#there is relief in yusuf's eyes

[the-girl-wh0-cries-w0lf]

You're waiting for a train...(15)

Come Back To Reality

Robert Fischer x reader

description - Y/n and Cobb are finally able to come back to reality. But Y/n worries if her and Robert in the dream was just that; a dream.

word count - 1.6k

warnings - just way too much fluff!

a/n - why am I actually getting sad how close we are to the end! I know this one feels like the end but we've still got one more chapter left ;)

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3…2…1.

My eyelids fluttered open with the weight of a thousand hours. My body laced with grogginess. I crack my bones and felt the comfort of the plane seat under me.

I smiled.

We did it.

I giggled.

I turned to my side and greeted each member with giddiness. We all sat back and relished in success.

I felt a hand grip my shoulder from behind. I turned to see Arthur shooting me a wink. I placed my hand over his and squeezed it in acceptance.

I looked over and failed to meet Robert’s own gaze as he was locked in contemplation. I realised his mind must be flooded, the overcrowding shocking his sense into silence.

But my eyes trained on my father’s still sleeping form. My breath stuck in my throat. His eyes fluttered ever so softly and when they finally opened, they were tired enough for a lifetime. But they were still bright. And they still pleaded love once they landed on my form. As I squirmed about in my seat unable to hide my excitement. He laughed at the freedom of my movements.

Saito followed soon after. He reached into his jacket to pull out his phone.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I stood by my father in the queue for passport control. The others had separated off but we stayed together.

His hand slipped into my mine and gave it an affirming grip.

He was next in line.

He turned to me, his face flushed as he was about to divulge everything he could, fearing this could be his last chance. Saito could have screwed him. The clearance may not have been successful.

He struggled to find the words so I decided to help him out.

“I guess you’re healed now. Whatever happened down there it was definitely some form of catharsis.”

“For you and me both.” He breathlessly laughed out.

“I don’t know about that.” His face fell at my sad tone. “I’m gonna need some time. A lot of things have happened down there. I just don’t think I can do it yet.”

“I understand.” He delivered a swift kiss to my hairline. But pulled away with his hand still clasped around mine. “But now we’ve got all the time we need. We’re not running against the clock anymore.” A tear escaped in relief. But I brushed it away before I became noticeable.

“Next.” Was shouted down our line. Dad nervously looked to the awaiting officer. We came together in as miniscule a hug as we could muster before he was sent along first.

He offered up his passport and the officers eyes passed over it intensely. A minute drudged on. We never stopped for a single gasp.

“Welcome to America, Mr Cobb.” His passport was stamped and shoved back to him across the counter. I could see my dad’s frame melt and relax. He moved on more spritely than I’d ever seen. This meant it was my turn and as I approached no worries plagued me. But as my passport was shoved back to me, I remembered there was still just one. And he currently stood at the desk to the side of me.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I shucked my suitcase off of the carousel. I slowly paced my way back down to the exit, following my dad’s silhouette.

I passed each member and acknowledged them with minute appreciation.

I nodded at Yusuf.

I waved at Ariadne.

I winked at Eames.

I smiled at Arthur.

But I was struck in my place when I saw Robert waiting for his own bag. His eyes were locked on his phone but they briefly flitted up just enough to recognise my frame. Fearfully, I scampered to the side. Taking solace behind Arthur’s frame. He looked down at me and couldn’t help but giggle.

He looked up to Robert. He then nodded in understanding.

He turned around and gripped me by the arms so I couldn’t run from what he was about to say.

“We both know what you promised yourself, but we both know how you feel. After everything,” He trailed off and looked over to where Robert was searching for my frame in the crowd.  “I think you finally need to take something for yourself” He patted my shoulder and then unceremoniously shoved me towards Robert. I stilled but then ran back to place one last kiss on Arthur’s cheek.

Well I guess there was no turning back now.

I skipped up hoping speed would remove my desire to turn back. I tapped his shoulder and he turned around.

“I just wanted to say I heard about your father and I wanted to offer my sympathy. You must miss him?”

Our eyes finally met unadulterated and we both were allowed to show as much desire as we could.

“Have we met? You look awfully familiar.” The question no longer filled me with dread. I tucked my hair behind my ear and giggled at his dulcet tone.

“I’d like to think I’d remember someone like you.” I flirted back. He laughed but his eyes still raked mine for familiarity. I shook out to start again. “The plane. I was the wall you crashed into.” He laughed in memory and seemed to relax upon this declaration.

“Robert Fischer.” He held out his hand and I shook it. I couldn’t believe how soft his skin was. “But seeing as you already mentioned my father you already knew that so forget what I said it was stupid.” He broke his hand away and mimicked shooing. His body was racked with nerves. So I clasped his hand once again.

“Y/n Cobb. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.” He breathed out through a smile. “Beautiful.” He whispered before his mind could catch up.

“I’m sorry?” I questioned, thinking I had misheard.

“Oh sorry it’s just that I think you’re very beautiful but there were more eloquent ways to express it.” He once again began to flap his hands about. He seemed embarrassed but I found it endearing.

“Anyways it was lovely to meet you.” I declared and quickly turned, secretly hoping he would stop me.

“Wait!” Told you. “Can I get your number?”

I turned back around but didn’t stop walking as I shouted back.

“I gave you my name. If you’re as powerful as you look you’ll find me by tomorrow.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I caught up to my dad as he conversed with grandad. I fidgeted as I approached, nervous about meeting his eyes for the first time in years. Instead he took my hands away from their movement and pulled me into a bone crushing hug. Tears burst out and it was the only conversation I needed.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

We arrived back to the home I had struck from my memory. Fearing it would sting too much.

We both got out, our steps tipping on the edge.

The walk inside felt a lifetime and it seemed the buzzing of life resumed within my mind once again.

We stood as strangers in our own living room. My eyes flitted over every surface to commit it to my mind.

Grandad approached the garden.

“James! Philippa!”

 The two innocent frames finally turned from their play and I laughed through tears when I got to meet their beautiful eyes once again.

They ran forward. Jumping into the awaiting arms of their father and sister. James launched into me whilst my dad swung Philippa around. I sunk my head into James’ neck and just relished in feeling him close. We eventually swapped and I offered Philippa the piggy backs she had loved. She began playing with my hair from behind, slicking it through into loose braids. But she gave up and instead felt she’d be more at peace with her arms locked tightly around my neck and her cheek next to mine.

A thousand photographs could never capture the love of that single moment.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

I awoke and stretched in the sheets that had been left since my last day. They had been washed, obviously, but grandma had tried to keep my room as untouched as possible.

My bones melted from the deepest sleep I had ever had. For the first time I had slept unaided and it had cured every ache in my chest.

Suddenly my door was thrown open and I looked up in time to see James launch himself onto body. He cuddled into my side and I threw my arms around him, squeezing him.

“Good morning, Jamesy.”

“There’s a man here.” His voice, ladened with sleep, informed. I tensed.

“He’s got a really fancy car and suit and he asked for you.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

My bare feet plodded across the cold wooden floor. I shuddered in my shorts and tank top. I opened the door. And there I was greeted with Robert, in his perfectly tailored suit, stood in front of his car, that I am assuming he didn’t drive himself due to the man stood to the side.

A smile brushed across his face when I finally entered his sight.

“Do you have any idea how many Y/n Cobbs there are in L.A.?” He declared with perfect practise.

“Well, I didn’t want to make it easy for you.” I teased back whilst carefully making my way to him across the stones.

We were now inches apart. Just gazing into each other.

 “So did I pass the test? Am I powerful enough to take you out on a date?” He toyed using my previous taunt. I blushed under his intense gaze. My hair fell in front of my face but he carefully brushed it back behind my ear.

“What did you have in mind?” I asked and he smiled so brightly.

From inside the house my dad watched on from the kitchen window. His morning coffee clasped in his hand. Like me, his previous attire was forgone for a soft pyjama top and checkered pants. He looked onto his daughter but once he recognised the light which oozed from her frame, he merely relented, well as much as any father can, and smiled.

“You would’ve been proud of her, Mal.”

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-

taglist: @jonsncws @h-l-vlovesvintage @theethy @fashionki11a @felicity1994 @bearchermer @idkyoutellmesmh @mimimarvelingmarvel @butterfly-lies-chase-them-away @neotanpopper @deliriouslybi @folklorde24 @thefandomdiaries07 @viarosemcmissile @noirrose21-blog @thepoeticfirefly @xoxo-gothic-girl @skeletonwrite @jellyzelek @kaylamarie306-blog @bloodcanbehot @lazybot @raineeace @thearieunhinged @multifans-things @queenofterrasen418 @bey0ndne0 @justanotherkpopstanlol @iamliterallyspidergwen @frozenhuntress67 @alice2612

#cillian murphy imagine #cillian murphy fanfiction #cillian murphy fanfic #cillian murphy #cillian x reader #cillian x fem!reader #cillian x y/n #cillian series #cillian murphy x reader #robert fischer x y/n #robert fischer x you #robert fischer x reader #robert fischer imagine #robert fischer inception #robert fischer #tom hardy inception #ariadne inception #arthur inception #inception fanfiction #inception #you're waiting for a train

[sheafrotherdon]

for @werebearbearbar

*

When Yusuf returns to their room with his tunic bloodied, Nicolo stills, prepared for the dozen or more eventualities that might spin out from such misfortune. He is relieved that Yusuf has come back—the truce between them is so fragile that he is often gripped by the worry that Yusuf might yet leave—but relief wars with frustration at how rash Yusuf can be, how often he finds himself at the wrong end of a blade. He looks Yusuf over from head to toe, rapidly assesses his healing, and then drags his gaze back to Yusuf’s face, to the expression of defeat he wears.

“What happened?” he asks quietly.

“We will not be traveling to Cairo today,” says Yusuf, as if this explains everything. He sits heavily on the edge of his rough bed.

