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sarahjkl82-blog · 3 years

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Artistic Instinct: Chapter 5

Header thanks to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty

Summary: Marcus Pike and OC Anushka Pierce have been selected to work on a 5 eyes (Australia, Canada, NZ, the UK and US) intelligence team to track down art forgeries as a part of taking down an international white terrorism cell. Marcus is trying to escape his broken heart, Anushka is just trying to escape what the world expects of her.

Word count: 4,700 (yup, the words ran away from me!)

Warnings: Language.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x reader (OC)

This comes with a MASSIVE THANK YOU to the lovely @yespolkadotkitty , who read, re-read, pointed out the constant flipping between tenses and gave me the confidence to try to write something!This is the first thing I have written since angsty poetry as a teenager. Apologies if it is shit!

Art washes away from the soul, the dust of everyday life

Pablo Picasso

Chapter 5

Golden sunlight streams down in ribbons upon your hair, setting fire to the natural red highlights and causing the wrought iron railing to cast beautiful shadows across the floor. Marcus sits with you upon your hotel balcony in the late morning sunshine. You are now, a little more comfy, wearing your airport clothes- the high-waisted, wide-legged jeans and a mustard yellow and cream breton top that does everything to highlight the rise and fall of your curves.

He watches each tiny twitch of your face as you read notes from the meeting- your full lips pout and brow furrow as your gaze flits backwards and forwards over the words, making connections and drawing together the different pieces of information that you’d gathered from that meeting. Marcus tries to smother a chuckle when you unthinkingly roll your eyes and shake your head at the point where some idiot tried talking over you in the meeting and he can fully read from his position that you have scrawled TWAT across your notes in reference to that mediocre white man.

It’s at this sound, that you look up, “What’s up?” you ask tiredly, smiling amusedly in his direction.

“You’ve got such an expressive face as you read- I swear, it’s like your muscles are reliving all of the faces you wanted to pull in the meeting. You managed that jerk well in there.”

“I’ve been managing cockwombles like him my entire life. They’re fucking insidious,” you say turning your eyes back towards the screen, shaking your head at the memory of the all the arseholes who have gone before and all those who were yet to come. “If they had anything to actually offer, I’d accept it; but they just parrot shit back at you - the same shit that came out of your own mouth moments earlier - as if it is their fucking own, enlightened idea!”

“I can imagine.This level of work, even in the art fraud department, is such an old boys’ club,” he agrees, pursing his lips in annoyance of the invisible barriers that you must have come up against.

Nodding in agreement, you add with your head tilting to one side as you take the agent in, “You don’t seem to fall into that category, Marcus. You even handed the reins over to me in there- I should have just been your lackey today, not the one doing all the speaking. I appreciate you treating me like an equal.”

Rolling his shoulders and stretching the sides of his neck, Marcus looks off into the distance as he slightly straightens up in his seat, “My Mamá firmly entrenched the value of every human being in me, regardless of their gender. I don’t wanna bring it up again, and certainly never wanna upset you, but you should be my role in the team. Your aptitude for this role far outweighs mine,” he grins and turns towards you, “There’s a part of me that feels like a mediocre white man around you.”

“Well, at least you have decent enough manners not to mansplain my ideas back at me!” you laugh, hugely enjoying your boss’ company on that narrow balcony.

“You know, I didn’t recognise you wearing civvies in the airport? I was absolutely kicking myself for not taking a ride with you to the airport.”

“Yeah, I get that. After seeing me suited and booted, it must have been a shock to see a jet-lagged, middle-aged man in old jeans and a hoodie,” Marcus humbly chuckles, shaking his head.

“Are you digging?” Your eyebrow arches high on your brow as you interrogate him teasingly.

“What do you mean digging?” Marcus furrows his brows as his eyes widen innocently.

“Digging for a compliment, you daft thing!”

“Hah, no! I meant it honestly. Sometimes I look at myself in the mirror and don’t even know the reflection that stares back at me,” he replies, shaking his head sadly.

“Pssh, you have nothing to worry about. Some of us can only dream of looking as put together as you. I generally look as though I crawled through an art studio backwards even if I use an iron and put make-up on- in fact, scratch that- I look worse if I iron and put effort into how I look,” you exhale despairingly at the memory of all the other immaculate recruits and your general throw-it-on, it’ll-do appearance. “Everyone else in my family is so incredibly smart- immaculate even- and yet, I stick out like a sore thumb. Like I didn’t quite pass the expectations of what it takes to be an adult. I swear that’s the reason my aunties think I’m not married.”

Marcus huffs a gentle laugh, “I think that’s a big part of it for me. For the amount of grey in my hair and the creases in my skin, I’m not where I expected to be at this point in my life.”

“Where did you expect to be, Marcus?” You cock your head to one side, listening intently.

A buzz suddenly emerges from your phone:

« On est en bas! »

“Ah they’re downstairs- but do not think for one second that this conversation is over,” you wag your finger in Marcus’ direction as you gather your belongings, “We will continue this later.”

“Yes, Ma’am!” Marcus mock salutes you and clicks his heels together as he rises from his chair with a huge crunch from his knees, “See, what did I tell ya? Old. I’m gonna grab my things.”

Grabbing your trusty rucksack from the floor of the balcony as Marcus departs, you feel almost reluctant to leave the balcony and the conversation that you were having with him. Since he’d helped you through the anxiety attack prior to re-entering your old workplace, the two of you had found an ease in being around each other. Whilst you are dreaming of spending a day chatting with Marcus, he’s already back with a small smile and a soft look about his eyes as he catches you staring into space.

Walking through the hotel, Marcus and you could be thought of as any pair of friends on holiday with your giggles and gentle jibes towards each other as you walk down endless corridors to find the exit. There is no way that anyone would have said that you had met barely twenty-four hours before or that you were there as business associates with the easy air you treat each other. After crossing the elegant lobby, you finally reach the doors to the outside world, a wave of relief coursing through you to see that you didn’t have to make a decision as to which way to open the door as there is someone to do it for you.

As you reach their car, Jacques takes off his seatbelt and makes to get out of the car but Marcus waves him off, opening the door for you to jump into one of the back seats.

“Oh you weren’t kidding about the stickiness,” you mercilessly tease the pair sitting in the front seats. Élodie responds by sliding her front seat back as far as it can go and you yelp in surprise at the sudden crushing of your legs, slamming your fist on her headrest in mock anger.

“Please excuse the children, Marcus,” Jacques shakes his head and sighs deeply but Élodie reaches over and squeezes her husband’s thigh in a way that makes him yelp and laugh in the same breath.

Marcus and you catch each other’s eyes and grin at the playfulness. You might be here on business but at least you can enjoy yourselves at the same time. The stresses of the morning slowly ebbing from your mind, you stretch out, resting your head against the cool glass of the window and allow the hum of the car engine and gentle chatter to surround you, lulling you off to the sleep you had missed out on the night before.

✪✪✪✪✪

Something is tenderly brushing against your cheek and you instinctively nuzzle into the warm touch as your eyes start to open and the world begins to regain its focus, “Hey, sleepyhead! We’re here,” Marcus murmurs as he strokes your cheek with his thumb to rouse you from your slumber.

“Shit. Sorry. Sorry,” you rub your eyes with your knuckles trying to rid yourself of the embarrassment of snuggling the fingers of your new boss, noticing that Élodie and Jacques have already left the car.

“No worries, your snores were pretty cute,” the agent teases you gently with a lopsided grin crossing his face.

“Lies! I don’t snore.” you exclaim indignantly at the accusations, but glad he hasn’t focussed on your reaction to him caressing your cheek, as your faculties start to kick in, reaching for the door handle to escape Marcus’ jokey impressions of your snores.

The mountain air in Grenoble strokes its icy fingertips against your neck, making you wrap the woolly softness of your cardigan more tightly around yourself. You notice Marcus also zipping up a black leather jacket over his hoodie. In the open boot of his car, Jacques concentrates on making a roll up next to a small bag of resources for you - cotton gloves, sample pots, tweezers and magnifying glasses.

“s'il vous plait, Marcus. Before we do anything else, I need to borrow your muscles,” Élodie announces to him, “We need coffee, and if I know that woman standing next to you, she will be in need of one, too!”

At Élodie’s statement, you watch Marcus’ face crease into a small smile, flashing that lovely dimple, as he crosses his arms across his chest. You wonder whether he's protecting his clothes from your next caffeine hit or trying to steel himself for the latest cheeky wink coming from Élodie. A slightly raised eyebrow is sent in your direction as his boots softly stride behind the clack of her heels upon the pavement.

A waft of tobacco drifts through the air as Jacques lights up as you watch his wife and your boss walk off in the direction of coffee.

“You left us, Nush,” Jacques scratches his nose as he looks at you through a cloud of smoke he has exhaled, “You disappeared. Literally, disappeared to the point that none of us could track you down.

“I mean, it is testament to what an incredible agent you are that you can just make yourself that invisible but…” he takes another inhale of the cigarette as he turns his shoulders to mirror your position, “But you weren’t even there for Jasper’s funeral.”

Silent rivers course down your face, “Please, Jacques. Don’t make me do this now. I can’t do this right now. Let me find my feet before we get into all of this. This is my first job since everything,” your hands trembling as you gesture wildly in the air. “I want to explain. I missed you both so much but I can’t right now. It isn’t the right time.”

Nothing more is said between the two of you as you both sit silently next to each other. Jacques nods contemplatively whilst he carries on sucking at his cigarette for comfort and release from the tension that has built upon his face. In the relative safety of the car boot, as he reaches across what feels like a chasm between you to pat your thigh, you can see the hurt searing through his eyes.

How did Imanage to destroy so much?

✪✪✪✪✪

Marcus wonders how you are doing. He keeps looking back at you until you fade from his sight just to make sure that you are ok. He swears that he saw your shoulders and head drop as they seem to whenever you’re reminded of whatever those ghosts are that you haven’t managed yet to lay to rest.

“She’ll be ok with Jacques. Those two are like brother and sister, you needn't worry,” Élodie pats Marcus’ arm as she points in front of her, nodding towards a cafe. Seeing a small tic in his jaw, she adds with a small smile, “She’s special to you, non?”

After Marcus holds the door for Élodie, he shoves his hands in his pockets and pauses before saying, “Yeah. She is. I don’t think in all my years of working as an agent, that I’ve ever met someone like Anushka. Listening to her speak about art and the various different forgeries… it just transports me to a place... I’m not just in the museum seeing the original masterpieces. It’s not even just that I can see those pieces in front of me. Just by her words bringing them alive, I become part of the art. Her passion and knowledge is infectious and she cannot help but to enthuse everyone around- she is truly gifted.”

“Anushka is incredibly talented. She was born to be in the role but I would say that’s not the only way that you think she’s special,” Élodie gently analyses as she squeezes Marcus’ arm seeing a moment of panic cross his face- she tries to swallow down a laugh at how he looks like a little boy caught with his hand in the biscuit tin, “Don’t worry, I won’t say a word to Nush- she can be a bit like a wild animal at times. It can take time to earn her trust. The 5 Eyes team is separate from Mi5, non?”

Marcus’ brow furrows, “Yes, we work under slightly separate parameters as we work across five agencies across the world- sort of similar to Interpol. Why d’ya ask?”

“Ok, so if you were to start anything with her- if anything were to be allowed to develop between the two of you, could it result in disciplinary action or her losing her role? Hang on,” she pauses as the assistant behind the glass shelf raises their eyebrows in Élodie’s direction, alerting her that it is time to order, « Bonjour, quatre cafés s’il vous plaît »

Marcus adds « Et je voudrais deux pain aux raisins aussi, s’il vous plaît. »

“Oh, I didn’t realise that you spoke a little French- a man of many talents,” Élodie teases with a wink as she grabs her purse from her bag, “And let me guess, the food is to try to stop Nush from burning herself or you? That woman is a nightmare with drinks.”

Reaching across Élodie,who is about to tap her card to pay, Marcus passes the cashier a couple of notes that more than cover the total, grabs the coffees and goes to leave, holding the door open with his elbow. “Why d’you wanna know about how interdepartmental relationships are viewed?”

The creases on Marcus’ brow deepen as yet another hint of whatever plagues your past troubles his mind due to Élodie’s words, “It is not my story to tell, and I’m not sure I even have half of the facts but please be gentle with her. Come what may between the two of you.”

“Oh, look who’s come to join us!” Looking up after a sharp nudge to his ribs alerted him to speak no further, Marcus sees Jacques tucking a piece of hair that had fallen in front of your eyes behind your ear, then pulling your hunched shoulders into a side on shoulder hug as Élodie grabs a coffee and mocks throwing it in your direction, to which you stick your tongue out. You are so busy messing around with the pair of them that you don’t notice the tenderness in Marcus’ eyes or the smile that creeps across his face as he watches how your friends behave around you.

“So are we ready to look at a slab of meat? I hope you’re not a vegetarian, Marcus,” Jacques chuckles freely at the thought of the tall, broad American becoming queasy at a graphic painting depicting the decomposition of a piece of carrion.

“Oh no, I love rare steak far too much, and I’ve spent way too long researching art to be weirded out by a bit of expressionism,” Marcus adds before taking a long gulp of coffee, “I must admit that I’m not terribly confident in my knowledge of Soutine other than he liked painting rotting meat.”

Jacques smiles and gestures his head in your direction, “Nush- time to shine, chérie.”

“So - Soutine was a Russian painter, who made massive contributions to the Expressionist movement whilst based in Paris. I don’t want to teach you to suck eggs so please tell me to shut up if you already know it but expressionism was a modernist movement, initially in poetry and painting, originating in Germany at the beginning of the 20th century. Its typical trait was to present the world solely from a subjective perspective, distorting it radically for emotional effect in order to evoke moods or ideas. Expressionist artists sought to express the meaning of emotional experience rather than physical reality so you needn’t worry about the depictions of rotting meat as it isn’t like an anatomical drawing you’d find in a copy of Grey’s Anatomy or anything.”

Pausing to draw a breath, you look up to check Marcus’ face- that you aren’t boring him to death- and see two dark eyes, flecked with amber, that are entirely focussed on you. His entranced gaze makes you shift awkwardly, eyes dancing around the street to try and focus on something other than him under the sheer intensity but you decide to continue, “He’s quite an interesting character in regards to our case as he was good friends with Modigliani, who we know is another one with multiple fraudulencies of his works as well as our link we made in the meeting that our main faked pieces being sold by our group are by European Jews.

“Soutine seldom showed his works, but he did take part in the important exhibition The Origins and Development of International Independent Art held at the Galerie nationale du Jeu de Paume in 1937 in Paris, where he was at last hailed as a great painter but sadly soon afterwards, France was invaded by German troops and obviously as a Jew, Soutine had to escape from the French capital and hide in order to avoid arrest by the Gestapo. He moved from one place to another and was sometimes forced to seek shelter in forests, sleeping outdoors. Suffering from a stomach ulcer and bleeding badly, he left a safe hiding place for Paris in order to undergo emergency surgery, which ultimately failed to save his life.

