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winttrader · 2 years

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Prayer against enemies in the bible

If you are willing to partner with us in praying for Afghanistan, visit our Afghanistan action page.Įditor’s Note: All verses are from the ESV translation. You have heard that it was said, ‘Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.’ But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven.īe kind to one another, tenderhearted, forgiving one another, as God in Christ forgave you. When a man’s ways please the Lord, he makes even his enemies to be at peace with him.ĭo not say, “I will repay evil” wait for the Lord, and he will deliver you.īut God shows his love for us in that while we were still sinners, Christ died for us.Īnd we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. If your enemy is hungry, give him bread to eat, and if he is thirsty, give him water to drink, for you will heap burning coals on his head, and the Lord will reward you. Do not take revenge, my dear friends, but leave room for God’s wrath, for it is written: “It is mine to avenge I will repay,” says the Lord. If it is possible, as far as it depends on you, live at peace with everyone. Be careful to do what is right in the eyes of everyone. If I have rejoiced at the ruin of him who hated me, or exulted when evil overtook him (I have not let my mouth sin by asking for his life with a curse)ĭo not rejoice when your enemy falls, and let not your heart be glad when he stumblesĭo not repay evil for evil or reviling for reviling, but on the contrary, bless, for to this you were called, that you may obtain a blessing.īless those who persecute you bless and do not curse. I urge, then, first of all, that petitions, prayers, intercession and thanksgiving be made for all people-for kings and all those in authority, that we may live peaceful and quiet lives in all godliness and holiness.Īnd Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do.”īut to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives. Instead, let’s meditate on these 15 Bible verses that command us to pray for our enemies. Whenever we’re wronged or observe injustice-whether being slandered against or watching in horror as the Taliban takes over Afghanistan-we must refrain from giving ourselves over to hatred and contempt. But, if we truly are to love our enemies, that means loving the boss or co-worker who takes advantage of you, and yes, even religious extremists like the Taliban. 17 O my Strength, I sing praise to you you, O God, are my fortress, my loving God.It’s natural for us to pray for those stranded in Afghanistan or to pray for those dealing with the aftermath of a natural disaster. 16 But I will sing of your strength, in the morning I will sing of your love for you are my fortress, my refuge in times of trouble. 15 They wander about for food and howl if not satisfied. Selah 14 They return at evening, snarling like dogs, and prowl about the city. Then it will be known to the ends of the earth that God rules over Jacob. For the curses and lies they utter, 13 consume them in wrath, consume them till they are no more. 12 For the sins of their mouths, for the words of their lips, let them be caught in their pride. In your might make them wander about, and bring them down. 11 But do not kill them, O Lord our shield, or my people will forget. God will go before me and will let me gloat over those who slander me. 9 O my Strength, I watch for you you, O God, are my fortress, 10 my loving God. 7 See what they spew from their mouths- they spew out swords from their lips, and they say, "Who can hear us?" 8 But you, O LORD, laugh at them you scoff at all those nations. But I say unto you which hear, Love your enemies, do good to them which hate you, Bless them that curse you, and pray for them which despitefully use you. Selah 6 They return at evening, snarling like dogs, and prowl about the city. Arise to help me look on my plight! 5 O LORD God Almighty, the God of Israel, rouse yourself to punish all the nations show no mercy to wicked traitors. 4 I have done no wrong, yet they are ready to attack me. 3 See how they lie in wait for me! Fierce men conspire against me for no offense or sin of mine, O LORD. 2 Deliver me from evildoers and save me from bloodthirsty men. 1 Deliver me from my enemies, O God protect me from those who rise up against me. When Saul had sent men to watch David's house in order to kill him. Bible Gateway Psalm 59 :: NIV Psalm 59 1 Psalm 59 For the director of music.

#Prayer against enemies in the bible

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ainyan · 2 years

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Prompt #3: Temper

FFXIV Write 2022 Day #3 (Prompt: Temper); Words: 2595; Patch 5.0 spoilers

Temper

habit of mind, especially with respect to irritability or patience, outbursts of anger, or the like;

to dilute, qualify, or soften by the addition or influence of something else;

to moderate or mitigate;

Beyond the Tower, the masses celebrated the return of night - again. The Light that had so plagued Norvrandt was but a recent memory, and the scourge of Lord Vauthry had been laid low by the Warrior of Darkness and her stalwart companions. The Exarch had been returned to the Crystarium after his kidnapping by fell forces unknown, and all was right with the world. Or so went the refrain that sounded through the crowds.

Within the Tower, however, the night was silent and still, and there was little jubilation. Although he’d taken time to move among his people, the Crystal Exarch had finally retreated to his private sanctum, taking refuge among his books and devices.

Hiding, he could privately admit, from the Warrior of Darkness and her Scions. He was not looking forward to the inevitable confrontation; what he had done to her was unconscionable, and whatever she and her companions deemed suitable recompense, he would provide. That his motives had been beyond pure did not matter; that he’d had the aid of one of her closest friends did not excuse his abuse of her trust.

That she meant the world - worlds - to him only made it worse.

That he would come due for a reckoning, he had no doubt. That he would deserve it in full measure he whole-heartedly concurred. But the idea of seeing contempt - or worse, hatred - in her eyes made his heart quail as nothing else ever had. So, like the coward he was, he hid away in his crystal tower, pacing restlessly amongst his books and trinkets, delaying the moment of his fall.

“So.” His foot rolled under him as he stopped suddenly, and he cursed at the sudden piercing pain in his ankle. “This is where you’ve been hiding.”

Kneeling, he rubbed at his ankle, keeping his head bowed as his shoulders hunched, his tail curling between his legs. “I’m not hiding. I am contemplating the issues that still stand before us.”

He did not hear her footsteps as she glided across the floor, coming to stand before him, but he could feel her hot gaze on the back of his head. “Stop lying to me.” Temper seared the edges of her words, crisping them.

Exhaling, he felt his shoulders sag. “Alright, yes. I’m hiding, for all the good it has done me.”

She remained silent, and he gathered the tatters of his courage and dignity and rose unsteadily, gripping to his staff as he raised his eyes to meet hers.

There was nothing of warmth in her lapis gaze as she peered at him from beneath the feathery fall of scarlet hair. Her delicate features were set in resolute lines, her full lips pinched thin by her ire. Her ears were laid back, her tail lashing at the back of her calves as she stood, hands fisted on her hips, and regarded him. “What have you to say to me?”

He felt his own ears sag downwards, his tail coiling limply along his calf as he lowered his eyes again, exhaling heavily. “I am sorry for the pain I caused you. I am sorry for the trouble I put you and your friends through. I am sorry that I abused your trust in such a heinous manner; would that I had known a better choice.”

“Why not just tell me the truth?” she asked softly.

He looked up. “What would I have said? ‘I am from the future - your future - and you’re going to die. When you die, the entire world will be plunged into chaos because no one will be able to prevent the Eighth Umbral Calamity, and Hydaelyn as we know it will cease to exist’? Would you even have believed me?”

Her expression did not change. “Did you give me the benefit of the doubt?”

His gaze slid from hers. “I did what I felt best. Right or wrong, I judged it the right choice to hide who I was, what I was doing, lest I cause irreparable harm to the timeline. A chance word during a visit back to the Source and all might have come tumbling down.” He hesitated, then sighed. “Too, I think I did not want you to know it was me. I worried… I worried that you would think this just another ill-advised adventure. Coming from Urianger, I judged you more likely to accept it as fact.”

She closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Twelve forfend,” she muttered. “G’raha Tia, what am I going to do with you?” He blinked at her, watching her ears flick forward, her tail still, anger tempered in the face of his honest remorse. “What you did - what I went through… gods, there are no words to describe it.” Lowering her hand, she opened her bright blue eyes to glare at him. “I would have been fine with dying,” she said softly, “but you almost turned me into a monster.”

He clenched his teeth, looking away. “I know. I never expected it to get that far. I was going to take the Light from you, and cast it into the void, and you would have been safe, the First and the Source no longer in jeopardy.”

“And kill yourself in the process,” she replied flatly.

His eyes slid back to hers. “Are you the only one who may make that sacrifice?” he demanded.

She moved too swiftly for sight. One moment, she stood there glaring at him, the next she stood before him, the front of his robe clenched in her fist as she drew his face to hers. “I am the Warrior of Light, G’raha Tia. Such a sacrifice is my most likely fate. But I will be damned if I see anyone else I care about sacrificed in my stead. I am so damn tired,” she rasped, “of losing those I love because they judge me more important.”

He gazed at her across the ilm separating them, his allagan red eyes anguished. “You are more important, Ainyan,” he said. “You are the most important person in the world.”

She scoffed. “It’s not like Hydaelyn can’t find another Warrior of Light.”

He hesitated, then, “I didn’t mean because of that.”

She stiffened. “Oh.” Her fingers loosened in the folds of his robe as she searched his face, her brow wrinkling with her slight frown. “Oh,” she repeated, and he started to pull away. Her fingers tightened, preventing his escape, and her lips curved in a curious smile. “‘Tis good to see you awake, G’raha Tia.”

The same words she’d spoken to him after the defeat of Emet-Selch, when he’d first proffered his apologies. Now, as then, he felt his eyes fill, tears spilling over down his cheeks. “‘Tis good to be awake,” he whispered.

She searched his face a moment longer, then leaned in. He felt his breath still in his breast as her mouth touched his, a testing brush of lips against lips. At the spark that speared down his spine, he sucked in his breath and heard her gasp in kind. As he reached for her, she released him, only to slide her arms around his neck and draw him in, body to body.

His arms wrapped around her waist; it was difficult to remember to be cautious of his crystal arm, to ensure that he did not bruise her - especially as her mouth fastened on his, hot and hungry. As he responded in kind, he felt her lips part, her tongue flicking out, testing, and he closed his eyes and let himself go.

Let himself fall.

He did not know how long they stood there, trading kisses between them. Long enough for the celebrations outside to die down. Finally, though, she pulled back, reluctance in her every movement. “I came in here,” she murmured throatily, “to yell at you.”

“Aye, my lady,” and how those words had taken on a different meaning with her in his arms, “you did. And I deserved it,” he agreed, dropping his gaze, his ears drooping slightly. “What I did, Ainyan, I did with the best, the purest of intentions. I never intended it to go so far; I never thought you would truly be in any danger for longer than it would take me to…”

She closed her eyes, stepping forward to rest her head upon his shoulder. His arms tightened about her, and it was a great deal more difficult to moderate his strength than he’d ever imagined it would be. “I suspected,” she whispered, “for some time now who you were. Did you ever stop to think about how I would feel if you’d succeeded?”

He buried his face in her hair, his hands tightening on her back. “No. I couldn’t bring myself to consider it,” he admitted. “I was afraid if I thought too long on it, I wouldn’t be able to go through with it. But it was the only way I knew of to get rid of the Light. I never thought about using it to fashion your Blade.”

She sighed. “It’s not like you even knew I would need my Blade,” she murmured. “You had little reason to suspect that there would be Ascians involved until you’d already set your plan in motion. And by then…” She trailed off, and he felt her tremble in his arms. “I know the cost to myself, more than you can imagine. But, G’raha Tia… full glad am I that your plan failed.”

He leaned back, bringing his hands up to cup her face, urging her to look at him. His scarlet eyes searched hers and he sighed. “I am of mixed feelings,” he admitted. At her surprise, he offered her a bittersweet smile. “That you know who I am is a blessing I thought never to know. That we are here, in this moment, I never dared dream for. Full well do I understand that it was the failure of my plan that has led to this. And yet,” he sighed, “the torture you underwent beneath the burden of Light. The torture I underwent at Emet-Selch’s hands. And the fact that your comrades yet linger here, when my death was to have sent them home…”

“You will find a way, G’raha Tia,” she said, her eyes on his, and he exhaled to see the faith in her gaze. “I have no doubts in my mind or heart that you will solve this dilemma - without,” she added, her voice hardening, “undue risk to yourself.”

He winced, looking away. “Ainyan.”

“Raha,” she mimicked, and he turned back to blink at her at the familiarity. She raised an eyebrow, her gaze dipping deliberately to his mouth before rising once more to his. “Will you deny me the right?”

His breath grew thick in his lungs as his fingers curved to fit her face, his eyes gazing intently into hers. “Never,” he murmured. He lowered his head and she raised hers, meeting him halfway. As his mouth covered hers, his hands slid down until he once more wrapped her within his arms, drawing her against him and holding her as tightly as he dared.

Eventually, he drew away as he felt his blood begin to burn, his heart begin to yearn. As he gazed upon her satisfied expression, he bit his lip and drew away. She opened her eyes, frowning after him. “My lady,” he whispered. “Understand. I have wanted you for more years than I can possibly remember. But…” He trailed off, then extended his hand to her.

His crystal hand.

She stared at it, then reached out to touch it, her slim, nimble fingers skimming across rigid stone. “I admit,” she murmured, her voice shaky, “I’d wondered how much of you was this way. Not,” she added hastily, “out of salacious curiosity…”

He smiled. “You are not alone in that wondering, my lady,” he murmured. “Suffice it to say, more of me is crystal than man these days, and for each time I call upon the Tower, a little more of what I was fades to stone.”

