#Is it a good poem? Objectively no but I just saw the most beautiful bright green hill that I felt jealous

[princessinsidethetower]

In my next life I want

to be a hill, green

standing proud and still

Or a palm tree

oscilating in the wind

dancing with the music of

rustling leaves

Or a rain drop, falling in

a night with a soft breeze

like a lover's caress in your skin

as I trail down your cheek.

[zozobruh]

Tag game to better know you

Iva, my dear, tysm for tagging me @b1uetrees <3

what book are you currently reading?

I finally got around to reading Dune! It's going really sloooow since I have been working and trying to write my thesis at the same time, but so far so good! (The 1st movie def didn't do justice to some things oops) 

what’s your favorite movie you saw in theaters this year?

I haven't really been to the cinema this year. Objectively, I would say it was Banshees of Inisherin (which I saw with Iva ofc hehe). In terms of the experience of live screening it def was The Rocky Horror Picture Show! It was so fun, I loved people singing and making comments to the plot, epic

what do you usually wear?

Most days of the year you'll see me in mom jeans and a shirt tucked in them or a sweater over them for colder periods of the year. Recently I bought high-waisted wide-leg black jeans and I AM IN LOVE. For shoes I prefer the vans sneakers and dr. martens boots.

how tall are you

157 cm (5'2)

what’s your star sign? do you share a birthday with a celebrity or a historical event?

Taurus. For celebrities ik that I share my bday with Pierce Brosnan, Megan Fox and Thomas Brodie-Sangster lol

do you go by your name or a nickname?

I go by my name (Klara). The only person that actually calls me Zozo is my boyfriend haha

did you grow up to become what you wanted to be when you were a child?

Def not, but I still think child me would be pretty impressed with what we achieved and would probably think the adult me is cool af haha

are you in a relationship? if not, who is your crush if you have one?

Yes, going strong for almost 4 and a half years. I love my bf and I wouldn't trade what we have for the world. MUST protect <3

what’s something you’re good at vs something you’re bad at?

Honest answer is that I think I'm average at everything lmao. I guess I'm good at planning, organizing and respecting deadlines. I'm bad at maths and quick thinking haha

dogs or cats?

I always say both, but if I'm put in a spot and have to choose, I'll say cats. I feel like kitties are just closer to my personality and I like their dynamic.

if  you draw/write, or create in any way, what’s your favorite  picture/favorite line/favorite etc. from something you created this  year?

I have been writing some rather emo poetry since highschool (I'm okay), so earlier in April, I wrote a little poem I liked:

Daffodil The reflection of water on the wall Mercilessly moving The time is taking its toll The tall glass vase on the table Mercilessly staying still The time is writing its fable As it slowly comes to kill A beautiful yellow daffodil

Recently, I got back into writing fanfiction bc of watching KP, here's my fave line from my fic (ofc titled after MCR) The world is ugly, but you're beautiful to me:

Kinn sits up and studies the night in Bangkok. The bright yellow lights of the buildings are reflected in the darkness of the river. The Theerapanakul headquarters are amongst the brightest shining buildings, shaping the skyline of the city.  Sometimes the building feels like his home, swarming with memories of his brothers and him playing, of his mother reading them stories and preparing them for bed. Growing up made it feel like a prison in which he exists, simply fulfilling his destiny.

what is something that you’d like to create content for?

Before I got into KP brainrot, I really wanted to write for Beyond Evil, but never got to it. But now, I do have a pretty well-developed idea for a BE fic! Everything is on hold until I finish my thesis tho

A wild part of me also wants to stream The Sims4 let's play hahaah

what’s something you’re currently obsessed with?

My brain got a bit too tired to be obsessed in the purest sense of the word, but I'd say KP (and the actors who play them) still has a pretty strong chokehold on me.

what’s something you were excited about that turned out to be disappointing this year?

Honestly nothing. The things I was excited about were great, but the things I wasn't excited about were shit so lmao, as expected

what’s a hidden talent of yours?

Don't think I have one

are you religious?

I'm not, however, I'd still say I'm somewhat spiritual. I grew up catholic, but I realized it's just not for me. Since it's hard for me to believe there's nothing at all, so the closest to what I'd label myself as is agnostic.

what’s something you wish to have at this moment?

a finished thesis, so i have more time to relax and do my hobbies after work, one can dream ah

A no pressure tag for @tr1edandtrueblue if you feel like doing this :3

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Devotional Hours Within the Bible

by J.R. Miller

The Walk to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35)

Sometime in the afternoon of the day on which Jesus rose, two of His disciples, not apostles - but friends, took a long walk into the country. We are not told why they went to Emmaus. Perhaps they had given up hope. Thus it is too often with Christ's friends in these days, when trouble comes upon them. The bright dreams fade, they grow disheartened and turn away - as if the sacred beliefs they had cherished so long were only delusions. We see here, however, how needless was the discouragement. No hope really had faded. What they thought was cause for sorrow - was the secret of the most blessed hope the world ever has known.

As these men walked along the way, they talked together of the strange things which had happened. This was natural. Their hearts were full of these things, and they could not but talk about them. If the conversation of Christian people is sometimes vapid and trivial, it must be because their hearts are not filled with the holy themes which ought to occupy them. Is there much truly pious conversation? What did you talk about yesterday, or last evening, in the long walk you took with your friend? This example suggests to us, at least the value of good, earnest, wayside conversation. Most of us walk more or less with our friends. Why should two sincere Christians talk together for an hour or longer, and neither of them say one word better than the idlest chitchat about the merest nothings ?

Now a most interesting thing occurred. As they went on talking together, Jesus Himself drew near and walked with them. That is always the way. Jesus said, "Where two or three are gathered together in My name - there am I in the midst of them." We are met in His name - when love for Him draws us together. Then He will always join us. If only idle words are on our lips, if we are gossiping about our neighbors, saying mean and disagreeable things about them; if we are talking of things which are not beautiful and good - we have no reason to expect Christ to draw near and join us. He would not be interested in our conversation, nor would we care to have Him listening to what we are saying. In order to have Christ go with us in our walk - our talk must be of things which will be congenial to Him. This, therefore, is the test - Would Jesus want to enter into this conversation with us? Would He be pleased to hear the words we are saying drop from our lips?

Sometimes we join a group of busy talkers, and suddenly the conversation ceases. They do no want to go on with it, in our presence. Would we keep on with this talk of ours without embarrassment or sense of unfitness, if Jesus were to come in and sit down visibly in our circle?

He walked with these friends unrecognized. They did not know him. This is often the way with us - Jesus draws near to us and we fail to know that it is He. He comes to us in our sorrow, and we do not see Him by our side. We go on weeping and breaking our hearts, while if we saw the glorious form that is close to us, and knew of the love that is throbbing against our breasts - we would put away our tears and rejoice. Many people fail to recognize the divine love and comfort in their grief - and go on as if there were no stars shining in the sky. How may of us are conscious of the presence of Christ with us, or get from it the full comfort, inspiration, and help which we might get?

Sir Launfal, in Lowell's poem, wandered over all the earth in search of the Holy Grail. When at last, after long years had passed, he returned, aged and bent, to his old home - there under his own castle walls did he find the object of his search! Just so, often we would find close beside us, in the Scriptures we already possess, in the circumstances in which we are place, in the human tenderness that is about us - the help we are seeking and the truth we need, if only we had eyes to see.

The Stranger showed a deep interest in the two men. The sorrow in their faces and tones touched His heart. Jesus always has a quick ear and sensitive heart for human grief or need. He knows when we are sad; when our burden is greater than we can bear. Then He is quick to express sympathy. He wants to give help.

This conversation shows that Jesus desires His friends to confide in Him. It does good for a burdened heart to tell out its trouble to Him. So when these men spoke to Him of the things that filled their hearts that day, He asked, "What things?" He knew, of course; but He wanted them to speak out their fears and doubts and ask their questions. So, when we are in sorrow, Christ wants us to tell Him of all that troubles or perplexes us. The telling will do us good. Then, by bringing them to Him - we shall have the tangles unsnarled .

Jesus spoke to these disciples out of a loving heart, telling them how slow they were in believing in what the prophets had spoken. He then told them that it befit the Messiah, to suffer the very things which this Jesus they were grieving over, had suffered. He told them that if they had only understood the Scriptures, their hearts never would have been cast down by the things which had befallen Him. God's way is always the true one. Our way would not bring us to the glory we desire - any more than the disciples' idea of the Messiah would have brought salvation to the world. When God sets aside our plans for our lives - we may know that His plan, however different from ours it may be, and however it may seem to thwart our plans - is the right one.

These two men enjoyed a rare privilege that day in having Jesus as an interpreter of the Scriptures concerning Himself, "He expounded unto them in all the Scriptures, the things concerning Himself." It would be interesting if we could read the interpretations he gave. What a wonderful talk that was! We may be quite sure that He quoted the passages which depicted the sufferings of the Messiah, showing that the cross was part of the divine plan of redemption. Doubtless He quoted the fifty-third chapter of Isaiah. Thus He went over the Old Testament, interpreting it and showing how he had fulfilled these ancient predictions. No wonder their hearts burned within them - as He opened to them the Scriptures.

At length they came to the place where their journey ended. He was disposed to go on farther - but they urged Him to abide with them. If they had not thus constrained Him, He would have passed on. Think what they would have missed - if He had not gone in with them. We do not know how much of the revealing of divine love and grace we miss continually, because of the tameness of our praying. We ought to get a lesson from the example of these disciples, who constrained the Stranger to go in with them and were rewarded by finding in Him - the Friend for whom they were so hungering.

When they sat down together at the table for their evening meal, the Stranger took bread and blessed it, and broke it, and gave it to them. Perhaps it was these familiar acts which revealed Him to them. Or they may have seen the nail mark in the hand which broke the bread. We are not told how - but in some way they came to understand that the Guest at their table was Jesus Himself, whom they were mourning as dead - but who was now risen and living! What if our eyes would be opened to see Jesus every time He is beside us, eating with us, walking with us? How radiant would all life then become!

Another suggestion from this Emmaus story, is that often it is only as they leave us - that we learn the value of our blessings. "Their eyes were opened, and they knew Him; and He vanished out of their sight." How often it is rue that only in their vanishing, do our friends reveal themselves to us.

Somehow our eyes are blinded, and we do not see the loveliness. Faults seem larger and blemishes greater, while our friends are close to us. But as they leave us - the faults appear faults no longer, "just odd ways," and blemishes are transfigured into shining marks. Why wait for the hour of departing - to see the beauty and the good?

[aelin-queen-of-terrasen]

𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐚𝐧𝐭 | 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 𝐎𝐧𝐞

full masterlist - fic masterlist

Rowan glanced at his pocket watch and attempted to swallow his irritation.

How was it only nine-o-clock still? He had already suffered through enough social niceties to last a lifetime.

Now, he listened with but half a mind to his cousin drone on about the night's guests. His head was filled with all the tasks he needed to see to, including searching for a new governess for his sons. His boys kept chasing away every woman he employed and he was hesitant to hire a tutor, because he believed they needed a woman's influence too, now that his own wife was too ill. The physician had done all he could but there was not much hope she would wake, loathe as he was to admit it. Perhaps he should have accepted his mother-in-law's offer and send the boys to their her after all?

"--and Arobynn's here too—"

That caught his attention. "He is?"

"Mhmm. Look, over there, no, no, to the left—besides the pretty redhead, yes, just so."

A man stood by the entrance with a red-haired woman on his arm, tall and muscular, with a fine-boned face. His auburn hair were pulled back into a bun, offsetting his pale skin and the fine cut of his suit was a stark reminder of his prominent position in society, despite the whole stigma around tradesmen.

"I knew he was fond of flaunting convention but escorting his mistress to a ball?"

"You haven't heard?" James approached them with a drink in his hand. "She is not his mistress but an adoptive daughter of sorts and his apparent heir."

Fenrys choked on his drink.

"He named a girl heir to his trade empire—and not even his own blood—stupid!"

"Spoken like a man," said the gentleman and shook his head. "He raised her himself, is introducing her to all his associates and she doesn't look dumb either."

James nodded towards the redhead he had seen earlier, dressed in the finest black silk with a neckline low enough, it bordered on scandalous. Her copperish-red hair were pinned into an elegant coiffure with pretty, gold hair combs and a simple, pearl necklace completed the striking picture she made. Her sharp, defined features were barely beautiful until she laughed—a musical sound in itself—and he wondered whether he had seen anyone prettier.

"If hers was the last face I ever saw, I'd die a happy man." Fenrys sighed and walked off.

James rolled his eyes. "He's about to seek an introduction to her, isn't he?"

Rowan's lips twitched up.

He had always liked James. The man was completely without artifice and his enthusiasm for everything was so infectious, no one could remain angry with him. He had spent a few summers with the Galathynius children, until their youngest daughter was abducted and the visits stopped.

"I say you must frown a little less, sir, unless you wish to give offense."

Rowan looked up, startled at being addressed by the object of his thoughts. She looks even lovelier up close, thought he.

"I detest these events."

"So do half the people in this room and yet, appearances must be maintained."

"Deceit is not in my nature."

The lady frowned. "It is not deceitful to pretend you are interested in an event in order to spare your host's feelings."

"Your motive may be charitable but it is no excuse for dishonesty."

The lady looked amused but did not pursue the topic further. "I hope you will forgive me for speaking without a proper introduction, sir. I am not a fan of convention."

Rowan smiled.

An unmarried woman, not even of age, and already a heiress to a trade empire—by all accounts, she did not seem like one.

"I will, if you allow me to remedy the situation now." He bowed with exaggerated formality. "I am Mr. Rowan Whitethorn of Harcomb, in Doranelle."

Her cheek dimpled. "Miss Celaena Sardothein—my father—"

"Mr. Hamel, yes, I know." He almost cringed at how rude he sounded. "He and I, we are—"

"—business associates, yes, I know," she teased with an impish grin, replying in a poor imitation of his own deep voice.

Her eyes twinkled with amusement, filled with laughter and mirth—turquoise orbs, ringed with brilliant gold.

All of his resolve flew out of the window. "Miss Sardothein, will you allow me the pleasure of leading you into the first set? The dancing is about to commence."

"The pleasure will be all mine."

In hopes of starting a conversation, he said, "You are a fine dancer."

"I would have believed you to be a liar if we hadn't already established that deceit of any sort is your abhorrence."

He smiled. "And if I were being insincere?"

"I would take it as a compliment to myself, for it will mean that you are acting on my advice from earlier about lying for the sake of appearances."

They fell silent again.

"We must talk some, you know," said Rowan. "For someone who claims to be concerned with appearances, do you not think it would look odd for us to spend a half hour together but in silence."

She startled at the sudden statement. "Introduce a topic then and I will do my poor best to maintain the conversation."

Rowan complied and was pleasantly surprised to find her lively and good-humored and well-informed on most subject from current fashion disasters to books to political bills and movements. Her arguements were passionate and far from taking offense at his dry humor, she matched it with witty quips of her own; and to top it alll off, she was as skilled a dancer as a conversationalist.

Rowan was almost annoyed when the song came to an end. He could not recall the last time he had been half as well entertained.

"You will be the death of me, you foolish, foolish chit!" screeched the old matron.

Fenrys had allowed himself to be dragged into a bookstore, which happened to be one of his least favourite places, by his cousin, James—the second son to his uncle, Lord Rhoe, the Earl of Narrowcreek—and was now eager for any sort of amusement. He turned towards the high-pitched shriek with interest.

A young lady stood near the shelves, tall and proud, even in the face of her mother's ill-bred manners.

Her blonde hair fell down in waves, half pinned by dragonfly-shaped hair combs. The fabric of her dress was fine enough for her to belong to the first circles and yet, he could not recall seeing her—or her mother—anywhere.

"Ungrateful child! Wait until I tell your father what you did; he will be most displeased."

She bit her lip to contain her mirth, though her cheeks flushed with embarassment. Her eyes flitted to the door and back, as if she was looking for some escape.

"Poor girl," the bookshop owner murmured.

The following words had the unfortunate attention of drawing the mother's attention towards the owner.

Lord Fenrys almost laughed at the alarmed look on the owner's face when she began lamenting to him instead and then looked over at the lady who was staring at the door with a thoughtful look, as if wondering whether or not to attempt an escape.

She must have decided in it's favour because she gathered her skirts and made a mad dash towards the door.

Fenrys realised he was standing in her way and hastened to move but it was too late—

"Darn!" cried she.

The commotion drew her mother's attention and upon spotting her wayward daughter lying on the floor with a grimace, she rushed over with a whole new litany of complaints.

Fenrys could have sworn the lady cursed under her breath.

"Stubborn, stubborn child! I told you not to run off without me but oh, how you love vexing me," shouted her mother in her high-pitched voice. "And what are you doing, bothering this fine gentleman over here? You had better not to talk to anyone if you are determined to refuse them all. You broke that poor man's heart—"

Fenrys quirked an eyebrow in interest, looking thoroughly entertained.

Her cheeks flushed further.

He frowned.

Up close, her face looked awfully familiar. He searched his brain for an answer.

A memory flashed in front of his mind. A highly unconventional black dress, a tinkling laugh and a ballroom.

Realisation dawned.

"Miss Sardothein! Fancy seeing you here," said he. "I almost didn't recognise you because of the hair."

"The hair? Oh, yes, I am very fond of dyes, but you have caught me in my natural state."

"I find you lovelier than ever. If you will forgive me for prying, I could not help but observe you haven't bought a thing yet, even though I know you to be a great reader! Is the reading material not to your taste, Miss Sardothein?"

Celaena answered wryly, "As a matter of fact, the books here suit my tastes very well—It is only that I am not allowed to buy books for a month—as punishment."

"No books! And what awful crime did you commit to merit that?"

"I rejected a marriage offer."

"A capital offense!"

Celaena smiled, "Indeed."

"I hope you are appropriately ashamed of yourself!"

"Horrified at my own audacity, really."

The lady looked up at him and grinned; Fenrys' own face turned pale and his mouth fell open in surprise. Ashryver eyes! She had ashryver eyes—like James, Aedion, and their mothers Helen and Evalin and—gods. The little poem his cousins had made up in childhood came to the forefront of his mind.

"The fairest eyes, from legends old,

Of brightest blue, ringed with gold."

