#against the tide of my turbulent brain

[emergent-neurodivergent]

A coworker and I were just talking about mental and spiritual challenges, and she patted my shoulder very gently and said in a kindly manner, "You know, I look at you and I really have to hand it to you for showing up every day!" and now I'm not sure whether I should be glad, mad, sad, or scared. Am I that much or that blatantly impaired?

[oh-no-its-bird]

You know how when you spend a lot of time moving— on a boat, on a plane, in a car. Or doing a repetitive activity— dancing, skating, gymnastics; Later that night you can still feel the pull of movment?

You'll lay there and feel your body sway as it tries to keep it's balance through the remembered lull of tide and turbulance; Or close your eyes and imagine yourself falling into a spin in a way that feels so viscerally real that for a moment you can even feel the vertigo of going that fast. The movement so ingrained into your body and consciousness that you find yourself falling back into it whenever your mind quiets and your body falls still.

So anyways that but for Tobirama and Izuna's fighting. They've fought eachother since they were children, they know eachothers moves moves like the back of their own hands. After so many years it's such a familiar dance that when they go home and close their eyes, they can still feel their bodies being pulled into the well practiced movements. They remain still but can feel the way their hands fly through seals so viscerally that they have to be careful not to accidentally start cycling chakra.

Or they'll feel the familiar push and pull dance of battle so strongly that their muscles twitch as they're tricked into thinking they're still moving. The phantom pains and patterns of the fight they know so well

"I could fight you in my sleep" taken to it's extreme, it's quite possible that they could fall into the familiar and fight eachother in their sleep

Actually running with that, I think one of them should be a sleep walker but like. Instead of just walking around they start to phantom fight the other in familiar movements.

Where's my fic where Izuna sleep fights an imagined Tobirama I need that on my desk immediatley. Madara worriedly watches over his brother but, having read somewhere that its unwise to wake sleepwalking up (especially so when they're activley holding a weapon lmao) he just kinda. Watches over him. And after a couple times of this happening he starts to recognize a pattern in Izuna's movements, and after a little longer still he realizes Izuna is tracing through the same battles

Just a short thing of Madara idly watching his brother sleep fight, piecing together bits and pieces ab thus person he's fighting through the cues of how Izuna defends and attacks against them

Later for whatever reason, probably later in peace time, I need Tobirama and Madara to have a spar. And at first it's going kinda whatever, they're both very talented, but then Madara kinda gets a brain itch and remembers those sleep fights he'd always see Izuna moving through. And without even thinking ab it, he flawlessly replicates one of the moves exactly where Izuna would have (thanks sharingan)

And like. Ok so if this is an Izuna died canon compliant thing, Tobirama instinctivley reacts how he would with Izuna then probably goes dead white and immediatley loses the fight bc hes thrown off so fucking hard he can't compute

And if it's an Izuna lives you get kind of the same reaction but minus the angst. So Tobirama is totally thrown off, and his movment kinda just. Stutters. He mindlessly slides into continuing to try to react like he would to Izuna, this muscle memory that's so ingrained into him that he could quite literally do it in his sleep. But Madara isn't Izuna, so when he flips back into fighting like himself, Tobirama just totally fucks himself over

Madara almost fucking beheads him by going for the head in an easily blockable move when Izuna would have immediatley gone for his side instead, and so Tobirama instinctivley defends his side

He gets yelled at for that one but is too busy laying on his back staring up at the sky with a deeply offended, shocked and confused expression to hear any of it

Tobirama's one true infallible weakness: He's so used to fighting Izuna that if you manage to replicate Izuna's style of fighting in the right way and trick his muscle memory into flipping that switch, you can totally fuck him up and over

Anyways, Madara, who can replicate Izuna's moves bc smthn smthn sharingan and having seen him do that sleep fight against Tobirama so many times, using this as an excuse to drag Tobirama into tons of training matches where he absoloutley beats his ass. And Tobirama letting this happen bc holy shit he needs to be trained out of that bad habit

It goes both ways tho too, if someone does that to Izuna but w Tobirama's moves then he's FUCKED. Luckily no one can replicate the way he fights nearly well enough to do that, and Izuna's also aided by the fact that Tobirama is really tall so the pool of people who might be able to pull it off right is narrowed down even further bc your height and weight absoloutley effects the specific angle of how you fight and their blades might meet

Ohhh actually maybe that could be a thing too. Someone replicates Tobirama's style of fighting and fights Izuna, and Izuna keeps getting tripped up bc these are Tobirama's moves but they aren't coming from the right angle or with the right amount of force

Anyways that's ur word vomit for the day time to clock out 👍

[cryinginmyroomsposts]

I always have had big feelings.

It's a curse and blessing.

When I love, I love with all my existence, so much that the love overflows and topples me over like a high tide on a full moon night. And when I hurt... I feel it everywhere. first, it tugs at my feet like the first big wave of the night and then it takes over me like a tsunami.

The hurt reverberates in me and echoes in everything I do. It burns my touches, my smiles and my breaths. The love emanates from me like radiation, everything glows bright and the lightness in my step makes the pavements look pink on a gloomy night. Being with you feels like a sunset, the pinks and oranges fading into an ultraviolet that brings me an incandescent smile. The calm after a day with blazing heat and raging Manhattan breeze feeding into the slow waves of the Hudson against the pier into a night so vibrant and blue it puts the city lights to shame. I chase the moon. As a child of feelings that eat me up the night protects me from judgmental eyes and wraps me in a blanket of comfort. As I lay there, on several dark nights, on city rooftops, shedding tears of red and gold, the moon stood right above me. The moon had been my best friend before I understood the meaning of the word in a moving human being. You feel like the moon comes down on the earth to be my best friend shining light on a dark stormy night. Like the one I come to during times of turbulence. Again, I am well aware these are feelings that aren't necessarily described as normal psychologically. but I have never been one for being "normal". I am too much for everyone and myself. I smile too much and cry too much. Ask too much and reveal too much. I shy away too much and achieve too much. I love too much and hate too much. I am sad too much and worry too much. I am alone too much and I push people away too much. I think about myself too much and wish I didn't disappoint people too much. I hurt too much and love too much. Yet all I crave is the intimacy of being understood. Everyone sees me, eviscerates me, points fingers at me, criticises me and admires me. Not many know me... Do I know me? Do I know you? What are you if not the pieces you have shown me... and if those pieces are anything to go by, I know we are similar.

You love a lot, with all your being. You love the trees, the sun, the moon, the wind, your friends and your family. To be loved by you would be a blessing from the heavens above. To be the one lighting up your eyes and making you turn red. To be the one who takes care of you and makes a fuss about you for once. I am scarred, everywhere outside and inside. The demons that I acquired in the game of life have poisoned my brain into believing I shouldn't deserve someone who can give so much pure unadulterated love. But I refuse to listen to them... I am scared, I always am. Too much (again). Disappointment has been my companion through the rough journies I have taken up until this point. To get disappointed by you and/or to disappoint you would be a shame. You remind me of me- the version who loves with no inhibitions and sees joy in nature. The image of you smiling at the sunset- a recurring occurrence, will forever be etched in my brain. That exact moment was when I fell in love with myself. Seeing you do something I used to do until I started letting people get to me and realising how beautiful your soul is when I fell for myself.

The pragmatic brain in me tells me that it is probably too soon for me to even believe I am in love with you, while the hopeless heart retorts that I fell in love with myself and that is the more important aspect. Is there a point to this rambling other than to detangle the mess in my brain? Not initially, but now the point seems to be the realisation I have had on exactly how deep my feelings could go. Added with the epiphany that I am not scared about it either. Once again, pragmatism and past pain should know better but I have always been the one to feel with all my being. So it only makes sense I feel this with every fibre cell, even the one still recovering from the last fall.

[moonlittt]

i can't talk.

it's so frickin messed up. I can't be as social or easygoing like almost everyone else. My brain is just scribbles, it's just in knots anytime I try to speak. The voices have clamped over my own with calloused hands, there is no strength in me to bite them off. So it takes a billion times more energy to filter out that tiny thread — thinner than a strand of hair — of something sane, something appropriate to respond with. Something smart out of the violent scribbles valiantly battling against the others for attention.

Right when I meet someone it's like I'm instantly aware of how I'm breaking inside from the mountains on my shoulders. It's like my heart is a water balloon; once I see someone, that balloon pops and there's the stinking urge to spill these turbulent seas.

Can someone just please turn off this stupid radio, how can my only thought be "I wanna die, get me out of here" for every. single. conversation. no matter the stupid topic, no matter where I am? Why??

But I keep quiet. i keep quiet.

Because they will get lost in the tides, they'll get pushed away.

i can sink on my own.

[secretlynestaarcheron]

Angstmas Day Four 

Nessian AU // Hardest goodbye 

Nesta looks up at the phone that she propped up on her desk chair against three textbooks. She was sitting on the floor with her clothes sprawled around her. She scowls at the screen, “Stop laughing, its not funny,” she snaps, her scowl turning into a frown as she looks at the half packed suitcase. 

“It’s kind of funny,” Cassian replies, he had his phone propped up on the counter as she stood over his stove where he was finishing up making dinner for himself. “Why do you always wait until the night before you leave to pack?” 

Nesta groans, “Because I am a procrastinator and I don’t want to think about having to put all of this back. Why don’t you come visit me, huh?” she mutters, throwing a tee shirt into the suitcase and then pulling it out again. “What are we doing again?” 

Cassian stops stirring his food to look at her. “You’re coming for three days, we aren’t going to do anything,” he retorts. 

She runs a hand through her hair. “But what if we decide to go on a hike? Or swim? Or you get invited to a gala?” she questions. “I need to be prepared. You know I don’t like feeling not prepared.” 

He laughs. “Bring normal clothes and if any of that happens I will take you to a store and buy you what you need, but I doubt I will suddenly have the urge to swim or hike in winter or be invited to a gala,” he replies, pausing as he rubs his chin, “But uh-, I was planning a nice dinner for Saturday if you want to bring nice warm outfit.” 

“You can’t tell me that! I have six hours until my flight and I still need to sleep! Now I have to plan an outfit? It's fine, It’s fine, everything is fine, I’ll just bring a few different options,” Nesta replies with a wave of her hand as she gets to work. Cassian sets up his phone on the table as he eats his dinner making small talk as she finishes up packing. 

Nesta zips it shut and looks back at the phone. “Two hours, I’ll be at the airport! Three hours I will be on the plane! Seven hours, I’ll be with you!” she exclaims. 

Cassian smiles, “Remember to send me your flight information before you crash,” he says. 

“You know me so well,” she smiles. “I love you.” 

“Love you too,” he responds. “Can’t wait to see you.” 

The screen goes black after she blows him a kiss, she types in the information quickly and hits send before falling asleep on the floor. She had forty-five minutes to sleep before she had to get up and start heading towards the airport. 

She sits in the seat, watching the line of people walk by, she takes a picture of herself looking out the plane window and sends it to Cassian with the caption: Can’t wait to see my boo, bet he’s looking PLANE sexy rn. 

I literally hate you, get off the plane, go home. I am not picking you up. Cassian texts back almost immediately. 

What qualifications do I need to be your frequent flyer member? She pipes back, chuckling into the sleeve of the sweatshirt she was wearing which she may or may not have stolen last time she went to visit him.

She watches the three dots disappear and then his text pop up. You’re cringy. 

I bet I need a sophisticated navigation system to navigate myself to your heart. She texts back. She sends another one just as fast, I have turbulence in my heart everytime I look at you (uwu face). 

No (red heart) He replies quickly. Where are you finding these? Do you just have a file in your brain of cheesy plane pick up lines? 

If you wanna be a pilot, babe, I’ll teach you how to press all the right buttons. She replies. 

She watches as the flight attendants begin closing all the overhead luggage and telling everyone to shut off their phones. She looks down to see a new message from Cassian. Are you checked luggage? Because I’d wait an eternity for you. 

She bites back a smile. She really loved that boy. My flight is taking off. See you soon! She pauses, her fingers hovering over the buttons. Something inside of her told her she should write more, to tell him how she really felt about him. She quickly types a message, clicking send, as she puts her phone into airplane mood. 

Cassian POV

Cassian sits in the galley watching his friend and fellow lieutenant Rhysand tell a story animatedly to Azriel and Amren. “Earth to Cas,” Rhysand says, shoving his friend until Cassian looks up at him. “Did you hear anything I said? I just told a wicked story about how Tamlin got what was coming to him.” 

Azriel chuckles from where he was sitting across from Cassian, he smiled smugly at him as he explains, “His girl is coming to town tonight, he’s probably tracking her right now. How far away?” Azriel raises an eyebrow expectantly. 

“Two hours,” Cassian mumbles under his breath but loud enough that Rhysand and Azriel start whooping and Amren rolls her eyes at the scene. “I haven’t seen her in six months and it was only for a night, before that it was a year. Forgive me for being excited.” 

Rhysand snickers, “Whipped,” he says through coughs. 

“Who’s whipped?” Mor asks as she falls into the seat beside Cassian. Rhysand chuckles as he says, “Cassian. He’s a in loveee with Nesta Archeron.” Cassian reaches over and smacks Rhysand in the back of the head. 

“I think it’s sweet, at least he had a girlfriend unlike the rest of you,” she snaps back, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she leans back. “Oh my god,” she explains. “Have you guys seen what's trending? Apparently there was a massive crash a couple miles away from DTW.” 

Cassian’s world froze in place. Everyone around him was a blur. Azriel was saying something to him. Mor was showing Amren pictures. Rhysand was already running up to the front to have them change one of the TVs to the local new station. 

“ALL 112 ABROAD FLIGHT 3529 DIE IN ENGINE FAILURE”

Cassian hands shake, as Mor grips his shoulder turning him towards her. “Where was she coming from?” she asks. He doesn’t remember saying anything, only his mouth moving, and the fear in her eyes as she looks back up at the TV. 

“There had to be tons of planes going from BOS to DTW, do you have her plane information?” Azriel asks, standing in between Cassian and the TV. The TV that showed a plane that was so destroyed you wouldn’t have even known what it was. The fire blurred in his vision, if she hadn’t died in the crash then she definitely-, Azriel shakes him. “Listen to me, we don’t know that’s the plane she was on. Do you have her confirmation?” 

Cassian swallows, tuning away from the blinding lights of the fire and the haunting memory of what she had possibly one through to pull up his phone. A text from her blinked back at him. She texted him, she was ok. He quickly typed in hsi password the text standing out to him. You’re my favorite hello and my hardest goodbye. I love you millions, Cassian.  

It had been sent three hours ago. She had sent it before she even left. How did he not see it? Why had she sent it? It’s like she had known this would have happened. He scrolls up to their messages from the night before and the screen shot of her ticket. He looks around until his eyes fall on the flight. The numbers 3529 blink back at him. 

He hands his phone to Azriel who scans the photo as well, his hopefully expression falling as he slides the phone towards Rhysand and Mor before pulling Cassian into a tight hug. How had she known that he would have to go through the hardest goodbye of his life? How had she known the impact of her words based on the weight on his shoulders. 

Was she scared? Did she know she was going to die? Was it quick? The thoughts ran through his head. Even his friends who swarmed around him couldn’t pull him from the tides that ripped through his mind. Nesta Archeron was gone. He would no longer see her bright smile, laugh at one of her cheesy pickup lines, or run a hand through her soft curls. 

He would never see the determination that shone bright in her eyes, or the curiosity or the passion when she was discussing a book she had read recently. How she mumbled in her sleep or how she had to be touching him when they slept. 

How her eyes lit up when he asked if she wanted to get coffee before they started their day or watching her favorite movie. How her lips were curved when she was hiding something that usually ended up with her dragging him through an animal shelter to play with cats or a weekend road trip that ended with a airbnb treehouse stay. 

He would never see her sing into her hairbrush again after she showered and was wearing one of his sweatshirts. He would never see rub the sleep from her eyes as he brought her breakfast in bed. 

She was his hardest goodbye.

[love-dreams]

thinkin’ about you

woozi/reader | predebut!au, idol!au, boyfriend!au | fluff, angst

synopsis: just another day in the studio for jihoon. except he now has the inspiration to create.

content: light cursing (use of the word “damn”), pre-debut! woozi/early debut!woozi, a weird time transition, very bittersweet memories, crying scenes, fluffy ending

wc: 2.6k

inspo: woozi in the recording studio, 《hello》by seventeen, 《247》by seventeen, 《empty》Paul Kim [here’s my playlist link]

It was evening. Or morning. Jihoon didn’t really know at this point after working consecutive days and nights at the studio without leaving.

Glancing sideways at his luminescent phone screen, Jihoon saw multiple text messages and a few missed phone calls. Reaching for it, he quickly dialed your number, waiting for the sound of your voice after the ringtone. 

“Jihoon?”

He sighed in relief, carding his fingers through his messy locks. “Hey baby. I’m sorry for missing your calls. My phone was on silent.” 

You don’t respond, instead Jihoon hears the sound of car horn in the background and the bustle of footsteps. “Baby? Where are you right now?”

Jihoon could hear your light heavy breathing and the phone being tossed around in the air before you quickly responded, “I’m on my way to the studio right now with food. I’ll call you back!”

“Wait, Y/N, stay safe-”

Click. 

Jihoon let out a breath as he leaned back into his chair, exhaustion, followed by hunger, creeping into his body. Cracking his knuckles, he turned his attention back to the music program he was using to work on a new track, long fingers flying over the keyboard. 

Today was a long day. Long and exhausting. No matter what he did today, Jihoon just couldn’t seem to get the right sound or feel that he was imagining in his head. Known for being a notorious workaholic, Jihoon often worked days on end in the studio, pumping out new tracks and mixtapes, like “a music factory,” you jokingly once called him. 

Jihoon placed his headphones snug over his ears to try and focus, music flowing freely into his eardrums.

Just when he was about to get into his zone before he felt a hand on his shoulder, immediately jerking him back to reality. Jihoon looked up to see your flushed face holding up the slightly transparent, flimsy plastic bag. You were panting, heavy breaths coming from your chest.

“I got you takeout, sorry it took so long. There was traffic so I tried to run here on foot which was definitely not a good idea now that I think about it.”

Jihoon’s lips curled upward at your rambling, glad at the distraction you provided for him instead of work. He took the bag from you and set it down on the ground, peeking inside to see what you had brought him. Grabbing the multiple containers of takeout, he moved away from the desk to another table in the studio.

You turned, flopping onto the studio’s couch to take a cursory, quick look at your boyfriend. 

At first glance, the first thing you noticed was that Jihoon’s hair was all over the place. Even under his cap, you could see the stray strands of hair floating around his face. His face was sullen, a sign that he hadn’t been eating very well, with slight dark circles under his eyes. 

Feeling the weight of your stare, Jihoon turned around to face you, mumbling through a mouthful, “Thanks for the food.”

You grinned for a second before huffing, arms crossed exasperatedly, “Yeah, ‘cause you weren’t going to get some yourself now were you?”

Jihoon snorted, ignoring your comment and went back to eating. After a couple minutes, Jihoon had already scarfed down one container of take out and was back at trying to fine-tune his music track. 

Stepping closer to Jihoon, you placed your hands on his shoulders, kneading softly while he ate. Resting your chin by his head, you lowly murmured, “What’s going on? You seem...stuck.” 

Jihoon swallowed thickly, fingers pausing slightly on the keyboard. He leaned back into the mesh of his chair, trying to feel more of the magic from your fingers. 

“I don’t know..I just can’t seem to find any inspiration. Nothing sounds right.” 

