Written for @eurusholmmes [Okay, y'know what, every Twelve fic is for you now.]
Accidentally made this into a Magical Realism/Soulmate AU even theough that’s not what the Anon asked for at all but I just wanted to give Twelve some love I’m sorry! Also went with a different style, showing most of the story from a companion’s point of view. Bonus: I have discovered that I can’t say “Clara clarified.”
The moment you stepped into the TARDIS was not how Clara expected it to be. And she did expect it, was the thing. She knew, the moment you met, that you would become a passenger aboard the TARDIS, because there was no way you couldn’t be. Not when the Doctor looked at you like that.
I’m having the strongest urge to watch TRC as a tv show… like the feeling as if it’s a tv show I’ve already watched, but I want to rewatch it over and over again.
I want to see Ronan’s face when he looks at Adam, Gansey’s face when he looks at Blue, I want to see Ronan’s tattoo and I want to cry looking at Noah’s face and looking at Henry being the cutest nerd and I want to watch Kavinsky destroy the world and Ronan bring cabeswater to life and Gansey sitting on the floor of Monmouth constructing his miniature Henrietta and Adam riding in the passenger seat of the pig, and Blue sitting in Fox way with the ladies and I want to see aglionby uniforms and tarot cards and the gang sitting around at nino’s and the dream pack burning shit to the ground, and I WANT TO SEE TRC AS A TV SHOW AND I WANT TO WATCH IT OVER AND OVER AGAIN.
This is pure sin and nothing more. And as with the last time I did Cazigan smut, I have no clue if it works and am super nervous about it, but well, here we are. I tried and I’m just honestly happy at this point that I wrote something new and squeezed another Cazigan fic in before ACOWAR. It was stress-relieving to write. Tagging @buggitybooks who asked to be tagged. :)
Summary: Mor’s in the middle of dinner when a questionable breeze hits her legs in an all too familiar pattern. When she realizes both her lovers are messing with her, Mor decides to take things to the bedroom for a little revenge that quickly gets carried away from her. NSFW
Take Me Down
The House of Wind is chilly, Mor thinks, about two-thirds of the way through dinner with her friends.
She supposes it’s only natural. The dining room opens onto a spacious balcony high in the sky where the winds are free to come and go as they please through the large floor to ceiling threshold, constructed thus so that one might fly right in. One with Illyrian wings, that is.
Listening to Rhys fill them in on his latest diplomatic visit to the Day Court, Mor feels that breeze hitting her ankles, and crosses them with a brief brush of her heels to help shake the chill. She takes a sip of wine and leans forward on the palm of her hand, trying not to blink at how dull the trip sounds. Only Amren sitting across from Rhys looks truly interested.
For beta to omega, what if Anakin captures Obi-Wan when he goes back to coruscant to get the twins? Does he lock him away? Do they bond?
There is excitement vibrating in his stomach and a rumbling chuff
escapes him before he can control it.
Because Obi-Wan’s has finally, after a year and a half, been
On Coruscant of all places and Anakin knows that it most likely means
the omega tried to kidnap the twins but… but he didn’t succeed
and now he’s back and Appo has given him directions to a landing
pad where they are.
Anakin had left for a week long mission and apparently his clever
little omega had tried to take advantage of that, had tried his best
to regain the twins but had failed.
The ship lands with a little thump.
Anakin’s walking so fast that Piett can barely keep up with him
when the ramp of the shuttle finally decends and…
And Force this is not what he expected.
There are troopers everywhere, keeping the public at bay, Appo is
outright yelling at Tarkin of all people and there is smoking debris
all around the landing pad, coming from a half constructed and now
ruin floor above.
What in Force name?
And then an all to familiar iron smell reaches him.
Vader barely notices the sudden sharp silence as he is noticed by his
men and Tarkin’s entourage, eyes focused on Pink who is kneeling by
a black clothed figure, the medic’s hands working furiously and
Anakin can see the pool of blood around him as the medic kneels in
said crimson liquid.
The alphas steps feels mechanical as he moves closer to to the clone
and he finally sees what he dreads.
Obi-Wan, on his back, a piece of durasteel rebar piercing through his
stomach and pinning him to the landing pad, his eyes are closed and
his beautiful hair stained with blood as his lips are pale from blood
loss along with the burgeoning colors of bruises on the exposed pale
skin where Obi-Wan’s clothes has torn.
