#another hijab business night look

[ladyotakukiut]

#another hijab business night look #cyberpunk 2077 #cp 2077 #Vashti Naadir #cyberpunk v #female v #fem v #cp77 #cp2077 #femv #VashtiNaadir #my v

[attollogame]

hi! i went to look for physical descriptions of the ROs but the link isn’t working. is there an alternative link?

No but I can help you here!

Pariah

Pariah is 5’5” with an athletic build to their body, mostly honed from all of the physical exertion their night job requires. Most often they wear riding gear (leather jacket, cargo pants, biker boots; basically attire appropriate for someone who rides high-speeds on a motorcycle) with a black motorcycle helmet that has red lights within it. The helmet is modified to allow Pariah to discern things at night, and also to withstand Pariah’s own powered abilities. Pariah also carries two sickles strapped at their waist. Their powered ability is shadow manipulation.

Without the helmet, they have short cut curly brown hair, tanned skin, brown eyes, and a scar on their chin. Here’s an excellent visual of them drawn by the talented @phanosis !

Vasilisa

Vasilisa stands at about 5’11” with another athletic build to her body, again honed by her career as a detective for the C.A.P.D. She usually wears a white dress shirt rolled up at the sleeves, black jeans, timberland boots (closest I can describe them) and on occasion will have a black blazer on. Very often seen with a coffee in hand because her sleep schedule is as atrocious as anyone’s in Attollo. Her powered ability is emotion manipulation. 

Vasilisa has blonde hair she keeps tied back, pale skin, and blue eyes. She has a beauty spot under her one eye. Here’s an excellent visual of her drawn by the talented @exotic-inquiry !

Suha

Suha stands at 5’8” with a softer build. Her employment as a judge for the Crowes Court and her role in her own fashion business often keeps her quite preoccupied and on the go. Suha is a Muslim, and therefore wears a hijab. Her role in fashion means she dresses incredibly well, often preferring higher-brand clothes lines that are both comfortable and befitting of her personality. She prefers lighter colored clothes, as it contrasts the gloom of Attollo, even though her personality itself is quite serious. Suha’s powered ability is botakinesis, or plant manipulation. 

Suha wears cat-eyed glasses and has dark skin and brown eyes. Here’s a stunning drawing of her done by the talented @artsyaprilmr !

Operator

Operator stands at 5’7” and has a very lean build coming from his amazing ability to forget to eat half the time. He’s rarely seen without his black face mask and blue tech glasses, which enable him to see the ongoing of the city even when mobile. He usually wears a black turtleneck and black jeans, as well as sneakers that should really be changed in at some point. He does wear gloves as well when outside of his dwelling in the Under City. Operator’s powered ability is tech manipulation… among other things.

He has auburn curly hair and blue eyes beneath the glasses, as well as pale skin. @exotic-inquiry also did some lovely art of him (he is a little guy) !

Sysba

Because Sysba is gender selectable, their appearance does tend to change depending on which you select, although not by much. Overall, though, Sysba is a very flamboyant being that dresses in a way they feel expresses themself best. They stand at 6’ all forms, with a toned form they somehow managed to retain despite their disastrous eating habits. They prefer colours like red, black, or white for what they wear, and they prefer fabrics like satin, velvet, or silk. Sysba often wears heels for the benefit of standing an extra few inches above everyone else. They also indulge with a lot of jewellery, including necklaces, earrings, nose rings, etc. Because they are an entity, their powers extend far beyond what most do; shape shifting, manipulation, and power absorption are a few of their abilities. If they could get out of Attollo, they would be travelling quite swiftly too. 

In all forms, their hair is black, their eyes are black, and their skin is a very sickly pale color. In male form, Sysba has short cut hair, in female form it comes in the form of a bob cut, and in the non binary form it’s short cut as well. The very talented @retconomics has art of them here, @phanosis was generous enough to draw them in their more ‘natural’ form, and @redjack even kindly made a 3d model!

DW

Standing at 6’4” with a more built tone, one could say, due to his line of work (you don’t run a criminal organization without some intimidation on the side). Dreamwalker dresses very business-like in all aspects of his arrival, including in the dreams (although he did play dress up for those because it was fun for him). He prefers dark dress shirts, dress pants, and well-polished dress shoes. He wears a signet ring on his right hand. His powered ability includes dream manipulation and an ability to directly harm a sleeping individual through their dream, as seen with MC. He usually warps his features in dreams to make him indiscernible. On occasion, he wears a red scarf when not wearing a high collared shirt. 

Dreamwalker has dark brown, almost black hair with a slight curl to it. His eyes are a glowing gold with no discernible pupil unless you’re very close, in which case you will see it as a darker yellow color. He has a notable scar on his neck from a knife wound, and dark skin. The talented @bleruh drew art of him here (check out their operator as well!), as did @retconomics here and @/kill-a13 here among many others :)

#RO #hope that helps ik a lot of people have been asking #will update the link to make it to this ask

[deepdisireslonging]

Sunrise Guarded by Night Chapter 1: Every Morning

Blüdhaven’s Cuppa Sunrise is a thriving cafe in the city’s center. The co-owner, Ileana, has a favorite customer. He always orders the same thing, despite danger on the horizon.

Pairing: (eventual) Dick Grayson x Ileana Dimitrov (OC)

Warnings/Promises: food mention, talk of gang activity

Word Count: 1660

Note: This was another commission that came in. Happy reading! Comments and reblogs are always welcome.

With a sing-song “welcome in,” Ileana Dimitrov gave the incoming guest a warm smile. Pumps of flavoured syrups and sprinkles of cinnamon and chocolate easily passed through her hands. It was a familiar routine at this point, but early morning patrons and earlier awakenings would never get old for her. She had built up the corner coffee and breakfast shoppe with her own two hands, and the two of her best friend. 

Three years in, Blüdhaven’s Cuppa Sunrise was thriving. Which was a great accomplishment considering the living costs and city collateral damage. 

“Two raspberry scones and two cups of medium roast with mocha shots? Coming right up. Did you get that, Ileana?”

“Got it!”

She stole a glance at her best friend and business partner, Tajra Aksoy. Her pink hijab caught the light from the front window, her smile brighter than the sun. They’d been planning to have a shoppe like this since they were freshmen in high school. From sourcing each roast, down to choosing the floor tile, Tajra had been there to keep Ileana calm. And reasonable when it came to the budget. 

Tajra glanced at the door. She muttered, “he’s late.”

“I know. Probably had to give out a ticket.” 

Five minutes later, just as the morning rush was escaping into the streets, Ileana’s favourite customer walked in. His glittering blue eyes went straight to her as she went ahead and made his usual drink. 

“One of these days I’ll order something different and throw you two for a loop.”

Both of the women rolled their eyes at him. Tajra sassed, “sure you will. What treat today?”

Officer Dick Grayson made a show of giving the display case a thorough once over. To no one’s surprise, he picked the blueberry croissant. It wasn’t always available due to the berry’s seasonality, but when it was… it would surely be his pick as much as the dark roast cup of joe. 

Ileana handed both to him as he handed the money to Tajra. “Always a pleasure, Detective.”

His lips broke into a wider smile. “I would have been here sooner, but I had to issue a ticket.” His smile slipped into a comical frown as the women giggled. “Is my schedule that obvious?”

“Sometimes.” Ileana passed along his change, which he immediately dropped into the tip jar. “Any big plans for the day?” She instantly regretted her question. While his smile remained bright, overly so, it was strained at the corners of his eyes and mouth. 

Dick chuckled. “The best days are when I have nothing to do at all. This is unfortunately not one of those days.” He lifted his breakfast in salute. “I least I have my favourites to keep me going. Oh.” Setting down his cup, Dick looked intently at Ileana’s cheek. “You’ve, uh, lost an eyelash.”

“Oh.” Before she could brush it away, He reached up. 

“Allow me.”

Gently, he caught the loose lash on his fingertip. Ileana caught herself holding her breath. 

“Make a wish.” 

Closing her eyes, Ileana blew lightly over her eyelash, wishing into the aether. 

He hummed. “I hope whatever you wished for comes true for you.” Again, he saluted his breakfast. “See you two tomorrow.”

“Bye!” “Se ya!”

Tajra sighed as the door jingled shut behind him. Then she lightly punched Ileana in the shoulder. 

“Ow! What?”

“When are you going to ask him out? Or at least for his number? Oh. Maybe you can write yours on his cup tomorrow and then-”

“No.” Ileana shook her head. “I’m not going to harass a patron like that. It wouldn’t be right.”

Tajra grumbled, “it’s not harassment if he’s into you.” With most of the morning’s foot traffic headed to work, they began to clean up the workspace. Ileana gave an “umph” when a damp towel hurtled at her face. “And he is into you. Or did you miss all of that flirting just then?” She continued to suggest cutesy ways that Ileana could flirt back. Or where they could go on their first date. Or this that and the other about every aspect of a potential relationship. 

It could never be. Or so Ileana worked to convince herself. He was a detective. Long days and longer nights. She ran a coffee shoppe. Long nights and long mornings before passing out before noon. When would they see each other? She asked as much of Tajra. 

“I will gladly start working the morning prep if it means you get some time with that man.”

Ileana rolled her eyes. “You hate waking up that early.” 

“A two AM call time is worth it if I don't have to put up with the lovey-dovey heart-eyes between you two.” Before Ileana could escape to the back to start the lunch sandwiches, Tajra caught her wrist. “This place is plenty stable for you to have a social life. We’re in Blüdhaven. It may not be New York or Gotham, but there’s plenty of nightlife that would be fun for a night owl like you. When was the last day you had off?” 

“I just had a day off. Saturday.” 

“That doesn’t count. We’re closed on Saturdays.”

Ileana sighed. “If I promise to consider having a life outside of this shoppe, then can I start making lunch?”

Tajra let go of her. “Fine. But next week I’m coming up with a shift rotation so you can have some afternoons.”

“But-”

“No takebacks.” Tajra sent her scurrying with a snap of a towel. 

***

“Blueberry croissant today, huh?”

Dick sat down at his desk with a grin. “Yep. If you want one, I’ve recommended this place several times.” He sighed as his partner Gannon Malloy sat down across from him instead of taking the hint. “Or if you started carrying some cash, I could be persuaded to pick something up?”

“Nah. My sweetheart already calls you my work-wife. That would really send her over.” 

Across the room, the commander cleared his throat. “If you two are done… we’ve got cases to solve.”

“Yes, Sir,” they both replied. Dick finished wolfing down his pastry as they walked over to the board. 

The map of Blüdhaven was sectioned off with string boxes in various colours. Depending on which gang or crime lord took over which block, the strings would shift. One of the other detectives was setting up a box in a new colour. Never a good sign. Dick sipped his coffee as the details landed. A new power had moved into Blüdhaven. No name yet. But someone was buying out blocks on the North West side. Pretty bold considering the land accrued was inching closer to the police station. Depending on who you asked, this block was either neutral or no-man’s-land. Very different meanings and Dick had never liked that. As the commander started to list the descriptions of the potential new members, Dick stole a look at the block on the South East side of the station. The Cuppa Sunrise was far away from the new power. For now. 

“These two especially,” the commander said, holding up a pair of sketches, “are to be watched out for. Do not engage them yet, as we don’t have anything concrete. But take notes of anything interesting. That is all.” He pinned the sketches to the corner of the board. One had a low brow and squashed nose. The other had a long face, probably to match a long torso, and thin lips. 

Malloy sent Dick a shrug. Easy dismissal. 

“Must not be too bad,” he said when they reached their desks. “Otherwise, he’d have us out there scouring the streets.” Malloy leaned back deep in his chair. “I wonder who the new guy is. Or gal. It’s about time we had another female gang leader. Do you remember the last one? Boy, was she a master chess player.” He whistled. Then winced as he watched Dick rub his side. “Sorry. I forgot you got up and personal with that one.” 

That was an understatement. Dick had been out of commission for over six months because of the “chess player,” aka Aisha Domna. A former student of S.H.A.D.E. And he got out easy. Half of the railyard island almost burned down. They considered Domna lost in the fire, though Dick wasn’t so sure. He’d been digging in his free time to see if her known habits had popped up again. 

Dick gave his partner a smile to ease his worry. “As such, I’m in no rush to meet another. Has anything developed with the Hazlip case?” It was an easy out. Mallory had picked up this case himself, and could ramble on it for hours when given a chance. Which gave Dick time to slowly enjoy his coffee. He cupped it in both hands, relishing in the warmth and the memory of the morning. Had he been too forward to catch her eyelash? No, not necessarily. She made the wish. He wondered what she wished for. 

“Earth to Dick?”

“Hmm?” When he blinked, Mallory suddenly had a map in front of his face. 

“Should we cruise the coast or the business district?”

“For what? I’m sorry, I missed a detail or two.”

Mallory rolled his eyes and muttered, “missed several thinking about breakfast.” He pointed at the two possibilities on the map. “For our suspects. One likes to habit the coast and the shipping docks. The other hangs about downtown. Have a preference?”

Standing and grabbing his coat, Dick sighed. “I would say downtown to avoid the fish smell, but your fancy boy doesn’t just walk around. We’ll have better luck spotting his goon.” 

On their way out, Dick gave the string map one more glance. The distance of the new box from the Cuppa Sunshine reassured him. It was a good distance away. And districts take time to grow. So, if everything went well, he’d have time to finish up Mallony’s case before digging into a new one.

***

Part 2: New Landlord

Would you also like to commission a fic or mini series? Read about it here: Guidelines Here

#dick grayson fluff #dick grayson fanfiction #DC comics #dc fluff #dick grayson x oc #answered commission

[tatumloud]

Oasis

I concealed myself under the shadow from the May sun and looked out on to the road where an African man was passing. An exaggeration of white dashiki sailed from his mast of a body in forcible wind,which came a little separated from him and fluttered like a flag of white heat and fatigue. The rays pelted the ground in battalions of light from the orbital sun,channeling poles of brightness from sky to earth and struck the brink of city,threadbare and exposed. The man headed for south almost resolutely,and his figure,aggressively bristling on the bitumen and tall the way forest trees would grow vying for sun,was transported farther away on tenderly shod feet soundlessly. Then another foreigner ensued,a moon face under mild headscarf,draped and astride grey sheets of metal of a motorcycle,invincible and proud,gesticulating curtly to the shopkeeper for flat bread. But most of all were our own people,of bare legs and sprawling hair,galvanic and very dull,obsessing over every odd bit of electronics. I followed them in their busy steps,leading to different parts of the city and branching off. The process was boring beyond measure. To find a streak of beauty here was to attain a sentiment of love through prostitution,At the sight of dusty skyscrapers and lowing traffic a thought as it was ridiculous. It was an ancient tribe but with lands and matured technology,whose tribesmen were all tribeswomen,who spent years giving birth to new money and novel industry,a claustrophobic concubine who compared their children like mother queen Niobe. And those women and men all of one sex in their societal world were valued for their fertility,and their participation in business reminded one of sexual entanglement none the less,vulgar,instinctive,repetitious. Or were they raped by their money? The only time they made love amongst themselves were when they were dying and a child was needed for inheritance,a bastard of necessity. And the best it made for me was to be an alien in their crowd.

The road led me to a backstreet.all of which sudden I was in Arab. I was hungry at the time,but the title names of the restaurants made things shy,of meandering convolutions and pert dots. The next street were familiar foods and people,but something here held me back. At last I made out three English letters read BBQ from a large selections and ventured into it.