Her lip trembled slightly and he reached out with his still-living hand to trace it with his thumb. “Is there no cure?”

With a soft, breathless laugh, he withdrew his hand. “It is not a disease, dearest one,” he replied hoarsely. “It is payment. It is the demand the Tower makes of me that I may use its endless bounty. Someday, I shall be a part of it. This is the bargain to which I agreed in order to save two worlds.” He hesitated. “To save you.”

She could hear the warning in his voice. “Raha, I never would have asked this of you.”

He shook his head. “No, you would not,” he agreed. “You would never ask any to sacrifice in your name; you would be the sacrifice. But no man may stand alone, my heart, nor any hero, either. And sometimes,” he whispered, “we must accept that those who walk at our sides do so but fleetingly, their fates writ to ensure ours continue unabated.”

Her jaw set; he saw it and sighed. “Have you not already proven, my Raha, that our fates are not set in stone?” She gestured to herself, then around them, to the Tower and, beyond, to the Crystarium and Norvrandt.

“How did you come to be so stubborn?” he wondered; a foolish question - she had always been, he knew, stubborn beyond measure. One had to be, to endure what she had endured at the hands of fate, destiny, and those nearest and dearest to her. “But you make me want to buck against the destiny I drive myself towards.”

She reached up, cupping her hand along his cheek, and he nuzzled into her palm. “G’raha Tia,” she whispered. “Once I watched you walk away to a destiny you had to fulfill - I watched the doors close between us and I railed against fate that it should bring you to me only to snatch you away. I cried that night,” she admitted, and he reached for her before he could stop himself, drawing her closer. “Though it had only been a few short weeks that we worked together to unravel the mysteries of the Crystal Tower, you had come to mean much to me.”

“Ainyan,” he breathed, but she shook her head.

“You were the first to sacrifice in my name,” she whispered. “Would that you could have been the last - but I have lost so many to a destiny I never wanted; now here one returns to me. And you would ask me to lose you twice?”

He gathered her against him and she buried her face against his shoulder, her arms banding tight about his waist. “I ask only that you be cognizant of the possibility, my heart,” he whispered. “I don’t want to leave you. I never want to lose you again. But you must temper your expectations.”

“Just shut up,” she hissed against his shoulder. “I don’t want to think on this any more this night.” He turned his head, tucking his face against the curve of her shoulder. “Just hold me, my Raha. Let me know that you’re here.”

He closed his eyes, his arms banding around her almost too tight for comfort. “I am here, my Ainyan,” he whispered against her skin. “I am always at your side.”

#ffxiv #ffxivwrite2022 #ffxivwrite #ainyan dreamweaver #alt-character #g'raha x wol #no one sacrifices but me #ffxiv fanfiction

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bored-storyteller · 3 years

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Okay, I can't find where this request went anymore, but I'm sure it existed (or I wouldn't have written this). I'm going to try to look again in the mail. Anyway, our boys (Vil, Azul, Leona) a little sad and the reader comforting them with hugs.

54- Twisted Wonderland, Vil, Azul, Leona x Reader

His life isn't that easy. Back straight, head up, be elegant, be polite, never show the weight that falls on your shoulders. This is Vil's life, nothing more, nothing less.

As beautiful as a marble statue, a precious object that can only be admired, not touched. Sometimes he himself forgets that he is human.

It's hard to never break down, it's hard to keep up appearances, and you make it more difficult. You, the most precious thing he has.

He should feel free with you, right? Isn't that the cliché of every love story? But he can't really know, he's always the bad guy in stories.

So even with you it is the appearance that counts him, because you love him for that, right? It's not like there's much more to him than just his appearance - and apparently not even that is enough to give him any real value.

He is tired, that's why he has such negative thoughts. A restful sleep and the next day it will be a fragrant flower again, but it is still early to go to sleep.

"Vil?" Your angelic voice rouses him. You are there, stuck a few steps behind him, you look at him doubtfully and his heart trembles. Oh, did you notice too much wrinkle in his expression?

"Vil." You call his name again, and he is already preparing to tell you how tiring his day has been to clear the doubts that are likely creeping into you.

Vil is not someone used to being touched, he is a precious work of art after all, yet he is convinced that even a caress from you could at that moment bring him relief. But he has to keep up appearances.

"My dear?" His questioning smile tries not to be too guilty under your worried eyes that scrutinize him.

After a few seconds of silence, you are moving. You are slow, yet fast. Your arms slide gently under his, and your body tightens to his chest. Your warmth invades him as your face seeks refuge under his chin, lovingly rubbing your nose against his neck.

"It's cold ..." You murmur, and this is the justification you use, but he knows that you have only read inside him, and you have simply taken some of his weight for you.

"You smell good." You continue, while his arms hold you slowly, in a silent request for affection.

“Oh yeah… it's a new perfume you know? I thought…"

"Yes, that perfume is good too, but you also smell of something else."

He just walks away, so that his purple eyes can look for the answer in yours for that doubt you have posed to him. There is no need for him to ask, he knows that you will give him the answer.

"The scent of Vil." Your cheerful and affectionate smile erases all poison from his heart, and he smiles at you as he does not smile at anyone else as he silently welcomes you back against him.

Who knows, maybe with you appearances are completely useless.

A faint sigh comes from the dorm leader's lips to confide only in the air the pressure he is feeling inside him.

He is an excellent trader, a businessman, an excellent speaker and a perfect gentleman. Is not enough. He is never enough, and he probably never will be.

Sometimes the slander and contempt of many also burn him. Not everyone looks favorably on him, Azul knows, it's the price he himself chose to pay - at least he got something in return, right?

He isn't sure. Days like this, flat and heavy, occasionally bring back the most latent insecurities of him. Not that he shows it, only his eyes barely reflect the weight in his heart if you look at them carefully.

You are a relief, usually. Like every day he waits for you to come and greet him, but more than every day he would like to drop everything else, take you in his arms and hold you there. Yet despite his appearances he is still so shy. Sometimes even your gaze makes him blush, you know it, and you also know how much he cares about his figure and his representation in front of others, so you never take a step too far towards him, and he never has the courage to ask.

"Azul?"

Your voice finally reaches his ears, your bright eyes peeking through the crack of the half-open door before you allow yourself to enter.

"Oh, here you are ... give me a second, I'm almost done." His voice is as firm and calm as ever. He doesn't look at you, it's not strange, but the way he bows his head to avoid you sends you strange meanings.

He doesn't have the courage to look at you, the need he has for you makes him feel ashamed. A child who needs pampering, that's what he is at that moment. A nullity in front of you.

He feels you close, you are next to his chair, standing, looking at him. You don't move away, and he understands that you want his attention, he won't be able to ignore you for long.

"Do you need something?" He finally asks you, and his eyes force them to lift to your face, and he is surprised when he sees you smiling.

You just stare at him for a few moments, without giving him an answer, and then suddenly your arms are around his shoulders, his cheek gently resting on your shoulder.

"I missed you, Azul!" Your light but cheerful voice caresses his ear, while you hug him protectively, full of affection.

"We only met last night ..." he murmurs, in a tone that wanders between wonder and relief.

“I know, but I don't care. I missed you." You confirm again, as you make your way into his lap and let him hold you.

Your weight on him is reassuring, your touch and your presence welcoming.

"I can't hide anything from you, right?" He whispers in your ear, as if he is afraid of being heard by others, even if only the two of you exist in the room.

"No, I would say no." You mutter satisfied, snuggling up to him.

Usually he is so good at silencing that part of him, but when that black feeling arises it feels like a living being inside him struggling to get out and leave him weak, empty, mocked. He always swallows it, never allows it to peek out. Sometimes it curls up in the stomach, other times in the lungs, or gets stuck in his ribcage making his heart heavy, almost blocking his breath.

Leona is good at silencing those wounds to his pride, but sometimes it happens that a gesture, a laugh, a word at the wrong time weaken his defenses, taking him away from the already heavy looks of others.

In the greenhouse he is alone with himself. No, he's not there to sleep, he just needs to calm down. For some reason today it is difficult, more than usual. The weight in his chest causes him to hunch over, head bowed, ears down. His hands are left in his lap as he sits hidden among the plants, he almost seems to be meditating. Calm down, calm down, calm your anger. It is what he repeats to himself like a mantra as he listens to his own breath. Nobody can beat you, nobody can hurt you.

No, no one is going to hurt him - no one thinks he's worth hurting, do they? All that he is, all that he knows he is worth, is always trampled on, torn to pieces, thrown away by others, as if it were of no use.

"Caught!"

Your weight is never too violent against his sturdy back, but his surprise causes him to lean forward slightly.

You laugh as your hands gently tighten around his neck, and he growls.

"Idiot! Are you crazy ?! " His words are acidic, but by now you've got used to it. You are the only one who can ever afford to do such a thing with him, you are the only one he can forgive.

He doesn't realize it right away, but that little leap to his heart you gave him has suddenly lightened his mind. He only knows when your arms go away from him.

Wait, stay still.

That thought unexpectedly reaches his mind, but he is quickly kicked out. He won't beg for mercy, not even from you, especially with you.

Still, even if he doesn't speak, your weight doesn't stray too far. Your arms now slowly encircle his stomach as you drop relaxed on his back, like a lion cub on his father's back.

With your head resting behind his ribcage, Leona knows you're listening to his heartbeat. He knows this because he is listening to you too, he listens to your breath which naturally coordinates with the muscle moving slow and powerful in his chest. And then he understands that you understand his need that he pretends not to have.

"You are so strong, Leona."

And that's enough.

A light sigh caresses his lips: "Of course I'm strong, otherwise you-"

"I'd be fine!" You defend yourself, knowing full well where he wants to hit.

You don't see him, but a proud smile is painted on his face as he continues on his way: "Otherwise you would have already been eaten by now."

#twisted wonderland #disney twisted wonderland #twst #twst x reader #leona kingscholar #vil schoenheit #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul ashengrotto #twst leona #leona kingscholar x reader #vil x reader #azul x reader #vil schoenheit x reader #twst azul #leona x reader #request

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gentlemanjester · 3 years

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The Sinking City: First Impressions

So, the Sinking City. A horror-mystery game inspired by H. P. Lovecraft. I am a big fan of Lovecraft’s stories (not of the man himself, no sensible person is), and as such, I like a lot of things inspired by his works, chief among them being Bloodborne. But this is a game which is directly set in the world of Lovecraft, and so I will be giving my first impressions of several aspects of the game. Here we go!

The setting

The game is set in the port city of Oakmont. The player character, private eye Charles Reed, is a former navy soldier who has come to Oakmont to seek answers for the horrific visions he’s been having, and knows others have had. Those others also came to Oakmont. However, half of Oakmont has been flooded, and a mania has gripped many of the citizens, driving them to insanity and violence. There are also monsters who are terrorising certain parts of the city, called Wylebeasts by the locals. On top of that, the destruction of another coastal town of Innsmouth has caused the residents of that town to take refuge in Oakmont, which has led to a lot of tension between the Innsmouthers and the Oakmont locals.

As soon as we start the game, we’re introduced to the feel of the city: Innsmouthers are the outcasts, hated and discriminated by many of Oakmont’s citizens. When the son of one of the most influential citizens goes missing, Albert Throgmorton, Reed is immediately hired to find him. Reed finds Albert’s corpse, murdered, but not after learning that Albert had washed ashore in a lifeboat, one of the only members of an expedition to return, and subsequently went mad and became hostile.

Oakmont is an insular community, and constantly refer to Reed (with contempt) as “Newcomer,” and reference how other Newcomers have brought nothing but trouble and madness with them. The Oakmonters worship a deity they refer to as Kay, and are very accusatory when Reed doesn’t know who that is.

Another interesting thing: there aren’t a lot of tentacles. The Lovecraft aspect, at least so far, comes primarily from the mystery. The otherworldly creatures, of whom I have not seen a lot of, and the odd, queer people who reside in Oakmont. They don’t like sharing much with Reed unless it’s pertinent to his investigations, and will often try to get him to steer clear of certain areas unless he presses them for information.

The gameplay

The gameplay is fantastic so far, at least insofar as the investigations are. There aren’t any quest markers, with the exception of areas you’ve already visited which are part of an investigation. And even then, those markers only tell you if there are clues left, or if you’ve found all the clues. They never tell you where the clues are.

I’ve found myself using the map and ingame street signs a LOT. There are lots of street signs, and I find myself checking the casebook to see “okay, so the house is on C. Smith Avenue, between Polaris Road and Old Church Street...” then I’ll get onto Old Church Street, and watch for the street sign that says C. Smith Avenue. It makes you feel like you’re actually navigating the city.

Each of the investigation scenes have a plethora of clues to find. Reed also has a sort of second vision you can activate, which can let you see glimpses of the past at certain places. For example, when investigating a family who became infected, you use this sight on the bed, and see a creature leaning over one of the girls sleeping there, seemingly pouring some black fluid into her mouth while she slept. Combining this with the diary you find in the house, and you learn that the creatures who’d been living in the water beneath the house were coming up at night to infect the family.

