#i hope you liked it furat! :>

[chaninfused]

i dont look at blog/usernames when i scroll down my feed but i always (like 90% always) read tags and whenever i see the amiri tag im like !!!!! furat !!!!! and then scroll back up as if im walking past you on the street and doing a double take to wave at you HAHA (hi hi hope ur resting well!! congrats on finishing ur assignments!! (??????))

kat that is so cute why are you so cute 🤨

[crispy-chan]

rn im being afraid of the increasing wc on this fic I’m working on it is a true struggle cus I have a feeling it’s gonna pose a problem after I post it 💀 BUT AT THE SAME TIME I told myself I will give this story all the time and words it needs to be perfect bcs i really need the progression to be GOOD and aaaa this is my current dilemma + my brain is fried bcs of this goddamn FIC

Omgomg long juicy wc is nothing to be afraid of, especially if it’s needed for the storyline!! Your stories are immaculate and us people with good taste will be delighted ❤️👀👍

I believe in you!!! You can do this ✨ sending good vibes your way 💘

[scxrlettwxtches]

a life with you | hwang hyunjin

genre: assassin au, epilogue(?), inspired by @chaninfused​ “row, row, row your boat” universe

description: when you have doubts about your future with hyunjin, the assassin is more than happy to reassure you that all he wanted was to be with you. 

word count: 2.8k+

a/n: i am officially a month late and terribly sorry, furat dear. TT happy (very belated) birthday to you! thank you so much for screaming with me about hyunjin, rrryb, and everything else in between. most of all, thank you for being such a dear friend. <3 i really hope you enjoy!

For the first time since Hyunjin became your friend, your confidante, and then your darling, doubts about your relationship began to fester into gnarly thorns, sitting in the deep recesses of your heart. 

It didn't have anything to do with your love for Hyunjin. On the contrary, your love for the man was stronger than ever, built upon a bond of trust and deep care for one another. Hyunjin had stood by your side through the highs and the lows, just as you had watched him discover what it means to love someone, watched him discover that he himself was capable of being loved. 

No, your doubt stemmed from an instinctual fear that the two of you were simply not compatible because you would never be able to assimilate into the lifestyle he grew up in. 

You thought you could do it, at first. After all, what's so hard about being well off? What's so hard about being able to splurge a little extra money on your clothes, your food, your overall lifestyle? 

You quickly learned that noble life wasn't quite as simple as that. 

For one thing, it was overwhelming to the highest degree. Ever since you agreed to attend the banquet with Hyunjin as his significant other, you'd been thrust into an endless cycle of dress fittings, shoe fittings, and practically any other type of fitting that exists. The party itself was also an overstimulation of all your senses; there was so much to see, so much to comprehend and hear and say that it all just got a bit too much for poor you.

So that was why you were here alone, standing on an empty balcony to find some fresh air, some quiet, and some peace. The wind felt nice against your skin in comparison to the stuffy rooms and banquet halls, and you couldn't help but wonder guiltily if you could head home by yourself. You didn't want to bother Hyunjin, of course, who was born noble and was probably enjoying himself. 

“Oh, thank goodness, I've finally found you!” 

As if the stars had heard you, Hyunjin stepped out into the balcony, his expression wrought with relief as he made his way towards you, taking your hands in his. 

As you gazed upon him, those long lashes, those soft lips, and above all, those gentle eyes that held nothing but love, affection, and concern as he studied your face, you found yourself once again falling deeper in love with him, as if that was even possible. 

“Why did you abandon me in there?” The assassin almost whined, and you fought back a smile as you rubbed your thumbs against the back of his hands.

“I just needed some air, and you seemed preoccupied,” you explained, ducking your head slightly as Hyunjin shrugged off his long coat and wrapped it around your shoulders. 

“But you didn't need to escape so quickly without telling me,” he argued like a petulant child when his eyes suddenly flashed with a sharpness that you hadn't seen in a while, “Unless...did something happen?” 

Damn Hwang Hyunjin and his ridiculously fine-tuned awareness. 

You shook your head, running your hand up and down his arm, “Nothing happened,” you smiled soothingly. 

“But you look unhappy,” he insisted, cupping your cheek with his gentle hands, worry filling his dark brown irises, “My darling, please tell me what is wrong.” 

Inside, Hyunjin was panicking. He knew you better than he knew himself, and he knew the look of uncertainty on your face when he saw it. Were you beginning to have second thoughts about him? Was being with him becoming more of a burden than a blessing to you? Was the constant little weight in his coat pocket something that he’ll have to throw away soon?

Logically, Hyunjin was almost sure that any of those possibilities weren't true. You loved him, and you loved him dearly. The two of you have been through thick and thin together, and he knew your love for him was as deep as the darkest oceans and as pure as the sunrise sky. But yet, the coil of doubt could not totally recede from his mind. After all, you were always so much more than he could ever dare ask for. 

“Hyunjin,” you spoke softly, your smile so knowing that the assassin felt more at ease just at the sound of your voice, “Relax.”

“So something is wrong, my love?” 

You sighed, cursing at Hyunjin’s endearingly insistent nature. Hyunjin was a fixer at heart. Whatever was bothering him, whatever was bothering the people he loved, he was proactive about finding a solution. He’d go to the ends of the earth to find one if need be, which was what he did for your precious daughter all that time ago. 

But this, this wasn’t a problem that you were sure he could fix.

“I don’t know if this is going to work, Hyunjin.”