The old woman spoke our language,who freshened up at every prompts of order and went for each dish immediately. Some long,sallow rice was ladled up and divided into two plates,each printed with motifs. I told her I wanted some humus too if she pleased,and the woman raised her head to hear with even more care. The features were neat and indifferent to each other and the face was blankly shiny,all under the tawny hijab that wrapped up a mystery of hair into a nautilus’ swirl and cascaded from ear sides. The smile was straightened and close,bright on her eyes and wider by part beside the mouth,which then extended further to other customers standing before the panel and without response went a little loose in that distance,a kind of expression seen on timorous and good-meaning people as their habit,pitiable and sadly beautiful. Failing to find its target,she turned her head and looked nearer,and I picked up where it left off and smiled back. Some natives were loud,and the dining Arabs started to pivot their heads at that direction on bodies that remained perfectly motionless on the seats,wielding spoons and forks,exotic perfume wafting over in imagined hostility. The woman,though,stayed oblivious to the noise,and took four more orders before disappearing behind shields of glass. I passed through the sitters,hair dark as starless night and eyes even darker,who saw me off emotionlessly to the table set by the street.

TBC

[ramadhanseries]

தமிழில்....

Summary of Juz 3

JUZ 3-LESSONS FROM SURAH AL-BAQARAH

JUZ 3-LESSONS FROM SURAH AAL-IMRAN

¶ JUZ 3-LESSONS FROM SURAH AL-BAQARAH

- Acknowledge the goodness in others for which Allah SWT has honored them (2:253)

Instead of becoming jealous because of what Allah SWT has granted other people, look for those hidden traits for which Allah SWT blessed them. Strive to become better. Don't be jealous. Ask Allah SWT for His Fadhl (Bounty). Say: Allahumma Inni Asaluka Min Fadhlikalazeem

- Allah SWT has blessed all of us with something that others don't have. Ask Allah SWT to show you your special skills and gifts and enable you to use them in His way. Become grateful and stop comparing yourself with others. Focus on your blessings, not deprivations.

-Spend in the way of Allah SWT before a day arrives when no ransom or intercession will be accepted

-There is no compulsion in religion. It means we can't force anyone to become a Muslim. But when you call yourself a Muslim, then live as one. It means when you hear the command of giving up Riba (usury) then stop dealing in interest-based transactions or businesses. It means when you hear the command to wear hijab, you abide. No excuses!

- Allah is the Wali of the believers (2:257). What better Friend/Guardian can we have? If you believe in Him and submit to His commands, He will protect you.

- When people abandon you because of your following the Deen of Allah SWT, then remember the story of Prophet Ibraheem (AS). He was ridiculed, punished and exiled by his family and community. But when people left him, he didn't grieve. He turned to his Creator. Allah SWT made him His Khaleel (close/intimate friend). What an honor!

- Kind speech and forgiveness are better than a charity followed by hurt and insults. Do not waste your good deeds by reminders. If you have done it for the sake of Allah SWT then keep them concealed as you will hide your sins.

- Give for the pleasure of Allah SWT. Do not seek recognition or praise from the people.

- While Shaytan threatens us with poverty, Allah SWT "promises" us His Bounty

- He is to be envied who has been given Hikmah (wisdom) (2:269). Ask Allah SWT for wisdom. What is wisdom? Doing the right thing, at the right time, in the right manner.

- The Longest Ayah in the Qur'an is about financial transactions. Allah SWT doesn't like fasad (corruption) on earth. He "commands" us to record our financial transactions even when giving loans to family or friends. When the terms and conditions have been recorded and witnessed, no party can back out or cheat another. Record the transaction (especially when there is deferred payment) no matter how small the amount.

- When you hear a command of Allah SWT then respond like the Sahabah (RA): Sami'naa Wa Ata'naa (We hear and we obey). No ifs and buts. No unnecessary questions.

- Make it a habit of reciting the last two Ayaat of Surah Al- Baqarah every night before going to sleep. They are your shield against Shaytan.

- Allah SWT doesn't burden a soul beyond what it can endure. Your tests and trials are specially designed for you. Because He knows you can handle them.

- Before going to sleep, ask Allah SWT to forgive you for your wrongdoings and shortcomings. Do this every night because it could be our last night.

¶ JUZ 3-LESSONS FROM SURAH AAL-IMRAN

- Gain knowledge of the Deen to become firm in it, and to worship and praise Allah SWT as He deserves to be worshiped and praised. (3:7)

- Beautified for people is the love of that which they desire - of women and sons, heaped-up sums of gold and silver, fine branded horses, and cattle and tilled land. That is the enjoyment of worldly life, but Allah has with Him the best return (3:14).

- Say: "Our Lord, indeed we have believed, so forgive us our sins and protect us from the punishment of the Fire." (3:16) Who make this du'a? The patient, the truthful, the obedient, those who spend in the way of Allah SWT and those who seek His forgiveness in the early hours of the dawn. Are we one of them?

- Allah SWT honors and Allah SWT debases people. Fix your relationship with Allah SWT.

- If our claim to love Allah SWT is true then we will not hesitate to follow the Sunnah. How many Sunnahs do we ignore daily? Do we really love Allah SWT and Rasoolullah (SA)?

- When the mother of Mariam AS conceived a child, she made du'as to Allah SWT to accept it for the service of His Deen. She had just lost her husband and this was her first child, but this righteous lady didn't want the child to serve her. She wanted to give it to Allah SWT to serve His Deen.

- How many parents have plans to dedicate their children to the service of Allah's Deen? Why are only the weak, orphans and homeless seen in the Masajid learning Deen and not the children from well-to-do families? Remember Musab ibn Umair (RA)? He came from a wealthy family but left everything behind to do Dawah. He was the first ambassador of Islam.

- Remember Prophet Muhammad's du'as for his little cousin 'Abdullah (RA)?

- He would say: O Allah, bless him with the knowledge of the Qur'an.

- What are our plans for our children? How many parents want their children to become scholars, Imams or Muftis?

- The supplication of the mother of Mariam AS was accepted because of "the way" it was made. When our du'as are not accepted we need to look at the manner in which we ask Allah SWT. A du'a without sincerity and attentiveness of the heart is not accepted.

- When Prophet Zakariyya AS saw the blessings that Mariam AS had, he didn't become jealous. He turned to the Owner of all treasures and asked Him. Ask Allah SWT!

- Ask Allah SWT to choose you and to purify you (like Mariam AS, see 3:42) and make you dignified (like 'Eesa AS, see 3:45).

Juz 3 இன் சுருக்கம்

ஜுஸ் 3-சூரா அல்-பகராவிலிருந்து பாடங்கள்

ஜுஸ் 3-சூரா ஆல்-இம்ரானில் இருந்து பாடங்கள்

¶ ஜுஸ் 3-சூரா அல்-பகராவிலிருந்து பாடங்கள்

- மற்றவர்களிடம் உள்ள நன்மைகளை ஒப்புக்கொள்ளுங்கள், அதற்காக அல்லாஹ் அவர்களைக் கௌரவித்திருக்கிறான் (2:253)

அல்லாஹ் SWT மற்றவர்களுக்கு வழங்கியதைப் பார்த்து பொறாமைப்படுவதற்குப் பதிலாக, அல்லாஹ் SWT அவர்களை ஆசீர்வதித்த அந்த மறைக்கப்பட்ட பண்புகளைத் தேடுங்கள். சிறப்பாக மாற முயற்சி செய்யுங்கள். பொறாமை கொள்ளாதீர். அல்லாஹ்விடம் அவனுடைய ஃபத்ல் (பரிசு) கேட்கவும். சொல்லுங்கள்: அல்லாஹும்ம இன்னி அஸலுகா மின் ஃபத்லிகலாஸீம்

- அல்லாஹ் SWT மற்றவர்களுக்கு இல்லாத ஒன்றை நம் அனைவருக்கும் அருளினான். உங்களின் சிறப்புத் திறன்களையும் பரிசுகளையும் உங்களுக்குக் காட்டுமாறும், அவற்றை அவருடைய வழியில் பயன்படுத்துவதற்கும் அல்லாஹ் SWTயிடம் கேளுங்கள். நன்றியுணர்வோடு, உங்களை மற்றவர்களுடன் ஒப்பிடுவதை நிறுத்துங்கள். உங்கள் ஆசீர்வாதங்களில் கவனம் செலுத்துங்கள், இழப்புகள் அல்ல.

- ஒரு நாள் வருவதற்கு முன் அல்லாஹ்வின் பாதையில் செலவிடுங்கள்.

- மதத்தில் எந்த நிர்ப்பந்தமும் இல்லை. யாரையும் கட்டாயப்படுத்தி முஸ்லிமாக மாற்ற முடியாது என்று அர்த்தம். ஆனால் நீங்கள் உங்களை ஒரு முஸ்லீம் என்று அழைக்கும் போது, ​​ஒன்றாக வாழுங்கள். ரிபாவை (வட்டி) விட்டுக்கொடுக்கும் கட்டளையை நீங்கள் கேட்டால், வட்டி அடிப்படையிலான பரிவர்த்தனைகள் அல்லது வணிகங்களில் ஈடுபடுவதை நிறுத்துங்கள். ஹிஜாப் அணிய வேண்டும் என்ற கட்டளையை நீங்கள் கேட்டால், நீங்கள் கடைபிடிக்கிறீர்கள் என்று அர்த்தம். மன்னிப்பு இல்லை!

- அல்லாஹ் முஃமின்களின் வாலி (2:257). நமக்கு என்ன சிறந்த நண்பன்/பாதுகாவலர் இருக்க முடியும்? நீங்கள் அவனை விசுவாசித்து, அவனுடைய கட்டளைகளுக்கு அடிபணிந்தால், அவன் உங்களைப் பாதுகாப்பான்.

- நீங்கள் அல்லாஹ்வின் தீனைப் பின்பற்றுவதால் மக்கள் உங்களைக் கைவிடும்போது, ​​நபி இப்ராஹீம் (AS) அவர்களின் கதையை நினைவில் கொள்ளுங்கள். அவர் குடும்பம் மற்றும் சமூகத்தால் கேலி செய்யப்பட்டு, தண்டிக்கப்பட்டார்கள் மற்றும் நாடு கடத்தப்பட்டார்கள். ஆனால் மக்கள் அவரை விட்டுப் பிரிந்தபோது, ​​அவர்கள் வருத்தப்படவில்லை. அவர்கள் தனது படைப்பாளரிடம் திரும்பினார்கள். அல்லாஹ் SWT அவரை தனது கலீலாக (நெருங்கிய/நெருக்கமான நண்பன்) ஆக்கினான். என்ன ஒரு மரியாதை!

- புண்படுத்துதல் மற்றும் அவமானப்படுத்துதல் போன்ற தொண்டுகளை விட அன்பான பேச்சு மற்றும் மன்னிப்பு சிறந்தது. நினைவூட்டல்களால் உங்கள் நற்செயல்களை வீணாக்காதீர்கள். நீங்கள் அதை அல்லாஹ்வுக்காகச் செய்திருந்தால், உங்கள் பாவங்களை மறைப்பதால் அவற்றை மறைக்கவும்.

- அல்லாஹ்வின் திருப்திக்காக கொடுங்கள் SWT. மக்களிடம் அங்கீகாரத்தையோ, புகழையோ தேடாதீர்கள்.

- ஷைத்தான் வறுமையால் நம்மை அச்சுறுத்தும் அதே வேளையில், அல்லாஹ் தன் அருளை நமக்கு "வாக்களிக்கிறான்"

- ஹிக்மா (ஞானம்) கொடுக்கப்பட்டவர் பொறாமைப்பட வேண்டும் (2:269). அல்லாஹ்விடம் ஞானத்தைக் கேளுங்கள். ஞானம் என்றால் என்ன? சரியானதை, சரியான நேரத்தில், சரியான முறையில் செய்வது.

- குர்ஆனில் உள்ள மிக நீண்ட ஆயா நிதி பரிவர்த்தனைகள் பற்றியது. அல்லாஹ் SWTக்கு பூமியில் ஃபாஸாத் (ஊழல்) பிடிக்காது. குடும்பம் அல்லது நண்பர்களுக்கு கடன் கொடுக்கும்போது கூட நமது நிதி பரிவர்த்தனைகளை பதிவு செய்யும்படி "கட்டளையிடுகிறார்". விதிமுறைகள் மற்றும் நிபந்தனைகள் பதிவு செய்யப்பட்டு சாட்சியமளிக்கப்பட்டால், எந்தவொரு தரப்பினரும் பின்வாங்கவோ அல்லது மற்றொருவரை ஏமாற்றவோ முடியாது. பரிவர்த்தனையை (குறிப்பாக ஒத்திவைக்கப்பட்ட பணம் இருக்கும்போது) எவ்வளவு சிறிய தொகையாக இருந்தாலும் பதிவு செய்யவும்.

- அல்லாஹ்வின் கட்டளையை நீங்கள் கேட்டால், சஹாபா (RA): Sami'naa Wa Ata'naa (நாங்கள் கேட்கிறோம், நாங்கள் கீழ்ப்படிகிறோம்) போல் பதிலளிக்கவும். ifs and buts இல்லை. தேவையற்ற கேள்விகள் வேண்டாம்.

- தினமும் இரவு உறங்கச் செல்வதற்கு முன் சூரா அல்-பகராவின் கடைசி இரண்டு வசனங்களை ஓதுவதை வழக்கமாக்கிக் கொள்ளுங்கள். அவர்கள் ஷைத்தானுக்கு எதிரான உங்கள் கேடயமாகும்.

- அல்லாஹ் SWT ஒரு ஆன்மாவை அது தாங்கும் அளவிற்கு அதிகமாக சுமக்க மாட்டான். உங்கள் சோதனைகள் மற்றும் சோதனைகள் உங்களுக்காக சிறப்பாக வடிவமைக்கப்பட்டுள்ளன. ஏனென்றால் நீங்கள் அவர்களைக் கையாள முடியும் என்பதை அவர் அறிவார்.

- தூங்கச் செல்வதற்கு முன், உங்கள் தவறுகள் மற்றும் குறைபாடுகளை மன்னிக்கும்படி அல்லாஹ் SWTயிடம் கேளுங்கள். ஒவ்வொரு இரவும் இதைச் செய்யுங்கள், ஏனென்றால் அது நமது கடைசி இரவாக இருக்கலாம்.

¶ ஜூஸ் 3-சூரா ஆல்-இம்ரானில் இருந்து பாடங்கள்

- தீனைப் பற்றிய அறிவைப் பெறுங்கள், அதில் உறுதியாக இருக்கவும், அல்லாஹ்வை வணங்குவதற்கும் புகழுவதற்கும் தகுதியுடையவராக அவரை வணங்குவதற்கும் புகழுவதற்கும். (3:7)

- பெண்கள் மற்றும் மகன்கள், குவிக்கப்பட்ட தங்கம் மற்றும் வெள்ளி, சிறந்த முத்திரை குத்தப்பட்ட குதிரைகள், மற்றும் கால்நடைகள் மற்றும் உழவு நிலம் - மக்கள் விரும்பும் அன்பே மக்களுக்கு அழகு. அதுவே உலக வாழ்வின் இன்பம், ஆனால் அல்லாஹ்விடம் சிறந்த திருப்பலி உள்ளது (3:14).

- கூறுங்கள்: "எங்கள் இறைவனே, நிச்சயமாக நாங்கள் நம்பிக்கை கொண்டோம், எனவே எங்கள் பாவங்களை எங்களுக்கு மன்னித்து, நெருப்பின் தண்டனையிலிருந்து எங்களைக் காப்பாற்றுவாயாக." (3:16) இந்த துஆவை செய்வது யார்? பொறுமையாளர், உண்மையாளர், கீழ்ப்படிதல், அல்லாஹ்வின் பாதையில் செலவு செய்பவர்கள் மற்றும் விடியற்காலையில் அவனிடம் பாவமன்னிப்பு தேடுபவர்கள். நாம் அவர்களில் ஒருவரா?

