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jyndor · 3 years

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I’m rewatching the Puppetmaster for ~research~ and ugh.This is such a good episode but I cannot stand the treatment of Hama and also Katara’s special bending ability. And I’m gonna talk about it because I can’t help myself. But I also want to offer a solution maybe something that the writers could have done instead. Granted I’m a white US American so while I am about to talk about imperialism, anti-indigenous racism and racialized misogyny, I am coming from a position of privilege here and ymmv. It’s important that we as fans (especially white fans) acknowledge the things that our favorite stories can do better so that we can make our fandoms safer for everyone.

And btw fans of color have been talking about this so I definitely am going to be quoting some phenomenal bits of critique I have read on here. Also you should follow @shewhotellsstories and @visibilityofcolor for anti-racist fandom commentary.

I am also going to talk about grooming, so just be aware if that is a trigger for you.

I. Hama as a Campfire Horror Story Monster

The episode starts out with the Gaang camping in a creepy forest telling ghost stories to each other. Set to spooky music, Katara tells a story about something that happened to Kya, a friend named Nini (likely) dying in a snowstorm and then haunting her family’s home as a ghost. Immediately after, Toph hears people screaming under the ground - and then Hama finds them and invites them to her inn.

Every so often, Hama says something spooky with the spooky music playing. Katara immediately takes to Hama, but the others (especially Sokka) find her pretty unnerving. Katara says she reminds her of Gran Gran before Sokka starts snooping around and finds a bunch of puppets and a comb from the Southern Water Tribe. It’s the standard horror movie fakeout.

Every so often we get an artfully placed hint about Hama’s agenda - pulling water out of thin air, showing Katara that “plants - and all living things” are made of water. And oh yeah, she makes herself ice claws. Cool skill, but in the context of the episode, a little more unnerving.

The “moon monster” that Old Man Ding mentions, the alleged Moon spirit, turns out to be Hama (of course) and the tension builds to a peak as the Gaang rush to save Katara from the “dark puppetmaster” that has imprisoned the villagers.

Meanwhile Hama and Katara stand under the full moon washed in spooky cool lighting with an ominous breeze around them. You see Hama practically transform into a monster in a way sort of reminiscent to a werewolf - her fingers become claw-like, her veins pop out. I don’t think it’s a stretch to say it’s a coincidence that as she reveals her true agenda, she becomes less human in appearance. Which... okay I’ll get to that later.

While I can’t say that Katara fits the Final Girl trope very well, I do think it’s interesting to note that horror movies often do feature women as heroes who defeat the monster/killer/whatever and usually the Final Girl is used to allow audiences to experience the full horror of the villain, which absolutely is how Katara is used here. Yes, her friends come to help, but she saves everyone in the end (my queen).

So here’s why that’s bullshit.

Framing Hama as a horror story monster make sense when you don’t think about the Implications of framing the indigenous woman POW living surrounded by people who have benefited from Fire Nation imperialism. It does - it’s a common trope: the reclusive witch who first seems kindly to some lost/wandering children before revealing her true intention - to use them for her own purposes. Yeah, I know they’re playing on Hansel and Gretel. But yeah, I’m gonna call bullshit on that too - drawing on a c*nnabalistic witch for inspiration when you’re writing an indigenous woman character is probably not the way to go.

II. Hama the Puppetmaster* and Groomer

A puppet master is obviously a puppeteer, and Hama has puppets (creepy though they may be). But in terms of the underlying meaning, she’s a chessmaster, an Emperor Palpatine/Dick Cheney kind of master manipulator who works mostly through other people. What most people would consider a psychopath (in layman’s terms). When her friendly mask falls, she is terrifying.

She is cold, calculating, manipulative as fuck - she isolates Katara almost immediately. Hama uses Katara’s desire to connect with her culture to groom her to become a weapon. It’s actually such a good example of grooming that it has to be purposeful:

Targeting a victim - Hama hears that Katara and Sokka are from the SWT. She also hears Katara tell a story about Kya. To Hama, a waterbender from her own culture is a hell of a target.

Gaining trust - Hama reaches out to Katara in particular, is especially kind to her, gives her individual attention that the others don’t get. She prepares a SWT feast for them and tells the Gaang about her heritage when they go snooping.

Filling a need - so once Hama has given Katara reason to trust her about waterbending, she promises Katara to pass on SWT waterbending heritage that only Hama knows. She fills a unique need of Katara’s.

Isolation - From then on out, we don’t see Katara with the rest of the Gaang until the end of the episode. Hama seems like a normal teacher but she does start to drop little hints, pushing Katara very gently to see how she will react to her real agenda and desensitizing Katara to what would otherwise seem unacceptable coming from someone else who hasn’t established that unique trust. “You’ve got to keep an open mind, Katara.”

So this would be the point at which Hama would make sexual contact but this is metaphorical so that obviously doesn’t happen. What does happen is Hama pushes Katara’s limits. She makes her pretty uncomfortable with the idea of killing the fire lilies for water, but when Hama appeals to their shared history of marginalization she gets over it.

Maintaining control: Hama makes her final move, which is obviously bloodbending, and reveals her true agenda - and when Katara refuses to manipulative living beings’ blood, Hama violates her bodily agency. And not only this, but she pushes Katara into bloodbending when she victimizes the Gaang, fully realizing her control.

Hama sees it as a victory, and telling Katara breaks down at the end in one of the most emotional scenes in the show. She feels like so many of us have felt at some point: violated, betrayed by someone we trusted. And then they never really deal with that.

I actually think that’s the point of The Puppetmaster, especially given ATLA being a show for children. I think it’s supposed to be a metaphor for csa.

And... okay.

Undoubtedly it is important to send these messages to kids. And yes, people usually are victimized by those closest to them, by those in their own communities. But not indigenous women. I’m not saying it doesn’t happen, but according to the National Congress of American Indians, Native American women and girls are more likely to be sexually assaulted by non-NA men. 57% of cases are perpetrated by white men. Not the people in their communities.

Choosing to tell this story with an indigenous woman POW (who very likely would have been victimized herself lbr) is a choice that I find really aggravating. When writers tell stories with a Point, it is incredibly important for those writers to understand the implications of what they are saying about the characters who they are using to make that point.

Like I’m not saying don’t make that point, or don’t use Katara (who would in real life be at a higher risk of sexual violence than the others) to make it, but why make the perpetrator someone who is statistically unlikely to be Katara’s abuser? I’m not sure I have a good answer to that question. My guess is, like with making Hama animalistic and about as unsympathetic as it gets, the writers just had blinders on about the cultural implications of what they were saying.

Not even considering the whole victimizing-the-“innocents”-of-the-Fire-Nation-town plot, Hama’s not a good person. This is probably because she was driven mad by the need for revenge, which, eurgh okay, but still it’s very apparent that she is not interested in winning over Katara’s support directly or honestly.

* also the antisemitic history of this trope hmm.

III. Hama and The Victims of Genocide Victimizing Oppressors #NotAllFireNation

Okay. So this is the part that I think annoys me the most because it’s so bad. Like, imagine for a minute that you’re a white guy and you’re gonna tell a story about a victim of genocide who is completely divorced from her culture and homeland, and furthermore is an escaped prisoner of war who has radicalized in prison - okay it just hit me, I know what they MIGHT have been going for, like maybe some kind of anti-Gitmo statement? But that didn’t happen. People who were stolen away from Iraq and imprisoned illegally in Guantanamo Bay, and who were released after being detained illegally, haven’t really shown any real radicalization. They’re pissed at the US for victimizing them, but like that seems pretty fair considering so many of them did nothing wrong.

That’s been the US government’s excuse for not releasing innocent people who were detained illegally. The idea that prisoners of war radicalized in Gitmo so they can’t be released because they’ll attack the US is propaganda. I’m not saying it hasn’t happened, but that’s where it comes from.

Considering the time period ATLA was written, considering how much of it was inspired by the US wars of aggression and imperialism, considering how political ATLA is (and why it was so popular during its initial run - during the years that Bush lost a ton of popularity) I think if that’s what they were thinking about, that’s not great.

But for all of Avatar’s good messaging on imperialism and war, it’s still written from a white US American mindset. Well surely I’m not responsible, surely you shouldn’t imprison and abuse me, a random white girl in the States. It’s my government, which I cannot control because of two-party politics or some shit.

So first off, that’s shitty because oppression is often about systems, not individuals. Sure we need to always consider the individual experiences of people who are victimized, but the people who are benefiting from imperialism? Me? Fuck if I care if someone in El Salvador or Iraq or Chile or idk any of the countries we have meddled in, let alone from a marginalized community in the United States, hates white US Americans for what our government has done - and that’s even silly because white US citizens support our government. Like we think the institutions are sound, although sometimes we don’t support the guy in charge. We think the cops are going to help us, even though that isn’t really the case.

Why frame it about what she’s doing to the Fire Nation civilians at all? Why make Hama the villain? I don’t think they wanted her to be unsympathetic, I mean they tell her story and I don’t think anyone would conclude that it doesn’t justify her desire for revenge, but why tell this story through a victim of genocide?

Recently I saw a post by @sunkin-akh where they point out that Hama basically quotes Malcolm X:

I was literally just watching the Hama episode again and I just noticed for the first time that while forcing Katara to bloodbend she says that they must fight back against the Fire Nation (and she used this exact phrase) “by any means necessary”, which is Frantz Fanon’s phrase popularized by Malcolm X during the Civil Rights Movement (iirc). They directly compared Black liberation to Hama’s evil acts and it disgusted me.

The full context:

Hama: The choice [to use bloodbending] is not yours. The power exists. And it’s your duty to use the gifts you’ve been given to win this war. Katara, they tried to wipe us out, our entire culture, your mother.

Katara: I know.

Hama: Then you should understand what I’m talking about. We’re the last waterbenders of the Southern Tribe, we have to fight these people whenever we can, wherever they are, with any means necessary.

I find that so appalling because it is framing resistance, specifically anti-racist resistance, as barbaric and monstrous. And given the way that Hama is portrayed at this point, about as inhuman as anyone in ATLA, that is extra gross.

Finally, after Katara defeats Hama, she is lead away by the authorities in CHAINS.

So now the FN cops are the good authorities who we’re gonna trust a SWT waterbender with? I mean she’s a villain so we’re probably not supposed to feel bad for her, like yeah sure the FN is usually bad but she’s a criminal so it’s okay that they take a POW back into custody.

No, no, no.

I know I am reading into this far more than the writers intended - but that’s kind of the point of critically engaging with media. Because shockingly writers don’t always question their choices - they are people and have implicit biases just like all of us. When those writers come from a privileged culture that has colonized the culture they are using as “inspiration” for their story, they need to be extra mindful of how they represent those people.

IV: How To Write Hama

Well, I’m not gonna talk over indigenous fans on this one on specifics, and you should read this rewrite by @kispesan but my thoughts generally are:

lose the horror framing it’s just not right for this context and this character

don’t frame Malcolm X as a villain because that’s nasty and racist

have Katara learn to use bloodbending in ways that she is comfortable with (and not just like once in one episode where she’s extra vengeful and the hero of the show doesn’t approve of her actions JFC) and don’t make the dark-skinned girl the only character whose special bending skill is dubious (I know she also has healing but still)

bring Hama home

have indigenous people in the writers room

Anyway, I’ve gone on wayyy too long. Let me know if I am speaking out of turn please if you feel that I am. and I’m sure I had other thoughts but if you want to read some other good pieces of Hama meta, I’ve listed some below:

post and another post by @marsreds

this post and this post by @visibilityofcolor

this post by @shewhotellsstories

anyway katara is a queen and should have been allowed to heal, and hama never should have been irredeemable because if you can make iroh redeemable, if the show was going to redeem AZULA, you can make hama redeemable.

