#Short Trips: Damascus

[justinspoliticalcorner]

The Guardian:

In 2018, a Syrian dissident codenamed Caesar was set to testify before the House foreign affairs committee about the torture and summary executions that had become a signature of Bashar al-Assad’s brutal crackdown on opposition during Syria’s civil war. It was not Caesar’s first time in Washington: the ex-military photographer had smuggled out 55,000 photographs and other evidence of life in Assad’s brutal detention facilities years earlier, and had campaigned anonymously to convince US lawmakers to pass tough sanctions on Assad’s network as punishment for his reign of terror. But ahead of that hearing, staffers on the committee, activists and Caesar himself, suddenly became nervous: was it safe to hold the testimony in front of Tulsi Gabbard, the Hawaii congresswoman on the committee who just a year earlier had traveled to Damascus of her own volition to meet with Assad?

“There was genuine concern by Democrats in her own party, and Republicans and us and Caesar, about how were we going to do this?” said Mouaz Moustafa, the executive director of the Syrian Emergency Task Force, an activist group, who had previously traveled with Gabbard in Syria in 2015. “With the member sitting on this committee that we believe would give any intelligence she has to Assad, Russia and Iran, all of which would have wanted to kill Caesar.” During a congressional trip in 2015, Moustafa recalled, Gabbard had asked three young Syrian girls whether the airstrike they had narrowly survived may not have been launched by Assad, but rather by the terrorist group Isis. The one problem? Isis did not have an air force. Photographs from the 2018 briefing showed a heavily disguised Caesar sitting in a hoodie and mask giving testimony before the House committee. “I often disguise [witnesses],” said Moustafa, who had worked closely with Caesar and served as his translator. “But that day I was especially wary of Tulsi.”

There is no evidence that Gabbard sought to pass any information about the Syrian whistleblower to Damascus or any other country, nor that she has any documented connection to other intelligence agencies. But within Washington foreign policy circles and the tightly knit intelligence community, Gabbard has long been seen as dangerous; some have worried that she seems inclined toward conspiracy theories and cosying up to dictators. Others, including the former secretary of state and presidential candidate Hillary Clinton, have gone further, calling her a “Russian asset”. Those concerns have been heightened by Gabbard’s nomination under Donald Trump to the post of director of national intelligence, a senior cabinet-level position with access to classified materials from across the 18 US intelligence agencies, and shaping that information for the president’s daily briefing. The role would allow her to access and declassify information at her discretion, and also direct some intelligence-sharing with US allies around the world.

[...] Gabbard and her supporters have denounced those attacks as a smear, saying that her history of anti-interventionism in Syria and Ukraine has been misrepresented as a kind of “cold war 2.0”. In Washington, she has staked out a unique foreign policy position as a strong supporter of Israel and the “war on terror” – but also as a critic of US rivalries with countries like Russia and Iran (she strongly criticised Trump’s decision to assassinate the Iranian general Qassem Soleimani as an “illegal and unconstitutional act of war”). “When it comes to the war against terrorists, I’m a hawk,” she told a Hawaiian newspaper in 2016. “When it comes to counterproductive wars of regime change, I’m a dove.”

[...] But Gabbard has repeatedly shared conspiracy theories, including claiming shortly after Russia invaded Ukraine that there are “25+ US-funded biolabs in Ukraine which if breached would release & spread deadly pathogens to US/world”. In fact, the US program stemming back to the 1990s is directed at better securing labs which focus on infectious disease outbreaks.

And she has repeatedly supported dictators, including Assad, suggesting that reports of the 2013 and 2017 chemical weapons attacks were false, and calling for the US to “join hands” with Moscow following its 2015 intervention in Syria. Establishment Democrats and Republicans have openly questioned whether or not she poses a threat to national security. “I worry what might happen to untold numbers of American assets if someone as reckless, inexperienced, and outright disloyal as Gabbard were DNI,” wrote Adam Kinzinger, a former congressman who served on the foreign affairs committee with Gabbard in 2018 when Caesar testified.

Having Assad apologist and Kremlin talking head Tulsi Gabbard in charge of national intelligence seriously threatens national security.

[heinrix]

i gotta..talk abt barnabas. hold up uhh rambling under the cut

so barnabas in the og campaign i played him in got this scar that i absolutely love from being infected by a fractal-like alien and his body got ripped open from one of his eyes down to his stomach when his companions were attempting to remove the infection. the scar was this damascus-esque texture that ran across his body where he had been split open.

i want him to have this in bg cause i just find it the coolest thing ever (and he could do insanely advanced math/science after having gained the scar) so i was thinking that when he was around 16/17, he was feeling rather rebellious and wanted to travel outside of candlekeep for once so he snuck out one night, wanting to at least explore the closest town by himself

on his short-lived journey, barnabas stumbled upon a semi active ritual circle deep within the forest and decided to check it out. upon further investigation he discovered that it was some sort of sealed gate spell, similar to ones he’d seen in advanced grimoires. taking a closer look, barnabas accidentally tripped into the circle and it began to glow and flow with arcane energy.

in mere seconds, a portal flashed in front of him and he looked inside to see what appeared to be an abandoned cityscape; flora having taken over well crafted buildings and cobblestone streets. but he also saw a creature climb over the walls of the buildings, something alien and unexplainable at first (he would later draw a rendition of this creature within his notebook and it resembled simply a square shaped monster with several limbs and claw-like hands but no orifices to be seen).

upon gazing at the creature a few hundred feet away, barnabas felt suddenly dizzy, sick, and fatigued enough to immediately pass out but wake up mere seconds later to the sound of thumping limbs running toward him. in his haze, barnabas scrambled to run away and as he exited to ritual circle, the portal closed a moment before the horrific monster could reach him.

walking back to candlekeep was far more exhausting than barnabas could have expected even for someone as un-athletic as him and he soon passed out once more nearly a mile away from the castle walls. luckily, guards had found him in the early hours of the morning and brought him back and immediately took him to the infirmary.

barnabas awoke a few hours later, being tended to by healers and mages alike, attempting to figure out this affliction he held within his eyes; his eyes were riddled with fractals swirling in the cornea and the surrounding skin was pulsing with red lichtenberg figures as well. they all came to the conclusion that barnabas needed his eyes replaced with a set of arcane spheres that would work just as good, if not better than his natural eyes.

as they were attempting to take one of barnabas’s eyes, something within him reacted in defense and from his right eye, down to the lower half of his stomach, a void ripped forth, red fractal figures as deep as the abyss were within him and barnabas screamed in utter horror and pain. gorion had been in the infirmary, looking after barnabas alongside the healers and with some quick thinking and a telekinesis spell, ripped both of barnabas’s infected eyes from his body. once he had done that, the void closed itself and left barnabas with the demascus textured scar from where the infection had ripped him asunder.

this experience drove his ambition for knowledge even further, wanting to find out what this creature that infected him was and where it came from and made him decide on becoming a transmutation focused wizard, wanting to be able to control every aspect of not only his life but the material plane around him

side note: when he turns into his slayer form, the scar rips back open and reveals that fractal filled void :)

[lucascecil]

Third Doctor - Project: Blue Box

TV Stories

◆ Spearhead from Space

◆ The Silurians

◆ The Ambassadors of Death

◆ Inferno

◆ Terror of the Autons

◆ The Mind of Evil

◆ The Claws of Axos

◆ Colony in Space

◆ The Daemons

◆ Day of the Daleks

◆ The Curse of Peladon

◆ The Sea Devils

◆ The Mutants

◆ The Time Monster

◆ The Three Doctors

◆ Carnival of Monsters

◆ Frontier in Space

◆ Planet of the Daleks

◆ The Green Death

◆ The Time Warrior

◆ Invasion of the Dinosaurs

◆ Death to the Daleks!

