An IDF Solider Posing Next To A Fallen Mosque Minaret In Gaza With The Message Written On It:

Then Chessa spoke, “Take a picture, it’ll last longer.” Her rosy cheeks grew even rosier as she grinned.

Nyla's fingers curled around her paint brush, dipping her chin down. She looks at Chessa from the rim of her glasses. “No, I’ll paint you instead, it’ll last for centuries.” She spoke softly, grinning back.

Reblog with a random sentence from your wip.

percy and annabeth heal each other btw,

annabeth being disconnected from the human world and helping percy with the mythical one.

VS

percy helping annabeth reconnect with her humanity because that's what he's known most his life.

more domestic!din because im a slut for domesticity

𝐀 𝐇𝐎𝐌𝐄 ;; din djarin

Pairing; Din Djarin x gn!Reader

outline —; Peaceful times with Din Djarin were rare. You relish it.

word count —; 1.1k

WARNINGS —; none.

tags / themes —; reader and din are married, grogu (sweetly) interrupting a moment.

A/N —; *comes back with a massive stars wars obsession* hey, i write for them now. it's been a stressful couple months and i wanted to get something out for my birthday. this isn't beta-read, i just wanted to write. please be kind, thanks.

This galaxy raised warriors, heroes, and peace-keepers. Those who fought in the name of their planet, for the safety of the future, and the love they carry for their family. Those who were victims of war survived… or trained to survive, fight, and endure. 

This galaxy isn’t raised for writers, painters, and performers. Those who coped in whomever’s name, for the sanity of themselves, and possibly for the love they carried for their crafts. Of course, artists don’t only do it for themselves. They create in order to escape; and luckily enough, they don’t press themselves into the cruel hands of the galaxy. Because it isn’t built for them. 

For you, the galaxy seemed to test the waters. Warriors and Artists? Maybe those two weren’t so different, after all. Oh, how history would have written it; when the stars collide, an artist with no place in this galaxy meets a warrior who can’t find a home. Those three long years, what an adventure it has been. 

Din Djarin is a victim of war. Like yourself. There truly is a place for people like you. But whilst Din grew up with the Way, you grew up tracing the sky, seeing shapes in every landscape, and memorising the curve of someone’s face. Often asking yourself questions like; Where does the shadow fall? In which direction does the light come from? If you were simplified, which shapes best describe you? 

Din Djarin is a Mandalorian. Not like yourself. A Mandalorian. A warrior. He trained and connived his way till he stood in this solid home. He grew up hidden, so he stayed that way for a while in his life; often a mystery to the Guild. 

“Din Djarin, do not move.” You warned, tilting your head as the heat of Nevarro’s sun hit your face. The chair, in which you sat, rocked back slightly at your movements. With arms outstretched, thumb against the pencil, you held it feebly upwards, trying to calculate the proportions of the Mandalorian’s body. 

If you could see his face out in the open right now, you would’ve caught on with the fact that your husband — your riduur — was smirking. And decided to tilt his head in the opposite direction for the fun of it. You clicked your tongue in annoyance but a smile adorned your face. “I’ve been in this position for fifteen minutes, ner runi.” Din sighed softly, tapping his ungloved fingers against his forearm. 

“Fifteen minutes more.” You looked at him over the rim of your notebook, sketching away. A light fire went on above your head, face lighting up as the same smile adorned your features. “I’ll entertain you, what’s our son doing?” You asked, raising your notebook down to tilt your head at him again. 

Din chuckled at your demeanour or was it your question? You couldn’t tell, though he answered anyway. “Eating frogs.” 

“Again?” You turned to look at the side to see your son doing so; eating frogs. Entirely, it was your fault for looking away. At the time your eyes left your riduur, Din got up, breaking your focus. “Din!” You laughed as you looked back at him.

Your Mandalorian called your name with the same energy. His next words were spoken in a gentle manner, enough to capture your attention. “I’m tired,” He merely said, extending his hand to you. “Let’s be tired together.” 

You let a relieved breath. Has it always been there? You weren’t sure, though, at this moment, you let it go. You released it when settling your supplies down the chair in which you sat. You released it when you found yourself melting into Din’s hands. 

With the armour off, the world is all but noisy. The only sound prominent are frogs croaking and the gentle breeze of Nevarro’s ambience. He pulled you into his chest and laid his back against the frame of the metal door. 

Music. You could hear music, with your cheeks pressed against the warmth of his chest, and with his arms wrapped around you (and yours around Din’s waist). The world stopped, for a few moments it stopped, and you breathed. Inhale and exhale. The exhaustion left your body through that breath, and you could feel that Din breathed too. Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum. You could hear his gentle heart, if you listen close enough, you could practically hear his soul. What would it sound like? 

