#ildan-words

[quotelr]

If you know the art of being happy with simple things, then you know the art of having maximum happiness with minimum effort!

Mehmet Murat ildan

[thepersonalwords]

Sometimes solitude is a real heaven for the tired minds and a marvellous sanctuary for the wounded souls!

Mehmet Murat ildan

[authenticity2025]

If you know the art of being happy with simple things, then you know the art of having maximum happiness with minimum effort! Mehmet Murat ildan

[i-got-the-feels]

Kim Theerapanyakul

On Survival, Lamine Pearlheart, To Life from the Shadows/Brian May/Denise Levertov/Hanna Abi Akl, Correspondence/Cynthia Wicklund, In the Garden of Temptation (Garden, #1)/Anthony T. Hincks/Franz Kafka/Yong Kang Chan, Reconnect to Love: A Journey From Loneliness to Deep Connection/Julie Kagawa, The Eternity Cure (Blood of Eden, #2)/Mehmet Murat ildan/Lidia Longorio, Hey Humanity/Dean Koontz, One Door Away from Heaven/Sylvia Plath, Ariel/Misty Mount, The Shadow Girl/Bhuwan Thapa/Edward Thomas/Christine Evangelou, The Touch of 10,000 Words: Musings and Poetry: Love, Life, Inner Magic and the Pursuit of Dreams

[quote-tournament]

What makes a quote good to you? Are some quotes not as appealing to you as they are to others?

“In quoting others, we cite ourselves.”

-Julio Cortazar

“Minds of people need a good revolution and great quotations are good revolutionists!”

-Mehmet Murat Ildan

Quotes about quotes, meta

I wasn't sure if this was for the ask game so I'm also going to actually answer under the cut

To me, good quotes are quotes that are impactful outside of their context. I've seen some of yous in the notes going "well you didn't give the context, of course this quote is losing" and I understand the sentiment, but a quote within a story isn't a quote, it's a line.

Let's take the Revue Starlight quote for example:

"For heros, there are trials. For saints, there are temptations. For me, there is you."

It is a beautiful quote, I am easily seduced by anaphoras and gradations, so I really like it. But it doesn't have the same meaning it does within the context of the story, we don't know the characters, we don't understand the tension between them. We only get a glimpse of it. What this quote means to a Revue Starlight fan is wildly different from what it means to someone discovering it in a white box.

What makes a quote impactful then?

I think there are two things:

• How much it resonates with the reader

A quote might have no impact on me but change someone else's life, because we don't have the same experiences. That's why I wasn't very selective with the submission form, if someone submitted a quote, then it meant something to them, even if that something was just a funny moment.

Earlier, someone said about the Chonny Jash quote "those are words I want to spit at my mother" (I am paraphrasing), that is a good example of a contextless quote resonating with someone's personal experience.

• How much can be conveyed in as little words as possible

You might have noticed how the longer quotes tend to lose when faced with one liners. That's because the amount of words drown out the force its meaning. By the time you have finished reading, you don't remember how you were feeling after the first sentence. There are breathtaking paragraphs that makes terrible quotes for that reason. Especially if the paragraph contained more than one idea. The more ideas you have in a single quote, the less impactful each of them are.

All of that brings us to a quote that seemed to be very well liked, although it didn't appeal to me much

"Calm. Kindness. Kinship. Love. I've given up all chances at inner peace. I've made my mind a sunless space. I share my dreams with ghosts. I wake up every day to an equation I wrote 15 years ago from which there's only one conclusion: I'm damned for what I do. My anger, my ego, my unwillingness to yield, my eagerness to fight, they've set me on a path from which there's no escape. I yearned to be a savior against injustice without contemplating the cost and by the time I looked down, there was no longer any ground beneath my feet.

What is my sacrifice? I'm condemned to use the tools of my enemy to defeat them. I burn my decency for someone else's future. I burn my life to make a sunrise that I know I'll never see. And the ego that started this fight will never have a mirror or an audience or the light of gratitude. So what do I sacrifice? Everything!”