You hummed, fingers digging slightly deeper, eliciting a soft groan from Jihoon. “Maybe you just need a break, Jihoon. Get some fresh air. You’ve been working nonstop in this studio. No wonder you don’t have any inspiration.”

Jihoon threw his head back and sighed, eyes shut as he ran his fingers through his hair again. “I can’t, Y/N...I really have to pull this for the members, for our future, y’know.” 

You smiled bittersweetly, fingers halting their movements causing Jihoon opened his eyes to stare at your own. 

“Y/N? Are you okay..”

Then, you pulled away from him, standing awkwardly by yourself away from the desk. “I know, Jihoon. I’ll do my best to support you too. And when you succeed, I promise I’ll be your biggest fan. I’ll always be here for you, even when I’m not. I promise that I love you.”

Jihoon smiled, slightly flustered at your sudden love confession, and stood up as well, chair squeaking at the absence of his weight. He wrapped his arms around you, warmth against warmth, trying to mark in the memory of your frame against his body. 

“I know, and I love you too.”

“I can’t do this anymore.”

Jihoon looked up from his program, eyes widening at your sudden statement. “Y/N? What do you mean?”

You couldn’t look up at him, eyes staring straight down at the ground. “It means that I’m breaking up with you. I’m sorry, Jihoon.” 

Jihoon couldn’t breathe for a second out of shock; his heart was trapped in his throat and he couldn’t bring himself to say something to you. Say something! his brain screamed at him, Make her stay. Just don’t let her go.

He swallowed and refused to reply. 

“Are you not going to say anything?” 

Jihoon stared at the empty take-out package in the studio trash can, just the other day you had said that you would always be there supporting him. “What more is there to say,” he mumbled. 

You nodded shallowly, whispering out: “Goodbye, Jihoon,” then turned on your heel and left him alone in the quiet, dark studio.

Jihoon had never written so much music in his life. After you exited out the studio that day, Jihoon cried. Cried in the first time in years. He wrote song after song after song until every last memory he had with you was in music. 

Y/N..you’re such a liar, Jihoon thought, you said you’d be there for me. Dammit, you said you love me. 

Every raw emotion he had within him was pouring out of his heart into music. Jihoon couldn’t leave the studio because the inspiration was endless. Another trace of you in the dorms would have Jihoon back in the studio writing. No matter where he looked, where he went, Jihoon was reminded of you. 

Sometimes music wasn’t enough. Sometimes Jihoon just wanted to feel the warmth and security of your arms around him. Sometimes he just wanted to see your face again. 

Even when life got turbulent, you were there for him.

And now you weren’t.

“You’re writing even more amazing songs, Woozi, where’d you get the sudden burst of inspiration?” commented Bumzu one day. 

Jihoon just stared at his teacher, surprise written all over his face. Inspiration... he thought. Bittersweetly, Jihoon remembered what you had told him that day:

“No wonder you have no inspiration.”

“Yeah,” Jihoon muttered brusquely, not bothering to give a coherent response to Bumzu’s question. After staring off at the computer screen, Jihoon finally stood up. “I’m going out,” he called before pulling his cap down lower to cover his face and walking out of the Pledis Entertainment building. 

Stepping out into the sunlight, Jihoon stared at the empty street, stray cars littering the side of the road. Stuffing his hands into his pockets, Jihoon walked a few steps and let out a long, held-in breath breathing in the cool, fresh air contrasting the studio’s. He sighed and squinted at the bright sunlight, the concrete sidewalk emulating a microwave. 

Jihoon decided to go for a walk by the Han River. He hadn’t visited there since the two of you broke up, it was too painful for him to go there. 

Looking at the river, Jihoon realized that nothing had changed. The river was still as beautiful as the day he met you here and there were still people enjoying its beauty. 

Only Jihoon had changed. 

Seeing the natural beauty of the river evoked another powerful emotion.

Guilt. 

Jihoon guilted himself over and over again after you had left, wondering what he had done wrong. He always wanted to ask you, his own pride trapping him in the confines of the studio. Even in Jihoon’s turbulent life, you had been the stable thing that brought him back to reality every single damn time. The two of you were resilient against the tides of life. 

And now you were gone and Jihoon didn’t even have the guts to ask why. 

While strolling beside the river, he found a lonely bench on the side of the trail. Sitting on the hardwood bench, Jihoon sighed, maybe this walk wasn’t that good of an idea. Now he was cold, lonely, and miserable. 

Drifting back into his own thoughts, Jihoon wondered what you were doing in the moment. Were you also thinking about him? He remembered that you would derive great pleasure in taking walks. Were you happy?

“Jihoon?”

Jihoon shot up at the sound of your voice, eyes searching frantically for your face. 

“Hello..?” you waved your fingers in front of his face. 

Startled, Jihoon stumbled backward toward the bench, clumsily falling down onto the hardwood. It was you. 

You were bundled up in a coat and a scarf around your neck, cheeks a soft pink. Breathing out a white, puff of air, you gingerly greeted him once more, “You were just sitting by yourself so I wanted to say hello. We haven’t seen each other in awhile, how are you doing?”

Jihoon fumbled for an answer, his mouth unable to form coherent words. “I-I..I’m doing fine, I guess. And you?”

You smiled that bittersweet smile again, the same one in that studio that day. Turning your head sideways to look at the glimmering river, you drifted off, “I’m not really sure these days.” 

Jihoon followed your gaze to the river. Before he could respond, you muttered something under your breath. 

He leaned forward, “What’d you say?”

You took a deep breath in. “I said you seem to be doing fine these days. I saw SEVENTEEN’s comeback..you’ve really improved, huh? I’m proud-”

“I still love you,” Jihoon blurted out. 

You stopped your ramble, head still turned away from Jihoon as you averted your gaze. 

Your heart fell at his words whereas it felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of Jihoon after he had blurted out. He felt as if he could finally breathe properly after all these months without you. 

Softly, Jihoon whispered out, “Y/N..Please look at me? If you’ve moved on, please just tell me. Tell me why you left me. Please..” His voice broke at the end. 

All these months of pent up emotion, silent tears, and lonely nights without you. Jihoon finally wracked up the courage to ask you for closure. 

Your heart just felt so heavy to hold by yourself, chest aching in heartbreak. You succumbed to your own emotions; hot, heavy tears were rolling down your cheeks, falling, one by one, onto the ground. Raising your head, you could slightly make out Jihoon’s blurry figure. 

“I’m..so sorry, Jihoon.” Without a warning, you broke down, hiccups wracking your figure. You covered your eyes with one of your hands, trying to rub away the waterfall of emotions pouring out of you. It was like a dam had broken, months of sleepless nights and guilty thoughts eating away at you and you had finally broken. 

Jihoon was surprised, so surprised he just stood there for a few moments in shock. You never cried. In the years that Jihoon had known you, you were always the strong one, there for him when trainee life was too difficult. It was you who had held him on the nights he couldn’t sleep. It was you who had brought him food when he didn’t take care of yourself.

Jihoon lurched forward to hold you, arms wrapping around your shaking body. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” he whispered into your hair, one arm secured around your waist. “I’m here, Y/N. Breathe, breathe.”

You leaned in closer to Jihoon, wet tears soaking the front of his shirt. Regardless, Jihoon didn’t let you go, arms securely fastened around you as you gripped onto him, crying endlessly until the tears wouldn’t come out.

When you were finally able to even out your breathing, you loosened your grip, shaky breaths coming out. 

Jihoon, sensing you had calmed down, asked the question that had been plaguing his mind the entire time. “Why did you leave me?” 

You shook your head and buried your head back into Jihoon, no words coming out of your mouth except sharp intakes of breath. 

Jihoon pushed, “Why? Did I do something wrong? Did you stop loving me? I loved you so damn much, Y/N, I would’ve done anything-”

You pushed away from him, “I did it for you!” you bursted, panting slightly after your outburst. You sniffled a little afterward, fingers still trying to rub at your red eyes. 

Jihoon was in complete, utter shock. He opened his mouth, then closed it, unable to form words with his stricken lips. 

“Me?” he finally sputtered, incredulously. Then, a rush of anger came over him, “Don’t blame this on me, you’re the one who-”

“I wanted you to have the future you dreamt of!” 

He swallowed his retort, the rush of new information too much for him to handle at the moment. 

The distance between the two of you felt like a brick wall, separating and full of tension. You sniffled, loose tears escaping once again. “I..I didn’t want to be a distraction for you..I didn’t want to be a burden.” 

You sucked in a breath, trying to keep tears from flooding out of you again, but instead of tears, all the memories came flooding back to you. Every single “I love you” was a mountain of rocks, pressuring you to tell Jihoon the truth. Your lips quivered, trying to figure out a way to phrase your mistake. 

Taking a sharp intake of breath, you tipped your chin upward to make eye contact with Jihoon. He was also crying, eyes turning pink as he quickly tried to rub tears out of sight. His cheeks and nose were a blush scarlet, eyelids swollen. 

“You were..always so passionate about music. About debuting and being an idol, and I just thought, that maybe if I left..you would be better off.” 

“How could you say that?” Jihoon spat out, tears openly rolling down his face. He swallowed, hiccuping slightly. “I loved you, I was willing to make sacrifices..if it just meant that we could be together. Was our relationship not enough for you to stay? Was I not enough for you?”

You shook your head fervently, leaning forward into Jihoon. “I still love you,” you whimpered into the fabric of his jacket. “I never stopped, never. I wanted the best of you, the company said-”

“I don’t care what the company says. I need you with me,” Jihoon choked, a lump sitting in his throat. “These past few months...they’ve been horrible. I can’t focus without you. You’re my inspiration, Y/N. I’m always thinking about you when I’m songwriting.” 

When you stayed silent, Jihoon continued, “Please come back, Y/N. You said you still love me, is that true? Please, I’m begging you, come back to me.” 

You nodded into him, quiet sobs dying down as guilt finally rose off your shoulders. 

“I’m here, Jihoon. I’m here and I won’t leave ever again.”

[tawakkull]

Spirituality in islam: Nafs (The Soul)

The soul (an-nafs) is a substance that is essentially free of matter but which is in close connection with it in its acts and functions; it is the origin or essence of something or its self. There have been those who have used it in the sense of the spirit or the heart or the body, or in the sense of lusts or the mechanism through which Satan penetrates humans, or even in the sense of reason. In religious terminology, an-nafs, or the soul, is the origin or center of certain states or faculties such as lusts, anger, ill will, grudge, hatred, and irritation, and it is a transformable, reformable, and refinable mechanism connected to human corporeality.

The soul has a constant, experienced connection between the body and the spirit. It is through this connection that humans receive, recognize, and distinguish their outer and inner sense-perceptions and go beyond the corporeal realm into metaphysical worlds. It is again through this connection that any state, experience or gift that occurs in the spirit leaves its imprint upon the body and provokes it to move in a certain direction. Just as every influence on the spirit makes itself felt on the body, so too every state of and effect on the body shows itself on the horizon of the spirit.

For example, thinking of something which is nauseating may produce an urge to vomit. Certain events which touch the spirit and rouse distress may cause physical ailments that we call psychosomatic illnesses. The reaction that the sense of taste shows at the mention of something sweet or sour or bitter is also this same sort of impression. In short, there is a continuous interactive relationship between the spirit and the body. Similarly, evil conceptions and disagreeable manners and actions impress not only the body but also the spirit, while agreeable thoughts and considerations, and the plans and projects that are undertaken to please God Almighty, and the mentioning of the Divine Being by the heart and tongue all produce expansion and exhilaration in the spirit. It frequently occurs that even if we are not aware of it, this state gains some sort of luminosity and surrounds the entire horizon of the spirit by means of the spiritual intellect. It rouses the “secret” and begins to manifest itself in the metaphysical depths of human existence in different modes. Also, whenever the body expresses its submission to the Ultimate Truth through the acts of worship and obedience and lives in accordance with the purpose of its existence, deepening in belief through worship or religious acts and crowning its worship with excellence and awareness of God’s omnipresence, the breezes of great happiness and joy begin to blow in the spirit. Hope and expectation stir up eagerness for God, the Ultimate Truth, and the acts leading to consciousness and awe of God produce feelings of respect, self-possession, and wakefulness in the spirit. As a result, like the seas vaporizing to rise and form the clouds, and the clouds raining on the earth, and rains forming rivers and torrents that flow into the sea, there appear continuous currents between the body and the spirit.

Amidst such mutual influences between the spirit and the body, it is possible for humans either to fall into the lowest of the low as a result of being overcome by their corporeality, or to rise to human perfection and the highest of the high by God’s help and permission, through acting around the orbit of Islamic thought, belief, and awareness. Thus, what we call “spiritual journeying” is one of the significant ways of advancing toward and reaching the Ultimate Truth, and being a perfect human being through this tide.

All these tides, continuous mutual influences and flows, and journeys occur on the steed or ship or spacecraft of the human soul. The compass of this apparently abased vessel is belief, the path or direction it must follow is Islam, and its captain or guide is the Prophet Muhammad, the Master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, and the dynamics to advance along this path are provided by reflection and remembrance of God. However, there are some apparently harmful characteristics incorporated in the nature of this steed for certain purposes. If the soul has not been purified of these characteristics and refined, it is inevitable that the meanings, conceptions, pieces of information, knowledge of God, and remembrances, and reflections that travel between the spirit and the soul suffer from some turbulence and even serious falls along the way. Such turbulence and falls should not be viewed as occurrences independent of certain other factors that originate in humans themselves. Sometimes sins, heedlessness, and carelessness cause them; sometimes temporary “whirlpools of contraction" or "spasms” interfere with the working of the rudder or the compass; sometimes direction is lost due to certain carnal amusements and relaxations; and sometimes they happen because of our unawareness that certain actions are contrary to the manner of traveling along the way, and our feeling proud of the good deeds done. If travelers view such things as viruses that can cause the demise of the spirit, and remain distant from them, and if they display serious endeavors to be purified of them under the shower of repentance, penitence, and contrition when accidentally exposed to them, then God will replace their evil deeds with virtuous ones(25: 70). That is, He will change their faculties which enable evil deeds into enablers of virtuous deeds.

Despite its satanic characteristics such as haughtiness, arrogance, egotism, jealousy, injustice, and enmity, all of which break the wings of the spirit, the soul has a fundamental potential so important and valuable that it raises it to companionship of the spirit. Provided it grasps that its essential function, as required by its position, is to become a unit of measurement to recognize God—thereby abandoning arrogance and the accompanying self-assertive, self-aggrandizing claims; so long as it turns to God in worship and prayer and seeks refuge in Him from the potential evils in its nature, following the heart and the spirit on the way to reaching God, then the soul can advance to the highest of the high on the way together with its companions, namely the heart and the spirit.

Indeed, the soul is also of great importance for humans to maintain a metaphysical tension. It (the soul) is like a mainspring allowing them to rise from being only potentially human to true humanity. This continuously keeps them busy, without allowing them to have a rest. It ceaselessly sharpens the resolution of people to struggle against its negative characteristics, and causes those who have brains to frequently beat their brains out. When, finally, human nature is matured to the degree intended for its creation, the soul becomes a slave of the king of human existence—the heart—and adopts an attitude that is capable of feeling the need to warn it from time to time, saying, “Do not be proud, O my king! There is God, Who is greater than you!” You can call the soul which has reached this point of maturity after having gone through the filters of purification “the soul refined and grown in purity,” as stated in the following verses: And (by) the human soul and that (All-Knowing, All-Powerful, and All-Wise One) Who has formed it to perfection; and Who has inspired it with the conscience of what is wrong and bad for it, and what is right and good for it. He is indeed prosperous who has grown it in purity(91: 7-9).

Whatever you call it, the purified soul is the double of the spirit, continuously trying to keep away from evil, and always advancing toward good until it finally comes to a point where it abandons its basic mission—that is, being a powerful mechanism with negative aspects for human self- purification and perfection—to the nerves, extreme sensitivity, and other human temperaments. It begins to spend the remaining part of its life in the company and service of the spirit.

We have tried to explain in detail the stages of this journeying of the soul, which the Sufis experience in their spiritual journeying, under the titles of the Carnal, Evil-Commanding Soul, the Self-Condemning or Self-Accusing Soul, the Soul Receiving Inspiration, the Soul at Rest, the Soul Well-Pleased (with God, with however God treats it), the Soul Pleasing (to God), and the Perfected Soul, or the Purified or Innocent Soul. As the soul passes through these stages upward, the veils of darkness that veil human nature are torn apart one after the other. According to the degree of each, the rays of spirituality begin to shine on all sides of a human being, and an initiate or traveler thinks that they are floating in the elevated horizons of the inner, immaterial dimensions of existence.

Each of the stages mentioned above has a gift, pleasure, horizon, manner of expressiveness, and perception particular to itself. Sometimes the guide tells initiates at which stage they are, and sometimes sensitive, self-supervising initiates who are aware of themselves and lend an ear to the voice of their spirits are informed of their stage in a special way.

Even though the soul is mainly characterized by always commanding evil, when it undergoes an effective process of purification and is directed to obedience to its Lord, it can be transformed into a source of bright light, like the full moon receiving light from the sun. If, on the other hand, it is not purified, the fog and smoke of the lusts invade its horizon, and it suffers corruption under the influence of carnal thoughts and considerations, becoming so blind as not to be able to see into the transcendent dimension of existence. Then, the soul cannot continue its companionship with the spirit and becomes a marsh of evil in human nature, in conformity with the aspects of its nature, which is open to evil. Making use of certain weak spots in its owner, the soul attacks him from many fronts, and—may God preserve us—can knock him down with a single blow. The continuous request for forgiveness from God and prayer are important defenses against such attacks; the disciplines which have an important place in the spiritual journeying are a petition presented for Divine protection, and following the way of God’s Messenger, upon him be peace and blessings, strictly offers a reliable refuge. Further, restricting our consumption to absolutely essential human needs, silencing the soul by being content with legitimate pleasures, and incessantly warning the soul against illicit desires and appetites form another way of keeping it under strict control.

* * *

Basically, the soul is one of the faculties with which humans have been equipped. Provided that humans employ these faculties, which have been entrusted to them in their creation, in the direction established by their Creator, they greatly add to their value. For example, the eyes are windows for seeing things within their scope of sight; the ears are receptors and transmitters that receive and conduct sounds and voices at certain wavelengths to the brain; the tongue is an inspector of innumerable tastes, and the translator of thoughts and feelings. If the eyes are used to see things which are religiously permissible to observe, if the ears are kept closed to harmful, evil sounds and voices while transmitting the good ones, and if the tongue stirs up feelings of reflection on and thankfulness to the numberless bounties bestowed by God Almighty, and also acts in conformity with the Divine purpose for its creation as a means of speech—then individually and collectively these organs become wings for human beings to rise to human perfection. But if, on the contrary, the eyes busy themselves with those things that the Religion condemns as harmful or ugly, thus abandoning themselves to contamination; if the ears work like a telephone exchange for vices, receiving and transmitting that which is religiously forbidden; and if the tongue lives in attachment to the tastes it recognizes, in oblivion of its duty of inspection, and speaks without recognizing any criteria—then the wings of the heart are broken, and the spirit becomes as if nitric acid were poured into its eyes.

The soul is no different from the faculties mentioned above with respect to its duties and its fulfilling or not fulfilling them properly. If the soul is purified and preserved against working like a telephone exchange for Satan, then while being, by its primordial nature, a reptile- like creature crawling on the ground, it becomes like a dove flying over our heads, as if it has undergone a mysterious metamorphosis, and it is praised by the words of God Almighty: I swear by the self-accusing soul (75: 2). When it takes two steps further, it is honored with the breezes of appreciation: O, you soul at rest! Return to your Lord, wellpleased (with Him and His treatment of you), and well-pleasing to Him (89: 27-28), and establishes itself comfortably next to the spirit.

