#zainab replies

[firstelevens]

12 and 30 for AO3 Wrapped?

Hi Ara! Thank you for the questions!

12. How many WIP’s do you have in your docs for next year?

SO MANY. I'm a big believer in multiple pots on the stove, so if we're considering everything that I have working and a vague hope to finish next year, I think it's nine or ten?

30. Biggest surprise while writing this year?

I feel like it has to be the advent of my kidfic era. December 2023, I had no kidfic to my name, and now there are babies everywhere.

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

xavier x addams reader where she does witchy things and xavier is totally whipped for her

Ahh I miss writing for this fandom! Wednesday is one of my favorite fandom to write for (especially addams!reader) <3 Where is everyone?

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

‘’Hand me the crow skull.’’

Xavier scanned across the table for the skull and handed it to you. There was a small — and overpriced — witchcraft store in Jericho, but he had a feeling you had gotten it yourself from a dead crow. The thought sent shivers down his back and impressed him at the same time.

‘’What is it that you’re doing exactly?’’ he asked, his spiritualism and witchcraft practice knowledge not as advanced as yours. 

Before you, a pentacle had been drawn with some lit candles around it, turning an old table into your altar. In the middle of the pentacle, you had superpositioned some bones along with a piece of fabric, turning the Nightshades library into your personal sanctuary.

If Principal Weems ever found out, she would shut down all activities and confiscate all of your material. Although Nevermore was a school for outcasts of all kinds, witchcraft practice outside classes was strictly forbidden. 

‘’Spying on my enemies,’’ you replied as you placed the small crow skull on top of the stacked bones. ‘’I suspect Bianca is planning to sabotage the Black Cats’ boat for tomorrow's Poe Cup.’’

‘’She sabotages everyone's boats every year. This is nothing new,’’ Xavier said, already feeling defeated although the competition was tomorrow. 

Somehow, only Bianca's boat make it back across the lake every year. Everyone else end up in the lake. It's too strange to be a coincidence or a fair win.

‘’Her little plans won’t be going accordingly this year. Wednesday made me swear on our great aunt Calpurnia’s grave that I would make sure Bianca wouldn’t sabotage her team’s boat. Unfortunately, a protection spell on their boat would be too obvious, but I can figure out her plans with a little crow's eye.’’ 

Xavier drew his eyebrows. ‘’A crow’s eye?’’ 

You hummed, then grabbed a handful of white grains and asked Xavier to move. ‘’Step back, mon amour, I wouldn’t want to injure you. It’s gonna blow up.’’ 

Getting the message, Xavier took a few steps back and watched from a safe distance. 

‘’Wings of Titania,’’ you began, sprinkling white grains around the bones,’’bear mine eyes aloft as I bid thee.’’ You dropped the rest of the white grains and all that was inside the pentagram blew up, your eyes turning white as your head tilted back the same way your sister would when getting a vision. 

—

Wednesday taglist: @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n  @poppet05  @ell0ra-br3kk3r

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[sylvienerevarine]

Our House of Trouble

One of my very favorite things to write is the Hero of Kvatch reintroducing herself to her old friends and family after she becomes Sheogorath. So here's a very short tale about my girl Sacha Llervu finally reuniting with her sister, my favorite minor Morrowind character Falura Llervu. Falura's quest is so weird and complicated and an ethical minefield, and I hope I've managed to capture that here!

---

Falura Llervu, wife of the Zainab Ashkhan, looked at Sheogorath, god of madness, with her eyes wide and mouth hanging open.

“You’ve got to be joking,” she managed at last. “I don’t see you for almost thirty years, and this is how we reunite?”

“Look, this isn’t how I planned it either,” replied Sacha, Falura’s long-lost elder sister. “Mantling a god is shit, you know. It took me years to remember that I even had relatives. Aren’t you glad to see me?”

“Of course I am, but…Sheogorath, of all the gods? What would Mum and Dad say?”

“I should hope they’d be proud,” said Sacha, with mock offense. “I’ve done pretty well for myself! Got a job and a house, met the old Emperor, stopped a demonic invasion…”

“You did what?”

Sacha waved a hand vaguely. “Listen, enough about me. That’s a long damn story. The point is, if I hadn’t mantled a god, I never would’ve been able to track you down. What the fuck are you doing in an Ashlander camp?”

“I live here now,” Falura explained. “I have for about seven years. My husband, Kaushad, is the Ashkhan.”

“Your h…” Sacha shook her head. “When did you get married, Falura? And to an Ashkhan, of all people?”

“That’s a long story. Even in Cyrodiil, you heard about the Nerevarine, didn’t you?”

“Sure. Half the Dunmer I knew took the day off to celebrate when Dagoth Ur fell. I never really knew what to make of it.”

“Well, the Nerevarine is my friend Sylvie. She’s the real thing, Sacha, and she saved me. Bought me from the slave market in Tel Aruhn and found me a lovely new home.”

“Your friend…” Sacha shook her head and flopped onto the grass across from her sister. “All right, out with it. Tell me everything, start to finish.”

Haltingly, Falura began. There was a lot to summarize from the past twenty-odd years, but she made it as concise as possible, glossing over some of the worst parts. Sacha didn’t need to hear all that; she’d probably already lived it. 

“So Sylvie rescued me, in the end,” she concluded. “She needed to be named Nerevarine, the Ashkhan needed a wife, and I needed to escape. It worked out for all of us.”

“It doesn’t sound like you were rescued,” said Sacha in disgust. “Sounds more to me like you were bought and sold. Again.”

“It wasn’t like that,” Falura protested. “Sylvie freed me as soon as the papers were signed. She said I could marry the Ashkhan if I wanted, and otherwise she would give me funds to get to the mainland and…” She trailed off, remembering exactly what it was the Nerevarine had suggested.

“And do what, Falura?” asked Sacha, her voice low and even. 

“Find you,” she replied quietly. And she hadn’t. She’d shoved aside family loyalty to hurry into a new life and forget the old one.

Sacha’s new eyes blazed golden. “I never gave up on you,” she grated out. “When I escaped that damn Indoril plantation, I started running scams in every backwoods village, saving up money to free you. It landed me in prison. While you…what, gave up your independence to marry some rich man? Didn’t you care what happened to me?”

Icy-cold fear seized Falura’s heart. This isn’t your sister anymore, she thought. She’s one corner of the House of Troubles, and she could kill you with a single word.

“I’m so sorry, Sacha,” she said pleadingly. “But just try to understand. I had no idea where you were, or if you were even alive, and I was just so damn tired. I’d been traded from one family to another, up and down the coast, paraded around like a hunting trophy one minute and shoved in the kitchen the next. All I wanted was peace, safety, family–and the Ashlanders were willing to give me that.” A tear slipped down one cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “I’m happy now, though. I’m free. We both are, no matter what we had to do to get there. Isn’t that what’s important?”

