#thanks for the ask zainab!!!!

[firstelevens]

For the handholding writing meme, #49 (or! Whichever one you most want to write)

49. taking the other’s hand to look for injuries

you are always so gracious with the prompts that you give! I have naught to offer in return but my gratitude and also this deeply silly fic, which could be read as a sequel to this

"Do you think it's clear yet?" whispers Sam, as quietly as he can. The noises that he'd heard just outside have since faded, and his muscles are starting to feel the strain of how tensely he's holding himself.

Bucky frowns, tilting his head towards the door like it'll help him hear better. "I definitely heard footsteps coming this way, and I didn't hear any going back," he murmurs. "They've got to be right on top of us."

"We'd know for sure if we could get eyes on the hallway."

A groan rumbles through Bucky's chest. Sam is pressed close enough to feel it in his own. "Is this about your stupid robot? Again?" he hisses. "I said I was sorry; how was I supposed to know he was in the blast radius when that grenade went off? You weren't even supposed to be there, and neither was your bird."

"If you hate Redwing so much, how come you had Shuri make me two of him?" Sam hisses, moving a few inches back--it's not easy; he doesn't exactly have wiggle room here--so he can glare at Bucky.

Expectedly, Bucky scowls. "I knew you weren't always gonna let me watch your six. How else was I supposed to keep you safe?"

Something squeezes in Sam's chest, achy but in the good way. "Buck," he says softly.

"I'm just saying, I wouldn't have hurt him on purpose," grumbles Bucky. "That would defeat the point."

Sam hums in acknowledgment, dropping his head to rest on Bucky's shoulder. "That's very practical of you," he says. "And here I thought you just had a crush on me."

Bucky snorts, turning to press his lips to Sam's forehead. "What could possibly have given you that idea, hm?"

"The fact that your hand is on my ass, for starters," Sam says, settling more comfortably against Bucky's chest. It's the closest they've gotten to be in months, and Sam doesn't know what he'll do when it comes to an end. "Also the part where you and your whole team showed up to the compound and you brooded in a corner anytime I paid attention to someone who wasn't you."

"I wasn't brooding; I was waiting," says Bucky. "You knew exactly what you were doing."

"Oh yeah? Like you knew what you were doing when you posted up in the common room in a stupid tight t-shirt and those inappropriate sweatpants, waiting for me to come down and get water before bed?"

"They're literally your sweatpants, Sam."

"That was the inappropriate part," says Sam, gently cuffing Bucky on the shoulder. He doesn't bother to pull away when Bucky catches his hand and holds onto it. "I'm trying to be professional and lead a team here, you know."

"Yeah, well, my partner was caught in an explosion, so you have to forgive me for skipping professionalism so I could make sure he was in one piece." Bucky punctuates this by kissing the shrapnel cuts over Sam's knuckles, one by one, then moving his lips to the scar on Sam's wrist, and then again to the scrape on the heel of his hand.

Sam lets his eyes close, pressing his face into Bucky's neck and relishing the familiar scrape of stubble. "Is that what last night was? You making sure your partner wasn't injured?"

Bucky goes still against Sam, his hands no less gentle as they hold Sam close. "You know it wasn't," he says softly. "I mean, I made it clear, right? You know how I feel about you?"

"Yeah," mumbles Sam, right against Bucky's pulse point. "You know I- you know I feel the same way about you, right?"

"I did start to get a sense of that," says Bucky. "Right around the time we had sex on the quinjet after that mission and then you took me home to meet your entire extended family and then we fucked again on the boat. I still don't understand how no one caught us."

Before Sam can respond that given the knowing look Carlos shot him the next afternoon someone definitely almost caught them, there's a very loud, very theatrical throat-clearing noise from right near the door. "Maybe we should re--" he starts to say, before he's cut off.

"Hey, guys," says John Walker, still too-loudly. Sam scowls into Bucky's shoulder at the sound. "Isn't it so weird how all super-soldiers have enhanced hearing? Isn't that just the weirdest thing how we can hear most things through thick walls?"

"Nope," says a voice beyond the door, who Sam thinks might be Ava. He's not sure; he's suddenly too busy being mortified to consider it.

"Holy shit," he whispers, eyes wide open. "There are two other super-soldiers here."

"I know; I'm stuck with them," says Bucky, and then yelps like the big baby he is when Sam lightly swats at his chest and wriggles out of his arms, sitting up with his arms crossed. "What?"

"Bucky," Sam hisses. "There are two other super soldiers here, and they were both on the floor above us, and we were here, in guest quarters with no soundproofing, doing things that were definitely not quiet!"

"Americans! So uptight," calls Alexei, and Sam wants to die a little bit maybe. "Love is beautiful, Captain. You and Barnes, you made beautiful music together."

Sam turns to glare at Bucky. "I'm gonna kill you," he says flatly.

Bucky sits up in bed slowly, like he's worried that sudden movements will spell his doom. "Okay," he says, his hands out in a placating gesture. "You can take your best shot later, but since they already know, why don't I get you some caffeine first? No point in trying to fight someone while you haven't slept."

"And just whose fault is that?"

"Don't pretend we're not both to blame for that," says Bucky, putting all that stealth training to good use as he slips out of the bed, barely jostling it. He bends over to grab those sweatpants again and Sam takes a beat to check out his regrettably cute ass.

Bucky manages to find a shirt, too, a henley that definitely also belongs to Sam. He stops by the bed before he leaves the room, leaning down to kiss Sam's cheek.

"I'm sorry about the...you know," he says, gesturing to the ceiling. "Promise I'll make it up to you, sweetheart."

"You better," says Sam, tipping his chin up for a kiss and fighting a grin when Bucky obliges. He waits for Bucky to make his way across the room, watching until he just opens the door, and then calls out, louder than he needs to, "And bring yourself back to bed along with the coffee, sugar. I'm not done with you yet!"

Bucky instantly goes red, whirling on Sam with betrayal on his face. Sam just grins and blows him a kiss before waving him out the door. As the door closes behind Bucky, he can hear laughter and Yelena loudly ooh-ing from the common area. He sinks back against the pillows, pulling the comforter over his head, and waits for his coffee and for Bucky.

Mostly for Bucky.

[bisamwilson]

20 for those kiss prompts!

#20: ...on a scar

Bucky's arm hurts.

It always does on days like this, rainy and cold and gloomy. His shoulder starts to ache and the fingers he no longer has begin to itch. His prosthetic, light as it is compared to the old one, feels like it's weighing his entire body down.

He goes about his morning slowly, shuffling from the half full pot of coffee Sam made before his run over to the couch and burrowing himself under the blankets. He turns on a trashy reality show, something about a group of moms trying to date younger men from a pool of all their sons that Joaquín and Kate have been making jokes about for weeks.

It doesn't much keep his attention, as ridiculous as it is, and he spends the next half an hour or so barely watching and debating the merits of leaving his shoulder free of his prosthetic today.

