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ruffoverthinksthings · 7 years

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God Loves You, Which Is Why You’ll Burn In Hell (Part 4): “The Son of the Heretic of the Highest Order” - Jay’s Experiences with Islam

Jafar has never really been a fan of religion, seeing it as another tool for controlling the masses, seizing power, and doing the all important work of keeping it.

To him, the monarchs that were instated due to religious beliefs or some form of “divine right” are no different from the warlords who take cities by force, the only difference being one rules by fear of the sword, the other rules by fear of some unknowable, incomprehensible, and omnipotent Supreme Being.

It does not help that A) he is considered a “heretic of the highest order” for his numerous incidents antagonizing, abusing, or otherwise running afoul of various religious organizations, their Fae, and their deities, and of course, his patronage of “the dark arts,” and B) he has once attempted to rise up to the power of a god, and was ultimately thwarted by a mortal and lesser magical beings.

Seeing the state religion has taken on the Isle does not help his opinion any, now seen as the exclusive domain of fanatics, or those who prefer the convent than Maleficent, or the Badlands.

“Once, those temples had worth, when Beast was foolish enough to send gold, silver, and other precious treasures inside them. Now their vaults are all picked clean of everything good, the metal is tarnished, the jewels cracked, and the tapestries ripped, and all they really have is their own delusion, and the company of imaginary ‘gods.’”

His badmouthing their faiths aside, he has had numerous incidents with the religious practitioners of the Isle, as they are more than willing to physically fight him or risk their personal safety in getting stolen goods back by force, rather than paying his exorbitant fees.

In summary, to Jafar, Religion is a bad idea, bad business, and bad for him especially, so he wants nothing to do with it.

Jay has knowledge of the Quran and Islam from Jafar’s talking to him about BGU Agrabah and how “the fools, the foolish, and the deluded” lived their lives under the former Sultan of Agrabah’s rule, but Jafar has taken great pains to discredit and attack it however he can, going from the lack of evidence with the existence of Allah, the numerous abusive and corrupt practices that have come from the misinterpretation to abuse of the words of the faithful, to claiming that all Muslims of the Isle inherently smell much worse than your average Islander.

(For extreme clarity, the above claim is Jafar’s using an ad hominem attack, and my demonstrating in “show” terms how petty he can get.)

To the young and impressionable Jay, he has always believed that Islam was some sort of divine order of magicians and mystical beings that Jafar clashed with, lost to, and never quite recovered from. The Quran is mistakenly believed as some sort of spell book, a manual to a super weapon that was still somewhat functional on the Isle, or just an object of Great, and Terrible Power like that of Jafar’s old staff.

It’s how he explains why Jafar always seems to want to get rid of copies of the Quran as quickly as possible, and heavily discourages Jay from reading or pilfering them—especially poignant because his MO is still to take anything and everything Jay can get his hands on, as it’s worth something to someone, and because it’s the most commonly found and extensive Arabic text on the Isle.

When Mal goes on her adventure learning all about religion, Jay finally gets to reading it, and is as disappointed as her when it turns out that the Quaran is much less exciting, violent, and full of “driving demons into a whole herd of pigs then sending them straight off a cliff, guys getting tortured and humiliated by entire cities before being nailed on crosses, and one old man drowning entire armies without touching any of them.”

Mal is especially displeased with the fact that all of the stories and accounts of Muhammad are him being an exceptionally nice guy, and even the fact that he married so many women can’t spare the fact that a lot of his wives went on to do even MORE good work.

“Mom was right, this IS just a bunch of stupid stories to trick people into being Good,” Mal said somewhere in the middle of the hadiths.

Jay agreed, “but you gotta admit, this is a pretty sweet operation they’ve got going for them, getting all of these people to just do whatever someone said Allah, Yahweh, or whatever-the-fuck they call Him wants them to do.

“Maybe the power isn’t the books, but it’s in how they use it, kind of like a spellbook.”