◆ The Monster of Peladon

◆ Planet of Spiders

Audio Adventures

- 3rd Doctor Adventures & Audio Novels

◆ Scourge of the Cybermen

◆ Prisoners of the Lake

◆ The Havoc of Empires

◆ The Transcendence of Ephros

◆ The Hidden Realm

◆ The Conquest of Far

◆ Storm of the Horofax

◆ The Rise of the New Humans

◆ The Tyrants of Logic

◆ Primord

◆ The Scream of Ghosts

◆ Poison of the Daleks

◆ Operation: Hellfire

◆ The Unzal Incursion

◆ The Gulf

◆ Conspiracy in Space

◆ The Devil’s Hoofprints

◆ The Annihiltors

◆ Kaleidoscope

◆ Supernature

◆ The Conservitors

◆ The Iron Shore

- The Companion Chronicles

◆ Old Soldiers

◆ Shadow of the Past

◆ The Last Post

◆ Binary

◆ The Blue Tooth

◆ The Rings of Ikiria

◆ The Sentinels of the New Dawn

◆ The Doll of Death

◆ The Magician’s Oath

◆ Tales from the Vault

◆ Find and Replace

◆ The Mists of Time

◆ The Scorchies

◆ The Many Deaths of Jo Grant

◆ Ghost in the Machine

◆ The Three Companions

- The Lost Stories

◆ The Mega

- Classic Doctor, New Monsters

◆ The House That Hoxx Built

- Short Trips

◆ Landbound

◆ The Blame Game

◆ Walls of Confinement

◆ The Christmas Dimension

◆ Blue Boxes

◆ A Home From Home

◆ Taken for Granted

◆ Damascus

◆ Gardeners’ World

◆ The Switching

◆ The Other Woman

◆ Still Life

◆ Pop-Up

◆ Time Tunnel

◆ The Same Face

◆ Sphinx Lightning 

◆ Lost in the Wakefield Triangle

◆ Waiting for Gadot

◆ A True Gentleman 

◆ The Threshold

◆ Crime at the Cinema

◆ Decline of the Ancient Mariner

Books

◆ Dancing the Code

◆ The Eye of the Giant

◆ The Scales of Injustice

◆ Speed of Flight

◆ The Devil Goblins from Neptune

◆ The Face of the Enemy

◆ Catastrophea

◆ The Wages of Sin

◆ Last of the Gaderene

◆ Verdigris

◆ The Quantum Archangel

◆ Rags

◆ Amorality Tale

◆ The Suns of Caresh

◆ Deadly Reunion

◆ Island of Death

[llivo-team]

Exploring BOMBED Countries' Travel Scenes

Introduction

Did you know that short-term rental properties in historically significant regions, including those affected by bombings, often see a 20% boost in tourism interest? Exploring destinations such as Vietnam, Germany, and even contemporary regions like Libya and Syria reveals stories of resilience and renewal. Platforms like Llivo make it easier to plan trips to these places, offering opportunities to connect with hosts and immerse yourself in local culture. Travel isn’t just about visiting pristine landscapes; it’s about understanding history, resilience, and the enduring human spirit. These destinations stand as powerful reminders of renewal, offering travelers unforgettable experiences.

The Impact of Bombings on Tourism and Local Communities

The Challenges of Recovery

When a city or country experiences bombings, the aftermath is often catastrophic. Infrastructure is destroyed, communities are displaced, and economies take years, if not decades, to recover. For many of these places, tourism serves as a beacon of hope, providing an essential boost to rebuilding efforts.

Infrastructure Damage: Many once-thriving tourist hotspots became inaccessible due to destruction.

Economic Loss: The collapse of tourism industries often left local economies in ruins.

Cultural Impact: Bombings often threaten to erase the cultural heritage and identity of affected regions.

Despite these challenges, the resilience of the local people and governments has led to remarkable recoveries in many areas.

Exploring Countries That Overcame Adversity

1. Vietnam

Once devastated by war, Vietnam has transformed into a thriving tourist destination. From the Cu Chi Tunnels near Ho Chi Minh City to the serene beauty of Ha Long Bay, Vietnam’s recovery story is a testament to resilience.

Historical Significance: Explore sites like the War Remnants Museum to gain insight into the country's past.

Modern Appeal: Vietnam now boasts bustling cities, stunning landscapes, and a rich culinary scene.

2. Germany

Bombings during World War II left many German cities in ruins. However, places like Dresden and Berlin have risen from the ashes, blending their historical past with modern innovation.

Rebuilt Beauty: Dresden’s restored architecture, including the Frauenkirche, showcases its commitment to preserving history.

Cultural Revival: Berlin’s vibrant art and music scenes thrive amidst remnants of its war-torn past.

3. Japan

Cities like Hiroshima and Nagasaki are living examples of resilience. While their histories are marked by tragedy, they are now symbols of peace and recovery.

Peace Memorials: The Hiroshima Peace Memorial Park is a poignant reminder of the past and a call for global harmony.

Modern Marvels: Beyond its history, Japan offers cutting-edge technology and serene traditional landscapes.

4. Bosnia and Herzegovina

The Bosnian War of the 1990s left scars across the country, but its cities, like Sarajevo and Mostar, are now thriving tourist hubs.

Cultural Heritage: Visit the Stari Most bridge in Mostar, a symbol of unity and resilience.

Local Hospitality: Experience the warmth of Bosnian hospitality and its rich culinary traditions.

5. Middle East: Libya, Syria, and Gaza

In the contemporary era, parts of the Middle East have endured prolonged conflicts and bombings, yet they remain regions of cultural and historical significance.

Libya: Despite its struggles, Libya boasts stunning archaeological sites like Leptis Magna, a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

Syria: Ancient cities such as Damascus and Aleppo, while deeply impacted, continue to preserve their historical and cultural heritage.

Gaza: Known for its rich history and resilient community, Gaza’s art and local traditions reflect the spirit of its people.

A Personal Reflection: Visiting Hiroshima

During my visit to Hiroshima, I was struck by the profound impact of its history. Walking through the Peace Memorial Park, I felt a deep sense of connection to the people who endured unimaginable hardships. Conversations with locals revealed stories of loss, survival, and hope—reminding me that humanity’s spirit can triumph even in the face of devastation. That journey wasn’t just a trip; it was a transformative experience that changed my perspective on life and resilience.

Why Travel to These Destinations Matters

Traveling to countries that have experienced bombings is not just an exploration of history; it’s a way to support local communities and foster understanding. By visiting these places, travelers contribute to their economies, preserve their cultural legacies, and promote peace through mutual respect and learning.

Llivo’s Role in Facilitating Meaningful Travel

Platforms like Llivo make it easier to plan trips to these destinations while ensuring that travelers connect with hosts who prioritize genuine hospitality. With a focus on human connections and cultural exchange, Llivo helps guests immerse themselves in meaningful experiences that go beyond traditional tourism. Learn more about creating unique travel memories.

Conclusion

The resilience of bombed-out countries and their transformation into thriving travel destinations are testaments to the human spirit. By exploring these places, travelers not only witness incredible stories of recovery but also contribute to preserving their legacies. Whether you’re visiting the historical landmarks of Germany, the serene landscapes of Vietnam, or the heartfelt memorials of Hiroshima, these journeys remind us of our shared humanity and the importance of understanding our past. Ready to plan your meaningful adventure? Start your journey with Llivo today.

Author Bio

Khurram Iqbal Founder of LLIVO, Volunteer Blog Writer for LLIVO | IT Leader | Expert in Consolidation & Modernization | Creative Content Creator | Ideation Specialist | Former Assistant Vice President | Previous Professor of English Language & Literature.

Disclaimer This article provides general information based on personal experiences and publicly available insights. While every effort has been made to ensure accuracy, LLIVO and the author are not responsible for any changes or discrepancies in information. Always verify details relevant to your travel plans before making decisions.

[sohushygrayness]

Project Number 28: Learning to Speak Arabic

Introduction: (Project Number: 35; Project type: Task/Story/Epic/Initiative/Strategy/Goal/Vision; Goal: to learn to speak fluent Arabic).

Planning: (Materials: Duolingo Application; Time: 2 hours; Budget: £0)

Learning: (Research: Duolingo, Wikipedia; Skills: languages).

Execution: (Recently, I was browsing the Wikipedia for 'Mint' which then led me to a page that showcased all the information for Mentha. It was on this page that I found references to Limonana. Although I'll make that drink later today, the combination of the picture which showcased a drink served in Damascus, Syria and the recent attempt to make traditionally Turkish food inspired me to want to learn Arabic. I begin by checking whether DuoLingo offers the language as a course. It does, and I start by learning about pairing letters with their sounds. Arabic is read from right to left which is something that trips me up at first.

Edit: 06/08/2024. I have, to try and support myself in being more empirical in these entries, including a chart which rounds up the time that I've committed to learning Arabic.

Edit: 11/08/2024. Last night I did some lessons on learning the alphabet. I find doing so beneficial because then I am not just pairing sounds against symbols but rather trying to improve my understanding of the script. Last night's lesson focussed on short and long vowels. I was relatively comfortable with long vowels but learning how to accent correctly for shorter vowels I found to be beneficial.

Edit: 21/08/2024. One of the nicest things about learning Arabic is learning a new script. English uses the Latin script so when you're learning a new language, such as French or Spanish, you find yourself vaguely familiar with the script. In Arabic, you have to learn new letters altogether. I find that being bad at something inspires me to want to be better. I'm quite stubborn in that respect. So lately I've found myself checking the leaderboards on DuoLingo more often than I should to see where I am.

Friday, 23 August 2024. Today I have been largely focused on practicing letters rather than words. I’m becoming more confident identifying the difference between the symbols for dh, j, k and z. One key component of Arabic that I like is that is that vowels such as aa have their own symbol, and then when it’s a single vowel, it’s accented instead. I’m also finding though that learning the Arabic script is half the challenge, the other challenge is learning to write the letter in a way that does justice to how it should be written. Especially letters like K.

