#its an important part of every child's education!!

[elias-magnusnt]

Yes, I imagine the modern world must be quite fascinating for a mind like yours.

Ah, yes, Barnabas. By the way, did anyone give you a rundown on the Dread Powers and the other strange things you might see happen around you?

Whichever one you prefer, both are fine with me, though I'd prefer Elias. It's what everyone calls me, but I'd understand if it's not formal enough for you. Is there any particular way you'd like me to adress you?

Who are you and why have you been talking about me. Am I supposed to remember you? Sorry

—Jonah

Sorry if I signed it wrong

Hello, Jonah. My name is Elias Bouchard, and, indeed, I used to know you when you were... bigger. How are you doing? I imagine it must be quite distressing to be in such an unfamiliar environment all of a sudden.

[venomhound]

Hazbin Hotel - Lucifer Lactation Kink Headcanons

THIS WAS supposed to be part of a part 2 to the Lucifer Niche Kinks post. But not only did it get wayyyy too long; but I realized that I probably should add an educational section because people know nothing about breastfeeding. SO. I broke it off into its own thing.

Contents/WARNINGS: AFAB reader but gender neutral pronouns are used; all the kinky shit obviously; DISCUSSION OF PREGNANCY, BREASTFEEDING, AND CHILDREARING WEE WOO; honestly stay away from this one if you aint into having babies or that kind of talk; discussion of Lilith and Lucifer's past relationship; Im gonna drag Lucifer to therapy by his ankles (18+), MDNI, NSFW below the cut ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Educational Section ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Im just going to throw all this breastfeeding info here in a big info dump so I can actually get into the headcanons and yall can know what Im talking about.

The first couple days after birth are critical for establishing proper milk production. Basically, even if the baby is perfect and drinks your milk (which is rare but thats not what we are talking about), you NEED to make sure your breasts are completely emptied of milk and stimulate them even past that.

This is super important because its what tells your body 'hey, make more milk for babay'

Im just gonna straight up say it: breast pumps fucking suck. Everyone complains about how uncomfortable they are, if they arent straight up painful; they are super inefficient at getting all the milk out of your breasts so they can easily leave you engorged or mess up your milk production; and some women cant even use them because they dont fit their boob shape properly or they cant relax enough when using them.

What do I mean when I say the lady cant relax enough? You have to be completely relaxed for the milk to come out. This is the biggest reason women have trouble breastfeeding. Well, that and the completely empty breasts thing messing up their milk production.

So what is the alternative? Hand expressing! Basically human milking; only not worded so bluntly/terribly. This is much better for milk production because it allows you to actually get all the milk out.

The problem is, its alot more work and time consuming then a pump. Not to mention you have to be taught the proper way to hand express. So if you dont have any of these resources, your pumping.

To make it even worse, alot of women cant relax enough when they try to hand express themselves, so they HAVE to have another person do it (most husbands are COWARDS and aren't willing to do it so, oops back to pump I guess). Or they are the opposite and have to do it themselves.

Fun fact: before pumps, women had to go to their fricken DOCTORS to have themselves milked because their own husbands wouldn't do it. Cause they COWARDS.

ANYWAY. Now that you got a background in how breastfeeding works, remember; breastfeeding is hard work actually and thank god for formula because so many babies would die without it.

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Actual Headcanons ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Its all so natural. Lucifer loves and adores every single change happening to your body during pregnancy. The stretch marks, the weight, watching his child grow inside you. Its all just... *mwuah* So perfect to him.

Lucifer gets so dreadfully giddy when your breasts begin to swell and grow heavy late into your pregnancy. He knows it means your so close to actually being a mommy.

Honestly the best husband you could possibly have. As soon as your baby is born, Lucifer is right there to help you with anything you could possibly need. Anything.

He knows how exhausted mentally and physically you are; so Lucifer offers to hand express your milk for you after feedings. Your body just went through so much, so just let him handle that!

This is when you first notice just how... bothered he gets. Lucifer almost seems to go into a trance. His half-lidded eyes glaze over while he pants through his open mouth.

He tries so hard to keep himself under control; but he cant help but let out tiny gasps, moans, or whimpers when he feels the life giving liquid seep between his fingers.

You cannot even begin to say how thankful you are for your husband's experience however. Its a load off your shoulders. Lucifer's hands and fingers skillfully work to encourage as much milk out of your breasts as he possibly can.

However, as soon as he is done, Lucifer has to quickly excuse himself; nearly running out the door hoping you didn't notice how fucking hard he is. Or that if you did, that he didn't gross you out at the very least.

After a couple days, once your home, rested up, and Lucifer has gotten your milk production expertly established; he will try to show you how to hand express yourself. But you quickly shut that down and tell Lucifer that you would prefer if he kept doing it for you.

Lucifer is a flustered mess at the proposition but cant really argue against it. Hand expression is much easier when another person does it, not to mention exponentially faster. Its also great bonding time for the two of you. Even if Lucifer enjoys the activity a little too much...

However, neither of you have the courage to address just how much he likes it.

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Lucifer was clingy and protective during your pregnancy. But now its amped up significantly. Since the baby was born, Lucifer has been attached to you at the hip; permanently at your beck and call. Always ready to help you in anyway you might need.

Lilith was much more... independent, to put it nicely. Their marriage was already on the rocks when Charlie was born. So Lilith was determined to do everything herself and often shooed Lucifer away when he tried to help.

The fact that your not only letting Lucifer help you with your child, but actively including him in everything? Lucifer didn't think it was possible to love you more then he did. He is not going to miss a second of the child's life you have blessed him with, and so graciously included him in.

But this quickly proves to be a double edged sword. Not only does Lucifer get to dote on you and your child, but Lucifer also gets a front row seat to you and your... maternal body. And God does it do things to him.

People talk about a 'pregnancy glow,' and yeah, you were gorgeous then. But if that was glowing, you are completely radiant now. Lucifer always feels in awe of you and your post-birth body. He loves tracing your stretch marks, with his eyes, fingers, and tongue.

He also loves the extra 'baby weight' you've kept. Its literally more of you to love. You've gotten embarrassed several times because Lucifer will grab at your thighs and lovehandles while telling you how "fucking hard" you make him.

Oddly enough, you haven't heard him comment on the changes in your breasts. Not once.

Thats because Lucifer feels so guilty. He feels so guilty every time he sees how full and swollen your gorgeous breasts are. He feels guilty when he sees them leaking after feedings. The milk soaking through the front of your bra and exposing your hardened nipples.

Lucifer feels guilty about how hard he gets. Every single time. His cock already twitching in his pants just from watching you. Lucifer always ends up having to excuse himself so he can rush off and jack himself off as quickly as possible.

He is so fucking embarrassed by it too. This is parenthood; having kids; having a family. Its all so natural. Especially breastfeeding.

So why is his body perverting it so much?? Lucifer already bred you; got you pregnant. Why is his body demanding even more now that you've had his child??

God, he can't think of any other time he has had to masturbate this much.

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It takes a couple months. Months of constantly vacillating between states of sexual torture and marital bliss for Lucifer. It takes a couple months before you decided to finally test the waters; testing how turned on your husband is really getting.

"Th-there. I-I think that's all of it..." Lucifer stuttered out absentmindedly. Although Lucifer said he had gotten all your milk out, his hands remained firmly grasping your breasts. You couldn't help but look at him with a quizzical tilt to your head. This was new.

Lucifer was always quick to excuse himself; practically running out the door. He was always so fast at fleeing, that he never saw how much you smirked and laughed at him. Its not like his hard on was subtle. Even if he wasn't literally moaning in your face.

This was new. Lucifer didn't run away this time. It was as if he was completely frozen while he straddled your lap in your shared bed. The only real movement from him was the rise and fall of his shoulders from how hard he was breathing.

Lucifer only finally pulls his hands away when you force him to; so you can gently set the bottles you had used to collect your milk onto the nightstand. When you turn back to look at your husband, he is in a complete trance.

Lucifer's head is hanging slightly in shame even as his eyes remain glued to your chest. Rough, but even huffs are steadily leaving his mouth; as if he lost control of his breathing and is trying to get it back. His hands are practically white knuckling at his own thighs; your a little worried in the back of your mind that his claws might rips through his pantleg.

"Lucifer?" Your gentle voice breaks Lucifer out of his daze. His half lidded eyes pull away from your hard, wet nipples to meet your eyes. "I don't think you actually got it all, Sweetie. Why don't you try using your mouth?"

Lucifer's eyes blow wide at the mere suggestion; his pupils dilating like a predator. You swear you hear him whimper. His whole body starts trembling as his eyes dart between your heated gaze and your leaking breast. Silently asking if it was really okay.

You simply smile at him, your hands softly trailing up his thigh and giving his hands a reassuring squeeze. Lucifer licks his lips in a mixture of nervousness and barely restrained lust as he brings shaky hands up to grip at your chest.

Then its as if something in Lucifer snaps; suddenly he is diving right in and latching himself onto you.

It happens so fast. Lucifer's whining, moaning mouth sucking and licking at you furiously. Trying to get every last sweet drop out of you that he can. Every drop of your milk that enters his mouth is like a shockwave of pure electricity up Lucifer's spine.

Even in his almost rabid state, Lucifer remains ever mindful of his teeth. You can't help but whimper every time you feel them graze your hard nipples.

All this while Lucifer's hips are rutting against you in a blind frenzy. You aren't even sure Lucifer is aware he is doing it; that he is practically trying to fuck your thigh into submission. Or if he is so pent up and focused on your tits, that his hips are now acting with a mind of their own.

Lucifer releases your breast from his mouth with a wet -pop- as he squeezes his eyes shut and cries out obscenely. You can feel how hard he cums; completely soaking through the front of his pants and dampening your own.

Lucifer collapses into you; completely limp. For a moment, you thought he might have passed out. But then you hear him humming happily while he nuzzles deeper in-between your breasts.

You gently hold him closer, one of your hands carding through his soft hair as Lucifer takes a moment to recover. You swear you hear him mindlessly babbling praises into your chest. Praises of how much of a "good mommy" you are.

Lucifer drags himself up to look at you with hazy, lovedrunk eyes; breathing heavily and wearing that dorky grin you love so much. Some of your milk had escaped his frenzy, dripping down his chin and smearing along his jaw.

"Do you, uh... Need me to do your other breast too...?"

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AN: If nothing else; I hope this teaches you something about the trials of breastfeeding. Women need more education on what happens to their bodies before, during, and after childbirth.

Don't be that reddit guy who thinks girls make milk whenever they are horny.

FURTHER READING ₊˚ ‿︵୨୧

Unfortunately, the OG poster deactivated. But you can find a archive of another Lucifer with a lactation kink post >>HERE<<

[fortheloveoflatinum]

Rewatching Star Trek DS9: Past Tense (The Bell Riots)

The thing I love most about time travel episodes is that the future hangs in such delicate balance. Also - the gentle reassurance that we matter. You matter. I matter. This isn't utilitarian calculus; it's a philosophy that holds that we all have immense intrinsic value and are all capable of shifting and shaping the course of the future.

Spock: [to Kirk] Save her, do as your heart tells you to do, and millions will die who did not die before. - Spock in the TOS Episode, "City on the Edge of Forever."

And Kirk, despite everything - despite his love for this woman, despite what his heart tells him to do - knows that in order to save the Federation and the future he has had such a magnificent hand in creating; if he wants a just and equitable future to be forged, it all hinges upon one small, 'insignificant' woman - it serves to show that the good of the many outweighs the good of the few - Kirk lets her die to save those millions of people - but also proves that the good of the few - or the one - can indeed outweigh the good of the many.

It's a simple, human truth that we are all significant in some way. When we go, it's not what we leave behind that matters - it's how we lived.

