Nothing should really break you and sadden you except being faraway from Allah, You can knock at every door seeking happiness and peace of mind. Be certain that no one will truly give them to you except your Creator.
لا شيء يستحق أن يكسرك ويُحزنك إلا بُعدك عن الله، بإمكانك أن تطرق كل الأبواب باحثاً عن السعادةِ وراحة البال، كُن أكيداً أنه لا أحد يُعطيك إياهما بحق إلا خالقك.
‘’after traveling to the States, i realized you came from a faraway country to join got7. i’m really thankful for you and we will treat you better. i’m really thankful for the time we are spending together. every moment is precious!’’ - kim yugyeom
Word Count: 1.3K Pairing: Peter Parker x Reader (No gender specified) Summary: After Peter recounts the events of his fight with Captain America and his team, confessions are made. Warnings: None. A/N: I wrote this today because I wanted to take my mind off of the other things I’m writing that have backstories and more complicated plots– which means that this is fluff and a lil angst and then fluff again.
You’re sitting cross-legged on Peter’s bed, running your fingers through his hair while he rests his head on your lap. He’s talking animatedly, and from the faraway look in his eyes you can see that he’s lost in his own memories.
“And Bucky Barnes had this super cool metal arm and I touched it! And the Falcon had this awesome drone that threw me out the window and there was this man that Mr. Stark said was called Ant-Man who was like, super tiny.”
“Like an ant?” You ask, straining your face muscles to stop yourself from smiling. He stops talking and gives you an unamused look.
“Yes, obviously. Anyway–” He moves to sit up and you take your hands off his hair. “Spread your legs.” Your eyes widen in surprise and you laugh out loud.
“Damn, chivalry sure is dead.” You say in amusement– but the joke takes a couple of seconds to land on Peter. Once it does, his eyes widen and he blushes furiously– jerking back and lifting his hands up, shaking his head.
“I didn’t mean it like that! I– I just wanted to sit between your legs!” You fall back against his pillow, laughing heartily.
“I know, babe. Come here.” You manage to say once you’ve controlled yourself. You sit back and spread your legs, opening your arms for him. He covers his face and sighs exaggeratedly before moving at a snail’s pace towards you until he’s finally sitting in front of you, leaning back against your chest.
There was a grandpa who taught me cello. A grandpa with a white beard. I first found a cello in the storage room. I was touching it, then he came to tell me “You know, this musical instrument was born in a place called Venice in the 1700s. Musical instruments live longer than humans. They are older than you. They are also older than me.”
I was shocked “This is something that’s even older than my grandpa, that came from an unknown faraway country and now it’s by my side.”
My grandpa held my hands in his and taught me how to hold a cello. The cello was too big in my hands. For some reason, it was so poignant. I felt like I was being protected.
Had it already been thirty-four days since last you graced me with your ethereal presence? You come and go as you please, or so it seems. Though there are recurring circumstances that make me wonder about the haphazardness of your most cherished visits. When you arrive, more than a thought, yet less than physically present. Touchable, yet only if I focus on the buzzing energy resonating from your faraway core of your being. When I focus on that energy, becoming pure, loving, and wholesome; finding my own core of being in the process, I turn to become soul. Then, I always find yours. Then, you are always close. Alas, time has proven my mind to often be too perturbed to reach this state of existence. This openhearted, open-minded, open armed; doubtless, thoughtless, worry free state of existence. Regrettably, I must admit it still tends to strike my worried heart as carelessly naive. For unconditional belief in all good things to come makes us turn a blind eye to preventable hardship, rendering future woe foolishly self-inflicted. Be that as it may, I am at an impasse, for focusing on potential mishaps as a means to take precautionary measures will inevitably create the odd down-spiraled self-fulfilling prophecy. Alas, the only truth here seems to be that the irony of living is cruel and unforgiving. For the time being though, let us entertain the idea that clouded thoughts beget darkness, and sparkling thoughts beget light. Because it would explain why amid my being’s brightest incandescence; the calm of mental and spiritual serenity, you arrive ethereally. Emitting that buzzing energy from the core of your being which makes your presence become almost tangible as I feel your love; as I feel you are love, embodied. A feeling of love so strong it reminds me who I am when I am relieved of dark shrouds and scar tissue. Ah, forgive me, dear Melody. Scarce have become the days when I am able to carry the space between my atoms and embrace all in the highest atmosphere. I fear that in your absence I have become a mere product of desperate craving, preoccupied with the woe and rage of yearning. Shrouded. Unreachable. Scarce have become the days that I have felt you so near; that you occupied the space between my atoms, and I automatically occupied the space between yours. Naturally, for ever since we first time reached that sacred place, we had found to be the same in our being’s core; that we share this home of love and both call it our soul. Forgive me, scarce have become the days that I find myself able to embody love. Yet there is hope. There are still dreams, there are still serene days and nights; starlit skies and buzzing days, where I am small and grand at once. Expanding infinitely, yet infinitely small in the separate specks of stardust which combined construct my body. Naked, vulnerable, and welcoming; accepting and grateful for it all. Yes, there are still days when we can find each other. Days when our energy carries us to that highest atmosphere where we have our shared home. Where last night you visited me ethereally and held me close. Where you told me you saw me wholly, and remembered why you first fell in love with me. Where I felt seen in my forgotten self, and loved profusely for what I am, and always was. It was where I allowed myself to break and cry for the first time since years. For the first time ever since you left me. They were tears of joy, tears of everlasting love.
yo becca since your requests are open i’m gonna kindly request you a sinful sub pcy smut, like submissive SUB SJGKHK hit me up with something that’s really faraway from daddy like… call him kitten idk, a good domme pleasing her big baby boy??? thank you~~~~~ 😘
Word count: 1693 Genre: Smut. There’s zero sweetener on this one. Warnings: Don’t read if you’re a minor.
