moments of faith


I don’t know what I’m going to do after this, I don’t know if there’s anything I can do. 
I’m pretty sure you can do anything, Ms. Grant.


It’s arrived. The cache? What else does it say? To cross the island. Mr. Silver insists that we exit through the northwest tunnel where we’ll be escorted overland to the southern coast. Transport will meet us there. This wasn’t part of the deal.

my heart is gonna be crying forever because of the moment diana loses faith in humanity, and says that humanity doesn’t deserve her, but steve… steve tries to comfort her by holding her face in his hands and tries to explain to her that maybe humans are not that good, and cries while doing so… then reminds her that “It’s not about ‘deserve.’ It’s about what you believe.” It’s something that diana already knows deep down, but she needs a reminder, and this person, steve.. with whom she has been through so much, and who has been an amazing example of the best that humanity can be, is the perfect person to give her that reminder.

Sweet Affectionate Moments Memes - Able to Breathe Again

Anonymous asked: Hey! I was wondering, if you are taking prompts, if you could do 6 and 26? Thanks!

This is a part of a series of ficlets I’m writing in answer to THIS post. Enjoy!

6 - A Kiss of Relief 

26 - Tending an Injury

Claire was frantic. 

She and Jamie had taken their children to one of the museums near Edinburgh for the day, enjoying their rare time all together. Willie had been enthralled by the natural history exhibit, while Faith and Bree were enamored with the some of the more historical aspects. Jamie stood in front of one display, reading the placard to the children who couldn’t reach it quite yet. With a smile, Claire looked down at her three children and-

There were only two children.

Her heart stopped and the blood in her veins turned to ice. She must have made a sound, because Jamie turned and looked at her.



The entire Fraser clan devolved into madness as they searched for the little boy. He’d never wandered off before, but he was friendly like his father. He attracted people to him like a magnet. What if he’d attracted the wrong sort of person? Oh God…

Bree trotting along behind her, weeping endlessly, as she ran to the information desk.

“My son!”

“Calm down, madam. Tell me what’s-”

“Don’t you bloody tell me to bloody calm down! My son is missing!”

The woman stood up from her seat and came around the desk.

“Wee lad? Reddish brown hair? Bluest eyes ye ever saw?”

Claire’s heart leapt.

“William! Have you seen him? Where is he?”

The lady nodded and smiled, gesturing for Claire to follow.

“Jamie! Faith! We’ve found him!”

Jamie bounded around the corner with Faith at his side. The four of them followed the kindly woman to the office where William sat.

His face was tear-stained and he had dried snot under his nose. 

“Mam? Da?”

“We’re here, baby,” Claire said, dropping to her knees.

Gathering him up into her arms, she peppered his face with kisses everywhere.

“Don’t you ever scare us like that again!” she said while hugging him tight. “God Willie…”

Jamie knelt down beside them.

“William, what happened son?”

“We found him at a coloring table,” the security guard said. “When we asked where his parents had gone, he looked around and started crying. He tripped over the chair he’d been in and scrape his knee a bit.”

Claire, letting the boy sit back in his chair, began looking over his tiny scrape.

“Mam kiss it better?”

“Always, lovie,” she said, bending to kiss the scrape. “Mwah. Better?”

“Aye, better,” he said.

Faith and Bree pushed through their parents and nearly tackled their brother in a hug. Claire was finally able to breathe again as Willie embraced them back.

The Seasoned Skillet

The Gentry favor the culinary arts students. Like any Elsewhere student in a creative field, their passion is already intoxicating, but sometimes they leave offerings of baked goods. Sometimes they even get desperate or stupid enough to make a bargain.

But the student known as ‘Maillard’ was not here to bargain.

Their world was fire, and salt, and iron, and they carried that with them always. The scent of the wood-fired grill hung heavy on their clothes; their tea-towels scorched, but their sleeves always white and pure and clean. Their hands still stung with salt; coarse and crystallized, they’d scattered it over steaks, and sealed whole Red Snappers beneath its rocky crust. And the cast iron skillet at their hip carried with it the happy memories of a thousand meals or more, every one of them shared with friends.

