#views put on airs and pretended he was connected with government. between them all the poor little rabbit was made to feel himself very ins | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

kiruuuuu · 5 years

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Smoke/Lesion oneshot in which Lesion meets someone important during his first mission and then realises he was horribly wrong over the course of a few years. (Rating T, culture clash + hurt/comfort, ~9k words) - written for @yovelie! I can’t thank you enough for this commission and all your encouragement 💞💞 You continue to be a delight! Find my commission info here!

This fic has been posted to AO3 as well!! Read it here :)

His presence alone demands respect: he has the aura of someone who turns heads unconsciously, who parts a crowd with no effort and without realising, of a man used to making himself heard. Tze Long inadvertently holds his breath as the broad-shouldered, imposing European paces the room, studying the papers handed to him upon entry and not yet having directed a single word at anyone. He oozes confidence and competence, a good mixture as far as Tze Long is concerned, and despite the circumstances, he’s calmed down considerably. With this fortress of a man on their side, he has nothing to fear.

The man’s companion is less impressive, reminds Tze Long more of an aged schoolkid, sitting the wrong way around on a chair and resting his chin on his arms, eyes lazily trailing after his superior. If anything, he’s an apprentice, for some reason deemed worthy enough to follow this legend around despite proving himself lacking in several aspects – physical appearance is just one of them. He merely scanned the report Tze Long neatly put together before switching to playing with a lighter instead, face bored and impassive.

Indonesian weather doesn’t agree with either of them and yet Tze Long can’t pretend he minds, not when it forces the two to expose their toned arms and causes sweat to bead up on their foreheads enticingly. This is a moment in which he stops wondering why he’s got it so bad for Westerners.

Paper rustles and restless footfalls stop. The tall man fixes Tze Long with a level gaze which shouldn’t cause his heart to skip a beat like this. “Your name is…?”

“Liu Tze Long, sir.”

Two pairs of eyes drill into him yet he returns the stare without blinking. “You know who I am?”

He nods. “I do, sir.” How could he not? Operation Nimrod gained international fame and besides, all special forces have their own celebrities, pass on gossip just as swiftly as the Hollywood scene. Vineyards work fast, especially concerning the British SAS, most acclaimed organisation worldwide. Tze Long has been following this man’s career for about a decade now, hungrily devouring every tasty piece of information he could find. This is his idol before him, in the flesh, and he still has trouble believing it.

“Good. This is James Porter.” The sidekick gives a half-hearted wave and a half-hearted smile. “You’re the one who interpreted the files on the laptop found in Macau?”

“That is correct, sir.”

“Fucking bubonic plague”, Mike Baker mutters with a shake of his head, pushing back his sweat-soaked hair. “What do you reckon, Jamie?”

“Complete neutralisation asap”, comes the reply without hesitation, yet delivered like a disagreeable school report, “the files didn’t indicate the existence of more than one lab, so only one infiltration necessary. We’ll have the SDU assist us in gathering intel and coordinating the whole thing, go in, destroy the prototypes and samples as well as all data and leave.”

Tze Long nods mutely. They’ve identified the location of the extremist’s laboratory already which is why his superiors deemed it necessary to ask the Brits for help – their expertise in storming a building riddled with mercenaries and equipped with a worryingly potent biological weapon is limited. He doesn’t let his surprise over James’ astute observations show. He should’ve figured every member of the SAS has been recruited for a reason.

“Almost.” Mike leans against a table and Tze Long’s eyes drop lower all by themselves. “There’s no need to ask more people for help. We three are more than capable of taking down this megalomaniac – the fewer people can alert these terrorists to our plan of attack, the better. We don’t need the SDU’s fancy gadgets if we can help it. Right?”

The last word is directed at Tze Long who nods automatically. He indubitably knows best, seeing as how he’s not only still alive but also in active duty after all this time. “Yes, sir. Of course.”

“See? Even he agrees with me.” James simply rolls his eyes, visibly exasperated, but doesn’t dare object. If he had, Tze Long would’ve been appalled with the blasphemy. “You’re both knowledgeable in toxicology, so you better figure out how to get rid of this nonsense while I do observation and planning. Also, if you call me ‘sir’ one more time, I’m gonna personally feed you my badge.”

Tze Long opens his mouth, throws a glance at an extremely amused-looking Porter and decides against speaking up.

“Alright, let’s brainstorm on how to neutralise this plague without causing a medium-sized epidemic”, Porter turns to him with a cheerful grin. “Or, as I’d like to call it: the fun part.”

~*~

Macau has never held any fascination for Tze Long for as long as he could think – the old Portuguese buildings, yes, but once he’d seen them, there was only glamour and glitz to discover, new ways of relieving encumbered tourists of their money and the vice-like grip of the Chinese government tightening on a city doomed to be a one-trick pony forever. He never bought into the explosive potential of the casinos, prioritised work over luck and ended up in a respectable place as a result. Things work out eventually, but always through hard work and not unnecessary risk-taking. He prefers necessary risk-taking.

This day, however, he’s come to experience it through someone else’s eyes and allowed the city to dazzle him as if he was a toddler experiencing the Lunar New Year fireworks consciously for the very first time. Everything is bright, loud, inviting and affordable, even for his wallet, and he takes great pride in explaining all the local delicacies, the colonial history and differences between Macau and Hong Kong, as well as Asian customs in general. Most Europeans he meets either already know their fair share about the region or are much more interested in an entirely different thing, so it’s with childlike wonder that he accompanies Mike and James traipsing through Asia’s Las Vegas.

They’ve washed up in a Din Tai Fung purely because Mike knows the restaurant chain and was thirsting for a little bit of familiarity after an entire day of concentrated culture shock – but not familiar enough to allow them to forget they’re in another continent, like one of the many American fast food chains might’ve done, even given their differing menu.

“I never would’ve pegged you for a gambler”, Tze Long chuckles in between dumplings and marvels not for the first time at the fact that conversing with one of the most renowned blades has become this easy over the course of a singular mission.

“Me neither, but results don’t lie.” Mike frowns at the cup of green tea before downing it in one go. He doesn’t look like a fan. “If you hadn’t dragged me off, I might be a few thousand quid richer.”

“If we hadn’t dragged you off you’d be on your fifth Singapore sling and probably hitting on a coat rack”, James states drily.

“A miracle – the man who bets on everything shies away from roulette.”

“Not everyone has your kind of pocket change. And besides, I only bet on meaningful things. Like the fact that I’m gonna eat more than either of you of these – what are they called again?”

“Xiao long bao.” Tze Long pokes at one of the steamed dumplings filled with pork and hot soup. “And don’t bother betting anything, my stomach becomes bottomless when it comes to them.”

“You look like you don’t have them very often, in that case”, Mike interjects with a grin and definitely did not expect Tze Long to mirror his expression and retort: “You look like you have them a little too often.” He’s come to learn that friendly banter is not only viewed favourably but also generally expected, and not for the first time he’s grateful for his extended interest in expats.

Once James is done laughing (which takes a while and is made worse by Mike’s glare), he suggests: “These things are bloody delicious, so I’m definitely not gonna lose. Let’s bet on a dessert.”

Tze Long agrees, and their banter continues. An outsider might not identify them as extremely recent acquaintances, not with how easily Tze Long laughs, not with how naturally James elbows him in the side, not with how nonchalantly Mike overlooks their antics. But near death experiences have a way of forming unbreakable bonds, invisible strings tying near strangers together and inspiring them to treat each other almost like family: an involuntary gathering of people who share a fundamental trust. It’s easier to ignore shortcomings or differing opinions when they’ve had each other’s blood on their hands, and never before has Tze Long felt this connection as strongly as with these two Englishmen. They will stay in contact after this, that much is obvious, and maybe he’s made friends for life.

Maybe he’s made more.

Mike was the first one to ask him for his number, and if he noticed Tze Long’s fingers shaking, he didn’t comment on it.

As expected, both of them end up too full to even think about trying the molten chocolate-filled dumplings nor the matcha cake, so they agree on a draw after probably having miscounted anyway. Tze Long shows his gratitude for Mike’s winnings paying for their meal by gifting him a charm for his phone, one that’s not too tacky and meant to bring good fortune, and because he doesn’t want James to be empty-handed, he buys one for him too. They walk off the food coma by one of the beaches; it’s cooled down a little over the course of the evening and so neither of them takes their shirt off. Shame.

They linger outside of the hotel.

“You’re going back to Hong Kong tonight?”, Mike inquires, stretching in the humid night air and displaying his long limbs like an unconcerned predator knowing it’s at the top of the food chain.

“Yes. I sleep better at home and the ferries go regularly even at this hour. It’s a shame about your flight, I would’ve liked to show you my home.”

“And I’d like to show you ours”, James replies, sounding surprisingly genuine. Usually, half of what he utters is sarcasm and the other half jokes – if he hadn’t displayed professionalism and competence during their mission on top of that, Tze Long might’ve refused to work with him outright. “If you’re ever in Europe, call.”

“And if you’re ever in Asia again, let me know.” He fidgets. His throat is swollen with all the half-sentences threatening to burst out, all the confessions he’s suppressing… but there’s a foreign body in the way and he’s not willing to lay himself bare before these attentive eyes which have been following his every move for days now. He’s long understood that laziness and disinterest are a cover to hide a sharp sense of observation as well as a keen mind. James prefers being underestimated. Mike, on the other hand, is as authentic as it gets – he never holds back, sees bluntness as a virtue and wastes no time in hiding. Enviable. Tze Long wishes he could do the same.

“I forgot to buy smokes, be right back”, James announces into the short silence and disappears as if he’d read Tze Long’s mind. The opportunity is perfect, made even better when Mike addresses him directly.

“I’m serious, it was a pleasure working with you.” His chest swells at the genuine compliment. “Even if you’re as suicidal as Jamie. You’ll get far. Do you have a lot of experience under your belt already?”

He omitted this fact as to not spark any doubts, but now he might as well admit it. “Actually, this was my first mission.”

Mike’s brows lift, just like the corners of his mouth. “And you waited this long to tell us? You son of a bitch, I don’t believe it. I have even less doubt about your future now. I hope to see you again soon.” He holds out his hand and Tze Long takes it, feels a warm palm against his own, a strong grip, melts under approving eyes. “You did well. I mean it. Take care of yourself, will you?”

Please, he thinks but doesn’t even dare finish the thought let alone allow his tongue to betray him, dumbly repeats the word in his head over and over like a mantra, like a spell he’s trying to weave. Please. Please. “Yes. You too. Have a safe flight.” And with those words, Mike Baker seemingly vanishes from his life. Silhouette starkly visible against the bright light of the hotel lobby, the embodiment of everything Tze Long wants and wants to be, he leaves, in his wake the hot night air clogging lungs and airways and hearts.

When Tze Long turns, James is silently offering him a lit cigarette. They share it without a word, just like Tze Long often enforced an awkward quiet between them through non-committal replies or flat out ignoring quips despite their wittiness. Looking back, he feels bad about it.

“Wanna join me upstairs?”, the Brit asks as he extinguishes the mutual vice and leads the way when Tze Long nods. Mind and expression carefully blank, they ride the elevator up and enter the luxurious room after James has unlocked it. It’s about the same size as Tze Long’s apartment in Hong Kong. “Shower? Your preference.”

He shakes his head and watches the other man approach him, closes his eyes only a second after their lips touch.

It’s always so obvious, with Europeans. They make no move to hide their interest or curiosity, seem to have no off switch whereas Tze Long has stumbled over vague acquaintances, locals whom he’d never have suspected in the past. James telegraphed clearly until he knew he was understood, and then continued unintentionally.

He’s a good kisser, at least. Considerate, adaptive, even playful – he manages to coax a few smiles out of Tze Long as they just stand there and kiss, despite him feeling like the entire last week didn’t even matter. He wouldn’t have felt like this even if they’d failed. But James is more and more successful in taking his mind off it, and for that he’s grateful. He does have a nice build, favouring the torso over legs but Tze Long doesn’t mind, not when he can run his hands over hard muscles and feel them dance below his fingertips.

They crawl onto the bed, James shirtless and unreasonably attractive-looking, dark mane fanning out on his pillow and ribs expanding prettily with every deep inhale over Tze Long toying with his tongue. He’s hard, both of them are, and it’s no surprise that the first piece of clothing James tries to undo are Tze Long’s trousers.

“I top”, he whispers against a swollen mouth and slides lower to capture an erect nipple with his lips.

James picks up on his phrasing. “Exclusively?” He doesn’t sound like he minds and lets out a beautiful little moan.

“Exclusively Westerners.” Tze Long doesn’t mention he rarely sleeps with locals as it is – many of them are a mirror to his own insecurities and remind him of the endless questions about his marital status. He’s met wonderful local men, yes, one wonderful woman too, an outlier who sadly didn’t stay by his side or else she could’ve made most of his life a lot easier, but when it comes down to it, he prefers the natural demeanour, the surprise over him having to hide, the cheerful forgetfulness concerning their cultural differences. It’s easier to not be reminded than to overcome.

“Had enough of white guy machos who come to the ‘land of the bottoms’ expecting everyone to fall at their feet?” He’s amused yet not mocking.

“Not far off”, Tze Long admits with a smile and leans up for another kiss which is eagerly accepted. He’s starting to get the impression James would be content with nothing but snogging the entire night and the thought makes him uncomfortable.

“It’s not a race thing”, James mutters, hands gently stroking over Tze Long’s body, “I just like pretty people.”

And I like people who take what I’m willing to give without much fuss, Tze Long thinks and marvels over how the body below his comes alive at his every touch. He’s a magnet and James made of metal, has no choice but to strain towards him, intense gaze fixed on his face. Somehow, it hurts looking at him. “What else do you like?” Tze Long parts legs with a soft push to an inner thigh and settles between them.

“Anything. I’m not picky.” Coming from anyone else, he wouldn’t have believed it, but it rings true for James. “Live out your fantasies.” He smiles and means it, despite his next words. “I know I’m a substitute.”

Tze Long’s mouth goes dry. His cheeks burn, actually feel on fire. Restless digits roam over exposed skin but none of its warmth manages to penetrate his own. He feels cheapened, caught. He knows James noticed. He just thought he’d have the decency not to mention it.

He tries to save it with a kiss, but it’s sticky, sickly sweet like too much candy, the taste clinging to the roof of his mouth. Like Macau itself, a pretty façade and nothing more. James can tell he’s not feeling it anymore, he’s sure.

“You don’t have to”, James says, so full of understanding Tze Long’s stomach is in knots.

“I want to”, he lies. Kind eyes blink up at him. James really is handsome, at third glance. He imagines what it’s like to actually fuck him. He wonders what he’d feel like afterwards. The thought is sobering.

“How about we walk around the city some more instead? There were other places you mentioned we didn’t get to see. I’ll just skip sleeping.”

Tze Long doesn’t ask whether it’s really alright with James. He just nods and gets up.

~*~

Confrontation goes against his nature. He’s always cultivated a healthy mix of empathy and disillusionment with humanity as a whole, both to understand other people’s actions as well as not care too much – he’s self-sufficient, needs little to be content, is ambitious without being overzealous, and he believes that everyone eventually gets what they deserve. Picking fights, holding grudges, none of it appeals to him, instead seems clunky, awkward, unnecessary. He lives and lets live, expects others to show him similar courtesy but doesn’t cause a fuss when they don’t.

This, however, is different.

“I’ve been working on this for two months, as you’re well aware, and now you’re saying I won’t be permitted to bring this mission to its conclusion?” His tone is even but his fingers flex, betraying his anger, even resentment.

Mei Lin had to pull him aside so they don’t have this conversation in front of the rest of their team, for which he’s grateful, though he hopes it doesn’t appear as if he’s questioning her authority. She’s gotten enough shit as it is. “Yes”, she replies curtly. “This is non-negotiable. Leave.”

Tze Long catches his fury before it breaks out of him. He respects her like no other, and unlike his peers, doesn’t hold her to higher standards just because she’s a woman. She’s had to work twice as hard to receive half as many commendations. No, this isn’t about her. “You know my work is important to me”, he appeals to her sense of duty, but he’s got the impression he’s not talking to her in her function as his superior right now, despite all.

“This isn’t your call to make either way.” He believes it. If their roles were reversed, if he begged her to exclude him from the mission yet she deemed him irreplaceable, she wouldn’t allow it. “I will bear the consequences. I am aware of what I’m doing. And you need to go.”

He sincerely hopes she’s not committing career suicide, not after she’s fought her way into the SDU, clawed her way up with iron discipline and excellent results. She could have him officially rebuked for insubordination if he refused and stayed. So he doesn’t.

A few hours later, he feels his father’s pulse fade under his fingertips.

Tze Long feels like he’s underwater. Like he’s a singular grain of sand, mercilessly and relentlessly being tossed around by the tide, ground up against his brethren over and over again until they’ve all lost their edge, become smooth and round and compatible, until they make up a pretty picture as a whole, with their personal identities vanishing in favour of making up a greater good.

A metropolis like Hong Kong seems to have this effect on people – at least on most of the ones he’s met. They turn into exchangeable faces, rehashing the same conversations over and over, fulfilling their purpose and causing no ruckus. Oiling the machine. On bad days, this impression weighs him down amid the traffic noises, the daily rush to work and back, the desperate attempts to take the mind off everything. On good days, he manages to spot beauty wherever he goes, smiles and small gestures of kindness, the shocking diversity of the city representing unification and celebration of life in all forms. Hong Kong is colourful in more ways than one, if he dares to look.

Today is a bad day.

He’s frantically chewing on a toothpick while tonguing the sore spots in his mouth where he poked himself before. A friend suggested replacing cigarettes with something else to keep his mouth occupied and help suppress the addiction, and after dismissing chewing gum and carrots, he’s landed on this. So far, it does nothing to quell his anxiety.

When Mei Lin leaves the building, her expression is unreadable until she’s stopped right in front of him, blinking up into the painfully direct sunlight. They study each other, both looking for signs of weakness not to exploit but to encourage. Eventually, she nods. “We’re good”, she announces and both of them slump a little in relief.

What she really means to say is: I’m good. But Tze Long doesn’t correct her. “What did he say?”

“He was understandably upset I would force you off the mission after you’ve been the most involved op in the whole thing. He blamed me for being soft, for endangering the rest of the troop by replacing you. And he told me I shouldn’t have let you know about the call.”

Tze Long nods silently. It’s what he expected.

If she’d told him of the call afterwards, he wouldn’t have been there to witness his father’s last breath.

“But there was someone else there. SAS. Apparently a friend of yours.”

