#Pakistani Mountaineer

[starry-bi-sky]

Clone^2 - Separation Strikes

"Why do I have to go?" Damian asks, surly and accent-thick, it sounds more like a demand and a whine at the same time. Sitting on the kitchen table with his arms crossed, in a green t-shirt that Danny bought him at a whim when he was at a thrift shop, and black shorts, he's never looked more like a kid. There's a little backpack leaning against the table leg, Damian begrudgingly picked it out when they went shopping.

His English has grown in leaps and bounds since Danny found him -- er, or more accurately; since Damian was spat out in front of him. -- and very little did they have to use the translator on Danny's phone these days.

Which meant one thing: Damian can start attending school comfortably now. And 'go' was the Amity Smiles Child Care Center. Danny and Jazz went as kids until they were twelve, and Mom and Dad actually managed to convince the center director to let Damian enroll for the summer.

And it was summer; Damian starts today.

"Because," Danny says, trying and failing to hide the smile pulling on his face, his heart warm and soft, and also laughing at Damian's expense; "being cooped up in the house all day isn't good for you, and you're starting school in the Fall. And, in Jazz's words: you need to have interactions with other kids your age for the benefit of your social development. And besides, it's only for the morning."

Damian's nose scrunches up, and his eyes roll so violently that for a moment, Danny thinks about joking that he'll get his eyes stuck like that. He holds his tongue; his little brother already looks like he's five seconds away from committing an act of violence.

"I don't need social interaction." Damian sneers, his cheek in his hand; a neverend pool of pride. "I am--"

"The Blood of the Demon Heir, better than everyone else." Danny cuts off, waving his hand in dismissive circles, his voice mockingly deep. Damian's brown skin darkens in embarrassment, and he scowls at Danny. "I know, bud. But Jazz is right, -- don't tell her I said that, -- you should be around kids your age."

Especially when he starts First Grade in the Fall. Honestly -- Danny was a little nervous to send him to the center. Damian's long since cut the habit of trying to kill or otherwise maim people, his palms ache-burn with gentle reminder, but his tongue was as sharp and as cutting as his sword. He still struggles with trying to quell it when he's upset. Vicious child-weapon that he once was, and will never be again.

Danny knows that it comes from a place of fear and defense, that Damian lashes out because that's what he's been taught. That at the end of the day, he doesn't really mean what he says, and he's learning to express himself better. But the other kids don't know that, and kids can be unforgiving and cruel.

Danny just...

His slow beating heart sighs, melancholy settles behind his lungs.

He doesn't want Damian to be outcasted. He doesn't want him to be alone.

Not like he was.

Damian sneers again, but says nothing, his shoulders crawling up to hide his ears like a turtle receding into his shell. Danny watches him silently, leaning against the kitchen counter with his own arms crossed. The clock hanging on the wall ticks in their ears -- it's almost time to go.

He watches Damian, careful, and so he sees it when his little brother's stone-shell pride and petulance shudders, and cracks. The darkened furrow of Damian's brows weakens, and for a moment, slants back.

Ah, Danny thinks, his own shoulders slumping. Epiphany washes over him, and his sad-heart soothes in warm understanding. So that's what it is.

His head tilts, and his hair spills over his shoulders, messy and fluffy, tickling his neck. Some of his bangs fall into his face. "Hal 'ant easabiatan ya habibi?" He asks, voice low and soft. Just as Damian's English has improved, so has Danny's Arabic. He still stumbles over himself some days, and Damian says his accent is trash, but they can have whole conversations now in Damian's mothertongue.

(Danny was incredibly proud of himself for it.)

Damian's face darkens, his blush spreading across the rest of his face, and he ducks his head down. Grown-out curls, black-brown and springy, falls over his eyes. "La!" He yells, loud and indignant, and not at all convincingly. "La 'asheur bialtawaturi!"

He was nervous. Danny can see it now, in the hunch of his shoulders and the tightness of his face, and faintly, he can feel it too. In the ecto-rich air of the Fentonworks House, it thrums, barely-there, like a hummingbird behind his lungs.

Danny can't stop the little, fond smile that forces itself across his lips and upticks the corner of his mouth. "It's okay to be nervous, little brother." He says, he sounds like Jazz when he says that. He doesn't think she'll mind him borrowing the nickname.

He pushes himself off the counter, and Damian refuses to look at him, hiding behind his hair and in his shoulders. It takes three long strides for him to reach the table, and Danny turns, plants his hands on the ledge, and hoists himself up. Right next to Damian.