Captain Picard: Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives. But I rather believe than time is a companion who goes with us on the journey, and reminds us to cherish every moment because they'll never come again. What we leave behind is not as important how we lived. - Picard in the movie Star Trek: Generations.

And in the DS9 episode Past Tense: Parts I and II, this fundamental truth is also proven true. That one person - any person, every person - matters. Not because of the wealth they've accumulated, not because of their fancy house or their six-figure salary or their corner office - but because they smiled at a crying child, because they sparked hope in the hopeless, because they were kind, because they were generous with their time and because they lived to serve the greater good.

Life. It's not about what you own - it's about who you touch. Even transported to a barbaric 21st century too much like our own - with just the clothes on their back - even their combadges stolen - Doctor Bashir and Captain Sisko touch people. Their presence changes things. So much so that the ripples of their actions change the future for every Federation member, because Starfleet is gone and all that remains of it is the crew of the Defiant.

I remember the Ray Bradbury story, "The Sound of Thunder," with its eminent metaphor of stepping on a butterfly and altering the future. But what if we step on a butterfly in the present? Surely, the future is altered. Everything we do - matters. Everything we do has ripples across the timeline of the future. None of us are islands unto ourselves. This tangled web we weave, it's a tapestry and its threads are those of the people we've loved, everyone who we've ever known and whether we were cruel or kind to them matters.

What can you do? Start by smiling. A smile from a friendly stranger can save a life.

Michael Burnham [to Spock]: “There’s a whole galaxy of people out there who will reach for you. You have to let them. Find that person who seems farthest from you and reach for them.” - Michael Burnham in that one Discovery episode where they go to the future and also there's an epic war going on in the background

Reach for someone, anyone; everyone. Only then can they reach back for you.

Be kind, to the Earth, to each other, to all creatures. Don't step on butterflies or kill bees.

What can you do? Watch Star Trek, and live by Starfleet values. Find a moral compass, and let it guide you. Remember that science and education are the answer, just as much as peace on Earth and - eventually - beyond.

[prickly-paprikash]

Since the discourse has reared its ugly head once more, the simple answer is no.

Aang was not a deadbeat, unsupportive, absentee father.

He loved all three of his children and was supportive of them. When Kya came out in the comics, she mentioned straight up that Aang was nothing but supportive of her and who she was. Aang made mistakes in parenting, but he was also stuck in one of the worst situations possible for him.

For one thing, it's been stated that Airbending culture has different views when it comes to family dynamics. Never once does Aang mention his parents, and it's clear that Air Nomads did not put emphasis on the standard nuclear family organization that other nations did. From context clues alone, and many have inferred in the past that Air Nomads were communal, so it stands to reason that their parenting was communal. Monks, Nuns, Masters—all of them were most likely parents to every single child. The responsibility of raising and educating a child was shared amongst the nomads, and that there was no real difference between biological and adoptive parents. Airbenders shared nearly everything, and that meant family as well.

Imagine you're Aang, spending twelve years of life being raised by every adult in the temple. Sure, he was exposed to nuclear family dynamics when visiting other nations and befriending Bumi and Kuzon, but his exposure to their culture was most likely limited. Now, not only is he a father to three beautiful children, but he must raise them in a way foreign to him. There are no other Monks to raise his children—it's just him and Katara. I've no doubt that Sokka and Toph chipped in whenever they could to ease the burden of parenthood, but they were leaders and figures of great importance as well. Not to mention that Toph had her own daughters to take care of.

Aang is also the Avatar, the central spiritual figure amongst the four nations. His presence would always be demanded in other nations. Peace Summits. Negotiations. Ceremony. Dealing with splintered Fire Nation cells and loyalists. Aang had to lead the people of all four nations back into balance, and he was in the unique and unenviable position to heal the scars of a 100 year war due to the absence of the Avatar.

Finally, the dude is also the Very Last Airbender. Of course he'd show favoritism to Tenzin. Bumi was a non-bender and Kya was a waterbender already taking after her mother. Aang was a war hero, a political figure, a man out of time and history, the Avatar, and the Only Living Airbender. The weight of his culture and people all rested on his shoulders, and so he passed on that responsibility and hope to the only other living Airbender at the time. Aang needed to spend time with Tenzin because only through Tenzin could the practices of the Air Nomads survive.

Aang was basically having to transition from a communal family mindset to a nuclear family's; he had to balance romance, fatherhood, and being the Avatar in a Wartorn World; and he had an obligation to every Airbender in history—millions of souls and their memories, passed on from one very flawed father to his newborn son. Every part of Aang's life as a father was met with trials and tribulations, and his family still came out loving him, albeit with some resentment underneath.

No parent is perfect, and Aang could have done so much better when it came to communicating with his children.

But none of his mistakes ever meant he was an abusive, cold, distant father.

He was overworked, acclimating to a style of family not his own, and desperately reviving a century-long dead culture all by himself. The fact that every single one of his kids still loved him and cherished him only solidified the fact that Aang was a father who did his very best.

Being the child of the Avatar would always mean living in his shadow. That resentment, of Aang being needed by the world while his children sought him out, would always be there. Doubly so for Tenzin, who grew up with the Avatar as his father and continued his life-long work of breathing life back into the Air Nomads. Say what you will, but at least Bumi and Kya had the freedom to choose who they wanted to be. Tenzin, no matter what, would always grow up to be the Airbending Master because no one else could.

Aang loved his children. Aang loved his wife. And they in turn loved him. But just like every family, complications rose up and planted the seeds of bitterness and resentment. The only thing that stopped these from blossoming into actual dislike of their family was that Aang's love and respect for his children was always genuine, and that Katara stood firm in making sure their children knew they were beloved.

Aang and Katara's family would never have been ideal in the first place, but they did their best.

And their best was certainly enough.

[hyperactively-me]

king!ghost x reader -- lessons

more of a filler, but doesn't make it less important!

Many weeks have gone by since you married King Ghost. You were finally somewhat settled into a normal routine after Ghost had assigned a personal advisor and tutor to you, teaching you the political atmosphere of Kastron. 

Though you had once been an outsider to the kingdom’s politics, you now held a newfound responsibility of being queen. As a child, you were only taught how to be a homemaker, with the occasional sparse political lesson. Ghost had made sure to oversee your education of his kingdom. His guiding hand, however, had made this transition a little less daunting.

He had appointed you a personal advisor, Sir Mark, a seasoned statesman with a wealth of experience. A kind woman, Lady Daphne, served as your tutor in matters of economics and governance. Your days now unfolded within the quiet confines of the palace study, immersed in books and the wisdom of your teachers. The political landscape of Kastron, with its intricate alliances and history, unfolded before you, leading you to understand the complexities of the kingdom as a whole. Matters you were once ignorant or unknowledgeable about soon became clear to you. 

Surprisingly, you found it all fascinating. The art of diplomacy, the complexities of governance, and the lineage of Kastron's rulers were all smaller parts playing in the larger picture of today’s current political state. Sir Mark patiently guided you through the labyrinth of politics, teaching you to navigate its treacherous waters. Lady Daphne, with her encyclopedic knowledge, brought light to the finer points of economic policy and governance. 

Yet, Ghost's influence extended beyond the realm of politics. Thankfully, he believed that a queen should be more than just a mother or a diplomat; she should be a protector of her kingdom. He continued to oversee your instruction in the art of swordsmanship. At first, it was daunting, but your determination matched Ghost's patience, and you soon became a formidable swordswoman after many long days of training. 

But it wasn’t all study and training. After the confrontation in the dining room, you both mutually decided to get to know each other in a more civilized manner. You began to spend more of your down time with Simon, showing him little bits and pieces of what you liked, who you are, and vice versa. Over the next couple of weeks, you spent days riding horses through the realm, letting him show you the terrain. 

Evenings were reserved for games, typically card games, or reading. In a dimly lit chamber, you and Simon challenged each other with your mutually competitive natures. His laughter, a rare sound, echoed through the room as you battled for a win over card games. And every night, he would walk you back to your quarters, ensuring you got to bed safely. 

Amidst your busy schedules and activities, you found moments of quietness with him. You would sit with Simon, talking about everything, small or large. The man who had once been a distant and stoic figure now confided in you, his trust a precious gift. Slowly but surely, you began to warm up to him, seeing beyond the enigmatic facade of Ghost. You started to let your guard down as you started to see him for who he is, slowly letting him in. 

As the days turned into weeks, and the weeks into months, you underwent a transformation. No longer an outsider, you emerged as a queen in the making with a deep understanding of Kastron’s politics.

- - - - -

(masterlist)

[galaxyedging]

Marcus Acacius x f!reader

WC: 774

Follow on from Prima Nocta.

Series Masterlist

Summary: Marcus proposes plans to further support you.

Warnings: minor smutty thoughts.

Dum spiro, spero

The mid afternoon sun fills your bed chamber with a hazy golden glow. The light breeze freshly scented by the River Tiber flows through the drapes. It cools your fevered skin in the wake of his touch. His large hand skims your soft skin. Every nerve lights up in its wake. A domino effect has the sensation travelling downward, threatening to push you over the edge into something unknown and primal. His eyes burn umber in the sunlight as they meet yours in a silent question before he dips his head low to your body. Before his plush lips touch the skin of your bare breasts, a sharp intake of breath wakes you.

The light covers are twisted around your legs. Sweat covers your skin. A knot is tied low in your stomach. General Acacius has retreated back into your deeply hidden dreams. The slick between your thighs changes your afternoon plans. A visit to the public baths will be in order. Dreams of the General, Marcus as he now insists you call him, have become more frequent as have his visits. 

Since the night he rescued you from the marriage your parents insisted on, Marcus has made an effort to support you. Your standing in society was a strange one. As a widow you belonged to no man, you were allowed your freedom. Yet as a woman still young enough to birth children the fact that you made no attempt to remarry was frowned upon. Marcus lent his support to discourage idle gossip. No one would dare risk falling out of his good graces. Marcus would visit, bringing fresh fruits and materials to further your education. He made no secret of the fact that you had his favour. As much as you appreciated his kindness and propriety, days like this made you wish for a little impropriety in your relationship.

The gathering at the Forum was of no interest to you tonight. The speeches faded into the night as your dream replayed in your mind. The prospect of seeing Marcus divided you. Part of you longed to set eyes on him, to drink in every inch of his beauty. The other part cursed the possibility of seeing his wife on his arm and it feeding unfavourable emotions inside of you. Too lost in your thoughts you didn't see your mother approaching until it was far too late. Another uncomfortable introduction followed. They were frequent as of late. Your mother was determined to find a new suitor for you. The whole exchange was routine now. Your mother would praise the two of you, heavily hinting at your suitability. You would be gracious and polite, silently praying to the Gods for the moment to be over. Once it was you would retreat as quickly as possible. The difference this time was that in your haste to get away you almost ran straight into Marcus. While mumbling an apology to his feet you missed the look on his face at you talking to another man.

The darkness was blissfully silent, even your thoughts had quietened. You doubted that you would have heard it otherwise. The quiet rap of knuckles on your door. It drew you from your bed to find Marcus at your door.

“I'm sorry to intrude at such a late hour but I wish to discuss something with you.�� His business like tone intrigued you.

For a moment you wondered if one of the speeches you had failed to listen to tonight had been important.

“I saw your mother attempting to find you another husband.” he began.

“Yes. It's become more frequent.” You sigh wearily. Tired of all her meddling. “I'm almost ten years older than is acceptable to birth your first child. I bring her shame.”

“I could give you a child. They would be illegitimate, of course but I would provide for them.” He spoke as if he was making a trade deal and not asking to take you to bed.