His stomach flips. Did he really come? He wouldn’t have thought – he messaged him that day, late at night, not expecting a reply as usual. Responses were scarce, have always been, so he figured he’d get a supportive text back in a week or two. Not this. His heartbeat quickens and he has to hold himself back to let Mei Lin finish instead of charging the building.

“He wanted to know what happened and then offered his own advice. I’ll spare you the details, they argued a bit, but he held the opinion that amid our discipline and rigorous training, we mustn’t forget we’re also human. Because this humanity is the entire reason we’re doing any of what we’re doing. And in his opinion, I acted according to this ideal and therefore shouldn’t be punished.”

“That does sound like something he’d say”, Tze Long agrees quietly.

Both of them turn to the busy street as if on signal, take a deep breath, compose themselves. He wants to embrace her, wonders whether she’ll take it the right way. Everything is impermanent, he recently received a sharp reminder of this, and his need to cherish everything he still has left throbs behind his temples. Instead, he settles for an earnest: “Thank you. I didn’t agree in the moment, but I do now. You made the correct call.”

“I know.” She fixes him with a gaze so full of sympathy that it paralyses him. “I’m sorry.”

He just nods again. Despite all, he wants to ask her about him, what he was like, whether she liked him, whether she understood who exactly he is. The realisation of how much he cares is frightening, even more so when he hears footsteps behind him, clearly approaching the two of them. He’ll never be ready to face him, never has been, and so he takes the plunge without hesitation and turns around, turns to -

“It’s just me”, James states almost apologetically the moment he must notice the disappointment in Tze Long’s expression.

Whatever it is, whether it’s the uncomfortable vacuum Tze Long has been carrying around with him for a few days already, hindering his ability to feel anything, whether it’s the relief of seeing a familiar, friendly face, whether it’s the fact that James just helped Mei Lin – it’s not nearly as big of a letdown as Tze Long would’ve expected. Yes, he’d hoped it’d be him. But after a second, he’s already come to terms with the fact that it isn’t, and if he’s completely honest, he doesn’t even mind that much. “Good to see you”, he says and means it.

James’ face lights up with a smile. “Good to be here.”

Their dynamic is different.

Tze Long fails to pinpoint why, whether it’s the long months – years, he realises – of constant communication, the fact that he’s not looking over James’ shoulder for most of the time, or the sad circumstances. He’s sociable enough, always enjoys making and keeping friends from all over the world which has come in handy not only at his job but also in his spare time, so he kept up the steady stream of messages between the younger Brit and himself. It wasn’t like they texted every day, yet he expected a message at least once a week and wasn’t ever disappointed. Usually, it was either a world event which occupied them, a remarkable injury on either side (like when Tze Long broke his toe by demonstrating his lack of skill on the tightrope, or when James dreamt bad, flailed around in his sleep and punched himself in the nuts), an entertaining story they came across or just a simple checking in. Casual, pleasant, inconsequential conversations.

Now that they’re face to face once more, James is much more tangible, with that singular dimple he actually pointed out at some point, the laid-back attitude which puts Tze Long at ease immediately, filled to the brim with terrible ideas and even worse jokes and never turning down a challenge. He’s a painting which has come alive, surprising in its actuality yet its core still intact. It’s not like meeting an entirely new person, more of… seeing a whole.

In the half-day they have available, Tze Long shows him Hong Kong. The flight leaves late at night and James bemoans the fact that he’s got trouble sleeping on planes as it is, so the jetlag will kill him, and Tze Long doesn’t ask whether he was in the area anyway, doesn’t ask when he arrived in the first place, why exactly he came.

He suggests Din Tai Fung once more but James shakes his head, inquires about other local specialties and trails after him until they reach the night market on Temple Street which isn’t as crowded as usual seeing as it’s only afternoon. Like in Macau, Tze Long revels in his position as tourist guide and points out miscellaneous facts, tells a few anecdotes and buys a chocolate-flavoured egg waffle as well as milk tea so James can munch and sip on something while marvelling at the colourful trinkets and embroidered clothes offered en masse. In order to get him to try as many stalls as possible, they share portions of dim sum, grilled squid and braised meat, and it delights him to see that James is willing to try basically everything – except for stinky tofu, which is understandable. Tze Long barely smells it at this point but he knows it’s quite off-putting to people not used to it.

Before they head to visit the nearby temples, he purchases fresh fruits to complete the culture shock: some lychee-like longans, a shockingly bright pink dragon fruit and a sweetsop, Tze Long’s personal favourite with its creamy, aromatic flesh. James’ curiosity knows no bounds and, very uncharacteristically, he doesn’t treat Hong Kong with his usual biting sarcasm. It’s not reverence he shows either, and Tze Long would be hard pressed to describe his attitude as anything more precise than simple enchantment.

They barely manage to get to Victoria Peak before sunset. Just like the rest of the city, the mountain is flooded with people, all trying to get the best selfie before moving on, whereas James leans against the railing on one of the viewing platforms and merely looks. Tze Long steps up next to him, close enough to touch, forcing the bustling activity behind them to the back of his mind and tries to see his home through James’ eyes. Below them, countless skyscrapers stretch upwards like fingers, reaching out for infinity.

“What about where you live?”, James wants to know after a long while. “I want to see where you used to work. Where you grew up.”

He shakes his head after some deliberation. “We don’t have time for that”, he lies when in reality he’s not ready to face this part of his life again, especially not show it to a stranger of sorts. His past feels deeply personal somehow, his struggle to end up where he is now like a secret he’d better keep. Part of it is simple vanity – he wouldn’t like to imagine James telling his colleagues, telling him. And of course, the one person who shared this history with him has now passed away.

James’ eyes are on him, attentive, almost waiting. “Next time?”, he asks, sounding hopeful. Tze Long wonders what kind of impression he’ll take away from this short visit.

“Yes. Next time.” He’s not sure if there will be one, but he hopes he’ll feel differently about himself by then.

“What was he like?”

A deep breath. How is he meant to answer this question? “Kind but firm”, he offers and puts a new toothpick in his mouth. “No time for nonsense but always willing to listen if something was on my mind. Distracted, at times. Whenever he found a gift for me, he’d present it so proudly. He was happiest when he could teach me things, show me the world. When he couldn’t work anymore, he -” His voice breaks, so he stops talking. Despite it not being his fault, guilt had plagued his father for decades. Having to rely on his only son, witnessing Tze Long’s struggle took its toll on him just like on Tze Long himself, though it changed into fierce pride later on, once he became a Flying Tiger. But he remembers the forlorn stare into their empty cupboards, the reassurances of being able to mend clothes, shoes, self-image.

James is going to get a sunburn and it’s not going to be pretty. He hasn’t tanned much this summer yet and Tze Long wants to reach out to protect his skin from the merciless rays. To maybe run fingers through his luscious hair. “He sounds like a good father.”

“He was.”

And despite the serenity of the moment, James actually goes there: “Your description of him reminds me of someone.”

Tze Long fights down the urge to simply leave. He’s better than that. “I bet you won’t drink a whole glass of durian milk”, he switches topics and earns a side-glance he’s incapable of deciphering.

“- you should’ve seen his face when I told him to shove it, pure comedy, this dude was not used to anyone saying no to him, not with him built like a bloody fridge and that stupid fuckin’ tattoo on his forehead, something daft like carnivorous or edgelord, I don’t even remember, I only remember thinking: this lad must’ve randomly picked a word from the dictionary that sounded cool.”

Tze Long moves his own drink out of the range of James’ flailing arms but makes no move to interrupt him.

“And me, a foot shorter and seemingly harmless, refusing to budge? Well, you can imagine what happened.”

“I do hope you wiped the floor with him.”

“First he punched me in the throat, but yes, afterwards I most definitely wiped the floor but only because he tripped over some barbed wire, nearly shredded his entire dick and bled all over the fucking linoleum. That was the last time he tried to sell some fake insurance, I’m sure.”

Drunk James is adorable. He’s become a waterfall, largely unaware of himself not in an inconsiderate way but an endearing one, speaking his mind openly and demanding Tze Long’s full attention. He fills silences with anything and everything, after two cocktails already, and he goes deaf when Tze Long tells him that going on a plane while intoxicated might not be the best idea. They’re perched by the bar, sipping bitter liquor because today is just one of those days and let the soft pop music relax their muscles.

While he prattles on, rants about the next odd encounter, Tze Long gets distracted by the curve of his eyebrows and the hard jaw and he wonders whether he’s still interested. What he’d say to the suggestion of dipping into a hotel real quick. It’s less than an hour until he has to be at the airport, however, hardly enough time, but idly toying with the idea is fun nonetheless.

“Thank you for coming”, he eventually manages to interject while James takes a breath.

“Aye. Mike relayed the message and it sounded like you might get in trouble, or your colleague might. He’s off gallivanting around the Middle East somewhere I think, claims he’s busy doing recon or whatnot but I bet he’s lazing in the sun and resting his bones. Soon he’s gonna be the oldest bloke in the SAS, did you know? Fucker’s immortal. Some of the lads who bet on his retirement are gone themselves by now.”

Tze Long did not know this. He doesn’t know a lot of things about Mike. “I appreciate your help, in any way.”

“Believe me, your boss didn’t.” James grins and it makes him look years younger. “I might get shit for it but my major has my back. And I got yours. If anything else is up, let me know and I’ll travel half the world again.”

He has no doubt James would, and he tries to identify whether it’s a snipe aimed at him for texting Mike only, not him, but isn’t sure. His brooding is interrupted when he spots a familiar figure at the other end of the counter, glancing over and flashing him a wide smile. “Oh no”, he mutters to himself.

“I swear though, that bloody rotten egg fruit, whatever it’s called, I’m never touching one of those again, I still wanna throw up every time I burp.” James interrupts himself to follow Tze Long’s gaze. “What, someone making bedroom eyes at you?”

“Yes. He’s very charming, to be honest.” He sighs, shaking his head. Should’ve known better than to drag James to his usual club. “And very married.”

“That happen often?”

It’s too complicated to go into detail, so he nods. Having grandchildren continues to be one of the highest priorities in the life of a parent, and Tze Long has met many, many guys living a double life – one for society and their family, one for themselves. He’d rather not get involved with these men even if it means limiting himself.

“Want me to take care of it?”

The seemingly innocent question makes him huff in amusement. “Please don’t start a bar fight, I’d hate to get banned.”

“More than one way to show you’re not interested”, James mutters and true, he’s right.

Tze Long doesn’t even mind. He puts his toothpick aside.

They meet halfway between their chairs and James’ corners of his mouth are turned upwards when they do. He tastes of rum and tobacco and the tendrils of addiction pull at him enticingly at the reminder of what he’s given up; the background noise fades in favour of his own heartbeat and James is still smiling, never once stops. His smile feels like a thinly-veiled accusation and a self-satisfied victory simultaneously and yet Tze Long can’t get enough. James switches to his chair, actually settles on his thighs without breaking the heady touch of lips on lips, clearly uncaring of the spectacle they’re putting on. Tze Long’s hands stray to his sides and for once, he’s not picturing a different body between his palms.

“I think we’re good”, he murmurs after a while, after all decency is long overthrown.

“Hmm, no, he’s still looking”, James hums back without even opening his eyes once, smile widening, but when Tze Long withdraws, he relents and instead pulls him into a hug.

And it just overwhelms him. The rare feel of a warm body makes him realise he hasn’t deliberately, consciously touched another human being in days, reminds him of the empty apartment he’ll return to, chock full of memories and shards which don’t cut deep by themselves yet make up a fearsome blade as a whole; reminds him of the desperate loneliness which creeps up on him now and then, whenever he’s weak, whenever he lets it. He thinks of the eternal double check mark, message received, thinks of his colleagues’ triumphant faces as they recounted the successful mission without him.

He clings, hard, and only notices the supportive arms wrapped around him once his fingers have stopped shaking. He’s breaking down in the middle of the bar, visible to everyone, to people he knows, and the shame burns almost worse than his grief.

Regardless, James is still there. Whispering nothings, stroking his back soothingly, acting as if none of this was out of line. His warmth is painful because he’s unsure how to repay it, but right now he has no choice but to accept.

“It’s okay”, James tells him like he really believes it. “You’ll be alright.”

~*~

He turns out to be correct, even if it takes some time for Tze Long to wholly believe it.

A piercing stare accompanies the realisation together with a suffocating amount of information he’s expected to digest and memorise, and yet he couldn’t be happier. The office is nondescript and icy for his standards and he can already tell it’ll take some time to get used to this part of the earth.

“I am very happy to know you in our team”, Six finishes with a seriousness Tze Long respects. “Welcome to Rainbow.”

“It is an honour.” He matches her tone. “I’m looking forward to working with you, ma’am.” He knows when he’s dismissed, gets up and ready to start this new chapter of his life, but curiosity gets the better of him: “May I ask – am I the only one of my unit you’ve recruited?”

Six’ expression softens. The formal part is over, she can rest assured all her points have come across and therefore she allows herself some friendliness. “No. One of your colleagues will join us as well – Mei Lin Siu.”

He finds himself smiling. “That is an excellent choice, ma’am.”

“Funny. She said the same thing about you.”

~*~

England is cold, empty, quiet and boring. And Tze Long is surprisingly fine with it.

He traded comfortable warmth for considerably less rain – even if the Spanish operators give him an odd look over this statement – and exercising outdoors is less suffocating, less of a chore. Admittedly, he could do without winter but after having been enlightened about layers, sealing gloves and sleeves and other tricks which Mira and Jackal divulge gladly, it’s not that bad. Even if summer has him a little homesick now and then. Sometimes he also misses the liveliness of his home, the many faces just like his, the natural way people accept each other as an inevitability. Here, it happens that existing in a space earns him disapproving glances.

But it’s quiet. He sleeps like the dead, hasn’t been this calm in decades and finally finds enough time to really pursue hobbies he had to neglect previously: he reads for days on end, dabbles (and generally fails) in a few crafty endeavours, follows the news from the silence of his apartment, feeling secure, comfy, safe. He picks up cooking, much to James’ delight, and together they spend a weekend on xiao long bao, having to re-do the dough several times and despairing over the soup gelatin only to give up and attempt it again a week later, nailing it first try. And whenever the muted quality of this country threatens to overwhelm him, he puts on some music, a film, or simply invites James over.

He doesn’t have many complaints, not when he spends most of his free mornings in bed with a steaming cup of coffee by his side and phone in hand, the world under his fingertips. Still, it required some getting used to the way people treat each other, the blunt and direct style of communication, the many gestures which would be deemed horribly rude in Asia.

Tze Long idly ponders cultural differences while Mike hands him a bowl of rice, chopsticks simply stabbed into it.

Next to him, he can sense James’ eyes widening before he quickly snatches the utensils and holds them out to Tze Long instead. They share a secret, slightly embarrassed smile, just like they did when Mike presented him with four sample bottles of whisky from his favourite distilleries – he can’t expect everyone to be aware of common superstitions, but he would’ve guessed the social stigma around the number four would’ve been widespread enough to have reached Mike’s ears. Even Mark pulled a face in the background, and James elbowed him, accepting one of the bottles gratefully.

Mike is trying, that’s the part which counts, and Tze Long is fiercely appreciative: he hasn’t celebrated his birthday properly in an eternity, certainly not with colleagues which have become more than that over time, and certainly not with gifts as thoughtful as the ones he’s received (like the high quality tea from Mei Lin, and an entire book series of English classics from James). Mike is trying, and as he’s come to realise over the years, this doesn’t always amount to much. But it doesn’t matter, provided he manages his expectations.

Somewhere along the way, he’s stopped drinking up literally every single word dripping from his lips, stopped blindly accepting, stopped the worship. Mike is a friend. Mike is even a bit of a shit friend a lot of the time, yet his heart remains in the right place – which is a little distant, a little distracted, and far, far away from Tze Long’s.

“This is the best thing you’ve ever cooked”, he informs his gracious host matter-of-factly, and can spot the flattered happiness through the ensuing modesty. It’s certainly not the best thing he’s ever eaten, but his statement remains true nonetheless. Aniseed in curry is courageous and the result a little odd yet edible, and so complaining is the furthest thing on his mind.

When Mike is back to bustling around in the kitchen, Mei Lin quietly asks the other guests: “He really went all out. Does he do this often?”

“Never”, replies Seamus, sounding amused. He looks a giant next to Tze Long’s comparatively dainty teammate, though they seem to get along well. “He’s forgotten Mark’s and Jamie’s before, and gave me out-of-date rum truffles for my birthday.”

“Aren’t you on a diet?”, she asks, prompting a meaningful nod.

“He really cares about Tze Long, even if he’s not sure how to show it”, James interjects, sounding bored. “They’ve been friends for a long while, after all.”

“We have been friends for a long while”, Tze Long feels the need to point out. James’ eyes slide over to him, bore into his skull, almost intense enough to cause him to lower his gaze – but he doesn’t. He knows what it’s for, all the dismissive replies in the beginning, him acting as if the clown (whose humour meshed surprisingly well with his own, who was willing to undertake the same risks as him, who watched his every move) was invisible. If he could go back, he’d act differently. If he could go back, he wouldn’t spend a significant amount of his life chasing after a castle in the sky.

But he did, and now it’s done.

“We have”, he affirms, and instead of agreeing, James gets distracted by Seamus addressing him, and this simple fact shouldn’t bother Tze Long as much as it does. He doesn’t have a monopoly on him, he has to regularly remind himself of this. He didn’t earn the right to have one.

Joining Mike in the kitchen feels less like a conscious decision and more of an escape. “I can’t thank you enough”, he begins and is immediately interrupted by a scoff.

“You could lie and tell me this blobby pudding isn’t the most sorry-looking excuse for custard you’ve ever seen.”

“This custard looks delicious”, Tze Long lies smoothly and Mike’s gruff laugh mends his brittle soul a bit. They’ve learnt to interact with each other without any of the awkwardness prevalent in the beginning of Tze Long’s time in Rainbow.

“Good lad. And you don’t need to thank me, it’s the least I can do. For once, you could shut up and accept people being nice to you.” It’s ingrained in Tze Long to fight for the bill, react modestly to and dismiss compliments rather than accept them, refuse gifts a few times when receiving them. He opens his mouth to object, but once more Mike is faster: “I’ve received complaints about you, you know. You’re being too bloody nice – people just need to mention a book and you’ve already promised to let them borrow it, you give lifts to unsuspecting whiners and generally are too friendly. We’re in fucking England, no one knows how to deal with that shite here.”

Tze Long grins, even if he’s aware Mike isn’t purely joking. “Are you suggesting I’m not already playing my part in making our work environment… more toxic?”