Move. Your body screamed to move, but a part of you wanted to stay like this forever. Though, the feeling caved into you, forcing your head to look at your husband’s visor. Your chin rested on his chest as you asked warily. “Can I kiss you?” 

Modulate. The Mandolorian’s helmet modulated his voice, if he answered in a chuckle, the other might receive it the wrong way. He didn’t want to move. The embrace held a significant peace, one that physically pained him when he moved a muscle. But Din didn’t speak with his brain at the moment, so he removed his helmet, and the beskar fell onto the floor beside them. 

They were in the middle of nowhere, what would you say? — All is well. — That sentence proved its point when Din held your cheeks beneath his hands, and his lips were on yours. He could feel you kiss back, he could feel your cheeks against his, he could feel the lazy smile that tugged your lips. Truly, Din wanted to open his eyes, to get a better look of you without his visor, yet somehow, he couldn’t. 

Din is tired. So tired. His shoulder gave in and melted between your arms; he didn’t know how it got there; your elbows above his shoulder, as your fingers explored his hair. But Din didn’t care, he just melted into your kiss, laughing, nearly crying over the unexpected bliss and peacefulness the day had to offer. 

His desires of staying like this with you continued to grow within each second— 

“Patu!” And then, the moment was sweetly broken. 

Your lips disconnected with a sound, pulling away the moment the sound was in ear-shot. Din’s eyes landed first on the green baby, doe eyed, ears high, and head tilted innocently. 

You saw him slurp a frog. “Grogu,” A waning smile reached your son’s lips when his name was mentioned, without warning, he jumped into your arms. Thankfully, you caught him. “That’s not nice of you. What if the frogs had parents?” You teased. 

Din chuckled beside you, kissing your temple lightly, before opening the door. “Let’s head inside.” He said while bending to get his fallen helmet. The gesture, so simple, caught you off guard. A soft, green hand held the base of your cheek and Grogu joyfully yelled with ‘‘Iek!’

Stepping inside, you looked around, almost nostalgically. This is your home. Reminded by Grogu and Din’s presence, a smile painted your lips. They are your home. “I’ll kiss you once more when he’s asleep.” He muttered before taking Grogu from your grip. 

Maybe there is a place for artists in this galaxy.

TRANSLATION(S);

riduur; spouse, husband, wife ner runi; my soul (*ner; my) (*runi; soul)

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#he had manners for about 7 seconds before the new yorker took over

PERCY JACKSON AND THE OLYMPIANS 1.07 • "We Find Out the Truth, Sort Of"

BUT IF THEY CEASE TO EXIST THEN THE WHOLE FOUR SEASONS NEVER HAPPENED???????

𝐈 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 ; tony stark

pairing ; father figure!Tony Stark x adopted!gn!Reader platonic / mentions ; bucky barnes, wanda maximoff, natasha romanova, harold "happy" hogan, pepper potts

outline —; Happy is ten minutes late. Tony is freaking out. And you are here, munching on a burger, lost somewhere in Midtown Manhattan. 

word count —; 1.8k

WARNINGS —; mention of HYDRA

tags / themes —; reader forgets their birthday, father-child complications, pepper being a mom, happy being... happy,

A/N —; finally beta-read!! this is just so... self-indulgent, it was my birthday a few days ago and i wanted to fill the pit in my stomach w/ some more surprises!!

Midtown Manhattan is a maze to you. 

Thankfully, you didn’t have to walk. You didn’t get to choose to walk. And Happy knew that. 

He was about… ten minutes late, you’ve stood in the same spot for ten minutes. Ten. Minutes. It’s fun and all. Until, you had the brilliant idea to walk around the block of your school, ultimately getting lost between the local shops and roads of the large, loud city. 

Gazing up, you could see the lovely “Stark” brandished unto the Avengers Tower. A medal, a hope to those who looked upon it. Your eyes landed on a small restaurant, two huge windows on either side, and a strained glass door in the middle. Its contrast to the colours of the buildings that’s surrounding it; yellows instead of blue, reds instead of grey. 

Plus, not a single soul. Your lips curled into a smile. 

Perfect, it looks like someone vomited rainbows. You concluded to yourself before crossing the road. Your fingers curled around the metal handle, pushing it open. With hands clinging on to the backpack hanging from your shoulder, you smiled at the woman behind the counter. Though, you felt the presence of a schoolboy with a bright blue flannel, sitting in the corner; burger, fries, and soda in front of him, his main focus was on his phone. 

Turning away, you let the soft smell of burgers fill your senses. 

Eventually, you found a spot beside the window, looking outside a bit before the woman from behind the counter came over to pick your order. “I’ll have whatever he’s having,” You purse your lips to silently point at the boy. 