“Okay, one, I’m surprised that you’re actually taking an intellectual curiosity to something that isn’t something you can steal, and two, if this means you want to go ask those crazies over in Temple Way, count me out.

“Even the people that live there say to stay the fuck away from Temple Way.”

Jay shrugged. “Suit yourself, I’m going and learning me some secrets.”

So Jay bundles up the copy of the Quran he and Mal acquired through a dubious, long chain of thieves and fences, and heads to Temple Way.

He travels to the Islamic Mosque, situated right next to Frollo’s church and the Jewish Synagogue in a triangle, all centered around a fountain that was supposed to symbolize the same God they all worship, and be the source of potable water for them all.

It might have have been beautiful and full of life once, but now, all there is is long crumbling and cracked stone, dust and detritus, and overgrown weeds and moss crawling all over where water should have been.

The faithful and their non-believing allies are generally very quick to be distrustful and wary of any newcomers, but the Muslims of the Isle being mostly comprised of nomadic tribes, criminals exiled from the safety of Agrabah’s walls, and former members of the galloping hordes of raiders therein, they are especially fast to draw their swords and sneers.

On this particular day, the guards waiting at the doors are lead by their leader, a particularly fierce ex-raider named Kyda. She is one of the few people on the Isle that give Maleficent and her hulking goons pause, large and muscular like the latter, but clever and charismatic like the former, a dangerous combination if there ever was one.

Her eyes narrow as Jay nears, her sand-battered lips curling into a scowl, her intimidating aura amplified by her head, bald and badly scarred from when it was recklessly shorn off.

Jay raised his hands, the Quran securely wrapped in cloth and his fingers. “Warm welcome you guys give to visitors, huh?” he joked.

Kyda is not impressed. “Forgive us, Jay; your father beside, your reputation precedes you, and we have very good reason to believe letting you in to our sacred temple will be to our detriment.”

“What if I offer you guys a peace offering?” Jay said, holding up the Quran. “Something to show that I’m not here to cause trouble.”

Kyda snorts. “I doubt you can offer us anything of value, and more so, I have reason to suspect that you had pilfered it from we the faithful beforehand.”

“I didn’t!” Jay said. “At least, not directly. I got it from a gal who knew a guy who knew a gal, alright?”

Kyda sighed. “Fine, though I can’t tell if you are being honest, I can tell that you are determined. Lay down your offering at your feet, and open it—whatever it is, I want it far away from us.”

“Geeze, it’s not a bomb, you guys!” Jay said as he obeyed.

“We’d rather not risk it again,” Kyda replies flatly.

He unwraps it, and shows off the Quran. It’s a well-worn copy, old and ravaged by the conditions of the Isle, and badly handled by the numerous hands that had brought it to Mal and Jay, but it was obviously loved and cared for by whoever owned it first.

Kyda’s eyes widen, as do the other guards. “Please, give me that Quran, and very carefully.”

Jay instinctively picked it up and brought it close to his chest. “Does this mean I get to go inside?”

“Yes, but do not take that to mean that we won’t throw you out just as quickly if you cause trouble,” Kyda replies. “Don’t think this place like the rest of the Isle, Jay, we will not sell out our fellows for personal profit.”

Jay doubted that, but he figured it best not to erase the goodwill he’d just bought himself. The Quran is traded, upon which Kyda carefully slips it into her bag, while the guards flanking her open the heavy doors.

“Go,” Kyda said, waving her rusted sword inwards. “And please, take your shoes off, we don’t need you tracking grime all over our floors.”

“I will, but I gotta warn you, my feet aren’t that much better,” Jay said as he walked up.

“Just do it,” Kyda growled.

Jay does, and in he walked to the heart of the Isle’s only mosque.

For the wrath of the elements, and all the many uses it had beside a place of worship, the building had lost a lot of its former glory: the elaborate patterns and tiles on the floor and the walls were cracked or missing, hodgepodge divider walls and scaffolding was spread all around to help expand the available space, and even the grand dome that crowned the structure had several holes in it.