Thus, this hard-natured substance, more harmful than snakes and scorpions, which is described by the Divine statement as Surely the carnal, evil-commanding soul always and insistently commands evil (12: 53)—by asking God for forgiveness in awareness of its sins, by avoiding its faults due to repugnance, by trying to keep distant from unbelief, hypocrisy, vice, and transgression, by shuddering with fear that the favors coming when it is in an agreeable state may be a means of perdition, and, in a further attempt, by finding its true purification through always seeing itself as impure, this primordially hard-natured, evil-commanding substance can rise to great heights and approach the heavenly beings. The soul at this level, which philosophers call “the speaking self or soul,” and which the Qur'an describes as “the soul at rest,” has become such an earthly being able to rise to the horizon of the heart and the spirit and possessing angelic manners, that it begins to take pleasure in religious responsibilities, which previously it did not like and which were difficult for it to fulfill. The things which it found bitter up until this point have become sweet, and in parallel with its attaining this station, the cloud of dust and smoke over the spiritual intellect and the secret that was produced by corporeality has been completely removed. Things and events appear differently to its view, and time and again it experiences raptures with the call to Him it hears from every thing and event, thinking itself to be among the pure spirit beings in great joy.

A time comes when reason becomes like the heart, and its products take on the color of those of the spiritual intellect. An initiate with such a level of reason feels stunned by awe of God and advances full of the feeling of modesty; he sometimes becomes exhilarated with the showers of Divine gifts. The heart beats “God! God!”, combining this with the breaths of reason that utter, “O the All- Forgiving! O the All-Veiling (of His servants’ sins and shortcomings)!” The initiates at this level of reason hear the whole of creation mentioning God by His Names, and their breaths resound with Him. While, on the one hand, signals come to them from the horizon of the spiritual intellect, arousing them to the worlds beyond, on the other hand they feel great worry that the gifts may be interrupted and unexpected obstacles may come in between them and the Source of these gifts, causing them to turn to Him more frequently and more intimately, admitting that whatever good visits them is essentially from Him.

The zeal they feel is the zeal of the heart, and the sorrows they suffer are the sorrows of the sincerely penitent ones. While looking at their past with repugnance, they are revived and refreshed with the hope of a brighter future and the hope that they will be able to compensate for their past defects with future opportunities. They try to fill their past voids with heartfelt sighs and groans and with reflection and remembrance. While others are busy with a life of ease, thinking that they have already lived so before, they always try to do whatever they must on the way to God.

Such people always feel themselves to be in the presence of the Lord. They stand before Him in awe, bow before Him in utmost modesty, prostrate before Him with utmost humility, and sit before Him in self-supervision. They advance with utmost awe and care, and try to fulfill what is required by having reason in the company of the heart. They shudder with awe while thinking of Him, they breathe His mercy with reflection and remembrance of Him; they focus their observations on deepening their knowledge of Him with new discoveries, and their eyes twinkle with eagerness for reunion with the All-Beloved. They do not forget their defects, which are incompatible with servanthood to God, seeing them as precipices between them and their Lord; they entreat Him, saying, “Do not abandon me to myself, even for the blink of an eye!”

Now they have distanced themselves from Satan, but they also reinforce the barriers they have put before Satan’s inlets into their heart and continue to erect new ones. Whenever they remember Satan, they feel as if they are in the valley of bandits, and they always seek refuge in God, saying, “I seek refuge in You from the promptings and provocations of the satans; I seek refuge in You, my Lord, lest they be present with me!” (23: 97–98).

They never rely on themselves, their labor, or their deeds; they do not approve of their acts, and treat them with disdain. They are always troubled and shake like a tree in a storm with the worry that hypocrisy and expectation of others’ acceptance and appreciation have found, and do find, a way into even their best deeds. These considerations follow them ceaselessly along the way, until finally the soul is welcomed with the compliments, “O you soul at rest! Return to your Lord, well-pleased (with Him and His treatment of you), and well-pleasing to Him! Enter, then, among My servants (fully content with servanthood to Me)! And enter My Paradise!” (89: 27–30); while those who have dropped halfway groan with deep regrets, “Would that I had forwarded (some good deeds) for my life (to come)!” (89: 24). They are honored with surprising bounties of the Hereafter, and favored with many different gifts from the horizon of the heart.

They are treated thus because they have lived a life of austerity without being deceived by worldly pleasures, and they have advanced toward the horizon of the peace of the heart, spiritual contentment, and resignation to God’s treatment of them. They felt obliged to advance so, conscious of their essential impotence and poverty and their absolute need of Him. They have advanced and been favored with His special wealth. They have heard many things which other ears could not hear, and seen many things which other eyes could not see; they have experienced how the most honored of creatures—humanity—was created from wet clay, how matter rose almost to the level of the spirit, and how the evil-commanding soul developed into the soul at rest. With the pleasureof watching the smiling face of their fate, they have proceeded beyond space within space and toward the All-Beloved within corporeality, to the point where the invisible becomes visible.

The exacting people of truth and wisdom have seen the soul as we have so far tried to explain. If the Master of all domains had willed it to be so, there is none who could have willed or done otherwise. If He has dressed non- existence in the array of existence, why then should we wonder at “nothing” being “everything”? If He wills, He can make a drop into a sea, a minute particle into the sun, manifest thousands of instances of existence in non- existence, and bestow kingdoms upon those who initially have no trace of one.

O my God! Surely I ask You for a soul content with You, believing in meeting You, resigned to Your decrees, and content with Your bounties. And bestow blessings and peace on the most perfect and complete of the spirits, who is our master Muhammad, and Your beloved, and on His Family and Companions, whom You love!

[justhereforthefanfiction]

Undeniably Stoked | Charlie & Matteo fanfic - aka the epic, enemies-to-lovers romance no one asked for.

Welcome to the not-so crack!fic of Charlie & Matteo - the epic, enemies-to-lovers romance of SS Titanic that no one asked for!

Backstory: I made a joke about how Charlie/Matteo would make a great enemies-to-lovers pairing somewhere on Storyscape’s reddit, and now the joke’s on me coz I couldn’t stop thinking about it.

So lo and behold, here is my first fanfic on the most unlikely, but awesome pairing that never existed.

I initially set out to write this as a crack!fic but my brain had other ideas, dammit.

I also love these boys. I don’t care if they aren’t my OTP - this was so much fun to write!

P.S: Apologies for the title. I liked it too much to find a more appropriate one! Also apologies in advance for the formatting and style of the piece. I didn’t have this edited by someone else - this is literally a brain dump.

PSS: Don't write fanfiction when you're half asleep, folks!

Disclaimer: I own nothing. NOTHING! This is a just a bit of fun!

Undeniably Stoked

Genre: Drama/Romance

Pairing: Charlie/Matteo

TW: Character death, Unsinkable sinking ships, misleading happy title is misleading

[Charlie]

I saw you.

Through the lift gate. Towering above her in a descending lift, suit sharply cut, and a smirk as slick as your hair. You were her blackmailer’s valet, her prison warden. You were not to be trusted. But around you, you carried a curious air - a stately presence that you were to be seen and heard. It was clear as day you wanted more, to be known as more.

I quietly marvelled at how quickly you saw me as a threat, at the walls that went up, the cruel humour a mask you hid behind to assert your dominance that I barely registered the insult. Bland? Was that what you were worried about becoming? Invisible?

But what startled me the most, was your desire to get a rise out of me. A sly quip, haughty bright eyes, drawn shoulders and a raised eyebrow. Little did I know that this would later characterise our subsequent exchanges. You sought me out, you always did. Looking, seeking my reaction.

The boy that hid behind his suit. The boy who wanted to belong.

You don’t need a day to get a measure of someone. Sometimes it only takes an hour. Or a moment.

And in that moment I did.

I saw you.

[Matteo]

I heard you.

Making promises you couldn’t keep. Bold in your false confidence and naivety. I know your lot. Promising the world. Promising things will be okay if you worked hard enough. Tried hard enough. The ridiculous notion that a good heart, good work and self-belief will prevail against all odds.

What a childish, dangerous fallacy. And what a childish, dangerous thing to do - to raise her hopes up.

I was like you once. Briefly, before reality set me right. The real world does not work that way. I learned that a long time ago. Good hearts and hard work do not always prevail. Sometimes, life is just unfair and you need to do what you can to survive.

I look at this woman. I know her background, her gumption, her aspirations. But more importantly, I know her chances. And I know what she has to lose.

There is a reason why you believe you can thrive. You still trust the world. The world hasn’t let you down yet.

And I seethe. Your words, your false promises echo long after I leave her side.

‘…Trust me…I won’t let you down…’

I heard you.

[Charlie]

I heard you.

Your complexion, red. Your eyes, skirting. Your hands below the table, cards held in loosely fidgeting hands. You watch the scene unfold between your master and her, quietly. Lump in throat.

Your betrayal was loud and clear.

Only one other person knew about the circumstances and could have told their master.

And I was looking at him.

My blood begins to boil as I see this woman’s life fall apart, her eyes darting between her blackmailer and sister. How could we have gotten it so wrong? Was the prison warden a willing executioner in disguise?

Your eyes connect with mine, and I do not look away. The man clamouring for clout and status is gone. I see a shamefaced boy, and I pause.

This act did not give you pleasure. No smirk in sight, no air of arrogance. I see you, deflated, head hung low, back bent.

Suddenly, I am no longer concerned about what you did, but what it cost you.

And all I hear is silence.

[Matteo]

I see you.

I see what she sees in you. Your steadfast support, unquestionable loyalty in the face of temptation. Your fire. An unnamed emotion grips my chest as I watch how easily you sacrificed your livelihood for your principles.

Foolish boy. I squirm in my seat.

Can’t you see you can’t win?

When he finally leaves, I look at the three of them, and I try. Try to tell them what I know is true. That you can’t win, you have to adapt and survive.

That I didn’t want anyone to get hurt.

My master is the devil, and he owns my soul. But if they were wise, if they listened….

You came toe-to-toe at me, your white uniform reflecting the afternoon sunlight, golden buttons glistening brightly. I watched the fire in your eyes, ablaze with disappointment. You did not back down. The unnamed emotion comes by again, this time striking me in the throat. I belatedly recognise that that emotion is admiration.

I take in the scene before I leave, the door held ajar. I see the unvoiced question in your eyes.

‘What did it cost you?’

A rising tide of emotion overwhelms me. I move my hand, finally letting the door close between us.

[Charlie]

I hear you before I see you.

Your gait and polished, leather shoes always had a certain staccato rhythm that I’ve come to associate with you.

Clack, clack, clack. And a pause.

You’ve finally seen me.

[Matteo]

I see you before I hear you.

The first thing my eyes are drawn to are the gold buttons on your uniform. They don’t shine as brightly as they did against the white.

I feel a plummeting sensation in my stomach, and I hadn’t even set a step beyond the lift gate.

Your face betrays no surprise by my presence, and with the ways things ended between us last time, I would have expected a colder reception.

You meet my gaze with a short nod, and ask me for my floor.

Not a flicker of emotion. You are a fortress.

I look away as you close the gates. My emotions turbulent and roiling as the sea in a storm.

The lift starts to descend.

“For what it’s worth, you have my sincerest apology.”

I watch your face. For a moment, I am worried you hadn’t heard me, but the thought flies out of my head when your eyes meet mine.

“Why did you do it?”

I shake my head. My heart is in my throat.

“I had to.”

“Did he force you to? What kind of hold…”

“No, Charlie…”. You startle at my use of your first name.

“I mean…”. I sigh.

“Just my livelihood.”

The words hang awkwardly in the air. The painful irony of sharing my potential loss of livelihood to a man who has sacrificed his so willingly isn’t lost on me.

Suddenly, it was getting harder to swallow and breathe.

“Hey, I get it”.

I look at you. Gone is the inscrutable expression on your face. Instead, I see your kind eyes. Your earnest expression.

If anything, it made it harder to swallow and breathe properly. I look away.

“I heard you the last time you know. About not just being a Londoner, a Brit.”

Your voice is low and soft. I take a chance and look at you. You refuse to look away.

“I get that my life is not the same as yours. I’ve had better and worse jobs. I’ll be fine.”

Your voice drops. I find myself staring at your gold buttons, waiting for your next words.

“But your world is different. You’re treated differently. We’re not the same.”

You pause, a sad smile pulling at the corners of your lips.

“No one can blame you for needing to survive.”

“For what it’s worth…” you smile as you throw my words back at me, “I don’t”.

“That is why I have to fight, even if no one asked me to take up arms. Everyone deserves to survive.”

I jolt at your words.

“I shouldn’t have said that. You’ve gone above and beyond your duty. Adele is fortunate to have you in her corner.”

The words come tumbling out, unbidden and loose. Your eyes widen at my heartfelt address. I mentally scold myself for my casual delivery but before I can act, your eyes crinkle and lips curve into a beam.

“I’d do it for anyone. Everyone needs someone in their corner.”

The lift comes to a halt but I’ve barely registered we stopped moving. By the time I realise what is happening, I clock your kind smile and eyes. But I can’t breathe properly. My throat is working overtime. What is worse, my eyes are wet and my vision begins to blur.

Without saying a word, you close the lift gates back and we make our ascent to the top floor. You take a step closer to me. I feel your warmth, your steady breaths and calmness. I don’t know how long we stand in companionable silence, but I know one thing.

You’ve finally seen me.

[Charlie]

An unspoken truce and friendship emerges.

I see you several times later that day, my eyes looking to find you on every floor I’ve dropped you off.

And while I haven’t seen the lonely boy behind the suit ever since that morning, I’ve seen glimpses of the man you’ve hidden away. Nods turn into warm smiles. A preference for standing behind me no matter how crowded or empty the lift is. A glance at me behind you whenever you disembark.

Unknowingly, you take up more space in my thoughts as the day goes by. I start to question my newfound fascination with the boy who wore his suit for an armour. Something has changed. Something has cracked and allowed warmth and light to shine through.

The answer comes quickly enough.

The boy has found a place he belongs.

[Matteo]

The party is in full swing. Ladies and gents decked in their finest silks, lace and jewellery have come to celebrate the birthday event, and were dressed to the nines.

Once upon a time I would have revelled in being amongst such company; mingling, and holding many a vacuous conversation about gambling or other various forms of entertainment that was popular with their like.

Now I can’t help but feel it a tedious undertaking.

Tonight is the night, and I am filled with restless energy. I look for James and Adele in the crowd, and nod in their direction when they make eye contact. Out of the corner of my eye, I spot a familiar blue figure with gold buttons. I smile, watching you assist an elderly gentleman across the decks. I am not surprised, you were always one to go above and beyond.

[Charlie]

After assisting Mister Washburn to the right side of the deck, I find myself taken in by the sight of the stars.

I make my way to the railing and stare at the heavens. Looking into the night sky reminds me that all my problems are smaller than they seem. I take a deep breath. I hear a faint but familiar staccato rhythm as the smell of your spicy pomade hits my senses.

“What’s wrong? Didn’t enjoy the party, Matteo?”

You smile at my use of your first name.

“Preferred this party instead.”

I nod. You join me at the railing, hands splayed on either side. A finger taps rhythmically as you stare into the vast darkness. I note that you’re restless, like myself.

“You reckon she’ll be alright?” I let slip.

Your eyes find me in the semi darkness. A pause, and then a handsome smile erupts.

“Either way, we’ll fight. And we’ll take up arms.”

I bark out a laugh. Your smile reaches your eyes. At the same moment, we look at our hands. Our finger tips are a few inches apart.

I’m swept by the sudden urge to grab your hand. And so I do.

“We’ll fight, we’ll take up arms, and we’ll survive.”

[Matteo]

“We’ll fight, we’ll take up arms, and we’ll survive.”

I can’t stop staring at our joined hands. I can scarcely believe it. I can hear my heart pounding fiercely, my face is warm and my ears are filled with white noise.

I blink rapidly as I look at you. A flush spreads across your pale face, but your eyes flash with determination. I feel my hand being squeezed tighter.

“Our relationship has been rather - well - complicated, shall we say?” I start.

“At the very least.” You smile to yourself.

“How do you look back on our exchanges, Charlie?”

You purse your lips. I am unable to look away.

“We haven’t exactly made each other’s lives easier, have we?” a grin blossoms.

I look into your eyes, taking in your long lashes.

“In a short space of time, you have mine.”

I grip your hand back in emphasis.

“I pride myself on my judgement, but it failed me entirely when I met you. I didn’t see you or hear you. I had no idea. I must have been a fool not to see it at once.”

I step closer to you.

“You are utterly extraordinary”.

I look at past you at the horizon, not daring to look at your face as I complete my thoughts.

“I am a cynic, but I hope…must hope, that your feelings are returned.”

I take your hand and raise it to my lips.

“I need to know, if your feelings are the same?”

I finally dare to meet your eyes, and am surprised to see the intensity of your gaze. Before I know what to make of it, I feel your warm palm cup the back of my head and pull me towards your face.

Your lips are soft and pillowy as I knew they would be, and soon I melt into your broad, warm embrace.

[Charlie]

We break apart and try to catch our breaths, as they float away as puffy clouds in the frigid night air.

You straighten up and shoot me a gentle, shy smile.

“Foolish boy”, I say in jest as you give me a surprised smile.

“I think I fell for you the moment I saw you at the gate.”

We stand there smiling at each other like goofballs until we hear the whistles from the crew pierce the night air.

Suddenly, an iceberg emerges on the horizon and in horror we brace for impact.

My heart thuds heavily into the pit of my stomach. I look at you somberly. I can see worry cloud your face.

“Do you think…”, you drift off, unable to finish the sentence.

“I need to be sure.” I say simply.

You nod, unable to hide your concern. You hold both of my hands against your chest.

Swallowing hard, you hold my gaze. I can practically see the thoughts whizzing through your brain. The words are caught in your throat.

“It’s okay. I’ll be back” I smile as assuredly as I can.

You say only one word.

“Hurry”.

[Matteo]

We are in the belly of the beast.

After you left, I dove straight back into the party and found Adele. You found us, and Hileni, and now we are in the unenviable position of arming ourselves for a fighting chance of survival.

I watch you as you plot and plan, helping us find a path that would guarantee our lives. I am quiet, filled with that familiar emotion of admiration. Instead of doom and gloom, I found that there was no other place I’d rather be than right here with this motley crew.

I belonged right here in the thick of it, by your side.

As if hearing my thoughts, you turn around and smile at me as the girls climb past their way into the engine room.

“How are you doing?” you ask.

“Never better”. I make a quick grab of your hand and squeeze it tightly.

Suddenly cries erupt from a boiler room adjacent to ours. Trimmers rush in, with harried cries to close the door behind them.

With a quick squeeze in apology, you release my hand to head down to those men.

The worse case scenario emerges. Our path ahead has fallen.

[Charlie]

I look back at the three shiny faces that depend on me, and take a breath.

Time is ticking away, the ship is about to sink, and I have to help us escape. As I start going through my options, I can’t help but take in the sights and sounds of the trimmers at work. I look at the Carrems and you, lit aglow by the dancing firelight. My decision has been made.

I beckon you to come with me while I leave the sisters in the boiler room.

