. A week after that he moved into the basement of the old boxing gym down the road. A month after that he met Patch.

Diego decided to never let Patch see the side of him that drove Five away and made Vanya hate him. Around Patch he was strong and confident, he impressed her with his knife skills, he made her laugh, he coked her dinner, he helped her study. But each night he would return back to his room and would curl up under the covers and shake apart, there was no roof to climb up on, no rain to soothe his burning skin, no brother to gently guide him back to reality, no sister to listen to his problems when they became too much. Then it would be morning and he would drink a coffee and wash his face until his red puffy eyes went back to normal then he would go and meet Patch at the police academy and pretend that nothing was wrong.

Eventually though everything caught up, the lack of sleep, the constant noise in his head, his work became sloppy, he was more worried about catching bad guys then doing the paper work, he couldn't focus on paper work, paper work didn't bring Five back, paper work didn't help people, paper work didn't fix Vanya’s broken heart, but at least bu catching a bad guy he could help someone. So he left the police academy, Patch had to say a few words about that decision but she didn't push it. They stayed together for a while after that but eventually even that didn't work. They stayed close friends, Diego had never stopped loving the shorter woman. Patch knew the brooding vigilante was hiding something from her and she could never properly love him back knowing he was keeping things from her. But things changed when Reginald died. Vanya came back, Five came back and Patch...

The day she died was the worst day of Diegos life. He raced to the motel after getting her message and instead of finding her waiting for him, smirk on her lips and her beautiful hair pulled back into a ponytail, he found her laying dead on a dirty motel room floor. It was his fault, he didn't get to her soon enough he didn't save her she needed him she wanted his help and she was late. He was the reason she was dead, it was his fault it was his fault allyourfaultitsallyourFAULT. He wanted to stay by her side, he wanted to hold her and make sure she knew that he did come for her but he knew the the police were coming and if they found him there they would arrest him without a doubt. So shakily he stood, looking back at her one last time before running out of the room. He jumped in his car, slamming the door harder then then needed. His hands shook at the wheel, covered in blood, covered in her blood. He moved on auto pilot driving back to the Umbrella Academy. He hardly managed to turn the car off before throwing the door open and stumbling out, his head spinning and he couldn’t breathe properly and his hands were wet with blood and it was too much.

Klaus was sitting on the overly sized couch on the rainy Sunday night. Reading some trashy magazine that Allison had left laying around when the door flew open and Diego stumbled in.

“Christ on a cracker you’re gonna give someone a heart attack throwin doors open like that” he joked not looking up from his magazine. The silence that followed was unusual enough to cause Klaus to lower the article he was reading and look at who had barged in. Diego was leaning against the door, breathing heavily and his eyes seemed wild. Like he was seeing something Klaus couldn’t, his hands were covered in...

“Blood! Jesus is that blood!” Klaus stood up walking cautiously over to his brother who seemed frozen. “Diego?” he asked quietly placing a hand on his shoulder. That snapped the other out of whatever daze he was stuck in. Diego pushed Klaus away panicked and bolted up the stairs. Klaus stood stunned for a moment before running after him

“Diego! hey man what’s goin on you’re freaking me out” Diego just kept running, throwing the attic door open and climbing through the window onto the roof. Klaus swore under his breath and climbed out after him. Diego was down on all fours, clutching at his chest as he tried to breathe, sobs and coughs getting caught in his throat and small whimpers poured out of his mouth. Klaus didn't know what to do, he didn't know how to help. Hell he didn't even know what was wrong with Diego. Slowly he knelt down next to him.

“Diego..hey, hey can you look at me?” he asked softly “come on buddy I can’t exactly help you if you don’t look at me”

Diego could hear Klaus, but he was more focused on the fact that he couldn’t breathe and patch was dead and he couldn’t breathe! He turned back to look at Klaus and tried to tell him that but all the came out of his mouth was a high pitched whine.

“Alright, it’s alright don’t try and talk yet, how can I help you breathe Gogo?” the old childhood nickname caught Diego’s attention. Something in his brain told him to put his hand on Klaus’s chest, feel the others heartbeat and use it to calm down. Jerkily he threw his arm out in the general direction of Klaus’s chest, grabbing onto the soft cotton of the others shirt. After a beat Klaus realised what the other was doing and tired to take deep breaths for him, his own hands resting awkwardly by his side unsure of what to do. Eventually Diego calmed his breathing back to normal, still shaking with the wild distant look in his eyes but at least breathing properly. Klaus reached out and took his hand

“Diego, is this blood yours? Are you hurt?” Diego shook his head and a sob escaped his mouth

“It’s h-hers, it’s her blood, s-s-she’s dead and this is her blood-” his breath started to speed up again, Klaus softly shushed him bringing his hand back to his chest until the other calmed down again. He decided not to ask anymore questions, Diego was clearly too far gone in his own head.

“hey, why don’t we get off the roof Gogo, it’s wet and freezing up here” he gently tugged on his brothers arm, Diego limply stood beside him, they slowly climbed back through the window into the attic. To both the boys surprise Vanya and Five were standing there, Five pacing and Vanya nervously biting her nails, both snapped their heads up as the boys fell through the window.

“Diego!” Vanya said taking a step forward. Diego could see and hear everyone, but it felt like they were under wanter, everything was blurry and muted. He saw Vanya and Five standing there, he reached out to Vanya automatically, wanting her familiar comfort. Klaus let go of his arm as Vanya’s thin arms wrapped around him, holding him tightly. He clutched her back tightly, trying to ground himself in some sort of reality. After a moment Five cleared his throat

“Come on, you’re freezing Diego, lets get you changed.” The shorter boy said, putting a reassuring hand on Diego’s arm. Diego nodded stepping back from Vanya, he looked down. The rain had washed the blood off his hands, her blood. He squeezed his eyes shut trying to block out the image of her lifeless body laying on that motel room floor. Five took his hand and gently lead him out of the attic and downstairs.

“The blood, that was on his hands, I think it’s the cop he likes...I think she’s dead” Klaus says quietly, looking over at Vanya. She hung her head a little

“I shouldn’t have left him, I shouldn’t have written that book...he likes to plays tough but, well he’s really not” Klaus puts a hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze before heading down to Diego’s room. He paused in the hallway, hearing soft voices coming from the room.

“-we can worry about that tomorrow okay, you need to sleep alright, we cant fix anything with your head spinning like this”

“w-what if I close my eyes and lose you all like I lost her, F-five I already lost you once”

“Oh Diego..I’m sorry, I’m not going anywhere. But you know even if i did Vanya is here for you, and even if she ends up leaving too you have Klaus, Diego you’re not alone in this” There’s a pause and then the sound of creaking as weight shifts on the bed. Klaus quietly pokes his head into the room, Five was sitting on the bed, back against the wall with Diego in his arms, the other looked exhausted, ref eyes and black circles. Five looked up, giving Klaus a sad kind of smile and a nod. Klaus flicked the light off and quietly pulled the door shut behind him with a gentle click.

{I know this is a long one, thanks to everyone for being patient with me, its been a rough few weeks for me and getting the support for my writing is amazing. You’re all beautiful humans, my inbox is always open <3}

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sondersoft · 6 years

Note

what about Christmas as a prompt?

hhh again this is over 1k so i’ll make a cut. anyway the image of the doctor and yaz watching the earth from above on christmas eve/christmas day immediately came into my head so now you get to enjoy it too! thank you for the prompt!

i kindly suggest you listen to this song as you read; it’s got exactly the atmosphere i want for this one-shot.

Yaz hadn’t wanted to leave the TARDIS tonight.

This was to be their first Christmas since the Doctor hadfallen, quite literally, into their lives. After the never-ending wonder andterror being around the Doctor elicited, Christmastime was proving to be a muchmore relaxed affair. Graham had voiced his relief – no aliens would interrupt his Christmas dinner, thanks – but Yazhad a suspicion this had been spoken at least partly in jest.

(Plus, this would be the first Christmas that Graham and Ryanwould spend without Grace.)

Yaz wasn’t quite as excited for Christmas either. As aMuslim, it was never going to hold the same sort of significance as it did forGraham and Ryan – but like many, her family celebrated the festivity of the day.Not to mention, her mum’s halal Christmas dinner made mouths water from milesaway. But, no, it wasn’t family that was the problem. It was the mundanity ofpartaking in her previous life – the Christmas Day police shift and all. It wastime without the Doctor.

Yaz knew, and sometimes despaired over, that wherever theDoctor was, she wanted to be.

Graham and Ryan had already left the TARDIS earlier thatevening, to the sound of the Doctor promising a visit on Boxing Day. Yaz hadmeant to be going with them – she’d put her jacket on, said her goodbyes. Butshe just – she just hadn’t wanted to go. She hadn’t wanted to leave the Doctor justyet.

The Doctor hadn’t even questioned it. Her gaze had softenedin that particular way it did for Yaz, and she’d suggested a Christmas movie asif she did this with any of her previous friends.

(She’d chided herself for it. She knew she couldn’t spendevery waking moment with her crush, as much as she wanted to. And she’d explainedaway the Doctor’s eyes softening in response. The Doctor got lonely too. It wasjust that.)

A Christmas movie later – in truth, Yaz had no idea what itwas called; her attention had been on something else entirely – and Yaz stillhadn’t left. Still didn’t want to. The minutes were ticking down. It would beChristmas Day soon.

So the Doctor suggested an idea, and with no small sense of delightshe clicked her fingers. The doors to the TARDIS swung open obediently.

They had been on alien planets, swum in seas millions oflightyears from home, but one of the Doctor’s favourite ever sights was theEarth at night. She said the lights resembled Christmas lights at this time ofyear. All that joy. She liked how much life she could see still going, still dreaming, even as far away asshe was.

It was an unusually calm moment for the alien who neverseemed to sit still. Yaz was learning, very eagerly, that the Doctor – this Doctor– rarely let herself have these little moments of quietness. But if she did, itwas because she needed them. A moment to breathe, a moment to remember. Therewas so much of her life that had been carefully hidden away from the rest ofTeam TARDIS, Yaz was slowly realising – layers of memories, of pain and loveand loss – but that didn’t negate its existence. Sometimes things needed to bereflected on.

Yaz felt honoured that the Doctor deemed her importantenough to share a quiet moment with her.

They were perched on the edge of the TARDIS; the Doctor hadlet her legs dangle out into the night, while Yaz had elected to cross hers.Exposed to the cold of space, the Doctor had shuffled up to the police officerso their sides could share some warmth.

Looking down on this globe she called home, thisinsignificant planet both busy and peaceful and ever-oblivious to the adoringgazes of two women above it, Yaz felt very content indeed.

