learn to pray


Lately there have been a lot of anons asking about memorizing surahs for salah (prayer). A sister (may Allah reward her) sent me these links as a recommendation of how to learn to memorize prayer and surahs.


Your most profound and intimate experiences of worship will likely be in your darkest days- when you’re out of options, when the pain is great and you turn to God alone. It is during suffering that we learn to pray our most authentic, heartfelt, honest-to-God prayers. When we’re in pain, we don’t have the energy for superficial prayers.

anonymous asked:

What do you think college scully was like

she was angry. too smart for her friends and her intro physics professor. unfailingly loyal. serious in a way you could mistake for apathetic if you’d never seen her with her glasses sliding down her nose, laughing at the b-horror movie playing in her best friend’s dorm. she was kind in a quiet, intuitive way that made her impossible to predict. unexpectedly, desperately brave. all too-big the clash t-shirts and half-smoked cigarettes because she liked the weight (like a scalpel between her fingers, years later, except lighter) but not the taste. in some strange, kind universe, she trades her thrift shop leather jacket for her lab partner’s jean one with the worn elbows. he’s got a dumb first name and won’t let her call him by it. his jacket feels too big on her. it feels, tucked around her collar, like the messy introduction of warmth in spring. she settles down into it and stays.

in other, sharper worlds, she trades her tangled hair for a short bob and her jacket for a blazer that missy says makes her look boxy. but when she looks at herself in a mirror - just a passing glance before an interview with a recruiter for the FBI (in her head, it sounds over-pronounced, pompous) she likes the softness of her hair around her face, a pink tint to her cheeks that reminds her of the way bill used to pinch them, fondly. she loses the smokes and the clash after that, but keeps the anger. indulges her own softness, temporarily, just for kicks. buys scented candles and an apartment with a claw foot tub and re-learns how to pray. she has never been tall. she is not quite fully grown.

in this universe, in all of them, she always remembers the things she learned before she turned twenty-four: she can still quote the exorcist backwards and forwards and tie a knot in a cherry stem with her tongue. she can recite the periodic table upside down and high as a kite. she is slyly, wickedly funny. she loves like a weapon with the safety off: fast and sharp and absolutely deadly.

she forgets, eventually, the words to london calling. but she remembers, when she wears a black blazer or a jean jacket or a printed blanket around her shoulders, the anger and the posturing and the freedom of being unfinished, incomplete. she remembers how it felt to wear her armor outside her skin.

so I stand by the fire where it’s warm but that doesn’t stop the cold from seeping in. my skin is frozen and cracking. i can’t remember a time when my hands weren’t shaking.

“your stuff is in my car”
that hurt to hear her say.

when god turned 50 he put away the Bible and picked up a pack of cigarettes. we’ve been praying to his ashes like they’re going to save us but they only leave our hands melting and empty. he found a way to silence long before we found a way to shout.

there used to be less fear. i sleep with a nightlight and stuffed animal now. the anxiety claws up my throat still but it helps, i guess, to have something to hold.

“how was he?”
“casual,” she says.

i think about how I never really learned how to pray, how I never really learned how to confess. my sins hang heavy on my tongue but I keep my mouth closed.
there’s no heaven left anyway. no one is listening.

—  he’s a dead ringer for a saint but so is the devil– lily rain
Driving lessons


Reiji - He easily learns how to drive; just pray that he won’t be your driving instructor

Ruki - He’s an aristocrat who knows how to ride a horse; driving a car should be child’s play or so he thought

Needs more practice

Ayato - Would have been a better driver if he is willing to yield his right of way when necessary

Laito - Too busy thinking about car sex; otherwise, he is a good driver.

Carla - The poor old demon just has a hard time handling human technology.


Shu - Easily falls asleep while driving.

Yuma - Breaks the steering wheel and/or gear stick

Kanato - Yells the crap out of the driving instructor

Kou - Panics at the sight of an incoming car (even though the other car is in the opposite lane

Shin - Keeps crashing into walls and posts

Azusa - Intentionally keeps crashing into walls and posts

Subaru -  He is a damn car the very definition of road rage

Kino - “Yuuri! You’re driving too slow! Hurry up!”

HDAGHDDGH I hope “kino making yuri do everything” is the new fuckin meme in these types of posts

I am still confident that ruki cant drive tho

I’m gonna be starting school again soon. I’m really nervous…!!!

Fascination V

Fascination Master List [5/?]

A hysterical bubble of laughter peels from your lips, your trembling hands finally slipping and the dagger hits the ground. The clang against the flooring is loud, echoing in the space and everyone is staring at you. But you can’t stop the hysteria, the feeling is so foreign and unusual in your chest you don’t know what else to do other than laugh.

“This isn’t,” You struggle for the words, struggle to get them past the laughter that keeps slipping out. A pained laughter that expresses a lot of things to others but remains foreign to you, their pained looks only making the gut sinking feeling worse. “This is a joke, if I’m connected to Lucifer why am I hearing about this now? I wasn’t born yesterday but I sure as hell wasn’t around before he fell.”

It didn’t make sense, you didn’t want it to make sense.

The pained expression was on God’s face again and there was a spark of rage that burned angry tears against your eyes because you knew he was about to say more. Now, now you didn’t want to know what he had to say.

“If you returned to heaven, your soul would heal and you would continue to suffer because of my mistake, because of the connection. I didn’t.. I didn’t want that for you, so I.. You’re an exception, you.. There is no afterlife for you, when you die your soul is reincarnated into another body. It keeps you from hell, from purgatory and from heaven, which with your connection, would be no different than hell.”

