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wildwren · 2 years

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A Gentle Touch // Arondir x Bronwyn // Rated T

Character Study, Short Fic, Pre-Canon, Relationship Development: An introspective snapshot of Arondir and Bronwyn, pre-canon, and the moments that draw them together.

Read on Ao3 or below the cut!

so I was reluctant to post my fic on Tumblr because I figured I might get some hate, but then I got some hate on another post and now I figure, fuck it! bring it on, bitches! if you have nothing better to do than bully creators out here minding their own business, then that's on you, buddy. that's on you.

He liked the night. The shape of the hills in the darkness like great huddled bodies, old giants bent and grizzled into granite. The touch of the moon on the valley floor, a migrating pool of ethereal light.

He liked the shape of the moon, always changing. It seemed to him quite an expressive face, slower to shift than that of a human or a dwarf or an elf, but quick enough that he could meet it with a mind to conversation.

He liked the conversation — the silence of it. It was conducted in subtlety, like all he aimed to do.

Arondir had spent many nights on top of the tower. Many years worth of nights. He had watched the edge of the forest creep into the belly of the valley, the slow-fingered hands and feet of the leafed ones weaving through the soil. He had guided such movements once: danced with them in call and response, pulled them gently towards his will, sung them with praise for their service. But now he could only watch them from afar, whispering small blessings to the wind.

He had watched when the men came with sharpened blades and cut the old ones back to the cliffs, so as not to lose precious pasture to their slow advance. Arondir understood. He grieved for the trees, but he did not curse the men. They were simply growers of a different kind.

Perhaps it was the passive distance allowed by the tower, but he saw them as strangely innocent and harmless: small, foolish creatures, safely contained within the bowl of their own valley, crashing up against the same unbreakable rocks year after year. He felt more akin to the mountains than to the humans, when he stood up there.

But it was different when he walked among the villages. In the villages it was not so simple. For surely, after several decades, an elf with a mind for careful observation must start to make some distinctions, to carve the shape of individuals from the mass of man he walked among.

Edar, who worked the forge, whose father had once made Arondir a brass buckle for his quiver. It was nothing to rival the craftsmanship of elves, but it was stout and sturdy and possessed its own strange grace, and was precious to Arondir in its strangeness.

Bronwyn, the wise woman, who spoke the secrets of plants, who told him the names of the flowers he did not know and their unfamiliar uses for human ailments.

Yoric, who kept the largest holding in the valley, and seemed to think this made him superior to Arondir, who was, in Yoric’s mind, only a simple a foot soldier of his own people, at great disadvantage to Yoric’s place as petty Lord.

Metil, the eldest woman on the council, who had not been able to see since she was 5 years old, but who let Arondir guide her sometimes to the high passes, for she remembered the smell of the air there and could not live a year without it.

Bronwyn, the wise woman, who had once shown him a hidden grove of flowering trees tucked inside the forest’s edge, where few bothered to go. Bronwyn, who had let the blossoms fall from a gently-shaken bough into the bend of her apron, re-filling her stock of medicine without ever breaking a twig or a petal.

Darin, who brewed the worst beer in the valley, and therefore had the most prosperous tavern.

Lavia, who kept sheep.

Bronwyn, who had woven Arondir a talisman from fibers crushed from the stalks of wild plants, a coarse patch of fabric, green-grey and shaped by her fingers. Bronwyn, who had tucked it in the back of his hood one morning beside the well, so quickly and casually he might have missed it, if he was capable of missing anything she did. “For protection,” she said, matter-of-factly, without embellishment, just like her simple cloth. It was starting to burnish now, where his head brushed against it, reminding him with every touch of the hand that had placed it there.

Bronwyn, whose eyes were like the moon and the valley, bright and dark and deep all at once, and always, always calling him into silent conversation.

Bronwyn —

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The elf could not be tolerated. That much was clear.

Bronwyn lived by a simple set of rules — invisible rules, unspoken perhaps, but rules she respected nonetheless. They gave an essential order and protection to her life. They defined for her the actions that a single, unbounded woman had to take — that a healer had to take, that a mother had to take — to keep herself safe from rumor and scorn.

She knew what it was to be a stranger, to come from away, even if it was just a day’s walk East. She had come to know the cloying sense of sameness, pricked with just enough difference to make her feel uncouth and half-mad most of the time. She had come to Tirharad to be married, and she knew even then what protection a husband could offer, and what protection he could not.

She remembered the first time she had been betrayed. Whispers and lies passed down an invisible line: she had been mixing poison into her medicines, she had spat in the salve, cursed it with ancient words she had learned from the far hills. That is why the old widow died so suddenly, only 5 days after taking Bronwyn’s draughts. That is why a young woman had disappeared without a trace 3 weeks before, for it was clear she’d gotten with child, and everyone knew the Old Evil loved to eat the unborn.

According to the villagers, the Old Evil was thoroughly dead in Tirharad, except, apparently, in Brownwyn’s bleeding herbs, which she had not even given to the girl. The girl had run to the Coast where her lover was meant to meet her. Bronwyn hoped she wasn’t dead.

They confronted her at dusk, a group of ragged, angry townsfolk, lost to their own ignorance. Bronwyn had to fix them with the end of kitchen knife, telling them her husband would find them all on his return and make them pay for their treatment of her. He was away then, as if often was in those times, but the threat of his presence still bore some weight.

She did not say on his return how she had used him, what she had threatened in his name. He asked her once how the got the cut on her arm, just above the wrist, for she’d been shaking so sorely after the villagers left that she’d become unwary of the blade. She lied. She couldn’t say why. Perhaps she did not want him to know how weak she was in his absence.

But now he was gone for good, and she could not use his name, not even the ghost of his name. She was alone. So she kept to her rules.

It was not that she loved the rules. She had not come to care for them as keepers in her husband’s stead. They chafed at her every day like the rubbing of rope on wrists, like the weight of a stone in her shoe. But she knew they were necessary.

All of them told her that the elf could not be tolerated.

It was simple at first, for Arondir seemed almost made of stone, or perhaps some gentler material, but one still impervious to the ripples of human emotion — clay or water or the living flesh of trees. He was made of something too old and too powerful for her idle thoughts to touch, and so it caused no harm that she admired him, that she wondered sometimes in the quiet space of night how the world looked through his eyes, how she might measure up in the mind of one who had lived as long as a forest, who had traveled the world like a stream.

Perhaps her gazing of him was a vain, self-centered sort of thing, for she did not truly notice until it was too late that he was gazing back. She had not been fully aware that she was guiding this into being, thinking her gestures immaterial — as useless as throwing sand against a sea.

But Arondir was not as wide and ineffable as the sea. Not to her. Not anymore.

He was becoming more knowable, more man-shaped, his edges defined into something she could touch. He did not mind when she touched him. A handful of flowers brushed into his palm, a twist of hay plucked from his cloak: these gestures were not rebuffed. She pushed the boundary, tested his limits: a small piece of magic tucked inside his hood, her fingers gliding quickly across the back of his neck for one breathless moment. He did not flinch. Once, she had given him a small vial of honey from her own hives, from the precious bees who danced across her wild garden of herbs. She had placed it in his hand, palm hovering over palm, and he cupped his fingers up to meet hers. He traced the edge of her smallest nail.

She knew then how much she had played the fool.

She had prayed for her own destruction, and her call had been answered.

#the rings of power #rings of power #trop #the rings of power fanfic #my fic #arondir x bronwyn #arondir #brownwyn #character study #for fucks sake if you have nothing respectful to say just move the fuck on #its not hard #wren writes aronwyn

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jasmine-the-fox · 4 years

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Pusher... Is pushed and punished

OK so this salt fic is very dark... There will be severe bullying and threats and demands of suicide, there will be blood too but please understand that this fic will be explained at the end... Also I got the idea from watching some meme’s to the song pusher.

Lila Rossi never thought she would go down like this... All because of her attempt to kill Marinette Dupain-Cheng.

It was all going well, she had made the class hate her... Except for Chloe and Sabrina, they followed her to the back and glared at them when they spoke bad about Marinette but she didn’t care! The girl was getting what she promised, then she took Adrien from her, once Alya gave up on helping Mari dating Adrien as she didn’t want to “Stop bullying Lila for being jealous of her connections” Alya turned to help Lila date him... And his father was forcing him to date Lila.

She didn’t get a reaction, Marinette just shrugged and walked away... That pissed her off, so to get back at her, each time Mari was alone, Lila would attack, a punch here, a kick there, a bucket of water poured on her here, trash dumped on her there she even tore her clothes once! And each time she got away with it because the class claimed she was being clumsy! Even better Adrien looked upset with Mari for causing a scene!!!

Now that was fun... But she wanted the girl gone, Marinette was still smiling, each time she harmed Mari, Chloe would tell the principal she called the police to investigate because “Mari couldn’t have been clumsy like that! These bruises were done to her!!” she then ordered her father to get cameras set up because it didn’t make sense for the girl to be soaked with water or covered in trash... Once Lila had grabbed trash from her place since the day she would do it had been trash day and Chloe figured it out.

So Lila couldn’t do much more now, but the class did and they were getting punished... Even accused of being the ones who attacked Mari when it was Lila, they denied it but there actions matched the ones Lila did... So they were suspended or given detention, Lila felt a little bad for them but it kept her safe though... But Marinette was still here and Lila Rossi didn’t like that one bit as she sighed while in her room.

She would need to get her hands dirty once again.

It wasn’t the first time she caused a death, in Italy she moved to 5 different schools before moving to Paris because she had caused three classmates to end there lives... While she had to kill two and were believed as suicides, and she didn’t mind that because it was easy, just claimed she being bullied by the student, her classmates claimed the same and then claim you think they ended there lives to say sorry... Simple right?

Well... Not with Marinette Dupain-Cheng it wasn’t... For she was very clumsy.

Mari was heading to visit Kagami for a sleepover, Lila knew this because Alya overheard them and told Lila how she was certain Mari was just trying to get money or something... Lila didn’t listen, so after school, Lila ran home and called her mother to tell her she was going to be a little late when heading home as she had to go do something, leaving her bag behind but taking her purse, Lila rushed over to the bakery and waited for Marinette to leave and walk over to the Tsurugi house.

Once she saw her leave, Lila waited a bit before following... It went easy on that part now she had to wait for a car to get a green light for her to push Mari in the street, they were just getting to the corner of the Tsurugi home when the light turned green, cars began to move and as Lila saw Mari get to the corner... She ran, Lila ran as fast as she could without making a sound and just as Mari turned around... Lila pushed her into the street.

She wished that was true for once.

As Mari was falling, her nails pierced into Lila’s close as Mari tried to gain balance to keep standing... And as she pushed up to stand to get the police on what Lila tried to do... Lila fell into the street just as a car was moving in... And everything went black on the Italian.

When Lila woke up, she found herself in a hospital... Handcuffed to the bed, a nurse had just walked in, her mother standing before her with a furious look... And a police officer in the room, turns out there were cameras who filmed her stalking and following Mari to the Tsurugi house, then at one point Mari had texted her parents and Kagami about someone following her so they called the police, they got there just as Mari was trying to save Lila’s life, she was covered in blood that Lila was losing and had even used her jacket to try and stop the bleeding, while Kagami was calling for an ambulance and her mother was keeping the drunk driver there with them.

But when they brought her to the hospital... Things were discovered on Lila, she was found out... It turns out that the three students she pushed to end there lives left a dying message to there parents about Lila and her actions but sadly by the time they got the police involved... Lila had changed schools, as for the other two, they had left either a journal entry or a video claiming how they felt like Lila was planning to do something to them... Something to make them disappear actually, and since they had just witnessed Lila about to cause Marinette to die... They had the proof Lila was dangerous.

Two weeks after being in the hospital, Lila was for three months in court stuck before a judge to decide her fate on the three suicide cases, the two murder cases and the now first attempted murder case, Lila’s family lawyer told her that the other lawyers were refusing a plea deal... Because all the people she had lied about also put her to court and the judge agreed on no plea deal, so whatever was decided... She wasn’t getting out of it no matter what.

She ended up being put into juvenile detention until she was an adult where she would then be transferred to jail in Italy... And there was no way she was going to be able to get out, of course to her luck her lawyer got the judge to agree she does her last year of school at least... But that didn’t mean she was all over the news with what she did all this time.

When she arrived on Monday... The whole class turned on her, called her a monster, a demon, Adrien broke up with her, Gabriel terminated her contract, the Agreste family put a restraining order on her, the class was being fined for what they did to Mari, Alya was being fined for all the lies she posted about Lila on her blog... On and on the class went at her, while Mari walked in with Chloe and Sabrina who trying to give her some comfort on what she went through... And then Mari spoke “You know Lila... I really would have wanted to be your friend if you hadn’t threatened me in the bathroom, or started to attack me and getting it accused on the class” she said as Lila’s eyes widen as she looked back to the class.