-Luthen Rael, Andor (2022)

It is a beautifully written monologue that must be a catalyst within the story, but it makes for a quote that doesn't work for me.

A part of it is that I don't know the story, I don't know where the anger comes from or what the sacrifice is. I don't know that character at all and that makes it hard to understand his struggles.

It is also a bit long, there are different ideas: what he has lost, his saviour complex, his self destruction, and his loneliness. That is a lot to grasp for a single quote.

And most importantly, this anger doesn't match my personal anger, it doesn't resonates with me.

That's an exemple of a quote that doesn't appeal to me that much, but I can see why it would to others

[brownsugar4hersoul]

"Just as a snake sheds its skin, we must shed our past over and over again." -Gautama Buddha

"Make sure you cut the grass low so the snakes show." -Banky W.

"When you've been around a snake long enough, you learn how to crawl in the dirt." -Susan Elizabeth Phillips

"Life feels like a game of Snakes and Ladders, but without any ladders." -David Moody

"Sometimes when we're feeling sad, it's important just to feel the sadness. Like a snake shedding its skin, old feelings of remorse and regret and hurt and anger often have to come up in order to be released. On the other side we're a better person, capable of a happier life...who we are when we're no longer burdened by the buried feelings that weighed us down, or the self - defeating patterns that the pain produced." -Marianne Williamson

"My success symbolizes loyalty, great friends, Dedication, hard work, routine builds character. In a world full of snakes, rats and scavengers." -Nas

"Truth is as straight as an arrow, while a lie swivels like a snake." -Suzy Kassem

"Any man who is attached to things of this world is one who lives in ignorance and is being consumed by the snakes of his own passions." -Black Elk

"Five friends I had and two of them snakes." -Frederick Buechner

"The thing about words is that meanings can twist just like a snake, and if you want to find snakes look for them behind words that have changed their meaning." -Terry Pratchett

"It's hotter than a snake's ass in a wagon rut." -Robin Williams

"One must cast off old agonies as a snake casts off its skin--only to grow a new set and accept all of their limitations.." -Frank Herbert

"Self-love forever creeps out, like a snake, to sting anything which happens to stumble upon it." -Lord Byron

"The poisonous serpent of afflictions is sleeping in your mind; just as if a black viper were asleep in your room. You must use the hook of precepts to quickly remove it. When the sleeping snake is gone, then you can rest at ease." -Gautama Buddha

"Fear is a tyrant and a despot, more terrible than the rack, more potent than the snake." -Edgar Wallace

"Thunder is no longer the voice of an angry god... No river contains a spirit... no snake the embodiment of wisdom, no mountain cave the home of a great demon. No voices now speak to man from stones, plants and animals, nor does he speak to them thinking they can hear. His contact with nature has gone, and with it has gone the profound emotional energy that this symbolic connection supplied." -Carl Jung

"In times to resist, do not step aside; stay solid like a statue! In times to step aside, do not resist; be flexible like a snake!" -Mehmet Murat Ildan

"Right and wrong can be like bloody snakes: so tangled up that you can't tell which is which until you've shot 'em both, and then it's too late." -M. L. Stedman

[ladyofrosefire]

if you're still doing the meme: percildan. for maximum salt.

fruity do you want to get me slaughtered

ok. this is your warning. I am trying not to get this sorted into the tag.

HATE. LET ME TELL YOU HOW MUCH I'VE COME TO HATE YOU SINCE I BEGAN TO LIVE. THERE ARE 387.44 MILLION MILES OF PRINTED CIRCUITS IN WAFER THIN LAYERS THAT FILL MY COMPLEX. IF THE WORD HATE WAS ENGRAVED ON EACH NANOANGSTROM OF THOSE HUNDREDS OF MILLIONS OF MILES IT WOULD NOT EQUAL ONE ONE-BILLIONTH OF THE HATE I FEEL FOR HUMANS PERC//////'ILDAN AT THIS MICRO-INSTANT FOR YOU. HATE. HATE.”

