#Supplication of oppressed

[uma1ra]

Prayer of three people are always answered

Abu Huraira reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “The supplications of three are never turned back: a fasting person until he breaks his fast, a just leader, and the supplication of the oppressed is raised above the clouds by Allah, the gates of heaven open for it and the Lord says: By My might, I will surely help you in due time.”

Source: Sunan al-Tirmidhī 3598

Grade: Hasan (fair) according to Ibn Hajar

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Sometimes a Bearimy is many moons, and sometimes it's just a couple days! Do not expect this sort of pace to continue though this chapter was most of the way finished when I posted the first one.

Chapter 2 - Familiar and Forgotten

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Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, No Y/N, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Noncon kissing, Alcohol mentions, Smoking mention, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through.

~5.2k words

You don’t say much for the rest of the journey.

It’s not far, really, only an hour or two from the bridge in the woods, and your anxiety seizes you so completely that you can do little more than smile wanly at Kyle’s jokes and Johnny’s attempts to flirt with you. Ghost stays as quiet as you do, a comforting spectre of familiarity walking by your side.

The city is much like you remember it, but there’s life now, where a grim shadow hung over the people before. Windows are thrown open, laundry hangs on lines spanning between houses, brightly coloured clothes flapping in the breeze like flags. Children play in one of the alley’s you pass by, kicking a ball between them, although they stop to watch you pass, eyes growing big, collecting at the edge of the street so they can stare for longer. People begin to gather at the peripheries everywhere, the gentle roar of many hushed voices drowning out all else. It seems that the people here still recognize you, although you’re not sure if it’s by your face or the company that escorts you along.

The castle looms over the city, tall, imposing walls made a little friendlier with blue and silver banners hung from the parapets, the oppressive air lessened, but not entirely erased. You think that nothing could make the castle look truly welcoming— It never has been to you, not even when you did call it home.

Ghost looks at you as you approach the dark stone walls, and puts a big hand on your thigh. “Olright?” he asks quietly.

You nod, swallowing thickly as Nox’s claws scrape over the wooden drawbridge. It feels like the palace means to devour you whole, the shade of the main courtyard matching your somber mood. It’s greener than you remember, a raised garden bed full of flowers and a few small trees sits in the center of things now, directing traffic coming in around in a circle rather than every which way. There are gardens on the flat roofs of some of the outbuildings too, where they can catch more light despite the looming walls.

Nox stops in front of the stairs up to the main door, and Ghost lifts you down easily. When you look up, you notice there are people gathering around the main courtyard too, a gentle susurrus rising up around you like the wind. A stable hand approaches to take Kyle's horse, stumbling over his feet, too busy staring at you to watch where he's going.

"Standin' around with their gobs open," Johnny grumbles. "S'like they've ne'er seen a princess before."

Kyle thanks the stable hand when he passes the reigns to him, and offers his arm to you. "Are you ready, sweetpea?" His smile strains at the corners when you look at him. Your own face must be grim indeed.

"I'll have to be," you say, curling your hand around his arm, gathering your skirts with your other hand. You feel small and plain as you ascend on Kyle's arm, dressed simply in clothes you sewed yourself, glad you were wearing your second best skirt at least. Why that bothers you now you couldn't say-- Its not as though you're concerned with making a good impression.

Kyle leads you into the hall of judgment, where your father used to take petitions and settle disputes. It's different here too-- There are benches for supplicants to sit while they wait, and a few desks set to one side of the ante chamber, where clerks speak to citizens in hushed voices, helping speed along the process. There aren't very many people there really, it's not the tired crush of hollow eyed people clamoring for attention from a disinterested king now. Its organized, efficient, fair-minded. You can't help but approve.

John Price sits on the dais, listening to the man in front of him, but his stone-faced attention breaks when he looks up and sees you. He stands and hops down the steps, touching the man's arm. "I will send a hunting party to deal with your manticore problem," he promises. "But if you'll excuse me…" his blue eyes lock onto you, sweeping down and back up to your face.

You feel pinned in place by the intensity of those eyes, Kyle's presence by your side not enough to melt the cracking ice that settles around you.

"Princess!" John greets you enthusiastically, arms wide as he strides across the hall, meeting you in the middle. "Welcome home. I trust your journey was a pleasant one? It's a nice day for a ride through the countryside." He looks good, although there's silver in his beard and glittering by his temples that was never there before, and a plain silver circlet on his brow. He dresses the same as you remember, for comfort and practicality rather than for fashion, and he still fills out his clothes in much the same way, his broad, powerful body unchanged despite his new vocation.

"A better day for tending to the garden," you say. "But Sir Garrick rather insisted on the ride."

John smiles at you warmly, and Kyle wordlessly pulls away from you, leaving you standing before John alone. You're pulled into an embrace before you know what's happening, oak-solid arms crushing you to his chest. He pulls back enough to look at you, but he doesn't let you go. The pleasant tobacco and warm spice scent of him engulfs you, caged in his arms while he studies your upturned face. "You're more beautiful than I remember," he says. "It's good to see you."

You open your mouth to respond, but he seizes the opportunity to kiss you. Not a chaste press of lips to your cheeks, which would have been an appropriate greeting between two people of your status, but a kiss, a real one, his mouth slotting over yours like you were reuniting lovers rather than near-perfect strangers.

He kisses you for a long moment, lips moving against yours possessively, long enough for the room to grow unbearably silent around you, shame twisting with a childish flame rekindled the instant he put his hands on you. You push against his chest, and he finally comes to his senses, not releasing you or giving you more space, but at least ending the kiss, letting you breathe and sort out your conflicted feelings.

“Why did you do that?” you ask him, voice low and breathless, even if you would prefer to shout it, or perhaps punctuate the question with a slap.

“Because I wanted to,” he says pleasantly, smiling in that infuriating, cheeky way he used to when he caught you watching the knights practising from the palace windows. “I think it was long overdue, don’t you?”

“No!” You don’t want to admit, considering your age, that he’s stolen your first kiss, like it was something owed to him instead of yours to give when you chose to, and you certainly don’t want to admit that you liked it. You don’t want to embarrass yourself in front of the people still watching either, which is undoubtedly why he chose this as the place for your first meeting, where you would be cuffed by propriety, giving him advantage over you. Kings didn’t have to worry about propriety— Who was there to scold them for bad behaviour?

Had John ever worried about that sort of thing? Perhaps that was why your father had so militantly kept him away from you, not because of the threat to the crown, but the threat to your virtue. A man that would so casually waltz past all social convention would find no resistance from a sheltered, shy princess. Perhaps if you had been more bold— Perhaps if you were more bold now you would be able to tell him off.

“I don’t appreciate being plucked from my home and manhandled by you and your knights,” you hiss, plucking courage from thin air. You push against his chest again, and this time he lets you go, but it only makes you angrier, because you both know he only did so because he chose to. “What do you want, John? Let’s attend to business so I can leave as soon as possible.”

He glances behind you, at his knights, an eyebrow raised. “Well, you certainly aren’t going anywhere tonight, are you? We can chat properly over the evening meal.” He sweeps you along, a hand between your shoulders, where his thumb touches bare skin, toying with the edge of your shirt. “I’ll show you to your room, hm? You can wash up and change, if you’d like. Although I must say, this country mouse attire looks rather sweet on you.”

“I don’t think any of my old clothes will fit anymore,” you say tartly. You’re certainly not the weak, spindly thing you used to be, the sapling struggling to grow in your father’s shadow. Your time with Kate has done you good, made you stronger and filled out soft curves. Joy is expansive, and it takes up space that you never would have dared to occupy before.

“Of course not,” he says. “I’ve had new things made for you. Gaz’s sister reached out to Kate for your measurements.”

“Why would she— You had no right to ask for such a thing!” you say hotly. Now that you’re alone in the hallways, you feel more at ease speaking your mind.