While Chloe grinned like a maniac, Sabrina comforted Mari and Marinette sobbed quietly... The class got violent on Lila for what they just found out about Lila, all this time she caused all of this to them... And they wanted justice, the principal had been brought in by Caline as the class revealed that Lila was the one who attacked Mari from the start at school and not them, they demanded justice now.

By lunch, Lila was expelled and failed her last year of high school.

She was placed into juvenile detention the next day, they did allow her to retake her school years yes I said years... Turns out Lila got her classmates to do her homework for her and other things, when she couldn’t she lied to Caline and never turned anything in... So she had to retake three years of high school, at least she was busy with that, during that time the class struggled in trying to figure out there lives, Lila had lied to them about all kinds of opportunities she had opened up for them... But they were all lies in the end, not only that but they all tried to fix things with Marinette.

They believed that sweet Marinette would forgive them and be there friends again... Even helped them with there dreams, but she refused everything, she was done being a doormat, done bending herself in different angles to help them all, done with giving them free things which she billed them for and sent copies to all there parents where warned that there kids had only a month to pay her back before she adds increasement charges of 10% for each week they don’t pay her back, they tried to escape this... Even tried getting Adrien to help but Chloe helped her too not break and had Sabrina take care of refusing them there request.

They were doomed with how much they owed her in the end.

For three years, they have pushed her to make them baked goods and didn’t pay her for them... She paid for the ingredients from her pockets, then there was the free clothes they got... Also paid for fabric and yarn from her pockets, but not once did they think it was expensive, turns out that Ivan has an allergy to sheep wool so Mari had to order and get shipped alpaca or llama wool to knit him certain things that he asks her, or the Mylène asks to make so she can gift to Ivan, what’s worse is that Alya discovered the alpaca wool and demanded Mari knit her things with it, and if it wasn’t the alpaca wool she would get pissed, go to Mari’s room and destroy it in front of her before yelling at her to make it again “with the correct wool this time”

Mari always cried after Alya was gone.

Her parents even banned the class from the bakery, with how much they owed there daughter they told there parents that there kids were banned until they paid back Mari and learn that they need to ask in advance and pay her in advance in full when they want something from her... Then they would be unbanned, Nino was the first to fully pay her back, it cost him his pay from his recent gig but at least he could now have the eclairs they make again... Just needs to pay for them, then it was Rose and Juleka, the two had pawned a few of there things to pay her and got the whole amount on the last day of the month.

Sadly Alix and Kim only paid her a small part so they had to get jobs each, it took Alix a month before she could pay her back in full... Kim took two and a half, Max paid her in half of the month he had to pay her, same for Mylène while Ivan had to sell his drum set and get a job to pay her back due to the whole she had to order for him all this time, Adrien didn’t need to pay her since he still didn’t know the scarf he wears she made for his birthday and Alya... She was still paying her back after a year, a month, two weeks and four days later.

Nathaniel also never ask for anything of the sorts, he was the only one who never thought Mari would bully Lila, but he believed Lila... He also always paid for the things he asked for her to make and he asked her months in advance so she had a bunch of time, but she sadly couldn’t forgive him yet since he did believe Lila over her, but he was working hard to be forgiven and he wasn’t going to give up.

Gabriel found out about everything from the news, once he saw what Lila did in Italy he worked hard to cut all ties to her and then demanded that Adrien tries to date Mari with the claims of “She will make the brand rise higher then miss Rossi ever could, she will even be able to restore the shame miss Rossi brought upon us with what she has done” so Adrien tried to contact her... But his number was blocked, also she had a new phone and number so he couldn’t speak with her, he then tried going up to her but Marinette’s friends always got to her first and pulled her away before he could get close.

Then came Valentine’s day, he decided to leave her gifts and cards around for her, at the bakery, as she was leaving for school, in her locker, on her desk, secretly placed in her bag... Anywhere right as she wasn’t looking, then as school was ending he left her one last note in her locker, asking her to wait for him at the school doors, and she did wait, he walked up to her with a bouquet of roses and asked her on a date.

But she rejected him... Claimed she didn’t have feelings for him... And was dating someone else.

That someone else being Luka Couffaine, Juleka’s big brother, had walked over at that moment to ask Mari if she was ready to head to The Liberty where his mother had prepared for them and Mari’s parents a dinner for them to meet, she agreed and then left Adrien there... Alone without the girl he had tried to have date him... Him, Adrien Agreste the most beloved model in Paris, the one girls went to there knees trying to ask to date them... And he was rejected by the first girl he ever asked out on a date... And was beaten by a quiet guitar player.

When he returned home, his father was disappointed in Adrien, said he would fix his mistake and have Marinette Dupain-Cheng to not only agree to work for him but agree to leave Luka to date Adrien in the end... He knew his father was right, Gabriel Agreste always got what he wanted when he decided on it, so why would this be any different?

But it wasn’t.

Marinette refused the deal, said that what Adrien did to her when Lila had harmed her at school traumatized her and she didn’t feel safe with him, she feared that if she did something, he would act like she was “causing a scene” again when she wasn’t doing anything wrong in the end so she ordered them to leave her alone and to never speak to her again.

After that things staid like that, Lila was taken to prison in Italy, Nathaniel at last was Mari’s friend again, Chloe, Sabrina, Kagami, Marc, Aurore and Mireille found success in life, Mari and Luka got married and then had a daughter named Melody, the class still suffer to this day for believing Lila and Adrien ended up dating a model his father picked for him to be with, he got her pregnant with a boy and was being planned to marry her without him being able to put in his opinion.

This was there life now... All because they believed Lila Rossi.

What did you think about this fic? Sure in the meme’s the victim is pushed by the bully to fall and almost die and then something happens making them jump for real to there death... But please try to understand the message i’m putting in here.

People are being bullied... And they did nothing wrong to deserve it. They just went to school, tried to get good grades, made friends and maybe even got in a relationship.

But then someone ends up bullying them, and sometimes no one helps the victim.

Take this story for example, imagine your either Lila or Marinette alright?

If you pick to be Lila, how would you feel if you were being bullied all of a sudden? How would you feel when your attacked but the bully claims you did it to yourself or harmed them? How would you feel when you leave behind a message to your parents and you end your life? How would you feel just going home or something and the bully causes you to die and they get away with it by claiming you bullied them and you ended your own life?

How would you feel?

Now if you picked Marinette, how does that make you feel? What Lila did to you? Making you classmates pull away from you? The guy you had a crush on look at you like what your doing is wrong? Your classmates attacking you because Lila claimed you hurt her? Lila lying that your clumsy after she attacks you? Lila getting away with what she did by getting your classmates punished for it? Lila trying to kill you only for her to end up almost dead?

What about Lila being punished for everything she did to you and people from her past schools? The class being punished for what they did to you? The class finding out what Lila did all this time in the past and to you? You not accepting your classmates in the end? And then you living the happy life while your classmates are still suffering to this day because of Lila?

Do you see where i’m going with this? If you don’t then that’s fine cause at least you tried to understand and at least read this right? So thank you for that at least and for reposting this fic to your page so others can read it and understand that bullying is wrong and needs to be stopped.

#miraculous ladybug #lila salt #lila gets exposed #Attempted murder #suicide #bullying #attacks #lies #School transfer #proof #Dying message #Marinette gets lucky

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mostlydysfunction · 4 years

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From The Stars, Part 5

Chapter Summary: Kira talks with her dad and then makes a discovery in her barn. The Xenomorph is almost ready.

Warnings: Talks of death and grieving as well as some non-con touching at the end.

Author’s Note: Yeah, I have no control. I just really want to get the next part written cause that’s when things finally happen. But you do get a bit of Kira’s backstory in this one. I’m trying to keep things a little ambiguous because you’ll see later on in the story. But anyways, I hope you enjoy!

MASTERLIST

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Kira chews on her lip as she sits across the living room from her dad. He looks good, tired and older than she remembered, but good. The last time she’d seen him he’d been storming down the driveway towards his car, not even looking back. Guilt and regret ate away at her stomach, twisting it painfully. He wasn’t even looking at her, studying the grain of the wood the coffee table was made of. He had cut that tree down himself and handmade it for her mother. Their initials were carved in the bottom. She had told him to take it with him, but he had said it belonged in that house. The house they’d built specially for them. The house they put so much work into. The house he’d rather forget was real.

“I um...I was heading out of town for a few days and I thought I’d come by and see how you were on my way out.” Her dad finally says, breaking the awkward silence around them. “I heard about the fire...wanted to see if you were alright.”

It had been almost a week since the explosion and he was just now checking on her. “Yeah, I’m okay. It didn’t make it this far.”

He nods. “That’s...that’s good. We could hear it and see it all the way in town. It’s too bad, the wreck.”

She had read that online. The cover story. An oil truck had been hit after a semi driver fell asleep at the wheel. The fire had caused the oil truck to explode. It was hard to believe as they didn’t get many semi’s in their area, but the people in this town were so desperate for something exciting to happen they’d believe anything.

Kira nods. “It was loud, the explosion. Woke me from a dead sleep.”

“I bet. I am glad you’re alright, though.”

It’s silent between them for a while before her dad finally stands up, going to the wall with the photos. He looks over them all, taking in the old memories.

“You left them up.”

Kira nods. “Yeah. Felt weird taking them down. Empty.”

He picks up the picture on the mantle of the three of them: her, her dad and her mother at the top of a nearby peak. Her mother had convinced them to hike it. Her being only 10, she had gotten tired halfway up and her dad had carried her the rest of the way to the top. She still remembers that day. Her mother had been so happy outside.

“I’m glad you kept them up.” He places the picture back on the mantle. “Remember all the happy times.”

Kira nods again, watching him as he makes his way to the kitchen. She gets up, following. He glances at the towels haphazardly thrown on the floor but thankfully doesn’t ask as he moves to the back door, looking out at the yard.

“The garden looks good.” One of her mother’s other joys. “You’ll have to send pictures in a few weeks when it really starts to bloom.”

“I will. I planted a lot this year.”

He nods, looking out past the garden to the barn. “The barn looks different.”

Kira glances out as well, looking at the barn. It did look different. She can’t quite put her finger on it, but something had changed. She hadn’t touched the barn since her mom died, so she knows it couldn’t have been her doing.

“Yeah, I was, uh, cleaning it up a bit. Maybe set it up and get a couple of animals again. It gets...quiet out here.”

The two sheep had been her mother’s favorite out of the animals they’d had growing up. She’d loved them almost as much as she’d loved Kira.

Her dad nods again. “I think that’s a good idea.” He looks down at his watch. “I uh, should hit the road here. I just...wanted to make sure you’re alright.”

“I’m okay, dad.” Kira nods. “It’s...” She chews on her lip. “I like it out here.”

“I’m glad.” He moves to the door, Kira following. “I, uh, I’ll see you later, I guess.”

Kira nods. “Yeah. I’ll be around.”

Kira watches him walk to his car, remembering the night he left.

It had been a week after the funeral. Kira knew it was coming, she’d seen the way he looked at the house, seemed to just wander around like a ghost. He’d stare out the window at the half-finished garden, stand in the doorway of the bedroom staring at nothing and everything. He was lost in the constant reminders of her and he couldn’t stand it.

It had been six years since the day that he told her he was leaving, that he couldn’t stand being around the memories, around her. She was haunting him in that house and he told her she could stay, he’d keep the property, pay for it. But he couldn’t stay. He had left her there, running from the memories of her mother, the woman he’d loved since they were children. It had been the last time he’d stepped foot in that house as he carried the last box to his car, not looking back as he drove into town, leaving her and the ghost of her mother behind.

At least, until his unexpected visit. Things had been awkward between them since her mother’s death. She had been the glue that held the three of them together and after she died, there was nothing there to hold them anymore. Kira knew he felt guilty for leaving her there, for running. She knew it was pride that had driven him back, pride that had brought him to check on her. He hated seeming like a coward, for leaving his 20-year-old daughter to move into an apartment in town to escape the memory of his dead wife.

Kira didn’t blame him. She’d seen how he just left himself when she died. It was like a part of his soul died with her. He had left to try to find it again, but six years and he didn’t seem any closer to fixing it. That’s what he did. He fixed things. Kira had long ago accepted that her mother was gone, that she wasn’t coming back. She missed her terribly, but all she could do was keep her memory alive while her father just wanted to forget. Everyone has their coping mechanisms. Everyone grieves differently. Kira just wished she hadn’t been so awful to her father when he left. Hadn’t said the things she’d said to him.

******

It’s late afternoon by the time Kira can peel herself out of the chair in the living room. She’d sat and stared at the driveway for long enough. The visit from her dad had brought up too many memories, too much to try to process in one day. She had things to do, and a barn to investigate.

She pulls on her boots and grabs a flashlight before heading out to the barn. It was far enough away from the house that the true damage to it couldn’t be seen. She hadn’t touched the barn in six years, and it certainly looked that way. She was glad for that, especially when she saw why it looked so different.

