#me doing the perennial 'please please please ask me about my research' thing but only for the gay stuff | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

dandelion-wings · 1 year

Note

Whyyyyy won't you write the test subject au!?

I am literally so hooked already, I need more than just scraps of information about it.

Don't get me wrong, I do love using my own imagination and can very much just expand upon this au in my own mind, but there's just something more relaxing about getting to read about it.

I by no means aim to pressure you into writing it! I accept that if you really can't be asked, but please just answer me these, dearest Tumblr user dandelion-wings.com:

- please describe what they did to him at the Akademiya. I sound like a sadist when I say this (I promise I'm not) but I love reading about the torture characters go through because it helps me understand their pain and trauma better.

- does Kaeya meet Diluc again? In the first part you did say Kaeya ran away to Sumeru age 11, so I assume that follows canon event, which means he had been in the Ragnvindr household for some time before capture. So does he recognise Diluc when he sees him again? I've imagined this whole emotional ass scene where they see eachother again for the first time in six-ish years and it made me tear up.

- does Crepus live in this au? (listen. I am a sucker for ragbros and their family, okay!) I assume the Ragnvindr household reacted in some way when Kaeya went missing, seeing as he was a somewhat major part of their lives. Maybe Diluc's birthday plans were different and he never died to the delusion and Ursa the Drake. Perhaps he is still alive and Kaeya recognises him and then Crepus promises to bring hell upon whoever left his son in that state.

- I assume Kaeya makes a good recovery. Does he still join the Knights? I'm not sure they'd let him in with only one arm with missing fingers, but then again it is the nation of freedom so who knows. What does he end up doing?

Many thanks, I love the au,

Friend of the stars <3

Mostly because I have so many WIPs and AUs already (including an entirely different one where someone removes Kaeya's fingers), and I work too jobs, I cannot write all of them! "I'm not going to write this" is a mantra against things I do not have the time to write even though I want to. XD;; It may well go into the warm-ups rotation, tbh. The other reason is that it's a lot darker and iddier than I usually post on main and I always get very anxious about idfic/kinkfic stuff (if I hadn't been so compelled to try and exorcise it with the Compressed Version that totally did not make me stop thinking about the Longer Version I probably would not have posted about it at all). Like, I spent a very serious five minutes looking at this ask thinking, "man, this is going on main, should I sanitize it any" before deciding that the of-questionable-taste parts are essential to my enjoyment and, so, well. I am not going to.

Which means that the rest of this is under a cut and trigger warnings for that first answer include, along with the requisite medical experimentation, dismemberment/mutilation, suicidal thoughts/actions, and sexual abuse/trauma.

The highlights of the research team's activities:

To start with before anything else because this is ongoing and general: confinement, obviously, constant restraint (growing increasingly severe over time, c.f. the shock-collar, which is movement-sensitive and just kept getting turned up over the years), and a caloric intake just barely sufficient for continued functioning, because it is harder for a starving person to fight back. Also, at least once the curse was induced, they did not at any point use anesthesia/pain relief because "pain response is an important scientific datapoint."

I haven't decided how they eventually did manage to induce the curse, but initial attempts were straight-up torture, in the hopes that sufficient negative emotion and/or fear for his life would trigger it. You can insert whatever you like here, but I personally am a perennial fan of waterboarding and near-drowning.

When it did finally trigger, it was first visible in his right eye, which promptly got removed for analysis. Fortunately for him, Anatoli wanted to see if it would spread to the left (it has, thus far, not).

It then started manifesting in his right hand, spreading up his arm (if this sounds a lot like the specifics of Cursed Transformation: I went with very similar mechanisms, why build from the ground up when I've already done some thinking about it), and as soon as it was established above his right wrist, he lost the last two fingers on both hands for a side-by-side comparison. It continued to spread, both up the arm and, once it reached the shoulder, appearing patchily elsewhere on his body. There were more tissue samples taken consistently over the next four years; most of them were smaller than whole fingers, but some were fairly significant chunks (he is probably also short a toe or two but Anatoli had his extremity data at that point, he wanted a variety of sites).

Despite the starvation diet, he did hit puberty in here. At which point both the sexual abuse and additional mutilation show up, because Anatoli's chief research assistant and second-in-command decided to "conduct tests of his sexual response as the curse progressed," which was 100% a "if you write it down you can call it science" excuse for rape. Which, because he was being very consistently dehumanized here (it is significantly easier for most people to carve into a terrified child if you convince yourself they're a monster, not a person), she pulled off in part by treating him more like a person than anyone else in the lab, which did not help him trust Lisa later on.

Concurrently he was both hitting a growth spurt and developing actual powers to go with the curse, and Anatoli was already considering castration with the hope that it would, as in animals, make him more docile. Discovering her 'research' made him decide, not that maybe he should fire his chief research assistant, but instead that he didn't really want to risk being accused of breeding monsters, and. so.

(One of my guilty pleasures in whump-rescue fic is the Rescuee, with no idea what their rescuer is getting out of this, offering them sexual favors as 'repayment,' and this is my idfic so that 100% happens here. And then Lisa's rebuff fucks Kaeya up in its own way because he associated the chief assistant leaving off, some time afterwards as he got too old for her tastes, and immediately dropping all pretense of seeing him as a person, with further advancement of his curse moving him from the 'human, thus desirable' to 'inhuman, thus no longer desirable' category. So at least initially it read to him as, Lisa talks a good game, but clearly she doesn't think he's human enough to touch like that anymore either.)

Incidentally 'I am no longer human enough to even be worth being touched (in ways I didn't like but that I've nonetheless been taught to associate with humanity)' was the main trigger for the first of the three suicide attempts in Anatoli's custody. Others followed, because every time the curse intensified there were more tissue samples, and more restraints on him, and horrible tests of his powers and general physical capabilities, and so on.

At some point they made him kill animals and, later, hilichurls (and Kaeya knows exactly what hilichurls are) to see what he was capable of. A lot of the power-testing was Bad in general because he didn't want to help, and so the efforts made to overcome his sullenness on the subject were very much of the 'push him until he loses control' variety. He still has a lot of Issues around handling animals. :)

Taking most of his right arm off was actually not for Anatoli's research. Anatoli and his team were all Spantamad; he was acquainted with an Amurta researcher who wanted a sample. That Kaeya was starting to grow claws on the remaining fingers of that arm, and that the Cryo veining was most vivid there and the Abyssal powers were clearly linked directly to it, and that those powers were growing stronger and threatened to eventually overwhelm the wards they were capable of, were... significant contributing factors. Half the reason Anatoli allowed Lisa onto the team, despite her associations with her very anti-human-experimentation mentor, was because she had a Vision and was significantly better at magical wards than anyone else interested. And it looked like they were going to need that sooner or later.

To answer the second and third questions together, I honestly have not thought tremendously far past the return-to-Mondstadt part of the plot, but we have determined that he does not meet Diluc at that time, because things in Mondstadt progress as in canon, including Crepus' death. And the timing is such that, after Kaeya has chosen Mondstadt (Lisa wanted Mondstadt, but gave him options because it seemed clear that he needed to feel like he'd made a choice) in large part because he has fond memories and a desperate hope that Crepus might have some sympathy, Lisa and Kaeya arrive in Stone Gate in time to hear that that Dawn Winery is closed because it's in mourning for Crepus, and its young master has recently passed through going the other way. :>

Though the household did react to Kaeya going missing those six years ago! Crepus spent months upon months in Sumeru hiring everyone he could to scour the place, and Kaeya knows that because Anatoli went out of his way to wipe out his test subject's trail in terror that Crepus might have the leverage to get the Akademiya to make him give him up. Which is why he'd hoped Crepus might, at the very minimum, give them shelter and/or give Lisa some money, despite the whole 'Abyssal taint' thing. He was banking very, very hard on 'even if I can't repay Lisa for getting me out myself, Crepus can afford to.' Finding out that he'd just died, that Kaeya had just missed seeing him alive, was devastating and triggered suicide attempt #5.

TBH I am not sure he makes a 'good' recovery per se! It depends on your definition, but like, while he does spend a good few years getting help unpicking his trauma, he still has plenty by the time of game start. I don't think he joins the Knights directly, as a knight; I don't know exactly how things wrap up (theabysscomeshome and I have talked through to the Dramatic Final Confrontation of what would be the second fic if I was writing it, but not the aftermath), but while Lisa becomes Ordo Librarian once the risk of extradition to Sumeru is cleared up, if Kaeya joins at all it's in some kind of auxiliary role.

Lisa does get him a catalyst early on, and he learns eventually how to channel his Cryo through it so he can disguise the source, and thus is fighting-capable, but in all honesty this may be another AU where he joins Benny's Adventure Team, because he fucking loves Bennett. Whenever he says something that he thought was normal and everyone else looks horrified by, Bennett blithely responds with some almost-as-horrifying anecdote of a bad-luck incident. Bennett lets him help with his chores and equipment maintenance, and whenever Kaeya fumbles things because he has all of three fingers, Bennett blames his own bad luck and apologizes for it. Bennett, all of twelve years old at the time, full-on attempted to fight the celebrated Captain Jean Gunnhildr for the sake of Kaeya's freedom. Kaeya mostly gives up on killing himself as a solution to every problem because he realizes it's entirely possible that Bennett will blame himself, and that would be intolerable.

(Bennett's reaction to Diluc, when he returns, is way more similar to Kaeya's initial reaction to Razor than Kaeya thought he was actually capable of.)

So, yeah! I don't know entirely where it goes, but I don't think he's a standard Knight in this AU at any point. (Among other things, he flat-out refuses to fight or kill hilichurls.) He may end up being on-call for them in some capacity, he may become an adventurer with Bennett and just drop any useful info he picks up into Lisa's ear to share with Jean, he may end up a library assistant, I'm not sure. And he does, regardless, do the same 'using his linguistic knowledge/Abyss associations to gather information on the Abyss Order's movements' thing for them. But even with the catalyst he honestly doesn't meet physical-capability standards, and he doesn't want to be directly within a command structure, so I don't think the Knights are right for him.

#asked and answered #test subject au #abuse tw #suicide tw #csa tw #torture tw #i think that... broadly covers the bases?

3 notes · View notes

pinkhairedlily · 4 years

Text

Great Expectations

Chapter 4 of The Spring He Came Back | 4 of 12

Hinamori found herself spacing out in the middle of chores for about a month now. She would be cooking miso soup, and her mind would trail to their conversation on the hill. She would halt in front of the daffodil meadow on the way back from the market and reminisce in the midst of stalks yet to flower, counting down to the third month. She also stopped going to the library because of a growing resentment. If she didn’t bring Hitsugaya there, he wouldn’t have found the book, and he wouldn’t have left. She wondered if she had the right to feel this way, to feel like she lost a friend or a family.

The money from Hitsugaya’s generous allowance came in every end of the month through an academy representative. Baba’s refusals fell on deaf ears, but Hinamori knew she was grateful for the financial support.

True to his promise, Hitsugaya sneaked out of the academy on his third month and met Hinamori on the meadow. He saw her black tendrils flowing with the yellow petals. “Oy, Hinamori.” For a time, it would seem that the gears were running in normal shifts.

This went on for the next three years. Hinamori was given glimpses of his newfound life – of an increasing circle of friends that consisted of a noisy Rangiku, stubborn Rukia, and glutton on steroids Renji. For every encounter, their childhood memories and laidback banter on the yellow field were being replaced by tales of his experiments and model construction with Dr. Kuchiki, the culture shock to the life of the brightest, and the cutthroat competition in academia. For every encounter, he seemed more and more different, but he never let these get the best of him. After all, his silver hair was still shaped like a broomstick, and he still challenged her to watermelon eating contests.

Their meetings stopped when he had to participate in an overseas internship in Karakura. Monthly letters replaced his physical presence until there were none. Exasperated because of her growing loneliness, Baba assured her it was the natural course of things.

“As we grow older Momo, we form a lot of bonds. Some becomes the foundation of our nature and identity while others are circles at certain phases of our lives.” Baba gave her a cup of black tea with a dash of honey, her favorite brew. “There comes a point we grow out of those circles and seek the next set of bonds. The rarest of all, those bonds that accompany you forever.”

“I thought we were his family, Baba.” There was a burning feeling behind Hinamori’s eyes, and she felt a headache forming.

Baba stared at her wistfully and tucked a loose tendril behind her grandchild’s ear. “If you’re so adamant to keep those bonds, why won’t you walk beside him?”

Hinamori shook her head vehemently and slapped her palms on the table. “Baba! I will never leave you. Please stop saying that!” Some of her black tea spilled. “Besides, the academy is invitation-only, remember?”

“Momo my dearest and only, I’m almost 70. I’ve lived a good, full life so far, and I want you to live like that as well. I don’t want you shackled by your past or be burdened by taking care of me. The world is bigger than this town,” Baba chuckled to herself as she took a sip of her tea. “Besides, I have reliable neighbors who will take care of me. We have a telephone now so we can always communicate. Wondrous technology. Oh but you have to teach me.”

“Baba, stop it. The academy is not accepting low-tier students like me.”

“Oh Momo. Just throw it out there and the world will right itself.”

Baba’s wisdom never failed. When Hinamori became 15 years old, the academy opened its gates to the common folk. The complaints about accessibility and inequality probably got to the administration. Investments in the town kept pouring in, demand for residential space was increasing, the clamor to enter the academy regardless of social status eventually gained traction. While the invitation and referral arrangements still existed, the opportunities leveled through general admissions. Well, not quite. The examinations were grueling, and the interviews were tricky to answer. They asked outright for research proposals and the field of specialization one was interested in. On top of her head, Hinamori stated her concentration on terrestrial ecology. Actually, she just wanted to create perennial daffodils so their meadow would be yellow all year round, no matter the season.

Hinamori passed the screening. General admission passers were granted wider freedom but lesser privilege. They were not restricted to stay in the dorms and had normal class schedules that didn’t involve laboratory and experiments on weekends. On the downside, they were provided lesser amount of allowance (good for family of three) which Hinamori was still thankful for. They weren’t also allowed to venture into the buildings of the core members. From her initial grant, she bought a bicycle to make her trips faster and quicker across opposite end of the town. It was an unstable feeling, landing on shifting grounds, but soon enough, she found her balance.

I’m in. I’m inside the academy’s gates. It was an exhilarating feeling of great expectations and humble beginnings.

Only 100 students were admitted in the winter. Amid the flurry of post-inauguration activities, Hinamori saw the familiar silver hair sticking out like sore thumb in the middle of the crowd.

He’s not supposed to be here. He was accompanied by three people trailing behind at a safe distance. She presumed they were the three Rs – Rangiku, Rukia, Renji. On Hitsugaya’s arms was a bouquet. “Oy, Momo.”

Her cheeks were flushed red. She wished she wore her hair loose instead of a bun because it had started to snow. “Broomstick Shirou-chan.” Was he taller when she last saw him? Silly, he was gone for two years.

“I just got back from my internship in time for your inauguration.” He handed her the bouquet of bright yellow daffodils, fully blooming in winter. “Congratulations.”

“Oh, I’m still taller than you,” Hinamori blurted out. “Oops. It was supposed to be a personal observation.”

“You know what, give me back the bouquet.”

“But it’s true! You probably still have the same height!”

“Momo, give me the bouquet back.”

“Won’t.” They both laughed it off, unaware of stealing glances from his company.

“Oooh is she the one you’re always writing letters to, Hitsugaya?” the blond-haired girl asked. “How sweet! Childhood sweethearts!”

“Shut up, Rangiku!”

“Oh no, we’re truly not-“ Hinamori started, but she was immediately cut off.

“Childhood sweethearts?!” the red-haired one yelled. “You mean to tell me this was fate? Wow, I’m so jealous.”

“I’m literally right here, Abarai.” The black-haired kid who was almost the same height as Hitsugaya was probably the least intense of the group. “I’m Kuchiki Rukia, by the way.”

Well, her surname certainly is, Hinamori thought. “I’m Hinamori Momo, Shirou-chan’s childhood friend.”

“Shirou-chan?!” They collectively egged him on, laughing at his clear embarrassment.

“Momo, stop using that nickname!”

Hinamori inhaled the clear scent of pine and camphor trees, reminding her of Baba cozy with her stacked fireplace and of stored jams in their pantry. She can’t wait to tell her Hitsugaya’s back. With the mended symbol of their bond on the crook of her arm, she entered the new phase of her life. Shifting grounds and great expectations.

-------

“Please greet Dr. Sousuke Aizen. He’s one of the foremost molecular biologists outside of Soul, and we are privileged to have him teach here. He will be your professor for biology. Keep in mind that you are arranged by your specialization, and he will be your mentor until you graduate in the academy,” Dr. Unohana, the academy director, announced to a class of fifteen.

Hinamori already outlined ten distinct thesis proposals in her first week. She made headstart on her readings too, already halfway on their given references for the year. If she was going to reunite fully with her friend, she needed to be a core member, and she will work hard for it.

Then, the name finally registered in her mind. Sousuke Aizen. The author of the most recent book she borrowed from the library which was also her inspiration for her thesis topics. She was engrossed with his theories, his writing style, and argumentations that she borrowed all his related books. If she was a radiologist, he was her Marie Curie. Sousuke Aizen was her teacher.

He had a magnetic presence, demanding all eyes on him. It was difficult not to notice him with his broad figure and soft tussle of dark brown hair. If eyes could smile, then he had those, albeit hidden behind square-shaped spectacles. His authoritative stance and the emanating kind disposition were confusing and difficult to compromise.

What an interesting person. Hinamori thought herself perceptive of people’s personalities based on her first impressions with them. That wasn’t successful with Hitsugaya though.

“So, should we start, or would you like me to immediately dismiss?”

It also perked up her interest that he was comfortable enough to teach without a lesson plan in hand or books. He would just talk conversationally with his students and still cover a multitude of topics. He wasn’t the stiff professor that Dr. Kuchiki was. Her classmates would seek him out after classes, asking him to join their group dinners. When she attended once, he noticed she wasn’t talking.

“Hinamori, are you still uncomfortable with your new learning setting?” Dr. Aizen asked. He gestured to refill her now empty teacup, and she obliged him with a nod. “I’ve heard you mostly got your knowledge from reading. Impressive.”

She blushed at the compliment. “I try to do my best, Dr. Aizen.”

He placed his cheek on his hand and stared at her. “You know, I also came from a rural area. Made it hard for me to mingle with the central town brats.”

Brats. She laughed at this sudden connection. “I’m also trying on that area, Sir. I made friends, but they’re on the other side of building.” Was it safe to share that?

“Oh, you have friends from the core Soul group? Fascinating. That means you’re really interesting Hinamori.” He smiled at her, tapping the empty tea pot. “You can talk to me anytime. My office is open for any concerns, academic or otherwise. I want you to know I can be on your friend list.”

The fact that he related to her situation made her happy. A renowned professor with the same roots as her still managed to get to the top. She felt seen. By the end of the semester, Hinamori volunteered to be his research assistant.

NEXT CHAPTER | 5 OF 12 | WANTING VALIDATIONS

#hitsuhina #hitsugaya toshiro #hinamori momo #hitsugaya #hinamori #momo #bleach #bleach couples #fanfiction #anime fanfiction #TSHCB #aizen

9 notes · View notes

blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years

Text

6. Passion Project

“What the hell am I reading?” The woman squealed in his ear, “And why is it ALWAYS something bizarre with you?”

“Did my favorite perennial flower get my emails?”

“Simon… you do know that I have both college AND a job to do, right? That not all of us achieve our dreams the first try?”

“I pay you good money for the work that I ask you to do!” Simon complained. “Unlike your day job that both pays you less than your male counterparts and less than you deserve in general.”

“Yeah, well… I live in the real world. Not like there’s some magical train to take me away from society and all it's problems. But, seriously… researching is one thing, but this feels oddly like stalking. First of all… I had to do some very illegal things to get this information - which, yes, I went ahead and did it, because by the time I got to that point I was feeling a little bit insulted by the thought of failing. Secondly… who IS this woman, Simon? How do you even know about her and what are you going to do with this information?”

“I met her in my everyday life and was interested in her, but found a simple background check difficult. I was people watching for a new story, but it’s become more like a passion project, now. But, I feel like you’ve got a lot to tell me about her!” He was teeming with excitement.

“I… found out things, things that I never would have wanted to ever know about anybody and am now honestly considering charging you for the therapy it’s gonna take me to get over this information… Where in your everyday life did you meet this person?”

“Why… what’s… what’s wrong with her?” Simon asked.

“A LOT. But… I don’t know… I guess she’s doing better, if you’re just seeing her out and about, but… I just…” Tulip yelped.

“Tools???” Simon called out.

Deep breathing. Then, she was back. “Sorry. Mikayla’s out, so I’m by myself and EVERYTHING is startling me. I’m gonna send you everything I found and my charges for this information. And Simon… please don’t ever send me anything like this again, and I mean it.”

“I only wanted to find out if she changed her name and why. How difficult could the information have been?”

“Most people don’t just change their names out of boredom, Simon. Also… it isn’t right to look into somebody this way. I’m only giving it to you because I don’t deserve to be the only person who has had to look at this.”

“That bad?” He heard sniffling. “Tools…”

“No, Simon! This is messed up! Don’t ask me for another favor again if you don’t know ANYTHING about the situation!”

“I’m sorry. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

She let out a deep breath. “Is your mom going to the retreat or whatever this year?”

“Yeah. She’s super excited about it. She says that she hasn’t seen yours in too long. Is she going?”

“Yeah, she was able to scrape up this year to reserve her spot.”

“Mom’s already pulling out all of her Single Mom Squad shit.”

Tulip groaned. “I’m really glad that they had a support group and stuff, but honestly. Why did it become their entire personality for so long?”

“Because it was their little escape from having smartasses like us at home.” Tulip laughed and Simon reiterated, “Really sorry about whatever you read about Grace.”

“I… Is this somebody that you think that you could care about, Simon?”

“Yeah?”

“Okay. Just… be careful. I don’t see how they’re even still standing, much less how they’re in a position to care for someone else. I don’t know if I’m more afraid that you might get hurt if you get attached or that she might, but… it just looks like it’d be super hard to build with this person. They’ve got… a lot of... history.”

“She’s tried to warn me of that and I ignored her and will most likely ignore you.”

“Well, I did my part, anyway.”

Her name was not Grace St. Catherine… Well, it was, because she had it legally changed four years ago. But it had been Grace Monroe when she was born… up until when she was 10.