Damian leans into him easily when Danny's arm wraps around his shoulders and tucks him close to his heart. He can feel his ear against his ribs. Danny hunches over him, resting his chin on Damian's head. "It's so okay to be nervous, actually. I was nervous, Jazz was nervous." He tells him, scratching the blunt edge of his nails across his scalp. "Everyone gets nervous."

"'Ana last aljumiea." Damian mumbles, as small and feeble as he was the night on the OPS Center balcony, realizing that his mom and the League weren't coming for him. Realizing that he was replaceable.

Danny's half-working heart squeezes; in grief, in rage, and his faucet eyes sting. He breathes in carefully, and presses his nose into Damian's hair in a loving faux-kiss. "You're right, you're not everyone." He says, steady and strong, because if he's not a pillar for his family, who else is he?

He can feel Damian's eyes flick up to him, and Danny smiles into his black-brown curls. Tilts his head to squish his cheek against him instead, hand dropping to thumb below Damian's lashes. "You're Damian Fenton," Because the adoption went through a few weeks ago, and he's still riding that high, "You're my baby brother. O' Artist Extraordinaire, Kickass with a Sword, Vegetarian and Wonderful Co-Ghost Hunter."

Damian tries to stifle a smile, and fails. Score! Triumph gathers in Danny's gut, his smile grows wider. He squeezes Damian tight, and only releases him so he can look him in the eyes. "And if anyone gives you a hard time at school, and I mean anyone--"

Danny has bad memories of the teachers looking the other way when the other kids were bullying him, all because he was a Fenton.

And Danny, bleeding heart, bleeding hands, loves his family more than he will ever love himself, will never let Damian experience the same injustice. Not if he can help it.

His eyes narrow, and the buzzy-film of ectoplasm covers his eyes, making them glow, "--You tell me. And as your awesome great big brother-and-technically-dad-but-only-biologically, I will handle it."

Damian, wonderfully made, full of light, his little brother Damian, giggles weakly at him. A sound that's worth it's weight in gold. The scary eyes dissipate, and Danny matches the sound with a cock-eyed, impish grin, dragging Damian into a soul-crushing, too-tight hug. The kind that only annoying older brothers can give. "Got it?"

That gets a proper, if short, laugh out of Damian. He wriggles in Danny's arms, trying to break free. But Danny does calisthenics, his arms are as big as Damian's head, so it doesn't work. "Understood, now, daeni 'adhhab ya 'akhi!"

Danny laughs, loud and bright, and loosens his hold just a smidge, only so he can adjust his grip and hop off the table with Damian still in arm.

"Never!" He crows, hoisting Damian slightly. One eye flick at the clock, and in one quick move, he secures Damian under one arm like a football, and hooks his foot under the strap of his backpack. Kicking it up, he tosses it into the air and catches it with his free hand, and slings it over his shoulder. "Now, to the car, my boy! Before we're late and Mom and Dad get charged."

Damian groans, childish and dramatic and long, but his face is all squished up with a wide grin and glee. Danny can taste his joy beneath his tongue.

"And, if my little pep talk didn't encourage you," He says, reaching the door to the garage, flipping Damian up onto his hip instead. "If you have a good day today, I'll make you bal mithai when you get back."

Like all kids at the promise of sweets, Damian's eyes widen and glitter. Danny loves seeing Damian be a kid, it's his favorite thing in the world. "I will!"

[thehalalgirlofficial]

Skardu Pakistan, February 2024

[yearningforit]

Colours Of Pakistan

🎥Insta @ SherAliPhotography

[ahl-e-dil]

[absolutedigitalbranding]

Kargil Vijay Diwas is celebrated every 26 July in India, to observe India's victory over Pakistan in the Kargil War for ousting Pakistani Forces from their occupied positions on the mountain tops of Northern Kargil District in Ladakh in 1999 .

Build your brand with digital media & take the benefits of social media branding contact Absolute Digital Marketing. by Absolutedigitalbranding.com

#Marktingstrategy #SEObrandingagency #SEO #PPC #SMO #SMM #SeoCompany #digitalmarketingcompany #socialmediamarketingcompany #absolutedigitalbranding #searchengineoptimization #advertisingagencyinmohali #facebook #twitter #marketingonline #brand #searchengineoptimization #internetmarketing #follow #digitalagency #marketingagency #motivation #digitalmarketingtips #onlinebusiness #websitedesign #marketingonline #brand #searchengineoptimization #content #ABSOLUTEDIGITALBRANDING #BEST #PUBLIC #RELATION #AGENCY #IN #CHANDIGARH #MOHALI #PUNJAB #NORTH #INDIA #onlinebranding #branding360degree #SEObrandingagency #websiteranking #websitetrafic #Digitalmarketing #OnlineAdvertising #instagrammarketing #advertisingagency #web #technology #internetmarketing #marketingonline #brand #searchengineoptimization #content #instagrammarketing #advertisingagency #web #technology #onlinebranding #buildingrelationships #globally #customer #internetbranding-at Absolute digital Branding & Public relations