“Burger, curly fries, and soda.” The woman repeated, she made eye contact with you, then smiled. “Anything else?” 

“Uh, no soda and ketchup please.” You grimaced, fidgeting with your hands underneath the table, averting your gaze outside. 

She tilted her head. “Just water?” 

You nodded and whispered as if she could hear you, “Yes.” 

The woman simply nodded and disappeared behind the counter. And you heaved a sigh, a very quiet sigh, as to not disrupt anyone’s peace in the quiet restaurant. The boy from across the room settled his phone down, looked at the burger, then at you. He waved shyly. And you mimicked the action, despite not entirely understanding his point of social cue. 

You chose to shift your gaze to the clear, glass window. Watching the people walk by and the cars speeding through the road. The more you count the amount of people passing by, the more you understood Stark, he cared for these people. The heavy exterior of his iron suit may not tell much, and even though he doesn’t physically have a heart. He does care. 

The smell of your order reached your nose, making you turn back and smile. You paid the kind woman and started to indulge in your fries first. 

Your mind drifted back to Happy. If he wasn’t ten minutes late, you would’ve been at home right now, perched against the headboard of your bed, resting. But the day would end, and you’d start all over again. Disrupting your schedule isn’t so bad. You get time for yourself, you don’t have to talk.

You smiled, as you bit your burger. And as if your thoughts aligned with reality, Happy Hogan walks in the store. 

Happy fuckin’ Hogan. 

With his suit and sunglasses and all. Out of breath, he looks at your retreating figure; attempting to swallow the burger as you smiled at him bitterly. “Hi,” You mouthfully said, settling your burger down, and signalling him to sit down. “Do you want to order anything?” You asked, mouth clear this time, as you swallowed the food. 

“I was looking everywhere for you,” Happy said through heavy breaths, slouching his shoulders. 

You nod along his words and licked your teeth with a sound. “You were late,” You took a bite of your burger again, swallowing. “So, I wandered off.” 

“You wandered off?” He repeated with a tone that clearly said he wasn’t happy. 

“I wandered off,” You repeated, your palms were free and expressed your tone. “Why were you late?” 

A twinkle behind Happy’s eyes, then, his face contorted into a blank expression. He cleared his throat, sitting straight in the chair. “Tony wanted me to do…” He fixed his tie clumsily. “Stuff.” As his words escaped his mouth, you bit into your burger comically, rolling your eyes. “Hey— He’s really worried, you need to eat the rest of,” Happy made circle gestures to your food. “This. Otherwise, he’ll—” 

“Call me,” You finished for him, wiping the ends of your mouth with a tissue. You looked around, averting your gaze from anywhere but Happy. It landed on the floor. “I know.” 

Happy tapped the table twice, making you pay close attention to him. “He cares,” He says, offering a smile through his stubble. Though, you couldn’t really tell. 

Nodding along his words, you licked your lips. “I know.” You confessed. 

The ride alone with Happy is the same; quiet. But you never minded. 

This time is different, something is different. Your palm fell against the texture of the seat, forehead against the car window. “This isn’t home,” You knocked the window, your eyes landed on the rear mirror. “Where are we going?” 

Happy’s eyes were ahead, avoiding your gaze. He’d be adamant in keeping eye-contact, for some reason, he wasn’t… looking at you. “Avengers Tower.” 

“What?” You blurted out, scratching the lobes of your ear, you said a bit softer; “Why?” You bit your bottom lip slightly, pulling yourself from the window, settling down onto your seat. 

He cleared his throat again. 

Weird. That wasn’t likely of him. “Tony’s there.” 

You furrow your brows, sighing as your head falls back. “Do I have to be there too?” You asked, though, quickly shaking your head. “Why do I have to be there?” 

Happy sighs, it wasn’t a condescending sigh, he wasn't tired of your questions, he just sighs—heaves out a long breath before saying. “You’ll see.”

“Ah, there you are!” Pepper exclaimed, her long hair bouncing as she swiftly hugged you. Giving your temple a kiss. “Come on, everyone’s waiting for you.” 

You were about to question everyone? Before you feel Happy slightly nudge you to follow Pepper, trailing closely behind you. You shake off the sensitivity of his touch before your school shoes slapped against the marbled floor. 

“How was school?” Pepper asked, pressing a button in the elevator. Her soft hands drifted back of your head, tugging a strand of it behind your ear. 

You smile, eyes ahead the number of the floor, brows raised. You rub your eyes with the back of your palms, yawning. “Normal.” 