Once you find all the relevant clues, you go through a gateway, to a place you can see ghosts of events that have transpired, and have to put them in order of how they occurred. Using the above example, you find out that the family had been being infected during the night, and the father went to work despite his sickness. Then, after an incubation period, the infection took over and turned them into monsters.

You learn all these clues and stories largely by yourself, with very little in the way of help besides a small interactive dot when you get close enough. There are also illusory walls, which can be difficult to spot but are very satisfying when you do find them, and they reveal even more clues.

There are also archives you can access with your clues. You can access the police, hospital, newspaper, and university archives, all with varying search criteria. You can usually search by district, time period, personnel, and each archive has its own unique 4th option. You choose 3 options (each option also has sub-options) which pertain to your selected clue, and it will give you an excerpt from those archives. For example, I had to find an advert about a ship which was hiring help. So, I went to the newspapers archive and I searched for advertisements, Grimhaven Bay, and civillians. That gave me the excerpt of the advert to help me track down the crewmembers and the captain.

There is combat in the game, although it is rather rudimentary. You can use your trowel to melee attack and (so far) I have two guns: a service pistol and a revolver. Looking at the perks, you can also unlock a shotgun, a hunting rifle, and an army-issue rifle. There are also traps and grenades, as well as first-aid kits and sanity meds. You have to craft ammunition, meds, and gadgets using materials you scavenge from the world, and it’s often worth saving your bullets for when you really need them. A point which the game makes clear.

As well as your basic health bar, you have a sanity bar. Your sanity will slowly drain as you use your supernatural strength, but it will drain much quicker when you’re fighting Wylebeasts, especially the larger variants. At certain points of low sanity, you’ll start to see hallucinations; ghostly apparitions of doctors with no eyes, Wylebeasts, Reed in a straightjackets, and monsters will begin to spawn in the middle of the street to attack you. Using the sanity meds will fill up your bar and make things much easier.

The gunfights, as mentioned before, are bog-basic. You can aim and shoot, and that’s about it. From my experience so far, the revolver seems to do more damage, but can only hold 6 rounds before reloading, whereas the service pistol can hold up to 9 rounds.

The story

So far, the story is great. I’m finding myself eager to find out more about the city and its inhabitants, as well as the secrets it holds. I look forward to finding new investigations and clues, I am surprisingly loving the lack of quest markers, I love how it drags me further into the game. It makes me read the case clues and learn more about the world, makes me pay attention to it, and I love that.

As of yet, I have just finished the first main case, Lost At Sea, where I found the fate of the expedition members and found the undersea cave, where the expedition members have all gone mad. The professor has been kidnapped by Innsmouthers, who I’m assuming still worship Dagon. Oh, just an aside, I love the appearance of the Innsmouthers in this game. They look exactly how I’d imagined them when reading Shadow Over Innsmouth. I’ve finished one of the side investigations, and plan to do more.

I haven’t played many detective games, but this one is absolutely drawing me in. It’s got all the hallmarks of a Lovecraft story, yet there are not a whole lot of tentacles yet, which is a trap that many Lovecraftian adaptations fall into.

Final verdict

The Sinking City is shaping up to be a very engaging and interactive game. I am so far enjoying it thoroughly, and cannot wait to play more!

#The Sinking CIty #Sinking City #Lovecraft #Horror #Mystery #Detective #Game #Games #Video game #Lovecraftian

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chazz-anova · 3 years

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A Little Bit Of Magic - Chapter 1

Fandom: Far Cry 5

Word Count: 1.8k

Summary: Lady Veronica Rook, a wizard turned rogue bounty hunter and part time thief, is approached by one of the King's men on a stormy night to acquire her services. Little does she know, she's setting off on a quest that will change her forever. (Fantasy!AU)

A/N: LITERALLY I saw one picture and that spawned this entire AU lmao, this has been a fun start and I'm excited for the rest of this little mini-series! I hope you all like as well <3

Dancing candlelight casted amorphous shadows on a bare stone wall. In the center of the room, a firepit blazed; warming the bones of weary travelers who sought refuge from a tempest storm brewing outside the walls of the inn.

Barmaids bustled from table to table, bringing stout ale to rowdy patrons. One such patron sat at the short oak bar, nursing a tankard of beer. In front of the customer stood a barkeep who looked rather piqued. “Veronica, every night you sit here and take up space that could be filled by paying customers. Pray tell, what must I do to squeeze some coin from you?” The woman asked, her sunny blonde hair bobbing as she swept a damp rag over the counter.

Across the bar, Veronica looked up from her stein with a smirk as she replied, “You’d just as likely squeeze coin from me as easily as you’d milk a dragon, Mary May. Is there not a special allowance for a friend who’s saved your life twice over?”

“If I’d known your aid would end up costing me damn near a barrel of ale in the long run, I would have gladly thrown myself into the jaws of death!” Mary professed dramatically, a small smile giving her away.

V rose her tankard high, proclaiming “And what you pay in ale, you make back doubly in entertainment!”

With a sigh- the barmaid stashed the rag she’d been holding under the counter. “Well allow me to take my leave, before your entertainment proves to be too much!” Mary May rolled her eyes as she departed to the back storeroom; Veronica always knew how to work her last nerve.

Now left to her own devices, the woman spun in her seat to analyze the other patrons. She hoped with any luck, she could swindle some coin from someone deep in their cups to secure a room for the night. Unfortunately- saving a friend’s life only afforded you free drinks, not free rooms. Having grown up in the streets of the Kingdom of Hope, Veronica trusted her pickpocketing skills; especially in a tavern such as this.

The Splayed Eagle Inn was run by V’s friend, Mary May, and had been her home for the past few months. All types found themselves in this bar, whether they be well-to-do, working class, or a simple ne’er-do-well. Of course- Veronica liked to think she didn’t fit into any of those categories.

Sitting around the main floor of the inn were a few possible targets, and our girl set to sizing up the first; an older man seated in the corner. He wore the garb of the royal guard. His complexion was that of worn leather, and his eyes scanned the room suspiciously. ‘Not a great mark..’ Veronica thought, shifting her gaze to her next person.

The person in question was not a person at all, but rather a dwarf. The short man guzzled beer from his stein greedily, egged on by two more of his kind. Finishing the drink he slammed down his cup and roared in revelry. ‘Though dwarves love gold and these ones would certainly have some coin, perhaps they are a hair too unmanageable for a robbery.’ Considering this, the woman moved down the list.

Just as Veronica was about to size up her next mark, she felt a hand on her shoulder. The blonde turned, expecting to see Mary May had returned to give her more grief. V was surprised to see an unfamiliar face and she immediately went on the defense, shrugging the stranger’s hand off her shoulder. “Can I help you?” Her words dripped with distrust.

The stranger met her eyes with a look of contempt, and V considered grabbing her dagger in case things became dicey. The woman who’d grabbed her shoulder stepped back now, regarding Veronica coldly with dark eyes. She wore a black fur cape with the hood up, obscuring her features, though her greasy black hair hung in matted locks on her shoulders. She lifted her hood to reveal a ghastly scar across her face. “Yes, mage, I do believe you can help me.” The stranger chuckled.

Hearing her true title, Veronica started visibly, but quickly recovered. ‘How does she know? Certainly this wench is no mage, I sense no magic in her! Is she an assassin from the Guild? Gods, Mary May will kill me if I’ve brought such darkness to her doorstep!’ V’s inner monologue was harried, in contrast to her cool voice as she rebuffed, “Mage? Surely you jest! I am but a humble adventurer.”

Spitting at her feet, the woman scoffed. “Save your lies! I already know of you, Lady Veronica, and of your discharge from the Royal Mages Guild. I come seeking your help in regards to your… new vocation.”

“And what would that be?” V continued to be difficult, her tone hostile. She didn’t like how much this woman knew of her.

“Bounty hunting, of course. Or was it not you that the Royal Guard granted a bounty to just a week ago for bringing in one of the Banshee Queen’s sprites?” At this, Veronica’s mouth drew into a thin line. She knew she’d been got. The ravenette shrugged, “I dare not judge, how else is a rogue witch to make any coin these days?” Though she put on a facade of good cheer, something dangerous lurked in her gaze.

A humorless laugh escaped Ronnie and she lifted her chin defiantly, “Even if you speak the truth, why should I help you, hag?”

Smiling cruelly, she retorted “It is not I who requests your service, but your King and country.”

“Well, his Kingly-ness will simply have to bring is ass down here if he truly wants me help!” V laughed, chalking up the woman’s words to a childish prank.

Suddenly- the stranger closed the short distance between them and the mage felt the tip of a blade threatening to pierce her gut. “I would recommend a modicum of respect for King Dutch. As his bodyguard, I may feel inclined to defend his honor.”

Under her breath, Veronica murmured ancient arcane words and a ball of flames appeared in her spread palm near the woman’s head. “And I may feel inclined to worsen your scar if you do not back away.” She growled the threat, feeling a rush of relief when the King’s bodyguard moved away. She would rather not release a fan of fire in her friend’s bar.

Sheathing her dagger, the woman took a breath. “Let us start over. I am Jess Black, bodyguard and right hand to King Dutch Roosevelt.” She gave a stately bow along with her title.

“Well Lady Black, what would you have of me?” V asked, voice laden with suspicion. Though she preferred to seek her own bounties, a requisition from the King was sure to bring decent coin.

As they began to discuss business, Jess took a seat next to Veronica and spoke vaguely. “Our ruler would have you retrieve a package for him, for a hefty reward.” When the mage said nothing, she continued, “I cannot divulge the details- but you will find what you need in the hamlet of Fall’s End with a cleric named Jerome.”

“Am I expected to go forward with such little information?” She shook her head in disbelief, finally finishing her drink.

“You are expected to do as our ruler bids! I have told you all I know.”

Veronica’s brow furrowed as she probed, “Surely his majesty has sent some sort of incentive, if it is truly he who sent you!”

Jess sighed heavily, producing a leather pouch from the folds of her cape. She set it on the bar with a clink, and V grabbed it immediately. “Gods, there must be nearly forty gold here!” She exclaimed, counting it out quickly.

“Our benefactor has put this forward as a downpayment of sorts, with the promise of more once he’s gotten his package. On the condition that you leave immediately.” Jess asserted with a nod.

The blonde eyed the gold hungrily- knowing she was on hard times. “Well if my kingdom needs me, who am I to resist the call? Though surely ‘immediately’ could mean ‘first thing in the morn’, with his Highness’s mercy?”

Putting a hand on the pouch of gold, the ravenette shook her head. “I must insist on your departure this night, King Roosevelt wishes for no delay in your meeting with Jerome.”

For a moment Veronica’s gaze shifted from Jess back to the pouch of gold, but she relented with a sigh. “It will take me a moment to prepare myself, and I shall make haste.”

Jess gave a rare smile, acquiescing “Your speed is most appreciated.” She turned to the back wall of the bar then, wondering aloud, “Where is the damn barkeep?”

With their conversation over and coin now heavy in her pocket, V slipped behind the bar to the back office where she’d stashed her travel pack.

Mary May’s office was small but tidy, featuring a large desk and business ledger. Sitting there was Mary herself, counting out coin into the safe next to the desk. Next to the safe was Veronica’s beige backpack, which May let her stash in the office during business hours. Hearing her footsteps, the blonde turned away from her safe to face V. “Ah, come to retrieve your loot without buying a room to store it in first? You must have gotten yourself a job.”

A smile crossed Veronica’s features, showing pearly white teeth. “You know me well friend, I must be off immediately unfortunately, so it would appear you’ll save some ale tonight yet!” She crossed the threshold into the room, leaning over the other to grab her sack.

“My, it must be an illustrious one to cause you to abandon a perfectly good night of drinking!” She chuckled.

This made the blonde stop a moment as she considered telling her friend the details. Thinking better of it, she instead said, “Nothing so fancy! I should be back in a week at the latest, try not to miss me too much!” Giving Mary May a chuckle., Before Veronica was fully out the door, she leaned back to say quickly “And be sure to give your worst service to the raven-haired patron sitting at the bar!”

V slung her sack across her back, weaving through Mary May’s drunken customers towards the front door. Once she cleared the room, she turned back one last time and saw Jess staring at her as she departed. The look on her face gave her chills.

The heavy door to the Splayed Eagle Inn opened with a prolonged creak, and gave way to a gust of wind that caused the mage to pull her cloak closer around her. She stepped foot into the deluge outside and hustled into the treeline, taking her first steps towards facing an evil she couldn’t begin to imagine.

#fc5 #far cry 5 #veronica rook #jess black #mary may fairgrave #my writing #fantasy!au #a little bit of magic

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tawakkull · 3 years

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ISLAM 101: Spirituality in Islam: Part 78

Chaos and the mystical world of faith

Today, everyone breathes resentment, swallows hatred, curses all that is deemed to be an enemy with a fixed and determined passion, as if programmed for fury. The ink that flows on the pages of newspapers, the pictures that are broadcasted over the television, the electromagnetic waves that resonate on the radio scratch our ears like illomened screams emitting from a variety of places—in the mountains or on the water, in the valleys or up in the hills; they strike our eyes like photographs that make us shudder and they open wounds in our hearts. These epics of hate that we hear of day and night and that startle us, all these illomened screams, make us sick at heart, and yet the people who seek a cure for these ills are few indeed. Their thoughts go in different directions, but they always seem to arrive at the same point: money, financial prosperity, and success.