Hyunjin had never experienced such physical heartache until this very moment. His eyes widened with alarm, a terror that he could hardly keep clamped down, but ever the gentleman, he waited for you to finish before interjecting.

“I know you were so eager to introduce me into this world, to give me luxury that I didn’t experience before, but truthfully, I don’t enjoy this lifestyle,” you confessed, gesturing to the ballroom where the party was still ongoing, where the lords and ladies chatted and drank the night away, “It’s stifling for me, Hyunjin. But this is your life, and I don’t want to take that away from you--”

You found your answer in the searing kiss that closed the gap between his lips and yours. Hyunjin’s kisses were passionate, palettes of red and orange that swept you off your feet time and time again, but they weren’t all consuming. His fire was warm, homely, loving, and you quickly found yourself wondering why you had any doubts in the first place.

“Is that what was worrying you?” He murmured, pulling away with bright eyes as he brushed the hair away from your face, “That I wouldn't want to leave this life for you?” 

“Oh, I didn't doubt that you'd leave if that was what I truly wanted,” you assured him, your hands resting against his chest as he listened intently to every word you said, “And that worried me. I don't want to make you choose between me and your life here.” 

Hyunjin shook his head, brushing your cheek with his gentle, yet calloused fingers, “You've got it all wrong, my darling,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against yours for a short moment before pulling away, “Come with me?” 

Confused, excited and only slightly worried, you followed him wordlessly, placing your safety in his hands without question, as you've always done. Hyunjin led you back inside the estate, but not back towards the party that you were so obviously trying to avoid. Instead, he took you somewhere the music seemed to blend into the peaceful silence and where the mindless chatter faded  into nothingness. 

"Am I even allowed to be here?" You were pretty sure you had no need to whisper, but you still found yourself doing it. 

“I'm allowed, so you're allowed by association,” Hyunjin said with a smile, brushing a strand of your hair away from your face as he laced your fingers together, tugging you down the hallway until he stopped at a particular room. 

“Miss?” He bowed dramatically, making you giggle as he opened the door, pulling you in. 

You looked around the space, a quaint little thing with a small office desk and a simple bed, but everything was clearly expensive and high quality. Even though most of the design and decor was quite minimal, there were little touches like the choice of wooden, the scent of the candle, the distinct stuffed animal that you remembered was once Nari’s. It all just screamed Hyunjin.

“Is this your room?” You asked with a soft laugh, brushing your fingers against the wooden surface of his drawer before picking up the small stuffed bear.

“Yes. I didn't need much space, and I'm not here often, so I just took one of the smaller guest rooms,” Hyunjin chuckled before turning and seeing you with the familiar stuffed animal in your hands. His expression morphed into one of nostalgic happiness at the memory of someone that meant the world to him and pain at the reminder of his own failure, “Oh, that was one of Nari's stuffies.”

“I remember,” you found yourself smiling sadly, lost in the memories as you squeezed the stuffed animal gently. 

Hyunjin walked over, eyes distant as he gently placed his hand on it's head, “Wherever I used to watch over Nari while you ran errands, she always wanted me to play with this stuffed animal in particular,” he chuckled softly, “I always want to have a part of her in my life, so I held onto it. I hope that's alright with you.” 

Your eyes watered as you gazed up at the man who you loved unconditionally. Such a gentle soul, a person who'd treasure all that were close to him, a man who had such a natural instinct to nurture and care for others. 

“Of course, it's alright,” you smiled, placing the stuffed animal down, “I-it's more than alright. She always loved it when you came around to see her.” 

Hyunjin chuckled, wiping the corner of your eye with a delicate swipe of his finger before gently guiding you to his desk, “Close your eyes, my darling.”

“Why?” You raised a suspicious eyebrow as your hip leaned against the desk and Hyunjin stood before you. 

“Because!” His lips curled into a pout, “I have a surprise for you.” 

“You better not have bought me another shawl, darling. I don't mind that the last one got a small tear in it,” you berated him preemptively, worried that Hyunjin had fallen back into his habit of overly indulging you for the sake of making you happy. 

Hyunjin’s eyes sparkled, and you wondered briefly if he was the only person who seemed to enjoy being nagged at, “Just close your eyes, darling. Please?”

Oh, he wasn’t playing fair anymore, not as he flashed those irresistible puppy eyes, and you could do little more than let your eyes flutter shut. You felt his hands take yours, guiding you to open your hands with your palm facing upward. Giddy with anxiety, your confusion was palpable as you felt a featherlight weight fall into your hands.

“Alright, open.”

When you opened your eyes, you could barely hide your puzzled expression as you inspected the piece of paper that Hyunjin placed in your hands. Unfolding it, you scanned through the contents to get to the chase and then--

The paper fell to the ground as you let out an audible gasp, whipping your head up to glance at your lover. It was his sheepish, excited and slightly anxious expression that truly made it real to you.

“Was that a good gasp or a bad gasp?” He asked, trying to lighten the mood. 

“It’s…” you swallowed, still trying to sort through the plethora of emotions that were clouding your mind, “it’s real.”

Hyunjin couldn’t fight his smile, realizing that he’d made you speechless for one of the first times in his life, “It is, darling.”

“B-but, it’s right in that secluded area outside of town, the place that I always--” you spun around to face Hyunjin, utterly dumbfounded, “How did you know?”