We walk into the cavernous air vent and into the spot of moonlight, its rays casting shadows across your solemn face. As I walk you through the plan ahead, I feel you withdrawing away from me.

I pause. You raise an eyebrow.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

You snort inelegantly.

“Were you ever going to tell me?”

I halt.

“Don’t even think about it, you’re coming with us”.

“Please understand. My whole career started here in the boiler room. These are my people. I have to stay.”

“YOU’RE WRONG!”. I’m taken aback by the ferocity of your statement. You grab my face none too gently, forcing me to look at you in the eye.

“You are my people. We -“. Your voice breaks, tears tracking down your face. You close your eyes in anguish. My heart dies a little.

“Adele, Hileni and I are your people.”

You grab me by the shoulders and hold me close.

“Stay with me.”

I look at the man in front of me, and I know he will be okay. He has found his people, and learned to open his heart. Gone is the boy who used his suit as an armour against the world. He has finally learnt how to belong and love.

“You will be alright, Matteo - ”

You look up at me with a flash of anger.

“Your stupid, stupid promises. Stop making promises you can’t keep.”

I can’t prevent the chasm, the wound or the world of hurt on your face. But I can’t afford to lose my resolve, and pray for strength.

“Please listen -“ I cut you off before you can interrupt. “I cannot walk away. That is not who I am.”

This stills you. You give a pained laugh, shake your head and finally look at me; an upturned corner of your lip through the tears.

“You were always one to go above and beyond, you foolish boy.”

The words don’t sting. But your tortured face? I couldn’t decide which was more devastating, your anguish or your reluctant resignation. 

My face is wet. I give a watery smile back.

“Fight. Survive. And, from time to time, spare an occasional thought for a poor English boy who loved ships. Do that, and I’ll be happy.”

I hold your hand and put it over my heart.

“And stay with your people. They need you.”

[Matteo]

I walk back like a zombie, in a haze of defeat and grief.

All the whilst holding your hand.

Upon seeing our return, the sisters gather around us, Adele being the first to notice our clasped hands.

“What is going on?”

I take a deep breath and look into my beloved’s face. You warily look into my face, assessing my state.

At that moment, I decide to show you I can and will fight for our survival. That you can have this peace of mind.

As calm and removed as I can, I explain to the Carrems that they are to follow me. You graciously take the burden of explaining that you will stay. I know I couldn’t bear it.

The sisters predictably break down in tears. I am a hair’s breadth away from giving in myself, when I feel your hand squeeze mine. Through the hugs and the tearful goodbyes, your eyes are never far from mine.

The floor tilts, we exchange looks.

I take charge, and move the girls along.

As they head towards the vent, I make my way to you as you shrug off your coat.

Instead of urging me to go back, you raise your arms wide open and welcome me in a tight embrace. I grab your face in a kiss full of desperation, hoping it will convey everything you mean to me.

Too soon we break apart. And you say only one word.

“Survive”.

[Matteo]

I look in horror at the ship as it tilts towards the heavens, my heart breaking as I start to see the lights flicker out.

I came onboard this ship wanting to survive and make it in cruel world; hoping to make myself undeniable in reputation, worth, and status in the eyes of those who mattered.

In the end, none of it mattered.

Rich or poor, famous or unknown, it does not matter who you are, or what you own. We all die the same.

A much needed lesson I had to learn from you.

Because it isn’t the personal effects, the wealth, or my social standing I find myself caring about.

It is you.

My beloved, who I know does not have long left.

I watch as the last of the lights flicker out and my stomach bottoms out. Adele clutches my hand tightly. A fresh wave of despair grips my heart.

My beloved, a foolish boy who in a few short moments taught me how to love.

To thrive. To still trust the world. That the world hasn’t let you down yet.

It amazes me at just how quickly you came into my life and changed it.

Because you don’t need a day to make a difference to someone. Sometimes it only takes an hour. Or a moment.

I see and I hear the ship sinking below the waves, taking my beloved from me. But not completely. I silently brand our memories and love into my consciousness - an oath to remember and honour the boy who loved his ships, loved his people, and saw what I truly needed. To belong.

A/N: Sooooo.... things took a pretty melodramatic twist, and all the crack-y, silly humour left the window the more I got into it. Sorry!

Also, my brain did a weird thing with the tenses. Went for a style while I was writing it but now I'm second guessing myself. Either way, I'm always down for some con-crit! Send some my way if its not working for you! I swear I wrote and finished this 7 hours past my bedtime (fanfic>sleep, amirite?), coz this damn plot bunny wouldn't leave me be. Here's hoping it entertained some of you!

Let me know what you think of this pairing! 😂

[comicteaparty]

Webcomic Recommendations

Check out this plethora of webcomic recommendations archived from Comic Tea Party’s Webcomic Recommendations Channel!

Nutty (Court of Roses)

Children of Shadow: Ashes https://spiderforest.com/comics/children-of-shadow-ashes/ Genre: Anthro/Horror/Urban Fantasy Trigger Warnings: Rated Mature for blood, gore, and intense scenes Reasons: Some of the most lovely pencil work I've ever seen, well-rendered animal art and a compelling world!(edited)

Heirs of the Veil https://spiderforest.com/comics/heirs-of-the-veil/ Genre: Drama/Urban Fantasy Trigger Warnings: Rated PG-16+ for transphobia, dysphoria, mental illness, blood, trauma, body horror Reasons: Absolutely gorgeous artwork, really compelling illustrations of the lgbt experience

Aloe https://spiderforest.com/comics/aloe/ Genre: Adventure/Drama/Sci-Fi Trigger Warnings: Rated Teen for violence and blood Reasons: I'm normally not into sci-fi but this comic is so bright and colorful, I really love it a lot. Also the main character is non-binary!

Millennium https://spiderforest.com/comics/millennium/ Genre: Adventure/Fantasy/Sci-fi Trigger Warnings: Rated PG-13 for Mild Violence and Mild Language Reasons: Lovely art, fun characters, and an engaging space world! I love it so so much.

Sombulus https://spiderforest.com/comics/sombulus/ Genre: Adventure/Comedy/Fantast Trigger Warnings: Rated Young Adult, no warnings Reasons: An absolute blast, super fun story and characters, with a nice long archive too!

Arbalest https://spiderforest.com/comics/arbalest/ Genre: Fantasy/Horror Trigger Warnings: Rated Mature for partial nudity, blood/gore, sex, themes of abuse Reasons: A really compelling story in a non-traditional narrative style, and super spooky to boot.

And finally, to top this off, I'll drop in my own comic as well! Court of Roses https://spiderforest.com/comics/court-of-roses/ Genre: Adventure/Fantasy/Comedy Trigger Warnings: Rated Teen, for Fantasy Violence and Alcohol Use Reasons: Because this is my comic and it's my pride and joy and I love my bards a lot. :3

AntiBunny

Dead Winter http://deadwinter.cc/ Genre: Zombie Apocalypse Trigger Warnings: Violent Reasons: Well it's a straightforward zombie survival comic. What's impressive is how well the artist has studied comics as an art form and put thought and purpose into every panel.

HiddenElephant

http://welcome2earth.webcomic.ws/ Snarky alien crashes onto Earth. Not enough people are reading it in my opinion.

snuffysam (Super Galaxy Knights)

Super Galaxy Knights Deluxe R: http://sgkdr.thecomicseries.com/ Genre: Action, Comedy Trigger Warnings: Blood, Dismemberment Reasons: A recommendation for @Goobatron . It's my comic. The creator is me. Super Galaxy Knights is a story about Mizuki Sato, who goes on adventures through a strange world, making friends along the way. The dialogue is like... 70% banter, 30% total non-sequiturs. The art style uses 3D models, in like a weird cel-shaded style that's meant to be reminiscent of games like Wind Waker and Dragon Ball FighterZ. And there's also a bunch of animated panels/pages. There's also a ton of really strange characters. Like there's a dude whose power is that he always wins knife fights. There's a wizard who shrinks hot dogs and carries them around in capsules. Etc. One warning - the early pages are a bit rough-looking. Some have been redrawn recently, but others haven't yet, so it can be a bit jarring to go back and forth between styles.

Cap’n Lee (Flowerlark Studios)

Clockwork http://www.clockwork-comic.com/ Genre: Fantasy / Drama CW: Some language and violence Clockwork is a comic about Cog Kleinshmidt, a moody teenager with an uncanny talent for repairing machinery. He feels he’s a nobody, but is swept into the turbulent world of politics, and is forced to learn magic in a world where magic is strictly forbidden. The art in this comic is incredibly polished and lively, and the characters are all instantly endearing. The writing is also top-notch. The first time I read it, I was completely sucked in after only a few pages. It’s currently on hiatus while the creator prepares the next chapter, but it’s well worth the wait.(edited)

Moral_Gutpunch

Micheal Morbius: Freelance Vampire http://freelancevampire.thecomicseries.com/ Genre: Drama, comedy Trigger: mentions of death and violence, talk of abusive relationships, mention of rape. It's all in dialog. Micheal Morbius, from Marvel comics, struggles to adjust to a as normal a life as a vampire can have. He helps a friend get back on her feet, he goes through therapy, and he's visited by Spider-heroes, this time a new one. Meanwhile, a true monster lurks int he shadows. The art isn't good, but the story and dialog are worth it. It's my comic. I hope after I get a few more pages going people will enjoy the story. It's a story I've been wanting to write for ages and I figured I'm not going to write for Marvel anytime soon (yes, I checked copyright law, Marvel allows this). Dedicated to Stan Lee.

Pakky

The Boy Who Fell http://boywhofell.com/ Genre: Drama, Adventure, Action, Comedy TW: Violence, blood, fighting, ptsd, suicide, death Synopsis (from the website): The Boy Who Fell revolves around an innocent, softhearted and almost-spineless boy named Ren who suddenly finds himself in Hell after accidentally falling off a school rooftop. He is then forced to partake in a tournament full of powerful and vicious beings in order to attain his only way of going home: an all-powerful wish from the ruler of Hell himself. As the story progresses, lines between allies and enemies are blurred, dark pasts are revealed, political issues come to light and all the while, Ren slowly realizes that in order to survive this journey, he might have to give up the very things that make him human I love this webcomic and have been following this artist for over 10 years now and recommend their work to anyone who will listen haha! Super long running webcomic with a well developed storyline and world.

Shizamura 🌟 O Sarilho

Broken http://broken.spiderforest.com/ Genre: Horror Trigger Warnings: Military, death, monsters Reasons: Broken offers a very interesting twist on the concepts of fairies, presenting you with a fairy general on the battlefield fighting against corrupted abominations. The concepts and worldbuilding here are very interesting and the battle/action scenes are great. Often makes use of animation and some HTML/CSS for extra effect. Of Magic and Muses https://xiicomic.com/magic-and-muses/ Genre: Magical Girls, mystery Trigger Warnings: There's a big monster at some point? Reasons: It's a magical girl story! Except nobody knows what's happening, the powers the girls get are maybe not of a friendly nature and they wear armor? The escalation of events is suberb. It has a large (and growing) cast, but each character has their own unique personality, making them super easy to follow and love. Ghost Junk Sickness https://www.ghostjunksickness.com/ Genre: action, sci-fi Trigger Warnings: violence, limb loss, death Reasons: There's a lot to be said about this comic! I really like the characters, who are deeply flawed and charming and make a lot of mistakes (the main duo having an especially interesting, yet sorta problematic dynamic). The worldbuilding is interesting and quirky to match. The mysterious bounty The Ghost is a looming presence, and apparently we'll be learning more about them soon. Super exciting and fun action scenes too!

Desnik

https://monsterhead.net/ Genre: LGBT+ American rural occult fantasy Trigger Warnings: Animal death, mild body horror Reasons: The author/artist is an OC-loving member of the LGBT+ community, and her work deals with self-love in the face of weird circumstances. Love the colors, Carter is an appealing and relatable main character, and the worldbuilding is something I've never seen before.

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

http://www.phantomarine.com/ Genre: Fantasy, Supernatural Trigger Warnings: Death, Mild Body Horror, Mild Violence, Mild Language Reasons: ...This is my comic! (edited)

Phantomarine is a spooky-but-sweet fantasy webcomic about a ghostly princess and her perilous journey across a haunted sea, hoping to save her soul from a devious, shapeshifting death god known as the Red Tide King. Expect all manner of maritime mysteries – monstrous sea creatures, sacred lighthouses, strange afflictions, accursed marauders, feuding gods, grand sea battles, and a heaping helping of humor in-between.

eliushi [Keyspace]

https://tapas.io/series/KEYSPACE-A-Winged-Tale/ https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/keyspace-a-winged-tale/list?title_no=322364 Genre: YA Science Fantasy, LGBT+ Trigger warnings: Mild body horror/violence/monsters, death Reasons: My comic Blurb: Florence thought her idyllic life living with the winged beings would last forever. However, when her mother disappears from a mysterious expedition, she fears for the worst. Through exploring hidden laboratory tunnels beneath the forest, facing Machines from a century-long war against humans, and seeking guidance from the Lost people from a civilization gone by, Flo and her winged friends must piece together the past in order to save all those they love.

Shizamura 🌟 O Sarilho

O Sarilho https://www.sarilho.net/en Genre: Post-Apocaliptic/Sci-fi Trigger Warnings: War, military, death Reasons: I make it Short description: A small team goes on a mission to enemy territory to find the remains of an ancient satellite and they end up finding a lot more. There are computers and dams and electricity-worshipping future romans (edited)

GGY

Tile: Over 8 Miles https://tapas.io/episode/859067 Genre: Drama, Comedy, Slice of Life Reasons I make it: Cause its fun and I enjoy sharing the existence of my characters and their life outside my brain

Emma (Friends or Lovers?)

Dreamwalker Felix by KT and TK https://tapas.io/series/Dreamwalker-Felix and https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/dreamwalker-felix/list?title_no=182487 Genre: Fantasy/Supernatural Trigger Warnings: There's some body horror in there Reasons: The art is just beautiful, and it has tons of funny moments Friends or Lovers? by yours truly https://tapas.io/series/friendsorlovers and https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/friends-or-lovers/list?title_no=49520 Genre: Romance/school slice of life Trigger Warnings: Mentions and depictions of bullying Reasons: It's my comic, so I'll just quote a reader: "Your comic is more accurate to real teens in love in high school than most. It's really good stuff"

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Earth in a Pocket http://earthinapocket.spiderforest.com/ Genre: Retro Sci-fi, Iyashikei Trigger Warnings: none Reasons: This comic posted its final page very recently! It's a relatively short read; very gentle and hopeful without being cavity-causingly sweet. The creator has put together such a heartwarming story that I've been adoring for a while. One of my faves, now complete!

renieplayerone

O Human Star https://ohumanstar.com/ Genre: Scifi, Robots, Drama TW: Dysphoria, Depression Reasons: The characters are so well written and emotional, plus I love the simplistic color palette. They get across the journey of self-discovery in such an interesting way.(edited)

carcarchu

Arcane Flames https://tapas.io/series/Arcane-Flames Genre: Fantasy Trigger Warnings: death? Reasons: I've been following kutty sark for many years now and I've really been looking forward to this comic which I'm pleased to say even exceeded my expectations. Fantastic art and the tone of the story is just lovely, i adore al'vis

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

https://sfeertheory.com/ The art is incredible. Every character, even the background ones, is full of personality. I love a good underdog story, and Luca's speech in chapter three made me scream into my hands and tear up. I can't recommend it highly enough

Tantz Aerine (Without Moonlight)

http://secondcrimeanwar.thecomicseries.com/

The Second Crimean War is a powerful and fun story in an alternate 1990s decade in Ukraine. The art is black and white and improves in leaps and bounces as you move on in the story! The story itself draws you in from page one. There's suspense, there's (black) humor, there's atmosphere and adventure. Highly recommended if you like war/action/suspense.

varethane

Have you ever read Nasty Red Dogs? https://nastyreddogs.com/

oh golly, haha

yeah, it's a fun and twisted and surreal little tale, the early parts especially are like walking through a really bizarre dream that if you describe it, it ought to be called a nightmare, but at the moment you're in it, it doesn't FEEL like one lol

the creator also does a comic called Feast For A King, which I think is more well-known but I haven't read yet (will at some point tho): https://feastforaking.com/comic/

kelly-zine

Title: Zyra Slash Genre: Sci-Fi, Comedy, Slice-Of-Life TW: None (for right now at least, it just started!) Reasons: I love Alex and their characters so much! ZS is a project I’ve been following and chatting with them about for a long time and it’s amazing to see it come to fruition. I think you’ll like it too. (Note that it’s on hiatus at the moment!) https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/zyra-slash/list?title_no=373763

keii’ii (Heart of Keol)

Title: Ark https://www.arkcomic.com/ Genre: Fantasy, Drama, Anthro TW: violence (nothing heavy yet, but my Spider Senses are tingling) Reasons: A 1920s-inspired, extremely believable fantasy setting. Hints of racial tension and a possible war brewing on the horizon. It's pretty early in the story, so hop in and claim the front row seats for this gorgeously illustrated comic! (edited)

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

Tamberlane https://www.tamberlanecomic.com/ Genre: slice of life, heartwarming, Anthro It has a cast of colourful characters. Charming story of a clumsy bat named Belfry who adopts a little human. Various animal neighbors to love

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

I found one of the Chinese webcomics I use to follow, is now on Webtoons. They rename the title to: The Emperor's New Body because it's about body swapping and has interesting depth while some silly hijinks https://tapas.io/series/the-emperors-new-body(edited)

trinketfox

May as well rec my first ever favorite webcomic! Warrior U! https://warrior-u-thecomic.tumblr.com/ It's so expressive and funny that I've always wished it would become a show on cartoon network or something. Only the first few pages are still up on this tumblr since the official site is down, but all chapters are on the artist's gumroad!

It's an episodic comedy fantasy that goes from page-long gags to full episodes. Reccomended for it's humor and a really fun art style.