… emotions base, desire consuming The meaning that flows over from the gaze is full of contempt for the subject of God. Akif

Very few are exempt from such a turbulent point of view; no difference remains between what is collective and what is not, between capitalism and communism and no difference remains between these and liberalism. The distance in nature—between those who attach their lives to the considerations of eating and drinking, resting, and earning money, having a good time in general, and, other beings who are obliged due to the unchanging character of their nature—becomes smaller day by day. The basic differences between the two sides vanish into thin air one by one, and humanity seeks new directions, despite its own nature.

Religion, piety, morals, free thought, our own perceptions of art are thought little of; power has become so ulcerated as to be unrecognizable, fantasy has taken on the image of ideas and these disagreeable ideas are being forced upon others. Indeed, I have to say that I have a hard time understanding the inner drama of such a terrible fanaticism. Nowadays, when enlightenment has become widespread, when intellectualism is at its apex, the fact that science and ignorance should meet at the same spot, contrary to the distance that one would expect to exist between them, suggests a dark complicity and makes the existence of a serious problem obvious. Such a contradiction gives us the impression that the emotional will of some people is miles ahead of their intellectual and logical will.

I believe that in such a dark period, when opposites have become intertwined, when in different sections of society chaos is heaped upon chaos, when dark acts of different origins have darkened the face of the Earth, when what is underground reigns over what is above, when polemics and dialectics have become so popular with so many, when hearsay, especially through the use of media, is welcomed as acceptable merchandise, when the lives of others has begun to be the sustenance of our existence, when the soul of unity has been shaken and different groups are scattered everywhere, when hopes are shattered and wills are paralyzed, when souls give up the fight against desire, there is a burning need to turn toward our own spiritual sphere and listen to our own inner world, to tear ourselves from the dark atmosphere of the bodily realm and sail into the magical atmosphere of a hearty and spiritual life. Those who do not fall into lethargy and return to themselves as soon as possible will feel the magic and charm of their own inner world; the unfortunate who fail to return and remain in between, or who remain on the other side, continue to resent, hate, slander, lie, and feel contempt, they continue in the dissolution and obstinate disagreement which they have practiced until this day, and even in climates where the sun continues to shine they will dream of dark things, they will mutter dark thoughts, always seeking dark places in which to hide and dark corners in which to live.

One hopes that they would be able to feel the joy of the blessed days and nights that we experience, when showers of light reach everywhere. One hopes they too would abandon the heresy, atheism, dissension, and sedition in their hearts and that they would be able to respect the chosen understanding and stance of every single soul! Maybe one day these wishes will be fulfilled, but the selfproclaimed enemies of God, the prophets, religion and piety—once having breathed nothing but materialism, having gone into a frenzy denying divinity, and having plunged into the quicksand of anarchy and nihilism—will never be able to breathe this reviving air. Oh dear Lord, had you only made yourself known to them and released the chains from their hearts!

In every community and society there are people who are inclined to abandon their faith and there have been many times when such people have spun out of control; other communities and societies do not have such powerful places to seek refuge when faced by these abysses and weaknesses as we have. Indeed, they have thoughts which soothe, beliefs which reconcile, days and nights which tremble with joy, festivals and carnivals; but, these days, these nights, these festivals, these carnivals are devoid of any holiness. They are like fireworks, shining for a moment and then are gone, giving only instantaneous pleasure; they are ephemeral and physical, not promising anything in the way of spiritual joy. Indeed, in their worlds you cannot feel the greatness of faith to God, nor can you feel that souls are free from the boundaries of time and space; everything starts with a false and transitory happiness, and takes place in a delirium of flesh. All is then transformed into painful memories, regrettable dreams, and disappointed hopes, and finally everything simply disappears.

In this spiritual atmosphere where we are closely bound to God, every sound, every word, every action is felt like a nursery rhyme and listened to like a melody. These shower down upon us like the rain; we soak up the bounties of these showers. The moon changes its form every night, as if signaling particular times and happy hours, the sun moves to a new spot on the horizon at every dawn, awakening our feelings and thoughts in a new period of time, causing our dreams to follow it, presenting memories to us that resemble the river Kawthar, promised to us in Heaven. The past becomes like a veil of many colors draped before our eyes, the happy future is the apex of our dreams, waiting for us with open arms and we, who have been freed from the narrow confines of time, live the multiplicity of yesterdaytodaytomorrow simultaneously and, like the angels, feel all the joys of surpassing time. It is impossible for those who are not fed from the same source as we, those who do not share the same feelings and thoughts as us, to feel and understand the holy depths in which we lose ourselves or the happiness and joy that we sip like the rivers of Paradise.

Our faith, our horizons of thought, and our manner—characteristics of the fortunate, but at the same time belonging to a littlewronged nation of this part of the world—have become, through being formed and reformed in the mold of the collective personality, greatly refined and adorned with universal values; this is a situation that exists in no other community; this is so much so that those who spend time with us need not stay long to be aware of this difference. The truth is that in these differences, the holy sadness of our hearts and the enthusiasm of our souls, like water running between the rocks, is felt and heard. Indeed, those who listen to what we have to say always hear the melodies of the pain of separation voiced along with hope; they hear the notes of reunion, of the sweet and eternal search for home in our intonation and manner. Indeed, while on the one hand we murmur “Oh, cup bearer, I have burnt in the flames of love, give me a cup of water,” on the other we say “I have dipped my finger in and tasted the honey of love, give me a cup of water,” and thus we are able to turn our grief into smiles. Our tongues speak sometimes of love and sometimes of weariness; though love and weariness cause pain to others, in them we always hear, like Rumi, the poem of longing for the realm that we have left to come here. Love and weariness to us are like a plea from the tongue of the soul, stemming from a sorrowful desire for eternity. Since our beliefs and feelings take us to the magical worlds of beyond, we almost always feel sadness and joy intertwined; we hear the sounds of crying and laughing as different notes of the same melody. We respond to the troubled heaving of our breasts with smiles on our faces, as our eyes overflow with tears, our conscience takes upon a red hue with the roses of the Iram[1] gardens.

Even though it may not be easy for every individual, our connection to God is the most natural attitude that we can adopt; our relation with Him is like a spell that transforms all the moments of our life into enthusiasm and joy. Our hearts that beat with feelings toward Him fill and refill with the dream of this gaze; we are able to live through the bitterest autumns in our hearts because we have the joy of spring. Our souls adopt the most enviable attitudes with instincts of particular feelings and joy that are the result of our connection with the AllGlorious One; thus transformed, they make us feel a refreshed enthusiasm, a new opening and revelation, even at moments when we are filled with sadness and grief. Pleasure or sadness, revelation or sorrow, all these emotions undergo metamorphoses in our hearts that beat with faith and speak to us of the most natural pleasures and the most realistic expectations. It is a fact that we, too, experience interconnected moments of ease and hardship, sweet weeks and bitter days, light and darkness which come and pass, like day and night. However, we sip the unsurpassable benevolence and joys from the hands of all these tribulations, because we have our beliefs, our connection to the Just One and our hopes! Those who do not recognize the trials and pleasures to be the product of the same will writhe in neverending agony, while in our own atmosphere we see clearly that everything will be transformed into deep compassion. Taste a whole life, with its bitter and sweet facets like Kawthar, in everything that we eat and drink, at every place that we inhabit, with all the beautifully divine discoveries of our own inner world, with all of their different wavelengths, feel our sorrows shrink in the face of happiness, feel our pain melt away in pleasure and feel how our lives flow into glazed cisterns in a spectrum of colors. Our mortality is transformed into eternity; we exude smiles even when we cry.

In our world, the beliefs and the expectations that emerge from the heart of those beliefs are so intertwined with our lives that each chapter of our lives lends us the wings of the station of prayer and takes us to the gate of the Hereafter. It takes us there and lets our hearts drink of the beauties of heaven. In this way, we feel as if we are inhaling the scents of heaven. Even if we should let ourselves be swept along by our daily lives, the calls for prayer, songs that exalt God, the various sounds of prayer, the recitation of the names of God, those who give Him thanks, calling out His Uniqueness, letting this spill from the windows of the mosques, all draw us to their climate; they paint our souls with their hues, they give a tambourlike voice to our hearts, they make them sigh like a flute and excite them with the happiness of music. These sounds excite our souls and we are charmed by the mysteries pertaining to God, the charm of these mysteries which comes galloping from the depths of our inner world and which spreads to all our senses, this charm which tints the gardens of heaven in our thoughts and which flows past our lips like cascades of inspiration. Thus charmed, we stand awestruck.

This charm, this recognition of the mysteries pertaining to God, reaches a higher level on the blessed days and nights when limitless abundance and bounty are showered upon us. This is true to such an extent that everything around us ascends in a state of joy, every corner takes on a spiritual hue and the excitement of our souls, aiming at metaphysical destinations, reaches its apex, or in Sufi terms, our souls reach the highest heaven of maturity. To the degree that we can hear and listen to what is all around us, we too, rejoice like children who feel as if they are in the fair grounds of joy; thus we experience the happiness and joy of a feast day.

In such a world, the dawn flows into our houses from the doors and windows like an awaited guest; the evening comes into our private chambers like a lover and sits by us; the night clings to us with its associations of reunion with the Confidant; and in every valley hands are raised up toward Him in prayer, ready to receive the gifts that will come from Him, assuming a state of metaphysical tension with the power of the soul, sighing, saying “Hold my hand dear Confidant, hold it, for I cannot do without You.”

In such a world, the prayer roars like the booming voices of Gulbang hymns[2] and echo like the voice and breath of the divine depths; the warm solitude of the night envelopes our souls like silk; our pulses beat with the excitement of one who has received good tidings. Perhaps some of us keep singing His praises, come rain or shine, like the nightingale that breaks its heart in an effort to express the ideal rhythm for its emotions with the most touching of sounds. In a word, everyone is humming a melody with neverending agony and joy, neverfading love and excitement, listening to the shivering of their souls and letting others hear it too. Everyone sighs with the fever of love and makes other people feel it too. Yes, as they reflect on the excitement in their souls and the inspiration of their hearts, expressing themselves one last time, they become the mouthpiece for the feelings shared by all and they are able to speak of the hidden meanings that they want to speak of but fail to verbalize.

The horizon of living yesterdaytodaytomorrow at the same time with such a degree of faith and hope, of love and recognition of the mysteries that pertain to God gives such a depth to life that each heart in the orbit of the hereafter finds itself wrapped up in the melodious harmony of emotions and ideas and is freed from the limiting, stifling effects of matter. I believe that the strongest basis of all human relations, the purest source of all pleasures, and the fountain of all love, longing, attraction, and gravity is this faith and hope. Every disciple of the heart who attains this faith and hope can experience and feel the state of being outside of time, with the ability to sense all of its depths.

Indeed, to the extent that one can attain this view, one can feel existence in a different manner, evaluate things in a different way and melt in on oneself with the color, taste, aroma and accent of manifestations from the Eternal; these attributes pervade everything and people can reach a second existence with a new “birth after death.”[3] During such joyful hours, when the internal gaze is focused on that which is behind the visual scene of existence, one feels all the joys of being. One feels as if one has taken a shower in wisdom, as if one is freed from the weight of all things that are alien to one. The distant heavens shower blessings down upon these hearts, hearts thirsty for love and galloping with longing and affection; all hearts that live in fear of drying up are quenched. Celestial flowers flourish in these showers adorned with dreams!

Some of us may not be able to comprehend the state—a state which becomes a succession of struggle (to come over the darkness with its all connotation) and dawn—of these people of faith and horizon; but all these are phenomena of the heart, soul and emotions. Living through the countless revelations of life, no one but the active heroes of the dawn and of the great strife can understand this love, enthusiasm, poetry, and music poured into our souls by the Eternal One. Those who do not understand this will not be able to understand us, either. Those who remain distant to this fine and delicate life live in the darkness of this distance, while the comprehension of those who have found a position from where they can view the truth in such a way that it appears as obvious as it really is always feel this gift in all its wavelengths, sip it like the rivers of Paradise and live their earthly lives as if in Heaven.

Who knows how many more times we will speak of this neverending pleasure and joy, in the delight of a festival, of a feast day! How ever many more times we may speak of it—the faults of the speaker’s mode of expression aside—we will still listen with pleasure and try to share it with others.

[1] A place mentioned in the Qur’an (al Fajr 89:7-8), “… the city of Iram, with lofty pillars; the like of which were not produced in all the land.” [2] Hymns sung in the mosque in unison by the congregation. [3] The change communicated along these lines is not to be related to reincarnational notions.