He’s unperturbed by your anger, still smiling. “Perhaps not. But I thought it important to stand ready, should you ever decide to come home.”

“This is not my home any longer.”

John hums, his hand sliding down to your hip, tugging you closer to his side. “This will always be your home, princess,” he says matter-of-factly, like there’s no room for argument, the way he sees it.

He tries to follow you into your room, but you quickly shut the door in his face, nearly hitting him. He manages to jump clear, and you can hear his laughter on the other side. You’re getting a bit tired of these men thinking that it’s funny when you hold your ground against them, but you’re not yet sure how to get them to listen when they (and especially John) are so used to getting exactly what they want. It strikes you that you’ll probably have plenty of time to figure it out, since you don’t think you’ll be going home as soon as you'd like.

Kyle and Johnny seem like your most likely allies. And perhaps Ghost, since he told you more than he was supposed to already. Anyone else would be too worried about drawing the king’s ire and getting in trouble or losing their jobs, but those three aren’t just his knights. They’re his friends too.

And as far as you’re concerned, friends don’t let friends keep women imprisoned for indeterminate amounts of time.

You wash up, and parse through the closet for something to wear, frowning slightly at your options. There’s nothing wrong with any of the dresses you find— Everything is beautiful, elegant, well-made, in colours that suit your complexion, made of gorgeous, rustling silk. But they also all have closures at the back, long rows of delicate buttons that will be a nightmare to do up yourself. After so many years living independently, you resent the idea of someone having to help dress you. Perhaps that was why John tried to follow you, so he could be there to offer a hand.

How altruistic of him.

You fantasize about kicking him hard in the shins with the work boots that you sadly left at home, and choose a dress in a deep plum colour, getting as dressed as you can. You consider waiting to ask whoever comes to collect you for dinner, but you suspect that that might be John. You’re just about to wander out into the hallway to see if you can find a member of the castle staff to aid you, when you hear a shout outside, and laughter.

You press one hand to you chest to keep the dress from falling away from your skin inappropriately, and peer over the edge of the balcony. Johnny, Kyle and Ghost are in the courtyard below, Ghost and Kyle sitting on the fountain edge, and Johnny doing a dance that seems to be entirely hopping and kicking, while balancing a knife’s point on the tip of his finger.

“Excuse me,” you call down, smiling as prettily as you can muster. Johnny stops dancing and drops his knife entirely, but blessedly doesn’t try to catch it. “Could one of you give me a quick hand? This dress has so many buttons.”

They look at each other for a moment, and volunteer as one, Kyle and Ghost immediately falling into bickering over who should help you. Johnny looks at the ground and up to you a few times rather than fight with the others, and takes a running leap, fingers catching on the balcony floor. He swings a few times before popping up, catching the railing and clambering over with surprising grace. “I would be happy to help ye, sweetpea. An’ Ah’m sorry abou’, er, lickin’ yer wrist earlier. Was a wolf awl mornin’, cannae always shake the compulsion straight after a shift.”

“Apology accepted,” you say, reaching up with both hands and scratching the stubble under his chin gently. He leans into your palms with a groan, letting you guide him down to your level so you can kiss the tip of his nose. “I know you’re a good boy, Johnny. You were just excited.”

“I was,” he admits, cheeks turning a little pink. “They awl met ye before, and they talk about ye sometimes, ye ken? An’ yer even nicer an’ bonnier up close. Ah’m glad I didna try to lick yer face. Ye didnae look very happy with Price doin’ it.”

“He was very forward. It’s not the sort of thing I appreciate. I don’t intend to let him walk all over me just because he’s the king now.” You release Johnny’s jaw and turn so he can get to work on the buttons, pulling your braids out of the way over your shoulder. “It seems like he’s a little too used to getting his way.”

“Ah, weel, he’s stubborn as awl hell, sweetpea. No’ really his fault, he’s just righ’ more of’en than no’, ye ken? An’ when yer never wrong, ye never learn ta compromise.”

“Surely he’s not always right,” you say. “No one’s infallible.”

He laughs, fingers stalling against your back. “Yer righ’ of course. But Ah’m never the one to catch the old man bein’ wrong. So I dinnae ken if he admits it. I would be surprised.”

“Do you know what he wants from me?” you ask. “It seems odd that he let me live in peace all these years, only to drag me back now.”

“I dinnae ken awl the details, princess. Figure it’s sommat ta do with yer cousin raisin’ an army over across the western border, aye? Probably wants ye to scold the wee rascal for him.” He continues buttoning, and then stalls again. “Aw shite. Missed one.” You feel him begin to undo the buttons he was just working on.

You press your fingers to your mouth to stifle a giggle. “Sorry, I’m distracting you. Shouldn’t be asking so many questions.”

“Aw no, I dinnae mind none. S’nice ta talk ta ye. Always thought princesses’d be all stuck up and snooty. But yer no’ at awl. Ahve been ta yer story hour at the market once or twice too. Think it’s nice ye take pity on us buggers that cannae read well. An ye choose good stories.”

“I’ve never seen you there,” you say.

“Usually go in on four legs. No one minds another mangy dog, so long as I don’t get too close or growl at the bairns. Can hear better tha’ way too, aye? Blacksmith always let me lay down beside his shop.” He marches two fingers across your shoulder playfully. “Awl done.”

“Thank you, Johnny.” You turn to look at him again, regarding him thoughtfully. It doesn’t take much to turn him from a large, dangerous man to an eager to please puppy. Something to tuck into your pocket for later.

“Ye can call me Soap, if ye like. The lads do, most of the time. An’ the boss man. But Johnny is good too. Like hearin’ it from ye.” He looks a bit bashful, twisting his fingers together absently now that he has nothing else to fuss with, bright blue eyes cast down and half hidden by his long, dark lashes. “Ah ken it’s no’ what yer hopin’ for, but I hope ye stay a while. S’nice. Feels like there’s an empty space around here, and ye’d fill it an’ then some.”

“I’ll think about it,” you say. “I’m sure it mostly depends on how angry your, um, boss man makes me.”

“He’s no’ a bad sort.” Johnny instantly leaps to John’s defense, a touch of anxiety colouring his voice. He wears every emotion on his sleeve, another useful something to know. “Been good ta me, when lot’s of folk think I’m no’ much more’n a monster.”

“I’ve never heard of a werewolf that can shift at will like you do,” you muse. “You must have remarkable self control.”

Something dark flits across his face, but he does his best to hide it behind his crooked grin. “Naw, no’ really. S’a story, but no’ one I want ta tell righ’ now.”

“That’s alright,” you tell him gently, placing your hand on top of his. His knuckles are rough, scarred from a lifetime of hitting things hard. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to. But I’ll listen, if you do want to talk.”

“Yer goan ta turn me intae a big softie at this rate,” he says, waving off your words with a laugh. “Come oan, Sweetpea. I’ll walk ye ta dinner. Figure ye know the way, but Ah’m told it’s polite to escort a lady.”

“Very polite,” you assure him, placing your hand on his offered arm. “Thank you, Johnny.”

His grin is infectious, and he puffs up his chest slightly, pleased as punch to receive your approval. You descend the stairs, picking up your skirts with your other hand so they don’t drag, and John appears at the bottom of the steps, his expression turning carefully, diplomatically blank when he sees you on Johnny’s arm.

“Perfect timing,” he says. “I was just about to come get you. Thank you, Soap, I can take her from here.”

“How very kind!” you return, gripping a little tighter to Johnny’s arm so he doesn’t run off just yet. “Johnny was nice enough to help me with my dress. All these buttons— I had no idea that button closures were the style these days.”

John’s eyes narrow just the slightest bit, like he’s not sure if you’re being earnest or not. “Nor did I,” he says evenly. Liar.

“It can be so hard to keep track of these things.” You send Johnny another bright smile. “Will you be joining us?” you ask sweetly.