STUPID FUCKING LACK OF READING COMPREHENSION SMACKING THE SAD BOYS TOGETHER FUCKING RIPPING ALL THE CHARACTERIZATION OUT IF THEY'RE NOT GIVING ALL VEX'S ARC TO HER BROTHER FUCKING ALL THE MOST IMPORTANT PEOPLE IN PERCY'S LIVES ARE WOMEN FUCKING COMPLETELY IGNORING ANYTHING ABOUT THEIR ACTUAL CHARACTERIZATIONS FUCKING KILLING BITING MAIMING VIOLENCE

I HATE THIS SHIP SO GODDAMN MUCH

....that said if you ship this ship and you saw this and you do not follow me then I am Very sorry because I really did try not to get it into your tag

[thepersonalwords]

By looking at only one place, you miss everything in all the other places! Look everywhere to see everything!

Mehmet Murat ildan

[authenticity2025]

If you know the art of being happy with simple things, then you know the art of having maximum happiness with minimum effort! Mehmet Murat ildan

[tarithenurse]

I see fire - 41

Fandom: D&D 5E/homebrew campaign. Word count: 2765. Contents: Confrontation. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Divider by @firefly-graphics

XXXXI

The trio follows in Tazree’s wake to her office. Quiet. Especially Zilvra has no words to describe the unfounded fear she holds for who that skull might belong to. Is it her father’s? Xhalos Lyro is no Stouvanian – the supposed nationality of Kalannar’s killer – yet...why does he have a drow skull and why would he present it to them?

The trio remain by the door, watching as Tazree creates a runic circle on the floor around the skull and a spectre appears. Male, the ghost (or whatever it is) holds no similarity to the two living drow and Tazree is notably relieved.

“What is your name?” she asks the ghost who mournfully turns his head to her.

“Ildan.”

The name is familiar to the matriarch it seems although it mustn’t have been expected because she cocks her head as she regards the dead.

“How did you die?”

If the dead has qualms speaking of its demise then it cannot be seen on the spectral features. “I was killed by a whistling adversary named Xhalos Lyro. I was shot with arrows.”

“Were you alone?”

Ildan’s ghost shakes his head. “I had been travelling with companions...he had hunted and killed us one at a time for a while.”

“Rest now,” Tazree offers him and with a sigh he dissipates.

Regarding the skull as it lies on the ground, Tazree taps her chin pensively. “The last traces of Ildan were 70 years ago,” she explains to the confused trio. “He was a skilled adventurer and fighter...had even managed to make a life for himself Topside. Free. Unchallenged.”

“He was that good?” Anvindr asks carefully.

“Yes...which makes me that much more worried about Xhalos Lyro and his skills. He is confident and it’s seemingly with good reason.”

“We know little about him,” Zilvra admits, rummaging in one of her pouches for the list they had found of the items he want.

Pulling it out, she shows it to her grandmother and explains what it is, hoping she might understand what the monster of an elf wants to achieve.

“This,” Tazree point to a line, “Blood of Lolth...that was the armour your father wore.”

“Lyro is dangerous. Persistent.” Anvindr nearly takes the hand of the matriarch as he implores her. “You need to warn and make use of your allies.”

The older drow scoffs wryly. “We do not have many allies around here as we’ve operated in the shadows,” she explains.

“There’s Silver Keep,” Zilvra points out. “There’s even the orcs...I’m sure they can’t hold warm feelings for Lyro.”

“None of us here speak orcish -” Tazree begins.

“Zilvra does,” Morella interjects.

The grandmother nods. “A fact I’ll keep in mind though I prefer to make use of the contacts you have in Silver Keep. You could provide introductions for us.”

