#waswas

[pixelbird14]

"You can't just end the episode like THAT..." -Me every single episode

[dhwty-writes]

whatever a sun will always sing - chapter 2

Written for the @witcher-bows-and-arrows event.

Read on AO3

previous | next

Jaskier, travelling minstrel of the Continent, bard of the White Wolf, troubadour extraordinaire and the greatest poet of all time, disliked second chances on principle.

No, that wasn’t quite right.

Jaskier, travelling minstrel of the Continent, bard of the White Wolf, troubadour extraordinaire and the greatest poet of all time, had no problem with second chances at all. It was third chances he disliked on principle and the kind of people that came begging for a fourth, a fifth, a sixth – the sort of people that just couldn’t take a hint.

Like Valdo fucking Marx.

He couldn’t deny that there was a certain something between the both of them, he had come back more than once, after all, but in the end, their separation was inevitable. Usually, Jaskier liked to try and make a quiet exit — ’like a thief in the night’, Valdo liked to hiss disdainfully — no use in making more of a fuss than it was going to be anyways.

This time, he was afforded no such courtesy. No, this time, his exit was nothing short of a spectacle, for Valdo Marx accosted him in the middle of the Academy courtyard while he was bidding some old friends farewell.

“Leaving again, Pankratz?” a voice that raised the hairs on Jaskier’s neck taunted far too loudly and Jaskier gripped Priscilla’s hand tighter on instinct, his smile growing cold and insincere.

“Just ignore him,” his friend said with a smile no less frozen than his. 

He should. He knew he really should.

Jaskier turned around. “Yes,” he answered as pleasantly as he could, “as I already told you yesterday. Alas, adventure is calling and true heroics are among the few things that cannot be found within the ancient and venerable walls of this honoured establishment.” In his head he added, ‘As you are indubitably about to demonstrate.’

“Ah, yes. The prodigious prodigal progeny of this school has to satisfy his wanderlust again, hm?” The troubadour sauntered closer and Jaskier knew they were beginning to draw stares of nearby students.

He smiled. Who was he to deny a willing audience? “How kind of you to recognise my talent, which we all know to be far superior to yours.”

Marx snorted, apparently ignorant to the small crowd gathering around them. “What we all know, is that you are a talentless wastrel who panders to the tastes of the massed.”

A couple of the spectators oohed and ahhed at that and Jaskier glared at them. Such a paltry comment was hardly deserving of any praise.

“Wastrel or no, I can hardly be talentless. At least people are singing my songs when I perform, instead of booing me off the stage,” Jaskier retorted. “Say Valdo, how did your performance in the Three Little Bells go?”

That elicited some quiet sniggers. The Three Little Bells had been packed three nights ago and he did not doubt that at least a couple of the onlookers had been present to witness Valdo’s pretentious performance at the end of which Jaskier had been asked to provide the audience with some real music.

He sneered at his companion with derision while Valdo was gasping for breath indignantly. “This has all been very droll, but I’m afraid, I really have to go. Thank you for your attention. The day is not getting any younger and I would like to cross the Pontar and be well on my way towards Cidaris before sunset.” He bowed with a flourish and turned back to his friends.

Priscilla hugged him tightly and wished him well, while their other friends pat him on the shoulder and told him to write a new masterpiece before he returned. Distantly, Jaskier heard Valdo grumbling, but did his best to pay him no mind as he extricated himself from his fellow bards and started towards the gate, where his new horse Pegasus was waiting. 

Of course, he didn’t manage to get quite so far without Valdo offering unsolicited advice one last time: “You know, you had a good thing here,” he called after him and Jaskier couldn’t help but roll his eyes. ‘One would think even someone as thick as him could learn a lesson.’ But still, the bard went prattling on: “One day you’ll regret this, Julek. One day you’ll leave someone and they won’t welcome you back.”