Nicolo’s temper—the blistering, sharp-edge of his temper that he has yet to master—flares. This man. This infuriating man. His errand was so simple, and yet his arrogance, his stupidity, his readiness to fight—which of these maddening qualities ruined their plans? He swallows hard and opens his mouth that his feelings might pour out, tenses his hand into a fist and . . .

. . . pauses.

Yusuf is not readying to oppose him. His shoulders are not squared in anticipation of argument, nor his body poised to make his lingering disdain for Nicolo’s company known. His eyes are closed, his breathing steady in the way Nicolo has only observed when Yusuf prepares to pray. Something curls, sour, in Nicolo’s stomach, concern rushing from beneath his breastbone to skitter through his limbs, and he goes down to one knee, reaches out to touch Yusuf, then reconsiders.

“What did he do to you?” he asks instead.

Yusuf laughs sharply, mournfully, and looks up. “You would not understand.”

Nicolo watches him for a long moment. “You are not still hurt?”

Yusuf shakes his head. “He . . .” There is a visible struggle within him; his expression hardens, then softens again. “We could not agree on a price. He rescinded his offer and we argued.”

“His blood or yours?”

“Both.”

Nicolo stays still. “And?”

Yusuf looks away and blows out a breath. “He offered the curses of a schoolboy, the needling insults that a child might use.” He looks back at Nicolo. “He said I was my mother’s great shame, my father’s undoing, that my bloodline was cursed, that no son could dishonor his family more.”

Nicolo has witnessed by day and night Yusuf’s wrestling with their destiny. To be thrown into company with an invader whose body knits together like his own; to refuse to sink his blade into Nicolo’s gut despite the provocations of the heavens; the decision—the awful decision—to exile himself from his home lest he grieve his parents with the stain of whatever dark magic animates their souls. . .

“You are none of those things,” Nicolo says earnestly, voice no more than a whisper.

Yusuf makes a small choking sound, and presses his lips together firmly.

“He did not see a truth in you,” Nicolo continues. “A charlatan cannot.”

“And you do?” Yusuf asks bitterly.

Nicolo feels a strange and unfamiliar warmth creep up his neck. “I am further along that path than some wastrel merchant.”

Yusuf meets his gaze and for a long, terrible moment, neither of them speaks. “Perhaps,” Yusuf says nodding at last. “Perhaps you are.”

It is an unexpected thing to find that this matters, this agreement, the nearness of Yusuf’s body, the fact that Nicolo can find words enough to craft comfort when Yusuf is distressed. There is something here, some puzzle to unravel, but Nicolo cannot fathom the twists of his own mind on this score.  “You may take my clean shirt,” he says, and stands again, dusting off his knee.

Yusuf nods and stands too, pulls his dagger from his belt and lays it on the bed. “Thank you,” he says simply, and studies the blade.

#joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #kaysanova #early days #truce #concern #comfort #grief

[youssefguedira]

happy saturday! this is for mary @spacegirlsgang as always because i was thinking about Them again

The thing is, Nicolò stops thinking about it.

He doesn't mean to say it at first – Andromache doesn't believe him, the first time she overhears and he has to explain just to escape the inevitable teasing – but it slips out anyway, on a quiet evening when they're both on watch, Andromache already long asleep, which is a rare occasion indeed. He tells Yusuf to get some rest, more for show than anything else, because Yusuf shakes his head as he has done for the past few nights. "In case you fall asleep," is his normal excuse, and he's always smiling as he says it. It's not a risk in the slightest, but Yusuf doesn't seem to care, and Nicolò will not refuse the company.

(He's not as comfortable alone anymore than he used to be. He hasn't had time to really think about that yet.)

So it is evening, and Nicolò is poking at the fire in an attempt to revive it somewhat while Yusuf is mid-tale, voice hushed to avoid waking Andromache but waving his hands animatedly as he talks. It might have infuriated Nicolò when they first met, how Yusuf never quite seemed to be still, but it's rapidly become one of the things he likes most about him.

(That's another thing he hasn't had time to think properly about since Helm's Deep, but has been haunting him anyway: Yusuf's eyes, exhausted but still gentle, as he offered to help with Nicolò's braid; the way he'd smiled brighter than the sunrise when the elves had arrived from the east, Quynh among them; the way he'd persuaded Nicolò to join in the celebrations afterward. And then, the thing that plagues him the most: the way he sang, both soft and solemn for those they'd lost and joyful and loud later on, everyone's eyes on him, the most beautiful thing in the room.)

It's because of all this that when Yusuf asks him about the flow of a line in the song he's taken it upon himself to compose in commemoration of the battle, he answers: "I could not say, elenya. I have never been particularly musical."

He realises what he's said only after he says it. Yusuf almost certainly notices, but he doesn't say anything about it, sparing Nicolò's heart for now. Instead, he leans back on his elbows, and the movement draws attention to the way his curls fall across his face, the way the firelight turns him to gold. "I don't know about that," Yusuf says. "You grew up in Rivendell, you must have learned a thing or two."

"If that were true," Nicolò says, "perhaps Andromache would have learned to carry a tune. Alas."

Yusuf laughs, golden, and Nicolò is – Nicolò is hopeless. "You're lucky she's asleep."

The topic of conversation turns after that, and it is, largely, forgotten.

The worst of it is that it doesn't end there. It's just so easy to slip it into conversation, warm and familiar like they've known each other for years, elenya, star. It suits him, Nicolò thinks, even if he is perhaps a bit biased: a bright point of light amid so much darkness.

He never admits this to Andromache, even when she overhears and gives him a sidelong look but blessedly doesn't say anything in front of Yusuf. She would say he's being insufferably poetic; Nicolò would argue the time with Yusuf is a bad influence.

So it becomes a reflex, and he doesn't think about it. Until after everything, after they are all reunited and safe (and they survive, all of them, even Nile and Lykon, carried back down into the city by the Eagles, still enough that Nicolò had thought they were dead at first until Nile had coughed and he'd been light with relief), and he and Yusuf finally have the time to figure out this thing between them.

It is – Nicolò does not have the words to describe it. He only knows he has never felt this much before.

They're in the courtyard when it comes up. It's late, and the night is clear, clear enough that there are more stars than Nicolò could ever hope to count. Yusuf is lying beside him, his head resting lightly on Nicolò's shoulder, quiet enough that he could be asleep, but Nicolò knows he isn't.

(He'd thought Yusuf was never still before, but just didn't see it: now Yusuf is comfortable enough with him to let himself rest properly, and Nicolò still marvels at that a little.)

Just when Nicolò is starting to think Yusuf may have actually fallen asleep, he speaks. "Thatr. That's one you don't know."

Nicolò repeats it to himself, then asks, "What does it mean?" They've been teaching each other bits and pieces of their respective languages for a while now, first as a way to pass time on the road, but now it's a habit.

"Star," Yusuf says, then tilts his head to look at Nicolò expectantly. The stars are reflected in his eyes.

"Elen," Nicolò responds. He doesn't think it through until Yusuf props himself up on one elbow, his brow furrowing in thought.

"Elen," he echoes, and only then does Nicolò realise, but he cannot take it back now. "But that sounds like – what's the word–"

"Elenya," Nicolò says, and there is really no reason for him to steer clear of telling Yusuf what it really means, now that Yusuf knows exactly how Nicolò feels, but. Well.

"Nicolò," Yusuf says. Nicolò doesn't look at him, but Yusuf's voice is soft when he asks, "What does it mean?"

"Translated literally," Nicolò says, "it can mean star, or my star for some, I think, but it is not – there is more to it than that, I cannot–"

When Nicolò finally looks at him there is something like wonder in his eyes. "All this time?" Yusuf asks.

"All this time," Nicolò replies. "What did you think it meant?"

"I don't know, something like – idiot, or–" Yusuf makes an exasperated sound, and Nicolò can't help smiling, which only makes Yusuf roll his eyes. "Don't look at me like that, it's not that far-fetched. I still thought you didn't like me. Why?"

"It made sense," Nicolò says simply. "Even when things were impossibly dark, you were there."

Yusuf just looks at him for a long moment, silent, eyes shining. "Nicolò," he says again, and then kisses him, and then neither of them speak for some time after that.

When they do part, finally, Yusuf lies back down and curls close to Nicolò's side. "And you call me the poetic one. Honestly."

"It's true," Nicolò insists, because he can't hold a candle to Yusuf's way with words. Yusuf just shakes his head, and for a while they're still.

"You know," Yusuf says, "when Andromache and Quynh find this out, they'll never let you hear the end of it, amrâlimê."

He'll ask Yusuf what that means tomorrow. "I know." They've been teasing him about it since the first time Andromache overheard him, and then since she told Quynh. But he loves them anyway, so it's all just as well.

#look this is just them being a bit stupid ok but they're very very in love your honor #theyre just. so #yusuf has ALSO been calling nicky assorted endearments in dwarvish since helm's deep he just hasnt admitted to it yet #nicolò will find out in like. 2 or so days #the old guard #kaysanova #tog lotr au #happy (day late) birthday mary! this is why i found the dwarvish star endearments i hope you like it #userlyde #userlinax #lazynbored #thank you to @erotetica for the quenya help (that might be the wrong elvish but oh well) and @wingodex for the dwarvish! #elenya - my star / star (affectionate) #amralime - love of mine #both make me feel very very 🥺💕

[uefb]

Fantastic Beasts One-shot: Far Away from Temple After Sunset

SUMMARY While often a requirement when working against a Seer, under-explained missions still don't always end well... The evening of December 24, 1940 sees Newt and Tina reunited on a bloody battlefield in southern France, and if Newt were properly religious, he'd have attributed their miraculous survival to the day of the year...

