#and God's pursuit of us and our search for Him is like a love song for everything we gave up

[beneaththetangles]

Summer of SoL: Is Escapism Unhealthy? A Christian Perspective (Series Launch)

Welcome to BtT’s Summer of Slice of Life! This is the series where we’ll be celebrating all the things we love about SoL and the ways it soothes the soul, deepens our faith, and models for us the beauty of life and community on this planet we call home. And, in keeping with the relaxed, unhurried nature of SoL, this will be a pretty chill series of posts, made up of succinct sketches of our thoughts on faith and the genre as a whole (posting on Mondays), and bite-sized reflections on specific moments and themes from some of our favorite series (posting later in the week). We’ll keep going for as long as we have things to share, and as long as y’all are reading them!

So stay tuned! Or if that sounds too stressful, forget you’ve read this intro and instead stumble across the posts serendipitously in a couple weeks or months (or years??) and enjoy them then at your leisure.

Either way, we hope to bring a smile to your face and a bit of cheer to your hearts, and maybe—just maybe—convince you that God is here in the midst of SoL too.

As we launch this series, let’s start by addressing the elephant in the room: Escapism. Because that’s basically the purpose behind slice of life series, right? They offer us an escape hatch from the conflicts, frustrations, stresses and strains of real life. They create a world where the stakes are always low, the relationships amicable, and the crises minimal. There is no problem so large that it can’t be solved within twenty-two minutes. Possibly with a song and tasty snack.

The world of SoL is, in short, a very different world from our own. (Just consider the ways in which the typical SoL setup—cute girls making friends while doing cute things—contrasts with the norms of the Japanese business world, which is patriarchal, hierarchical, and workaholic in its competitiveness.) And if you’ve ever scrolled through the comments on Crunchyroll or MAL, you’ll know that this is exactly why it appeals to many viewers. We watch these shows because they offer us a departure from a reality that all too often lets us down in some way or asks too much of us.

Is this healthy though? Should we turn to entertainment to make ourselves feel better? And what does scripture have to say about escapism? Surely this is not what a mature believer should do!

The answer may surprise you. You see, scripture doesn’t actually condemn escapism. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Here’s the thing: we have an incredibly compassionate God who is fully aware of the human condition. He understands what it is like to live as a person in this world, with all its pressures, challenges and oppressions too. And what is more, he recognizes that each intimidating, stress-inducing situation has its own particularities. That is to say, although in some instances godly wisdom calls us to stand firm or even take ground in the face of a fearful situation, there are other times when God makes a way of escape.

In fact, there are times when he actually tells us to escape, to turn aside and hide. Unexpected, right?

It all comes down to the concept of refuge, or chasah in Hebrew. Chasah embodies the idea of running in search of safety and protection, and of turning aside and going off the beaten track in order to find it. It is often translated as “seek refuge”, which carries that sense of searching about in pursuit of a place that is safe, possibly hidden or at least well-protected and secure from the onslaughts of a troubled world. I prefer the Passion Translation though, which renders chasah more directly, as “turn aside to hide”. This idea of seeking refuge is woven throughout scripture, particularly Psalms, where it is practically a refrain among the poets. (Check out this list of where it shows up in the Bible.)

In other words, God is fine with escapism.

But he is also very specific about where we escape to: he wants us to escape to him.

This is because the escapism of chasah involves trust and intimacy: the refuge that it evokes is one in which we place our trust and to which we confide our hearts and souls. This is why chasah is at times translated as “put trust in” or “trust one’s soul to”. God wants to be this for us; in fact, he’s the only one who can be. This is why in scripture, chasah doesn’t refer to a mere location but to a person, God himself. As the sons of Korah wrote, “God is our refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble.” Chasah involves relationship.

This is where escapism can turn unhealthy: when we choose to form that relationship of trust with, and confide in, something other than God as our refuge. And this is where relying on SoL to temper our mood and soothe our souls can slip into something that actually does us harm, if we rely on it without a thought for God.

But here’s the incredibly unexpected thing: throughout scripture, whenever the heroes flee, it doesn’t really matter what triggers their desire for escapism or even the direction of that desperate initial dash, because God is always waiting along the escape route, ready to order the steps of those in mid-flight toward refuge in himself. He did it with Elijah, who fled in fear so strong that he practically abandoned his faith; and he did it with Jonah, who made like Sinatra and did it his way, grumbling the whole time. God waited and met both with the provision, safety, and heart-to-heart encounter they each needed in the place to which they’d run.

In other words, God is wiling, able and waiting to meet us in the refuge that SoL provides.

Circumstances may push us to run and hide, but it is God who draws us, inviting us to find him in our escaping whether we are afraid, overwhelmed or just plain tired. When the going gets tough, we have a standing invitation to come to his place, to chill in his garden by the streams of clear water, lounging in the green grass or under the shade of a tree or a vine, and to never leave. And miraculously, his place can often look like a certain remote Japanese village named Asahigaoka, or a campground at the foot of Mt. Fuji.

But there’s something we must do to guard our hearts from trusting more in the soothing alternate reality of SoL than we do in God. We need to intentionally tap into God’s nature as our refuge. We need to confide in him as we turn aside from our daily grind and hit that “play” button. We need to place our trust in him: in his ever-presence; in his safety and compassion for the stressed, bruised, and weary; in his love for taking the time to enjoy the beauty of nature and the comforts of community and laughter shared among friends.

And finally, instead of escaping in a panic or with a rebellious or hopeless heart, we need to grab hold of the fact that God actually invites us to escape—but to escape with and to him. We need to accept that invitation, and extend it back to him as well, saving him a seat on the couch as we settle in for some relaxing viewing, and tuning our hearts to listen for his voice on the animated shores to which we escape.

So the next time we settle in for some Non Non Biyori, Laid-Back Camp, or other gems of SoL, let’s pause for a moment and remember that standing invitation. Let’s ponder what it means that we have a God who doesn’t just tolerate it when we take a break to relax, but who actually calls to us to come rest, to come find shelter for our souls with him and in him.

And let’s remember too that he’s there waiting for us as we turn aside to take refuge by the digital stream. You see, God loves SoL too.

#Anime #Christianity #Slice of Life #Escapism #Summer of SoL #Articles #Author: Claire

[darkandstormyart]

Xicheng fic recs

(figured i might make a list of my own)

(to be expanded as i dig out more treasure/remember stuff)

in no particular order:

Deep as the Yearning Night by FreckledStarKnight

“At first, it was pure chance. The second time was accidental. And the third time? Well, they say the third time’s the charm, after all. Lan Xichen discovers that Jiang Wanyin sings beautifully and is immediately enamored by it. His pursuit of Jiang Wanyin’s secret talent leads to a discovery and a series of events that he did not anticipate at all. Not that he’s complaining, of course. He got what he came for and more. Or, how two sect leaders get together through the song called love. CQL-verse.“

post-seclusion lxc

trying to get jc to sing

bonus lxc & jin ling feels i hadn’t considered before

cute

Always use protection by hesselives

“In which Lan Wangji attempts to hire a new bodyguard for his older brother, a well-known traveling exorcist. Jiang Wanyin doesn’t even make his carefully considered list of Top Ten Candidates, and yet here he is.

Lots of wandering in the countryside, distant yelling, and mildly inconvenient spirits.”

bodyguard au

honestly just really intersting worldbuilding

Rewrite the stars by Arashii

“Five great kingdoms have been fighting for years and when the kingdom of Yunmeng is destroyed, the Crown Prince Jiang Cheng vanishes.In Gusu, Lan Xichen makes an offer impossible for Jiang Cheng to refuse. His life or revenge? There’s only one option and Jiang Cheng swears loyalty to the man he hated the most his whole life, the Crown Prince of Gusu, Lan Xichen himself.Written for XiChengFest2020 - Day 4“

ROYALTY AU ROYALTY AU

enemies to lovers!

flashbacks! i love flashbacks so much ohmygod

No paths are bound by Arashii

“In seclusion, Lan Huan has the support of a ghost no one has seen since the massacre of Yunmeng Jiang. His feelings start changing with the often visits and conversations they share. Before Lan Huan can confess though, he ascends, leaving everything and everyone behind him.

Two hundred years later, back to the Human Realm and without powers, the Martial God Zewu-Jun has a mission to uphold. His Heavenly Calamity started. The clues are little and the support comes in the most unexpected form, the current Ghost King: Sandu Shengshou. Now they need to stick together to contain a menace that is slowly growing.“

TGCF AU TGCF AU

ghost king jiang cheng come on

doesn’t follow tgcf plot, just the setup so no spoilers

jiang cheng gets the dogs and the xichen he deserves

once upon a dream by cafedeolla

“Xicheng soulmate AU

An au where your dreams are small snippets of your soulmate’s day. They’d show small things like buying coffee, reading a book, or hanging out with people from their perspective.

The problem was that people always have expectations and Jiang Cheng knows he always falls short of them. Time and time again.“

soulmate au, but being soulmates is more a problem than a solution

misunderstandingssss all over the place

now with a squel (in progress?)

Lan Furen series by jagaimocchi

“Jiang Cheng leaves Lotus Pier before the Wen Internment Camp and before the destruction of his home. When he meets Lan Xichen on the run from the Wens after the burning of Cloud Recesses, his plan to live a peaceful life away from cultivation sects is quickly derailed. Now, free to make his own choices, he cannot find it in himself to leave the other man's side.

With love, patience and time, Jiang Cheng finds his own happiness and peace with his past.“

have you ever wanted a fic where jiang cheng peaces out from home in search for a better life, bc he’s Had Enough??? jags got you covered

adorable xicheng

good uncle-dad-figure Lan Qiren

ongoing <3

Just around the riverbend by JungleJelly

“One day.

Jiang Cheng just wanted one day of peace and quiet, away from home, away from his responsibilities, away from his idiot brother and his nutcases of a mother and father. Just a few hours alone — him and a boat and nothing else.

Clearly, that was too much to ask for.”

now with a new story in the series which is adorable too!!!

mermaid!lxc need i say more?

Bad ideas (where they lead) by JungleJelly

“Jiang Cheng is a busy man. Fortunately, he is also a huge pushover when it comes to his sister, so when she recommends that he start doing yoga, he agrees pretty easily.Featuring Lan Xichen in yoga pants, Jiang Cheng’s inability to handle a crush, and, perhaps most importantly, a big fluffy dog.“

done for 2020 MXTX MiniBang

yoga instructor Lan Xichen

Jiang Cheng is: struggling with a crush on the yoga guy from youtube & very angry about that

If there’s a price for rotten judgement by TheWanderingHeart

“All Jiang Cheng wants to do is, well... his job, really. Other than that? Keep the city safe, keep his nephew alive, keep his sanity intact (if possible).

So when his brother calls with unexpected news, he knows all of that is about to fly out of the window.

***

[Every instinct is telling him don’t ask, you don’t want to know. By this point, Nie HuaiSang has scooted closer to listen. Jiang Cheng takes a steadying breath and pulls out his antacids. “What did you do?”]”

superhero au, come on

jc just trying to do his job in peace

(he can’t)

i love it so much oh my god *sobs*

The Form of Boneless Ice by TheWanderingHeart

“Mythical beasts have long ago been driven to extinction by the gentry — hunted for sport, but more importantly for their magical cores. Since then, there remains only one creature that has never been caught. The Jiang’s retreated a long time ago. Abandoning land altogether, they sought safety where the humans could not reach.It all comes to a head though, purely by chance. (Or is it by fate that a spontaneous decision allows for them to meet? If fate were a rock!) Jiang Cheng suddenly finds his whole life balanced on the head of a pin — on the flimsy promise of a human boy. In his opinion, things cannot possibly get worse!(But then they do when the Wens decide it’s finally time to search for the elusive merpeople, and suddenly nowhere is safe.)“

there she goes again, with another beautiful xicheng story full of awwww and mythology

actually one of the first xicheng fics i read

i chose it because there were mermaids

painfully accurate takes on Jiang family dynamics

kids! lots of kids!

Let me Slytherin to Your Heart by TheWanderingHeart

“Jiang Cheng never thought he'd return to Hogwarts, but in hindsight, he probably should have known that someday he would.With his nephew about to start school, he reluctantly takes his good friend's bad parenting? career? advice and ends up tumbling head-first back into the madness that he hoped he'd left behind... and rediscovering some feelings he thought he'd left behind too.“

Harry Potter au!

just really fecking cute

lots of snakes

[I am not going to link all of Jo’s fics, though I probably could, just my 3 favourites. UOSB is there by default]

Talent Hunt Crew Finds Angry Guy Shouting On College Campus, Recruits Him For Vocal Projection Abilities by oh_fudgecakes

“Jiang Cheng, resident Angry Guy and heir to a conglomerate empire, has never been the apple of his father’s eye. Quashed under the shadow of his brilliant brother, the music prodigy Wei Wuxian, Jiang Cheng sees his chance to turn things around when he is recruited by the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt. One problem: he can’t sing to save his goddamn life.As he struggles to develop his nascent singing abilities, Jiang Cheng finds himself sucked into the whirlwind drama of reality TV, helped along by his adoring siblings, his irritable vocal coach Wen Qing, and strangely enough, the unfairly attractive host of the All-Stars Lan Talent Hunt, Lan Xichen. Somewhere in the glare of the stage lights and an unexpected first love, Jiang Cheng stumbles upon the thing he was searching for all along: the courage to dream — and to attempt the impossible.“

done for 2019 MXTX Big Bang

uuuuuuuuuuh i might have cried maybe

heartwarming? painful at times? lots of family love?

slowburn xicheng being lovely

The Provenence of Hope series by velithya

“A chance meeting on a night hunt sets a course of events into motion that will change everything. Featuring Xicheng getting together, recovery for Lan Xichen, healing for Jiang Cheng, and always, always, hope.“

got everything. feels. hope. love. ~~healing~~

A Small Measure of Peace by Sandstone112

“With his brother in seclusion, Lan Xichen finds himself in temporary custody of his nephew with little to no expertise in the child-raising department. Uncertain and alone, Zewu-Jun is willing to do everything to be the person Yuan needs—even if it means inviting Sandu Shengshou to a playdate.“

a loooot of adorable family times with jc and lxc taking care of their nephews

good grandpa lqr!

canon but fixed and less painful

🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋if you wish to avoid scurvy:🍋🍋🍋🍋🍋

Some day I’m gonna make you mine series by locketofyourhair

xicheng getting together through the years

friends with benefits but the real benefits are the friends we made along the way

Take me over (take me tonight) by velithya

jiang cheng has a tattoo and lan xichen doesn’t stand a chance

i'd be the sweet feeling of release (mankind now dreams of) by piyo13

two bros, chilling in a cave, no feet apart because they don’t want to lose their cultivation powers what are you gonna do

haven’t read yet and shame on me, but AM GONNA:

Upon Our Silver Bridge by TheWanderingHeart obviously

““When the path ignites a soul, there's no remaining in place. The foot touches ground, but not for long.” ― Hakim Sanai

**

Lan Xichen's sorrows have caught the attention of something. Unlike the adventures and foes they have faced before, there is no obvious enemy here to defeat. If this is the same thing they thought had taken Nie Mingjue's life, then he believes it is fated for him to die as well. Nothing can stop the black fire when it wants to burn.Jiang Cheng is sure his part in this is over. Wei Wuxian is back, his grand adventure concluded, and he'd never been at the centre of it anyway. So what does it matter what happens to him in the end? Slowly, he will come to realise that there will always be a battle to fight, a story to tell, a choice to make, and there is no such thing as an end to anything.“

it was difficult to do things in 2020 and few i regret not doing more than not reading uosb yet :’(

i will tho

Emergency Help Wanted by piyo13

“EMERGENCY HELP WANTED I lied when I got my job. I told them I had a kid so I could leave early from work to pick him up from daycare, take him to doctor's appointments, and occasionally miss a day when he's sick. Long story short, I'm in too deep. I didn't think it through. Looking to rent a kid for bring your child to work day. Must be a boy ages four to six, longish dark hair, likes soccer. Must also be artistic as the macaroni noodle paintings I made seem a little advanced for his age. Also, I will pay extra for someone willing to play the role of husband when dropping him off. He's a prosecuting attorney who often brings his work home. Message me for further details. Serious inquiries only.“

Running Our Hands Through Embers by MarvelousMar

“If asked, Jiang Cheng would compare falling in love with Lan Xichen to a moth inevitably drawn to a flame.It burned.***In which Jiang Cheng discovers that even death can't help him escape from his trauma, so he embarks on a quest to save the people he loves, fix what he can, make the love of his life fall for him, and maybe, somewhere along the way, do a little bit of healing.”

The Beginner’s Guide to Moving On by InvincibleMel

gone from ao3, but i think there’s a link with a pdf going around

#xicheng #fic rec #Jiang Cheng #lan xichen #mdzs #the untamed #the grandmaster of demonic cultivation #mo dao zu shi

[pamphletstoinspire]

What Logic & Reason Is There for Christ’s Coming?

An inquisitive student of mine came to ask me a string of questions one day after class. He led with this: Why did Jesus come to earth when he did? Isn’t it convenient that Jesus came 2,000 years ago when there was no technology to record him? Wouldn’t it have been much easier for us (and other generations) to believe in him if he came when someone could take a picture or a video of him that could be uploaded to social media and the internet? His questions came directly after our discussion on God being omniscient (all-knowing). This sharp student wondered God’s reasoning for sending his Son when he knew that other time periods would be more conducive to bringing about belief. 