[izrafajar]

[riding-with-the-wild-hunt]

"'I should like to save the Shire, if I could—though there have been times when I thought the inhabitants too stupid and dull for words, and have felt that an earthquake or an invasion of dragons might be good for them. But I don't feel like that now. I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.'" - J.R.R. Tolkien, The Fellowship of the Ring, "The Shadow of the Past"

@aspecardaweek day 1 ⇢ asexuality || FRODO BAGGINS

[ID: an edit comprised of four posters in shades of black, white, grey, and purple (the colors of the asexual flag). Each poster has a light grey background and is framed on one or two sides with dark and light purple lines.

1: A horizontal, rectangular image at the top left shows pakistani model Nyle Khan in black and white. He is a young man with a serious expression and dark curly hair that reaches his shoulders. His head is tilted to the left and he is wearing a white shirt with a collar. Purple text at the bottom of the image reads "frodo" in block letters and "the ringbearer" in lighter purple cursive. White serif text below that reads "And here he was, a little halfling from the Shire, a simple hobbit of the quiet countryside, expected to find a way where the great ones could not go, or dared not go. It was an evil fate." / 2: A large image in the upper right corner shows a dirt track leading between banks of purple heather under a cloudy sky. White text below the image reads "I will take the Ring," / 3: Same format as Image 2, but the orientation is reversed, with the image in the bottom left corner and the text on top. The image shows purple mountains wreathed in cloud, and the text reads "though I do not know the way." / 4: A vertical image of Nyle Khan in the upper right corner shows him sitting back and looking at the viewer with a neutral expression, wearing the same white shirt as in Image 1. Vertical text to the left of the image reads "Baggins" in block letters and "of Bag End" in cursive. White text below the image reads "I am naked in the dark, Sam, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. I begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades." //End ID]

[oddishfeeling]

do you have any book recommendations? pls i need lots 💙💙

this is such a loaded question friend. but lucky for u, i am procrastinating assignments, my take out has yet to arrive, and i just finished another book!

horror fic has been my choice for the last several books

the centre by ayesha manazir siddiqi is about a young Pakistani woman living in the UK. she's a translator for Urduru films. language and translation are central to this book. people are becoming fluent in a matter of weeks in complex languages.... the centre is gorgeous if not entirely mysterious, magical even. but whats the catch?? beautifully written. vivid details. anisa is a flawed, honest, and genuine feeling mc, as are the people in her life. i just finished it a couple hours ago n i miss my girls.

slewfoot by brom is set in 17th century Connecticut. our protag, Abitha, is not from this town but she does he best to adhere to the Puritan standards, if not for her well being, than that of her husband's. something stirs in the outskirts of the village, in the forest and beyond. she finds help from an unlikely source while also fostering a deep inner power of her own. these characters felt so well thought out, the writing is magnetic and the action is well paced. it puts so many preconceived notions right on their head. i loved this book and can't wait to read brom's other novel, the child thief, a retelling of peter pan and the lost boys!

sister, maiden, monster by lucy a. synder was oh so gay and oh so cosmically horrendous. this is like h.p. lovecraft wasn't a weird racist. this is like if biblically accurate angels were once just women in love. this is horrifying, visceral, and relevant to our COVID world. i was gawking at so many of the details. there are so many monster themes actually, it's perfect. the story is told through 3 povs of 3 different women. and we love women! and horror! i didn't expect to pick this one up but I'm so glad i did.

mary: an awakening of terror by nat cassidy do u know what it's like to be virtually invisible? forgotten? disaffected? do u know the pure joy of having a precious collection, adding to it over time, and it being almost ur only reason for living anymore?? then you're a lot like mary. and mary is a lot like plenty of women who get the chance to live beyond adolescence, who are cast out by society-- deemed invaluable. mary is utterly lost at a time in her life she feels she should have it all figured out. she goes back to her hometown, an ambiguous small town in the middle of the desert, and some unlikely characters help her piece things back together. i finished this book feeling so close to mary. we are friends now. there is mystique, horror, fables, myths, bad guys, mysterious architecture, and well mary is not the most reliable narrator. loved this one too.