The eye roll he receives is inordinately satisfying, yet his triumph doesn’t last. “No, lad, I’m telling you to go out and bloody take something for yourself. Something which you’ve wanted for a long, long time. You’re allowed, you know? You’re allowed to demand things.”

And this strikes a chord. The smile on Tze Long’s lips fades the further the words sink, float down, down, down into the murky depths of his subconscious which reacts with instant, intense panic. Because they only become louder the deeper they reach, their echo reverberating and creating a cacophony making it impossible to think straight. Unhelpfully, his conscious mind provides a solution, the one suggestion which he’s carried on his tongue for years, wrote on his forehead, the one truth he thought irrevocable: “Are you telling me to ask you out?”

The awkwardly-shaped sentence lodges in his throat, causes the gears in his head to grind and shriek, and it’s wrong, so wrong, if Mike says yes he’s never setting foot in his flat again, fuck the idolising, fuck professional relationships, he’ll curl up in ball and shake and shiver and shudder because no, it’s not what he wants, maybe something he never wanted in the first place.

While he’s still reeling from what’s raging on inside him, Mike throws him an almost pitiful glance. “Not me I’m talking about”, he grumbles. “I mean the one bloke whose friendliness you’ve always accepted without any protest.”

And isn’t that the fucking point?

It’s the one person who consistently made him lose face, no matter what, humiliated him with his displays of adoration Tze Long could never hope to repay, proved him unworthy with every breath he takes, and his presence burns under his fingernails, a constant itch chipping away at his honour because he deserves none of it and yet he wants. Oh he wants. He’s humbled by every easy laugh following disrespect, and the more this shadowy figure was pushed away, the harder it tried to keep up, and keeping it hazy is so much easier than allowing its entire being to invade every nook and cranny of his life.

Only -

That already happened a while ago, didn’t it?

James is outside, an unopened beer in his hand and smoking by himself because Seamus doesn’t endorse his addiction and Mei Lin and Mark hate the smell. He’s glowing in the setting sun, illuminated almost from the inside and Tze Long viciously wishes his brilliancy was contagious. “What’s wrong?”, he asks, unaware of the storm raging behind Tze Long’s unchanged exterior.

“I’m cold”, he replies, earning furrowed brows.

“It’s July.”

“Yes.”

They look at each other. James’ lips purse around the cigarette and Tze Long wants to grab the bottle and smash it on the asphalt, just to expend some of the energy throbbing through him. “Did Mike say anything? Are you okay?”

“I bought two tickets to Hong Kong.” And it’s out. With this, he’s handed himself over and there’s no going back.

“You’re going with him?” Carefully neutral. James stubs out the cigarette and takes out his key ring with its bottle opener attached. There’s a piece of string, too, displaying some of the decorative beads Tze Long recognises easily. The charm must’ve fallen off or broken after extensive use over the years.

“I wouldn’t want him to come along.”

Busy hands pause. He still doesn’t understand. “Mei Lin is accompanying you?”

“No.” They don’t have leave at the same time anyway. But he and James do. Always had.

Fingers twitch. Then slowly set the beer down on the stone steps behind them. He’s looking everywhere but at Tze Long, long hair falling into his eyes. “So -”

“I’ve been buying two ever since I joined Rainbow.” They both know how conscious he is of spending money.

“Jesus”, says James.

Tze Long is dizzy. He expected this moment to taste half-fermented, almost rotten, like a fruit ignored for too long, but instead it’s an explosion of refreshing flavour and pleasant sweetness, horrifyingly addicting. His face hurts and he realises that he’s grinning from cheek to cheek, must look like a lunatic if James’ expression is anything to go by. “Come with me. Please.”

And James seems to understand what he means, even if a frown tugs on his mouth and the face he makes is one of sorrow and not happiness, yet when Tze Long steps closer, James latches onto him like a drowning man.

His turmoil is far from appeased, but one thought prevails above all, forces his emotions to simmer down: I might not deserve this, he thinks, but he certainly does. He holds James until he’s shaking only with laughter, nothing else, the half-suppressed bouts of relief convincing him more and more of having made the right decision. They’re each other’s anchors, unwilling to let go, and beam at each other so brightly it blots out the sun.

“I’d love to”, James tells him in that rare, genuine tone of voice Tze Long has never heard him use with anyone else. “Are you sure?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t want anyone else by my side.” His lack of hesitation only increases James’ luminosity. “I’ll show you everything, James. I’ll show you all.” This seems to convince him, no doubt due to the far-reaching implications.

This time, when they kiss, Tze Long knows for a fact he won’t feel his stomach drop afterwards. And it’s mostly because he knows it won’t be their last one.

#rainbow six siege #smoke #lesion #smoke/lesion #fanfic #oneshot #commissions #this gave me the worst case of wanderlust #if I didn't portray anything correctly please let me know!!

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mysunfreckle · 5 years

Note

Wait what’s the Claquesous theory? I know who he is but I’ve never heard him mentioned in the context of the Le Cabuc thing before

Oh dear,coming to me for dark theories based on canon material is certainly a bit outof my comfort zone, but I will do my best!

Basically,Hugo himself puts forth the theory that Claquesous, one fourth of the core ofPatron-Minette, and Le Cabuc, the murderer Enjolras executes at the barricade,are actually the same person. It’s never stated with absolute certainty in thebook, it’s just said that the policethink he is, and there are a lot of strange facts about the two characters thatmake it very plausible.

I mostlystay away from canon era, not surprising for someone who likes thePatron-Minette, but I do appreciate this bit of canon compliant intrigue so inthe name of procrastinating my homework, let’s lay out the evidence~

(I usedthe Hapgood translation for this, but I’ve never gotten the hang of the properBrick reference system, sorry.)

When Claquesousis introduced the principle information we get is this:

“No one wassure whether he had a name, Claquesous being a sobriquet; none was sure that hehad a voice, as his stomach spoke more frequently than his voice; no one wassure that he had a face, as he was never seen without his mask. He disappearedas though he had vanished into thin air; when he appeared, it was as though hesprang from the earth.” (Book 7, Ch 3)

So, he is alet’s say eccentric criminal who “governed the third lower floor of Paris,from 1830 to 1835” with his three comrades, helps Thénardier in his endeavours,and has vanished into thin air by the end of the book. I could not find asingle instance in which he actually speaks on the page, Babet and Montparnassedo most of the talking in Patron-Minette, whenever Thénardier sees fit tofinally shut up that is.

But then,we have Le Cabuc, who is introduced in the very chapter title: “Chapter VIII ManyInterrogation Points With Regard To A Certain Le Cabuc Whose Name May Not HaveBeen Le Cabuc”. He is described as “a passer-by who had joined the rabble ledby Enjolras, Combeferre and Courfeyrac”, is dressed like a shabby street porterand is very loud and animated, giving him the look of “a drunken savage”. Hugo thenadds to this description:

“This man, whose name or nickname was LeCabuc, and who was, moreover, an utter stranger to those who pretended to knowhim, was very drunk, or assumed the appearance of being so”.(Book 12, Ch 8)

It is thentold how he gets the other men around him drunk and then takes up the idea toget into a certain house from which they would have a good view of the wholestreet. When the porter of the house denies him access, Le Cabuc shoots him.For the death of this innocent citizen, Enjolras forces him to his knees, ordershim to think or pray, and executes him. He kicks the corpse aside, three men throwit over the barricade into the street, and that is the end of him.

BothClaquesous and Le Cabuc therefore, both have questionable names and even morequestionable conduct. It’s not up to us to make the connection between the twothough, Hugo does that himself, he ends the chapter with it:

“Let us sayat once that later on, after the action, when the bodies were taken to themorgue and searched, a police agent’s card was found on Le Cabuc. (…) We willadd, that if we are to believe a tradition of the police, which is strange butprobably well founded, Le Cabuc was Claquesous. The fact is, that dating fromthe death of Le Cabuc, there was no longer any question of Claquesous.Claquesous had nowhere left any trace of his disappearance; he would seem tohave amalgamated himself with the invisible. His life had been all shadows, hisend was night.”

After thisLe Cabuc is never mentioned again and Claquesous merely named as “having disappeared”in a summing up of all Patron-Minette’s associates.

Now, on tothe speculations! Why did Le Cabuc act the way he did and, more importantly forthis theory, why would Claquesous actlike that? It’s possible that Le Cabuc was just a rowdy, drunk, misguidedperson, but the police card on his body seems to imply something else.

After executingLe Cabuc, Enjolras proclaims that he has done this terrible thing because hehad to. He explains: “Assassination is even more of a crime here than elsewhere; we are underthe eyes of the Revolution, we are the priests of the Republic, we are thevictims of duty, and must not be possible to slander our combat.” If they areto fight for freedom they cannot be seen wilfully harming those they arefighting for.

Ifsomeone wanted to cause trouble among the revolutionaries, to turn the surroundingpublic against them perhaps, to stir them up into a chaotic riot instead of anorganised movement, they might well plant someone like Le Cabuc in their midst.And someone like Claquesous might very well take up an appearance like Le Cabuc’sto infiltrate a group like theirs.

Whywould Claquesous do this? Well…

“Thanks totheir ramifications, and to the network underlying their relations, Babet,Gueulemer, Claquesous, and Montparnasse were charged with the general enterpriseof the ambushes of the department of the Seine. The inventors of ideas of thatnature, men with nocturnal imaginations, applied to them to have their ideasexecuted.” (Book 7, Ch 4)

Now, this couldof course refer to other criminals, but…it’s just as likely that these “menwith nocturnal imaginations” are people in high places who want don’t want to gettheir hands dirty, but aren’t above ordering a little forced disappearance herand there. Something that becomes rather more tangible when Claquesous simply vanishes after Javet manages toarrest him:

“[O]ne ofthe principal prisoners, Claquesous, had been lost. It was not known how thishad been effected, the police agents and the sergeants ‘could not understand itat all.’ He had converted himself into vapor, he had slipped through thehandcuffs, he had trickled through the crevices of the carriage, the fiacre wascracked, and he had fled; all that they were able to say was, that on arrivingat the prison, there was no Claquesous. Either the fairies or the police hadhad a hand in it. Had Claquesous melted into the shadows like a snow-flake inwater? Had there been unavowed connivance of the police agents? Did this manbelong to the double enigma of order and disorder? Was he concentric withinfraction and repression? Had this sphinx his fore paws in crime and his hindpaws in authority? Javert did not accept such comminations, and would have bristledup against such compromises; but his squad included other inspectors besideshimself, who were more initiated than he, perhaps, although they were hissubordinates in the secrets of the Prefecture, and Claquesous had been such avillain that he might make a very good agent. It is an excellent thing forruffianism and an admirable thing for the police to be on such intimatejuggling terms with the night. These double-edged rascals do exist. Howeverthat may be, Claquesous had gone astray and was not found again.” (Book 2, Ch 2)

…ouch. (DidI need to use that entire quote in full? Not at all. But it’s my favourite, soof course I did.)

Ipersonally choose to see Le Cabuc as one of Claquesous’ personas, not as his ‘trueidentity’, but either way would work. Linked to all this, is also the possibilitythat Claquesous actually hides his face from his associates because he is infact a police informant, habitually ratting out his friends. But it seems morelikely to me that the whole of Patron-Minette will work for whomever offersthem enough to make it worth their while, and the fact that none of them haveever been caught has a little less to do with their own cleverness and morewith the fact that there are enough influential people around who do not want them to be caught.

Or, ofcourse, Claquesous really is connected to the fair folk. Which is a far morecharming notion and whenever I don’t want to be depressed about the mutualexploitation of political violence, that’s the one I’ll go with.

#oh dear I wrote an essay #claquesous #le cabuc #les mis #patron minette #cw character death #some angst in this house #sunfreckle's scribbles #canon era #canon meta #cw violence

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agirlinjapan · 5 years

Text

Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars (Week 15)

Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

Miss the last piece? Read it here!

Check out the RDG Translation twitter!

Help me pay for my next translation project on Ko-fi.

It’s February break! I’m flying down to my grandmother tomorrow and will be there for the next few days. I haven’t seen her in about three years, so it’ll be nice to visit again.

Translation note:

Tanabata is celebrated on July 7th. It’s said that it’s the one night of the year when the weaver goddess can cross the Milky Way to visit her husband. Read more about it here.

Red Data Girl: My Wish on the Night of the Shooting Stars By Noriko Ogiwara Chapter 2: Reexamination Part 3 (3 of 3)

Izumiko walked up the hill towards the library. As she approached and the open space by the building came into view, she remembered that this was where the chemistry club’s balloon had been moored. Even if there were no more lingering effects from its magic, something about the place still gave her a bad feeling. It wasn’t enough to make her lose her nerve, but then Takayanagi’s voice cut through the air.

“Izumiko, as long as you’ve come all this way, let’s be frank with each other. You don’t know how to access your abilities. They’ve never once worked for you when you’ve wanted them to. You don’t know how far they can go outside of your control. Isn’t that right?”

Izumiko stopped walking. The two of them were standing in the open space with its decorative shrubs and flower beds now. There were only two or three meters separating them.

There seemed to be students in the library, but for now, there wasn’t even a shadow of a person outside of it. Houjou Academy’s campus was large in comparison to the amount of students it taught. Still, both of them were well aware that it was only a matter of time before someone drew near.

A strong wind blew across the space and suddenly, an illusion settled over the area, making it look as if the two of them were completely alone, surrounded by nothing but trees and empty buildings.

Izumiko didn’t know where Miyuki and the Souda siblings had gone on campus. Honoka’s directions to hang back in the student government room until everyone else had gone had assured that she wouldn’t know where to find them. Even Izumiko was aware that if she knew her friends’ locations, she would only end up relying on their help. It was better this way.

I’ve always been the passive one. I’ve never asked myself what I should do. I’ve just run away. I should have known this would happen… Izumiko thought.

She took a breath.

“That’s right, Takayanagi. Why did you turn into a white dog? No matter how much I think about it, I can’t figure that out. I didn’t do it out of spite, so I don’t feel like I need to say sorry.”

“I have nothing against dogs. When I was young, I even had a prayer said over me where the character for “dog” was written on my forehead. I was a weak child. The prayer was a charm so that I would grow up to be healthy. I won’t particularly think less of you for not apologizing.”

He continued, his tone rather friendly. “Still, I think you should clearly stop doing such things unintentionally. I’ve said it before. It’s not my intention to lock you up. I’m proposing that we share that power you have and put it to good use. Don’t you think that makes me quite similar to Sagara? I suppose you can’t trust me though because our family lineages are different.”

Izumiko glared sullenly at Takayanagi. “Sagara is nothing like you.”

“Certainly, Sagara can’t use his abilities the same way I can. You need someone to control your powers, but Sagara’s not up to the job.”

“That’s not true.”

“Then, let’s see what you can do. Now’s the time, so let’s start the match.”

There were suddenly a number of paper strips in Takayanagi’s hand. Izumiko had seen them before. There were spells written on those papers with ink. While cautious, she wasn’t surprised to see them this time like she had been when he had first used them. She knew what they were now.

I have to break through Takayanagi’s spell, that’s for certain…

She had a feeling that she could do it. She wasn’t worried about whatever she tried not working. On the contrary, she was worried that she would overdo it. There had been truth to Takayanagi’s words. If she couldn’t stop herself, she wouldn’t know what to do, and that was a problem. She didn’t know how to reflect Takayanagi’s spell let alone how to do it without anything happening in the space they were in.

Takayanagi raised one sheet of paper to his lips and began to chant.

Izumiko’s vision began to sparkle and she started to see what looked like golden rain. She blinked her eyes, trying to make out what she was seeing.

I’m going to think about this without getting worked up. What do I need to do?…

It would be easy to do a self-protection charm. If she sensed danger, she would make the nine symbols while saying the chant. In all, it would take less than a second. But that reaction would also escalate the situation. Izumiko paused for a moment as Takayanagi continued to chant.

The rain fell with even more intensity, but it was just like little lights. Izumiko felt nothing against her body. The lights created a line made out of raindrops as they fell. It was pleasant to look at, as was listening to Takayanagi chant. His words seemed to connect to the nature around them.

Eventually, Takayanagi began to speak again. “I’m completely fine with you allowing me to do this. If you say the word, we could end this match without even going out of our way to scare everyone at school.”

“No.”

As soon as Izumiko’s automatic response came out of her mouth, the golden rain around her scattered up into the air all around her. She sensed the light beginning to surround her.

I guess I have no choice…

Takayanagi shrugged his shoulders, and then brought the spelled slips of paper close to his body. Just when Izumiko was thinking that he had given up awfully easily, he pulled something else into his hands. Izumiko stared harder at this item.

…Is that what Claus was holding?

It was a rosary. It consisted of a string of dark purple prayer beads and a silver cross.

“Is that going to be more effective? You have some sort of western complex, don’t you?” Izumiko asked.

Takayanagi began the same chant as before, the words coming fluidly from his mouth.

Something Izumiko could not have prepared herself for happened then. The golden light began to brighten before her eyes, rising in intensity until she could not even see Takayanagi in front of her. It felt like she was being wrapped in a curtain of light. Even with her eyes closed, the light was so blinding that it was obscuring her other senses. She could no longer feel the wind blowing around her.

Is this some sort of hybrid magic? Or is this something he could normally do?

Takayanagi was clearly angry if he was going all out to this extent. The words he was chanting were now certainly more frightening than the Bible verses Claus had recited. Izumiko grew self-conscious of her own weakness.

Do foreign people see me as the same thing as an evils spirit?... Some foreign countries believe that there’s only one god and that people like me should be punished…

Izumiko had no plans to let Takayanagi control her, but his chanting continued on and on in the background. Even among magic users who had the ability to weave spells together one after another, there had to be people who were more powerful and cunning than others. Even if she could drive Takayanagi away, she would probably just come up against another powerful magic user eventually.

If we both lose here, they might not choose anyone as the World Heritage Candidate. Still, hiding probably isn’t my best choice...

If she could break through Takayanagi’s spell, she would have to decide what to do next in just a few seconds. There would be no time for her to think things through leisurely. However, Izumiko still didn’t know what to do. What if giving up her own self-control and accepting defeat was truly the right choice?...

Out of nowhere, Izumiko heard a bright voice from beside her. “I’ll take him down for you. It’s probably better like that anyway.”

The voice sounded like Manatsu’s, but there was no way it could be him. Due to the effects of Takayanagi’s light, Izumiko could not move her body, nor could she move her head. However, as she thought about wanting to see whoever it was who had spoken to her, she did see something strange.

Just like she had seen on that night in Nagano in the Souda’s garden, there was Masumi, standing in darkness some ways away. With a strange start, Izumiko realized that the darkness was the backs of her eyelids. Her eyes were closed against the brilliant light.