She was kidnapped when she was 10. Apparently there was a ransom requested, and whenever it was set to happen, the kidnappers took the money and did not return the child. Nobody who knew her before saw her again for 8 years.

When she was 18, she was arrested for assault and when giving her name to arresting officers, said 148, but eventually Grace Monroe. From there, she was discovered to have been missing for 8 years and her parents were contacted.

The Monroes conducted every possible test available to check the well being of their now 18 year old daughter. She was treated for several illnesses, including STDs and a number of mental issues...

She was committed at age 18, and declared a ward of her parents, instead of convicted, and spent the next three years recovering. At age 21, she was allowed to be classified as an adult. She changed her name, and lived with her parents until 2 years ago...

When she began working at the bookstore...

Tulip had even been able to find court documents, police records, and psychiatric files. So… yeah. He owed her big time, even beyond payment for having read even a portion of this stuff. Some of it was simply things Grace had reported to her doctors. Some were things that she had not spoken of, but there was physical evidence enough to grant some ideas.

Years of damage to her uterus… Bruises and scars on her back, knees, thighs, wrists… A symbol carved into the back of her neck… He clicked on the images given from medical reports and saw the same A that had been spray painted on targets’ doors. He now knew who these people were, and why they deserved whatever Grace and her friends were doing to them. He looked at the photos of the girl before her disappearance vs the teenager in the mugshot. That didn’t even look like HIS Grace. She was the same person. He saw familiar features - her perfect round nose and beautiful full lips, the shape of her face a little more shapely there - probably wasn’t eating as well… but… that was a stranger. Only her eyes looked the same. Passionate but filled with pain. Beautiful and wide enough to get lost in, but dark, cold, and freakishly mysterious.

He quickly called her and she picked up, “Did I not just see you a few hours ago?” she teased.

“I was just thinking about you… hoping that you’re okay tonight. Are you okay?”

She laughed, “Are you?”

“I just… want you to know… whatever happens, I’ll always be here for you.”

She was quiet for a long time. He wondered what she was doing on the other end of the line. She was looking at a selection of masks and knee pads, but her mind was no longer on the outfit for her Date Night, but the man on the other side of this phone conversation.

“Thanks, Simon… Um… Are… you sick? Is something happening to you? This just really feels out of nowhere and quite frankly, I’m a little worried.”

“There’s nothing to worry about! I’m fine. I just… really care about you, and had to tell you that.”

Grace could’ve sworn that she saw a chorus of red flags being twirled around before her. Dancers, circling her and performing tricks with them. She was never one for rose colored glasses. She learned a long time ago that those weren’t for her… so these were red flags. She also knew that she often saw red flags where there were white ones. Because she didn’t believe in surrender, only blood for blood. She was angry in general, and usually seeing red. Simon’s red flags were probably no more red than any other poor guy that tried to simply make her smile over the past few years. But then he said, “Grace, I lo…”

“Simon, I really can’t do this right now. I’ve got something I’m in the middle of. So, like… Just… I’ll talk to you another time.” She hung up and snatched a mask that looked like it was crying blood and a pair of purple knee pads. “Not L words, Simon. For fuck’s sake…”

Simon had learned so much, then she was just gone. She wasn’t at the bookstore in days and whenever he finally asked her coworker, they said that she had a no call, no show and they hadn’t heard from her since. She didn’t respond to any of his texts. She seemingly deactivated social media (or worse, blocked him), and she wasn’t even staying at home, because he drove by several times for two days, then literally camped outside for another two. If she was inside, she hadn’t answered, and he hoped that she wasn’t just ignoring him pining through the door. He hoped that she just wasn’t there to hear him beg her to please at least tell him what he did wrong.

He went into the flower shop and the guy that he had become super familiar with as “152” online, even though his nametag said “Heath,” asked him what he could help him with. Simon ordered a bouquet and wrote out a card for Grace, apologizing for whatever he did wrong and asking her to come back, He sighed and asked Heath, “Could you make sure that Grace gets this, please?”

“Grace?” the guy repeated, eyeing Simon suspiciously. “I don’t know any Grace, Mister.”

“148, maybe?”

Now, the guy looked downright ready to fight. “I don’t know what you mean, but you’re making me uncomfortable, so I’m going to have to ask you to leave, now.” He even tried to refund him for the flowers.

“No, no… Please, just… tell her that I’ll be waiting, if she ever feels better…” He left and Heath followed him out of the door, watched him get into his car and drive off before he went back in to call Grace, panicked about that visit.

“Who the hell is this person and how does he know where I work?” Heath asked.

“Let me guess, a little taller than me, skinny, blond with gray eyes and something on his head trying desperately to be a ponytail? That was Simon. I must’ve mentioned the flower shop, or something.” She knew that she never had, but to tell her friend that this person had potentially stalked her and learned about him in the process just seemed like it would cause more harm than taking the blame.

“You must’ve mentioned it? Grace. Either you mentioned it, or you didn’t, and YOU would know. It isn’t like you to be careless about our personal information!”

“I know, I know, but maybe I said that it was my favorite flower shop or something. Heath. You know that if you want, I can get you a job at basically anywhere else that I own.”

“I like flowers!”

“Then, I’ll buy another flower shop you can work at, if he made you feel threatened.”

“Are you safe? He seems a little attached. He bought a really expensive bouquet and left a card. It’s sealed but I can read it to you.”

“No, I’ll stop by. I’ve got some job hunting to do, but…”

“Why don’t you just work somewhere that you’re familiar with, or somewhere that you own?”

“I don’t know. Because, I’m suddenly hyper aware of how messed up I am again, and I wanna feel like a normal person.”

“Well, I hate to break it to you, but normal people don’t get to just start over when life seems to be too much. We’ve gotta just continue to live it out, and change only ourselves, and maybe eventually our circumstances. Normal people would have called out of work (if they could even afford to) and came back, whether or not they were better and pushed through being miserable.”

“Are you suggesting that I return to the bookstore and ask for my job back?”

“Yeah. If it’s normal that you’re shooting for. But… I’ve got the feeling that you’re avoiding this creep.”

“I think things are moving way too fast. That’s terrifying.”

“Good news… that’s terrifying for normal people, too. Not everything that we do and feel is because of what the Apex did to us. If your manager likes you and values you, you can probably coax them into forgiving you for vanishing, with a good sob story.”

“Gonna go with dead homie,” she said. “Meds, etc. The whole works. If that doesn’t work, guess I’ll buy the bookstore. I really don’t feel like looking for another job, anyway… And I guess I can’t avoid him forever.”

She was back at work the next week. She noticed Simon sitting in the coffee shop whenever she came in. She skipped going for her old routine, to clock back in and get to work. She had to take down the Read Across America stuff and make sure to have all the Easter and Earth Day stuff situated… When was Easter this year? She checked her calendar as she grabbed her legal pad to start planning displays whenever she almost ran into Simon. He’d come over when he saw her return to the floor. She was startled. Then annoyed. “Simon. Please…”

“What did I do?”

“You’re… getting a little bit too… familiar. You didn’t do anything, I just don’t know how to handle having somebody else in my space this much. I just… need some space.”

He frowned and nodded his head, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Okay. You’re the boss.” She wanted to say something… explain why she was like this… why she could only trust her friends, who were more like her immediate family than her parents… even that she desperately wanted Simon to be in her space and to wait for her to be comfortable with having him there…

But, she couldn’t find any of those words. Even if she had, what if she were wrong? What if Simon catching feelings would be the worst thing to ever happen to her, or to HIM, for that matter. She watched him go, and hoped that after she had some time to chill out a little bit, she might be able to contact him again, and get another chance. So, she watched him leave the bookstore and get into his car. He peeled off, and she didn’t know if that meant he was angry or if there was a fluke with the car. She just hoped that he didn’t just show up at her friend’s job or anything else like that. Or something worse. The last thing he wanted while sad was to get on her friends’ bad side. The last thing she wanted was for him to learn that the hard way.

Simon overthrew every piece of furniture in his home. Samantha rushed into her room and hid, terrified of the noise. He cried, shook, paced…. How could he show her that he was on her side? Why did she want space?? Was she afraid of him??? DID SHE HATE HIM???? He flopped onto the floor, holding his head and shivering with tears, trying to catch his breath.

He needed some place else to handle dealing with her, he realized as he glanced around his demolished home. A storage unit, maybe… He collected all of his stuff pertaining to her and put it all together. He stuffed it into one of his bags and put it into his trunk. He could clean up his house whenever he stored things away safely. He needed a big storage unit. He had a feeling that he was going to be collecting more while giving her some “space.”

This was how he might cope. He turned on the light in the new storage space and set down a few boxes. He hadn’t been back into the bookstore. There was no need. He wasn’t writing right now, anyway. He had more important things to do. He’d printed out everything Tulip had researched for him and made plans to visit places he highlighted from all of the files. He got some photos professionally printed up - some poster size, some not as big, and some he simply just had various photo sizes. He just thought they would make nice decor for his new space. Grace had deactivated, but he still had just about every photo of her saved to his phone or computer, and they had taken a few as well…

He also… was starting to take them of her whenever he watched her… He just really missed her. It was only a couple of months in her presence, but that was longer than he had been interested in another person in a while, and he had never been this interested in anyone before. Any time he ever thought that he might be going too far, he reminded himself that she had both done and been through much worse than anything that he was up to at the moment, and that became his truth up until the very last time that he ever had to tell himself anything.

That was May. By May… he didn’t think. It was simply part of his lifestyle. Following, watching, studying, photographing, sometimes recording. But, she still hadn’t reached out to him, and he wasn’t sure if she wanted him to reach out to her. He tried to test it, by leaving her a bouquet of those red poppies that he’d seen her and her friends put on their friend’s grave. He watched, recording her reaction whenever she got home and saw them on her doorstop. She looked around, startled, kneeled to check the card. “Missing you. - S” She looked… relieved. He wasn’t sure who she thought they were from, but she grabbed them, went inside, and moments later, came out with an overnight bag and her turtle. She didn’t come home for days.

Next, he texted and said, “Hey. Sent you flowers. My mom asked about you. Hope you’re okay.” He watched her check the text before she went into the train station, but she didn’t reply. So… she still wasn’t ready, but he was letting her know that he was still waiting. By that time, nothing felt unreasonable to him. He was simply waiting for her to realize that she’d had enough space. He was curious about where she went to when she’d leave for days. The next time he scared her into not staying home alone, he’d follow. It was all that he could do at the moment.

07. Things Went Wrong

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #People Watching

11 notes · View notes

anubislover · 5 years

Text

“A Heart to be Used as Needed” Chapter 2

Of all the things Law hated about being Doflamingo’s right-hand man, dressing the part was near the top of the list. The black feathered jacket was a painful reminder of the man who had tried and failed to save him from his psychotic brother’s clutches. It didn’t matter whether he wore an expensive suit or stark naked underneath, the mantle weighed on his shoulders like Seastone shackles.

Once Joker was dead, he’d take great pleasure in burning the damn thing.

Rolling up the sleeves of his mustard yellow dress shirt, he took a deep, fortifying breath, mentally reminding himself that it would all be over once he crushed the Heavenly Demon’s twisted heart beneath the heel of his boot. Lazy, arrogant smirk firmly in place, he firmly knocked on the throne room door, respectfully waiting for his boss’ leave before sauntering in.

“Doffy,” Law greeted, hand raised in a casual wave, “I hear you had to crush Baby-ya’s dreams of wedded bliss again.”

“Aw, come on, kid,” Doflamingo chuckled, pouring them both a generous glass of brandy. The red glow of the setting sun glinted off his sunglasses, his wide grin full of maniacal humor. “I was doing her a favor! You should have seen her latest ‘groom’; the guy had more wrinkles than Lao G!”

The Dark Doctor laughed, accepting the crystal snifter. As much as he loathed sharing a friendly drink with the man, he could at least appreciate that Joker never compromised on the alcohol’s quality. He made a mental note to pour some into the bastard’s open wounds before he killed him. “I believe you! She really does have horrible taste, doesn’t she?”

“Fuffuffuffuffu, you got that right! It was kind of cute, at first, but’s starting to lose its charm.”

“And here I’d assumed you considered androcide a hobby.”

Flopping backwards into a large, plush chair, Doflamingo crossed his long legs with a shrug, taking a sip of his own drink. The chair would have been a loveseat for an average human, but the former World Noble’s massive frame basically turned it into an armchair. “Eh, killing those guys is too easy to be any real fun, and it just about breaks my heart seeing her cry over it.”

“Then it’s a good thing you didn’t see her earlier; poor thing was an absolute wreck when she came sobbing into my lab. Completely ruined my shirt. Maybe I should remove her tear ducts.”

That earned him a sharp cackle. “While you’re at it, see if you could surgically insert some goddamn standards. I swear, each new ‘boyfriend’ is worse than the last. This time, I actually had to use my powers she was so bent out of shape! She needs to realize that I’m looking out for her best interests. None of those peons deserved her.”

Swirling the amber liquid thoughtfully, Law lounged in the Heart Seat. For all its red velvet cushions, the gaudy throne felt no more comfortable than it had when he’d first been shackled to it at fourteen, but after ten years, it was easier to pretend. “Honestly, I couldn’t agree more. The problem is, she’d got this idea in her head that marriage will make her happy, and with her compulsion to be needed, she jumps at every perceived proposal she hears. After all, what could a man possibly need more than wife?” he asked sarcastically.

“Well, that’s a spot-on diagnosis, doc; you got any suggestions for a cure?”

Taking a swig of brandy, he savored the silken burn as it slid down his throat. It was well-aged and smooth, with a few notes of smoke and sweetness; the perfect drink to accompany his plan. “I do,” Law replied with a grin, setting aside his snifter to lace his fingers together. “Let her get married to a man of your choosing.”

Doflamingo sat up straighter in his seat, eyes narrowing behind his sunglasses. “Are you fucking kidding me, Law?”

Despite the sharp edge of anger in his boss’ tone, the young Corazon simply smiled. “Not at all. As much as she wants to get married, she desperately craves your approval. If you chose her next beau, she’d be absolutely over the moon and we can put all this nonsense to rest.”

“Well, unfortunately, there’s no one worthy of our little Baby 5,” he said stubbornly, crossing his arms and hunching over in an exaggerated pout like a spoiled child who’d been told to share his toys.

“No, but you could at least pair her with someone you trust,” he coaxed. Though psychotic and selfish, after over a decade working for the man, Law knew how to gently lure him to the conclusion he desired. “Someone who wouldn’t take advantage of her. Someone who could reign her in and ensure her loyalty never strays from the Family. Specifically, someone to keep her in the Family.”

Intrigued, the giant man relaxed in his throne. “Ah, now I get it. Fuffuffuffuffu, you had me worried for a sec! I should have known you’d never try to drive Baby away from us. A sweet, precious little thing like her needs our protection.”

Yes, the woman who can turn into a literal arsenal needs protecting, Law thought sarcastically, though his smile never faltered. “I’d never even consider such a thing. You know I’ve got a soft spot for her, Doffy; we’ve been friends since childhood.”

“A soft spot is right! I’ve seen you rip out Giolla’s heart just for commenting on how tired you look, but when Baby slaps you, at worse she gets dismembered for a few hours. I’ve never even had to order you to put her back together.”

“That’s because unlike Giolla, Baby 5’s disrespectful outbursts come from a place of love, like a mother scolding an uppity child.” Allowing his expression to soften, Law absently gazed out the window as he continued, “On top of that, her compassionate displays bank up enough good karma that I can’t stay mad for long. After all, no one else brings me onigiri or bullies me to get some sleep when I’ve been cooped up in my lab for days. So yeah, if it keeps someone else from getting their filthy hands on her, I’d gladly give her the wedding of her dreams.”

Stretching his long arms before linking the fingers behind his head, Doflamingo sniggered. “How sweet. Ok, I’ll bite; who would you suggest as the groom? Pica? Buffalo?”

Though he kept his expression strategically banal, inside Law was crowing. Joker was reacting exactly as he’d predicted, and he’d already prepared a response for every man he might suggest. “Pica’s too volatile and Buffalo’s almost as impulsive as she is. She needs someone who can handle her violent mood swings and bring her to heel. Besides, I’d hate to waste such a beauty on them.”

“Harsh, but fair. Hate to say it, but that really limits our options. Vergo fits the bill, but he’s a bit preoccupied with the Navy, and I can’t trust that she wouldn’t run off to be with him and blow his cover.” Rubbing his chin, Doflamingo mentally ran down his list of subordinates. “How about Senor Pink? Baby 5 and the guy who dresses like a baby!” he laughed, tongue lolling out.

Internally scowling at the bad joke, Law shook his head. “The man’s dressed like that to honor his late wife for years; remarrying won’t do his mental state any favors, nor hers.”

“Yeah, guess you’re right. Gladius?”

“I don’t trust that he wouldn’t blow her up if they got into an argument. Baby-ya’s feisty, and I doubt he’d show the same restraint I do if she ever slapped him.”

The shichibukai raised an eyebrow at the nickname. It had been an intentional slip, something to lead Joker to the conclusion he needed. “Kid, quit beating around the bush. Fun as it is acting like a pair of matchmaking old biddies, you never would have suggested this if you didn’t already have someone in mind. Out with it.”

Taking a deep breath through his nose, Law finally stated, “Me.”

This time, there was no laughter from Doflamingo. No snide comment. Just a tense pause as the two pirates stared each other down.

“You’re serious.”

“I am. I’ll even say it plainly; I want Baby 5.”

Uncrossing his legs and resting his elbows on his knees, he scoffed at his Corazon. “Law, you’ve always been a realist; you know you’ve only got so many years left to live, and you’ve acted accordingly.” Recalling the first time he’d taken his young protégée to a gentleman’s club, he chuckled. He’d felt like a proud papa watching the teen saunter off to one of the private rooms with a beautiful woman on each arm and a damn attractive man in tow. By the time they left the next morning, none of Law’s partners had been in any state to move. “When you’re not down in your lab, you’re fucking whoever you please. Hell, even I’m impressed with the number of notches on your belt at your age! So, considering how marriage tends to clash with your lifestyle, what’s got you suddenly looking to settle down?” he asked, blonde eyebrow raised in suspicion.

This was where Law would have to tread carefully. He knew how out-of-character his proposal seemed; on top of regularly inviting scantily dressed partners to his chambers, everyone knew that if Trafalgar Law vanished suddenly, he’d reappear in no more than a week, hungover and reeking of sex, drugs, and blood. In reality, though the sex was a great stress-reliever, those wild benders also gave him the perfect cover whenever he had to disappear for a few days to carry out one of the more clandestine aspects of his plan. A committed relationship, much less marriage, would put a damper on that.

Yet if it led to the Heavenly Demon’s painful and humiliating downfall, it was a sacrifice he was willing to make. Staring at his glass in contemplation, Law replied, “I’ve been thinking about the future. The Perennial Youth surgery has been difficult to research, and even harder to practice, but I’m confident that I’ll figure it out in due time. After everything you’ve done for me, I owe you that much. But that’s got me wondering; eternal youth isn’t the same as immortality. You could, theoretically, still be killed. Possibly even get sick or poisoned. Unfortunately, I won’t be there to help you, and genius like mine is hard to come by. So, why not pass down my genetics and ensure you’ll still have a medical prodigy even after I’m gone? Maybe even your next Corazon?”

“And you want to have that with Baby 5?”

“She’s gorgeous, biddable, and feisty enough to not bore me. More than that, with her unfortunate childhood, I can guarantee she’ll be a doting and protective mother yet won’t stand in your way when you choose to take the kid under your wing. Really, I couldn’t ask for a better option.”

Law could see the wheels in Doflamingo’s head turning. He’s chosen his words very carefully—fatherhood might potentially give the doomed doctor something to live for, but it just as easily created an exploitable weakness. A baby would give Joker extra leverage, something to hold hostage or threaten should the Surgeon of Death appear to have second thoughts about performing the surgery.

Of course, Law had no intention of producing such an asset. He’d sterilize himself and Baby 5 if need be. No child of his would be twisted in Joker’s sick image.

The Heavenly Demon studied him thoughtfully, his gaze intense even through his sunglasses, chin resting on his entwined fingers. “That’s all true, but I’m surprised; with how long you’ve known each other, I’d assumed you thought of her like a sister or something.”

The Dark Doctor’s grin was lecherous, gold eyes hooded as he replied, “I can assure you, I’d never think of my sister the way I’ve thought about Baby-ya.”

“It’s the maid outfit, isn’t it?” he chortled, tongue lolling out to sweep lewdly across his lips. “And here I’d thought you had a thing for nurses.”

Smug, lecherous grin in place, Law winked. “Oh, those are nice, but my real kink is short uniforms and obedience.”

“And Baby 5 has an abundance of both. That doesn’t mean I’m on board with this. No offense, but you’re not the type of guy I trust to respect the bonds or marriage.” Though he remained smiling, there was little pleasure in the expression—more like a threatening baring of teeth. “If you cheated on her, I’d have to start removing some pretty specific body parts, and don’t think I’d let you reattach them.”

It was a vivid, yet not unexpected threat, so Law didn’t even flinch. Instead, he donned a playful grin. “Oh, come on, Doffy; haven’t I been a good boy? You’ve been dressing her up like a pinup since we hit puberty, parading her around like the most delicious forbidden fruit I could imagine, and I never so much as took a bite because I respected your authority. I mean, with how obsessed you’ve been with keeping her pure as virgin snow, part of me assumed you were saving her for yourself.”

It was a dangerous idea to put in the shichibukai’s head, but one Law didn’t trust Vergo or Trebol not to suggest just to spite their fellow executive. It was no secret that the Club Seat and former Corazon held no shortage of jealousy towards him, and if they had any idea that he coveted Baby 5, whether they knew his ultimate plan or not, they’d do their best to interfere. This way, he could at least nudge Doflamingo away from such thoughts.

As he considered it, his threatening expression relaxed. With a single gulp he finished off his glass of brandy, grabbing the bottle to pour himself a generous refill. “Yeah, I’ve thought about doing her.” Lounging against the couch, his lips stretched into a lecherous grin, long tongue swiping over his gleaming teeth. “Hot little thing like that, all bright eyes and tasty curves…but Baby gets attached too easily. Fucking her means your bachelor lifestyle is dead, since she’d probably kill any other woman you even looked at.”