The assassin laughed, picking up the deed which you had rather unceremoniously dropped on the floor, “We were taking the carriage back to your bakery once, and I noticed the way you looked at the cottages in that area. Plus, you mentioned once that you’d want to live a simple and secluded life, and this location fit your description quite perfectly. It’s nothing really--”

Your lips pressed against his as you shut him up with a sweet kiss, cupping his cheeks and holding him close, “I love you,” you murmured without an ounce of hesitation as you pulled away from Hyunjin, cheeks flushed and eyes bright.

Hyunjin looked dazed, utterly lovestruck as he gazed into your eyes, pulling you towards him as he sat on the edge of his desk, “Do you like it?” He asked softly, playing with your fingers and making you smile. Oh, Hyunjin, always so eager to please, so eager to do things right for you, to make your life easier. You wondered how you ever deserved such a lover. 

“I do,” you smiled softly, looking down at your hands.

“It’s a small cottage, but it has enough space for us and...more...if that situation ever arises,” Hyunjin’s ears seemed to redden, and your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he was so gently insinuating. 

“I love it,” you whispered, watching as your fingers laced together. 

Hyunjin’s eyes brightened, “You do?”

“I do,” you smiled at his eagerness, “Do you? Do you want this life? I won’t fault you at all if you do not--”

“Oh, my darling,” Hyunjin murmured, gazing into your eyes as you drowned in his loving gaze, his bottomless affections for you that gave you the butterflies even after so long, “When will you realize that I want nothing more than to live a quiet, simple life with you? When will you realize that some of my most treasured moments were with you and Nari in your cramped little bakery? All I've ever wanted was to find a nice, quaint little location that wasn't too far from the town, and for us to grow old there together…”

Your eyes welled with unshed tears as you brought his hand to your lips, kissing it gingerly, “That’s all I want, too,” you confessed, “I want to live quietly and happily with you, put our suffering behind us…”

Hyunjin was silent for a moment before he tugged you towards him, “If that’s what we both want,” he trailed off, red dusting his cheeks as he looked down, “would you like to get married?” 

It wasn’t a sudden proposal. Hyunjin and you had vaguely mulled over the idea for months now, especially since it was becoming increasingly clearer that the two of you loved no one but each other. But to hear those direct words falling from his lips, with no lighthearted quips or jabs to deflect the sincerity of it, it utterly floored you.

The assassin took your silence for doubt, and he looked back up at you with shining eyes, “I know you had bad experiences with your past marriage. My line of work isn’t exactly stable either. But, Y/N, I’ll spend my life showing you that a future with me will be worth your while. Would you,” he swallowed nervously, “would you let me do just that, my darling?”

“Oh, darling,” you murmured, reaching forward and cupping his cheek with your hand. He leaned into it almost desperately, “You have nothing to prove, nothing to show. We’re equals in this relationship,” you smiled, standing on your tiptoes and gently pecking him on the nose, “And yes, I’d love to marry you, Hyunjin.”

The childlike sparkle in his eyes made you giggle as you watched him physically process your words. Slight confusion, then disbelief, then awe. 

“Really?! Oh, my love, I’m so happy!” Hyunjin lifted you in his arms, spinning you around as you laughed, wrapping your arms around his neck. When he placed you down, he fumbled around in his back pocket, eyes wide, “I-I can’t believe I forgot this! We were having such a soft moment and the question just slipped out of my mouth--”

Giggles burst from your lips as Hyunjin finally managed to pull out a black velvet box, revealing a small, simple, yet priceless diamond ring. It was so undeniably Hyunjin to get so caught up in proposing that he’d forget to present the engagement ring to you, and you found the two of you chuckling about it up until he gingerly slipping the silver band onto your third finger.

“Oh, I do have a request from Jisung, who wants to be present at the wedding,” Hyunjin said when the two of you were finally curled up in his bed, embracing each other’s warmth.

“I’d be happy to invite him,” you chuckled, looking down at your finger and at the glimmering stone that now rested on it, “It’s beautiful, by the way. The ring.”

Hyunjin smiled, leaning down to press a kiss to your hair, “I passed a jewelry shop when I was running some errands for your bakery, and it just reminded me so much of you,” he said, brushing his fingers across is, “Elegant and beautiful.”

“Such a flatterer,” you complained to hide the heat in your cheeks.

“Oh, no no. There will be much more of that now that we’re engaged,” Hyunjin teased, tickling your waist, “I hope you’re prepared.”

And you were prepared, alright. All of the trials, tribulations, and the joys of marriage, you were ready for all of it as long as Hyunjin was by your side.

fin.

[skzwritersclub]

for the prompt maker position, what sort of prompts should we send in? i'm kind of lost

in the application form, there’s a question that gives you a theme and asks you to answer with two original prompts (they will not be used anywhere, they’re just for us to see your creativity!). 

here’s an example of what a prompt looks like:

“main lead finds time capsule that leads them to meet someone new or learn a few surprising secrets.”

or you can go with a quote that sums up the prompt:

“remember when we made that band in second grade? yeah, how about we reboot it?”

I hope this answers your question! please don’t hesitate to reach out to us or the admins if you have more questions!

  - admin furat.

[szczurtime]

RAT CAGE REVIEW - ZOLUX NEO SILTA RODENT CAGE

A cage that in design seems good, but in execution ends up being a waste of your time.

This is the first of my reviews on anything, so hopefully it’ll help anyone thats new to keeping rats and looking for cages!

Ooooh boy. This cage was okay up until the real flaws of the plastic bin were revealed. But let’s not start with that! We’ll be using the following structure:

1. Design and quality of the cage.

2. Pricetag and its worth.

Each section can get a max of 5 points, which will be added together and divided by two at the end to determine its final score! Do note that these reviews come from my own personal experiences, and thus my experiences may vary from others!