- அல்லாஹ் SWT மரியாதை மற்றும் அல்லாஹ் SWT மக்களை இழிவுபடுத்துகிறது. அல்லாஹ் SWT உடனான உங்கள் உறவை சரிசெய்யவும்.

- அல்லாஹ்வை நேசிப்பதாக நாம் கூறுவது உண்மையாக இருந்தால், சுன்னாவைப் பின்பற்றத் தயங்க மாட்டோம். தினமும் எத்தனை சுன்னாக்களை நாம் புறக்கணிக்கிறோம்? நாம் உண்மையில் அல்லாஹ்வை SWT மற்றும் ரசூலுல்லாஹ் (SA) நேசிக்கிறோமா?

மரியத்தின் தாய் ஒரு குழந்தையைப் பெற்றெடுத்தபோது, ​​அல்லாஹ்வின் டீனின் சேவைக்காக அதை ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளும்படி அல்லாஹ்விடம் துஆச் செய்தார். அவள் கணவனை இழந்தாள், இது அவளுடைய முதல் குழந்தை, ஆனால் இந்த நீதியுள்ள பெண் குழந்தை தனக்கு சேவை செய்வதை விரும்பவில்லை. அவள் அதை அல்லாஹ்வின் டீன் சேவைக்காக கொடுக்க விரும்பினாள்.

எத்தனை பெற்றோர்கள் தங்கள் குழந்தைகளை அல்லாஹ்வின் டீனின் சேவைக்கு அர்ப்பணிக்க திட்டமிட்டுள்ளனர்? மஸாஜிதில் உள்ள பலவீனமான, அனாதை மற்றும் வீடற்றவர்கள் மட்டும் ஏன் தீன் கற்கிறார்கள், வசதி படைத்த குடும்பத்தைச் சேர்ந்த குழந்தைகள் இல்லை? முஸாப் இப்னு உமைர் (ரஹ்) நினைவிருக்கிறதா? அவர் ஒரு பணக்கார குடும்பத்திலிருந்து வந்தவர், ஆனால் தவாஹ் செய்ய எல்லாவற்றையும் விட்டுவிட்டார். அவர் இஸ்லாத்தின் முதல் தூதுவர்.

முஹம்மது நபி அவர்களின் சிறிய உறவினரான அப்துல்லாஹ் (ரஹ்) அவர்களின் துஆக்கள் நினைவிருக்கிறதா?

அவர் கூறுவார்: யா அல்லாஹ், அவருக்கு குர்ஆன் அறிவை அருள்வாயாக.

நம் குழந்தைகளுக்கான நமது திட்டங்கள் என்ன? எத்தனை பெற்றோர்கள் தங்கள் பிள்ளைகள் அறிஞர்களாகவோ, இமாம்களாகவோ, முஃப்திகளாகவோ ஆக வேண்டும் என்று விரும்புகிறார்கள்?

- மரியம் AS அன்னையின் வேண்டுதல் "வழி" செய்யப்பட்டதால் ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளப்பட்டது. நமது துஆக்கள் ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளப்படாத போது நாம் அல்லாஹ்விடம் கேட்கும் விதத்தைப் பார்க்க வேண்டும். இதயத்தின் நேர்மையும் கவனமும் இல்லாத துஆ ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளப்படாது.

- நபி ஸகரிய்யா AS மரியம் ஆஸுக்குக் கிடைத்த பாக்கியங்களைக் கண்டு பொறாமை கொள்ளவில்லை. அவர் எல்லா பொக்கிஷங்களின் உரிமையாளரிடம் திரும்பி அவரிடம் கேட்டார். அல்லாஹ்விடம் கேளுங்கள் SWT!

- உங்களைத் தேர்ந்தெடுக்கவும், உங்களைத் தூய்மைப்படுத்தவும் (மரியம் AS, 3:42 ஐப் பார்க்கவும்) மற்றும் உங்களை கண்ணியமிக்கவர்களாக மாற்றவும் ('ஈசா AS, பார்க்க 3:45) அல்லாஹ் SWTயிடம் கேளுங்கள்.

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தமிழில்....

Summary of Juz 3

JUZ 3-LESSONS FROM SURAH AL-BAQARAH

JUZ 3-LESSONS FROM SURAH AAL-IMRAN

¶ JUZ 3-LESSONS FROM SURAH AL-BAQARAH

- Acknowledge the goodness in others for which Allah SWT has honored them (2:253)

Instead of becoming jealous because of what Allah SWT has granted other people, look for those hidden traits for which Allah SWT blessed them. Strive to become better. Don't be jealous. Ask Allah SWT for His Fadhl (Bounty). Say: Allahumma Inni Asaluka Min Fadhlikalazeem

- Allah SWT has blessed all of us with something that others don't have. Ask Allah SWT to show you your special skills and gifts and enable you to use them in His way. Become grateful and stop comparing yourself with others. Focus on your blessings, not deprivations.

-Spend in the way of Allah SWT before a day arrives when no ransom or intercession will be accepted

-There is no compulsion in religion. It means we can't force anyone to become a Muslim. But when you call yourself a Muslim, then live as one. It means when you hear the command of giving up Riba (usury) then stop dealing in interest-based transactions or businesses. It means when you hear the command to wear hijab, you abide. No excuses!

- Allah is the Wali of the believers (2:257). What better Friend/Guardian can we have? If you believe in Him and submit to His commands, He will protect you.

- When people abandon you because of your following the Deen of Allah SWT, then remember the story of Prophet Ibraheem (AS). He was ridiculed, punished and exiled by his family and community. But when people left him, he didn't grieve. He turned to his Creator. Allah SWT made him His Khaleel (close/intimate friend). What an honor!

- Kind speech and forgiveness are better than a charity followed by hurt and insults. Do not waste your good deeds by reminders. If you have done it for the sake of Allah SWT then keep them concealed as you will hide your sins.

- Give for the pleasure of Allah SWT. Do not seek recognition or praise from the people.

- While Shaytan threatens us with poverty, Allah SWT "promises" us His Bounty

- He is to be envied who has been given Hikmah (wisdom) (2:269). Ask Allah SWT for wisdom. What is wisdom? Doing the right thing, at the right time, in the right manner.

- The Longest Ayah in the Qur'an is about financial transactions. Allah SWT doesn't like fasad (corruption) on earth. He "commands" us to record our financial transactions even when giving loans to family or friends. When the terms and conditions have been recorded and witnessed, no party can back out or cheat another. Record the transaction (especially when there is deferred payment) no matter how small the amount.

- When you hear a command of Allah SWT then respond like the Sahabah (RA): Sami'naa Wa Ata'naa (We hear and we obey). No ifs and buts. No unnecessary questions.

- Make it a habit of reciting the last two Ayaat of Surah Al- Baqarah every night before going to sleep. They are your shield against Shaytan.

- Allah SWT doesn't burden a soul beyond what it can endure. Your tests and trials are specially designed for you. Because He knows you can handle them.

- Before going to sleep, ask Allah SWT to forgive you for your wrongdoings and shortcomings. Do this every night because it could be our last night.

¶ JUZ 3-LESSONS FROM SURAH AAL-IMRAN

- Gain knowledge of the Deen to become firm in it, and to worship and praise Allah SWT as He deserves to be worshiped and praised. (3:7)

- Beautified for people is the love of that which they desire - of women and sons, heaped-up sums of gold and silver, fine branded horses, and cattle and tilled land. That is the enjoyment of worldly life, but Allah has with Him the best return (3:14).

- Say: "Our Lord, indeed we have believed, so forgive us our sins and protect us from the punishment of the Fire." (3:16) Who make this du'a? The patient, the truthful, the obedient, those who spend in the way of Allah SWT and those who seek His forgiveness in the early hours of the dawn. Are we one of them?

- Allah SWT honors and Allah SWT debases people. Fix your relationship with Allah SWT.

- If our claim to love Allah SWT is true then we will not hesitate to follow the Sunnah. How many Sunnahs do we ignore daily? Do we really love Allah SWT and Rasoolullah (SA)?

- When the mother of Mariam AS conceived a child, she made du'as to Allah SWT to accept it for the service of His Deen. She had just lost her husband and this was her first child, but this righteous lady didn't want the child to serve her. She wanted to give it to Allah SWT to serve His Deen.

- How many parents have plans to dedicate their children to the service of Allah's Deen? Why are only the weak, orphans and homeless seen in the Masajid learning Deen and not the children from well-to-do families? Remember Musab ibn Umair (RA)? He came from a wealthy family but left everything behind to do Dawah. He was the first ambassador of Islam.

- Remember Prophet Muhammad's du'as for his little cousin 'Abdullah (RA)?

- He would say: O Allah, bless him with the knowledge of the Qur'an.

- What are our plans for our children? How many parents want their children to become scholars, Imams or Muftis?

- The supplication of the mother of Mariam AS was accepted because of "the way" it was made. When our du'as are not accepted we need to look at the manner in which we ask Allah SWT. A du'a without sincerity and attentiveness of the heart is not accepted.

- When Prophet Zakariyya AS saw the blessings that Mariam AS had, he didn't become jealous. He turned to the Owner of all treasures and asked Him. Ask Allah SWT!

- Ask Allah SWT to choose you and to purify you (like Mariam AS, see 3:42) and make you dignified (like 'Eesa AS, see 3:45).

Juz 3 இன் சுருக்கம்

ஜுஸ் 3-சூரா அல்-பகராவிலிருந்து பாடங்கள்

ஜுஸ் 3-சூரா ஆல்-இம்ரானில் இருந்து பாடங்கள்

¶ ஜுஸ் 3-சூரா அல்-பகராவிலிருந்து பாடங்கள்

- மற்றவர்களிடம் உள்ள நன்மைகளை ஒப்புக்கொள்ளுங்கள், அதற்காக அல்லாஹ் அவர்களைக் கௌரவித்திருக்கிறான் (2:253)

அல்லாஹ் SWT மற்றவர்களுக்கு வழங்கியதைப் பார்த்து பொறாமைப்படுவதற்குப் பதிலாக, அல்லாஹ் SWT அவர்களை ஆசீர்வதித்த அந்த மறைக்கப்பட்ட பண்புகளைத் தேடுங்கள். சிறப்பாக மாற முயற்சி செய்யுங்கள். பொறாமை கொள்ளாதீர். அல்லாஹ்விடம் அவனுடைய ஃபத்ல் (பரிசு) கேட்கவும். சொல்லுங்கள்: அல்லாஹும்ம இன்னி அஸலுகா மின் ஃபத்லிகலாஸீம்

- அல்லாஹ் SWT மற்றவர்களுக்கு இல்லாத ஒன்றை நம் அனைவருக்கும் அருளினான். உங்களின் சிறப்புத் திறன்களையும் பரிசுகளையும் உங்களுக்குக் காட்டுமாறும், அவற்றை அவருடைய வழியில் பயன்படுத்துவதற்கும் அல்லாஹ் SWTயிடம் கேளுங்கள். நன்றியுணர்வோடு, உங்களை மற்றவர்களுடன் ஒப்பிடுவதை நிறுத்துங்கள். உங்கள் ஆசீர்வாதங்களில் கவனம் செலுத்துங்கள், இழப்புகள் அல்ல.

- ஒரு நாள் வருவதற்கு முன் அல்லாஹ்வின் பாதையில் செலவிடுங்கள்.

- மதத்தில் எந்த நிர்ப்பந்தமும் இல்லை. யாரையும் கட்டாயப்படுத்தி முஸ்லிமாக மாற்ற முடியாது என்று அர்த்தம். ஆனால் நீங்கள் உங்களை ஒரு முஸ்லீம் என்று அழைக்கும் போது, ​​ஒன்றாக வாழுங்கள். ரிபாவை (வட்டி) விட்டுக்கொடுக்கும் கட்டளையை நீங்கள் கேட்டால், வட்டி அடிப்படையிலான பரிவர்த்தனைகள் அல்லது வணிகங்களில் ஈடுபடுவதை நிறுத்துங்கள். ஹிஜாப் அணிய வேண்டும் என்ற கட்டளையை நீங்கள் கேட்டால், நீங்கள் கடைபிடிக்கிறீர்கள் என்று அர்த்தம். மன்னிப்பு இல்லை!

- அல்லாஹ் முஃமின்களின் வாலி (2:257). நமக்கு என்ன சிறந்த நண்பன்/பாதுகாவலர் இருக்க முடியும்? நீங்கள் அவனை விசுவாசித்து, அவனுடைய கட்டளைகளுக்கு அடிபணிந்தால், அவன் உங்களைப் பாதுகாப்பான்.

- நீங்கள் அல்லாஹ்வின் தீனைப் பின்பற்றுவதால் மக்கள் உங்களைக் கைவிடும்போது, ​​நபி இப்ராஹீம் (AS) அவர்களின் கதையை நினைவில் கொள்ளுங்கள். அவர் குடும்பம் மற்றும் சமூகத்தால் கேலி செய்யப்பட்டு, தண்டிக்கப்பட்டார்கள் மற்றும் நாடு கடத்தப்பட்டார்கள். ஆனால் மக்கள் அவரை விட்டுப் பிரிந்தபோது, ​​அவர்கள் வருத்தப்படவில்லை. அவர்கள் தனது படைப்பாளரிடம் திரும்பினார்கள். அல்லாஹ் SWT அவரை தனது கலீலாக (நெருங்கிய/நெருக்கமான நண்பன்) ஆக்கினான். என்ன ஒரு மரியாதை!

- புண்படுத்துதல் மற்றும் அவமானப்படுத்துதல் போன்ற தொண்டுகளை விட அன்பான பேச்சு மற்றும் மன்னிப்பு சிறந்தது. நினைவூட்டல்களால் உங்கள் நற்செயல்களை வீணாக்காதீர்கள். நீங்கள் அதை அல்லாஹ்வுக்காகச் செய்திருந்தால், உங்கள் பாவங்களை மறைப்பதால் அவற்றை மறைக்கவும்.

- அல்லாஹ்வின் திருப்திக்காக கொடுங்கள் SWT. மக்களிடம் அங்கீகாரத்தையோ, புகழையோ தேடாதீர்கள்.

- ஷைத்தான் வறுமையால் நம்மை அச்சுறுத்தும் அதே வேளையில், அல்லாஹ் தன் அருளை நமக்கு "வாக்களிக்கிறான்"

- ஹிக்மா (ஞானம்) கொடுக்கப்பட்டவர் பொறாமைப்பட வேண்டும் (2:269). அல்லாஹ்விடம் ஞானத்தைக் கேளுங்கள். ஞானம் என்றால் என்ன? சரியானதை, சரியான நேரத்தில், சரியான முறையில் செய்வது.

- குர்ஆனில் உள்ள மிக நீண்ட ஆயா நிதி பரிவர்த்தனைகள் பற்றியது. அல்லாஹ் SWTக்கு பூமியில் ஃபாஸாத் (ஊழல்) பிடிக்காது. குடும்பம் அல்லது நண்பர்களுக்கு கடன் கொடுக்கும்போது கூட நமது நிதி பரிவர்த்தனைகளை பதிவு செய்யும்படி "கட்டளையிடுகிறார்". விதிமுறைகள் மற்றும் நிபந்தனைகள் பதிவு செய்யப்பட்டு சாட்சியமளிக்கப்பட்டால், எந்தவொரு தரப்பினரும் பின்வாங்கவோ அல்லது மற்றொருவரை ஏமாற்றவோ முடியாது. பரிவர்த்தனையை (குறிப்பாக ஒத்திவைக்கப்பட்ட பணம் இருக்கும்போது) எவ்வளவு சிறிய தொகையாக இருந்தாலும் பதிவு செய்யவும்.

- அல்லாஹ்வின் கட்டளையை நீங்கள் கேட்டால், சஹாபா (RA): Sami'naa Wa Ata'naa (நாங்கள் கேட்கிறோம், நாங்கள் கீழ்ப்படிகிறோம்) போல் பதிலளிக்கவும். ifs and buts இல்லை. தேவையற்ற கேள்விகள் வேண்டாம்.