Saturday, 24 August 2024. Today I have been focussing on trying to get my head around the order of words in Arabic. I know that it’s written from right to left and in Duolingo it shows as verb then noun, e.g. cold house. However, when it comes to the mini quizzes, I have to do noun then verb. So even though it’s still technically cold house, I need to write it as house cold. I’m also struggling to remember Arabic words. I think I rushed past that section when I should have been paying attention so now, I’m catching up.

Sunday, 25 August 2024. No update today due to sickness

Monday, 26 August 2024. Today I have spent more time on learning Swedish through Duolingo rather than on Arabic. I’m a huge fan of the Nordic countries and Swedish is a language I’m already familiar with. Well, I’m familiar with the Latin script as we all are in Western Europe, but I also know a few words. Given the familiarity, I’m able to speed through the first 3 units and I’m currently top of the leaderboard on Duolingo. A few words are reminiscent of synonyms, such as an alternative word for Dog is the Swedish word Hund. I like that.

Tuesday, 27 August 2024. Today I have once again been focussed on learning Swedish. I’m currently working my way through the section that covers ‘talk about food and drink’. I feel like I have a generally good grasp on the basics here, varm pizza, kall sallad, etc. Later this evening I’ll do a little bit more letter practice with learning Arabic as I have slacked with it over the past few days. I think my antimotivation is coming as Swedish is simpler for me to understand which makes me feel more at home with the language as I work through.

Reflection: (Outcome: successful completion of 5 lessons; Lessons: that Arabic is written from right to left and that the script has taken a lot of practice on my part.

Edit: Thus far it's been a rewarding experience learning Arabic and now learning Swedish. I think that Arabic is tougher than Swedish at this point in time. Largely because you have to learn an entirely new alphabet. So, whilst you're learning about different letters you're also learning how to pronounce them and the rules that govern their use).

[nonsubstantial]

2023 Book Log (part 3/3)

++++October++++

Mort (discworld 4) by Terry Pratchett ~ Adventures in the Discworld continue!!!! I still haven't been completely captivated by any book in this series yet, but they're never too disappointing either. It's just reliably fun sci-fi fantasy. ~ my rating: 7/10

++++November++++

Witch King by Martha Wells ~ This book was kind of like solving a puzzle. You're suddenly dropped into this fantasy world, and every character there understands what's going on, but you as a reader are just staring at all these pieces and trying to put them together until you get a picture of the book's setting. That aspect of discovery and worldbuilding worked well for me, but I didn't feel like it was properly coupled with down to earth character moments. In other words, the world was interesting but the characters were not, in my opinion. I think I liked the way that the narrative swapped between the past and present, but it's also worth noting that I felt like the past story was not as strong as the present one, and I sometimes felt like the chapters were too short and it swapped between them too soon. Anyway, I had fun, so if Wells writes in this world again I will probably read it. ~ my rating: 8/10

Our Wives Under The Sea by Julia Armfield ~ This book is about 1/3rd horror story, and 2/3rds tragedy about coping with death. It is a concise and beautiful attempt at expressing something very difficult. Though it was a heartbreaking and terrifying journey, it also ended with a celebration of love, and a little cosmic horror to boot. I don't know how many times I've read short fiction online about "the horrors of the deep", and felt like those stories were missing something. Well, while it may not incorporate EVERYTHING I'd like, this book still manages to feel like nice mosaic made up of many of those great short form ideas. Two well rounded characters, and their relationship, form the glue that holds all those ideas together. I highly recommend this one, for many reasons. ~ my rating: 9/10

Shards of Honor (vorkosigan saga 1) by Lois McMaster Bujold ~ I enjoyed this book immensely at first, and upon finishing it I still have to admit that Bujold is extremely skilled at writing drama that is both exciting and easy to understand. She had no scruples about letting major plot events happen off screen, for the benefit of only focusing on what, I'm sure she believed, were the most exciting parts of her story. However, I might need additional convincing to continue this series because this book comes across as very conservative and problematic by my standards. I get that it was published in 1986, but even for its time I felt like there were a few unexpected trip-ups that make it difficult to enjoy today (the main characters referring to 'fetuses' as 'people' raised some serious red flags, for instance). I know it's a sci fi staple, and I have friends who still like it, but I'm willing to bet that there are some other books out there that I'll enjoy more. ~ my rating: 5/10 Camp Damascus by Chuck Tingle ~ I love Chuck Tingle's spirit and all the ideas that he crammed into this novel. I didn't find his writing entirely believable, and there were a lot of events that didn't feel earned, in my opinion, but I did like it overall and I felt like the second half of the novel was stronger than the first. That's probably because I have an aversion to stories based around amnesia (which was a big reason why the first half was losing me), and I thought that Saul was an interesting foil to Rose, so my interest spiked after he was introduced (in the second half). In the end, despite the story kind of feeling like a stream of consciousness rather than a well sewn together narrative, I still think that Tingle's good ideas carried it a long way and I actually had a lot of fun with it. ~ my rating: 7/10

This is How You Lose the Time War by Amal El-Mohtar and Max Gladstone ~ Honestly, this book lacked even a modicum of substance, and the only emotion that it managed to stir in me was bitter disappointment. I wrote several paragraphs (on goodreads) about why exactly I hate it, but even they fail to do justice to just how worthless and frustrating the experience of reading this book was, on every level. Congratulations, worst book of the year. ~ my rating: 1/10

System Collapse (the murderbot diaries #7) by Martha Wells ~ I love Murderbot!!!! ٩(๑❛ᴗ❛๑)۶ The conflicts in this series are always so cathartic to read about. As always, Murderbot is extremely relatable and groundbreaking as a character. I really need more authors like Martha Wells, who can write good neurodiverse characters outside of the gender binary (bonus: even neopronouns were featured in this book). This did not disappoint. ~ my rating: 9/10

++++December++++

README.txt by Chelsea Manning ~ It's unbelievable to me that this book hasn't picked up more of a focus in the American cultural psyche. I've been casually interested in Chelsea Manning's story since highschool, and this book is a stunningly well written and levelheaded account of what Manning (hopefully) believes are the most crucial parts of her singular life narrative. I feel like Manning's story has got to be one of the most important stories about American identity, propaganda, and foreign policy, of the last three decades. Also, Manning did a great job narrating the audiobook. I feel like I should recommend this to everyone I know. ~ my rating: 10/10

[gwydionmisha]

Personal: In Which I Accidentally Freak Out a Guy

Sunday was a trip to the Lake with Millennials. No rich children stole my crutch this time. We had a really good swim, but the current was above average strong and at some point I was like, "Oh shit! There's the swim bouy! We are in the middle of the boat lanes. We swam back. It was fine. They put in an outdoor shower this year, which is a huge help. After we showered we ate finger foods and chatted.

I stopped by the bathrooms on the way to my car and OMG! It was one of those things where there was a perfectly logical explanation from the perspective of the three of us already in the bathroom, but like opening a door into chaos for the other two people involved.

This bathroom is tiny. Three stalls on your left. Across from that a big metal communal urinal. The sink and mirror give an excellent view of the door and also a small bench they jammed in against the door wall. It's almost 6:30PM on a crowded hot weekend. it's a couple hours before sunset, so the park is less crowded than when we arrived 4ish, but people are still arriving and the bathroom is Trashed. The little beach strip is more mud then sand and people have been tracking water and black mud/sand in there for about ten hours and there is tp paper mache all over the ground and the toilets desperately need cleaning.

So I step out of the stall, just as a person is heading to the nasty ass urinal trench thing. Another guy is climbing up on the bench to change, because he understandably doesn't want to be barefoot on that floor and then put on shoes to drive home. Bench guy is soon full on pooh bear over my right shoulder as i wash my hands, which takes a while because the water keeps auto shutting off, so I have to stop and restart every few seconds. Perfectly framed over my left shoulder is the door, which swings open.

It's two gentlemen, one of whom beelines for the urinal. The other freezes in horror and starts yelling, "Wrong bathroom! Wrong bathroom!" I have very long hair. I am wearing a mask because I'm in a small, poorly ventilated place. I have on a black tee and my trunks look like goth shorts. My sandals are of an ubiquitous style worn my any gender in my region in good weather. I'm very androgynous. I think it was my hair causing the initial panic, but his head turned to follow his friend's trajectory to the 2-3 person piss trench and he saw bench guy crouched pantsless behind me like a downhill skier doing the streak, as if he was possibly about to pounce on my back, and his cries of wrong bathroom got a lot more shrill. In my head I'm picturing the Guy in Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas who walks in on hippies liking a guy's jacket. His oblivious friend is doing his business, the other guy is about to leave. I turn and head towards the poor panicky guy and am like: It's the right bathroom. I have long hair.