Johnny looks at John uneasily. “Oh, n-no, I dinnae think—”

You curl into him slightly, placing your hand on his chest, drawing his attention back to you and away from the disapproving frown that’s beginning to form on John’s face. “Oh, nonsense. In fact, would you mind fetching Kyle and Ghost as well? We all had such a pleasant afternoon, and I feel like we’ve only just begun catching up.”

Johnny’s fingers catch on the lace hemming your trailing sleeve, his cheeks pink and eyes focused on your face. “Oh, aye, anything ye like, princess.”

“Thank you so much Johnny. You have been so helpful today. I really appreciate it.” You release him, and he dashes off without a second thought or glance to John for approval. “What a sweet boy he is,” you say to John as you flit to his side, all innocence, well aware that Johnny can still hear you. “Shall we?”

John gives you a searching look, still not certain if you’ve disrupted his plans on purpose or just by being far too sweet. “I had intended for dinner to be just the two of us.”

“Now John, that would hardly be appropriate,” you lightly scold. “The two of us, alone without a chaperone? What would people say? If I didn’t know better, I would think you were trying to put me in a compromising position.”

His lips twitch under his moustache, the ghost of a smile appearing in his eyes. “Perish the thought. Didn’t think of the implication, is all.” He opens the door to what had once been your father’s private dining room, but hesitates in the doorway. “Perhaps we should wait for the lads,” he says thoughtfully. “Since you’re concerned with the optics of being alone with me.”

You raise your eyebrows. “They’ll be along in a moment, no? I’m not sure what you think could happen in a few minutes, but I’m sure you’re capable of behaving yourself for that long.” You sweep past him, unconcerned, and he follows, letting the door fall shut behind him, the latch clicking shut loudly in the otherwise silent room. You cast about for a conversation that you can fling up between the two of you like a flimsy shield, your tongue suddenly heavy again. John has a way of sucking up all the air in a room, and he feels nearly as large and imposing as Ghost in a confined space like this. You don’t feel safe like you would with Ghost. You feel like a wobbly-legged fawn caged in with a blue-eyed wolf.

And you would feel less like that if you were in here with the man who really is a blue-eyed wolf. You don’t think the man standing before you will melt with a few kind words or a soft touch. He’ll only take it as permission to push you further.

“Your inexperience is showing,” John says conversationally, taking a step toward you.

You take a hasty step back. “How so?”

He takes another step forward. You take another back. The pattern repeats until he has you backed up against the mantle. “A lot can happen in just a few minutes, sweetpea.” His thick fingers curl around your jaw, forcing you to face him when all you want to do is sink into the floor or vanish entirely. “Could do anything I liked to you, alone like this. You’re right to be cautious.” His hand slides lower, callouses brushing your skin, raising goosebumps along the back of your neck and prickling all the way down your spine. His palm rests on your throat, so he can measure the nervous flutter of your pulse. You swallow nervously, and you know he can feel it.

Still, he doesn’t squeeze, and there’s no threat in his eyes. Worse, there’s a promise, and heat that could spark into a blaze with the slightest provocation.

“It’s a good thing you’re a man of honour, then.” You mean it as a challenge, a reminder of the rules of engagement. You came prepared for a game of chess, and he’s knocked all the pieces onto the floor and lunged at you across the board. Your words come out whisper soft, plaintive instead of confident.

“A good thing indeed.” He takes a step back, and then another, his hand falling away, leaving you standing by the mantle, clinging to it for support.

It was a good thing the fireplace is cold, this time of year, or you might be tempted to throw yourself in just to save yourself the embarrassment of being so completely set off balance.

“Here.” John returns to your side, this time leaving enough space for you to breathe, and offers you a glass of wine. White wine, like he remembers your preferences somehow. Your fingers brush his when you take the glass, and you try not to shake from the force of whatever it is that he stirs up in you.

It’s too vast to identify, and threatens to engulf you, swallow you whole. It’s an ocean, as deep and blue as his eyes, and you’re already struggling to stay afloat. You feel like the only things keeping you from drowning are your righteous anger and sense of self-preservation. But recognizing the danger he poses to you, to your freedom, if not your life, doesn’t pluck you from the water or save you from the circling shark. You don’t know how to do that. You’re not sure if you want to.

“I should apologize,” he says gently. “For greeting you the way I did earlier. I’d dreamt of our reunion so many times that it felt like the most natural thing in the world, kissing you like that. I should have better kept myself in check.”

You sip your wine. It’s sharp and not too sweet, just the sort of thing you used to like, and many times better than what you’ve had for years now. But the taste only reminds you of things best left forgotten, sour remnants of a life you wished to leave behind. Even this room, redecorated to another man’s preferences, feels as oppressive as your father’s presence in life.

Maybe it’s the weight of the crown, that bends and twists even the most upright men, because you already see the makings of a tyrant in John. So used to getting his way already, he expects you to fall into line, do as your told, take your rightful place at his side, on his arm.

In his bed.

“Are you going to?” you ask.

He’s confused by that, a frown settling between his brows. “Going to what, sweetpea?”

“Apologize. Saying you should apologize is not the same as actually being sorry.”

He’s entirely taken aback by that, rendered speechless. It’s probably been years since anyone checked him like that, and it sends a bit of a thrill through you to be the one to do so. He has the advantage in this battle you’ve waged against him— He’s larger and stronger, he claims authority that you’ve rejected, he has allies where you have none— but you’ve still managed to strike a blow, with honesty as your only weapon.

The other three men finally join you, snapping the tension in the room, clearing it away like cobwebs.

Well, most of the tension, anyway. You sit between John and Ghost, rather than take the chair opposite John. You have no desire to be forced to bear that heavy stare for the entire meal. Kyle and Johnny sit opposite you, and you maintain light conversation with the two of them. Ghost sits to your right, his mask tipped up enough for him to eat, his scarred mouth and jaw visible to you for the first time. His gloves are off too, revealing broad, powerful hands littered with fine scars, and a few deep ones too. Most of them are obviously blade wounds, but there’s a particularly deep one, a chunk of missing flesh between his thumb and forefinger on his left hand that keeps drawing your eyes back.

“Me’n Nox ‘ad a misunderstandin’ when we first met,” he says, unprompted, noticing your glances. “She took a chunk outta me. Was a good thing she was still small, or I’d’ve lost my whole ‘and.”

“Small!” Johnny says with a snort. “The wee beastie was bigger than me!”

“You were a runt,” Ghost chuckles, “but I s’pose she was still plenty big. Got ‘er talons sunk pretty deep in my thigh too. Got ‘er to listen to reason in the end though. She din’t know I was tryin’ to ‘elp.”

You see that same darkness in Johnny’s eyes as earlier, so you change the subject, asking about a burn on Ghost’s wrist. He starts in on a tale of hunting an outlaw mage, with plenty of interjections from Kyle, and then Johnny as well, until he gives up trying to tell it, and lets the younger men take over.

You feel his attention on you for a while after that, like he knew what you did and why.

John is pensive, still ruminating on what you said, quiet over the meal. It must not be that great a change from usual, because it doesn’t seem to bother the other three in the least. He insists on walking you to your room once the hour grows later, however, and leans against your door frame.

“You’re right,” he says, catching your hand so you can’t go inside and shut the door in his face for a second time that day. “I didn’t apologize. And I’m not sorry. I know I should be, and I won’t do it again, but I can’t say I feel all that badly about it.”

It’s something, at least. A concession, if not an apology. “Thank you, John.” He doesn’t let go of your hand, and his thumb is rubbing distracting circles over your knuckles. “Is there something else?”

“We never talked business.”

“No. But I know what you want, John, and the answer is no. I want to go home, I have a life to return to, and I don’t belong here any longer.” The disappointment is clear on his face, but he only nods. You continue, encouraged by his silence. “I will, however, make a public statement of support, in whatever way you need. I imagine my cousin will wish to send a witness, to ensure I’m not being coerced. I will stay until then, and then you will allow me to go home. Is that sufficient?”