“Doyou do this a lot?” she wondered.

The Doctor turned her head away from her friend again,watching the Earth’s rotation. “Notalways. Often I’m too busy getting to the bottom of a problem to catch mybreath. The amount of times I’ve had to save the day at Christmas isastounding; I’m amazed it’s still my favourite holiday. After all this time.”

The smile was back again, but even from gazing at the Doctor’sprofile Yaz could tell it was a private one. Going through all the memories,she guessed.

It was a beautiful sight. Seeing the Doctor when she thoughtno one was watching her – now that was a whole other level of special.

Then the Doctor fixed her attention on Yaz again, hazel eyeswide. Her fizziness was subdued but still undoubtedly there. Yaz felt herselfblush, caught staring. “Ooh! Did Itell you about the time I met Santa Claus?”

Yaz scoffed. “SantaClaus doesn’t exist.”

“Doesn’the?” the Doctor’s tonewas immediately serious.

Mind you, she was swingingher legs and smiling to herself. Like the Time Lord’s claim that she was Banksy– Graham had told them afterwards, in a state of genuine confusion – Yaz didn’tquite know whether to trust the statement or not.

She shrugged and let it go.

“What’syour favourite Christmas moment?”

The Doctor hadn’t looked away. Yaz felt her gaze locked, analmost embrace. (How she wanted it to be an embrace.) The only soundsbetween them were their gentle inhales and exhales, and the low hum of theTARDIS.

Here, right now. Being with you.

No, she couldn’t say that. She managed to conjure up aproper answer – one that didn’t admit her gigantic crush on thelarger-than-life Time Lord. But as close as she was, a smile still lingering, itwas hard to concentrate on anything but the image of the Doctor. She took herbreath away.

“Um.” She laughed at herself. “Probably the moment beforeI have to go to my shift. Or after, depends on the time I’m called in. Everyonegives me a hug – Mum, Dad, Nani, even Sonya. Especially Sonya. She likes the happiness of Christmas even if she swears she doesn’t. I don’t know, it’snice.”

“Ilike your sister; she’s funny. Don’t worry, you’re still my favourite.”

Yaz laughed. The fact that the Doctor loved her family somuch made her very proud. “Whatabout you, Doctor? What’s the best part of Christmas for you?” she wondered.

The Time Lord looked so content in this moment. The light ofthe console room was illuminating the left side of her face. As she watched Yazwatching her, the lights from Earth below became pinpricks in her eyes, littlestars breaking free from inside the woman who travelled among them. There was alittle hesitation in those eyes - what for? Yaz almost couldn’t believe it. Then the Doctor seemed to gain some courage.

“Asidefrom visiting my friends,”she confessed, “thismoment with you.” A longer pause. “I wouldn’t want to spend it with anyone else but you. I meanit. You’re my favourite, you know.”

Yazfelt the Doctor take her hand, the one that had come to rest on her rightthigh. She held the police officer’s hand often, such was the nature of theiradventures – but in this moment, with the Doctor’s obviousness in her words, itfelt far more significant. Far moresignificant.

As shelooked down at their entwined hands, Yaz’s breath stuttered. For once, Yaz didn’ttry to explain anyway any hidden meaning. The Doctor’s thumb was moving in slowstrokes between Yaz’s thumb and her forefinger, and it was so gentle, sotender, that Yaz could feel herself bursting at the feel of it.

“You’re my favourite too,” Yaz admitted. She squeezed the Doctor’s hand in her own. Asher gaze returned to her friend, her crush, she witnessed the Doctor’s smilewiden into something a lot like relief.

TheTime Lord raised their interlocked hands and planted a kiss on the soft brownskin of her companion’s hand. Yaz lay down her head on the Doctor’s shoulder.

Back downin Sheffield, the clock struck twelve. The TARDIS performed her equivalent of church bells ringing for Christmas, a pealing melody to usher in a brilliant new day.

#thasmin prompt #i'm writing again!#doctor who #yasmin khan #thasmin #paintedviolet writes #thasmin prompts #writing #my writing

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almaratussaliha · 3 years

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“I Know It’s Haram But ... I Love Him”

This is the answer that some sisters give when they tell them that having bf is Haram in Islam. So this is a message for everyone of them:

“Dear Sister, generally, a Muslimah should only love the man she will accept to marry because of his commitment to his deen! The more he will be closed to Allah, the more she should love him.

What about you? Why do you love him? Is it because of his sweet love words? Be certain that they are nothing but shaytan whispers!! Is it because of his promises of marriage? If he really wants you, he would be a real man and come to your house to ask for your hand in marriage… If he is a real man, he would approach your wali not you!!

Have you ever asked yourself if he truly loves you? Because if he truly does, then he wouldn’t let you face hell !! True love is when you pray to be gathered in Jannah with the one you love! That’s true love, and it only comes with Halal, after marriage!

Have you ever asked yourself if he would let his sister have boyfriend? A real Muslim man would have jealousy on his Maharim (his mother, sister, wife…) and if he has no Jealousy, so he is “dayouth” as Prophet Mohammad (sallaAllahu alaihi wa sallam) described this type of man! If he would let his sister to have bf, then you will know his true value, but if he would refuse to let her have bf then you will know your true value in his sight!!

Dear Sister, know that no matter how much he “loves” you in this Dunya , he will hate you 1000X more than that in the Akhirah.

YES!!He will HATE you, he will blame you for your relationship when he will be between the Hands of Allah, and he will beg for you to be thrown into the fire instead of him!

Allah says in Qur’an :”Al Akhillaa (Friends/the lovers who had forbidden relationships) on that Day will be foes one to another(they will be like enemies) except Al-Muttaqun (the ones who feared Allah)“ (43:67)

Is that the kind of love you want? A temporary feeling you get in Dunya, a feeling inspired by Shaytan which turn to hate in Akhirah?!!

Dear, please wake up before it’s too late, you still have time to make things right, leave this Haram relationship right now! Leave it for Allah .. Wallahi the price HE will grant you will be greater than you have ever thought… Just make that step today before tomorrow!

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natasha-talks · 3 years

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The Relapse-

4th August 2021; Bismillahirrahmanirrahim.

This is something that is so difficult for me to do. I don't even know how to construct a full sentence. I couldn't find the right word to describe what i'm feeling. Like a baby, who is not able to talk trying to tell her parents that she is in absolute pain - She cries.

I've been feeling this for about a month, i would say. But i kept on being in denial because i've been told so many times that everything is fine to a point i thought i was overthinking. But i'm turning 23 in 6 days and no, my intuitions are always right. Always.

Yesterday, the man that i love most finally said that it's not going to work out. It didn't kill me but something inside me died. It felt like someone poured salts all over your wounds. It was too painful because he gave up on us while i'm still here trying to understand and fix things. I was not sad that he's going to leave me because i understand that this ain't just about me, it's about him too. His feelings matter. But it killed me when he started disrespecting me with "What the hell?" "What the hell is wrong with you?" "Shhhhhhhit" and the list goes on. I have always looked up to him as someone who is mature but yesterday, i felt like i was talking to a different person. It's like i have never known him. I saw the look in his eyes and the only thing i could see was.. nothing. He looked at me as if i am the most horrible person in this world. But i let it slide because i know that he's been dealing with things and i really thought that i've been there for him but the truth is, i am stupid for thinking he would actually notice and appreciate the little things i've done for him when i have actually saw numerous signs that he's not that type. From the things he said about himself to the things he said about other people. It made me realise yesterday that it is a narcissistic behavior. But somehow, it still didn't change the amount of love that i have for him. Because i saw it. I saw it from the very beginning but i still chose him. I chose him, fully and i knew what i was signing up for.

He said that it's me. I am flawed, i know but it's not like i don't want to try and make things better. I kept on asking but i guess, that will never be enough. He said I treated him poorly by not giving comfort. I have told him to teach how he wanted it to be because my way of comforting is different and i have never dealt with people saying that i'm not a good listener or good at giving comfort. But yea, there are so many things that i've done but it will never be seen. I knew it for quite some time and yesterday, he proved me right again. It's when i said i do understand but he quickly cut me off by saying i don't and gave an example. You see, he would focus on the flaws instead of the good things i've done. He didn't notice that talking to him is like having to walk on eggshells. But i'm not complaining, i have never complained because again, i knew what i was signing up for and i love him still up until this very moment and i think i will always love him no matter what he puts me through because i really really let down my walls for this man when i have actually promised myself not to be with anyone. I even brought him back home to meet my parents. My mom was the one who told him that he's the first because i have never been that type.

Yesterday made me realise that he said everything is about me. At first, i almost fell for that but while i was busy crying, it actually made me realise that this relationship was not about me or us. It's about him. When he asked me what did i want him to do for me, i said "Im just looking for respect in this relationship" and he said he wants comfort and peace. He started listing out other things too. If i were to ask, there are so many things that i wanted but i never did because i really really accept him for the way he is. He never gave me comfort, it's always "It's okay, i'm here. We'll get through this together" -- I'm not complaining by the way. The comfort that i need is advise, is for someone to guide me when i'm wrong and have a discussion about it. But again, i have never complained. Whatever that he gave me, i accepted it and i do appreciate it. But it's sad. It's really sad that it's not the same for him.

He told me yesterday that i couldn't let go of my past. To be honest, i have never cared about the people from my past. He told me many times that its a new book and i started to view things differently. I started posting throwbacks when i saw it coming. One of my ways of coping to look back and remind myself that it's possible for me to be happy. Those were all me at my best and how i dealt with things. It got nothing to do about me wanting to be the old Natasha. Because the current Natasha is the one who made it through. Who has been clean for a year and a half. I am proud of her even when nobody else does because i know i did this on my own - of course, with the help of my friends and my extended family members. Arwah atuk left me last Ramadhan and my world changed. It felt like 2018 again. I miss him. I really really do because he gave me comfort that i couldn't have. A person that i can be vulnerable with without having the fear of being judged. But he's gone for good.

He told me yesterday that when things didn't go my way about the pasta panas, i started acting poorly. That was the first argument we had. He's not wrong, i did act poorly even when i know it's not his fault. I know he wants to put me on the good side. But that day, it really broke me because he actually said that he missed me, for the first time the day before and i was so excited to see him. It was never 100% about pasta panas? It's just me wanting to show him that i miss him too. I apologised but he brought it up again yesterday. He brought up so many things to a point i questioned myself, was he lying this whole time? Because he told me he forgave me and it's important to learn and grow.