For several heart-stopping seconds, Sacha said nothing at all, glowering down at Falura like a violet thundercloud. Then, astonishingly, her shoulders slumped and her gaze softened.

“Well, shit,” she said. “Damn.”

In spite of herself, Falura giggled. “Sacha! Language!”

“Oh, stop, you sound like Mum. Falura, I’m…” She gulped. “Look, I’m sorry. I don’t have any right to judge you, not after everything I’ve done. They made me a knight, you know. I had prestige, influence. I could have tracked you down in a week, but instead I went off on some stupid quest to try and get Marty back, and…” She gestured with some disgust to her new attire. “All this happened.”

“So we both moved on a bit.” Falura gave a dry chuckle. “Imagine what the family ghosts must think. For what it’s worth, Sacha, I never gave up on you either. I always did believe you were out there somewhere. You’ve always been the strongest person I know.”

“Funny. I was going to say the exact same thing to you,” said Sacha. “Reassure me of one thing, though. This Ashkhan, he’s good to you? Looks after you, and all that?”

Falura nodded fervently. “He does. Kaushad is a sweet man at heart, and we’ve really grown to love each other. Enough so that…well.” She grinned. “You’ve got a nephew, Sacha.”

“A nephew?” Sacha’s eyes widened. “You have a baby?”

“Well, Sylveron’s not quite a baby anymore. He’s almost six. And he’s heard lots of bedtime stories about his brave auntie Sacha.” Falura held out one hand–surely she was allowed to touch a god, if that god was her sister. “Why don’t you come tell him some more?”

[abarbaricyalp]

I simply MUST know about the OnlyPaws WIP! Or the actors AU, if someone’s already asked about the other one.

Hi Zainab! WIP Game

I've been working on this fic for over a year now, but it's still so dear to me. A coworker and I were joking about a dating app that was centered around pictures of your pets instead of yourself and this fic was born from that.

Sam and Bucky (technically Figaro and Alpine) match on an app called OnlyPaws and Bucky falls desperately in love with 'Figaro's dad' as he's always calling him because they don't really know more about each other. But it's the little things, like how he talks about Figaro or the snippets of his apartment that Bucky sees when the cats are facetiming, etc. (Yeah, the cats have facetime playdates)

It actually gets to be a problem when he starts hanging out with this guy in real life who drives him nuts, but he also kind of likes. This half guilt is only exasperated by the fact that Sam also seems to be hiding someone too. A comedy of errors and fools.

Sorry, this excerpt is long, but I like it as an establishing idea.

.

But, even now, sitting at a bar with friends, he found himself pulling out his phone while they danced. He'd taken a picture of Alpine earlier chewing on his aloe vera and he sent that to Figaro now.

There was a reply almost instantly: an incomprehensible string of emojis with every single plant in the dictionary, including the trees. Then: Sorry, man, I'm not home. But Fig says hi anyway. 

Bucky sucked on his teeth, sent back the cat emoji and a waving hand, then pocketed his phone. His friends were all clumped together, dancing poorly to an equally bad EDM remix of an old 80s song. The group had grown over the night as each of his friends invited a few others. He didn't know most of the people he was throwing back shots with, but that was part of the fun, he supposed.

Yet another man had joined the group. He stayed next to Steve, even as he smiled easily with the people around them. He was handsome, from what Bucky could see across the floor and under the throbbing lights of the club. Tall and built, but not overly muscular like some of the gym rats Steve could pick up. He had nice thighs under short-shorts and Bucky could appreciate the mesh top straining over his chest. The lights looked good on him and he could at least keep time to the music. A feat, since even the music kept losing its own tempo. The lights and shadows made his cheekbones stand out, even across the room.

Bucky ran his fingers over his phone one more time before he finished his drink and strode out to his friends, sidling up to Steve’s side where the new guy was. Steve, already most of the way to drunk, threw his arm over Bucky’s shoulder with a laugh and pulled him into the group as he jumped around to still-bad music. It only took a few hops before his arm fell from Bucky’s shoulders and Bucky could step back out next to the newcomer.

“Hey,” he greeted in a shout. “I’m Bucky. How do you know Steve?”

“Is this an interrogation?” the guy shouted back. “I’m Sam, though.”

“Nah, just wanted to know which version of him you knew.”

“You’ve noticed that too, huh?” Sam asked with a grin. He had nice teeth. A cute gap between the front two. “I see all of him,” he promised. “I know him well enough to know about you.”

Bucky held a hand over his chest in a slightly sarcastic ‘I’m touched’ kind of way. “You know, I’m just gonna ask him about you in the morning,” he pointed out.

Sam shrugged and went back to dancing, tugging Bucky closer to him with long fingers wrapped around his wrist. “Do you really wanna talk about Steve all night?”

And, yeah, Bucky could get with that. He wrapped one arm around Sam’s waist and dropped his prosthesis over his shoulder. Sam mirrored him after a studious few moments where he really seemed to be calculating how much closer that could bring them.

“How’d you lose your arm?” he asked. “Shark attack? Hiking accident? Cloning session gone wrong?”

“I worked for the circus,” Bucky joked back. “I was a lion tamer.”

“Not a very good one,” Sam answered and then beamed when Bucky laughed all full chested at him. “Sorry, usually I’m more polite than that. I don’t drink a lot.”

Bucky shrugged and pressed their bodies together. “I don’t mind. I have a lot of forgiveness for cute guys.”

“Only cute?” Sam asked. “A stoned guy in the bathroom thought I was a god. You’re gonna have to up your game.”

Bucky laughed again and dropped his forehead against Sam’s. Sam moved like he didn’t need to keep all of his body parts connected. His hips went one way and his legs did something else and his arms were so strong around Bucky. He was dizzying to keep up with and Bucky loved it. This wasn’t just a bump and grind. Sam knew how to move like a salsa dancer, found a beat for every second like a tap dancer, brought Bucky into all of it like it was second nature to have a partner.

“Are you a competitive dancer?” Bucky asked, because he was on his own way to drunk and he asked stupid questions in that state.

Sam laughed and did a complicated spin under Bucky’s arm just to show off. “Now you’re talking. That’s a good compliment. Nah, man. I just grew up doing it. You’re not so shabby either.”

“Yeah, I’m nothing like you,” Bucky disagreed.

Sam shrugged. “Who is?” he agreed, and then laughed brilliantly again. “Sorry, I really don’t mean that. I think you’re great. A great dancer, I mean.”

So they kept dancing. They’d both abandoned the songs above, grinding against each other to a mutually agreed upon beat that stayed steady. Sam was kind of grabby, which Bucky could get behind. He was also so warm, especially as he leaned more and more weight against Bucky. It was beginning to make Bucky slip off into a warm, weighted trance.

“Hey, you wanna get outta here?” Sam asked eventually.