He decides it's probably a good idea about a minute before Sam walks through the door, soaked through from his run but grinning a mile wide. "Mornin', baby. Jay and Kate got you watchin' that MILF show again?"

Bucky rubs at his shoulder but still smiles at Sam, hoping it doesn't look too much like a grimace. "I've never been more confused by the interests of the youth."

Sam carefully sets his water logged tennis shoes on the rubber mat by the door, and grabs the towel he'd left nearby to dry off just enough to not drip all over their floors. Bucky just stares as he dries off, always happy to indulge in his favorite form of birdwatching, and keeps a steady massaging pressure on his shoulder.

When Sam judges himself sufficiently dry, he immediately walks over to the couch rather than towards the hot shower he should be bolting for. He nods at Bucky's shoulder. "Need some help there?"

Bucky rolls it gently and shakes his head. "That can wait. You need to take a shower first, Sammy. Get warmed up. Can't have Cap in bed with pneumonia."

Sam jerks his head lightly in the direction of their bedroom. "Gotta wait for the water to heat up anyway. And a little bit of running in the rain isn't gonna give me pneumonia, baby," he says, pulling Bucky up from the couch and failing to hide his shiver. "You worry like a mother hen."

Bucky follows behind him to the bathroom mostly because he knows arguing will only keep Sam out from under the warm spray for even longer. He goes about turning on the water to Sam's preferred temperature as Sam strips off each article of wet clothing one by one, wincing a bit as the waterlogged fabric clings to his skin.

Bucky waits until he hears the loud, wet clop of each article hitting the floor before turning away from the shower and back towards Sam. He makes a show of looking him up and down and smiling as wolfishly as he can muster, but Sam just chuckles and rolls his eyes in response before walking up close to him.

He leans down and presses the lightest of kisses to the spot where Bucky's arm meets his shoulder, barely brushing his lips over the scarring, before pulling back. He waits.

"Help me take it off?" Bucky asks, the ache a little too strong to really ignore now, and Sam just nods, carefully going through the motions of releasing the arm and setting it aside gently, the way he's done countless times on countless days like this.

The mirror starts to fog up, and Bucky reaches his right arm into the shower to test the water, nodding when he finds it sufficiently warm. He shoves off the sweats and the briefs he's wearing and kicks them both to the side.

"Come on," he says, lightly grabbing Sam's wrist and tugging him towards their shower. "Gotta make sure you get warm, sweetheart."

He steps in first, and keeps a hold of Sam's wrist as he follows to guide him immediately under the warm spray. He doesn't reach out to grab any soaps or lathers just yet, just pulls Sam close and loosely wraps his arm around his waist, holding them both under the water at least until Sam's shivers stop.

It's easy enough to tell when Sam's sufficiently warm by the way he cuddles in closer to Bucky's embrace, no longer trying to hide his light trembling with distance. Bucky grabs Sam's soap and a soft washcloth from the caddy hanging behind him. Sam presses another light kiss to the scarring on his shoulder.

Bucky's arm hurts just a little less.

send me a ship and a number and i'll write a kiss!

[sesamestreep]

hi hello I'm here to ask about "write a loving letter" and "mystery door no. 4"

how dare you make me format TWO excerpts??

“write a loving letter boy” should maybe not be on here because it’s not exactly an active WIP because I’ve fully forgotten the actual plot I had in mind for it, but I love the draft title so much I can’t delete it (see below if the reference eludes you). The basic idea was yet another daredevil college au (what can I say, I have a Type) but in this case it’s…like a Cyrano de Bergerac AU?? where Foggy ends up helping one of their classmates woo Matt because he “knows him so well” and ends up discovering his own feelings for Matt that way?? I watched an episode of Bones that was obviously a Cyrano pastiche but they refused to acknowledge it and it made me so annoyed, I had to write this AU instead. Also thought I was very clever for thinking of a queer Cyrano retelling and then remembered “The Half of It” exists. Whoops.

Here’s the only scene I have, which is Foggy talking to the girl who wants to date Matt, who ended up just being the most fun OC to write:

“I was going to ask you something, actually,” Willa says, in that precise way of hers. Foggy likes her, based on the few conversations they’ve had, but he imagines she makes a lot of people their age feel a little frivolous, just based on her general energy. Foggy already knows he’s pretty frivolous, as a person, so he doesn’t take it too personally, which probably helps. “Sure. Shoot. Go ahead.” “You’re really good friends with Matt, right?” “We’re roommates, yeah,” Foggy replies, as he brings his drink to his mouth. “Right. I know,” Willa says, frowning. “But like…you’re friends too?” “Of course.” “I’m not friends with my roommate,” she supplies, explaining her clarification without actually explaining it.  “Oh, sure,” Foggy says. He likes the way Willa’s brain works, he’s just remembering. It’s like he can see the gears moving inside of it. It’s kind of fun. “Yes, Matt and I are friends as well as roommates. Why do you ask?”

title reference for page break reasons

“mystery door no. 4” is actually not fanfic, it’s an original novel I’m kind of working on (I am working on it, I just have no real vision for what I’ll do with any of it should I actually finish it, is what that sentence means, ftr). It’s based on an old idea I did for the made up movies meme on here years ago and I’ve been mostly handwriting it as an excuse not to look at screens during the spring/summer when I’m a lot more headache prone. I went through a period of about 2-3 months where I hated every fic idea I started and was just miserable about writing in general and decided to try writing some original fiction, which is not something I’ve done since I was like 12 (a long time but redacted amount of years ago) and it’s been very fun so far though I’m keeping my expectations low.

here is an excerpt, featuring my new OCs who I’m sure I’ll start tagging in stuff soon as the next step in my full descent to madness:

“Again with these words!” Aleks groaned. “Didn’t you just wake up?” “Not just.” “Still. ‘Puerile’? I couldn’t use that in a sentence correctly with three cups of coffee in me!” “Was that a hint?” “Hmmm?” “Do you want coffee? Were you asking me to make us some coffee?” “Are you part sheep dog or something?” Aleks asked. “Will you go crazy if I don’t give you something to do?” “Maybe,” Eugene admitted reluctantly.

[philtstone]

Writer asks! 3, 6, 10, 16!

im soooo late to replying to this but. thank you beloved and here we go

#3 What’s your favorite fic that you’ve written?

this is such a hard and mean question but here are some top contenders:

"easy, easy (my man and me)" - claire and jamie build a treehouse in the backyard. it came to me so effortlessly and i am still proud of the prose. also i sent it to my beloved high school english teacher and he loved it which makes it special! i don't think he realized it was fanfic lol

"hopeful." - sam and bucky accidentally adopt a bunch of super kids in the sort-of apocalypse. not prosaically perfect necessarily but my first ever completed chapter fic! i put a lot of myself into this one and it got me through a pretty tough year emotionally, and on top of that im actually proud of it!

"my daddy was a prominent frogman" - frodo baggins and his friends try to save their hippie summer camp from the evil industrialists. listen. this au is evergreen. 5 years later i have been inspired to write for it again, because it was just that good.