#hama #racism #atla fandom #fandom racism #katara #some amazing people on here who i hope don't get mad i mentioned them #grooming tw #racism tw #i sure hope i remembered everything i wanted to say butttt

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semperintrepida · 4 years

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A Call to Paradise

Fifteen thousand drachmae. That was the price of the information Kassandra sought from the pirate queen, Xenia. After paying her crew's wages, and a shipwright to fix up the Adrestia after the beating she took in Keos, Kassandra only had 14,541 drachmae left to go.

Xenia knew she could name an astronomical price because Kassandra wasn't just some misthios who'd come crawling out from the backwaters anymore — she was Kassandra the Eagle Bearer now, and everyone in Greece knew her name after what she'd done in Korinth.

Killing the Monger had made her famous.

She no longer needed to look for jobs — jobs came looking for her. She'd already dismissed several messengers whose offers didn't pay well enough. Then Barnabas had handed her a letter that had put them on a course to Mykonos, where she now stood on a beach of fine, white sand, listening to him talk about the Silver Islands.

"Two sides of the same coin, these islands," he was saying. He pointed to the island on the other side of the channel. "That's Delos, sacred birthplace of Artemis and Apollo. And this," he said, throwing his arms out wide, "is Mykonos, where people do everything that's forbidden on Delos."

"Sounds like my kind of place—"

"I thought you might like it."

"—but the party will have to wait. There's work to be done."

He frowned slightly. "Gods forbid we enjoy a single moment on this glorious beach."

She'd enjoy nothing until she had 15,000 drachmae in her coffers and not a single coin less. "Read me the note again?"

"'Eagle-bearing misthios,' — that's you."

Kassandra rolled her eyes and made a keep going gesture.

"'Podarkes, cruel leader of the Silver Islands, takes money from our pockets and food from our mouths. All to feed his in-sat... in-sat-i...'"

"Insatiable," she suggested. The writer of the letter was well educated.

"Yes! 'His insatiable thirst for power.'"

Kassandra already knew what the letter said, but she'd wanted him to read it, so he could see the crude map sketched after the words.

We are a modest but fierce group of rebels, who'd pay you handsomely to help us overthrow our vile oppressor. I pray the winds guide you swiftly to our shores, misthios. Our people are dying.

-Kyra

"What do you know of the places marked on that map?" she asked.

He pulled the letter closer to his good eye, and studied the markings. "The first is a camp along the northeastern coast. That's easy to get to. The second... I'm not so sure. It's a hideout that looks like it's... underneath the city."

"It's time I met with this Kyra."

"I'll have the ship ready in case we need any... immediate departures."

Hopefully it wouldn't come to that — at least not before she'd had a chance to load the Adrestia up with some of the silver that gave these islands their name.

.oOo.

The entrance to the rebel hideout was hidden in the outskirts of Mykonos City. She'd needed to study the map closely to find the forested outcropping of rock and boulders that hid the crack leading to the hideout itself.

It was a near-perfect spot for a bunch of rebels to hide. It was also completely unguarded.

Kassandra slipped between the rocks, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The cave was cool and dry, and she shivered from the sudden drop in temperature after the muggy heat outside. Far below, she saw the yellow gleam of torchlight, and she began picking her way down a rickety set of wooden steps towards it.

She could hear laughter as she approached — and was that singing?

The path led to a large, brightly-lit chamber. Inside, a trio of men sat around a fire, drinking and singing. There were others as well, men and women, perhaps fifteen in total. None seemed sober enough to put up much of a fight.

She stepped into the torchlight at the chamber's entrance, and said, "I'm looking for the one called Kyra."

The men around the fire jumped up unsteadily and grabbed their spears. She could have killed every one of them if she wanted. Instead, she let them wave their spearpoints at her throat.

"I've come in response to a call for help," she said, saying every word slowly enough for even a drunk to understand.

There was a flash of silver, then the sound of a knife thunking deep into the wooden beam next to her head. The blade had come within a handspan of her nose.

Kassandra exhaled, expelling her rising irritation along with her breath. "You missed," she said flatly, her eyes following the knife's path back to its source.

What Kassandra found was a woman standing at a table a short distance away, one hand frozen in follow-through, the other tilting back an outsized cup to drain its contents into her mouth before she slammed the cup onto the table. She was slender, with the whipcord build of a hunter. Not particularly tall. Dark hair, dark eyes — defiant eyes that were not at all pleased to see a stranger intruding in her hideout.

And it was her hideout, to be sure. She prowled towards Kassandra, moving with compact balance, and Kassandra thought of a lynx on the hunt, all slink and stretch and focused belief, until those great paws extended, and the claws came out...

"Are you here to spy, Athenian?" the woman said, coming to a stop just outside Kassandra's reach. "Or maybe you're Athena herself, dressed in a dirty disguise?"

"I came here to help a 'fierce group of rebels,' but all I've found is a bunch of drunks."

The woman narrowed her eyes. "Podarkes has spies everywhere. This is the first night we haven't been fighting for our lives in weeks... and suddenly, you show up."

Kassandra pulled the letter from the pouch at her belt and held it out. "This is why I'm here. It's your symbol, right?"

The woman flushed, a quick, hard bloom of color that shaded the lines of her cheekbones the color of wine. "You're the Eagle Bearer? My apologies, misthios. These are dangerous times for anyone at war against the Athenian empire. I am Kyra."

"And I'm Kassandra."

"Kassandra," she repeated, as if tasting the sound of it. "They say you killed the Monger of Korinth... and that it wasn't even close."

"I did."

"Podarkes isn't nearly the fighter the Monger was, but he's been hiding like a coward behind an army of Athenian soldiers. We've never been able to get close enough without taking heavy casualties. This is why I sent for you."

"I came here to help you deal with one man, not go to war against an army."

"Which is why I sent word of our rebellion to Sparta, too."

A wise precaution. "And did Sparta answer your call for help?"

"Thaletas — one of their polemarchs — brought soldiers with him from Sparta, but he's lost many of his men. I've lost many men. Podarkes has been hunting us down without mercy. We're all that's left of the resistance."

"Then you can start by telling me how many—"

She heard footsteps running down the wooden walkway behind her. Heavy steps, belonging to someone big. Kassandra turned, her hand reaching for her spear.

A burly man burst into the chamber. "Kyra," he said, hunching over as he caught his breath. "Thaletas and his men were ambushed on their way here. They need help."

"Podarkes, you bastard." Kyra looked about ready to leap into battle all by herself.

Kassandra held out a hand to stop her. "You and your rebels are too drunk to fight. Leave this to me."

"If you think I'm going to miss a chance to kill Athenians, you're the one who's drunk," she said, waving away Kassandra's hand as she walked past. She took a sword down from a nearby weapon rack, and swung it left and right as her feet naturally settled into a balanced stance. She'd be competent with it at very worst, and Kassandra's estimation of her rose. Satisfied with the weapon, Kyra nodded at the burly man and said, "Praxos, lead the way."

These rebels were about to show Kassandra what they could do.

.oOo.

Most of the rebels in the hideout were too drunk to swing a weapon without chopping off their own feet, but the handful that were sober enough ran swiftly through the forest on hidden trails they all seemed to know well.

Even that burly brute Praxos moved well for a man his size, and he led them up and over a ridgeline. As they crested the top, the forest cover abruptly stopped, like a green blanket sliding back to reveal a grassy, dun colored hillside that sloped down to the road in the valley below.

The road ran along the edge of another forest that covered the hillside opposite, and men were fighting in a grassy strip between the road and the trees. The Athenians must have attacked from the forest's cover, but the Spartans had held their own: the two sides were evenly matched. The chaotic sound of iron striking iron made Kassandra's blood surge, like a lodestone drawn to metal. She lengthened her strides, easily catching up to — and then passing — Praxos, and as she flew down the hillside, she felt a shadow at her shoulder. Kyra, matching her every step of the way.

Kassandra drew her sword as she came across two Athenians facing off with a lone Spartan, and she timed her arrival to match the Spartan's next attack. As he thrust his javelin at one Athenian, she swept through the other one and cut him down before he could swing his sword.

She kept moving, saw an Athenian kneeling over a fallen Spartan with his sword raised to strike, and she ran up behind him and grabbed him by his armor, dragging him backward and tossing him aside. She turned to finish him off, but Kyra was already there, her blade cutting across his throat.

Their eyes met, and Kassandra nodded once, quickly, one wolf acknowledging another before they rejoined the pack and the chase.

She drew her spear and went hunting.

A big Athenian wearing a helmet with a captain's crest pointed his axe at her and charged. She ducked under his first swing and jumped sideways to avoid his second, and she sliced his arm with her spear as his momentum carried him past. She faced him and waited. Jumped away from another swing. Waited again, trying to goad him into a downswing. Dodged again, and waited, infinitely patient. And when he finally swung his axe over his head and down, she turned sideways to avoid its chopping path and used her spear to pin down its shaft just long enough for her to swing her sword in a tight circle and bury it deep in his side.

She kicked him off her blade and scanned the field. The momentum had shifted in the rebels' favor, and the few remaining Athenians broke away from the fighting and began running for the trees.

"Let the cowards go!" A man's voice rang clear and commanding over the battlefield. Voices like his were as familiar as her spear. She'd heard similar voices countless times, in the training grounds, markets, and forums of Sparta, long ago. The cadence of a Spartan polemarch was like none other.

Kassandra searched for the voice's source, but it took no effort as Kyra led her eyes right to him. It was time for Kassandra to meet the Spartan commander.

Kyra ran up and clasped his arms in hers, and Kassandra had the sudden feeling of intruding into a private moment. She slowed her pace, then flicked the blood off her sword and spear before sliding them back into their sheaths. Better to approach with quiet blades, while his men stood around eyeing her warily.

The polemarch was covered in blood, dust, and bits of grass, and he was missing his helmet. His dark hair was braided in the style favored by Spartan soldiers, and his brow was prominent over fine features. Apparently Sparta had been busy stamping out copies of men like Stentor.

"You're alive," Kyra said to him.

"We took a few injuries, but none were killed, thanks to you." His hand lingered on Kyra's arm. Interesting. Seems he'd arrived on Mykonos and made himself right at home.

He turned to Kassandra. "You fight well. Spartan?"

"I was. But that was a long time ago," she said.

That caught Kyra's attention, and Kassandra felt herself being studied with renewed interest.

He grinned at Kassandra. "Spartan blood is eternal, stranger. What's your name?"

Kyra answered for her. "Thaletas, this is Kassandra. The misthios I told you about."

Something flickered within his eyes, and Kassandra wondered if her name had brought him an echo from the past as the rhythm of his voice had done to her. But he merely bowed his head with a formal stiffness and said, "They call me Thaletas. I was polemarch to the Spartans here."