“If we leave together, Steve will never let us live it down,” Bucky warned, tucking his face further into Sam’s neck and shoulder.

“Trust me, I don’t do anything specifically to impress Steve,” Sam chuckled. “Let me just go to the bathroom first.”

Bucky reluctantly let go of Sam. He left with a laugh and a squeeze to Bucky’s hip. The music came back all at once, loud and grating. Bucky let himself off of the dance floor, propping up a small doubles table as he pulled out his phone. Coincidentally, a message from OnlyPaws popped in right then. It was a picture of Figaro, as a kitten, curled up in a large potted plant, all of the thin leaves bent away from him. Sorry, I couldn’t leave you hanging. Here’s an old picture from one of the first days he came home.

Bucky stared at the picture with a pang in his chest that he couldn’t really name. He wanted to push it to the side and ignore it. Wished he hadn’t taken his phone out at all. But now that it was nestled in his chest, there was no removing it.

The restlessness made him want to dash right then, but he also couldn’t shake the warmth of Sam’s body from his mind. The guy at least deserved an in-person rejection. He made himself stand there, antsy and getting increasingly nervous, or maybe guilty. Regardless.

Sam came back a few minutes later with an easy grin, bumped his shoulder against Bucky’s to get him moving. Bucky let himself be cajoled outside and gave the cool night air a chance to calm him down. “Hey, man,” he said, grabbing Sam’s wrist after a block or so.

Sam turned to him with the kind of bright, but guarded grin that told Bucky he already knew what Bucky was going to say. “I am not coyote ugly,” Sam defended lightly. “What, you see me in the moonlight and changed your mind? Get outta here.”

“I don’t know what coyote ugly means,” Bucky dismissed. “It’s got nothing to do with you. Shit, man, you’re even more handsome out here, which is saying something,” he admitted. “It’s just…there’s this guy I’m talking to.”

Sam laughed, an edge in it but not in his face. “Isn’t there always? Hey, no hard feelings.”

“I could…still walk you home?” Bucky offered.

“That’s okay, man,” Sam dismissed. “I can walk myself.”

Bucky chewed on his lip and didn’t read too much into the way Sam’s eyes went to his mouth and then immediately away. “Alright. I’ll see you around.”

Sam gave half a salute before turning and walking away. Bucky let out a heavy breath. He spent the rest of the walk home debating what exactly it was that his heart was doing in his chest.

[sesamestreep]

Taylor Swift prompts: Matt/Foggy, 13

13. hands around a cold glass (from the SECOND Taylor Swift prompt list) I was struggling with some writer's block a few weeks ago and my dearest Zainab was kind enough to give me permission to write a tiny Matt/Foggy-centric one-shot set in her Great British Bake-Off AU and I absolutely leapt at the chance, because I love this 'verse and I've been bothering her with texts about what these two would be up to in that AU since like January. I think this makes sense without reading her previous entries in the series (which focus primarily on Sam and Bucky, with an ensemble cast of other MCU characters), but you should read them anyway because they're very good and they will make your life better! Cross-posted to AO3 here (with more notes) if that's your jam 🍯

Even though they’ve set aside their evening for the express purpose of making a decision, Foggy waits until they’ve finished the takeout they ordered to the office (neutral ground, so no one has home field advantage) and cleaned up all the various cartons and silverware and settled back at the conference table with each of their second beers of the night before he brings up the thing they’re supposed to be talking about.

“Okay,” Foggy says, setting his beer down firmly and flipping a page over on his legal pad to find where he scribbled some notes earlier. “Reason number one that you should move into my apartment: you love me.”

“You can’t use that as one of your reasons,” Matt replies, tapping a pen against the table in a fidgety gesture that’s unlike him.

“Why not?”

“Because you also love me, which means you should move into my apartment. They cancel each other out!”

“Oh, my bad,” Foggy says, as he crosses it off his list. “I didn’t know we were playing by Boggle rules…”

Matt scrunches his nose in confusion. “I’m not familiar.”

“Really?” he asks. “You don’t know Boggle? It’s like a classic word game, you have these little cubes with letters on them that you shake and—you know what, saying it out loud, it makes sense that you haven’t played it. I understand that now. It would be impossibly boring even if there was a braille version. Moving on! Reason number two that you should move in with me!”

“Okay…”

“I’m super handsome.”

“Foggy!”

“What?”

Matt shakes his head. “I’m also handsome,” he says, quietly, after a minute.

“Damn, that’s true,” Foggy says, as if it had never occurred to him.

“Please take this seriously!”

“Fine! Reason number three: I have a lot more stuff than you do. It will take me so long to pack and it will probably make me cry and possibly throw up. You, comparatively, would have a much easier time packing, because you live like a weird, sad monk.”

“Hey! I do not! Just because I don’t like clutter…”

“Until we started dating, you owned one singular blanket,” Foggy points out. “It was a blanket for your bed and your couch that you moved back and forth as needed.”

“It was a perfectly good system,” Matt grumbles.

“Right, but isn’t it better now that you have a bed blanket and a couch blanket?”

“I guess,” Matt admits, as though he’s being tormented. “To be fair, it would probably take you at least a week just to pack up all of your cookbooks.”

“I don’t have that many!”

“You bought three new ones last week! That’s already three more than I own!”

“I can’t help it that my friends keep writing cookbooks,” Foggy objects. “What was I supposed to do, Matt? Not buy Daisy’s book?”

Matt crosses his arms, irritably. “No, but you didn’t know the authors of the other two books you bought. You could’ve skipped theirs.”

“Cookbooks make me happy! I don’t tell you not to…go to the gym!”

“You do, in fact, tell me that all the time.”

Foggy makes a hand gesture that’s meant to convey the sentiment of duh, except that such things are generally lost on Matt, for obvious reasons. “Yeah, well, usually it’s because I want you to stay in bed longer.”

“And I want you to own fewer cookbooks so that there’s room in the apartment for us to actually have a bed.”

“Okay, fine,” he concedes. “Give me one of your reasons, then.”

“I know where everything is in my apartment,” Matt says, simply, “whereas at your place, I’m always looking in the wrong cabinets for stuff or tripping over things.”

“That’s just because you’re not as used to it. I’d go through the same thing if I moved to your place!”

“You’d still have an easier time of it than me.”

“That’s…fair,” Foggy concedes. “I can’t really disagree with that without being an asshole.”

“My favorite way to win an argument,” Matt replies, with a smile. “Playing the blind card.”

Foggy shakes his head. “You devious son of a bitch.”

“Also, my apartment is closer to the office and my rent is cheaper.”

“I’ll give you the cheap rent thing, though it is only because of that terrible billboard with the crazy LED lights that come through your windows at all hours, which does not bother you but would definitely bother me.”

“I remember you sleeping through three separate fire drills in college. I think you’d somehow manage to deal with the unique lighting situation of this apartment.”