But how...?

He looked at the woman again: her eyes bright and mirthful and thick eyelashes resting on her cheek, the face tugged at his memory; and she smiled so impishly, he had seen that smile before—

"Aelin," he blurted out.

He was startled when her smile dropped and recognition flickered in her eyes.

Fenrys shot an alarmed look towards the shelf behind which James had disappeared. Aelin was here! But how could this be? His heart thumped loudly inside his chest.

"Aelin?" She inclined her head in question.

He smiled uncertainly.

Was she really his little cousin? Aelin had been five year old when he last saw her.

But if he was wrong about this, could this come to bite him in the ass? She was certainly as old as his cousin would have been, had she been alive and she had the same unruly blonde curls and those ashryver eyes, teeming with life.

It couldn't be...

Arobynn's adoptive daughter.

"Yes, Aelin was my favourite cousin—you, uh, you remind me of her."

"If she is your favourite, then I am inclined to take that as a compliment." Celaena—Aelin?—smiled again, though her eyebrows remained drawn still. "The name does sound familiar. Perhaps I would have heard of her in the newspaper? The society column is a great source of amusement to my father. He reads it aloud to us from time to time."

Father? He wondered if she was talking of Arobynn or Mrs. Rhunn's husband.

Fenrys smiled sadly. "That is not possible for you see, my cousin died when she was five."

At least I thought she died.

"I am sorry for your loss." Then, with an arch look on her face, she asked, "If she was like me as you say, she must have been delightful."

He chuckled. "An absolute troublemaker."

"Definitely like me then," said she, sparing a look towards her mother. "I should leave now, before my mother lists you off as yet another suitor!"

And before he could think to stop her, she curtsied and scurried off.

Fenrys stared at the door, somewhat dumbfounded. Aelin is alive. He marvelled at the thought and then wondered how on earth he would inform her family—James would be ecstatic and his father would have to be informed, and Edward would have to be called to London, gods. Edward!

Aelin had been missed by all but no one grieved her as the poor man had.

Edward would be ecstatic; everyone would.

Fenrys ran towards his cousin out of breath, who was still examining titles in one corner.

"Fenrys, god, slow down, man! Whatever happened? You look like you saw a ghost."

He blinked.

Then, without any attempt at tact or discretion, he blurted out: "Aelin is alive."

"Aelin, Aelin, stop that—no, look at your frock, mother will be so angry, no, Aelin! You will hurt yourself like that."

The man watched, concealed behind the ridge as a little girl skipped from one mud puddle to another, blonde curls bouncing up and down as she moved. Her elder brother followed at a more sedate place, calling out admonishments and threats, not that they had an effect on her.

Aelin grinned over her shoulder and ran, leading her brother on a merry chase.

The man was still debating how to go about abducting the girl when fortune smiled upon him; she twisted her leg and fell down, prompting the boy to run towards her.

"It hurts," she whimpered, refusing to stand.

The man smiled maliciously and waited as the boy looked around. "Very well," he said finally. "If you promise not to go anywhere, I will fetch papa. Do not move, Aelin."

The boy rushed towards the manor house, ignoring the twisted knots in his stomach and burst into his father's private study. In his panicked state of mind, it took a few attempts for Rhoe to make sense of his garbled words.

A foreboding feeling rose in his stomach.

She will be fine, he tried to reassure himself. Aelin, troublemaker that she was, had had a lot worse than a twisted ankle.

But his alarm grew the nearer they came to where she was supposed to be and his heart pounded inside his chest. All colour drained from his face when they didn't find Aelin where she was supposed to be.

"Are you certain this is where you left her?"

Edward nodded.

Rhoe suddenly felt dizzy, his knees buckled and bile rose up in his throat.

He reined himself in and with admirable composure, organised search parties to search around the estate and the neighbourhood.

The search carried on until late that night, when an express rider from the nearby magistrate arrived with a letter: a nearby warehouse had burned down earlier that day and two bodies were found: a man in his forties, who could not be identified and a seven year old girl who had on a silver anklet bearing the word fireheart and requested Mr. Galathynius' presence tomorrow at the warehouse to confirm the girl's identity.

Rhoe folded the letter, excused himself from company and sent his sons to their beds.

Then he entered his study: the study no one was allowed to enter without permission—except his Aelin—slumped into the armchair by the fireplace and wept.

note: ...and it's here. I have so many drafts of this chapter lying around, I'm surprised I actually finally posted it lmao.

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if you'd like to be tagged, let me know.

[psycoweeb]

Amber/Momo Yaoyorozu

Color Prompt: Amber(Most of this was meant to happen in front of a fire...)

Fluff☁

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff, cheesy confession, hiking, and my bad writing ❤

Disclaimer: I do not own bnha or any of its characters. Only the story written below.

A/N: I am SO SORRY this took so long! To make a long story short I basically dropped all of my hobbies in order to focus on the last bit of my school semester😅

