#who are able to ignore the atrocities committed to benefit them

[yanderes-galore]

Hi dark soul anon here so locthric and Lorian huh? Their parents show how much they care for them by naming them similar to the kingdom they ruled , seriously just search oceiros that guy was so obsessed a whole other different level his gene might be handed down to his sons

So let's start with Lothric not to be confused by the kingdom itself but Lothric the Choosen prince he was heralded as the one who will bring the age of fire once again Despite all the hopes that were placed in him, Lothric soon revealed himself to be a sick and shriveled child, so weak that he never grew out of his baby clothes, which remained his only clothing throughout his life and were blessed to at least try to keep him healthy he's appearance is not what you think for one prophesied for greatness he's smaller than his own sword , frail and full of disease. He neither has the strength of his brother nor his incredible prowess in battlefield The frail prince still demonstrated talent for sorcery, for which he did not need a medium being the son of a deity, and learned several powerful  and refeined spells. Lothric continued to live and at some point Aldia, the first of the Grand Archives scholars and doubtful of the linking of the Flame, became his private mentor

Then there's Lorian the eldest prince there's nothing much known about him as the eldest prince, was designated heir to the throne . Lorian was raised as a knight and proved his incredible prowess on the battlefield, leading a war against the remnants of the Chaos Demons and even capturing some of them to serve as slaves for Lothric. The prince even faced the Demon Prince in a duel and was able to single-handedly defeat him, resulting in his greatsword being eternally scorched with the flame of chaos

When the royal family realized that Lothric would not improve from his condition , they resorted to repulsive acts in an attempt to obtain a worthy Champion for the linking: the rulers would in fact bind the souls of the two brother princes together with a curse , in the hope that the weaker Lothric would thus share the strength of Lorian, making them able to sacrifice themselves to the Flame together. Despite the monstrous practice, Lorian himself had the desire to submit to the curse, to try to help his younger brother, even at the cost of depriving the kingdom of the heir he represented.

When the First Flame began to fade and the time came for Prince Lothric to fulfill his duty and and become a Lord of Cinder, at least helping with the linking ritual, he simply refused. After reflecting on his mentor's teachings, the state of the kingdom and the world, his cursed life and the atrocities committed to continue to link the Flame the prince decided to ignore his "duty", refusing to continue the legacy of the Lords, and instead chose to wait for the Flame's death from the distance.

So from what we know the twins was used their parents as a mean to their benefit they were ignored and one of them was only seen as this savior that will save Lothric that will burn for their sake ( if I were Choosen to be burned forevermore I'd also refuse) because of propaganda (read : oceiros) because of that they were easily influenced shown by the scholar that teach them about the fire linking curse and also very loyal to each other seen by their curse for not linking the fire

I think if Lothric and Lorian want to platonic yandere to some ashen one it can't be any ashen one that they just meet in Lothric they to be someone familiar to them in their childhood, so this ashen one have to be some maid or someone that work in the castle close to them maybe some nanny for the twin but since they are human they die and become undead but ( or oceiros kill them because the twin attachments) for some sick joke Choosen as this ashen one to link the fire.

So when the twin see the ashen one there's this sort of familiar aura from you and when they find out they will not fight you, to them you have the parent they never have instead they will force you with them to watch the age of fire fall together

Don't worry this time they'll not let anything happen to you

I like this! I'll do their concept today with something like this :)

[darthkieduss]

Try

Revolution doesn't just happen overnight. It can happen spontaneously, yes, but it builds and builds and builds until it can no longer be contained. The need for freedom, liberty and justice will become a force so massive that the government in Washington DC will not be able to ignore or write off as "tiktok kid activism". It is up to every single one of us to contribute to the revolution.

Oppression is not natural. Freedom is the nature of all life forms, not just us humans. While some animals such as the dog or cat can definitely survive better in a house under control of a human, I've never seen a dog more happy then when you let them outside. To control people, whether it be because of some dumb book written 2,000 years ago (by man not God) or because of some obsession with maintaining "order" is an act of narcissism. To think that one has a right to control what living breathing beings can do with their lives is a blatant act of claiming that they are gods over humanity.

Remember this: It is not natural to be controlled. If you are spiritual or super religious, God (or gods) gave us free will for a reason. If you are an atheist, then free will comes from nature. Governments try to control people because they are afraid. President Thomas Jefferson himself coined the phrase: When the government fears the people, there is liberty. When the people fear the government, there is tyranny. The government tries to control people because like most men, they fear losing their power and wealth. They seek to control to preserve their power. That's why the government will commit atrocities like opening fire on striking workers like the Kent State shootings against students protesting the Vietnam War or the 1927 Columbine Mine massacre against coal miners simply striking for better wages and benefits. It is inhumane to control people. Sure, government has to exist. I'm not an anarchist, but the amount of control the US government has exhibited since 1981 is unconstitutional and must be opposed.

Reform is not the answer. Reform is just a bandage on a wound that needs stitches. Change is needed but change through reform is like a drug addict thinking he's kicking drugs by simply only doing drugs once a week. True Revolution happens when the opium is completely thrown out and destroyed. In order for true change to happen, it must come through sudden revolution. We must uphaul the system and like a phoenix, rebirth this country from its ashes.

It does sometime seem like it's impossible. "What can I do? I'm just one person and the US government has the military." Remember this, we outnumber them. The US military has 1,328,000+ active servicemen, with 800,000+ reserve while the US population is 334,914,895 (2023 concenus). Ordinary peasants took down the Czar's Armies and ruled Russia for 74 years. In many revolutions, those were in the military sided with the people, such as the French and Russian Revolutions. Hell, a vast number of those who swore an allegiance to King George III took off their redcoats and pledged their lives to the cause of the American Revolution. When enough soldiers see what is happening, they will dissent and swell our ranks. The British Empire was the most powerful military in the world at that time and we won, though we would've lost without France's assistance so don't get arrogant.

I know revolution seems impossible especially with all the propaganda that Fox News, CNN, MSNBC etc pop out everyday. Remember the Soviets and the Nazis shoved propaganda throughout their empires and both fell, people in both nations rose up against the far-left communism and far-right fascism. The British government often used propaganda, including religious propaganda, to ensure that their American subjects should be loyal to the King and yet we've been an indepenet country since 1783. The Russian government under Putin commands obedience and tells its people tremendous lies about its illegal war in Ukraine and yet millions of Russian people protest him. The Israelis claim that anyone who opposes Israel or its actions (genocide) against Palestinians in Gaza is Anti-Semitic and yet people all around the world, including here in the US, protest Israel.

It's also quite possible that multiple revolutions must happen in order for the big one to come about. The Soviet Union didn't come about because of one revolution in 1917 but of two. The people rose up against the Czar in February of 1917 only for sadly the extremist Bolsheviks to conquer Russia in the October Revolution of 1917. Our own American Revolution took over 10 years to ignite, starting with the British Parliament passing the Stamp Act in 1765 to the firing of shots at Lexington and Concord in 1775. The American Revolution occurred across thirteen colonies. So really, the American Revolution was about multiple revolutions exploding throughout the Colonies that united to form the United States of America.

This is not a shot at conservatism or leftism. Both the Democrat and Republican Parties have taken rights from Americans, from the Republicans passing the Patriot Act (essentially gutting the Bill of Rights) after 9/11 and Democrats not allowing that proto-fascist act to expire (it's set to expire every five years but the government under both parties keep delaying the expiration). This is an outline on how revolution must happen. Both parties have allowed the wealthy elite to plunder this nation and steal from the working class to ensure they have all the money and power (one is definitely more guilty than the other but I digress) .

Remember this: Revolutions happen because the people demand it. When enough people have tried method after method of chaning the system peacefully, what other alternative do they have left other than Revolution? Every protest, whether it's on the left or right, puts out in front of the people the failures of the government. Millions of women are to this day protesting that the supreme court has stripped them of their constitutional right to bodily autonomy. Millions of people around the world are in the streets protesting the genocidal act of Putin's Russia and Netenyahu's Israel.

Maybe it is hopeless. Maybe I'm just wasting time on this post. Most likely no one will see it. But I have to try. I would rather die on my feet then live on my knees. If I could do this fight against tyranny all over again, the only thing I'd change is the year it happened. Never give up. Even if you don't live to see the results. Even if you fail. Even if the government comes to your house to take you away. Your example will inspire others to rise up. We have to try. Change doesn't happen because we bowed our heads and went along to get along. And sometimes you have to out yourself. Sometimes you have to call out your alcoholic racist uncle at Thanksgiving. Even if your family turns against you.

Remember this: revolutions don't happen because of one person. George Washington didn't defeat the British at Yorktown all himself. It took the courage, bravery and sacrifice of thousands of brave American men and women. Even children, as proven by then 13 year old Andrew Jackson. Napoleon didn't start the French revolution. Vladimir Lenin didn't start the Russian Revolution. It's up to all of us. To lead by example.

We will sacrifice, we will struggle but ultimately we will triumph.

Let me end this with the manifesto of Karis Nemik, a character from the Andor series (a really good Star Wars series despite my preference for Star Wars Legends). Consider these words and take them to heart:

There will be times when the struggle seems impossible. I know this already. Alone, unsure, dwarfed by the scale of the enemy.

Remember this. Freedom is a pure idea. It occurs spontaneously and without instruction. Random acts of insurrection are occurring constantly throughout the galaxy. There are whole armies, battalions that have no idea that they've already enlisted in the cause.

Remember that the frontier of the Rebellion is everywhere. And even the smallest act of insurrection pushes our lines forward. And then remember this. The Imperial need for control is so desperate because it is so unnatural. Tyranny requires constant effort. It breaks, it leaks. Authority is brittle. Oppression is the mask of fear.

Remember that. And know this, the day will come when all these skirmishes and battles, these moments of defiance will have flooded the banks of the Empire's authority and then there will be one too many. One single thing will break the siege.

Remember this: Try.

#Try #Freedom #Revolution #Socialism #Capitalism #Communism #Fascism #Oppresion #Conservatism #Leftism #Leftist #Uprising #palestinian uprising #Andor #Syndicalism #liberty #american revolution #second american revolution #conservatives #american civil war #civil war #feminism #pizza

[gch1995]

Jedi apologists are such hypocrites. Yes Anakin killed men, women, and children- after they kidnapped and murdered his mother. He felt awful about it and broke down. But say he didn't kill the kids, just left them in the desert with the corpses of their parents. To live or die on their own. And one Tusken teen came for revenge. Only got caught. Sent to prison. And Anakin told the kid oh you will have to forgive. Pretty cold- oh sorry I am describing Mace Windu. Or he could have burn them alive and made jokes. Oh- that Master Mundi. Or just cut off all their limbs to die in the suns. Oh- that is Obi Wan

Yeah, Anakin being willing to murder children was horrendous, regardless of the abuse,emotional/mental health issues, and shitty circumstances of compromised agency under the corrupt, exploitative, hypocritical, and legally messed up galactic superpower governments in the old Republic/Jedi Order and Empire.

However, while Anakin’s crimes were inexcusably atrocious, I also think it’s easy for a lot of fans to overlook just how similarly awful the instances of systematic abuse, betrayal, crime, manipulation, and oppression that Obi-Wan, Yoda, Mace Windu, the Jedi Council, many of the other Jedi adults, and the Republic government of his time were willing to enable and/or commit against anyone who either benefitted them or got in the way of whatever they considered the “greater good” of their cause, too.

We just happen to see Anakin committing more of those instances of abuse and crime because the narrative of the prequels is primarily from his point of view, not theirs. Obi-Wan, Yoda, Qui-Gonn, Mace Windu, and many of the other members of the old Jedi Order and Republic didn’t really ever get much chance to develop a personal sense of morality and self-awareness in regards to the horror of these atrocities and manipulations they got taught to commit for the Jedi Order or self-protection out of what was truly just excessive anger, distrust, and fear to take a risk to do any better when the odds were against them.

Yeah, they did because every creature is born with free will and independence that can never be entirely suppressed and erased, but it was a lot easier for them to ignore those voices of common sense, individuality, love for close family and friends over a purported “greater good,” and self-awareness pricking the back of their minds than it was for Anakin and especially Luke because they never got any sort of chance to really develop a realistic outlook on the galaxy or themselves living in an environment full of authority figures who taught them that any form of critical thinking, independence, or expression was “wrong” from the ages of infancy-three.

In short, I think that a lot of characters from the prequel era Jedi, particularly Obi-Wan Kenobi, Mace-Windu, and Yoda, actually developed more of an angry, cowardly, terrified, selfish, ruthless, and vindictive side than they were willing to admit to anyone else, including themselves. In a way, that denial and poorly developed sense of self-awareness in regards to their own desires, negative feelings, and flaws kept them from being in danger of falling too far to the dark side. Anakin went dark and remained on the dark side as a pretty terrible Sith for so long, not just because his agency was compromised, but because he was afraid, he was angry, and he was too self-aware in regards to his own flaws and the flaws in both of these systems he spent his whole life to just pretend they didn’t exist. Luke avoided the dark side, but also didn’t get caught up in the detached, hypocritical, willfully in-denial, toxic, and self-righteous “goodness” of the old Jedi because he had enough courage in his self-awareness in regards to his own agency, his own beliefs, his own flaws, and the strengths and flaws in the ways of both the old Jedi Order and the Sith to be able to feel confident enough to open up about it, push for changes, and stand his ground under pressure.

Anakin had strong self-awareness, though he learned to cover it up with those “greater good” and “Anakin is dead” lines, but tragically weak self-confidence in his personal agency and beliefs under the Jedi and Sidious without much healthy support after being separated from his mother, which is why he fell. Obi-Wan, Yoda, and many members of the old Jedi Order never were in serious danger of falling because they were taught to be exceedingly confident in the ways of their broken institution’s code and “greater good” as an excuse to justify every awful thing they did out of fear of the unknown, but woefully lacking in the necessary amount of courage, humility, flexibility, and self-acceptance to face their own issues, face the world around them, adapt, and step outside of their safety to put themselves out there and make a difference for the better.

#pt Jedi critical #obi wan critical #Yoda critical #basically the old Jedi were the new Sith with better pr and more effort to look like they were ‘so above it all’ #also they were basically the new Sith just living more comfortably in-denial of how much they really sucked #Anakin killing kids was really bad don’t get me wrong #but people realize that the Jedi elders of his time were willing to do the same to kids who got in their way too #right?

[stormobsessed]

Avatar: The Last Bondsmith

So, I had made THIS POST about a Zuko Windrunner and his Spren Iroh, and there were a lot of comments about other radiant orders for the other characters, and a strong argument for Zuko not actually being a windrunner because his arc was less about protecting people and more about facing hard truths. That may be Lightweaver, but Lightweaver is personal truths, and Zuko doesn’t have a lot of personal lies, but is entrenched in the lies of his nation. I feel like fixing that is very Truthwatcher. 

Then… this happened, I hope you enjoy. 

The Fire Nation was full of Lightweavers. It was a court of secrets, of hidden faces, of lies. Men and women and children claimed loyalty when they felt fear, claimed morality as they killed innocent, stayed silent when they wanted to speak, and were practiced at confessing to only their spen rather than risking the words aloud. As time wore and generations changed, it came to pass that nearly every radiant in the Nation was accompanied by a cryptid, one corrupted Sja-anat and blessed by Odium to accept voidlight. The Fire Lord claimed that was good, for the Lightweavers were clearly the strongest order of radiants, with powers and abilities that overshadowed all others. He proclaimed across their country that it was this that showed that they alone deserved to rule. 

The Cryptids loved this lie. 

Was it a lie though? After all, they killed Honor and every one of his windrunners when Odium sent a comet leaking voidlight through the sky. 

Odium loved the passion and anger of the Fire nation as they utilized it and stormlight to begin razing the rest of the world to the ground, the cryptids cared not for honorable or right, only true. Sometimes the truth was cruel and ugly. 

Firelord Ozai was not shamed by truths other men dared not speak. He fully confessed to himself that he was cruel, a monster, that his campaign was about personal growth rather than the love of his nation. He held those truths so clearly, that his power was great. Great enough that when he touched his son’s face in a duel and felt dry, flaking skin, he said ‘you are fire’ and it did not disobey. 

Not even when the child screamed. 

The son was failing, only sworn to the first ideal, if any. Ozai had never seen his son’s spren, in fact if any had it would have been his traitorous, Stoneward mother with her weak oaths of being there for others. She’d broken her oaths though. She was not here for her children. In assassinating Azulon and fleeing she’d saved her son, but killed her spen. 

The boy was weak. He was too hot headed, too honest. He wore his heart on his sleeve and said every word that he thought. Sometimes Ozai doubted that he had Truth to speak at all. He was completely unlike his sister, a prodigy who could weave illusion nearly as soon as she could walk. She soulcast before the age of five. She was the most skilled Lightweaver to be born in decades. 

She had to be. She couldn’t reveal that she could not say the last truth, could not make herself try to accept it, even if the ghostly lightweaving vision of her mother that visited every night said it without fail. She couldn’t accept it. After all, if she was a monster without even the love of her mother, then surely no one could blame her for the atrocities she commited, it was simply in her nature. It was why she could smile at the duel, why she could laugh as her brother was sent on an impossible quest, why she could focus on how much closer that made her to the throne. 

Odium liked that, the passion of her people, the passion of her family, her passion. 

Zuko had passion as well, but it was not a kind that Oduim enjoyed. 

So Zuko was banished, for an impassioned speech to save men Odium considered no better than discarded toys. An impassioned plea for a useless passion. 

Zuko was almost relieved, for it gave him the opportunity to hide that his spren was not a cryptid at all. His mistspren, Iroh, spoke in a light accent that almost always had a proverb or a chuckle, and the few times Zuko risked looking into shadesmar, he found a rotund, smiling old man. Upon materializing in the material world, one of the first things he did was hear someone offer a cup of tea to a man who was distraught, and had latched onto that. Zuko could barely say a word without the kindly spren suggesting a tea break. 

Zuko feared the day that he would be material enough to actually carry the tea leaves to a cup. 

But Zuko… couldn’t say the ideals. He didn’t know what they would mean. Not at first. It wasn’t until he left a stonewards home in the Earth Kingdom, after days of hearing nothing but hate and fear towards his people, that he felt the words at his lips. 

“I will seek the truth, even when it is painful to me.” 

“Well done, Prince Zuko.” Iroh had said. “Now, how about some tea.” 

“We’re in the middle of the dessert.” 

“So?” 