- தினமும் இரவு உறங்கச் செல்வதற்கு முன் சூரா அல்-பகராவின் கடைசி இரண்டு வசனங்களை ஓதுவதை வழக்கமாக்கிக் கொள்ளுங்கள். அவர்கள் ஷைத்தானுக்கு எதிரான உங்கள் கேடயமாகும்.

- அல்லாஹ் SWT ஒரு ஆன்மாவை அது தாங்கும் அளவிற்கு அதிகமாக சுமக்க மாட்டான். உங்கள் சோதனைகள் மற்றும் சோதனைகள் உங்களுக்காக சிறப்பாக வடிவமைக்கப்பட்டுள்ளன. ஏனென்றால் நீங்கள் அவர்களைக் கையாள முடியும் என்பதை அவர் அறிவார்.

- தூங்கச் செல்வதற்கு முன், உங்கள் தவறுகள் மற்றும் குறைபாடுகளை மன்னிக்கும்படி அல்லாஹ் SWTயிடம் கேளுங்கள். ஒவ்வொரு இரவும் இதைச் செய்யுங்கள், ஏனென்றால் அது நமது கடைசி இரவாக இருக்கலாம்.

¶ ஜூஸ் 3-சூரா ஆல்-இம்ரானில் இருந்து பாடங்கள்

- தீனைப் பற்றிய அறிவைப் பெறுங்கள், அதில் உறுதியாக இருக்கவும், அல்லாஹ்வை வணங்குவதற்கும் புகழுவதற்கும் தகுதியுடையவராக அவரை வணங்குவதற்கும் புகழுவதற்கும். (3:7)

- பெண்கள் மற்றும் மகன்கள், குவிக்கப்பட்ட தங்கம் மற்றும் வெள்ளி, சிறந்த முத்திரை குத்தப்பட்ட குதிரைகள், மற்றும் கால்நடைகள் மற்றும் உழவு நிலம் - மக்கள் விரும்பும் அன்பே மக்களுக்கு அழகு. அதுவே உலக வாழ்வின் இன்பம், ஆனால் அல்லாஹ்விடம் சிறந்த திருப்பலி உள்ளது (3:14).

- கூறுங்கள்: "எங்கள் இறைவனே, நிச்சயமாக நாங்கள் நம்பிக்கை கொண்டோம், எனவே எங்கள் பாவங்களை எங்களுக்கு மன்னித்து, நெருப்பின் தண்டனையிலிருந்து எங்களைக் காப்பாற்றுவாயாக." (3:16) இந்த துஆவை செய்வது யார்? பொறுமையாளர், உண்மையாளர், கீழ்ப்படிதல், அல்லாஹ்வின் பாதையில் செலவு செய்பவர்கள் மற்றும் விடியற்காலையில் அவனிடம் பாவமன்னிப்பு தேடுபவர்கள். நாம் அவர்களில் ஒருவரா?

- அல்லாஹ் SWT மரியாதை மற்றும் அல்லாஹ் SWT மக்களை இழிவுபடுத்துகிறது. அல்லாஹ் SWT உடனான உங்கள் உறவை சரிசெய்யவும்.

- அல்லாஹ்வை நேசிப்பதாக நாம் கூறுவது உண்மையாக இருந்தால், சுன்னாவைப் பின்பற்றத் தயங்க மாட்டோம். தினமும் எத்தனை சுன்னாக்களை நாம் புறக்கணிக்கிறோம்? நாம் உண்மையில் அல்லாஹ்வை SWT மற்றும் ரசூலுல்லாஹ் (SA) நேசிக்கிறோமா?

மரியத்தின் தாய் ஒரு குழந்தையைப் பெற்றெடுத்தபோது, ​​அல்லாஹ்வின் டீனின் சேவைக்காக அதை ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளும்படி அல்லாஹ்விடம் துஆச் செய்தார். அவள் கணவனை இழந்தாள், இது அவளுடைய முதல் குழந்தை, ஆனால் இந்த நீதியுள்ள பெண் குழந்தை தனக்கு சேவை செய்வதை விரும்பவில்லை. அவள் அதை அல்லாஹ்வின் டீன் சேவைக்காக கொடுக்க விரும்பினாள்.

எத்தனை பெற்றோர்கள் தங்கள் குழந்தைகளை அல்லாஹ்வின் டீனின் சேவைக்கு அர்ப்பணிக்க திட்டமிட்டுள்ளனர்? மஸாஜிதில் உள்ள பலவீனமான, அனாதை மற்றும் வீடற்றவர்கள் மட்டும் ஏன் தீன் கற்கிறார்கள், வசதி படைத்த குடும்பத்தைச் சேர்ந்த குழந்தைகள் இல்லை? முஸாப் இப்னு உமைர் (ரஹ்) நினைவிருக்கிறதா? அவர் ஒரு பணக்கார குடும்பத்திலிருந்து வந்தவர், ஆனால் தவாஹ் செய்ய எல்லாவற்றையும் விட்டுவிட்டார். அவர் இஸ்லாத்தின் முதல் தூதுவர்.

முஹம்மது நபி அவர்களின் சிறிய உறவினரான அப்துல்லாஹ் (ரஹ்) அவர்களின் துஆக்கள் நினைவிருக்கிறதா?

அவர் கூறுவார்: யா அல்லாஹ், அவருக்கு குர்ஆன் அறிவை அருள்வாயாக.

நம் குழந்தைகளுக்கான நமது திட்டங்கள் என்ன? எத்தனை பெற்றோர்கள் தங்கள் பிள்ளைகள் அறிஞர்களாகவோ, இமாம்களாகவோ, முஃப்திகளாகவோ ஆக வேண்டும் என்று விரும்புகிறார்கள்?

- மரியம் AS அன்னையின் வேண்டுதல் "வழி" செய்யப்பட்டதால் ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளப்பட்டது. நமது துஆக்கள் ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளப்படாத போது நாம் அல்லாஹ்விடம் கேட்கும் விதத்தைப் பார்க்க வேண்டும். இதயத்தின் நேர்மையும் கவனமும் இல்லாத துஆ ஏற்றுக்கொள்ளப்படாது.

- நபி ஸகரிய்யா AS மரியம் ஆஸுக்குக் கிடைத்த பாக்கியங்களைக் கண்டு பொறாமை கொள்ளவில்லை. அவர் எல்லா பொக்கிஷங்களின் உரிமையாளரிடம் திரும்பி அவரிடம் கேட்டார். அல்லாஹ்விடம் கேளுங்கள் SWT!

- உங்களைத் தேர்ந்தெடுக்கவும், உங்களைத் தூய்மைப்படுத்தவும் (மரியம் AS, 3:42 ஐப் பார்க்கவும்) மற்றும் உங்களை கண்ணியமிக்கவர்களாக மாற்றவும் ('ஈசா AS, பார்க்க 3:45) அல்லாஹ் SWTயிடம் கேளுங்கள்.

[ncislafan]

I Always Have Time For My Girl

Author's note: I do not own NCISLA or its characters

As you can probably guess, I hated 14.8. So here's a revised version:

Fatima walked into her apartment and threw her bag on the couch. She ripped off her jacket and turtleneck, leaving her in a tank top and jeans. She kicked off her boots and pulled off her hijab, trying to get comfortable as quickly as possible. She went into her kitchen and pulled out a bottle of wine. She always felt bad when she drank, but she felt too sick to her stomach to care. She'd made plans to get dinner with Rountree, and she wasn't even sure he remembered. She poured the wine into her favorite glass, nearly filling it. She sighed and leaned against the wall. Tears streamed sown her cheeks and she tried not to think about Devin. She eventually changed into a hoodie and leggings.

About an hour later, there was a knock at her door.

"Hang on," she called out. She ran to the bathroom and tried to splash some water on her face, but spilled most of it on her sleeves. "Fuck!" she snapped. Tears stung her eyes and she flipped the hoodie over her head, then walked over to the door. She yanked the door open and was surprised to see Rountree. "What do you want?" she asked flatly.

"I thought we were going to get dinner," he said softly. "I tried calling you, you didn't answer. I got worried," he said quietly.

"I thought you were too busy playing with your ex," she said sarcastically.

"Hey. That is unnecessary. Summer is my friend. If you can't handle me having female friends, then maybe us not getting dinner is for the best," he snapped. Fatima felt the tears coming back and she rolled her eyes. "Hey. Hey, I'm sorry. I think we need to have a talk," he said quietly. Fatima bit back another sarcastic comment.

"Look, I don't need this, okay? I thought you liked me. I thought these were dates you were taking me on. I thought our movie nights meant something," she said, embarrassed about the tears on her cheeks.

"That is why we need to talk. Fatima, no matter what, unless you say otherwise, you're always gonna be my best friend. Always. Summer and I, well, we were never best friends," he said quietly. Fatima rolled her eyes and took a couple more sips of wine. She couldn't control herself anymore and burst into tears. She ran out of the room and into the bathroom, recognizing the twisting feeling in her stomach. She gagged and started to throw up a little. Rountree was at the door in an instant. "Fatima! Fatima, I'm coming in," he said gently. He opened the door and sat next to her. He gently rubbed her back and pulled her against him. "I think you've had enough alcohol," he murmured. Fatima started to genuinely sob. Rountree brushed a kiss against her forehead and hugged her.

"Go be with her," Fatima mumbled.

"But I want to be with you," he said softly. "Fatima, I don't think Summer and I were meant to be a couple," he said quietly. "But I do think that she is a good person and a good friend," he said softly. Fatima shuddered a little and leaned against him.

"You know those were my shorts, right?" she asked softly. Rountree blushed.

"Sorry," he said sheepishly. "Do you, um, want them back?" he asked.

"Depends. Were you wearing anything under?" she teased. "Tree, ew!" she whined when he didn't answer. "No! Burn them!"

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry about the shorts, I'm sorry about Summer, everything. I haven't exactly been the best person to be in a situation-ship with lately. And you deserve the best. You do. So I'm gonna let you be the one to decide what happens next," he said quietly. Fatima sniffled. She put her head on his chest and closed her eyes.

"If we do this, we agree that there's nothing romantic between you and Summer. No kissing, no funky touching, if you wouldn't do it with Deeks you better not do it with her. Deal?" she asked.

"Deal," Rountree agreed. "Any other conditions, my lady?" he murmured.

"Burn those damn shorts," she said. Rountree laughed. Fatima grinned and kissed him softly. "I think I'm like, really drunk," she said, laughing.

"You haven't eaten anything, have you?" he asked, but he already knew the answer.

"No," she admitted. "I figured you were too busy with Summer for me," she whispered.

"I will never, ever be too busy for my girl," he said softly. Fatima smiled. "I'll order us a pizza. You, missy, better start drinking water," he said. Fatima got up and grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen and started sipping on it. Rountree came up from behind and gently kissed her forehead.

#ncis la #ncis los angeles #fanfic #there i fixed it #fatima x devin #fatima namazi #devin roundtree #fountree #rountree and fatima

[espressokiri]

Okayyyyy but Aizawa, Shinso, and Natsuo Todoroki with a Muslim s/o? 👀

Aizawa Shota, Shinso Hitoshi, Todoroki Natsuo x Muslim!reader

In which reader is a Muslim.

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff

Aizawa Shota

Listen, Aizawa is an adult who probably doesn't take dating lightly.

If he wants to date, it's for the long run, especially considering his busy lifestyle and weird schedules.

So when he sets his eyes on you, he was smitten and adamant about you being the one.

He doesn't express his feelings outwardly, it's more through actions than words.

Immediately researches about Islam and figures out that the best approach would be to ask you about your parents and plan to meet with them in order to have their blessing for the getting-to-know-each-other stage.

He's very respectful of your personal space.

Always asks Nemuri to chaperone as a third person, making sure your parents had met her beforehand and are well aware that he's taking this seriously.

Dinner dates? He'll either take you to a vegetarian based restaurant if he can't find any halal available ones or he would cook for you in his apartment.

He also stopped eating any meat that isn't considered as halal.

Is concerned when you message him one day in the middle of the night as he was out on patrol.

Calls you right away.

"Why the hell are you awake at this time?"

"It's Ramadan? I'm having my suhoor."

Is confused but understands when you explain it to him.

Another excuse to go visit you while he takes a break from patrolling in the middle of the night.

Brings you your favourite snacks when he does stop by.

He's aware he can't invite himself inside your house but if your parents are awake for suhoor they will invite him in to eat with them.

Wearing a hijab? This man will look at you in adoration when he does have a sudden plan to visit and sees you covering your hair with the hood of your jacket or a beanie.

He thinks you look so precious and domestic.

Is confused that you don't really need to go all out for a wedding as long as you have someone to bless and sign your wedding papers and have witnesses.

He's not complaining though, the less crowd the better.

He wouldn't hold hands with you if you were uncomfortable with it, would sometimes place a hand on your upper back to lead you through crowds but that's about it.

Fiddles with the threads on your hijab when he's focusing on something.

Yes, you have placed a hijab on him at some point because of his long hair.

He pulls off male traditional clothes so well for Eid!

Shinso Hitoshi

Love at first sight? More likely than you think.

You motivate him one time and this man is blushing around you non-stop.

He's his daddy's son, by daddy I mean Aizawa, I'm gonna shut up now.

If you're wearing a hijab, he'll shyly present to you pins and hair clips he found cute and ask you to put it on your hijab.

Fashion from Hitoshi <3

Will be flustered when you do put the clips or pins on.

You'll find a can/carton of your favourite drink on your desk often.

He's not a PDA kinda guy so you don't have to worry about him invading in your personal space.

He's very respectful <3

He loves Ramadan season because you'll be up with him and both your sleep schedules would be odd.

Matching eye-bags <3

Would facetime you when you're having your suhoor and probably have a small snack so you two would be eating together on call.

The day you're not fasting and are fast asleep, you'd wake up to a call from Hitoshi.

"Hello?"

"Were you sleeping?"

"Mhm."

"Don't you have to eat? It's almost time for Fajr!"

"I can't fast this week, 'Toshi."

"O-oh."

He would feel bad about waking you up but you'd ease his nerves by thanking him for waking you up for Fajr.

Would call you to wake you up for Fajr the whole week instead.

Your parents would give him Eidie (did I spell that right?) and he would be bashful but happy to be included in the festivity.

Tells his parents about Eidi so the next time they can give you it too <3

Todoroki Natsuo

Mans is looking for his happily ever after.

And he found you <3

Doctor in training? Oof your parents love him already.

Study dates are more common than you think because as a medical student the man is suffering.

Blushes when you take care of him by making him homemade food or treats, or even simply buying him a drink.

Fuyumi is already your best friend, Natsuo is salty about you spending more time with her than him.

One time you were in Fuyumi's room and the girl said its okay to remove your hijab since it was the both of you in the house anyway.

You get comfortable in her room, the door closed just in case.

Panicked glances when the room to her door gets knocked on and opened.

"Fuyumi, why are you smothering my partner with a pillow?"

"GET OUT! DON'T YOU HAVE MANNERS? SHE WASN'T WEARING HER HIJAB."

Mans immediately slams the door closed as he mutters apologies through the door, feeling a bit better as he heard your laughter through the door and Fuyumi's complains about having no privacy.

Insecure about what your parents would think of him.

"What if I'm not what they were hoping for?"

"You're a doctor in training with a handsome face, what more could they want?"

"Am I just reduced to being a doctor?"

"...Yes."

Ramadan time involves him texting you "have a good meal <3" every time it's breaking fast time.

Has a whole alarm for both suhoor and breaking fast time.

You're not feeling well? He will crack open his medical knowledge and assess you.