It's litterly 12am rn so sorry if it seems a bit off at the end (this fic DEFINITELY did not go the way I planned😂I kina like it tho)

~~~•∆•~~~

You tried to keep up as you walked the trail, ducking and dodging branches. 'Why am I here again?' you thought starting to feel your fatigue slowly building.

It was nearing the end of class when Aizawa sensei randomly announced a surprise four day "field trip" that would take place two days later, and it wasn't an option. We ended up rushing to get our parents permission, and pack up.

You were pulled out of your thoughts as you heard Mina groaning loudly. "FINALLY!" The pink haired girl exclaimed sounding relieved. She had good reason to be, Aizawa Sensei had the entire class take a SIX HOUR hike instead of taking the bus up the very obvious road.

You dragged yourself to the clearing along with the rest of the class toward Aizawa sensei, who some how made it up before all of you. And didn't seem the least bit tired??? After giving the class a few hours to rest, thank goodness, Aizawa sensei stood up to speak.

"I'm glad to see you all made it in one piece, however I can't promise you'll leave that way" Everyone internally groaned at this. "starting today we have survival training" He said with a bored expression.

Iida stepped forward, confused by his teachers statment "With all do respect sir, why would we need that type of training? We'll most likely be working as heros in the city, correct?"

"While that may be true" The teacher said turning to him "we don't want other incidents like the USJ. We don't know the extent of their power, therefore we dont know where or how far they can teleport someone. And it was made clear how much you all are lacking in this type of environment at the training camp"

He continued "None of you are used to fighting in a closed off environment with obstacles everywhere you turn, that's what this training camps main objective is, to get you ready for anything. Today we have survival lessons and tomorrow we work on combat, we'll switch off between the days. That means you have two days to learn how to survive in a forest and two days to learn combat in a forest, good luck"

~~•∆(Timeskip by: Momo's delightful tea∆•~~

Everyone sat in silence waiting for their teachers instruction... And by silence I mean bakusqaud was quoting vines while Bakubro yells at them to shut up. (but with more✨𝐜𝐮𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠✨)

Dekusquad was thinking about random strategies they should use if they were ever ambushed (don't jinx it) while also thinking about what they would eat once they get back.

And the rest of the class are sitting in silence minus some mumbling about cold soba and a few poems.

At some point, in the middle of all this, Midoriya decides it's been long enough. "It seems like Aizawa sensei doesn't have any intention of helping us figure out what to do"

"I do believe it's time that we take charge of the situation." Said Iida "yeah but who?" Kirishima asked quizzically

"What do you mean? " Ojiro inquires

"Who should take charge?" You nodded at his answer

"He has a point" You started "It would be to chaotic if we all 'took charge' of ourselves."

"I vote Iida and Momo!" Hagakure beamed "They aren't the class president and vice president for nothing!" she exclaimed, running over to hug Momo's arm.

"Yeah that sounds good"

"I have no qualms with it"

"Yeah"

"I don't see why not"

"I can get behind that"

Mutual agreeance flowed over the crowd of teens in the form of nods and over exclaimed confirmation.

"Okay then" Momo said, sounding slightly nervous.

"ALL RIGHT THEN" exclaimed Iida unconsciously chopping the air, beginning to bark out a few plans and ideas.

×ו∆Timeskip by: Mina's killer moves∆•××

You walk through the trees, glancing around at the ground every once in awhile to make sure you're not skipping over any decently sized sticks.

"How many do you have so far?" You yelled out, not in any particular direction.

"Not enough" Momo yelled back, obviously preoccupied with finding sticks big enough for the fire you both were tasked with building. And by fire you mean bonfire, I mean, it is meant for about 22 people.

So you were kind of disappointed when you found out Momo couldn't use her quirk to make your jobs easier since sticks were considered living things.

You continued to walk forward until you came across a log with a few decent sized sticks protruding from the sides. You snapped them off the log, deciding what you had combined was enough, you both quickly started heading back the direction you came, hoping to get back before it gets dark.

Now, listen. The camp was generally pretty big. I mean, it IS meant for 21 students plus 1 teacher. That being said... why couldn't you find it?!?

You DID come from this direction... RIGHT???

Or.. Was it that way....oh no

"Whats wrong?" Momo walked a bit closer, noticing your hesitant steps.

"Oh nothin', just got a bit turned around" Your voice got higher, trying, and failing, to brush off her question

"Wait so...we're lost???"

"Hey! I never said 'lost'...but uh" You cleared your throat "Yes"

And that my friend... Is when panic set in. You'll never be able to graduate or even try to beat Bakugo and his damn near perfect grades!

"Um... Y/N"

Forget about being a hero! You can't even save YOUR SELF! FrOm TrEeS!

"Uhh"

I'll never be able tell her

That.. That is when you made the worst mistake of your life, you looked at her.

And saw Momo's confused, borderline sad face. You had been speaking out loud this whole time.

'Well, I was mumbling what are the chances she ACTUALLY understood what I was saying??? Maybe I could play it off?'

"Tell who what?"

'Dang it!'

You thought you were packing before? Ohh you haven't seen anything yet!

This is the WORST time to confess! It's not romantic AT ALL and your covered head to toe in sweat! And now, you either have to confess your undying love for the girl you and been borderline stalking for MONTHS! Or let her go on believing something that MY NOT EVEN BE TRUE!

You took in a sharp breath. "Well" She gestured for you to continue "There's this girl, she's smart, pretty, nice, well tempered, a good leader, and most likely WAY out of my league... " You had started rambling "A-and I kind of have a massive crush on her... "

With every word Momo's face slowly fell until she was completely looking at the ground

"Well, it sounds like you really like her"

"I do" You looked toward the sky dreamily

'Wait.She doesn't think. She couldn't really. Oh no.. '

You stopped dead in your tracks and turned toward your classmate.

There is NO WAY are you letting the classic: mIsuNDErsTAnDInG tRouPE get in the way of you possibly being able to get a date with the girl you've had a crush on for basically the whole school year!

"Momo Yaoyorozu!" You unintentionally shouted with sudden confidence. She jumped in surprise "You are the most amazing person I have had the pleasure of meeting and will no doubt become an even more amazing Hero"

You paused "I don't want to end this year knowing that I had the chance to have someone so beautiful in my life, possibly forever, and passed it up." You grabbed her hands and looked into her eyes, she was blushing... HARD.

You low key felt proud of yourself. "Momo, YOU are the girl I like. Would you please consider becoming my girlfriend?" You could feel her grip on your hands tighten.

"Do you really think I'm all those things?" She mumbled. "Of course" You answered without thinking, a confused look on your face.

"Strong, stubborn, creative," She spoke softly, gaining confidence with every word.

"good looking, encouraging, and always able to calm down a bad situation while still being able to bring energy into a room just by walking in"

"That's what you are to me." She was now looking you in the eyes. A bright smile on her face. "So when you ask me if I would consider being your girlfriend, the answer is, I already have. And there is nothing I want more"

Your eyes we're now glossed over with tears, but you didn't feel embarrassed because you could see that hers were too.

You both started to lean in and closed your eyes. Soon enough your lips met. It was as if time had stopped. As if the universe itself wanted to sit and appreciate the beautiful and unforgettable moment.

Even when you consider everything that happened that you didn't exactly enjoy. Even though you were still lost and BAKUGOU of all people was sent to find you. That was the most memorable and magical night you had ever experienced as a student of UA.

[translations-by-aiimee]

Dig a Grave to Dig Out a Ghost - Chapter 16

Original Title: 挖坟挖出鬼

Genres: Drama, Horror, Mystery, Supernatural, Yaoi

This translation is based on multiple MTLs and my own limited knowledge of Chinese characters. If I have made any egregious mistakes, please let me know.

Chapter Index

Chapter 16 - Game

Ten minutes later, Lin Yan appeared on the stage awkwardly wearing a silver-grey robe with a small dragon pattern embroidered on it. All ten participants took their seats. Even the Professor File Folder put on a traditional teacher's outfit. The buzzing activity coming from the crowd made Lin Yan blush. It felt like he was sitting on pins and needles; it was uncomfortable no matter how he tried to adjust himself.

This whole situation felt like a melodrama between Liang Shanbo and Zhu Yingtai. He couldn't help but glance back at Xiao Yu several times. The only real ancient man in the audience was standing behind him with a frown. Looking at him with a serious stare, he pressed his hand against Lin Yan's shoulder, like he was trying to comfort him.

When he changed his clothes, he noticed that something was wrong with Xiao Yu, or maybe it was just everything that was wrong. In the dressing room, the ghost had wrapped himself around him and hugged him. He pushed and shoved the other around the narrow room, creasing his costume. Just as Lin Yan was about to start fighting back, Xiao Yu suddenly stopped tugging him around. He pulled him over to the mirror, put his chin on Lin Yan's shoulder and he stared at the person in the reflection. For the first time, his chaotic eyes seemed calm, even holding a quiet sadness.

The mirror surface swayed, like a droplet hitting a calm pool of water, waves rippling away from the center. Standing in the brass mirror was a young man standing with clear eyes, hands resting beside a cloud brocade waistband, and a face exuding pride. Lin Yan backed away in horror. He almost screamed. The person in the mirror wasn't him. Although he had the exact same face, life had done a number on him and he wouldn't be able to make an expression like that anymore.

The scent of agarwood incense in the room was intoxicating. The young man's eyes softened. The tall man in the traditional Chinese clothes adjusted his chin on his shoulder, raising his long eyebrows. His voice was slow and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken in a long time: "I've been waiting for you for so long. . ."

Lin Yan's head snapped back to the mirror. He staggered forwards and leaned against the mirror. The person in front of him had hair as black as paint, and his mottled blood coat didn't match his eyes that seemed so sad and hopeless. . .

I have been waiting for you for a long time.

Lin Yan scrambled out of the dressing room.

"The break is over. Please quiet down and we'll get started with our next activity." The girl in the red jacket skirt read.

Lin Yan sat in the chair in a daze. The bright stage lights and the dark crowd in the audience made him feel like what just happened in the dressing room was a hallucination, and Xiao Yu was no different. Lin Yan looked back at him, panicked. Xiao Yu leaned down and held his trembling hand. On the table were a small whiteboard and a soft black marker. Xiao Yu motioned for him to pick it up and he moved his hand across the whiteboard: I'll help you.

Lin Yan was stunned and wrote out: Do you remember something?

Xiao Yu didn't seem to want to answer. He shook his head and let go of his hand. He still stood behind him holding onto Lin Yan's shoulder for support.

The audience quieted down, and bright white chasing lights hit the mahogany silk box on the centre of the stage. The red jacket skirt girl stepped forward to open the silk box, revealing the glass box within. The audience let out a few exclamations, and Lin Yan's eyes lit up. It was a beautiful moon flask with two handles. The maiden leaned against the tree art, the linework was meticulous, the enamel fully covered the flask, the piece was still intact, and the overall flask was in good condition.

This authentification wasn't difficult for a student studying cultural relics. Lin Yan carefully looked at the glaze texture and enamel of the flask's body. He wrote his answer on the whiteboard after double-checking that it was correct. When the time was up, the host walked past the square table and stopped when he reached the PSP guy, holding up her mic and asking: "You, what's your answer?"

The PSP guy’s whiteboard turned out to be empty. He was leaning on the table and his attention was focused on his game. When the host asked the second time, he raised his head as if he had just woken up. He glanced lazily around and sarcastically twitched the corners of his mouth into a smile. "It's genuine," he spat out. Then he brushed the host off and lowered his head to continue playing the game.

Lin Yan knew this guy was arrogant, but he didn't expect him to act this to everyone. The girl in the red jacket skirt was embarrassed by PSP's attitude. After putting a polite expression back on her face, she nodded and walked to the next student.

"Well. . . There were nine students who got the answer right, might as well switch it up for the last one." The audience let out a good laugh, and the boy three places down from Lin Yan grinned and left the stage. The professor briefly spoke about the flask. Lin Yan cleaned off the whiteboard and waited for the next question. His mind couldn't get over what he saw. He thought that most people wouldn't make a mistake on such a simple question. It seemed that the people on the stage were not as professional as they thought.

Professor File Folder also seemed a little disappointed. He took a sip from his stainless steel cup and turned his attention to the laptop, not knowing what he was looking at.

The brocade box in the center of the stage was swapped with a smaller one. After the mysterious sound effect, the box slowly opened. It was an ancient book. The host motioned everyone to take a closer look. Lin Yan stood in front of the glass box for a while and returned to his seat to write the next answer: "Genuine, the Southern Opera "White Rabbit" published in the Ming Dynasty, unearthed from the tomb of the Xuan family in Jiading."

He had seen this thing in the Shanghai Museum. Lin Yan thought, this lecture is like an antique appreciation meeting. No wonder it attracted so many people. After they all answered the question, another person left the stage amidst the applause and whistle of the audience, leaving another armchair free.

The questions were asked one by one, gradually getting more and more difficult. A fake yet elaborate sunflower gold hairpin inlaid with gemstones stumped three people, and then a bucket-colour fine-grained water chestnut bucket imitation with a "grinding" technique even had Lin Yan hesitate with his answer. After the authenticity of each item was announced, the professor simply added a few points on the piece, which could count as educating the audience on the topic. The seats were vacated one by one. When the eighth object was brought out, there were only two people left on the stage. Lin Yan glanced to the right, and it was the PSP guy who had toughed it out until the end.

He looked careless, but he didn't expect that he understood the field so well. Lin Yan put his cold palms on his face to cool down and took a long breath as he waited for the next question.

The red jacket skirt girl was holding a delicate paper box in her hand. Instead of showing it to the audience first, she walked over to Lin Yan and the PSP guy, signalling them to come forward. She opened the paper box and carefully took out a fan.

The ink on the front of the golden fan wasn't very visible; it wasn't well-preserved. The ribs of the fan were slightly damaged, and there are signs of water damage on the ink-painted mountains. With this kind of condition, it would be difficult to fetch a good price in a private auction if it wasn't made by a famous artist. But when the inscription on the face of the fan was exposed, Lin Yan and the PSP man couldn’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. On the front, a few lines of the unruly inscription were written on the fan: “Wildwater Bridge Road, The Village of Barren Chickens and Fallen Leaves. Returned to Hou Xidu, The Child Sweeps the Firewood Door." What surprised the two of them were the three small characters following the poem: by Tang Yin.

Lin Yan's heart sped up. If this was Tang Yin's authentic work, then the fan in front of him was worth at least 500,000 yuan. Wasn't he afraid of being robbed bringing such a valuable thing to school? Then a clear picture of the fan was shown on the big screen. As expected by Lin Yan, an exclamation sounded from the audience, and even the host's voice was drowned by the buzzing discussion.

Professor File Folder grew impatient and coughed into the loudspeaker to signal the audience to shift their attention back to the event.

Lin Yan carefully looked at the light brown fan in front of him. He couldn't help but take his time with his answer. Tang Yin's paintings were extremely difficult to distinguish in the field of calligraphy and painting. His style of painting changed throughout his pieces, and he rarely indicated the year on the paintings so it was difficult to guess the painting based on its creation year. Therefore, there were countless counterfeiters and imposters on the market. To be honest, judging this kind of work could only be based on the painting style, date and seal inscription. The most important thing is the eye and inspiration of the connoisseur. Being extremely familiar with the author’s style, the first time he saw the work, he could only make a guess. This wasn't just an answer determined by years of study, but it was also just a luck-based gamble.

In the early years of the founding of the People’s Republic of China, many collectors relied on this ability to make money at auctions overnight, but it was too difficult for students like Lin Yan who hadn’t even finished school. He frowned and thought carefully. Regardless of the painting style, the date and the handwriting of this fan were almost flawless. Although there was a slight deviation from Tang Yin's other landscape paintings, the vigorous and unrestrained spirit of the brush strokes clearly distinguished this piece.

It should be the original one. . . Lin Yan bit on his pen and hesitated. Halfway through writing out his answer, his wrist was suddenly grabbed. Xiao Yu bent down and studied the fan carefully. His fingers lightly tracing the red seal and he seemed surprised. He shook his head at Lin Yan and crossed off the half-written "true" on the whiteboard with his hand.

"After so long, you still haven't figured it out?" PSP guy leaned over to Lin Yan casually with a disdainful expression. Seeing Lin Yan still holding the pen hesitantly, he couldn't help but sneer, "I thought you were so awesome."

The file folder-like professor was staring at his notebook in a daze. Hearing these words, he couldn't help turn his head around and looked at the two with interest. Lin Yan just focused his attention on the painting instead and had forgotten to be nervous. As soon as he raised his head to meet the professor's gaze, his cheeks became hot again. He couldn't help but cry inside. He originally planned to wait for the end of the event to ask the professor backstage regardless of whoever won the contest. Now he feels like he wouldn't be able to ask him anything if he lost to this guy in this activity.

"Hurry up, hurry up." PSP guy tapped the table with a pen and made some muffled noises. "Just go home already, you aren't qualified for this."

When the professor heard this, he couldn't hide his amusement and turned his face to take a sip of water to cover up his expression.

That was rude. He hadn't finished yet. Lin Yan clenched his fist and asked Xiao Yu as quietly as possible: "Are you sure?" Xiao Yu nodded, his pale fingers stroked his throat, and frowned. After a long time, it seemed that it took a lot of effort to say slowly and hoarsely: ". . . I drew it."

Lin Yan's eyes widened. He looked at Xiao Yu in disbelief, and then at the fan. In ancient times, there was no perfect reprinting technology. Famous paintings and calligraphy were often copied by literati and calligraphers. Some were for practice, some were to give to friends. Some were for selling, and the prices of those high-quality copies were even comparable to the originals. But Xiao Yu's counterfeit actually appeared here. . . Wasn't this too much of a coincidence?

"Dude, if you don't know what it is, stop wasting our time." Seeing Lin Yan's hesitation, the PSP guy shook his head impatiently. He lowered his head and continued to play his game, pressing the buttons with his thumb, clicking them loudly.

Lin Yan was also irritated but by this person's attitude. He took a deep breath and wrote his answer on the whiteboard. The crowd in the audience couldn't wait. The people in the nearby seats pointed at the PowerPoint. Someone nodded gently, seeming to recognize the authenticity of the painting.

The sound effect of a gong sounded, and when the host read out the answers of the two, Lin Yan heard a commotion in the audience and even a disdainful sneer from the corner of the room. However, the PSP guy completely ignored the audience’s reaction and crossed his legs. He glanced at Lin Yan, touched the pimples on his face and raised an eyebrow with a chuckle: "You're right, not bad."

The same answer was written on both whiteboards: fake.

The professor showed an appreciative smile on his face for the first time. After he said the right answer, he grabbed the microphone and explained to the audience: "Tang Yin's fan "Xiqiao Going Back to the River", a work made during the Ming Dynasty Chenghua period. The author is unknown. The two students answered correctly."

There was a sigh from the auditorium. This time, most of the people who had thought they were right about their guess couldn't help pointing at the screen to discuss the flaws in the fan. There was even a school official wearing a black suit in the front row who had turned around and argued fiercely with the guests in the back row.

Author unknown? Lin Yan wasn't focusing on the fan, instead looking back at Xiao Yu. His hands still rested on his shoulder, but he didn't respond to anything Professor File Folder was saying. Instead, he frowned as if immersed in memory. He seemed really lost in thought. Lin Yan looked into Xiao Yu's eyes, no longer as wild as a beast like when he first saw him. Now, his dark eyes were like the surface of the river after sunrise, and the turbid fog was slowly burned away in the sun, revealing a hint of clarity from within the chaos.

"Now that the first nine rounds are over, please give your attention to the last round with these two classmates, which is also the most difficult round today." The red jacket skirt girl raised her voice and signalled to something behind her.

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Conquest of Makkah and Afterwards

Governors and Zakah Collectors Are Sent To Tribes and Countries

(9th Year of the Migration, the month of Muharram)

Until that date, many tribes had accepted Islam and many lands were under the rule of the Islamic state. It was necessary to administer those countries and to tell the people there about their responsibilities and obligations.

To this end, the Messenger of God appointed some governors and zakah collectors in the month of Muharram of the 9th year of the migration and sent them to different countries.

The Messenger of God advised the governors and zakah collectors as follows:

“Forgive the mistakes of people; avoid collecting their best goods.”

