willful destruction

أسماء الله الحسنى
أسماء الله الحسنى

The Ninety-Nine (99) Names of Allah:

Prophet MuHammad said in the Hadith narrated by al-Bukhariyy, what means: “Certainly, Allah has ninety-nine Names (99), one hundred minus one. Whoever memorizes them and understands their meanings will enter Paradise.“ The Names of Allah are uncountable. However, the Prophet mentioned ninety-nine Names in one Hadith, which have a specific merit. They are:

  1. Allah الله: The One Who has the Godhood, which is the power to create the entities.
  2. Ar-Rahman الرحمن: The One Who has an abundance of mercy for the believers and the blasphemers in this world and exclusively for the believers in the Hereafter.
  3. Ar-Rahim الرحيم: The One Who has an abundance of mercy for the believers.
  4. Al-Malik الملك: The One with absolute Dominion, and the One Whose Dominion is clear of imperfection.
  5. Al-Quddus القدوس: The One Who is pure from any imperfection and clear of children and adversaries.
  6. As-Salam السلام: The One Who is clear of every imperfection.
  7. Al-Mu’min المؤمن: The One Who witnessed for Himself that no one is God but Him; and Who witnessed for His believers that they are truthful in their belief that no one is God but Him.
  8. Al-Muhaymin المهيمن: The One Who witnesses the saying and deeds of His creatures.
  9. Al-^Aziz العزيز: The One who defeats and is not defeated.
  10. Al-Jabbar الجبار: The One for Whom nothing happens in His dominion except what He willed.
  11. Al-Mutakabbir المتكبر: The One Who is clear of the attributes of the creatures and of resembling them.
  12. Al-Khaliq الخالق: The One Who brings everything from non-existence to existence.
  13. Al-Bari’ البارئ: The Creator Who has the Power to turn the entities from one state to another.
  14. Al-Musawwir المصور: The One Who forms His creatures in different pictures.
  15. Al-Ghaffar الغفار: The One Who forgives the sins of His slaves time and time again.
  16. Al-Qahhar القهار: The Subduer Who has the perfect Power and is not powerless over anything.
  17. Al-Wahhab الوهاب: The One Who is Generous in giving plenty without any return.
  18. Ar-Razzaq الرزاق: The One Who makes the Sustenance reach His slaves. Sustenance is everything that benefits, whether Halal or Haram.
  19. Al-Fattah الفتاح: The One Who opens for His slaves the closed worldly and religious matters.
  20. Al-^Alim العليم: The Knowledgeable; the One from Whose Knowledge nothing is hidden.
  21. Al-Qabid القابض,
  22. Al-Basit الباسط: The One Who constricts the sustenance by His Wisdom and expands and widens it with His Generosity and Mercy.
  23. Al-Khafid الخافض,
  24. Ar-Rafi^ الرافع: The One Who demotes whomever He willed by His Destruction and elevates whomever He willed by His Endowment.
  25. Al-Mu^izz المعز,
  26. Al-Mudhill المذل: The One Who gives esteem to whomever He willed; hence there is no one to degrade him. The One Who degrades whomever He willed; hence there is no one to give him esteem.
  27. As-Sami^ السميع: The One Who Hears all hearable things by His Eternal Hearing without an ear, instrument, or organ.
  28. Al-Basir البصير: The One Who Sees all seeable things by His eternal Sight without a pupil or any other instrument.
  29. Al-Hakam الحكم: The One Who is the Ruler, and His Judgement is His Saying.
  30. Al-^Adl العدل: The One Who is entitled to do what He does.
  31. Al-Latif اللطيف: The One Who is kind to His slaves and gives them endowments.
  32. Al-Khabir الخبير: The One Who knows the truth of things.
  33. Al-Halim الحليم: The One Who delays the punishment for those who deserve it and then He may forgive them.
  34. Al-^Adhim العظيم: The One Who deserves the Attributes of Exaltation, Glory, Extolement, and Purity from all imperfection.
  35. Al-Ghafur الغفور: The One Who forgives in abundance.
  36. Ash-Shakur الشكور: The One Who gives ample reward for little obedience.
  37. Al-^Aliyy العلي: The One Who is clear of the attributes of the creatures.
  38. Al-Kabir الكبير: The One Who is greater in status than everything.
  39. Al-Hafidh الحفيظ: The One Who protects whatever and whomever He willed (to protect).
  40. Al-Muqit المقيت: The One Who has the Power.
  41. Al-Hasib الحسيب: The One Who gives the satisfaction.
  42. Al-Jalil الجليل: The One Who is attributed with greatness of Power and Glory of status.
  43. Al-Karim الكريم: The One Who is clear of abjectness.
  44. Ar-Raqib الرقيب: The One from Whom nothing is absent. Hence its meaning is related to the Attribute of Knowledge.
  45. Al-Mujib المجيب: The One Who answers those in need when they ask Him and rescues the yearners if they call upon Him.
  46. Al-Wasi^ الواسع: The Knowledgeable.
  47. Al-Hakim الحكيم: The One Who is correct in His doings.