Doctor mode Natsuo scares and attracts you at the same time.

(I have a friend who graduated medical and she scares me when she goes all doctor mode on me lmfao.)

You blush when you go and drop off coffee one day during his internship and see him wearing his white coat and looking all professional.

This man will put a ring on it as soon as he's stable.

#mha scenarios #mha imagines #bnha imagines #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia #mha headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha fluff #bnha fluff #bnha scenarios #aizawa x reader #aizawa imagine #aizawa scenario #aizawa fluff #shinsou imagines #shinsou headcanons #shinsou x reader #shinso fluff #natsuo fluff #natsuo x reader #natsuo imagines #natsuo headcanons #bnha natsuo

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

.-

FROM THIS LIST  |  Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

.-

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage  at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face. 

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk. 

It’s a decade and a half later—  as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least,  to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly,  searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand. 

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of  the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice. 

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

.-

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors. 

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even. 

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

.-

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

.-

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital. 

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin. 

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?” 

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped. 

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

~Buy Me A Coffee 

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #ILU Victoria!!! #also to anyone side eyeing the buy me a coffee plz do not judge me #i am so searing embarrassed about it #rip #just it's there i guess #calls;jalksdgjaeowifjsadlkgh #look away from me #!!! #lmfao #spilt ink

[shyestofhearts]

Hi Shy~

Sooo, I have this headcanon that Damian is like this wonderful child prodigy genius. Like, super smart. So smart, that when Bruce tries to enroll him in Gotham academy, they tell him that Damian has tests for college level. Which, Damian just rolls his eyes at, because duh. After discussing it with professionals and yada yada, Damian gets enrolled into college. He’s like, twelve-ish. He is STILL bored in class, and knows most of the information they are trying to teach. His advisor is so sweet and invested into Damian though. And observant. After noticing Damian lack of enthusiasm, he asks Damian what the problem. Nothing interests him, none of his classes.this advisor is an old timer, in my opinion, and has seen so many kids pushed to do things they never wanted to do, and decides he can’t let that happen with Damian. So the Advisor pulls out every department, every major, and goes through it with Damian. After a few hours, because it takes a while to convince Damian that it is alright to do anything he wants, Damian has his majors narrowed down to a few things. Art and pre-med. Damian’s advisor suggests he visit a few of the clubs on campus to really get a feel of what he wants. Thing is, even after going to the students’ art club gallery and one of the pre-med club meetings, neither really speak to him. It’s a Saturday night, and he’s alone on campus. Damian is about to call Alfred, when a student from Damian’s organic chemistry class spots him.

“Damian!” Jace, a slightly round student with soft curly hair smiles at Damian. “Are you here for the show?”

“Show?” Damian scowls?

“Yeah, the fashion show. This year’s theme is sustainability,” Jace smiles. They one of the few people who never ogled at Damian for being a Wayne or looked down on him for his age. They are just genuinely nice, and Damian knows that.

“I didn’t know we had a fashion show,”

“Really? I swear I thought I mentioned it,” Jace says, surprised. Jace may have mentioned that, but Damian probably was zoned out during the time.“Tickets are $15, if you wanna come”

“Oh,” Damian frowns, “I used all the money I brought with me for the art gallery and lunch earlier,” He says, cursing internally for not bringing more cash with him.

“If you want to go, I’ll cover you.” Jace smiles, “Think of it as payment for help on our last exam” Damian would usually say no, but Jace is just so nice,

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah! Besides,” Jace smiles, turning towards the stadium, “I have a feeling you’re going to love it”

And Damian did love it. The designs were amazing, some more haute couture while others were casual, and each designer explained how their designs involved sustainability. Some were statement pieces, designed to address political issues, others were just to demonstrate that sustainability could still be cute, and while others highlighted affordability and sustainability.

Damian wanted to do this. Running through his head were endless possibilities. Perhaps he can enlist the help of Poison Ivy to create a vegan leather that was also bullet resistant, or…

The next Monday he is waiting for his advisor at 7 in the morning, because he spent the rest of the weekend coming up with ideas, sketches, creating a portfolio, and practicing hypothetical arguments as to why Damian should go into fashion. At 7:15 his advisor sees him, and can tell by the light in Damian’s eyes, determination on his face, and the way he’s clutching his sketchbook, Damian has found it.

“I want into the fashion program!” Damian all but bursts, unconsciously on his tippy toes in excitement.

“Okay,” His advisor smiles, ushering him into his office. “Let’s make it happen”

“Just like that?” Damian asks, eyes wide, voice surprisingly small. His advisor smiles at him kindly.

“I’ll do whatever I can to make it happen.”

It takes a bit before Damian can actually get into the program, he has to work on some prerequisites, and also create a better portfolio with samples, but Damian is determined. By the end of the school year, he has been accepted.

Damian doesn’t tell his family, not in the beginning. He actually doesn’t want to tell his friends either, unsure of how they’d react. He is still insecure, and just entering his teen years. He worries about what any or everyone will say. Eventually, though he tells Jon and Colin, swearing them to secrecy. They both are excited for him, asking if he’d design their costumes for them. Damian blushes but says,

“Tt, like you can afford me”

He eventually tells Alfred as well, because he needs help learning how to use a sewing machine, and fast. Sure, he can stitch someone up flawlessly, but sewing machines weren’t part of the League’s lessons. Alfred is in charge of the one at the Manor, so it only makes sense to ask him. Even so, Damian is reluctant. When he does finally ask, he nearly gives himself an attack, worrying about being scolded for not using his “full potential”. Alfred simply squeezes Damian’s shoulder, and agrees with a kind smile. The young Master finally seemed passionate about something besides vigilante work and violence. Alfred would do everything in his power to foster that.

“Just,” Damian looks down, hands clenching into fists at his side, “Do not tell the others. I would prefer this between us,” He looks at Alfred, unsuccessfully trying to hide the vulnerability in his wide emerald eyes. Alfred agrees, for now. On the conditions that Damian would have to tell his father and siblings himself, and not to far in the future either.

Damian impresses everyone with his designs, and people learn he is actually quite adorable when he’s doing something he enjoys. His classmates and professors encourage him to join the fall fashion show, which is covering “multiculturalism and the media”. Damian hesitantly agrees, though he has been making designs since the theme was announced. His room is full of crumbled paper on his floor, designs he deigned not good enough. Many of his designs are heavily influenced by his Arab culture, but he also has some Chinese-influenced designs as well. His statement piece is the hardest to get right. It involves a hijab and beautiful colors, but he just can’t get the right patter. Ripping another page and crumpling it,Damian is too concentrated to realized Tim and Dick have been creeping into his room.

“What’s this Dames?” Dick asks, startling Damian, as he looks at some of the rejected designs. Panic makes Damian defensive as he yells at them to get out, frustration fueling the dread of his family seeing such unsatisfactory work. Tim flinches, shocked by the emotion coming off of Damian, rushing out with a few crumpled papers he snuck from the floor. Damian is literally trying to shove Dick out the door. Dick turns around, because he can hear the panic in his little brother’s voice. In his Robin’ voice. “Damian,” he says softly, easily deflecting Damian. “It’s okay,” he says, wrapping his arms around Damian, reversing the situation. “What’s wrong, why are you reacting like this?” After a few minutes of struggling, Damian gives up. Slowly,he explains the situation, how he’s in the fashion program and the fashion show coming up, all the pressure to do well, the frustration of not having his statement piece yet. Dick listens, his hold turning into a hug. “From what I’ve seen,” Dick says softly, “these are all wonderful designs,Dami. Whatever you end up making will look amazing, if they look anything like your sketches.”

“It’s not enough!” Damian complains, eyes burning, but he refuses to cry. “You don’t understand!” He says, frustrated.

“Then explain it to me, why is this so important?”

“Because it is about me!” Damian’s voice cracks ask he turns away rosiness his eyes harshly. “When I was introduced to the public, as “Bruce Wayne’s biological son”, do you not remember how the newspapers reacted? They didn’t know me, or my mother, but because—because of my skin, the country I was born, I was mistrusted. Scorned. Yeah, maybe I’ve killed people, but that isn’t because of my skin color or my culture or the language I speak. I have this opportunity to speak out against that!” Damian turns to look at Dick, “I’ve tried to become better, to do better. It’s hard and unfair that none of that matters, because guests are invited to galas hosted in the house that I live in, only to make snide racist comments about “nukes” or the desert or bombs whenever Father and you all aren’t around me. How can I be better, when I’m not given the chance because people can’t see past my skin?” Dick wraps Damian into a tight hug, as wetness drips down Damian’s cheeks. “I’ve been here nearly four years—and it still happens” Damian whispers.

“Why didn’t you say anything Dami?”

“What could I say?” Damian whispers back,

“Bruce—”

“Invites these people because they are important to Wayne Enterprise.” He scoffs. “What could you do, especially if I have no proof?”

“Believe me, Damian,” Dick says seriously, pulling back to look into Damian’s eyes. “Bruce won’t invite anyone who’s racist or derogatory towards his children, back to a gala, let alone do business with him again.” He smiles a hard somewhat vicious smile. “I know because when I was first adopted, he did that for me” Damian’s eyes widen. “And if Bruce can’t defend you, you can bet your brothers will,” Damian looks unsure, but nods. “But I get it now. You’ve always used art to vent and express yourself. This design is something that would allow you to address what the media has done to and said about you.”

“It’s been,” Damian shrugs, looking down, “therapeutic. In a way I never imagined it would be.”

“Well, I think, whatever you end up designing will be amazing,” Dick smiles, and Damian looks up at the sincerity, giving his own smile smile in response. “And I expect an invitation to the fashion show!” He chuckles, causing Damian to blush. “And I bet the whole family would want to come as well,” Damian blushes, looking away once more.

“Tickets are $15 each, and available online,” Damian replies, making Dick belly laugh. “You can invite the others, if you’d like” Damian mumbles.

“Hmm,how ‘bout I invite the siblings while you invite your dad,” Damian grumbles, but agrees. “Great! Now, take a break. One night not designing won’t hurt you.” Dick says, wrapping his arm around Damian’s shoulder. ‘Might do you some good, in fact.”

Things get better after that, because after his talk with Dick, Damian gets an idea for his design. Ziba, a Persian student Damian met in his Literature class, agreed to be his model for his statement piece. She wore her hijab proudly, a solid black color, which helped with the down-to-business look the rest of the outfit screamed. Ziba’s makeup was beautiful, as Damian was putting the last touches on her. They both were quiet, nervous excitement pulsing through them both. Ziba had on white trousers that flared out a bit, to give an almost flowy feel, with black basic vegan leather square pointed toe mule flat accented by a silver buckle. Damian had made the top a cross between a tunic, a blazer, and a cape. It is white, and goes over a plain solid black turtleneck. Printed on both the buttoned blazer tunic top and the trousers are past racist articles written about Damian. In red graffiti styled letters sprayed across the news paper articles are phrases like “Lies” “Warped Perception” “Western POV” “Racist” “I was only 10”. The red paint matches the red lipstick Ziba is wearing.

Damian was nervous with his family in the audience, everyone including Alfred was there. Apparently Superman and Superboy were in attendance too, as civilians of course. Colin was there too. Damian had told his father about the fashion show, and was surprised to see how supportive he was about it. Of course that may have been the shock, as Damian had told him that morning before leaving for school. Bruce blinked, stood up and hugged Damian, before saying he couldn’t wait for the show.

Damian’s set is the last, ask the show is in alphabetical order according to last names. When it’s his turn, all of his model’s line up, and Damian is running around making sure everything is perfect. He hears the speaker introduce his collection, inviting Damian to join him on stage. Damian rushes out, brown cheeks turn red. Together they introduce all seven outfits of the collection one by one, as Damian describes his designs, the material, and the inspiration behind each one. When it get’s to Ziba’s turn, Damian’s nearly choked up. He manages to discuss this piece and it’s significance to him. At the end, Damian received a standing ovation from nearly everyone. Looking over at his family, he has to duck from hiding his flamed cheeks. All his siblings were cheering for him, while Bruce and Dick dab their eyes. Alfred has a proud look on his face, and Damian couldn’t have been happier.

He ends up getting second place, but also his own work room at the Manor. Damian begins selling his work after getting it patented (Tim demanded it), and is surprised when a number of orders are for the galas around Gotham. Dick told Bruce and the others about all the things Damian has been hearing at Galas, and they are justifiably angry. Duke begins chants of “Eat the Rich” every time he hears someone says something problematic about Damian, and that because Tim’s signal on who to take down next.

Damian’s designs become more widely popular as his family starts wearing them, as they love talking about it and how he uses sustainable methods and materials. This earns him big named clients, who start wearing Damian’s designs on the Red Carpet and premiers . Damian also likes to do work for charity, often donating dresses to high schoolers who cannot afford prom dresses or making clothes out of extra material to donate to shelters so people have clothes for job interviews and such.

(He also makes his pets clothes when he’s bored, so it’s normal to see Titus wearing a doggy hoodie with slits in it for his ears)

ANYWAYS, this is my headcanon lol

What do think about it?

—🧵🪡

Headcanon?? Bestie this a whole ass au!

As for my thoughts-

💳 💥💥 💳 💥💥💥 💳 💥💥💥💥

#shy's asks #sewing anon #anon #damian wayne #batfamily #batfam #dc comics #ANON PLEASE #ANON I LOVE THIS?? #ANON IS A GENIUS #ITS LIKE 3AM AND IM BARELY COHERENT #BUT NOW I CANT STOP THINKING OF THIS AU #Anon I hope both sides of your pillow are cool tonight #I hope your blanket is softer that a cloud #long post

[comfy-whumpee]

Birdhouse: The Talks

Whumptober Day Two: Talking is Overrated. TW: dehumanisation, slavery, BBU, bad decisions in therapy.

@neuro-whump, @rosesareviolentlyread, @whumper-in-training, @mylifeisonthebookshelf

The new rescue was called Roman. Not by himself, but by whoever had taken the initiative to name their brand-new captive. He hadn’t yet told her who had give it to him, but he had assured her that he was still happy to be known by the name.

Sunita Kaur had been providing therapy to his those like him for years now, in varying capacities, and he was the newest addition to her caseload. She spent the Wednesday of her working week privately commissioned to support the residents of the Birdhouse Shelter, and with the fee its proprietor paid her, she was able to do the rest of her work completely pro bono. That was the way Avis Jacobitz worked. She paid you what she thought you were worth to her household.

Each new rescue came with new strengths and new challenges. Roman had escaped himself, which often gave them a head start, but not always. He was also in good physical condition, which made sense; the Birdhouse specialised in complex emotional needs more than physical ones. Not that any ex-pet came without their chronic pains and weak immune systems. Roman was prone to dizzy spells and took iron tablets daily.

He was sitting on the comfortable chair with his hands resting on his knees and his back straight. To be sitting on the chair in his first session was another strength. But then, not all ex-pets had been banned from furniture.

“My name is Sunita Kaur. I’m a trained practitioner of counselling for pet industry survivors.”

She didn’t miss the way Roman’s lips moved faintly to echo that term. Pet industry survivor. It was difficult to talk about those labels without reinforcing them, but she had settled on one eventually.

“That’s you, Roman. A survivor of the American organisations that attempt to brainwash and remake people.”

There was no sense of recognition in Roman’s eyes as he thought about that. He didn’t reply.

Sunita gave him a moment to think, and then offered, “How do you feel about that description?”

It’s several seconds, unmarked in their passing, before Roman ventures, “I like being called a rescue.”

“Can you tell me why?” Sunita asks, keeping all reaction clear from her expression. If she so much as twitches a nostril, an ex-pet will pick up on it.

Roman glances down shyly, smiling. “Because I was. There was a new cleaner and she called someone to help me, and now I’m here. I like thinking about her.”