He thinks about it for a moment, his thumb tapping against your hand now. “I suppose it will have to be.”

“Then it’s settled. Goodnight, John.” You try to pull your hand free, but he tightens his grip just enough to keep you anchored to him.

“Wait.” He tugs you a step closer. “May I kiss you?”

You roll his request around in your mind for a moment. He’s willing to accept that you won’t marry him, without so much as a fight. You can’t deny that you want to say yes either, and you have just enough wine in you to make you bold, but not reckless. “One kiss,” you reply. “No more than that. And then I am going to bed.”

He cups your face and stoops to meet you, pressing his lips to yours tenderly, without any of the brash possessiveness of earlier. Just sweet and slow, coaxing you to open up for him. You relax into his touch, parting your lips, a soft little whine escaping your throat, pulling an answering groan from him as he licks into your mouth. You have to grip his wrists just to stay upright, the sound turns your knees and resolve to jelly, the taste of good whiskey and smoke from his after dinner cigar lingering on your tongue as he pulls away.

His eyes are fever-bright, and his breathing ragged as you release each other. “Goodnight, sweetpea,” he says softly. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

You slip into your room and lean against the door, knees still weak, desire simmering inside you. The kiss had been a bad idea, because all you can think of now is asking for another, and another, and another.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - Divider by CafeKitsune

[umtxqwa]

السلام عليكم و رحمة الله و بركاته

أخواني وأخواتي الأعزاء!

Please remain consistent in supplicating for the oppressed ummah. Perhaps among us, there is someone who holds a special place in the sight of Allāh ﷻ. Make sure to aid and support your brothers and sisters in Palestine to the best of your ability and boycott the products of companies owned by those who support the Zionists.

بارك الله فيكم

[wrappedinamysteryy]

From the supplication of Prophet Muhammad (ﷺ):

« اللَّهُمَّ نَجِّ الْمُسْتَضْعَفِينَ مِنَ الْمُؤْمِنِينَ »

(Allahumma najji-l mustadhafeena mina-l mumineen)

O Allah! Save the weak and oppressed ones among the believers.

📚: Sahih Bukhari 4598 & Sahih Muslim 675

[fluffy-appa]

FRIDAY REMINDER ☁️✨

‣ Recite Surah al Kahf

‣ Send blessings upon the beloved Prophet ﷺ

‣ Perform Ghusl.

‣ Dress well and apply perfume.

‣ Proceed to the mosque early.

‣ Sit closer to the Imam. Listen attentively to the Friday sermon.

‣ Make du'a in the last hour (i.e., after Asr, remember the oppressed Ummah in your supplications)

- Do Some charity

[aysufs]

Abu Dardā’ رضي الله عنه said:

“O son of Adam!

Act as though you are being watched,

count yourself amongst the dead,

and beware the supplication of the oppressed.”

ابن آدم, اعمل كأنك تراه، واعدد نفسك في الموتى، واتَّق دعوة المظلوم

[Iqtida al-‘Ilm al-‘aml, no.18]

[agirlwithimaan]

"Beware of the supplication of the oppressed, for there is no veil between it and Allah." [Bukhari] 🤲🏻🇵🇸

[santoschristos]

Ishtar Queen of Heaven, the Goddess of the Universe

In Her capacity as life-giving Goddess Inanna is all about fertility and abundance. This is the aspect of Her that today we most associate with the Goddess as Venus.

Inanna is the Queen of Heaven, her celestial manifestations being the Moon and the planet Venus. Like Isis in Egypt the star Sirius is sacred to Her as are the constellations Virgo and Scorpio.

Prayer to Ishtar 1. Unto Her who renders decisions, Goddess of all things, Unto the Lady of Heaven and Earth who receives supplication; Unto Her who hears petition, who entertains prayer; Unto the compassionate Goddess who loves righteousness; Ishtar the Queen, who suppresses all that is confused. To the Queen of Heaven, the Goddess of the Universe, the One who walked in terrible Chaos and brought life by the Law of Love; And out of Chaos brought us harmony, and from Chaos Thou has led us by the hand. --Babylon, Eighteenth to Seventh Century BCE

Prayer to Ishtar 2. Queen of Heaven, Goddess of the Universe, You are the holy one of women and men. The one who walked in terrible chaos, And brought life by the law of love, And out of chaos brought us harmony, And from chaos She has led us by the hand. Woman of women, Goddess knows no equal, She who decrees the destiny of people, Highest Ruler of the Worlds, Sovereign of the Heavens, Goddess, even of those who live in heaven. With Ishtar, there is counsel and wisdom. The fate of everything She holds in Her hand.

Joy comes from Her every glance. She is the power, the magnificence. She is the Spirit that guides. Be it maiden or mother, Women remember Her, And call Her name, O Shining One. You stop the anger of all other deities. You care for the oppressed and the mistreated, Each day offering them your help. You are the one who gleams the brightest, In the midst of all other deities. --written 1600 B.C.

Inanna is the Sumerian goddess of love, fertility, and war.

Ishtar Queen by Mahaboka

[mybeautifulchristianjourney]

Cast Your Cares on the Lord (2 Samuel 17:15-29)

1 Give ear to my prayer, O God; And hide not thyself from my supplication.

2 Attend unto me, and answer me: I am restless in my complaint, and moan,

3 Because of the voice of the enemy, Because of the oppression of the wicked; For they cast iniquity upon me, And in anger they persecute me.

4 My heart is sore pained within me: And the terrors of death are fallen upon me.

5 Fearfulness and trembling are come upon me, And horror hath overwhelmed me.

6 And I said, Oh that I had wings like a dove! Then would I fly away, and be at rest.

7 Lo, then would I wander far off, I would lodge in the wilderness. Selah

8 I would haste me to a shelter From the stormy wind and tempest.

9 Destroy, O Lord, and divide their tongue; For I have seen violence and strife in the city.

10 Day and night they go about it upon the walls thereof: Iniquity also and mischief are in the midst of it.

11 Wickedness is in the midst thereof: Oppression and guile depart not from its streets.

12 For it was not an enemy that reproached me; Then I could have borne it: Neither was it he that hated me that did magnify himself against me; Then I would have hid myself from him:

13 But it was thou, a man mine equal, My companion, and my familiar friend.

14 We took sweet counsel together; We walked in the house of God with the throng.

15 Let death come suddenly upon them, Let them go down alive into Sheol; For wickedness is in their dwelling, in the midst of them.

16 As for me, I will call upon God; And Jehovah will save me.

17 Evening, and morning, and at noonday, will I complain, and moan; And he will hear my voice.

18 He hath redeemed my soul in peace from the battle that was against me; For they were many that strove with me.

19 God will hear, and answer them, Even he that abideth of old, Selah The men who have no changes, And who fear not God.

20 He hath put forth his hands against such as were at peace with him: He hath profaned his covenant.

21 His mouth was smooth as butter, But his heart was war: His words were softer than oil, Yet were they drawn swords.

22 Cast thy burden upon Jehovah, and he will sustain thee: He will never suffer the righteous to be moved.

23 But thou, O God, wilt bring them down into the pit of destruction: Bloodthirsty and deceitful men shall not live out half their days; But I will trust in thee. — Psalm 55 | American Standard Version (ASV) The American Standard Version Bible is in the public domain Cross References: Genesis 11:9; Numbers 30:2; Deuteronomy 33:27; 1 Samuel 1:16; 2 Samuel 16:7-8; Job 15:32; Job 19:19; Psalm 5:9; Psalm 10:1; Psalm 12:2; Psalm 12:8; Psalm 41:9; Psalm 42:4; Psalm 57:2-3; Psalm 103:4; Psalm 116:3; Isaiah 4:6; Isaiah 21:4; Jeremiah 9:2; Jeremiah 48:28; Acts 3:1; 1 Thessalonians 5:3; 1 Peter 5:7

[reverthelp]

Anas ibn Malik reported: The Messenger of Allah, peace and blessings be upon him, said, “Beware of the supplication of the oppressed, even if he is an unbeliever, for there is nothing to block it.”