There’s a horrifying hitch in his breath that terrifies the Sith to
the depths of his core and blood pounds through his ears covering
almost all other noises.
Before he can ask what happened, Pink eyes shot up to him and are
filled with relief. “Lord Vader, can you cut this here and perhaps
squeeze the underpart of the rebar off? We need to transport him to a
medical facility as quickly as possible but he’s pinned.” The
medic gestured to the rebar pole.
Pulling his saber from his belt, Anakin ignited the red blade and
held onto the end pointing up of the rebar as he cut the lower part
off at the indicated length before extinguishing his blade and
focusing the Force to the other side of rebar coming out of the
others back, snapping it off so Obi-Wan was no longer pinned.
He knew why Pink was not just pulling it out, knew that if he did,
Obi-Wan would just bleed to death in moments.
But it still hurt to see the other like this, hurt to see his omega
Pink waved over to some of his vods, both of them hurrying over with
“Can you transport him safely?” Anakin rumbled deeply, his voice
almost a strained growl.
“Yes sir, the rebar was the only thing keeping us here as we didn’t
have the cutting tools avalible, we’ll have the medics on standby
the moment we arrive and use the emergency traffic lane giving us
priority.” Pink nodded, staring up at him. “But perhaps…you
would be able to lift him better then we could, more stability and
The Sith nodded at that and hooked his blade back on his belt,
waiting for the two clones to get the hover stretcher completely
ready before slowly and carefully lifting Obi-Wan.
He still gasped with pain, unseeing green eyes opening in response as
the redhead gurgled and Force Anakin never wanted to hear that again
as Obi-Wan suddenly coughed up blood as he was placed down on the
Pink was instantly rushing Obi-Wan off before Anakin could say
anything and then he was gone with Obi-Wan.
Slowly Lord Vader turned and looked at a still furious looking Appo
and a pale lipped Tarkin who looked blank faced but the Sith could
feel the mans fear beneath the mask the other was sporting.
“What.Happened?” He snarled lowly, all alphas tensing and omegas
all over itching to expose their throats in surrender.
Even the betas were uncomfortable at Vader’s oppressive being at
“Grand Moff Tarkin deemed it best to shoot Master Kenobi down and
had his guards do so.” Appo answered promptly, his voice tight.
All Clones had very detailed and specific orders when it came to
Obi-Wan. No lethal force to be used and they would not dare to
disobey such and order directly about Lord Vader’s mate.
Appo gestured up towards the broken floor under construction above
them. “Master Kenobi fell, straight down towards the platform from
forty meters above and hit the ground hard but he was still moving…
until the rebar hit him along with some of the debris that came
down.” The commander told him without hesitation.
“To be fair, he is a Jedi and is a trai-” Tarkin’s hands
scrambled to his throat, clawing at it for air as Vader stared at
“He.is.my.mate.” The blond alpha snarled, tempted to just
snap the others neck, the dragon beneath his skin snarling in
agreement at the threat to his mate.
But the Emperor still needed Tarkin and with a disgusted snarl he let
the other go “You only still draw breath because of your usefulness
to the Empire, do not mistake this for mercy Tarkin.” He snarled
and then he twirled around on his heel to meet Piett and Appo’s
gaze. “The medical center. Now.” He said shortly before he headed
for the ship he had arrived in, raw anger enough to make any alpha
bow for him as he boarded his ship.
Another bathroom completed! I was quite happy with how this tile arrangement worked out. At first I wasn’t sure how the Delorean Grey would look next to the gold glass tiles, but it brought all the colors together beautifully! Now, I’m onto my next bathroom creation. 🐻🛀🤾
#jimjam #walls #floor #tile #glass #design #interiordesign #interior #work #workflow #passion #perfection #bathroom #bath #creative #brown #gold #grey #custom #sweat #home #house #renovation #construction #industry #workhard #art #instadaily #instagood #instagram
There was no witness to that moment.
It was possible they themselves did not register it.
Not Shizuo, who had transformed on a systemic level to destroy the man before his eyes at once -
And not Izaya, who had kept his rationality as a human.
It was before dawn, on the roof of a building mid-construction.
Without even a clear beginning, the fight to the death began.
On some level, to the two of them, with their years-long grudge, this death match was a clear marker of the end.
context, it could be said this start was somewhat anticlimactic.