Another thing to note is that I will be reviewing this using pictures of a used (and damaged) cage, as I deemed that a review is necessary to let others know about my experiences with it.

This cage was purchased on the dutch pet store named Pet’s Place.

DESIGN OF THE CAGE

So first off, looking at the image provided on the website the cage does seem quite attractive. First time rat cage owners wouldn’t quite know where to look for good cages, and if you dont have the space or the money for for example a Critter Nation cage (As they are quite expensive) then this seems like a decent alternative. Finding good rat cages in the Netherlands can get hard as the main pet store chains don’t really sell many cage options for rats, such as pet’s place only having three of which two arent very appealing due to being small or just not tall.

The cage has a nice modern black look to it and the wooden platforms and legs would look good in the living room or wherever you may place it. With the legs, the cage would be 78x48x87.5cm, and without the legs its 78x48x58cm. The bars are made of metal and the spacing is 9mm, so young rats wouldn’t be able to squeeze out of it.

The first lie on the webshop says that it’s easily accessible. A keen eye would notice that the only side door on the cage is about 10-12cm wide and tall, and favours the right. This makes it incredibly hard to add new toys to the cage from the side and forces you to always do things from the top entry. Getting the rats in and out of the cage via the side door is very stressful for them and there is not enough space on the provided platform to allow two rats to sit at the door at the same time. 

I had to give up trying to take my rats out by hand and instead taught them to jump onto my arm like a perch when I was using this cage.

The wooden platforms are a hassle to put in and out of the cage, and aside from that the fact that the platforms are wood is not the greatest seeing as they will absorb pee really quickly. If you want to clean the platform well it takes a lot of scrubbing. The ladders that are provided with the cage are also a bit too smooth for rats to feel safe walking on them. While they do have ridges, they’re not very deep and a rat can’t quite get a good footgrip on them.

The accesories that come with aren’t great. You get a small plastic bowl, an incredibly small wheel that is not appropriate for rats and I’m pretty sure not even a dwarf hamster would fit in there without getting health issues, and a VERY unsanded little wooden house. I nearly got a splinter from it. 

The plastic bin is.... incredibly weird. Like, really. the floor of the plastic bin is not even. There is a screw in the middle that is holding up a wooden bottom that you would attach the wooden legs to.

Which brings me to the next issue. You see those little holes? And the duct tape attempt at covering it? (Didn’t work as the wooden plate was loose and would wiggle it off.)

So whoever designed this cage never thought that some people might not want to have the legs, either due to lack of space or simply because they want to put the cage on a shelf. The cage came with these little plastic nubs to cover the screws of the legs that would be poking out to the inside of the cage, which would obviously be chewed off by any rat. I didn’t use the legs because my cage was on a shelf, and that revealed a very annoying fact.

The holes in the bin and the wooden plate will let bedding get squeezed through, eventually getting inbetween the bin’s bottom and the wooden plate. This means that 1. A LOT OF BEDDING AND DIRT MIGHT FALL OUT OF THE CAGE THROUGH THESE HOLES and 2.Whatever does get stuck will be very hard to remove. Aka it’s nasty.

Alongside that, the bin is very prone to being chewed through by the rats! They can very easily get a grip on the corners and start chewing like there’s no tommorow. A determined rat could chew through it within less than two hours!

All in all the plastic bin is quite crappy for the price you pay, making me give the design and quality of the cage a 2 out of 5. Which leads us on to the next section....

THE PRICETAG

The Zolux Neo Silta is 90 euros. Relatively cheap and thus attractive to new owners, especially with its modern and appealing black design. Since you can’t see the bin on the website the cage seems perfectly fine, maybe not great with the side door situation but a new rat owner would possibly miss that. 

But once you use the cage and see all of the flaws in the plastic bin the pricetag on this cage becomes ridiculous. The accessories that come with it are mediocre at best and you most likely will throw them out immediately like I did.  You seem to be paying at least 20 euros of that price for the wooden legs that you might not even use and then end up with holes in your cage you can’t cover up and a lot of dirt in your home. While if you may use the legs and ignore some of the little flaws in the cage, I could give this cage a 2 out of 5 for the pricetag:quality ratio. 

RESULT

(2 + 2) / 2 = 2 out of 5 points for the Zolux Neo Silta.

The cage, while okay, is not very useful and for about 20 euros more, or even for the same price on the right website, you could get a much better cage with actually useful accessories.

An alternative to this cage that might cost about 20-30 euros more, is the Ferplast Furat “Ferret” cage. (Used to be a ferret cage, but cage requirements changed for them and thus its seen as a rat cage nowadays.) It comes with a plastic platform (Easily washable!), a very large water bottle (Untested, but still useful), a metal food bowl, and a decent hammock. 

Thank you for reading, and I hope to have helped someone with this! I’ll be doing more reviews as need be for things I have used such as rat toys or wheels or even food products for them!