“There’s no tea anywhere within a hundred miles of here!” 

“Well, all you need for tea is leaves, yes? I will find pre-tea.” 

“No, it’s not any leaves! You can’t just-” 

But Zuko almost feared that oath, for what did it mean for his mission that would restore him to his home? He was more powerful now, but would that be enough to capture the Bondsmith that he had been chasing for months? 

The bondsmiths were rare, after all, only three spren could form a bondsmith pack, and two had been damaged so dearly that they were as dead as a Spren of their nature could be for nearly a century. There was only one spren whose identity had been unknown, the spren created by the slain honor, the Avatar. 

A century past, when all manner of radiants were formed in all manner of locations, Windrunners found themselves drawn to one another, taking shelter in mountain top homes across the world where they could immediately be sent out to help others. For warriors, they were a peaceful people who desired not to fight, but to protect. Though honor spren bonded men and women of every people back then, nearly every member of the Air Nomads was a windrunner, as the men and women lived and taught their ideals. 

Aang was young when he bonded his spren, not the youngest but still young. The Windrunners wondered why they never saw the boy’s spren after he swore the first ideal, but reasoned that while honor spren were not often shy, each had their own distinct personalities and a timid spren could only help the foolhardy boy. They questioned why he did not use the gravitational lashing, though relaxed when he was able to use the surge of adhesionc Different people excelled at different elements of surge binding after all.

However, Aang was seeing a world that was starting to crack under the pre-war tensions. He saw merchants refusing trades with other nations, sneers and insults and hate. When his two closest friends, Bumi and Kuzon, both confessed that their parents forbade them from playing together, he couldn’t take it. He hated to see the balanced world tearing itself apart and uttered the words with a yell “I will unite instead of divide!” 

He was the youngest bondsmith to ever bond a spren, but the Avatar, a spren element of honor who upheld balance and unity, was sure of its choice oice. However, ironically the bond did nothing but divide him from others his age. It drove a chasm between him and his playmates, as they recognized his unique and great power. When the elders spoke, and threatened to separate the boy of unity from the only family he’d ever known he’d panicked and fled, ending up in a storm and utilizing his powers to create a protective shell around himself and his pet, his ever-renewing stormlight keeping him alive as his body froze. 

As a hundred years passed the world changed. Spren were killed, oaths were broken, and radiants were captured and tortured, until in some places, such as the Southern Water Tribe, no radiants bonded at all. None except for one girl, Katara, the daughter of a chief who saw a decimated people barely able to survive and vowed not to forget them. Who saw their pleas for help being ignored and promised to listen to those without a voice. The edgedancer glided through the stiffest snow like it was clear ice and scaled glaciers like the handholds formed at her whim. She healed the sick and wounded as her brother, Sokka, a non-radiant protected and bore the tribe’s last, hidden shardblade. 

Their father had entrusted the shardblade to him before disappearing to fight in the war, knowing that the benefit to having the blade would be outweighed by the enemies that would seek it, and the allies that were willing to become enemies to obtain it. The blade was large, a straight line of sheer unworldly black. If one were to peak into shadesmar, they would find a peakspren with skin of dark stone following the blade. If they looked closely, they might see the spren tilt its head when the boy lovingly talked to his weapon. 

In this changed world there is also a willshaper. A young girl in a gilded cage who longs to be free and wishes that others have that same option. A girl whose parents immediately, upon seeing cloudy eyes, traveled to the Nightwatcher in search of their boon and curse. Perhaps they hadn’t been clear enough, for they asked that their daughter could see the world, but her eyes did not grow clear. However, as the child began to walk upon stone itself, discarding fancy shoes and plush carpets, she found that with each step she could feel and hear the ground beneath her feet. The stone would tell her where she was, what was near, and what those around her were doing. She found a vision far beyond mere sight of the eyes, a vision constantly being renewed by light leeched from the stones themselves, just enough to keep this one power constant. This was the boon of the Nighwatcher. What was the curse? None can say. Perhaps it was that the girls parents would never truly understand the gift of the boon. Perhaps it was that the girl would never feel happy in the left they wished to foist upon her. Perhaps it was something else entirely. It didn’t matter, for when the Bondsmith, the Edgedancer, and the Shardbearer came, she could no more stay with her parents than she could break her oaths. She was taking the chance to be free. 

There were others in this world as well. There was a warrior in a green dress and war makeup, who had bonded no spren but enjoyed watching the windspren dance around her fans. The Honor spren were said to all have died in the genocide but… she couldn’t help but hope as she protected her people, then left to protect others that needed her. 

There was a princess with white hair, with startling insights into the truth of the spirit world and who would one day use her stormlight to use regrowth on a spirit, condemning herself to death on wounds she didn’t have light enough to heal. 

There was an elderly inventor, an elsecaller who had used transportation to bring himself and his crippled son to a safe place where he could work on creating fabrials to stop the war. Though, when he was discovered by the Fire Nation his work did nothing but perpetuate it. 

There was a teen of messy hair, whose spen formed dual blades. He was a skybreaker, bound to the ideal that the Fire Nation was evil, that their very presence in the world was a wrong that needed to be corrected. He lashed himself into trees and created a home for children, teaching them his ways and bonds. 

There was a girl of the Fire Nation, who was so often mistaken for her own many siblings that she was determined never to forget anyone else. She danced on the world, walking wires like it would be impossible that she should fall, gliding when others walked. 

Her friend, a willshaper who had been trapped by chains of propriety and expectation, who spoke to the ground to form weapons of peerless balance, who would appear without warning, and whose enemies often went down before knowing they were in danger. 

Zuko sought the Avatar’s Bondsmith, facing foe after foe as he travelled the world. He could find no edgedancer or truthwatcher who could heal the scar that marked him traitor, that marked him an honorless traitor. His surges were weak with the second oath, and Iroh could not form a blade until the next was spoken, leaving him with simple steel. 

In fact, it wasn’t until he had achieved his purpose, the Avatar-Bondsmith supposedly dead through the bold of ribbon that Azula had soulcast into lightening, that he was able to profess the next ideal. Name restored, sitting at the right hand of his father, he realized that there was no truth in the Fire Nation. He realized that everything he had learned his whole life were beautiful lies. He knew the truth now, and Iron sat at his shoulder with a weakening voice, imploring him not to break his oath. 

It was only then that he knew what words were pushing at his mouth, as he whispered to himself, broken, “I will see the truth declared, in spite of those who would try to hide it.” 

When he stood, Iroh was a set of Dual Doas in his hand, and he marched to confront his father on the day that Odium’s Voidlight would be eclipsed. 

#avatar the last airbender #The Stormlight Archive #knights radiant #Surgebinding #More like Surgebending #Zuko #Azula #Iroh #Ozai #Aang #Katara #Sokka #Toph #Suki #Yue #JET #Tai Lee #Mai

[philliamwrites]

Son cœur

Fandom: The Case Study of Vanitas (by Mochizuki Jun)

Pairing: Noé/Vanitas

Tags: #alternate chapter 16, #implied/referenced child abuse, #implied/referenced rape/non-con, #tragic past, #vanitas has like a bijillion problems, #and noé is one of them, #angst and feels, #blood drinking, #spoilers 4th manga

Words: 3.5k

Summary: Captured by the Chasseurs, Vanitas and Noé have to find a way out that hopefully doesn't end with Noé's head off and Vanitas's friend account of 1 being reduced by 1.

Son cœur 

    It was only fair to say everything was Noé’s fault.

    As much as Vanitas felt content with a useful shield like him, he felt incredible irritation more than anything else, and too close to burst at the seams with searing anger. Infiltrating the place of the Chasseurs had been way too easy. Lying came as natural to Vanitas as breathing, even though he sort of wondered about the spontaneity regarding the names he came up with. Gilbert and Vincent … well, worse names existed.

    In the end, Vanitas should have known. They had survived the Bal Masqué after all and even then Vanitas had been a first row spectator to the inimitable piece of art Noé Archiviste was. Noé didn’t just overthrow his principles and injure people or act ruthless. He’d rather let them crucify him if his sacrifice meant everyone's benediction, and now this very naiveté and lack of cold-heartedness caused their imprisonment.

    For someone drinking as much blood as Noé undoubtedly had over the span of his life, his soul was surprisingly clean—much the opposite of Vanitas’, who imagined a black, rotting canvas with deformed moths eating black holes into its fabric sitting in a dark corner hidden from the world’s greedy eyes.

    No better time for proof would occur again than this moment: Because Noé had refused to use Maria as a hostage, they had been captured and were now sitting in a bunker, surrounded by thick metal and no escape but the firmly sealed door opposite from Vanitas, waiting for their death.

    In moments like these Vanitas felt a suffocating hate towards Noé; this loathing clawed as a slithering, black ruin at his chest and tried to gutter him like a pumpkin; a monster searching for a way outside to set the world in flames, burning down towns and villages, perpetrators and victims alike. This thing and Vanitas were acquainted since a long time, it always felt like a reunion with an old friend rather than the surprise of a stranger standing in front of his door. And yet, what could he do?

    Physically, Vanitas was no match for Noé. Sure, he had the Book of Vanitas, but what would it use him to look for Noé’s true name and turn him into a Curse-Bearer. Both options would end in Vanitas experiencing a lot of pain he’d rather gladly pass on, so he pushed those thoughts far away and returned staring at Noé as if mere observating and a steely resolve were enough to solve why Noé acted the way he did. If there was one thing Vanitas hated more than the Vampire of the Blue Moon and questions about himself, it was questions about others he couldn’t simply answer with his observation skills only. And out of everyone, Noé ended up to be the best example.

    “Mon dieu, could you please stop jumping around and sit for a moment?” Vanitas demanded; his very first words since their imprisonment, because he’d been sure the first thing to come out of his mouth were obscene insults. Noé threw him a quick glance over his shoulder, his red eyes a dim glimmer in the barely lighted room.

    “If I sit, I can’t get us out of here,” Noé simply replied, then punched the metal wall again. The loud bang echoed through their cell. Somewhere at the back of Vanitas’ head a dull throbbing found its home and refused to leave.

    “So far, you are doing a miserable job in trying to free us, Noé,” Vanitas remarked with a bored expression, ignoring how smooth and easy Noé’s name usually slid over his lips, but now felt like a thick layer on his tongue trying to suffocate him. Vanitas draped himself on the ground to stretch his long legs, propping his chin on a hand. He closed his eyes and counted to ten to get a hold of himself and come up with a better plan, but only managed to reach three when another bang vibrated through his body, the dull throbbing wandering to his temples.

    “Noé,” he repeated, this time sharper. “Stop it. You’re wasting energy. Save it until the Chasseurs return. Until then, there is no way for us to escape.” Vanitas knew sometimes admitting defeat bore more results than clawing at impenetrable walls and ripping your fingers bloody in the process.

    “What are you talking about?” Noé’s voice rang out to Vanitas, clear as a bell despite his smooth and deep voice. Vanitas looked up. “There is always a way.”

    Without an immediate response, Vanitas couldn’t do anything but stare for a moment, taken aback because this was surely the third time or so Noé was able to struck Vanitas speechless. And Vanitas, usually so sure and knowing about the turmoil of his emotions (or lack thereof at times), was left with feelings he couldn’t quite place or decipher, and he wished for nothing else but to rip himself open and dissect every bit until he knew what foul play was at hand.

    The audacity of Noé holding that power without even realizing was quite infuriating.

    “Oh?” Vanitas didn’t even try to hide the mock in his voice. “Then please, be my guest and show me the way out.” Noé didn’t move (what else did Vanitas expect) but a familiar crease found its way between Noé’s pale eyebrows, signalling the boy’s brain at work.

    “Don’t overdo yourself using that pretty head of yours,” Vanitas offered with a crooked grin, but either Noé didn’t hear him or ignored the statement (both was fine because Vanitas couldn’t explain why he felt obliged to add the unnecessary last part) because he turned away, sinking down until he was hovering above the spot on the wall where his fist had left a dent. Vanitas stared at his back, his broad shoulders, the tips of his white hair curling at the base of his neck and thought, Do not turn away from me, Noé, and then with the same breath It is better you do not look at me with those eyes begging for allowance to save me. Vanitas closed his eyes, the soft lines of Noé’s shoulder blades against the dark fabric of his jacket still on his mind.

    “There is a way,” Noé repeated, and when Vanitas opened his eyes again, he met Noé’s watching him. “But you won’t like it.”

    “I won’t like it,” Vanitas repeated, turning Noé’s words a little, claiming them his own. Vanitas dropped his head from his hand, lowering it until the cool, smooth stone touched his forehead, and turned to his side so he was able to look better at Noé. “What exactly won’t I like about it, pray tell, Noé.” He really should stop saying Noé’s name so much.

    “I can break through this wall, but I need more strength,” Noé replied, straight to the case, (though sometimes Vanitas questioned the straight because he sure never missed how Noé’s eyes seemed to follow him a second longer than necessary; linger a little longer on the curve of his neck, the bow of his ankles and wrists, the arch of his calves). “And you can give me exactly what I need, Vanitas.”

    “And I can give you exactly what you need, Noé.” He really couldn’t stop saying Noé’s name so much. But that aside, Vanitas didn’t stop the bark of laughter exploding from his lips like a gunshot— a humourless and harsh sound caught between them in their steely cage. “Isn’t this convenient? We’re trapped and the only way to get out is by you drinking my blood!”

    “This isn’t convenient,” Noé objected, looking everywhere but at Vanitas. “I know you don’t want me to do it.”

    “‘Don’t want to,’" Vanitas said, "seems like the understatement of this century considering I said I will kill you should you ever drink my blood, Archiviste.” He noticed the small flinch in Noé’s shoulders, the glimpse of recognition in Noé’s eyes. The memory of their talk was so visible in Noé’s expression Vanitas expected to see blood all over him with how Noé wore his heart bluntly exposed on his sleeves.

    “You can do that after I get you out,” Noé said slowly. “It beats being killed by those vampire hunters.”

    Now, that was something interesting. In his line of job, Vanitas always paid attention to what people said and how they said it. So much meaning was left hanging in the air, so much ammunition to benefit from. And this one clearly said one thing. I don’t mind dying if it’s you killing me.

    Vanitas gifted Noé with one of his razor sharp smiles. “Oh, the things you say. Maybe I should really cut your head off once you get us out of here. I’m sure Roland will gladly lend me Durandal.”

    Surprisingly, Noé didn’t flinch. He probably already knew that for all the foul things Vanitas’ mouth spouted he only turned a few of them into action. And yet, Vanitas felt the familiar itch in his fingers demanding to see blood spilled at the atrocity they were to commit, and the only way of making it bearable was to mock the situation— an ability Vanitas was unrivalled at.

    He tapped a gloved index finger against his chin, not bothering to change his current position on the dirty ground. “Maybe I’ll let you if you ask nicely.”

    Noé waited a moment for Vanitas to follow with a more serious statement (clearly overestimating him), but when Vanitas remained silent, save for the mysterious little smile on his thin lips, Noé grew exasperated. “This isn’t a game, Vanitas,” he said.

    “Of course it isn’t.” Vanitas shrugged, playfully twirling a black strand of hair around his finger. "Doesn’t mean I don’t want to get something out of this and hear you beg for it.”

    Noé possessed enough dignity to roll his eyes at that. “Please let me drink your blood, Vanitas,” he said with a blank expression.

    Vanitas winked at him. “How about you invite me to dine first?”

    Noé groaned, dragging a hand over his face. “Never mind. I should have known you would only make light of the matter.”

    “Because you know me oh so well, don’t you?” Vanitas inquired, not even trying to contain the venom dripping from his voice. Noé peeked at him from behind his long, slender fingers. He reminded Vanitas of a pet scolded by its owner and left to fend for itself.

    When Noé didn’t show any sign of commitment to his proposal, Vanitas grew impatient.

    “Noé,” Vanitas said. “Come here.”

    He didn’t move, so Vanitas repeated, “Noé.”

    Finally, he got up. His movement was careful but determined, and Vanitas wondered about the things Noé was actually afraid of and how his walk would change should he face it. He really ought to ask him about this Louis some day. It was impossible for this name to lack any significance with how often Noé claimed it in his sleep, body flinching and fingers clawing into the sheets in desperate search for hold.

    When Noé finally stood in front of him, Vanitas lazily lifted a hand like a fair maiden waiting for her lover to take the delicate hand and cover it with soft, feathery kisses. Only once Noé’s fingers grazed Vanitas’, he curled them around Noé’s hand (only now Vanitas noticed Noé’s knuckles bleeding from hitting the wall) and pulled him down. It wasn’t enough for Noé to lose his balance; it seemed more like he allowed Vanitas to pull him down which struck a nerve inside Vanitas and added more fuel to his annoyance regarding this whole situation.

    He propped himself on his elbows, cocking his head to the side and presenting his bare neck to Noé like a sacrificial lamb displayed for Gods to rip apart.

    “Very well,” he said quietly, looking up at Noé from under his thick curtains of black lashes. “Let us begin then.”

    Noé, much like a dog finally allowed to act with its master’s consent, leaned over Vanitas; a hand on his chest as Vanitas’ fingers danced over the black fabric of Noé’s uniform. The little sound escaping Noé’s lips when Vanitas flipped him over and straddled his lap was a small treasure Vanitas would wrap up and hide somewhere deep in his chest to unfold later to study.

    “Do you really think I’d make it that easy for you?” Vanitas snorted, leaving the  how stupid unsaid, but definitely palpable between them. He lifted his left hand and pulled the glove off with his teeth.

    “There are two conditions,” Vanitas said as his glove fell off, and he fought against the shudder dancing over his arm and taking over his whole body, telling (but not able to fool) himself it was from the cold in the cell rather than feeling exposed and naked without his glove. Noé nodded, and Vanitas raised one finger. “After you have drunk, you will say nothing.” Noé nodded again, so Vanitas raised the second. “After we get out of here, you will say nothing and should you ever try and so much as hint at talking about it, I will kill you.”

    Noé refused to look away, and Vanitas refused to yield to this want of stripping bare to his inner core in front of those piercing red eyes. Should Noé ever get a good look at what lurked beneath Vanitas’ smooth, alabaster white skin, he'd only find worms and cockroaches scurrying around spoiled, rotten soil Gaia herself wouldn’t even weep for.

    “Tell me you understood what I just said,” Vanitas demanded, hovering over Noé’s face.

    Noé exhaled slowly, the tip of his tongue darting over his lower lip. Vanitas wanted to punch him.