  48. Al-Wadud الودود: The One Who loves His believing slaves and His believing slaves love Him. His love to His slaves is His Will to be merciful to them and to praise them: Hence its meaning is related to the Attributes of the Will and Kalam. Kalam is the Attribute with which Allah orders and forbids and with which He spoke to Muhammad and Musa. It is not a sound, nor a language, nor a letter.
  49. Al-Majid المجيد: The One Who is Attributed with perfect Power, High Status, and Generosity.
  50. Al-Ba^ith الباعث: The One Who resurrects His slaves after death for reward and/or punishment.
  51. Ash-Shahid الشهيد: The One from Whom nothing is absent.
  52. Al-Haqq الحق: The One Who truly exists, i.e., the One Whose Existence is confirmed.
  53. Al-Wakil الوكيل: The One Who gives the satisfaction and is relied upon.
  54. Al-Qawiyy القوى: The One with the complete Power.
  55. Al-Matin المتين: The One with extreme Power which is uninterrupted, and Who does not get tired.
  56. Al-Waliyy الولي: The Supporter.
  57. Al-Hamid الحميد: The Praised One Who deserves to be praised.
  58. Al-MuHsi المحصى: The One Who knows the count of things.
  59. Al-Mubdi’ المبدئ: The One Who started the human being, that is, He created them.
  60. Al-Mu^id المعيد: The One Who brings back the creatures after death.
  61. Al-Muhyi المحيي: The One Who brought out a living human from seminal fluid that does not have a soul. He quickens the dead by returning the souls to the decayed bodies on the Resurrection Day and He makes the hearts alive with the light of knowledge.
  62. Al-Mumit المميت: The One Who renders the living dead.
  63. Al-Hayy الحي: The One Who is attributed with a Life that is unlike our life and is not that of a combination of soul, flesh, and blood.
  64. Al-Qayyum القيوم: The One Whose Existence does not end.
  65. Al-Wajid الواجد: The Rich Who is never poor. Wajd means Richness.
  66. Al-Majid الماجد: The One Who is Majid (see #49).
  67. Al-Wahid الواحد: The One Who is without a partner.
  68. As-Samad الصمد: The Master Who is relied upon in matters and is resorted to in one’s needs.
  69. Al-Qadir القادر: The One Who is attributed with Power.
  70. Al-Muqtadir المقتدر: The One with the perfect Power from Whom nothing is withheld.
  71. Al-Muqaddim المقدم,
  72. Al-Mu’akhkhir المؤخر: The One Who puts things in their right places. He advances whatever He wills and delays whatever He wills.
  73. Al-‘Awwal الأول: The One whose Existence is without a beginning.
  74. Al-‘Akhir الآخر: The One whose Existence is without an end.
  75. Adh-Dhahir الظاهر,
  76. Al-Batin الباطن: The One above Whom nothing exists and underneath Whom nothing exists; hence He exists without a place. His Existence is obvious by proofs. He is clear of the delusions of bodily attributes.
  77. Al-Wali الوالي: The One Who owns things and manages them.
  78. Al-Muta^ali المتعال: The One Who is clear of the attributes of the creation.
  79. Al-Barr البر: The One Who is kind to His creatures, Who covered them with His sustenance and specified whomever He willed among them with His support, protection, and special mercy.
  80. At-Tawwab التواب: The One Who grants repentance to whomever He willed among His creatures.
  81. Al-Muntaqim المنتقم: The One Who victoriously prevails over His enemies and punishes them for their sins. It may also mean the One Who destroys them.
  82. Al-^Afuww العفو: The One with vast forgiveness.
  83. Ar-Ra’uf الرؤوف: The One with extreme Mercy. The Mercy of Allah is His Will to endow mercy, etc. upon whomever He willed.
  84. Malikul-Mulk مالك الملك: The One Who has the dominion and gives dominion to whomever He willed.
  85. Dhul-Jalal Wal-‘Ikram ذو الجلال و الإكرام: The One Who deserves to be Exalted and not denied.
  86. Al-Muqsit المقسط: The One Who is Just in His Judgment.
  87. Al-Jami^ الجامع: The One Who gathers the creatures on a day there is no doubt about, that is, the Day of Judgment.
  88. Al-Ghaniyy الغني: The One Who does not need the creation.
  89. Al-Mughni المغني: The One Who satisfies the necessities of the creatures.
  90. Al-Mani^ المانع: The Supporter Who protects and gives victory to His pious believers.
  91. Ad-Darr الضار,
  92. An-Nafi^ النافع: The One Who makes harm reach to whomever He willed and benefit to whomever He willed.
  93. An-Nur النور: The One Who guides.
  94. Al-Hadi الهادي: The One with Whose Guidance His believers were guided, and with Whose Guidance the living beings have been guided to what is beneficial for them and protected from what is harmful to them.
  95. Al-Badi^ البديع: The One Who created the creation and formed it without any preceding example.
  96. Al-Baqi الباقي: The One for Whom non-existence is impossible.
  97. Al-Warith الوارث: The One Whose Existence does not come to an end.
  98. Ar-Rashid الرشيد: The One Who guides.
  99. As-Sabur الصبور: The One Who does not quickly punish the sinners.