Among the tribes that the Messenger of God sent governors and zakah collectors were San’a, one of the most beautiful cities of Yemen, Hadramut in Yemen, the tribes of Sulayms, Muzaynas, Juhaynas, Sons of Kilab and Sons of Ka’b.

Apart from administration, these governors also settled the issues among people and gave judgments based on Islamic decrees.

Zakah collectors informed people about zakah in the places that they went to and asked the rich people to give zakah.

Some tribes paid zakah readily. Others did not like it because they thought it was too heavy a burden at first; however, they started to pay zakah later.

DELEGATES COME TO MADINAH IN LARGE GROUPS

The conquest of Makkah was a very bright and honorable victory of Islam. With this conquest, the fierce struggle that lasted for years between the Messenger of God and the Qurayshi polytheists ended with the victory of Islam.

The tribes in Arabia observed this fierce struggle that lasted for years closely and carefully. At first, they decided to leave the Messenger of God alone with his struggle against the Qurayshis, his own tribe; they said, “Leave him alone with his tribe. If he defeats his tribe, it means he is telling the truth and he is a prophet.”

This fierce struggle, which was observed closely by the tribes around, ended with the victory of Islam and the defeat and destruction of the polytheism as a result of the conquest of Makkah.

There was only one thing left to do for them: To accept Islam as soon as possible.

They knew it very well that they would not be able to stop and eliminate this cause, which Makkan polytheists could not stop and eliminate despite their strength and enmity.

Therefore, after the conquest of Makkah, at the beginning of the 9th year of the Migration, the tribes around started to come to Makkah in large groups in order to become Muslims. For this reason, this year was named the “Year of Delegates”.

The Prophet welcomed all of those delegates and entertained them. There were people from all walks of life in those delegates. All of them admired the high ethics and virtues of the Prophet and the kind attitudes of his Companions; they returned to their land happily.  

The Delegation of Sons of Tamim in Madinah

The Messenger of God sent Busr b. Sufyan, one of the Companions, to the tribe of Sons of Ka’b from Khuzaas in order to collect zakah from them.

Sons of Ka’b had put the animals to be given for zakah aside. However, the tribe of Tamim, living in the same place, objected to giving those animals as zakah; they even drew their swords implying that they would kill Busr. Thereupon, Busr returned to Madinah and told the Messenger of God what had happened. The Messenger of God sent Uyayna b. Hisn with about fifty Bedouin cavalrymen to Sons of Tamim. Uyayna b. Hisn attacked Sons of Tamim suddenly and returned to Madinah with lots of booty, and captives including eleven men, twenty women and about thirty children.

A short time after the return of Uyayna b. Hisn to Madinah, a delegate from Sons of Tamim, who had objected to paying zakah, went to the presence of the Prophet. There were famous orators and poets among them. Their aim was to take the captives back.

The Prophet asked them, “What do you want”

They said, “We are from the tribe of Tamim. We brought our orators and poets to compete with yours by reciting poems and boasting.”

The Prophet smiled slightly and said, “I was not appointed to recite poems or boast; I cannot do it. However, do your best and we will listen to you.”

Thereupon, Utarid, an orator of the tribe of Sons of Tamim, stood up and started to praise his tribe. Then, he said, “Who will compete me and praise his tribe like me?”

After the orator of Sons of Tamim finished his speech and sat, the Messenger of God said to Thabit b. Qays, “Stand up and reply his speech.”

Thabit stood up. Though he had not made any preparations, he recited such an eloquent and effective sermon regarding the majesty of God Almighty and the virtues of the Messenger of God that Sons of Tamim were astonished.   Thabit spoke as follows:  

“...

Praise be to God, who created the skies ant the earth and who rules them.

There exists nothing that is not the work of His grant and generosity.

Our victories and rule over countries are also the work of His power.

He chose the best man and sent him as a prophet; he has the noblest ancestors paternally and maternally; he always tells the truth. God sent His book to him and made him the most trustworthy person; He made the Prophet the most distinguished person in the world.

“...”

After this speech, it was time for the poets.

First, one of the poets of Sons of Tamim stood up and recited a poem boasting himself.

As soon as the man finished his poet, the Messenger of God said to Hassan b. Thabit, his poet, “Stand up O Has­san! Reply this man.”[8] He added, “God will definitely support him with Gabriel when he defends His Messenger.”

Hassan, who undertook the honor of defending the Messenger of God, stood up enthusiastically. He recited a long poem with the same meter and rhyme as the man’s poem. He expressed the exceptional beauty, highness and virtue of Islam concisely and clearly.  

The fact that the Muslim orator and poet presented a much better speech and poem than those of Sons of Tamim rejoiced both the Prophet and the Companions who were there. On the other hand, the delegates of Tamim kept silent when they saw that the orator and poet of Muslims were superior.  Aqra b. Habis, one of the notables of Tamim, could not help saying,

“I swear by God that this person (the Prophet) is always helped by the unseen. He will definitely be successful. He becomes superior to everybody regarding everything. His orator is superior to our orator and his poet is superior to our poet. Their voice is more sonorous than ours.”

Then, Aqra b. Habis approached the Messenger of God and became a Muslim by uttering kalima ash-shahadah. The other members of Sons of Tamim followed him and embraced Islam, too.

Thereupon, the Messenger of God gave a gift to each member of the delegation and returned the captives to them.

The Delegation of Sons of Asad in Madinah

It was the month of Muharram in the 9th year of the Migration.

One of the delegations that came to Madinah was the delegation of Sons of Asad, which consisted of ten people. After telling the Prophet that they became Muslims, they said, “O Messenger of God! We came here on our own accord though everybody was having difficulty due to famine and drought. We became Muslims without fighting you unlike the other tribes.”

With that statement, they wanted to say that the Prophet needed to be grateful to them because they became Muslims; they expected to receive a lot of things due to this gratification. It was certain that they assumed such an attitude because they had just become Muslims and they had not learned about the vast spirit of Islam yet.  

As a matter of fact, by becoming Muslims, they helped themselves only. Thus, they protected their eternal lives from being destroyed. They did not make the Messenger of God gain any profits by becoming Muslims. Therefore, their attitude was groundless and it was not in accordance with the spirit of Islam. The verse that was sent down regarding the issue expressed this fact:

“They impress on thee as favor that they have embraced Islam. Say "Count not your Islam as a favor upon me: nay, God has conferred a favor upon you that He has guided you to the Faith, if ye be true and sincere.”

The duty of a believer is to thank and praise God for attaining the greatest and highest truth, which is belief, in the universe. He should not expect or even think about anything material or spiritual gains in return for his belief. The reward to be given for attaining belief and being honored with Islam is in the hereafter. Only there will God Almighty give this unique reward to us through his bounties and generosity.  

The rewards for the services regarding belief and the Quran are also otherworldly; they will be given in the hereafter. Therefore, a Muslim who has belief, has embraced Islam and serves belief and the Quran should not expect any worldly rewards or interests for his service. If he expects such things and he wants it through his heart, he will be regarded to have lost his sincerity in the religion. Losing sincerity eliminates the acceptance of worshipping; God forbid, such a person may go bankrupt spiritually. However, if a person who serves belief and the Quran is given a material reward though he does not expect or want it through his heart, he should regard it as a grant of God Almighty; he should not feel gratitude to the people who give it; besides, he should not have the feeling, “This material interest and money is given to me because of my service to the religion.”

THE IDOL-HOUSE OF THE TRIBE OF TAYY IS DEMOLISHED

The tribe of Tayy, was the tribe of Hatam at-Tai, who was famous for his generosity. They lived in Yemen.

In the 8th year of the Migration, Hatam at-Tai died and his son, Adiyy, became the leader of the tribe.

After the conquest of Makkah, almost all of the idol-houses in Arabia were demolished and the idols were destroyed; however, the idol-house of this tribe was still existent and the idol called Fuls (Fals) was not destroyed.  

The Messenger of God sent Hazrat Ali to the tribe of Tayy with about one hundred and fifty Companions to demolish Fuls in the month of Rabiul-Akhir in the 9th year of the Migration.

Hazrat Ali arrived at the land of the tribe of Tayy with the mujahids. Sons of Tayy resisted the mujahids. There was a clash between them. The enemy suffered a lot of casualties. The Muslims defeated them and obtained a lot of captives and booty. The idol-house of Sons of Tayy was destroyed completely; Fuls was broken into pieces and burned down.

Adiyy b. Hatam, the leader of the tribe, had been informed about the mujahids who were coming there; so, he ran away to the direction of Syria; he was not captured. However, Saffana, the daughter of Adiyy, was among the captives.

Saffana’s Request

Hazrat Ali fulfilled his duty and returned to Madinah with the captives and booty.

Saffana, who was among the captives, was put in a room near the door of Masjid an-Nabawi. She was a clever and solemn woman. One day, while the Messenger of God was passing by that room, Saffana stood up and said, “O Messenger of God! My father died and my brother escaped. I have nothing to give to free myself from captivity. I take refuge in your forgiveness, mercy and compassion for my freedom.”

When the Messenger of God asked her who she was, Saffana said,

“O Messenger of God! I am the daughter of Hatam at-Tai, who protected families, freed slaves, fed the hungry, clothed the naked, entertained guests, gave people food and greeted people.”

The Messenger of God became glad that Saffana introduced herself like that and said, “O woman! What you have listed are attributes of believers. I wish your father had become a Muslim and we had mentioned his name with mercy.”

With those words, the Prophet stated an important truth. The fact that “not all attributes of an unbeliever are unbeliever attributes”. Yes, Hatam at-Tai was not a Muslim; and he died before he became a Muslim. However, the attributes mentioned above are attributes of believers. The Messenger of God appreciated the Muslim attributes of Hatam by saying so. Apart from appreciating them, the Prophet freed Saffana. The Messenger of God, who showed compassion, mercy and tolerance to those who were worthy of them, granted a lot of things to Saffana. He gave her some clothes and allowance; then, he sent her to Damascus with a trustworthy caravan to her brother.

When Saffana arrived in Damascus, she found her brother. She told him about the kind attitudes of the Prophet. The kind attitude of the Prophet to his sister caused some movements in his heart. He asked her, “What is your opinion about this man”. Saffana, who saw the blessed face of the Messenger of God only once and who received kind attitudes only once from him, said without hesitation, “I advise you to go to him and be subject to him.”

When Adiyy thought for a while, his sister said,

“Why are you thinking so much? If he is a prophet, you will obey him and attain great goodness and virtues. If he is a king, you will not lose anything; your sultanate in Yemen will belong to you again. You will not be despised.”

Adiyy regarded the advice of his sister appropriate; he arrived in Madinah at once and went to the presence of the Prophet.

The Messenger of God wanted to host Adiyy, who was famous like his father, in his house.

They left the mosque to go to the house of the Prophet. Meanwhile, a woman stopped them and talked to the Prophet about her need for a long time. The Messenger of God listened to her patiently and without feeling disturbed. When Adiyy saw the nice and kind attitude of the Prophet to the old woman, he said to himself, “I swear by God he is not a king.” There was only one possibility left: “Then, he is a prophet.”

They reached the house of the Prophet. The Prophet wanted Adiyy to sit on a leather mattress. However, he did not want to sit on it. He said the Prophet was worthy of sitting on it. However, the Prophet did not sit on it and insisted that Adiyy sit on it. Thereupon, Adiyy sat on the leather mattress. The Messenger of God sat on the ground opposite his valuable guest. This attitude of the Prophet, which showed his modesty and his kindness toward his guest, softened Adiyy’s heart some more and made him approach belief a bit more.  

Then, the Messenger of God invited him to become a Muslim. He repeated it three times. However, Adiyy did not give a positive answer. He said, “I am a Christian.”

Thereupon, the Messenger of God said,

“O Adiyy! Maybe you do not want to become a Muslim because some people say, ‘Weak, poor and helpless people enter his religion.’ By God, one day, Muslims will have so much wealth that they will not be able to find anybody that asks for money or goods from them.  

You may also have thought, ‘The number of the Muslims is few and the number of their enemies is a lot.’ You might not want to become a Muslim because of that thought.

Do you know Hiyara? This religion will provide such safety and security that a woman will come from Hiyara to the Kaaba on her own for circumambulation without fearing anything but God.”

This talk opened the door of Adiyy’s heart and he embraced Islam.

Adiyy b. Hatam, who was one of the notables of the Companions was this person.

[twistednuns]

February 2021

Irises and purple, lavender and white hyacinths. For merely three bucks. What a gorgeous bouquet.

My own thai curry recipe. It's THAT delicious.

A pep talk from Manu. Realising I really need to take more chances. And get rid of that dude I've been hanging out with. I've been feeling so stuck lately. I'm toying with the idea of giving it all up. Quitting my job. Leaving the country. Just to see what happens. Because I'm pretty sure I'll love what happens next. / Whatever worlds you live in, there are other worlds out there. If you are uninspired living life a certain way, it’s your duty to change. Nothing, not a relationship or job or housing situation, is worth sacrificing your ravenous hunger for life for. X

I feel my obsession with artificial cherry flavour creeping back up on me. Cherry-flavoured diet coke is one of my guiltiest pleasures.

I keep seeing those multicolour graffiti tags everywhere and I finally found out what kind of pen they use for this effect! I ordered one, I just had to, and it's fantastic. So beautiful and vibrant! I've already asked around how illegal it is to walk around the neighbourhood signing my tag on random surfaces...

Fresh pineapple.

The ocean. Talking about diving. Watching documentaries about marine life like My Octopus Teacher and Blue Planet. Drawing nautical objects, sea dragons and mollusks.

Learning more about apophenia.

It actually smells like spring in the forest and the days are already so much longer. I even saw a deer jumping over the path last night. I even got Frank to join my on my walk for the first time.

A little glimpse of summer. The south of France is my happy place I keep going back to. But there are more little reminders of the world out there, of travel and summer, that I thoroughly enjoy. Like watching Salt, Fat, Acid, Heat with Samin Nosrat. Not only do I really want to try making my own Tahdig now but I also kept smiling throughout the whole show because they filmed episodes in Italy, Japan and Mexico. Just imagine walking across a citrus market in the Yucatan right now. Or making Pesto Genovese with an Italian nonna in a Ligurian castle. Maybe even learning how to make your own miso in a remote corner of Japan. There is so much longing within me at the moment. What made my virtual culinary travels even better was Netflix's Street Food series. I especially enjoyed the episodes from Bolivia and Mexico.

I May Destroy You. Different, and very relevant.

This year's Valentine's Day happened to be pretty rad. So I've exchanged the boring nerd I had been dating with an exciting artist from Colombia. John is a painter, a poet, photographer and filmmaker who gave me a Spanish copy of an Oscar Wilde book with a poem he had written for me. My cold and cynical German heart is not used to wooing on this level but I love it. On Sunday we walked through the English Garden and Schwabing in the sunshine, took photos, looked at some art and antiquarian bookshop windows. We saw two cats inside the cat café, bought fancy macarons at Maelu and just kept talking. I even found a few interesting books about dream interpretation on my way home. John has a reference to Kleist's tragedy Penthesilea tattooed on his collarbone - Küsse/Bisse ("das reimt sich, und wer recht von Herzen liebt, kann schon das eine für das andre greifen"). He is a Scorpio with impeccable taste and sends me songs he plays for me on the guitar / Cocteau Twins tunes upon waking up. I really needed this.

Having my students create English comics with Pixton. I love how much their avatars actually look like them! I hope they had fun, too.

The smell of cherry-flavoured candy wafting through the air.

Semolina pudding with banana. The subtle heat does something to the bananas; the combination is simply delicious.

I watched the first season of Chef's Table and was really impressed by Francis Mallmann. I admire his courage and lifestyle. The constant change he craves. The way he speaks foreign languages and just bravely does his very own, unique thing. I want to live like that, too.

A crystal clear view of the Orion constellation.

Very fine snow powder against the sunlight. As if it was raining glitter.

Feeling cool and confident. A fleeting feeling but it makes such a big difference.

When we practice forgiveness, we let go of shame. Embedded in our shame is always a sense of being unworthy. It separates. Compassion and forgiveness reconnect us. / reading bell hooks' all about love.

Mustering up enough motivation to go through all my stuff in the basement and put a few items on eBay. I'd been putting this off for years now.

I'm amazed how good my phone camera is. I took some pictures in the pitch-black forest and you can make out the moonlight on the path and even see star constellations on the photo.

Spending quality time with a cuddly kitty boi.

Blue corn quesadillas prepared for me by a bloody gorgeous Mexican metalhead.

Writing that message I should have written weeks ago (letting Simon know that I wasn't particularly  interested in dating him anymore).

Trolli burgers. The best gummy candy out there. Arguably the most fun. I love being able to disassemble my food and eat it layer by layer.

John's story about that acid trip on a boat somewhere in the ocean off the Colombian coast. They lay under the bright moonlight and were suddenly surrounded by Gray whales communicating with each other through song.

The spicy smell of a fresh, moist loaf of rye bread. Eating it with soured butter and salt.

The first snowdrops of the year.

Another one about the moon: walking home late one evening there was a lunar corona in the fog. I loved how the light illuminated my arms in that cool, white light.

The morning after the worst weekend in months or maybe even years (with both a mental breakdown and a medical emergency because misery loves company, eh?) Waking up early, pain-free. With a little spark of excitement and motivation. Just lying around for an hour in the darkness. Meditating. Falling back asleep for a little while. Getting up eventually, brushing my teeth and hair, painting my nails.

Painting more. Just experimenting with colour, intuitively. Without putting pressure on myself. The other night I painted with oil pastels and chalky pastel crayons while watching Dawson's Creek (I successfully avoided this series for 20 years and now, in my thirties, I start watching it?).

Bananas with nut butter, dark chocolate and sea salt.

Meditating with the blanket covering my nose. Breathing in fresh laundry smell.

Riding home from school with Anastasia, talking about diving adventures.

Reading Jill Heinerth's book Into the Planet. Her career as an explorer and cave diver is breathtakingly exciting. I couldn't put that memoir down. And it made me even more antsy. I'm really unhappy and bored right now - I wanna go out and learn something new, explore, live a little more.

Going to work without make-up. In the last ten or even fifteen years I put on make-up every single day I went to school. I'm done. Lockdown made me come to terms with the look of my bare face.

Learning about Antarctica cruises. It only takes about 24hours to reach the area from Argentina! I'd really love to go but the cruises are crazy expensive.

My house plants sprouting new leaves.

The moment the pain suddenly stops and you can breathe again.

Tropical breakfast. Banana, kiwi, mango, pineapple. And plain yoghurt. Decidedly non-tropical.

[nad-zeta]

Matchup Duo 💎

HOWDY, not sure if matchups for ikeseng are open but here i go anyway?¿ ´･ᴗ･`

-I’m a Leo, and a combination of ENFP/ENTP (if that helps with characterization), but I’m becoming more ambivert as the days go by. But I still act like a crackhead (making up new words, making random sound effects out of boredom and roasting people playfully, having airhead moments, for examples) and a lot of people irl do get put off at how “obnoxious” I can get, but I do know when to “flip the switch” and become serious/quiet.

-I have really low standards for humor idk I laugh at my own jokes it’s honestly astounding, but cursed memes/images are somethin else💀 Dark jokes are always open in my ally👀

-Ironically, I canNOT stand horror, I will legit be so paranoid or freaked out and start overthinking and just cry and DIE—

I’m very open, almost TOO open, but ask me literally anything and I’ll usually tell everyone my honest opinions/thoughts, but I know how to deliver words tactfully and articulately. Debating, (public) speaking, writing, and understanding concepts are my strong suits; likewise I suck ass at math (I have no idea how I ended up in Calc BC ap, I just— 😭)

-Speaking of writing, I write poems whenever I feel like it, I have a whole collection HAH. My love of expressing comes from my tendency to play the devil’s advocate in interpreting and arguing for almost all perspectives in topics. So you can probably guess how I don’t get offended really easily and welcome both playful and serious banter (despite the crackhead persona, I’m very observant of people and their values expressed and how they tick, so I know when to back off especially when they get uncomfortable with my aggressive debating/personality). Need advice? I can use what I’ve gathered from different people and help anyone in their particular situations.

-And speaking of expression, I love fashion and makeup! I love being able to express myself through use of presentation and have fun while doing it! hehe (k-fashion, asian beauty 👀) HECK YEAH I’M DOWN FOR SHOPPING—

-I like to dance yeehaw, and I was on a competitive dance team (well that was before when the corona hit the milly rock a little TOO hard and put all the dancers out of commission😔🤝😭) I’ve also been in my own highschool’s dance club for 4 years!!

-I’m a console gamer :0 Big fan of winding down with video games, but books are the best if games aren’t an option.

-Music is a huge part of my life; I played the flute and the viola for years before and been surrounded by music through dancing as well; while I’ve been in a choir before, my vocals aren’t stellar oof, but at least I’m not tone-deaf.