the last house on needless street by catriona ward i had no idea where this book was going and i loved piecing the narrative together through several characters and their povs. it forces u to confront ur own biases regarding mental health. u are sympathetic to the characters in the most painful, heart wrenching ways. there is murder. there is mystery. there is missing children. there are cats. this book surprised me and it was fun to have to find a couple reddit threads to be sure i was understanding the story correctly. i felt like i read this kind of fast! which is always fun too.

brother by ania ahlborn this one pissed me off a bit. but in a good way because i was so deeply invested. this one is set in Appalachia. i'm not one for stereotypes, especially bc i think Appalachians have a bad rep and it's of no fault of their own. that being said, the insular feel of the book and the absolute claustrophobia those mountains create in this story were like a character in it of itself. our protag, michael, knows there's something beyond. he's seen them on colorful postcards. but his own mind and his own heart seem utterly trapped here. this one is heartbreaking. it's horrifying. and it'll make u dizzy from the amount of times u change ur mind. excited to read her other novel, Seed, because this one stuck with me so much!

a couple honorable mentions that fit the theme:

the vegetarian by han kang korean food. infidelity. art. nightmares. inexplicable mindfucks! this story was scary because it felt very.. possible? no monsters this time. no spells. just... the mind deteriorating. could happen to any of us.

a certain hunger by chelsea g. summers what if girlbossing is just a quick pivot from sociopathy?? what if the crimes are so much more gratifying than say, fame or fortune or even love?? women can be sociopaths too, you know!! this one is fun bc the protag is crazy and it's fun to slip into these characters. cathartic even. omg did i mention, she's a foodie too! just like me :-)

[princess-of-thebes-1995]

Bia Tu

Chapter One

Come, You.

Yandere! Hannibal Lecter x Female Bipolar! Reader. Reader Chan was a former Afghan Citizen currently living in America.

Chapter Summary. It is 2020 and you are on the brink of taking your life during the Pandemic. You need help. Lonely and middle-aged, Docter Hannibal Lecter, a psychiatrist, wasting time till retirement and he needs help to fill the void in his chest. Drugs and women were not helping. He needs your help. His stubborn and moody patient of all people…and a Vegan. Ugh.

Warning: Age Gap. Older man with much younger woman. Cannibalism. Yandere. Language Barrier. Obsession. Stalking. Crude Language. Mental Illnesses. Gas Lighting. Manipulation.

No.

Once more, your mean-spirited joke called Father said “No”. Again. He hardly said yes to your wishes. Your elderly friend in community college recently passed away due to Pneumonia.  His daughter on Facebook announced his condition and posted the location and time of his funeral one city away.

You were only nineteen and came to America age seventeen. You did not know how to drive on freeways. Your dad would not teach you or let you travel far on your own.  The City Village you came from was Baghlan, Afghanistan. A rural place in the mountain farms. Not as educated as the capital city of Kabul.

Your dad was close minded and rude. He was plagued with toxic masculinity and was suffocating you. The Virus made life more difficult. Your best friend passed away and the shut down of your school did not help. Your father would not let you step outside the house. And you were lucky to go to school in public. You hated online classes.

Tears trailed down your rosy cheeks and your fat lips reddened from being bitten. Oh, how you hate your Father! Damn him! Sexist Swine! Misogyny stenches came from him.

You leisurely took out the cell phone out of your purse and typed “suicide” on google images.

Is Everything All Right? Need help? Call us?

You licked your lips.

“Save me.” You whispered to yourself.

Doctor Lecter did not say anything as a client of his almost knocked the tray of snacks he placed on the coffee table. Ian was a womanizer who finally got his punishment. He got his heart broken and now was seeing Doctor Lecter for his “depression”. Lecter told him that he was not depressed. He was just mad and did not need medication. But, Ian being a spoiled and entitled Prick he was, he insisted. So, Lecter decided to write a report. Hannibal does not want to give medicine freely. As it was illegal.

“Mr. Kermif. Please leave.” Doctor Lecter firmly stated. Ian glared at the wrinkled face of his doctor. Hannibal was not backing down.

Ian clenched his jaw then slammed the door shut as he finally left the wonderfully decorated office of Psychiatrist Hannibal Lecter.

Another day. Another headache. Lecter was in college when SpongeBob came to television. He thought Squidward was pathetic and a born loser. But, as much as Lecter hated to admit it. He became a Squidward himself. How embarrassing that life defeated him. He is a late middle-aged man almost a grandfather age and yet single to the tea.

No wife or kids. He spent his days being a womanizer like Ian. But, he never cheated. He told all the women he has been with he does not want a relationship.

Regret filled the cold and voided heart of Doctor Hannibal Lecter.

His phone chimed to let him know that a new patient will see him first thing tomorrow at one in the afternoon.

