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tasmiq · 3 months

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Jumu'ah Sohbet: 2 February 2024

Alhamdulillah (Divine praise), that this week reinforced why our Tariqa is characterised for its love of traveling, eating, and self-defense! Without further ado, Bismillah (with the name of the Divine)...

#1. Wakil Amina presented a deeper rearview reflection of the first Tariqa experience of a group Umrah (minor pilgrimage of Makkah and Medina). Shaykh Taner's most striking point of contemplation was getting mureeds to understand their own motives for wanting to go there, "The Allah there is the same Allah here. What we want to connect to is here, now! What is holy is around us and within us if we just care to see."

Now, as someone who was blessed with both experiences of Hajj and an Umrah because of my generous parents, Allah eternally bless them! This was despite my half-willing surrender to the experiences. But in spite of my insufficient maturity, especially during Hajj. They served as critical moments where I was grappling with major decisions. It was after my Umrah where Allah sealed into my consciousness that my admiration for your Abbu blossomed into an undeniable love story!

However, I earnestly wish to experience these holy sites for one last time, together with your Abbu and my later acquired Sufi eyes. This is because Shaykh Taner totally transformed my perception of Allah as immanent and omnipresent!

#2. I love that the Sufi entourage to Umrah deepened its love of travel and eating credentials. They confirmed that Saudi Arabia had indeed advanced with nifty transportation mediums as speed trains, and into a more open culture where women were permitted to drive and even given the freedom to wear hijab (head covering) or not! Whereas here we have been worrying that it has secularised too fast, too soon! It was refreshing to hear from a multinational group how warm and welcome they had felt.

The Sufi entourage explored Jeddah, retraced the old route to Makkah, and even went to Museums in Medina and other historically important sites, Subhana'Allah!This was beyond my unexpected adventure in Jabal al-Noor, thanks to your Mama (maternal Uncle)!

At one point, Wakil Amina said:

... (Wakil) Faghrie and Daud styled their scarves in the Yemeni way. This is us walking in the old road and market of Jeddah. We are the eating Tariqa so the shwarma was our best friend! Wherever we went, we ate well.

We went to a coffee shop which was a coffee museum. We had some original Arabian coffee, which is very unique. To me, it tasted like cardamom tea. It was a beautiful oasis and reprieve from the heat.

Here are the Umrahties (a South African slang expression where one pluralises with "ies" ) after arriving in Makkah as we're about to embark on our first Umrah!

#3. Our Wakil Rosieçim (Wakil & Sister Rosie) colourfully described how a few of them picked up hitchhikers on the trip. Hers came in the form of bacterial pneumonia! She was with the small group of ladies when they embarked on the initial "troublesome first tawaf (circumambulating the Ka'aba)". She said:

I have a long-standing habit of whatever expectations I have, tend to drop away in the moment, and I am grateful for that. But still, one expects to circumambulate and do the tawaf with prayers, calm, and beauty. At one point, someone in our group said that there is no love here! Most of us felt that way in our moments of being pushed and shoved. It was very difficult to maintain focus and also to physically maintain space, I was usually at the back and trying to hold back ... I don't think we could have gotten up if anyone had fallen.

Like Wakil Amina, Wakil Rosieçim reflected that what came to them, was that another person's behavior is none of your business! "That sounds like Shaykh Taner, doesn't it?", she proclaimed! 😆 You look to your own behaviour, and that includes letting go of judgment and saying a prayer for them. The entourage kept each other going, and (Wakil) Faghrie was their rock of Umrah! Proving to us why Anne (our first spiritual mother) wisely enstated him as a Wakil.

At the end, Wakil Amina reflected that the first Tariqa Umrahties contingency came to appreciate their first experience of their tawaf of the Ka'aba. There is no such thing as bad experiences really in Sufism. They had to try to learn from their experience, reflecting, "What am I meant to learn about me and Allah, and not about others?"

#4. Thereafter, was our weekly Silat (an Indonesian self-defense martial arts system) set up by our late, progressive and beloved Shaykh Taner and Guru Rennie. An earnest physical inquiry from fellow Silat student Lea opened a world of spiritual insight for me. It not only woke me up internally but externally - as a paraplegic accident survivor - to trying what I actually can, of the hand jurus (self-defense motions).

I attribute this to lowering the dosage of my medication to deal with spasticity (abnormal muscle tightness as a result of my accident). The medication numbs muscles, but a measure of muscular activity is actually needed for remobilisation. Beyond a re-emergence of external feelings has come an internal desire to physically implement what I can, Subhana'Allah (Glory to the Divine!).

#5. Lea's question was about maintaining breath work with everything else that is needed during self-defense. Like a true ascetic Guru Rennie, responded that an axiom (truth) of training is regarding the conventional idea of strength and speed. In Silat, the saying goes that fast is slow as slow is fast.

We go as fast as our attention can follow. We therefore have to increase awareness of our different elements, i.e., hands, legs, etc. We are trying to extend our emotional attention to where things are, and we subsequently become more intentional with our movements. This shows up when we do two-person work where you start at a slow speed, then medium and progress to fast as personally possible until someone makes a mistake ... then we take a deep breath and start all over! The axiom is the hard part where we start slow and go slightly past our limit, and then completely reset!

You see, not only Pauppy Muntaha struggles with the need-for-speed; she inherited it from me, her Ammu. My life's weakness has always been to rush its processes. This is why I am being compelled to reinvent my post-accident life, from a fast disposition to a naturally slow one that is adaptable to every situation. Each dynamic circumstance faced with the correct structure and the correct spiritual heart, which is embedded in oneself through willful practice.

In conclusion, I was again left wading in an ocean of gratitude for our commitment to never-ending learning as a spiritual family, of like minds and hearts. Irrespective of context and circumstance:

Shukran Ya Allah (Divine gratitude)

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amcthystdreams · 5 months

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Meredith Tibayan, 32 years old, Chocolatier, Human, FC: Maxine Medina (Bio Under The Cut)

Meredith had a rough life as child. Both of her parents were criminals and she was raised by her grandmother most of her childhood. Meredith used to being bullied when she was a child because of her being overweight and eating too much. Her lifelong dream is to become a chocolatier and have her own chocolate factory. Despite her size and appearance, that didn’t stop her from making sweets, baked goods and chocolates. She would sell these products to her family and relatives, and they encouraged her to pursue her dreams.

Meredith chose to take Entrepreneurship and Pastry Arts, but she couldn’t afford her education so she kept on selling, and her grandmother would still continue working so Meredith can have money for education. Meredith also spent time working out rigorously, balancing her time between working to better herself and selling products she made.

Some pastry chefs noticed Meredith’s talent. One of them would hire her in the hotel, Meredith continued working hard until she managed to have money for her education and setting up her own chocolate business.

It was a challenge for Meredith to achieve her dreams. Meredith is now the owner of Cocoa Haven in Manila. She is a determined, hardworking and ambitious woman in the chocolate business industry, but can be a bully, controlling and insecure one because of her past.

Additional Facts:

Love Language is Gift Giving

Suffered anxiety and depression, self-diagnosed

Works out often

Loves cooking and baking a lot

Gives employees a hard time, especially those ones who bullied her in the past

Bribes and gambles, can be seen playing in casino regularly

#( headcanons : meredith. )#( here's my other girl! )

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karthikfactocert · 2 years

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What are the advantages to having ISO Certification in Morocco?

ISO Certification for Morocco isn't just about establishing complicated and difficult to manage procedures. To accomplish this it is essential to have a system of management that is tailored to the needs of your business is required to be put in place. If your employees are aware of how they're performing and are able to provide the right assistance You'll have a process that enhances every aspect of your company.

The ISO certification in Morocco has several benefits:

Companies of all sizes are able to use it.

The efficiency of management within the organization

reduces the amount of waste.

Profits, productivity, and efficiency increase all the time.

Customers are more likely to be retained and are more likely to be acquired.

Tracking and assessments are both consistent.

Internationally acknowledged.

Compatibility with ISO Certifications of other types within Morocco.

ISO Certification in Morocco

Morocco is referred to by the name of Kingdom of Morocco by Moroccans. An attractive country that spans both the Atlantic Ocean and Algeria. Many people are unaware of Morocco's fascinating facts like the vast Sahara Desert that runs through the country. Market stand selling vibrant African dishes in Marrakech in the capital of Morocco's Medina souk.

Despite being about the similar size to California and California in America, despite being the same size as California within the United States, Morocco has cities, towns as well as deserts, mountains, and around 32 million. With a population of approximately 4 million inhabitants, Casablanca is the largest of Morocco's cities as well as the capital city of Rabat. Cities and towns in Morocco comprise Marrakech, Tangier, Tatouay, Fes, Agadir, Meknes, Oujda, Kentia and Nadar. In contrast to the rural regions of Morocco some towns such as Marrakech are more modern in their perspective on life.

For more information: ISO Certification in Morocco

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basicsofislam · 2 years

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PROPHET MUHAMMAD (PBUH)’s BIOGRAPHY :The Permission for Hijra

Meanwhile, the Truthful Gabriel had come and brought the permission for hijra. This meant that the oppression and violence in Mecca would end and he would continue his life in a healthier environment. The Companions would start one by one to set on the road and they would leave Mecca without provoking anyone. They knew that there was the Ansar and a blessed city waiting for them with open doors.

A new process had started. In a short while, everyone who could set off for the road would start their journey and would reach a new region, a new world. But this would not be as easy as they thought.

The hijra of the Muslims was not easy for the Quraysh to accept; when they learnt of the Muslims’ plan, they did all that was in their power to stop them, to prevent them from getting out of their control and go to another land. The Quraysh already resented the fact that they had failed to change the course of events in the previous two hijras to Ethiopia so they wanted to do all they could to prevent Islam from spreading in other regions.

That is why they would stand guard on the road and try to turn people back from their journey. They arrested and imprisoned some of them and subjected them to torture, trying to make them recant their faith. Sometimes they even pursued them all the way to Medina. In short, Mecca was displaying all the characteristics of a repressive regime, and as deniers they made it clear that Hell itself was not in vain.

Despite all the pressure and obstruction, the hijra to Medina continued. Three months had passed after the hijra which had started with Abu Salama. Among the Muslims, only slaves and imprisoned ones, along with the Messenger of Allah Abu Bakr and Ali remained in Mecca. It was none other than the Messenger of Allah himself who had postponed Abu Bakr and Ali’s hijra. Now it was their turn.

Things were not irreversible at the moment; they could solve the problem right now. That’s why they needed immediate precautions. It was the twenty-sixth of the month of Safar, and it was a Monday.

Late this morning they gathered together to discuss their final strategy. As usual, they went to Daru’n-Nadwa, their advisory assembly place inherited from Qusay ibn Kilab. They wanted to solve this issue that had continued for fourteen years; they were treating the issue in such secrecy that they were not allowing people younger than forty years of age to attend; they were doing all they could to prevent what was being spoken inside to reach outside those walls.