SteffieMusings

Nebula Beings https://tapas.io/series/Nebula-Beings Genre: Sci-Fi, Fantasy, Horror/Thriller Trigger Warnings: Violence, scary imagery (especially in chapter 7), talks/implied past abuse Reasons: It's a fun series and the two main characters learn to overcome challenges during their travels.(edited)

Eightfish (Puppeteer)

http://humoncomics.com/elftaken-1

Very short comic about the fae!

shadowhood {SunnyxRain}

For anyone who wants really strong character development/plot/art in general, I’m recommending Heir’s Game https://www.webtoons.com/en/drama/heirs-game/list?title_no=1445 For slapstick humor and characters with strong platonic bonds I give you Waffles and Pancakes https://www.webtoons.com/en/slice-of-life/waffles-and-pancakes/list?title_no=1310 And because why not, and if you like Victorian romance with a cute bickering couple, I give you Miss Abbott and the Doctor https://www.webtoons.com/en/romance/miss-abbott-and-the-doctor/list?title_no=707

LadyLazuli (Phantomarine)

Encephalon Genre: Sci-Fi, Horror Trigger Warnings: Blood, Gore, Strong Language A rescue crew sent to an abandoned space station comes face-to-face with a bio-computer experiment gone horribly wrong. A sci-fi webcomic with body-horror elements. Very creepy stuff! It's just getting started, but after seeing the rest of the story in thumbnail form (my IRL friend is the making it), it's going to AWESOME places. Please check it out! https://encephalon-comic.com/

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

This is: Mirror Mirror for 'Brain' short story contest entry. The 1st ep caught my eye and I'm invested in it https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/mirror-mirror-b/list?title_no=427186(edited)

carcarchu

https://www.lezhin.com/en/comic/freak Genre: fantasy Trigger Warnings: violence? Reasons: sakon's art is brilliant and incredibly consistent. season 1 is now available to read for free!

sagaholmgaard

Genre: Supernatural, urban fantasy, slice of life Trigger Warnings: Maybe abusive parents? idk i feel like it will be explored in the future Reasons: I love the art style and the latest chapter have some CHAOTIC ENERGY and im living for it!! https://tapas.io/series/bygonesbe

GGY

Just got back from hiatus! If y’all are interested in some slice of life + comedy drama I’d like to share my webcomic Over 8 Miles: https://tapas.io/series/O8M/ep39

carcarchu

Veni Vidi Vici https://vevivi.blog.fc2.com/blog-entry-1.html Genre: slice of life, comedy Reasons: reading this comic feels so comfy and it reminds me of being in roman studies class again. you can really see the love and care that Ruby has put into this comic and her passion for ancient rome is really on full display in this work

Joichi [Hybrid Dolls]

This is the comic books for Cafe Suada I used to read way back. It's a fun slice of life about a teahouse shop keeper rivals with a coffee shop manager https://tapas.io/series/Cafe-Suada The artist used some traditonal tea staining for the textures. The story inspired me to draw my own slice of life series(edited)

sierrabravo (Hans Vogel is Dead)

The Strange Tale of Oscar Zahn https://www.webtoons.com/en/fantasy/the-strange-tales-of-oscar-zahn/list?title_no=685&page=1 Genre: Paranatural Investigation with just a dash of Cosmic Horror Kinda spooky, some light/fantasy violence From the website: Follow the journey of the world's greatest paranormal investigator - Oscar Zahn. Friend to lost souls, enemy of evil, he may lack a body but that doesn't mean he's missing a heart! The art is INCREDIBLE, the tone is really fun with some neat Hellboy vibes, it's complete and it's a good binge read. I really enjoyed it!

carcarchu

Short story about a cat, make sure you've got tissues ready https://akimiya.tumblr.com/post/129049384624

boogeymadam

just caught up with wychwood and it's such a huge treat!! there's some amazingly fun worldbuilding, a lot of intrigue about how the protagonists came to have the powers they do, and the motives behind the things that made the world the way it is * _ * it's also got soooo many pretty derelict environments, cool creature design and fun training montages! http://wychwood.sevensmith.net/comic/1

Yung Skrimp (Carefree)

I started reading Cloven Hearth, it’s interesting and has a really cool art style

https://twitter.com/ruinationcomics/status/1254126660007399425?s=21(edited)

carcarchu

Hana and Mr. Arrogant https://www.ciayo.com/en/comic/hana-mr-arrogant Genre: romance Reasons: Easy breezy read, with nice art and a super likeable heroine! Nothing we've never seen before, but delivered with genuine heart that makes it stand out

LabsZach

This one esp, with the greenery shifting into dirt, roots, and mushrooms, and how it compliments the figures on it is just aces. https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/cloven-hearth/touch-of-the-divine/viewer?title_no=396780&episode_no=14

boogeymadam

recently binged malverav's comic Love and War and it is sooo satisfying, about 2 competitors in a medieval tournament involving jousting, archery and more! The banter between Svanhildur and Marinelle had me grinning a lot. Also, it's a wlw rivals-to-lovers romance aka a GREAT kinda love story!! (my favorite kind ) it's on tapas https://tapas.io/series/Love-and-War/info

carcarchu

cronaj's sports comment got me thinking about this and how damn good it is https://tapas.io/episode/968762 Genre: Sports, drama Reasons: it's insanely creative and the art is so intense, i found it extremely memorable and powerful to read(edited)

carcarchu

Came across this stunning webtoon today. It was originally published on taiwanese webtoon and the author has decided to tl into english to share with a wider audience https://www.webtoons.com/en/challenge/intertidal/list?title_no=371176 Really gorgeous traditionally drawn comic and a lovely poetic writing style

carcarchu

the winner of this year's eisners awards for best webcomic. definitely worth checking out! https://friedricecomic.com/

[elaianna]

Old

[ Music ]

There was a calm in the ocean surf. Not entirely unusual, but a blessing nonetheless. The coastlines of Stormsong Valley had a propensity for difficulty, and it was always a boon to any sailor when her waters sat as glass. The only turbulence in the evening tide was the 'slosh!' of a particular sailor's boots as he wade through, hands set to pulling the timbers of his rowboat. Of all the harboursides that Tom could have taken to with a grand greeting -- he was a Duke now, after all -- he still preferred to arrive home surreptitiously. Thus it was that he dragged his rowboat to shore and settled her in the soft sands of Stormholme's beachhead. A few shakes of the leg, and he had dislodged the majority of the seawater which clung to him. A cursory glance at the moon pickled his stomach -- he was definitely late.

Pregnancy had a way of either making one sleep too much, or making sleep seem impossible. Tonight it was the latter. Tossing and turning, Elaianna could not rest. Not with how active the little one was. Nor with the knowledge that Thomas hadn't arrived home yet. She worried, even more than she often did. When pacing within Stormholme Castle no longer sufficed, she had taken it upon herself to wander down to the harbor, despite protests from a handmaiden. Protests that only made Elaianna send her handmaiden away for the eve so she needn't listen to them. She didn't remember how long she had waited atop the wharf. She just knew that she had sat there long enough that she didn't think she was getting up without any help. Karma, perhaps, for sending her handmaiden away. At the sight of a rowboat, she squinted until it came closer in view and she made out the familiar form of her husband. Relief.

There was a trepidation to Thomas' steps, even visible in the wide-spread of moonlight. He seemed to be trying to step quietly, and without inviting attention. An admirable attempt, but he was quite wet and treading through ankle-deep sand in boots coat with briny water. The totality of effect was ... humorous, to say the least. He looked a bit like a crab with booties on as he made his way toward the wharfhead -- apparently not noticing his wife above.

Perhaps she should feel frustration at his attempts to sneak around, but as she watched him try to step lightly and quietly, she couldn't help but feel amused. Her head turned as she followed him make his way around the wharf's stairs and up, unknowingly, towards her. She waited for the moment he'd realize she was right there.

It did not take long -- Thomas stopped mid-step in the middling of the staircase up the wharf. The bloom of moonlight illuminated her form, and he had his ankle in the air when he made eye-contact with her. A short pause was punctuated by the comical 'creeeeak!' of wood as he plant his foot down. One of his hands rose like molasses, eventually wiggling in a greeting to her.

She didn't speak. She didn't smile, nor did she frown. She gave him the same passive expression she wore in meetings and in public, hiding her emotions and thoughts from her face-- and lifted her hand to wiggle her fingers in greeting to him.

“-- Uh, hey gal. Didn' figure you ta' be up at this hour.”

The Admiral attempted, without much earnest success, to seem nonchalant about his peculiar timing of arrival. He knocked one boot against the wharfhead to dislodge some sand.

Elaianna held her hand up and out towards him in silent indication to help her up. At least she had finally acquired a helping hand without needing to call out for it. "Nor did I figure you would be out and about at this hour." There was no hesitance. He came forward with an immediacy, one of his fat-fingered hands stretched outward to assist her. He came closer at that, a defensive nature to his posture that had become all-too-common in her pregnancy. His voice lacked some of it's usual boister, ".. Took on some errand a' task out in th'city. On th'upright, it was a pleasant spit a' sail and rowing t'Boralus. Figure't it'd be less wholesome considerin' the Spring-time tides, but -- was pleasant."

She rose to her feet with the aid of her husband, her hand catching on his arm as she stood, to keep herself steady. "What business? I don't recall mention of it-- I don't think the baby brain would have made me forget that." Yet, she was doubting herself.

Thomas puckered with some colour of humor at the phrase 'baby-brain'. He hid it well enough though, only allowing the corners of his lips to really suffer for the thought. "-- Ain't a man allow't a pinch a' secrecy? Mayhap I took occasion t'find you a gift a' some proper such-and-such ... " He let his voice trail off, allowing his eyes to bubble open in his best 'puppy' expression. It was not entirely cute, given his stout features, but it approximated such.

That caused her to raise a brow as he asked about being allowed a pinch of secrecy. She wrinkled her nose, the start of a frown tugging at her lips. They had never had secrets before. At least, he hadn't, and she didn't lie to him about Daud. She just omitted. "I don't believe you," she told him simply. "But... Evidently, you do not wish to share, and I am your wife, not your keeper."

Thomas brought his own face into a frown. It was not subtle, like her sensation of such. There was little room for subtle expression in Thomas' facial features -- his rubberized expressions were all-or-nothing, on most occasions. A slight sigh passed his lips and he looked about, as if there were someone about to listen in on them at their own harbour. "-- Do ya' think I'm old?"

She blinked a few times at his query, looking up to him with confusion. "Old?" she asked, as if she hadn't heard him right. "No, and... Even when you do become old, and grey," she reached up, curling her finger around a lock of his ginger hair-- silently thankful that gingers didn't show their age as quickly as others--, "What will it matter?"

He pinched his lips -- and indeed his whole face -- to one side. There was a momentary cooing expression at her touch, as was so common to himself at her barest affection. But the roll of his brows and the furrow present, with a mild squint, left him looking unsatisfied at her answer. "... Right, right. I s'pose I ought be thankful a' that."

“Thankful that you're not old? -- I'm sorry, dear, but you've got me terribly confused.”

“Thankful --” Thomas paused, looking a little squirreled up in the face. “ -- that y'don't mind it so much, s'pose. I'm gabberin' wholesale, sorry gal. Think I may've swallowed a cup too much a' seawater.” He pushed up his cheeks, allowing a bubble of laughter to leave.

Elaianna  raised both brows, allowing the barest hint of a smile as he laughed. "Is that a new drink? Seawater Whiskey?" Placing a hand upon his shoulder, her head tilted to the side, looking up at him from beneath her lashes. "What's all this about? There's nothing to mind, and yet, you're minding something an awful lot, Thomas."

He pushed out his lower lip, a sausage-finger waggling at her in gesture, "-- I think it ought ta' be, perhap. Seawater Whiskey -- coul' be my brand someday, when I get all old n' grey an' retire t'make whisky all day." There was a chuckle to him, but it sounded somewhat hollow. ".. Mind? I ain't mindin' nothin' -- we both know I ain't exactly well-burdened in the 'mind' department, love."

“Thomas..”

At her tone, Thomas raised a brow to his wife.

"What's gotten into you?”

A passing glance fell outward to the sea, and he shrugged a shoulder. "Ain't nothin' gotten inta' me, gal. Jus' spittin' gob-all as I do, y'know. Mayhap someday I'll get aroun' ta' putting in a filter between ma' mind and ma' mouth -- reckon it'd be a useful investiture, aye?" A sense of humor came up in his voice, eyes pinched in a squint from the rising of his cheeks.

Elaianna placed her hand on his cheek, gently guiding his attention back to her. "I think that'd be a terrible idea. It'd change you too much, and to be quite honest, I much prefer the Thomas wherein I can tell when something's bothering him. Even if I don't quite know what." She gave his cheek a gentle pat before lowering her hand.

Thomas inched himself toward her out of instinct, the touch of her hand a comforting sensation. It was apparent in the way his blood ran hotter against his skin, and the glide of her palm gave his eyes to a momentary flutter. Quite a contrasted, school-boy demeanour in comparison to his salt-weary exterior. At her departure, he tilt his head to eye her face.

“... If'n you laugh at me on occasion a' this -- I warn ya' -- I'll have t'go to th'Cathedral in Stormwind t'invest in a chastity belt. Aye?”

At his words, Elaianna placed a hand on the swell of her stomach. "Fortunately, I've already got what I need in that department." Her features split into a grin. "I tease. I won't laugh. I promise. When have I ever laughed at anything that's so profoundly bothered you?"

Thomas looked away and to the side, his vision settling on the rolling of the surf. Gentle, earnest, consistent. A comfort in all ways -- any sailor would agree. "... Aye, aye. I reckon m'due is paid there, mm?" He pushed out his own humor, a sidelong grin planted on his lips. "... It soun's damned stupid, an' it is." He looked at her fully, his features showing something of his weary state. "Folk keep crackin' at me fer' being ... old. Used ta' be just a gas, a wily snip at th'fact of m'earlier birthin'. I reckon that, I do. I get it well-on, a ribbin'. But now ... seems like -- " He sighed, head shaking. "-- dumb, dumb. Dumb thing ta' fuss about."

She bobbed her head with a small nod in understanding. "If people say something enough times to you.. if you hear it often enough... it wears on you," she spoke in understanding. She may not have been called 'old' but she had been called plenty else in her time. "But... you know what?"

He pushed up a caterpillar at her query, looking uncertain. “-- What?”

She smiled up at him. "You've more life in you than anyone else I know. Even those younger than both of us. Life. Fire. Passion."

Thomas brought his lips to something of an amusement, his chin flexing beneath the scrape of his stubble. A softness ate up his eyes against the weary circles beneath them, "I .. try. Folk keep on gettin' younger an' younger, seem'st to be." A small acre of fondness kept one of her caterpillars aloft, ".. Th'little ones keep me feelin' alive, I will admit. Damn't if I don't feel ten years younger whenever I have ta' chase Nerina with a handful a' cake, tryin' to 'save it for later' in the pockets of her skirts ... "

Elaianna laughed softly and shook her head as he spoke of Nerina's antics. "Tides know I can't chase her these days." Looking up to him, she kept her smile. "They keep getting younger, because we keep making them," she added, with a pat of her belly. "They don't get much younger than this."

Thomas looked down at her stomach, following the 'pat' of her hand. What soft smile he wore came to full light, the moon's illumination providing a plentiful source with which to reflect upon his toothy smile. "-- Well it ain't my fault. You're th'one what does all the seductifiying. Ain't my nature t'be so, obviously -- " He gestured to himself, salt-tinged tricorne and all. With a tilt forward, he came near enough to plant a smooch to her forehead, mumbling, ".. I love ya', Anna. Sorry I'm so ancient as I am."

She rolled her eyes as he accused her of being the one to do all of the 'seductifying'. She seemed to recall a particular birthday present. "Oh, please. You say that, but all you have to do is look at me, and I'm... what was it you called it? 'Seductified'." Her head tilted forward to meet his, the top of her head pushing his tricorne up and back on the Admiral's head. "I love you too, Thomas... and, I'll accept that apology when you're ancient, but that time isn't yet."

Thomas hummed at her accusations in the field of seductory behavior. He looked unconvinced, lips pulled taut. "That th'fact of it, then? Well mayhap I ought not ta' make so much eye-contact with ya', then, love. We'll have a whole host a' heirs all stuffin' cake down their drawers." Both nostrils flared, forcing air out in a stifled laugh. He came close enough to embrace her, laying both arms about her shoulders to hug her to him. ".. Gimme another fifteen minutes or so, gray-hairs will kick in proper." At the risk of dislodging his hat, he leaned down to nuzzle the tip of his nose against her hair.

Elaianna slipped her arms around his torso, leaning in to the embrace. As he nuzzled her hair, her eyes fluttered shut- content. "Is spending fifteen minutes with me truly so stressful?" she prodded with a lilt to her voice betraying her own humor.

@thomasstalsworth @atc-wra

[dustedmagazine]

“1, 2, 3, 4!”: Jennifer Kelly’s 2018 review

Jennifer Kelly is a frantic romantic.

Rock and roll forever, sure, but it’s hard to avoid the fact that the guitar/bass/drum idiom has been pushed way off to the side in the cultural conversation. Mainstream sites list “best rock records” as a weird, subcultural genre, with a slightly bigger audience, perhaps, than best cumbia records or top Hawaiian slack key recordings (but not much). Worse, to come up with a reasonable size list they include all kinds of things that don’t belong. I mean, really, is Mount Eerie rock by any definition?

Rock isn’t dead, but it’s been made to sit in the corner. The only time in 2018 when everybody thought at once about a guitar band was when Pitchfork’s Jeremy Larson dropped his scathing, hilarious review of the Greta Van Fleet. For a moment, we all snickered as one.

Big rock was terrible in 2018. It almost always is. Yet there’s something disingenuous about the genre of year-end write-ups that laser in on the absolute worst and most bloated of rock bands to make a point about the art-form as a whole. Sure, Imagine Dragons suck. Yes, “Africa” is a soul-destroyingly awful song no matter who sings it. No, I’m not wading into the whole 1975 thing. Who has time? Who has the heart for it?  

Because this year, against a tide of commercially viable horse shit, against a backdrop of monolithic indifference, rock bands of all configurations, from all countries (but really especially Australia), continued to make great punk and rock records. And, I, for whatever reason, heard more of them than usual, and it made me happy. And maybe that’s the secret to being happy in music, in any year…find your niche, listen to the best in it, forget about what the mega-corporations are trying to sell.

Also see it live. My big highlight this year was seeing the Scientists in October (with Negative Approach, too!), but it was a pretty great 12 months for live music. It started with a fantastic show comprised of Mike Donovan, the Long Hots, J. Mascis and his Stooges cover band and Purling Hiss (with J on board for one song) at the Root Cellar, a venue I’d never heard of before that show, and that ended up putting on a string of great events. I saw Marisa Anderson, Paul Metzger, Speedy Ortiz, Howling Rain, Trad Gras Och Stenar with Endless Boogie, that Scientists show and Gary Higgins at the Root Cellar this year, and I missed a lot of shows I would have liked to see. Other great shows happened outside the Root Cellar – The Thing in the Spring in Peterborough with William Parker, Bonnie Prince Billy and others, Amy Rigby and Wreckless Eric at the Parlour Room, Messthetics at the Flywheel. Western Massachusetts has been in a commercial chokehold for years, with one organization controlling most of the venues, but there were a lot of options this year.

So, here’s to the drummers with their sticks in the air, counting off the four. Here’s to the guitar player wrecking his knees jumping up and down as he/she furiously slashes away. Here’s to the sweat and muck and black humor of $10 shows with four bands on them, two of them still in high school. And here’s to the people (me at least and possibly you) who like these things. Eddie Argos of Art Brut, who used to top these lists and now merits a footnote, spoke for this tiny, beleaguered sub-cult when he urged “Wham! Bang! Pow! Let’s rock out.”

Indeed. Let’s.

Amy Rigby—The Old Guys (Southern Domestic)

The Old Guys by Amy Rigby

Let’s just set aside the fact that the first and best song on this album is an imagined email exchange between Philip Roth and Bob Dylan on the eve of the Nobel ceremony or that Rigby namechecks three of my favorite ever TV characters in “New Sheriff.” Let’s forget, too, how rare it is for a woman of roughly my age to be making her own music and controlling her own destiny even now in 2018. No, let’s focus on the songs which are sharp, smart and full of hooks, the clean, romantic chime of Rigby’s electric 12-string, the viscous pleasure of the arrangements. This is the very best kind of rock record, one that doesn’t attempt to remake the genre but somehow makes it bigger, brighter and more necessary. The songs sounded great, live, too, with the great Wreckless Eric in tow, and the two of them bickering like old married couples do, and Rigby glowing with triumph by the end of the show.

 Shopping—The Official Body (Fat Cat)

The Official Body by Shopping

Bubbly in a hard way, strict and minimal in a manner requires body movement, this album arrived early and stayed on my go-to list all year. For Dusted, I wrote, “You could bounce a quarter off the bass lines in this third Shopping full-length. They’re pulled hard and tight against minimalist syncopated drums, the leaning, waiting, anticipating space between the thwacks as important a character as the beats themselves. The London-based trio harks back to the funky, stripped down post-punk of bands like ESG and Delta 5, with hints of the boy-girl bubble and pop of the B-52s and Pylon.