    “I won’t talk about it,” he said, and because he was Noé  of course  he had to add, “Not until it is of your own accord.”

    This time, Vanitas’ face lacked his usual malicious glee. Through half-lidded eyes, he considered Noé what felt like painfully slow passing minutes, though it were only a few seconds later when he said, “It won’t and you better be careful of expecting it if you value your life.”

    Noé swallowed, but Vanitas couldn’t tell if it was because of his deadly promise or the hunger just before anticipating a meal, and in the end he didn’t really care.

    “Well then.” Vanitas offered Noé his left bare arm. “Bon appétit.”

    To his credit, Noé didn’t immediately go down on him (though Vanitas caught glimpses of wishes in his mind of Noé going down on him) and first took careful hold of Vanitas’ bony wrist as if he was allowed to carry the world’s most precious treasure between his fingers (which was just really unnecessary because Noé should know that for someone with slim wrists Vanitas was surprisingly strong). He pushed a thumb against the inside of Vanitas’ wrist and Vanitas dared ihm with his blank expression to comment on the stumble of his heartbeat before it returned to its natural rhythm, but Noé wasn’t even looking at him, focusing way too much on simply feeling Vanitas’ pulse for a moment, and surprisingly Vanitas felt himself grow impatient. He didn’t know slow or careful or soft, only hard and painful and too fast for him to accommodate to the pain, the fears, the hopelessness.

    “Noé, I swear to God, if we don’t get this ov—“ The pain of teeth breaking his skin shouldn’t be that much of a foreign feeling to Vanitas, and yet he couldn’t stop himself from flinching, or gritting his teeth, or subconsciously leaning his upper body away from this vampire; no from Noé drinking blood from his wrist. But it was only the very first seconds that were uncomfortable, then the substance from Noé’s teeth lessening the pain numbed Vanitas’ skin and he closed his eyes, unable to (and he didn’t want to, really) fight against the poison now pumping through his body begging him to let himself relax and just become an animal’s meal; to surrender, and maybe if it was Noé, it would be fine.

    Vanitas snickered to himself, swearing to drive his own fingers into his eyes should he continue to think ridiculous things like that. “What would Dominique think looking at you now, clinging to a filthy human, hm?” Vanitas leaned forward again, over the slightly hunched figure of Noé still drinking and sucking and licking, and he wondered which of the countless tragic pages composing Vanitas’ short, miserable life Noé flipped through right now. Did he see Vanitas’ young, small figure standing in front of his dead parents, blood all over the place but not where it was supposed to be— in his mother’s body, and in his father’s body and how could one simple man even carry so much blood inside of him—and little Vanitas not understanding what had happened. Or maybe he saw Vanitas’ early times starting as an experiment of Doctor Moreau, this time being the one bleeding all over the research table, just before Moreau started to see Vanitas in his room, undressing and examining him which he’d usually conducted at nights before starting to do so midday as well (it would certainly be entertaining to see Noé’s reaction should they manage to find the mad scientist). Maybe Noé was currently chasing Vanitas fleeing from the Vampire of the Blue Moon, the dark grimoire clutched tightly to his chest like a life line with a horrified expression Noé surely couldn’t even dream of Vanitas possessing, listening to his repeating “I abandoned him, I abandoned him, he is dead, please God forgive me” over and over again—his first and last prayer to God. “What would she think indeed, mon cheri,” Vanitas whispered. Something warm fell on his skin, and he didn’t need to see to know, because what else did he expect from someone like Noé.

    “My, my.” Vanitas couldn’t help but laugh quietly, wondering if Noé in his frenzy heard the surrender in this fragile sound. He placed his free, still gloved hand on Noé’s head and combed with this fingers through Noé’s hair, patting at it and smoothing it back into straight lines falling in front of his face. “You are such a crybaby. I am quite certain de Béranger wrote his music with people like you in his mind.” Son cœur est un luth suspendu; Sitot qu’on le touche il resonne. His heart is a posed lute; as soon as it is touched, it resounds.

    Just how could Noé still bring up the energy to care. His heart was open. Never closed, never locked. It needed no key, and Vanitas felt quite displeased with how easy Noé welcomed strangers to his heart.

    Finally, Noé released Vanitas’ wrist, but he remained seated, his head hanging low, so Vanitas had to dip his own in search for scarlet red eyes; lacking any interest in tending his wound crying blood all over his arm and jacket. He curled his fingers around Noé’s wet cheeks and lifted his head, trying to ignore the curtain of tears in those pretty ruby mirrors, but it was hard because mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

    “Now, I hope you better have learned something from this,” Vanitas said, dragging his left thumb across the corner of Noé’s lips where his blood hung still fresh, but oh so scandalously fitting against Noé’s dark skin that it was truly a piece of art. He pushed his thumb against Noé’s lips, painting them red. “Do never ask me of this again. Even in the depths of hell with you drinking my blood as our only way of salvation, do not ask me of this, Noé,” Vanitas whispered against Noé’s lips in what he clearly saw a cruel mockery and threat, when really Vanitas would rather remain with Noé in hell until the world succumbed to its own rotten core, side by side— which was ridiculous and stupid, because people like Noé didn’t end up in hell like Vanitas. They remained eternal because Gods sacrificed their immortality in show of devotion, and Vanitas would be a hypocrite to accuse them of idiocy.

    But what had the Gods given to him? They’d made him a walking disaster, consisting of the lethal combination of an urge for self destruction and a preference for collateral damage, and the only thing Vanitas himself thought about this was, Then so be it, because if I cannot reach heaven, I will raise hell.

    True to his word, Noé didn’t say anything.

    In fact, he didn’t speak at all after tearing down the wall of their cell with one single punch and gaining Roland’s help in locating Doctor Moraeu, but just one look into his eyes was enough for Vanitas to see what sort of storm caused havoc inside him and uprooted the foundation of Noé’s innocence and benevolent beliefs, and he thought mea culpa, mea maxima culpa.

Gardez vos dons : je suis peureux. Mais si d’un zèle généreux Pour moi le monde vous soupçonne, Sachez bien qui vous a vendu : Mon cœur est un luth suspendu, Sitôt qu’on le touche, il résonne.

[Pierre-Jean de Béranger]

#philliamwrites #ao3 #fanfiction #case study of vanitas #vanitas no carte #vannoe #vanitas #noe

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Assignment of the Duty of the Prophethood and First Muslims

The State of the World and Humanity

It would be useful to know and to recognize the moral state of humanity and the world before the Master of the Universe (PBUH) was appointed as a prophet. Only then will we be able to understand how he saved the humanity from a social, political, religious, spiritual, intellectual darkness and perversion.

During the end of the sixth century of the Gregorian calendar…

This was an era in which disbelief, heresy, and immorality had descended over humanity with all of its might and were trying to suffocate humanity. The prominent and significant countries of that time were:

Byzantine, Persia, Egypt, India, Alexandria, Mesopotamia, China, etc.

In all of these countries;

A correct belief system did not exist

The people during that time suffered qualms of conscience, had gone mad (so to speak), were rampant, and did not know what they were doing.

They worshipped phenomena that took place in the universe and things that had been created by Allah. Humanity would prostrate before the stars, fire, as well as bone dry, lifeless rocks and idols while claiming they were “Gods!”.

Since souls and the conscience of humanity were buried in the deprivation and darkness of not having faith in Allah; nothing was considered to be the creation of the Divine power and the universe was considered to be meaningless, unnecessary, and pointless. Those poor individuals, who were devoid of faith, wisdom, and understanding, knew that a letter, a word, and a book could not come into being without a writer; however, they were writhing in the misery of accepting that the universe, which contains hundreds of thousands of mysteries and wisdoms, was without an owner and without reason.

In this deplorable state, the entire world was expecting and in need of a prophet who would reintroduce the belief in Tawhid, Allah’s existence and His oneness, and cleanse the heart of disbelief and depravity.

People had been divided into classes

Humanity had broken into several classes, such as the wealthy, the poor, the strong, and the weak; there was a great disconnection and gap between the community and the government officials. There was a considerable amount of tension among the classes.

Due to the tyranny and injustice that was committed by the higher social classes, the lower class resembled a barrel of gunpowder that was ready to explode at any minute. Let us take a glance at the state of Iran during that time as an example: “Like many primitive societies, the Iranians were completely separate from one another. The top three classes were entirely detached from the fourth caste, which was all the way at the bottom. The highest three classes consisted of the priests, judges, warriors and officials who were either called Magipads or Mobads since they were from the Magi Tribe; the farmers and artists constituted the fourth class”. The common people, who were the community, consisted of free city dwellers, slaves, and serfs. Their duty was to work in the fields or in the military without receiving any payments or rewards for their services. They were completely left to themselves and were stuck with insurmountable obstacles. They could not advance in their stations in any way; there was even no hope for them to become townspeople, although the latter openly benefited from their goods and property…”

The Eastern Roman Empire’s condition was even more deplorable. “Its society had been divided into many secondary classes. They were: 1) A class called Curule. They were landowners who were not enlisted in the military and could not get involved in any kind of trade. 2) Tributaries, just like their counterparts in Persia, included those who had no land of their own, those who paid poll taxes, and those were bound to guilds that passed by inheritance from fathers to sons. 3) The military class. As one writer said regarding this matter: “The farmers who cultivated the soil were nothing but tools that clothed and fed the king’s court.” 

Finlay, who was an eminent historian on the Middle East, summarized the Eastern Roman Empire’s (Byzantine) miserable condition as follows: “History has probably not seen a community whose morals were as withered as that of the Greeks and Romans who lived in the period between Justinian’s death (528-565) and Muhammad’s birth, and who lacked as much self-control and virtue”. 

The European community was in the ruthless hands of the aristocracy, the knights, and the clergy, and its condition was no different than that of a dumb animal. Those in power could purchase and sell the community’s constituents whenever they wanted and the latter did not have the right to object. Those who were sold practically became slaves. Even if they were not slaves in the fullest sense, those who did not have the power and strength to separate from their masters would eventually become servants. Nobody had the right not to like his master, nor did anybody possess the authority to choose him. However, there was this one condition: in some uncivilized countries, servants were able to go to another home by first paying their masters a sum for their freedom; this was considered to be a huge favor.

In summary, all countries other than the Arabian Peninsula had caste systems in which people had been divided into separate classes and looked at each other with enmity, hate, and brutality. This world, which was in a miserable state, was in need of a great prophet who would declare that humans were Allah’s most esteemed creatures, they had all descended from one father, and that they all had specific rights in the same proportion, like the right to freedom, and who would change feelings of hate and animosity into feelings of love, respect, and friendship. This situation called for and was in dire need of this Great Prophet.

Slavery was an official institution

Human beings are both reverend and honorable. However, appreciation of this fact is only possible with true belief.

The people of that age, whose hearts were deprived of faith’s glory, did not respect humans, were  unaware that humans were the most reverend beings on the Earth, and were savage enough to sell and purchase their fellow beings.

Those unfortunate people who were labeled as slaves were being sold and purchased at auctions like ordinary merchandise. The masters were fully authorized to insult, torment, and make their slaves work however they wanted.

Humanity was in desperate need of someone who would end this savagery and ingratitude and was in need of a guide who would not withhold his light of compassion from anyone.

Sectarian fights persisted

The belief in the fallacious trinity had replaced the doctrine of Tawhid, the oneness of Allah, which Hazrat Isa (Jesus) had conveyed and preached.

The priests produced a completely different religion in place of what Hazrat Isa had taught.

Likewise, other countries, particularly the Eastern Roman Empire, were committing inconceivable acts of torture and tyranny in the name of religion. For example, historians mention how Phocas, the Patrician, poisoned himself in order to escape from being forcefully converted into Christianity. 

Those who left the Mazdaism faith, which prevailed in Persia, or those who betrayed this religion were mercilessly executed. Scratching out the eyes, crucifixion, stoning, as well as starving and leaving someone to die thirsty were all standard death penalties.

While Confucianism and China had advanced in civilization, they were living their most chaotic days and were on the brink of collapsing just before the Sun of Bliss (PBUH) emerged.  Civil wars did not cease and the society was at one another’s throats due to sectarian differences.

During the period of Islam’s emergence, Abyssinia was full of clashes that occurred between siblings.

Immorality Prevailed

Humanity, which was deprived of the modesty, fear, and virtue that come from faith, was committing all sorts of lewd behavior and had trampled over its dignity and honor by freely performing vulgar acts.

Gambling, alcohol, and immoral types of pleasure found their place among daily activities. Continuous killing, continuous acts of adultery, mugging, and raids almost swept away the blessed and divine significance from humanity.

Here is one example:

Morality had been completely wiped from the Byzantine Empire and had become so dead that the patriarch of Constantinople himself solemnized the marriage between the Emperor and the latter’s own niece. 

To them, a woman was no different than a simple commodity that could be purchased and sold.

Yes, the end of sixth century A.D. was the century of such barbarism, unbelief, idolatry, ignorance and cruelty. All kinds of anarchy, blasphemy, various perverted belief systems and all kinds of debauchery were ruling the world in this century.

Humanity had probably never witnessed such perverseness, immorality, atrocity, and terror since its creation.

Humanity was devoid of a spiritual guide and was like the flowing water in an untamed river as it crashed into stones. With each crash, it lost a bit of its heart, soul, conscience, and honor. Every door that it knocked was shut on its face.

Humans had turned into beasts since they did not know who Allah, the Supreme Creator, was and had not found the essential path that He had drawn for them by means of His prophets. These wild beasts were ready to swallow someone at every minute and were smeared in blood; they caused the wind of anarchism and unrest to blow everywhere.

Humanity had become an orphan, the universe was mourning, and the Earth resembled a ring of sorrow. Everyone was considered an enemy by others, and everything was considered meaningless, soulless, and aimless.

Humanity’s sorrowful screams, which resulted from not having a true guide, were ringing in the skies; the universe, its smallest particles and the sun were crying together over humanity’s miserable condition.

The Sun of Bliss, with all of his glory, was meant to rise in the horizon of humanity so that humans could be happy. The universe’s smallest particle, its sun, its mountains, its stones, its animals, and its people would be saved from being considered insignificant, meaningless, and pointless. Everything would be known as a letter of Allah that was written and presented to be people so that they would draw lessons from them.  Pure faith could take the place of disbelief, justice could replace tyranny, peace could replace uneasiness, knowledge could take the place of ignorance, and bliss could replace misery. All believers would be friends and siblings. The universe’s rage could turn into happiness.  The stars could laugh and the atoms could whirl like dervishes. The sun, moon, ground, and sky could continue their mission lovingly and ardently.

Man should know that the real wisdom and purpose of his creation, his transfer from the darkness of non-existence to the realm of existence is to know God Almighty, to believe in Him and to worship Him. Thus, he will attain real peace and bliss.

#allah #god #help #islam #religion #love #muslim #revert #convert #pray #salah #prayer #dua #hadith #quran #muslimrevert #muslimconvert #reverttoislam #converttoislam #reverthelp #reverthelpteam #howtoconverttoislam #welcometoislam

[bellicose132]

Meditations vol. 1

Existance is despair and allowing the despair to enslave you

Living is moving forward through the pain unscathed, like a still rock in the midst of a raging sea

One cannot be truly alive until they are free, for is a bird with no wings even a bird in a way that matters? Those too greatly encumbered by chains cannot claim to know who they are, they cannot claim to have volition over their own actions. They don't know it, but all their choices have been made for them through their own enslavement. For an example a great many people come home from work to watch tv or distract themselves in any other manner of ways. They don't realize it but the pain chose it. If you really stop and ask yourself what you truly want out of life the answer isn't to distract yourself until you die. Many are just not strong enough to live as themselves for themselves. And if that is the case how do you even know if you are alive? I don't mean exist but truly are alive? If you only operate on your addictions and distractions then you are not free, and if you are not free then you are not alive in a way that matters.

If you cannot live without something than you can not claim to be separate from it. If you cannot function without coffee then you are not you, you are only yourself with coffee. Sometimes I deprive myself of things just to find out if I really am alive. And who I am. I am not my skin nor my bones, I am not the water I drink nor the sleep I get, I am not the food I eat nor the air I breathe. I am me and nothing else. I do not need anything to be me. Not one thing. Our over reliance on comfort will be our downfall both as individuals and as a society. The reason people commit atrocities is because they are too weak to come to terms with the flow of life. They cannot accept life without love and compassion. They don't realize they don't need those things. Nor do corrupt politicians need the bribes they receive. Sometimes less really is more. If less can teach us how to live with meaning. Buddah did not achieve enlightenment through gorging, he achieved it through ultimate restraint. To learn what we are we must know what we are not. And to learn what we want we must first learn what we do not.

If you live your entire life only committing halfway to everything you will only have lived half of a life. Eventually a time comes when we all must make a decision: continue to appease and retreat in the face of every challenge or finally take a stand even if it means our lives. If you don't commit 100 percent to something how can you claim you lived with purpose or had a purpose at all? If you always think everything is stupid you will find yourself feeling empty inside. The point of life is not comfort, distraction, and then death. You will die with regret that way. Ultimately you have to choose a hill to die on a point beyond which your will defend with your life. For me it is wrestling, I am willing to give my life so long as it means I do not give up. So long as it means I live with meaning. And it may seem stupid to throw the rest of my life away over a sport that I haven't had too much success in, but it isn't about that. I don't care if I lose my future, I care if I lose my meaning. It doesn't make a difference to me if I'm good or mediocre at it what I care about is the absolute refusal to quit, the refusal to doubt myself, the inability to lose hope, the never ending reserves of determination, the unceasing struggle. I don't wrestle because it's fun, I don't wrestle to win a medal. I wrestle to find out if I was ever even alive. I'd gladly die for my dream not for any reason other than to be alive. And if you aren't willing to die for something then what are you even living for?

