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fathersappointed · 3 years

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The World has fallen for it!

I guess I’ll just step right into it!

They never saw the mighty Empire built destroyed long before they showed up. The decimated remains emerging from the Ashes. All they saw was the Devil’s spawn Savages that never evolved and never would.

This information was recorded, but they destroyed all records of it when they wiped out the Mayan Olmec and Aztec people. It was their museum of the past South America they build upon what was left. They spoke now in a different tongue. They were told of God’s and God’s to come. That was the reason for the mop-up operation to wipe out all recorded literature of the event. Those that were sent were extremely dedicated in faith and they used diligent thoroughness and religious dedication they thought though they were doing it for a totally different reason. It was reported as a mighty ball of Fire as a great flood. The World was told it was for a different reason truth with a wink.

The World was told it was because they were sinners a bad mutation they were called Atlanteans. They were the true possessors of your fabled Atlantis! Atlantis was their CERN.

When I came the first time, they rejected me (a chance maybe). Everything you’ve ever been taught about Christ is a lie. A Group of cold-blooded intent that’s who you’re on your knees praying to. Do you still think they can be reasoned with?

Understand they believe they’ve corrected last times miscalculations?

How long would it take long enough for Europeans to figure out how to build ships. And now you have a history, but you know none of this. The knowledge of this great past lost unknown to them. That they were worshipping their Destroyer as we are worshiping our Destroyer as divine love. This is our time now down the road we will be deceitful stories myths and legends. Our cities wiped out nothing left of the ruins. What we will witness history will tell a different story. Want will they believe (what have they been taught) when they read our story? This is old school for them we’ve been here before. Wiping out lives means nothing to them. One at a time 10 billion of them. Whatever it takes to accomplish the objective. As they figure it doesn’t matter how they treat you they’re going to wipe you out of existence anyway.

Understand a thing about this they work in reality. I’ll use the earthquake scenario to try and explain there’s a lot of talk about earthquakes. A lot of scientific work, they understand the science of faults line they know their effect when they move. So any earthquake, that happens they’ll say it’s a natural cause. Meanwhile, spokesmen for God will be saying he’s the cause. You’ll see one reality unfolding explained in the guise of another, and both will be wrong you see how they work deception, misdirection the rule.

You want the truth? You can’t handle the truth!

You worship a God of love that’s taught you to hate! You hate me for sin, you say you attack sin, but it’s me you attack! Telling me, you’ll roast marshmallows with God while I burn. And you don’t even know what it means. But there is an out all I have to do is drop to my knees begging forgiveness. Professing my unworthiness and say I will obey with unquestionable absolute obedience.

Can you see the trap it’s diabolically cunning? The world has fallen for it!

Maybe not I get a lot of hate talking about this group of cold-blooded intent.

I’ll tell you another truth you’ve got a group whoring everything in your head. Your thoughts are their, thoughts your words are their words.

Have you figured it out do, you know what I’m about? You’ll know it is inevitable. This is their catalyst, In a speak, but they really are not too concerned with what I say they know I’ll say it. They play it any way they want. It would go down one way or another. They don’t have total control they do but not in the way they want it. They control your mind to a degree. But they don’t have (and you don’t have) a total technological lock-in. This is their Achilles heel this is where they must be stopped.

Understand a horrible truth we might not succeed if, so humanity is lost for all eternity. And a mentally sick, morally empty group, will Control humanity forever, never again having to pretend to love. You cannot see my words, just like you can’t see the destruction in the solar system for what it is.

We cannot fail! That’s the bait that brings me in. And gives them a concrete storyline. And that’s the bait that exposes them to failure. And that’s why I won’t have to tell you that there here.

Time is ticking scummy tick, tick tick! Maybe they found a way to cut corners? Tick, tick tick!

And what do I have to fight with you wonder? I have a pathetic government. So you see what I must somehow overcome a losing hand in a crooked game. Wish me luck! If I have any say and I will the worthless ones will be replaced. If there’s time? Time is an option I believe fate has not allotted us much of. And time is wasting away why you idiots debate which God has a better-looking enemy. I need Stretch and General Patton, and History’s Greatest leader, not the garbage that I see! This is serious, and I need the real thing! I want to point out this is this isn’t a defenseless family that you can just drop a bomb on. (Which is about all you good for) Those egotistical losers can’t handle the truth that’s who’s got your back. What do you think of my odds improved? These are things that are beyond their essence it’s not, their fault but I don’t have time for niceties to make an important point. Understand a horrible truth? You were put in Power by these Creeps and the World needs better than you. As for me, I already told you I’m a chess piece that doesn’t feel well guarded.

I could make a Comment about your criticism but you’d still be an empty man. I fear idiots will be the demise of me. I’ve walked a road no man has walked I don’t speak with frivolousness. We are in a lot of trouble. You want to keep sucking up the garbage that they are pumping into your contained limited life. While the other guys sucking in, the garbage they’re pumping them there ain’t a lot I can say to you.

Let me ask you if you were planning to wipe out a country and you had the ability to put any persons in positions of power importance in that country’s government. Who would you pick? But let’s make it the world? Yep, you got it, they’re idiots and that’s what we’ve got to defend the planet with. You’re being play, for an idiot or maybe a useful one.

You see the thick of it no secrets here. One of my games is to teach. somebody has to equip those who will stand with the tools to defend themselves. They’re not here we got, to go get them. I could go on but there’s not much space and it’s hard to articulate a coherence of understanding in this maze. I understand your hostility, anger, and hate but you have to rise above it. It’s a horrible truth people are going to have to somehow overcome this painful reality.

They have dummy people down so much they can’t see what’s unfolding right in front of their face.

They’ve brought you down to the point where you are a disgusting group of ignorant and thoughtless self-important, selfish, unconcerned lazy, uncaring people, shallow superficial justifying your patheticness as a reason to hate lashing out when you think you can victimize with impunity. You are short on honor.

This is designed to take us down.

I keep an action figure of Archer on my desk. To remind me, you’re just mutants.

Seeing how I can’t use my preferred speech, you can run away and go back to shoving your head in the sand now.

So there you have it, class dismissed.

Pleased to meet you, hope you guessed my name, mm yeah. But what’s puzzling you is the nature of my game?

Woo, woo Oh yeah, get on down Oh yeah Aah yeah Tell me, baby, what’s my name? Tell me, honey, can ya guess my name? Tell me, baby, what’s my name? I tell you one time, you’re to blame.

So if you meet me, Have some courtesy

Have some sympathy and some taste.

Use all your well-learned politeness

Or I’ll lay your soul to waste, mm yeah

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whatisonthemoonarchive · 3 years

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In the Shadow of the Moons - Selected Quotes

Selected quotes from In the Shadow of the Moons by Nansook Hong (first wife of Hyo Jin Moon, Rev. Moon’s eldest son from his marriage with Hak Ja Han)

Table of Contents

Nansook Hong reflecting on why she was chosen as Hyo Jin’s wife Sun Myung Moon Gambling Verbal abuse from Hak Ja Han - part 1 Verbal Abuse from Hak Ja Han - part 2 Physical abuse from Sun Myung Moon Verbal abuse from Sun Myung Moon Moons’ use of fortune-tellers Racist theology Reflecting on Heung Jin Moon’s death Black Heung Jin Unethical fundraising in Japan Moons’ admission of Sun Myung Moon’s infidelity

Nansook Hong reflecting on why she was chosen as Hyo Jin’s wife

“I have never known exactly why Sun Myung Moon chose me to marry his eldest son. Maybe he thought I was pretty, a good student from a good family. At the time, that was explanation enough for me. As the years went on, I came to believe that my youth and naivete were the central reasons for my selection. I was younger than Hak Ja Han was when the Messiah married her.” page 72-73

Nansook Hong was 15 at the time of the wedding, as shown in the following passage:

“I brightened a little when we arrived in Florida and Peter Kim suggested taking me to Disney World [for the honeymoon]. I was a fifteen-year-old girl.” page 92

Sun Myung Moon Gambling

“Gambling is strictly prohibited by the Unification Church. Betting of any kind is seen as a social ill that undermines the family and contributes to the moral decline of civilization. Why was Sun Myung Moon, the Lord of the Second Advent, the divine successor to the man who threw the money changers out of the temple, spending hours at the blackjack table? The Reverend Moon was eager to explain our presence in a place I had been taught was a den of sin. As the Lord of the Second Advent, he said, it was his duty to mingle with sinners in order to save them. He had to understand their sin in order to dissuade them from it. Peter Kim sat there for him and placed the bets as the Reverend Moon instructed from his position behind Peter Kim’s shoulder. ‘So you see, I am not actually gambling, myself,’ he told me. Even at age fifteen, even from the mouth of the Messiah, I recognized a rationalization when I heard one.” page 93

Verbal abuse from Hak Ja Han - part 1

“My knees were raw with carpet burns early the next morning when Mother summoned me to her room. Hyo Jin and the others still were not home. Where were they she wanted to know. Why wasn’t I with them? Prostrate before her on the floor, I wept as I recounted the events of the previous evening. It was a relief to share this awful burden with Mother. Maybe now something would change. Mrs. Moon was very angry, but not at Hyo Jin, as I had expected. She was furious with me. I was a stupid girl. Why did I think I had been brought to America? It was my mission to change Hyo Jin. I was failing God and Sun Myung Moon. It was up to me to make Hyo Jin want to stay home.” page 97

Verbal Abuse from Hak Ja Han - part 2

“Hyo Jin did not return to East Garden until summer. Our daughter, a tiny newborn when he left, was by then a bright-eyed babbling baby. He seemed just as indifferent to her as he was when he went to Korea. I was at a loss, fearful for our future. That summer the Moons decided I could not return to Irvington High School. They worried that public school officials could get too curious about the cause of my extended leave of absence, that there would be rumors about the baby. I was still below the age of consent in New York when she was conceived. They did not need their son accused of child abuse or even rape.

I was admitted to the Masters School, a private school for girls in Dobbs Ferry, New York…

One morning the Moons called me to their room. I was alarmed. When they sent for me, it usually meant I had done something wrong in their eyes. I never knew which one of them would be angry with me. Both of them had horrible, raging tempers, but they rarely were angry at the same time. This time it was Mrs. Moon who began shouting as soon as I fell to my knees to bow to them.

Did I know how much the tuition was at the Masters School? Did I have any idea how much money it would take to educate me? Why should they be burdened with this expense? I was not their daughter. They already had to pay to feed and clothe and house me. How much more did I want? She could barely speak, she was so furious. The Reverend Moon said nothing while she ranted. I kept my head bowed, bit my lip, and began to cry. I thought I had done everything the Moons wanted. I married their wayward son. I stood by him even when he left me, pregnant, for his girlfriend. I had given them a beautiful granddaughter. Why was Mother screaming at me?

Mrs. Moon said that Bo Hi Pak’s daughter had received her high school diploma through a correspondence course. I could do the same… I was stunned…

I was so grateful when the Reverend Moon finally spoke up. Those correspondence courses are no good, he told Mother quietly; we have to send Nansook to school.

The two of them discussed the options as if I were not there, on my knees sobbing before them. They made every important decision about my life and then blamed me for the repercussions…When she had fully vented her rage, Mrs. Moon suddenly remembered I was still there. “Get out!” she shouted.” page 128-130

Physical abuse from Sun Myung Moon

“In Jin disapproved of my friendship with her sister [Un Jin] but she could be nice to me herself when it suited her purpose. She came to me once, asking to borrow some clothes so she could sneak out that night. Her own room was next to her parents’ suite in the mansion and she did not want to risk running into Father. Why not? I asked. She told me that recently she had come into her room on tiptoe about 4:00 A.M. It was still dark. She thought she was in the clear, when she saw Father’s shadow in a chair across the room.

As Sun Myung Moon struck her over and over again, his daughter told me, he insisted he was hitting her out of love. It was not her first beating at Father’s hands. She said she wished she had the courage to go to the police and have Sun Myung Moon arrested for child abuse. I lent her my best blue jeans and a white angora sweater and tried to hide how shocked I was by her story.” page 101

“The Reverend Moon would become enraged if our efforts to shush them [the young Moon children] did not succeed immediately. I remember recoiling the first of so many times that I saw Sun Myung Moon slap his children to silence them. Of course, his slaps only made them cry more.” pages 101-102

Verbal abuse from Sun Myung Moon

“I had no idea where he [Hyo Jin] was. It was not until later that I would learn that he had used the money we were given as wedding presents to pay for his “fiancee’s” airfare to the United States and to rent an apartment for the two of them in Manhattan. On his return to East Garden from Korea, he had told the Reverend and Mrs. Moon that he intended to live with the woman he chose. Neither parent made any attempt to stop him. I always believed that the Moons were afraid of their son. Hyo Jin’s temper was so volatile, his moods so irrational, that the Reverend and Mrs. Moon would go to any lengths to avoid a confrontation with him.

Instead, True Parents sent for me. I bowed before them, remaining on my knees, my eyes downcast. I hoped they would embrace me; I prayed they would reassure me. On the contrary, Reverend Moon lashed out at me. I had never seen him so angry; his face was twisted and red with rage. How could I have let this happen? What had I done to so displease Hyo Jin? Why couldn’t I make him happy? I did not lift my head for fear Sun Myung Moon would strike me. Mrs. Moon tried to calm him, but Father would not be appeased. I had failed as a wife. I had failed as a woman. It was my own fault Hyo Jin had left me. Why hadn’t I told Hyo Jin that I would go with him?

My own thoughts made little sense. How could I go with him? To live with him and his girlfriend? I had high school to finish. I was frightened by the Reverend Moon’s fury but I was also hurt at being wrongly accused. Why was it my fault that Hyo Jin had taken a lover? Why was I to blame because the Reverend Moon’s son did not obey his father? I knew better than to voice these thoughts, but I had them just the same. It was my lot to humble myself before them, to take their abuse, and to speak only when spoken to. Tears burned my cheeks. I stayed on my knees, silent before the Lord of the Second Advent, but I seethed inside at the injustice of his attack on me. ‘Get out,’ he finally screamed, and I scrambled to my feet. I ran all the way back to Cottage House, blinded by my tears.” page 107-108

Moons’ use of fortune-tellers

“One morning soon after Hyo Jin’s return, I came to greet True Parents at their breakfast table. I was surprised to see that they had been joined by the Buddha Lady, the Buddhist fortune-teller who had blessed my match to Hyo Jin the previous fall in Seoul. Mrs. Moon urged her to tell us what the future held for Hyo Jin and me. ‘Nansook is a winged white horse. Hyo Jin is a tiger. This is a good match,’ she said. ‘Nansook will have a difficult time in life but her fortune is very good. Hyo Jin’s fortune is tied to hers. He can be great only if he sits on Nansook’s back and together they fly.’

Mrs. Moon was so pleased by the Buddha Lady’s optimistic forecast that she went out and bought me a diamond-and-emerald ring — the fortune-teller had told her that green was my lucky color…” page 110-111

Racist theology

“On March 7 we held such a ceremony [the Eight Day Ceremony for Nansook’s first child, a girl named] Shin June. My diary records the event: ‘...Father said her [Shin June’s] eyes were like those of a mystical bird and that this meant that she would be witty. Westerners have round eyes that show what they are thinking. Easterners’ eyes are dark pools that can’t be penetrated. Father said this means we have a bigger, deeper heart.’” page 124

Reflecting on Heung Jin Moon’s death

“Father walked to the front of the room [this was at Heung Jin’s funeral] and instantly all sounds of weeping ceased. He told the funeral gathering that Heung Jin was now the leader of the spirit world. His death had been a sacrificial one. Satan was attacking the Reverend Moon for his anti-Communist crusade by claiming the life of his second son. Like Abel before him, Heung Jin had been the good son. Hyo Jin looked wounded by his Father’s comparison, but he knew himself that he bore more of a resemblance to the Biblical Cain.

Heung Jin, Father said, was already teaching those in the spirit world the Divine Principle. Jesus himself was so impressed by Heung Jin that he had stepped down from his position and proclaimed the son of Sun Myung Moon the King of Heaven. Father explained that Heung Jin’s status was that of a regent. He would sit on the throne of Heaven until the arrival of the Messiah, Sun Myung Moon.

I was stunned by the instant deification of this teenage boy. I knew Heung Jin was a True Child, the son of the Lord of the Second Advent, so I was ready to believe that he had a special place in Heaven. But displacing Jesus? The boy I had helped search for a lost kitten in the attic of the mansion at East Garden, he was the King of Heaven? It was too much, even for a true believer like myself. I looked around me, though, and the assembled relatives and guests were nodding gravely at this imparted revelation. I was ashamed of my skepticism but powerless to deny it.” page 136-137

Black Heung Jin

“The Reverend Moon was thrilled with the news [of a Zimbabwean man in 1987 who claimed to have Heung Jin speaking through him] from Africa. The Unification Church had been concentrating its recruitment efforts in Latin America and Africa. Clearly a Black Heung Jin could not hurt the cause. Without even meeting the man who claimed to be possessed by the spirit of his dead child, Sun Myung Moon authorized the Black Heung Jin to travel the world, preaching and hearing the confessions of Unification Church members who had gone astray.

Confessions soon became central to the Black Heung Jin’s mission. He went to Europe, to Korea, to Japan, everywhere administering beatings to those who had violated church teachings by using alcohol and drugs or engaging in premarital or extramarital sex. The Black Heung Jin spent a year on the road, dispensing physical punishment as penance for those who wished to repent, before Sun Myung Moon summoned him to East Garden.

We all gathered to greet him at Father’s breakfast table. He was a thin black man of average height who spoke English better than Sun Myung Moon. He seemed to me intent on charming the True Family, in much the way a snake encircles and then swallows its prey. I was anxious to hear some concrete evidence that his man possessed the spirit of the boy I once knew. I was not to hear it. The Reverend Moon asked him standard theological questions that any member who had studied the Divine Principle could have answered. He offered no startling revelations or religious insights. Maybe what most impressed Father was his ability to quote from the speeches of Sun Myung Moon.

The Reverend and Mrs. Moon suggested that we children meet with the Black Heung Jin privately and report back to them on our impressions. It was an amazing meeting. Hyun Jin, Kook Jin, and Hyo Jin kept asking the stranger questions about their childhood. He could not answer any of them. He did not remember anything about his life on earth, he told us. Instead of inspiring skepticism, the Black Heung Jin’s convenient memory lapse was interpreted as a sign of his having left earthly concerns behind when he entered the Kingdom of Heaven. Everyone in the household embraced him and called him by their dead brother’s name. I avoided him and found myself thinking that I was living with either the stupidest or the most gullible people on earth. There was a third alternative I did not consider at the time: the Reverend Moon was using the Black Heung Jin for his own ends, just as he had used the American civil liberties community before him.