Kimi’s Instagram Update: Hey, I’m KIMI from BULLDOK I can’t reply all of your messages and letters but i really feel thanks to all of it and those make me happy! And I’m doing good❤ I’m not good at english but I’ll try hard until I can communicate easily. Thanks for all your interest even though u guys are faraway from me. And for the end I LOVE YOU TOO❤❤
We tell ourselves stories in order to live, or to justify taking lives, even our own, by violence or by numbness and the failure to live; tell ourselves stories that save us and stories that are the quicksand in which we thrash and the well in which we drown, stories of justification, of accursedness, of luck and star-crossed love, or versions clad in the cynicism that is at times a very elegant garment. Sometimes the story collapses, and it demands that we recognize we’ve been lost, or terrible, or ridiculous, or just stuck; sometimes change arrives like an ambulance or a supply drop. Not a few stories are sinking ships, and many of us go down with these ships even when the lifeboats are bobbing all around us.
— Rebecca Solnit, from “Apricots,” The Faraway Nearby (Penguin Books, 2013)
Just because you can take a picture of it doesn’t make it real. Or the truth….
Christmas in Ireland with the wife, but now off to somewhere? with the female companion…and someone from faraway NC is just conveniently in the London airport and standing in that exact same security line out of literally all the other lines in all the many terminals…what are the odds of that, really??
…just way tooooo convenient. And just waaaaaay too expected too.
Oh, I do hope the suits are sending them someplace nice. My bet is Switzerland- it’s lovely this time of year, and very chic. A great place to get “spotted” too. Wouldn’t do, otherwise, no?
Barry is cursed to be a monster by Eobard as payback for rejecting his advances and tricked into thinking he is responsible for the murder of his parents. So, kind-hearted and true spirited Barry Allen flees his homeland to hide faraway from his shame and the hatred of the people that once loved him. At first he tries to greet travelers, most of whom take one look at his vaguely draconic visage and scream and leave piles of gold and treasure in tribute before running away. And so Barry is alone, afraid to show his face and unable to bear any more screams.
It is many years before he meets Leonard Snart and his roving gang of bandits. Leonard Snart, infamous throughout the land for being as hideous on the inside as Barry now is on the outside, takes one look at Barry and decides that this monster with a kind heart would be a good addition to his Rogues, for who would dare attack when he has this on his side? And Barry goes along with him even though he doesn’t want to be a criminal because being alone is worse. And he’s not alone anymore, he’s got…friends.
Mick likes that Barry can breathe fire. Mardon likes that Barry can sense impending storms. Lisa is delighted when Barry gives them access to the stores of gold that he’s amassed. Hartley likes that Barry can sit with him quietly for long periods of time without becoming bored. Axel likes that Barry will stay up all night with him to reassure him that nothing bad is going to happen while the others sleep.
And Len, well, Len doesn’t quite know what to think of this beast with soft voice and fiercely protective nature. He still robs people, and hurts people, but Barry’s bleeding heart seems to be rubbing off on him. On all of the Rogues, really. They rob from the wealthy, from the corrupt, and give it back to those who deserve it (after holding back a percentage for themselves), and whispers of the monster that disappeared so long ago resurface. Eobard, prolonging his youth and life through dark magic, hears of them and is enraged. He sends out a decree offering a reward for Barry’s head.
Barry is unaware of this, and is finally happy again. And then one day they’re surrounded by Eobard’s mercenaries and attacked. Len is injured before the mercenaries retreat and that is how his story of enchantment comes out, later, by the fire where Len is being treated for his wounds. Expecting to be sent away for endangering the only people who can bear the sight of him, Barry tries to flee in the night.
so I know I posted this on AO3 but I didn’t post it here, please enjoy~
Summary: MC knows that neither Saeyoung or Saeran have any fond school time memories, she aims to change this; and what better way than dressing up as a university professor for a day?
FLUFF/ college AU kinda
Saeran had always wanted to go to school. He didn’t tell anyone this but you could see it when he and Saeyoung picked you up from university. Although he rarely spoke out of turn you could tell from the faraway glimmer in his eyes something about campus life fascinated him endlessly. You had offered them a tour on one of these visits, you were in your last year there and you knew the campus well. From building to building you went, even Saeyoung seemed like he was having fun; his university life had been shortened due to his genius, so he lacked fond memories of the time. They both thoroughly enjoyed the chemistry lab, where beakers bubbled and where there were various gadgets to touch and explore. The memory was a happy one yet it saddened you slightly; these two had never once lived a normal life, surrounded by peers and laughter, it was foreign to both of them. It was then that an idea struck you, late one night at Saeyoung’s bunker- you’d bring them to university and teach a class! If they couldn’t enroll formally, for numerous reasons, then you could at least try to emulate a university experience for them. It would be a gift of sorts, the least you could do to try to alleviate the stress between the two of them and from their past lives. It required a bit of planning of course, you had to ask for permission to use a classroom, purchase some supplies for them but it would be entirely worth it. Once the dates had been set it was becoming increasingly hard not to tell them of your plan.