But keeping in mind that the reason for their mutual hate in the first place was simply that they could not stand one another,
perhaps that was only a natural turn of events.
A grand fight to the death, discrediting the repeated claims, from their schooling years, that fighting would improve their
It was a fight in a spirit far less pure than those of duelists, without the slightest respect for their respective opponents. And now as well, in this fight to the death that began before sunrise
Still, the two of them held no respect or the like towards one another; there was no friendly acknowledgment of the other as a
worthy opponent. Which was why, now they met again, on the top floor of this unfinished building, no conversation whatsoever occurred between
The call made by Izaya as Heiwajima Shizuo ascended the building.
That was the only verbal exchange that occurred before they tried to kill one another.
A little more than ten seconds ago.
As Shizuo slowly opened the door to the construction site on the top floor -
The scent of gasoline vapor reached his nose.
And next he noticed it was wafting from the liquid flowing at his feet.
But Shizuo did not show any particular anxiety.
Even in the next moment, as flames consumed his surroundings, Shizuo‟s expression did not change in the slightest.
It was not that he had foreseen this; neither had he devised a plan of escape on the spot.
The rage repressed in his body had numbed his common sense as a person.
Wordlessly, he tore the door he had just opened off its hinges, and stamped down on it with his full strength.
That was all he did.
But this action, done with his extraordinary strength, smothered the flames that were spreading at his feet, and the resulting air
pressure pushed back the air that was feeding in from the surroundings.
The fire, riding on the whirling air, seemed to dance.
With the door he had just kicked down as a lever, he leapt, breaking the swirl of flames by pure force. Part of his clothes had caught fire, but he was able to leap out of the fire‟s range before it could spread.
And then, before the damage from heat and oxygen deprivation could even take its toll on Shizuo’s body -
Metal beams, hooked on a crane, rushed toward Shizuo like a pendulum.
In the face of the incoming metal beams that could easily crush a family car - Shizuo‟s expression remained unchanged.
From when he had deflected a forklift truck earlier, Shizuo‟s right arm had hung limply.
But anger numbed the pain, and even common sense.
Shizuo swung his remaining arm from below, and met the metal beams with what was, essentially, an uppercut.
On the moment of impact, the metal was crushed, and the floor of the construction site around Shizuo‟s feet gave off a twisted
The metal beams, deflected, slipped from their cables, and fell into an area in the construction site.
Shizuo‟s eyes turned to where they fell, and there they rested on the figure of one man.
Completely still, even as the metal beams fell right next to him, was Izaya.
He was similarly undisturbed by the changes in the situation, but unlike Shizuo was, firstly, the cruel smile fixed on his face; and
the fact that he had just enough rationality to kill a person calculatedly.
Though from Izaya‟s point of view, he had no intention at all to kill a “person”.
And the curtains rose on Izaya‟s monster extermination.
It was not that the monster was bad, nor Izaya righteous.
To begin with, this fight to the death held no meaning by the standards of good and evil.
For the two of them were, in their own ways, fairly displaced from the concepts of good and evil.
Their internal, subconscious restraints ended, they merely faced one another.
They had not even tried to kill one another up till now.
That had only been something like a greeting.
Facing off, glaring at one another -
Murderous intent collected between the two, and erupted all at once.
Who made the first move?
The moment none could answer afterwards arrived.
Without a clear trigger, the fight to the death began.
As the air that had simmered - came to a boil.
Declaring yourself not to be an antisemite isn’t enough
Every now and then I search “antisemitism” on tumblr and I always find some isolated “I’m anti-zionist not antisemitic” post filled with commentary on how “not all Jews support Israel” and “Israel doesn’t speak on behalf of all Jews” and “blah blah blah.” These are declarative statements meant to seem oh, so profound and meaningful. But every time I check these peoples’ blogs they virtually never decry antisemitism outside of bashing antisemitic celebrities they already don’t like for other reasons or bashing Nazis who are such easy targets that they almost don’t count.
But the thing is they don’t actually study antisemitism. They don’t know what it is outside of Nazis or someone saying “fuck the Jews.” They don’t understand how leftist anti-semitism has long been powerful and virulent and intractable and that it often takes the language of social justice, anti-imperialism and anti-capitalism. August Bebel declared antisemitism to be the “socialism of fools” because scapegoating Jews for all the problems in the world can look like “fighting the powers that be” to the uneducated. This leads to a disproportionate and ugly focus on Jews as the boogie-men for all the world’s wrongs.