#6 Are there any fics from others you reread all the time?

Yes! of course!!! a staple of the genre! i say this and immediately forget every fic i've ever read!

I think the true brain changing fics are ones that i reread once a year or every few years. alternatively, i'll read one fic 10 times in a month. i read "let our joys so multiply" by @fallofrainblog 5 times in a week once so that gets a shoutout. every so often i have to go back and read irnan's star wars fics for personal reasons. also, the legendary anne fic catching moonlight which i go back to about once every 2 years. hilarious how 2 of these are ancient ffnet gems but there u go

its weird bc a lot of fics i'll forget about for years and then suddenly be like "oh yeah that one changed my brain irreversibly. i wonder if it holds up" and then i go find it again and am generally confirmed that it does, indeed, hold up.

#10 Is there a fic that got a different response than you were expecting?

Hmmm! many of them, frankly. there are some fics i write as throw aways with no expectation they will get traction, like "shut your mouth, hold your breath" or the very silly ponniyin selvan road trip au. there are others which I know are niche but still wish they had more traction so i had more external drive to finish them, because in theory i love the concept but just don't have the internal juice to see it through to the end. the force sensitive claire au is one of those i think. there are still others which are for huge fandoms and i am left wondering why they feel totally lost to the void. but that's all part of the deal, i guess, and quite often more related to my own ignorance of what is currently trendy

#16 At what point in the process do you come up with titles?

it really depends on the fic but very very rarely is the title conceived before the story. maybe for original fiction -- actually exclusively for original fiction do i do that. for fanfics i write the fic and then in the seconds before i post on ao3 i hail mary a title out of whatever divine inspiration is in that moment directly beamed into my brain from the heavens. usually in the form of song lyrics.

[whoseafraidofliloleme]

u write so good i literally binged almost all of ur works

take care and have a good dayy <33

Aww thank you so much, I wish this wasnt anon so I could give thanks to an account and even ask if youd like to be on the permanent taglist but even taking time to send this ask means so much to me. Again thank you so much, for liking and loving my work, taking the time to read and leave this ask is a big thing as well, again thank you so much.

Take care and have the best day whever you are!! <3 xoxo.

[3-2-whump]

Khaled’s Backstory, Part 1: The Way Things Were

next>

This backstory begins approximately two years (maybe give or take a few months) before the Eternal story actually begins. Thanks goes out once again to my amazing beta readers @whumped-by-glitter and @generic-whumperz

TW/CW: none, I think, but please let me know if I missed any.

Language Note: The Urdu and Dari words I used were learned through reading multiple language-learning blogs, culture blogs, Reddit, and of course, the ol' reliable Google Translate. If I misrepresented any of the expressions (which is extremely likely) please let me know as civilly as possible, because I'd rather know than not know.

 “A 32% in Urdu, a 29% in Social Studies, and a 25% in English?” a muffled voice sounded through the thick apartment door. The latch to the door clicked open and the door knob turned as a pair of four-year-old identical twins rushed through the meager opening. A ten-year-old girl soon followed them into the apartment, with her twelve-year-old brother right behind as he kicked off his shoes at the entrance. Their eldest brother, the thirteen-year-old, was still detained by their disappointed parents.

“But, I passed Math, and Science, and Islamic Studies-” the boy defended.

“Barely!” his father snorted. “How did you fail Urdu, of all things? The language you speak every damn day?!”

“Ammi, come on,” he whined, trying to gain sympathy from his mother, “don’t you remember the part where Mr. Khan said I was ‘the friendliest, most outgoing boy in the class’?”

“School is not a social club, Khaled!” A crashing sound outside their living room redirected her attention. “Haye Allah, that cat is back,” she sighed then marched quickly to the door that led to their balcony. The stray that knocked over her plants merely blinked at her as Khaled’s mum gave it a scolding to match the intensity of the one he received on the way home.

That left the rest of the tongue-lashing to Khaled’s dad. “You are the eldest brother, beta; you’re supposed to be setting an example for your siblings! What kind of example are you setting for them if you struggle to pass your classes?”

“An example they can easily exceed?” The flat glare from underneath his father’s bushy eyebrows made Khaled backtrack from his wise remark. “But Abba,” he tried, “You never had to learn this stuff and you turned out alright, didn’t you? You got a job that provides-”

“I ‘turned out’ alright?” Abba interrupted, voice raising on the precipice of his signature lecture. “I got ‘turned out’ of my home and my country, along with the rest of my family, because the beghairat koskhol Russians razed our farm to the ground!”

Ammi poked her head back in from where she was sweeping up potting soil and ceramic shards. “Abdul! What did I tell you about swearing in front of the kids?!”

“Zainab, they don’t understand me, it’s fine!” Dad yelled back.

Yes, we do, Khaled thought. Most of what he knew of his father’s language was nearly entirely expletives. He listened through the rest of his father’s lecture before accepting his punishment with all the dignity a thirteen-year-old could summon. Grounded for two weeks, no football with his friends, only study and sleep? Harsh, but it could be worse, Khaled reasoned.

“Bhai! Bhai!” the twins squealed at him, snapping him out of his thoughts. He looked down to see his little sisters Besma and Zara tugging at his shirt. “Come play with us!”

“They want to play newscaster, and they insist on having an anchorman,” Ayesha said with a smile. She was the third sister, and the middle child of the family.

“Well, what about Yusuf?” Khaled asked, referring to his little brother and the second eldest child. “You heard Abba, I need to study!”

“I’m the weather man, obviously,” Yusuf announced.

“He can’t be the anchor man and the weather man!” Zara said.

“Come on, bhai,” Ayesha coaxed him, steering him towards the living room/impromptu play area. “Your grades aren’t going to get any worse if you miss one study night!”

“Well…fair enough,” Khaled laughed.

-

After dinner, Khaled hung around outside the apartment building, watching his dad fix up the old motorcycle and occasionally handing him the tools he’d need.

“I’m sorry about my grades, Abba,” he muttered.

“I know, beta.” His father reached out a hand behind him, holding a wrench out to Khaled. Khaled wordlessly took it and put it back with the other instruments in the tool kit.

“I’ll try harder, I promise,” he vowed.

“You do that.” Abba unfurled from his crouching position in front of the motorcycle and sighed, a contented little smile on his face as he wiped his brow. “Now, do you want to take this thing out for a test ride? Make sure I fixed it up properly?” he suggested.

Khaled raised a skeptical brow up at him. “But Abba, you and Ammi said I’m grounded, remember?”

“Yeah, but as the man of the house, I unground you, just for tonight, okay?” He swung his leg over the seat of the motorcycle and kicked up the kickstand. “Come on,” he said invitingly, patting the seat behind him.

Khaled beamed ear to ear as he climbed up onto the motorcycle and held onto his father’s waist. He buried his face in the man’s broad back and melted into the smell of sweat, motor oil, and cologne. The motorcycle started up, revving to life under Abba’s hands. He couldn’t help the laughter that bubbled out of him as they peeled out into the street.