“You can’t, Masumi. This match is between Takayanagi and me. Other people aren’t allowed to help.”

Masumi’s hair was long and he was wearing the girls’ uniform. If he was pretending to be Manatsu, it appeared that he was still putting a lot of his own style into the ruse.

“Technically, I’m not another “person,” so that makes it alright. That’s what Mayura and Manatsu say, too.”

“Those two called you?”

“When they’re of one mind, I’m invincible,” Masumi said gleefully. He rolled up the sleeves of his blouse as if to demonstrate this. “They told me to kick Takayanagi out of the school. I’ll knock him so far out of here that he’ll never come back.”

Izumiko hurriedly held up a hand to stop him. “I’m glad you want to help me, but if you’re just going to hurt him, I’ll take care of this myself.”

“Let me do something. I’m really excited about this. I understand now. If Mayura and Manatsu didn’t like you at least a little, I wouldn’t have started liking you either. We all share the same feelings.”

Masumi’s words were innocent. They made Izumiko want to smile. “Thank you. I’m glad the three of you care about me.”

“So, what are we going to do?”

“I’ll tell you when I think of it, so wait a second. I’ll definitely call you when I need energy,” Izumiko assured Masumi by way of giving him something reassuring to think about. Then she pushed him towards the darkness. He left, unusually quiet as he disappeared into the shadows.

A thought suddenly occurred to Izumiko as she watched him go.

Masumi just came to help me, but why didn’t Wamiya come when he’s so much closer to me?...

“That’s because I’m more in tune with your desires,” came Wamiya’s voice.

When Izumiko finally caught sight of Satoru Wamiya, she saw he was in his usual crow form. This disappointed her a little. However, his dark body did not blend entirely into the darkness. One of his wings shone in an invisible light. The black, shining crow spread his wings in a moment of self-importance and then neatly folded them back against himself.

“Wamiya, I don’t even really know what I want to do right now.”

“Hurry up and figure it out. Everyone expects you to win this.”

“Did I want you to turn into a crow and leave me alone? Is that something you thought I wanted too?” The words came out of her mouth as she thought them.

Wamiya clicked his beak in response and then agreed, “Something like that. You’ve always had my protection, though. And you think about me often when you’re with Sagara, just like you’re thinking about me now. You think about me more than you do that guy from Togakushi, too.”

“Why did you go to Sagara? Will you ever turn back into the human Wamiya?”

“When you made the decision to dance in front of Satoru Wamiya, did Miyuki Sagara not watch along with me? The decision that I would stay with Sagara had already been made at that time. I am something that was born from the first vestiges of the purest part of your power. Before anything else, you prayed for something that could connect you.”

Izumiko took the tiniest step backward. “I never wished for anything like that. Something that could connect me… To Sagara?”

“To another human,” Wamiya corrected. “Isn’t it the same story as the bridge of magpies that’s made over the heavenly river every year on Tanabata night? The weaver goddess was granted one night a year to see her lover who lived on the other side of the river, but she had no way to cross until the magpies heard her prayer and created the bridge for her. Magpies and crows get along well, so I find this body appropriate to the occasion in its own way.”

At the mention of the weaver goddess, Orihime, and her lover, Hikoboshi, Izumiko drew back further.

“…I just started to really trust Sagara in the past few days, though.”

“There’s a large risk attached to putting your faith in humans. All the same, is that really what you want?”

With a hint of surprise, Izumiko realized that her tentative understanding of what Wamiya had said was slowly forming into a sturdier comprehension of the meaning behind his words. Her feelings were exactly what he was saying.

The dark place where Masumi and Wamiya had appeared to her had been inside her mind. And while she had had full conversations with the both of them, in reality, her eyes had only been closed for a few seconds. Only divine spirits who could transcend time could do such a thing. It was as if they had created a small alternate world in those moments.

I can’t stay here. There are so many people telling me I’m not alone. I need to do this for them...

She had to connect herself to the outside world.

Izumiko took a deep breath, and realized that she now knew what she should do.

Keep reading!

#rdg #red data girl #rdg 6 #rdg 6 week 15 #rdg my wish on the night of the shooting stars #translation

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introvertguide · 5 years

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ET: The Extra-Terrestrial (1982); AFI #24

The next film on the AFI list is one of the most financially successful movies of all time, the classic ET: The Extra Terrestrial (1982). The film won four technical awards for music and effects, but all of the production and acting awards that year went to the extremely strong competition of Ghandi and Sophie’s Choice. The film was in theatres for an extraordinary amount of time and was far and away the greatest financial success of all the movies that came out that year. I have a bit of a history with this movie, but I want to go over the plot synopsis first:

SPOILER ALERT!!!

The movie opens immediately on aliens waddling around in the forest and doing what looks like farming or collecting plant samples. These things scared the crap out of me as a child because I did not get that a PG rated family film meant that this was not likely to go towards the horrific. These aliens are surprised by some government agents and, in their haste to escape, the aliens leave one of the crew on the planet.

We meet the family that is made up of a recently divorced mom named Mary (Dee Wallace), older brother Michael (Robert McNaughton), baby sister Gertie (Drew Barrymore), and middle brother Elliot (Henry Thomas). Elliot goes out to pick up a delivered pizza outside the house and runs into the abandoned alien. He tells his family but nobody believes him. They next day he leaves out candy to catch whatever it was that he saw and successfully lures the being into the house and up to his room. Elliot pretends to be sick and stays home to take care of the new pet, basically. When his brother and sister return from school, they are both introduced to the alien (lots of little girl and alien screaming) but they decide to all keep the alien a secret. As they interact with the alien, the three kids realize that this creature will likely want to go home. The next day, Elliot goes to school but has established so kind of psychic link with the alien and the two share emotions. This gets Elliot into trouble and he is sent home from school after a debacle with a class frog dissection.

The alien learns some basic language from Gertie and a Speak and Spell toy as Elliot is brought back from school. The alien is dubbed ET by Elliot, and the two try and figure out how the alien can contact his ship for a pick up. It becomes apparent that the bond between Elliot and ET as the boy starts referring to the alien as we. It also appears that ET has declining health and needs to get back to his space ship.

On Halloween, Michael and Elliott dress E.T. as a ghost so they can sneak him out of the house. That night, Elliott and E.T. head through the forest, where they make a successful call home. The next day, Elliott wakes up in the field, only to find E.T. gone. Elliott returns home to his distressed family. Michael searches for and finds E.T. dying next to a drain. Michael takes E.T. home to Elliott, who is also dying. Mary becomes frightened when she discovers her son's illness and the dying alien, just as government agents invade the house. Scientists set up a hospital at the house, questioning Michael, Mary and Gertie while treating Elliott and E.T. Their connection disappears and E.T. then appears to die while Elliott recovers. A grief-stricken Elliott is left alone with the motionless E.T. when he notices a dead chrysanthemum, a plant E.T. had previously revived, coming back to life. E.T. reanimates and reveals that his people are returning. Elliott and Michael steal a van that E.T. had been loaded into and a chase ensues, with Michael's friends joining them as they attempt to evade the authorities by bicycles. Suddenly facing a police roadblock, they escape as E.T. uses telekinesis to lift the group into the air and toward the forest.

Standing near the spaceship, E.T.'s heart glows as he prepares to return home. Mary and Gertie show up and E.T. says goodbye to Michael and Gertie, as she presents him with the chrysanthemum that he had revived. Before boarding the spaceship, ET embraces Elliott and tells him "I'll be right here", pointing his glowing finger to Elliott's forehead. He then picks up the chrysanthemum, boards the spaceship, and it takes off, leaving a rainbow in the sky as everyone watches it leave.

It feels like a really short movie because the pacing is fantastic, but it is a feature length (almost 2 hour) film. This was one of the, if not the, first 80s kid adventure films (like Goonies) that inspired things today like the movie Super 8 or the Netflix show Stranger Things. There was some talk of a sequel to ET right after it came out, but thankfully that was canned by Spielberg. He was rich enough that he wasn’t making films for money even back in the early 80s.

When I saw this film in theatres as a very young child, the aliens scared the crap out of me. Through some research, I found out that the movie was at one time considered as a flat out horror film in which a group of aliens terrorizes a family. Instead, Spielberg used his own life to inspire the story as his parents divorced when he was Elliot’s age and he had a make believe friend. I think it was a better choice and the box office returns tell me that others agree.

One thing that really stands out with this film was the special effects done by Industrial Light and Magic (ILM). The company was basically founded to make Star Wars and has since been putting out the best special effects in the business, about 40 years now. This group did the effects for all the Indiana Jones films, all of the Star Wars films, all of the Jurassic Park films, all of the Harry Potter films, all of the Marvel cinematic universe films, the Transformers films, and the Terminator films. I was watching the famous flying bicycle scene which is shown on all the posters and it still holds up. No wonder I was scared as a kid, it is really not difficult to imagine the aliens being real.

I have mentioned it before for Jaws and Raiders of the Lost Ark, but I will say again the part of the success of George Lucas and Steven Spielberg lies in the musical talent of John Williams. The score on this film is superb. The action escape music for ET, especially during the flying bike scenes, is some of the most recognizable music in cinema history. Absolutely beautiful score.

There are not a whole lot of family films on the AFI top 100, but of the ones that are present, this is the best in my opinion. I absolutely recommend it and believe it is great for anybody over about 6 years of age. I actually got a couple questions regarding why it was on the top 100 American movies as it only won technical awards and none of the actors were nominated for Academy awards. I was more than a little surprised at this. Besides the 4 awards it did win, the film was also nominated for Best Picture, Best Director, Best Editing, Best Cinematography, and Best Screenplay; it just went up against the awards juggernaut which was Ghandi. The director of that film, David Attenborough, famously said that he thought that ET would win and that it deserved to win for being so innovative. The movie is a standout in a year of fantastic films. When adjusted for inflation, it is one of the top 5 most financially successful films ever made. This is a great film and absolutely deserves such a high spot on the list. It should be required viewing for schools and it was a pleasure to have a reason to go back and watch it again.

#80s #family #steven spielberg #et the extra terrestrial #award winner #special effects #industrial light and magic #John Williams #afi top 100 #sci fi #aliens #1982 #film review #introverts

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high5nerd · 4 years

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Alone Together--Chap. Twenty-nine

Pitch's POV

"Pitch, calm down. Sandy told us she's coming back. It'll be okay."

You know, for someone who is just as worried like I was and worked herself sick with anxiety and stress, she's one to talk. I don't kid around when I say she worried herself sick, she really did become ill from stress of her sister almost dying and having difficulty facing the facts that her sister would be...well, not mortal.

Not mortal.

That hurt. That hurt like a bee sting. I gave up my spirit form for them and Sadie had to be given it in order to live. Does that not defeat the purpose of my choice? No, I can't do that to her. She had no say in it nor did we want her to die, we're both happy she's alive. It wasn't something we planned on. Maybe...Maybe the Elders could help us once more. They normally don't assist spirits in cases like this but maybe with an exception-

"I see that thinking face, Pitch. Stop." Alice murmured, sitting up from her seat in the couch.

I looked over at her, scowling. I hated it when she caught me in those thoughts. She knew me too well. Not like I was bugged by it, but that she wouldn't allow me to talk about it until Sadie came back. She had every right to hear, Alice said. Yes. Yes, I know.

She looked so tired, so fragile sitting there. It broke my heart just seeing her so weak and pale from sickness. Despite it being just the flu, the stress wasn't making it any better. Work was putting a lot of weight on her as well, and she had the obligation that if she was at home, she must work at home. That infuriated me. They're going to work my princess to death.

"Do you want any more tea, love?" I asked, about to head towards the kitchen once more.

She groaned and her neck became lax against the back of the couch. "No way. I swear, if I touch another drop of tea I'll puke. That's all you've allowed me to drink."

"But tea has herbs that can help you-" I started.

Alice got up and came over to me, her eyes big like a begging puppy. I knew she wanted an embrace, and she knew fairly well I wasn't one to deny one for her. She rested her head against my shoulder as I rubbed her back, kissing her cheek. I didn't care if she was ill. Even if I caught her flu, I would not care one bit. Nothing's worse than what she's dealing with...the fear of losing her sister and not knowing what to do for the future.

"Why did this have to happen…" she murmured, and I could tell by the waver in her voice she was going to start crying.

Hushing her, I pulled her closer so she was flush against my chest, and she buried her face in my chest and starting shaking with tears.

"Sadie's alive. That's all that matters. Sandy protected her like he promised, and we saved her. You did what you had to do. Shh…"

Little did I know that outside Sandy and Sadie were standing outside and watching us from the backyard. Sandy looked over at her and raised a brow, curious as to why Sadie was grinning. He knew that smile. That was the smile of a planning prankster.

"Let's trick them into thinking I'm a mute like you now." Sadie giggled at him.

Sandy felt his mouth open and then teasingly shook a finger in mock ridicule. Sadie laughed.

"Aw, why not? It'll lighten the mood and it'll be funny, now that I know how to use the dreamsand!"

Sandy rolled his eyes before finally shrugging, his way of saying, Oh, why not...just don't go too far.

Alice and I immediately whipped around when we heard the sliding glass door open and close, and saw both Sadie and Sandy smiling as they entered in, as if they were coming home like any other night.

There was about a four second moment of silence before Alice cried out in glee before attacking her sister with a hug, and Sandy floated out of the way, giggling as Sadie pretended to be absolutely disgusted since her sister was sick with the flu.

"Oh Sadie, my baby sister! Are you okay? I was worried sick about you and Pitch was just as worried and-"

"Good God, what the heck are you wearing?" I asked, looking at her harem pants.

Everything she wore was literally gold, just like Sandy's clothes. I shot him a look, and he innocently looked at his fingers and a musical note floated from his lips, as if he was whistling nonchalantly.

I looked over in time to see Alice's mouth drop as Sadie mouthed words along with the floating images above her head, and immediately mimicked Alice's shock. She...she had no voice? No...it can't be.

She looked over at me and grinned, and Alice looked absolutely shaken.

Just as Alice's chin was about to quiver with another cry, Sadie burst into peals of laughter, having to bend over and clutch at her stomach from the full-on force of her guffaws. Even Sandy was rolling around on the floor in silent giggles, trying to cover his mouth so I wouldn't notice and have the urge to step on his face.

Alice frowned, her eyes gleaming with annoyance, "Oh, you think that's funny?!"

"It was a pretty good prank!" Sadie chuckled, winking at her sister.

Alice folded her arms and looked away, trying to fight of a relieved smile. Sadie saw her struggle immediately and wrapped her in a hug, still trying to fight off the urge to snort along with her laughter.

I rolled my eyes at Sandy, "Glad you're finding amusement to making your sister worry herself to death."

But then again, despite acting like I wasn't okay with Sadie's little trick, it certainly was welcoming seeing her being tightly hugged by her sister, gasping for air and silently begging me to pry her off. I chuckled, and when Sadie tapped the top of Alice's head, she finally released her little sister.

"So...is this gonna be you from now on? You know, being a spirit and everything?" Alice dropped the question that was on everyone's mind.

Sandy suddenly stopped his merry laughter to look at Sadie with sad eyes. That told me even he didn't know what could be done. I knew that since Sadie was half spirit she could still be seen and possibly continue her studies in school, but...knowing Sadie she would want to be with Sandman. At this point, it was all her call. Not mine, not Alice's and not Sandman's either.

Sadie shrugged, "I thought...well, while I was resting and Sandy was taking care of me, I thought maybe...maybe I could enjoy it for a while? But after maybe a few weeks or something I would want to return to being human."

Alice and I shared a look before returning our gaze to Sadie. Alice slowly released her and sat back down on the couch, looking at me for a response.

"Pitch, you know this sort of stuff. Is that possible?"

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. Ashamed, I looked away. Sandy didn't even know, and he was almost as old as I was in the spirit world. What were we to do? If Sadie truly wished to return to her human life, she had every right to...didn't she?

"My first bet is to talk with the Elders. They would know what to do, but I highly doubt they would want to help."

"Aren't they obligated to?" Sadie asked, sitting next to her sister and holding her hand, "I mean, they're the Elders. That's kind of an important role."

"It may be, but that doesn't make them act like a form of government you're used to. It's all based on the judgement of Man in Moon, along with theirs." I gruffly responded, folding my arms.

There was a silence between the four of us. Not a cold one, but one of confusion. One of questions. Was that our plan? Go to the Elders and ask for a reverse spell or something of the matter? I thought it was our best bet, and Sandy fully agreed with me, as well.

Speaking of the sandbag, he floated over in front of me with a confident smile that made my stomach turn sour. Cheeriness...blech.

I think it's worth a shot. Sandy looked completely for the idea.

Sadie grinned at him, one of admire. I smirked at that. Haha...petty teenage crushes.

"I agree with him." Alice said, looking at me once more.

"Me too!" Sadie beamed, "But after I've enjoyed it. I want this to last for a week. It might be fun being a spirit!"

Everyone watched me, waiting for my decision, the final opinion. They all wore too eager faces. Alice's face was both pure happiness and hope, and I could tell she was feeling less ill and a little bit healthier now that Sadie was back.

With a sigh, I nodded and gave a lopsided smile, "Sure, why not?"

Sadie cheered and gave a fist pump, and Alice stood up and kissed my cheek gently, quickly as to not gross out Sadie.

So that's how it was from then. We allowed Sadie a week to enjoy spirithood, no more and no less. Alice did give a good reason behind it as Sadie is still in school, and could be pretending she's sick with some bug or something. I told her to work on it sounding convincing, to which she responded with, 'Trust me, I'm an expert in fake sick days.'

That day we made the decision was precisely Sunday, and it was by Tuesday night that I saw how much Sandy really meant to Sadie at her age, and how maybe she was connecting with the world and becoming more balanced through her spirithood.

It was a warm night, not a cloud in the sky so the stars could shine their brightest. The moon was halfway full, but the brightness was enough to light up the night in a white glow against the wavering trees and grass. Sadie was floating on a dream-cloud, close to the ground as to prevent a haphazard fall but high enough to get the full view of the stars above. Sandy sat next to her, sending his dreams into the night for the children of the town to enjoy. They looked pretty happy together...

I hated to admit it, but Sandy's dreamsand was beautifully bittersweet. I may not like them from personal experience...or maybe it was because I was around him too much. Yes, definitely that. I was around the sandbag too much.

"Hey, Pitch?" I heard Sadie's voice shake me from my thoughts.

The young lady stood in front of me now, no longer up in the sky and enjoying the sight of the stars. She looked...guilty, like a kicked puppy. I have no idea why she looked like such a state, but it definitely caught my attention.