That's the word. I want to grow and i know that i can always grow alone because i've been there, done that. But i chose to grow with this man because i may not know how to show it according to him, i love him with all of me. It hurts me soooooooooooo bad knowing that he's hurt. Because i never wanted to hurt him. That's why i kept my distance when we first started talking because i knew that i was not healed. I took my time to heal and i came back when i was ready even when i thought he was seeing someone else because of the story he posted. But i tried. I could have always date someone else but the reason why i chose him, it's not only because i thought he's smart. It's because i really prayed for signs and then 27th January came. Things didn't go like how we both expected but yea, i have never stopped praying and it's always him. The signs, it's always leading back to him.

Yesterday, it was the day when i cried the hardest because it was painful. Too painful even when i know i can always get over it but i have no idea, why.. it's painful. From 12pm i was crying over the phone with Danish because i knew somethings not right but he left me in the dark and i couldn't stand wondering what did i do. I couldn't talk to him because he made himself unavailable. Even when he's available, he would say that things were okay. It was never fair. Not for me and for anyone who was put in that situation. I could have done it to him a lot of times but never once it came across my mind to do that to him. I know i mentioned about red flags at the beginning of this post-- "You know it's going to hurt you so bad right when this relationship is over?", he's right. It will hurt me because i love him more but it's never right to say that as if i am not capable of fighting it. Plus, i've been through everything. It will hurt me like hell if this relationship is over but i hope Allah will give me the strength if the day comes. Nauzubillah min zalik. Something that i don't ever want to face is the day that i know it's not going to work out.

Yesterday, i have never prayed hard for things to go back the way it used to be or for things to get way better for the both us. I have never cried to a point i couldn't close my eyes because it's going to hurt my head so much and it felt like my eyes were burning but after an hour of struggling to sleep, i finally slept and i accidentally woke up at 1.52am. I tried sleeping back but i couldn't and at 2.05am, i decided to perform solat tahajjud. I googled how to perform solat tahajjud and i did it. It was my first solat tahajjud. I forgot to mention that, Asr, Maghrib, Isya' and tahajjud, i couldn't control my emotions because of the Kaaba on my praying mat, it reminded me of him. He planned to take me there with him after our nikah. He wants to perform umrah and Hajj with me as a husband and wife. I couldn’t help it. I felt so weak.

My last sujood for Subuh, i poured my heart out to Him. I was shaking, i couldn’t control my emotions. All the prayers i made yesterday, it was all just for us. Not for me, just us. I really really want this to work out and i know that only He can change this. I poured my heart out on the praying mat for Him to soften both of our hearts, for Him to shower us with comfort and peace, for Him to protect us from the evil eye, shaytan, iblis, humans and unwanted diseases, for Him to ease our journey and bless our relationship as we want to make this halal, for Him to shower us with endless rizq and success, for Him to make us a better Muslim, for Him to protect us from the hellfire and place us in the highest rank of Jannah. The rest, it’s between me and Him. I prayed really hard for this.

But hey! Look on the bright side, i performed my first tahajjud. While i was crying to Him, a thought came to me.. Maybe this is a way for Him to remind me that He can give everything that i need, something that i’ve been praying for and He can also take everything away from me in a blink of an eye if i do not practice myself as a good Muslim. Maybe this is a test for me and for him for us to grow stronger and wiser. Suddenly, there’s a voice inside my head telling me to have patience because this is shaytan’s doing. They do know that we want to make things halal and that’s something that they hate so they have made a promise to create chaos in our heads and turn us against each other, in the end, everything will be ruined. I am a firm believer that Allah is the only Protector and He will protect us from all of these.

This test is not only to test our faith but it is also to test our patience. I almost gave up but i did not. No matter what he puts me through, i signed up for this and after all the things we’ve been through, i still choose to look at him the same way as i did at the very beginning. He hurt me but it doesn’t that he’s the only one. I hurt him too and i wish to stop, that’s why i kept on asking in order to make this work. Leaving was never an option for me because no matter what, i don’t want to make it a habit because this habit, it will be carried until marriage. When things get rough, you fix and work together against it, not leave. What will happen to the kids if we are unable to control our emotions? I am tired of always being the bigger person and still, not be seen because i do realise that i am surrounded by so many people with a slight narcissistic attitude or worst, some are just purely narcissists.

For this man, he’s not. I don’t blame him. I’ve been telling myself that maybe he is so used to being in a bubble where all of the people around him would always make him feel good and he would always feel like he needs to be good. Maybe i’m wrong and this will probably offend him but i don’t sugar coat things to make someone feel good. But that’s the thing, your partner shouldn’t be the kind of person who needs to always sugar coat things, your partner should be the one who would remind you and slap you with reality. You will never grow if you’re so comfortable not having people going against you, you will never grow if you cannot accept opinions and only want the things that you want without thinking about other people. Relationships should be about two people compromising. I used to do that to people and at the end, they felt so powerful and they threw me away as if i was nothing because they thought they could get everything. Oh by the way, i’m not comparing. He’s not even in the category to be compared with. He told me that i need to do a lot of learning and i admit that but i think he needs it too because the he projects his issues, that’s not the way it should be. Those words, the way he listens- defensive listening, the body language and so many more. It’s a learning process.

5.07pm; I stopped crying because i know that this is what the shaytan would be so happy about. Filled myself with rage, sadness and thoughts i shouldn’t have. But i know i’ve been here for too many times and it is so stupid of me if i would react the same way. I’ve learned a lot and i won’t repeat the same mistakes again.

For now, i’m counting days until Allah grants all of my prayers about us.

I miss him but i respect his space. I know he’s okay without me, this is test for me to fight alone.

Lots of love,

NNS.

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welllpthisishappening · 7 years

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Tripping Over the Blue Line (4/45)

It’s a transition. That’s what Emma’s calling it. She’s transitioning from one team to another, from one coast to another and she’s definitely not worried. Nope. She’s fine. Really. She’s promised Mary Margaret ten times already. So she got fired. Whatever. She’s fine, ready to settle into life with the New York Rangers. She’s got a job to do. And she doesn’t care about Killian Jones, captain of the New York Rangers. At all.

He’s done. One more season and he’s a free agent and he’s out. It’s win or nothing for Killian. He’s going to win a Stanley Cup and then he’s going to stop being the face of the franchise and he’s going to go play for some other garbage team where his name won’t be used as puns in New York Post headlines. That’s the plan. And Emma Swan, director of New York Rangers community relations isn’t going to change that. At all.

They are both horrible liars.

Rating: Mature Content Warnings: Swearing, eventual hockey-type violence AN: Happy start of training camp! I am in a never-ending state of thank you for all the fantastic response to this story. Y’all are the best. Also the best are @laurnorder @distant-rose & @beautiful-swan without whom this story would just be a mess. Also, special shoutout to Lauren who literally read all my words during a hurricane this weekend. Also on Ao3 & FF.net and tag’ed up on Tumblr.

A week.

He hadn’t seen her in a week.

And not that he was bothered by that. Not really. Not quite. He wasn’t.

It was fine.

Killian normally skated like crap the first day of camp anyway – something about rust and getting back on track and absolutely nothing to do with Emma Swan or not seeing her for the last week.

They’d played along with the set-up all night and she hadn’t moved off that stool and it shouldn’t have been that easy – to talk to someone like that and he wasn’t even mad about the blatantly obvious set-up, not when she put her hand on his knee or didn’t flinch when he leaned towards her, not quite fighting off the instinct to be just a half an inch closer.

It had been fun.

It had been easy.

They’d smiled and they’d laughed and their respective, vaguely interfering groups of friends almost looked like they believed it by the time they’d collectively drummed up enough courage to come back to the corner of the bar.

It had felt real.

Which was absurd. Of course. It wasn’t real. They were playing along, acting out so their respective, vaguely interfering groups of friends would leave them alone and stop worrying about some sort of happily ever after that neither Killian nor Emma seemed particularly interested in.

He didn’t need that.

He’d tried it once and it hadn’t worked and, well, that was that. As they say.

And Emma, very clearly, didn’t need it either because it had been after midnight and she’d smiled softly at him and muttered that it was nice to meet you again before taking David’s offered hand and hopping off the stool and walking out of the restaurant.

He should have asked for her number.

No.

That would have been a mistake. They were just playing or whatever word they wanted to use. He hadn’t spent the last week trying to come up with some kind of description for it or trying to forget the way her hair fell over her shoulder or that thing her eyes did when she got caught by surprise, which happened several times that night.

Idiot.

He was an idiot. And he was about to get cross-checked.

Killian groaned when he felt the boards in front of him, the edge colliding with, at least, six different internal organs at once and he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to move his shoulders so Will would, literally, get off his back.

“Jesus Christ,” Killian muttered and Will laughed when he finally moved away, skating backwards with more grace than he’d ever exhibited in a real game. “What the fuck, man?” Will clicked his tongue and held up one hand, dragging his stick along with him as he kept moving away from Killian. “Pay attention, Cap.” “Was that supposed to be some sort of lesson? God, I think you just severed my liver.” “A delightful picture,” Robin muttered, skating up to Killian’s side and coating the edge of his skate with ice as he skidded to a stop.

“Learn how to skate,” Killian shot back, glaring at his linemates and supposed friends and if he gripped his stick any tighter it was absolutely going to snap in half.

Kristoff would kill him if he snapped his stick in half.

It had been a long week.

“You’re the one who’s barely been able to move all day,” Will pointed out, tilting his helmet back so he didn’t have to look through the league-mandated visor. He arched his eyebrows meaningfully. “Something you want to share with the class, Cap?” Robin stared expectantly at him and Killian rolled his eyes, neck audibly cracking when he glanced up at the ceiling of the practice facility and, fuck, they were all going to have share a car back to the city.

The questions were never going to end.

“I mean you always skate like shit on the first day,” Will continued, seemingly oblivious to Killian’s growing frustration. “But this is like a whole other level. Can’t win the Cup if the supposed leader of this team looks like garbage from the get-go.”

Robin muttered something and Killian didn’t hear it, red tinging the edges of his vision as he moved a bit closer to Will and that might have been the easiest he’d skated all day. There was a small crowd around them, players leaning on sticks and up against the boards and even Arthur was watching them, like he was waiting for it all to come to some sort of boiling point in the far corner of the rink.

It might have been.

Fuck.

He should have asked for her number.

“What is your problem, Scarlet?” Killian asked and his grip loosened around his stick just a bit, almost as if he was getting ready for something.