Sun Myung Moon seemed to take pleasure in the reports that filtered back to East Garden of the beatings being administered by the Black Heung Jin. He would laugh raucously if someone out of favor had been dealt an especially hard blow. No one outside the True Family was immune from the beatings. Leaders around the world tried to use their influence to be exempted from the Black Heung Jin’s confessional. My own father appealed in vain to the Reverend Kwak to avoid having to attend such a session.

The Black Heung Jin was a passing phenomenon in the Unification Church. Soon the mistresses he acquired were so numerous and the beatings he administered so severe that members began to complain. Mrs. Moon’s maid, Won Ju McDevitt, a Korean who married an American church member, appeared one morning with a blackened eye and covered with purple bruises. The Black Heung Jin had beaten her with a chair. He beat Bo Hi Pak - a man in his sixties - so badly that he was hospitalized for a week in Georgetown Hospital. He told doctors he had fallen down a flight of stairs. He later needed surgery to repair a blood vessel in his head.

Sun Myung Moon knew when to cut his losses. When you are the Messiah, it is easy to make a course correction. Once it became clear that he had to disassociate himself from the violence he had let loose on the membership, Sun Myung Moon simply announced that Heung Jin’s spirit had left the Zimbabwean’s body and ascended into Heaven. The Zimbabwean was not quite so ready to get off the gravy train. At last sighting, he had established a breakaway cult in Africa with himself in the role of Messiah.” page 151-153

Unethical fundraising in Japan

“...Japan was fertile fund-raising ground for a messianic leader like Sun Myung Moon. Eager young Unification Church members found elderly people anxious to ensure that their loved ones came to a peaceful rest in the spirit world. To that end, they fleeced thousands of people out of millions of dollars for religious vases, prayer beads, and religious pictures to guarantee that their deceased family members entered the Kingdom of Heaven. [Click here for an article by the Washington Post which further explores this phenomenon.] A small jade pagoda could sell for as much as fifty thousand dollars. Wealthy widows were conned into donating all of their assets to the Unification Church to guarantee that their loved ones would not languish in hell with Satan.

Members of the Moon family were thoroughly scrutinized by customs agents whenever leaving Korea or entering the United States. This trip [in which Nansook accompanied Hak Ja Han Moon to Japan for a ten-city speaking tour] was no exception. One benefit of her enormous entourage was that Mrs. Moon had plenty of traveling companions with whom to enter the country. I was given twenty thousand dollars in two packs of crisp new bills…

I knew that smuggling was illegal, but I believed the followers of Sun Myung Moon answered to higher laws...I was so grateful to God that they didn’t find the money. In the distorted lens through which I viewed the world, God actually had thwarted the customs agents...” page 171-173

Personal Note: This seems to be evidence that Moon was truly guilty in the famous tax evasion case that put him in Danbury. If you don’t fully and accurately record your finances, doesn’t that inevitably lead to tax evasion?

Moons’ admission of Sun Myung Moon’s infidelity

“I went directly to Mrs. Moon with Hyo Jin’s claims [that Hyo Jin’s affairs were providential]. She was both furious and tearful. She had hoped that such pain would end with her, that it would not be passed on to the next generation, she told me. No one knows the pain of a straying husband like True Mother, she assured me. I was stunned. We had all heard rumors for years about Sun Myung Moon’s affairs and the children he sired out of wedlock, but here was True Mother confirming the truth of those stories.

I told her that Hyo Jin said his sleeping around was “providential,” and inspired by God, just as Father’s affairs were. “No. Father is the Messiah, not Hyo Jin. What Father did was in God’s plan.” His infidelity was part of her course to suffer to become the True Mother. “There is no excuse for Hyo Jin to do this,” she said.

Mrs. Moon told Father what Hyo Jin was claiming and the Reverend Moon summoned me to his room. What happened in his past was “providential,” Father reiterated. It has nothing to do with Hyo Jin. I was embarrassed to be hearing this admission from him directly. I was also confused. If Hak Ja Han Moon was the True Mother, if he had found the perfect partner on earth, how could he justify his infidelity theologically?

I did not ask, of course, but I left that room with a new understanding of the relationship between the Reverend and Mrs. Moon. It was no wonder she wielded so much influence; he was indebted to her for not exposing him all these years. Perhaps all the money, the world travel, the public adulation, were compensation enough for her.” page 196-197

#unification church #moonies #sun myung moon #true family #true parents #hyo jin moon #ffwpu #cults

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unrighteousbooks · 4 years

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The Divine Hunting Accident of Dante Allegory This is the fourth and final part of a very long story, one that I began months ago. It has taken me a long time to collect my thoughts, and I am aware that they are still not entirely clear. Having begun the story, however, I have resolved to see it through to completion. So: * * * * * I needed to visit Graceland. Graceland is a beautiful name. To be received in Graceland. That is what we all want, isn't it? I believe there is a song about it, something about human trampolines and bouncing into Graceland, which I mention only because my resolution to tell this story began with a discussion of music. Graceland Cemetery is on the north side of the notoriously sinful city of Chicago. Perhaps that makes sense: Sinners need grace more desperately than saints. I wanted to stand in front of a grave at Graceland because it seemed like a good place to think about sins and redemption. Before I discuss that particular grave, however, I need to say this: In another grave, in a cemetery not so far away, the remains of a boy named Bobby Franks lie in a cold coffin. He was murdered at the age of 14. The murder took place on May 21, 1924, on a quiet side street on the south side of Chicago. Bobby Franks was murdered by Nathan Leopold Jr., who was 19, and Richard Loeb, who was 18. The story of the murder, then, is the story of three young men, but it is only Bobby Franks who will forever retain that adjective: Young. Young Bobby Franks, young then, young now, young forever because of the callous cruelty of two other young men. They murdered him for fun. They murdered him because they wanted to know how it felt to take someone's life. They wanted the thrill of the experience. What kind of person does such a thing? What kind of person imagines that it would be thrilling to kill someone, and what kind of person can fail to understand the moral implications of murder? The facts of the case are this: The killers, both highly intelligent, had been born to wealth and privilege. They believed that they were a superior breed of men. Convinced that they were examples of Nietzsche's ubermen, they felt unburdened by conventional morality. Leopold and Loeb committed a series of petty crimes, but wanted more: they wanted to shock the world. They formed a plan to kidnap and murder a random victim. Driving a rented car on streets in their own neighborhood, they happened upon Bobby Franks. They lured him into the car and murdered him with a chisel. They drove to a secluded area southeast of the city, mutilated the boy's body, and concealed it in a culvert. Their "perfect crime" fell apart within days: the body was found the next morning, and nearby, police found a distinctive pair of glasses which were quickly traced back to Leopold. The two confessed and pleaded guilty to the charge of murder. At their sentencing, their attorney -- the venerable Clarence Darrow -- delivered a lengthy, eloquent appeal for mercy, asking only that his clients be spared the death penalty. And so it was: On September 10, 1924, Leopold and Loeb were sentenced to life in prison, plus 99 years. They were sent to Joliet Prison, some 30 miles from Chicago, then transferred to the nearby Stateville Prison. It is hard to imagine how men who had fancied themselves as superior to their peers would have regarded their surroundings. It is certain that they would have felt despair; but surely their despair was no greater than that of the family of their victim. It is tempting to judge Leopold and Loeb's parents harshly. When we regard someone as a monster, we wonder about the source of such depravity, and we look for someone or something to blame. Yet whatever the failings of Nathan Leopold's father, we must grant him this: He did not abandon his son. With friends in high places, he employed his power to make his son's life in prison as bearable as possible. He kept him well-supplied with books, and Leopold spent his days reading. Reading, thinking, and learning. If there is a path to salvation -- a path to grace -- for those who have committed atrocious crimes, the first step on that path must involve learning. Moreover, when we learn, we want to share our knowledge. This, in fact, is why I am now attempting to tell this story. I say "attempting" because it may not be clear what this is about. Is it about Nathan Leopold and Loeb? Partly, but it is also a story about a story: This is about a graphic novel called The Hunting Accident, written by David L. Carlson and illustrated by Landis Blair. The Hunting Accident tells the true story of a man named Matt Rizzo. Like Leopold and Loeb, Rizzo grew up in Chicago. His Chicago, however was vastly different. In the Kenwood area, where Leopold and Loeb were raised, crime was an aberration. In Rizzo's neighborhood, it was a daily fact of life. A man who is subjected to poverty and crime might imagine that they are forces which pull in opposite directions. He might believe that crime is the means by which one escapes poverty. This was the case for Matt Rizzo. Whatever the causes -- and surely they are complicated -- Rizzo turned to crime. One night he stole his father's shotgun and, with two companions, held up a liquor store. The robbery did not go as planned: The owner, also armed with a shotgun, escaped through the back of the store and opened fire on the robbers. Matt Rizzo was struck in the face, and was blinded. * * * * * There are times in life when we make bad decisions. That statement, however, does not necessarily convey the gravity of the situation and its consequences. Describing something as a "bad decision" implies nothing more than a poor choice, the regret we feel when we selected beef instead of chicken. The question we need to examine is this: What are the consequences of deciding to do something bad? Suppose a man does a wrong thing, with intent to harm -- or at least, a willingness to harm -- and the end result is not what he expects. Instead, he is one who is harmed. Is that justice? Do we call it karma, and pretend that his debt has been paid? We cannot, because if we do, we have to explain why there are times when men and women do horrible things and suffer no consequences. If we strive for justice, we must do what we can to remove the whims of fate from the equation. In other words, justice must be blind. Blind. Justice, blind, decreed that the man whose bad decision had left him without sight still had a debt to pay. In January 1936, Matt Rizzo was sentenced to prison. He was sent to Stateville. Stateville, where Leopold and Loeb were still serving life sentences. Life, plus 99 years. For Richard Loeb, the life sentence was about to end. On the 28th of January, Loeb was murdered by another inmate. Fearing that Leopold would be targeted as well, the authorities confined him to the prison infirmary. There, he met Rizzo, still recovering from his wounds. There was a time when arrogant, aloof Nathan Leopold would have paid no mind to an embittered blind man whose formal education had ended in the fourth grade. But with age and knowledge, Leopold had begun to change. The two men became friends. One never knows what is in a man's heart. Did Nathan Leopold truly regret his crime? Did he regret the suffering that he had caused, and not simply regret the personal consequences of his crime? We do not his motivation, but we do know that his behavior changed. In prison, Leopold began to help others. He began to help Matt Rizzo. His family's wealth and privilege, previously used be his own benefit, was now employed for different means. Leopold obtained books written in braille. He taught himself to read braille, and then he taught Matt Rizzo. Tutored by a murderer, locked away in Illinois' most notorious prison, Matt Rizzo read the classics: Dante, Shakespeare, Milton. When he left prison in 1941, Rizzo was blind but no longer hopeless. He had learned to love literature. He turned away from crime. He got a job selling insurance. He married, and his wife gave birth to a son. The marriage, however, did not last, and his wife left for Los Angeles, taking the young child with her. When she died in 1959, the boy was sent back to Chicago to live with his father. This is where The Hunting Accident begins: with a young boy in a strange city, with a blind father in a dark and dingy apartment. The boy grew up believing that his father had lost his sight in a hunting accident. When he learned otherwise, there would be a reckoning. The Hunting Accident is a story of blindness, but not simply the blindness of one who has lost his sight. Like Dante's Divine Comedy, it is about those of us who lose our way: "Into that sightless world, let us descend." The world, Dante tells us, is blind, "And you in very truth have come from it!" Our blindness leads us astray. What leads us back to redemption? Knowledge. Knowledge made Matt Rizzo a better person. There is comfort in understanding the world, and thus it is tempting to see the world in simple terms. We take complex human beings, and simplify them in ways that make them easy to understand. This person is good, that person is bad. We want to be able to say, without qualification, that Nathan Leopold was evil. I would prefer a world where things are simple, but I cannot make myself believe what I do not believe, just because it would be comforting. I cannot be blind to this fact: Matt Rizzo became a better person because of the influence of Nathan Leopold. This fact forces us to ask: What can we forgive, and what should we forgive? When Clarence Darrow was pleading to spare the lives of Leopold and Loeb, he was appealing to our better nature. "Nothing is more cruel than righteous indignation. To hear young men talk glibly of justice... Is there any human machinery for finding it out? Is there any man can weigh me and say what I deserve?" Justice will not appear from nowhere, so we must do our best to bring it into existence through our own efforts. But we must be aware that we may judge wrongly, and that the result of such an error -- injustice, cloaked in sanctimony -- is as grave an error as one can possibly make. Leopold and Loeb were guilty. This is very clear. But what made them, in their youth, callous and cruel? Darrow was not naive. Compassion and kindness do not cure all ills. But perhaps they are still better than the alternative. "You may here and there cure hatred with love and understanding," Darrow said, "but you can only add fuel to the flames by cruelty and hate." Nathan Leopold was an easy man to hate. Darrow understood as much. "I have stood here for three months as one might stand at the ocean trying to sweep back the tide. I hope the seas are subsiding and the wind is falling, and I believe they are, but I wish to make no false pretense to this court. The easy thing and the popular thing to do is to hang my clients. I know it. Men and women who do not think will applaud. The cruel and the thoughtless will approve. It will be easy today; but in Chicago, and reaching out over the length and breadth of the land, more and more fathers and mothers, the humane, the kind, and the hopeful, who are gaining an understanding and asking questions not only about these poor boys but about their own, these will join in no acclaim at the death of my clients. But, Your Honor, what they shall ask may not count. I know the easy way. I know Your Honor stands between the future and the past. I know the future is with me, and what I stand for here; not merely for the lives of these two unfortunate lads, but for all boys and all girls; for all of the young, and as far as possible, for all of the old. I am pleading for life, understanding, charity, kindness, and the infinite mercy that considers all. I am pleading that we overcome cruelty with kindness and hatred with love." More than 95 years have passed since Clarence Darrow spoke these words. They were addressed not only to the judge. They were meant for us. "I am pleading for the future; I am pleading for a time when hatred and cruelty will not control the hearts of men. When we can learn, by reason and judgment and understanding and faith, that all life is worth saving, and that mercy is the highest attribute of man." And yet, this is still not simple. We cannot read Darrow's words, and pretend that all is clear, and that everything is forgiven. When we stand in front of Matt Rizzo's grave, we must not forget the grave that we did not visit: The grave of Bobby Franks. Chaos lurks at the fringes of every true story, forcing us to wonder: What if? There are always unseen forces at work. But what we can see suggests that Matt Rizzo became a better man because of the influence of Nathan Leopold. If Nathan Leopold had been put to death in 1924, Bobby Franks' grave would be no different. But what would Matt Rizzo's grave be like? * * * * * I am a poor storyteller. I talk too much and say too little, and I know this story is already far too long. I must, however, add a coda. In 1958, poet Carl Sandburg testified at Nathan Leopold's parole hearing. "Those who perhaps won't like it are those who believe in revenge. They are the human stuff of which mobs are made. They are the passion ridden." Twenty-three years later, another renowned writer asked for mercy for another violent criminal. The novelist Norman Mailer, impressed by the writing of a convict named Jack Henry Abbott, argued in favor of his release. Within weeks of leaving prison, Abbott stabbed a young man to death outside a Manhattan restaurant. "Culture is worth a little risk," Mailer had said. What do we weigh when we try to define justice? Who deserves mercy? Sandburg had argued that Leopold deserved freedom, because he had shown compassion. Mailer had argued that Abbott deserved freedom because he had shown skill. Which carries more weight? * * * * * Now, having arrived at the end of this long, convoluted story, I can only tell you this: I have stood in a cold cemetery, holding a beautiful book, staring at the tombstone of a man named Matt Rizzo. There is braille carved in stone, and the monument has other names apart from Rizzo's own: Dante, Homer, Virgil, Milton, Shakespeare. Shakespeare, who understood the beauty of mercy: "The quality of mercy is not strained. It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath. It is twice blessed: It blesseth him that gives and him that takes." What would have become of Matt Rizzo, without the quality of mercy? That is simply one more question, in a story which already has more questions than answers. If you ask me for answers, I can only tell you this: I am not Virgil, guiding the lost to salvation. I have my opinions, but I do not claim any divine insights. To do so would be comedy.

#the hunting accident #leopold and loeb #matt rizzo #david carlson #landis blair #clarence darrow #dante #virgil #shakespeare #divine comedy #mercy #graceland #cemeteries

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questionsonislam · 4 years

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According to the hadith, “If you were not to commit sins, Allah would create other people; they would commit sins and He would forgive them.”, is it not a contradiction that Allah created the sins and human beings so that they would repent and that He blamed those who committed sins and threatened them with Hell?

Two hadiths related to the issue is as follows:

“All human beings are sinners; the best of the sinners are those who repent.” (Ibn Majah, Zuhd, 30) “If you were not to commit sins, Allah would sweep you out of existence and would replace you by other people who would commit sins, and then would ask forgiveness from Allah.” (Muslim, Tawbah, 9, 10, 11)

As it is understood from the hadiths above, man is a creature that has been created with a natural tendency to commit sins and to do good deeds. Committing sins is a property that discriminates man from angels. As it is known, angels are beings that were created out of light and that never commit sins.

Islam is a religion of nature. In Islam, it is accepted that man might commit sins and he is taught the ways of avoiding committing sins. The way of getting rid of the sins and crimes that have been committed and being purified of spiritual impurities is repentance. Thanks to repentance, a person becomes free of the sins and mistakes; he becomes as clean as if he has not committed those sins. As a matter of fact, the Prophet said the following regarding the issue, “A person who repents from his sin is like the one who has never committed that sin.” (Ibn Majah, Zuhd, 30)

Allah calls His slaves to repent as follows: “And O ye Believers! Turn ye all together towards Allah that ye may attain.” (an-Nur, 24/31) In another verse, Allah says to His Prophet: “Say: "O my Servants who have transgressed against their souls! Despair not of the Mercy of Allah: for Allah forgives all sins: for He is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.” (az-Zumar, 39/53)

In the verse above, Allah orders His Prophet to tell His sinful slaves not to despair of the mercy of Allah because Allah, who is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful, forgives all sins if He wishes. Therefore, the slaves of Allah need to turn toward Allah, surrender to Him and abandon polytheism and all kinds of sins before His wrath comes.