“I…” Words fail you. 

You would be lying if you said you weren't thrilled at the offer. A child of your own. The chance to have your most explicit dreams come true. The reassurance that Marcus would be a constant presence in your life. 

Marcus had fathered over a dozen children who had survived. The few he had with his wife had children of their own. He doted on each and every one. He provided for the illegitimate ones, you knew this first hand as you have accompanied your father to deliver goods to them. 

“I accept.” The words are as much a shock to you as they are to Marcus. 

[saintsenara]

okay, I'm super curious about your thoughts on when and how snape becomes a potions master. some people say he was still working on his mastery when he became a professor but i like to think he got it in early 1980 and he apprenticed with a potions master he was recommended to through his ~connections~ (cough malfoy cough).

although the idea of him teaching and grieving and also attempting to not fail at the one thing he knows he's good at does have its own angsty appeal

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

although i regret to say that i'm going to start the answer to it by being very pedantic...

the idea that masteries are something which exist in the wizarding world is complete fanon.

they have emerged as a trope due to a reading of the phrase "potions master" which does make perfect sense outside of the cultural context in which the books were written - by which i mean that it makes readers unfamiliar with the culturally-specific meaning of this bit of language think of masters degrees or other high-level qualifications - but which is nonetheless incorrect within context.

"master" [and the feminine equivalent, "mistress"] is just an alternative term in british english for "teacher". it doesn't imply anything about a level of qualification. "potions master" and "potions teacher" are synonyms.

the term is archaic - british people nowadays would exclusively say "teacher" - and it's very class-specific, in that it would have particularly been used to describe teachers in elite schools, whether fee-paying private schools or grammar schools [state schools which are academically selective].

as a result, it turns up in lots of the children's literature written before c.1980 - especially in boarding-school stories like malory towers and the worst witch which are explicit influences on the harry potter series. it's used in the text - especially in the earlier books - as part of worldbuilding which generally seeks to make the wizarding world feel whimsical by virtue of being very old-fashioned, which things like the fact that the most advanced technology wizards use is the radio and the steam train also hammer home.

that snape is the only teacher referred to as a master is connected to these genre conventions. because snape is so important to the full arc of the story, he's the teacher we spend the most time in the classroom with throughout the six books in which harry's at school. and he's therefore the teacher who - in the first few books - best fits a children's literature archetype which we would expect to find in any twentieth-century school story [with a magical setting or not] - the hated schoolmaster who is horrible to the child-protagonist and who every child reading can't wait to see get their comeuppance.

so snape is a potions master because he teaches potions. nothing more than that.

but that doesn't mean that it's not worth thinking about his training...

clearly, higher education of the type most of us are familiar with doesn't exist in wizarding britain - nor, i suspect, in wizarding europe more broadly.

and this makes perfect sense - not only because the magical population is so small but because the divergence of the magical and muggle worlds in 1689 takes place well before universities and university-level education look like anything a modern student might recognise. a seventeenth-century university education was still broadly generalist and aimed at trainee clergy, and careers which we would nowadays expect to require a degree - such as law, finance, medicine, science, and engineering - were generally taught by apprenticeship.

this is clearly how things continue to function in the wizarding world of the 1990s, since we know from order of the phoenix that healers are taught by apprenticeship [and, indeed, that hogwarts graduates all go straight into the workforce after they leave school].

potions - since it's analogous to chemistry - is nonetheless understood in-world as an academic discipline. but this doesn't mean - within the post-school educational structures we can suppose the wizarding world has - that it's a discipline in which one needs specific formal training in order to acquire a right to teach or publish about it.

the seventeenth century was a period - especially in britain - marked by a great expansion of scientific inquiry. this was - by our contemporary understanding of academic science - amateur. scientists wouldn't have been expected to have doctorates, to work at universities, or even to have attended them, and their experiments were often self-funded by personal wealth or dependent on a patron. the circles [often international] in which they debated, demonstrated, and reviewed theories and inventions were social ones - the gatekeeping line was class [with the level of education - and, primarily, of literacy - that this implied], rather than level of education itself.

these social circles often had a certain level of official standing - by which i mean they became, during the period, the learned societies, the most famous of which is probably the royal society. membership [or fellowship] of the learned societies requires a demonstration of some sort of contribution to the discipline they relate to - which means that the vast majority of contemporary fellows of such societies are university-based academics. but this wouldn't have been the case in 1689.

and we know that the wizarding world has its own equivalent of learned societies, because slughorn mentions one in half-blood prince - the most extraordinary society of potioneers.

which is to say, snape is probably a member of this society. he may very well publish papers in academic journals connected to the subject [as dumbledore does in transfiguration today], and he undoubtedly has a reputation among the wizarding world's men- and women-of-letters. but he doesn't need to have any formal post-hogwarts qualification in order for him to have acquired this reputation.

so what do i think he's doing between 1978 and 1981?

well... he's a death eater.

my theory has always been that snape comes to voldemort's attention - via lucius malfoy - because of his potions skills. the dark lord's operation would have needed potions - poisons to bump off enemies, healing potions because wanted criminals can't just turn up at st mungo's, potions to trade on the black market [as aberforth dumbledore tells us the death eaters do during deathly hallows], and so on - and voldemort would want to keep the production of these potions in-house, rather than risk hiring a private brewer [even a shady one] who might change their mind and go to the aurors.

[this is also presumably what voldemort - undoubtedly at snape's request - tries to recruit lily to do.]

i have never believed that snape was taken on as a death eater in the expectation that he'd perform a combat role - there is a clear implication throughout the series that the only person he ever directly kills is dumbledore, and that he gets along badly with death eaters [such as bellatrix] who did take more violent roles in voldemort's terrorism.

so i presume that, when he leaves school, he ends up working as a personal brewer for voldemort - on a stipend presumably paid, at the dark lord's request, by either lucius or abraxas malfoy. i also presume that, outside of work voldemort specifically requests, he's given free rein to brew for other clients, study, experiment, and publish as he wishes.

and i further presume that if he trains with anyone, then that person is voldemort himself.

voldemort claims, in goblet of fire, to be interested in experimenting with potions. he appears to invent the potion made from nagini's venom which sustains his half-body prior to his resurrection - and i think the implication of the text is that he also invents the potion guarding the locket-horcrux. voldemort also evidently encourages snape's interest in the dark arts, and he also appears to have some influence over snape's comportment - the teen snape we see in order of the phoenix is extremely rough around the edges, in a way the adult snape, who both speaks and moves in canon very similarly to the adult voldemort, isn't.

voldemort taking such an interest in snape would - obviously - largely be a grooming tactic. snape clearly becomes a death eater because the organisation offers him a chance to belong and succeed which his class-background would ordinarily make impossible for him within wizarding society, and voldemort must therefore massively indulge his belief that he's never given the respect he deserves for his intellect. voldemort's obvious contempt for slughorn - who matters so little to him that he doesn't even bother to kill him - would, i imagine, also win snape round.

and by training snape in an academic rather than a combat sense, voldemort gains a valuable tool - someone he can place at hogwarts as a teacher to spy on dumbledore.

we can assume that voldemort was having dumbledore tailed throughout the first war - and, indeed, that this is what snape is doing when he overhears the prophecy - but that he couldn't watch him at all times because he didn't have a spy among the hogwarts faculty.

it is clearly voldemort who tells snape to apply for a teaching job in early 1980. he must also tell him to apply for the defence against the dark arts post [which we know snape canonically applied for first] - which means he must expect to be imminently victorious in the first war, since snape would only be able to stay in the position for a year...

the prophecy, which snape hears c. january 1980, obviously derails this belief slightly... and snape famously does not get the defence against the dark arts job for the 1980-1981 academic year.

how do we know this? because he tells us in order of the phoenix that he's been teaching at hogwarts for fourteen years. he says this right at the beginning of the autumn term in 1995 - so he clearly means that he's been teaching for fourteen previous academic years and the 1995-1996 year is his fifteenth. so... he started teaching at hogwarts in the 1981-1982 academic year.

voldemort settles on harry as the child the prophecy refers to after harry is born [so, after 31st july 1980]. we don't know how quickly he does this and we don't know exactly when snape defects to the order.

but, clearly, at some point during the 1980-1981 academic year, dumbledore hires snape to begin teaching from september 1981 onwards. he presumably tells snape to tell voldemort that his change of heart was because he didn't think snape was qualified to teach defence against the dark arts but that he does think he's qualified to teach potions [pointing, perhaps, to publications snape got out under voldemort's tutelage], and that slughorn's announcement that he intends to retire means that there's a position available. he then undoubtedly also tells snape to convince voldemort of the same pretence they'll use throughout the second war - that he's a loyal death eater passing information on dumbledore's movements to his master.

which is to say... when lily dies, snape has been in his job for at most nine weeks.

just imagine how miserable that must have been!

[louisupdates]

Louis Tomlinson to Livestream FOR EVERY QUESTION WHY Mexico City Concert

Louis will be the first male solo artist to headline the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez venue, which is the home of the Mexican F1 Grand Prix.

By: Josh Sharpe | May. 20, 2024

In a landmark event for fans around the world, British singer/songwriter Louis Tomlinson is set to perform one night only at the Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez - Curva 4 in Mexico City on Saturday, June 1, 2024. Louis will be the first male solo artist to headline the venue, which is the home of the Mexican F1 Grand Prix.

As part of his 'Faith In The Future World Tour’, the show is the culmination and the final stadium show of two back-to-back world tours that have sold over 1.5M tickets and taken Louis to 47 countries across 5 continents. Louis Tomlinson - For Every Question Why: Live and Direct from Mexico City will air LIVE on Veeps, offering fans around the world exclusive access to the first concert Louis has ever streamed in front of an in-person crowd.

The livestream will be directed by Grammy-nominated and Emmy award-winning director Sam Wrench, who has earned wide acclaim for his work on Taylor Swift’s The Eras Tour film as well as Billie Eilish: Live at the O2. Individual tickets are on sale for $16.99 HERE. To cater to the timezones of a truly global fanbase, there will be two opportunities for fans to gather on the streams — a livestream direct from the show at approximately 8pm PDT / 9pm CST (Mexico)* on Saturday, June 1 and an encore broadcast on Sunday, June 2 at 6pm BST / 7pm CET.* The encore broadcast will include exclusive backstage and bonus footage not included in the first livestream.

Louis will be partnering with War Child UK for the livestream and donating a portion of the proceeds from every ticket sold. War Child UK is committed to ensuring a safe future for every child affected by war. With 30 years of experience, they work with local communities and governments to protect, educate, and support children in war zones, aiming to reach them quickly and stay long after the crisis has passed. War Child creates safe spaces for children to play, learn, and heal, advocating for their rights and amplifying their voices.

Veeps and Louis have partnered a number of times since Veeps’ inception, each time crafting unique and heartfelt experiences for fans tuning in — from his 2020 Live From London lockdown performance that brought together 160,000 fans for the biggest livestream concert ever held by a solo male artist, to an airing of his feature-length documentary All of Those Voices coupled with a live red carpet cross and intimate Q&A. (In a show of the closeness of Louis’s fans, the stream generated an enormous 30,000 chat messages amongst those that tuned in.)

Louis’s journey from global superstardom with One Direction to solo success has been marked by a series of bold, creative choices, kicking off with his debut album, Walls, which has sold over 1.5 million copies. Its 2022 follow up, Faith in the Future, went to No.1 in the UK, Spain and Belgium, and Top 5 in the USA, Australia, New Zealand and across Europe. In 2021, Louis was listed in the Guinness Book Of World Records for breaking the record for the most live streamed concert by a solo male artist, hosting one of the biggest live stream concert events ever held, selling over 160,000 tickets to fans in over 110 countries and raising funds for several important charities.