“Fine,” Foggy admits, begrudgingly. “But I absolutely contest it being a mark in your favor that your apartment is closer to the office. I think it helps with work-life balance that my place is a little farther away.”

Matt thinks this over for a moment and then nods. “Okay, fine. We’ll call it a draw.”

“Good. Moving on, then. Reason number…whatever that my apartment is better: I live right next door to that bodega with those amazing breakfast sandwiches and the good, cheap coffee you love.”

“Fuck,” Matt says, with feeling. “That’s a really good point.”

“Yeah, it is!”

“Okay,” he says, in the tone Foggy’s been hearing him use in court and mock trials and even drunken debates for over a decade now.  It means Matt is currently running through his rebuttal in his mind, devising the best and most efficient way to win this round. Foggy loves that tone of voice, and the expression of intense thought that always accompanies it, even if it usually means he's about to lose whatever argument they're having. He really should be more immune to it by now, but love has made him weak and he's truly not even mad about it.

“My apartment,” Matt says, finally, “has an in-unit washer and dryer.”

That’s a solid point, but Foggy is not going to admit defeat so easily. “Okay,” he says, “but—counterpoint—mine has a dishwasher!”

“I don’t mind hand washing dishes,” Matt replies with a shrug.

“Wait until you live with me to say that,” Foggy says. “I bake all the time! It’s a lot of dishes!”

“It’s still not as bad as having to go to a laundromat and pay whenever you need to do laundry!”

“Well, my landlord says the machines in the basement will be fixed soon, so my laundromat days are numbered.”

“I will believe that when I see it.”

“You can’t see anything, sweetheart.”

“Exactly,” Matt says, smugly. He may have a point. Foggy’s landlord has been saying the washing machines will be fixed “soon” for six months now.

Foggy blows out a breath, making as much noise as humanly possible to express his frustration. “So, where does that leave us? Is somebody winning?”

Matt laughs and distractedly runs a finger through the layer of condensation on his beer bottle, dividing it down the middle with a thick line. “Honestly, I don’t know. It feels like we’re even, at this point.”

“In the spirit of honesty, then, can I ask you something?”

Matt shrugs, the gesture completely at odds with how tense the rest of his body became at the question. “Sure.”

“You do want to move in with me, right?” Foggy asks, hating himself a little for even needing to. “I know we’ve discussed it, and you said you wanted to, but it’s okay if you’re not ready yet or you changed your mind. It’s a big step—”

Matt leans forward to cover Foggy’s hand with his own, letting his fingers, still cold and damp from holding the glass, brush over Foggy’s wrist, raising goosebumps in their wake. “Of course I want to! Does it seem like I don’t?”

“No, it’s just—I know you like your space and that you value your independence a lot, and I get that but I also don’t necessarily relate to it on the same level. I wouldn’t want to pressure you into doing something that’s going to make you miserable.”

“Well, for one thing, you’re not pressuring me and living with you is not going to make me miserable. It will do the opposite, in fact.”

“Yeah, but—”

“It’s not even going to be our first time living together, dumbass,” Matt says, fondly. “You do remember college, don’t you?”

“Very little of it, in fact,” Foggy quips. “I think I was drunk for most of Spring 2010. It’s more or less a blank spot.”

“Still, we didn’t hate living together then, did we?”

“No,” Foggy replies. “One could even argue that we loved living together.”

“And that was with us sleeping in twin beds. Imagine how much better it will be, uh…not in twin beds…”

Foggy stifles a laugh. “Matt, did you seriously get all blushy at the idea of a queen sized bed?”

“No,” Matt says, tipping his chin down to hide his face. "Shut up!"

“You’re so cute. I want to have sex with you immediately.”

“No! No sex! In fact, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you’re not! You love me!”

“Yes, I do,” Matt says, sullenly, “And for what it’s worth, I only got embarrassed because it felt like I was implying that we slept together in our dorm in college, which obviously wasn’t true and I didn’t want to…”

“You didn’t want to admit how big of a crush you had on me back then, I get it,” Foggy says. “Oh, wait, sorry! That was me!”

“Again: shut up!”

“Okay, but now you’ve got me thinking: maybe we should do twin beds…”

“Foggy,” Matt groans.

“I don’t want our relationship to be in violation of the Hays Code, Matt!”

“Well, we’re both men, so that ship has already sailed, I’m afraid…”

“I’m just saying: if it’s good enough for Mary Tyler Moore and Dick Van Dyke, it should be good enough for us!”

“To each their own, I guess, but I sleep better when I share a bed with you.”

“I’ll pretend your reasons are romantic,” Foggy says, aiming for sarcasm and missing by a wide margin, “and not just because you turn into a koala when you sleep.”

“Have you considered being less huggable, maybe?” Matt asks, with a straight face.

“That’s like asking the sun to be less radiant! It is counter to my very nature!”

He smiles. “Fair point.”

Foggy leans back in his chair, making sure to keep his fingers tangled together with Matt’s as he does. He sighs, closing his eyes, and tries to come up with an answer to their problem. It’s a big step for their relationship and huge life changes tend to require sacrifice or compromise on some level, but it’s difficult to think of an option that doesn’t require much more of that from one of them than the other. Except…

“I have a very stupid idea,” Foggy announces. 

“Okay,” Matt replies, warily.

“And I know it’s stupid, okay? I just said that, but I want to be very clear that I’m aware of it. I’m just going to say it anyway, to put it out there.”

“Okay…”

“Should we just look for a place together?”

Matt furrows his brow, puzzling through the implications of this option. “As in, we both leave our current apartments for a completely new one?”

“Yeah. That way we both have to pack, and move, and get used to a new space, instead of only one of us having to do it. I know it’s more expensive and more trouble, so—“

“Is it weird that it makes me feel better?” Matt asks. “The idea that we’d both have to be inconvenienced, equally?”

“No,” Foggy admits. “It makes me feel better too. I want it to feel equal. And we could find a bigger place, maybe with an extra room.”

“For an office?”

Foggy laughs. “Honestly, it’s a sign of how low my standards are that I’m just relieved your mind didn’t go immediately to an in-home gym.”

Matt’s eyebrows lift, excitedly. “We could find a building that has a gym, though.”

“Like you’d ever cheat on Fogwell’s like that.”

“I meant for cross-training…”

“Of course you did,” Foggy says, rolling his eyes. “We could make a list. Things we need—“

“Close to the bodega with the good coffee,” Matt interjects, smiling.

“And a functional laundry room, somewhere on site,” Foggy adds, nodding. “And then a list of things that would be nice to have, like a gym or no nearby billboards that will fry my retinas in the middle of the night.”

“So, you’re saying we’d get to debate and write out two more lists?” Matt asks. “Are you trying to seduce me right now? In our office? Where solemn attorney-ing is done?”