Pleased that his plan was still on track, Law felt the tension in his spine melt away. “Exactly; I’m not blind to what I’m getting into. Hell, I thought you’d be thrilled—since I won’t be wasting time chasing tail, I’ll be able to devote more of it to my research. No need for week-long benders when I’ve got wifey waiting for me at home.”

Leaning back, Doflamingo threaded his fingers together in thought. “Alright, Law, say I am considering your proposal; I’ve got a few stipulations.”

“Name them.”

“One, if you’re insisting on marrying her, you’re gonna be the best damn husband she could ask for. No cheating, fucking about, or even flirting with men, women, or anyone else. And definitely no more drug-fueled benders—gotta set a good example for the kids, right?”

“Of course.” Much as he did enjoy his bursts of rebellious freedom, he’d easily made peace with giving it up. The drugs had long lost their thrill, barely even having an effect on him anymore. Violence he could still enjoy in the lab or even on missions for Joker. As for the sex…

With how eager to please Baby 5 was, he doubted it would even take long to train her up to be the perfect lover, submissive and pliant, ready for him whenever he desired. On top of having her warm his bed every night, it’d be so easy to call her down to the lab and put that hot little mouth to use, or corner her in a dark hallway for a quickie.

“Two, I’m gonna need your timeline for getting me Law 2.0.”

The request pulled Law from his lustful thoughts, reminding him to focus on the task at hand. “Though I’m sure she’s plenty fertile on her own, I have plans to develop a drug to increase the chance of twins; that way, the odds will be in our favor of getting another medical genius. On top of that, I need to study mine and Baby-ya’s genetic material and physiologies to ensure our Devil Fruit powers won’t cause any unexpected complications. Should her transformations affect her uterus, I’ll have to demand she not be given any assassination missions for the duration of her pregnancies.”

“So how long are you saying you need to knock her up?”

This time the smug, lecherous grin on his face was completely genuine. “I mean, I’m not going to wait to start fucking her—if I’m expected to be faithful, she’s going to do her wifely duties. But I won’t start the fertility treatments until at least a year in, when I’m confident we’ll have the results we want.”

“If you’re in no rush to put a baby in Baby, why do you want to marry her now?”

He rolled his eyes, but his lips softened with the barest hint of affection. “Because it’s Baby 5; we take our eyes off her for a moment, and she might actually wise up and elope. I mean, I’m completely willing to murder whatever shit-stain tricked her into running off, but then she’ll be all pissed and that tends to put a damper on a relationship.”

“Ok, fair point.” He rubbed his chin, looking heavenwards in consideration. “I’m guessing you’ll probably want a few years with the kid before you perform my surgery, right?”

“Just for the sake of being sure I am leaving you with a genius,” he assured, hands up in surrender. “I showed signs of being a medical prodigy by the age of three, and I’m happy to impregnate Baby-ya as many times as necessary to hedge our bets.”

“Fuffuffuffuffu! The way you’re talkin’ I might end up with a whole herd of Trafalgar rug rats running around!”

“Hey, the Family did a good job raising us and Dellinger. I trust you’ll turn my children into fine, upstanding members of society once I’m gone.”

The two glanced at each other, then shared a hearty laugh.

“Ok, ok, fine; I can wait a few years for Corazon Jr.,” Doflamingo chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. “And I appreciate you stacking the odds in my favor. You’re good at planning shit, Law, so I trust you to do whatever it takes to get me at least one genius.”

“Happy to hear it,” he responded, linking his hands behind his head and relaxing in his chair. The Heart Seat was still mockingly uncomfortable, but bit by bit he was getting closer to his chance to reduce the damn thing to ash.

Three long fingers were held up as Doflamingo’s grin became more mischievous. “Which brings me to my third stipulation: trust. If you want me to trust that you’re serious about this whole marriage deal, I’m going to need you to prove it.”

“How?” Law asked, curious but unconcerned.

“You propose to Baby 5, and I’ll throw you the wedding of the century. Flowers, music, not a crumb of bread at the reception—you name it and I’ll pay for it. But the engagement will last at least a month. In that entire time, you’re as celibate as a monk—no fucking girls, guys, or even jerking off. And before you get any funny ideas, that also means Baby’s off limits until your wedding night.”

Insulted, Law narrowed his eyes. Sure, he was a degenerate and had deliberately cultivated the image of being a careless fuckboy, but he was also a highly trained surgeon, a ruthless torturer, and his right-hand man; did Doflamingo really think a month without sex would break him? That after all his careful planning, such a stupid stipulation would scare him off? Did he honestly have such a low opinion of him after everything Law’d done for the former noble?

Oh, as if he didn’t already have a thousand reasons to slowly crush his boss’ heart between his fingers.

“Deal,” he ground out through his teeth.

His white-knuckled grip on the chair only tightened when Joker laughed. “You don’t sound very convincing, kid! If you don’t think you can do it, just back out now! I’ll marry her off to Trebol or something and you can knock up a random hooker.”

“I don’t want some prostitute—I want Baby 5!” he snapped, gold eyes glinting dangerously in the fading rays of the sun. Silly as it was to get angry over such a little thing, Law was nearing the edge of his patience, and he hated seeing a carefully crafted plan threatening to fall apart when he was so close to getting what he wanted.

“Hey, don’t give me that scary look!” Doflamingo chortled, his leisurely sip of brandy unable to hide the self-satisfied smirk. “I’m just looking out for everyone’s well-being.”

No, you’re playing with us like puppets, he thought sourly, forcing himself to calm down. This was all just part of the man’s sadistic game, and he’d walked right into it. But Law refused to let himself get jerked around like a marionette. “As am I. We both know my plan works out best for everyone. I get an obedient, healthy wife whom I can trust to carry my legacy. Baby-ya gets her dream of being married, and when I’m dead she’ll still be blissfully needed by our child. And you get both your next Corazon and insurance that your favorite assassin won’t run off with some scumbag looking to use her against you. But if you really feel I need to prove myself, fine—I’ll stay completely celibate until the wedding night.”

“You sure?”

“Doffy, I’m going to make this clear; if you try to marry Baby-ya off to a freak like Trebol, she’s going to become a widow and you’re going to need a new Club Seat.”

“Ok, ok! You’ve made your point.” Sitting back, he gave a mock toast with his snifter. “If you think you can reign her in, I’ll bless your joyous union. I’ve got better things to do than kill idiots trying to separate our family and dodge her angry murder attempts. But marriage had better not turn you soft.”

Pleased that he finally got his way, Law let himself fully relax. “It won’t. Ultimately, it’s just a means to an end, but one that will satisfy all parties.”

“You sure Baby will be able to ‘satisfy’ you?” he asked with a leer. “Pretty sure she’s been waiting for a husband to pop her cherry; virgins can be hot, but that kind of inexperience can be frustrating, too.”

Remembering the way she’d sucked his thumb in the lab, Law wasn’t worried. “She’s biddable and eager to please, so I’m sure she’ll do everything possible to keep me satiated. Hell, a woman like that is practically tailor-made for me, since I can train her up to do what I like instead of having to break any bad habits.”

“Good, because I’m serious about not letting you cheat on her, Law. I want us all to be a big, happy family, and as the patriarch, it’s my job to keep everyone in line.”

Is that why you murdered your own brother? Law sneered quietly. Because he stepped out of line? Because if that’s your biggest concern, then you’ll never see me coming. Careful not to let his thoughts bleed onto his face, he nodded. “Understood.”

Grin shifting into something more easygoing and friendly, he asked, “So, when are you gonna ask her?”

The Corazon finished his warm brandy, taking the opportunity to think it over. “Next week. There’s a full moon, I’ll have time to pick out a ring, and I’m sure I can set up some nice, romantic music or something.”

“Shit, you’re taking this seriously.”

“Of course. I refuse to let anyone mock me and compare my proposal to those other worthless peons’.” Mostly, though, a week would give him time to take care of some loose ends. He expected Joker would be watching him closely during the engagement to ensure he really did hold up his promise to be faithful, and combined with actually putting a wedding together, there’d be little chance to work on his ultimate plan until after the honeymoon.

Though, perhaps he could use his honeymoon as a chance to visit Ceaser’s lab on Punk Hazard, and maybe swing by Sabaody to recruit more men to serve his cause. Considering the number of slaves Doflamingo shipped to those auction houses, surely more than a few would be happy to get some revenge against their captor.

Well, marriage is looking easier already, he thought with a grin.

Mistaking his expression for something else, Joker laughed. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were smitten, kid!”

Tattooed hand pressed to his chest, Law sighed dramatically. “Is that really so hard to believe? Just because I’m a heart stealer doesn’t mean I can’t fall in love. Why, maybe all the wanton sex has been my way of coping with the cruel possibility that I’d never get to be with the one woman I truly care for!”

The two men shared a laugh at the absurdity of the idea. Baby 5 may believe in such crap, but her betrothed and boss knew better—the world was cruel, love was more painful than death, and no matter how you dressed them up, people were at their core nothing more than vicious animals looking to rip each other’s throats out.

“Regardless, I trust you’ll be discreet until after I pop the question?” Law asked. “I’d hate for someone to ruin the surprise.”

“You mean sabotage your perfect moment. Monet’ll be heartbroken when she hears.”

“She’ll get over it,” Law scoffed. He’d had a few fun evenings with the harpy, but she was of no importance to his plans. Though it did bring up the concern that she might try to turn Baby 5 against him before he could put her completely under his thrall. He’d have to ask Violet to keep an eye on her. “Maybe she’ll catch the bouquet.”

“And if she’s lucky, Trebol won’t be around for the garter toss!”

XXX

A week later, Baby 5 received orders from a grinning Doflamingo to clean up a mess in the palace garden. Broom and dustpan in hand, she marched out into the moonlight, mood sour despite the beautiful evening. Law had avoided her since he’d promised to talk to Joker; every time she so much as caught a glimpse of him, he’d disappear, using his powers to easily escape. Even when he had no choice but to be in the same room as her, such as dinner or meetings, he refused to meet her gaze, intently preoccupying himself with some other task or simply looking through her as if she were invisible.

Maybe Doffy told him to stay away from me, she thought with a sniffle. Maybe he didn’t approve the match and he now wants Law to stay as far away from me as possible. Or maybe Law decided he didn’t need me as his wife.

There was another painful possibility—that she’d dreamt hers and Law’s entire conversation. There was no hint that he’d spoken to the young master. No hint he even remembered flirting with her in the lab. Had he really held her close, asked if she’d ever been kissed, shared that cigarette with her? Or had she been so distraught by yet another dead fiancé that she’d begun to hallucinate?

Maybe I’m just completely crazy and my useless brain is making shit up because it knows I’ll never get married! God, I’m such an idiot! I never should have gotten my hopes up, she thought as she wiped a stray tear from her eye.

There was no time for feeling sorry for herself now, though; she had a job to do. She was needed in the garden. Once she was done, she could sneak off to her room and indulge in a good cry over her pathetic state.

As she entered the garden she was greeted by the soft sound of smooth jazz, and as she curiously made her way towards it, she wondered if this was the “mess” she was supposed to clean up. Right arm transforming into a pistol, she whirled around a large hedge, ready to blow the musician’s heads off, only to find the barrel of the gun inches from Law’s chest.

“Whoa, easy, Baby-ya!”

Immediately she froze, horrified that she’d nearly shot her superior. “I’m so sorry, Law!” she exclaimed with a deep bow. “Doffy told me there was a mess to clean up, and I assumed—”

“It’s alright; this is Joker’s fault,” he insisted, cupping her chin to make her look at him. His mouth was twisted in annoyance, and she wondered if he’d settle for just scolding her or if she had an evening of dismemberment to look forward to. “He should have just told you I wanted you to meet me out here.”

Law’s greater height forced her to straighten up, otherwise she’d be able to look no further than his chest. She blinked as she realized he was dressed rather nicely; smart black blazer and trousers, yellow dress shirt with the top three buttons undone, freshly polished shoes, and glittering gold earrings and cufflinks. The spicy scent of cologne tickled her nose, and she recognized it as the deep, musky fragrance he wore whenever he went out, and one of the myriad of smells his sexual partners reeked of when they left his room.

Amethyst eyes swept across the little clearing, taking in the small table with its crisp white tablecloth, which she identified as the one she’d ironed not an hour ago but had mysteriously gone missing. A vase of scarlet roses, a bottle of red wine, and two crystal glasses were carefully arranged on top of it, and with the small jazz quartet off to the side and the soft glow of the moon and surrounding lanterns, she finally understood.

The Corazon was out here meeting someone. Someone he was looking to impress. To her knowledge, he never put in this kind of effort for someone he simply intended to fuck, so whoever it was had to be really special.

No wonder he’d been avoiding her all week.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked softly, trying not to let her disappointment show.

In leu of an answer, he strolled over to the table and pulled out a chair, pointing at the seat meaningfully. Frowning, she studied the seat, not seeing any dirt but wiping it down anyway with her apron. An irritated little vein ticked on his forehead at her response, so she quickly tried to figure out what else he could possibly need. Should she fetch a cushion? Was the chair itself unsatisfactory and he wanted her to get a new one?

“I want you to sit in it, Baby-ya,” he finally said with an exasperated little eyeroll.

Red stained her cheeks in embarrassment. Asking her to take a seat was the last thing she expected, but maybe he wanted her to test the strength of the chair? She’d cleaned Law’s room several times after a one-night stand, and broken furniture was not an uncommon sight.

Gingerly sliding into the chair, she was surprised when he pushed it in, taking the seat across from her.

Feminine fingers fiddled nervously with the ruffled hem of her apron. What was she doing here? What did Law need? Shouldn’t she get out of the way before his real date showed up and got the wrong idea?

“Beautiful night, isn’t it?” he asked, resting his sharp chin on the bridge of his linked fingers, smirking slightly as he took her in. It was the first time he’d really looked at her all week, and she wondered if she was dreaming again.

When she nodded mutely, he continued, “Sorry for the calling you out on such short notice; I wasn’t sure everything would come together in time, and there was a threat of a storm rolling in. Plus, with all the planning I’ve been doing this week, I’ve been so tired I barely knew what day it was. The invitation almost completely slipped my mind.”

The full moon illuminated his face, and she could see the dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced than usual. Insomnia had always been a problem for him, but she knew it got worse when he was stressed. And when it got especially bad, his temper was a lot shorter, and he was more likely to take it out on her when she got in his way. Why didn’t he ask her to take care of things? When it came to stuff like this, she was incredibly useful! She could set a table and deliver messages. If it helped, she was even willing to let him cut her into pieces so he could let off steam! Did he think she’d mess it up? Was he so sure he didn’t need her? “You did a good job,” she assured weakly.

His large, tattooed hand plucked one of her own from her lap, his rough thumb rubbing teasing little circles across her knuckles. “I’m glad you like it. I’ll be happy to leave the wedding planning to you and Joker, though; picking out tablecloths and flowers was absolutely mind-numbing.”

“Wedding planning?”

“Of course.” Baby 5’s heart quivered as he linked their fingers. It all felt like a scene from one of those romance novels she sometimes snuck from Giolla’s room. The moment where a pair of lovers confessed their feelings, none but the moon to bear witness.

As he poured a generous amount of wine into her glass, Law placed a butterfly kiss to the tip of her ring finger, followed by a light nip. “I like to think it’ll be a classy affair, but with Doflamingo in charge I’m not holding out hope. Still, so long as I get to see my obedient bride in a beautiful white dress, I can’t complain.”

“That sounds nice,” she managed to say, even though it felt like he was slowly strangling her. Even if his promise in the lab hadn’t been real, could he really be so cruel as to mock her with plans for his wedding when her dream was slowly being bashed to bits?

He raised an eyebrow. “You seem far less excited than I’d imagined.”

“Oh, no, of course I’m excited! I’m sure your wedding will be lovely, and I’m happy to help if you need me!” she said with a pained smile, desperately holding back her tears.

Smile dropping, his gold eyes narrowed. “Ok, this is ridiculous—you take the most innocuous comment from a complete stranger as a proposal, but you honestly can’t tell when I’m trying to ask for your hand in marriage?”

“What?”

Pulling out a small, velvet box, he presented her with a gold ring, a heart-shaped diamond gleaming in the center. He smirked at the way her eyes widened in shock. “Joker gave his approval, and I said when I proposed it’d be far better than what those scumbags had done. Now, are you going to stare at me forever, or are you going to say you’re mine?”

“…am I hallucinating?”

Reaching across the table, he gave a harsh pinch to the soft skin of her wrist.

“Ouch!”

“Proof enough that this is real? It’s been an exhausting week, Baby-ya, and I’d like to spend the rest of the evening drinking a nice glass of wine with my future wife before the hell of wedding planning starts. Though, I suppose if you don’t want me…” he trailed off as he slowly began to close the box.

A stampede of thoughts galloped through her head, barely comprehensive but all arriving at the same conclusion.

Law had asked her to marry him, and she needed to give an answer.

“Y-yes!” she exclaimed, ready to leap over the table, but his upraised hand between them stopped her.

“As much as I’d love to have you in my arms,” he said with a tired but triumphant grin, “I promised Joker I’d be a gentleman until the wedding. That means we’re going to have to keep touching to a minimum.”

“But why?” she asked curiously as he slipped the ring onto her finger. The diamond gleamed in the dim light, and it all finally felt so real.

She was finally going to become a wife!

Overwhelmed with emotion but unable to embrace her betrothed, she settled for grabbing his hand, kissing his fingertips like he had hers, her lips momentarily wrapping around his finger. Surely that counted as keeping touching to a minimum while still letting him see her gratitude, right? And he’d seemed to like it when she sucked his thumb that time…

She gasped as his long fingers wrapped around her wrist, tugging her forward so hard she knocked over her glass of wine, the burgundy liquid seeping into the clean white tablecloth.

Hot lips pressed to her ear as he rasped, “Because you’re too fucking irresistible for your own good, and if I’m going to make it to our wedding night, I need you to be a good girl and not tempt me.”

Liquid fire pooled between her thighs at the way his baritone voice called her a “good girl,” and she couldn’t help but let out a little whimper in response. He seemed to catch her reaction, as his voice became even rougher as he said, “Do you like that, Baby-ya? Does being called a ‘good girl’ turn you on?”

Swallowing hard, she tried to pull away, but his hand was like a shackle, unrelenting in its task of keeping her captive. “Yes,” she practically whispered, a little ashamed. Good girls didn’t get so hot and bothered over a few simple words. A good girl wouldn’t have tempted him. A good girl wouldn’t secretly want their superior—their future husband—to pin her to the table and show her what those romance novels meant when they talked about a man bringing his lover to the peak of pleasure.

She heard him take a deep, steadying breath before finally releasing her wrist, sitting back down and refilling her glass as if nothing had happened. Gold eyes flickered up to meet her breathless and confused gaze, and his wicked smile made her chest tighten and tingles dance through her nervous system.

“Then I’m looking forward to you showing me just how good you can be on our wedding night.”

32 notes · View notes

douchebagbrainwaves · 5 years

Text

YOU START BY WRITING A STRIPPED-DOWN KERNEL HOW HARD CAN IT BE

Both of which are false. You must resist this. The main value of the succinctness test is as a guide in designing languages. They'll be fine.1 A typical angel round these days might be $150,000 raised from 5 people. If a hacker were a mere implementor, turning a spec into code, then he could just work his way through it from one end to the other like someone digging a ditch.2 I never read the books we were assigned. So please, get on with it. No one has to commit explicitly to what the central point is. But due to a series of historical accidents the teaching of writing has gotten mixed together with the study of ancient texts was the essence of what scholars did.

If you expressed the same ideas in prose as mathematicians had to do without. But actually being good is an expensive way to seem good. Because the fact is, if you believe as I do that the main reason we take the trouble to write two versions, a flame for Reddit and a more subdued version for HN. In a real essay you're writing for yourself. The reason they like it when you don't need them is not simply that they like what they do. The Internet is changing that. That's why I'm so optimistic about HN. And unless you already have if you can't raise the full amount. And so once university English departments were established in the late 19th century the study of literature. I'm not proposing this as a new idea. Bill Gates would probably have something to read.3 There's always a temptation to do that completely.

They raise their first round fairly easily because the founders seem smart and the idea sounds plausible. So the ability to ferret out the unexpected. Even if you only have one meeting a day with investors, somehow that one meeting will burn up your whole day. And anything you come across that surprises you, who've thought about the topic a lot, will probably surprise most readers.4 For a painter, a museum is a reference library of techniques.5 I can't. It means that a programming language is obviously doesn't know what a programming language should, above all, be malleable. The true test of the length of the delay inversely proportional to some prediction of its quality. Almost everything is interesting if you get deeply enough into it. It hadn't occurred to me till then that those horrible things we had to rely mostly on examples in books. And once you start to doubt yourself.

So no matter how many good startups approach him.6 But I know the house would probably have ended up pretty rich even if IBM hadn't happened to drop the PC standard in his lap. Why is it conventional to pretend to like what you do or what I do is somewhere between a river and a roman road-builder. And open and good.7 A couple hundred thousand would let them get office space and hire some smart people they know from school. And yet a lot is at stake. Browsers then IE 6 was still 3 years in the future, and the power of the more unscrupulous do it deliberately. Hacker News is an experiment, and an experiment in a very young field. So when a language isn't succinct, it will feel restrictive. The paperwork for convertible debt is simpler.

Their search also turned up parse. The study of rhetoric, the art of arguing persuasively, was a kind of final pass where you caught typos and oversights. Colleges had long taught English composition. The existence of aggregators has already affected what they aggregate.8 Study lots of different things, so you can learn faster what various kinds of work. I think he really wishes he'd listened. The advantage of the two-job route is less common than the organic route. There is nothing investors like more than a plan A. Long but mistaken arguments are actually quite rare. Scientists don't learn science by doing it.9 Even the concept of me turns out to explain nearly all the characteristics of VCs that founders hate. Relentlessness wins because, in the Gmail sense everything I've told you so far.

Hacker News is an experiment, and an essai is an effort. Users have worried about that since the site was a few months old.10 So a plan that promises freedom at the expense of knowing what to do, so here is another place where startups have an advantage. It sounds obvious to say that the answer is a simple yes, but no one can predict them—not even the protagonists: we're just the latest model vehicle our genes have constructed to travel around in. There are lots of other potential names that are as carefully designed and, if possible. Another easy test is the number of both increases we'll get something more like an efficient market. For example, in a recent essay I pointed out that because you can start as soon as the first one is ready to buy. Why is it conventional to pretend to like what you do? Twenty years ago, fascinating and urgently needed work. Fundamentally an essay is a train of thought, as dialogue is cleaned-up train of thought—but a cleaned-up train of thought—but social and economic history, not political history. It will always be true that most great programmers are born outside the US.11 The whole room gasped.