“Has that day yet arrived for you? I know I’ll rejoice the rejection that rids me of you and you know what I’ll say to that? Good riddance. Stay within these walls if you please, I am not like to return. I think I’d rather grow beyond their scope. Hard for you to imagine, I know, since you can’t seem to see beyond the tip of your own nose. I’d recommend investing in a pair of spectacles, I hear they’re quite helpful.”

—

The farewell Valdo had given him irked Jaskier until he reached Gors Velen. Yes, he was leaving, yes, it had happened more than once. But he had never been anything but upfront about it. If anything, it was Valdo’s fault for continuing to allow him to return to his bed while erroneously assuming time and again that would entitle him to Jaskier’s heart. He had made it more than clear on multiple occasions that he had no interest in romantic entanglements whatsoever.

It was something that kept happening, not just with Valdo. A lot of people just assumed that a few kisses, a ballad about their lovely looks, and a roll in the hay meant that Jaskier would profess his undying love on the morrow and they all were bitterly disappointed when he sooner bid them farewell. He tried to laugh it up as perpetuating the image of bards, but he couldn’t deny that it stung sometimes, especially when it came from someone with whom he shared a deeper connection than just an acquaintance of a night or two.

It wasn’t that Jaskier was disloyal — though most people in his life, including his parents and a vast array of lovers would beg to differ — as much as that he liked to roam. ‘You’re a songbird,’ Priscilla had told him once, laughing, ‘piping and preening to follow a pretty mate to their nest, but sooner or later you have to spread your wings and fly away.’ She wasn’t so wrong about that. And their friendship should be proof enough that Jaskier wasn’t disloyal at heart.

He had reached the Adalette when he realised, he didn’t really know where he was flying towards. There was a bardic festival in Cintra that he had thought about attending, but Valdo had threatened entering as well, so the taste of that idea soured in his mouth. Instead, he turned his horsed north on a whim.

—

He was performing in a tavern in Zavada and had just finished his third reprise of Toss a Coin to your Witcher to sit down at the bar and enjoy an ale and meal on the house. It was a good meal, a hearty stew, dark and thick, with carrots, leeks and onion, chunks of beef swimming within that melted as soon as he touched his tongue to them. The innkeep served it with two slices of black bread with butter almost as thick as the slices themselves. Jaskier was just sucking the last of the grease from his fingers and washed it down with a swig of brown ale when a grizzled looking blacksmith with a beard as black and coarse as wires sat down beside him.

“Good evening,” Jaskier greeted amiably and hurried to swallow the mouthful of ale.

“Evening,” the man replied and looked him over sceptically. Just as Jaskier was about to ask what this was about, the man asked: “You really know the witcher? The White Wolf, I mean?”

“I do,” he replied enthusiastically and gifted him a dazzling smile. “As a matter of fact, I am the very bard to bestow that name upon him. Why do you ask, my good sir?”

“Don’t know,” the man seemed amused. “You just seem a wee bit young, I s’ppose.”

“Young I may be, though let me assure you that that in no way lessens my talents and qualifications. You may count yourself as living proof for my proficiency, seeing as even you have heard of the moniker I crafted. And let it be known that ordinarily I aspire to at least know the names of my critics before subjecting myself to their judgement.”

The blacksmith snorted a laugh. In a way, he reminded him very much of Geralt. “Stevo,” he replied and shook his hand. “You know my sister’s been to Maribor not two days past. Claims to have seen the White Wolf with her own eyes.”

Jaskier’s eyes lit up. “Does she now?” 

Jaskier played another set that night and then followed Stevo back to his smithy, where he made sure to thank him thoroughly for his information. The next morning saw him leading Pegasus on the road northwards to Maribor before the sun was up.

It had been close to three years since he and the witcher had last parted ways in Kovir. That time, it had been Jaskier who had abandoned his friend instead of the other way around, in favour of a lucrative position at a duke’s court, that kept him well-fed, well-clothed, and well-paid for close to ten months. He would have stayed longer still, had he not been kicked out for sleeping with the duke’s younger sister.