OPENING SCENE

December 24, 1940 / Christmas Eve and 1st Night of Hanukkah / Limousin Region, Southwest France

Newt had come onto this particular mission off the tail of another, only stopping at home long enough to drop off his case per instructions before apparating to a bombed theatre in the West End to retrieve the portkey and coordinates Dumbledore had had hidden for him there. He’d worked hard to get back from his last trip in time for the holidays, but once he’d learned Tina was already in France, he decided it didn’t much matter anyway, and thus threw himself into the broken flower-pot portkey on a wing and a prayer.

Consequently, just under three hours ago, he had arrived (already exhausted) into what was—but probably should not yet have been— utter chaos, after which it became quickly apparent that this was either not one of Dumbledore’s more thoroughly strategised plans or, alternatively, someone had regrettably betrayed them...

In the end, they’d taken rather more damage than they’d dealt, and though it had been at least ten minutes now since the ambush had finally petered out in a series of popping disapparitions and poorly timed enemy portkeys, the air was still heavy with the scent of noxious potion bombs and Muggle explosives.

It would be an utter lie to say they were not having trouble locating one another in the aftermath and, to make matters worse, both night and the temperature were quickly falling.

Newt had lost sight of Tina just a handful of minutes before—no more than a quarter hour, he was sure of it. But distracted by a landmine someone’s identification spell had apparently failed to highlight during reconnaissance and that had therefore been triggered by a fleeing acolyte, he’d spent the better part of that time making sure Yusuf didn’t lose an eye from the blast; while simultaneously stymieing the steady flow of blood from his own wounds, tending mainly to the careful removal of the shrapnel lodged far too close to his tibial artery for comfort... He’d frantically woven a bandage out of the Horned Slug mucus packed in the pouch on his belt, before testing Kama’s left-side vision and manoeuvring them both clumsily to their feet.

He shifted under the weight as the man shuffled along beside him, a hand clutching his bandaged face. It was all Newt could do to drag his foot along, too—(something he couldn’t repair on his own was injured, something had clipped a nerve, perhaps – well, definitely - from the mechanics of it)—and he squinted about for his brother, or Tina. Miller or Ramos, or Macmillan.

Anyone.

There was a minute sound from behind an abandoned woodshed at the closest edge of the pockmarked field and Newt froze like a creature under threat, casting a heavy disillusionment charm on him and Kama, before shoving the man behind him to clutch his shoulder for a guide as they continued their wary approach.

A half second later and the woosh of an identification spell shot over him, and Newt’s heart could have stopped then and there, so when Theseus’ head appeared from around the corner of the shack just moments later, he choked on a cry of relief. His brother’s face broke with a tired smile—though tear tracks had cut the dirt on his cheeks from squinting too long through the smoke—upon visually confirming what the spell had already assured him: the Scamanders had made it out alive.

(Or, at least — so far — the original two of them had…)

Keep reading here

#honestly - one of the many gifs of Newt passed out may have been more appropriate than that one but I wanted the action shown too 😆 #my stuff #fic: far away from temple after sunset #3k words #tina goldstein #newt scamander #jewish tina goldstein #autistic newt scamander #Theseus Scamander #protective theseus Scamander #Scamander brothers #newtina #hurt/comfort #fantastic beasts fanfic

[guttersniper]

@rvolving as yusuf said: "if you could go anywhere on earth, where would you go?"

the holdovers.

it seems like an odd question to ask, at that particular time.

mutt sits, cross-legged, atop the scuffed desk in the corner. it is characteristic of him to find seating where there is none, or, such as now, choose something that is decidedly not a chair, even when one is available. yusuf seems to pay no particular heed to his choice of seat. there are times like these, on missions, where all they can do is sit. the raised-relief globe positioned nearest to the edge catches his eye, and he reaches out, wrapping his fingers around the sharp-cold neck of the base.

balancing it on where his thigh meets the bumpy crook of his knee, mutt spins it. left to right. up and down. the metal gradually warms as he keeps hold. he stops it with his index finger. where it landed – in the middle of the indian ocean – isn't intended to be his answer. he doesn't look, besides.

he asks, instead, by way of answering, " when's the last time you went home? "

#show the brother-son the motherland.... #rvolving #rvolving: yusuf. #v. i am that angry and lonely child of always. #answered.

[the73rdpostscript]

After his prayers, Joe settles in the blue armchair they moved to face the window. From here he can soak in this feeling of peace for a time.

The light in the room changes slowly as the morning goes on, bathing him in warmer and warmer rays as the window lets the sun's trajectory continue uninterrupted. The old panes are clear after a thorough wash the weekend before. Outside, a bug is darting around the pot of tomato plants that Nicky put out.

Joe could work on the sketch he began last night. He could go wake Nicky and they could walk to buy fruit from the new stall their neighbor built.

He could make breakfast for himself and his beloved with the food they've bought.

Or he could sit here, embracing the ease of a morning where there is nothing to do but allow himself to be.

In front of him, the morning light continues its path across the room, and memories trickle in with every change in exposure.

There. The light creeps over the arm of the sofa, and it is the same light that rippled over the bedsheets during one of the many summers they were stuck inside - hiding from a heatwave so intense that they could not even make love to distract themselves from the misery.

There. The sun is glowing on the distant hills, and it is the morning sun slowly illuminating the side of a young girl – sobbing in front of him as he tries to keep her patient and happy while Nicky brought her mother from across the way. He had been so tired and she had been so desperate. He had sat with her as she continued working herself up more and more, until she opened her eyes enough to spot Nicky walking over the ridge with her mother. The sun had finally breached the hill to their left and hilghlighted her in a bright almost-white glow as her face broke into relief and joy – following her as she sprinted off for the comfort of her mother’s arms. Nicky had met his eyes, squinting into the sun and smiling with almost as much as relief as the child. An imperfect happiness in the glow of the new day.

There. The light is making shapes on their carpet and it is the light shining in mosque at Konye, where he said his morning prayers for the first time in years. The room had been as familiar as all these places become – allowing him the space of silence and reflection he had not realized he needed so badly. That community was nothing particularly special in the span of his life, but the feeling of the moment – the utter contentment and the immediate notion of such peace after so long spent in tangles: that is something he can draw up without issues, etched in his memory through the distinct light exposure.

There. The light is spreading over the couch cushion. It is the same light that flooded their room in Naples, where he drew Nicolo for an entire day – letting the light traverse their space as it willed. It was an activity they had done many times before and one they would do many times again.

There. The light is flooding through the square glass window panes. It is the morning light shining through the window of their kitchen at the safehouse in Valencia. Andy was usually up with him, letting him try new recipes as he strove to show his blossoming love for Nicolo with new and invigorating breakfasts. Nicolo would come in from errands to find them debating a dish or a pastry with too much focus to notice his entrance. And so Joe's exercise in love for Nicolo became an exercise in building his relationship with Andromache – something which he holds closely in the new age where his sister never allows herself to linger or savor things the same ways she used to.

There. That is the light shining down on Quynh in morning practice, giving her a temporary disadvantage in her competition with Nicolo. Andromache had laughed in the background, and nudged Yusuf with her shoulder, “Shall we bet on it?”

There is the light as the sun continuously refused to disappear the morning after they lost Quynh. The sun shining on the cursed fucking island as it rarely did before – illuminating Andy’s wretched expression as they tried to coax her into letting them wash her.

“Yusuf,” the voice of his beloved drags Joe into the present with such immediacy that he feels something twist in his stomach. So much time. So much life and death and loss.

He turns his head to face Nicky, who is slumped in the doorway with a sleepy expression.

Joe tries to smile.

With the slightest frown, Nicky walks over and bends to kiss him before crouching down beside the chair. There, Nicky folds his arms on the top of Joe’s legs and rests his chin on them with a sleepy smile. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Joe says – running his hand through Nicky’s hair with wonder. (There is their bedroom in Malta – the sun kissing Nicky’s face as he sleeps. There is the morning they discussed the future together, confessing their mutual bafflement at the idea of eternity – their anxieties. There is the morning Nicky told him he would forgive himself for the atrocities he had repented and worked to correct if only Joe would forgive himself for the loss of an innocent life under their care. There is the morning they laid in bed and did nothing for several hours – touching and feeling at their leisure.)

“Where are you?” Nicky asks, turning his head to kiss Joe’s wrist.

With a small and genuine smile, Joe assures him, “I have remembered some very lovely mornings with you.”

Nicky returns his smile and raises his eyebrows – waiting patiently for the memories to be shared.

“Let’s walk to the stall and I’ll tell you.”

#yusuf al kaysani #the old guard #fic #mine #just pouring some love into this tag

[lazaefair]

Tagged by @aphroditestummyrolls ages ago - thank you!

Rules: Pick any ten of your fics, scroll roughly to the midpoint, pick a line (or three) and share it. Then tag ten people.

(I just went with the ten most recent works to make it easy on myself.)

Spoils (Joe/Nicky, The Old Guard) It’s a downright luxurious prison they’ve put him in – a tower room, complete with windows, a bed (with sheets and furs), and table and chairs. They even brought up a full bath for him an hour after his guards silently deposited him in the room. With real soap, praise be to God.

Love in the Time of Laser Swords (Billy/Goody, The Magnificent Seven 2016) Bili and Goodnight met in a shack in a nameless settlement next to a downed Star Destroyer on a junkyard of a planet, where Bili was grimly knocking back shots of dubiously brewed alien moonshine and Goodnight was…well, Goodnight was hunting him down.

Care (Joe/Nicky, The Old Guard) Joe brightens. Nile tends to make her favorite comfort foods when it's her turn, and they'd rapidly become team favorites, too.

It's a Nice Desk (Joe/Nicky, The Old Guard) “Fuck me, do it,” Joe says, body singing with anticipation. And cries out when Nicky plants his feet, grips Joe’s hips, and gives him what he asked for.