Hate economic inequality? Jewish bankers are responsible. Hate western foreign policy? Blame the “Jewish lobby.” Don’t like the media? The Jews own it. Don’t like pop culture? The Jews own that, too.
The thing is, by focusing excessively on Jews you ignore major, complex issues with numerous causes requiring profound social change and choose an easy scapegoat to focus on instead. Kicking Jewish bankers out of the industry won’t eliminate the industry. No matter how much you might want to believe otherwise, Israel didn’t create ISIS. Rupert Murdoch isn’t Jewish. And while Jews are very active and influential in American popular culture, it’s in large part because we’ve been there from the foundations of Broadway, Comics and Hollywood because they weren’t thought of as “respectable” forms of art until they turned out to be successful, at which point we get demonized for being there on the ground floors of buildings we constructed ourselves.
If your only posts about antisemitism are about how you aren’t antisemitic, then you are tacitly supporting antisemitism and talking over Jews about what it is.
Stop it with the pre-emptive defenses. They make you look guilty. Learn what antisemitism is. Fight it. Don’t tolerate it around you. Your actions prove you aren’t an antisemite, not your isolated declarations. If you are accused of antisemitism, and you think it’s unjust, respond with evidence of you actually fighting antisemitism. Don’t tokenize Jews. Don’t offer alternate definitions of antisemitism. Don’t blame it all on white supremacists (whose antisemitism you never acknowledge, thus tacitly supporting it). Don’t duck the issue by making the accusation of antisemitism into an offense while actual antisemitism remains unchallenged in your movements.
You’ve earned our skepticism. You have to earn our trust. Get to work.
House of mirrors: Around
the cabin of his parents, visionary Clarence Schmidt built himself an
enormous nine floor construction which he named House of Mirrors. The
neighbours in the remote Woodstock area didn’t appreciate his
building skills and within a few years it burned down under
mysterious circumstances. Schmidt didn’t give up, and started
constructing House of Mirrors 2 around his car. This second building
also burned down in a suspicious way and he left the area never to
live in a house again.
طائر مينا كان يقلد الأصوات في النافذة، لكن هرب خوفًا عندما إقتربت بالهاتف لتسجيله. قلد صوت الكلب (إتخيل فقط دهشتي عندما سمعت صوت نباح خارج النافذة تمامًا) ثم أصوات أجهزة البناء، فعرفت أنه من طيور المينا المنتشرة في المنطقة لأنها تجيد تقليد الأصوات.
A mynah bird that was mimicking sounds in my window (just imagine my shock when I heard a dog’s barking directly outside my window on the fourth floor), then some construction sounds, when I realized what it was… there are many mynah birds in the area and they are very good mimics!
Summary: Kevin x Reader. The reader tries to take Kevin’s mind of his translation work by letting him revel in the childish innocence of pillow forts.
Word Count: 1490
Y/N = Your name Y/L/N = Your last name
Two dates in one night Oo I’m feeling productive today!
This is the fifth story in a series of Date Night stories leading up to Valentines Day. Dates that are a bit different from your normal dinner and movie dates with some of the Supernatural characters. If you have an idea for a cool date idea or want a specific character please tell me!
Kevin Tran needed a break. You knew it, and the Winchesters knew it, though they’d never admit it considering how badly they needed that tablet translated. The only one who didn’t seem to notice was Kevin himself; he was so lost in trying to translate the tablet that he seemed to have no idea that time was even passing. And it was starting to worry you. He never slept, barely ate and the circles under his eyes seemed a little darker and more defined every time you saw him.