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vajranam · 4 years

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How To Use Your Dharma Practice

A s regards the method of acquiring practical spiritual knowledge, if you find a certain practice increases your evil passions and tends you toward selfishness, abandon it, though it may appear to others virtuous. And if any course of action tends to counteract your evil passions, and to benefit sentient beings, know that to be the true and holy path, and continue it, even though it should appear to others to be sinful.

Milarepa

A dharma practice is here to help us to realise our true nature of mind, but the most important part of dharma practice is capture and cancel our ego clinging.

We also confuse Dharma the teaching and Dharma practice, without the teachings we wont be able to practice the dharma

The 37 Bodhisattvas practice explain us how we need to turn our mind to the teaching.

Namo Lokesvaraya

You who see that experience has no coming or going,

Yet pour your energy solely into helping beings,

My excellent teachers and Lord All Seeing,

I humbly and constantly honor with my body, speech, and mind.

The fully awake, the buddhas, source of joy and well-being,

All come from integrating the noble Way.

Because integration depends on your knowing how to practice,

I will explain the practice of all bodhisattvas.

Right now, you have a good boat, fully equipped and available — hard to find.

To free others and you from the sea of samsara,

Day and night, fully alert and present,

Study, reflect, and meditate — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Attraction to those close to you catches you in its currents;

Aversion to those who oppose you burns inside;

Indifference that ignores what needs to be done is a black hole.

Leave your homeland — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Don’t engage disturbances and reactive emotions gradually fade away;

Don’t engage distractions and spiritual practice naturally grows;

Keep awareness clear and vivid and confidence in the way arises.

Rely on silence — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

You will separate from long-time friends and relatives;

You will leave behind the wealth you worked to build up;

The guest, your consciousness, will move from the inn, your body.

Forget the conventional concerns — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

With some friends, the three poisons keep growing,

Study, reflection, and meditation weaken,

And loving kindness and compassion fall away.

Give up bad friends — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

With some teachers, your shortcomings fade away and

Abilities grow like the waxing moon.

Hold such teachers dear to you,

Dearer than your own body — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Locked up in the prison of their own patterning

Whom can ordinary gods protect?

Who can you count on for refuge?

Go for refuge in the Three Jewels — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

The suffering in the lower realms is really hard to endure.

The Sage says it is the result of destructive actions.

For that reason, even if your life is at risk,

Don’t engage in destructive actions — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

The happiness of the three worlds disappears in a moment,

Like a dewdrop on a blade of grass.

The highest level of freedom is one that never changes.

Aim for this — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

If all your mothers, who love you,

Suffer for time without beginning, how can you be happy?

To free limitless sentient beings,

Give rise to awakening mind — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

All suffering comes from wanting your own happiness.

Complete awakening arises from the intention to help others.

So, exchange completely your happiness

For the suffering of others — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Even if someone, driven by desperate want,

Steals, or makes someone else steal, everything you own,

Dedicate to him your body, your wealth, and

All the good you’ve ever done or will do — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Even if you have done nothing wrong at all

And someone still tries to take your head off,

Spurred by compassion,

Take all his or her evil into you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Even if someone broadcasts to the whole universe

Slanderous and ugly rumors about you,

In return, with an open and caring heart,

Praise his or her abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Even if someone humiliates you and denounces you

In front of a crowd of people,

Think of this person as your teacher

And humbly honor him — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Even if a person you have cared for as your own child

Treats you as his or her worst enemy,

Lavish him or her with loving attention

Like a mother caring for her ill child — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Even if your peers or subordinates,

Put you down to make themselves look better,

Treat them respectfully as you would your teacher:

Put them above you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

When you are down and out, held in contempt,

Desperately ill, and emotionally crazed,

Don’t lose heart. Take into you

The suffering and negativity of all beings — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Even when you are famous, honored by all,

And as rich as the god of wealth himself,

Don’t be pompous. Know that the magnificence of existence

Has no substance — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

If you don’t subdue the opponent inside, your own anger,

Although you subdue opponents outside, they just keep coming.

Muster the forces of loving kindness and compassion

And subdue your own mind — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Sensual pleasures are like salty water:

The deeper you drink, the thirstier you become.

Any object that you attach to,

Right away, let it go — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Whatever arises in experience is your own mind.

Mind itself is free of any conceptual limitations.

Know that and don’t generate

Subject-object fixations — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

When you come across something you enjoy,

Though beautiful to experience, like a summer rainbow,

Don’t take it as real.

Let go of attachment — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

All forms of suffering are like dreaming that your child has died.

Taking confusion as real wears you out.

When you run into misfortune,

Look at it as confusion — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

If those who want to be awake have to give even their bodies,

What need is there to talk about things that you simply own.

Be generous, not looking

For any return or result — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

If you can’t tend to your needs because you have no moral discipline,

Then intending to take care of the needs of others is simply a joke.

Observe ethical behavior without concern

For conventional existence — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

For bodhisattvas who want to be rich in virtue

A person who hurts you is a precious treasure.

Cultivate patience for everyone,

Completely free of irritation or resentment — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Listeners and solitary buddhas, working only for their own welfare,

Are seen to practice as if their heads were on fire.

To help all beings, pour your energy into practice:

It’s the source of all abilities — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Understanding that emotional reactions are dismantled

By insight supported by stillness,

Cultivate meditative stability that passes right by

The four formless states — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Without wisdom, the five perfections

Are not enough to attain full awakening.

Cultivate wisdom, endowed with skill

And free from the three domains — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

If you don’t go into your own confusion,

You may just be a materialist in practitioner’s clothing.

Constantly go into your own confusion

And put an end to it — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

You undermine yourself when you react emotionally and

Grumble about the imperfections of other bodhisattvas.

Of the imperfections of those who have entered the Great Way,

Don’t say anything — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

When you squabble with others about status and rewards,

You undermine learning, reflection, and meditation.

Let go of any investment in your family circle

Or the circle of those who support you — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Abusive language upsets others

And undermines the ethics of a bodhisattva.

So, don’t upset people or

Speak abusively — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

When reactive emotions acquire momentum, it’s hard to make remedies work.

A person in attention wields remedies like weapons,

Crushing reactive emotions such as craving

As soon as they arise — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

In short, in everything you do,

Know what is happening in your mind.

By being constantly present and aware

You bring about what helps others — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

To dispel the suffering of beings without limit,

With wisdom freed from the three spheres

Direct all the goodness generated by these efforts

To awakening — this is the practice of a bodhisattva.

Following the teachings of the holy ones

On what is written in the sutras, tantras, and commentaries,

I set out these thirty-seven practices of a bodhisattva

For those who intend to train in this path.

Because I have limited intelligence and little education,

These verses are not the kind of poetry that delights the learned.

But because I relied on the teachings of the sutras and the revered

I am confident that The Practices of a Bodhisattva is sound.

However, because it’s hard for a person with limited intelligence like me

To fathom the depths of the great waves of the activity of bodhisattvas,

I ask the revered to tolerate

Any mistakes — contradictions, non sequiturs, and such.

From the goodness of this work, may all beings,

Through the supreme mind that is awake to what is ultimately and apparently true,

Not rest in any limiting position — existence or peace:

May they be like Lord All Seeing.

Tokmé, the monk, a teacher of scripture and logic, composed this text in a cave near the town of Ngülchu Rinchen for his own and others’ benefit

This the first step just before practice turning our mind away of samsara.

Second part we must develop three steps very important.

Renounciation: to be able to practice the right way , we need renounce to samsara

Bodhichitta: mind of unconditional love and compassion

The right view : aiming to liberate all being losing self grasping

Knowing how to practice the dharma how we take a practice, some of us think the vehicle we are isnt important. Well to take the right practice is like taking the right medicine , if you had flue taking a tea wont do much, but if you take flue medicine that will help us more.

Mahayana practice are able to become Vajrayana too it depends on our views and bodhicitta.

Vajrayana practices are radically different some got inside practices of the practice and more.

Lets say that years we been practicing Chenrezig and we still not having compassion and our tendency still the same well its time to change.

What do we mean by discovering or rediscovering our true nature means, get rib of all egotistical constructions, become more selfless.

#spirituality #wisdom #mindfulness #meditation #religion #buddhism #self care #visualization #zen #tibet

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scullysexual · 4 years

Text

{untitled post col fic: 3}

Season 9 canon-divergence. 2002 becomes the last documented year. The Colonists come and wreak havoc over everything that was once known and normal. From buildings being blown up to certain parts of the world not in existence anymore. When a simple patrol assignment goes wrong, Mulder finds himself bargaining his way to the top while Scully sinks lower and lower.

Chapter One // Chapter Two // AO3

I have a summary!

@today-in-fic @mypanicface let me know if you want to be tagged.

- - -

Chapter Three.

The end of the road that the Hoover Building sits on his blocked off. What Mulder feared has happened, smoke fills the air. Police cars, fire trucks, and ambulances speed down towards the building, people gather around wondering what is going on. It’s the third, fourth, fifth, maybe even tenth high power building to go down.

As soon the car is parked, Scully is unbuckling her seatbelt and climbs out of the car, Mulder not too far behind her. It may be a weekend but people still work, they would’ve been working if they hadn’t decided they deserved a weekend off.

That realisation gives her pause.

In the chaos of all the people, in the police that shout and tell civilians to back away, Scully can see a few staff have made it out but not all them.

In the thick of it, Scully spies Skinner. She sighs with relief, running towards the ambulance he sits in. His head is cut from bits of debris that fell but other than that he looks well.

“Aren’t you two glad you took the weekend off,” he says when he sees them.

The Hoover Building sits in a pile of rubble. Paper flies down. Desks and computers and other furniture sits against the bricks and metal, if Scully looks dark enough she’s sure she can see a body or ten buried beneath it all.

“It is Terrorism?” Scully asks. 9/11 only just happened the year before.

“They don’t know,” says Skinner. “There’s been reports all morning of buildings of power going down. You heard about the White House?”

Scully nods.

“We started evacuating as soon as,” Skinner continues. “We thought we’d have time then boom!”

Scully looks back towards the rubble.

“Do they know how many are dead?”

Skinner shakes his head. “But I know we didn’t get even half out.”

Another AD calls Skinner over. Mulder, who has been looking at the sky the whole time says.

“I think it’s happening, Scully.”

“What’s happening?” She’s barely listening instead staring at the place she spent more time in than she did at home.

“I think it’s beginning.”

It sinks in then what he’s saying to her. She turns to see him looking at her and she lets out a shaky breath.

“You mean the colonisation?”

He nods and looks around at the people who still linger, watching.

“Think people will listen to us now?”

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

He stays up all night, wondering what to do.

Scully sleeps beside him, tossing and turner. Just getting her to sleep had been a handful. A red portable radio sits in the living room and tells them each day of more destruction, more violence. Scully was worried. Tales of people taking others in just to hand them over. The word slave was being thrown around, from labour to breeder, there was no doubt in Mulder’s mind that he and Scully would be separated.

He would not turn them in.

Which begged the question of where could they go? Apartment blocks were being searched, people being dragged out and hauled into vans. They couldn’t stay here much longer.

Mulder lays down, just as confused and lost as he was two hours ago. He rolls onto his side, coming back to face with Scully. Even in her sleep she’s just as restless and puzzled as he is, her face contorting and tiny gasps exiting her open mouth.

A piece of hair has fallen across her face, absentmindedly Mulder’s fingers brush it back.

How long do they have, he wonders? How long could they run for? Was it even possible? They were able to blow up buildings from satellites Scully was adamant did not exist, surely those same satellites could follow them, track them, and thus lead the Colonist to them.

Whatever their solution was Mulder would fight for their freedom. He will not let them come complacent in this new world.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.

One by one they blow up state after state. Leaving parts or leaving none at all. They hear it unfold through radios that are still able to catch a signal.

Scully listens to their portable radio, shaking from the cold, her knees tucked towards her chest. Home is gone and they seek refuge in abandoned buildings. Their options limited, staying with people too dangerous as they risk capture, anyone looking to be in the Colonists’ good books for handing refugees over.

The radio is her access to this new world now. She listens each day to the number of humans taken prisoner. Mainly, she’s listening out for her mother’s name, her brother and sister-in-law’s, their children, her nephews but there is nothing. Names are rarely mentioned, mainly it’s just numbers, and those numbers rise higher and higher each day.

The sound of a door opens and Scully lowers the volume on the radio, grips hold of her service weapon. Rationally, she knows who it is but still as the shadow approaches she aims the gun higher, finger on the trigger, ready to pull.

“It’s me,” comes Mulder’s voice. He holds their dinner in his hands- tins.

Scully puts her gun down and lays her head against her knees again, turning the volume back up.

Mulder eyes the radio with contempt and hatred.

“Listening to the radio again?” he says as he opens the tin.

Scully says nothing.

“It’s not doing you any favours.” He grabs their bowls, pouring the cold beans into them and hands it towards Scully.

“I don’t want beans.”

“Just don’t want beans.” He sounds irritated. “Right. Would you like me to magic a chicken for you?”

Scully clutches her knees closer to her chest as his irritation makes way for anger.