“The main thing that you two need to know,” you add as you reaffix your focus and run your eyes between Marcus and Jacques, ”Is that Paul Guillaume was the main dealer of his work. Straight after World War 1, he was Soutine’s biggest cheerleader and landed him a major deal with the American collector, Albert C Barnes. If you manage to track it back to either of them, you’re pretty much at ground zero- back at Soutine’s own easel- and don’t need to worry much about further certification of validity as it being one of his pieces.”

Standing in the street in front of the cafe, you discuss between the four of you who will focus on which part of the checking for verification of the piece.

Marcus and Jacques decide to focus on the provenance of the piece and to be honest, you’re relieved to be free from the paperwork trail. The idea of searching through the records of previous ownership, fills you with utter dread at missing something that would prove that it was a fake. You’d hope that each piece could be instantly traceable back to the moment where the original had been removed from the easel by the artist but that is so often far from the truth of the situation as records are often lost or aren’t even kept in the first place with only a handshake to move the piece to the newest owner. When certain disreputable organisations or untrustworthy governments seek to obscure the origins of pieces, it is nothing but doors being slammed in your face and labyrinths created from lies and deliberate obfuscation.

“Ok, so Nush and I will collect samples from the piece. I’ll then use the microscope to check the samples for any irregularities in the craquelure in the craquelure while madam here uses the stereo microscope to check the layers of paint,” Élodie gestures towards you, passing a plastic case over containing your equipment. “Obviously we won’t be able to do an x-rays, infrared or mass spectrometry tests as they aren’t so portable but if we cannot confidently say the painting isn’t a forgery, then I suggest we get a courier to take it back to Lyon for us.”

“Agreed, I think that would be the best use of everyone’s talents here,” Marcus replies, nodding, “Are we far from the auction house?” to build up a more 3D picture of the piece. D’accord??” Élodie checks as she grabs a coffee and starts to walk off in the direction of the auction house with Jacques beating a steady path behind her.

With a small gesture of his hand, Marcus waves you forward and as you take a step in the same direction as your friends, a small white paper bag with a telltale sticky stain seeping through that you hadn’t noticed being held out, taps you gently against the soft curve of your tummy. With a confused look knitting across your face.

Marcus boyishly grins back at you as he takes a bite out of his pastry, “Last set of clean clothes, gotta take calculated risks with you around.”

✪✪✪✪✪

Slightly arched windows with flaking grey paint allow a small amount of crisp mountain light to trickle into the mellow gloom of the Aladdin's cave that stretch out in front of Marcus’ eyes. As far as his eyes can see, gilt framed pictures playing out a multitude of scenes from people’s lives- some more parochial and some edging to the more abstract- bedeck the walls. A goat playing a violin, a horse in a field and a lady all in blue with sad eyes and a nose twisted closer to her ears are all jostling for positions in the party on his senses. Every single nerve in his body tingles with excitement at the treasures surrounding him on all sides. The busy-ness did not stop at the walls as every surface of the room was covered in objets d’art with exquisitely fashioned chairs, tables and armoires creating an increasingly impossible maze to step through across the floor. Even the exposed beams of the ceiling felt the need to be a part of this gentle assault upon the eyes, protruding above his head, lending an elegant set of vertebrae to the room.

Marcus thinks he’s hiding his giddiness well until he catches Anushka looking at him with an amused grin upon her face. He goes to respond but initially struggles to find the words to explain the eagerness that is written across his face, his mouth stretched in a childlike grin, eyes lit up and hands that tremble and flex with anticipation. A small smile from her and the light squeeze upon his arm told Marcus that he needn’t worry about explaining anything. Even though the touch was slight and momentary, it cut through the overstimulation of the room and it takes every bit of self control he owns to not throw his arms around her and hug her tightly. Don’t mess this one up too, Pike.

Reopening his eyes, an elegant chignon of hair and high cheekbones makes its way through the clutter of Marcus’ thoughts and extends a delicate, papery hand in greeting. The owner seems to glide through the objects around her, obviously confident of the dead ends and exit points between the items as she leads you to a small office where a tidy pile of papers and a small computer await your services.

«Madame, comprenez-vous que l'utilisation de ces méthodes scientifiques ne peut que prouver que le tableau est un faux? On ne peut pas prouver si une pièce est authentique.» Madam, do you understand that using these scientific methods cannot prove if a painting is a fake? rubbing his brow, Jacques tries to explain to the owner of the auction house, «Même si les résultats de tous les tests scientifiques indiquent qu'il n'y a pas de tromperie dans l'œuvre d'art, nous ne pouvons pas dire sans l'ombre d'un doute qu'il ne s'agit pas simplement d'un cas d'un faussaire dépassant la détection scientifique.» Even if the results of these scientific tests show that there is not a forgery in this work of art, we cannot say without a shadow of doubt that there is not simply a case of a forger out-pacing scientific detection.

Marcus nods in agreement with the agent’s words. He hates the dishonesty of it all- the obviously incredibly talented painters creating mimicries and mockeries of the original pieces. As the owner spins out of the room, Jacques notices the frown painted on Marcus’ face and the tic in his jaw as he starts to flick through the portfolio of papers in front of him.

“Hey, what happened to the giddy boy in the sweetshop back there?” Jacques teases, gently punching him on his shoulder.

Rubbing his fingers along the side of his nose before scratching the patchy scruff that lines the edge of his jaw, Marcus smiles, “Hah! That obvious, eh? Just, kinda wishing that we weren’t even necessary.”

“Yeah, it is irritating but it does pay my mortgage,”Jacques chuckles deeply, “And to be honest without it, I wouldn’t have met that woman in that lock up over there and convinced her that she should marry me or have my baby.”

A pang of jealousy hit Marcus hard, “You’ve done well then. Mine just pays a mortgage on a place in DC that I won’t even be living in for the next couple of years.”

“Never wanted to or the opportunity never arose?” Jacques quizzes not lifting his eyes as he reads through documents.

“Your setup with Élodie is something I’d love to have,” he nods sadly, “Just have one failed marriage - due to her infidelity and lack of wish to try and work things out, and a failed engagement as she was in love with another man - to my name. No, I’d love to have that vulnerability and affection with someone again. Kinda feels like a pipe dream now- not sure anyone would want to take on someone with such a creased up, greying ol’man.”

“Hah, have you forgotten my wife’s quite genuinely visceral reaction to meeting you?” Jacques laughs heartily, rolling his eyes at the mere suggestion from Marcus, “Believe me, you do not have anything to worry about there. It’ll happen. Usually- in fact, always, when you least expect it.”

With a soft huff and a slight lift from the left side of his lips, Jacques strains to hear Marcus’ whisper, “I truly hope so.”

“Hang on, whose name was it that we were looking for that would pretty much guarantee authenticity?”

Jacques’ face creases in concentration as he tries to rack his brains for the names Nush had provided earlier, “Bof...Paul something-or-the-other French and Albert something-or-the-other American, I think.”

“Hmmm, I think I’ve a document here with both of their names on it… Shall we go share it with the ladies?”

«Bonne idée. On y va. » Good idea. Let’s go.

Grabbing the pile of documents from the polished walnut bureau, there’s a sweet bubble of excitement building in Marcus’ tummy. Try as he might to convince himself that it was on account of being out of the tiny office and back around an exquisite masterpiece from the early twentieth century, deep down he knew there was another sweeter, more ancient and primal reason that made him want to be in the lock up.

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lifeofresulullah · 3 years

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The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): His Youth, Trade Life, His marriage to Hazrat Khadijah

The Prophet is with Abu Talib, his uncle

The Beloved Prophet is eight years old...

He is under the protection of Abu Talib, his uncle, who was appointed as a guardian by his grandfather.

Abu Talib was an immensely compassionate person; nevertheless, he was quite poor. He did not have any possessions other than his few camels whose beneficial milk was distributed around Mecca. Abu Talib had a crowded family and as a result, he was in great distress.

Despite all of this, he was loved and respected by the Qurayshis for his honest and proper (morally upright) way of living. Hazrat Ali spoke of his father’s condition in this way:

“My father was one of the leading figures of the Quraysh despite having been poor. However, although he was poor, no one was considered to have been exalted in the tribe before him”.

Abu Talib and his manner of living were distant from the ugliness and wickedness of the Age of Ignorance. Like his father, Abdulmuttalib, he never consumed alcohol although the polytheist Qurayshis would drink it freely as if it were water. Abu Talib had the qualities to take care of our Holy Prophet (PBUH) in every circumstance.

At the same time, Abu Talib carried out the duties that were passed onto him by his brother, Zubayr, such as encasing the Kaaba and providing water to the pilgrims. However, after three seasons of Hajj, he understood that with his tight budget, he could not carry out these duties, which required great expenses to be made. Thus, he had to transfer these duties over to his brother, Hazrat Abbas. Hazrat Abbas continued these services until the Kaaba was conquered; Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) left these duties to the same people after he conquered the Kaaba.

Abu Talib was deeply connected to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) as his father had been. He showed the utmost attention to our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) upbringing. He would never separate his nephew from his side, would take him wherever he went, would have him sit next to him, and would talk to him as a friend.

They would not sit at the dinner table without him. When the table was set and when our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was not seen, Abu Talib would say, “Where is Muhammad? Call him to the table”. Everyone would be full yet the food would still increase at whichever table our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was found. Many times, at tables where our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was not present, the food would quickly finish before anyone got full.

Besides, ever since that time, our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) would eat very little. He was always serious and would always respect the food. Unlike other children who would pounce on the food as soon as the table was set, he would not put anything in his mouth until the adults began eating. In fact, his uncle would sometimes set up a separate table for him so that our Holy Prophet (PBUH) would not be bothered by other children.

Like in his adulthood, our Beloved Master (PBUH) would never complain about hunger or thirst during this age (his childhood). His nanny, Umm Ayman, described this property of his as follows:

“I have never seen our Holy Prophet (PBUH) complain about being hungry or thirsty during his childhood. He would drink a sip of Zamzam in the morning. Whenever we would want to feed him, he would say, “I do not want anything. I am full”.

Every morning, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) would open his eyes that were full with happiness and life, with a pristine countenance that shone bright.

The Prophet attends the prayer for rain with his uncle!

Makkah and its neighborhood was undergoing a severe drought and famine. The ground was dry and cracked due to lack of water.

The Qurayshis applied to Abu Talib and said, “O Abu Talib! Our children and animals started to die due to drought and famine! Please pray for rain for us.”

Abu Talib did not reject their offer. However, he would not go alone. He was going to take Muhammad, his nephew, with him because he had seen in many events that Muhammad attracted blessings and grants.

Abu Talib went to the Kaaba with his nephew, the Sun of Bliss. He leaned against the holy Kaaba, opened his hands to the Sultan of the Universe and started to beg. Muhammad (pbuh) was holding the covering of the Kaaba and he was pointing to the sky with one finger.

...After a while, the sea of mercy of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, started move; rain started to pour down over Makkah and the people of Makkah. They could hardly enter their houses. The valleys were full of water. They became very happy.

Yes, Hazrat Muhammad (pbuh) had been appointed to bring material and spiritual mercy and blessing to the humanity and to make the world a happy and prosperous place. He had the traces of that lofty and great duty beginning from his childhood!

The love of Fatima, the wife of Abu Talib, toward the Prophet

The love and compassion of Fatima, the wife of Abu Talib, toward the Prophet was endless. She loved him as one of her own children and would show the utmost attention to his upbringing. In fact, she would not pay attention to her own children until she had fed him and had made sure that he was full. In this way, she was trying to have him not feel the pain of being an orphan.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) never neglected showing Lady Fatima love and respect. He never forgot the kindness that she had shown him throughout his entire life. When she died, he expressed his love for her by saying “Today my mother passed away”. Afterwards, he made her a shroud by taking off his shirt and wrapping her with it, and he then descended with her to her grave and he lay there for some time.

This particular action had not escaped from the eyes of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) companions. When they asked him for the reason, he provided the response:

“After Abu Talib, there was no woman who had shown me as much kindness as this dear woman had. I made my shirt a shroud for her so that she could wear a dress from Paradise in the Hereafter and I had lain there with her so she could like and be accustomed to the grave”

The great Prophet (pbuh), who never forgot the favors done to him no matter who did them and who returned those favors to them manyfold...

Our Holy Prophet’s noble and exceptional trait greatly influenced people to convert to Islam, as it can be seen in the various stages of his life.

THE PROPHET HERDS SHEEP

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was in the tenth year of his blissful life.

During this time, he told his uncle, Abu Talib, whose custody he was under, that he wanted to herd Abu Talib’s sheep. At first, his uncle, who loved him wholeheartedly, did not consent. However, he eventually accepted on account of our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) persistence and intense desire. However, this time, his wife, Lady Fatima, ardently opposed. How could their hearts consent to leaving our Holy Prophet (PBUH), whom they loved more than their own children, under the scorching sun?

Nevertheless, the Master of the Universe (PBUH) was determined. For this reason, he was able to obtain Lady Fatima’s consent.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) began to take the sheep and goats to the valleys and hills where they would graze during the morning.

In this way, he was able to help his uncle, even if it was in a very small way, to save money since it was no longer necessary to hire a shepherd. He also acquired the chance of deeply contemplating on the existence of the ground and skies in solitary. In the fields, he would watch the sublime scenery which Allah revived at every moment; thus, his soul would experience an incomparable pleasure and attain deep enlightenment from viewing these sights. At the same time, this duty, which he had taken upon himself, allowed him the opportunity to keep him away from the lies, fraud, deceit, and hypocrisy of the corrupt society in which he lived.

After the duty of Prophethood had been given to our Master (PBUH), who spent his holy life herding sheep, he went to the fields with his companions (Sahaba). They started to pick the fruit of the siwak tree in a place called Marr az-Zahran. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said to his companions amid his smiles that soothed hearts:

“Among this wild fruit, choose the black kind since it is the most delicious.”

The companions were amazed and curious. They asked, “Oh Messenger of Allah! Only a shepherd would know the good and bad types of this fruit. Did you herd sheep?”

Once again, the Master of the Universe (PBUH) replied amid his smiles that soothed hearts, “There is no prophet who has not herded sheep.”

One day, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) reminisced to his companions a sweet memory in his life:

“Prophet Moses (AS) was sent as a prophet; he herded sheep. Prophet David (AS) was sent as a prophet; he herded sheep. I too was sent as a prophet and would herd my family’s sheep in Jiyad (a place that is at the bottom part of Mecca).”