"Was?" Kassandra asked.

"Our ship was sunk, and those who survived have been fighting ever since. There are only a few of us left." He sounded weary.

So these were the only remaining Spartans on Mykonos. There couldn't have been more than fifteen of them. Not even enough for a single row of a phalanx.

"I'm sorry for the loss of your brothers," she said.

He nodded. "As long as I can hold my spear, it'll be pointed straight at Podarkes. We'll find glory in vengeance."

"And I hope we can count on your blades, misthios," Kyra said.

They certainly couldn't count on pure numbers. Kassandra had seen maybe thirty fighters in total between the rebel and Spartan forces. Podarkes would have thirty men in a single outpost.

"My blades are yours," she said.

Could two blades and thirty rebels topple the leader of a nation? Kassandra was going to find out.

.oOo.

Later, after the Spartans had taken their wounded back to their camp, and everyone else had returned to the rebel hideout, Kassandra stood beside a large table, contemplating a large map of the Silver Islands while Kyra and Thaletas argued over what the rebellion should do next.

"How long till Podarkes finds us?" Thaletas said, stabbing his finger into the map. "We're right under his nose!"

"His nose is so high in the air, he couldn't find the Statue of Artemis if she hit him in the ass."

"We know where he lives. I say we knock down his door and run our spears through his face."

That would be a suicide mission. Kassandra rubbed her temple with her fingers, trying to keep her face from showing exactly what she thought of his suggestion.

Kyra threw her arms up. "That's a terrible plan."

"The Spartan phalanx is impenetrable in a ground assault."

"Not when there's only twelve of you!" Kyra said, sharply. Then she softened her tone. "You think with your heart — that's what I like about you. But you're a general to those men now. You need to think with your head."

Kassandra knew it was only a matter of time before one of them asked her to weigh in on the matter.

The polemarch's voice began to rise. "All you do is hide in caves and lurk in shadows. We didn't come here to hide. We came here to fight."

"And we will. But right now we're outnumbered. We must be strategic. Kassandra, what do you think we should do?"

The choice was obvious. "Kyra's right. Attacking Podarkes head on would be suicide."

Thaletas's fist hit the tabletop so hard it shook the flame out on one of the lamps resting on the map. "Sailing here was suicide. Right now, my men are on the beach. That's where I'll be."

"Thaletas, don't," Kyra said, reaching for him.

"When you decide you actually want to win this rebellion, come find me." He pushed her hands aside and stomped past her, heading for the exit.

Kassandra rolled her eyes and waved a dismissive hand after him. "Spartans."

Kyra looked at her. "You would know, I suppose." She shook her head and her lips curved into an amused smile. "But don't mind him. He'll feel better after he kicks something." She reached for the surviving lamp and used it to light the one that had gone out. The skin of her forearm stretched over fine bones and smooth muscle, and her hand wore the scars and callouses of an archer. She was definitely no servant or farm girl — someone had taught her long ago to draw a bow and swing a sword. It would be interesting to know who.

"How many men do you have now?" Kassandra asked.

She blew out a quick breath of frustration. "Twenty. Thaletas has twelve." Her hand swept over the map. "If we could somehow convince the people we had a chance at taking Podarkes out, more might join us."

"And Podarkes has hidden himself where?"

"Not hidden as much as fortified. He's holed up in his house, surrounded by guards. We've tried stealth. Poison. Everything has failed. He even brought in new slaves from Athens, ones with no ties to Mykonos..."

"So they'd be harder to persuade into helping an attack from the inside."

"Exactly." Kyra's eyes burned in the lamplight. "After our last attempt failed, he put every one of the servants to the sword."

Kassandra had seen enough cruelty to know that Podarkes was just one of its many faces. "We'll need to flush him out of his hole. Get him moving out into the open."

"Do you have any ideas?"

"A few. But I need some time to think on them."

"Don't take too long, misthios. Thaletas might try to beat you to it."

Clever, trying to pit her against Thaletas. "You and your men should get some rest tonight," she said. "Because tomorrow, we're going to get right to work."

.oOo.

Kassandra emerged onto the deck of the Adrestia just after sunrise. Night's cloak had faded to a chilly, pale blue light, and the crew was beginning to stir as the morning's watch arrived to take their posts. She paused next to a burning brazier on the deck, enjoying the brief moment of warmth against her skin.

Barnabas was standing at the top of the gangplank, directing the changeover in the watch. He looked surprised to see her.

"Leaving already? It's barely sunup."

"I've places to go, people to kill." She'd meant to say it as a joke, but her words had come out more bitterly than she'd intended.

He crossed his arms and blocked her path, fixing her with a hard look. "You've been running yourself into the ground since we left Athens."

"I took weeks off in Argolis." Long days and nights waiting for her shoulder to heal, her frustration growing every moment she wasn't moving forward towards her goal. And even worse, within that forced rest, within the quiet of her thoughts, she'd had to think about the question the mad priestess Chrysis had asked her about killing: Do you enjoy it?

Barnabas wasn't having any of her answer. "Only because your shoulder hurt so badly you couldn't draw your spear. And even then, you spent that time chasing down every lost goat and missing person in the country."

"Someone has to earn enough drachmae to pay your crew."

"They're your crew too, Kassandra. They stay here because they want to work for you."

Kassandra had never given Chrysis an answer to her question; a lie by omission. Would the crew stay if they knew what she should have said? Would Barnabas stay if he knew the answer should have been yes, that she did feel pleasure in killing, that it was beginning to feel so good she could hear it calling like a Siren even now?

A bitter taste rose in the back of her throat. She'd found only one thing that would calm the queasy feeling that kept trying to make a permanent home in her stomach. "I have to find her."

Barnabas's look softened. "I know. They know. The gods put you on the path to your mother, but at this rate, you're going to make a mistake and get yourself killed."

"You know why I can't rest on this." She'd given him only a rough outline of the Cult's plans, but it should have been enough for him to understand her priorities.

"She's alive." He said it the same way he talked about the gods, with a steadiness that allowed no doubt to creep in. "I can't imagine how she wouldn't be — if she's anything like you are, the Cult should be fearful of her."

If Kassandra humored him, maybe he'd let her pass. "Perhaps you're right... What do you suggest I do?"

"Get yourself a room at the inn and sleep someplace more quiet than the Adrestia. Go find a beautiful beach to look at." Then he grinned. "Or maybe a beautiful woman."

An image came to mind, unbidden: defiant eyes and fine-boned hands.

She asked him, suddenly, "What's it like being home again?"

"You remember!"

She shrugged off his surprise.

He held his arms out and took a deep breath. "I don't know yet. But just being here feels wonderful! Hopefully I'll get a chance to see all my old moorings again."

"You'll have to tell me which olive grove you were born in," she said.

"The most beautiful one, of course!"

She reached out and clasped his shoulder. "Take some time and see if it's as beautiful as you remember. And let's keep a skeleton crew on board. The rest can rotate through leave and enjoy the islands — and tell them I'll pay well for information if they hear anything interesting."

"Aye, aye," he said, just before he pulled her into a sudden hug. "I know you're humoring me, Kassandra," he said quietly into her ear. "But think on what I said. You look exhausted." Then he let her go, wandering away towards the helm.

He knew her well enough to be right. She could feel the weariness running up and down her bones, as if they'd been cracked open and filled with lead. But even if she did what he asked, and found someplace quiet and slept, it would be a fitful, anxious sleep filled with unsettling dreams. Better to keep moving, to keep dreams and thoughts at bay with her focus. Always forward, one step at a time.

.oOo.

Kassandra leaned against the akroteria on the peak of the Temple of Artemis, waiting for Kyra to arrive at the appointed hour after sunrise. The priestesses had finished their morning rituals; the scent of pine and burnt offerings wafted up from the temple's sanctum. Soon the walkways would fill with people as the city began to wake up.

It wasn't long before Kyra appeared, walking up the path with her familiar, compact glide and that hint of sway at her hips. She gave no sign of having seen Kassandra on the roof as she passed by, nor did she seem worried about being seen herself.

Once Kyra had disappeared up the curving path, Kassandra leapt off the roof, rolling as she landed. She'd discovered something during her time in Argolis: she could leap from great heights and land without injury — heights that would kill most mortals. She didn't know if this was a gift from her bloodline or from her spear, but she wasn't about to jump off a cliff without the spear to find out.

Either way, it explained one of her life's great mysteries: how she'd survived the fall from Mount Taygetos. She'd always thought it was because she'd landed in a rather large pile of corpses.

She walked up the path and found Kyra standing at a small overlook, gazing out over the city. In the distance, Kassandra could see waves glinting in the morning sunlight, making silvery cuts in a sea of pale, milky blue. The surrounding hills were cloaked in deep greens, with glossy palm fronds near the water gradually giving way to spiky pines in the higher reaches. This island wore all of its colors in full, gorgeous force.

"Podarkes has made it hard for me to travel openly," Kyra said as Kassandra approached, "but I still like to come here to remind myself of what I'm fighting for."

"I was wondering about this as a meeting place," Kassandra said, gesturing around them.

Kyra turned to her. "Doubting my judgement already, misthios?"

"I'd call it curiosity more than doubt. You're the one who knows these islands."

"Most people are sympathetic to our cause, even if they don't want to involve themselves in it. It's the Athenians and their soldiers that worry me." She looked back out at the city. "Which is why I'm hoping you've brought some ideas with you."

"I have."

Kyra waited.

"You have your rebels. Thaletas has his Spartans. Together you're an unconventional army — the sort of army that needs unconventional tactics." She tapped a finger against her lips in thought, before asking, "How often do Athenian supply caravans leave Mykonos City?"

"Nearly every day. Food, mostly. Some supplies. The fort and outposts are already armed to the teeth."

"Know when the next run leaves?"

"No, but I can find out."

"Do that. And think about who among the people might need this food the most, because we're going to borrow it—"

Kyra raised an eyebrow.

"—and not give it back," Kassandra said with a smile.

"I like the way you think."

"Just wait till you see how I fight."

"I did, yesterday."

"That was just an appetizer... But I did appreciate getting to see your skill with a sword."

Kyra's flush was back, a light shading of rose across her cheekbones. It made her seem younger, and she must have known that it did, for she crossed her arms and said with irritation, "Did you think I wouldn't know how to swing a sword?" The youngling was showing her teeth.

"I didn't know what to think about my mysterious letter writer. You could have been anyone."

"And what do you think of 'your mysterious letter writer' now?"

"I'd like to know if I could beat her in a footrace."

Kyra laughed. "Is that it?"

"There's still time for more judgement."

"You'll get your footrace, I promise you that. But first, we clean out this caravan, and you can judge what you want from the bodies I'll leave behind."

"Then it sounds like we have a plan."

.oOo.

Kassandra sat at the top of an escarpment above the road to Miltiades Fort, hidden in a shadowed notch between boulders as she waited for the supply caravan. They'd brought only a handful of fighters, unwilling to risk the entirety of the rebel force, and though Kassandra couldn't see them, she knew there were men stationed at either end of the ridgeline. Kyra had concealed herself high in the rocks somewhere to the west, further down the road.

A shadow swooped across the face of the boulder next to Kassandra. Ikaros, flying just above her head. He let out a warning call, and his wings beat as he lifted himself higher before he banked in a turn towards the west. Her eyes followed the road to where it emerged from the forest, and she saw flocks of birds rising from the trees like smoke in swirling winds.

