#and the fact that this is being recited by a robot who is the sole survivor of a shipwreck

[patrice-bergerons]

I have come across many brilliantly crafted metaphors in podcasts I listen to but few compare to this one from Midnight Burger, I think-

In year four of our mission, we had come upon a binary star system. I looked upon these two stars rotating around their barycenter and my thoughts turned to my wife. We were like these two stars, locked into an eternal dance only due to chance and gravity, unable to recall a moment where we chose each other and unable to escape this rotation. Knowing that to move closer would obliterate us both.

[shipitrealgood]

Rizumo Week 2020 Day 3: Wedding

If you expected me not to be super late with this one too, then you don’t even know me. But I tried to make this one more romantic (which my brain struggled to write), so hopefully that helps take the sting out of it!

@the-new-rizumo-week-blog

Rin tugs at the starched white collar of his button-up shirt, groaning loudly as sweat trickles down his temples. “Man, it’s boiling out here,” he whines, trying desperately to flag down one of the many waiters carrying pitchers of ice water.

His companion jabs him in the side, seeming to only get more irritated when he yelps loudly in response. “Pipe down,” Izumo hisses, “we can’t draw attention to ourselves.”

He rubs his side. “Yeah, yeah, Shura’s orders…”

“No, you idiot. This is their day. They should get all the attention.” She gestures in front of them.

A recently wedded bride and groom sit side by side at a lavish table, their eyes focused solely on the standing maid of honor as she tearfully recites her toast. To their right sits an as-of-yet unused dance floor with a DJ rechecking his equipment and acoustics. To their left, front, and pretty much everywhere else under this tent sit their extended family and friends, a startling amount of people brought together to witness their union.

Silky linens drape across the ceiling, serving to disguise the tent’s basic structure, while the embedded fairy lights seem to bless the happy couple with their mystic light. More white tables and golden chairs are crammed together in this space than really seems wise, especially given the early summer heat, but only the guests’ children (and Rin) seem to be complaining. There are several buffet tables off to the side, thankfully still with the food covered so as not to distract the guests, but the half-demon can tell even from where they sit at the back that there is some premium cuisine waiting.

It’s the first Western-style wedding he’s ever been to, and though beautiful, good lord it must have been expensive. If it weren’t for their mission, he’s pretty sure he’d never get the chance to experience something so fancy in his life.

Still, he looks back at Izumo, chuckling even through the disgruntled glare she sends him. “What?” She grits out.

“You really are nice, Eyebrows.”

She jabs him again in the same exact spot. “I told you to quit calling me that!”

The bruise he’s developing almost convinces him to listen to her, but it can’t be helped; both of them were dressed by Shura for the occasion, and Izumo, in that lace red dress carved with intricate designs, looks… unsettlingly nice. Like, pretty. Like a really pretty girl.

Rin finds it hard to look directly at her, much less call her by her first name. It’s a lot easier to deal with an angry, violent Izumo, so he lets his elementary school boy instincts take over. A strong urge to tug on her ponytail overtakes him, but one look reveals that her peppy new hairdo has exposed the nape of her neck, where a few locks of hair cling to her glistening skin—

He tears his eyes away, forcing himself to calm down. Ooh, that was dangerous, dangerous. At least he knows now that he’s not the only one suffering from the heat…

These thoughts seem to only be making him feel hotter, though, so he instead runs over the details of the mission again. A report came in that one of the many, many guests here (seriously, were there hundreds?!) is actually a demon. While his precise motivations are unknown, the report indicated that he had some great plan in the making that could bring harm to everyone there, and he had to be brought down before that could happen.

However, some quick reconnaissance revealed that the only time they’d be able to get to him would be at the reception, which meant they had to find and deal with him discreetly—a stealth mission, as Rin liked to call it. The size of their team also had to be minimal to avoid arousing suspicion, so Shura brought along Rin and Izumo, stating that she “couldn’t afford to take her eyes off Rin, and their cover would work better with one of the girls.”

He hadn’t really minded, though when he questioned later why she hadn’t considered Shiemi, Shura gave him that mischievous smile he feared and said, “I trust Izumo to keep a reaaaal close eye on ya.”

Maybe he should’ve paid more attention to the ominous feeling he got from her words… but considering how easily Shura had gotten them in, continuously weaving tales of her being a widower of a distant cousin, of Rin being her step-son (“That’s right, I’m a mother—oh thank you, I do look too young! Nyahaha~”), of Izumo being his betrothed since they were little and how she’s practically family already… He probably shouldn’t doubt her, no matter how embarrassed her lies made him.

“So beautiful…” Izumo whispers, catching his attention. Unfortunately for her, he cranes his head in the direction of her gaze before she can hide it. The blushing bride lies in that direction, smiling endlessly as she accepts congratulations and adulation.

Rin hums. “So you dream of that kind of thing too, huh?” It was intended as a simple question, more conversational than anything, but it sends his companion into complete silence. When he looks back to her, her eyes are distant and pained. He’s not sure why, but his instincts tell him that he messed up and needs to start panicking.

Thankfully, Shura picks that moment to swagger on up, playing the part of an indulgent partygoer almost too well. She stumbles and grabs onto the back of Izumo’s chair, feigning a moment of rest to lean down and mutter, “Possible target located. Go blend in on the dance floor and move on the code word ‘private’.” She’s off to the dance floor before either can react, already cozying up to a man who’s too interested to refuse.

Rin stands immediately, all too eager to put his energy to good use, and anxiously extends his hand to Izumo.

She contemplates it for a moment—he starts panicking because oh god, is it too sweaty, he should try to wipe it off, but she’s definitely already seen it and probably thinks he’s gross—before she takes it, standing with a grace that he never knew she had.

Right when they reach the dance floor, the music suddenly shifts, and—oh, god. Oh god, it’s a slow dance. Rin hears snickering and glares at Shura, who’s clearly aware of his dilemma and enjoying it immensely. He somehow just knows she set him up for this—but judging by the way she’s clinging to the target, it was probably for the sake of the mission, he realizes with a sigh. His mentor sure has a way of killing two birds with one stone…

Awkwardly clearing his throat too many times, he slowly shifts their hands and ghosts his other hand over Izumo’s waist. She rolls her eyes and pulls him much closer, planting both of his hands on her waist and linking her own hands behind his neck. She forces him to sway gently with her because Rin is frozen, his brain completely blue-screening, just a constant chant of oh god oh god too close pretty girl smell good.

“Have you got a clear lock on Miss Kirigakure?” she whispers, snapping him into a completely different sort of flustered. He robotically turns to check and realizes that Izumo had dragged him closer to eavesdrop, their pose mirroring every other couple around them. That knowledge helps him relax, his shoulders slumping in relief as he heaves a big sigh.

Fingers dig into the back of his neck and the pain reminds him to focus. “Owww— yes, we’re good!” he whisper-shouts. “But man, Eyebrows, you’re really good at these kinds of missions, huh?”

Although looking directly at her is still a challenge, it’s quite obvious that Izumo’s glaring at him as she ‘accidentally’ steps on his foot. “Whoops,” she deadpans. “Sorry, Satan Boy. Anyway, I don’t think it’s that I’m good at them so much as you’re extremely terrible.”

His eye twitches. The tip of her ponytail is right there, just dangling right by his fingertips… but his aching toes and side advise against it.

They sway in silence for a moment, listening in for the code word over the soothing lull of the music. A soft giggling alerts Rin to the fact that the bride and groom have joined in. They look at each other like there’s no one else in the world, like every clichéd fairytale and love song has come to life between them. It’s as inspiring as it is beautiful, and despite the odd circumstances that led to him being there, he wishes these two strangers every happiness in the world.

And hopes beyond hope that even the son of Satan can have that someday too.

“About what you said earlier…”

He looks down at Izumo and is surprised to see her staring at his chest, furrowing her brow and worrying her bottom lip. “I wasn’t really… allowed to think about something so happy for my future. Loving someone— trusting someone to that extent… It all seemed utterly impossible.”

When her eyes grow distant this time, he understands. The memories she relives aren’t just her own anymore. So when his grip on her reflexively tightens, drawing her nearer—it feels as though she’s sheltered from the world in his arms, his warmth a gentle, firm reminder that she’s not alone. Izumo looks up to him, feeling a wondrous sense of security and unrestrained joy, and a glorious smile blooms upon her lips.

“But thanks to you all… I have that freedom.”

Rin’s heart pounds violently in his chest.