It can be seen that at ten years old, our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who is described as the one “who possesses the highest ethics” in the Quran, did not favor being without work due to his diligence and benevolence and did not deem it appropriate to be a burden on someone else.

It is possible to find the traces of one-year experience of herding sheep in these holy words, which can cover several books of commentary and interpretation.

“You all are shepherds. You are responsible for those whom you guard. A state chieftain is responsible for those who are under his rule. An individual is obliged to protect and take care of his children and is responsible for them. A woman is responsible for her husband’s home. A servant is a watchman and is responsible for his employer’s goods. An individual is the watchman of his father’s goods and is responsible for them. You are all responsible for those who are under your command.”

He is withheld from taking part in entertainment

The Master of the Universe, Prophet Muhammad (pbuh) who was under the special protection of God Almighty, narrated an event that happened to him at the time when he was herding the sheep of his uncle. It was as follows:

“A couple of times I wanted to do some things which the people of the Era of Ignorance would do. However, God Almighty kept me from doing them. From that time on, I never intended to do something of which God Almighty would disapprove until the time I was selected as a prophet. As for the thing I meant to do, it was like this: One night, I and some youth from Quraish were herding our sheep up the hill at Mecca. I proposed my friend if he could take care of my sheep so that I like my other friends, might join the night entertainments where people told tales. My friend answered that he could do that for me. Then I came to Mecca.

When I saw the first house of Mecca, I heard the voice of people having fun screaming. I asked someone what it was about. He answered that some man was getting married to some girl and that was their wedding. I then sat somewhere near the wedding and began to watch it. Then I fell asleep and could wake up only with the first lights of the sun. When I turned back to my friend, he asked me what I did. I told him I did nothing and told him all about the night before.

One night, I asked again my friend for permission to leave, which he agreed. When I walked all the way and came to Mecca, I saw again, what I had seen before. I knelt down and started to watch it. Then I fell asleep. I could wake up only at daybreak. As soon as I woke up, I turned back to my friend and told him what I had seen.

After that I never attempted to do such things till I became a prophet.”

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myblog37 · 3 years

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Why I don’t believe in God

Epilogue

Life happens. Coronavirus happens. Loss of substance and things happen. And we hold onto hope like it’s there- we give our 10%, we go to church, we make friends only in the Christian community, we save sex for marriage, we believe in a future partner, and we trust our leadership. Then what happens when it all falls down? The 10% you gave to avoid paying bills doesn’t do nothing but take your money- and then your account is overdrawn $300 by bills you didn’t even authorize. No one greets you at church unless you look churchy and aren’t covered from head to toe in tattoos and wear articles of clothing that show everything. The friends you made only love you when you’re Christian and if you make a mistake- be it cussing, cigarettes, drinking, or drugs they will judge you, tell you you’re in sin, that you’ve broken the law and God called on them to do it. They will always point out your sins, judge you, and say God sent them.

The Christian friends you made turn their back on you as soon as you’re going through something but you are constantly encouraging and helping them. As soon as you backslide, they will be the ones to say something and judge you. So you are helping them but when are they ever helping you? Real friends are hard to find but if all a Christian does is judge you for your cussing, what’s the point? You save sex for marriage until you’re 40 years old, being celibate and all you’ve been able to find are men in the church who use you for sex or try to get sex out of you.

The leadership you need won’t hold you accountable or mentor you, but they’re quick to judge and point out your flaws. And that’s all they do. As I said, they’re there when you jack up, but when you’re doing right, they say nothing. As you can probably tell, all of this is a recipe to blow your brains out and that’s itzactly what I did six months ago.

I took my father’s gun from out of his house, a rifle, and I proceeded to point it to my head and pull the trigger. I was tired of life, I was getting no encouragement, my husband left me and I was being told by all Christians that if I ever got with someone else, they would leave me because look at my track record. Funny because these were people that I did not even know, and when I reached out for help after my suicide attempt, there was no one to say anything.

No matter how friendly I was, kind, and caring, no matter how I poured into the Christian community, I received no help, no encouragement, no mentorship, no position in ministry- just a bunch of negative people saying negative things and they will continue to say negative things when they read this book yet when I blow my brains out where are they?

My father who is a pastor yelled at me profusely while I was in the hospital after TRYING to shoot myself saying if you don’t like being in there, you shouldn’t have done what you did. All the while I was being kept from calling my family or calling anybody, sleeping on a bed with no sheets sometimes the floor, being denied food, and other horrible and abusive withholding patterns. I could tell you about my life but you wouldn’t be able to handle it.

My mother was the only one left praying for me to her God who I gave a simple $300 to while I had $1000 in the bank and I found my checking account overdrawn the next day by bills, fraud, fakers, pretenders for money that I did not owe and should not have had to pay. Where did my money go, you onstar account was deactived from lack of payment, yet I just had $1000 in the bank where did it go? And you’re saying you overspent your money, you dumbass. But what happened was (and this is the honest to God truth), I got frauded $300 that I did not owe, bills I said I did not authorize and could not pay right now, the TITHE was over $200, I was charged 5 times for a Legal Shield membership when I should’ve only been charged one time if that because I cancelled it, and I stayed in a motel for 1 night, yet was charged 4 times for it. No matter how hard I went to the banks, I could not get rid of these transactions.

All this while I HAD FAITH and confessed and prayed and believed for hours and days that GOD was going to somehow work it out and mysteriously bless my finances by putting money in the bank and I don’t know where it come from. NUTS. Christians are absolutely nuts. We believe in this principle- if you just give 10%, God will pay all your bills. If you save sex for marriage, you will never get hurt. If you would just stop sinning, you wouldn’t be in the mess you’re in. So does that mean we go our entire lives without having sex? All the way up to 40, maybe 50? Yet if you enjoy sex, you’re in sin. If you don’t wait till marriage or do it with 1 person, you’re going to have your heart broke. But heartbreak is non-discriminatory, it happens to everyone whether you wait or not.

I’m writing this book because I believe I can help others to escape the LIES and live their life in peace, harmony, freedom, and most of all BLESSED. If God’s going to take your money anyway, there’s no point. If you hang out with a guy friend from church, and he tell you you have 3 holes you ought to use them and we’ve got to work on having a 3 some, there’s no point. If people in the church don’t even bother to encourage you when you reach out for help after trying to kill yourself, there’s no point. If friends are only there to be “friends” to tell you you’re messing up you’re in sin when you’re messing up and in sin, there’s no point.

There’s must be encouragement, love, support, and friendship out there right? There must be a decent man out there right? I’m telling you, not only is there no God, there is no hope. There’s no hope if you don’t work a job and MAKE money happen yourself, there is no hope. There is no hope if you truly believe this guy you saved yourself and waited your whole life for is going to make a difference, be a good man to you, and never hurt you. There is no hope if you believe women who’ve had abortions are going to hell. No hope if you only make friends with people who don’t really care and aren’t really there for you.

The hope, the trust that you have, is in yourself. You must believe in your capabilities to do things because no one is going to do it for you. You must stop hating and condemning yourself because you’re imperfect and have flaws. Most of all, you should stop being friends with the wrong people

This book is meant to help, encourage, and transform you into that person that can do things on their own and makes things happen. This is not for the Christian broke ass poor still believing God’s gonna come through. It is not for people free of sin, doing everything right. It is not for people that are going to judge me and say horrible things simply because I’m writing what I’m writing now. You’ll find there is more support, more love out there than with Christians and you’ll find that support and love does not come from Christians. The best thing you can do in life is love yourself and also be friends with people who will not judge.

I realize this book will get a lot of hatred and criticism from the Christian community. Bring it on.

CHAPTER ONE

As I’m writing this, I’m reminded of a suicide attempt I made months ago with my father’s gun. I don’t blame my father. He was hurt so much and he was just hurting me because that’s all he’d been given. But I thought surely if I do this, my family will finally love me and we’ll be a family again. Wrong. It got worse. It got worse because the way to get my family to love me is to sow love into them until I get it back and reap a harvest of blessing.

My father quit talking to me afterwards. Why? Because it hurt them so much to see their baby girl going through so much and it doesn’t end and she’s still going through things. What did they do wrong? What could they do? These were the thoughts going through their heads and they became angry.

A normal, human reaction. Yet if you believe in a God that doesn’t exist, you’re angry at God because they’re not giving you the love you deserve. Unrealistic expectation. People criticized my father for not loving and helping me more, but he was just being human. People tried to get me to turn my back on my father and mother. I never did.

Yet if you go to church, you’ll feel like you’re not getting something you missed out on. And you will get angry. Let’s try to think rationally and sensibly about this. Maybe your family is mad at you and put you out BECAUSE THEY CARE SO MUCH and want you to get it together. Maybe your husband does love you, but you’re thinking about him all wrong. We’ve got to change weird ideas and thoughts to believe that it is OURSELVES giving us this life and it OURSELVES giving us all we’ve been given. I hope this book helps you because it helped me.

There’s no God. There’s no devil. IT IS US. When you reach out for help and can’t find it, call me because that day will come. THIS IS meant to give others hope. I want to help you. And that’s why I’m writing this book. No one is perfect. We all have flaws and emotions. That’s called being human. So if they are not being a friend DELETE them, a logical mental explanation.

Not everything is spiritual or the devil, if it were we’d all be dead. IT’S US. What are you giving yourself? Are you giving yourself love? Are you loving others in a relationship? Are you with someone who genuinely loves you and living a good life? Most of all, are you working, going to school, making money happen? THIS is how to live a good life and give a good life to yourself, not this nutty God business that says everything is spiritual.

For some reason, when I pulled that trigger, the gun did not go off. I was still alive and it was the most miserable feeling that I had to live life on this earth and stay alive. Why? I believed in God. When I was 15 years old, I asked God to put me through the trials of Job and then bless me with the blessings of Job when I asked for it and had had enough later. Well, according to my mental mind, I went through these trials up to the age of 37 and no matter how much I begged, pleaded, cried, got prayer, fasted, worshipped, believed, prayed I NEVER GOT THE BLESSINGS just kept going through these trials. That was when I realized I’M NUTTY.

Everything bad in life that was happening was happening “because I’m a Job” and there was no end, no let up to my pain in life, the loss, the bad things happening to me. Why? I WAS MAKING IT HAPPEN MYSELF. My belief that I was meant to go through nothing but bad things came from Christianity. God wants you to suffer. That’s life. It’s just not time yet for you to be blessed.

I believed the same about a mate. Even up to the age of 37, I was mostly celibate because I did not want to use anybody or have anybody us me, yet everyone uses each other, married or not. I waited and waited but the man of my dreams never came and the praying did not end. That’s when I realized. I’M NUTS. I could be making this happen on my own, making life be good to me, and FINDING myself the man of my dreams instead of believing in a God that is magically going to do all this stuff for you. Life is not Lucky Charms and it’s not Burger King- you can’t have it your way.

Life is rough, hard so we must appreciate the bad times as well as the good times and we must have bad as well as good. People say “I don’t have enough faith to be an atheist”- well, maybe you should have faith! Faith in yourself that you can do things to give yourself a good life. So if you want the blessings of Job you go out and get it and make it happen. And if you’re still going through crap, that’s life just accept it, but give yourself good times too and good in life so that life is not miserable and shittty. Whatever life you have now, it’s because you created that for yourself.

Sounds simple enough right? Yet millions believe in this nutty spirituality that says it’s all God or all the devil. God is in control. God won’t let anything happen outside of his will. So if I get raped is that God or a person’s choice? So if my father and mother don’t love me, and my bank account is overdrawn, is that God trying to see if I’ll trust him and love him no matter what and still serve him, or is that NUTTY Christianity again saying we deserve to be punished and go through things and suffer because Jesus did.

I’m trying to help you and I think this book will help. CUT the Christians out of your life and things will get better. Your life is what it is because you made it that way. Now make it something else. Don’t be afraid of hell and the afterlife and what happens in the afterlife, if you go to heaven, you go to heaven, if you go to hell, you go to hell, it’s all God anyway right? WRONG. If there was a God that cares, he would’ve made my life easier when I pulled that trigger. He would’ve stopped people from abusing me sexually. He would’ve gotten me off the street.

Yet no matter how much you cry out, this God that you so delicately believe in is not there, he does not rescue you, nothing happens, nothing changes. So if there is hell, I welcome it. But I believed if I shot myself I would go to heaven. Why? I was a Christian and wanted a better, happy life. I did not turn my back on God, he turned his back on me. I knew that once I died, I’d finally be happy and be in eternity with him, and that was better than being on earth.

What’s the point? If all life is suffering? If God just wants us to suffer? If we’re here to suffer like Jesus and Job and just wait till you’re 40, 50, or your whole life is over to FINALLY get those blessings of Job or what if they never come? This nutty theology that God’s in control is NUTS. I was forced to live after my suicide attempt, FORCED. I could not buy a gun anywhere and because of my son and my mother, I was unable to kill myself and do that to them.

You just don’t believe in God enough. You just don’t love God enough. This is what we’ll hear from the Christian community. Yet if you want to buy or sell anything, you’ve got to take the 666 on the right hand or the forehead. Well I don’t want to be in an apartment broke, with no food, no man, no furniture, no money, no job, no gas, no car, and HOMELESS so what do I do? Most people will sleep with people for money BECAUSE THEY BELIEVE IN GOD SO MUCH or strip or whatever it takes to get money, get with a rich man, whatever. YET THEY’RE JUDGED WHEN THEY DO IT.

They’re sinners. They’re evil. Why? They’re trying to make life happen for them and weren’t given parents that gave a shit. SIN. Go on and judge me but I am here to help THEM not you. You weren’t there when I tried to kill myself and you won’t be there when I die. The reason I was spared is I’m meant to help YOU so that you’ll see the truth……………and finally to the best of your ability live a good and happy life, at least the best that you can make it because it’s in your control and your power ONLY. So if I’m going to hell, I welcome it.

Anything’s better than life being nothing but shit on this earth. So if me being friends with non Christians is a sin BRING IT ON. If me marrying somebody who’s rich and loving them the best I can for money BRING IT ON. If standing up to you on my facebook when you condemn me for my sins is sin BRING IT ON. Because I don’t want your strange, Jesus mafia life, that says suffer bitch and believe God-

even when it never happens, you just believe in God and don’t give up.

This lie that our lives are meant for suffering has gone on too long. Make life the best you can make it. God and people won’t love you. That is why YOU MUST LOVE YOURSELF.

CHAPTER TWO

This phony philosophy that there’s a God is just as crazy as there’s a devil. If something bad happens, it’s the devil doing it through you or to you and that’s with everything. Family. Finances. Relationship. We just have to pray and get rid of the devil. Yet what if the devil doesn’t go away and things stay bad? Then you don’t have enough faith or there’s something you’re doing wrong.