The first wagon appeared moments later. One soldier sat up front, driving a team of two plodding horses, while two more soldiers walked alongside. Eventually, five wagons rolled out of the forest; sixteen soldiers in total. The rebels were outnumbered nearly three to one. They'd wait for her to attack.

She bided her time with a statue's patience until the first wagon was below her, and then she leapt from the rocks onto the soldier driving it, ramming the spear through his neck and letting her momentum carry both of them off the seat and down to the ground, his body softening her landing. Her lips skinned back from her teeth into a wolf's grin as the world became clear and sharp, and the soldiers and horses around her began moving more and more slowly.

Horses ran past her; their lines had been cut in an attempt to keep the caravan from losing the wagons. Up ahead, soldiers fell one by one, arrow fletchings blooming in their throats. She could get used to this kind of help, Kyra clearing a path for her while she hunted the soldiers who'd taken cover behind their wagons.

She passed the second wagon, and saw a flash at the edge of the darkness beneath it. She froze, just in time for a spearhead to fly out, barely missing her thigh. She grabbed the spearshaft and yanked it back hard, dragging the soldier out into the open before she spun it out of his hands and pinned him to the earth.

Two more soldiers were crouched beside the third wagon. She drew her sword as they stood, slashed and parried their attacks, as an arrow bounced off one's helmet. Iron clashed. Her sword swept one man's blade aside while her spear found the weak spot between his chestplate and his belt, knowing it left her vulnerable to an attack from the other man. She spun around, her sword arm lifting to parry the strike she knew was already on its way — just in time to see an arrow punch through the man's throat. His eyes went wide, then he dropped to his knees, his sword falling from nerveless fingers.

Kassandra raised her spear and saluted the rocks above her in gratitude.

She cut her way through the soldiers at the fourth wagon, and when she reached the fifth, she saw that the pair of rebels stationed on that end had done their job.

The Athenians were dead. She stood in the road, basking in the warmth that had wrapped her in its silky embrace, as the blood of others dried on her hands and legs.

Kyra ran up to her, then quickly looked her up and down. "None of that's yours I hope," she said, nodding towards Kassandra's blood-spattered armor.

"Not a scratch on me. You?"

"My draw arm might be tired tomorrow, but it'll be worth it."

"Signal your contacts to take the wagons, and have your men strip the weapons and armor from the dead. We're taking it all with us. Let's move quickly, before the next patrol comes through."

From this point forward, no caravan would be as lightly guarded as this one, but they'd punched Podarkes in the nose, and reclaimed some of the food he'd stolen from his own people.

It was a small step forward worth celebrating.

.oOo.

Later that night, the hideout swirled with the spirits of celebration and libation. The rebels had claimed a small portion of the caravan's takings, along with a few jugs of wine. Now one of the rebels was seated in the corner, pounding out a complicated rhythm on a small drum, while the others had clumped together into small groups around the chamber.

Kassandra leaned up against a wooden pillar, sipping from a cup of wine. She'd gotten most of the blood out of her armor, and the cold stream-water she'd bathed in had chased the warmth and pleasure right out of her, leaving her numb and a touch queasy. The murderous craving was getting harder to fight, and where once she'd at least try to knock out common soldiers like the caravan guards instead of killing them, today she hadn't even bothered.

She took a drink, and the wine seemed to taste vaguely of copper.

She'd seen the rebels at work, and now she tried to dispel her dark thoughts by watching them at play, hopefully without any blades being pointed in her direction. Praxos, Kyra's big lieutenant, was seated at a table along with two other men, all of them howling with laughter as he told some tale. The drummer tapped out a one-handed beat as she drank from her cup, before launching into a rhythm that spiraled out in variation after variation, all looping around a constant thump like a heartbeat.

But it was Kyra her eyes kept wandering to, watching her work the room. She flew from group to group, a whirlwind of energy that left laughter and excited voices behind her as she passed. Her skill with sword and bow had earned her the respect of her men, but it was her attention that had won her their hearts.

Soon enough, Kyra's path around the chamber brought her near, and Kassandra found herself the target of that attention. "Lower your shield, Spartan," Kyra said as she approached. "Are all of you so damn serious all the time?"

Kassandra suddenly wanted to say No, she wasn't always like this. But after Argolis, she wasn't sure if this tendency to brood was her new normal or not. Better to give Kyra a safe answer instead. "It's been a long time since I've considered myself Spartan."

"Sounds like there's a story there."

"There is, but it's better suited for another time, I think."

"So mysterious," Kyra said, shading her voice darker to exaggerated effect.

"I think we're even in that regard."

That seemed to amuse her. "Oh? You have burning questions, misthios?"

"You could tell me how you ended up leading a rebellion."

Amusement turned into a scowl. "So I can justify my leadership to you, too?" How quickly her moods could shift, like spring weather: sunny one moment, stormy the next.

"That's not what I meant," Kassandra said. "Have I done something to make you think I doubt your abilities?"

Kyra studied her silently for a moment before saying, "No," along with an apologetic bow of her head. "I'm sorry. I'm just... used to having to prove myself, over and over again."

"You have the respect of your men. They'd follow you to Hades if you told them that's where the next battle would be."

"That didn't happen overnight. Even Thaletas needed to be... convinced."

"I'm not Thaletas."

"No, you're not." She looked thoughtful. "I imagine you've had to do similar convincing in your line of work."

"Sometimes. I'm just glad you haven't wanted to throw another blade at me."

Kassandra was beginning to enjoy making Kyra blush. This time, the color crept deep into her cheeks. "I know, I know. You came all this way, and I was cruel to you." She rotated her wine cup within her fingers, making its carvings of Pan and his retinue seem to dance. "But you did show up out of nowhere. I mean, look at you."

Kassandra waited for further explanation.

"You came swaggering in, ready to take on Ares himself. And I thought: Oh, she could be trouble... And then you were — but for Podarkes. He has no idea what's coming for him, and now I have hope again."

"Good."

Kyra gestured around the cave. "You asked how I came to lead this rebellion. Podarkes executed my family when I was very little. I survived on the streets, raised by hunters, rogue warriors, and mercenaries like you. They're my family now. They took care of me, and now I'm taking care of them. And one day, I'll fire an arrow into Podarkes's black heart — payment for every Delian family he's destroyed." She drained the rest of her cup. "But enough about his evil, we should be celebrating tonight. Drink your wine, and I'll introduce you to everyone."

They did the rounds, Kassandra exchanging names and clasping arms and trading those nods common to warriors that meant We may have seen the same things in battle, but we're not friends. Like most fighters forced to work with mercenaries, they respected her blades but didn't trust her, which was fine by Kassandra. Trust was for leaders and commanders like Kyra. As long as the rebel fighters stayed out of Kassandra's way, they'd all get along just fine.

By the time they reached Praxos, he'd switched from telling tales to arm wrestling, and judging by the group gathered around the table he was putting on a show.

"He's always been the strongest," Kyra said, after he slammed another hand onto the tabletop. He hadn't even worked up a sweat.

But Kassandra had seen enough to want to have a go, and she said to Kyra, "Hold this?" as she handed over her wine cup and stepped up to the table.

"You wanna roll, misthios?" Praxos said, eyeing her from his seat.

She answered by sitting down across from him. She gripped the edge of the table with her left hand and rested her right elbow on the tabletop. His hand grabbed hers, a ham hand connected to a thick forearm and biceps that dwarfed her own. She'd have to move damn near perfectly to pull this off. The challenge made her grin.

One of the other rebels served as the referee, and he checked their hands, then began the countdown. "Tria... Dio... Ena... Go!"

The instant he gave the signal, she shot her hips forward and leaned back, pulling her hand up into a position of advantage over Praxos, and she turned her wrist, forcing his to bend back and negating his arm strength as she drove his hand down onto the table.

The man standing next to her clapped his hand on her shoulder. "By Zeus! I should have put money on you, Eagle Bearer."

Praxos extended his arm. "Good match, misthios. I'll be wanting another chance at you once I figure out how the Hades you did that."

She shook on it and said, "Anytime."

Kyra was staring at her. "That wasn't just brute strength," she said, handing Kassandra back her cup of wine. "Show me how you did it."

"Let's find a table, then."

Kyra led her to a table deeper within the cave, away from the commotion and bustle of the celebration. They sat down.

"Square up to the table," Kassandra said.

Kyra turned and aligned her body with the table's edge.

Kassandra rested her elbow on the tabletop. "Now take my hand."

They clasped hands, and the touch of Kyra's skin sent a jolt arrowing through her. It was like the first time she'd ever held her spear: the sudden rush of delighted wonder at the feeling of power hidden within it. The bones of Kyra's hands may have been fine and slender, but the muscles wrapped around them were surprisingly strong.

Kyra was studying Kassandra now, her dark eyes focused as her gaze swept over Kassandra's cheekbones and down her jaw. She seemed on the verge of saying something.

Kassandra cleared her throat. "This trick is all about leverage, about getting your hand into position on top."

"On top," Kyra repeated. Was that amusement glinting in her eyes?

"So what you have to do is drive your hips forward" — Kyra's fingers twitched in Kassandra's grip — "and lean your shoulders back as soon as you hear the signal to go. This'll pull your hand back over your opponent's."

Oh yes, Kyra was definitely amused, and Kassandra couldn't help but grin rakishly as she slowly demonstrated the moves one at a time.

"And what happens when I'm on top?" Kyra asked with practiced innocence.

"Victory will be close at hand." Kassandra suddenly twisted her grip, bending Kyra's wrist back and breaking her strength, before she forced Kyra's hand to the tabletop.

Kyra shook out her wrist, then plunked her elbow back on the table. "Let me try."

They clasped hands once again, and Kassandra felt a sudden flush of desire as their skin touched. The desire wasn't the surprise — the surprise was how good it felt, how it made her feel normal again, if only for a moment. The part of her that knew better understood there was something going on between Kyra and Thaletas, that she should tread carefully, that she needed to learn more about Kyra before she could interpret the signals Kyra was sending off.

There was another part of her that didn't care about any of that.

But she managed to contain herself the rest of the evening, aside from some mild flirting, and when the oil lamps began to run out along with the wine, she excused herself despite Kyra's attempts to get her to stay in one of the hideout's spare bunks.

She stepped out into the moonlight, a cool breeze rustling the tops of the palm trees and tugging at her braid, and gazed out over the forested hills.

It was a bad idea to mix business with pleasure in a situation as volatile as this one, but she wasn't sure she was going to be able to stop herself. Especially after she'd spent an evening feeling normal again for the first time in months. And what had Barnabas said about finding a beautiful woman?

Kassandra certainly had.

She took a deep breath that held the scent of flowers, and smiled.

Part of the Elegiad. Go back to the previous story, or on to the next...

#kassandra #kyssandra #ac odyssey #HEYO #guess i've been writing a stealth kyssandra fic all this time #expanding canon because i am greedy and WANT MORE #i can't fucking wait to write this relationship #i've waited 50k words for this #elegiad

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lifeofresulullah · 4 years

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The Life of The Prophet Muhammad(pbuh): The Treaty of Hudaybiyah and Calling the Great States of the World to Islam

The Conquest of Khaybar: Part 1

(7th year of the Migration, toward the end of the month of Muharram / AD 628)

Khaybar was a city located on a volcanic area and having seven strong castles. It was on the way of Damascus and in the north west of Madinah; it was about 100 miles (161km) away from Madinah.