She slides the door open, nearly dropping the flashlight. All around the inside of the barn is a hard black substance. Lining the walls, across the floor, up onto the roof. It was like something out of a science fiction movie. She takes a hesitant step forward, having to step up onto the substance. It was slightly sticky and gooey, her boots making suction noises with every step. She shines the flashlight around, the only light coming from the window high in the loft. The goo had covered the others, making it dark and unearthly inside. She sees movement out of the corner of her eye, whirling around and falling backwards as she finds herself face to face with her alien.

She gasps in surprise, pointing the flashlight on it from her place on the ground. It hisses slightly at her, almost a sound of annoyance than anything. So this is where it disappeared during the day. It seemed it had done this in the week since it had arrived, making its own home in her barn.

The alien stands over her before dropping down so they’re face to face. Its hands are on either side of her, trapping her between it and the sticky ground. It nudges at her shoulder, making it throb in protest. She turns slightly, holding it away from him as he goes to nudge it again.

“Why did you bite me?”

It hisses at her; the sound vibrating the surrounding air. It seemed so still and stagnant in the barn with the goo around her, the very air seeming to vibrate with every movement. The air ripples as the alien moves, picking her up before moving deeper into the barn, towards the back wall. It settles down so her back is against a wall of the goo, holding her. Kira huffs out a sigh, having no choice but to relax in its grip.

“So it seems you’re not going anywhere.” The alien hisses in response. “You need a name. Something I can call you. Do you have a name?” She doesn’t get a response. “You’re not a very communicative species. Or maybe humans just aren’t smart enough to figure out how to communicate like you.”

The alien finally hisses, moving Kira rather roughly so her back is pressed against the floor now. It’s hunched over her again, one leg on either side of hers. I guess that was enough talking for now. Kira feels trapped as the alien lifts a hand, four fingers curling around the neck of her jacket before ripping downward. The fabric tears easily, revealing her bra. The air inside the barn is cool, making goosebumps form on her skin. Her heart is pounding despite the fact she knew this was coming. She knew this would happen soon.

The alien presses its face up against her bite mark again, making it ache and throb in response. Kira groans, attempting to get away from the pain, but the alien hisses dangerously in her face. She swallows thickly, drool starting to drip on her bare skin. The alien sits back slightly, a clawed hand reaching out towards her face. Its skin is rough as it runs its fingers over her face, feeling her. Her eyes close as it moves lower, claws pressing into her skin as it moves down her neck and onto her chest. Her breath hitches as its palm brushes over one of her breasts, causing it to pause before slowly moving lower over her stomach.

It lets out a soft hiss as it moves over her stomach, Kira holding her breath as it moves lower. The alien shifts over her, its hand brushing over the top of her pelvis. Kira moves as well, her hips shifting in response to its touch. Her eyes fly open as the alien presses its palm against her, clawed fingers curling around the hem of her jeans. Her brain catches up to her, beginning to process what was happening, and the panic begins.

“No!” She kicks out at the alien, landing one against its chest. It hisses at her, but she doesn’t cower in fear, wiggling and fighting her way out from under it.

As soon as she can she’s on her feet, racing from the barn and back towards her house. The fear that the alien could easily catch her, pounce on her before she even reaches her door drives her on faster. But she makes it inside, slamming and locking the sliding back door before she collapses to her knees, dry heaving as she sobs.

It wasn’t the fact that the alien was touching her. She knew that would happen. She had been expecting it.

No, she was upset about the wetness between her own legs. She had been enjoying it.

Part 6

#exophilia #aliens #xenomorph #xenomorph x human #xenomorph x oc #non con #grieving #death

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akfanficlove · 4 years

Text

“Navy blue” - #SeblaineWeek2020

Written for Seblaine Week 2020 – Dalton

The AU where Blaine returns to Dalton because let’s be honest, it’s what should’ve happened after the breakup. Plus, the steroids-thing never happened because how ridiculous was that? Check out all of my other Seblaine-stories here at AO3 :)

“Don’t you dare, Jeffrey!” Sebastian’s voice echoes through the halls. “Don’t you dare cry! I swear to God, man the fuck up and stop behaving like a little pussy if someone only as much as looks at you the wrong way.”

“Okay, okay, why don’t we all calm down a little?”, Nick says, stepping between a frowning Sebastian and Jeff whose lips are trembling. “Jeff, we know you try your best, just keep working, you’ll be fine. Okay? Maybe we should all take 5, especially you, Sebastian. You’ve been an ass all week.”

Sebastian huffs. All week? More like 10 days. Since the day his beautiful plan of luring a certain ex-Warbler back home, back to the group, back to his brothers, failed. His advances dismissed just like the navy blue blazer by hazel eyes that used to be light and sparkling but became more dull and sad during the past months. Sebastian hated it. He hated him. And most of all he hated how much he still cared.

Sure, to Hunter he sold it as a solid plan to win the next show choir competition, Blaine Anderson having more talent in his pinky toe than all of Ohio’s artists combined but in reality? If he was completely honest, he missed him, not that he’d ever admit that to anyone. He is no fool, Trent probably has a shrine build for, quote, “the Blaine Anderson” but he is not that desperate. He has plenty of fun without Blaine. Or, well, he used to. Back then when they bonded over awful coffee and navy blue with red piping, but enduring the bad coffee was okay because Blaine liked it, Blaine laughed about his usual rant and his eyes were warm and honest and lovely – wait, what? Lovely? Okay, he is not a blushing teenage girl, he cannot say things like that, or even think them, for that matter.

Besides that Blaine somehow was a blushing teenage girl or, well, boy, technically. That whole bashful schoolboy thing he didn’t know he was doing? Usually not Sebastian’s style. But on Blaine? Super hot. Sometimes when he was in bed late at night, he wondered how far down this blush went on, how it would feel if he traced it with his fingertips and that thought alone leaves him hot and panting as his own hand trails down his body and he imagines it’s Blaine’s. When it comes to that, he is every way the teenage boy his 17 years of life make him… Get yourself together, Smythe!

He made a mistake, he apologized and maybe Blaine had even forgiven him a little but things never went back to how they were before. Blaine never smiled at him like that again, he thought Blaine never really smiled anymore at anyone but that didn’t make it any less painful. Not that he could really make this assumption, they barely see each other anymore. Not since the mistake.

The only time he saw glimpses of the old Blaine, Blaine Warbler, king of Dalton, was exactly 10 days ago when they started singing “Dark Side” and Blaine buttoned up the blazer. Blaine who jumped on furniture. Blaine who sang his heart out standing in the center of the stage, or, well, their choir room. Blaine whose eyes seemed a little more vibrant, alive with each word and note. Blaine in navy blue with red piping – pretty similar to the Blaine who was leaning into the doorway frame right now, hands tucked in grey slacks, feet wrapped in black dress shoes, crossed one over the other at the ankle and what the hell?

Sebastian shakes his head and closes his eyes. He is going crazy, his fantasies sneaking into reality because, oh boy, how often did he imagine that tiny frame wrapped in navy blue, red and grey, bent over a couch, a dresser, a table in the library. When he opens his eyes again – it might’ve only been fractions of a second but it sure felt like minutes – Blaine is still there, all prim and proper, still dressed in Dalton’s school uniform. Their eyes meet and if Sebastian was into cheesiness he might’ve been tempted to say that it feels like time stands still. Then he sees the shy smile on Blaine’s lips and the hope and fear in Blaine’s eyes. It’s all it takes to shake him out of his state of mind.

“If you’re trying to spy on us, Killer, you are doing an awful job blending in, even with that uniform.” Sebastian gets up, casually making his way over to where Blaine is now standing straight, every other boy’s attention on him. “Everyone in these holy halls remembers the Blaine Anderson, you can’t really hide –“, Sebastian stops right in front of Blaine, towering over him, so Blaine has to look up to him with those eyes, gosh, those pretty, pretty eyes, full of uncertainty but also full of, what, hope? Fear? Hope and fear? “I’d recognize that ass even in slacks with a blazer trying to cover it up”, he says with his voice lowered.

The room is silent for a while, Blaine staring into Sebastian’s eyes until he takes a deep breath and says the absolutely last thing Sebastian would’ve expected: “I’m not here to spy on you, Sebastian. I’m not part of the New Directions anymore. I can’t be because”, another deep breath, “I don’t go to school there anymore. I’m back at Dalton, for good, and I’d like to audition for the Warblers.” Sebastian can only blink, his brain unable to cope with the information. Back at Dalton. Blaine is back at Dalton. And he’d like to audition. What?

After several seconds (minutes?) of silence, Blaine follows with a simple “Please” to the group standing behind Sebastian. He is not only asking Sebastian as Captain, he is asking the group he abandoned in favor of chasing a love that, in the end, shattered him again. He is asking his brothers who once picked up the pieces of his broken self when the broken bones had already healed, to do it again. He is asking to come home to a place where he always belonged and, more importantly, where he always felt like belonging.

“Oh my god, yes!” Trent is the first to break the silence and it’s like those four words break down all the walls, Blaine finds himself wrapped in friends and hugs and “Man, we missed you”s. Hunter smiles almost genuinely when he extends his hand, shaking Blaine’s and saying something, probably something like “No need to try out, Anderson, you’re in” but Sebastian doesn’t hear a word he says, still standing on the same spot, frozen.

And then Blaine turns around, looks up to him with a smile Sebastian recognizes immediately. It’s the same fond smile Blaine had when he told Sebastian about the secret Warbler traditions he didn’t know about yet. The smile when he finally agreed that, yes, okay, fine, The Flash is hotter than Superman, chill. The smile Blaine had when Sebastian complained about Lima Bean coffee again and drank it nonetheless. Something inside of Sebastian stirs, a warmth spreading from his stomach to his fingertips and toes, a wide smile spreading on his face he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. It’s his eyes, Sebastian thinks, his eyes so full of joy and relief and excitement that have Sebastian surging forward, hugging the boy tight. He stills sees the pain hidden behind wide smiles and relaxation, feels the way his body is still tense in some places but he also feels Blaine’s hands resting on his back, rumpling the navy blue fabric and he never wants to let go. Has the sudden urge to hold this beautiful boy, hide him from the world so no one could ever hurt him again, safe and sound in their own little world. It’s cheesy and he almost wants to vomit when he thinks it, but it’s true anyway. He slowly pulls back, reluctant to let go and maybe he feels Blaine hesitate, too.

“Blaine Warbler, our lost sheep, has returned home, guys! Welcome back to the team, B…”, he says and, wait, what’s with the nickname, but then Blaine blushes and averts his eyes and what exactly was he just thinking about?

“Thank you, guys... Damn, I’m glad I’m back, I missed this.” Then, Blaine is talking, something about Grease and superheroes, about filling out papers and explaining to his parents, about moving into the dorms soon and starting school at Dalton again in a few weeks after break. All the time standing so close to Sebastian that he can feel his body heat, smell his cologne and something like coffee and raspberries, all the time with Sebastian’s hand on his lower back, feeling the press of his fingers against the navy blue blazer, his plain white dress shirt, his tan skin underneath. And somehow, it grounds him. Both of them.

#seblaine week #2020 #seblaine #dalton #dalton au #what we all deserved because it made way more sense #blaine anderson #sebastian smythe #back to school #return home

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randomguywithwords · 4 years

Text

Mania (Nemoto X Chisaki Drabble)

People enjoy being lied to. We rely on it, in fact, to maintain our sanity. In this world of chaos and despair, we need to be deceived, just to have something to hold onto. Oh, it is a slippery grasp. It’s not fitting, but compared to the oblivion surrounding you, a cliff of built-up lies is better than the nothingness.

But then you find out that you’ve been lied to. And the hand of oblivion, both solid and not solid – it reaches out and plucks you off that cliff. And as you fall, you see that cliff dissolving into nothing. Or perhaps it was never there.

Truth is an illusion we paid to never see. Like...a subscription to not see advertisements. A poor analogy, I admit, but I’m grasping at anything here. You must be wondering what led me to this conclusion.

My quirk takes truth and deceit and tears them apart. I thought it was a liberation at first, to rid myself of the lies that stained our society. I thought myself a god, staring from above, down at all the blind sheep that followed our bureaucracy with no thoughts, no questions, no idea of how deep the ocean they were paddling in was.

But as I delved deeper into the fabric that held society together, it was not enlightenment, but a blinding light that tore me apart, for what I saw.

Not a perfect tapestry, but a chaotic mush of loose strings barely linked together, tied like a 5 year old’s art project. Chaotic, imperfect…

And the abyss reached up to pull me down. But his hand, his gloved hand, pulled me out. And those eyes shone like a blackened dead star...

–––––––––

“Who are you?” Nemoto asked the man in the mask standing beside him. Even as he stared at his drink with as much interest as he had in existence, he felt this stranger’s gaze prick him like acupuncture. It unsettled him.

“Kai Chisaki.”