“No, it just comes so naturally to me,” Foggy replies, running his thumb over Matt’s knuckles affectionately. “Though it sounds to me like that’s a yes?”

Matt gives him a surprised look. “Yes to…?”

“God, keep your pants on for two minutes, Murdock! I’m talking about the plan!”

“Oh, yeah. The plan. I mean, I know it’s more work for us and more trouble, but…”

“I’d go through a lot more trouble for your sake, if it means making you happy,” Foggy says, simply. It’s the truth, and he tries to make it a habit to say what he means, especially with Matt. It took them long enough to get here. What’s the point in hiding how he feels now?

Matt rests his chin in the hand that isn’t holding Foggy’s. “You’re very sweet, you know that?”

“I’ve heard it before, once or twice.”

“I don’t know what I did to get so lucky.”

“You smiled at me once when we were eighteen and it was all over for me. And then fifteen years later, you got jealous of a woman I met on a reality show and finally fell in love with me.”

Matt turns an adorable shade of pink and takes his hand away to cross his arms petulantly over his chest. “That’s not true.”

“Oh, so it didn’t take me going to a wedding with one of my best friends under completely platonic circumstances for you to admit you had feelings for me?” Foggy asks, grinning.

“I don’t recall, actually,” Matt says, primly, as he reaches for his beer again and takes an uninterested sip. 

“Speaking of Daisy,” Foggy says, enjoying this way too much, “I should talk to her. She and Daniel said their realtor from when they moved was great. They might be able to put us in touch with someone.”

“We could always use the realtor who rented me my place,” Matt suggests, in the neutral tone of someone who definitely wouldn’t rather eat glass than ask Daisy for help with anything. “She was very helpful and I remember she gave me her card. I could probably find it.”

“Yeah, she gave you her card because she wanted to sleep with you,” Foggy says, shaking his head. “Pass.”

“You don’t have to be jealous, Foggy,” Matt replies, with an evil smile. “She showed me the apartment under completely platonic circumstances.”

Foggy rolls his eyes at that. “You’ve never been in platonic circumstances with anyone, Matt! Every person who meets you wants to sleep with you immediately.”

Matt shrugs, like this means nothing. “Too bad for them. I have a boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah?” Foggy laughs. “Is it serious?”

Matt nods, and his smile isn’t evil at all anymore. “Very,” he says. “We’re moving in together.”

[arablit]

New Poetry in Translation: Khaled Juma's 'The Right Time'

The Right Time By Khaled Juma Translated by Zainab Al Qaisi   I had an appointment with the Right Time at the crumbling old café in the rundown city. I’d been waiting since I was ten. As usual, the Right Time was late. I sent it a letter, but it didn’t reply. (Cell phones hadn’t yet become common.) I sent it a reproach along with a friend, but my friend came back, saying: “I couldn’t find…

[ahlulbaytnetworks]

Sayyidah Zainab (s.a) Tafsir Before the tragedy of Karbala.

( The Day of Sorrow and Calamity ).

Sayyidah Zainab (s.a) used to hold regular classes in Madina for the women in which She used to impact with Her knowledge very concisely a Islamic Law and Tafsir of the Qur'an.

In Madina, Her husband (Abdullah ibn Ja'far) asked Her to open a school for the daughters of Arabs in the house.

And Sayyidah Zainab (s.a) said: "Where will you go if they come in Our house?"

And Her Husband replied: "I will go to the farms, when they came!"

Sayyidah Zainab (s.a) smile and said:

"But, We have certainly tried those before them, and Allah (swt) will surely make evident those who are truthful, and He (swt) will surely make evident the liars: (Qur'an, 29: 3).

She delivered Her classes in an eloquent manner. She became to be known as Faseeha (Skilfully fluent), then She came to kufa when Imam Ali (as) (Her Father) moved there, and She was called BALIAH (Intensely eloquent).

One day, Sayyidah Zainab (sa) was discussing the tafsir of Qur'an in kufa when Imam Ali (as) happened to pass by.

He (Imam Ali (as) asked Her; "Are you teaching these women the tafsir of Qur'an..?"

Sayyidah Zainab (sa) replied: " Yes father! the first verse of surah Mariam (Mary (the mother of Jesus) which begins with "KAF-HAA-YAA-AYYN-SUAD!!!"

Imam Ali (as) said: " Let Me explain the meaning and described the secrets of the letters that compose this verse, He (Imam Ali (as) then wept and said:

KAF... stands for Kar'bala...

HAA... stands for halakat (martyrdom)...

YAA... stands for Yazid (la)...

AYYN... stands for Atash (thirst of Imam Hussain (as)...

SUAD... stands for Sabr (patience of Imam Hussain (as)".....

Ref: 📖 The light behind the veil-pg-45.

[labbaik-ya-hussain-as]

*I sometimes ponder late at night.*.

I sometimes ponder late at night۔

How do the stars shine so bright۔

The more the darkness the more they light.

It reminds me all of Hussain’s(a.s) might.

How in those trials he stood so upright?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

Removing that dagger from his Akbar’s chest.

Was that my Hussain’s gravest test ?

Or was it digging the sands to put Asghar at rest.

Or the parting from a daughter sobbing and distressed.

The last hug from Sakina was how tight?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

Was it more heartbreaking to give Qasim(a.s) permission.

Or not allowing Abbas(a.s) his lifelong mission.

His children possessed with fear and hunger.

While he must now leave the camps forever.

How can sacrifices reach such height?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

Qasim’s peices or Abbas’s alam?

Or lifting the body of his young son?

Did he feel worse or did he feel better?

When a messenger brought his Sugra’s(sa) letter.

Obliged to reply, what did he write?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

They killed his Abbas(as) they killed his Akbar(as).

They slaughtered and denied water to his Asghar(as).

In such adversaries, a tranquil soul !

Yearning to fulfil his ultimate goal.

How was his face so calm and bright?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

These griefs and sorrows are so intense.

The pains of Hussain(a.s) are beyond our sense.

One cannot even bear to write.

A Being endowed with Divine’s might.

How did he endure the restraint in fight?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

How could Zainab(sa) not cry for her sons?

How painful were those Ashura drums?

How did hell not break from the clouds?

While the bodies laid without shrouds.

How did Sajjad(a.s) bear that sight?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

Should she bury herself with her daughter’s body?

Or go to the grave of her baby’s body?

Karbala has Asghar(as), Shaam has Sakina. (sa)

What will Rabab(sa) now do in Madina ?

How did a mother deal with her plight?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

How does this mourning perpetually grow?

New tributes, new eulogies continue to flow.

A heat in hearts with such strong glow.

Which tears even fall short to show.

How does this miracle keep inspiring insight?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

Wings are given to an angel from heaven!

No sons in destiny? Rahib you get seven!

“O Hurr, by me and by my Lord you are forgiven!”

Is there a jurisdiction to Hussain’s(as) provision?