Befriending (Billy/Goody, The Magnificent Seven 2016) “Please,” he manages to whisper, because fuck pride – though the noise Goody lets out in response makes it worth it anyway – and it does the trick again, because then Goody’s pushing in, huge hard unyielding pressure, and Billy’s going limp with relief the farther he gets inside, fucking finally.

Touch, Taste, Smell, Hear (Joe/Nicky/Nile, The Old Guard) It's not that he and Nicky have never taken a third person to bed. It's not even the first time they've slept with a fellow immortal. But this is Nile, new to them: already beloved, but new. Everything she does takes on a fascinating dimension.

This Story Is An Excuse To Picture Yusuf al-Kaysani In The Slave Leia Outfit (Joe/Nicky, The Old Guard) Merrick dies as gracelessly as he lived, eyes bulging and limbs jerking. Unfortunately, he also doesn’t have anything on him that could possibly free Joe from the damn chain. Not even a measly pocket laser.

Bow-Chicka-Bow (Joe/Nicky, The Old Guard) Instead, he gets Nicky bending down over him and dropping a sweet kiss onto his mouth. He pulls back before Joe can kiss him back.

Bare (Joe/Nicky, The Old Guard) “Amore mio,” Nicky groans, already close to losing himself after an entire day of suffering through low-level arousal. “You are never more beautiful than when you are like this.”

Red Leather (Billy/Goody, The Magnificent Seven 2016) Dozens of kisses and two lockpicked doors later, they’re deep enough in the building that the neon-strobed darkness of the club has given way to very un-atmospheric fluorescent lighting – the offices next door, abandoned after office working hours. Which suits them down to the ground.

(Apparently my current M.O. is writing exactly one fic per year, which is nothing but smut.)

Tagging @cypresssunns, @normal-thoughts-official, @yusufstits, @astrabear, @alwaysalreadyangry, @non-un-topo, @frizox, @berrysphase, @babygirlyusuf, @griseldagimpel

#tag game #by lazaefair

[french-toast-enjoyer]

short story part 3! (probably) the final part! 18+

warnings for gore, violence, cannibalism, and explicit sexual content.

Kallus has done this song and dance a million times, but not like this.

Carrying a body to the sanctum has always been an illicit act– yet tonight there’s peace in it. Neither rabbit nor doe nor prey of any kind have ever clung to his chest, pleading to stay in his arms. The dead don’t trust him to be gentle, but Yusuf?

Yusuf is in ecstasy.

He looks so at home upon the shrine of bodies, laid out like some divine bastardization of the eucharist. Far prettier than any lamb who’s ever known slaughter.

He rests there, briefly, letting his body be known by the creature.

Kallus shuts his eyes and worships his dying limb, nuzzling the icy skin and whispering solemnly to himself, as if saying grace.

“Will it be enough?” Yusuf asks, not without hope as he holds up his terribly frostbitten arm.

The beast nods into his palm, not looking back at him, “Just a taste. Will be gentle.”

“I trust you.” he said, petting the creature’s dark fur.

Slowly, carefully, Kallus opens his giant, jagged maw and easily takes Yusuf’s arm in, treading his fangs to the very end of the wound.

And he bites.

The limb surrenders with a vile ripping sound, putting up no fight as he grabs it and tears it off completely.

On its face the skin is scaly and lifeless, but inside it’s filled with the body and blood and spirit of something greater.

Something overtakes him in that moment, he’s lost in the sensation; the taste of flesh, the heat of blood, the relief that flutters between them is too much to bear. It’s soft and it’s poetic and it’s fucking ravenous.

He breathes it in and he lets it out, tasting the metallic heat on his lips. It stains his mouth redder than sacramental wine and he doesn’t dare wipe it away. His head rears back and he falls on all fours, towering over his prey.

But the fog lifts when he finally sees Yusuf trembling beneath him. His face comes into focus, and at last the monster sees what he’s done.

Yusuf’s eyes are wide, watering, and there’s a strange expression on his face. Glazed.

“Did not mean to scare you–” Kallus pants, stomach twisting with guilt as he hesitates to touch Yusuf, “did not mean to hurt you… sorry, so sorry, just wanted to–”

All at once the minotaur is wrapped up in his arms, bringing him back down to earth with a sweet refrain of “It’s alright, I’m alright.” that doesn't seem to ease the intensity between them.

In the heat of the bloodshed, a kiss silences Kallus’ ragged breaths. Yusuf tastes himself in the minotaur's mouth, and he moans.

Biting sensations of frost and pain and isolation are at last burned away by the warmth of Yusuf’s lips. Warmth only compared to that of his lover’s doorway.

Just as such, the two cannot pull away from the embrace, and they can't seem to get close enough.

Yusuf's clothes are torn away by thick claws, his pendant snapping as it's pulled from him. Whatever empire he served no longer matters as he lay against the altar. Even the cold couldn't reach his naked body in the heat of the moment.

Kallus was still decent, his cloak and loincloth covering the body he'd been cursed with as he passionately kissed up the man's bare neck.

Yusuf couldn't stand it. Seeing the minotaur so uninhibited and covered in blood turned him on, but the clothing hid away all that he wanted to worship. The minotaur had fallen silent. Pensive.

It took only a brief ghost across Kallus' waist to feel both the thin, flimsy nature of the fabric — as well as how aroused the man was by the whole ordeal. Yusuf was overjoyed, but that silence washed over him again as he pulls back from their kiss.

The minotaur’s cock stands painfully hard, jutting against Yusuf’s ribs and filling its owner with intense shame.

He'd been hard since the moment he'd bitten into the man.

The crack of the frostbitten bone, the heat of blood, the love in Yusuf’s eyes…

No, god, it was disgusting. It was disgusting and he was wrong to feel that way.

Kallus apologizes vehemently.

He looks down at Yusuf’s body, shuts his eyes, and pulls away in self-hatred. It wasn't right to want him, to unclothe him after what he'd done to Yusuf.

“Kallus…”

He ignores the man's attempts to make him stay, leaving him in the sanctum with all his other victims.

#writeblr #writers on tumblr #short story #cw: gore

[peri-helia]

WIP Tag Game

I was tagged by the lovely @isabellehemlock to share the first lines of my WIPs and it was nice to go back through and rediscover these stories! I love each of these and am excited to share them at some point. Tagging anyone who would like to, please tag me if you want to do it so I can see!

Part II of Clews in the Labyrinth of You my Witch Soulmate JoeNicky AU 

Staggering over to the window, Joe flung it open and dragged in gulps of fresh air, chest throbbing in relief with it. His soulmate had – his soulmate had tried to kill him. Those pale eyes that had haunted a whole page of his sketchpad the day before had been  as cold and resolute as the iron scissors with which the man had tried to sever the red thread that would lead them to each other.

Joe can see it, brazen and bright out of the corner of his eye as he looks out over his street, the hint of a breeze not even ruffling the tops of the trees. The thread, trails down and disappears as far as the eye can see, down past the cobbles and window boxes and leading off around the corner. So his – the other person on the end of this – is not a local, he thinks yesterday’s annoyance now a sharp relief.

Because whoever that man is, he can’t be Joe’s soulmate. The spell Joe had cast had been a direction spell, a question about answering what was missing in his life. He’d thought given the colour, the cheery redness of the string, that it must be his soulmate. Or at least, the person with the best potential to be so. But what kind of soulmate tries to kill you?!

Unpublished JoeNicky Knight AU

“I’ve got a horrible feeling,” Yusuf mutters, so as not to encourage the blade at his throat any further, “that the new one might be trying to kill me”

“To be fair to Nicolo, I’ve just been trying to kill you” Andromache said cheerfully, swinging her axe clear of his throat and offering him a hand up, “I’d have managed it too. Your footwork’s getting sloppy”

Unpublished JoeNicky exes to lovers Chefs AU

“We’re not doing pesto Genovese,” Andy says, looking immediately back up from the recipe sheet into Nile’s face the minute she sees the title.

“But – “

“No, Nile” It’s not the eye contact that pulls Nile up short from arguing her case – Andy always does direct eye contact – it’s the use of her Christian name. As the newest addition to the kitchen, Nile has multiple nicknames in lieu of her actual name. Andy invariably calls her ‘kid’.

Something’s wrong.

Andy always hears out suggestions for new dishes – so why…she peers closer at the other woman. But Andy looks as she always does; clothes and apron immaculate, sharpie clipped to the front, the slight crinkle to her brow where she’s thinking of the hundred things they need to do to get through the night.

She’s regarding Nile in turn, as if she’s debating telling her something when her eyes slip past Nile to across the room where Joe’s artfully turning apples into roses for Booker.  Her gaze softens even more.

“Later, alright?” she promises distantly. Nile will hold her to that, wondering what correlation Joe and pesto Genovese share.

#my writing #tag games

[spookychick78]

Final Girl

How Can I Tell You

Michael Myers X AFAB!Reader

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,183

"Michael," she called after him as he walked down the hall towards their room.

She knew he had overheard the conversation with Loomis, or at least part of it. He had provided the distraction for her to escape. However his usual silent demeanor seemed colder than ever at the moment.

"I'm sorry I left," she said as she stood in the doorway of the room, hoping he wasn't angry with her.

He wasn't. He had no reason to be, she was free to go if she chose to. After all, she hadn't betrayed him. Loomis would eventually find him no matter what, he always did. It never bothered Michael, as if the old doctor could stop him anyway, but the picture the man had painted of him was not one he liked hearing and she had heard all of it, or so he assumed. He had only caught the tail end of their conversation, but he was sure she would think differently of him now.

He turned to face her so he could gauge what she was feeling towards him. Words meant little to nothing to him, he knew she said she was sorry, but was it because she was now afraid of him? He could read a hint of worry in her eyes. He let out a sigh.

She slowly walked over with her arms crossed, "I was tired of being here alone."