Most of the Jews that were expelled from Madinah because they violated their treaty with the Messenger of God had settled there and they virtually transformed Khaybar to a center for Jews.

As we have mentioned before, the Jews living there caused the Battle of Khandaq to take place by organizing all of the Arab tribes around and leading them to Madinah. After the Battle of Khandaq, they did not behave well and they slandered and talked against Muslims everywhere.

On the other hand, they made a new treaty with Makkan polytheists. According to this treaty, the people of Khaybar would attack Madinah if the Prophet walked against Makkah; if the Prophet walked against Khaybar, the Qurayshi polytheists would attack Madinah. However, their plan failed due to the Treaty of Hudaybiyah.

The Messenger of God protected Madinah from the polytheists by signing the treaty with them. However, the north side (where Khaybar Jews lived) was still deprived of security. It was necessary for the acceleration of the Islamic development to make the north secure.

Besides, the greatest trade destination for Arabs was Damascus. The Jews were on this way and started to develop as a strong element. It was a danger in terms of Islamic development.

All of those reasons made it necessary for Muslims to settle the issue of Khaybar.

Moreover, God Almighty had promised Muslims the conquest of Khaybar in the chapter of al-Fath while returning from the Expedition of Hudaybiyah.

Setting off from Madinah

The Messenger of God decided to go Khaybar and told his Companions to get ready for the expedition.

Many people who had avoided joining the Expedition of Hudaybiyah due to their fear wanted to join the Expedition of Khaybar due to the booty to be obtained from this productive and fertile city. They said, “We want to go to Khaybar with you.”

Thereupon, the Prophet said, “Those who will fight in the way of exalting the name of God as it is necessary should get ready. Nobody else can come with us. They will not be given anything out of the booty.”He declared it openly to the people of Madinah.

This order of the Messenger of God clearly teaches us that jihad in the way of God needs to be made for the sake of God and without expecting or even thinking of any material returns.

Besides, the lofty and luminous aim of war in Islam is exalting the name of God.

Upon the order of the Messenger of God, Muslims gathered at once. There were 1600 people, two hundred of whom were cavalrymen.They were the Muslims that would set off from Madinah together with the Prophet. Afterwards, when the Prophet was in Khaybar, four hundred Muslims from the tribe of Daws, among whom was Abu Hurayra, and Muslim migrants who returned from Abyssinia would join the Islamic army.

Moreover, there were twenty women together with Umm Salama, one of the wives of the Prophet, in the Islamic army that set off from Madinah. They were going to treat the wounded mujahids, cook and meet the needs of the mujahids during the battle.

The Prophet appointed Siba’ b. Urfuta from Ghifar as his deputy in Madinah and set off toward Khaybar with his army toward the end of the month of Muharram.

The mujahids who had been painted by the spiritual paint of the prophethood proceeded with enthusiasm. Amir b. Aqwa, the poet, expressed his excitement and loyalty with the following poem: “O God! If you had not guided us, we would not have found the right path; we would not pay zakah nor perform prayers. When a nation walks against us and tries to make us exit from our religion, send tranquility to our hearts and make our feet strong when we fight.”

The Prophet asked who recited the poem. When he was told that Amir b. Aqwa recited it, he said, “May God show mercy on him!”

The mujahids hesitated for a second because this prayer meant that Amir was going to be martyred.

“He is neither deaf nor absent…”

The mujahids proceeded uttering takbirs. The earth and the sky resounded with the sound of takbirs. Once, they uttered takbir very loudly: “Allahu Akbar! Allahu Akbar! La ilaha illallahu Allahu Akbar!”

Upon this act of the Companions, the Messenger of God said, “Show mercy to your souls; do not shout so loudly. You are not addressing a dead being or a being that is absent. You are praying God, who knows and hears everything and who is near to everything from anything else.”

Yes, God, to whom we pray, is neither deaf nor absent. He is nearer to us from our jugular veins with His knowledge, will and power: “It was We who created man, and We know what dark suggestions his soul makes to him: for We are nearer to him than (his) jugular vein.”

Only He knows the most secret things in our hearts; therefore, He answers our requests and meets our needs.

The Messenger of God prayed his lofty Lord as follows wherever he stopped for a break:

“O God! I take refuge in you from the worries about the future, sorrows of the past, weaklessness, laziness, stinginess, cowardice, heavy debts, and the inflictions of oppressors and unjust people.”

The Islamic Army is in Raji’

The Prophet reached a place called Raji’ with his army and stopped there. It was a place between Kahybar and the land of Ghatafans. There was a reason why they stopped there. Khaybar Jews had asked helped from Ghatafans and they had accepted; they said Jews could come to their castles and fight against the Islamic army together. The Messenger of God was informed about it. In order to prevent this help, he made this offer to Ghatafans: “If you do not help Jews, we will give you the crop of the dates of Khaybar to be conquered for one year.” However, they did not accept the offer.

Thus, the Prophet aimed to prevent any help that could come from Ghatafans to Jews by settling there. As a matter of fact, Ghatafans could not help Khaybar Jews and had to stay in their land when the Messenger of God settled in Raji’.

The Islamic Army is in front of Khaybar

Later, the Prophet left Raji’ with his army and proceeded to Khaybar. They reached Khaybar at night. The Prophet did not use to attack at night; so he waited for the morning.

The Prayer of the Prophet

When the Messenger of God reached in front of Khaybar, he prayed as follows: “O God, who is the Lord of the skies and what they shade! O God, who is the Lord the earth and those on the earth! O God, who is the Lord the devil and those that the devil misguides! O God, who is the Lord of the winds and what they blow! We wish from you the goodness of this city, the wellbeing of its people and the goodness of everything in the city. We take refuge in you from the evil of this city, of this people and of everything in it!”

The Prophet prayed like that whenever he entered a city.

When the people of Khaybar woke up in the morning, took their tools to go to their fields and left the castle, they saw the Islamic army in front of them. They were astonished; they shouted, “There is Muhammad and his army” and ran back to their castle.

They faced something unexpected. Many of them did not think it to be possible for the Prophet to leave Madinah and to come there to fight them. Their castle was strong; they had many men; they had plenty of weapons; therefore, they thought the Messenger of God could not face the risk of fighting them. That was what they had thought. However, it did not turn out to be like that; so, they were astonished.

When the Messenger of God saw their astonishment and that they ran back to their castle in panic, he said,“Allahu Akbar, Allaha Akbar! Kharibat Khaybar [Khaybar was destroyed]! How bad is the state of a frightened tribe when we enter their land unexpectedly!”He repeated that sentence, which indicated the conquest of Khaybar, three times.

The Enemy Front

Khaybar Jews negotiated the situation and decided to remain in the castle and defend their castle.

The Jews that would fight gathered in the Castle of Natat, their strongest castle. They put their wives and children into other castles.

Fighting Starts

Fighting started when Jews started to shoot arrows at the mujahids from the Castle of Natat, where they had gathered. The Islamic army had encamped in front of the Castle of Natat.

The first day passed like that. About fifty mujahids were wounded by the arrows shot from the castles.

On the second day, upon the order of the Messenger of God, the Islamic army moved their headquarters to Raji’. Thus, the mujahids were protected from the attacks that could come from the houses around and they would be away from the swamp where they had encamped.

The Prophet and the mujahids took their weapons every morning and went to the upper part of the Castle of Natat, fought the Jews until the evening and then returned to Raji’.

The Prophet Gets Ill

Meanwhile, the Prophet had a headache. He could not go out near the mujahids. He appointed Hazrat Abu Bakr as the leader of the army to fight the Jews. Despite severe clashes, Khaybar was not conquered. Next time, the Prophet gave his white flag to Hazrat Umar and sent him to fight together with the mujahids. Severe clashes took place again but Khaybar was not conquered.

It went on like that for seven days.

Meanwhile, one person from the Islamic army was martyred: Mahmud b. Maslama... While he was resting in the shade of the Castle of Natat in a very tired state due to the hot weather and severe clashes, he was wounded in the head by a stone thrown by the Jews from the castle and was martyred three days later.

Amir b. Aqwa is martyred

Meanwhile, Amir b. Aqwa and Marhab, one of the famous heroes of the people of Khaybar encountered. They started to swing their swords against each other. When Amir hit Marhab’s leg severely with his sword, the blade of his own sword moved toward his leg and cut the vein in the middle. He was taken to the headquarters of the Islamic army in a wounded state. He died there due to the wound.The Prophet had pointed out before reaching Khaybar that he would be martyred.

The People of Daws Join the Islamic Army

Tufayl b. Amr, the poet, the leader of the Daws tribe had talked to the Prophet when he was in Makkah and become a Muslim. Since then, he had invited his tribe to Islam.

Tufayl b. Amr went to Madinah with about four hundred Muslims from his tribe in the 7th year of the Migration. When they heard that the Prophet went to Khaybar to fight, they came to Khaybar and joined the Islamic army and fought against the Jews.

Abu Hurayra, who was going to be famous later, was among the four hundred people.Abu Hurayra, who met the Messenger of God in Khaybar, joined the people of Suffa and never left the Prophet after that. Since God Almighty granted him a strong memory, he narrated many hadiths. He said, “Abdullah Ibn Umar knows more hadiths than me; he wrote what he heard but I did not write.”

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monicalorandavis · 5 years

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The Watchmen Premiere electrocuted my brain!

Not literally. But in the alternative world in which Watchmen takes place, brain electrocution seems like a likely torture scenario. (Note: tiny squidlings fall from the sky in sweeping hail storms so tell me I’m wrong.) But before I get sidetracked with squidlings and sci-fi elements, this needs to be said: the pilot episode of Watchmen is one of the most interesting pieces of television I’ve ever seen. Never have I felt so grounded (so quickly!!!) and yet so free from the natural order of my America. It wasn’t disorienting (believe me, other things were) but, the America depicted in Watchmen is one I’ve seen in my best, and worst, imaginations of the America we could be (and could’ve been).

I feel, like so many black Americans feel, that things could have been better for us. For all of us - if the country had just paid the debts owed to black Americans. And this might not have been the review you were expecting, but it’s the one you’re getting.

Let’s start at the top, the show opens with a silent film. A young black boy, no older than 5, watches attentively. His mother, the only other person in the theater, accompanies on piano, tears streaming down her face. In the background, we hear gun shots and mayhem. But the boy is transfixed by the film. In the film, a black sheriff saves the day in the 1920s, while the scoundrel, a white man, gets strung up a tree. The adoring white crowd cheers for the black sheriff and the little boy beams. Now, freeze -

In the 1920s, there were no such films being made. However, what Watchmen does here, and throughout the pilot, seamlessly, is weave our real history into the fabric of its America, and by so doing illustrates just how easy it is to change history. The Sheriff in the film, Bass Reeves, is a beloved hero for black people and Oklahomans alike. He was born into slavery and then escaped and hid with the Indians until the 13th amendment freed him. After that, he became one of the most successful, gun-slinging sheriffs in the country, fearless and well-renowned. The fact that Nicole Kassell and Damon Lindeloff are laying the foundation for a country that honors black heroes is re-writing the way Americans learn about America. They’re saying, we don’t have to tell stories like we used to. And these motherfuckers did that in the first goddamn scene. (We haven’t even gotten to the superheroes yet!)