They whizzed down the fluorescent city streets, glowing every color of the rainbow under the dark velvet of the moonless sky. Khaled waved to drivers and fellow motorcyclists as his dad weaved in and out and around and through them.

They eventually ended up at their usual destination for late-night father-son outings: at Port Grand, sitting on a bench looking out at the waters, each one with a skewered kebab in hand. The shadows of cranes loomed over the horizon, marking the dock yard where Khaled’s father worked during the day. But at night, the port –no, the world –was theirs.

“What if I can’t do it?” Khaled asked.

Abba had just polished off his kebab, and now had a mouthful of meat to chew. Khaled looked down at his own bare wooden skewer and began fidgeting with it. “I mean, what if I still fail next term?” he elaborated. “I am trying, really, but what comes easily to Tariq or Muhammad or Imran does not come easily to me. What if I end up failing no matter how hard I try? Then what’s the point?” he asked.

That monologue gave his dad enough time to chew and swallow his mouthful. He wiped the grease from his lips and his beard with the back of his hand, then collected Khaled’s empty stick from his hands. “Khaled, you can do so much more than you think you can,” he started. Sincere, deep, dark brown eyes met the boy’s own. “You are my son, and we Bakhsh men are tough, yeah? You can do it, and you will do it, because Bakhsh men always do it.”

The way he said it so confidently and certainly, like he believed in him, made Khaled want to believe in himself too. “Yeah,” he murmured, smiling warmly.

Abba mirrored the smile back as he rose from the bench. “Now, don’t tell Ammi we went out for these, or she’ll have my ass,” he said, waving the kebab sticks around before he threw them away.

Khaled giggled, but gave his dad the thumbs up. Their father-son time would stay between themselves, just like Abba’s father-son time with Yusuf last week, or his father-daughter time with Ayesha the week before. As they rode back home and returned to the apartment at far too late at night, Khaled never realized that this would be the last father-son time he’d have.

Le Tag List: @kabie-whump @rainydaywhump @whumped-by-glitter @skittles-the-whumpee @generic-whumperz @bamber344 @there-will-always-be-blood @morning-star-whump @a-la-whump @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees @defire @phoenixpromptsandstuff @scumashling

[zeebtrolls]

hi guys, i need 2 take my cat to the vet tuesday but i dont have enough money to pay for her treatments. my roommate took their cat to the vet and from what i know the stuff for tapeworms, flees, and an itchiness steroid shot all counted up to $156. i hate to ask for help but i do need it!! i’m broke rn and i edited my kofi goal to help w that. any amount helps !! i will even draw u im willing to draw anything for u !! discounting my comms as well i’m willing to do quick doodles for $20 a pop 💔

this just sucks man, not to mention my freaking apartment ceiling flooded down in our kitchen bc a pipe burst. thanks to our annoying neighbors upstairs…

our apartment has been sucking the entire time and i’m trying to save to move as well but sm has been happening!!!

[freepalestine777]

Thank you for sharing my friend But I need the support of me and my family Anything, brother, anything 😭 I swear I wasn’t like this, but the war destroyed everything and destroyed our dreams 😔😔 I used to own a company with my father, but because of the war, look what happens to me When I ask for help my heart is torn from the inside 😭

There is no shame in asking for help for you and your family. We all pray you will get safety and peace soon inshallah. I will try my best to help, and i hope everyone who sees this donates and shares.

Their donation link:

https://gofund.me/56f94ac5

[kartaylirsden]

🍎 For Ashana

She's Zainab, so she was born around their camp in the Grazelands in the late third era. She hasn't lived there for a very long time. By Skyrim era she was living in Solitude, and my current thought is that she eventually wound up in Blacklight after that, but I haven't gotten all the details parsed out that far.

Thank you so much for the ask! <3

[ahlulbaytnetworks]

🍂🥀🍂 Majlis 1 🍂🥀🍂

🍂🥀 Majaalis al-Hussain (as) 🥀🍂

🥀 Surah al-Fatiha

Bismillahir Rahmanir Raheem

Today is the first night of Muharram - the start of a new Islamic year.

We do not greet it with merry-making, nor celebrate it by holding parties. Our hearts are filled with sadness and grief because we remember those martyrs who were killed in Karbala’.

For the next twelve days and nights, we hold Majaalis al-Husayn to mourn the death of Imam Husayn, his family and companions.

The word 'majaalis' means seatings where people gather and sit.

In Majaalis of Muharram, we recall the events of the martydom of Imam Husayn, his family and companions, and the hardship and suffering of those in his family who survived the tragedy of Karbala’.

The first Majlis al-Husayn was started by his sister, Bibi Zainab, as soon as they were set free by Yazid. Since then all the Imams and Shi'as have continued the Majaalis al-Husayn regularly.

Why do we hold these Majaalis?

To thank Imam Husayn, his family and companions for the great sacrifice in Karbala’ for saving us and Islam. We hold these Majaalis because we love our Imam and feel sad to hear about his hardship and suffering in Karbala’, and also to comfort and please Bibi Fatimah - Imam Husayn's mother.

Bibi Fatimah comes to Majaalis al-Husayn. Though we cannot see her, she prays for us and our families' safety. She collects our tears when we cry for Imam Husayn and his family. On the Day of Judgement she will return all those tears we have shed for her family. These tears will protect us from the Fire of Hell.

I would like you to think about what I have just said.

Examine your deeds and see if they are good enough for you to face Bibi Fatimah on the Day of Judgement. If you are not praying your wajib Salat (Prayer) regularly, how would you be able to face Bibi Fatimah on the Day of Judgement?

You have come to the Majaalis al-Husayn because you are thankful for what Husayn did to save your religion. You cry and do matam for Husayn because you love him. If you really love someone then you surely want to please him.

How can you please Husayn if you are not praying Salaat regularly?

Majaalis al-Husayn will continue till the Day of Judgement.

It is not because of us. We are the only means through which Allah (S.W.T.) keeps Husayn's great sacrifice alive. Husayn died saving Allah's religion and Allah (S.W.T.) has promised to keep alive Husayn's name and his great sacrifice, till the Day of Judgement.

Majaalis al-Husayn! Matam al-Husayn!

Enemies of Islam can never stop majaalis and matam, even if they try thousands of times to do so.

On the 1st of Muharram, Imam Husayn's caravan had reached just outside Karbala’. They pitched their tents for the night.

Husayn and his sister, Zainab, were standing talking outside Husayn's tent.

Together they both sighted the moon of 1st of Muharram.

Tears flowed from Husayn's eyes.

Zainab grew worried and asked her brother:

“My dearest brother Husayn, why are there tears in your eyes?”

“Zainab! My sister Zainab! Please pray for me that I keep my promise to Allah (S.W.T.). Pray, my sister, that I succeed in completing my mission to save Islam. Zainab! Pray for me that I do not hesitate in giving up my life for Islam.”

Husayn was not crying because he was worried about dying. Husayn did not ask his sister to pray to Allah (S.W.T.) to save his life. All he was concerned about was saving us and Islam.