In my time wrestling I have seen many people and I have seen how they deal with doubt, expectations, and nerves. Ultimately I believe this to be a metaphor for life as a whole and I'll explain. When we went as a team to wrestle any other team that was much better than us some among us accepted defeat before it had even come. But why? Because it's easier to roll over and die than to give everything you have to survive? The way I see it WE WERE ALL BORN INTO THIS WORLD AND WE WERE BORN EQUAL AND FREE. No baby is better than another, they are all equally helpless. None were superior, none could oppress the others, none could stand triumphant over another. But somewhere between then and now it all changed. So you can either face your opponent believing you to be equals or you can shamefully bow to their will. I know we were both born into the same world the same damn way so why should I let him beat me? Why should I give up? As far as I know we're equal. So may the best man win. And may we fight hard. And I see this implicated throughout all of life: we refuse to put up a struggle if we do not deem victory as likely. To quote Ronald Reagan, "Admittedly, there's a risk in any course we follow other than this, but every lesson of history tells us that the greater risk lies in appeasement" and "If nothing in life is worth dying for, when did this begin -- just in the face of this enemy? Or should Moses have told the children of Israel to live in slavery under the pharaohs? Should Christ have refused the cross? Should the patriots at Concord Bridge have thrown down their guns and refused to fire the shot heard 'round the world?". There has to be a line between what you can put up with and what you will not put up with. A line that only moves forward not backwards. So when you have your own insurmountable challenge just realize that a life of running away is a life of regret. A life of giving up is a life not worth living.

Let's circle back to desires and addictions, every single person alive knows what is right and wrong. We all know through guilt. We feel guilt when binge eating because we know it is not the correct choice. We all know deep down what is right and wrong but we keep making the wrong choices. Our desires are not different. We all know that we should be working out not watching porn, we all know we should be eating eggs not mcgrittles. We all know deep down. When there are goals to be accomplished why do we sit around like fools? We know we should be chasing victory. The reason is enslavement. We have been enslaved by our desires and addictions. Do you really want to eat icecream? Yeah it's tasty but so what? It only brought you pleasure for a single moment while it tasted sweet. Now it sits idly in your belly as a monument to your inability to make good decisions. You don't truly want ice cream, you truly want to be happy. And happiness cannot come until after desire is renounced. Sugar is a drug that gets you addicted. Think about it, is there really any reason to have it? No. It is sweet for a moment then vanishes. It requires a continuous flow of ice cream to get permanent satisfaction. And anything that needs a permanent supply to get a benefit is a poor method.

If it was easy to do it wouldn't be meaningful

The less you want the more you have

Even in the worst of circumstances, he who is free may still be happy

Abundance can be achieved by gaining resources or lessening desire

I am not afraid of death, I am afraid of not being to live

True abundance is not measured by quantity, rather one's own relative definition of abundance. Depending on the circumstances we have become accustomed to we will have certain tolerances to our desires. Often times the more and more our lives change the more they stay the same. He who desires nothing has everything and he who desires everything has nothing. And yet we cannot understand how nothing can make us happy. Because we are blinded by the very desires that obstruct our journeys. For another example the richest of countries have the highest suicide rates. For some reason humans even when given better lives on paper cannot escape despair until they have made peace within their own hearts. The lesson is ultimately give a man a fish. Give a man everything he "needs" to be happy he will be joyous for a day, give him the ability to ask what happiness is to him and the means to find it and he will be happy for a lifetime. If you don't know what you missed out on you can't be saddened by it. If I was not born my family would not have the ability to mourn my inexistence. Now it makes no difference if you arrive to that state out of ignorance or out of indifference. The point here is that if you would only be saddened by not having something if you knew about it you have the ability to remain indifferent regardless. So it is possible to be indifferent to poverty and any other misfortune. To summarize desire is distraction, the more you want the less you will feel you have. Happiness and enlightenment cannot come from external sources. Money, women, drugs, sex... these will not make you happy if you never adress the true root of despair which has been inside of you all along. How can you expect to heal inner pain with external factors? Like I said even in the worst of circumstances he who is truly free in all aspects can be happy.

Personally this means a lot for me, I don't have great luck with women and even when I was offered sex I turned it down. Now being a virgin for life used to scare me but now I realize I do not need it. If it comes then it will come. If it does not I will remain unaffected. No matter when I die or how little money I have I will always be happy because I desire nothing.

If I do not allow anything to affect me permanently I will have become strongest of all: water. Being able to move without resistance amongst the vicissitudes of fate retaining what makes me me no matter where it takes me.

#philosophy

[agwitow]

What is - in the most-commonly accepted sort of a way, hands down, spoken of in hushed tones - the most objectively awful thing that ever happened in that world? If anything. Could be minor! Might not be. Some cataclysmic or malodrous event that stuck in the minds of a generation?

Oooh, in hushed tones, huh? That certainly does give it a certain flavour of awful event, doesn’t it? lol

I’m going to say the coup against the Beryladian Imperial Family. While the coup/civil war itself isn’t whispered-behind-closed-doors worthy, what was done to the royals is.

(I’m putting a read-more partly because it’s long, and partly because it’s kinda brutal and involves the murder of children)

So, hundreds of years ago, several of the territories that made up the Beryladian Empire wanted independence. Nobles, merchants, and commoners alike schemed together to find a way to throw off the chains of the Empire. For a long time it was just talk. At least, until a close advisor to the Imperial Family joined the conspirators.

She had been the long-time lover of both the Emperor and Empress, but she was manipulative and power-hungry. Eventually they could ignore her maneuverings at court no more. They broke off the relationship and sent her on a “diplomatic mission” to one of the newer additions to the Empire. This was a clear sign to the court at large that she’d fallen out of favour with the Emperor and Empress.

While on her “mission,” she discovered the rumblings of dissent among the people. At first, she thought it was nothing more than just disgruntled grumbling. But she wasn’t the type to just move along, so she began digging. Eventually she uncovered the network of rebels across several territories.

She had a choice.

She could revel the rebels and, perhaps, even plant evidence that some of her rivals at court were involved with them. Use it to try and win her place back. Or, she could work with the rebels.

She chose to become the rebels’ spy at the Imperial Court.

With her information, they were able to actually take action. They could strike at important shipments, locations, and people when they were most vulnerable. They could avoid the soldiers hunting them.

The more successes they claimed, the more people joined their cause.

But the Imperial Family was generally well-liked - they funded a lot of public works that benefited the common folk - and the rebels and army came to a sort of stalemate after several months.

The turn-coat advisor knew that if something drastic didn’t change soon, then the rebellion could very well fade.

So she invited the entire court to her sea-side palace to “celebrate the Imperial Military’s recent victories.” As most such festivities in the Empire, it was planned to last several days.

On the second night, she had her personal guard discreetly lock all the doors to the ballroom. Then she waited.

When the first person fell, people laughed at the poor courtier who couldn’t hold their wine. Then another fell. And another. And another. Panic began to spread. Was it an illness? A magical assault?

Courtiers tried to flee, only to discover they were locked in. And every moment, more of them fell, victims to a deadly poison in the wine.

The Emperor and Empress watched in horror as their court collapsed around them. They called for their guards, but the only ones not killed by the traitorous advisor’s guards had been bought off.

When they, the advisor, and the guards were the only ones left, she had her guards drag the Emperor and Empress’s children into the room. Then, one-by-one, she carved the children up before finally slitting their throats. All the while, the Emperor and Empress were forced to watch. And each time they cried out, something of theirs was broken. Fingers, arms, legs, jaws.

When the last child was dead and the Emperor and Empress were so broken they would have eventually died of their injuries, the advisor killed them too.

The next day she announced the death of the Emperor and Empress and proclaimed herself the new Empress of the Empire.

At first it seemed she might have succeeded, but the guards who’d been at the sea-side palace whispered of her viciousness. The whispers spread. The people revolted. The rebels disavowed all association with her. The Imperial Military split into those loyal to her, and those loyal to the former Emperor and Empress.

For several years, the entire Empire descended into chaos.

Eventually, the Empire was broken apart. The United Territories of Afrye formed from the original instigators. Beryladia was reduced to a country like any other, and the rest of the continent reverted to independent countries.

No one knows what happened to the advisor - some say she was killed, others that she ran away once she realized the people would never accept her. But everyone whispered of the atrocities she’d committed. Saying her name became a taboo. Being a ‘faithless advisor with bloody hands’ became the worst of insults.

(Also, even from the start of her claiming the Empire, there were whispers that not all of the Imperial Children were killed. Some claimed one of the girls had been sick and did not go with the rest to the palace. Others were adamant the entire family had gone. It became an almost Anastasia-type legend - in truth, one of the guards knew the children would be killed and hid the youngest before the other guards went to drag them down to their deaths. Given that there were twelve in total, it’s a bit understandable why the advisor didn’t realize one was missing until later. And by then, the guard had fetched the two-year-old and disappeared)

So...um... very much not a happy story, but hope you enjoyed?

#writing #writeblr #worldbuilding wednesday #wbw #world building wednesday #tw murder #cw murder #tw child murder #cw child harm #fantasy #obroth chronicles

[ckret2]

thanks for answering! with the comics being published in such a weird way (at least for me) i always get confused with what happened when. it hurts to think about how different prowl was before the war and how he is after; he was like "don't kill civilians" and "the government sucks" and now he's like "people can die as long as their is a benefit i guess :/". when do you think prowl started his headlong jump into amorality? with mesothulas he was kinda there but was his death the trigger?

It is SO painful! It always irks me a bit when people refer to Prowl as a "bad cop" before the war because, before the war?? He was quite possibly the only halfway decent cop on Cybertron. He was the one calling out corruption and putting a leash on a Prime who would have been happy to do far worse otherwise; he was persecuted for standing up to the corrupt system; and he kept speaking out about it anyway. Ignore the fact that he was genuinely good before the war and you lose what it is that makes his character tragic.

I actually don't think Prowl is "amoral." I think, by the end of the war, Prowl still has essentially the exact same moral compass he started with—protect the people, protect as many people as possible, the best action you can perform is the action that will result in the greatest good. His moral compass always points straight north. What changed is that he decided, in order to head north, it's not enough to weave around the mountain throwing up obstacles, trying to find a passage that will let you through the mountain range and keep heading north. Weave long enough and you might find yourself heading south trying to get around these mountains—like the people who are so determined to save one life that they'll sacrifice dozens, or the people who will stop to save ten people in danger right here when that means losing the opportunity to save a hundred people in danger ten miles away. Those are roundabout acts of smaller good that ultimately take you farther away from being able to reach the greatest possible good.

Instead, Prowl decided, the best and fastest way to reach north, and the way he should reach north, is by drilling straight through the mountains. The faster you reach north—which is "the end of the war" or "the absolute guarantee that this genocidal warlord will never hold power again" or whatever—then the faster you reach the Greatest Possible Good, so isn't it not only acceptable but morally correct to damage a few mountains and lose a few lives if drilling straight north gets you there sooner? Isn't he ethically obligated to drill through the mountains? If he knows that's the fastest way to reach north, would he not be committing an evil to do otherwise?

Because that's the thing. I don't think Prowl has ever, once, been apathetic about the loss of a life. I think he personally hates every single life that has to be lost. Other Autobots criticize him for "thinking in numbers," because they think that's the opposite of empathy, because they DON'T think in numbers and so "a thousand Autobots died today" is less important to them than "your friend Ramp died today." But Prowl does think in numbers—and so Prowl understands better than the others that the loss of a thousand soldiers means one thousand individual different people with lives and hopes and dreams are gone forever; and that's why he's willing to say "it's fine if Ramp dies as long as a thousand other people live." It's not because he doesn't care about Ramp. It's because he knows that all one thousand and one soldiers matter equally, and Ramp is not more important than all the others just because Prowl knows him. Thinking in numbers is Prowl's empathy. Thinking in numbers is Prowl's saving grace.

His downfall is in the steady increase of how many Ramps he's prepared to lose. He hates the loss of every one; he does it only because he truly, deeply, utterly believes that it's necessary. But "necessary" changes from "necessary to save a thousand other lives," to "necessary to get this important intel from the Decepticons, which, eventually, will likely save a thousand lives," to "necessary to cover up this intel about Autobot war crimes, which will prevent aliens from turning on us, which will prevent Autobots from losing morale, which will mean that dispirited soldiers don't find themselves without allies and without Autobots nearby who care enough to save them when they're in trouble, which ultimately will probably save a thousand lives—" He strings out causes and effects with so many little pieces in between that, ultimately, he could have chosen a hundred other methods to achieve the same effect, and by the time the effect is reached the cause he started with has resulted in a hundred other effects that might cancel out the original good he was going for. He got so good at playing the big game, because he thought he had to For The Greater Good, that he couldn't keep up with all of the small consequences. He hates the harm done and lives cost every single time but he was never able to break out of the perception that they were "necessary." He drilled under the mountains and, although his compass is still pointing true north, he can't see it in the dark.

To me, that's the opposite of amoral; that's moralizing so hard he tripped over his own math and undid his own good intentions.

BUT UH TO ANSWER THE QUESTION YOU ACTUALLY ASKED: I definitely think that Mesothulas was, if not the one who taught him the "do the lesser evil for the greater good" philosophy, at least the one who talked him into it. I think it probably started as far back as Sentinel Prime: "Sentinel was wrong to talk about letting civilians die in the process of quashing insurgents; but, with Sentinel dead, now the insurgents have killed more people than the civilians that would have been caught in the crossfire if I'd let Sentinel do his original plan; so maybe he was right? Maybe in the long run that kind of cruelty would have been for the greater good? It would mean more civilians alive today." And then again, "Zeta was evil to kill civilians to power a weapon to stop the Decepticons; but we helped the Decepticons kill Zeta and now they're in a position to kill far more people than Zeta ever did; maybe Zeta had a point? Maybe that's what it costs?" He hesitates over throwing out Zeta's weapons when he's ordered to; I don't think he plans to use them at that point, but I think he's reluctant to dispose of them, because he fears they might be necessary.

And that's important to emphasize: he fears they might be necessary. He dreads the possibility. But, if they ARE necessary...

It's not totally clear when he worked with Mesothulas, but I think it was around this time. Mesothulas didn't put the idea of using atrocities to pursue the greater good in Prowl's head, but he exploited he fact that the idea was there, wheedling and persuading and justifying because he wanted Prowl to do those things because he wanted Prowl to commission him to make the kind of weapons that only such a train of thought would allow. I think that Carpessa was the result of both of them talking Prowl around in circles until he felt it was the right, regrettable, necessary thing; and I think the moment it was done, Prowl realized that the results didn't justify the atrocity, hated himself for what he'd done, and swore he'd never sink that low again.

And I think that was true. I think he never did sink that low again. I think that was Prowl's very worst moment.

But I also think he came out of his relationship with Mesothulas now convinced that, yes, the lesser evil is necessary in pursuit of the greater good; he just has to be careful, from now on, to make sure that the evil is lesser than the good; to double, triple, and quadruple check his math; and to make sure that, for the ends to justify the means, the means can never cost more than the end is worth. Mesothulas made Prowl a monster; Prowl throwing Mesothulas away was his declaration that he would only be a disciplined monster.

#prowl #mesothulas #transformers #maccadam #meta #anonymous #ask

[randomthingsthatilike1]

You know, sometimes the things I see on this website about Lena just make me go ???????? (and here is going to be some constructive criticism. Key word here! This is not bashing or hate but genuinely thoughtful and sincere critique about a character I love and often seen wobified by fandom)

Because Lena isn’t her family and she’s not responsible for their actions, but at the same time Lena is a billionaire. With a B. I am reminded a bit about what I’ve seen people say why they don’t like the modern day royal family, the Queen especially—sure they didn’t quite play a role in some of the atrocities their family committed and are innocent of those acts, but because of those acts they are still benefiting—and Lena is still benefitting from plenty of pretty damning things that her family did.

It would be one thing if like. Lillian and Lex and Lionel were just straight up murderers and she was suffering by guilty by association, and therefore didn’t actually derive anything from that, but she benefits from the profits made by their anti-alien technology—she’s not a self-made person suffering from mere stigma. She wants to be better than her family, and I genuinely do think she is better! But this is about how she can grow!

Lena is a billionaire and that has implications, but I think I’ve only ever read one fic that really explored that? Because if she is a billionaire, and knows that the former head of security is a xenophobic murderer, and she has in her possession several devices that can be used as weapons against humans and aliens alike, as we see with the anti-xray glass, with Kryptonite, with the device she made at the gala, with the Lexo suit, and god possibly the most dangerous and most innocuous looking one of all, the alien detection device (a device that outs you to any business or place of employment or residence or friend that requires you to take it, while also selling something meant to conceal your identity as an alien as well? Not great moral optics there). The actions of her family are not her fault, but the subsequent actions she takes are her responsibility.  

Now, someone was going to take over LuthorCorp, and I do agree that it is better Lena, who does genuinely care about being a good person, than one of Lillian or Lex’s cronies. Bad shit could have happened. You can’t just get rid of a multibillion corporation overnight either without very bad consequences—jobs lost, stock market in tatters, etc etc. But, Lena’s still a billionaire. Funding this out of her own pocket if she absolutely had to—and she probably wouldn’t, since bad security looks really bad to the public and clients and the board would not want to have inventions and prototypes stolen.

Lena’s a billionaire. Let’s explore that.

This is a corporation. A corporation is, despite Citizens United (fuck that ruling), not a person. The first security breach wouldn’t be her fault, or even maybe the second, but consider that Metallo was able to steal Kryptonite, Lillian’s goons were able to throw her off the balcony in their attempts to get the information they wanted, and now this with Mercy—a pattern is being established.

Yeah, Lena, you may not use it against Supergirl but that is irrelevant if your security is so bad that the xenophobic people who would use it against Supergirl can easily enough break in and steal weapons. If it can’t be kept safe from the people who would use them to cause egregious harm, then it shouldn’t exist!

(this is one of the main arguments for gun control. If you can’t keep a gun securely in your house where other irresponsible people can find it and use it accidentally or on purpose that shouldn’t, then it should not be in your house.) Sure, that may seem unrealistic, and you may be then bringing up examples in your head of people and companies and organizations that don’t do this, but then ask yourself—are they good people? And if your argument is why Lena as the CEO of LCorp can’t do this without risking profits, then again, this ties back into Lena being a billionaire has interesting moral ramifications and they should be explored.

And yes, I am including the DEO in this answer. So many times I see oh what Lena does vs what the DEO does, especially regarding Kryptonite but they can both be wrong.

Sure, you may be saying she can’t guarantee that—well if that’s the case then do not make any life ending weapons. Lena is not a starving scientist type with a gun to her head; Lena Luthor has billions of dollars. She can completely afford to redo her security, and as long as others will be harmed if she does not then she has an obligation to do so.

The DEO is also her employer and a government agency who’s also tortured her aunt—they don’t have any obligation to listen to Kara, and she probably thinks she’ll be ignored. Lena is her friend, who’s life she’s saved several times—persuading your friend vs. persuading the US government? Yeah, I would go with trying to change the mind of the friend.