We have accidentally traumatized a guy who was clearly not ready for the PNW weird.

A couple millennials came back for dinner. Once we arrived, I realized just how fucked I was. I'd swum too long and my arms were DONE. Luckily, I'd dropped off New Millennial to get their car and a take 'n bake, so I could just lung and rest up. They ended up staying very late talking. I closed down the apartment for the night and went to bed.

I could have gotten up ninish, but I decided to read Camp Damascus in between pettins and supplemental sleep all day, which turned out to be a good call. I have this thing where I promise the Millennials that if they are ever stranded at one of the further bits of town they can call me and if I physically can, I will come get them. Bus service is even shittier out there and there's a severe lack of shelters to wait in. It was pouring down at a rate that was threatening to flood low lying areas. A Millennial was trapped at the back of beyond with a long drenching slog to the bus. Of course I went, but it turned into a a much longer trip than intended for reasons that were no one's fault. I got them home and reasonably dry though, and I'm not sorry.

It did eat and extra chunk of evening though, and I'm really chewed up from swimming. I am very glad I got the aggregate out Friday, because I'm not up to much posting this evening.

We plan to do lake swimming on Sundays all August, which will effect posting schedule.

[muses-sirens-editors]

When I first read this, I thought you wrote "...how to be forged." And so, I started writing:

If you want to be not only strong, but attractive, might I suggest a Damascus style forging?

As you can see, the patterns left after repeated folding and beating/ shaping are delightful. You could appear like that! You will want to start yourself as a billet, with the proper alloy content for your intended purpose. Your new shape will not resemble your old shape at all. Your original shape will be forgotten. So this could work. People will easily see the many facets or aspects of who you are. However, if you wanted, you could also leave a piece of your original self behind, to visit whenever the mood struck you, to see how far you've come, how you've changed. The problem is you can't easily go back, anymore than a butterfly can go back to being a caterpillar. I've never encountered a forging wanting to go back to being billet, though. Yikes! I see now that I was mistaken in the above thought. True forgetting is very difficult, if not impossible. Short term, distracting yourself sometimes works. Road trips are good for that. So is seeking out someone who really needs help. It works best if they have no way to repay the favor. It's even better if you can be completely anonymous. I was at a funeral several years ago. The minister pointed out that the saying "Time heals all wounds" is not even close to true. A loss will always leave us somewhat, somehow, incomplete. Much has been written about this. The best analogy I've heard is that of a large cloth that has been torn. It can be mended, but the tear always remains a part of the fabric. What time DOES allow us to do is mend in a way that recognizes the tear, but not allow ourselves to be diminished by the damage of it. And so, this is what I will pray for you. Because this, too, is a good way to help forget.

I’m a quick study if someone is willing.

.

.

[incorrectbigfinishquotes]

Oh, Jeremy Corbyn!

The Third Doctor, Damascus

[sitp-recs]

SilentAuror Recs

After posting my rec for War Wounds and reminiscing with @romaine2424, I decided to do a short reclist to celebrate SilentAuror. Her fics were uploaded on AO3 last year and for those who would like to check older classics, I can’t imagine a better place to start - SA’s catalogue has almost 80 pre-2010 Drarry fics, mostly Mature and Explicit works, exploring all kinds of tropes. Some common themes are spy or redeemed Draco, Harry’s bi awakening and internalized homophobia, war angst and post-war case fic / get together. It’s fascinating to read her take on Drarry and recognize all the similarities and differences compared to new fics in terms of tropes, characterization and world building. I’ve listed below my 12 favorites but I highly recommend going through all that juicy catalogue. Enjoy!

In the Middle of Nowhere (E, 2.5k) - I couldn’t leave a road trip fic out of this list, especially when it comes with scorching watersports! Short but very hot, tender and sweetly intimate 💦

Road trips through rural America get dull pretty quickly... Warning!! This fic contains WS!!

Graffiti and Insomnia (E, 4k) - love myself some good inappropriate sexting at work, the bathroom graffiti idea is so clever and despite being a short PWP this has delightful banter and top notch characterization.

Harry can't seem to sleep these days. Perhaps it's the boredom of his office job, but all that changes with a bit of graffiti in the office bathroom one day.

Want (M, 4.5k) - sexy clubbing fic, baby! I love this take on “Slytherin orgies are better, let’s join them” and oof my heart skipped a beat watching bad boy Draco seducing a shy Harry on the dance floor, public sex ftw 🔥 scorching chemistry and some Draco/Blaise teasing, win/win for me!

Everyone knew the Slytherins went out on Friday nights, but Harry never used to be jealous...

In the Dark/The Trap (M, 8k) - grim and tense, this quiet fic follows Drarry getting stuck in a sinister house and falling together like there’s no tomorrow. Great h/c vibes

Due to a Misapparition in the middle of the war, Harry wakes to find himself stranded somewhere with a concussion, Malfoy, and no way out.

Old City Jasmine (E, 8k) - bodyguard Draco being a badass on the job and quietly pining for Harry is everything I need. Perfect mix of electric ust and a very gentle slow burn. The gorgeous Damascus aesthetics make this fic even more special, I’m itching to write another rec!

Harry is woken suddenly one night when Death Eaters break into his flat and is whisked away to Damascus and the wonder of the ancient world.

Spinner's End (E, 18k) - one of my favourite war fics, I can’t believe how much world building and character SA packed under 20k. I’m so charmed by young and clumsy Draco and Harry navigating their feelings while stuck in Snape’s old house, which becomes a comforting refuge for them during the war. The soft ending with their friends warms my heart every time.

The war is in full swing when Harry is forced to spend an unexpected stint in Spinner's End.

Portrait of a Headmaster (E, 20k) - catch me drooling over these two daddies going from enemies to lovers while working in forced proximity to save Hogwarts. I love the unusual premise of Headmaster Draco, and the adult horny tension between them is *chef’s kiss*

When Death Eaters find their way into the Hogwarts portrait collection, the Headmaster is forced to work with the Head Auror to find a way to protect the castle, including their own children.

Agnus Dei (M, 20k) - perfect friends to lovers Auror fic where Harry and Draco decide to join a church choir out of boredom. Um yes please??? Love love love their close friendship and easy intimacy, this is a perfect bedtime read!

Post-Hogwarts. Mystery abounds in the Auror Department, and two of the Aurors find themselves experiencing a friendship more intense than it should be.

Glamour (E, 22k) - classic gender-bending fic with straight Harry falling for female Draco first, and eventually coming to terms with his sexuality. Featuring the drama of awkward transformations mid-sex and sweet pining Draco handling a frustrating Harry in denial, here’s the sinfully hot porn we deserve!

Post-war: Harry is given an assignment: to assist Draco Malfoy as he carries out a month-long disguise that turns out to reveal more than it hides in the end. Warnings: EWE, gender-bending.

War Wounds (E, 30k) - a cathartic post-war fic with Harry and Draco bonding over shared trauma and going from friends to lovers in a quite organic way. Feat. confused bi Harry going through a sexuality crisis, seductive yet vulnerable Draco and a beautiful get together, sexy and intimate. Warnings below.

Some wounds take longer to recover from than others. HP/DM, with background HP/GW. Themes of alcoholism, love triangles, and dubious fidelity.

Allegiance and Sedition (E, 99k) - double agent Draco and jaded Harry get lonely and horny at the safe house and go from casual fuck buddies to lovers. This is raw, angsty and complicated and I love it. Lots of rough sex, confusing feels and a great character arc, be warned for a few character deaths though :(

The war is in its fifth year, and Harry finds himself caught up in the confusion of friend versus enemy, spy versus traitor. cw: MCD (not Harry or Draco)

Walking the Line (E, 179k) - possibly SA’s most popular fic, this classic shows spy Draco falling in love while on bodyguard duty and giving his all to protect Harry during the war. An epic romance featuring a decent amount of epistolary identity porn, gorgeous character development and a tense, intriguing Horcrux hunt as a treat!

Sixth year is over and Draco Malfoy is on the run. The war is on and an unwanted assignment is forced upon him by the only people he trusts - and a one-time arch-enemy just may be out to kill him.

[witches-and-devils]

Kinktober Day Seven, Sex Toys

Hey, warning! Smut under here with sex toys, monster fucking, face fucking, and (implied?) orgasm denial. Enjoy!

    It had been a lovely day. Ace had finally managed to clean the entirety of their hideout, did some work on the garden, practiced, and now he was happily drying his hair as he pulled it out of the sink with a low hum. No distractions, no problems that needed to be solved. Just a simple day where he’d been allowed to catch up on all the things he’d been dying to get done. And the best part? The entire time, he’d been playing a little game with Damascus.