-Can’t cook to save a life ooooof, that’s where my airheadness REALLY kicks in. I literally burn myself making instant :>

-I’m not phased by sexual innuendos/conversations/kinks because I see them objectively as unique characteristics of every person, but I’ll crack up at a sex joke or a cringe flirt line with friends. And like I’ve said, I’ll share them myself without objection if ANYONE asks. But the moment someone actually TRIES to make a move on me (like what!!¡¿), I’ll first play it casual but then bolt for the door because it’s hard for me to actually imagine that ANY guy would see me in a romantic light LOL but i’d get used to the advances quick and if it’s someone i liked back, i’d tease them the same or raise up the antics ᕦ(ò_óˇ)ᕤ

Hi, there, dear! <3 Can I just say u sound like a super cool person! Anyway here is your matchup dear, I hope you enjoy it! And thanks for waiting soooooooooo long! ^_^

So I match you with………… Masamune

Selfie Match up

The first time this boi meets you he is ecstatic, finally someone fun to liven up this boring place.

You scream fun and outgoing

Masamune is already imagining all the fun adventures the two of you can go on and he hasn’t even talked to you yet!

He is absolutely captivated by those big dark brown eyes. 

Those big bright intelligent eyes are all telling of the playful mischief the two of you could get up to together.

He absolutely loses himself in your deep warm, captivating eyes, they remind him of home, they are deep and rich like the soil of his home town, soft and comforting, while busting with endless life and energy

HE is absolutely dazzled by the way your soft strands of earthy hair moved so freely in the wind. It low key reminds him of his own wild free personality

If he ever had to imagine his perfect woman you would be it.

You have the same vibe as playful kitten having endless hours of fun, and boy oh boy all Masa wants to do is join in.

He wishes nothing more than to boop your cute nose

His brain goes haywire, all he wants to do is kiss those soft lips of yours

Masamune continues to eye you from the corner of the council room. Gosh if love at first sight did exist than this would describe his exact feelings towards you.

Match up part

You were named as the new princess of the Oda forces and was forced to sit through the rest of the boring war council. It had been 30 minutes in, and you were already losing your mind from boredom, that is when the one-eyed dragon passed you note from across the table. You giggled a little at the joke and wrote back on of your own. The two of you passed notes back and forth, every joke or remark you read made you want to break out in laughter. As the council progressed, the two of you got rowdier and rowdier and the both of you were now making strange noises. You were making all sorts of weird sound effects, and Masamune was howling in laughter. TBH they were so funny even Nobunaga couldn’t help but laugh. Everyone was having a good time except Hideyoshi “Okay that’s the third time the two of you have disturbed the council”. Hideyoshi started lecturing you and Masamune about not disturbing the council any further when Nobunaga announced that the council was over. The two of you couldn’t help but laugh in victory. The two of you continued your conversation in which you were playfully roasting each other. Masamune was right; you really were going to be a lot of fun.

Masa love chatting and spending time with you and honestly, he loved the fact that you understood and laughed at all his jokes. What he loves the most is times just before your about to deliver the punch line to a joke, but you burst out laughing for 20 minutes before you can even get it out. And once you finally coke out the punchline between laughs, you continue to giggle at your hilarious sense of humour for another solid 30 minutes. Masamune can’t help but laugh at you laughing at yourself. When the two of you goofballs are around its always a fun time, but beware of some occasional dark humour i.e. the two of you got scolded one day for joking about some dark topics in front of the kids *cough* Mitsunari *cough*

The first night you arrived, and Masamune barged into your room, and Masamune being Masamune, ignored any boundaries of personal space and started to page through one of your books that were laying on your writing desk. It was your fashion portfolio that caught his eye. He loves all the different looks and the way the colours and patterns seemed to complement each other. You had explained to him that you were heavily into fashion and makeup and considered it as part of your self-expression. Masamune smiled his big cat-like smile at you asking if you wanted to meet up with him tomorrow. You honestly didn’t have anything better to do, so you agreed.

You and Masamune spent hours in the market looking at different fabrics, clothes and makeup products. Everything was so different in the past. After spending the whole day shopping your grab both of Masamune’s hands in your, you beam up at his with the brightest smile stating that you had a fun idea. Masa is pretty much keen for anything, so he goes along with your strange idea. The two of you make your way back to his manor. And that is when the two of you hold a fashion show, to show off your new clothes and accessories the two of you bought. It was a lighthearted fun game, filled with banter and giggles. It had actually become somewhat of a tradition now for the two of you to do this little fashion shows in his room after a long day of shopping. You would always bust out laughing at the strange poses Masamune would do. 

Another fun activity the two of you have adopted is poetry slams. Both of you would spend the week writing your best poems and then present them to each other. Just like the fashion shows, these evenings are also always filled to the brim with laugher and banter. The two of you had gotten to know each other fairly well like this, as sometimes the theme of the poems would be dark and depressing, and after the two of you would discuss the emotions behind it. U guys would in those cases always be there for each other lending a friendly ear to listen to the others problems.

Needless to say at this point, Masamune was head over heels for you and somewhere in between the fun poetry slams and fashion shows, his flirty jokes stopped being jokes. He was serious about you. One night he actually kissed you, you were honestly so shook, you ran, you legit sprinted away. Little did you know the tiger was on your heel running after you. He caught you and tacked you to the ground. The 30 second run actually gave you time to sort your feelings, as you too had realized that you had also fallen for the one-eyed dragon. He stared into your eyes questioningly, and that’s when you snaked your hands behind his neck and pulled him down to return the kiss.

The two of you made such a sweet couple. After work, Masamune would always be on the hunt for his kitten to spend time with you. He was super shocked when he heard singing coming from the kitchen. He snuck up to the kitchen and peeked inside. He had to chuckle when he saw you singing your heart out and dancing like nobody was watching. He never knew you could sing and dance like that, he watched you for a while utterly awestruck by you. He was pulled out of his reverie when he smelt something burning and saw a cloud of smoke coming from the oven. You panicked at seeing the smoke and swiftly opened the oven. You didn’t even think when you took the baked, well-burnt goods out the oven without mitts or a cloth. You had legit burnt your hands to a crisp. 

Masamune rushed to your side to evaluate the damage. He got a bag and filled it with ice, putting it on your burnt hands. He then proceeded to rub some medicine on the burns and wrap your hands “Best leave the cooking to me from now on Kitten”. He then took over from where you left off, making you the best meal you had ever tasted. You sat on the kitchen counter to keep him company. The burnt buns and your burnt hands were long forgotten, as the two of you were laughing and chatting away. 

Now, whenever Masamune cooked, you would sit in the kitchen with him and keep him company. The two of you would laugh and dance together in the kitchen. It was always so much fun spending time with him, you especially love it when he sings in his most false off-key voice it is honestly hilarious. You couldn’t help but think he complimented you perfectly. He could cook when you couldn’t even make toast successfully, and you could sing beautifully, while he sounded like some cat in pain.

Another thing Masa absolutely loves, is to sit and listen to you play the flute or viola. The soothing music and the amount of love and emotion you pack into the songs as you play, washes away all the stress and tiredness from his day. He could sit four hours and hours just enchanted by the sound of your music. Even more so if you sing along to the song, you are playing. He loves hearing your beautiful voice. This boy will legit drag you to sit in his lap and nuzzle and kiss you until you agree to play or sing him a song.

Masamune is always by your side supporting you and showering you with love. Whenever you get sad or insecure, Masamune is always there to lighten the mood. Like one time, some maids pissed you off. “ why is my kitten so angry today” Masamune literally came up to you and pinched your cheeks, he then squished your face “Common lemi see that beautiful smile.” When you still had a grumpy expression, he pulled you up and started spontaneously dancing. You couldn’t help but smile at the goofball and join in. Soon your big wide fast movements slowed down, and Masamune pulled you into his arms by your waist. He then dropped his head down and rested it in the crook of your neck. You honestly love quite moments like this just slow dancing in your lover’s arms. He would ask you about your day and would tighten his hold on you, enveloping you in a warm embrace, while you talk out all your frustrations of the day. After he would nibble on your ear whispering how much he loves and adores you.

Masa is like your fun knight in shining armour whether it is comforting you and helping you get to sleep after hearing some crazy scary ghost stories or spending hours upon hours bantering with you while you playfully insult each other, He is always there for you, loving you from the moment the sun rises till the moment it sets. He has truly met his match with you and never has in his life been happier, or laughed so much. The two of you can always be found snuggled together with Masa’s lil tiger cub in the futon after a long day of laughs, fun and adventures

Perhaps it truly was love at first sight after all 

Other potential matches…………….Mitsuhide 

 Hope you enjoyed it, love! and I hope you are staying safe and well🍭 @smol-vy

[evangeline-perry]

Dead Poets Society: Neil x OC: part 8

masterlist

complete series

Since Neil isn’t at Welton at the moment, because he’s gone to see if he’s got the part in the play, and the boys have football training, I decided to just hang around on Neil’s bed in my comfy clothes, reading one of my books.

‘Charlie, I got the part!’ I hear the familiar voice of Neil yell throughout the hall, ‘I'm gonna play Puck! I'm gonna play Puck!’ I hear him knocking on a door.

‘What did he say?’ Meeks mumbles taking off his radio headphones

‘That's the main part’, Neil yells exitedly.

I hear Knox and Charlie congratulate him before he bounds into his room. There I’ve put my book down and now stand in front of him. He wraps his arms around me and dramatically dips me down to kiss me. I’ve vaguelly aware of Charlie and Knox whistling. When he pulls away he pecks my lips one more time before sitting down at his typewriter.

Todd and I sit down on his bad to see what he’s doing.

‘Okay, okay, okay, okay’, Neil mumbles to himself.

‘Neil, how are you gonna do this?’ Todd questions.

‘They need a letter of permission from my father and Mr. Nolan’, Neil explains.

‘You're not gonna write it’, Todd objects.

‘Oh yes, I am’, Neil laughs.

‘Oh, Neil. Neil, you're crazy’, Todd states, shaking his head.

Neil begins typing as he reads out loud: ‘Okay. "I am writing to you on behalf of my son Neil Perry."’ Neil begins laughing and stomping his feet up and down, ‘This is great.’

Once he finishes his letter, Neil gets up to go and post immediately, but I stop him by grabbing his blazers sleeve. He turns to look at me and seems to know what I’m thinking already. He puts his letter down on his desk and puts his hands on my cheeks, tilting my head back slightly so it’s easier to kiss me. He pulls me up and away from me slightly just to say: ‘Todd leave.’ in a tone that sent a shiver down my spine.

Then he pulls me back to him, his soft lips on mine. I only notice we’re walking when he sat down on his bed, pulling me on his lap to straddle him. There the arms around my waist, pull me flush against him. My hands move their way into his hair, slightly pulling his hair, causing him to quietly groan, which I enjoyed.

Suddenly I hear some snickers. I look at the door to see the Dead Poets peek in with smirks on their faces. ‘Get out!’ Neil’s voice was low and husky, I couldn’t exactly explain why, but it gave me chills. I could see the boys surprised expressions, and Charlies smirk, leave the slightly opened door, before it closed again. Before I could do anything else, Neil pulls me even closer, if that was even possible, and he started to kiss down my jaw to my neck, before biting down at the base of it. This caused me to inhale sharply, as Neil continues to kiss and bite my neck.

The next morning… let’s just say that I had to readjust my collar a LOT because of all the hickey Neil had given me. When he saw me fumbling on our way to class, he threw his arm around me and whispered in my ear: ‘Why hide them? These boys should know you’re mine.’ Which caused me to blush a bright red.

In English class, Knox stands at the front of the room with his poem in hand, ‘"To Chris."

‘Who's Chris?’ I hear some boys say, ‘Mmm, Chris.’

‘I see a sweetness in her smile. Blight light shines from her eyes. But life is complete; contentment is mine, Just knowing that...  just knowing that she's alive.’ Knox crumples his poem and walks back to his desk, ‘Sorry, Captain. It's stupid.’

‘No, no. It's not stupid. It's a good effort. It touched on one of the major themes, love. A major theme not only in poetry, but life’, My dad told him. I turn in my seat and tell Knox, ‘That was a really sweet poem, Know’, he smiles sheepishly.

‘Mr. Hopkins, you were laughing. You're up.’ Hopkins slowly walks to the front of the class and unfolds his piece of paper.

"The cat sat on the mat." he says, refolding the paper and moving to sit back down, the boys start to laugh.

‘Congratulations, Mr. Hopkins. Yours is the first poem to ever have a negative score on the Pritchard scale. We're not laughing at you, we're laughing near you. I don't mind that your poem had a simple theme. Sometimes the most beautiful poetry can be about simple things, like a cat, or a flower or rain. You see, poetry can come from anything with the stuff of revelation in it. Just don't let your poems be ordinary. Now, who's next?’

My father approaches Todd's desk. ‘ Mr. Anderson, I see you sitting there in agony. Come on, Todd, step up. Let's put you out of your misery.’

‘I, I didn't do it. I didn't write a poem’, Todd mumbles quietly.

‘Mr. Anderson thinks that everything inside of him is worthless and embarrassing. Isn't that right, Todd? Isn't that your worst fear? Well, I think you're wrong. I think you have something inside of you that is worth a great deal.’ my dad walks up to the blackboard and begins to write, ‘"I sound my barbaric yawp over the rooftops of the world." W. W. Uncle Walt again. Now, for those of you who don't know, a yawp is a loud cry or yell. Now, Todd, I would like you to give us a demonstration of a barbaric "yawp." Come on. You can't yawp sitting down. Let's go. Come on. Up.’ Todd reluctantly stands and follows his teacer to the front, ‘You gotta get in "yawping" stance.’

‘A yawp?’

‘No, not just a yawp. A barbaric yawp.’

‘Yawp’, Todd says quietly.

‘Come on, louder.’

‘Yawp’, quietly again.

‘No, that's a mouse. Come on. Louder.’

‘Yawp’, a little louder...

‘Oh, good God, boy. Yell like a man!’

‘Yawp!’ a shout!

‘There it is. You see, you have a barbarian in you, after all.’ Todd goes to return to his seat but he is stopped, ‘Now, you don't get away that easy.’ he turns Todd around and points out a picture on the wall, ‘The picture of Uncle Walt up there. What does he remind you of? Don't think. Answer. Go on.’ he says as he begins to circle around Todd.

‘A m-m-madman.’

‘What kind of madman? Don't think about it. Just answer again.’

‘A c-crazy madman’, Todd stumbles.

‘No, you can do better than that. Free up your mind. Use your imagination. Say the first thing that pops into your head, even if it's total gibberish. Go on, go on.’

‘Uh, uh, a sweaty-toothed madman.’

‘Good God, boy, there's a poet in you, after all. There, close your eyes. Close your eyes. Close 'em. Now, describe what you see.’ he pulls his hands over Todd's eyes and they begin to slowly spin around.

‘Uh, I-I close my eyes.’

‘Yes?’

‘Uh, and this image floats beside me.’

‘A sweaty-toothed madman?’

‘A sweaty-toothed madman’, Todd repeats, ‘with a stare that pounds my brain.’

‘Oh, that's excellent. Now, give him action. Make him do something.’

‘H-His hands reach out and choke me.’

‘That's it. Wonderful. Wonderful’, my dad removes his hands from Todd but Todd keeps his eyes closed, ‘And, and all the time he's mumbling.’

‘What's he mumbling?’

‘M-Mumbling, "Truth. Truth is like, like a blanket that always leaves your feet cold."’

Some students begin to laugh and Todd opens his eyes, but my dad quickly gestures for him to close them again. ‘Forget them, forget them. Stay with the blanket. Tell me about that blanket.’

‘Y-Y-Y-You push it, stretch it, it'll never be enough. You kick at it, beat it, it'll never cover any of us. From the moment we enter crying to the moment we leave dying, it will just cover your face as you wail and cry and scream.’ Todd opens his eyes again and the class is silent. Then we all begin to clap and cheer. My dad whispers something to Todd that I can’t hear before turning to the class, ‘Who’s next?’

‘How do we follow that?’ Neil whispers, leaning my way, I smile at him.

‘I’m sure you’ll figure it out Mr Perry’, My dads voice interrupts, ‘you’re up’

Neil gets up, unfolding the page in his hand. Once in the front of the class, begins to read his poem:

‘fog on her glasses

from the still steaming tea

a book in her hand

as she casually reads

a catch in her breath

as the climax grows near

she’s deaf to the world

the book’s all she can hear

she’s completely lost now,

or perhaps she is found

in this strange paper world

That’s far from the ground’

The class applauds, and Neil sits back down. My gaze follows him, he winks at me, and I smile. The class goes on as usual, until the bell goes off. ‘‘Mr Perry, stay here for a moment please, you too young lady’, my father calls as we move to leave the classroom.

All the other people leave, but the both of us go to stand in front of the desk, where my father is leaning against. ‘Do you wish to tell me something, Mr Perry?’

Neil and I share a worried glance, but my dad just goes on to ask, ‘for how long?’

‘We’ve been together officially for about a week, sir’, Neil answered nervously.

‘Are you serious about this relationship? What are your intentions in this?’ my dad continued, in a very serious tone.

‘I’m serious about what we have, sir, I… I  just want to make her happy. I...’ he stammers, I turn to look and, he’s blushing, ‘I love her.’ he says finally. What he said moved me, I take hold of his hand, directing his attention to me. ‘I love you too.’ I say softly.

Neil smiled down at me before kissing my temple. I look back at my dad to see him smile, ‘That’s all I wanted to hear.’

With that he pats Neil on the shoulder and goes back into his office, leaving both of us in shock, but relieved. After a moment Neil grabs my waist and kisses me, picking me up and spinning me.

‘How about I take you out this weekend?’ he asks after pulling away.

‘Sounds like a plan’, I smile and he leans in to kiss me again.

<- PREVIOUS/ NEXT ->

[kaedix]

All that’s best of dark and bright

In which Shirayuki left Clarines to live with the Lions of the Mountain.

Title is from the poem by Lord Byron, “She Walks in Beauty”.

Chapter One: I loved him, once

Chapter Two: My place, my home

Chapter Three: Oft died the words upon our lips

Chapter Four: Never too far

“The clouds,” Kit whined as Shirayuki stuck tiny white flowers into her daughter's hair. “I think it's going to rain, mama.”

“It won't rain,” Shirayuki reassured her. “It'll just be a gray day. Which,” she said quickly as Kit groaned, “is a bit of good fortune. Trying to have a wedding while the sun is beating down is miserable. It'll be the perfect temperature for you and your guests.”

Kit seemed to relax, and Shirayuki breathed a sigh of relief. Keeping her eldest daughter at peace was a balancing act, but she hadn't said anything wrong yet.

Shirayuki placed the last flower. “Turn,” she said, tapping Kit's shoulder. “Let me see you.”

Kit turned obediently, facing her mother with a renewed worry. “Do I look okay? Should I have gone with the larger flowers?”

Shirayuki took a long look. Kit was lovely. Her simple white dress hung perfectly on her thin frame, and the pink pearl headband in her blonde hair stood out in the daintiest sort of way. Not a hair was misplaced - typical of Kit - and every element was intentional.

Shirayuki teared up. She couldn't help it.

“You are beautiful,” she told her daughter.

Kit breathed out. “Really?”

Shirayuki nodded. “Really.”

Shirayuki, Akiko, and Mukaze were the first to arrive.

Kit had opted to use the nearby forest clearing that held most of the village weddings. It had been utilized so often that permanent log seating had been installed among the foliage, and combined with the floral archway put together by Shirayuki and her girls at the head, framed by the trees - it was magical.

Shirayuki had daydreamed about having her own wedding here on many occasions, but only ever let it go as far as the decorations and who would officiate. She refused to let herself imagine who would be standing before her as she said her vows, and so that detail remained a blur among the visions of the beautiful wedding she imagined for herself.

Mukaze grumbled something about going over his lines one more time, and headed to stand beneath the archway with a small piece of paper in his hands. Shirayuki sat with Akiko on the front row, letting out a deep sigh.

“It's finally here,” Shirayuki said. “No more wedding preparations after this. Can you believe it?”

Akiko leaned her head against her mother's shoulder. “I think that's what I'm most excited for. I'm so tired, mama. I'm never going to have a wedding.”

Shirayuki chuckled. “It's a lot of work. You've been so wonderful to your sister. And so helpful to me. Thank you, Akiko.”

“You're welcome, mama.”

A few minutes passed and guests began to fill in the seats. Shirayuki was grateful that Kit had agreed to have only close friends (which was still quite a lot, Kit was very social) and a few others to the ceremony, and invite the whole village to the party later that night. It was easier and much more intimate this way.

As she turned back to the front, Shirayuki's gaze fell on Taketsu, who had quietly taken his place beside Mukaze under the archway. He was twisting his hands nervously and looked like he was reciting something to himself quietly.

Akiko, who would be singing her sister down the aisle, took her place to the far left of the archway, waiting for her grandfather to begin the proceedings. Shirayuki smiled encouragingly at her youngest. Akiko smiled back.

Finally, Mukaze cleared his throat to address the congregation.

“Rise for the bride,” he said loudly in his gravelly voice.

The crowd rose. The chatter quieted as Akiko began to sing the first few high, sweet notes of her song. Tears stung Shirayuki's eyes again; the tune was one she recognized. It was a version of the lullaby she used to sing to them as children.