So when the boys left for a hunt you took the chance to drag Kevin away from his tablet for a little while. Even if you had to force him to put the damn thing down… At first you’d planned on just snuggling up with a movie and falling asleep on the couch, but it soon became apparent that that wouldn’t work as you walked in to drag the guy away from his piece of rock. Empty coffee cups and a few cans of red bull that he’d probably taken from your room were strewn across the table. He clearly wouldn’t go to sleep anytime soon, and a movie was definitely not going to take his mind of the tablet. This demanded more, creative, solutions.
ren and pyrrha leave hair in the sink and jaune and nora complain but r and p keep forgetting to clean it after brushing their long voluminous hair.
jaune keeps a box of cereal under his bed and nora has a candy stash; ren has witnessed and sworn himself to secrecy whenever the both of them need their fix. unfortunately both of them ( j and n ) know about each other’s stash, and know that ren knows, but ren keeps to himself and doesn’t tell either that they’re stealing from each other.
ren has a bad habit of disappearing to the roof around one to four am, but only nora knows about it and sometimes joins him for midnight picnics. jaune only learns about the severity of ren’s sleeping issues post vol 3, until then there was no explanation for his fatigue.
pyrrha tried to establish a chore system in the beginning but it fell apart two weeks into the year. ren still does his chores though, and jaune will do it in sporadic bursts.
pyrrha: designated dad, ren: designated mommy.
nora has a bunch of stuff she just collects, and if you hit her at any random time and ordered her to empty her pockets/backpack you’d find really strange non—context stuff, ie. biography of general ironwood, three shiny rocks, some uncooked pasta noodles, a notepad filled with nothing but the word ‘fibonacci’ written over and over, a green feather boa, and an ear of corn + swimming in a sea of glitter.
*jnpr get a lot of noise complaints, disruptions complains, and fire hazard complaints.
ren has a bunch of plants on his side of the dorm; and he can’t get that he has enough and they’re starting to breach over into other bed territory and it attracts birds when the window’s open but you can’t stop him, his plants are his babies, he will fight you to the death over them.
pyrrha and ren watch too much netflix. ren also watches daytime tv; his favourites being ‘say yes to the dress’, ‘judge judy’, ‘forensic files’, ‘ready, steady, cook’, and ‘how clean is your house’.
the most used shared item in the dorm room is a portable vacuum which is currently filled with sprinkles.
*if a ‘the floor is made of lava’ game starts in jnpr dorm, it is guaranteed to spread into the hallway and into the other dorms, and across the entire building until professor goodwitch tells them to stop.
ren and nora are notorious for sleeping in places they shouldn’t, eg. other people’s beds, closets, desks, on the floor, in constructed pillow forts, in the bathroom, etc.
*these are the instances that are detention-worthy, accounting for the canonical fact that they are regularly yelled at by glynda.
ren and nora both utilise the student common rooms and it’s kitchen, but while ren’s baking attracts people, the experiments that nora leaves in the fridge does not
pyrrha is the person outsiders go to if someone from jn_r gets in trouble, sometimes rwby too.
nora has a sticker obsession, mostly awarding them for good behaviour, attitude, or if it’s sunny outside; and they’re found throughout the entire floor but no one actually sees nora applying them.
contraband in the jnpr dorm (by order of sheriff pyrrha) are: forks, x-ray and vav comics, any form of oreo product, pumpkin pete’s marshmallow flakes cereal, gardening shears, magnifying glasses, clicky pens, any form of bubble tea with pearls, anything relating to the grudge franchise, light up sneakers, and anything flammable (save for weapon related gear + incendiary dust)
they make it a point to have dinner (mostly pizza) in the cafeteria every tuesday together; it’s a tradition.
they take their laundry down on mondays because it’s less crowded, and they mostly all do this as a group, and because their clothes were stolen the first time, they camp out on the laundromat floor and play card games; mostly uno.
if nora gets angry enough she will not hesitate to throw possessions out the window.
ren and pyrrha are playing jenga with their novels and the stack is not safe at all.
another team jnpr tradition is joint breakfast cereal and saturday morning cartoons, exempt only during exam week.
all of team jnpr has attended exam week wearing their pyjamas; pyrrha at least pairs tights/yoga pants with a cute sweater and sneakers, so she at least managed to look stylish, while during the same exam ren was using a massive scarf as a blanket and jaune threw boots and a hoodie over his footie pyjamas.
because of his natural ninja stealth, ren has unintentionally walked in on all his teammates doing embarrassing stuff, ie. jaune flexing in the mirror, nora trying on a combination of her teammates clothes, and pyrrha looking at pics of jaune’s butt (sent via nora)
ren has a bad neko atsume addiction and checks every ten seconds for peaches. it’s reached the point where nora has to confiscate it during study sessions and during movies because he forgets to to put the damn volume down while they’re watching; and it really breaks the immersion to watch the titanic with neko atsume bg in the background.