The biggest let what little sun the Isle had through, shining weakly on carefully guarded and sickly-looking crops, tarpaulins protecting them from the worst of the elements and gathering moisture for drinking and a crude form of irrigation.

The residents all stared at him, some of them wary like Kyda, others confused, a scant few welcoming; those that weren’t busy with various chores to keep the whole place from falling apart any more than it had were lounging about on tattered carpets, ripped up cushions, or old, damaged animal skins and furs that Cruella would not be caught dead wearing.

Many of them were Arabians like him, skin baked dark by the sun, hair black as night, the hardy and determined folks that could not only live, but thrive in the desert.

“Good day to you, Jay!” said a female voice, much softer and kinder than Kyda’s rough grunts and snarls.

Jay turned to her and found a woman coming over to him with a big, bright smile on her face. She had an Islander’s features, back when the word meant someone who lived and died on a floating patch of land in the middle of the sea, not this rotting prison.

She came just before him, clasped her hands together, and bowed; Jay couldn’t help but notice that unlike Kyda outside, her head was wrapped up in a moth-eaten and filthy shawl. “My name is Mhira, I help run this temple along Kyda. May I ask what brings you here?”

Jay smirked. “Is it really that surprising that I’d show up at your place?”

“I meant that in a general sense, but yes, considering who your father is, we are very curious to know why you’re here.”

“The Quran,” Jay said. “I want to know more about it.”

Mhira blinked, before she grinned, her eyes lighting up. “Ah! So you wish to convert to Islam?”

Jay held his hands up. “Woah, woah, woah, there, lady, I’m not signing up for anything! I’m just here to know what it is about that book that got so many people to do what it says.”

The light leaves Mhira’s eyes, but the smile remains. “Ah. Oh well, an eager student is an eager student, especially in a land such as this—I’ll tell you all you wish to know about the Quran and Islam.” She gestures for him to follow. “Come, sit with me.”

Jay shrugged, and did so.

They entered a sectioned off area of the mosque, full of old books and scrolls, all heavily guarded and being meticulously taken care off by the inhabitants. They don’t look too happy to see Jay in that area specifically, but with a wave from Mhira they stand down, though their eyes trained more closely onto the literature than usual.

“Relax, guys,” Jay said, “I don’t steal books or scrolls, they’re a really hard sell.”

It looks like they don’t believe him, but that doesn’t concern Jay as he and Mhira sit down cross-legged on an old carpet. “Comfortable?” Mhira asked. “Normally, this would be when I’d offer you tea or something to eat, but our supplies are stretched thin yet again...”

“I’m just thirsty for knowledge,” Jay replied, rubbing his hands eagerly. “So come on, tell me: what’s up with that old book?”

Mhira sighed heavily, and smiled patiently at Jay. “The Quran is not just an ‘old book,’ it is a sacred artifact. But that will be all from me for now: please, tell me what it is you know of the us, Islam, and the Quran; it’ll be easier for the both of us if I know which parts to skip, and what myths I’ll have to dispel.”

Jay shrugged. “I don’t really know much; my dad never liked keeping any of these in the house, and go off for hours if I brought it up, so I just stopped bothering. I only read some it because Mal’s studying about all the other religions for whatever reason, and she needed me to translate from Arabic.”

Mhira chuckled. “As expected of your father. Out of curiosity, what are some of the things he’s said about Islam?”

“That it’s a ‘cult of fools and their delusional leaders, professing faith for that which doesn’t exist’ or something like that, I never really paid attention; he used a lot of big words, and changed up between Arabic and English faster than I could keep track.”

Mhira nodded. “So it looks like I’ll have to start from the beginning. I’m assuming your friend Mal has read the Christian Bible and the Jewish Torah, too?”

“We did that because they both had them in English, yeah. Why can’t we find translations for the Quran, anyway?”

“Because reading it in any language other than Arabic is inherently an inferior version of the original text. Do you look at yourself in a mirror, and say your reflection is as much a person as you gazing into its eyes?