As Doctor Lecter read the name of the patient. He cocked his head to the side and furrowed his wrinkled eyebrows in confusion. What a peculiar and odd name. He never heard of that name once. Not even in movies or fiction books. It was effeminate so he knew the new patient was a woman.

“Afghanistan.” He murmured. The profile said that English was your second language and Pashto was your first. How strange indeed. He met Pakistani and Yemeni people. Never an Afghani. Thanks to the terrorist attack on September 11, 2001, Afghan citizens found it difficult to get VISAS in America.

Doctor Lecter can refuse to see you and assign you to another Doctor. He decided to see you tomorrow.

What could possibly go wrong? He has treated over thousands of patients for twenty-eight years of being a psychiatrist. What will make you special and different?

[ceiling-karasu]

Other Countries in the Squirrel and Hedgehog AUs, Part One, Plus OCs

Chaand Hadia (Moon Gift, Urdu)

For my AUs, I will have Flower Hill (North Korea) be very close to the country of Chaand Hadia (Moon Gift), located the left of the country. I'm ignoring the distance in between them for now, because this is fiction and I have decided it.

Location and Geography: Shares a border with Flower Hill. Plains, plateaus, mountains, rivers, fertile valleys, and ocean make for varied regions.

The Farmhouse Villa for Lily Bell in the Thorn Thicket most likely takes place a few hours from the border between Flower Hill and Chaand Hadia.

Government: democratic parliamentary federal republic but local cultural rules specific regions.

Economy: The economy is largely based off of herbs, medicines, and dyes, with large exports of textiles. Essential medical compounds are grown in villages around the country or on mountaintops. Herbalists are seen as an essential job, and doctors that travel between small villages and neighboring countries are commonplace.

Flower Hill provides a lot of silk to Chaand Hadia, and receives essential medicines, dyes, and weapon components (in secret) that they may not have been able to grow or find themselves.

Demographics: hog deer, goats, sheep, boars, mongoose, Indian pangolin, striped hyenas, black and brown bears

Culture: Each province has it’s own rules and specific clothing styles based on the standard. Important families carry a detailed pocket compass to identify themselves, although the meanings can vary, and the presence of one can be a coded message.

Foreign Relations: Balanced and outwardly neutral, although getting more and more friendly with Flower Hill. Very friendly with Chambelli Koh.

Relation to Flower Hill: Alongside regular trade, secretly smuggles extra weapons and medicines into Flower Hill, possibly even up to weapons of mass destruction. After all, if Flower Hill falls the the Weasel Unit, their own coastlines will be next. Will not do anything overtly to support their neighbor, though, unless pushed.

Traditional Clothing Style (Not military attire): Shalwar kameez, hijab, Niqab. Clothing used to be more plain until they began acquiring large amounts of silk from Flower Hill.

OC Character: Soor-Hiran (May appear Briefly)

Rei-Does-Stuff mentioned the idea of a goat that could smuggle weapons and such into Flower Hill, and to Geumsaegi. I made a joke about the deer I had made in Lily Bell in the Thorn Thicket, who does kind of do that. They responded with the concept of the Pakistani hog-deer, with absolutely no hesitation. Later, they discussed how Pakistan was such a close ally of North Korea, to the point that they smuggled nuclear weapons into the country. Well, that was also a background plot (not a spoiler), and the deer smuggling weapons and poisons may be a larger plot-line in the current AU. So, we got to talking.

As such, I would like to formally dedicate my Hog-Deer Smuggler, Soor-Hiran, to @Rei-Does-Stuff.

Gender: Ambiguous.

Country: Chaand Hadia (Moon gift, Urdu)

Alliance: Chaand Hadia

Attire: Hijab, loose trousers and shirts (Shalwar kameez), but province styles are blended together.

Skills: Herbs, medicine, espionage, deceit, eavesdropping, eidetic memory of mountain paths and plants, and schematics.

Weapon: Poison needles.

Day job: traveling herbalist, doctor. Is allowed to travel between Chaand Hadia and Flower Hill, and works with the commanders in Cherry Valley, as permitted by their own government. Alongside medicines, they bring materials for weapons, schematics, and messages pertaining to Weasel Unit movements and acquisitions. Their village is next to the border of Flower Hill, so it is easy to travel in between.

Works with: markhor goat group of apprentice herbalists and couriers. But they may be more than they seem to be...

Secret Job and backstory: While they will happily accept requests from Flower Hill, Soor-Hiran's group secretly works as a black market smuggler. Other weapons, foods, stolen items, jewels, and information are sold to those willing to pay the price. So far, the Weasel Unit has been unable to afford their cost, but how desperate will they get until they are willing to pay?