St. Paul states that “when the fullness of time had come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to ransom those under the law, so that we might receive adoption (Galatians 4:4-5). The Christian understanding of Jesus’ coming revolves around this “fullness” of time which St. Paul references. The Incarnation completes something; Christ’s birth, life, mission, teachings, miracles, suffering, death and resurrection bring God’s rescue mission to completion. They fulfill countless promises and foreshadowings from the Hebrew Scriptures.

Without the Old Testament Jesus’ coming and mission does not add up. He is merely the son of a carpenter who gained renown as a rabbi and was convicted and executed as guilty of a capital offense. He was simply a famous death row inmate whose following continued after his death. The history and writings of the Hebrew people show us something different, that the coming of Jesus is what the people of Israel needed and were waiting for all along. God chooses Israel to be his own for the sake of incorporating all nations and peoples into his love (Genesis 22:17).

Everything starts “in the beginning” (Genesis 1:1).The first three chapters of Genesis set the stage. God creates humanity as the pinnacle of his creation, but they choose themselves over him. Directly after their sin of selfishness, greed and lack of trust, God walks in the garden in pursuit of Adam and Eve while they take cover to hide in the shame of their sin (Genesis 3:8). Their decision has eternal consequences, but before God can even finish explaining the results of their disobedience he says to the serpent: “I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and hers. They will strike at your head, while you strike at their heel” (Genesis 3:15).

This promise of God’s renewal is the first foreshadowing of the coming of Jesus. Theologians have coined the term protoevanglium to describe this verse. Here, we have the “first gospel or good news.” We receive the message that God will set things right. Jesus will be the offspring of the woman (The Blessed Mother) who will be struck by evil’s strongest weapon, but will come about victorious. The weakness of the crucifixion is the achilles heel of faith for so many while Jesus’ resurrection is the proof that he crushes the powers of evil definitively. This verse is the foundation for all conversations on the coming of a Messiah (anointed one) who will save the people from their sins.

The rest of the Bible recounts how God draws near to Israel, forgives them mercifully, and highlights how the Israelites consistently reject, deny, and ignore God. Some of the major figures from the Old Testament history provide the details for Jesus’ birth, life and mission. Moses is sent to save Israel from slavery and death in Egypt (Exodus 3:10) as Christ is sent into the world to rescue us. David is chosen to be king and later promised that his kingdom and reign will have no end (2 Samuel 7:12-14) while we know that Joseph is of the house of David (Luke 2:4). Isaiah the prophet foretold that “a virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and he will be called Emmanuel” (Isaiah 7:14) while we know that Mary conceived her son when she had no relations with a man (Luke 1:34).

The prophet Micah foretold that Bethlehem will be blessed because: “From you (the city) shall come forth for me one who is to be ruler in Israel; Whose origin is from of old, from ancient times” (Micah 5:1). “Origin of old” refers to the one having no beginning or end, and this is where Jesus will be born because of the census taken at the time of his birth (Luke 2:1-4). The prophet Isaiah tells the people that God is coming to them in power and glory. That the time of the God’s reign will be established by the one who gives sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf as well as the ability for the lame to walk and the mute to sing (Isaiah 35:4-6a).

Christ performs miracles in all these categories included in the oracle of Isaiah (John 9:1-12; Mark 7:31-37; Luke 5:17-26). Perhaps, the most important and striking example foretelling Jesus’ death and final victory is the Suffering Servant Song (Isaiah 52:13-53). The servant of the Lord was one who had a face like us who would be beaten, mocked, scourged, and killed for our sake. “He was pierced for our sins, crushed for our iniquity. He bore the punishment that makes us whole, by his wounds we were healed” (Isaiah 53:5). Despite the pain inflicted on him, he was found to be blameless and would see the light which death cannot quench. Jesus’ brutal suffering, mockery, death, and resurrection are undoubtedly being called to mind.

These passages, and countless others, spanning across the entirety of the Old Testament portray the logic of Christ’s work and entrance into time. They show the fact that he was born, the manner in which he lived, and the way in which he died and rose from the dead are not the result of random circumstances, but part of a plan that God was preparing the world to encounter in a particular time and place. While these passages give insight into how Jesus’ identity is in line with Sacred Scripture, they do not necessarily answer my student’s question. God could have simply waited longer in order to send Christ, so that it would be easier for us to believe in him after witnessing the hard evidence of photography or video surveillance, but he chooses not to do it that way.

The answer may be a paradox. The truth is that Jesus makes his age the fullness of time because that is when he comes. Things are not squared away until his Incarnation, life, and salvific work is accomplished. The question from my student is a great one, and a novel one in many ways. However, it is partially flawed. Faith is not meant to be an easy exercise of viewing evidence but a dramatic, dynamic and transformative encounter with Chrsist as a real living person who we can meet today.

Jesus comes in a certain time and place because this is the age that God deemed was most perfect to inject his lifeblood into. Christianity has an abundance of evidence which makes it reasonable to believe that Jesus is God. Could all of the above Scripture references to Jesus, which literally span thousands of years, simply be a coincidence? Galilee two thousand years ago was the place and time for God’s historical arrival in a fashion unlike ever before. The timing does count, but the person and what the person accomplished matters more. Because his arrival was no accident, Jesus Christ places the finishing touches on God’s love letter to the world — nothing will impede his search for and victory over your heart.

BY: THOMAS GRIFFIN

#coming of jesus

[nonchalantdanger]

Lost Souls Wandering

“I have a theory that all artists are lost souls wandering their way back to Paris” -- Atticus.

Heh, I think I’m clever. Arras is won by the French, and we spend a final night in Arras with our characters. This is where my and @theimpossiblescheme‘s AU canon’s diverge a bit, but PLEASE go read Yesterday, Tomorrow, and Today. 

In which there is revelry, Roxane finds her way, and an unexpected ally appears:

To give credit where credit is due, the Gascony cadets do nothing by halves. They marched to war with grins, accepted death with a proud upward tilt of their chins, and now they celebrate their victory and toast their lost comrades with songs and wine and drunken dancing. De Guiche has already issued the news that they are to return to Paris in the morning, and the Spanish had retreated far enough that no fear of an ambush could worry them.  

Roxane is enthralled by the raucous ongoings of the camp around her; she has been toasted as a goddess of war by nearly all of the men able to stand and walk over to her — and a few more besides — her hand kissed to tingling, and her cheeks near-cramped from smiling. Even so, none of the joy echoing around her can match the comparatively quiet delight that has brightened Cyrano’s adamantine blue eyes to the most saturated of azures. Like chips of lapis-lazuli set within his smile-creased face, Roxane finds herself admiring their gem-like glint from her place seated at his side. Occasionally, he catches her scrutiny, his grin widens, and it takes every willful bone in her body to refrain from leaning over to kiss him again. 

Their fire is set a little away from the epicenter of merriment, a quieter refuge for the senior cadets — Cyrano and Le Bret — herself, and De Guiche. A singed hat marks the space in between she and the Comte, its bright peacock plumage marking it as the late Captain Castel-Jaloux’s; he would have joined their circle had he survived. 

Roxane is surprised at De Guiche’s presence; by her observation, between his decision to remain with the Gascons during the Spanish assault and the valiant fighting he must have done in the battle, the Comte had discarded his haughty arrogance, replacing it with a small, warm smile and the resigned chagrin of a man who has earned — not purchased — genuine respect from those who do not give it lightly. Cyrano’s distaste for De Guiche has similarly bled into a cool detente since the end of the fighting. To Roxane it is fascinating to see the two, previously so at-odds, sitting with only the pleasant crackling of the fire between them. 

Le Bret shifts in his seat, and Roxane hears the crack of his bones across the flames. 

Cyrano chuckles. “You are getting old, my friend.” 

“Hush.” Le Bret punches him none-too-lightly in his uninjured arm. “Your mouth threatens to be as big as your other appendage.” 

Any other man who would make such an implication as Le Bret would have had his guts ribboned on Cyrano’s blade, but the older cadet — and Cyrano’s oldest friend, besides Roxane herself — seems blessed with a rare leeway. Cyrano laughs, takes the blow with remarkable good humor, and helps Le Bret to his feet when the latter announces his goal to obtain more wine before the rest of the company drinks it all. He limps away, favoring his good leg heavily. Cyrano returns to his place just out of Roxane’s reach. 

De Guiche, who had stiffened upon the reference to Cyrano’s nose — no doubt remembering his unfortunate companion Valvert’s encounter with the aforementioned feature — relaxes once more, but only for a moment. Something piques his scrutiny; curiosity shifting in his dark gaze. His eyes sweep around the fire, marking the carefully maintained space between Cyrano and Roxane, and the riotous celebrations happening around them. His brows draw together and his eyes narrow further the longer he looks about. Roxane does not know what he is searching for, until De Guiche’s gaze once more returns to flicker between she and Cyrano and the empty space to her right.

Christian, after escorting her to the physician’s tent and confessing the details of his and Cyrano’s ruse, had not been beside her for even a passing moment. He had been gone, off to find the wounded and identify the dead, when Roxane and Cyrano had reentered the world following the revelation of their feelings for each other. He and Cyrano had exchanged words out of her hearing, and parted amicably, but Cyrano has not seen fit to relay the details of his sentiments yet. Roxanne knows he is safe — she had seen him moving about the camp, stumbling between a few other men nought an hour ago — but to be a man’s wife and not be beside him is strange and anomalous. Too strange. Too anomalous.

De Guiche’s slitted eyes fall on her. His look is careful, not triumphant; he is not a man who has just discovered a way to undo the woman who spurned him, nor does he look at her like she is the rack upon which he will torture Cyrano. Roxane, worryingly, does not know what to expect.

The Comte motions an idle hand to the space of their campfire. “Madame...I would have expected your husband not to leave your side...” He does not phrase it as a question, and his gaze flickers deliberately to de Bergerac. 

Cyrano, while not privy to the progression of De Guiche’s earlier piecing-together, does not miss the expectant and realizing tone of the Comte’s query. He bristles from his casual slouch with such violent quickness Roxane’s immediate, half-conscious instinct is to reach out and seize his hand where it rests on the log between them to prevent him from doing anything irreparably rash in her defense. She knows she all but gives the change between them away by doing so; for all that she was affectionate with him before, there is a weight to her motion, an honesty of the love she feels for him that she is sure sounds in the air like a bell. More damningly, Cyrano stills at her touch; the enormity of his regard, to stifle his ferociousness at her silent behest, is not lost on Roxane either. 

The Comte, ever one for self-preservation, recognizes Cyrano’s murderous intent for what it is. He pales and lifts his hands appeasingly despite his vastly superior tactical position;. “Peace, de Bergerac. I mean neither you nor Roxane any harm.” 

Cyrano sneers like he did at the Theatre de Bourgogne. It is an unpleasant baring of teeth. The detente is shattered, and Roxane fears that he will cut himself on the pieces. “You blithely ordered us to our deaths earlier this eve. Forgive me if I am disinclined to take you at your word.” 

Many a more battle-tried man has cowered in the face of Cyrano’s particularly fearsome growling; to Roxane’s surprise, De Guiche pulls his shoulders back and continues in a mild, unthreatening tone. he could ruin them both with a few words. Half a day ago, he would not have hesitated, but now he speaks reasonably. “As I said before we all nearly perished in this godforsaken mud, I shan’t leave a lady undefended.”

Cyrano bristles further; his scoff of derision is loud and rough. To Roxane, it is clear that he takes umbrage at the insinuation he would not be defense enough for her. The Comte intuits the same; pointedly, he looks to where Roxane still grips Cyrano’s hand. “It is her husband’s place to defend her, not yours, de Bergerac.” 

Cyrano flinches when he hadn’t under the slap of Valvert’s glove. De Guiche’s unsubtle rejoinder strikes true, and Roxane is too slow to anchor Cyrano’s hand in hers before he pales and withdraws it. 

De Guiche observes the interaction with interest, wisely tempered by caution. “Despite you both having duped me, I do still possess the power of sight; you have been exchanging glances I can only describe as love-struck since the end of the battle. Christian has avoided keeping company with either of you, his ostensible wife and his closest friend. What has transpired?”

Cyrano, unexpectedly cowed, is silent and still. Roxane, all at once, is inconsolably furious — she cannot stand seeing her love so off-kilter, cannot stand De Guiche’s presumptuous inquiry, cannot stand that Christian had not thought to maintain the ruse, and that she was such a fool. A breath; she fashions her anger into a mental blade like the one she’d carried during the siege and turns it on De Guiche. 

“You have never been deserving of my secrets, monsieur. You are too bold to ask for them so soon after attempting to ruin my happiness.”

De Guiche concedes with graceful shame. “You are not wrong, I am not too proud to say. As for why I ask...” he hesitates, shifting to include Cyrano in his address, “I am also not too proud to admit my life was in your hands today, de Bergerac, and I find it returned, and myself the debtor.” He gestures aimlessly, “I wish to help the both of you.” 

“You assume we need it.” The guttural notes of Cyrano’s ire have faded, but there is still an edge, and his eyes are a sharp, wary blue. Roxane nearly looks to the heavens at the impetuous nerve of him, so bold as to be brash. God, she loves him, and yet she wants to shake him by his ash-smudged collar. She feels De Guiche’s gaze fall solely on her, and she sighs her acknowledgement that his point has merit. 

“You might.” The Comte mutters softly. “You cannot fight all of Parisian high society, nor stop the insidious talk with the force of your wit. Worse still, you are not the vulnerable one.”

It is Roxane’s turn to take umbrage, and this time she does not intend to give it back. “Do not presume to tell me my own weaknesses, Comte. I am all too aware of my position as a prize to be won, irrevocably tarnished the moment I capitulate. You not so long ago cajoled, begged, nearly forced your infatuation upon me. The Cadets were sent to war because of your sour vindictiveness upon falling short in your pursuit.” She nearly snarls in her fury, but she sighs it away, “Loathe as I am to admit it, you are not nearly the worst carrion gossip who would feed on the corpse of my good reputation.” She waves an airy hand at De Guiche, whose gaze had fallen to his boots at her mention of his campaign to bed her — At the same moment, Cyrano’s gaze had glinted dangerously silver — and De Guiche’s conscience-stricken features rise level with Roxane’s once more. She prompts him, “Pray tell, how you might help, Comte.”

De Guiche hesitates. He seems to take her charge with utter seriousness. Roxane’s regard for his political mind rises, barely; De Guiche, at the very least, knows that if he makes any genuine attempt to tarnish her, Cyrano will kill him, son-in-law to the Cardinal or no. 

For all that he is formidable, Cyrano would be hard-pressed to reach De Guiche before Roxane cut him down herself. 

“I…” De Guiche clears his throat officiously. “How many know that you and Christian wed?”

Roxane laughs lowly, “The entire camp, seeing as I kissed him in front of all of them. Called him husband. Little did I know the man who’d inspired me to cross a war zone was Cyrano.” 

De Guiche winces at the bitter irony in her tone, but Roxane can see that he is intrigued. “Forgive me if I pry: I do not have the fully story. I may be better equipped to manipulate the situation in your favor if I could…know how you came to be…so utterly in love.” He says the last quietly. Roxane is surprised to register hollow longing in the words, a wistfulness she did not expect from such a shrewd man as De Guiche. For all his wooing of her, she’d never expected him to treasure tender emotions past their usefulness in manipulation. She feels a smidge of regret for misjudging yet another person in her life, at least in that small way. 

She looks to Cyrano; it is primarily his tale to tell. His eyes are shocking in their cerulean shade, and there is a vulnerability in them that, if abused, could tear him apart. For all that his body and soul is steeled, his heart, Roxane realizes, has always been fragile. She wishes she had known; she would have protected it better. Maybe then he wouldn’t be looking at her now with such trepidation, such too-shy hopefulness. His resolve solidifies. He tips his head to her, then to the ground. He huffs a fortifying breath, then begins. 

De Guiche listens attentively as Cyrano relays their tale. He begins at the theatre, with the burst of joy at being seen. He glosses over the despair caused by Roxane’s desires, but then moves into the part of the story she does not know herself. Cyrano’s artful words illustrate the grand scheme to woo her, the melding of two men into one, an author of divine prose and sublime turns of phrase with the face of a Grecian hero. De Guiche frowns at Cyrano like he is seeing a different man in the cloak of a de Bergerac, nonplussed at the self-consciousness, the crippling doubt that stayed his words from ever leaving the pages signed by another’s name. Roxane cannot stop tears from falling down her face. She wipes them away before Cyrano can see. 

She tells her part too. It takes less time, but its importance can’t be overlooked, as she describes Christian’s honesty and Cyrano’s admittance. Their ardent revelations to each other. Their lack of foresight, in terms of their reputations. She falters as her words run up to the present; Cyrano’s hilt-calloused hand enfolds both of hers where they rest in her lap. It soothes her to feel the strength in him. 

When she looks up, De Guiche’s eyes have fallen to their joined hands. He looks moved. The way he subtly swipes a knuckle under his eyes speaks to it. 