The DEO is a black ops government program started about 14 years ago originally headed by a very xenophobic man who hunted down not just Fort Rozz aliens but also J’onn and probably countless other innocents and is the reason why Alex grew up without a father. The only reason why J’onn took over is because he had to, and even still had to play the part of Hank Henshaw, a known xenophobe. Also, for a government organization, 14 years isn’t all that long to be working there—there are definitely people who have been a part of the DEO since the beginning still working for that organization, especially since it is nationwide, possibly even worldwide considering Alex in the first ep was on her way to Geneva. Shit happened at the DEO. (To quote James from season 1, the DEO is “a secret Guantanamo, and it’s not just for aliens anymore.” They torture aliens, hold them without parole, without trial, without a lawyer, definitely not complying with Geneva standards for holding and for bringing them in. What part of the DEO is not Guantanamo?)

And these are the people who recruited Kara’s sister and shot her out of the sky and are trained to take her down and tortured her aunt in front of her as Kara begged them for mercy. I wonder why she didn’t protest too much oh yeah IT’S BECAUSE KARA HAS VERY LITTLE INFLUENCE WITH ACTUAL DEO POLICY BEYOND WHAT SHE CAN CONVINCE J’ONN AND ALEX OF. AND GENERAL LANE CAN AND HAS TAKEN OVER WHEN HE WANTS.

The DEO has always been bad. It’s just been less bad with J’onn and Alex at the helm. But anyway. Back to the main point

Do you know how many times I’ve seen on this website “eat the rich”—and I am not at all saying you can’t like Lena because she is a billionaire. This is a fictional show. It is not real life. But it should be talked about.

With CatCo, they had one security breach, and it turned out to be an internal one. The consequences of that were on the shoulders of Cat Grant alone, and she was fully willing to pay the consequences herself and the only reason why she didn’t step down from CatCo is the last-minute save from Kara and friends. CatCo is a media empire built from the ground up by Cat herself, who’s talked about the consequences of her actions shaping her future direction—she thinks about the actress with the abusive husband every day, knowing that it wasn’t her fault but it was her responsibility as a reporter to say what she saw—and she didn’t. Inaction in itself has consequences.

They’re both willing to face the consequences of their actions–but Cat is the one who is a well known Democrat, who left her multi million dollar company to pursue public service, the whole: “ that’s why we do what we do. That’s why we’re driven to tell the truth. Not only because we want to be good journalists, but because we also want to be good people” and yes with Kara’s help, trying to elevate the conversation, valuing loyalty and integrity beyond just what it could potentially bring to CatCo (that video of Supergirl letting that Fort Rozz escapee go could have brought so much traffic to CatCo, but that wasn’t the point. Compare with the alien IDer. And. Well. We’re getting to the pretty damn grey area).

Cat is willing to do things that are for the benefit of National City and potentially the world at the expense of her company. That isn’t the case with Lena. Lena wants to be a good person! She does! But her motivations for being a good scientist haven’t, even as a kid, been “I am doing this directly because I want to be a good person”—we have seen time and time again that Lena’s main priority is LCorp, and doing what is in the best interest of her company. I am not going to stop harping on the alien identification device because it is horrific and this is something Lena, not her family but Lena, has done in an attempt to increase LCorp’s bottom line.

I am not at all saying Cat is perfect and without flaws and Lena is not, since I just finished detailing one of Cat’s past mistakes (and I’m not going on to detail Cat’s flaws and mistakes, which I have done in the past, because this is about Lena and I’ve counted this now--it’s a total of 2.1k and I’m tired) but when shit happens at CatCo it’s usually something that only affects Cat and her employees, or something unexpected—like really, having one of your employees spontaneously develop superpowers? Unexpected. You really can’t get security for that shit—and there are very few cyber security breaches (Winn is brilliant, but he’s also just one person. There are plenty of people L Corp could hire to deal with cyber security issue, and they have one if they were able to be hacked from the Cloud—and that hacking was human, predictable, and preventable.

I really did appreciate the single Lena/Kara scene past episode, because I keep seeing as well “oh but the DEO has Kryptonite and that’s fine”—clearly, as we saw this past episode, it is very much not fine that the DEO had Kryptonite since Kara almost d i e d. Lena very well have been asking herself this question—and we see this episode that for Kara it is equally bad. This is not a witch hunt because her last name is Luthor but as we see this episode there are very bad things that can happen when people can steal Kryptonite. Kara is the only one who suffers. Katie’s acting choices were great—she was genuinely shaken and concerned as she sees the scenario that Supergirl was most afraid of happening concerning Kryptonite happen—and happen only to her. Everyone else was fine—but Kara lay seizing in the hospital bed from the device that she created (although let me be clear—this one is completely on the DEO. They were the ones who were supposed to be guarding the device, they were the ones with the stolen Kryptonite that was entered into the atmosphere, it was their agent and their security breach that caused this, they were the ones who took responsibility for the device—and dropped the ball).

Lena sees Supergirl on a hospital bed, and hell if she didn’t realize Supergirl was Kara before Lena almost definitely did, staring as she watched the person she loved more than anyone else in the world fade away before her eyes and this is what she was talking about before. This is what she was worried about—it’s an understandable fear. They took the Kryptonite from the DEO, but if they didn’t get a mole, would they have turned to L Corp? Would they try to break in, and succeed?

Would this be because of her? She wouldn’t have deployed the weapon the used herself but she would have created everything they used to do it. Kryptonite isn’t used for anything except as a weapon. This isn’t about Lena “going evil,” or becoming like her family. This is about how just because Lena is willing to be the one who pays the price for her actions and the risks that she takes doesn’t mean that someone else wont.

Tl;dr the 2.1k word monstrosity: Lena is not her family and she isnt evil but oh my god shes the CEO of a multibillion dollar company that makes weapons and still benefits from the actions of her family, and who's main priority has always been her company. Shes not just a perfect ideal who can do no wrong or cant improve--shes done a lot of good but just look at the alien detection device--shes done a lot of wrong too.

#supergirl #lena luthor #kara danvers #cat grant #alex danvers #j'onn j'onzz #all of these characters tbh have at least like #200?300? words each?

[thearrangment-phff]

LXXI.

March 2019

“I know you don’t want to do this but Olympia and Gaelle resigned their position and Charlotte passed away... it’s time you find replacements for them,” spoke Christine.

“It’s too soon.”

“Belle I am the only one left. You need to replace at least Olympia and Gaelle and we can wait to find a replacement for Charlotte.”

Isabella hesitated, “Countess Antonia Holstein til Ledreborg and Princess Sophie of Hohenberg.”

“I will contact them as soon as possible but do you have backups in case they reject the position,” said Christine.

“No backups. It’s them or no one.”

“I’ll go call them up.”

Harry watched as Isabella attempted to play with her sons but the young woman had barely enough energy to get herself out of bed. Isabella had forsaken many engagements and even missed the 50th anniversary of the Prince of Wales investiture. Though she had a legitimate excuse, the Grand ducal family gathered in St. Michael church in Luxembourg City for a mass on the death of Alix, Princess of Ligne. Princess Alix had been her great-aunt and the Prince of Wales and the Queen understood Isabella had to process with death in February.

By the time the Commonwealth service came around Isabella had mustered enough energy to make it through the service then the other engagements that followed.

“I am very proud of you today,” said Harry.

“Why is that?” asked Isabella.

“Because you were able to get through this whole day and not go back to your room. It was a big accomplishment.”

“I guess.”

“I arranged for us to go to Austria to visit the jeweler and then to go to Switzerland to see Charlotte’s jewelry,” explained Harry.

“Thank you for making the arrangements.”

“It was more Christine’s doing since she spoke German. My French is not as strong as I think it is.”

Isabella asked him about his day in French. Harry answered in simple sentences so Isabella decided to make things more complicated for him. The conversation got longer and complex and Harry struggled to keep up. He forgot certain words and his articulation got bad at his sentences continued on.

“You have gotten better but you still sound too English,” said Isabella.

“Your accent seems to only have gotten thicker the longer I’ve known you,” fought back Harry.

“Something has to remind the people that I am a foreigner in this country.”

“Is that the image your team has been going for? The foreign Duchess of Sussex?” asked Harry.

“Being an immigrant is nothing to be ashamed of, whether it be voluntary or involuntary migration everyone has a right to be who they are and live where they want or need to. Although I have an advantage more than others because I am a white woman and was a Catholic for a time.”

“Sometimes the things that come out of your mouth cease to... I don’t even know what to say. I mean it, I forget who you are before this arrangement and I shouldn’t. You are an amazing woman, and everyone else should recognize that more. Including me,” added Harry.

“Thank you but I’m not that amazing. There are actually amazing people who have come as far as I did and have had much larger and longer obstacles in life. They are the real amazing people.”

“Even humble.”

“Not humble, just aware of my privilege in life and what I can do to even the playing field for the descendants of the people my family murdered and displaced,” replied Isabella.

-----

On March 15, 2019, two white supremacists murdered dozens of Muslims in New Zealand in a coordinated terrorist attack. When Isabella heard of these massacres, she thought she needed to do more than release a statement. Very few times had royals gone to places like that, and paid their respects. Isabella immediately flew to New Zealand wearing a hijab to stand in solidarity with the Muslim population of New Zealand and of the Commonwealth.

While her act of solidarity was met with some praise, there was intense backlash saying Isabella was accepting of terrorism and the Muslim Brotherhood. She ignored the articles and the ugly slurs being yelled at her during her stay in New Zealand and when she went back to London after the bombing. She cared for the murdered people, the ones in the past, present, and the future who would fall victim to Islamophobia across the world.

Isabella even talked to people in private in Arabic which of course surprised a lot of people. She had been taking lessons every once in a while, and while her Arabic wasn’t always the right dialect and she mispronounced some things, the gesture was what made people care. Isabella cared for a majority of people no matter their religion, skin color, or sexual orientation. She had learned that history repeats itself, and she was going to make sure the atrocities her family committed over the centuries would not happen again.

She hugged and talked with family members of the victim alongside Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern. When Mangu-Kaha –Black Power- performed a Haka to honor those who had fallen, Isabella was moved to tears. Then school children performed an improvised Haka, Isabella watched in tears students mourning in the most beautiful way. In a moment of caring for nothing else more than the people in front of her and she had consoled a weeping woman.

“You were very brave to come at a time like this,” complimented the Prime Minister Jacinda Ardern.

“Not brave, not at all. They are the ones who are brave,” replied Isabella.

“Most royals just write a paragraph on how sorry they are and yet you flew on a plane halfway across the world. Why?”

“When I was younger, I finally understood what my name meant. I was named after my ancestor Queen Isabel of Castile but more importantly, I was a Habsburg. There was pride, but shame quickly followed. My family murdered and displaced hundreds of millions of people since the beginning of time. I thought that I should help people listen to the voices of those who were silenced by my family,” explained Isabella.

“So guilt is what drives you?”

“Justice. I use my privilege to uplift others. It is the least I could do especially when I benefit from the system that is designed to keep others down.”

“You speak like a politician,” smiled the Prime Minister.

“I have a bachelor’s degree in political science with a master’s in global affairs from Yale University. I worked for the United Nations before my marriage. I am much more than a Duke’s wife.”

“I am no longer accepting the thing I cannot change. I am changing the things I cannot accept,” quoted the Prime Minister.

“I wrote one of my papers for grad school on her book Women, Culture & Politics. My professor wasn’t too pleased with my political views. Or the simple fact that I acknowledged oppression.”

“I would have never guessed you are into reading Davis.”

“You cannot change any society unless you take responsibility for it unless you see yourself as belonging to it and responsible for changing it,” quoted Isabella.

“I’ll be honest with you; I don’t know who that is from.”

“Raya Dunayevskaya, a former secretary of Trotsky and Marxist feminist. I did my thesis on the correlation of American women with a lot of help from her book Rosa Luxemburg, Women's Liberation, and Marx's Philosophy of Revolution.”

“I would love to read it someday. It’s quite fascinating that... well, you seem to be a socialist.”

“I married into the British Royal Family, politically I am nothing. I am a tool to be used and push aside when need be,” smiled Isabella.

“You really are a politician at heart.”

“I am simply a product of my heart’s desire.”

“I will be going to the homes of the families who lost someone. I would like you to join me. I will also be going to pray with them and I think they would appreciate knowing you are there and you care.”

“I would never reject such an offer,” replied Isabella.

“I know that I have called for New Zealand independence in the past and while I still believe in what I said, but if there were more people like you then perhaps the world wouldn’t be the way it is.”

“Thank you but you and I both know that I am a hypocrite in that area. I don’t practice what I preach or else I would have simply lived as Isabella von Habsburg until the day I died not married into the British monarchy.”

-----

A couple of days after the New Zealand terrorist attack, Isabella traveled in Madrid, Spain for the opening of the 28th Harvard World Model United Nations. She smiled for the cameras and talked in Spanish for a majority of her time in Spain earning respect from a great number of people. She even joked around with some of the participating schools when she went around asking them questions.

Meanwhile, William had gone to New Zealand to pay his respects but the situation wasn’t the same. He wasn’t met with the same respect that Isabella had received. When the members of the United Nations applauded Isabella’s grief and need to help but Williams’s visit was intentionally left out of their comments. Isabella’s had slowly been taking over international engagements that were usurping William’s will to show he would be a good future king.

But there was also a sense of betrayal. Isabella’s former ladies-in-waiting Countess Olympia was engaged to Jean-Christophe, Prince Napoleon. While Isabella was well aware of their long relationship, the simple fact that Olympia refused to tell her was a devastating blow to Isabella. She had assumed their friendship had made them closer but it didn’t. She smiled for the cameras in Spain even as she felt deceived. 

“Your Royal Highness, where did you go to college?”

“Yale University,” answered Isabella, earning some unique responses.

“Did you apply to Harvard?” asked another student.

“No I did not. Yale and Georgetown University were the only American universities that I applied to.”

“What did you major in?”

“Political Science with a concentration in history for my Bachelor’s degree then Global Affairs for my masters,” answered Isabella.

“Do you ever want to get your doctorates?”

“Not at the moment and in all honesty, I never really thought about getting my doctorates, getting my masters was more of a whim than anything else, but I do not regret it.”

-----

“You have a plane to catch for the Special Olympics. Tessy and Paul Louis are also attending,” spoke Christine.

“Paul Louis? Why on earth is he going?”

“On behalf of the Luxembourg family. He is going to be taking over some foreign engagements that no one else can make it to,” answered Christine.

“Does this mean he will be taking on more engagements in Luxembourg too?”

“Well with Guillaume, Stephanie, Alexandra, Louis, Felix, and Claire living abroad. It was said that Paul Louis, Leopold, and Charlotte will be taking over some things for them.”

“You don’t think that they are preparing them for something bigger, right?” asked Isabella.

“I don’t know where you are getting at.”

“I... never mind. It doesn’t make sense,” Ignored Isabella.

“How would you like for us to go about these next couple of days considering the closing ceremony is soon?” asked Christine.

“Tell Emily that I want to be with my cousin as much as possible and never to put me with Tessy. I don’t have the energy to be nice to her right now.”

“You still haven’t forgiven her have you?”

“No! Nor will I ever! Louis can act all nice but I can’t. It was one thing to tell Louis to stop doing what he loves, then she convinces him to move to London which he hates, and then she asks for money in the divorce knowing full well the people of Luxembourg are the ones who will be forced to pay for her income. If she cared for Luxembourg or her sons then she would give Louis custody and let them live in Luxembourg!” ranted Isabella.

“I’ll be sure to relay the message to Emily.”

Isabella had to fly to the United Arab Emirates and when she got off the plain she was met with dozens of photographers and her younger cousin, Prince Paul Louis of Nassau.

“I’ve missed you!” smiled Isabella.

“I can barely hug you Belle,” laughed Paul Louis.

“Well I am 7 months pregnant.”

“Come on, we have so much to talk about. We’re meeting with the Luxembourgish and Belgian teams later. I wanted to have time with you first.”

Isabella hugged her cousin again before walking to a car close by. Paul Louis opened the car door for her and Isabella heard the screams of the photographers around her. The two enjoyed a quiet lunch before heading to continue working.

“How is everything been going? I feel like I haven’t seen you in forever,” started Isabella.

“Fine. Uni is going great and when I have time, uncle Henri asked me to things like this. I wasn’t going to pass up an opportunity to come here,” answered Paul Louis.

“I was with Elisabeth a couple months ago in Wales she told me something interesting things.”

“I was hoping you weren’t going to bring that up,” laughed Paul Louis.

“Well I am. Explain.”

“I am... sort of dating Zita. Nothing too serious and your... Charlotte of Murat she told me that is was better if I break up with Zita and ask Elisabeth on a date.”

“Did she tell you why?” asked Isabella.

“Not really, she told me that you were in London, Guillaume and Felix had Luxembourg, and we should follow in your footsteps. It was all very weird and she didn’t seem to be making sense half the time.”

“Marriage,” whispered Isabella.

“Marriage? I am barely 20, I’m not going to get married.”

Isabella was worried Paul Louis would talk about her arrangement to others, “No, no, I wasn’t talking about you. I was talking about my marriage.”

“Charlotte still wasn’t making any sense.”

“I think what Charlotte was saying... marry someone who isn’t like you. Marry someone for love who brings you out your comfort zone and brings you happiness,” added Isabella.

“That doesn’t sound like Charlotte, but I guess.”

“What about uni? How is that going?” asked Isabella, trying to change the subject.

“I was thinking about going to the states in the fall just to try it out. Alexandre, you remember him, he goes to USC and he’ll help me get settled over there,” explained Paul Louis.

“California? Why not Georgetown or Yale?” asked Isabella.

“I don’t think I could get into either of those,” laughed Paul Louis.

“I didn’t either and I did.”

“Yes but you are you. I remember how you were trying to get those perfect grades and I’m okay with what I’m doing right now,” fought Paul Louis.

“Okay. If you ever need help, I hope you know you can call me up. I still have some friends in the states that will be more than happy to help you too.”

-----

One of the larger events of the month was Rise Stand Speak Up. Isabella’s aun, Maria Teresa, The Grand Duchess of Luxembourg, had helped create the international conference committed to ending sexual violence in fragile environments was initiated by the Grand Duchess together with the Dr. Denis Mukwege Foundation and We are NOT Weapons of War (WWoW), supported by the Women’s Forum for the Economy & Society and the Luxembourg Government.

The whole of the Luxembourg Grand Ducal Family attended the conference and attended forums on behalf of the Grand Ducal Family. Isabella and her cousins supported their aunt and the women who were apart of the panel. The stories from people all over the world had brought Isabella to tears, but also reminded her why she wanted to help people in the first place.