Lavender blossoms laid in her hair

Each breath I take, she is the air

If I am the sky, then you are the stars

If you call my name, I'm never too far

Shirayuki had to hold in a sob as Kit descended the aisle through her guests. Kit's face lit up as she saw Taketsu and Mukaze waiting for her. Taketsu wiped tears from his eyes and stared at his almost-wife with so much adoration that Shirayuki knew Kit was making a very good decision.

Akiko sang out the last notes of her song as Kit reached the archway. Akiko flashed her sister a smile before hurrying back to her seat next to Shirayuki.

Kit took her place across from Taketsu, leaning over to give Mukaze a kiss on the cheek before he spoke.

“Everybody sit,” Mukaze grunted, and a wave of quiet laughter went through the crowd as everyone took their seats again.

Shirayuki smiled. Kit knew what she was getting into when she asked her grandfather to officiate her wedding.

“On behalf of Kit and Taketsu, we offer gratitude for all who have gathered with us today….”

Shirayuki felt her heart swell as she looked on at the moment in front of her. This….this was special. This was a moment she never could have thought up on her own, and yet everything was perfect. An unfamiliar feeling of contentment washed over her.

“...I doubt any of you do,” Mukaze continued, “But it's part of the script so I have to say it. If any of you have reason to object to this union - well, say so.”

A few snickers sounded through the crowd. Silence followed. Mukaze opened his mouth to continue -

“I have reason,” said a voice abruptly from the back.

Everyone turned to look. Kit's gaze snapped away from Taketsu's face to find the voice in the small crowd.

Shirayuki's heart stopped.

She turned slowly in her seat, making eye contact with the man who objected.

Zen.

He stood at the back of the crowd, his body language far too casual for the spectacle he was making of himself. Arms crossed, face blank, and he was still wearing the same traveling clothes Shirayuki had seen him in at the market nearly a week ago.

“What - why?” Kit said, breaking the handhold with her almost-husband. “Who are you?”

Shirayuki stood up. “You need to leave,” she said, her voice firm - dangerous.

“I think I deserve a say in all this,” Zen said calmly, looking from Shirayuki to Kit. “My permission wasn't asked for.”

“Your permission isn't needed,” Shirayuki snapped.

“Yeah, why would it be?” Kit asked.

Zen turned his gaze to Kit. “I'm your father.”

Kit blinked. “What?”

“Zen,” Shirayuki warned. “Leave. Now.”

“Mama?” Kit turned to Shirayuki, complete and utter confusion on her face. “Is he - ?”

The question hung in the air. Every guest had their eyes on Shirayuki. She was especially aware of Akiko's gaze.

Shirayuki didn't take her eyes off of Zen.

“Yes,” she said quietly, but everyone heard.

Thanks a million @claudeng80 for your feedback on this chapter! 

[sailorgreywolf-legacy]

Chivalry

This is for the first prompt of rare pair week, which is First Meeting

England was excited that he was leaving his own island on an adventure. And it wasn’t just an adventure; it was a crusade to free Christians from the grips of a Muslim occupation, or so his king had said. 

His king had explained that it was a sacred calling and it would do England great honor to go with them, even though he would not go all the way to the Holy Land. There was a fight against the Muslims closer, so his king had said, and they would aid with that first. 

That was why England was on a ship crossing the channel, though some of the knight had objected. He knew why they did not want him in battle, even though the understanding irritated him. He was still very young, only beginning to grow out of the body of a child. But, old enough, he thought, to be trusted to handle himself well enough. He had learned how to use a sword and ride and shoot a bow long ago; his brothers had been good teachers.

But, he had never traveled before, not far away at least. The only other countries he had met were his brothers, and France. His brothers were men with their own affairs to deal with, which meant they disregarded him.

France was a strange mocking peacock, and England was at a loss of what to think of such a man. But, the Frenchman’s words came back to him in quiet moments, the jibes at his poor French, his lack of fashion, and his messy hair. 

England was glad to be sailing away in this moment to somewhere new; especially after the vicious years of civil war he had endured. Everything was calming now, but he still longed to see somewhere different, somewhere where the sun shone brightly through the year, somewhere unlike his foggy island.

He pulled his cloak around himself as the cold wind from the channel blew around him. His mind was far away from this cold wet shore, full of the words of poets and troubadours. He was going to help another country to free themselves from an occupying force. He would arrive in a suit of new armor like a knight from a poet’s story. 

He thought, perhaps he would meet the person he was destined to love like the knights in the poems. Those were the stories he loved best, the knight who loved so truly that he would do anything his lady asked. It was so romantic to think that love like that could exist. 

He smiled to himself, even though the wind was cold and he hardly knew what would come. Nothing could dampen his spirits now.

The march from the landing to the city was beautiful, and England found it hard not to stare at the beautiful landscape. It seemed that so much was green here, and trees heavy with fruit. It was so different and captivating. It was how he would imagine paradise to look.

When they approached the city that was under siege, which he was told was called Lisbon, he noticed the beautiful cliffs above the bluest ocean he had ever seen. England couldn’t help but compare them to his own white cliffs at Dover.

 It was so wonderful to be here that he smiled as he leaned back in his saddle. That earned him a glare from the knight riding next to him. How could someone focus only on fighting when there was beauty all around? But, he was mortified by the idea that he was being a wide-eyed child during an important campaign.

It would give his king a reason to make him stay in London next time there was the opportunity. So, to show that he was old enough and strong enough to be here, England straightened up in his saddle and put on what he thought was a stern face. But, beneath it, he was still basking in the beauty of his new place. 

They eventually came upon the army they were supposed to help. It was arrayed in a sprawl of tents with colorful flags flying. It was more familiar to England to see war so close, after the years he had spent seeing the civil war in his own home. 

They were met by a contingent of knights, dressed in gleaming armor. England’s commander halted their party and said, “We are here to assist in the siege.”

The knight across from them nodded curtly  and said, in French, “We are happy to accept King Stephen’s help.” 

England understood French, though he knew he spoke it with a heavy accent. All of his kings and their courts spoke it, so he had no choice but to learn. 

His attention wandered from the knight who was speaking to the young man next to him. He appeared to be the same age as England, or close enough.He had smiling eyes, and a strong olive undertone to his skin. His hair fell in brown waves to the nape of his neck; the glint of the sun off of it was enchanting. 

England supposed that this must be Portugal. The other country caught him staring and smiled. And he felt his cheeks warming, and he hoped that it was just the effect of the bright sun on his face.

 He was just a little bumpkin; France always said so. There was no reason for a boy with beautiful eyes should be smiling at him like that. Perhaps it was only because he had come as aid in an important moment. He decided that the reason could not be more complicated than gratitude

Once his knights had set up camp, England took off his armor. A siege did not require him to be on guard at every moment. So, he could take off his armor and strip down to his linen shirt. He had a woolen tunic, but it seemed foolish for him to have in a land this warm.

Instead, he pulled on another tunic of embroidered linen. It was not fine, but it was a forest green that he thought matched his eyes. He was still thinking of the way that his new ally had smiled at him, and it made him want to appear fashionable for once.

When he stepped out of his tent, he noticed that there was a messenger standing just outside. Not certain what to expect, England turned to the man. Before he could question anything, the man spoke, “Portugal would like to invite you to dinner.” 

England felt himself smiling before he remembered that it was neither polite nor fashionable to do so. He answered quickly, “I will gladly accept.” 

He could feel excitement rising at the idea that he could have a friend. The messenger beckoned him to follow, and he did. They wove through the encampment, until they reached a particularly large tent. 

The man stepped aside and England took it as a sign to proceed. He stepped inside of the tent. Portugal was standing there, waiting for him. It took England a moment to take in the fact that Portugal had changed his clothing as well. He was now wearing a red silk tunic that reached to his knees. He had a belt of green silk slung around his waist.

It was strange to England, because he had never seen anything like it. But, he thought, he was often behind on fashion.  And the other did look dashing, like a prince from some foreign storybook. 

Portugal strode towards him and said, “You accepted! I am glad.” 

England found himself suddenly struck dumb. He had not thought of what he would say when he got here, only that he wanted the company. Without anything in mind, he resorted to speaking what he thought. He said, “I was hoping that we could be friends. My name is Arthur.” 

He thought that he should not be so forward, but he could not help it. He did not want to call each other by their titles all night; it would be so tiring. He would prefer that Portugal would call him by his human name.

Portugal smiled as he took one step closer and said, “That is my hope too. My name is Filipe, though I think that you say Phillip in your language. ”

With that, he turned and walked to a table that England had failed to notice. It was odd to him as well, because it was far lower than he was used to and there were no chairs. Instead, there was a rug covered in plush stuffed pillows.

Portugal sat on the floor amongst them like it was the most natural thing to do. England tried to hide his confusion. Why would someone sit on the floor to eat? 

He dare not question it, because it might just be a European custom, and asking would expose him as a ignorant boy. Instead, he sat in the nest of pillows on the other side, still tentative about this whole setting. 

Portugal apparently caught sight of his confusion, because he asked, “You are not used to dining like this, are you?”

England felt an unseemly blush mounting his cheeks, though there was no judgment or scorn in the other’s tone. He looked down as he tried to answer, “I have never done it before. Is this how people dine in Europe?”

He thought that asking was the best option, since he could not pretend he understood. Portugal replied, “I do not know. I have not met many of them. I have only lived with my brother and Al-Andalus for so long.” 

England leaned forward, excited to grasp this thread of similarity between them. He said, the words spilling clumsily over each other in his haste, “Then you’re like me! I have had no one but my brothers.” 

He thought that he saw his own happy excitement mirrored in Portugal’s tanned face. The young man took a small fish from one of the many bowls in front of him and took a bite from it, pensively chewed and then said, “Then I suppose we both have a lot to learn.”

He chewed for another moment, while England eyed the food on the table carefully. He didn’t recognize most of it; it was so different from what grew in his home. But, it would be rude not to take anything. He took a piece of flat bread, and took an experimental bite. It was good, though very different than the white bread he was sometimes treated to.

Portugal continued, apparently unperturbed that his guest was eyeing the food with uncertainty, “I wish you could have met Antonio. He is my brother, and I think you would like him. He is very serious and ambitious, but he has a good heart. But, he is busy liberating his own lands.”

England swallowed his bread quickly and said, “I would like to meet him some day.” He already liked Portugal from the little time they had spent together, so he could only imagine that his brother would be a possible friend too. He said, “I’m not sure you would like mine. They are all headstrong and stubborn, and very independent. I still have no idea how our mother managed all of us.”

He laughed to himself at the idea of it. He thought of his oldest brother with his blazing red hair, who resembled their mother so much, and how he must have demanded so much attention. 

Portugal finished the fish and placed the remaining head and spine on a plate to his side. Then, he took a handful of olives and began to eat them one at a time. He said, “I imagine she was a strong woman. I know she gave my father a lot of trouble.” 

England froze. He had no idea that their families had ever met before, or that they had had a relationship. He searched his memories to attempt to figure out who Portugal’s father could be. 

He failed to come up with anything, so he asked, “Who was he?”

 He could have sworn he saw the other’s expression darken. But, Portugal continued to speak, his tone betrayed only a little of the emotion below the surface, “I thought you would have already guessed. I do have the misfortune of looking like him. He was Rome.” 

England took a moment to process this information. He knew little about Rome except what his mother had occasionally said about him. But from all the things she had said one came back to him clearly, and he foolishly let it slip, “My mother said that he was a cruel, lying man.”

England was able to stop himself before he added that his mother had told him to never trust Rome or any of his heirs. His mother had fought Rome tooth and nail; that much he knew. But it would be wrong to share it.

To his surprise, Portugal smiled and said, “Then she saw him for who he was. If I could have chosen any other father, I would have. I am illegitimate, you see, so I have none of his wealth or his power, but all of his shame. I only saw him a few times before he left for Byzantium with his legitimate heir.  People say he disappeared, but that is a lie. He chose to leave everything behind instead of facing the consequences of what he had done.”

Though his smile seemed to want to convey that this was a light subject, England could hear real pain beneath all of it. He scrambled to find another subject, one that was truly light. 

In panic, he said, “What do you like?” Internally, he kicked himself for such a clumsy question. But, Portugal let out a low breath, like he was relieved to leave the subject of his father.

He replied, “I like books, especially ones about heroes and adventures. Al-Andalus has a beautiful library of Roman texts.”

England felt a real smile lift up the corners of his mouth. He had spent so many days alone with books while two cousins fought for his throne. But, even before that, he had loved the stories the poets told of knights and their great adventures. 

In this answer, he saw a kindred spirt who might share his love of epic tales. He said, excited again, “I love stories!” 

In his excitement, he thought of all the ones he knew by heart. He sometimes had the traveling poets repeat them to him more than once so he could remember all of the details. He had never liked the idea that he could not hold onto the story once the poet had moved on. So, he had made a habit of remembering all that he could so that he could write it down later. He had a collection now, but he could certainly bring one to mind easily. 

Portugal smiled at him indulgently and said, as England had hoped, “Tell me one. I have read the Roman mythologies so many times, and I want to hear what your heroes are like.” 

Without any further prompting, England started to tell one of his favorites. It was about a knight who loved his lady from a distance. But, when she was kidnapped by a dishonorable knight, the good knight traveled for days to find her. Along the way, he was met with trials of his honors and his commitment. In a castle where he stopped during his quest, another lady offered him her hand, but he refused. 

When he reached that point in the story, Portugal interrupted him and said, “Did he refuse the offer because his heart belonged to another?” 

He had reclined on the pillows and listened patiently as England spoke, with a look of intrigue on his clever face. England hadn’t looked closely at him while he was telling the story, but the question made him glance over. The sight sent a pleasant warmth across his cheeks against. 

He was more than happy to explain what he found to be the most beautiful theme of the stories. He said, “Yes. That is what really shows love. Love that is constant and loyal is the truest.”

Portugal responded, “And do you think that is true for friendships too?” 

England didn’t need to think for even a moment. He knew that if something truly important, then it would be easy to be loyal to it. But, he was curious. He said, “Yes, why do you ask?” 

Portugal leaned forward across the table and extended his hand. England understood, implicitly, that he was supposed to clasp the other’s hand. He did so, though he did not entirely understand the purpose.

 Portugal answered the question, “Will you be my friend and be constant and loyal?” England met his new ally’s eyes, and it all suddenly felt very important and somber. He nodded slowly as he said, “I will be.”

It felt, in the moment, like a vow he could never break. And it meant more than just the next morning or the rest of the war against the Moors. Even if centuries passed, he should keep this one on his honor. And he intended to do exactly that.

Like Lancelot, he would be true.

[make-me-imagine]

Valentines AU

Request (and pretty detailed summary): You (human) and Thorin had been courting for a year after Erebor was reclaimed and now that Valentines Day was coming, he wanted to give you something very special, so he started to work on it. What he had in mind was a ruby tiara and a sapphire necklace. Same time, you're struggling figuring out what you wanted to give Thorin since he was king until you remember his talent as playing the harp, you go into Dale to ask someone to make one with specific kind of details.

Note: Sorry it’s pretty short :/ and it kind of sucks lol

Characters: Thorin x reader

Requested by: @deepestfirefun

Gender: Any? As long as you would wear a tiara and necklace lol

Triggers: None

You sat on a large balcony staring off in the direction of Dale, you were wracking your brain for something, anything that would make a great gift for Thorin, he didn’t really need anything, and he would never ask for something, so you had to figure out something else. But what?

Thorin was pacing back and forth as he detailed his ideas to the jeweler, he needed this to be perfect. Not only as a gift for the holiday, but as a courting gift as well. Looking at the detailed drawing he pointed to the tiara “I want the gems to be rubies rather than diamonds” The jeweler nodded as he scribbled on the paper, immediately going to work. 

You had asked Fili, Kili, Dwalin and Balin all what they thought you should get Thorin, and though their suggestions were sound, well not Fili and Kilis, but they didn’t seem right.

“Y/n” Thorins voice was gentle but sudden, making you spin around in surprise “You seem anxious, are you alright?” his face became worried

“No no, I’m alright, I just have a slight headache I suppose” you lied

Thorin approached you reaching up and touching your face gently “You should ask the healer for something to help”

“That’s actually where I was headed” you lied again

"I have business to attend to with the others, I will meet you later tonight alright?” you nodded in response before parting with a small kiss

The next morning, Thorin had left rather early to attend to more work. You decided to head into Dale to check on how the building was going, you went at least once a week.

When wandering around the town, you said hello to a few familiar faces, when your eyes landed on a man making a small instrument, Wandering over, he saw you admiring it and beckoned you over.

“Would you like this?”

You smiled “No thank you, I don’t play. But-” you finally got an idea “Do you take requests? I mean for building instruments?”

He looked surprised “Well yes, I do, though I have not had anyone ask me to make something in quite a long while”

“Have you ever made a harp?”

Thorin admired the frame of the tiara closely, it would be a good fit, and soon it would have the rubies and be perfect “And how is the necklace coming?”

He walked over to the table where the man was working, he was forming the necklace slowly, perfectly. 

“It will be ready soon Your Highness”

It was finally the day, Valentines, you had left for Dale early in the morning to pick up the harp. When you arrived at the shop, you spotted it immediately. 

It was the perfect height for Thorin to play comfortably, the coloring matched his crown. The edges where designed with an old Khuzdul poem that Thorin had loved in his youth, and the chords of the harp where a bright gold.

“It’s perfect” you said exited

When you arrived back at Erebor, Thorin was pacing the doorway of your room, when he saw you his eyes brightened “There you are, I was wondering where you had gotten too”

You skipped up to him excited “I was picking up your gift”

“A gift? Well then I suppose we both had similar ideas” taking your hand Thorin led you back to his room where he had a romantic and personal dinner waiting.

“This is beautiful Thorin” you said walking further into the room.

Before you got further into the room, you and Thorin both noticed the large draped object in the corner. Thorin looked at you curiously as you smiled at him.

Wandering over to it, Thorin slowly grabbed the blanket draping the harp and pulled it off. He took a few steps back and looked at the harp speechless. 

After a few moments of silence you walked next to him “Do you like it?”

“It’s beautiful y/n” taking a few steps closer he slowly stroked the side of it, reading the poem on the side he turned and looked at you “Thank you y/n”

You walked up to him and pressed a kiss on his cheek “You’re welcome Thorin”

After dinner, you and Thorin were sitting out on a balcony together when Thorin pulled out two boxes, adorned with golden ribbons “There are for you”

Opening the first box slowly a large smile formed on your face. The necklace was a delicate silver necklace with multiple small sapphires adorning it, and one larger one in the middle “Oh wow Thorin, this is the most beautiful necklace I’ve ever seen”

Thorin smiled at your reaction, relieved you liked it so much, standing he walked around you taking the necklace and putting it on “You often wear silver clothing like you are now, I thought this would fit nicely with them. Now the next one”

Taking the lid off of the second box, your breath hitched in your throat, you were speechless. You glanced up at Thorin who was wearing a smile. Inside the box was a tiara. Both silver and gold, similar to Thorins crown, and on the sides were two small rubies, with a bigger one in the center. 

“Thorin” you whispered out

Sitting down in front of you he took the tiara out of the box “If you are to be by my side as I rule, you will need a crown too” placing it gently on your head you stroked your face as you smiled brightly at him.

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad: The Conquest of Makkah and Afterwards

Governors and Zakah Collectors Are Sent To Tribes and Countries

(9th Year of the Migration, the month of Muharram)

Until that date, many tribes had accepted Islam and many lands were under the rule of the Islamic state. It was necessary to administer those countries and to tell the people there about their responsibilities and obligations.