She stood close as she gazed up at him. She had so many questions, but knew it wouldn't do any good to pry, especially at that particular moment. His demeanor suggested he was suspicious as to what Loomis had told her, but she wasn't willing to give away any information yet.

She wasn't entirely sure how to ease his worries, but she had to make an attempt. She didn't want anymore tension between them. She kept her eyes on his as she reached for his hand. The process of touching him had to be done delicately, she knew that, so her moves were slow and calculated. His lack of a response to her fingers on his was a way of giving her permission. She slowly took hold of the rest of his hand and began to move it towards her hip. Once she had placed it, she rested hers on his chest, never breaking their eye contact. She could feel his heart beat faster under her palm. It was strange to her that she had so much power in such a small gesture over someone like him. He had no reason to fear her and yet she sensed he did.

"I'm not afraid of you," she whispered.

That gave him some relief, but she still felt his hesitation at her touch. He was restraining himself.

"And you don't have to be afraid of me."

She felt his hand relax against her hip, allowing his palm to fully rest on it. He even let his other one find her. He gently pulled her closer to him. She found his desire to be close to her and his self restraint endearing. He was unlike any man she had ever met in that sense, he had a certain control over his body that most of them lacked. It only made her want him more than she thought she did. She hadn't truly considered her own growing feelings, but with his hands pressed against her so gently she was becoming aware of how she felt. His forehead met hers and he found himself wishing the mask wasn't guarding him from her skin again. He considered it.

"Will you stay tonight?" She asked.

He lifted his head off of hers and allowed her a small nod in response. The smile he hadn't seen in a long time appeared and he felt satisfied that he had finally been the one to cause it. She pulled away and he watched her take her spot on the bed beside them. She settled in and he went towards his usual spot on the floor.

"Michael?" He heard her say before he had fully lain down.

"Lay next to me," she said.

It wasn't a suggestion this time, she really wanted him to. She expected him to ignore her as he had done before, but instead she heard his footsteps approaching. She rolled onto her side and watched him awkwardly find his way into the spot next to her. He kept his eyes on the ceiling, utterly astonished at himself and almost horrified. He had never lain in a bed with a woman nor had he ever intended to. He felt that familiar uneasiness bubble up inside him, but it was quickly replaced with a comforting warmth when she rested her hand on his. He marveled at her strange understanding and that she always seemed to know exactly how to reassure him. For the first time in ages, Michael slept.

The night passed quickly and his eyes opened to find sunlight trickling in. He sat straight up and from the corner of his eye he saw her lying there. He was still next to her. A part of him thought it was just a dream or that his mind was playing tricks on him, but he had indeed fallen asleep with her. He turned his head to watch her and how her chest moved up and down as she breathed. His eyes wanted to linger there, to study her body in ways he hadn't before. His hands wanted badly to feel her again, but he pulled himself away and quickly got out of the bed. His mind began its usual grappling. He felt himself changing in ways that made him uncomfortable, but it seemed he had no power to fight it. The need to touch her was irritating and he found himself wanting to rid himself of it and of her once more. He had a mission and she was distracting him in more ways than one. He was unable to find Laurie and he knew it was because his mind was elsewhere. Perhaps this was why he hated lust, it was making him sloppy. Was that was he was feeling? No. Not completely, but it was mixed in there with his feelings for her. He could feel it growing like a weed in the back of his mind every time he had allowed himself to touch her or let her touch him. He could feel it as he stood over her sleeping form admiring how soft her lips looked. He replayed that kiss she'd given his mask over and over.

He turned quickly and marched down the hallway. He made sure to grab his knife off the table as he passed it. He wouldn't allow himself to be distracted, he had to find Laurie. She had to die. More than ever today, she had to die, he was certain of that. He wanted it out of the way once and for all. Then maybe he could rest. Then he could allow himself to, he hesitated to think it, but he could allow himself to love her.

So he left.

#Michael Myers #michael audrey myers #michael myers x reader #og michael myers #slasher #slasher fandom #slasher fanfiction #slasher x reader #horror #horror fiction #horror fanfiction #the shape #the bogeyman #Halloween #halloween 1978 #Spotify

[terresdebrumestories]

Work in progress: Together, in the same direction

A fic set in the same AU as All on my own, a TOG fic in which Nico and Yusuf deal with the ups and downs of parenting kid!Booker (with some help from aunties Quyhn and Andy). It is technically a sequel (there's a time gap of 33 years) but you shouldn't need to read AomO to understand the story.

In TitSD, Booker has been missing for eight years and suddenly comes back in Nile's life, his childhood best friend. The fic will be from Nile's POV with endgame Booker/Nile (though I want Nile and the sudden overhaul to her life to be the main focus) but this is perhaps one of the more Booker-focused scenes. Anyway, I just wrote this after eight months of being unable to write so you get the raw, unedited version as teaser :P

“Hi baba,” Basti says eventually.

“Where were you?” Yussuf demands, tears in his eyes. “What did you do? Why would you—do you have any idea how worried you were? The police asked if we wanted to declare you dead!”

Nile winces, rooted to the spot. she wants to interject, to say something in Basti’s defense…but she has thought all of this too. She wondered, and she asked, and as much as she empathizes with the way Basti hunches on himself she can’t make herself stop Yussuf, when he has even more of a right to know than she does.

“I’m sorry,” Basti sobs eventually, “Baba, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Oh,” Yussuf exclaims, anger and hurt vanishing from his voice entirely as he reaches up to pull Basti in a hug. “Oh, helwa, I’m sorry! I’m sorry. I was so scared and so sad for so long, and now you’re here and I’m yelling!”

“It’s okay,” Basti says while Nile breathes a sigh of relief. “It’s okay, I—”

“It’s not!” Yussuf cuts off.

Behind him, Nile can see Nico’s hand play with his collar, the way she’s always seen him do whenever Basti had an episode. It’s comforting and sad all at once, and when he catches her looking she can’t help but go to him and press their shoulders together.

“Baba,” Basti’s saying, it’s okay—”

“It isn’t, but thank you for pretending,” Yusuf says, shaking his head. Nile can’t see his face anymore from here, but it’s so easy to hear the smile in his voice. “Helwa—my son, my boy, I’m so happy you’re back.”

Yussuf pulls Basti in even tighter, burying his face in his shoulder, and then Basti does the same, and Nile watches them cry into each others’ neck. She feels Nico put his hand in hers at the same time she realizes she’s crying too, and when she turns to the side his cheeks are dry but his eyes are bright. Nile squeezes his hand, comforted when he squeezes back.

“'Ana jidun masrurun,” Yusuf says, muffled, and Basti sobs again and manages:

“Me too—aishtaqt lak kathiran ya 'abi.”

There is a long silence, broken only by Basti and Yusuf’s gentling sobs. In her hand, Nile can feel Nico’s fingers trembling. He’s quiet still, the same silence that made him seem so much more solemn than he truly is. It’s the same silence that used to scare Basti to death, convinced as he always was that one day it would break and give way to some great disappointment.

Even now, forty years old and a full head taller than his father, Basti can’t quite make himself look him in the eyes. Nile watches him extract himself from Yusuf’s embrace with slow movement, like he’d prefer to stay hidden in there forever. She tries to give him an encouraging smile, though she’s not sure he sees it, and then she steps away from Nico when he releases her hand.

She shuffles, awkward and raw from the tears that still linger in her eyes, and willingly goes into Yusuf’s arms when he opens them for her.

“Thank you for bringing him back,” he whispers in her ear.

Nile chuckles despite herself—wants to say she didn’t do anything, she just drove—but she lets Yusuf hug her and kiss her forehead, happy to soak in the comfort he’s always so willing to give. When she breaks the hug and turns to Basti again, she finds him standing with his face in Nico’s hands, the back of his ears crimson with emotion as he chokes:

“—but it wouldn’t have helped, papà. I was—I—” Basti sobs again, sounding almost like a little child, rubbing at his eyes with the back of his knuckles. “I wanted—I wanted—a way out. And there—there’s only two ways out; there’s—the slow one—or the fast one and I thought—I thought—”

“Oh, pìcolo,” Niccolò sighs, pulling Basti’s head down until their foreheads are touching, “sometimes you are like me in the ways I least wished you to be.”

Nile gasps and feels herself move to speak, but Yusuf’s hand on her shoulder roots her in place. In front of her, she sees Basti try to jerk away, but Niccolò holds him tight and sighs:

“That’s not what I meant.

“Papà—”

“I told you, didn’t I? That I didn’t choose to stop talking to my family.”

Nile has never heard this story. She winces, even as Basti nods, and tries to step back, but Yusuf catches her hand on his shoulder and holds on tight.

“You’re family,” he mouths when she looks at him. “You can stay.”

“I thought it would be fitting,” Nico is saying when Nile swallows and looks back at him. “To die in a place known for the very thing I didn’t want to be, when even Jerusalem had failed to change me.”

Twenty-six years earlier

“No but really,” Nile insisted, ignoring the way her mom tries to shush her, “how did you meet?”

“Nile,” Mom said on her right, Jordan snickering on her left, “if they don’t want to tell the story they don’t have to.”

“No,” Niccolò said eventually, “it’s alright.”

He had very, very blue eyes, the kind that made it easy to forget he and Seb weren’t related. He spoke quietly, seriously, like every answer to every question was important. Sometimes, it made him feel almost austere—that was a new word Nile had heard in school and it suited him—and it scared Seb, but it was also nice to be taken seriously.

“We met in Tel-Aviv. Yusuf was there on annual leave.”

“From Egypt,” Yusuf chimed in, smiling as he reached for his husband’s hand. “Homosexuality is illegal there, you know…so sometimes I gave myself a week to go be gay somewhere where it was okay.”

Nile nodded, trying to look a little like she understands the feeling, even though she didn’t really. She already knew about Egyptian law, because Seb had wanted to do a presentation about the history of marriage equality in their Civic Education class last year. Seb had even mentioned his parents had lived there for a while, despite the risks, so that part wasn’t surprising.