All the things he’s been acutely trying to ignore flood his senses all at once: her face, usually sharp with hostility and anger, is soft and warm and mere inches from his own; a pretty red dusts her cheeks, matching her sparkling eyes, two priceless rubies; her slender waist, her silky hair… and god did she smell good.

Was Izumo always this beautiful? And—this beautiful girl in his arms, blushing so prettily just for him—was she maybe—

“—nyahaha~ maybe we should go somewhere private?”

The pair springs into action, leaving Rin’s arms noticeably bereft as they flank Shura and the target off the dance floor.

He tries sneaking peeks at Izumo, but her stony expression conveys single-minded focus on the mission—until he catches her peeking at him too. Her whole body jumps when they lock eyes, and even though she quickly whips her head away from him, he still watches in fascination as a furious red colors her skin, all the way from the tips of her ears down to her shoulders.

It sends a thrill through him, one that tells him to hurry up and finish this mission so he can figure out what the hell this—this—whatever this is, this potential between them is.

And when they round the corner and he catches one last glimpse of the newlyweds, he sends them another blessing, ironic as it may be coming from him. Because thanks to them, to people like them, to all of their loves—it gives kids like him and Izumo a chance to dream.

[inside-aut-blog]

To allistic people trying to write sympathetic autistic characters in stories:

I appreciate your efforts but also I need you to understand that infodumping does not work like that.

A few notes:

It seems like a lot of neurotypicals are under the impression that infodumping is just babbling a series of disjointed fun facts all in a row, out of the blue.

Maybe that’s not the actual impression people have, but that’s what it often seems like, when I’m reading a story with an autistic character that’s written by a neurotypical author (specifically neurotypical, because ADHD authors tend to write autistic infodumping just fine, even though ADHD infodumping is a little different).

Because an awful lot of what I see, as an autistic person reading these stories, is characters suddenly engaging Fun Facts Trivia Mode and spitting out a ream of random information without any elaboration on any particular fact, and without any attempts to connect the individual bits of information together.

And that’s...just not how infodumping actually works, in my experience, either as infodumper or infodumpee.

Which isn’t to say no one infodumps that way! Of course some people do—ADHD folks, especially, will sometimes infodump a bit like that, excitedly spilling a bunch of information about one broad topic and leaping from subtopic to subtopic without verbalizing the connections between them.

But for one thing, the connections are still being made internally, and the writing should still reflect that (a good way to make it do so, I find, is by interspersing dialogue with bits of internal monologue). And for another—that’s ADHD infodumping, not autistic infodumping, so unless your character is both (as they very well might be), I’d recommend against it.

Because autistic people tend to infodump quite differently!

Again, not to say that all autistics infodump in precisely the same way—but there tend to be similarities.

So—with the caveat that I’m speaking in broad strokes here and making some generalizations—three bits of general advice:

One:

Remember that infodumping is not meant to be one-sided. Autistic people aren’t trying to lecture at people when we infodump, we’re trying to share with people. It’s a conversation.

So, like in any other conversation, there should be a logical progression between the things that are said. This means that there should be logical connections between one bit of information and the next on a minute level, not just an overarching one. (For example, if you have your character go from talking about how a cat can see in the dark directly to talking about how a cat always lands on its feet, it is not going to feel—at least to me—like an authentic infodump. But if you have your character go from talking about how a cat can see in the dark to talking about how a cat’s eyes reflect in the dark—that will feel more authentic, because you can see how one thought leads to the next, and it gives more of an impression that the character actually has thoughts and isn’t just mindlessly reciting information.)

Two:

Remember that infodumping isn’t meant to be boring. Autistic people generally know that others aren’t usually quite as excited about our interests as we are, but if we’re infodumping it’s because a) we’re excited, and b) we’re hoping you’ll be excited, too!

So a couple things, here: there should be a sense of excitement to the way the autistic character speaks, and the autistic character should probably check at some point, verbally or otherwise, to see if the other character seems interested. (For example, if you have your character state facts like a robot, or lecture snidely or arrogantly, and not show any signs of excitement, and also not notice or care at any point, even after the fact, whether their conversational partner was interested, it’s probably not going to be very convincing—again, at least to me. But if you have your autistic character talk while grinning or bouncing or flapping their hands—even if they speak in a monotone—it’ll feel more real. And if you have your character check in, even belatedly, to see if others are interested, they’re going to feel more real—more like a person who’s had years of lived experience being told they’re annoying for infodumping, like most autistic people have, rather than like a caricature made up solely of DSM-V traits.)

Three:

Remember that infodumping isn’t meant to be shallow. It’s called infodumping for a reason—we’re ready to drop a whole lot of stuff and get really deep into things. So elaboration is key! (For example, if you have your character state a bunch of loosely connected surface facts about cats, it’s not—again, to me—going to feel very authentic. But if you have your character share that factoid about cat’s eyes reflecting in the dark and then talk at length about tapetum lucidum and how it works and why, and why different animals’ eyes glow different colors, and what fictional species they like to think might have it as well—that rings more true.)

So, to sum up:

One: Infodumping is a conversation—it should read as fluidly as any other!

Two: Infodumping is sharing—we’re excited and want you to be excited to!

Three: Infodumping is deep lore—elaboration is key!

Remember those bits and you should do just fine.

Happy writing!

[highstrangeness-blog]

Men In Black

Okay, so here today we're just going to state some FACTS. I really only have time to discuss some of the more popular theories but being a rather experienced occult researcher, I am more interested in the conclusions you draw yourself than the rabbit holes of Creepypasta, anyhow.

So, I guess I should define the term Men In Black or MIB. It's a generic term used for any threatening/strangely behaved individual(s) who can be linked in some fashion with a ufo sighting. I'm sure you already have a preconceived notion of these people due to the popular movie by the same name. If you're thinking about Tommy Lee Jones and Will Smith, stop it. Take a second, maybe do a shot of whiskey, maybe hit the vape, whatever you need to do to open that mind hole of yours.

Okay, back to MIB. There have been a ton of MIB reports in connection to all things occult or supernatural, not just UFO sightings. There's a ton of theories on who these people are, and I mean a fuckin- shit ton.

The most common one is that the MIB are quasi-government agents; many people report MIB flashing “credentials of higher authority" before warning them to stop talking about the occult.

A lot of these first hand reports state the MIB as strange looking humanoids with very strange mannerisms pointing at the possibility that they are potentially the very aliens they're trying to keep secret. Many accounts of MIB report they look almost doll-like, completely bald without eyebrows or eyelashes, pale white skin, have thin, bright Ruby red lips, and speak almost robotically. One witness was approached by MIB after a "plane" crashed nearby. When he sat down to question the family, his pants revealed a bright green wire running up his ankle going into a brown dot on his leg. The witnesses asked the man if he wanted something to eat, the man declined but said he would need a glass of water in 10 minutes to take a pill. 10 minutes of questioning the family about the specifics of their bodies, tattoos, birthmarks, etc. The man's face became beat red, he requested the water. He took a large yellow pill and went back to normal. When he left he walked out the door, hailed a large, black Cadillac that pulled up with no driver, and pulled away with no headlights on. This is one of hundreds of strange but similar accounts of MIB encounters. Many others mention MIB having long limbs, skin cold to the touch, non-bending joints, and telepathic-like communication.

OK, so we’ve covered quasi-government agents and aliens. This third theory is much deeper than i can really get into, or fully comprehend but I’m going to do my best with a little help from Reddit user: farcaller on the What Is A Tulpa (No Bullshit Definition) Thread. First off let’s define what the fuck A Tulpa even is. A tulpa is an entity that was created by conscious effort of another entity; i.e, a manifestation or emanation as it’s known in Tibetan Spurl-pa. Ever feel like you willed a bad situation upon yourself by overthinking it? Tulpas can grow and mature over time just like that bad situation, the more thought power you give to it, the more powerful it grows. It’s believe that these thoughts will eventually reach a level of maturity whereupon they will develop and grow at a rate comparable to that of any other person. It is also theorized that mass meditation(or extreme emotion) can almost catapult this entity into consciousness. Like all living creatures (because tulpas are living things even if they are just thought forms) they need to feed on something, that something is extreme emotion, like fear. We all here, thinking and giving consciousness energy to this entity (MIB); we’re feeding the tulpa. Slenderman is a really great example of this. About 10 years ago Slenderman only existed in the dark corners of creepypasta, the more popular this lore became bearing memes, video games, stories, and “first-hand” accounts themselves it all seems to come to a head with The Slenderman Stabbings. If you’re not familiar; two young girls lead a third into the woods, killing her as a sacrifice to Slenderman. This began a wave of other crimes done in the name of slenderman. Taking lives and gaining power through fear is almost as real as any other living creature, being a perfect example of what a tulpa is and what the human mind can do (especially in mass quantities.)