After a moment, he smiles. It is a surprisingly kind expression on such a saturnine countenance. “You are both…unspeakably lucky to have found each other.” His gaze darkens, “I will not jeopardize that. I swear on my…recently reclaimed honor…” He has the wherewithal to jest lightly at his own expense, and a line of tension across Cyrano’s shoulders relaxes by a fraction. 

“Nothing is yet dire. I have some…influence in certain circles that could smooth this over.”

De Guiche explains a potential plan. It involves quietly annulling the oaths Roxane and Christian made to each other, and explaining to the Cadets the truth, up until the point where they were married, and skipping to the reveal that Christian had asked Cyrano to continue writing the letters. Cyrano takes that upon himself; the Cadets respect the sanctity of the Guard House like few other places, and if he swears them to secrecy there, they will keep it on pain of a solid, inescapable pummeling. 

Roxane swears to speak to Christian; they still have words that need exchanging, if only to resolve any festering hurt and misunderstanding. 

Then De Guiche continues unexpectedly. “When you arrange the wedding…I should like…I would offer to cover any expenses you incur, for the ceremony.” He wrings his hands; Roxane has never seen him squirm before now. “I can also be your official witness, and speak to the sanctity of the vows in society.”

It is a gracious offer. Cyrano’s formidable nose wrinkles with suspicion for the first time in hours. He says what Roxane is thinking, “Such favors usually accrue a cost. What do you want from us?”

“Nothing, truly.” De Guiche sighs when Cyrano’s eyes narrow to chips of sapphire. “I swear it. I meant it, before, when I said I owed you my life, Cyrano. I also owe you an apology, Madame de Robin, for my uncouth behavior before.” He bows shallowly from his seat.

Roxane feels something close to relief wash cool through her chest for the first time in days. She allows herself a small smile. “You are forgiven, Comte, but I expect an extraordinarily extravagant wedding present.”

“Of course.” De Guiche, gratifyingly, is pale with relief too. She wonders at her luck — her near misfortune — of causing a Comte, a cadet, and a veritable hero to be afraid of her. She would like to get used to it. 

She thinks Cyrano’s awe enough as she looks to him again. Gently, as if seeing the force of her regard in her eyes, he takes her hand in both of his and kisses her knuckles. For all that Cyrano de Bergerac is a force of nature, he tempers her. 

De Guiche clears his throat. “I… think I will follow Le Bret’s example.” It is an unsubtle escape to leave them alone. Roxane cares very little. 

Despite how many details they must coordinate and futures they must discuss, neither she nor Cyrano speak. He shifts close enough for her to pillow her head on his shoulder, her arms folded through the crook of his, and they regard the fire and the brightening stars on their last night in Arras. 

Paris, and a life together, awaits them.

#cyrano de bergerac #cyrano #roxane #christian (mentioned) #De Guiche #Le Bret #This is a bit rushed and I APOLOGIZE #I hope you like it #It's been a long time coming #Hope it lives up to the hype #I was inspired by the shocking character development you gave De Guiche so here's so more #romance #OOF It's almost 1AM what am I doing #being a writer and being waaaaayyy behind

[ramblingrachell]

Have You Read This? The Election of 2020

Like many of us, I watched Hamilton on July 4th, 2020 – our nation’s birthday. I met the day with mixed emotions as the spirit and character of our nation as of late did not seem appropriate to celebrate.

As I watched the story about many of the nation’s founding fathers and first leaders unfold, I was struck by the parts of their personal trials and tribulations that went beyond their contribution to the nation. Hamilton was the first politician to be involved in a sex scandal; Layfette – an immigrant, unafraid to step in and become America’s favorite fighting Frenchmen; Washington – a slave owner willing to admit “it probable that I may have committed many errors;” Jefferson – gained wealth profiting from the work of slaves, one of which he fathered six children with after making her his mistress. Burr – the untried murderer of Alexander Hamilton, whom he killed while still holding office as the third Vice President of the United States. In short, a hot mess of moral contradictions. I have been listening to the Hamilton soundtrack ever since my first viewing on July 4th, and realized a number of lines in various songs could be strung together to reflect my perception (key word: my) of the current political climate. Over the last week or so, I finally sat down to string all of those poignant lines together (with a few liberties for relevant context), a lyrical short story I have dubbed, The Election of 2020 (seen further down, further down). The beauty of democracy that is reborn during election seasons is our ability to get a fresh start, gain new perspectives, correct past wrongs, and continually better this land of the free for generations to come. I saw a quote recently that described voting as not so much like trying to find the perfect partner for marriage, but rather like using a bus for public transport. Voting is a map of bus routes that you must choose from in order to get from point A to point B. There may not be one specific bus that is going to your exact destination, but that doesn’t mean you stay at home and give up on travel entirely. Voting is not about waiting for “the one” candidate who is absolutely perfect. Instead, you choose to get on the bus that gets you closest to where you want to be. I know and love many republicans and democrats that have used the privilege of voting to get us all closer to where we want the nation to be. To me, where we are right now does not seem to fit under either traditional party umbrella – no, it’s much more like an umbrella that has been turned inside out and torn apart by a calculated hurricane of divisive and selfish endeavors. Perhaps more than ever before, this is the time to reassess our voting bus routes that will get us from point A to point B. Are we moving from indifference to tolerance? Hate to love? Despair to hope? Chaos to consistency? Negligence to protection? Moreover, before you get on your bus of choice, remember the route is designed to get the whole of our nation where we want it to be. Not just for me and not just for you. For all of US – as in, all of the United States. We will never all agree, I know this, but in spite of these disagreements, I am reminded of the hope that comes from the story of Hamilton. Even 244 years into this nation’s story, despite many dramatic peaks and valleys, the journey to our shared, happily ever after epilogue lives on. It lives on in me, in you, and in every vote cast to get us where we want to be. Regardless of how your vote is cast, the courage to reexamine your route and get on that bus… well, that would be enough.

The Election of 2020

“America, you great unfinished symphony A place where even orphan immigrants Can leave their fingerprints and rise up We’re running out of time Eyes up Time's up Wise up He's not the choice I would have gone with History will prove him wrong Winning was easy for him Governing's harder Welcome, folks, to a dysfunctional administration! He stands only for himself It's what he does I can't apologize because it's true Have it all, lose it all The President is gonna bring the nation to the brink He’s the villain in our history Frankly, it's a little disquieting that so many are blind to this reality He doesn’t have an ounce of regret He accumulates debt, he accumulates power Yet in our hour of need, he forgets Ardently abuses his post It's hard to listen to him with a straight face Watching the tension grow He cannot be left alone to his devices Indecisive, from crisis to crisis Stay alive 'til this horror show is past We're gonna fly a lot of flags half-mast Chaos and bloodshed already haunt us How many died because he was inexperienced and ruinous? We're too fragile to start another fight Where do we draw the line? Someone oughta remind him We're running a real nation Him and his words, obsessed with his own legacy His sentences border on senseless And he is paranoid in every paragraph How they perceive him Let future historians wonder How he tore so much apart And watched it all burn I wish I could say what was happening in his brain He's not very forthcoming on any particular stances Ask him a question: he glances off, he obfuscates, he dances I will not equivocate on my opinion I didn't say anything that wasn't true His father's a scoundrel, and so, it seems, is this dude He is uniquely situated by virtue of his position Though 'virtue' is not a word I’d apply to this situation He seeks financial gain, straying from his sacred mission And the evidence suggests he’s engaged in speculation Why does he assume he’s the smartest in the room? Soon that attitude will be his doom He knows nothing of loyalty Smells like new money, dresses like fake royalty Desperate to rise above his station Everything he does betrays the ideals of our nation See how he lies Look at his eyes Follow the scent of his enterprise If we don't stop him, we aid and abet it Watching him grabbin' at power and kissin' it Somebody has to stand up to his mouth What do we stall for?  If we stand for nothing, what'll we fall for?

Be careful with that one He will do what it takes to survive No one knows who he is or what he does His pride will be the death of us all God, we hope he’s satisfied This man has poisoned our political pursuits Destroyed our reputation I can almost see the headline, his “career” is done Ya best go run back where ya come from! This dude is out! You ever see somebody ruin their own life? History obliterates In every picture it paints It paints him and all of his mistakes It's him against us, the world will never be the same He better get ready for the moment of adrenaline Try not to crack under the stress When he finally faces his opponent They’ve fought on like seventy-five different fronts He smacks others in the press and doesn’t print retractions We're breaking down like fractions But when all is said and all is done I have beliefs, he has none Gotta get us out of the mess he’s got us in There’s a reason no one trusts him No one knows what he believes I get no satisfaction witnessing his fits of passion The way he primps and preens and dresses like the pits of fashion Our poorest citizens, our farmers, live ration to ration As Wall Street robs 'em blind in search of chips to cash in He’s askin' for someone to bring him to task While we were all watching, he got Washington in his pocket But the sun comes up And the world still spins I hear wailing in the streets There is suffering too terrible to name This is not a moment, it's a movement Are we a nation of states? What's the state of our nation? The issue on the table: We are engaged in a battle for our nation's very soul I’m past patiently waitin'. Let’s passionately smash every expectation For the first time, I’m thinkin' past tomorrow. We're gonna rise up - time to take a shot This nation better rise up Raise a glass to freedom Something they can never take away No matter what he tells us Look around at how lucky we are to be alive right now But we'll never be truly free Until those in bondage have the same rights as you and me Seek out injustice in the world and correct it Life doesn't discriminate Between the sinners And the saints It takes and it takes and it takes And we keep living anyway We laugh and we cry And we break But can l be real for a second? For just a millisecond? We gotta make an all-out stand Get him out of power So he holds no office We are a powder keg about to explode We gotta stop 'em and rob 'em of his advantages Let's take a stand with the stamina God has granted us We pick and choose our battles and places to take a stand We will fight for this land Summon all the courage that’s required Be a part of the narrative The story they will write someday How we emerged victorious Leaving the battlefield waving Betsy Ross' flag higher No one has more resilience Let’s move under cover and move as one We have one shot to live another day Don’t throw away this shot We will fight up close, seize the moment and stay in it And so the American experiment begins again We bleed and fight for the next generation We'll make it right for them If we lay a strong enough foundation We'll pass it on to them, we'll give the world to them For a strong central democracy We may never all agree, but There's only one man and woman Who can give us a command so we can rise up Throwing verbal rocks at his mediocrities What do you stall for? What was it all for? We studied and we fought For the notion of a nation we now get to rebuild Life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness We fought for these ideals; we shouldn't settle for less I don't pretend to know All the challenges we’re facing But this once, take a stand with pride This is not the time to stand to the side Stand with us in the land of the free To get the people that we need to lead We need the votes We need bold strokes When there’s skin in the game, stay in the game We don't get a win unless we play in the game We may get love for it We may get hate for it We get nothing if we wait for it I wanna build something that's gonna outlive me I dream of a brand new start I want real leaders that can save the day We won't be invisible We won't be denied If we get this right The nation can start to move on It outlives us when we’re gone We are the one thing in life we can control We are inimitable, true originals We can’t stand still Or lie in wait We don't wanna fight, but We won't apologize for doing what's right Together we can turn the tide If we manage to get this right They'll surrender by early light We have no control Who lives, who dies, who tells our story But I know that we can win I know that greatness lies within us But remember from here on in History has its eyes on me and History has its eyes on you”

(All Lyric Credits: Hamilton: An America Musical. Performances by Lin-Manuel Miranda, Daveed Diggs, Renée Elise Goldsberry, Jonathan Groff, Christopher Jackson, Jasmine Cephas Jones, Leslie Odom Jr., Okieriete Onaodowan, Anthony Ramos  Phillipa Soo, and Original Cast Company. Atlantic Records, 2015.)

#Hamilton #An American Musical #Hamilton: An American Musical #Lin-Manuel Miranda #Daveed Diggs #Renee Elise Goldsberry #Jonathan Groff #Christopher Jackson #Jasmine Cephas Jones #Leslie Odom Jr. #Anthony Ramos #Phillipa Soo #Okieriete Onaodowan #Hamilton Original Cast #Atlantic Records #Broadway #HamiltonBroadway #Election #Electionof2020 #Vote #Vote2020 #Alexander Hamilton #Aaron Burr #George Washington #James Madison #Lafeyette #Thomas Jefferson #Hercules Mulligan #John Laurens #TheSchuylerSisters

[tawakkull]

Spirituality in islam: The horizons of tranquility

People have always dreamed of attaining peace of mind since the day the first foot was set on the Earth; people have longed for peace of mind, pursuing and struggling in a multitude of ways to obtain it. Sometimes people have connected tranquility to working hard and earning financial wealth; sometimes they have tied it to living to their heart’s content and to boundless freedom; at other times, peace of mind has been seen as being in the possession of advanced technological means and the achievement of physical comfort; or at times it has been connected to eating and drinking and the satisfaction of carnal desires. People have bound their lives up in the attainment and possession of these means. On this misty, dusty road people have sometimes lived in hope, have sometimes experienced disappointment and writhed in despair, but never have they reached the longed for expectation; it is impossible via these routes, as the peace of mind that they are in pursuit of is the fruit of virtue within faith and can only be attained through perfect faith. This has also been the essence of the call of the prophets.

The essence of this call for peace and peace of mind can be instituted when individuals turn toward God and submit themselves to Him with all of their being: it is impossible for a person of faith who has achieved submission to this degree to continuously be a slave to bodily desires, nor is it possible such a person to fear anything but God or feel any anxiety. For now, just as these people have found the One that they have been searching for and as they find the beloved toward whom they have directed their love, they also find themselves at peace, for they have been sheltered in the refuge of Eternal Omnipotence in front of whose majesty they will always feel awe and respect. They are at peace, for they know that the Endless Omnipotence and Grace never abandons those who have turned their faces toward Him, whoever they may be, and He never lets them wallow in misery.

For this reason, people of faith are always at peace and always feel secure. They know that they will reach the desired destination if they continue walking, associating everything with Him. They will be safe all along the way and will, in the distance, experience “the wedding night” of being in close proximity; they will walk toward the purpose of existence with the guidance of the Qur'an, with the trust that the faith in their hearts promises, with breezes of submission wafting through their emotions and conscience and with the supervision of the Divine Master. With all of these they can overcome all the hellish pits of corporeal attachments and the insatiable appetites of their desires and fancies. Indeed, those who enter the atmosphere of the Qur'an and who take refuge in His guidance always feel a deep contentment and an unshakable trust in their hearts when they breathe of safety. As they listen to their conscience, as they gaze upon objects, as they contemplate the tomorrows of both the near and far future, i.e. the future stretching until eternity, as they take into consideration the Barzah (the place where the souls will wait till Judgment Day), Mahshar (the place where all the dead and living will meet on Judgment Day), Sirat (the very narrow bridge which leads to Heaven), Hell, and Heaven, they carry a remarkable awareness of their duty and a feeling of responsibility, and they are also filled with a deep feeling of hope. This feeling of hope is directly proportional to the depth of the faith in their breasts. They gaze upon objects through such a specific window of benevolence, given unto them as befits the breadth of their faith, that should the curtain of physical existence be completely drawn back, they will find the things that they see and the experiences beyond that window akin to the things that they feel and experience here. Due to the nature of earthly confinement, they will come face to face with what they have felt briefly on the Earth beyond this window in fine detail, and they will smile at their good fortune.

Indeed, faith is the magical key to happiness in this world and the Hereafter and promises a virtuous end to those who pass their lives under its banner. Faith promises a bright time of Barzah, giving glad tidings of a gentle and warm resurrection, whispering an octave of the Divine Scale that is pleasant to our souls, making our hearts feel our approaching adventure on the Sirat Bridge with its depths of hope and poise. Heaven opens its doors with content and comprehension, with surprises that exceed all expectations and presents us with blessings from the Tree of Heaven, blessings that make us forget even the most troubleladen and painful moments of this life!

In fact, when people of faith turn toward God with all their being, everything else disappears from sight. All false powers and desires deflate like pricked balloons. All physical lights which have occasionally dazzled their eyes with their false glitter are attenuated in the face of His divine light that shines into our hearts; all around we hear, resounding: “Today all wealth and possessions belong to God, the Absolute Victor.” A heart which has attained this level is free from the deceptive promises of all seductive powers, forces, kindness, and grace and turns only toward God and awaits help only from Him. When such people are in trouble or shaken by difficulties, they trust in and lean on Him. They seek protection against all threats, taking refuge in the sanctuary of His grace, benevolence and help.

When such people weaken, they enter the advice of His transcending power. When they are tainted by sin, they run to His basin of forgiveness to cleanse themselves, dispersing the fog and smoke that has occasionally enveloped their horizon by putting faith in Him and submitting themselves to Him. Thus, they walk toward the future without submitting to any phenomena that may appear in their way. They solve all their individual, familial, and social problems by connecting with Him and they never fear, or feel a loneliness that cannot be overcome in their souls. At times they may be subjected to temporary loneliness in public, but thanks to their faith and submission, they always feel the breeze of “divine companionship.” Whatever befalls them, they take it as a warning sign from fate, and welcome such transactions with assent and patience.