Just pray and keep binding and they’ll go away. What if they don’t? Then you don’t have enough faith. You’re not a good enough Christian. YET I BELIEVE if something goes bad even if it’s severe and all the time and trying to kill you it’s because you done fucked up or someone else did. It is your choices or someone else. GOD had nothing to do with it. THE DEVIL had nothing to do with it. They are not in control of life.

The only person that’s in control of our lives is us and it’s up to us how much we love and how much love we receive. There is no God looking out for us all and there certainly is no devil making it all happen. If that were the case, everything on earth would be bad and hellacious. I hate to tell you, but that little man with a fork is not that powerful. And there are not minions attacking you trying to stop you from what you’re doing. Shit happens because literally SHIT happens. It happens to everyone. And these are because of our choices or the choices of someone else. Blaming it on some evil force won’t work. It’s your life.

Yet people believe they can do witchcraft and the devil can give them what they want or they can worship the devil and finally have a good life. That is ridiculous. The devil doesn’t care anymore than God does and he’s not that powerful. You cannot do deals with the devil to make your life better. It only becomes better because you made it better.

You cannot do evil, witchcraft, or worship the devil in order to make things change or get better. If that were the case, we’d all worship the devil. We’d all do evil acts for him to do big for us. Anything ANYTHING to make life good. But I am telling you. The “devil” does not care. The “Lord” does not care. The only one who cares is you and others. And that is IT, my friend. So you can believe in the nuttiness all you want it isn’t going to change things. It won’t give you money, possessions, fame, OR the right choices and everything in life is made up of choices- yours or somebody else’s, so what choice are you going to make?

If all your life is made up of choices, the right choices will get you to the right things. The right CHOICES will make your life good or better or great. The CHOICES in others is what makes things happen or prevents things from happening. If something bad happens to you, it’s not God. It’s the choice of someone else. Abuse or mistreatment is because of a CHOICE. So get around and let happen to you the right choices from others.

Don’t allow the wrong choices in others to get to you or cause you mistreatment of yourself or someone else. There are some people’s choices we can do nothing about but most of the time we need to TRY to get around and make happen for us good choices from others, not bad choices from others. If you apply this to your life, you’ll see that I am correct.

Now you’re saying WOW the devil is going to attack you non-stop now (laughter) you won’t last long the devil is going to beat you down and take everything from you and attack you until you’re dead- you won’t last with that belief long! Well what if he does? I can either make life better for me or continue making it shit, continue believing God’s gonna save me, help me out, get me out of this? I can think I’m being attacked by the devil ALL THE TIME.

But that is not going to change anything anymore than a belief in God will. I don’t care if every devil in hell attacks me, it’s still my choice to make my life what it is. Nutty spiritualism and Christianity will get you to believe everything’s a devil. In fact, any bad thing that happens is the devil. This just isolates you even more, puts you through suffering, and makes life bad.

“God” can do nothing about people treating you bad. “God” can do nothing about your finances. You can. The devil can make 1,000 people hate you and make you hate you, but so what? Who really fucking cares about some devil and millions of demons? This theology is meant to bring you down, break you down, and again believe that life is suffering every second, every moment and there’s no getting out of it unless you worship him.

Yet even people that worship him have bad shit and even more bad shit happen. I’m famous and because of my witchcraft I’m famous. You’re famous because you worked hard, met the right people, and made the right connection. There ain’t no devil and no demons making you famous. If God is not the powerful, the devil is not that powerful. The only powerful entity is yourself. Yourself is your best friend or your worst enemy. It is important to love OURSELVES more than any person, job, business, or significant other. If you love yourself first, all things will work out.

But Christians hold a grudge that someone did them wrong, they were abused, that’s why this is all happening to them. Yet if you’ll think back to your life it is YOURSELF doing it. YOURSELF is itzactly why you are where you are today. Did you go to college? That means no money. Are you around healthy people? You will not be healthy. Are you in a healthy relationship? You will be unhealthy for others. Like duh Christians. IT IS YOU. Not no God, not no devil.

The last time I went to church, they talked over and over about how on the way there, the devil was active because the police wrongly accused them of almost running over a dude on a bicycle and they almost went to jail. Of course, it was the devil attacking them so they wouldn’t make it to church. Everyone talks about the devil and how he’s attacking. So easy to blame the devil instead of THE COP MADE A DUMBASS CHOICE and people are crazy and have psychological and mental issues. Instead of believing it’s PEOPLE there is some spiritual force at work.

This can make you crazy because if you’re around people all the time (who are ALL jacked up by the way) things can be jacked up all the time. Shit can be happening 24/7 and it’s not some “devil” or demonic entity. It’s people. The cop made a mistake or the bicyclist was nuts people are HUMAN give them some credit they are not perfect.

When they got to church, the sound system messed up for 10 seconds, and even though they fixed it it was the devil. Why? Why can’t you just fix the sound system (which only takes 10 seconds by the way) instead of giving attention to some devil that we now all got to think about and hear about instead of just ignoring it, fixing it, and move on? Why do we need to sit here and awknowledge to devil? What a waste of time! You could just fix the physical gitch and problem and move on.

Now you have a persecution complex that it’s the devil and every time something bad happens you’re thinking it’s the devil. So what if it is? Why give him any awknowledgment? Just makes life worse. If I’m able to fix it, move on. This is nutty to think that there is a devil all the time or even at all. There just simply cannot be a demon in the dishwasher. Fix the dishwasher.

It’s raining outside right now. I could say “That’s God making it rain now I can’t get my stuff- thanks” or I could say “that’s a demonic spirit now I have to pray” but it really is just rain. Just life. Accept it. If everything is a demon, we’re stressed out, worried, and suffering all the time. If everything is God, he gets blamed for every bad thing there is. God’s in control. He made it happen. NO. People’s choices are something “God” can do nothing about. He cannot change people. He cannot make them make choices.

Life is not all spiritual. It’s all mental. And it’s up to you to break the mental war. I recently had a therapist of 4 years and another of 1 year quit on me. They told me I was too dysfunctional and they could not help me. I could sit here and think that’s the devil or I could think well, more dysfunctional people on the planet, there’s so many people on the planet jacked up in the head. Thinking it’s the devil makes me have a persecution complex. NOW bad shit is happening all the time and you’re programmed to now accept bad all the time because it’s “God”.

Now it’s God doing it because he’s just allowing bad shit to happen in your life. This also programs you to where everything’s bad all the time. And this is the way of Christianity or any belief in anything spiritual. Instead of understanding that we as humans are ALL flawed and ALL in need of love and forgiveness and every last one of us EVERY LAST ONE screwed up, God and the devil get blamed for everything. This also makes life shit. If my computer messes up, is it the devil? Who cares! Fix your computer.

If everyone hates me and talks bad about me, is it the devil? No, there’s just that many jacked up people. If my father doesn’t let me in the house and I’m outside with my kid escaping an abusive relationship, is that the devil? No, your father is jacked up! And we’ve got to realize EVERYONE is jacked up and dysfunctional. There is not one healthy person on the planet. We all have flaws, have evil, have anger, and have mistakes. If you LOVE and FORGIVE and UNDERSTAND everyone your problems will go away. Try it sometime. They may not change but your life will.

We’ve also got to realize that there is no love in the world. The world is jacked up. If everything that happens is because God let it happen then again we are subject to God and how he wants our lives to be so if everything’s bad he must want everything to be bad and our lives to be bad so therefore our lives are bad and we just accept it ACCEPT A BAD LIFE and that life is bad. If everything’s good then God must want our life to be good and we are better than others. If everything’s good it’s because God wants it to be good so if he wants it to get bad again it can. More recipe for failure. Again. God and the devil get blamed for everything.

If everything’s the devil and an attack of the devil then humans are not jacked up or seen as flawed people with mistakes, problems, and mental difficulties- they are these superhuman, superspiritual powerless entities that anything can happen through. People are not that dumb and that powerless. People are PEOPLE. It’s because of our view of people that we think they’re these vessels God or the devil happen through. We also don’t give people enough credit.

We think they should always love us, always give to us, always be kind to us, never hurt us, never be abusive, and just these entities that operate in love all the time. Yet when we see people as HUMAN is the only time our lives change. NO ONE is going to always love you, give to you, be kind to you, never hurt you, and never be abusive to you. Human beings are incapable of such. So if that’s true that people will always love us, always give to us, always be kind to us, never hurt us, and never be abusive to us, we give people too much credit. Now we are mad at them and others or everyone and the world around us. More recipe for a bad life, so what’s the point of being on earth?

If ALL humans are capable of abuse, hurt, anger, lust, envy, greed we stop putting people on such a high pedestal and become realistic that we are ALL this way we are ALL human so forgive everyone. Love everyone. Be good to everyone. This is a recipe for a good life and all you really need to make your life good. There isn’t a human on the planet that hasn’t been abusive at some point.

You scream at your wife because you’re at your end and about to lose your job. You’ve never done it before but you have a moment where you snap – this is called verbal abuse and now you’re a bad person because you’ve verbally abused your wife. Yet everyone has yelled at someone and been pushed to their limit at some point or another. Everyone has gone off.

Have you ever got mad in traffic? You’re a human with emotions. Of course at some point in your life you’ve gotten mad. Now let’s take it a step further. Everyone is coming at you at all sides. You’re being bullied at school and beat up every day. No one will leave you alone. Everyone is rejecting you, talking bad about you, and mistreating you. No psychology is involved in this. If you shoot everyone and snap, you’re an evil murderer condemned to hell for eternity. Or if you snap and fight back, let’s say the principal finds out and you’re expelled- now what happens? You hate yourself. You now have a bad life. You lose all your friends and have to move and now you’re just angry all the time.

What has happened? This person was not given enough love. Instead of forgiving everyone, we say those that beat him up are evil when really THEY weren’t given enough love. Love is the universal answer to everything and every situation. It’s really quite simple LOVE LOVE LOVE the abusing attackers and LOVE LOVE LOVE the victim. Why? Because we are all humans fatally flawed and make mistakes.

To think of it any other way, you’re seeing life now as you powerless to do anything about it. If you’re the victim because those people are EVIL you’re still getting beat up. If you’re the abusers, you don’t change because you’re still able to beat on the victim and THINGS STAY THE SAME. Until our thought patterns begin to change. Anything else is a recipe for a bad life.

If you love and forgive both sides, you now have a recipe for the greatest life ever. Why? You walk in love and forgiveness. Love says we are both character flawed and make mistakes and are human whether we’re verbally abusive, physically abusive, or sexually abusive- we are just giving what we’ve got, we are character flawed imperfect human beings.

Let’s take it a step further. A man is physically abusive to you and you think he’s an evil piece of shit. Now you are angry and in an abusive situation and need recovery. Now life is shitty. A bad life. A bad mindset. Yet what if you believe he’s just giving to me what he’s got, doing to me what’s been done to him. We give humans some credit and understand hurting people hurt people and hurting someone physically is just as bad as the verbal yet we have scales of bad, good and worse this sin is greater than that sin this thing is greater bad or worse than that thing. Yet if it’s all the same from small to extreme extent of abuse, EVERYONE is flawed and now we’re not thinking a person needs to be judged by their actions. More healing takes place in these relationships because LOVE CONQUERS ALL and we don’t hold everybody by some global scale, realizing all humans make mistakes and are capable of giving pain as well as receiving pain. When you judge on a scale of perfection, you realize some people have it bad some people have it good. Some people are rich, some people are poor. Yet we can all have it the same.

We can all have it good. We can all be rich. It’s a mindset. You can think “this person is abusing me”, “I’m abusing this person” or you can think man, I need mercy and grace and forgiveness that’s the only way to end it. Hate breeds more hate. Love breeds more love. Lack of understanding creates more lack of understanding, anger breeds more anger, everything breeds itself whether good or bad, no matter what it is.

You give to someone love, you get love. You give to someone hate, you get hate. Eventually, you will get back what you gave. I’ve never seen hate end hate. I’ve never seen abuse end abuse. Have you ever tried it the other way? Have you ever seen a boxing match? Both are hitting each other. Yet eventually if one person stops throwing punches, he will get beat down and the match will end, somebody will win. This ends the match. Yet if both remain fighting, one person will always win. That’s the game we call life.

So what happened? One person decided they would let the other person win. What really happened. Well hitting is physical abuse. Not doing anything is love in any situation. To sit there and take it and eventually lose is love. The other person will give up and have to quit at some point. This is how we solve our life’s problems. If someone is abusing you physically, emotionally, sexually, or verbally and you do nothing, what happens eventually at some point it will have to end. It can’t go on forever. They will either begin to sow love or leave the relationship. Both are good things which just leads to my conclusion hate breeds more hate, love breeds more love.

What if you did nothing but act in love and kindness for 30 days, surely not everyone would react the same, but some people would love you back, they might even pass on the love. Now what if you do nothing but hate and act in hatred for 30 days (a character decision)??? A lot of people would hate you back, they might even pass that hate on to others, but some people would actually give up. They wouldn’t want to fight you or deal with you, they would just give up.

IT’S ENDED RIGHT THERE. Now you have a recipe for a great life. If love breeds more love and hate breeds more hate doesn’t it make more sense to love and not to hate? If everything is going to multiply itself, which would you rather have? The same is true with abuse. Abused people abuse people. Hurting people hurt people. Unabused people unable others. Love breeds more love. If you unabused, eventually it will go somewhere. If you make the choice to abuse, the other person will react the same way or spread it on to someone else. It’s so simple. Just do good and make right choices.

If something bad happens to you, you can’t do anything about it but eventually you will be powerless. Because we are fatally flawed humans with mistakes. If we judge off of mercy and love saying THIS PERSON IS A HUMAN BEING and ALL HUMAN BEINGS ARE THIS WAY it takes the standard of perfection, which is unrealistic and never works anyway because we have all been abusive at some point in our lives there is no perfect unabused or unabusive person on the planet we’ve all done it at some point, and GUESS WHAT love and mercy and forgiveness has been sown and you can’t do nothing about it. It’s there. It has to go somewhere. It has to either come back to you or spread so what are we sowing in our world? Hate or love?

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tinysidestrashcaptain · 5 years

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Burn

A/N: So, guess who was listening to First Burn and got inspired? Have this short semi-song fic. It’s short, but hopefully not too terrible.

Pairings: Prinxiety, implied Logince that’s never acted on

TW: Infidelity, lies, swearing

Roman’s feet dragged on the floor, feeling like lead as he slowly trudged through the house towards the study. He could still see the furious look on Logan’s face as he threw the Reynold’s Pamphlet in his face, still hear the words echoing in his head. “I love my brother more than anything in this life, and I will choose his happiness over mine every time! I’m here for him, to stand at his side while he endures bitter torment because YOU were foolish enough to respond to schoolyard taunts with...THIS! Whatever we may have had? It’s done. Virgil is all that matters now. I hope you’re happy, you selfish bastard.”