This month, Louis unveiled a surprise live album, LIVE, with the digital version comprising a collection of 15 songs, all released live for the very first time. Each song was recorded in a different city, at a different show, spanning the past 3 years across Louis's two global world tours which have seen him perform over 170 shows to date. LIVE will also be released on CD and LP on August 23 with 3 additional tracks exclusive to the physical formats only. Both are available now to pre-order. The CD includes exclusive live versions of “High In California” and “Where Do Broken Hearts Go,” while the LP includes exclusive live versions of “High In California,” “Only The Brave” and “Kill My Mind.”

As Louis wraps up his tour, Autódromo Hermanos Rodríguez - Curva 4 will provide a dynamic backdrop for a livestream performance. As one of the biggest artists for new fans on Veeps, this concert is not just a show; it's a global event, bringing together fans from all corners of the world to celebrate the music of one of the most influential artists of our time.

Tickets to Louis Tomlinson - For Every Question Why: Live and Direct from Mexico City will be available for $16.99 at https://veeps.events/louis-tomlinson-live-from-mexico. The show will air live on June 1, 2024 at 8pm PDT / 9pm CST (Mexico), with the special encore broadcast airing at 6pm BST / 7pm CET on June 2.* The stream will be available exclusively on Veeps for 12 months after the original airdate, with a 7-day rewatch window for individual ticket purchasers.

[actual-changeling]

I know that Ellie eventually going to school is a pretty much universally accepted part of the world building, but I am itching to explore her trying to do so and simply being unable to do it.

The child abuse she went through at the hands of FEDRA was probably prolific and cruel, and her life was basically nothing but different kinds of "education" strung together, whether that's whatever they cobbled together for general education or the military training. Joel might know it was bad (cause it's fucking FEDRA), but the extend of her trauma is hard to gauge when you are not in a situation that triggers it.

Her academic trauma does not disappear outside of school, but unless Ellie is in a similar situation it simply won't be immediately obvious (speaking from experience). On top of that, David being a teacher does not help whatsoever.

-

Joel and Ellie agree on a first day of school, but they want to check out the building beforehand, just so they're both a bit more at peace. Ellie is somewhat excited but also scared, and the closer they get to the building, the quieter she becomes, just hanging onto Joel's hand and squeezing it until her knuckles turn white. He pulls her close, notices she is nervous, but he doesn't press and gets them inside. One of the handful of teachers, a woman about Joel's age (they're aware enough to not have it be a man, Silver Lake is a known topic), meets them at the door and shows them around.

Small classrooms with surprisingly comfortable looking wooden chairs (Ellie sees the pillows on them and her mind short-circuits), some old sofas and couches, armchairs, spacious desks and all kinds of posters and materials. There's an art room and it is the only time Ellie's grip on Joel loosens a tiny bit, the array of brushes, paints, and instruments fascinates her, but that moment passes as quickly as it came.

With every step they take, the teacher's voice blurs with Joel's and turns into white noise, her vision grows fuzzy and grey, and she has to keep blinking with fluttering lashes to not sway on her feet when the dissociation gets worse. Absently, her mind keeps cataloguing the floor plan, windows, doors, all exists she can make our and imagine, but by the end of the tour, she cannot remember anything past leaving their house this morning. Something tugs on her hand, and she blinks up at Joel, his gaze loaded with a question she didn't hear, and maybe ten weeks ago she would have pretended she had; she doesn't know.

Ellie doesn't even know why she is reacting like this, there are no specific memories popping up, nothing to fight back, just her mind and body slipping into a protective armor of static like they're pulling her into the fizzling TV in their living room.

"Ellie?"

The teacher's voice snaps her back to a pounding heart and a breath stuck in her lungs, and when she looks down at their clasped hands her nails have left marks in Joel's skin. She lets go at once, holding onto her wrists with her arms behind her back, and she still didn't hear the question. Every cell in her body is telling her to leave, pulling her toward the nearest exit, but she doesn't. There are memories flickering across her vision now, a decade of unjust, painful punishments and her body being pushed to its breaking point, and she decides the answer to that question is more important than whatever they had asked her.

"What do you do? For, like, punishment?"

Her voice is steadier than she is on her feet, so she rocks gently back and force to stop herself from swaying. Joel's gaze burns hot on her cheeks, but she keeps her eyes on the teacher, whose eyebrows are raised so high they disappear beneath her fringe.

"Punishment? We don't- there's not reason to punish forgotten homework or the like here, Ellie, it's supposed to be both fun and educational."

Something about the tone in her voice unsettles her, but the answer isn't satisfying, and she needs to know, needs to know the rules so she can follow them, because the art room looks like it might actually be fun to be in and she is so tired of dark lonely spaces and marks on her back; imagining the disappointed look on Joel's face when her teachers tell him about it is the worst of it all, though.

"What are the rules? When are the drills and what's the consequences for breaking the rules? Is there-" is there a hole, she wants to ask, but her breathing is fast and shallow, periphery dotted with dancing black spots, and she doesn't want to give them any ideas they didn't already have. Joel's hand lands on her back, right between her shoulder blades, and the warm weight his comforting without being oppressive, her breaths slowing just a smidge.

The woman with a name Ellie forgot is taller than Joel with the shoes she is wearing, and she she squats down, the look on her foreign face looks like a a finished puzzle, the final piece having snapped into place. Her features are rounded, soft, a stark contrast to the borderline malnourished and hardened look of pretty much every person around the QZ including her teachers, a few light-brown and grey strands escaping from her ponytail, and Ellie can't help but think that she looks - nice, non-threatening. School isn't supposed to be non-threatening, but this whole building is dripping with it, and it scares her to death; getting this ripped away from her as punishment will hurt even more than escaping packed, concrete classrooms.

"You grew up in a FEDRA school, right?" she asks, voice almost tender, and Ellie can only stare and nod while Joel rubs circles into her back.

"I heard stories about what it was like before I came here, horrible experiences no one should have to go through, especially not a child."

She sounds so much like Joel the comfort laced into her words manages to penetrate the static and soothe some of the panic, her eyes a bright hazel shade, not blue, and she keeps her distance even though she could easily get into Ellie's personal space

"Even before the outbreak, school wasn't like that, and it is definitely not like that here. There is no punishments, Ellie, no real rules or structure outside of general lesson plans, no consequences for not turning in work or being late. This is meant to provide some stability and education, give you a places to hang out with people your age, have some more people to connect with. If you don't want to be here, no one will force you."

Ellie doesn't cry. She doesn't. A deep breath and some determined blinking pull back the tears from her waterline and her chest aches with a vengeance when she thinks about how different it would have been here for her and Riley, how much better. Riley would still be alive. For a few minutes, they're all silent, allowing her to gather the scattered pieces of herself and glue them back together, and when she does, a tiny bit of the fear in her bones has made space for tentative excitement.

"I like the art room," she says quietly, feeling younger than she ever has, and a wave of something washes over all of them. "Do I- can I-"

"You can use it whenever you like, even outside of school hours, as long as you don't leave too much of a mess and use it responsibly."

Liliya, her brain finally provides, straightens her back again, and the lack of a last name during her introduction is probably part of what through her off. Ellie looks up at Joel, a muscle in his jaw ticking with suppressed anger, not at her, at FEDRA, she knows him well enough to realize that, and decides her question about The Hole is both best saved for another time and hopefully not relevant at all.

"Okay," Ellie responds, pressing herself back against Joel and melting when his arm protectively wraps around her shoulders, "I'll give it a try."

Over the relief rushing through her hairs, she barely hears the details the adults next to her discuss, happy to bury her face in Joel's shirt without shame, and she manages to shake off the last wisps of static clinging to her. Maybe this will work out for her, maybe it won't, maybe all she will use are the art supplies, but when they are lead back to the entrance, more than ready to go home, Liliya gives her a smile, eyes crinkling. For the first time in her life, Ellie smiles back at a teacher simply because she wants to, and the hopeful excitement sprouting in her chest is enough to tell her that she will be right on time for her first class on Monday.

[matan4il]

what do we do in the face of indoctrination and bigotry like this, when it's being taught to small children in the United States? https://www.instagram.com/reel/C6rUBp-LjRc/?igsh=NGhpeXNldWFpOWNm - this is so terrifying tbh :(

Nonnie, you're right. :( This is truly petrifying.

What's so horrifying is of course that kids that age do not have the required tools of knowledge and critical thinking to make an informed decision on this, they basically have no free will here, they're being used to promote someone else's political agenda.

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A post shared by StopAntisemitism (@stop_antisemitism)

I wish I had more details, because I do think there's a difference between an "educator" organizing an event like this, and a parent. If it's the former, parents might be approached to stop this indoctrination and exploitation of their kids, especially if it was done without their consent or their own full understanding. If it's a parent doing this to their own kid... :/ That's harder to deal with (and so much worse in what it means for the kid).

Education is always a touchy subject. Every parent, every educator, wants to give the kid they're responsible for the set of values they truly believe is the most important one, and in that sense, there is always a degree of indoctrination involved in education, or even just in parents passing on their own culture and heritage (and with that, its values, beliefs and mentality) to their kids. Good parents and educators allow the kid to eventually choose their own path, even if it's very different to theirs (and there's a question of what's "very different" and what's "actually immoral" when a kid chooses another set of values), however the path they choose for the kid to begin with is always one without any free choice on the part of the child. Even trying to avoid teaching them a certain set of moral values ends up being a moral choice, made entirely by the parents or educators.

But when it comes to a subject that's purely political, does not directly entail these kids and their families, their people or their culture, and requires so much knowledge that even most people who live this conflict are still unaware of many of its facts, this is just pure indoctrination and exploitation to boost the adult's political ego and agenda, and I imagine at least some of those kids might grow up to resent having been used this way.

I guess that's my biggest hope in that sense.

The millions of German kids who grew up with openly antisemitic parents, who were sent to the Hitlerjugend (Hitler Youth), who were even at a certain point recruited to fight for the Nazis (some allied soldiers reported having taken captive German kids as young as 8. Many German teen soldiers actually got quite a reputation for being brutal fighters, because they were so much easier to mold into fanatics when it came to the Nazi cause), some of them probably grew up to be adults who still believed in that hateful ideology. But some of them, or at least their own kids, were able to step back, and realize what was wrong with what the adults of that generation did, so they ended up denouncing their own parents or grandparents. That's not easy to do. It's true that that did require to a great degree the universal condemnation of the Nazis and their antisemitic, genocidal crimes. But it IS possible.

The biggest problem we have right now, is that the condemnation of the antisemitism in the anti-Israel movement is not yet universal. There are enough people still buying into the lie that it's "anti-Zionism, not antisemitism," despite all proof to the contrary. And I'm scared of thinking what would it take to make it into a universal condemnation. Especially since not even the atrocities of Oct 7 managed to make people realize how heinous it is to support Hamas. I can only hope it wouldn't take an actual second Holocaust. But I do believe in the capacity of people, even those that adults invested in brainwashing them, to eventually step back, and realize that they were a part of a hate movement, meant to demonize, harass and persecute Jews. To be ashamed of that, to denounce it, and to do what they can to make up for it... Every young German person standing by Jews today, at our time of need, is living proof of that.

So yeah, one day these brainwashed useful ignorants might wake up, and look with horror at what they have enabled and the antisemitism they were guilty of spreading. If not, their kids or grandkids might look at them with shame. Let's hope it's the former rather than the latter. But most importantly, let's not stop working to spread the truth about this wave of hatred and how harmful it is to Jews (and as extension, to non-Jews involved in this conflict as well), by speaking up wherever we can, and try to help get a step closer to that day when the condemnation of this hate is universal.