Fast forward, it’s 2012 (?) and Robert Redford, the actor and humanitarian, is the president. His policies have divided an already divided America. Instituting Redfordations (Watchmen’s nod to, yes, reparations) is as hot-button an issue as, well, reparations currently are. Some white people on the fringe have taken to underground organizing and terrorism against the state. Cops and black people have been targeted as enemy number one.

But it’s not all shoot-outs (though that first one was *chef’s kiss* delicioso) and choreographed fight scenes. Like any good action movie, Watchmen captures your heart during its quietest moments. There were some oddly passed-over glimpses into inner worlds (Don Johnson sniffing cocaine during dinner rings a bell) but, by and large, we find ourselves in a world that took a slightly different path. What we get to experience in Watchmen, and not our world (yet), is the chaos white people are willing to wreak upon society at large for committing the sin of justice.

Before you think I’m deliberately avoiding the superhero element, I will say that I am not a fan of the superhero genre in general. I know, I know. I suck. Needless to say, I haven’t read the graphic novels that the show is based on or the 2009 film of the same name. According to the internet, this is a fabulous interpretation of the original works, while the movie left something to be desired. Will I watch the film to find out? Maybe. Maybe (probably) not.

All I can say is, I like this version. I like Regina King, always, and I especially like her as the badass cop/vigilante in a goofy costume. To pause for a moment, and circle this point of costume, masks and anonymity - While, I certainly don’t understand Panda and his whole getup, I do like the premise of anonymity as a means of protection, in a larger sense. It encapsulates a larger theme of colorblindness and race. Yes, in our society, it is wholly naive and, frankly, rude to pretend to not see race. But, what if we really couldn’t? Then, and only then, would it be possible to have these huge social debates. Is race real?

Surely, the difference in skin color is real. But, take away the ability to see skin color and the ability of racists to target victims falls apart (because the whole of racism is quite literally only skin-deep). Faceless men and women have no discernible features under their masks. In Watchmen, the police learned this the hard way. Apparently, there’s some White Night where white supremacists attacked cops and innocent people (how unusual!!!!). As a result, the police wear a yellow mask that camouflages most of their face against attackers bent on identifying them. However, the rebels, organized under the 7th Cavalry moniker, also use masks to hide their own identities - borrowing a page from their “oppressors”. The whole thing is very 2019, and I keep fantasizing that Donald Trump will tweet some praise for the show, not realizing that he is, in fact, the sick underbelly, lost in their/his self-pitying, fighting for something he has no right to.

So, as you can understand, the superhero thing is at the bottom of the list when it comes to what makes this show so very interesting, which is saying something because HBO simply does not do superhero television programs (nor do I, really). HBO does cutting-edge, risky drama or sexy, incest fantasies, or comedies with strong, flawed leads we love to hate (or hate to love). HBO is taking a big swing and, while we’re only one episode deep, I’m in. This is cutting-edge, risky and sexy and everyone is flawed and white people are going to be mad, so I guess it’s covering a lot of bases for me.

I love the notion of an alternative America that atoned for the sins of racism. And I love this fictional narrative as much as racists hate the narrative that there is no longer any room for the white man in America. (They, however, do not know that their narrative is also fictional. Oop.)

And that leads me to my only concern with Watchmen. It is incendiary. In the way that everybody pointed to The Joker, this could starting something. The riots in the show pulsate with the same adjacency that exists now, in our country, at every moment, lurking behind every corner. One wrong move and this whole thing crumbles.

Will this show induce white rebellion against blacks? It wouldn’t be the first time.

#watchmen #watchmen premiere #watchmen hbo #regina king #donald trump #lost #fall tv #racism #tulsa oklahoma #bass reeves #black history #hbo

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lilacmoon83 · 7 years

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The Enchanted Island

Chapter 5: Free

George waited smugly, as the two black sport utility vehicles pulled up to his facility. Lance had informed him that he was successful. Snow was in custody and Charming was dead. In addition, Lance was escorting Mr. Nolan as well. They would be taking more samples free of charge and beginning the process of creating a new clone.

Smartly dressed as expected, James Nolan stepped out of the front seat of Lance's vehicle and removed his sunglasses.

"Mr. Nolan, let me just offer my deepest apologies for this unfortunate occurrence and inconvenience," he said, as they shook hands.

"I just hope this won't take more than an hour or so. I'm a busy man, Mr. Spencer," James said curtly.

"Of course, we won't waste any more time. This way," he gestured, as Lance pulled Snow out of the vehicle. The girl looked positively broken and her hands were bound with zip ties.

"You've caused quite the ruckus, my dear. You nearly cost me everything," he hissed, as he raised her chin with his finger.

"They killed Charming…" she cried, as she shrugged his touch away in disgust.

"Yes and now you shall join him in death. There is no time to lose. Get her prepped for surgery immediately," George called to his orderlies.

"She's a slippery one. Perhaps I should escort her to pre-op," Lance suggested. George glanced at him with a scrutinizing stare. One girl shouldn't have be a problem for the orderlies, yet this is also the one that had managed to help cause all this.

"I think that would be very good idea. We can't have her slipping away again," he agreed, as Lance marched her forward.

"This way, Mr. Nolan," he gestured, as he led the billionaire playboy to a private exam room to collect his new samples.

Though Charming knew he was identical in DNA to James Nolan, Lance had warned him that once they got as far as the entrance to the client side of the clinic, he would have to pass through the routine body scanner that each person entering the facility had to go through. Because he was a clone, the microchip that identified each clone would automatically set the machine off. He would have to be ready. Fortunately, because he was thought to be James Nolan at that point, the Black Knights were left behind once he entered the sophisticated, luxurious waiting room.

"Mr. Nolan, this way please, and we'll get your samples collected as quickly as possible so you can be on your way," a gentleman in a white coat said. Charming followed him and knew the moment he passed into this room, he would have to take out every person in it to avoid capture.

The physician stepped through the body scanner and a green light flashed on the technician's screen. Charming's eyes scanned the room, looking for anything that could be used as a weapon. It was a stark, white room and knew these two would be fairly easy to subdue. Fortunately, hand to hand combat was something Charming was extremely well versed in. He had never desired to kill, but he knew it might come down to that. He had already decided that he would do whatever he had to in order to save and protect Snow. And then there was the daughter that had been stolen from them too. It was because of these people that he missed being with Snow as she gave birth. It was because of them that he had never held her and for that reason, none of these people would receive any mercy from him.

He stepped through the scanner and saw the red light glow on the unfortunate technician's screen. He turned to Charming with wide eyes and had no time to press the alert, before Charming regrettably smashed his face into his desk. He was an underling and would survive. The doctor cried out briefly, before Charming knocked him into the wall and punched him out. He searched his person and found his access card, quickly pocketing it, just as two Black Knights burst into the room. Charming hit one with a metal chair, dropping him instantly, before trading blows with the other. He managed to knee him in the gut and then got behind him. He snapped the guard's head to the side, snapping his neck and dropping him. He didn't have gun training, but Lance's men had showed him the basic operation of the weapon on the way. He also grabbed the guard's taser and nightstick, before hurrying into the hallway. He crept along for several corridors and made his way to the white corridors that led to the rooms where he had seen the horror that had befallen Milah and Gus. That's when the compound's red alert sounded. He hurried down the hall and saw Snow be ushered out of the pre-op room by Lance.

"Charming…" she called, as she rushed to him.

"Can you rally the Clones?" Lance asked.

"If we can destroy the holograms that make the rest of them think the outside is toxic, I think so," he said.

"Go...my men and I will give you cover," Lance said. Charming took Snow's hand and they ran toward the stairwell and up toward the upper levels of the facility. Black Knights stood in their way of the control room, but their years of hand to hand combat training they had done for physical exercise was about to contribute to their success. He handed one of the nightsticks to her and took the other, as they started fighting their way through the armed guards. Snow took out several, but one managed to get her in a headlock. She bit his arm and stomped his foot, allowing Charming to jam the taser into his gut, dropping him instantly. Snow practically tackled him to the ground then, as one let loose with a spray of bullets. Charming pulled the gun and aimed as he had been shown, firing six rounds and dropping the rest of the guards in their way. They climbed to their feet and joined hands again, as they walked into the room where George always made his lottery announcements from. It also controlled the holograms that showed them all a ruined world filled with toxic gases that had long convinced all the residents to never question what was on the outside. Snow pressed the comm button and watched, as golden light bathed the gathered Clones below the tower and immediately put them on the large viewing screens.

"Fellow survivors...we have been deceived by our King," Snow announced, causing commotion to erupt among them.

"Every survivor that our King has chosen to go to the Enchanted Island is dead!" she announced, causing alarm. They weren't surprised to hear banging on the tower door that Charming had jammed shut when they entered.

"There is no Enchanted Island and the only way for us to survive is to rise against our oppressors! There is no contamination!" she announced, as Charming spent two bullets on the panels that controlled the holograms. They sparked and revealed the real images on the outside. And the other clones became captivated by the trees and wildlife they witnessed in the forest that lay just beyond the compound. When the Black Knights moved into the room below, they clutched each other's hands and watched the other Clones attack and begin to subdue them with sheer numbers. Charming took her hand and led her to the tower's other exit, just as more Black Knights poured into the control room. He led her up to the top spire and through the hatch on the roof. The final step was to use the control panel on the roof to open all the outer exits in the underground partition of compound to free everyone. But the ricochet of a bullet off one of the metal spires caused them to take cover. They saw it was George that had followed them, seething with rage.

"Did you really think you could ruin me and I'd let you get your 'happy ending'?" he hissed, as he leveled the gun at them.

"On your knees, Charming or I shoot her in the head," George ordered. Charming put his hands up and did as he asked.

"You can kill me...just let Snow go," Charming said.

"No...please…" Snow pleaded.

"Neither of you are leaving here alive," George growled, as he waved the gun between them. Charming used this to rush him and tackle him to the ground. Snow screamed, as the gun went off and the two men rolled around, Charming punched the older man, but the evil tyrant hit the younger in the head with the butt of the gun. George climbed to his feet and cocked the gun, preparing to shoot him. But he didn't see Snow coming, as she beamed him in the head with the nightstick. He dropped to the ground and she got the gun away, leveling it shakily at the old man. The old man grabbed Charming and pulled him up, using him as a human shield.

"I don't think you'll pull that trigger now that I have your precious Charming in the line of fire," he hissed. Snow didn't lower the gun, but she didn't move either.

"Drop the gun or I choke him," George hissed, as he put Charming in a headlock. A tear slipped down her cheek, as her hands trembled.

"Do it stupid girl," George snapped, as Charming gasped for air.

"Please...don't hurt him," she pleaded, as she put the gun down. George chuckled evilly and grabbed a loose cord from one of the ruined control panels, quickly wrapping it around Charming's neck.

"Kick the gun over here," he ordered.

"Please stop choking him!" Snow cried.

"Kick the gun over here, princess or I pull this cord so tight that it will crush his airway," George threatened.