Well, he certainly wasn’t happy! Roman had been so sure when that lying snake had approached him that the only way to preserve his professional reputation was to come clean. To put everything out there so that no one could ever accuse him of fraud or theft. In hindsight, it was beyond stupid, and he regretted every single word he’d penned, but the damage was done. Now the only thing he had left to do was to confront his husband. Roman hesitated outside the door, his hand hovering uncertainly over the knob. This was the study he and Virgil had spent hours in together, the one place in their home he’d never allowed another soul to enter. Not even...him.

He slowly opened the door, and his heart shattered in his chest at the sight of his husband kneeling on the floor in front of a crackling fire, his shoulders shaking with quiet sobs. “...Virgil…?”

Virgil’s shoulders tensed immediately, but he didn’t turn or look at him. He held up a sheaf of parchments, holding them still so that Roman could see them. Letters. Countless letters that he’d written to Virgil during their courtship. Letters that Virgil had kept and treasured, letters he’d often caught his husband re-reading with a soft smile on his face. Virgil didn’t turn at all, just grabbed one out of the stack, bringing it closer to his face. “I keep re-reading these, over and over again, trying to figure out what I missed.”

“Darling--” Roman started, stepping forward.

“DON’T!” Virgil snarled, whirling. His eyes were red from crying, tears on his face, but the fury in them was unmistakable, betrayal and pain nearly making his voice crack. “Don’t take another step closer to me, you son of a bitch.” His glare pinned Roman where he stood, froze him in place.

Virgil held the letter to his face, reading it one last time with a grim expression, then turned and tossed it into the fire. “I’m burning every single one of these, since they clearly mean nothing. You aren’t the man who wrote these. I don’t know who the hell you are anymore, but you’re welcome to stand over there, if you want.”

Roman couldn’t help the wordless sound of protest that was ripped from his throat as he watched the letter go up in flames. Virgil’s eyes shot to his, their normally kind brown depths an inky well of pain in the relative darkness. “You don’t get to protest. You lost that right the minute you published THIS.” The balled up paper hit Roman squarely in the chest. He didn’t have to look at it to know what it was.

“I didn’t mean--”

“Mean to what? To bring a stranger into our home, into our BED?! Praytell, how did it happen, then?” Virgil snapped, another letter going into the flames. “I’d ask if you tripped, but we both know exactly how big a lie that would be. You published every letter he wrote to you, every disgusting detail of what you did together, so the whole world knows just how big a fool you made of me.”

Roman flinched, but stayed silent, his head bowing in shame. Virgil scoffed, tossing two more letters into the fire in rapid succession. “In clearing your name, you’ve ruined our lives, you know that, don’t you? Heaven forbid your enemies whisper that you’re part of some scheme! They whisper a taunt, so you have to scream over them to silence them, and for WHAT?”

“I…” Roman trailed off at the raw misery on Virgil’s face as he looked at him.

“You think I don’t know about whispers? That I don’t see the way you look at my brother whenever he’s around? I’m not stupid, Roman. Then again, I had no idea you were fucking someone else in our own home, blissfully ignorant that I was sleeping in the same place you bedded another man, so maybe I AM stupid.” Tears were streaming down Virgil’s face, his voice cracking with emotion. “I was willing to pretend it was okay that you’re in love with Logan, I really was. I thought if I loved you enough, maybe you could love me back. And for awhile, I thought I’d finally managed it. We have three children, a life and a family. I thought that mattered to you, thought I mattered to you!”

“You do! Virgil, you do!” Roman blurted out, reaching a hand out, but Virgil slapped him away furiously.

“Do I?! Then when the time comes, you can explain to the children the pain and embarrassment you put me through. When are you going to learn that they are your legacy, that we are your legacy? The rest of the world may forget you, but the people who loved you never will.” Virgil nearly shouted it, and Roman recoiled, guilt nearly eating him alive.

“...Loved…?” The past tense made Roman feel like the world was tipping on its axis. Maybe he’d never truly understood how much he had come to depend on Virgil’s limitless love and support until just this moment, when he realized it might all be over.

“...Do you remember when I begged to be part of your narrative? Begged you to let me into your heart, into your life?” Virgil asked quietly, looking down at the remaining stack of letters. Tears dotted the paper, smearing the ink as Roman nodded. “Forget it. I’m erasing myself from the narrative. Let future historians wonder how I reacted when you broke my heart. I don’t give a damn what they think of you, and they have no right to me or my feelings.”

Virgil whirled and threw the entire stack of letters into the fire with a small, heart wrenching sob. “This doesn’t matter. None of it can erase what you’ve done, how little you value me and your family, and there aren’t any words you can ever give me to change it now. I’ll stay, I don’t have a choice, but I’ll sleep in the guest quarters. You won’t be welcome there, not now, not ever. In fact, it would be better if you slept in your office instead, don’t you think?”

Every word landed like a blow, and Roman felt tears streaming down his face as he looked at Virgil, haloed in the glow from the fire. “I...I’m so sorry--”

“So am I.” Virgil cut him off, stalking towards him. For a moment, he was sure his husband was about to slap him, and perhaps he was, but in the end he just stood there, toe to toe with him. “If you ever made the mistake of thinking you were mine? Don’t.”

Roman stared after his husband long after he’d gone, those words echoing in his brain. He didn’t know if he’d ever unhear them, ever unsee the bitter pain in Virgil’s eyes. As he stumbled to his desk, sitting in the chair he’d so often spent hours writing at, he couldn’t help but think that this may be the one thing that he couldn’t write his way out of.

#sanders sides #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #hamilton au #cheating tw #infidelity tw #swearing #burn au

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fandomfourever · 5 years

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In Defense of Alvin Murphy

I’ve been having thoughts ever since watching Z Nation. Twice. And I had to get this all off my chest. But, I’m just gonna put this under a read more because this will probably be super long.

So, as I said above, this is mostly just something I needed to post about so I can finally think about something else, lol. Most of what I’m writing is based on canon, while some sections (which I’ll try to make obvious) are educated guesses based on what we do know, and what makes sense (to me anyway). I’m going to try and keep it in some kind of order, but it might get a bit ramble-y.

While it obviously isn’t everyone, there are a lot of people who just really hate Murphy. And while everyone’s entitled to their opinions, sometimes I feel it’s a little unjustified. Not only that, he gets a lot of hate in the show from various characters. Now, I’m not going to claim Murphy is a saint who can do no wrong—he’s done plenty wrong. But this post is basically about putting things in perspective. If this interests you, please continue reading. Otherwise, move on I guess?

Sometimes it feels as though people seem to forget that Murphy has some major PTSD. Many of the characters do, but here’s the thing: those characters are often treated with sympathy, where Murphy is not. Example: Murphy panics in the elevator when they’re looking for McCandles, and Warren smacks him and tells him to stop (paraphrasing), but when Warren has a panic attack in the box in the labyrinth, Sarge helps her out and people are sympathetic. Not that they shouldn’t, but it’s a stark difference between similar moments.

Let’s not forget that Murphy was in prison for Postal Fraud. Not murder. Not rape. Not terrorism. Not drugs. Postal Fraud. And he was sentenced to 3 years, when the maximum can be up to 20 years with a $250,000 fine, unless it involves a “presidentially declared major disaster or emergency” which can land you 30 years and $1 million dollar fine. AKA, whatever Murphy did, it was really minor. (You can find info and the quote if you google Postal Fraud)

In the flashback we see of him in season 2, Murphy sees his first zombie; a dude shanked by another dude. Chronologically, Murphy is then given the vaccine during Black Summer. When we see Murphy in the pilot, he’s got a full beard, meaning some time has passed between seeing his first Z and being vaccinated.

Here’s where a bit of educated guessing comes in: we don’t see what happens to him between those two times. It would make sense to me that, if there’s been a zombie outbreak and food/water is going to run out, prisoners would be kept in their cells indefinitely (or almost so). Which would then give a pretty good explanation to Murphy’s claustrophobia. Whether he was in the cell alone or not, that’s a tiny space, and can you imagine the kind of terror that would come with that? Probably hearing other prisoners turn? All it would take is one guard getting bitten by mistake and the whole place would descend into chaos.

Back to what we know for sure. At some point after seeing his first zombie, he is then forcibly taken to the prison lab to be experimented on. Murphy, strapped to a table, has to watch two other prisoners die after being injected—one of which seized so hard he broke his own neck. Then he’s injected, and left behind, where he’s mauled by zombies and is awake and experiences them tearing into his body.

Then, to add insult to injury, Murphy is led around for a year by Hammond—you know, one of the people who abandoned him to be bitten—to try and bring him to California where he will be, once again, experimented on. We see how Hammond treats people, especially Murphy. He yanks and shoves him around, and we see he even treats people he views as human kind of like crap; Murphy is just a “package” to him. In fact, Murphy is called “the package” by just about everyone.

(remember that Hammond hauled Murphy from the truck and demanded he show Warren and Garnette the bites. Against his will.)

So, Murphy’s been traumatized, experimented on, and treated as less than human by the military, and then he’s taken in by people who also view him as less than human. Is it really any wonder he acts like an asshole? I doubt any normal person would be nice and friendly after all that.

The first person that actually tries to ask about what happened is Doc, but Murphy has no reason to trust him and lies about having volunteered to do it (I doubt Doc believes it, but he doesn’t ask further about it either). So yes, Murphy could have told Delta X-ray Delta exactly what happened, and maybe that would have gotten him the sympathy he deserved. However, they all know he was bitten eight times, so you’d think that alone would be enough to be treated with some kindness. But nah, they all are happy to push him around and tell him to shut up and again continue referring to him as “the package”.

It only gets worse as Murphy starts to turn blue. Not only does Murphy have to deal with the fact he’s being dragged across America to be experimented on by Dr. Mercy again, he then has to deal with the fact he’s, literally, falling apart.

Yes, Murphy takes water from that family and lets the husband inside. Yes, that was an awful thing to do. But, Murphy’s natural inclination is not to be a murderer (if they actually died). So I was thinking about the situation from Murphy’s perspective. The mother and daughter were hiding out in a building waiting for the husband to return. When he took the water, neither fought back, which can get you killed in the apocalypse. Even if he hadn’t taken the water, how long would they have lasted? Especially if they waited there for the husband to come back and he never did? They likely would have starved or died of dehydration. As Murphy leaves, he stops, thinks, then lets the zombiefied husband inside. I think it’s entirely possible that, from his prospective, he was helping in a way. The mother and daughter wouldn’t die wondering what happened to him, and could be viewed as a twisted sort of mercy. Again, not a good thing to do, and I’m not excusing him. But it’s a point to ponder.

Next I wanted to talk about Cassandra. Well, when Murphy bit her. Like with 10K, we never actually see the bite happen. What we see is Murphy going past everyone who’s devastated by Cassandra dying, and then entering the room and looking at her. Now, up to that point, Murphy had only bitten/infected four people, and controlled three of them sort of. The first person he bit, that guy at the Fu-Bar, died and didn’t turn. Now, based on the fact that even Murphy seemed surprised by Cassandra’s return, and her strange behavior, my guess is that he bit her to keep her from becoming a Z. He knew she meant a lot to the others, and despite his outward behavior, I think it’s safe to say Murphy does care about them at this point. So it would make sense to me that he would assume seeing her turn into a zombie would be heartbreaking to everyone else, and therefore bit her to prevent that, not knowing she would become a Blend and come after him.

In the final episode of season 1, Murphy sees what became of Patient Zero. He sees a man melted to a table, still alive, and begging for death, and knows he could become him. Then he learns Dr. Kurian isn’t who he says he is and could be wanting to kill or torture him (like the other experiments in the lab). (An aside: Dr. Merch worked in that lab, meaning she had a hand in those experiments.)

So again, I don’t find it unreasonable that Murphy, triggered by his trauma and impending kidnapping, fled. Flight or Fight, and we know Murphy prefers not to fight. So he ran. Someone in that kind of head-space is not going to be thinking of other people, and it would be unreasonable to expect that.

Then the beginning of season 2 is marked by people hunting Murphy down. People who are completely willing to break his legs to get the bounty. Again, he was being treated as less than human. The only bright spot in his life was Lucy, who he felt like he had to give up because he believed the group would hurt her. Considering the way they talked about him and her, and the fact they’re totally okay with allowing a baby to be experimented on, he wasn’t wrong to be worried.

Then we get the lovely episode The Collector. You know, the episode where Murphy was electrocuted multiple times. If you take a look at ScriptTorture like I have—specifically their electrical torture tag—you’ll see just how bad even one shock can be, let alone however many he got there. Being shocked with electricity can cause: heart attacks, muscle spasms enough to break bones, someone biting their own tongue off by mistake, death from falling because of muscle failure, burns, and bruising. While we know Murphy didn’t experience those (luckily) it’s still torture, and still incredibly painful for him. And let’s not forget he got shocked with a cattle prod back in the first episode of the season, and that he later gets repeatedly shocked in that episode with the Zuggalos.

The end of the episode leaves us with Murphy asking Warren to promise him she won’t let him be alone when they get to the CDC. And she does. Until a few episodes later, anyway. During the flashback episode, we get a scene where Murphy tells Warren he’s scared and that if she was his friend, she wouldn’t leave him alone at the CDC. What’s Warren’s response to this? “I’m not your friend” and “There are some things we have to do alone, even if it hurts.” Like, wow, nice, so glad you don’t care you’re breaking Murphy down further.

And then to find out Dr. Merch and the others on the sub weren’t even going to save humanity, just the rich people on Zona? To know he’d been subjected to all that shit for nothing? Yeah, Murphy had every right to be upset and to try and take matters into his own hands. A persona can only take so much before they snap, after all.

You know what’s ridiculous? That Warren & Co (minus 10k) were totally fine with Hector/Escorpion hanging out with them despite, you know, torturing Vasquez, killing multiple people even before the apocalypse, trying to kill 10k (the ep where he was with Sketchy and Skeezy), being part of a Cartel… But Murphy being snarky and occasionally an asshole is just so much worse, I guess.

Now I want to address Murphy biting 10k. Like with Cassandra, we don’t see what happens, just the before and after. But let’s think back on some things. Murphy bit Cassandra because she was dying. Murphy did NOT bite 10k when the Collector ordered him to because there was another way out. Murphy did NOT inject Warren & Co when they were with The Zeros, when he had the opportunity and even motive to. So then we have 10k on the sub, shot in the stomach. We last see 10k (pre-bite) stumbling off the table in the sub. Despite being bandaged, he didn’t look like he was doing too well. When we see 10k later, he has no memory of the bite happening. Murphy can do a lot, but we’ve never seen him erase someone’s memories. Now, looking at Murphy’s past actions, and what we see going on with 10k, I don’t think it’s unreasonable to assume that, perhaps, 10k fainted or was knocked out. Falling to the floor or against a wall could have very easily re-opened his stitches, causing him to bleed again. Now if Murphy saw this, he could have easily thought that 10k was dying and bitten him.