Will glanced down at his hands, tapping out a rhythm against the wood even through his glove, and he shrugged. “You tell me, Cap. You’ve been in a funk for the last week and now you come out here and you’re barely even moving and this isn’t going to work if you’re not paying attention.” “You think I’m not paying attention? It’s been two hours.” “And you’ve skated like garbage. You even touch the puck yet?” His helmet was off and his gloves were off and his stick sounded like a boulder when it hit the ice, Will’s jersey gripped in his hands and the asshole actually had the audacity to smile, like he’d been waiting for this moment the entire goddamn afternoon.

He probably had.

He’d probably come up with the plan before they even laced up, detailed the specifics with Robin, made sure Arthur knew about it beforehand so he didn’t blow that far-too-shrill whistle before Killian exercised some sort of emotion on Will’s jaw.

He wasn’t much of a fighter – that was usually Will’s role if he was being honest – but Killian had a temper and hockey was as good an outlet for that as anything. He hit and he hit hard and he’d had more penalty minutes last season than he’d ever had in his career and most of them had come from boarding and that cross-checking technique he’d taught Will. The same one the asshole had used on him a few minutes before.

Asshole.

He’d used Killian’s own technique.

It wasn’t really his fault – and that was as much of a lie as any he’d tried to tell himself all week, determination to forget the green in Emma Swan’s eyes coming up decidedly short of hitting its mark. The temper had been a problem since he’d been eight years old and his mother had died and his father had left and he and Liam had one bag of clothing between them by the time they walked into the brownstone downtown.

It had been a big house, bigger than anything Killian had ever even thought existed in New York, far too used to that tiny one-bedroom that wasn’t really a one-bedroom, more just a sheet tacked to the ceiling so his mother would have some privacy, and it didn’t even have its own bathroom.

The bathroom was down the hall.

So he’d been mad and angry and upset and Liam had done his best, but he was just as mad and angry and upset and they were far too young to really be dealing with any of it – even if they’d somehow managed to stay in the same city.

The Vankald family was rich – absurdly rich – and they owned an entire brownstone in SoHo and they, apparently, wanted to take pity on a pair of parentless brothers from above 125th. Killian and Liam had brought their one suitcase on a Thursday.

It had been July – hot and sweltering and it smelled like garbage, even in front of that enormous brownstone – and everything had changed.

They never left.

And the anger started to ebb just a bit, thanks to dinners every night and Elsa and Anna and a family that Killian had all but given up as soon as his mother was gone.

It had been Liam’s suggestion and they’d agreed immediately, something about idle hands and the Devil’s work and Mrs. Vankald was practically overflowing with clichés at any given moment, but they paid for all of it and that was good because it only took one practice for Killian to realize that hockey was expensive.

There were pads and sticks and helmets and lessons and ice time and town-car rides to Chelsea Piers because, in addition to a never-ending supply of clichés, Mrs. Vankald was vaguely terrified of public transportation.

She never found out about that time Liam and Killian snuck Elsa and Anna on the uptown one and took them above 125th and they’d come up with some sort of vaguely over the top lie when Anna got food poisoning from the halal cart.

But it had been Liam’s idea – the uptown one train and hockey – and they’d been good. Killian had been good. Liam had been even better.

He set the record for goals at their high school – which wasn’t saying much because high school hockey in New York City wasn’t saying much – but then he did it at that prep school in Connecticut too and then, for good measure, did it for a third time at Minnesota and his number was hanging in the rafters now.

It didn’t take any thought to follow in Liam’s footsteps – two years behind – and just as determined as ever to be as good as his brother and Killian signed his letter of intent and his scholarship offer without even listening to another school.

He went to Minnesota and he went with Liam and people talked about the brothers Jones in almost reverent tones in that tiny, little college town where hockey was the only thing that ever really seemed to matter.

They won a title Killian’s freshman season – both earning points on the game-winner when Liam set him up in front of the net and there was probably something about that, a cliché Mrs. Vankald could have come up with if they’d given her half a chance to. They hadn’t. They’d hugged her instead and shook Mr. Vankald’s hand and everything changed all over again that night.

It had been a Saturday.

Elsa kissed Liam or Liam kissed Elsa and it didn’t really matter who did what because it had probably been in the works since they were both teenagers and refused to meet each other’s eyes across the dinner table.

And Killian wasn’t jealous, he wasn’t – he was happy for his brother and the smile on his face that never seemed to actually go away, but there was something in the back of his mind, some nagging feeling of want that he couldn’t quite ever seem to shake, even now, more than a decade later.

They both declared at the same time – a joint press conference in front of a Minnesota-branded backdrop that actually had cartoon gophers on it, with the Vankald family in the corner of the room and Elsa had absolutely cried.

She’d never admit it, but she had.

Anna laughed – loudly and vaguely over the top – when Killian knocked over one the microphones on the table and sent a reporter’s phone careening onto the floor. She talked about it every time she saw him.

And, as with most things when it came to the brothers Jones, they found their NHL footing together.

Liam hadn’t been nervous and, even now, Killian couldn’t quite figure out how he wasn’t – practically shaking in the suit Mr. Vankald had actually bought and trying not to destroy any other microphones when they were paraded down some sort of carpet like celebrities.

He heard his name before Liam and that didn’t make much sense either, but there hadn’t been anything except pride in his brother’s face and he hugged him tightly before Killian walked on stage and they handed him a jersey with his name on it.

Liam went in the second round and the Rangers traded up – and likely spent a good chunk of cap space – and the brothers Jones moved back to New York and the Vankalds were beside themselves. Elsa absolutely cried again.

It took a little while, but they became some sort of unstoppable force – finding a rhythm that analysts and journalist and columnists all claimed they’d never seen from American players and then Will and Robin had joined and there were headlines and people called them the three musketeers, plus one and it was absurd and perfect and everything Killian had ever dreamed up on those car rides to Chelsea Piers.

And then it wasn’t.

Because of course it wasn’t and the anger and the frustration slowly came back and Killian started hitting just a bit harder than usual and cross-checking just a bit more than he ever had and things kind of...tail spinned.

He probably should have asked for Emma Swan’s number. Or maybe tried to find her office before they spent the entire day in Tarrytown.

Arthur’s whistle shook Killian out of his own head and Will was unsuccessfully trying to pull his hands off his jersey while staying on his skates.

“God, that whistle is the worst,” Killian mumbled and Will scoffed under his breath.

“Still with us, Cap?” Robin asked, hand falling on Killian’s shoulder as he, finally, let go of Will’s jersey. They hadn’t even thrown any punches.

“Yeah, yeah, still here.”

Will made some sort of noise in the back of his throat and skated back a few feet, eyeing Killian like he was a recently uncaged animal who was liable to pounce at any given moment. He bent over to grab Killian’s stick, pushing the blade into his side and he’d absolutely done it on purpose and it wasn’t a punch, but it hurt like hell.

“You should have asked her out,” Will said pointedly and Killian almost dropped the stick again.

He snapped his head up and he should probably tell Ariel that his neck was cracking this much because he wasn’t quite that old, but that would require more PT appointments and, probably, more questions and suggestions he didn’t really want to hear.

“Drop it, Scarlet,” Robin said, but Will just shook his head.

“Come on, man, this was half your idea too! Don’t leave me to hang out here to dry just because Cap won’t actually punch you in the face.”

Killian spun on Robin, digging a line into the ice for good measure and Arthur hadn’t stopped blowing that goddamn whistle. “I knew it,” he muttered, tugging the stick under his arm so he could pull his gloves back on. “When did you even find the time?” Robin shrugged. “It’s really Ariel’s fault. She and Ruby talked to Mary Margaret, I guess.” “Oh my God, is this high school?” “Hockey.” “So the same thing.” “Exactly,” Robin agreed, but there was a smile on his face and Arthur had seemingly given up trying to control his practice. Killian vaguely heard something that sounded like five minutes and water and something else that might have been sprints, but he ignored that last part specifically. “Apparently she was smiling.” “I’m sorry, what?” He shrugged again, but he was smiling, reaching blindly behind him to try and find a water bottle on the other side of the bench. “There’s a whole story there, I’m sure, and I’m also sure if you want to know the specifics of it, you only have to ask A, but from what I understand of it, they were trying to set her up as much as we were trying to set you up.” “Why?” Robin quirked one eyebrow and Killian had asked the question far too quickly to sound anything except the curious that he absolutely was. He tried to brush it off, tapping his stick impatiently on the ice and it didn’t work – Robin knew him too well and had seen too much and heard too much and, well, there was a reason he’d agreed to whatever Will had come up with before practice. He wanted to help.

There weren’t many people who knew what happened after the accident, or before the accident for that matter, and they’d done their best to keep it out of print and away from reporters and post-game press conferences. Killian could count on one hand, scarred or otherwise, the number of people who knew the truth and he wanted to keep it that way. It was easier that way.

And after all of this, he was ready for a bit of easy.

Which explained why Killian never actually asked for Emma Swan’s number or tried to find her office or been able to stop thinking about her for the last week – because, in the few hours they spent crammed at the end of the bar with her hand on his knee – he’d come to the rather sudden realization that she was the exact opposite.

Talking to her was easy. She was not.

She was tough and guarded and her eyes did that thing when she got caught by surprise and she very clearly did not appreciate being caught by surprise.

He’d made that mistake once already, gotten in too deep too quickly and it had nearly cost him everything. He wasn’t going to do it again.

Even if he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

“Shut up,” Killian mumbled, grabbing the water bottle out of Robin’s hand.

“I didn’t say anything.” “I could hear it anyway.” Robin chuckled under his breath and dug the front of his blade into the ice. “I’m just saying, there’s more to her than I think a few hours at a party she didn’t even really want are going to provide. And Mary Margaret did tell Ariel she was smiling and she only really talked to you the whole night.” Killian’s stomach did something he was positive hadn’t actually happened since he was a teenager and he was the captain of the New York fucking Rangers, this was ridiculous. He didn’t need this. He had a contract to work for and a Cup to play for and some sort of future to secure. He didn’t have time to be distracted by anything else that wasn’t explicitly easy.

Robin did not take the hint.

“A seemed fairly convinced she’s got some sort of big-time skeleton in her Los Angeles closet,” he continued.

“Ruby already said she wasn’t one of Gold’s,” Killian muttered, keeping his voice low so no one would overhear them.

“I’m sure that’s the first thing you asked.” Killian hummed, a noncommittal sound that just made Robin shift his eyebrows slightly and tug on his lower lip with his teeth. “Rubes wouldn’t lie, at least not about that, but, like I said, A seemed certain. She said Mary Margaret didn’t want to talk about it, something about how it wasn’t her place, but I guess it was enough to make her want to get out of LA.” “She got fired,” Killian reasoned. “That’s what Ruby told me.” Robin made a noise again and Killian had to swallow down the half a dozen questions on the tip of his tongue, head practically split in half as it tried to battle between easy and interested and Arthur was blowing his whistle again.