“And I was there because I was gay and didn’t want to be,” Niccolò said, sighing, something like a sad smile at the corner of his mouth. “I wanted to prove to myself that I could decide to be straight.”

“Fortunately, our love was meant to be,” Yusuf chimed in, smiling so bright even Seb—who had rolled his eyes when Niccolò started the story—couldn’t help but smile in answer. “We met, and we talked, and we parted ways—”

“You left,” Niccolò pointed out, quiet but smiling.

“I did, I did,” Yusuf admitted, nodding his head with his eyebrows raised high. “And that was almost the biggest mistake of my life—but! I came back!”

“You did,” Niccolò concedes in turn.

“I searched all the bars and all the restaurants I could think of to find the beautiful man who had stolen my heart and soul,” Yusuf continued, “but I couldn’t find a single trace of him! Even on my very last day—you should have seen me: I was trekking through the streets with my cabin luggage, staring at strangers like a possessed man—”

“You should have combed your hair,” Niccolò said, mock serious, and Nile heard Seb snort in laughter at the same time she did.

“Hayati, I am trying to be romantic,” Yusuf protested, making Seb scoff.

“That’s your default state, Baba.”

“Thank you,” Yusuf said, “I’m glad you noticed. Now, as I was saying—”

“He found me,” Niccolò said, finding Yusuf’s eyes and holding his gaze. “He saved me. I’ve never needed another altar since.”

#The Old Guard #Sebastien Le Livre #Yusuf Al Kaysani #Niccolo Di Genova #Nile Freeman #TOG Fic #Fic: Together in the same direction #Matt writes #LISTEN #I'm just really happy I wrote this #In fact I'm so happy I may try to write more once I posted this even though it's technically bedtime #So there it is have fun y'all

[sheafrotherdon]

They had undressed in front of one another too many times to count—in haste, in relief, out of necessity, without care. Nicolo knew the broad planes of Yusuf’s back, the divots to either side of his spine, the place where the hair on his legs thinned, the angle of each of his hip bones. He knew the mole below his ribs, the freckles at the hollow of his throat—could not help but know them after the long months they had spent in each other’s company, the gradual passage of years as they moved through the world. He had pressed his fingers to the healing gashes upon Yusuf’s back, washed soot and dirt from his hair, watched the growth of Yusuf’s beard and the deliberate, careful way he shaved.

Yet now his hands fumble with the drawstring at the waist of his rough breeches, and his heart beats too fast, just from glancing at Yusuf pulling off his shirt and throwing it beside their belongings at the riverbank. Foolish, he thinks, clenching his jaw as he unties the knots he’s made of his lacing, ignoring the splash of Yusuf wading out into the current.

That their bodies ran quick with miracles was a reality that had taken him time to grasp. He was so used, at first, to thinking of his flesh as a site of sin that his own resurrection felt like a demon’s trick. When the man he had killed—when Yusuf--struggled back to life beside him Nicolo had lashed out in fear and bewilderment and fear again, and had died for his trouble, and died once more. It was only in exhaustion, in his fractured understanding that neither he nor the other man could die, that eventually he clasped his hand to Yusuf’s arm and they found a bitter, impossible stillness.

Nicolo’s tunic had been stained red with blood, but his body had trembled, whole.

He shakes his head to clear his thoughts, kicking his breeches to one side, clumsily pulling off his shirt.  Yusuf is by now in the middle of the river, water up to his waist, and Nicolo tears his eyes away, hurries as best he can into the cool, fast-running current, aware that he is flushed, that his embarrassment burns like the insincere repetition of the prayers for forgiveness that had once lived in his mouth.

He wants. God, how he wants.

Nicolo ducks himself beneath the water, holding his breath, eyes closed. When he surfaces, pushing his hair back from his face, it’s to find Yusuf standing far closer than before, watching him so closely that Nicolo steps away.

“Nico,” says Yusuf, shaking his head and offering a small half smile.

Nicolo doesn’t understand what that means, and scrubs a hand over his mouth to cover his confusion.

“Nico,” says Yusuf again, and he reaches out to wrap a hand around Nicolo’s forearm, pulling him closer, close enough that Nicolo can feel the heat of his body, can see the depth of affection in his gaze, and there’s time enough for his mind to snap to stunned attention before Yusuf leans in and kisses him. Yusuf’s mouth is slick and warm and Nicolo feels his embarrassment wither and die beneath the clean, bright shock of Yusuf’s tongue.

When they part, Yusuf is smiling. When Nicolo says, “But I didn’t know,” Yusuf grins

“Habibi,” he whispers, and every inch of Nicolo’s skin pebbles in anticipation of a new kind of life, written in the press of their bodies in this river, of a healing that requires no offering of pain as it chases mystery through their blood.

#joe x nicky #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #first kiss #yearning #love

[bleedingmusk]

People may tell you that your belief is weak if you keep crying. Your parents might tell you if you prayed more you wouldn't be going through depression. The advice you hear from people if you read Quran more,if you were a better believer you wouldn't be sad and wouldn't have these problems. People tell you that you should *get over it*.

But then you do pray, and you're unable to stop crying. And then you do read Quran and your depression is crippling. And you do make Dua sincere, overwhelmingly emotional, present Dua and yet you don't feel better and you feel like nothing has changed.

And so yourself wonder : is Allaah angry with me? Allaah is not answering my Dua because I'm not good enough? Am i going through all of this because Allaah is punishing me? I can't get over it because my faith is not strong?

When you have these thoughts, remember :

Yaqub عليه سلام cried so much at the loss of his son Yusuf عليه سلام. He wasn't sad for days and month or a year. He was distraught for decades. His tears flowed so intensely that his eyesight was depleted.

Yaqub عليه سلام said

وَتَوَلَّىٰ عَنۡهُمۡ وَقَالَ يَٰٓأَسَفَىٰ عَلَىٰ يُوسُفَ وَٱبۡيَضَّتۡ عَيۡنَاهُ مِنَ ٱلۡحُزۡنِ فَهُوَ كَظِيمٌ.

And he turned away from them and said, "Oh, my sorrow over Joseph," and his eyes became white from grief, for he was [of that] a suppressor.

And despite his tears, despite his very human sadness, he was amongst the best of believers Allaah placed on the earth. His sorrow and tears did not mean his belief (faith/Iman) in Allaah was weak or his trust in Allaah wavered or he ever became hopeless in Allaah infact he said;

قَالَ إِنَّمَا أَشْكُو بَثِّي وَحُزْنِي إِلَى اللّهِ

He said: "I only complain of my grief and sorrow to Allah."

Despite this he said :

وَلَا تَيْأَسُواْ مِن رَّوْحِ اللّهِ إنَّهُ لَا يَيْأَسُ مِن رَّوْحِ اللّهِ إِلاَّ الْقَوْمُ الْكَافِرُونَ

..and despair not of relief from Allah . Indeed, no one despairs of relief from Allah except the disbelieving people."

And the prophet Muhammad صلى الله عليه وسلم had the Quran revealed directly to him. He prayed the longest, with the most intense concentration and with the strongest relationship with Allaah ever possible and yet he still missed Khadijah (رضي الله عنه).

10 years after her death missing her longing for her, having 9 other wives yet no one fulfilled her absence.

He did not *get over her*. He moved forward with his life, but he missed her intensely to the point he would get excited over hearing the voice of Khadijah رضي الله عنه niece thinking it would be the voice of Khadijah and then he would weep profoundly. And it's okay that it hurts.

He صلى الله عليه وسلم cried at his mother's grave decades after her passing. It didn't diminish the strength of his faith. He wept as he held his dying son and it didn't decrease his trust in Allaah's wisdom.

His having a strong relationship with Allaah didn't mean his life didn't had issues and heartaches. If the most spiritually connected person who knew the most Quran and did the most worship could suffer from such intense emotional loss and pain then what about us?

Salah, Dua and the Quran are the life vests to keep us afloat when we're drowning. It doesn't mean we won't be thrust in an ocean. It doesn't mean we won't sometimes feel like we can't breathe and like we're being dragged under. But even when facing the highest wave, even if at times we're swallowing water and gasping for air, it's knowing Someone Who will bring us back and keep us afloat and help us get back to the safety of land again.

[freedomforthewin]

I'm Here

This is the first fanfiction story I've written :)

About: Newt comforting Theseus after Grindelwald breaks Theseus

Content Warning: Torture (barely shown), death, emotional distress, and blue fire

The blue flames of fire Grindelwald had conjured, as well as the dragon creature made from that blue fire, were wreaking havoc upon everyone present at the outdoor amphitheater that had not pledged their allegiance to his cause. Grindelwald watched the aurors scramble to get away from the fire, savoring every minute of the chaos.

One of the people he saw still standing and fighting was Theseus Scamander, the head of the British Aurors' Office. Newt, Theseus’s younger brother, was farther away from Theseus, fighting alongside Newt’s friends: Queenie, Tina, and Jacob. They were standing close enough to Newt to notice if Newt was to suddenly disappear. Plus, Queenie was a legilimens and would find him easily, bring the others, and interfere with Grindelwald’s plan. However, the people that were around Theseus, the aurors Theseus was in charge of, were dying from the fire and would be too preoccupied to notice if he was to disappear. Grindelwald just wanted to get this over with and not waste time dealing with interference.

He pointed his wand at one of the aurors that was fighting the fire. Grindelwald transformed the auror into Newt and transformed the auror’s clothes into the same clothes Newt was wearing. With a flick of Grindelwald’s wand, rope appeared and bound the auror's hands behind him, as well as his feet. Then, a gag appeared and tied itself tightly around the man’s mouth. That way, the auror wouldn’t be able to say that he wasn’t Newt. Grindelwald added an extra binding enchantment around the gag on the fake Newt’s mouth so that it definitely wouldn't come off. Better to be safe than risk failure.