Every word was delivered in the faintest whisper. Sunita was straining her ears.

“Why do you like thinking about her?”

His hands sit perfectly still on his unmoving knees. Only his expression changes. “Because she was nice. And she helped me even though she was a stranger, and I like knowing – strangers can help you.”

Sometimes she wondered at the ability of her patients to love people who had been cruel to them. Sometimes, it wasn’t even that. Sometimes, ex-pets loved people in general, through some innate hope and fortitude all their suffering had failed to tarnish.

She was going to enjoy working with Roman.

-

Florence never made eye contact. Their gaze drifted around her face and off again. They sat in the comfortable chair, leaning slightly against its side, long hair tumbling off one shoulder and an arm stretched out to show the curving line of their body in what had to be an uncomfortable position. They looked like an art piece. They played with their skirt. Sunita was used to this. Florence liked textures.

“I don’t mind,” they said. “Avis has lots of people to care for.”

Sunita nodded. It was something that Florence was already dealing with. Avis split her time with equity as her guiding principle, offering the right amount of support to everyone who needed it. Florence was used to their time with Avis waxing and waning depending on the needs of the others in the house.

‘To each according to their need’ was a powerful concept, unless one of your rescues was always desperate for attention.

Sunita hummed in acknowledgement. “So how do you feel about Roman getting lots of help?” They were the one who had brought it up, after all. There was something there.

Florence ran fingers up and down their silky turquoise skirt. Their gaze flittered across the window. “He’s funny. He acts different.”

“Different how?”

There were no birds in the sky, but Florence’s eyes moved as if there were. “He doesn’t have anyone he loves.”

-

“Of course I love them.” Kamala lifted her chin, hands folded on her lap, the picture of dignified confidence. The neat edge of her hijab was broken only by the lightning-bolt pin she had used on one side. She sat on the very edge of the chair. “The Birdhouse is like my family. We look after each other. That’s not particular to Florence. They just like spending time with me.”

Sunita nodded, showing that she was listening, but didn’t interrupt, hoping Kamala would keep going.

“It’s not wrong to give more time to someone who asks for it,” Kamala continued after a moment, smiling earnestly. “Florence is used to being the centre of attention. It makes them happy. And it makes me happy to help them.”

“We’ve touched on this before, Kamala. You derive a lot of happiness and fulfilment from what services you can offer others, how you can fill their needs. I think you know what I’d like you to think about.”

“My needs,” Kamala answered with a pretty smile. “I understand, Mrs Kaur. I took more time to myself this week, although it was hard. I reread some of the comics I got when I first came here, in my bedroom. I haven’t done that in a while.”

She spoke with perfectly believable sincerity, underlined with a hint of eager-to-please nervousness, of am I doing it right?

“That sounds positive, Kamala. How did that feel, to be spending time on yourself?”

“It’s hard, Mrs Kaur. I don’t like myself very much. But I know it’s what will help me in the long term, so I do my best. If you practice self-care, it will become second nature.”

Sunita was sure she had said those exact words to her before. “That is the goal.”

-

Tenten’s twitch was worse today, jerking his shoulder and running down his arm as he spoke. He didn’t make eye contact, but not in the way that Florence didn’t, always busy looking elsewhere. Tenten kept his eyes averted. His limbs were drawn close together, arms on his knees, as if he was unsure how to sit on something soft.

“I don’t, I don’t want-t t-to, to-to make anyone ss-sad. But I did, m-made her, upset-t, I t-t-t, t-t, I c-c-could see. She was.”

“That’s alright, Tenten. Take your time.” She kept her voice soft and soothing. “I’m not going to think any different of you. I will still be your therapist.”

Tenten made an uncertain noise, his shoulder jumping like a livewire. His foot tapped. “You, but you’re her c-c-counsellor too. I don’t want-t, I might, if I say somet-thing she didn’t want you t-to, to know.”

“I understand your concern. Remember, this is confidential. I will never use what you tell me in my sessions with the others.” She smiled kindly as his eyes flickered to her and away shyly. “But do remember that I talk to Avis before I start sessions, to make sure I’m aware of anything significant. I may already know about the conflict you’re thinking of.”

Tenten’s shoulders hunched, “C-c-con, conflict, huh?” he echoed. “What do you th-think it is?”

She made sure to smile gently. “I’d like you to tell me what happened in your own words.”

He swallowed, his throat bobbing under the maroon neckerchief he always wore. He took a breath. “Okay.”

-

“We’ve been here for forty minutes, Avis, and you still haven’t said a word about yourself.”

Avis leaned back in the armchair, frowning at the wall. “I know,” she admitted. “I know we always end up here. I start talking and it’s about how Roman’s settling in, or Florence’s new night terror, or Kamala and Tenten getting into another argument, or… Boo. Everything about Boo and their – situation. It’s just, I spend my whole life looking after those guys. Even when they’re doing something else, like Therapy Day or tutoring, there’s five of them now, so there’s always something.”

Dr Cerasale showed nothing but patient understanding. It was true, that this often formed the bulk of the sessions he held with Avis. It had been improving for a while, before she’d accepted the new rescue.

“And I know, I find fulfilment in my work, that’s not a bad thing, and some people live with different professional-personal balances. And for my kind of job, there’s not much distance between them. But…”

She stopped, still frowning at the wall.

“What is the downside of that?” he prompted her.

Dark eyes flashed his way. “Do you mean me not having any time to myself, or me seeing my son in every single one of them?”

All patients had their challenges. Avis had a unique living situation and a very unusual career path, but the underlying causes of her mindset were very normal.

“Let’s talk about guilt,” he said, and she broke eye contact.

#whumptober2021 #no.2 #talking is overrated #whumptober #whump #my fic #the birdhouse #bbu #pet whump #recovery whump #recovery #mental health #deconditioning #conditioning #grief #denial #avis #kamala #roman #florence #tenten

[guiltgoreglory]

Heat Waves (Chapter 2: An Ego Check)

(Very) Brief Summary: Reader is a government contractor joining the team in Benghazi.  (Eventual Tanto x Reader) (2626 words)

Chapter 1

Tagging: @abitofpablo​ @kimburgss​ @ceyruh

You watched as the dust clouds trailed behind the buggy. The rest of the trip you all sat in silence, taking in the events that had just occurred. When you saw the base from a distance you decided it was safe to holster your weapons. You wiped the sweat of your palms on your thighs as you willed your heart to slow down, and so it did. The second you felt back at equilibrium, Rone took a quick turn into the base. To no surprise, it was the most conspicuous looking place you could have imagined. You expected better from the CIA. Several armed American guards stood at the gate which was surrounded by obvious cameras. You rolled your eyes knowing that if anyone wanted to target us, it wouldn’t be hard. One guy even wore a New York Yankee’s cap. It’s like they didn’t even try.

“Check the new rides. Gaddafi had a going-out-of-business sale on armored vehicles…” Rone gestured towards the Mercedes amongst several other high-end vehicles. He whistled. Leave it to Rone to keep the tone light. “Max-leveled armored, man. We got a great deal… We stole ‘em.” Rone stared down Jack with the biggest smirk plastered on his face. He seemed extremely proud of himself for that one. You watched as a similar smile tugged at the corners of Jack’s lips. You behaved similarly, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of a shitty joke. 

You gathered your things as the car came to a stop. Rone hopped out, throwing the keys to another man wearing a vest, “Sat unattended at the airport.” His stride paused as he watched someone from afar. You followed his gaze until you saw the Chief. This was definitely going to be something, you didn’t know what, but you could feel the subordination getting ready to bubble out of Rone. “Hey, Chief,” Rone called, nonchalantly, almost mockingly. The Chief looked like any middle-aged man who worked in business. Blue blazer, khaki pants, glasses, the whole shebang. His posture screamed superiority complex, you knew from the get-go you wouldn’t get along, not like it mattered anyway.

“I don’t want to hear it, Tyrone.” He called back, shuffling his way back into the building. Rone strutted towards him, duffel in hand. 

“No, no, I understand.” He turned his head for a moment, keeping out of the way of a car

driving past. “I see what you’re going for here,” he called, on the verge of yelling, “Secret spy base with fortified walls, gate cameras,” He fumbled to get his id badge in hand. “and blue-eyed Westerners! walking in and out of this place all day long.” He did a lovely spin for emphasis, pointing towards all the obvious Americans walking around the base. You followed close behind, knowing you were going to need to speak with him as soon as Tyrone was done tearing into him. “But if you want to avoid..” His words were cut off by the Chief slamming the squeaky metal door in your face. His voice dropped a decibel and he spoke, mostly to himself, “That’s so rude”. He placed his phone into the tray mounted on the wall beside the door, before scanning in his card to gain entry. “Can’t believe he just did that to me.” Your heart started to pick up once again. Nothing made you more frustrated than a cocky man being too good to have a goddamn conversation.

The door let out a loud buzz before Rone pushed open the entrance. “Chief, if you want to avoid an international incident,” He continued to track in the Chief’s footsteps, “you send me my guys when I ask for them.” Many of the agents sitting at their computers peeked up to watch the drama unfold. Some took a look at you, the new face, before returning to watch the catfight.

Finally, the man turned to look at Tyrone, squinting in disapproval like a man reprimanding his toddler. “Local faces need to resolve local conflicts, Tyrone.” Aka, your life means little to nothing to me; the incident was just a wrinkle in my daily schedule. He flipped mindlessly through papers within a manilla folder. Wow he’s so important look how busy he is. “We’re guests in this country.” You and Jack came to stand a few feet behind Rone, trying to stay close without poking the bear. 

“We’re unwanted guests, Bob.” Rone rebutted. He’s not wrong. 

“We’re spies, you’re security guards.. Your job is to keep us out of trouble, not get into it yourselves.” God, he’s pretentious. Rone flipped through some files pinned onto a pillar, looking through some photos of notable people of the region. 

“Well help me do my job and give me my guys.” He didn’t bother giving the Chief the privilege of his eye-line as he continued to search through the photos. You heard a buzz, and quickly turned to see the other members of the squad you were now a part of. Perfect timing. You made eye contact with one of them, Chris Paronto. Based on your prior research everybody called him Tanto, the mischievous one. Just then the Chief said some absolute bullshit.

“Here’s what you guys are good at: working out, eating five hot meals a day. What you’re not so good at is doing what you’re told.” God, he was so fucking proud of himself. Look at you little man, showing off your power in front of your team. You let a little of your annoyance slip out. 

“Ironic considering without us, everyone’s a sitting duck.” You whispered softly. The men all turned their heads towards you. Well, I guess now is as good a time as ever to get this over with. 

“Excuse me? And who are you? Some ex-army nobody who can’t let go of the glory of war?” 

Alright, time to rip off the bandaid. You stood a little taller, stepping closer to the Chief, just beside Rone. “Honestly... I’m someone out of your security clearance.” You said assertively. Jack shared a hesitant look with Rone.

“Bullshit.” He turned away from you, readying to remove himself from the conversation. 

“Alright, I think it’s best if we get a phone call over with now.” You dropped your duffel onto the tile, squatting down beside it. The armed men gripped their guns just a little bit tighter. The Chief stood, watching you confused. You unzipped the bag, reaching in to wrap your hands around a satellite phone. You zipped it back up but left it on the ground for now.

“I don’t have time for this.” The Chief began to walk towards his office as you stood, clicking a number on speed-dial. 

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you. The director doesn’t like waiting.” You held the phone to your head, keeping a straight face. That definitely made him pause. He turned back towards you, squinting his little face up. 

“Director of what?” He sighed. 

“Director of the Central Intelligence Agency.” You responded casually as if you were telling him the forecast for the next week. You waited as the phone continued to ring. 

Everyone stood in silence except for one guy. Tanto leaned over to whisper in Boon’s ear. “Who the fuck is she?”

Finally, a voice came over the line. “Y/N.”

“Good morning, Sir. We have arrived at the location.” Everyone had their eyes on you, curiosity getting the best of them.

“Any incidents?”

“One en route to base. Resolved without violence. I’ll have a report to you within the hour.”

“Great.” He took a deep breath and you could hear him adjust in his chair. “I take it you’d like me to speak with Bob.”

“That would be appreciated, Sir.”

“Alright hand me over.” You took steady, calculated steps towards the Chief, holding the phone out for him to take. He gently took it from your hand. His eyes bore holes into the crevices of the tiled floor.

“Hello..” The Chief said tentatively. You stepped back, giving him some room. You crossed your arms across your chest, shrugging in Rone’s direction. You could tell he was living for this. “Yes, Sir…. I understand, Sir. Of course…. Goodbye.” He stood like a dog with his tail between his legs. He stepped back towards you, holding out the phone. You took it gladly with a polite smile. Pressing the phone back to your ear you concluded with a quick farewell before going back to put your phone into the duffel. As you squatted beside it, you looked up towards the Chief. 

“Are we good?” You said. You no longer wanted to squabble and your tone reflected as such. 

“Yes.” He said curtly, returning to his office. The second the door closed, the chatter of the room returned back to normal. You turned back to the men of the team looking at Rone expectantly. 

“Alrighty then.” Rone turned to walk towards their lounge and the guys began to follow. Tanto sucked in his lips, trying to stifle a chuckle. The burly man next to him, Boon, jabbed him in the side before moving towards the room. You waited for Jack, giving him a genuine, small smile before trailing behind. 

“Well, that was fun.” Mark Geist, also known by the team as “Oz”, stated monotonously, walking into the room as he disassembled his rifle. 

“He gets his jollies pushing around alphas because he can.” John Tiegen. Called “Tig”. He’s the brains. The first one to be stationed here. You stood in the corner watching as he placed his things into his cubby. 

“We had this commander back in ranger school, he was a real cockbag…” Creative insult. Tanto began to remove his vest as he narrated on. You figured you’d be here for a minute so you pulled the straps of your cello case off of your shoulders placing it onto the floor, along with your duffel. Now that you were within the compound you took off the hijab, throwing it on top of the luggage. You flipped your head forward shaking out the matted hair before you pulled it into a bun. It was a mess but it did the job.

“So on our last night, me and a buddy, we stole his beret.” He placed his vest down on the table before plopping down onto the worn couch. “Whole barracks chubbed it.”

“Chubbed it?” Boon replied, his tone made you think he really didn’t want to know, whipping out his knife to fidget with.

“Yeah, rubbed our dicks on it.” Tanto replied, the widest smile crossing his face. He looked like the Cheshire cat as he reached for the gaming controller. You coughed, stifling your laugh before your face turned quizzical. He turned back towards you, noticing your reaction before giving you a quick up and down and returning to his game. You sauntered over to Jack to join in the awkwardness of being new. You tuned into Tig as he was beginning to talk work to Rone. He leaned forward over a desk that Rone was sitting at. 

“Leader was a former Gitmo detainee.” They scanned the rugged laptop, you presumed that they were looking for who you’d tangoed with this morning.

“Yeah, those guys usually don’t hold a grudge.” Rone said in his usual sarcastic tone. 

“Hey guys,” Oz’s voice pulled you from your concentration as you turned to face him with a friendly smile. “Mark Geist, Oz.”

“Pleasure.” Jack went to shake his hand and you followed suit.

“Ah guys I’m sorry.” Rone spun on his office chair to face the rest of the crew. “Everybody, this is Jack Silva. It’s our third contract together so he knows the drill. We met training SEALs at Coronado.”

Tanto turned back for a second. “How do you get them to balance that beach ball on their nose?” A few chuckles could be heard from the guys.

“It’s tough.” Jack’s shoulders relaxed slightly, letting himself become more comfortable around his new team. 

“And this” He gestured his hand towards you. “is Y/N. She’s uhh..” He paused for a split second, trying to find the right word to describe you. “black-ops and apparently has the government at her fingertips so she’ll probably be of use.” You smirked, nodding your head towards the guys. Rone rose from his spot, spreading his arms across the room. “So we got three ex-Marines here and one ex-Army retard who likes to rub his dick on things.” Tanto stood proudly facing you two. 