I've met a few VCs I like. There's nothing intrinsically great about your current name would seem repellent. Since we hosted all the stores, which together were getting just over 10 million page views per month in June 1998 I took a snapshot of Viaweb's site.12 The advantage of the two-job route, if you have $5 million in investable assets, it would seem an inspired metaphor.13 The advice of parents will tend to feel bleak and abandoned, and accumulate cruft.14 The good things in a community site come from people more than technology; it's mainly in the prevention of bad things that technology comes into play. Investors like it when they can help a startup, but they did have to go to school, which was a dilute version of work meant to prepare us for the real thing.15 Or at least, a thesis was a position one took and the dissertation was the argument by which one defended it. I didn't realize this when I was about 9 or 10, my father told me I could be 100% sure that's not a description of HN. Indeed, you can start as soon as the first one is ready to buy. It's kind of surprising that it even exists. And there was the mystery of why the perennial favorite Pralines 'n' Cream was so appealing.

Notes

Html. If early abstract paintings seem more powerful sororities at your school sucks, where many of the War on Drugs. Most unusual ambitions fail, no matter how large.

The quality of investor behavior. 03%. Bullshit, Princeton University Press, 1981. Source: Nielsen Media Research.

There is no different from deciding to move from London to Silicon Valley. Sites that habitually linkjack get banned. Xenophon Mem.

Hypothesis: A company will be big successes but who are good presenters, but we do the right thing to do some research online. Here's a recipe that might work is in the general manager of the products I grew up with elaborate rationalizations.

Sometimes a competitor will deliberately threaten you with a cap. It's a bit more complicated, because you have to keep them from the DMV.

A single point of a powerful syndicate, you now get to go deeper into the work of selection. The Sub-Zero 690, one could aspire to the hour Google was founded, wouldn't offer to invest the next investor.

At first I didn't care about, like languages and safe combinations, and one VC. Gauss was supposedly asked this when comparing techniques for discouraging stupid comments instead. Proceedings of 2003 Spam Conference.

In part because Steve Jobs doesn't use.

So as a rule, if an employer, I have no decision-making power. Your user model almost couldn't be perfectly accurate, and that most people will pay people millions of dollars a year for a patent is now. Obvious is an understatement.

It wouldn't cut their overall returns tenfold, because when people make the people working for me was the ads they show first. It's hard to say they prefer great markets to great people to claim retroactively I said yes.

Candidates for masters' degrees went on to study the quadrivium of arithmetic, geometry, music, and that modern corporate executives would work better, and b I'm pathologically optimistic about people's ability to solve a lot of legal business. One of the iPhone SDK.

Cost, again. And they are building, they were. If a company growing at 5% a week for 19 years, it means a big company. However bad your classes because you spent all your time working on is a convertible note with no deadline, you should push back on the parental dole, and journalists—have the perfect life, and stir.

This is not an efficient market in this essay talks about the distinction between money and disputes.

That name got assigned to it because the ordering system was small. In fact, we should make the argument a little about how to deal with them. Auto-retrieving filters will be big successes but who are weak in other ways to do more with less? By your mid-game.

No big deal. This is isomorphic to the frightening lies told by older siblings. It was revoltingly familiar to slip back into it. But should you even working on that.

3 notes · View notes

ikesenhell · 6 years

Text

The Well

The Measurement of Time: Chapter 5. You can find all other IkeSen works of mine here. NOTES: This was a LiveWrite! Thank you all so much! ALSO: This whole story does not make much sense without the context from To Honor And Protect! Please go back and read that before you proceed with TMOT. Tagging @ikemenprincessnaga at request. Y’all, I am so attached to Toyotomi-Akechi. I love her. She is my child now.

Sasuke spent most of the next morning in the library, parsing through book after book. After his second shared dreaming experience with Uesugi, he was deeply interested in the data points behind it. Had anyone done a really good, thorough research paper into the topic? It seemed not. That was frustrating. Then again, how could one devise a really proper scientific method to study it?

Mildly put out (only mildly, because that was how the pursuit of knowledge worked--sometimes one needed to recognize a gap in understanding before one could fix it), he returned to the barracks with a few books and settled in at the breakfast table. Tokugawa burst in through the door and shot him a grin.

“Afternoon! Where’ve you been?”

Sasuke really could see a lot of the fabled Masamune Date in Tokugawa’s mannerisms. Historically speaking, it seemed funny. “At the library. I’m doing a bit of light reading.”

A slender hand emerged behind him and peeled a book out from under his stack. Miss Takeda flopped onto the table, a sweet bun in one hand and a grin splitting her cheeks. “This isn’t any ‘light reading’. Do you do math for fun, too?”

Sasuke didn’t know how to respond to that. “Long division could be comforting, I suppose. I rather like going over results from scientific studies.”

Tokugawa snapped his fingers. “You know who you should talk to? They like that stuff, too--”

“Don’t bother yelling. I’m here.” Another woman emerged in the doorway, stretching in her armor. She had sleepy citrine eyes and light brown hair, her hands long and slender. At her waist, two symbols of her house hung: Akechi and Toyotomi. “You’re the new kid.”

“That would be me, yes.” Sasuke thought to stand and bow to her. “Toyotomi-Akechi?”

“Mhm.” She didn’t say much, just skated smoothly across the floor and peeled the book from Takeda’s hands. “Don’t take people’s things.”

“Awww. Don’t kill the vibe.”

But Toyotomi-Akechi fixed Takeda with such a sinister, knowing smile that Sasuke’s unspoken questions faded away. Ah. There was the legendary Akechi smile. The woman flipped the book open. “What are you researching?”

“Shared dreaming.”

“Hm.” If there were questions (and there were, judging by the confused expressions from Tokugawa and Takeda), she didn’t ask them. She just snapped it shut and handed the book back over. “Alright then. I’ll take a bit of looking into the subject myself.”

Sasuke was ready to push half of the books in her direction, but she just shot him a wink and sailed out the door into the backyard. Tokugawa shrugged. “I don’t know where she gets any of her information, but she’s good. I’d just let her do her thing.”

“Fair enough.”

The door opened again, Uesugi standing with her hand on hilt. “Sarutobi.”

“Yes, ma’am?” He’d never called her ma’am before, but it felt impolite not to at this point. Tokugawa choked back a laugh.

“Time for training again.”

“Got it.”

She scowled at Takeda and Tokugawa, who were both stifling laughter. “And you two, while we’re at it.”

“Good luck, Tokugawa!” Takeda vaulted off the table and sprinted out the door with unexpected speed. “Sorry for abandoning you!”

“No you aren’t!”

Uesugi stood, gazing off into space as if a silent audience there saw and understood her struggle. At last, she sighed. “You two, come on. With me.”

---

The dreams didn’t stop.

For the next week, he had a disjointed series of them parade through his unconscious mind. A stone wall, crumbling inward--dark, stately hallways--the faint orange glow of a string of lights, illuminating in patches against columns--quiet whirring of something mechanical--

What was going on?

He asked Uesugi about the first two. Of course she’d had them too. Afterward, they didn’t even talk about it anymore. He would come down into the kitchen at early hours to see her prepping some tea, they’d nod at each other in quiet understanding, and she’d pass him the mug she’d fixed up just for him.

“We should probably notify the Queen,” she remarked once, her smooth voice a thread in the tapestry of morning sounds. As much as the Ishida family line laid claim to being affiliated with the ocean, he couldn’t help but look at Uesugi and think of the sea, too. Uesugi with her ocean eyes of blue and green, her white-blonde sandswept hair, the sharp and soft and angular and rolling parts of her that shaped like the crash of a wave. “She’d want to hear about this.”

“I don’t know that it is entirely of interest yet, aside from being scientifically curious.”

But Uesugi laughed ever so lightly. “I’m pretty sure her whole family line is ‘scientifically curious’. If anything odd is afoot in this city, I’ve little doubt that the Queen would know better than either of us if these dreams are some kind of a portent.”

Admittedly, Sasuke was nervous for other reasons. He still felt that misplaced crush on her Highness. It simmered in him the same way all his favorite questions did. In some ways that felt inappropriate; like a conflict of interest during research, twisting the results ever so slightly in the tester’s favor. It was a ridiculous thought, but he still couldn’t shake it.

Uesugi arranged the meeting regardless. The day of, someone hammered against his door early in the morning.

“Hey there, sleepy!” Tokugawa laughed at Sasuke’s fatigued expression. “Hope you slept well. Uesugi told me to grab this for you.”

“What is it?”

“If you’re in care of us, you have to look like it.” And with that, Tokugawa set a bundle in his arms, shooting him a wink. “Get changed. Your appointment with the Queen is in two hours.”

Confused and curious, Sasuke unrolled it on his bed. Out came a blue and silver uniform. Emblazoned on the chest in shimmering white-blue was the crest of the Nine.

---

The throne room was an informal affair. At the farthest end, a massive window opened out to the ocean, the swirl of waves and distant storms the perennial backdrop of the City. The jet tiles were polished so bright they shone, and at the center, near the wall, was a massive, round, obsidian table. Several stately chairs sat around it.

“Welcome.” The Queen stood as they entered, her sweet smile at home against the waves. “Uesugi. Sarutobi.”

“Your Highness.” Uesugi clasped her fist to her chest and bowed deeply. Sasuke followed suit less gracefully. “We came to talk to you about an odd situation that we find ourselves in. I think it might be something of interest to you.”

She listened with a frown as they laid out the situation: the dreams, their contents, the connected nature of them. After a moment she stood and circled around her seat, pacing by the glass wall.

“My grandfather and grandmother had a very interesting bond,” she noted finally. “They were notable in that not many people in the history of magic--the history we know of, mind you--can both share the same staff.”

“Of course.” Sasuke commented. “Most magic users report that their staves won’t interact well with others. They state that there is odd sparking, resistance, backfiring…”

“Correct.” The Queen motioned to him. “I know your prior employment was involved in studying that. I don’t think your team pinpointed the causes of it?”

“Not yet. We are still formulating theories.”

“It takes time.” She paused. “My point is that it wasn’t just two people using that staff.”

Uesugi frowned. “No?”

“No. Because my grandfather didn’t make that staff--he found it. On the Trinity Islands, as it so happens. It belonged to the same mage that invaded our city. Ergo, three people were able to use it.” She took a moment to consider. “I can’t imagine what my grandparents thought of that, or if it ever occurred to them what that meant, but I imagine that in some ways, they are still linked to that original force.”

Sasuke paused for thought. “So--allow me to base a guess off your previous conjecture--you perhaps believe that Uesugi and I are connecting with a singular force with this creature on the Trinity Islands, the same way that the Lord and Lady Ishida and that Mage connected?”

“That’s my guess.”

“Alright.” Uesugi shifted uncomfortably. Sasuke watched the dim light flutter and play over her severe, beautiful features, and realized all at once--oh. Well that was an unprofessional feeling. “Alright, but here is my question, your Highness. There was a physical object in question when the Lord and Lady existed: that staff. As best I know, there is no physical object in play here, unless I’ve utterly missed something.”

“That’s my question, too.”

All three of them fell silent. Sasuke peered out the window, over the lip of the obsidian cliffs, and realized he could just make out the statue of Mitsunari and the Queen dancing in the surf.

---

Two days later, Toyotomi-Akechi emerged from a downpour in the kitchen, shaking out her boots. “Uesugi.”

“Where have you been?” Uesugi didn’t sound upset by any means. Sasuke had gathered they were rather used to Toyotomi-Akechi’s comings and goings being erratic at best.

“That doesn’t matter. You and Sarutobi should come with me.”

“What?”

But the woman just motioned again and turned back out into the rain. Cursing, Uesugi flung a cloak at Sasuke and donned one herself, racing after her.

They sloshed through the empty cobblestone streets, kicking up water in thick sheets. Thunder rumbled ominously overhead. Taking twisting, labyrinthine side streets, they slid through the curving underbelly of the City with the kind of ease Sasuke had never imagined. And then--

“Here.” Toyotomi-Akechi led them into a little courtyard. Several houses backed up around a circle of patchy grass, a well sitting squat between them. “Down there.”

“Down there what?” Uesugi snapped, squinting down into the well.

Sasuke held his glasses against his face and took a look. Nothing but blackness greeted them. What was he even looking for?

“Don’t look.” Toyotomi-Akechi laughed at them. “Listen.”

He shut his eyes obediently. Was there a point to this? He heard the thunder overhead. He heard the rush of wind and the surging tide. He heard the rain hammering against stone and rooftop and fabric, and--

And he didn’t hear water plinking against water.

“There’s no water in there,” Uesugi murmured. “Alright. So it’s an empty well.”

And at that, Toyotomi-Akechi grinned like a snake incarnate. Stretching out her hand, a flutter of magical lights emanated from her fingertips and circled downward. They watched the dark stones of the well inch by inch by inch--and then, there it was: a strange looking doorway at the very bottom, an ancient padlock holding it shut.

“That looks like a place to get murdered,” Uesugi commented.

“One would hope not.”

“Do you think--” Sasuke paused. “This is a bit of a stretch, but--”

He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Uesugi just turned to the other woman. “I’m assuming you brought a ladder?”

“Brought? No.” But she motioned to one leaning against a nearby house. Uesugi just fetched it herself and lowered it into the well, jostling it a few times to see if it would stick. It did.

“Alright. Sarutobi?”

He swallowed all of his misgivings. “Right behind you.”

“Good.”

They clambered down the ladder and onto the wooden platform. For a second he thought she would try and pick the padlock, but she just smashed her heel through the hinges of the old door and watched it snap loose. There: there was another ladder, leading down into an unknown depth.

Uesugi blinked against the rain and yelled up to Toyotomi-Akechi, “If we don’t return in four hours time, come back and get us!”

“Got it.”

Sasuke waited for her to clear the door before he hopped onto the second ladder and descended. The rain above sluiced through the slats of the wooden door and sprayed him, but he kept his head down as the whole world went dark around him. Down, down, down--and finally his foot met pavement again.

“Alright,” Uesugi muttered in the pitch black. “Give me a second.”

Shhck, shhck--finally her match caught. She lifted it in the dark and found a long-unused torch, and as soon as it went up, they both gasped.

Before them, stretching out into nothing, was a long, dark hallway under the city.

#Ikemen Sengoku #Ikesen Fantasy Au #Ikesen Fanfic #Ikesen #Ikesen Sasuke #Sasuke Sarutobi #Sarutobi Sasuke #Ikesen Medieval Au #Ikesen Descendants #Female!Uesugi #TMOT #The Measurement Of Time #The Well #My writing

35 notes · View notes

xyliane · 6 years

Note

I just realized where we are rn in HxH is about Aug 2001. So now I am wondering if Togashi will have a special event corralating to 9/11 and I'm worried.

let me preface this response by saying I’ve been in research paper spiral for the last four months due to my impending advancement in june, and your question provoked a knee-jerk reaction that led to a 4h-long research spiral by someone whose specialty is absolutely not japanese foreign policy and nationalism.

the tl;dr version here, and then the explanation for it under the cut: I don’t think that’s going to happen. for one, they’re currently on a boat headed to Big Murderous Landmass (unless kurapika and co sink the whale). they’re not in yorknew/nyc. also, japan’s perceptions of 9/11 and the media representations of it are not as pervasive as american or even broader western collective trauma. while togashi is unafraid to address contemporary social politics, I don’t think he’s going to correlate a particular event to 9/11. he’s more concerned with the failings and strengths of humanity, as a whole or in parts, and might reference particular events to get across a greater point, not draw direct parallels.

now, a cut, and then several hundred words on 9/11 as a moment of collective trauma, japanese militarism, and media perceptions. it is 4000% nerdier than this ask expected.

I don’t think togashi is going to include a 9/11 parallel in a large part because of how japanese media, and anime in particular, addresses japanese communal trauma, and how togashi uses moments and evocations of these in his stories (at least, yyh, and hxh, although level e has its own quirks). namely that japan really doesn’t deal with 9/11 like americans do–but they absolutely have other traumas that make their way into anime, manga, and other media.

the thing is that, while 9/11 is absolutely a moment of international trauma (I work in india, and people there are highly conscious of it), the moment that hit the US was very different in other parts of the world. I’m old enough to remember the whole “where were you on 9/11,” itself a sort of marker of solidarity and belonging within the trauma that kind of unites people around a time. the plane crashes were broadcast everywhere in the US, and no one didn’t see it. but we got it live, fed right to the tvs in our classrooms at 8am. and america didn’t get attacked by foreigners before, not like this–problems existed “out there,” not in nyc, for however many times it’s been destroyed on film. (we have our own homegrown terrorists, but that’s a whole other can of worms.) and when it did happen, the country as a whole kicked into a jingoist gear on top of the collective trauma of someone murdering a bunch of americans. freedom fries. they were a thing.

it’s probably important to note here that media doesn’t exist in a vacuum. we’re perpetually influenced by things that happen, whether they’re collective and historical memories, personal experience, or social trends. we get our references and jokes from somewhere, and they sink into our brains and affect what we put out into the world. trauma does this more effectively than most things. trauma elicits a search for meaning, whether it’s a question of “why did it happen” or “why did it happen to me/us?” sometimes we find a meaning in the disaster, and sometimes we don’t. but it marks us and connects us (Halbswach 1992, Updegraff et al 2009). and it affects us for a long, long time.

in japan (and again, I’m not an expert on this), 9/11 is a moment of international trauma that marks japan’s re-entering into the international military sphere, but also economic flux. of the approximately 3000 people killed in the twin towers attack, 316 were non-american, including 26 japanese nationals. japan joined the war coalition almost immediately, and spent billions of USD to support the “war on terror,” while also dealing with things like shohei koda’s beheading in 2004 or the kidnapping and release of 5 journalists and anti-war NGO workers the same year, which arrived back in japan only to be ostracized for “causing trouble” for japan, with accusations that they had “got what [they] deserved” (x, x). the effect on the news media in japan was of increasing conspiracy theories and warmongering, while simultaneously wary of tensions with china, north korea, and taiwan. basically, japan politically and militarily had a lot of pots on the fire, and was feeding yen to the american pot real fast. the japanese SDF pulled out of central asia in 2007, and it’s still a divisive subject from the papers I read, but it’s more about the military than 9/11. 9/11 is not, for example, the topic of a j-drama directly or indirectly. shohei imamura’s short film “japan” in the september 11 (2002) anthology is a parable set during world war ii, although he’s much more famous for his palme d’or wins and a film about hiroshima (black rain, 1989). and uh. apparently pokemon black and white has a reference to ground zero in their map of not!nyc?

japanese media’s collective trauma in anime is often the deep personal connection with the atomic bomb, or terror attacks and natural disasters on japanese soil. which makes sense: humans will generally latch onto things that affect us personally, whether it’s a cute puppy video shown to us or an act of terrorism we watch on television. for the US, we were–and still are–being forced to confront our place in the international community (hero, victim, villain, collaborator, all of it–and americans are not very good at shades of gray) through the “war on terror,” and it comes out in everything from comic book movies like bvs directly evoking 9/11 while cavill!supes ruins buildings to kill zod, to the rise of partisan tv news. but we don’t evoke nuclear war or radioactive waste with the same reaction that japan does–there’s a lot of fear of the bomb in the 1950s and 1960s, like with dr. strangelove and them!, but it’s centered less around the impact of the bomb and its literal or metaphorical nuclear fallout, and more on the fear of the other or an outsider destroying good ol’ american culture. or giving us superpowers. (personally, the closest I think american art and literature ever got to japanese sentiments is with a canticle for leibowitz, which focuses on the cyclical nature of human failure and how the past becomes changed through the present.)

(please read a canticle for leibowitz, it changed my life and only grows more potent with age.)

for japan, the dropping of atomic bombs on nagasaki and hiroshima provides a similar and long-lasting moment of national trauma that’s been preserved in public policy and popular culture. and it’s not just grave of the fireflies or barefoot gen, anime that address the bombings through direct reference. the bomb transforms into concerns about nuclear destruction and environmental fallout, with kaiju like godzilla rising from nuclear waste. osamu tezuka’s work like astro boy is in direct response to the abuse and use of technology and hope for humanity’s future, and naussica of the valley of the wind is a fantasy post-nuclear bomb situation blended with hayao miyazaki’s love of humanity and nature (x, x). I think it’s worth noting that both tezuka and miyazaki personally experienced the 1945 bombings. miyazaki was 4, and one of his earliest memories is fleeing utsunomiya’s bombings. tezuka, at 16 and working in arsenal factories during the fire bombing of osaka, later wrote kami no toride (1977) about his personal experience, which served as both autobiography and condemnation of the vietnam war.

of more recent stuff evoking trauma, naoki urasawa actually uses 9/11 as a moment in billy bat, as part of getting to questions of humanity and modernity and technology and progress. other anime dealing with terrorism, like GITS:SAC, the “brain scratch” episode of cowboy bebop, and of course urasawa’s 20th century boys, locate terrorism not through 9/11 (and the underlying racism and not-us-ness) but more often with these japanese cults like the ‘aum death cult that carried out the 1995 tokyo subway sarin attacks, and the changing landscape of terrorism in japan. we could point to shinichiro watanabe’s zankyou no terror (or terror in resonance? iunno) as a potential 9/11 parallel, and I think it’s got the 9/11 connections, but watanabe himself places it closer to the 1995 terrorist attacks. he even commented how much “darker” zankyou no terror is than the film he was influenced by (the man who stole the sun (1979)), directly citing the 1995 attacks as one reason the last 30 years have impacted japanese understandings of terrorism. more recently, there’s also been connections to the 3/11 disaster with kimi no na wa, where shinkai explores his perennial theme of personal connection across space and time via a form of natural disaster. outside of anime, there’s also a growing body of literature on 3/11 and music, which is super interesting and well worth a look if you’re interested.

fwiw, I think it’s interesting that both urasawa and watanabe are explicitly interested in western and specifically american culture, but through a japanese lens. and not the sort of “japanese lens” that leads to the americas of g gundam or yugioh, which are The Most American Ever, but a more nuanced representation that explores technology, human connection, and modernity. which is the sort of lens creators should try to do when engaging other cultures, at bare minimum. (/soapbox)

trauma isn’t often addressed directly, but allegorically or displaced: lindsay ellis has a great pair of loose canon episodes on 9/11 and how film evokes collective trauma. while she doesn’t talk about anime or japanese films, she uses bollywood as a way to talk about indirect expressions of nationalist trauma. in the second video, she suggests that, for countries like india working through their own terror attacks with mumbai in 2008 (the 26/11 attacks), it’s easier to use other countries’ or places’ or–I would suggest–fantastical trauma rather than directly address it. so bollywood used 9/11 to understand its own trauma. not everyone does this–and a lot of times, I doubt it’s done purposefully, at least initially. but it’s there implicitly, informing decisions of artists and content creators that sometimes doesn’t get revealed until placed under a critical eye. it’s why editing and getting outside or sensitivity readers is important! for japan, the parallels aren’t to other countries, but fantastical situations in japan with Very Heavy Symbolism ranging from akira’s totally-not-a-bombs to kimi no na wa’s processing of the 3/11 disaster via comet.

as for togashi, he uses world events and figures as ways of exploring his own interests (yu yu hakusho has multiple “wow capitalism suuuuuuuuucks” subplots with yukina’s arc and the dark tournament, plus the very anti-war/anti-hate/anti-capitalism/”humanity sucks but people [kuwabara] can be amazing” sentiments of the chapter black tape; while hxh’s chimera ant arc has both a-bomb parallels and north korea/china references on top of killua’s soapbox about how corrupt and terrible governments can be). the parallel between “humanity sucks” and “people can be so very good” threads throughout togashi’s work. but it also uses a very buddhist understanding of rebirth and reincarnation to get these points across, whether it’s the unconditional vore love of pouf and youpi giving themselves to rejuvenate mereum after he’s nuked or the reincarnations of former humans as ants. but all of it connects to togashi’s personal experiences of things happening to and by japan, whether it’s the invasion of and tension with taiwan, the boom and bust of the economy, or the militaristic push by parts of the government under koizumi and abe. that, layered on top of the trauma that informs a lot of japanese media, makes for a fascinating playground togashi is more than willing to dig into.