All that isn’t to say Murphy wasn’t in the wrong for trying to control 10k, because he was, but I find it hard, if not impossible, to believe it was a lie when Will said that Murphy cared about him and didn’t want to hurt him.

Honestly, season 3 feels kind of like a mess when it comes to vilifying Murphy and trying to make it seem like Warren is in the right. I’m honestly glad when Murphy calls out her hypocrisy, because Warren keeps saying freedom is important, and free will is important. But apparently when the people go to Murphy of their own free will to get his cure, that doesn’t count. Warren was totally okay with slaughtering a bunch of people (with the help of the Red Hand who are also a bunch of murderers), because they felt safe with Murphy. And why wouldn’t they? He made them immune to Zs, got them fresh water, functioning electricity, and food.

Which brings me to another point I want to make. People love to call Murphy a narcissist. While he does act arrogantly, he’s not a narcissist. To be classified as a narcissist, a person must exhibit 5 or more of the following symptoms:

A grandiose sense of self-importance

Preoccupation with fantasies of unlimited success, power, brilliance, beauty, or ideal love

Belief that one is special and can only be understood by or associate with special people or institutions

A need for excessive admiration

A sense of entitlement (to special treatment)

Exploitation of others

A lack of empathy

Envy of others or the belief that one is the object of envy

Arrogant, haughty behavior or attitudes

A grandiose sense of self-importance: Nope. Murphy frequently said he didn’t want to be The Savior, that he wanted to be normal and die like everyone else. When he does refer to himself as The Savior, it’s highly sarcastic or to stay alive.

Preoccupation with fantasies of success, power, etc.: Again, no. The closest he gets is saying he could have been an action news anchor if he’d applied himself.

Only associating with special people and institutions: No. Murphy associates with everyone. Does he get a little close to this with Zona in season 4? Yeah, but since it isn’t exclusive it doesn’t count as this.

A need for excessive admiration: Nah. You can see him get visibly uncomfortable when his Blends act overly obsessed with him. And guess what? Murphy gives them all credit for getting the power working. Not once does he claim that all the good things they have is because of him and him alone.

A sense of entitlement: Sometimes. But I’d say considering the shit he’s been through, it’s not unreasonable.

Exploitation of others: Yeah, he does do this.

Lack of empathy: Whoo boy, you’d have to have not been watching the show to think this. Murphy, despite his outward behavior, gets attached to people so fast. It only took one card game with Doc for Murphy to call him his friend, and to feel devastated when he thought Doc had been blown up. He has full empathy for Zs, and just because they’re dead doesn’t mean it doesn’t count. Especially when we know from both Murphy and Lucy that they do still feel things. Murphy and Lucy’s storyline as a whole disproves this one.

Envy of others/Thinking one is envied: No, we don’t see any evidence of this.

Arrogant and haughty behavior: Yeah, he does this too.

So, 2 out of 9 symptoms. Murphy’s not a narcissist. Case closed on that one.

Now, back to my main points. So we have Murphy creating a beautiful room for Lucy, intending to find her and bring her back to raise her properly. Warren tells Doc and Addy to get to Lucy first, so she can be the new cure. Because it’s totally fine to experiment on babies. And yeah, we know now that Sun Mei would have likely only taken a little bit of blood, but we didn’t then, and neither did Warren & Co. And even still, it’s experimenting on a baby. Truly, Warren was the hero of season 3 and Murphy was pure evil.

Luckily in seasons 4 and 5, Murphy is treated a lot better. Well, mostly the end of season 4 and season 5 in general. The way things are framed, it seems like Murphy doesn’t care about anyone not on Zona, but it’s crucial to remember that 1) He was told everyone was dead and 2) it’s been 2 years for him. And then when he’s reunited with Lucy she snubs him and hangs around with Warren, who acts all pleased about it. It’s not like Murphy loved Lucy more than anyone, even himself, and had tried so hard to get her back, thought she was dead, and just wants a chance to be a dad. And, because Murphy hasn’t suffered enough, Warren’s sense of self-importance about her mission to “stop” Black Rainbow got Lucy killed. Just saying, if they’d just gone to Newmerica, Lucy might have lived.

Also, how can your heart not break even a little when, at the camp, Doc gives Murphy a hug and Murphy says “At least there’s one person who’s happy to see me”? Like?

The last time we get Murphy being treated super unfairly is by Addy in season 5. Like, yes, Addy traveled with Lucy and cared about her, but Murphy was her father and might have been able to raise her if Doc and Addy hadn’t gone to kidnap her first. But she just has to get in a dig at Murphy not being around for Lucy. Like he totally would have had he not been abducted by Zona.

As long as this post is, I hope those that read it can see my point. Murphy is not perfect, but the way he’s treated is vastly out of proportion to what he’s done. He definitely deserves more sympathy than he’s given. If we’re ever given a season 6, I hope he’s treated a lot better.

If people would like to talk about this, whether you agree or not, please do. But also please be nice about it. I’m all for respectful discussions.

#z nation #alvin murphy #my thoughts #my opinions #I feel a lot better now that I've gotten this all written down #lol #this isn't to say any of the other characters' traumas aren't important #but that murphy's seem to be looked over a lot #at least from what I've seen

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automatismoateo · 3 years

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Something off my chest...just a rant via /r/atheism

Submitted May 08, 2021 at 06:56PM by CaptainBirthday (Via reddit https://ift.tt/3b9PrGc) Something off my chest...just a rant

Total atheist here pro LGBTQ.pro science. Some of my friends are liberal christians and they try to get me to take a second look at the Bible and not let the bad "christians" ruin it for me. Sorry not sorry-- my issue is the source material ....not the fandom.

So many liberal christians are lightning quick to say the Bible has been mistranslated and manipulated but they don't pause to consider that the majority of these shenanigans are to make it look BETTER.

The oldest and most reliable texts are still a book that commands stoning gays and atheists and even your own wife if you believe she isn't a virgin on your wedding night, outright genocide, winks at and condones slavery, treats women like cattle (on a good day, often it's worse) and Jesus shows up right on cue to say in Matthew 5 that all of this is absolutely fine and not one "jot or tittle" should be changed.

The rules change for sure and Jesus moves the bar up quite a bit but while things are different...he and the writers of the New Testament never actually say the old way was wrong or anything less than perfect.

The gospel story is essentially saying that man could not live up to gods law so Jesus had to die and take the punishment for us. Stop there...man couldn't live up to gods law---laws like stoning people for being gay. Man failed to enforce holy laws like this so Jesus came.

David says in Psalms that he meditates day and night on God's law. At the time of David writing this, there is no new testament so all he has is the law. Laws like how to sell your daughters as slaves (Exodus 20) and how to cut off your wife's hand if she injures a man's testes trying to save YOUR life (Deuteronomy 25 and 21)

So David, presumably a rapist (Bathsheba) who circumcises corpses for trophies, is called a man after God's own heart and has hundreds of wives and kills Bathsheba's husband so he can have her too.

The new testament doubles down on anti homosexual attitudes (Romans) and introduces hell to the story as a great motivator for loving God, this awesome character.

Yes you can cherry pick. Yes people have biases, but the absolute con of modern Christianity has no power on me. The slant goes both ways. Jesus is supposed to be God. If this is true in ANY way, then Jesus is guilty of laying out these laws. If Jesus really did break up a stoning for the woman caught in adultery, it's amazing the BALLS he has because the only reason they're doing it in the first place is because he/god commanded it in the first place and on dozens of occasions in the Books of the law, which by the way--Jesus never criticizes.

In the end you can say it was a different time and people were primitive but I got some questions for you:

When did genocide and slavery become wrong or were they always wrong?

Does god command these things and condone them in the Bible?

Was it good to do these things because God commanded it? If so, morality is relative and there's no real right or wrong in an objective sense.

One more for free-- stop saying we don't know what the original copies said. I see people on FB all the time saying that King James or someone else changed things.

King James lives in the 1500s. The Old Testament manuscripts are virtually Xeroxed for centuries leading up to this. New testament texts have some wonkiness for sure but the overwhelming majority of these were actually tweaked to make Jesus and his teachings appear BETTER.

Six years of seminary and 25 years of church y'all. I walked away from a lucrative (compared to a real job anyway) career in church and have a customer service job because I refuse to lie to children, others or myself about a disgusting book that should only be used for it's historic and aesthetic/poetic influence on the English language and art.

God is not real, and if there is a god, it's not the one in the Bible, and if you actually understand the Bible--this is very, very good news.

I love posts about this liberal Jesus who "hung out" with sex workers and was down with LGBTQ and BLM and I love those memes and posts because it pisses off Christians. But if you believe Jesus was real and was God, he commanded LGBTQ people to be murdered with rocks like a rabid dog in the street.

Your only move here is to say that Jesus wasn't god or somehow all the verses you don't like are fake and all the ones you do are real. Or that you have a super secret psychic connection to God and he divvies it up for you....or maybe as a long stretch you believe that God has improved and gotten with the times. If god got better over time then he wasn't god.

Everything you just read is my personal opinion, not any of my friends or family, just my own. And it has cost me everything...but along the way I have made a couple of friends and a wife and I can look myself in the mirror and not feel like a fraud trying to live a comfy life of pretending the Bible isn't dripping with ignorance, hate, lies-- and blood.

I know there are very progressive churches who are affirming to women and LGBT but they are doing so in SPITE of and not because of , the Bible which at best could support a kind of love the sinner hate the sin platitude.

The Ex Christians who are LGBTQ don't need a church to forgive them and "accept" them. They don't need to be forgiven. The backwards ass churches across America should be the ones seeking forgiveness for their war on culture and science that has made everything from Civil Rights to evolution, abortion access, pornography, and many other issues--as slow as it has been while secular countries have been far out in front for decades.

Rant over. Free your mind and other body parts. Be happy with life we know we have and love everyone. Treat everyone with kindness and humility. Run from religion and anything else that has all the answers. Question every thing.

P.S. I would love your comments but please don't hit me with the "it was a different time" or you can't compare modern society with ancient society. You can and you should. That's how we HAVE a modern society. And while people were more primitive back in the day, God is Eternal so he shouldn't be struggling with why slavery is wrong or stoning your wife, marrying 10 year olds or a million other things. If he can make animals talk and part the sea he can definitely tell people about the room temperature morality that would far exceed the one he props up in his word.

So choose God ain't real Gods real but the Bible isn't Gods real and the parts of the bible you like are real by sheer chance. Everything you dont like in the bible was out there by an outsider and corrupted, which is just what I said above with more steps lol.

Genocide. Slavery. Rape. Incest. Extreme patriarchy .child brides. Ethnic cleansing. Fairy tales. That's what the Bible is.

Change my mind

#reddit

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sindearlyconnormurphy · 7 years

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Say You Won't Let Go [Connor Murphy x Male!Reader]

Title: Say You Won’t Let Go Fandom: Dear Evan Hansen Pairing: Connor Murphy x Male!Reader Requested: by like three people lmao Summary: Connor takes you home for thanksgiving–the hitch is that Connor is still sort of closeted. He’s not going to let that kind of them stop him from loving you. Warnings: Connor’s potty mouth | Mentions of homophobia | Mentions of neglect and abuse | First person reader | not proof read A/N: last upload before I leave on my trip! Yay! It’s crazy late here. This is a combo of a few request: three people requested a male reader, one person requested Connor sort of “adopting” a male reader who gets neglected and abused at home and taking care of them, and someone else requested Connor and a male reader go home for thanksgiving with lots of angst, and we all know I love angst. Hope this is good! Love you all and thanks for 800+ followers! (I’m going immediately to bed after this hoo)

“Connor?”

“Mm.”

“Connor,” I called again. He brushed his fingers across my knuckles again, dangling between us on the leather carseat. He was staring ahead, so it was concerning to see him so absent. While driving.

“What?”

“The light’s green,” I told him in a weak voice, watching his dark eyebrows furrowed blankly before fumbling, hands grasping for the wheel and slamming on the break. His dark hair was a curtain between us, eclipsing most of his face from my view.

“Sorry,” he mumbled heatedly under his breath, his hands tapping at the wheel anxiously. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

I folded my hands in my lap, careful to stay calm. Connor’s paranoia could be contagious sometimes, and his anxiety was filling the car with fumes I didn’t have the capacity to escape.

“I’m scared too, Connor,” I mumbled softly, watching his white knuckled grip clench and unclench on the steering wheel, licking his lips before glancing surprisingly out of the corner of his eyes at me.

“Hey,” he whispered softly, voice hoarse, chancing to take his hand of the steering wheel to reach for me. His painted nails raked harshly against the fabric of my jeans, up and down my thigh in an attempt to soothe me–and, in a way, it helped because it distracted him from his inner monologue. “I’m not scared. If they,” he paused, taking in a heavy sigh and letting his eyebrows drop low over his eyes. “If they say anything, we’ll get up and go. Get a hotel for the next few days and then go back to school, alright?”

“Going home is making you nervous,” I said neutrally. “This was a mistake.”

Connor’s hand wrapped vice like around my knee, shaking it a little too roughly. “This is not a mistake. I’m not letting you go home to your shitty parents, alright? Besides,” he grumbled. “This is a decent test for my parents, too. If they’re asswipes, we go immediately.”

“Okay.”

My stomach twisted nervously as the main streets and shops gave way to country field and subdivisions, little white picket fences with dogs and rosebushes I hadn’t grown up in a neighborhood quite like this, and yet it amazed me–suburbia, for all its obvious perks, could still contain dark secrets.

Connor, subject A.

He hadn’t been home in awhile–he and I had spent the summer together working on campus, sharing a dorm. I knew he was civil with his folks and all, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t positively green as we pulled into a perfectly cemented driveway, three nice cars already parked in an open garage. Connor shifted the car into park, turning off the engine, but instead of exiting let his eyes close and leaned against the steering wheel for just a moment.

It was hard–I could see how hard it was. How uncomfortable he felt.

I wasn’t sure if I’d made it better or worse.

I wasn’t sure how he’d worded it to his mother on the phone when he’d asked if I could join the party for thanksgiving–I knew he’d told her I wasn’t in the best standing with my parents. I wasn’t sure if he’d asked if he could bring “a friend” over or “someone I’m seeing”.

He hadn’t said boyfriend. They didn’t know. He wasn’t out.

It was maybe four yards to the door–just a few steps, less than sixty seconds, and everything in Connor Murphy’s family dynamic would change.

Watching Connor swallow, forehead pressed into his hands where he was folded in on himself in the driver’s seat, was almost heartbreaking. I didn’t know if I made it worse or better. I didn’t even know how he felt.