That is, the hadith mentioned in the question should not be understood as something that encourages man to commit sins. On the contrary, it means man tends to commit sins due to his nature; therefore, if he happens to commit a sin, he should know that the door of repentance is open.

What is meant by the expression, “If you were not to commit sins, Allah would create other people who would commit sins” is if man did not have or lost the property of committing sins, Allah would create other beings with the property of committing sins; and those beings would give up committing sins despite that property and would worship Allah. If they committed sins due to negligence, by mistake or as a result of the deception of Satan, He would forgive their sins.

Those hadiths state the importance of repentance and ask people no matter who they are to turn toward Allah without despairing of the mercy of Allah.

Answer 2:

Paradise, which is the place of manifestation for the jamal (beauty) attributes of Allah, is not related to human beings only; Hell, which is the place of manifestation for the jamal (majesty) attributes of Allah, is not a place of manifestation for human beings only, either.

That is, since the attributes of Allah are pre-eternal and post-eternal, they are to be manifest forever. The place of manifestation of those attributes is the hereafter, where Paradise and Hell are located.

That is, the manifestation of the attributes containing jamal attributes is not related to the bounties that are given to human beings only; the manifestation of the attributes containing jalal attributes is not related to the punishment given to human beings only, either.

That is, if there were not any people who passed away and went to the hereafter, Paradise and Hell, which are eternal places of manifestations in the hereafter, which is an eternal land for those attributes to be manifest forever, would exist.

That is, the rewarding of believing people by the bounties of Paradise, and the punishing of deniers by the Hell fire are only some manifestations of jamal and jalal attributes.

That is, Paradise shows the attributes of jamal with all of its beauties, charms, houris, ghilmans and luminous scenery; similarly, Hell is a terrible place of manifestation of the attributes of jalal with its zabanis (angels of Hell), horrible fires with flames, lava, coldness and darkness.

It is possible that Paradise is a center – a light that reflects the light of the existing suns and stars – which are a reflection of the jamal attributes that are manifest in the universe; it is possible that Hell is the source of the elements like fire and heat of the existing celestial bodies, suns and stars, which are a reflection of the jamal attributes that are manifest in the universe. The following statement of Badiuzzaman Said Nursi – which we have summarized – regarding the issue is really meaningful.

“He has made the stars luminous witnesses to the sovereignty of His Dominicality like a feet decked out with electric lights and has shown the sovereignty of His Dominicality and tremendous power. It is not far from the perfect wisdom, tremendous power, and sovereignty of Dominicality of one thus All-Glorious to make Hell like the boiler of an electric light factory and with it set fire to the stars of the heavens which look to the Hereafter, and give them heat and power.” (Letters/First letter/3rd question)

We find it useful to give an example to clarify the issue:

There are prisons in all of the countries of the world in principle today. It is clear that the existence of prisons is not the element that makes people commit crimes. On the contrary, prisons were built as a precaution because it is known that there will be criminals at all times.

The existence of Hell is like that. That is, people do not commit sins and crimes because Hell exists. Allah created Hell because He has known with His pre-eternal knowledge surrounding everything that there will be people who will commit sins and crimes using their own free will.

We should not forget this: Dominicality has two very clear properties. One of them is to reward those who accept His domination and who obeyHim, and to punish those who do not accept His domination and who disobey Him. Thus, Allah shows the assistance and mercy aspect of His domination by rewarding those who obey Him, and He shows the honor and dignity of His domination by punishing those insolent bandits who disobey Him. Allah has prepared a reward like Paradise, which is too beautiful to describe, for those who believe in and obey Him; He has also prepared a dungeon like Hell, whose torture is impossible to define, for those who deny Him, His prophets and books. It is very reasonable that the reward and punishment of Allah, who is the greatest, will be as great.

As a matter of fact, those who do not do their best to get rid of the punishment of Allah have attacks of nerves while thinking that the punishment is so near; thus, they want to blame the Quran, which mentions the existence of the punishment.

As a matter of fact, to oppose Allah means to fight with broken hands, which will gain a person nothing but pain.

It is very exemplary that those cowards, who get into a lather when they face a police officer or a soldier, challenge the Creator of all beings.

How else can it be explained that some dishonorable people who kiss the feet and hands of Satan for a very small worldly interest feel too proud to obey Allah, who promises a reward like Paradise?

Why are people put into Hell although they were created with a property to commit sins?

A lesson of truth from Risale-i Nur Collection:

“There needs to be grace and mercy on the right side of a Sultan and torment and discipline on the left side. Reward is what mercy necessitates. Discipline needs punishment. The place of reward and punishment is the hereafter.” (Mesnevî-i Nuriye)

It does not fit a Sultan not to reward those who obey him and not to punish those who disobey him; both are signs of weakness. God Almighty is free of all kinds of weaknesses.

Not to want His torture to be manifest means two things:

The first one means not to inflict any punishment on rebels, transgressors, oppressors. It does not comply with the honor, magnitude, wisdom and justice of Allah. Since this alternative is not possible, there is only one choice left: that men lack disobedience and that they always obey. It is not the definition of human beings but angels.

Man is a being that can commit sins. There is nobody who can say, “It is impossible for me to commit a sin.” Every man approaches the pit of sins and sometimes falls into it one way or another, rarely or often.

We lead our life with a balance of the mind and the heart. However, since man does not consist of the mind and the heart only, he sometimes cannot control his will and commits sins under the influence of primarily the soul, dominant feelings, disobedient emotions, unchecked desires and irresistible delusions.

In fact, Allah has created many different means to make us approach and need Him, and to attract us. For instance, he gave us a feeling like hunger and made us need sustenance; thus, He has shown us that He is ar-Razzaq (the Sustainer) and has made us need Him this way. We, as slaves, ask all of our needs from Him and know Him as ar-Razzaq, the real Sustainer. That is, the name ar-Razzaq necessitates our hunger.

Similarly, we are sinners and Allah is the Forgiver. We make mistakes; Allah forgives us. We disobey Him; He shows mercy on us. We repent; He accepts our repentance. Allah is al-Ghafur (the Forgiver), al-Afuww (the Pardoner), al-Ghaffar (the Forgiving), at-Tawwab (the Acceptor to repentance). The sins that we commit lead us to those names of Allah. Thus, we know Allah with His names al-Ghafur and al-Ghaffar. As Badiuzzaman Said Nursi says, "The name al-Ghaffar necessitates the existence of sins and the name as-Sattar necessitates the existence of faults." To put it more clearly, sins need to be committed so that the name al-Ghaffar of Allah will be manifest; faults and mistakes need to be made so that Allah will show He is as-Sattar by covering the fault of His slave.

Our Prophet (pbuh) expresses this truth very nicely in a hadith as follows:

“I swear by Allah, in whose powerful hand is my soul, that if you did not commit any sins, Allah would sweep you out of existence and would replace you by other people who would commit sins and then would ask forgiveness from Allah; and He would forgive them.”

Repentance as much as the amount of sins

Man is deceived by his soul and Satan; he loses control over his feelings and will; thus he commits a sin; then he regrets having committed it and repents many times. According to what we learn from hadiths, the state of the slave in which he turns toward his Lord despite his sin pleases God Almighty very much.

Abu Hurayra (may Allah be pleased with him) narrates: “The Messenger of Allah said, reporting from his Lord:

"A slave committed a sin and said, ‘O my Lord! Forgive my sin!’ God Almighty said, ‘My slave committed a sin and knew that he had a Lord who forgave sins or who punished His slave due to his sin.’ Then, the slave committed a sin again and said, ‘O my Lord! Forgive my sin!’ God Almighty said, ‘My slave committed a sin and knew that he had a Lord who forgave sins or who punished His slave due to his sin.’ Then, the slave committed a sin again and said, ‘O my Lord! Forgive my sin!’ God Almighty said, ‘My slave committed a sin and knew that he had a Lord who forgave sins or who punished His slave due to his sin. O my slave! Do whatever you want, I have forgiven you.’.”

Imam Nawawi, the great hadith scholar, deduces the following judgment from that hadith:

“If sins are repeated a hundred times, even a thousand times or more and if the person repents each time after he has committed a sin, his repentance is accepted. Even if he repents once for all of his sins, his repentance is valid.”

In another hadith, it is stated that if a person who repents repeats his sin seventy times in a day, he will not be regarded as to have insisted on his sin.

The explanation Hazrat Ali makes regarding the issue is more interesting:

“I am astounded by the situation of a person who has the recipe of salvation but is destroyed. That recipe is repentance.”

Besides, the names al-Ghaffar and at-Tawwab means He who pardons and forgives a lot, who accepts repentance a lot, who forgives one who repents after each sin and who accepts the repentance of a person who repents. If God Almighty forgave His slave only once in his life, He would not give him any opportunity to commit sins after that. That is, if Allah did not want to forgive, He would not give us the feeling to ask for forgiveness.

On the other hand, it is the grant, grace and gift of God Almighty to forgive sins. As it is stated in the hadith, it is the manifestation of justice to punish people due to their sins. As Said Nursi states, “It is the grace of God Almighty to forgive sins and His justice to punish.”

The generation of the Companions, who were trained and educated by the Prophet (pbuh), perceived that fine point very well. They understood the high names of Allah perfectly and practiced them in their lives. When the hadiths that were reported by them are examined, it will not be difficult to notice the level of their education and the capacity of their understanding.

For instance, Hazrat Anas informs us that no matter how many sins a slave has committed, no matter how many times he has asked for forgiveness, his request will not be left unanswered.

Anas (may Allah be pleased with him) says, “I heard the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) say,

‘Allah stated: O son of Adam! I will forgive you regardless of the magnitude of your sins and no matter how many sins you have committed if you pray to me and expect forgiveness from me. O son of Adam! If you ask forgiveness from me, I will forgive your sins even if they are so much as to fill the skies. O son of Adam! If you come to me with sins that will fill the earth but without associating partners to me and without being engaged in polytheism, I will welcome you with forgiveness to fill the earth.”

In a hadith, the Prophet (pbuh) tells us about the repentance of a slave due to a sin that he commits and his turning toward his Lord by likening it to the sorrow and sadness of a person who lives in the desert with his camel as follows:

“A person is in a barren, empty and dangerous land. He has his camel with him. His food and drinks are on the camel. He falls asleep. When he wakes up, he cannot see his camel. He starts to look for it but he cannot find it. While he is in a terrible state due to hunger and thirst, he says to himself, ‘I will go to the place where I was and sleep there till I die.’ He goes there and puts his head on his arm and sleeps to die. He wakes up to see his camel standing nearby. His food and drinks are on the camel. Allah becomes happier than this man when His believing slave repents and asks for forgiveness.”

Will a mother throw her child into fire?

The mercy, compassion and pity of God Almighty are endless. They are enough for all His slaves and for the whole world. He will not leave His slaves that know Him but cannot refrain from sins and who have been enslaved by their souls on their own. In other words, God Almighty attracts His slave that turns toward Him to His mercy through creating various means. That is, Allah has not created His slave to punish him; He has not sent him to the world in order to find an opportunity to send him to Hell. A person will not throw his child into fire due to a mistake he has made; likewise, Allah will not deny His endless mercy to the slaves who recognize Him as Lord and will not throw them into Hell.

Hazrat Umar reported us the glad tiding of the Prophet (pbuh) regarding the issue while narrating an incident that he witnessed as follows:

It was just after a battle. There was a woman among the slaves; she had lost her child. She hugged and embraced every child that she saw and suckled them due to her longing for her child. The Messenger of Allah said to the people around him,

- “Do you think this woman can throw her child into fire? They said,

- “No, she won’t.” Thereupon the Messenger of Allah (pbuh) said,

-”Allah is more merciful to His slave than this woman to her child.

The hadiths inform us about the endless mercy and forgiveness of God Almighty. Similarly, the verses remind us an important point after giving us the general criteria as an infallible principle: Not to harm the consciousness of slavery and not to transgress the limit of respect toward Allah. A person should not continue to commit sins after repenting and asking for mercy by thinking, ‘Allah will forgive anyway’ so that the mystery of slavery will not be lost. The Quran points out to this truth as follows:

“And those who having done something to be ashamed of, or wronged their own souls earnestly bring Allah to mind; and ask for forgiveness for their sins,―and who can forgive sins except Allah?,―And are never obstinate in persisting knowingly in (the wrong) they have done.”

Spiritual elevation through sins

If a slave takes refuge in Allah more seriously and turns toward Him more sincerely due to a sin that he has committed, he can have a spiritual elevation. The Quran describes that truth as changing the sins into rewards.

“Unless he repents, believes, and works righteous deeds, for Allah will change the evil of such persons into good and Allah is Oft-Forgiving, Most Merciful.”

God Almighty forgives the sins of those who confess their sins and repent and He also replaces their sins with rewards; thus, the sins change into rewards. Therefore, some hadith scholars say, “There are some sins that are more useful than worshipping for a believer.”

Everybody can make mistakes; or rather, everybody makes mistakes and commits sins. However, there are some good people among sinners. The Messenger of Allah (pbuh) states that goodness as follows:

“Everybody makes mistakes but the best ones of those who make mistakes are those who repent a lot.”

Those who make mistakes can be good people by their repentance; what is more, they can be elevated to the degree of being a beloved slave of Allah. This glad tiding, which the Quran shows is one of the best glad tidings that Islam presents to man:

“For Allah loves those who turn to Him constantly and He loves those who keep themselves pure and clean.”

The Prophet (pbuh) interprets that verse as follows:

“Doubtlessly, Allah loves His slave who repents repeatedly after committing sins repeatedly.”

Being really aware of this love, our Prophet (pbuh) would repent and ask for forgiveness seventy times and sometimes a hundred times a day although he did not have any sins and he was protected against sins.

However, it is necessary not to misuse this glad tiding by saying demagogic words like, “Since sins change into rewards, is it not better to commit sins first and to repent after that?

First of all, such an approach is contrary to the good manners of slavery. It means to test Allah – God forbid – and not to take religious decrees seriously, which means not to be able to understand the essence of the issue. Against such a misuse, it is stated in many verses that the authority to forgive belongs to Allah and that He will forgive and punish anybody He wishes and attention is attracted to the balance of hope and fear.

Besides, will a person who commits sins thinking, “I will repent anyway” have the chance to repent? Will he live long enough to repent? Does he have a guarantee about it? Or, what is more important, will Allah give Him the opportunity to repent although his attitudes attract the wrath of Allah? They all need to be taken into consideration.

“A person who fulfills fards and avoids committing major sins is saved.”

However, the most important question of a believer who is exposed to the attack of hundreds of sins every day is to try to avoid sins, to keep away from places full of sins and not to approach the doors that are open to sins. In a way, he should drive away evil and keep away from bad deeds. It is very important in this age. A person can reach taqwa only this way. It is fard to abandon a haram, a major sin. To fulfill a wajib is more rewarding than to fulfill several sunnahs. By sticking to taqwa, turning away once against the attack of thousands of sins hundreds of sins are abandoned; hence hundreds of fards and wajibs are fulfilled. Thus, many good deeds are done by the intention of taqwa and in order to avoid sins. In this age, “a person who fulfills fards and avoids committing major sins is saved.”

The Quran informs us about that salvation, that is, those who avoid major sins will reach bounties, grants and the bliss of Paradise:

“If ye (but) eschew the most heinous of the things which ye are forbidden to do, We shall expel out of you all the evil in you and admit you to a Gate of great honour.”

Then, “give life to your life through belief, and adorn it with religious duties. And preserve it by abstaining from sins.”

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seekingjets · 5 years

Text

Curious Cat Anon: post-war starop. wherein they're (well, let's be honest, it's mostly starscream) confused and slightly surprised by how peaceful life has gotten. it's hard to forget the dangers that once stood at every corner. He rests with a blaster under the berth. Feels wrong to be disarmed, not that Starscream ever truly is. But weapon mounts are discouraged in this new society and Starscream can tolerate only so much.

He still hears sirens at night. Still locked in the memory of great ships rumbling fierce through open space, a lullaby of monstrous creations. He never sleeps through the night either, timed routine so deeply ingrained into his very core, pacing the humble home afforded to him as if hunting spies or an unseen threat. Always expecting the worst even though the past few years revealed no more than perhaps a messy greeting room or a shadow resembling a scraplet.

So has much has changed. Nothing more so than the great body which rests beside him most nights.

Optimus Prime is a busy mech. Still seen as the savior of Cybertron, still their collective guardian and holy figure. Even former Decepticons who once sought to slaughter the Prime now bend the knee and vow allegiance to a new world. To peace in place of chaos and exhaustion. The war didn't end with a clear winner, more out of desperation and the slow dwindle of their population.

It was only right to stop fighting when Megatron fell.

Fast forward in time, somehow Starscream has grown used to Optimus Prime knocking politely on his door. Never messages ahead. Just shows up with a weary look and a gentle voice and even gentler servos. It should feel taboo but Starscream had always relished the obscene. Never felt more alive than when doing something terrible. Makes their arrangement funny that way.

Optimus Prime needing someone who wasn't blinded by his name, Starscream needing something to claw into. It wasn't romantic, at least not by the saccharine standards of old stories. Poetry had no words for them and he much preferred it that way. The only proof of their trysts after all were the marks left across Prime's bulky frame when he departed in the mornings - and the aghast expression of former Autobots when they managed to piece together what was happening.

Life was: stagnant beyond that.

He wormed his way onto the council now overseeing the redevelopment of their entire race. The endless battles of which culture should reign supreme almost nostalgic, Autobots thinking themselves better than their grittier counterparts. Decepticons refusing to surrender more brutal practices. It took awhile to make both sides understand that shooting first was no longer a lawful conclusion to problems. It had been a rough start, but only now were things beginning to settle. Well, as much as they could.

Starscream misses Megatron sometimes, like one might mourn a painful memory. Terrible to dwell on - but likely taught a lesson. He wonders who else misses the old bastard? If Optimus sometimes spends any amount of his day thinking about his /old friend/. Starscream never asks, he’s certain he won’t like the answer either way. Hasn’t said Megatron’s name in how long and would like to keep it that way honestly. Makes it easier to sleep at night, to relax and wonder what Prime was dreaming of in the berth beside him.

Horrible that he had to be so handsome. Ridiculous that even after everything Optimus was so kind to something who would have killed him any other day of war. Starscream isn’t sure why they fell in together. Maybe because Starscream wore the same rattled look at the beginning as Prime? Neither of them really knew how to exist outside of war. Starscream was a killer, an inventor of monstrous things and sinner. Optimus was hand picked by Primus himself to lead them through war, but now what? What use was a Prime in a democracy? A tie breaker?