Their faith in God and the characteristics of their faith open up the possibility of acquainting themselves with everything, and thus they see all existence—living or not—as a family. They make contact with the rest of creation, taking an active part in the life of things and in their conscience they feel the vastness of the of vicegerent which has been bequeathed to them. They perceive that all things have been created for their benefit, and they bow in gratitude, realizing that they are hand in hand with the perception of angels and the souls of the universe. They find the ground that they walk upon, the lowland and the heath, as warm as ancestral residences, and they feel as at home there as if they were in their mother’s cradle. They evaluate existence in a way that in no way resembles materialist and naturalist depictions, but with the eye of a person of faith who associates everything with God, and in response, they receive recognition from all that is around them. They receive messages of confidence from all the things with which they come into contact and respond with an attitude expressing the same confidence. They are not afraid of anyone and do not cause anyone to fear; they embrace all as their brethren. They shower smiles upon all things; they sip water, breath air and accept all manners of presents as blessings from God. They inhale the scent of the Earth and those that it gives birth to as if it were the sweetest of aromas. They salute the orchards and gardens, the mountains and valleys, the grasses and trees, the roses and the flowers with the language of their heart, as if these things too had senses. They caress all creatures that they encounter as if they were friends assigned to keep them company in this guesthouse. With every action they demonstrate that they have been sent to the Earth as a sign for agreement and reconciliation.

Thus, people of faith who, with this vast faith of theirs, see everyone and everything through this framework, feel themselves to be in an expansive atmosphere of peace, so much so that it would make all other people jealous if they were but aware. These people are overjoyed with the inexpressible pleasures of living with faith. Indeed, there are no fights, no disputes; they expend all their energy on making other people feel what they feel and enjoy, on sharing these sincere feelings with everyone; they strive to lead everyone to this song of joy by uncovering the horizons of others to whatever degree they can. They are always a few steps behind ordinary living because of their efforts to cause other people to experience these joys. In all of their acts, they have eternal trust in God; they take care never to posit themselves deliberately against other people. Indeed, on the one hand, they feed their own, relative, power with the omnipotence of God; on the other, they also try to attain the support of other people of faith who are like them. They transform all powers that may stand against them into a new depth of their capabilities, thus walking toward their goal as if they were flying. They walk toward the goal of reaching peace with faith, the goal of making other people believe, and toward the achievement of God’s pleasure.

If truth be told, a society where individuals have reached such a state of satisfaction, where they love and respect one another and where they are connected with a bond of the heart is a society that is the perfect candidate for peace. It is the perfect candidate, because the factors that may lead its members to unease and the creation of factions have totally disappeared. Among these people, there are no considerations or privileges of nobility, ancestry, region, or status. These people, who see all people and all things as stemming from the same root, are brethren in the fullest meaning of the word. The Qur'an calls attention to this deep truth when it says, the people of faith are only brethren to one another (AlHujraat 49:10). This is not just a physical kinship; in the words of the Prophet, they are strongly bound to each other by love, affection, and sincerity, like organs of the same body, and they always feel the pain of other’s in their hearts, and suffer the agony, share their joys, and experience the same happiness together.

Indeed, they are like each other’s eyes and ears, tongue and lips, hands and feet. In this society, every individual has devoted themselves to facilitate another’s life, to do all that they can for the happiness of others. Consequently, there is no abandonment or wallowing in despair among such people. When one is hurt, all the others feel this pain in their hearts. All join in the feast of happiness when one partakes of it. Again, in this society, parents are respected like saints, children are raised with diligent care, as if they were flowers. Spouses, even when they have grown gray together, treat each other with the joy of their first day, with contemplation of the eternal togetherness in the Hereafter. They try to live their lives following a route of the heart and mind, beyond the limits of emotional relationships. They are true to each other to the degree that no stranger’s shadow is ever reflected in their eyes. This harmony in the family is also true for the nation, which is considered to be a larger family; in a nation composed of such families, all will love and respect one another, all will regard each other with affection, all will wish well for others and all will try to extinguish evil to the best of their ability. No one thinks bad thoughts about anyone, and no one holds another in suspicion. No one uses people as spies against one another. One section of society does not devote its existence to the destruction of another. No one, no one at all, engages in acts like complicity, mendacity, deceit, and slander; these are the habits of the lowest sort of people. In this society of peace, each individual is at battle with all that is negative; it is as if they have sworn to protect human values. As a result, this society becomes a society of conscience and peace.

#allah #god #islam #quran #muslim #revert #convert #convert islam #revert islam #reverthelp #revert help #revert help team #help #islamhelp #converthelp #prayer #salah #muslimah #reminder #pray #dua #hijab #religion #mohammad #new muslim #new revert #new convert #how to convert to islam #convert to islam #welcome to islam

[jonroxton]

what happens when you read too much dune and are still obsessed with dany/jorah. THIS HAPPENS. fake history ala fire and blood but no maester nonsense. posted under capitainpistol over at a03.

Modern scholars would have us believe every new century brings with it new ideas. To put it bluntly, that is not so. The foundation of progress has been the same since the Dawn Age. There are new discoveries, new inventions and new laws, but these things are forever built upon the cyclical nature of the universe of which all things are beholden. Fire was always fire. Dragons were always dragons. Sickness. Salt. Songs. Life and death. Even the double bladed monstrosity of magic. These things existed before we knew they existed, that is to say things are known to us or they are unknown. Once they are known they are altered. A river is a river until someone builds a dam, for mankind itself churns within cycles of creation and destruction, the only creatures to rival the myriad gods in such feats.

The Archmaesters of the Citadel named this foundation a wheel, turning and turning. The Faith has its Seven who are One, allowing for choice in seven sided rainbow temples. The Braavosi, the escaped slave survivors of Valyria before the Doom, are closest in our estimation to encapsulating the truth of the world in housing all the gods and accepting all gods children from all corners of Terros. Here the wheel turns on water and the philosophical truth comes from its flow and the power it generates to sustain life on the thousand islands. We in our secret society view Terros in that regard. One land in one ocean in one world in one void with one sun under one Heaven, perhaps under a single monotheistic god.

Amongst ourselves there is much debate about giving theistic power to these possibilities (these unknowns), especially and specifically the challenging of the gods who already are. Rather to say, if the wheel is the foundation religion is the road on which it rides and those can lead anywhere. We willingly walk away from the road, far enough that we have speculated on the chance existence of other suns and other Terran-like planets. Perhaps one day we may build ships to sail the stars and seek them, but who is to say how the waters of Terros will flow in five hundred or even a thousand years. For now, we write for posterity, for ourselves, for the kindly patrons who risk their lives in supporting us, and for whoever (man, woman or child, boy or girl, highborn or low) finds us. There is no ultimate goal, whatever may have been said of us. We do not claim absolute truth. We want simply to understand what was to better understand what will be. It is daunting, we know, but it is merely one belief amongst many and a dangerous one, but what challenges are not dangerous? We are one people, we are one world. We are in it together. We are our history. We are our future. The seed is planted. The seed grows.

Two thousand years ago dragons burned through the East and created the barren no man's land called the Red Waste. A thousand years later, long after dragons died, a young girl lost her husband and child and birthed new dragons. This girl ended the feudal stronghold of Westeros that had reigned for over ten thousand years (barring the Northern lands ruled by the Red Starks, descendants of Queen Sansa Stark) and released Drogon the Last God onto the East, giving the Asshaii Sun Emperor Ly and his Moon Empress Chani all the power they needed to begin their conquest of the West with the first engine ships. Could Nymeria herself have imagined it? Thirty thousand ships breathing cannons and a score of dragons called the Army of the Red. The conquest took a mere four years and the Chan Dynasty (for the Asshaii take the name of the elder in the marriage) has ruled since, marrying their only rivals, the Dothraki. Khal Aego, himself a descendant of Khal Aggo, one of Daenerys Targaryen's bloodriders, long honored the memory of the first and only Khaleesi to rule them and named his firstborn and heir Lyo Daenis Chan after Daenerys, she who is Khal Empress today. It was Daenis who commissioned the first secret history of Daenerys Targaryen and sent an emissary to Westeros in search of the lost works of Samwell Tarly, known to history as Sam the Slayer.

Amongst the works found in that search were several discarded chapters focusing on Targaryen history, giving rise to the popular new theory of the Slayer having divided loyalties. That is the crux of our chagrin with the latest wave of revisionism. Of all historians it is Samwell Tarly whose work is most prolific, even barring the aprocyphal texts the Citadel slowly omitted from his works over the centuries. Together with his extensive journals, notes and personal collections (and those of the less known wilding writings of Gilly Flowers) we have a massive source of that time collectively called the Song of Westeros or the Song of Ice and Fire. Though it is now commonly believed to represent Lord Commander Jon Snow (for ice), a Stark bastard, brother to Queen Sansa, and Daenerys Targaryen (for fire), Asshaii scholars and several texts show rather the dichotomy to be one united whole signifying an ancient prophecy with disastrous results if unrealized, which many believed to have been so, including the death cults who continously seek life after death.

Sam the Slayer himself did not dwell too much (or at all) on the romanticism of Jon Snow and Daenerys Targaryen, initially intending his title to represent the unity of opposites and the tragedy of their end. While not a Targaryen loyalist, it is clear through his work of his deep empathy for others and his ability to approach them with a kind eye. It is these works that inspired the creation of our anonymous pamphlets seeking to understand our world. The most curious of his discarded texts is the one he titled after an ancient Westron song, the Bear and the Maiden Fair, in which his thesis of unity is most realized and where Daenerys Targaryen is the heroine. Versions of this story have been passed through history both written and oral. It is the the story of Ser Jorah's doomed love for Daenerys and her grief for him killing her long before Jon Snow assassinated her in the Red Keep.

We leave you with an excerpt telling of the Slayer's empathy and insight and warning for a future divided.

“Here is what we know, Drogon is out there. Here is what I know, Drogon lost and grieved as any man, woman or child would. With my own eyes I saw him cradle Daenerys as she cried and held the dead body of her loyal servant, Ser Jorah Mormont, the only time she ever touched him so intimately. They met as exiles, when he was loyal to the Iron Throne. Her death was his pardon. Ever after he sought her approval and her heart, obtaining one but never the other. He crossed the world for her, he fought for her. Together they conquered worlds. He lived for her, knowing he would never have her, and he died for her, as he promised. I saw her take the torch to his pyre and watched the fire take him. A part of her went with him, perhaps the part that could not love him, leaving her with the part that finally did. I saw my friend and commander Lord Jon Snow, the man she did love, the man she chose, the man who killed her, standing next to the melted metal tears of what was the Iron Throne. Did Drogon spare the man who killed his mother, the rider of his dead brother Rhaegal? If so, that was mercy. Had Jorah lived, Jon Snow would not be alive. Had Jorah lived, perhaps King's Landing would not have burned. Did Drogon recognize the futility of his mother's pursuit of power and blame the game of thrones? If so, it means one terrifying thing. He is still out there, grieving, and he who grants mercy need not grant it a second time.”

#mystuff #dany x jorah #asoiaf #got #asoiaf fic

[sirjustice240-blog]

Genesis 49 tribes of israel

Jeshuran in the link below, ran is madness, low, get low from Lome, Togo as Jeshi/Military vehicle how are made in Genesis 49, the tribe of kevi rather walevi as drunkards the way they talk. Alcoholic,lost coin, Christ with little kids and mfalme wa yawhodi to take ya home.

Tribe of Judah had set of canine teeth shifted by Mr Colombia or Hindu man of a young Lion as Ecclesiastic 4, the man save the city verse comes handy to help ya. The seeing things on the eye on Mr Hindu part is the Colombian blood, being rude Kamba blood and wanting ya food masai/trukana blood which has some Tz blood as most Tz people are trukana blooded bro so be warned and people tolerate their women cause during sex when u ejaculate u ejaculate much spermatozoa giving ya rest of mind b4 ample sleep engulf ya and ya manhood stiffen and became of prism shape but just 4 a short time cause it bores u relatively 1st to the point u want it not though sweet than any as much of Britain, so many believe Tz women are British blooded or vice versa as most Britons truth be told are of Ngoni blooded, a people their back head lacks elongation 'kisogo' and of no jokes as king of the jew comes handy as Christ on the cross looks down to expose the same above up and the people who love jokes not are believed to be descendants of people with spaces between their each teeth, a people of love and geared towards helping others if not so can be an intermarriage between them and people with bewitching gap between upper or lower teeth jaw, so be warned dude.

When u want 1 food yet u understand he passes other meals which u do eat and he has no much money to undertake daily routines but force him with ya shit, kinda, u see a squatted spirit of a person picking like a machete and chasing those people with, to bring home emphasis of bad character and same can land those people in hell involved in doing the above absurdity.

White people have been on this world long b4 ya as what they know, so come up with like Covid and u know the medication to be Ginger as u have been told severally yet still wants to sell ya mask in that gimmick to get extra-cash to fund ya dubious activities, thus a repercussion engulf us as the ground softens to make some buildings within the city wants to collapse to warn the govt of such mischievous act so they stop and of giving cash incentives to other few while the poor who should get that knows not about that and getting money online while blocking others from its reach like by controlling bank pay-pal payment option. So the white people wants the same 4 those cities near the lakes to collapse and water rushes in to engulf all the nearby submerged/ sinking lands if u did not know dude, let me tell ya as now u know well.

Even when doing something bad, to be warned and court get it right, the iron sheet next to ya kinda, wants to form holes b4 it gets back, like a bubble gum being chewed and air blow in to form like balloons synonymous with kids. 4 example charging exorbitant prices on commodities and disturbing people with ya young ones but to ya u resort to unknown whether was written bible principles, kids are Gods blessing to get by or instill fear on such people u disturb or it has happened so its all our shit as much as wanting others food.

The weed and Good Samaritan parable to bring us home as they were tough headed and thought they will not be defeated in the mischievous act, the likes of kikuyu blooded men as doing things openly as no justice in their things, so if u story with them, kinda, on the middle of their 4head, u see a big gear wheel rotating meaning they want to change but rapid shame engulf them, maybe to follow ya but u have placed barriers not allowing them or wanting simple life yet they 4 along time advocated 4 big life to make them all that sharp as the have always purported. Or dude wants to get overseas as they have always wanted to be 1st with it but realizing when houses or roads can be made like machine parts now they have known how to make, so Africa can be the same or better in some parts than good to them overseas lands so torn apart and shame will engulf them cause their enemies much and got military vehicle as well as them which if they Marshall up together to create alliance against them, will kill them amounting to nothing, so fear engulf them as Hell/heaven on earth aint a fairy tell as previous with their Charles Darwin theories but in Minneapolis, MN and the now know to shut up their big mouths lets they get to furnace as they can head their to ask all the biblical ages they claim were written talking on them. A people of no-character and no-sense dude, stop or stop will stop ya dude!!

You got some white eye, taking like bhang after sex to do the same,dude might land ya into hell fire if a diagnosis is done like with alcohol tester if its not 4 medical purposes- Moses, houses to remind ya of the truth to be acquitted of hell fire b4 being released cause aint a blasphemy dude. Most Negros with squire like head countenance are of Benin blooded and Benin people are kamba blooded as well as of slight protruding 4head are of Gabon and them as well got Kamba blood of wanting the best side of life as Good things dude. Get to know the truth, can be of big help to many who knew not the above.

Like in the link below, fuckxxxxxxxxxg a Jamaican bitch is sweet, Mr Barack Obama, If u did not know as 4 ya information, u get up on her after the climb, then down as like u submerge the up again b4 u stand still to look her on the face or to ejaculate altogether to have the highest bliss on that sexual encounter. Folks try with 1 today, don’t waste time b4 u taste such

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lZaV7ZQ_GRM

CREATE A POST cap, use a cap in the boom process as eating food made using the syringe or piss or puk method, kinda, changes ya countenance and mouth shape and known that way. Take this cap-tain of suffering away from me as Christ insinuates. Curl cold water using a bowl or ya cup.

They say Kebi and Minaj defecate outside a shared compound, well, gadgets are made that way, so using a drone their compound can be monitored behind their back if they are out to find the same as taking them into a big house as the song link below explains b4 they can head to Canada to firm as they cant do the same to cereals after harvesting or in sprinkling water medicine when the Hindu syndrome is deported back to her nation.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8o-fFVU25wk

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ktQiKgXHXV0

U pride ya self while the fleet of ya posh cars are on display waiting 4 new customers as some are on car hire, when asked saying they are giving me money others are driving even in muddy or rough roads to feed the journey meet friends pursuit as 1 send me the same on my FB link.

The cargo drone has dark night sensor when it reaches its destination b4 dark falls or u calculate the time and the speed to be reduced to meet the dark night 4 it not to be seen and going on at present as Brazil or Hindu food crops are in Kenyan markets as those who have yacht and mini-ships on lakes and sea meet them distance away off the land to off load the same even during daylight to bring them to the sea shore to continue with their dubious business ways and even machines as dirty money. Not paying as evading levies while the govt officials still laughing dude.

Am using alternator solar generator on my Cyber in Mombasa,rates are 20 bob 4 60 minutes, come fellows lets surf/browse at reduced prices, i pay stima not dude and every1 should follow suit.