[chaninfused]

ik i've been away fromn this app for long bc job life has been eating me up real bad 😩 but it's bearable now i guess,,,, i just got the sudden instinct to visit this app again & boom vivid is on my dash. is this a fate? probably jshssjjs i'll be lurking around here at times but wont be as active like i used to but i really hope u'll continue writing furat ❣️ - caeliman minho anon

no, I feel you entirely 😭 I’ve been so inactive when it comes to posting fics because of uni it’s definitely a coincidence that I had posted something when you decided to log on HSJSHSJSJ

I wish you the best luck on your job though! 🤍✨ I’ll always be here whenever you decide to grace this blog 😌

[topmixtrends]

IN EARLY 2011, the Arab Spring was at a zenith. Tunisians, Egyptians, and Libyans demanded the resignation of their leaders, and it looked like the protest movements might succeed. In the midst of the excitement, Syrians spoke a common refrain: “This will never happen here.” The revolt against Bashir al-Assad arrived only a few weeks later.

Rania Abouzeid’s No Turning Back: Life, Loss, and Hope in Wartime Syria explains how the impossible happened, and how it went so tragically awry. Abouzeid, a well-known journalist, spent six years traveling in Syria (and many other Middle Eastern and European countries) gathering the material for this compassionate account of the Syrian uprising and civil war.

On a broad level, she tracks the complex trajectory of events and helps the reader navigate the dizzying array of local, regional, and international actors and the shifting allegiances. Abouzeid also provides extensive coverage of the role of social media in the Syrian uprising, particularly the role of young people, the “seeds of a grassroots civil society, young Internet-savvy volunteers working in their hometowns and learning as they went.” She invites us to consider the dynamic processes that connected local communities and transformed them into citizen rebels across Syria.

Picture this: in the government-besieged town of Rastan, activists drape sheets against the wall of a mosque that stands across the street from the State Security Building (its own wall graffitied with “Bashir is a donkey”). These sheets transform the wall of the mosque into a huge screen, onto which they project news footage of the protests happening throughout Syria so that Rastan knows it is not alone.

But at the heart of the book are the transformations that were taking place in the everyday lives of Syrian men, women, and children. To this end, Abouzeid expertly moves between succinct commentary on the context and the lives of a “cast of characters” who anchor her narrative and humanize it. These stories are a powerful reminder of the countless Syrian civilians who started a peaceful uprising, only to be both devoured and forgotten by most of the actors involved, many of whom were supposedly waging a revolution on their behalf.

Abouzeid’s “characters” cross ideological, religious, gender, age, and class divides. They all experience the upheaval and violence. From bewildered civilians to active participants and rebels: all are changed, but differently. In her “Note to Readers,” Abouzeid writes that her book is about “how a country unraveled one person at a time.”

Hence the book is about the reluctant activist; the rebel who became a commander; the prisoner who became an Islamist; the Islamist who became a radical; and even an erstwhile jihadist who ended up a content busboy in a restaurant in an unnamed European city. Abouzeid registers the small and big ways in which her characters were changed: some, it is true, appear to have forsaken their humanity to extremism and power, but most find creative ways to stay anchored, or to retrieve a measure of what had been lost.

Abouzeid’s eye and ear for the telling detail, the pregnant anecdote, the overheard phone conversation are testimony to her narrative skills. The writing is searing and sparingly beautiful, without ever trivializing the destruction and suffering it attempts to capture. War, she reminds us, alters the architecture of the city as much as it scrambles the human psyche. War’s destruction changes people’s relationship with space and movement, even inside the private space of the home. Abouzeid’s reporting is filled with evocative snapshots: front doors purposely left open during bombings to dampen the blasts; a little girl fearfully running across an open courtyard, a playing space now filled with danger. And from minarets, calls to prayer, calls to revolution, calls to defection. Explaining why they cannot return home to Saraqeb, a mother tells her daughter: “Now the planes are as permanent as the birds in the air.” Down on the ground, the author adds, the dead moved closer to the living ­­­— parks became new cemeteries, cemeteries became homes for internal refugees.

She shows us the new smells and sounds of violence that became normalized: “acoustic obituaries” from minarets; a young girl smirking in embarrassment that her mother still flinches at the sound of bullets; government shelling so predictable that Syrians called it the “nightly schedule,” as “regimented as a television viewing guide.” War also alters people’s relationship with time. In government-besieged Saraqeb, she notes, “the rebels called ahead to the gravedigger before they went on a mission,” often prepaying to save their families the expense.

Abouzeid does not shy away from the horrific realities of life under the regime, inside and out of its maze of prisons. Relaying these embodied, visceral, and often violent experiences allows her to illustrate the long-term processes at work in the making of rebels, revolutionaries, and Islamists. Through these stories we see how the excesses of the regime planted the seeds of the uprising long before 2011.

Mohammad, for example, was a boy of seven when the security service arrived in the village of Jisr al-Shaghour in early August 1986. He and everyone else in the village were ordered to watch as a neighbor, accused of connections to the Muslim Brotherhood, was beaten and his elderly mother stripped naked, beaten, and threatened with rape. “They planted hatred in me that day, it became rooted.”

Witnessing state violence against Islamists was only the first step. Mohammad tells Abouzeid that even though he was a secret admirer of al-Qaeda, it was his numerous stints in prison that radicalized him, making him an active member rather than a secret fan. He notes sardonically that after so many “sleeping” incidents for doing nothing, he decided to do something to make imprisonment worth his while. But it was the experience in prison and the connections he and others made there that were most transformative: prison, according to Mohammad, was his “greatest school.”

In the sections of the book that linger on the prison experience, the reader cannot but note what historians have long known: that prison is a catalyst for radicalization, as well as organizing. When I teach the history of the Middle East in the 20th century, I have a running joke of posing this question to my students: if you grow up to become an authoritarian leader and you want to hold on to your power, what things should you avoid doing? One thing is for certain: you should not release political prisoners, and you should certainly not reimprison them with like-minded activists. It seems that Bashir al-Assad, much like other members of the Middle Eastern club of dictators, does not care for history books. In a sense, this is good, for whoever is ignorant about the past is doomed to repeat past mistakes.