And Allah knows best.

“…It is not enough to allow dissent. We must demand it. For there is much to dissent from. We dissent from the fact that millions are trapped in poverty while the nation grows rich. We dissent from the conditions and hatred which deny a full life to our fellow citizens because of the color of their skin. We dissent from the monstrous absurdity of a world where nations stand poised to destroy one another, and men must kill their fellow men. We dissent from the sight of most of mankind living in poverty, stricken by disease, threatened by hunger and doomed to an early death after a life of unremitting labor. We dissent from cities which blunt our senses and turn the ordinary acts of daily life into a painful struggle. We dissent from the willful, heedless destruction of natural pleasure and beauty. We dissent from all those structures-of technology and of society itself-which strip from the individual the dignity and warmth of sharing in the common tasks of his community and his country.”

Robert F. Kennedy, Address, Berkeley Campus, University of California, October 22, 1966. Mortally wounded on June 5, he died 49 years ago today.

Poachers—their weapons drawn and scattered over the forest floor—had stood no chance against Madoc and the wicked, hooked blade at his side. Scarlet aether pulsed around his right limb, his face twitching at the power that pulled over his mind, but his expression lay vacant. He couldn’t speak. He could barely think. He stood, eyes distant and gleaming red, and hands stained with death.


Stanton wandered among the corpses, his boots unstained by the blood that soaked the grass. He rolled his shoulders back with a pleased sigh. “̕Fee̶l̕s g͠o̡o͝d̢,͏ ̡ye̢ah̕?͜”̀


Stanton looked at him sidelong, and then gave a scoff. “̷…̧Stil̢l súlk̷iǹ’? No҉t̢ ̧l̷ike͢ ya ͠c͜an̵ go ̴ba͜ck.̛ Kil̀l̢ln t̵h̀a̸t ̷g̸irl̡, the͡y’re al̀l ̸gonna͟ h́a͏t͞e̶ ỳa, pr͠o̴b͘ably̸ loo̵k͠in’ fòr̀ ya ҉right̢ n҉o̧w̵.”̧ He sneered, “L͡o͝p ́ye̡r ̀hea͝d͘ ́ri͝ght o͜f͢f̵, j́ųs̶t̷ like ̷ya͟ di̵d̶ mi̸ne.͘”͟

From his expressionless exterior, Madoc’s breath hitched at the nonchalant mention of the young woman. Arshtat. He knew what had happened. Controlled by Malcontent or not, her blood was on his hands. He could still see the surprise on her face, and feel the aether from her mangled body writhing within the malevolent blade. Despite all his promises and fighting so hard to resist, he had failed her. And now…