“Kris Paronto. Call me Tanto.” You both shook his hand. You found Tanto’s demeanor amusing, and much to your dismay, his confidence was undeniably attractive. Despite the tall crowd, he still somehow towered above them. You shared eye contact for a brief moment before turning towards Tig. Although he felt easy to get along with, you hoped his casual demeanor didn’t affect his work. In your experience, the joker usually got people killed. Despite this, what you had researched, he seemed to be doing alright so far. 

“Hey. I’m Tig.” He waved towards you two.

“Tig’s been here the longest, so he’ll get you up to speed on the area,” Rone said, stabbing a red pin into a map. Looking in more detail you noticed it was the location of your incident. “This is Boon. Scout Sniper, Zen Master, Holder of Tanto’s leash.” He pointed to the man sitting in the sturdy armchair. 

He looked up from his lap. “Welcome to Club Med.”

“It hasn’t rained since June. It’s not gonna rain again until September.” He walked right up to you two strolling past slowly. “You two will be double-bunked. Not me, because I’m in charge. Gym sucks,” damn “food’s actually good.” Lose, win. 

Tig walked to the center of the room, a few feet from the three of you. “Base Chief is kinda a tool, but who knows, maybe now that you’re here he’ll be moderately tolerable.” 

You shrugged. “No promises but if he gets too snippy I’ll whip out the phone again.” 

“Maybe he just needs a new hat” Jack quipped. Tanto looked up from the TV to point appreciatively at Jack. 

“Don’t encourage him,” Rone said as if talking about his puppy.

“Come on. He’s just a guy with a job to do.”Oz said. Based on the dynamic he was the dad of the group. Honest, serious, tough-love type of guy. Makes sense given he’s the sniper.  “He’s playing his string out, but if you talk to him, Bob did some shit back in the day.” You’d heard it a million times, some badass joins the CIA works his way up until he’s practically just a desk jockey with a power problem. Didn’t gain him any sympathy from you.

“Alright, Jack, Y/N, this is the whiteboard that’s gonna run your life for the next sixty days.” You looked over the various points of the board as Jack made his way towards the couch. Given the limited space you preferred standing just behind, leaning your hip against the back. “I want you to check it every hour cause last-minute moves pop up every minute, such as... where shotgunning it in three hours.” Everyone in the room except you, Jack, and Rone let out an audible groan of annoyance. Tanto slapped his controller onto his lap, looking up to the ceiling. Before concentrating back on the game, he looked at you. You took this opportunity to raise an eyebrow in his direction given his childlike reaction to the news. He responded with a strong but blank stare. You rolled your eyes slightly, breaking eye contact to pay attention to Rone. You were used to being dispatched on the drop of the hat, acclimating to the schedule here probably wouldn’t be too much of a pain.

“Three hours. I’ll let you know when I’m briefed.”

#Tanto x Reader #Tanto/Reader #Tanto x Y/N #13 hours #pablo schreiber #Kris Paronto #Kris Paronto x Reader #Kris Paronto/Reader

[attollogame]

[Ok I was on a walk last night and this scenario came to my mind and I was just cackling, so I had to write it. Everyone hates it when they end up in the same coffee shop as their sworn enemy, smh] 

The lineup for the Starsilver is so long that Suha is convinced the world adores her suffering.  

In all fairness, the morning started off completely wrong. She had misplaced her hijab pins, which resulted in her aimlessly wandering around her quarters for twenty minutes before she located them hidden under a pile of towels. When she finally made herself presentable enough for the day, she had been immediately dragged into several meetings, and as soon as those were completed, she was subsequently sent on a coffee run by Markos who claimed he was ‘far too busy’ to do it himself. As if she isn’t equally busy. 

Which leads to right now, in this line, in the sweltering spring heat. 

The A.C in the store isn’t working, which only further serves to irritate her mood. The reason the line is so long lies solely on the shoulders of one woman at the front; Suha can’t hear the entire conversation, but she can tell by the body language alone—and by the presence of the manager at the till—that whatever the conversation is, it isn’t pleasant. She reaches up and adjusts her sunglasses before crossing her arms tight over her chest in irritation. 

She never had to work retail or fast food in her life, and she felt thankful for that. With the bullshit the people who did work those jobs endured, she felt inclined to offer them an award for their service. 

With nothing better to do than stand around, Suha finds herself seeking out any source of amusement, which results in her eyeing up the other people in the line. She’s never seen any of them in her life. There’s a man with a very pinched expression closer to the front of the line; Suha assumes that his expression is the result of him overhearing the woman’s argument. There are a few teens in the line, which makes her briefly question what they're doing out school at this hour, but she shrugs it off. Kids will be kids, after all. 

As she continues her causal observation, she finds herself glancing over her shoulder at the people behind her as well. There’s an elderly woman with whom Suha assumes is her husband, both fanning themselves with newspapers. Another woman behind them holds what looks like a poodle in her arms, which she coos to every so often. Suha continues to look past the woman at the remainder of the lineup, 

And then she freezes. 

Her eyes lock on one figure in particular and, to her horror, they lock eyes with her at the exact moment she notices them.

She stares at them.

They stare back.

She unfurls her arms and reaches up to slowly tug down her glasses, an expression of disbelief on her face.

They mimic her gesture, glasses and all, with the exact same expression. 

Holy fuck. 

She snaps her head back to the front and has her phone out in her hands within moments, furiously shooting off a text to Alexander.  

I’m yelling, she texts, Deadass, I’m literally yelling right now. 

The reply is almost instantaneous; What’s up?? Suha inhales between her teeth as her fingers move rapidly over the keys. 

I’m at the Starsilver and Sysba is in the line with me. What do I do? Like, I can probably pin them down until backup comes, but I’m not sure how well that’ll go over. She pauses, and then adds, Also, they absolutely made eye contact with me. 

She sends the message and waits a few seconds, watching as the three dots appear before disappearing again. They return a moment later, and the text she receives has her turning her barely holding back a scream.  

Damn...thoughts and prayers <3 

Suha clicks her phone off and jams it back into her purse as the line finally starts moving again. Okay, Alexander isn’t going to be any help, so the best thing she can do right now is just ignore them until she can get back to the Headquarters. 

That’s fine. 

…

She’s standing still for less than a minute before she finds herself sending a glance over her shoulder. Sysba is still a few feet back, furiously texting on their own phone, with a very concerned expression on their face. They glance up and catch her eye again before they immediately look back at their phone, their shoulders slouching a bit as if they're trying to hide themself. She quickly turns back to the front as she finally makes it to the counter. 

She rattles off everyone's orders to the barista, who nods along with her words, and then hastily pays, telling the barista to keep the change, before shuffling to the side to wait for the drinks. The other orders are completed in quick succession until Sysba finally reaches the front. They're wearing a charming smile, and Suha watches with slight revulsion as they shamelessly flirt with the barista, reducing the poor man to a flustered mess. When the manager comes over, Sysba directs their attention to him, and within moments they have both of them laughing along with whatever they're saying. When they finally make their way to the side, the look of smug satisfaction on their face says it all. 

The little shit got themself a discount. 

Suha pulls out her phone again and opens Chirp, already typing the furious chirp she intends to post, when she feels a presence beside her. She doesn’t need to look up to know who exactly just sidled their way over to her. She takes a deep breath, mostly to try and control herself from slugging then right here and now, and returns to her task. The other customers retrieve their orders and exit the shop until it’s just her and Sysba standing there, both waiting for their drinks. Clearly, they're buying for their group as well. 

Suha hopes that they all choke on whatever they got. 

She spares a glance at then from the corner of her eye and, as if sensing she’s looking, they glance up from their phone towards her. Both of them hastily turn away when they realize that the other is looking as well. Suha taps her foot impatiently. Sysba shifts from side to side, clearing their throat every so often. The air between them could be cut with a knife, and just as she finishes sending out her chirp (The tension between me and my sworn enemy  <3<3) the barista calls out her order. 

Suha likes to believe that she never has, and she never will, move as fast as she did in that moment to grab those drinks. She sends a quick smile to the barista and, without a second glance at Sysba, speed walks her way out of the Starsilver. She isn’t going to run yet, because she still has her dignity, but she’s pretty close. Her phone vibrates in her pocket as she hurries back to her car but she spares it no thought as she yanks her keys out and nearly throws herself in. It’s only when she locks the doors again and gives a full 360 glance around her car, including a back seat check, does she pull out her phone to see what she received. 

A single notification sits on the screen. 

Sysba 👽 (@eld_rich) liked your chirp.

#char:suha #char:sysba #suha is never not ready to slide tackle sysba straght up

[sonderwalker]

as a follow up to this previous drabble, please enjoy some more modern married AU below the cut

“You don’t have to be so grumpy, you know,” Obi-Wan quipped as they walked down a brightly lit path. 

The air was cold enough that Obi-Wan could see his own breath form in front of his face, and was grateful for the fact that Anakin had decided to give him back the green sweater that he had first borrowed from him years ago.

“I’m not grumpy,” Anakin muttered back, shoving his hands inside of his pockets. 

Obi-Wan opened his mouth to say something else, but stopped as he watched Ahsoka run up the path towards them, her braids flowing behind her. 

“Skyguy!” She exclaimed as she got closer, and Obi-Wan noticed that there was a different kind of sparkle in her eyes as she held up her phone. 

“Barris said she’s on her way!” Ahsoka said, shoving the phone in Anakin’s face who leaned away. 

“Barris?” Obi-Wan asked, tilting his head to the side. 

“Yeah, Snips has a huge crush on her,” Anakin replied while grinning. 

Obi-Wan laughed as he watched Ahsoka’s face change from one of joy to one of annoyance, raising her eyebrows and crossing her hands over her chest. 

“You can’t just go around and tell other people my business, I don’t want Barris to know yet!” 

“Okay, sorry sorry,” Anakin said as he held his hands up and smiled. 

“My lips are sealed,” Anakin continued with a wink, and Ahsoka rolled her eyes and groaned. 

“Hmmm, it isn’t like Barris to be behind on something,” Obi-Wan noted as he ran his hand over his beard. 

“You know Barris?” Ahsoka asked, tilting her head to the side slightly, her braids following suit. 

“I work with Luminara, and Barris works for her as a research assistant.” Obi-Wan pointed out. 

“You never mentioned that to me, Anakin!” Ahsoka exclaimed. 

Anakin shrugged, “I didn’t think it was important at the time.” 

Ahsoka groaned. 

“Well, it looks like everyone made it!” Padme exclaimed with a happy smile. 

Around them, lights in different shapes and colors moved about, and people walked in groups, holding hot drinks in their hands. Ahead Obi-Wan spotted Barris, who was nervously playing with a pin on her hijab talking to Ahsoka, who seemed to be excitedly chatting away about something. He watched as Ahsoka said something and Barris laughed, prompting Ahsoka to now be the nervous and flustered one. 

Then he turned his attention back to Anakin and Padme, who were standing next to each other. He had given her the container of cookies that he had made earlier, and now the two of them stood next to each other, watching the crowd as they munched on snacks. 

Or, as Anakin stood with a hot drink pressed closed to him and Padme munched on the cookies that he had made. He had a slight frown on his face, and Obi-Wan watched as his shoulders shook slightly despite the numerous layers that he was wearing. 

And now that Obi-Wan was looking more closely, he could tell that Anakin still looked exhausted, despite having spent most of his break so far resting. 

“I guess so,” Anakin mumbled as he brought the paper cup up to his lips. 

“Why do you seem upset?” Padme asked as she turned to face him and Anakin rolled his eyes. 

“Oh, not you too,” Anakin groaned and Padme raised an eyebrow, turning to look at Obi-Wan. 

“You do seem… off, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said sincerely. 

“‘M fine.” Anakin mumbled as he took another sip of his drink. 

“Well,” Padme began looking down at her phone, “It looks like there’s a snowstorm on the way, and I know that you two don’t live as close as the rest of us, so maybe you should get going soon?” She suggested, looking at Obi-Wan with a soft smile. 

“That would probably be best,” Obi-Wan noted while Anakin shrugged and stepped away from Padme. 

“Perhaps we can catch up another time?” Obi-Wan asked as he and Anakin began to walk away. 

“Of course!” Padme exclaimed

“Is something on your mind?” Obi-Wan asked as they walked back towards where they had parked. 

“Why do you keep asking me that?” Anakin snapped, his brow furrowing. 

“Because you have hardly smiled all day, and this was something that you were looking forward to, dear one,” Obi-Wan pointed out as they walked off of the path that they were on and into the parking lot. 

“It was something you were looking forward to,” Anakin pointed out. 

“So, you’re telling me that you didn’t want to come?” Obi-Wan asked as he pulled the keys to the car out of his pocket. 

“That’s not what I’m saying.” Anakin snapped back. 

“Then what are you saying, Anakin?” Obi-Wan replied, exasperated at the sudden sour mood his husband seemed to have. 

“Ugh, nevermind. Forget it.” Anakin muttered as he slid into the passenger seat of the car, turning the heat up all the way. 

They rode home in silence. 

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said as the door to their apartment closed behind him. 

“What?” Anakin snapped, turning to face him, the frown from earlier still on his face. 

Obi-Wan took a deep breath, knowing that his anger wasn’t going to solve the problem, but also trying to resist the urge to grab his husband by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. 

“Is something wrong? Did I do something?” Obi-Wan asked, unsuccessful at keeping his voice level as it began to rise. 

“You’ve been irritable for the entire night!” 

“I wouldn’t be so irritable if you didn’t keep asking me about this every five minutes!” Anakin snapped back and Obi-Wan huffed. 

“Well, perhaps if you told me what was bothering you instead of ignoring the problem, then we wouldn’t be having this discussion right now!” Obi-Wan replied, all but yelling at this point. 

“There isn’t a problem!” Anakin replied, his voice cracking. His fists were clenched, and even though they were now inside, Obi-Wan could see that Anakin was still shaking. 

His expression softened slightly as a result. 

“Everyone wanted to go to that light festival and we did and we got to see and talk to everyone, so I don’t see what the problem is! Or what your problem is!” Anakin yelled, taking deep breaths between his words. 

“And you keep talking to me about how I’m the one who’s-” but he stopped talking, his eyes widened as he blinked several times before collapsing where he stood.

#modern married obikin #mostly harmless #also you can pry these headcanons about barris and ahsoka from my cold #dead hands #obikin #and some barrisoka in there as well! #they are a cute ship #my writing #writing #fanfic

[fallingstarnovel]

Chapter Three

That Monday, when he got to the lecture hall, he glared at Aliya for the entire time. She was visibly avoiding his gaze, tugging down her hair so she wouldn't make eye contact with him.

After it ended, he quickly walked over to her, coughing loudly from behind his fist.

"So. Judas comes to face his crimes."

Aliya turned and gave him a pitying look. "I'm really sorry! I completely forgot I had a revision session in the morning and I had to prepare for it. I felt so guilty."

Evan glared at her for another second – before rolling his eyes with a smile. He was a benevolent kind of person when he wanted to be. "It's fine."

"You sounded like you had a good time," Aliya teased him. “Your texts were indecipherable.”

"Uh. I think I did." He pulled a face as he failed to remember literally anything about how he got home. "It’s all kind of a blur. There was this girl..."

Aliya's eyes went wide. "There was?"

"Ah, shut up, she just said a bunch of stuff at me and then... Hm. I don't remember much after that, but clearly nothing weird happened since I got home safe and fully dressed."

Aliya tutted. "This is why I don't drink. Sounds kind of scary."

Evan opened his mouth to say something like "you get used to it", but then he remembered that he was trying to be normal and closed his mouth again. "Yeah. Haha, a little. I'm not sure you would have enjoyed the party. It was loud and everyone was off their faces."

