open to verse


Sora stood there, silent, under the light of the moon. His head was tilted upward, as if he was looking at the sky, but his eyes were closed. He seemed… Different. Very different. His skin has a slightly grey tone to it, and black ‘veins’ branched out from his chest, decorating his neck, chest, and lower face. The heartless insignia, partly hidden under his shirt, seemed to be etched deeper into his skin.

He continued to stand there silently, then opened his good eye. No longer it’s striking blue color, his eye was now a bright yellow, glowing softly. The white was an sickly ashen grey color, “No going back…” He mumbled to himself. He turned his head slightly when he heard footsteps behind him.

“Damn it, I hate not being tall enough to reach you! Come on Hibiki, get down!” The brunette whined as she tried to reach for her cat whom had jumped on top of the cupboards which is higher than she could reach. 

She had the same nightmare every night, never a chance it could change or divert from the bad things. The same old party, the same old guy and the same horrible, horrible event. The same thing she saw every time she closed her eyes. For whatever reason Beth had fallen asleep while leaning against the van, a small blanket was lying over her but she hadn’t been the one to put it there. Almost out of nowhere she began to kick and scream and flail her body round. Her hands and feet hit the van a few times, and eventually she woke up, sweating and crying. She looked around for a moment before locking eyes with someone else. “You should be asleep.” She mumbled.

“Don’t even both knocking.” Lydia said already knowing they were already about to and had their hand up. Being human on this train made her keep her guard up more than she liked too but she didn’t trust them or anyone in that matter. “What do you desire from me?” She asked leaning up more and setting her book down as preparation for them about to enter.

An open book of Quran showing the beginning of Surat al-Kahf (18:1-3)

الْحَمْدُ لِلَّهِ الَّذِي أَنْزَلَ عَلَى عَبْدِهِ الْكِتَابَ وَلَمْ يَجْعَلْ لَهُ عِوَجًا (1) قَيِّمًا لِيُنْذِرَ بَأْسًا شَدِيدًا مِنْ لَدُنْهُ وَيُبَشِّرَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ الَّذِينَ يَعْمَلُونَ الصَّالِحَاتِ أَنَّ لَهُمْ أَجْرًا حَسَنًا (2) مَاكِثِينَ فِيهِ أَبَدًا (3)

1. All praise is due to God, who has bestowed this divine writ from on high upon His servant, and has not allowed any deviousness to obscure its meaning. 2. [a divine writ] unerringly straight, meant to warn of a severe punishment from Him, and to give unto the believers who do good works the glad tiding that theirs shall be a goodly reward- 3. [a state of bliss] in which they shall dwell beyond the count of time.

Originally found on: al-muslima

The Prodigal Son Returns || OPEN

Alright, so it had been far too long since Gabriel had disappeared without a word. Well, not entirely without a word. He bothered to leave a note on Crowley’s desk telling him there was an emergency and he’d be back in a few days. Of course, that was months ago. 

On the drive to the club, he felt is stomach sink with worry that they’d hate him for leaving or that they wouldn’t want him to come back. As soon as he reached the door, though, he made up his mind.

Go big or go home.

He pushed the door open with his foot and held out his arms, coat in one hand and laptop case in the other.