Thank you for the ask, and please take care of yourself during these scary times! xoxox

(for all of my updates and ask replies regarding Israel, click here)

[drunknillawafer]

right down the line: zuko x firebender!reader | part 4

You grew up close to the Royal Family due to your father's position as a General, but you ran away from home after the agni kai against your best friend. Now, you've joined the Gaang and plan on doing your part in ending the 100-year war.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5

helloo here is part 4... thank u for the support so far! i can feel my writing getting better... hopefully you guys like this part hehe... the next one is going to be so... angst... so... zuko... so stay tuned! again i do not own these characters or the atla world >.< enjoy! about 2,491 words & not really proofread at the end sorryyy

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

It was unbearable those first few months, before the move to the Earth Kingdom village. Previous defiance of locking myself in my chambers was a reactive solution to a persistent problem: The Fire Nation. No, I would need a more permanent answer to my problems if I craved peace of mind.

Since the moment Zuko’s screams embedded themselves into my brain, constantly replaying in a cycle of distress, I had not been able to sleep. I would lay down on the large bed with a wine-colored duvet and matching pillow-sheets, hoping the softness would swallow me whole. Take me to a different place than my home.

A lot of things would stop me from the bliss of sleeping.

One of them being my father. He was never one to share a lot with his daughter, let alone exchange kind words or attentive praises. He’s an important man with serious tasks, as he would put it. He doesn’t have time to watch my new fire-bending move or sword progress or whatever it was he most definitely didn’t care for. Over the years, I grew accustomed to our silent agreement. Happily, even. He’ll provide for me, give me everything I ask for, and allow me the freedom of my personal life if I excel in everything that it is I do, surpassing the royal heir’s skills in bending, swords, and education. I suppose it’s why he didn’t care for my special relationship with Zuko. He’d only see it as a move to get ahead in life.

It's what made him such a good General to the Fire Lord.

It shouldn’t have been surprising that he would force me to go to the agni kai. It shouldn’t knock the wind out of my lungs every time I relive the memory of realization that I’d be watching Zuko.

But it does. I couldn’t wrap my head around why. Why did he make me witness such an awful thing?

When sleep did come, I was rewarded with solace. Dreams of flashbacks, a time when I foolishly believed my father cared about the only child he had. There is this one recurring dream that I close my eyes and wish to come every night when I attempt to rest.

The first thing I see is the shamrock grass, crunching beneath my feet. Slowly, the environment pieces together as I fall deeper into my slumber. I see the stone as I walk forward, trading in the pasture for sleek, grey pavement.

Three more steps, and I reach the pond I know so well. This is when comfort finds its way back into my body. I take a deep breath and sigh; I am at the Royal Palace’s turtle duck pond.

Zuko walks up beside me in my dreamland, interlocking his fingers with mine. We stand side-by-side in silence, soaking in the seconds we are in each other’s hands. For a moment, I can believe this is my reality and there is no waking up from this.

Tears form in my eyes and the world around me is suddenly becoming foggy. The green washing away with the grey, becoming blurs in the distance. I can only see Zuko, and he is looking at me, and we are so beautiful.

I wake with a gasp from the one bliss in the round ‘o’clock torture I receive and begin the cycle again. Sometimes I lay back down and wish to return, other times I just lay awake and contemplate what I’m going to do about the pain. The truth.

Years of propaganda washed away in a single decision of the brutal man that calls himself my father. I can finally see clearly. The Fire Nation is a plague to the world, we’re not sharing our greatness. We’re a disgrace to life, and we deserve every bit of shame at our doorsteps.

I’m ashamed to be from this nation, and a fire-bender. A gift that could be warmth is destruction and chaos and terror. Who would ever want to be all those things when we could choose to be soft?

What is one girl’s opinion against a whole nation. A melancholy, depressed, broken-hearted girl at that. They’d never take me seriously. I’d have to try my chances with the outside world. Maybe I could hide my bending, pose as a swordswoman, find a group of some kind. A group who sees things as I do.

My body relaxes at the thought of a solid plan. I don’t know how I’m going to manage it but, I’m leaving the Fire Nation. And I am not looking back.

Jeong-Jeong’s headquarters were built on a piece of land peeking through a steady river. It was a small, tan-colored shack with many similar structures built around it. It was a sort of community of Fire Nation deserters who did not wish to be found.

Katara, Aang, Sokka, and I were taking a pit-stop here to let Master Jeong-Jeong teach the Avatar how to fire-bend.

While the rest of them were by the river, fishing, water-bending, or learning from the Master, I was alone, pacing back and forth from tree to tree deeper into the forest, wondering what to do.

If things here don’t work out for Aang, who would be left to teach him? Fire Nation deserters are not common and those who are fire-bending masters less so. My original plans no longer worked. It wasn’t about hiding my identity and being with the Freedom Fighters anymore. Now, my mind is set on helping Aang take down the Fire Lord.

I just kept stalling it. I hadn’t practiced my bending in front of people for years and suddenly I had to help a twelve-year-old take down an empire. Maybe Jeong-Jeong could do it for me, maybe not.

But one thing was clear: it was time to come clean to my friends. The days keep moving and the nights keep passing, and I’m becoming a part of their group just as quickly. I was never meant to keep this all to myself.

They aren’t like Jet. They can handle it, they can see. They would understand because they’re not here to cause more pain, harm, or war. They know me, they know I want to have peace as much as they do. The worst thing that could happen was I’d be off on my own again, but at least this way, I’d be honest.

Walking back in the direction of Jeong-Jeong’s hide out, I spotted Katara and Sokka by the river on their own. They were giving Aang his own space with his teacher, a few hundred feet away.

“Hey, Y/N, where’ve you been?” Katara asks, as she practices a bending move she’s working on. The water moves gracefully knowing it’s safe in her hands.

“Just… over there…” Awkwardly, I gesture with my hand to the forest.

Holding his fishing pole, Sokka raises his eyebrow at my poor attempt at a smooth reply. “Right… over there.”

I sit down on a log stump between Sokka and Katara and stare at the water for a moment. Is it really necessary that I do this? Do they have to know, I question in my mind.

Yes, of course, the sane part of my brain answers. Anything to stop the Fire Lord, anything to put an end to all of this. Remember? My conscious tells me. I do.

“I have to tell you something.” I finally say.

Sokka and Katara glance at each other, confusion radiating out of their eyes.

“What is it, Y/N?” Katara asks. She allows the water to flow back into the river, pausing her bending practice to sit down on the log stump next to me. She nods in encouragement. Sokka’s standing on my left, waiting patiently for my words.

“I want to start with- I made the decision a long time ago to hide when I was hurt and lost,” I pause. Sokka tilts his head, still confused. “When I was thirteen, I saw my best friend get burned by his own father in an agni kai. An agni kai is a traditional fire-bender duel won when one opponent burns the other.” Trembling, I let the words come out. “It shattered me. I was never the same.”

“So, you’re Fire Nation?” Sokka asks. I look up at him and see his face. A new kind of hurt was washed on it. When it comes to them, that hurt can mean a million instances of violence.

Looking back at the river, I confess. “Yeah, and a fire-bender. I ran away from home a few months after it happened, when my father and I moved to an Earth Kingdom village. The same village you helped save, Sokka.” The compliment does little to distract him from the truth I just spilled. “I found Jet and the Freedom Fighters, and they helped me. They gave me a bed, food, and a home. But then Jet turned out to be…” Katara winces. It goes without saying how my former leader betrayed his values. “You guys know he would never accept me, so I hid my true self. And I don’t want to keep secrets anymore. We have the chance to stop the Fire Lord here, and I want to do everything I can to help. As someone born in the Fire Nation, I have to restore our honor.”

The two siblings remain quiet for a moment, processing the new information. Katara is the first to speak. “You're a victim too. They’re just as violent with their own.” She puts a hand on my shoulder, comforting me after rambling out my past.

Sokka walks away, barely letting the dirt and sticks make noise under his steps.

“Sokka!” Katara calls out to him. She gets ready to follow him but I stop her.

“I’ll go.” I reassure. She nods and sits back down, watching her friend and her brother walk away.

After we’re out of Katara’s sight, Sokka stops in his tracks with a couple of feet in between us. I want to give him the space he needs.

Sokka turns around, his eyes instantly meeting mine. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.” He says, calming the stampede of anxiety in my veins.

Softly, I reply. "I'm sorry too."

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I… was so used to hiding. It’s my first time telling anyone since I left.” I explain. His arms are folded, creating an imaginary barrier between us.

“I should know that the girl I like is Fire Nation! It's very conflicting!” He exasperates. We both let the blood rush to our cheeks about the nature of his feelings.

We hadn’t really talked about it since he told me back at Aunt Wu’s village. There were small things, though. Miniature movements and gestures told me things had changed. Like when he brought me a rock that reminded him of my eye color or brushing his hand against mine when we walked side-by-side. Sokka and I could train in swords while Katara teaches Aang what she knows. He’s learned some of my sparring tricks, I’d have to switch it up on him soon. But it was diverting. At the sight of his ocean eyes, I’d turn into a softer version of myself. One I lost amid the chaos.

“Well, it’s not like I’ve been there recently! Maybe that’s why you didn’t detect me!” I say, keeping it playful. He shoots a direct glance at me, letting me know he’s being serious. I drop the jokes. “I hope we can still be… okay, though.”

“We’re okay, it’s just going to take some adjusting. I mean, you used to be our enemy… But I trust you, ever since Jet.” He uncrosses his arms and plants them by his side. “Is there anything else? I’m not going to find out you have a pet dragon, right?”

“No,” I reply, stepping toward him and closing the space in between. “Not that I know of anyway.” My footsteps stop a few inches away and I smile up at him. The tension from my confession has dissipated into the air, becoming part of the clouds, and now there’s just a little bit of space between us.

“Good, I couldn’t handle that.” A smile is fighting to erupt on his face.

I swear he’s about to lean in when-

Katara screams in pain from the direction of the river. Our bubble of infatuation is popped, and we dash back to Jeong-Jeong’s hideout.

As we rush in, I see Katara holding her hands close to her chest and a fearful Aang. Jeong-Jeong’s face says it all. He burned her.

Sokka's overprotective nature takes over. “Look at what you did! I told you we shouldn’t have come here!” He runs to his sister’s side, but she hides her hands away from him. Probably to protect the wound and… Aang.

“Katara, I’m sorry!” Aang pleads.

In a crying hurry, she runs away. Sokka motions to follow her but I stop him. “I’ll go, you calm down. Be easy on him.”

He huffs at me. “Fine.”

☆

Katara’s leaning over the river when I first spot her. Her hands are in the water, flashing a white light as her cries soften. She doesn’t notice me.

I step closer as I watch her witness the glow. Once the light dims and she pulls her hands out, I have a chance to speak.

“That’s a healing ability.” My voice catches her by surprise, but it doesn’t affect her any more than her new-found skill. “Water-benders are gifted with the ability to heal wounds. It’s like a medicine.” I explain.

“How do you know this?” She asks. I sit down next to her as she’s resting on her ankles, both of us facing the continuous river. If we followed it in the other direction, we could find Jeong-Jeong’s hideout again.

“My father always told me to fight your enemy, you must know your enemy. Basic aristocratic education. Didn’t someone teach you?” I question.

“No.” She looks down at her hands. “My mother died in a Fire Nation raid. They took all our water-benders.” The pain contorts her face.

“Is that why Sokka reacted like that?”

“Yeah.” She nods.

“Oh.” Seconds of silence pass, letting our recent exchange process in our minds. I attempt to make her feel better. “Water can heal, you’re lucky. All fire seems to do is destroy.”

“It’s powerful.” Katara says.