He likes to watch Optimus when it’s unlikely he’ll be noticed. When the council gathers and argues and wages a diplomatic war against one another. Likes to take in the way blue optics dim in withdraw - boredom or anxiety over the yelling representatives who were charging one another on a battlefield not too long ago. There’s such a bitterness shrouding Cybertron, but only so many are willing to acknowledge it. He’s watched Prime flinch and reach for a weapon not permitted in the court when tensions rose - and there Starscream found himself.

In that startled and guilty look in Prime’s face that he simply couldn’t let go of where they once had been.

So he sleeps with a gun under his berth. It never seems to dissuade Prime from joining him. The first time a commotion of the airways outside of Starscream’s suite had the seeker rising from the bed - weapon drawn and snarling - Optimus had his servo on his wrist and shaking voice telling Starscream to calm down. Pretending he too wasn’t ready to fight off the next danger with a heaving chest and forgetting not to activate his mask in bed.

Starscream found him incredibly endearing in the moment. Seeing someone else as scarred as himself just trying to make it to the next day. Their thoughts told to be on property value and increasing trade with neighboring colonies - rather than whether bombs would drop or who of the two were intending to slit their throat in the night.

He asked Optimus once, waiting for privacy in the newly raised Tower of their democracy - a grand thing meant to imply unity whereas some only saw ghosts of the crude past. They didn’t touch when outside of Starscream’s home, and didn’t then. Optimus quiet, waiting as Starscream stood at his left (Never the right, he was none’s right hand.). Wing warmed by the Prime’s mere presence and Starscream wondered if he was allowed to touch him? If he wanted to?

“Are we happy?” He had to ask because someone had to know the answer, and maybe the Matrix would make itself useful for once and give a reply. Maybe Starscream just had to be honest and ask the right question and Prime would stop pretending to be just as hurt, and tired, and hollowed as him.

“I don’t know.” Was the unfortunate reply, but Optimus turned his chin downwards offering what best smile he could. Not the perfectly molded one presented before their unified assembly. Not the one Starscream couldn’t stand as it was just as fake and sickly as his own when Skywarp and TC tried to visit. Tried to suffer each other’s company though being near just felt….adrift without chaos.

Prime smiles and Starscream can’t believe he enjoyed the way it looked on him. Almost like he wasn’t alone, imagine that. The first time in - well - all his existence someone was actually there. Suffering the same. Cut in the same places.

Suddenly Starscream felt very envious of the years of war and anyone who might have seen this hurt side of Prime. He does hope it was his alone.

“But I think we can be, some day.”

Now they try. In their own ways. They still don’t tell anyone about them, whether /they/ are anything worth mentioning. Prime sleeps best when his left arm is swung heavy over Starscream’s waist - idly petting a wing until tripping off to an equally restless sleep. Starscream likes the feel of his weight nearby - the stability implied. The thought that if the fragile peace shattered in the night then at least Optimus would be close.

Strange that. Trust.

They play their roles. They speak for and against the chambers, try to put forth their best effort to redeem four million years of death and cruelty on either side. Starscream doesn’t scheme as much as he’d like and Optimus sometimes yield to ridiculous requests.

Then every now and then Starscream catches Optimus smiling at him. Small, private, his - and Starscream thinks that yes.

Maybe one day.

#scriptjet #starop #starprime #curious cat prompts #this one made me sad #long post #in case read more doesn't work cause it hates me.

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darkdevasofdestruction · 5 years

Text

When You Get Injured

Altair Ibn-La'Ahad

They were on a mission together, all stealthy and such - Everything going perfectly well, since they were known to be the Power Duo of the Masyaf Brotherhood, never failing to complete a mission with 100% success rate- that is until today.

The girl was lying in wait on a taller building, ready to strike down any potential foe that could ruin Altair’s path of stealthiness, like a lioness in the tall grass, but what she didn’t know was that danger was lurking right behind her.

Before she could phantom what was happening, someone from behind her put her arm around her neck, choking her until she slowly lost consciousness, not able to fight back the filthy Templars surrounding her.

As Altair got the job done, he went to the meet point, waiting anxiously to see his lover safe and sound, to celebrate with a nice dessert and a hookah, but this time, instead of being met with her grin and gorgeous sparkling eyes, he only found a broken bow - Her broken bow, the one he gifted her on her birthday, which she craved with their initials - now lay on the ground.

Rage filled him, but if there was one thing he learnt from his mistakes and his time spent together with his lover, the one who could show him that it’s normal to have emotions and to care for others, was that he needed a well-thought plan and to not succumb to the darkness and recklessness, as he usually did.

He met with his most trusted friend, Malik, and made up a rescue plan - Quick and Stealthy - As to not target any more attention towards the Brotherhood.

They tracked her down, thanks to Al’Sayf’s information-gathering assassins and went to the secret base they kept her at, a place not well known and hidden away from the public eye, and saw her there, bound by her wrists with rope that dug harshly into her skin, her head hanging down, panting in desperation, trying to block the pain from the continuous whip lashes, drawing blood and grunts with each strike.

The Templars just wouldn’t stop asking for information about the Brotherhood, but no, she was strong, Altair knew it, but his heart felt like someone was stomping on it with each of her cries of agony, barely able to contain himself.

Thankfully, the enemies soon went away for other tasks and left the girl to suffer in silence, only her soft curses echoing in the room, which was the perfect time for the two assassins to get out of their hiding spot and save the girl.

Malik staid as a lookout whilst Altair cut the ropes and caught his S/O in his strong arms, picking her bridal style and kissing her forehead, whispering in her ear how everything’s going to be okay and that she’s safe now.

The girl could only muster a small smile before closing her eyes and relaxing in his warm embrace, knowing that she’s going back home, finally.

Back at the Jerusalem Bureau, Malik made sure they had everything they needed in their room and left them alone, attending official business, whilst Altair was helping dress the girl’s wounds, yet somehow, he was more silent than usual.

“Altair...? What’s the matter...? You’re even more quiet than usual.” she asked softly, stealing a look at him. He still wore his hood, not allowing any expression on his face.

“I’m fine.” he muttered, on a harsher tone than he wished for.

“I’m...Sorry. I should have sensed them approaching. It was my fault the mission was a failure. I will take full responsibility in front of Al Mualim.” she whispered, looking at the ground, like a kicked puppy.

“The mission was a success. I took care of that...” he replied, monotonously.

“Then...Why are you upset, Altair...? If the mission was a success, there is nothing to worry abo-” she tried to reason, not liking having her beloved angry at her, but she was cut off by the man looking directly in her eyes, making her glance back at him worriedly.

“You were captured, S/O. You were captured by the enemy and tortured, while you were on a mission with me. I was supposed to keep you safe, not let you die. If you were to die as well...” he began, but stopped mid-way, at a loss of words, seeing small droplets threaten to escape her eyes, one even straying and making a path down her pale, scratched cheek.

“We’re assassins, Altair. We knew what we got ourselves into from the very beginning a-and...I mean...We’re both alive, right?! A-At least that...!” she tried to reason, not understanding that the reason for his silence was his concern for her well-being, but raw emotions are difficult to show when you were taught to be devoid of any feeling.

“And what if you died?! What if I and Malik weren’t there to save you?! What would I have done?!” he raised his voice, trying to prove a point, but he was silenced by the girl taking off his hood and kissing him softly, caressing his face tenderly.

“I’m not dead, okay, Altair? I’m not going anywhere, any time soon, so please, calm down. Today is a day only for us. I am here, and so are you. So please, forget your worries and stay with me...” the girl held his hands tightly urging him to lay down with her on the bed, to which, rather stiff, he indulged, after taking off his gear, holding her close to his chest, making sure she won’t disappear anywhere.

She was the one person he held dearest and most precious to his heart and after so much hardship and heartbreak, she was the light of hope that helped him get out of the abyssal darkness that he was drowning into.

He got a glimpse at what life would be without her, seeing her in pain, tortured by the enemy, and he swore that he’d do anything in his power, and more, to ensure that she lives a happy life, even if that meant sacrificing himself.

She was the most important being in his world and he was never going to fail her again.

MALIK AL’SAYF

Ever since he lost his arm, Malik’s paramour has tried her best to be extra careful with him, giving up her job as a field-assassin in favour of the healing one, so she could stay around him as much as possible, making sure he’s okay...

Or, as okay a person who lost both his arm and his little brother could be, that is.

It was a warm Spring day, characteristically beautiful, which made the girl convince her beloved Malik to take a walk outside with her, in an attempt to make him temporarily forget about his sorrows and darkness.

She clinged on his arm, smiling brightly at him, chatting randomly, trying to cheer him up as they walked around the city, looking around the many market stalls and admiring the pieces of art displayed.

This didn’t last long, however, because Malik’s wound started bleeding through the bandaged, which was a clear sign that they needed to be changed - The only problem was that the girl ran out of medicinal herbs and ointment much faster than she expected, so she took her shawl off and wrapped it neatly around his wound, telling him to wait for her until she quickly gathers the plants needed.

Kissing his nose and giggling, she winked at him and ran towards the water where she knew the needed plants grew and started collecting them, putting them in her pockets. She was almost done with the gathering, until she heard some very noisy people approaching her, which only meant trouble -

Templars.

Of course, she was dressed as a civilian, but her hair wasn’t covered, having given her shawl to her lover, and her beauty always attracted unwanted stares, especially from such savages.

She drew back slowly and wearily, eyeing them carefully, until she stepped into the water and realised she had no way to escape by running or fighting all of them at once.

“What is it that you want? I’m merely gathering herbs for my husband’s injury! Don’t you have some assassins to kill?” she asked in a stern voice, earning the laughter of the men looking down at her.

“Feisty one, ain’t she? Pretty lil’ thing at that too. You a foreigner, missy? You look exotic.” they mocked her, which made her eye twitch in annoyance. Out of all the things that could have happened, THIS did.

“Where I was born is none of your business! Now let me through, my husband needs me!” she pleaded, aggravated by the whole situation and by Malik’s obviously worsening condition, only to be met by a blade at her throat, which made her gulp, worriedly.

“Now, wench, why don’t you shut up and come with us? Clearly, we need your aid more than your incapacitated husband does, ‘aight? So many of us are much more worth your time!” the leader, as it seemed, laughed and tried to approach the girl, but she used a dagger from her sleeve to parry the blade at her throat, then impaled the leader’s own throat, pushing his body into the others and stealing his blade and getting into a defensive stance, biting her lip.

Statistically speaking, she had no chance, but at least she wasn’t near a dead-end anymore so she could try to out-run them.

That, however, wasn’t such a good idea since getting unwanted attention in the middle of the city could only do bad instead of good, so she decided to stand her ground - It was in her Creed, after all.

The brutes started attacking her, insulting her for daring to do such a horrible deed, a woman like her and all that, as she cut through them like she used to before the whole tragedy happened, but things weren’t looking too bright for her, as more Templar reinforcements came to aid the sinners and she was on the ground, awaiting her death, until a true miracle happened and the foe behind her found his head on the ground.

Gasping in surprise, she turned around and fount that her saviour was actually her beloved Malik, wearing an extremely annoyed face and a bloody sword in his right hand, ready to defend her.

“How come whenever you’re alone, you always run into trouble?” he asked with a slightly amused smirk.

“Honestly, Malik, trouble somehow seems to seek me out for some reason!” she muttered, pouting, but quickly got up and started helping him kill the rest of the bastards.

“If only that were true, Y/N.” he grunted as he parried a sword from his opponent.

But just before she could reply, her rapid instincts made her twirl around and parry the sword that was inches close to striking Malik’s neck and with a force she wasn’t aware she had, she managed to overpower the enemy and decapitated him instead, kicking his head away from there.

“What a jerk! Could you believe that? Trying to hurt you like that?!” she scoffed at the few Templars left there, clearly pissed at what just happened.

“Good think at least your reflexes didn’t vanished, or else I’d have been a goner.” he shrugged, putting back his sword, letting the other Templars run away.

“Oh, shush, you~! You know very well that I’d never let you leave me.” sticking out her tongue at him, she put her arm around his torso and guided him back at the citadel where they tended to each other’s wounds.

“I couldn’t get rid of you even if I wanted to. I did the grave mistake of asking to marry you.” he chuckled at her pout that turned into a grin as she kissed his knuckles, nuzzling her face in his hand.

“Of course you can’t get rid of me, husband. After all, I’m like a parasite. Never leaving you alone.” she said, winking at him, which earned the first genuine smile since the tragedy.

“Eh...You’re the one person I’d never get tired of. The last thing I want is for you to go away.” he muttered, kissing her hand.

EZIO AUDITORE DA FIRENZE

She first met Ezio when he went for help at Leonardo, her best friend and master.

They didn’t really talk much, but she found the young boy to have a unique charm, which she quickly sketched while Leo was working on the hidden blade and the poor boy fell asleep after having had such a terrible day.

The next time they met was under better circumstances, as she was sketching some anatomical drawings, thanks to her friend’s influence, in the rose garden and surprisingly, the young Auditore came into her sight, holding a white, thornless rose for her, as a sign of purity, innocence and appreciation, as she was as fair and gorgeous as the first snow of the year.

She smiled softly at him and offered him a place besides her on the bench, which made him have a charming-goofy smile on his face as he showed interest in her drawings and medical research.

The spark of excitement in her eyes as she explained to him everything she knew in such detail that, even if he barely understood most of the things, he was still gazing at her with an imense sense admiration and respect -

That is, until they reached the page where his sketch was neatly drawn, depicting his innocent face as he was sleeping besides the fireplace.

Ezio’s face flushed a bit, then looked at the girl with a smug, knowing grin and yet, the girl was unphased by his reaction and merely asked if he liked the drawing and if he wished to keep it, as a token of appreciation for listening to her ramble.

He, of course, kept and cherished the drawing, always keeping it in his chest pocket, close to his heart and every time he’d have to go around that place, he’d make sure to surprise her with a white rose, because seeing her smile was what brightened his days and gave him hope for a better tomorrow.

And today was no different, he had to stay for a longer time at Leonardo’s so he decided to surprise her with both a rose and a box of chocolates, but when he got to his friend’s house and asked for the girl’s whereabouts, he saw a tint of worry on his face.

“Well, Ezio...Innocentio was out gambling again, I suppose...And dear Y/N offered to bring me my art supplies from the merchant I paid last week...But I don’t know what happened, she’s been gone for 2 hours! What should I do?!” Leonardo gripped Ezio’s shoulders, trying to get the answer to his desperate question.

“Don’t worry, amico mio, I’m going to look for her. Tell me, where did she go?” he asked, trying to hide the worry that was eating away at his heart.

Earning the directions from his genius friend, he sprinted out of the house, tracking down the girl he cared so deeply for, and to his shock, he found her cornered by his arch-enemy, Vieri de’ Pazzi, who kept pinching her and trying to aggressively court her.

“ Oh, come on, Y/N~. Why do you bother pretending to be a woman of culture and knowledge? That’s not attractive to men, y’know? A pretty face and a nice body like yours, however, could attract any male around. You don’t want to die alone, do you? I’m just here to help!” he slurred, in an attempt to sound like he was charming, but the girl was furious beyond measure and slapped the boy.

“You, brute! You kept me here for over an hour lecturing me about your perfect, stereotypical woman who happens to be just any female around! I don’t care if I die alone or not, as long as my thirst for knowledge is satisfied! Don’t try to make me fall into your dull platitude, because it won’t work. And besides...Someone, who is a far greater and smarter man than you will ever be, is already courting me, and I accepted it. So get a hint and leave!” she screamed in his face, trying to push him away, but he only slammed her into the wall, one hand around her neck, choking her.

“How DARE you speak to me like that?! You, a common wench with no wealth or respectable name? You, who is just a street rat, taken by a lowly self-proclaimed artist! You’re pitiful, that’s what you are! Just a nobody who wishes to be important, but if you die, I promise you, NOBODY will ever remember you!” Vieri exclaimed, the grip on her frail neck getting tighter and tighter, until it stopped altogether and a scream was heard.

The girl opened her eyes wearily, expecting to see the angry de’ Pazzi there, but instead, her saviour, Ezio Auditore, was there to save her, having injured the foe rather heavily and now he was running away, with his tail between his legs, like the coward he was.

The girl rubbed her neck gently before making a few steps towards the boy who saved her, smiling in appreciation.

“Ezio, mio caro, mio eroe, (my dear, my hero) how come you’re always there to save the day from such a...A...A figlio di putana bastardo! (son of a bitch) Urgh...I must be rather lucky to be saved by such a great assassino like yourself. Grazie mille...(Thank you very much)” the girl said, picking up the supply basket, but she was quickly bested by Ezio, who grinned at her and offered to carry it back home.

“Mia cara (my dear), you’re the one person I’d love to save every day, just to see you smile brightly at me and only me. Tu sei...Tu sei il mio Luce del Sole (You are my Sunshine).” he replied, making her stop dead in her tracks, wearing a look of shock on her face, before it changed to a tender one, as she put her soft hand on his cheek, tracing it, then on his lip, feeling the scar given to him by Vieri, many days prior.

“Why, Ezio, you’re quite brave to call me your Sunshine, when we’re engulfed by such a gorgeous palette of colours, given to us by this twilight, don’t you think? Then again...Tu sei dolce...(You are sweet).” kissing his cheek in appreciation, she started walking ahead of him, grinning at him mischievously, waving for him to hurry up.

“So...About what you said back then...You said someone great and smart is courting you, hm~? And you accepted it, correct~?” he nudged her, smirking knowingly at the girl, who laughed at his childish behaviour, but held his hand, intertwining her fingers with his.

“I accept your courting, Ezio, but I think you already know that if I hear you thrash-talking what I hold dearest to my heart-” she tried to warn him, but was quickly cut off by his “Me~?” reply, to which she again laughed and pushed him lightly. “No, Ezio, not you. I mean my studies, passions and Leonardo, my best friend...Then again, perhaps you’re not that far away from being as dearest to me as my studies are. Who knows what the times might bring, correct~?” she teased him with a toothy grin, to which he only chuckled and nodded in understanding.

“Mia bella, your wit is what charmed me. I’d be a complete idiota to wish to separate you from the things that make you so passionate. Maybe I can learn a thing or two from you, after all.” Ezio shrugged, dangling his arms, playfully.

“Well, clearly, I am the smart one, and you’re the pretty one. Together, we make an amazing Dynamic Duo! I make the plans, and you put them in action! What could be better than that?” she replied excitedly, her brain already starting to come up with countless inventions that she could make Ezio try out, much like her friend does, which made Ezio a bit uneasy and tried to change the subject.