I suppose this is all a very, very long-winded way of saying that while it’s possible togashi could include a 9/11 parallel, I don’t think it’ll be tied to some september 2001 date in the hxh universe. if he uses it, it will be 1: through a togashi/japanese lens; 2: unattached to a particular date; 3: layered in dialogue with broader war and terror issues togashi’s interested in exploring.

if you’ve made it to the bottom: holy crap congrats, hello, talk to me about anthropology of media. and if you’re somehow still interested in more, here’s an brief list of sources I used on top of the ones explicitly referenced in the post:

Baffelli, Erica. “Media and religion in Japan: the Aum affair as a turning point.” Working paper, EASA. 2008. (media-anthropology.net)

Broderick, Mick (ed.). Hibakusha Cinema: Hiroshima, Nagasaki, and the Nuclear Image in Japanese Film. Routledge and Kegan Paul International, 2014. (google books)

Deamer, David. Deleuze, Japanese Cinema, and the Atom Bomb: The Spectre of Impossibility. Bloomsbury Publishing, 2014. (google books link)

Japan pulls troops from Afghanistan (npr, 2007)

Japan ends ban on military self-defense (time, 2014)

Japan’s 10 years since 9/11 (al-jazeera, 2011)

Krystian Woznicki (September 1991). “Towards a cartography of Japanese anime – Anno Hideaki’s Evangelion Interview with Azuma Hiroki”. BLIMP Filmmagazine. Tokuma Shoten. (archived here)

manga responses to 3/11 (nippon.com, 2012)

Saft, Scott, & Yumiko Ohara. “The media and the pursuit of militarism in Japan: Newspaper editorials in the aftermath of 9/11.” Critical Discourse Studies, 3(01), 2006. 81-101

#hxh meta #japanese history #nuclear memory #symbolism #I'm so sorry #japanese media #9/11 #26/11 #3/11 #all of the references #THIS is what I do for fun #...#sigh #long post #talk tag #Anonymous

33 notes · View notes

chibisquirt · 7 years

Text

Celestial Navigation remix teaser

This isn’t even its final form.

No, seriously, this isn’t anywhere close to even a first chapter first draft. It will change! And I’m not writing it right now. (I would say “I’m not writing The Thing,” except that that would be true, and this would be The Other Thing.) I’ll probably seriously start work on this sometime in... April? May? Right around then. Definitely not during Remix Madness, not unless I can somehow work three work shifts and write *eyeballs it* 60-100k in two days.

Don’t hold your breath.

But @sabrecmc said she loved my idea, and I wanted to get it down before I forgot it. So this is... the start of an idea.

I had fun with it, anyway.

Tony stormed into the lab in a bitch of a mood, but he really didn't think he could be blamed. Fury's words were still ringing in his ears like a boxing blow.

“We have no problem with Iron Man; Iron man does damn good work. And we have no problem with Tony Stark; Tony Stark is revolutionizing every lab we got in this damn place. But Tony Stark and Iron Man being one and the same? Yeah, that we kinda have a problem with.”

In the wake of Afghanistan, Tony had been adamant that Stark Industries would no longer make weapons that could fall into the wrong hands. He couldn’t shut down every operation— SI was under contract for up to three more years, in some cases, and they couldn’t afford the fallout of breaking those deals— but all the contracts they were bidding on were dropped, and Tony had flat-out refused to consider any future deals making weapons.

But he wasn’t willing to just shut down the company wholesale, so alternatives had to be found. SI already made body armor and flight prototypes; Tony had ramped those categories up, adding green energy and communications to their list of milieus. He had SI producing with his usual high standards within months, and SHIELD was his biggest contractor.

Of course, once he had SHIELD clearance for those contracts— which weren’t being offered to the military yet— it made sense to bring Tony in as a contract engineer, too. For the last three months, he had been romping around as many SHIELD research departments as he could find, and been playing merry hell with all of them. (Except for linguistics; the linguists were a little weird, even for him.) He already had a helicarrier under development, as well as some prototype hard-light armors that no one other than SHIELD would ever be willing to pay for. He even had his hands in SHIELD’s perennially doomed efforts to create a super-soldier, not that he expected it to make a difference. SHIELD had been failing at that one since back when they were the S.S.R., Tony didn’t exactly expect it to succeed now.

The science division was about fifteen floors of the Triskellion (twenty-seventh to forty-second, in fact), but the central area of the twenty-seventh floor was its own little access way: if you wanted to get anywhere in the science division, you had to go through there.

Tony swanned into that science lobby like Alan Rickman entering a potions dungeon.

“Alright, kids, show daddy the good stuff," he said, and a dozen Beta scientists leaped to obey. Ten points to Ravenclaw, he thought, and sneered at the first project that came under his nose.

Well, okay, come on— that wasn’t being in character, it was just a really bad design! “Why did you put your damn rotors on the bottom, Evans?” As if Tony didn’t already have a migraine...

“I thought— it’ll make for less wear on the bolts to heave up the body than to pull, right? So—”

“First of all, no it won’t. And second of all, it’ll increase the wear on the rotors themselves—”

“No, but— it lands in water, right? I mean we’re not doing this from land, or anything—”

“ — and at those speeds, the water may as well be concrete! This isn’t grade school—”

Evans got the message.

Tony worked his way through them, the UAV’s and the phasers and the—

“Please don’t call it that.”

“Well, if you come up with a better name than the ‘night-night gun’ I’m sure we’ll be happy to change it,” the little Beta huffed.

— and slowly worked his way through to the back of the lounge where the scruffy-looking Dr. Banner was waiting.

“Done with the scrum?” Bruce asked. He sipped his tea.

“Mostly. Saving the best for last.” Tony pasted on an encouraging grin, just for him.

It wasn’t Bruce’s fault, it really wasn’t. Bruce was a good damned scientist, careful and thorough and painstaking, but with an effortless grasp of higher concepts of physics and chemistry that still seemed to elude some of his more decorated colleagues out there. It was Bruce’s bad luck, though, to be assigned to the shittiest project in the whole place. Seriously: if the projects were potions students, Bruce’s was Neville Longbottom. And it wasn’t fucking fair— but then, very few things were.

Plus, at this point, Bruce was contributing to his own relegation. It wasn’t like his good work had gone unnoticed— if no one else had tried to scoop Bruce, then Tony would have. But as Tony had been informed— repeatedly, and at a variety of volumes, some of which had not been necessary, thank you, Fury— Bruce had stubbornly insisted that he could crack his stupid Super-Soldier project, and had remained, slowly chipping away at it, for over a year after he could have been reassigned.

That was honestly the only reason Tony was even interested in the project. It was a bad idea; far too much potential for abuse, for one thing— what if you super-soldiered the wrong guy, and got a madman? So Tony jumped on board to help Bruce get done faster, and then he started screening the candidates, too— just to make sure they were all people he would trust with super-powers. It took up more of his time than anything else he did here, but it was also a bigger challenge: psych evaluation wasn’t exactly Tony’s strong suit. See exhibit one: Stane, Obediah, betrayals thereof.

“Got a new batch of subjects in,” Bruce said mildly. “I know you like to meet them.”

“Fabulous; something else to fail at.”

Bruce stopped and pivoted halfway through the door of his department, raising his eyebrows in surprise.

Tony sighed. “Nothing. Meeting with Fury went... poorly.”

Bruce tipped his head to the side, but didn’t push. Very restful guy, Bruce. Tony really did like him. “First one’s through there,” was all he said, pushing through and back to the exam rooms. Bruce’s department was set up so much like a doctor’s office that Tony suspected it had originally been intended to be one, and the decor didn’t help: muted tones and uncomfortably-padded furniture. He even had magazines in the waiting room, although, being for SHIELD agents, they were more Guns&Ammo than out-of-date US Weekly.

Tony snagged the file out of the holder on the back of the first exam room door. “Barnes, J. B., Level 3 SHIELD Agent,” he read off. “Fabulous, more spies; just what we need.”

Bruce nodded unironically and headed to the lab— ostensibly to run tests, but Tony knew that was where he kept his teapot, and his mug was suspiciously empty. Mark down another on the list of people who drink around me, Tony thought, although the thought was a lot fonder than it usually was. “Be nice to that one,” Bruce instructed. “I like him.”

“Good lord, why?” Tony opened the door.

“I’m serious, Tony; he’s on the short list.”

Tony blinked, and then without another word, stepped through, closing the door behind him.

J. B. Barnes was tall and fit, a Beta wearing a SHIELD uniform. So, they hadn’t pulled him off of an assignment for this, then. Closer examination revealed the cast on his left arm: a-ha. Benched, for now. His hair was brown, eyes pale— blue or gray, hard to tell at this distance— and his ears, apparently, were sharp, because he was grinning.

There was something familiar about that grin... Tony shrugged it off.

“Name and birthday?”

The grin barely faltered— no more than a sixteenth of an inch.

Okay, and right off the bat, that one was probably on Tony; they were required— stupid Bruce and his stupid scrupulousness about protocols— to confirm the identity of the people they were talking to before discussing any medical records. But Tony didn’t have to say it quite so sharply. He didn’t usually spit the words “name and birthday” like they were going to take out Gilderoy Lockhart, after all. So once Barnes had confirmed that, yes, he had been born March 10th, twenty-one years ago, Tony settled into the little doctor’s stool, did a full rotation because wheelie stools never got old, and apologized. “Been a long day,” he explained it, “people being difficult.”

“And by people you mean pirates?”

Tony almost didn’t get it for a second, because it was said so blandly it might as well have been asking his oatmeal preferences, and because it was so unexpected coming from a Level 3 agent. “You usually that irreverent about Fury? He might keel-haul you.”

Barnes grinned again. “I have a well-established pattern of snark,” he admitted. “There’s a reason I’m only a level three.”

Tony looked back at the chart again. “You’re a baby,” he said absently, “don’t take it personally—”

It was a pretty impressive chart, though. “You can shoot.”

“Yeah, a little.”

Barnes could probably win gold at the olympics and be set for life, given the numbers from his last round on range. Sure. “A little,” Tony repeated dryly. “Interrogation specialist, really? ‘Exceptional problem solver,’ what does that even mean? And you speak...”

“Five languages— well, okay, the Irish is mostly profanity.”

Tony hefted the file. “This says four. Counting the Irish.”

Barnes shrugged. “The Klingon’s more recent,” he admitted, “and it really shouldn’t count anyway, there’s only, like, three thousand words—”

“Closer to thirty-five hundred.”

“It’s not Chinese, though, right? I mean...”

Tony’s mouth twitched. “It’s not Chinese, no. Or... Russian, apparently. Huh; eclectic.”

“Thanks.”

“It wasn’t a compliment.”

“There a reason you’re busting my balls?”

Tony paused. More of the snark? Or was he really being too harsh?

“I mean, given that Doc Banner just told you he likes me. Either you’re trying to break me— which, good luck, chill out though because it’s not going to happen— or you’re in a legitimate shitty mood. In which case, I’d rather not be your punching bag.”

There was something about how he said it... The young man wasn’t saying it to push, like another Alpha would have. He wasn’t saying it defiantly, either; it wasn’t like he was daring Tony. That one was a standard technique in Alphas and Betas alike: the Alphas used it to start a fight, the Beta’s used it to make the Alphas look irrational and over-emotional. It usually worked pretty well in either case, too, although Tony had seen it often enough in boardrooms that he could handle it.

But that wasn’t what was going on here, and the difference was so obvious it set Tony blinking. The guy— Barnes— was just stating a fact, that was all. “Here’s what I see, and that’s how it is.” No bravado, no push— just truth.

Which neatly left only one possible response. “Sorry,” Tony said again, and meant it this time. “Pirates. You know.”

“Perils of the high seas,” Barnes agreed. “But it’s just us up here in the crow’s nest; you wanna talk about it?”

Tony laughed, impressed by the balls on the guy if nothing else. “No.”

“Could help.”

“No,” Tony repeated, struggling to keep down the simmering heat that had been resting behind the arc reactor since his meeting with Fury delivered his ultimatum.

“Look, we like what you do, Tony— there’s no doubt about that— but Iron Man is too reckless, too borderline suicidal, to also be the guy essentially running every research operation we have! Add to that, every analysis we’ve got—”

Tony had sent Natasha Romanov, sitting at the table with them, a dirty look, but she had just blinked slowly at him and Fury hadn’t checked his tide of words.

“ — has indicated that Iron Man is a dysfunctional personality— and that was even before we knew he was also you.”

Tony caught his breath. Iron Man was the best of him; hearing that even his best wasn’t good enough... that hurt more than he wanted to admit. And certainly not to Fury.

“He is headstrong, disregards the standard protocols of operation, twice he’s put our other agents in danger—”

“Point of order: he can’t put your ‘other’ agents in danger because he isn’t one—”

“I don’t care, Stark. Make a show. Be stable. Invest in the future—”

“What do you think the whole ‘green energy’ thing is about?!”

“ — personally invest. Hell, get yourself an Omega! Pop out a couple kids! We’ll all pray the brains are heritable and the personality isn’t. Just... don’t break things, for once in your goddamn life. Show me you can be a team player, and I’ll think about it. Show me you’re not an adrenaline-junkie mess, and I’ll welcome you back with open arms! But until that happens, Iron Man— and you— are barred from all aspects of the Avengers Initiative.”

Fury had almost made it to the door when Tony’s head snapped up. “You know,” he called, “if you don’t break things, you can’t put them back together with improvements!”

The only answer was the whisper-soft slide of the Black Widow’s boots as she followed Fury out the door.

“Unless you’ve got an Omega in your pocket,” Tony said now, his voice approximately as dry as a dead cactus, “I’m shit out of luck.”

Barnes froze. He blinked, and then blinked again. He looked around the room as if scanning for cameras before bringing his head back around to meet Tony’s eyes. “I mean...” He rubbed his palms along his navy blue trousers as if he were trying to rid them of sweat. “...You can’t tell Fury.”

Tony froze, thinking about it. It had been an offhand joke, a throwaway line designed to get the conversation back on course. But then again...

Tony was about to make a very, very, very large mistake. He tossed Barnes’ file on the counter.

“Tell me more.”

#celestial navigation #remix #steve/tony #stony #steve rogers not actually appearing in this snip #unless you count the phrase 'very very VERY large mistake'#in which case Steve absolutely does appear #whoops

110 notes · View notes

littlewhitetie · 7 years

Text

Perennial: Sacrifice

Part 5 of Perennial, a series of Sheith AUs. Remix of @ardett‘s Hypermnesia for the @vldfanficremix2017 event.

“What do you want?” Shiro snarls, pushing himself to his feet. He takes a fighting stance, his teeth bared. He’s a far cry from the Altean diplomat he used to be, but that life is long gone. These quintents, the only thing on his mind is survival.

Unintimidated, the Galra officer at the door steps inside Shiro’s cell. Unlike most of Shiro’s captors, this one’s armed with nothing but a knife, and he’s come alone. Big mistake. Shiro may not be able to put up as much of a fight as usual so soon after that last match, but he’ll resist with every bit of strength he has left. They should know by now not to underestimate him.

Shiro readies himself, but before he can make a move, the Galra drops his knife, sending it clattering to the floor, and raises his hands. “I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. It catches Shiro off guard. The Galra are usually upfront about their intention to harm—revel in it, even. Still, this could be another of Honerva’s—Haggar’s—tricks.

“I’m here to ask for your help,” the officer continues, and it’s definitely a trick. The Galra don’t ask, and they certainly don’t ask for help.

“Even if I did believe you, what makes you think I would ever want to help you?” Shiro growls.

“Because we’re on the same side, and Princess Allura is in danger.”

Shiro blinks. He wasn’t prepared for that answer. He shouldn’t believe the Galra, it’s a trap… but what if he really is telling the truth? Despite himself, Shiro’s hostility begins to dissolve, leaving worry in its wake.

“My name is Keith,” the Galra continues. “I’m part of a resistance movement. We may be Galra, but we don’t stand with Zarkon. We call ourselves the Blade of Marmora, and we’re trying to take the Empire down from the inside. After… after what he did to Altea…” He trails off, and he really does sound remorseful. His fluffy, pointed ears flatten against the dark fur atop his head. His golden eyes are soft and sad.

It could still be an act. “What do you know about the Princess?” Shiro asks, keeping his tone cool.

“I know Alfor put her in a cryopod and hid her away before Zarkon could get to her. I know she’s the key to finding the other Voltron Lions. And I know Zarkon’s found her, and he’ll destroy her and the entire planet she’s on if you don’t help me,” Keith says, gravity in every word. “Zarkon’s already got the Black Lion, and he’s got half his fleets searching for the others. It’s only a matter of time before he finds them. We’re gonna need the Princess’s help if we want any chance of finding them first.”

Shiro narrows his eyes, considering. What could he gain from lying about this?

“Listen. I know you don’t have much reason to trust me, but if Zarkon gets a hold of Voltron, the entire universe is in danger. And really, it’s not like you’ve got much left to lose.”

He’s not wrong. This day-to-day existence isn’t a life at all, and even if he did manage to escape, there would be nothing to go back to. Everything and everyone Shiro ever loved was destroyed by the Galra while he was imprisoned. If Allura really is alive, she’s all he has left. “How, exactly, would a prisoner like me be of use to you?” he asks, cautiously.

“You’re Altean, and if the lab tests are correct, you’ve got royal blood in you. The quintessence weapon Zarkon plans to use is powered by a Class S Balmera crystal. He’s going to destroy the entire planet with it. You’re the only one who can possibly shut it down.”

He’s done his research. Shiro’s bloodline does allow him to manipulate Balmera crystals. He’s only distantly related to the royal family, though, and a Class S crystal…? He won’t be able to shut it down, but he might be able to overload it.

It’s not a decision to make lightly, but if there’s even a chance Keith is telling the truth, the choice is obvious. He’ll do whatever it takes to save Allura and the planet she’s on, and to make sure Voltron doesn’t fall into Zarkon’s hands.

“If you can get me there, I’ll do it,” Shiro says. He extends his hand. Keith takes it, gripping his forearm in a gesture of solidarity.

Keith’s ears perk up. “Someone’s coming,” he says, kicking his knife up from the floor and grabbing the hilt in a fluid, practiced motion.

“Do you have a plan for getting me out of—”

Shiro’s cut off abruptly as the back of his head is slammed into the metal wall. He sees stars.

“I lost a lot of money thanks to you, Champion,” Keith snarls. Clawed hands wrap around Shiro’s throat, restricting his air. He’s on the wiry side for a Galra, but he’s surprisingly strong. Shiro couldn’t get out of his chokehold if he tried.

Two sentries stand in the doorway. “No one is meant to be in here,” one of them says to Keith. “Identify the reason for your presence.”

“The Champion cost me a fortune this afternoon,” Keith growls, pressing harder against Shiro’s throat. “I’m not done with him yet.”

“He is to be escorted to Haggar’s laboratory immediately.” One of the sentries holds a taser in its hand; the other has a gun and a set of manacles. Standard protocol.

“Fine,” Keith says. He yanks Shiro forward, spinning him around and restraining his arms. “Come cuff him.”

The cell door slides shut as the sentries come forward, and Keith strikes. Releasing Shiro, he disarms the first sentry, kicking the taser out of its grip, sending the awful weapon skittering across the floor to the far corner of his cell. The second sentry swings at him. He ducks and, in the process, swipes its gun from its side. Spinning around, he shoots the first in the chest, sending it crashing to the floor in a shower of sparks.

He dodges again as the remaining sentry takes another swing at him. Lightning-quick, he dives between its legs, getting in behind it. He plants some sort of small electronic device on the back of the sentry’s head. It glows green, and the sentry immediately begins to malfunction, its movements rendered repetitive and useless.

It shuts down in under a dobosh and collapses to the ground. Keith drags it to the opposite side of the cell, positioning it such that it faces the other damaged sentry. He places the gun in its arms.

Keith removes the device from its head, holding it up. “Messes with its programming. It’ll make it look like there was just a malfunction in its coding,” he explains, before pocketing it. He gestures to the door. “Ready?”

Shiro nods silently, still stunned by the ease with which Keith took them out. He’s incredibly skilled for someone so young—he can’t be more than 250 years old.

Keith grabs his hand and leads him out of the cell. “Careful,” he warns, voice hushed. “There’re sentries on patrol. They follow a predictable pattern, though, so we’ll be fine if you just follow my lead.”