Afterwards, he had travelled Cintra for a while. He had hoped to maybe cross paths with his witcher there but had not been so lucky. On the other hand, he hadn’t been actively looking for him either.

Oxenfurt had seduced him with the promise of a relatively stable position at the Academy. Nothing too extravagant, he just taught one course about 9th century elven poetry to mostly disinterested students. In such close proximity to each other, it had been only a matter of time before Valdo and him fell into bed with each other again. He sighed. With the kind of farewell, he had received it might be best to shun the city of a year or two. At least.

Not that Jaskier was in such a hurry to return. He had missed travelling the Continent and performing in a different venue each night, although much had changed since he had last done so. For one, he was better equipped now, with Pegasus and boots that were both sturdy as well as stylish. For another, people recognised him from time to time. He was far from the only bard who had taken up Toss a Coin and sometimes even his lesser songs were familiar to the audience that would hum along. He no longer contended with bread in his pants; instead innkeeps more often than not offered him bed and board for his performances now. Sometimes, they even paid to hear him sing.

Briefly, Jaskier wondered how Geralt would react to him returning. ‘Maybe he won’t even recognise me,’ he mused. He had grown another inch since they had last seen each other and he had begun to keep the fashion of a delicate goatee, as was popular in Oxenfurt.

For his part, he was excited to see his witcher again. For all his grunting and pointed glares, he suspected Geralt did enjoy his company. Else he surely would have left him in Posada and not indulged his presence up until Hagge. And he definitely wouldn’t have allowed to travel with him through Kovir. It would be nice to travel with a friend and perhaps the witcher would even take up an interesting contract or two that inspired him to a new ballad.

The ride from Zavada to Maribor wasn’t far and Jaskier had left early, he reached the city gates right as the sun was about to set. He dismounted and led his horse through the dwindling bustle of the masses in the search of an inn and stable. Stevo had told him his sister had seen Geralt right when he was about to set out on some dangerous contract, so it was more than possible that he hadn’t yet returned. 

If it truly was an important contract, it was very possible that the duke himself had employed the witcher, but the hour was late and he was but a bard, so Jaskier did not have any hopes to be admitted to the castle before the morrow. Despite his lucrative performances during the past months, the fares in the inns close to the castle were too rich even for his tastes, so he turned towards a more modest part of town instead. He had stayed in the Ugly Goose before and knew it to be frequented by travelling merchants and traders that always enjoyed some entertainment with their supper. 

He would begin the search for his witcher once the sun was up.

Jaskier entrusted Pegasus to a young stableboy, after he had convinced himself of the quality of his horse’s accommodations, and gave the boy two apples for his troubles, one for the gelding and one for himself. On his way to the door, he was startled by a snort closer to his ear than he expected. 

With a yelp he leapt away and stared quizzically at the horse that had snorted right into his face and it took him a moment to recognize— “Roach!” Jaskier exclaimed excitedly. “Oh, what a sight for sore eyes you are, my good girl. Say, you wouldn’t know where your master is, would you?” Carefully, he extended a hand to her, to pet her head.

“Still wouldn’t do that,” a voice behind him growled.

Jaskier was very proud to say of himself that this time, he didn’t startle. Instead, he spun around with a wide smile and even wider arms to hug his witcher with. “Geralt! I was just looking for you, this is a fortunate day, indeed. I hope you didn’t think you’d seen the last of me, my friend.”

Awkwardly, Geralt pat him on his back. Jaskier saw that as an improvement to the last hug, which the witcher had endured silently and stiff as a board. When Jaskier pulled back to look at him, he was satisfied with the sight before him: Geralt wasn’t quite as bony as before, his hair seemed clean and well-cared for, as far as he could see, and no new scars adorned his face. The scowl was the same, but Jaskier took the improvements he got; he couldn’t expect miracles, could he?