I hadn’t been home since I graduated.

I reached out, scratching lovingly against Connor’s back through the fabric of his hoodie, feeling his shoulders relax beneath my hands.

“I guess this is me fucking up again,” he laughed mirthlessly. “Christ, they’re gonna have a field day.”

“You can take me somewhere else,” I offered, my voice thick at the suggestion, praying he wouldn’t really do that, but understanding if it was what he needed. “You don’t have to come out–”

Connor sprung off the steering wheel, spinning, eyes wide, pink lips partially parted, his bony hands twitching I’m his lap.

“You,” he choked, seeming to be at a loss for words. “I didn’t mean–you aren’t the mistake, sweetheart.” He reached forward, lithe fingers cradling across the back of my neck, his thumb tracing my jaw. “You–fuck, I love you.”

Connor’s slate eyes were searching, and I saw all the manic fear in them before they shut so that he could surge across the car, sealing his soft lips to mine.

It was almost comedic when he got like this–desperate, hungry, and nothing lustful about it. Connor was so uniquely physical and so poor with his words, this was the only way he knew to communicate that he loved me.

And I loved it. And I loved him.

There were a few knees to my ribs as he climbed across the median, fumbling to get into my lap, his little lithe body folding perfectly against mine, his hands still knotting into my hair.

“Connor–” I tried to protest with a laugh, surprised when he simply swallowed the words and continued.

“I love you,” he hissed again, wrapping both his arms around my neck, leaning back to glare determined at my collar bone. “I love you, please–”

“I love you,” I assured, pulling him back to press his face into his neck. “I love you, sweetheart, but you have to calm down. You aren’t gonna be able to articulate to your parents if you’re this panicked. I can’t do it for you.”

“Fuck,” he cried, voice thick, pressing my face closer to the juncture of his neck. His hair was down today, kissing my temple. “I lied. I’m fucking terrified.”

“It’s okay,” I promised, scratching at his lower back soothingly. “I’m right here.”

——

We didn’t bother to bring in our bags, not when there might be a chance that we might have to haul them back out in a quick fit, Connor swearing during it all.

He couldn’t stop fidgeting–it had been awhile since I’d seen him like this. Yes, the Connor I had met nearly a year ago had been stoic, pensive, and reclusive–but he’d also had an air of newly acquired calm and confidence that had been difficult to resist. He had smiles that seemed like they costed him, but only after he gave them, and he, more often than not, gave them without thinking twice.

Recovering, he told me, he was recovering. It was more than enough.

He kept scratching behind is ear, frizzing the fawn tone hair there so that the curls ticked upward just a little higher than the rest, his mouth twitching as he clenched and unclenched his jaw in a way that would make for robotic kissing later. The way his hands shook, I was surprised he didn’t stick them in his pockets–he wiped them on his jeans enthusiastically, stepping into the foyer as his mother answered the door.

The Murphy’s looked as perfect as the photos on Facebook had portrayed–I knew it was for my benefit. Cynthia Murphy was loud, and it was done in a way that her own face cringed with the overdone politeness of it all. She grinned at me so that the apples of her cheeks looked high crested like Connor’s when he smiled without thinking, his eyes crinkling at the corners, making his hollowed cheeks dimple. Her eyes were vaguely panicked, and I looked away, giving her the time to process what was clearly a misread signal from Connor.

Larry Murphy shook my hand, much too roughly, making it obvious where Connor had acquired it, and smiled like I was the campaign aid to his greasy politician. It made me nervous, unsettled, and I watched Larry Murphy stuff his large hands into the pockets of his slacks.

Zoe Murphy was lazing artistically against the leather couch in the living room, only slightly visible from the foyer. At her parent’s call, she didn’t move, but offered us a wave without looking up from the television. So Connor hadn’t been lying about their strained relationship.

“It’s so good to meet you! Connor got us all excited over the phone,” Cynthia crooned, patting her husband on the shoulder, her eyes still panicked behind her painfully wide smile. Her lips cracked in the same way Connor’s did. “Worried for nothing, I see. It’s always good to meet Connor’s friends.”

I smiled, my face pained.

He could lie. Right now. He glanced at me from the corner of his eye, and I knew he was thinking about it. Smile, pretend, I really got you guys this time! Slap me on the back, call me bro, smile and nod when his father asked about the cute girls on campus. He could cut me down right here, and he knew it.

Connor was smiling politely, his hands still twitching at his sides. He was painfully close to me, too close for them not to notice, our shoulders brushing. They were taking it in with darting eyes and slim pupils, eyes cutting between us, begging for an explanation.

“What do you mean?” Connor asked in a strained voice, obviously attempting to be civil. The smile on his face, while trying, was a fraud.

Cynthia had begun to wring her hands, licking her lips as if attempting to come up with something in a way that wouldn’t offend me. She laughed too loudly.

“You just, you said over the phone you were bringing home someone you wanted us to meet,” she smiled apologetically in my direction. Behind the two of them, Zoe Murphy had rolled into a sitting position, her auburn eyebrow arched, her lipglossed mouth in a froze oh.

“Yeah,” Connor said slowly, eyes glancing from me back to them in a can you believe this? sort of way, clearly more for their benefit than mine. He wanted them to say it for him, but the wouldn’t. They weren’t the kind of people who were going to wish for this or be thrilled Connor was finally himself.

He was trying to come out, and they were pressed so tightly against the closet door, Connor was going to need a fucking cannon to get himself out.

Larry made a noise in the back of his throat, impatient, disguising it with an exasperated laugh. I watched Connor tense, his shoulders locking and his mouth falling open. Scared.

“She just means,” Larry laughed awkwardly, making an aggressive eye contact with me in an attempt to demean Connor, “We thought Connor meant a girl. We thought he might be getting serious with someone.”

Boom.

To his credit, Connor didn’t explode. He didn’t scream. He did it slowly, softly, without words, the same way the Connor I knew everything about and the Murphy’s had never met did everything.

He just smiled–not forced, but serene and genuine, and glanced down to where his pale hand, freckled across the knuckles was bumping against mine, and laced out hands together. I wasn’t looking at the Murphy’s, but I could hear their sharp intake of breath over the rapid pounding of my heart.

Connor was smiling at me, the apples of his cheeks eclipsing his eyes that were watering with the uncertainty of the moment.

And I was so proud.

He chose me.

He chose himself.

“I am,” Connor said, his voice certain from where he smiled at me in awe and adoration. “Serious about someone. This is my boyfriend.”

—-

“It could’ve gone worse.”

Connor, laying facedown on his twin bed could’ve been slightly endearing, slightly adorable, if it hadn’t been for the face he was screaming into his pillow.

“It could’ve gone a lot fucking better!” He screamed, leaning up to scratch at his face with his black chipped nails–a bad habit that had me lunging forward to take his wrists, replacing his hands onto my hips and sitting beside him, letting him fall face first into my chest with a humph.

“They didn’t make us leave,” I reminded softly, combing a hand through his soft hair and kissing his temple. Connor just groaned against my chest.

“My dad passed out,” Connor hissed against my chest. “Fucking went unconscious. Because I’m gay.”

“Again, not the worst reaction.”

“Oh my God, dude, please let me be negative!” Connor grunted, pulling back, stuffing his hands into his hair, causing me to reach up again to remove them.

“Stop that,” I mumbled. “Keep those on me.”

He frowned, but still reached forward tenderly to cup the back of my neck, eyes searching for something in my face. Leaning forward till he blurred, close enough to kiss, he pressed his lips to the corner of my mouth, tilting his forehead to rest against mine with closed eyes.

“I worship you,” he whispered, sending a violent chill down my spine, my own hands reaching up to tangled in the fabric of his hoodie. “I’d do that again and again to be with you.”

“Con,” I whispered, pouting my lips to beg for a kiss, sighing happily when he obliged me, nudging me backwards gingerly against his mattress which was struggling to hold two grown men.

He was tender, loving as he pressed chaste kisses again and again to my lips, before sighing and laying his head against my chest, reaching up to run his thumb absently across my jaw.

“Your sister seemed supportive.”

“What part of ‘Holy shit, no way!’ seemed supportive to you?”

“She was smiling?”

“Babe–”

“I’m sorry,” I conceded, reaching up to again card my fingers through his hair. “It’s just…they didn’t throw you out, Con. They didn’t call us names. They didn’t burn your things. That’s a luxury I didn’t have when I came out to my folks.”

He sighed, pressing his nose against my chest again, kissing over the fabric of my shirt with a pained expression. “I know, baby, and I’m so sorry. Just–I’m taking care of you from now on, alright? You don’t have to worry about that stupid shit anymore.”

“I know sweetheart,” I sighed, leaning down to kiss him again, knotting my hands into his long hair and going deeper, feeling Connor’s long legs give way to straddle me, his own hands framing my face to keep me firmly in place.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against my lips, before diving back in with fervor, licking up into my mouth, pulling a small laugh from the both of us.

“Con–” I warned.

“I know,” he groaned, pressing his face into the side of my neck and stretching my shirt collar to reveal a stripe of skin, beginning to suck a vicious hickey there, earning a surprised yelp from me.

“Connor, you can’t–”

“Knock, knock!”

We sprang apart, both of us scrubbing at our faces, attempting to control our breathing. Connor stared wordlessly at the still closed door for a long time, before his mother called his name again and it dawned on him that she was asking permission to enter his room.

“Come in.”

Cynthia smiled apologetically upon entering, balancing a tray in her hands and sitting it on Connor’s desk, still covered in papers, before seating herself in the desk chair. Connor shifted, obviously uncomfortable.

“We haven’t touched your room,” she said softly, smiling a bit differently than she had downstairs. “Left it just the way you liked it.”

“Thanks,” he said softly, picking at the duvet with his fingernails, before thinking better of it and reaching out to take my hand again. Solidarity.

Cynthia Murphy smiled.

“I brought you cookies–Connor doesn’t like pie, I’m not sure if he told you,” she said to me with a grin, extending a plate I took warily, thanking her warmly as I could. “I know a lot of people eat pie on Thanksgiving, but I’m honestly not even very good at making it–”

“Mom,” Connor called desperately, looking at her with wild eyes. Scared.

“Your dad is just fine,” she promised, still smiling at him like he was the most important thing in the world. Connor’s expression told me he’d never seen it before. “And he’s gonna come around. He just needs a minute, is all.”

Connor nodded, admitting it was reasonable, even if he didn’t like it. “You?”

She smiled, and for the first time I noticed her eyes were wet. “You’ve found somebody, sweetheart. That’s the most important thing. Look how much you’ve grown–I’m so proud of you, Connor.”

I let them hug. I let them cry. I let Cynthia hug me, thank me, take my face in her hands and promise me that I had a home here as long as I loved her son.

It was a lot. It was so much.

And when it was over, it was Connor and I wrapped around each other in his twin bed, our faces desperately close and whispering softly to each other.

“I think my mom wants me to propose.”

“You sure your dad’s heart can take it?”

“Haha, Prince Charming, you’re hilarious.”

A beat of silence, so long that I thought he’d fallen asleep, before I felt his lips linger at my temple. “Thanks for loving me.”

I tightened my grip on his sides, kissing his collar bone lightly. “Always, sweetheart.”

#connor murphy x reader #connor murphy #dear evan hansen #deh #connor murphy imagines #mike faist #ben platt #Connor writes the milk

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stellatex · 5 years

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Nine Questions I Need Teresa Giudice to Answer: Updated

Originally published February 15, 2016 I actually gave up Bravo for Lent, but I've already floundered on day one by continuing to watch, think about, and write about this bullshit. Sunk costs and all that.

So, here is my updated scorecard on the nine questions I needed Teresa to answer if she expected the viewing public to continue watching and supporting her.

1. You said in your statement to the judge during sentencing that you “fully take responsibility” for your actions. You said, “It’s time for me to wake up… I will make this right no matter what it takes.” Why, immediately afterward, in your interview on Watch What Happens Live, did you backtrack and try to deflect blame to your husband while insisting things were just put before you to sign?

In my opinion, she's doing this because she's being coached, either by her lawyer or a new PR team, or both, probably because they mistakenly believe that painting Teresa as some kind of innocent bedazzled Madonna will allow her to keep the Bravo Sunday gravy train chugging along. It's also possible that Teresa's advisors, friends, and various hangers-on, whoever they may be, are telling her how faaaaabulous she is--that's it's obvious she's the wronged party, and that she's so very strong and inspiring, etc., etc.--because they know who butters their bread, and, if history is any guide, Teresa has a habit of cutting out anyone who questions her lies and self deception (as we've seen both on the show and in the news reports about how she fired her publicist, her lawyers, and her co-writer). It's obvious that there are still a few small-time Jersey famewhores buzzing around Teresa in the mistaken belief that she is a queen bee. Typical celebrity yes-men and con-men. We've seen this over and over with celebrities, and it never turns out well, though a lot of people may make a lot of money in the short-term, and get some of that reflected spotlight that they so obviously crave. Regardless, like I said in my original post, if Teresa thinks she can just skate out of federal prison as a sinewy, chilled-out felon and continue to stonewall and deny and refuse to acknowledge any criminal culpability whatsoever, she has severely misjudged the nature of her dubious fame. But more on that in a moment.

Regardless, all of the interviewers asked her a fairly direct version of the question above; shockingly, Andy Cohen pushed it the hardest, asking point-blank, "What did you do? Can you tell us what you did?" And still she played dumb, owning up to merely "signing some papers." Girlfriend, we can all read the indictment. If you're so innocent, why didn't you take your case to trial? You admitted in the process of accepting a plea deal that you were guilty. Accepting a plea deal necessitates that you not only agree to pleading guilty, but that you are fully cognizant of what you are pleading to and that you understand the consequences. We all know what you did, Teresa.

2. You claim to be “business savvy,” telling your husband on an episode of RHONJ, “Like, you know, that’s what I do now. I’m a businesswoman, so I’m thinking business.” You’ve touted your online businesses, your Fabellini drink line, your Milania hair care line, your success as a “New York Time [sic] best-selling author.” So how is it that you are also simultaneously claiming to be a clueless housewife who knows nothing of her own finances, including the assets from said businesses that you tried to hide during both your fraudulent bankruptcy and your sentencing?

See above. This is bullshit.

3. If you are blaming your husband Joe for your ten-plus-years of financial fraud and the year you spent unjustly incarcerated in a federal prison, why are you still with him?

"Because I know he would never do anything to hurt me. He didn't mean to."

Uh, okay. That is also bullshit. Just transparently, obviously, self evidently, undeniably, total bullshit.

4. What would you say to the creditors, banks, and, most importantly, small business owners of New Jersey whom you and your husband fleeced to the tune of millions of dollars? Do you feel any obligation to repay these debts?

Still waiting on someone, anyone, to ask her this obvious follow-up question.