“S̷he̛’̴s̨ ͟d͘e̕ad,” Stanton reminded. “̛D̴on’́t ͝f̛org͡e̕t ye͞r ̀a̛ k͞i͡ll̛er̡.̧ G̶ét̡tin̛’ s͜en̛tím͞ent̕a̡l̨ a͝in’̷t ͠g̴ón̴na h̢el̢p. ͝Nev̀e̛r͡ su͠ite҉d y̷a a̛ny͜wa͜y.̵”͜

As Madoc stood and stared at nothing, something fell from his horn and tapped his shoulder on the way down. His eyes flicked toward it. Absently, he knelt to pick up a small, serpentine-shaped charm bound in a leather cord. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he recognized it.


“It is tiger bone,” Arshtat explained with a soft smile as Madoc lifted the necklace from the carved box, “shaped like the river. It was meant to remind our warriors of home, so they… would return to it.”

“Your warriors, hm..?” Madoc admired the charm for a few moments more, dark eyes warming at the meaning behind the gift. Then, he gently tipped her chin up and pressed his lips to hers in a lingering kiss. “Thank you, luv,” he murmured, “I’ll wear it with pride.”


“Mm̡m̀?͝” Stanton rose a brow. He eyed the little bone charm—now splattered with blood from the Xaela’s fingertips—and gave a loud, disgusted scoff.

Madoc stared at the symbol as if it was the only thing in existence. Thoughts of the small Xaela crept through the haze of his mind: The smell of the sea in her lavender hair. The soft sound of her laugh. How she smiled whenever he put his arm around her. Her small hand curling in his, and the beautiful contrast between them. The look of determination in her pale eyes as she declared that she would save him from this.

He felt heat behind his eyes as he remembered her bleeding out on the floor. His vision blurred.


“M-Madoc please… This isn’t you.”


“̵—͝K̡now what͞ ͏m͡ak͢es m̧e ̀f́e͢el bet́ter̸?” Stanton interjected into Madoc’s thoughts. A wicked grin stretched over his face.

The distant voices of reinforcements echoed nearby. A thrum of crimson aether from Malcontent made Madoc’s head lull down. Gritting his teeth and inhaling through his nose, irrational fury suffocated him, willing him back to destructive obedience. 

The greatsword instructed Madoc to stand and turn toward the incoming poachers. Stumbling forward, he had just enough of himself to tuck the charm into his pocket…

anonymous asked:

*whispers* levihaaan. 18

*whispers* thanks for the request - hope you enjoy it!  

Send me a pairing and a number and i’ll write you a drabble.

Erwin marched, smoothly adjusting the bolo tie at his neck. It was a nervous habit. Not that he was nervous, per-se. Though he could admit, there was a particular anxiousness that churned in his gut.

He’d been called to a meeting with their groundskeeper, a man who went by the name of Mortimer Crankwater, and was every bit as unpleasant as his name suggested. Mortimer, a thin, rail of a man was in charge of maintaining Headquarters and the large plot of land that surrounded it. He had a team of workers, and had been given leave by the powers-that-be to siphon any necessary funds from the Survey Corp’s budget. It was a power that gave Erwin Smith no small amount of grief. It seemed that there was always something that his clean-up crew was lacking, and Mortimer never hesitated to draw funds from the Survey Corps ever dwindling budget.

And now, Mortimer had called Erwin to a meeting. A meeting to discuss, of all things, formal disciplinary action against two of Erwin’s top officers. It was  ridiculous, of course. Levi and Hanji weren’t guilty of – Erwin glanced down at the written summons – willful and/or negligent destruction of government property. He frowned. No, Mortimer Crankwater was clearly mistaken, Erwin thought, and promptly reached up to adjust his tie.

Keep reading

anonymous asked:

omg!!! those kiss prompts!! so cute!!! i'd love to see a "distracting kiss" one! X3 with whichever pair you like! <3

Matt’s eyes are starting to glaze over, his fingers drumming on his knees as he shifts and sighs in the uncomfortable chair. In front of him General Hux paces, rant in full flow now.

“-willful destruction of Order property, don’t know what you were thinking-”

Matt rolls his eyes, Hux is starting to repeat himself now. There has to be something he can do to distract him, anything to make him just. stop. talking.