 Salad Boys—This Is Glue (Trouble in Mind)

This Is Glue by Salad Boys

Always weak for NZ lo-fi and equally a fan of the early R.E.M., so of course I fell for this buzzy daydream of a record. “Psych Slasher” bursts with immoderate, glorious joy in the chorus, then cuts back to uncertainty in the verse, the ideal blend of rambunctious rock and wistful pop. “Exaltation” is a gentler sort of classic, just as radiant but moodier, its murmur-y vocals disappearing into cloud banks of fuzzed guitar tone. The whole record sits on the knife edge of rock and indie pop, leaning one way and the other, but never falling over.

 Patois Counselors—Proper Release (Ever/Never)

Proper Release by Patois Counselors

I went all in for “So Many Digits” in my Dusted review this year, but the two great punk songs on Proper Release are “The Modern Station” and, especially, “Target Not a Comrade.” This latter song chugs and lurches on guitar and bass, trembles with wheedly keyboards and crests in a massive, hummable refrain. It’s a catchy, twitchy punk tune that’ll hit you in the part of your brain where you keep Wire and the Buzzcocks, hooky as hell in a weird, distorted way.

 Bodega—Endless Scroll (What’s Your Rupture)

Endless Scroll by BODEGA

Flipping the gender cliché, Bodega is an all-woman band with a male singer. Its tight, nervy, jangles wrap around themes of internet-age dislocation and movie references. Smart, sarcastic, ironic, sharp, Bodega bristles with what you want from a garage punk band but reveals a surprisingly soft heart uncovered round about “Charlie,” a wistful song about a boy who died too soon.

 Bardo Pond—Volume 8 (Three-Lobed)

Volume 8 by Bardo Pond

The eighth in a series of improvised albums, this year’s Bardo Pond record towers and surges with monumental heaviness. I wrote at Dusted that, “The sound, vast and muscularly monolithic as ever, seems more like a demon summoned periodically from a ring of fire, than the product of any sort of linear development.”

 Meg Baird and Mary Lattimore—Ghost Forests (Three Lobed)

Ghost Forests by Meg Baird and Mary Lattimore

This year’s most beautiful album, Ghost Forests undergirds lyric folk melodies and angelic pizzicato harp plucks with roiling, violent darkness. My Dusted review observed “The best and most interesting [tracks] juxtapose the muted violence of electric guitar with a harp’s serenity. A guitar howls from a distance throughout “In Cedars,” pushing a simmering turbulence up under sun-dappled lattices of harp picking. Later “Painter of Tygers” does the same trick of joining muscle to fairy dust, the electric guitar raging from far away, while harp and voice spread delicate magic over the tumult.”

 Seun Kuti & Egypt 80—Black Times (Strut)

Black Times by Seun Kuti & Egypt 80

Fela Kuti’s youngest son inherited his dad’s fierce political commitment, his rhythmically unstoppable Afrobeat style and a few of his band members, but this wonderful album is more alive and present than a tribute. “Struggle Sounds, “ with its hard-bounce of a beat, its blurting sax, its ecstatic backing chorus, its swagger of horns and fever-dreamed keyboards dances through history right up to the modern day. “Last Revolutionary” enumerates past African heroes and connects them to the now. I wrote, “Kuti extends his father’s legacy, its tight rhythmic interplay, its fervent political engagement, its relentless exhilarating uplift, while bringing it a bit further into the present.”

Ovlov—Tru (Exploding in Sound)

TRU by Ovlov

I first noticed Ovlov at the Thing in the Spring Festival, on an eclectic Thursday night in a book store, where the sweet surge of guitar sound felt solid enough to body surf on. Later, for Dusted, I said of Tru that “Ovlov churns a monumental fuzz, a wave of surging, undulating, feedback-altered sound …. You can almost poke it with your finger, this onslaught is so palpable. It stirs your hair like an oncoming breeze.”

Speedy Ortiz—Twerp Verse (Carpark) 

Twerp Verse by Speedy Ortiz

There’s something so bendy and unpredictable about Sadie Dupuis tunes. They hare off in unexpected ways. They stop and start. They interpose weird little intervals of pop and noise. They refuse to behave, and end up exactly as they should be, though never what you’d expect. Twerp Verse takes more pop turns than other Speedy joints, but in the tipsiest, most eccentric way, with acerbic asides in the lyrics that catch like fishhooks and stay with you. “Speedy Ortiz offers a serrated sort of pop pleasure, full of rhythmic complexity and gender confrontation,” I observed in my Dusted review.

 Had enough rock? Me neither

Here are some more punk rock and garage records that I couldn’t squeeze into the top ten overall, mostly in the order that I thought of them, but Constant Mongrel and Richard Papiercuts are pretty great and that’s probably why I thought of them first.

Constant Mongrel—Living in Excellence (La Vida Es Un Mus)

Richard Papiercuts— Twisting the Night (Ever/Never)

GOGGs—Prestrike Sweep (In the Red)

Hank Wood & the Hammerheads—S-T (Toxic State)

Obnox—Bang Messiah (Smog Veil)

Zerodent—Landscapes of Merriment (Alien Snatch!)

Sleaford Mods—Stick in a Five and Go (Domino)

Ethers—S-T (Trouble in Mind)

IDLES—Joy as an Act of Resistance (Partisan)

Bad Sports—Constant Stimulation (Dirtnap)

Lithics—Mating Surfaces (Kill Rock Stars)

Art Brut—Wham! Bang! Pow! (Alcopop)

 Whoa, slow down!

Also a shout to the musicians who made more than one really excellent album this year. Ty Segall made five, I think, but I didn’t love all of them as much as Freedom Goblin and Prestrike Sweep.

Obnox—Sonido del Templo/Bang Messiah (Astral Spirits)/(Smog Veil)

Mount Eerie—Now Only/(After) (Elverum & Sons)

Ty Segall—Freedom Goblin (Drag City)/GOGGs—Prestrike Sweep (In the Red)

Ryley Walker—Deafman Glance/The Lillywhite Sessions (Dead Oceans)

  Nevertheless, they persisted

And finally, hats off to the bands and artists that have been going forever and continued this year to produce great music.

Kinski—Accustomed to Your Face (Kill Rock Stars)

Low—Double Negative (Sub Pop)

Loma—S-T (Sub Pop) (Shearwater’s Jonathan Meiburg plus Cross Record)

Oneida—Romance (Joyful Noise)

Wreckless Eric—Construction Time and Demolition (Southern Domestic)

Messthetics—S-T (Discord) (The great Fugazi rhythm section plus a young guitar ripper—one of the best live shows of the year for me.)

Charnel Ground—S-T (12XU) (This is Kid Millions from Oneida, Chris Brokaw and James McNew from Yo La Tengo, and as you’d expect, it’s really good.)

[wisdomrays]

KEY CONCEPTS OF SPIRITUALITY IN ISLAM : Nafs (The Soul)

The soul (an-nafs) is a substance that is essentially free of matter but which is in close connection with it in its acts and functions; it is the origin or essence of something or its self. There have been those who have used it in the sense of the spirit or the heart or the body, or in the sense of lusts or the mechanism through which Satan penetrates humans, or even in the sense of reason. In religious terminology, an-nafs, or the soul, is the origin or center of certain states or faculties such as lusts, anger, ill will, grudge, hatred, and irritation, and it is a transformable, reformable, and refinable mechanism connected to human corporeality.

The soul has a constant, experienced connection between the body and the spirit. It is through this connection that humans receive, recognize, and distinguish their outer and inner sense-perceptions and go beyond the corporeal realm into metaphysical worlds. It is again through this connection that any state, experience or gift that occurs in the spirit leaves its imprint upon the body and provokes it to move in a certain direction. Just as every influence on the spirit makes itself felt on the body, so too every state of and effect on the body shows itself on the horizon of the spirit.

For example, thinking of something which is nauseating may produce an urge to vomit. Certain events which touch the spirit and rouse distress may cause physical ailments that we call psychosomatic illnesses. The reaction that the sense of taste shows at the mention of something sweet or sour or bitter is also this same sort of impression. In short, there is a continuous interactive relationship between the spirit and the body. Similarly, evil conceptions and disagreeable manners and actions impress not only the body but also the spirit, while agreeable thoughts and considerations, and the plans and projects that are undertaken to please God Almighty, and the mentioning of the Divine Being by the heart and tongue all produce expansion and exhilaration in the spirit. It frequently occurs that even if we are not aware of it, this state gains some sort of luminosity and surrounds the entire horizon of the spirit by means of the spiritual intellect. It rouses the "secret" and begins to manifest itself in the metaphysical depths of human existence in different modes. Also, whenever the body expresses its submission to the Ultimate Truth through the acts of worship and obedience and lives in accordance with the purpose of its existence, deepening in belief through worship or religious acts and crowning its worship with excellence and awareness of God's omnipresence, the breezes of great happiness and joy begin to blow in the spirit. Hope and expectation stir up eagerness for God, the Ultimate Truth, and the acts leading to consciousness and awe of God produce feelings of respect, self-possession, and wakefulness in the spirit. As a result, like the seas vaporizing to rise and form the clouds, and the clouds raining on the earth, and rains forming rivers and torrents that flow into the sea, there appear continuous currents between the body and the spirit.

Amidst such mutual influences between the spirit and the body, it is possible for humans either to fall into the lowest of the low as a result of being overcome by their corporeality, or to rise to human perfection and the highest of the high by God's help and permission, through acting around the orbit of Islamic thought, belief, and awareness. Thus, what we call "spiritual journeying" is one of the significant ways of advancing toward and reaching the Ultimate Truth, and being a perfect human being through this tide.

All these tides, continuous mutual influences and flows, and journeys occur on the steed or ship or spacecraft of the human soul. The compass of this apparently abased vessel is belief, the path or direction it must follow is Islam, and its captain or guide is the Prophet Muhammad, the Master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, and the dynamics to advance along this path are provided by reflection and remembrance of God. However, there are some apparently harmful characteristics incorporated in the nature of this steed for certain purposes. If the soul has not been purified of these characteristics and refined, it is inevitable that the meanings, conceptions, pieces of information, knowledge of God, and remembrances, and reflections that travel between the spirit and the soul suffer from some turbulence and even serious falls along the way. Such turbulence and falls should not be viewed as occurrences independent of certain other factors that originate in humans themselves. Sometimes sins, heedlessness, and carelessness cause them; sometimes temporary "whirlpools of contraction" or "spasms" interfere with the working of the rudder or the compass; sometimes direction is lost due to certain carnal amusements and relaxations; and sometimes they happen because of our unawareness that certain actions are contrary to the manner of traveling along the way, and our feeling proud of the good deeds done. If travelers view such things as viruses that can cause the demise of the spirit, and remain distant from them, and if they display serious endeavors to be purified of them under the shower of repentance, penitence, and contrition when accidentally exposed to them, then God will replace their evil deeds with virtuous ones(25: 70). That is, He will change their faculties which enable evil deeds into enablers of virtuous deeds.

Despite its satanic characteristics such as haughtiness, arrogance, egotism, jealousy, injustice, and enmity, all of which break the wings of the spirit, the soul has a fundamental potential so important and valuable that it raises it to companionship of the spirit. Provided it grasps that its essential function, as required by its position, is to become a unit of measurement to recognize God—thereby abandoning arrogance and the accompanying self-assertive, self-aggrandizing claims; so long as it turns to God in worship and prayer and seeks refuge in Him from the potential evils in its nature, following the heart and the spirit on the way to reaching God, then the soul can advance to the highest of the high on the way together with its companions, namely the heart and the spirit.

Indeed, the soul is also of great importance for humans to maintain a metaphysical tension. It (the soul) is like a mainspring allowing them to rise from being only potentially human to true humanity. This continuously keeps them busy, without allowing them to have a rest. It ceaselessly sharpens the resolution of people to struggle against its negative characteristics, and causes those who have brains to frequently beat their brains out. When, finally, human nature is matured to the degree intended for its creation, the soul becomes a slave of the king of human existence—the heart—and adopts an attitude that is capable of feeling the need to warn it from time to time, saying, "Do not be proud, O my king! There is God, Who is greater than you!" You can call the soul which has reached this point of maturity after having gone through the filters of purification "the soul refined and grown in purity," as stated in the following verses: And (by) the human soul and that (All-Knowing, All-Powerful, and All-Wise One) Who has formed it to perfection; and Who has inspired it with the conscience of what is wrong and bad for it, and what is right and good for it. He is indeed prosperous who has grown it in purity(91: 7-9).

Whatever you call it, the purified soul is the double of the spirit, continuously trying to keep away from evil, and always advancing toward good until it finally comes to a point where it abandons its basic mission—that is, being a powerful mechanism with negative aspects for human self- purification and perfection—to the nerves, extreme sensitivity, and other human temperaments. It begins to spend the remaining part of its life in the company and service of the spirit.

We have tried to explain in detail the stages of this journeying of the soul, which the Sufis experience in their spiritual journeying, under the titles of the Carnal, Evil-Commanding Soul, the Self-Condemning or Self-Accusing Soul, the Soul Receiving Inspiration, the Soul at Rest, the Soul Well-Pleased (with God, with however God treats it), the Soul Pleasing (to God), and the Perfected Soul, or the Purified or Innocent Soul. As the soul passes through these stages upward, the veils of darkness that veil human nature are torn apart one after the other. According to the degree of each, the rays of spirituality begin to shine on all sides of a human being, and an initiate or traveler thinks that they are floating in the elevated horizons of the inner, immaterial dimensions of existence.

Each of the stages mentioned above has a gift, pleasure, horizon, manner of expressiveness, and perception particular to itself. Sometimes the guide tells initiates at which stage they are, and sometimes sensitive, self-supervising initiates who are aware of themselves and lend an ear to the voice of their spirits are informed of their stage in a special way.

Even though the soul is mainly characterized by always commanding evil, when it undergoes an effective process of purification and is directed to obedience to its Lord, it can be transformed into a source of bright light, like the full moon receiving light from the sun. If, on the other hand, it is not purified, the fog and smoke of the lusts invade its horizon, and it suffers corruption under the influence of carnal thoughts and considerations, becoming so blind as not to be able to see into the transcendent dimension of existence. Then, the soul cannot continue its companionship with the spirit and becomes a marsh of evil in human nature, in conformity with the aspects of its nature, which is open to evil. Making use of certain weak spots in its owner, the soul attacks him from many fronts, and—may God preserve us—can knock him down with a single blow. The continuous request for forgiveness from God and prayer are important defenses against such attacks; the disciplines which have an important place in the spiritual journeying are a petition presented for Divine protection, and following the way of God's Messenger, upon him be peace and blessings, strictly offers a reliable refuge. Further, restricting our consumption to absolutely essential human needs, silencing the soul by being content with legitimate pleasures, and incessantly warning the soul against illicit desires and appetites form another way of keeping it under strict control.

* * *

Basically, the soul is one of the faculties with which humans have been equipped. Provided that humans employ these faculties, which have been entrusted to them in their creation, in the direction established by their Creator, they greatly add to their value. For example, the eyes are windows for seeing things within their scope of sight; the ears are receptors and transmitters that receive and conduct sounds and voices at certain wavelengths to the brain; the tongue is an inspector of innumerable tastes, and the translator of thoughts and feelings. If the eyes are used to see things which are religiously permissible to observe, if the ears are kept closed to harmful, evil sounds and voices while transmitting the good ones, and if the tongue stirs up feelings of reflection on and thankfulness to the numberless bounties bestowed by God Almighty, and also acts in conformity with the Divine purpose for its creation as a means of speech—then individually and collectively these organs become wings for human beings to rise to human perfection. But if, on the contrary, the eyes busy themselves with those things that the Religion condemns as harmful or ugly, thus abandoning themselves to contamination; if the ears work like a telephone exchange for vices, receiving and transmitting that which is religiously forbidden; and if the tongue lives in attachment to the tastes it recognizes, in oblivion of its duty of inspection, and speaks without recognizing any criteria—then the wings of the heart are broken, and the spirit becomes as if nitric acid were poured into its eyes.

The soul is no different from the faculties mentioned above with respect to its duties and its fulfilling or not fulfilling them properly. If the soul is purified and preserved against working like a telephone exchange for Satan, then while being, by its primordial nature, a reptile- like creature crawling on the ground, it becomes like a dove flying over our heads, as if it has undergone a mysterious metamorphosis, and it is praised by the words of God Almighty: I swear by the self-accusing soul (75: 2). When it takes two steps further, it is honored with the breezes of appreciation: O, you soul at rest! Return to your Lord, wellpleased (with Him and His treatment of you), and well-pleasing to Him (89: 27-28), and establishes itself comfortably next to the spirit.

Thus, this hard-natured substance, more harmful than snakes and scorpions, which is described by the Divine statement as Surely the carnal, evil-commanding soul always and insistently commands evil (12: 53)—by asking God for forgiveness in awareness of its sins, by avoiding its faults due to repugnance, by trying to keep distant from unbelief, hypocrisy, vice, and transgression, by shuddering with fear that the favors coming when it is in an agreeable state may be a means of perdition, and, in a further attempt, by finding its true purification through always seeing itself as impure, this primordially hard-natured, evil-commanding substance can rise to great heights and approach the heavenly beings. The soul at this level, which philosophers call "the speaking self or soul," and which the Qur'an describes as "the soul at rest," has become such an earthly being able to rise to the horizon of the heart and the spirit and possessing angelic manners, that it begins to take pleasure in religious responsibilities, which previously it did not like and which were difficult for it to fulfill. The things which it found bitter up until this point have become sweet, and in parallel with its attaining this station, the cloud of dust and smoke over the spiritual intellect and the secret that was produced by corporeality has been completely removed. Things and events appear differently to its view, and time and again it experiences raptures with the call to Him it hears from every thing and event, thinking itself to be among the pure spirit beings in great joy.

A time comes when reason becomes like the heart, and its products take on the color of those of the spiritual intellect. An initiate with such a level of reason feels stunned by awe of God and advances full of the feeling of modesty; he sometimes becomes exhilarated with the showers of Divine gifts. The heart beats "God! God!", combining this with the breaths of reason that utter, "O the All- Forgiving! O the All-Veiling (of His servants' sins and shortcomings)!" The initiates at this level of reason hear the whole of creation mentioning God by His Names, and their breaths resound with Him. While, on the one hand, signals come to them from the horizon of the spiritual intellect, arousing them to the worlds beyond, on the other hand they feel great worry that the gifts may be interrupted and unexpected obstacles may come in between them and the Source of these gifts, causing them to turn to Him more frequently and more intimately, admitting that whatever good visits them is essentially from Him.

The zeal they feel is the zeal of the heart, and the sorrows they suffer are the sorrows of the sincerely penitent ones. While looking at their past with repugnance, they are revived and refreshed with the hope of a brighter future and the hope that they will be able to compensate for their past defects with future opportunities. They try to fill their past voids with heartfelt sighs and groans and with reflection and remembrance. While others are busy with a life of ease, thinking that they have already lived so before, they always try to do whatever they must on the way to God.

Such people always feel themselves to be in the presence of the Lord. They stand before Him in awe, bow before Him in utmost modesty, prostrate before Him with utmost humility, and sit before Him in self-supervision. They advance with utmost awe and care, and try to fulfill what is required by having reason in the company of the heart. They shudder with awe while thinking of Him, they breathe His mercy with reflection and remembrance of Him; they focus their observations on deepening their knowledge of Him with new discoveries, and their eyes twinkle with eagerness for reunion with the All-Beloved. They do not forget their defects, which are incompatible with servanthood to God, seeing them as precipices between them and their Lord; they entreat Him, saying, "Do not abandon me to myself, even for the blink of an eye!"