To this end, the Messenger of God appointed some governors and zakah collectors in the month of Muharram of the 9th year of the migration and sent them to different countries.

The Messenger of God advised the governors and zakah collectors as follows:

“Forgive the mistakes of people; avoid collecting their best goods.”

Among the tribes that the Messenger of God sent governors and zakah collectors were San’a, one of the most beautiful cities of Yemen, Hadramut in Yemen, the tribes of Sulayms, Muzaynas, Juhaynas, Sons of Kilab and Sons of Ka’b.

Apart from the administration, these governors also settled the issues among people and gave judgments based on Islamic decrees.

Zakah collectors informed people about zakah in the places that they went to and asked the rich people to give zakah.

Some tribes paid zakah readily. Others did not like it because they thought it was too heavy a burden at first; however, they started to pay zakah later.

DELEGATES COME TO MADINAH IN LARGE GROUPS

The conquest of Makkah was a very bright and honorable victory of Islam. With this conquest, the fierce struggle that lasted for years between the Messenger of God and the Qurayshi polytheists ended with the victory of Islam.

The tribes in Arabia observed this fierce struggle that lasted for years closely and carefully. At first, they decided to leave the Messenger of God alone with his struggle against the Qurayshis, his own tribe; they said, “Leave him alone with his tribe. If he defeats his tribe, it means he is telling the truth and he is a prophet.”

This fierce struggle, which was observed closely by the tribes around, ended with the victory of Islam and the defeat and destruction of the polytheism as a result of the conquest of Makkah.

There was only one thing left to do for them: To accept Islam as soon as possible.

They knew it very well that they would not be able to stop and eliminate this cause, which Makkan polytheists could not stop and eliminate despite their strength and enmity.

Therefore, after the conquest of Makkah, at the beginning of the 9th year of the Migration, the tribes around started to come to Makkah in large groups in order to become Muslims. For this reason, this year was named the “Year of Delegates”.

The Prophet welcomed all of those delegates and entertained them. There were people from all walks of life in those delegates. All of them admired the high ethics and virtues of the Prophet and the kind attitudes of his Companions; they returned to their land happily.  

The Delegation of Sons of Tamim in Madinah

The Messenger of God sent Busr b. Sufyan, one of the Companions, to the tribe of Sons of Ka’b from Khuzaas in order to collect zakah from them.

Sons of Ka’b had put the animals to be given for zakah aside. However, the tribe of Tamim, living in the same place, objected to giving those animals as zakah; they even drew their swords implying that they would kill Busr. Thereupon, Busr returned to Madinah and told the Messenger of God what had happened. The Messenger of God sent Uyayna b. Hisn with about fifty Bedouin cavalrymen to Sons of Tamim. Uyayna b. Hisn attacked Sons of Tamim suddenly and returned to Madinah with lots of booties, and captives including eleven men, twenty women, and about thirty children.

A short time after the return of Uyayna b. Hisn to Madinah, a delegate from Sons of Tamim, who had objected to paying zakah, went to the presence of the Prophet. There were famous orators and poets among them. Their aim was to take the captives back.

The Prophet asked them, “What do you want”

They said, “We are from the tribe of Tamim. We brought our orators and poets to compete with yours by reciting poems and boasting.”

The Prophet smiled slightly and said, “I was not appointed to recite poems or boast; I cannot do it. However, do your best and we will listen to you.”

Thereupon, Utarid, an orator of the tribe of Sons of Tamim, stood up and started to praise his tribe. Then, he said, “Who will compete with me and praise his tribe like me?”

After the orator of Sons of Tamim finished his speech and sat, the Messenger of God said to Thabit b. Qays, “Stand up and reply to his speech.”

Thabit stood up. Though he had not made any preparations, he recited such an eloquent and effective sermon regarding the majesty of God Almighty and the virtues of the Messenger of God that Sons of Tamim were astonished.   Thabit spoke as follows:  

“...

Praise be to God, who created the skies and the earth and who rules them.

There exists nothing that is not the work of His grant and generosity.

Our victories and rule over countries are also the work of His power.

He chose the best man and sent him as a prophet; he has the noblest ancestors paternally and maternally; he always tells the truth. God sent His book to him and made him the most trustworthy person; He made the Prophet the most distinguished person in the world.

“...”

After this speech, it was time for the poets.

First, one of the poets of Sons of Tamim stood up and recited a poem boasting himself.

As soon as the man finished his poet, the Messenger of God said to Hassan b. Thabit, his poet, “Stand up O Has­san! Reply to this man.” He added, “God will definitely support him with Gabriel when he defends His Messenger.”

Hassan, who undertook the honor of defending the Messenger of God, stood up enthusiastically. He recited a long poem with the same meter and rhyme as the man’s poem. He expressed the exceptional beauty, highness, and virtue of Islam concisely and clearly.  

The fact that the Muslim orator and poet presented a much better speech and poem than those of Sons of Tamim rejoiced both the Prophet and the Companions who were there. On the other hand, the delegates of Tamim kept silent when they saw that the orator and poet of Muslims were superior.  Aqra b. Habis, one of the notables of Tamim, could not help saying,

“I swear by God that this person (the Prophet) is always helped by the unseen. He will definitely be successful. He becomes superior to everybody regarding everything. His orator is superior to our orator and his poet is superior to our poet. Their voice is more sonorous than ours.”

Then, Aqra b. Habis approached the Messenger of God and became a Muslim by uttering kalima ash-shahadah. The other members of Sons of Tamim followed him and embraced Islam, too.

Thereupon, the Messenger of God gave a gift to each member of the delegation and returned the captives to them.

The Delegation of Sons of Asad in Madinah

It was the month of Muharram in the 9th year of the Migration.

One of the delegations that came to Madinah was the delegation of Sons of Asad, which consisted of ten people. After telling the Prophet that they became Muslims, they said, “O Messenger of God! We came here on our own accord though everybody was having difficulty due to famine and drought. We became Muslims without fighting you, unlike the other tribes.”

With that statement, they wanted to say that the Prophet needed to be grateful to them because they became Muslims; they expected to receive a lot of things due to this gratification. It was certain that they assumed such an attitude because they had just become Muslims and they had not learned about the vast spirit of Islam yet.  

As a matter of fact, by becoming Muslims, they helped themselves only. Thus, they protected their eternal lives from being destroyed. They did not make the Messenger of God gain any profits by becoming Muslims. Therefore, their attitude was groundless and it was not in accordance with the spirit of Islam. The verse that was sent down regarding the issue expressed this fact:

“They impress on thee as a favor that they have embraced Islam. Say "Count not your Islam as a favor upon me: nay, God has conferred a favor upon you that He has guided you to the Faith if ye be true and sincere.”

The duty of a believer is to thank and praise God for attaining the greatest and highest truth, which is a belief, in the universe. He should not expect or even think about anything material or spiritual gains in return for his belief. The reward to be given for attaining belief and being honored with Islam is in the hereafter. Only there will God Almighty give this unique reward to us through his bounties and generosity.  

The rewards for the services regarding belief and the Quran are also otherworldly; they will be given in the hereafter. Therefore, a Muslim who has belief has embraced Islam and serves belief and the Quran should not expect any worldly rewards or interests for his service. If he expects such things and he wants it through his heart, he will be regarded to have lost his sincerity in the religion. Losing sincerity eliminates the acceptance of worshipping; God forbid, such a person may go bankrupt spiritually. However, if a person who serves belief and the Quran is given a material reward though he does not expect or want it through his heart, he should regard it as a grant of God Almighty; he should not feel gratitude to the people who give it; besides, he should not have the feeling, “This material interest and money is given to me because of my service to the religion.”

THE IDOL-HOUSE OF THE TRIBE OF TAYY IS DEMOLISHED

The tribe of Tayy, was the tribe of Hatam at-Tai, who was famous for his generosity. They lived in Yemen.

In the 8th year of the Migration, Hatam at-Tai died and his son, Adiyy, became the leader of the tribe.

After the conquest of Makkah, almost all of the idol-houses in Arabia were demolished and the idols were destroyed; however, the idol-house of this tribe was still existent and the idol called Fuls (Fals) was not destroyed.  

The Messenger of God sent Hazrat Ali to the tribe of Tayy with about one hundred and fifty Companions to demolish Fuls in the month of Rabiul-Akhir in the 9th year of the Migration.

Hazrat Ali arrived at the land of the tribe of Tayy with the mujahids. Sons of Tayy resisted the mujahids. There was a clash between them. The enemy suffered a lot of casualties. The Muslims defeated them and obtained a lot of captives and booty. The idol-house of Sons of Tayy was destroyed completely; Fuls was broken into pieces and burned down.

Adiyy b. Hatam, the leader of the tribe, had been informed about the mujahids who were coming there; so, he ran away to the direction of Syria; he was not captured. However, Saffana, the daughter of Adiyy, was among the captives.

Saffana’s Request

Hazrat Ali fulfilled his duty and returned to Madinah with the captives and booty.

Saffana, who was among the captives, was put in a room near the door of Masjid an-Nabawi. She was a clever and solemn woman. One day, while the Messenger of God was passing by that room, Saffana stood up and said, “O Messenger of God! My father died and my brother escaped. I have nothing to give to free myself from captivity. I take refuge in your forgiveness, mercy, and compassion for my freedom.”

When the Messenger of God asked her who she was, Saffana said,

“O Messenger of God! I am the daughter of Hatam at-Tai, who protected families, freed slaves, fed the hungry, clothed the naked, entertained guests, gave people food and greeted people.”

The Messenger of God became glad that Saffana introduced herself like that and said, “O woman! What you have listed are attributes of believers. I wish your father had become a Muslim and we had mentioned his name with mercy.”

With those words, the Prophet stated an important truth. The fact that “not all attributes of an unbeliever are unbeliever attributes”. Yes, Hatam at-Tai was not a Muslim; and he died before he became a Muslim. However, the attributes mentioned above are attributes of believers. The Messenger of God appreciated the Muslim attributes of Hatam by saying so. Apart from appreciating them, the Prophet freed Saffana. The Messenger of God, who showed compassion, mercy, and tolerance to those who were worthy of them, granted a lot of things to Saffana. He gave her some clothes and allowance; then, he sent her to Damascus with a trustworthy caravan to her brother.

When Saffana arrived in Damascus, she found her brother. She told him about the kind attitudes of the Prophet. The kind attitude of the Prophet to his sister caused some movements in his heart. He asked her, “What is your opinion about this man”. Saffana, who saw the blessed face of the Messenger of God only once and who received kind attitudes only once from him, said without hesitation, “I advise you to go to him and be subject to him.”

When Adiyy thought for a while, his sister said,

“Why are you thinking so much? If he is a prophet, you will obey him and attain great goodness and virtues. If he is a king, you will not lose anything; your sultanate in Yemen will belong to you again. You will not be despised.”

Adiyy regarded the advice of his sister appropriate; he arrived in Madinah at once and went to the presence of the Prophet.

The Messenger of God wanted to host Adiyy, who was famous like his father, in his house.

They left the mosque to go to the house of the Prophet. Meanwhile, a woman stopped them and talked to the Prophet about her need for a long time. The Messenger of God listened to her patiently and without feeling disturbed. When Adiyy saw the nice and kind attitude of the Prophet to the old woman, he said to himself, “I swear by God he is not a king.” There was only one possibility left: “Then, he is a prophet.”

They reached the house of the Prophet. The Prophet wanted Adiyy to sit on a leather mattress. However, he did not want to sit on it. He said the Prophet was worthy of sitting on it. However, the Prophet did not sit on it and insisted that Adiyy sits on it. Thereupon, Adiyy sat on the leather mattress. The Messenger of God sat on the ground opposite his valuable guest. This attitude of the Prophet, which showed his modesty and his kindness toward his guest, softened Adiyy’s heart some more and made him approach belief a bit more.  

Then, the Messenger of God invited him to become a Muslim. He repeated it three times. However, Adiyy did not give a positive answer. He said, “I am a Christian.”

Thereupon, the Messenger of God said,

“O Adiyy! Maybe you do not want to become a Muslim because some people say, ‘Weak, poor and helpless people enter his religion.’ By God, one day, Muslims will have so much wealth that they will not be able to find anybody that asks for money or goods from them.  

You may also have thought, ‘The number of the Muslims is few and the number of their enemies is a lot.’ You might not want to become a Muslim because of that thought.

Do you know Hiyara? This religion will provide such safety and security that a woman will come from Hiyara to the Kaaba on her own for circumambulation without fearing anything but God.”

This talk opened the door of Adiyy’s heart and he embraced Islam.

Adiyy b. Hatam, who was one of the notables of the Companions was this person.

[lumiel-morningstar]

Man of Glass

[This is a short story I wrote some time ago, it's a little rough, but it was bore from a piece that's lived in the back of my head for a long time. I wish to revisit these characters eventually.] Once when I were a boy, I knew very little of the world and the weight of what the things I spoke had truly carried. I spoke words that I didn’t quite understand, I threw around phrases that I now greatly find myself ashamed of. I were never concise nor careful of most things I said, and the world ended up punishing me for that. I suppose I should tell you how I’d gotten here, understanding that words are- quite the detestable thing- frankly. I discovered, as a young lad, that word could paint far more than colors and canvas ever could- at least, in such a concise yet vastly interpretable manner. I suppose a good number of things, might I affirm, that happened in my youth, aren’t important enough to mention. Suppose I’ll start by assuring you I weren’t always a loose lipped fellow- aroused by every precisely dressed young lady with a voluptuous bust and extentiated bustle. I were a young lad who had no appetite for such vices, rather, I were quite the curt and unpopular kind of fellow. I had very few acquaintances, and even lesser friends.

When I were that young man I found myself rather repulsed by the arts, no honeyed word, dance, song, nor painting would make me think otherwise. Frankly, I fret I missed many divine experiences because of that. I suppose it cannot be helped, I can’t go and change the past. When I were still that man, you could’ve shown me Ruben or Davinci’s work and I would likely respond with little more than a curt, disinterested nod. I weren’t much for words either, oh no, how I hated speaking. I could write if it were asked of me, or recite a full thesaurus, but I promise you that that young fellow hadn’t entirely understood a word in his life. Upon this american soil, I’d trekked far from my home to pursue my goal, but it weren’t a dream cultivated by a young boy, oh no, because if it were I’m sure I’d have cared more about words and their less academic definitions; rather, I were a cold machine of a young man who simply allowed his aptitudes to dictate his decisions.

I took to my studies, as imprudent as always, and if I were to continue forth, you’d likely get bored and leave. I wouldn’t blame you, most of my class had abandoned their studies rather quickly, whittling down from a grand three hundred students to a pitiful forty three. What is it I studied you may ask? Well, the irony was that I wanted to be a linguistics expert. Truely, a man who had never entirely understood what a word meant wanted to work with them. How quaint. I made few friends, but one lad I felt quite the affinity for.

Like me in every way he was, a few years older than I, as he were already a doctor. If you were to ask me now how I felt of him, I wouldn’t say I have the same affinity now as I had then. He’d proved to be quite the repulsive gentleman. He worked as a medical examiner, and he’d allow me into his lab after usual hours for some extra more in depth instruction. I’m afraid I took it as no warning then how at peace with himself he appeared with a scalpel and a corpse. I’m afraid I don’t like reminiscing about him, and he’s mildly unimportant, at least for now.

It were about halfway through that first year where I’d begun interning at a local forensics agency, and within that place I’d started learning the truth behind words.

She were a young woman, well put together and quite bright eyed. She gleamed with a sort of self-importance that never teetered into narcissism, which in some way made her charismatic. She spoke firmly- like a speech at times- always with the same incredible and respectable dictum; but when you spoke to her directly, her voice fluttered and flirt- like the feathers of a bird, her words danced rhythmically like a poem or a song. On some days she spoke somber, her gaze firm yet longing, and her words rung cold, yet beautiful and wise, like a choir in the hall of a great man’s wake. When I first met her I thought her words were but a farce, a dream driven young woman who wanted to sound wise and profound, and yet- I discovered quickly that they were not vinere at all. They were her art, her favorite art.

I hadn’t understood at the time, of course, how could I? In her shadow I were but a scholar, a boy with a blunt tongue and an absence of secondary lyrical thought. I used words as they were prescribed and nothing more, and in some way I envied her. I had no art, my words were no beautiful dance, song, nor painting. To me they were words, objective parts, with meanings and definitions defined only by others like themselves cultivated from a lexicon that I feel I had no right to use! Words! To me they were descriptors of the world, blatant, cold, just as I were, without further definition than the one prescribed to it by some academic- and yet, I envied her. I envied her visage, I envied her mind, I envied her thoughts, her dreams, her everything. If I weren’t such a fool then I would’ve realized that I loved her- but I were a fool, and I were blunt, curt, and cold. I thought I resented her because speaking to her made me realize she were everything I were incapable of being.

I hadn’t even known her name.

Of course, I know it now, and I know now why she loved them so; Words, anyway. She and I found one another often at libraries, or at least I found her often. I were certain that she’d never taken notice of me, why would she? I were but a stranger to her, her glory, her perfection. Whenever I saw her among words she seemed her happiest, sure, I’d catch her time and time again outside of the agency, humming in her gleefulness, singing quietly- and by god, could she sing. A man could find himself ensnared by her voice, no soprano I assure you, but the soft fluttering tone of her voice managed to lift a spirit into the sky and let it soar, or pull a curtain over the hot summer sun and drown you in a cold and lonely despair. It weren’t those that I was entranced by so much so, as the silent focus on her face, and the soft look in her eyes while she sat slouched over an ivory page with both her hands actively holding paper and pen, her wrist swaying as she wrote in a dance. How beautiful it was, but looking back I know I’d scoffed and continued browsing.

One day I’d gotten over my arrogance and approached her in a crowded library, and in truth, that day I’m not entirely proud of. I was as cold and machinelike as I’d always been. I settled myself beside her dancing hands and focused gaze and set my books down for study. I’m afraid I don’t remember it perfectly, but I recall the subtle gasp she made, a good hour or so after I’d arrived, when she’d noticed me. I remember that bashful, embarrassed giggle like it were yesterday- no, like it were but an hour ago. I think that’s the first time I’d realized that maybe I admired her, but I were very imprudent in regards to such a thing as that, I assure you. I promise you that I never understood a damn thing that love were or may have been. To me love was like art, something I never understood- nor cared to understand at all.

She spoke to me, and what a strange thing we spoke of, I wasn’t entirely certain she even knew we’d met before frankly, but she of asked me a small favor in her sweet, lovely tone, while her pinked cheeks and dark eyes slipped me the paper she’d recently been ever so contently writing on, “Would you mind reading this for me?”

To be frank, I don’t remember if I were star-struck or appalled. She hadn’t known me at all, and she asked me to look upon her writing as though she trusted me with her world. She smiled at me as I silently, and rather coldly, slid the paper along the cold oak table. I stared down at it, and I could feel her intent gaze upon my face. To be entirely blunt, I don’t know whether or not she was flirting with me, or just intent on getting my feedback. At the time I thought she found me attractive, that she were fawning over my mysteriousness, which wasn’t entirely uncommon. It’s silly, and saying that, I sound arrogant. I were an attractive young man, which now I suppose you may not access. I had relatively unruly dark brown hair, and I still retain my sharp emerald eyes- but at the time, I wasn’t unfamiliar with being fawned over by the wallflower sort. She were no wallflower.

She were a magnificent tiger lily, with a strong commendable tenacity and honor. I read the page she’s bestowed upon me. Her handwriting were a river of cursive text, I were careful not to smudge the ink, still wet where it had overlapped. I recited the transcription aloud, I thought she would like to hear it in a voice other than her own. It were a single poem, short and curt. I recall it word for word, even to this day.

“The man made of glass,

Translucent and benign.

Wordless statue, covered in scripture.

Mulling, in his hand, a single page,

A single word.

Poet.”

Then, I hadn’t understood a word of what she had given me, when I looked back to her, her face was beet red, she fumbled for words as she plucked the paper from my fingers and looked at me, repressing what I could only guess was a smile. I raised a brow, and asked stupidly, “What the hell is that supposed to mean? Don’t give me such arbitrary things and expect a good answer.” I recall saying.