At another level, many of the prison experiences are testimony to human beings’ capacity for monstrosity as well as endurance. Suleiman, for example, was a carefree, apolitical young man who became a cyber-activist during the uprising. After he was detained, he was swallowed into a dark hole of imprisonment and torture almost too harrowing to read about.

Suleiman was “released” several times, only to be rearrested by a different state agency within minutes of being freed. At one point, he “marveled at the artistic cruelty of his guards. Who thought up those things?” He notes that one of his interrogators was nicknamed Abu Khatem (“the father of the ring”) because of the rings that cut the flesh of the prisoners he tortured or, in his words, “turned [them] into art.” One is tempted to add that Abu Khatem’s was art for art’s sake, with a nod to Kafka: randomly selected prisoners were subjected to extreme torture on a systematic basis, but never interrogated. Those who survived lived in overcrowded and utterly filthy conditions.

Yet, in the spirit of Solzhenitsyn’s Ivan Denisovich and Sinan Antoon’s Furat — prisoners in Stalin’s USSR and Saddam’s Iraq, respectively — there is also plenty of humanity and of the human spirit on display. Abouzeid recounts numerous acts of small kindness, particularly in the way that prisoners took care of their sickly and wounded. As one of hundreds of prisoners, sitting in rows upon rows in mind-numbing and bone-breaking silent agony, Suleiman fashions prayer beads from olive pits and string. He prays as he sits. He had learned to pray from other inmates. And what better act of small defiance in a prison where the guards ask, “Who is your God?” and where there are only two acceptable responses: “Bashir al-Assad, or you, sidi [master].”

¤

Abouzeid writes that “revolution is an intimate, multipart act. First you silence the policeman in your head, then you face the policemen in the streets.” No Turning Back manages to convey the mixture of disbelief and newborn hope that drove thousands of people to take to the streets across Syria in March 2011. Among the most poignant examples of the stories she relates is about an 18-year-old student named Mohammad Darwish who, on April 1, 2011, dared to shout, “We want freedom,” in the middle of a crowd of men leaving a mosque in the town of Rastan. To paraphrase Charles Kurzman on the Iranian Revolution, this brave act illustrates the moment at which the unimaginable becomes possible. And in the spirit of Kurzman’s study, Abouzeid’s narrative forces the reader to ask: what comes first, revolution or revolutionaries?

The heroic acts of everyday protest that Abouzeid recounts only take on their full meaning when we understand the years of terrified silence that preceded the uprising. Abouzeid is careful to investigate the tortuous methods of Syria’s “republic of fear,” to borrow Kanan Makiya’s description of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq. Under the Assads, fear became a constant “physical presence” engrained in people’s minds, in their very bones. And no wonder: Syrians were all too familiar with the state’s complex and multi-branched security apparatus, scores of “men in black leather jackets who could make people disappear.” They remembered well Hafez al-Assad’s scorched earth war against the Muslim Brotherhood, and the destruction of the old city of Hama in 1982 (up to 30,000 people were killed, most of them civilians).

Hence, although the narrative is replete with heart-stopping moments of agony and terror, Abouzeid is rightly compelled by Syrians who manage to break the walls of fear with dignity and determination. The detail with which Abouzeid charts the transformation of civilians into rebels, fighters, Islamists, and radicals is one of the most powerful accomplishments of this book. Scholars have long analyzed the processes of revolution and rebellion, but sometimes forget to address the most important first step: at what point does the wall of fear crack, at what point does a person step out of their home and march against a government that they know will, without a doubt, butcher them?

Among the poems that Abouzeid includes is one by Bassem, a poet “who became a warrior.” His poem clearly registers an intense interest in historical action and memory, and is a needed reminder of the complex role that Islam has played in this conflict. It ends:

[W]e are entering the future clear-eyed Demanding that history testify and that our grandchildren know That Muslims, rightly named, spoke and acted Those who knew, who know, that if they spoke they would die, acted.

Bassem’s poem offers an interesting contrast to the sentiments expressed a century ago, by another Syrian poet who shared his concern with history. In October 1916, Nasib cArida, a Syrian immigrant and editor of the New York City magazine al-Funun, wrote with bitterness about the humiliation and passivity of the people in his home country during World War I:

A people without courage reaps only death as its reward Let history fold over the page And from its book erase This tale of weakness and disgrace. [1]

The tragic irony is that now, when Syrians have found the courage to act, it is precisely the brave who are dying.

Indeed, a sense of irony pervades Abouzeid’s narrative. She takes us back to February 2011, when Damascus, “the beating heart of Arabism,” banned a pan-Arab vigil against the Libyan embassy. The ban ended in violence, and was one of many sparks that led to the uprising. We learn, too, of a roundabout in Raqqa called Paradise, which ISIS decorated with long spikes topped with the heads of men it had executed. The irony is apt, for irony’s essence is the dashing of expectations. And if anything defines the events of the Arab Spring, it is precisely their unspring-like and devastating consequences.