Albert K. Bender famed UFOlogist living in Bridgeport, Connecticut created the international flying saucer bureau after becoming obsessed with the occult as a young adult. With almost 600 members, they were dedicated to furthering the study of mysterious crafts. Shortly after its founding, the IFSB reached out to members around the world through a quarterly journal, Space Review. The newsletter shared stories of UFO sightings and offered theories about the origins of these seemingly inexplicable objects. Soon after Albert organized the IFSB the researcher became hounded with ill health, strange phone calls, telepathic messages, the smell of burning sulfur and strange apparitions. November 1952, at a local movie theater Bender realized a strange man with glowing eyes observing him. On a separate occasion late one night on Broad Street Bender reported he was telepathically hypnotized and levitated. To further his experiments, Bender prompted readers of Space Review with an audacious request: memorize and silently recite, on a particular day and time, a letter penned by Bender. Albert’s goal was to connect with Alien life via the simultaneous thought-projection of hundreds of IFSB members. World Contact Day, or as Bender and the IFSB officially preferred, “C-Day,” commenced at 6 o’clock in the evening March 15th, 1953. The letter included a cryptic message, and warning: “The mystery of the flying saucers is no longer a mystery. The source is already known but any information about this is being withheld by orders from a higher source. We would like to print the full story in Space Review but because of the nature of the information we have been advised in the negative. We advise those engaged in saucer work to be very cautious.” (Remember Tulpas are created through, conscious energy and are given strength through mass meditation and high emotion) July 1953 Albert Bender was visited at his home by three men. Bender stated “All of them were dressed in black clothes. They made it clear to Bender that he was to immediately halt all UFO work. They communicated telepathically: “Stop publishing.” Before departing, the MIB confiscated copies of Space Review and in their wake a yellow fog materialized and the smell of burning sulfur returned. And finally, The telepathic messages, headaches, his being stalked, and of course the surreal warnings by authoritarians in black suits, compelled Albert to shut down the International Flying Saucer Bureau in October 1953. ‘

John Keel is honestly, our main man in all of this. He is the main investigator of the Mothman and author of The Mothman Prophecies, investigated occult reports of all kinds and popularized the term "Men In Black" through his journalism. John used the term “Ultraterrestrials” to describe UFO occupants he believed to be non-human entities which can take the form of whatever they want. This maybe further evidence MIB are aliens along with Albert Bender’s(and many other)  accounts of them being unsettling weirdos that didn't look human. Keel would chase The Men In Black in attempt to confront them. He had the local police in many towns looking for them. When he was in West Virginia and Ohio, people would call his Hotel and tell them that the MIB were there, he'd race over to the location but they would be gone by the time he arrived. He reported being plagued by a burning sulfur smell, headaches, receiving strange phone calls, and witnessing strange apparitions. He also reported tons of MIB/occult accounts through his journalism like the time Mrs. Ralph Butler of Owatonna, Minnesota said an officer visited her in May of 1967 he went by the name Richard French. He was 5.9ft tall, had an olive complexion, dark long hair and pointed face. His clothing appeared to be brand-new, even the soles of his shoes were clean and un-scuffed. When Mrs. Butler offered him some Jello, he tried to drink the Jello and acted as if he'd never seen it before. Keel (and other high strangeness reports, like Mary Hyre) documented an influx of MIB encounters while investigating the mothman. It seems like almost everyone who had claimed to witness the “giant- human-bird like creature” in Pleasant Point, West Virginia more often than not also encountered MIB closely after. During his investigation Keel heard reports of a mysterious blonde woman in her thirties with a southern accent, who visited people in West Virginia and Ohio whom Keel had interviewed prior. She even visited those he had not mentioned in print. She introduced herself claiming to be "John Keel's secretary" thus winning instant admission. The clipboard she carried held a complicated form filled with personal questions about the witnesses' health, income, the type of cars they owned as well as their general family background and some fairly sophisticated questions about their UFO sightings. John Keel didn't learn about this woman until months later when one of his friends in Ohio wrote to him and happened to mention her. He didn't have a blonde secretary, let alone a secretary at all.

One Mothman Witness Keel interviewed, 18-year-old Connie Carpenter was driving home from church, when she came face-to-face with the Mothman, almost causing her to have an automobile crash. Almost four months later, Connie reported being nearly kidnapped by MIB. 8: 15 A.M., February 22, 1967. Connie left her house to go to school. As she started to walk down the street a large black car pulled up alongside her. She later identified it as a 1949 Buick. The occupant of the car opened the door and gestured for her to come closer. Thinking he needed directions Connie approached him. He was a young, clean-cut man of about twenty-five, wearing a colorful Mod shirt, no jacket (it was bitter cold), had neatly combed hair and appeared to be suntanned. This suntan was a very interesting detail, which has turned up in other MIB accounts. As she grew close the “man” grabbed her but she struggled and ran away. Another Mothman Witness Mothman witness, Linda Scarberry, said in an interview with Mary Hyre: "The men wore black suits, black hats, and sunglasses. They drove black cars -Cadillacs, I think. ... They looked like human beings, but their skin was somewhat transparent. You could see the veins in their hands very clearly. Their fingers were longer than a normal person's fingers, as well. Daddy shook hands with them, and he said they were awkward in shaking hands. They seemed to not know what to do or how to shake hands." She said: "One of the cars would follow us around. There were three men in the car. ... The MIB went so far as to follow us through the drive-thru of a restaurant. We were afraid to turn around, and just looked in the mirror at them.” Mary Hyre also encountered these strange men, herself. All reports state that they have asked questions about the Mothman and warned all against speaking about it.

So, as you began to read through accounts and reports of occult sightings in general we began to see a pattern in things just as we can see generalized patterns throughout society in daily life. Mistakes, miscommunication, hersey, anecdotal experience but still there's something consolidating about the mass reports of similar legends throughout decades. Whether these legends are passed down unknowingly through family trees or collective consciousness; there's something that reaches a primal fear inside of us when our children come home with stories about the same boogeyman we encountered at their age. There’s a part of the human mind who realizes it’s power, who sees the coincidences in the things we think and see in reality. No one has ever come out as an abductee or witness to something occult whose life has been left positively impacted by the situation. Regardless of who or what you believe in, you can see similarities or you can see differences. I hope I presented these facts to you as coherent and rational as possible after three months of researching high strangeness on Reddit. I hope you can pull your own verdict from the accounts and reports presented to you tonight, at the very least I hope it sparks something in you to at least question your surroundings. It's not all what it seems.

Brooklen Porter

[cyrelia-j]

[Fic] Deuces V: Trips (Garak/Bashir)

(Again apologies for weird characters, they disappear after "Keep Reading" is clicked)

This got a bit long but I couldn't leave our boys hanging. I'm also debating where I want to go with Ziyal as far as relationships (if any) so we'll see what happens there.

Previous Parts are here:

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Summary: AU (no Dominion and some characters who died in the series are alive like Vedek Bareil) Garak and his surrogate daughter Ziyal find themselves on Deep Space Nine for a month on a stopover to Bajor. After a disastrous first date, Julian is determined to make amends and turns to Ziyal for advice.

“Good morning, Miss Ziyal. I’m so terribly sorry to bother you but I had hoped to speak with you about your father. Nothing bad I just… I was hoping I could… I don’t know talk to him. I know he’s been avoiding me and I’m sure that it’s something that I’ve done and he’s just being polite.” Ziyal looks up at the doctor standing in front of her and considers what he’s been saying. It’s true, of course. Her yad’ had hacked into the Station logs using the old Terok Nor codes and a lot of creativity for the sole purpose of planning his activity around Doctor Bashir’s shifts. He’d also ended up fielding a lot of questions from Odo in the security office and as a result found himself “volunteering” to assist with upgrading some of the security protocols to guard against similar incidents in the future. So in the end it worked out exactly as he had hoped anyway.