“Well?” Hux folds his arms and glares down at Matt, “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

Matt rises to his feet, noticing the slight hitch in Hux’s breath as he does. He smirks and cups Hux’s face in one rough hand, “Do you ever shut up?” Matt knows he’ll probably be court martialed for this, so he might as well make it count. He slots his lips over Hux’s own and feels him tense at the contact. He kisses lightly, his other hand coming to rest on one of Hux’s hips, feeling the jut of bone underneath.

Hux gasps out and Matt starts to pull back, fully ready to be thrown from the nearest airlock.

And then there are hands in his hair and his glasses are pushed into the bridge of his nose as Hux surges forwards. His tongue traces the seam of Matt’s lips and Matt willingly parts them, eager to taste.

It is sloppy and unrefined and everything else that Hux has called him during this tedious meeting and Matt simply can’t get enough. He hauls the General towards him, crushing him to his chest, not pulling away for an instant until his breath starts to run out.

Hux’s pale face is flushed, his cap askew and his eyes glazed. Matt can’t help but feel a stab of pride at the swollen pink of his lips. Hux’s tongue slips out to swipe across them in a movement that sends heat racing downwards and he clears his throat.

“Very well then. I believe no further disciplinary action is needed.” A copper eyebrow arches and Hux smirks, “Unless you ask for it of course.”

Killing Stalking Fandom: uwu but sangwoo/yoonbum isn’t unhealthy, sangwoo could totally love yoonbum even though sangwoo is a serial killer!! The Hannibal fandom gets away with it, why can’t we!? Stop kink shaming us!!!

Fannibals: … Shut the god damned hell up. Hannigram is unhealthy as fuck, and it’s completely okay if people don’t like it, because it IS an abusive relationship, we aren’t “getting away” with anything.

Fannibals: Also don’t ever fucking compare us to you ever again.

Apparently, after my Army docs threatened me with behavioral health because they thought I had top surgery to try to “purposefully disfigure” myself, they called my surgeon and tried to convince her staff that I was “mutilating” myself.

Now I just have to decide exactly how I wish to proceed…. :)

Alice Bee’s Photos from the Women’s March on Washington

I used to carry Alice Bee on my shoulders all the time.  Everywhere we went, she’d beg to “go up high” and I would happily oblige.  But before yesterday, I can’t remember the last time I carried her for any significant amount of time.The past six years have rapidly sped up the deterioration of my body, plus she’s already taller than my mom and currently weighs just south of a thousand pounds. But when she wanted to go up high in order to have a better vantage point to photograph yesterday’s Women’s March on Washington, I couldn’t say no.  All of the following images, with the exception of the final one, were taken by Alice Bee.

I firmly believe that protest is an important part of our democracy, and I find nothing more deplorable or downright un-American than those who seek to shame or silence others from making their voices heard.  Our country was founded in protest, and one of the most important events in the founding of our nation involved the willful destruction of British property.  

Even though I’m a big supporter of public protest in principle, I personally don’t really care much for marches and rallies.  I don’t like crowds, and I’m not particularly adept at all the chanting and singing one is expected to do at these types of things. I’m also always a little saddened by the “Legalize Hemp” guy that inevitably seems to show up, no matter what the actual cause. 

Despite this aversion, my personal and professional path has put me at dozens of protests, rallies, and marches over the past 25 years. But what my family and I experienced yesterday was unlike any other event of this type I have ever personally witnessed.

We were in the middle of a sea of over half a million people, mostly women, who were there to make their voices heard and show their support for one another–half a million people who were angry, scared, and horrified by the words and promises of a man who has shown little respect at all for girls or women.  And yet, this was the most supportive, positive, excited, happy crowd I’ve ever experienced at an event of protest.  To me, it felt less like a typical protest and more like that scene when all the Whos in Whoville got together to sing even though the Grinch had done everything he could to crush their spirits.

I have no doubt that there will be other, less peaceful forms of protest and resistance over the next four years, but the tone and outpouring of support yesterday felt like exactly what was needed at this moment in time.

Our family was out at dinner the night before the march and we noticed a large group of women all wearing pink hand-knitted cat ear hats at the table next to us.  I asked Jen if she thought we should talk to Alice about why so many women at the march would be wearing these “pussyhats.”