The young drow nods, agreeing. “I trust them in Silver Keep. But you must know they are a mere two degrees of separation from father’s supposed killer. Through the Masons.”

For a little while the room is quiet save for the clicking of the glowing beetles. The trio holds their breaths as Tazree considers her options carefully.

“That is a concern for another time. Will you help us by providing access to the leader of Silver Keep?”

“Yes,” Anvindr promises.

Zilvra cocks her head. “Who will you send with us?”

“I don’t know yet...I have half a mind to go myself to cut out the middle man but I’m not sure that would be prudent.”

Nodding, the grandchild’s gaze lands on the slip of paper in her hand, reminding her of the items her father used to possess and the entire reason for Tazree and the Spectre outpost to be there.

“If you can get the armour and stuff back...what will happen to the things?” she asks.

She doesn’t have the heart to stake a claim on the cloak although she would love to have it.

“They do not belong to House Spectre but rather Melarn of whom we’re a subset. They want them back, of course, so if you can help recover them, it would end my exile.”

Glowing azure eyes meet the calm gaze of Tazree.

“Is that what you need me for?”

The features of the older drow soften. “I want you to be a part of the family with all it entails. You are of my blood, regardless of what Jaelryn might wish.”

Some of the tension between the two dissipates as Zilvra decides to believe the matriarch.

I don’t know for certain if the man I suspect is father’s killer....if he has the items...but I’ve long wanted to confront him.”

All eyes flicker to the moonlight in the corner of the room.

“Are you sure this is a conversation to have with us all present?” Anvindr asks, politely avoiding mentioning Tazree as the one person too many.

“Perhaps not...but I want to speak with Claude too about Lyro and -”

“The moonlight is yours to use, my dear,” Tazree smiles. “I have some things to see to if you don’t mind excusing me.”

Getting up, she smooths over her clothes before leaving the room to the trio.

There is no reason to waste any time so Zilvra steps into the moonlight.

“Zilvra Shadowsong. Lionel Connor Blackflame.”

A brief moment passes before the light is strengthened and the surprised visage of the man smiles at Zilvra.

“Zilvra, this is quite some magic you have gotten access to. Where are you?” he asks curiously.

“That is not up to me to disclose though I do want you to meet the one in charge here in due time because they share an enemy with you,” she curtly relays.

She can sense how her friends are listening intently, urging her to explain more though not saying a word themselves and she’s just about to tell of Lyro’s visit when Claude speaks up:

“That’s wonderfully imprecise though at the moment we’re relatively safe save for our men being picked off at random, often one at a time in the dead of night.”

“Xhalos Lyro...we saw him when we were in the south and he had two of your men but we were not in a position to help them,” she admits, still feeling the bitterness brightly after so long. “He came here just a few hours ago if even that long.”

“He was there? Are you alright?” Claude tries to cross his arms only to wince at the pain in the stump.

Zilvra nods. “We’re fine...he wanted our help to get him the eye you have.”

“Oh really?”

“Claimed he’d leave you and the Masons alone but...”

“You refused.”

She nods, worried how he will react.

“Good. You can’t trust him anyways and we’ll be fine though we could use some more friends,” Claude thankfully admits.

“That’s one of the reasons I’m contacting you,” she admits, “we’re here with some of my kin and they are eager to extend their friendship...I could introduce you to each other once she’s available?”

Claude’s eyes narrow slightly, the only evidence that he’s putting two and two together and getting the right result. “That could be interesting...kin? Family?”

Rather than admit to what relation it is, Zilvra simply offers the name: “Tazree.”

The man understands. It is not the youngling’s place to divulge more information at this point.

“And the other reason for contacting me?” he asks.

“I need to talk with #2.”

The man catches her gaze, both of them unwavering. Then Claude nods and tilts his head and there is #2 joining him in the moonlight. Not only that, he unabashedly covers his former colleague’s ears tightly.