An old man with rugged clothes whom they didn’t know, who said that he was from Najid, came to them and were waiting to join them at the door.

“Who is it?” They asked anxiously.

“An old man from Najid, I am among your uncles’ sons! I have heard that you have gathered here together for a very important business and I came thinking that I may be of some use. I will leave if you do not want me.”

“If he is our uncles’ son, then he is from us! He wouldn’t come from Najid to spy against us! Anyhow, he is not from Mecca,” they said and so they let him in.

And then the conversations started. Abu Jahl was leading the discussion. He started the sitting: “You know the position of this man of yours; if he leaves you and goes elsewhere to gather strength and attack you, this will cause you much headache. Tell me what you think we can do to avoid this situation and let me see whether you can come together to devise something.”

Abu’l-Bakhtari took word: “Tie him up in chains and imprison him; lock the doors on him and wait. One day he too will grow old like other poets before him and die.”

The old man from Najid intervened: “I am not of your opinion. This will never solve your problem! If you imprison him like you suggest, his cause will go over the walls you build around him and reach his friends. Then they will attack you and take him away from you and build their strength outside. This is not a solution, you should think of something else.”

Aswad ibn Rabia then spoke: “We have to tear him away from our society, kick him out of the country, and let him go wherever he wants! Then we will be rid of him! We will not care where he goes or settles after we have got rid of him.”

This idea did not please the old man either, he took word and said: “I swear this is not a solution! Do you not see the beauty in his words, the intellectuality in his logic and the grace in his actions? These will affect the hearts of people and he will reappear among you one day. If you do that, the day will come when he will move the masses with his virtues and you will find yourselves facing the tribes that have given him his word! He will come and want to have what you have, and then you will not be able to do anything against him. You should find another solution.”

There was something strange indeed with this old man’s position; the Meccans had come together to find a solution to the problem but this man from Najid was even more eager than the Meccans! They were happy to have included him in this assembly.

Abu Jahl, who was chairing the meeting, was also pleased with the contributions of the old man from Najid. For him, the solutions suggested were not valid either. But he himself could not think of another option. The eyes turned towards Abu Jahl who was consolidating the old man’s stance. He was waiting for his turn to speak: “I also have an opinion on this matter that you are trying to resolve,” he said.

“What is it, O Abal Hakam?” they asked. He continued: “I believe the ultimate solution lies in raising a group of able young men from each tribe who are active and good marksmen. They should attack him with their swords and kill him at one strike, and thus we will be rid of him! When he is killed in this way his blood will be on the hands of all the tribes, and the sons of Abdimanaf won’t be able to confront all these tribes. They will only have the option of demanding blood money; we will pay it and the issue will be solved.”

The old man from Najid entered the conversation at this moment and this time, he was nodding his head in agreement, and the last thing he said was: “The word spoken by this friend is the right one! I cannot think of any other solution!”

They had now made their decision and were going to put their plan of killing Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, into practice. They left the Daru’n-Nadwa in secrecy just as they had gathered there and each went to his own home.

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iamkhange · 3 years

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Why is Israel a developed country, and why are we still developing?

I am not a very good writer or author. But one day, I sat down to write my thoughts,

Think about it, some irrelevant ideas and questions are starting to get very annoying these days, like:

· Why is Israel a developed country, and why are we growing?

· Why does he have so many resources that he is selling the world and we are just borrowing?

· Are they still a chosen nation, and our share is limited to the "promise of intercession"?

When I started drowning in these and many other questions, I resorted to Google, proving to be very strong.

Many things between the Jewish nation and the Muslims

Like meet

Both are Abrahamic religions

Believe in one God

To worship him

To be cleansed

make ablution

To do charity

Slaughtering and eating animals

Don't eat pork

Circumcision

Believing that jinn are God's creation

Considering Satan disobedient

The act of considering the people of Lot a sin

Don't recognize a relationship without marriage

On the coming of the Messiah before the resurrection

Believing in the reckoning on the Day of Resurrection

Thinking in the same way of being resurrected after death (being made back from the tail bone)

Witt: The practical methods of all these ordinary things are different; for example, they call Allah by another name, the practise of ablution and prayer is different, their Messiah is different, etc.

Now the surprise increased from here that despite so many similarities and similarities, how did they move forward? While here (God forbid), religion has become a chain of feet, the children graduating from our madrassas are seldom integrated into the outside world, and in the modern lifestyle, they are barely visible, any skill anyway. It is not part of our education system that the child is still "reading" (why it is inappropriate for us to teach skills while learning).

We have included religion only in everyday life till the azan at birth and the funeral prayer at death. The rest of it has been left in the niche. The two are not conceived at the same time. Yes, some schools or madrassas are now promoting religious and scientific education together, but on the one hand, their number is like salt in flour; on the other hand, their fees are out of the commoner's pocket. And if the money came in the bag and then the education system of London, Europe and America would look fine, then very few children are getting an education from these modern madrassas.

After madrassas, school and college education is also in an awful condition in our country. An example of our education system is termite infested wood. We memorize it. But the same child cannot write 5 to 10 lines on any subject other than these.

Curriculum and the practical world are two different things; there is no match between them; education is so expensive that if one leaves with a degree, he is worried about "recovering his investment" first.

And after all, the sad thing is that 44.5% of children go to high school; 55 out of every 100 children do not go to school.

Beloved God, the Prophet (peace be upon him), prioritized the gathering of knowledge and education over the meeting of remembrance and supplication that I was sent as a teacher (Ibn Majah).

And more than 25 million children in Pakistan do not go to school ... (These are pre-Corona statistics)

In Israel, schooling is free and compulsory, as well as skills and practical business training, paid for by the school/government, and the dropout is skilled. Yes, and also business, he also bears and collects the cost of his further education. Thus, the country's economy is also strengthened, and the expenditure incurred on the child's teaching also starts coming back.

There was no oil in the house at the Prophet's death, but three swords of personal use were hanging on the wall.

On the occasion of the trench warfare, the Muslims dug a fifteen-mile long trench in fifteen days with stones tied to their stomachs and defended Medina on an empty stomach.

Referring to both incidents, Israel's defense minister bought heavy weapons from the United States in the 1973 Arab-Israeli war, saying that even if it provided the nation with only one loaf of bread for 20 years, the world would see only a winner after the war. Not empty stomach

In 1973, we lost Bengal, and Israel increased some of its territories.

There is no water in Israel, they make seawater usable, grow crops from it, drink it, and now they have become so skilled that they are selling the world, even purified water, to purify it. Plants, crops grown on them, animals raised on them and their milk/meat,

Despite being the most extensive canal system, it is sometimes time to import wheat and sugar (which are among our significant crops) despite being primarily an agricultural country.

The Hour will not come until the Muslims fight the Jews and kill them until the Jews hide behind a rock or a tree.

“O Muslims! This Jew is behind me. Come and kill him, except for the tree of Gharqad, because he is one of the trees of the Jews” (Sahih Muslim).

Despite being the world's technology hub, Israel has grown the most trees in the last 50 years. While the number of trees in the rest of the world is declining, Israel is the only country growing.

He (the Antichrist) will come to the babe Lud in Palestine. Jesus (PBUH) will have descended, and here they will kill him ... Hadith

Today, Israel has a military airport in Lud and has excellent security.

So, sir, the thing is that religion is not a chain of feet, nor does a large population hold anyone back. On the contrary, the most vital factor that hinders progress is mental retardation, the thought of not moving forward.

If our prime minister said that women's clothes cause mischief, he would also give some ugly justification for the crimes committed against older women, boys, girls, dead (dead bodies). But in our country, Islam starts with a woman's clothes and ends with four marriages of a man. There is no rule of training or justice, no control of the self and no control over the eyes. There is no question of passing any verse of knowledge, of discovery,

Well, this is a collective matter, which we all blame the government and its policies and acquit our political party and ourselves, but our role as individuals is no more negligible.

We never try to pick up a loser, but we call him so bad that he loses confidence in his return. To get a chance to hit a woman,

Mobile has become very popular; about 30 million people in Pakistan currently use smartphones, but sadly, the top trends in search are cricket series, cricketers, political scandals, controversial and bold actors, education, health. We have nothing to do with research and knowledge. Thanks to Corona, the only "Google classroom" in terms of education is still in trend in 2020.

The epidemic is also considered a "business season" in our country, and things are expected at 4 to 6 times higher prices, oxygen cylinders are missing from the market, and a simple mask is available at 20 to 25.

Of course, not everyone is like that; many people are doing perfect things, retail shops deliver rations to needy homes, schools give free education to poor children, etc.

But all this is not enough. It is like salt in the flour. For development, we all have to move forward, so whatever you are, whatever your status, think of collective benefits, your neighbor, partner, house. Help, employee, friend, brother, make encouragement a motto in every relationship, encourage them to move forward, ignore their mistakes and shortcomings, guide them according to their talent,

We are a very talented nation, and the world is buying our talent ... Via the same mobile, laptop and computer,

Anyone around you has any talent, provide information to sell on the net, guide them on how they can make money by selling this skill, don't limit the intake to yourself, because stagnant water, no matter how good and abundant it is, rots, it becomes impure, so keep sharing, knowledge, conveniences, sweet words, whatever is available to you,

Believe in everything you can get money need a little research, information, so do not use your mobile phone to wait for the magic by writing five in the comments it is a great power you can use it; ideally, you can earn money from it, you can strengthen your family, your nation ...

Rise and do your part to move beyond Israel and developed countries like this so that our next generation can breathe in a developed Pakistan, do your part to make this country safe because

ہیں ہے ناامید اقبال اپنی کشت ویراں سے

ذرا نم ہو تو یہ مٹی بڑی زرخیز ہے ساقی

Pray for progress

#education #pakistan #pm imran #motivationalwords

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mostlysignssomeportents · 4 years

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Financial services workers dying for junk mail

You've probably noticed that despite the shutdown, you're still getting "automated" business paper mail: bills, statements, etc. You might have assumed that the whole process for printing, assembling and mailing these was automatic.

https://theintercept.com/2020/04/30/coronavirus-warehouse-deaths-broadridge/

It's not. It's done by human beings: low-waged workers, largely working through staffing agencies in giant warehouses, and they are dropping dead of coronavirus because their employers have prohibited them from taking sick leave.

Broadridge Financial Solutions is a $4.4B/year company that uses contractors like TMG Mail Solutions and Randstad to print, stuff, and mail out business letters. At least 6 employees in its massive Long Island facility are dead after being denied PPE, leave and treatment.

They were murdered for junk mail.

Workers in the facility received written notices telling them that they would be fired if they missed more than two days' work. The same notice discouraged the use of PPE (which the company was not supplying).

https://theintercept.com/2020/04/07/coronavirus-new-york-warehouse-workers-sick-leave-tmg-broadridge/

"Menjivar also said that she saw one TMG worker wearing a mask brought from home. A supervisor confronted the worker and made them remove it, she said, saying that masks were prohibited unless the worker had a doctor’s note saying it was necessary."