“Perhaps a sweet kiss from the most beauti-” he tried to charm his way to a kiss, but clearly, the girl already started ranting about the plan sketches she began and Ezio knew there was no going back now.

She was a little nerd, but damn, was she the most enciting being he’s ever met~.

CONNOR RATONHNHAKE:TON KENWAY

Being in almost the same situation he was when he first came to Achilles, she managed to bond with the Native American child and teach him everything she new about the Creed and the Assassin way, whilst he’d teach her the gorgeous beliefs of his people and the beauty of nature.

Years passed and they both became young adults, fully capable of taking care of themselves, but very dependent on each other, emotionally wise. It was clear that an indestructible bond formed between the two of them over the years and they were both grateful for it.

Many times while she’d try his way of hunting she’d get hurt and he’d tend to her, while he’d get wounds from trying the super-stealthy and sneaky approach she takes, so she’d only laugh and bandage him.

The two of you worked as one, your flaws being overcome by the other’s fortes and together you were the best duo for any kind of mission you’d be given.

The problem was, however, that one day, because of his recklessness, he chose to ignore every bit of warnings his best friend-turned-lover that were about him thinking things through, but of course, he wouldn’t listen and rushed headstrong, like the Aries that he is, and got himself hit in the head, rendered unconscious and thrown in jail.

Great Job, Connor! 10 points for making us laugh!

But the worst was yet to come, for his actions led to her being captured in an attempt to flee after she tried to rescue him, but it was all in vain, for the stubborn boy had an inside-job to do there and wouldn’t leave...Oh, sweet summer child.

On the day she got captured, they brought her to the center where Connor’s hanging was also planned, and as the he was sent to the gallows, the girl was forced to watch while she was being beaten into submission, trying to get vital Assassin information out of her, but she’d only bite her tongue as she watched with glistening eyes as the love of her life wore the necklace of rope as was about to die in such a cruel way, right before her very eyes, and she had no way to save him.

It was all hopeless.

Her knees felt weak and she let herself fall to the ground as she saw Connor fall through the trap, but much to everyone’s surprise, the rope was somehow cut and he managed to get away with ease! Maybe something up there still exists to take care of them, the girl thought to herself as she tried to break free from the unattentive men guarding her. Ignoring any kind of pain her body would produce, she sprinted toward the way Connor ran, not even bothering with the dull ache that seemed to burn through her every fiber of her being, feeling as if she was chasing the ghost of a lost hope... That is, until the light from the horizon disappeared, along with her beloved, and with it, she suddenly could only see the bright blue sky and the white clouds, slowly drifting away.

She was confused. What happened? How did she get like that? What is she seeing? And why is her head hurting so much?

The answer to all the questions was the enemy that climbed on top of her, putting his hands around her neck, squeezing hard as she tried to gasp for air and push him away from her, but it was all in vain. Her lethargy, given to her by the regular beatings and the loss of hope and will to live somehow seemed to make it seem okay if she were to die, not even caring or realising anymore what has happening to her or to anything around her.

She could only gasp for oxygen as she tried to claw at his hands, small droplets of salty water finding their way down her cheeks as she started seeing dark dots in her field of vision...

Until suddenly, it all stopped.

She could finally breathe again with no difficulty, the baby blue sky was spotless and she felt no more heaviness on her body, and a soft sound could be heard in the distance, calling out her name. What was happening to her...?

“Y/N! Y/N, are you okay? Talk to me! Breathe! Come one, love, please...!” the man yelled frantically, shaking her softly, holding her close to his chest, kissing her head, trying to get her to come back to reality. “Connor...?” she tried to whisper, slowly as she put her soft hand on his bloody cheek, trying to realise if what she was seeing was the truth or just a pigment of her imagination, a most utopic dream. “Yes, Ákskere’ (love) , it’s me, Connor. What happened to you? Why are you here?” he asked, trying to keep his voice calm and soothing as to not scare her. “I tried to get you out of there...And got captured...Urgh...Then you escape and I...tried to run after you...But...This guy jumped on me...Jerk.” she sighed, putting her arms around his neck, letting him pick her up, wrapping her legs around his torso, as he walked them home, to their little safe piece of haven. “I’m sorry...It was my fault this happened to you...If I wasn’t so stubborn, you wouldn’t have gotten hurt...” he muttered, his voice dripping with a painful guilt and sorrow, feeling directly responsible for his paramour’s beaten up state. “Ah, whatever, love. It happens. We’re assassins...What’s life without a little risk, right~?” she smirked painfully, looking down at him reassuringly. “Possibly less painful?” he got the courage to usher, the ghost of a smile creeping on his face. “And much less exciting, on that note.” the girl winked, kissing him softly. “It’s not your fault, okay? So please don’t blame yourself. Besides...I get to spend more time with you, right~?” she grinned smugly, nuzzling her face on his cheek, making him chuckle at her feline behaviour. “Any moment spent with you makes me the happiest man to ever live on this planet. Mother Moon truly blessed me to have met you.” he smiled sweetly, looking at his beloved with tender eyes, full of love. “Yes, uh...Kano...Ronh...Uhh...Kwaht...Shee...Ra...? Uh...Uhhh...! Connor, for goodness’ sake, can’t you make your language easier to speak? I mean, honestly, if someone randomly said “I love you” , I’d just think they were putting some curse on me!” the girl laughed mirthfully as she tried to pronounce that hellish yet incredibly sweet sword her lover would so often tell her. “Words don’t matter, if you can feel the sentiment. That is, dear, because I truly love you and I’d be lost without you. Besides...You’re hopeless.” he smirked playfully, teasing the already laughing girl, his heart skipping beats as he hears her sweet laugh and gleeful face. “I mean, you’re not too far from hopeless either, okay?” she winked, kissing him once again.

Those two were perfect for each other, healing each other’s broken hearts with joy and love, and God forgive and save anyone who dares come between them, for they’ll have one true Hell to experience.

HAYTHAM KENWAY

As Charles Lee entered the room, he made way for a gorgeous woman to step in - But this woman wasn't just any woman. She was THE woman. The woman who managed to charm the Ice Man's frozen heart, Haytham Kenway, with her sassy attitude and the incredible wit and knowledge she desplayed from the very first second they met, when she went full-hysteria mode when she spotted the grave mistakes her fellow "scientists" would make by demolishing her own sketch plans, sent to the Queen.

"ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MINDS?! You're ruining my work! Cease this ignorance and let a professional deal with this-!" She gasped, slamming her hands on the work table in front of the physicists who were drawing over the blueprints and the light machine prototype in front of them. "And who are you? How dare you speak with such insolence towards us, men of science?" The man in front of her spoke, glaring at her. "I happen to be the one who created this...Everything on this table! I happen to be the one sent here on the Queen's behalf to enlight this country...Literally. Hence why this is a light generator." She stated with a hair flip, looking at the plebs condescendingly. "Ahem. Everyone, let's calm down and discuss like grown ups here. This woman is indeed the Queen's most trusted Scientist and you will address her with the respect she deserves. Miss Y/N, he is Haytham Kenway, my right hand, an honorable Templar and your assigned guard" Charles Lee said, trying to calm the waters around. "Look, as I said before, I couldn't care less about your silly boy scouts or the assassins whatever, okay? I'm only here to do my job, since clearly, these guys have such a frail ego and masculinity that they cannot accept the fact that they're wrong and will destroy a perfectly working light generator." The girl yawned, waving her hand, gesturing for them to step away from her invention. "Why, Miss Y/N, I find you most admirable and enticing. Allow me to be your guide in this new place." Kissing her hand with a charming smile, he watched as the girl looked away slightly, with a faint blush that only he noticed. "Yeah, sure, whatever you say. On another note, since it's clearly a sin being of the beautiful gender, I think you should warn these plebs to step away and stop tinkering with it, or it will explode in their faces." she huffed, gingerly taking her hand away from the man. “You heard the lady! Step away from that invention or -” but his words went unspoken because right then, a small explosion followed by a shriek of agony and a sigh of exasperation. “Is it too late to say I TOLD YOU SO?” the girl asked, watching them from above, smirking in satisfaction since of couse, she was right, as ALWAYS. “As truly hilarious as that comment was, don’t you think you should help them or something?” Haytham asked, trying to calm down a frantic Charles Lee who was worriedly shouting around for a medic. “Oh, if ONLY there was a medic around...! Well...I guess you’ll have to manage with me, a doctor, what a pity indeed. Maybe next time you’ll - .... Ah, nevermind, they’re not listening. Haytham, make them faint or something, I need to see if I can magically make him regain his sight in the left eye.”

With a chuckle, Kenway hit the scientist in the head, not even bothering to catch him as he hit the cold hard ground, making the girl laugh at how pathetic he looked. “That’s what you get for not listening to someone as awesome as me. Jokes on you~!” she smirked, flipping her hair and walked out of the room catwalk style, making the Grandmaster drag the fainted man to where the girl started carefully treating him and chatting with Kenway, but this time, she was acting much calmer and with less-superiority, as if she was at ease and she could talk with someone equal to her. Perhaps not in knowledge, but at least in life-understanding ways. Haytham, of course, was looking at the genius girl with infinite respect and admiration since so few people, especially women, had the courage to become intellectuals in that era, and even more than being a scientist, to become a medic as well, caring for others’ needs above your own and swearing an oath to help them, was something that moved him deeply.

Many months passed since The Woman joined Haytham’s gang, not as a Templar, but as a renowned scientist, woman of culture and doctor and truth be told, she clearly enjoys the time spent him him very much...The same being said like-wise as well. Since she was new around, he offered to show her around and tell her what’s been happening around since he arrived. She, in turn, took him to the forest and showed him the plants around that could be used for medicinal purposes and what properties they have each, here and there unconsciously boasting about her latest inventions, which only made him chuckle and listen attentively.

One day, however, as she returned to America and had to deliver an extra-secret message from the Queen to Charles Lee, she did her magic with a trick she learnt from one of Leonardo Da Vinci’s secret books, somewhere, in the dark alley slightly illuminated by the dimming light of twilight sky, she got pushed into a wall, the hand on her mouth blocking her from screaming for help. The attacker, (un)expectedly, turned out to be that one scientist who got partially blinded many moons ago. Was he there for revenge? For the information? But...How could he know about that...? Unless...!

“Give me the parchment, missy, or else...!” he yelled in her face, smirking condescendingly as he watched her frightened face. “What the hell are you talking about, you, creep?! What, is it a crime to return to this place from home?” she tried to reason, not wanting to give away any information, but a slap across the face and a blade to her neck made her gulp in fear and bite her lip, conflicting thoughts going through her brain. “Shut up, you British wench! I know EXACTLY why you returned here! Now give me the information, or else, this will be the last time you take a breathe!” he threatened the girl, drawing just the littlest bit of blood from her neck. “Oh, really? And how exactly did you find out? What, we have traitors among or noble ranks?” she tried to pry just enough not to get killed in the process. “What, you thought there was only a fight between the Templars and the Assassins, like your dear, sweet Kenway told you? Oh, goodness, there’s nothing farther from that, missy. Us, the Russians, want to be above anyone else, of course. We are the superior race, not some bunch of tea-drinkers!” he spat on the ground, letting his thick Russian accent that he hid extremely well be revealed now. “There is this thing...I do have the vial with the information, but if you destroy it, you destroy the parchment as well. Personally, I don’t know what’s written there, which was exactly why the vial was filled with vinegar and the parchment put in a very thin glass compartment. This invention can only be properly opened by the person who knows the code...Which, only Charles Lee and the Queen know. So I can’t really help you here.” she muttered defiantly, trying to sound brave, as the Queen taught her. Maybe she wasn’t a woman to fight physically, but she knew what had to be done. The man took the vial and inspected it carefully, realising the dangers of doing anything rashly, then took the girl by her her harshly, throwing her to the ground and beating her, shouting at her to make her tell the secret code. She kept crying and begging for mercy, that she’s only doctor with no important rank other than science and she thought it was nothing of significant importance in the vial, but the Russian so through it, maybe...Or he only wished for revenge, but needless to say, the girl was coughing blood on the ground, until... It got silent.

She painfully managed to raise her head and loo to see what happened, only to see her attacker on the ground, and Haytham above him, a look of extreme hatred and taunt on his face. “And did this Russian leader of yours teach you that’s it’s okay to behave like that to a woman that is clearly superior to you? Princess Dashkova and Catherine the Great would be greatly disappointed in your actions. I will make sure this gets to their ears, some time very soon, pest.” he sneered at the enemy, punching his face until get lost consciousness, then, calming himself, went to help the girl up gingerly, but the girl was much too busy trying to make sure the vial was in perfect shape. “Are you...Quite alright?” he asked, not understanding her actions. “What, you actually thought I had no idea what the code was? Please, I’m the Queen’s advisor. If there’s anything I don’t know is how many times she bathes, because damn, she looks great. Let’s get this to Lee and-” she tried to say but got stopped by his two strong hands gripping her shoulders, making her look up at him, confused. “What is it, Haytham?” “You are clearly injured and yet you act as if nothing’s happened! You have to take better care of yourself, this place isn’t for those who cannot wield a sword!” he stated sternly, but the girl only smirked and winked at him, raising his chin with a finger. “Why, Haytham, why else would you be here, fighting my physical battles, hm~? I’m the brains and you’re the brawn, what else is there to ask for? Well...Perhaps a wet tissue to wipe the blood away...My hair’s getting sticky, urgh...” she trailed off, until she got picked up bridal style, making her squeak in surprise and put her arms around his neck, blinking and looking away to hide her embarrassment, to which he only chuckled lightly and kissed her cheek. “Such a fiery woman like yourself acting like a meek green girl, this is rather entertaining, hm~?” he teased her, making her huff and look away, pissed off. “You know what else is funny? Your stupid looking hat! And the fact that I got beat up for a stupid alcohol recipe! Are you kidding me?! The Queen said it was a national secret, and that was her favourite alcohol brewing!” she screamed her frustrations away, making Kenway stop mid-track and look at her, weirdly. “Did you just open the vial?” he asked in disbelief. “No, you, idiot! I KNEW what was written in the parchment! But what was I about to do? Get killed over a piece of paper? No thanks! Urgh...The Queen better give me some of it or else...” the girl glared in the horizon, pulling at her hair, making the Grandmaster laugh at her behaviour, shaking his head at her childishness.

True, geniuses may be brilliant and amazing to watch while at work, but in their free time, they could be the most oblivious and hilarious being, never failing to make your day better with their antics.

JACOB FRYE

Meeting Mr. Frye was more of a joke than anything, since he was in a pub looking around for a villain Templar, while also enjoying a draft of ale, while this mysterious gorgeous woman dressed in a steampunk outfit, stealing everyone’s eyes, was at a small table, legs crossed, looking like a real diva with the cunning eyes of a vixen.

Of course, his eyes were captured by the girl’s enchantment like everyone else and instead of looking for his target, he kept gazing at the one who captivated him so.

The woman obviously noticed, but only winked at him briefly, before continuing her conversation with the group of men surrounding her, before she nodded and set her glass on the table, then sits up, goes to the barman, wrote something on a napkin, then surprising Mr. Frye, she put the napkin on his table and left with no words.

Looking after her with heart eyes until she left the pub, he rushed to look at what was written.

“Hey, Mr. Assassin, looking for some information? ~ Vixen”

He blinked confused, then ran after her, not understanding who this mysterious woman was to know he was an Assassin and moreover, looking for someone in particular.

He started running on the ground, looking left and right for the girl, until he heard the soft and repetitive taps above, only to see the girl running and jumping on the smaller buildings, trying to get rid of the Blighter following her.

“Yo, weirdo, can’t you like, stop following me? I haven’t done anything to you, yet!” the girl yelled, clearly pissed off at the random brute following her. “Shut yer trap, missy, and come quietly. We know who yee are!” the enemy said in a low, threatening voice.

The girl stopped abruptly, seeing how there is no way to go and the villain was approaching. She was ready to jump on the ground, but she stumbled on her feet once she got hit with a throwing knife in the shoulder. Instead of hitting the ground, she found herself in the arms of the Assassin that was so beautifully looking at her before.

“Oh, Mr. Frye, how nice to see you~.” the girl smirked at him, putting her arms around his neck, hoisting herself up. “Why, miss, I’m so very curious how you know so much about me, yet I know so little about you. We must definitely find a way to change that...Perhaps a date would work?” the assassin asks, a smug expression on his face as he started walking away with her in his arms. “Mhhh I think that would work well, Mr. Frye. An intelligence gatherer and an Assassin, what a lovely pair we make, don’t you think?” she muttered with an amused laugh, taking out the knife out from her flesh. “Oh my, oh my, this gorgeous lady here is an intelligence gatherer? Why, could you afford to spare some info for me as well?” he asked with a wink. “Tell me a name and I’ll tell you even where they are at the moment. Besides, as long as it’s an enemy of mine, like a Templar, it’d be so much better.” she shrugged, looking into the horizon. “My dear, we’ll make an amazing team, that I can guarantee. Until then, however, how about some dinner?” he asked cheerfully, completely forgetting about his real task. “As long as it’s on you, I’m not refusing anything, dearest~.” the woman declared with the flip of her lovely hair, leaning on his chest, letting him carry her further.

It was no surprise that they remained more than friends, for a long time, and even if she didn’t become an official Assassin, she definitely helps Mr. Frye and his sister with anything she can.

#Assassin's Creed #assassins creed #ezio assassins creed #assassins creed imagine #assassins creed match up #Altair Ibn La'Ahad #malik al sayf #kadar al sayf #ezio auditore #leonardo da vinci imagine #connor kenway #Ratonhnhaké:ton #haytham kenway #edward kenway #arno dorian #jacob frye #evie frye

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timeinabottle · 5 years

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Joyce Byers x Jim Hopper + 20-some-years of history = juicy backstory to explore

Wake Up - a Stranger Things (Jopper) oneshot

Joyce Byers could count on one hand how many times she’d woken up next to Jim Hopper in her life.

The first time it happened was at summer camp in 1958, when she was still just ‘little Joycie Horowitz’ from Maple Street.

She remembered the events leading up to that particularly cool July morning as if it happened yesterday — it was the first time she had ever felt real legitimate fear in her short life, during a wicked summer storm on the banks of Tippecanoe. Of course, looking back on it now, it was almost silly to think about being that scared of something so… well, normal, but at eleven years old, she had yet to find out just how deep-seated her fears could be.