"Snow...get out of here...find Emma…" he rasped.

"I won't leave you…" she cried, shaking her head in vehemence. She fixated her eyes on his and watched his eyes glance toward the edge. Then she nodded in understanding. She did as George asked and kicked the gun, but purposely too hard. George's grip slackened, as he clamored after the weapon, giving Charming the opening he needed. He reversed their positions and wrapped the cord around George's neck, tying and then kicked him over the edge. There was a sickening crack, as the old tyrant's neck snapped and he hung dead by the cord that was still attached to the console. Charming sighed in relief and Snow ran to him, as she threw her arms around him. He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her hair. Tears poured from her eyes, as she planted kisses all over his face and lips.

"Shh...my darling, it's okay. It's over," he assured, as she sobbed against him.

"I thought I was going to lose you," she sniffed.

"I know...but Snow, we won," he said, as he kissed her tenderly. Charming lifted the lever and opened all the inner doors. She grinned, as they saw all their people pouring out of the compound below.

"We won...we're free…" she realized, as her eyes sparkled like emeralds. He laughed and picked up her, spinning her around, as their lips met again with searing passion.

It was then that Snow gasped and pulled back.

"Emma…" she exclaimed. He smiled and caressed her cheek.

"Let's go get our baby," he agreed, but her face fell slightly.

"What is it?" he asked.

"My...counterpart. I need to see her first...she's a nice woman and she loves Emma. She deserves to know the truth and that Emma will be okay," she replied. He smiled and kissed her tenderly.

"You are such a wonderful person. You are going to be the most amazing mother," he told her. She looked down shyly.

"I don't know...I never had a mother. How can I be a good one?" she asked.

"Love...it's the most important thing you can have. We have it," he replied.

"True love," she agreed.

"I never had parents either, but I certainly want to learn and I know I can do that with you by my side," he replied. She smiled.

"We'll do it together," she agreed.

Snow arrived in the room and stared at the frail woman in the bed with fascination. As she stepped inside, Mary turned her head and her eyes widened in surprise.

"So...you're where they've been keeping my viable organs," she stated, which surprised Mary.

"You knew?" Snow asked.

"Not for sure, but I've always had this feeling that more went on here than George would ever tell. It's just easier for people to think their organs are just sitting in some lab waiting for them than to think they are walking around inside real, healthy people," Mary mused.

"None of this is fair. You don't deserve to die," Snow said.

"Neither do you," Mary agreed, as Snow sat beside her bed and Mary noticed her fascination with her sleeping daughter on the cot nearby.

"She's yours, isn't she?" Mary asked. Snow's eyes widened and the memories flashed through her.

"I...I have dreams sometimes. I'm with Charming...and we're so happy and in love," she said, a blush coloring her cheeks. Mary smiled indulgently.

"And then I have dreams of a baby, but they never let me hold her," Snow added sadly.

"Charming...he must be…" she started to say.

"James' counterpart…" Snow answered.

"Does he love you?" Mary asked curiously and by the way Snow lit up like a Christmas tree at that question, she knew the answer.

"Oh yes...he's wonderful. He loves me so much; sometimes too much I worry," Snow answered.

"Never too much. You're very lucky. Somehow I knew the minute they put Emma in my arms that she wasn't grown in some laboratory. Nothing that precious could come from anything but true love," Mary said. Tears slipped down Snow's cheeks. The dreams, they were memories; memories they had tried to steal away from her and Charming. But nothing, not even their drugs and programming, could tear asunder a love like theirs.

"James loved me...I know he did, even if he had trouble showing it. But there were things he could never let go of; things that always got in the way of love. His drinking, his money...he would have never been the father Emma needs," she said sadly.

"I'm sorry," Snow said tearfully.

"Don't be. I love my little girl, but I will be at peace knowing that she'll be where she belongs," Mary said, looking into her identical green eyes.

"But you…" Snow stammered.

"I'm dying Snow...nothing can change that now," Mary accepted.

"But I can...I mean, I don't want to die, but I'm just a clone," Snow cried.

"No...you are a person. You may have been created from me, but you are your own woman. You are Emma's mother as much as I am. What George did to you and Charming...to everyone here is horrible and I sincerely hope he burns in hell," Mary said, as she took Snow's hands.

"Emma needs her parents now...more than ever. Please, take care of my little girl. Be happy with your Charming. Take them away from this place. Find somewhere to live your lives, promise me," Mary pleaded. Snow nodded and sniffed.

"I promise. There is a little town Charming and I passed through," she said. Mary smiled.

"Tell me about it...I want to hear about the place my little girl will grow," Mary said. She was fading fast and Snow knew there was only moments. Even if she had sacrificed herself for Mary, it would have been too late. The acceptance in Mary's eyes allowed Snow to let go of any misplaced guilt.

"It was wonderful. There was a clock tower near the center of the square and below it a library. I'll be able to take Emma there to read wonderful stories. Then there was a park and it had the most wonderful playground shaped like a castle. It will be the perfect place for our princess Emma to play," Snow said and Mary smiled.

"There was a lake too where she can go with her daddy to feed the ducks. And a quaint little diner where we can have hot chocolate with cinnamon…" Snow said. And as Mary faded away, she could see it all. She could see her baby flourish with Snow and Charming. She could see her smile and hear her laughter. As she flat lined, Mary Margaret Blanchard left this world with a smile on her face. She would be at peace and find James in the life after this. James had never been at peace in life, but Mary sincerely hoped that death would be different for them.

Snow cried for a woman she felt she barely knew, but at the same time seemed like her best friend. It was sometime later, after the nurse quietly pulled the sheet over Mary's body, that she felt Charming's hand on her shoulder. She stood up and eagerly fell into his arms, as he folded her against his chest and kissed her hair.

"I'm so sorry, my darling," he soothed. She sniffed.

"She was at peace," she said.

"The compound has been completely liberated. I told Lance about the town we passed through. He said it's severally underpopulated and on the verge of closing down completely. He thinks it's a good place for everyone to go," he explained. She nodded.

"Then he's not turning this over to the authorities?" she asked hopefully.

"No...he said that if he does, none of us will ever see the light of day again. Rumpelstiltskin says once we're in Storybrooke, we'll be safe from the outside world again. But this time, we'll be free," he replied. She nodded.

"Charming...I remember everything. Not just flashes anymore, but I remembered everything when I saw Mary. How we met...all the times we loved …" she started to say.

"I have flashes too. Do you think I'll remember everything?" he asked. She nodded, as she kissed him passionately. He kissed her back just as passionately, moving his lips over hers almost feverishly. George was a fool to ever think he could destroy a love like theirs. As their lips moved together, Charming saw it all flashing through his mind. No more hazy, scattered pieces, but clear and complete memories.

"Snow...oh Snow…" he uttered, as he kissed her again.

"Mommy?" they heard a tiny voice, which pulled them apart.

"Emma…" he started to say. Snow nodded.

"Emma...I remember everything now. After they separated us, they kept me isolated and I gave birth to her. Then they took her away," Snow sobbed.

"Shh...no one is ever taking her again from you or me," he promised.

"Daddy?" they heard the tiny voice say again. Snow wiped her tears away and picked up their little girl. Emma was much too young to understand that they weren't exactly the two people she had known so far in her very short life, being only a little over a year old, after all. Snow knew it was better this way. Someday, they would try to explain everything to her. But they were her real parents and would now be there for all of her milestones.

"Go home mommy?" Emma asked.

"Yes baby...we're going home. But it's a new home," Snow said.

"Daddy come?" she asked, looking at Charming with big green eyes. He was well aware that James didn't do right by Emma and Mary, but he must have shown their little girl enough affection that she still looked at him as her father.

"Yes baby...Daddy's coming too and he's never ever going to leave you and Mommy," he promised. With that, Emma held her little arms out to him and Snow smiled, as he took their little girl in his arms. She watched the exact moment Charming melted, as Emma laid her head against his chest.

"Papa!" a small voice called through the smoke and flames. He raised his hand, trying in vain to reach his child. But there was a figure there in the smoke that snatched his child away.

"Bae!" he cried, as the sweltering flames threatened to consume him.

Mr. Gold surveyed his new town with pleased scrutiny. Once he purchased it, the sparse residents that occupied it cleared out easily enough once he bought them out of their properties. The town was his now, mostly empty, save for a few residents like Leroy and Astrid, who knew the truth and weren't a danger to telling the outside world. And the new residents would be arriving shortly.

It had been a long journey to get to this point and there was one more resident he had to be rid of; the one that had caused all this in the first place. She was also the founder of this little spot of a town and the one that would now pay for everything she had done. To twist the knife further, he would make sure she knew it was he that was taking away her little town, which she had run into the ground and laundered millions of dollars running her underground child slavery ring.

Everything he had done culminated to this moment. This woman had taken everything from him and he was about to get it all back.

The fire that night, three years ago, had been a terrible accident, thanks to her tampering with his potions.

Many of the judgmental former residents thought him to be a quack, as he engaged in experiments that seemed to blur the lines between magic and science. But he knew that many things that were now considered science were at one time thought to be impossible and therefore labeled as magic or witchcraft in less sophisticated times. His son was stolen from him that night and he was left with burns on almost one hundred percent of his body, leaving him akin to a scaly monster.

That was how met George Albert Spencer when his mother had contracted him to provide skin grafts for his entire body. He remembered those early days in the hospital bed where she said what had happened to him was for his own good and to show him that he needed her. He remembered begging to see his little Baelfire and she made promises that he would in exchange for his cooperation. How he hated that time under her complete control and he swore she would pay.

He had no control over anything at that point, but befriended the doctor that was growing his skin grafts. Dr. Jekyll was brilliant and shared his research with him. He believed the serum he had developed that was regrowing his skin from within his own body could be modified to create life as a separate entity from the original. His serum was used in George's cloning process to accelerate the results, but Jekyll had ambition to take it further and was always searching for the right ingredient to engineer instantaneous cloning. Sadly, Jekyll never discovered that ingredient and supposedly threw himself out his apartment window. It was ruled a suicide, but Rumple knew better. George had the serum and couldn't risk Jekyll sharing his research with the academic community.

Fortunately, Rumple had copied that serum and realized that the missing ingredient; an ingredient that had truly blurred the lines between science and magic. And that was when he set his entire plan into motion. Now, the woman that had caused all this would pay.

"So it's true," a female voice said, as he turned to find that his two hired hands had brought the defunct Mayor of Storybrooke to see him.

"Very true, dearie," he hissed back.

"Now Rumple, is that any way to speak to your mommy dearest?" Fiona chided.

"You can drop the innocent act. You are fooling no one, mother," he retorted.

"Oh my dear Rumple, I've only ever tried to do what's best for you," she cooed.

"What's best for me? You tampered with my potions and stole my son, while letting me burn alive. Oh, and you sell children," he hissed.

"It was never supposed to go that far. I was trying to teach you a lesson. That fire was not supposed to get out of hand," she mused.

"Oh, well that makes it better now doesn't? But now...you're finally going to lose everything just as I did," he growled. She smirked.

"I'll admit, I underestimated you. Having your own clone undermine George's entire operation from within was genius. Just think of all we could do together, son," she tempted.

"This town would be just the beginning of the empire we could create in this world," she added.