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked gruffly. 

“Why, I crossed the Continent in hopes of seeing your handsome face again.” The scowl deepened. “I was in Zavada when I heard you were in Maribor and came as fast as I could, for I hoped my muse might bless me with a new, exciting tale about his adventures.”

“Hmm,” he replied, verbose as always. ‘One of these days I’ll figure out what he means by that,’ Jaskier vowed. “The beard is new.”

“It is indeed! You are astute as always, my dear, I am glad your eyes are not waning with your age.” The corner of Geralt’s mouth twitched upward at that, which in Geralt-speak was as good as uproarious laughter. “Do you like it?”

“Hmm,” he replied again. 

Jaskier chose to ignore that: “Well, anyways, do you have a room already or might I ply you with the promise of a bed and a drink for some tales of your exploits?”

“I do. My treat this time.” Well, Jaskier wasn’t about to say no to a free meal and room in an inn.

Together, they found a secluded table at the Ugly Goose and shared a meal while Jaskier shared his account of what had happened to him since they had last seen each other. He left out his last conversation with Valdo; there was no need to bring that up quite now. After the bard had bought a round of ale, he even pried the story of Geralt’s latest contract out of him. As the hour grew late, Jaskier grew too drunk to get his own room key, much less to object to sharing a bed with. The bed was big enough, after all, and he might be drunk but not blind and not fool enough to turn down a night in those well-muscled arms. 

The last of his hopes was ultimately disappointed, but it made no matter to him; Geralt’s company was pleasant enough as it was. After they ate breakfast — well, Geralt ate breakfast, Jaskier was miserably nursing a cup of tea — they stood awkwardly in front of the stables, reins of their respective horses in hand. 

“So,” Jaskier drawled, right as Geralt blurted: “Where are you going next?”

He laughed at that, in part because he was relieved, in part because he was still feeling nervous. “Actually, I was about to ask the very same thing. If you would not mind a travelling companion, that is.”

“Hmm,” Geralt said. He interpreted it as I don’t.

“In that case, where are you headed to?”

The witcher shrugged and looked away, down the road that led southwards out of the city. “Where do you- Hm. Any preferences?”

Jaskier followed his gaze. The summer had barely begun, there was still enough time to reach most any place on the continent. He would not say no to following that road, however. Perhaps he could even winter in the south and evade the cold entirely. Smiling, he turned back to his witcher. “How about Toussaint? I hear it’s lovely this time of year.”

Geralt hummed and tugged Roach’s reins down that road and Jaskier thought, ‘Perhaps third chances aren’t so bad after all.’

[peacefromislam]

Let's not forget about people suffering from mental health disorders/illnesses in our duaas.

People who suffer from cancer, physical pain, etc deserve duaas and we should try to remember the sick in our duaas but people with mental health conditions are also SICK. Sometimes it's invisible. People will just feel so ashamed of talking about their mental health.

They won't expect people wanting to hear about their severe OCD, their anxiety, their phobias etc so sometimes, they'll just keep it to themselves so that they don't worry other people with their own problems.

Please, think about them. I'm sure there's a lot of us who suffer from these types of illnesses.

Also, the believer should ALWAYS keep a good opinion of Allah Azzawajal. The believer doesn't despair of His Mercy, so even if the hardship lasts, it doesn't mean our hope in Allah should end.

May Allah subhanahu wa ta'ala heal us, protect us from Shaytan and from wassawis. May Allah Azzawajal guide us forever and make us among His servants He loves the most.