    It was simple, really. He’d happened to stop by a sex shop during his last trip into town and picked himself up a few things, and now the pair were wandering about the house as if nothing was going on. Aside from the times that Damascus would activate the vibrator attached to the tip of Ace’s cock. At first, the Demon had wanted to try them out in a more public space, but he’d managed to convince him otherwise with the offer of being able to pin him down to a nearby surface at any point without the worry about getting fucked over by someone spotting them.

    Ace had also picked up a cock ring, which Damascus had been wearing for a while now as he watched the redhead move about his day. The first time he’d turned it on, the Witch had been in the middle of trying to clean one of the windows. He’d nearly fallen over from the sudden burst of pleasure that shot through his hips, only to groan and yell at the man when it ended a few short seconds later.

    That was how it had gone for the majority of the day, but now? Now Ace had nothing to do. Rolling up the gigantic sleeves of the Demon’s shirt he’d chosen to wear so his movements weren’t as restricted in his tight pants, he turned and wandered over to the living room where he had last left his Familiar.

    “Damascus?” The man grunted as Ace rounded the couch, snickering at the sight before him. The larger man was slowly dragging his hand up and down his leaking cock, sweat on the side of his face as he stared up at the redhead. “I’m done,” he hummed quietly, climbing onto the couch only to grasp onto the ring around Damascus’s member and teasingly turning it around. How many times had he removed it just to cum? He was practically purring at the idea of the man red-faced as he imagined pounding away into Ace instead of fucking into his hand just for a little bit of relief. What if-

    With a sudden click from the remote in Damascus’s free hand, the vibrator on Ace was buzzing to life once again. He screamed from the sudden stimulation, falling back against the couch as his hips bucked up into the air. “D-D-!” He felt the large man shift, then the Demon’s cock was down his throat with his hands in that thick red hair as he forced his head back and forth. He wasn’t even speaking, animalistic growls escaping the Familiar as he used Ace’s head like a fleshlight. The Witch’s eyes glazed over, seeing spots in his fuzzy vision as he felt the intensity of the vibrator go up a few notches. The pain on his scalp was only helping him as he gradually leaned into it. His nose was brushing the cock ring before Damascus released with a frustrated groan.

    “Fuck this,” he declared, ripping the ring off as his member leaked precum down onto Ace’s cheek.

    “Oh thank God- Please, Damascus, please-” Now it was the Witch’s turn, wrapping his mouth around Damascus’s cock as he bobbed his head up and down the large shaft. He moaned, his gaze going cross-eyed when he felt a sharp snap in his stomach. He came hard, the entire game of teasing finally ending with one final push. He slipped his mouth off the Demon’s hardened member with a loud ‘pop’, falling back as all of his limbs turned to jello. He laid back against the couch, exhausted as he hungrily watched Damascus stroke his dick until coming onto the redhead’s face with a satisfied roar.

    He’d have to remember to pick up some more toys when he next left.

[commander-diomika]

Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde Rating: Gen Word Count: ~2000 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Rating Will Change to Explicit in Later Parts, Opposites Attract, just two people trying to figure out how to keep the peace with each other and very occasionally succeeding

Summary: Part 2 is here, set several months after Part 1 in a Damascus safehouse. (here's Part One)

"There was another Sending from Curie’s people.” From a side-table awash with documents, Zolf fetched a piece of paper. “New workin’ theory on London, some kind of disease, rather than mind control."

Wilde frowned. “Oh, that’s much worse. Mind control magic at least implies some kind of central power system, a culprit to be fought. If it’s an illness… it might just be chaotic, undirected spread.” Wilde's eyes were shrewd. This was the Wilde that Zolf actually liked working with.

“The message doesn’t sound certain. Just a theory.” Zolf pointed out. He settled back. The couch was a threadbare number but it was comfortable enough, and this wasn’t the first evening they’d spent sitting here discussing plans and directions.

The two of them couldn’t have gotten the hell out of Cairo at a better time. Two weeks after Zolf and Wilde made their quiet exit from the Meritocrats, Aphophis disappeared, taking with him the last few loyal agents. In the ensuing chaos, Wilde pulled some strings and… appropriated significant funding for the next phase. Enough to rent a modest base of operation in Damascus, where they had been for the past few months.

Zolf wasn’t quite sure how Wilde made it all happen so smoothly. At the time he’d just thought Wilde got lucky. Though having worked together for just a few months, he was tempted to say Wilde got lucky a lot… Or perhaps he was just very good at making it seem that way.

“Ho, Wilde,” Zolf called from the kitchen, as he heard Wilde enter the townhouse.

His companion entered the adjoining sitting room, dressed almost-sensibly for the heat in a cream linen suit, a satchel slung over his shoulder.

“What you got there?” Zolf called. He had been chopping vegetables for the evening meal but seeing that Wilde looked flush with success, Zolf put the knife down and wiped off his hands as he went to join him.

His step faltered as he realised that Wilde, once again, was not alone. With him was the man Zolf couldn’t help but think of as “the interloper”.

Alfred Douglas stood just a few inches shorter than Wilde, similarly dark haired and dashing, as he followed Wilde into the sitting room and greeted Zolf with a winning smile. “Hello, Mr Smith.” Wilde had once said that he chose his friends for their good looks, and to look at Alfred, Zolf would begrudgingly agree.

Zolf had met this newcomer just a few days ago. Returning from a fruitless trip to Turkey, he was shocked to find another person at the safehouse; an old friend, Wilde said. When pressed for details, Wilde had first deflected, demurred, and then dug his heels in. It had gotten ugly.

Not wanting to repeat the fight, Zolf just nodded tightly. “Douglas.”

“Oh please, I’ve been telling you, you can call me Bosie.” Zolf, basically immune to affected charm, ignored him and repeated his question to Wilde. “What’s in the bag, Wilde?”

“Books!” Wilde replied, pointedly ignoring the pair’s less-than-warm interaction.

One by one he produced several tomes from the leather satchel with a flourish, revealing each as if waiting for applause before placing them on the low wooden table. A History of Dwarven Achievements; Svalbard, a Japanese travel guide, and one more sizeable volume. Zolf couldn’t immediately understand the title, but he could see that it was written in Dwarvish. That last one gave a small puff of dust as Wilde gently ran his fingers through the pages before adding it to the pile.

“Bosie was such a help, weren’t you dear, I would never have found that last little merchant alone. I swear we went down so many side alleys it was like a maze!” Wilde’s voice was honeyed and light again. It made Zolf feel itchy and irritable. In the months they’d been in Damascus, he’d almost gotten Wilde to just act like a normal bloody person when it was just the two of them, instead of some conversational artiste looking to make a spectacle of every interaction. Two days in the interloper’s company and he was back to the same smarmy, dunkable cad Zolf had met in London.

“The Svalbard one wasn’t exactly easy to get our hands on, either. It’s not like anyone is doing transfers from The London Library anymore.” Wilde reported as he speedily shed jacket, hat and shoes, then plopped down on the settee. Still looking overly pleased with himself, he patted the seat next to him, inviting Bosie to sit. He did so.

“How did you go with your leads?” Wilde asked, still slightly breathless from the performance he made of unveiling the books.

Zolf’s lips pursed, and he considered not answering. Even though Wilde was probably telling him everything in the long hours they spent sequestered in Wilde’s room, it still felt wrong to discuss business with Douglas here. Since he’d arrived on the scene he’d been nothing but disarming smiles and quiet interest but…

Maybe I’m just bein’ paranoid, Zolf said to himself. It was immediately followed with another thought, unbidden and unwelcome. More like bein’ jealous.

That couldn’t possibly be the case, so Zolf opened his mouth and started speaking. “I went askin’ after our initial contact with the Hephaestus lot. You know, the one that sent me on that bloody wild goose chase?” Zolf’s recent trip to Ankara had been based on that lead. He’d been looking for Garten, with no success.

“Turns out she’s not keen on explaining to me why her lead was a blumin’ fake, and the rest of ‘em have closed up ranks.” Finding something to do that didn’t involve looking at either of them, Zolf picked up Wilde’s hat off the table and hung it on the hook by the door. “Also, it looks like the whole Cult is gettin’ ready to move, if I’m honest. A lot less folks workin’ and a lot more packin’ up than I saw last I wer’ there.” He picked up Wilde’s shoes and put them by the door.

“Yes, actually, I noticed something similar at the Artemisian temples the other day,” Douglas said thoughtfully.

Zolf glared at him. Who did he think he was?

As far as Zolf was concerned, the man’s only saving grace was that his sudden reappearance in Wilde’s life made him happy. Pleasant or positive things had been in short supply, and Zolf wasn’t a monster. But Douglas had been tottering about on thin ice since the moment he arrived, and his comments were only salting the surface.

Wilde’s eyes tracked between the two of them, and with a melodramatic sigh he said, “Perhaps you ought to head off, my dear.” He threw Zolf a glance that said there, are you happy now?