“Are you two done?” Arthur snapped, showering their skates with ice when he stopped next to them. “It’s kind of the first day of the season, we’re trying to set some sort of tone.”

“You’ve got to get a new whistle,” Killian said. “That’s the worst noise I have ever heard.” “I hope you hear it in your fucking sleep, Jones,” Arthur hissed, accent coming in just a bit stronger when he was particularly frustrated. Or angry. Or pissed. That might have been the best word, half an inch away from Killian’s face with a sneer on his lips and that stupid whistle clutched in between his teeth.

Killian tugged his stick away from Arthur, certain he was just a few seconds away from snapping it over his knee. He lifted his fingers up to his forehead, saluting once and Arthur eyed him with something that vaguely looked like contempt. “Aye aye, coach,” he said, ignoring Robin’s groan and Arthur’s whistle as he skated back over to the blue line.

They skated sprints until Killian thought his thighs were going to actually burst into flame and his practice jersey had somehow melded into his pads and become some disgusting thing that was more sweat than any actual type of fabric.

He was never going to be able to get that whistle sound of his head – and they got to do it all over again the next day, a jam-packed roster needing to be whittled down by the end of the week. Maybe someday he’d come to terms with the rookies and the call-ups eyeing him during practice like some sort of hockey-playing God, but it wasn’t that day and it wasn’t when he’d barely managed to reign in his desire to punch Will in the face.

“This is absolutely all your fault, you know,” Will said, stepping back into the corner of the locker room with a towel pressed up against his hair, sporting another team-branded t-shirt and sweatpants.

“You have no sense of self-worth at all, do you?” Killian asked, not bothering to look at him when he spoke, too preoccupied with trying to find his phone.

“I’m just saying, if you hadn’t skated like someone who’d never seen ice before, Locksley and I wouldn’t have had to come up with some sort of plan to get you to talk and then we wouldn’t have had that whatever and Arthur would have given the whistle a break.” “He absolutely would not. He’s obsessed with that thing.”

Will ran the towel back over his head and sank onto the far end of the bench, eyeing Killian with a look of trepidation and he knew the apology was on its way before the words even hit his ears. “It was, you know,” Will started, staring at his sneakers, “done almost with your best interests in mind.” “Almost?”

“Well your fifth-wheel-ness is just starting to get sad now. Seventh sometimes if Mary Margaret and David show up at the restaurant too.” “They’re rarely there.” “Well then count A and Eric as wheels five and six in whatever metaphor we’re running with right now.” Killian sighed, grabbing his phone off the top shelf of his locker and stuffing it into his pants and this wasn’t really the apology he felt he deserved. He probably should have expected this exact type of apology.

“So is that the explanation of the very obvious set-up or an apology for being a complete dick on the ice today?” Will shrugged and Robin’s groan was audible from the other side of the locker room – even when he was half involved in a muddled conversation with a rookie whose name was...something. Phillip? It might have been Phillip.

He should probably remember the kid’s name.

And probably stop referring to rookies as kids.

“Either or,” Will said, twisting his hands in the air for good measure and Killian almost smiled. Almost. “Mostly because you’ve been visibly stewing.” “I have not.” “You have,” Robin added, rookie on his way out of the locker room with his bag slung over his shoulder.

“What happened to the kid?” Killian asked, nodding towards the now-empty doorway.

“You’re calling them kid, now? Because that just seems like bordering on veteran status and I don’t think you want that mantle during a contract year.” Killian rolled his eyes, argument on the tip of his tongue, but Will was too quick – and far too sarcastic for his own good. “No, no, he’s embracing grizzled veteran now. That’s why he didn’t ask any of us for the Swan girl’s number.” “The Swan girl?” “You were calling her Swan all night,” Will said, as if that was somehow important. It might have been. Probably not. It wasn’t as if Killian had considered that at all during the week he hadn’t spent thinking about Emma Swan. “How come you didn’t?” “Didn’t what?” “Ask one of us for her number? Or ask her for her number yourself?” And he was half a breath away from his own vaguely sarcastic response and mumbled insult and telling Will where to put his questions and interference when his phone rang and maybe that was some sort of of sign – Killian would take it even if it wasn’t a sign.

“Small miracles,” he muttered, tugging his phone out of his pocket and swiping his thumb across the screen without even really looking at the name there.

“I want some kind of explanation,” Liam said as soon as the phone connected.

“I haven’t even said a word,” Killian sighed, leaning back against the tiny space in between lockers and resisting the urge to actually groan into the phone. “Shouldn’t you be picking up the twins or something? It’s almost five o’clock.” “There are time zones, little brother, those do affect things like this.” “Younger brother,” Killian mumbled, almost entirely out of habit and Liam laughed loudly in the phone – loud enough that both Robin and Will glanced up knowingly.

“Is that our fearless leader?” Will shouted and Liam was the one who groaned into the phone.

“Tell Scarlet I haven’t been anyone’s fearless leader in at least six years, he needs to come up with another title.” “He’s not that creative,” Killian said, earning a not-quite-subtle punch in his shoulder. “Hey, what the fuck, Scarlet?” “That’s just rude,” Will answered, whispering not quite sounding like whispering and Liam was bordering somewhere close to hysterical now.

“Yeah, well, you’ve been an ass all day, so you can deal with rude.” Liam clicked his tongue and the laughter was still there on the edge of his voice. “Ah, so he went through with the plan, then.” “What?” Killian snapped, glaring at both Robin and Will and they both had their hands up in the air in mock surrender.

“Did he not?” Liam asked.

“Well, no, yeah, he did, but I just can’t quite believe he told you about it.” “He didn’t. Locksley did.” Killian kicked the end of the bench in front of him – doing more damage to his toe than the inexplicably ancient wood – and muttered a few words under his breath that made Liam click his tongue again. “Don’t let Gina hear that, she’ll never let you around Rol again.” “Listen, I am the best authority figure that kid’s got aside from Locksley. He’s not getting anything out of Scarlet.” “Oi,” Will shouted, moving so quickly he nearly fell off his perch on the bench. “Tell Liam that the plan didn’t work because his stupid younger brother is the most stubborn person in the entire world.” “He’s not telling me anything I don’t already know,” Liam muttered and Killian wished Will would move – for several different reasons, but mostly so he had a bench to collapse on once the inevitable over-the-phone inquisition began.

He glanced towards both of them – each sporting team-branded apparel now and Killian couldn’t even make fun of them with his own blue t-shirt and gym shorts with a shield emblem and, well, they got a lot of free clothes. He raised his eyebrows meaningfully and Robin understood before Will did, slinging his arm around the defender’s shoulders and tugging him towards the locker room door with the promise that they’d wait outside.

“You get rid of them then?” Liam asked after a few more moments.

Killian huffed slightly when he did finally collapse, stretching his legs out in front of him and it was an almost-dangerous balancing act when he laid flat on his back across the bench. “Alright, ask,” he said, sounding as if he was getting ready for the guillotine or something equally dramatic. It was at least enough to get Liam to laugh again.

“Well, I know bits and pieces already.” “This is the worst team in the world.” “No it isn’t,” Liam said and something in his voice was vaguely wistful and Killian sat back up, that same feeling of guilt settling in the pit of his stomach whenever they talked about the team and the sport and didn’t talk about any of the rest of it.

He felt guilty almost constantly.

Killian groaned and ran a hand over his face, pressing his fingers into his cheeks and his neck cracked again when he twisted it back and forth. “You should get A to look at that,” Liam said, laughter back in his voice.

“We’ve got PT tomorrow, twice a week is more than enough to hear about all the things I’m doing wrong with my life.” “She’s worried.” “She’s not my mother.” “I’m not sure she’s realized that yet.” “What exactly did Locksley tell you?” Liam didn’t answer immediately and that in and of itself was troubling – if there was one thing Liam Jones was good at, aside from hockey, it was coming up with immediate and occasionally scathing opinions on his younger brother’s life.

He should have answered before the question was entirely out of Killian’s mouth.

“Liam,” he prompted. “How much did Locksley tell you?” “There may have been a rather detailed description of you and a girl and several hours spent huddled together in the corner of the restaurant and how you’ve been stewing about it for the last week and that it looked…” He trailed off and Killian almost fell back onto the bench, realization sinking into every single one of his pores and his vaguely overworked muscles. “Are you kidding me?” “I didn’t actually say anything.” “He said it looked like before, didn’t he? That’s what he told you?”

“No, he used her actual name, because unlike you, Locksley isn’t terrified of a ghost.”

Killian took a deep breath – in through his nose, out through his mouth – and it was mostly so he didn’t start screaming at his brother over the phone and several timezones, all feelings of guilt transitioning into something more resembling rage.

It had happened suddenly – a crash and a lot of lights and then more lights and an update from a doctor that might have actually been a med student, doling out information only when Killian was begging and the doctor, med student, whatever, had realized who he was.

Dead.

On impact.

A crash and lights and with one word, it felt as if the light had gone out from Killian’s entire life and it was just as melodramatic now as it had been then and it hurt just as much. She’d been everything – and then some.

She’d made it easier, made everything simple and uncomplicated and straight to the point. Killian loved her, completely and selfishly and maybe even more than he loved the game and that was saying something.

The world, however, didn’t seem to care.

A single moment and a turn of the wheel and they’d been going over the speed limit and, just like that, she was gone and he tried not to even think about her name. He poured all his energy into the comeback and the game and that was all the love he had room for in his life, even if he was the awkward fifth or, sometimes, seventh wheel on this team of people who were far too involved in each other’s lives.

It was a role he was used to, after all – although when he went to Colorado he, at least, had the twins and there was something to be said for falling into the role of cool adult. Even if Elsa would have rolled her eyes at the very idea.

“That was kind of a step too far wasn’t it?” Liam asked after what felt like hours of silence and rehashing memories that made Killian feel guilty and disappointed all over again. “Make sure you tell Scarlet someone one-up’ed him for asshole of the day.” Killian laughed under his breath and the rage ebbed just a bit and his toes thanked him because he wasn’t sure they could stand up to another round of kicking at the bench. He had to skate again tomorrow. “I”m sure he’ll appreciate that.” “There was an apology mixed somewhere in there too.” “Yeah, I picked up on that.” “Good.” “And, just think, you were the one going on about my language. Don’t let El hear you say that around the twins, she’ll have your head.” “That would require me to be around the twins currently,” Liam pointed out, probably doing that thing where he traced his finger through the air when he was trying to prove something. “Which, you know, I’m not.” “Where are you?” “Coming back from the Av’s office. Had to do that promo thing today. They wanted it done before the season started.” Killian hummed in the back of his throat and Liam made that noise, the one that sounded exactly the way an older brother should sound when he was trying to make sure his younger brother didn’t feel guilty about ending his career ten seasons too early.