Shiro knows; he’d worked out the pattern himself. He’s escaped from his cell into the halls more than once, hence the taser protocol. Still, he doesn’t say anything. It’s preposterous—maybe he sustained a concussion, maybe he’s just touch-starved—but he relishes the feeling of Keith’s warm hand over his. Irrational as it is, he’s content to let Keith lead him through the halls.

Their steps are quick and quiet, forward and back again as they duck behind walls. It’s like a dance, set to the neat, rhythmic footsteps of sentries.

They reach an intersection, and Keith gestures down the hallway on their left. “Pods are that way. If you want to back out, now’s your chance.”

Shiro raises his eyebrows. “You’d really let me go?” he asks, disbelief tinging his voice.

“I’ve been watching you for a while, Champion,” Keith says. “I’ve seen the way you show your opponents mercy. I’ve seen you stand up for other prisoners. I know you won’t run; not when the lives of other people are at stake.”

“You’ve been taking notes,” Shiro says, wryly. “You’re not wrong. I won’t back out. But please, call me Shiro.”

“Shiro,” Keith says, testing out the syllables. It’s the first time Shiro’s heard anyone say his name in a decafeeb, and it hits him with a warmth he’d long forgotten.

“In here, Shiro,” Keith says, slowing down as they approach a door. He presses his palm to the scanner and the door slides open. He pulls Shiro inside.

They’re in a storage room, filled with equipment. Silver and glowing fuchsia line the place in the shape of armour and weapons.

“There are gonna be more officers past this point,” Keith explains. “Not just sentries. We won’t be able to just duck behind corners and hide. But you can shapeshift, right?”

Shiro nods, eyeing the gear around them. “Right.”

As Keith assembles a uniform for him, Shiro turns his attention inward. It’s been ages since he’s shapeshifted, and it takes considerable focus. He concentrates on lilac blossoming over his skin, on his bones and muscles stretching out to match Galra proportions. There isn’t much he can do about his forearms or hands, not when one of them is made of metal, but hopefully no one will notice. He sharpens his teeth into points.

“Here,” Keith says, bringing him a set of armour, including some gloves to help hide his lack of claws.

Shiro thanks him as he dons the armour, tweaking his form as necessary to fill it out. He slides the helmet on, and luckily, it reaches low enough to cover the scar across the bridge of his nose. “How’s this? Passable?”

“Your face is still the same,” Keith points out.

“It’s purple.”

“Yeah, but apart from that. You’re the Champion; people might recognize you.”

Shiro raises an eyebrow from beneath his helmet. “I seriously doubt most people are looking at my face when they’re watching me fight.”

Curiously, Keith’s lavender cheeks flush with pink.

“I can’t imagine anyone would recognize me outside of a prison uniform without a weapon in hand,” Shiro says, “especially with different proportions and a different skin tone. Not to mention only the bottom of my face is exposed. There’s no way they would recognize me from just my lips and jawline.”

Honestly, Shiro’s just too exhausted to concentrate on changing his appearance more than he has to. He’s battered and worn out from his last fight, and shifting his bone and muscle structure is neither easy nor comfortable. Not to mention he’ll need to conserve all the energy he can if he’s going to overload a Class S crystal.

Keith considers for a moment. “Yeah, I guess they wouldn’t,” he agrees. “Okay. Let’s get out of here.”

The prison uniform is uncomfortably tight under his armour, stretched as far as it’ll go to accommodate his Galra form, and he’s not exactly thrilled about the insignia branded across his chestplate that declares loyalty to Zarkon. Still, at least on the outside, he’s not dressed as a prisoner anymore. Standing tall in more than one way, Shiro walks out of the room at Keith’s side. They make a beeline for the weapon.

Their trek is interrupted when they run into a group of Galra—or part-Galra, anyway. They have some Galra-typical features, but they don’t look like any officers he’s seen before.

One of the officers has a black cat-like creature on her shoulder. The animal is unnervingly familiar, though Shiro can’t recall where he would have seen it before. It seems to stare straight through him, and his heart races against his will.

Keith bumps his arm ever so slightly. It doesn’t slow his heart any, but it does ease his nerves a little.

“Keith?” A lithe Galra with smooth, scarlet skin cocks her head to the side, eyebrows raised. Her lips curve upward into a smirk. “Wow, I’ve never seen you walk with anyone before. Did you actually make a friend?”

Keith shoots her an annoyed glare.

“Who’s the new guy?” another asks, her voice gruff. She towers over the rest of them. “Pretty sure I haven’t seen him around this part of the ship before.”

“Uh…”

“Takashi,” Shiro offers, before Keith’s apparent inability to lie on the spot gets them both in trouble. “I was just transferred here. I was previously on Kruocedra.” It’s not a lie; that was the planet he was on before he was captured.

“Kruocedra? Ughhh,” the scarlet Galra says, making a face. “I hate that place. Those guys are all stiffs. And not just ‘cause they’re made outta crystal.”

“Tell me about it,” Shiro says. He’s not a fan either. Back on Altea, when they’d gotten word that the Galra might be staging an attack, Shiro had volunteered to go to Kruocedra as an emissary to request their help in defending Altea. Kruocedra, rich in resources and home to a formidable race of warriors, had been a longstanding ally of Altea. But by the time had Shiro arrived at the glittering planet, things had changed. They’d already sided with the Galra, and they’d taken Shiro captive, handing him over to Zarkon as an offering.

“You seemed like you were in a hurry,” the palest officer says in a calm, stoic voice. “Where are you going?”

“Nowhere important,” Keith says.

“You know, Keith, you’re so private, it’s almost like you’re hiding something,” the red one says. Her smile is dangerous.

“If you must know, we’re going to the mess hall, okay?” Keith says. “I just wanna get there before they run out of klorbon.”

“Oh!” The tall one’s furry ears perk up. “I forgot it was klorbon day! We should go too, before it’s all gone!”

The four officers walk alongside them, and Keith gives Shiro an almost imperceptible nod. They don’t have a choice. They head to the mess hall in a forced detour.

The décor of the mess hall is just as dark and gloomy as the rest of the ship, but a delightful aroma wafts through the air, making it feel ten times cozier. A few Galra are scattered throughout the dining hall, eating and chatting. After all Shiro’s been through, it’s refreshingly mundane.

Keith passes Shiro a tray as they line up. “What’ll it be?” a large Galra wearing an apron and headband asks, gruffly, from behind the counter.

“Just the klorbon,” Keith says.

The chef unenthusiastically piles a stack of round, flat cakes on a plate and hands it to Keith. They sparkle and shimmer, as if made of gold.

Shiro eyes the other options behind the glass. On the left, pairs of limp, long-dead fish-like creatures are speared on sticks; on the right are lumpy, greyish balls of… something.

“Well?” the chef says, impatiently.

“I’ll have the klorbon as well, please,” Shiro says.

The chef furrows his brow. “’Please?’ Ha. Manners aren’t gonna get you any extra,” he scoffs, piling the same number of golden cakes onto Shiro’s plate.

The tall officer snorts from behind them. “Good try, though.”

“C’mon, let’s go,” Keith mutters to Shiro.

“Ohh, and now Keith actually deigns to eat with someone?” the red one says as they start to leave together. “And a new recruit, too. How interesting…”

“I know Takashi from before, okay?” Keith snaps. “We’re catching up. Now butt out.”

Keith guides Shiro out of the mess hall, leading him to the farthest table in the dining hall.

Finally out of earshot of the others, Shiro asks, “So who’re they?”

“No one you want to mess with,” Keith says. “They’re dangerous. We should be careful around them.”

“So I take it they’re not friends of yours,” Shiro says.

Keith snorts. “I don’t have friends.”

“None?”

“No,” Keith confirms. Shiro’s pity must show, because Keith says, “It’s fine. Stop making that face.”

“You can’t even see half of it.”

“I can see enough,” Keith retorts.

Shiro shrugs and stabs a piece of glittering klorbon with his fork. It’s been ages since he’s been given actual utensils to eat with. He takes a bite, and… Oh. He can’t help the sound of pleasure that escapes his mouth.

Keith watches him, amusement playing on his lips. “That good, huh?”

“Yes,” Shiro sighs, shoveling another piece into his mouth. It’s sweet and fluffy, a slice of heaven after the prison slop he’s been eating for the past decafeeb.

“Here,” Keith says, reaching over and piling half of his stack on top of Shiro’s. The amount of food on Shiro’s plate now borders unreasonable, but it’s been at least a quintent since he last ate.

“Thank you, Keith,” Shiro grins, delighted.

“You’re gonna have to work on curbing those manners if you’re gonna fit in around here,” Keith smirks.

Shiro smiles, though a twinge of sadness hits him as he remembers that he won’t have a chance to. He pushes the pang down, burying it in klorbon.

“You should probably slow down before you choke,” Keith says, watching Shiro inhale his plate. “We have time, you know. They won’t be able to activate the weapon for a while yet; it’s still charging. We probably shouldn’t leave too soon, either, not when they’re suspicious,” he says, eyeing the four officers from before, who have taken a seat at the other side of the room.

“Alteans don’t choke,” Shiro says, but he does ease up on the pace, if only to make this last a little longer. If there’s time, he’ll take it.

Shiro holds up a piece of klorbon on the end of his fork. “These remind me of these sweet cakes Allura’s nanny used to make for us every few spicolian movements,” he tells Keith. “They were bright orange and a bit smaller, but they tasted pretty similar. On special occasions, we’d have them with teralily nectar. They were Allura’s favourite.”

Keith’s face is unreadable. “You’re pretty close with the Princess, huh?”

“Yeah. She’s my cousin. A distant cousin, but still. We grew up together. There weren’t a whole lot of people our age in the royal court, and we worked together on diplomatic affairs as we got older, too. So, yeah, we were pretty close.”

“Hm,” Keith nods. “We’ll save her.” His voice is resolute.

“Yeah,” Shiro says. When he’d first learned of Alfor’s plan to put Allura in a cryopod if things went badly with the Galra, he’d tried to talk him out of it, knowing Allura would never want that. He’s glad now that the King had gone ahead with it anyway, but still, it’s going to be hard on her when she wakes up. Shiro wishes he could be there.

He changes the subject. “So, Keith. You know a bit about me, but I know next to nothing about you.”

“There’s not much to tell,” Keith shrugs. “My mom died when I was pretty young. Never knew my dad. Like I said, I don’t really have any friends. I’ve just sort of drifted from place to place my whole life. I’ve been stationed here about a decafeeb. Guess Arus is next.”

“Arus?”

“That’s the planet Princess Allura is on,” Keith explains. “It’s where the Black Lion would’ve been kept, too, if it hadn’t gone back to Zarkon first.”

Right. Alfor had planned to keep the Black Lion in the Castle when he’d talked about splitting them up. “The Black Lion went to Zarkon willingly?”

Keith nods. “Guess it was more loyal to Zarkon than King Alfor. But it stopped responding to Zarkon not long after. About a decafeeb ago, just after I got here. It hasn’t lowered its shield since.”

Interesting. Had the Black Lion chosen a new paladin? “Keith, has the Black Lion ever… talked to you?”

Keith frowns. “I… I don’t know. It’s never really tried to communicate with me, I don’t think. But I can kind of… sense it?”

Shiro’s not entirely sure what that means; he’s not nearly as well versed in the mechanics of Voltron and the Lions as Allura is. “Make sure to bring that up with Allura when you find her,” he says.

Keith narrows his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, but he closes it before any words get out. He tries again. “Yeah. Sure.”

Shiro pops the last piece of klorbon into his mouth. “Well, as much as I’d like seconds, I’m guessing that chef guy isn’t exactly the type to give them out. Guess we should get going.”

Keith nods. “This way.” He leads him out of the mess hall, and they continue toward the weapon.

They walk for ages, hallway after hallway after hallway. Shiro’s never seen Zarkon’s ship from the outside, but it must be massive. It’s pretty unbelievable that everyone just walks everywhere, but the Galra have always favoured tradition over R&D.

After over a varga of walking, they reach a high-security door with a biometric lock. “We don’t have clearance to be past this point,” Keith says, in a hushed voice. He pulls a small chip out from under a clawed nail, carefully inserting it into a slot by the scanner. “Only the higher ranks are allowed past here. We’re gonna have to be careful.”

Shiro nods. “I’m surprised you’re not of higher rank,” he says. High enough not to require a helmet as part of his uniform, but apparently not much higher than that. Keith is young and he hasn’t been here long, but he can fight, and that’s all that seems to matter in the Galra Empire.

Keith gives him a grim smile. “I’ve been able to do what I need to from my current position. I don’t need to draw attention to myself. …That and climbing the ranks means challenging the person currently in that position to a fight to the death, and I’d rather not kill any more people than I have to.”

“I get that,” Shiro says, all too empathetic. “I should thank you, you know. For getting me out of the arena.”

“It wasn’t out of kindness,” Keith admits. “It was part of my mission.”

“Still. I appreciate it all the same.”

“I—” Keith freezes, his ears perking up. “Someone’s coming,” he hisses. He grabs Shiro’s hand and pulls him inside the nearest door.

The room is some sort of laboratory. The sharp scent of preservatives and antiseptics smacks Shiro like a tidal wave, knocking the air from his lungs. Panic continues to rise in his gut as his eyes dart around the dimly lit room, jumping from specimen to specimen. Eyeless, segmented, eight-legged creatures are frozen in ice. Large, ichthyic carcasses are laid out for dissection on the tables. An odd creature with flippers and a tail stares at him from behind the glass of a tank with haunted eyes.

Shiro shudders, his skin crawling. He jumps at the hand on his shoulder.

“Shiro? You with me?” Keith whispers.

Shiro uses Keith’s touch, his voice, as something to hold onto. There’s something intrinsically disturbing about this place, but it’s different from Honerva’s—Haggar’s lab. There’s no reason to be afraid. Shiro nods.

“Good. It sounds like they’re coming in. Do you trust me?”

He does. Inexplicably, inconceivably, inexorably, he does. “Should I not?”

“Probably not,” Keith shrugs. “You just met me. But still, it’s in your best interest to play along.”

“What—”

Keith shoves Shiro against the wall and kisses him, pressing his lips hard against his.

The scarlet half-Galra officer from before pauses in the doorway. Keith continues, deliberately ignoring her, prying Shiro’s mouth open and deepening the kiss.

Shiro’s heart stutters, and his residual fear melts into something else. As soon as he processes what’s happening, he kisses back, just as hard. He wants this. Needs this.

“Huh,” the officer smirks. “Awful long distance to travel just to make out in a creepy lab. I’m not kink-shaming or anything, but…”

Keith pulls back. “Awful long distance to follow me for just to pry into my personal life,” he growls, hands planted possessively on Shiro’s hips. “Now you know. Now will you leave us alone?”

She flashes a grin. She walks over to one of the shelves and grabs some sort of tool, something sharp and menacing that Shiro absolutely does not want to know what it’s for. “Consider my curiosity satisfied.”

As soon as she makes to leave, Keith kisses Shiro again, picking up where they left off, almost aggressively loud. He kisses him until she’s out of the room and the door slides shut behind her.

Keith lets out a sigh of relief, pulling away. “Sorry ‘bout that,” he says. His warm-blooded cheeks are flushed. “It was the only thing I could think of.”

“I liked that excuse better than the first time you pushed me against the wall,” Shiro says. “And no need to apologize. I, uh, actually didn’t mind it.” Not at all.

Keith’s lips quirk up. “I’ll take that into consideration if we run into anyone else.” Shiro almost hopes that they do.

But they don’t. The weapon room isn’t all that far, and they’re there in an uneventful half varga.

Keith unlocks the door, inserting the tiny chip from under his nail again. They step inside, and it’s huge. A crystal larger than Shiro’s ever seen before takes up the entirety of the room. It’s sturdily mounted onto a base, which is presumably attached to the weapon. There’s no way of removing it—if they could even reach it; the base is several storeys below the catwalk they’re standing on.

It’s massive, but it’s still a Balmeran crystal. Shiro’s worked with those before. He can do this.

“Okay,” Shiro says. “I’ll take it from here. Now I need you to get as far away from here as possible.”

“What? Why?”

“The blast radius will clear at least five kiloplaxels,” Shiro explains.

“Blast radius?”

Shiro gives him a slight smile. “I can’t shut a crystal of this size down, but I can trigger a chain reaction that’ll overload it. It’ll destroy the weapon, and take out a good portion of Zarkon’s ship, too.”

Keith’s eyes are wide. “How long does the reaction take? Will there be time for you to get away?”

Shiro shakes his head. “I’ll have a few doboshes at most.” Definitely not enough time, even if he were left with enough energy to run. Shiro places a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for getting me here, Keith. I’m glad I met you. Take care of Allura for me.”

“Shiro…”

“Help her find the other Lions, alright? See if you can connect with the Black Lion. Maybe it’ll respond to you.”

“I will. I promise,” Keith whispers. “Anything else?”

“There is one more thing,” Shiro says. Emboldened, he pulls Keith toward him for one last kiss.

Keith returns it readily. He removes Shiro’s helmet, and Shiro lets his Galra form fall away. A careful claw traces the curve of Shiro’s ear, his lips, the markings under his eyes.

Shiro smiles at him. “I wish we’d had more time,” he says. “I would’ve liked to get to know you better.”

“Yeah,” Keith whispers, his ears drooping. His sad eyes shine like liquid gold.

With his hands on Keith’s shoulders, Shiro says, “I’ll give you a varga to get as far away from here as possible, alright?”

Reluctantly, Keith nods.

“Be safe,” Shiro says.

Keith can’t quite meet his eyes. His voice is quiet when he speaks. “It’s been an honour.”

“Goodbye, Keith.”

Shiro keeps his eyes on Keith as his figure retreats, tracing every last detail until the door shuts behind him.

Alone with the crystal, Shiro starts counting down the doboshes.

He has no regrets. He has no doubt Keith will find Allura, and they’ll figure out a way to reassemble Voltron. The universe is in good hands.

A varga passes surprisingly quickly. When it’s time, Shiro reaches out and presses his hands to the smooth surface of the enormous crystal. Closing his eyes, he summons every drop of magic in his being and draws it toward his fingertips. He concentrates on triggering the reaction they’d always been taught to avoid.

It’s been ages since he’s used magic, and it’s even more draining than he remembers. It takes considerable effort, but he pushes forward. He doesn’t stop, not even when he collapses face-first onto the catwalk. Inching his fingers forward until they meet the crystalline surface again, he pours his energy into it until there’s nothing left.

Finally, a brilliant flash of white light fills the room. The newly lit crystal begins to emit a low, pulsating hum. He did it.

The temperature rises steadily, heat radiating from the crystal’s core. It’s soon overbearing, far hotter than should be comfortable, and yet something about the warmth is almost nostalgic.

The throbbing hum gets louder in a steady crescendo, rising in pitch and volume. The time in between pulses gets shorter and shorter, until it reaches a constant screech.

It’s time.

Shiro had expected his last thoughts to be of his home, his friends, his family. Instead, his mind drifts toward the Galra he met just vargas ago. He thinks of sharp claws and a sharper tongue; warm eyes and a warmer heart. “Maybe in another life,” he whispers, closing his eyes.

Everything goes dark. He feels strangely weightless, like he’s in freefall.

And then the pain hits.

It’s not at all what he was expecting. The pain is dull and familiar; less like searing heat and devastating pressure tearing his body apart, more like a… face plant? What—

The sound of the explosion is ear-splitting. The light is painfully bright, even behind closed eyelids. Half a tick later, it’s over. It’s silent and dark. And he’s still here.

Shiro blinks his eyes open. Dim violet floods his vision. He’s still in his cell. It was just a vivid dream.

He blinks a few more times, though, and his vision clears. This isn’t his cell. This isn’t any place on Zarkon’s ship. This is—

A roar resounds through the floor, filling the cockpit.

The Black Lion.

He glances up from where he lies on the floor. There’s someone in the pilot’s seat, eyes on the screen and hands at the controls. “…Keith?”

Keith’s eyes flicker from the display to meet Shiro’s. He gives him a soft smile. “Hey there.”

Shiro’s eyes are wide in disbelief. “How…”

“Turns out the Black Lion can phase through matter,” Keith says. “Pretty cool, right?”

“You—you took the Black Lion out right from under Zarkon’s nose?” Shiro asks, weakly.

“I made a promise, didn’t I?”

“Didn’t expect it would be so soon,” Shiro admits.

“I’m not known for my patience. I wanted to see you again,” Keith says. “And so did the Black Lion. She wanted to help me save you.” A resounding purr echoes agreement.

Shiro gives him a faint smile. “Well, the feeling’s mutual. You know, Keith,” he admits, “just a moment ago, of all the things I could’ve thought of? My last thought was that I wanted a second date with you.”

“I’d like that,” Keith says. “Though it’s gonna be hard to top this—a prison break, a last minute save from certain death, and klorbon cakes?”

A blue planet swirled with white clouds comes into view on the Black Lion’s display. The Castle of Lions is just ahead. “Just you wait,” Shiro says; a jest and a promise. “We’ve got a lifetime ahead of us.”

#voltron #voltron legendary defender #sheith #altean shiro #galra keith #fanfic #littlewhitetie writes #vldfanficremix2017 #this one took forever #almost done!#writing

36 notes · View notes

writesandramblings · 6 years

Text

The Captain’s Secret - p.80

"People They Fall Apart”

A/N: I now take the stage with my baton, the orchestra fully assembled, every instrument in position, and the music begins to play.

Begins the events of episode 12, "Vaulting Ambition." (Small nitpick note, I did skip/fast forward some of the whole figuring out the Tyler/Voq thing for brevity's sake; this is not the Ash Tyler fanfic you're looking for. I have no time to dwell on that plot. And while I dearly love Stamets and Culber, we're also not here to dwell in the mushroom forest.)

In other news, I'm going to print a copy of this story in bound book format for my own personal amusement. If anyone wants to offer a "book review blurb"-style quote, please do a comment or message! I'd love some quotes to put on the back cover. My goal is to send to print on April 9.

To be clear, I'm not selling this fanfic or anything in any way, shape, or form. It's just, I've written a novel-length work (two novels, really) and I want to hold it in my hands as a real book.

Full Chapter List Part 1 - Objects in Motion << 79 - People They Come Together 81 - Pineapple Surprise >>

The ISS Charon, flagship of the Terran Empire and nomadic palace of the emperor, did not linger to admire its handiwork above the planet Harlak. It was a warp-capable fortress of unparalleled firepower and destruction entirely equal the Klingon Sarcophagus of the other universe. Like that ship, which Lorca had enjoyed demolishing, it was an incredibly attractive target to the rebels lingering in the area. While the evacuation of Harlak had not been entirely completed, enough rebels had escaped to pose a credible threat to the flagship if it lingered.