The dead are parents, spouses, daughters and sons. Here are some of their names: Jose Bonilla Flores, Lucio Acosta, Juan Gonzalez, Anthony DeNoyior, Astrid Echenique and Aleyamma Kuriakose.

They worked for the company for years - decades, in some case - and pulled 12h shifts.

They were murdered for marginal efficiencies in junk mail production.

(Image: Juan Medina at work at the Broadridge Warehouse in Brentwood, New York, courtesy of Johanna Medina)

#pluralistic

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skippyv20 · 4 years

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Amazing new ancient Egyptian discoveries, including mysterious hieroglyphics

Hieroglyphs that make no sense

In 2019 archaeologists found burials at Saqqara from 2,000 years ago. One of the modest coffins was badly decayed but curious details survived. At the level of the person’s neck, the coffin’s lid was decorated with a painted necklace. Lower down, hieroglyphs normally provided the deceased’s name.

But when experts tried to read the inscription, it made no sense. There was nothing wrong with their reading skills – the hieroglyphics were an imitation of the real thing and translated into utter nonsense. It is plausible that the artist was illiterate because none of the signs had the correct shape. The person also enigmatically painted a blue Anubis on the coffin. Normally, this jackal-headed god is depicted in black. What could this mean?

Rare Lion Mummies

The lion was among the ancient Egyptians most powerful symbols and yet, only one mummified lion had ever been found. The big cats are not a part of Egypt today, but back then, several prides lounged around the Nile. The royals even kept them as pets. So where were the bodies?

After digging through centuries and millions of mummies, the mystery endured. There had to be more than just the single lion since classical writers described the Egyptians mummifying the big cats. A break came in 2019. An excavation in Saqqara revealed a slew of domestic cat statues, cobras and crocodile mummies. Then the catacomb produced five feline-shaped mummies. To the team’s delight, they turned out to be lion cubs. The ancient cubs died when they were eight months old. Their discovery could clarify why so few lions were embalmed despite being elite symbols. For this reason, one cannot help but wonder why the Egyptians deemed it important to put five lion mummies in the same place

Seven women with tattoos

Around 3,000 years ago, artists lived near the Valley of the Kings necropolis. Their job was to make the royal tombs pretty with murals. When they were done for the day, the men and women returned to the village of Deir el-Medina. Their spare-time creative endeavors would not come to light until 2014.

A female mummy from Deir el-Medina sported several tattoos. Due to their abundant numbers and sacred theme, she was tagged as a probable priestess. As time went by, six more women – very much preserved and decorated with tats – were unearthed at Deir el-Dina. In 2019, researchers released their findings and it changed what we knew about ancient Egyptian tattoos.

In the past, scholarly minds had no reason to think that Egyptian tattoos were anything but a rare mark denoting a high station. But the Deir el-Medina women showed that inking was more common among the people than previously believed. While they did play a religious role, the tattoos had a modern purpose – to add to their personal and public identity in a permanent way

Pieces of a missing temple

Divers have been exploring Heracleion for about two decades. This ancient Egyptian city was a busy port but for some reason, disappeared under the water. The ruins were rediscovered 45 meters (148 feet) under the Mediterranean Sea. Several artefacts and buildings were catalogued but in 2019, an international team made the most significant find thus far – massive stone columns.

The monumental chunks probably belonged to the city’s main temple, called Amun Garp. Scanning equipment made the discovery possible, beaming images back to scientists without the need to shovel through tons of silt and fish. As a bonus, the scans also found a smaller Greek temple and shipwrecks stuffed with jewellery and coins. The dive also recovered another piece of a ceremonial boat found on another occasion. The sunken city, sometimes called “Egypt’s Atlantis,” was built sometime during the eighth century. It had already produced magnificent architecture, treasures and colossal statues. Since about 95 percent of Heracleion remains unexplored, the city is bound to deliver more surprises.

The Priest Cachette

In 2019, Egyptian authorities invited journalists to a conference. At the meeting, they revealed a spectacular find – 30 pristine coffins. The caskets were crafted and painted 3,000 years ago. Despite this dusty fact, the overall condition was remarkable. The decorations were clear and kept their patterns and colours.

The corpses came from a necropolis called El-Assasif, near Luxor. The quality of the wooden coffins and clues about their identity suggested that some were priests. For this reason, the discovery soon became known as the “cachette of the priests.” Upon discovery, the group was arranged in two layers with 12 caskets stacked on top of the rest below. They were sealed and untampered with. Perhaps for dramatic effect, two coffins were opened during the conference. The mummies appeared well-preserved with bandages intact. All told, the cachette contained 2 children, 5 women, and 23 men. Their unlooted state could help researchers find out who exactly they were and why they were buried together.

What Egyptian bread tastes like

Seamus Blackley is known as one of the creators of Xbox. Few people know that he is also a hardcore amateur Egyptologist and baker. These two hobbies recently merged to rediscover an extinct taste. Blackley wanted to munch Egyptian bread and he set out to make some. The only problem was that he needed the yeast used during ancient times.

He managed to get his baker’s mitts on 4,500-year-old yeast. The dormant stuff was scraped from cooking pots used during the Old Kingdom. He was assisted by scientists to reawaken the yeast in their laboratories and he was allowed to carry some home. Blackley cultivated the sample for a week, nourishing it with olive oil, hand-milled barley and early wheat called einkorn. Eventually, he had a starter, which is similar to what is used to make sourdough loaves.

The next step was to mix the starter with authentic ingredients. Modern wheat was out since it was invented long after the yeast went into hibernation. Blackley used ancient grains like einkorn, barley, and kamut. While it baked, he noticed that the scent was sweeter than other bread he previously made from the same grains and modern yeast. He described the finished look as “light and airy,” and that the “aroma and flavor are incredible.

The mystery of the bird mummies

Egyptians loved to give mummies as offerings. Everyday citizens went to their local dealer, usually a priest of some sort, and bought a small animal or bird. Indeed, birds were so popular that Egyptologists have gathered millions of preserved avians. Some even had their own tiny coffins.

However, the sheer number of bandaged birds prompted the question of supply. The most commonly used species was the African sacred ibis but where did the Egyptians get them all? Conventional thought supported the idea that Egypt had ibis farms in the way that we have chicken farms. In 2019, geneticists drew samples from 40 ibis mummies and came to a very different conclusion. Domesticated birds of the same species show similar DNA. The petrified ibises, however, showed enough variation to suggest that they were born wild. In other words, the Egyptians seemingly corralled wild birds to wrap them up as offerings. There is a problem with this, as critics quickly pointed out. Catching millions of ibises alone would have been close to impossible and also unsustainable. The Egyptians had a steady supply but seemingly not farmed. The feathery mystery continues.

A worthy woman and her pet

Another announcement in 2019 described the tomb of a woman. Archaeologists shoveled around the productive site of Saqqara when they unearthed a catacomb. It dated back 2,000 years ago when the Romans controlled Egypt. Indeed, the woman buried there was not an Egyptian. Her name was Demetria. Greek inscriptions gave her closest relatives’ names and called her “worthy.” A carving inside the tomb depicted her in a beautiful dress while holding grapes. An animal, which was a pet but not clearly defined as any known animal, gazed up at Demetria with its paws on her dress. Several cat-like statues could also not be clearly identified as a particular species.

Images of Egyptian gods added to the magnificence of the underground chamber. An inscription below the deities gave the name of one Menelaos and described him as their servant. The Greek title given to describe his servitude was “Therapeutes,” something which is exceptionally rare in any Egyptian context. The term is not unknown but experts cannot agree on what a Therapeutes did for his masters or how these servants lived

A Schoolboy’s lesson

In 2019, the British Library took an artefact out of storage. The public last saw the tablet in the 1970s and visitors viewing the exhibition (which highlighted the history of writing), it looked downright modern. Along several lines, a child’s scrawl copied phrases written by an adult hand. Only it was not modern. The tablet was 1,800 years old.

The Egyptian student was required to copy two pearls of wisdom in Greek. Not only did he learn his letters but it was also an exercise of the mind. Instead of copying only characters, the adult’s writing warned him of bad friends and that wisdom should be sought from wise men only. The child was likely male since education among Egyptians was reserved for the boys of high-status families. This also explained why an Egyptian kid carved Greek into a tablet. Rome ruled his country during this time and all educated people in the Roman world were expected to know Greek and Latin.[

The teenager and the pyramid

In the region of Beni Suef stands a pyramid. This odd duck is called the Meidum pyramid. It was originally a step monument but the sides were later smoothed to turn the structure into a real pyramid. Nobody knows why Meidum was altered in this way. In 2019, a grave added to the site’s reputation to head-scratch for answers.

Dug next to the 4,600-year-old pyramid, the tomb held a teenage girl. When she died from unknown causes, she was about 13 years old. The time of her death is less certain but the teen was definitely an ancient Egyptian. Her body was arranged in a squatting position and there was a glaring lack of grave goods. The investigation did uncover signs of a cemetery and a pair of bovine skulls. They were likely a funerary offering but the heads could not be linked to any specific burial, including the anonymous girl’s.

The expedition also found traces of a brick wall, which may or may not have circled the cemetery. Overall, a teen buried without ceremony next to an altered pyramid surrounded by a wall is a combination that will likely keep archaeologists guessing for a while.

https://listverse.com/2019/12/07/10-new-ancient-egyptian-discoveries-including-mysterious-hieroglyphics

Interesting. Thank you😊❤️❤️❤️❤️

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aconitemare · 4 years

Text

[Rory/Paris] Tacos - Paris

AO3

Summary: “Red, purple, green — where the hell is it?” Paris mutters wildly, and then she’s off across the room again, her hair whipping over her shoulder, the scent of strawberries-and-cream in her wake.

“Perhaps I’ll go blonde,” Rory muses and wonders, briefly, if Paris is trying to find the right panties for her date.

Rory counts Dean’s breaths on the phone. One, two, three, and he says something. She replies back. He laughs softly, and there’s another beat before he says something again. She replies, not fully paying attention to either of them. Behind her, Paris is a flurry of activity. Rory’s eyes keep getting dragged over to her, flashes of long, blonde hair whirling across the cramped floor of their hotel room.

Dean says something again. Rory responds without thought. This is nice. She enjoys this. She enjoys sitting in the chair, listening to Dean and his slow, unwinding laugh and his unhurried words. He talks like they have all the time in the world. And Rory would like that very much, to just always be in this little hotel room, watching Paris bounce off the walls like a pinball while Dean’s soft voice brings home to her.

“My plane gets in at three,” Rory informs, flipping the pen between her fingers. She has a notebook balanced on her thigh, Dean’s name written in the corner with nothing else. Her idea was to simply write down whatever thoughts she had while talking to Dean on the phone, and instead of saying those thoughts, just write them down on the paper and then come up with something else to actually say right now.