“Who are you?” Nemoto asked again.

“Kai Chisaki.”

Oh? His head perked up slightly, and he faced him, identifying him to be a man of an age younger by a few years. As the sidelong glance confirmed, he was indeed wearing a black mask. Was he sick? A sick person had no place at a bar.

“Shin Nemoto.” A truth for a truth. He owed that much, even if it was to this face in the crowd. He stuck out his hand, but Chisaki’s hands remained still despite the gesture.

“I don’t shake hands.”

Nemoto frowned, noting the white gloves he wore. “I see. What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for expendables.”

No furtive glances. No crease in his facial expression as he said it. His form was perfectly still. For a brief moment, Nemoto wondered if he had activated his quirk unconsciously.

But as that moment passed, his hands shook, ever so lightly – as if it were a feather caught by a breeze, upon realising that this man had spoken the truth.

“What does that mean?” Nemoto said, his voice tinged with awe at the audacity of him.

Chisaki’s dry tone did not waver. “Come join me. I’ll give you a new life.”

No lies, once again. “You don’t even know me,” He said – perhaps a part of him still held out, even though he could feel every part of essence gravitating towards this being. That part of him...his identity? No, that can’t be it.

“I know how you got here,” Chisaki answered. “You look like someone who’s lost all reason to live. I’m offering you one.”

“I…” Nemoto adjusted his glasses, his composure faltering. “How did you…”

“I just do. So? Will you join me?”

Nemoto stared up at Chisaki, into his eyes. They were as black as the abyss Nemoto has seen many times in his nightmares, like the corpse of a star who’s light was lost for eternity. He recognised those eyes, for he has seen them in his reflection. They pulled him into the event horizon.

He confessed, “Yes.”

––––––––

Mania is a strange form of love, some Greek thing. I only know the example of Selene and Endymion. I saw Nemoto’s obsession with Chisaki more akin to Mania than traditional romantic love.

You kinda feel bad for Nemoto since his love isn’t reciprocated, and he’s obviously insane in some form given Chisaki’s treatment of him.

So I wrote this. I think this could be made into a story spanning a few chapters? Like just to show how crazy / obsessed Nemoto is, exhibiting jealousy towards Kurono for one, culminating in his arrest and loss of his loved one who never loved him back. Pretty sad.

Hope you guys like this. It’s a ship-fic but not really.

#bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #boku no hero academia #my hero academia #bnha nemoto #shin nemoto #chisaki #kai chisaki #overhaul #nemoto x chisaki #chisaki x nemoto

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the-blind-assassin-12 · 5 years

Note

Nicky's cousin is getting married, and you need a dress! Is my badass boy any help in the mall?

Plus One

A/N: this one was really fun to write. like, just imagine Nick covered in glitter, first of all, because that’s enough to make me giggle any old time. So this is not associated with Made Man. It’s a standalone piece. Is Nicky any help in the mall? We shall see.

Word Count: 1,547

Nick opened the heavy, ornate envelope, already knowing full and well what was inside. His cousins could hardly shut up about the upcoming event at family dinner last Sunday, the girls all clustered around one end of the table with his aunts and Nonna, clucking like hens about dresses and favors, decorations, desserts and floral arrangements. Gold glitter fell freely as he pulled out the lace embellished invitation and response card, covering his hands and his jeans, sticking to the table top and falling to the floor. Goddamn it, Adriana, gonna be covered in this shit for months now . He tried fruitlessly to wipe his hands clean on his tee shirt, only resulting in giving the black fabric a golden shine. Just like Mariella’s. Can these girls do anything without glitter? Clicking his tongue and shaking his head, he read the scrawling script on the elaborate announcement.

You are cordially invited to the wedding of the year. Given by Mr. & Mrs. Christiano Tortano as their daughter Adriana Tortano weds Michael DelAngelo, son of Mr. & Mrs. Vincenzo DelAngelo, on the fourteenth day of August in the year two thousand and nineteen. The ceremony is to be held at St. Gabriella’s Cathedral at two o’clock in the afternoon, reception at the Venetian Manor to follow.

Blah, blah, blah. Nick dropped the glitter coated page on top of the envelope and looked at the response card. There were little lines next to “declines with regret” and “accepts with pleasure” for him to denote his attendance, and he laughed to himself thinking about how quickly he’d gain black sheep status if he didn’t show. I’d regret it for the rest of my life if I declined, he mused, imagining his grandmother’s rant, half in English, half in Italian and full of swear words. What caught his eye though, wasn’t the extravagance of the decorative paper or the over abundance of gold glitter, but the line above the decline/accept portion that read: Mr. Niccolo Tortano & Guest.

Huh. He hadn’t thought about getting a plus one to his cousin’s wedding. Nick had had girlfriends for his last two family affairs, and so it had just been a given that they would attend as his date. But it had been a few months since he’d parted ways with Catherine Zerillo, and he hadn’t found another place holder just yet.

In truth, he hadn’t been looking for one. Word on the street was that you were finally through with that punk Bobby Scrabonia, and he could finally ask you out. Nick had a thing for you- had for a while now, ever since your family moved in next door to his father. You'd talk from time to time and it didn’t take long for him to know he liked you; you were funny and smart and he thought it was cute when you rolled your eyes, which you did often. But one or both of you were always seeing someone and he wasn’t about to go after another guy’s girl. Not even a dumb punk like Bobby.

But now that you were single and he was too, he found himself wondering why it had taken an overly glittered piece of paper to realize he should ask you out. A wedding as a first date though? That’s somethin’. Before he could talk himself out of it, he imagined what you’d look like all dolled up and there with him, how you’d smile as he twirled you recklessly on the dance floor… how it would feel to spin you back into his arms and finally hold you close.

He called you the next day to try his luck, greeting you by name when you answered. “Hey, hi, it’s Nick. Tortano.”

You laughed as his words fell quickly over one another. “Hi Nicky, how’s it going?”

“Good, real good, listen I called to uh… ask a favor.”

“Oh yeah?” Nick heard a rustling sound and imagined you switching the phone to your opposite ear, swinging your hair over your shoulder. “You don’t seem like the kinda guy asks a lotta favors, must be serious.” He could see the look of mock severity in the set of your eyebrows and the quirks of your lips.

“Ha. It uh, well, it kinda is, yeah.” He ran a hand through his hair, his own mouth curving into a smile that he couldn’t stop if he tried. “You know my cousin Adriana’s gettin’ married, yeah?”

“Ha! Yeah, Nick, I might have heard something about that.” Your eye roll was a sure thing here- you worked with Adriana and Nick was sure that she hadn’t stopped talking about her wedding since Michael put that chunk of diamonds on her finger.

“Yeah, well, I uh...I wanted to see if you’d wanna go. With me.”

There was a pause before you spoke and he held his breath. “Nick. I... “ you laughed. Was that a nervous laugh? She wants to say yes. He let the breath back out.

“It doesn’t have to be like-”

“Nick I don’t have anything to wear to-”

You spoke over one another. “Nothin’ to wear? Whaddyou mean nothin’ to wear? You always look...you always look nice.” Nice was an understatement. You always looked gorgeous to him.

“Not to something like Adriana’s wedding, Nick, haven’t you heard?” You put on a fake accent- he wasn’t sure if you were trying to sound French or British...or whatever else…as you said ”It’s the event of the year!” Again he felt that involuntary smile climb his face.

“A dress? That’s all you’re worried about? Don’t worry about a dress, just say yes.”

“Come on, Nick, what do you mean don’t worry about a dress? I can’t show up at The Venetian Manor in...well, in anything I own.”

“Alright, fine.” Nick put his hands up as though you were there in front of him and could read his nonchalant gesture. “Fine, I guess you can’t come to the ball if you don’t got a dress, right Princess?”

“Not a princess, Nicky, just your dad’s neighbor’s daughter.”

“Yeah...yeah, alright well, I’ll uh, I’ll let you go then, just... okay. I’ll see you soon, okay?” You ended the phone call and he already knew what he was going to do.

. . . . . . . . . .

Two days later, he got a text from Vito- Her car’s outside. He’d asked his brother to let him know when you’d be visiting with your family, and he was ready, grabbing the bag that he’d picked up immediately after your phone call, and heading the 5 or so blocks over to his father’s neighborhood. She can’t say no now.

Nick stood on your mother’s doorstep, bag in one hand and the other raised to knock on the outer edges of the screen door. The barking of your sister’s teacup yorkie followed by shouts of “Shut up, Pinkie!”, Opera music and the unmistakable smell of Sunday Gravy wafting out from the kitchen, and finally your footsteps coming down the steps. He licked his lips and smiled as he saw your socked feet descend the staircase, followed by your legs, hips, and finally your face, hair piled messily on top of your head and a shocked expression on your face. “Nick?” You spoke his name through the screen before you even opened the door, a smirk pulling up one cheek as you reached for the door handle. “What are you doing here, Tortano?”

“Hey, nice ta see you too, Princess. I thought I’d ask you one more time if you wanna be my date for Adriana’s wedding.”

You absently smoothed some fly-aways back and let out a breath that was part exasperated sigh, part laugh and what he hoped was part appreciation for his persistence. “What’d I tell ya, huh? I have nothing to wear to the ball, Nicky.” You hadn’t noticed the bag in his hand.

“That really the only reason you won’t go with me?” You nodded. “Well then,” he set the bag down on the doorstep and pulled out the dress that he’d gone directly to the mall to pick up for you after your phone call. It was black, long enough to hit your knees with a low cut back and high halter top, and he’d asked the girl in the store for help with the size. “How ‘bout now. Will you go with me now?”

You bit your bottom lip, one hand on your hip, and let out a burst of air. “Nick, did you…” your hand raked over your face before you reached out and touched the chiffon material in his hand. “You really picked this out for me, huh?”

Nick nodded, dark eyes fixed on you. “Yeah. So now that you have something to wear…”

You narrowed your eyes before shaking your head, an incredulous smile on your face. “Okay, Nick.”

“Okay yeah?”

You nodded again. “Okay, yeah, I’ll go with you.”

“See how easy that was?” His grin flashed like a thousand watt lightbulb.

“Yeah. Easy.” You shook your head again.

“Alright, well, here you go.” Nick placed the dress back inside the bag and handed it to you. “I’m sure you know when it is and all, Adri’s told you?” he asked facetiously and you laughed. “Alright princess, I’ll see you for the ball.”

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @agent-bossypants @lexxierave @songtoyou @thesumofmychoices

#nick tortano #nick tortano x you #nick tortano x reader #plus one #by the gun #nicky tortano #drabble request

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basicsofislam · 4 years

Text

THE FEMALE COMPANIONS OF THE PROPHET (PBUH): Part 18

HALIMA (radhiallahu anha)

The climate of Makkah was not good for newborn babies. It prevented them from growing up healthily and robustly. Therefore, some families who wanted their babies to grow up healthily gave them to wet-nurses who lived in the desert for a certain period. For, the desert had nice air and freshwater. Besides, the children who grew up there spoke Arabic better.

The wet-nurses came to Makkah twice a year and took the babies to their homeland. Immediately after the birth of the Prophet, the women of the tribe of Banu Sa’d come to Makkah with their husbands. One of them was Hz. Halima. Halima lagged behind because the animal she was riding was weak and lame. When she arrived in Makkah, each woman had found a baby to nurse and started to return.

Abdulmutallİb also wanted to give his grandson to a wet-nurse but no woman accepted him because he was a fatherless boy. Nobody could imagine the abundance they would get for the sake of this boy. While the grandfather of the Messenger of Allah was wandering hopelessly, he met Halima, who was sad because she had not been able to find a baby to nurse. He asked Halima, “What tribe are you from?” Hz. Halima said, “From Banu Sa’d.” Abdulmuttalib asked her what her name was. When he found out that it was Halima, he smiled and said, “Very Good! Sa’d and him are two characteristics on which the goodness of the world and the honor of the hereafter depend. O Halima! I have a fatherless child with me. The other women did not want to accept him saying, ‘We want to benefit from the fathers of the children we accept; what shall we do with a fatherless child?’ I hope you will accept him. You may attain happiness thanks to him.” Halima asked permission from him to consult her husband who was standing over there. Her husband said, “You may accept him. We may attain abundance thanks to him.” Halima went over to the grandfather of the Prophet feeling happy that she was able to find a baby. She said she wanted to take the child. Abdulmuttalib became very happy. He took her to Hz. Amina. Amina welcomed Halima. They went to the room where the Messenger of Allah was sleeping.

The Prophet was enwrapped in white swaddling clothes. There was a piece of green fabric under him. He was sleeping soundly on his back, emitting a nice scent.

When Hz. Halima saw the Prophet, she was fascinated by his beauty and cuteness.

She became glad that she had accepted to take him. She held him in her arms. The Messenger of Allah smiled at his wet-nurse. Halima kissed him. She was happy but Hz. Amina was sad. She was with her baby only for a few days. How was she going to put up with his absence? However, she consoled herself thinking that she had to do it for the sake of her baby.