Grindelwald then pointed his wand at Theseus, and rope appeared and bound Theseus's hands and feet as well. Then, he added an extra securing enchantment around the binds.

Grindelwald apparated Theseus, the auror, and himself out of the area and into a clearing that had a cauldron set up.

“Now unfortunately for both of you, I have to take you away from everyone fighting to take me down. You both are exactly what I need,” Grindelwald said, smirking at them.

Grindelwald slowly raised his wand and pointed it at the fake Newt again, then turned to Theseus and smiled at him.

“Do you know what I'm about to do to your brother?” Grindelwald mocked. Theseus stared at Grindelwald at first. Then, horror began to etch across Theseus's face. Grindelwald grinned at him and nodded before turning to the auror.

“No,” Theseus nearly whispered.

“Crucio,” Grindelwald murmured.

“No!” Theseus shouted as the fake Newt let out a muffled but agonizing scream.

_________________________________________

Newt, Queenie, Nicholas Flamel, and Yusuf Kama gathered around in a circle in the amphitheater, shouting the incantation “Finite” and slamming their wands into the ground. An orange fire arose, encircling the amphitheater and engulfing itself around the blue fire, as well as the dragon made from the blue fire, before eradicating them.

Everyone breathed heavily from the adrenaline, their nerves slowly settling down. However, their relief didn't last long.

A giant cloud of yellow smoke suddenly appeared from a little farther away from them and spiraled upwards before rushing out in all directions, including towards them.

“Protego Maxima!” the witches and wizards shouted, pointing their wands at the smoke. A forcefield appeared around everyone present, shielding them all from the smoke as it rushed past them. The smoke spread across the city.

“What the hell is that?” Yusuf asked in horror.

“I don’t know,” Tina said, looking worried. Then, she turned to her sister. “Queenie, can you look into Grindelwald’s mind? See what the smoke is?”

Queenie nodded and closed her eyes, focusing.

After about a minute, she gasped in horror. “What is it?” Jacob asked Queenie, his eyebrows furrowed with worry. She slowly turned her gaze towards him.

“It's a curse,” she said. “Grindelwald created it. It's the first of its kind. A curse to wipe out all the no-majs in the city. He—he wants to eventually kill all the no-majs in the world. He just started with the no-majs in this city to test the curse out.” Everyone looked at her in shock.

She slowly turned to Newt, a tortured expression on her face. “I'm so sorry, Newt.”

“Why?” he asked worriedly.

“The last ingredient needed to activate the curse,” she said tentatively, “was tears of heartbreak. Grindelwald got them from your brother.”

Newt’s eyes widened.

“Grindelwald took him. And broke him,” she said sadly.

Newt’s breathing became shallow.

“Your brother needs you,” Queenie said quietly.

After some time, Newt finally spoke. “I need to find him. He's probably,” he said looking around and waving his arm anxiously, “at the, at the, the place where, where the smoke was coming from.”

“Yeah,” Queenie nodded solemnly. “Grindelwald isn't there right now. He just left to go around the city and see how well the curse is working, so you should be fine.”

“Okay.”

Newt apparated to the place he had seen the smoke come from. He saw the cauldron that the smoke had spiraled out of. Newt found his brother a little ways away from it.

Theseus was on the ground, his face buried in a man's chest, his arms around that man. Theseus was rocking the body back and forth.

Newt stood there, looking at both of them solemnly. Then, he slowly walked over to Theseus and tenderly placed his hand on Theseus’s back. He carefully tried to pull Theseus away from the body, but Theseus wouldn’t have it.

“No!” Theseus screamed, pulling himself back to the body and hugging it. “He's my brother,” he sobbed. “He’s my brother.”

Newt’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

What does he mean? he thought. I'm his brother, and I'm right here. Just behind him.

Newt looked to see who it was that Theseus was cradling. When Newt saw the dead man’s face, Newt’s eyes widened and Newt's jaw dropped. The younger brother took a few shaky breaths and covered his mouth in shock.

The man looked exactly like Newt. And the man was even wearing the same clothes Newt had on now.

Newt couldn't do anything but stare at the man for a few moments in horror. Then, Newt looked at his brother, sadly.

Newt hesitantly placed his hand on Theseus’s shaking shoulder. After a few moments, Newt started rubbing it gently. He barely even knew what to say.

“Theseus,” he said cautiously. “Theseus, he's not…he's not…I'm your brother…I'm Newt.”

Theseus didn't respond at first. He just kept crying.

“Hey,” Newt said softly, trying to gently tug him off the body. “Theseus, it's me. It's me. I'm Newt. I'm right here.” Theseus lifted his head off the man but didn't take his eyes off the man.

“You sound like him, but you can't be him,” Theseus said quietly, his voice trembling. “He’s dead. I saw him die. I saw him get tortured and die, but I couldn't do anything. I couldn't save him.”

Newt’s heart dropped as the realization of what Theseus said settled in.

“Grindelwald bound my hands and feet. I couldn't stop any of it from happening. I couldn't save him! I couldn't save him,” he sobbed.

“I didn't die,” Newt said pleadingly. “Or get tortured. It must have been someone else that Grindelwald made look like me, which, isn't good either, but, but, it wasn't me.”

Newt began to feel pangs of guilt. An innocent person was made to look like him and then got tortured and killed!

But Newt tried to focus on his older brother, who needed him right now.

“It wasn't me, Theseus. I'm here. I'm here!” He gently pulled on Theseus’s shoulder, but Theseus kept crying and wouldn’t turn around.

Newt let out a small sigh. After a few moments, he decided to try something else, hoping maybe this would help.

“Do you remember, do you remember the song Mum used to sing?” Newt asked. “About the muggle that fell down the well?”

Theseus didn't answer.

Newt carried on, “Well, I didn't at first. But, a few days ago, you reminded me of it. You started singing it, and, and, now I remember.

“You came over because Dumbledore asked you to check on me. You saw one of my creatures and helped her get settled. When I asked how, you said you sang to her, specifically this song.

“Now, let's see, if I remember correctly, the song went something like this:

“There was an old muggle who fell down the well.”

He stopped for a moment, watching Theseus, whose breathing was slowly steadying. Then Newt continued singing,

“But along came a witch who did do him a spell.”

He paused again, waiting. Then, he kept going,

“When the muggle awoke, he said, 'Dear woman, do tell. Is it Heaven I'm in, or have I gone straight to Hell?’”

Theseus slowly turned his head around to look at the person speaking to him. His face was streaked with tears. He looked at Newt, puzzlement in his eyes, then back at the man he had been cradling, then back at the real Newt. His eyes were confused but pleading.

Newt tentatively took out his wand and pointed it at the dead man. “Revelio,” Newt said. The man transformed back into who he actually was.

Theseus looked at the man in shock. Then, Theseus took out his wand and pointed it at Newt, needing to be sure.

“R-Revelio,” Theseus said, his voice shaking. Nothing happened; Newt didn't transform into anyone else.

Theseus kept his wand pointed at him for a few seconds longer, looking unsure. Then, Theseus looked back at the dead man, then back at Newt. Newt waited. After a little while, Theseus slowly lowered his wand and put it away.

He took a few deep breaths. Then, he looked back at Newt, tentatively. His hand slowly reached towards Newt’s shoulder, hesitating before touching it, afraid that this was all just an illusion, that Newt wasn’t really there. Newt stayed still, waiting patiently. Whatever it took for Theseus to realize Newt was really here.

Theseus touched Newt’s shoulder. It felt real. He reached his other hand out to touch Newt’s cheek followed by Newt’s curly bangs. Still felt real.

Theseus’s eyes began to tear up again. His lips trembled, his head lowered, and his grasp on Newt’s shoulder tightened for a few seconds, then loosened. Theseus started to sob.

Newt pulled Theseus to him, and wrapped his arms around his older brother’s back. Theseus started to cry harder, tears streaming down his face. He clutched his younger brother. Newt rocked him back and forth.

A little while later, Newt heard a pop near the cauldron. He turned his head towards that direction and saw that Grindelwald had apparated there. Grindelwald started cleaning the cauldron.

Newt looked back at his brother in his arms. Newt stroked Theseus's back while rocking Theseus back and forth. All Newt cared about right now was comforting his brother.

After some time, they pulled out of the hug. The look on Theseus’s face was haunting. His hand reached towards Newt's shoulder and then Newt’s face, still checking. Newt let him, but seeing him like this hurt so badly.

When Theseus finished double-checking that Newt was really there, Newt placed his hand on Theseus’s shoulder, rubbing it. Tears were falling down Theseus’s face, the look in his eyes begging for Newt to be real.

“I'm real,” Newt murmured. “I'm here. I'm here.”

Newt pulled Theseus against his chest and wrapped his arms around his older brother. Theseus laid his head against Newt’s chest, crying softly, his arms wrapping around Newt’s back. The pain in his cries broke Newt’s heart.

Newt turned his head towards Grindelwald, heartbreak, appallment, and rage etched across Newt's face. Grindelwald noticed Newt looking at him and his eyes met Newt’s. They held each other’s gazes for a few moments. Newt had never felt so angry in his life. He wanted to kill Grindelwald. Newt wanted to make him pay for what he did. Then, Grindelwald smiled as if to say You know you can't beat me.

A tear splashed down Newt’s face, and his eyes darted around, not knowing where to look. Then, he buried his face into the top of Theseus’s head, tightening his grip on Theseus. After a little while, he turned his face to the right and kissed Theseus‘s head and then reburied his face back where he had before. Newt felt one of Theseus’s hands move out of the hug and rub Newt’s back a few times before it returned to the hug.

Shortly after, Newt heard a pop come from the direction the cauldron had been in. He figured Grindelwald probably disapparated out of there.