She smiled and let out another shy giggle, at this point I think I realized she knew exactly who I was. Honestly, it was relieving to know someone like her had cared an ounce about someone like me, and now I do know what that poem meant. Then, I were so literal, so transparent and filled to the brim with scholarly definition that I hadn’t realized that the poem was about people like me. I weren’t the brightest fellow, to my disappointment, but of course something like her work flew so far over my head- like a bird. Much so like a bird I could look up and see it, but never be able to fathom how it flies. Still, I’m afraid I may not be able to. Her words, her art, her poetry. To me, was entirely unfathomable. Yet, here I am, reciting it today, knowing that I were the kind of person that she’d been speaking of. She was amused by that, I know, but I took it as her being amused by my inability to understand.

“If you’re just going to tease me, then off with you,” I recall my imprudent self told her curtly, I remember she had touched me for the very first time that day, upon my forearm she rest her hand and assured me that she had no such intention. She told me, “I didn’t take you for the type is all,” and I snapped back at her foolishly, “The type?”

She smiled and in my arrogance I stood up, and gathered my books. She gripped me by my coat and said my name- “Luciel-” I hadn’t even known she’d knew it. I looked down at her, with some level of resentment, but when my eyes met hers I sighed. I sat back down and asked her to elaborate. I swallowed my arrogance and listened to her explain the poem, in those words of hers that seemed so benign.

I cannot recite what she told me exactly, she managed to speak such a long definition that simply conveyed what I could state in a few concise terms. A scholar entirely concentrated on books, is incapable of understanding beyond them. I knew this, even then, because I cared not to understand beyond them. They were all I deemed necessary, and today I’m revered a genius, but without her I’d simply be as all academics. I listened to her talk, and talk, the unceasing fountain of honey-coated words on that sharp yet soft tongue of hers poured into me. Eventually, though ashamed I was to admit it, I found myself enjoying her company.

I began sitting next to her at that library once per week, then twice, then almost daily, then every time I saw her there. Some days I’d sit next to her usual seat to study, I adopted that table as if it were my own. For a while I’d let people sit where she’d normally, but I think out of respect for her- no, no, I know now why I did it- because my silly young mind refused to accept it, I saved her seat for her; because I’m certain now that I loved her. Whatever that word may have meant.

Eventually, her and I had become rather close, in our own way. We didn’t sit next to one another, nor had we ever exchanged words frequently enough for people to be suspicious of courting- or anything of that sort; but rather, we could coexist in comfortable silence for long periods at a time. We could stare at one another, and have an entire conversation in complete silence. I’d never met someone I’d ever been able to fully understand in such a way.

After I graduated I immediately enlisted my help to the agency, I was gifted, and some unimportant things transpired during that time, and Lucy, that was her name, that I’d become very closely acquainted with, had become my roommate. No, of course, your first assumption would likely be that we had some sort of scandalous relationship- as we shared a tiny one room apartment in downtown Albus City, but I can assure you that there was no such thing. Her and I were content in this little home of ours and we were happy enough without the complexities of love nor lust. I’m afraid I regret a fair number of my imprudent decisions.

I’d found myself amidst a good number of hobbies, much to Lucy’s encouragement, I’d adopted toy-repair, much to her astonishment. I enjoyed fixing puzzle boxes, particularly. I’m sure this doesn’t entertain as thoroughly as I wish it had.

Words, right- words. I were a very stoic man before I’d met Lucy. I suppose to many I still am. I were cold and apathetic to many people. Except her. Somehow that idiot changed me, and a change it was. We’d been investigators faced with a myriad of terrible cases. The Albus City Hyena, the Mindbreaker, the Specimen, the Wendigo- there was no end to the nicknames these cases had. Each gruesome and terrible in their own right. One day, words returned to my mind, we were tackled by a case that revolved around very few words, four to be exact. “The Lady in White.”

The case reminded me of her poems, all of them. And how I had adored them, and how I had realized it in that case. Someone- some monster attempted to rip away the only thing that understood me, that I understood truly. He loved her as I did, with the same feverish tenacity that my tigerlily harbored within herself, that my heart harbored for her. Her mind, her body, he’d lusted for, and I’m almost repulsed to admit I had as well. It weren’t long before I’d been called to my birthplace for some similar cases, all of which proved baseless and was a waste of a long monotonous six months. During that time I’m ashamed to admit I grew somewhat obsessed, having been away from her. Eventually, she was all that I thought about, my mind revered as sharp- clouded by thoughts of her.

I wanted her there, I wanted her with a feverish desire that sent me boarding a plane in the middle of the night flying back to Albus, back to where I could see her. I knocked on her door, in our ciphered message so that we could identify one another, and- she flung it open and pinned me to the ground. In truth, I wanted to cry into her bosom like a child to their mother after being homesick- but she hadn’t known at all that I had loved her.

I slept on her couch that night and after that we’d shared a bed- without any kind of lust nor vice as so. Some days she’d huddle against me while I read, deep in slumber. I were quite humbled by this, as I feel any man would be. Some days she’d wake cradled in my arms, whether that be on her soft green, velvety couch, or upon her bed. Those mornings were my favorite. My utopia however, was quickly interrupted. The lady in white had reopened, and I began to truly understand what the word dread actually meant.

Shortly after that, I discovered what fear meant. I found I was afraid of losing her. Of having her ripped away from me. Before the case had simply been a string of eleven murders, all unrelated outside of that note that read, “The Lady in White.” Then, the victims began to match. Short women, with dark eyes and hair, dainty, and roughly in their twenties. They were all killed in like ways, with a scalpel. Sometimes, they were dead before being mutilated- cut into with precision. Most of them were alive when the scalpel sunk into their flesh, drugged and paralysed, but likely entirely aware.

Lucy matched entirely. I hated the thought of it, of her ending up like all the others. I was constantly around her, following her every move- so much so that I’m sure she’d begun resenting me. I’d wait around for her like a dog, and become visually nervous when she’d took too long to show. Looking back, I was quite annoying. Unlike how stoic and cold I usually were, I’m sure she’d realized how I’d felt. Especially since, one day, she pressed a single page into my hand that read, “Poet.” I looked at it confused for a moment and- well- of course I’d remembered.

She giggled that same little giggle and for a moment I forgot about that worry entirely. I forgot about the case and everything- and I just remembered the day I met her. Not the day where I first saw her- but the day I learned that- well, Lucy had admired me. In that moment, I remembered all those things about her that I’d detested. She smiled that very same smile, and breathed, “Luciel, I love you.”

To be frank, I was taken aback. I’m afraid I forgot that other people felt the myriad of emotions I’d only so recently had discovered. Unfortunately, while I watched her disappear, my heart and mind was sent aflutter and- well, I left the building looking for icons of amory, gifts to bestow upon her to return her simple phrase. However- that was the greatest of infractions I’d made at all. I returned to her apartment, and my phone had rung, a coworker of ours. She reported to me that I needed to go to the agency. I was- confused. Quickly, all those feelings returned, all those words I hadn’t used before flooded my mind as descriptors of my emotions. Terror, horror, regret, abhorrence, resentment, anguish, animosity, my fury of fulmination- I’d let her go alone. I flew my way to the agency and there I found my team ready to raid their own building. At first I was confused, but I understood quickly.

Lucy had lived her own life, beyond me, and I seemed to have forgotten that. She had other friends and acquaintances. She’d always been far more popular than I had ever been. She was loved. She was loved by more than just I. She was that man’s golden ticket, that man who I once- stupidly- deemed my friend- my father. I was angry, I still remain angry. In all my time I resented nothing- but as we raided that building- as I saw her paralyzed form on his damned operating table, stripped bare and blank faced- It took all I had not to shoot him on the spot. Watching the pitiful drip, one tiny little drop of crimson slip down her face.

I looked at him, that man who I considered a friend. I looked him in the eye and listened to him cackle. He had the audacity to laugh in my face and call me a fool. “You should’ve stayed a husk, Luciel,” I recall his detestable voice saying in his sickly charming tone. His features were old, his eyes completely- entirely- serene. With her blood on his scalpel. “If you hadn’t gotten in my way, if you hadn’t thought to feel-” I remember his laugh, and how I abhor it, “If she hadn’t taught you how to feel, you wouldn’t be in my way.”

The next thing he said shattered me, “If she hadn’t taught you how to feel, she’d already be dead.” I knew that. If she hadn’t taught me how to understand the words I spoke, she’d be nothing more than a statistic to me. I stepped back, and he turned towards her. “Luciel,” I detested his voice, “I wonder, if you think about all the other girls I had to go through to get here.” I detested his words. “If you were less a husk, would you have done unto Lucy as Titus to Livinia?” I detested his reference. “And, with thy shame, thy father’s sorrow’s die,” I detested his quotation.

“There’s no likeness,” I recall saying, my hate reanimated my curtness. Even as I recall this horror, and this beast- I hate him. He laughed, again he laughed, “You haven’t changed at all, Luciel.” And he walked away. I wanted to lodge a bullet in his skull, but the man next to me motioned to put my weapon down before going to Lucy. I took off my coat, the same one from all those years ago and wrapped her form in it. I lifted her, and held her tightly to my chest. The rest of the team took her to the hospital. Of course, I was still arrogant, and I continued to blame myself for this- time and time again I blamed myself.

It took a few weeks for her to get out of the hospital. Honestly, I hadn’t cared if it took longer. I didn’t feel I could face her, it was my fault in the first place, at least, I thought. I finally mustered up the courage to speak to her again the last day she was still in there. I remember entering the hospital, and all eyes were on me. Granted, the bouquet of roses probably didn’t help. I asked for Lucy White. The woman exclaimed, “You’re the guy!” and I’m still awfully amused by that. She gave me direction and I made way to her.

Her, the one I loved, truly and deeply. I made my way up the stairs and- I saw her, looking out her window. Her beautiful eyes, her beautiful hair, her beautiful everything, and I’d approached her as bashfully as a teenage bachelor. She snickered, and before her lay a pan and a paper. Somberly she spoke her poem’s soft reprise. As though she’d been waiting for me to enter the door. I neared her as she recited her poem, in it’s beautiful eloquence.

“The man of glass,

Translucent and benign,

Broken statue, covered in scripture

holding, in his shattered arms, a single page,

Understanding a single word.

In his heart transcribed, Poet.”

I smiled for once, and spoke my truth in a silent conversation, my words to convey only in a single action. I hadn’t needed any word nor definition to describe my love for her. I pressed the bouquet to her lap, and my lips to hers. How I remember the sweet smell, and the feeling of her soft supple skin of her cheek in my palm. How I remember the softness of her lips against mine. Her arms wrapped around me as she forced me closer, and we kissed for the very first time there. I felt her shoulders shake, and one of her tears fall against my palm. I think that was the first time I had ever seen her cry. I pulled away and I wiped away her tears, as I breathed two words, in a quiet breath, “My poet.”

[lillotte17]

WHOO! More Oisin x Tonlen!

Tagging @scurvgirl and @feynites for all the OC refs <3

The morning after the Harvest Festival, Oisin does not quite feel like getting out of bed. The world is still and just beginning to brighten, and the only sounds to be heard are a few of Papae’s songbirds who are just now waking up enough to start twittering to each other out in the back garden. Everything seems soft and hazy, with a few cool evening shadows still clinging to the corners of their room. As if the Dreaming is spilling in through their windows.

They wonder if, perhaps, the time they had spent with Tonlen the day before had been a dream as well. If some stray spirit had seen the shape of their desires and chosen to paint the scene for them as they lay sleeping. It had all been so lovely.

It would be such a disappointment to find that it was only an illusion.

They sit up slowly, hair and nightgown fairly rumpled, and reach over into the drawer of their nightstand. Oisin has not quite had the courage to wear the scarf that Tonlen sent them yet, but they like to take it out and look at it a lot. To hold it in their hands. The fabric is smooth and slithery between their fingers, not beyond their station, but finer than a lot of clothing readily available in Daran.

They lift it to their face and brush it against their cheek briefly, letting out a sigh of deep contentment.

Their first courtship gift.

From their very first courtship.

There had been other things before. Fumblings. Awkward flirting and hasty liaisons that had never gone much farther than some sloppy kisses. Mostly because a lot of potential suitors had seemed reasonably intimidated by the size and prominence of their family, but also probably because Oisin is a little…odd.

They had been worried that Tonlen would notice the shift in their aura, and withdraw his interest, but he had not mentioned it while they were dancing. It seems impossible to think such a thing could have been overlooked. Perhaps he assumes that the change would be permanent, or that Oisin's shifts only ever happen infrequently.

They do tend to unnerve people sometimes, and they do not want Tonlen to think of them the way that those people do. That they are fickle and inconstant. That because part of their identity changes, the rest of them must change with it.

It is their first courtship, and they want it to be special. They want to believe Tonlen is special. That what he feels for them might be special, too.

Oisin tenses slightly at a suspicious rattling from one of the vents that channels warm and cool air throughout their room. A system of small tunnels that also serve as a huge ward of protection that incircles the whole house, when activated by Nenae's magic. It is also a passageway for small nosy siblings to wiggle through.

Sure enough, Mealla pops the grate off and tumbles out on top of his wardrobe in the far corner of the room. A tiny fox with huge ears, completely covered in dust.

"Good morning, little sibling," she chirps happily, hopping down onto the floor and leaving a trail of dirt in her wake, "Did you have pleasant dreams?"

"Mea, why can't you use the door like everyone else?" Oisin sighs, not managing to convey much disapproval. They never can, really.

"Where's the fun in that?" she laughs, shifting into her normal form and coming to sit beside them on the bed. "Besides, if I used the door, then everyone else would know that I came to bother you about your new paramour. You don't want that, do you?"

"No!" Oisin baulks, feeling their face darken. "I mean, he's not… We're not… Nothing happened! At least…not yet."

"Aw, but it sounds like you want it to!" Mealla snickers, leaning closer with a wide knowing grin, "Is that scarf from him? A token of affection? Was that what came in the box Nenae almost threw away, or did you take it off of him yourself while you were dancing?"

"Mea!" Oisin objects, properly mortified, "I'm not going to undress someone when I know my whole family is watching!"

"So, that means you want to undress him!" she crows triumphantly.

"Who is Oisin undressing?" Ardal asks muzzily from the doorway. He looks more than half asleep, his shirt nearly falling off one of his shoulders, and his hair an absolute bird's nest. He is flanked by their two younger sisters, neither of which look pleased to be awake at this hour.

"I'm not undressing anyone!" Oisin insists.

"The cobbler from Daran!" Mealla pronounces, almost simultaneously.

"A cobbler?" Virevas sniffs, making a face, "You've got a crush on some rough-hand who bangs bits of leather into boots?"

"Beautiful boots!" Oisin insists, already flustered. They are not very good at arguing, but Tonlen is not here to defend himself, and someone ought to. "He's from Arlathan. He's very fashionable, and his shop is so fancy. It's…it's like a garden. Full of bright vivid colors. It's lovely, you'll see!"

"Oh, will I?" Vir wonders, snickering.

"If he makes shoes, that means he's probably got some weird obsession with feet," Ardal says sagely, "He probably wants to court you because of the shape of your toes or something."

"That is not a thing," Virevas snorts.

"It is so!" Ardal counters, hackles rising, "I heard it!"

"Right," Vir replies, rolling her eyes, "From where?"

"People who know!" Ardal growls stubbornly, folding his arms.

"As if any of your grubby little friends know anything about what makes people attracted to one another," she scoffs.

"More than you," he snaps back, "You've never even had a romance!"

"Neither have you!" She retorts just as quickly.

"Why does it matter?" Einin wonders, injecting calmly before the other two can break into a full-out brawl, "Who cares if he likes your toes? If you like him, and you don't mind him pursuing a courtship, then the reasons for his initial interest don't matter all that much in the end."

Oisin heaves a sigh of immense relief.

"Is he actually courting you?" Ardal gasps, eyes going wide, "Has he sent you gifts?"

Oisin fidgets with their scarf, but Mealla heads them off before they can muster any sort of reply.

"He sent them a scarf!" she exclaims, pointing at the object in question, "Nenae almost threw it away, but Mamae stopped them. They still ran about two hundred tests on it to make sure it wasn't poisoned or anything, though."

"Mea!" Oisin objects again. They don't mind their family knowing about Tonlen, really, but they don't need to know everything.  

"You should have seen the look on Nenae's face when they read the letter that came with it," Mealla laughs.

"Nenae read that?" Oisin groans in abject despair. They're lucky that they got to dance with Tonlen at all, in that case.

"Was it a poem?" Ardal presses.

"Was it any good?" Virevas chimes in a moment later.

"It was perfectly sweet, and completely private," Oisin says firmly.

"That means it was bad," Vir surmises.

"The scarf seems a little simple," Einin notes with a slight tilt of her head, "For someone from Arlathan anyway. Did he think you wouldn't want something with more colors, or was he limited by his rank?"

"I like that it's simple!" Oisin exclaims passionately, tears welling in their eyes, "And it's only the first thing he's given me, it doesn't have to be extravagant!"

"I think it's nice," Ardal reassures them, reaching over to squeeze their fingers in a gesture of fondness, "Don't let the fashion snobs ruin it for you."

"I never said simple was bad," Einin points out, "Perhaps he did not want to overwhelm you with something too fancy straight out of the gate."

"That's right," Mealla chimes in, "Courtship gifts can be all sorts of things. They don't have to be encrusted with jewels. They just need to be something that the other person likes. Or something that gets their attention."

"Their attention?" Oisin wonders hesitantly, most of the courtship presents they've read about in books were things like earrings and fine clothes. Sheets of poetry and bouquets of rare flowers. Mantles sewn from starlight and bright boxes enchanted to play music. But his big sister's idea of attention-grabbing doesn't quite adhere to that vein of gifts.

Mealla nods, a nearly wicked grin spreading on her face.

"Nanae sent Mamae spiders."

The other children let out a collective gasp.

"They did not!"

"As a courtship gift?"

"Mamae hates spiders!"

"It's true," Mealla tells them smugly, folding her arms and looking extremely pleased with herself, "Ask them if you don't believe me."

Oisin feels as though they might faint. They love all living things, but… Spiders. They do not think they would like to get a gift of spiders. Some of them are poisonous, and their mother intensely dislikes them, and they do not imagine that opening a box full of spiders, alive or dead, would be especially…pleasant.

"Are you going to send him a gift back?" Einin asks them a moment later, jolting them from their thoughts.

"I…don't know," they admit, sliding the scarf between their hands again. Considering. "Papae and Nenae and Nanae all think that I should keep my distance. They want me to take things slowly and be cautious. And Mamae is worried, too. But… I don't want to discourage him. He's handsome and charming, and I want… I want him to like me."

"What's not to like?" Mealla grins, reaching over and pinching their cheek a little, "Do what feels best for you, little sibling. Our parents are going to fuss and worry regardless."

"But I don't want to upset anyone," Oisin sighs dejectedly, "The look on Papae's face when I said I liked Tonlen was awful. And Nenae and Nanae were tense for days. I…I don't want to be the reason they’re sad."

Mealla ruffles their hair affectionately before standing up and stretching a bit.

"I never saw much point in drawn out courtships, myself," she shrugs, "All the good stuff comes afterwards. But it's up to you to decide."

"That's right," Ardal chimes in, "And if you do want to send a gift, we can help you think of ideas!"

"As if anyone would come to you for advice on anything that requires a sense of taste," Virevas sniffs.

"I can taste just fine!" Ardal huffs.

"All right you two, lets take this out to the back garden before you break any of Oisin's furniture again," Mealla sighs, "We still have time to get some sparring in before breakfast."

"Sparring with him is boring," Vir says imperiously, "I always win."

"You always cheat!"Ardal insists hotly.

"Being taller than you is not cheating," Virevas counters.

"Why don't you both see if you can beat me?" Mealla suggests, as she ushers them out the door, "Two to one."

Virevas and Ardal's excited voices fade into distant babbling as Einin shuts the door behind them.

"You know, when I send and receive correspondence from my office, Nenae does not have the chance to look at it, even with their army of agents," she tells them pointedly, "A letter is not a gift, but I think they still have the power to be…quite encouraging."

So saying, she offers them a small smile and slips out the door after their siblings.

Oisin smiles, too. They can easily send a letter from their workshop without their parents fretting and hanging on every word. Perhaps they can even ask Tonlen to direct his correspondence there, if their teacher does not mind too much.

They walk over to their desk and pull out several sheets of paper, bright and hopeful that this might be the start of something wonderful.

They do hope that Tonlen does not mean to send them spiders, though.