“Yeh, I’ve got some things to discuss with Wilde. In private.” Zolf added, eyebrows brewing up a thunderstorm.

Bosie tilted his head, an expression of mock-hurt on his face. It was an expression Wilde made often and Zolf did his best not to explode. These two were as bad as each other and getting worse.

Wilde made an apologetic shooing motion with his hands, and Douglas did as he was bid. He gathered his hat with a reproachful look at Zolf, and gave Wilde a peck on the cheek before leaving. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Oscar.”

Wilde walked Douglas out and returned to the settee, sitting with an exasperated sigh.

It had been getting better between them, heroes with their backs against the wall that they were. It had been. For all that Wilde was insufferable when he got on his airs about “need-to-know information” and couldn’t cook and was constantly preening as though any of that even mattered… But for all the myriad of ways he got up Zolf’s nose, he was also talented. Adept at making and keeping contacts. Able to talk his way into places Zolf couldn’t even get a foot into. An incredible mind for language, information, and planning. He was useful to have around, and for that Zolf was trying his best to extend a bit of graciousness.

And for all Wilde was frustrating company, at least he was someone. Wilde had been dead right, back in Cairo. It was nice to not be alone.

A mulish expression settled on Wilde’s face. It was obvious he was getting ready to jump straight back into the argument about Douglas, but Zolf wasn’t in the mood to rehash the same angry words.

you need to trust me, Zolf

you ain’t supposed to hide things from me anymore

we’re supposed to be partners

it’s none of your business

I thought you were more careful than this

With all the tact of a glaive to the face, Zolf changed the subject.

“There was another Sending from Curie’s people.” From a side-table awash with documents, Zolf fetched a piece of paper. “New workin’ theory on London, some kind of disease, rather than mind control. But it is affectin’ paladins, so it’s not any kind of disease we’ve dealt with before.”

Wilde frowned. “Oh, that’s much worse. Mind control magic at least implies some kind of central power system, a culprit to be fought. If it’s an illness… it might just be chaotic, undirected spread.” As though a spell had been lifted, as soon as Douglas left the room, Wilde turned into a different person, sharp and incisive.

Zolf nodded in grim approval of Wilde’s assessment, moving to sit down next to him.

“She also reckons we start treatin’ it like something communicable. Isolatin’ when we’ve not been able to keep an eye on each other, so on.”

“Well, that’s not very practical for us, now is it. We don’t have the kind of operation Curie does, with the people and resources to run proper quarantine.” Wilde said, eyes shrewd. This was the Wilde that Zolf actually liked working with. “We split up all the time.”

“The message doesn’t sound certain. Just a theory.” Zolf pointed out. He settled back. The couch was a threadbare number but it was comfortable enough, and this wasn’t the first evening they’d spent sitting here discussing plans and directions.

“Still, a theory from one of the sharpest minds left on the planet. Worth giving credence to. Maybe we need to look at bringing a few more people on board.” Wilde paused, thoughtful. “How would you feel about working with James Barnes?”

Zolf cocked his head, unable to place the name for a moment. “Commander James Barnes?”

“The very same.”

Zolf’s jaw worked as he started several different sentences then abandoned them. “I mean, he’s in the Navy, ain’t he? Last I checked, that’s still under Meritocratic order.”

“Perhaps he won’t be with them for much longer.” Wilde said mysteriously. Zolf nearly called him on it. Fighting about the sudden inclusion of Douglas in their affairs, Zolf had pushed Wilde hard on his habit of half-truths and leading statements. He hadn’t gotten anywhere with it. He was starting to think Wilde might be just an incorrigible equivocator, and there was nothing to be done about it.

So Zolf simply grunted.

“So that’s a solid maybe on Barnes,” Wilde grinned. “Besides, we’ll be fine for the moment. I won’t go running off and recruiting anyone new, because now we’ve got Bosie.”

Zolf took a slow breath at this topic change. He gentled the first angry words that came to mind, and spoke. “Wilde… I know you trust him. I know you two have a long history. But in light of this-” Zolf tapped the transcribed Sending. “-I don’t know how I feel about you bringing him in on… everything.” It lay on the table next to the satchel.

“Oh, that reminds me!” Wilde said smoothly, grabbing the bag and reaching inside. “I managed to pick up one more thing.”

From the satchel he produced a much smaller item, a banged-up paperback with a bright cover.

“Ohhh it’s the second Hearts of Fire!” Zolf exclaimed. He knew a misdirect when he saw one but couldn’t contain himself. “Those are so hard to get!” He took the book-shaped olive branch from Wilde quickly, already opening to page one.

“I knew I shouldn’t have given it to you until you’d at least had a look at the Svalbard books,” Wilde teased.

Zolf considered Wilde over the top of the book for a long moment. Wilde wasn’t off the hook. Neither of them were. They would have to come back to this jagged mess of a conversation at some point, but for now, Zolf chose peace. Of a sort.

“Look, the quicker I’m done with it, the quicker you can have it. Don’t pretend like you haven’t read my Campbells. I’m not the one dog-earin’ the pages. I thought you were sposed to be a man of culture.”

“Oh, stop hounding me about it, Zolf,” Wilde said, picking up Dwarven Achievements and relaxing gratefully back into the couch. Zolf was already so engrossed he didn’t even groan.

[lucascecil]

Terceiro Doutor - Projeto: Caixa Azul

TV Stories

◆ Spearhead from Space

◆ The Silurians

◆ The Ambassadors of Death

◆ Inferno

◆ Terror of the Autons

◆ The Mind of Evil

◆ The Claws of Axos

◆ Colony in Space

◆ The Daemons

◆ Day of the Daleks

◆ The Curse of Peladon

◆ The Sea Devils

◆ The Mutants

◆ The Time Monster

◆ The Three Doctors

◆ Carnival of Monsters

◆ Frontier in Space

◆ Planet of the Daleks

◆ The Green Death

◆ The Time Warrior

◆ Invasion of the Dinosaurs

◆ Death to the Daleks!

◆ The Monster of Peladon

◆ Planet of Spiders

Audio Adventures

- 3rd Doctor Adventures & Audio Novels

◆ Scourge of the Cybermen

◆ Prisoners of the Lake

◆ The Havoc of Empires

◆ The Transcendence of Ephros

◆ The Hidden Realm

◆ The Conquest of Far

◆ Storm of the Horofax

◆ The Rise of the New Humans

◆ The Tyrants of Logic

◆ Primord

◆ The Scream of Ghosts

◆ Poison of the Daleks

◆ Operation: Hellfire

◆ The Unzal Incursion

◆ The Gulf

◆ Conspiracy in Space

◆ The Devil's Hoofprints

◆ The Annihiltors

◆ Kaleidoscope

◆ Supernature

◆ The Conservitors

◆ The Iron Shore

- The Companion Chronicles

◆ Old Soldiers

◆ Shadow of the Past

◆ The Last Post

◆ Binary

◆ The Blue Tooth

◆ The Rings of Ikiria

◆ The Sentinels of the New Dawn

◆ The Doll of Death

◆ The Magician’s Oath

◆ Tales from the Vault

◆ Find and Replace

◆ The Mists of Time

◆ The Scorchies

◆ The Many Deaths of Jo Grant

◆ Ghost in the Machine

◆ The Three Companions

- The Lost Stories

◆ The Mega

- Classic Doctor, New Monsters

◆ The House That Hoxx Built

- Short Trips

◆ Landbound

◆ The Blame Game

◆ Walls of Confinement

◆ The Christmas Dimension

◆ Blue Boxes

◆ A Home From Home

◆ Taken for Granted

◆ Damascus

◆ Gardeners’ World

◆ The Switching

◆ The Other Woman

◆ Still Life

◆ Pop-Up

◆ Time Tunnel

◆ The Same Face

◆ Sphinx Lightning 

◆ Lost in the Wakefield Triangle

◆ Waiting for Gadot

◆ A True Gentleman 

◆ The Threshold

◆ Crime at the Cinema

◆ Decline of the Ancient Mariner

Books

◆ Dancing the Code

◆ The Eye of the Giant

◆ The Scales of Injustice

◆ Speed of Flight

◆ The Devil Goblins from Neptune

◆ The Face of the Enemy

◆ Catastrophea

◆ The Wages of Sin

◆ Last of the Gaderene

◆ Verdigris

◆ The Quantum Archangel

◆ Rags

◆ Amorality Tale

◆ The Suns of Caresh

◆ Deadly Reunion

◆ Island of Death

[basicsofislam]

PROPHET MUHAMMAD (PBUH)’s BIOGRAPHY : The Damascus Trip and Priest Bahira.Part2

The food had been eaten and people were starting to get up and leave. What if he also left without speaking? There had to be a way to speak to him, he had to verify what he had seen through conversing with him. At last he found an opportunity to address him:

“O you young man,” he said and added: “I will ask you a few questions. You will answer what I ask only in the name of Lat and Uzza.”