Bibi Zainab's eyes were filled with tears when she heard what Husayn asked her to do.

“My beloved sister Zainab! Don't cry! You will have to perform a greater duty after my death. Be brave and patient!”

Bibi Zainab went to her tent. ‘Ali Akbar joined his father, Husayn.

“My son, ‘Ali Akbar! I saw a dream last night. I saw a group of people heading for a place where death was waiting for them. I saw them all killed, one-by-one.”

“Father! I know these people. Those people are us. But, tell me father, are we on the right path?”

“Yes, my son Akbar, yes We are on the right path.”

“Then let us not worry? Father, if we are on the right path, then let us die happily. We should continue our journey and greet our death with a smile.”

“I am proud of you, my son Akbar!”

Matam Al-Hussain (as)!

🍂🥀🍂 al-Islam.org 🍂🥀🍂

.

[firstelevens]

hello! 11. not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd + sambucky, if you like! (canonverse, AU.. happy to read about any of them☺️)

11. not wanting to lose each other in a big crowd

The trouble with memory loss as extensive as Bucky's is that he doesn't know whether he should attribute his adaptability to being repeatedly frozen and defrosted over the course of an entire century, or if that trait wholly belongs to the person who he used to be. In either case, it's too sad to think about for too long, but it's something he's relieved to have on days like this.

When Thor had literally crashed into a fight between Team Cap and their fourth alien weapon-wielding foe in a month, Bucky had assumed that it would be a simple handover, Earth Avengers to Space Avengers, and they could call it a day. Instead, he'd offered to fly Sam up to outer space so he could chase up his investigation, and there was no way that Bucky was leaving Sam alone to do intel gathering on an unknown, possibly hostile planet.

It takes a few hours' worth of hyperspace travel to get them to Empyrean-5. At first, Sam had teased Bucky for staring wide-eyed out of the viewports, but then he'd stayed there, too, watching as they closed in on a planet that seemed to emit a multi-colored glow into the darkness surrounding it.

Before they dock on the planet, Thor takes a video call from a vaguely familiar green lady in some kind of red uniform. She looks relieved when she hears that Thor won't be the one actually investigating on-planet, and she must be pretty well connected, because soon they're kitted out better for this mission than most Thunderbolts missions, and Val is a literal countess.

Bucky can't deny the slight giddiness he feels as the ship slowly descends towards the landing port--all those comic books and pulps that he read as a kid, and now he's literally in outer space--but he sees Sam fiddling with the translating bracelet that they were both given and realizes that Sam's fidgeting might not be the excited kind.

He bumps his shoulder against Sam's as they descend. "Are you up for this mission, Cap?" he asks. "You sure you'll be as charming in space as you are on Earth?"

Sam snorts, shaking his head, and Bucky is inordinately pleased to watch his jaw relax. "Aw, Buck. You think I'm charming? I'm blushing."

"I think you think you're charming," grumbles Bucky, like he knows he's supposed to, but when Sam grins at him, he can't help but return it.

"Be honest," says Sam, nudging him back. "How badly did baby Bucky want to visit outer space?"

Bucky feels his face get warm, but Sam is looking at him with bright, interested eyes, and he's only human. "If I'd known it was an option? That I just had to be a scientist to do it? No one would've ever had to tell me to study again. I'd have been at the library every day. Would've dragged Steve there, too."

"Yeah, and then Steve would've started a fight and you would've gotten kicked out on day one," says Sam. "This way, you get to see space and no one's revoking your library card."

"Which is good, because I've got about a dozen holds coming in this week, and half of them are yours," says Bucky. "What would you do if you couldn't mooch off my library card, huh?"

"The Brooklyn Public Library just has a better selection, okay? It's not my fault the DC library system finally shut down my card."

"It's a little bit your fault," says Bucky. "You haven't lived there in more than a decade."

Sam grumbles something that Bucky can't quite make out over the sound of the ship, and he tries not to laugh.

"So what's our plan here? That Gamora lady said the auction wouldn't be for another couple hours. You want to scope out the building first or walk around a little to get a lay of the land?"

"Neither," says Sam.

"Sam, how many times to I have to explain that 'no plan' doesn't count as a plan?"

"For your own satisfaction, I'm sure it'll be another four dozen at least," says Sam. "And I didn't say we have no plan. I said I didn't have one of those plans."

"Fine," Bucky says, crossing his arms. "What's your plan, then?"

"We're gonna play tourists," says Sam, and points out the viewport just as they pass through a thick cover of clouds to approach a glittering city, half sun-soaked, half in starlight. The nighttime half is dotted with neon signs and brightly lit buildings, blurring lights on what must be vehicles zooming past them. "I feel like this place gets a lot of those."

"Oh, plenty," says Thor, and Bucky just barely stops himself from startling. For a god of thunder, he's surprisingly quiet when he wants to be. "Empyrean-5 is the sector's most popular honeymoon destination."

"Pretty good place for an intergalactic black market auction," murmurs Sam, and Bucky is inclined to agree. There are no regulars to remember anyone's faces, and any tourists who might see something suspect will be too distracted by whoever they arrived with to care.

The ship gently docks at the spaceship equivalent of a harbor, and through the viewport, Bucky can see bustling streets and tall buildings, dramatic mountains silhouetted in the distance against a pink and orange sky.

Thor moves back to the cockpit to open the doors, and Sam turns to Bucky. "You sure you're gonna be cut out for this kind of undercover work?"

Bucky narrows his eyes.

"What?" laughs Sam. "I'm just saying, there's a lot of authentically excited tourists out there. I think we're really going to have to commit here: see as many sights as possible, take a bunch of pictures, buy some stupid souvenirs. We have to make it believable."

There's no use fighting the goofy smile that wants to spread across his face. Bucky accepted a long time ago that being around Sam Wilson was going to make him feel this way. "So you're saying that for the sake of the mission, I have to see as much of this planet as possible?"

Sam nods, as gravely as he can with a grin on his face. "It's a non-negotiable."

"Then I guess I can't say no," says Bucky. On an impulse, as the doors open and the gangway unfolds, he reaches out and grabs Sam's hand. When Sam looks from Bucky to their joined hands and back, eyebrows raised, Bucky just shrugs, gesturing to the tourists milling around the harbor-side stalls. "Don't want to lose you."

It can't be more than two seconds before Sam reacts, but it feels like a small eternity to Bucky. Then Sam's hand shifts in Bucky's like he's trying to pull away, and there are already apologies at the tip of his tongue, but it turns out that he doesn't need them: Sam just moves his hand to interlace their fingers, giving Bucky's hand a squeeze.

"I'm not going anywhere," he says, and when he starts down the gangway and into the crowd, all Bucky can do is follow.

[bisamwilson]

Fic writer asks!