“How about some bacon and eggs?” he asks, his sarcasm cutting through. “Or better, a tutti-fruity dreamsicle?”

She doesn’t answer and her silence seems to anger him more. His eyes now blazing, he picks up her bowl of beans and hurls it across the room where it shatters against the wall.

The action brings tears to Scully’s eyes, a slight whimper that has Mulder turning. Maybe it’s the way she looks; small, cold, and wet, her hair a curly, tangled mess, clothes dirty and pinned to her body that makes him regret his actions yet there is no move to comfort her. This…thing has driven a wedge between them, one that doesn’t look like it’s going anywhere any time soon.

Mulder’s eyes move from the radio to the gun. He sighs and picks up his own gun, his bag and makes his way towards the exit, his own bowl of beans left discarded on the floor.

.:.:.:.:.:.:.:.

She’s asleep when he returns, wrapped up in a sleeping bag. The radio plays static and Mulder reaches over to switch it off completely. An empty bowl of beans next to it.

She moves in her sleep, a tiny gasp escaping her open mouth. A stray hair has fallen and Mulder brushes it aside, tucking it behind her ear.

The movement wakes her.

She looks at him with eyes not fully open and Mulder smiles softly however Scully gives him an unsure look.

“It’s okay,” he whispers. “I’m okay. We’re okay.”

“Where did you go?” she croaks, rolling over, her eyes closing.

His hand combs through her hair.

“Just for a walk,” he says. “I didn’t go far.”

“Hmm…”

He knows he should apologise but apologies don’t come easy to them anymore. Sorry means it won’t happen again and they know it will happen again.

“I see you ate the beans after all,” he says with a smile.

“I got hungry…”

He lays beside her properly, not letting go of her and instead of an apology tells her.

“I will try, Scully. I’ll try to do better but please promise me you’ll stop with the radio.”

Her eyes open again, big and blue, and sad, so, so sad.

“I don’t know if I can promise that.”

He smiles again, expecting as much.

“Try for me, please?”

She looks away, her tongue comes out to lick her lips and then she looks at him and nods.

“Thank you,” he answers kissing her forehead.

They sleep wrapped up in each other and when morning comes, the radio stays off. They eat canned fruits for breakfast, pack up their stuff, and head off to their next destination, they’re relationship and little more healed.

#post col sad angsty fic #chapter 3 #i write

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takerfoxx · 4 years

Text

The Owl House, Season 1, Episode 7, “Lost in Language,” First Impressions!

...I see what you did there.

I gotta stop forgetting to do these.

So the last time I had difficultly finding really much to talk about. Here, there is no such problem, since they’re focusing on the main reason I checked this show out.

Lumity, basically.

You know, it’s interesting watching shows by people who are pretty fan savvy, people who know what their fans will probably do and decide to just lean into it.

So going in, you cannot tell me that they didn’t already know that Luz x Amity was going to be the number one ship and go, “You know what? Let’s skip all the episodes of Luz’s rival being a nasty jerk and just cut to the sympathetic character building and friendship material!”

Thank you.

Anyway, the plot! Eda has several overdue library books but can’t return them in person because she’s been shanghaied into looking after the Bat Queen’s baby (for some reason), and there’s so much money on the line that there’s no way she’s going to turn that down. And since the baby in question is such a loud handful, Luz volunteers to return them for her just to get out of the way.

Anyway, while she’s wandering around enjoying the magical library, she runs into none other Amity Blight, who is...reading to little kids!

D’aw.

And of course when Luz sees her, she goes all tsun tsun and claims it’s just for extra credit.

D’AW!

Anyway, that’s when we meet none other than Amity’s older siblings, Emira and Edric. And as it turns out, they’re...well, I’ll reserve judgment. They seem cool, but they also do some really mean things to Amity, but then...well, as an older sibling myself, I cannot claim I was much better at that age, so we’ll wait to see how they shape out.

Anyway, they latch onto Luz pretty quick, and it kinda highlights something that’s been amusing me about this show.

Basically no one gives a shit that Luz is a human, and she isn’t even bothering to hide it.

Like, the worst she gets is some mild contempt from a few jerks, but other than that, most people are like, “Oh, a human? Neat.” I thought they were going to have to keep her species a closely guarded secret because she would get arrested and/or eaten. But no. She’s like, basically a novelty. And it’s honestly kind of hilarious.

Also, I mentioned what I thought Amity’s family dynamic might be, and while we don’t know what her parents are like, we at least know how the siblings work. She’s the upright, rules-respecting kid, while they’re the more trollish, mischievous older siblings.

Anyway, Emira and Edric take a shine to Luz (mainly because it annoys Amity) and invite her to come do older teen mischief stuff, which she is all about.

And that involves sneaking into the library during a special magical event, which turns out to be an effect that brings the contents of books to life when you open them, which of course they just go hog wild with. I admit, I was a little bummed that they didn’t go full Pagemaster with the idea, but that probably would’ve broken the animation budget.

But as it turns out, their real reason for sneaking into the library is that Amity actually has a hidden refuge there, one filled with books. And they want to find her diary and use it to make fun of her.

Well, that’s just mean!

But Luz is the one who finds it (by accident), and in the same book series that she’s gaga about, as it turns out Amity is also a closeted fan!

Anyway, as one might expect, Amity shows up, chews everyone out, Luz tries to apologize and make thing right, Amity’s having none of it, but then the magic animates Amity’s favorite childhood book character all twisted due to her older siblings’ doodling on the page and she and Luz need to team up to save each other, so bonding moment.

And Luz lets her borrow the next book in the series. D’aw.

Anyway, we seem full steam ahead for Lumity. I truly doubt that they’ll actually become a legit couple like Adora and Catra, but I also know that the showrunners know exactly what they’re doing and will do everything short of having them kiss.

Also, it’s nice that Eda actually got to keep the money at the end, though that death whistle is definitely going to come up later.

#the owl house #luz #luz the human #amity blight #lumity #edric blight #emira blight #eda the owl witch #reaction #lost in language

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lifeofresulullah · 3 years

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The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): First Migration, the Year of Sorrow, the Splitting of the Moon

The Messenger of Allah Continues Conveying the Message

The Holy Prophet (PBUH) felt lonely after the death of our mother, Hazrat Khadija. Both our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and his companions were aware of this situation.

One day, Hazrat Uthman bin Maz’un’s wife, Lady Hawla, came to the presence of our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and said, “O Allah’s Apostle! When I came to your presence I suddenly sensed Khadijah’s absence.”

To which our Holy Prophet (PBUH) replied, “Yes, she was the mother of my children as well as the guardian of my home,” signifying that Hazrat Khadija’s transition to the eternal world had left a gap.

Upon this talk of the (pbuh), Hawla binti Hakim said, “Oh Allah’s Apostle! Would you like to get married?”

The Prophet said, “Whom?”

“To Abu Bakr’s daughter, Aisha, or Sawda bint Zama…”

After this dialogue, the Messenger of Allah said to Hawla, “Go and talk to both of them on behalf of me!”

Upon this, Lady Hawla rushed to Hazrat Abu Bakr’s home. Umm Ruman, Hazrat Aisha’s mother, was there.

“O Umm Ruman, do you know what blessings and benevolence Allah has granted you?”

Lady Ruman asked, “What?” Lady Hawla replied, “Allah’s Apostle (PBUH) has sent me to ask for Aisha’s hand in marriage”.

Since Hazrat Abu Bakr was not at home at that time, Umm Ruman did not give any answer to Hawla. She said, “Wait till Abu Bakr comes home.”

When Hazrat Abu Bakr came, Hawla asked in the same manner, “O Abu Bakr, do you know what blessings and benevolence Allah has granted you?”

Abu Bakr replied, “What are they?”

Hawla replied, “Allah’s Apostle has sent me to ask for Aisha’s hand in marriage.”

After thinking for some time, Hazrat Abu Bakr asked, “Considering that Aisha is his brother’s daughter, would it be permissible for him to marry her?”

Hawla immediately returned to our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) presence and explained the situation to him. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) answered: “Return to Abu Bakr. Tell him that “me being your brother and you being mine (does not include siblinghood through blood and milk) is brotherhood in Islam. For that reason, your daughter is lawful for me.”

When Hawla returned and made this known, Hazrat Abu Bakr’s worries were lifted. He engaged and wed his daughter Hazrat Aisha to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) in the month of Shawwal. However, the wedding was postponed until a later date.

The Prophet Marries Sawda

Then, Hawla went to Sawda bint Zam’a.

Hazrat Sawda was Sakran bin Amr’s wife. She was among the first Muslim women and had migrated to Abyssinia with her husband. They returned to Mecca much later. After returning, Hazrat Sawda saw a dream in which the moon glided towards and then descended upon her. When she explained what she had seen to her husband, she received this response:

“If your dream is true, I will die soon. You will marry after me!”

Indeed, Sakran got ill after a while and died. Hazrat Sawda was a widow.

Lady Hawla, whom our Holy Prophet (PBUH) had sent, told her, “Allah’s Apostle has sent me to ask your hand in marriage.” Upon hearing this, Hazrat Sawda was immensely happy. However, she had one concern: Would our Holy Prophet (PBUH) accept her five small children?

Due to her worries, she did not immediately respond. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) wanted to honor and reward a mujahid (warrior) who had possessed the courage and devotion to leave her home, country, and family for the sake of her religion. For that reason, when our Holy Prophet (PBUH) did not receive a response he went to speak with her personally. “What keeps you from marrying me?” he asked.

Hazrat Sawda said, “By Allah, O Messenger of Allah, there is no important reason that prevents me from marrying you but I fear that my children will disturb you by whining; therefore, I hold back!”

Upon this, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) replied, “May Allah show compassion to you! The most favorable of women are those who encounter difficulties due to their small children,” expressing that she had no need to worry. Afterwards he said, “Arrange for someone within the tribe to marry us.”

Hazrat Sawda chose her former brother-in-law Hatib bin Amr. He married Hazrat Sawda to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) during the 10th year of the Islamic calendar. At that time, Hazrat Sawda was 55 years old.

As it is seen, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) married this elderly woman only due to the devotion and loyalty she had towards Allah and her faith and through such means, he was taking her under his protection and allowing her to attain the honor of being “a mother of the believers.”

The Prophet goes to Taif

The polytheists considered the deaths of Abu Talib and Hazrat Khadijah as an opportunity to do as they wished. It was as if they were waiting for this day; they tortured and abused our Holy Prophet (PBUH) at far greater levels than they had before. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was unable to deliver his message as a result of the immense cruelty, insults, and torture to which he was subjected.

The polytheists’ ruthless attitude was affecting our Holy Prophet (PBUH) greatly. For that reason, he decided to go to Taif. He intended to invite the city’s inhabitants to follow Islam and to seek patronage from the Thaqif Tribe that resided there.

Taif was one of Arabia’s important places. Its gardens were famous. Furthermore, Bani Sayed, the tribe to which our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) wet-nurse Halima belonged, lived close-by. Naturally, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was hopeful that the inhabitants of this region would feel partial to and convert to Islam. If his hopes were realized, he would have acquired a great force against the polytheists of the Quraysh.

The date was the 27th of Shawwal, 10th year of the prophethood.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and Hazrat Zaid bin Harith left Mecca in secrecy and later arrived in Taif. He invited its inhabitants to Islam. He explained that he had come to request their alliance against those who were opposed to him and attacking him within his tribe. However, he did not attain any positive results within the 10 days of his visit. In fact, they replied with insults and mocked him. Our Beloved Prophet (PBUH) also faced several accusations.

One of the chiefs went as far as to arrogantly say, “Could Allah not have found someone else to send as a prophet instead of you?;”; this comment greatly saddened his holy heart. Someone else said, “By God, "I do not want to talk to you, for if you are in fact a Prophet, then to oppose you is to invite trouble, and if you only pretend to be one, why should I talk with an impostor?".

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) understood from their words and behavior that no good would come from the people of Thaqif and was saddened as a result.

He was worried that the polytheists would hear about this situation and become more audacious. For that reason, as he was leaving Taif, he said, “At least keep this between us! No one else should hear what has happened.”

However, the inhabitants of Taif, who lived in a state of utter disbelief, did not comply with this request either. They were afraid that the youth would take interest in Islam thus they said to our Holy Prophet (PBUH): Go wherever you want to go but just leave our country! You came to us when your tribe and countrymen rejected what you have said! By God, we are going to stay as far away from you as we can and will not accept your wishes.”

The people of Thaqif, who competed with the Meccan polytheists in their worship of Lat and Uzza did not stop there. They provoked their hooligans, street youth, and slaves against our Holy Prophet (PBUH), who was a guest in their region.

These raving and ill-mannered fools lined both sides of the street to stone the Master of the Universe (PBUH) and Hazrat Zaid. Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) holy feet were completely drenched in blood; the wounds he had received from these strikes prevented him from walking. From time to time, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) would have no choice but to sit down. Nevertheless, these remorseless fools continued to stone his feet each time he lifted them from the ground, which he did with great difficulty. While our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was being tortured, their strikes, jeers, and cackles only further increased.