jaune is the main cuddle pile ingredient; it started when he was playing video games, and nora used his lap for a pillow, and ren flopped over nora’s stomach, and pyrrha leant her head on jaune’s shoulder, resting legs over ren’s knees. since then the four of them can rest together on the floor or a bed but it normally starts with jaune, who is the least likely to get awkward about it and complain.
ren’s occasional journal is written in traditional chinese, and sometime’s he’ll leave notes around his side of the room directed at himself, but; other members of jnpr ask ruby and yang what they mean sometimes, mostly they’re just reminders like: buy milk, or return weiss’ grimm anatomy notes. the others leave notes for themselves too in their respective languages; french, greek, and norwegian.
jaune and ren are the first to break when the wifi disappears.
pyrrha and ren started a braid train with yang, blake, and weiss once and since then the both of them will braid and style each other’s hair; sometimes to help the other get ready in the morning while they eat/read the news/etc. ren’s specialty is fishtail braids, and pyrrha makes really cute space buns.
nora cannot stop coming in through the window.
pyrrha’s an astronomy nerd and has stuck glow in the dark stars to her lamp, table, and side of the room. ren hung star wind chimes near the window for her (and sometimes to announce nora’s arrival).
*one time jaune and nora started a pillow/blanket fortress that spread throughout the entire floor.
pyrrha and ren schedule tea parties and campus picnics, they’re also the default duo for late night maccas and starbucks runs.
ren and jaune are the ones that scream and hop onto the beds when there are bugs in the room, nora and pyrrha take care of it most of the time.
Assalamu alaikum everyone. I pray you’re all well. So a lot of us (Muslims) pray 5 times a day alhamdulillah. But how many of us know the translation? We recite surats while praying salat like robots (and wallah by no means am I trying to discourage you… you’re still fulfilling your duty). But wouldn’t it be nice if we knew what we were praying? We knew what we were talking to Allah swt about? We knew what we were asking for?
There’s a surat in the Qur’an (the one I just reblogged), Surat Al-`Asr (103) meaning Time* I think. It’s very short and so a surat most of us are likely to have memorised. But what does this surat actually entail?
Imam Shafi held-that if God had only revealed this surat it would have been sufficient for the guidance of all humankind. It summarised the very essence of the Qur'anic message. Thus, Imam Shafi asserts that if one followed its counsel, it was enough for mankind to achieve success in life.
وَالْعَصْرِ - By time, | Allah swt is swearing by time (showing us the importance of what’s being revealed)
إِنَّ الْإِنسَانَ لَفِي خُسْرٍ - Indeed, mankind is in loss,
إِلَّا الَّذِينَ آمَنُوا وَعَمِلُوا الصَّالِحَاتِ وَتَوَاصَوْا بِالْحَقِّ وَتَوَاصَوْا بِالصَّبْرِ - Except for those who have believed and done righteous deeds and advised each other to truth and advised each other to patience.
Imaam Shafi maintains that, “time is a sword, if you do not cut it then it will cut you”. Then it would stand to reason that one that wastes time, is constantly being slaughtered by time itself.
Why is this the case? The main reason for us wasting time is because we are being deceived by this dun; we are being deceived by this world and its affairs. Uthman bin Affan, the 3rd caliphate of Islam, he mentions that absorption in worldly affairs breeds darkness in the heart, and absorption in the akhirah, in the next world enkindles light in the heart. (taken from a khutbah)
You’ll notice that we come to this world with nothing worldly. That’s exactly how we will leave. You will leave this dunya with nothing as you entered it with nothing. Many people (including myself) think that yeah I’ll get on my deen once my exams are done, once I’ve graduated, once I’ve settled down with a family, once I’m retired… once I’m older but not now. This is the shaytan whispering in your ears. What guarantee do we have that we will live to see tomorrow? Do you have anyway to guarantee you’ll wake up tomorrow? Do I have any guarantee that I won’t pass away while writing these? No. None of us do. Yet we deceive our minds telling us that we will fulfil our responsibilities to Allah swt when we are older. You’ve all heard the saying old habits die hard? So make the changes you have to now. Build a good character now. Be more pious now. The older you get, the harder it will be. And wallah I’m not trying to discourage anyone older reading this. You have time to change! Allah swt is the Most Gracious, Most Merciful. If you make a commitment inshallah He will guide you. And I have seen many people change for the better once they are older subhanallah. But to my younger brothers and sisters. WHAT GUARANTEE DO YOU HAVE THAT YOU WILL LIVE TO SEE THAT DAY? Think of your deen as an apartment. You don’t jump to the 3rd floor when constructing. You have to lay the foundation first. Once the foundation is set and strong, you start constructing bottom up. If the foundation is weak, the apartment will crumble when there’s an earthquake, as will your faith. This is how Islam is. Inshallah we need to all make a collective effort to incorporate it into our daily lives as soon as possible. Inshallah let us not wait to start fulfilling our obligations to Allah swt. Let us not waste time thinking about what a good Muslim should be. Let us become one. We need to hold ourselves accountable before we are called to account on the Day of Judgement. Ameen.