✨🎀🤲

hi zainab!!!! thanks for the ask <3

(from this list)

✨: What's a fic you've posted you wish you could breathe life into again and have people talking about it? (or simply a fic you wish got more credit)

i feel like my answer to this is always MILF (man i love fishing) because i'm really proud of how i wrote sam and his process of grieving in this one, but i think i probably fucked that up myself by naming it a joke title (i have no regrets. that title is hilarious.)

i also want to shout out you don't look a day over fast cars and freedom bc 1) i think it got lightly overshadowed by the fic where bucky grows old after sam has passed on, which like, i get, because outside of the princess diaries au that might be the fic i'm most proud of, but also 2) if i breathed life into this one again i'm hoping it would spur on more old married sambucky bc i adore it and there's so little of it

🎀: give yourself a compliment about your own writing

aaaaaaa this is always so hard um. i really like my characterization? i spend a lot of time on it whenever i'm writing and, like i referenced in another one of these, i try really hard to make sure the characters are recognizable and still in character no matter what situation they're in (ESPECIALLY in aus) and i think i do a pretty consistently good job at accomplishing this, and i'm pretty proud of that!

🤲: what do YOU get out of writing?

i've managed to build myself a really wonderful community of friends and mutuals from writing, which is definitely a big part of why i do it, but i also just have a lot of ideas and it's really great getting to put pen to paper (metaphorically, of course, given i write everything basically in google docs). the whole reason i started writing sambucky in the first place is because i had fic ideas i couldn't get out of my brain, and they just needed to go somewhere, and they ended up going onto ao3 in the form of the one last stop au, the princess diaries au, and the fic where bucky dresses up (and, eventually, sam dresses up) as a uso showgirl for halloween, and then that's just blossomed into all the writing i've done from there. idk i just really enjoy both the sense of community i get from writing and the break from my brain being like "hey if we don't write this we'll die" (which is, coincidentally, also how i ended up giving a speech and winning a medal for it at my high school graduation even though i hate public speaking and, at that point in my life, had multiple anxiety attacks over the thought of having to do it)

[ofliterarynature]

Bookish asks: 3, 14, 22!

thank you!

3. What were your top five books of the year?

already answered, but here's another 5 that I like -

North Woods by Daniel Mason

Derring-Do for Beginners by Victoria Goddard

A Sorceress Comes to Call by T Kingfisher

The Tainted Cup by Robert Jackson Bennett

The Woman in White by Wilkie Collins

14. What books do you want to finish before the year is over?

answered here! it's been a few days and I still haven't finished anything lol.

22. What’s the longest book you read?

already answered, so I will specify that the longest thing I read in PRINT (not audiobook or ebook) was Fit for the Gods ed. by Jenn Northington and S. Zainab Williams at 480 pages! A solidly good anthology as they go, though none of the stories quite stuck with me as much as a few from Jenn's first anthology did.

[philtstone]

Sam and AJ and Cass, 29

#29 -- a story that never gets told

a prequel of sorts to my belovedly unhinged magical realism au, the original of which can be read on ao3 by clicking here. i wrote this prompt in random snippets on the subway, so hopefully its coherent. it kind of got away from me, but im leaning into the multiple indulged elements. most importantly, to answer zainabs oft asked question, "is this the one where he can turn into a whole ass wolf?" yes. yes it is.

Sam, as he has told his sister many a time, could learn — hypothetically — to be a great parent if he wanted to. Instead, he nobly chooses to fight for what’s right. This involves on occasion saving innocent lives amidst the unexpected collapse of Kingdoms, and more often petty magical crime, like that idiot who started going around stealing peoples sheep by herding them into his backyard, which he’d doused in a layer of magically un-solvent superglue. Thank God for Clint’s solvent arrows, which is a sentiment Sam brings up smugly whenever his sister expresses disdain towards the usefulness of magical items in completing household chores.

All of that was before Steve vanished into thin air, leaving Sam with custody of an ancient shield and a perpetually moody shapeshifter.

Hypotheticals are abounding just now. Hypothetically, Steve could just be on one long spontaneous vacation that he even logged in the shared magical calendar, which Bucky inconveniently misplaced on that last trek from North country down here. Hypothetically, Steve could have been kidnapped by a unicorn — those things are known to fuck with you just cause they can — and is currently being held in a magically enforced glade and subjected to a game of 21 riddles. Hypothetically, Steve could just be dead. Smallpox, common cold, unanticipated ogre attack on side of road. If Sam might say so himself, even the best of ‘em can get jumped sometimes; ain’t no shame in it.

“If Steve was dead, why hasn’t his ghost shown up to tell us that?” Bucky asks. He has elaborate theories on the matter, half of which involve the unicorn. The other half involve deep and cutting betrayal. Or murder.

“Steve Rogers did not just up and decide to play double agent,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. Bucky is never truly serious about this. He brings up potential intrigue in every conversation purely out of habit. And, Sam supposes begrudgingly, experience.

“So, murder.”

“Maybe ghost Steve is havin’ too much of a good time,” Sam says. “Remember that fae chick he was sweet on, and they got separated decades ago? Got him all stoic and single tear-y when her name came up? Carried her picture in his dumb little locket? She could be dead. They could be partying it up in the afterlife.”

“Bastard,” Bucky says grumpily, about Steve. “I’d tell you guys, if I died without you knowing.”

“Accidentally died,” insists Sam.

Bucky scowls. “I maintain we haven’t ruled out the double agent angle.”

“Oh my God!” says Sam, and throws his hands up in the air.

They have this exchange multiple times.

Sam sees the merit in the murder angle, but doesn’t necessarily like acknowledging it out loud. First of all, admitting Bucky might be right is always annoying, so he avoids doing it. Second, that shit’s bad juju, especially down here; you never know when a shadow man is listening in.

Just in case Ghost Steve really was murdered and forgot to tell them, though, Sam decides to conduct some scientific experiments. He makes Steve’s favourite gumbo (Sam’s mom’s recipe, of course – no one else’s can hold a candle) and bangs the pot lid loudly over the stove in case there are any spirits around to notice. He flips through Steve’s private sketchbook, left behind in Sam’s napsack — another clear evidence that he hasn’t turned coat — and makes childish faces at all the nude figures to trigger Steve’s artistic sensibilities. Then he leaves it out where the kids could find it, to trigger Steve’s moral sensibilities. 

Bucky takes more extreme measures. He goes out into the yard and yells, “Hey, jerk! You ever thought about what a basket case I’d be without you here? You don’t even got the decency to explain yourself?” after dark, into the droopy shapes of the mangrove trees. 

“Is he gonna start howling at the moon?” Sarah asks Sam one evening, though not unkindly, while they do the dishes and watch Bucky go at it through the small kitchen window.

Sam doesn’t say anything. Privately, he kind of feels like doing the same. 

Then, about three months later, after a near-coup and the revelation of multiple conspiracies and a big old honking blockade being put up all through South country, the Wakandans show up. With – holy shit, Sam thinks – a message from Steve.

“Uncle Sam, you’ve already told us that story.”