“It is the same as with the Quran; Arabic is the language it was made with and meant to be read in, so it will be with all who wish to truly follow Islam.”

Jay shrugged. “Okay. I guess I can understand why you’d want it as close to the source as possible. So what’s ‘Islam’ all about? How’d it start? What’s the big deal about it?”

“In Arabic, Islam literally means ‘submission.’

“In the broader sense, it is the acceptance of Allah’s will, acting as Allah has told us to act, and following the example of the last prophet, Muhammad. Its history is long and great, its wonders many and miracles many and glorious, and I could go on for days telling you all about it, but I can see your eyes already glazing over and your mind wandering, so I’ll give it to you in a nutshell:

“One night, Allah decided to give the last prophet Muhammad everything Allah knew through his angel Jibril. This was all the words and teachings of every prophet before Muhummad, summarized and completed in what we now call the Quran, and we Muslims follow that.”

“So Allah gave him all of that info just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Jay nodded. “This Muhammad guy must have been like Hercules or something.”

Mhira laughed. “Oh no, far from it. Muhammad was just a man like you or I: faulty, mortal, and not at all like the so called ‘demi-gods’ from Greece.”

“So why did Allah choose him?”

Mhira shrugged. “The official answer is, because Allah chose Muhammad as the last prophet; the longer version is, Allah did it for reasons we mere mortals cannot comprehend, all we can understand is the instructions that were given to him and him alone.”

“Oh, so just like Frollo whenever someone asks him why he thinks he can say the shit he does.”

“Similar, yes, but Islam is quite different from the religion Father Frollo believes in.”

“And why’s that? Because they let women like you be the leaders?”

“Yes, but also because unlike Frollo, we the faithful do not believe anyone or anything to be divine except for Allah. Some like Muhammad may have been blessed with great knowledge beyond what we know or are capable of knowing ourselves, but to receive it does not suddenly put you on a pedestal above others.

“We are all merely instruments of Allah’s divine will; to think yourself suddenly beyond that, or worse yet, to think that you might be able to rise up to divinity like Allah is the surest path to destruction and misery, as Frollo and your father have experienced.

“This is the first Pillar of Islam: Shahada. We the faithful declare that there is only one god, Allah, and that Muhammad is Allah’s messenger.”

“So only room for one Big Guy Upstairs here?”

“Seeing as Allah is the only one who should be sitting in the metaphorical fancy leather chair behind the desk: yes!”

“But what about the Greek Pantheon, and the Fairies, and all the monsters running around? Aren’t they all mystical and divine too? Zeus may have given up his lightning bolts, but he’s still kicking and glowing in the dark, and even Hades is still pretty blue and constantly on fire.”

Mhira nodded. “We don’t deny they exist, but we do believe they are Jinn, in the general sense: demons, mystical creatures meant to lead others away, to prevent them from realizing what is truly divine, the answer being Allah and Allah alone.

“Some are more benevolent than others, yes, but last I heard, Allah wasn’t cursing kings to have babies that are half-bull in retribution for perceived insults and slights.

“Besides, Allah is omnipotent, extending far beyond what we mortals can comprehend.

“If the Greek Gods and Goddesses truly were the same as Allah, why is it that only one such copy of them exists in the realm they came from, and why don’t they exist in the Greece London had? And if they do, why had they suddenly went into hiding? And why were all this bastard land’s technological ‘miracles’ as new to Hephaestus as it was to us?”

“But Allah? In every realm Beast spoke to, you will find Islam, the faithful submitting themselves to Allah’s will, the same words in their Quran, as told to them by their respective Muhammad.”

“So wait, there’s a clone of him for each realm the states used to belong in? How does that even work...?”

Mhira reached out and touched him on the shoulder. “Take my advice: don’t think about it too much,” she says, smiling. “Allah works in ways inherently incomprehensible to us, and this ‘multiverse’ confounds even minds greater than mine, and those of the immortal jinn.

“What more of someone like you, for whom the mind was never his strongest suit? No, what you should think about is something that we were meant to understand: Islam, the ways of Muhammad, and the words of the Quran.”