Hazrat Zaid thought nothing of his own life as he willingly used his body as a shield for our Holy Prophet (PBUH.) He was trying to hinder the rocks from reaching the Master of the Universe (PBUH.) However, his efforts were futile. He too was drenched in blood.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was only able to escape this despicable attack by throwing himself in an orchard. The owners of this orchard were two brothers by the name of Utba and Shayba bin Rabia who were our Beloved Prophet’s (PBUH) distant relatives.

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) threw himself under a grapevine in a state of extreme exhaustion. After slightly recovering from the trauma of this shameful incident, he made this sorrowful appeal:

“My Lord! I only express and complain to you about the feebleness of my strength and about being held in contempt among the people.

“Oh Allah, Most Merciful of all those capable of showing mercy! You are the Lord of the weak. Only You are my Lord. You possess enough compassion not to allow me to fall into the hands of an ill-mannered and shameless enemy.

“My Lord! As long as I do not encounter Your wrath I will endure what I am given. However, Your mercy is expansive enough to not allow them to do this to me.

“I seek refuge in Your Divine light that illuminates darkness, puts the affairs of the afterlife in place; I seek refuge from acquiring Your wrath and not receiving Your consent!

“My Lord, I seek Your forgiveness until You are pleased!

“My Lord! Every power only exists through You!”

Addas, the Slave

The two brothers turned their feelings of sympathy into fruition after observing from afar the vile and atrocious attacks to which our Holy Prophet (PBUH) was subjected. They sent grapes to our Holy Prophet (PBUH) by means of their slave Addas.

Addas brought a plate with grapes to our Beloved Prophet (PBUH.) When the Master of the Universe (PBUH) said, “Bismillah” (in the name of Allah) and began eating, Addas paid close attention. He said to himself, “By God, the people of this region do not know nor utter these words.”

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) asked, “O Addas, which religion do you follow?”

Addas replied, “I am from Ninova and I am a Christian.”

“So you are a compatriot of the Prophet Yunus ibn Matta?”

“How do you know Yunus Ibn Matta?”

“He is my brother. He was a Prophet. I am also a Prophet.”

Upon this, Addas could not contain himself; he kissed our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) head, hands, and feet.

One of the owners of the vineyard who was watching this scene from afar said to the other, “Your man broke the slave’s creed right before your eyes.”

When Addas returned, they both suddenly scolded him. “Shame on you, Addas! How could you kiss that man’s head, feet, and hands?”

Addas replied, “There is no one on Earth who is more auspicious than him! He told me something that only a Prophet could know.”

Our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) Compassion and Mercy

Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) left the orchard and sadly proceeded on his way since he had not reached any positive terms with the Thaqif tribe. There was a distance of a span of two palaces left until Mecca when he noticed a cloud shading him. After glancing carefully, he noticed that this cloud held Hazrat Jibril within.

Jibril shouted, “Undoubtedly, Allah has heard what the tribe has said to you. He sent you the angel in charge of these mountains. You can command him to do what it is that you want for that tribe.”

At that moment, the angel of the mountains came forth and said he was willing to follow our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) commands and that he could have the Abu Qubais and Quayqan mountains come crashing upon the polytheists if our Holy Prophet (PBUH) wanted.

However, the wishes of the Holy Prophet (PBUH), who was a fountain of compassion and mercy, were different. He replied:

“No, I do not want that. I only hope from Allah that the descendants of these polytheists will worship Allah without associating any partners to Him.”

Yes, our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) purpose was not to eradicate others with his malediction nor was it to devastate them with troubles and calamities. On the contrary, his purpose was to have others attain faith, guidance and eternal happiness. His every step, action, and undertaking was in line with the realization of this goal. For that reason, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) spent his every minute performing various acts of worship and his every moment elapsed into time as a bright episode.

The Jinn Listen to the Prophet

Before returning to Mecca, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) rested in a place called Nahla for some time. When he started to perform a prayer, a group of Nusaybin jinn became Muslims upon hearing our Holy Prophet’s (PBUH) recital of the Quran. Afterwards, they returned to their tribe and invited their kin to testify to faith.

The Quran informs us of this incident: “And when We inclined toward thee (Muhammad) certain of the jinn, who wished to hear the Qur'an and, when they were in its presence, said: Give ear! and, when it was finished, turned back to their people, warning. They said: O our people! Lo! we have heard a scripture which hath been revealed after Moses, confirming that which was before it, guiding unto the truth and a right road. (30) O our people! respond to Allah's summoner and believe in Him. He will forgive you some of your sins and guard you from a painful doom.”

Entering Makkah

After residing in Batn Nahl for a period of time, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) headed towards Mecca. He knew that the Quraysh would not allow him to easily enter the city. For that reason, he had to acquire patronage from someone so he could enter Mecca in accordance with the tradition of the time.

Therefore, when he reached Hira, he sent someone to ask for the protection of Mut’im b. Adiyy, the polytheist. Mut’im accepted his wish, armed his sons and went to Hira together with them; then, he took the Prophet to Makkah.

The polytheists were angered by Mut’im’s actions but did not say anything.

The Master of the Universe (PBUH) circumambulated the Kaba amid the polytheists’ glares that were filled with much enmity, prayed two rakahs there; then, he went to his home from there.

Throughout their lives, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) and the rest of the Muslims never forgot this kind gesture practiced by Mutim bin Adiyy, who was a polytheist. Our Holy Prophet (PBUH) even reminisced of this incident upon the Muslims’ victory against the polytheists in the Battle of Badr.

Mutim’s son, Jabir, came to Madina to speak on behalf of the slaves that were captured during Badr. After listening to Jabir’s request, our Holy Prophet (PBUH) said:

“If your father Mut’im had been alive and made a request on behalf of these men, I would have undoubtedly handed them over to Mut’im.”

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laurelsofhighever · 4 years

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The Falcon and the Rose Ch. 68 - The Traitor and the Nightmare

Chapter Rating: Teen Relationships: Alistair/Female Cousland Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Fereldan Civil War AU - No Blight, Romance, Angst, Action/Adventure, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Misunderstandings, Cousland Feels, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort

Read it on AO3

Loghain sat alone in the solar that used to be his wife’s refuge, where she had penned her letters and seen to the affairs of the teyrnir, where they had shared carafes of wine on the long summer evenings when he returned from the capital, and which now let in only grubby light through unwashed windows banked with half-rotten leaves. Around him, dust muted the colours of the furnishings, made duller still by the cold touch of the air that fogged his breath and congealed his barely-eaten breakfast of fried potatoes and bacon. The dreary atmosphere didn’t seem to trouble the witless elven servant the magister had sent to spy on him, but then he too had lost the energy to complain about petty discomforts. His mind drifted in and out of focus, memories and desires slipping away like mist whenever he tried to grasp them.

In a shaking hand, he held Anora’s letter tighter. The paper was creased and stained, ragged from being read so many times. If not for the intimately familiar handwriting, he would have thought the pleas to flee into exile – to confess, abdicate, and run – were just another ploy meant to make him doubt himself. As it was, the words confused him. She mentioned a Nightmare, and a change in his personality leading Ferelden to ruin, and while the accusations rang true, for the longest time he had thought it the effect of the war, a necessary withdrawal for the greater good of the people. Now, with his army broken and nothing more rigorous to occupy his thoughts, his mind drifted to the betrayals, the harsh punishments, and the desperate words of the Falcon in the moments before he ran her through. She had called him a traitor, accused him of being in thrall to a demon. Anora’s letter was dated after the battle at Highever, and Erimond’s spies had reported the Falcon’s survival, so perhaps the new favourite had stolen the queen’s ear, twisted her mind. Perhaps the story of the demon had been nothing more than a last attempt to preserve her own life.

And yet, with the shadows of his dreams chasing him into the waking world, and Erimond’s plans kept from him, could he afford to ignore the warning? If there really was a demon, and if it had already worked such evil through him, then what more might it accomplish if he flinched from his duty and allowed it to rampage as it willed across Ferelden?

The door to the hallway squeaked open. Startled, he shoved the letter into the folds of his winter sleeves as another one of the magister’s servants, more present than his elven guard, stepped crisply into the room.

“Master Erimond wishes to see you, Your Lordship.”

As if compelled, Loghain set aside his fork and rose from the table. In the moment before he moved, he blinked down at his legs, wondering how long it had been since he had questioned one of the magister’s whims. The stray thought was not enough to stop him following down the corridor like a mongrel on a leash, but it occupied him enough to keep his gaze from drifting to his reflection in the mirrors his wife had once added to brighten the hall. He no longer cared to look at himself; his bloodshot eyes and thinning, greyed hair took away what little was left of his appetite. His clothes still remained presentable, not that it could be counted for much.

He traipsed after the servant through familiar corridors until they came to the great hall. The windows had been shuttered but a gap in the roof at the far end let in the light and illuminated Erimond at the centre of a conglomerate of tables, like a gaunt spider at the centre of a huge web. No other room in the castle provided him with a hearth big enough for his experiments, or enough table space to run them simultaneously while keeping notes. Books and broken ends of chalk littered the work surfaces around him, bracketed by arcane equipment and vials of dark liquid thick as blood. The magister himself looked up when he heard footsteps, and in the shadows cast by the fire, the bruises under his eyes made his skin look like wax.

Loghain had little sympathy. “What do you want?” he snapped.

“Your opinion,” Erimond replied in smooth tones, “which as always, I value highly. Over there.”

He pointed to the end of the table nearest the window, where a pile of maps was laid across the wood. Wary, Loghain sidled past the magical artefacts to examine the top one, his lip curling at the vague, undetailed cartography he would never have allowed from his scouts. It showed, in broad strokes, the land south and east of the Brecilian Forest, with roads and features sketched out of proportion. Many of the place names had been roughly scratched out using a different ink, rendering it entirely worthless to anyone else who might want to use it.

“Thanks to our enemies, our original plans have met unfavourable ends, and we must turn to less expedient avenues if we are to succeed,” Erimond scoffed, scratching a note into his book, uncaring of the contempt directed at him, if he noticed it at all.

“Yours,” Loghain said.

“What?”

“They are your plans.” He licked his lips. “Mine were to keep Ferelden from the hands of its enemies.”

The magister paused in his work. His expression remained placid as he set down his pen, and his steps carried him across the floor unhurried, but when he spoke again there was a threat in his words potent as a raised whip.

“I require a location,” he explained. “A place of much bloodshed, where the Veil is worn thin by magic. This squalid backwater is not enough.”

Nothing good would come of it. When the Nightmare impressed itself upon Cailan, and then upon the Falcon, he had glimpsed its mind, its intent, and now he shook worse than he had as a boy hearing the thunder of Orlesian cavalry along the road to his farmstead.

“I will not help you.”

“You do not have a choice,” Erimond sneered. “Use your knowledge of this miserable land to give me a location.”

“No.”

Incredulity flashed in the magister’s eyes, before his face closed in a snarl and his hand twitched as if reaching for the staff still on the other side of the room. Loghain grasped for the locket around his neck. Whatever instinct drove him to it came unbidden, but he saw his chance in the instant of hesitation as Erimond stalked towards him, and felt his lips raise in a feral smile. He would not be yoked like a beast of burden.

Light exploded behind his eyes – a searing pain that brought him to his knees. A different, distant pain seized his hand as the metal rim of the pendant burned his skin, giving off an almost sweet, metallic odour that made his stomach roil. When the horror of it finally faded, his throat raw from screaming, his vision focused on the narrow points of Erimond’s shoes. A low chuckle fell from above, cold like the drip of melting ice.

“You are my creature,” Erimond told him. “You will be used as I see fit, and you will remember that for as long as I have use of you. Now get up.”

Loghain’s legs moved, fitful starts as he struggled to refuse the command, but his will had been too worn down for too long, and with a steadying hand on the edge of the table, his body pushed him to stand. The map was still in front of him. Its poor artistry drew his eye against his will, away from Gwaren, along the uneven line of the Imperial Highway, over the desolate expanse of the Korcari Wilds and a place so remote he knew it only through legend and hearsay. He watched a smile grow in a slow curve around the magister’s mouth.

“Perfect.”

#dragon age #dragon age: origins #dragon age origins #alistair theirin #rosslyn cousland #alistair x cousland #cousland #f!cousland #loghain mac tir #teyrn loghain

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diyunho · 5 years

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The Joker x Reader - “John Wick” Part 1

Y/N left The Organization 3 years ago for the one reason strong enough to make her settle down: love. But after tragedy crushed her to pieces, she decided to leave The Joker and seek refuge with an old friend and mentor - John Wick. Needless to say The King of Gotham can’t accept his wife running away without a word, especially since he didn’t have a chance to tell her things she might want to hear.

Part 2 Part 3

Your high heels click on the marble floor, numerous conversations stopping in the hotel’s lobby since you haven’t been seen around in the past 3 years. The concierge can’t hide a smile and you take your sunglasses off, finally making it to the front desk after driving for hours.

“Welcome to the Continental, Miss Y/N. Such a pleasure to see you.”

“Thank you Charon,” you remove 7 gold coins out of your purse and slide them on the counter towards him. “It’s good to see you too.”