Hz. Halima went over to her husband holding the Prophet in her arms. Then, she gave her right tit to the Prophet and her left tit to her own son. They sucked milk and slept. From then on, the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) sucked from the right tit; he never sucked from the left tit.

Hz. Halima had very little milk.

Before he accepted the Prophet, it was not enough even for her own son; her son used to cry because of hunger. When they saw that both of them were full, they became happy. When they also saw that the udders of their she-camel, which had very little milk, were full of milk, their happiness doubled. Halima’s husband said,

“O Halima! Know that you got a very blessed and lucky baby.”

Indeed, this family and the tribe of Banu Sa’d got rid of drought and attained abundance after that.

After getting ready, Hz. Halima and her husband set off.

They noticed that there was a big change in their animals. The donkey that had lagged behind on the way to Makkah overtook all of the animals of the caravan one the way back home. The other women were surprised to see it. They expressed their surprise by saying,

“O Halima! May mercy come upon you! Is this not the same donkey you rode on our trip here? Wait for us!”

After a tiring journey, the caravan reached their homeland.

The drought was dominant in the land of Banu Sa’d that year.

There was no land where the animals could graze. Therefore, the sheep that were sent to graze returned home hungry in the evening. The animals became very weak. However, Hz. Halima attained abundance. Unlike the others, her sheep came back satiated and with their udders full of milk. This situation drew the attention of the people of her tribe. They reprimanded their shepherds saying,

“Woe on you! Why do you not graze our sheep where Halima’s shepherd grazes them?”

Halima and her husband knew that they attained this abundance and wellbeing thanks to this child, whom nobody wanted to accept because he was fatherless; they thanked Allah for it. Days passed like that.

As days passed, the Prophet flourished.

His childhood did not resemble that of the other children. He started to talk and listen to talks when he was eight months old. He started to speak properly when he was nine months old. When he was 10 months old, he started to shoot arrows. He became a robust boy when he was two years old. He gave up sucking then. When he gave up sucking, Hz. Halima and her husband became very sad. They wanted him to stay with them longer since they attained wellbeing and abundance thanks to him. However, it was not appropriate for them to keep him any longer; they had to return him to his mother. They took him to Makkah to his mother. When Hz. Amina saw her beloved child, she got very excited. He had matured so fast. She became very happy since he was going to stay with her after that. However, Hz. Halima said to her,

“You had better leave your son with us until he grows up. I fear that he will catch Makkan plague.”

Hz. Amina did not even want to imagine her son being ill.

She agreed to be away from him lest he should become ill. Therefore, she accepted Hz. Halima’s offer. Thus, the Prophet left Makkah again in order to stay in the land of Banu Sa’d for some more time.

The Prophet became old enough to graze sheep with his foster brother Abdullah.

Once, he was with him at the back of the house where newborn lambs were. Two people came. They made him lie on the ground. They split open Muhammad’s chest, took out his heart, removed a blood clot and said,

“This was something in you that belonged to Satan.”

When Abdullah, the foster brother of the Messenger of Allah, saw what these two strangers did to his brother, he was scared. He rushed to the house and said to his parents,

“Come quickly! My Qurayshi brother was killed!”

Upon his call, they rushed out and ran to the place where the Messenger of Allah was. The Prophet was standing. His face was pale but he was smiling. They asked,

“What happened to you?”

The Prophet said,

“Two men in white clothing came to me, laid me down, and looked for something I do not know in my abdomen."

Hz. Halima and her husband were frightened. They were worried that the Messenger of Allah would be harmed. Harith said to his wife Halima,

“Halima! I fear that something bad will happen to this child. Take him back to his family before anything happens to him.”

Halima took the Prophet to Makkah without losing time.

However, she lost him in Makkah. She became very sad. She could not find him no matter how long she looked for him. She went to Abdulmuttalib and told him that the Prophet was lost. He went out to look for him with a few people. Finally, they found the Prophet.

Hz. Amina became very happy when she saw her son but she could not understand why they brought him back so soon. She asked Halima,

“Why did you bring the child back? You had insisted so much keeping it with you.”

Halima said,

“Allah raised this child. I have fulfilled my duty. I fear that something bad will happen to him. I wanted to bring him to you and deliver him to you safe and sound.”

Many years passed. The Prophet’s mother and grandmother passed away.

The Prophet grew up and got married. He saw Hz. Halima from time to time. Whenever he saw her, he showed her respect saying,

“Mummy! Mummy!”

He would take off the extra garment on him and lay it on the ground so that she would sit on it. He would meet her needs if she had any. Once, Halima came to visit him. She said there was a drought in the land of Banu Sa’d and that the animals started to die due to illness. The Prophet did not have much to give her but Hz. Khadija did not want the wet-nurse of her husband to leave empty-handed. She gave Halima 40 sheep and one camel. Hz. Halima expressed her gratitude to Hz. Khadija and returned home happily.

Hz. Halima, who became a Muslim in the years that followed, was buried in the Cemetery of Baqi.

May Allah be pleased with her! (Tabaqat, 1: 110; Usdu'l-Ghaba, 5: 427)

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lantur · 5 years

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I was in Colorado from July 18 until yesterday, at Derek’s family reunion/hiking trip. I was really anxious about going since it would be my first time meeting his cousins. I’ve met his aunts and uncles before, briefly, at events in our state last year/early this year. (I’ve spent quite a bit of time with his grandparents, parents, and older brothers.)

It ended up great. Everyone was so warm and kind and friendly, and I had an amazing vacation. It’s very rare that I actually feel comfortable around or like people, and I felt that way around them! I was also touched because I went to CO without my wig, with my short natural hair, and relied on a fabric headwrap to cover my bald spots - every time I had met his aunts, uncles, and grandparents before, I had my wig on, so this was a clear and obvious difference in the way I looked. No one asked any questions or said anything.

We hiked in Rocky Mountain National Park for 2 days, and I fell in love. I’ve never been anywhere as beautiful as this park, with its massive snow-covered mountains and alpine lakes and wildflower-covered meadows, in my life. I love Oregon and I think the landscape there speaks to my soul in a very special way, but the Rocky Mountains were awe-inspiring in a different way.

We hiked to Mills Lake and Black Lake (10 mile round trip) on Saturday, and climbed Mount Chiquita, a 13,000 foot peak, on Sunday. I’m a very active person, but I’ve never done hikes so strenous before and both hikes pushed me to my limits. It was quite challenging, with a lot of scrambling over big boulder fields on the Mount Chiquita hike in particular.

Honestly, I thought I was going to die. But the experience was SO worth it, on both days.

I can’t recommend this national park enough. It was really, legit, wild west with incredible scenery. On Sunday afternoon, on the way down from Chiquita, we drove on Trail Ridge Road, which is one of the two highest roads in the world, got amazing views of the mountains, and saw elk and a herd of bighorn sheep. That morning, we saw the sun rise in the valley of the park and saw the fog that blanketed the base of the valley and meadows, contrasting with the mountains towering over the fog.

We had to keep a different schedule while we were there - large thunderstorms hit the mountains between ~noon and 2 PM every day. So we had to wake up at 5 - 5:30 AM, start our hikes at 6 PM, and then return by noon or 1 to avoid getting caught in the storms. The storms are pretty dangerous; Derek’s uncle has been struck by lightning twice.

Downside of all of this: I’ve been dead tired and barely functional since we got back last night. Never been this worn out and sore in my life. 2,000 feet (609 meters) of steep elevation gain, on top of the distance, on Saturday and Sunday. I don’t know how long it’s going to take for me to feel normal again. :(

I’ll post pictures in a minute!

#lanturing

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dfroza · 4 years

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we have received an invitation to welcome grace into our lives

but not all respond to it.

this is documented in Today’s reading from the book of Matthew:

[Matthew 9]

Jesus got into the boat and returned to what was considered his hometown, Capernaum. Just then some people brought a paraplegic man to him, lying on a sleeping mat. When Jesus perceived the strong faith within their hearts, he said to the paralyzed man, “My son, be encouraged, for your sins have been forgiven.”

These words prompted some of the religious scholars who were present to think, “Why, that’s nothing but blasphemy!”

Jesus supernaturally perceived their thoughts, and said to them, “Why do you carry such evil in your hearts? Which is easier to say, ‘Your sins are forgiven,’ or, ‘Stand up and walk!’? But now, to convince you that the Son of Man has been given authority to forgive sins, I say to this man, ‘Stand up, pick up your mat, and walk home.’” Immediately the man sprang to his feet and left for home.

When the crowds witnessed this miracle, they were awestruck. They shouted praises to God because he had given such authority to human beings.

As Jesus left Capernaum he came upon a tax-collecting station, where a traitorous Jew was busy at his work, collecting taxes for the Romans. His name was Matthew. “Come, follow me,” Jesus said to him. Immediately Matthew jumped up and began to follow Jesus.

Later, Jesus went to Matthew’s home to share a meal with him. Many other tax collectors and outcasts of society were invited to eat with Jesus and his disciples.

When those known as the Pharisees saw what was happening, they were indignant, and they kept asking Jesus’ disciples, “Why would your Master dine with such lowlifes?”

When Jesus overheard this, he spoke up and said, “Healthy people don’t need to see a doctor, but the sick will go for treatment.” Then he added, “Now you should go and study the meaning of the verse:

I want you to show mercy, not just offer me a sacrifice.

For I have come to invite the outcasts of society and sinners, not those who think they are already on the right path.”

The disciples of John the Baptizer approached Jesus with this question: “Why is it that we and the Pharisees fast regularly, but not your disciples?”

Jesus replied, “How can the sons of the bridal chamber grieve when the Bridegroom is next to them? But the days of fasting will come when the Bridegroom is taken away from them. And who would mend worn-out clothing with new fabric? When the new cloth shrinks it will rip, making the hole worse than before. And who would pour fresh, new wine into an old wineskin? Eventually the wine will ferment and make the wineskin burst, losing everything—the wine is spilled and the wineskin ruined. Instead, new wine is always poured into a new wineskin so that both are preserved.”

While Jesus was still speaking, an influential Jewish leader approached and knelt before him, saying, “Help me! My daughter has just died. Please come and place your hand upon her so that she will live again.” So Jesus and his disciples got up and went with him.

Suddenly, a woman came from behind Jesus and touched the tassel of his prayer shawl for healing. She had been suffering from continual bleeding for twelve years, but had faith that Jesus could heal her. For she kept saying to herself, “If I could only touch his prayer shawl I would be healed.”

Just then Jesus turned around and looked at her and said, “My daughter, be encouraged. Your faith has healed you.” And instantly she was healed!

When Jesus finally entered the home of the Jewish leader, he saw a noisy crowd of mourners, wailing and playing a funeral dirge on their flutes. He told them, “You must leave, for the little girl is not dead; she’s only asleep.” Then everyone began to ridicule him.

After he made the crowd go outside, he went into the girl’s room and gently took hold of her hand. She immediately stood to her feet! And the news of this incredible miracle spread everywhere.

As Jesus left the house, two blind men began following him, shouting out over and over, “Son of David, show us mercy and heal us!” And they followed him right into the house where Jesus was staying. So Jesus asked them, “Do you believe that I have the power to restore sight to your eyes?”

They replied, “Yes Lord, we believe!”

Then Jesus put his hands over their eyes and said, “You will have what your faith expects!” And instantly their eyes opened—they could see! Then Jesus warned them sternly, “Make sure that you tell no one what just happened!” But unable to contain themselves, they went out and spread the news everywhere!

While they were leaving, some people brought before Jesus a man with a demon spirit who couldn’t speak. Jesus cast the demon out of him, and immediately the man began to speak plainly. The crowds marveled in astonishment, saying, “We’ve never seen miracles like this in Israel!” But the Pharisees kept saying, “The chief of demons is helping him drive out demons.”

Jesus walked throughout the region with the joyful message of God’s kingdom realm. He taught in their meeting houses, and wherever he went he demonstrated God’s power by healing every kind of disease and illness.

When he saw the vast crowds of people, Jesus’ heart was deeply moved with compassion, because they seemed weary and helpless, like wandering sheep without a shepherd. He turned to his disciples and said, “The harvest is huge and ripe! But there are not enough harvesters to bring it all in. As you go, plead with the Owner of the Harvest to thrust out many more reapers to harvest his grain!”

The Book of Matthew, Chapter 9 (The Passion Translation)

Today’s paired chapter of the Testaments with Matthew 9 is Numbers 32 where the tribes of Israel were preparing to enter the land promised to them:

[Numbers 32]

Now it so happens that a couple of the tribes (the Reubenites and Gadites) had an exceptionally large herd of livestock. They observed that on this eastern side of the Jordan, in the regions of Jazer and Gilead, there was some excellent grazing land. So the heads of the Reuben and Gad tribes approached Moses, the priest Eleazar, and other of the community’s leaders.