That year, her mother had shipped her off to Camp Wawasee with little Jimmy from across the street. His parents had offered to drop the kids off at sleep-away camp together when Mrs. Horowitz had “work obligations” in Chicago over the summer — Joyce had already figured out by age nine that’s what her mom called it when she was dating her boss, but she didn’t exactly care anymore if it meant she got to spend the summer in Indiana without her mom. Being left ‘alone’ was an exciting prospect for Joyce and she was thrilled the Hopper’s were the ones to take her in. It sure beat being shipped off to stay with aunt Darlene again!

She had never met a happier or more loving family than the Hopper’s. In fact, Mr. & Mrs. Hopper were so nice to her that she sometimes found herself wishing they would just adopt her already. She had practically spent the last few years of her short life at their house. She even had a spare toothbrush that she kept there for spontaneous sleepovers and Jim was her best friend after all — it would just be so much easier if she could live with his family all the time. At least maybe then she wouldn’t feel like such a burden to her mother anymore...

It was a week into summer camp, on the fourth of July, when their group had ventured out to pitch their tents by the lake for the traditional bonfire, s’mores and fireworks. When the fire started to die down, but before the big firework display started, Jim convinced Joyce to go for a walk down to the lake. They relished the fact that they didn’t have to ask permission from anyone and ventured out into the twilight by themselves, already feeling a little more adult than before. He had brought his dad’s lantern and the pair took their time looking for frogs along the long and winding path to the banks of Tippecanoe.

They had just made it to the shore when a nasty storm had whipped up around them and the sky lit up with brilliant flashes that left stars in their eyes, and it took them a second to realize it wasn’t the fireworks. The pair tripped over themselves to get back to camp through the downpour.

Joyce suddenly recalled every time her devout Christian grandmother had dragged her to church, despite her mother’s insistence that Joyce was half Jewish. She also remembered all the times she fell asleep in the pews during the lengthy sermons on hot summer Sundays and the times she rolled her eyes at being shamed into calling herself a sinner, when she knew perfectly well that she wasn’t.

But when the thunder cracked above her head, she began second guessing all of her so-called sins. It sounded as if it the night sky was being ripped open end-to-end by a malevolent god, eviscerating the heavens above and unleashing hell on Earth. Based on her track record at church, there was almost certainly a spot reserved in the fire and brimstone for little Joyce Horowitz.

By the time they got back to camp, the counsellors were insisting that they shelter in place as it was safer than trying to pack up and get back to the main camp in a storm. Joyce hid from the torrents of rain under a giant oak tree and got down on her knees, trying her best to remember the Lord’s Prayer, all the while taking his name in vain, and quietly sobbing she was too young to die. Jim pulled her into the camp pavilion then, comforting her, telling her that it would be okay and no matter what happened, he would protect her, but she couldn’t just stand under a tree during a storm… it wasn’t safe under there, dummy.

As the counsellors rounded up the other kids in the group, Joyce cried on Jim’s shoulder in a dark corner of the building, asking him if it was the end of the world. He wiped the tears away from her cheeks with a chuckle and told her it was just a bad thunderstorm. He asked if she knew how to tell if it was coming or going and she shook her head with fresh tears lining her big doe eyes and a stifled sob.

At the next flash of light, he started counting, working out the miles between the lightning and the clap of thunder. He did it over and over, just like his dad had taught him, to show her the storm was retreating and he held her hand until he was certain that she was calm again and sleep caught up to her.

Even though the rules for Camp Wawasee forbade co-ed sleeping, the counsellor’s gave up on it that night, letting their group mix in the open air shelter while the storm passed.

Joyce woke the next morning to a damp chill in the air, feeling an unusual weight on her chest. She rolled over to see that she was the only one awake in the pavilion at that early hour. Jim was passed out next to her, his arm draped over her, as if he’d been protecting her in his sleep. His blond hair rumpled and fell over his freckled face and he was snoring softly in her ear. Joyce looked at her best friend in the dewy morning and felt her heart flutter in her chest for the first time ever.

At first, she thought she might be sick but then she realized what it was, something her mom had told her she would feel when she met a cute boy she liked — Mrs. Horowitz had called it butterflies, but right then it felt as if Joyce had a whole herd of elephants running through her chest, trampling her young, tender heart into pulp. It was a thrilling new emotion for her to contemplate.

Joyce found Jim’s hand in the pale light, holding onto it tight before falling back asleep. She was still not quite sure what she was feeling and while she was a bit frightened by it all, she also knew that she never wanted it to end.

The second time she woke up to Hopper was in senior year, the morning after prom.

She had spent nearly two hours the night before getting ready for the big event, only to have Lonnie ditch her at the dance before the clock struck ten. He didn’t bother to tell her where he was going or even to say goodbye. When she asked around, someone finally told her he had left for an exclusive party out in the sticks and she had never felt more embarrassed in her life. She bawled her eyes out for the next hour in a bathroom stall by herself, before resigning to the fact that her night was over. She splashed her mascara streaked face with cold water, hitched her indigo-blue taffeta up around her knees and starting the long walk of shame home across the football field.

She only stopped short when she noticed a familiar figure by the bleachers at the edge of the parking lot, sitting on the hood of his brand new Pontiac GTO — a highly anticipated graduation present from his grandparents. He was wearing his blue jeans and Stormrider jean jacket over a white teeshirt and had a near empty bottle of malt liquor resting between his feet. He puffed away on a smoke, looking up at the stars.

It looked like Hop hadn’t even made an effort for prom, so why was he sitting out there, and all by himself? She suddenly felt horrible that she hadn’t even noticed he was missing from the dance until that very moment. She just assumed he would’ve gone with Chrissy Carpenter or some other dumb blonde in junior year and didn’t even bother looking for him.

Before he could notice her, she shrugged the shawl off her shoulders, throwing her head back, giving into the ultimate plans the universe had for her that night. With a deep breath, she marched over to where he sat on the hood of the steel blue coupe, calling out to him in the night.

Joyce Horowitz was half Jackie, half Marilyn, and a glamorous shade of melancholy as she stood in front of him asking for a cigarette; she looked like she could have stepped off the silver screen with her dress and perfectly coiffed hair. The movie-star appearance was in stark contrast to her puffy eyes and bright pink cheeks, still raw from her tears and where she’d scrubbed the makeup clean off her face.

Without hesitation, he told her that she looked pretty when she cried and she laughed her oldest friend off, thanking him for the unusual compliment.

It was the first time they had spoken in weeks, after Lonnie had torn Hop’s heart right from his chest in front of the whole class when he asked Joyce to prom. She would forever regret saying yes and how it forever changed her relationship with Hopper.

Sharing the last cigarette in his pack, they listened to the class of ’65 celebrate in the school’s gymnasium without them. Joyce told him how Lonnie left her standing in the middle of the dance floor soon after they arrived. How Lonnie had ruined the night she had carefully planned for months and how sorry she was that she was now ruining Hopper’s evening too.

He shrugged and told her that his night was actually just turning around and maybe in protest of bullshit traditions, they could have their own very exclusive dance party right there in the parking lot at Hawkins High — after all, he had a brand new 8-track deck to try out. To his surprise, she produced a small flask of rum that she had strapped to her garter and told him that he owed her a dance, poking him in the chest.

That warm summer night under the stars, two best friends danced to Otis Redding and laughed, and tried their best to forget about the dark shadow of uncertainty that loomed ahead; both unsure of the impending transition into adulthood they were so unprepared for.

Hopper reluctantly put on Stand By Me when Joyce finally convinced him to slowdance with her. She kicked off her high heels as they swayed clumsily to the beat, with her head on his chest, and the grass between her toes. They spoke gently of their mutual past, the world’s turbulent present and all the potentials the future held for them, together or apart.

Neither one could’ve predicted that within the coming weeks, he would be shipped off to a war that wasn’t his to fight and she would go back to the familiar despair and a small promise of a happily-ever-after with Lonnie. They didn’t bother thinking about it any further, because in that moment, all that mattered was the space between them.

Looking back, she wasn’t really sure who made the first move but she fondly recalled a slow burn first kiss and a sly pass at second base and that’s where it all got hazy on her. The one thing she vividly remembers was that no boy had ever made her feel that way before and she didn’t know how to play the hand of emotions she had just been dealt... She couldn’t let it go any further for fear that it would turn into something she wasn’t ready for with him, but she also didn’t want it to stop, and the butterflies in her stomach urged her on with every palpable flutter.

So, there they stayed in limbo, exploring the depths of his backseat, lips swollen and tingling when they finally came up for air.

She fell asleep first, closing her eyes for a brief moment while he fiddled with the stereo and found herself suddenly waking up to birds singing and the sun kissing the horizon, unsure of where she was exactly.

She was tucked in the back seat of the Pontiac wearing his Stormrider draped over her shoulders and he was curled up in the front seat snoring away, his mouth gaped open and the loudest sound she’d ever heard escaping him. She wanted to let him sleep, but after a minute she couldn’t help it and woke him up with her laughter. He opened an eye, squinting at her, asking what was so goddamn funny.

As Joyce recalled, waking up to his boorish snores that morning and her resulting giggle-fit was the last pure moment of her adolescence that she remembered clearly.

Everything kinda went downhill from there.

In 1970, Hopper had returned home to celebrate his last weekend as a free man with his old pals before getting married and making the leap to the big city and a new life. Hawkins was such a small town that he knew the chances of running into Joyce that weekend were greater than not. Still, the sight of her sitting by herself at the bar of the Roadhouse caught him off guard.

He had clearly missed Lonnie’s presence by a few minutes as evident by Joyce hiding her tears in the bottom of a beer bottle; another half empty bottle sitting next to her. She quickly tried to wipe the tell-tale signs off her face when she noticed him standing there, greeting him with a big smile, genuinely happy to see Hopper after five long years.

Over a drink, she told him about her little boy, Jonathan, and how Lonnie had reluctantly made her Mrs. Byers after she found herself pregnant just a quick year and a half after high school. She confessed it was still a bit of a turbulent relationship but she was trying her best to make it work for Jonathan’s sake.

Hopper skimmed over his two tours in Vietnam and but divulged it was how he had met his fiancee. She had been finishing up her nursing degree in psychiatry by volunteering on the front line when he became her patient for a short time. Hopper didn’t say much more and Joyce didn’t want to pry, not caring to hear anymore about his new lady love.

She was already certain she was very nice and blond and WASP-y.

Just his type. Nothing like her.

They had just ordered another pint when he asked her on a whim to join his bachelor party. Despite the looks of disapproval Benny and the rest of the gang shot them, she accepted without a lick of hesitation.

Before either of them realized what was happening, they were several beers deep and shamelessly flirting over a game of pool — Hopper bending her over the table, guiding her hands over the cue to perfect her eight-ball bank shot. Someone in the bar had put the Stones on the jukebox and instantly, it was the summer before senior year all over again.

It seemed like so much had changed between them over the years, yet instantly they had given into the moment — falling back into the rhythm, picking up the dance where they had left off.

His friends had long disappeared and the bar was closing down by the time Joyce and Hopper decided to move the party to his motel room down the street, both sober enough to know they were crossing a line but just a bit too far gone to care. They didn’t even wait to get through the door before they were on each other, leaving a trail of clothes to the bed, finally giving in to all the longing from their past that they had never fully explored.

In the neon pink afterglow that filtered into the room from the motel’s vacancy sign, she told him he should stay.

Don’t go to New York, don’t marry her. Be with me instead.

He remained quiet, not bothering to stop her from painting a beautiful picture of what their life would look like together. She promised she would leave Lonnie for him, that they could run away from Hawkins and be happy together.

Hop cupped her pretty little face in his hands then and kissed her with such a force that he took her breath away and when she fell asleep in his arms that night, Joyce had never felt as content as she did right then and there.

She woke up to him for the third time and he was already dressed, smoking at the open window. The vacancy sign no longer lit up their room, leaving her feeling cold in the pre-dawn darkness. She didn’t have words for him when he told her that he was sorry he had to go; that he loved Diane and was committed to her. Besides, he reminds Joyce, she had a kid to think about now and he couldn’t be the one to break up a family.

His words hit her like a freight train as he finished his smoke and he touched her cheek to say goodbye — it was good seeing her and he hoped she would keep in touch.

As he left her alone, naked and broken-hearted in the small motel room, Joyce cried silently into the pillows and felt the waves of shame come crashing down upon her. They caught her unexpectedly, keeping her underwater, taking her breath away once more.

When he moved back to Hawkins in 1979, after the heartache of losing his daughter and a tumultuous divorce that left him bitter and raw, Hopper fully expected to run into Joyce again — just not in the way it panned out.

It was early spring in 1980 when it happened, and it was Hop that had got the call over the radio that night; there was yet another domestic at the Byers’ residence and could anyone nearby stop in?

Lonnie had already left by the time Hopper pulled into the driveway and Joyce was a drunken mess sitting out on the porch swing alone, holding an icepack to her face. She told Hopper that she had caught Lonnie cheating for the umpteenth time and tried to call him on it over dinner, but not before he turned it on her and gave her a black eye. She had called the cops on her husband again, not realizing Jim Hopper would be the one to show up. She didn’t even know Hop was back in town.

He looked around her home as she poured herself another whisky and nursed a cigarette at the kitchen table. The remnants of an epic brawl surrounded them — books were knocked off shelves, a hole was punched in the wall and the contents of the coffee table were scattered across the carpet. The dining room light flickered just beyond the living room and he saw a brief but unmistakeable flash of a mirror covered in white powder on the table.

Lonnie Byers, you no good, son of a bitch...

It looked as if Lonnie and Joyce had ripped the house apart in their showdown and he suspected that it wasn’t the first time the Byers house had seen a battle of this proportion.

Hopper moved into the kitchen where she sat, staring off into the distance looking like a broken china doll, and he frowned when shattered glass crunched under his boot. He noticed she was barefoot and bleeding but clearly didn’t feel it or care.

A picture of two young boys on the refrigerator caught his eye; he barely recognized Jonathan, who was much older than the last picture he’d seen of him. The other little boy looked so much like Joyce at age eight, a small wistful smiled played at Hopper’s lips at the blurry memory of the little girl he once knew, hair cut short to fit in with the boys.

He asked her if they were alone in the house — she told him she had sent the boys to their friend’s earlier that afternoon for a sleepover.

He asked her if there was anyone that could come stay with her for the night — she shook her head, no.

He asked if her mother was still in town and could he take her to her house so she wouldn’t be alone — Joyce cried into her drink then, telling him that her mom had died seven years ago. Had he really been gone that long?

Despite his better judgement, Hopper decided in that moment to stay with her instead, telling dispatch that Lonnie was long gone and he was ending his patrol early to take Mrs. Byers’ statement.

When he came back from his truck, he poured himself a whisky too and resolved to tell her why he was back in town. They sat at the table for a long time, finishing off the bottle of Jameson between the two of them.

He allowed himself to cry when he spoke quietly about Sara’s struggle with cancer, her slow agonizing death and the painfully quick divorce with Diane that followed soon after. Joyce cried with him too and held his hand through the long silence that followed, but somehow she just couldn’t shake the strange feeling that she was sitting across from a complete stranger now. A man who had already lived an entire lifetime without her.

That was when he noticed the bruising along her forearm under the dim light at the kitchen table. A mottled green and blue imprint of fingers lined her wrist, already more than a week old and almost healed. He felt rage building up inside him. How long had that been going on?

He wasn’t mad at Lonnie then, he was mad at her. He told her point-blank that she needed to leave Lonnie; she was stupid to believe he would ever change at this point. She had her boys to think of now and she needed to be a better mother for them.

Hopper didn’t expect the reaction he got then, realizing as the words left his mouth that she was too far gone to be reasoned with. She bit back at Hopper and told him that all of this was his fault — reminding him that she had given him the chance to avoid this painful path they were both on and why didn’t he take it? She blamed him for both their lives going off track, twisting her knife deeper with every word.

Feeling vulnerable, but not wanting to admit she was kind of right, he didn’t hold back. He told her that she clearly had too much to drink and he thought it was pretty sad that she continued to let her fear, and anxieties, and Lonnie, control her this way.

Didn’t she think it was time to clean up? Did she even realize that she was this close to having her kids taken away?

The town rumour mill already had her name in rotation and Lonnie’s new reputation around Hawkins didn’t help matters. Hopper had been back in town just a few months but he already heard about the constant public throw-downs she had with Lonnie through the grapevine and it didn’t exactly paint Joyce in good light either.

She growled at him to get the fuck out of her house then but Hopper refused, instead making her a bed on the couch in the middle of the mess her and Lonnie had made.

She followed him around the living room, telling him that she hated him over and over and asking why he wouldn’t just leave her alone.

He told her he wasn’t going to leave until he was certain she wouldn’t drink herself to death or do something equally stupid or permanent. He assured her that the feelings were mutual and not to worry, she wouldn’t see him ever again after this little outburst.

She laughed in his face, but found herself on the couch anyway, too emotionally drained to fight back anymore.

Hopper pulled a bucket out from under the sink and placed it by her head, along with a glass of water, unceremoniously tucking her in. As he watched her sleep in the darkness of the living room, he allowed himself to feel sad and empty for the both of them. He wondered how the beautiful young woman he’d once known allowed herself to hit rock bottom this hard.

He wondered how he had done the same.

When the sun had started to peek over through the windows and Hopper was convinced Joyce would be waking up to a nasty hangover and nothing more, he snuck out the front door, silently wishing her all the best and saying a prayer that she’d eventually screw her head on straight. She needed to stop following her husband down his dark path; she deserved so much more than anything that selfish prick Lonnie Byers could give her.

The fourth time Joyce ever woke up to the sight of Jim Hopper, she didn’t give him a hint that she was awake as she watched him leave her house between the shadow-veil of her lashes. She was still a bit drunk and too angry to say anything more to him.

He clearly didn’t know the first thing about her if he didn’t think she would walk to the ends of the Earth and back for Jonathan and Will.

As she watched him walk out her door into the harsh light of day, she really didn’t care if she ever saw Jim Hopper again, but she’d be damned if she didn’t let his words fuel her fire, motivating her to make a much-needed change for her and her boys.

In the days that followed, Joyce finally worked up the courage to kick Lonnie out for good.

When she woke up next to him the last time, it was the morning after Eleven had closed the gate, Will had been saved (again) and sweet, naive Bob Newby had died a horrific death right in front of her.

Hopper had offered to spend the night by her side to make sure she was okay. She refused him at first, wanting to just carry on like normal, trying her best to bottle it up already. He wouldn’t allow it, reminding her gently that he’d seen her cry many times before and there was nothing to be ashamed of. They were old friends after all and he’d seen her worst.