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

Something occurred me when I was reading a couple of your posts today regarding to Islam and mental illness (in separate posts, of course) and I don't know if it's true or not but this is what occurred me, most people in Islam countries do not seek or have a hard time seeking medical help, be it voluntarily or involuntarily, for mental health such as depression, trauma or other mental disorders like people does in western countries because over and over again, I see muslims (the good muslims, not the good people) are willing to protect their religious beliefs rather than care for people's well-being. I can't imagine a muslim person saying to a member of the muslim person's family, "I'll take you to a therapist to help you deal with your depression" after being beaten or tortured for doing a blasphemy or for taking off the hijab as a prank, let alone encourage women and girls who are being treated as sex objects to seek help. I guess what I am asking is, is it haram or a taboo when it comes to seeking professional help for mental illness or mental disorders in a Islam country?

It's an interesting question. I'll try to explain it as best I understand it.

Let's take that example of the Muslimah who says she wants to remove hijab. Islamically, she deserved it.

https://quranx.com/24.31

And tell the believing women to lower their gaze and be modest, and to display of their adornment only that which is apparent, and to draw their veils over their bosoms, and not to reveal their adornment save to their own husbands or fathers or husbands' fathers, or their sons or their husbands' sons, or their brothers or their brothers' sons or sisters' sons, or their women, or their slaves, or male attendants who lack vigour, or children who know naught of women's nakedness. And let them not stamp their feet so as to reveal what they hide of their adornment. And turn unto Allah together, O believers, in order that ye may succeed.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Tirmidhi/DarusSalam/Volume-2/Book-10/Hadith-1173

Abdullah narrated that The Prophet said:

“The woman is Awrah, so when she goes out, the Shaitan seeks to tempt her.”

Hijab is a commandment from Allah. This isn't an option, it's an obligation. Take note of the shaitan - it'll come back in a moment.

https://quranx.com/4.34

Men are in charge of women, because Allah hath made the one of them to excel the other, and because they spend of their property (for the support of women). So good women are the obedient, guarding in secret that which Allah hath guarded. As for those from whom ye fear rebellion, admonish them and banish them to beds apart, and scourge them. Then if they obey you, seek not a way against them. Lo! Allah is ever High, Exalted, Great.

Allah has made it clear what is the right path, the true path of virtue to Jannah (paradise), as specified clearly in the quran. As-sirat al-Mustaqim; literally, the straight path.

https://quranx.com/7.200-201

And if a slander from the devil wound thee, then seek refuge in Allah. Lo! He is Hearer, Knower.

Lo! those who ward off (evil), when a glamour from the devil troubleth them, they do but remember (Allah's Guidance) and behold them seers!

https://quranx.com/114.1-6

Say: I seek refuge in the Lord of mankind,

The King of mankind,

The god of mankind,

From the evil of the sneaking whisperer,

Who whispereth in the hearts of mankind,

Of the jinn and of mankind.

https://quranx.com/41.34-36

And not equal are the good deed and the bad. Repel [evil] by that [deed] which is better; and thereupon the one whom between you and him is enmity [will become] as though he was a devoted friend.

But none is granted it except those who are patient, and none is granted it except one having a great portion [of good].

And if there comes to you from Satan an evil suggestion, then seek refuge in Allah. Indeed, He is the Hearing, the Knowing.

These whispers are the same voices of temptation that caused Adam and Eve to fall.

https://quranx.com/20.120-121

Then Satan whispered to him; he said, "O Adam, shall I direct you to the tree of eternity and possession that will not deteriorate?"

And Adam and his wife ate of it, and their private parts became apparent to them, and they began to fasten over themselves from the leaves of Paradise. And Adam disobeyed his Lord and erred.

https://quranx.com/7.19-20

And "O Adam, dwell, you and your wife, in Paradise and eat from wherever you will but do not approach this tree, lest you be among the wrongdoers."

But Satan whispered to them to make apparent to them that which was concealed from them of their private parts. He said, "Your Lord did not forbid you this tree except that you become angels or become of the immortal."