After some time, Newt slowly lifted his head and turned towards the area he heard the pop come from to double-check. He was right; Grindelwald was gone but so was everything Grindelwald used to make the curse.

Newt took a deep breath and exhaled before lifting one hand from the embrace and wiping his tears away. Then, he put his arm back around his brother, who was lying against Newt's chest. Newt took a few deep breaths.

“There was a cauldron,” Theseus said, his voice thick. “Grindelwald did all this to…and then came to me with a vial. When Grindelwald let me go, I went to you, who I guess ended up being Andrew, one of the aurors I was in charge of. I didn't look to see what happened after.”

“It was a curse,” Newt said softly. “We saw it.”

“You saw it?”

Newt nodded.

“What did it do?”

Newt didn't answer at first. He tightened his hold on Theseus and rested his chin onto Theseus’s head. Newt exhaled shakily.

“We shielded ourselves from it, so it didn't do anything to us. But Queenie, my friend that was also at the amphitheater with us, and is also a legilimens, looked into Grindelwald’s mind and found out that the curse was supposed to kill all the muggles in the city.”

Theseus looked at Newt, his face horrified before becoming defeated. “So I just killed all the muggles in the city,” he said numbly.

“No,” Newt said quickly, looking down at him. “This isn't your fault. Hey,” he said more gently, seeing tears forming in Theseus’s eyes, “this is not your fault. You didn't make the curse or have any intention on casting it.” A few tears spilled down Theseus’s face and Theseus squeezed his eyes shut, his face contorted in pain, his lips pressed together. Newt stroked his brother's dark brown curls. “This is Grindelwald’s fault. He was behind this. He did this.” A quiet sob escaped Theseus’s mouth. “This was not your fault,” Newt repeated. “Okay?” Theseus sniffled but then nodded. Newt pulled him closer to Newt's chest and held him.

"Also, not all of the muggles died," Newt said. "Jacob, one of my American friends that's a muggle, didn't die. He was with us when we shielded ourselves, including him, from the curse."

Theseus didn't say anything. He wasn't really able to speak. Newt leaned his head against Theseus's.

After Theseus calmed down, Newt asked softly, “Why don't you come stay with me for some time?” Theseus didn't answer. “Hm?” Newt asked gently, looking down at him. Newt rubbed his brother's arm. “Come stay with me.”

“Are you sure?” Theseus asked quietly.

“Yeah. Come stay with me.”

“I don't want to…be any trouble.”

“You’re not any trouble. You're my brother. And even if you weren’t, people are not trouble.” Theseus didn't say anything. “And,” Newt admitted, “I'm worried about you.” Theseus looked up at Newt; Newt looked back down at him. After a few seconds, Theseus shook his head up and down, agreeing.

“Yeah?” Newt asked.

Theseus nodded. “Yeah,” he confirmed.

“Okay. Let's go home.”

Newt stood up and then held out a hand to Theseus, helping him up. Theseus wobbled a little when he stood, but Newt grabbed him, steadying him. They stood still for a few seconds.

“Ready?” Newt asked.

Theseus nodded. “Yeah.”

Newt apparated them out of the clearing and into his apartment. He led Theseus to the table and had him sit down.

Newt went to his cupboard, brought out a cup, filled it with water, and then brought it to Theseus. Theseus accepted the cup and sipped the water. They sat in silence for a bit, consumed by their thoughts.

Then, they heard tapping on the window. They looked towards it and saw a brown owl. Newt walked over to the window and opened it, letting the owl inside.

He took the letter from the owl and went to a cupboard to get a treat for the owl. When he got the treat, he gave it to the owl and then opened the letter.

Hey Newt,

We didn't stop by because we figured you and Theseus probably needed some space after what happened. But we wanted to let you know that we’re thinking of you both.

We're so sorry about what Grindelwald did to him. Truly. It's beyond cruel.

Please let us know if you guys need anything.

Take care.

Tina, Queenie, and Jacob

“Who’s the letter from?” Theseus asked quizzically.

“My friends from New York: Tina, Queenie, and Jacob. They were here and fought at Grindelwald’s rally as well.”

“Oh. That's nice.”

“Yeah. Queenie looked into Grindelwald’s mind to see what the smoke was. That's, that’s also when she found out he broke you, and I went to find you.

“They’re just checking on us but offering help if we need it.”

"That's really kind of them,” Theseus said giving a small smile. Newt smiled back.

“I should, um,” Newt began, waving the letter.

“Yes, of course.” Theseus looked away, sipping his water, thinking.

Newt went to grab parchment and a quill. When he got them, he sat down and stared at the parchment, thinking. There was so much to say, so much to feel. Too much to say and too much to feel. He couldn't really do this at the moment, so he just stuck to the basics:

Dear Tina, Queenie, and Jacob.

Thank you so much. We really appreciate it.

Newt

He gave the letter to the owl and sent it back.

”I think I'm going to get ready for bed,” Theseus said.

“Okay. Do you need anything else?” Newt asked.

Theseus shook his head, no.

“Okay. Right, well, make yourself at home. And, oh, right!” Newt looked at the yellow couch in the next room that was next to his bed, and turned the couch into another bed. “You can sleep there.”

“Thank you, Newt.”

Newt smiled at him. “Let me know if you need anything.”

They got ready for bed and then climbed into their beds. It took some time for their minds to settle down from everything that had happened that day, but eventually they did, and the brothers fell asleep.

#Scamander brothers #Newt Scamander #Theseus Scamander #Fantastic Beasts #Crimes of Grindelwald #Secrets of Dumbledore #Brothers #Brotherly love #Grindelwald #Massacre at the rally #Blue fire #Curse #Newt and Theseus

[the-railroad-earth]

Süt | Semih Kaplanoğlu (2008)

In Yusuf's world, the written word is assigned to the realm of miracle -- in two instances within the film a hand-written slip of paper is submerged into a bowl of milk -- a spell meant to cast out the presence of a snake. In the first scene of the film this spell is successful; a snake is drawn out of the throat of a woman who hangs upside down over a smoldering pot. The ritual brings to thought the interminable plurality of the S: snake, satan, silence, sacrifice, secret, the snake that chokes the woman is removed through the power of the word. Later in the film, when a snake enters Yusuf's house, the spell fails. Later still, Yusuf opens the door to see the snake, slowly moving along the couch. With no effort to rid the house of the snake, he closes the door and turns away. Yusuf accepts the serpent as his burden, and toils in silence.

A markedly more pessimistic outlook than the films predecessor, Süt nevertheless engulfs us in Kaplanoğlu's fascination with our personal relationships to each other. As Tarkovsky is to the universal, as Ozu is to the familial, Kaplanoğlu is to the deeply personal. All of these are different windows into the same soul, of course -- and so it's no coincidence that Kaplanoğlu's trilogy rest so heavily on the gaze of its actors.

When Yusuf receives a slip of paper from the medical examiner, we know what is written on it. But if we didn't, Yusuf's gaze would be enough. He does not crumple the paper. He does not stomp his feet or exasperate, which are signs and signs only of frustration -- but his gaze carries it all: frustration, despair, longing, relief, nostalgia. The eyes can tell us more than any other part of the body.

It must not have been coincidence either, that Kaplanoğlu casted an actor with such striking eyes.

Although I don't think Süt or Bal stand as strongly by themselves as Yumurta, they are to me nothing short of masterpieces. Just as his work concerns the personal, the effect they have on the viewer will be too. For me, I cannot imagine better films. The Yusuf Trilogy is my Lord of the Rings.

#turkish cinema #essential cinema #semih kaplanoğlu #süt #yumurta #bal #film diary #letterboxd #movie review #movie recommendation

[dailytafsirofquran]

Tafsir Ibn Kathir: Surah Yusuf Ayah 15

In the Name of Allah, the Most Gracious, the Most Merciful.

12:15 So, when they took him away, they all agreed to throw him down to the bottom of the well, and We revealed to him: "Indeed, you shall (one day) inform them of this their affair, when they know (you) not.''

Yusuf is thrown in a Well

Allah tells:

when they took him away,

Allah says that when Yusuf's brothers took him from his father, after they requested him to permit that,

they all agreed to throw him down to the bottom of the well,

This part of the Ayah magnifies their crime, in that it mentions that they all agreed to throw him to the bottom of the well. This was their intent, yet when they took him from his father, they pretended otherwise, so that his father sends him with a good heart and feeling at ease and comfortable with his decision.

It was reported that Yaqub, peace be upon him, embraced Yusuf, kissed him and supplicated to Allah for him when he sent him with his brothers.

As-Suddi said that;

the time spent between pretending to be well- wishers and harming Yusuf was no longer than their straying far from their father's eyes.

They then started abusing Yusuf verbally, by cursing, and harming him by beating. When they reached the well that they agreed to throw him in, they tied him with rope and lowered him down. When Yusuf would beg one of them, he would smack and curse him. When he tried to hold to the sides of the well, they struck his hand and then cut the rope when he was only half the distance from the bottom of the well. He fell into the water and was submerged. However, he was able to ascend a stone that was in the well and stood on it.

Allah said next,

and We revealed to him: "Indeed, you shall (one day) inform them of this their affair, when they know (you) not.''

In this Ayah, Allah mentions His mercy and compassion and His compensation and relief that He sends in times of distress. Allah revealed to Yusuf, during that distressful time, in order to comfort his heart and strengthen his resolve, `Do not be saddened by what you have suffered. Surely, you will have a way out of this distress and a good end, for Allah will aid you against them, elevate your rank and raise your grade. Later on, you will remind them of what they did to you.'

when they know not.

Ibn Abbas commented on this Ayah,

"You will remind them of this evil action against you, while they are unaware of your identity and unable to recognize you.''

#allah #quran #revert #dua #islam #help #religion #revert help #ayat #hadith #revert help team