But the Pride of Humankind had been disturbed by the names that had been spoken and said: “Do not ask me in the name of Lat and Uzza. I swear by Allah that I feel anger towards them like I feel towards no other thing.”

Bahira knew that the Quraysh swore by these two idols and he wanted to gage the reaction of the Pride of Humankind concerning idol worship, and he had got what he wanted. For the priest, all signs were supporting each other and he was now sure more than before. He was aware of the uniqueness of the person he was in the presence of.

“Then promise me only in the Name of Allah and answer what I ask you,” said Bahira, thus preparing the ground for his questions. The answer he received relieved Bahira further: “Ask whatever you like.”

Bahira asked Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him, about the manner of all things, from his sleep and dreams to his everyday life, and to his hopes. Bahira was asking and the Pride of Humankind was answering with ease. Everything was very clear; all was as described in the books that he read. The conversation was completed and all signs pointed to the fact that the interlocutor was him. All that remained was the mark of Prophethood. He asked to see it as well. However, the Pride of Humankind thought it unseemly to bare his shoulders without enquiring about the reason. Seeing that there was no way round, Bahira whispered in his ear. The Pride of Humanity did not keep the curious old man waiting any longer. Just as Bahira had given up hope of seeing him, he had been given the good grace of his presence so close to him, and Bahira was thanking his Lord for this good fortune. There was no room for hesitation any longer. Bahira had one more historical duty to perform and so he turned to the uncle, Abu Talib and asked: “What relation are you to this child?”

Among Arabs when there was no father, an uncle or grandfather would take the place of the father, and so Abu Talib introduced himself by saying: “I am his father.”

Bahira, who had till that time found everything in keeping with his expectations, was startled by this unexpected answer from Abu Talib. He hesitated for a while and he started to shake his head from side to side in agitation. His demeanor seemed to say “No, this can’t be!” For according to his knowledge, the father of this child should have died before he came to the world. Bahira said: “No, you can’t be the father of this child. The father of this child cannot be living today. He must have died before he was born.”

It was through being his guardian that Abu Talib had given that answer. It was thus time for Abu Talib to tell the truth: “He is my brother’s son,” he said in all seriousness. Although Abu Talib was becoming wary of this questioning, Bahira kept asking: “What does his father do?”

Abu Talib gave a short answer: “He died when the boy’s mother was pregnant with him.”

This was as it should be. For Bahira, the comparison that he was trying to make with the truncated historical knowledge continued and he said: “Now you have said the truth.”

He then took Abu Talib to one side and said to him, in a very grave manner: “You and your brother’s son should return to where you came from, to your own land. You should be careful about this boy when it comes to the jealous clergy around here. I swear by Allah that if they also see what I see in him, and if they recognize him through his characteristics, they will do some harm to the boy, for there will be a great event concerning your brother’s son. Just take care and return where you came from with great haste.”

The priest spoke with years of experience, and taking his advice, Abu Talib was also reminded about his father’s testament about the boy and so decided to return home before anything happened to him. He sold the wares he had brought with him to Basra, and then taking his nephew’s hand, he returned to Mecca.

[spiltscribbles]

Any chance you could give us some Arabic speaking Remus headcanons? Loved your latest fic ❤️ 📚

OMFG gorgeous sugarplum! I legit only just was reminded of this while scrolling through my inbox right now! But my heart is finna burst!!! Thank you SO SO much and yes I would love to give some Headcanons about this! Especially since the next long story I’m working on includes this dynamic, and I’m so excited about it!! However, common disclaimer that while I am Arab and culturally Muslim even if I don’t practice like the rest of my family lol, I am Palestinian and not Syrian. So with every identity there are different experiences and customs no matter how closely intertwined. So I apologize for any inconsistency   that a Syrian may read and disagree with, and please feel free to correct me<3 <3

.-

The FIC this HC is from 

.-

So first off some background on his mum in the story 

I chose the name Vivian based off a friend of a friend who’s uncle married a woman by that name back in Palestine,  so it’s definitely extremely uncommon, but a fully Arab lady was named it, so like it’s my defense bahaha. But it also means lively, and coupled with Hussein as her maiden name which means beautiful, it just fit her personality to a t!! 

She was born into a pretty secular family in Syria in the late 1920s, so there was a lot going on in that time period. But her dad was pretty influential, working in the government and such. Vivian was also the youngest of four girls and three boys so she was pretty spoiled tbh

She attended a boarding school in France through out her adolescence and decided to go to university there too, so she’s fluent in both Arabic and French, with pretty great English as well. Though she wasn’t exactly white passing, even though like a bunch of Syrians/Palestinians/Lebanese folk she was somewhat fair, she had distinctly Arabian features, like the large almond shaped eyes and thick lashes and thicker brows, and a long, largeish nose, accented by full lips. So she experienced a good amount of jeers and discrimination, especially when folks found out her surname. So I think she’s able to relate to Remus in that sense of being a wolf at least, and later on  when he comes out as gay.

It was 1950  when she and a few of her girlfriends went to Wales for holiday after completing university. The second Lyall first spotted her in the woods while she was trying to make it back to the cabin near the Irish Sea with her mates, it was something like love, because duh. She was a fucking knock out!! A babe and a baddy! Literally so far out of his league its ridiculous! But on Vivian’s side,  she was mostly just amused and a bit enamored by this cocksure Welshman who had the most endearing of crooked smiles that their son would inherit a decade later. So obviously she didn’t make it easy on him, but eventually she let him take her out on the last night of her trip, and was pleased to find out that they had the same sort of humor and the same passion for their careers and even the same love for the outdoors too.

 They had a long distance relationship for two years while she went to grad school so she could teach about classics while Lyall himself was rising the ranks in the Ministry for regulation and control of magical creatures— Unbeknownst to her, the Floo network  was very helpful with the distance. Just thank God Lyall himself is a Muggle born because he really had to fake the hell out of it lol.

So just to speed things up they got married on a lovely June evening in  1955,  subsequent to  Vivian excepting a professorial job in Cardiff after Lyall told her about the Wizarding world. At first Vivian thought e was tripping on some subpar edibles until he proved it by transfiguring her snuff box into a lovely broach that she kept for the rest of her life, So after Vivian was convinced, she became  absolutely enthralled by all of the magic so completely. 

They were trying for a few years when she finally became pregnant with Remus in 1959, and they were both so over the moon (pun unintended).

So like I said above, Vivian’s family are pretty secular, so I see her mostly practicing the cultural aspects of Islam. For example, every Friday— which is the equivalent to Sundays being the holy day  for Christians— she lights up the instance that she always keeps herself stocked up on after her annual trip to Syria, instead of the typical candles she ordinarily prefers.  And Remus swears that for the rest of his life whenever he smells it, he’s back to being a baby, puttering around the house and watching her dusting the shelves while humming quietly an Arabic song that’ played out the gramophone  by a man who’s music would soon become regarded as the song of the people. Or Remus would recall being snuggled into her lap while she read him a novel on the windowsill. Or he’d simply remember listening to his parents laughter fluttering in the air while he fell asleep by the fire, subconsciously making the flower buds closest to him bloom with his untapped magic.

Remus’s first clear memory— thanks to the endless pictures— is when he was around four years old, before the attack, and they were staying in Vivian’s home town in Damascus. While the men congregated out doors for cigars and cards and the women in the living room chatting while snacking on watermelon seeds, his older cousins— who were all girls— dragged him off to one of the bedrooms and doted on him because he was the baby of that side of the family. And he remembers walking out in a set of one of their heels and a headscarf wrapped around his head which made his Mama and Tata and Aumties laugh out loud and croon over him, and all his uncles and Sido call him Aumty Remus.

The attack by Greyback happened soon after they returned to Wales, and I’m not gonna touch on it becs I’ not finna depress myself. But it was a January morning after his first transformation and he remembers that when he woke up, he saw the cookies stuffed with dates resting on his bedside with a glass of milk that Lyall had put a cooling charm on. And they’re indulgent treats that Vivian makes for both Eids every year even though they don’t celebrate them in any other way lol. But the cookies always reminds him of family and of feeling safe in his mother’s arms, and they still work to make him feel better even after the worst thing he has ever experienced in his short life.

Remus’s love of poetry came from both sides of his parents, but it was listening to his mother recite the story of Majnun Layla in it’s original Arabic that really made him glow for the art form, and brought him to discovering his favorites like Auden and Neruda. 