“I already did,” Jen replied.

“Really? So what’d you tell her?” 

“The truth.  Why? What would you have told her?”

“Anything but THAT!” was my first thought, but I immediately realized that Jen was right. 

I definitely would have preferred that neither of us have to explain to our six-year-old daughter how that word has another connotation. But since we now live in a country where 62 million people decided that a horny man’s pathetic claims of grabbing women against their consent was not an immediate disqualification to be President, I guess we have to start having these conversations earlier.

Somehow, in the middle of half a million people, we managed to find some old friends who had brought their three amazing daughters down from Philadelphia.  Alice is fascinated by teenagers and young women, so she was completely in heaven hanging out with them for the day.

Afterwards, when I asked Alice what her favorite part of the march was, she immediately replied “The big girls!”   

I think she’s right–that was my favorite part, too.  Seeing all the “big girls” of every age who decided they couldn’t stay silent, that they needed to support one another and provide hope, motivation, and courage was absolutely inspiring.  I’m glad that we could help Alice Bee understand that even though she’s an only child, she actually has millions of sisters around the world. 

I have no idea how many more times I’ll be able to cart Alice Bee around on my shoulders–she’s growing up so fast.  And if yesterday turns out to be the last time, I can only hope that it will be a memory she keeps with her forever.  I know I will.  


When the Tsar broke the continental system agreement and by extension the treaty signed on the Nieman river, Napoleon sprung into action marching his Grand Armee to the gates of Moscow after a string of humiliating Russian defeats, he did not invade Russia in winter, ”Napoleon knew about the Russian winter, he had read the accounts of Charles the Twelfth, - he had fought in blizzards before - he had no intention go to Moscow, he wanted to fight a twenty days war along the border of Russia” (Roberts, Intelligence Squared), he was not short sighted he knew the winter was his enemy and launched his counter invasion in the spring right after winter. When arrived at Moscow in winter after a string of Russian defeats, rather than the customary surrender and transfer of control of the city to the invaders once the gate was reached. The Russians had determined that they should fall back and move their armies behind the Ural mountains, furthermore  the Russian high command expected the French to take refuge in their fallen and abandoned city, accordingly they took an unprecedented action. It is disputed if the Russian command sent suicide squads to set ablaze much of Moscow or if the the fires were started by Russian patriots, in the hopes of destroying not only the shelter for Napoleon’s Grand Armee, but also much of the Grand Armee itself. All in all about two thirds of Moscow burned to the ground, and Napoleon was forced to withdraw. (“Napoleon Enters Moscow.” History.com) As Napoleon and his forces limped back to France, to try to defend his Empire from the forces arrayed against him, during a full retreat his army was ruthlessly hounded and attacked oftentimes without any ability to form a defence by Russian cavalry and Cossack Rangers. Napoleon lost no battle against men, but against nature and an unprecedented sucker punch, which paved the way for European powers to damage cities, as assets in war rather than centers to be protected. Willful destruction of civilian property gradually became more and more permissible in the eyes of western world generals after this point.

When finally Napoleon’s battered armies reached his own borders, he was utterly broken, the Rhineland was in disarray, the Prussians, Austrians and Russians marched on Paris, France had been at war for over a decade and was long tired, and Napoleon lost the war, out of the many wars and seven coalitions of nations that marched on him, Napoleon had lost this one, but the thing is many individuals that we revere lost wars and battles. Peter the Great, Frederick the Great, Catherine the Great lost the war against Sweden, George Washington lost more battles than he won but we still view these people as great. (Roberts, Intelligence Squared) Napoleon after his defeat was allowed to retain his title, a one thousand man guard and he was imprisoned and made lord of the Isle of Elba by his captors.

  • Federation President: The charges and specifications are. Conspiracy. Assault on Federation Officers. Theft of Federation Property, namely the Starship Enterprise. Sabotage of the U.S.S. Excelsior, Willful destruction of Federation Property, specifically the aforementioned U.S.S. Enterprise. And finally, disobeying direct orders of the Starfleet Commander. ...Admiral Kirk, how do you plead?
  • Kirk: chill

Pages from the Maya “Dresden Codex,,” c. 1200 CE, Copied from a Text c.400 Years Older.  