Pepper Potts is the closest mother figure you’ve ever since HYDRA happened. Glimpses of your past always came peeking through the surface, ruining any chances of communicating like a normal person. But… Pepper, she somehow reminded you what it’s like to be human. She taught you to be more open, to not be so tense, to hold your head high. “Just normal?”

“Until Happy,” You jabbed a thumb at the man beside you. “Was late.” 

Pepper tilted her head at the man, amused. “Don’t be late next time.” She eyed him as the elevator doors opened. 

Turning around the corner, with Tony’s back turned, the Avengers erupted into cheers. Much to your surprise. You slowly backed out, slightly overwhelmed with the amount of people in the room. “Happy Birthday!” 

Your shoulders slumped back and you tried to bite down a smile. Oh. It was your birthday. “...Thank you?” You slowly inched in, seeing familiar faces. Laughter erupted again, they were drunk. Definitely. How long have they been waiting for you? Wanda came in first, hugging your shoulders. Then Natasha’s crushing hug and smile. Then… “Barnes,” You chuckled as he ruffled your hair. 

“Heat sink,” Bucky affectionately bit back, his hands curled around a clumsy, boxed present. He tossed it to you. “Don’t tell Tony.” He whispered, before patting your shoulder, and heading to the kitchen, probably to get another drink. 

Tony smiled, showing his teeth. “Happy Birthday, kid.” 

There was a silence that hung right above your heads; other than the Avengers constant laughter; there’s the awkwardness between the two of you. No matter how long the years passed by—it’s always been there, you were unsure as to how you could conquer it. 

Maybe, you could start now. Pepper and Happy passed by you, feeling that they were suddenly invading, they headed close to the other Avengers. You cleared your throat, stepping forward. “Thanks, Tony.” You said a bit timidly, causing his brows to raise slightly. 

Tony examined you up and down. You were still in your uniform, now all baggy and messy. “How was school?” He inquired, signalling his head to follow him in the kitchen. 

“Normal, until Happy showed up late.” You mimicked his action, looking back at Happy and Pepper with a smile. “Went to a restaurant. Ate something.” 

Tony nodded his head along with your vague storytelling. “You got lost?” He raised a brow. 

You grinned cheekily, leaning against the countertable with your elbow. You swiped your palm against the base of your neck, grunting a little before replying. “A bit.” 

“Sure, a bit.” Tony said, pouring you a glass of apple juice. He handed it to you, “Happy Birthday again.” 

A pause. He continued. “I know we don’t talk a lot, kid. But I want you to know that—” 

You sipped your apple juice loudly, smacking your lips together. “Care about me,” You grimaced, not to him, you didn’t have the courage to look anyone in the eyes right now. “I know.” 

Tony crossed his arms and leaned against the countertable, just beside you. Though, far enough for your liking. “No,” His lips formed into a line, you dipped your head lower, looking at him between your eyelashes. He made that stubble face that Happy would, you couldn’t distinguish if it was smiling and frowning. “I don’t… express it enough.” 

Another pause. It wasn’t the same silence that hanged minutes ago. 

It was comforting. You patiently waited. 

Tony looked at you, with a smile this time. “I care about you, kid.” He says this like an oath. Your head was still dipped down, gaze fixed on the floor. Your vision begins to water, some-fucking-how. “You’ve been through a lot,” He continues, watching as you set the glass down. “And you’ve been so strong.” He smiles when you look at him. “I’m proud of y—” 

His words were cut off with you hugging him. Tony didn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around your retreating figure, somehow, he understood your quiet sobs. The way your fingers tremble behind his back, the way your legs buckled, and the way your quiet sniffles were hidden by the collar of his shirt. He continued anyway, Tony’s nose was buried into your hair as he said. “I’m proud of you.” 

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«House of the Dragon» | 1.07 «Driftmark»

"There is no amount of Palestinian death that will light the Eiffel Tower with Palestinian colors. We recognize that our death is simply not compelling the way theirs is. Our strategy should go beyond this: it should be a lot more offensive. It should be more than look at my limbs, look at my blood, we should be letting people know their own complicity."

Mohammed El-Kurd, Nov 1, 2023 at But We Must Speak: On Palestine and the Mandates of Conscience (youtube link)

But at the same time. Heroes don’t deserve anything. (This is what keeps them up at night, the exhaustion hits their back, not baring to arch it any further. But it doesn’t reach their mind, and they stay up thinking if they made the right decision, if they are deserving of a person so normal, and far, far away from them–this is what keeps them up at night; loneliness, baring nostalgia of normalcy, where days are simple, pinching their skin of warm, real hands, and not the stinging pain of lifeless eyes staring back at them. This is what heroes think about at night, and there is a reason why they don’t last long).

— notes on MOORE-COVERED NARRATIVES (wip), about Yosuke.