Isabella talked with her aunt about how she started the panel and conference. She spoke with her cousins and decided they should work together on a project. Isabella had ideas but her pregnancy would cause some delay in anything she wanted to do.

------

April 2019

“No one really warned me about pushing a child out of my sensitive bits,” argued Luisa Maria.

“Trust me, I understand more than anyone,” laughed Isabella.

“And the blood! There’s so much blood! Why is there so much blood?!” yelled Luisa in disbelief.

“I think they don’t tell you about all the weird things about being pregnant so you can have more children.”

“And the stitching! So many stitches I rather risk my organs falling out of my body,” yelled Luisa.

“Careful. Get too angry you might pee yourself a little bit,” warned Isabella.

“We passed that a long time ago. Also, everyone jokes about peeing themselves a little bit, but no one ever tells you it is more than just a little bit.”

“We can talk about this forever Luisa. You haven’t even told us the name of the baby!”

“This beautiful, most amazing baby in the world-” started Alexander, Isabella’s brother.

“Is Baudouin Carl Henri Philippe Jean Christoph of Austria,” finished Maria Luisa.

“Also 11th in line to the Belgian throne,” added Yolande, Isabella and Alexander’s grandmother who had been staying away from Luisa in fear of overcrowding the new mother.

“Yes he is in the line of succession but Baudouin is too far done anyways.”

“Does it ever come up that half of everyone in line to the Belgian throne is a Habsburg? It has to bother someone, right?” asked Isabella.

“If it does then no one can say anything now. I was born a Habsburg, I married and Habsburg and my children will be Habsburgs... oh god, that sort of sounds disgusting, doesn’t it?” asked Luisa at the end.

“Normal for us, but probably incestuous for others,” replied Isabella.

Luisa had laughed a bit, “Do you think uncle Baudouin would happy that I named my first born after him?” asked Luisa.

“Of course he would. He loved you all very much and would be honored,” scolded Yolande from the corner of the room.

Hours passed and one by one everyone left the room. Marie Astrid had pulled aside Isabella and Harry with just a touch on their shoulders.

“Mama, what’s wrong?”

“It’s your grandfather. He’s been sick the past couple of days. Your uncle Henri has some doctors at Berg saying it’s a minor cold and it will pass but at his age, I am worried Belle!” explained Marie Astrid.

“Is there something I can do?”

“I’ll be going to Luxembourg after Luisa is okay. I need you to be on call Belle.”

“Mama I give birth next month!” argued Isabella.

“That’s still enough time between now and then!”

“Are you hiding something? You wouldn't worry me like this is if was not serious,” wondered Isabella.

“You are the only grandchild far away. I want to you to be with your grandfather god forbid if he passes soon.”

“Louis is London with me and Alexandra is in Edinburgh... they’re in Luxembourg aren’t they?”

“For some engagements, that’s all,” answered Marie Astrid.

“Please give me a number of 1 being not serious to 10 which is basically dying,” begged Isabella.

“I couldn’t give you a number even if I wanted too. Your uncles gave me vague details with clean instructions to be in Luxembourg after the birth of Alexander and Luisa’s child.”

“Please keep me updated because I don't know if I can go to Luxembourg at all until after the birth of this little one.”

“Of course Belle,” smiled Marie Astrid.

#PHFF #prince harry fanfiction #prince harry fanfic #royal fanfiction #royal fanfic #fanfiction #Prince Harry

[whyequality]

final project (argument)

the united states. the “land of free”. one nation. a country that has “liberty and justice for all”. that couldn't be more far from the truth. 

the united states is said to be one of the most prominent countries in the world. and i agree. with its plague of racism, income inequality, an inadequate K-12 education, blind nationalism, and a bloated defense budget, i can see what this country is important to the world. however, one issue that is too important yet shoved under the rug a lot in this country is the racism it holds. it’s the foundation of this country and causes many issues for a number of individuals. 

an example of racism this country has is the corrupt justice system. the prison system in the united states is a lethal organization run by capitalists who profit off the incarnation of people. this “land of the free” has the largest prison population in the world, and the highest per-capita incarceration rate. Within this system and the millions of bodies incarcerated, black people take up the most space in the organization, even though we make up only 13%, whereas white individuals make up 77%. black people make up nearly 40 percent of america’s incarcerated population and are more than five times as likely as whites to be behind bars.  the reason for this is very controversial but lies around one idea. race. race is a massive element in the reason why prisons are filled with more black individuals than any other race. black people have been deemed “unworthy” since the creation of this country and looking to its creation can give a better answer as to why the prison system is filled with more black people than any other race.

the prison system in the u.s is very lethal. an example of the racial injustice within in american prison system is the story of the beautiful Kalief Browder. Kalief Browder was a young african american man with his entire life ahead of him. But, like many black boys, was at the wrong place at the wrong time. At 16, he was arrested for allegedly stealing a backpack. They were held in a cell because of the false accusation for a few hours. Then, they were taken to the Bronx County Criminal Court, where they were processed at the court's central booking. He was integrated and charged with robbery, grand larceny, and assault. He was already on probation, at 16, and was not released. Bail was set and then denied because of his previous probation. He was only a young boy will so much to learn. He was already dealing with poverty and addiction in his family. They sent this teenager to one of the most infamous prisons with a huge number of corrupt and horrifying police and correctional officers on the planet. He was imprisoned at Rikers Island. The corrupt prison, like many others, was known for its "deep-seated culture of violence" where inmates suffered "broken jaws, broken orbital bones, broken noses, long bone fractures, and lacerations requiring stitches." Browder unfortunately was washed his own clothes in rusty sinks, was punched in the face by correctional officers, and even gang beat my 15 inmates. This only got worse when he was put in solitary confinement for nearly 2 years awaiting trial. His mental health was shot. He went through so much as just a teenager. Kalief maintained the fact that he was innocent. Because of this, judges threw him back in prison for not accepting a plea bargain. His case kept being thrown to the side after a handful of attempts for the judges to hear his case. After 961 days in prison, Browder had appeared before eight judges. His case wasn’t taken seriously. After all this, charges were dropped from the person who accused him of the initial crime and the accuser left the country without any word about the case. For 3 years, he was wrongfully imprisoned and suffered mental health issues as a result from being the prison. He hung himself for the final time and died on June 5, 2015.The injustice he faced is unfortunately just another case of the prison system being unfair. He was falsely accused. He was an innocent person who got arrested for a crime he didn't commit. Lawyer tells them, to take a plea deal and get charged with something you didn't do, and spend only the mandatory minimum in prison, or you can go to trial and still get charged, but instead of mandatory minimum you get a higher sentence. Basically, you get punished for speaking up and saying you didn't do it as opposed to just taking the fall. This is America. This is the corrupt system millionsare faced with on the daily. And when the world already deems African Americans inferior, it becomes very easy for this life to become your life. This corrupt system, led by racist white men, perpetrate horrible acts of racial violence every day. I don’t want to be bias and make it seem like African Americans are the only ones that face injustice, but I am very passionate about it because contrary to popular belief, black Americans are the blueprint of this country but are given a perspective of the complete opposite. The justice system in this country is a huge failure. Kalief was a poor, innocent kid, a child. Was put through complete hell and torture for doing absolutely nothing. The system is broken and needs to be fixed. Young black kids are being targeted and denied their rights and it needs to stop.

i believe the main thing holding the country back from creating a real nation that allows real economic growth, personal freedom, and safe home is the racism & prejudices the people who help create the nation and uphold it have. race is a huge factor in the creation of this country because the country began with the belief that the white skin was superior to any other race known. with acting on the belief that any other race was inferior to their own, white people began to commit atrocities to build said country. the men that control this country are a bunch of white men who sit in a room and make decisions that benefit “their” people. they continuously make laws that benefit them but hurt people of color, rich or poor, everyday. for example, black people weren't allowed to vote simply for their skin color. that is still being done today with voter suppression. voter suppression is a strategy used to influence the outcome of an election by discouraging or preventing specific groups of people from voting. so in the poor communities where a great number of black people live, things were done to withhold votes like only having one voting machine. yes, ONE. or making up excuses as to why they couldn't vote, i.e their address wasn't “real”. or a vote gets “lost”.  it seems like these white men can only win by cheating and the electoral college. it would be damn near impossible for them to win based on a fair popular vote. stuff like this cannot be allowed to happen. yet it does because this country turns a blind eye or supports it wholeheartedly. 

i want this country to succeed. i want everyone to have their voice heard and be able to live the best life possible everyday. but we cannot get anywhere if we don’t acknowledge the real history of this country. not only should  accountability be taken for every past event and future ones, but solutions to reduce the impact the ignorance has had on every community of color. this country has the potential to be great for everyone but won’t if the powers that be won’t recognize their faults in the creation it and seek changes.

[lisaturpins-blog1]

Your palms are clammy, embarrassingly enough, hands twisting together as you wait to be sorted. You were not scared of the sorting like some of the other first years—your parents thankfully did not believe in the tradition of frightening their children with with tales and hints of what dangerous feats it might entail—-but now that it’s here… you’re nervous. You’ve planned, conspired, really, with Morag to be sorted, together, into Ravenclaw; during the summer this seemed an easy feat, but now, with the old faded hat that will decide your fate for the next seven years in front of you, you are apprehensive. Ravenclaw does suit you, you know—but what if the hat doesn’t? You link arms with Morag, pushing the thought from your head; you will be in Ravenclaw, even if you have to trick the hat into putting you there.

(Later, the Sorting Hat laughs at that idea, saying it’s a Slytherin train of thought if it’s ever heard one; still, you end up at the Ravenclaw table, fairly sure the Slytherin thing was just a thousand year old hat messing with you.)

Hogwarts is somehow everything and nothing like you expected it would be.

Academically, you thrive. Your lessons with your mother prepared you for your schooling, and you find yourself ahead of the curve in almost every respect when it comes to your classes—able, thankfully, to show off your knowledge in a way that is not quite so intolerable when compared to another girl in your year.

Hermione Granger. She is a muggleborn, one of a handful in your year, and you admit you’re passingly intrigued by her, by all of them, really. Your upbringing keeps you, for the most part, from seeking them out (whether it’s a natural reservation or a bit of pureblood arrogance, you tend not to seek people out in general) but you do watch—you try and match the description your parents gave of ungrateful, ill-refined meddlers keen on changing things, greedily usurping their world, to the classmates you now see everyday. But it doesn’t click. Granted, the muggleborns are often annoyingly clueless about the formalities and traditions of your society, and the way they gape every time someone performs something as simple as an Aguamenti was humorous, at first, but now tiring—-but for the most part they don’t seem evil, they seem…. overwhelmed.

You have always been taught to put faith in yourself, and your mind—and maybe, you think, that means you should trust what you observe, rather than what your parents tell you. Maybe muggleborns are different now.

(You think this to yourself, but you somehow, instinctively, know not to say it to your parents when you are home for the holidays.)

Despite Harry Potter being in your year—and creating schoolyard scandals aplenty in your first year—he, or the trouble that follows him, does not impact you until your second year, when students—children like you—-are being attacked in the hallways. Fingers point to Potter eventually, but you have never been the type to follow along with a mob mentality, especially when it makes no sense. Potter is awkward, and a bit strange in your book, but he seems to want to be left alone, and truthfully? You don’t see him as much of a threat (he seems to be a middling student at best, and you’re fairly certain you could take him in a duel). Still, you keep your eyes on him, because he survived the killing curse from a Dark Lord as a baby—-it would be stupid not to.

The Dark Lord is another subject you were soundly able to ignore last year; but this year, it is not quite so easy. With all the talk of the Heir of Slytherin cleansing the school, the belief in blood purity is at the back of everyone’s mind, wary glances exchanged as students seem to realize they may not know who among their number is pleased with the terror plaguing the school. And as with many things, you search for knowledge on the subject.

Your parents, though vocal in their belief in the superiority of pure bloodlines, always stopped short of praising the Dark Lord in front of you (later, you think even they knew the danger of espousing that rhetoric to a child who might not know how to be discreet—Draco Malfoy a perfect example of the benefits of keeping mum). And as you read, head buried among the stacks of books ont he subject in Hogwarts library, about the atrocities commited in Voldemort’s name, and by his followers hand, you blanch at the thought of your parents being involved.

They could not have been, you argue to yourself. You can’t reconcile the images: your parents, tough but fair and loving and always willing to give in to your wants, with the killers and torturers who would brutalize muggles and children for—-for nothing.

They could not have been, and when you summon the courage to ask them that summer, hands clasped behind your back so that they do not shake, if they were, they deny it—-and you believe them, that they are not monsters. Because what else can you do?

Third year comes, and despite your belief that even if your parents are a bit traditional (bigoted, your mind whispers, unbidden) they were not so far gone as to support a genocidal maniac, you are changed. A bit sharper at the edges, a bit more cynical, eyes quick to narrow as you take in all the ways this world has not changed, has not improved despite the Dark Lord’s defeat thirteen years ago.

Perhaps it’s the Dementors stationed around the school coloring everything you see a bit greyer—though you have no particularly painful memories for them to feed on, like others might, you are not immune to their pull; the weight is evident even in the most cheerful of people, like your Head of House.

But the Dementors cannot be blamed for the way your eyes open to the world around you and all its faults—-how a man like Lucius Malfoy, so obviously corrupt, has such an untoward influence on the government and the school, and how his son takes advantage of that to cruel ends; how Severus Snape, neglectful at best and absolutely abusive at worst, is able to continue to shape the minds and impact the development of children; how, even though the Death Eaters lost all those years ago, everytime you hear Malfoy, or Flint, or Montague mutter mudblood under their breath with no consequence, you think that maybe, in a way, they won after all.

The summer between third and fourth year, things come to a head unexpectedly. Your father gets ticket for the Quidditch World Cup for the three of you; you are not big fan of the sport, but it’s the World Cup, and you can’t help but be excited.

The days leading up to the game are a whirlwind of exploring the vast campsite; taking in all the cultural differences on display, catching up with classmates—but your eyes are not so distracted that you miss the curl of disgust on your mother’s lips as the muggle guide directs you to your campsite; or the conspiratorial whispers your father has with Lucius Malfoy away from your campfire.

The game itself is intersting enough—-games at Hogwarts pale in comparision to the athleticism on display here, and though you are no die-hard fan, even you can appreciate it, and allow yourself to get caught up in the excitement afterwards (you father even allows you more than a few sips of his firewhiskey).

Then it all goes to hell.

Your mother shakes you awake in the dead of night, the air still and quiet. Plans have changed, and you are leaving now—-even in your dazed, half-asleep state, it doesn’t make sense. Where would you get a portkey after midnight? But you go home, settled into your bed and nearly asleep when you hear the telltale sound of appiration. After a search of the entire house, you’re left even more confused: you are entirely alone.

The confusion dissipates the next morning when the Daily Prophet arrives, headlines blaring about the attack at the World Cup—-Death Eaters, proud and bold in 1994. Your stomach twists with what you suspect—-what you feel in your gut is right—-and you go searching.

Contrary as you might be at school, you have never had reason to openly rebel at home—-your parents have no reason to suspect you would now. So when you go snooping and find what you find—-robes and masks you’ve seen only in books and old newspapers—-it feels like your world has shifted on its axis.

And fury takes control of your body, it seems, as you confront them head-on; liars, you spat at them, cowards who kiss the feet of a maniac—-and there is a shift in them, too, one where you can finally see the parents you loved as something other than the figures from your childhood—you can see, now, the fanaticism that dressed as elitism and snobbery. They had thought the Dark Lord died that night, and it had been a blow, but now—-now they sense him growing stronger, returning, and they are ready to finish the work he started, and—-

And you run.

You ran without thinking it through; you have always had a streak of impulsiveness (one that usually reared its head when you stuck, steadfast, to an argument) but it had never left you in a strait like this. You can count the number of true friends you have at Hogwarts on one hand; you’ve always had walls up and now it’s come back to bite you in the ass.

You can’t go to Morag, though she is your first, and instinctive choice. Her parents are—you suspect—much the same as yours, and they will send you right back, and though you don’t know what you want, you do know it’s being away from them. You can’t—you painfully realize—-trust her, not in this.

And so you’re on the Knight Bus, stomach churning as you run through a mental list of your housemates, coming up empty until—Anthony Goldstein. He’s been—-friendly, if not a friend, and you lack any better option, so you smooth your skirt nervously, out of habit, and have the bus drop you off at his house.

He is surprised, of course, when he comes to the door, and you’re almost at a loss for words—a rare sight, for you, but how do you ask an acquaintance if you can stay with them?

Bluntly, as it turns out, and not without a few awkward pauses as you struggle to get the words out without seeming too desperate (you are, you are, but you have your pride). Maybe Anthony notices your struggle, or maybe he is that kind—or maybe both—-but either way, you are soon set up in the Goldstein’s guest bedroom, the few belongs you threw into your expanded satchel along with your school things unpacked, with a promise from his parents that they will take you shopping this weekend.

“I—I have gold,” You say as they go to leave the room. You were not planning to leave, but you have a good head on your shoulders, and grabbed what you could before you left, “It’s not much, but you can have it—”

“What? God, no, Lisa, we don’t want your money—you don’t need to pay us.” Anthony sounds almost offended, and you shrug almost helplessly. In your experience, people don’t do something for nothing. The idea of this family—-strangers to you, aside from their son—-taking you in with no expectation of anything in return is almost baffling, and your throat burns with gratitude.

You manage an awkward thank you, not eloquent enough by far—-but Anthony seems to understand.

Fourth year begins and you will not be self-conscious. You don’t know what gossip has been spread about you—don’t know who your parents have told about your betrayal—but you assume the worst. But beyond that, you are relieved, and eager, in a way that is almost disconcerting, to shed yourself of the person you were before you left home. You are free now—-and you will prove it to everyone.

(Is it really freedom if you are trying to prove it?)

Anthony has become a friend since his family took you in—moreso, even. You weren’t sure what you’d expected when you arrived on his doorstep—maybe being treated with the indifference of a temporary house-guest, but the Goldsteins opened their arms and their home to you. You’re grateful, even if you aren’t good at verbalizing it, and you and Anthony develop a rapport, an easy banter that has you almost wishing you hadn’t been an only child all these years.

You walk into the Great Hall alongside him and the change in your is obvious to anyone who paid attention. Gone are the silk dresses and perfectly laid plaits, replaced by messy locks and a dark wardrobe just barely toeing the line of being appropriate, eyes rimmed in charcoal tones and lips darkened. You are a different girl now, and you want everyone to know it—-and this is only the beginning.