"Maybe. I'm glad you were okay, though. And you got home safe."

Evan smiled. By now, they were long outside the lecture hall and were walking through campus. Students were rushing from building to building, or walking in groups and chattering away together. So many people who were meant to be here. They all looked like they were right at home.

There was a flash of black in the corner of his vision. Evan turned his head automatically, only to see the black cat from a few days ago sprawled across a wall. It was staring at him with green eyes, unblinking and imperious.

"Oh, it's the university cat," he said to Aliya. "Look."

"Aww. I'm more of a dog person," she said bluntly.

The cat's eyes narrowed in disgust.

Evan was about to go over and pet it when he heard someone say his name over his shoulder. He looked behind him, only to see a boy with curly blond hair and an angelic smile. He was looking at the cat with a strangely intense gaz, before snapping back to smile at Evan.

"Ruth!" he said. "Hey!"

Ruth waved. "Hello again. You look like you've recovered from Friday night."

Wait. Wait a minute... Evan squinted at him, before feeling his face flush red. Was Ruth there as well?! He didn’t remember seeing him at all!! He laughed awkwardly. "I am. So sorry. I don't remember a lot. I was... very drunk."

Ruth nodded. "I was. I thought you might have difficulty remembering."

Aliya's eyebrows inched up her forehead, right into her hijab. Evan realised that he had been quite rude, and quickly introduced her. "This is my terrible friend from Astro. She invited me to the party and then left me to die."

"I'm Aliya," she said, elbowing him in the stomach subtly.

Ruth gave her a polite nod, before turning his attention back to Evan. "I hope you don't mind that I let myself into your house. You seemed very worried that I was going to harvest your organs."

"You were the one who took me home?!” Evan yelped, feeling the blood rush all the way to the tips of his ears. “Oh, haha, what? Haha, so weird," Evan said, feeling himself dying of mortification again. "Thank you so much. I don't mind at all. That was really nice of you. Usually I just stumble home by myself, you know? God, sorry, I must have been so annoying to handle."

Ruth shook his head, his hair tumbling around his ears. "You weren't annoying at all. You were very sweet, like a well behaved child."

Evan wanted the ground to swallow him whole. "Haha, that's good. Still, I'm so sorry. Thank you. Augh."

How was he so bad at this?

An idea occurred to him. He quickly started rummaging in his pockets. "Wait, wait, I think I owe you a coffee for saving my life twice now. I don't have a lecture for a while, so..."

Ruth looked at him in surprise. There was a yawning moment of silence in which Evan questioned everything that made him ask that question and wondered if it was too late to change his name and move to Mexico.

But then Ruth smiled. "I think I owe you one instead. You spilled yours last time."

"In that case, I'll pay for yours and you pay for mine, and we can call that even," Evan laughed, feeling relief flood through him.

There was a polite cough from behind him. "Well, I have a study group to get to, so," Aliya said, shooting Evan a knowing smile. "I'll let you two go have fun. See you, Evan."

Evan felt a little bit guilty at accidentally muscling Aliya out of the conversation. He waved her goodbye and turned back to Ruth, and all his guilt was forgotten. Ruth's smile was blinding. There were two little dimples in his cheeks. Wow, he didn’t know anyone in real life with dimples.

"Let's go," he said, inclining his head in the direction of the coffee shop, and off they went.

Evan watched Ruth over his coffee while trying to look like he was doing no such thing.

Ruth was fascinating. He had a very handsome face, with eyes that could have been carved into one of those old statues they kept in the museums of Rome. His movements were all graceful and deliberate, from the way he stirred his coffee to the way he unwrapped his blue scarf from around his neck.

He was also tall. Evan wasn't short – okay, he was kind of short – but Ruth made him feel like a god damn manlet.

"So," he said, because he felt the need to fill the silence with something, "what course are you on?"

"Actually, I'm a part time student."

"Eh, no way. I didn't know you could do an undergrad part time!"

Ruth smiled and shrugged. "I have a job on the side. It takes up a lot of my time. I suppose the university understood I had other commitments."

Evan blinked. "Wow. Must be an intense job."

"You have no idea," Ruth said, something steely glinting in his grey eyes. "But it's rewarding."

"Is it why you skip so many lectures?"

Ruth nodded. Evan couldn't hold back his curiosity.

"Then what is it?"

Supermodel? Secret agent? Government official? What was important enough that the university would let him mess around with the schedule like this?

Ruth just winked at him, and Evan immediately upgraded all his guesses. Eldest son of a mob boss. Heir to the CEO of a huge corporation. A superhero in disguise as a student.

"That's fine. I didn't want to know anyway," Evan lied. "I bet it's something boring like business management."

Ruth ran his finger along his cup, his eyes flickering down to the table. "In a way, I suppose you're not far off."

"So... why astrophysics?"

"No reason, really. I just felt something pulling me here. That's all."

Wow! Such a free spirit! This guy was definitely some kind of billionaire. Only a rich person could afford to come to university on a whim and then spend half his time doing something else instead. Evan, who thought coffee was a fancy treat, tried to contain his jealousy and failed.

They drank their drinks in companionable silence. Evan was full of questions, but he didn’t want it to seem like he was interrogating his new friend. He was just curious!

“Do you... go to a lot of student parties?”

Ruth shrugged. “Not generally.”

“Oh. Aside from last night, I guess. Um... actually, about last night... I was wondering about what exactly happened.”

Ruth went still. “Yes?”

“Was I... alright? When did I go home?”

“I found you upstairs in someone’s bedroom with a few people. It looked like you were playing some kind of game that involved kissing,” Ruth replied. “You seemed very uncomfortable with the situation. Did I misread that?”

A kissing game. What the hell. Evan hadn’t played one of those for years. He wondered who he was smooching when Ruth discovered him. So deeply, horrifically embarrassing.

“I have no idea,” Evan replied with a shrug. “I don’t really remember if I was comfortable or not.”

There was a faint frown colouring Ruth’s pleasant smile. “Then I’m glad I was there regardless. There should be no room for doubt with things like this.”

“Hah, in an ideal world. In my experience, there’s always doubt. You just kind of have to move on afterwards.”

Ruth’s throat bobbed, but he didn’t say anything else. His coffee was steaming so much that it fogged up Evan’s glasses, and he took them off with a chuckle to clean them. “Wow, look at that,” he said, desperate to change the subject. “It’s that time of the year where I go blind every time I enter a warm room. You don’t wear contacts, right?”

Ruth, still speechless, shook his head. Oh, this was awkward. Evan got the horrible feeling that he had messed up somewhere.

“So lucky. Well, hah, look at the time. I should start heading to my next lecture.”

He didn’t have a next lecture. That was a lie. But he really didn’t want to hurt the poor guy’s feelings. He started gathering his stuff slowly, trying not to look like he was rushing out of there. Ruth let out a deep breath, before reaching across to lightly touch Evan’s wrist. His skin was very hot from where it had been holding his coffee cup.

“The next time you go to a party,” he said quietly, “take me with you.”

“Sorry?” Evan said, certain that he misheard.

“Take me too. I, ah.. I’m actually quite nervous around people. And I find it difficult to go alone. It would be... nice to have a friend to go with.”

“Oh, dude, me too,” Evan said, giving him a reassuring smile. “I have mad social anxiety. I actually don’t get invited to a lot of things like that anymore, but if I do, I guess I’ll text you and see if you’re free?”

Ruth nodded, his hand slipping off Evan’s wrist.

“Thanks.”

“It’s no worries. We can be anxious buds together.”

With a slow incline of his head, Ruth signalled that he would like that, and Evan felt some of his nervousness settle somehow. It was a surprisingly soothing gesture.

“Well. See you at the next one.”

“See you then.”

And then Evan rushed off to hide in the library for a couple of hours so Ruth wouldn’t see him walking around campus when he was supposed to be in a fake lecture instead.

Evan was getting out of the shower when he noticed something black flash in the corner of his vision. He whirled around, rubbing shampoo out of his eyes, visions of getting murdered by some opportunistic shower murderer running through his brain.

However, when he looked around, there was nothing there. He swore he saw something, though. Something in the reflection of the bathroom tiles near his back.

When he was done, he stopped by the mirror in the hallway and checked his body just in case the black thing had been a huge house spider or something. It wouldn’t be the first time that he had a spider fall on him in the shower. Usually they washed down the sinkhole, leaving Evan shivering and feeling strangely violated, but what if this one managed to cling onto his naked skin?

There was no spider. Instead, sprawling across Evan’s lower back like a trampstamp was a sprawling, intricate black tattoo, formed from archaic lettering and symbolism that he couldn’t read.

“Hey, what the fuck,” he said into the empty house.

Having no housemates meant that he couldn’t run into anybody’s room and ask them to read whatever the hell it now said on his back. He tried rubbing at it, but nothing happened. It didn’t even feel weird or raised. It just felt like skin, and it didn’t budge.

Not even soap or nail polish remover got it off his back. It was like ink had sunk into his skin and stuck there overnight.

Evan was, understandably, more than a little freaked out.

> HEY UHHH SO > sent: image_5473843.jpg > ???

wow, that’s a really interesting tattoo!! when did you get it? <

> well you see that’s the thing aliya. i didn’t. > i do not know where this tattoo came from. ummm > i am freaking out a little!!

wh??! < you mean it just....??? appeared?? <

> yeah?? i literally do not remember getting any tattoo there??! ever?

you do have a lot of tattoos... are you sure you didn’t forget about one of them? <

> you don’t just forget about a tattoo!! > okay actually. sometimes you do. BUT NOT THIS BIG. THIS IS A TRAMP STAMP > I WOULD NEVER GET A TRAMP STAMP > oh god what if this happened while i was drunk at that party

ok calm down do you want me to come over and look at it? <

> no, it’s fine. i’ll just. ???? hhhhhhhhh > wait, there is something you can do! can you get me the numbers of uhh. fuck what was their name uhhh Tree. Branch > ROCK > and there was this girl who dressed like a goth, they were both at the party, can you ask your netball friends if they have their numbers? they might know what happened?? i guess? help?

i’ll ask around babe x sorry about this maybe go to the police? <

> they’ll just say i was drunk and there was nothing they could do. but thank you anyway i really appreciate this. sorry for bothering you

no need to apologise at all xx hoping you’re okay xx message me whenever you like <

Evan examined the tattoo in the mirror again. Now that the shock had worn off... well. Aliya was right. He already had so many tattoos. Most of them were already stupid ones he got on a whim. So even if he didn’t ask for this one... it was okay, right? It wasn’t so bad.

It was even kind of cool, in an old-school, mall goth kind of way. Spidery webbing and dots of red ink in what he thought might have been flowers of some kind. He tried to take a photo with his phone, but his hands kept shaking, so he just kept getting blurry pictures of his ass. Not ideal, honestly.

With a sigh, he stretched out on his bed and examined his older tattoos. His favourite one was still the navy outline of a falling star stretching down his inner arm towards his hand. It was his first proper one that he got done at a real tattoo parlour. A lot of the earlier ones were... well, the less said about how close he got to a skin infection, the better.

With a sigh, he tugged on a long sleeved shirt from his closet. Until he could work out why he suddenly had that black monstrosity on the back of his hips, he wasn’t sure he wanted to accidentally keep catching glimpses of it in every reflective surface.

Wait a minute. There was someone else there at the party. Someone who might have seen something that could help.

He opened up the messages from the unknown number and prayed that it was who he hoped it was.

> heyyy ruth i hope this is you!! haha hi

The reply came back about half an hour later, which was just long enough for Evan to overthink everything that had ever happened to him.

It’s me. Rest assured. :) <

Oh god. How to word this?

> well i’m doing good actually i’m you know. chilling! > actually there was something i wanted to ask you > please excuse the ass in this photo!!!!!

The what. <

> sent: image_5473843.jpg

Who did this. <

> funny question! i don’t know > i was hoping you could help???

I’m coming over. <

> no, i meant like do you remember seeing anyone at the party with a tattoo gun or a stick and poke or something?? you don’t have to come over sorry i don’t want to be a bother

You’re not a bother. I’m coming over. <

Well. Fuck. Evan panicked and threw on a pair of sweats and a hoodie, and then felt stupid, because presumably Ruth was going to come and look at the tattoo. Maybe he should wear nicer clothes? Did he have time to tidy his room?

> are you sure haha i don’t want to inconvenience you!!!

I was in the area anyway. It’s okay if you don’t want me to come over. But I have an idea about what happened. < Sorry. I know this must be alarming. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable. <

Evan thought about it. Well. It was the only lead he had.

> sure why not come on over

I’m outside. <

The doorbell rang.

***

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#chapter

[a-velveteen-drift]

the hair-braiders

I made my appointment with the Senegalese muslim woman, Halima, at the braiding salon. Her complexion was a light brown and she had very dark, big lips, and her hair was braided too. I asked to get really small braids, and they have made my scalp hurt to no end. But the woman who braided my hair, well I can’t remember her name, but I remember her. She was wearing dark clothes-- a gray t-shirt, black sweatpants, a black hijab. She was darker skinned and her moisturizer made her look very shiny under the fluorescent light. She unspokenly tapped the back of the salon chair, to call me over. I sensed a kind of functionality in her address. Halima and this pregnant woman spoke in Wolof to each other frequently, laughing and saying “Insha’Allah” and “Masha’Allah” alternately. I didn’t understand a word of it, but I felt close to them because of this, --our tongues-- the words that helped us sleep and bring calm to storms. When others speak different languages around me, sometimes I like to pretend that I understand every word of it. And I laughed when they laughed, feeling silly because I involved myself with conversation that was probably jeering at me.

 I can remember every person who’s braided my hair. This woman was pregnant. She didn’t seem far along in her pregnancy, maybe four or five months. She was very delicate, asking me if the braids were too tight, and, when I sneezed four times she asked me if I was okay. I wasn't, but my condition seemed slight to her, more substantial, permanent one, so I said I was. This was the second woman that was pregnant that has braided my hair.

My favorite thing about my braiding salon is that they lock the doors.  Halima just stared blankly at a man that wanted to enter until he went away. It made me chuckle, but the pregnant woman and her looked at each other and shrugged, as if to say, “what business does a man have here?” It’s true. He guarded the sides of his face with both hands through the window, as if he were telling a secret with his eyes, and nobody paid him any mind. It also didn’t help that he was white and had a buzzcut. 

Another woman who braided my hair less recently, explained to me that she had a large cyst on her ovaries-- one the size of a grapefruit. It was 1 in the morning and I dozed off in her chair for hours while she gave me plaits, and  when she told me about her health, I told her that we can stop, or take a break whenever she’d like. She refused and braided my hair for six hours straight. No bathroom breaks, no chair, nothing. That woman, I remember thinking, has a body made of iron. She also was a perfectionist of sorts, braiding my hair into neat lines and rows and ensuring that there were no obvious instances of human error that one could see. I fell asleep in her chair that night, bobbing my head back and forth, feeling weariness in my body, which again, couldn’t compare to her condition. But getting my hair braided  -- even if transactional makes me feel gracious. I am at the mercy of this woman who is laying my stress to rest. Now I can have other things to think about than my hair. I don’t have to spend hours detangling and braiding and tying back this nest of wild hair that was given to me by Allah. The hair-braiders are kind and typically very lovely in their making of conversation. Sometimes, they can tell when conversation is unnecessary, and we nestle into a comfortable silence that often makes me feel their fingers more closely to my eyes, their hands reminding me that they are helping me, even if I am not actively talking to them. And I fall asleep, frequently. My scalp isn’t usually tender until after the fact, and the rhythm of the parting and twisting and braiding of my hair lulls me fast to sleep like no other. I love sitting and being tended to, whether I am awake or sleeping, like a simple plant.