The Dresden Codex (named for the city where it is today found) is one of only 4 remaining Mayan books, out of the thousands that were found by the Spanish Christian conquistadors when they conquered the Mayan world.  All the rest were put to the torch in acts of conscious, willful destruction.  Many of those books were destroyed in 1562, under order from Bishop Diego de Landa, who wrote of the event: 

“We found a large number of books in these characters and, as they contained nothing in which were not to be seen as superstition and lies of the devil, we burned them all, which they (the Maya people) regretted to an amazing degree, and which caused them much affliction.”

The Letter

Dear Will,

So here we are, trapped inside our respective prisons. Mine I do not occupy by choice, but yours is a prison of your own making. Does that make it easier or harder to live in, I wonder?

I don’t find it easy, living in the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane. I don’t know how you stood it, being endlessly submitted to such mistreatment, poked and prodded and forced to hear you own story told back to you in the most reduced and inaccurate terms by cretins and half-wits. I have renewed respect for you, Will, for your endurance and your patience. In moments when my strength is tested, I play at being you, and I find my circumstances easier to bear. On the day I write this letter, I have officially been inside this institution for 253 days, the same length of stay as your own. We are, for now, the same. Tomorrow will be uncharted territory.

I have long desired to write to you, but have restrained myself for various reasons. The most obvious is that I know this communication cannot be private, and I find it vulgar to think of the dirty hands of unwanted eavesdroppers scratching at my words for insight into my mind, and into yours (Hi Jack! My love to the wife!) but this is a necessary evil, and one I am willing to overlook for the time being. However, on account of those extra sets of eyes, I have found it prudent to include within this letter statements that bear no resemblance to my true thoughts, but I know you are keen enough to separate out the wheat from the chaff.

There are other reasons why I have delayed writing to you. I admit I was angry with you for a very long time. I won’t pretend that as I recovered from the wound you gave me, and continued to suffer from its lasting effects, that I didn’t wish to revisit all of the pain and humiliation back upon its maker. I would have very much liked to see you cope with the indignities of a colostomy bag. I am still unable to eat meat of any kind—and I need not explain how demeaning and inconvenient a state I find that to be.

My, but you knew what you were doing. Had I been first to the hilt of that knife, I would have merely used it to cut out your heart. You were more creative, and punitive, in your vengeance. But I should have expected nothing less from you, Monte Cristo. Your literary forebear was of the belief that the punishment ought to fit the crime, and here I am, betrayed and brought low by illness and suffering, languishing in this dull asylum with a bunch of unimaginative lunatics as my only companionship, unable to seek out even the simplest of pleasures.

I carry many scars now, Will. So many scars that you have given me. I have you inscribed here, and here, and here. I never shall forget you. But it grieves me to think that you carry no scars in return. You are clean, and unmarked, and bear nothing by which you might remember me, your greatest friend. But then I remind myself: your scars are all on the inside.

I forgive you for what you did to me, Monte Cristo. I cannot deny that you were justified in your actions, and I respect them, as I revere the imagination that gave birth to them. You had me hoisted on my own petard, and how can I be anything but impressed? I think back to what transpired between us inside your Wolf Trap, and I find myself wondering how much of what I saw there was real. I replay my memory again and again; I scrutinize it with the eyes of a forensic investigator, searching for the truth. You weren’t lying to me that night, were you, Will? If you were lying, I would have known. You were simply telling me the wrong version of the truth. I find this thought to be of some consolation.

You should have come with me. We would have enjoyed each other’s company, as we always have.

I can forgive you this wound. I can forgive you Wolf Trap. But there is something you have done that I cannot forgive. I can’t forgive the damage you have done to yourself, and the damage you are no doubt continuing to perform upon yourself now that I am gone. You should have heeded my warning in Wolf Trap. But you dismissed my words unjustly before you ever heard them, to your detriment. Don’t destroy yourself to spite me, I beg you. We don’t invent our natures, Will. They are issued to us, along with our lungs and pancreas and everything else. You mustn’t fight it. You were born with something beautiful, and to subject that beauty to willful destruction is a crime against nature, a crime against God, and even I can’t forgive that. The thought of you putting all that potential to waste, knowingly, spitefully; I can’t bear it. It gives me very good cause to hate you, Will. Be warned.