Reubenites and Gadites: This territory, which the Eternal One has already enabled us to dominate, is for livestock land; and we have livestock. If it is pleasing to you, may we settle here instead of crossing the Jordan into the promised land? We’d like this territory to be ours (Ataroth, Dibon, Jazer, Nimrah, Heshbon, Elealeh, Sebam, Nebo, and Beon) rather than laying claim to any territory across the Jordan.

Moses: You’re missing the big picture. How can I let you settle here on this side of the Jordan, while your kinsmen on the other side of the Jordan may have to go to war in order to possess the land? Why would you dishearten the rest of the people today just as the spies did who disheartened the people in the last generation after I sent them from Kadesh-barnea and they saw the Eshcol Valley and the surrounding land? Remember how angry the Eternal became with them that day? He declared that even though that particular land had been promised to the Israelites beginning with Abraham, then to Isaac and to Jacob after him, the whole generation that left Egypt when they were 20 years or older would have to die, wandering aimlessly in the desert, before God would allow the community to enter that great land. Only Caleb the Kenizzite (Jephunneh’s son) and Joshua (Nun’s son) out of that generation would be allowed to enjoy settlement there because they followed Him completely. Now you dare to propose this—you’re as sinful as your predecessors! The Eternal will surely loose His tremendous anger against us again. If you decide to stop following God’s plan for the land, He will abandon the whole congregation out here in the wilderness, and it’s you who will be blamed for our people’s destruction.

Reubenites and Gadites (approaching Moses): What if we lay claim to the land here, but then proceed with the others west across the Jordan and into their land? We would fight alongside all the other Israelites, but we wouldn’t take any of that land for ourselves since our inheritance is on the eastern side of the Jordan. Only after we’ve seen to it that everyone else is safely settled there would we return here to take up our lives as residents of this place. We could set up preliminary dwellings now for our sheep and livestock and towns for our women and children. The towns should be fortified, since there are still inhabitants in the land who would like to run us out. We really feel that we’ve found our home here, east of the Jordan.

Moses: If you keep your word—to fight with us before the Eternal One Himself until by our warfare God drives out His enemies and that land becomes undeniably ours—then, yes. Then you will have satisfied your responsibilities to the Eternal and to Israel, and you may count this land as your own. But if you fail to follow through, your sin against the Eternal will follow you. Wherever you go, it will go badly for you. Then go ahead and build the enclosures you need for your flocks and the cities for your youngsters that you’ll leave behind. But don’t forget to live up to your promise.

Reubenites and Gadites: We are your servants, our lord, and we’ll do as you tell us. Here in Gilead, we’ll get our women and the little kids settled along with all of our animals. Then you can count on us, armed and ready to battle for the Eternal. We will obey your orders and see to it that the other families successfully gain their own territory.

Moses gave instructions to Eleazar the priest, Joshua (Nun’s son), and the heads of the other extended families of the Israelite clans.

Moses: If indeed the Gadites and Reubenites fight in front of the Eternal One and beside the rest of you to successfully dominate that land across the Jordan River, then you must honor their desire to return here to have this Gilead land for their own. But if they don’t take up their weapons and go with you into battle, then their ownership of this territory is null and void, and they shall be assigned land in Canaan along with the rest of the Israelite tribes.

Reubenites and Gadites: Exactly as we understand this to be the will of God, we will do it. We’ll arm ourselves and fight with you under His direction in Canaan, but with the understanding that our home is right here, on this side of the Jordan River.

With this agreement established, Moses gave the Gadites and the Reubenites, along with Manasseh (half of the greater Joseph clan), King Sihon’s Amorite land and King Og’s Bashan land, including the cities and their neighboring towns inside those boundaries. The Gadites immediately got to work rebuilding the cities of Dibon, Ataroth, Aroer, Atroth-shophan, Jazer, Jogbehah, Beth-nimrah, and Beth-haran with strong defenses and enclosures for their livestock. As for the Reubenites, they rebuilt Heshbon, Elealeh, Kiriathaim, Nebo, Baal-meon, and Sibmah. They gave names to each of the new cities and changed the names of those they rebuilt. As far as the Manasseh family goes, Machir’s clan overran the Amorites in Gilead, so Moses gave them that land to live in. Jair’s Manassite clan also captured settlements for themselves and named them Havvoth-jair, and Nobah took over the former Kenath with its surrounding villages and renamed it Nobah, after their own clan.

The Book of Numbers, Chapter 32 (The Voice)

my personal reading of the Scriptures for Wednesday, june 24 of 2020 with a paired chapter from each Testament along with Today’s Psalms and Proverbs

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lisaholtjames · 5 years

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Profile: New Zealand Calling

Photo by Zigy Kaluzny

Zigy Kaluzny wanted to get away – far away. And he didn’t just want to visit a country, he wanted to see it. So he contacted a bike dealer and arranged to buy a 1996 BMW R1100GS, with a guaranteed buy-back at the end of his trip. Off he went to New Zealand.

It was a trip filled with serendipity. Upon Kaluzny’s arrival in Wellington, on New Zealand’s North Island, the dealer picked him up at the airport and dropped him at the hostel where he had reservations. The hostel, or “backpacker” as they are known there, was literally right around the corner from the dealership.

After checking in at the backpacker, he strolled over to the dealership to handle the paperwork with the bike. The dealer mentioned that one of his customers was planning to visit the U.S. and would love to talk to him, but was away on his sailboat at the moment. Perhaps when Kaluzny returned the bike . . .

Two Big Islands New Zealand consists of two long, narrow main islands and is approximately the size of California or England. One thousand miles in length, there is reportedly no place on either island farther than 75 miles from the ocean. Intending to ride the South Island first, Kaluzny boarded a ferry and started riding counter-clockwise around it. New Zealand has impressive mountains, but, as Kaluzny says, “Since I live in the mountains, I wanted to stay by the ocean.”

The North Island has 75 percent of the population and two of the country’s largest cities, Wellington and Auckland. The South Island has the other 25 percent of the population, with Christchurch as the largest city.

“The South Island is more beautiful. It’s much more agricultural, it’s sheep country, lots of rolling hills. Plus, I’ve never been to a place where you can be at a glacier that then runs down through the jungle to the ocean. There’s a jungle on either side of the glacier and the run-off goes to the ocean right there. Climatically I don’t think there’s any other place like that in the world.”

Kaluzny didn’t have a plan or itinerary.

“I would just wander, and I knew about some places I was curious to go to, because I had done some research. But for me it’s more the day to day experience of being in a place and seeing what happens. I’d run into motorcyclists all the time, and sit and have dinner if we were staying in the same hostel.”

One spot of particular interest was the town of Blackball. This mining town was the site of a big union struggle years ago and has a lot of history. The main hotel is an old Victorian building that is “a target for motorcyclists,” says Kaluzny. It was named the Blackball Hilton, but the international hotel chain sent them a cease and desist letter, so they changed the name to “Formerly the Blackball Hilton.”

“I pulled up and there were about a dozen motorcycles, and I immediately sat down and started talking with the riders. With motorcyclists, unless they’re a bunch of Harley guys, in general, you’re all immediately companions of the road.”

On another day, in a tiny town whose name he doesn’t remember, Kaluzny was sitting having coffee and he looked out the window and saw a couple walking around the GS and talking about it. “I go out and I say hi and they start talking to me and I realize it’s the couple he (the dealer in Wellington) was talking about. So they invited me to come and stay with them.”

That openness and friendliness is part of what Kaluzny loves about New Zealand.

“The people are tremendously friendly, but there’s enough British reserve so it’s not like you’re always being bugged by somebody. It’s like America in the ’60s, just rip out the Vietnam war. Most stories from travel, for me at least, are either really terrible meals or really weird people, or experiences that could have been dreadful but turn out OK. I don’t have any like that from New Zealand.”

What he does have are stories of touching encounters. In a small town one day, getting ready to ride after having lunch, “I’m putting my helmet on and a little old lady comes up, a very elegant little old lady, and she says, ‘Just touring are we?’ And I said yes, that’s right, and she said ‘Well, how do you like our country?’ I went into my 5-minute spiel about how beautiful it was, how friendly the people were, how much I enjoyed the food, why I love New Zealand, and she listens and she says ‘Yes, we think so too.’ I smiled for the next 20 kilometers.”

Not All Smiles There was one New Zealander, however, who Kaluzny would rather not have encountered.

“New Zealand has the world’s only alpine parrot. They are profoundly destructive. They’ll rip up tents, they chew boots, they love rubber and fabrics like that. I come out in the morning and some parrot has feasted on my seat.”

It wasn’t as if he hadn’t been warned. There were signs in the parking lot to “Be aware the kea is here.” But what American would suspect a bird twice the size of a pigeon would do such damage?

One subtle danger for Kaluzny was the lack of traffic on the highways. It was common to be riding a major highway and not see another vehicle for minutes at a time.

“We (motorcyclists) are so used to being hypervigilant, then suddenly, when you’re in the middle of nowhere, you stop some of the hypervigilance after awhile. And of course that’s always dangerous. I’d have to tap myself on the helmet and say, Zigy, there’s a car out there somewhere, pay attention.”

An annoyance was the ubiquitous sand flies, little gnat-sized critters.

“They are everywhere. If I would stop along the road and want to take a nap I’d have to keep my helmet on. You can’t camp out without being in a tent.”

Nearing the End After circling the South Island Kaluzny took the ferry back to the North Island, to Wellington, and headed counter-clockwise around it. At one small town of about two blocks, Onga-Onga, “I liked it so much, and it was getting late, so I wanted to stay there where it was totally quiet.” There were no hostels, and a local tried unsuccessfully to find him a place to camp, so he rolled on.

Then, on the very last day he was stopped along a beach and a car pulled up. Two people got out, a Maori (native) woman and her daughter. As they talked, she asked Kaluzny about disappointments. He replied that he had not gotten to attend a Maori hangi, a tribal feast.

Taking a pen and paper, she wrote and handed him the paper, saying, “Here’s my name, my phone number, and my email. Next time you come back over call me and we’ll invite you over for one.”

“I was really touched by that,” he says. “It still gives me goose bumps, it was just generous.”

And so typically New Zealand.

Biker Quote for Today

If you see me in your rear view on one wheel . . . stay in your $#@% lane! (OK, I do have problems with this quote but it was interesting so I figured I’d use it.)

from Motorcycle Riding http://motorcyclecolorado.com/blog/profile-new-zealand-calling/

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londonlanded · 6 years

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Week 29

Alright, it’s time for one last hurrah - aka, this week I went on my last trip before the regularity of a Monday to Friday schedule rears its predictable head.

Monday was a typical workday that ended with a fabulous surprise in the form of my second free Four Seasons massage, courtesy of my lovely friend Pau who wanted to give me a leaving gift in the form of 90 minutes of care that my muscles more than needed. He also passed along the information that ours was the only 5 star hotel that boasts a 5 star spa in Europe, and he encouraged me to take advantage of the other facilities while I was there.

It was one of the few times I was grateful for London’s early evenings, since it meant the end of my massage coincided with a beautiful sunset that just happened to be best viewed from the sauna. I headed home a happy girl.

Tuesday took a turn for the strange when I fell quite ill quite quickly, managed to rally enough to meet my friend Giulia at Heathrow but not before questioning calling the whole trip off. No better way to test the limits of my own stubbornness than to give me a stomach bug on my first day of a planned trip. Regardless of my state and pace (bad and slow), I made it to the airport and through our short journey to Belfast City Airport. Waiting for us with open arms (and driving the same car he had the last time I saw him a decade ago, lefthand drive and all), was Keith, one of my dad’s ex-trainees who was born and raised in Northern Ireland before the stint in Toronto that brought him and his young family into our lives. We quickly popped home so I could see his family, and I found myself face to face with two boys, taller than me, both with the goal of following in their father’s medical footsteps. Last time I saw them, my siblings and I were forcing the youngest one to repeatedly say the word “eight” in his adorable accent because we thought it was the funniest thing we had ever heard. Time has one hell of a way of changing, aging people. Keith brought us home and we settled into our hostel for the evening, but not before meeting two Canadians who we realized would also be two of the people that would be sharing our day tour the next day.

Wednesday morning, met Paul our tour guide right beside the Europa hotel, which Keith had pointed out as being the number one most bombed hotel in Europe thanks to the IRA choosing it as its main target. We found out later that it was the number one location for journalists to stay while in Belfast documenting the conflict in Northern Irerland, so any time the IRA wanted to make sure an attack got international attention, it made (contextual) sense to bomb the very place those documenting everything were sleeping.

We set off, and as we left Belfast proper, the weather changed more drastically than I had almost ever seen. The world went gradually, peacefully grey, before turning black all at once. It was the kind of sky you looked up at and realized you were literally looking at your day’s luck changing. Behind us, bright blue, ahead of us was a Northern Irish storm. Still, we ploughed on, and in spite of Paul’s initial warnings that we’d have to skip our first stop due to the weather, we arrived at the Dark Hedges right on time after he decided we could pull it off after all.