Casket above moreover should have serial no like with utensils and after every burial posted on like a website to let us know if its used again in a funeral 4 burial in the dubious ways explained above. Bamba TV fellow ought to have told the Devil to place his name on the gadget rather given as Jeremiah 9:6 where is the owner of the 2 twin buildings on Mega plaza plaza and mamboleo mall and most Motor bikes and matatus his thus if those people against ya is him and Mr hindu sponsoring such dude as well as giving Mr policeman money and many dignitaries we know not and the Tz Azam as well dude.

https://www.google.com/search?client=opera&hs=563&ei=rkvjXsPUFeqRlwSgv5PABA&q=Jeus+with+littel+children&oq=Jeus+with+littel+children&gs_lcp=CgZwc3ktYWIQAzoECAAQQzoFCAAQsQM6BQgAEIMBOgIIADoGCAAQChATOgQIABATOggIABAWEB4QEzoKCAAQFhAKEB4QEzoICAAQFhAKEB46BggAEBYQHjoICCEQFhAdEB46BQghEKABUKnTCljtrAtgzq8LaAVwAHgAgAG_CIgB_EWSARAwLjYuMTMuNS4wLjIuMS4xmAEAoAEBqgEHZ3dzLXdpeg&sclient=psy-ab&ved=0ahUKEwjD47SM_PvpAhXqyIUKHaDfBEgQ4dUDCAs&uact=5

15 such cargo drones can carry 30 such big containers when made of aluminium to reduce on its weight even by 60% and people when full aint goods occupying every space, so can carry up-to 5000 fellow Jesus fed as to be called saucer.

Bullet speed determinant, the gun has a stop watch which place on camera capture once the time disappear, the bullet connects the 2 wires that switches off and on the timer counter, that if it gets out it switches off demarcating release time and on like 30-100 meter has another stop watch counter where, the place the bullet hit is the switching of gadget 4 that stopwatch, which when it has done the same, capture on camera the end time which the former time is deducted from the later to find the bullet speed as the gun power at all the intervals names above and the same used as a measure to demarcate airplane/rockets speed with the bullets 1 to bring home some few realities known and useful to such people who make such or wants high speed travel as nothing artificially made can travel as 1st a a gun bullet if so in print u have not witness it so a big hoax of wanting people still to respect Mr white-man skin which now we cant afford.

Don’t duet with ya wife against 1 vices as many pretends but love such men like with Jamaica songs.

If ya nation wants to get her respect and win customer satisfaction 4 along time, instead of having many companies in gadgets like china, call them to merge up and form like only 2 synonymous with S-Korea but initially they never gave a hoot out of still whether they sell or not were getting money off online a/c like 2goinvoice and now Nigeria, Uganda, Tanzania, Jamaica SA, Brazil, Ghana are creating their own social media after coming up with internet to try to come up with online sources a/cs or websites that gives money like the USA, Russia owned once that once any1 realizes the same they don,t bar ya from withdrawing by changing her name to be tit 4 tat as the link below, reason 4 games and dilly dallying not wanting to place money online as remove liquid cash once and 4 good dude,they want to enjoy that beauty 4 doing the same above.

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+5&version=NIV

When 1 has defeated ya but still wants to heap indignities on him as he has refused that u can party with him and 4 along time u have been warned, it cant go that way but calls 4 ya en-mass annihilation the beauty bro.

Thinking he is Christ and forcing, while he is not, he resorts to the behavior in the link below with little kids as Christ loved the same, wont make ya go to hell if u explain the same whether involved in mob justice out of that. Fellows mind about ya life and after death 1, stop cashing into other peoples lives

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zmrlwcPYSH4

https://www.biblegateway.com/passage/?search=Matthew+7&version=NIV

[ahgaseda]

made of stone || chapter 10

⇥ synopsis : when you return after years apart to pursue a divorce from your husband, Mark, you fall back into a contentious relationship because your partner still refuses to give up his dangerous fighting career...

⇥ warnings : this story in its entirety includes but is not limited to strong language and dialogue, descriptions of blood and violence, alcohol or drug use, and explicit sexual content, and is intended for an adult audience only!

The sky darkened overhead, a sole warning of the storm to come. You could feel a tempest on the wind, sweeping into your hair as Mark followed you inside the house.

“Why didn’t you call me as soon as you saw him?” he asked, shutting the door behind you both. Jong-kook’s unsolicited visit had understandably soured his mood.

Turning slightly as you walked, you replied, “I didn’t think he was that big of a threat.”

Mark’s tone dropped with severity. “He’s dangerous.”

You scoffed. “I gathered that.”

Mark grabbed a nearby shirt and pulled it on, covering his bare chest from the slight cold. “You still doing that jiu jitsu shit?” he questioned, a slight taunt to his voice.

Folding your arms, you smarted, “Yes, and I can have you pinned in submission before you could say ‘jiu jitsu shit.’”

Mark let his tongue linger at the corner of his mouth before whispering, “You always did like wrestling before fucking.”

Your eyes widened and you exclaimed, “Well, that escalated quickly.”

Mark chuckled darkly.

The tension was distracting and you quickly broke the spell by moving into the living room and searching the coffee table for the familiar stack of documents. A moment later, you called, “Where are the divorce papers?”

Mark followed you into the room, plopping down on the sofa. “I may have…”

You glared.

Mark turned toward the fireplace and murmured innocently, “I got cold.”

Clocking the remnants of a fire in the hearth (and what was presumably the ashes of your divorce papers), you rolled your eyes and groaned, “Why am I not surprised?”

“Because this,” Mark said, pointing between you and him. “This is the real deal.”

You sat down on the opposite end of the couch, leaning back and glaring irritably. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Mark pressed, matching your stubbornness. “You and I are gonna live and die in this house. We’re gonna get old and cranky.”

You cocked an eyebrow. “Even more so than we are now?”

“Oh, yeah,” he snickered.

Exhaling loudly, your words turned somber. “How are you going to grow old with me if you die in a fight?”

Mark shook his head, resistant. “I will never die in a fight.”

You bristled with frustration, crossing your arms over your chest tightly again. “Have you thought even for just a moment about what would happen to me if you did?” you asked, voice trembling.

Mark hissed with disdain, “You wouldn’t have to keep paying that divorce lawyer...”

Your eyes widened and you leapt from your place on the sofa, wanting desperately to leave the room before you screamed at him. In the meantime, you cried, “I hate you for saying that.”

Mark jumped up, shadowing your moves, and asked, “What would happen if I died in the ring? Enlighten me.”

“I’m alive because of you, Mark,” you told him, tears welling in your eyes. “You damn well know that. There has never been a time in my life that I was without you.”

Mark wanted to fold, but he was still too angry. “Are you forgetting the past two years?”

“Yeah, the two years I spent trying to live without you so I would be prepared for the real thing when you leave me.”

Mark pointed at you and rasped bitterly, “I never left you. You left. Not me!”

“God, Mark, you kept pushing,” you borderline yelled, throwing up your hands in exasperation. “Every fight, you were worse and worse. You didn’t tap out when you should have. You keep wanting to dance with the devil and you don’t give a damn about leaving me behind.”

Mark paused, his gaze falling to your shaking fingers - a sign of your adrenaline. Fighting with him was taxing, he knew that.

You simmered, wondering why he had stopped mid-argument. You knew he would never surrender that easily.

Finally, Mark whispered, “The only devil I dance with is you.”

You watched him move to the stereo and hit play. For a few seconds it took you a moment to put the first notes together, but when you recognized the song, tears finally slipped from your eyes.

“Mark,” you whimpered, emotions billowing inside to the point of overwhelming you.

In a heartbeat he was taking you in his arms, pulling you to the clear space in the living room. Briefly, you hesitated and then you gave into what you wanted and let him lead.

“It’s our song,” Mark sighed, reaching up to wipe a tear as it rolled down your cheek.

“Yeah,” you trailed, thinking about your first dance as husband and wife at your wedding. You had been so happy that day - so in love. You should have known it was too good to last.

Mark held you close, shuffling in a loose pattern around the room as he danced with you. He knew the shortlist of things that could soothe your wrath in an instant and this was consistently one of them.

You buried yourself against him, resting your head on his shoulder with your lips at the base of his neck. Tempted to leave a tender kiss, you resisted; still too angry.

Mark, on the other hand, roamed the pads of his fingers across your body, lingering on your hips and down your spine where he knew you were weakest. If he could just make you remember how much you loved him, how nothing could ever shake you in your feelings.

He had never meant to reach your limit. He thought your threshold was endless and truth be told, he could admit he pushed too hard. When you left, he knew he had made the mistake of his life. You endured so much for his sake, but eventually you broke and he had no one to blame but himself.

“You promised,” Mark whispered by your ear. Thunder rumbled in the distance.

Opening your eyes, you breathed him in, basking in a warmth only he could give. He smelled of sweat and metal and something wholly Mark. Blinking, you asked, “What?”

“For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health. You promised never to leave.”

Pulling back, you met his eyes and glared. “You gave me no choice.”

Mark made a noise of dissent and said, “So, I took more risks in fights. How is that any different from what we had done before?”

Placing your hands on his chest, you leaned back and snapped, “This is all my fault, huh? I’m the one to blame for this failing marriage?”

Mark groaned loudly and borderline shouted, “This marriage isn’t failing!”

You flinched when he pulled away and watched him pace, running his hands through his hair. “You asked too much of me, Mark!” you finally yelled. “I couldn’t take it anymore!”

Mark rounded on you and countered, “And your only option was to stop loving me?”

The argument was devolving again, you could feel the shift in the room. Trembling with hurt, you continued, “If you wanna pin all of this on me so you can sleep at night, be my fucking guest!”

“What do you want from me?” Mark screamed, his voice breaking.

You softened only for a moment to answer, “You know what I want.”

He shook his head vehemently. “Pick something else.”

“Oh my god,” you sighed, stepping closer to him. “Stop fighting.”

Your husband frowned. “No.”

“Stop fighting!”

“No!”

“Please,” you murmured. Rain began to gently batter the roof.

Mark stopped, hesitating.

“Mark, I beg you,” you spoke shakily, sliding back into his grasp as you took his face in your hands. “I want to stay. I want to be with you. But I’m not strong enough.”

“I…” Mark shuddered. “Can’t.”

Bristling with wrath, you tore yourself free of his arms and stomped to your purse, yanking out papers and holding them out. “Knowing you and your affinity for fires, I brought a spare.”

Silence ensued. For a moment, you and Mark merely stared at the pages that would end your life together. Mark broke the stalemate as he grabbed a pen from the table and stalked toward you.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Mark began levelly, his heart on the line. Holding up the pen and clicking it loudly, he suddenly extended it in your direction and said, “I will sign... after you do.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

“Sign them first,” he echoed, emotionless. “Then, I will.”

Your gaze drifted from the intensity of his eyes to the pen held nimbly between his knuckles. Tentatively, you took the pen from his fingers, wondering if it had always felt so heavy. Glancing down at the form, you found the line where your signature was supposed to be and pressed down.

But you couldn’t do it.

Your hand shook and everything in your body rebelled against it. There was no way you could sign your name. Tears festered in your eyes as you bit your lip, willing yourself to scribble your initials and be done with it at long last.

Finally, you gave up, tossing the pen onto the table loudly and burying your face in your hands.

“I knew it,” Mark murmured, watching you intently as a smile of relief played at his mouth.

You rose in a flash, grabbing your purse and rushing for the door.

“There she goes again,” Mark exclaimed, charging after you. “Always running away!”

You raced outside, crying out when you became doused in the rainfall. Fumbling for your keys, you stomped toward the car with Mark in hot pursuit.

“You idiot, you’re gonna get sick,” Mark shouted, sprinting to your hip and holding out the sides of his shirt, trying to cover your already drenched head.

You stopped in place, turning to him with an irritated scowl. “What did you call me?”

“An idiot,” Mark replied without missing a beat. “Which you are for running out in a storm like this.”

“I’m not an idiot,” you snapped, lips in a taut, angry line.

“Woman, get in the damn car. Haven’t you noticed it’s raining?”

You planted your feet, batting your eyes as rain mingled between your lashes. “No.”

“No?” your husband questioned incredulously.

You huffed, “I’m not an idiot.”

“You’re right. I’m the idiot. I’m an idiot for letting someone like you marry the likes of me. I’m an idiot for not standing by you. I’m an idiot for letting you leave. And I’m damn sure an idiot if I let you do it again,” Mark declared, his wet hair sticking to his forehead. But no amount of rain could dampen the fire in his eyes.

Your brow furrowed at his words, yet your heart soared.

Mark stepped toward you and said, “Now kiss me goodbye and be on your way.”

You widened your eyes in surprise as you felt your resolve crumbling. “Kiss you?”

Mark paused, but ultimately asked, “Why didn’t you sign the papers?”

You didn’t want to fight it anymore. Letting your shoulders slump in defeat, you whispered,  “Because I love you.”

“And I love you,” Mark said, taking your face in his hands. “Now, kiss me. Damn it.”

chapter 09 ⇤ chapter 10 ⇥ chapter 11

Hey there, beautiful! If you enjoyed this, please leave a like or reblog or follow me! Or maybe buy me a coffee so I can keep writing? Or check out my masterlist here for more stories! Thanks for reading :) - Katya

This work is fictional and for entertainment purposes only, but is licensed and protected under a creative commons attribution-noncommercial-noderivatives 4.0 international license. Any instances of plagiarism will be dealt with accordingly. Do not re-post or translate without my permission.

{ copyright 2018-2020 © ahgaseda // all rights reserved }

#got7 fanfiction #got7 imagines #mark tuan imagines #mark tuan smut #got7 scenarios #mark tuan fanfiction #mark tuan scenarios #got7 reactions #mark tuan reactions

[1oussamaelm1]