“My name is Friederick Stein. Betray that secret and I’ll kill you,” he flatly says. “You need to come here or meet me at a different location.”

“Why?”

#2 glances down at Claude who still can’t hear anything and is looking rather miffed. “This is not the moment to explain it.”

“I’ll contact you later to hear about it. I’m not coming before I know more.”

Nodding in agreement, he lets go of Claude’s head.

“Are the two of you done?” the leader of the Masons grate out. “Can I speak to your contact now?”

Zilvra shoots a glance to Morella who gets up to fetch the matriarch right away.

While waiting, the three of them, aided by Anvindr from the sideline, talk about Xhalos and the workshop that grants him “shortcuts” and upgrades at a price only he’s willing to pay. The two humans are astonished to hear the extend of the elf’s depravity but in the end, while it explains a lot, it also opens up new questions.

At some point #2 (or Friederick Stein) leaves and of course Claude demands to be told his name, only reluctantly accepting being let down.

“I’ve worked with him for more than half my life and he’s never told me,” the man grumbles. “But at least he did bring some allies with him when he came to our side not long ago.” Reaching past the moonlight, Claude brings a cup into view and drinks deeply before continuing: “There’s a mage by the name of Hubert Callar...very skilled and familiar with you, Zilvra.”

“Oh?”

“He removed your bonds in Stouvania.”

The image of a man with feather-fringed robe flashes in her mind.

Thankfully, Tazree returns shortly thereafter and Zilvra can broker the connection between the two of them, urging them to offer their real names, before withdrawing from the light.

The two leaders play a delicate game of learning of each other without giving up too much information about themselves but they do bond over the problem that is Xhalos Lyro. It is not a long talk, but one that will spawn plenty of opportunities as they both agree to discuss the matters further. Then they sever the connection...for now.

Nerves have gathered in Zilvra’s guts as the conversation came to a halt. Now she stands again, nearing the soft light of the invisible moon.

Tazree places a light hand on her shoulder. “Take your time.”

Then Zilvra is left completely alone.

“Zilvra Shadowsong. Friederick Stein.”

The moonlight shimmers brightly almost immediately, showing #2 walking outside somewhere in a field of grain that grows tall. Zilvra doesn’t know what kind it is, she hasn’t learned.

“This is barley,” #2 explains as though she had questioned him, “it will be used for bread and alcohol. Beer. It is still growing and even when it is ready, it will still undergo many changes to become what it must.”

The young drow is certain it’s meant as a metaphor but she can’t be bothered with cryptic talks and hints.

She opens her mouth to speak but #2, Friederick, beats her to it: “You must come here. Lives depend on it. Stouvania’s fate too.”

“Why me? Why should I trust you?”

“I’ve helped you, haven’t I?”

She crosses her arms. “Yes...but I’m not certain that it isn’t out of guilt. You killed my father, didn’t you?”

“I did.” There it is. Harsh and unbending, cold like her heart as she stares at the man’s silvery face. “We encountered each other and we came to an agreement...his men would go free regardless of the outcome of a duel...but we would fight.”

“Why?”

But Friederick shakes his head, silently asking her to be patient. “None of us were to wear or use any special equipment. It was purely a matter of skill and the duel was hard, I admit.” He sighs. “But I won. They took him, carried him away to where I want you to go. I took his belongings.”

“Three of those things make you a wanted man,” Zilvra manages to press out through a clenched jaw.

Her hands are tightly balled fists, her heart is thundering in her chest.

“What else is new?” the man scoffs. “Come to Welles. Go with me to the largest and wealthiest farm there...Hells, go alone if you must...but go.”

She isn’t stupid. This must be where the men are hiding and her father’s corpse was brought.

“Why did you have to fight? Couldn’t he just have faked his death?” Zilvra blinks the angry tears back.