And one of those friends was currently the plaything of the Fae, following what mortals would call a ‘bad deal’.

All around them, Maillard could feel the glamour, feel those burning eyes, feel the sheer unbridled outrage as it poured down from the thrones of ice and chaise-longues of living wood in turbid torrents, hell-bent on drowning out all thought. How dare you! How dare you bring these things here, into our world! How dare you think you can just walk in here, just stand there as if you’re anything less than nothing! Crawl, you worm! You insect! Bow down to us!

The words twisted themselves again and again, looking for a way in.

This is outrageous! We demand to speak to your manager!

But muscles honed from lifting sacks of potatoes and hauling huge sauce-pans of chicken stock held the heavy frying pan at arm’s length. Maillard had been pissed off before they’d heard The Bad News;they’d had A Busy Night at their professional kitchen internship. Tomorrow morning, they had to get up and laminate their croissant dough, rolling out unsalted butter and pastry into thin, unbroken sheets. There was no time for hesitation. No room for second guesses. Each and every one of those layers had. To. Be. Perfect.

So like hell they were going to stay up all night playing games.

“What will you give us for the girl?” One asked.

The Fae felt no fear. They could be offended, or be amused, but to them these were absolutes, far beyond the limited mortal constraints of 'feeling’. And being timeless, they were as patient as the grave. All they needed was a moment; the moment of confusion at a fork in the road, the moment a mortal’s faith was shaken, the moment when the stars were right and the moon was full. Sooner or later, they would have their way. They would have their - for lack of a better word - fun.

“I will give you my footprints, going back to whence I came.”

Maillard’s voice was unwavering, and their shoulders squared. The eyes they were looking into were like the winter sun, like burning ice, like death itself - but the customers at table six had ordered a round of extra-well-done steaks and sent them back three times because they were too tough. Table eighteen had requested vegan deviled eggs. Table nine had asked if they could take the sour out of the sourdough and the carrots out of the carrot cake. All were outraged. All were 'never coming back to this dump ever again’. Few left a tip.

They’d dealt with worse.

“I will take with me my fire, and my iron, and my salt. And from these I will forge not blades, but bread - the stuff of life - if you let her go.”

Bread, not blades. Keep the knives in the kitchen, not on the streets. Perhaps it was the magic in the air, but their whole reason for pursuing the culinary arts somehow weaved itself into words worthy of any storybook hero - and perhaps this was enough to amuse the Gentry. Perhaps they had merely tired of their plaything. Or perhaps, that momentary flicker amidst the Fair Folk - when the mortal, kissed by fire and blessed by salt, brandished their iron cookware - meant something else.

But they brought back their friend, covered with frost and fresh-fallen snow. And with their cast-iron skillet and their gas-fired oven and their kosher salt and their grandmother’s recipe, they made cornbread. And soup, because there was time, now. The two friends ate together, and the color came back to her hands and her cheeks, and the life came back to her eyes. And they talked about anything but what they’d seen and done, because that was What You Did at Elsewhere U.

Maillard left a slice of cornbread on the windowsill before they set their alarm clock. Not as a kindness, not as a payment, but as a promise; forged from iron, and salt, and fire, and love.

They supposed you could call it complimentary. The Fair Folk did love a compliment.

They tipped better than most mortal customers, too.


This scene right here. I think this is the first time in the series where Hiei is actually scared shitless. Yusuke can’t win against Sensui as he is and everyone but Kuwabara knows that. And both Kurama and Hiei know they don’t stand a chance either. The fact Yusuke is about to die is very real to them. It isn’t often Hiei shows any kind of emotion other than anger, but he is truly afraid here, and that still doesn’t stop any of them from going after Sensui to avenge Yusuke. 

This is true loyalty, even though in this moment they have no faith that Yusuke will win.