Please note this is advice to me first and foremost so inshallah pray that I can act upon my words. I apologise if I have misquoted or misinterpreted anything (please do tell me). I’m sorry if I have offended anyone or spoken out of place. I hope this was useful to some of my non-Muslim followers too. May Allah swt guide us all to the right path.
Maybe some Tony at Clint's farm bonding with Clint's tiny smaller agents?
Laura wasn’t apparently kidding when she said the tractor was shot, so somehow Tony ends up back at that godforsaken farm, fixing every piece of technology in sight.
Never let it be said that Tony Stark doesn’t care for his friends. And isn’t offended by broken tech.
He’s gone through their tractor, their piece of shit car, their television, and their sad excuse for a laptop, and just when he assumed he could leave, Laura hustles him onto the couch with a big glass of lemonade and a smile.
Clint would’ve let Tony leave. But Clint is apparently helping Natasha out, training the New Avengers.
Tony tries not to think about that.
He’s drinking the lemonade when little people walk up to him. The smaller agents. They’ve been remarkably quiet–aren’t little agents always loud and annoying?–and Tony almost forgot they were here.
Tony has no idea what to do with little agents. None whatsoever. Seriously; he never had the best example in the parenting department, and he took care of the issue for himself years and years ago, lest he ever accidentally follow in their footsteps. It’s not for him. Before Barton, he didn’t even really know anyone who had kids.
The baby isn’t there at least, although that might just be because the baby can’t walk. At what age do children learn to walk? Tony can’t remember. It’s probably not three months.
“Hello?” Tony tries. Maybe they communicate like regular people. It can’t hurt to try.
“Hi,” the girl says brightly.
“Daddy says you build robots,” the boy says, looking at Tony with bright eyes, and Tony knows the boy, young and isolated all the way out here, doesn’t know what happened, doesn’t know why Tony flinches, because Tony’s built DUM-E and U and Butterfingers, but of course, Ultron. His greatest fuckup, probably, which is saying a lot.
“Not anymore,” he says harshly, and the kids flinch at that, and there’s enough decency in Tony to feel bad at making kids flinch–Tony doesn’t hate kids, doesn’t want to pop balloons and steal candy and make them cry, he’s not a damn monster, he just doesn’t know what he’s doing–but he can’t take his words back. Wouldn’t change them anyways. Not anymore.
“Daddy says you build other stuff too,” the girl offers cautiously after a minute. “Like phones.”
“And ‘puters,” the boy says.
Tony nods, because he does do that, even if he doesn’t really build them himself. He could, he designed them, that’s what counts.
“Towers,” the girl adds. “Daddy says you built a tower.”
That he did too. Technically he didn’t build it, contractors and construction crews did that, but again, the design totally counts. If the engineer doesn’t get the structural integrity down, nothing else can come next. So he built a tower. Big one, bold one, empty now, useless. He tries not to think about that too.
“Build one with us?” the boy asks.
Tony blinks. “Build…a tower…here?” he asks, as if I-beams and scaffolding are going to appear outside the window.
The kid points to the legos on the floor.
Tony’s never played with Legos.
“Alright,” he says. “Bet we can build a da–dang good tower.”
When Clint gets home, dinner is long since over, and Tony’s on the floor, dictating construction of a lego tower so tall it requires standing on the couch to add more pieces to. He rambles about engineering as he goes, and the kids giggle the whole time, obediently helping to build the tallest, most structurally sound tower anyone’s ever built of Legos.