What secrets do these events highlight?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

Had Hussain(as) not been our life’s syllabus.

To the realities of existence we would’ve been oblivious.

His remembrance is what provides some stimulus.

These days and nights are otherwise so frivolous.

When with our Maula(as) shall we unite?

I sometimes ponder late at night.

When will our LORD Your Mahdi appear.

“To them it seems far, to us near“ *

So whenever our Lord YOU send Your Heir.

By Your Hussain let ‘ali hasan breathe that air.

How beautiful would it be to see God’s Light(atf) !

I sometimes ponder late at night.

----

* Holy Quran -(Al Ma’arij 70: 6&7) and Dua Ahad’s ending.

*«إِنَّهُمْ يَرَوْنَهُ بَعِيداً وَنَرَاهُ قَرِيباً.»

“Surely, they think it to be far off, and We see it near.” -

Ali hasan Bhagat

[philtstone]

Fic authors self rec! When you get this, reply with your favorite five fics that you've written, then pass on to at least five other writers. Let’s spread the self-love ❤

finally i have a moment 2 breathe so here is my list (thank u bestie zainab but also you know ive written too many fics to only pick five. so these are in no particular order and i broke the rules a little bit)

Title: bedclothes the child of the mountain

the first installment in the scarborough fair au (aka my somewhat manic pandemic era outlander fix it series), and one of my sudden and wildly inspired attempts at writing with different form and style -- it will probably always have a special place in my heart, simple as it is

Summary: "By the green o’ the moor behind them, the lad took the faerie’s hands in his own, an’ he told her that he loved her, an’ that he’d offer her the riches of the land if he could but all he could give her then was that which he held in his heart.

The faerie lass knew in her soul that she loved him back, but she was of the fae folk, an’ she missed her kin somethin’ fierce. So she told the lad, I cannae marry ye --”

A loud, irreverent giggle bursts from the place between his arms.

2. Title: my daddy was a prominent frogman

this is simply not my best prose at all but who needs tight prose when the concept is this iconic (aka the lotr hippie camp counsellor au)

Summary: Gandalf has been standing at the front of the room in a customary drapey grey t-shirt and flip flops all through Eowyn’s impassioned retelling, puffing wordlessly at his pipe. Frodo wonders if he is allowed to smoke indoors, even in this time of crisis. Uncle Bilbo always takes his pipe outside when they’re back in the city. But then, Frodo (who is sitting beside Gandalf -- he was in the back phoning hullo to Uncle Bilbo before lunch was over, and on his way out got accidentally caught in the middle of this emergency meeting) suspects that a converted campground in the middle of the woods is not really a place that abides by any rules.

Another two puffs from Gandalf’s pipe. Camp’s going on for nearly a whole month still. Maligned bulldozers tearing Camp down is a terribly unproductive development.

3. Title: i believe in you and in our hearts

zainab you KNOW this is an all timer! valkyrie holds a baby! the guardians are there! they ROADTRIP! i debated putting the og baby meredith fic here instead but i like the prose in this one better. ive never properly been a thor girlie but id be lying if i said this fic isnt one of my favourites

Summary: "A road trip," Thor says. "That's what the Midgardians call it."

"That's a stupid name for a thing," says Brunnhilde, but she's grinning as she does.

Or: nearly a decade after, Thor gets up one day and decides that they need a vacation.

4. Title: hopeful/summertime

phils magnum opus (another mildly deranged endeavour used to exorcise personal feelings, but which of my fics doesnt dabble in that, really) aka the first chapter fic i ever actually finished aka the first plot-coherent thing i ever finished aka the sam and bucky open a bar and adopt a bunch of kids dystopia au! phew

Summary: In which the world ends, Sam Wilson opens a bar with his best friend, accidentally adopts some children (also with his best friend), and figures out how to grieve his own life and move forward, not necessarily in that order.

5. Title: heavily, the low sky raining

i am simply an anne of green gables girlie forever. another pandemic era fic. i think i produced some of my best work holed up in my parents basement lol

Summary: "Anne’s feeling that word where you’re missing something you never had,” explains Diana, as they come to a stop outside of Terran Outpost AV1883's lone lab entrance.

“Weltschmerz,” says Gilbert immediately.

“I am not,” says Anne, “feeling weltschmerz.”

HONOURABLE MENTIONS (i have simply written too much and love many of my children equally. im not deluded enough to say "all")

Title: you've got the run of the place, now that you're running around (and may kindness, kindness, kindness abound)

i had to include an annamis fic in there it simply wouldnt be fair not to!!! ive had so many fast and loose with history eras. and i will have more!

Summary: “Grandpère,” she says, firmly, because they are all but alone amongst the hedges and Papa says it is alright to call him that when they are alone. She is not sure if he is really her grandfather, not truly – but she feels right, calling him so, and he always looks so pleased when she does. She has been doing it all afternoon for just that reason, in fact, and each time – well, Marie thinks, there is a warmth. Her fingers tighten around his, and he does not move to take his hand away, but rather squeezes firmly back. “Tell me the story about the princess in the castle.”

Title: kannum kannum nokia (cappuccino coffea)

speaking of playing fast and loose with history. im including this because its the most insane fanfic ive written to date. objectively. (affectionate).

Summary: He’s waylaid in coming up with a fun and possibly clever response because Kundavai has reached such a point of despair in her lecturing that she turns away from the locked bathroom door, pins her flashing eyes on Arunmozhi, and says,

“Tell your idiot brother to unlock the bloody door!”

Arunmozhi grimaces. Aditha is only ever his idiot brother when circumstances are truly clownish.

Most of the rest of the time Kundavai is content enough to claim ownership of the both of them, no matter how useless she thinks they are being.

[whoseafraidofliloleme]

Oooo facts love me some Main Hoon Na!! Agreed SRK is THE man and has raised generations to have high standards. If they won’t love me the way mohabbatein srk loved aishwarya I don’t want him lol. Serenading her with his violin with the preppy outfit and glasses… yes pleaseeee.

I thought I replied but honestly I probably forgot with how sick I’ve been recently… all I’ve done is lay in bed and sleep and be super unproductive 😭

Please it lowkey would’ve been so funny to see Jungwon have one sided beef again, he was soooo petty and silly 😛 . It’ll be cute to see how you build up their relationship though I’m excited to see what you think of for Foolish One. Also Y/N hiding under the table from Sunghoon was funny and very relatable 🫣 I too would be anxious if a pretty boy like that just randomly showed up at my office. Namjins banter is peak comedy I’m loving it.

I hope you’ve been doing well babygirl!! Make sure to rest well and eat properly 💕 Love yourself always 🫶🏼

SRK really raised the standards for a whole generation and made us all hopeless romantics 😂. If I don't get a guy willing to travel to my hometown to convince my conservative family that we should be together, I don't want the guy 😂.