Liam groaned and a door slammed in the background and he must have just gotten home – to an actual house , they lived in an actual house, like an actual family with a dog and a backyard and they’d talked about building the twins a swing set before Elsa had gone on a five-minute rant about how those were, decidedly, unsafe. And it was all so real and domestic and perfect and Killian still wasn’t jealous.

Absolutely not.

And he didn’t want to ask someone, anyone, for Emma Swan’s number.

“That’s not your fault Killian,” Liam said. It was the same sentence he’d said for the last five and a half years, promises that it was fine and it wasn’t his fault and somewhere in the back of his mind, he knew he was right.

The other half of his mind didn’t really care.

“When did Locksley talk to you?” Killian asked, determined to change the subject as quickly as possible. And if Liam picked up on that, he didn’t actually say anything, just hummed in the back of his throat like he was trying to pinpoint the exact hour the conversation had taken place.

“Ummm, two days ago, maybe?” “Two days? You waited two days?” “Figured if something had actually happened you’d probably say something.” “I didn’t even tell you about her to begin with.” “That’s true,” Liam agreed. “Why?” Killian shrugged – fully aware that he was the only person in the locker room – and it was a bigger answer than he was willing to dive into in the middle of the locker room, but there was a reason he’d been stewing and just a few moments away from punching Will in the face in practice.

Emma Swan had muttered a few sentences and announced that she knew they were being set-up by their friends and her eyes were ridiculously green and that dress had been ridiculously red and it had all come together to settle underneath Killian’s skin in a way he couldn’t quite remember anything having done in...well not since it had before.

“What’s she like, then?” Liam asked, shaking Killian out of whatever thought process he’d been blindly stumbling down.

“Who?” “Killian, the girl, the one Locksley is vaguely convinced you’re already half in love with.” “No one is in love with anyone,” Killian argued. “It was a set-up on both angles. She works for the team.” “So?” “So, I’m not doing that again.” “You’ve never done that before.” Killian groaned, hand back over his eyes and there was a headache forming just behind his right eye – a mix of Arthur's whistle and Liam’s questions and his linemates interference all converging into one ball of jumbled frustration.

“Close enough,” he muttered and he believed it, even if he could hear Liam’s sigh on the other side of the country.

“No, it’s not, Killian. It’s not. You don’t get to lump things into categories just to make yourself feel even more guilty than you normally do. That’s idiotic.” “Insulting.” “And true. Now, come on, what’s she like?” “I don’t know, Liam, she’s nice. She didn’t want the party and her friend from college knows A somehow and I knew her friends and...she didn’t want the party.” “You mentioned that part twice.” “That’s about all I know.” It wasn’t – he knew a lot more, knew that she didn’t even try to argue when he started giving her water instead of white wine and that her smile stuttered just a bit when Mary Margaret leaned against David’s side and that she crossed her feet at the ankles to make sure she kept her balance on that bar stool.

But all of that would have sounded vaguely idiotic if he said it out loud and they’d talked for a few hours before a week of radio silence.

And she hadn’t tried to get his number either.

It was fine.

“You’re a giant liar who is still as terrible at lying as he was when he was thirteen,” Liam said, the sound of the door swinging open in the background again and high-pitched voices that, even over the phone, were clearly hopped up on sugar.

“Go take care of your kids, you’re an awful father,” Killian muttered and he couldn’t even get any malice in his voice.

“I’m saving you here, if they figure out I’m talking to you, they’ll charm you into playing a game and you’re way too much of a pushover to actually say no.” “Ass.” “Language,” Liam laughed. “Hey, let me know before you get married, ok?” “Deal.” The line clicked and the headache was still there and Killian was still as much a mix of frustration and guilt and something that felt strangely like want as he had been before practice and the hour after Emma Swan had walked out of the restaurant.

Jeez.

He was a mess.

And he needed to get home.

He swung his legs back of the bench, pushing up in one, quick motion and grabbed his bag out of his locker, stuffing his phone into his pocket as he moved. He’d been so focused on his steps and whatever retort he was going to shoot back at Will as soon as he got into the lobby that he almost didn’t notice the other human being in front of him when he rounded the corner towards the front doors of the practice facility.

She stepped back before Killian could collide with her completely and this time the dress wasn’t a dress, but black pants and a jacket and a shirt that looked like it had flowers on it. Killian couldn’t really tell, he was trying not to stare.

And breathe.

He was also trying to breathe.

“Killian,” Emma said and it sounded a bit like a gasp and that wasn’t doing much to help his ability to breathe. “What are you doing here?” He blinked once and ran his hand through his hair. It was definitely flowers. There were flowers all over her shirt. “Practice. It’s the first day of the season.” “Right, right, I just thought everybody left.” “If they left without me, I will actually kill them,” Killian muttered, glancing over her shoulder to find Robin and Will leaning against the front doors, respective bag at their respective feet and matching grins on their faces.

“No one left without anyone, Cap, relax,” Will shouted. Killian rolled his eyes, pressing his lips together tightly and Emma might have actually smiled, eyebrows lifted as she rocked back on her heels. “Even if some of us are taking a ridiculously long time and now we’re not going to get back to the city for like an hour.” “Alright, alright. Calm down. I’ll be right there.”

“Looks like you’ve got a cab to catch,” Emma said and it was definitely a smile. He absolutely wasn’t breathing, hand still stuck in his hair.

“It’s probably a town car,” he muttered. Idiot.

Emma hummed in agreement, but the smile didn’t waver as she shifted a pile of papers in her hands, balancing them against her hip. “That’s probably true.” “What are you doing here, Swan? Do you...do you need a ride back to the city? We can kick Scarlet out of the car.” “Ass,” Will shouted, halfway out the door as he kicked his bag. “Maybe we will leave without you now.”

“He won’t," Killian muttered and Robin did something ridiculous with his face – a flashing neon sign that practically announced he knew what was going on.

“I don’t,” Emma said. He didn’t imagine her moving towards him, did he? No. He didn’t. Right? Killian Jones, captain of the New York fucking Rangers, flirting at the practice facility like some kind of middle school jock.

Idiot.

“Need a ride, that is,” she continued, brushing her hair off her shoulders with her only free hand. “Rubes is supposed to send a car in forty-five minutes. Thanks for the offer though.” “Sure.” Emma’s eyes darted across his face when he didn’t say anything else and he knew he’d fallen back on the smirk and the quirked eyebrow and, well, that always worked. It didn’t work on her. Of course not.

This couldn’t just be easy.

“They showed me around,” Emma said, smile widening just a bit when she noticed his eyes widen. “Figured I should see the place before we do our thing in a week.” “Our thing in a week?” “Youth event. Anti-concussions. Learn how to skate. You should probably mark it down now, you’ll have to be there.” “That so?” “You’re the captain aren’t you?” “Unless this was some sort of long con.” She laughed – a real, genuine laugh and maybe this wasn’t going as badly as he thought it was. “Then I’m afraid you’ll probably be required to attend. With that slightly fancy jersey on as well.” Killian hummed, lower lip sticking out just a bit as he pretended to consider his options – like there was some sort of option beside the resounding yes, of course practically ricocheting off the corners of his brain. “I think I can do that,” he said. “Consider this your personal invitation to come and impress kids who’ve never seen ice before.” “Consider this me accepting your invitation then, Swan.” The smile widened and the laugh was a bit quieter, but just as real as she shifted the papers again. “You don’t think you’ll be busy then?” “I’ll figure it out.”

Emma made a face and it almost looked impressed and Killian could hear Will screaming for him from the other side of the door. “They’re going to leave without you,” she said softly.

“Not if they want to keep their spots on first line.” “You’re an evil captain. Lording your power over those beneath you.” Killian barked out a laugh and he’d dropped his fingers out of his hair at some point, arms crossed lightly over his chest. Her eyes hadn’t fallen on his hand once. “You have a phone, Swan?” “Hmmm?” “A phone.” “Why?” “In case there’s some sort of community relations emergency or something changes or you, you know, need someone to get you into Eric’s restaurant in the next few days.” He was rambling and it wasn’t really planned and he was absolutely still trying to fall back on the smirk and the bravado, but Emma’s eyebrow quirked up and the smile hadn’t fallen off her face yet. She shifted the papers again, twisting her arm back behind her to grab a phone out of her back pocket, tossing it in Killian’s direction. He caught it.

“Was that some sort of trust test, Swan?” he asked, clicking on contacts and typing in his name and his number.

“That’s a work phone, not my actual phone.” “And you’re willing to just gamble with work electronics like that?” She shrugged and made a dismissive noise. “You’re an athlete, you should be able to catch something at a moment’s notice.” “Ah, of course,” Killian said, handing her back the phone and her fingers brushed over his when she grabbed it. He wouldn’t think about that for the next week. “Let me know if you need any community relations.” The smile faltered and he was an idiot and Emma nodded once, stuffing her phone back in her pocket. “Sure,” she said. “Let me know if they rob you of your captaincy at the end of this long con. I’ll have to change the posters.” And she didn’t say anything else, grin on her face and hair moving over her shoulders when she turned on her heels, leaving Killian standing there slack jawed and a bit stunned as Will shouted for him again.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #ouat ff #captain swan #csbb #blue line #there's a considerable amount of backstory here #like #a lot #will scarlet hockey-goon means a lot to me #as does killian jones unable to form sentences in front of emma swan

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safitheartist · 7 years

Text

Living.

So remember that headcanon about Suren living with Carrie?

The night was cold, colder then anything he really could remember. He glanced out, hoping to see the stars but all he could see were the muddy clouds that blocked their light, the giant spotlight swinging over them in the usual intervals. Suren sighed as he followed what he came to know as the 'batsignal' with his eyes, they weren't going to show up again, he could already tell.

He closed the book he was reading, knowing he wasn't going to really read it anyways. Suren fiddled with his clothes, still feeling strange in the over sized hoody and sweatpants, as he pulled his legs close to his chest. He draped the blanket he brought out to the fire escape over his shoulders, feeling a chill come over him, he wondered if it was normal to feel so cold in Gotham or if it was just the cold of the grave following him, a constant reminder of his sins maybe?

For a short moment he thought about using his magic to warm himself and instantly scolded himself for even considering that possibility. Instead he blew his breath into his hands, feeling a wave of relive at it's warmth, he was alive, his body is warm, his blood is running, there was no cold grip of death lingering on him, it was a silly thought. He rubbed his shoulders, repeating this thought in his head like a mantra.