The Dark Hedges are simply someone’s driveway - the property owner decided to line his drive with arching birch trees and what came of his agricultural endeavours are what are now frequently used as a set for a number of Game of Thrones episodes. The car and foot traffic has damaged a ton of the trees, so the road is now pedestrian only though some locals still drive on it illegally.

As we approached the mouth of the road, the wind picked up and a murder of crows leapt up from the grassy cornfield to our right, they swarmed and shouted above us as our little group walked under the first of the massive, arching trees. A few seconds later, massive wet snowflakes began to fall on us, and I remember thinking the place had a darkness about it regardless of the Game of Thrones association.

Up next, Bushmills distillery, the oldest Whiskey distillery in Northern Ireland (note, Whiskey is Irish, Whisky is Scottish). It’s a company that’s managed to weave itself in to the fabric of the country, but it also plays an integral role in the local community. In years where tourism was slow, it kept locals employed, even during times where the entire country’s economy was suffering. This distillery is so important to the people of NI that it’s even on their five pound notes, which I only noticed on our last day in the country while Giulia was paying for lunch.

On our way out of town, we stopped at Dunluce castle for a photo op, just as the sun began to shine again. Dare I say, I was getting hopeful about the weather?

15 minutes down the road, Paul let us off at the top of the walkway down to the Giant’s Causeway. You can take a shuttle down for 1 pound, but we felt brave in the newfound almost-sunshine. Ten minutes walking, and you make it down to NI’s number one most well-known tourist attraction, and just as we made it to the bottom, the weather welcomed us enthusiastically.

Through sideways rain and flying seafoam, G and I clambered all over the hexagonal basalt columns that make the causeway so famous. They were truly one of the strangest things I’ve ever seen, geologists theorize that they’re left over from a volcanic eruption but Paul offered a skeptical ‘well no one’s ever showed me no volcano,’ as his thoughts on that. Amusingly, clambering on top of slippery rocks brought some life back into me that I had forgotten I had, I wound up scaling the stones while G sort of watched me dance with my own demise, armed of course with her camera.

I’ve genuinely never felt more stupid than I did while standing atop some of those stones, with the wind, rain, and foam flying at me from every direction, I thought I was about to meet my end. Thankfully, the local guards stepped in and pulled us all off the rocks before anyone got too carried away, but they let us have more than a satisfactory amount of adventure before pulling the plug.

Giulia actually had to pay for the shuttle back to the top of the cliff face since my hands were too numb to sort out my change, we wound up in a local cafe where G ate and I used their fireplace as a personal full-body dryer. While I can’t comment on the food, the ambiance of The Nook more than made up for my inability to feel my extremities.

With the main event over, I was sort of skeptical I’d get much out of the rest of our day, but I was more than pleasantly surprised with how the rest of our adventure transpired. An hour later, unfazed by the weather at our last stop, we made it to the Carrick-a-rede rope bridge, which marked the end of a 1km pathway from the park entrance. Paul parked and set us free once more, we paid for tickets to cross the 60 foot bridge waiting for us at the end of our walk, and we set off once again.

The walk actually wound up being the most beautiful part of the day, at least in my opinion, in spite of the weather descending beyond even what it was at the causeway.

There were literally gale force winds coming at us in every direction, there were hailstones collecting in the rain puddles we were dodging on the unpaved path, we were trying to hold onto railings that weren’t completely anchored into the muddy earth that framed our glistening, stony walkway.

Having feeling in my hands became a thing of the past, forget being dextrous enough to bother refastening my hood, it’s not like my hair was salvageable anyway.

Regardless, we were met with some of the most beautiful landscapes I’ve ever seen, Giulia’s little pink raincoat made for an easy subject.

The rope bridge was initially built so that fisherman could make it from one little island over to the mainland, with their fishing gear in tow. A few months ago, the bridge was redone to be made safer and steadier, but before those refurbishments it was actually much more similar to how it was when it was built however many years ago when it was still being used for its initial purpose. The bridge only had a railing on one side so that fisherman could stabilize themselves without having to hoist their fishing gear above shoulder height and out of the way of where a second railing would have been. The modern version of course has two railings, and none of the boards are missing from the footpath either, much to tourguide Paul’s chagrin.

Unfortunately, once we made it to the bridge, they (expectedly) told us they’d closed the walkway due to the rain, but we still were glad to have made it far enough to see it. On the way back, my Canadian companions caught up to us, one of them was bloodied and the other was sort of confused looking, but her expression was also blended in with a bit of pride. The bloody one announced to us she had just saved a local farmer’s sheep from being tangled in a broken fence, and I’ll admit that there have been few moments where I’ve been prouder to be Canadian than at the moment I was told my countrywoman was playing sheep Jesus.

A few hours back to the city, G and I braved local NI trains and made it to Keith’s neighbourhood of Holywood (pronounced like the California version oddly enough), where he fed us and took care of us, and ensured the two of us were warmer than we’d been all day.

Thursday morning while G slept in, I headed downstairs for a tea and wound up chatting to Brett at our hostel's reception, who recommended that we do a Black Taxi tour of the city that morning. For £35, you can take a tour of the city from a local who's lived through its recent past, including the years of tumult that lead up to things being as they are. I'll admit I was quite naive to the state of Northern Ireland before arriving in it, but a quick google got G and up to date before Walter, our driver arrived.

He started by showing us the area we were in, pointing out Queen's University Belfast as the main landmark nearby. He told us the story of its construction, and said that an identical but smaller version was built in nearby Glasgow. Apparently the smaller one was actually supposed to be built in Belfast, but the plans got swapped by 'accident' and the larger building wound up being put up. It's a beautiful building, and its responsible for attracting most of the people that reside in the area near the hostel, South Belfast.

From there, the real tour started, and we were shown a side of Belfast we were definitely not expecting. Though the conflict between the Catholic and Protestant communities in Ireland can be traced back hundreds of years, back to when the Protestants were first invited to live in England by the British, the modern cause stems back from a Protestant government in 1969 that was viewed as treating Catholic and Protestant communities unfairly. This government favoured the middle class, and did not allow for many reforms that would have made life easier for those not in it. That in itself might not have been a standalone issue, but the problem was that most of the Protestant population was included in the middle class, so they did not feel the unfairness as heavily as the Catholic, working-class population did. The closest thing the government did to reforming anything was when they put up what are called 'kitchen houses' throughout Belfast, they were called this because while these strings of connected houses had kitchens, they lacked bathrooms entirely. These were built externally, which meant you had to walk across the driveway to make use of communal restrooms. Modern modifications of those kitchen houses can be identified by the fact that they're a long rectangular stretch of conjoined buildings, but moreso by the addition of single small bathrooms at the back of each house in light of the progress that's been observed since they were first put up.

In any case, the reason this government was deemed unfair seems to be that the Protestant population felt as though everyone was being treated unfairly due to their mostly-middle class view of the state of things, while the Catholic population saw that the government was being much harder on the working-class in light of the fact that they made up the majority of it. This disagreement led to the conflict that still polarizes West Belfast today. This was what inspired the beginning of what's known as 'The Troubles' in 1969.

Soon after they began, the British stepped in to try and ensure that peace reigned between the two sides. To try and do that, they proposed building a 'peace wall' between the two warring sides, with the intent of leaving it up for 6 months while the conflict settled (spoiler alert, the wall is still up today). It was built on Cooper Street which naturally bisected the two communities. Protestants move slightly north, Catholics slightly south of their newfound border. The British remained involved until 1971, when the Irish Republican Army became hostile, and attacked some of the British soldiers there, at which point they removed themselves from the area as the conflict began to escalate. At the heart of the conflict was a Catholic desire to leave Britain, and a Protestant desire to remain a part of it.

We started our tour by driving into the Eastern, Catholic side of West Belfast, where we began seeing the first signs that not all was as idyllic as our initial impressions of Belfast led us to believe. Black cabs, identical to those in London, whizzed past us on the street. Walter told us how, during the peak time of conflict, public transport was both unreliable and frankly dangerous. Busses were being burned in protest, and so the IRA responded by purchasing a host of London's black cabs and driving them up and down the main roads themselves. This served a dual purpose, both as a transport system for the citizens that had been left without transport, but also as a way for the IRA to remain informed about everyone's movement throughout the city. Walter said that there's nothing going on that the IRA doesn't know, and that to this day, ex-IRA members drive the cabs on the Catholic side of the wall, even though busses now safely run.

The two sides of the wall are drastically different in ambiance and aesthetic. On both sides of the wall, local artists have turned to artwork to express their political inclinations. Walter intimated that while there were aspects of their statements he didn't agree with, the art and murals themselves were quite tastefully done. He explained a ton of them but I can't pretend I know every detail, but in brief, the polarization of both sides was palatable in the artwork. It's amazing how close two communities could live to each other while sharing such radically different ideals. The Catholic side had portraits of everyone from Fidel Castro to Che Guevara, there were pro-palestine signs and Irish flags painted beside portraits of hunger strikers who had died, text in Irish language and statements that peace is harder than war when it's not real resolution. The Protestant side was the blunt opposite, there were pro-Israel pieces beside pro-Britain murals, paintings of their lost hunger strikers and statements made by Protestant politicians acknowledging the wrongs of the government and addressing the conflict.

The loudest contrast, at least in my mind, was illustrated by two gardens with identical commemorative purposes, but for people on opposite sides of the same war. On the Catholic side, a garden commemorating lost members of the IRA stands tall near one of the four gates in the wall. On the Protestant side, a garden commemorating people killed by the IRA stands clearly on the main street of that side, they were identical in purpose but completely opposite in content.

The gate itself spans the entirety of West Belfast and still closes every single night, which Walter says is indicative of the mistrust between both communities. There are four gates, and each one of them is controlled by members of government from each side. One closes at 4PM, 7PM, 8PM and and the final one closes at 10PM. You can still cross from one side to the other after 10PM, but you need to pass through central Belfast in order to do so. It's an inconvenience that's one of the clearest signs that the peace we observed at the time has nothing to do with having reached a resolution, and only to do with having become exhausted with constant and persistent conflict.

Another element of that stark contrast was that while the Catholic side of the wall was incorporated into people's backyards, made up their fences and was generally undecorated and unmarked both by government and by citizens, the Protestant side was the complete opposite. Perhaps it has more to do with the way the wall was built, but the fact that the Catholic side of the wall is right up against a ton of houses and a factory somewhat limits it in terms of its function as a potential canvas.

That same limitation does not exist on the Protestant side, in that the wall is built on the far side of Cooper Street away from most of the buildings on that side of the divide. That distance perhaps led to artwork being justified, but regardless of the reasoning, Walter had come prepared with towels to dry the painted wall, and sharpies for us to sign it ourselves. Apparently it's painted over every year, and adding artwork is actually encouraged. Messages of peace, patriotism, hope and everything in between blanketed the blue base coat of paint, G and I added our own two cents to the nearly-covered wall.

We were dropped off at our hostel to pick up our stuff, and after a moments rest we were up again and off to find a final adventure before g caught her airport bus. We found ourselves at the towns city hall, which actually had a pretty excellent self guided tour, and was stunning enough just in terms of its construction.

Turns out there’s a lot more to know about Northern Ireland than I imagined. Of note, the entirety of Belfast’s governing body is currently female, and it isn’t even the first time it’s happened as it occurred once before back in 2014. There are still some words that are native Irish in origin that are used colloquially today (for some reason I didn’t take note of any though, not my finest journalism). There are also some remnants of Shakespeare’s English due to the fact that, well, England and its neighbours are an island and therefore somewhat separated from mainland linguistic dilution. I can hardly understand some Irish at the best of moments though, perhaps that’s why?

There’s also strong desire (or stated desire at least) for peace between the two still-warring sides of the troubles conflict. Like I said, it’s not that peace reigns at the moment because a problem has been solved, it’s more about the maintenance of a ceasefire than it is about having found a solution to what ails both sides.

Inside city hall was an entire room dedicated to statements from those who had lost people on both sides of the conflict, profound and acute is the desire for peace, the universality of human loss the clear undertone of what we read.

I know most of you are probably wondering where the titanic stuff is going to come in, hate to disappoint but we elected to skip that part of the city. We did learn a bit while at the city hall, most notably that the titanic sunk only 12 days after leaving port, but beyond that t and I were mostly interested in everybody else the town had to offer. We left city hall and meandered to whites tavern, the second oldest tavern in Belfast.

G caught her bus but I found one more adventure in the form of the linen hall library, which was dedicated to documenting the political comedy that surrounded the troubles themselves.

The whole four story affair is decorated with tapestries depicting artistic interpretations of both sides of the conflict, and while I had to leave the members area I still managed to find somewhere to sit and enjoy a national geographic while waiting for my turn to set off.