A pursuit to love

chapter 1: Who’s Oussama 

Morocco, a North African country bordering the Atlantic Ocean and Mediterranean Sea, is distinguished by its Berber, Arabian and European cultural influences. Marrakesh's medina, a mazelike medieval quarter, offers entertainment in its Djemaa el-Fna square and souks (marketplaces) selling ceramics, jewelry and metal lanterns. The capital Rabat's Kasbah of the Udayas is a 12th-century royal fort overlooking the water. And Fes is a northeastern Moroccan city often referred to as the country's cultural capital. It's primarily known for its Fes El Bali walled medina, with medieval Marinid architecture, vibrant souks and old-world atmosphere. The medina is home to religious schools such as the 14th-century Bou Inania and Al Attarine, both decorated with elaborate cedar carvings and ornate tile work. And here where it all began , Oussama is a simple boy who has 2 brothers Ilyass and Yassine and a divorced parents , Hasna his mother and abdeslam his father , he's 19 years old . he's known by his kindness and a lot of good things , he's popular , but few know the real him . In the age of 19 , Oussama had been in a lot of relationships , he was the bad one in all those relations , but deep inside all what he wanted was real love . One day he ended all this , and he began to search for real love , what is love ? , this question was in his head all the time , will i find my love someday ? , after all no one loved him except his family , Friends ? real friends ? , it was just a matter of time for him , all those fake friends being around him just because he know people . but he never gived importance to all this . you know why ? because he had a best friend , he had someone who can count on him and he believed in him , but it was a long time ago , when he was 7 he had a friend called samir . they studied together , time passes and their friendship grows , at the age of 8 they were best friends, but after 5 years , 7 years of friendship has gone , he's dead ... he could never forget Samir his first bestfriend , but he accepted the fact that he's gone . This is Oussama a mysterious guy we can't know him that much , but i know that you are all questioning yourselves , is this a tragedy or a beautiful love story , well no one know , the story never ends . why people think that oussama is mysterious ? , people judge others more on actions words subtext and not less "auras"  and like others here  have said of course he doesn't seem a mystery to himself , he knows his worth and also if they say they believe he is a mystery it is because he doesn't talk much about his personal life or perhaps people find his emotions hard to read or they find he is not very expressive at all which we or i  believe is not really a bad thing unless someone is truly curious about his life or how he feels ... . But the sad part is no one cares as they say or as he says . someday Oussama decided to write a letter to his dead best friend , and this is what he said : " I'm not sure how to explain how horrible my mental health has been lately. I'm not okay does not seem powerful enough. It doesn't get the point across. Sad does not do my feelings justice. Neither does frustrated. Or lost. The pain is ongoing and unexplainable. I don't have the energy to search for a better phrase, to find some magical way to make others understand. It's not like there is anyone to tell anyway. I keep picking up my phone, desperate to reach out to friends, but there is no one for me to text. There are people who will read my message and ignore me without bothering to type out a reply. There are other people who will go back-and-forth with me for a few minutes, saying generic things like I've been so busy lately and we should catch up soon. But there's no one who will lift my mood. No one who will stick around long enough for me to tell them the truth about what I have been going through recently. I feel like no one cares about me. No one wants to talk to me. No one wants to hang out with me. Every single day is a repeat of the last because there is nowhere for me to go, nothing for me to do. The worst part is I can't even express that thought because the moment I mention how alone I feel, there are people who argue with me. People who claim they love me. But where are they right now? Where have they been the past few days, weeks, months? Where is the proof they care? I can't find any. I feel alone . I am alone. and i miss you Samir ...  . But I cannot surrender to this feeling. I cannot mope around the house while wearing yesterday's clothes. I have to stop myself from spiraling. I have to rescue myself. I have to be there for myself. I have to act as my own best friend. I might feel like nobody cares  but I can change that. I can start caring about myself. I can climb out from bed. I can brush my teeth. I can shower. I can face the day with my head high and back straight. Instead of making myself feel better with hard to believe cliches about how I am never actually alone and how there are plenty of people who love me, I am going to make myself feel better by saying screw them. I do not need them. They are not essential to my survival. They are not worth crying tears over. At least not for such a large stretch of time. Maybe one day I will stumble across a group of people, or even just a single person, who makes me feel less alone. Maybe they will become my new home. My new place of peace. But until that day arrives, I have to be okay walking through this world alone. I have to remember my relationship with myself matters more than my relationship with anybody else .'' . Well he was right You're not the center of the universe. In fact, no one really cares about you. It's harsh, but true. Sure, you have family and a few great friends. They will take particular interest in various parts of your life, helping you when needed. But they don't care about you nearly as much as you care about yourself. Ultimately, you're not top of mind to anyone but yourself. When properly understood, this is incredibly freeing and valuable. Personally i did a lot of mistakes but you know what i realised that No one cared. No one remembered my mistakes. Here and there, people would have faint memories, but they quickly faded. I was free: free to try hard, fail, learn, rinse, and repeat. In the end, no one cares  and that's great. Find what makes you happy, work hard, and live fearlessly. If you screw up, no one cares. Neither should you. and this is how Oussama started to think he became stronger then ever , so now he's not searching for the love of his life but he's waiting for it . Oussama became an influencer , somehow , so here is what he said for you all : " Sometimes I feel lost and other times I feel as if I have conquered the world. At times the laughter is not in my control and other times the tears can't be held in my eyes. When I am sad I wanna know how to overcome it but when my lips are busy laughing and screaming in happiness, then I don't find any problem with me. Why do I see sadness as a disease to be cured while happiness as a gift of life? Rather both are just emotions and part of life. Sometimes I try to find a solution so that I don't have to be sad. But with deep thinking I get to know without sadness the recipe of life is incomplete. To give a taste to the recipe, I need to put all the emotions in the plate of life. Sadness is a natural part of life as happiness is. As human I will have to taste every flavour of life whether I like it or not. And if anyone tries to escape from any flavour, he will not be rewarded with his favourite one happiness. If sadness would not be good, then why I go to watch emotional movies. These movies don't give me any smile or laughter rather they make my eyes wet. I like it because I enjoy being the part of character's sadness. It means I like being sad and wanna feel this emotion too. And so do you all. I listen to songs which make me cry and I love to indulge into the emotions of the song. Does that mean I love crying? Absolutely I do. Because sometimes I need tears more than the flattering lips . The smile is being so overrated and people have become obsessed for getting this ingredient on their plate. Sorry to say but even successful people are taking it wrongly. They are giving ways to become happy and how to fade away this sadness. Why is there any need of fading the sadness? , Just live it, cry and show your sorrow, take your time and accept the truth that sadness is as much part of the life as happiness is. If we have entered into the ring then we will have to play the moves we don't like. There is no escape from it. I don't wanna say be happy, I would like to say be the emotion of yours. God has made me and wants me to be human so why sometimes I try to become the god. Why I try to conquer my feelings? Do I wanna show off to the world with my smiling face or do I wanna take my perfect click. Why do I need the smiling face? Because the whole world wants to see my shining teeth and not the salty water falling down my cheeks. I won't do injustice with myself just to comfort them. I know, happiness is a dominant emotion which always attracts us towards it and our primary focus of all doing is to get this. But is it right to let this emotion suppress others? The energy put in suppressing the emotions bounce back with the equal reaction. The sorrow I try to escape from will come back and hurt me more. ( According to psychology suppressing our emotions consciously and deliberately in times when there is no trauma can lead to damaging effects on our mind and body. This is how the sadness bounces back ) . So if anyone confesses about his sorrow. Tell him it's not a problem its a phase to be lived. The only difference now I see in happiness and sadness is. Happiness is practiced in front of world and sadness is being practiced in loneliness. It's same as failure hits you in public while success cherish you in private. The world can't exist where everyone is in joy, there is no grief, everyone's mouth is busy in laughing. I believe in God, if God has given me tears and sadness there may be a reason behind that. There are so many variations in our feelings then why to get stuck in only one. However if I wanna fulfill my crave of happiness there are so many articles making my ways through it. There are so many people chasing it but, they aren't as happy as they show. They do feel dejected at times and if they pretend as if they are always happy don't believe them. They are as humans as you and I am. I am blessed to know this fact at this little age. Otherwise, I would have been naive like others and spend my whole life chasing something while missing others. My life is full of tragedies, tears, smiles, confusion, love, care, talk, silence, peace, chaos. And so much , With this changed mindset I have build love for every moment. There are swings in my feelings and I love to ride this roller coaster. I hope you all do too. I am happy for getting tears too. Hmmm.. I don't need to be. If you want your life to be tasty then taste every emotion of life. The only way to be the happiest person is not to suppress the emotion of yours. Be sad when you feel so, cry when you need to, speak and let the words flow with your emotions, stay silent when you feel the need of, love yourself for the times you feel proud of being you, hate yourself for the times you are ashamed of your capabilities, let the chaos do its work. Feel boredom, fear, hope, pleasure, love everything because we have been given only one life to experience everything. Every emotion has its own importance and essence, we should learn to appreciate the creation of God as we are one of them. Happy life is a myth which everyone is expecting to get. Its a myth to only have smile and no tears so accepting the truth will make the tears easy to bear. How many times you have heard and seen "best ways to be happy or how to be happy every single day etc etc." But no matter how much we try to be happy we can't escape from experiencing the grief. Every person is preaching not to be sad. I do wanna know the reason. Is it bad to be sad or is it as shameful to human beings as showing our naked body as if we are showing our naked souls through these emotions. Who wanna live that monotone life where there is only smile and no tears?? Do you? I don't want to. Embrace your tears as much as you embrace your smiles. Appreciate pure and real feelings because they make us feel alive. '' . now i bet everyone knew something about Oussama ,

#love #romance #novel #book #life #writings #newwriter #socail life #life lessons

[yourescapetofiction]

The Tides Have Turned-Part 11

A/N: This is my old work, The Tides Have Turned. It is a complete story that I am reposting on this blog so the work isn’t lost and can be found for those interested :)

Eleven

I awoke the next morning by my own body clock. Damn it felt good to sleep in. I reached for my phone to see what time it was: 11 AM. Half the morning was already wasting away. I looked over to see Nate furiously typing out a message on his phone.

“Mornin’” he said with a big grin.

“Hey” I said rubbing my eyes. “Why didn’t you wake me up? It’s already eleven o’clock.”

“You looked so peaceful, I couldn’t disturb you. Besides its good for you, we were pretty busy last night” he said with a smirk.

“Yeah well we should think about getting back before a search team is sent for us” I say sitting up in bed. Nate just nodded in agreement. I took a shower, brushed my teeth, and tried to pull myself together the best that I could. Nate was shuffling through the room, gathering his things. He stopped to give the room one last look.

“I gotta say, I’m gonna miss this. It was like our own little paradise” he said with a hint of sadness. My heart stung at his words.

“I know, me too” I say softly rubbing his arm. We proceeded out of the hotel room and dropped the keys off in the lobby before heading to the bus. We drove back to the beach house in a comfortable silence. Nate held onto my hand tightly, resting on the center console. It was like he was savoring our last moments together before we were once again in the company of the guys. We slowly pulled up the drive and walked to the front door. It was open this time.

“Holy shit! There you guys are! Where the fuck were you?!” Johnson said climbing over the back of the couch and running towards us.

“We got pretty worried” Kenny said with wide eyes.

“You assholes locked us out last night!” I said accusingly. They all looked at each other in confusion.

“No we didn’t! Did we?!” Swazz asked trying to remember last night.

“Uhh yeah, we went for a walk on the beach remember? Then it started to downpour so we came back and you idiots had all the doors locked” I say crossing my arms.

“And none of you would answer your phones” Nate chimed in. A look of guilt washed across each of their faces.

“Holy shit, we are so so so sorry” G said bringing his hands together in a prayer formation.

“Yeah, yeah. Just thank your lucky stars that we found enough cash in the bus to get a hotel for the night” I say.

“Wait, wait. You took my slim jim money?!” J said raising his voice. Nate just shot him a look that said “don’t say another word.”

“I mean yeah, glad you were able to figure something out” J mumbled under his breath.

“Can we talk about what you’re wearing right now?” Sam said tugging on the jersey I had on.

“It’s all we had Samuel” I answer. “I’m gonna head upstairs to get changed, I’ll be back down” I add.

“You should wear that more often babe! Your ass looks cute in those briefs” Sam hollered behind me. I just flipped him the bird behind my back.

I emerged from my room about twenty minutes later in a fresh outfit. It felt good to be back in the house again. Nate was catching up with the guys, so I decided this was a good opportunity to confront Sammy about what he said to me last night. I walked over to the white leather couch and plopped myself down next to him. He was vibing to Bryson Tiller’s “Set You Free.”

“Hey babe” he smiled at me.

“Hey Sammy. So I think we need to have a talk about what you said to me last night” I say faking an overly serious tone. He immediately furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“Uh, should I be worried?” he said running his fingers through his hair.

“You tell me” I continue.

“Shit. What did I say?” he asked with baited breath.

“Oh just that someone in the house is in love with me” I let out a slight giggle now. To my surprise, he looked increasingly more nervous.

“Wh-what? I said that?” he said looking anywhere but at me.

“Yes Sam, you did. I want to know if you were talking out of your ass, or if you know something that I don’t” I say closing the gap between us. A few minutes of torture and Sam would spill his guts. He couldn’t bear to keep a secret, especially not from the squad.

“I was drunk, I didn’t know what I was saying. You know how I get” he nervously chuckled. This was really eating him, I could tell.

“Yeah I do know how you get, and I know that you often spill sober thoughts when you’re drunk” I say poking his arm. “It’s Gilinsky isn’t it?” I ask. His eyes shot wide open.

“Uh, yeah. Yes it is. You got me” he breathed a heavy sigh of relief.

“I knew it” I smirk victoriously. “Sammy boy, you’ve been a big help” I said while wrapping him in a hug, before getting up to go talk to the other boys.

Sam’s POV

Holy fucking shit, what did I just do? Oh my god, I think I just royally screwed things up. I need to stop drinking to oblivion, I end up getting myself into situations that I really regret later. Thank god I didn’t betray Nate, but now y/n’s convinced it is Jack and that could present an entirely new set of problems on its own. I don’t know why she got that in her head, but I unintentionally just threw Jack under the bus. I rubbed my eyes harshly, contemplating what to do.

I had to speak to Nate.

I found him in the kitchen, getting a bottle of water from the fridge.

“NATE!” I shout, barely containing my anxiety.

“Bro, what the fuck. You scared me” he said clutching his chest. “What’s up? Why do you look like you’re about to shit your pants?” he said placing his water on the counter.

“Because I am dude!” I say pacing in the kitchen.

“Sam, calm down. Spit it out” Nate said.

“Y/n came to talk to me about some shit I said when I was drunk, and she was staring into my soul, and I got nervous and-” I start rambling still pacing. My hands were running through my hair twenty to the dozen.

“I sort of told her that Gilinsky is in love with her” I spat.

“You did what?!” Nate half-shouted. His eyes were wide and his eyebrows shot up.

“I didn’t know what to do! I couldn’t very well tell her about our talk on the beach. She asked if it was G, and I panicked so I said yes” I shoot him a sorrowful look. Nate began pacing himself, his palms on his face.

“Fuck. She said some shit about that last night, but I didn’t think much of it. Now that you told her the same thing, she’s gonna go looking for answers” he said.

“Fuck, Sammy. What if G really does have feelings for her, and this ain’t made up at all?” Nate looked up with sheer terror. “We might have just pushed the two of them together” he said fraught with anxiety.

“Nate, calm down man. Don’t jump to conclusions” I say trying to calm him.

“What are we gonna do Sam?” he asked.

“We wait and see. Observe them together” I say. Nate looked uneasy, but agreed.

Nate’s POV

Sam and I walked back into the living room. We must have looked like we had seen a ghost because Johnson’s eyes widened at the sight of us.

“Woah, you guys okay?” he asked.

“Huh? Yeah man, all good” I reassure him.

“So what are the plans for tonight?” Sam said rubbing his hands together.

“Well there’s a party being thrown at one of the houses down the beach” Swazz said. “I got a text from one of the guys I used to shoot hoops with. We could go check that out” he continued.

“Hell yeah I’m down for a party” Cam said, with Nash nodding in agreement.

I wasn’t too sure if a party was really a good idea, but I wasn’t going to be the one guy that stopped the others. Besides, if y/n’s going, I am too.

Later that night…

I knocked softly on y/n’s door until I heard a faint “come in” on the other side. She was sitting at the vanity spritzing some perfume on her neck.

“Wow you look great” I said. She smiled widely at me.

“Thanks Skate.”

“You ready to go? The guys are all downstairs” I say.

“Yeah, let’s hit this” she said grabbing my arm.

We all made the walk down the beach towards the house Swazz said the party was at. He slid open the back door and we all entered, making our way around the people dancing.

“Hey man!” Swazz called out to a guy I vaguely recognized. They shook hands and exchanged a few words before he returned to us.

“Alright lady & gents, we’re good to go” he said. We all split up pretty much. Dillon, Cam, and Nash headed towards the bar, while Kenny, Johnson and Gilinsky chatted up some girls. The rest of us moved to the dance floor. I was never much of a dancer, but being with y/n changed that. She was so carefree, and a bit of that attitude has definitely rubbed off on me. We started twirling and moving to the music, with Sam dancing with a girl next to us. The song ended and the DJ was transitioning to another genre.

“I’m gonna get us some drinks!” y/n said before disappearing into the mixture of people. I was waiting for her to return, making small talk with some party goer next to me.

“Nate?! Nate Maloley! Is that you?” I heard a shrill voice call out. I spun around to see my ex-girlfriend Jessica sauntering towards me, her friends in close pursuit behind her. My eyes shot open, please not now. I was always sort of ashamed of dating Jessica, she wasn’t exactly a nice person. She was meant to be a rebound but it turned into a full blown relationship, and it was a tumultuous one at that.

She stalked closer, wearing five inch heels. I could smell vodka on her breath as she sloppily wrapped her arms around my neck, trying to hug me.

“What are you doing here?” I whisper harshly. It seemed like she had followed me everywhere I went since I broke things off with her. She could never fully accept the fact that I dumped her.

“Now, now. Is that the greeting that you give the love of your life?” she said before pressing her lips against mine. I heard the sound of glass shattering which caused my eyes to fly open. There stood y/n, staring us down. She looked angry. I could see her nostrils flare slightly, before she spun on her heel and stormed off.

“Get the fuck off me” I say peeling Jessica’s claws off of me. “Y/n! Wait up! Stop!” I shout weaving through people. “Get the fuck out of my way” I said pushing some drunk frat boys out of my path. She wasn’t stopping, even though I knew she heard my calls. I lost her in the crowd, due to the party becoming packed.

“FUCK!” I shout as loud as I can.

Y/n’s POV

I was fuming mad at what I had just seen. My emotions got the better of me, and instinctively took over. It didn’t take me long to figure out that the bleached-blonde girl clawing at Nate was his ex, Jessica. I knew who she was, but Nate was always guarded when it came to talking about her. None of us ever really pushed the subject. We moved on, figuring something deep must have happened between the two of them. To tell the truth, I didn’t even know why I was reacting this way. It’s not like Nate and I were a couple, and I caught him cheating. But it felt that way.

I knew this arrangement between him and I would come back and bite me in the ass. Friends are not meant to enter this territory, it completely complicates everything. These were the feelings that I wanted to avoid-hurt, jealousy. Nate called after me, probably wanting to explain himself, but he didn’t have to. I needed to take a breather, get away from him. My judgement was becoming clouded when I was around him, but I was beginning to see things crystal clear.

Nate and I weren’t an item. Probably never will be, so my time was best spent elsewhere. I made my way to where I saw a couple of the guys chilling in the corner. They were drinking, chatting up girls, and generally having a good time.

“What’s wrong?” Johnson’s face fell as soon as he saw me.

“Nate and Jessica” I answer, not needing any further explanation.

“Woah, what?!” J said. He knew as well as I did that Jessica was a touchy subject for Nate.

“Y/n! There you are. Why did you run from me?” Nate said interrupting our conversation. I just rolled my eyes and turned back to Johnson.

“Not now Nate” I answer tersely.

“You need to let me explain, I-”

“You what Nate? You don’t owe me an explanation. In fact, you don’t owe me shit” I say, catching Nate off guard.

“I got the message loud and clear. You don’t want me. I was just a quick fuck” I spat out hatefully. His eyes flashed with pain. I was making a scene, our friends gathering closely around us. Their eyes were wide at my admission of Nate and I’s tryst.

“I know when I’m not wanted, so I’ll go where I am—with Gilinsky. He loves me” I say for all to hear.

Everyone gasped, shocked at my words. But none more so than Jack Gilinsky. I could see him spit out the beer he was sipping, slightly choking at the sound of my words. The girl next to him looked pissed that she had wasted her time coming on to him.

“I WHAT?” he exclaims.