Musnad Aḥmad 12549

[anotherhumaninthisworld]

How aware/supportive were the CSP of the fusillades at Lyon?

The first letter to the CPS carrying any news about the repression in Lyon (Commune-Affranchie) that I’ve been able to find is dated November 7 1793, written and signed by Collot d’Herbois only. Fouché, he writes, has not arrived in the city yet:

[The Military Commission] has had several shot. The court is firmer, but its progress is slow; it had not yet done much.[…] The public spirit is null and always ready to turn in the opposite direction of the Revolution. Even the executions do not have the effect that one might have expected. The prolongation of the siege and the daily perils that everyone ran inspired a sort of indifference for life, if not quite contempt for death. Yesterday a spectator, returning from an execution, said: It's not that hard. What would I do to get guillotined? Insult the representatives. Judge how dangerous such arrangements would be in an energetic population. This is the state of things. New home visits this evening. They resulted in new arrests and three thousand more rifles, the number of those who have been returned currently being nine thousand. […] The mine will speed up demolitions, miners started work today. Within two days the buildings of Bellecour will be blown up. I will immediately go to wherever the means are practicable when it comes to the prohibited buildings. Public accusers will work faster. Yesterday, the tribunal started to go by three per day.

After this, the testimonies of executions follow each other in rapid succession:

…We have given the tribunals and commissions a very lively march. Yesterday, six guilty [persons] received death. A new tribunal will be set up in Feurs. The guillotine, necessary to consummate these judgments, was ordered yesterday and will be sent over without delay. The mine will hasten the demolitions. Letter from Collot d’Herbois to the CPS dated November 9, received  November 14

The shadow of Chalier is satisfied; those who dictated the atrocious order of his demise have been struck by lightning (ceux qui dictèrent l'arrêt atroce de son supplice sont frappés de la foudre) and his precious remains, collected by the republicans, have just been carried in triumph through all the streets of Commune-Affranchie. […] The people will be avenged; our severe courage will respond to its just impatience; the ground which was reddened with the blood of patriots will be turned upside down; everything that vice and crime had raised will be destroyed; and on the remains of this superb and rebellious city, which was corrupt enough to require a master, the traveler will see with satisfaction a few simple monuments, erected in memory of the martyrs of liberty, and scattered cottages in which the friends of equality will rush to come and inhabit, to there live happily with the benefits of nature. Letter from Fouché, Collot and Laporte to the Convention dated November 10

Convinced that there is nothing in this infamous city but he who was oppressed or put in irons by the assassins of the people, we are in defiance against the tears of repentance; nothing can disarm our severity. They felt it well, those who searched to startle you, those who have just extracted a decree of reprieve from you in favor of a prisoner; we are on the scene, you have invested your trust in us, and we have not been consulted. We must tell you, fellow citizens, indulgence is a dangerous weakness, capable of rekindling criminal hopes at the moment when they must be destroyed: we have provoked it towards an individual, we have provoked it towards all those of his species, in order to make the effect of your justice illusory; we do not yet dare to ask you for the report of your first decree on the annihilation of the city of Lyon, but we have done almost nothing so far to execute it. The demolitions are too slow, faster means are needed due to Republican impatience. The mind explosions and the devouring activity of the flame can alone express the omnipotence of the people; its will, like that of tyrants, cannot be stopped, it must have the effects of thunder. Letter from Collot d’Herbois and Fouché to the Convention dated November 16. It was read there on November 22 and published in the Moniteur on November 24.

It is important Lyon is no more, and that the inscription you suggested (Lyon made war on liberty; Lyon is no more) becomes a great truth. […] We have created two new tribunals to judge traitors; they are active in Feurs. The two who are here have gained more strength and activity since our arrival. Several times twenty culprits have suffered the penalty for their crimes on the same day. This is still slow for the justice of an entire people who must strike down all their enemies at once, and we will occupy ourselves with forging the lightning.  Collot d’Herbois in a letter to Robespierre, November 23

It is up to you, Couthon, to develop these ideas; I have already spoken to Robespierre about it. Consult with him to finish the decree concerning this commune which cannot exist without danger. It will be easy to make the dismissed population disappear, and to say with the truth: Lyon is no more. It is more urgent than ever to use great severity, so we are going to deploy it. We tried to excite new movements in the army and among the very large number of workers engaged in demolitions. […] The receivers, the organization of everything, the supervision of five to six departments, such is the daily work; and I am not speaking, as you see, of the revolutionary measures which are continually meditated upon, put into action, and which must consummate the great event of the destruction of this rebellious city, and the annihilation of all the traitors. Collot d’Herbois in a letter to Couthon, December 1

It is liberty that they wanted to assassinate by immolating Chalier; his executioners confessed to it before falling under the sword of justice. We heard from their own mouths that they died for their king, that they wanted to give him a successor. Judge the spirit that animated this corrupt city; judge the men who controlled it by their fortune or by their power; judge whether a reprieve can be granted with impunity. No indulgence, fellow citizens, no delay, no slowness in the punishment of crime, if you want to produce a salutary effect. Kings punished slowly, because they were weak and cruel; the justice of the people must be as prompt as the expression of their will. Letter from Collot and Fouché to the Convention, read there on December 1

Terror, salutary terror, truly is the order of the day here; it compresses all the efforts of the wicked, it strips crime of its clothes and its gold. Letter from Albitte, Laporte, Fouché and Collot, read at the Convention on December 16

We have revived the action of republican justice, that is to say, prompt and terrible as the will of the people. It must strike traitors like lightning, and leave only ashes. By destroying an infamous and rebellious city, we consolidate all the others. By putting the scoundrels to death, we ensure the life of all generations of free men. These are our principles. We demolish with cannons and mine explosions as much as possible. But you clearly feel that in the midst of a population of one hundred and fifty thousand individuals, these means encounter many obstacles. The popular ax had brought down twenty heads of the conspirators every day, and they were not frightened. Précy still lives, and his influence was felt more and more every day. The prisons were overflowing with his accomplices. We have created a commission as prompt as the conscience of true republicans who judge traitors can be. 64 of these conspirators were shot yesterday, in the same place where they fired on the patriots; 230 will today fall into the ditches where these execrable redoubts were established which vomited death on the Republican army. These great examples will influence doubtful cities. Letter from Collot d’Herbois to Robespierre’s host Maurice Duplay, December 5

But as can be seen, only the first and the last letter actually mention that shootings were part of the repression (and of the two, only the one to Maurice Duplay indicates that they were used against an excessive number of the condemned), opening the door to the possibility the CPS and the rest of Paris didn’t know about them at first. Such is the version of events presented by Barère in his memoirs, only he goes even further than that by claiming only Billaud-Varennes, who alongside Collot d’Herbois was in charge of the correspondence between the CPS and the representatives on mission, had known about the Lyon letters (with the presumed exception of the personal ones Collot sent Robespierre and Couthon). Barère writes he only learned about what was going on when reading a letter dated December 5 from the representative Ronsin that was also published in several journals, revealing that ”the guillotine and the shootings brought justice to more than 400 rebels. […] in a few days, the grapeshot fired by our gunners will have rid us, in a single instant, of more than 4000 conspirators.” Reading this letter, Barère writes he got in a hurry to warn the rest of his committee colleagues about what was happening in Lyon, resulting in Collot being recalled from there:

I knew not what occurred at Lyons, for Billaud alone was occupied with the correspondence of the representatives on missions. In the meantime I received through the post the dreadful proclamation issued at Lyons when the grape-shot firing was performed. This document was signed ”Ronsin, General.” I was told by the letter that these facts ought to be submitted by me to the committee, otherwise it would never know them and could not cure so much evil. After having read this proclamation, which was written in a barbarous style, I ran to the committee. At midnight, when the meeting commenced, I read the letter and the proclamation. The committee was unanimously indignant at it. They thought that Collot should come forward and give an account of the events at Lyons, and of the execution of the Convention’s decrees. Billaud wrote immediately to his friend Collot. The latter came to Paris in a few days, but, instead of coming to give his account to the committee, he left them ignorant of his arrival during the whole night. He saw but Billaud, who was also silent. At last he appeared at the Assembly at eleven o’clock, and begged the Assembly to hear the account of the work of the commissaires of the Convention who had been sent to Lyons for the execution of its decrees. It was thought that Collot, a member of the committee, had just come from it and had made his report to it. So he was heard, approved, applauded. The printing of his speech was voted. The Convention even went farther, it declared that the conduct of the representatives and commissaires sent to Lyons was good, and approved of it. Collot, proud of his success, and regarding the members of the committee, and myself especially, as his enemies, because he himself was very passionate, got the secretaries of the Convention to issue immediately a copy of the decree given in his favour and in favour of the other commissaries, his friend Ronsin included. Armed with this decree he appeared unexpectedly in the committee-room where we were deliberating. He advanced with blazing eyes and threatening attitude, and threw a terrifying glance on me. ”Read this decree,” said he. “The Convention knows my conduct, and has approved everything done by its commissaries and representatives at Lyons. I do not know why the committee recalls me, but I will answer the denunciations when necessary.” I thought those last words referred to me, and I replied: “I have read an atrocious proclamation signed by Ronsin. I would consider myself guilty of high treason to humanity if I did not send it to the committee as soon as it came to my knowledge. I have never denounced anyone. Billaud, who must have informed you, can say if I have pronounced your name. I have exposed Ronsin’s work. I have done my duty as a man and a citizen; I fear nothing.”

In the chapter Le Retour à Paris of Collot d’Herbois: légendes noirs et révolution (1995) Michel Biard does however throw a lot of doubt on the authenticity of Barère’s account. First off, no letter from the committee asking Collot to return can be found, and a letter written by his colleagues Fouché, Albitte and Laporte on December 4 does instead suggest Collot has left them for Paris on his own initiative, and not because he has been recalled. Such was also the version of the story presented by Collot in his defence one year later. Collot is also proven to have worked at the CPS (signing the same decree as Barère!) on December 19, a whole day before he read the report to the Convention Barère above claims is what announced his return.

The reason Collot left Lyon is according to Biard instead because he wanted to get there before a group of petitioners on their way to denounce the city’s repression apparatus. They presented themselves before the Convention on December 20, a session for which we know at least Couthon and Robespierre were present. The Moniteur reports that the spokesperson for the petitioners ”accuses the Revolutionary Commission of not following the judicial forms enough. He paints as an inhumanity, of which, he says, the most barbarous peoples do not compare to, the measure taken to shoot the condemned instead of destroying them by the ordinary instrument of public executions.”

One day later, December 21, Collot presented himself at the Jacobin club and gave his own account regarding Lyon, dismissing the petitioners as counterrevolutionaries but also admitting to the brutality with which some of the condemned had been executed:

One has examined with attention the way in which the counterrevolutionaries died; one likes to put forth that they didn’t die by the first blow… Well! Jacobins, did Chalier die by the first blow? If the aristocrats had triumphed, do you think the Jacobins would have perished by the first blow? And the Convention that would have been put outside the law by these scoundrels, would it have perished by the first blow? […] We had 200 of them struck down at once, and it is made a crime for us. […] The popular lightning strikes them, and like that of Heaven, it leaves only nothingness and ashes. 

The same evening (21 December) Collot also showed up at the Convention to there reveal the following:

Everything commanded an inexercisable and prompt severity, prescribed moreover textually by the decrees. The cannon was fired, only once, on 60 of the most guilty, of whom there was not a single one who had not bathed in the blood of the patriots.

Right after Collot’s intervention, the Moniteur reports that the Convention orders the printing of his report, ”too interesting to be subjected to the laws of analysis” and that it, like Barère writes in his memoirs, ”approves the measures taken by the representatives of the people in Commune-Affranchie.”

Assuming Barère was telling the truth at least when claiming only Billaud read the letters from Lyon describing the repression, here we have three testimonies from Lyon all mentioning the shootings which added together makes it for me is hard to believe the CPS member would have been kept in the dark about them from at least late December and forward. The idea is further complicated by the fact Collot returned to work at the committee after this.

Collot coming back from Lyon did however not mean the executions slowed down. According to Biard, around 3/4 of them were carried out after his departure, and it wasn’t until February 10 that the last shooting took place. The most detailed descriptions of the killings do however appear to end with Collot’s departure, I could at least not find any mentions of the shootings in letters gathered within Recueil des actes du comité de salut public, whether they be adressed to the Convention (letters dated December 24, December 27 (received January 1), February 13 and February 18) or the committee itself (letters dated dated December 11 (received December 19), (December 16 (received December 24), January 10 (received January 16), January 12 (received January 20). The last letter which reached the committee before Fouché was recalled (dated March 11 and received six days later) mentions that there still some exists some conspirators that need to be dealt with, but that “justice has soon completed its terrible course in this rebellious city” and that ”the feast of Equality” has been celebrated in the city two days earlier with much energy, leading Fouché to write that ”it is therefore not baseless that we dare to announce to you that the people of Commune-Affranchie shall soon deserve to be counted among the children of the Republic and return under its laws.”

As for the committee’s attitude, on January 8 we find two letters, both written by Robespierre, one telling the representative Albitte, who is on his way to leave Lyon for Paris, that before going there he ought to visit the departments of Mont-Blanc and Ain — ”better than any other you will be able to join to the measures taken by your colleagues in Commune-Affranchie those which are necessary to give the revolutionary government all the strength and activity that it must have in accordance with the law of 14 Frimaire.” The other letter is to Petitjean, representative to the Army of the Alpes, telling him that ”the representatives of the people in Commune-Affranchie, using the powers the surrounding departments have confused to them, have already carried out the purification of several administrations in the department of Allier. So consult with your colleagues by stopping by Commune-Affranchie. The instructions that Fouché acquired in relation to the department of Allier, where he resided for a long time, will be all the more useful to you because, animated by the same principles, the same effects must result from your common energy.”

Two days later, January 10 1794 we find a letter to Fouché, written and signed by Billaud-Varennes only, where the very first line is the following:

The Convention decreed on 1 nivôse that it approves of the orders and all the measures that you’ve taken in Commune-Affranchie, we have nothing to add to this statement.

Then finally, on January 29, a letter written by Collot d’Herbois and signed by him and Billaud-Varennes urges four representatives on mission ”to consult and correspond with your colleagues Fouché, Méaulle and Laporte, who are at Commune Affranchie. It would be a great benefit if, step by step, the representatives on mission in the Republic could establish an invariable unity of movements.”

The CPS decrees (don’t know why there’s two of them) recalling Fouché from Lyon, dated March 27, do not indicate the shootings have anything to do with it:

The Committee of Public Safety decides 1, that citizen Reverchon immediately travels to Ville-Affranchie to organise revolutionary government and that he, together with Méaulle, takes all the measures that the interests of the republic need. 2, that the representative Fouché immediately travels to Paris to give to the Committee of Public Safety the neccesary clarifications about the affairs in Ville-Affranchie 3, that all procedurs against the popular society in Ville-Affranchie, and especially against the patriots that were subjected to persecution under the reign of Précy and the federalistes, are suspended. The representative Reverchon and his colleges will severely persecute the enemies of the Republic, protect the true friends of the Republic, help the patriots in need and assure the triumph of liberty through a constant and inflexible energy.