Ziyal found herself reminding him of that each time he would complain about the work involved and so far three days had passed by without him running into Doctor Bashir even once. Ziyal had listened, grimacing at his recount of the “torture” that was Doctor’s Bashir’s “unforgivably dull and clearly contrived company”, and Ziyal knows if there’s one thing that her yad’ abhors in a date it’s tedium. Worse than the, from the way he’d described it, Doctor Bashir could’ve slotted anyone into the space and had the exact same date; probably had, in fact. She hadn’t been terribly happy to hear that; her yad’ deserved far better than just some fetishist. But she’d thought the doctor had presented a much different picture when they met and there had to be more to it than that. She’s thankful that she may actually have an opportunity to find out.

Her yad’ had said that it wasn’t worth looking into any further but it wasn’t like she had promised to stay out of it, and perhaps if she can get to the bottom of the matter then it would help pull her yad’ out of his sour mood. Ziyal shifts the box of Delavian chocolates and the small bouquet of Bajoran lilacs. They’re both for Major Kira, her yad’ insisting that whether they parted on fair terms or not, a show of remorse was in order for instigating such a ridiculous incident. He’d also suggested she request Major Kira help train her combat deficits which made her sigh but acknowledge that it’s better not to be ill prepared. She only hopes that her gesture will be well received though Major Kira had said that everything was fine between them. “Ask Dukat, how “fine” it is when a Bajoran woman says “fine””,he had said and perhaps there was a bit of a tease at her as well.

Ziyal smiles at the doctor.

“I’d be happy to talk to you over breakfast, doctor. Maybe you can help me too as a matter of fact. I was hoping to find Major Kira so that I could give her this but it doesn’t look like my plan of wandering around the Promenade is working out too well. So I think we can probably help each other out.”

“Absolutely!” Doctor Bashir exclaims looking relieved. “And you know, I have it on good authority that those are some of Major Kira’s favorite flowers. Her mother was quite fond of them if I recall so you’re on good footing there.”

They fall into step to the Replimat, Ziyal not quite sure of how to begin exactly. Her yad’ is always on about diplomacy and tact unless something else is called for but for the life of her she’s always been rather plainspoken. Fortunately, Doctor Bashir seems content to talk more about the Major, filling the silence while Ziyal admits that their tour might have gotten a bit out of hand with Julian’s solemn assurance that Major Kira is a wonderful soul and if she says there’s nothing to apologize for then Ziyal has little to worry about. Though it’s been Ziyal’s experience learned from her yad’ that a little flattery and kindness can go a long way in opening doors or mending strain between acquaintances or friends so there’s always that.

At Doctor Bashir’s suggestion Ziyal opts for scones with jam- one of his favorites- and something called “bangers and mash”. It doesn’t sound particularly appetizing but the onion gravy is to die for good. Yad’ was right, Doctor Bashir has an exceptional taste for food. Well that’s something to build a bridge off of. Ziyal is glad for the heavy breakfast as well, not having realized how hungry she was for the time she’d already been wandering around the various shops. She’s also glad that Julian fills the silence telling her about his childhood traveling with his parents. He tells her about his stuffed bear and his aunt and his crazy relatives and she thinks it must be wonderful to have such a large extended family.

“Oh you say that now,” Doctor Bashir goes on laughing, “but that’s because you haven’t had to bail your cousin Paddy out of lockup more times than there are rings around Saturn. You know the last time he honest to god threw a dolly through a tram? Like my aunt Emmeline says it’s just harmless football hooliganism- that’s er like well, it’s rowdy behavior after one of the football matches… do they have team sports on Cardassia?” Julian is also quite easy to distract with his tangents and Ziyal really doesn’t understand how her yad’ could have had such a poor time with a lively man like him.

“No, I’m afraid not. Well not really, sometimes there are combat exhibitions and actually, the annual poetry competition can get pretty intense.” Perhaps not throwing a… dolly? A doll? Through a tram? A… she didn’t quite follow the translator on that but she can sort of imagine what he means. They might not be as exciting as mass riots but the year before everyone had watched with baited breath as the finalist Kaallen Pod recited a riotously subversive piece subtly linking Archon Mal to the disgraced Legate Khet. The trial that followed was quite a spectacle as well.

“Did you really treat yad’ like an “assembly line Glinn?”” She blurts out suddenly just not able to understand what could have possibly gone on. Julian blanches.

“Oh god… did he… is that what he said?” He looks absolutely mortified and she feels bad but that’s certainly not something her yad’ would lie about for no reason… at least not to her.

“Well ah… Well, yes, yes he did and I hope you understand but I’m very confused right now because I’m enjoying your company quite a bit. I know we’re not on a date of course but surely you didn’t behave much differently than now?”

She looks at him and thinks he slinks a bit further down into his chair looking off at something else before looking back to her. Oh dear. He had. He absolutely had. Was that some sort of strange human custom? Was there simply some cultural misunderstanding? Well no, her yad’ had said it was like the doctor had read some “how to” guide that could’ve been written by Gul Dukat himself but that would be far too unkind of a thing to say. She sees him picking at his scone radiating guilt. She’s not quite sure what else to say to that but he saves her the trouble. She watches Doctor Bashir take a deep breath and sigh.

“I’m not good at this,” he says at last and she finds that a bit hard to believe. According to her yad’, they take bets in the bar to see how quickly he can “I’m not having this discussion with you, you’re my daughter.” Julian sees her incredulous expression and rushes ahead with a wave of his hands. “Not… I mean… I mean I… I talk too much. I say too much. I put people off, I have a lot of trouble knowing what’s too much and you’ve no idea just how long it even took me to make friends here. I didn’t even realize I was getting on everyone’s nerves and you know I’m not good at talking to people like… like a date. I can’t do it so I didn’t, I mean I just… I just ended up working out the same thing like… like a formula with data and numbers and adjustments here and there so I can just... just you know, stick to what I know won’t get me slapped or laughed at and I know that sounds stupid and calculating and I look like some bloody awful bad date robot but I… I like your father and I really didn’t want to risk screwing anything up but it seems I’ve just gone and made an awful mess of things anyway.”

Julian sits back in the chair and Ziyal watches his head go back in dramatic defeat and she can’t help the small smile. He really is cute. Her yad’ really would like this man as he actually is. His sincerity is endearing. He’s passionate, he interesting. But how in the name of the Ancients to get him a second chance is the question?

“You know doctor,” she says with a bit of reproach in her voice. “I think yad’ would like you a lot if he got to see this side of you.”

“I know I’ve already blown it terribly,” he groans into the hands over his face and she nearly doesn’t hear him.

“You don’t think you’re overreacting?” she teases. He sits up and looks at her and then the flowers and chocolates. He smiles back a bit.

“Not any more than anyone else, I suppose.” Ziyal clears her throat at that. It’s a nice gesture. It’s appropriate. Alright so flowers or chocolates would have sufficed but there’s no law against manners as her yad’ would say.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She says playfully. “But as for yad’ well… I might be able to do something there…”

“I would be glad to let Major Kira know that you’d like to speak with her. I believe she’s free this afternoon and will probably be at the gym around 1500.”

“The gym?” Ziyal asks uncertainly, thinking back to that last encounter.

“What better place, right?” Julian asks, and somehow Ziyal thinks that awful incident has somehow circulated around the entire station. Guls, no wonder she was getting those stares and those salutes from some of the junior officers.

“Ah… right… so… so yad’ and I have been meeting for lunch here and it looks like I’ll be busy but I promise he’ll be here. I wouldn’t bother with flowers and chocolates. He likes those but I think your best bet would be to bring something interesting instead.”

“Interesting?” he repeats to her nod. He smiles to himself. “I know just the place.”

—

“No no, you don’t understand, Ziw, I’m sure that wasn’t some playful euphemism. I’m sure that I’m meant to pique his curiosity with something unique, notperverse.” Julian watches as once again the Bolian helpfully holds up an odd three pronged device with an ancient motor and something that looks like it utilizes some sort of outside power conduit. Ziw had let him know that three hundred years ago Cardassian ajan’yas were quite popular both on and off world amongst those looking for a little excitement. The Bolian, Ziw Tralar owns a darkened shop behind an eclectic curtain known only as “Forbin Project”. The place- which Julian has no idea how it keeps in business- is a strange assortment of old print books and antiquities that Ziw has gathered and traded from all manner of customers from the alpha quadrant and some he even claims from the Gamma quadrant and mirror universe. The mirror universe is Ziw’s clever name for Kirk’s other world that Julian’s had the unfortunate chance to visit.