But she can’t concentrate on Dean with Paris speculating over the rate of growth concerning stress-induced back acne. This is a legitimate concern of Paris's, and it’s hilarious, because Paris never breaks out. It’s kind of impressive, really, how smooth Paris's skin always is. Rory’s jealous, for sure.

Rory wonders if it’s worth telling Paris this, that Rory envies her. Paris is finally nearing Rory’s chair, her fitted dress changing the square-like silhouette of the Chilton uniform Rory is used to.

“My plane gets in at six,” Dean says.

Rory almost tells Paris that she looks nice, turns around in her seat to tell her that, but Paris is in a fit, throwing scraps of clothing out of her bureau and onto her bed.

“That gives me three hours to look presentable,” Rory tells Dean.

“Red, purple, green — where the hell is it?” Paris mutters wildly, and then she’s off across the room again, her hair whipping over her shoulder, the scent of strawberries-and-cream in her wake.

“Perhaps I’ll go blonde,” Rory muses and wonders, briefly, if Paris is trying to find the right panties for her date.

“I strongly request that you don’t,” Dean says.

But no, Rory realizes with a hint of disappointment. It’s just a bunch of cardigans on Paris's bed. So not her designated panty drawer, like Rory had thought. That would’ve been funnier. Weird place for cardigans, though, the top drawer of her dresser. That seems more of a closet thing, doesn’t it?

She almost says as much to Dean, but he probably wouldn’t know what she was talking about, she’d have to slow down and explain just to capture the sheer chaos that is Paris, and then it would just be weird because she’d be talking about Paris's possible underwear locations to her boyfriend in front of the said Paris. Would that be weird? What even is the proper etiquette here, because Rory would like to think she’s reached a point in both her relationship with Dean and her friendship with Paris where she can feel comfortable to talk to the former about the latter’s underwear.

Dean says something again, something warm and nice and cozy like the bed Rory misses back home, and then Paris has stopped in her mad dash.

“Hey — hey! Stop being cute! I need help here!” Rory swings around in her chair to see Paris's arms lifted above her head, sweeping her hair into a ponytail.

“I have to go,” Rory says immediately. “Paris is having a meltdown.”

“Why?” And Dean’s voice is genuinely curious, which Rory likes. She likes it when others ask about Paris. He’s a good boyfriend to ask.

“She has a date tonight,” Rory answers, biting her tongue on a very funny joke about Paris treating the idea of dating someone with the same severity as a journalist entering an active battlefield in a foreign because the airfare was covered.

Oh, she can tell him that in the letter!

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Paris scolds behind Rory.

Rory turns around again. Paris has her hands on her torso, her long fingers curving over her hips.

“How do you know he sounded surprised?” Rory asks, because there’s no way she can overhear soft-spoken Dean over the cacophony of panic in her mind. Or maybe she can. She’s Paris, after all. She’s always ahead.

“Because I’m a genius, Rory,” Paris retorts, standing in the middle of their room with her hair down again. Now that she’s closer to the light, Rory can make out the faintest tinge of red in her locks. Paris, a strawberry blonde. Who would have thought?

Paris drops her arms with a loud clap against her legs. “I have deep and powerful clairvoyant abilities,” she continues, nodding her head rapidly so that her hair falls over her shoulders, framing the delicate silver necklace above her breast. But her eyes are fierce and irritated, and Rory remembers that despite the bliss granted earlier by her debate victory, Paris has a habit of talking to you like you’re a very stupid child when she’s snapped. Which is the norm for Paris, honestly, with her recent bout of sanity being the true cause for concern.

“Oh, boy,” Rory says, more because well-timed condescension works best to quell Paris's rising venom than out of real dread.

“For example!” Paris commences, “I can instantly deduce that when someone hears the name, ‘Paris,’ in the same sentence with the word, ‘date’ — jaws will drop. Confused looks will cover faces. Words like, ‘How?’ and ‘Why?’ and ‘Quick, Bob, get the children in the minivan because the world is obviously coming to an end’ will immediately fly out of people’s mouths!”

Dean’s steady breaths have all but been drowned out by the increasingly loud and hurried words spilling out of Paris. “I have to go,” Rory repeats.

“You sure it’s safe?” Dean asks, and it’s a joke, Rory thinks, but it reminds her of Jess and how everyone thinks she’s in danger from standing too close to passionate people. Like they’re radiating life and she might catch it.

“I’ll be fine,” Rory answers. “I’ll see you Friday.”

“See you Friday. I love you.”

Paris hits the desk or something and when Rory looks over, her hair has gotten somehow crazier in the last minute and her hair face is red in anger. “That’s it! I’m shaving my head!” she declares.

Something like panic, maybe some shared psychosis thing from Prolonged Paris Exposure, strikes Rory’s heart and she leaps from her seat, throwing Dean a quick “gotta go” before hanging up and covering the distance between them.

“Okay, Paris,” Rory starts out firmly, and then consciously softens her voice, “you have got to calm down. ”

Paris is busying herself with trying to tie a ponytail so punishingly tight that it would put 13th-century Flagellants to shame. “I had a black sweater and now it’s gone,” Paris rushes out, and Rory wishes she could temporarily be inside Paris's head just to make sure that Paris is aware that no lives are at stake over her wardrobe for a date she couldn’t be bothered to stop stuffing her face with a sandwich for when accepting.

“I’m now just talking about right now. In general, you need to calm down.” Rory does her best to inject some authority in her voice. Maybe like their teacher. Max — Mr. Medina, Rory corrects herself — was always good at getting Paris to show up with his magically “we come in peace, Paris Geller” voice.

No such luck here, unfortunately, Rory’s powers to calm remain quite unmagical.

“He’s almost here!” Paris insists, having finally wrangled her hair into submission. “I’m not dressed, my makeup’s not done, and I haven’t gone through the Zagat yet to pick a restaurant!”

Rory has to give it to her, that’s a lot to do in a very short amount of time. This may be one of those rare moments where Paris is genuinely underprepared and not just indiscriminately anxious. Although still, she could win awards for the sheer height of this mountain she’s managed to build from one humble molehill.

“Why don’t you just let him pick out the restaurant?” This is the easiest problem to fix. And besides, he asked her out, he should have know. The asker-outer is the one responsible for the first date itinerary.

Unfortunately, Paris's brows only crumple further down her nose, which Rory has the passing thought is quite straight and elegant. What is Paris, a prize horse? Who likes noses? Should Rory be thinking about noses more, if this is going to be a thing for her?

“What if he doesn’t have a Zagat?” Paris asks, and Rory is almost certain he doesn’t have one because Rory wasn’t aware of the critical existence of the Zagat until her and Paris shacked up together. Or, no, that’s the wrong phrase. That’s something grandma would say about a couple she didn’t like.

“Well then, he’ll wing it.”

Cohabiting? Yikes. Roomed? Yeah, that’s what it is. Bunked. Even better. She wishes her mom were here to discuss this terminology with.

“‘Wing it’?” Paris demands. Rory nods, and this sets Paris off. Damn. “How come other girls get planned out dinners?” she asks, and Rory would point out that she may actually be getting a planned-out dinner, that Rory has no idea Jamie’s degree of Zagatness or general knowledge of the city they’ve been in for months, but there is no stopping a speeding train.

“Roses, candy, rose petals thrown on the floor — and I get ‘wing it’!” Paris exclaims.

Rory shoots for an optimistic smile and says, “Well, you don’t know that you’ve got ‘wing it.’” And who gets rose petals on the first date? Should Rory be getting rose petals? Probably not, she’s not really a rose petals girl, although apparently Paris is, and Rory does wish her the best in this quest for de-limbed flowers. Paris deserves them.

“No, I do, I’ve got ‘wing it,’” says Paris. She looks down at the ground then. “I can’t do this.”

“What?” Rory asks, because there’s a lot at the moment that Paris seems like she can’t do. Reading the Zagat, for example.

“Date,” is what Paris says instead, however. “I can’t date ,” she repeats, heavy weight falling on the last word. “I’m not genetically set up for it.”

And there’s the resigned self-hatred that always gets Rory to care in the end, because even though Paris isn’t much of a puppy, Rory still gets no pleasure in kicking her.

Rory’s brows pinch. Correction: she gets no pleasure in seeing Paris kick herself. That’s just wrong, after all, and totally in defiance of the checks and balances overachievers like Paris need. “Not true,” Rory gently assures, because if Paris does all the kicking, there will be none of her left when it’s Rory’s turn. How will she ever be able to put Paris back in her place if all she can think of is the time Paris cancelled her first and only date when he was right outside the door so she could cry into many different colored cardigans?

Paris leans forward with her eyes bugging out as if she can impress upon Rory, through proximity, the scientific veracity of undateable genes. “I get no pleasure out off the prospect or the preparation. I’m covered in hives. I’ve showered four times and for what? Some guy who doesn’t even have the brains to buy a Zagat so we don’t wind up in a restaurant that’s REALLY just a front for a cocaine-laundering ring?”

Paris's speech begins over-enunciated and gradually picks up speed until it’s just a slur of sounds vaguely Germanic in origin. There’s no way Rory is calming her down at this point. It’s time for action. They are now women of action. Rory rests both her palms on Paris's shoulder and pushes her down so that Paris's butt lands at the edge of her bed.

“Sit,” she orders and heads to the desk. She gathers Paris's open makeup kit while behind her, Paris rambles on.

“It’s a dare. He was dared to take me out.” And Paris's tone implies she thinks she’s onto something. “I bet Trent Lott was behind this.”

Rory sits down on the small bed beside Paris. “Trent Lott did not dare Jamie to take you out,” Rory says without inflection, having now acquired a solution to implement that doesn’t require cycling through tones until she finds the Magical Medina one that compels Paris to hold all her questions till the end.

When Rory twists around, eyeshadow and brush in hand, Paris is fully turned into her, legs crossed and hands on the small space between their laps.

“Close,” Rory instructs, and Paris does without argument, an instant flutter of eyes. On command, her face smooths out, making herself a canvas for Rory. And Rory, for her part, doesn’t linger in the scant air between their faces, doesn’t think about how she never imagined Paris would trust her enough with her face or do something just because Rory said to.

Rory chooses a light lavender color to tie the pink roses of her dress with the black lace lining her shoulders and chest.

“Jamie likes you, and he asked you out because he likes you. Now look up.”

Again, just like that, Paris's eyes flutter open to stare at the ceiling. They’re a deep, dark brown that Jamie might even find soulful. Rory would call them intense. She adds a hint of eyeshadow to the corners of Paris's eyes, not for any reason in particular, as she’s going so light you can barely see it. But she likes the effect anyway, she thinks, because Paris's eyes do look pretty, upturned and blown wide and not staring Rory down but looking where she tells her to.

“Maybe I shouldn’t go. I mean, what if I fall for him and he doesn’t like me?”