Aww girlie, I hope u get well soon!!. I was eagerly awaiting ur ask but I'm just a saddo like that 😅😂. Honestly as a person that loves laying in my bed and being unproductive, you do you boo!.

It's not so much one sided as everyone thinks he hates her cause he's such a grump 😂. I've written until ch 4 so that's as far as my ideas have gone so far 😂 .

Boo YN, is a hot mess and I love her for that. Namjin we're only meant to be her bosses but in true Zainab smau character fashion, they've infiltrated the besties group chat 😂 spoilers I guess?

In other news, I dunno if this'll help cheer you up but I'm currently working on a Jay HP au, it's marriage law with Popular Jay x Unpopular YN.... Thats all I've got so far, if the masterlist doesn't come out this month, it'll be my first story of 2025.

I hope you get well soon!! Rest, relax and recharge urself for the holiday season coming!!. Love yourself always 🥰🥰💝.

[loverandservantoftheahlulbayt]

🍃🌺🍃 The Birth of Lady Zainab (sa)

Lady Zainab (sa) was (accurately) the third child born to Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa). In other words, she was born directly after Imam Hussain (as); despite the false claim of some historians who hold the opinion that Lady Zainab (sa) was born after the miscarriage, which Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa) had and resulted in the martyrdom of Mohsin. These historians are motivated by their desire to divert the attention from the merciless attack on Lady Fatima’s (sa) house which not only resulted in Mohsin's martyrdom, but also in the eventual death of Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa) herself.

Among these writers is the Egyptian Bint Ash-Shati who wrote in her book Batlat Karbala:

"Zahra, the Prophet's daughter was about to give birth to a new baby after bringing happiness unto Messenger's life by giving birth to his beloved sons: al-Hasan and al-Hussain, and a third child, who was not destined to live and whose name was to be Mohsin Ibn ‘Ali..." 1

Regardless of these unfounded claims, it has been established that Lady Zainab (sa) was born in 5 A.H., and that she was the third child of the honorable Alawi household.

It is said that her grandfather, the Prophet (S) named her Zainab (sa) that is derived from two words: "Zain" and "Ab" that together means "The embellishment of her father." Yet, Muhammad Jawad Mughniah quoted the Egyptian newspaper, Al-Jomhuria dated October 31, 1972, in his book al-Hussain Batala Karbala as saying:

"Zainab was born in Shaban 5 A.H. When her mother brought her to Imam Ali (as) and said: "Name her" he replied: "I would not name her before Allah's Messenger." At this time the Prophet (S)!was on a trip and when he returned, he again refused to name her before her Lord. So, Gabriel descended to inform the Prophet (S) about Allah's blessings, and said: "The name of this baby is Zainab; Allah chose this name for her."

Lady Zainab's (sa) history itself speaks of her honorable life, and noble traits, as well as the miseries she encountered during her childhood, such as the death of her great grandfather, the martyrdom of her mother (sa), and the various inflictions which she lived through during the quarter of a century that her father, Imam Ali (as), was confined to his house as a result of his rights having been usurped by others.

Moreover, when Lady Zainab (sa) emigrated from Medina to Kufa, her Father's city, several misfortunes were destined for her; starting with the martyrdom of Imam Ali (as). This was followed by fierce battles between her brother, al-Hasan (as), and Mu'awiya, which resulted in the poisoning of Imam Hasan (as). After several years, Lady Zainab (sa) faced the greatest disaster of history when Imam Hussain (as) along with the prominent Hashimite men were massacred at Karbala by the Umayyads. After massacring the men, Lady Zainab (sa), and the women were taken to Syria; but, she did not panic, nor, did she give into the enemy. From Syria she was sent to Medina, and then exiled to Egypt to live the rest of her life.

Lady Zainab's (sa) tomb is well-known in Egypt today, and is visited by believers from all over the world.

(There is disagreement about the location of Lady Zainab's (sa) tomb; it is believed by most to be located in Syria).

🍃🌺🍃 al-Islam.org 🍃🌺🍃

.

[hoursofreading]

my brother sought shelter in different neighborhoods of Gaza City. He and his family endured bombardments that frequently came heart-stoppingly close to their places of refuge. In November, they made it to the southern part of the Gaza Strip, which at the time had been designated as a safe zone by the Israeli military.

Mohammed rendezvoused with his co-workers and together they orchestrated a plan to resume their work, providing medical support to the population. They began to receive truckloads of medical supplies and other crucial items, which they distributed across Gaza’s network of hospitals and other medical facilities.

Within a few weeks of his arrival in southern Gaza, though, he faced another tragedy. An Israeli air strike on the home of my mother’s family, my second home in Gaza, killed 29 family members and left others terribly injured. The house was packed with people who had fled northern Gaza and sought safety in the south. At the time, the Brazil neighborhood of Rafah was in a relatively quiet area, far from any active fighting. The New York Times’ Liam Stack asked the IDF why my family’s home was targeted and how such a strike could be justified, given the enormous loss of life among women and children. The IDF provided only a boilerplate reply about Hamas embedding itself among the population.

The strike killed all of my maternal aunts and uncles, and many of their children—my cousins. The oldest killed was my Aunt Zainab, a matriarch of the family who spent decades as an UNRWA teacher. She was known for being immensely generous, always offering her space, food, and resources to the less fortunate. If you ever entered Zainab’s home, you were sure to leave with a full stomach; she would offer up one dish after another on a nonnegotiable basis, disregarding any pleas to stop the hospitable offerings.

Then there was my Uncle Abdullah, a doctor known for running Rafah’s main hospital and for the care he provided during the Second Intifada. He treated thousands of patients who were hit by Israeli gunfire or maimed in air strikes or other forms of bombardment. Sometimes he would ride in ambulances along with the paramedics to collect the most seriously injured, hoping to stabilize patients long enough to make it to the operating room. Once, desperate to stop the bleeding of a teenager’s heart pierced by an Israeli bullet, Uncle Abdullah stuck his thumb into the hole, saving the teenager’s life. He was lauded for that effort by the Ministry of Health and the general public.

In addition to his other humanitarian work, Abdullah operated a clinic in his basement. That made the family house a neighborhood landmark, which people would reference when providing directions or taking taxis. When his children and I would play rough, he would reprimand us sternly. But when I needed support most, including when I required stitches in his clinic, he offered empathy instead. After my Uncle Yousef died, Abdullah assumed the role of family elder, regularly hosting my mother for family get-togethers and taking particular care of her as a widow.

My brother was at the house just two days before the air strike, having lunch with Zainab and Abdullah. He was in Khan Younis when he heard the news, where he had been sheltering with his family, and he frantically raced back to Rafah. He spent three days searching for remains, many of which were so charred, they were challenging to identify. My brother ultimately retrieved Zainab’s remains—headless, her legs entirely crushed, recognizable only by the petite size of her torso. Too many identification processes play out like a gruesome and painful jigsaw puzzle with human pieces, in which memories of features, shapes, and sizes are matched to human remains.