The Committee of Public Safety, alarmed by the fate of patriots in Commune-Affranchie, considering that the oppression of a single one of them would be a triumph for the enemies of the Revolution and a mortal blow to freedom, orders that all proceedings against the Popular Society of Commune-Affranchie, and particularly against the patriots who were persecuted under the reign of the federalists and Precy, will be suspended: it further orders that the representative of people Fouché immediately travels to Paris to give to the Committee of Public Safety the neccesary clarifications about the affairs in Ville-Affranchie.

As for if there exists pieces provning the support/rejection of the repression for the individual CPS members as opposed to the committee as a whole, I only really know of Robespierre, for whom we have the following two secondary sources, one written in 1794 by Collot d’Herbois claiming Robespierre thought the repression hadn’t gone far enough, the other forty years later by Charlotte Robespierre claiming he was outraged by the bloodshed and the shootings in particular. Since for both authors, pushing an agenda of Robespierre as a good/bad guy was a bigger priority than the actual truth, I would say they more or less cancel each other out, though I would also add I think Collot’s version, in particular the part about Robespierre being worried about ”oppressed patriots,” matches slightly better with the things Robespierre is confirmed to have openly said regarding Lyon (1, 2, 3), as well as the decree recalling Fouché, written in his hand:

Robespierre murmured a lot about the forms that we had established in Lyon for the execution of decrees: he constantly repeated that there was no reason to judge the guilty when they are outlawed. He exclaimed that we had let the families of the condemned go free; and when the commission sent the Convention and the committee the list of its judgments, he was not in control of his anger as he cast his eyes on the column where the names of the citizens who had been acquitted were written. Unable to change anything in the forms of judgment, regulated according to the decrees and approved by the committee, he imagined another system; he questioned whether the patriots of Commune-Affranchie were not vexed and under oppression. They were, he said, because the property of the condemned being specially intended, by article IV of the decree of July 12, to become their patrimony, we had greatly reduced their claims, not only by not judging only a quarter of the number of conspirators identified by Dubois-Crancé on 23 Vendémiare, or designated by previous decrees, but also by establishing a commission which appeared willing to acquit two thirds, as it happened. Through these declamations Robespierre wanted to entertain the patriots of whom he spoke, with the most violent ideas, to throw into their minds a framework of extraordinary measures, and to put them in opposition with the representatives of the people and their closest cooperators: he made them understand that they could count on him, he emboldened them to form all kinds of obstacles, to only follow his indications which he presented as being the intentions of the Committee of Public Safety.  Défense de J-M. Collot, répresentant du peuple. Éclaircissemens nécessaires sur ce qui s’est passé à Lyon (alors Commune-Affranchie), l’année dernière; pour faire suite aux rapports des Répresentants du peuple, envoyés vers cette commune, avant, pendant et après le siège (1794)

It is known well enough in what way [Collot and Fouché] conducted themselves [in Lyon]; it is known that they made blood flow in torrents, and plunged the second city of the republic into fright and consternation. Robespierre was outraged by it. […] I was present for the interview that Fouché had with Robespierre upon his return. My brother asked him to account for the bloodshed he had caused, and reproached him for his conduct with such energy of expression that Fouché was pale and trembling. He mumbled a few excuses and blamed the cruel measures he had taken on the gravity of the circumstances. Robespierre replied that nothing could justify the cruelties of which he had been guilty; that Lyon, it was true, had been in insurrection against the National Convention, but that that was no reason to have unarmed enemies gunned down en masse.  Mémoires de Charlotte Robespierre sur ses deux frères (1834) page 123-124

As for the other CPS members, I’m far from an expert, or even familiar, with all of them, but at least in Biard’s words, excluding memoirs such as Barère’s, ”not a single serious [testimony] exists” showing they disapproved of the repression.

[darknesseddiem]

𝐀𝐧𝐮𝐛𝐢𝐬'𝐬 𝐕𝐞𝐢𝐥: 𝐄𝐜𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐄𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐭𝐲

𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: Sutenankh, once revered for valor, finds himself ensnared in the ethereal confines of divine justice. As he awaits his fate within the celestial sanctum of Horus, his heart heavy with remorse, the gods decree eternal imprisonment. Meanwhile, a clandestine pact between Anubis and Horus births a prophecy of hope for a future liberator. Betrayal, anguish, and the weight of celestial retribution collide in a tale where virtue and destiny intertwine.

𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: +18 MDNI, Eddie's first name is Sutenankh, violence, torture, betrayal, mentions of a curse, mention of slavery, allusion to death and living mummification.

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 𝟏𝐤

𝐆𝐥𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐚𝐫𝐲

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: I'm so excited to post this!!! I have always loved Egyptian culture and almost burst with happiness when the opportunity to write arose. I hope you are prepared to follow the journey of our demi-god warrior.

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞'𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫.

Bound by celestial chains, bewildered and wounded, Sutenankh finds himself ensnared within the ethereal confines of divine justice, awaiting the inexorable decree of his final destiny.

Once a beacon of valor and righteousness, Sutenankh's descent into the abyss of moral decay stands as a harrowing testament to the seductive allure of human frailty. Seduced by the siren call of ambition and ensnared by the tendrils of avarice, he succumbed to the darkest recesses of his soul, forfeiting his noble mantle to the corrupt machinations of mortal desires.

The weight of his transgressions hangs heavy upon him, an invisible shroud woven from the lamentations of the oppressed and the anguished cries of the forsaken. In his folly, he granted dominion to the vilest of mortals, unwittingly bestowing power upon those whose hearts were blackened by greed and malice. Innocents languished in chains, their freedoms bartered for the fleeting promises of false prophets, while the opulent revelry of the elite cast a pall of despair upon the land.

Now, within the hallowed halls of Horus, where the celestial firmament meets the mortal realm, Sutenankh stands as a penitent supplicant before the divine tribunal. Here, the very essence of justice is palpable, manifesting as a sublime tapestry woven from threads of golden light and azure hues, a testament to the immutable balance of the cosmos.

The architecture of the celestial sanctum is a symphony of celestial grandeur, crafted by the hands of divine artisans whose skill transcends mortal comprehension. Pillars of alabaster rise like towering sentinels, their surfaces adorned with intricate reliefs depicting the triumphs and tribulations of mortal existence. Canopies of celestial silk, woven from threads of purest light, billow gently in the ethereal breeze, their iridescent fibers shimmering with the radiance of a thousand suns.

At the heart of the sanctum lies a pool of crystalline waters, its surface a mirror to the heavens above. Here, the waters of life flow in eternal abundance, their purity a testament to the divine benevolence that sustains all creation. Statues of Horus, resplendent in their majesty, gaze down upon the scene with eyes that blaze like fiery beacons, their vigilance an ever-present reminder of the omnipotence of the divine will.

In this sanctum of celestial splendor, Sutenankh awaits his fate with a heart heavy with remorse and contrition, hoping against hope that the scales of justice may yet tip in his favor, and that the divine mercy may shine upon his tarnished soul once more.

In the labyrinthine depths of Seth and Sekhmet's dungeons, the unfortunate youth languished in an unyielding grip of torment, ensnared by the relentless passage of time. Each day unfurled as an eternity of unspeakable agony, punctuated by tortures as cruel as they were unrelenting.

From the moment his shackles were fastened, a profound silence enveloped him, stifling any attempt at lamentation or supplication. His tongue, deftly severed, became a mute testament to the futility of speech in the presence of the divine. He grasped, in that harrowing moment, the futility of attempting to justify his existence before the omnipotence of Amon-Ra.

With a perverse fervor, Seth extracted one of his eyes, offering it as a grim tribute to the celestial pantheon, while Sekhmet, thirsting for accolades, seized his chestnut tresses as though they were a trophy to be displayed for all eternity.