Likes: Silk, moths, flowers

Dislikes: being belittled for their culture

Personal Item: Beloved family antique pocket compass/sundial. This specific heirloom allows them free entry into Flower Hill.

OC Character: Pangulggot

Gender: Male

Country and Alliance: Chaand Hadia

Attire: loose trousers and shirts (Shalwar kameez)

Skills: medicine, ignoring things that don't apply to him.

Weapon: nothing other than his scales and claws. Is far too mild mannered to fight back if attacked for the most part. His scales prevent him from being harmed.

Day Job: traveling herbalist and medicine worker, bringing important medicinal components to Flower Hill

Works with: markhor goat group of apprentice herbalists, guards, and couriers

Likes: his job, Lily of the Valley flowers

Dislikes: People trying to eat Lily of the Valley Flowers. They are poisonous, but yet...

Backstory: They do very much love their name. However:

Pangulggot is aware that authorities act strangely when they say their name, and tries to hide it, since there is something going on that they probably should not know. Possibly a dangerous individual with the same name, or a military code word…?

Whatever it is, they sure notice that it gets them pulled into empty rooms while going through customs and checkpoints as ‘randomly selected,’ for extra questioning that sure sounds like they contain specific phrases for a specific person he is not.

[yearningforit]

🎥Insta @ reelrock @ babsizangerl @ jacopolarcher

[elwinka]

'One must learn to love."

[Nietzsche: The Gay Science, On the Genius of the Heart, Book III, sec. 334]

'Since I have known the fire and water of love, I am like glowing water in the fire of my heart. Like the lute, I have prepared my heart until the sound of the wound of my love was composed.'

[al-Din Rumi, also known as Maulana/Mevlana]

'Yunus Emre and his poems have been alive in people's hearts and on their trains for more than seven hundred years. Even in villages in Anatolia, I have met people reciting Yunus Emre's songs as they have been passed on from ear to ear, from generation to generation. In Australia, I have heard Yunus Emre songs sung by a Pakistani who does not know Turkish, and I have learnt that Yunus Emre verses are sung in Albania and the Balkan countries. Is there anyone in Turkey who does not love Yunus Emre? When his name is mentioned, faces light up and you feel a breeze of love. Love for Yunus Emre is one of the most precious bonds that hold us together. Our nation owes him a lot. The great Azerbaijani poet Vahapzade asks: 'Why does he have tombs in a thousand places when he died in one particular place?' and answers the question: 'Because every day a grave is prepared for him in hearts, In grasses, flowers, roses a grave is prepared! Be it fairy tale, be it truth - one man, but so many people: The voice is of being he from the instrument of the Turks.' Yunus Emre is the voice of being; he lives in the awareness of the 'unity of being'. That is why he is in the grasses, the flowers, the roses and the hearts. The essence of being, the high value that man has in being and the need to lead man to the awareness of this value is the basis of his world view. In other words, he is a Muslim mystic. He is the dervish Yunus. The cause of being is love, and it is through love that one is led to him who bestows being. Love is the reason for and the goal of coming into the world. The path that leads there goes through the heart of man, the highest of creatures: 'I did not come with a claim: my work is for the sake of love. Hearts are a friend's house - I came to build hearts.' God, whose being does not resemble the being of the beings he has created, whose innermost being is impossible to grasp, because at most the paths to understanding his workmen are open to us - this God has appointed man as governor on earth. He has given man the high rank of being the holiest of his creatures, for he created him as the quintessence of the universe. Man is a microcosm: whoever understands man also understands the universe. To walk on the paths of knowledge is also the way to recognise God. Knowledge is what man owes to God. Knowledge must help man to recognise himself. But recognising oneself is the basis of all knowledge: 'Science is: knowing knowledge. Science: knowing yourself. If you don't know yourself, what use is all this reading?' In this world we have a certain share: it is taken, it is carried away. No one stays here forever. But what we have to take and give is love. Love is the basis of existence: Let us love and be loved - for no one remains in this world!

[Namik Kemal Zeybek]

Who was Yunus Emre? Little is known about him, except that he lived in central Anatolia, where he received his spiritual education from a Sufi master, Tapduk Emre, and died around 1321. Several places in Turkey are fighting over the honour of owning his grave. From some of Yunus' verses it can be seen that he met the great master of mystic poetry, Mevlana Rumi, who died in Konya in 1273 - this would suggest that Yunus was born around 1240 or a little later. His longing poems are best understood by travelling or walking through Anatolia and experiencing how all of nature forms a backdrop for these verses: You roar again, mad heart, And bubble like the waters bright? Are you flowing again, tears of blood, that you are blocking my path? I became dust on your path; you pointed all the way from over there - Are you the mountain with a stone breast that stands sternly against me? […] For he knew that all of nature, with its silent language, expressed its longing for God, the Eternal Beloved, and that every stone, every plant sang the praises of the Creator. His most beautiful poems were born out of this feeling. He was able to understand the squeaking of the waterwheel as an expression of the infinite longing of the wood, which, harvested from the native forest, now sighs for the original homeland - just as Mevlana Rumi had interpreted the song of the flute before him, whose laments express the homesickness for the eternal reeds, the undivided unity with God.