But if there is one thing that can be said about the strange little shop- aside from the smell that Quark claims scares away his customers a few doors down and Ziw claims if anything draws them over to the bar- it’s the wide assortment of interesting things that he’s collected and tends to sell at obscenely low prices. This from Nog who had acquired a highly valuable Ferengi “courtesan novel” written by some famous writer who Nog said wrote such vivid descriptions of oomox that they’d been banned on three provinces on Ferenginar for over a century. That was really more than Julian ever needed to know about Nog’s tastes in literature but supposedly he’d traded the old text to his father to get out of a month of helping at the bar.

Julian had the afternoon free and, cognizant of the time had practically raced over upon raiding his few pithy stores of latinum, has been in the shop ever since while Ziw has been plying him with one sex toy after another.

“Look,” Julian says pushing the device back across the counter. “I don’t want to seem ungrateful. You’ve spent far more time with this than I could expect but I’m not…” He’s about to say he’s not just trying to get Garak into bed except that’s not entirely true. He absolutely is trying to get Garak into bed but he’s not trying to give that impression. Besides, from what little he’d gathered on their date- and God it really was precious little thanks to his stupid “script” that he’d barely gotten to know him at all- he really did want to get to know Garak better and see if they might not have chemistry elsewhere.

“I’ve got it!” Ziw interrupts his thoughts slamming a metal cylinder between them. Julian takes one look at it and is about to protest when Ziw’s hand goes up. Julian notes the “X-Ray” ring on one finger wondering as he always does if the thing really works. “Ah tut tut dirty mind. This is actually meant for your finger, Doctor Pervert. Actually it’s meant for two fingers. I’ll show you. It’s great. You’re trying to snag a guy. That’s your deal. Watch and learn and be amazed.” Ziw insert a blue finger into each side of the cylinder. Julian looks at it seeing the woven slats like some ancient basket weaving. And then he watches as Ziw tries to pull his fingers out to no avail. His eyebrows raise impressed.

“They’re stuck,” he observes.

“Not just stuck, see these are modified from some old Earth joke I read, guy that sold this to me explained it like this. So the old Earth jokes were easy. They released when you press in and loosen the weavings. Real basic, simple principle but some Vulcan somewhere out there had a sense of humor and made his own variation. Called it a “meditation cylinder” and see it’s not so simple.” Ziw pushes his fingers together and the cylinder still gets tighter. Julian’s mouth opens and he looks at Ziw, a smile starting to curve his mouth.

“And surely there’s a way to get out of it. I can’t imagine you’d have stuck your fingers in there if there wasn’t.” Ziw grins back with a nod and closes his eyes. Julian watches as he turns his fingers so they’re running up and down and he watches the trap slowly slide off the top finger. Then he turns his other hand down breathing slowly, deeply, and lets it drop back to the counter.

“Simple right? Just like a Vulcan, see it reads your calm. Thing goes off body tension and heat, don’t quite know how it works but any tension it feels in your muscles in, out, doesn’t matter. Only comes off when you’re perfectly relaxed and then it’ll drop off. No worries. Don’t know why they ever stopped using them on Vulcan with their students. Well maybe they never caught on.” He shrugs looking mischievous. Julian loves it. Garak won’t just find this interesting... he’ll have to agree to let Julian take him on a real proper date if he wants to know the trick to get out! “So tell me what you think it’s worth to you.” Ziw sighs deeply when Julian starts going for the latinum. “Come on, doctor, latinum? Right a man can’t live on trinkets alone but latinum is so dull.”

“I’m sorry, but you know I don’t have a whole lot of artifacts I’m willing to part with.”

“You telling me all that planetary exploration and you don’t have anything? All the “garbage” you always complain about your family shipping you?”

Julian thinks about it a moment, long and hard. It isn’t like he looks for things to stuff in his pockets during away missions... not like cousin Paddy at least. Which reminds him of one of the last weird little parcels his cousin had sent him. “Fell off the back of a freighter” he’d said and Julian knew better than to argue.

“I’ve got a case of bubblegum I suppose.” It wasn’t like he could chew it while he was working anyway; Nurse Jabara said his smacking lips made him sound like an ornery horse and Nurse Hortak tended to jump when the bubbles popped. Very unprofessional. Well, he supposed it was for a noble cause.

“The pink kind, right? The pop kind?”

“Right.”

“Good good. Never could get the hang of that stuff. Need another chance at it i think. Alright, doctor, you got yourself a deal.”

“Wonderful!” Julian stops. “Well it’s almost three already. Please tell me I can bring it by in the morning. If i miss my chance now...”

“Yeah, yeah,“ Ziw is already waving him off. “Not like I don’t know where you work, right? First thing, don’t forget, go get him get out.” Julian is about to snatch the trap when Ziw pauses him, fishing under the counter a moment. “Box, can’t give a guy a gift without a box. S’how civilizations fall I hear.” He puts it in a nearly perfectly sized little gift box with a green bow. “There you go, knock him dead, all that whatever...” Julian takes it gratefully and practically runs to the Replimat just hoping that he can fix this properly.

—

He’s a little late, but Garak is thankfully still there waiting on his daughter and easy to spot. Julian’s first thought is that he looks like a watermelon- a delectable watermelon that he’d like to sink his teeth into. Or sink teeth into him; he decides that would be perfect. Garak is wearing a dark green striped tunic and a dark pink, reddish vest over it. Of course he would look stylish. he’s a tailor, after all. Julian’s rather thankful they’re doing this in the Replimat. It’s easier here. He feels much more like himself here and well... well he could’n’t possibly mess this up worse so if Garak thinks his actual personality is a complete wreck he’ll be in the same spot he was in earlier anyway. Julian can see Garak looking around and almost nervously wipes his hands on his uniform. This was so much easier when there was a plan, when there was simple series of subroutines from A to B. This? This is terrifying. Maybe he should just ask him to give Cindy a kiss and see where that goes. Right. Brilliant idea, that.

“Garak!” Julian calls out tempted for a moment to just play dumb and pretend that he had no idea that Garak was avoiding him but that hardly seems productive. He steels himself, seeing Garak’s face snap to a grin that looks just as much a grimace of pain. God, he really screwed this up.

“Ah, Doctor Bashir! My apologies, we haven’t seen much of each other but I did want to thank you for a lovely evening and a delightful sampling of creative delicacies. You really must tell me what some of those recipes are or where you’d gotten them. But another time, I think. I’m meeting Ziyal here you see and though she’s running a touch late I expect her here shortly.”

“She’s ah... She’s not coming,” Julian says, a nervous hand behind his neck. “She and I may have had a bit of a chat earlier and… um… May I... may I sit down a moment? I promise I won’t stay long though I completely understand if you tell me to get lost I’d just... I’d just like a moment of your time.”

Garak looks like he really is considering the first option but he motions for Julian to take a seat.

“Right, thank you. Thank you so much,” Julian breathes out in relief. At least that’s one part down. “I wanted to apologize for the other night.”

“Apologize?” Garak says in surprise; if Julian didn’t know otherwise he really would believe him. “There’s nothing to apologize for, doctor. You were gracious to show me a delightful evening and again I only regret that I had to leave early.”

“S’pose it was better than you faking a heart attack,” Julian remarks dryly.

“Why doctor! Do you really think I would engineer such a deception?”

“No, you’re much too clever for such an obvious rouse considering I’m CMO of the station but... but what I’m trying to say is that I’d really like a chance to make it up to you. A real chance I mean to ah... to show you a proper date... properly... without the ah...”

“Excruciating flow chart seduction?” Well ouch. Julian’s pretty sure he doesn’t actually wince.

“Yes,” he agrees. “That.”

“You’ll forgive me, doctor, but I really don’t know if that’s such a good idea. I have a lot of work to do with Odo and-”

“Ah but ah.. .!” Julian interrupts presenting the box. “That’s why I er... I brought you something to sweeten the pot,” he says sliding the box over with a nervous smile. Garak does look genuinely surprised this time and Julian really likes that look on his face. “I may have run into your daughter earlier this morning and she said that you liked interesting things, so when I saw this in Ziw’s shop. Oh! Ziw Tralar is the Bolian who owns “Fornby Project” which is a delightful shop that I well anyway I saw that and I thought you’d like it.”

Garak has picked up the woven metal cylinder turning it over in his hand.

“I must admit I’m not quite sure what it is. Is this a human... device?” Garak asks, rubbing his thumb over the weave.

“It’s a meditation cylinder,” Julian explains with a big smile. “Vulcan, in fact. You see you insert both your index fingers at either end up to the knuckles and it... helps you relax based of your energies.” Not entirely a lie. Julian’s leg jitters a bit under the table. “Would you like to... give it a try?” he suggests hopefully. Garak looks at him a moment, some unreadable expression, but he looks almost amused as he does as Julian suggests. “Right, just like that,” he says nodding encouragement.