“He didn’t mean to hurt you, yaknow.” I defend the young Avatar. “Without proper control, it can get out of your hands. Then, all you can do is sit and stand. It’s not like the other elements.”

“Maybe Jeong-Jeong was right, maybe Aang isn’t ready to fire-bend.”

“I don’t think he is.”

[deconstructingchabad]

Tzivos Hashem

One of the best ways cults and other high-control groups exert their control is through their control of the children in their group, and Chabad is no different.

Tzivos Hashem, Hebrew for "Army of God", is an organization within Chabad aimed at children's programming and education. It was founded in 1980, under the orders of Rabbi Menachem Mendel Schneerson. True to its name, it had a military aesthetic from the very beginning, with meetings referred to as "rallies" and children issued military style uniforms.

Children's pamphlets were distributed with the goal of educating Jewish children around the world, and children were encouraged to memorize the "Twelve Pasukim"- twelve passages selected by Rabbi Schneerson that he considered important in Jewish education. Often, these pamphlets employed military aesthetics, such as the iconic illustration above by Norman Nodel, which depicts a boy and a girl dressed in military uniforms carring banners reading "We want Moshiach now!"

As a child, I was most involved with Tzivos Hashem in the 2000s, after the death of Rabbi Schneerson. My elementary school enrolled each student in the Chayolei Tzivos Hashem program, and as part of the program, we were given weekly "missions" to complete in order to earn medals and rise up in the ranks. Students with higher ranks were given special privileges, and while no student was explicitly punished for not completing their missions, there was a distinct social hierchy that emerged and a fierce competition among us students. Unfortunately, the Chayolei Tzivos Hashem website is only accessable to account holders, but here is their description in their own words:

Drawing on years of experience reaching out to less affiliated Jewish Children, Tzivos Hashem turned its attention to providing inspiring programing and activities for children within the religious community. Chayolei Tzivos Hashem has been designed to give children a sense of pride and belonging, an appreciation for what they do and inspire them to want to do more. Since its inception, CTH has captured hearts and minds of children worldwide. Children feel empowered and special to be entrusted with the Rebbe’s mission to bring Moshiach. As a uniquely tailored program, each child is able to climb the levels and ladders of the Army of Hashem according to their capabilities, giving them confidence and encouragement as they grow at their own pace. At monthly international webcast rallies, recognition and honor is given to students who have gone up in rank. Participating schools also have custom made mission sheets that help students advance in Hashem’s Army. As children complete missions, they earn medals to be placed in their rank books and work themselves up towards a promotion, for all missions, global, local in full or in part, students can earn “mileage points”. They can scan mileage into their personal CTH account using specially designed and programmed kiosks. CTH hosts monthly HQ global raffles where children who have completed missions can have a chance to earn prizes. There is also an online prize store where children can use their points. Piloted in 50 Lubavitch schools, Chayolei Tzivos Hashem’s goal is to continue to develop the program in Hebrew Schools and camps for children of all backgrounds across the world. The program is sponsored in part by Rabbi Moshe Kotlarsky of Merkos L’Inyonei Chinuch and Rabbi Shaya Smetana of Anash.com

When I was in school, most of this wasn't digital, as I was part of CTH in the 2000s, in its infancy.

But, Chayolei Tzivos Hashem is just a branch of Tzivos Hashem. It's intended specifically for children already deeply immersed within Chabad, and it's a tool used to ensure compliance within Chabad's community norms. Some of the "missions" were simple tasks associated with Jewish observance, such as praying every morning, saying the Shema prayer before bed, etc, while others involved Chabad specific tasks, such as memorizing certain portions of Tanya (one of the theological texts of Rabbi Schneur Zalman of Liadi, the first Rebbe of the Chabad-Leubavitch movement) and reaching out to a set quota of strangers as part of Mivzoim.

Some vocabulary: Mivzoim (not to be confused with "Mitzvot") refers to the outreach missions enacted by the Chabad Rebbe. If you get stopped by a Chabad person in the street asking you if you are Jewish and would like to put on Tefillin or do some other Mitzvah, then you've interacted with a Chabad person completing Mivzoim.

While Chayolei Tzivos Hashem leans the most heavily on the military aesthetic, Tzivos Hashem as a whole embraces it full-heartedly, and predates CTH, which was only founded in the 2000s.

If you go onto the Tzivos Hashem website and try to register a child, you will be greeted with this message, for example:

While it's not, of course, an army of violence, the use of military terminology is something used time and time again within Tzivos Hashem.

One popular song that is sung at Tzivos Hashem rallies and in schools goes as follows:

From 770* we're marching out On to victory, without a doubt To corners four, we're marching happily Nation after nation we are conquering! Shluchei Adoneinu**, we'll bring Moshiach Tzidkeinu*** Tomorrow will be Galus**** no more And we'll win this Galus war!

Notes: *770 refers to 770 Eastern Parkway, the International Headquarters of Chabad Leubavitch. **Translates to "emissaries of our master". ***Translates to "Messiah our righteous one". ****translates to "exile".

I'm not even going to touch so much on the near deification of Rabbi Schneerson in this post, I only want to focus on Tzivos Hashem here, and how it primes children into obediance. Even families that aren't necessarily as "crazy" about Chabad as others are still encouraged through social pressure to enroll their children in Tzivos Hashem.

Why the military aesthetic?

Well. It is my firm belief that it because it is grooming children into being good, obedient followers of Chabad. For Shluchim especially (not all Chabadnikim are Shluchim) there is a high expectation of obedience. Shluchim, which are emissary families of Chabad (they're the ones who run Chabad houses and the like), are expected to follow whatever order the governing body of Chabad-Leubavitch International gives them. Every year, there is an international conference of Shluchim, one for the men, one for the women, and, up until around the Covid-19 pandemic, one for families. Shluchim, much like actual soldiers, are expected to pack up and move to wherever they are ordered to move to and establish a Chabad house or go and support and existing one. Except, it would be like if American soldiers were being told that their orders were coming from George Washington himself, since Rabbi Schneerson has been deceased since the 1990s.

So, back to the kids.

You may say to yourself, after seeing perhaps videos of Tzivos Hashem children, or maybe even encountering them yourselves, that they seem to be enjoying it. After all, kids do love playing dress-up and being given little tasks to do with rewards. And that's true- as a kid, I felt special whenever I earned a medal, and I liked getting to refer to myself as "Sergeant". It felt awfully grown up and important.

But there's a difference between a child having a chore chart in their own home or a class having a jar of beans leading up to a pizza party at the end of the year- and between children being pit against hundreds of children around the world. HaChoyel, the weekly Tzivos Hashem magazine, publishes all the names of children who recently ranked into officer positions.

Additionally, this kind of social stratefication at such a young age has the potential to let kids who don't meet the right standards to fall through the cracks, and a culture that already demands obedience of childrens leaves them wide open to abuse. I should know- it happened to me. While Chabad as a whole cannot be blamed for the actions of one disturbed adult in a position of power- I doubt that I would have been so vulnerable to his manipulations had I not felt so inadequate due to my inability to live up to the expectations placed upon me by Tzivos Hashem.

Not to mention, the fetishization of the military aesthetic within Tzivos Hashem only furthers the normalization of militarism and war. For all Chabad talks about wanting to bring about Mashiach and ultimate peace, the movement itself is so deeply entrenched in military emulation. It's no surprise, then, that Chabad as a whole has embraced firearms and community-based militia more so in relation to other Orthodox groups (but that's an entirely different deep dive). And while Chabad hasn't engaged in outright organized (unorganized violence such as riots, on the other hand, is something Chabad isn't a stranger to) violence yet, a high-control organization having such a military lean, certainly within their children's education, sets a dangerous precident, and if it doesn't lead to harm of outsiders yet, it certainly harms its members.

[xoxo-sarah]

Getting Out of Hawkins

Getting Out of Hawkins (Without You)

↝a/n: I like this one

↝pairing: Robin Buckley x fem!reader

↝warning: feeling bad for finally leaving home???, Angst?, fluff??, leaving Hawkins??? Idk, not proofread

|| Disclaimer: I do not own Robin Buckley, or any character from Stranger Things. I only own y/n and any characters I create with my own brain. ||

↝⎙ 8.3.24

"I..." Straddling the window frame, you couldn't find the words to express what it was you were feeling right now. "Truthfully, I wasn't going to come here," you swallowed thickly, suddenly feeling like you just ate sand and there wasn't any water left in the earth to help. "To....to say goodbye."

Robin stood with her hands crossed over her chest, over the large sleep shirt that you thought to be adorable on her. You weren't the only one who didn't know how to feel.

She couldn't blame you, could she? You didn't sign up for everything that happens in Hawkins, who could blame you for actually getting out? Honestly, the more she thought about it, the more she wished to do the same. Even before the whole 'world is going to end unless a child comes in and saves us all', Robin counted down the days until she, herself, could get out of town, far away with a good education to do whatever she pleases. But some people were glued to this town. Oh how she wished she wouldn't be one of them.

"But I needed to. Maybe that's selfish of me, Or maybe it would have been if I left without telling you." A chill ran down your body, partly from half your body being in the cool outside, while the other half was in her warm room. "I just needed to see you."

"Well, here I am." She sadly smiled, moving to pull you into her room.

Finding your footing, you looked at her-really looked at her. From her hair that was up in a lazy updo to the sloth printed pajama bottoms. Her eyes were sleepy, eye bags visible on her beautiful face. The remaining flakes of mascara were under her waterline, settled in the little wrinkles, that became more prominent when she'd smile. Her nose was slightly pink from her window allowing cold air in. Her lips were ever so slightly forming a frown, even if she didn't realize it. With her arms down from pulling you in, you saw the shirt, a smile fighting its way into your lips.

Stepping closer, your hands went to her hair, gently taking the hair tie out, putting it onto your wrist for the time being. Her hair draped over her head. It had slightly grown out, cascading in curls down to her shoulders. You played with the highlights, twirling them around your finger, inching your body closer to hers.

"What if I just stay instead." You whispered, merely inches from her face.

"You're already packed." It was true. All of your most important belongings were jammed into the small car your parents gifted you when you finally decided to get your license.

"I could unpack."

"You have to go, y/n. Get out of town, like you've always wanted to."

Moving closer, you nuzzled your nose right under her jaw, moving to hold loosely around her waist. "Mmm, I could wait longer. Until you get ready." Being a year ahead of her in school had it's pros, like getting closer with Steve after he graduated, hanging out with him at work when she'd go to school. But it also had its cons. Having to wait for her, watching as the clock ticked. (Although, you did enjoy the car ride back to your house.) But also being in separate parts of your lives, even if it's a year. She wasn't sure what she wanted to do after graduating. But she just knew she had to stay in Hawkins for just a few more years after that, maybe to figure it out. But you didn't. You were set on leaving right after you graduated and that turned out to not happen due to not wanting to leave anyone behind, but also the traumatic events. You felt guilt eat at you every second of every minute of every day.

"Come with me." Littering light kissed down her neck, you couldn't bring yourself to look up at her, look into her eyes and know what you would be leaving. You couldn't deal with any more guilt.

"You know I can't." Her own hands wound in your hair, turning her head to begin kissing your forehead.

"I know." You two stood in silence, slightly swaying side to side as if music was playing.

You weren't sure when or why but you picked your head up, looking at her for a moment before you two were crashing your lips together, stumbling back into the mattress.

"Tell me to stay." You spoke between kisses, breathing hard against her lips.

"You know I'd never ask you to do that." She broke from the kiss, hovering over your body.

"Tell me to stay and I would. Every thought of leaving this town would be thrown out the window- or we could leave when you're ready. I can wait, please ask me to wait for you."