Okay, so speaking of parenting. Yeah, yeah, Sam would be a great parent in some alternate universe of events decidedly different from this one. In this universe, getting his nephews to bed at a reasonable hour when only this afternoon, a bunch of fancy people in red armour were holding a super secret outlaw meeting in the barn is proving harder than it looks. Sam almost wishes he was dealing with old Paste-Pot Pete and those sheep again.

“Uh, no I have not,” says Sam. “This version has added embellishments. The Wakandan King never challenged me to a duel, that was all Bucky’s bad luck.” 

“We’re calling ritual vengeance duels now?” asks Bucky dryly. 

“I’m just sayin’, I’m making a bunch of this up here. I am exercising creativity. Story version number one didn’t have any flying dwarves in it.”

Bucky is sitting in the doorway to the kids’ bedroom and attempting to de-encrust his favourite boots, which went through the ringer a bit on their way down through the bayou to Sarah’s three months ago. That was just after this all started. A lot’s changed since then.

Like the fact that Bucky is even in this house, cleaning boots. Or Sam’s newly discovered inability to lull little boys to sleep via adrenaline filled adventure stories while their mother takes a care package to the neighbours’ pregnant daughter in law. Sarah was very excited to see the newest in maternity fashion, which apparently Marlene had been sporting in the village all week, purchased from traveling dressmakers who might have had fae blood. Those guys always do know how to cut a cloak well. 

Bucky sniffs loudly at Sam’s defense and pulls an exaggerated face, raising the poor boot up to eye level to inspect it. “Maybe you’re just bad at telling stories,” he says finally.

While AJ and Cass giggle like the traitors they are, Sam makes a loud offended noise.

“Alright,” he says. “Fine. Fine. You know what? Just for that, I’m telling the story of how all of Petruski’s sticky sheep started followin’ your fluffy white wolf ass around.”

AJ dissolves into even harder giggles. Cass says, “Not the sheep story Uncle Sam! All you do in that one is complain!” and Bucky says, more primly than he has any right to, “I was consciously being as non threatening as possible, Samuel.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “so non threatening they thought you were one of ‘em.”

AJ is really starting to wheeze now, so Sam hauls him into his arms to disrupt the hilarity before it gets medical. Cass brings his pillow up over his head like a crown to smother his own laughter. And Bucky winks, before – in a devastating play – letting out a quiet, plaintive pair of baas in quick succession.

Routines like this one are becoming more and more real. More and more comfortable, Sam thinks, amidst the boys’ shrieks of laughter. Being here, being in this home (their home – The home?) it fills his heart with something warm and solid and unmoving. Like he has put down a heavy load. Sometimes it is hard to imagine what is so important that makes it worth picking up sword and shield and leaving this behind. Without this, where would any of them even be?

It’s just, that thought doesn’t stop the rest of the world from banging on their door sometimes. 

Just look at Steve’s cryptic as hell note. The me you know isn’t dead. Seriously. What the fuck. Sam almost wishes he really was dealing with a unicorn.

He settles on telling the story of how he and Steve once met that tiny shrinking guy and between Captain Rogers’ knightly loyalty to his friends, some of Redwing’s more heroic moments, and the addition of the brilliant mage-princess who gifted Bucky the enchantment for his arm, both boys are appeased.

“Uncle Sam,” Cass says, sleepily, towards the tail end of the story. “’S no fair that magic skips a generation. I wanna help save the kingdom like you do.”

Sam quiets, his hand stilling where it was in the middle of brushing over AJs forehead. AJ is already fast asleep. Knocked out cold, snoring and everything. 

Thing is, Sam’s brand of magic is pretty limited — some gimmick, even, nowhere close to what his Titi had. All Sam’s good for, practically speaking, is translating messages from carrier pigeons. But it got him into this bigger world, tangled him up in it. 

Sam can see, even though Bucky’s head is down, that his friend’s expression has taken on a slight grimness.

“Cass. Hey.” Sam knuckles the boy’s nose gently. “What do you mean, like me. You know how I keep this old kingdom safe? I help your mama do the dishes.”

“Uncle Sam,” Cass says, rolling his sleepy thick-lashed eyes. 

Sam sighs. “Cass. Just because it doesn’t make for a good story doesn’t mean it isn’t important.”

More important, even. Running this old house, and its garden (with all those gnomes, little pains-in-the-ass) and its boat.

“Muh huh,” Cass manages. And then he has drifted off, the side of his face squished against the pillow.

Sam and Bucky quietly relocate to the kitchen, where Redwing is awaiting them with a new note and a dead mouse.

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters.

“You better not be about to get in a piss fight with a kestrel when there are sleeping children in the next room.”

As if on cue, Redwing flaps over lands happily on Bucky’s shoulder, startling him. The little bell on his foot jingles, and Bucky glares, which does nothing to deter the little bird’s impulse to start throwing up what appears to be more mouse. 

Bucky stands perfectly still and looks awfully close to raptorcide. 

Dude, can you like, be normal for once, Sam says, to the bird. Redwing fluffs out all of his feathers in Bucky’s face in response. 

“I don’t get into piss fights with your kestrel, Sam,” Bucky says, gritting each word out with individuality. 

Redwing twitters happily. 

He’ll come around eventually, Sam replies. He scoops the bird up in both hands and re-situates him on his own arm, and begins untying the little package wired to Redwing’s foot. Out loud, he adds, “You know, he wants to be your friend so badly –”

“He’s the one who chews through my best leather breeches twice a month –” Bucky cuts himself off, grumbling under his breath and reaching over to fumble the parchment scroll out of Sam’s hand while its messenger hops in one place and nuzzles the crown of his feathery head into Sam’s armpit. Sam’s poorly concealed smile fades when Bucky openly frowns.

“Note’s from Nakia,” Bucky mutters, tapping the amulet bracelet on his right wrist against the similar shape of beaded stone etched into the scroll’s covering as Sam strokes Redwing’s head. 

“It’s – what?”

“What what.”

“From another dimension,” Bucky reads aloud, looking increasingly incredulous. 

“What?” 

“You already said that.” Sam rolls his eyes. Bucky makes a face at the scroll. “Always gotta be another fuckin’ gimmick. Well. She’s got a guy to decode it.”

“Didn’t she cast the spell?” asks Sam, who is still processing the dimension thing. As in, like, different from their own?

Is that where Steve is?

“Yeah, but only to keep anyone else from decoding it. The bracelet itself already had a message stored in it.” 

“Beyond Steve’s disembodied voice materializing outta nowhere the first time I touched that thing to prove he hasn’t kicked the bucket.”

“Which,” Bucky starts, “for the record –”

“Was not your theory.”

Bucky frowns harder. Refocuses. “Yes. The bracelet, which was clearly a magical object enchanted to respond to your touch –”

“Could’a been our touch, you never held it before I did –”

“Fine, sure, our touch – double enchantment. This thing is stolen, and someone – my guess is Steve – managed to layer another goddamn spell on it before sending it our way.”

Sam sighs, staring at the gleaming dishes in the drying rack. A box of Arm and Magical Hammer’s peroxide sits orange and to the side. Maybe this is why Sarah refuses to use any of the handy dandy domestic enchantments he brings home for her. 