Jay nodded. “Alright, so what’s next?”

“The second pillar: Salat. Here, we pray to Allah five times a day: at dawn, noon, afternoon, evening, and night, to give praise to Allah.”

“Five times a day? That’s a lot of praying.”

“It is what is necessary to maintain the strength of our faith, especially in such a hostile place like this where it is constantly tested.”

“Just sounds to me like Allah’s a lot like Evie: wants everyone fawning over her as often as they can.”

Mhira chuckled. “I can see the comparison. But in return for our faith, we receive strength and guidance from Allah. This Isle may be of the Lost, but still we praise only the truth amidst the lies and the false idols.”

She sighed and frowned. “Normally, we would turn ourselves to the direction of Mecca when we bow our heads in praise, but is no more in this bastard realm of Auradon. The people of Agrabah kind enough not to rob their true home of it, so we turn to that city, as it is the closest thing we have to it.”

“Wouldn’t that make you jealous, staring out to Auradon five times a day?”

“It does. But with Allah, and the examples of Muhammad, we let it pass, and continue on.

“And speaking of continuing, this the third pillar of Islam: Zakāt. When have satisfied our own needs, and we find ourselves with excess, we give it to those who need it, and those less fortunate than us.”

“Oh, so now they owe you, I get it.”

Mhira chuckled and shook her head. “No, no they don’t.”

Jay blinked. “Wait, what?”

“We give not in the expectation of return, we give because it is as Allah tells us too; riches and excess are not meant to be selfishly hoarded and left to rot, they are to be freely and happily given to those that need it most.”

“Excess brings only false pleasure and real suffering: look at your father, he hoards riches not rightly earned nor meant for him, having you steal them from others, and robbing them even more when they attempt to get it back.

“Does he seem happy? Is he ever truly satisfied? Or is he always waiting and hoping for some magical treasure to fall into his lap and whisk away all his troubles, unaware that the desire itself is why he is suffering so?”

Mhira paused, saw it sink in Jay’s mind.

“And are you happy, stealing and hoarding other people’s belongings whenever you can?”

Jay scowled. “Hey, it’s not my fault they don’t take such good care of their stuff!”

“And does that mean you have the right to take it, should their eyes stray for a moment? Is a crime no longer a crime if the victim made it easy to happen? Don’t answer: you don’t, and it still is.

“Everything comes from Allah, everything was meant to be shared with all Allah’s creation, and to be selfish is to go against the will of Allah, stray away from the sanctification and peace meant for you and into endless desire and suffering.”

“So why are some people stupidly rich, and others dirt poor?”

“Two reasons: one, Allah chooses to bless some people and let them experience what is good in this world, so they may inspired and driven to share that goodness with others; and two, a lot of people are selfish asshats consumed by greed and misguided principles, such as your father.

“This world is far from perfect, and even we the faithful are full of faults. The difference being, we are trying our best to become better while the rest tends to just slide further and further downwards into misery, like the Queen of the Heretics and her ilk.

“A word of advice: we do not speak her name here, lest you wish to risk being stoned; I hear that’s very unpleasant.

“Anyway, the fourth pillar is Sawm, where we fast for tradition, for repentance, and for steeling ourselves against temptation. We do it for the entire month during Ramadan, refusing food and drink during the day and only breaking it at night, provided you are strong enough to last the day without collapsing nor perishing from it.

“So you basically starve yourselves constantly?”

“Yes, but we do not do it for reasons of masochism, we do it to feel closer to Allah, remind ourselves of the powers and the might greater than that of the mortal needs and material impulses that so haunt us, and to seek forgiveness when we stray and do wrong.

“It’s one of the reasons we farm here—the food we eat was not stolen from someone else. Everyone else on this Isle forsakes this honest work, preferring to fight and gorge themselves on the scraps and the rotten leftovers of Auradon, thinking it will make them as tough and ‘nasty’ as them.”