I raised a brow, "What's wrong?"

Sadie mumbled something and looked at her toes, wiggling them in the grass. I craned my neck forward to hear better, but couldn't tell what she said.

"What was that?"

"I said, I'm really sorry I put you guys through this." Sadie said a little bit louder, but her voice wavered a bit.

Oh! Oh...Oh God no. No. She can't do this to herself. No, no, I've done it to myself for years and there's no way I'm allowing this child to be burdened with that.

"Don't you dare start blaming yourself, Sadie, it wasn't your fault." I said firmly, touching her shoulder.

She looked up with those big blue eyes of hers that never will stop reminding me of the nine year old I met many years ago, "But...if I wasn't outside, I wouldn't-"

"You wouldn't be alive. Sadie, you can't do that to yourself. Misery is at fault, not you. Never you, sweetheart."

Sadie whimpered and looked down at her toes again. Hushing her I took her in for a hug. I knew she needed that. She immediately wrapped her arms around my waist and sniffed back tears against my chest, shivering from sadness and the wind chill.

"You are one of the kindest and open minded people I ever met, Sadie. You strongly believe there's a good in everyone, and I admire that. You saw something in Misery...didn't you? That's why you were with her?"

Sadie hesitated for a moment before nodding. She pulled back and wiped at her eyes stubbornly before taking a shaky breath. "I... I know she was an evil spirit. There was no point in helping her, cause she was so sucked into the misery of others. But...maybe that's what made me feel bad for her. She's so used to other's people's misfortune, and nothing else. That's a sad life. Something told me she came from a bad place, so all she knew was of badness...you know?" she looked up at me.

Though not entirely agreeing with her, I nodded anyways. I didn't see the point of telling her the damages Misery did, it would probably only strengthen her to pity her. She didn't need that pressure.

"I saw that in you, too."

That surprised me. "You...you did?"

She nodded, "Even before I met you and Sandy told me everything about you, I felt like I knew what you were going through. What Sandy told me when I was eight just made me want to meet you even more, because...well...I don't know."

I grinned, "Because you have a huge amount of empathy, and your biggest talent is helping those and being there for those. Am I correct?"

Sadie gave a slight laugh before nodding shyly, "Yeah, I guess. I guess so!"

"That's what I thought." I chuckled, enveloping her in another hug.

I looked up at the dreamcloud and saw Sandy beaming at us. Once I willed a smirk back, he resumed his dream casting, peacefully closing his eyes in the bliss of the silent night besides the rustling of the leaves.

That reminds me. Speaking of bliss, I need Sadie's help with something.

"Would uh, would you mind assisting me with something?" I asked her, making sure Sandy wouldn't overhear me.

She shrugged, "Sure. What's the dealio?"

I took a big breath in and exhaled, looking back into the house to make sure Alice wasn't in the kitchen or the sitting room. For a second, I caught a glimpse of her taking a folder from the kitchen table, flipping through it before clicking her tongue and making her way to her room, probably to where her laptop lay for her work.

I turned back to Sadie, knowing there's no turning back. I was alright with it. Absolutely fine.

"How should I ask your sister to marry me?"

#rotg fandom #rotg fanfiction #rotg fanfic #rise of the guardians #rise of the guardian fanfics #pitch black x oc #pitch black #fanfiction #fanfics

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lovecomesinattheeyes · 7 years

Text

Jealousy

Chapter 5: Verdant Flame

Jon leaves for Winterfell and on the way encounters two men, one friendly, one… not so much

Chapter 5: Verdant Flame Jon pours over a report from Winterfell in the small council chambers. Winter is ending. The Wildlings grow restless. With the Night King gone and the land north of the wall restored to relative safety, they are requesting to go back to their true homes. They have started becoming unruly, refusing access to Northern patrols on their land and ignoring summons from Winterfell. They have never accepted Sansa as their governing Lady, only their King in the North has been able to get through to them.

Jon sighs heavily as he sets the report down. He rubs his eyes trying to wake himself up. He slept very little last night, but he couldn’t say it wasn’t his fault. He thinks about how his wife moaned, how she felt wrapped around him, her body giving just as much as pulling. It was enough to get him aroused again.

Daenerys had always been able to make his blood run hot without so much as a look. He had desired her before he loved her, but once his heart saw her for her true beauty, there was no way the Gods could have kept her from him. He was a moth to her embodiment of flame. When they made love the first time all those years ago, he knew she was what was missing from his life, knew that she was what had been waiting for him on the other side of all the shit he’d seen, all the men he’d killed, all the battles he’d fought, all the times he had almost died and the one he did. She was his home, his purpose, his soulmate. Jon knew that if he had to go back and do it all again, knowing everything he knows now, he wouldn’t change a thing, because it brought him to her.

Jon stands and walks to the side table to pour himself a glass of wine, drinking it in one gulp. He needs to leave for Winterfell soon, it’s a whole night’s flight by Rhaegal. But first, he needs to try and right his wrong. Well, he wasn’t wrong, but he was stupid. Daario was a cretin, he had no respect for Jon, nor for Daenerys. His lascivious gazes and lewd comments to her proved as much. A knock on the door breaks Jon’s thoughts and he looks up to see Grey Worm, his second in command over the Queen’s army.

“He has been found my King. He waits for you in the Throne Room.”

“Thank you Grey Worm,” Jon nods as he places the cup down, straightens his spine and walks out to see this mercenary Lord.

Daario stands in the middle of the room, staring up at the imposing skulls of what was once thought to be the last dragons, the Targaryen banners hanging from the great maws. The hairs on the back of Jon’s neck bristle at the sight of the man, but he pushes back his obvious disdain.

“Daario Naharis,” Jon says his name as he nears the bearded Essosi. “Thank you for answering my summons.”

Daario turns and bows before answering. “Only a fool dismisses the summons of a King in his city. What is it you need from me? Your Grace…” He tacks on the formality at the end.

“I did not summon you here to request anything of you. I simply wanted to apologize for my behavior last night. It was uncalled for and I regret what happened.” Jon reaches out his hand in a show of good faith. Daario eyes him for a moment before he reaches out, clasps the King’s arm and pulls him closer lowering his voice.

“We both know Queen Daenerys put you up to this. I accept your apology, but let’s not pretend you regret it. You got what you wanted after all.” Daario steps back and looks Jon in the eye once more.

“You are right,” Jon answers. “I did get what I wanted. I won her heart. I won her love. It must be difficult for you to see. Trust me when i say that she never loved you. You may have known a young, broken girl with a dream of home and a willingness to lose herself between the sheets with you in order to forget about the long road she faced. But she’s a woman now, one who has fought tooth and nail to climb out of the box that Robert Baratheon placed her in when she was born. She’s no longer a victim of her circumstances trying to make the best of a bad situation. She has found her home in me, in our children, in the love her and I share. Gods help you if you try and get in her way of that.” Jon answers as he steps back from Daario.

Before the two can exchange any further words the echoing of multiple footsteps approaching causes them both to turn and look toward the throne. Daenerys holds Princess Lyanna’s hand, her arm wrapped through Prince Daemon’s as he escorts her toward the pair. Visenya walks behind them holding onto Missandei’s hand and upon seeing her father runs to him with a squeal of delight. Jon catches her around the middle and tosses her up in the air, a smile on his face as he catches her deftly, before kissing her cheek and placing her back down. She grabs onto her father’s leg and looks up at the dark blonde visitor.

“Hello, my Lord,” she says softly, becoming shy at the look of scrutiny Daario has on her. Before Daario can answer though the remaining group is upon them.

“Hello again, Daario Naharis,” Queen Daenerys greets her former advisor with a nod of her head. “I hope my husband and you have been having a pleasant conversation?” Daario looks from the Queen to the King, scanning the faces of their children before looking back up.

“Yes, Your King was just telling me how truly blessed he is to have you in his life.” Daario’s words are laced with an edge of sarcasm that Daenerys quickly picks up on, but does nothing to address. She detaches herself from her son’s arm and transfers her daughter’s hand to grip her skirts as she wraps her arm around Jon’s.

“The same can be said for me. King Jon is an honorable man, a loving husband and a devoted father. The realm is lucky to have a King as good and just as he.” A spark of challenge is issued from the Queen’s eyes as her scrutinizing glare tells him not to say anything further should he want to keep his pride in tact.

“Aye,” Daario nods before looking back to Jon. “If you have no other need of me, I shall take my leave.” He pauses looking back at the Queen’s female companion, “It is good to see you again Missandei. I hope you have been well.”

The dark-haired woman nods her head. “Thank you, Daario. I am doing well and I hope your visit to King’s Landing is a good one.”

Daario nods in silence before he turns on his heel, walking out the front entrance of the throne room and disappearing from view. “That looked as if it went over well.” Dany muses.

“Aye,” Jon nods before kissing the Queen’s temple. “Shall we?” He asks looking down at his daughters before grinning at his son.

“Yes yes yes!” Visenya jumps up and down at her father’s side. “Lift me papa!” She cries out. Jon bends and lifts the princess onto his shoulders. She squeals in delight as she grips his hair.

Lyanna looks up at her sister, a pout crosses her face. “I wanna ride on Papa’s shoulders too…”

“Tell ya what,” Jon looks down at the unhappy face of his youngest child. “When we get to the garden fountains, you and Visenya can switch.” Lyanna seems happy with this answer and nods, a smile replacing her pout. Jon winks at her as he offers his arm to Daenerys, his other hand securely wrapped around Visenya’s ankle as the family begins making their way to the Dragon Pits.

King’s Landing had needed a lot of reconstruction after the Battle for the Throne. While Daenerys and Jon were in the North, battling the dead, the Queen’s ally and Jon’s pseudo brother, Theon Greyjoy, wreaked havoc on the city.

His uncle Euron Greyjoy had falsely stated he was going to the Iron Islands, only to turn and run to Essos to pick up the legendary Golden Company. Theon intercepted the pick-up, finding his sister Yara killed. He slew his Uncle in a fit of rage and turned the whole of the Iron Fleet to deliver the Golden Company against Queen Cersei. Many citizens fled the city, but many died in the attack as well. Theon pushed through the gates and sacked King’s Landing only to find that Cersei had fled the city with her steadfast Champion, Ser Gregor Clegane.

The King and Queen stroll through the rebuilt gardens, the many statues of the men and women who died during the wars since Robert Baratheon was killed looking down upon them as they make their way to the reconstructed Dragon Pit.

The gardens are busy as people have been pouring into King’s Landing for the impending tournament.

“BROTHER!” A booming voice calls out and Jon searches for the owner of the voice. Gendry Baratheon is walking toward him, his daughter holding his hand.

“Gendry!” Jon exclaims as he quickly but carefully extricates Visenya from his shoulders. The friends and now relations embrace. Jon looks down at his niece. “That is a very pretty dress you have on Catelyn.”

“Thank you, Your Grace” she curtsies, looking every bit like her mother, red hair, pale skin and large eyes.

“I’m off to see your mother now. Would you like to walk with us to the Dragon Pits?” Jon grins at Catelyn before looking up at Gendry. He looks unsure and his gaze falls on young Catelyn. Her eyes are wide with fear but also excitement.

“I-I’ll protect you…” Daemon pipes up, his face red and eyes glued to the young girl. Catelyn peeks at him coyly and nods her head. Daemon steps forward and offers his arm to the Little Lady of Winterfell. She takes it and he begins walking with her. Jon looks at Daenerys and they both turn their heads to Gendry’s surprised face, all trying to stifle the laughter at the newfound connection between the two.

“Perhaps Targaryens and Starks were always meant to be.” Daenerys laughs softly as she takes her husband’s arm again and they continue their stroll. Lyanna and Visenya hold hands, walking between their parents and the small Prince and Lady.

“Perhaps,” Gendry answers chuckling.

“How does Lady Sansa fair?” Daenerys asks, changing the topic.

“She’s as radiant as ever. She adores being a mother, cried when I brought Catelyn away. But little Jon Eddard is attached to her hip and she’s got our third on the way.”

“I pray for an easy birth.” Dany replies. “Jon you will hug your sister for me when you see her. Tell her that we hope to see her soon in King’s Landing.”

“Aye. Once things between the Wildlings and the northerners become less tense, I will recommend it.” Jon nods as they come into sight of the fountains.

“Papa!” Lyanna turns and looks at Jon. “You said…”

“I know what I said,” Jon teases her. “Get over here.” She runs as fast as her legs will carry her and Jon swoops her up, spinning her to be placed on his shoulders.

“Princess Lyanna, when I last saw you, you were just a babe in your mother’s arms.” Gendry observes, “And my daughter was only about your size now.”

“Pretty soon I’ll be a woman grown, like mama.” Lyanna says sweetly.

“Not too soon,” Jon grumbles. “You will stay a little girl until I say otherwise.”

“You’re silly papa,” Lyanna answers. “Miss says that someday I will have children like Mama and have a Prince or Lord to love and protect me the way you love and protect her.”

“Don’t forget that your mother loves and protects me as much as I do her. Without her I wouldn’t be here today. Nor would you.” Jon answers, Daenerys smiles at her husband tenderly as she bumps her shoulder against his lightly.

“Yes papa.” Lyanna says.

Just then a piercing screech from above indicates that one of the dragons is returning to the city. Drogon flies overhead, his shadow passes over the group. Many gasps echo from around the garden and Lady Catelyn Baratheon buries her head in Daemon’s shoulder. The Prince does not react, he smiles at Catelyn reassuringly.

“That is Drogon, the Dreaded Shadow. My mother rode him in the Battle for the Dawn. He’s the larger of the dragons.” Prince Daemon regurgitates the information he had only learned that morning.

“Will he harm us?” Lady Catelyn asks timidly.

“No, not in the presence of my mother.” Prince Daemon looks back sheepishly at the Queen.

“What else do you know about the dragons?” Lady Catelyn prods the Prince for information.

“Jon,” Gendry begins as the children continue their discussion. “How is Arya?”

Jon pauses before answering. He knows Gendry loves Arya as a sister, perhaps there had once been a potential for more. But once Gendry was legitimized, he had taken to his name, wanting children and to settle down. Arya’s response to him was “That’s not me.”

Arya had left Winterfell to, as she called It, ‘finish her list’ with Brienne of Tarth and Jaime Lannister. She had shown up in King’s Landing some time later and had requested to be in the Queensguard. She was accepted and has since taken to guarding the royal family and teaching The Prince how to fight in the style of a Water Dancer.

“Arya is well. She is a loyal Guard and a valuable teacher. I believe her to be happy here.” Jon answers. Jon knows Gendry is very much in love with Sansa and his family, but he and Arya were all each other had when the country was tearing itself apart.

“Good.” Gendry nods. “So long as she’s happy.”

As the group nears the entrance to the dragon pits Daenerys calls out to Daemon in High Valyrian.. “Kesā māzigon inkot nyke Daemon. Zaldrīzoti issi daor anni.”

Daemon nods and pauses, looking to Catelyn. “Mother must enter first. Dragons are not horses. They do not accept riders easily. When they do, they trust only them.” Catelyn nods in understanding and smiles up at the Queen as they fall behind her step.

The Dragon Pits had been reconstructed during the rebuilding of King’s Landing. Instead of a coliseum for those to gawk upon the beasts, it was built more as a shield, to protect the dragons from view. Large cavern like entrances were made for the dragons to crawl into. They curl up in there to sleep and will leave the pits as they please to hunt and stretch their wings. Citizens of King’s Landing and abroad were now only able to see the dragons when they flew overhead or when their mother allowed.

The slow heavy breathing of a sleeping dragon echoes around the cavernous bowl-like structure The Queen calls out. “Rytsas ñuha riñar. Iksan lēda ñuha byka. Sagon sȳz lēda zirȳ.”

“What is she saying now?” Catelyn whispers to Daemon.

“Mother is announcing our presence. She told them to be gentle with us.” Daemon murmurs back to the young girl.

A deep grumbling followed by the soft shaking of earth signifies that one of the dragons is moving out into the large courtyard. Rhaegal’s head juts out from the large entry to his cave and he looks at his mother, blinking to acknowledge his understanding. Drogon’s tail whips out from the other entrance and he softly lays it out in silent acceptance of his mother’s approach.

In ten years the dragons have grown even larger than they were when they fought the Night King. Rhaegal’s head is taller than a horse. He’s easily larger than any ship in the harbor. Drogon is still larger however.

Jon removes Lyanna from his shoulders and places her behind the Queen. He steps toward to his accepted dragon, reaching out a hand to his snout. Rhaegal’s eyes close and open, the pupils dilating and he relaxes, a hot huff of breath escaping his nostrils as he does so.

“Daemon, you may approach now.” Jon says as he glances back at his son.

Daemon looks to Lady Catelyn and her eyes are wide with fear and trepidation. “Are you ready?” He squeezes her hand and she gulps before looking up at Gendry.

“It’s alright, your Uncle won’t let anything happen to you.” Gendry adds. The young red head sets her jaw and takes a step forward with Daemon. Rhaegal stays still watching as the young pair approach. Jon’s hand rests on his neck. Lady Catelyn gets within arm’s reach and hesitantly stretches out to touch the creature. As she makes contact she gasps.

“He’s warm.” She wonders aloud. Daemon chuckles next to her and reaches out to stroke Rhaegal as well.

“Dragons are fire made flesh.” Daenerys answers as she too approaches Rhaegal and kneels next to the young girl, placing her hand next to hers. Rhaegal almost purrs under his mother’s touch and his eyes close.

“He’s beautiful.” Lady Catelyn says before she steps back.

“Visenya, Lyanna.” Jon beckons them over to where he’s standing. Visenya smiles and walks confidently toward him, while Lyanna does not move, her fingers splaying with her dress, eyes cast downward.

Visenya walks up to the King and he lifts her, holding her legs as her torso reaches for the dragons. She presses her cheek right up next to Rhaegal’s throat and giggles. “I can hear a big ‘thumping’.”

That’s his heartbeat.” Jon whispers. It’s slower than ours.”

Gendry looks down at Lyanna, before kneeling next to her and whispering. “I’m afraid, do you think I can hold you so that I’m less afraid?” She looks up at him, eyes wide and threatening to spill tears. She nods and he lifts her in his arms. Jon looks back at Gendry, a silent thank you passing between them.

“Alright,” says the Queen. “Time for the King to leave. Step back so that Rhaegal can exit children.”

Lady Catelyn scurries back to her father who takes her hand and begins to walk backwards away from the dragon.

Jon announces loudly to his dragon their intentions to fly North. “Rhaīgal, īlon sōvegon naejot Ropatasōnar bisa bantis.” Rhaegal lifts his head and Jon steps back from him, Visenya in his arms. Daenerys takes Daemon’s hand and leads him toward Gendry.