“Then you’ll find someone else,” Rory says simply, because it’s true. Paris could leave her date tonight and find someone within the hour. She’s beautiful in a way she’s not at Chilton. If Tristan had seen Paris like this, in this rosy dress that brings out the soft blush of her skin, that dips low so you can see the wild rise and fall of her breaths — well, maybe Jamie wouldn’t have had the chance to. So it’s for the best that Paris is in her and Rory’s room smelling of strawberries and cream for the first time, and not somewhere else before they had been.

Not quite friends.

Paris's voice is quiet now and a little tremulous. “But what if there is no one else?”

Rory doesn’t think that’s a terrible option. She sets the eyeshadow down. “Then you’ll buy some cats,” she answers, grinning, because Paris brings out the cruelty in her.

This is evidently not the right answer, though, because Paris's breath hitches and her next sentence is more forceful. “I wish knew if he was right for me, you know? So I don’t — put myself through all of this for nothing? I mean, women fall for men who are wrong for them all of the time, and then they get sidetracked from their goals.”

Rory concentrates on getting the bronzer onto the puffball and does not think about the day of her mom’s college graduation, or how Rory sat on a bus for hours thinking of nothing but how hard her mom had worked for this after everything with dad in high school, and whether Louise was actually going to send her the notes she had missed from cutting school to be with the boy her mom hated.

“They give up careers and become alcoholics,” Paris continues, “and — if you’re Sunny von Bulow — wake up in a coma, completely incapable of stopping Glenn Close from playing you in a movie.”

Rory determinedly listens to none of this, merely brushes Paris's high cheekbones with a layer of bronzer that transforms Paris in seconds from the primrose princess she had dressed herself as and into something much older and dangerous.

Rory’s eyes safely navigate away from Paris's face to her shoulders, near where her long ponytail whispers at her neck. When Paris stops talking, Rory announces, “I think you should wear your hair down,” and stands up to correct this.

“How do know if a guy’s right for you?” Paris asks. Rory already has her fingers up, slowly working their way into the elastic so she doesn’t accidentally pull too hard.

“You just have to feel it,” Rory says and hopes she comes off more confident than she is. Paris's hair falls out effortlessly once she finds the right looseness, and it pours through Rory’s fingers like satin.

“All I feel is my back breaking out,” Paris says miserably.

Rory runs her fingers through the tresses of blonde hair, separating them into thirds and combing through them. “You’ll know, okay? You just have to let it happen.” Rory drapes some of Paris's hair over her shoulder, letting the waves cascade down her the expanse of warm skin exposed by the low neckline.

She parts more of Paris's hair, arranging the new section so it comes down her other shoulder. “And then, probably when you’re not looking, you’ll find someone who... complements you,” Rory settles on.

Paris does not sound sold, though. “Meaning?”

Rory allows herself to play a few seconds more with Paris's hair before retrieving the brush. “Someone who likes what you like, or listens to the same music,” she explains, beginning the brush at the crown of Paris's head and following through to the ends. “Or likes to trash the same movies,” she adds, because now Reversal of Fortune is on her mind and it was somehow both audacious and popcorn-binge-inducing levels of boring.

“Someone compatible,” Rory concludes. But then she remembers Dean, Dean who likes every book Rory likes, who Rory hadn’t kissed like her heart was in his mouth that day at Sookie’s wedding. She adds, “But not so compatible that they’re boring.”

“Someone who’s compatible but not compatible,” Paris says slowly, like it’s a math problem. And maybe it is to Paris, who tends to look at the world like it’s a miscalculation she can’t figure out or a test she didn’t study for.

But Paris looks so human now, made of pinks and golds, lace and satin. Skin and breath. “Yeah, kind of,” Rory answers. She fancies herself a bit of a teacher at the moment, though she never would’ve pictured Paris a willing student. It’s a nice thought, Rory having a hand in softening Paris.

She suddenly wants to see Paris's face, just to know if there’s something different about it. She comes around the bed. “I mean, you respect each other’s opinions and you can laugh at the same jokes,” she explains, brushing her fingers through Paris's hair. She does look softer, Rory thinks, and it’s almost staggering to realize that she’s petting Paris Geller’s hair — and Paris isn’t growling or trying to bite Rory’s arm off.

Hot and cold, this girl, Rory muses, this maybe-friend who sabotages her every move at The Franklin then shows up at her house with stress-red eyes needing a study buddy. Who dresses up like Romeo then forgets the kiss.

Rory slides the brush through Paris's hair, pays attention to the way the gold shines in the dim light of their room, how it brushes against her rosy skin. “But I don’t know, there’s just something about not quite knowing what the other person’s going to do at all times,” she admits. “It’s just really — exciting. ”

When Rory looks at Paris, though, Paris is smiling. Grinning, actually, with her brown eyes lit up in some emotion Rory thinks she’s seen before but somewhere else, not here, never between them.

Rory drops her hands from Paris's hair and steps back. She feels like she’s walked too far off in an unfamiliar place and needs to retrace her steps. “Look, just have a good time,” she says, waving the hairbrush before whirling around to the desk. “You’ll figure it out.”

There’s a black jacket draped over the chair near it, flowers embroidered across the fabric. Perfect. Rory grabs it.

“Yeah, well, I hope I figure it out fast,” Paris says, sounding a lot more glum now than she had seemed just seconds prior. “Before I throw up.” She’s smoothing the wrinkles in her dress out, hands gliding down her thighs. But her eyes are on the floor.

Rory helps her into the jacket before Paris can spiral into her next mood. Whatever it is, Rory thinks she might have caught it. Maybe her mom was right about “empaths” and “sharing people’s energy.” It would stand to reason Rory would feel so off from Paris. Paris has a lot of energy all the time . She’s all over the place, and she's been all over the place Rory lives in for the past three months.

A knock sounds at the door. Paris's head snaps up like an alarmed gazelle on the Nature channel. “That’s him,” she says, resignation mixed with a touch of dread.

Rory clasps her hands together. “Turn around?” she requests.

Paris obliges, straightening her jacket as she faces Rory. Rory envisions Jamie opening the door and seeing her. She wonders how Paris will look to him, if he’ll think she’s pretty, if he’ll not know quite what to make of her standing like this — in smooth satin, with lavender eyelids.

“Well?” Paris prods.

Rory works her jaw. “Perfect.”

Paris's brown eyes are imploring, almost puppyish. “Promise?” she asks, like Rory might not actually find Paris beautiful. Like it’s important Rory does.

“Swear,” Rory says as solemnly as possible.

“Thanks,” says Paris. There’s a moment where Paris looks so impossibly soft and open that Rory feels she’s stepped into another world. She almost steps forward, too, before the door apparently closes because Paris suddenly orders, “Now get in the closet.”

Rory’s heart freezes in her chest while her mind hurriedly rewinds the conversation, checking for errors, slips, any evidence that maybe she’s gone too far, said too much when she should’ve stayed quiet. “What?”

“If he comes in here and sees you, he won’t want to date me anymore.”

“Paris, that’s crazy. He’s seen me. He’s seen me for weeks.”

“Yes. In conference halls, crowded lecture halls, badly lit banquet rooms with crappy food smells — not at night when it’s dating time and he’s thinking about dating and you’re standing there, looking all dateable.”

Rory’s face scrunches. She’s wearing an orange t-shirt with a giant 76 embroidered across the front. She doesn’t even know what 76 is for, she has no memory of ever even buying the shirt and is fairly certain it materialized in the wash in the same way socks disappear from the dryer. “I’m not looking dateable.”

“Please? I can’t risk it — at least if there’s nothing to compare me to, then I’ve got a fighting chance,” Paris says with a glossy, trembling lip. How long has Paris thought Rory looked dateable? Just today, with this shirt? They see each other every day, they wake up feet apart in their pajamas, and Rory doesn’t think she looks all that different now than she did this morning.

There’s another knock at the door, this one louder and longer, and any irritation Rory feels is snuffed out by the look Paris shoots her. Rory lets out a sigh and tries not to drag her feet too much, but she dutifully grabs her notebook and a flashlight on the off-chance Jamie takes his time getting out of here. “When you get home, you need to get a new therapist, because the one you have is really not working.” Then she walks towards the closet like a complete fool and lets Paris close the door on her.

Rory expects Paris to immediately answer the door with Rory out of the way, but she actually hesitates a few seconds. Rory can see her shadow through the bottom crack of the door. Paris takes a deep breath, then says, “Thanks for helping me get ready.”

For a quick second Rory should probably be ashamed of, she wishes she had messed up Paris's makeup. She wishes Paris wasn’t on the other side right now, looking perfect as she closes Rory’s door and opens Jamie’s.

“Any time,” Rory dully answers.

“Hi, ” she hears Paris say. Jamie says, “Hello,” and it’s the dumbest reply Rory can think of. Hullo. He follows up with the generic compliment, “You look very nice.” So much for exciting.

Rory has to bite back a laugh when Paris replies, “This is a really good sweater,” with astounding awkwardness.

“So, shall we get going?”

“Oh, sure, sure.”

“Do you like Italian food?”

Rory rolls her eyes in the dark, but Paris merely says, “I love Italian food.”

“Good. I’ve made a reservation at a great place. Or, at least, that’s what the Zagat guide says.”

Rory wants to set this stupid Zagat on fire. Paris nearly exhales on a dreamy “you’re perfect” to him. Rory’s heart plummets. She lets herself sink to the floor, knees pressed against the closed door, even though she can hear them leaving already.

So, she stays in the closet and opens her notebook, flashlight balanced so she can look at the pages. Dean’s name is still at the top, but all she can think to talk about is Paris. Maybe Dean would be okay with that, but maybe he wouldn’t. Talking about Paris isn’t the same as talking about Lane. And she doesn’t want to talk about Paris right now, anyway, not really. She’s annoyed with herself, because certainly a lot more has happened to her over the summer that Dean would think is cool, but all she can come up with is that time Rory convinced Paris to try street tacos with her, after some particularly crappy conference food, and Paris admitted that Rory had good instincts.

Maybe she could talk to Dean about Zagat guides. Although Jess would have more to say. And he would even point out how stupid and unnecessary they were. She moves down the page, writes Jess across a line, and beneath that, writes Tacos - Paris.

She stares at all the names on the page for a long time. Then, figuring screw it, writes beneath both columns:

Joke about Paris on the battlefield

Zagat guides - useless?

Blonde hair - y/no?

Orange t-shirts - dateable?

She knocks her head back against the wall and switches the flashlight off. “Perfect,” she says aloud. In her head, Paris asks, Promise?

#gilmore girls #rory gilmore #paris geller #gellermore #paris x rory #rory x paris #fanfiction for the void

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peace-coast-island · 4 years

Text

Diary of a Junebug

A regal gyroid adventure

What a wonderful day for gyroid hunting! The crisp air and the cool breeze makes me want to sit by a tree and snuggle up with a cup of tea. I think this is by far my favorite type of weather - slightly cloudy skies with sunlight creeping through and gentle breezes with a slight chill.