“Now that’s fascinating!” Garak remarks as he tries to pull his fingers out but can’t. He looks at Julian with that smirk and a speculative tilt of his head. He tries a few more times to free his fingers but can’t.

“There’s a trick to it of course,” Julian supplies, trying to keep his legs still. He really can’t. He’s far too excited.

“Of course. I suppose you’ll be willing to tell me... for a price?” Garak asks coyly and Julian nearly swallows his tongue at that look. Alright, so he’s probably painfully transparent but he’s already nodding like an idiot.

“Yes I’m... guess it was pretty obvious but well, I guess I just wanted to ensure that you would say yes.” Well, if he says no Julian will still tell him how to get it off. He’ll just be absolutely crushed when he does.

“Yes?”

“To another date.” Julian licks his lips nervously. Garak’s hands have gone still and he’s looking at the device calmly. He’s quiet a moment and Julian is about to cave and just tell him but then Garak finally continues.

“Alright doctor, but this time we’ll do this on my terms.” He looks up at Garak and there’s an expression there that nearly stops his heart. God it’s piercing. “After all, I think it’s safe to say that you’ve been somewhat thoughtless and... naughty. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yes... oh... oh absolutely,” Julian answers, the drop in Garak’s pitch melting him.

“Good then,” Garak agrees standing up.

“Wait, but don’t you need to-” Julian’s eyes nearly pop out of his head when he sees the device clatter to the table all of a sudden, Garak pocketing it with the most sinfully smug grin.

“Twenty one hundred hours, my dear boy,” Garak practically purrs as he turns to leave, Julian still in shock, mouth open like he’s trying to catch flies, his aunt would say. “Oh and doctor?”

“Yes?!” Julian coughs. That was far too loud. “Er... yes?”

“Don’t mask your scent, doctor, he says with a subtle scent of the air. “I’m rather fond of it.”

Julian is certain if he nods any harder his head is going to pop clear off. So help him he’s not screwing up his second chance!

(Part 6 is now up HERE)

[soul-submission]

Letter to the heart that is numb

A Letter to the Heart that is Numb To the heart that is numb, Standing in taraweeh (Ramadan night prayers) while everyone is weeping – except you. Your friends talk about how exhilarating fasting is for them – but all you feel is irritation; and that is if you feel anything at all. Your supplications are just words you repeat – without heart. What is the point of all of it? Your actions are robotic. Monotone. Without soul. You wish you could be like that person praying next to you in taraweeh who sobs during every prostration. You want to be the one passionately pleading with Allah subhanahu wa ta`ala (exalted is He) with humility. Your hope is that you can be that person whose heart is broken before God. You know what, though? You, too, are special to Allah. You who recites the Qur’an because you know it is good. You who prays because Allah commanded you to. You who attends lectures on Islam because you want to feel closer to Him. The Prophet ﷺ told us that the person who recites the Qur’an and struggles with the recitation receives twice the reward: for their recitation and for their effort and struggle. Ibn Al-Qayyim used this hadith (tradition of the Prophet ﷺ) as the basis for his statement that the person who struggles to be devoted in prayer gets twice the reward: for the parts that he was devoted, and for his struggle to stay focused. As long as you are trying, Allah is with you. The fact that you get up to pray qiyaam (night prayer) even though you feel nothing is appreciated by Allah. When you mouth the words to your du`a even when your heart is numb, Allah knows how you feel. And you are rewarded for that. Do not think that this will go to waste. Allah gets it. Because you are not worshiping a feeling. You do not bow down solely for that ‘high’. You prostrate only to the Lord of the feelings and the One who is the Most High. You submit to Him – through your prayers, fasting and supplication – because you know you have a Merciful, Just, Appreciative, Forgiving God, Who has the power to give life to everything that is dead. Including your heart. You know you have a Nurturing, Patient, Generous, Subtle and Kind Lord who is can bring back whatever is lost. He can bring you back. So to the heart that is numb: Do not give up just yet. Your heart is on a journey. You are first and foremost worshiping your Lord. And He has promised you: “And those who strive for Us – We will surely guide them to Our ways. And indeed, Allah is with the doers of good.” (Qur’an, 29:69) As long as you are doing good, Allah will guide you and He is with you. Do you know what that means? Imam Ash-Shawkani stated that Allah being with someone means more care, honouring and preference for the person. And you know what else? Allah loves what you do. He tells us: “Indeed, those who have believed and done righteous deeds – the Most Merciful will appoint for them affection.” (Qur’an, 19:96) Allah will not only love you, but He will show that love for you. He will bestow His affection upon you, and your heart will feel it. So keep trekking. Your heart will open – He is, after all, al-Fattah. Al-Fattah is He who opens whatever is closed; your heart included. You might wonder when and how, but just know that it will happen. It could be on the last night of Ramadan or it could be a month after Ramadan – your heart will open, God willing. The daily exercise you do might not look like much, but you will inevitably see the results if you persevere. Similarly, your good actions slowly chip away at what has been hardening your heart and, eventually, you will feel. And if it gets too much, just talk to God. Tell Him how you feel, and tell Him how you want to feel. Do it every night, and every time you feel empty. God is there; never underestimate your turning to Him. ‘Turning to Him’ does not just mean prayers and supplications; you can just tell Him what is in your heart. On the Day of Judgment, you will be grateful for your perseverance and your hope in Him, because it will matter more than you will ever know. So push yourself and exert all the effort you can muster. The tiniest ray of light can brighten the darkest of places. Love , A fellow heart that is* numb. (*was)

[talesofgrandia-blog]

Call to a Curious Wager pt.2

I went easy on the young warrior, believing great potential in him. I set him upon a journey to refind himself, and hopefully one day bring back honor to his clan name.

A deal was a deal, and he had won the small contest. But his info took me some time to find, especially since hardly any of the event that he was going to ask about was from his own memory. I had asked him what he wanted to know, but he just stood there staring at me, as if his response was that I knew what he wanted to know. The real fate of Korai. Gizemeh was knocked out just before the entire ordeal went down. And I can see in his eyes that he questions things he saw after waking up. “First off I want to know what actually happened after I was knocked out. I know it was my training comrade, Misiko that had done that. She was always step ahead of everything, so she knew knocking me out harshly would have kept me alive.” Gizemeh spoke suddenly, talking about his past already with the mourn showing within his eyes “Yes. Looking at some of this, I can concur that is was this Misiko that knocked you out. But since you blacked out, its a little tough to find it again. Oh wait. Ah! Here it is.” I pull out what looks to everyone like a holographic file folder. I open and see its pages.

“Alright. Are you sure you’re ready for this?” I ask the ninja once more before proceeding with harsh realities.