Rhaegal, more agile than Drogon practically slips from the darkness of the cavern. A gasp from Catelyn is almost drowned out in the great rumblings of the dragon’s movements. Rhaegal looks down at Jon expectantly and Jon nods. He turns back to his wife and sets Visenya down next to her.

He kneels down next to his son and looks into his violet eyes. “You are almost a man grown now. While I’m away you are to protect your mother and sisters. Don’t do anything too reckless and make sure that should anything happen, you find Grey Worm or Gendry. Do you understand?”

“I understand father.” Daemon nods once and looks up at his mother and then to his sister at her side and then the one in Gendry’s arms. “I’ll make sure they’re safe.”

“Good.” Jon kisses his forehead before he stands swiftly. He grasps Gendry’s hand. “I’ll see you soon Baratheon. I look forward to seeing you fight in the tournament. I shall hug your wife for you and let her know you and Catelyn are safe.”

“Aye,” Gendry answers. “See you soon brother.” Jon leans in to kiss Lyanna’s forehead. She wraps her arms around her father’s neck.

“Bye papa.” She whispers.

“I’ll see you soon sweet girl.” Jon replies before pulling away.

“Papa!” Visenya wails. “Do you have to go?” She has big tears in her eyes and looks up at him in a pitifully desperate way. Jon kneels next to her and she melts into his arms.

“I do Vissy.” Jon runs his hand over her fair hair as she presses her face into his chest. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“How many sleeps?” She asks looking up at him.

“Five at the most.” He says kissing her forehead. She huffs in annoyance and nods.

Jon stands and Daenerys steps forward. “Stay with Gendry.” She says to her children as her and Jon walk toward Rhaegal.

“Jon,” she murmurs as they near the winged being. “I don’t know why, but I have a bad feeling about something. Please be safe. Don’t do anything dumb.”

“You are requesting a great deal of me. I am a Northern Fool after all.” His half tease falls flat at the look on her face.

“I’m being serious. I understand your duty to the North is what’s driving this hurried trip, but I just feel like you’re needed here.”

“Aye,” Jon nods. “I will try and be as quick as possible with my business in Winterfell. If I can I will be there and back in three days.”

Daenerys nods. “Alright, then kiss me goodbye and make it a good one. I fear I may grow restless in our bed after last night.” Jon smirks at her, that primal glint she saw the night prior sends shivers up her spine. Jon pulls her to him and kisses her hard, cupping her head as he softly bites her lip.

An annoyed huff that sends up a cloud of dust by Rhaegal causes them to separate. “Yeah, yeah. Ivestragī nyke ivestragon geros ilas naejot aōha muña.” Jon says looking back at the restless beast.

“Your High Valyrian is still terrible.” Daenerys teases him.

“Aye,” he nods. “My tongue wasn’t made for these types of dragons. It was made for the one between your legs.” Daenerys laughs out loud and swats him.

“Leave now. The sooner you leave, the sooner you can get back and practice your High Valyrian on me some more.” She quirks an eyebrow at him. He kisses her once more and steps away, turning to Rhaegal who lowers his shoulder for Jon to climb up. He climbs quickly onto the spiked back of the scale armored creature.

“Sōvegon!” Jon shouts and Rhaegal coils as he springs up into the sky, wings buffeting the area in dust as his powerful limbs push him into the air. Daenerys watches her husband fly off on the back of one of her children before she turns and walks back to her others. Taking Visenya’s hand the group, now one short, makes their way back through the gardens to the castle once more.

#fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #fanfic #jonerys fanfic #my fic #got fanfiction #jon x dany #jon x daenerys

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neonnihilism · 7 years

Text

homesick when you’re home

They sat on top of Gavin’s roof. The two of them used to sit up here with their group of friends, all up until the rest found weed and forgot about them. Now it was just Gavin and Dan. They didn’t drink, didn’t smoke, did nothing except talk to each other. They’ve shared secrets to last a million friendships. There was still a foot of space between them. Gavin’s hand was outspread between them.

Gavin turned to Dan. “I don’t belong here.” After a few second of silence, he took a deep sigh.

Dan thought about what to say. Of course they talked about deep subjects here, it was why they were so isolated here, so no one would hear. “Yeah?” is all Dan said.

Gavin nodded. “Yeah. I can’t explain it. This isn’t where I’m supposed to be.”

Dan didn’t understand it. He felt like this is exactly where he had to be in this moment. This felt like a lock and key finally meeting. Except Gavin didn’t feel the same. Dan was used to that. “Where do you belong, B?”

“I don’t know.” Gavin sounded tired, physically and emotionally. ‘I don’t know’ slurred into ‘I dunno.’ “Anywhere not here.”

“What, like outside of England?”

Beat of silence. “I guess. It’s just,” Gavin groaned. “not here! Doesn’t matter if it’s outside of this city, or outside of this country, or out of this continent, or out of this world. I don’t want to be here. Dan. I hate it.”

If Dan were braver, he would have taken Gavin’s hand then. Trace a few words onto the back of his hand. Would have done anything. Instead he turns to Gavin. “Sounds terrible, B,” he says.

Gavin looks back, and nods. “I feel like an alien here. Though, not with you. You make it better. Not as bad.” He rolled onto his stomach, ruffled his hair, put his face into his hands. “I should live in a big city. London or something. I’m too much for a little village town.”

“Too much what?”

“Just, too much. That’s it.” Another frustrated groan. “I want to blend in with the city. People won’t stop and look at me for any reason. It’s a big city, who cares if some guy trips over his own feet. There’s better things to be looking at. I want to camouflage. Pretend I’m one of them. I could even act like them. All shallow.”

“City people aren’t shallow on principle, you know that.”

“Let me fantasize, B.”

Dan raised his hands in surrender. “Go on then.”

Gavin is silent, obviously thinking. He sits up. “Or,” he says. “A rural town. Where I can hide away for months. Just be myself. Not worry about other people or how they view me.”

“You wouldn’t survive a day on a farm. You don’t even own boots!”

“That can be fixed easily!” Gavin laughed. Dan laughs with him. When he’s done, he sighs.

This isn’t where Gavin belongs, but it’s definitely where Dan belongs.

Then Gavin started learning everything he could. School was out for the summer, jobs were worked in the early afternoon. This meant Gavin had the rest of the time to mess about. First, he tried learning photography. Got a few bucks for taking pictures for neighbors, sending pictures to articles. Then, he learned about his computer’s hardware. What started as a routine cleaning ended with half his computer unscrewed and laying around on his carpet. When Dan opened the door, Gavin yelled, because he had just hit the computer tower. He stayed around, watching Gavin google every single part for identification. He watched him clean the dust out of it and watched him put everything together again. He sat on the floor for a few seconds.

Then he started taking it apart again.

Dan left the third time Gavin asked him to quiz him on computer parts.

Gavin bought better specs for his computer, which lead to more power, which lead to better pictures, which lead to more money, which lead to better specs. He was in that cycle for a year. When Gavin’s 17th birthday rolled around, Dan got him ‘Coding for Dummies,’ and didn’t see him for two weeks. By the time he came out of his sleep deprived and bloodshot eyes state of being, he knew linux. And was in possession of a coffee addiction. Dan took care of the second part, cutting him off from coffee.

Gavin never stopped at ‘good enough.’ When Dan stayed the night, he showed him his latest project. A few scripts, none of which Dan understood. Gavin was grinning hard, so Dan rolled with it.

“So what does it do?”

“Well. It hacks.”

“It does what? Gavin, what are you planning on doing with that?”

“I put a few words into it, maybe someone’s birthday, their dog’s name, graduation year, and out pops a password. If they used any of that stuff to make it, of course.”

“I still don’t get it.”

“It basically puts that stuff in random order until it makes the right password. Brute force.”

Dan nods. He waits for Gavin to acknowledge the second part of his question. What does Gavin want to do with this. It’s obviously nothing good.

Gavin never acknowledges it.

On Gavin’s 18th birthday, Gavin has a following. Somebody DDos attacked their school server, and with such a small class, it wasn’t hard for the rumors to start. Maybe it was Gavin, who spent all his time in the school’s library, writing scripts to get past the school’s firewall. Of course, going through firewalls wasn’t enough. A few months into senior year, none of the staff or faculty could log into the servers. They were being overloaded. Though, the staff never heard the rumors, Dan was panicked. One of them had to be, and it wasn’t Gavin.

“Relax, it was just a little attack. It wasn’t on anything special, just a school. The most time I could get is 10 years.”

“10 bloody years, Gavin. You’d be getting out of jail at 28. That’s terrible!”

Gavin just laughed. Nobody messed with him anymore, for fear of getting hacked. The A/V nerds flocked to him, looked up to him. Dan thought it would get to his head, but he was still the same boy he met in the first place. Still flubs on his words, still trips everywhere, still too lanky to control himself. He was just worshipped as a tech god at school.

He gets even more daring. Hacking into open-source phones, looking through pictures. He had no need for blackmail, though, he got enough money from photography. The photography had evolved right before their eyes. One day, Gavin was shadowing a slow motion photographer, and the next he’s buying phantoms left and right. Sure, hacking and programming did make money. He could offer his services to companies, to test their security or to strengthen it himself. But having the niche market of slow motion backing him up, Gavin was becoming a hot commodity. Local directors wanted him, badly. When he wasn’t filming or at school, he was in his room testing the boundaries of the law. Tips to the police did put a shiny buck in his pocket in between shoots, though. Serves criminal’s right for leaving evidence on their phone.

Then he got really cocky. Hacking into a CTO’s phone. Text messages, emails, and bank account info galore. First, Gavin started draining hundreds. Nothing he would miss. When the CTO upped the security, Gavin got cockier. He could access the CEO of the company’s laptop, and as soon as his phone was connected to it, Gavin could access the phone. He drained a little bit more. A few thousands here and there. A few months of that, with no signs of Gavin, he drained a couple hundred thousand. He was rolling in dough. Then, he saw the emails. Embezzlement. All coming from the CEO. Gavin placed a few backdoors to come back to. He drained 1 million. When the bells started ringing over at the company, he sent the proof of embezzlement to the government under someone else’s name. The company was gone and bled like a skunk, and now Gavin had more than a million dollars. He had no idea what to do. He couldn’t keep it.

The panic started setting in an hour after he realized what he was doing. Hundreds of donations went out under an off-shore bank account.

But by then, Gavin saw the light.

They sat on the roof again. Facing each other. Gavin had his legs spread out, while Dan sat cross-legged. Dan thinks about what Gavin said when they were 16 about once a month. It usually happens when they’re on this roof. He doesn’t know if Gavin remembers that night. He doesn’t ask, but he realizes he doesn’t need to. Gavin is silent, staring at his own hand. His fingers flex and spread out, then he closes them into a fist. He’s looks off the side of the roof, onto the small town with it’s splitting roads that lead to either pubs or stores, and that’s it. Dan can see his eyes unfocus on the terrain, just staring at the air.

He still doesn’t feel like he belongs here.

Dan turned away, looking at the other side of the roof.

They were just different. Dan belonged here. In this moment, in this town, in this country. On this roof with Gavin. If he had to imagine his one place, it would be on this roof. That isn’t the case for Gavin.

“I have more than a million dollars in my bank account right now.”

Dan felt woozy. He almost threw up. “You have-”

“This isn’t even the first time. Or even the second.”

“Gavin-”

“The first time, I knew I couldn’t keep it. I donated it all to a bunch of charities. The second time. I wanted the thrill of the first time. I spent a few thousand. Did the same thing as the first.”

“How-” When Gavin opened his mouth to cut Dan off again, he put his finger up. “No. I question, you answer. How do you keep this money in your bank?”

“Offshore bank account. Wiring the money to a bank in Switzerland. All I had to do was get the forms, ship them, have a million dollars, and done.”

“Is this legal?” “Offshore banking is legal.”

“I meant, is how you are gettin’ it legal,” Dan said.

Gavin stayed silent.

“Oh, Jesus, Gavin.”

“Who else can say they’re a millionaire by 19?”

“Entrepreneurs who worked for their money!”

Dan thinks. Thinks about Gavin, mainly. He was right, back then. When they sat on here and he talked about how he didn’t belong. He really didn’t. It pained Dan to admit it. That maybe, they were different. Too different. Dan had his future planned. Gavin went with the flow and his impulse.

That made this either really easy, or really hard. Dan’s planned future is why he wanted to be here. Dan looked at Gavin. He was already looking back.

“I’m joining the army, Gav.”

Gavin looked down.

“You were right. All those years ago. You were right, you don’t belong here.” Dan looked down as well. “You belong somewhere greater. Somewhere that can hold you and everything you bring with you. Not some rural town, raising sheep right next to a gravel road. London, or Birmingham. Machester even-”

“Like Los Santos.”

“Yeah, if you want to go to America.”

Silence.

Dan looked up at Gavin. He was biting at his nails, avoiding Dan’s gaze.

“Gavin.”

“I got noticed, B. Extremely noticed.” Gavin’s voice was low.

Low enough to make Dan remember all of the times he fell in love with that voice. Every single time they were on this roof. Every time Dan thought about kissing him in the dead of the night, where no one could see them. Where Gavin would kiss back. He imagined it so many times that he could describe what Gavin’s lips felt like. Unpleasantly dry, but God, he would give up everything to kiss them.

They were too different. Gavin saw something he wanted-or rather, wanted him- and he’s willing to travel out of the country to get it.

Dan has been face to face with the one single thing he’s wanted for years.

He’s willing to travel out of the country to avoid it.

#fahc #fahc gavin #fahc dan #danvin #WELL ITS UNREQUITED BUT #j.fic

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endenogatai · 5 years

Text

Altitude Angel launches an API for safer drone flights

Altitude Angel, a U.K. startup that provides safety, data and traffic management systems for drones, is launching a de-confliction service for drone flights — available via its developer API platform.

“The dynamic system will continuously monitor the airspace around an aircraft for the ‘unexpected’ such as other aerial vehicles or changes to airspace (such as a Temporary Flight Restriction/Dynamic Geofence around a police incident),” it writes of the new service.

“After identifying a potential conflict, CRS will make the necessary routing adjustments, allowing the drone to maintain an appropriate separation standard between other airspace users or fly around restricted airspace so it can continue safely (and efficiently) to its destination.”

The global Conflict Resolution Service (CRS) has two components: Strategic de-confliction, which will launch first, on July 23, letting drone operators submit flight plans to the startup to determine whether there are any conflicts with other previously submitted flight plans, or against ground and airspace geofenced areas available in Altitude Angel’s worldwide data feeds.

If a conflict is identified Altitude Angel says its CRS will propose alterations to the take-off time and/or route to “eliminate the conflict” — suggesting, as it puts it “minimally invasive changes to permit the mission to continue unobstructed”.

The service also supports ‘private’ modes for fleet operators who only want to check for conflicts against their own drones or customers.

The second component — which will launch in late September — is called Tactical de-confliction. This will provide information to drone pilots or the drone itself to ensure separation is maintained during the in-flight phase.

“We’re bringing in commercially available data feeds of every piece of manned air traffic available today. So that’s every commercial flight, that’s in some instances police helicopters, medical choppers etc etc. So the tactical service will then supplement that drone on drone collision data [from the Statistical CRS] with drone on manned aviation,” says CEO Richard Parker.

The UK startup, which also provides data to power geofencing services for drones (drone maker DJI is among its customers) is positioning its software and services business as an enabling layer for unmanned traffic management (UTM) companies, national organizations and fleet operators to embed into their own products, says Parker.

“What we’re doing is going beyond what a typical UTM company sees as its own customers and then providing the flight plans that we’ve received out to everybody,” he tells TechCrunch. “So, for example, Uber might use the [CRS] service to register all of Uber’s flights and Amazon might use the service to register all of Amazon’s flights — but together, via the API, they effectively can avoid each other.

“So that’s a service which connects everybody together, and only tells you when there’s conflict that’s expected to occur.”

Clearly, the Strategic de-confliction component will increase in utility as it gains more users — enabling it to increase the visibility it can provide of what’s being flown where and when.

Although Altitude Angel does not pretend it will be able to offer a comprehensive view of absolutely every artificial thing in the sky.

“One of the things we think is rife in the UTM industry today is false claims,” says Parker. “It would be really easy for us to market this wrongly — we could have done this to say this service guarantees no drones will ever crash. That’s simply not true. What it does guarantee, however, is any drone that has submitted a plan to us is going to be told up front whether it’s likely to conflict with another one.

“And when the tactical service comes online, again, we will be extremely clear — providing everything else you might conflict with is using that service then we can provide that separation.”

He points out that not even Air Navigation Service Providers (ANSPs) can see all air traffic all of the time. So the CRS is pitched as a way for drone operators to increase awareness of what else might be flying in the vicinity — thereby reducing the risk of collision or a safety incident.

As regards the dynamic tactical de-confliction component of the CRS, which is designed to alert drone operators to unexpected craft in their vicinity, Altitude Angel says this is based on “tried and trusted safety technology”.

The core platform underpinning it has been in operation since 2016, according to Parker — and was originally used by general aviation pilots to request access to transit Class D airspace, meaning it’s “racked up thousands of requests” and had “a lot of scrutiny” globally, including from national air traffic services.

“It’s an extremely reliable and robust service,” he claims.

Altitude Angel is also layering on its GuardianUTMS airspace management platform. While Parker flags that the company’s enterprise background is in massive distributed cloud systems — ergo, it’s used to handling something along the lines of 7M-10M API requests per month.

“So we think we’ve got a reasonably robust and reliable system,” he says. “One which can also tolerate failure and it can do a lot of self-healing. From an infrastructure perspective it’s very robust, and from an application perspective it’s been doing a lot of operational use cases and load for one of the world’s most trusted and respected ANSPs.”

“Usage is still increasing. We’re still learning from that. But again our main primary goal is to get this out, get it used, monitor it, make sure that we improve it over time. It’s kind of a crawl, walk and run type service,” he adds.

All Altitude Angel’s current customers are signed up to go live with the CRS — which Parker suggests will translate into some 5,000 to 6,000 flights per month feeding the de-confliction service.

“We’re then going to connect in our additional flights that have been shared with us as well so I think we’re talking about a fairly significant proportion of all of the flights that are being shared with any UTM today,” he continues. “What we’re then going to be doing is working with our ANSP customers to see if the permission requests that they’re currently managing can also be connected into that network. And I think that’s a really interesting area to explore.