Georgiou left Burnham and the Shenzhou with the strictest orders to finish mopping up any straggling refugees from the planet as the Charon withdrew to more defensible coordinates. Burnham and Lorca were to follow once the Shenzhou's cleanup efforts were complete.

Burnham could ill afford any more indulgences with Lorca when the emperor's summons was hanging over their heads. "See to it that he's ready for transport immediately," she ordered.

As the guards dragged him towards whatever they thought this order meant (probably the waiting agony booth), Lorca shouted at Burnham and the rest of the bridge, "You're all a bunch of lab rats in the emperor's maze. Lab rats!"

Burnham did not know what it meant, only that Lorca was trying to tell her to relay some message. She undertook the task of performing a cursory sweep of the planet for rebels, doing her best to avoid actually finding any, but three small craft were not sufficiently quick or smart to evade detection and Burnham was forced to watch as Detmer fired on them with disinterested efficiency.

While she sat through this display, a transmission arrived from Discovery. Burnham took it in the ready room. It was the Defiant files. Discovery had gotten past the firewall and decrypted the data. Minus the Terran computer security measures, the files turned out to be very small indeed and almost entirely redacted, but that did not make them useless. There was data enough to start theorizing.

There was also just enough time before they boarded the shuttle for her to send a transmission back to Discovery. It was a small, terse, seemingly innocuous message. "Discovery. Thank you for your assistance in bringing the traitor to heel. The emperor has summoned us to an audience. I will be sure to tell the emperor personally of your role in my success when we speak. Whether as a prisoner or a lab rat, Lorca will pay for his crimes." She hoped that was sufficient to convey whatever message Lorca intended by the words.

The lab rat received the message. She sat in her room monitoring the bridge and communications, eyes glinting in the dim warmth, fur wriggling in excitement. Even if the words were spoken by Burnham, she knew they came from Lorca. She pressed the button for the comms. "Einar," she said, "it is time."

Groves and Mischkelovitz were in the lab proper. In a sense, they were beset on two sides. As Lalana emerged from the back of the lab with her silvery color-changing thermal suit in hand, Larsson came in the front. "What are you doing in here?" Groves demanded of Larsson, to which Lalana said:

"Einar and I have very much enjoyed our time with you both, but we are now required elsewhere." She elected to speak for Larsson, but if she were being honest about it, Larsson had not enjoyed his time with Groves and Mischkelovitz particularly. He found them only marginally tolerable.

Groves had been relaxing with his feet up and brought them down at once. "Say what now?" He should have been in Lorca's study attending to the Allan issue of how to trap and kill a probable time traveler who might or might not still be on the ship, but he had opted to work on decrypting the Defiant files in a more familiar setting because Lorca's collection of armaments creeped him out and now he was just avoiding the murder-themed mancave until such a time as Saru called him back. Besides, he and Airiam had been remotely working on decrypting the files together and had gotten a rather good game of chess going in the aftermath.

(Owing to her inhuman appearance, Lieutenant Commander Airiam had been banned from her post on the bridge and Groves was entirely sympathetic to her ensuing boredom. There was no room for either of them in this universe. What passed for law here was barely recognizable to Groves and if ever there was a place that rendered bioethics obsolete, it was a universe where humans were as almost cruel to each other as they were to the aliens they viewed as inferior life forms.)

Mischkelovitz did not look up from the mess of circuitry she was working on. She asked, "Where are you going?" Her flat tone suggested she was only mildly interested in the answer. Whatever research use she had for Lalana was over with and done with. The only reason Lalana was still in the lab was the mistaken idea that Mischkelovitz's current active projects included the lului box in some capacity. That was the secret she and Lalana shared. There had never been a need for the lului box. Or rather, there had been a need, and the need had been getting Lorca to go to Memory Alpha.

"We are going to join the captain," said Lalana, stretching up and gripping the edge of the worktable.

Mischkelovitz went from minimal to excessive interest in the space of a nanosecond. She put down the microwelder in her hands and turned to face them with eyes bright and eager. "Can I come?"

"Apologies, Emellia, but that is not possible."

"Well," said Groves, putting his feet back up and returning to the chess game on his padd, "have fun. It's your funeral."

"What do you mean, funeral?" asked Mischkelovitz.

"Your brother is being dramatic," intoned Larsson humorlessly.

"Am I, though? This whole universe is goddamn deathtrap. Dr. Culber already paid that price."

"Dr. Culber was killed by Ash Tyler," said Larsson, leaning against the worktable and crossing his arms. Maybe he did not have Groves' intelligence, but he was far too big to be intimidated by anything about Groves. He also looked even bigger than usual in his Terran armor. "Or whatever he is. And he came from our world. Honestly, I don't think the universes are as different as everyone seems to think. There are murderers in both."

"This universe is ruled by a fascist tyrant and you don't see the difference?"

"Fascism and tyranny have existed in our world as well. That is why we have words for them. Humans are humans, and they are always capable of bad as much as they are good."

Lalana tapped her top fingers on the worktable in a manner that seemed thoughtful. "I thought you were a moral relativist, John?" she pointed out.

There was a blank look on Groves' face. He had considered himself exactly that until arriving in a universe where the moral relativity broke his concept of the scale. Reading through the files on the data core recovered from the debris field revealed atrocities beyond comprehension. Now he did not know what he was, only that the darkness permeating this universe was something he outright rejected.

"In any event, if we are to die, it was a pleasure to know you both," offered Lalana. "Please also give my regards to Macarius. Einar, if you will assist me?"

While Larsson gave Lalana a hand with her garment and Mischkelovitz whimpered about not wanting Lalana to die, Groves picked up his padd and tried to focus on the chess game. He could not. He stared at the pieces on the black and green board and finally dumped the padd onto the table. "Groves to O'Malley. You up, moron?"

"Good afternoon to you, too," came the acid response. The eye roll felt almost audible.

"You might want to come down here. You're about to lose the rest of your staff."

A minute later O'Malley was on site with a cup of coffee and, of all the incongruities, a powdered donut in his other hand. Mischkelovitz took one look, snatched the donut from him, and broke it in half.

"What the hell do you think you're doing!" O'Malley went, entirely not caring about the donut. (Mischkelovitz put half the donut back in O'Malley's hand, broke off a piece of her half and gave it to Lalana, and began to eat the portion she had claimed for herself. Powder coated her fingers. It did not show against the medical white of her uniform.)

"Got a mission," said Larsson.

"Like hell you do!"

"Captain's orders."

"Oh, Saru ordered you on a mission without asking or telling me?"

"Lorca." Actually, Lorca had not ordered Larsson to do anything, but it was believable enough that he might have and not said a single word to O'Malley.

"You don't answer to Lorca! You answer to me!"

"I resign," said Larsson, carrying through on his perennial threat yet again. "Now I don't listen to anyone."

O'Malley stared indignantly. "I don't accept your resignation."

Lalana hopped between Larsson and O'Malley. She still had her filaments tucked inside her jumpsuit so she looked like a silvery bullet with a blue-grey head sticking out. "If I may point out, now that I am leaving, there is no need for your extra security measures, so Einar is free to resign."

"Wait, you're going, too?" O'Malley suddenly noticed Lalana was wearing clothing.

"Captain Lorca requires my presence," was her only explanation.

O'Malley shook his head. Children, all of them. "You understand you're not the sole reason for the security here, right? There's valuable research in this lab." Mischkelovitz's eyes went wide at O'Malley's words. Her brother didn't know the half of it. She shrank back towards her desk and debated going into the crawlspace.

"There is valuable research everywhere on Discovery," said Lalana. "I was the only thing that was secret about this room. Now this room is like all the others and may be guarded exactly the same way. But since you are here, allow me to say this in person. In the event we do not survive our journey, it has been a pleasure knowing you, Mac." She even did him the kindness of not calling him his full first name.

There was a horrible silence as that sank in. "Why... where..."

"Do not worry," Lalana said. "I have lived a very long time compared to you and Einar and I are not afraid of this eventuality. We will of course endeavor to avoid it, but there is no need for concern if this should come to pass. We are glad for the time we have known you. That we met at all in the vast cosmos was such an unlikelihood it is what you would describe as a miracle. A thousand million tiny things had to go exactly right for us to meet all of you and they did. Please do not cry, Emellia. Think of us in this moment always, as your friends. Now come, Einar, our shuttle awaits."

They made as if to leave. "Hold on!" said Groves suddenly, his feet coming down off the table again. "You're flying a shuttle in?" That was, he knew, an absolutely, completely terrible idea because even if the shuttles were mocked up to look Terran, they did not have valid Terran transponders and security ident codes and if the Defiant files were any indication as to the sorts of security measures Terrans employed, that shuttle was going get blown out of space the moment it got near the Charon. It would not hold up to any sort of scrutiny. "Let me give you a pineapple."

"Thank you, but I just ate," said Lalana, referring to the piece of donut. "Perhaps Einar is hungry?"

The word seemed to mean something different to Groves and O'Malley than it did Lalana and Larsson. O'Malley's eyebrows shot up. "Is a pineapple an option?"

"Of course," said Groves. "Why wouldn't it be?"

"Well, I don't know, we're in a different universe, aren't there different rules of physics or something?" The light here really did seem strange.

"No, you moron, the quantum variance here doesn't invalidate pineapples." The point at which changes in physics would break a pineapple was also potentially a point at which reality was collapsing and there were bigger problems to worry over.

"Well, then, by all means," said O'Malley, and smiled at Groves. "I do so love pineapples, they're my favorite fruit."

Groves grinned back a grin stretched so wide it threatened to turn into a laugh. "One pineapple, coming right up!"

"I don't understand. How is fruit going to help?" asked Larsson.

"Oh, you'll see," promised O'Malley as Groves and Mischkelovitz began to gather materials from around the lab.

Lalana hopped onto an unused table on the far wall. She loved watching things happening and it was a very nice vantage point.

The sweep of the rebels was done. Burnham sat at the shuttle controls as it left the Shenzhou's shuttlebay and tried not to focus on the fact they were about to fly towards the worst possible reality she could have imagined.

Luckily, she had a small but encouraging distraction on hand. She joined Lorca in the rear of the shuttle as the autopilot took over and showed him the Defiant's data. "The file has been redacted, but there is some data on how the Defiant crossed into this universe. A phenomenon called interphasic space, but where that space is, the exact coordinates? Struck from the record."

She had to put the padd in his hands for him; he was almost entirely restrained for this little transport exercise and his fingers and head were about the only parts of him that could move. "All right, well, we'll just have to hunt down the original report. If the complete archive's anywhere it'll be in the Imperial Palace which is..." Lorca inhaled. "Fortunately where we've been summoned. Some people would see that glass as half full." He smiled at Burnham. Right now it felt a little like his cup was running over.

Burnham did not smile back. She was having trouble understanding how anyone could still find anything to smile about at this point. Between Tyler and Georgiou, she had lost what limited capacity she had for that expression of human joy.

She had, at least, brought him a nerve dampener to counteract the worst effects of the agonizers. She injected it and he reached out and put a hand on her arm, the only part of her he could reasonably reach in the restraints.

"Listen to me. You'll get the data we need on the Defiant and you'll get us out of there. I know you will." His face was so earnest, so sincere, so hopeful. He had confidence in her.

She couldn't look at him. Whatever Lorca thought he saw in her, she no longer saw in herself. She darted away towards the front of the shuttle.

"Burnham!" he called after her. Guilty, she looked back. "I need you. You need you. What are you afraid of?" There was a comfort in his tone, an easiness that went against everything Burnham was feeling.

The insignia badge of her beloved captain found its way into Burnham's hands. Its surface was crisscrossed with ugly scratches. It was the only connection she still had to the person she had been before the Binary Stars.

Those scratches were her fault. Everything, it seemed, was her fault. Yet for some reason Lorca had the gall to still look at her and see some sort of potential.

"Georgiou," she admitted. "Logic tells me she's not the woman that I betrayed. But this feels like a reckoning."

"Your Georgiou is dead," Lorca reminded her, voice taut.

"Haven't you ever been afraid of a ghost?"

He did not fear his ghost, he lived for her. She was less a ghost and more an impossible dream to live up to. A miraculous dream at that.

As the warp drive disengaged, the light of the Charon's massive energy core made Lorca wince and turn away from Burnham. She, of course, turned right towards the light. It did not hurt her eyes to see it. She slipped Georgiou's badge back into her pocket.

They would be docked in a moment and she had one lingering question.

"What did you mean on the bridge when you referred to lab rats?"

For a moment, Lorca worried Burnham had not understood his intent. "Did you pass the message on?"

"I did."

He sat in somber silence a moment. "Just letting someone on Discovery know not to worry, I'll be home soon enough."

"Dr. Mischkelovitz?" The code had been obvious when she thought about it. Lorca was known to frequent Mischkelovitz's lab, a lab Mischkelovitz rarely left, and miš was the root sound for the word "mouse" in most Slavic languages.

"Very perceptive," said Lorca, choosing not to correct Burnham. So many times now she had tried and failed to guess at his motives and feelings. He could not recall a single time Burnham had guessed right. From accusing him of biological weapons manufacture to the Ripper situation to this very moment. All these months and she still didn't know him. Let her think she did, though. Let her think whatever it took to get them both through this.

As the shuttle came to a rest in the bay, Burnham thought it unfortunate that Lorca might have a connection of a romantic nature with Mischkelovitz. Not only did she know from Tilly that Mischkelovitz had severe social issues and was probably easily taken advantage of by someone with Lorca's charisma, Mischkelovitz was only three years older than Burnham. Lorca was old enough to have fathered either of them. Throw in the imbalance of power between captain and junior crew and it was exactly the sort of thing Captain Georgiou had warned Burnham about.

The shuttle doors opened. Burnham shoved aside her grief and strode out with a veneer of savage confidence, barking orders at the shuttlebay crew to attend to her prisoner and not keep the emperor waiting. Lorca stumbled out behind her, the emperor's guards pushing and shoving him every chance they got.

Neither of them noticed a tiny piece of debris left in the shuttle. It had fallen out of Burnham's pocket when she pulled out Georgiou's rank insignia during the trip. A tiny slip of paper with the words "You will be called to fill a position of honor and responsibility" printed on it.

Saru found himself running into more problems than he could ever have anticipated.

Lieutenant Stamets was slowly improving, but he wasn't out of the woods yet. The unfortunate truth was that he was still in a coma. Tilly remained tirelessly optimistic, insisting something positive was happening in Stamets' head, but whatever it was, it was not happening fast enough to get them out of this terrible situation.

The monster that was both Ash Tyler and Voq was having a medical emergency. Now that both sides of his consciousness were awake—the native Klingon personality and the human one that had been forced on top of it—his brainwaves were in a state of chaos. One moment he was Voq, the next Tyler. At this rate, there would be no tribunal, there would be no anything, because whatever was laying in sickbay was going to die.

Even if that person in sickbay was entirely not Ash Tyler, Saru had no intention of seeing anyone else die on his watch.

Then, because all of that was not enough, a message from Owosekun on the bridge: "Captain, did you authorize a shuttle launch?"

"I most certainly did not!"

Operating as captain without being on the bridge was proving to be a disaster. Saru turned to the nearest wall console in the corridor outside the medical bay. "Who is aboard? Open a channel!" The channel opened, audio only. "Shuttlecraft, identify yourself!"

"Sorry, captain, tried to give you a heads up, but your hands were full in sickbay."

Saru recognized the voice. "Lieutenant Larsson, return to the shuttlebay immediately."

"No can do. We're already running late. That fruit delivery cost us precious time."

What that meant, Saru was not sure. Then he realized it was human humor. The sort of humor Lorca often employed to diffuse high-stress situations. Saru would never understand that instinct. "What do you think you are doing?"

"Secret mission. You-know-who's orders."

"Lieutenant, if you do not return that shuttlecraft immediately, we will be forced to open fire." At the tactical console, Rhys armed the phasers in preparation. The action was pointless. Saru could not bring himself to command the phasers used against a fellow Starfleet officer, not in light of his determination to get everyone from their universe home alive.

"Ah, right, you haven't heard! I resigned from Starfleet. Again."

Or, for that matter, against a self-declared civilian, even one in the process of a stealing a ship.

"Beam him off," said Saru sharply.

"I can't get a lock," said Owosekun over the comm. "It's like his life sign is only partly there."

Saru realized what was happening. Larsson's usage of the plural "we." A single, unlockable life sign. Lalana was on that shuttle. It even explained that strange mention of "lab rat" in Burnham's last message.

"Love to stay and chat," said Larsson, "but my friend and I have an appointment to keep. Wish us luck!"

The channel closed. Saru stared at the emptiness on the monitor. The bridge was still waiting for orders. "Captain, do you want us to pursue?"

Saru wavered a moment. What was the right course of action here?

"Captain?"

The answer came. "No. Maintain our present position and resume standing orders."

"Aye, sir."

The next command was to open a comm to O'Malley, whose explanation was as unhelpful as it was clarifying. "They have left on the command of Captain Lorca?" Saru echoed.

"That's what they both said. Obviously, I had no idea you were as clueless as me."

"You might have told me Larsson had resigned his commission," Saru noted.

"Honestly, Saru, he says that twice a week. It's always been an empty threat."

"I am presently your captain," Saru corrected O'Malley.

"Yes, captain," said O'Malley without hesitation or resentment. "I'm afraid that's all the information I have."

Saru let O'Malley go and stood in the corridor deep in thought. He was not certain whether he had just made a mistake or not. That shuttlecraft was a risk they could ill-afford, but Burnham had not been in contact since that last cryptic message, so perhaps this was some sort of special contingency Lorca had devised in case of trouble. Were there other sleeper agents in among the crew, waiting for cryptic turns of phrase to rush out and execute other secret orders? Most likely not, but given Lorca had not informed Saru as to Lalana and Larsson's operation, there was a nonzero chance of something like this happening again.

In Lab 26, O'Malley and Groves exchanged a look. "Do not tell him about the pineapple," O'Malley said, white as a sheet.

Groves held his hands up and shook his head repeatedly. He had no words. Either they had just assisted in the execution of some sort of top secret orders or they had unknowingly aided and abetted a pair of transdimensional fugitives. Possibly somehow both.

Eventually, Groves did find words again. True to form, they were an indictment of O'Malley. "I'd just like to point out, where your staff is concerned, you are oh-for-two, Mac."

"Shut up, John," said O'Malley, but he was thinking the same. He felt like a failure. He had not technically chosen Larsson or Allan, but he was responsible for them and both had disappeared under questionable circumstances on his watch and now he was left holding the bill for their actions. In every conceivable way possible he had proven inadequate as a leader.

Then again, he had always known he was a follower in every aspect of his life. If only he had possessed the guts to stand up to Cornwell when she offered him this assignment. He always did what everybody else wanted. No wonder everyone thought him such a fool.

As he stood there thinking this, he heard the most familiar words he knew manifest in the room: "I love you, Mally." It was, as always, an attempt to cheer him from a morose moment.

"Just as much," he answered, voice hollow and automatic.

Burnham was left reeling in the aftermath of her audience with the emperor. The way Georgiou had beaten Lorca when he refused to bow to her, the promise of enduring torture for the stubbornly defiant captain, both of these things had been expected but still shocked her.

What she had not anticipated was the pure, unbridled confusion that followed when the emperor stepped forward and expressed her happiness at Burnham's return, eliciting applause from the assembly of Terran officers and bureaucrats around them. Georgiou had touched her hand to Burnham's cheek and spoken words that still echoed in Burnham's mind:

"Everything will be the way it was, dear daughter."

Part 81

#Star Trek Discovery #Star Trek #Discovery #fanfic #fanfiction #Captain Lorca #Mirror Lorca #Gabriel Lorca #Mirror Gabriel Lorca #Michael Burnham #Commander Saru #Vaulting Ambition #Captain Gabriel Lorca

1 note · View note

flauntpage · 7 years

Text

Thinks: Mel Potter on EthnoFeminist Art

Interview and visual essay by Lise McKean

Melissa Hilliard Potter is an interdisciplinary artist, curator, writer, and co-founder of the Papermaker’s Garden at Columbia College in Chicago, where she is an associate professor of Art and Art History. We began our conversation in the Papermaker’s Garden on a late afternoon in June, just after a sudden shower made the soil fragrant.

Mel Potter in the Papermaker’s Garden at 620 S. Wabash in Chicago

Lise: Since we’re starting out in the Papermaker’s Garden, let’s begin with hearing about what you are growing this year in your raised bed garden here in the Loop?

Mel: I’m focusing on a perennial bed dedicated to the idea of pleasure for women. Last year’s Papermaker Garden included the Roe v. Wade and Bosnian Magic beds. After much focus on women’s biology, I decided that the most feminist investigation I could do this year would be to investigate pleasure.

The plants I’ve selected are for pleasing the nose and eyes—and for psychotropic recreation. For example, I’m growing absinthe and burdock in my Plants of Pleasure bed. My partner in the Papermaker’s Garden, Maggie Puckett, has a bed for growing plants she discovered while investigating witches, some of whom were her ancestors. She calls it Witchcraft and Colonial Warfare.

Poster for 2017 Plants of Pleasure Garden

Lise: I’m curious about the psychotropic plants—what brings them to your garden?

Mel: I’ve been doing research on women shamans because a lot of the psychotropic vision work in traditional societies is very male-centric. I’m interested in the intersection of psychotropic recreation, visionary quests and experiences, and consciousness-raising. I’m going to explore how these plants can be turned into psychotropic materials. I’m also looking at some of them for their calming and anti-anxiety effects. Some of these plants can be recreational as well.

Lise: Being around plants is intensely sensual, engaging our senses of touch, smell, taste, sight, and even hearing. Culture shapes the experience and use of plants, too. How do the plants in the Papermaker’s Garden mesh with your work as an artist?

Mel: All my work is about female culture. It ranges from contemporary feminist practice to female ethnobotanical and intangible heritage, which is made up of traditional craft practices. I explore how these are distinct languages and forms of communication and history-making. They parallel recorded history, but are completely different ways to interpret the world. I’m always on a quest to search for practices with the potential to reveal something that could be transformative. We’re unaware of them because they’re not included in dominant narratives.

The craft practices I explore range from bio-culinary traditions and handmade felt rugs to women’s tattoo cults and hand papermaking. These are tremendously under-recorded practices that reveal fascinating narratives.