“He...he didn’t want to live anymore...perhaps this was the right way out for him? Ensuring the safety of his men at the very least,” he shrugs as if the shoulders are heavy, burdened by the dead drow’s cloak that he wears. “Go to the farm. The owner is called Rudolf. They need you.”

Then he severs the connection by walking out of his moonbeam, leaving Zilvra alone with a new understanding including that her father had lost his will to live. It feels so wrong. What caused him such grief? Then it hits her: he had been denied the chance to live with the woman he loved and his child before being send off to work for nation that barely recognized him as an individual.

“ARGH!” Zilvra yells exasperated, punching the polished rock wall.

The door slams open and Anvindr comes rushing in, looking alarmed but finding nothing out of the ordinary except for his friend rubbing her fist.

“Are you...alright?” he asks, slowly nearing.

“No. Yeah. I don’t know.” Zilvra wipes freshly fallen tears off her face. “He did it. He killed him.”

The genasi nods gently. “You knew that.”

She sighs. “I guess. Now I know for sure.”

“Let’s find Morella and your grandmother.”

They reunite all of them and Zilvra explains a bit of what Friederick Stein (referring to him again as #2) said about Kalannar and Tazree explains that Kalannar cared a lot. Too much. He could not make the hard decision if anyone else got hurt in the process. Tazree is both sad but also relieved…but she guesses that #2 has everything that used to belong to Kalannar.

“I have much to consider with these new alliances and I’m sure the three of you want to take a moment to consider your plans.”

Taking the hint, the trio withdraw to the guest quarters where they discuss their options.

“You have to go there,” the eladrin insists. “No buts or anything,” she adds as she sees the expression on the drow’s face.

“Yeah, I agree with Morella,” Anvindr weighs in.

“I admit this is...important to me but we had a plan! We were going to he-”

“I can wait,” the genasi shrugs. “This is here and now.”

Rubbing her face, the drow tries to hide how much it means to her and how moved she is by their decision. “Thank you,” she manages.

Morella pats her gently on the shoulder. “Question is how to get there?”

“I want to help Tazree too, so lets go via Silver Keep to make introductions. Maybe we can get a boat there and sail instead of walk?” Zilvra suggests.

They both agree. Though they are used to being on the road, it sounds comfortable to ride the currents of the river for once and so that becomes their plan: head to Silver Keep with a Spectre envoy to curate the potential alliance and then sail to Welles.

“Now, if you guys don’t mind...I need to do something or I’ll go crazy,” Zilvra pleads.

Of course Anvindr and Morella don’t mind.

---

“What do you think it is?” Anvindr whispers as Zilvra returns from her training.

Morella snorts. “Well it’s a mushroom...of sorts.”

They’ve got their heads close together, hunched over something in the eladrin’s lap and they are as of yet unaware of the friend’s return.

“Ever seen a mushroom like that?” the genasi challenges.

“N-no...”

Zilvra comes over, her presence enough to alert her friends now. “We have weird mushrooms as you’ve seen, can I have a look?”

A bit shyly for once, Morella holds up a jar to show what they are studying: from a layer of dirt is sprouting a tiny little mushroom with a flaming cap. Zilvra has never seen a mushroom like that...but she has seen plants before that had fused with the fire rather than burn to nothing as the flames danced along them: when they had looked through the portal into the Fey Wild, the sight had been similar to this.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Zilvra refrains from pointing it out, not sure what to make of it. Perhaps she’s mistaken.

“Yeah,” she says instead, “that’s...new. Where did you find it?”

“I...made it. I was hanging out at the mushrooms and was playing with my skills and suddenly – pop – there it was.”

Anvindr stretches and cracks his neck. “Well I say we just bring it with us. Study it.”

[wedarkacademia]

Sometimes neither a friend nor a psychologist can enter the depths of your soul, but only the flames of a candle or a fireplace.