We’ve got some old friends from Rosevine with us - Almie and Pippa! Daisy Jane and Almie were the unlikely pair in high school - as in you wouldn’t think that they were close friends based on their personalities. Almie’s very much an extrovert, one who jumps into things without really thinking it through, someone who’s always looking for excitement and adventure. He tends to get in over his head sometimes but that’s what we love about him. Pippa, on the other hand, is a total introvert, the kind of person who likes to stay in her comfort zone and stick with what works. Although they’re almost total opposites, Almie and Pippa are very close - even more so after what they’ve been through.

There’s also another Medina sibling - Alon - who’s absolutely nothing like his family. While Almie and Daisy Jane are the unlikely duo, Alon and Mae are two sides of the same coin. Let’s just say that if Alon or Mae were here, most of us wouldn’t be having a good time.

This gyroid event is a regal themed one. The designs were a collaborative thing between Daisy Jane, Celinda, and Manda. It’s a mix of baroque, rococo, and vintage with a touch of modern - a totally fresh and unique spin on regal themed furniture. Having Daisy Jane help design gyroid items was the best thing to ever happen at the camp.

Almie’s been meaning to visit the camp for a while and he was going to help Daisy Jane move into the cabin until a family emergency pulled him away at the last minute. It’s been a rough year for the Medinas, especially for Pippa. The trip was kinda spontaneous but Almie felt that his sister really needed an escape - specifically a low-key one that won’t put her health in danger or wear her out. Dropping by in the middle of a gyroid event worked out perfectly - also the regal theme is something that Almie and Pippa totally dig so that makes it even better!

In between gyroid hunting, we took the time to enjoy the weather. Pippa was content lying the grass and collecting little treasures to put in her memory book. It’s good seeing her again after what she’s been through. Daisy Jane and I were kept up to date either by Almie or Abbey, but it’s not the same as being there for Pippa. Almie’s certain that Pippa’s gonna beat the cancer and knowing him and Pippa, I know that no matter what, she won’t go down without a fight.

This year was supposed to be a big year for Pippa. She was gonna practice driving and learn how to use her magic - a trait she and Alon inherited from their dad’s side. It was also the year Pippa wanted to get out of her shell, so she made a list of things she wanted to accomplish on her sixteenth year. While Almie wanted Pippa to be more adventurous and carefree like him, Alon wanted her to consider her future seriously and start climbing her way up to success by training to be a powerful wizard.

So Pippa tagged along with Almie on his little adventures much to Alon’s dismay. Alon’s similar to Mae as they are super ambitious and strive to be the best of the best. They’re good at what they do but sometimes they get arrogant about it to the point where they actively make others feel bad for not being as accomplished or busy as they are. To appease Alon, Pippa agreed to vigorous training, which ended up taking a toll on her physically and mentally. It didn’t help that around the same time Pippa was feeling off, which she initially attributed to being pulled by her brothers.

Eventually it became obvious that something was wrong. Pippa started getting bruises and everyone blamed Alon as the way he was training her was not safe at all. He would shrug off Pippa’s complaints when she had trouble keeping up, so Pippa kept quiet around him. Almie suspected something was wrong but because Pippa didn’t bring any attention to it, he thought it wasn’t a big deal.

A trip to the ER followed by tests at the hospital revealed that Pippa had leukemia. They say that you don’t know who your true friends are until you go through something rough. Almie and Abbey stuck by Pippa’s side, Alon did not. Abbey was the rock, she was always the source of strength for her kids. Almie was the optimist, he was the one who helped everyone get through the days. Alon carried on doing his own thing, seeing Pippa’s illness as an unfortunate setback and was determined to get her back on track after she “got over it”, which shows how much he cares.

For the next few weeks Pippa went through chemo. She was released from the hospital and it seemed like things were slowly going back to normal. Except it wasn’t - not by a long shot. Pippa adjusted to the changes and Almie did his best to help her out. The whole ordeal made them closer in ways that they’d never imagined.

Much to everyone’s surprise, Almie began to take on more responsibilities by helping Abbey out whenever he can, taking Pippa to the hospital for appointments, and applying to community colleges. He’s still the same old Almie, but more grown up now, as he likes to say.

Around the time Almie was gonna drop by the camp to help Daisy Jane move in, things were looking good for Pippa. She still wasn’t out of the woods yet but as long as she kept up with her meds and appointments and followed safety measures, Pippa was taking care of herself. Then Alon and Mae had to ruin it for her.

Basically, Alon had enough of Pippa “slacking off” and wanted her to resume training. On top of that Mae insisted that Pippa start looking for jobs and wanted to do a mock interview with her. So they both convinced Pippa to take the bus to visit them despite the fact that she shouldn’t take public transportation because she’s immunocompromised.

So not only Pippa contracted pneumonia, her blood work was also showing concerning signs. Abbey and Almie were furious but Alon and Mae refused to take responsibility. Apparently Mae had a minor cold when she met up with Pippa so she got an earful from her mom - which thankfully Daisy Jane never had to witness but heard secondhand. As much as we want to give Mae the benefit of the doubt, it’s hard to take her side because she was well aware about Pippa and made a really bad call.

Pippa hung on and pulled through after that harrowing experience. There was concern that she was going to relapse, which while it’s not a death sentence, it meant that her future was uncertain. It was a slow and complicated recovery, but she lived.

Almie and Alon haven’t spoken to each other in the months since Pippa’s hospitalization. The two used to have a good relationship but things went sour after Almie dropped out of college. With how manipulative and controlling Alon can be towards Almie, you’d think he was older. Almie’s willing to forgive if Alon admits that he fucked up badly but seeing that he never took Pippa’s health seriously, a reconciliation seems unlikely at the moment.

Right now, Pippa’s slowly getting back on her feet. She’s keeping up with her usual routine of meds and maintenance treatments. Things are still far from normal and she’s nowhere near where she was before the pneumonia but at least she’s getting there. All she can really do is take it one day at a time. While she and her family are optimistic, they’re well aware that while Pippa’s prognosis isn’t exactly poor, there are some unfavorable odds stacked against her.

Pippa later told me that picking gyroids was the most fun she’s had in forever. Turns out that going on a gyroid adventure and visiting the camp were on her list of things to do on her sixteenth year. The list was something she picked up again during her hospitalization as a way to pass the time and give her something to look forward to when she got home. She might not be able to get her driver’s license or go on a rollercoaster, but at least she can cross off gyroids, camping, and going off on an adventure with Almie.

Along with hunting for gyroids, I taught Pippa and Almie how to fish and catch bugs. Almie enjoyed chasing butterflies while Pippa had a great time wading in the ocean and picking up seashells. The good thing about coming in the middle of a gyroid event is that the items that take the longest to craft are out of the way so by now the stuff we have left to make take a couple hours at the most. Pippa was fascinated by the whole process and it looks like there’s talk about Pippa and Daisy Jane designing furniture for a future gyroid event!

On days like this, it’s great to slow down and take your time. As much as I like gyroid events, sometimes it feels a bit stressful, especially at the beginning when you want to get the big stuff out of the way. Later on it’s more chill as there’s not as much pressure to get things done within a time limit. Pippa managed to cross off a lot of things from her list - as well as add a bunch of stuff that will be crossed off later - so overall, it was a good day!

Pippa gave me a copy of her to-do list that’s up to date as of today. It seems like a lot to accomplish in a couple days but I’m sure we can do it! Here’s what she wrote down:

Take a class at Happy Room Academy

Dig up gems at Shovelstrike Quarry

Cross-pollinate flowers

Bake cookies

Take a hike in the forest

Go berry picking

Sail around with Gulliver

Make hats and scarves with the Able sisters

Go stargazing

Attempt latte art

Learn how to play a KK Slider song on guitar

#animal crossing #animal crossing pocket camp #Diary of a Junebug #headcanon ramble

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basicsofislam · 4 years

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ISLAM 101: 5 PILLARS OF ISLAM: ALMS AND CHARITY: FIQH OF ZAKAT IN DETAIL:

RECIPIENTS OF ZAKAT: (Part 3)

DEBTORS

In normal circumstances, zakat should be given to a person in debt, irrespective of the person’s prior wealth. Although in one way, debtors can actually be classified among the poor and destitute, the main difference is that their unfortunate state is presumably only temporary. By declaring, “Charity is not permissible for the rich, except for the following five: A warrior in the way of God, a zakat collector, a debtor, a person who buys the charity collected as zakat, and a rich person who receives from a poor the gift that was given to him as zakat,”12 the Prophet has pronounced the eligibility for zakat of a debtor, even if he is rich. On the account of Abu Said al-Hudri, a Companion during the time of the Noble Messenger had bought fruit, which were destroyed before he could offer their payment. Upon hearing this, the Prophet advised the others to lend him financial support. After the amassed total fell short of the required amount, the Prophet said to the creditors, “Take from what there is, for there is no more,” insisting on some additional understanding and compromise on their behalf.13 Falling into debt must never be seen as a method of receiving zakator as a pretext for escaping it, practices strongly condemned by the Prophet and certainly subject to divine fury. The people declared by Islam as being eligible for zakat, in this case, are not those who are penalized for their avarice, but rather those who are going through rough patches while leading a planned and moderate life. The bottom line is that life is transient, man is expected to behave responsibly, and errors perpetrated in this fleeting life may lead to a devastating scenario on the Day of Judgment.

FI SABILILLAH (IN GOD’S WAY)

In line with the various connotations the Arabic term may suggest, “fi sabilillah” is basically the commitment to put aside all personal duties and dedicate one’s entire time to spend in the way of God. Initially, this involves seeking and learning the knowledge that brings happiness in this life and in the hereafter, and in time, may also require the removal of impediments that stand in the way of spreading God’s name to all corners of the world. It is exactly for this reason that a group courageously taking such an immense task is entitled to zakat, thereby encompassing the broader meaning of the term jihad, as all kinds of struggle offered with the sole aim of pleasing God.