“I’ve never been more ready. I have suspicions I want cleared.” He responded. Though it did intrigue me as to what suspicions he mentions. I could only respond with “Very well” and look upon the beginning after his blackout. Reciting to him what happened that day. “Not long after you being knocked out was the beginning of the attack. Your master, Serein, was at the front gates onlooking the imminent threat. And that was when the bombardment began. Hefty explosives lobbed at your gates and walls, already killing many men. And your master barely making out of that with his life.” I began to read to him. “But,” And with the mere utterance of that, Gizemeh’s eyes open in shock. “he perished from the debri and of a latent spear that was flung from the initial explosions.” “Impossible! My sensei was alive when I awoke! He finished my training here in the ruins of our home! How was he here if he had passed during the attack?!” Gizemeh looks at me with a bit of anger in his eyes. “I’m sorry Gizemeh, that did indeed happen to the letter. Perhaps grief was clouding your mind?” I suggest to the warrior. Easily implicating that something else was going on. I could not just tell him straight up. But he caught on quickly, he looked at his hands shakingly. Thinking, what did he really put inside of himself? But then he heard it. He heard a cackling in the back of his mind, and looking at him urged me to equip my monocle once more to view this. And I saw it. A dark entity clung to him. Attached to him, with dark intent but not cruel in nature. I could even see it speak to the warrior. “Hehehehehe so. It took the eyes of the observer for you to finally catch on, Notoki.” This creature cackled between words as it knew it wouldn’t come detached from Gizemeh. Speaking in a crazed yet feminine voice. “Listen to the words of that which was kept secret from you for ages. And it was easy to get to you.” Gizemeh gripped his head. Feeling the painful and tormenting headache of this things presence in his mind. Even in my view, it stays close and even caresses his face. “Get out of my head you foul demon.” Gizemeh demanded and was only responded to with more maniacal laughter. “It’s not so simple Notoki. You are the last of the people that held me. Heheheheh. But why get rid of me so soon? I have been helping you all this time. Laying in wait for our connection to be permanent.” This creature was indeed mad, but only beginning to have intent to help the warrior. Next thing I saw was a figure, embodied in what seemed like light. It was Gizemeh. From my view Gizemeh tried to mentally fight back. An image of him attacking this dark creature only to be countered. This fight would last too long knowing Gizemeh’s power of will. I had to intervene with another suggestion so they wouldn’t kill themselves. I doubt they’d be able to rid one of another without it being fatal at this point. “Ahem!” I scoff to get their attention, and their clash stops briefly and they both look at me. “Perhaps I can suggest something much less destructive. As I know for both of you, trying to detach you from each other could very well be fatal. And you know this too dark one.” “Dark one. I go by the name Kuro’sa! And I knew you’d be too good and honest to not stop us. You’re always very pacifist, observer, much like my brother Tien Zho!” The creature introduced herself and scoffed at me. Giving reference to Tien Zho, a crystalline being of light who resides much further than this ruined city. “So the stories my people told were true. They spoke of a dark being that had attacked them. But was overpowered and sealed away.” Gizemeh inquires to Kuro’sa. Trying to confirm if such legends were true. Kuro’sa looked to me with a look in her eyes as she knew. I haven’t told him about the other thing Gizemeh’s people were hiding. But nods. “Yes. I wanted to slaughter your people much earlier than what had led to their demise just this year. But your long ancestors were powerful beings. Would have made a victory over them sweeter.” “But then they began to use my very essence to their advantageous control. Notoki, your healing factor. Your strength. Is not just your training anymore.” She looks at Gizemeh spitefully and then back at me. “And you’re right Observer. I have no ill intent to destroy this young warrior. Doing so would be the death of both of us after being attached this long.” Gizemeh inquires more. “But wasn’t there one person who was able to remove you without killing themselves?” “Yes. In fact, that sole person was your own master. Serein Fahrin. He was truly a powerful person. To this day I was shocked he was able to. And even I don’t know how he managed it. Anyone that had me previously, the only way to remove me was to commit honorable suicide before they could hear my voice. And my essence was extracted from their dying corpse.” Kuro’sa let on the details. My intrigue raised to this extent of the Korai. But Kuro’sa and Gizemeh are now confirmed the last of its legacy. “I have to admit. Your sensei Seiren. He lasted longer than anyone before him. He even began to talk to me. And thanks to him, I have a new outlook on you fleshies. That is why I’m more willing to help. But I’ve grown envious of my time without a body.” Confessed Kuro’sa. And her envy was apparent. She has not had a body for many many years. To see a creature of once ill intent, now consider a path of aid. It astonished me to say the least. But it was a new step. And who knows, for a lone warrior like Gizemeh. It might end up an uncanny companionship between the two. So I suggested the compromise. “I will give aid to your travels, all I ask is run time with your body.” Kuro’sa offered to the ninja. Gizemeh having a look in his eyes as if he was already considering it. “As a warrior it may benefit. I suggest a time of day compromise. One runs during the day, and the other during the night.” I offer my suggestion as it seemed to be pretty fair. They both nodded in agreement. Kuro’sa giving Gizemeh one more night as himself before she begins controlling his body during the night time. But she also whispered one more thing to him. After which he looks at the large lion statue overlooking the arena we all stood in, unsheathing his blades once more and lept into the air. Delivering a heavy strike to the head of the statue, severing it, revealing something gleaming within. The other secret hiding within Korai. An amethyst gemstone, and I smile. “So she knew this whole time. But I see no other that should carry it. This soulgem of the Will of Astarah.” My robotic hand opens as it flies to my palm, and then glowing. “You are a formidable warrior. And now more likely known as the Ninja who dances with a demon. I entrust you to continue fighting your good fight. And dub thee, champion of Run-Fa. This responsibility and gift falls upon the both of you. As you share body, you share obligation.” As the gem glows in my hand, I throw it. Launching it at Gizemeh, and in a flash of light, the gem is gone. He looks around on him and then notices it. Two new socketed amethyst gems in the hilts of his swords. I look at them once more. A give more reassurance. “You may continue your days, and when the day comes to truly be tested. You will be called.” He gives to me a salute with a bow of respect. “Thank you observer. For this closure today. And no need to worry. When that day comes, I will not fail.” He stated before going on his way once more. To pay respects to his people, and move on. I look to my left and suddenly see a silhouette of what looks like Serein Fahrin, with his arms crossed. Nodding, smiling. And then laughing before fading away. Thus was the moment I got to witness a combination of darkness and light. Gizemeh has surely done his sensei proud and I’m actually excited to see if he’ll have another adventure in store for the future. But I’d have to wait and see.

[imanatiya]

To the heart that is numb, Standing in taraweeh while everyone is weeping – except you. Your friends talk about how exhilarating fasting is for them – but all you feel is irritation; and that is if you feel anything at all. Your duas (supplications) are just words you repeat – without heart. What is the point of all of it? Your actions are robotic. Monotone. Without soul. You wish you could be like that person praying next to you in taraweeh who sobs during every prostration. You want to be the one passionately pleading with Allah subhanahu wa taala (exalted is He) with humility. Your hope is that you can be that person whose heart is broken before God. You know what, though? You, too, are special to Allah (swt). You who recites the Qur’an because you know it is good. You who prays because Allah (swt) commanded you to. You who attends lectures on Islam because you want to feel closer to Him. The Prophet ﷺ told us that the person who recites the Qur’an and struggles with the recitation receives twice the reward: for their recitation and for their effort and struggle. Ibn Al-Qayyim used this hadith (tradition of the Prophet ﷺ) as the basis for his statement that the person who struggles to be devoted in prayer gets twice the reward: for the parts that he was devoted, and for his struggle to stay focused. As long as you are trying, Allah (swt) is with you. The fact that you get up to pray qiyaam (night prayer) even though you feel nothing is appreciated by Allah (swt). When you mouth the words to your du`a even when your heart is numb, Allah (swt) knows how you feel. And you are rewarded for that. Do not think that this will go to waste. Allah (swt) gets it. Because you are not worshiping a feeling. You do not bow down solely for that ‘high’. You prostrate only to the Lord of the feelings and the One who is the Most High. You submit to Him – through your prayers, fasting and supplication – because you know you have a Merciful, Just, Appreciative, Forgiving God, Who has the power to give life to everything that is dead. Including your heart. You know you have a Nurturing, Patient, Generous, Subtle and Kind Lord who is can bring back whatever is lost. He can bring you back. So to the heart that is numb: Do not give up just yet. Your heart is on a journey. You are first and foremost worshiping your Lord. And He has promised you: “And those who strive for Us – We will surely guide them to Our ways. And indeed, Allah is with the doers of good.” (Qur’an, 29:69) As long as you are doing good, Allah (swt) will guide you and He is with you. Do you know what that means? Imam Ash-Shawkani stated that Allah (swt) being with someone means more care, honoring and preference for the person. And you what else? Allah loves what you do. He tells us: “Indeed, those who have believed and done righteous deeds – the Most Merciful will appoint for them affection.” (Qur’an, 19:96) Allah will not only love you, but He will show that love for you. He will bestow His affection upon you, and your heart will feel it. So keep trekking. Your heart will open – He is, after all, al-Fattah. Al-Fattah is He who opens whatever is closed; your heart included. You might wonder when and how, but just know that it will happen. It could be on the last night of Ramadan or it could be a month after Ramadan – your heart will open, God willing. The daily exercise you do might not look like much, but you will inevitably see the results if you persevere. Similarly, your good actions slowly chip away at what has been hardening your heart and, eventually, you will feel. And if it gets too much, just talk to Allah (swt). Tell Him how you feel, and tell Him how you want to feel. Do it every night, and every time you feel empty. God is there; never underestimate your turning to Him. ‘Turning to Him’ does not just mean prayers and supplications; you can just tell Him what is in your heart. On the Day of Judgment, you will be grateful for your perseverance and your hope in Him, because it will matter more than you will ever know . So push yourself and exert all the effort you can muster. The tiniest ray of light can brighten the darkest of places. Love, A fellow heart that is* numb (*was)

[fic-dreamin]