There is a passage I like from The Count of Monte Cristo. The Count receives a warning from his two new friends, the Baron Franz d'Épinay, and the Viscount Albert de Morcerf. The Count, you see, has just described his preferred method of revenge, “slow, profound, eternal torture.” (Forgive me if I mistranslate, I am working from my memory in French.) His friends don’t see the wisdom of his taking on the role of judge and executioner. They warn him: “Hatred is blind, rage carries you away, and he who pours out vengeance runs the risk of tasting a bitter draught.”

So, Will, how did it taste?

I’m sorry. My internment has made me mean. An animal in a cage has no resort but to fall back upon its nature. There are days when I could tear this place apart with my teeth. I have no patience for mankind now that there are bars separating me from them. I abhor them more than I ever did when I was free. They try my patience. I am forced to find pleasure in little mischiefs. You no doubt think it crass that I have been speaking to Freddie Lounds. But if there is to be a circus, I must be sure to appoint myself its ringmaster. Don’t worry. Of course Miss Lounds tried to push me into selling you up the river, but I avoided answering any questions that might cast you in a negative light. I sang nothing but your praises, Will. As I always have. I may have bent the truth where I needed to, but I will make sure the whole world sees only the very best of you.

Oh, Will. These games I play here by myself are not enough. It doesn’t seem fair. When you were trapped within these walls, I visited you faithfully. We played a game together the likes of which I had never known, and may never know again. Oh, that game. I dream about that game. I have never been so profoundly happy and alive as I was during those precious months in which we sparred together. I know you feel the same way. Why can’t you pay me back in kind? Why won’t you relent, abandon your boat motors and return to me here in my little cell, so that our respective imprisonments might be made easier to bear? You won’t be able to resist forever. You will come back. Circumstances will force you. Jack will force you. You will force yourself. Come back to me, Will. Come back and play. There are times I fear I might die if you don’t. I might die if I don’t see you.

But then I remember: I don’t have to see you to see you.

Yours always,

Hannibal Lecter

But fire is always hungry until
ash kingdom.
What queen is there who’d want to rule
in a city made of soot? [x]

Late at night I sometimes find it hard to abort thought trails; getting really angry about things isn’t awesome for falling asleep. 

Milestone Moment #9: The Saint Of Killers Kills God

If you’ve paid attention I worship “Preacher” like no other comic despise the few post you can find of it here in Comics Forever. It is truly a masterpiece and I dare to say an American classic in Graphic Novel literature. Since I want to highlight this moment I won’t go into specifics regarding the story before this moment. Maybe if you haven’t read it it will peak your curiosity and make you pick up the book to see what the hell I’m talking about here. 

After shit went down in the last issue of the series God has returned to heaven to take command of his reign again. He finds a lone figure between him and his throne…

The Saint Of Killers. A man whose sole purpose it’s to be the death bringer of the Lord has finally come to collect a long overdue debt and to set things straight with the big man.

You see… The Saint Of Killers has figured out what God is all about. He is nothing more than an attention-whore. The Lord is a being willing to cause pain, destruction and death for no other reason than to see who would love Him. He sparked wars between the angels to find out who would stay on His side. He created a world full of humans who would fight in His name, just to see who loved Him more…

The Saint now knows all of this and he’s having none of it. He spits back at the lord, telling him how he has outgrown his creation. God out of his throne it’s not as powerful as when he’s sited on it. Fearing what it’s about to come, God acts like a spoiled child by remembering The Saint Of Killers who he’s threatening… 

But the guns of The Saint Of Killers are blessed by The Devil and The former Angel Of Death. their ammo will ever run out, they will never misfire, never miss their mark, they will never wound, they will always kill… and God knows that.

Just one step away from salvation, and unkillable foe stands before him. God does his best to justify every action he has taken against every living being since the beginning of time. Facing certain death, God does the unthinkable. He begs for his life offering a bargain.

But The Saint Of Killers is tired of listening, he’s tired of the manipulations, he’s tired of the killing, he’s tired from the long journey that he can’t even remember when it started. In the end he says to the Lord exactly what he want’s just before putting a bullet between his eyes…

The Saint Of Killers shot God dead. Then he sat in God’s throne… and rested.

This great moment was brought to you by the insane mind of Garth Ennis. The beautiful art of Steve Dillon and you can read it in full in Preacher #66 by Vertigo an imprint of DC Comics.