“Because again we’re only doing this because, ultimately, everyone in the industry wants to go beyond line-of-sight, everyone wants to be able to have a more automated flight system. But the reality is the infrastructure just isn’t there on the ANSP and regulatory side — and the technology isn’t there, from a safety management perspective, on the commercial side either.

“So that’s the gap that we’re trying to plug here so that more people can access to do that.”

While it might make more sense for drone de-confliction platforms to be run by national bodies, rather than a commercial entity, Parker isn’t worried that regulators will swoop in and claim the space because the business is positioning itself to play multiple roles: Helping drone operators integrate and adapt to changeable regulations, while also making sure it can take on a gateway service role for ANSPs should governments decide a regulator should provide UTM.

“The technology that we provide to our customers we provide on our own developer platform for the commercial industry to use but we also provide a version of that same system, effectively, to ANSPs to be able to offer that service nationally,” he says.

“I think it’s important to recognize that many of those ANSPs aren’t required to do this yet. So they’re not necessarily deploying those foundations… The key piece that might be an interesting angle is that our commitment to those developer customers, and people who are using our commercial technology, is to abstract them away from whatever local regulations and differences might occur internationally.”

“In the UK, if the government suddenly turns around to [UK air traffic operator] NATS and says hey you guys have to provide UTM services for the whole country it won’t be us that are operating the service but we’re very much hopeful that we’ll have the opportunity to provide NATS with the technology to actually provide that capability to the rest of the industry,” he adds, noting that Altitude Angel is already providing airspace user portal technology to NATS.

“So, again, we’ve got this commercial side of the business — which is all about enabling those folks to integrate with the regulated community, and then we’ve got a technology capability [Guardian UTMS] that’s what we’re pushing to ANSPs to enable them to open up the skies and work with and embrace drones within their airspace estate.”

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nahoo883 · 5 years

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Altitude Angel launches an API for safer drone flights

The service also supports ‘private’ modes for fleet operators who only want to check for conflicts against their own drones or customers.

“So that’s a service which connects everybody together, and only tells you when there’s conflict that’s expected to occur.”

Clearly, the Strategic de-confliction component will increase in utility as it gains more users — enabling it to increase the visibility it can provide of what’s being flown where and when.

Although Altitude Angel does not pretend it will be able to offer a comprehensive view of absolutely every artificial thing in the sky.

“And when the tactical service comes online, again, we will be extremely clear — providing everything else you might conflict with is using that service then we can provide that separation.”

“It’s an extremely reliable and robust service,” he claims.

All Altitude Angel’s current customers are signed up to go live with the CRS — which Parker suggests will translate into some 5,000 to 6,000 flights per month feeding the de-confliction service.

“So that’s the gap that we’re trying to plug here so that more people can access to do that.”

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newstfionline · 6 years

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What America Looks Like From a Jail in South Texas

By Jose Antonio Vargas, NY Times, Sept. 15, 2018

Of all the ways I imagined the inevitable--being arrested, getting detained--I never envisioned sitting on the cold cement floor of a jail cell in South Texas surrounded by children.

It was July 2014. The cell, as I remember it, was no bigger than 20 by 30 feet. All around me were about 25 boys, as young as 5, the oldest no more than 12. The air reeked. A boy across the room from me was crying inconsolably, his head buried in his chest. Most of the boys wore dazed expressions. It was clear they had no idea where they were or why they were there.

The only source of entertainment came from Mylar blankets, flimsy metallic sheets that were supposed to keep us warm. Three boys played with a blanket as if it were a toy, crunching it up into a ball, passing it back and forth.

A window faced a central area where a dozen or so patrol agents were stationed, but there was not much to look at. All I could do was stare at the boys’ shoes. My shoes were shiny and brand new; theirs, dirty, muddy and worn down. The only thing our shoes had in common was that none of them had laces.

“Jose Antonio Vargas,” said an agent as he walked in. “I don’t need you. Not yet. But we’re gonna move you.”

The moment the agent said my name, one of the boys playing with the blanket started speaking to me. I had no idea what he was saying. The one word I could make out was “miedo.” Something about “miedo.”

If I spoke Spanish, I could have told the boys the story I kept secret for years, a story that I’m now asked to tell almost every day: I was born in the Philippines, a country whose history is characterized as being “300 years in the convent, 50 years in Hollywood.” When I was 12, my mother put me on a plane to California to go live with her parents. When I was 16, while applying for a driver’s permit, I discovered that the documents my grandfather had given me were fake, that I did not have legal documents to be in this country.

Which is why, in 2014, a Border Patrol agent at the airport in McAllen arrested me the moment I told him I was here illegally.

If I spoke Spanish, I could have told the boys about the country they had arrived and been detained in, a country I’ve lived in for more than 20 years, the country I did not ask to come to but where I have been educated, where I have worked since I was a teenager, where my grandparents and other relatives immigrated with documentation but where I have found myself stranded without a way to “get legal.”

This is a country that prides itself as one founded and built by immigrants, but also one whose laws and policies have historically been anti-immigrant. Ask the Chinese. Talk to the Irish.

This is a country that depends on immigrant labor, often cheap labor, especially from undocumented workers, while spending billions of dollars a year detaining, incarcerating and deporting people the government deems “illegal.” Undocumented workers like me pay taxes into this very system. This is a country of welcome, where people like me have been befriended, supported, even nurtured by American citizens of all racial, economic and political backgrounds, and it is a country whose citizens continue to vote for local and national officials who uphold and enact an inhumane immigration enforcement machine that locks up children.

If I spoke Spanish, I could have told the boys that none of this was their fault. I could have explained, in the clearest, most accessible way I could, the connection between the irreversible actions of the United States of America and the inevitable reactions in their countries of birth. How a trade agreement, like the North American Free Trade Agreement, drove millions of Mexicans out of jobs and led parents to cross borders so they could feed their kids. How decades of interventionist policies by both Republicans and Democrats brought economic and political instability to and sowed violence in El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras.

How people like us come to America because America, from its people, its politics and its products, were and are very much already in our countries.

I don’t understand much Spanish. The most Spanish thing about me is my name. My name is Jose because of Spanish colonialism. But my Jose isn’t José. (After the Americans forced the Spanish out of the Philippines, their typewriters couldn’t type accented vowels.)

So in that cell that night, I told the young boy holding the crunched-up blanket, “No hablo español.”

Quickly, I added, “Soy Filipino.”

I am Filipino, a declaration that seemed to cause him more confusion. I’m not sure he heard me when I said, almost in a whisper, like a prayer, “Pepeton ang pangalan ko.” My name is Pepeton.

It’s my nickname, combining the nicknames of Jose (Pepe) and Antonio (Ton). It’s the name of my past--what my mother and everyone in the Philippines who knows me calls me.

It’s the name I’ve avoided so I could construct a different kind of identity, not the “illegal” you see and hear about in the news, but the journalist who reports the news and became a writer so I could see my name on a piece of paper. But inside that cell, there was no place to hide, nothing to run away from, no role to play.

After I was handcuffed at the airport, I was driven alone in a white van. Upon my arrival, two agents took everything I had: my phone, my wallet, my backpack, my luggage. I was asked to take off my leather belt and the laces in my shoes. When I asked why, one of the agents answered, “We don’t want you hurting yourself.”

I wanted to laugh. I’ve always used laughter to conceal my emotions; here, to distance and detach myself from the absurdity of this ordeal. Is this really about who has the right papers and what the laws are? Is this really about who is a citizen or not? Are we talking about the same citizenship that many Americans callously take for granted?

I asked one of the guards if he spoke Spanish. He did.

“What’s ‘miedo’?”

“Fear,” he said. “It means fear.”

Sitting on the floor, I kept thinking of the boys’ parents, the fear they must have felt knowing that they needed to do what they needed to do. I also kept thinking of my mother, wondering as I had so many times over all these years what she told herself as she said goodbye to me at the airport 25 years ago.

My mother and I haven’t seen each other in person since 1993, but we do sometimes talk by phone or chat. We rarely talk about what happened on the day we separated, though. Sometimes I will ask about a fact here or there. What was I wearing? What was she wearing? What were her last words to me? But we never talk about how we felt, what we lost, what it means.

The truth is, if my mother had known then what she knows now--that calling her on the phone is difficult, because I can’t really pretend that I know the voice on the other end of the line, that seeing her on Skype or FaceTime feels like some sort of twisted joke, that the technology that easily connects us makes the divide even more acute--I’m not sure if she would have said goodbye at the airport. On one of our rare phone calls she said, “I look at you, now, the person you’ve become, and how can I have any regrets.” I’m sure she meant it as a statement, but it sounded like a question.

I am not entirely sure who I have become.

What I am sure of is that at every complicated and complicating juncture of my life in America--getting to college, getting a job, getting a driver’s license so I could have a valid proof of identification so I could get a job, keeping the job--a stranger who did not remain a stranger helped me out.

After telling me that my green card was fake, the curly-haired, bespectacled woman at the Department of Motor Vehicles could have called immigration officials.

After finding out that I was ineligible for financial aid because I don’t have any legal papers, the administrators at Mountain View High School didn’t need to help me. I didn’t even ask them for help, because I didn’t know how to. But they offered help, even when I didn’t know what kind of help I needed, even when they didn’t know what they were doing.

After I confessed about my fake papers, the doctored Social Security card, the driver’s license I wasn’t supposed to have, the senior newsroom personnel at The Washington Post, where I worked as a reporter, could have dragged me to the office of human resources and gotten me fired.

Sitting on the floor, all alone in the cell, I couldn’t stop thinking about the boys’ futures. I wondered if, when and how they would get out. If they got to stay, who would welcome them to this country, and how they would be welcomed? I wanted to tell them not to be scared, that they would survive whatever they would have to survive. I wanted to tell them that the American people are capable of being better than their laws. I wanted to tell them, “No miedo.”

Jose Antonio Vargas (@joseiswriting) is the author of the forthcoming “Dear America: Notes of an Undocumented Citizen,” from which this essay is adapted.

#Jose Antonio Vargas #undocumented aliens #illegal aliens #jail cell in South Texas

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susansmothers26-blog · 6 years

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Three Significant Risks Of Gel Manicures And The Best Ways To Stop Them

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Instead of settling the policy based on agreement stipulations, Sun life seems to be to operate under the supposition the litigant is suspect" and engages in personal and private inspection to discredit the personal not the claim. Navigation as well as farming has actually been using wind electricity for centuries, yet it is just during current opportunities that wind energy has actually been obtaining a ton of recognition as a result of the focus on endless energies.

Medicine has actually long confessed that such ailments as ulcers and also strep throat are actually induced by mental tension or even mental tension, as well as right now physicians are actually advancing severe theories that there is a certain connection between the individuality of the development as well as the client and advancement from cancer cells. Therefore one that proficients in the boxing fine arts can certainly not hold to a taken care of set from policies or techniques and apply this. Prepare techniques are actually guidelines for the starting point from guideline which can easily improve an individual's temperament, grow a person's expertise, lighten a person's personality, remove obtained routines and come back a person to one's natural intuitions. Yes, I presume - our company discussed in the final quarter is our team viewed flow that were actually - internet flows that were actually relatively weak, and our experts contacted a lot of the concern being the atonement price, which our company found really spike in Q4 as well as Q1, each for our company, some of that being our institutional company in the shut book that we have for a number of our approaches. United States author Richard Spence states that he has actually seen records coming from British, American, French as well as Italian stores, which showed that Crowley participated in a major duty in the sinking of the RMS Lusitania, a story to overthrow the fascist federal government of Spain, the combating of Irish and also Indian nationalist conspiracy theories and the enigma of the 1941 air travel from Rudolf Hess. Throughout our Drug service, we continue to provide life-altering and also life-saving treatments to patients all over the world along with a fabulous pipeline of much more than 10 new runaway success products to file or release for regulative approval in the next 5 years, each with higher than $1 billion in peak year sales potential.

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reginasrandomthoughts · 6 years

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So when I finished reading chapter 4 (”Survival”) of A History of the World in 10 and a half chapters I knew that that was pretty much the end of the progress I made today with my reading list. For one, I have stuff to say about and for two, I have other stuff and exams to prepare for. (Hey, ho! Icons on Film essay, I am so not happy to see you)

So, I usually ramble on for myself and I have no structure to anything at all, so here I will try something different, and just write small reminders for me about each element or theme. Or will try. I know me and I have no illusions left.

I think that it is only fitting to start with the reindeer since that is what the story starts with. The reindeer that had premonition on Noah’s Ark and tried to run away from man, who will bring that bad thing on. The reindeer and animal cruelty.

Animal cruelty, animals paying for man’s sin is an established theme at this point and here it is very explicit: the Soviets exploded a nuclear bomb over Siberia and the radioactivity poisoned the food the reindeer ate and that poisoned the reindeer. But what humans cared about was that they could not eat its meat anymore. Since it became inedible for humans and they did not want to bury it, they fed it to an animal they thought unpleasant: the mink. This is how the story presents it. The mink of course gets slaughtered for its fur to make coats out of it and it still gets to humans, but the kind who would wear that coat presumably does not care about the radioactivity.

Another point of animal cruelty is the cats. Her boyfriend, Greg argues that they need to neuter Paul, the cat because he is too aggressive. Kath (whose name’s similarity to the word cat probably is not a coincidence) wholeheartedly disagrees. She thinks that mutilating an animal is a sin. ( I kinda agree with her on this. As a fellow owner of a male cat). But Greg is not the only one who is cruel to animals to fit his needs: in one version of the story Kath picks up another cat, Linda and keeps them on a boat with her and nearly starves them to death bc she is ignoring reality.

Now, here is a quote from p87:

“Burying things gives you a proper sense of shame. Look what we’ve done to the reindeer, they’d say as hey dug the pit. Or they might, at least. They might think about it. Why are we always punishing animals? We pretend to like them, keep them as pets and get soppy if we think they’re reacting like us, but we’ve been punishing animals from the beginning, haven’t we? Killing them and torturing them and throwing our guilt at them?”

For Kath this is purely a reference to the reindeer and what the government did to them. But she also connects to it through bringing in another topic, the inability to face reality and projecting. Out of Kath’s two alternative storylines she is torturing her animals: she disregards reality and does not notice that she is hurting them, argues that she is doing something good for them, feeding them fish (that she has no problem killing) but in reality she is starving them. An argument for this timeline can be made by her first claim that she feeds fish only to the cats while she eats canned food. She does not eat fish, because there is no fish to be eaten and reverts to eating the hallucination when she runs out of real food. In the alternative story, Kath’s reality, she is projecting her guilt on them, regardless of how real that version is. She is saying that she left everything behind to save them, as a modern Noah, she acts like protecting them will make her life better and wash the human sin off of her. And in case she is starving them, she projects her guilt onto them via the illusion: she feels guilty so she pretends they are getting fatter rather than thinner.

Since both the upper mentioned topics are still very big and interconnected let’s tackle two smaller ones first discrimination and abuse (and Kath).

Discrimination is going to be the easiest to start with, because I already talked about it. It is a major theme of the book. So far we have seen humans discriminating between animal species (ch1), humans discriminating between human nationalities (ch2), humans discriminating between species (human and animal in ch3) and now we see humans discriminate between genders. Kath and Greg, I am sorry to say, are both sexist: Greg thinks Kath is stupid and doesn’t get what the men are talking about because she is a woman. He degrades her by calling her a cow, he figuratively lowers her to the level of an animal, to something less than human. Kath, in turn views all men as irredeemable. All the man must be like Greg because to Kath Greg is the “typical bloke” and since he is an abusive jackass, the antagonist of her life, all men must be villains as well.

And Greg is abusive. He slaps Kath around, he degrades her, he belittles her. Yet Kath says that this is typical. Ordinary:

“Greg was an ordinary bloke. Not that I wanted anything different when I met him he went to work, came home, sat down, drank beer, went out with his mates and drank more beer, sometimes slapped me around a bit on pay-night. We got on fair enough.”

To Kath, him hitting her, a man hitting a woman is ordinary. Just part of the package. She was not looking for anything else. She oddly enough draws a direct connection between him hitting her and them getting on well by putting the two sentences next to each other. And from the hospital storyline (I am calling it that) we learn that that is, indeed, the case: Kath was looking for someone just like Greg, someone abusive, that she has a history with dating men like that, that she has Persistent Victim Syndrome. Now, in one timeline this is bollocks. In the other Kath is ignoring reality, really hard: she ignores that Greg being abusive is not okay, she ignores her dating history, she ignores the break-up. In this timeline there is no war, there is just one big fight, a bad break-up, the fall-out, and a post-Greg timeline, where kath is pushed to the breaking point and reality starts to slip because of all the stress and abuse of her life, and perhaps a natural tendency to ignore reality.

Kath has a tendency to ignore reality. She believes that reindeer can fly just so she can believe that anything is possible. Her faith in that is unshakable. She is a sensitive, deeply empathetic woman who is easily touche by the suffering of animals and is attuned to the stress and dangers of her time. She has a tendency to cling to the unreal even in the face of evidence to the contrary and she may or may not be going insane.

As a throwaway, I found it interesting that her name is Ferris. The first associations from that, for me, are ferris wheel, something that is just going round and round in circles, and ferryboat and ferry as in carry something. With these associations Kathleen Ferris fits into the theme about Noah and his animals: she like Noah gets on a boat to carry her animals to safety, but in the hospital timeline she ends up delusional and going in a circle, like a ferris wheel and, as she points out, humanity. In her-reality timeline, she insists that she is starting over again, and if that is the case she is starting again from the beginning, her being the new Noah, but purely for cats. Also in the hospital timeline, she herself becomes the ferryboat, carrying these ideas in her own head taking them away from reality, that has become uninhabitable for her. She says she does not look at the way she came because she does not intend to go back and in the end she makes up her mind to accept the her-reality to be the real reality.

Now as the finale let’s talk about the two timeline of events and how ignoring reality and projecting comes into play. There are two possible timelines:

In the hospital timeline Kath breaks up with Greg and that combined with the stress of a looming nuclear war makes her snap and she becomes delusional, believing that the war did broke out and that she needs to get her cat, and the other cat she randomly picked up, away from the war. She gets stuck on a boat where she goes around in circles while her cats starve. She becomes ill and tears her hair out but gets rescued and has lucid moments in the hospital that she interprets as a hallucination until she finally retreats into her make-believe world.

The other timeline, the her-reality is where everything is as Kath says: the war breaks out she grabs the cats, gets onto the boat, feeds them fish, gets sick from the whatever poison got into the air, finds an island where her cat Linda gives birth to the kitten of her other cat, Paul.

Now, me being a born pessimist, I lean towards the hospital timeline. But I guess each to their own? I guess. Anyway, what we are talking about is themes and not definitive answers. The Theme of ignoring reality play a part in both of those and roughly the same way.