Mhira chuckled. “Little do they know the kind of strength you will have if you fill yourself with Allah’s grace, that the rumbling of the stomach no longer seem so dire and all-consuming.”

“The fifth pillar is really more a relic for as long as we are trapped in this bastard realm with the likes of Beast and his allies playing god: Hajj. This is supposed to be the pilgrimage to the holy city of Mecca, but as I said, the people of Agrabah refused to take such the city with them as to not deprive the rest of the faithful their duty.

“It’s about one of the only good things that has come from Auradon, honestly.

“There’s many more things I can tell you about Islam, but the gist of it is that we follow and live our lives according the Five Pillars, the words of the Quran, and the example set behind by Muhammad.”

Jay nodded. “And…?”

“’And’ what, Jay?” Mhira asked.

“And, what’s the big deal?” Jay asked. “Why does my dad hate it so much? Why do you all follow it? What’s so great about Islam? Why shouldn’t I spend my time learning whatever that guy who’s always Confused said?”

“In reverse order:

“You mean Confucius, the great philosopher of the Chinese;

“Because, so many other faiths fill themselves with so much pomp and frivolity, and worse yet, they deify mere mortals like ourselves, turn that which should not be holy nor divine into an object of worship, think a man more than a man for his position, which leads us to people like Father Frollo of the Christians;

“Its greatness is numerous, but in a nutshell, Islam is simple to follow, Allah is great, and unlike some other religions, we do not elevate ourselves above our station, and we dedicate our lives in the service of others, whoever they may be;

“Many of us are faithful, but we do not reject those who do not believe and are willing to accept our charity without robbing us blind;

“Your father is a heretic of the highest order who wishes to blame others to protect his ego than accept he was wrong and misguided, to say the least; and,

“The ‘Big Deal’ is that it is Truth, Strength, and Order in a land where most everyone and everything has gone mad, a land where mortals play god and rip apart Allah’s creations to better suit his tastes, and his ‘undesirables’ are cast out, then turn on each other than the man they should blame for their predicament.”

“So no magic? No special powers? No secret superweapon, or a big monster you use to scare others?”

Mhira shook her head. “No, no, and no: it is just us mortals here in this mosque, living our days as best as we can with what Allah has given us, what Allah wants us to use as our tools.”

She smiled. “The pursuit of great power, unimaginable riches, and false gods are sirens’ songs, Jay: it tempts, it sounds unimaginably beautiful to the ear, until you dash yourself on the rocks or throw yourself into a raging sea, upon which it’d be the last thing you ever hear.

“Just ask your father how well his pursuit for ‘Phenomenal Cosmic Powers’ turned out for him, how any of these people’s malevolent, selfish, and sinful desires ultimately led them to.

“Here, we offer what they think they would get with an ill-gotten throne, incredible powers sourced from blasphemy and atrocity, riches and luxury beyond what any one could use or enjoy, even if they spent every second of the rest of their days with them:

“Satisfaction. Happiness. Peace.”

Mhira smiled warmly. “Jay, should you tire of living with and fighting with the rats of this Isle, both the creature and those people that stoop to their level, know that for as long as I am alive, you will be welcome here, to seek solace, or better yet, to join us in Islam.”

Jay frowned. “Yeah, that sounds nice and all, I don’t think I can be one of you guys… peace and silence and reading books all day really isn’t me, and I doubt I can reign in all my bad habits before you’re forced to kick me out anyway.”

“Jihad,” Mhira said.

“What?”

“Jihad, it means ‘struggle,’” she explained. “The ignorant will say it’s just warfare, and during the Great War Maleficent got it into people’s heads that it was some sort of ‘holy crusade’ where we would rampage all throughout the Isle, forcing all we find to convert or be put to the sword.

“It’s really not on both counts, and worse still, Allah expressly forbids such a brutal, merciless, aggressive campaign like that.

“No, what jihad really is our eternal struggle against enemies, be they soldiers, jinn, or our fellow humans, and especially the greater jihad within ourselves, our fight against temptation and struggle to do the right thing.