Suren tensed as he saw something move in the corner of his, grabbing the knife he was keeping with him and hurling it at his potential attacker in a swift movement like only a person with years of training could. The cat screamed and Suren cringed as the noise of ceramic shattering rang through the air, he stood up quickly to examine the damage he did to the pot plant as the cat gave him a accusing stare. “Sorry Tubes.” He said sheepishly, the cat simply hissed at him before making himself comfortable on Suren's blanket. He groaned as he picked up what was left of the pot, knowing full well he would get scolded for breaking yet another.

“What has this plant ever done to you?” Came the voice from behind him, “Nothing,” He answered without looking up,“it's owner on the other hand is a bitch.” Carrie chuckled, “Lucy and you won't ever get along, will you?” She noted as she stepped on the fire escape, a spare pot already in her hands. Suren blushed, knowing full well he was the reason why they kept spare pots on hand to begin with. Non the less he smiled at Carrie as she helped him cleaning the mess he made. “It's not my fault!” He clarified, “She is just evil.”

“She isn't evil.” Carrie insisted, “She just wasn't expecting to have a 14 year old as her new roommate.” Suren gave her a unimpressed look. “Evil.” He said, Carrie laughed, ruffling his messy hair affectionately. Suren smiled, feeling heat creep onto his face, Carrie was a pleasant person to be around to say the least, no wonder Damian trusts her.

“They didn't come today either?” she asked as she examined his set up for the night, the blanket where Tubes was gently dozing on surrounded by books and candy wrappers. Suren didn't say anything as he avoided the concerned glance she gave him, not wanting to get pitied by her. Carrie sighed, “I'm sure they just are busy.” Of course they are, he wanted to answer, Maya and Damian were always busy.

“You know, I'm sure they would visit more if you just told them to.”

“I wouldn't have to tell them if they wanted to see me.”

He's been staying with Carrie and her friends for quiet some time now, Damian said she would be able to help him being integrated in the modern world and really Suren couldn't complain, Carrie was nice and didn't bother him about his past at all, he wasn't sure what Damian told her and whatever it was, Suren could tell she knew he was lying, but she respected him enough to not investigate herself. Lucy and Adam, Carries roommates were nice too, even if Lucy could be annoying at times. They believe he is Carrie's ' distant cousin from the middle east' and that his 'parents' were paying for his expenses. The apartment was big, they have a lot of books and plays, and Tubes the cat has taken a liking to him, despite all the times he would end up throwing knifes at him by accident. Wasn't that what he wanted? A normal life? Certainly it was as close to normal as he could have hoped for.

He just never expected it to be so lonely.

“Hey cheer up. I'm sure they haven't forgotten about you, they care about you after all.” Carrie tried to lift his mood, but Suren wasn't as sure about that honestly. “And they aren't the only ones, I care about you too.” She added, wrapping a arm loosely around his neck, a slow motion Suren easily could have dodged with ease, but he let it happen. Suren smiled, feeling a warm feeling in his chest, he leaned against the older woman enjoying the shared body heat in the cold night.

“Pizza!” Came the enthusiastic shout from within, Suren and Carrie stared at each other before breaking out in laughter over their roommates antics. “Come on lets get inside.” Carrie said as she stood up, stretching her hand out for him to grab. Suren took it, feeling her warm hand enclosed his own as she puled him upright, Tubes took this opportunity to jump into his arms, demanding to be carried inside. “Lazy fat cat.” He said, but carried him anyways.

“There you two are! Did Suren break another pot?” Adam asked as they entered the living room, Suren avoided looking at him. The overweight man raised a eyebrow but had a amused smile on his face, “Lets just keep it a secret from Lucy. Here ya go, I found the only place in the entire town that would put halal meat on pizza.” He grinned, clearly proud of himself, Suren gave him a great full smile. “Really? You could just have gotten him a meat free one. No wonder it took so long.” Lucy exclaimed as she emerged from her room. Suren glared at the blond woman and she glared back, “ And don't think I didn't hear you attack my plant again.” She added. “Be happy it wasn't you woman.”

“And there you go again, no 14 year old talks that way, I swear he's some kind of time traveler.” She remarked sarcastically while rolling her eyes. Suren could feel panic for a slight second but didn't let it show, she was joking, just joking. “Well you are in luck, because it's time for Lucy's monthly Disney marathon, 'You're welcome'.” Suren stared at her for a second, trying to remember what Disney is and wondering if he was suppose to understand why she sang the last part. If he remembered correctly they were animated movies, something he still had to wrap his head around really, and there was singing too, he guessed, Maya said something about it at least. “Well huddle up, we are starting with Lilo and Stitch.” She said as she pushed Suren in the direction of the couch gently, he complied, making himself comfortable with Tubes on his lab. Carrie took the place next to him and he instantly leaned on her as she wrapped her arm over his shoulder.

He smiled, maybe living wasn't that lonely after all.

The night was cold in Gotham, as the boy who gave them hope swung over the rooftops, he stopped at his favorite gargoyle, taking his Robin badge off of his chest, he stared at the small monitor and felt a small smile form on his face. “How is he?” his Companion asked, keeping herself warm by nuzzling into the Bat-dragon's fur.

And for a short time they fell out of their roles.

“Warm.” Damian answered, smiling at the image of his brother and older sister cruled up on the couch. Maya shock her head, “Lucky bastard, I told you we should have ditched this to hang out with him tonight.” She scolded her little brother. Damian gave her a apologetic smile, “Tomorrow, I promise.” He said as he climbed onto Goliath. Maya wrapped her arms around him, “Stupid cold city.” She mumbled, “Really though, were they watching Lilo and Stitch? Honestly you better make up for this big time, I love this movie.” She whined. Damian rolled his eyes, “How does Disney land sound?” He asked and the audible gasp his sister made had him smiling, it would be nice to have a vacation day with his family.

#Damian Wayne #maya ducard #suren darga #carrie kelley

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thekursuns · 7 years

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How small is the world? (2)

Do you still remember this picture?

If no, please see my previous writing before (How small is the world? 1): “http://mylongdistancestory.tumblr.com/tagged/husbandtalks”

If yes, let’s go on!

In my previous blog I started to tell a story of a picture. Beginning with the book fair held in Jakarta, a book that impressed me a lot, going on with our journey in Malaysia... And then I felt it as it was going to be too long and boring to read, and decided to leave the rest for my next piece of mind :)

Let me tell some more about our backpacker day in Malaysia, as I am wrapped up in our failure to eat some fresh Uighur dishes we had been craving for. To say in short, we just couldn’t find the restaurant. We had another address that I had found on Internet and a phone number. After walking up and down on Jl. Langkawi (street) of Kuala Lumpur city, we resorted to calling them in order not to spend time and money again for searching another place. But the answer we got helped us end this pursuit of belly politics! The man on the other side only told “Kami tutup hari ini!” that means “we are closed today”. Well… Chinese New Year seems like a golden opportunity for the Malay and other nations living there, except for the Chinese who have to pay much effort for preparations. But the Malay even close their restaurants!

We finally gave in against this grim reality. As my wife had already started to complain about this long walk up and down the street, I offered her to enter to one of those spice paradises of Indian people rowed the roadside. The offer was accepted! We barged into a “Nasi Kandar” restaurant and ordered, or tried to order some big portions of rice, cooked in different ways. My wife asked for a portion of “nasi goreng” with meat, and I asked for my favorite Indian dish, “Biryani”. Why I told “we tried”? Because it is sometimes hard to communicate with Indian waiters at restaurants, just like we experienced when then. We asked for two glasses of iced “teh tarik” but got two heated cups :) It’s ok! At least we could eat our fill for only a few ringgits. Others are only details.

The photo taken in Batu Caves by a stranger who I think cannot speak any languages on earth! He didn’t react and respond to all our questions but just changed his gestures showing that he can’t understand anything :)

After this early dinner, we headed to the cheapest shopping places of Kuala Lumpur, some shopping malls in city center where you can find delicious Malaysian chocolates and streets of China Town which are full of street vendors. We bought some souvenirs and went back to the Commuter Line station, where we began the journey in the morning, to commute back to Selangor, to our hostel (a home-stay-like room actually, but so nice). We walked a long way again as I couldn’t see the path extending to the station but finally caught the last commuter train. Farhan picked us up at “Bangi” station although it was about 11pm and he had a wedding ceremony the following morning! It was the last part of that tiring backpacker day and the next day we were going to be special guests of the bride and groom and follow the couple for their post-wedding photoshoot in a beautiful side of KL, Putra Jaya. What a pleasure for us!

Let’s leave Malaysia experience aside and go to another world now!

We had arranged everything one month before Emel and Farhan’s wedding ceremony, booked our tickets, ordered a creative gift and planned our journey there (including a short visit to Singapore). Here I have to extend my gratitude to Farhan and his family again, who did not let us put our hands in our pockets to pay for accommodation, transportation, food, even snacks and many other things. But the most important side of their help was the hospitality we saw on their constantly smiling faces, which made us feel at home. Thank you once again, family of Uncle Murtza!

After the day of wedding, we had to leave them and Malaysia to realize our plan to see maybe one of the most modern cities (and a country as well) in Asia. There you may enjoy a lot of attractions, travel easily by only using public transportation, see differently shaped and colored faces and hear four different languages anywhere. Yes, you know that “city-state” (or “polis” for ancient Greeks)… That is the Lion City, so-called Singapore (or Singapura, the Sanskrit phrase from which got its name, or Temasek, as Malays call). The reason for rather well development of this city-state is implicit in history. A colonial passion ruling most of the region for a long while, under different hegemonies, independence together with others but without equality and independence again but this time as a doorway to prosperity… Thanks to the sedulous figures in its recent history, there is nothing more to say about this successful model of unity in diversity (although that’s the official motto of Indonesia’s “Pancasila” policy, we may use for Singapore as well). Now it’s time for both its residents and outsiders to enjoy beauties of the city.

The famous Lion Statue in Marina Bay, Singapore.

Some may find Singapore as a concrete jungle populated by coldfish workaholic people (looking at its highly competitive business environment) and luxury junkies on the other side. If you have already visited this country and don’t think the way round, it means you have never seen the beauty it bears inside. I’ve had lots of Malaysian and Indonesian friends so far. I see most of them as my brothers and sisters. And you know one of them is my lovely beautiful wife and her family is my family as well. Time and again I told that Indonesia is my second home, second nation and family. And most of them are my coreligionists. You know how Muslims feel when they see other Muslims in any part of the world. Happiness and warmth… What’s the connection between these words about already known facts and the Lion City?

Let me give an example to elaborate it.