Joyce reluctantly allowed him to look after her when she opened her refrigerator door to a very cold, very dead demodog and admitted she was starting to feel a little crazy again. Looking at the monster’s corpse on her kitchen floor, Hop reasoned it might be okay if he left El for just one night to help look after Will with Jonathan at the Byers’ house. It just seemed an easier solution to get Joyce out of her house to allow her some peace and quiet to properly grieve.

He took her back to his cabin and they spent the rest of the night in silence, save for her tears, which came in waves; soft and quiet sniffles ebbing into gut wrenching, wracking sobs. When she couldn’t cry anymore, she would fall asleep on his lap for a few minutes at a time, only to wake up in a panic, clutching at him to hold her tighter until the swells of anxiety passed.

Sometime towards daybreak, he ran her a bath hoping it would soothe her. He sat on the floor outside the bathroom while she got cleaned up, and as he listened to her stifle her tears in a washcloth, he wished he could do something more, anything to ease her pain.

She had towelled off and stumbled back to the couch when she finally fell asleep watching him stoke the fire in the stove. This time she slept for longer than an hour, drifting off to the birdsong that announced the arrival of a new day. The hardest part is over now, he thought, she made it through the first night.

When she opened her eyes, the first thing she saw was Hopper reading a book on the first world war; sitting on the floor next to her, his head leaning against the couch. He put the book aside, hearing her stir and watched her cautiously as she opened her bleary eyes to him. He gave her a sad smile and brushed her bangs out of her eyes, silently letting her know it would be okay, he was still there and begging her not to blame herself for what had happened; not to feel guilty for letting Bob stay behind to save them.

She couldn’t help it though and had to close her eyes again, unable to look at Hop.

Yes, she felt a deep sense of guilt that Bob had died because of her, but she felt even worse that a small part of her was actually thankful it was Bob who had sacrificed his life for her and her family, and not the man that she truly loved staring back at her now.

If there was ever one constant between Joyce and Hopper, it was that they just couldn’t ever seem to get the timing right. Yet, in early summer of 1985, twenty long years after they had started their little waltz, they finally seemed to fall in step with one another.

He had shown up on her doorstep the night before, after his shift ended, with a case of beer and a movie. The kids were all sleeping over at the Sinclair’s, Jonathan and Nancy were spending the night at a friend’s and the adults finally had the night to themselves. Joyce put some Jiffypop on the stovetop and they shared a joint Hopper had confiscated from Jonathan the previous week. Taking turns passing the joint and shaking the popcorn, they allowed themselves to laugh and relax for the first time in a very long while.

The movie was some Meryl Streep sob-fest that they weren’t really paying attention to when halfway through, Hopper’s hand had casually found hers in her lap.

She was just welcoming back the delicious feeling of butterflies in her stomach, mindlessly tracing slow circles inside his palm with her thumb, when he decided to make his move on her. His lips first pressing against the crown of her head, he tested the waters with a familiar act. She looked up at him with a smile and bit her lip, knowing exactly what he was up to and letting him know she was ready for him now.

This was his invitation.

She let him take her that night, right there on the couch, in the soft flickering glow of the television screen. And then again, up against the wall in the hallway, before they finally moved to her bed, making love long after the credits had rolled on the video tape.

Yes, Joyce could count on one hand how many times she’d woken up next to Jim Hopper but this… this was the first time without any weird negative energy attached to it.

Nope, there was no bad mojo that came with opening her eyes to him this morning. No fear enveloping her. No uncertainty. No shame. No anger or guilt.

And there were definitely no tears.

In fact, Joyce had never felt more safe, more at peace; she had never felt more loved and in love.

She kissed his forehead as he buried his face into her chest, his breath warm against her as he grunted his disapproval of the early morning hour. They had the whole morning to wake up to each other now and she wanted to get a head start enjoying it.

“Hey,” she whispered to Hop as he opened up his eyes to her, seeing her in the new morning light. “It’s time to wake up.”

More Jopper love + backstory @timeinabottle...

#stranger things #jopper #fanfiction #joyce byers #jim hopper #wake up #stranger things fanfiction #fanfic #joyce x hopper #joyce byers x jim hopper #my first jopper fic #aw bless

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hopper-baby · 5 years

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Chapter 4/?: The Sinner’s Side

“What’s that over there?” Charlotte tightened the thick quilt around her body as she looked out the back porch screen door.

Across the yard, there was a huge barn with white markings and symbols covering the expanse of the building. Charlotte could faintly make out a cow calling from inside the barn.

Clementine fixed her black, plain sunhat laying on top of her chocolate curls. She had fixed in a ring piercing to her left nostril, and a beautiful, black dress that had long sleeves and cuts on both sides of her legs to expose them. The dress was flowy, and her smooth legs had black, detached pantyhose and black heels.

She looked like a Sinner would.

“What are you getting all dressed up for?” Charlotte turned to look over at her.

“That is my barn, where I keep my farm animals. If I let them roam, they’d be eaten alive. To answer your second question, I’m heading to town. I’ve got some things to do before my fiancé gets home from his trip. I also need to get you home,” Clementine smiled at Charlotte’s excitement.

“But, please do be more careful out there, remember what I taught you,” Clementine picked up her satchel, piling in some books and files into them.

“Yes ma’am, I understand,” Charlotte slipped her shoes on and moved to Clementine’s side.

“Keep these on, and do not take them off, no matter what you may hear or see or feel or think. Hopefully you won’t have any reason to take them off,” Clementine ties a blindfold around Charlotte’s head to cover her eyes, and places noise-canceling headphones atop her head.

Charlotte wasn’t nor will she ever be prepared to ignore the temptations of the Forest.

Clementine kept Charlotte close as they ventured down the gravel path.

“How dare you, Miss Clementine,” A voice rung through the forest with the wind. Clementine didn’t stop.

“I was looking forward to a meal,” a voice slithered past her ear, sending chills down her back.

“I’m not looking for a fight, I’m dressed in my favorite outfit. If you ruin it, I will drag you to the deep, dark, bellows of hell you belong in,” Clementine tightened her grip on Charlotte’s arm, speeding up their pace.

A maniac laugh passed her ears and she pursed her lips.

“You always make me laugh, Miss Clementine,” the voice couldn’t bother her any longer because they reached the entrance to the Forest.

“Alright, Charlotte,” Clementine helped her take off the headphones and blindfold, Jim stumbling out of his cruiser and crushing Charlotte in a big, bear hug.

Clementine looked up at Jim who nodded at her in thanks.

“No problem, but I wrote down a daily checklist your daughter needs to do every, single day or she will be in danger. My fiancé and I are working on removing the evil from this town, once we have done so, she will continue life as normal. She will not have to train her gifts and she can be normal,” Clementine handed Jim a file containing the two checklists, and a black, nylon bag.

“What’s in this little pouch?” Jim twirled it around to give it a full examination.

“It has a few rocks you need to stick in your window sills, sage, and blessed witch hazel. Smudge the sage around your house, and coat all of your entryways— doorways and window sills— with the blessed witch hazel. Just extra protection,” Clementine smiles.

“Are you a witch?” Jim quirks an eyebrow, and Charlotte lets out a shaky breath of fear.

“Yeah, she is. But she said she wouldn’t hurt us, the kind of witch you’re thinking of isn’t how it works,” Charlotte leans into Hopper’s side, ready to go home.

“You two be careful, I sense a dark energy has penetrated the town. My fiancé told me to wait until he and his friends got back to investigate,” Clementine folded her arms.

Jim looked Clementine over once, before smirking, “Let me guess, you’re going anyway?”

“How do you know me so well, Chief?” Clementine smiled back, shaking her head. She popped out her hip with her hand on the curve of her hip as well.

“Well, go on. I’m not heading off until you two leave,” Clementine hopped into a baby light blue Jeep, the paint faded and chipping a bit. The Jeep had definitely seen better days.

Clementine watched the cruiser pull away from the forest and she left shortly after.

The Sinner’s Side, her favorite part of town. Darian was a very Catholic small town, but of course, there was also a side of rebels who despised what they taught in churches.

Clementine could be considered their inspiration, more like she really is considered so. She showed them the truth, and in return they work for her in town.

Her Sinners didn’t cause violence or riots unless absolutely necessary. The church men, and even women, were horrible. They were corrupt. They usually started it.

For example, she sent two guys to town for some food for a big celebration she was hosting, and these Catholic men threw them out and started beating them up for even showing their faces.

Darian was split into two sides: the Sinners and the (Corrupt) Catholics.

Clementine believed people could have free will, they can believe what they wish. However, it’s a step too far when those people don’t allow others to peacefully believe what they wish.

Parking Roscoe at one of the many clubhouses at Sinner’s Side, Clementine climbed out of the Jeep and headed inside.

She was met with cheers and wolf whistles from the guys in the clubhouse, and she rolled her eyes and smirked.

She sat down with a tall, spastic guy and a tan, rough looking man.

“Hi my love,” Clementine greeted her fiancé.

“Stunning as always,” Stiles Stilinski responded, setting his beer bottle down with a smile for her.

“You two are so sappy sometimes,” Scott McCall chuckled.

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bbunnylily · 5 years

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brief note.

Disclaimer: just a woman share her past story. For some throwback moment, I don't really come out as a part of lgbt community, even in high school era. I don't feel that is necessary for me, since I got something fuck-worthy to figure out soon, named college. To be honest, I already coming in for myself since junior high school. I make time for my self, contemplating what I really been through and what should I do about that. I just like, or actually fell in love with my bff back then. I know I was gay when I realize recently, I actually put her photo as my facebook cover and also comment with other people that I really valuing this bff things (ehe, you know). The part that makes everything so counterintuitive is I always with boy since day one I experienced, so I don't have much time and energy with my s/o. I am being brainwashed with facts that lgbt community is a sinner, a contagious behavior and it should be punished whatever it takes. I don't believe in those facts, I know they (it's used to be 'we') are not less human than the rest of us. They are not a contagious disease that need to be stopped the spreading. They are human and they are valid for whatever they feel. For my idea of it, I got plenty of gay friends, I hear their story as well and asking what this world as in their perspective. I always try to be their safest place to stay. The beginning of 2019 hit me real hard. I learned a lot. It was starting when I know I had crush with the girl I used to go class with. I came to her and express my feeling genuinely. I am not the silent one when it comes to my feeling and what my heart wants. So, basically I started this relationship with her, I broke up with my five years worth boyfriend and start living my life in my own motto - no regrets. The love life was horrible and it's affect for both party. I will tell you simply what I feel and I don't mean to generalize them. I came with upper middle class family with no problematic parents and surrounding with helpful people, caring friends, and loyal boyfriend. Thankfully, it's a blessed circumstances for me. I maintain all the relationship maturely enough and I don't feel attacked in all parties. Unfortunately, I have a black-record on mental illnesses because I couldn't control my own mind for at least two years and I need to be treated. I started my first semester on junior year to learn about myself and its attached mess. When I already made so much effort, crawled to put my shit together at the end of first semester, life won't understand me easily. It gave me double hard rock at the beginning of year and I can't defeat this alone. Thanks to my best friends, they actually pull me up for this uncommon infinite loop of self absorbed and shamelessness. Back before enlightened version of me, I became a less merciful servant, least grateful person on earth, and also the first rank on being spoiled daughter. I feel so unnatural, bathed in everything I want but I don't feel happier. I felt stuck, this is not me. I don't have any spark on changing the world like I used to be. I don't dedicate enough time to pursue my passion. I don't put any interest on things like self growth, ethical eating, or sustainable lifestyle I used to be. I engulfed with entitlement. I used to think and feel as 'I am special snowflake falling in love with girl, against the odd, we're cool, we aren't less human, and you should know that'. The part of 'you should know that' really mean it. We think that God would understand and approve this artificially-beautiful relationship. We committed awful things shamelessly, I don't think about people's feeling. We made time for each other even though she will fail on her class and I am suffering from sleep deprivation because I need to make sure my grades are not surfing down at the same time I madly fell in love with her. We searched someone or some art to support our preference of love. She made me a beautiful lesbian art, I made her a lesbian love playlist. We were surfing on youtube, finding gay girlband, lgbtq+ allies that supports us no matter what cruel world do to us. We were escaping together, made a coping mechanism for untangled thread of college life. We spent our limited money to give each other gifts every single time we met. I even asked for double amount the monthly pocket money to treat her and my parents accepting my white lies. Simply, we were confused. I was the victim of pseudo-happiness and I was the servant of lust and temptation. One day, God gave me a turning point through my best friend. She always there with me when I met my girlfriend. She cried in front of me, when we were having lunch together, just two of us. "I don't want us (and all of my peer group) are going to suffer in hell because we failed to hold your hand, together for heaven." The clichè sentence she said to me were not change my lusty love for my girlfriend and she continues her sentence. "Do you want to see me burnt?" Tears coming down from both of my eyes. My heart already cracked slowly. My neck choked and my breath blocked. This is the feeling I craved for whole time, awe. She grab my shaked hands and look at me. I can't see her face, I am ashamed. I am totally repent from my sin at the time. I broke up with my gf and she blamed me for too-hear what people said and she never liked my best friend at all. My best friend knew that my gf don't like her and she's okay with that. One lesson I learned was I have such help from God through my best friends and I always feel thankful for the blessings. As the devil made for tempting us, made the forbidden one just as good as the real one, I actually came back and repeat my sin again for twice, with the same person. I already tidy up the mess I made and I promise to my gf that I won't involved any person in our private love life. So, we were doing same, but we commit things more horrible everything you can think of. I don't feel so good for the second time. I realized I am being denial but I don't know what. I keep accepting terrible facts for my consciousness but I don't know what they are. The black thing crippling through my skin, already infected my brain, but I'm dumb. I don't know what that feeling is. I can't reach any help from people and my friends I used to be, she will blame me twice. So, I need to defend myself all alone this time. One night I was in the middle of chatting with her, she told me her insecurity for being with me. "I was insecure that you have lovable family, caring best friends and loyal ex bf. I am insecure, I constantly comparing my self with your past ex. He can do anything for you, anything. He wrote your story, made a song for you and gained success with it. He fulfilled you with attention, loyalty, and material than me. He is the faithful one for you, balanced with your strong-willed treat. I just the gamer girl, don't have any long-term goals with shitty life. I buried myself with superficial things. So, what you chasing after me? What value you can gain for me?" My heatbeat stopped for one second, my brain freezed. This is the black thingy that crippled into my skin. It feels like I've peeled off from something that taped me tightly. Why I chase her? Do we need better than this? I know she feel shitty and I want to make things better for us. "I choose you because you taught me to chill out with life. I see you enjoy your life with all the mess you made, you gave me sort of happiness that simply anybody can't give to me." I felt horrible because deep down I lie to her but I can't make her worse. So, right now I just made the white lies and continue myself to pursue my dream. I actually tell her to do something, to help herself manage her feeling, I don't want to brag it, but the result it was same. She always back to daily preference for searching something that comfort her inner mess instead of really solve the problem for long term inner peace. I keep note for myself, I don't want to give a fuck with someone that doesn't do something about their own life to be better. She exploded and blame me for too-hear my ex's suggestions about life and ignore her. I just fed up with her, so I just say yes. Yes to all the premises she dump for me. I took the blame I could take. Don't mention all the block, unfollow, and 'hide' action she takes, I just want a breakfree for this attached rope. We broke up for the second time. Lesson that I ever learn for this one is stop paint on other people canvas if God already show their painting. Almost two months I never heard about her, I keep figure out what I need to do with my life. In the middle of noon, I was sick, she called me and I answer weakly. She was missed me and I kinda took it easy. I don't want to be blamed again for messing thing I feel I never do that. I just take her love and reply it back with no hard feeling. Friend need to love each other, right? I already move on from her, so whatever she does it doesn't affect me at all. I don't greet her, chat her regularly for weeks because I know that she's not fuck-worthy. I do care about her, she's free to tell me a story and I always hear it, but I don't want attached to her anymore. One night I'm in the middle of jinjer playlist on my youtube, writing animal structure for junior year dictates, she told me that I'm not a human being, I just cruel, egoistic, and cold hearted girl that don't think about her feeling. She was stalking through my instagram and find highlighted story with my ex when we are collaborating with some business project and I help him with the upcoming interviews. She blamed me for ruthlessly messed up with her feeling. I just can't stand it, and I need to reply all the blame she gave to me, and now I just have the courage to stand as myself, defend all my untapped dignity to keep her calm. At the end, everything I got just a 'cheater' title from her. Lesson I need to extract here is whatever other people said harsh thing to you, blame you for your weaknesses, don't let yourself throw pity party. Everyone has their side of anxious part and maybe my being just made her feel threatened. After almost one month, I already healed completely for all the torture, I am not obligated to her feeling. So, I went to Depok, makeover my rooms with our pictures hanging the walls of my bed. I send the snapchat and wholesome picture for her. She was making time for catching up with me. I was so happy I could meet her but at the end I express my feeling for her, I said I can do the sweet things without being attached to her, just like I treated all my friends. She neglected my goodwill and tell me I don't have to do that for her, but to be honest I treated her just like friends, no hard feeling and she can't take it. Simple lesson learned for this experience is whatever you do for mend the good and healthy relationship, be sure it will accepted maturely for both of parties involved. So, shout out for her my first and maybe the only girl I ever have the lovers relationship with. Please pray for her peacefulness upon all the mess and chaotic cloud everyday. I'm so sorry for all shameless acts we do and pray together for God's mercy. I pray we all find serendipity in our day with fulfilled heart and caring companionship whatever the battles we experienced through the day. Keep strong and always learn the lesson from our experiences and other's. May God forgive us all. Semoga yang sedang cemas, ditenangkan hatinya. Semoga yang sedang bingung, diteguhkan pendiriannya. Semoga yang sedang sendiri, dikuatkan langkahnya. Semoga yang berada dalam kegelapan, dibimbing jalannya menuju cahaya. Tuhan akan membantu, percayalah. Tuhan hendak melihat hamba-Nya bersusah payah, lelah, dan penat tertatih menuju jalan-Nya. Tuhan ingin melihat usaha hamba-Nya. Sekali, sekali, sekali, dan sekali lagi.

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fftmike · 5 years

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One Ditch to Another

I speak at a lot of camp meetings. These camp meetings are old fashioned gatherings of people, usually at remote locations, for a spiritual retreat. Some in attendance pitch tents, some bring travel trailers or RV’s. Others find lodging in nearby hotels. Many of these gatherings last a week or more and feature music, preaching, teaching, seminars, and much more. Over the past four years, I’ve been privileged to speak at thirty such gatherings. These meetings provide an opportunity for me to meet people, tell them about the ministry of Faith for Today, share from Scripture, and worship together.