In this abyssal expanse of despair, where even the most compassionate deities dared not intrude, Anubis, Osiris, Horus, and Bastet stood as silent sentinels, bearing witness to the suffering of Sutenankh, their progeny. A pall of mournful resignation hung heavy in the air, a silent acknowledgment of the impotence that beset them in the face of such wanton cruelty.

In the cavernous halls of anguish, where shadows whispered of treachery and hearts bled with the sting of betrayal, his soul convulsed with the agony of deception. Betrayed by a friend once held dear, and by those he had revered as guardians and mentors, his spirit quivered with a sorrow deep as the abyss.

As fate wove its cruel tapestry, his path was entrusted to the hands of Anubis, the jackal-headed deity known for his tender regard for the departed and infirm. Anubis, whose visage was often shrouded in enigma, now found his resolve faltering at the sight of his beloved son ensnared in the tendrils of despair.

With the weight of eternity hanging heavy upon his shoulders, Anubis grappled with the burden of decision. In a realm where time itself seemed to hold its breath, he deliberated, his gaze piercing through the veil of uncertainty. Ultimately, he chose the path of utmost severity, yet one suffused with a measure of mercy: eternal imprisonment—a fate both cruel and, in its own twisted way, mercifully devoid of physical pain.

In a somber tableau of divine decree, the semi-divine warrior, bereft of strength to battle against fate's inexorable hand, acquiesced to the harrowing ritual of being mummified alive. The torturous ordeal, though agonizing beyond measure, paled in comparison to the anguish that rent his heart asunder. With a final, labored exhalation, he yielded to the embrace of death, his essence consigned to the frigid depths of the sarcophagus, where the stygian river of darkness awaited.

Apprehensive of the titanic power veiled within his enigmatic form, the gods ordained the sealing of the lid upon the sarcophagus, a vessel wrought from obsidian-black stone, its form adorned with meticulously carved motifs of solid gold—a sepulcher befitting the noblest of sovereigns.

Fearing the latent potential of his reawakening, Amon, Seth, Sekhmet, Osiris, and Bastet invoked a curse of dire consequence upon any audacious enough to trespass upon the sanctity of the celestial warrior's resting place. Theirs was a sentence of eternal repose, a somber penance for the folly of disturbing the peace of the divine.

Unbeknownst to the pantheon of gods, a clandestine pact had been forged between Anubis and Horus, their hearts weighed heavy with sorrow for the fate that had befallen their celestial kin. Together, they clandestinely inscribed a prophecy upon the annals of human history, its verses a beacon of hope for a future where a soul of true virtue would emerge, destined to liberate the celestial warrior from his timeless slumber.

[karinyosa]

from @villageauntie on instagram: “was asked to share ideas of what people who are unable to attend physical gatherings can do to support. these are some of the things i came up with. please feel free to add more in the comments.

yes, i am purposefully leaving out certain words and flags so this post can stay in the feed. but you know who and what this post is for”

id under the cut.

image 1 ID: white title text against a dark gray background that says "nine things you can do" with the subtitle "i was asked to compile a list of suggested activities for those who are unable to attend protests or who are not active on social media. these are from my own experience and those taken from history. i invite you to explore additional ways to support and share them in the comments".

image 2 ID: title says "pray tahajjud". subtitle says "wake in the last third of the night and pray. pray without ceasing. pray like you mean it. prayer is not the least we can do, it is the best we can do. know that your prayers reach. so reach inside and use your limbs and your tongue to supplicate to the one from whom all mercy descends. pray. pray. pray".

image 3 ID: title says "provide childcare". subtitle says "many who are active in the struggle are also parenting young children. offer to watch the babies so that both physical and digital organizing can take place. you can offer to watch children in your home, at the community center, a house of worship, or even outside. just offer it and make it free".

image 4 ID: title says "get educated". subtitle says "read books on palestine, on sudan, on the struggles of oppressed people worldwide. study anti-colonial thought. watch documentaries. study about makandal. read june jordan, kwame ture, amilcar cabral, james baldwin, toni morrison, marc lamont hill, and others. read more, scroll less (unless you are scrolling to get informed). read, digest, reflect".

image 5 ID: title says "educate others". subtitle says "organize a study circle. talk to your friends. interrupt falsehood with fact. have meaningful conversations with coworkers. ask questions, listen more. use what you have read to empower your family. read to their children. answer their questions. use your voice to help others to know and never forget".

image 6 ID: title says "prepare meals". subtitle says "make food. buy food from a local restaurant that is trustworthy. buy fruit. take it to your neighbors, to the masjid, to those who are or will be actively protesting. feed the people because nourishment is important and food is a way to show love and support".

image 7 ID: title says "organize fundraisers". subtitle says "if you have something you can make/sell, use it for a fundraiser. food, quilts, artwork, services, whatever. sell it and donate it to reputable charities providing support. something is better than nothing. no amount raised is too small". as an addition from me, i've also seen people do free art for people willing to commit to calling their reps every day. and for places to donate, i've seen lots of people talking about humanitarian organizations, but two more that i'd like to suggest are the palestinian social fund (palestiniansocialfund.com, their about says "The path to liberation requires material support that is directed toward self-sustainability. The Palestinian Social Fund raises unconditional funding for cooperative farms in Palestine through grassroots efforts. These farms are started by youth who are returning to the land to reclaim food sovereignty and control their own destiny.") and palestine action (palestineaction.org), who participate in direct action activism against weapons trading with israel, mainly focusing on the company elbit.

image 8 ID: title says "engage in arts activism". subtitle says "write poems. paint, sew, sing, dance, create. the artists are desperately needed. make work that amplifies the moment and educates. pour your heart into your craft with the intention to help. art can do what other activism cannot. say it with your craft".

image 9 ID: title says "participate in digital organizing". subtitle says "use your devices as organizing tools. set up a weekly zoom. invite speakers to engage and educate. engage in digital campaigns and letter writing. harness the power of technology for the greater good".

image 10 ID: title says "write letters/essays". subtitle says "write to your elected officials. flood their interns with letters and calls. write essays and post them to your substack/medium/local paper. people are looking to be informed. add your voice through the written word. people will read".

[fluffy-appa]

FRIDAY REMINDER

‣ Recite Surah al Kahf

‣ Send blessings upon the beloved Prophet ﷺ

‣ Perform Ghusl.

‣ Dress well and apply perfume.

‣ Proceed to the mosque early.

‣ Sit closer to the Imam. Listen attentively to the Friday sermon.

‣ Make du'a in the last hour (i.e., after Asr, remember the oppressed Ummah in your supplications)

[aysufs]

The prophet ﷺ said,

“Beware of the supplication of the oppressed,

for it is carried above the clouds.

Allah Almighty says: By My might and majesty, I will help you in due time.

[al-Mu’jam al-Kabīr 3718, Grade: Sahih]

[crystal-overdrive]

Banite Ritual Opening

This rite acts an an opening for many different Banite rituals, and forms our basic ritual form. It should be performed by the highest ranking member of the cohort, likely a Deep Mystery or Dreadmaster, but even the lowest slave in our ranks is expected to have committed the ceremony to memory. Begin by circling the room tuathal (counter-sunwise), stopping at each cardinal point to call upon his dark virtues. May there be darkness in the north. May there be oppression in the south. May there be hate in the west. May there be terror in the east.

Return to the centre of the space, facing south and inwards. May His tyranny spread throughout the whole world.

Take a deep breath, and draw in the cold energy of his hatred, before intoning:

Here we stand, in the depths of Toril, Deep in His darkness. Above and below, Within and without, Secure in the womb of His hate. This is sacred time, and sacred space. I am present, here and now, Divulged of the shackles of the everyday, Bound only by Him, He who allows me to bind others, By His divine will.

Drop to your knees, demonstrate to your faithful that even you, highest ranked among them, are supplicant to Him.

Bane! Lord of Darkness! Bane! The Black Hand! Bane! The Dark One! Through action, do we honour and worship you. Accursed Lord, bring your might and blessing to this rite.