5.0 out of 5 stars Same as the previous edition, but w/ a slip cover

5.0 out of 5 stars You don't have to be twisted to like this book! You don't need to like dark things in order to like this dark book. You don't even need to be gloomy or sad to read it. This book is just brilliant. It's innocent and child-like tales will transport you to another level of imagination. You will sympathize with the poor creatures in this book, because they need to be loved too. You will smile and laugh and empathize. I highly recommend giving this book as a gift. Everyone i have lent it to, including corporate execs--really liked it. I also highly recommend "Lenore: Noogies" by Roman Dirge for something similar in terms of art and storyline, which Tim Burton also praises. Go to Amazon

4.0 out of 5 stars Written As a Children's Book, But Best For an Older Kid I bought this handsome collection of short poems and stories by Tim Burton, not only because he is my most favorite director, but also because I was very interested in what his poetry and stories were like. Although "The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and Other Stories" is written as a children's book, the content consists of some sexual,drug, and just plain macabre stuff. For example, in a couple poems, like "Robot Boy," a line goes, "He never forgave her unholy alliance: a sexual encounter with a kitchen appliance." Also, to tell you about the scarce yet present drug content, in the poem called, "Sue", the beginning is, "To avoid a lawsuit, we'll just call her Sue (or "that girl who likes to sniff lots of glue"). And lastly,to show you that macabre stuff is present, I can't recite a specific line because all of them contain some or lots of macabre. But if you truly love Tim Burton, then this book is a good thing to have. I like the poems in this collection- they are fun to read over and over, and a great addition to your bookshelf. I just suggest that you don't buy it for a child or an early reader- it is really for an older kid (like 12 and up) to adult. All in all, I enjoyed this book, and anyone who loves Tim Burton, likes macabre comedy, and can be mature to some very light adult content will enjoy having this book!P.S.- I loved "The Girl with Many Eyes"! (It was a clean and funny poem)!P.S.S.- Not all of the poems contain drug or sexual content!! In fact, most are clean and clever! Go to Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars A "Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy" review by Fernando Leal Tim Burton once again surprises and delights us with his new book, "The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy and Other Stories". The book is a subvertion to the children's fairy-tale book genre. If you look at the book and flip through its pages, you'll say it's indeed a children book, and it's supposed to look like one. But the book has several direct sex and drugs references (i.e., the sexual problems of Oyster-Boy's parents, and "the girl who sniffed lots of glue"), and most of the characters of the tales die at the end. Tim Burton, who's given us such wonderful movies as "Edward Scissorhands", "The Nightmare Before Christmas", and "Pee-Wee's Big Adventure", has now made a wonderful book, filled with what he's best at, unusual, misunderstood and outcast characters. "The Melancholy Death..." is a collection of tales of little freak kids who live in deep sadness for not being understood or accepted. The stories are told through melancholic verses and the illustrations (by Tim Burton) are simple and extremely elegant. Once you meet characters like Melonhead, Stick-Boy, The Boy With Nails in His Eyes, Junk Girl, The Pin-Cushion Queen, it gets easier to understand how Tim Burton could come up with such an original and bizarre film as "Edward Scissorhands". It's as though he was one of the kids from the book. The references to sex reminded me of "Batman Returns", where Tim Burton subverted the action-movie genre, turning a Batman blockbuster movie into an expressionist tale of sex and horror. The Penguin, by the way, makes an appearance in the book as a child (The Hideous Penguin Boy). "The Melancholy Death of Oyster Boy" is a wonderful book and a must for any Tim Burton fan. Go to Amazon

5.0 out of 5 stars Burton's Dark Success! I have always admired the on-screen work of Tim Burton but had not known about his literary endeavours. When I was given this book as a present I did not expect much of it even though the title intrigued me and front cover art work was bizarre. I found this to be a collection of surreal accounts of abnormal children but still able to touch and allow the reader to endear to these beastly freaks of nature. The darkness in these stories are reminiscent of much of Burton's film work and the artwork is almost as powerful as the stories themselves. This book works on every possible level as it is simple yet sinister enough to be potent. A definite must-read for all those with a slightly twisted outlook on the world! Go to Amazon

3.0 out of 5 stars Good, but not for everyone. I bought this book since I'm a fan of Tim Burton's movies (Edward Scissorhands is one of the most beautiful movies I've seen). I appreciate Burton's unique drawing style, and I thought I would enjoy this book. However, it wasn't quite what I expected. I had in mind something more similar to Edward Gorey's "The Gashlycrumb Tinies" or, at worst, something akin to Angus Oblong's "Creepy Susie." And while it does have some similarity, I found it much less entertaining. The stories are often little more than a reiteration of the title, and the verse in the longer stories strikes me as uneven in rhythm (which may not bother everyone, but i'm admittedly uptight about things like that.) One solidly redeeming feature about this book is the impeccable design, however. The hardcover edition is beautifully bound, and the book is cleverly and neatly laid out. Graphic design students might want to take note of this book solely for that feature, if it can be found cheaply.In summary, I'd say the book is for hardcore Burton fans, or those who are more open to highly atypical stories. I give it three stars for effort and design. Go to Amazon

[nxxlxchrzlx]

A Letter to the heart that is Numb.

to the heart that is numb,

Standing in taraweeh (Ramadhan night prayers) while everyone is weeping - except you. your friends talk about how exhilarating fasting is for them - but all you feel is irritation; and that is if you feel anything at all. Your supplications are just words you repeat - without heart.

What is the point of all of it? Your actions are robotic. Monotone. Without soul. You wish you could be like that person praying next to you in taraweeh who sobs during every prostration. You want to be the one passionately pleading with Allah Subhanahu wa ta’ala (exalted is He) with humility. Your hope is that you can be that person whose heart is broken before God.

You know what, though? You, too, are special to Allah. You who recites the Qur’an because you know it is good.  You who prays because Allah commanded you to. You who attend lectures on Islam because you want to feel closer to him. the Prophet SAW  PBUH told us that the person who recites the Quran and struggles with the recitation receives twice the rewards: for their recitations and for their effort and struggle.

Ibn Al-Qayyim used this hadith (tradition of the Prophet SAW PBUH) as their basis for his statement that the person who struggles to be devoted, and for his struggle to stay focused. As long as you are trying, Allah is with you. The fact that you get uo to pray Qiyaam (night prayer) even though you feel nothing is appreciated by Allah. When you mouth the words to your du’a even when your heart is numb, Allah knows how you feel. And you are rewarded for that. Do not think that this will go to waste.

Allah gets it.

Because you are not worshipping a feeling. You do not bow down solely for that ‘high’. You prostate only to the Lord of feelings and the One is the Most High. You submit to Him - through your prayers, fasting and supplication - because you know you have a Merciful, Just, Appreciative, Forgiving God, Who has the power to give life to everything that is dead. Including your heart.

You know you have a Nurturing, Patient, Generous, Subtle and King Lord who can bring back whatever is lost. He can bring you back.

So to the heart that is numd: Do not give up just yet. Your heart is on a journey. You are first and foremost worshiping your Lord. And He has promised you:  “And those who strive for Us - We will surely guide them to Our ways. And indeed, Allah is with the doers of good.” (Qur’an, 29:69)

As long as you are doing good, Allah will guide you and He is with you. Do you know what that means?

Imam Ash-Shawkani stated that Allah being with someone means more core, honouring and preference for the person. And you know what else?/ Allah loves what you do. He tells us: “Indeed, those who have believed and done righteous deeds - the Most Merciful will appoint for them affection.” (Qur’an, 19:96) 

Allah will not only love you, but He will show that love for you. He will bestow His affection upon you, and your heart will feel it.

So keep trekking. Your heart will open - He is, after all, Al-Fattah. Al-Fattah is he who opens whatever is closed; your heart included. You might wonder when and how, but just know that it will happen. It could be a month after Ramadhan - your heart will open, God willing. The daily exercise you do might not look like much, but you will inevitably see the results if you persevere. 

Similarly, your good actions slowly chip away at what has been hardening your heart and, eventually, you will feel.

And if it gets too much,just talk to God. Tell Him how you feel, tell Him how you want to feel. Do it every night, and every time you feel empty. God is there; never underestimate your turning to Him.  ‘Turning to Him’ does not just mean prayers and supplications; you can just tell Him what is in your heart.

On the Day of Judgement,you will be grateful for your perseverance and your hope in Him, because it will matter more than you will ever know. So push yourself and exert all the effort you can muster. The tiniest ray of light can brighten the darkest of places.

Love,

A fellow heart that is* numb. (*was)