There’s a ornate, wooden prayer box that has been past down on the Hussein side of the family for five generations, it was originally  meant to hold a Qran but for the past three it’s simply just been a beautiful piece of decoration. So when Vivian gave it to Remus when he was headed off to Hogwarts, little Remus asked McGonagall to help him with locking  charms so it could become a safe place for him to keep his most cherished of nicknacks ant momentos, so obviously,  she silently added a charm to keep the wood nearly unbreakable and the extension charm atop of that, like Hermione with her bag, so that he could keep as many happy memories as possible inside of it, and she prayed that there would be so many that it threatened to burst. 

The last time Remus opened the box was in 1996, when he was putting away the ring Sirius gifted him as a match to his own in some feeble promise of forever only weeks before James and Lily’s own engagement. 

Once during first year, he and the lads were staying up late, trading stories about how they got their most ridiculous scars— after seeing the one that scraped across Remus’s left shoulder blade— But it got to a point where they were all feeling a bit nippish, so they went down to the kitchens for some of the chocolate pudding that was served during dinner that night. And Remus idly asked the house elves if they could make him a batch of Kinafa because he was getting home sick and missed when he and his Mama would dash over to the city whenever they were feeling antsy, and she’d take him to their favorite hooka bar after buying a round of the dessert— which is basically sweetbread stuffed with cheese— from down the block. And they’d stay sitting beneath the starlight, and talking about her job and his lessons from school while she’d let him try a discrete puff or two and they’d laugh about everything and nothing at all.

The next time they stopped by the kitchens one of the younger house elves presented him with the snack gleefully, and it tasted fine, just not like how they do back home. So Remus smiled warmly at Tipsy, the house elf, and thanked her with real sincerity.

But his face must’ve betrayed him because after easter break, Sirius plops down a fresh batch of them on Remus’s bed before leaping into his own, casually mentioning that he saw how grossed out Remus looked when trying the one the house elves made, and it was from a restaurant close to Grimmauld so it’s not that big of a deal, and then he rushed to cursing at James for stealing his favorite pen and swearing that  if he broke it he’s gonna have hell to pay. Remus had only blushed and chuckled  with a small smile on his face when he cut himself a small piece and finished the half sheet off with the rest of their house later that night during an impromptu party that the Marauders would become infamous for in later years.

It was the summer after second year when all the marauders visited Remus back home in Wales and when they heard Vivian call him Qamar practically every other sentence, which of course lead to endless ribbing and eventually  to his nickname of Moony— even though it’s so fucking obvious and Remus loves and hates it in equal parts. God his friends are so fucking stress inducing!

Remus teaches the other marauders funny Arabic curse words and they use them in class so that they can talk shit about particularly disgusting Slytherins without them being any of the wiser. (Yes I did do this with my friends, and I’d do it again! POW! POW! POW!)

It’s from Vivian that Remus has an affinity for coffee as strong as shit, but also prefers his tea weak— specifically two sugars and a dash of milk. But seriously, if you’ve ever tried Arabian coffee you’d understand, that shit is so fucking strong it’s literally a hate crime LMFAO. But yeah, this habit is definitely a point of contention between him and Sirius— who’s actually so fucking posh no matter how much he wants to be punk, and he stands by only drinking black tea— like Merlin intended— and saying bugger off to any and all coffees. “Leave that shite to the French and Americans.” And Remus would try to keep himself from making eyes at him from across the table, because God Sirius is hot when he’s all fiery  and impassioned, even when it’s about the dumbest, most inconsequential shit.

Something that’s sort of funny is that Remus was the first among them to become a fucking pot head and could drink them all  under the table even though Sirius himself has got two stone and three inches on him. But Remus still refuses to eat ham, purely because he never grew up eating it and doesn’t care too now. Sirius had to specifically ask Euphemia and Monty to make turkey for Christmas dinner their sixth year just because he knew that Remus’s head would probably implode with the decision between being rude and not eating it or forcing himself to gag down the unfamiliar meat.

When Remus is really, really fucking drunk he definitely spends the night only speaking in Arabic! (Don’t look at me I’m trash just because I stole this from my own life lmfao) But yeah, it’s really fucking hilarious and Sirius swears to God he’s so fucking in love with him while listening to Remus ranting in the unfamiliar language. And he’s like positive that half the time he’s actually just cursing Sirius out but he doesn’t even care because it’s SO! DAMN! CUTE!  And sometimes Sirius decides to speak French at a drunk off his arse Moony, who occasionally replies back in a stiff staccato before returning back to the easy Arabic. And it’s just a mess.

Ok so sadness warning

In my head, Vivian loses her fight against breast cancer the July after the Marauders graduate from Hogwarts, and afterwords Remus gets a tattoo of her name in Arabic on his chest, and the word for soul on the nape of his neck. He locks away that battered copy of Magnun Layla in the wooden box she gave him years ago, along with a woolen  scarf that smelt like her perfume.

 It’s Sirius who buys a set of prayer beads to hang off her photo above the mantel in the flat he and Remus share, and when Remus sees it he literally feels like  he might crack open with tears, but opts to kiss Sirius thank you instead, and they stay tangled on the sofa for the rest of the day in quiet contemplation.

One night, in late 1979, while  the war was only getting worse and worse—  Sirius was hit by a cutting curse to the ribs. And it was really fucking bad, but thankfully James got him to his house in time for Lily to help and heal. He slept for the most part for nearly an entire day, but remembers snippets. Like when Remus had sprinted into the room with fear painted all over his soft features, and when James put a cooling cloth to his head. But most distinctly, Sirius recalls Remus gingerly lying besides him and Sirius talking gibberish at his boyfriend while Remus plunged his entire face against his back, eyes wet with tears and body shuttering as he squeezed him softly, saying something quietly in Arabic. Sirius obviously didn’t understand like 99.9% of it, but he did catch the word “Habibi,” which he instantly remembers as an old pet name Vivian use to call Remus with so much love it made her entire countenance sparkle. It’s an endearment  that means beloved, or darling, and it feels like Remus is begging Sirius to stay with him and Sirius’s throat is still raw from the screaming, so he can only  reply by dragging Remus’s hand up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles tenderly. And he knows that whatever he does for the rest of his days, he loves Remus Lupin with every cell in his body.

Oof this got mad depressing…. Chow anyways, I can add a picture of the container you’re suppose to use for the instance if anyone wants that?

Thank you again dear Nonny!!!

Ask Me For Headcanons About A Story I’ve Written Or For One You Want To See Written

[textales]

“My Hostage”

I have a habit of “interviewing” people – it’s a hangover from my days in talk radio and a skill I like to practice. I like doing this with taxi and rideshare drivers whom I hold hostage in the short drive from here to there. Not unlike “talking the ramp” of a song or filling the time before the top-of-the-hour network news feed, I enjoy the challenge of milking every morsel of info and learning as much as I can before arriving at my destination.

Last night’s trip to the corner bar was interesting. My driver whose name I can’t pronounce is from Syria. He is 38 years old and moved from Damascus just one year and three months ago with his wife and two children. He lives in Sacramento and drives to the Bay every day to work for a popular ridesharing service.

Back in Syria he was a professional chef. He said he couldn’t find a job as a chef here because he couldn’t speak English. He moved here not knowing a single soul – but has since met a friend who is helping him learn the language and our culture. I told him I’m impressed at how well he speaks the language given the short time he’s been here, and asked how he landed in Sacramento. After telling me they escaped through Amman, Jordan (a town I’d at least heard of), we were at my destination and out of time. Although cut short, I was relatively satisfied with the results of my friendly and efficient interview that took place in three minutes and 51 seconds. I thanked him for the ride, gave him a 5-star rating on the app, and walked into the crowded bar.

Once I got a cold PBR in hand I used my iPhone to look-up Syria on Wikipedia. Normally, I don’t think too hard about this stuff – after all, I’m just a simple guy from Montana, in a dive bar drinking a beer. I need new tires for my Chevy and I’m still waiting to see how much (if anything) I’ll get back in income tax money.

“Ah ha,” I said to Ricky on the other side of the bar, “Syria…one of those middle east countries…part of the Trump travel ban.” I told him about my ride with the Syrian and how he wasn’t wearing a turban, nor did he smell like incense from the corner store.

“It really pisses me off when Rush Limbaugh or Sean Hannity or Donald Trump would like us to believe that people from other countries come to America to suck the government teat and take unfair advantage. These poor bastards are refugees trying to escape horrific conditions we can’t even imagine. This guy is paying taxes, buying gas and groceries, and busts ass driving every day. He wants to be here and is making a contribution to our economy,” I blurted over the loudness of the crowd.

Ricky noted that Syria doesn’t seem like the kind of place I would like. Oh sure, there’s baklava and hummus, but the locals cut heads off us homos because, well, religion. Here in America we aren’t that obvious - in places like Indiana, Pence would prefer we just pray the gay away. If that doesn’t work, they’ll attach electrodes to your scrotum while forcing you to watch straight porn.

“I’ll have another PBR,” I said as the conversation quickly turned back to tires and taxes.

(from March, 2019)