One of the counter-apologetics (refutations) of the first cause/prime mover/"everything needs a creator"-type cosmological religious apologetics is "then who created your god?" If "everything needs a creator/cause/etc" then either god needs a creator, or if a god can exist without being created, then we might as well apply that to everything else. This isn't a new refutation. Muhammad clearly heard about it, and not having any valid counter, simply warned people to expect it, and ignore it as a trick of the shaitan.

https://quranx.com/Hadith/Muslim/USC-MSA/Book-1/Hadith-244

It is narrated on the authority of Abu Huraira that the Messenger of Allah may peace be upon him) observed:

The Satan comes to everyone. of you and says: Who created this and that? till he questions: Who created your Lord? When he comes to that, one should seek refuge in Allah and keep away (from such idle thoughts).

Muslims are told they are under constant supernatural assault on their very thoughts, for their very "souls."

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spirit_possession#Islam

In contrast to Jinn, the shayatin are inherently evil. Iblis, the leader of the shayatin, only tempts humans into sin by following their lower nafs. Hadiths suggest that the demons/devils whisper from within the human body, within or next to the heart, and so "devilish whisperings" (Arabic: waswās وَسْوَاس) are sometimes thought of as a kind of possession. Unlike possession by jinn, the whisperings of demons affects the soul instead of the body.

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nafs

Nafs (نَفْس) is an Arabic word occurring in the Quran, literally meaning "self", and has been translated as "psyche", "ego" or "soul".

Islamically, when she wanted to remove hijab, she was being tempted by waswas, the whispers of the shaitan (Satan), trying to coax her to stray from Allah and from her iman (faith) and deen (religious belief). Having doubts or wanting to do other than Allah commands is the mental problem. What's wrong with her? She will end up being tortured in Jahannam!

She was hit to bring her to her senses, to bring her back to Allah, to silence the temptations of the shaitan that seeks to make her fall from the straight path. Not only did she deserve it, she should be grateful that she was beaten back to her senses, back into submission to Allah. Why would she need anything other than Allah? Why would she need therapy or help? They'll just validate her waswas. She needs to see an imam to help her silence the shaitan, not listen to and contemplate it. That's all that matters, because eternity in hellfire is at stake.

--

When you have doubts about something, the correct thing to do is test it. What confirms it? What disconfirms it?

It's a moral imperative and Islamic virtue not to do this. To instead "overcome" waswas, to suppress doubts, to ignore instincts, to silence the thoughts that are in your head that are not for Allah and his way. Basically, denial, repression and self-sabotage. Which, as usual, is the exact opposite of everything that is psychologically healthy.

If you've ever interacted with a devout Muslim, this might be setting off lightbulbs of recognition in your head, explaining those interactions. Islam pathologizes normal human thought processes as entirely of the devil. The objective is to empty yourself of all thoughts and commit to being a Drone in the Islamic Borg Collective. Never forget: "Islam" means "submission." And to be a "good Muslim," that submission must be complete and absolute.

Islam isn't just false and an appalling belief system, it's also totalitarian and amazingly unhealthy.

[yoditorian]

[mufti-ismail-menk]

You're messing up so much. Satan whispers you should give up because you're not worthy. Don't give in. Call out to the Almighty by His Mercy

Mufti Ismail Menk

[mahamara]

:)

[come-to-success]

Shaitaan knocks and steps inside your heart using your individual Weakness

Part 3 Using Was’was , Shaytan makes a Muslim realize that he is helpless Shaitaan plays a very wise game. He whispers a spark of doubt in your mind and then slowly keeps inflaming it. For example : He shall cast a doubt in your heart that ” Allah is not listening to Your Dua’s” . Now what he does is that , he slowly instigates that doubt and turns it into a raging flame by reminding you of certain times when you asked for something from Allah Ta’ala but you never received it ; Moreover he inflates the happiness and achievements of your friends , relatives and other people in your eyes so much so that you start to become a little aggrieved from Allah Ta’ala – Shaitaan whispers that Allah tala’ treats you like a mother treats a stepchild so as to create a wedge between your connection with Allah Ta’ala . To be Continued إن شاء الله