"The only world I'm interested in living in is...one without you," he hissed, as he thrust a wavy bladed dagger into her heart and Fiona fell dead to the ground.

"Burn the body. I want nothing but ash to remain," he ordered the hired hands. He turned and left, venturing back into town.

He entered the library beneath the clock tower and saw a little boy sitting at a table, reading a book.

"Papa?" he asked, as he looked up. Rumple smiled.

"Bae…" he cried.

"Papa!" the little boy called, as he ran to him and Rumple lifted him into his arms.

"Oh Rumpelstiltskin...you're back," Belle called, as she walked around her cart of books.

"Hello Belle," he greeted.

"This library is wonderful, I don't know how to thank you for such a generous gift," Belle replied.

"Granny is opening her diner here in town. Perhaps you'd like to join me and Baelfire," he requested. She nodded.

"I'd like that," she agreed.

#Snowing #SnowxCharming #charming family feels #feat baby emma #Snowing fanfiction

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tragicbooks · 7 years

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27 Martin Luther King Jr. quotes to remember under the new president.

<br>

Five days after Americans celebrate and honor Martin Luther King Jr., Donald Trump will be inaugurated as our 45th president.

It's been nearly 50 years since King was assassinated for his role as a leader in the fight for civil rights and racial equality. As we enter this new era — one in which, for many, it feels like King's dream of America is far out of reach — it's more important than ever to reflect on what King truly stood for.

Here are 27 quotes from the man himself that show us his actual ideal vision of America — and how far we still have to go before we get there.

Martin Luther King Jr. during the March on Washington, D.C. Photo by AFP/Getty Images.

1. King reminded us to stand up and speak out against the injustices we see in our world.

"To accept passively an unjust system is to cooperate with that system; thereby the oppressed become as evil as the oppressor," King wrote in his essay "Three Ways of Meeting Oppression."

"Noncooperation with evil is as much a moral obligation as is cooperation with good. ... To accept injustice or segregation passively is to say to the oppressor that his actions are morally right."

2. It's better to be frustrated with an unjust world than to just accept it.

In his sermon at Temple Israel of Hollywood, King said, "There are some things in our nation to which I’m proud to be maladjusted, to which I call upon all men of goodwill to be maladjusted until the good society is realized. ... I never intend to adjust myself to segregation and discrimination. I never intend to become adjusted to religious bigotry. I never intend to adjust myself to economic conditions that will take necessities from the many to give luxuries to the few. I never intend to adjust myself to the madness of militarism and the self-defeating effects of physical violence."

3. Just because something is legal, that doesn't make it right, and not everything that is illegal is wrong.

"One has not only a legal but a moral responsibility to obey just laws. Conversely, one has a moral responsibility to disobey unjust laws," King said in "Letter From a Birmingham Jail."

4. How do you tell the difference between right and wrong? It's easy.

King explained this simply, again in "Letter From a Birmingham Jail": "Any law that uplifts the human personality is just. Any law that degrades human personality is unjust."

He expanded on this idea in his "Rediscovering Lost Values" sermon: "Some things are right and some things are wrong. Eternally so, absolutely so. It's wrong to hate. It always has been wrong, and it always will be wrong. It's wrong in America, it's wrong in Germany, it's wrong in Russia, it's wrong in China. It was wrong in 2000 B.C., and it's wrong in 1954 A.D. It always has been wrong, and it always will be wrong."

5. Everyone deserves access to health care.

"Of all the forms of inequality, injustice in health care is the most shocking and inhumane," King said at the Second National Convention of the Medical Committee for Human Rights in 1966.

6. Everyone also deserves to earn a living wage, have a safe work environment, and not be exploited by their bosses.

"The labor movement did not diminish the strength of the nation but enlarged it," King said in a 1961 address to the AFL-CIO, "by raising the living standards of millions, labor miraculously created a market for industry and lifted the whole nation to undreamed-of levels of production. Those who attack labor forget these simple truths, but history remembers them."

7. King believed every person has a right to food and shelter.

"Why should there be hunger and privation in any land, in any city, at any table when man has the resources and the scientific know-how to provide all mankind with the basic necessities of life?" King said in his 1964 Nobel lecture, "The Quest for Peace and Justice."

8. King wanted people to know there are fair ways to distribute wealth within the framework of democracy.

"You can use your powerful economic resources to wipe poverty from the face of the Earth," King said in "Paul's Letter to American Christians."

"God never intended for one group of people to live in superfluous inordinate wealth while others live in abject deadening poverty. God intends for all of his children to have the basic necessities of life, and He has left in this universe 'enough and to spare' for that purpose. So I call upon you to bridge the gulf between abject poverty and superfluous wealth."

9. Money is not a measurement of virtue, righteousness, or meaning.

"I am afraid that many among you are more concerned about making a living than making a life," King also said in "Paul's Letter to American Christians."

10. People have a right to vote. Period.

"All types of conniving methods are still being used to prevent Negroes from becoming registered voters. The denial of this sacred right is a tragic betrayal of the highest mandates of our democratic tradition," King said in his "Give Us the Ballot" speech — and it's still true.

"... Give us the ballot, and we will no longer have to worry the federal government about our basic rights."

11. From employment to marriage to education to health care and beyond, civil and social rights matter for all people.

"If America is to remain a first-class nation, it cannot have second-class citizens," King preached in "The Rising Tide of Racial Consciousness."

12. We can't pass laws to make people get along with or accept people, but we can and should pass laws to protect the oppressed from harm.

(Lookin' at you, HB2 and First Amendment Defense Act.)

"It may be true that morality can't be legislated, but behavior can be regulated. It may be that the law cannot make a man love me, but it can restrain him from lynching me, and I think that’s pretty important also," King said in a 1966 speech at Southern Methodist University.

13. The most morally bankrupt people are the ones concerned more about getting caught than about doing something wrong in the first place.

"In a sense, we are no longer concerned about the Ten Commandments. ... Everybody is busy, as I have said so often, trying to obey the eleventh commandment: 'Thou shalt not get caught,'" King said in "Keep Moving From This Mountain."

14. King understood the U.S. is not a Christian nation.

Yes, he was a minister, but King was also a firm believer in separation of church and state.

"I endorse it [the Supreme Court's decision to outlaw prayer in school]," King explained in a 1965 interview with Playboy. "I think it was correct. Contrary to what many have said, it sought to outlaw neither prayer nor belief in God. In a pluralistic society such as ours, who is to determine what prayer shall be spoken and by whom? Legally, constitutionally or otherwise, the state certainly has no such right."

15. King also wanted people to know religion is no excuse for scientific ignorance.

"Science investigates; religion interprets. Science gives man knowledge which is power; religion gives man wisdom which is control. Science deals mainly with facts; religion deals mainly with values. The two are not rivals. They are complementary," he wrote in his book "Strength to Love."

"Science keeps religion from sinking into the valley of crippling irrationalism and paralyzing obscurantism. Religion prevents science from falling into the marsh of obsolete materialism and moral nihilism."

16. King was pro-choice and valued the many good things Planned Parenthood contributes to the world.

"Family planning, to relate population to world resources, is possible, practical, and necessary," he said in his acceptance speech for the Margaret Sanger Award from Planned Parenthood.

17. King spoke passionately about our economic struggles being largely the same, regardless of skin color.

"All too often when there is mass unemployment in the black community, it's referred to as a social problem, and when there is mass unemployment in the white community, it's referred to as a depression. But there is no basic difference," he said in his "Other America" speech from 1968.

"Most of the poverty stricken people of America," he said later in the speech, "are persons who are working every day, and they end up getting part-time wages for full-time work. ... This has caused a great deal of bitterness. It has caused a great deal of agony. It has caused ache and anguish. It has caused great despair, and we have seen the angered expressions of this despair and this bitterness in the violent rebellions that have taken place in cities all over our country."

18. This is why King believed that white laborers and black civil rights activists should work together toward their shared goals.

"Our needs are identical with labor's needs: decent wages, fair working conditions, livable housing, old-age security, health, and welfare measures, conditions in which families can grow, have education for their children and respect in the community," he said in a speech to the AFL-CIO.

19. Protests and riots aren't a problem. They're symptoms of bigger, systemic issues.

"A riot is the language of the unheard," King said in "The Other America." "And what is it America has failed to hear? It has failed to hear that the plight of the Negro poor has worsened over the last twelve or fifteen years. It has failed to hear that the promises of freedom and justice have not been met. And it has failed to hear that large segments of white society are more concerned about tranquility and the status quo than about justice and humanity."

20. There's never a correct "time" or "way" to achieve justice and change.

"I have yet to engage in a direct action campaign that was 'well timed' in the view of those who have not suffered unduly from the disease of segregation," King said in "Letter From a Birmingham Jail." "For years now I have heard the word 'wait!' It rings in the ear of every Negro with piercing familiarity. This 'wait' has almost always meant 'never.' We must come to see, with one of our distinguished jurists, that 'justice too long delayed is justice denied.'"

21. Michelle Obama may have perfected the catchphrase "When they go low, we go high," but it was central to King's beliefs as well.

"We must not seek to defeat or humiliate the enemy but to win his friendship and understanding," he said in "Loving Your Enemies," urging us all to resist our natural instincts toward pettiness and spite. "At times we are able to humiliate our worst enemy. Inevitably, his weak moments come and we are able to thrust in his side the spear of defeat. But this we must not do. Every word and deed must contribute to an understanding with the enemy and release those vast reservoirs of goodwill which have been blocked by impenetrable walls of hate."

22. Everyone deserves empathy and compassion.

From "Beyond Vietnam: A Time to Break the Silence":

23. Although he was committed to nonviolence, King also made it clear: You cannot be moderate in the face of oppression and hate.

"The question is not whether we will be extremists, but what kind of extremists we will be," King said in "Letter From a Birmingham Jail." "Will we be extremists for hate or for love? Will we be extremists for the preservation of injustice or for the extension of justice?"

24. King warned of the dangers of giving power to thin-skinned egomaniacs, too.

"The individual who is self-centered, the individual who is egocentric ends up being very sensitive, a very touchy person," King said in "Conquering Self-Centeredness." "And that is one of the tragic effects of a self-centered attitude, that it leads to a very sensitive and touchy response toward the universe. These are the people you have to handle with kid gloves because they are touchy, they are sensitive. And they are sensitive because they are self-centered. They are too absorbed in self and anything gets them off, anything makes them angry."

25. The U.S. president should be held to a higher standard of diplomacy, humility, and temperament.

As he said in his Emancipation Proclamation Centennial Address, "No president can be great, or even fit for office, if he attempts to accommodate to injustice to maintain his political balance."

26. A society is built up by people working together.

"No matter where you stand, no matter how much popularity you have, no matter how much education you have, no matter how much money you have, you have it because in this universe helped you to get it," King said in his speech about self-centeredness.

"And when you see that, you can't be arrogant, you can't be supercilious. You discover that you have your position because of the events of history and because of individuals in the background making it possible for you to stand there."

27. "All we say to America is, 'Be true to what you said on paper.'"

As King said in "I’ve Been to the Mountaintop":

It's more important than ever that we honor King's legacy.

Maybe if we start to hold ourselves to that higher standard he believed in, we can finally turn his dreams into reality and make a better America for everyone.

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socialviralnews · 7 years