#jack gilinsky #Jack Gilinsky Imagine #jack gilinsky fanfic #Jack Johnson #jack johnson imagine #jack johnson fanfic #Jack and Jack #sam wilkinson #sammy wilk #sam wilkinson imagine #sam wilk imagine #sam wilkinson fanfic #nate maloley #nate maloley imagine #Nate maloley fanfic #nate maloley fanfiction #skate maloley #ogoc #ogoc imagine #ogoc fanfiction #Omaha Boys #omaha squad #omaha imagines #omaha fanfiction #omahasquadislife #yourescapetofiction #the tides have turned #magcon #kenny holland #cam dallas

[cartoonfangirl1218]

EoA name meanings

I was listening to the @themagicwithinpc podcast and I’ve been just amazed by how detailed oriented the EoA team is. It’s like they have our meanings behind everything. And since I’ve seen a few posts about the meanings of the Los Cuatros Amigos, Isabel and Esteban, I decided I would see if they put that same amount of detail to minor characters. And I found out, they have.

Luisa Flores: Spanish/Portuguese origin meaning “renowned warrior.” And how! We have seen Luisa when she is angry or competitive, you don’t want to mess with grandmama bear, 

Francisco Flores: Spanish/Portuguese form of “Francis,” meaning “Frenchman or free man.” So I suppose it is a tribute to his former vigilantism and keeping Avalor safe and free. 

Armando Gutierrez: Armando's name means "army man" in any language. Gutierrez is of Jewish-Spanish origin meaning Son of Walter and derived of Gutierre meaning "he who rules. This seemed like a joke until I remembered Armando’s very brave actions against the supposed chonopos in Blockheads. As for his last name, he is chief of the castle so he rules the staff. 

Higgins: "Higgins is of Irish origin meaning "intelligence" which I suppose could be a fun irony that the creators chose for him.

Alonso Ramon: Alonso has Spanish-Germanic origins and has a variety of meanings such as "eager," "noble," "ready." Ramon is a Spanish sure-name meaning "counsel protection." Alonso’s first name is perfect. His whole song was about how tough it was to be a royal and how he wanted to be free to have fun. I would like to think his last name indicates that he will grow into a wise king like his father. 

Valentina Montanez Torres: Feminine form of Valentine and meaning "strong, vigorous, powerful." All perfect adjectives Manual would give his princess. Montanez means mountains and Torres means towers in Spanish. Perhaps we will go to Paraíso some day and see that the castle has lots of towers on a mountain? 

Marisa: Latin origin meaning "star of the sea." No explanation needed. She is a beloved treasure out of the sea and in. 

Marzel: Seems to be taken from the French name, Marcel which means "little warrior.” While we don’t have enough of his personality to go off of yet, he is the protective type. So warrior it is. 

Pescoro: Italian origin derived from pesci meaning fish. No doubt to reference his sirena status. 

Camila:" Latin-origin. Meaning "young, ceremonial attendant." I did not find this to fit at all with Camila's high status as queen and how she is clearly on equal ground with her husband. So I searched the flower meaning. Camillas represent different stages of love, and were used in marriage ceremonies to promote faithfulness and long lasting devotion. Depending on the color they can also represent passion, desire, excellence.

Daria: Greek and Persian origin meaning "maintains possessions well" and "sea."  Uh yes she does. She guards Coronando with her life against those torpedos. 

Cristobal Flores: Spanish form of Christopher, meaning "bearing Christ." I think this was supposed to be one of those really ironic name. Or just referencing Christopher Columbus who committed genocide on the native peoples in pursuit of gold which you could argue is what Cristobal was willing to do to his family and the sirenas for Shuriki.

Carla Delgado: Carla's name has many different meanings depending which origin you take it from. So I chose the ones that best fit her which was the Italian for "free man" and "strong." 

Victor: Victor's name is of Latin origin for "conquerer" or fittingly enough, "victor." Delgado is a Spanish sure name meaning "thin, slender, dainty, exquisite."

Fiero: Italian origin for "proud." Which is what made him take his rejection of royal wizard position so harshly. He felt his pride and abilities were being disrespected. Plus he continues to see himself as superior to those he is working with like the Delgados. Not that I blame him. 

Rafa de Alva: Rafa is a Spanish name meaning "God has healed." While De Alva means "of Elf." While the first one seems to fit common hc that Rafa would use her magic to heal, I’m not sure what to say about the Elf last name. 

Alacazar: Derived from the Spanish "alcazar" which is any fortress built by the Spanish moors and Alacazar was the last barrier between Shuriki and Elena, as he went to protect the royal family. Plus Alcazar is the Spanish verb “to reach” which he definitely reached high fame and knowledge, 

Daniel and Scarlet Turner: Daniel is a Hebrew name meaning "God is my judge." Scarlett is another type of red. Turner is a French-originated neame meaning "starling." While I’m not sure how to interpret Daniel’s name, I think Turner could indicate how sailors use stars to figure out the direction of their ships. Or just indicate that their daughter will be a star someday. 

Julio Guzman and Carmen Guzman: Julio is Spanish for the month of July, it also means youthful. Carmen is a latin name meaning "song.” Julio’s fits perfectly but I’m not sure about Carmen. I suppose we need to hear her sing more but now the Carmen opera makes sense to me. Anyway, Guzman is Spanish form of "Good man” which is perfect because Julio is a good man of commonor status chosen to be a Magister for the needs of the people. 

Prof. Mendoza: Basque surename meaning "cold mountain." No idea what that means for her? I guess it could be because lots of ruins like temples are found at mountainsides. 

Olivia: Latin name meaning "olive tree" and we all know that the olive represents wisdom and usefulness which is exactly what Olivia strives for her wizard training. To become wise and to be helpful to others. 

Rico Villalobos: Both of Spanish origin Rico means "brave ruler" and Villalobos is "town wolf." Rico is a brave guard in battle and I suppose his bullying behavior could be compared to an alpha wolf trying to be in charge of the pack. 

Hortensia Paloma: Latin for "of garden" which made no sense for her character so I looked up the flower meaning again. Hortensia is Latinized form of hydragena which symbolize boasting, not thinking of others, vanity, prosperity, understanding between two people. Paloma is Spanish for dove, those symbolize purity, and gentleness which doesn't fit her at all in my opinion.

Amara: Latin for "everlasting.” It doesn’t specify what is everlasting so I choose to interpret that she has everlasting loyalty and friendship to Isabel. 

Cristina: Latin for “follower of Christ.” Not really sure how to interpret this one to fit her character. 

Quique: Spanish for "home ruler.” Quinque was the ruler of the classroom before he gained the friendship of Isabel so maybe he will be a big authority figure when he is older. 

Tomiko: Japense origin for "happiness child" which fits Tomiko to a T.

#tomiko #quique #amara #doña paloma #rico villalabos #olivia #professor mendoza #julio guzman #carmen guzman #daniel turner #scarlett turner #alacazar #rafa de alva #fiero #carla delgado #victor delgado #cristobal flores #daria #king pescoro #queen camila #princess marisa #prince marzel #princess valentina #prince alonso #higgins #armando gutierrez #luisa flores #francisco flores #elena of avalor #name meanings

[spytap]

A Eulogy For My Mother

“I love you madly.”

Those weren’t the last words my mother spoke to me, but it was how she ended the call where I found out about her cancer. It was what she wanted me to remember.

And it worked. I really only remember about half of that call, but that particular phrase stuck with me. It wasn’t one she’d ever said before, but it somehow felt familiar. I knew then, that no matter how long the treatment would last, or how optimistic she would pretend to be when we spoke, that was the moment she said goodbye. That was how she wanted me to remember her. She loved me madly.

My mother was a wonderful study in contradictions. She reveled in surprising people and subverting expectations. Witty and independent and opinionated and kind, she was 5 foot one half inch of firecrackers and feminism, equal parts wild horse breaking country girl, and subdued suburban matriarch, trying so desperately to raise her rambunctious sons with some amount of decor and grace.

When I think of my mother, I think of her love of words. While Shakespeare always had a special place in her heart, words were sacred and storytelling was a gift from the gods. We were taught to read early, and our house always had thousands of books. And if we were really really good, we could go to the library later and get some more.

But I also have a very distinct memory of her gleefully singing along to Eric Clapton’s song “Cocaine” as we drove to church. She told me this was perfectly okay because it was - and I’ll quote her - “good music” - as if that settled the manner, and was the only question a nine year old could have about that particular situation.

My mother had the soul of an artist and the heart of a rebel, and I’m pretty sure she would have loved that I told that story at church because she reveled in counterpointing punk and proper - which is as appropriate a metaphor for Sandy as I can think of.

My mother was born and immediately given up, an aspect of her life that would defy her attempts to understand, reconcile, and identify it, even as she sought to never let it define her. Her adoptive parents considered the topic off-limits for discussion, so much of her life would be lived with a question mark overshadowing her experiences. Who am I and where did I come from? Are these interests and choices mine, or part of my mysterious biology? Why won’t anyone tell me? Most of her life would be spent in the search for her biological family, for answers to questions that could never be answered in absentia, and for a place in the world that was more than just existence. For a family. And a place. And a past.

Her childhood in rural Oregon was spent in contradiction as well - with a prim and proper southern mother and a grease-monkey father whose reputation was built on being fair and honest to everyone, regardless of their race, gender, or religion - an uncommon trait at the time, but one that she chose to absorb and uphold her entire life, proudly talking at length about his reputation for fairness even just a few months ago.

Her mother’s dream was for Sandy to grow up to be … a secretary. I’ll hold for wild uproarious laughter from those who knew her. Much to her mother’s chagrin, Sandy’s nature was drawn to wilder and more independent pursuits than her mother’s nurture. In grade school she tested at a genius level, and was school president by fourth grade. By twelve she was helping her father run his service station. In high school she was the only girl in chess club. In college she challenged her professors, and drove a bright yellow convertible named Chiquita Bug, and lived alone with her dog, and for a very brief period of time, was a bouncer in a British pub.

Throughout it all there were horses. Wild horses that no one else could ride; broken horses that no one else could fix. The occasional untrainable horse that she secretly trained out behind the barn for six months before her father found out. And Saber the pony - who she described, with a slowly widening grin, as “a very naughty pony.” Because when they brought him home, Saber immediately got into the horse’s feed, ate everything, and then broke out of the yard entirely to wander off and have his own adventure, which immediately put him in Mom’s good graces.

You see, my mother also loved naughty things.

After college, she and David married, and they moved to San Francisco. She described the time fondly, speaking of working in finance, being surrounded by artists and musicians, wearing fabulous platform shoes, and dancing in the streets. But the city wore on that part of her that missed a more country life. So they moved to Sacramento - the city she would call home for the largest part of her life - in search of something more.

What she found was something she never expected: kids. I remember a conversation I had with my mom as an adult, when I told her that I didn’t think that Beth and I would have children. It just wasn’t what we wanted, and I hoped she would understand. She took a long sip of wine, and told me “I understand.” And then a long pause before a small, mischievous grin and “Yeah, your father really had to talk me into that one.”

But our childhood was full of learning and science and creativity and love. We got lost in the woods until dark, and spread a thousand legos out on the carpet, and played soccer on the weekends (with mom yelling at the referees or the coach from time to time) and built things in the garage. We read and wrote and sung and danced. We learned independence and broke rules and occasionally raised hell exactly like she did when she was growing up.

And she loved us madly.

In her thirties, sick of being overlooked and under appreciated in the private sector, Mom got involved in nonprofits - something she would continue for the rest of her life. From politics, to women’s groups, to the arts, she wore her beliefs on her sleeve, and was happy making a difference one person at a time.

Sandy was a strong, smart, confident woman before those were compliments - wearing proudly the scars from battles of what women should and should not do, say, or think - and she remained so her entire life - an example to all of us. My mother was also fiercely intelligent and curious, and challenged us to be the same. She never stopped learning, always collecting new hobbies and passion projects, and her stacks of interests and intentions always made our house feel like it was a mad scientist’s laboratory full of undiscovered treasure, uncompleted projects, and academic wonders.

She also collected people. From Portland to San Francisco, to Sacramento, she built her own family. From friends. From my father. From children. From the countless other surrogate children who were taken up under her wing and offered food, protection, culture, and knowledge.

As I became a teenager, friends of mine became new children of hers; treated no differently from me, and given both love and chores when around the house. Then there were exchange students, first a trickle, then a flood. Age wasn’t a factor either, as friends of hers often became new family to us. When someone she knew needed a home, or advice, or just a kind ear, she offered up hers without question, judgment, or reservation. And our home was always full of art, and love, and dancing, and wine, as needed. Somehow, her nature encouraged those around her to trust her, to confide in her, and to welcome her sometimes pointed opinions, suggestions, and advice.

The woman who was talked into children ended up with dozens, spread all across the world, all of whom loved her dearly. The woman who grew up without a family, built her own. All of whom, she loved madly.

And then, in her late fifties, and after decades of searching, Sandy finally found her biological family. She found her mother first - who was petite, opinionated, smart, and adventurous. A few years later, she found her father - a pilot and a professor. And through him, she found dozens of new relatives. Visiting this family and getting to know them was one of the joys of her life. She finally had an answer to so many of her questions, and she found those answers within, as she once wrote, “a bunch of creatives and storytellers.”

High praise indeed, because my mother believed in the power of art and creativity above almost all else. Her knowledge was deep and her tastes were eclectic. She loved The Beach Boys and Queen and David Bowie and The Doors … but also Metallica, and the occasional dubstep mashup. She loved old Katherine Hepburn films and modern indie movies … but also had a genuine love for dumb comedies such as her perennial favorite, Dodgeball. And as a brief sidebar - if you ever watched Monty Python’s Flying Circus on Sacramento’s PBS station, you have Sandy to thank for that - she loved it so much in San Francisco that she forced David to make PBS bring it here.

Growing up, Mom taught us early the power of stories, and art, and culture. And having left her mark on both of us, the second half of her life was also marked by her work with arts and theatre programs. She spent several decades performing with Junior League Children’s Theater, and working with various other programs to bring arts and culture into the classroom. But in the last seven years, appalled that no one else was taking on the task, Sandy took a more direct approach and began teaching and directing Shakespeare at local grade and high schools. She would spend months planning, weeks scouring local thrift stores for props and costumes, and talk for hours about the amazing transformations her kids had undertaken.

She loved them madly.

I miss my mother with all of my heart. I miss the way she laughed freely and often. I miss the way that she somehow, throughout her entire life, always found new ways to surprise me with scandalous tales or unexpected interests - often responding to my shock with a glint in her eye and “You know dear, I was a real person before I was your mother.” I miss the way she would get excited about something and hop up and down just a little bit, as if her vigor was literally bursting out of her from head to toe. I miss her voice, and her smile, and her presence every day.

Sandy valued intelligence, creativity, kindness, and hard work, and all of her friends exhibited at least one of these traits - often several. She was proudly rebellious. She was resolutely fair in a firmly unfair world. She was a fierce promotor for second chances and for finding the good in people. She was a champion for curiosity, and an advocate of the idea that art could change the world.

My mother loved horses, Shakespeare, champagne, and Lake Tahoe. She loved sports cars, Paris, and fashion. She made us put napkins in our laps at McDonalds, but owned a purple baseball cap that read “Got Wine?” - and wore it frequently. She considered leopard print a neutral color. Movies were always too loud, but “good music” could always be turned up “just a hair.” She talked about Oregon as if it was a heavenly place, and her dogs as if they were people. She hated surprises, but loved surprising others. She treated strangers like friends, and friends like family.

Sandy touched a thousand lives. Perhaps tens of thousands. Young and old. Near and far. And I expect every single one of them would say that in her own special way, she loved them madly.

#personal

[wisdomrays]

KEY CONCEPTS OF SPIRITUALITY IN ISLAM : The horizons of tranquility

People have always dreamed of attaining peace of mind since the day the first foot was set on the Earth; people have longed for peace of mind, pursuing and struggling in a multitude of ways to obtain it. Sometimes people have connected tranquility to working hard and earning financial wealth; sometimes they have tied it to living to their heart's content and to boundless freedom; at other times, peace of mind has been seen as being in the possession of advanced technological means and the achievement of physical comfort; or at times it has been connected to eating and drinking and the satisfaction of carnal desires. People have bound their lives up in the attainment and possession of these means. On this misty, dusty road people have sometimes lived in hope, have sometimes experienced disappointment and writhed in despair, but never have they reached the longed for expectation; it is impossible via these routes, as the peace of mind that they are in pursuit of is the fruit of virtue within faith and can only be attained through perfect faith. This has also been the essence of the call of the prophets.

The essence of this call for peace and peace of mind can be instituted when individuals turn toward God and submit themselves to Him with all of their being: it is impossible for a person of faith who has achieved submission to this degree to continuously be a slave to bodily desires, nor is it possible such a person to fear anything but God or feel any anxiety. For now, just as these people have found the One that they have been searching for and as they find the beloved toward whom they have directed their love, they also find themselves at peace, for they have been sheltered in the refuge of Eternal Omnipotence in front of whose majesty they will always feel awe and respect. They are at peace, for they know that the Endless Omnipotence and Grace never abandons those who have turned their faces toward Him, whoever they may be, and He never lets them wallow in misery.