Now they have distanced themselves from Satan, but they also reinforce the barriers they have put before Satan's inlets into their heart and continue to erect new ones. Whenever they remember Satan, they feel as if they are in the valley of bandits, and they always seek refuge in God, saying, "I seek refuge in You from the promptings and provocations of the satans; I seek refuge in You, my Lord, lest they be present with me!" (23: 97–98).

They never rely on themselves, their labor, or their deeds; they do not approve of their acts, and treat them with disdain. They are always troubled and shake like a tree in a storm with the worry that hypocrisy and expectation of others' acceptance and appreciation have found, and do find, a way into even their best deeds. These considerations follow them ceaselessly along the way, until finally the soul is welcomed with the compliments, "O you soul at rest! Return to your Lord, well-pleased (with Him and His treatment of you), and well-pleasing to Him! Enter, then, among My servants (fully content with servanthood to Me)! And enter My Paradise!" (89: 27–30); while those who have dropped halfway groan with deep regrets, "Would that I had forwarded (some good deeds) for my life (to come)!" (89: 24). They are honored with surprising bounties of the Hereafter, and favored with many different gifts from the horizon of the heart.

They are treated thus because they have lived a life of austerity without being deceived by worldly pleasures, and they have advanced toward the horizon of the peace of the heart, spiritual contentment, and resignation to God's treatment of them. They felt obliged to advance so, conscious of their essential impotence and poverty and their absolute need of Him. They have advanced and been favored with His special wealth. They have heard many things which other ears could not hear, and seen many things which other eyes could not see; they have experienced how the most honored of creatures—humanity—was created from wet clay, how matter rose almost to the level of the spirit, and how the evil-commanding soul developed into the soul at rest. With the pleasureof watching the smiling face of their fate, they have proceeded beyond space within space and toward the All-Beloved within corporeality, to the point where the invisible becomes visible.

The exacting people of truth and wisdom have seen the soul as we have so far tried to explain. If the Master of all domains had willed it to be so, there is none who could have willed or done otherwise. If He has dressed non- existence in the array of existence, why then should we wonder at "nothing" being "everything"? If He wills, He can make a drop into a sea, a minute particle into the sun, manifest thousands of instances of existence in non- existence, and bestow kingdoms upon those who initially have no trace of one.

O my God! Surely I ask You for a soul content with You, believing in meeting You, resigned to Your decrees, and content with Your bounties. And bestow blessings and peace on the most perfect and complete of the spirits, who is our master Muhammad, and Your beloved, and on His Family and Companions, whom You love!

[dfhvn]

Album of the Week: Deafheaven ‘Ordinary Corrupt Human Love’ // Stereogum

Feature by Chris DeVille via Stereogum After the soothing sound of the ocean tide, the first instrument you hear on Ordinary Corrupt Human Love is a piano. Soon its somber neoclassical arpeggios are intertwining with the yearning slide guitar that has marked many of the most pleasant interludes on previous Deafheaven tracks, and before long the song has bloomed into an elegant suite not unlike the second half of “Layla.” A loosely swaying drumbeat lifts the music to a low cruising altitude. A woman’s voice low in the mix reads poetry about a transformative twilight stroll, evoking smoke-blinded eyes and geese “shrieking into what was left of the evening.” It all builds up so naturally and gradually that when Kerry McCoy’s guitar goes whipping upward into “November Rain” theatrics and George Clarke’s harsh black metal growl finally enters the frame, they feel of a piece with the beauty surrounding them — clouds that ominously gather for some thunderclaps before dispersing without a storm.

The downpour eventually does roll in on “You Without End,” but even at the peak of its fury it never approaches the blistering intensity that has historically introduced a Deafheaven album. Consider it a thesis statement for Ordinary Corrupt Human Love. Although unmistakably the work of the band that gave us twin masterpieces Sunbather and New Bermuda — with help from producer Jack Shirley, their very own George Martin figure — these seven tracks err on the side of Deafheaven’s most accessible impulses. Sublime atmospheric beauty lingers over everything like a haze. Gnarly classic rock riffs rip across the chaos as if beamed in from FM radio. Clarke and his bandmates actually sing a few times, and gorgeously so. It’s the prettiest and least metal album yet from a band sometimes maligned for being too pretty and not metal enough. Among skeptics, the rap against Deafheaven has always been that they’re a token fashion accessory for indie poseurs who know nothing about metal. This is at least partially true; as an indie poseur who knows nothing about metal, I’ve been a devoted Deafheaven fan ever since Sunbather fulfilled the promise of debut Roads To Judah and gave them their big crossover moment five years ago. Where many of their peers and influences have not connected with me, this group’s fusion of black metal, post-rock, and shoegaze triggered a violent euphoria in the depths of my soul. Deafheaven satisfied a hunger I didn’t know I had for grippingly visceral yet blindingly beautiful heavy rock music. The scene politics around them are as meaningless to me as the music itself is meaningful. Many of my fellow dilettantes felt the same way, but so did quite a few lifelong metal zealots: Who cares what you call it when it rules this hard? Deafheaven, however, seemed to pay at least some heed to the authenticity police. Their first album after becoming media darlings, 2015’s New Bermuda, wasn’t a straightforward black metal release by any means, but it edged closer to that polarity. The dreamy, poppy qualities that gave Deafheaven entry into the critical mainstream were riding shotgun, conceding the driver’s seat to absolute combustible brutality. New Bermuda was louder and harsher than the already loud, harsh Sunbather, less like being overtaken by a wave of magnificent translucent destruction and more like being viciously beaten by an army of invaders. Whether this was a purposeful response to the backlash was unclear — and fortunately New Bermuda was brain-fryingly spectacular regardless of motive — but the album struck me as a band working hard to show off its metal bonafides.

Ordinary Corrupt Human Love swings hard in the opposite direction — or rather, at times it swings quite gently and gracefully. Rather than the ennui of Sunbather or the foreboding of New Bermuda, this is an album about love and intimacy and nature and epiphany. It sounds like the natural creative runoff from the placid, bougie LA life described in our recent cover story, the healing aftermath following years of hard living. Which is not to say every song forgoes Deafheaven’s signature heaven-collapsing-into-hell bombast the way “You Without End” does. Advance singles “Honeycomb” and “Canary Yellow” plus “Glint” add up to more than half the album’s run time, and all of them find this band doing what they do best, crafting grandiose genre-agnostic symphonies that build to peaks of ecstatic celestial bombardment. All the other elements of this band’s sound feel so much more monumental when leading up to an onslaught of blast beats, gleaming tremolo noise, and shrill indecipherable shrieking.

Yet even those songs in the classic Deafheaven mold add new details to the formula, be it the group chant that courses through the end of “Canary Yellow” or the Camaro-jamming Thin Lizzy breakdown in “Honeycomb” that regularly moves me to gleeful air-guitar outbursts. It’s clear Deafheaven are pushing not to repeat themselves and to continue expanding their arsenal. Sometimes, as on “Near” and “Night People,” that amounts to a disarmament. These are songs on which the band never revs up beyond a baseline shoegaze drift and Clarke trades his usual rasp for conventional melodic singing, in the latter case accompanied by Chelsea Wolfe. His voice is deep and maudlin, accentuating the drama in entirely new ways — not least of which the ability to make out what he’s singing about without the aid of a lyrics sheet. (Some of the album’s more impressionistic lyrics — say, “I have wondered about the language of flowers/ And you, elaborate mosaic, greeting me,” or “And alabaster lips unseal/ So I may recall the soft timbre of whisper in its stillness” — are better left obscured by screaming, when they can embody whatever meaning you want them to.)

Ordinary Corrupt Human Love is bookended by two songs that split the difference between your usual Deafheaven cacophony and those decidedly scaled-back ballads. It begins with the aforementioned “You Without End,” the expansively pretty overture that has drawn more than one comparison to Mellon Collie And The Infinite Sadness. And it concludes with “Worthless Animal,” a 10-minute post-metal epic that just builds and builds and builds, like the soundtrack to the raddest flight simulator of all time. As Clarke barks out more surrealist gobbledygook about “the ladies cradling streams of buttermilk current” and such, his bandmates rise skyward, vigorously careen through turbulence, and eventually soar out into the great unknown, presumably to discover another chapter of the Deafheaven story. In the meantime, we’ve got this one, presenting masters of tumult giving peace a chance, still capable of demolishing you but sometimes content to let beauty escape into the world unscathed.

Ordinary Corrupt Human Love is out 7/13 on Anti-. Pre-order it here and stream it here.

[rookiek13]

Voltron Whump Week 2017: Day 2 - Hypothermia

Pidge scratched mindlessly at the soft mud. She needed to get out of the rain.

The bank was barely taller than her, carved out by the strange ocean's tide. The pod would have been better. (Pod? Had she come in a pod?) Her thoughts were shrouded in molasses. It didn't matter. She wouldn't be able to hear them over her chattering teeth anyway.

She was cold. More than cold. Freezing. Her sodden clothes clung to her, hindering her movements. Her hands had stopped shaking. That was good (Bad. But why?). The tide trickled around her ankles, pushing her forward, urging her.

“What is it doing?” A voice barked in her ear. She didn't jump. Didn't have the energy to. Barely had the energy to keep on task.

“Getting out of the rain.” Pidge answered. Or maybe she answered. Her lips were stiff and refused to cooperate.

“It speaks?” asked another voice.

“It is acting strangely.”

'It can hear you.' is what Pidge wanted to say. Her mouth would not allow it. But it did permit a soft “cold.”

“It is cold?”

“Oh! It's brain has ice! That is why it acts strangely!”

Something... Arms?Flippers? Wrapped around her, drawing her against something warm.

After that, things became hazy. She remembered warmth. Voices like a distant roll of thunder. Of something warm and sweet trickling down her throat. Being laid into a nest of softness, sandwiched between twin pillars of warmth. Safety and warmth, and sleep.

Waking did not come easily. Memories tangled together. The amusement park on the great lake, racing along the shore with Matt in the evening. Rain against the window of her parent's study, murmuring words into her mother's chest that she was barely old enough to understand. Cumulonimbus. Mesocyclone. Barometric pressure.

Flying an alien craft, chased by other aliens. She'd evaded them, but the wing was damaged. It shredded by turbulence and she couldn't coax it to the forest but she could get it as close as possible. Having only seconds once it crashed against the waves to bail, to jump into the icy water and swim to shore. She had pulled herself up onto the grassy shore, chest heaving. Never ask what else can go wrong, because she had, and then it started to rain.

Someone was humming. Pidge opened her eyes and blinked to clear them. The one roomed dwelling reminded her of a wigwam. Or maybe a muskrat den. It was a large dome made of sticks and mud. A low fire crackled in the hearth in the center of the room, besides which sat the hummer.

They were something like a cross between a human, an otter, and a seal, as tall as Kolivan and as broad as Hunk. The creatures eyes flicked up a Pidge's slight movement, glittering in the dim light. Pidge got the impression of a smile, of friendly joy, like Bae Bae's doggy grins.

“She is awake!” they declared, scrambling across the room to sit at Pidge's side, “How does Pidge feel?” Without waiting for an answer, they cupped her head in their hands, nose snuffling along her neck as though they could divine her wellness by smell. Maybe they could.

“Oh, er... I'm great. And very much not dead. Thanks.” Pidge didn't remember telling anyone her name, but she was notoriously chatty when she was out of it. Matt hadn't let her live it down after she had her wisdom teeth removed. “Um... who are you?”

“I am Sorcha.” they barked joyfully, “My beloved Innis and I found you on the north cape. You were acting as the land-kin do when the ice is in their head. But we have chased it out with the furs and the fire. When Pidge is ready, there is food as well.”

Another alien appeared from what Pidge assumed was the entryway.

“Innis! Pidge has awoken.”

“What news!” the more seal-like Innis cooed, casting aside their thick pelt to become the human/seal/otter thing like Sorcha.

Selkies. They were quiznaking Selkies. Lance was going to be so jealous.

Innis charged across the room to sweep Pidge up in a Hunk-hug. They were warm and soft, their dappled fur tickling her nose, their coarse head of hair tangling in hers.

“We are glad that Pidgy-kins has recovered. The Voltron Paladins were most worried.”

“Wait. Wait. Hold up.” Pidge squirmed out of the hug, “The paladins? Are they here?”

“Not here. Not yet. But they contacted the capital to look for Pidge. We are far from there. I went to the outpost to contact the chieftess. They will come when the storm has gone.”

“Good. Good. Because... um... I'd rather they not see me naked. Are my clothes dry?”

Sorcha unleashed another barking laugh, “Ah, Land-kin and their thermal insulators. No, they are not dry yet. But we do have clothes from our pups. And you must eat!”

“All the paladins must eat!” Innis added, “Sorcha should see them! All but yellow are so tiny! They must eat or they will not have enough blubber to protect from the cold.”

In the end, the paladins did arrive to collect Pidge, and they did enjoy a meal with Innis and Sorcha. Though Pidge would never get over watching two selkies coo over Shiro and Keith and try to spoon feed them.

[aj-eddy]

Voluntary Apnoea

Voluntary apnoea: the suspension of breath as a conscious decision made by an individual, to hold one’s breath.

     The woman’s grip on the back of his head tightened, pulling at the thick mess of his unkempt locks. His scalp burnt as her nails pierced his flesh as she hurled him forward into the bathwater.

Erupting waves rose around him like the parted Red Sea before pulling back over him and dragging him beneath the surface.

Small bubbles tickled his cheeks as they rose, escaping the turbulent water. He felt his eyes burn with redundant tears that were swept away by the waves of bathwater that lashed at him. He thrashed about, desperately trying to break free of his mother’s tight grip as she pulled at his hair and pushed him further under the water.

This head thumped against the side of the bathtub, the sound ominously echoing through the water.

He could hear his mother’s frustrated cries, the sound muffled by the water. He could hear the crashing water as the waves collided with each other and the bathwater spilled over the edge of the tub and crashed onto the tiles. He imagined the water shattering like a glass knocked from the counter, each fragment glistening before melting and rolling across the smooth tiles like the tide caressing the shore.

It felt as if his lungs were consumed by a raging inferno, the jagged claws of firebirds tearing at the tissue as they tried to dig their way out of his chest.

He felt his chin tremble as he fought to keep his mouth shut but the longer he was beneath the water, the harder it became. He was fighting off the instinct to draw breath, knowing there was nothing around him but merciless water.

He pushed at the bottom of the bathtub, his arms trembling and muscles burning as his body threatened to give out beneath him. He tried to fight his way back to the surface, but it was no use; he wasn’t as strong as the enraged woman that held him down.

He held his breath and closed his eyes, but no matter how much he willed it away, the water was still there, his mother’s grip was still burning at his scalp and the reality of his mortality was creeping closer ever so slowly. Every second dragged on as if time was suspended in oblivion, making every second of pain and torment longer and more agonising.

He felt another wave of tears well in his eyes as thick saliva rose in his throat, suffocating him. His body shuddered as he fought back his sobs.

No-one’s coming to help him this time, no-one’s coming to save him.

Dad, the boy cried silently, helplessly. Dad, please, help.

The pain was too much; his head was exploding, his lungs were burning, his arms were trembling, and his vision was a kaleidoscope of stars.

He tried to distract himself, to let his mind wander and distract himself from the agony that consumed his body.

He opened his eyes, the glossy white bathtub glistening with the rippling shadows as the water swayed back and forth, dancing the way his parents would, turning and swaying.

He remembered the dress his mother wore to her last birthday party – the last time he saw her smile. He would imagine that the dress was made of the sea, the frail white lace and gleaming pearls that adorned the Grecian collar of her dress looked like foaming white waves and the fabric faded to shifting shades of blue, green and black as the skirt drifted around her slender figure. He remembered the way the skirt would sway and billow like the tide lapping against the shore. He remembered the bright smile that lit her face as she took his hands in hers and danced with him around the lounge room, moving effortlessly around the furniture like swirls around the rocky cliffs.

What went wrong? the boy asked himself. Why did she stop smiling?

He had asked his dad the very same question many times, but every time he did he was met with the same response: “She’s sick.”

The doctors said it was called schizophrenia, and it was emphasised by her dissociation. His dad explained it differently, he said his mum would see and hear things that weren’t real, she would forget where she was and who they were, she would get scared and angry at the world around her.

His dad assured him that the medication would help, but it didn’t.

He watched as his mum grew sicker, every day chipping away at her like the thrashing waves wore away at bluffs and she began to forget who she was.

When his dad’s back was turned, she would unleash hell on her son and he could do nothing but suffer the beatings and relentless verbal abuse.

He convinced himself that if he stayed small and defenceless then maybe she’d realise he wasn’t a threat, maybe she’d recognise him, remember him. But she never did.

And no-one was there to help him.

What if help doesn’t come? the boy asked himself. What if no-one comes and I die here?

His body weakened, his limbs falling still and drifting lifelessly in the water. His soft pink lips were tinted blue, his cheeks flushed red as his lips slowly parted and he breathed in.

Help will come, he tried to assure himself. Help always comes… Doesn’t it?

His eyes fell shut, the darkness creeping in like swirls of ink that dissolved through the water and pulled him back into the dark abyss. He felt weightless as he drifted into nothingness.

There was no pain, there was no fear.

It was surreal, peaceful.

 …

 The first thing he heard from outside their house was gut-wrenching and fear-inducing sound of his wife’s frustrated cries and panicked sobs, the sound drifting through the open windows and out onto the streets.

Nathan felt his heart sink into his gut, his limbs feeling heavy as the fear set in. He kicked up his heels and ran inside. He shoved open the front door and raced inside with his friend, Elle, following behind him, only to be met by the heart-lurching sound of silence.

They hurried upstairs, feet pounding against the stairs as their hearts thumped against their ribs.

He shoved the bathroom door open, his heart rising into his throat as his eyes fell upon his son’s body: limp and unmoving, drifting like a piece of debris in the water.

He leapt forward and pulled his wife away from the bathtub, feeling her go limp in his arms as she sighed with relief and said, “He’s gone. We’re safe now; he’s gone.”

There was an indescribable sense of fear as he watched Elle lift his son’s lifeless body from the bathtub and set him down on the wet tiles. He watched as Elle brushed back the soaked mess of the boy’s dark hair and checked for any signs of life.

From where he stood, he could tell that his son wasn’t breathing. He held his wife tight, pulling her away and pinning her flailing arms to her side as she began to kick and scream. He ignored her cries and fought back against her thrashing body as she begged Elle not to save the boy, to ‘just let the monster die’.

He watched, heartbroken and helpless, as Elle began CPR, rhythmically compressing the boy’s chest and breathing air back into his lungs.

Time seemed to slow.

He stood still, hot tears welling in his eyes as he looked down at his son.

Elle did her best to resuscitate him, but there was no response.

We’re too late, Nathan thought. He’s gone.

“No,” Sophie screamed. “Let him die!”

Elle ignored her, her composure fractured as she started to realise the boy wasn’t responding. Fear began to seep through the cracks, tears welling in her eyes as she began to mutter under her breath, talking softly as if to encourage the boy back to consciousness.

My boy… My boy is gone, he thought. We’re too late… we’re too late.

His thoughts were silenced by the sound of painful coughing as a spout of water spewed from the boy’s blue lips.