[Annemarie Schimmel]

Mevlana Jalaluddin Rumi (1207–1273), commonly known as Rumi, was a 13th-century Persian poet, Islamic scholar, theologian, and Sufi mystic. His influence extends well beyond his time, especially through his poetry, which is celebrated worldwide for its depth, spiritual insight, and universal appeal. Rumi was born in 1207 in Balkh, present-day Afghanistan, which was then part of the greater Persian Empire. His family fled Balkh due to the Mongol invasions and eventually settled in Konya, in present-day Turkey, which was part of the Seljuk Empire. This period was marked by significant turmoil, including the Mongol expansion, which brought devastation to much of the Islamic world, and the fragmentation of the Seljuk Empire. Konya, where Rumi spent most of his life, was a cultural and intellectual hub. The Seljuks had established it as a center for scholars, artists, and mystics, making it a fertile ground for Rumi’s spiritual and intellectual growth. His father, Baha' al-Din Walad, was a well-known theologian and mystic, and Rumi followed in his footsteps, eventually becoming a respected scholar and Sufi leader.

In 1244, Rumi encountered a wandering dervish named Shams al-Din Tabrizi (Shams of Tabriz). This meeting was a turning point in Rumi's life. Shams was an enigmatic and charismatic figure, deeply spiritual, but unconventional. Their relationship was intense and transformative for Rumi. Shams challenged Rumi’s conventional scholarly approach and introduced him to a more profound, mystical experience of divine love. Their bond was so deep that it became the subject of much speculation and controversy. Some viewed Shams as a spiritual guide who unlocked Rumi’s mystical potential, while others were suspicious of the intense nature of their relationship. This connection drastically changed Rumi's life and his approach to spirituality and writing. Shams disappeared mysteriously after a few years, which deeply affected Rumi. Some accounts suggest that he was murdered by Rumi’s followers, who were jealous of his influence over Rumi. This loss plunged Rumi into a period of deep grief, but it also inspired a vast outpouring of poetry and mystical writing, including his famous collection of lyric poetry, the Divan-e Shams-e Tabrizi (The Works of Shams of Tabriz), in which Rumi expresses his profound spiritual insights and emotions.

[See also 'Rumi and the wandering dervish' a poetical interpretation of Rumi's feeling after Shams' disappearance.]

After Shams’ disappearance, Rumi continued to live in Konya, where he became a prominent spiritual leader. His most famous work, the Masnavi (also known as the Mathnawi), is a six-book epic poem that explores various aspects of Sufi thought, including the nature of God, love, and the spiritual journey. It has been called the "Qur'an in Persian" for its depth and influence.

Rumi’s teachings and poetry emphasize the universality of divine love, the importance of the spiritual journey, and the transformative power of love and devotion. After his death in 1273, his followers founded the Mevlevi Order, also known as the Whirling Dervishes, which became known for its practice of Sema, a ritual dance symbolizing the spiritual ascent towards the divine.

Rumi's legacy transcends religious and cultural boundaries, making him one of the most beloved and influential poets in history. His message of love, tolerance, and spiritual unity continues to resonate with people across the world.

[legend-collection]

Barmanou

The Barmanou is a bipedal humanoid primate cryptid that inhabits the mountainous region of northern Pakistan. Shepherds living in the mountains have reported sightings.

The Barmanou is the Pakistani equivalent of the Bigfoot. The term Barmanou originating in Khowar, but now used in several Pakistani languages including Urdu, Shina, Pashto and Kashmiri. In addition to the name Barmanou there are a few local variant names as well.

The proposed range of the Barmanou covers the Chitral and Karakoram Ranges, between the Pamirs and the Himalaya. This places the Barmanou between the ranges of two more-famous cryptids, the Almas of Central Asia and the Yeti of the Himalayas.

The Barmanou allegedly possesses both human and apelike characteristics and has a reputation for abducting women and attempting to mate with them. It is also reported to wear animal skins upon its back and head. The Barmanou appears in the folklore of the Northern Regions of Pakistan and depending on where the stories come from it tends to be either described as an ape or a wild man.