One such consequence is exile. At what point does the involuntary refugee come to terms with extended homelessness, and with the more bitter reality that there is no longer a home at all? To paraphrase Suleiman, home is where you don’t have to explain yourself. But what to do if you no longer recognize the place you left behind? One answer — to my mind, the most defiant and inspiring — comes from a man named Maysaara. After fleeing to Turkey with his family, he returns alone to Saraqeb in 2015. After years fighting the regime, he goes home to work his land and provide employment to men who might otherwise fight for pay. He explains to Abouzeid: “If you leave it, you don’t deserve to return. […] What am I if I leave?”

For many Syrians, the years of war meant long periods of deprivation and starvation in besieged cities and towns. In Homs, Aleppo, Ghouta, and other locations, Syrians were reduced to eating grass, cats, and dogs. In fact, by 2013, muftis (men learned in sharia) in several Syrian locales began issuing fatwas (opinions) allowing for the consumption of unlawful food in cases of starvation. This is not the first time that war has driven Syrian civilians to survive on the flesh of animals prohibited by Islamic law. Just over a century ago, during the Great War, Syrians experienced a famine so devastating that, in the apocryphal memory of one writer, “mothers ate children; they became like cats and ate their children.” [2]

Nevertheless, Abouzeid’s title mentions “hope.” So let us not forget the Syrian who became known as the “cat man of Aleppo” for his commitment to saving animals in a destroyed city. Among the litany of evils Abouzeid bears witness to, such small acts of mercy shine a spotlight on humanity’s enduring resilience.

¤

Najwa al-Qattan is professor of Ottoman and modern Middle Eastern History at Loyola Marymount University. Her areas of research include: the Jews and Christians of the Ottoman Empire, the Ottoman sharia courts, and Syria and Lebanon in the Great War.

¤

[1] Nasib cArida, in Mustafa Badawi, Mukhtarat min al-shicr al-hadith [Selections from Contemporary Poetry] (Dar al-Nahar li’l-Nashr, Beirut, Lebanon: 1969), pp 111–112. The translation is the author’s.

[2] Hanna Mina, Fragments of Memory: A Story of a Syrian Family, trans., Olive Kenny and Lorne Kenny (Texas: University of Texas at Austin, 1993), p. 173.

The post Watching a Country Unravel, One Person at a Time: An Intimate Account of Syria’s Civil War appeared first on Los Angeles Review of Books.

from Los Angeles Review of Books https://ift.tt/2MkNjg0

[crispy-chan]

no cus it’s always the greatest honor when someone says I made them like or enjoy fantasy for the first time or even again just !!! aaaaaa it makes me so happy bcs fantasy is my favorite thing ever :’)

i love fantasy!! i used to read it all the time, or just in general, i used to read books all the time T_T. sadly, i barely have time time to breathe now, not to mention picking up an actual book :')

but reading your stories is always such an amazing experience. i can tell how much effort you put into your stories, and sometimes , i wish i could "unread" them just so i could experience reading them for the first time again lmao...

okay enough of my fangirling tho ;-; i love you lots, Furat and i really look up to you and your amazing stories 🥺 💓

i hope you have a lovely day/night 🤧 🥰

[blossom-hwa]

I was just scared shitless awake because I was asleep and my mom was calling me and so I didn’t pick up so she emailed my RA 😭 anyway as a muslim girl who lives in the middle east, never had a relationship, never will unless it’s marriage, don’t see stuff like this out in public, all my inspo is from the fantasy novels that i read and those few kdramas that I’ve seen 💀

ngl that explains why I don’t write romance THAT well but anyway that’s a medium flaw it always looks better in my head 💆🏻‍♀️ also further context I was awakened by literal banging on my door and my hands (AND HEART FFS) are still trembling. anyway gotta go back to sleep-

~ ~ ~

okay well 1. furat I'm very glad you're alive and hopefully you're a little less scared shitless because that. that seems like a fucking Lot if I'd been woken up like I know for sure I would've yelled or some shit??? 2. yes YES points were fucking MADE we just take inspiration where we see it like???? you gonna knock on authors who have never experienced magic yet write about it anyway?????? makes no sense please leave us alone pls and thanks <3 and finally 3. hope you have a good sleep !!!!

[tsubakkis-archived]

🌞 🌙 ✨ ☄️🌸 💫 🌹💐💥🔥🍂!🌈

🌞 - i really like your blog!🌙 - you’re really cute! ✨ - i love seeing you on my dash!☄️ - we don’t talk, but i wish we did!🌸 - you’re really sweet!💫 - you’re super talented! 🌹 - i have a crush on you!💐 - i wish i could take care of you when you’re sad!💥 - you seem a little bit intimidating!🔥 - you need to stop being so hard on yourself!🍂 - i don’t like you very much!🌈 - i think i really like you… 

furat wth you gonna make me cry and imma just assume that you didn’t read the don’t in the leaf one lmao (unless you really did mean to send it 👀) wishing you a happy new year and I hope to get to know ya better in 2018!!

send me an emoji

[chaninfused]

hi! it's been a while since i last send u an ask hope ure doing great furat 🤧 i might be a lil late for this but vivid is a masterpiece! ur style of writing different this time (in a good way ofc) as in the way u potray the story in words is complex but easy to understand. u manage to get me invested from the start to the end tbh this my fav writing of urs after the songless bird. just know that i'll always here to read ur artwork furat 🫶🏻 - caeliman minho anon

AAAAA HELLO !! 🥳🥳

it has been a while indeed. I'm doing well, thank you! hope you are too 💕✨ and you aren't late at all, I'm super grateful that you decided to drop by! thank you so much for reading vivid, I'm really happy to know that you enjoyed it!