Elle turned him on his side, holding him in place and talking softly to him as he hurled up a lungful of water.

They waited, the air heavy with tension as they waited for one sound. Then, finally, they heard the soft sound that brought them sweet relief; he drew breath.

“No!” Sophie wailed.

Elle moved the boy’s trembling limbs into the recovery position, talking softly to him as she gently brushed back his limp, wet hair. She left the boy’s side and took Sophie in her own arms, leading the screaming woman to her bedroom and gently shushing her.

“You don’t see the way he looks at me,” Sophie cried, her voice echoing down the hall. “He’s a monster. He’s going to kill us all!”

“He’s your son. He’s eight years old,” Elle reminded her friend, her voice soft and comforting as she reminded Sophie that her schizophrenia made her think that way and that she didn’t know what she was doing.

Nathan stood still for a moment, staring down at his son’s shuddering body.

He’s alive.

His limbs ached as he told himself to go to his son, but he couldn’t move.

“Dad,” the boy rasped, coughing violently and shaking the man from his thoughts.

Nathan stepped forward and knelt by the boy’s side, lifting the child into his lap and cradling him against his chest. He felt the boy’s shoulders rise and fall with shaky breaths.

The boy’s voice was weak as he rasped, “Dad, what did I do wrong?”

“Nothing, kiddo, you did nothing wrong,” he assured his son, pressing a tender kiss to the crown of the child’s head.

“Then why did she-?” The rest of his question died away as he coughed and spluttered, his frail body shaking violently.

He gently shushed the boy, holding him close and patting his back soothingly as the boy began to cry into the man’s shirt.

Nathan sighed heavily.

He didn’t know why she thought that way. Yes, there was science and logic to it: it was a mental illness, a psychosis, that results from the brain developing differently and results in the person being subjected to an alternated experience of reality.  He could recite that a thousand times, but he could never give his son the answers he needed.

He replied instinctively, “Because she’s sick.”

They stayed like that for a while, the two of them sitting on the bathroom floor while he listened to the boy’s shaky breaths.

Elle stepped back into the bathroom, resting her hand on her friend’s shoulder as she asked, “Nathan, how long has this been going on?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “I’ve only ever seen her throw small tantrums when she gets confused. I’ve never seen her act out in aggression… I never thought she’d hurt him. I never thought she’d try to kill him.”

“Has she been taking her medication?”

Nathan nodded.

Elle let a heavy sigh fall from her lips.

Nathan knew what she was about to say.

“You have to get her away from him, Nathan,” Elle said quietly, her voice soft but firm. “We talked about this. You need to put her into care before this gets any worse.”

“I know, I know,” he replied, “I just… I can’t abandon her like that.”

“You’re not abandoning her,” Elle said reassuringly. She sighed heavily, speaking softly as she pointed out, “If you don’t get her the help she needs, then next time we won’t be able to save him. Next time, we’ll be seconds too late and all we’ll find is his body.”

He paused for a moment, remembering how she was on her birthday a few weeks ago, spinning about with joyous abandon, laughing and singing like she didn’t have a care in the world, and smiling that gorgeous smile that he fell in love with; the same smile that his son had gotten from her.

Nathan cradled his son to his chest and pressing a kiss to the boy’s temple. He felt the boy tremble in his hold, the shock wearing off and fatigue letting him drift into sleep in the safety and warmth of his father’s arms.

“Call the hospital,” Nathan muttered, glancing up at his friend. “Tell them I’m putting her into care.”

“You’re making the right choice,” Elle assured him.

“It’s the only choice I have,” he replied. “I can’t lose him.”

[divinesayings]

Nafs (The Soul)

Nafs (The Soul) The soul (an–nafs) is a substance that is essentially free of matter but which is in close connection with it in its acts and functions; it is the origin or essence of something or its self. There have been those who have used it in the sense of the spirit or the heart or the body, or in the sense of lusts or the mechanism through which Satan penetrates humans, or even in the sense of reason. In religious terminology, an-nafs, or the soul, is the origin or center of certain states or faculties such as lusts, anger, ill will, grudge, hatred, and irritation, and it is a transformable, reformable, and refinable mechanism connected to human corporeality. The soul has a constant, experienced connection between the body and the spirit. It is through this connection that humans receive, recognize, and distinguish their outer and inner sense-perceptions and go beyond the corporeal realm into metaphysical worlds. It is again through this connection that any state, experience or gift that occurs in the spirit leaves its imprint upon the body and provokes it to move in a certain direction. Just as every influence on the spirit makes itself felt on the body, so too every state of and effect on the body shows itself on the horizon of the spirit. For example, thinking of something which is nauseating may produce an urge to vomit. Certain events which touch the spirit and rouse distress may cause physical ailments that we call psychosomatic illnesses. The reaction that the sense of taste shows at the mention of something sweet or sour or bitter is also this same sort of impression. In short, there is a continuous interactive relationship between the spirit and the body. Similarly, evil conceptions and disagreeable manners and actions impress not only the body but also the spirit, while agreeable thoughts and considerations, and the plans and projects that are undertaken to please God Almighty, and the mentioning of the Divine Being by the heart and tongue all produce expansion and exhilaration in the spirit. It frequently occurs that even if we are not aware of it, this state gains some sort of luminosity and surrounds the entire horizon of the spirit by means of the spiritual intellect. It rouses the “secret” and begins to manifest itself in the metaphysical depths of human existence in different modes. Also, whenever the body expresses its submission to the Ultimate Truth through the acts of worship and obedience and lives in accordance with the purpose of its existence, deepening in belief through worship or religious acts and crowning its worship with excellence and awareness of God’s omnipresence, the breezes of great happiness and joy begin to blow in the spirit. Hope and expectation stir up eagerness for God, the Ultimate Truth, and the acts leading to consciousness and awe of God produce feelings of respect, self-possession, and wakefulness in the spirit. As a result, like the seas vaporizing to rise and form the clouds, and the clouds raining on the earth, and rains forming rivers and torrents that flow into the sea, there appear continuous currents between the body and the spirit. Amidst such mutual influences between the spirit and the body, it is possible for humans either to fall into the lowest of the low as a result of being overcome by their corporeality, or to rise to human perfection and the highest of the high by God’s help and permission, through acting around the orbit of Islamic thought, belief, and awareness. Thus, what we call “spiritual journeying” is one of the significant ways of advancing toward and reaching the Ultimate Truth, and being a perfect human being through this tide. All these tides, continuous mutual influences and flows, and journeys occur on the steed or ship or spacecraft of the human soul. The compass of this apparently abased vessel is belief, the path or direction it must follow is Islam, and its captain or guide is the Prophet Muhammad, the Master of creation, upon him be peace and blessings, and the dynamics to advance along this path are provided by reflection and remembrance of God. However, there are some apparently harmful characteristics incorporated in the nature of this steed for certain purposes. If the soul has not been purified of these characteristics and refined, it is inevitable that the meanings, conceptions, pieces of information, knowledge of God, and remembrances, and reflections that travel between the spirit and the soul suffer from some turbulence and even serious falls along the way. Such turbulence and falls should not be viewed as occurrences independent of certain other factors that originate in humans themselves. Sometimes sins, heedlessness, and carelessness cause them; sometimes temporary “whirlpools of contraction”[1] or “spasms” interfere with the working of the rudder or the compass; sometimes direction is lost due to certain carnal amusements and relaxations; and sometimes they happen because of our unawareness that certain actions are contrary to the manner of traveling along the way, and our feeling proud of the good deeds done. If travelers view such things as viruses that can cause the demise of the spirit, and remain distant from them, and if they display serious endeavors to be purified of them under the shower of repentance, penitence, and contrition when accidentally exposed to them, then God will replace their evil deeds with virtuous ones(25: 70). That is, He will change their faculties which enable evil deeds into enablers of virtuous deeds. Despite its satanic characteristics such as haughtiness, arrogance, egotism, jealousy, injustice, and enmity, all of which break the wings of the spirit, the soul has a fundamental potential so important and valuable that it raises it to companionship of the spirit. Provided it grasps that its essential function, as required by its position, is to become a unit of measurement to recognize God—thereby abandoning arrogance and the accompanying self-assertive, self-aggrandizing claims; so long as it turns to God in worship and prayer and seeks refuge in Him from the potential evils in its nature, following the heart and the spirit on the way to reaching God, then the soul can advance to the highest of the high on the way together with its companions, namely the heart and the spirit. Indeed, the soul is also of great importance for humans to maintain a metaphysical tension. It (the soul) is like a mainspring allowing them to rise from being only potentially human to true humanity. This continuously keeps them busy, without allowing them to have a rest. It ceaselessly sharpens the resolution of people to struggle against its negative characteristics, and causes those who have brains to frequently beat their brains out. When, finally, human nature is matured to the degree intended for its creation, the soul becomes a slave of the king of human existence—the heart—and adopts an attitude that is capable of feeling the need to warn it from time to time, saying, “Do not be proud, O my king! There is God, Who is greater than you!” You can call the soul which has reached this point of maturity after having gone through the filters of purification “the soul refined and grown in purity,” as stated in the following verses: And (by) the human soul and that (All-Knowing, All-Powerful, and All-Wise One) Who has formed it to perfection; and Who has inspired it with the conscience of what is wrong and bad for it, and what is right and good for it. He is indeed prosperous who has grown it in purity(91: 7-9). Whatever you call it, the purified soul is the double of the spirit, continuously trying to keep away from evil, and always advancing toward good until it finally comes to a point where it abandons its basic mission—that is, being a powerful mechanism with negative aspects for human self- purification and perfection—to the nerves, extreme sensitivity, and other human temperaments. It begins to spend the remaining part of its life in the company and service of the spirit. We have tried to explain in detail the stages of this journeying of the soul, which the Sufis experience in their spiritual journeying, under the titles of the Carnal, Evil-Commanding Soul, the Self-Condemning or Self-Accusing Soul, the Soul Receiving Inspiration, the Soul at Rest, the Soul Well-Pleased (with God, with however God treats it), the Soul Pleasing (to God), and the Perfected Soul, or the Purified or Innocent Soul.[2] As the soul passes through these stages upward, the veils of darkness that veil human nature are torn apart one after the other. According to the degree of each, the rays of spirituality begin to shine on all sides of a human being, and an initiate or traveler thinks that they are floating in the elevated horizons of the inner, immaterial dimensions of existence. Each of the stages mentioned above has a gift, pleasure, horizon, manner of expressiveness, and perception particular to itself. Sometimes the guide tells initiates at which stage they are, and sometimes sensitive, self-supervising initiates who are aware of themselves and lend an ear to the voice of their spirits are informed of their stage in a special way. Even though the soul is mainly characterized by always commanding evil, when it undergoes an effective process of purification and is directed to obedience to its Lord, it can be transformed into a source of bright light, like the full moon receiving light from the sun. If, on the other hand, it is not purified, the fog and smoke of the lusts invade its horizon, and it suffers corruption under the influence of carnal thoughts and considerations, becoming so blind as not to be able to see into the transcendent dimension of existence. Then, the soul cannot continue its companionship with the spirit and becomes a marsh of evil in human nature, in conformity with the aspects of its nature, which is open to evil. Making use of certain weak spots in its owner, the soul attacks him from many fronts, and—may God preserve us—can knock him down with a single blow. The continuous request for forgiveness from God and prayer are important defenses against such attacks; the disciplines which have an important place in the spiritual journeying are a petition presented for Divine protection, and following the way of God’s Messenger, upon him be peace and blessings, strictly offers a reliable refuge. Further, restricting our consumption to absolutely essential human needs, silencing the soul by being content with legitimate pleasures, and incessantly warning the soul against illicit desires and appetites form another way of keeping it under strict control. * * * Basically, the soul is one of the faculties with which humans have been equipped. Provided that humans employ these faculties, which have been entrusted to them in their creation, in the direction established by their Creator, they greatly add to their value. For example, the eyes are windows for seeing things within their scope of sight; the ears are receptors and transmitters that receive and conduct sounds and voices at certain wavelengths to the brain; the tongue is an inspector of innumerable tastes, and the translator of thoughts and feelings. If the eyes are used to see things which are religiously permissible to observe, if the ears are kept closed to harmful, evil sounds and voices while transmitting the good ones, and if the tongue stirs up feelings of reflection on and thankfulness to the numberless bounties bestowed by God Almighty, and also acts in conformity with the Divine purpose for its creation as a means of speech—then individually and collectively these organs become wings for human beings to rise to human perfection. But if, on the contrary, the eyes busy themselves with those things that the Religion condemns as harmful or ugly, thus abandoning themselves to contamination; if the ears work like a telephone exchange for vices, receiving and transmitting that which is religiously forbidden; and if the tongue lives in attachment to the tastes it recognizes, in oblivion of its duty of inspection, and speaks without recognizing any criteria—then the wings of the heart are broken, and the spirit becomes as if nitric acid were poured into its eyes. The soul is no different from the faculties mentioned above with respect to its duties and its fulfilling or not fulfilling them properly. If the soul is purified and preserved against working like a telephone exchange for Satan, then while being, by its primordial nature, a reptile- like creature crawling on the ground, it becomes like a dove flying over our heads, as if it has undergone a mysterious metamorphosis, and it is praised by the words of God Almighty:I swear by the self-accusing soul (75: 2). When it takes two steps further, it is honored with the breezes of appreciation: O, you soul at rest! Return to your Lord, wellpleased (with Him and His treatment of you), and well-pleasing to Him (89: 27-28), and establishes itself comfortably next to the spirit. Thus, this hard-natured substance, more harmful than snakes and scorpions, which is described by the Divine statement as Surely the carnal, evil-commanding soul always and insistently commands evil (12: 53)—by asking God for forgiveness in awareness of its sins, by avoiding its faults due to repugnance, by trying to keep distant from unbelief, hypocrisy, vice, and transgression, by shuddering with fear that the favors coming when it is in an agreeable state may be a means of perdition, and, in a further attempt, by finding its true purification through always seeing itself as impure, this primordially hard-natured, evil-commanding substance can rise to great heights and approach the heavenly beings. The soul at this level, which philosophers call “the speaking self or soul,” and which the Qur’an describes as “the soul at rest,” has become such an earthly being able to rise to the horizon of the heart and the spirit and possessing angelic manners, that it begins to take pleasure in religious responsibilities, which previously it did not like and which were difficult for it to fulfill. The things which it found bitter up until this point have become sweet, and in parallel with its attaining this station, the cloud of dust and smoke over the spiritual intellect and the secret that was produced by corporeality has been completely removed. Things and events appear differently to its view, and time and again it experiences raptures with the call to Him it hears from every thing and event, thinking itself to be among the pure spirit beings in great joy. A time comes when reason becomes like the heart, and its products take on the color of those of the spiritual intellect. An initiate with such a level of reason feels stunned by awe of God and advances full of the feeling of modesty; he sometimes becomes exhilarated with the showers of Divine gifts. The heart beats “God! God!”, combining this with the breaths of reason that utter, “O the All- Forgiving! O the All-Veiling (of His servants’ sins and shortcomings)!” The initiates at this level of reason hear the whole of creation mentioning God by His Names, and their breaths resound with Him. While, on the one hand, signals come to them from the horizon of the spiritual intellect, arousing them to the worlds beyond, on the other hand they feel great worry that the gifts may be interrupted and unexpected obstacles may come in between them and the Source of these gifts, causing them to turn to Him more frequently and more intimately, admitting that whatever good visits them is essentially from Him. The zeal they feel is the zeal of the heart, and the sorrows they suffer are the sorrows of the sincerely penitent ones. While looking at their past with repugnance, they are revived and refreshed with the hope of a brighter future and the hope that they will be able to compensate for their past defects with future opportunities. They try to fill their past voids with heartfelt sighs and groans and with reflection and remembrance. While others are busy with a life of ease, thinking that they have already lived so before, they always try to do whatever they must on the way to God. Such people always feel themselves to be in the presence of the Lord. They stand before Him in awe, bow before Him in utmost modesty, prostrate before Him with utmost humility, and sit before Him in self-supervision. They advance with utmost awe and care, and try to fulfill what is required by having reason in the company of the heart. They shudder with awe while thinking of Him, they breathe His mercy with reflection and remembrance of Him; they focus their observations on deepening their knowledge of Him with new discoveries, and their eyes twinkle with eagerness for reunion with the All-Beloved. They do not forget their defects, which are incompatible with servanthood to God, seeing them as precipices between them and their Lord; they entreat Him, saying, “Do not abandon me to myself, even for the blink of an eye!” Now they have distanced themselves from Satan, but they also reinforce the barriers they have put before Satan’s inlets into their heart and continue to erect new ones. Whenever they remember Satan, they feel as if they are in the valley of bandits, and they always seek refuge in God, saying, “I seek refuge in You from the promptings and provocations of the satans; I seek refuge in You, my Lord, lest they be present with me!” (23: 97–98). They never rely on themselves, their labor, or their deeds; they do not approve of their acts, and treat them with disdain. They are always troubled and shake like a tree in a storm with the worry that hypocrisy and expectation of others’ acceptance and appreciation have found, and do find, a way into even their best deeds. These considerations follow them ceaselessly along the way, until finally the soul is welcomed with the compliments, “O you soul at rest! Return to your Lord, well-pleased (with Him and His treatment of you), and well-pleasing to Him! Enter, then, among My servants (fully content with servanthood to Me)! And enter My Paradise!” (89: 27–30); while those who have dropped halfway groan with deep regrets, “Would that I had forwarded (some good deeds) for my life (to come)!” (89: 24). They are honored with surprising bounties of the Hereafter, and favored with many different gifts from the horizon of the heart. They are treated thus because they have lived a life of austerity without being deceived by worldly pleasures, and they have advanced toward the horizon of the peace of the heart, spiritual contentment, and resignation to God’s treatment of them. They felt obliged to advance so, conscious of their essential impotence and poverty and their absolute need of Him. They have advanced and been favored with His special wealth. They have heard many things which other ears could not hear, and seen many things which other eyes could not see; they have experienced how the most honored of creatures—humanity—was created from wet clay, how matter rose almost to the level of the spirit, and how the evil-commanding soul developed into the soul at rest. With the pleasureof watching the smiling face of their fate, they have proceeded beyond space within space and toward the All-Beloved within corporeality, to the point where the invisible becomes visible. The exacting people of truth and wisdom have seen the soul as we have so far tried to explain. If the Master of all domains had willed it to be so, there is none who could have willed or done otherwise. If He has dressed non- existence in the array of existence, why then should we wonder at “nothing” being “everything”? If He wills, He can make a drop into a sea, a minute particle into the sun, manifest thousands of instances of existence in non- existence, and bestow kingdoms upon those who initially have no trace of one. O my God! Surely I ask You for a soul content with You, believing in meeting You, resigned to Your decrees, and content with Your bounties. And bestow blessings and peace on the most perfect and complete of the spirits, who is our master Muhammad, and Your beloved, and on His Family and Companions, whom You love!
[1] In Sufi terminology, “contraction” (qabd) is used to mean that the link between an individual and the source of his or her spiritual gifts and radiance has been severed for a certain period. This causes distress and makes one suffer from spiritual obstruction and blockage. For further explanations, seeEmerald Hills of the Heart – Key Concepts in the Practice of Sufism, The Light, NJ, 2004, vol. 1, pp. 167–170. (Tr.)
[2] See M. Fethullah Gülen, Emerald Hills of the Heart – Key Concepts in the Practice of Sufism, The Light, NJ, 2004, vol. 2, pp. 251–261. (Tr.) www.reverthelp.com