The first search in Pakistan for Bipedal Humanoid man was carried out by a Spanish zoologist living in France, Jordi Magraner, from 1987 to 1990. He wrote a paper, Les Hominidés reliques d'Asie Centrale, on the Pakistani cryptid – the wild man.

He later researched the Barmanou extensively in the 1990s, but was murdered in Afghanistan in 2002. Loren Coleman wrote that he "collected more than fifty firsthand sighting accounts, and all eyewitnesses recognized the reconstruction of Heuvelman's homo pongoides ["apelike man"—i.e., a living Neanderthal.]. They picked out homo pongoides as their match to Barmanu from Magraner's ID kit of drawings of apes, fossil men, aboriginals, monkeys, and the Minnesota Iceman."

In May 1994, during a search in Shishi Kuh valley, Chitral, cryptologist Jordi Margraner, Anne Mallasseand and another associate reported that once during a late evening they heard unusual guttural sounds which only a primitive voice-box could have produced. No further progress could be made.

[minnow-doodle-doo]

sorry, this has been bothering me a bit, but do you know that pakistanis are different from arabs? its just that you draw damian and talia with a lot of elements from pakistani culture, and you mentioned in the tags of one of your soa au posts that they lived in pakistan, but most pakistanis speak urdu. "arab" usually means someone from the Middle East North America region, while pakistan is south asia. you could say that soa!dami is multicultural, but i dont think canon dami is pakistani

I do know. Damian lives in Pakistan due to his mothers insurrection against her father. It's away from Ra's influence since his seat of power in the league is in the Arab world. That's why they speak Arabic and not Urdu or a local dialect in Karakorum mountain range.

As for the clothing I'm mostly basing it on comics and not on direct culture.

[learning-islam-together]

Pakistani lady doctor needs $ help for her group of 11 widows with young children and a paraplegic father. Immense compensation by Allah Azawa Jal.

“O you who believe! Spend of that with which We have provided for you, before a Day comes when there will be no bargaining, nor friendship, nor intercession. And it is the disbelievers who are the Zaalimoon (wrongdoers)” [al-Baqarah 2:254]

It was narrated that Abu Hurayrah (may Allah be pleased with him) said: The Messenger of Allah (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) said: “Whoever gives charity equal to a date from good (halal) earnings – for Allah does not accept anything but that which is good – Allah will take it in His right hand and tend it for the one who gave it as any one of you tends his foal, until it becomes like a mountain.”

Narrated by al-Bukhari, 1344; Muslim, 1014.

It was narrated from Abu Hurayrah (may Allah be pleased with him) that the Prophet (peace and blessings of Allah be upon him) said: “There is no day on which the people get up but two angels come down and one of them says, ‘O Allah, give in compensation to the one who spends (in charity),’ and the other says, ‘O Allah, destroy the one who withholds.’”

Narrated by al-Bukhari, 1374; Muslim, 1010.

[yawansomecheekinlad]

Duke of Edinburgh: An ✨experience✨

literally saw like 4 dead birds and a dead, half-eaten rabbit🤢

nobody wanted to make lunch in the middle of nowhere so we survived each day on sensation packets, coke cans and polos.

"guys...why does the whole tent smell like dog shit"

on the first day we got so lost that when we found where we were it was THREE KILOMETRES OFF OF WHERE WE THOUGHT WE WERE. Ended up walking for 10 hours when it should have been 6.

played smash or pass whenever we saw somebody drive past us

debated whether marrying your first cousin is a good idea🥴

my friend fell in a hole. I am being so serious. apparently we were walking through an abandoned mine shaft and she just fell and her foot got stuck in the hole😭

karaoke in the fields: featuring "Let It Go", "Bootylicious", "Hips Don't Lie" and "Sheila Ki Jawani"

convinced ourselves that our teacher was a djinn since he appeared behind us out of nowhere at one point

saw some of the most genuinely beautiful pieces of scenery, Grassington you are heaven to me💞

the wind was so terrible I nearly fell off of a mountain

had the JUICIEST gossip session eg somebody's relative found out her dad might not be her biological one and instead could be HER UNCLE.

friend chose to go into a river and she fell into it. we all laughed and recorded the dumbass😭

"hey let's unpack the centuries of generational trauma that we as young pakistani women are forced to carry as all our female ancestors did"

totally trespassed on numerous areas of land. apparently we all thought it was okay to just jump over fences if they were locked lol

THERE WAS NO SERVICE ANYWHERE WE COULDNT RING OUR MUMS TO CRY TO THEM ABOUT ALL THE TRAUMA WE WENT THROUGH😔