Throughout my ministry, I have chosen to focus primarily on the Gospel. It is found on just about every page of Scripture. In forty-five years of ministry, I have found it impossible to exhaust the topic of God’s marvelous grace.

Recently I spoke at yet another camp meeting. No long after the meetings were over a friend of mine contacted me to ask what I had said while there. He went on to share a post from one of his Facebook friends complaining about my sermons. This friend had apparently attended the meetings but was not a fan of my sermons. He posted: “Going from one ditch to the other right now. We had Mike Tucker at our camp meeting trying to promote a whole new definition of repentance and that God doesn't really see sin as that big a deal.”

My sermon series had been taken from the three parables found in Luke 15. Jesus shared these parables to answer criticism over spending time with “sinners”. In contrast to His critics, Jesus cared about sinners and worked tirelessly to demonstrate His love and the love of the Father for all sinners. However, I did not say that sin was not “that big a deal.” Of course, sin is a big deal. It sent Jesus to the Cross. That’s a very “big deal!”

Focusing on the greatness of God’s grace, and on the accessibility of God’s grace, in no wise minimizes sin. Instead, it maximizes the love and grace of God! Sin is horrible! God is much, much bigger than sin. Grace is much, much stronger than sin. Stressing these things does not minimize sin, it satisfies the debt we amass by sinning.

The individual who posted his critique of my sermon is not ignorant of what I said. He is both a former pastor and a former lawyer. He is well educated and familiar with the themes of my sermon. (While I know these things about him, I do not know his name and did not ask.) His mischaracterization of my sermons was intentional. Unable to refute the things I said from Scripture, he resorted to mischaracterization to discredit me.

Truthfully, I don’t need to be discredited by anyone. I do a fair job of that myself. The message of God’s amazing grace, however, cannot be refuted and should never be discredited. The issues are life and death! The message is essential for human survival.

I suppose I could choose to be very angry with this man but his actions prove that he desperately needs the things Jesus taught. God’s great grace is big enough for my detractor, big enough for every sinner regardless of sin, and big enough for me.

Mike Tucker

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oc-tipstricksandreviews · 5 years

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Can you review my OC? Thank you.

Original. It follows a group of agents in Skotos, a village mostly populated with people who have been wronged by humanity. (It has become a haven for those types of people after people discovering it by pure luck + technology). One day, while Skotos agents were doing their thing (school and house visits, assemblies, online posting, whipping out bells and shouting, etc) and trying (keyword: trying) to educate people about the horrible things they were doing and why they should stop it, they discovered this organization about the Angels. (They were trying to convince everyone to stop what they were doing, but most of them refused to listen and called the agents names. One of the agents found out that the treatment was because of an organization called the Angels through questioning various of the villagers. The Angels apparently originated from the internet and formed an organization about their beliefs over time). The Angels were trying to promote humanity’s sick things by saying that the victims deserved to be mistreated and even insisted that not only that humanity should not show pity for the victims, but they should also even treat the victims more harshly. To counter this, the head elder of Skotos formed a team of Skotos agents to shut down the Angels (AKA kill all of them since none of them could listen to reason and almost everyone had been brainwashed by their propaganda), but the Angels wiped them out. This continued down the line, through generation and generation and the story takes place where “Squad I” is sent out to hopefully stop the Angels. My OC is in Squad I.

Aarav Kumar

Name: Cassius Kumar

Inspiration: Gaius Cassius Longinus, Judas Iscariot, Satan, Adolf Hitler, and Kamui Gakupo.

Age: 22

Birthplace: A village named Angeli. Angeli’s Latin for Angel, which ties into the expectations it has for its citizens. If they sin, said villager must repent. If they do not repent, they get moved to the horse stables and/or banished to die a slow and painful death. Meanwhile, if their family sticks with them, they are executed. The system is pretty twisted but it’s an exaggerated version of the high expectations people have for each other and the consequences that said people face when expectations aren’t met (not to mention the number of violence humans exercise on a daily basis).

Sexuality: Asexual Demiromantic

Crush: N/A

Looks: He has light brown skin, sable hair, and sapphire-blue eyes. He has some acne on his forehead, though some of it is hidden by his bangs. He also has wrinkles on his forehead and his hands. He is 5'11 and weighs 120 lbs (he’s supposed to be underweight). He wears a long-sleeved black shirt with black pants and black leather shoes. His cloak can somewhat be compared to that of a nun’s dress, except that it is halfway cut open in the front, and he, of course, doesn’t wear a veil. (He’s a priest of a made-up religion).

Abilities/Powers: Every human (in this world) has two special abilities (no one in this world has been born with more or less abilities, although there is a drug that can permanently take away your abilities). One of them (the first of which is the same for everyone) is awakened at birth, and the other is awakened (or rather, it just appears when said person turns 21) when they turn 21 (in this case, Cassius has “awakened” the two of them). The 1st power is the ability to hear any language and have it translated into your own when it reaches your ears. This excludes phrases that are meant to be said in the original language, names, and curse words (the last reason is to provide plucky comic relief). The first ability also rewinds the grammatical structure of a sentence that someone says to fit your language, as well as mess with your eyesight so words written in a different language will appear as if they were written in your language. The second power that Cassius possesses of is kind of strange: He reads a passage from the Babonian Scriptures (the Babonian Scriptures are still a work in process for Babo. Right now, there are 1,000 pages, 700 which are filled with him punishing random people) and whoever his gaze is fixated upon will have what he describes happen to him/her (for this to work, the Babonian scriptures must be whole- same book cover, same pages, same text. If a requirement is not met, then it does not work). However, even if this power seems overpowered, it does have its drawbacks: If he messes up on a word, his power won’t work (the thing he’s trying to do to his enemies will instead happen to him); If he can’t speak, his power won’t work; and his power can’t reach those close to him (he knows because he tried to kill a rabbit, but it got away since it always stayed within the 20 feet blind-spot that his power has) because Babo wanted Cassius to develop fighting strategies and to not rely on his power too much (he gave Cassius a blindspot). The quote he reads also is limited to that of the Babonian Scriptures, and it won’t work without his eyes.

Strengths: He is intelligent, calm and wary of others and is a careful judge of character. He (most of the time) knows what people to trust and what people to avoid. He also communicates with people with apparent “ease,” though he is terrified of humans on the inside. However, sometimes this shows through his constant habit of not meeting the eyes of someone he talks with. Another strength of his is that he’s (usually) very determined and hardworking when it comes to achieving something that he wants.

Weaknesses: He is a dirty coward, and would gladly throw you under the bus if it meant saving himself even if you saved his life 2 seconds before. He is also not very physically fit, so it is easy to crush him and outrank him in terms of physical strength, as well as going crazy (an exaggeration) when he’s not in control of the situation presented to him.

Family: Prisha Kumar (mother, alive) and Indranil Kumar (father, alive). They both love him but they cannot communicate because if they communicated with a sinner, they would be executed. Prisha loved Cassius, but her way of showing love was letting him figure out things for himself and spanking him when he got a problem wrong. In his childhood, Cassius saw her as a dictator; however, when he matured, he began to love her when he saw the long-term lasting effects that her discipline had had on him. (There’s tricky wording with the two “had"s right next to each other but I couldn’t find a substitute, partly because English isn’t my first language so my vocabulary needs expanding). When she noticed his lack of emotions (due to his shrunken amygdala, he experiences social emotions [shame, guilt, embarrassment, etc] on a much smaller scale), she shouted for joy knowing that she wouldn’t have to deal with a lot of crying when he entered his teenage years. When she found out that he had gotten raped, she grew infuriated but told Cassius to suck it up (after comforting him for about an hour) since she knew he would be seen as a sinner by the community. Indranil was a strict man, though he was a bit more lenient and caring than Prisha. He took the main part in raising Cassius, teaching him about the world and the behavior that he should act in. He also believed that the conclusion to major problems could not end without bloodshed and taught Cassius to defend himself. Indranil was always the parent to go to whenever Cassius was confused with something or needed an emotional bolster. That being said, though, Indranil still punished Cassius. When Cassius was little, he would take a ruler and smack the back of his legs with it. As he matured, Indranil changed tactic and made Cassius sit on a durian shell for a set period of time, with the time differentiating with the weight of the "crime” committed and Cassius’s age. Cassius fondly looked upon his father, though the times when his father was upset were the worst for him, as he hated the punishments his father would dole out. When Indranil found out that Cassius had little social emotions, he celebrated with Prisha and cried tears of joy. When he found out that Cassius had been raped, he did everything he could to distract Cassius from that incident for a few weeks.

Friends: He has two friends. One is a male witch whose name is Przemysl Slusarski and the other’s a Muslim named Ahang Arjani. He respects Ahang, and they both like to learn more about the other’s religion, create theories about life with each other, talk about their pasts, and brainstorm theories about which areas humanity could improve on. His relationship with Przemysl is filled with lots of bickering and Cassius smacking the other male for being an idiot (he’s the only one who could get under Cassius’s skin), but they are friends nevertheless.

Drive: He wants to kill Julius Green (his rapist) and educate humanity on their mistakes and why they should fix them.

Likes: Horror books, Books with deep meaning, Books in which humanity is wiped out, writing and reading in his “ego journal” (it’s a journal in which he writes his faults in to lower his ego. Unfortunately, it’s a double-edged sword as his self-esteem is not very high because of this) daily, playing chess, thinking about the happy times he spent with his loved ones, thinking about the happy times he’ll spend with them if they’re reunited, thinking about all the ways he can kill his rapist, and reassuring himself that he’ll be out of the treacherous world he lives in once he kills his rapist. He also has chocolate cravings (though he never indulges in them), which can show you his opinions about that particular food. Other additions to his likes are silence, knowledge, and inner peace along with sleep. Dislikes: Noise, deprivation of sleep, bumbling idiots who are good for nothing, overly happy people, intelligent people who he can’t manipulate, Angeli, the Angels, his rapist, and the world he lives in.

Personality: He is very shrewd and calm (most of the time), and oftentimes thinks before he acts/speaks. Because of his past, he enjoys manipulating the situation since it makes him feel like he’s in control. Due to his shrunken amygdala, he doesn’t show much emotion (hence social emotions that include but are not limited to guilt, shame, embarrassment are not present). He also has enormous amount of cowardice and the low self-esteem he has. However, although he enjoys using the situation to his advantage even if it costs a few lives in the process, please note that he does not take pleasure in anyone’s death (except his rapist). After all, major problems can’t be solved without bloodshed. He also likes to complain about what’s wrong about the world and himself, which was something he picked up after he was banished from Angeli. He doesn’t think it’ll do anything- he just does it to lower his ego. That’s only his exterior though- on the inside, he’s actually a very confused person who is drenched in sorrow every day and whose only driving point is the murder of his rapist. (At the beginning, he plans to suicide after he kills his rapist because he’s tired of the world he lives in and he wants to be reunited with his loved ones if possible).

Health: For his mental health, he is a bit suicidal since he is tired of the world he lives in and only lives for the demise of his rapist. He plans on suiciding after he kills his rapist. (No one except Ahang knows about his intentions since he isn’t open about it. Ahang opposes his thoughts and constantly throughout the book tries to convince him to do otherwise, but she understands where he’s coming from and why he feels that way). For physical health, he is a bit underweight due to starving himself after he arrived at a village called Skotos - if his rapist ever caught him again, he wanted to be unrecognizable, hence him growing out his hair, starving himself, and tanning to such an extreme extent that his health is in danger because of it. (He was originally very muscular so losing weight was the only option he could do to change his body shape). It was very difficult for him to lose weight since neglecting his bodily needs meant that an aching pain was in his stomach. His body eventually adjusted to the lack of food, but it took a long time and he still needs to eat. He did not train during the time, an after he fled Angeli he immediately decided that he wanted to do it. He did have some thoughts about why he had to change and not Julius, but he then realized that Julius would (probably) never change.

Fears: Genophobia- it reminds him of the time he was raped and it only “activates” when he’s in a sexual position/setting. Homophobia (the fear + aversion)- his rapist was homosexual so whenever he meets other homosexuals, he grows a bit wary and like his other phobia, it only “activates” when he’s around homosexuals. When people are discussing about them, he slowly walks out of the room or tries to ignore what they are saying by plugging his ears with ear plugs for as long as they talk about them.

Anthropophobia- this was from his past and the pasts of the people of Skotos, too. Ever since he heard such gruesome pasts, he had been growing afraid of people. This does not apply to villagers in Skotos or his loved ones, but outsiders tend to make him nervous. He only experiences it when he comes in contact with outsiders. Apeirophobia- Since humans in this world, if not killed or infected with disease have the potential to live forever, this phobia is actually valid. This again ties into his anthropophobia- he fears that if he can’t kill himself, no one kills him, and he doesn’t catch a disease, he’ll end up living forever and meet another homosexual rapist that’s interested in him. It affects him on a daily basis. Dementophobia- He’s afraid that if he ends up going insane, he’ll lose all sense and morale and he’ll start to act like the monsters he condemns. Never seeing his loved ones after death (I don’t think there’s a name for this fear)- he’s afraid that when he suicides, he’ll end up going separate places than his loved ones and he’ll never be able to speak to them. It affects him on a daily basis. (The Babonian Scriptures don’t say anything about suicide, but he’s afraid that if he or his loved ones lived lives that were very different, they will not end up in the same place. Said places are: Hell [for those who have lived lives filled with cruelty], Asylum [this is a place where souls who have lived neither explicitly good or bad lives go] and Heaven [self-explanatory at this point …] ).

Hobbies: Reading, writing, gathering information, and planning for his cause. Those aren’t really hobbies but they’re little things that he enjoys doing so …

Weapons: A kitchen knife he bought at the grocery store. Don’t ask.

Backstory: When he was 18, he was a senior at Angeli Academy (which was the main school for the city he and his family resided in, Angeli) and met someone named Julius Green, who he quickly became friends with thanks to Julius’ bubbly personality. Over the months, though, he noticed that Julius seemed obsessive over something, and it turns out that something was him. When Julius confessed to him, he declined politely, and they continued their friendship. Julius would sometimes get a little too touchy with Cassius, but he didn’t mind- after all, they were great friends. However, even though he was hiding it, Julius’s infatuation with Cassius never did go away, and when it resurfaced it was worse than ever after Cassius started a very deep relationship with a person named Junia. As soon as they made it official, it seemed like Cassius forgot all of Julius, only hanging out with her. They did almost everything they could together, and the times that Julius could squeeze in a chat with Cassius were filled with him talking about how great Junia was. Junia practically became his world. Junia helped him with everything, expanded his confidence, and made Cassius a better person overall in addition to giving Cassius little “donations” to help his struggling family. Julius, becoming jealous, started getting all the information he could on Cassius, grilling him on everything, and even stalking him secretly. He also snuck sneak-kisses when Cassius was asleep, putting his hands in places where they were not supposed to be as well as hoarding Cassius’s “junk” and making them his prized possessions. He confessed to him again but was declined, this time with Cassius telling him to “get help and make a life for yourself.” After Cassius said that statement and fled, he felt a sudden burst of guilt, but he didn’t turn back. (That incident later led to Julius pushing Junia off of the roof of a building. He did it in a way that was so discreet that no one could find out the person who did it. It didn’t matter if they found out that he was Junia’s murderer, anyway- he was the son of the mayor of Angeli, which meant that he was protected at all costs. When Cassius heard the news, he was mortified and cried all week. He didn’t come to Junia’s funeral- he didn’t get the invitation). A week later, Julius and Cassius were assigned to work on a group project together, along with some other students. The very next day, Julius came over to Cassius’s house to work on the project, and 2 hours were made up of them researching and planning what the poster would look like. As Julius was about to leave, Cassius joked and said to Julius, “Now, don’t obsess over me too much now. You need a life, and you need to get one quickly.” Julius was infuriated by Cassius’s comment and tried to fend off his emotions, but they got the better of him, thus driving him to sexually assault Cassius. When the process was finished, a naked Cassius was left on the floor, bruises all over his body and half of his hair lying on the floor, mentally scarred. For three weeks he remained silent, wanting to hide his past, but on one day of the third week, he snapped when he saw Julius being praised for his “purity and kindness.” Anguished, he cried out the events of what he called “the Incident” but he was greeted with the unkind responses of “you’re just jealous,” “f*ck off, you dirty homophobe” and “same-sex rape obviously isn’t real, stupid.” The villagers then proceeded to shun him because of his “lies” and no one would even acknowledge his existence, only communicating to him through their torturous and hate-filled letters (his family was separated from him, as per community law, and he was moved to reside in the horse stables). Those letters consisted of reasons why same-sex wasn’t real and called him out on the “lies” he had told. Every single letter sent a knife through his heart. One day, as he was walking in the streets, unnoticed, he saw Julius wandering around, lost in his dreams. At that point, Cassius could no longer contain his anger and slapped Julius, scraping his overgrown nails at his face and drawing blood. The council decided to kick him out of the village to die on his own. A few days after he was kicked out of Angeli, a ghostly figure who would come to be known as Jibaeja Babo (yes, that’s his name- the “babo” part would be there for the laughs) and asked him to become his “Jesus.” (What he wanted was a person to spread the Babonian religion [not to be confused with the Babylonians] and set an example for other future Babonians). It wasn’t that Cassius was special or anything- Jibaeja Babo was just looking for some vengeful souls and he happened to appear in front of Cassius. He promised Cassius food, shelter, and most important of all, vengeance … but only if Cassius became the religious leader of the Babonians. Cassius obviously agreed. After months of training (which basically was teaching Cassius about the ceremonies he had to do, familiarizing himself with the church, and answering questions about what the Babonian religion was about [ten answers wrong meant a bucket of boiling oil as punishment]), Cassius was given the title of High Priest by Jibaeja Babo was set out to teach people about the Babonian religion. (The Babonian religion basically focuses on how people are creatures of the light, which corrupts people into the horrifying beings that they are. The only way to cure themselves would be to accept the darkness within themselves and realize the wrongs of what they did, along with retaliating and punishing other wrongdoers who refused to turn. Of course, the leader of those retaliators would be Jibaeja Babo).

I don’t see anything wrong with your oc, the weight does seem super malnourished though. I understand you were going for that, though the lowest (that would basically be skin and bones) would have to be around 135, not much lower that that though.

Very interesting character and concept though!

#submitted review #general oc #submission

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