Analyzing the issue from the perspective of the Prophetic Era, the Ashab al-Suffa (Companions that had dedicated their entire time to the pursuit of knowledge), whose numbers reached up to 400, throw more light on the issue as exemplary models, in terms of the duty they had accomplished. Enduring a variety of difficulties, they nevertheless remained incessantly alongside the Prophet, eager to realize his very command and imbibe from him pearls of wisdom. Having devoted themselves solely in this direction, they frequently suffered hunger, even facing, on occasions, the threat of falling unconscious. Abu Hurayra, an heroic example of this devotion, responded to certain criticisms that came in his direction by simply stating, “My brothers complain that I narrate too many hadiths. However, while my Ansar brothers (Medinan Muslims) were busy cultivating their lands, and my Muhajir brothers (Meccan Muslims) were engaged in trade, me and others alike were incessantly by the side of the Prophet, memorizing his words, “At the risk of fainting from hunger.”14 This illustrates the extent of the dedication and consequent hardship which devout followers encountered for the sake of serving the Qur’an and the Sunna—and also exemplifies the different manner in which believers struggled to support Islam. Of course, the Qur’an is far from quiet on such sacrifices, eternalizing their earnest devotions as follows, in a verse which was also critical to some of the earlier discussions:

Alms are for the poor who are restrained in the cause of God, unable to travel in the land. The ignorant man counts them among the wealthy because of their restraint. But you will know them by their appearance. They never beg people with importunity. And whatever good things you spend, surely God knows them well. (Baqara 2:273)

Despite of the difficulties they constantly faced, these Companions would not divulge their hardships, causing others to overlook them when they identified people in no need. Even though there still were a limited number of individuals who might have had a fairly good idea of their dire situation, it was impossible to know the full depth of suffering they concealed to establish the faith of Islam. To cut a long story short, the following account provides an excellent example by which to crystallize this description.

Said ibn Musayyab, one of the forerunners of the Tabiun generation (the praised generation who were acquainted with the Companions, though they did not see the Noble Prophet himself) who was the son-in-law of Abu Hurayra, tells the following story about his father-in-law, as the elder walking around gleefully in a linen robe:

Plunged in deep thought, he (Abu Hurayra) then turned to himself, muttering “Get over yourself, Abu Hurayra! You seem to have long forgotten the days when you would collapse from hunger and children would start treading on you, and others would hasten to you, conceiving it as an epileptic fit. Nobody would understand, bar the Prophet (upon whom be peace) and Jafar ibn Abi Talib, who would say ‘Come Abu Hurayra!’ where upon you would tag along with them. How many times you entered the home of the Honorable Prophet, satisfying your hunger with milk, presented by him!”15

Abu Hurayra, in fact, could not pursue anything else, conceiving this as the only path to revive one’s world and reach the eternal abode. Abu Hurayra’s desire and sensitivity in running to the need of the Prophet, and in memorizing every single word he uttered, was equally matched by his vigor in joining the armed forces, when required, where he confidently assumed the front ranks. Similarly, Abu Lubaba, and many others, displayed the same attitude.

Thus it was for the likes of these exemplary figures, that divine glorification was revealed. As conveyed, there were more than 100 Companions who, while prostrating in salat (prayer), would hold fast to their insufficient clothes to prevent an exposure of their private areas. As a matter of fact, all possessions and wealth had been abandoned in migrating from Mecca to Medina for the sake of God. The Prophet (upon whom be peace) nurtured a unique sensitivity for his Companions, and he would give them everything that came his way; and yet, especially in the early years of the faith, it still fell short of covering even their basic needs. He himself would endure days of starvation, to the point where he even tied a rock around his stomach to diminish his own feeling of hunger—and yet his soft heart could not bear the hunger of his Companions. So while he lived a life well below the standards of those around him, he displayed an unmatched sensitivity to the requirements of others.

Through his efforts, Abu Hurayra achieved such proximity to the Messenger that more often than not, he would refer to the Prophet as his Khalil(Confidant), such that he would begin his explanations by saying, “My Confidant told me…” Or, “I went next to my Confidant.” Or, “I conversed with my Confidant…” and so on. By using this term, Abu Hurayra alluded to the ache and longing he experienced whenever he was away from the presence of the Prophet. In one of his many visits to the Prophet, he witnessed him offering salat while seated, showing signs of agony and distress. Immediately after the salat was finished, Abu Hurayra asked the Prophet why he offered his prayer sitting, only to receive this response: “Hunger; O Abu Hurayra!” Abu Hurayra, having witnessed such a heartbreaking scene, broke down in tears and the duty of consolation was, again, left to the Prophet, who uttered these words of gentle comfort: “Don’t cry, Abu Hurayra, because surely, the least torment on the Day of Judgment will befall the starved who have indeed already suffered its hardships.”16

Such was the attitude displayed by this great “Confidant.” While the Prophet endured a variety of hardships, it would obviously have been utterly unconceivable for Abu Hurayra and the other 400 friends – the Ashab al-Suffa – to opt for lives of pompous luxury. Affirming their faith in God granted them such an immense maturity that they were constantly on the lookout for opportunities where they could lend their services. So even while they lacked the basic necessities of the day—a horse to ride, a saddle, a flask to carry water in, or a loaf of bread, for example—they would still come to the Prophet, asking for opportunities by which they could serve in God’s cause and thus vehemently insisting, “Provide us with means, O Messenger!” Evidently, the Companions always sought additional opportunities by which they could support the growth of their faith community and offer themselves increasingly in the name of God. Of course, understanding the depth of service of his close Companions, the Honorable Prophet would give them support and suggestions, as well as anything material he could provide, in order to increase their benefits before God. On the sad occasions when he had nothing left to give, and he was starving himself, he would suffer the unparalled and additional agony of having to turn back a Muslim who was willing to do more for his faith but simply had nothing more to offer. The Qur’an’s depiction of the preparations in the lead-up to the Tabuk campaign draws attention to this profound and moving situation:

Nor (is there any blame) on those who came to you, to be provided with mounts, and when you said to them, “I am unable to provide you with mounts.” They returned with tears streaming from their eyes, grieving that they could find no means to contribute. (Tawba 9:92)

As mentioned earlier, it is unimaginable in any healthy community for the rich to indulge in luxury while there are those who, out of insufficient means, are deserted to their own starvation and despair. Therefore, mobilizing all financial means towards those who have dedicated their entire lives for a noble cause—and who shed tears not for their own discomfort, but only for their failures in finding the necessary means to give more—would ultimately revive their vanished hopes, instigating an immensely efficacious movement by which the rewards of overwhelming sacrifice would be jointly shared—and enjoyed—by all the benefactors. Within the broadest sense of the term, the invaluable groundwork would thus be laid for talented students and followers, germinating in them an enormous eagerness to become passionate servants in God’s way, and upholders of universal ethics. This is, after all, the essence and vision of Islam.

WAYFARERS

On the word of the Qur’an, the last group of recipients which is identified is that of wayfarers— individuals who become needy during travel, even if they are essentially rich back home. It has virtually become impossible, especially today, to avoid traveling, whether it be for work or to spread the word of Islam to all the ends of the world. The quest to travel in order to serve in God’s way; to provide a righteous example of faith in parts of the world with little or no exposure to Islam; or to resettle in different communities in order to directly invite others to Islam is, in effect, an excellent motive to establish funds, in concordance with the Qur’anic directive to accommodate the needs of travelers and those who lend their services to the mission of God.

This command is simultaneously a verification of how Islam attends to a person’s financial requirements while also decreeing the spread of good and the purge of evil—for including these altruistic souls as recipients of zakat allays their financial concerns and saves them from lagging behind in devoting their lives to the search for thirsty hearts eager to be quenched with the nectar of Truth.

The Messenger of God enunciated the rich among those who may occasionally be eligible to receive zakat while traveling (and thus in need of resources).17 The mention of travelers in the hadith is simply an elaboration of the Qur’anic command in relation to wayfarers. Therefore, though a person may possess enough wealth to donate zakat, he may also be eligible as a recipient, provided that he is in need during travels.

WHERE ELSE CAN ZAKAT BE GIVEN?

The essential aim of zakat is to cure all social diseases that stem from inequality in the distribution of wealth and, ultimately, create a tightly knit community resembling a robust building. Evidently, there exist certain institutions which are aimed at serving the exact purpose for which zakat is intended, and these tend to be well known within a community. Even though these institutions have technically not been mentioned among the other categories of recipients, they do receive zakat owing to their particular social aims and functions. These institutions, which are formed around the core concept of charity, have the power to reach out to the deprived, to ease their lives and, as discussed above, help avoid or discourage potential social strife.

In the words of the Prophet (upon whom be peace), a Muslim society is like one body where all parts join the agony of a single limb; viewed from this angle, reviving one certain part of society is commensurable to breathing new life into the entire organism. Espousing this kind of an impetus, each member of society is expected to become active. Actualizing God’s will in all parts of society will, in effect, terminate theft and other crimes connected to financial instability, graciously giving the community a brand new lease on life. While charity and aid foundations, scholarship funds and orphanages may, at first, give the impression of being excluded from the eight groups delineated by the Qur’an, they each fundamentally relate and encompass one or more of the specified recipient groups. The dictates of the Qur’an, in effect, are both general and unrestricted—the essence of a vibrant and comprehensive system of ordinances for life. Therefore, conditions like poverty, traveling, being in debt, or striving in the way of God are inherently deemed to generate the need for assistance, so that individuals in such conditions clearly achieve eligibility for zakat, and organizations which provide such targeted assistance must receive available funds in order to deliver the appropriate relief.

Illat, in Islamic terminology, means the basic reason for determining the permissibility or the impermissibility of an action, and it constitutes a crucial foundation of Islamic jurisprudence. Recall that as far as the muallafa al-qulub are concerned, they receive zakat as long as, or whenever and wherever, they exist and there is a need for warming their hearts towards Islam. The situation is similar for wayfarers, as discussed above; namely,zakat is only given to such a group as long as it exists—that is, as long as individuals fitting this description can be identified. Therefore, looking from this perspective, we can say that the very existence of institutions or foundations which serve the needs of any of the individuals defined, and which have as their primary intent and purpose the support of these groups, is sufficient reason for their entitlement to zakat.

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syd-belcourt · 4 years

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『 DIANA SILVERS ❙ CIS-FEMALE 』 ⟿ looks like SYDNEY BELCOURT is here for SENIOR year as a FINE ARTS student. SHE is 22 years old & known to be INCLUSIVE, GENEROUS, INQUISITIVE & AMBITIOUS. They’re living in PERKINS, so if you’re there, watch out for them. ⬳

yes it is still me, Sammie, but I wanted to give this a second shot bc the intro I had was v short and did not capture all the bits of Syd that I’ve since established since the RP was opened so I’m whippin up a new one!

stats.

name: sydney belcourt

nicknames: syd, syd the kid, syddie

age: twenty-two.

gender identity: cis-female.

pronouns: she/her

sexuality: bisexual.

birthday: march 19th, 1997.

star sign: pisces.

year of study: senior.

major: fine arts.

occupation: part time pizza delivery gal, also works part time delivering orders from fowler’s flowers.

place of birth: medina, ohio

height: 5′10

info.

The Belcourt family is a busy one, and Syd is the middle child of four. Her siblings are all boys, a rowdy bunch who tumbled through every room of the house, walloping each other with sticks in the backyard and playing football on the front lawn regardless of how much snow lay heavy on it. She had to grow up learning how to make her voice heard, as it was very easy to be overlooked when the boys came rampaging in.

Her mother and father are good parents, hard workers who have high expectations for their children. They’re upper middle class people and they made sure that their children had a charmed youth, behind the picket fence with their two cats and a beautiful golden retriever.