For this reason, people of faith are always at peace and always feel secure. They know that they will reach the desired destination if they continue walking, associating everything with Him. They will be safe all along the way and will, in the distance, experience "the wedding night" of being in close proximity; they will walk toward the purpose of existence with the guidance of the Qur'an, with the trust that the faith in their hearts promises, with breezes of submission wafting through their emotions and conscience and with the supervision of the Divine Master. With all of these they can overcome all the hellish pits of corporeal attachments and the insatiable appetites of their desires and fancies. Indeed, those who enter the atmosphere of the Qur'an and who take refuge in His guidance always feel a deep contentment and an unshakable trust in their hearts when they breathe of safety. As they listen to their conscience, as they gaze upon objects, as they contemplate the tomorrows of both the near and far future, i.e. the future stretching until eternity, as they take into consideration the Barzah (the place where the souls will wait till Judgment Day), Mahshar (the place where all the dead and living will meet on Judgment Day), Sirat (the very narrow bridge which leads to Heaven), Hell, and Heaven, they carry a remarkable awareness of their duty and a feeling of responsibility, and they are also filled with a deep feeling of hope. This feeling of hope is directly proportional to the depth of the faith in their breasts. They gaze upon objects through such a specific window of benevolence, given unto them as befits the breadth of their faith, that should the curtain of physical existence be completely drawn back, they will find the things that they see and the experiences beyond that window akin to the things that they feel and experience here. Due to the nature of earthly confinement, they will come face to face with what they have felt briefly on the Earth beyond this window in fine detail, and they will smile at their good fortune.

Indeed, faith is the magical key to happiness in this world and the Hereafter and promises a virtuous end to those who pass their lives under its banner. Faith promises a bright time of Barzah, giving glad tidings of a gentle and warm resurrection, whispering an octave of the Divine Scale that is pleasant to our souls, making our hearts feel our approaching adventure on the Sirat Bridge with its depths of hope and poise. Heaven opens its doors with content and comprehension, with surprises that exceed all expectations and presents us with blessings from the Tree of Heaven, blessings that make us forget even the most troubleladen and painful moments of this life!

In fact, when people of faith turn toward God with all their being, everything else disappears from sight. All false powers and desires deflate like pricked balloons. All physical lights which have occasionally dazzled their eyes with their false glitter are attenuated in the face of His divine light that shines into our hearts; all around we hear, resounding: "Today all wealth and possessions belong to God, the Absolute Victor." A heart which has attained this level is free from the deceptive promises of all seductive powers, forces, kindness, and grace and turns only toward God and awaits help only from Him. When such people are in trouble or shaken by difficulties, they trust in and lean on Him. They seek protection against all threats, taking refuge in the sanctuary of His grace, benevolence and help.

When such people weaken, they enter the advice of His transcending power. When they are tainted by sin, they run to His basin of forgiveness to cleanse themselves, dispersing the fog and smoke that has occasionally enveloped their horizon by putting faith in Him and submitting themselves to Him. Thus, they walk toward the future without submitting to any phenomena that may appear in their way. They solve all their individual, familial, and social problems by connecting with Him and they never fear, or feel a loneliness that cannot be overcome in their souls. At times they may be subjected to temporary loneliness in public, but thanks to their faith and submission, they always feel the breeze of "divine companionship." Whatever befalls them, they take it as a warning sign from fate, and welcome such transactions with assent and patience.

Their faith in God and the characteristics of their faith open up the possibility of acquainting themselves with everything, and thus they see all existence—living or not—as a family. They make contact with the rest of creation, taking an active part in the life of things and in their conscience they feel the vastness of the of vicegerent which has been bequeathed to them. They perceive that all things have been created for their benefit, and they bow in gratitude, realizing that they are hand in hand with the perception of angels and the souls of the universe. They find the ground that they walk upon, the lowland and the heath, as warm as ancestral residences, and they feel as at home there as if they were in their mother's cradle. They evaluate existence in a way that in no way resembles materialist and naturalist depictions, but with the eye of a person of faith who associates everything with God, and in response, they receive recognition from all that is around them. They receive messages of confidence from all the things with which they come into contact and respond with an attitude expressing the same confidence. They are not afraid of anyone and do not cause anyone to fear; they embrace all as their brethren. They shower smiles upon all things; they sip water, breath air and accept all manners of presents as blessings from God. They inhale the scent of the Earth and those that it gives birth to as if it were the sweetest of aromas. They salute the orchards and gardens, the mountains and valleys, the grasses and trees, the roses and the flowers with the language of their heart, as if these things too had senses. They caress all creatures that they encounter as if they were friends assigned to keep them company in this guesthouse. With every action they demonstrate that they have been sent to the Earth as a sign for agreement and reconciliation.

Thus, people of faith who, with this vast faith of theirs, see everyone and everything through this framework, feel themselves to be in an expansive atmosphere of peace, so much so that it would make all other people jealous if they were but aware. These people are overjoyed with the inexpressible pleasures of living with faith. Indeed, there are no fights, no disputes; they expend all their energy on making other people feel what they feel and enjoy, on sharing these sincere feelings with everyone; they strive to lead everyone to this song of joy by uncovering the horizons of others to whatever degree they can. They are always a few steps behind ordinary living because of their efforts to cause other people to experience these joys. In all of their acts, they have eternal trust in God; they take care never to posit themselves deliberately against other people. Indeed, on the one hand, they feed their own, relative, power with the omnipotence of God; on the other, they also try to attain the support of other people of faith who are like them. They transform all powers that may stand against them into a new depth of their capabilities, thus walking toward their goal as if they were flying. They walk toward the goal of reaching peace with faith, the goal of making other people believe, and toward the achievement of God's pleasure.

If truth be told, a society where individuals have reached such a state of satisfaction, where they love and respect one another and where they are connected with a bond of the heart is a society that is the perfect candidate for peace. It is the perfect candidate, because the factors that may lead its members to unease and the creation of factions have totally disappeared. Among these people, there are no considerations or privileges of nobility, ancestry, region, or status. These people, who see all people and all things as stemming from the same root, are brethren in the fullest meaning of the word. The Qur'an calls attention to this deep truth when it says, the people of faith are only brethren to one another (AlHujraat 49:10). This is not just a physical kinship; in the words of the Prophet, they are strongly bound to each other by love, affection, and sincerity, like organs of the same body, and they always feel the pain of other's in their hearts, and suffer the agony, share their joys, and experience the same happiness together.

Indeed, they are like each other's eyes and ears, tongue and lips, hands and feet. In this society, every individual has devoted themselves to facilitate another's life, to do all that they can for the happiness of others. Consequently, there is no abandonment or wallowing in despair among such people. When one is hurt, all the others feel this pain in their hearts. All join in the feast of happiness when one partakes of it. Again, in this society, parents are respected like saints, children are raised with diligent care, as if they were flowers. Spouses, even when they have grown gray together, treat each other with the joy of their first day, with contemplation of the eternal togetherness in the Hereafter. They try to live their lives following a route of the heart and mind, beyond the limits of emotional relationships. They are true to each other to the degree that no stranger's shadow is ever reflected in their eyes. This harmony in the family is also true for the nation, which is considered to be a larger family; in a nation composed of such families, all will love and respect one another, all will regard each other with affection, all will wish well for others and all will try to extinguish evil to the best of their ability. No one thinks bad thoughts about anyone, and no one holds another in suspicion. No one uses people as spies against one another. One section of society does not devote its existence to the destruction of another. No one, no one at all, engages in acts like complicity, mendacity, deceit, and slander; these are the habits of the lowest sort of people. In this society of peace, each individual is at battle with all that is negative; it is as if they have sworn to protect human values. As a result, this society becomes a society of conscience and peace.

#islam #muslim #quran #god #allah #reverthelp #reverthelp team #muslim revert #muslim convert #islam convert #islam revert #reminder #prayer #salah #dua #pray #mohammad #muslimah #hijabi #hijab #welcome to islam #convert to islam #how to convert islam

[amytaylcr]

how a resurrection really feels

TAGGING → Janey & Amy Taylor LOCATION → The Taylor family home TIMEFRAME → Monday, October 15, morning

The sound of footsteps echoed through the empty house as Amy went out on a search for the rest of her family members. It was no more than eight in the morning on a Monday in October, and though she knew her parents worked, the house always buzzed with life even when they’ve left. Amy and Aubrey, at the very least, were usually around until later into the morning. Now that Janey had arrived to town with her fiance, one of them could be found hanging around the kitchen, either fixing up breakfast or flipping through bridal magazines for inspiration, but not this morning.

“Mom?” Amy called out in a voice that hasn’t shed all traces of sleep, grabbing a muffin that was set on a tray on the kitchen island. The silence resounded, almost alarming, and not entirely welcome. She continued her pursuit for other occupants until at last she caught the sound of gentle humming from the front lawn.

With the change in weather and dips in temperature, mornings tended to get a little chillier than in the summer, but the vivid burst of warm hues in the treetops still drew people out. The skies remained a clear, soft blue interrupted by the fluffy, cotton-like clouds splayed all over, as the Sun made its trek from one end of the horizon towards the other. She drew the strings of the white knit sweater more tightly around her body, as she stepped out on the front porch and greeted the day. The day, and her mother kneeling just below the porch, picking at the flowers planted there and humming a melody that sounded all too like a Taylor Swift song.

“Mom.” An amused frown pulled at Amy’s eyebrows as she looked down at Janey, hands protected with large green garden gloves.

“Morning, baby,” she responded with a radiant smile, exactly like Aubrey’s. “I was taking care of the flowers, the perennials really need to be taken down to the basement until spring, and I’ve spotted some wonderful bulbs I think will look gorgeous with the house.”

Flower talk. Not exactly Amy’s forte, so she nodded her head and bit into the muffin she brought.

“Where’s everyone else?”

“Running errands, going to work, you know how it goes,” Janey explained, squinting up at her eldest. They haven’t really been alone since Janey returned to Wilmington, always something or someone conveniently getting in the way, and Janey wasn’t about to let the chance slip through her fingers. Deciding that gardening could wait until later, she pulled the gloves off and stood up. “Do you want some coffee? I haven’t had my cup yet, and I like having company.”

An answer wasn’t really needed or expected, as she wrapped an arm around Amy’s waist and guided them back into the quiet house, a sense of dread settling in Amy’s stomach the way it always did when she did something wrong, and her parents wanted to talk. 

Janey busied herself with the drip coffee maker as Amy munched idly on the muffins, a clear sign she wasn’t hungry but rather nervous. Shaking her head no to adding milk or sugar in her cup, Amy closed her hands around it and waited for the other shoe to drop. Right on cue, after an entire two moments worth of silence, Janey settled at the kitchen island opposite Amy and the twisted knot in her daughter’s insides tightened.

“Amy, honey, you know… I was talking to Aubrey the other day,” she paused to take a sip, knowing this was a topic she should approach with caution, “and I’m worried about you. What’s going on, what’s got you this way?” The concern in her soft voice was palpable and it grated against Amy’s nerves.

“Mom, honestly, I just got up. I haven’t had my coffee, yet. Can this wait?” She pleaded, but her eyes remained trained firmly on the cup with the brown liquid, the smell of which overpowered any other scents in the room.

“Honey, it’s waited long enough,” was the simple response her mother had given her, love and concern still coating her voice, but there was a firmness in it that backed Amy into a corner. “I know losing Brooks has had consequences on you that we’re only now becoming aware of, but baby this has got to stop. You need to work on it, get through on the other side of it. It’s not too late, you know?”

The magic potion no longer tasted good, not when Amy’s insides churned and bile rose to her throat at the mention of Brooks. A trembling took hold of her slender fingers that not even holding a mug between her hands could settle. Color drained from her face, and her hazel eyes grew unfocused, finding a spot on the wall behind Janey to rest on. She sat there, quiet and stewing, as Janey proceeded.

“I’m worried about you, I’m worried about Bree. The two of you have gone through some big events in your life, and you’ve both turned to the same dangerous habits instead of leaning on us, on your family. You know that we’re here for you, always, no matter what.” She reached across the island to give Amy’s wrist a gentle squeeze, but her daughter pulled it away as if singed by her mother’s touch.

“Don’t,” she warned, her gaze drawn back to her mother’s face. “You weren’t here, you don’t know what it’s been like for me, you don’t know what it’s been like for Bree. You left us, remember?” The accusation in her words was one that had been sitting on her chest since she was a teenager and resented her mother for leaving them. A divorce was a tough pill to swallow (and Amy would know, she’s tried quite a few), but even that she could understand… But moving to another city, in a different state? God, the grudges Amy’s been holding onto reached as far back as to the late years of her childhood, and it’s been clear she’s been tending to them with the same care her mother tended to the flowers in their garden. They were the single constant in Amy’s life, after all.

“That’s not fair, Amy.” The soft, caring voice now shook as she spoke. Good, someone else’s nerves were being struck that day. “I didn’t leave you, your father and I agreed it was better not to uproot your lives and move you away, and I had to find my path. Just like you and Aubrey should find yours now.”

“So, what, should we move away and be on our own? I’ve tried that, mom, it didn’t work. In fact, I’m worse off for doing it. I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things I’ll never forget or forgive myself, and for what? Just to come back crawling here so mommy and daddy can fix me?” The bitterness oozed from her voice as she spat the words at her mother. Resentment saturated her features, and it remained to be seen if it was a sentiment she harbored for herself or the woman that gave birth to her.

“No, that’s what I’m trying to tell you. You don’t need to go anywhere to find what you already have here. We don’t want to fix you, we want to help you. But you need to want that help first.”

“I’ll let you know when that happens,” Amy scoffed bitterly, thinking she was done with the worst of it.

“Baby, help comes in many shapes, from people we least expect. What is it I hear about you and Greer’s brother? Aubrey told me you two had something, that he’s made you happier than she can remember seeing you. What happened there?”

Goddamn it, Bree, Amy cursed internally, the bridge leading into the fortress of her heart raised at the very mention of Cass. Cass, who made her happy, who made her smile. Cass, who she refused to let herself like. Cass, who she pushed away and hurt, emotionally and physically. Cass, who was the first one to make her feel like the woman she could have been had she not shrouded herself in darkness and guilt.

“It’s over.” The shrug of her shoulders hid the torrent of complaints her heart yelled at her gut that kept telling her to push him away.

“Why? From what I understand, he felt the same way about you, didn’t he?”

“Look, mom, I’m not a teenager. We don’t need to talk about boys to feel closer than we are.” She shook her head and laid her hands on the island, getting ready to leave the scene of the crime. “There’s nothing between Cass and me and that’s all you need to know.”

A sad smile sprawled over Janey’s lips as the defenses rose around her daughter, like a hedgehog that curled into a ball, the softness of the inside protected by the hard spines of the outside. Amy took after her mother that way, and Janey always wished she could handle herself better than that. If Amy learned to control it, maybe that would be enough.

“You think we─ I don’t know what you’re doing? What’s happening? Baby, it’s been fifteen years since he died. I know you miss him, God knows we all do, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself. You can’t keep punishing and condemning yourself for wanting to be happy when you deserve it, when he’d want that for you.”

The steel of Amy’s gaze was softened with tears welling in her hazel eyes as her mother spoke with the same cloudiness in her own.

“I can’t imagine how difficult it’s been for you to lose someone you loved so much, but the answer to dealing with that grief isn’t to end your life before it even started.” The older woman moved around the kitchen island to reach the daughter that stood still, unable to so much as blink, let alone move away. “We all have our processes, our ways of dealing with grief, but honey, I don’t think you’ve ever really dealt with yours.” A tentative hand reached out to smooth down Amy’s honey-dipped waves, expecting her to recoil again. When that didn’t happen, she tugged her daughter to her chest, a hand rubbing her back.

“I talked to Lorelai about it the other day. And as much as she loves you as her own daughter, she worries you’ve misplaced your affection, that you’ve twisted it and now you don’t know how to get out of that knot, and─”

“Will you all stop talking about me behind my back,” she all but screamed, pulling away from her mother’s comforting embrace. “I don’t care what you all think, I care what I think, what I feel, and what I believe he felt. I don’t think his dying wish was for me to be happy with another man,” a manic laughter spilled from her lips at that. “We were planning forever together, we were going to get married, I still have the ring he never told me he bought. I’ve sold just about everything I ever owned to get another hit, but I never sold that. Doesn’t that tell you something, doesn’t it?!”

“It tells me you are loyal to a ghost, to someone who is no longer here with us. And to what end? What will your life mean in the long run? What will his, if you’re not better for the love he gave you, for the love he taught you to give?”

The words pierced through Amy’s armor, found a weak spot in her defenses and slammed into them with all the strength Janey could muster to break her daughter’s shell. It started with a brick by brick, but before long entire walls of the fortification around her heart crumbled to dust and fell with the force of Amy’s sobs, a crescendo of ache. Rubble gathered at the foot of Amy’s heart no longer defended by the walls of bitterness and grief, glued together by guilt. All that was left was a heart battered and broken so long ago every beat was a struggle, and a cherished moment of life.

After fifteen years of drowning under the surface with Brooks, looking for his lifeless body in the waves, seeking a way to be dragged to the eternal, black depths with him, Amy broke through the surface and gasped.

She was alive.

Turning to her mother for comfort, she threw herself into the embrace of the single woman she’s missed her entire life, and wept like she hadn’t let herself since that day on the graveyard. Wept until there was nothing inside her but a desire to live.

#solo para #ft. janey #tw: death mention #tw: drug mention #honestly this is so long i hate myself #but it's so important #we're finally at the end of the road kids #and i'm just so HAPPY #let the healing begin #it's a few days late but idc shhh