You could barely breathe at the news, how many lifetimes had you lived? How many times have you died, been reborn on this forsaken world, learned about God and prayed each night that whenever you died you’d be taken to heaven? That you were sorry to God because of how indifferent you felt to his creations, to everything and he was the cause of it all?

Something wet trails down your face and your hand reaches up to wipe it away, and then at the salty taste on your lips as another makes its way down you realize you’re crying. Were you hurt? Why were you reacting like this, why couldn’t you feel?

“[Name]-” Chuck takes a step toward you, a pained expression of a parent having told their child awful news and wishing to consolidate them. But you react much differently than he plans, your body seizes with anger and you take a step back, away from him.

“No, nonono-”

“[Name], I’m sorry I did this because I thought- I thought it was the best.”

No,” The anger is there, not because of you, but because of that connection you are able to reach into the angel behind you and tap into his ability to feel. The anger is roared to life in your veins and you take another step back, bumping into the fallen angel who tilts his head down to watch the interaction between the two of you. “You don’t get to apologize. I prayed-” You started, voice cracking and you knew your body was in anguish, people had described the physical pain from it. It had to be that. “I prayed every single night to you, hoping that tomorrow would go okay, that you would forgive me for my apathy toward everything you had created. Toward you. But-but it was you all along, you are the reason I was-am like this.”

“[Name], please.” His voice is soft, the hurt look on his face. He hadn’t wanted this for you, hadn’t wanted it to turn out like this - it was his mistake and he couldn’t fix it without hurting or even destroying you. How could anyone ask him to kill one of his own children?

“If there’s no afterlife for me then what’s the point?” You bite out, the anger is there taken from Lucifer and your hands are threading through your hair. Pulling down at the strands to feel pain anywhere but the throbbing in your chest. “What am I even trying for? I don’t get to go to heaven. My choices are hell, which is no different, and Purgatory? How are those options any different than what I’ve been doing? How is any of that- any of this fair? I get to relive this shitty fucking existence while everyone I know gets to move on?! So what, when they die I’m just- fucking- reborn back into this fucking endless cycle?!”

You throw your hand gesturing toward the Winchester brothers who are shocked silent, unable to come to your defense, unable to say anything.

“My options are here, hell, purgatory or simply not existing. Great, thanks.”

The impressed whistle behind you has you taking a startled step away from the devil, turning to face across from the Winchesters with God on your right and Lucifer on your left. Rubbing furiously at the tears that continue to unwillingly drip from your eyes even though you can’t feel anything but a painful ache with no reason.

“Wow,” Lucifer finally says, voice dripping with satisfaction and amusement that makes the expression on Chuck’s face hard, frustrated, and upset. “Way to screw this up big time. Were you ever planning to tell her, let her remember? Or just keep her in the dark because she’s your failed creation.”

Your breath catches in your throat at the accusation.

Failed creation.

“Can you feel that anger?” He is smiling at God, “She’s getting that from me, I have to say, I feel kind of proud. Though I have to wonder, exactly what kind of connection did you give us that you can’t rid of it?” Lucifer turns on his heel to face you, and God’s vessel looks horrified.


The devil points his finger at you and it’s like an explosion inside your body. Agonizing and exhilarating at the same time. Fire burning through your veins, and you realize just how helpless people really are, how dangerous angels were - how they didn’t decimate everything down to the ground simply because God didn’t want them to.

The scream rips past your throat, the fire burning against your very core, hands clutching over your chest as you stumble back a step with knees buckling together. The pain focuses, centers against your back and you feel the skin peeling. Blood dripping down and with a powerful and hot gust of air you collapse to your knees. The anger that had been thrumming through your veins extinguished, in the wake of the power the large ruined wings of Lucifer’s burned into the ground behind you. Scattered burn marks of feathers all around you, similar to the way angels left their mark on the ground when they died.

But these were Lucifer’s, you knew by the way the burn marks on the ground were mangled, shredded and dozens if not thousands of feathers scattered about. His torn and broken wings were yours too.

God’s fallen favorite and failed creation.

The warmth of blood still drips down your back, shuddering and shivering at the sensation. Your downcast gaze pulled away by the appearance of a hand, a familiar one with peeling burn marks across his skin and you slowly lift your head to look up at him.

“It hurts, doesn’t it? To have the one you loved and worshipped toss you away, believe me,” Lucifer’s dark gaze turns to land on God who remained still, bitter and hurt expression. “I would know.”

He kneels down, there’s a shuffle of movement behind him from the brothers that is abruptly stopped. By Castiel or God himself, he doesn’t even bother to check, his hand still out stretched to you.

“Stuck in an endless cycle, not allowed into the kingdom of heaven or hell. How many lives have you lived, endured, and forgotten only to endure again?”

There’s a lump in your throat and Dean and Sam are yelling at you, but their voices are drowned out in the distance compared to the devil’s.

“But it’s different this time around,” He says softly, “You have me, no matter how many times you’re reborn, you will always have that connection with me. That anchor.”

If it was a lie, and you knew it probably was, oh how sweet sounding it was. For the thousands of lifetimes you’ve lived, died, and relived again - alone in each and every one. You would finally have someone who no matter how many times you were reincarnated would always remember you.

“Will you forget me?” Your voice is nothing but a desperate whisper and time seems to slow down. You can see the Winchester’s ripping themselves from what’s holding them back as they make a rush toward you. You can see their lips move, your name on their tongue as they shout for you but you drag your gaze back to the devil who’s smiling so sweetly. Despite the slit in his eyes, like the snake he’s depicted to be.

“I will never forget you.”

It’s all it takes, your hand is in his and the room is so hot and the broken feathers are burning against everything- burning against you and devouring you whole until the two of you are gone, leaving nothing but the burned imprints of fallen feathers in your wake.


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