My flight was a mere 45 minutes long, and before I knew it I was aboard the bus to Edinburgh after having landed in cold and clear Scotland. No borders, no problem, I was with my friend Rachel in the centre of the city within an hour of landing. The next morning, our grand foot tour of the city began, but only after a tea and a coffee at Rach's favourite cafe. From there, we hiked up Arthur's seat, which is probably what Edinburgh is most famous for if not for it being the place Harry Potter was conceptualized and partly written.

It was a fairly painless hike and the reward was one of the most beautiful views I've seen on any of my travels, especially of a bustling city.

Rach and I weren't exactly in tip top shape (she was coming down with a cold, I was still running on nearly 0 fuel thanks to my protesting organs) so we took it slow, but we still managed to somehow tally almost 30000 steps worth of exploration that day. We headed down through town to see the gorgeous centre.

Basically, the entire city looked like the photo below in different sized versions. The whole place is just a connected series of spires, stained glass, and time-stained stone. I wound up taking so many photos Rach started to make fun of me, so here’s just one of them.

From there, we headed to Dean village, which is pretty much the cutest little area I could ever imagine, and was worth every bit of trespassing we did to snap our photos.

From there, Rach took me to the Elephant House cafe, which became famous thanks to JK Rowling having penned her first book from the comfort of its cozy back room. Out front, there's actually a metal plaque outlining that JK had been there.

The vibe inside was actually something I would have dug myself had I had more time to appreciate it - there was even a sign that said something along the lines of "we have no WiFi, talk to each other, pretend it's 1995" which made me smile. When you look out the back window of the place, Edinburgh's castle looms above you, and apparently that was the view that JK saw when she thought of Hogwarts. After seeing the town she used as inspiration for her novel, it all sort of makes sense how Harry's world came to be.

Rach and I ended the day at a Jazz bar with a couple of her friends, and though I didn't know it at the time, we were at one of the most popular Jazz spots in the city. I suppose that's the magic of a small town though, it's really not hard to hit the best places when everything's so perfectly close together.

Saturday morning, my last day with Rach, we woke up and stopped at two farmer's markets on the way to the Surgeon's Museum which was beyond incredible if not a little draining considering its jarringly painful-looking content, combined with the fact that it was the most cognitively engaging thing I had done since arriving in London I think. I couldn't take photos because the specimens were human, but I strongly recommend that place to anyone who's in Edinburgh with a few hours and £7 to kill.

Last but not least, Rachel made sure I had the ultimate taste of Scotland. This dish is called haggis, nips and tatties, and that's short for haggis, turnips, and mashed potatoes. It's served with gravy, and this little trifecta is a delicious, hearty, and earthy meal if I've ever seen one. The haggis takes a second to wrap your head around, but I promise it's at least worth the try. We cleaned the whole plate off of course, I'm not sure how my stomach felt about my first real meal consisting of a combination of oats, sheep organs and suet, but my mouth was pretty happy regardless.

With two minutes to spare, Rach walked me to my bus and before I knew it, I was back at the airport with years of time to kill (typical me). I was reminded later that evening that no matter the weather on the ground, the world above the clouds can be more glorious than words can convey.

After landing that evening, I had a quiet shift on Sunday with none other than my little Giulia, who made my return to real life about as palatable as it could have been.

Next week, a really out of the ordinary dose of luxury I never in a million years imagined I'd be getting!

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coolluma · 7 years

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Evil Led attacks Pons

Chapter 1 Justice, inequality and everything Violence against Evil in the name of grace and goodness, the shepherd Evil is in the dark valley. In fact, he is the host of his brother, The baby is gone. I change you into rebellion and anger Who's trying to open my brother? When you leave me, you know I'm God Hurry Ezekiel 25:17 You are an unknown person this week as an inspiration to most MLPs, Another cock was called Malibu. About six months ago, Barbie dolls, When he was not old, he had a car accident and became a trauma He recovered for three hours and attended a press conference and announced it Plan your MagiGalaxy XXX for a vacation and ask the applicant to install a flashlight He knows that Barbie is one of the big girls, but I am disappointed theme Go to the living room to see Apple Bloom, Sweetie Belle, Scootaloo springs "Good morning, old man" gun and gun, "the girl accused Your fingers go to your hair, pausing. So hell blue You were here, "Oh, I think you need a break," Apple Bloom said. listen Sit on the bed and Scootaloo pulls on your cell phone. "Do you have an event with Andrew Blazer?" I'm looking for red fabric. Klimnell "Yes, some are people I have a Ghost Team Certification and I change to MyStyle "Said Sweetie". Your blood You're a story about Randy's dick. He killed three people at the supermarket. "Items Kantor town declares offensive, tonight is a theater. Sit down Note: "Does Scootaloo take care of how long they talk? They asked, "I think that at 7:30 pm" is perfect, enough Now is the time to do business. "If you use it, so fast. Sweetie Belle sees the apple flower. "Pig, Can you see Andrea's words? He asked. The soul is related to the apple's flowers. Apple Bloom started the relationship. "Well, we saw ... Andrew Blace, Officer Randy Robert Stein American offenders died three days on June 8, She worked in Weishmarkt. The price is also on YouTube, Canaando Flame During the YouTube space scene, video for high-quality recording. On June 8, 2017, I took two pistols at Y Night and a shutter shop Because there is no door, no way out, three of my friends Victoria, Brian Hayes, Terry Sterling. Then he called his head. Since all scales have been started, all stores are closed so no one can Let it go. Then he took two guns from the car and began to shoot at the store within an hour morning Before he was arrested, he killed three men and fired 59 weapons. 5 people At that time one of them fled. "Wow, Andrew was really confused Hey, that's scary. "Well, how to relax, talk about free boxing," Apple Because cveti "Oh, I need a sword that owns a warrior He said. "Let's go out." 18:30 Three cruisers praise the fruit. Each has a pink, red, purple Katana. Valette Gun Management. See the reasons for the pumpkin with a paragraph ah He recalled Ezekiel 25:17. The old way is unparalleled This is the name of love that blesses the wicked and the terrible Through dark valleys we make poor sheep shepherds. He is also his brother. He was the founder of the missing child. I will stay with you for the uprising and self-respect Share people who are looking for my brothers and sisters. You know I'm God When I resisted, "I've been away for many years. The reason you hear is your back. "You have a fever in the middle. Quiz-4 - 0 words 0 1 1 0 No No No " 00: 00 pm The district is quiet and peaceful. The army has returned, Contains wealth. Bright blue light shines. CMC is theirs Prepare one Mike "" Hello, Vinil, what was it to confirm? "Ask for a flight to work?" Apple Bloom stops, I'm stubborn, disappointed when my parents want to go. '' Must be said '? "I'm sorry," they like. "- Vinyl says, and they were there (#MetWallVincel)" Then the girls are fast. "About dignity! It must be fun and broken in the CMC company, a host of waiting camps that lead to the end."

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not-your-bon · 7 years

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i wish it could be you and i forever: chapter 8

summary: in which mari gets her first period

word count: 1123

on AO3: [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

chapter 8/?

age 11:

It was 3:30 AM, and Marinette was not happy that she had randomly woken up and couldn’t fall back asleep. She was curled up against Adrien, whose leg was draped over hers. She really wanted to roll onto her other side and flip the pillow over to feel the cool fabric against her cheek, but there was no way to do so without moving Adrien as well. She sighed in frustration before deciding to shove him off to the side. She valued her sleep way too much to allow Adrien to get in the way of her getting comfortable enough to fall back asleep.

Adrien mumbled something and Marinette froze. She allowed a few seconds to pass before letting out a quiet sigh of relief and adjusted the covers and curling up again. After counting 937 sheep, Marinette finally fell back asleep.

Adrien’s arm was heavily draped over Marinette’s shoulder when she stirred again. She checked her clock. 9:34 AM. She would ideally sleep in for another hour or so, especially since it was the weekend, but the chances of that happening was slim to none. And anyway, she was way too hot and sweaty to fall back asleep. She wrinkled her nose at the unpleasant feeling of her clothes sticking to her body. She elbowed Adrien. “Hey. Get off me.”

“Mmm.” The arm around her shoulder pulled her closer.

“Yeah, morning to you too.” Marinette wiggled out from under Adrien’s arm. She pulled the covers back only for Adrien to grasp her wrist. “Mmm come back to bed. You’re letting out the warm air.”

Marinette pried Adrien’s fingers off her. “Yeah, just lemme pee really quick. I’ll be back in a sec.” She climbed down from her lofted bed and made her way to the bathroom. She glanced at her weary reflection in the mirror before sitting down on the toilet. She noticed her blood-stained underwear just as a horrified yell came from her room.

Marinette stared dumbly at the deep red stain. Well, there goes a perfectly good pair of underwear. There’s the sound of running footsteps downstairs and then the trapdoor of her room opening. She wipes, wrinkles her nose at the smear of red on the toilet paper, and flushes. She gingerly pulls her underwear and pajama bottoms back up and washes her hands before opening the bathroom door. Now aware of the source of the dampness on her underwear, Marinette waddles out into her room. Both Adrien and Sabine turn to look at her—Adrien’s face is masked with horror, while Sabine is looking at her daughter expectantly.

“I think I got my period,” Marinette mumbled.

Sabine pulls her daughter into a hug. “Oh, honey, congratulations!” Adrien continues to stare, completely perplexed by the turn of events.

Marinette’s voice is muffled by her mother’s shoulder. “What’s so great about bleeding from my vagina?”

Sabine laughs at that. “That’s a good point. It’s just what my mother said to me when I started my period. Why don’t you change into a fresh pair pants and underwear, and grab your sheets? I can show you how to get the stains out so they don’t ruin the fabric. There’s pads in the bottom drawer under your sink. Take one of the pink ones and stick it in the middle of your underwear.” Marinette nodded, taking in the information.

“Oh, and Adrien.” Sabine looks up at the dazed boy. “Breakfast is ready downstairs if you want to go ahead and help yourself. I made strawberry and Nutella crepes. I put them in the oven so that they’d stay warm, so be careful when you take them out.”

Adrien offers her a weak smile. “Thanks, Sabine.”

Marinette, who had changed into fresh clothes, made her way back up onto her bed. She scowled at Adrien. “Don’t be such a weirdo about this.”

Adrien mirrored her expression. “I’m not!”

“Sure you’re not. Get off my bed so I can take the sheets off.”

Adrien clambered down the ladder and made a beeline for the bathroom to quickly wash up before heading downstairs.

“Morning, Adrien.” Adrien nearly jumped out of his skin. He turned around to see Tom giving him an amused look. “Jumpy this morning, aren’t we?”

“Yeah, maybe a little. I didn’t see you there.”

“What was with all the commotion upstairs earlier?”

Adrien blushed and looked away. “Oh. Um…Mari got her first period.”

Tom hummed and nodded his head. “Well, you two are at that age right now. Your bodies are starting to change and it’s going to be a little weird at first, but it’s all part of growing up.”

Adrien grabs a plate and slides a few crepes onto it. “Yeah, it really caught me by surprise—seeing blood on the sheets, I mean. I thought she got hurt or something.”

Tom chuckled. “I remember the first time I saw blood on the seat of my older sister’s pants when I was younger—I was probably seven or eight years old. I almost called 2-1-1!”

Adrien laughed weakly at that. “That probably would’ve been a little embarrassing for both of you guys.”

“Mhm. Well, son, I gotta get back down to the bakery. But if you ever have any questions about all that” —Tom gestures to Adrien’s body— “don’t be afraid to ask.”

Adrien nearly choked on his crepe. “Uh, yeah, okay. Thanks.”

“So, Mari got her first period this morning,” Adrien says as nonchalantly as possible. He laying on the couch in his mother’s study, and continues to stare at the ceiling.

“Oh?” Amelie says. “That’s very exciting for her.”

“I dunno. She didn’t seem all that excited about it. And I wouldn’t be if I were her either. Who wants to bleed all the time?”

“Well, it’s not all the time. Just about a week per month. I guess it is rather unpleasant, but for a lot of girls, it marks the beginning of womanhood.”

Adrien snorts at that. “Sounds like fun.”

Amelie stops sketching for a minute. “Your body’s going to start changing too, Adrien.”

Adrien flips around on the couch and groans into the pillow. “I know, Mother. I already learned about it in school, and Tom mentioned it this morning too.”

“You’ll have hair growing in new places, you’ll start having different feelings about girls—or boys if that’s what you’re into, you’ll–”

“Mother,” Adrien moans, exasperated. “Do we have to do this now?”

Amelie holds her hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop talking about it. I’ll just have your father talk to you later.”

“Mother!”

Amelie laughs at the look of horror and embarrassment on her son’s face as she lays out the lineup for the following week’s show.

#ml fanfic #ml ff #ml fandom #marinette dupain-cheng #adrien agreste #adrienette #adrinette #sabine cheng #tom dupain #mama agreste #ml childhood au #my fic

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