Because magic’s a pain in the ass.

“So?” says Sam.

“Uh, yeah. She’s got a guy to decode it …” Bucky grimaces, “on the other side of the river.”

Oh. Oh. Yeah, that’s gonna be rough.

“I can’t go through a GRC checkpoint,” Sam says. Redwing makes a mournful sound of agreement. Bucky is still turning the note over and over as if maybe reading it upside down will change its mystifying contents. 

“They’d recognize your beautiful knightly face,” he agrees, reciting Sam’s proffered explanation. “And then search all your bags and spook your horse. You know, she’s way too sensitive.”

“Clara ain’t sensitive, she’s emotionally intelligent. There’s a difference,” Bucky mutters something about Sam busting out his inner kingdom social worker lingo on them and Sam adds, “and you can go through a GRC checkpoint even less, by the way.”

“To be fair,” Bucky says, “they have kinda fucked up my nose in all those wanted posters. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize me.”

They both sit down at the table, resigned. It’s a sticky problem. Sam supposes, as Bucky pulls his favourite dagger out and begins flipping it in a broody manner, that they could take Sharon’s smuggler’s detour behind the wall, but she’d ask too many questions. Sending Redwing on his own is too risky (Sam admits, begrudgingly and in the privacy of his own mind). Clint’s roped into a local problem with a gang of overall-wearing gnomes, Bruce has started teaching a yoga of ogres class, even Joaquin just set up shop marketside selling his scroll encryption services … Sam’s stomach growls, and the lingering smell of spiced rice hits his nose. Sarah’s left a potfull on the stove, for them, probably. She blusters plenty, has real right to be angry plenty, and has a mean right hook, but she loves him. And she’s a lot tougher than she looks, Sam’s come to realize. Kept this whole village alive over the years with her caring, and even after they set up the blockades she charmed the border officers better than Sam or Bucky ever could.

Sam clicks his tongue against his teeth and says, “Huh.”

“What,” says Bucky.

“Lemme run a hypothetical by you.”

“Oh no.” Bucky rubs a finger over the bridge of his nose. “You always do this to me. I started like that once –”

“And have had many terrible no good get Sam’s ass in trouble plans since, brother.” Sam crosses his arms; Rewind flaps over to his little perch by the bookshelf in deference. “Hypothetically, you don’t have to look like yourself. Right?”

Bucky looks at him warily. “Well … no.”

“And … hypothetically –”

“Sam …”

“If a familiar person, say … the nice lady who used to take her gumbo to the community house every week. Was to have that bracelet in her box the next time she went –”

“You wanna send your sister through the woods on her own in this economy?” Bucky interrupts, baffled.  

Sam lifts his chin. Raises his eyebrows. Wags his head a little bit. Chirp, says Redwing from across the room, which Sam might roughly translate to it’s not rocket science, pal.

It takes Bucky a moment to get it, but when it clicks, it’s obvious.

“Oh, no,” he says, a slow horror growing in his face. “No. No, no, no, no way. I refuse, Sam.”

“I haven’t asked anything yet!” Sam says, very mildly put out.

Bucky levels the pointy end of the dagger at him. “No. You’re not entrusting me as the sole keeper of your sister’s safety in the wilderness!”

Sam leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “And who the hell else am I gonna entrust as the sole keeper of my sister’s safety in the wilderness?” Bucky makes a disbelieving little cawing noise, like a sad crow, to which Sam adds, deliberate: “Come on, Buck. Be serious.”

Bucky does not answer, as he seems to go through twelve different emotions at once, silently. Sam, who can acknowledge at sword-point that this is maybe a little mean of him, given Bucky’s profound loyalty to his friends and poorly-concealed devotion to said sister (hmph), gives him a minute. Finally, Bucky manages, 

“Anyone! Someone who didn’t spend the last eighty years magically entrapped by a cabal of fascist wizards in the body of a murderous rabid animal!” 

He waves his free hand, which was previously clutched in his hair for something to do. He’d look a bit wild if he didn’t look so thoroughly mundane sitting there in his shirts with his boots off. 

Well, okay. The knife’s a little intense. But it’s not like Sarah’s kitchen isn’t stacked with em.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. 

“Okay, first of all. Rabid is just flat out inaccurate.”

“Sam,” Bucky grinds out.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sam says. “You’re not diseased. And like, present day wolf you can even be kinda cute. You seen how fluffy you are? Those sheep definitely did.”

Bucky actually growls at him.

“That doesn’t actually dispute my point,” says Sam, “which is that this, right here, is objectively our best plan.”

“I won’t do it.”

“I’m asking you, Bucky.”

“It’s a terrible plan!”

“Says the guy who only ever comes up with the most unhinged plans ever!”

They glare at each other, for a prolonged, stone-headed moment. Sam thinks that next time he tells the kids a bedtime story, he should include a Mexican standoff somewhere in there. Then Bucky raises the knife again, very very slowly.

“Only if Sarah says yes.”

“Which,” Sam agrees, “is extremely unlikely. If magic could be wrapped up in a tiny little football, she’d probably drop kick that thing into the Mississippi like a quarterback.”

Marginally, Bucky’s face relaxes.

“Yeah,” he says, and now Sam is starting to feel some relief too, because really, what the hell is he thinking? Sending his baby sister out into the wilderness so they can all uncover some great conspiracy … “Yeah. Yeah, okay. If she says yes, I’ll do it.”

And then, of course, she does.

[whoseafraidofliloleme]

U ATE WITH THE NEW THEME

love the colour smmm it goes so well and compliments your pinned post really well like it makes it pop more

(I'm just here passing time exams are near nd I don't feel like studying nor doing anything dk whyy 😞)

take care of yourself 💘

Aww thank you so much, Ive taken to matching my theme with Taylor and her album releases 😂. So it was a purple theme during Speak Now era, light blue during 1989 era and now The Tortured Poets Department is very monochrome with greys so thats my theme.

I genuinely didnt even realise it makes my pinned post look so good, kinda loving thia one so we're ginna keep it for a few months 😂😂, if us delulu swifties are right and Rep TV is next then this works out for me and I dont even have to change my theme 😂😂.

Ooof I hope ur exams go well!! Dont forget to take breaks during studying!! Taking breaks is very very important!!. Staying hydrated is just as important too!!. Take care!!!

[medievalcat]

Hey my friend 👋 How are you?! I hope you’re good 🤍🙏

‏My friend, I am in a very urgent situation ‏I’m not used to asking for help from anyone ‏But now my mother suffers from cartilage on her neck and because of the lack of operations we have a gra, we will be forced to buy a temporary neck device priced at $300. ‏My mother is suffering very hard, brother, I wish you support💔💔😭😭

hello Mohammed, thank you so much for contacting me. I have reblogged your post and am posting this message so people can see your gofundme:

followers, Mohammed and his family have raised over 1900 euros and they need help reaching a goal of 50k.

I pray for you and your family.