You take a seat at the Ravenclaw table, far from Morag and steadfastly refusing to meet her gaze. Morag’s friendship is part of the old Lisa, and you are still angry, so angry at your family that you are determined to burn every bridge leading back to the girl you were when you were with them—including Morag. It’s not fair, you think (you know), but you are determined to leave all parts of your past behind—-you don’t need any of it, you don’t.

This year is also the year that you learn that you’re pretty, and just how useful pretty can be. It’s incredible—and alarming—the things that a pretty smile and a shorter skirt will get you, and the things it will get you out of. It’s nothing serious—-a bit of flirting and teasing, nothing beyond a few stolen kisses in the alcoves and broom closets around school—-it will take you a bit longer to truly learn to weaponize your looks—-but you find you like the rush you get, wrapping admirers around your finger with your words and smiles, even if only for a while; it is all innocent, you tell yourself, but you wonder, sometimes, where the line is between innocent and manipulative, and how close you are to crossing it. And for all the rendezvous you found yourself engaged in, your heart? Remained untouched by any of them.

Someone does manage to bypass the walls around your heart, though, and in the most unexpected way. You did not think much of Sally-Anne Perks when she sat next to you in Potions one day, and you defending her was not, in fact, done to get her attention—you’d had it with Snape’s many abuses to his students, and were now unafraid (or at least wanted to seem unafraid) to let him know it; you had no expectations beyond doing that. But Sally thanked you, and continued, surprisingly, to speak with you, and before you knew it—-unfathomably—the two of you were friends. Sally-Anne is different than you are in so many ways—most of all her seemingly unyielding belief in the goodness of others (you are more jaded, and angry, and bitter—you know this). You find her optimism—her naivety, you sometimes think—as endearing as you do frustrating at times. Still, despite your different views on the world, you will not be the one to shatter her rose-colored glasses—-and you will not let anyone else, either.

The Dark Lord returns at the end of your fourth year. Cedric Diggory is dead. The Ministry, burying the heads in the sand. And you are equal parts terrified and enraged, so angry sometimes that you don’t know how to contain the fury inside of you at just how fucked upthe world is.

Anthony wants to speak on it, sometimes, you think. Sidelong glances at the breakfast table, narrowed eyes; he has never pressed you, not really, to discuss why you left home; he guesses, you’re sure. But with the return of your parents master (you will never forgive them for this), the stakes in your running away have been raised significantly.

Dolores Umbridge makes herself at home in the castle, and though everyone knows with painful clarity that it is Harry Potter she’s really after, you make yourself an enemy of her, as well. How it happens is this: she is giving her introductory defense lesson, and you ask about practical application, and it devolves from there. Suddenly it’s less a question-and-answer between teacher and student, and more of an argument, because in your mind its not about good vs evil, it’s about education, and the Ministry failing their citizens with this bullshit—-and Anthony’s face is grim, and Sally-Anne’s eyes are pleading with you to stop from across the room, and you won’t stop (why won’t you stop? why don’t you ever stop?) and you wind up with three days detention and a sliced up hand for your efforts, Umbridge’s snide remarks about parents who spare the rod and spoil the child leaving you wanting to claw her eyes out.

Your friends are waiting for you, afterwards, with a bowl of Murtlap Essence for you to sink your hand into, and it takes away the pain, but not the anger—-no, you find firewhiskey does that well enough (or at least, numbs it well enough that you don’t feel like you’re going to explode), and it becomes a frequent companion for you that year—Adrian Pucey may be a bigot, but his supply of liquor was legendary, and you use it—and him—to help you forget.

Anthony gets himself involved in a rogue defense association, and in doing so makes himself a target for Umbridge’s megalomania; you’re cross, aware you’re being hypocritcal, but still peeved. If he’d wanted tutoring in defense, he could have asked you; but you realize this is more than that, and the idea of Anthony fighting in this war—because the Ministry eventually wises up, but even before then you see the writing on the wall, this will come to war—makes your stomach drop.

You tried so hard to escape your parents, but even you know you cannot run from a war.

In your sixth year, the castle is eerily subdued—a tension settling over everything like a fog. Hogwarts is still—somehow, despite the many breaches of security—deemed the safest place from the Dark Lord and his followers, and you don’t envy those who graduated last year and now live outside of its walls. You wait, much like everyone else, for something to happen—for the other shoe to drop. And when you tire of waiting, you lose yourself—-in smoking, or drink, or the arms of whoever you happen to entice that week. Somehow, classes go on, unforgivingly—your Defense grade suffers with Snape as professor, because you won’t bow to a bully, not ever; and your essays are sloppier than usual, because there is a war raging outside the walls, and you spend your study time preparing for that.

It would be interesting to note the divisive factions that have cropped up in the wake of the re-emergence of the Dark Lord, if the actions of him and his followers weren’t so vile. Draco Malfoy seems to have fallen from grace with the arrest of his father, and you get a keen sense of satisfaction every time you see his increasingly gaunt and anxious face. You don’t know if you believe in karma, and you don’t know what’s going on with him, but you can’t help but think that maybe the cruelty he heaped onto others is coming back to him, finally (you don’t know, will never quite know, how right you are).

And then the Death Eaters invade the school, and you are chaos on the inside, a storm raging—-are your parents here? Will they come for you?—-but you can’t fall apart, you can’t, because you are in the library when they arrive and one of the eldest students there, so you help Madame Pince seal the entrance and you sit and wait, watching the door you hope will not open while comforting the younger students. One of them, a muggleborn, asks you if the Death Eaters are there to kill him, and if you didn’t hate your parents before for the path they’ve chosen, you do now.

Dumbledore dies, and no one says it, but you all know that somehow, the world has gotten a little darker.

#( those of us born by water are never afraid enough of drowning ) #this is long so i put part of it under a read more to spare yall scrolling

[lifeofresulullah]

The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Assignment of the Duty of the Prophethood and First Muslims

The State of the World and Humanity

It would be useful to know and to recognize the moral state of humanity and the world before the Master of the Universe (PBUH) was appointed as a prophet. Only then will we be able to understand how he saved the humanity from a social, political, religious, spiritual, intellectual darkness and perversion.

During the end of the sixth century of the Gregorian calendar…

This was an era in which disbelief, heresy, and immorality had descended over humanity with all of its might and were trying to suffocate humanity. The prominent and significant countries of that time were:

Byzantine, Persia, Egypt, India, Alexandria, Mesopotamia, China, etc.

In all of these countries;

A correct belief system did not exist

The people during that time suffered qualms of conscience, had gone mad (so to speak), were rampant, and did not know what they were doing.

They worshipped phenomena that took place in the universe and things that had been created by Allah. Humanity would prostrate before the stars, fire, as well as bone dry, lifeless rocks and idols while claiming they were “Gods!”.

Since souls and the conscience of humanity were buried in the deprivation and darkness of not having faith in Allah; nothing was considered to be the creation of the Divine power and the universe was considered to be meaningless, unnecessary, and pointless. Those poor individuals, who were devoid of faith, wisdom, and understanding, knew that a letter, a word, and a book could not come into being without a writer; however, they were writhing in the misery of accepting that the universe, which contains hundreds of thousands of mysteries and wisdoms, was without an owner and without reason.

In this deplorable state, the entire world was expecting and in need of a prophet who would reintroduce the belief in Tawhid, Allah’s existence and His oneness, and cleanse the heart of disbelief and depravity.

People had been divided into classes

Humanity had broken into several classes, such as the wealthy, the poor, the strong, and the weak; there was a great disconnection and gap between the community and the government officials. There was a considerable amount of tension among the classes.

Due to the tyranny and injustice that was committed by the higher social classes, the lower class resembled a barrel of gunpowder that was ready to explode at any minute. Let us take a glance at the state of Iran during that time as an example: “Like many primitive societies, the Iranians were completely separate from one another. The top three classes were entirely detached from the fourth caste, which was all the way at the bottom. The highest three classes consisted of the priests, judges, warriors and officials who were either called Magipads or Mobads since they were from the Magi Tribe; the farmers and artists constituted the fourth class”. The common people, who were the community, consisted of free city dwellers, slaves, and serfs. Their duty was to work in the fields or in the military without receiving any payments or rewards for their services. They were completely left to themselves and were stuck with insurmountable obstacles. They could not advance in their stations in any way; there was even no hope for them to become townspeople, although the latter openly benefited from their goods and property…” 

The Eastern Roman Empire’s condition was even more deplorable. “Its society had been divided into many secondary classes. They were: 1) A class called Curule. They were landowners who were not enlisted in the military and could not get involved in any kind of trade. 2) Tributaries, just like their counterparts in Persia, included those who had no land of their own, those who paid poll taxes, and those were bound to guilds that passed by inheritance from fathers to sons. 3) The military class. As one writer said regarding this matter: “The farmers who cultivated the soil were nothing but tools that clothed and fed the king’s court.” 

Finlay, who was an eminent historian on the Middle East, summarized the Eastern Roman Empire’s (Byzantine) miserable condition as follows: “History has probably not seen a community whose morals were as withered as that of the Greeks and Romans who lived in the period between Justinian’s death (528-565) and Muhammad’s birth, and who lacked as much self-control and virtue”. 

The European community was in the ruthless hands of the aristocracy, the knights, and the clergy, and its condition was no different than that of a dumb animal. Those in power could purchase and sell the community’s constituents whenever they wanted and the latter did not have the right to object. Those who were sold practically became slaves. Even if they were not slaves in the fullest sense, those who did not have the power and strength to separate from their masters would eventually become servants. Nobody had the right not to like his master, nor did anybody possess the authority to choose him. However, there was this one condition: in some uncivilized countries, servants were able to go to another home by first paying their masters a sum for their freedom; this was considered to be a huge favor.

In summary, all countries other than the Arabian Peninsula had caste systems in which people had been divided into separate classes and looked at each other with enmity, hate, and brutality. This world, which was in a miserable state, was in need of a great prophet who would declare that humans were Allah’s most esteemed creatures, they had all descended from one father, and that they all had specific rights in the same proportion, like the right to freedom, and who would change feelings of hate and animosity into feelings of love, respect, and friendship. This situation called for and was in dire need of this Great Prophet.

Slavery was an official institution

Human beings are both reverend and honorable. However, appreciation of this fact is only possible with true belief.

The people of that age, whose hearts were deprived of faith’s glory, did not respect humans, were  unaware that humans were the most reverend beings on the Earth, and were savage enough to sell and purchase their fellow beings.

Those unfortunate people who were labeled as slaves were being sold and purchased at auctions like ordinary merchandise. The masters were fully authorized to insult, torment, and make their slaves work however they wanted.

Humanity was in desperate need of someone who would end this savagery and ingratitude and was in need of a guide who would not withhold his light of compassion from anyone.

Sectarian fights persisted

The belief in the fallacious trinity had replaced the doctrine of Tawhid, the oneness of Allah, which Hazrat Isa (Jesus) had conveyed and preached.

The priests produced a completely different religion in place of what Hazrat Isa had taught.

Likewise, other countries, particularly the Eastern Roman Empire, were committing inconceivable acts of torture and tyranny in the name of religion. For example, historians mention how Phocas, the Patrician, poisoned himself in order to escape from being forcefully converted into Christianity. 

Those who left the Mazdaism faith, which prevailed in Persia, or those who betrayed this religion were mercilessly executed. Scratching out the eyes, crucifixion, stoning, as well as starving and leaving someone to die thirsty were all standard death penalties.

While Confucianism and China had advanced in civilization, they were living their most chaotic days and were on the brink of collapsing just before the Sun of Bliss (PBUH) emerged.  Civil wars did not cease and the society was at one another’s throats due to sectarian differences.

During the period of Islam’s emergence, Abyssinia was full of clashes that occurred between siblings.

Immorality Prevailed

Humanity, which was deprived of the modesty, fear, and virtue that come from faith, was committing all sorts of lewd behavior and had trampled over its dignity and honor by freely performing vulgar acts.

Gambling, alcohol, and immoral types of pleasure found their place among daily activities. Continuous killing, continuous acts of adultery, mugging, and raids almost swept away the blessed and divine significance from humanity.

Here is one example:

Morality had been completely wiped from the Byzantine Empire and had become so dead that the patriarch of Constantinople himself solemnized the marriage between the Emperor and the latter’s own niece. 

To them, a woman was no different than a simple commodity that could be purchased and sold.

Yes, the end of sixth century A.D. was the century of such barbarism, unbelief, idolatry, ignorance and cruelty. All kinds of anarchy, blasphemy, various perverted belief systems and all kinds of debauchery were ruling the world in this century.

Humanity had probably never witnessed such perverseness, immorality, atrocity, and terror since its creation.

Humanity was devoid of a spiritual guide and was like the flowing water in an untamed river as it crashed into stones. With each crash, it lost a bit of its heart, soul, conscience, and honor. Every door that it knocked was shut on its face.

Humans had turned into beasts since they did not know who Allah, the Supreme Creator, was and had not found the essential path that He had drawn for them by means of His prophets. These wild beasts were ready to swallow someone at every minute and were smeared in blood; they caused the wind of anarchism and unrest to blow everywhere.

Humanity had become an orphan, the universe was mourning, and the Earth resembled a ring of sorrow. Everyone was considered an enemy by others, and everything was considered meaningless, soulless, and aimless.

Humanity’s sorrowful screams, which resulted from not having a true guide, were ringing in the skies; the universe, its smallest particles and the sun were crying together over humanity’s miserable condition.

The Sun of Bliss, with all of his glory, was meant to rise in the horizon of humanity so that humans could be happy. The universe’s smallest particle, its sun, its mountains, its stones, its animals, and its people would be saved from being considered insignificant, meaningless, and pointless. Everything would be known as a letter of Allah that was written and presented to be people so that they would draw lessons from them.  Pure faith could take the place of disbelief, justice could replace tyranny, peace could replace uneasiness, knowledge could take the place of ignorance, and bliss could replace misery. All believers would be friends and siblings. The universe’s rage could turn into happiness.  The stars could laugh and the atoms could whirl like dervishes. The sun, moon, ground, and sky could continue their mission lovingly and ardently.

Man should know that the real wisdom and purpose of his creation, his transfer from the darkness of non-existence to the realm of existence is to know God Almighty, to believe in Him and to worship Him. Thus, he will attain real peace and bliss.

#allah #god #help #islam #religion #love #muslim #revert #convert #pray #salah #prayer #dua #quran #hadith #muslimrevert #muslimconvert #reverttoislam #converttoislam #reverthelp #reverthelpteam #howtoconverttoislam #welcometoislam

[anyu-blue]

Joran Lavellan as a Companion

I was Tagged by @littleblue-eyedbird Thank you again!!

I don’t have anyone to tag with an inquisitor, but if you see this and wanna do it, please do!!

Inquisitor’s Name: Joran Lavellan Race / Class / Specialization: Dalish Elf, Rogue, Assasin Gender Identity: Male

Varric’s Nickname for them: Spook (Joran has a tenancy to get lost in thought during down time/while reading and gets spooked by people easily because of this. It’s hilarious.)

Short bio: Joran Lavellan is a soft hearted, yet level headed elf who uses his skills to the advantage of as many people as possible. Being raised by his entire clan with his parents being dead, he learned early on what benefited all most certainly would benefit individuals. While he doesn’t particularly enjoy his job (both chosen and thrust upon him), he has the kind of determination to keep doing the best he can at all times if only for the sake of others.

What would their companion card look like?

Default Card: (Page of Swords) Possibly the most simple of the bunch, Joran’s card would feature his profile half obscured by dark trees, green leaves falling in such a way they frame his hand and a silver dagger held out in the open.

(see below for alternatives)

Recruitment mission:  

“Find the Assassin/Remove the Mask”

Leliana: “Reports are trickling in about a lone, masked figure picking off some of our enemies on the Free marches- man and demon alike. It is unknown what the figure’s goal is and it would be prudent to find out. They may be an asset if it is not just coincidence. Caution is advised, though we still need to understand their motives.”

Cullen, Leliana, or Josephine may be chosen to complete the task of sending someone to meet this figure with varying times; Cullen being the longest as it will cause a minor stand-off, Leliana’s agents taking a moderate amount of time as they play cat and mouse with him, and Josephine’s agents will be easily recognized and confronted quickly.

The Inquisitor will be able to complete the preliminary preparations operation at the war table early on and then the main quest will be accessible shortly afterwards. Depending on who is sent will determine what kind of mood the assassin is in for a cut scene near Planasene Forest- irritated, wary, or warm.

Depending on continued dialog choices all emotions are possible, but eventually the figure- a skilled hunter turned assassin- removes his hood and mask and reveals he was once a part of Clan Lavellan(or a separate clan if inquisitor is Lavellan) and broke away once the Chantry fell. He could no longer sit idly by hearing of the chaos and pain it was causing. He will ask to join the inquisitor’s cause to finally see some form of peace restored and offer a show of skill should the inquisitor ask for it.

The inquisitor can choose to decline his request and will receive Intel of his still roaming the marches attacking demons and bandits alike (albeit with a more extravagant mask) later on in the game, or accept and gain a new agent for the Inquisition.

Where they would be in Skyhold / Haven:

In Haven (if applicable) Joran will be just outside of the tavern window.

In Skyhold, Joran will often be found off to the side of the stables (about where the assassin trainer is for rogues).

Personal quests:

Quest 1: The Heaviest Heart- Before deciding on whether an infirmary or a war camp is founded on Skyhold’s grounds, Joran will approach the Inquisitor with a personal matter. With low approval he will only be curious as the inquisitor’s thoughts on war versus its casualties and can gain approval/disapproval based on the level of empathy displayed in the Inquisitor’s dialogue choices. With neutral/high approval an extra bit of dialog is available in which Joran confesses wishing he could have been a healer instead of a killer, mention the significance of his Vallaslin, and remark on how heavy the many deaths he is and will be responsible for weighs on him. The inquisitor will have the option to console him and tell him they believe his sense of justice is well founded (slightly approves), To tell him to just keep on doing what he does best (no approval change) or to tell him to buck up, this is a war and no place for something like that (slightly disapproves). He will slightly approve if an infirmary is built and there will be no change if it is not.