"Y/n/n."

"That would be the only thing keeping me in this godforsaken town. Robin, please. Tell me you want me to stay."

"I need you to live your life." She plopped beside you, reaching for your hand to hold as she faced the ceiling. "For me. For everyone who wants to get out of here."

•2021-2024 by xoxo-sarah on Tumblr•

•My work is not to be translated, copied, modified, and/or reposted on any other site without my permission. [I don't give permission!]

[basicsofislam]

ISLAM 101: ETHICS: Part 3

How should the ethics of a Muslim man/woman be?

According to the information obtained from the Quran, every Muslim woman/man has the following characteristics – in summary:

- He believes in Allah and the Day of Judgment. He is careful about the seditions of the world and the tricks of Satan. He worships his Lord, fulfills His order and avoids His prohibitions. He surrenders to Allah fully. He repents a lot and asks his Lord for forgiveness due to his mistakes, negligence, and sins.  

- He is aware of his responsibility toward his family members. He seeks Allah’s consent in everything that he does. He orders what is good as much as he can and forbids what is evil.

- He is aware of his duties toward himself. He is aware that man consists of mind, spirit, and body and that each has a structure and needs peculiar to them. He is careful about the balance among them; he does not give one too much importance by ignoring the others. He regards the Book of Allah, the Sunnah of the Prophet and the lives of great personalities as a guide regarding the issue.

- He gives importance to his clothes without waste, extremism, and conceit. He shows the care that fits man, whom Allah made honorable, ordered His angels to prostrate and put what is in the skies and earth under his service, in his inner world.

- He treats his parents well and does them favors. He appreciates them. He tries not to be a disobedient child.  

- He becomes mature, loving and friendly toward his spouse; he tries to attain her consent; he tries to show respect to her, do her favors, keeps her secrets, helps her do favors act piously and do righteous deeds; he fills her with happiness and peace.  

- She is a very compassionate mother toward her children. She is aware of her responsibility for their education. She makes her children feel her love, compassion, and mercy toward them. When it is necessary, she warns her children and corrects their mistakes. Thus, she makes high ethics settle in their hearts; she tries to give them a good education by directing them to good and honorable works.

- He continues the bond of love between him and his relatives. He does his neighbor's favors and helps them. He takes care of them. He knows the rights of neighbors and observes them.

His relationship with his brothers and friends are based on “loving for Allah”. It is the loftiest and cleanest love in human life. For, it is a love that is free from all kinds of material interests and doubts. A relationship based on this principle takes its cleanliness and purity from the light of the Quran and the Sunnah.

Therefore, a Muslim is honest, sincere and tolerant in his relationships with his brothers. He does not break off his relationship with them; he does not hurt their feelings by arguing and quarreling with them. He does them favors whenever he can. He always welcomes them by smiling. His social relationships are at a very high level. He takes his socialness from the principles of his religion and the decrees about high ethics of the fiqh of mutual relationships.

In addition, every Muslim, man-woman, has the following characteristics:

- He has high ethics. He tells the truth to everybody and is honest.

- He does not trick, deceive or betray people. He does not perjure.

- He gives advice. He leads people to good deeds. He keep his promise. He is modest and chaste.

- He does not interfere in the things that do not interest him. He does not search for people’s private issues.

- He keeps away from showing off. He acts justly in all cases. He does not oppress. He acts justly toward the people that he does not like. He does not become happy for the bad things that happen to anybody.

- He does not have negative thoughts about others. He does not backbite or commit talebearing. He does not swear and utter bad words. He does not mock anybody.

- He is lenient and merciful toward people. He helps those who are in need. He is generous. He does not run anybody’s nose in it. He makes things easy, not difficult.  

- He does not act jealously. He avoids fictitious words and deeds. He is good-humored. He does not act arrogantly; he is humble. He is not engaged in useless things.

- He visits ill people. He cares about the problems of others. He prefers others to himself. He appreciates the favors done to him and thanks people.

- She adapts her customs and traditions to Islamic criteria. She shows respect to the elderly and virtuous people.  She does not try to resemble men.

- She calls to Allah. She calls people kindly and wisely. She stays together with righteous women.

- She is chaste and modest; she protects her awrah places. She protects not only her body, eyes, and ears but also her mind, heart, and intention from all kinds of haram deeds.

- She is patient and hopeful. She never abandons hope of Allah’s mercy.

- She is knowledgeable about religion and ilm. She learns what is useful and harmful for her and acts accordingly.

- She is solemn and respectful.

- She is natural; she appears as she is and she is as she appears.

He never falters and acts lazily in important and dangerous duties. He relies on Allah.

- He gives importance to bodily and spiritual cleanliness and acts accordingly.

- He is not a gambler, drunkard, trickster, fraud, cheater, sycophant and twister.

- He does not judge about something that he does not know.

- He never leaves the truth and justice anywhere even if it is against him.

- He never leaves justice related to his enemies; he does not obstruct justice due to his enmity toward them.

- He avoids extravagance and stinginess.

- He does not harm anybody with his hand or tongue.

- He helps others at times of both welfare and hardship.

- If he wants to commit a bad deed or wrong somebody, he remembers Allah at once, asks forgiveness from Him and repents.

- He accepts the truth no matter who tells it; he accepts and takes knowledge, skill, wisdom, and truth wherever he finds them; he does not act bigotedly about them.

- He is not lazy. He works for the world as if he will never die and gets ready for the hereafter as if he will die tomorrow; he fulfills his duties about both of them fully.

- He regards the love of Allah and the Prophet superior to everything. Love and fear of Allah cover all of his body.

- He avoids doubtful things by all means.

- His biggest aim is to try to be a real Muslim, to practice and make others practice the virtues that Islam determines and suggests, and to serve as a model to everybody.

Those are some examples from the personality of a Muslim, whom Islam forms with guidance, whose heart Islam forms with wisdom and whose prudence Islam enlightens.

[lovelessrage]

Hi! I've been trying to educate myself on various aro and ace experiences and concepts, and I find your blog really helpful with that. However, I have a question about lovelessness that I wonder if you could help me with?

While reading a post about lovelessness that seemed influential (https://aroworlds.com/2019/07/16/i-am-not-voldemort-an-essay-on-love-and-amatonormativity/) I started thinking about families and the responsibilities of parents. I know someone (not aro or ace) who has struggled a lot in their adult life because their parents showed little emotion/tried to repress bad emotions to protect their children, and who never told their children that they loved them. This person feels unworthy of love today and has been going to therapy for years to try to manage it. Obviously it's very complicated and no one can know for certain where this person's issues stem from, but I was just curious to hear about a loveless person's opinion on this topic.

I guess what I'm trying to ask is, do you think loveless parents have a responsibility to show their children love / tell them that they are loved even if they (the parent) does not actually experience love?

Would be very grateful for a response and I hope this does not come across as rude 🙏

Well, I think, at least in my personal opinion, there's many ways to show affection to children beyond saying "love". The thing is, children learn what you teach them. If you teach them love as the final frontier, the wholeness of your care, and then take it from them, they'll notice its absence. So, you... don't base your child's worth on love! You base it on something else.

If you tell a child you care for them, you want the best for them, you are proud of them, etc. from an early age, they can still feel cared for without "love" needing to be said. You can show affection in a lot of ways! You just need to show your child those ways and establish early that you still care, even if you don't use the same language other parents might use. Kids can recognise when they were raised differently, so a parent should be ready to have conversations about why they're different from their peers. It can be a good way to introduce your child to the fact it's okay to be different than people around them, and that they don't need to be exactly like every other family.

The main holding point is the expectation that someone would teach their child that love is absolute and then refuse to give it to them; this just isn't realistic. Any loveless parent who wants healthy kids isn't going to enforce love normativity just to dissapoint their children by not being able to give it. How someone cares for their child varies, and it's a conversation you can have properly when they're old enough to understand. But, in the meantime, there's many, many ways to have a child feel safe and secure without saying "I love you". It's about building their confidence and support network, not establishing love as the most important thing in the world so you can tell your toddler they can't have it. THAT'S how you screw up a baby. When they're older and can understand more complex concepts, you can talk about the word "love" as a family and what it means to you and your child. It'll depend on each and every person what comes of that, but regardless, it's important to reaffirm love isn't necessary for that child to be an important part of your life.

They have an obligation to show their child they are wanted, they are welcome, they are safe with you, and they are cared for; this doesn't necessitate love. All it takes are dedicated parents willing to put in the work required for raising a baby, and make sure their child knows they mean the world to them without using the word "love".

[Plus, from personal experience as someone who did get told I was loved by my family? It didn't help me out. At all. Mostly because the word meant nothing when they did not back it up with anything. Love only means as much as you put into it.]

[flightlessangelwings]

Trust and Intuition Chapter 1- The Vigilante

Din Djarin x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

Word count- 3.2k

Warnings- set between seasons 1 and 2, canon typical violence, action, suspense, protective!Din, badass!reader

Notes- While this chapter doesn’t have smut, my blog is still 18+ only so minors please do not interact! This is a rewrite of the very first Mando fic I ever wrote! And boy did I realize how choppy my writing used to be as I was editing and reworking this lol! But this will be 4 parts to this series and then some sequel fics as well so we've got a big story here! The planet here, Dria, is one I made up. Updates on Mondays. Enjoy and let me know what you think!

Feel free to follow s my update blog and turn on post notifications to stay up to date on when I post! @flightlessangelwings-updates​​

~

The Mandalorian sat in the cockpit of the Razor Crest and sighed. His new mission was simple in theory, but daunting in reality: find where this child is from and return him home. He stared back at the baby as he found himself wondering where in the galaxy he should start. The child just stared back at him and smiled widely. The pair stared at each other for a few moments in a comfortable silence before the Mandolorian spoke.

“We’ll figure this out, buddy,” he assured the baby, who giggled in response. As he stared at the little creature with affection, Mando remembered a planet that was renowned for its vast library and research. “That’s as good a place as any to start,” he sighed to himself as he set a course, “Dria.” 

The trip there was quiet and uneventful; everyone in this part of the galaxy seemed to keep to themselves, which was completely fine with the Mandalorian. The Maker truly looked out for him this time as no one bothered him as he landed his ship in a dock on the outskirts of the capital city. From above, Mando could see several different climates on the planet, but the capital was a bustling spot of green and life in the middle of a desert region. Buildings lit up the landscape and the nearby sea reflected the bright sun that beamed down on the people there. Further into the desert and the outskirts, old ruins covered the landscape. 

It felt peaceful.

The child babbled and watched as Mando gathered his weapons and prepared for the trek out, “Ready kid?” he asked as he settled him into his pram. Mando gently stroked the baby’s cheek once and tilted his helmet with affection as his foundling looked up at him in awe, “Come on.”

Dria’s capital city was bustling with life. Traders worked in the large market in the center of town, and there were libraries on every corner. Education was obviously highly important in this society as a school was almost always in sight. The Mandalorian spent most of the morning browsing around the libraries for any information on the child’s species, but with no luck. 

“I’m looking for any information on a rare species,” Mando asked one of the scholars at the third library he visited as he laid his hands on the counter. The child stayed at his side in his pram, quietly looking around at the sights that Dria had to offer.

She glanced down at the child and studied him for a few moments, but obviously was unfamiliar with what he spoke of, “I think what you’re looking for is in the archives at the royal palace,” she suggested, “That’s where the most lucrative information is kept.” 

“Well, I guess it’s the palace then,” he told the child with a heavy sigh. Having no other options, the Mandalorian went to the large palace on the top of the hill and asked for an audience with the king. The palace guards and advisors scrambled: what does a Mandalorian want with the king? 