The home in Rafah was extraordinarily special to me while I was growing up. We were there practically every weekend. It was my refuge from school and from life in the crowded streets of Gaza City. It was a place where we watched movies, played video games, and did projects in the massive backyard.

As a child in the 1990s, I met Yasser Arafat, Mohammed Dahlan, and other senior Palestinian political figures in the Rafah house. Abdullah’s oldest brother, Uncle Yousef, worked for the Palestinian Authority, heading the Palestinian Special Olympics. He used a wheelchair himself, and was highly revered for his fairness and independence, frequently visited by other political and social figures.

The Rafah house was like a mini United Nations, a safe harbor of sorts in a sea of inflammatory rhetoric, incitement, and passionate differences about the path forward. Within its walls, people could talk. That’s where I got my introduction to the complicated realities of the Palestinian cause. And that, too, was destroyed by the air strike.

[wynandmeyer]

Replying to @Zainab Kalumba:$900 Daily in Just 2 Hours!#digitalmarketing...

[my-islam-reminder]

Narrated `Aisha رضی اللہ عنہا :

Allah's Messenger (ﷺ) used to drink honey in the house of Zainab رضی اللہ عنہا , the daughter of Jahsh, and would stay there with her. So Hafsa رضی اللہ عنہا and I agreed secretly that, if he come to either of us, she would say to him. "It seems you have eaten Maghafir (a kind of bad-smelling resin), for I smell in you the smell of Maghafir," (We did so) and he replied. "No, but I was drinking honey in the house of Zainab, the daughter of Jahsh, and I shall never take it again. I have taken an oath as to that, and you should not tell anybody about it."

Narrated by Sahih Bukhari in his bookImam Bukhari

Hadith (Sahih)

[for-thebelievingwomen]

For The Believing Women Charity Dhū al-Qaʿdah Project.

With the permission of Allah, we intend to feed 50 poor and needy people and provide 25 bags (500 pieces) of sachet water in the blessed month of Dhū al-Qaʿdah.

There is no minimum or maximum of what you can give. May Allāh accept it from us.

Narrated ʿAbdullāh bin ʿAmr (رضي الله عنه):

A person asked Allāh’s Messenger (ṣallallāhu alayhi wa-sallam)

"What (sort of) deeds in or (what qualities of) Islam are good?" He replied, "To feed (the poor) and greet those whom you know and those whom you don't know."

Reported by Al-Bukhari, no. 28.Translation: Muḥsin Khān رحمه الله

From Abu Hurairah (رضي الله عنه) from the Prophet (صلى الله عليه وسلم)

"There is no charity which has a greater reward than providing Water“

[Collected al-Bayhaqi and Albaani declared it Hasan lighayrihi in Sahech Targheeb wa Tarheeb 2/566)Translated & Compiled by ʿAbbās Abū Yaḥyá

Total Amount Required:

₦57,500

$41.00

£33.00

Donation Details:

Local Donations ⤵️

Account Number: 9167759336

BankName: Moniepoint MFB

Account Name: Zainab Ibrahim

International Donations⤵️

Bank: Monzo Bank (United Kingdom)

Name: Zuwaira Aliyu

Account number: 46865085

Sort code: 04-00-04

PayPal — (https://www.paypal.me/zuwairaaliyuisa)

Cash-app —  (https://cash.app/%C2%A3aliyuzuwaira)

⚠️Kindly Reference “FTBW Charity” for all donations.”

Instagram Account: https://www.instagram.com/for.thebelievingwomen_charity_?igsh=dXBzNTh5Y3hjZzN4&utm_source=qr

Telegram Account: https://t.me/forthebelievingwomencharity

X Account:

https://x.com/ftbw_charity?s=21

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🍃🌺🍃 The Birth of Lady Zainab (sa)

Lady Zainab (sa) was (accurately) the third child born to Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa). In other words, she was born directly after Imam Hussain (as); despite the false claim of some historians who hold the opinion that Lady Zainab (sa) was born after the miscarriage, which Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa) had and resulted in the martyrdom of Mohsin. These historians are motivated by their desire to divert the attention from the merciless attack on Lady Fatima’s (sa) house which not only resulted in Mohsin's martyrdom, but also in the eventual death of Lady Fatima al-Zahra (sa) herself.

Among these writers is the Egyptian Bint Ash-Shati who wrote in her book Batlat Karbala:

"Zahra, the Prophet's daughter was about to give birth to a new baby after bringing happiness unto Messenger's life by giving birth to his beloved sons: al-Hasan and al-Hussain, and a third child, who was not destined to live and whose name was to be Mohsin Ibn ‘Ali..." 1

Regardless of these unfounded claims, it has been established that Lady Zainab (sa) was born in 5 A.H., and that she was the third child of the honorable Alawi household.

It is said that her grandfather, the Prophet (S) named her Zainab (sa) that is derived from two words: "Zain" and "Ab" that together means "The embellishment of her father." Yet, Muhammad Jawad Mughniah quoted the Egyptian newspaper, Al-Jomhuria dated October 31, 1972, in his book al-Hussain Batala Karbala as saying:

"Zainab was born in Shaban 5 A.H. When her mother brought her to Imam Ali (as) and said: "Name her" he replied: "I would not name her before Allah's Messenger." At this time the Prophet (S)!was on a trip and when he returned, he again refused to name her before her Lord. So, Gabriel descended to inform the Prophet (S) about Allah's blessings, and said: "The name of this baby is Zainab; Allah chose this name for her."

Lady Zainab's (sa) history itself speaks of her honorable life, and noble traits, as well as the miseries she encountered during her childhood, such as the death of her great grandfather, the martyrdom of her mother (sa), and the various inflictions which she lived through during the quarter of a century that her father, Imam Ali (as), was confined to his house as a result of his rights having been usurped by others.

Moreover, when Lady Zainab (sa) emigrated from Medina to Kufa, her Father's city, several misfortunes were destined for her; starting with the martyrdom of Imam Ali (as). This was followed by fierce battles between her brother, al-Hasan (as), and Mu'awiya, which resulted in the poisoning of Imam Hasan (as). After several years, Lady Zainab (sa) faced the greatest disaster of history when Imam Hussain (as) along with the prominent Hashimite men were massacred at Karbala by the Umayyads. After massacring the men, Lady Zainab (sa), and the women were taken to Syria; but, she did not panic, nor, did she give into the enemy. From Syria she was sent to Medina, and then exiled to Egypt to live the rest of her life.

Lady Zainab's (sa) tomb is well-known in Egypt today, and is visited by believers from all over the world.

(There is disagreement about the location of Lady Zainab's (sa) tomb; it is believed by most to be located in Syria).

🍃🌺🍃 al-Islam.org 🍃🌺🍃

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