Furthermore, Teresa: I don't want to hear anything else about how this is all Joe's fault, or your brother Joe Gorga's fault, or your sister-in-law Melissa's fault, or your cousin Kathy's fault, or your accountants' fault, or your bankers' fault, or your attorneys' fault. It's not. It's 100% your fault. You're the one who committed the crimes. You're the one who went on national television flaunting thousands of dollars of cash purchases despite the fact that neither you nor your uneducated, clueless husband could possibly ever earn that much money legitimately. And, most importantly, you're the one who cravenly filed for bankruptcy to the tune of $13+ million dollars when you could no longer prop up your charade of nouveau riche consumerism for America's most satanic cable network. You're the one who stole from banks and fleeced businesses. You're a thief, a liar, and, now, a felon.

5. Explain this.

Everybody asked her about this, but instead of answering, she just blamed Joe, who leased it for her (another obvious lie; how did the bankrupt, apparently unemployed felon, who currently has a lien on his house to the tune of half a million dollars, get a lease?). She even blamed Lexus for putting a big red bow on top--which she claims they did because they knew it would be good publicity for Lexus! Uh, okay. I'm sure Lexus wants their brand to be associated with tacky low-life Jersey felons. Sure. Yep. Nobody asked her, "Why not a cheaper car, though?"

6. Why are you and your husband suing your bankruptcy attorney? Furthermore, do you not realize that, in doing so, you will be giving up your attorney-client privilege and opening yourselves up to a new investigation of your finances during the discovery process?

Nobody has asked her this. I am sure she's just say she can't talk about it. But I wonder if these questions have even occurred to her tiny, pisello brain.

7. What are you going to do when Joe is deported?

She demurs on this one, too, probably because--as Vicki Hyman points out--she doesn't want to jeopardize the incredibly small chance Joe has of not being deported per federal guidelines by admitting that she would move to Italy with him.

8. You talk constantly about your love, love, love for your four beautiful dorters. Why did you put them in this position?

I don't think anyone has really asked her this recently, but she is still selling the story that none of the dorters but Gia know what's going on. Which is obviously ridiculous.

And remember how she previously whined on-camera about how haaaaard all of this financial mess (i.e. her multiple felonies) has been on her four beautiful dorters, who don't even have a college fund!

So, you were busy stealing $13+ million dollars, and earning tens of thousands per episode appearing on Bravo, and earning more selling tabloid stories and writing multiple "New York Time bestseller [sic]" books, and buying all those designer clothes and bags and luxury cars, and creating that hideous redone home, and yet you didn't put any of the money aside for your kids? Honey, that's not on anyone but you. And you've made it abundantly clear from your actions that you do not give a single shit about the well-being of your girls. So shut the fuck up with the martyred mother pity party. America ain't buying it.

9. Why should viewers overlook your felonious criminal past and continue to support you by watching RHONJ or buying your books or products?

??????

This is the question.

I, for one, am not.It was clear from five minutes into Teresa's comeback tour that she hasn't changed one whit.

As a fan of the show from the first notes of the opening credits of the first episode, I was shocked when Teresa was sentenced. I had followed the news all day, waiting... waiting... waiting... for the verdicts to come down. And, much like her famewhore family members who allowed their reaction to be filmed (or recreated...) for RHONJ, I was utterly gobsmacked. This zany, silly, thoroughly unserious woman, whom we had all watched for years, was in fact "going away" to prison--and for a not-insignificant amount of time. In that moment, everything changed. This was really real. And I couldn't help thinking about the shock Teresa herself must've felt. She was clearly still in shock when she and Joe sat down for a WWHL special with Andy less than 24 hours after their sentencing.

But it was also kind of cathartic. It was obvious to everyone that the Giudices were Up To Something--from the first episode with the wads of cash and carefree spending. Having followed the case closely and read the indictments, I was not surprised--not really. Even as someone who had a love/hate relationship with the Bravo character called "Tre," it was an awful thing to witness--but it seemed just. And there was a sliver of hope there... that maybe Teresa would, finally, be forced to her own personal reckoning. Maybe, just maybe, all that time away from her children and the onyx manse and the cameras might give Teresa's limited mind the space it needed to feel a small glimmer of shame. That maybe the dawning light of that shame would lead to some actual introspection. She even used the vanity vehicle of "Teresa Checks In" (which I maintain should've been called "Teresa Goes Away") to brag about how much praying she was doing in there. I think many of us more savvy viewers were really hoping she was experiencing genuine remorse.

But nope.

The truly staggering thing to me about all of this is that even eleven months in federal prison wasn't enough to lead to any moral progress at all for this self-obsessed, brain-dead, glitter-bombed Portrait of Dorian Gray.

She will never change.

She is irredeemable.

Her story is over.

There is nothing new to see here. Watching the continuing cautionary tale that is Teresa Giudice is not only a waste of time and potentially personally morally corrosive, but--even worse--it's boring.

And the cherry top? Her blithe, casual endorsement of the candidacy of Donald Trump. I wasn't expecting that--though I probably should've--and it is so much more perfect than either of them could ever realize.

Both of them think they're famous; but, in reality, they're only infamous.

#RHONJ

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writingbeautifullyblog · 4 years

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“The Ones We Love Hurt Us Most of All – The Story of My Life Spent With My Abusive & Mentally Ill Senior Mother & Drug Addict” by Lesley Patterson AKA Lady Opaque It’s ironic and incredibly depressing to think that those who are supposed to love us unconditionally, such as our family members, are so quick to flip the script on you just because things didn’t go their way. Hence, they throw a fit, and suddenly you’re the bad guy. Fuck man… So, my own mother turned on me and literally filed false police reports that caused a Detective to need to meet with my husband and me regarding supposed Debit Card Fraud charges. On top of that, she lied her ass off to get a Temporary Protection Order Against Domestic Violence. Despite telling us that it didn’t matter if we showed up to the Hearing for the Extended Protection Order, the Order has awfully affected us. It portrays my husband and me as abusers who get off on the abusive acts that she falsely stated we’ve committed. In all of its forms from physical to verbal to mental and emotional. Whatever my own mother could say and think up, she said because the Courts took her so seriously that we are a threat that they attached a Firearms Addendum to the Retraining Order. Neither my husband or I may own any firearms anymore for the whole period of a year while the Restraining Order is active and in effect. This is just because we weren’t able to get out to where she is as we don’t have our own car or a means of transportation right now to travel there. We all used to live out in the boonies in Fallon, NV., with the whole family, but the situation kept on getting worse and never let up or got any better, so I took the next logical step and did something about it. I was swift and decisive in my actions when I decided to speak with my mother on August 27th, 2019. “And why did she do this,” you may be asking. It’s quite simple, really. She’s played this game ever since the early 1980s when she claimed that I was molested by my father (of which I have no memories of having occurred ). She went the whole 9 yards with him, too. At the end of the ensuing Custody battle, my mom had everyone believing that my father was a pedophile and a deranged, evil man and drug addict. I, in fact, now actually do not think that I was ever even molested by my dad. I genuinely believe that my mom just wanted to get back at him for the issues they had in their relationship. She’s deranged, and it was quite convenient for her to lie so that she could be granted a TPO, which turned into the same thing that we were served with due to her lies, a Restraining Order Against Domestic Violence. Needless to say, I never had a relationship whatsoever with my father or with his side of the family due to my mother’s influence, and now I see why we were treated as the black sheep of the family and continuously scapegoated by family members. It’s because my mother is fucking lying, shameless and horrific bitch that no one, not even her own blood relatives, wants anything to do with. It was hard for me to understand that as a child and a young adult. I knew my mother was mentally ill and on drugs, but I never really saw all of the abuse and tactics for what they indeed were until I’d summoned up the strength and guts to finally leave her to her own devices. It’s all very simple to her. I’m sure; she wants to hurt my husband and me for no longer wishing to live with her after over 17+ years of living together with her constant drama, untreated mental illnesses, and everything else. It compounded with her incessant nit-picking and family fight, causing ways along with her daily wants, needs, and unreasonable and abusive demands. Her behavior and false allegations about and towards my own father drove him to literally insanity. The poor man went bat shit crazy and finally broke down, brought the lawnmower into the old family home, set an accelerated fire with the gasoline inside of it, and prepared to sit down and burn himself alive. I shit you not, this is 100% true! That’s what really happened to him as a result of what my mother had done, she had broken him and permanently damaged his reputation, and he felt there was no going back or moving forward left for him. I find that quite sad… Finally, I think he just wanted relief from the torture, the pain, and the relentless agony and angry depression that he suffered from. Supposedly my dad was Schizophrenic, but I’m not sure I buy that one anymore either. (Straight from the horse’s mouth, if you know what I mean…) My mother is a drug addict and a big drama Llama who enjoys picking and picking at you, slowly eroding your sanity and your calmness until she’s got everyone upset in one way or another. I hadn’t known this had happened, but my own mother tried to turn me against my very own daughter. She had manipulated me into believing that it was her who was the disruptive one and caused all of the household’s problems and fights, but the whole time it was her slithering snake ass. I even put my own daughter on probation and had gotten the law involved with police and everything due to my mother’s tricks and deceit. It wasn’t until very recently that my daughter confided in me how her own grandma used to beat the holy living shit out of her whenever my husband and I left her home with her. I feel terrible about it, and it’s something that I can’t apologize enough for having had happened to her. My mother is a hardcore pain pill addict and takes handfuls of opioids daily. (Not counting how often she runs out early due to her severe abuse and misuse of them.) She was supposed to love me and to want the best for me; to raise me to be someone who succeeds in life, but I got the short end of the stick and, lastly, blatant betrayal. I am honestly shocked that she filed false accusations against us, especially on me. Well, I was blown away at first, but then my husband and my daughter told me that they couldn’t believe that I didn’t see that bullshit coming over a mile away. I felt a bit stupid, because the more I mulled it over privately, the more I knew that they were right. Then again, who would want to believe that their own mother could be so heartless as to use the law along with her tall tales and illegal perjury to harm them in such a retaliatory fashion? No one, that’s who and neither did I. I was thinking the other night, and before my mother had gotten myself and my daughter removed from her custody and put into foster care through DCFS back in 2001. She got in trouble for meth use, pain pill abuse, and charges of blatant Child Neglect at the time. I finally came down to the quite painful and heartbreaking realization that I was so much so not a priority to my own mother that she had us living in motels ever since we moved to the Reno, NV. area in 1997. In case you didn’t know this already when you live only in motels, you are legally considered homeless. My mother made me homeless in 1997 when we left my hometown of Sacramento, CA., to move here to Northern Nevada. Back then, also due to her use of methamphetamines, she had so recklessly not planned the move at all or what we’d do once we got to Reno. This inaction on her part caused us to lose the UHaul we’d used to move, and shortly after that, all of the belongings inside of it as well. Everything I’d ever had my whole entire short life at that point, was auctioned off by the company due to her non-payment. It resulted in that because instead of being an adult and doing the right thing and working with them on payments, she fucked up badly and decided it’d be better to try and hide the Uhaul van that we’d used and parked it in secrecy. She couldn’t even do that well enough because she was so drugged out, and the Uhaul company came and picked up their van within just a few days. I was upset about it for the longest time, about losing everything that I’d ever owned. There was a bag of crank in the Uhaul van, and when my mother did have the opportunity to get a few things out, she opted instead to find the meth. She sent me to school and didn’t allow me to come to get any of my stuff out of the van. I lost literally everything I’d ever loved and many important memories like family photos and keepsakes from passed on relatives. It still makes me literally sick to think about it. My mother is the kind of woman who attracts the biggest loser in town, and it always gets exceedingly violent and then ends terribly. The man she chose was a bigger addict than she was and an awful person. He’d beat her often, even right in front of my then-boyfriend now-husband and me. He then started beating me and attempted to choke me out once, but my husband stopped him from succeeding in his attempt. In retaliation, the man threw my baby kitten out of the second story motel window resulting in what was a white kitten with Grey spots appearing like he was brown. I only found this out because I was pregnant with my daughter and searching everywhere for me kitten whom I thought had escaped somehow from the house. Turns out, Animal Control was called to pick him up because he couldn’t move from the spot where he fell and was injured so severely that he appeared brown. This gave me great heartache as it means he was hurt so badly as to bleed a great deal, and when it dried, it caused him to appear brown in color. My main point of this blog post is that no human being deserves such treatment. No one deserves this kind of abuse, yet sadly it’s committed all over the world, every single day by horrible people who enjoy harming others. It’s terribly ironic that my mother has turned her tactics of abuse onto my husband and to this extent, especially when you consider that we were the ONLY ones who were ever there for her, and this is the thanks that we get? Intimidation, harassment, threats, attempted Criminal charges, and a Restraining Order? Neither my husband nor I have ever once been in trouble with the law, and yet somehow, they believe this cunt who has a pension for pulling these stunts on people to get back at them for decades??? Breaking away from abuse is always a scary endeavor. If you stayed, at least you’d have the surety of knowing how it’s likely going to turn out, but many people really fear change, especially big ones. It took a lot of thought and courage on my behalf to decide that myself and the other members of the family no longer should be treated so abusively and taken advantage of by my mother. I did get away, finally, after many years of relentless maltreatment. Things are starting to get better for us rather quickly now, too. I have a new job, and my husband can finally get the knee surgery that he’s needed for years. My main point here is that there is hope! There are loving, kind people in the world, and you shouldn’t ever give up and stay in an abusive situation because it’s never going to get any better, only much worse. Worse yet, you’ll waste all of the days, months, or years of finding yourself and actually living and enjoying life if you stay with your abuser. It can be done, you can leave, and things can start to improve, it just takes a leap of faith and a bit of work, but you never have to stay in those circumstances, it’s unhealthy and only leads to stress, sickness, and precious time wasted. Work on yourself instead, take the first step and tell yourself right now, make a promise to yourself, that if you’re ever being abused by anyone you love, you’ll leave. The name of the game is to “love thyself” and believe me, you ARE worthy of love, and you ARE worth it! By Lesley Michelle Patterson AKA Lady Opaque of www.WritingBeautifully.com https://www.facebook.com/The.Official.Author.Lady.Opaque https://www.writingbeautifully.com/blog

#LesleyPatterson #LesleyMPatterson #LesleyMichellePatterson #LadyOpaque #TheOfficialAuthorLadyOpaque #TheWritingBeautifullyBlog #WritingBeautifully #TrueStory #True #Autobiography #MentallyIll #DrugAddict #Addiction #DrugAddiction #MentalHealth #Abuse #DomesticViolence #DomesticAbuse

#LesleyPatterson LesleyMPatterson LesleyMichellePatterson LadyOpaque TheOfficialAuthorLadyOpaque TheWritingBeautifullyBlog WritingBeautifully

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lifeofresulullah · 4 years