consisting of eight clustered houses, this neolithic village – europe’s “most complete” – was occupied from roughly 3180 bc to about 2500 bc. it has been called the “scottish pompeii” because of its excellent preservation.
Summary: Dad!Crowley & Daughter!Reader - Crowley comes home to find his daughter playing hide and seek.
Word Count: 1877
Triggers: None, just father/daughter fluff
Y/N = Your name ¦ Y/E/C = Your eye colour ¦ Y/H/C = Your hair colour
Note: So, as promised, a little fluff after yesterday’s angst in Phone Call. This was fun to write so might do more little one shots featuring this duo!
Crowley had been called a lot of
things through his well over 300 years alive, or well… Somewhat alive. Demon,
sure constantly. Bastard, pretty much his middle name. Vindictive, who wasn’t?
Son of a bitch, well, they’d clearly met his mother. King of Hell, soulless,
heartless, crazy… Hell the list went on and on… But father, that was not a
title he’d ever thought he’d hold again.
never suited Crowley. Therapists would likely say it was his own issues with
his wench of a mother, or possibly his lack of a father figure or some similar
obnoxious bullshit. He himself however just believed there wasn’t room for
children in his existence, more now than back then. Emotions were chains and
children were an extra weight on those chains made to slow you down on your
rise to greatness. And he wanted to be great. Roman emperor level great, except of course
without the backstabbing, iron poisoning and inevitable loss of power.
all the stupid souvenir t-shirts said… He’d been there, done that, and completely
screwed up his first child. His philosophy was simple, really. Child-rearing
wasn’t one of those get back up on that horse kind of moments. If you failed
the first time around you shouldn’t try again.
Juliet, his favourite trusted hellhound, brought a crying infant back with her
after reaping the ripe soul of a dealtaker, Crowley was clearly… Well, in a
bind was putting it mildly. The hellhound was somewhat smitten with the baby
girl. Taking a protective stance in front of the child if anyone but Crowley
tried to come near and curling up around her to calm her hiccuping sobs.
A 14 year old girl from the Outer Hebrides died in the Manchester Arena attack. She came from the middle of nowhere in Scotland, to the city, full of immigrants, and was killed. She was safe out in the Outer Hebrides, away from all the danger of the multi-cultural cities, and she and he family thought Manchester would be safe. They were wrong.
It is such a clear example that going from a safe place out in the sticks to the city these days can cost you your life. If you live in a rural area, it’s best to avoid the cities at all cost. Let them have their problems on their own, it’s nothing to do with you, and it’s not your problem.
With Krypton dying, Kal-El’s parents send their infant son millions of light-years away with hopes that he may survive the Kryptonian extinction. When his pod lands on Earth in rural Scotland, a pair of humans by the name of ‘Fitz’ raise the baby as their own, calling him ‘Leopold’. However, as he grows, it becomes clear that Leo isn’t exactly… ordinary.
Determined to use his powers for good, but certain that doing so could put his adoptive parents at risk, Leo leaves Scotland for London, England, where he conceals himself day-by-day as a photo journalist working for the Daily Planet. But when trouble strikes, he steals away in a blue suit bearing his Kryptonian family crest and does all that he can to help.
Jemma Simmons, the Daily Planet’s lead reporter who just happens to be one of Leo’s closest friends, dubs London’s mysterious flying hero “Superman”. He’s like nothing anyone had ever seen before. He had superhuman strength and speed, no sense of gravity whatsoever, and he could set fire to things with his eyes. Was he a radical government experiment? A mutant? An alien? Jemma was determined to find out.
So, when Leo lets it slip one day while they’re working at their desks that he knows the Superman, she sets on him like a lioness.
“You know Superman? How?” “I don’t think he’d want me to say.” “Oh, Leo! I’ve been writing stories on him for over a year; if I were to get a world exclusive interview, I could be running this place by the new year!” “I don’t think he’s really the interview sort-” “-but you’re friends. Surely you could pull some strings? For me?”
It was a dirty move. He fancied the lead reporter like mad; he had since his first month at the Planet; and it was impossible to say no to her whenever she ended a request with “for me?”. So, he “set up” the interview with Superman.
He’d expected her to write her story, get even more famous for her extraordinary writing than she already was, and that would be that. He certainly wasn’t expecting Jemma to fall in love with his caped alter-ego. It made things… rather complicated. After all, how does one compete in a love triangle… with oneself?