“Converting to Islam does not mean that you must miraculously become a virtuous paragon like Muhammad afterward—though that would certainly be nice. What it does mean, is that even though we humans are flawed and imperfect, you will still try your best to be the most faithful and good person you possibly can be.

“… If it helps, we make exceptions, and ignore certain transgressions, and traditions out of convenience.”

“Like what?” Jay asked.

Mhira smiled, looked around warily, before leaning towards Jay. “Can you keep a secret, Jay?”

Jay leaned in, too. “I’m listening.”

“Myself and Kyda share a bed; when the land outside is quiet, the prayers are done, and the faithful are busy or willing to grant us respite, we retreat back to our quarters and, well...” she giggled.

Jay’s eyebrows rose, before he whistled. “I’m taking a stab at the dark here, but isn’t that kind of, I don’t know… not really cool with any of the religions here? Except maybe the Pantheon and the Pagans, but they’re them.”

Mhira nodded. “It is, and they all know, but still, they let us be.” She reached out and touched Jay’s shoulder, gave him a light squeeze. “We’re all sinners here, Jay; if we didn’t do anything wrong, we would be over there on the other side of the vast sea, living in Auradon.

“The only real question here is: how heavy do you wish your wrongdoing to weigh on your shoulders?”

Jay nodded slowly. “… Thanks. I think that’s everything I needed to know...” he said as he got up.

Mhira stood up and bowed once more. “You are welcome, Jay. Please, do not hesitate to return, I am always ready to teach to those who will listen.”

Jay was about to leave, when he turned around and stopped. “Hey, I forgot to ask: why are you on the Isle? You’re way too old to have been born here like me.”

Mhira smiled. “I was a slave girl, bought by a sorcerer who lived in a secret island of his own creation. I was his personal plaything for all his most sordid and awful desires, and after I had secretly studied all of his magics and the secrets of his power, I seduced him and killed him in cold blood.

“Then, I took his staff, donned his robes, and started my misguided campaign of vengeance on the world I thought had wronged me so, starting with ‘washing up’ on the shores of a nearby island and slowly turning its inhabitants into my slaves, robbing them of their minds and free will in their sleep, as I dined, laughed, and worked with them in their waking hours.

“In hindsight, I could have gathered up all his valuables, used his enchanted boat to get to the mainland, and sold them off to live a comfortable life as a free woman.

“But I didn’t, and here we are now.”

Jay whistled. “Brutal.”

“Indeed,” Mhira said with a nod. “Would you like to stay a while and listen to all the sordid details? The enchantment I used to make things easy to remember still holds.”

“Maybe some other day,” Jay said. “I gotta go home with something good, before dad hears about me coming here.”

Mhira shrugged. “Suit yourself, Jay. And when you do return, please make your offering your time and your strength, than some stolen good; in return, we will happily compensate you in food.”

Jay smiled. “Deal.”

The Isle being a small place and almost everyone ending up at Jafar’s Junk Shop at some point, word got around quickly, and Jafar was not pleased.

“Unbelievable! Unbelievable!” Jafar yelled at the dinner table that night, a bottle of stolen, half-decent, not-entirely watered down wine in his hand. “What have I told you about those fools? The kinds of nonsense they will fill your head with? What were you even doing there?!”

Jay shrugged. “I was just trying to find out for myself, is all.”

“Oh, and do you not trust me, is that what this is all about?” Jafar barked. “Me, who clothed you, who feeds you, who gives you work and purpose—would you believe them over me, simply because they let you in their crumbling temple and talked with you for a while?!

“You know what? Don’t answer! I don’t want you to even think about what they’ve poisoned your mind with, it’ll be work enough to expel it!”

Jay keeps silent, and keeps his share of the day’s food—as always, much less than the one on Jafar’s own plate.

Usually, he would just tell himself to steal more the next day, but now, he wonders if he shouldn’t stop by Temple Way instead...

#descendants #disney #headcanon #god loves you which is why you'll burn in hell

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