“Mandalorian, the king will see you now,” a guard called Mando’s attention just as he was about to give up and leave. He nodded without a word and followed the guard into the main audience chamber.

It was a lavish room filled with old weapons as decor on the walls and the best woven rugs on the floors. The only decor that stood out was the large tapestry with the crescent moon and three stars symbol: obviously the symbol of Dria. For how much it was decorated, the room itself was mostly bare. A few tables lined the walls, a few bookshelves littered the walls, and the large throne sat elevated in the center of the room. On that throne, sat the king, dressed in all black topped with a dark silk cape.

“I am King Vero Alcyron of Dria,” he spoke in an authoritative yet smooth voice, “But you already knew that.” The king had an imposing presence that commanded the attention of a room. He could be considered classically handsome and he was tall; one would find him charming upon first meeting. Yet, there was something about him that Mando instantly didn’t trust, he just couldn’t quite figure out why. Perhaps it was because he held a vague resemblance to someone… 

Mando gave a small nod, but said nothing yet. He stood tall with his arms crossed in front of him. 

“What brings a Mandalorian all the way out here to my humble little planet?” Vero stood and stepped down to level with the Mandalorian, “What could my archives possibly have that would be of interest to you?” his eyes dropped down to the child for a moment before meeting Mando’s visor once more. 

“I’m looking for answers,” he stated simply.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific than that,” the king scoffed. 

Mando chose his words carefully, “This creature,” he gestured to the baby reluctantly, hating having to draw attention to him, “I’ve never seen one like him before and I need to know more.”

The king sneered, “I thought your duty was only to capture targets, not ask questions, Mandalorian.”

“I have been tasked with something more with this one,” the words rolled off his tongue easily. When it came to the safety of the child, Mando had no hesitation. There were only a few he trusted, and this king was not one of them. Omitting information came easy when the child was on the line. 

“I’m intrigued,” Vero paused for a moment as a huff left his lips, “I’ll grant you access to the palace library, but I need you to do something for me first. Nothing comes for free after all.”

The Mandalorian sighed quietly; of course it wouldn’t be this easy, “What do you need?”

“There’s a vigilante running around causing havoc in my city,” King Vero started.

“And you need this vigilante taken care of,” Mando guessed the end of his sentence.

“Yes and no,” the king paced, “I need him brought to me alive. You see, not only has he stolen from me and started riots in my streets,” he took a few steps towards the bounty hunter as he tapped his fingers together, “But he’s also kidnapped my queen. I need to know what he’s done with her,” his voice lowered to no more than a growl.

“Understood,” Mando said simply before he turned to leave, not having any interest at all in the king’s affairs. The baby’s pram followed close behind, never leaving his caretaker’s side. 

“Alive, Mando!” Vero called to his back. His eyes narrowed as he watched the armored figure walk away and a dark smirk lit up his face. 

*

You navigated your way through the busy plaza with your small embroidered duffle bag strapped tightly against your body. A hood covered your head, you wore goggles to cover your eyes and a mask with a voice changer covered the lower half of your face. Your identity was completely concealed. No one paid you any mind as you kept your head down and ducked around anyone you passed by. The only time you let your presence known was to help a woman that was being heckled by an unruly customer, and then went right back to your anonymity. 

You came up to a stand and made a purchase quickly before you moved on, your purchase safely tucked in your bag. You took a few steps before you had a strange feeling, like you were being watched. As you looked over your shoulder, you noticed who was watching you: a Mandalorian. A short gasp escaped your lips as you turned to run, knowing instantly that he was here for you.

“Shit,” you cursed under your breath as you weasled your way out of the crowded part of the plaza. In the back of your mind, you knew it was only a matter of time before the king would send someone after you. He didn’t exactly approve of your presence in his city, especially since it made his citizens question his authority. You didn’t look behind you, but you knew he was still on your tail. 

When you turned around a corner to a quiet alley, you almost ran directly into the Mandalorian. Without a word, he reached out to grab your arm, but you slipped back before his hand closed on you. In one swift movement, you flung your bag into the shadows and pulled out two small staffs. You were determined not to go down without a fight, even if you knew what the outcome would be. As you readied your stance, you noticed the pram at the Mandalorian’s side and the little green creature with wide eyes and a soft gasp escaped your lips. 

The Mandalorian stood his ground and waited for you to make the first move, and it didn’t go unnoticed by him that you paused upon noticing the child. You exhaled before you lashed out at him with your batons. He ducked and countered with a knife. The alley was quiet, save for the clangs of your weapons as you parried with the bounty hunter. You groaned under your mask as you quickly realized you exerted more energy than he did, and you knew your disadvantage quickly.

After studying your movements, Mando got the advantage and knocked you off your feet. He was actually impressed how well you fought and held your ground until this point. You even managed to get a few hits in too: something not everyone could say. With a grunt you hit the ground hard, and the bounty hunter kicked your weapons away from you. 

As you collided with the ground, your head hit the hard floor and your goggles shattered. You strained to push yourself up to a sitting position, and with a sigh you pulled your goggles off of your face. Your head throbbed, but you got lucky that your mask hit the ground and not your head directly. 

Mando watched as you took a few deep breaths before you raised your hands up in surrender. He took a pair of cuffs out and locked your arms behind your back before he dragged you to your feet. The child watched with a soft coo as the fight ended, although he didn’t seem worried about you as a threat for some reason. 

“Wait,” your voice sounded normal, the voice modulator in your mask must have broken when you hit the ground. You cursed to yourself; that would make things harder when he got you back to the palace. 

“I’m taking you in,” he said simply.

“Just wait,” you said breathlessly, tired from your spar. This made him stop in his tracks. “Just do me one favor. Please,” you begged, left with no options than to plead with your captor.

The Mandalorian just stared at you, unsure of what to say. It was definitely bold of his target to ask anything of him. It wouldn’t be the first time, but Mando had no interest in what you had to say; you were just like any other bounty he captured before.

“Please,” you started, “This is important. Just take my bag to the temple Lux ruins on the outside of the city,” desperation lined your voice, “I promise it’s not a trap.” 

He looked into your eyes and saw the genuine concern in them. He also heard the pain in your voice, which wasn’t the voice he was expecting to hear. Suddenly, you seemed different than the other faceless targets before. Suddenly, Mando was more interested in your story. His grip on your arm loosened slightly as something in his head told him to trust you.

“I can pay you,” you added in a last effort to get the bounty hunter to comply with your request, “You have a kid there right? Then you understand…”  

That snapped him out of his thoughts as he glanced over at the child.

“In my pocket here,” you nodded your head to your right. Mando stared at you for a moment, and as if you read his thoughts you added, “I know when I’ve been defeated. I’m not going to try anything. These cuffs are pretty tight anyway,” you added with a dry laugh. 

The bounty hunter tightened his grip on your arm as he reached for your pocket. Right at the top, he felt the credits you mentioned. He looked into your eyes again as he pulled them out before he led you back to the palace with the child’s pram following loyally behind. 

Neither of you spoke again after that. 

*

The large doors of the grand hall opened to let in the Mandalorian and his catch. Your arms were still bound behind you and a strong hand held you tightly. You held yourself tall and wore a fierce look in your eyes, the only part of your face visible.

King Vero sat on his throne and watched the two of you walk in alone; the pram that held the child was noticeably absent. A dark smile graced his face when he saw what the bounty hunter had brought him, “Excellent work, Mandalorian,” he spoke as he walked towards the center of the room to meet you.

Mando simply bowed his head slightly as he released his grip on you. Uninterested in what the king had to say, he turned to a steward behind him for his payment. Ignoring the Mandalorian behind you, you stared at the king with a fierce look, as if you tried to stab him with your gaze alone. 

“Did the vigilante say anything, Mandalorian?” Vero’s voice called his attention.

He turned slightly back towards the voice, “Didn’t say a word.”

Under your mask, a smile flashed across your face, but you were careful not to let it know in your eyes. Though left with no other options, you were grateful that your gamble to trust the Mandalorian paid off… at least for now. In your eyes, all you let show was hate and rage directed at the king that now stood directly in front of you.

“Where have you taken her, scum?” King Vero’s voice was but a growl as he grabbed you by your collar. 

With your voice modulator broken, you knew your voice would give your identity away. Instead, you chose to answer with action and headbutted the king, hitting him directly on the nose. His body flew back as he lost his footing and his guards shouted and aimed their blasters at you. Mando didn’t move, however, and under his helmet he smirked to himself. There was definitely something about the king he did not trust, even if he couldn’t figure out exactly why. He took the distraction as an opportunity to slip out of the room with his payment unnoticed.

King Vero raised his arms up, “Lower your weapons,” he ordered as he touched his hand to his face, now coated in blood that dripped from his nose. The guards obediently did as they were told. He sauntered up to you and took your masked chin in his hands. He studied your eyes for a moment before he spoke, “No one looks at me with that much open rage,” his voice was low so that only you could hear him, “Maybe some time in the dungeon will make you more amenable to conversation.”  

You understood the threat in his voice, and knew exactly what his words meant. You sighed as the guards hauled you out of the grand room. The only hope you had was that the Mandalorian was a man of his word and would go where you asked him to. What lay there was more important to you than your life anyway. As long as that was safe, then you were at peace with your situation. 

*

When the Mandalorian got back to his ship, the child was there waiting for him. He greeted his caregiver at the door with a wide smile. Mando put his bags down and scooped the child up into his arms.

“Sorry I was longer than I thought,” he told the child in a soft tone, “But I brought you something to eat.” Mando had a bad feeling about King Vero, and opted to leave the child on the Razor Crest before he took you back. There was something about the way he leered at the child that set him on edge, and he decided the kid would be safer here until he got back. 

The child cooed as he grabbed a hold of the Mandalorian’s arm, happy to see him again. Mando carried the baby across the ship and set him down at a little table. He sat a small bowl in front of his foundling before he sat down opposite him.

As he watched the baby gleefully eat, his eyes drifted to the pile behind him. On top of that pile lay the embroidered bag he took from you after your fight. Mando was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice the child stopped eating and just looked up at him. He felt the gaze of those big, wide eyes and it shook him out of his trance. The two stared at each other for a few minutes, and seemed to have a conversation without any words.

After several moments, the Mandalorian sighed, “Come on,” he said as he reached for the child and headed for the door. He also picked up the duffel bag on the way out.

Under the cover of night, the bounty hunter went on foot to the edge of the vast city with your bag slung over his shoulder, and the child nestled secretly in his pram. The further away he got from the center of the city, the quieter the area became. The warm air of the desert faded into a crisp evening in the sand. He kept his stance tense, ready for anything that may jump out of the shadows. 

As he stood on a small cliff on the city’s border, Mando focused a scanner to look for life in the ruins that you spoke of. It appeared to be an old temple, maybe jedi. Lux, he remembered, was what you called it. He still wasn’t sure why he was out here in the first place; maybe it was the look in your eyes, a look that whatever was here was more important than your life. 

And he knew that feeling all too well.

He gave a quick glance down at the child before he went back to scanning the terrain. To the naked eye, there was nothing there. However, Mando could see about a dozen heat signatures hidden within the ruins. They were all small, and none appeared to carry any weapons.

“Strange,” he thought out loud before he moved to enter the ruins. The child followed close behind, in his pram, and Mando had his blaster ready in case of danger. However he was confident that whatever was here did not pose any threat. Something in the back of his mind made him very sure of that. 

Out of the peripherals of his vision, Mando noticed movement; someone was watching him. Careful not to startle, he kept still, and watched as the figure slowly crept out of the shadows. It caught the bounty hunter off guard when he realized it was a child, no older than 11 he guessed.

“A kid…?” he breathed. 

What had the Mandalorian stumbled upon this time?