ah, I did attempt a more formal (?) style of writing this time cause I felt like it suited the story 😭 glad to hear that it worked out! thank you once more, and I'm truly so happy to see you again! 🤍

[chaninfused]

furat i dont think you have like the slightest idea how i felt when i saw that you posted a new story. didnt felt this great feeling here in tumblr in a loong time 🥺🥺

not my first time sending feedback but i dont know if you remember me because the last time i did not put an emoji in my name nor i showed my username because im very shy 😅 but im a truly huge fan of your writing 🥹 like for the last three/four years ive read All your stories. and from the bottom of my heart, i truly love them all 🥲🩷 i think you have a creativity and way of words out of this planet, amazes me how gracious and beautiful your stories are… seriously i was so so excited when i saw this huge ass 60k fic for me to enjoy… it felt like the best gift 🥰🥺

fr vivid is AMAZING. i could say is your best fic so far but i think that everytime you release something… sit (which i still think about the last part until this day) and danse macabre are so precious to me that they feel like my own children… 🤕 i cherish them very much but this one physically hitted me. i was cold sweating reading the fight scenes… urghh you are the stories master and im very thankful for that 🙌 and lee minho god bless him everyday of his life 😭😭😭🙏 im reminded again that im crazy over this man. like seriously to this day i still did not recovered from danse macabre minho like damnn 🫣 and that short fic of seungmin makes me go Feral Of Cuteness

wanst my intention to got this far but i really wanted to say those things to you… furat youre the best at what you do 🫶 and idk just dropping the idea but you totally should continue your Dad Minho sequel thing.. i would love to see something for this universe! 👀😆

thank you for your great job and i hope you a lovely day, week and month 🤗🩷🫂

anonnie I don’t think you have the slightest idea how I felt reading this ask 🥹 it’s actually the sweetest thing ever, truly, thank you so much! ♥️♥️

it shocks and amazes me every time I hear that someone has been reading my writing for so long like how?! my silly little blog?? I’m just so eternally grateful 😭😭💕 and your feedback is so sweet and generous, thank you, really !!

I say this all the time but I’m really happy to know that you enjoyed vivid !! I enjoyed writing it myself and it’s honestly my dearest work at the moment (I feel like I sacrificed part of my soul in those 62k words 🥲) so it truly means so much to know that others have enjoyed it 🤧

also PLEASE I never noticed it but now that you point it out — in all of my minho fics he did become a father in the sequel 🧍🏻‍♀️ what a funny little coincidence HAHAHAH (jokes aside; I did have an idea for a short sequel for vivid but I did not intend to make them parents yet 😔 in my mind, I think they would have a child a little bit later in life because you know…mc’s trauma and all 😭 but who knows! the general idea I had for the sequel was their journey of healing so 👀 (but that is also totally dependent on whether or not I actually want to write a sequel😭))

anyway, anon you truly made my day with your lovely feedback !! you honestly flatter me, I don’t deserve all this praise 🥹🥹 thank you again, from the bottom of my heart, and I hope you too are having a wonderful day, week, and month !! 🫂♥️♥️♥️♥️

[chaninfused]

i’m proud to announce that danse macabre will be posted on the 20th of this month aka tuesday 🤸🏻‍♀️

[decembermoonskz]

👀✨ holy fuck

When the Clocks Stop Ticking | Bang Chan

◤“Time traveler’s rule number one: never get attached to people, places, or things. Never.”

◤Disclaimers: Fluff and I suppose some angst. May contain violence. Boxer/time travel au.

◤Word count: 13.6K 

◤Note: This idea is a 100% mine and any case of similarity with someone else’s is purely coincidental. Events are pure fiction. Please do not take my content without my consent. Masterlist.

◤Dedicated to @yohanzs​ ily ♡ uwu 

One.

Chan heaved a breath, blinking the pain away. He had to focus. He felt every muscle in his body cry in pain as he pushed himself up, his numbness growing with the crowd’s cheers. He sniffled, using a weary hand to wipe the blood dripping from his lower lip. It stung, but pain was the only family he knew. He looked bad, he was aware, and he also knew that his opponent was having it worse.

On the other side of the ring, the man he’d been fighting was struggling to stand. He must’ve been crazed, for Chan heard a voice in his head, pleading he’d stand and continue the match with dignity.

Keep reading

[chaninfused]

hi hi furat! how have you been? i haven’t talked to you in so long and i really missed you 🥺💛 i’m super happy for all your support even now. i have a week break from uni and i’ve already planned to binge-read fics on here, especially your works (because really, who am i if not your #1 fan?) it seems like a good start on the whole “getting back into the fandom and skz fic writing” thing so 😋

oh, btw! have i told you how much i love you? well, i love you a lot! very much! 💛 —hani

hani, hello! I’m doing great, how about you? I hope you’ve been taking care of yourself! and I’ve missed you a lot too! ♥️

of course you still have my support 😤 and I’m super excited for your future projects (revamped angel’s guise MY BELOVED) 👀 also, I hope you enjoy your reading party when you get to it! 🥳

[chaninfused]

I shall give a proper response rb once I have my computer w me but I just wanted to thank you furat 😭😭😭😭😭 you don’t even know how much it means to me 🥺🥺🥺 I still can’t believe you read something that I wrote, it still feels like a dream that someone I admire so so much read something written by good old me lmfao. I hope you have a lovely day ❣️

no, thank you for that cute story! ♥ and I hope you're having a lovelier day! 😤✨