While Syd has always been artistic, her parents never had any intentions on it being anything more than a hobby for her. They want the best for their children, which often didn’t lead to their understanding of them. Syd however, has been set on the path of being an artist since high school and in her past three years at Radcliffe, she’s refused to slack, working hard and churning out the best that she can.

Leaving Medina for school was a priority for her, after her oldest brother had gotten into the college she had wanted to follow in his footsteps— eager to get far away from Ohio and to try something new and inspiring.

Admission into Perkins happened in her second year (after spending her freshman year with the theatre and other art kids she decided she needed to Get Out) and a compelling essay awarded her the free ride that she’s enjoying today.

Her family wouldn’t have been able to afford for her to live the “Perkins way” so she doesn’t take it for granted, ensuring that she maintains the ideals and restrictions that are set out by the institution (unless it’s Saturday and she’s had a bit too much to drink then anything’s fair game woops)

personality.

From the outside, Syd looks quite shy and withdrawn, and while this can be the reality from time to time, she prefers instead to lean on this perception of her as she navigates and decides how she wants to approach certain situations.

She’s a kind person, whose generosity leads her often to opening her doors to the strange and the lost at Radcliffe, making space in her heart for those who need it most.

Her kindness has limits however, and as her days in Radcliffe are beginning to come to a close, she’s starting to feel tired and worn thin— lack of inspiration when it comes to her projects has her falling behind her classmates and despite her best intentions she is starting to feel swallowed by jealousy towards them

When she loves, she loves with everything that she has; her best friends know that if there was anyone who would walk in front of a train for them it would be Sydney and she believes that this mentality is held by all the others that she trusts in her life, that if she is good to them, they too would do the same for her.

Despite her long hours spent at the studio and doing work, she’s not stuck up or haughty. Generally, Syd is a good time girl— easy to laugh and convince to go out on a Friday night, (or a weekday if she’s feeling wild)

extras.

Syd’s an overalls and striped sweaters kind of queen. She’s often got her hair pulled back in braids and her sleeves pushed up to her elbows— dressing practically is her usual path. It’s on Friday nights that she’ll change things up, putting on a costume before heading out.

Speaking of going out, weekends are sacred. Often, she’ll take the train with her friends into New York to spend the afternoons in galleries before heading from bar to club, dancing until last call. She likes the anonymity of the city, how under the glow of neon lights she can become someone else— anything she wants to be.

In order to cover these expenses as her monthly allowance (and her mother’s thoughtful care packages) don’t quite do the trick, she works a few jobs, shuttling pizzas off in her beat up Chevy Spark, or delivering flowers from the local florist. At the beginning of the month, she’s not above calling out of her shifts but when money gets tight near the end, she’s often seen working frantically in order to make ends meet.

Woefully aware of her height, Syd’s usual footwear of choice is a pair of sneakers (with the exception of the days that she simply cannot be without her red cowboy boots)-- but when she goes out she revels in the fact that a pair of three inch heels usually puts her eye to eye with most of the tallest men in the room.

The grass below the window of her first floor room in Perkins is nearly beaten down to mud as she keeps the screen out and helps her friends clamber into the dorm (and out past hours)

The only time Syd has ever left America was when her best friend invited her to go to Italy over the summer. She stayed with their family and managed to charm them all, earning her an open invitation that she’s sure she’ll never take up again.

Syd loves to thrift shop and most of her prized pieces in her closet are finds from consignment stores. A suede fringed jacket is her current favourite item and she wears it often.

#radintro #refreshed n revived bc syd earned it

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hisgirlwonder · 5 years

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Side To Side (Jim Mason x Reader)

Length: 1.6K words Warning: Smut, sex, mommy/breeding kink, etc (also a bit of a tug at your heartstrings with a breakup) Synopsis: Your own engagement ended badly and now, here you are, having to fake a smile at your brother's wedding. You try to hide away and drown your sorrows, only for a “friend” to find you. Notes: I have been having some creative difficulties and all sorts going on as of late but hopefully this is all over. The “bride” in this story is an older sibling of Medina and Jim’s who I couldn’t be bothered developing at 4am. Sorry it’s absolute garbage but enjoy :’)

You’re properly acquainted with Jim at your brother’s wedding that afternoon. Prior to this, only exchanging pleasantries in passing at family gatherings. You didn’t bother getting comfortable with some kid a good eight or nine years younger. What would the two of you have in common?

Your brother, close friends with Jim, had informed you that he’d arrived back in Palos Verdes a couple of days ago. He’d been gone six months, travelling around the world with his surfboard, and apparently you’d forgotten what he looked like; you had to look twice to take it all in – he’d come back with sun-kissed skin, hair grown out into curls (and in need of a cut), as well as a five o’clock shadow colouring his face. Had he always looked like this good?

Between buzzing on champagne, needing a distraction from your breakup, and the realisation that you wanted to ride Jim like a train, your morals didn’t stand a chance.

“You look lonely and like you could do with the company. Do you need another drink?” he teased; dimples appearing on his teenage cheeks. But you aren’t really lonely, not even close. You were hiding away; trying to avoid every single person at the reception who thought it would be a good idea to comment on your own engagement falling apart. You didn’t think that your brother, a proud man’s man, would be the one walking down the aisle first.

You look down and see you’d almost finished your drink, so you throw the remainder back, and shake it to show you needed a refill. Tipsy off the third or fourth glass, you partially slur the words I definitely am not lonely but I do need another drink, James. Jim smiles while grabbing the empty cup from your hand, only to walk off and joke about how weddings aren’t really his thing. They apparently aren’t your thing anymore, either.

They used to be.

Before your heart was broken by the man you considered your “soulmate”.

You’d planned the perfect wedding for the two of you; eloping to Spain at Summertime to get married in a friend’s backyard. Your plans would have seen you celebrate the union by drinking Sangria as the sun went down, and dancing under the pale moonlight. It was everything you could ever want... until he ran away; giving no explanation to feed these vultures with when they’d pry into your personal business - they thought that just because they knew you since before you could speak, they were entitled to an answer.

“Oh, good. You didn’t run away on me.”

Ouch.

Jim had been back all of two seconds and he was already putting his foot in it. He stutters and stumbles over his words, apologising for his own stupidity. This kid is sweet; you give him that much.

Small talk ensued about his travels, the food he ate, things he saw. All sorts of meaningless conversation took place. You try to seem interested but the fact of the matter was that you just weren’t; the sight of the celebrations filling your gut with nausea.

It should have been you. You should have been the one in the off-white dress, flowers nesting in your braided hair, with the man of your dreams putting a ring on your finger; proclaiming the adoration loudly you felt. You should have been the one drunk on love and not on champagne to drown your sorrows. You should have been the one partaking in your first dance as the wife of the person you had been in love with for so long. It should have been you. But it wasn’t.

“Jim, do you want to go elsewhere? Weddings are a bit of a bummer.”

“Oh yeah, ever since... Sure. Let’s go elsewhere.”

He puts down his drink, leaving it on a table nearby and fills the vacant space in his hand with yours. You follow him through the back door, nobody notices the departure - too busy with their boring conversations at their own grownup tables - and you’re lead to his bedroom.

Looking around at your surroundings, you feel a touch out of place in the room of this nineteen-year-old boy; walls covered in posters of superheroes, surfboard (his prized possession) propped near his desk, an array of surfing magazines and comic books spread out on his nightstand. It was the complete opposite of what you were used to.

When you met your ex-beau, he had a cabinet of his own curiosities; one shelf dedicated to spirits, one shelf dedicated to cigars, and one shelf dedicated to a growing knife collection - five years your senior, and it showed. He told you that you made him feel young, but what do you expect when you surround yourself with such things?

You sit on the edge of his bed, sip away at the drink he’d poured you, and tease him for the stuffed animals by his pillow. Jim playfully snatches the one you picked up in your hands, pretending it was a child; rocking it in his arms, and explaining how Medina had picked it out for his birthday one year; despite it almost falling apart, he couldn’t part with it.

The sentiment in his statement warmed your heart (or maybe was it the alcohol?) so much that you have to fan away at your face; trying to cool down. Jim sits down beside you, your eyes catch, and suddenly you forget why you’re in this room to begin with. You forget about your ex, about avoiding people, about what today was. In that moment, hormones take the reign and leave you wanting this kid to kiss you. Why are you wanting him to kiss you?

You keep trying to remember that while he was probably in diapers, you were probably in middle school. It doesn’t work. Nothing distracts from the throbbing between your thighs. Being the irresponsible adult you are, you tell him to kiss you. The look on his face says everything; shocked, excited, hungry.

He obeys your wish like the good boy he is but breaks the kiss several times to tell me how he’s never done this before, and how your ex was so stupid. If he wasn’t so painfully attractive and kissed so well you would have given up. You break away from the kiss yourself, tugging him back by his mop of brown hair. “Rule number one: Don’t bring up anything that’s going to kill the mood.”

Jim nods with the same enthusiasm of an inexperienced child, eager to please his teacher. The kissing resumes but it isn’t long before things take a step further. You climb onto him, his greedy hands pulling your hips down, and you realise he’s more a man than a boy when you feel his tumescent member - with no signs of stopping.

Your want roars, like a lion trying to break out of its cage, fuelled by the liquid of the Gods you’d been ingesting over the past hour or two. Usually submissive to the powers of a man, weakness replaced with strength in the form of understanding what it felt like to be one of the many men you’d bedded as you gaze down at Jim; untouched by an older woman, and the blue in his eyes silently screamed baby.

Items of clothes are lost to allow for easy access, and you take him in full; the entire thickness of his erection stretching you out. You gasp and he grunts; the pair of you adjusting to how the other feels. You lean against his chest, bearing weight onto your hands, rolling your hips, and he lets out a moan of utter ecstasy.

“Does that feel good, baby? You like having your cock buried deep inside me?”

“Yes, mommy. S-s-so good. I’m so hard.”

Mommy? That was a new one. You were so used to calling men Daddy in the pursuit for the perfect fuck before your ex that you’d never thought about how it could possibly go the other way - it seems your body liked it, too.

You reach for his neck to rest a hand against his throat and played into his game. “You know you’re being so naughty right now. You have to do something for mommy or else I’ll need to punish you.”

“W-what is it? I’ll do anything for you.”

“Show mommy how she turns you on; fill her with your seed and give her your baby.”

Apparently, you struck a chord in him - like a secret fetish, an untapped desire - because he becomes overridden with lust, overpowering your body; turning you to putty, malleable in his hands; throwing you down on the bed and fucking you senseless.

Your climax was hard, and, apparently so was his; panting and moaning before unloading inside you and almost collapsing on top. His heart was beating furiously, breath evading his lungs. You’ve sobered up a little by now; the feeling of your skin on his far better than any other form of intoxication. Jim catches enough of a breath to plant a kiss on your neck before rolling his weight off you and onto the mattress.

“Wow.”

“Wow indeed, Jim Mason.”

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