“For how long will we have the pleasure of your company?” the man inquires, taking a peek at the computer’s screen to make sure he can shuffle things if needed.

“One night.”

“That will only be 4 coins,” Charon informs and you point out at the tiny pile:

“The rest is for you.”

“Thank you, Miss Y/N,” he smiles again, typing on the keyboard. “Your old room is available; it will be a couple of minutes for us to add a few finishing touches.”

“Sure. Is the manager here?” you ask because you texted him this morning to announce your arrival.

“He’s waiting at the bar,” Charon gestures towards the elevator and you take a deep breath, excited and a bit nervous about the upcoming encounter. “Also, if I may… Allow me to express my deepest condolences.”

You bite on your lip and can’t utter a sound besides nodding your head instead of a reply: although it’s a genuine declaration, it caught you off-guard.

You slowly walk towards the elevator and once inside you press the B button when a hand halts the doors from closing; you know whom those tattooed knuckles belong to. Ares squeezes inside looking like she wants to kill everyone. What else is new?

“I thought that was you,” the woman uses the sign language and you silently gaze at her.

“Which floor?” you sign back.

“10th,” her thumb indicates the number.

The elevator’s doors shut and she analyzes Y/N, deciding to continue the conversation:

“Remember I told you next time we bump into each other I’m going to kill you?” the mute assassin’s threat brings a faint smirk on your lips.

“Shut up,” you elbow her and the smartass response doesn’t fail:

“I’m always as quiet as a mouse.”

You chuckle and Ares grins at her own cleverness, having a nice suggestion for the evening.

“I have the night off; wanna meet later for dinner?”

You are tired as hell but a distraction doesn’t hurt.

“Will 7pm work?” you accept the invitation.

“Awesome!” she signs, delighted you two can catch up. “They have new items on the menu you would enjoy,” Ares winks then her enthusiasm gradually dies out. “I’m sorry about…,” the discussion takes a serious tone and you sniffle, trying hard not to cry.

“Thank you,” you touch your chin and the ding sound reveals its first destination. “I have to bail; I’ll see you soon,” you step out of the elevator and she remains inside.

“It’s a date!” she signs, concerned you’ll burst out in tears as soon as she’s gone.

Yet after the elevator’s door close, Y/N manages to pull herself together; God knows it’s not easy to pretend she’s fine following the tragedy of losing someone she loved with all her heart.

The individual waiting for her at one of the tables at the bar can definitely notice the struggle behind the tired eyes; Winston sipps from his martini and gets up, opening his arms in anticipation.

“There you are,” he gives you a hug, then invites you to sit down.

“Hello Winston,” you place your purse on the floor and Continental’s owner is attempting to small talk:

“Please make an old man happy and confirm your return.”

“You’re anything but old,” you emphasize while he snorts, amused. “I’m not sure; I have to figure out some personal stuff…”

“Of course,” Winston agrees right away given the situation. “Mmmm… I’m terribly sorry for your loss,“ he addresses the heartbroken Y/N.

“Thank you…” you mumble, avoiding eye contact since the painful subject hurts more than any physical wound you ever sustained.

“I wanted to come attend the funeral yet I was out of the country,” the man underlines.

“No worries. I appreciate the flowers you sent… …”

Moments of complete stillness before Winston changes the topic; he knows better than to prolong your agony. A manager with his flair can at least guess the extenuating circumstances that led to your presence on the premises.

“Any plans for the near future?”

“I’m going to stay with Jonathan until I decide.”

Winston wishes to suggest a couple of options but he’s interrupted by your warning:

“Someone might come searching for me.”

He taps his fingernails against the martini glass, the weak echo dissipating in the background noise.

“Is that someone…somebody’s husband?” his furrowed eyebrows prompt an answer not difficult to estimate:

“More like… ex-husband…”

The manager inhales, debating on your confession.

“Nothing we can’t handle,” he reassures without any hesitation; heaven knows a domestic dispute is the last kind of mess Continental needs but it will probably pass undetected. “Would you care for a drink?”

Suddenly, Winston’s cell goes off and he retrieves it out of his suit’s pocket, apologizing for the delay.

“I’m sorry, I really have to get this,” he slides the screen, attentively listening to the person speaking. “Are you kidding me?!” the man raises his voice with contempt. “Damn…,” he rubs his forehead, annoyed. "Well, he brought it upon himself! Transfer me,” the manager passes the sentence without hesitation after his call reaches the correct department. ”Accounts payable: 11111. Effective immediately: Magnus Stonnenberg, excommunicado. Open contract: 2 million dollars. Distribution: international,” and he hangs up. “Work never ends,” Winston adds even if it’s not necessary; you are perfectly aware how the company works and what it means to run it.

“What happened?” you curiously investigate.

“Trouble on the 15th floor: Magnus murdered Anuscka Volovdya on the hotel grounds, thus I have to implement punitive measures. This is neutral environment and the rules are clear: no killing. Cocktail?” he lifts his glass up and you politely decline.

“No, thank you. If it’s all the same, I will retreat to my quarters. It was a very long drive and I can’t wait to freshen up. I will come see you in the morning before I leave; would that be ok?”

“Of course,” Winston stands up in the same time with you, a faint smile lingering on his face as he watches you distancing yourself from the bar. He didn’t see you in a long time and he can tell that although you look pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

Everyone’s cells start chiming and ringing, including yours: the text messages keep on popping up with the manager’s most recent order regarding Stonnenberg.

You wander along the small corridor leading the stairs when at the corner Magnus almost crashes into you; he seems distressed and no big surprise due to his present predicament.

“Are you back?” he hisses while quickening the pace in the opposite direction because he wants to get the hell out of there.

“No,” the short acknowledgement triggers his cockiness mixed with relief.

“Great! One less to worry about!”

You frown at the unnecessary statement: pursuing a bounty is not financial gain you are momentarily interested in; you have more important problems on your plate and chasing a persona non grata isn’t on your list.

************

Next evening, 7:13pm

“There you are!” John exclaims as soon as he sees you. “Come on in,” he grabs the two suitcases out of your hands, leading the way around the house. “Did you get stuck in traffic?”

“Yes,” you close the door and follow him into one of the bedrooms downstairs already prepared for your visit. “Traffic was terrible, took me one hour to pass Lincoln Avenue.”

“Well…” he places the luggage by the bed, “I’m glad you made it.”

“Me too… Thank you so much for letting me stay here, Jonathan.”

Despite having his hair in a ponytail, the shorter strands slide out and John blows them off his cheeks, irritated.

“Yeah, absolutely. Plenty of space.”

“What’s that smell?” you sniff the air, intrigued.

“I cooked chicken Alfredo.”

“Oh no,” you crinkle your nose and he laughs at your despair. “Are your skills as bad as I remember?”

“Worse,” he admits. “Helen is not here to guide… me…”, John swallows the last word and you feel compelled to soothe his grief.

“I’m sorry she’s gone… You had a terrific partner…”, you sadly smile and continue . “We pay such a heavy price for leaving the organization… I must say you got a better deal than I did.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds and you could swear there’s no trace of Baba Yaga inside him; I suppose this is John Wick’s greatness: his ability to switch from an apparent normal guy to the deadliest assassin in a blink of an eye.

“Umm… do you want me to help you unpack?” he breaks the silence and you lift the first suitcase on the bed, opening the metal clasps.

“I don’t have a lot; just some basic necessities,” you explain and gulp when you take out the device you use on a regular basis. “I… I still pump the milk and… and throw it away since I don’t have my baby to feed anymore…”

Jonathan exhales, sensitive to the mother’s sorrow: he knows a thing or two about losing a loved one and Y/N uncontrollably sobbing triggers emotions he kept bottled up for weeks. He pulls you in his arms and you hug him back, hopelessly crying on his shoulder after displaying such restraint in the past days.

“Why didn’t he drive the car? Why?” you keep on repeating the question and John understands what you’re referring to:

Two months ago The Joker was supposed to bring his three weeks old son from the beach house to The Penthouse and didn’t; he had a meeting and instead he sent one of his henchmen to drive Kase back to you and they never made it. There was a horrible accident on Glissan Street: the car was smashed to pieces by a huge truck, both driver and the baby dying on impact. You couldn’t stop blaming your husband for his indifference regarding the safety of his own child. I supposed the meeting and making money was infinitely more critical than driving his son home.

Maybe if J navigated the vehicle, he would have taken another route and you would still have your tiny treasure right now.

You’re calming down a bit and John wipes your tears, upset to see you broken beyond anything he could ever fix.

“Do you want to lie down?”

“No,” you whimper and fight to regain your composure. “I’m a little bit hungry…”

“Well,” your friend puckers his lips, “depending on how bad it is we might have to order something. Shall I…call anybody for you?” he hints and surely didn’t predict the reply:

“My anybody is probably too busy with his mistress or planning a heist, can’t be bothered with any type of insignificant matters.”

Your friend seems shocked and you enlighten the mystery for him:

“I followed J so I know… That’s why I decided enough is enough. I packed minimum necessary in a hurry and left… … …I should have killed him… …” your voice dies out and your attitude proves Jonathan that you most than likely tried to. “Can we eat now please?”

“Should I actually order Italian?” he plays along for your sake.

“I’ll try the chicken Alfredo first.”

“Shit! You’re brave,” his brutal honesty makes you giggle and whimper in the same time. “C’mon then, food’s on the stove. Hopefully we’ll survive,” he smirks and you nod in agreement, grateful to have a soul to talk to since your husband’s lack of empathy made it so much harder to cope with your son’s demise.

***************

Same evening, 7:30pm – Continental Hotel

“Mister Joker,” Winston greets The King of Gotham. “Welcome to New York!”

The gush of wind sweeping the terrace on top of the building messes J’s locks and for once he couldn’t care less.

“Hello Winston,” your spouse growls, barely able to concentrate after he slept a couple of hours the previous night.

“Grape juice on ice?” the manager’s hospitality emerges out of necessity because The Clown isn’t exactly the easiest character to accommodate.

“Is my wife here?” J quizzes, ignoring Winston’s cordiality.

“Walk with me,” the hotel owner persuades your husband; they move alongside the concrete path bordered by decorative shrubs as information is shared. “Y/N was here.”

“She’s gone?”

“Yes.”

“Where did she go?” The Joker sneers.

Winston fails to spill the beans and J is aware he can’t push for a disclosure, not with a high ranking member of the organization. So he attempts a different strategy.

“Imagine my surprise when I returned home after a meeting just to find out my wife abandoned the nest,” he shows management a post-it with your handwritten note:

Do what you want with the rest.

“She just took a few things, thus I have to personally discuss with her a very crucial dilemma: what am I supposed to do with the baby’s items? I have a room full of them. So I’m asking: WHERE.IS.MY.WIFE?”

“Mister Joker, you forget that in my line of business I am good at reading people and I can tell when they lie,” Winston elegantly throws it out there for the heck of it.

The King of Gotham halts and cracks his neck, displeased with the comment.

“Then tell me, am I lying?!”

The manager sighs, carefully analyzing J’s features: although he looks pretty much the same, something has certainly changed.

“Maybe she’s staying with a friend,” he insinuates and your husband articulates a sentence rarely spoken aloud:

“Thank you,” J stomps away, already having a few ideas about your whereabouts.

Winston huffs, intrigued to have discerned a crazy detail while reading The Clown’s reactions: besides the fact he wasn’t lying, something else stood out.

“He loves her…” management mumbles to himself. “I bet he doesn’t even know it.”

*************

10:34 pm

John softly knocks at the cracked bedroom’s door, unsure if you’re awake or not.

“Y/N, do you need anything before I go to sleep?”

There’s no answer and he creeps inside only to see you passed out with your hand hanging over the side of the bed. Jonathan tucks you in, feeling awkward about your unresponsiveness.

“Hey, are you ok?” he gently shakes you and freezes when he realizes there’s an empty pill bottle on the nightstand.

“Oh God!” he panics and reads the label. “Trazodone 300 mg: Take 1 tablet by mouth nightly for depression/insomnia.” That’s the highest dose for the medication and he taps on your cheeks, concerned you took a bunch of them at once. “Y/N, Y/N! Can you hear me?!”

You moan and open your eyes, unhappy to be woken up in such a hasty fashion.

“Jesus, lemme sleep... would you?!...” you grumble and turn on the other side, groggy from the drug.

“How many sleeping pills did you take?” John doesn’t give up and you yawn:

“One…my last one…” you adjust your body on the comfortable mattress, not comprehending why your host is agitated. “I’m exhausted…” you close your eyes and he lingers next to your bed, relieved the situation was a misinterpretation from his part.

**************

11:32am, New York

“Oh my…”The Bowery King deciphers a missive a dove flew in 10 minutes ago; he got a whiff of some valuable data yesterday and the new documentation is by far the best conspiracy and revenge scheme he stumbled upon this year. “Would you look at that,” the man grins, caressing the bird’s feathers. “What do you think?” he addresses the winged companion. “Should we be nice and tell Y/N and Mister Joker their son is not dead?”