With my kind Singaporean friend, at Marina Bay, Singapore during Chinese New Year Celebration.

You may be aware of the recent unrest among Indonesian people, either related with politics or economic activities thought to be invaded by the so-called “other side”. There is an increasing intolerance between two different ethnic and religious groups (though there are many others taking a hand in). To say more clearly, that’s the intolerance between some Muslim groups and ethnic Chinese and Christians. Although it is not yet that big of a deal, it’s still a vexing problem for the society. People have still a long way to get over in this aspect. And there’s a lot to be said. Let’s delay discussion of this matter to another writing, which I plan to be about a great figure of Indonesia’s history, who has a big influence on me.

Although “Bhinneka Tunggal Ika” (Unity is Diversity) is Indonesia’s motto, it more fits to Singapore (in my opinion). I will introduce you with a nice Chinese-Christian Singaporean whom you see on the picture above. I met him at the “Appreciation Program for Winners of Indonesian Speech-Essay Contest” in Jakarta. There were about 40 or more people there with who I felt peace up to the bone. They had different colors, different languages and maybe different ideologies and religions. But we were all together in peace and loved one another. Please check one of my previous blogs titled as “Where can we find the peace?” to read more about that experience.

In Yogyakarta part of that program, I was surprised to see that we were going to stay at the same room, as we built a nice friendship in Jakarta. He was a real gentleman and a warm, helpful man. Later on I met him again when I went to Singapore to extend my visa to stay more in Indonesia.

Sorry, I forgot to mention. His name is Choon Hong.

He picked me up at Changi Airport, where I made him wait a long time as the immigration officers did not let me get inside easily, he took me for a lunch after kindly asking me whether I prefer some halal food or not and showed me round the city center before taking me to China Town where the hostel I was going to stay at was located in. Though he was busy for some family reasons, he promised to me to come back at night and travel together again. And he did so. He came back at about 10pm and we saw some more tourist attractions of Singapore, also drank two cups of Turkish coffee in a Turkish restaurant near Arab Street. He gave some advice to me for the following day I was going to spend there and took me to my hostel again, to China Town.

Both at night of the same day and the following morning I could find some time to experience Singapore’s unity in diversity. Just for an instance, please visit China Town and see how many temples of different religious groups are built there. I posted a photo there to say what a great tolerance people have in Singapore. See that here, please:

An Indian temple just beside a Moslem Mosque. Eventhough their worshipping program is rather musical, no one shows unrest.

My next trip to this beautiful city was with my wife, after the first part of our journey in Malaysia. This time we took a bus to go there from Kuala Lumpur, thus having a unique experience by passing a border by bus. It would be the next meet of us, Choon and I, this time together with my wife. He could come to see us at night as he had to join a family dinner for Chinese New Year celebrations. Look how similar it is with Muslims’ culture! Having dinner with relatives, visiting elders of the family and many more… We met at Marina Bay where they had already arranged every detail for celebrations and a street food where I had already eaten Turkish “döner kebap” cooked by a Turkish chef living there, just after we arrived to Singapore’s city center. Choon accompanied us a long time there again, with a nice conversation and took us to our hotel at night, treating some Indian bread and two cups of “milo” beforehand. We left him with good wishes until the next time comes to meet again. So what’s the specialty of this gentleman? Let me say to you what happened or not happened after we met and left. We didn’t be Christians, nor did he become a Muslim. We didn’t argue for any reason, but only had a nice conversation about the unity in Singapore. He told as that they celebrate holidays and holy (!) days of all different races and religions here. Muslims, Christians, Hindu, Buddhist, Chinese, Malay, Indian… Thank you Mr. Choon for showing us the beautiful side of Singapore… Wish to see you again, anywhere in the world. Hopefully in my country, to have the pleasure of greeting you, this time not as the guest but the host.

Me, Indian-Singaporeans and Mustafa Center :) Glasses belong to my wife...

Let’s come back to the picture I put here and the previous blog, not to ruffle you more. Actually the story is already written by wife, where she admitted being a “trouble-maker”. Yes, that’s the secret of this picture. Trouble-making… A recent example of “troubles” made by my first-lady happened in our short honeymoon in Carita Beach, which is actually near our home in Indonesia, at Coconut Island resort. We went to the pool for swimming after checking in and went back to our room which seemed like a village house made by bamboo and some kinds of wood. It was a nice place to relax, enjoying sunset in the evening and walking by the sea. Let’s come to the trouble in this beautiful short holiday! The room was a small one for two, even did not have a couple-bed inside but two separate beds placed on the floor. We put them side by side and slept there at night. As we swam in the afternoon, we had some wet clothes to dry. And my wife had a big shawl, a gift from our crazy friend, Dara :) For prayers, she put it on those two beds which were covered with pure white bed sheets. Guess what happened after a while! When we took the shawl back from the beds covered with white sheets, we were shocked to see that its red color had already migrated on one of those pure white sheets! Once we checked the paper on which terms and conditions are written, we saw that we had to pay one million rupiah for any problem with beds and bed sheets! That was not the only trouble I had at that time. I also had (and still have, of course) a woman as my wife who easily gets flurried! Luckily she has a smart husband (hehe :D ) who can pore on every situation regardless of its severity and find reasonable solutions. We just went to a market opposite the entrance of our resort, bought a bottle of bleacher; put the sheet inside the trashcan after filling it with some water and bleacher. Consequence: it turned to be pure white again! The next step was only to put outside to let it dry!

Let’s come to the other trouble you have been waiting for…

Going back to our journey; that day at noon we arrived to Singapore, after a long bus trip from Kuala Lumpur. Of course Singapore’s immigration caused some trouble for me again and we had to wait there for a while, more than other travelers. I have no clue why they do this every time they meet me… Maybe they like me and want to keep me there a longer time to have a nice chit-chat, or because of my poor Turkish passport (not to insult my own country but this is the reality that it is not strong enough). Thanks to my wife, this time they did not question me more and let me go back to bus, though they followed me till there to check my passport again.

The first place we visited with my wife was the Marina Bay area as it was within walking distance from the last stop of our bus, the Plaza business center. We witnessed the beautiful and small artificial lake surrounded by concrete sky-scrappers, but well organized and good-looking ones. We realized the food street and a stand where some men were cooking Turkish döner kebap. I approached there and ask some of the men thinking they may be Turkish, “ne kadar?”, which means “how much?” in English. I realized that the man I asked the question was not Turkish, but he got that I was speaking in Turkish, calling the other blond man, the owner, to say there is a Turkish costumer. He greeted me well, he had a short conversation together and he made some discount for a chicken döner wrap.

The nice Turkish man with his super delicious chicken döner which I had been longing for.

Then we went to our hotel in Little India, using Singapore’s perfect subway line. We had a short walk until our hotel and went up by a lift to have some rest before going out again. Everything was going nice and smooth; we were enjoying our back-packer trip, except for a little unrest caused by the small room they asked us to stay at which didn’t seem similar with the one I had seen on the booking application. We had a rest for few hours and went out to further explore the Lion City and meet our dear friend, Choon again. First we had a walk in Little India, being lost in the throng of hundreds of Indian men! I still don’t know the reason why they were hanging around where there was nothing interesting. I had a chance to see my business center there (just kidding :D ) named as Mustafa Center, you may see on the picture above :)

Then we went back to Marina Bay area where we were in the afternoon as my wife wished to see the Gardens by the Bay which she had heard that had a wonderful view at night. Using the subway again we got there and saw that it really has a beautiful view at night! We met Choon near the Marina Bay, had some chit-chat together; I found another kebap seller and ordered a “pide” (a kind of Turkish bread) for 18 Singapore Dollars!!! And this man didn’t give any discount too! I punished him by not asking any photo :D (hehe). We spent some time there as I mentioned above and went back to hotel with Choon, before leaving him there.

Next day we woke a little bit late as we were really tired due to the bus trip from Kuala Lumpur and backpacker trip in the city. We started the day with China Town, where I had stayed in my first visit to the city and did some shopping there. We had a bus back to KL at around 2pm and had to hurry up in this very last part of our Singapore journey. After I showed the mosque I had prayed at before to my wife and some other nice places of China Town, we headed to another place near to the Plaza where the bus was going to set out from. We only had 15 Singapore Dollars left and had to eat nothing that could cost more than fifteen. We choose the Zam Zam restaurant near Arab Street, where I had eaten before with Choon. It is a Muslim-Indian restaurant that serves some Arabic and Indian halal food. We ordered a “biryani” and “murtabak” as they are my favorites and of course two cups of “teh tarik”! And guess what we saw on the receipt given by the waiter at the end of our meal. It was 15 Singapore Dollars! So we had no money after that meal, except for some chicken feed…

Last one hour of our journey… We, in deed, did not need any money too after that moment. If you have thought that this could be the trouble we had, you are mistaken! The trouble caused by my wife, again… :) We left the restaurant to pray at Sultan Mosque that we arrived only by crossing the street. I performed an ablution and went inside the mosque. As it was the time for the noon prayer, the others prayed together while I did not join them as I had no time and had to leave early to catch the bus. Before I entered the mosque, I told my wife to wait me in front of the fountain. But as you may have already guessed, when I went out she was not there! Darting about inside the mosque courtyard, I started to think that we would miss the bus! I had no money, and even didn’t know whether we could find another bus or not! There were only 20 minutes left and we had a 10-minute-walk to the Plaza. I waited 5 minutes, looking around the mosque. But I saw no one. Another few minutes, but she still didn’t appear! It was just when I completely lost my hope for catching the bus that she showed up from a different side I was not expecting her to be. I was mad as hell and couldn’t help myself shouting her “where have you been?? Didn’t I tell you to wait here?? We just have ten minutes, how can we catch the bus??”… But I had to calm down and think clearly. I checked the map I already captured on Google Maps and tried to figure out the road going to the Plaza. But this time we had to run! So we did. But helter-skelter we couldn’t realize the Plaza which was actually just in front of us, as at the previous day we did take another way to go to the Marina Bay. Batting around there I asked few people where the Plaza actually was, but they had no idea as well. I ran to a wrong direction when I saw the place on my left but had to run all the way back to get to its entrance. Finally I caught the bus and luckily they had not yet left the terminal. I asked them to wait until my wife arrived and bought a bottle of cold water with the chicken feed I had in my wallet. Let’s finish this blog with the last words I told to my wife: “You really want to kill me! This time you really planned this to kill me!”…

See you in next adventures :)

#singapore #malaysia #friendship #husbandtalks #longdistance #interracialmarriage #singapura #chinese #malay #indonesian #turkish #kebab #traveling #backpacker

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