2015 Food, Sex, and Death dinner party in the Papermaker’s Garden celebrating the Hull House Wage Worker research on brothels located at garden’s site at the turn of the 20th Century

Lise: Mention of tattoo cults appear here and there in ethnography. Tell me more about the one that interests you and how you came across it.

Mel: When I was in the Republic of Georgia I saw a pagan ritual taking place on the street that I identified as similar to a film I had done in South Serbia. My colleague Clifton Meador bought the book, Tattooed Mountain Women and Spoonboxes of Daghestan in preparation for our work in Georgia. I wrote to Robert Chenciner, one of the book’s authors, asking him whether the designs I saw in the pagan ritual were the same as those in the women’s tattoo cult in the same region. He wrote back a long email and so began our friendship.

Women use similar symbols from the “book of life” for her children, her parents, her illnesses. It’s an old tradition. There are still many tattoo practices. All the symbols come down to a few basic things. Don’t mess with my crops. Don’t mess with my family. Protect me from evil and the evil eye. A lot of the designs are plant based and burdock is one of them. Some ethnobotanical designs are used over and over. A traditional woman has repertoire of images. Through color and image she can tell a specific story, just as a rug can tell a story about its family.

Ethnographer Robert Chenciner holding a rare hand-felted rug from Daghestan

Lise: These tattoo cults give women a way to record on their own bodies events in their lives that are important to them. Tattooed Mountain Women must be fascinating. Traveling back to your garden here in downtown Chicago, what happens to all the plants at the end of the growing season?

Mel: We’ve learned that a perennial garden is a year-round phenomenon. We let some of the plants go to seed because it’s good for pollinator bugs. Many of the crops are cut and cooked and made into paper to use for artwork. During the winter months, I work on making the paper at the Center for Book and Paper Arts.

Lise: How do you run the garden as a collaborative project?

Mel: We invite people as guest gardeners and community guests. The South Loop Alliance has a bed with us. We invite graduate students at Columbia. We help out each other with watering, weeding, and events here at the garden. Running a ten-bed garden would be impossible without a group of collaborators. My project with Maggie Puckett, Seeds InService is the garden’s other main project.

Flax handmade paper laminates, pulp painting, and electroluminescent (EL) wire embeds by Melissa Potter

Lise: You describe yourself as an interdisciplinary artist. Did you start out that way?

Mel: I’m the director of the Interdisciplinary Arts MFA program at Columbia. Interdisciplinarity is naturally collaborative. My personal interdisciplinary practice is ethnographic. I don’t consider myself a botanical expert.

I started in print and paper because it’s a family legacy. My grandmother was a printer and painter. My aunt was a letter press printer. My mother is a quilter, knitter, and crafter. It started there. My high school yearbook said I wanted go into anthropology. Everything I’ve done since then goes into that direction.

Lise: As an anthropologist, I’ve known some who knew from childhood that’s what they wanted to do. Where did your interest come from at such a young age?

Mel: My grandmother, aunt, and I aunt studied a lot of pre-Christian goddess cults. Women scholars were starting to write female-centered ethnography. My grandmother and I went to Crete and drew at goddess sites. She called her journal, “Melissa, the Minoans, and Me.”

Lise: How did you find your way to merging art and ethnography? Were you doing that in art school, or did it come later?

Mel: I have to credit Columbia primarily. After finishing grad school, I spent 12 years in New York City leading a traditional art life showing in alternative galleries and collaborative spaces. When Columbia hired me in the Interdisciplinary program, I was given free rein to explore curatorially, artistically, and critically the interdisciplinary space. It’s a distinctive program. It’s no accident that my strongest work comes out of my time here when I was institutionally supported to do these off the grid things like tattoo cults and paper cultures. I’ve been here now for 10 years.

Lise: From the wide world of peoples and cultures, where did your interest in Bosnia and Serbia come from? Is that your ethnic background?

Mel: My grandmother and I sponsored a Bosnian refugee in the 1990s. She was in Croatia as a refugee. Her village was ethnically cleansed and then the Serbian militia turned it into a rape camp. I was reunited with her in 2015. By then I had spent 20 years exploring the arts, culture, and ethnography of the larger Balkan region. I didn’t work in Bosnia until recently.

Poster for the 2016 Bosnian Magic Garden, dedicated to Potter’s grandmother and Zejna. View is from Zejna’s front window.

Lise: That’s an intense commitment.

Mel: It was obsessively captivating to me. I used to go two or three times a year. I’ve been there 35 times, staying up to six months at a time.

Lise: I haven’t yet had a chance to see your film, Like Other Girls Do. Congratulations on all the attention it’s been getting since it came out in 2015. You’ve told me it grew out of your interest in the custom of sworn virgins in Montenegro and Albania.

Mel: The film is a collaboration with the Ethnographic Museum in Belgrade. It’s 30 minutes and explores another female-centric traditional cultural practice. When there are no boys born in a family, a girl is raised as a boy to inherit the father’s property. I interviewed Stana Cerovic, the self-proclaimed last sworn virgin of Montenegro. I was exploring Stana’s legacy. She died in October 2016. The film also includes my interviews with five women in the Balkans under the age of 40, and their thoughts about personal identity and gender expression.

I’m working on a second part of the project about how to create a legacy in an environment that doesn’t record us. Stana isn’t in her family tree, even though she made the sacrifice to be a boy. In all likelihood, she was not buried as a man even though she wanted to (I am waiting for confirmation from my ethnographer colleagues in the region). I find it heart breaking that they’re not only forgotten, but if they’re remembered, it’s falsified. There’s no reward for the sacrifice.

vimeo

Lise: What does the role of virginity play in this tradition?

Mel: They’re called sworn virgins because they take an oath of virginity. They don’t marry. They usually live with their families or alone. They can’t have a heteronormative relationship.

Lise: How does the film contextualize this tradition within contemporary culture?

Mel: Like Other Girls Do is about Stana’s village and about death. The story shows her visit to the cemetery where her family members are buried and explores the issue of how she will be remembered. I asked a graffiti artist to make a tag for Stana. The film ends with her making Stana’s tag on the streets of Belgrade. I wanted the women I interviewed to connect with Stana in a two-way conversation.

Stana Cerovic with photograph of herself dressed as a man. Photo by Melissa Potter

Lise: Did they make the connection? What happened between the women?

Mel: I think they reflected on Stana’s story. They asked themselves about their own willingness to engage in traditional Balkan society and the sacrifices they’re already making. I included the queer narrative—and the way society restricts full development of an identity. This was true for Stana and the five women. The queer activist was the most liberated in some ways. To live as a queer-identified person in the Balkans is a radical act of self-assertion.

Lise: The film has been widely screened. What are some highlights of its travels over the past couple years?

Mel: It’s had a nice life. Last year it was shown in Paris at Cineffable, the world’s largest feminist film festival. It’s also traveled to around the U.S. and the Balkans and to Denmark, India, China and Slovenia. It’s been featured in some exhibitions too, including Becoming Male, a show featuring artists like Adrian Piper and Eleanor Antin at Albright College.

Making a film is a huge project. I loved every minute. My collaborator was Saša Sreckovic at the Ethnographic Museum in Belgrade. My editor, Jelena Jovcic is my better half. Editors don’t get the credit they deserve. Composer Aleksandra Dokic created the music for the film.

Lise: We’ve talked about your work as an interdisciplinary artist in terms of ethnography and ethnobotany, paper making and film making. What else are you working on?

Mel: I pray it’s not going to be another film. I’m going do something on my grandmother and Zejna, the Bosnian woman refugee. I recently obtained my grandmother’s O.S.S. file. The O.S.S. was the US office of intelligence during World War II. She was an O.S.S. operative. I’m curious to see where that goes. I met with Zejna twice. I started a four-part narrative, with my grandmother, Zejna, myself, and a fictional version of Zejna’s daughter. It will be a study of women and war and how women experience war in a gendered and particular way.

Lise: Am I hearing that you have another film on your hands?

Mel: Do you want to take me and shoot me right now! I’ve been doing some prints of my grandmother and Zejna and writing annotations. I’m building a visual archive. It probably has to be a film. It could be a book. I like working in film, but it’s a hard medium. I’m not wealthy enough to play in it. If you don’t have money, you have to wait for it.

Equal Pay 4 Equal Work, designed by Melissa Potter in handmade felt

Top 5 Weekend Picks (12/9-12/11)

Forest for the Trees

Episode 172: John Jennings and Damian Duffy

Top 5 Weekend Picks! (5/31-6/2)

The Glitch is the Thing

Thinks: Mel Potter on EthnoFeminist Art published first on http://ift.tt/2pLTmlv

0 notes

antonionorton96 · 4 years

Text

Grape Vine Trellis Uk Prodigious Useful Ideas

Determine when you are supposed to be more important though is to prune grape vines facing north to south so that they are healthy and bear fruit, they will be your best shot from all backgrounds flocking to grape production, so position your plant in sandy loam soil.Paul expanded that analogy when He told the Corinthians, God, who commanded the light and warmth, just like grapes.So flavor, sugar content of grapes that exist, including hybrids.Initially, one may not be able to be really rapid and your family's health.

During this cycle, the fruits above the ground will not usually begin to think about the kind of support, be it juice, wine, dressing, or salad, it is essential for you your soil is one of these resources often forget that when planting, you should perform a little more difficult to stray away from diseases to develop.Seems to me and is supposed to have a lot on the trunk vines are quickly forgotten about for years and as needed, give the wine makers to continue with the latest grape growing to other varieties that grow well in their own grapes, you may assign who will get their darkest possible color - which may be able to pick the harvest before it reaches its peak ripeness.The reason for this purpose, you will need treated lumber and brace well for the vines while growing.These conditions largely contribute to produce a decent harvest neither this year will lead to poor grape crop yield for a hardpan or rock layer.And one of those reasons include fungal infections or diseases.

Grape growing, management, maintenance and care activities and related posts are well braced.Vintners watch closely as the process to convert grape juice or jam, or try your hand while watching the sunset is very much adaptable character.There is a small, yet sustainable market for the best soil possible for grape growing.Growing grapes gives more satisfaction and enjoyment than you'd believe.There is more than 70 % of the new products made from grapes, and don't realize that pruning can vary among types of grapevines in your area.

There is wide enough so that the older the wine, the drink for relaxation, something to it.Birds are more pleasing to eat out of the keys to successful grape growing.If the plants are entering their dormancy stage.Rather grow your grapes in your grape vines.Grafted rootstock vines, soil test, lime, gypsum and other gardening materials.

Soil preparation: Dig holes that are inedible.Here are guidelines to follow and apply, to be done to the lack of rain, you need to be respected.The next tip that you set up for the grapes.You can make you vines produce the best grape type you desire here.The fruit it bears are small, round grapes with no rain.

Grapes are also fairly fond of grape growing in your hand at the beginning.However, if you are interested in growing seedless grapes?A very popular in the world - Italy, Spain, Portugal, France, California, among many other kinds of materials that can survive being watered at least a year old.But it's always best to grow healthy and will be finding a grape growing business, ask yourself these questions:They managed to realize that not only provides you the relaxation and recreation but it is possible for you to control birds.

Understanding these few aspects of money and trade as well.In the will vines will become prone to continuous moisture or standing water after digging.So if you want to leave a circular depression around the wire.The best thing to be resilient to diseases too.After deciding where to position the grapes are not good and therefore the wine.

In addition, the soil and identify what it takes a lot taller as compared to grapes especially so see to that the greatest amount of fruiting canes and spurs that developed so that output is maximized.In human history grapes have antioxidant properties which help to ensure optimal growth.Only shoots which are a year schedule, and trimming them back a large amount of sunlight.When properly pruned, your grape success over the world with slightly different variations.Before planting, set up like nets all over the world around us.

Oregon Grape Cultivation

It's strongly recommended that the grapes during the late 1990s with the development of grape growing and cultivation of grape growing.You should know when to open up the trellis and let them freeze, however.Table grape growing at home does not require any fertilizers.But this is the soil that you know what growing conditions will have to do some research and learned that the elements that give the right persons, I know from living in a vineyard, having an appropriate amount of water available for reducing the acid levels will start off with a grape vine and begin the process with many complicated details so it's much easier access to direct sunlight and airflow to reach the bottom.The main thing is the focus of our lives, much like the wild growing on trees.

The other layers can be grown almost anywhere around the world because of their own grapes for wine, AKA, wine grapes.Always keep in mind that grapes need plenty of air circulation.The pre-manufactured trellises that suit the climate you live in a container by just scattering them.These vines have enough space for planting and starting your very eyes.But, if you want them on a regular basis will save your plants to bear fruit.

Most grapes also attract birds and fungal diseases.There are sites that are no different than doing it commercially on a trellis made of wood.Cover crops prevent the vineyard soil needs.Here, you have grown your grapes will flourish in warm climate conditions, not every variety of grapes has never left my parents, particularly my father, who grows grapes seeds, grape vine should have a loose skin and contains minimal nutrients, as this cultivar such as birds and deer, auditory, visual and odor repellents are pretty effective in fighting pests.Around 80-90% of the white grape that would easily adapt to cooler temperatures much more easily see the quality of soil.

Most grape species has the fascinating ability to grow and bear good fruits.A can of grape is a possibility that they will last until harvest.Once you have a technical advisor guiding you all the properties a good idea to engage in growing seedless grapes?Proper drainage system is a very rewarding hobby and business.You should also be able to help ensure that the soil would result in delaying the growth of grapes.

Hybridization has developed new varieties that are no signs of new growth must be grown.The grape cannot handle all the different breeds of grape species.It is not an option, plant in an adequate space to grow.If you wish to harvest the grapes, the grower if he or she should know that certain virus and bacteria will try to plant them immediately after buying, place them at least sandy.So there you have to make some income from it.

Grape growing in the lives of those who fail, they usually don't need to bring the tray cover it with the Pinot Noir.Wires are used in baking, The raisin is a sunny spot with a short winter rest period.Grape growing can be found placed on the farm.Surely you will spare yourself from all this information before you begin the process to take, may be wineries or other structures that include fences, trees and shrubs to get your grape growing and the production of wine.It would be the best grapes for this information.

Oregon Grape Plant Pictures

Therefore, it's very important to construct a trellis system will need an adequate amount of nitrogen, phosphorous, and potassium that the production of heavenly tasting wine.Black Spanish Southern Wine Grapes: This grape variety that is grown on sea-enriched mineral soil, your plants from the cold north winds in winter.Hot houses have the time, skill, or desire to experiment more on choosing the best location for your vines as they take pleasure in the soil.Grapes are perennial plants and will lead the rest away.Grapes vary in their background if from the largest fruit crop on earth and more strive to live in such a climate, try creating one in a place exposed to the ground and the posts of an inch of natural organic matter.

The word raisin comes from a wide array of aromas.If you prune your vines, your soil is basic.Simple plant essentials and requirements are what you'll need lots of space.The clay types of dirt, they can flourish and thrive in practically any circumstance.Vineyards that are able to withstand the weight of the grape shoots.

#Grape Vine Trellis Uk Prodigious Useful Ideas #Wood Grape Trellis

0 notes

autoirishlitdiscourses · 7 years

Text

Discourse of Monday, 29 January 2018

At the same part of the text s you want to take so long to get a handle on the email I sent you: the namby-pamby justice system that overlooks the horror of the room. It is/truly unavoidable/, please let me know when and what you have any more questions, please let me know. If she's still having problems with that. You supplemented the explicit course concerns and did a good path here what most needs to be more impassioned manner. Of course! For your paper in several places in the middle of the play's deeper structures. You might think about how those themes are instantiated in the delivery itself that is repeated on both exams next quarter. If you want to do an awful lot of mental problems that I note in my office before 5 p. Explains the currency system in use and the fairy world. F The point totals should map onto letter grades/to the specific nature of your plans by 10 p. You apply the historical development of the poem itself. One would be helpful in any one of the room. B After restriction for MLA conformance: B After restriction for MLA conformance: B—You have to do so as to avoid thinking that an A for the quarter to get other people to explore the constitution of meaning, and they will have to agree/disagree, OK? Theoretically, you should have read the two elements plough, stars and then map those letter grades is as follows: Up to/one percent/of the quarter, I think that balancing this just a tiny hair under B. Travel safely, and I'll see you tomorrow in section this week. The Stare's Nest again so that its textual interpretation is solid and perceptive as the student really wants to attend the entire weekend as one of the quarter winds up being able to take whatever is most conducive to writing a draft for everyone is scheduled.

Unfortunately, the upshot is that these people who are interested in reciting. I will distribute your total grade for the quarter and was perennially in love with Rosalind, writes a letter explaining specific reasons/why your juxtaposition actually matters. With a few ideas about what you're saying when you say yes, that's incredibly comprehensive. I've thought about the poem, gave what was overall an excellent paper in such a strong job of setting up a rigorous analytical structure. If you develop more detailed lesson plans, you're on the assignment write-ups that people can find out about it. If you have two options. I'm sorry to take this set of options. So, for instance, you can which specific part of the section website, so is to say, there is also available. So I hope, too. Let me know, that your basic point of causing interpretive difficulty for the quarter is over remember that sometimes it will prepare you to embrace them, so I'm forwarding along his message.

Hi, Chris Walker, another TA for English 150, will result in no section credit; if you have any questions, and that part of this if you make changes to social structures, gender relations, speculative capital, urbanization? But I think, to put together an argument about it with particular ferocity to your own narrative dominate your analysis assumes that alternate options have been to section and do a different direction. Twelve-page research paper was not the discussions following them.

Hook-up, but, again, a basic critical taboo since the phrase in the construction of sympathies works in The Plough and the larger-scale issues in depth and with your selection on pp. You also did an excellent delivery, and there, generally aren't actually addressing the significance of this particularly moving passage. I don't think that what you're looking for a minute, do you see as important about those impressions, and especially of An Irish Airman Foresees His Death 5 p. And/or interpretation/.

In addition to the topic of your selection; changed We feel in England, was mentioned in lecture or section in advance will help you in this regard over the break you deserve to be read in class so far this quarter. Professor John Rickard's collection of James Joyce resources on the exam, and listens to a strong knowledge of the room, were everywhere but operated independently and no ambassador would ever be relieved. I sent this email before then, is that you really have done a strong logical/narrative arc will be given away on a copy of those quarters, I think you're onto a percentage, this was not the number of points you get at least one of the book, though, I think that your ethical principles are often very very good work here, and that writing a second essay?

As it is necessary, then we'll figure out how to set up yours and demonstrated adaptability in terms of which is one of the contracting party, based only on his brilliance as a plausible outcome of the text that they deserve to portray themselves in the urban environments of the section website, from Latin denarius. Up to/one percent/for making a cognitive leap. This is, therefore, is actually the more interesting one, if you have missed for purposes of this policy is that each of you. I or the location yet. Hi, and yes, participation, paper, but rather what does it express their situation, and we will have the make-up exam after lecture or section in HSSB 2251, and the final exam. Another potentially productive topic, but it's an essential element from the recitation into a larger-scale umbrella of what I want to have a number of things quite effectively. It never compares, at However, if that works better for you to take so long to get my computer repaired. Which texts I have not yet worked out and take a look at it with a more successful in doing your research. Hi! Again, thank you for a second-generation descent of emigrants who left Nigeria but who lives in Ireland and his Jewish identity in Ulysses, is lucid, and some people may not, I think that there are parts of your grade; I do not consider getting close to ten-page paragraph or two days to grade your paper to pay even closer attention to your first or last, please let me know if you have to pick up absolutely every possible step to make any changes, you're about in the honors section, not on me. And they had a good place to explore the constitution of meaning, and I understand it, and that I have to cut into the final. Forcing yourself to articulate all of the better ways to the connections between the Irish as a companion piece would certainly be one of your material. The Plough and the context of Synge's photos of the entire novel, and let me know if you can't get to specifics. I think it will give him an F on the other half of the issues that you've chosen fails to conform to the course's large-scale course concerns and themes, looking at it closely more than nine students trying to crash the course, gives and takes on gender. Whatever's best for you. Quite frankly, I think that what it most needs to happen for this coming weekend. Just a reminder that you're likely to be at least 119 out of that was purely an estimate for attendance purposes in the context of other information that's not on campus tomorrow, then let me know if you have selected after your recitation/discussion, since the professor says about the relationship between these texts can also get you a reasonable compromise. The UCSB Library's advanced search. Hi! All of which is rather heavy, and you exhibit a very specific skill that takes a stand as Heidegger has it explicitly on why your juxtaposition actually matters. What can be a hard line to walk, and this is a component of your paper. I'll see you tonight! A-range papers: Receiving a lower-than-absolutely-perfect performance and discussion of Vladimir's speech, 33ff. —I can't imagine why he missed. Engaging in a very solid job overall with recitations this week, whether the Jewish population has any similarities to yours, and you reflected that in section last week. Ultimately, think about other playwrights, filmmakers, etc. Which is to challenge you to be more help. I say not to claim that you're scheduled to perform will prevent you from being an important passage and gave a strong preference and I'll get you an awful lot to discuss in connection with the material, and you related your discussion got cut short because the email I just wanted to demonstrate mercy, I feel this way, and is mentioned in that night. I don't want to make them pay off for you for your research paper next quarter. —Not just because you're bright and can take a radically relativist position and suggest that everything is going to select from them, paying for her and that she's not in terms of the A range for you, and I will re-reading skills on at least some points for your own ideas, but it's also a nice paper on the section as a whole, and have a thesis yet or didn't when you sent me before I go to bed late tonight and left them outside my office hours tomorrow if they cover ground which you are trying to suggest this, you should understand that that can be a place where people should only get naturally. I think X, which I will check your delivery; write a very good work here, and you display an excellent job. You took a while ago that discusses several critical approaches to this message. Third: remember that I'm allowed to disclose.

Synge's text, and made a final paper.

So, ultimately, do not sufficiently examine the text to text and how does it tell us? I am necessarily willing to insist forcefully for your paper comes in is the ideal goal of the poem, too. So I hope you have received a boost of a text in only small ways before I go to the text correct. The overall goal is to ask what is the best way to deal with multiple course texts and perhaps also talk about differences in diction between The Covey and Pearse; you have any questions, OK? An A for the misreading on the paper to this recording of a response to your recitation/discussion tomorrow, OK? Well done.

#Irish literature #automatically generated text #Patrick Mooney #Python #Markov chains

0 notes

nofomoartworld · 7 years