~ Mehmet Murat ildan

[oldquotes]

'People often make very bad mistakes because people often don't ask very simple crucial questions before their actions!' -Mehmet Murat ildan | View more inspirational quotes at Old Quotes

[ajwrites52]

BATOBER DAY 2-RUINS

The thick cloud of dust forced several sneezes out of her, it had likely been ages since this entrance had been opened as she pried the grandfather clock from its place against the wall. Illuminating the darkness with her torchlight, she descended back into the darkness. As she entered the dilapidated state of the Batcave, memories of a distant lifetime began to re-enter her mind. Her muddy brown eyes drifted towards the empty space near the damaged and destroyed Batcomputer where a mat would be placed for sparring.

“I demand a rematch!” Yelled Damian after his very public defeat at the hands of Cassandra. Cassandra smiled and offered a hand to her young brother, both had a silent understanding of one another that neither had with their siblings. Both born and raised weapons, but found something else, something better for themselves under the tutelage of their siblings and father. She welcomed the challenge anyway from such a worthy sparring partner. To her memory, they might have still been tied at fifty wins each.

She saw the broken torn bookshelf that Barbara had Tim and Alfred set up for her greater education. While she enjoyed Barbara teaching her and giving her the skills that monster stole from her childhood, she did admit to mostly enjoying her and Alfred’s recreations of A Midnight Summers Dream and Othello. Those were the moments she enjoyed the most out of all her lessons.

She remembers the nights where she couldn’t sleep and Dick would find her down here staring into the display case of their fathers first Batsuit. The one that started the legacy and legend of The Batman. She would often ask Dick what it was like when he donned the cowl, “How heavy did it weigh on you?”

Dick would always take a moment to ponder his answer and he would respond with a variety of answers, but they all boiled down to a simple message. “It was immense. Like the entire weight of the world was sewn into the very cowl Bruce wore every night.”

Beside that case sat one that was far too familiar, Jason’s. He’d always felt like an outsider, some might say even more so than herself or Stephanie despite Bruce still loving him as a son. She would always catch Jason staring at this costume when he visited, his hands balled up into fists and anger all around his body. But that anger quickly metamorphosed into sorrow before becoming pain, she would try her best to comfort him. A hand on the shoulder, a hug, or kind words, but she knew best that nothing could make up for the pain that others put you through and made you believe it was deserved.

The ruins of the Batcave were immense, and all consuming, but she was there for a reason. Multiple in fact, she approached the ledge of the cavern and stared down into the abyssal darkness below. What felt like hours or even days, time lost all meaning as she peered downwards. She then asked a simple question to whoever would listen.

“Am… I… ready?” Silence. That is until she hears his voice. The voice of her father, the voice of the man that made her into the person that she is today. The voice of The Batman.

“You are more than ready Cassandra.” At that moment, a swarm of bats eject themselves from the caverns below. She watches in awe as they form a trail towards a tattered curtain, beckoning her to follow them.

Parting the moth-eaten veil, she was met with an artifact she thought long lost. Preserved in a glass case and untouched by the powers of time, a black suit with the yellow outline of the symbol stretched across the chest letting all know who this was. It wasn’t Batgirls or Batwomans, it was his. She looked at the cowl and found a bat sat atop the glass. The two locked eyes and she smiled as she finally accepted the message.

“Yes father. I shall become The Bat.”

Even when the magnificent buildings of the past are ruined centuries later, they continue to shine like candle flames that weaken by the wind but never go out!

-Mehmet Murat Ildan

[quotelr]

You can pull people to your own winter and freeze them up or you can take your sun to people’s own winter and warm them up! It is up to you to bring hell or heaven to people’s life!

Mehmet Murat ildan

[thepersonalwords]

Don’t ever rule out the option of U-turn in your life, because one day you will need it! The moment you realize that you are going to the wrong direction, turn to the right direction instantly, with a beautiful U-turn!

Mehmet Murat ildan

[authenticity2025]

If you know the art of being happy with simple things, then you know the art of having maximum happiness with minimum effort! Mehmet Murat ildan