In the hospital timeline Kath ignores reality from the point onwards when she broke up with Greg, so everything after that is just her blocking out reality. To her a fictional reality where she can step away from the complicated human society that has so many stress-inducing problems is appealing even at the cost of having the new reality that probably most people are dead now and the air is poison. This post-apocalyptic fantasy is escapism, escape from humanity, its sins, its problems. And Kath can escape from her own life and own choices as well: the choice to date Greg, the break up, everything. And because she retreats from reality she has to project her own into its place: her reality.

Her reality is that humans are ignoring the signs (we are) and that it has gotten t a point where the nuclear war broke out without anyone noticing. They are ignoring the reality to project a peace and to push the responsibility to solve the problem onto someone else. Now, in this line of events the flashes from the hospital-timeline are the delusions: they are Kath’s struggle to let go of the old world, to fight against escaping into a fantasy land where all of this is just a bad dream and she is just sick but will get better.

So from the perspective of the themes it really doesn’t matter which timeline is correct.

#Regina shitposts literature #getting better at it? idk but i hope so #i hereby declare these posts my daily writing practice that are here to get me to write more #next step is to write when i am not dead tired and can actually think #the history of the world in ten and a half chapters

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agirlinjapan · 7 years

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Red Data Girl: World Heritage Girl (Week 27)

Red Data Girl: World Heritage Girl By Noriko Ogiwara A Translation

Miss the last piece? Read it here!

Check out the RDG Translation twitter!

Yay for spring break! Like usual, I headed home for some much needed R&R this week. I went to see Your Name, did some shopping, met up with my college Japanese teacher, worked at the library, and got some major writing done on my Camp NaNoWriMo project (my Yukariko fan fic is back in the works!) among other things. Another big event of the break was getting my hair cut. Up until last Friday, my hair was practically to my waist. Now it stops at my shoulders! I felt very “RDG” cutting my hair off after so long. Yukariko’s hair is short. Maybe she snipped it all off in one shot like me. Haha.

Red Data Girl: World Heritage Girl By Noriko Ogiwara Chapter 4: Boundary Part 2 (2 of 3)

Izumiko mostly kept her gaze on their two shadows as they walked through the woods. She was aware that it was just the two of them. It was an unexpected circumstance, she thought. Still, the situation was completely different from when she had come down from the castle ruins with Miyuki before. This time, they were working with Mayura and Manatsu. There wasn’t much time either and they were preoccupied with whether or not they would find what they were looking for. They were walking quickly and of course, time to talk was sparse.

That day, the sky was rather cloudy and the light was dim in the shadow of the trees. The weather report had predicted a northern-moving fall rainstorm. The season was changing. The cooler weather certainly made their work easier to manage but as the sponsors of a major upcoming event, they went back and forth between celebrating and lamenting the incoming typhoon season. The possibility of a rainstorm during the all school event was a problem that had been making the student government’s heads hurt for a long time now. There was always the chance that a typhoon might pop up due to the time of year.

The hilly path was narrow and so Izumiko followed behind Miyuki. There was almost no wind and the incline, covered in thick, tall grass was quiet. If they had had more time to look around, it probably wouldn’t have been strange to spot an animal or two. The open expanse was full of lush nature.

Miyuki walked without hesitation, his gaze fixed straight ahead of him as if his thoughts were only on the objective at hand. Izumiko assumed he was thinking about what would happen if they found what they were looking for. She considered this as well. They were more or less posing a surprise attack.

“Izumiko, I still haven’t heard your thoughts about the goddess at the castle ruins. You’ve remembered by now so what’s your reaction?”

“Ah—um…”

Caught off guard, Izumiko could not answer right away. Miyuki continued.

“Do you think it’s wrong to talk to me first about things like that? Why would you tell me after Mayura?”

Izumiko was baffled. Mayura, being herself, had been upset by hearing about something after Miyuki. However, Izumiko would have never guessed that Miyuki would also make a fuss about not being the first to know something.

“This… this is so sudden—”

“Sudden? What are you talking about?”

“Mayura has been so kind to me.”

Miyuki’s shoulders stiffened. The movement was even visible from behind.

“So you’ll tell her anything because she’s kind? You’re crazy.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Her voice grew sharp as she rethought her approach and gathered her courage. After all, now she knew she had to be stronger.

“…I remembered in the middle of the night. I didn’t know what to do and Mayura helped me feel better. But even so, I couldn’t tell her everything. I was completely aware of that while we were talking. If I did, she’d definitely hate me.”

Miyuki paused for a moment. Then he said in a very controlled voice, “I doubt Mayura would hate you after you confided in her. You’re looking at this from a different point of view than we are. This is all about power that we can use.”

Izumiko quickly sucked in a breath.

“If it’s all about power you can use then go ahead and use it. I like Mayura. I like Manatsu too… I want the two of them to be happy.”

“You’re not thinking about the goddess at all right now, are you?” Miyuki asked, astounded. “Do you think about anything? The goddess—that person—she knows the futures that have come before this one!”

“Of course I think! But I can’t say that I’d ever say everything I’m thinking.”

There were things she could say and things she couldn’t say, Izumiko thought.

There were also things she couldn’t say to Miyuki for the very reason that he was tied up in all of this. At the same time though, there were also things she had to reveal to him whether or not he wanted to hear them. Without her even realizing it, she had been caught up between Miyuki and the goddess.

Our connection is so fragile. I can’t let it break… I want to be more careful. I want to find a way to live without losing anything…

Unable to get the thing she wanted more than anything else out of her mind, Izumiko said, “Hey, would it be okay to pretend the day at the ruins with the goddess never happened? I remember what the goddess said. But would you stop helping me if I pretended I didn’t? I can’t say that I’d pretend it never happened forever… Just… until talking about the future is necessary. If I don’t do that, I’m going to completely forget who I am…”

Unsure of how to say what she felt, Izumiko searched for the right words. The two had stopped walking without even realizing it. They were far more preoccupied with what was being said.

“Ah, that would probably help me too.”

As Izumiko looked up, her eyes widened. Miyuki was smiling. She immediately recognized that it wasn’t his perfect smile that he used to hide his true feelings. Relieved, a smile unconsciously broke across her features as well.

“I have feelings that I want to get rid of too. I always do. To tell you the truth, I can’t figure out what’s going on here. Up until now, I was wondering why Yukimasa could talk so nonchalantly about all this but I guess it’s one of those things you sort of have to be relaxed about or else it’ll get to you.”

“Yeah.”

Izumiko’s mood quickly brightened. It made her think of sunlight piercing through a dark forest. “I’m also really grateful that everyone at Tamakura Shrine never said anything. I really understand their decision now.”

The two of them stood there for a minute longer. Neither of them was bothered by the silence. It was a warm moment between them.

“We should go. We’re running out of time.”

They began walking again at a fast pace. As they continued on, Izumiko’s feet felt much lighter than they had before. She and Miyuki had connected. She had been able to voice her wishes without her nerves blocking the way. She knew she had put off finding a solution to her problem for too long but for now she was content to think over how happy she felt.

“While I have the chance, there’s something else I want to say.” Miyuki’s voice also sounded fairly at ease. He glanced ahead of them and then continued. “The goddess doesn’t show up without a reason. That’s what I think. Her appearances have nothing to do with your braids so you don’t have to worry so much. She doesn’t show up to create a disaster. She comes here because she wants to stop one.”

Izumiko agreed. Miyuki’s words had to be true.

“I know that. But I’m scared of her and there’s no point in telling me I don’t have to be.”

“But you don’t have to be that scared of her. What you should be scared of are the things going on around us.”

“What do you mean?”

“Don’t worry about her showing up. She only appears when she needs to say something.”

For the first time ever, Izumiko had a taste of what it felt like to be overwhelmed by the onslaught of wayward thoughts that came with feeling too many emotions at once.

“…Is this about how you want to be with the goddess more than you want to be with me?”

“I never said that.”

“That’s what I’ve heard.”

“If you want to twist my words then I guess that is what you heard.”

While they might have agreed on one thing, they were still as different as light and dark.

Before Izumiko could respond, Miyuki was speaking.

“Think about it before you misunderstand me. If I had wanted you to be the goddess from here on out, do you think I would have made the effort to go up to the Hachioji Castle ruins and then come back down again?”

“Of course. You were with the goddess after all.” Izumiko sounded sulky even to herself. “She was using my body. That was her plan. You could find out exactly how she felt about you then because she was possessing me. I bet you were pretty happy about it.”

In truth, Miyuki could not immediately explain himself. He shrank back visibly.

“Why are you attacking me? I don’t get where you’re coming from.”

“I’m done with this.”

It would have been ridiculous for her to turn around all of a sudden and walk away so she rethought her argument instead.

“Let’s just stop this for now. I don’t like talking about some other girl.”

Again, Miyuki stopped walking. He turned back to Izumiko, staring fixedly at her.

“…Izumiko… do you think it’s possible… that you and the goddess might really be the same person?” he asked sounding unsure of himself.

“What are you saying?”

Izumiko didn’t know if she was actually surprised by what Miyuki had said or how unassumingly he had said it. She eyed him dubiously.

Right at that moment though, she sensed that there was something not far away in the trees.

She turned her head in its direction. However, the only thing she saw were the trees and the undergrowth. There was brush growing everywhere in the shade of the foliage but it did very little to obstruct her view. At the same time that Izumiko sensed something nearby, she also realized that the atmosphere was much different than it had been on the top of the hill where Manatsu had said the air felt good. She could sense something dark crouching somewhere on the ground, its menacing gaze fixed on them.

This feeling… I had forgotten it for a while…

Keep reading!

#rdg #red data girl #rdg 4 #rdg 4 week 27 #rdg world heritage girl #translation

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webpostingpro-blog · 7 years

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New Post has been published on Webpostingpro

New Post has been published on https://webpostingpro.com/bad-news-google-hangouts-users-third-party-apps/

Bad news, Google Hangouts users: Third-party apps

It is been numerous months in view that Google introduced the discontinuation of the Hangouts API, however, the information has largely flown underneath the radar. Guide for the API has already ended, and Hangouts apps are set to prevent working in only a couple weeks.

Developers and users of Hangouts apps might not get a whole lot of notification, both: Simply an onscreen message throughout Hangouts calls if an affected app is in use. Come April 25 those apps might be unceremoniously dumped, and all on the way to be left is the bare bones Hangouts and some apps that Google is allowing to continue unaffected.

Why has Google discontinued the Hangouts API? Google split Hangouts into two products in advance this 12 months: Meet for video conferencing and Chat for textual content messaging. Together with that Google formally shifted Hangouts’ cognizance away from purchasers and towards the business enterprise.

SEE: Microsoft leads the p.C. in business enterprise collaboration gear—but for a way lengthy? (TechRepublic)

“[The Hangouts] API became at the start supposed to Guide social situations for client customers as a part of Google+, while Hangouts is now turning to consciousness on company use instances,” Google said in an update to the API’s FAQ page.

Hangouts’ circulate to the enterprise as Meet and Chat doesn’t suggest you may not be capable of use it as a consumer, even though: The vintage Hangouts is sticking around, albeit without an API or any apps that increase its usefulness.

The ultimate goal seems to be to force clients towards Allo and Duo, Google’s new chat gear, even as leaving the vintage Hangouts in preservation mode.

Enterprise users may not lose all their apps in legacy Hangouts While Google is absolutely killing patron apps in Hangouts it is leaving a few corporation ones untouched. That’s excellent information for groups that need to stay with Hangouts in place of transferring to fulfill and Chat.

Google hasn’t released an actual list of which Hangouts apps will nonetheless paintings after April 25, however it did mention some so one can nevertheless be around.

Apps that, dial right into a call (like Dialpad and RingCentral), integrations with other business enterprise communications apps (like Slack), and Google’s personal on-air broadcasting gear (Toolbox, Manage Room, and Cameraman) will all still paintings.

The Great Masters of Fake News

Human progress and the establishment on which we depend are more often than not based on the work of people who engage in deceit and pretend news. Religions play the greatest role and over the past 2,000 plus years, they have got created the arena Order. Every person has a role on this due to the fact ideas are systemic at some stage in societies. Companies primarily based on them dominate governments, the regulation, and the military.

What goes into the mind by the age of 7 isn’t best extraordinarily hard to overturn but units the goal of the man or woman for existence. work styles, social interchange, and human sources are all managed through what the parents and instructors pressure into them.

So what’s fake news

Consistent with Wikipedia sites that interact with it are accountable for hoaxes, propaganda and of a path, ‘disinformation purporting to be actual information.’

It could be taken further, but, because the perception systems also fall into this class. only people with inner knowledge are capable of doing away with the fiction and get to the underlying facts. For most of the people, this is impossible because the smoke screens and prison limitations are too sturdy and too huge to navigate.

The Spirit of the Universe, however, is getting rid of the latter in order that mildly shines through the darkness. As it is the Amazing Writer it’s chargeable for guy’s blindness and the institutions on which he depends. It additionally made our minds to work in such a manner that governments may control them.

Whilst the general public do not agree with in this kind of element their lack

Of expertise and denial of the facts are largely responsible for their reasoning. Globally we see a motion of human beings far away from the traditions as they engage in something precise. They speak to and with the Spirit.

This fact is likewise hidden from most people who aren’t intended to listen or apprehend it. They ridicule and goal everybody who claims a connection to the General Spirit. The spiritual Companies have banned it as being ‘from the devil.’ They also banned reincarnation.

It’s miles due to my memory of reincarnation and an imaginative and prescient given to me between lives that have enabled me to talk out and condemn them as the Fantastic masters of faux news. Their goal is to trick people into believing their propaganda, inclusive of the existence of heaven and hell. Their Wonderful hoaxes are the so-called prophets or ‘Sons of God’ who supposedly got here from heaven to teach man God’s ways.

Have a New App? Here’s How You Can Start Marketing It

Why are apps so popular these days? Maybe it has the whole lot to do with anybody owning and using smartphones and tablets for purchasing and each day duties. Apps assist us to organize our lives, boom productiveness at paintings, get the suit and save. In case your corporation recently constructed an app in your business, then advertising it is key. There are tens of millions of various apps out there, begging for interest, but only people with an effective strategy will succeed. For one, you want a Search engine optimization approach to assist put your agency and its app on the map.

There are manufacturers making millions off of selling their app, and others which might be producing regular warm leads after gifting away their app at no cost. Again, the only manner in your app to gain something desires your business has is to properly promote it. The net is the apparent platform for this, which means setting collectively a web advertising and marketing campaign. Nearby Seo corporations can absolutely assist improve your app’s rating the use of various techniques.

You could additionally strive to enforce the subsequent strategies into your strategy.

Hire a Seo business enterprise to Build a Microsite

You do not want a fully functioning website to marketplace your new app. An easy microsite is ideal. This can be one web page or two to 3 pages, showcasing the details and demonstrating the capability. You may learn plenty from the likes of Course and Snapchat.

Another option would be to expand a teaser internet site, which is right if you’ve yet to launch your app. This ought to be created about one or months beforehand. You can use this website to entice users and gather their emails in trade for maintaining them published on the approaching launch.

Blog All approximately it

Publishing posts for your Blog and third birthday party websites can truly assist Construct buzz for your new app. Of route, you may need to put in force key phrases to assist the content rank. You could Rent one of the satisfactory Neighborhood Search engine optimization companies that will help you generate an efficient list of key phrases. They also can help with growing the content material and dispensing it in your commercial enterprise Weblog and 0.33 birthday party blogs.

Use Social Media to Share Your Posts

It’ not sufficient to virtually put up your content to your Weblog and others’ websites. You need to spend the majority of some time promoting those pieces as a whole lot as feasible. This is made easy with social media networks. You may use systems like Google+, Fb, LinkedIn, and Twitter. Focus on selling your app some instances each week.

New Rules for Uploading Applications in the Google Play Store

In reaction to the changing times, the quest engine behemoth Google Inc. Is tightening screws at the applications which might be being uploaded to the Play Keep. The organization has put in vicinity a special group to display the new programs for bugs, sexually specific cloth and malware. It has positioned in this mechanism to strengthen its age-associated score machine in order that its merchandise are in tune with time. Like Apple, Google has its running machine strolling in specific gadgets. To be greater specific, Google has its proprietary Android software program powering numerous devices. Each year, builders make a large wide variety of applications whose functionalities range from calendars to video video games. So, it’s miles pretty herbal to see an up to date gadget in place to check the brand new programs developed with the aid of developers internationally. In this newsletter, we would be looking at the guidelines the search engine behemoth has introduced for the first time for the benefit of the readers who plan to expand new programs.

Updated policies

The individuals who need exceptional applications look ahead to the Google Play Keep for downloading them. The programs which might be up for grabs include virtual games, enjoyment software, gaming applications and social media applications. The Silicon Valley software corporation desires to carry certain policies to tighten the exceptional before importing the programs to the Play Save.

A content first-class crew might take a look at whether or not the programs getting uploaded observe the stipulated standards inside the software industry. However, it is not installing location as stringent regulations as what the Cupertino company has incorporated in its packages Shop to set the high benchmark of first-class. Yet, it has made certain that the policies are in sync with the changing times in order that only applicable programs get uploaded to its Google Play Store.

1. An expert group will display every application submitted by developers to locate any variant within the content as according to the guidelines laid. Earlier, it used automated era for screening the applications. The manual intervention is reintroduced to capture and remedy the system defects the automatic gadget has overlooked.

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webpostingpro-blog · 7 years

Text

New Post has been published on Webpostingpro

New Post has been published on https://webpostingpro.com/bad-news-google-hangouts-users-third-party-apps/

Bad news, Google Hangouts users: Third-party apps

SEE: Microsoft leads the p.C. in business enterprise collaboration gear—but for a way lengthy? (TechRepublic)

The ultimate goal seems to be to force clients towards Allo and Duo, Google’s new chat gear, even as leaving the vintage Hangouts in preservation mode.

Google hasn’t released an actual list of which Hangouts apps will nonetheless paintings after April 25, however it did mention some so one can nevertheless be around.

The Great Masters of Fake News

So what’s fake news

Consistent with Wikipedia sites that interact with it are accountable for hoaxes, propaganda and of a path, ‘disinformation purporting to be actual information.’

Whilst the general public do not agree with in this kind of element their lack

Have a New App? Here’s How You Can Start Marketing It

You could additionally strive to enforce the subsequent strategies into your strategy.

Hire a Seo business enterprise to Build a Microsite

Blog All approximately it

Use Social Media to Share Your Posts

New Rules for Uploading Applications in the Google Play Store

Updated policies

0 notes