Quest 2:  Laying in Waiting- after Joran joins the inquisition and after clan Lavellan is saved/wiped out in the war table operation this optional operation will become available. If not done before the next major mission, it will disappear and quest 3 will be unavailable. Joran will ask for resources to track down some responsible parties and bring them to justice. This can be approved or denied with slight changes in approval but regardless will begin a small series of events that have the Inquisitor and a team (that must include Joran) at a base of operations. There are several wounded and captive peoples with keys needing to be found and the outcome will depend on the level of empathy displayed to those innocent and those responsible. He will make several comments going through the base about detesting torture and wanting justice for all the atrocities already committed and still happening like this. If empathy levels are not high enough, too much innocent blood is spilled/ignored or too many guilty are not captured/killed, Joran will greatly disprove and many further dialog options and quest 3 will become unavailable. With high enough empathy however he will approve and a ‘judgement’ will become available at Skyhold for a major general. He will outright disapprove of torturing the man for information, but be alright with the other options including making him useful at Skyhold or executing him for his crimes; Joran himself will do the honors.

Quest 3: In Life and Fire Breath- After killing 2 dragons with Joran in the party after Laying in Wait, a cut scene will open up. Joran will once again (or first time if approval was too low initially) open up about his wish to bring life instead of death and will also ask to talk privately about his confliction in killing dragons more in depth with the inquisitor. Denial will end the scene and the quest, acceptance will bring the Inquisitor and Joran to another cut scene at the stables where Joran will gently pick up a beetle walking on the wood.

-If an high approval/romance is held, Joran will start talking immediately, musing on the worth of a beetle or mount compared to a dragon, and then compare himself to the ‘fire breathing killers’ everyone is always on about.   —————Romance can be locked by the inquisitor telling Joran that they love his compassion and care, even for creatures everyone else would call monsters. He will confess he always thought himself too much of a hypocritical pushover, but is so grateful to have been found by another extremely caring individual (’with the cutest ears’ if inquisitor is dalish).

-If high-approval and the inquisitor mocks Joran’s musings, he will Greatly disprove and end the scene in major discomfort, telling the inquisitor they should probably watch their back from now on. -If low-approval is held, Joran will wait for the Inquisitor to make the first comment before talking and will once again gain or lose disapproval based on empathy displayed. If none is forthcoming whatsoever, Joran will permanently disprove of the Inquisitor and their opinions. If empathy is displayed, approval can rise and Joran will dismiss himself in the end to sort through his head and opinions.

How to get their approval/disapproval:

Approval is gained when lending a hand, or blade, to those in need of help. Even if the cause turns out to be not the greatest, Joran will still be grateful the inquisitor is trying to do the honest/right thing. Anytime a life is spared outright or suffering is ended quickly, Joran will approve.

Disapproval on the other hand is quickly gained by being overly rude, sadistic, dishonest, or blatantly uncaring for the plight or pain of others. Directly being the cause of pain and torture will make it extremely difficult to gain a high approval rating.

Joran will approve of promoting kindness in Cole and disapproves of any encouragement of mean acts. He also greatly disapproves of sacrificing The Iron Bull’s chargers and will approve of saving them, even though in the end a sacrifice was still made. He does not enjoy or approve of using/deceiving any person against their will in a way that does not also benefit themselves.

Breakdown of Approval Ratings for Major Missions:

Fate of the Mages Conscript: Disapproves Ally: Approves

Fate of the Templars Disband: No Change Ally: Slightly Approves

Inquisitor’s Lead: A Dwarf/Elf/Qunari Stands for us all: Approves Example as a Mage: Approves For Faith: No change For Order: Approves For What’s Right: Greatly Approves To Stop Corypheus: Approves For Personal Power: Greatly Disapproves For Vengeance: No change

Fate of the Wardens Exile: Disapproves Ally:  Slightly Approves

Ruler of Orlais Gaspard: Disapproves Briala: Slightly Approves Celene: No Change Reunite: Slightly Approves Spare Everyone: Slightly Disapproves Arrest Florianne: Greatly Approves Save Celene: Approves Kill Celene: No change

Abelas Alliance Ally: Approves Reject: Disapproves

Drink from the Well: Non-Lavellan Inquisitor Drinks: Slightly Approves Lavellan Inquisitor Drinks: Slightly Approves Morrigan Drinks: Slightly Disapproves

Are they romanceable?

Open to all races and genders. The inquisitor will have special romance specific dialogue options and scenes- including the option to spend time with Joran and the animals in the stables. He will gladly give his significant other a kiss any time they ask for it.

Can you have sex with them?

Romance only. Joran is not a flirt prefers only those within of his range of trust knowing him intimately. A special cut scene can be activated once romance is locked by bringing him a pot (puchased in Val Royeaux) soil (gathered in the hinterlands) and a seed (found in the Hissing Wastes).

Are they open to polyamoury?

Certainly, so long as it is mutual all around. Secrets are dangerous things.

If they can be romanced and are not, will they begin a relationship / relationships with other character(s)? If so, who?

Joran has the potential to have a relationship with Cassandra, The Iron Bull, or Dorian if brought on missions often enough with one of them.

He will remark on Cassandra’s own love of reading alongside his own and so long as Varric is in the party once for him to pester, a romance can start with her based on his series.

For The Iron Bull, Joran must be present during dragon fights to learn of the Bull’s interest and fascination with hunting them- Dorian cannot be in the party as well or they will potentially develop their own romance.

Dorian must be in the party directly before and as soon after his personal companion quest as possible and unromanced for Joran to well and truly notice his need of friendly presences that could potentially blossom into something more.

Who are they friendly with?

Everyone. He detests growing or picking any fights.

Who do they dislike?

A low approval inquisitor.

Companion card changes: (use a text descrip. if you have no images)

Loyalty: (Hierophant) With support on his loyalty mission, The trees will move into the backdrop, framing him in a halo of green and gold from the sunset. Kneeling, one one of his hands is holding the silver dagger to his breast over his heart in a salute, and one hand raised with a silver chalice above his head.

Loyalty Alternative: (Tower) Either neglecting Joran’s loyalty quest or should it fail along the line, his card will take a much more sinister turn. The trees will still be in the backdrop, but they will be bare, the brown and dead leaves at his feet. His back to the viewer face sneering to the side, a dagger will be in each hand, one dripping blood and the other green poison. Joran will permanently dislike those who neglected to help his mission and romance will be impossible.

Romance: Dagger(s) and thick forest abandoned, Joran’s head will be framed in a halo of moonlight reflected in a pool of water in front of which he sits comfortably. Two red leaves will be held aloft in a romantic pseudo heart shape, stark against a twinkling night sky.

Side Missions:

Target Acquired. Repeatable mission in which Joran can be dispatched/used to take out an unruly target and receive a random item in return- Neutral or positive approval only.

Opinions on mages / templars / how the world is going to shit?

Joran has a really hard time with the war and conflicts. He can see reason(s) in both/all sides, though absolutely detests the poor treatment of people; It enrages him and he uses that rage to kill those whom he deems deserving of nothing else. When it comes to Circles, he wishes that less force and less rules were necessary/used to keep both the mages and the world safe. He has a small personal fear of mages themselves and the unrestrained power some seem to have. Those with too much that go unchecked can wreak havoc and some do not care whom they may hurt along the way. The same can be said for templars, however, and he has heard too many a story of people being abused simply for having any power- which can also lead to them becoming overwhelmed and hurting people themselves.

All in all, it gives him a headache. He is only one man and can only do so much to stop the injustices in the world. That does not stop him from trying with all his might though.

Something guaranteed to make them leave the party:

No matter how disagreeable the Inquisitor may become, even if they should rampage and ravage people and lands, Joran will not leave. The inquisition is the best place from within which he can help even a small few and he will not abandon his sense of duty. He is also afraid of being entirely alone again, having left his clan.

Special Events:

Imprisoned at Redcliffe: How is your companion holding up in Redcliffe, being slowly infected with red lyrium over the course of a year?

Should he be imprisoned- Joran’s a fighter and in some ways that makes it harder on him. Being trapped and corrupted slowly, the voices would be loud and unrelenting. Sometimes his want of justice and peace for the world would be louder and help him get through a day, but other times his own guilt will eat and eat and eat at him. He’d be quite haggard by the time he was released, hanging on to his sanity by a thread.

At the Winter Palace: Does your Inquisitor enjoy the party, any special events with them at the Palace?

Should he be in the party, Joran will be leaning against a pillar half hiding from the proceedings, but watching closely. If approached, he will remark that while the palace is lovely, some of the guests are deplorable. He will express his distaste for those whom have their riches only thanks to the toil and pain of others. He will also mention he’s happy to save face for the sake of the inquisition, but oh how he wishes a few of those attending could meet his dagger for the sake of those they step on.

If romanced, the inquisitor will have the option to pull Joran into a dance at the end of the night and bring a smile to his face/lighter thoughts to his head.

In the Fade: Companion’s reaction upon entering the Fade? Archdemon’s taunt, and Companion’s response? Epitaph on their grave?

Joran would take great comfort in that everyone seems to be alright and still has the use of their weapons. He will try to keep a level head about all of it, but would actually be freaking out a little bit.

His epitaph would say 'Unwanton Murderer’

The nightmare would prey on Joran’s fear of being wrong and of hurting people without cause. It would tell him he is dripping with the blood of innocents and that no matter how hard he tries to be a good person, he will never wash away what he has done. (At this point, the inquisitor will have the option to offer Joran a pat to the shoulder and receive one in return if approval is high enough). Joran would not be able to respond to any of the accusations and will relax with the comfort the inquisitor offers, if any. Otherwise he will shove it all down as he usually does and quietly get on with it.

Trespasser: What is your Inquisitor up to two years after Corypheus’ defeat? Any special events with them over the events of Trespasser?

Joran would continue with the inquisition and work closely with Leliana (or other spymaster), becoming one of her people. He will gladly be a message carrier in keeping in contact with the Divine and anyone scattered, and of course he will help in all available ways in tracking down Solas for the inquisitor.

If romanced, there will be a special cut scene of him returning and running to embrace the inquisitor and fussing over them/asking how they are. (If he romanced another companion, there will be something of a photobomb of him doing this to them in the background of a different cut scene)

Other Major Events: Any other major events that happen with them over the course of the main game?

In most Joran just kinda does his own thing, but can occasionally be found in the library, chatting with other companions before/during side quests, and is always present (when applicable) for the “sit in judgement” scenes.

#tag game #tag meme #da: inquisition #dragon age: inquisition #Joran Lavellan #companion card #tumblr kept deleting my drafts so it took me a few days T^T #plus having a cat either in my face or holding down an arm through half the time I was trying to work on this wasn't helpful ^^' #thank you again!! these are so fun XD

[mendechuu]

Daniel Soto, 27 Personalidad: low profile, athletic, people pleaser 

Short story:

Dani has been a pushover since he was a kid and got picked on a lot. His “yes, sir” lifestyle pushed him into a lot of uncomfortable situations he thought he couldn’t stop. This, together with his influential family’s agenda, led him to live his life following orders, and building resentment towards his friends and family. 

When he was around 13, a civil war started between the capital of the city and several independent towns, and he left his natal town to join the military in the information unit with his father, which was a torture center. In there, other military men resented Dani for being the son of someone important and getting the easier jobs: administrative jobs and driving a truck to drive corpses away from the center. Dani was pressured to hide and commit several crimes, all to the knowledge of his relatives. The weight of his actions and inability to stop them defined a tendency to anxiety, stress and fear, which he combated with exercise and discipline, and, later in life, with drugs. 

When the civil war ended, he started to work for his uncle Pablo, who gave him an apartment and a sense of normality. But his uncle was involved with bohemian life and worked at an elite bar for important celebrities and wealthy families, like Dani’s. In there, Dani’s work was to persuade people into buying a new drug they were developing. Dani himself got addicted to it, making it hard to keep working for his source of it. 

Dani overheard Pablo negotiating with his father about a new war, but this time, he heard about the intentionality behind it, and the use of “dark vomit”. He got sent the next day to his old town, to sell this drug and investigate the territory. His cover was being a history teacher of a rural school. 

Long story:

 Dani has been shy and a pushover since he was a kid. A little too naive for his age, he got picked on a lot at school. He still wanted to be friends with other kids so he always stayed close, just in case he could be useful. 

He met Gabriel, a small kid who was always selling or trading something with older kids. Unlike his other bullies, Gabriel mistreated him but let him tag along with him in his many plans and ideas, which gave Dani a sense of fun, a danger he couldn't find at home, getting to think of Gabriel as his one true friend. This was far from the truth, and, with time, the favors Gabriel asked got more and more dangerous for him, sometimes getting hit by other kids or just putting his life at risk. Another older kid started to hang out with them and things only got worse. To be fair, his "yes, sir" lifestyle pushed him constantly into uncomfortable situations that he only endured because he didn't know to stop them from happening. That made him start resenting a lot of his family members and his school friends but he always kept a serene facade.

Dani's family is composed of the honorable military men of the country, but to him, it was always secretive and full of silence and incomplete stories. As a kid, he found comfort in reading old letters and medals he found in his uncle's closet. He fantasized about being stronger and cooler. 

When political conflict from the capital started affecting the small town, and because of his family's influence, it also affected his daily life. His dad was rarely home, but his uncle moved there, into a now abandoned house. His uncle's range was lower than his father's so Dani saw him getting humiliated by his superiors when he failed a task, or simply, because they felt like it. His uncle wasn't specifically a good person, but he was silent enough for him to be calm. 

He started hanging out with other kids. Now, he wasn't grounded or in trouble all the time at the minimal mistake. He became friends with Gabriel’s younger brother, who rarely went to school. He was a really nice kid, and for the first time, he felt at peace in the presence of someone else.

It was a normal day when the civil war started, and his uncle drove him away from the town. No matter how many times he questioned why, he got short, imprecise answers. Back to the capital, he found his father, reading a short book with cold blooded eyes. "Is there room for evil in a 13-year-old soul?" the question froze the boy. He was told to join the military the next morning. 

At first, he liked the routine and getting to be on equal terms with boys his age. But in this setting, he got to see the missing parts his family was hiding from him all this time about how things worked. 

When they were ordered to defend something, they killed unarmed people. Dani filled a form to move to the information unit, hoping it would be administrative work where his father worked. In that unit, they interrogated criminals with any means of torture. Mostly, people his age, just like the town friends he knew nothing of. 

Dani was in charge of driving the truck that disposed of the bodies and moved them back to the town he used to live in, which was used as a clandestine cemetery. It was disgusting to him, but with time, he felt more and more distanced and numb to this reality.

That, until he noticed new type of bruises on the corpses, indicating a more brutal type of torture: setting people on fire, raping women with dogs, rats, strange bites, electricity, etc. Some of them were even pregnant women and children.

He talked to his uncle, who he trusted because he seemed as weak as himself. But he told him that he now finally had a good job to maintain his family. That he didn't have to live like a rat anymore, and that this type of thing wouldn't stop him from being a good man. 

Dani filled a solicitude to review the interrogation methods, but as soon as his father found out, he was taught a very cruel lesson. 

His official request was simply ignored, but the real punishment came from the soldiers. They resented Dani for getting special treatment for being the son of someone important, and, knowing the rumors about his homosexuality, they started harassing him, molesting him, etc.

(Tw sexual abuse; necrophilia: Dani's family perceived his requests to examine torture methods as betrayal, so they turned a blind eye to this to get rid of him. But his father did know. The group of military men made him choose between fucking one of the corpses, or to accept getting fucked as he lain on the pile of corpses on his truck. After being done with him, Dani's father showed up, to the surprise of the soldiers, who thought would pay this prank with death, and found their superior with a satisfied smile, almost proud about the punishment. He explained to Dani that things like this will keep happening unless he defended himself and hurt people back. He revealed to him that this war wasn’t a response to some sort of attack, but purely offensive. He also told Dani he still hadn't given up on him, but that he needed to understand this solid truth: evil must be exterminated even if we become evil in the way. “Next time they try to test you, you’ll know what to do”. Dani somehow felt that, to his father, his own son being sexually humiliated by low range military wasn’t as bad than him being weak-minded. 

The military men that abused Dani left him alone but started to torture random people they captured using Dani’s truck at night. If Dani protested, they would just get their way with him. With time, he became more and more quiet, almost used to it. Dani knew his father meant he should kill the soldiers and defend himself, but he wanted to avoid the situation. 

Believing he could kill them if he became a stronger soldier, he found a distraction in exercising and following a strict routine, to get stronger. That type of thing helped him empty his mind. It was hard though, because around 6am the other trucks started leaving bodies on the streets. 

He knew he wasn’t as smart to get into politics, but he could use as little space as possible and get the job done. One day, they made him drive more than usual, specifically, to his hometown. This time, he had to bury two people who were international doctors sent to his country to investigate the atrocities being committed. He felt so bad, he buried them close to his own backyard, where he used to play with Gabriel’s brother. When he got back, he killed the soldiers that used him, then runs away.

Looking for comfort, he followed his uncle to the bar the other side of his family owns, where his older relative Pablo offered him a drug recently released to the market. The pills helped Dani numb reality and from there, he was able to do his job with more clarity. He asked Pablo if his dad could transfer him to his brothel, (to escape), telling him he can help him sell drugs or whatever he needs. Pablo accepted, and told him to go back to his hometown to sell some stuff to teenagers, the easier target. “They’re also the best option, because rural kids always rebel too much, and it makes him sad to shoot them. When they’re useless, they can’t really be the enemy, right?”. Dani found this reasonable and went back to his hometown.

He signed up to be the History teacher of the only school in town, in a program to benefit vulnerable rural students, and when he got back, he noticed the deterioration of the town. Everything looked old, stuck in time. Most of his students were teen delinquents, punks and rebels. 

He followed them to where their small parties happen, but when he got there, he found himself in the middle of a cult ritual, where most of his students were getting possessed by demons and spirits. When he asked what was happening, one of the teenagers told him “we’re using war waste to get high”. Referring to the corpses. Right, because this town is being used as a clandestine cemetery, he remembered.

Trivia:

-When Dani was a child, he wore his dad’s military jacket as pajamas, because it helped him relax and feel safe before bed.

-Gabriel’s brother went missing (was murdered too).

-Tw; sexual abuse - other soldiers made Dani wash dishes as they f*cked him. 

-Dani's dad was possessed by a demon when he was younger. The experience was terrifying, and it made him want to exterminate any source of evil. For a man of his category, he’s invaded with fear and sleeps with a bible and a gun (There's supposed to be a small independent story about this).

-Dani is not supposed to be handsome!!! which is why I have trouble drawing him lol.